#imagine if u come closer to the doorway and dust is actually there

[loving-delusions]

i almost put dust there but i decided not to

he's there in spirit <3

[ethospathoslogan]

there will come a poet: chapter nine (a vampire sanders sides fanfiction)

A/N: can i just say, the reactions to virgil's flashback were some of my favorite things ever, and it's even more fun when u take into account that virgil's flashback is the tamest one i have planned :3 and also, as always, thank you to @bumblebeekitten for beta reading this for me!!! <3

summary: It was on Patton’s tenth evening in the castle—an evening where he could just see the pink-orange sunset through the drooping canopy of the trees—that Roman and Remus, after only fifteen minutes of being out hunting, threw open the large castle doors and came sprinting in.

ships: eventual moxiety and logince

WC: 4,690

TWs: shitty parents, crying, panicking, angst with a side of angst (part 2)

read on ao3

masterlist

spotify playlist (added new songs!!)

taglist: @iwillsithereandtrytocontribute , @glitchybina , @ab-artist , @daring-elm , @crazydemigod666

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It was on Patton’s tenth evening in the castle—an evening where he could just see the pink-orange sunset through the drooping canopy of the trees—that Roman and Remus, after only fifteen minutes of being out hunting, threw open the large castle doors and came sprinting in.

Patton and Logan, who had been coming down the main staircase, startled as Janus, who had been making his way into the parlor from the hallway, raised an eyebrow. “What? Are ferocious beasts tailing you?”

The cacophonous stream of jumbled words that came out of the twins’ mouths were near indecipherable, though the tension in the room thickened as, without a doubt, it was obvious that the twins were panicking.

Janus threw a gloved hand up. “Slow down!” he exclaimed, bounding towards his brothers. “Start over! What’s going on?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Patton caught a flicker in the candlelight and, looking over his shoulder, saw Virgil watching the scene, just as confused and on-edge as the rest of them.

“People!” Remus shouted, pointing towards the forest. “Coming this way!”

“Knights!” Roman added, his panicked brown eyes darting back and forth between Janus and Remus. “Hartt Knights!”

Patton’s stomach dropped so quickly, he thought he would vomit.

He imagined that the brothers felt worse.

Janus faltered, taking a step back, and, for the first time since Patton has been in the castle, he thought Janus actually looked scared. “Did they see you two? Were you attacked?”

The twins shook their heads. “We got away before they could see us,” Remus said.

“But we heard them coming,” Roman rushed out.

Behind him, Patton heard footsteps clumsily dart away and, when he turned, Virgil was gone.

When he looked back, Janus was nervously pulling at his gloves. “Well- well, they can’t get in-”

“Janus, what do we do?” Roman asked quickly.

“They have to know we have them!” Remus added, his green eyes shooting to Patton and Logan.

“And who knows what they have after a hundred years!”

“Or what they could do to us if they know!”

“Calm down!” Janus exclaimed. “It’s- it’s going to be fine!”

Patton could barely make out Roman’s “How do you know?!” and Remus’s “How can you be so sure?!” over each other.

“Because I do!” Janus threw his hands up. “This is just like before, okay? They couldn’t get through the wall then, and they won’t now!” He then released a deep breath, tugging on his gloves again. “It’s going to be… fine.”

“So then what do we do?” Roman asked quietly, tugging on his sash.

A moment of silence passed, with all eyes on Janus.

“We’re staying in here,” Janus ordered, firm, as he looked around at those who remained in the parlor. “We don’t know what they know and-” His eyes caught Patton’s “-And we have to trust that no one actually knows they’re here!”

“What are you saying?” Remus, raising an eyebrow, pulled at his sleeves.

“We hide.” Janus swallowed thickly. “And wait. They can’t get in. We just have to wait them out.”

Patton and Logan shared a look.

“Do you think they would know?” Logan asked quietly. 

“I don’t know,” Patton whispered.

“I think it would be best if we retire to our quarters.”

“I…” Patton trailed off as he looked back down at the three brothers, Janus quietly talking to the panicked twins. “I’ll be there soon.”

Logan furrowed his eyebrows. “Patton-”

“I just-” He bit his bottom lip “-I have to talk to Janus.”

Logan slowly nodded, though his apprehensive look lingered.

Patton forced a smile, though Logan probably saw right through it. “It’s okay. I just… need to talk to him.”

“Okay,” Logan said quietly as he nodded again. “Okay.”

As Logan finally headed back up the stairs, Patton allowed his feet to carry him down, catching the last bit of what Janus was saying to the twins as he locked up the main doors:

“-check on Virgil. But stay quiet, and hidden! Keep your rooms dark and- and not a lot of moving and- just... be smart, okay?”

“We’ll be safe, Jan,” Remus said softly before he and Roman rushed past Patton up the stairs, flicking off all oil lamps as they passed.

And then, Janus’s eye caught Patton’s.

“And you knew nothing of this, yes?” Janus asked, raising an eyebrow.

Patton raised his hand. “Swear on my life,” he whispered.

Janus nodded, wringing his hands. “Okay… okay.”

“But-” And Patton cut himself off, sighing shakily “-I really, really need you to believe me when I say that, because… because…”

“Because what?” Janus snapped, and Patton hoped it was just the stress that made his words so biting. “Spit it out!”

Patton looked down. “Is there a way I could… get to the wall without drawing too much attention?”

At Janus’s silence, Patton slowly looked back up at him.

And winced at the cold, hard look in Janus’s eye. He wondered if Janus held the same cold look in his other eye, behind the eyepatch.

“What are you planning?” Janus asked slowly.

“Nothing! I promise!” Patton pleaded as he took a step closer. “I just… those knights that are marching here were sent by my father. I… I need to hear what they have to say. If I can just get close enough...”

Janus studied him closely, his eye narrowing.

“Janus, I swear to you,” Patton whispered. “I have sworn before, and I will keep swearing. I will never bring any harm to your family. I just want to know.”

Janus was silent for another moment before sighing and nodding. “Fine,” he said. “There is… another way in and out of the castle. A secret entrance that will bring you out closer to the wall without any loud doors, and less of a chance of someone hearing you coming.”

Patton nodded.

Janus then took a step forward, jutting a finger at Patton’s chest. “This is the one and only time you will ever see this entrance, clear?”

He nodded again. “Crystal.”

Then, with little hesitation, Janus began his way briskly back down the hallway, and Patton quickly followed behind.

Though, as he realized Janus was approaching the throne room, his steps slowed. 

He remembered Virgil telling him how none of the brothers went into the throne room anymore.

He worried his bottom lip as Janus, from underneath his collar, pulled out a gold chain necklace with two small keys hanging off of it, one silver, one gold.

And, for just a moment, Janus’s hand froze as he went to unlock it. Patton stepped up alongside him, and saw that his eye was squeezed shut.

“Janus, if-” Patton was then cut off by Janus unlocking the door with the silver key and sharply turning the knob.

Patton couldn’t help but cough as a dust plume burst through the open doorway, and he held a hand to his mouth and nose as Janus strided in.

Waving his hand to clear the dust and hesitantly following Janus in, he realized that the best way to describe the throne room was still. Too still. So still, and so quiet, that it made his skin crawl. The room was dark, the velvet curtains collecting dust as they blocked out the windows. A long rug tread across the middle of the floor, and his and Janus’s careful footsteps left indents as they walked.

On either side of the rug, two rows of busts watched them. Past kings and queens, all immortalized in stone cold marble, watched their descendant and their new guest as they neared the front of the room. 

Patton couldn’t help but notice the empty marble plinth at the end of the row. Its plaque was scratched out, as if someone took a chisel to whatever name was once engraved. Livius Anguine was the king to precede it and, thinking back to the family portrait hanging in the dining room, he looked to Janus and wondered if it was out of grief or anger that he carved his own name out. Maybe it was both.

And then, at the end of the room, sat a throne. Or, at least, Patton assumed it was a throne under the white tarp that had been thrown over it.

Patton couldn’t help but look around at the room—the room that felt haunted with ghosts of past lives and remnants of what could have been—yet Janus passed through it coolly. He led Patton to the end of the rug, where its tassels met the step that ascended to the throne, and shooed him off. Then, stepping off himself, he lifted up the rug, revealing a wooden trap door in the midst of the tile.

“A secret passageway,” Janus murmured. “A safe exit for the royal family.”

“Oh.” Patton didn’t know what else to say.

Janus didn’t say anything and, instead, with the gold key, unlocked the trapdoor. 

“I will be waiting here for you,” Janus said. “Don’t even try anything.”

“I won’t,” Patton assured. “I just… I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“Just don’t draw attention to yourself and we’ll be fine.”

Whatever momentary calmness Patton fell into vanished as Janus swung open the trapdoor and both of them were met with a steep staircase leading down into a dark hallway.

He never really considered himself scared of the dark, but he figured that there was a first time for anything.

“I’m sure you’ll forgive the darkness,” Janus said, eyeing him, “Seeing as we’ve had no reason to use this passageway for a century now.”

Patton nodded and swallowed his nerves. “It’s fine.”

He forced a smile, which Janus didn’t seem to believe.

Though, Janus still sighed and said, “You’ll be fine. Nothing’s down there. Just keep walking forward and eventually you’ll get to another staircase.” He then held out the gold key. “You’ll need this. Bring it back to me.”

“Okay,” Patton said quietly. “Thank you.”

Janus nodded and stepped back, gesturing to the descending staircase.

Patton, taking one final look down, took a deep breath and pressed forward.

The passageway, drowning Patton in the scent of damp earth, seemed to get darker as Patton’s feet carried him. Instinctively, he walked with his hands out in front of him, his right fist clutching the gold key. He kept his eyes trained ahead as he slowly walked, his ears attuned to the sound of each footstep, or an occasional drip of water.

And, when his foot finally hit a step immersed in darkness, he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t let out a little yelp before slapping a hand over his mouth.

Ascending the stairs, slowly and carefully, he eventually reached another trap door and, fumbling for both the key and the lock, he let out a deep breath when he finally managed to unlock the passage.

It took three tries for Patton to push the trapdoor up and open, the door having been sewn shut years ago by the brush and bramble of the abandoned kingdom. 

And, when he did finally step out, everything was quiet. Quiet and still. Looking around, he was notably behind the castle, in an area with nothing but collapsing stone fences. Where the fence met the Vine Wall, the stone was nothing more than debris, with then various states of wear and tear around the rest of the area.

Listening closely, he heard nothing, no birds, no rustling of leaves, no footsteps.

Still, though, he quietly stepped over the debris as he neared the Vine Wall, and began to walk the perimeter.

It was when he reached the area that he himself came through over a week ago that he began to hear the steady thump of marching feet on the other side and, his heart cinching, he froze in his tracks.

“Perimeter in sight, Captain!” A soldier called out.

“Noted!” The Captain’s voice called back. “Prepare for an approach! Have your weapons drawn!”

Patton, with his knees shaking, nearly collapsed to the ground, and was thankful for the overgrown grass that muffled it. His stomach knotted and his throat tightened as footsteps marched their way around the perimeter, obviously fanning out to prepare for any type of assault or scouting on all ends. 

He believed Janus when he said that no soldier would be able to get through the wall, but Patton also knew that he himself was able to enter, which seemed to be a feat which no one understood.

So, he just hoped that whatever magic was at work within the castle was in his favor.

“Soldiers, report!” The Captain bellowed out. “Any signs of life, or way of entry?”

“Nothing here, Sir!” A soldier called out, far to Patton’s left.

Another voice came from the right, “Nothing here as well!”

When the Captain spoke again, their voice was turned away, as if they were speaking to someone behind them. Which, considering that situation paired with their words, Patton—over the sudden plummeting of his stomach and ringing in his ears—prayed that he misheard.

“Our soldiers have found nothing, Your Majesty.”

Because it couldn’t be. The King of the Hartt Kingdom, a man who detested the Twisted Wood and all creatures that resided in it (undead and not), would not have actually stepped foot within the forest, let alone bring himself to the Vine Wall. Not after he so clearly chastised Logan for thinking that Patton would wind up in the forest, nor with his adamant warning that Logan himself should not walk into the forest. Not at all, it couldn’t be, because-

“Nothing, you say?” Patton bit his lip harshly as his father’s voice boomed out. “Is that correct, Captain?”

“Y-Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Well-” And King Titus’s voice grew louder as he approached “-Are you then telling me that this trip has been pointless? Just like I told you it would be?”

“Well, we- I-”

“Have you tried slicing through the vines?”

A pause. Patton thought it would last forever. “Slicing through, Your Majesty?”

“Did I misspeak?”

“No! No, Your Majesty. It is just that… the legends say that-”

“I know what the legends say!” The King snapped. “I also know that you are disobeying my orders by questioning me!”

The Captain was silent, but the sound of something swiping through the air followed by a dull thud gave Patton the implication that their sword did nothing to the vines.

He breathed a silent thank you.

“My… my sword did nothing, Your Majesty.”

The King hummed. “So I see.”

“Is- Is there anything else you require of us?”

“Oh, require? What I require is to know why you coerced me into going on this pointless task?” At the silence that followed, the King snapped, “That is not a rhetorical question!”

“Oh, yes, apologies, Your Majesty. It is just… Prince Patton has been missing for ten days now,” the Captain explained (and Patton balled the grass in his fists in hopes of feeling stabilized). “Our soldiers in the surrounding villages have seen no sight of him. I believed that it would be… helpful to search out the Wood. If we cannot locate him here… I think it might be time to alert neighboring kingdoms that the Prince is-”

Patton winced as his father’s booming voice interrupted them. “The one thing we are not doing is alerting neighboring kingdoms! They will see this disappearance as a weakness, and then what would become of my kingdom? Am I to allow my kingdom to be seen as weak, as conquerable, just because my son wants to- what? Roam the countryside instead of learning how to be a true king?”

“Your Majesty, all of our troops have reported no sign of him in any of our villages.”

“Then order them to search again! To imply that my son would walk into these Woods- has anyone no respect for history? Has my son?”

“Your Majesty-”

“If my son truly wishes to show that he is not the fool that he has proven to be in the past, then he will get over this act of rebellion and return to the castle! I truly hope that I have raised a son who is smart enough to know that the Twisted Wood and all the things inside of it are to be avoided! He has always let these- these reckless emotions cloud his responsibilities, and now he is only harming himself as he shirks his duties! And to think that Logan has fallen manipulated to these impulses...”

“Should we not be concerned that Prince Patton was perhaps taken? Sieged? That a similar target was placed on Mage Apprentice Logan?”

“Our security at the castle would not simply let some criminal snatch my son from his quarters! No, no, this was my son’s doing. He has only led us on a wild goose chase.” 

“But, Your Majesty, what if the Prince and his Advisor are in these woods? In there?”

All was quiet, for just a moment.

And then the moment passed, and the King answered.

“Then I reckon they should stay in there. If they so willingly choose to walk into the realm of the monsters, after all the history and legends they know? They would not want to face me afterwards.”

Patton hadn’t realized he was crying until the tears were dripping down onto his hands. He had been too distracted by the sour taste in his mouth, the churning in his stomach.

Too distracted, too terrified, by his father’s words to pay mind to himself.

A reckless rebel, a manipulative fool.

His father was so close to finding him, so close to unleashing the wrath that he threatened… and yet he had no wish to. The Knight-Captain had to convince him to venture into the forest, the knights in their villages were the ones helming the search. 

To his father, alerting the neighboring kingdoms would be a sign of weakness instead of a cry for help…

To his father, this was all a tantrum. A bratty prince acting out. An irresponsible son ignoring his responsibilities.

(Responsibilities that clung to Patton’s neck so tightly, something he forgot how to breathe.)

Patton had no wish to return home but, in all his twenty years of life, he had never felt so unwelcome.

He had never felt so homeless.

With one shaking hand clenched tightly to his mouth, he placed the other on the tangled vines, and failed to sync his ragged breathing to the steady tempo of the knights marching away.

To be what his father wanted, to be a “true king,” he would have to leave. He could leave. He could ask Virgil, who has given him a way out before, or he could ask any of the brothers. Some of them probably wouldn’t even hesitate to see Patton leave. He could ask Logan to leave with him, and Logan would. And they could go back to the kingdom, tails between their legs, and all they could hope for was that they would be forgiven soon enough.

Patton, however, didn’t want to leave.

He might have no home, but he suddenly felt much more welcome in the Anguine Castle than he ever did in the Hartt Kingdom.

That thought—that sudden detachment from all that he has known—sent another chorus of sobs that racked through his chest, loud and painful and no longer worried about being overheard.

A heavy weight, one that he had hoped to leave behind, began to crawl back into its rightful place on his shoulders.

And perhaps it was that knowledge, the knowledge that he could never truly run away, that hurt the most.

When he finally calmed down, or at least managed to stop the tears from streaking down his face, he released a shaky, uneven breath. 

Pressed his fingers to his temples. 

Fished the golden key out from where he dropped it in the grass.

And, with the scraps of energy he had left, stood.

Patton barely registered his walk back to the throne room, didn’t even feel a spike in his heart beat as he strode through darkness. His feet simply carried him whilst his brain toiled in fog and tried to piece apart fact from fiction.

Maybe his father was wrong. Maybe Patton wasn’t irresponsible, wasn’t running away.

Or maybe he was the one who was wrong. Maybe he should’ve turned to face his problems, or should’ve sucked it up and pressed forward.

All he knew was that he couldn’t leave his problems behind, not truly. They would only come back to haunt him, and their cold hands would only entrap others in a web that held Patton tightly at its center.

Patton released another breath.

When he finally pushed open the throne room’s trap door, he was met with Janus sitting on the step before the late king’s throne, readjusting his gloves.

Janus didn’t even look up as he said, “So, should we be preparing for your departure? Have you decided to let your knights escort you home?”

Patton simply just walked over to Janus and held the key out to him. “No. I’m staying.”

Janus startled and looked up at him, his eyebrows furrowing. 

Slowly, he accepted the key and stumbled out, “Not- not that I wanted you to… leave… not exactly, I- I just thought- if they were looking for you-”

Patton wasn’t used to seeing Janus so lost for words, and if he was in brighter spirits, maybe he would have smiled.

This was not one of those times.

“It’s okay,” Patton said. “I’m not offended.”

Janus stared up at him for a moment longer.

Patton continued, “I’m going to return to my quarters.”

Janus, still watching him, nodded.

It was when Patton’s hand was on the door knob that Janus said, “Are you… alright?”

Patton didn’t turn back. “I’m fine.”

And he walked out.

The castle was cold and quiet as he traversed the stairs, and his body only ached more as he thought about the warmth his bed would bring, and how he hoped it would be enough to take the chill from his chest.

Yet, as he passed through the brothers’ corridor, he stopped at the sight of a figure down the hall, in front of Virgil’s door at the end. Even in the shadows, he could see the glint of red hair reflected in the candles that were still dimly lit. He had a fist pressed to Virgil’s door, not knocking but just resting, and mumbling something Patton couldn’t quite catch.

Taking a step forward, Patton winced when the floorboards creaked.

The brother jumped and spun around, and-

Where Patton expected Roman, he found Remus.

Remus stared at him for only a second longer with his mouth agape, as if he was weighing two options in his head, before his shoulders slumped and he turned back to Virgil’s door, his quiet murmurings resuming.

Patton, after a hesitation, began to walk towards Virgil’s door and, as he got closer, he could pick up on what Remus was saying:

“-you’re in there, Vi. Just- we’re fine, okay? You’re scared- I know you’re in there. You don’t have to- I’m here, and- I know things are bad but if you just let me- why are you being so- please, just let me-”

“Is Virgil okay?” Patton, his voice barely over a whisper, interrupted.

Remus tensed and clenched his fists, his clawed nails dragging down Virgil’s door.

“Okay?” Remus hissed, tilting his head towards Patton. “Oh, sure, he’s fucking great, with your family ready to bust down our doors.”

Patton winced and tried to ignore the stinging behind his eyes.

Whatever panicked version of Remus that Patton saw before was replaced by a ferocity that he has yet to see.

“I didn’t- didn’t know,” Patton fumbled, his voice shaking. “I didn’t want them to-”

“It doesn’t matter!” Remus snapped, whipping his head to face Virgil’s door again. “Virgil’s freaking out, and I can’t even talk to him, so maybe you should just go and-”

And then, both Remus and Patton froze as Virgil’s door cracked open and, through the opening, a single dark eye looked out.

And went straight to Patton.

“Patton,” Virgil whispered, or perhaps it was a gasp.

Remus, with a look on his face that Patton couldn’t quite decipher, took a stumbling step back as he gaped at him.

“V-Virgil?” Patton stammered, taking a small step forward.

Virgil, however, said nothing, and all Patton registered was a cold hand shooting out and grabbing his wrist before dragging him into the room.

The last thing Patton saw before the door slammed shut behind him was Remus staring blankly right back at him.

And then, when he turned to Virgil, for just a moment, he wished he was back in the hall.

In the darkness, Virgil was ghostly. His cheeks were so sunken in, Patton could easily see the definition of his cheekbones. The dark circles under his eyes were so prominent, they looked like they were artificial. His hands, almost skeletal, were shaking as they tightly gripped Patton’s hand, and the cold was that of the dead. His lips were thin, he seemed to drown in his clothes, his shoulders were hunched…

If Patton didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought he was in the room with a corpse.

“Virgil,” Patton whispered.

“Told you.” Virgil’s voice was trembling as he forced a pained smile. “Bad things happen when I'm around.”

The rush of understanding brought on a guilt so heavy, Patton almost collapsed under it.

The Hartt Kingdom tried to break through again, and so Virgil was preparing to die.

And so Patton swallowed his feelings.

He had to be there for Virgil, wanted to be there for Virgil.

His own feelings could wait.

“Virgil,” Patton repeated, shaking his head. With his free hand, he placed it over Virgil’s and rubbed them, as if he could put warmth back in. “You’re- you’re safe, okay? Nothing is going to happen-”

Virgil’s face crumpled as he shook his head, though no tears came out. “No- no, you don’t understand! They’re- they’re coming and- and I should’ve known, I should’ve warned us and- and-”

“Virgil!” Patton repeated and, taking his hands away, he took a step closer and gently cupped his cold face. Virgil immediately grabbed for Patton’s hands again, clutching them as Patton held his face.

“Patton,” Virgil whimpered.

“I swear to you,” Patton said gently, “You are safe here. Those soldiers… my family… they’re gone. They left. I promise you, Virgil, you are okay. I am not going to let anything happen to you.”

Virgil ducked his head against his chest. “Please don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.” Patton tilted his head up. “I would never.”

“I just- I needed- I really wanted you here and- I trust you and I just- I just thought- I’m sorry, I just-”

“Shh,” Patton shushed, shaking his head. “Don’t apologize, okay? I want to help you, Virgil. I want to be here for you.”

Virgil, in a motion so sudden Patton could barely see it, pulled him into a tight hug, his arms wrapped around Patton’s neck like he was his lifeline.

Patton, as if it was instinct, hugged him back.

“I can’t do it,” Virgil whispered. “Not again.”

“It’s not happening again,” Patton said. “It’s going to be okay.”

“This- this hurts even more when you can’t breathe.”

Patton’s heart cinched.

“You’re safe here,” he reassured, rubbing his back. “Nothing is going to happen to you. To any of you.”

Virgil clutched him tighter. “Thank you.”

Patton wanted to tell him that he shouldn’t be thanking him, that Patton was the reason the knights showed up in the first place. That he was a coward and a failure and a fool and no matter how hard he tried, things could never be good.

That Virgil deserved tranquility, and Patton wanted to give it to him but was so, so scared that he couldn’t.

But he didn’t say that.

Instead, he said, “I just want to be here for you.”

“Then just stay,” Virgil whispered. “Please.”

Patton nestled his head in the crook of Virgil’s neck. “I was never planning on leaving.”

[darker-soft-starker]

This, too

For my actual ride or die @starkerforlife6969, who constantly wows me with their talent and beautiful heart, i luh ya xo xo 

TW: mental health issues, angst, hurt/comfort, a mention of Skip Westcott

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Peter dreams. 

Nightmares, most prominently - drifting dust and ash and the crush of cement against the curve of his spine. Often he dreams in flashes of mundane panic, that he’s late for work or he just missed the train. Sometimes the dreams are good, doorways into pockets of time, echoes of memories that feel as real as all his waking moments.

That night he dreams of dinner with May and Ben, except he’s not fourteen like he was when they were all together last, he’s himself now. It’s warm, bright, hazy in that way that dreams are. Tony is there too and they love him. Ben is laughing, all husky straight from the chest as May is recalling a memory of one of her misadventures in college, throwing her head back as she loses her cool and guffaws. She wipes a tear from her eye as she dwindles into soft giggles, looking over at Ben in shared reminiscence. Peter laughs along and catches Tony’s fond expression aimed just at him. 

It’s real, it feels so real. Until the shrill tones of his alarm wakes him up.

Sometimes good dreams are the worst ones.

Like blinking back into reality after one of Beck’s illusions when Peter wakes up he feels every pinch of warmth extinguish to a gritty, cold ash. The memories crumble, slipping away like hands trying to keep water cupped between them. Blinking slowly against the cool morning light, reality settles around him like sediments sinking heavily all over his body. 

It’s like someone scooped out everything inside of him - the call to feel anything results in a mournful echo.

He blinks once, twice. 

Oh, it's one of those days, he thinks.

Huh.

In sluggish, forced movement he takes his phone from the bedside table and silences his alarm. It's sixteen minutes past seven in the morning. He’s an early riser and should have been up already. Showered. In the kitchen. Flicking through social media as breakfast is cooking or coffee cooling or kissing Tony goodbye before the office beckons him away.

Except the impetus to get out of the bed isn’t exactly there. Outside of the bed is everything too big and too loud, even if he didn’t feel so heavy, all of his insides are grey, concrete and congealed, he feels like he would shatter at the slightest touch.

He blinks once. Twice.

The other side of the bed is empty and there is a message bright on his screen.

Had to leave for the office early, won’t be home until late - love you - you at work yet?

Fingers slow, Peter types a response, swallows around the lump in his throat.

Have a headache, stayed home. Love you.

He deletes that. Tries again.

Yeah, omw. Have a good day - love u.

It’s not right to make Tony worry.

He should get up. Piss. Shave. Wash. Eat. Not lie to his partner.

Except, he knows Tony would call. Would want to come home. Would try and shift him out of that concrete casing that presses down all over him and renders him immobile - and Peter just can’t. The thing about days like these is that there is plenty of should-do’s and want-to-do’s but on days like these desire is a foreign notion, incentive doesn’t go here and it means he does nothing. Which only further proves his own uselessness.

So he won’t say anything. He would do anything to protect Tony - even from Peter himself.

Besides, he doesn't want to talk through the saliva in his mouth feels like glue, doesn't know how to, even if he wanted to work through his molasses-like thoughts. He knows Tony wouldn’t mind - but Peter can’t let him see him like this, he has enough to deal with.

Tony is a good man.

Peter isn’t.

He thinks sometimes he believes that he is - good that is. Sometimes he knows that he is - but often the conditioned therapy speak can’t convince him that his guilt isn’t valid, that all his efforts at goodness aren’t just a way to bleach away all of the bad things he is responsible for, that for all his goodness he is just inherently, irrevocably bad.

Rhyme and reason is a joke - why the nothingness takes his breath today of all days, hitting like he’s hog-tied and dumped into the bottom of the ocean. It's not a birthday or an anniversary. It's not a day of any significance, so the inertia that swallows him is baseless - but then again, isn’t it always? Maybe the residue has been accumulating while he's been making quips and jokes because - but what excuse does he have for it, does he ever have for it?

His throat sticks when he swallows dryly and he idly considers leaving the safe haven of the creased bedsheets to get some water. 

Some time later, a minute, an hour, he makes himself go to the bathroom to relieve himself. He doesn't shower or wash his face. He doesn't even remember if he washed his hands. He doesn't get a drink of water.

The bed becomes an island.

Their mattress is too fancy to leave an indent where he normally sleeps but Peter imagines it’s there anyway, a divot to safely rest the contours of his body like a cradle. A safe place for his thoughts to circle, passing from one to another like a slideshow, deliberating, ruminating, around and around like the view-master he had as a kid. Laughably he tries not to focus on it, let it sweep by, but all it does is make the thoughts whirl into a dizzying kaleidoscope.

The laptop on the desk at the far wall shines all chrome and sleek lines, Peter wonders what it would take to fire it up, Netflix his listlessness away. Even his short-circuiting thoughts decide against it.

More than anything the pressure on his chest wants nothing more to ease to the sound of Tony’s voice.

He just --

Sometimes Peter tries to rationalize the entropy of the universe. By thinking every person and force is like a game of chess, energy in and out, everything has a purpose for good or bad, it gets him by. Sooner or later, surely, anything has a meaning or a lesson worth learning.

But then his core is stripped bare on days like today and Peter thinks of his parents and Ben and Natasha and everyone else who is never coming back and thinks this philosophy is wrong. There is no rhyme or reason on a greater scale for permanently blacking out an untold story. There is no greater lesson to be found in a life culled before its time.

The universe isn't playing chess. It's playing darts in the dark.

Focus.

This isn't him, this helplessness. Most days he doesn't feel like this at all, sees the shine on the horizon and the sun through the leaves – and then... some days, in private, his proverbial ability to clot fails and he bleeds out. His bad day isn't a stubbed toe, a missed train and a burnt dinner. His bad day is quicksand, stasis he can’t wake from and completely withdraws from reality - bad days are Ben’s last look of disappointment on replay and the burn of Skip Westcotts’ touch and an aching void where everything used to be.

He doesn’t open up his laptop but he does bring up Instagram on his phone and scrolls through the glossy highlight reels of everyone else's life. 

He must fall asleep because the next thing he knows is a hand is brushing over his forehead, fingers tenderly carding through his curls.

When he blinks his eyes open Tony is sitting beside him. He’s fully dressed, face creased in concern.

“Thought you were at work, baby,” Tony says softly. “You feeling okay?”

Tony’s watch is before his face, reading noon. Far earlier than Peter thought to have himself dressed and behaving with some semblance of normality. 

“M’fine. I didn’t expect you back so early,” Peter mumbles, cheeks going pink.

The response prompts a frown from the older man, the stroking against his scalps slowing as his partner assesses him. 

Shame burns hot in Peters gut when he sees something akin to understanding flashes briefly in Tony’s eyes. Jaw clenching, Peter slams his eyes shut and exhales. Jesus, fuck this isn’t what Tony should have to put up with --

“Hey, s’okay. What’s wrong?”

Peter contemplates his age old story, what he used to tell May and his teachers when the door outside his bedroom seemed too dark a labyrinth to go near. I have a headache. I think I'm getting the flu. Allergy season is sure starting early this year. But the words get tangled in his throat and it's inevitably easier to just say nothing. He can't think of a lie quick enough to replace the excuses in his head.

There's a thumb caressing his cheek, resting at the side of his mouth.

There's a blink-and-you'll-miss spring of resentment in his stomach because he doesn't want to explain at the same time that he does and all of the thoughts bottleneck in his head - like should he act normal? How should he behave, what should he talk about, what will Tony want to talk about, is Peter going to be convincing enough, how far does the truth really stretch - how dirty will Peter feel lying to him -

Every thought stalls like a traffic jam in his head.

Overwhelmed, Peter brings a hand over his eyes and exhales frustratedly.

“I’m sorry,” he manages.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Tony whispers softly from behind him, sheets rustling as he inches closer. “You’re alright, I’ve got you.” 

He doesn’t know how to answer, chest cracking open as the noise in his head reaches an unbearable crescendo. 

“Is it okay if I touch you?”

Peter nods, unable to speak around the lump in his throat. 

Tony crawls into bed with him, discarding his jacket, shoes and belt onto the floor. The cotton of his shirt feels nice against Peter’s face when he curls up and leans his head on Tony’s chest, but he undoes a few buttons to slip his hand inside anyway, just to feel something real and living.

This isn’t what Tony came home expecting, it shouldn’t be his job to look after Peter, shouldn’t have to tolerate this. Peter should do better. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, the ache in his chest getting worse with each passing second.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Tony dismisses, stroking Peter’s hair. “I’ve got you, baby, you’re okay. You want to talk about it?”

The arms tighten around Peter like maybe it could hold him together as he gives a sedate shake of his head.

“That’s okay.” A kiss to his hair. “I love you very much.”

“You too,” Peter murmurs, eyes closing in a mix of guilt and relief.

Another apology rises in his throat but he swallows it down, sinking into Tony’s comforting embrace, listening to this rich tones of the older man's voice telling him it will be okay, how strong he is, how it will pass soon.

Peter loves Tony enough not to argue.

It’s enough.

[icyharrington]

Mercy (Michael Langdon X Reader)

so....um........yeah. this fic is just pure, self-indulgent filth. last night i rewatched 8x09, and could NOT stop imagining this nasty scenario during the scene where michael kills the witches. so, deciding to channel my current anger about the finale into sexual frustration, i ended up writing.......this. you’ve been warned.

plot: with your life on the line as michael closes in on you, the sole survivor of his vengeful attack on your coven, you come to realize that desperate times call for desperate measures.

warnings: fem!witch!Reader, mentions of death, blowjobs, face fucking, michael gives u a facial if ya know what i mean, dirty talk, degrading language, just overall filth

word count: 2k 

Your world as you’d once known it was over.

Huddled in the corner of the dining room, the once-pure white walls now stained with angry splotches of deep maroon, you anticipated what was only inevitable. Tears trailed down your face and wet your clothing- around you laid the lifeless bodies of your coven, your sisters.

You knew Cordelia was upstairs with Myrtle and Mallory, but besides them, you were the only one left. And now, as the crisp footsteps of expensive shoes on wood flooring drew closer to you, it was evident that your time had come to join the fallen ones.

“Now where, oh where, could our last little friend be?”

The man’s voice was cool and steady, tone mocking as he rounded the corner of the dining table, putting you directly in his line of sight. You had no idea how you’d survived the initial slaughter; luck, you supposed, although whatever “luck” you might’ve managed to grasp onto was now gone. As the shards flew through the air towards your coven, you’d ducked, pressing yourself flat against the ground and silently praying to yourself. Somehow, it had worked. You’d done the same thing when Mead, or Mead’s apparent robotic replica, had opened fire on the remaining few. Now you were all alone, just you and the all-powerful antichrist who held a personal vendetta against your kind.

You were doomed.

Weakly, you looked at him, vision partially obscured from the hot tears that refused to cease their falling. He was dressed in all black, hands folded neatly behind him as his eyes fell upon you. When your eyes met, he grinned.

“There she is,” he said with mock enthusiasm. “You almost missed out on all the fun.”

“P-please,” you sobbed, knowing all the same that nothing would change your fate. You couldn’t help it, though; you were terrified.

“Your coven fucked with my family,” he said, suddenly dropping his previous act in favor of a more serious approach. Still, you could see the smirk playing at his lips as he looked you over. He was fucking enjoying this. “And for that, you have to pay.”

“I didn’t know- I didn’t- it wasn’t-“ you were incoherent, scrambling for words as if anything you said would make any difference now.

He came closer to you, and you could swear you felt the raw, sinful power radiating from his every pore. You knew he could disintegrate you into a pile of dust right then if he so chose, but you were sure he’d opt instead for something a bit more personal. He cocked his head to the side, a nasty smile appearing on his face.

“I can’t understand a word out of your mouth.”

You pressed your back into the wall, cowering as he came close enough to touch you. You looked up at him, at that impeccable blond hair and flawless skin and chiseled jaw, his features combining to form a face of pure evil. And god damn it, that face of evil was beautiful.

You racked your brain for your last few options at survival, never being one to give up easily. Your stomach dropped as you realized there were no more options- a shaking mess of useless magical ability, you were cornered. There would be no running, and even if you were able to, you were sure he’d disintegrate you before you reached the doorway. You looked down at his well-shined leather shoes, slowly easing yourself into the task of looking into your soon-to-be killer’s face.

You dragged your gaze upwards, eyes landing on the presumably expensive belt that was threaded through his belt loops. And then you had an idea. A crazy one, at that. But an idea was an idea, and it was worth a shot.

Looking up into his apathetic eyes, you prepared yourself to beg him again for your life. But this time, you’d give him something of an incentive to let you live. “Please,” you said shakily, tears still leaking from the corner of your eyes. “I’ll do anything.”

You brought yourself forward to rest on your knees, coming face-to-face with his crotch. Before he could react, you began undoing his belt with trembling hands, glancing up at him nervously every few seconds, fearing the worst reaction. He furrowed his eyebrows, clearly caught off guard by your bold actions, but then he licked his lips.

Back came the smug exterior, and he let out a dry chuckle. “So this is how you’re begging for your life? Getting on your knees and sucking my cock? I have to say, I didn’t expect this.”

Wordlessly, you released the button of his pants from its hold and worked down the zipper, reaching impatiently inside to feel his warm, massive bulge. To your surprise, he was already semi-erect. If not given the circumstances, you probably would’ve been having the time of your life.

“It’s certainly refreshing to see one of your kind actually attempting to do something useful, though,” he taunted as you pulled his cock out of the confines of his boxers. It was big, to say the least, striped with protruding veins around the thick circumference.

You met his gaze, wordlessly asking for his permission to proceed. He smirked down at you, easing his cock further out of his pants. “Well, go on. Convince me to spare your pathetic life.”

You wrapped your lips around the tip, tasting salty precum on your tongue. He sighed as you slid your head further down, taking as much of him as you could, and his hand found itself on the back of your head. He held your hair firmly at the root, following your motions as you bobbed up and down, reaching one hand up to grip his shaft.

“You’re going to have to do a lot better than that,” he said, thrusting your head forward suddenly so you choked on him. Although you couldn’t see his face, you could imagine the look of satisfaction that was bound to be plastered across it.

Saliva made its way down your chin and you let out a stifled gag, a jolt of pain shooting through your scalp as he jerked your head forward for a second time. You couldn’t believe this was happening, or that he’d even allowed you to get this far. “Put your hands behind your back. Let’s see how far you can take me.”

Immediately, you did as you were told, knowing that you couldn’t afford to disobey him. The second your hand left him, he forced himself deep into your throat, your nose nearly brushing against his balls. You cried out against him, struggling to breathe, but he only tightened his grip on your head to keep you firmly in place. You pulled back slightly, before bringing him all the way back into your mouth, burying his cock in your throat. You sucked him like your life depended on it, which made sense, since your life actually did depend on this.

“I wonder how your supreme would feel about this. One of her own sucking off the enemy like a whore,” he drawled. “It’s pathetic, really. You could have chosen to keep your dignity, die with honor with the rest of your sisters. And yet...”

Your cheeks bloomed red with shame; he was right, as much as you didn’t want to admit it. This was pathetic. But you were desperate; you didn’t want to die. You had so many things planned for yourself. He grunted, letting go of his composure for a fraction of a second, pushing his hips forward as he kept your head locked in place. Your hands fumbled nervously behind you, clasping and un-clasping them as you focused on breathing through your nose.

His words halted and he began to fuck your face rapidly, bringing his other hand down to grab another fist full of your hair. He panted, letting out raspy moans that sounded more like inhuman growls to you. Your eyes burned, snot dripping from your nose, face prickling with humiliation as he used you so mercilessly.

His cock twitched and you squeezed your eyes shut, preparing to swallow his load. To your surprise, though, he removed himself from you, looking down at you over his massive length.

“You don’t get to swallow my cum.”

He loosely jerked himself, parting his lips as he looked up at the ceiling. All you could see was his perfect, angular jaw and the drooling head of his cock in front of your face as his fist pumped it up and down.

It only took a few seconds of this for him to cum, and then you had his warm load all over your face. He watched your expression shift, anticipating your reaction with a cocky half-smile as his cum crudely painted your features. You reached up to wipe it away from your eyes, mouth trembling and throat aching.

He brought his hand under your chin and tilted your head up, admiring the way he’d defaced you. You could hardly bring yourself to make eye contact, too embarrassed with your actions, but you knew you had to.

“Now thank me,” he said coolly.

He tucked himself neatly back into his boxers and zipped up his pants, buckling his belt noisily as he looked at you expectantly.

“Th-thank you for sparing me,” you said, your voice cracked and raspy.

He raised his eyebrows at you. “Who said anything about sparing you? I still haven’t decided if I’m going to let you live”. His eyes glinted as he witnessed your face fall, all remaining color draining from your skin. “You’re going to thank me for letting you suck my cock.”

You whimpered, a fresh set of tears making way down your face and mixing into your saliva, which had already melded with Michael’s cum. “M-Michael, thank you for- thank you for letting me suck your cock. Thank you, thank you-“

He rolled his eyes, reaching to grab your hair without warning; you flinched, jumping when he spoke. “Enough. I’m going to let you live. Only because it’s apparent to me that your only real worth is on your knees, and therefore, you’re no threat to me.”

You sniffled, too afraid to wipe the back of your mouth or even blink, worrying that the smallest movement might make him change his mind.

“Truthfully I should be having you lick the bottom of my shoe to thank me for being so charitable,” he said, pausing to turn over his shoulder, eyes trailing over the staircase that was visible through the opened double doors. “But I have other matters to attend to.”

With one swift motion, he pulled you up forcefully by your hair and threw you to the cold ground. You laid there on your side in a heap, heart racing, looking up at this all-powerful man with fear and awe. He observed you back, tilting his head as if to admire a piece of artwork he’d created, his tongue dipping out of his mouth to run across his plump upper lip.

“We’ll cross paths again, eventually,” he said, turning on his heel.

Cradling your body with your arms, curling your knees up to your chest, you watched him go. He sauntered through the doorway, looking pristine and utterly untouched in his fancy clothes as if he hadn’t just annihilated an entire coven of witches. Not a strand of his blond curls were out of place, and not a drop of blood had touched his porcelain skin.

You, on the other hand, were a shivering mess. You laid amongst the carnage, too weak to clean yourself off, unsure of how you’d even managed to make it out alive.

Tomorrow you’d look at yourself in the mirror, questioning the person you had become. You’d refrain from spitting at your reflection for allowing such a man to defile you, for betraying your coven. You’d tear yourself apart with guilt, wondering why there was still a tiny inkling of satisfaction hidden deep beneath your self-loathing.

You’d save that for tomorrow, though. Right now, all you wanted to do was lie still with a blank mind, images of the antichrist flickering behind your eyelids.

[ultrakeystotheheartblog]

CJ: Leader (Requested)

Hey! I was wondering if you could do another CJ imagine but now she is just being a total BAMF? Like set during the Season 4 finale where she pretty much kicks butt and is a good leader while Kate is holding Scott hostage? - internet Neighbor

A/N: Hi! I'm so sorry this took so long to get out. 

I hope you enjoy it :)

Warnings: Slight violence

*************************************************

La Iglesia.

Braeden's earlier description didn't really do it justice, you think in awe. It’s grand in its stature, an ancient, aging church. The stone structure rises above the ruins of the city like a lone guardian. You marvel at it from inside the van, peeking at an odd angle through the passenger window to get a better look at it in the dark. Braeden manoeuvres the car in a tight U formation, pulling up near the church's boarded up entrance. The moonlight catches the untouched stain glass windows on the front of the building, transforming them into piercing eyes.

You sigh anxiously and turn to face Braeden as she releases her seatbelt, the tiny click drawing your attention. Everything always feels so heightened on a full moon. And speaking of a full moon...You turn slightly to see how Liam is faring now in the back, just catching the last bit of conversation as you squint to see through the wire mesh separating the front and back of the van.

"Alright, we might be able to actually do this." Stiles announces with barely contained relief. He nods to Derek, who rises from his seat and leans forward, pushing open the back doors.

And then it all goes wrong so fast.

Derek is ripped from the back of the van by a Berserker, a lumbering creature who suddenly appears as if he had materialized out from the darkness, and Derek is thrown to the ground. The Berserker drags him to a nearby rock with an obvious intent to kill, and Braeden is the first to move in the car. She throws her shoulder against the car door to jump out of the driver's side, shotgun already gripped tightly in her hands. She swings around the van and shoots at the Berserker, the loud cracks of gunshots making you flinch.

The smell of blood hits you after the wall of heat as you slip from the car and dash around to the back. You're lifting a heavy slab of stone from the ground before you realize it, spinning in a wide circle to create enough momentum as you lob the large rock at the Berserker. The impact is brutal, the Berserker's chest plate cracking, and it stumbles back before finally taking off into the ruins. But it's all too late.

Derek's been badly injured, the smell of blood thicker now in the humid air. Peter and Malia have already left their car, and Peter slides to a stop in front of you, kicking up a cloud of dust. He looks oddly concerned as he stares down at Derek, an expression you never thought you'd see on his face. He takes a few steps towards him, unsure of his next move. Stiles and Liam are there now too, and Derek slumps to the ground with a groan of pain. Braeden is by his side to check on him, lifting his jacket to see the extent of the wound as he moves his shaking, blood soaked hand out of the way. Derek is short of breath and heaving, blood collecting on his mouth. Braeden's face crumples in concern. "How bad is it?" Peter asks.

When she doesn't say anything, you step closer, voice low.

"Braeden?"

Derek's are eyes fluttering open and closed as he fights to stay conscious. "I'm fine, I'm fine! Just get to Scott." He says in a rush. No one moves, and Derek jerks his head towards the church. "Just find him. We'll be right behind you. Go. Go!"

Everyone is still hesitant to leave him and you nod at Derek when he looks to you, eyes pleading for you to do something. You speak up, forcing your voice to sound clear and direct, "You heard him."

Peter doesn't need to hear anything else and turns to enter the ruins, Liam and Malia following on his heels. Derek stops you and Stiles before you both can leave, gasping in agony as he shifts to hold himself up.

"Hey! Hey....save him." He says earnestly. You look from Stiles to Derek, eyes trailing to the entrance of the church where your brother lay hidden, taken, somewhere within its walls. Or the temple beneath it. You smile at Derek.

"We will. I'm not leaving here without him."

*************************************************

Upon first entering the church, you realize just how ancient and unnaturally stunning it truly was. The doorways were almost too large, old wooden pews broken or turned over in the middle of the room, the empty architectural arches along the walls, where stained glass windows might have once been, becoming gaping holes into the darkness outside. Your gaze wanders up, to the tall arches of stone above, jagged holes in the ceiling allowing streaks of moonlight to illuminate the inside. Pieces of stone litter the floor, along with the eerie view of old, grimy bones. It was hard to tell if they were animal or human.

Your group continues under the ruins, dashing through the narrow tunnels of the Aztec temple below. You push through the twisting vines hanging down like curtains in your path, finding yourself taking the lead without issue or complaint. You skid to a sudden stop before turning to your friends, holding up your hands to keep them from passing you. The group comes to an abrupt halt, bouncing back against each other. You talk low and fast, pointedly ignoring the look of disdain on Peter's face.

"Okay, woah, woah! Guys, slow down-STOP."

Peter scoffs, "So demanding, little wolf."

You shoulder past him without even a glance in his direction.

"We've got to figure out where we are and then we have to figure out how we're going to find Scott and Kira. This place is huge, we might have to split up into groups to cover more ground." You say slowly, deep in thought.

"What about the Berserkers?" Malia reminds you.

Liam spares a quick look behind him, nervously bouncing from foot to foot. "Yeah, those seem like problems we shouldn't ignore."

You sigh, "We're not ignoring them. Scott and Kira are the priority here, and we're going to be smart about this. Use what we have. Number outweighs lone strength."

"Scott's taught his little Beta well."

You cut a Peter a withering look, growl laced with warning. "We taught each other," You snap at him.

A cell phone goes off, startling everyone. Stiles looks down at his pocket in surprise.

"How do I even have serv-" He cuts himself off and sighs, nervously brushing a hand over his mouth when he sees the caller ID. He answers and crosses to stand in front of Peter. "Hi, Dad."

"Stiles-" You begin, but give up when Stiles waves a hand wildly in your general direction to shush you. Peter shoots Malia and Liam a disbelieving look, gesturing to where Stiles is standing. They shrug in response, leaving you to just shake your head in exasperation, straining to hear the hurried phone conversation.

"Okay, Dad, I know you're angry-" 

"Oh, I'm beyond angry." Stiles winces at the Sherriff's grated tone. "I have reached a level of fury that you could not possibly comprehend."

"Okay, well when I get back you can ground me."

"Ground you? Ground you? I am going to hobble you." There's a quiet, resigned sigh on the other end. "Now please...just tell me you're alright. Tell me that you're safe."

Stiles meets your gaze.

"You want me to lie?" He replies.

The Sherriff draws out a soft Oh, God into the phone. He seems to hesitate for a moment before finally asking, "Okay, what-tell me...tell me what I can do. How can I help?" 

Stiles breathes out in relief, hastily explaining that you were all worried about Lydia’s disappearance. "She was at the school when we called Mason to look for her, but now we're not hearing back from either of them. I don't know, Dad, I don't know what I'm doin'. You know, I'm just... I'm trying to save my friends."

"Okay. I'll find Lydia and Mason. You get Scott and Kira. You save your friends."

Stiles nods in determination, "Dad, if it's one of the Berserkers at the school, you're gonna need firepower. A lot."

He hangs up and turns back to the group, just as Liam throws his hands up in frustration and looks briefly to Malia

"What do we do now?" He asks, voice a little louder than you'd like.

You see the Berserker lurch out of the shadows at the same time as Malia.

"Behind-"

"Duck!" Malia shouts. She grabs the back of Liam's neck and forces him down, pushing him to run forwards as the Berserker slashes the air in the spot they had just been standing. The growl that tears itself from the creature's throat is one that sounds more animal than anything you had ever heard before. 

"Get back, go! Go, go, go, go!" You cry. With your friends safely behind you, you jump up, your hands finding the wall on either side of you as slam the Berserker back with a double kick. It stumbles but manages to right itself as you take off to follow the rest of the group. The Berserker easily chases you down the tunnels, until you're all herded back into a room above ground, somewhere far into the ruins. The windows are almost blacked out with layers of vegetation. Both Peter and Liam dash behind one of the giant columns lined throughout the structure. As both you and Stiles near an exit on the far side of the room, you catch the tiny glint of Kira's sword in Malia's hand. You swivel, calling her name.

"Malia!"

Her head jolts up to look at you as she skids to a stop, gaze questioning. You gesture to the weapon in her hand and she nods in realization, flinching as the Berserker comes barreling into the room.

This would have to be where you split up.

She tosses the sword to Stiles.

"Go find Kira and Scott." She orders.

Stiles catches it, fumbling with it for a second as he stares at her. "Go," Malia demands again.

You roll your eyes when he doesn't listen, "Stiles, come on! MOVE." You grip him by the sleeve of his shirt and drag him with you, as the Berserker smashes through a column to your right. The sounds of fighting follow you both into the tunnels.

**********************************************

"Scott!" Stiles cries. His voice and frantic footsteps echo throughout the narrow passage, the flash light in his hand providing just a little bit of needed light. The weak beam bounces along the dusty walls as he turns sharply from side to side to glare into the darkness of connecting tunnels, sword clutched in his other hand.

"Scott!" You repeat as you lead the way, nose in the air as you search for any sign of a familiar scent.

"Kira!" Stiles tries instead. He nearly careens into a wall as you both swing around another bend.

Stiles seems to detect the presence of something, just as you suddenly inhale the scent of old blood. You throw yourself in front of Stiles, your arms spread out to keep him behind you as he jerks to look to his left, the flashlight illuminating Kira's hunched figure leaning against the wall. Your shoulders slump in relief and you step towards her. She looks sweaty and pale, tired dark eyes widening as she takes you both in. There's dried blood caked around a large gash in her forehead. Stiles practically squeaks in surprise. "Are you okay?" He asks quickly.

Kira stumbles towards you both, sucking in a pained breath.

"It's Scott. Stiles...CJ, it's Scott."

Stiles blanches, "What?"

"The Berserker...it's him, Kate did it."

"What are you saying?" You demand, struggling to soften the biting tone in your voice.

"She made him into one of them. I don't know how, but it's him. If they don't know it....they could kill him."

Stiles looks as though he's suddenly seen the truth,  eyes enlarging the tiniest fraction. "That's why Lydia's not here....they won't know they're killing Scott."

You growl in anger at the realization, callously ripping the sword out of Stiles' hands. You hold it out towards Kira. "Scott needs us. Are you up for it?"

Kira takes the hilt of the sword in her hand, fingers tightening around it as she familiarises herself with the weight of it again. Her eyes glow orange as they flicker up to regard your intense expression.

"Lead the way."

**********************************************

You can easily follow the sound of blows and growling back to the rest of your friends, turning into the room just as Liam and Peter have pinned the Berserker--your brother--against a column. Malia is winding up to deal a killing blow to his head, a jagged knife made out of bone clasped too tightly in her hand. Stiles rushes forward, shouting out in alarm.

"Wa-wait, Malia wait!"

Kira moves fast, cutting behind Liam, and strikes the knife out of Malia's hand with her sword. It clatters to the stone floor and Malia cuts Kira a sharp look, features etched with confusion.

"It's Scott." Stiles explains, gesturing to the beast squirming in Liam and Peter's hold. They look to you and you nod firmly, hands clenched at your side.

"It's Scott," you confirm through gritted teeth. "Kate planned this."

Liam shifts slightly, to look into the eye sockets of the skull covering Scott's head. He stares in astonishment, his grip loosening unintentionally until Scott is able to rip free. Liam and Peter are sent sprawling back by the force, and Liam hits the ground near you hard, a flurry of dust tossed up into the air. Scott decks Malia before she can move into action, sending her tumbling to the floor of the room as well. Scott then turns to go after poor Liam, who is hastily scooting backwards to where Stiles and you are standing. You reach down to pull him back.

"Scott-" Kira tries, voice raising when he doesn't acknowledge her. "Scott, don't!"

Stiles darts forward to wedge himself in between Liam and Scott. "Scott, it's me- " 

Before he can finish what he was about to say, Scott elbows him out of the way with a harsh blow to his face. Scott grabs Liam by the neckline of his sweatshirt, lifting him away from your grasp and slamming him against an opposite wall. The stone cracks beneath the force.

"Scott, no! Hey-don't!" You yell.

Scott has Liam by his neck now and is hoisting him off the ground until they're eye level. Liam's legs dangle uselessly below him, and he sputters, trying to breathe around Scott's bruising hold.

"Scott..." He pleads, a tremble in his voice. His Alpha merely draws his arm back, ready to hit him. "Scott, Scott!" Liam continues in a panic. "Listen, listen, listen!"

Scott pauses.

"You're not a monster!" Liam gasps. "You're a werewolf. Like me."

You find yourself moving towards him, eyes trained intensely on his larger figure. "Scott, listen to him!" You say, your tone more piercing and harsh than you ever thought you would use when talking to your brother. You grip the arm still hanging in the air without thinking.

Oh no.

Scott throws you back immediately and you snarl in irritation, stalking back towards him. His free hand shoots out to grab your neck once you're close enough, squeezing ruthlessly as he holds you in place from advancing any further. Your lungs begin to burn as you struggle to take in large gulps of air, and Scott hoists Liam further up the wall.

"We're your pack, your family," you roar at him. "Scott McCall, look at me! At them!" He wrenches back slightly at the use of his full name and slowly he glances around him, at each of his friends, and then his gaze trails back to you. You stare into the eye sockets of the skull unflinchingly, as he hauls you closer towards him.

"It's us," You say more softly.

Scott's soulless dark eyes dart around as if he's trying very hard to remember something. He squints, eyes rapidly closing and opening, and he takes a large step back. He slowly begins to let his hand fall from around your neck, simultaneously lowering Liam to the floor.

Everyone is silent now, unmoving.

Scott's neck wrenches unnaturally to the side with a crack of bone and he stumbles back, clawing at the skull on his head. His fingers slip into the eye sockets and seam around his neck, desperately trying to get it off. When he can't, he looks down at his hands, seeming to notice that he's wearing a strange patchwork of old cloth and plates of armour. 

He begins to tear them off swiftly, the chest plate and armour on his arms tumbling to the stone floor with a dull clunk. His hands go back to the skull on his head and he grips tightly at the eye sockets again, using all his strength to tear it in two with a ear splitting roar. A bright yellow light bursts from the emerging seam as it splits with a crunch, Scott's familiar face finally appearing, eyes gleaming red.

And you knew, at last, that your brother had returned to you.

[bdo-kenai-kanu]

Her name was Olivette: The Lost Necklace, Part 2

The door closing softly behind them, they made their way out of the main hall of the Academy and once outside, Kenai turned to Deoku with a curious look upon his face, blinking, "So, sound like your girl?" he wondered aloud, canting his head to the side. He could not help but be intrigued by this whole situation. He couldn't deny how curious he had been about this mystery elf with green hair and two different colored eyes. His protective nature wished to experience her in person to judge if she was worthy of his mentor but at the same time, his love for the man who had very much become a father to him fueled his desire to meet her in more friendlier terms. He would have to wait and see for himself. 

Kenai passed a quick glance at where they were, taking a moment to catch his baring before nodding his head down the direction where the hill declined down towards the battlements and walls where they had originally climbed up to meet the Matron, his hand following suit to gesture in the general direction. From their current vantage point, they could catch a glimpse of the skyline of the city and view of the various districts below, all of which where alight with twinkling lights from the street lamps that lined the streets. "Well, there's the main bridge. Guess we'll go poke a round over there."

As they walked Deoku looked over to Kenai as he asked his question. "Hmmm...you know one of those things where too many things add up far too much to simply be a coincidence?  I'd say this is one of those times.", the mentor replied. "If this necklace doesn't end up being hers I'd honestly be shocked.  While not an exact confirmation on a name; everything Paloma mentioned fits her.", he continued as explain as they neared the area by the main bridge that the old valkyrie described.  As they walked he noticed just before reaching the bridge a small cut out and entered through the archway spotting a small park not far from the door they were standing by.  "Well....it has to be one of these doors, Kenai." he looked to his student again. "May as well start with this one and hope we don't get fussed at for knocking on doors this time of night.", he joked.

Kenai nodded in agreement, turning to face the first door. He knocked upon it but no answer came and upon closer inspection, a bronze plaque could be found by the door, the engraved lettering revealing it was a medical office. There would be no residents there. With a shrug, he moved to the one across the street, standing beneath the material awning that fluttered lightly in the evening breeze. After he had knocked, a man in his forties answered and behind him, one could make out his wife and children at the supper table. Kenia offered a sheepish smile, "Ah, I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour sir, I have the wrong house. I'm looking for an elvish woman with green hair." As Kenai went to turn away, the man spoke up, itching at his short red beard, "Ah, you must mean Miss Olivette. Friend of hers?" he lifted a bushy brow up at the young striker, his hand readjusting thick rimmed glasses to get a better look at him. "Afraid her business is closed at this hour. She'll be open in the morning if you want your baked goods. Earlier the better too, their fresh out of the oven when she opens." Kenai gave pause, his gaze looking from Deoku, across the street before looking back at the man again, "Oh? Which one is her shop?" T he man simply nodded his head towards the door Deoku stood near, directing next to the small little sitting bench and grass that made up the small patch that was a park, an oak tree in its center overlooking the river that ran through the center of the city. "Thank you sir. Again, I apologize for intruding." As the man nodded with a quiet grunt and closed the door to rejoin his family for supper, Kenai returning to Deoku, nodding his chin towards the door they now faced. "He said her name, can't imagine there are very many "Olivettes" around here." he remarked.

He craned his head back to gaze up at the windows, all of which shined with a light from within, indicating whoever was home was still awake. Even from where they stood, just outside the stone walls and the heavy oak wood door, the delicious aroma of something mouth wateringly sweet could be smelt and if Kenai had to guess, he would say it smelled like apple pie.

The older striker looked up at the window  to where his apprentice's gaze was fixed. "Hmmm you seem to bto have noticed something interesting, Kenai.  We may be lucky and she's actually still awake in there tonight.", he commented. "Judging by the scent floating through the air I doubt she'll be sleeping anytime soon if she's cooking."  Deoku then took a deep breath hoping that by doing what he was thinking wouldn't end up freaking out the target of his affections, "Well...there's only one way to find out, right?", the man then questioned to his friend with a smile.  "Nothing would ever get done without taking a few risks.", he said to no one in particular as he then knocked on the door to Olive's home, awaiting to see what would unfold.

Just beyond the door the soft sound of melodic, almost opera like singing could be vaguely heard whilst the occupant seemed to busy themselves in the kitchen and by the third knock it had halted altogether, silence befalling the moment before the sound of a chain and dead bolt could be heard sliding, the polished brass knob turning as the door opened. The woman that stood in the doorway had caught Kenai off guard in a way he hadn't expected and in that moment he understood just what had so ensnared his mentor's attentions. She was certainly of elvish heritage though she seemed to possess more human traits despite the pointed ears and the color of her hair but far more curvy than any elf he had ever seen as most tended to be quite skinny and very tall. Though heavier set and about his own height, the woman was indisputably beautiful with hair that seemed to possess every shade of green falling well below her thick waist, eyes two starkly different colors- blue and green- and perhaps the most kindest face he had ever seen. His dumbstruck expression was equally mirrored by Olivette who had never expected to find Deoku and a young boy at her door step, especially not at such an hour as this. She was dressed simply in a long forest green linen tunic dress or kirtle with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, hands dusted with flour and over her dress, a moleskin suede surcote with laced openings down either side. In addition to her ensemble, she sported a skirt apron about her waste that also had some flour on it, her long hair draped over her shoulder in a loose braid. She stared in utter surprise at the duo, stammering as a blush overtook her soft round cheeks, "M-Mister Deoku? U-um- what a surprise...!"

His breath paused as Olive opened her door her beautiful presence gracing his eyes once more.  He had been eager to see her again and fate seemed to have  brought him right to her doorstep.  "Ahh as beautiful as ever I see." he commented quietly probably only heard by her sensitive ears.  Deoku gathered his senses quickly and chuckled at her shy reaction,"Olive please, just call me Deoku, the kid here already makes me feel old enough." he jokingly said as he pointed a thumb to his young student who stood there in a trance. "Speaking of which this is my apprentice and friend I told you of, his name is Kenai.", Deoku introduced.  "Sorry to bother you so late by the way.  We were actually looking all over town for you; without actually knowing it was you at first that we were looking for.  I think we found something that belongs to you.", the striker then let his apprentice present the necklace to her to see if she recognized it.

Kenai blinked and then blinked some more, taking a moment to soak it all in and process before he turned to Deoku, flabbergasted, "The hell, old timer- you weren't kidding! Lucky you!" he chirruped playfully. Olive on the other hand turned beet red though she stepped aside from the door way, "U-um, please... c-come inside, won't you? I have a pie in the oven if you would care for a slice...." she offered politely, still blushing. Kenai turned his attention back to her, waiting for Deoku to make the first move before following suit after.

Smiling at the short blushing elf ; Deoku politely nodded to her,"Sure Olive.  I'd never decline such an invitation from you." he replied to her as he stepped into her home. as he also replied to Kenai. "Of course I was right.  What kind of taste do you think your teacher has?!", the man said with a grin before turning his attention to the cozy home around him; the kitchen greeting them soon as they enter with comfortable furniture and splashes of light green giving the home a springtime feel."You have a very nice place here Olive, and the scent just makes it that much more inviting.  I could see why your business does well to attract customers before they've even had a chance to taste the goodies.",he complimented looking back to her.

Kenai followed Deoku inside, his gaze roaming the interior of the home. Though small, it was incredibly cozy and inviting and everywhere he looked there was some sort of potted plant flourishing, whether in pots on the floor or hanging from the ceiling, it was as though a well kept garden made up the majority of the half elf's home. Inside the aroma of apple pie was all the stronger. "Wow, this place is great...." he mused aloud, awe in his face. Olive closed the door behind them, her face- though flushed- held a kindly smile. "Please make yourselves comfortable." she bade, gesturing for them to take a seat at her dining table, the polished oak wood spotless and adorned with a basket of fruit, a pair of brass candlestick holders, and a few other containers. Ever hospitable, Olive fixed both of her unexpected guests a cup of hot apple cider to ward off the night's chill, a fresh cinnamon stick in each glass cup for garnish. Once she sat them on the table for her guest, she joined them, her own cup in her hands. "So, w-what was it I could help you with again...?"

"Thank you Olive.", Deoku said as he took a seat and a cup of hot cider in hand.  "We came by tonight because we think we found something important that belongs to you; a necklace.", he took a sip of the wram liquid savoring it for a moment before continuing. "When we asked around about it no one could give us a name, but what made the clues match up to you were the fact that the item belonged to a baker's daughter that moved here from Trent, and she had an unusual eye coloring.", the man smiled at the target of his affections.  "Naturally, from what you told me in our short time together; you could see how it would fit you perfectly.  Figured asking you first would be the logical choice in this situation." , Deoku then turned to his friend. "Kenai mind showing her that necklace for me please? Perhaps she'll recognize it if she sees it.", he requested as he took another sip of the delicious cider, the cinnamon now mixing in nicely after bathing in the liquid for awhile.

Kenai nodded, taking note of the look that had crossed the woman's face, confirming his suspicions once the necklace was lifted from his pocket and placed in her hand. There was hesitance in her movements but confirmation in her now watery eyes as she cupped the jewelry in her hands. There was no doubt in his mind now that they had found the necklaces owner. He remained silent, sipping his cider as he waited for her vocal confirmation.

Olivette had be taken completely off guard as the necklace was brought up and she could feel her heartbeat quicken. She didn't even have to see it before she knew it was her lost necklace. When the younger Striker presented the item to her, the glimmer of the blown glass acorn was all too familiar and equally precious to her. She accepted it back from him, eyes watering as her voice caught in her throat, a soft sniff escaping her as her fingertips connected with the mottled amber glass pendant, warm from the boy's pocket still. "I..." she squeaked, having to pause and swallow thickly before trying again. "I n-never thought... I would ever see this again...."

Deoku smiled and nodded to Kenai then looked over to the beautiful elf as she got reacquainted with her valuable pendant," In that case we're even happier to have made sure to return something so special that you'd never thought you'd see it again.", he turned his gaze back to his student again. "Then our job is done Kenai. We've given a cherished item back to its rightful owner.", the striker sipped his cider quietly, allowing Olive time with her necklace and time to process the thoughts and emotions running through her mind. Once the drink was done, Deoku reached out a firm but gentle hand; giving her back a comforting rub; not wanting to disturb her or invade her space for the moment.

Kenai offered a nod in agreement with Deoku's statement but his attention remained fixed on Olive as the half elf examined her long lost necklace, unable to help his curiosity. "We found it out in a small riverlet outside the city while fishing earlier this evening.... Is that where you lost it previously?"

Olive looked a bit surprised, shaking her head, "No.... How odd...."She then blushed a little as her expression took on a great deal of embarrassment, "A-actually... it was stolen from me.... I was mugged several years ago in the shadier part of the city when I was making a delivery of breads to the soup kitchen there.... I got roughed up pretty bad and they stole almost everything I had but my necklace was my most cherished possession.... My father had it made for me on my birthday the year before he passed away. I never thought I would see it again.... Thank you so much for returning it to me, it means more than you know."

Kenai felt a prickle of anger in the pit of his stomach at the thought of anyone harming someone clearly so gentle and kind, his gaze remaining on the woman as she stood and moved over to place a tender kiss to his brow, surprising him and leaving him blinking as she moved to do the same to Deoku, expressing her gratitude.  "Uh... y-yeah, no problem! I'm just happy you were reunited with something that clearly means a lot to you."

Deoku smiled as she kissed his brow.  "You know I've been trying to figure out how to get something similar to this to happen." he playfully teased and flirted to Olive with a wink. "It does seem odd though that the necklace made it that far.  Perhaps the thief gave it to someone who then lost it.  Either way I'm just glad that we were able to give you back something so dear to you from your father.", the striker commented his green eyes fixed on the green haired elf. Still trying to remain calm and keep his usual cool carefree demeanor  after hearing Olive's story; he asked the grateful woman, "Um Olive do you know if those people who mugged you were ever caught, or remember anything about them at all?  I know it's been awhile so it's probably a bit unlikely."

Kenai was enjoying the hot apple cider in his hands, savoring the mouth watering flavor, spiced up with the cinnamon stick he often used to stir it with. His hazel gaze recognized the brief glimmer in Deoku's eyes as he made his inquiry and chuckled mentally, knowing the look well. He wouldn't be surprised if their next manhunt brought them to the shadier part of Calpheon City.

Olivette had slipped the necklace about her head, flipping her hair out from under the delicate chain, the acorn pendant coming to rest perfectly just above the dip of her cleavage and the moment it settled, there was no doubt that she was indeed the true owner of the piece as it complimented her to a T. She smiled softly and rose to her feet as the egg-timer on the counter rang, signifying the pie in the over was finished.

"Well... Ned Macky is a hard man to forget...." she admitted, slipping oven-mitts on before opening the oven with a whoosh of hot air, pulling out the golden brown pie to set on the counter to cool, closing the over door right after. "He runs a gang over in the slums.... Almost everyone in the city knows of him and his lackeys. They steal, cheat, rape, and deal drugs out of their hideout. Ned is large, mean, and foul in every sense of the word, a bully who takes advantage of anyone he can. I'm sure he's had many run ins with the guard but I do my part to steer clear of the slums after learning the hard way."

"Ned Macky, huh? Sounds like with one mangone a lot of cleaning can be done in the slums", Deoku nodded to himself. "Don't worry Olive I'm sure the guards will get him soon, they just need the right plan and whatever the gang hadn't sold off can probably be given back to the rightful owners.", he reassured her as he watched the lovely woman put her necklace around her neck. Trying not to let his eyes linger at where it stopped Deoku quickly looked over to the timer as it went off; breathing a sigh of relief. "Those pies..are you getting them ready for tomorrow Olive?", the striker questioned curiously as it seemed early to be cooking them for tomorrow, but knowing that she'd need to have at least a few cooked before a crowd showed up so they'd not have to wait.

"By the way Kenai.", Deoku spoke as Olive went to tend to her pies. "You've probably guessed by now but we're making one more stop before we get some sleep.  Well 2 more I need to see if Tabitha and Borus are still at the tavern and hope they'll be staying there for at least another hour or 2.", the man explained to his friend as he stroked his facial hair in thought for a moment. "Besides i think now would be the perfect time to show you what the next level of your training will involve.  I've never showed it to you before but I think you're ready.", he smiled to the young man.

Kenai's interest was peaked, it was obvious in the look on his face as she lipped from his glass mug, "Yeah? Figured you'd come up with somethin'." he mused, his boyish grin quirked to the side. His attention, however, seemed magnetized towards the pie olive was tending to, the aroma alone making his stomach grumble.

As she took to slicing the pie before her, Olivette seemed oblivious to what the two Strikers were planning and decided to drop the subject on the man who had terrorized her so many years before, saying instead, "No no, I don't start those until early in the morning so they are hot and fresh for the customers. This one was for my own table. I got a new bushel of apples and wanted to test their sweetness in a pie. Out of habit I always bake a preliminary to test the quality of ingredients." she admitted.

To Kenai's delight, Olive rejoined their table, setting a slice of the fresh, cooled pie before himself and Deoku, the crust golden brown and delicately flaky, the filling caramelized apples flecked with cinnamon and brown sugar, the top of the crust neatly woven and dusted with powdered sugar and drizzled with honey and what looked like hand made whipped cream. It took all his willpower not to salivate right there on the spot, "Th-thank you!"

“Of course Ken.  Trust me you're going to love this.", he said to his student before turning his own attention back to Oilvette.  "It looks good Olive, and judging by the scent I can only Imagine how good this is going to taste." Deoku complemented looking at the warm pie sitting front of him. "You've been perfecting this over the years so  I know this is going to be great.", he then picked up his fork and cut off the tip of his slice. He took it in savoring the sweet apple cinnamon taste complimented by the flaky crust. 

 "Mmm yeah it definitely exceeded my expectations.  I can see what keeps your customers coming back repeatedly!", the striker then cut another piece with his fork delighting in the flavor once more.  "I told you I know how to pick em Kenai! Beautiful and a talented cook! What more could a man ask?", he then looked to the shy elf.

Kenai set to his own slice with gusto, indulging in the dessert that seemed to melt in his mouth with bursts of flavor. He hummed his approval around a mouthful, nodding as Deoku spoke, "Best pie I've ever tasted without question!" He looked to Olivette as she rejoined them at the table with her own slice, noting her rosy cheeks and grinned boyishly, "You wouldn't happen to be looking for a room mate would you?" he quipped jokingly, reaching for his apple cider to wash his pie down with.

All the while, Olivette was blushing, her lengthy ears fluttering lightly with their compliments and praise, dimple appearing in her cheeks as she could not help but smile. She had to admit that the pair were certainly endearing, "I'm pleased you both approve. I don't often have company over so it's nice having someone to chat with and share in my pies." Her sun kissed complexion flushed red as Deoku further complimented her in regards to her appearance and culinary skill, sheepishly avoiding eye contact with him as she sipped from her glass mug of cider, "You both are very kind." She laughed then, a soft melodic sound, amused by Kenai's impetuousness, "If I do, you'll be the first to know!" she retorted playfully.

Deoku took a few more bites of the tasty pie leaving only a bite or two left. "Desserts are your speciality Olive?", the striker asked as he finished off his slice, setting his fork down and wiping his face with a nearby napkin.  He noticed Olive still avoiding eye contact with him, and smiled at her shyness and looked over her facial features as she looked away.   The man often wondered what it would be like to kiss those soft round cheeks of hers or her lips, but instead settled for a glimpse into her emerald and sapphire eyes.  Deoku also enjoyed watching the flutter of her ears; their movements  often as telling as her facial expressions"And if you're not used to company I'll try to make it a habit of stopping by to keep you company." he then offered  while watching her reactions.

Kenai was surprisingly observant despite his looks, and the gazes of longing that often crossed over Deoku's face when his eyes were upon the half elf woman, however subtle, certainly did not go unnoticed. Deep down, he felt the ugly little pangs of jealousy stir in his gut but he stubbornly blocked them from his mind. Rationally, he had no just cause to dislike Olivette, not even a little. In fact, she was perhaps the most pleasant person he had ever met in his life. There was just something about her that was so... warm. Nurturing. Loving, even, as though she were incapable of ill will towards another living being. It was strange, but in a way, he could just sense it. "Thank you again for the treat, Miss Olive- I hope to enjoy more in the future!" Olivette looked to Kenai as he spoke, smiling in a way that seemed tickled pink. 

"You are very sweet- both of you. You are both always welcome in my home. Father used to say a happy home is filled with friends and family. And... again, thank you for bringing this back to me." Her fingers found the acorn pendant and held it a moment, "I can't even begin to thank you both. Um... I do not have much room but you are both more than welcome to stay the night! The sofas are comfortable and I have plenty of blankets and pillows if you two were so inclined." she offered, standing to collect the empty dishes before turning to take them to the wash basin build against the wall of her kitchenette to wash.

Deoku debated on taking that offer of Olive's. Never had he thought she'd offer him to stay over even if it was on a couch or floor; but he knew he had to take care of something this night.   The striker stood annoyed with himself for what he was about to say,"Thank you, but we will have to take you up on that offer another time Olive.  Kenai and I have 1 other stop to make and we wouldn't want to keep you up all hours of the night ", he apologized to the elf looking over to his friend before explaining.  "We will be out at least another hour or 2 before turning in to get some rest. I'm just glad we were able to return your precious necklace to you." the man smiled watching her holding the acorn. "Perhaps you and I can meet up and go out again?", Deo then suggested to Olive hoping she was interested.

Kenai pouted a little, but stood all the same. Instead of voicing his disappointment, he grinned cheekily and tossed Olive a boyish wink, "Yeah, besides- Deo would keep you up all night with his snoring." he snickered. He shoved his hands into his pockets, flashing a toothy smile at their hostess, "But you know how it is- a Hero's work is never finished! But we'll be sure to see you again!" he reassured.

Olive finished her chore and wiped her hands upon a hand towel, turning to face her guests with a soft smile, her lengthy ears perking up lightly, "I look forward to your next visit then. Please be careful out there, the city takes on a different tone at night. The streets can be dangerous." she cautioned, much like a mother would warn her young of potential harm. Her features took on a warm, rosy tone when Deoku mentioned another date, sheepishly dropping her gaze to her feet, "Um... s-sure... y-yeah, okay. Th-that would be nice."

"Hey it's not my fault the guy next door snores through the walls making you think that it's me." he teased playfully nudging his student at the comment. As they moved away from the table; the older man then grinned upon hearing Olive's acceptance of another date. "Great I'll find you sometime tomorrow and we can go somewhere!" , he stated happily as he and Kenai headed toward the door.  "We'll be sure to be careful. You make sure you stay safe indoors and have a great night Olive.  Wish I could stay.", he smiled at her once more looking down into the shorter elf's beautiful eyes.

"Uh-huh, tell that to the pack of bears camped out under your bedroom window!" Kenai laughed, passing through the threshold of the door way only to poke his head back in and offer Olive a wave, "See ya, Olive. Thanks again for the treats! Night!"

Olive couldn't help a giggle snort into her hand at Kenai's quip at Deoku's expense. She offered Kenai a wave as he slipped out the door and turned her attention back to Deoku, "I like him. He's adorable." she smiled, fondness in her expression. "Please take care of yourself, Deoku. Good night." she bade, walking with him to the door.

"He's a good kid, even if he finds enjoyment in giving me a hard time.", Deoku commented to her with a chuckle as he headed out the door.  "I'll be sure to take care of myself, but you do the same.", he replied turning to her. "Thanks again for everything Olive.  You have a night and I'll see your lovely face sometime tomorrow.", he winked to her. Kenai stood by and waited on the street as Olivette walked Deoku to the door, yawning as he stretched before his hands found his pockets.

Olive offered Deoku a shy smile as she eased the door closed behind him once he stepped out, "Bye." The door clicked softly behind him, leaving him and Kenai in the dim pool of light from the lantern above her door to contemplate their next objective.