#its eating me alive (along with building this wardrobe)

[all-thestories-aretrue]

Thinking about her (Elsa Linden)

[lemonjoonah]

Blood Bounty - Part 3 (M) - Finale

Pairings: Yoongi x Reader, Taehyung x Reader, ft. Seokjin x Namjoon Word Count: 15.5K Rating: M Genre: Historical fantasy AU, Vampire AU, Thriller, Drama, Smut Warnings (CONTAINS SPOILERS): Dub-con (consent is freely given but the context is dubious), non-con vampire feeding, non-con kiss, unprotected sex, light bondage, oral sex (f. rec.), cum eating, pain during intercourse (don’t be like the OC here in the beginning and try to conceal it, you should tell your partner if something hurts), somewhat antiquated thoughts on virginity, virgin reader (it’s a flashback and there’s a small amount of blood...), death of major and minor characters, drugging (with vampire blood), murder, violence, blood, gore, sexism, blood slavery, kidnapping, captivity, forced marriage, manipulation, gaslighting, once again it’s some pretty dark shit, consider yourself warned.     

| Series Masterlist |

Summary: He’s taken everything from you, your blood, your memories, your life, and after months spent as Taehyung’s own personal feast, you eagerly take your chance to flee. Unfortunately your escape doesn’t go as well as you had hoped, as you are soon caught by another blood thirsty beast. The vampire Yoongi claims to know you, and that he wishes to return you home. But when you can only remember the pain caused by his kind, you find it difficult to trust him, since he too could just be another monster waiting to feed.

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who stuck with me through this mini-series. I truly hope you enjoy the end of this tale (and the hints to another separate series in the works 😉).

...

Your new stead is surprisingly responsive to your commands, possibly desiring to get as far away from the predators as you. Taking you down the road to the kingdom at a startling pace, causing several branches to whip painfully in your direction. When a stinging blow inevitably lands on your brow, enough to draw a spot of blood, you pull back on the speed of your mount. You are not so far now that you worry about making it back before nightfall.   

The route home becomes more populated the closer you get. For the first time in years you are among people like you again. Those who see you as just another person passing by, not a temping entree, nor a traveller to rob. Some even nod to you as they cross your path, you respond in kind, but keep your face hidden beneath the hood of your cloak.

Your first few paces inside the town comes as quite a shock. The notable gathering spots are even more vacant than they were during your nighttime strolls. With the stalls of the market bare, and so many businesses closed,  the only well occupied space appears to be the mounted boards on the end of every other street. You stop at one littered with official orders for curfews, new regulations, and missing souls. The most notable of all to you is the obituary detailing your brothers passing. 

You swallow back your grief, and proceed to examine the document claiming that he had died of a devastating injury and no more. It seems your parents will still not admit to any weakness that might carry in the family's blood. But with each stamped flyer, there’s been an addition made, one that was obviously not approved by the crown. 

‘The crown prince is dead, and our princess lost. If we let them rule any longer we will be next!’

You are stunned by the note, fearing how bad the circumstances must have become in your absence. Backing away from the board you prod your stead onward and in the direction of the public stables. Hoping to find the mount it’s own new home, while you return to yours.

“Three pence for a night,” The master grunts, looking up from his work as you dismount near the entrance to the paddock. 

“I have no coin, but-”

“No coin, no stall. Don’t waste my time and move along.” He interrupts before returning to shovelling the pungent manure.

You wrinkle your nose at the odour and persist in your efforts. “I was going to offer for you to take ownership of him instead. I have no use for him now.”

“Keep him? Tell me, how did you come to own this stead? Is it truly yours? ” He leers down, placing you beneath his scrutinous glare. “People don’t just give up a worthy horse. How can I know that there is not someone out there who will come looking for it and will blame me for their loss?”

“I can assure you the last owner will not come to retrieve him. Now do you want the horse or should I go find another who is willing to take my offer? Maybe that nice family there.” You point to a couple making their way into a nearby building. 

Your bluff calls his, leading the man to grimace and huff, “Fine. I will take it, now be gone with you.”

With the horse now tended to, you start to walk away, passing the entrance to the tavern, the door the mentioned pair just walked into. It’s hard not to take note of its current occupancy, for it is packed with people, all shouting and trying to have their say. With the entryway cracked open an inch you are able to catch several snippets of the debate.

“We can’t wait any longer. They are changing the narrative as we speak! Now stating they hold out hope for the princess’s return.”

“And what if she does?” A familiar man stands in argument. “Would you have us send the kingdom into turmoil when hope still exists? I would not be as I stand before you today without the surgeon she sent to us. A blacksmith cannot work without a hand. My wife and I would have been out on the street before long.” 

“Can you not see what they are doing for what it is?” The first speaks again to counter his point. “It’s a convenient ploy! With an heir lost, only the promise of another, with more favour than them will quell our anger. If she was still alive they would have found her by now.” He pauses to pat the smith on the shoulder. “I mourn her loss too my good friend, but we can’t wait for a small sliver of hope when we continue to live the way we do. Taxed within an inch of our livelihoods, while the list of missing continues to grow and those who are in charge hide behind their walls, keeping secrets that affect us all. If she returns we can offer her a good standing among us. But their rule must end.”

You edge closer and closer to the door trying to get a better view of the meeting in progress, when a throat clears and grunts, “Run along lad...” Nearly jumping from the fright you turn around to find the stable master having come up from behind. Bowing your head you comply, thankful that he had not realized the gravity of what you overheard. 

What had truly happened in the time you were gone? This isn’t just contempt but a full blown revolution building. Your people think you dead, and understandably so, but if they see that you are alive and well, maybe a better path can be found than one that will surely end in blood.

When considering your options you know there will be no way in through the front gates, your parents have always kept them heavily guarded, and no one will believe you are the child of the king and queen dressed as you are now. Rather than stir up trouble, you proceed to your fastest route in, the trap door hidden on the perimeter. 

In your absence it appears to have remained unused. The roots of the hedge have grown over, needing to be tugged out of place until the hinges and wood are freed from their grasp. You drop down into the passage, closing the hatch behind. With no light, nor lantern you are left to navigate the abandoned hall in the dark. The palm of your hand brushes against the damp stone wall, crossing cobwebs and critters on it’s trek to lead you to the portrait door. You try your best not to think of the time spent in this place, and the company you are now left without, but the sound of your steps resonates around you. Tricking your ear into thinking it a whisper of the past, as if his promises still remain locked away down here, echoing off the bedrock for you to claim.  

You are grateful when you finally reach the castle's interior, although for the time of day even the palace appears deserted and cold, you slip about the halls feeling like a stranger in your own home. Hoping to return to your old bedroom before you find anyone else, so you can at least reclaim another part of what you once were. But when you find the door and step inside someone is already there, crying at the foot of your bed. It’s too late to back away for they look up, just as startled as you. It’s your former lady’s maid who steps back from shock at your appearance, followed by a baffled stare when she catches a glimpse of your face.

“My word...” She gasps as tears continue to roll down her cheeks, “I never thought I’d see you again. He brought you back, I can’t believe he brought you back.” She runs forward wrapping her arms around you, a blubbering speech follows. “I’m so sorry, your b-brother... he’s gone. After everything that happened, everything you did, he’s still gone. An-and the threats to the crown, ever since his death everyone has been in an uproar. I haven’t dared to leave the grounds out of fear that someone will know I work here.” “It’ll be okay. We will figure this out.” You attempt to calm the maid you can only remember fragments of. She must have thought you had run off with Yoongi that night, but now is not the time to correct her with actual horrors you endured. 

“Having you back now will surely pull the king and queen from their stupor. They have been pleading and praying for your return.” She looks down at your clothes with apprehension. “Court is in session right now. They are locked away until a matter is settled, but we can ready you to meet with them once they are finished.” You nod prompting her to seek out your wardrobe. “I’ve been keeping them well looked after in case of your return.” She pulls out a dark dress, a sign of mourning for your brother. “I believe this will still fit. You don’t look to have changed much.” 

As she laces you in you can feel the garment tug on your ribs and chest. Maybe a little too small, but it will have to do for the time being. Once finished she escorts you to the dining room, while you continue to marvel at the empty halls. “Where is everyone?”

“Much has changed... your parents' fears have grown in the time you’ve been gone. They feel they can trust far fewer than they have before, and so, many of the staff were let go. If anyone ever even asked about you they too were sent away.” She stops at the set of double doors and urges you inside. “If you remain here and I will go and have the King and Queen informed as soon as the proceedings let out.” 

“Wait, don’t leave...” You were going to ask her more questions to address the gaps in your past, hoping you might stir more than a few moments you have of her and your life here, but she has already closed the door and departed. 

You are left in the dining hall, waiting only with the excessive spread of your parents forthcoming dinner. The feel of the room compared to the passage below is unfamiliar, unlike the dark narrow tunnel this place is void of memory and the feelings that come with it. You pray that such a disconnect will not last long. 

Mounted up on the back wall you find your family’s portrait. Staring at it at the faces and details, you remain so until slivers of the painting's creation surfaces in your mind. You hated that gown, for its rigid seams and heavy fabric took quite a toll as you stood there for hours behind your brother. He was seated due to his condition but you were told to stand and remain still, while the prince takes the forefront of the picture.

It had been made not long before you disappeared from the kingdom. You can recall dwelling on how little blood you had left, while the painter took your likeness. Your parents look so happy in the portrait, thinking their son to be healing and ready to take on the throne, while you spent the whole time daydreaming of Yoongi’s return.

Your anger spikes as you think of him now, it is beyond doubt that he has noticed your absence. You will have to warn your parents and their guard of his possible travel to the kingdom to claim you for his clan. The secret passage will have to be sealed, taking with it your hopes to ever leave again.

Grabbing one of the many decanters and with a shaking hand pour yourself a goblet of wine. Seeking to soothe your trepidation of meeting your parents, you sip on the bitter drink while picking at the food of the central spread.

The hours pass while you take your fill, until finally, when the sky has long been dark your mother hurries first. Looking exactly the same as she once did in your memories, frantic and worried. “Thank heavens you are back. You are safe, we are safe.” She looks down at you, her face unchanged with time, and the skin of the arms which clutch you... you stare at them for a moment, perfect and untouched, but you remember... you recall deep gashes and blood, so much blood pouring down your fingers. Disturbed by the thought you shake yourself from your horrific vision and smile back at her. Expecting her to launch into a flurry of questions but to your surprise, both her and your father pose no queries. 

“We knew he would find you again,” your mother cries with happiness. “We knew he would bring you back. The people, they will be so thrilled to hear of your return. The threats, the violence it will all be over soon.”

“You knew him? You asked him to find me?” The facts of her statement confuse you greatly, had they been privy to information your maid had not? For if she thought you were with him... what did your parents believe?

“My dear, are you well? Of course we did.” Your gaze once again focuses on the flesh of her forearms, as if entranced to the spot, while she brushes at your unkempt hair. Upon following your sight she pulls at the shawl of her dress in an awkward fashion, covering the length of her exposed skin. “Think not of what happened at our parting. All is well.” A painted grin plasters your mother's face. “We made all the changes necessary, you my darling, are to be next in line, not your children, but you. Your father had to work so hard to gain the approval of his lords, they thought it pointless to change the law in your absence, but here you are! Once your consort holds up the rest of his bargain your father will sign and you will be heir to the throne.”

This is all too much, you trying to keep hold of all the information while more is poured on to you. Unable to focus on anything other than their knowledge of Yoongi. Did they really meet him and make the request of him to bring you home? But to what bargain are they referring? “He did but I fear his clan has plans to remove me once again. We have to guard the old passage too, it’s already been nightfall for some time and I fear he won’t be far behind.”

“My poor girl... are you sure you are not ill?” Your mother’s head tilts in confusion. “He is already here, he has been for some time... you fled from his estate when he was just about to send for your return.”

You step away from your parents as fear tightens and grips your chest. “No, you can not mean. Not him, please not him-”

But your greatest nightmare returns to join you, with Taehyung waltzing through the double doors as if your parents castle is his own. “Princess, so good of you to join us. You shouldn’t have run off like that, you had your parents worried.” He approaches, inciting you to back into a wall in an attempt to keep your distance. Your parents don’t react with shock or fear at his sudden advancement on you, surely it is just a dream or vision then? One you are bound to wake up from soon. “But I knew you couldn’t run from me... only towards. Isn’t that right my sweet princess?” Though when his breath comes to find your ear you know him to be real. “I would have gone to find you myself, and take you back sooner, but your parents have been a rather large thorn in my side. Refusing to let me go until I-”

“And what of the other part of our bargain?” Your father calls from behind Taehyung, who grimaces and rolls his eyes at the interruption.

“They will be here shortly. My kin are acting on my behalf tonight, for I could wait no longer when I heard news of her arrival.”

“You have short changed us before,” the king admonishes. “I will not sign until I am certain the problem is dealt with.”

Taehyung turns from you entirely, the accusation leading him to snap back in anger. “That was your own doing, not mine, human. I gave you what you asked and you chose to squander it.” 

With Taehyung now focused on your father, you are ready to run, to seek anything you might use against him, but your mother catches you before you can take two steps. 

Shouting and jeering can be heard from just outside of the room, along with the heavy footfalls of several men, far too loud for what should be expected of the staff and guard. The procession outside bursts into the dinning hall. Your father’s lip curls ever so slightly as several men are pushed to their knees in front of him, muzzled and chained by the vampiric clan that restrains them. 

Taehyung introduces them with a proud and theatrical air, as he takes a seat at the head of the table.  “As you requested my liege, the leaders of the now failed rebellion.” 

You recognize many of them from the tavern earlier, even the blacksmith whose hand Yoongi saved long ago. Your father after taking stock, waves them away, ordering them to be held out of his sight, until a public execution can be arranged. 

You open your mouth to argue and condemn such brutal tactics when you are pushed down in the chair beside the monstrous vampire by your own mother. “You will sit still, be quiet, and do your duty for the family.” Despite her insistence your nails claw at her hold trying to free yourself from his side. As blood breaches her skin, so too does the memory of your first meeting with the vampire lord.

...

-Five years ago-

You look through the streets for hours hoping to catch even a glimpse or a whisper of Yoongi. Asking several people who pass you by, but no one knows of his whereabouts, nor has seen the distinguished surgeon in months. 

With the sun ready to rise, you retire from town for the night. Stripping from the simple dress, you toss it to the side and return to bed for the hour you have left to sleep. When forced awake by duty, your day ultimately passes with you a hollow shell. Barely able to keep your eyes open from lack of rest, with a gnawing disappointment taking root in your stomach, distracting you from much else. You tell your maid of your plans to venture out again to find him, but she looks concerned by the prospect. 

“You can hardly stand! What if, as a result of your current state, you cannot find him tonight? Your brother needs this and if you should fail... maybe we should tell the king and queen and let them put out a search for him?” 

“No, I must do this on my own. He would not want them to be aware of his kind.” You go to take the plain gown but your maid grabs it first. 

“I understand that you feel you must go. But please take an hour or two to sleep before you journey out. You look dead on your feet.” She does not relent, prodding and scolding until you are between the covers of your bed. “I will wake you once the castle is quiet enough for you to leave without being spotted.”

Nodding in agreement you submit to the coma of slumber rather quickly while she sits in the seat across from your bed. You wake hours later not by the hand of your staff, but from the hammering of rain pelting at your window.

You rise and call out, confused as to why she did not wake you earlier, but no answer responds. Lighting the candle on your bedside you find the chair empty of both her and the dress. You jump from your bed, in only your dressing gown and slippers reach for the door. When she bursts through it first, wearing the dress you intended to wear on the street. 

“Where were you? Why didn’t you-” 

“Princess, I found him!” Your lady’s maid exclaims happily, despite being absolutely drenched from the weather outside. “I went in your place so you could have more time to rest, and I found your friend, or I should say he found me.”

“You found him?” You breathe a sigh of relief, your brother is now safe and your plans with Yoongi can come to fruition. “Where is he now?”

“He’s with the king and queen.”

“My parents?”

“He wished to see them, mentioned something about desiring their permission. He’s already healed your brother, your mother and father couldn’t believe it.”  She grabs hold of your hand and pulls you from the room, not caring that you don only your bed attire. “Come! They are waiting for you.”

Still half asleep and only semi-coherent you allow yourself to be ushered along to your father’s den. There he sits behind a desk quill pen in hand, your mother hanging over his shoulder, and settled across from them both is... someone who is not your vampire, someone who is not Yoongi. 

The stranger smiles, showing off his sharp teeth as he gets up from his seat to deliver a sweeping bow. “Lord Kim Taehyung, at your service princess.”

You take a step back upon hearing the name that Yoongi warned you of so many times. “W-why are you here?” With concern immediately drifting to your lost vampire, for if his enemy has found you what could have befallen him.

Your mother scolds your response, “This man has offered his assistance, to aid in your brother's care, you will show him your respect.”

“It’s no matter,” Taehyung shakes his head at your mother. “Though I must ask, why do you look so scared princess? Your maid was looking for one of my kind, were you not seeking my help?”

“Is this true?” Your mother interjects, glaring at you. “You knew of people like him, those who could help your brother and you told us nothing?”

“I was looking for another,” you attempt to explain. “One who had been helping us in the past without your knowledge, he forbade me from revealing his kind to you.” 

“What did this other tell you of me?” The lord smiles. “I should like to set my story straight, because you, princess, looked ready to flee the moment you heard my name.”

“What is it that you want?” You ask again. If he refuses to answer your question why should you obey his own. “I thought your kind did not wish to reveal their existence to humans.”

“When the situation is as important as this, exceptions can be made.” The vampire justifies, a crooked grin refusing to leave his mouth. “I am only here to offer my services to your family.”

“We already have the services of another. He was doing so for years before you came here, he will help my brother should he need it in the future.”

“Then where is he now?” Taehyung asks the dreaded question which stabs at your heart.

“He will be back...” You retort, hoping it to be the honest truth. “We do not require your help.” 

Your father silences you with the stern call of your name and the hammer of his fist on his desk, before he too jumps into the argument. “I will overlook the concealment of your past acquaintances, along with the fact that you gave your brother treatment without our knowledge and consent. But I will not have you demean this man who just saved his life.”

“He is not a man!” You shout back at your king and father. “He is a monster. I have been told of his misdeeds, of his ethics. We can not trust him-”

“We have no choice! Without an heir the whole kingdom will become a place of ruin, an unclear line of descent will lead to chaos.”

“Then we wait. We wait for the one I can trust. He will be back soon, I know it.” Certain at least in this instance you know better than your parents, you plead for them both to listen.

“This is not a discussion.” Your father clarifies while the vampire takes out a bag, pulling from it two large corked bottles filled with a fluid far thicker than wine. “We called you here merely to inform you that we have accepted his services.” 

“This should be enough to keep him healthy for a long span of human life. It will heal most ailments, and injuries, and when enough is consumed will even slow the course of ageing.” You watch as the vampire's attention falls on your mother during his explanation, his lip curls even further when her eyes brighten in interest over the properties of the cure. 

You go to her, grabbing her arms so that she will focus on you alone, trying to convince her of the vampire's true nature. “This is a trick it must be. You can’t accept this, he will bring only ruin.”

“All that remains is the payment.” The Lord Taehyung adds, ignoring your plight.

Your gaze snaps back to him, when you hear of his charge. “What payment? What did you ask of them?”

“The cost for such a bounty of blood requires an equal sacrifice on your family's part.” The vampire beams with delight. “The blood needed for his life, in exchange for the blood of yours.” 

Your stomach drops when you see your father dip his head in confirmation. They already knew the cost and still they bartered you off without much thought. Your hands continue to grip your mother’s arm. “Please... please listen to me. It doesn’t have to be like this. There’s another way, there has to be.”

“There is no other way.” She responds, her tone cold enough to match her words. “It is time you stop living in your dreams dear girl, those books you cling to, those maps you draw, they will bring us nothing in the end. You have scorned numerous suitors in the past few months alone, leaving your father and I at wits’ end trying to secure a noble future for you. If you will not have that duty, you will take this. Better to have your hands stained with blood than ink if it will at least save our prince.” 

As she starts to push you towards your new fate, your fingers dig into the soft flesh of her arm, desperate to try and keep hold of your past life. Taehyung takes you by the waist and pulls you towards him leaving long lacerations down your mother’s skin as you continue to sob and beg for her to stop this. The thumb of your captor crosses your lips, bringing with it a metallic taste to your tongue. There’s a hushed order whispered in your ear to be quiet and complacent, and you do just that. Relaxing into Taehyung's arms while he carries you out and into a waiting carriage in the dark and drenched courtyard. 

Once out from the castle walls his slick smile falls. He may have taken your ability to speak, but not your tears will to flow. Pulling out a kerchief, he cleans your hands of your mother's blood. After removing every spot he lifts the fabric to his nose, and winces at the smell. “It is still amazing to me that one like yourself could be born of such soiled stock.” He then tosses the cloth out the window of the carriage. “That’s better.” His hand lifts up to the stream that continues down your cheeks. “Do not weep my princess. They may not see the same value in you that I do, but I promise we will prove it to them soon.”    

Angered by his declaration, you look away to the door, not wanting to give Yoongi’s adversary the satisfaction of your gaze. You knew you always weighed less in your parents mind. For you were second in their hearts even before your brother was conceived, second to the mere hope of a son. Swaying their love even a fraction in your favour was and is an impossible feat, a battle you could never win. 

“I know you wished to leave them, my kin intercepted a letter addressed to a royal who was willing to abscond with a vampire.” You look back at him with eager eyes. A letter? Yoongi must have sent word and this lord stopped it from reaching you. “I see that I have your attention now do I?” Taehyung scoffs and sits back in the carriage clearly enjoying your regard. “I knew of a woman much like you before I became what I am. I once travelled the land with a troupe. Entertaining both the nobles and the masses, while dressed in simple white garments, with only a tapestry as a backdrop, and the floor as our stage. It was invigorating, the life that came from holding the eye of the courts, and one lady... one princess in particular.”

Taehyung pauses to look back at your castle before continuing his tale. You can do nothing but sit there and listen, his blood and previous demands continuing to hold you in his custody. 

“She too was not content with the possible suitors before her, they could not offer her the multitude of lives she wished to live, but through narratives and plays I fulfilled that need. We could become whatever she or I wished ourselves to be. I was sure to see her as often as I could, but when her parents learned of our tryst, my group was banished, and she, to the bed of a neighbouring prince.” The vampire sighs as the story takes a darker turn. “I promised I would return to her when I could offer her a better home, but my cast and I, we ran afoul of a beast one night. When another caught the scent of our tragedy and found only me hanging by a thread, he took pity and made me one of them. I was so fearful to return to her at first, it took me several years to work up the courage and restraint before I could send her a letter begging to call on her again.” 

Now engrossed in the tale and the comparison of his story to yours. You stop an attempt to fight his will, too curious of the outcome.

“She agreed to meet, stealing away from the castle at night to find me at a nearby inn. It was my intent to flee with her that evening, to give her not only all the lives she had desired, but an endless supply of existence. What I did not expect was for her to deny my proposal. In the time I had gone she bore the prince a child, and no longer desired to part with her new role. I was not willing to accept her answer... lost in the heat of my anger and hunger for her, I took the princess with me. Draining her of life, I added her blood to mine.”

You stiffen in your seat wondering if this too will be your end, recalling a cautionary tale your mother used to tell you. The story of a noble lady, who was bled dry by the parasitic and sinful world outside. You thought back then it was her way to scare you into not leaving the protection of the castle walls, never did you consider it to be real, nor that she would be the one to give you to the monster of the fable.

“The smell and taste, I have not had anything quite like her since... until this night, when I caught wind of your own scent upon your maid's dress. I was already on my way to see you, but she made it so much easier, for she spoke on my behalf to gain my entrance. Such a sweet girl, and so very much in love with your brother isn’t she? A shame that she will likely feel the same pain as I once did, a love that crosses classes only to end in death.” 

Seething with rage at his confession, you wish to fight back and escape from his carriage but your own body will still not comply. You knew it, you knew he never intended to save your brother, he only wanted a bargain that would play in his favour. There is still a catch that remains unseen by you and your family, one that will result in the prince’s demise.

“They’ve hitched their kingdom to a dying horse, keeping it alive by selling off their only hope.” His finger follows the path of a tear down your jaw and falling to your collar. “I can promise you I will have far more roles and lives for you to play, more than you ever would have had with them. And you, you who have so much to give in return.” He opens his mouth, his breathing heavy as he leans towards your throat. “It's been so long since I’ve had someone of your calibre... I plan to savour you for far longer than the last.” Pushing you down, until you lie on the seat of the carriage, his teeth latch on, piercing the skin of your neck.     

...

You drop your mother’s arms, leaning back upon remembering the part she had to play in giving you away. “You forced me into his custody? You are the reason I was made to endure his torture.” 

“We had no choice. Your brother, he was dying.”

“And where is he now?” You shout back at them, all decorum vanished from the room. “You were given the cure, so why is my brother still dead?”

With that Taehyung smiles bringing light to the answer. “It would seem the temptation was too great for their own vanity. Even your lovely parting gift to her, erased by my remedy.”

The marks that should be on your mother's arms from your own assault, the ageing that should have become apparent since your last moment with them, none of it is there. All wiped away by the blood that would have given your brother a longer span of life. “You-you used it didn’t you... I should have known. It’s always been about appearances with you. Playing the strong hand to keep both me and your people in line. And when you ran out... you asked for more didn’t you?”

“He said he would keep our prince alive!” Your mother replies shaking from the accusation, but not denying it.

“I told you that what I gave you would be enough. It is not my fault that you chose to waste it.” Taehyung counters with a wicked grin, pleased by their faults and presumptions. “They let your brother die, not I.” 

“Then why return now? Why come if you already received what you wanted out of the deal?” You question fearing his answer, for what more could he want.

“I promised I would one day make them see the value in you.” Taehyung explains. “And there is always another bargain to be made.”

“With your brother dead and you gone we needed an heir.” Your father sets out his quill and ink on the table along with a rolled document he’s been clinging to. “It is as we feared what might happen. Our rivals at court have been stoking the fires of our people, without any official descendant they grow discontent and worried about the security of the country's future, we need you back.”

“Though you still belong to me as per the first agreement,” Taehyung interjects. “So you will return, the law will be changed, and you will become the next in line instead of any child you might have produced. With me by your side, living as husband and wife, the future rulers of this kingdom.

“I won’t allow this.” You shake your head aghast by the thought of such a deal. “First you give him me, and now your people?”

“Those people are currently rallied against us, they would see the end of us if they could. You witnessed the proof.” The king gestures to the floor where the captured were held just a moment ago. “We need assistance in controlling them.” 

��Because you’ve given them nothing to stand behind! Instead your first instinct is to feed them to a beast. Why do you still trust this monster? He will double cross you, my brother, your son is already dead, don’t let him take any more!”

There’s a knock on the door with the return of Taehyung’s vampire kin having stowed away the prisoners. He bids them to enter, while your father looks on somewhat ruffled by the impermanence of the lord’s comfort in his own home. “My part of the deal has already been given, they cannot back out now. Unless they would like those rebels to return to their people?” 

The king shakes his head. Dipping the feathered pen he signs the parchment, and hands it off to the vampire lord. 

“Thank you for your cooperation my liege...” Taehyung bows his head as he takes the paper, passing it off to one of his clan, before returning his unwanted attention to you again. “Your parents will live out the remainder of their lives as king and queen. As long as I can assure that their people will not revolt while they live. The throne will pass to us, and your people to mine.” He tilts up your chin, his thumb crossing over the small scratch on your forehead from your travels. Dipping his finger in your goblet of wine he touches the cut again. The familiar itch of healing skin crosses the surface of your brow. Your stomach turns with the knowledge of what you unintentionally consumed. “It’s a shame for them though...They won’t live long enough to see the benefits of my work here.” With the brush of his hand he gives the order to his clan, “Kill them.”

Your parents both stand in alarm, attempting to reason with the monster before you. “No, you swore-” 

“That I would keep you safe from your people, not that you are protected from myself or my kind.” He addresses his fellow vampires once again, “If you insist on feeding on them do not do it here. I find their smell distasteful and I would rather not lose my appetite.” 

His progenies take hold of your parents, dragging them away. They scream for their guards, but when no one comes to their rescue they call for you next. Pleading with you so that you might speak up on their behalf, with all dignity lost while they come to face their own mortality. You remain silent, any words frozen inside out of fear and hate. Your last duty to them would be what they always asked of you, to be quiet and still, until their screaming comes to an abrupt halt as they meet their end.

Now alone Taehyung rises from his chair and lifts you up onto the dining table, locking you in with his arms on either side. “I told you I could give you so much more than them, didn’t I promise you that? Do you remember?”

“I never said I wanted it from you.” Your furry has reached a new level, overwhelmed with contempt towards Taehyung, your parents, and yourself for not remembering sooner. “You believe their deaths will give you the kingdom? You forget that you had them sign it off to me. I will never consent to marrying you, and we both know your blood will not force me into such a binding contract. It's why you had to make deals with my parents is it not? Compulsion will not work when it comes to such bonds in ink, and you have nothing left to play in order to sway me.”

“Such a smart girl,” Taehyung coos, while brushing the side of your face. “However, it is not I who has forgotten but you, for I have already won that battle too. Here...” He takes a swig of the wine, and firmly grasps the back of your neck. Pushing more of the drink between your lips with his, Taehyung forces you to choke it back and drown in your own past. “Let me help you remember, my princess... my bride...” 

...

- 4 years ago -

You open your eyes, to be greeted by unfamiliar surroundings. A soft bed beneath you, lying between warmed sheets with a handsome yet concerned looking man sitting at your side. 

“Thank heavens you’re awake. You took quite a fall.”

You lift a hand to your head trying to dull a sharp ache in your temple. The man leans in closer without hesitation, an action which surely indicates a close tie with you, but you have no memory of him. His hands are cool yet you welcome them on the side of your face, for they diminish the pain. “I don’t remember-”

“It’s okay my princess. I'm glad you are saved from the trauma of reliving that event.” He comforts you with a boxy smile, that doesn’t quite reach the sadness of his eyes.

“No, not just that, I mean I don’t remember... I don’t remember you, where I am, nor why I am here.” You strain to recall your most recent past, everything seems so long ago. There are glimpses and fragments of moments and people which you manage to pull forth, your parents and their rule, your brother and his suffering, your castle and it’s cold walls that once surrounded you. The loneliness of your past brings a tear to your eye for it is all you can recall. Everything about this man before you seems to have vanished from your mind. 

“No, no, no, don’t cry.” His expression falls, as his hand shifts to wipe beneath your eyes, he swallows his shaking breath in clear distress over your loss. “I promised that I would look after you, that I would treat you well. Your parents, what will I tell them? They will rightfully blame me for letting you get hurt like this.”

The fear and sadness strewn across his handsome face is more than you can bear. You reach out a hand to his to comfort him back. “Could you remind me of your name sir?”

“Taehyung, and please don’t be so formal. There’s no need with me.”

“Then our relationship to each other...”

He takes your hand, tracing your fingers with his, before planting a kiss on your fourth digit. “We have been promised to one another. Your parents agreed to let you leave your own kingdom to be with me.”  

“Oh god, I’m so sorry... I don’t remember, I don’t remember anything. I can’t-”

“It’s okay my princess. It’s not your fault, but mine. You were hurt under my care. I’ll help you to rebuild what we have. We’ll start from the beginning, if we have to. I just can’t endure the thought of losing you entirely. Please just tell me what you need, whatever I can do, it will be done. I will help you to fall for me over and over, if it means I can continue to be with you.”

...

Taehyung spends the nights alongside you tending to your every desire, reciting poetry and plays to keep you entertained while you remain on bed rest for your injury. You feel bound by his kindness, and so guilty for not being able to recall your own past together.

During the day he is forced away from your side. He has a demanding role filled with travel and responsibilities, your only hope is that when he deems you well enough, you will spend that time together too. That you will be able fulfill this building desire within, to go out and journey for his role together.  

But the weeks pass with no change in your situation.

Until one night when it all becomes too much to conceal. When left by his caretakers to bathe, you dissolve into sorrow over the fact that your loss of memory is holding you back. Your wedding to him was to be days from now, but he has called it off until you can recover what you lost. Your wracking sobs echo through the empty room as you commiserate alone. Questioning what you could possibly do to dispel this suffering. 

You did not expect the sound to summon Taehyung, who comes bursting in without thought to your current state of dress. “Princess I-I...” He stops in his tracks and turns on his heel, shielding his eyes from your nude form. “Forgive me, I was not made aware that you were bathing.” 

You press yourself to the side of the tub. Shy at first but when you find him more so, you beckon him over, just as he is about to reach for the door. “No wait, don’t leave. If you go I fear I will only feel more guilt over our situation.” 

“Guilt? To what shame are you referring? Have I not made you comfortable here? Do you not have everything you need?” Taehyung abides by your call, joining you beside the tub, and swallowing as he glimpses you in the water.

“I do, and that is the issue. I remember nothing other than your care and kindness. You have given me everything you can, and I have nothing to grant you in return.”

“That’s not true-”

You press a damp finger to his lips, urging him to let you finish. “Despite not having a memory of our past, there is this need inside me... it’s difficult to express, but it calls out for someone like you. I do not wish to continue this cautionary stance, waiting and hoping for something that might not return. I do not want to hold us back. I think we should still marry, for I cannot see my life in any other way.”

Taehyung gives you a small smile along with a kiss to your hand which still lingers near his mouth. While his own reaches into the tub, his fingers twirling in the water just above your leg. “There is still much you don’t know about me.”

“Then I will learn it as it comes. Please, I long to move past this. I cannot and will not remain in this present, with you restraining yourself because of me. I truly believe that moving forward with the original plan is the best course of action.” 

“If that is what you desire,” He the tips of his fingers submerge further until they draw against your thigh. “I will resume the plans between you and I.”

...

The ceremony is modest, with only you and Taehyung reciting your vows under the night sky. After signing a document to confirm your ties, he whisks you off to the bedroom to consummate the new promise between you. 

The strength of the man before you comes as quite a shock as he rips the laces of your gown in his eager hunt to find the flesh beneath, until your best dress soon lays in tatters on the floor. His hunger for you appears to reach a new level, with his mouth nipping and devouring every inch he has exposed. Your situation has held you both back for so long, but at least now you will both get to revel in the path forward together. 

Once bare he flips you on to your stomach and disrobes himself. His taut legs come to straddle your hips, while his hands run up your back and down your arms. Taking your wrists he pins them over top of your head. “Just a precaution my princess,” He chuckles your ear as his leather belt wraps around. Tightening them together before the strap loops the headboard and is once again threaded through the buckle, wittingly securing you to the bed. “For if I am worried over the possibility of you fleeing, I might lose myself, and consume too much of you.”

“I have no plans to run.” You muse, giggling at his passion.“But I will concede to your bondage if it satisfies you.” 

“I was hoping you would agree.”  He teases his index along your slit, drenching your sensitive skin, and preparing you for his swollen cock. You raise your hips eagerly towards him and he takes the hint. Laying down over top of you he guides himself in with one hand while the other loops your waist. 

You gasp from the stretch before gritting your teeth trying to hide the brief moment of pain. Taehyung swears as his forehead comes to rest on your shoulder, his breath shaking as much as yours while he inhales deeply. A growl echoes in his throat which he promptly clears. “Princess, am I... am I your first?” There’s a hint of surprise in his voice, but you can not understand why that would be so.

“If I was promised to you... I can not see why I would have laid with another.” You answer somewhat hurt by the notion that he thinks you would have been unfaithful in the past. Your memories might be limited, but you can not believe that would be the kind of person you are, to be unfaithful to one so kind would make you a monster.

“Yes, of course.” He sighs, “I just, I had not...” He empties his throat again. Hugging you tightly as he pushes his cock in further. “My dear princess, so good to trust me with such a gift.”

You exhale with a confirmation. “I am all yours.” 

With Taehyung resting deep inside he pauses for another moment. His fingers trapped between you and the bed shift down to your mound where they press and cause you to buck back onto him. “Forget the pain for now...” He whispers in your ear while the deep circles he rubs shift you from discomfort to pleasure. Your twitching responses beguile him as you clench down on his shaft. The growl in his voice returns and grows deeper, he thrusts along with you. A need inside your start to build, your breathing stutters while he continues on. “...And come for me.”  Your nerves reach their peak at his words, holding you in place until the tension inside you finally releases and the warm waves run from head to toe. 

As you ride out your climax Taehyung pushes forward with his own. His cock continues to swell, demanding more of you, until he comes to his end and collapses twitching with content. With a groan he wraps his arms around you and nuzzles your back, while you remain trapped beneath him.

You tug on his belt wanting to touch him and hold him as he does to you. But even once he has come himself, he does not appear to be fully parted from his lustful needs. He shifts down so that his face can be found between your thighs. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment as you inquire for him. “Taehyung, please-”

“Don’t fret my princess, I just- I just want to- there was some blood drawn in my haste to have you, I would like to kiss it better.” He chuckles before his tongue comes to find your folds. The beastly sounds from him become far greater than before as he laps at the spot. Your hesitation is cast aside as you soon delve into pleasure once again. 

His fingers clamp down on your legs as he feeds from your cunt with an even stronger resolve. “I must- I must have more.” He begs of you.        

“I am yours to take.” You respond, eager to indulge more from his affectionate appetite.

But as soon as your permission is granted an unimaginable pain pierces the skin and muscle of your thigh. His mouth latches onto the source of such misery, and draws on the wound taking deep drafts. “Taehyung?” You cry out in confusion, pulling the bonds he left you in. 

Your lord and husband suspends the act. Rising up to release you from the headboard, he takes your restraints in his hand. Flipping you back over and pinning you back down beneath him. You find your groom smiling while his mouth drips with blood. He chuckles lightly at your horror, taking in your fear. “Did you have a change of heart my princess? I’m sorry to have brought such a swift end to our happy scene, but tomorrow we may start over... once I’ve had my fill.”

...

After the first Taehyung proceeds to push upon you several moments wrought in passion and pain. The concealment of his identity to become your love, and of course the times when he chose purely to torture you as your captor.   

You come to understand that your past with Taehyung is a series of tales, with him portraying the villain, or the hero. Going from captor, to suitor, to husband, only to break you by becoming your captor once again. He’s crippled you countless times, in so many different ways, choosing whichever act suits him in the moment, gorging himself off your emotional defeat the same way he feeds your blood, in the most painful way possible. 

“A small sample of our time together, but you see princess, you are already bound to me in matrimony. I have what I need for my clan. My followers will have access to any house, any dwelling on our kingdom’s land once I give them my consent to enter.”

“Y-you have no right to do that!” You stutter, trying to push down the past to focus on the present. 

“Oh but I do as your husband, as the new king I now have partial claim. My men will be able to feed within the safety of your peoples homes. Hunting them in their beds will be far easier than being restricted to the streets.”

“They are not cattle for you to feed upon!”

“How is that any different than your family's rule?” Taehyung scoffs, looking to the ornate room around you both. “Your parents in their vanity and greed bleed them dry, to the point where they were begging for a change, even if it was the rule of a young man who had barely stepped into adulthood. They will be grateful for the passing of the king and queen, and for the new rule. Remembering the vampires who will now stalk them while they sleep only as a passing nightmare.” 

“That does not make what you are doing any better.” You argue, though you know it to be pointless. 

“Not in your eyes, but my people will at least benefit from the sacrifice of your own. They trust me to do right by them. Can yours say the same about you? Will you bear the pain of your suffering and theirs? All that’s left is for us to choose which story we should play next. Would you like to forget it all again? To have me return to the role of doting lover and husband? Or would you prefer to recall that which has brought you pain? Your parents, your brother, and myself, knowing that soon my people will feast on yours.” 

To remember would be the only chance you have in finding a weakness to him, any attempt to remove him from his position will require your knowledge of what happened in the past and what is happening in the present. Who knows what story he would otherwise weave next, but he will no doubt pull the wool over your eyes if you let him. 

“I will give you until the end of this night to choose, if you don’t I will do so for you. But I am so very ready to return to our routine. These past few weeks have been a torment without you to entertain and fulfil me.” His finger traces an x on your neck, marking the spot he intends to bite. “I will never again allow us to be parted for so long.”  The point of his teeth make contact with your skin, when the door opens and one of his keepers calls for him. “What?!” Taehyung shouts back in frustration. “What could possibly be so important that you must interrupt my dinner?” 

“There is a hunter demanding entrance at the gate.” The vampire informs, looking rather shaken for having displeased his lord. “Says he won’t leave until he sees proof that you received your princess. It seems that he was trying to deliver her when she ran off in the daylight earlier today.”

“So someone did find you... that would explain...” His hands soften on your neck running his fingers over the previously tortured flesh. He then turns to the vampire waiting for his answer. “What is the hunter’s name?”

“Agust, my lord.”

Your head snaps up with your eyes wide. Yoongi is here, and he knew to call himself Agust? That can only mean, the secrets kept from him by his clan, the truth that would break you, it was the knowledge of Taehyung’s presence here.

  “Is this the case my princess? Did this Agust find you and intend to bring you here?” You bite your tongue but he pushes his power over you again. “Tell me the truth of this matter.”

“He did.” You can’t be sure of what Yoongi intends to do once inside, but at least your forced honesty did not betray his cover.

“He has my permission to enter. Bring him to me now, I owe him my gratitude for taking such good care of my princess.” The vampire guard leaves to grant the other access. 

Taehyung traces his teeth with his tongue. Appearing unusually happy despite the fact that his meal was disturbed. “You will remain seated and quiet, while I reward this hunter for his deeds, is that understood princess?” You reluctantly nod, submitting to his compulsion. 

Yoongi, accompanied by four of Taehyung's kin, enters the dinning hall and promptly bows. “My lord.”

“Agust... I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of speaking before have we?” 

“No my lord, I’ve dealt only with your keepers. But it was my honour to retrieve your princess as requested.” You meet his eye when they flicker in your direction trying to decipher his plan, but are unable to see a way out that could have possessed him to take such a risk.

“Yes, I must thank you for bringing her most of the way. I am surprised that you knew to find me here though, I thought that was kept confidential from the hunters.”

“It was my lord but I learned of your occupation here only recently, such a large group of vampires in a human city does not go unnoticed for long.” 

“Then I commend you, for doing what many of my other hunters could not.” Taehyung smirks at his own kin’s expense. “Tell me who was your maker, from which line do you descend?

“Your caretaker Egan, my lord.” Yoongi offers, his tone flat and even. “Though I don’t know if he would recall me, I am one of many.”

“Egan you say?” Taehyung pauses, with a raised brow and pout, which soon fades into a smile after a moment's hesitation. “He has created a fair few hasn’t he?” He chuckles. “Now you were not able to finish my task to completion, but I will still grant you the reward of becoming a keeper if you can complete just one other challenge.”

“Of course my lord.” Yoongi promises, watching adamantly with his hand twitching at his side. 

“There is someone I need you to find, one who has been haunting me for quite some time. Before my princess met me she fell in love with another of our kind. A vampire who works for Lord Hoseok, and goes by the name Min Yoongi. It took me a year to find the full extent of the boundaries in her memory that relate to him, I needed to empty her of love for that fool, and take it for myself. I was successful in the end of course.” He tips your chin with his finger delighting in the pained expression you bear at the thought. “But I would like to see the end of him, and purge anything that might hope to take her from me.”

“I understand...” Yoongi responds through a clenched jaw. Peeking a concerned glance at you when Taehyung's back turns to him. 

“I think she might be able to help you start your quest. You know where to find this Yoongi, do you not my princess?”

You dip your head, as a tear slips from your cheek and falls to your lap. You bite your tongue in an attempt to hold back your answer but Taehyung presses again with the compulsion of his blood. “You will answer me, out loud.”

“Yes,” you confirm,  your eyes meeting with Yoongi’s again, pleading for him to go now, and escape before you reveal anything else. 

“Do you think it will be an easy task for this vampire Agust to find him?” 

“I do.” You utter with a reply stolen from your lips.

 Taehyung mutters in your ear for his final question. “Is he the one who stands before us now my princess?” Panic instantly seizes you, with every function of your body coming to a halt, wondering how he could have found out. The moment your mouth starts to open, Yoongi launches himself at Taehyung, but his attack is quickly brought to a halt by the vampire lord who draws his own stake. Shoving Yoongi across the room and into the arms of his guard.

“You thought you could fool me after so many of your brethren tried and failed?” The cruel lord chides with a low chuckle. “There have been too many errors on your part, the greatest of which was the name of your false creator.” He approaches his new prisoner dragging the point of the stake along Yoongi’s chest while he is held in place. “A misstep of Egan’s allowed for her to escape, and so I sent the order for him to be disposed of. I knew the deed was done mere hours ago when I watched a progeny of his wither away before my eyes. If you were of his blood you too would have perished.”  Taehyung explains before he paces away twirling the stake between his fingers. “What a wicked curse we must endure is it not? Though it does have its advantages... I wonder how many will I wipe out with your death?” Your heart beats wildly in your chest longing to run forward and prevent such an event. “It will come soon, of that there is no question, but not before I take every ounce of information you hold about Hoseok’s current plans.” 

“You will get nothing from me unless you let her go,” Yoongi growls.

“Let go of my own bride?” The restrained vampire flinches at the comment as Taehyung grins and prods further. “I suppose you didn’t know. You must forgive her for not informing you, she couldn’t recall it herself until a few minutes ago. Regardless, I have no plans to free her, for I believe the closer I am to your beloved the more I will get from you.” Taehyung joins you at your side again.  “What do you think princess? Would you like an admirer for our performance? I’m sure even the steadfast Min Yoongi would bend to my will if he witnesses you in my favourite roles.”

Taehyung’s attention is drawn away from the pair of you when more of his keepers enter the room greeting him with a nod. “Alas the show will have to wait. I have permissions to grant, and a story to feed your staff,” The vampire lord sighs and acquiesces to their needs, grabbing the decanter from which you took a glass. “The rest of your people will come after.”

Taehyung gestures to one of his men. “He will take you to your room, and you will remain there until I return. I look forward to having a more fulfilling reunion between you and I come dawn.” His fingers brush against your cheek one last time before addressing the vampires holding Yoongi. “Keep him locked up along with the revolutionaries for now. I will call upon him later.”

Yoongi continues to lash out as you are both dragged in opposite directions. Barring his fangs at those who hold him, but he is soon subdued with the addition of another clan member and carried out of sight. 

Your own escort doesn’t say a word as he takes you through the empty halls, and staircases with one hand grappling your upper arm. Any attempt to pull it from him is met with a snarl and tighter hold. As you pass the rooms of the hall you wonder where Taehyung has the remaining staff kept and despite the lies forced down their throat you hope they will remain untouched.

The guard opens a door and pushes you in, sending you to the ground before locking it behind. The dimly lit room is unfortunately not your own, consisting only of a bed, washstand, and shuttered windows. Rising from the timber floor you find a stain on your hands and dress originating from the spot on which you landed, a spill, red enough to be the remnants of a vampire's meal. You start heaving at the thought, running to the filled basin desperate to remove the sticky scarlet substance. With hands shaking as they are submerged in water, your entirety follows suit, quaking in fear of what has just transpired and what is left to come. 

Your parents are lost, they dug their own grave, but your fellow citizens, and Yoongi... you have to find him, before he too is lost and your people are reduced to a mere spattering on the floor. 

You pull on the shutters of the window, releasing them to peer out and see if there is any hope to scale out of this one too. The height from the ground might be manageable, but a pair of glowing eyes looking up to you from the garden stops your attempt. The gaze from below continues to watch until you retract and close the space between you again. Taehyung's caretakers and keepers are as eager to keep and feed on you as he is. Visions of past attacks start to flood your mind, making you regret your venture to look out. You tried to escape so many times in your past captivity. Each one with the exception of the last was foiled by his keepers or caretakers, some brought you straight back to your room, while others... others were swiftly intercepted by the lord of the fortress, but only after they landed their first bite.  

Retreating to the corner of the room, you set yourself down at the furthest point from the door and window. Left alone to stare at the crimson puddle, as you wait for Taehyung’s return. There is no question that you have to bear the weight of your memories as painful as they are, you can not afford to forget the past. Not now, not with Yoongi nor your people in jeopardy. You wonder if Taehyung will strike such a deal with you. If you promise to abide by his command without his blood, will that be enough to buy at the very least Yoongi’s safety?

The minutes pass while you consider your options, distracted only when there comes a thump from the shutters. You rise from your spot and move closer to the door. The boards made to conceal the daylight shatter inward with another hit, knocking over the solitary candle and casting you into darkness. The shadowy intruder leaps in, their gleaming eyes holding you in their sights. 

Figuring it to be one of the Taehyung’s progeny’s come for a taste, you draw breath to scream. Until the vampire collides with you, holding you down, and covering your mouth. 

“I told you to stay in the room.” The hushed tones of Yoongi greet you to your immense relief. “Why didn’t you listen to me? Why did you run?” He waits there for a moment, removing his hand only when you finally relax beneath him.

“Yoongi...” You gasp in relief. “I overheard you and Seokjin. When I saw you give into the demands... I-I didn’t know, I didn’t realize-”

There’s a knock interrupting your explanation, the vampiric guard no doubt alarmed by the commotion. You both fall silent, but that does not seem to satisfy the sentry,  who proceeds to unlock the door. Yoongi jumps up ready to meet him with a stake. As the barrier opens, the vampire tries to step inside, making it only far enough in for the wooden weapon to reach his heart. Yoongi grabs the enemies throat in the last moments, committing him to silence until death before tossing the corpse to the side. Treating the newly dead as nothing more than a bothersome distraction. 

Yoongi turns back to you but keeps his distance, a growl rattling in his throat as he takes deep breaths. “I told you before, I would never take you there. I had no wish to abide by the request from my lord. I could not tell Seokjin of my plans to disobey while we remained in his house. I was going to take you as far away as I could after learning the whole truth behind your capture, but your stunt put everything in jeopardy, including yourself.”

You start to sob upon hearing his deception, you should have guessed that with such a reveal from his own clan he would try to deceive them too, like the others he dealt with on your behalf. He closes the gap between you, pulling you in close, allowing your tears to fall on his chest. “How-how did you escape just now? I thought for certain he had us both in his grasp.”

“I kept hold of the tainted blood, and those holding me were in desperate need of a drink. One sip and they were at my mercy instead.” He lips grace the top of your head with a kiss as you cling to him. “We’re going to get you out of here okay? We’ll go down to the passage. I have already released those he captured, if he has a mob on his hands, we might slip out undetected.”

“I can’t leave, not yet-”

“Why, because he compelled you to stay?” Yoongi questions, attempting to dismiss your concern. “I will carry you out if your own volition fails to do so.”

“It is not that alone... he was not lying when he told you I was his-his-” You stall on the word unable to say it yourself. “In those five years, he played with my mind, he made me forget you and desire him instead, a-and I fell for it. It is because of me he now has a claim to every home in the town. This is my error to fix. I will not leave those who dwell here to feed his own.”

“You are not to blame for his actions.” He counters, his own voice cracking in desperation.  “Your remaining here will not change that.”

“I only wish to remain so I can bring an end to him, to kill him.” You promise. “Either way, whether successful or not I will not exist here long.    

“No, I am not letting you near him again. If we must do this then let him be mine to kill.”

“He thinks me in here unarmed and broken to his will,” You open Yoongi’s jacket to find another stake that he must have stolen from Taehyung’s followers. “I will have a better chance. It would be better for you to ensure that his clan has not brought harm to anyone else.”

“And leave you here to face him? If he falls so do his own progenies, which includes most if not all of his keepers. There will be no point in my leaving to dispose of them, if your main goal is to defeat him.”

“If he sees you he will be instantly aware. When he is as strong as you say then even you won’t be able to defeat him without catching him off guard.”

“I am not leaving you alone with him even if you are armed, and that is final.” Yoongi takes his firm stance, while grabbing at the stake in your hand. “I will not lose you again...”      

You look down at the deceased on your floor, fearing the same fate for Yoongi should he remain here with you. Taehyung has proven time and time again that none can fool him for long, not Yoongi, not his clan members, even those who disobeyed him attempting to draw blood from you were cast aside... with Taehyung throwing himself between you and them.  “If you will not leave then... I need you to bite me.”

Yoongi follows your gaze in confusion, “What is it you are plotting your highness?”

“He will no doubt come running if he smells my spilt blood. He has before. If he thinks I am in danger from his own, I will be able to get close with his guard down.” You take the stake back from him while he considers your plan, gripping it in your fist behind your back. “All you have to do is play the threat.”

“Will you not wait for another alternative? My clan could be here in a day to deal with them.”

“He is hungry, and all too confident of victory.” You plead with your vampire. “If we wait-” 

“If we wait he will be more likely to catch on...” Yoongi growls confirming your thoughts, as he begrudgingly bends down to take the cloak of the defeated guard. Tying it around he pulls the hood over his head. “This is unbelievably reckless you know. I should just take you from here this instant.”

“But you won’t.” You reply with a sad smile reaching up to touch his cheek with your hand, and press a kiss to his lips. “You long for an end to this as much as I.”  

With his back to the door he takes you into his arms. When hunched over you Taehyung should not know who he is until it is too late. Yoongi places his mouth ready to sink into your neck. “Are you sure you want to be the one to-”

“I have to.” You cut him off before he can even try to change your mind again.

With a deep sigh his teeth pierce your skin, the blood starts to flood from the wound and Yoongi lets out a low pained groan as he resists the urge to feed. For the more blood that escapes and is left to the air, the sooner that Taehyung will come running to investigate your situation. After a minute passes, you start to feel light headed and grip your weapon tighter. 

“If he doesn't come soon I will have to put a stop to this.”

“He will come,” you gasp. “Just wait.” 

Right on cue there comes a shout from down the hall along with the thunder of footsteps. Your door crashes open to reveal the ferocious monster. 

Yoongi is thrown to the wall, and promptly disregarded in the moment by Taehyung, whose immediate attention is more occupied with you spilling out before him. “She is mine,” he seethes looking ravenous after not feeding on you for weeks. His hunger distracting him from the arm you have tucked behind your back. While pulling you closer to take a taste himself, you draw your own weapon, stabbing him through his heart with the stake. 

He looks down to injury with a sobering disbelief, his words heavy on his lips with a low chuckle as he forces out his final thoughts before his demise. “Well played princess... you had me thinking I was to be your hero again.”

“You were never my hero, only my assailant.” You shove the stake deeper into his chest. “And now my fatality.”

Taehyung gasps and delivers one last cruel smile. “A fitting end, though I can think of one better. Why part here, when you can join me in death.” He launches at your throat ready to strike and bleed you further, when his actions are cut short by another. 

With the stake pulled from the other vampire, Yoongi pierces him through the back, and takes hold from behind preventing Taehyung’s last threat. The vampire lord's eyes go wide showing a brief moment of fear before he finally succumbs to death. Pulling yourself from his clutches you take a deep breath and rejoice in the freedom, though the feeling doesn’t last long. 

Already dizzy from the loss of blood you are in no way prepared for the surge of memories that flood back. With Taehyung dead his physical hold on you diminished, but the pain of his manipulation, the trauma and loss he has inflicted on you hits as a wave, and pulls you under. 

Yoongi is there to heal the wound on your neck, he calls to you repeatedly though his voice along with your vision of him are clouded amongst your thoughts. Your heart pounds and head races as it continues to try and register the influx of everything you lost. 

There’s a soft touch to your temple, as a whisper from him finally makes it through. “Be strong my love, you can conquer this too.”

You can feel yourself being lifted as the room moves around you. Clinging to his coat you utter your wish to leave, unwilling to spend another moment in this castle. Fully slipping as he draws you in closer.

...

When the haze lifts you come to find yourself in another bed. Not one of the castle’s no, it seems Yoongi had observed that request, but the location is still worrisome for it is the same room you had shared with him in Seokjin’s house. You immediately sit up, panicking over your last memory of this place, and fearful of Yoongi’s clan’s intent. 

Your vampire sleeps on a chair beside you, though his head and chest are slumped over on the mattress and his hand encasing yours. Stirring the second your grip leaves his and you attempt to get from the bed. He grabs at your shoulder pushing you back down with ease, “What do you think you are doing? You are in no state to be running off.” 

“Yoongi... why are we here? If Seokjin-”

“This was the only safe place I could think to bring you. You have nothing to fear here now. Seokjin will not do anything, he knows he was in the wrong to suggest such compulsion, and Namjoon has promised retribution on your behalf if he continues such behaviour.” Yoongi briefly smirks at the thought of the pair, though his expression soon darkens as his hand brushes your hair from your face as you relax back into the bed. “I thought- I was worried I lost you back there.”

“I-I couldn’t control it, there was so much that I had lost and most of it difficult to bear again...” You grimace at the pain of it, prompting Yoongi to lean in to kiss your blow and pull a small smile from you again. “I should never have returned. I should have trusted you more, I’m so sorry for putting you in danger like that.”

“It was not your fault. You had every reason to doubt me given your past and what you knew. I can’t imagine what it was like, but...” He looks down avoiding your eyes as he rubs your hands, the words that follow are just as tentative and soft. “If you should- I don’t know if- if you need me to help you discard any memories I will do so. Doesn’t have to be now or ever, but if you ever need me to... don’t feel like you have to carry the weight of it alone.”   

You nod your eyes tearing up with gratitude for his offer. “Thank you, there will be some moments that I- that I will be glad to be rid of.” Yoongi’s warm smile comes with his arms to wrap around you in a tight hug. You wince as your muscles stain to return the affection, feeling as though they have seized from lack of use. “How long have I been under?” 

“The longest two nights of my existence.”

“Two nights?” You exclaim pulling out of the embrace in shock. “What has happened since?  Was anyone else hurt before I-I-”

“No one else, but the castle,” Yoongi sighs looking hesitant to tell you the rest. “The castle was set aflame in an act of defiance. It was sentenced to burn once the staff and resistance had cleared it of everything of value.”

“Good,” you whisper. 

“There is more... Seokjin has been keeping a close eye on the situation.” Yoongi discloses. “But, when word spread that you returned only to vanish again, many believed your appearance to be that of an imposter rather than their former princess. They thought you a tool of the mysterious lord attempting to gain power.”

“And their plans to create a new form of rule?” You ask, the focus of your question leading Yoongi to tilt his head in confusion.

“Going forward without much backlash, but-”

“Then they have every right to think so. I am very different from their lost princess.” You smile to Yoongi’s surprise. “I am a threat to them now, a threat to the future governance they plan to install. Any version of me might sow the seeds of discord in progress if I was to return. If this story of me being a deceiver will help them to rebuild, then let them think it. I will make no plans to return.”

Yoongi nods in understanding, though his expression still holds regret. “I am sorry I was not able to deliver you home as promised.”

“That place was not my home for so long, not since you-”

A loud knock comes from the front door of the small home, reaching you all the way in your upstairs room. Yoongi stiffens in the seat next to you as muffled voices are soon heard too. Your vampire stands going to the door where Seokjin appears a moment later with news. “It’s Lord Hoseok. He’s here, and he wants to see you.”

“Don’t you dare let him in.” Yoongi pushes back. “Not with her here, not now.” 

“I can’t exactly deny him entrance,” Seokjin scoffs. “This is his house-”

“Fine, then I will.” 

Seokjin puts a hand on Yoongi’s chest and prevents him from storming off into a confrontation. “You know you can’t stop him. If he wishes to see her he will, but right now I think his main concern is you. Do not anger him if there is no reason to. See what he wants then come to a judgement.”

The same loud knock you heard below then arrives at your bedroom door, breaking off the disagreement between the two vampires.The guest you know not to require permission, but it seems that he would rather enter on your terms rather than his own. 

“Yoongi?” You call to him, witnessing the dread in his face when he turns to look at you. “I should like to speak to him too.”

Yoongi’s reluctant hand turns the lever, letting his lord inside. Your own vampire stands between the two of you preventing you from getting a good look as the first words are exchanged.   

“My Lord.”

“Tell me it is so, that it is true. Is Taehyung- ” The vampire lord immediately launches into the heart of the matter. The weight of his tone sends shivers to even you. 

“Dead, my lord.” 

“Thank you Yoongi, I am in your debt.” The tension in his voice quickly falls away. 

“It was not I alone who defeated him sir. The credit also goes to the woman who you thought you would contain to your fortress.” Yoongi mutters with malice.

“I app-” His lord steps further in, allowing him to finally catch a glimpse of you. He pauses for a moment as he takes you in, his mouth hangs open and a single word falls in greeting, “Mansin?”

Though the word is foreign to you Yoongi reacts in an instant, returning to your side, he growls and his superior in defiance while positioned in your defence. “She is not-”

Lord Hoseok seems to catch himself and apologises. “A mistake Yoongi, an honest mistake, I see that she is bound to you. You must forgive me,” He whispers while giving a sad smile in penance. “Something in your expression reminded me of someone I once knew.” He politely touches upon his error, but leaves you with no reason for Yoongi’s reception. “I must give my thanks to you as well then, for you saved me the pain of having to kill my own creation.” 

Alarmed by the confession you try to stand but Yoongi’s hand once again comes down to your shoulder. “Then Taehyung was yours? You created that monster?!”

“It was not my intention to have him turn out in such a way.” The vampire lord growls at the censure, causing Yoongi to grow ridged next to you. “I found him as an innocent young man dying, whispering the name of the one he loved, the one he was bound to. I took pity on him, would you not have done the same?” Hoseok raises an eyebrow as he throws his choice back at you. 

You swallow and nod in response. “I suppose I would have.” The swift changes in mood of the vampire lord keep you on guard, intimidating in one moment and considerate in the next. It’s easy to see why Yoongi might be wary of him around you. 

“I chose to banish him from the clan when he killed his former mate, your ancestor, for I could no longer trust him. He sought revenge on both your family and mine, and it is my fault alone. I knew that Yoongi would prefer to keep you as far away as possible, but Taehyung would likely have tracked you down sooner or later. I wanted to make up for that by offering you a safe place at my fortress but I can see that it was misconstrued.” 

“Thankfully your assistance with my residence is no longer required.” You convey, hoping that he has abandoned the notion, since the threat is no longer stalking you.

“Yes... thankfully.” Lord Hoseok reiterates with a weak grin.

“If you are in our debt as you say then I would like to make a request of you.” You ask much to Yoongi’s surprise, resulting in his head snapping in your direction.

“A request?” Hoseok blinks, a grin twitching in his lips. He grabs the chair from the desk, turning it to face you before taking his seat. “What have you to ask of me?”

“My old kingdom, I want to ensure the health of the people. I ask that if your clan goes there to feed they use the tactics that Yoongi has been operating under.” Yoongi finally exhales and relaxes, as you explain your wish, a small smile crosses his lips with what looks to be pride.

“I understand your position, and would agree immediately if there were to be no recourse, but to put such limitations on my clan without any amendments or accommodations to offer in return... many would turn rogue.” Hoseok shakes his head. “No, if I ordered that, we might find ourselves in another situation like before.”

You consider what you have left to give with nothing left from your family to offer, you have only what you may have acquired through matrimonial bonds. “Tell me when a vampire dies, what happens to the ownership of their residences.”

“It will go to whomever they deemed a second who was not created by their own lineage. Yoongi was once my own. I don’t know if Taehyung- ”

“But if they had taken a wife who survived them?” You ask.

“They would be yours...” Yoongi mutters beside you in understanding.

You nod grimacing at the prospect of owning his land. “I want no part of them. But if they will help you to convince your clan to adjust their feedings and continue to help those of my former kingdom they are yours.” You offer to Hoseok. “Every fortress, waypoint and house that belonged to him will all be transferred to your own clan. ”

“Then I accept your terms,” Hoseok nods in agreement. “But where will you go?”

You look to Yoongi to give the answer. Caught off guard he pauses before responding with the simple direction of, “East, we plan to head east.”

  ...

...Two months later...

Yoongi stops the horse and dismounts beside an overgrown field, looking at the land with a deep contented sigh. “This is it.” He lights a lantern for you before treading into the long grass, in search of the foundation of his old home.

He was right, there is little left, but regardless of that fact you help him by clearing the roughage from any remains you can find. Pausing only when he does, while uncovering what seems to be a rotting wooden board laying on the ground. Upon further inspection you find it to shield a substantial cavern below with steps leading into the darkness. 

“If that’s the cellar... Then that must mean.” Yoongi mutters, before taking a few steps away, counting his paces as he goes. Hunching down over a higher patch of ground, he tears away the long weeds, until a stone hearth reveals itself. He takes the rotting wooden board, and breaks it apart into several pieces. Building them up before he sets them alight with the fire of the lantern. 

He lowers himself to sit in front of the burning wood and beckons for your hand, kissing you knuckles, raw from the cold wind of your journey as you take a seat next to him. Despite the lack of walls and roof, you are overwhelmed by Yoongi’s peace as he looks into the fire, feeling that same comfort and warmth within yourself. “I never thought I’d see this place again, but now, it feels right to return. Perhaps-” He meets your eye before expressing the rest of his tentative question. “Perhaps we could stay here for a while?”

“I would like that.” You answer with a nod, prompting him to beam back at you.

While Yoongi moves to lay on the grass relaxing in the light of the flame you pull out the new map you’ve been working on since the start of your journey east. The other still remains, not entirely forgotten, but of little use in this region. The fresh start on parchment comes as a much needed reprieve, the chance to begin again. 

“You are marking this place down for me?” Yoongi asks as you draw with your quill pen. 

“For us,” you correct him.

Looking down at the new point on the map now labelled with your description, he smiles at the sight of the single word you had written. “Have I fulfilled my duty to you then? Should we part ways here?” He jests pushing to rise up until you tug him back down by his long coat.

“You have,” Shaking your head at his joke, you explain your true feelings behind the word. “But if you leave, this place ceases to be so. It only exists as such when I am with you.”

“Then I must stay by your side, or risk breaking another promise?” He continues to tease you, with a twitch to the corner of his lip.

You can’t help but laugh at his attempt to conceal his eagerness. “So it would seem. How long do you think you can keep your vow?” 

“For eternity.” Yoongi whispers, leaning in to kiss you over the setting ink of, ‘Home.’

...

-The End-

...

[writingblock101]

Test Day (Jason Todd x Reader)

This means I have officially written a quarantine fic. What a weird time to be alive. I also hit 500 followers so thank you for that! 

Request for anon: Fluff #7 “Oh, would you look at that? There’s nowhere to sit besides my lap.” with Jason

Word Count: 1,900

Tags: @idkmanicantenglish

When your alarm went off, you wanted nothing more than to turn it off and curl up against Jason’s warm chest and pretend you didn’t hear anything. But instead, you had to be a diligent student who actually studies so you quickly shut off your alarm and try to creep out of bed, but Jason already heard your alarm go off. 

“No,” He mumbles, wrapping his arms around you tightly. 

You sigh, leaning back against Jason for a moment, relaxing in his hold. 

“I need to study,” You tell him. 

“Five more minutes,” He mumbles into your neck. “It’s too early to study.” 

“Any time before 11:30 is too early for you,” You remind him. “My test is today, I’ve got to cram.” 

Jason grumbles, tightening his arms around your waist. 

“Jase, come on,” You start trying to uselessly wiggle out of his grip. “I’ve been procrastinating this whole week.” 

He sighs but releases his arms. You climb out of bed, but turn and pull the blankets over Jason’s chest again and kiss his head. 

“Go back to sleep,” You tell him. 

He waves you off. 

“Yeah, go study for your test,” He grumbles. 

You can’t help but giggle at his grumpiness but quietly creep out of the room and brew a cup of coffee. Once setting yourself up at your kitchen counter, you begin the long haul of learning as much organic chemistry as possible. While you weren’t completely helpless, the quarantine forced your classes online and completely destroyed your motivation. You’d been lightly studying throughout the week, but today was grind day. 

An hour later, Jason emerges from your bedroom, still looking sleepy and a little grumpy.

“Nice sweatshirt,” He comments, pressing a kiss to the side of your head then pours himself a cup of coffee. 

You grin, tugging on the strings of Jason’s hoodie that you’re currently wearing. It’s warm, big, and smells like Jason. Honestly, at this point, it’s providing more emotional support than physical comfort. 

“I’m surprised you’re up,” You comment, glancing at the clock over your oven which reads: 8:09 AM. 

Normally, you and Jason didn’t even acknowledge the outside world until after 10 o’clock unless absolutely necessary. 

“I don’t like sleeping in an empty bed,” He admits to his coffee. “I don’t sleep as well.” 

Your heart flutters at the comment, but you ruin the moment when you look back at the practice test open on your screen. Oh, you’re still here. You squint your eyes at the old tests as if it deeply offended you (which is has by existing, thank you very much). 

“Did you eat breakfast?” Jason asks. 

“Not yet.” 

Jason nods then opens the fridge and begins making eggs while you keep cracking away at old tests. He wordlessly sets a plate of food down next to you, kisses the top of your head, then sits on the couch to quietly watch TV and enjoy his breakfast. 

A few hours pass as you keep doing practice problems and drawing figures and formulas on your little whiteboard. You’re starting to feel better about the test, but you’re still unsure. Knowing your professor, he’ll ask a question that you have all the information to solve, but no idea how to do it. Your stomach grumbles and you decide you should probably eat lunch. 

When you get stressed or “in the zone”, your brain tends to shut off your appetite. You’d never noticed it until you started living with Jason and he pointed it out after watching you study for a final. Luckily, he’s helped you become more aware of it. 

Speaking of Jason, he disappeared back to the bedroom about an hour ago, probably to read a book or do research for his next mission with the Outlaws. As a thank you for making breakfast, you fix him a sandwich along with your own and walk it back to the bedroom. 

You find him on the floor, one of his dresser drawers open, surrounded by shirts. He brightens when he sees you walk in with food. 

“How’s studying going?” He greets. 

You shrug, handing him his plate. 

“It’s going. I’m starting to feel better about it, but there’s still a lot to go. What are you doing?” 

“Cleaning out some stuff,” Jason looks at his various piles. “I never really built my wardrobe back up after I came back, so a lot of this stuff doesn’t fit me.” 

“Are you going to order some new stuff online?” 

Jason frowns. 

“Maybe? I don’t like buying clothes online.” 

“You don’t like buying clothes period,” You correct with a smile. 

“After all this is over,” Jason vaguely gestures to the air. “I’ll be more than willing to go clothes shopping for at least the first week when quarantine ends, so I’ve gotta make it count.” 

You chuckle. 

“We’ll go on a shopping spree,” You promise. “Well, I gotta keep studying--” 

“Wait, why don’t you eat lunch with me?” Jason asks. “Take a break?” 

“This is me taking a break,” You gesture to him. “I gotta keep going.” 

“Come on, babe, you’ve been studying since 7 this morning. You can afford to stop and eat lunch.” 

“The longer I wait to get back to it, the harder it’s going to be to start,” You shrug. “Sorry, Jase.” 

He frowns, watching you leave the room to keep studying. 

Two hours later, you’re still going strong-- strong as in you’re still looking at the material, but you keep getting the same style question wrong and you can’t figure out why. 

“Okay, an amino has one nitrogen, so you add one, but an amide has one site of unsaturation so you subtract two which then makes it 2n+1,” You scan the possible formulas. “None of these answers have odd numbers,” You groan then flip through your notes, knowing you’re not going to find the answer because you’ve been looking for it for the past fifteen minutes and still found nothing. 

Jason emerges from the bedroom again. 

“Hey, babe, how’s it going?” He asks, getting something to drink out of the fridge. 

“I can’t figure out how to do these stupid problems,” You groan. “I could do them on the last test, but now I can’t do them with amino or amide groups because Dr. Meades never told us the corrected formula.” 

Jason frowns, and rounds the counter, looking at the various scribbles and cross-outs on your whiteboard and open notebook. 

“Maybe you should take a break,” He suggests, rubbing your back. “You’ve been going at it now,” Jason pauses to look at the clock. “For roughly seven hours.” 

“But my test is in three hours. I’ve gotten figure out how to do these problems because there’s always five of them on the test and if I mess up one, I’m going to mess up two,” Your jaw tightens as you feel the burn of tears building in your eyes. 

Oh, hell no. Organic chemistry is NOT going to make me cry. While you care about your studies, it’s not enough to make you cry. You take a deep breath, blinking a few times to force back the tears of frustration. 

“Some fresh eyes might help. Just take a few minutes to shut your brain off,” Jason tries to urge you but you brush him off. 

“I’m okay, I promise. I’m going to see if I can find some example problems,” You start typing on your laptop again, scrounging old tests. 

Jason frowns but leaves you to work. 

Two hours later, you get up to go to the bathroom. You stare at the blue walls of your bathroom feeling drained and exhausted. You hate organic chemistry and you hate online classes. Why are you even taking this class?! It’s stupid! 

After washing your hands, you glance at the clock on Jason’s nightstand-- one hour until you take your test. Sighing heavily, you walk back out to the kitchen to continue studying, only to find every seat at the kitchen counter and small dining table have been taken by a varying amount of objects including but not limited to: a tall stack of folded laundry, a pile of what you were guessing to be Jason’s shirt rejects, a stack of plates from the cupboard, and Jason’s ammunition bag that he takes on missions. 

You stare at the chairs then glance over at Jason only to notice he stacked your textbooks and DVD collection on the loveseat while he is pointedly sprawled across the other couch. He casually reads his book, pretending to not notice you. 

“Hey, Jason?” You ask. 

He hums in response. 

“What is this?” 

Jason looks around the room then sets his book down, placing a hand on his cheek in mock surprise. 

“Oh, would you look at that? There’s nowhere to sit besides my lap.” 

He opens his arms invitingly and you can’t help but laugh. 

“Jason--” You start to say, not moving toward him, despite the tempting offer. 

“No,” He cuts you off. “You have been studying all day. You need to take a break and you’re going to take it now.” 

“My test is in an hour.” 

“Honestly, if you don’t know it by now, you’re not going to know it for the test,” Jason tells you bluntly. “You’re going to be fine. Please, just take a break,” He looks at you pleadingly. 

You glance back toward your laptop which you notice Jason had shut then sigh and walk over to Jason, letting him pull you down onto the couch with him. You land between his legs with his arms wrapped tightly around you. 

“You’re going to do great,” He promises. 

You snort. 

“It’s organic chemistry, “great” does not exist in its vocabulary.” 

“Shut up, it’s going to be great.” 

“I got a 66 on the last test,” You remind him. 

Jason pauses for a moment. 

“You’re going to pass,” He fixes, making you laugh. 

“There we go. That’s the realistic prediction I need to hear,” You grin, tucking your chin under his head. “I just want the semester to be over.” 

“Yeah, I know doll,” He kisses the top of your head. “But you can’t keep trying to do your classes like this.” 

“Yeah, I know,” You sigh, playing with his fingers. 

You two stay like that until it’s time for you to log on and take your test. And what do you know? Jason was right, you did pass. 

“Told you,” Jason grins, kissing your cheek as he looks over your shoulder at the screen. 

“Yeah, yeah,” You roll your eyes, closing your laptop. 

“I’m just saying that you should listen to me more,” He points out. 

“Oh really?” 

“Uh-huh, cause clearly, I’m a genius.” 

“A genius you say?” You turn your chair so you’re facing Jason. 

“Yep,” He grins, stepping between your legs while your arms go around his neck. “I could put Tim out of business.” 

“I’m sure,” You roll your eyes. “You’re very humble about it too.” 

“Oh of course,” Jason flips his hair dramatically. “Not only am I a genius, but I’m also smoking hot.” 

You start laughing, shaking your head. 

“You’re a dork,” You grin, kissing Jason. 

“Yeah, but I’m your dork,” He murmurs against your lips. 

“Damn right,” You grin. 

The quarantine sucks, but at least you have a good company. 

I had a test on Tuesday, can y’all tell? (I did pass) 

[victorsandvanquishers]

Body guard for Secre and Lumiere..., the reincarnation reunion we deserve.....

Bodyguard is probably the most popular prompt in my inbox, so I’ve decided to combine these two requests into one! Thank you to @icewitcher and anon for the requests!

The fic will include romantic!Secre/Lumiere and Parental!Secre and Asta, as well as background!AsuYuno and background!Charmy/Rill, all under the Bodyguard prompt. Happy reading, and don’t forget to watch Bodyguard, starring Kareena and Salman! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

~~~

Time moved differently with Secre Swallowtail. She hadn't physically aged after being cursed into a antibird, but once she'd regained her body, the crow's feet came as naturally as the longer hair. She still had the ability to transform into an antibird, and had, after retiring from the Black Bulls and leaving Clover Kingdom, chosen to remain a bird for small periods of time. It was easier to travel in her inhuman form. She could eat from the land, and contemplate in privacy.

There were downsides, of course. If she spent too long as an antibird, returning to her human form could mean spending a full day chopping off the overgrown locks, clipping her nails, and trimming the rest of her body hair. Even though she looked largely the same as she did six hundred years ago, the cells in her body continued to regenerate a bounty of beautiful black hair, and glowing skin.

But Secre disliked long hair, and she disliked pretending even more, so she chopped, clipped, and trimmed the years away.

She'd retired from the Black Bulls seven years after the invasion of the Spade Kingdom, and left Clover Kingdom after Asta died peacefully in his sleep at the tender age of ninety-four. The Spade boy he'd married decades earlier had passed away the year before, and Secre had known that it was only time before Asta went to sleep one night and didn't wake up again. The wails from his grown children began while Secre laid flowers on the ageless skull still standing on the outskirts of the village. She, of course, had known he'd passed the night before, but she didn't think it appropriate to wake the whole house at three in the morning just for that. Asta would have hated it.

He was laid to rest next to his husband, the Spade boy who never took up his princely crown, a boy who became a man, and then an old man who passed away from a heart attack in the middle of game of chess Asta was losing miserably.

Asta had cried about the boy being dramatic until the very end, and the wind spirit wept with him, wailing and begging for her Yuno to come back, to take the stinky shorty instead, and Asta cried with her because the Spade boy had meant everything to them, had meant everything to Asta.

She left identical white flowers on all three graves before she flew away – the bleached skull that still stood sentry after all these centuries, and the two graves of the two orphans who went on to become the greatest leaders Clover Kingdom had ever seen.

*

In a way, Lumiere hadn't been wrong. The world was cruel, even unbearable at times, but it still had its merits.

She met new people along the way, ones who sometimes asked too many questions, and some who didn't even say hello, merely passed her a plate of food and turned their attention back to their book, their own food, and once, a window looking out towards a bleached sky and golden fields. It was the kind of peace Secre hadn't ever experienced before, the peace of anonymity, of mutual respect for life, of living and letting live.

With Asta, there had never been a moment of silence. Secre was an observer more than she was a participant. Zagred had thought her foolish for that, and had been sealed away for his arrogance. She was a watcher, a recorder, someone who existed on the fringes of a memory that had long since faded away.

She was a hateful woman, too. No god of any religion would ever forgive her for making the decision to use a poor, magicless child for her own ends. She'd manipulated his despair and his longing, and she'd used it to her advantage. She'd used Asta – and she'd paid for it by losing Lumiere forever.

Secre had made many mistakes in her life, but never one as egregious as that one. That's why she had to atone – that's why she had to stay by his side until he'd perished peacefully.

She still bled, even if the blood was viscous black instead of smooth red. Lumiere had forgiven her for her transgressions, of course, but Lumiere forgave everything, even the genocide of his own brother-in-law's tribe, because Lumiere was barely a person even when he was alive. He'd always been god-like in her eyes, and perhaps that's why she'd been punished, because Lumiere had been human, he'd just been too kind, too dumb, too full of faith for his own good.

And then there was Secre – five hundred years as a bird, and she'd latched onto the first child that reminded her of a dead dream. She wasn't afraid to admit it anymore, of course. She hadn't just chosen Asta because he'd looked useful, but because he'd also looked the way she'd imagined her son would, because Secre was just as bad as Lumiere, had dreamed big dreams, and then lost everything in the process.

A woman who loved a man she couldn't have, and desired to bear children the man would never have given her – that was the unfortunate tragedy of one Secre Swallowtail. Secre had told Yami Sukehiro her story once, and he'd laughed at her, because who the hell cried over spilled milk?

Who, indeed.

Ten years after Asta passed away, she climbed aboard a ship and left the continent.

*

The decades went by, and her names changed. She continued to chop away at the black locks, and kept her nails trimmed and her wardrobe full of muted colors. She didn't return to the continent until a hundred years had passed, once the dragons had returned and the spirits of the sun and sky had finally awoken, and once the dwarves had returned from the deepest parts of the forests. By the time her wings touched the skies above her home continent, a second moon had appeared in the sky, and the elves of the other continents had deemed her continent safe again.

Kings had come and gone, but the great forest remained a deep green. The skull was still bone bleached white by the sun, but now there were more buildings in Hage, and dwarves who traded pelts for tatoes, and children of mixed heritage who didn't have to live in the forests of the Neutral Zone for fear of persecution.

Asta and Yuno's children's children had born and raised their own children, and now their grandchildren ran the farms, and even the schools, and maybe, just maybe she'd encountered one boy with deep red hair who reminded her a little of the Spade boy who'd sobbed freely on his wedding day to her son, her Asta. Names changed, but maybe souls didn't. Maybe souls always remained, maybe the souls of Asta and Yuno were in every single person inhabiting the bustling village that was no longer a village, maybe even the dwarves who'd emerged from the great forest had felt these souls, the souls of the wizard kings who'd married in front of the whole country and led their kingdom into the future.

“Well, well, well – if it isn't little miss songbird herself.”

Secre turned around to face the demon who hadn't made a sound at Asta's funeral, the demon who now walked freely with its black and white skin, and eyes as bloody red as the rubies that used to adorn Lumiere's crown.

“You're still here.”

“Where else would I be?”

Secre didn't answer him, instead turned back to the human and dwarf children squealing and running around a pen full of clucking chickens, daring each other to pet one of the creatures. She'd never experienced this kind of peace, because she hadn't been raised with love and freedom to breathe. She was born to serve, and serve she did until there was no one left to serve.

“That one,” the Anti-Magic Demon pointed to a short, pretty woman with hair as blue as the sky, “is the dwarf girl's daughter with that crazy human that used to paint pictures of everything. The dwarves can live almost as long as us, you know. The old bat is still around here somewhere, but she mostly stays inside now.”

“What are you still doing here? You got what you wanted, remember?”

The Anti-Magic Demon bristled, but didn't budge. “I'm here cuz I wanna be here – why are you back?”

Secre shrugged. “No reason, seemed like as good a time as any.”

Finally the demon went quiet, and Secre exhaled.

*

Before she'd left, she'd blessed Asta and Yuno's grandchildren with small kisses on top of their little foreheads. She didn't have much money to her name, but she had Lumiere's jewels, old and dull, but still good enough for a pawn shop or a merchant. She'd left them to Asta and Yuno's children before she'd left, and now that she'd returned, she'd expected them to have already paid for someone's wedding, maybe even a house. Instead, Secre found the jewels encrusted into busts of Lumiere, Asta, Yuno, and herself.

Secre stared at her doppelganger, unblinking.

“Is that yer mumma,” Secre heard a loud, squeaky voice say. Secre ignored the voice, and continued to stare at the busts.

“Oi! Old lady! Don't ignore me!”

Secre turned her head in a flash, because she was still inhuman, still two steps from becoming a demon like the Anti-Magic Demon and Zagred, and she was mad, she was horrible, and she just wanted to be left alone.

But the little boy with fat cheeks and stocky legs had other plans for her.

“Don't ignore me, Old Lady!” He fumed. Secre balked at the feisty little child, barely two feet tall.

“Don't bother the nice lady,” called a pretty voice, and it was a voice Secre hadn't heard in almost two hundred years, so she whipped around to face her demon, the demon impersonating his voice.

“Pappy, the old lady is a ghost!” The boy squealed, half horror and half amazement etched on his face as his father plucked him off the ground and into his arms.

“That's not very nice,” said a short man with thick frames, dusky colored skin, and Lumiere's voice.

“Oh my god,” the man gushed in awe, and Secre was barely five feet tall, but she had at least half a foot on the dwarf man, the man who had Lumiere's voice, and Lumiere's aura, and his beautiful, glowing smile.

“Pappy, ghost!” The little boy complained again, and Secre wished she could just disappear, maybe she should disappear, because the more she stared, the more the little boy looked too much like Asta, was too loud, and there was a dwarf with Lumiere's soul standing in front of her, and Secre had wished she'd stayed away, far away.

“Are you the esteemed Miss Nero?” The man began again. “Oh my god, you are her! They said you'd return, but no one knew when! My students at the school, they play games with the antibirds, pretending one of them is you! It is you! I can't believe it! We thought you'd never come home! Have you met the Sister at the church? We've been waiting for you! It's really you!!!”

And Secre drowned, drowned in the liquid gold eyes, drowned in the the beautiful smile, the beautiful voice of the dwarf who'd inherited Lumiere's soul.

*

“Well, now you have to stay. Can't sleep with a single man who's just tryna raise his baby in these trying times – if yer gonna taste the forbidden fruit, then commit.”

“Should I be hearing that from you?” Secre snapped back at the demon lounging on a bed of flowers.

“I'm just sayin', little songbird – when you get to my age, you see it all. You want it all, so why not take it?”

“Because they're dead,” Secre concluded. “A moment of weakness doesn't need to turn into a lifetime of regret.”

“Who said you needa regret anything? He loves you, and his kid calls you Ghost Mommy when he thinks you're not listening.”

Secre flinched, because it's true, because she overstayed her welcome, because she gave false hope to a man who's now hopelessly in love with her.

“Don't think of it as use, and be used,” the Anti Magic Demon chuckled harshly, as if reading her mind. “He had a choice too – to choose to ignore you, and to move on with his life, but the minute he saw you, he fell in love. You wanna say no, then say no, but remember – he chose to be with you, and you chose to be with him.”

“Is it them?” Secre whispered.

“Maybe, maybe not. Does it matter?”

“Secre! Secre, are you out there? Dinner's ready!” Called a voice from far away.

“Lumiere couldn't cook for his life,” she whispered hollowly, wiping tears from her cold cheeks.

“And the little brat never disrespected a woman in his life, but the second that little punk saw you, he called you a crusty little ghost. How's that for a reincarnation?”

“Bird Lady, dinner is ready!” The little boy with the fat cheeks and stumpy little legs screeched louder than Asta ever did, and she cried, she cried because she missed her Lumiere, and she missed the magicless little boy she grew to care for like a son.

“See, little songbird,” the Anti-Magic Demon whispered, sliding closer, so close that he was mere inches from her crying face, its own eyes hollow and cold and lonely, “after a while, it doesn't matter anymore. After a while, we die too, and death – it's a cold, lonely affair. You got nothing to lose.”

“Bird lady?” The little boy called hesitantly, staying some feet back, because the Anti-Magic Demon was the village watcher, the wraith that simultaneously protected and scared the living daylights out of the creatures living in Hage.

Secre wiped the tears from her face and climbed to her feet. “I'll be right there,” she called back, and the little boy nodded once before shooting back to the little house they called home.

“You found your home,” Secre surmised.

The Anti-Magic Demon hummed in response, laying back against the flowers, eyes fixed on the twin moons in the sky.

“Home,” Secre repeated to herself as she made her way back to her little house with her two little dwarves.

It seemed she'd finally found one as well.

[kelyon]

Nephila

My contribution to the Rumbelle Monsterfucker’s ball!!

Belle French is a naturalist called in to find out what’s been killing--but not eating--local sheep. What she finds will change her life. 

Read on AO3

"Nephila is a genus of araneomorph spiders noted for the impressive webs they weave. Nephila consists of numerous species found in warmer regions around the world. They are commonly called golden silk orb-weavers, golden orb-weavers, giant wood spiders, or banana spiders.

"The genus name Nephila is derived from Ancient Greek, meaning "fond of spinning.""

****

Even for late August, it was stupidly hot. Belle French trudged across the stupidly designed quad of the University of Maine’s Storybrooke Campus. The cardigan she had stupidly worn as part of her “first day of school as an adjunct professor” outfit stuck to her back. The sweater was further pressed against her body by the leather strap of the bag she had stupidly slung over her shoulder. And the bag was heavy with five classes worth of “getting to know you” one-page essays she had stupidly assigned her undergraduates and--most stupidly of all--promised to return for credit next class. 

She was the professor, goddamit, why was she the one with homework?

“Belle! Belle!” 

Belle heard the running almost before she heard the voice calling after her. She stopped and turned and saw Ruby Lucas sprinting towards her. In the years she’d known Ruby, Belle had seen her run in everything from sneakers to stilettos to those “barefoot running” foot gloves, but she had never seen her friend look as winded as she did right now.

“What’s going on?” Belle asked as Ruby got closer. “Is there an emergency? Is your grandmother okay?”

Ruby shook her head and gulped down air before she started talking. “Wheren.... Aus... la...ufrum?”

Belle blinked at her friend. “You want to run that by me again?”

With her hands on her knees, Ruby took another deep breath, which only improved things by a fraction. “Where in... Australia… are... you from?

“Melbourne,” Belle answered, then added, “Did you run all the way from the Bio Building just to ask me that?”

“No,” Ruby panted, her mind clearly going faster than her breath would allow. “The next thing I wanna know is, how far is Melbourne from Queensland?”

Belle gaped at her friend. What was going on? “What part of Queensland? It’s a big state.”

“I don’t know what part. But if you go to Queensland, can you crash with your parents?”

“I--No?” Belle gathered herself and squashed down her incredulity. “Ruby, that’s like asking if my parents can stay with me here in Maine while they stop down and go to Disney World! Now will you tell me what’s going on? Why do we need emergency trivia about Australian geography?”

 “Bio department got a call,” Ruby huffed. “The University of Brisbane is looking for field agents for a job, but they don’t want any specialists.”

Belle’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Ruby nodded. “I know! It’s weird. It sounds like they’re looking for general zoologists.” She put her hand meaningfully on Belle’s shoulder. “Like someone who still hasn’t picked out a specific branch of study even though she’s well into her doctoral process!”

Unlike Ruby--who had decided in middle school that lupine biology was her passion and had never strayed from that course--Belle had yet to find a specialization that she could stick with. All animals were equally fascinating to her--from bison to crocodiles to arachnids--and she had spent countless credit hours in one field, only to find her enthusiasm building for another subject. She had gotten through her bachelor’s and master’s degrees by taking basic classes and calling herself a generalist. After all, zoology was a legitimate discipline all by itself. Even if specialization was more likely to offer job prospects.

But… this was a job prospect. Wasn’t it?

“Why does the University of Brisbane want an unspecialized naturalist?”

Ruby handed Belle a piece of paper with a phone number scrawled on it. “I guess you’ll have to ask them when you get there.”

****

Four weeks, three interviews, and one extended leave of absence later, Belle got off the plane at the Mount Isa Airport. She was met by a short, gruff-looking man from the university. He took her bags and threw them in the back of a dust-covered Jeep.

“This is the real outback, isn’t it?” Belle shouted as they drove along a bumpy road. The loud Jeep pulled up clouds of red dust as it went.

“Not really,” the man yelled over the noise. He hadn’t introduced himself, but he wore an ID badge that said Leroy. “But it’s close enough that tourists can’t tell the difference!”

“I’m really not a tourist!” Belle grabbed onto the dashboard as the Jeep jolted over some unidentifiable obstacle in the road. “I’m with the university!”

“I know! You’re gonna find what’s killing the sheep!”

“Is that what this is about?” In all her briefings on this assignment, Belle still hadn’t been told why they needed someone who had no specialty.

Leroy pulled off the road and onto a paved driveway that eventually led up to a massive house.

“This property belongs to Mary Margaret and David Nolan,” he said when he cut the engine. “They’re sheep graziers, and they’ve noticed a diminishing return on their flock. Usually, they’d call it dingos and move on. But the shepherds aren’t finding bones or carcasses. They’re finding bodies, but they haven’t been eaten. There are only ever two bites on a sheep.”

Leroy hadn’t looked at Belle much on their ride to the Nolan station, but now as he sat in the parked Jeep with his hands on the steering wheel, he turned and looked her dead in the eyes. “They look like fang marks.”

“Well, God knows there are enough venomous animals on this continent. We have a list of usual suspects. What kind of snakes live in this area?”

“Sister,” Leroy opened his door. “I’ve lived in these parts for twenty years, I’ve never seen anything do damage like this.”

He took her bag out of the Jeep and lead her to an outbuilding off the side of the main house. The edge of a folded-over blue tarp flapped in the wind on the ground outside, though most of the material was weighed down by an object hidden inside the fold.

Leroy stood over the tarp, but looked at her before he lifted it. “Are you ready to look at this?”

Belle swallowed her fear and squared her jaw. “Of course I’m ready. I’m a professional.” 

“Okay.”

It was definitely a sheep, that thing on the tarp. And it was definitely dead. Belle couldn’t help but feel sorry for the animal’s untimely demise. Her heart and stomach both wrenched at the sight of its lifeless eyes, its stiff limbs and unnaturally twisted neck.

The condition of the animal was as Leroy had described: it wasn’t eaten or dismembered. The sheep didn’t even look as though it had been attacked--at least, not by anything with ripping claws or crushing mandibles.

But there were marks on the sheep. On the neck, about ten centimeters apart, there were two deep incisions. Belle got a pair of rubber gloves out of her bag and examined the marks. The whole of her hand fit in the space between the holes. She could fit two fingers inside of the wounds, they were deep enough to go up to her second knuckle.

“That’s definitely not a snake,” Belle said. She turned to Leroy. “Are you sure this was an animal? Do the Nolans have enemies? This could just be the work of some really sick human.” 

A new voice entered the conversation. “You really think a person is capable of that kind of torture to a helpless animal?”

Belle straightened up and looked at the new speaker. He was a tall man in khakis and a bush hat, an outfit that should have been practical, but just made him look like he was dressing up as Crocodile Dundee. He had spoken with an American accent, so it was entirely possible that he had, in fact, bought a new wardrobe in order to appear “authentic” for his trip “down under.” 

Folding her arms over her chest, Belle gave the man a look of incredulous disdain. “It can’t be a controversial opinion that in most conflicts between men and beasts, humans are the aggressors.”

The tall man laughed, an obnoxiously boisterous sound. He clapped Leroy on the back, as though he were a pint-sized sidekick. Leroy glared at him and shook off his hand. 

“Miss French, this is your expedition partner.”

“Clay Gaston,” the man extended his hand. He had a very white smile “I knew I was the braun to your brain, but no one mentioned your beauty!”

Belle shook his hand for just long enough to be polite and then pulled away. She decided to ignore the remark about her looks. “I’m Belle French, one-woman co-oprative between the Universities of Maine and Brisbane. Are you associated with an institute?”          

Mr. Gaston shook his head. “I’m a big game hunter, the Nolans hired me to kill whatever you find. No beast alive stands a chance against me. And no girl for that matter!” He gave another smile that Belle officially classified as ‘shit-eating.’

This was going to be a long, stupid, trip.

****

The next morning, after breakfasting with the Nolans and getting a few more answers than she’d had before, Belle set out to find her sheep attacker. The couple said that all the sheep with fang marks had been found within a hundred meters of an abandoned mine. Of course, the entire area was littered with old mine shafts, so that only sort of narrowed down the possibilities. But it was something to go on, at least.

Squinting in the merciless sun as she left the main house, Belle couldn’t quite believe that Gaston was sitting behind the wheel of the Jeep.

“Isn’t Leroy the driver around here?”

“Three’s a crowd,” Gaston said. “I drove around this ranch for a few days before you got here, I can get you where you need to go.”

“It’s called a station,” Belle muttered as she walked around the Jeep to get in the passenger side. 

When she climbed in, Belle saw a long rifle laying across the back seat. How had Gaston gotten that through customs? She gaped at it, then turned to Gaston. “Tell me that’s a tranquilizer gun.” 

The man scoffed and started the Jeep before Belle had her seatbelt on. “The Nolans hired us to get rid of the thing that’s killing their sheep. Your part is to tell me what to shoot at. I’ll take care of the rest.”

The sight of the gun and Gaston’s cavalier attitude about this whole expedition gave Belle a stomach ache. But she shook her head and tried to focus on their mission.

“So what’s your plan, Mr. Gaston?”

“Follow the mine shafts,” he said. At least he kept his eyes on the road. “If we find a body, we can try to track whatever killed it. If all goes well, we’ll find the thing, kill it, and bring the body back to the Nolans tonight. If that doesn’t work, we’ll go back and try something else tomorrow.”

In the vast catalogue of “bad plans,” that wasn’t the worst. Belle reminded herself that Gaston was a professional hunter and tracker. And the same people who had hired her had also hired him. He couldn’t be as much of an idiot as he seemed. 

After an hour in the dusty wasteland, Belle spotted a white lump in the distance. Gaston drove the Jeep off the dirt road and pulled up to the animal. With her rubber gloves covering her to the wrist, Belle examined the carcass. Like the one on the tarp back at the station, this sheep was uninjured except for two red puncture wounds. 

Unlike the sheep at the station, this one was still warm.

“It’s close,” Belle said. The sheep’s blood was still wet and tacky on her gloves. She hastily removed them. “You think it’s in the mine?”

Gaston made a show of looking around the flat expanse around them. “Something this big can’t just hide behind a bush. If we don’t see it, it’s not on the surface.”

Belle exhaled slowly through her nose. He wasn’t wrong. There was a hole in the ground only a few meters away from where they stood, where the sheep had been attacked. They were right on top of a mine. Something could have very easily come up from the ground, attacked the sheep, and run back home.

“But it doesn’t make sense,” Belle muttered. “Why would an animal kill a sheep and not eat it?”

Gaston shrugged. “Maybe it thought the sheep was something else? Like, sharks think that people are seals when they bite them.”

“Maybe,” Belle said. “But what does it want instead? And how would it know that there was prey but not know what it was?”

Her brow furrowed in against the sunlight, Belle squinted down at the sheep. There was something glinting beside the carcass. Belle crouched down to get a closer look. The sparkling thing was gold against the red dirt. 

“Is that jewelry?” A dropped necklace would be evidence that this senseless slaughter was in fact the work of people--maybe some cruel teenagers or the Nolan’s cutthroat rivals.

But when Belle examined the thing, she saw that it wasn’t any kind of chain. It was thin as a hair, at risk of blowing away in the wind. It almost looked like some kind of golden thread. 

“Are we going to the mine or what?” Gaston said.

 Still squinting, Belle followed the line of the thread as it wove around the sheep and over the brush and into the hole in the ground. She stood up and slapped the dust off her shorts. 

“I think we have to,” Belle said. Though the animal’s access point was right in front of them, Belle had no interest in rappelling from a hole in the ground down into the unknown. She turned to look down the dirt road, and then back at Gaston. “Where’s the entrance?”

****

The mine was dark and cavernous. The entrance had been at ground level, a few hundred meters away from where they had found the sheep. As they went on, the path sloped steeply downwards into the earth. The only light came from their battery-operated torches. Belle held her light in one hand and left the other hand free as she walked. Gaston had an LED light mounted on his shoulder and used both hands to hold his rifle. The LEDs gave off a cold, bluish light that gave Belle a headache. She’d had her torch since she was a kid, and it gave off a warm yellow glow that made it easier to trace the gold-colored threads that hung all around the stone mine walls.    

“I can’t tell if I’m Orpheus or Theseus,” Belle remarked. “Descending into the underworld, but following a golden thread so I don’t get lost in the maze.”

“Is that from a movie or something?”

Belle opened her mouth, but then decided it wasn’t worth it.

There was nothing alive in the mines. In the light of her torch, Belle didn’t see any signs of animals--no bones or scat or likely habitats. There was nothing here but dust and rocks and strands of golden thread. As they went deeper into the mines, the threads became more frequent, the spacing of them denser and harder to avoid. Weaving around each other over and over, the threads almost seemed to form a narrow tunnel.

Gaston ducked, but couldn’t avoid scraping his head against the threads. He pulled the gold out of his black hair and grimaced at the sticky strands. “This isn’t real gold, is it? We’re not literally walking through a gold mine?”

“No,” Belle said. “Honestly, these look like cobwebs more than anything else.”

Giving up the subtle approach, Gaston used the butt of his rifle to clear away the rest of the tunnel. “You think a spider did all this?”

They emerged into a vast space, like a cathedral in the middle of the mine. There were a few boarded-up mine shafts above their heads, letting in narrow beams of sunlight. Looking up, Belle realized just how far under the ground they were.

Then the beam of her torch caught the golden threads again. But the threads were no longer sparse trails, or even the dense mass of the tunnel. Now they formed a sprawling, asymmetrical web that covered the entire space of the cavern. Belle and Gaston both looked up at it, gaping.

“Yeah,” Belle said. “I think that’s a spider’s work.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gaston swallow. “A spider that’s big enough to kill sheep but not hungry enough to eat them.”  

Belle nodded. “I wonder what it really wants.”

She didn’t see what happened next. Her first sensation was of motion beside her, of Gaston falling over and shouting out, “Oof!” Then a hard crunch and half the light went out. All the illumination from the LEDs vanished. 

A man screamed. Gaston! Belle swept her yellow beam over the ground, frantically searching for him.

But he wasn’t on the ground.

She saw him, five meters up in the air, his body already wrapped up like a mummy and dangling by a golden thread. He was struggling to break free, but with every second, Belle could see his movements become weaker and more disjointed. In no time at all, he was still.

When Gaston’s wrapped-up body spun around, Belle saw two large fang marks on his shoulder. She screamed.

“Shhhh,” a raspy voice came from the dimness. “Don’t make noise.”

Belle swung her torch all over the room. “Who’s there? Where are you?”

“My home,” the voice said. “You trespassed.” 

Heart pounding, Belle tried to stay calm. “Your home?” she asked, still looking for the source of the voice. “You live here? With that spider around?”

“Not a spider,” was the only answer. “Spiders are small.”

Belle worked very hard to keep her panting from becoming hyperventilating. “Then what killed Mr. Gaston?” 

“Not killed,” came the sound of the voice. A voice Belle could no longer swear was human. “Not yet. You should go before I eat him.”

Gason wasn’t dead? And the thing in the mine with her was going to eat him? “Wait!” Belle thrust a pleading hand into the darkness. “Take me instead!”

In the dim light, she saw the outline of a creature. It stayed in the shadows, but she could make out a head cocking to one side. It was looking at her. 

“You?” the inhuman voice asked “You would… take his place?”

Belle fought to keep the fear out of her voice. “If I did, would you let him go? Could you let him go?”

An appendage came from out of the shadows and prodded at Gaston’s limp body. Then it discarded him, and turned to Belle. She could hear many legs moving in the darkness, coming closer to her. 

“Why?” The creature’s voice was high and low at the same time. It was a chirp with deep and menacing echoes. 

“I can’t go back without him. He’s my responsibility. I have to protect him.”

“You?” it said again. “You so small, so weak? He should protect you.”

“He tried and you see where that got us.” Belle nodded to Gaston’s rifle. It had been knocked out of his hands before they had even seen the creature. 

“So,” it hissed, “to save your male, you would feed me? Let me bite you?”

“You wouldn’t even need to use your venom.” Belle ignored the urge to vomit as she discussed her own slaughter. “I’m small enough that I think you could just eat me. If your physiology is the same as the smaller species in your genus.”

“That’s personal information,” the monster said stiffly. 

“I wouldn’t even fight you, at least I’d try not to. I--” It took a moment for Belle to make sense of what the thing had just said. “Was that a joke?”

“Hmm?”

“W-when I mentioned your genus, you said that was personal. Was that humor?”

It made a sound then, a high-pitched twitter that repeated a few times. After a moment, Belle realized it was laughter. This monster could speak English. It could hold a conversation. It could make a joke. 

This thing in the cave was more intelligent than most of her undergraduates. 

With a bizarre sense of relief--even though the danger was far from over--Belle began to laugh as well. This was just one of those days, wasn’t it? Like her favorite comedian said, adult life is already so goddamned weird, this might as well happen. 

The creature stopped laughing and Belle became aware of it looking at her again. 

“I don’t have to eat,” it said. “Not if other needs are met.”

“Really?” Belle asked. “Will you let us both go? Will you stop killing the sheep?”

“Other needs,” it repeated. “Must be met.”

Belle gulped. “Okay. Um.”

“Pretty human.” Was she nuts or did the creature sound thoughtful? “Pretty human wants her male to go free.”

“Yes,” Belle whispered. “No matter what, don’t eat Gaston.”

“No,” it agreed. “Ugly human stinks. No good for anything.”

“But,” she made herself say it. “You can eat me.”

“Yes,” the creature hissed. “I can. Or.” It didn’t finish the sentence.

“Or?” Belle asked. “Or what?”

“Or you can choose, pretty human.”

Belle’s hands clenched into fists. “Tell me what I can choose.”

“Choose,” it said, “what you will be. Will you be meal? Or.” It waited again, waited an eternity before it gave Belle the second option. “Will you be mate?”

For a very, very long moment, Belle didn’t remember to breathe. She stood in the dark cave, in the beam of her torch, surrounded by golden webs, every bit as paralyzed as Gaston. Her mouth opened and closed. Her lips tried to form words but no sound would come out of them. 

“W-w-what do you mean by ‘mate’?”

The sound the monster made was simultaneously amused and lustful. “Females should be bigger,” it said. “Ten times bigger than males! I should be afraid of you. Instead, you are afraid of me.”

“I am,” Belle admitted. “I’m afraid of things I don’t know, things I don’t understand.” She took a deep breath. “But I’ve found a pretty easy way to get over those fears.”

“Oh?” She could hear the creature scuttling in the darkness. It seemed to be all around her, examining her from every angle. 

“Yes,” she gulped. “Usually, I stop being afraid once I know more about the thing that scares me.”

Research had long been her weapon against a world that didn’t make sense. If she knew enough about a danger, then she knew how to avoid it, or how to survive it. It was an attitude she found common in doctors and economists, and naturalists like herself. All the good ones, anyway. They believed that forewarned is forearmed. 

Of course, the other side of that coin was someone had to have the first-hand experience that went into the books that future generations used for research. It was all well and good to arm yourself with knowledge, but at a certain point, if you were really serious about advancing science, you had to do something no one else had ever done. You had to do the brave thing, even if only so future generations could look at your work and see what not to do.

It was pretty clearly documented what happened to the prey of nephila. Belle herself could confirm the process of paralyzing a victim through venom and wrapping it in silk for later consumption. The creature had already done all of that to Gaston. If she agreed to be the creature’s meal, it would do that to her, and she would also get a first-hand view of its devouring behavior and digestive processes, though any notes she might make on such matters would surely be lost to science forever.

But did anyone know what happened to a human body in the process of arachnid copulation? What could happen, under those circumstances? Science had never found a specimen as large as the one that had made the webs in this cave. Science had never come across an invertebrate that expressed a sexual interest in humans. 

Now, Belle had both.

Besides, she had been hired specifically to find the thing that had been killing the Nolan’s sheep and to get it to stop. This creature seemed to be killing without feeding out of misplaced sexual energy. Surely, the most logical method of saving the sheep was to get the creature to expend that sexual energy. On her.  

This was the discovery of a lifetime. This would provide groundbreaking data for twenty different fields of study. This was literally her job. Who else would ever have this chance? Who else would ever take it? She had to do it. For the sake of the Nolans’ sheep, for the sake of Gaston’s life, for the sake of her own intellectual integrity, she had to fuck this monster.

“Well?” the voice came from the shadows, even more hushed than before. “Choice?”

Belle swallowed. It was one thing to see the rightness in doing something, but it was another thing entirely to actually do it. Besides, there was one more thing she had to know before she gave it her answer. 

“Step into the light.”

It did as she asked. One leg emerged from the shadows, then another, and another. The legs rested on thin points that gradually tapered up to joints and grew thicker from there. From the way it teetered on its points, Belle could tell that this creature didn’t usually stand on the ground. It was a weaver, after all. It was most comfortable in its web. 

The points of the legs were dark brown, but halfway up the colors changed to include a band of yellowish gold before it turned dark again. Every leg had that coloration, it was a sign to evoke fear in potential predators. A warning, that this thing was venomous. 

A warning Belle and Gaston would have done well to heed.

Belle looked up the height of the creature, at the legs that just kept going, until high above her head, she saw the rest of it. It had an oblong abdomen, as long as she was tall. At the cephalothorax, where a regular spider would have had a head, this thing kept going. It looked like it had a waist--not an abdomen, a waist that developed into a chest. It had shoulders and arms and five-fingered hands. It had a neck and a head and a face that looked like a man.

It was grinning at her. 

She had been afraid before, when she hadn’t known the true nature of this beast. Now that she knew, now that she saw it… “afraid” didn’t even begin to describe the feeling.

Black eyes clustered around the creature’s face, two large main eyes and then multiple smaller ones. Intellectually, Belle knew there were six more eyes than she was used to looking at on one face, but right now she was far too overwhelmed to count them. It looked at her, the gleam of her torch reflecting in all of its shiny black eyes.

“Choice?” it repeated. The mouth looked human, but with stubby chelicerae protruding out from the sides like an old-time moustache. That was where the creature had its fangs. “Meal or mate?”

Shaking, Belle took a step closer to it. “Mate.”

Instantly, two legs came from behind her and scooped her up. As she was lifted up into the air, Belle couldn’t fight her body’s instinct to wiggle and squirm. But then, another leg pressed itself onto her chest.

“Stop,” the creature said. “You look yummy when you do that. Remember, you are mate.”

Chest heaving, Belle tried to think. Of course her frantic motions would look like some small animal fighting for its life! She couldn’t act like that, or it might spur on a feeding instinct instead of a sexual one. She had to stay calm. She had to think like a spider.

“What does a mate do?”

The legs that held her lifted her up even higher, setting her in the center of the asymmetrical golden web. The creature let her go and Belle grabbed onto the silk threads, bracing herself for a fall.

But she didn’t fall. Belle looked at her arms and saw that they were sticking to the web, without her having to hold on to anything. About half of the threads were coated with droplets that looked like dew. She could reach one hand out to the droplets, and as soon as she touched them she found that she couldn’t move her hand away from the thread. She was stuck.

In a spirit of having nothing to lose, Belle reached her other hand out to a thread that had no sticky droplets. That one she could touch freely, she could run her hand back and forth over the impossibly thin golden thread. 

She plucked at the thread, like a harp string, and felt the vibrations emanate all around her. The creature was below her, balancing delicately on eight thin legs. It only walked on the threads that had no droplets, safe from the traps it had laid for others. When she touched the thread, it reacted, perking its head up to register the vibrations.

It was coming closer to her, approaching her from below. Black, lifeless eyes looked up at her. Eyes like that shouldn’t be so expressive. Belle shouldn’t have been able to discern curiosity and wonder in eyes that were nothing but eight round voids.

“You are mate,” it whispered. Its strange voice sounded almost awed. “Mate is queen.”

Climbing up the thread on all its legs, the creature came and looked Belle in the face. Even the human parts of him--it, Belle corrected her thoughts, even the parts of the spider that looked like a human--were colored for camouflage on the forest floor. The hands were green-brown and ended in sharp black points that looked like filed fingernails.

He--it--brushed away the strands of hair that had escaped from Belle’s ponytail. It touched her face and cocked its head to look at her. 

“Pretty mate,” it said.

“Thank you,” Belle said. Maybe that was stupid, but good manners never hurt. 

The creature’s skin was mottled into a tortise-shell mixture of green and brown and black, with flecks of iridescent gold shining through. And it was skin, Belle was pretty sure. This wasn’t an exoskeleton. How was it possible that this thing was both an arachnid and a vertebrate?   

He seemed as fascinated with her as she was with him. His hands slowly trailed down from her cheek to her neck. But it got confused when it reached her khaki jacket and the blouse underneath.

“Wrong,” it said. The thing had eight eyes, but only two eyebrows to furrow in confusion. 

“I’m wearing clothes,” Belle explained. “It’s… kind of like fur? That I can take off?”

That did not seem to help him understand. “Wrong,” he said again.

“You know how sheep have that wooly white stuff on the outside? Have you ever seen it come off?”

Realization dawned. All eight eyes widened in delight and his fanged mouth cracked into a smile. “Sheer!” it squeaked. “I can sheer human mate!”

“Gently!” Belle cried before he could get carried away. “Please be careful with me.”

It looked into her eyes and spoke softly in its inhuman voice: “Mate is small. Mate is weak. I will be gentle.” 

Belle swallowed. “Thank you.”

His five-fingered hands were clumsy, but Belle was impressed that he was even trying to undo her buttons. She’d had human dates who would just rip her blouse open when they’d started making out.

 While his hands slowly exposed more of her skin, his pointed legs caressed her body. It was a strange and not entirely pleasant touch--like being softly stroked with a pool cue--but she appreciated the effort. He was being very gentle.

Once he had undone the buttons on her jacket, her blouse, and her khakis, the creature only had to push her sports bra up and her underwear down to get access to everything he wanted. 

It looked her up and down and Belle had never had so many eyes on her body at once.

“Mate,” it whispered. His voice was thick and heavy. “Perfect mate.”

A shiver went up Belle’s spine. God help her, she had never felt so sexy. The mine was surprisingly warm and she felt herself opening up to this creature. She wanted to let him in to her body, and not just for the pursuit of scientific endeavors. Her nipples hardened and she twisted her body on the web, trying to get closer to him.

He saw what she was doing. With his long, thin legs holding him onto the web, the creature drew nearer to Belle. They were face to face, torso to torso. Her legs were spread, she waited for him to mount her or skewer her or rub up against her in an animalistic passion.

But he didn’t.

He touched her face again, gently, all eight of his eyes looking into hers. There was something about him, something about his eyes and his soft touch. He looked at her like he adored her. But how could a spider be capable of adoration? And how could Belle possibly be worthy of it?

With a strong but tender jerk, he pulled her stuck hand away from the web. Her arms were still stuck, they held her up in the middle of these golden threads. But now both her hands were free.

“Thank you,” Belle said.

The creature didn’t say anything. It lowered itself a little, so he was looking up at her again. He raised his chin, exposing his neck in front of Belle’s free hands. A few eyes looked at her expectantly.

“Do you want me to touch you?”

“Please?” it hissed. “Mate touch?”  

 Belle’s heart fluttered. It sounded so sad. How long had it been alone? There couldn’t be any females of this species. If there were, her creature would have mated already and there would have been spiderlings and in short order the entire continent of Australia (if not the entire world) would have been covered in golden webs and all life would be prey to this apex predator. 

She reached out her open palm to his cheek. With a sigh, he closed most of his eyes and leaned into her touch. His skin was warm and only slightly rough. She touched his cheek, his jaw, but when her fingers brushed against the flesh that sheathed his fangs, he jerked back.

“No!” he said in a fervent whisper. “Not there!”

Belle swallowed. “Does it hurt you?”

“Hurt you!” he said. He tilted his head in the dim light, showing off the venom dripping from his fangs. “Hurt sheep, hurt prey, hurt smelly male human. Not hurt you.” His two largest eyes bore into her. “Never hurt mate!”

Again, Belle felt her soul soften at this gentle monster. He was so intense, so insistent, so aware of his strength and her weakness.

“Do you know what names are?” She wanted to give him something, something more than just the physical release they had initially dealt for.

He cocked his head at her. “Name?”

She nodded. “It’s something you can call me, to separate me from other humans, so you don’t have to keep calling me ‘mate,’ unless you want to.”

“Mate is separate,” he said reverently. “Mate is nothing like other humans. Mate has name?”

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded. “My name is Belle.”

“Belle,” he said in his strange voice. The multiple tones gave her name a musical quality. It was clear that he had never said the word before, and Belle felt that she had never before heard anyone really say her name. 

She never wanted anyone else to say it again.

“Do you have a name?” she asked him. “Do others of your kind call you anything?”

With a series of strange clicks and grunts, he made a long poly-syllabic sound that started with an R and ended with “in.”

“I don’t think I can say that,” Belle said apologetically. “I’m not as good with my mouth as you are.”

“Belle,” he said again, dismissing her shortcomings in his adoration. “Belle, you are perfect.”

He put his hands on her again, on her neck and her chest. He ran his palms over her breasts and rubbed her nipples with his thumbs. 

Belle moaned and he stopped at once, his black eyes wide.

“No,” she explained. “No, that feels good. I like it when you touch me. I really like it when you touch me there.”  

Nodding slowly, he put his hands on her again. His pointed legs kept him suspended over her on the web. Gently, he trailed his fingers over the curve of her waist, his eyes looking down between her legs. 

“Taste,” he whispered. His largest eyes looked at her face, the rest of them looked down below her waist  “Want to taste.”

“Okay,” Belle said without hesitation. “But what about your venom?”

He was already climbing down the web and he looked up at her as he answered. “Careful!” he said brightly. “Feels good!”

Whenever anybody went down on her, the only thing Belle didn’t like was how she had no idea what was going on. That wasn’t so bad if the person knew what they were doing--if all Belle was aware of was electric bliss then it didn’t matter what technique they were using. But when guys didn’t know what they were doing and all Belle felt was a mildly pleasant warmth, then she would have liked to know what they were trying and hope that they would listen to her suggestions. 

But the spider, the monster with a name she couldn’t pronounce, did not need her help. The shock of his first touch burst up her spine and made her shriek.

“I’m okay!” she cried before he could stop. “That was good!”

“Yes,” he said, lifting his head up from between her legs. “I know. I smell. Belle feels good.”    

Fuck, Belle thought. How did he know what he was doing? How did this animal know how well he was mating her? Just by smell? Just by reading her body and sensing the animal in her? How much of an animal was she that she could accept him into her?

Probing and licking, his tongue explored her everywhere. Belle was so wet she couldn’t feel anything but pleasure, a steadily-mounting glow that rose higher out of her with every move he made. He pressed down against her heat, pushing his face into her, flicking his tongue over and over, everywhere around her cunt. 

“I’m going to orgasm,” she gasped, more as an explanation than anything else. He was working her up so perfectly, but would he know what would come of his efforts? “I’m going to shake and scream, but it’s good. It’s very good. You’re not hurting me. Fuck!” 

The sticky web behind her held her down, kept her from writhing and jerking like she would have if she were free. God, if someone was doing this to her on her bed in her crappy apartment she’d be thrashing on the mattress and covering her mouth with her hand so she wouldn’t wake the neighbors.

But Belle didn’t have to worry about that here. They were in a cavern, kilometers away from any settlements. They only person who could hear her moans and wails was Gaston, and he was still knocked out cold.

She would have to get him to a hospital when this was all over. 

For now, Belle let loose her cries. She shouted and screamed and pressed herself as close as she could to the creature that was dedicating himself to her pleasure. 

He didn’t stop, didn’t seem aware that she had climaxed. He kept his mouth on her--did he even use it to breathe?--and plunged her into another wave of ecstasy. 

Belle whimpered and moaned as a second orgasm built up and then released. Her body hung limp against the sticky threads, but her legs were still open and the spider still had his mouth on her, relentless and hungry.

After her third orgasm in a row, Belle weakly tried to close her legs. She couldn’t even feel her pussy anymore. “Please stop,” she gasped. “Just let me catch my breath.”

The creature pulled away from her with a squelching sound. Ribbons of fluids hung and dripped between their connected bodies. When he looked at her, somehow his eyes seemed even wider and darker than they had been before.

“Belle is pleased?” He rested his hands on her waist.

“Oh God, yes,” she answered. “You were--that was amazing!”

“Belle is happy?”

She looked down at him. Her hands were free enough that she could reach down and touch his face the way he liked so much. His cheeks were moist and sticky and Belle felt her body clench.

“I’m happy,” she said. Why did it matter so much to him? “You made me happy.”

Under her hands, she felt him swallow. “Now,” he gulped. “May I mate with you?”

Belle let out a chuckle and leaned her head against the threads. “Of course! You know, in human mating what you did isn’t even necessary. It’s just polite. Extremely polite to do it three times.” 

He didn’t answer. He crawled up the web to face her, to press his body against hers. One hand touched her face, stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. His other hand stayed in the space between their bodies. Belle looked down to see what he was doing, but he tilted her chin up to hold her gaze. 

“Don’t be scared,” he whispered.

“I’m not,” Belle answered. “I’m curious.”

His wide mouth broke into a smile. Now his fangs dripped with more fluids than just venom. The smell of her completion on his face only made her wetter.

She felt his hand against her, felt some strange new wetness sliding against her pleasure. Slowly, the creature pushed his fingers into her cunt.

The fingers didn’t move. He wasn’t, well, fingering her. She couldn’t quite tell what he was doing. She had never been fisted--was that what this was? He was so slow as he entered her. His hand felt so much bigger than any cock she’d ever taken, bigger than even her most adventurous sex toys. Thank God he’d already given her three orgasms!

Belle panted as he pushed himself deeper into her. Her hips rocked with a needful motion. Was he going to thrust? Was he going to fuck her properly or just fill her with his hand?

When she looked at the creature, he had half of his eyes closed in bliss. The other half gazed down at her. “Belle is good?”

“Can you move your arm?” Belle gasped as her body undulated back and forth. “Can you match the way I’m moving?”

It took a moment, but he figured out what she wanted. They rocked together, as tightly joined as any two lovers in the history of the world. Belle’s body shook the entire web and the creature pushed himself against her for stability. She cried and moaned with deep, guttural noises and she had to hastily tell him that this was good, he was good, she was feeling so good.

The orgasm rose out of her belly, deeper and stronger than the three she’d had from his mouth. Vaginal orgasm, Belle thought, categorising the experience even as she lived it. Biologically, she knew, there was no difference between a vaginal orgasm and a clitoral one--but this sure as hell felt different.

She came apart with a mad rush, every inch of her jerking and thrusting against the creature’s hand.  Her body clenched around it with so much force she almost thought she heard a crack. Had she broken his wrist in her passion? It wouldn’t have surprised her. Fuck, but she had never been fucked this well!

The creature moved with her, thrust for thrust and jerk for jerk. He clung to her with one hand and fucked her with the other. He made strange, chittering, animal noises and Belle knew that he was voicing his pleasure. He grunted out his desire, his passion, his burning need that only Belle could satisfy. Pushing into her again and again, the creature trembled and shook on its web, all eyes closed in ecstasy. 

When she couldn’t come anymore, she lay back on the web loosely. The creature delicately pried her away from the sticky golden threads and wrapped her in his arms. Belle sighed and rested in his embrace. Had she ever before felt so exhausted? So sated? So full?

For a while, she dozed in the creature’s arms. He seemed to have no interest in letting her go and she wasn’t exactly ready to walk back to the Jeep. The two of them spoke together, pillow talk without pillows, exchanging questions and compliments, both of them coming down from a wonderful high.

All too soon, another noise entered their conversation--a harsh groan of pain from the cave floor.

“Gaston!” Belle all but leaped away from the creature. How could she have forgotten about Gaston? The venom must be wearing off. He was waking up. He probably still had head trauma. She needed to get him back to the Nolan’s!

Grabbing onto the smooth threads--not the ones covered in a sticky dew that trapped prey--Belle slid down the web and jumped the remaining distance to the ground.

“Could have carried you,” the creature said, still in the center of the web. 

Belle smiled up at him and began to put her clothes to rights. “I’m sorry I have to leave,” she said. “But he really should go to a hospital.”

The creature looked down at Gaston, who was making a valiant effort to roll over in his golden cocoon. “Deal’s a deal,” he shrugged, his arms pulled tightly across his chest. “You may go.” 

“I, uh, I had a good time,” Belle said lamely. 

But the spider was already retreating into the darkness.

She wanted to shout after it, but what could she say? Stay, wait, let’s have dinner? It was ridiculous. She couldn’t pursue a romantic relationship with a spider! Why would she even want to? And she couldn’t even come back to this godforsaken cave for another round of the best sex she’d ever had in her life!

If the only reason it had been attacking sheep was out of misplaced sexual energy, then when Belle had relived that energy, she had negated any possibility of it happening again. The Nolans would be happy, but she would never have a reason to come back here.

And--Belle just now realized--all of her scientific justifications for this little experiment came up to nothing because her results could not be replicated and no one in the scientific community would ever believe her!  

“Fuck!” Belle shouted as she kicked a rock with her hiking boot. What a stupid waste of time! The only thing she gotten from walking into this stupid cave was the ability to walk back out again with stupid Gaston! 

Belle sighed. Right. Gaston. Hospital.

She took out her pocket knife and cut the golden silk away from his body. After she helped him sit up, she rubbed some feeling back into his hands. The bitemarks in his shoulder were the size of American quarters. His skin was cold, maybe numb. Would he be able to walk?

“How you feeling, buddy?”

Her expedition partner rubbed his head. “The hell happened?”

“We found the sheep killer, don’t you remember? It was a giant spider.”

“How big, like a foot?”

Belle laughed. “Close enough. It bit you, and then I picked up the rifle and shot it. The pieces are too small to put into specimen bags, but at least we know it won’t be a problem anymore.”

Gaston nodded, still too zoned out to point out any holes in that story. “Told you,” he slurred a little as he spoke. “Told you it was a good idea to bring a real gun.”

“Yep,” Belle said as she helped him stand. Step by step, she helped him out of the cave. “You really saved the day.”

****

   On the walk back to the Jeep and the drive back to camp, Belle was able to refine her story. The caves held nothing new, no groundbreaking discoveries in biology. Just a larger-than-average golden orb weaver that had been biting local sheep and injecting them with venom. Belle told the Nolans that the thing probably hadn’t even known what to do with prey that large. But the most important part was that it wouldn’t bother anyone again. 

She tried to apply that mentality to her own experiences in the cave. It had happened, but it wasn’t that big a deal. It wasn’t going to change her life. As soon as she got back to the station, she had taken the longest, hottest shower of her life. Warm water ran over her and she tried her best to wash away the memory of the creature. 

A few days later she was back in the states, lecturing to dead-eyed teenagers and expanding her knowledge in the library instead of on the field. She tried to focus on her research, tried not to think of it as a cop-out that she was back inside, reading about other people’s adventures instead of having one of her own. 

Belle found herself getting restless and moody, snapping at her undergrads and crying at commercials on TV. It was mid-October and everywhere she went there were Halloween decorations. Every cartoon spider and every fake web stuck out to Belle, leaving her in a curious emotional state, a mixture of depression and horniness.

“Honestly, Ruby, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Belle said one night when she’d been so distraught she’d actually picked up the phone to call her best friend. “I’ve never felt this weird before in my life.”

“Are you sure it’s not just PMS?” Ruby said over the sound of club music. “When are you gonna start your period?”

“Oh my God, Rubes! That’s it!” Belle fumbled in her purse for her day planner. “I’m supposed to have my period…” She didn’t finish the sentence. 

Her last period had been in August. She was more than a month late. 

“Oh my God, Rubes,” Belle said, in an entirely different tone than the last time she had said it. “I have to go back to Austraila.”

“The fuck for?” Ruby shouted into the phone. 

Belle found herself staring at a blank space in the middle distance. She hardly believed herself as she said the words:

“I think I’m pregnant.”                

[mimiplaysgames]

A Powerful Enough Dream (Ch. 2)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua (eventually) Rating: T Word Count: 8,589

Summary: It’s Aqua’s first day in the Realm of Light, and she learns that she left the worlds in worse shape than she realized.

Read on AO3.

A/N: This has been a tricky chapter to write, having to make sure new readers understand what is going on without being too repetitive for returning readers who have read the first fic. But I’m grateful for the challenge. It’s been quite a while, I hope y’all enjoy it! All those characters you may not recognize are from Final Fantasy games.

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

Rain

Her eyes flutter open to a foreign ceiling in a room painted in deep burgundy. Sunlight beams through the bottom of the closed curtains, slicking straight off of the carpet like it’s illuminating a pool of blood. She’s in a bedroom in a place she doesn’t know.

Aqua holds her breath, clutching the bedsheets and listening for any sign of movement. Chatter from outside the window, a noisy street.

The relief that seeps in is apprehensive but it settles anyway, her sigh shaky and long, replaying images of last night through her mind. It really wasn’t a dream. Terra was actually with her, and he left the Door open. She was pulled out, and he was left behind.

She is free for a price.

“Pull yourself together, Aqua,” she says out loud.

There aren’t any Heartless here. Relaxing (though it takes her several moments to stop herself from denying it), she wiggles her feet and runs her hands against the soft silk of the mattress, the same color as the walls. The darkness has made her forget that there are smaller things worth experiencing, like the inviting solace of a good bed.

But if there is anything she doesn’t miss, it’s the soreness. She grumbles as she sits up, noticing all the aches pulsing through her body – twelve years of walking and fighting, and she’s never taken a break. By all accounts, she probably shouldn’t be alive anymore.

So then, why is she?

Most of last night is still cloudy. Each time she tried to stay awake, her body demanded its sleep. She doesn’t remember who helped her do so, but she had the strength to take a shower. People had surrounded her, checking her pulse and the color of her skin, making sure she didn’t leave them for good. Blurred faces really, but she’s certain magic was involved in healing her.

There was also crying involved, judging by how swollen her eyes felt. She is free and how long will it take for her to accept it?

On the bedside table is a bowl of mixed fruit, ripe and ready, along with scraps of what she left behind. If she isn’t sleeping, she eats. Next to it is an empty glass, and a half-eaten sandwich. It’s plain, a simple stack of meat slices and cheese, but she doesn’t remember what anything else tastes like, so this is the feast of the century.

Throwing grapes into her mouth, she listens intently at the crunch, quenching her thirst with the juices squeezed out of the berries.

She remembers now. She’s in Traverse Town, somewhere in a hotel.

A clock hangs on the wall opposite her bed, telling her it’s mid-afternoon. But is it correct?

She scoffs.

“Why am I looking for reasons to distrust clocks in the Realm of Light?”

When she steps onto the floor, she winces. The ache is worst on her feet, wrapped in bandages, with bruises and blisters still showing through. The Realm of Darkness had apparently decided that it wasn’t worth reminding her what twelve years in shoes would do to her.

Aqua gets up anyway. Sore feet aren’t an excuse not to walk forward.

She needs to find Ventus immediately, no matter what her body feels.

There is a wardrobe in the room, though there’s no telling if it has anything inside. A calming painting of landscape with a windmill sits on the wall by it; flowers on a field with mountains in the background in what looks like a bright sunny day. She reads the painting like she’s certain the artist meant for it to be a windy day and the windmill is hard at work. She nearly brushes her fingers against the painted strokes, but thinks better than to ruin someone’s hard work.

Her clothes are neatly folded on a chair by the vanity table, but she doesn’t remember who laundered them for her. Waiting there are two Wayfinders, her solemn blue and his courageous orange, in good shape. The mirror is covered in layers of sheets.

… It was Riku who covered it for her. She had whined and begged not to let a mirror show her reflection last night, and he did what he could. Hopefully, he’s the only wielder who saw her behave that way.

Without withdrawing the sheets to use her reflection, she proceeds to dress herself. Re-learning to tie a corset when she never bothered to adjust it for so long is the hardest part.

A knock taps on her door.

She has to calm her instinct of assuming it’s a monster on the other side first before opening her mouth. “C-come in.”

The woman with long black hair – the healer from last night – allows herself in, dragging a cart behind her. She’s incredibly short, definitely shorter than Ventus, but carries her head with the grace of someone who expects attention to be given to her. There is a fluidity in the sway of her walk, her orange jumpsuit revealing how lightly she weighs on her feet and her white bell sleeves glide through the air.

Her name is Garnet, and she’s a princess from somewhere. Aqua immediately bows her head.

“What a joy it is to see you up and about,” Garnet says, trailing her cart to the vanity table. It is stacked with plates, cartons of food, potions and rags, topped with a large teapot.

“Your Highness.” Aqua pulls a little on her sleeves and quickly runs fingers through her hair, completely unprepared for such a visit.

“You may drop the formalities,” Garnet says like she expects not to repeat herself. She pours tea into a mug, and eyes the room. The mirror covered in sheets. The drawn curtains.

But her smile is warm and forgiving, like it doesn’t matter that she’s a princess of whatever. It’s a strange sight to see, but Aqua supposes that happiness is something that persisted in the outside world.

And it comes to her attention that she doesn’t know what to say.

She accepts the mug and lets her mind mull over conversation starters – but the taste consumes her instead. Ginger tea, Terra’s favorite. In fact, it is so delicious that he could have been the one to make it, being such an expert at brewing teas that no one in the castle bothered to imitate. She never thought she’d ever taste his work again, or even something that can compare.

Aqua allows only one sip so she doesn’t shudder and break down from remembering such a vivid detail.

She probably did a horrible job at hiding it, Garnet closely watching her with a sympathy in her black eyes. Instead of bringing attention to it (thankfully), the princess helps herself to the window curtains.

“Some light would surely liven the mood,” she says, waiting for a cue that would allow her open it. And slowly, she does, the sunlight bathing the entire room. All Aqua sees outside are the roofs of neighboring buildings; her room must be on the top floor.

It burns, and at first, Aqua can only stare at the ground with a tight squint. She stumbles backward onto a chair, covering her face with her hands.

“If it pains you, I can close it.”

“No, I’m fine,” Aqua says shakily. Who knew there can be so much brightness.

Garnet then proceeds to tend to Aqua’s feet, a soft white glow emitting from her hands, caressing her skin in a bath of warmth. This healing magic is powerful, evaporating the bruises slowly and whisking away the pain. It’s the first time Aqua has seen healing magic that doesn’t emit a green aura.

It’s almost like the princess burns light to help other people.

Then it strikes her – the reason she’s survived exhaustion and starvation is because Garnet was the one tending to her all night. Aqua blushes at the thought that royalty has been waiting on her all this time.

“You don’t really have to do that-”

“Hush,” Garnet commands, grabbing a hairbrush from the table and carefully going through knots. “I owe my life to Terra,” she says simply, solemnly. “This is the least I can do… aside from offering my condolences.”

It isn’t really a comforting thought, not completely, knowing how Terra spent his last days. At the same time, hearing how he’s helped others is a solace on its own, since he wouldn’t have asked to use his time any other way.

If they ever get back together, they’ll have to trade stories.

“We’ll find each other again,” Aqua says out loud, more to herself than in response, totally aware that denial is a strong motivator.

How will she muster the courage to step back into the Realm of Darkness to save him?

Garnet perks up, like she’s reminding herself that it’s the best way to deal with sadness. “Let us make you presentable for the day.”

Dressing is much easier with a partner, especially the corset. Wrapped in clean hip sashes and throwing socks over fresh bandages, Aqua nearly thinks of herself as a normal human being.

She is asked to sit back down for another health check, splaying her fingers on her knees as Garnet traces her healing magic up her arms and around her shoulders. With hands on either side of her neck, warmth engulfs her face as the magic climbs to the top of her crown.

Garnet stops, the smile in her eyes falling to a slight drop of her jaw. “That mind of yours…” She purses her lips, like she’s said too much, and grips Aqua’s hand in hers.

“Be sure to never lose faith,” the princess says. She wills a smile back to her face – the training she’s had to be primed as queen working in her favor since it looks so effortless in spite of the disturbance earlier. But her eyes can’t hide so well; they look spooked.

“Okay.”

“Swear it to me.” It’s impressive how warm and soft she sounds even when she demands obedience.

“Yes ma’am,” Aqua stutters, unsure where this is coming from. It would make sense if Garnet has seen this sort of thing before, but she’s probably not going to get an answer if she asks. “I swear.”

With this, the princess finally lets go, her smile quivering as she ponders something. After Aqua rejects more food, more tea, and more healing, Garnet shuffles through the stuff on her cart and pulls out a small, ornate box, made of metal and decorated in vine-like filigree.

“Terra wished for you to have this,” she says, handing it over. On the side of it is a wind key.

Aqua keeps forgetting how awful she’s become in keeping conversations when Garnet announces that she must tend to the wounded – it’s more likely a way to quickly give her some space with a gift so personal.

“The other Keyblade wielders are downstairs,” Garnet adds, pushing her cart back out the door. “I’m pleased to see how fast you’ve improved.”

This time, she’s the one to bow. Maybe it’s a common mannerism in her world, or she simply doesn’t know how to talk to peasants.

Either way, it’s for the best to be alone right now.

Terra still knows her so well, choosing a music box as a gift.

The wind key isn’t tight to twist, and the box opens itself at the first notes – the first song she has heard in over a decade.

Inside is a frank and intimate look into the makings of an automatic instrument: a cylinder rotating neatly in between several pins, plucking the teeth of a steel comb as the gears underneath take each turn the wind key has birthed them. Some of the pieces are foreign, carefully welded to act as replacement for whatever was broken before by someone who had a lot of care to give. Either way, whoever did it left a new heart that breaths life back into the contraption.

It’s not so much that it’s a music box Terra thought to give her, but that he wanted her to feel hope again. 

The melody itself is an exposure to her most vulnerable thoughts, the voice of a ghost who is very aware that she is still on the earthly plane. It’s bittersweet, like a walk through an old, well-loved home that had to be left behind.

It makes her think of a very specific memory, a picnic taken up on a mountain trail by a creek, tying a hammock in between two trees and Ventus didn’t have the patience to sit and eat so he already helped himself to the contents inside the basket.

What food she made for all of them didn’t matter. What did matter was the image of Terra carrying a book, because he decided to spend too much time training physically and still needed to crunch his studies for an upcoming test.

He wandered into the creek with bare feet, letting his long pants flow in the stream, holding that open book close to his face while he sun-bathed. He plucked food from the basket as he sat cross-legged on his own, never realizing that he was terrible at multi-tasking and ignored Ventus completely to memorize words, pushing the boy by the face at arm’s length. He fell asleep on the hammock, the book sprawled open across his chest and this was probably the loveliest image of all, seeing him peaceful enough to forget his studies. If she remembered correctly, he passed that test with flying colors anyway.

Hearing this song, Terra’s song, is probably a stronger experience than anything else. Just like a phantom, it’s happy that it can revisit such a memory, but sad that it can never be relived. It’s a reminder. She is free.

How easily the tears swell up when darkness isn’t there to numb them away. The lump in her throat grows and she can’t swallow it back down.

She takes a deep breath. “I’ll cry about this once, then I will focus on moving only forward.”

Her breath releases, and she’s always been a silent cryer as she lets it all fall into the box, now one of the things that will keep her and Terra together because it was a gift he touched and she’s marking it with her tears, as though the passage of time is the only barrier between them.

She hugs herself, but it isn’t as warm as his embrace from last night. Time and distance are the worst.

“What is the point of saving me if you aren’t here to see me free?” she sobs.

The song replies with a sadness that knew of the sacrifice that was coming to him, but it’s an adoring and devoted expression nonetheless.

She places the music box down next to the Wayfinders, picking up his orange one. An unbreakable connection, which is exactly the kind of message she hears in the chords.

The tears slow down as his trinket catches the sunlight, exhausted from the emotional release. He had to have known what venturing into the Realm of Darkness was going to do to him, and he did it anyway.

“You never think things through, Terra,” she says, sniffling and feeling a small smile pull on her lips. “I’m going to give you a piece of my mind when I save you.”

She winds it again before it stops, as far as it can go, to give herself a moment. To dance, to feel the stretch of her calves when she lifts onto her toes. Let herself get carried away by the story of the ghost who remembers what it’s like to live, let the melody cycles penetrate her mind and take her body away as it repeats every time the cylinder. The ghost makes her feel less lonely, and in this raw expression, she’s beautiful, just to feel again.

The notes fade into white noise as the chatter and bustle of the streets outside fill the room, and she stops to listen. Truthfully, she wants to hear Terra’s song again, and honestly, she shouldn’t be too selfish.

Wandering over to the windows, she watches people hustling on the cobblestone streets below. Some sit down for a late lunch, getting lost in conversation. Others window shop for jewelry and exquisite wooden toys. Crowds of people hurry around the block with hats and coats on, suitcases in hand, parents dragging their children, children gripping their stuffed animals for dear life, like they all have a ride to catch.

None of them act like there’s a darkness creeping below them, or know that she exists as a witness, tucked away in a room far above them.

Is there even a sense of treating them like they’ll never find out where she’s been all this time?

Does it matter when she has to get moving? She’ll have to talk to Sora and Riku, at the very least.

Caressing the music box before carefully storing it into her dresser, Aqua takes both Wayfinders and steps out.

The hallway outside, carpeted and illuminated in pleasant lights, is quiet and empty. It is only when she heads downstairs that she starts hearing crisp voices of other people, louder than she remembers such a thing to sound like.

The hotel should have been a unique vacation experience, homely enough to house handmade decorations and paintings, luxurious enough to boast exquisite tiles and furniture. But the wood floors are chipped. Boxes stack against stretches of wall. Weapons mount in some rooms. Rows of beds full of injured people fill others. People pay no attention to her, scrambling around like they have to deliver papers under deadlines.

They hurry so much that they rush past her shoulders, letting her ricochet a bit until she bumps into a woman with long, black hair twisted into braids. Face covered in heavy makeup, colorful pins tucked into her bun, and a dress adorned in fur and leather belts, she looks like a witch.

“I- I’m sorry,” Aqua whispers, and freezes.

It’s not the woman she stares at, but the girl at her side. Maybe around seven years old, a small thing with round cheeks, blonde pigtails and a wide-eyed stare that doesn’t know what’s going on but is desperate to find out. She clutches a stuffed rabbit like it’s her shield.

A whole lifetime younger than the years Aqua spent in the Realm of Darkness, one among millions of birthdays that were celebrated. One of millions of funerals, heartbreaks, weddings.

“Excuse me,” the witch says, gripping her girl’s hand in one of hers and a roll of luggage in the other, not letting Aqua apologize for the awkwardness.

As is her right, Aqua must have been staring with her mouth open. And what is she supposed to say? What a lovely afternoon it is?

The witch and the girl join a chatty gathering of several children of different ages, all carrying one bag of their own. With this many kids, this has to be an orphanage, the witch being their organizer. They all call her “Miss Lulu.”

“It’s strange to be surrounded by other people, is it not?” a gruff, rough voice asks, like he watched the entire ordeal.

Ansem the Wise sits on a chair by a messy desk covered in sealed envelopes, sprawled out like they’ve been shaken out of a proper stack. Whoever worked on these frantically forgot about them. His hood is withdrawn, and he looks as though he’s had just as restless of a night as her.

Aqua takes a seat next to him. It’s nice to have someone who understands.

“I’m not like them,” she says, and they are stranger words indeed. She doesn’t have a better way of articulating herself nor does she know where they come from. Just that she’s different.

“Well I would hope not,” Ansem says with an amused grin. “You wield the Keyblade after all.” She smiles meekly at his joke, and it encourages him. “I assure you, you are still very much human.”

He takes stock of the people around him, of Lulu, who is double-checking papers before giving one to each of the children, like they are tickets of some kind. The blonde girl starts hysterically crying when she realizes that Lulu has no choice but to stay behind. What is happening to separate them?

“Your friend is very sincere,” Ansem says, drawing out the last word. “Terra.”

All Aqua can do is nod. Remembering last night is not what she wants right now, re-imagining the pain Terra must be in, scared and alone in the Realm of Darkness.

“I will have to apologize,” Ansem continues. “I did not know.”

“Did not know what?”

He takes a breath before starting. “Around twelve years ago, I enlisted Xehanort as an apprentice, at my castle in Radiant Garden-” “Radiant Garden,” she repeats, swallowing a lump in her throat. She checks herself and silently promises not to interrupt again. For years, she’s wondered what actually happened to Terra that fateful day, and she gave up waiting for an answer. Now it’s here.

“Yes. My team found an unconscious young man, with no memory of his past…”

She clears her throat.

“Xehanort was someone who was very specific over what he was sincere about. Nevertheless, he was polite, dedicated, even disobedient at times…”

Words like polite, dedicated, even disobedient at times can be used to describe Terra and she doesn’t know whether she should spit at this.

“Not once did I ever suspect he was someone else, and for that, I am sorry for never realizing.”

She’s been staring at her knees the entire time and nods.

But there is more to the story, and as Ansem continues his tale of how his apprentice became more rambunctious and bold over time, Aqua finds her face buried in her hands, stopping herself from throwing up.

Xehanort’s experiments. The creation of Heartless. She sacrificed herself to give Terra a chance and instead left the worlds with a worse mess than the Unversed, who apparently disappeared shortly after. The Heartless are her responsibility now.

The blonde girl cries harder this time, like she wants to prove a point to Lulu, and it’s all Aqua’s fault.

The thing about doing the right, just thing is that no one believes that they’d ever be delusional with it. Especially for twelve years.

It’s a crappy place to be in, throwing millions of people into fear for the life of one man. One very special and dear friend, who would have perished in the darkness, she truly believed she was doing her best.

And Xemnas… he said that he lost his heart. Was he also a victim of Xehanort’s experiments? Does she have his life on her hands, too?

“It’s good to see you awake,” a young man’s voice interrupts her thoughts. Dressed entirely in black like he belongs in some gang, with dark hair trendy enough to make other young people self-conscious, he speaks like he’s been yawning all day. His name is Noctis, the leader from last night.

His smile at least is just as warm and genuine as Garnet’s.

“Master Ansem,” Noctis addresses, “the ship will depart soon.”

Turning to Aqua, Ansem says, “I will head back to Radiant Garden. Will you join me?”

There is no good destination for her aside from the Land of Departure.

“I… I need to find my friend first.”

Her heart truly wants to make amends with Ventus, as though she has betrayed him for making him wait so long. Yet she’s a Keyblade Master with the calling to help those in need, why does owning a Keyblade mean that she has to let her friends down?

“Surely I can be of service to you?” Ansem asks. “I can lend you a personal gummi ship, you can travel the worlds on your own that way.”

“I’m sure you can, but,” she starts, before turning to Noctis and asking, “what is going on here?”

His eyes drop for a second before replying. “We have a Heartless problem. These people are being evacuated.”

So the displaced are hers as well. She silently asks forgiveness from Ventus, promising that she’s closer than ever. He just needs to wait a little longer. She’s sorry.

“I think it’s a good idea that I talk to Sora and Riku first,” is her answer to Ansem. “I’ll stay.”

Maybe she’s imagining it, but Noctis looks just a bit relieved.

“Then I shall take my leave,” Ansem declares, grunting as he stands up. “Please be well.” He shakes hands with Noctis, naming him Your Majesty before joining the other people rushing to catch the same ship.

With the way he leans on one leg and rubs the back of his head, Noctis is the most casual king she has ever met.

“I’m glad you’re staying,” he says, before realizing that it sounds weird with no context. “There’s something I think you should see.”

It’s not every day she gets escorted by someone royal in a fancy hotel, not that there’s much to look at anymore. Ballrooms are used as storage spaces, the dining room is packed with tired, dirty people venting out their problems, and they have to sometimes squeeze in between hoards of boxes to follow a hallway. He answers her questions along the way – Traverse Town has been the site of a menacing Heartless attack for weeks now. It’s getting worse, and their plan right now is to evacuate the city, which may take several days. The people boarding the ship right now have been chosen by a lottery system, which prioritizes families and children. The rest will have to wait until later. He and his men will prepare for another Heartless attack late tonight.

Some worlds Aqua has seen before were damaged by Unversed more so than others. This is far worse. What is even more awful is that Traverse Town is a refuge for people who have lost their worlds to darkness. Now they are losing their second home.

Aqua, sadly, knows exactly how that feels.

Little pitter-patters follow their footsteps, small kittens curious enough to wonder where they’re going. One of them, a fluffy, dark gray thing with an uneven red ribbon tied around his neck, kneads at her ankles.

“Berlioz is really friendly,” Noctis says, encouraging her to cradle the little kitten in both her hands, his fur soft and warm and his purrs a sound she has forgotten exists.

His siblings meow for attention, attracting their stunning, fluffy white mother, who Noctis introduces as Duchess. She gracefully arrives via the top of an upright piano, purring at the caress of his hand and trying to climb onto his shoulders. 

Aqua has to stop at this piano, she just has to. She strikes three keys at the same time as she holds Berlioz close to her chest. They sound terrible together but he doesn’t mind – he’s too busy sniffing her chin.

“Does Terra ever play for you?” Noctis asks.

The confidence in which he asks the question nearly confuses Aqua, as if it was something he witnessed with his own eyes. Which is impossible.

“Terra doesn’t play the piano.”

“Oh… my bad.”

He is questioning her answer, she can hear it in his voice. And it almost – almost – makes her wonder if she is remembering her best friend wrong. But it can’t be, she’s spent her almost every waking moment with him, and the crazier thing is that she’s anxious enough to want to prove her point and claim that he has never learned to play any instrument. 

Neither of them brush the subject again, since they are almost at the room he wants to show her. The kittens don’t follow them inside, and it’s for the best.

This room – their room of remembrance, as he calls it -  used to be a small ballroom, empty of furniture. Two walls on opposite sides are adorned with collages of photographs, all of them of smiling people. The wall to her left has tables with open books and written words. The wall to her right has flowers, both fresh and withered, and candles carefully alight. Visitors gather around the photos, whispering to themselves.

Noctis waves to the wall on the left. “This is where we send prayers for return.”

She quizzes him with her eyes. He continues, “they say that when you turn into a Heartless, it’s not the end. One day you can come back to normal, and we wish those people a safe return home to us in those journals.”

He says it in a way as though he needs her to confirm this information, even though this is the first she’s ever heard of it. It’s astonishing how many photos are on this wall, all Heartless now. There is one of Noctis surrounded by three other young men, who wear all-black like he does, out on fishing trip. He’s probably alone now.

“And the wall behind us?” she asks.

Noctis glances back and his expression gets grim, like he’s annoyed with himself for failing. “That’s our memorial, for those who can’t come back.”

The memorial has more photos. All of them, the dead and the Heartless, are hers.

“What kind of Heartless problem is this?”

He chuckles, but it’s the sort that is full of spite. “One we’ve named Kefka.”

Kefka, the way the name is pronounced is full of vitriol.

Before she asks any further, a line of people come into the room. One of them is Garnet, who has wiped any smile from her face as she interlaces her fingers to her chest. Following her is Riku, who is solemnly holding a picture, and Sora, who has his arms crossed.

“This is what I wanted you to see,” Noctis whispers. “I don’t exactly understand what happened to him, but we’re all sending Terra our prayers.”

Riku pins a photo of a smirking Terra onto the wall to join the rest who have fallen to darkness. In this picture, Terra is surrounded by others: Riku and Noctis by his side, Garnet in front of him, along with others that’s she’s never met before. Onlookers have already started writing down their wishes in an open journal, taking turns like it’s a guestbook to funeral.

Sora is the only one truly uncomfortable, rubbing his foot into the carpet like it’s to blame as his cheeks puff up in a frown. He sniffs as he stands straight and faces the photo, as though it takes him bravery to face the sadness. It’s probably not something that anyone would have noticed about him, since he hides it so well.

Noctis leaves her side to hold a weeping Garnet’s shoulder before taking their turns at writing in the journal.

She wonders if any one of them know that losing Terra is her fault, too.

A woman with bright green hair approaches Aqua, using a wooden longstaff to keep herself standing upright. Her lavish green dress, adorned with gold embroidery and long empire sleeves that drag on the floor, is proudly worn, as though the fact she cannot walk well matters little. She is dressed like a sorceress, and this woman wants the world to know. Aqua recognizes her as someone in the photo with Terra.

“Miss Aqua,” she begins, blinking back tears. “my name is Rydia.” She holds out one hand to take one of Aqua’s. “I’m so sorry for what happened to you, and for Terra.”

Sorry doesn’t really cut it. Aqua knows this but she also knows it’s rude to even feel that way since Rydia means no ill intention. She brushes the bitterness to the back of her mind.

“Thanks,” she croaks even though she doesn’t mean to.

“I wanted you to know,” Rydia says, her own voice cracking, “that… I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Terra.” She cries now, a smile across her face like she wants to make her tears comfortable. “I’d have my photo put up at the memorial today. I’m so happy that he found you. I honestly think it made his life worthwhile.”

Aqua is dumbfounded at the intimacy of such a statement. Of course, she doesn’t talk about why Rydia is left without her home world, or why there are Heartless to begin with. Something tells her that Rydia will be the one person in this room not to blame her for any of that, and this alone is comforting.

She rubs the sorceress’ hands in both of hers. At least one life is well, and it’s marvelous to be proud of what Terra has saved.

“Thank you.” This time, she really means it.

Rydia, after giving her one more gentle squeeze, leaves to join the line with the others for her turn at the journal. Aqua doesn’t get more than a moment to compose herself when Riku approaches her.

“You look better,” he smirks. He’s slightly taller than her, and he’s so much like Terra, not letting his emotions be too readable on his face. He gestures towards the exit and they both leave Sora, who is quite happy to give Noctis and Garnet a pep talk, trying hard to keep them optimistic.

She breathes better outside of that room, even though it’s full of love and appreciation for her best friend.

The two of them find lounge chairs in the hallway close to the entrance of the hotel, buried underneath clothes, books and open cartons of food. Removing them, they sit across from each other. Riku clears his throat, letting go of a fist that forms on his knee.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” he starts.

“You and so many others,” she chuckles, really trying to make light of the situation. It doesn’t work on him. She really needs to get this talking-to-people thing under control.

“I tried to help Terra with his powers of darkness… I wanted him to be able to handle them, to last longer before he was overtaken again.”

“Ah.” Aqua catches a breath, her lips quivering. “Well, he found me. You gave him enough time to find me.” She forces a smile and it stops the tears.

He nods out of obligation and nothing else. “Mickey, ah, chose to stay behind to be with him.”

It’s meant to be comforting, the idea that neither of them are alone, but it’s so obvious how much Riku is affected by this information, even though he works hard to hide it. His eyes shift around despite his smile. He loses control over his hand and it forms a fist again before he realizes.

And the only thing Aqua feels in return is… coldness? Like the mouse deserves it, to be so compelled to stay behind for her friend while she waited for him by herself.

It’s completely inappropriate to feel this way of course, and it gets worse when Riku tells her that Mickey felt like he owed her. For abandoning her, which are the words not spoken. Completely out of character, she thinks to herself, so what is wrong with her?

However abnormal her thoughts are, she leans forward to hold Riku’s wrist – fake the compassion until it occurs to her naturally, where she feels more like her old self. If anything, the Realm of Darkness should never have the power to take anything away from her, least of all herself. Maybe Mickey had other responsibilities. Maybe the worlds desperately needed his help.

Sora takes a seat by them, listening to the tail end of their conversation. “Speaking of,” he pipes up, “Donald still won’t talk to me.”

“Where is he?” Riku asks.

“Talking to the sky pirates with Goofy.” The way he responds is only slightly nonchalant, like he understands the seriousness of the situation but comforted by some secret knowledge that everything is going to be okay anyway. “They’re trying to put together a plan to find a new Door to Darkness and free the king.”

“It’s not easy getting into the Realm of Darkness,” Riku explains.

Funny, it wasn’t hard for her.

She must have been too silent, because Riku’s expression softens. “You didn’t trade places with him, you know.”

“What?”

“You didn’t trade places with Terra.” He leans forward. “Xehanort has a lot of friends who wouldn’t just leave him there. But that’s worst case scenario.”

There are several things running through her mind that could be more catastrophic than a rampant Xehanort in the Realm of Darkness.

“But,” Riku stresses, “Terra has Mickey now, who’s a good friend. They can take care of each other until we figure out a way to help them. Who knows, sometimes Mickey can perform miracles…”

Sora snickers. Riku rolls his eyes and finishes, “he just sucks with them at times.”

It takes so much effort not to spit about Mickey’s poor track record, but maybe Riku is the exact reason for why she was left behind. A young boy in need of someone to look out for him… She knows this is a possibility, but the stars be damned if she can’t comfort herself right now. She purses her lips and doesn’t respond.

“What are you going to do now?” Sora asks with a wide smile. If he noticed how she’s been feeling, he’s smart to give her space. “Find Ventus?”

It’s the first thing on her list of things to do. Wake him up. Free Terra and finally get her family back… and find Xemnas. Find a way to undo the awful things that might have happened to him, or if anything, find out if he’s safe. Not a particularly long list.

“The gummi ship has already left,” Riku says in her place. “And we can’t take her. We have to stay here for Kefka.”

There’s something about Kefka that brings a weight to everyone around her, like the name is poisonous.

“I can’t get to him right now,” she replies for herself, though it’s difficult for her to admit. “I have to stay here and help these people.”

Sora nearly jumps forward. “Are you sure you don’t need rest?”

“Rest can get boring.” Her best attempt at a joke, but the smile is docile.

“You’re not concerned about him?” Riku interjects.

“Of course I am…” She nearly scoffs. “But I know he’s okay.”

“He’s been missing for years.” As if she doesn’t know. “Where is he?”

Aqua taps her knee first. She nearly told Terra – of all people – where Ventus is hiding and that could have been dangerous. Riku and Sora aren’t dangerous, not to her and not to her family.  The walls don’t have ears, and no one in this hotel is suspicious. It’s not anyone here, but the risk.

If he’s still missing, then twelve years of keeping her mouth shut has worked.

“Safe in a place where no one will find him.”

Sora is about to object, but Riku waves him off, a smirk drawing across his face. “You’re just as tight-lipped as Terra, huh? Hm, I get it, I understand. His safety comes first... I appreciate how much you’re straightforward though.”

“Thanks.” She breathes a sigh of relief. “Enough about me. What can I do to help?”

He takes a moment to think first. “I think you can protect the sick and injured here tonight. Heartless will specifically target them.”

“… What?”

Heartless are feral and primitive, driven by a hungry instinct. They are stronger in the Realm of Darkness, and she has met some with a more complex intellect, like powerful predators stuck. But that’s all they are.

“Kefka sends them to do just that.”

“That’s…” She’s about to say impossible. “… awful.”

Riku can hear her apprehension in her voice.  “And?”

“That’s too smart.”

“That’s Kefka.” He smirks. “I’d appreciate if you could stand guard here.”

She is speechless. Her mind wanders to old lessons, searching for an answer to this nonsense.

Legendaries. Every single person in the multiverse has darkness in them, and it manifests in small and in large ways. Sometimes it evolves, morphing people into something more than human, giving them powers or turning them into monsters strong enough to leave fables for generations. Or it’s a tremendous concentration of energy that creates an identity for itself and acts on its own. Terra used to read about these things all the time, but she has her own personal example. She ran into one as an eight-year-old; a man who killed her parents and started her journey as a Keyblade wielder. Ardyn is one of his names.

If a man can become legendary, then surely a Heartless can.

“So why don’t I help you fight it?”

Sora squirms at the question and Riku doubles down on his argument.

“I don’t think fighting Kefka is a good idea for you.”

“And why not?”

“I doubt you’re in top shape, and it’s a tough battle.”

It’s not entirely false but she’s faced worse. “Are you going to fight Kefka?”

“Yes.”

“But your Keyblade?” Sora objects.

So what she saw last night was true – Riku’s Keyblade really did shatter.

“I’m going to Yen Sid’s now to do something about it.” He gets up from his seat, casually walking towards the exit.

“Will it work in time?”

“I don’t know if it’ll be in time-”

“But it will work,” Aqua interrupts, remembering lessons from the Master. “I’ve never heard of a Keyblade breaking before, but I know it’s an extension of your heart. It can never really abandon you or betray you. It even bonds with those you trust.” She thinks of her own, sitting somewhere waiting for her to come back. She thinks of the Defender, willing to protect her like a father would. “Riku’s heart isn’t broken. He probably just needs to listen to it better.”

It’s a good feeling to comfort someone else, seeing Riku’s smile as he waves off Sora’s concerns.

“See? That’s pretty much the gist of what Yen Sid said.” He continues to eye her, before adding. “We can help you find Ventus, but only if we leave early tomorrow morning.”

“In the meantime…” Sora stands up extends his hand to her. “I’m going to take you to see Traverse Town.”

“Excuse me?” she stammers.

“I think Terra would have really wanted you to be happy on your first day free,” he says with an excitable grin, like he’s been told this directly and is fulfilling a favor. “Not pouting over Heartless.”

Riku chuckles. “As long as you’re back by seven.”

Sora’s smile deteriorates as quickly as he can summon it. “Why seven? Kefka only shows up at eleven.”

A Heartless that cares about punctuality is even more bizarre.

“And they want us ready by nine,” Riku says.

“So we’ll be back by nine.”

“Except you’re always late.”

“But you’re going to cut her night short.” Sora drops his jaw, then gets determined. “Well, if she doesn’t enjoy herself, then you owe her a nice time.”

Aqua doesn’t know Sora well, he just seems earnest to her. She would have never figured out something is off until she sees Riku’s expression, who is close to asking his best friend what’s gotten into you?

Instead he repeats, “seven, Sora,” before disappearing out the door.

Sora doesn’t admit defeat, wrinkling his nose with a smug look on his face. “He really means eight. C’mon.”

He grabs her wrist and leads her outside the hotel, heading south. The streets are louder than she imagines.

“What if he doesn’t come back in time?” she asks.

Sora is the kind of person to keep a smile even when he’s being serious, like his personal motto is that optimism is the better coping mechanism. “That’s why I’m staying. But Riku’s a genius, he’ll be back before we know it.”

They arrive at what he calls the first district, a quaint area far older in its architecture than the second, where the hotel is. So charming and humble, in fact, that the inhabitants try their hardest to keep its history and not let it deteriorate into a war zone. Shops and old homes built with trustworthy wood, earnest stone, and warm brick. Lanterns that will be lit at night to lead everyone home. The town is also an obvious example of how this world is a refuge for others – no one here looks the same. Some people are naturally tall, like trees. Others are half her height and roam freely with Moogles. Some look human, others have animal heads.

What reminds her the strongest that she’s alive is the smell. Warm but bitter, an old memory like a faint morning by the fireplace in the winter.

“Is that coffee?” She breathes deeply.

A café built by the warmest painted wood is close by, with several people crowded together to discuss and complain about Kefka, their bad luck, and comparing when they are scheduled to board a gummi ship next.

“You want some?” Sora approaches an outdoor menu, written out in chalk.

She’s broke. “I don’t have any-”

“I’ll pay for it.” He begins to search his pockets. “Which one do you want?”

She’s allowed to want now? She should probably be polite and decline, but accepting his offer would make him happier. 

“Blended with chocolate, please.”

Steam floats out from the cup the barista hands to her, the shape of leaf decorating the surface of the foam. She takes a deeper whiff of the aroma, giving it barely a chance to cool down before directing it to her lips. Hot, creamy, delicious. Much better than the dry sandwich from this morning.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Sora fumbling with some sort of hand device, angling it at her.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking a picture.” It’s the funniest-looking camera she’s ever seen. “When we get him back, we can show Terra what you did on your first day.”

Sora then angles the thing (a phone apparently) to include himself in the shot (he calls it a selfie) and take one together with her. She makes sure to smile some.

He takes lots of photos of her throughout the town, particularly around the fountain in the plaza they pass through. There’s always better light or better angles to improve the picture, and why pass up the opportunity for the perfect shot when there’s this beautiful water spurting into the air behind her? Terra would love all of these.

They finally reach the fourth district when Sora realizes he’s filled up the memory on his phone. This section is built on a hill, all the stores leading downward via stairways. Strings of colored light direct the passageways, most of them connected to a tall watchtower at the center of the district, the tallest for miles despite that it’s on lower ground. He promises that it’s more beautiful at night when all the lights are lit, and she believes him.

Street blocks of dresses and jewelry scatter the area like a store catalogue, and while she can’t buy anything, it’s nice just to see what kind of artistry people are capable of. Some of the stores are closed, and through enough eavesdropping, she learns that these owners were chosen and allowed to board the gummi ship earlier today, to escape Kefka.

Others continue manning their stores, some of them truly believing in Noctis and Garnet’s leadership, that they will be kept safe by the people who care about them most. After all, can they imagine having to pack up and start their business all over again in another world?

Sora suddenly remembers that he has to buy some rare ingredients – spices that hopes traders will bring to this world because only the stars know what kind of world I’d have to visit to find them otherwise – for a friend waiting for him. Aqua nearly follows him inside when she catches sight of several flower carts sitting idly outside a closed door.

The flower shop is closed, and the owner has left a note: Please, take what you’d like to brighten up your evening. Like a blessing to occupy the mind of an anxious civilian who is acting like Kefka is death knocking on their door.

White, five petals. These flowers catch her attention the most, looking so much like the wild ones that grew throughout the mountain valleys in the spring back at the Land of Departure. She doesn’t remember what they smell like.

Slowly, she leans forward and breathes in. They don’t smell like anything she recognizes.

“Here,” Sora’s voice interrupts her, “you should touch this.”

He throws a large, stuffed bear into her face before she can respond, big enough to make her feel like she’s trying to hug a tree. But it’s silky soft and satisfyingly squishy, and she hasn’t felt anything like this in years.

“You like flowers?” he asks when he finally notices what she has been doing. “You gotta see the greenhouse then.”

He yanks her by the wrist again, leading downhill and through alleys until they reach the fifth district, a smaller are where a tremendous glass building takes center stage, the clouds overhead graying.

A smell surrounds this district that reminds her of the wilderness. He doesn’t give her enough time to pinpoint what it is when he pushes her inside, and her nostrils are invaded by an aroma of humidity, grass, and flora.

Two stories tall, the greenhouse packs a museum of gardens that all look like they could have come from different worlds. Sora takes his time to read through their introductory signs, and bless his heart for trying so hard to keep her entertained, even though the sound of spattering on the window is what is stealing her attention.

It starts in groups throwing themselves at the glass, until a barrage comes down and doesn’t stop. It’s such a sweet and hypnotizing sound.

“Aqua?”

She hasn’t even realized that he’s stopped talking. She tosses the bear back at him. “Keep him dry for me.”

“Wait!”

He’s too late, with Aqua chasing after the rain as she stands outside by herself, the townspeople all scurrying to find shelter. It’s so cold that it makes the hairs at the back of her neck stand, and by reaction she partly lets go of a laugh. It has never rained in the Realm of Darkness, not once.

Has it really been that long ago when it rained in the mountains, when the three of them were locked in a water fight, splashing puddles into each other’s faces and Ventus was the one who jumped on them and made the biggest waves?

Terra would wrap his arms around her, with half a purpose to wrestle her to submission and half an intention to keep her warm and dry, even though his body did a terrible job of doing so and they both got soaked to the bone anyway. But she preferred this over using an umbrella.

As much as she appreciates Sora’s time and careful attention, Terra should be the one to give her company. He deserves to feel the storm and be alive with her.

Cold drops trickled down her face and her eyes burned them hot, but she’s so wet that no one would be able to tell the difference between her tears and the rain. Less than a day and she’s already broken the promise she made to herself not to cry over this more.

All she wants is her family back, and she gives herself one more promise that she will one day dance in the rain again with them. Failure is not an option this time.

[hyperdrivehearts]

In the universe where Yusei is a Dark Signer, the actual Signer’s are losing the war-- they simply cannot win without all of them present. Of course, Yusei is killed by Kalin; getting stabbed by that shard of metal ended his life (although Kalin relished in the agony, it was far from a quick painless death,) while Yusei’s friends couldn’t do anything but watch helplessly as he struggled for his last breaths before they ceased. After that, Kalin took Yusei’s corpse by tossing him on the back of Kalin’s runner and driving off, laughing.

Kalin, of course, also took Yusei’s duel runner with him, typing it up with a chain and dragging it behind. Some parts were lost along the way, and it had certainly looked even worse when he arrived back at the hideout, but it was nothing that Yusei wouldn’t be able to fix. The reason Kalin did this? He didn’t want to leave Yusei’s friends something to remember the former Signer by, and it would soon have a new paint job to reflect the stance Yusei now took in the war.

When Yusei awoke, Kalin was there waiting for him. Of course there was panic, why wouldn’t there be? He had just changed sides. Yusei had tried to save Kalin from the darkness, but ended up succumbing to it, because Yusei put his own guilt in regards to Kalin above everyone else’s lives. It was one out of few moments where Yusei was selfish, and it cost him.

He’s accepted the hand he was dealt, just like he had to accept and growing up living in Satellite. Sure, he doesn’t believe in destiny, but what else is he supposed to do in this predicament? Kalin was starting to make Yusei believe that this is what destiny had in store for him.

Yusei’s Dark Signer mark, the heron, is placed on his back, and it belongs to the Earthbound Immortal “ Quyllur Waqar.”

Yusei is the youngest of the Dark Signers (and obviously their newest member) and has the least refined powers because of it. One “power,” he has aside from the regular Dark Signer abilities is that Yusei can feel a sense of familiarity of people from around the multiverse that his mainverse self knows. He doesn’t know these people, of course, and if he’s lucky he might be able to glean a name, but he can do this because of how important bonds are to him, even as a Dark Signer.

Yusei as a person isn’t unchanged either, both mentally and in physique. He, of course, has a changed wardrobe, but it’s far from the ancient cloaks that the others wear-- it’s practically his everyday wear with a longer jacket and more de-saturated color pallet. Of course, he has the black sclera that’s common, and his eyes are devoid of light, as well that his criminal mark has turned a sickening blood red. Other changes include a mouthful of fangs, messy hair, and inhumane strength-- you would not be able to mix him and his mainverse self up.

Yusei still shows the same amount of emotion as before, but it doesn’t contain any of the emotions he had prior. What I mean, essentially, is that he’ll smile at you but there is no warmth and it’s almost robotic. Yusei feels hollow, like he isn’t there and this is something he just has to go through with regardless. Yusei is a nihilist, thinking that because the world is ending, all hope should too and people should just be put out of their misery because everything is pointless otherwise.

Kalin was the first person to suggest that Yusei could actually help people still, which ended up leading his saviour complex going practically out of control. He wants to save people, he still wants to help Kalin, but in the eyes of a Dark Signer, everything in reality is twisted-- Yusei truly believes that by sending people to the Netherworld is “saving” them from the inevitable darkness. He’s willing to kill his friends, if he thinks its justified as “saving” them, and he’ll do it without any remorse. He couldn’t save anyone with the power of the Crimson Dragon, so this certainly has to be the only remaining way? Of course, unbeknownst to him, this only makes the Dark Signers stronger.

However, if you question Yusei’s methods of saving people, he becomes uncharacteristically erratic and defensive. He’ll lash out and bare his teeth, even doing so much as raising his voice and fists. Yusei refuses to see that he’s down wrong and is a villain, and this anger is what happens as a result of when he’s questioned, although it may be from the influence Quyllur Waqar has over his mind.

Under the cut is a detail of just how abusive DS!Yusei and DS!Kalin’s relationship is :||

Kalin is extremely manipulative and abusive to Yusei if you couldn’t tell-- their relationship while they’re both Dark Signers is like two snakes eating each other but not feeling full. Kalin carved and ripped out Yusei’s dead heart from his body, and Yusei would let him do it again if he could. He’ll follow Kalin to the ends of the world, believing that any pain he endures because of it, is something he deserves, because he doesn’t want to betray Kalin once again. This is what Yusei ends up calling “love” and a bit of karma.

At first, Kalin was probably excited that Yusei listens to his every beck and call, and takes it all so willfully, and thus Kalin ends up pushing and pushing, trying to see when Yusei will break, but he never does. Kalin could do anything to Yusei. Push him off a building and he’ll come back with broken bones and a smile. Smash his face into a brick wall and Yusei will will look up with that same smile and a broken nose and asks if Kalin wants to do it again. Kalin only grins wickedly in response.

Although, sometimes Kalin does get bored, and will push Yusei even further, just to see if he’ll be more entertaining. If Kalin’s pleased with Yusei, or he needs Yusei to listen to orders no matter how uncertain Yusei is, Kalin’ll hold the younger man’s poor bruised and bloody face, all whilst calling him “Star Child,” an affectionate nickname from when the two were Enforcers. It’s almost praise to Yusei’s ears. Yusei is like a lost puppy, following Kalin, just wanting to hear that name again-- he almost believes that Kalin is starting to change, while the only change is the amount of people who remain alive.

If you were to call Yusei “Kalin’s pet,” you would be far from wrong.

Yusei tells Kalin constantly “I betrayed you, you can take your anger out on me as much as you’d like.” Kalin feels less love, and more obsession. He’ll kiss Yusei possessively, often bruising the other in the process, or wrap his arms around Yusei’s waist and dig his nails into the other’s flesh.

Yusei and Kalin both seeing the other get hurt. Yusei hates it, because he feels as if he’s betraying Kalin once again, and would rather take his spot in torture at any chance he could. Kalin on the other hand, hates when someone even looks at Yusei the wrong way-- if you were to hurt him, you would be in a world of pain yourself. Very little of that reason is because he cares for Yusei, unfortunately, it’s simply more of a possession thing-- the only person allowed to hurt Yusei is Kalin himself.

If Yusei appears to be alone, expect Kalin to be somewhere in the shadows. The two are rarely separated far apart. The other is always there, watching.

[torestoreamends]

Mine to Make: Chapter 9

Albus faces his biggest fears, Scorpius discovers that he loves Ginny Potter, and Harry learns that time alone can’t fix his problems – it’s going to take more than that. 

Beta’d by @abradystrix.

N.B. This fic is complete on AO3, so binge read away if you want! Here on tumblr I’ll be posting a chapter every day until it’s all done.

Read it on AO3

*

VIIII Ruins

The whole world is a blur of agony. There’s nothing beyond this awful, all-consuming pain. The heat of it is burning him up from the inside out. It’s eating through flesh and muscle, destroying him like he’s nothing.

He’s food. He’s fuel. He’s coal or wood or oil. He’s not human anymore. He’s part of the fire, and he’s disintegrating into ash.

Darkness goes on forever. The darkness of smoke. The darkness of charring. The darkness of cinders blown on the wind.

Albus is scattered. His fragments are swept away, swirling, tossed by breeze and wave. They’ll never come together again. They can’t. He’s been thrown too far asunder. He’s been broken down too small. The grains of him can’t ever possibly be knitted back into one. Too many particles have been lost.

He comes to for a second and the pain of existence casts him back into darkness again.

He sleeps. Rest heals.

Something cool is being pressed against his skin, and he gasps with the relief of it, body contorting. A steady hand pushes him down and holds him. A voice in his ear whispers him back to sleep.

Screams tear from his throat. He sits up, head spinning, his whole body fractured and shattered. He’s never felt pain like this before and he never wants to again. He’d rather die.

“Kill me,” he sobs. “Please, kill me. Make it stop, make it stop, MAKE IT STOP!”

He screams again and cries, begging for it all to end, but someone holds him. Someone he loves, someone he trusts. Someone with gentle hands who promises him a better future.

“Sshh, Albus,” she murmurs, stroking his hair. “It’ll stop soon. The pain will stop. I promise.”

His arm goes numb. The pain subsides. He cries so hard with relief that he’s sick, acid stinging his throat, making his mouth taste foul. She tuts but she cleans him up and lies him down, stroking his hair off his forehead.

“Go to sleep,” she says. “Go to sleep.”

He obeys without question.

Next time he wakes his mouth is dry. His whole body is dry. The ravaging fire has left him a shrivelled husk, no better than tinder, ready to set light again at the first spark.

“Water,” he croaks. “Please.”

“Here,” Delphi says, helping him sit up and drink. He doesn’t stop until he’s drained a whole bottle and feels like he’s going to burst. If he could drink more he would. There’s nothing he wants more in the world right now than water.

He still feels dry and hot, parched like the desert. He can’t sleep so he tosses and turns, skin prickling. Sometimes it’s bearable, but sometimes it flares up in excruciating agony that makes him scream and cry and vomit.

The sheets cling to him, too heavy and hot on his skin. Everything hurts. Whenever he can he drinks as much as he can hold. Slowly he starts to feel replenished. The fire still burns inside him, but it’s held at bay by the water and whatever magic Delphi is working on his skin.

“What happened to me?” He asks one morning when he’s sitting up in bed, watching her change his bandages. Under the soft, snowy white material he gets a glimpse of his arm. The skin is cracked, like the bark of a tree that’s aflame. Beneath the surface his arm is glowing, orange and white, flickering and dancing lights. The fire is still there under his skin, and it looks awful. No wonder it’s been hurting so much. No wonder it’s still hurting.

“Someone pushed you,” Delphi says. “You lost control and hit one of the cages. You then fell about 100 feet out of the air, but I’d say that’s the least of your problems.”

“It’s really bad,” Albus says, watching as she ties the bandage off.

“You almost died,” Delphi replies without looking at him.

“You saved my life,” Albus says, looking at her. “Didn’t you? Someone’s been here this whole time. It was you.”

“Nearly two weeks.” She goes and sits on the chair beside the bed. “You’ve been half dead for nearly two weeks. This is the first time you’ve said anything that wasn’t begging me to kill you or begging me for water.”

Albus bows his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t really remember...”

“I’m not a Healer,” Delphi says. “I hope you know that.”

“I do, of course I do.” He looks at her. “Thank you. For staying. For saving me. Thank you.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t bother. You’re my best friend. I had to do it.”

Albus shakes his head. “I don’t know. You could have decided I wasn’t worth it.”

Delphi sighs. “I could. But I think you are worth it, Sev. You’re very important.” She smiles. “Anyway, I couldn’t have lost my star racer, could I?”

Albus smiles back. “No. I suppose not.”

 Flames lick across the ceiling and creep along the walls. The hallway is almost too hot to bear, and the thick, black smoke clogs the space, making it almost impossible to see. Albus doesn’t crawl, there’s no point, the fire would catch him before he got anywhere, and his crouch isn’t quite low enough to duck under the smoke, so he presses his arm across his mouth and sprints for the room Scorpius was in.

Behind him he hears the hiss of the fire build into a roar as it spots him. The red glow gets brighter as a thousand malevolent eyes focus on him, and he feels the smoke coalesce and tear at his skin like claws, snatching at him, trying to drag him back.

It takes all his strength to break free and keep running. He has no desire to let the fire get anywhere near him, even though he knows the beasts among the flames are already charging him down. He keeps his head low and throws himself sideways, hoping he’s hit Scorpius’s door and that it’ll open inwards.

His right shoulder slams into the door frame and he reels off, clutching his arm as pain jars through it. The hall is too smokey to see where he’s aiming, so he tries again, and this time he goes tumbling into a room and kicks the door closed behind him, casting the only spell he knows to barricade it and praying it doesn’t fail.

He scrambles up and looks around the room. Spells will buy him very little time here. The beasts are unstoppable. Fiendfyre is so hungry it’ll eat anything and everything. A door is nothing more than a light snack. But at least the fire can’t see him anymore. It won’t hunt him.

“Scorpius,” he calls, coughing and staring around the large library he’s found himself in. There’s no reply, so he runs across the room, lighting his wand and pointing it into every shadowy corner just in case, but he sees nothing.

He spins round and spots a door on the wall, which must lead through to an adjacent room. Maybe Scorpius is in there. Hopefully he is.

Albus sprints at it as hard as he can, but bounces off and falls in a heap on the floor, shoulder aching even more than before. It’s locked.

He fumbles with his wand and jabs it in the direction of the door. “Alohomora.”

The door springs open and he rushes to his feet and almost trips himself up as he races through.

“Scorpius! Scorpius, are you in here? Are you alive?” He stops dead in the middle of the small, dimly lit room. Papers litter the floor and ivy has grown over all the windows and the hole in the roof, so the only light comes from sporadic shafts of sunlight that pierce through the covering of leaves. This is definitely the room Scorpius was in, but Scorpius is nowhere to be seen, and now Albus can feel his chest tightening and his heart racing. What if the person who started the fire has taken Scorpius? What if Scorpius is gone? What if Scorpius is dead? What if-

No. Albus forces himself to take a deep breath. No. That can’t happen. That’s impossible. Scorpius is just- He’s somewhere. He’s fine.

“Scorpius?” He calls, turning slowly around in a circle, wondering if Scorpius is under the bed or in the rickety wardrobe, or-

There’s a bookshelf on a wall set just in from the window, with one single book on it, lying down on its spine, and the shelf has swung forward an inch, on a hinge. Some sort of secret door.

Albus tiptoes across to the shelf and swings it open, pointing his wand into the darkness. “Scorpius?”

“Albus.” A second silvery light glows out of the darkness, and Scorpius peers round the corner of a set of stairs up at him, holding his wand up, eyes glittering. “I found a secret room.”

Albus leans back against the wall, a hand pressed to his heart as relief floods through him, almost knocking his knees out from beneath him. “Yes, I-I can see that.”

Scorpius grins. “Want to come exploring? I’m guessing you didn’t find anything on the other side of the house, so this is the best we’ve got.”

“No, I- No. Scorpius, we need to get out of here.”

Scorpius frowns. “Get out of here? But... why? This could be a lead, Albus.”

Albus shakes his head desperately. “No. I know. But-“ He breaks off as he hears the hissing sound of the fire approaching. It must have reached the library now. How long until it consumes the hall and the stairs and this room? “Scorpius, the house is on fire. We need to get out.”

Scorpius stops dead, staring at him. “It- What?”

Albus nods. “Fiendfyre, Scorpius. Someone- someone set a fire. We need to get out. Right now. Or we’re going to die. Please.”

Scorpius clatters up the stairs until he’s at Albus’s level. “Did you say Fiendfyre?”

Albus grabs hold of his wrist. “Yes I did. We need to go. We need to-“

A flame snakes up the door behind him, a bright, hungry red. Tongues and sparks flicker out, like a serpent tasting the air, and Albus doesn’t hesitate. He starts running, tugging Scorpius with him.

“Run!”

Scorpius doesn’t need telling twice. He stumbles after Albus, raising his wand and casting a spell that Albus doesn’t know. In the next second, Albus’s vision is blurred by a silvery something, that runs in front of his eyes and folds around his head, making the air instantly more stale, but cutting out the smoke that’s starting to flood the room.

“What-“ Albus starts, but he stops when his voice sounds strange to his own ears. It’s like he’s speaking inside a bubble, and when he reaches up he does indeed feel a warm dome of magic around his head. “Scorpius, what is this?”

“Bubble Head Charm,” comes Scorpius’s muffled reply. “For the smoke.”

“Right,” Albus says, nodding. “Of course. You’re a-“

The door behind them explodes inwards with a snarling roar, and Albus feels heat scorch his back. His left shoulder instantly starts throbbing, and he clutches it and staggers towards the door to the hall, Scorpius right behind him.

The beasts in the flames have definitely found them now. The hunt is on. As Albus throws the door open a long flare comes whipping out of the maelstrom of fire, and he drops to the ground and rolls beneath it, just in time. He smells burning and reaches up to feel that it’s singed his hair.

He dives through, and Scorpius lunges after him, kicking the door shut, but the flames punch straight through, blasting it inwards. A bit of wood clouts Albus hard on the back of the head and he stumbles against the opposite wall of the landing in a daze. The world spins around him. Floor and flame and crumbling roof become one, and he grips the wall for support, not sure whether he’s up or down.

He stays still a second too long. A roaring Basilisk flies at him from the flames, teeth bared, mouth open. Still not sure if his feet are on the ground he stares, unable to move, resigned to fate, but an instant before the Basilisk strikes Scorpius’s hand clasps around his wrist and pulls him away hard. He almost yanks Albus’s arm out of its socket, and Albus falls, sprawling onto the ground, now with both his arms aching as well as his head throbbing and spinning.

“Up,” Scorpius says. “Lean on me. Quick.”

Albus feels Scorpius slip an arm round his torso and drag him upright. So that’s where the floor is. His feet are on it. His head is up, pointing to the ceiling. Fire is at his back, roaring with searing heat. The world starts to make sense again, and he trusts Scorpius implicitly. When Scorpius starts dragging him forward he obligingly moves his feet, trying to keep up.

They reach the stairs and start sprinting downwards, so fast they’re on the edge of falling. Beneath them the wood starts to creak and crack as it heats up. The steps glow, and Scorpius runs faster, Albus somehow keeping pace. It’s so hot that the soles of Albus’s shoes start to melt, and the bottoms of his feet feel like they’re being scorched.

The fire is so close behind them now that it’s licking and clawing at Albus’s back. His shoulder feels like it’s on fire, responding to the proximity of the flames the way it always does. Embers burn beneath his skin, awakening the creatures hibernating there. He clutches at it, digging his fingernails in to try and keep it at bay. He can collapse when he gets out of here. He can give in to the pain when Scorpius is safe. Until then, he has to keep running.

There are five steps left to climb down, but two of them are aflame already. The face of a dragon rises up, spitting at them, smoke curling from its nostrils. They’re hemmed in from both sides, but Scorpius isn’t deterred.

“Jump!” He yells, and Albus does, throwing himself straight into the dragon’s maw and past onto the lower floor. His legs collapse beneath him as he lands, but he manages to roll back to his feet and keep going.

The door is up ahead. Sunlight beyond the smoke and flames now consuming the ceiling.

An enormous beam drops from the ceiling into their path, and they both skitter back, grabbing each other’s hands. Behind them the roaring grows ever louder and ever closer.

“What do we-“ Albus starts, breath coming in tight snatches.

“Wingardium Leviosa,” Scorpius cries, and the burning beam goes shooting upwards. Scorpius sprints forward, dragging Albus with him, and they half run, half stumble the rest of the way down the hall and out through the door, serpents and beasts snapping at their heels.

They don’t stop running until they’re well away from the house. Thankfully the ground is bare and acts as a firebreak. The Fiendfyre stops at the bottom of the stairs, tongues of flame scenting the air, tendrils searching for a way forward, but there’s nothing. The red eyes of the beasts stare into Albus’s soul as he collapses on the ground, the bubble around his head bursting so he can draw in great lungfuls of clean, fresh air.

Scorpius is on the ground next to him, flat on his back, staring up at the sky, also breathing hard. Albus reaches across and squeezes hold of his hand, not letting it go as he hauls himself up on his elbows to watch as the Fiendfyre consumes the ruined manor.

As they lie there, side by side on the ground, singed and charred round the edges, clothes blackened with soot, it starts to rain. A gentle drizzle at first, which builds into the sort of torrential downpour the world needs to unleash after days of hot, humid weather. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and steam rises from the burning wreckage, but even water can’t stop a raging Fiendfyre. It gorges itself until the house is nothing but a charred, smoking wreckage, and there’s nothing left to feed on.

“That stuff,” Scorpius says finally, pushing his soaking wet hair out of his eyes, “is vicious.”

“Tell me about it,” mutters Albus, who’s still holding his aching left arm. “It really bloody hurts.”

Scorpius looks sharply at him. “Did it get you?”

Albus shakes his head. “My hair’s a bit singed, and my clothes probably aren’t great. No, this is the old burn. It gets excited when it encounters friends,” He rolls his eyes and removes his hand, screwing his face up against the pain. “It just needs some of that salve and it’ll be fine.”

“Will it?” Scorpius asks, eyeing him.

Albus nods. “Promise. Are you okay?”

“Unscathed,” Scorpius says. “Just about. You’re bleeding too. You definitely got the worst of it. Come here.” He kneels opposite Albus on the dusty ground, which is slowly turning to mud as the rain pounds down on them, and casts a spell to knit up the gash caused by the exploding door. “Better.”

Albus grimaces and rubs his head. “Thanks.”

Scorpius tucks his wand away and sits back on his heels. “Albus.” His expression is very grim, and Albus looks at him, no idea what he’s about to say next. “I think someone just tried to kill us.”

Albus bows his head. “I think so too. But why?”

Scorpius sighs and unfolds his legs from beneath him, falling back onto his bum on the muddy ground. “Why do you think?”

“Someone from the league,” Albus murmurs. “Who doesn’t want us investigating?”

Scorpius shrugs. “Probably. I was thinking someone who specifically doesn’t want us investigating Delphi.”

Albus frowns. “But...”

“Albus.” Scorpius gives him a significant look, and Albus snaps his mouth shut, not sure what he can say.

Just because they were in Delphi’s house doesn’t mean it has to be connected to her. Albus doesn’t even know anyone who’d want to attack them on Delphi’s behalf. But of course it’s the most obvious explanation. Even he can’t deny that.

“I think we should go and report this,” Scorpius says. “Right away. Fiendfyre is dangerous dark magic, and someone just used it to try and kill us. After the Dementors... This is twice we’ve been attacked in a couple of days.”

“It is,” Albus murmurs, “isn’t it...”

Scorpius nods grimly. “I’m going to go. If you want to head home and sort your arm out you should.”

“No,” Albus says, clambering to his feet. “It’s fine. I’ll come.”

Scorpius frowns at him. “Are you sure?”

“We were both attacked,” Albus says. “We should both go.”

“But...” Scorpius gets up and looks him in the eye. “Albus, when I say I’m going to report this...”

Albus glances at the smouldering ruin, then back at Scorpius. “I want to come.”

Scorpius hesitates for several long seconds, and Albus doesn’t quite understand why. Maybe he’s missing something here. It’s like Scorpius is waiting for him to comprehend something and react to it. Should he be saying no? Does Scorpius want him to go home?

“I don’t have to come,” Albus murmurs. “If you don’t want me to.”

“I want you to,” Scorpius says, reaching out to take his hand. “But I didn’t know if you were ready to, you know...”

And then Albus understands. It hits him as hard as the fragment of wood exploding from the door had done, leaving him dazed, and wondering how he hadn’t realised it sooner.

Of course Scorpius wants to report this straight to Harry. Of course he does. He’s giving Albus the chance to back out. To run away and go home.

But this isn’t a day for running away. Earlier Albus had stood on the steps outside Gringotts and yelled his love for Scorpius to the whole world. Now he’s going to go and confront his dad too. No more running, no more hiding. It’s time to stand by Scorpius’s side and stop being the coward he’s been his entire life.

“I’m not,” he says. “Ready. But I’m coming anyway.” He grips Scorpius’s hand tight. “Let’s go before I change my mind.” He turns on the spot, bringing Scorpius with him, and a second later they’re standing in a deserted street beside a red telephone box. The Ministry of Magic.

 Harry’s desk is a mess as always, but this morning it’s not covered in files, it’s covered in photos, statements, a draft copy of a newspaper report, and everything else he’s been able to gather from the incident in Diagon Alley this morning. The photo snapped by the Prophet reporter who’d rushed out into the street when he’d heard the commotion takes pride of place. Albus’s hair may be a light shade of grey in the black and white photo, and his eyes may be almost black, but it’s Albus. Unmistakeably. Harry knows his own son.

Albus shouts something, then turns and looks at Scorpius, who’s standing on the steps behind him, a look of sheer panic on his face. The Albus in the photo gazes at Scorpius for a moment, then turns back to the camera and keeps going, pointing at Scorpius, a fire in his eyes that can only belong to Albus. It’s Harry’s favourite bit of the photo, and he stares at it, taking in every detail of Albus’s face, the blazing passion written across every inch of him. He looks more beautiful than Harry has spent every second of the last seven years imagining. He’s perfect. And now Harry needs to see him more than ever. It’s the only thing he needs, and he needs it with every fibre of his being.

He pushes the photo out of the way so he can look at the other things on the table. There’s a statement from a pair of witches at the front of the crowd who’d been close enough to hear and see everything, and he scours it, looking for anything that might tell him where Albus and Scorpius have gone now, because they’re together, there’s no doubt about that.

He picks the statement up and sits at his desk, reading the end of it over and over again. It says they were talking about Apparating, saying they had to get out of there.

‘I didn’t hear them say where they were going, but Malfoy was talking about getting out of there. He warned him, Albus, that he was going to Apparate, and then they disappeared. I don’t think he told Albus where he was going... I still think he’s got Albus bewitched. It’s the only thing that makes sense. The way Albus looked at him... Maybe it’s a Love Potion.’

Harry sighs and rubs his forehead. No one knows where they went. Not a single one of the witnesses. Maybe they just didn’t say. But he refuses to believe that they’ve disappeared again. They were right there, right within reach. They were in Diagon Alley. Albus was in the middle of the biggest wizarding shopping street in the country and they still don’t have him and now he’s vanished. Vanished!

Harry slaps his hand as hard as he can on the desk in frustration. It doesn’t help. Now his palm stings and he feels even worse.

In seven years, this is the closest he’s been to getting his son back, but still he has nothing. It’s horrible. It’s like being back in the days after Albus ran away, when every new dawn brought with it the tantalising hope that today might be the day. And now today might really have been the day but they’ve let Albus slip through their fingers. Again. He removes his glasses, buries his face in his hands, and draws in a deep breath.

If they’ve got this close once they can do it again. The Aurors had arrived just moments after Albus and Scorpius had Disapparated. They only need to be a little bit quicker off the mark and they’ll have him. It’s that simple. They’re so close. No giving up now. No giving up ever.

“Mr Potter.”

He looks up to see his secretary, Edna, standing in the doorway. Her eyes are wide and she’s breathless, a hand clutching her heart. She looks like she’s seen a ghost.

“Yes?”

“There are- there are some people here to see you.”

Harry sighs. “Can it wait? I’m a bit-“ He gestures to his desk. “Busy.”

She shakes her head. “You really want to talk to these two.”

Harry frowns and picks his glasses up. “Have they seen Albus? Do they know something?”

Her expression transforms into a beaming smile and she shakes her head. “No. Even better.” She turns to the people behind her. “Go in. He’ll see you.”

There’s a bit of shuffling in the doorway as Edna disappears and the door opens wider. Two blurry figures appear, one with white blond hair; the other bright pink. Harry jams his glasses onto his face and gets to his feet, staring.

Scorpius, wet hair plastered to his head, robes dripping, meets Harry’s eyes as he enters the room, then he glances back. For a second Harry doesn’t believe what he’s seeing, but there’s no question that right behind Scorpius, one arm folded across his body, shoulders tight, gaze determinedly fixed on the floor, soaked to the skin, but whole and solid and very much alive; definitely not an illusion, is-

“Albus,” Harry breathes.

Albus’s eyes flicker up from the ground for a moment – a dark, impenetrable brown, but definitely Albus’s gaze because it’s hard and strong and crackling with fight. He gives a tiny nod but doesn’t speak, and his gaze instantly drops back to the ground.

Harry can’t breathe. He can’t speak. He collapses into the seat behind his desk and braces his forearms on the tabletop, staring at Albus. It’s impossible to take in every detail of his son in just a few seconds, but Harry wants to see as much as he can.

Albus is still so small. He’s compact, athletic in the way a broom racer should be, in the way his mum is, and next to Scorpius he looks as tiny as he ever did. He also seems afraid.

For all the defiant solidity of his presence, he doesn’t look comfortable here. He’s refusing to look at Harry not because he’s being difficult but because he’s scared. Harry’s first instinct is to reassure him, to reach out and let him know that it’s okay. But then it occurs to him that Albus probably doesn’t want his reassurance. After all this time, after all these years in which Albus has grown up, Harry has lost all his power as a dad to make everything okay just by saying it is. So he ignores the problem and turns to Scorpius, who is holding tight to Albus’s hand and doesn’t look like he’s planning to let go any time soon.

“Scorpius,” he says. “Why are you both so wet?”

“It’s finally raining,” Scorpius says with a little smile that fades as fast as it comes.

“Right. How, um-“ He pushes his glasses up his nose and glances at Albus again because he can’t help himself. “How can I help you both?”

Scorpius looks at Albus, who looks back at him.

“Go on,” Albus murmurs, and Harry’s heart skips a beat. That’s his son’s voice, a voice he hasn’t heard in so long. Even that fleeting whisper is the sweetest music Harry’s ever heard.

Scorpius nods and squeezes Albus’s hand. He turns back to Harry and opens his mouth, hesitating like he’s trying to work out the right place to start.

“Last night my dad and I managed to trace those suspect accounts back to one belonging to Delphini Black, so I went to the bank earlier to try and find out more,” he says, and gaze flickers to the papers littering Harry’s desk. “You might have already heard... But anyway. I found out that Delphi’s account wasn’t registered to her name, it belongs to a Cygnus Black, and I found out the address it’s registered to. So after...” he gestures to the papers. “After all that, we Apparated to the address and had a look around.”

He pulls something from his pocket and steps forward just far enough to drop the paper on the edge of Harry’s desk. Not once does he let go of Albus’s hand.

“I found this,” he says. “It was in one of the rooms. It was the closest I got to a clue. There was also a sort of secret room, but I didn’t get chance to investigate it.”

Harry frowns. “Did you leave? We can go back. I could send Aurors, or-“

Scorpius shakes his head and glances at Albus. “We can’t go back. No one can.” He takes a deep breath, and Albus steps an inch closer to him, so their arms are pressed together. “While we were inside someone set light to the house. I say someone because it was Fiendfyre. We both know it was. The house is destroyed, and we only just managed to escape.” He looks at Harry. “We think someone tried to kill us.”

Harry sits back in his chair, watching Albus, who’s looking at him with an impenetrable gaze. It’s impossible to know what he’s thinking or feeling; maybe he’s waiting to see what Harry is thinking before he reacts for himself. But Harry doesn’t know what to think. His brain is in a spin because Albus is here and Scorpius is saying someone tried to kill them, and now Harry looks he can see singe marks on Albus’s damp clothes and in his hair, and if someone tried to kill his son then...

He runs a hand over his face and shakes his head. “Do you know for sure that it was Fiendfyre?”

Scorpius looks at Albus, who takes a small step forward.

“I know it was. I know Fiendfyre. I have some... experience. That wasn’t a normal fire.” His gaze dares Harry to question him, but Harry has no desire to. He feels sick. Albus has experience with Fiendfyre. Ginny had said as much but he hadn’t wanted to believe it. This means that what she said about Albus’s injuries is true as well. Albus is burned, scarred, damaged. He’s not coming back whole and undamaged, and that means that Harry has failed terribly. But he won’t fail again.

“Did you see anyone?” Harry asks, looking at Scorpius. “While you were at the house, did you see anyone around who might have set a fire? It’s not easy to cast Fiendfyre. It must have been someone powerful.”

Scorpius shakes his head. “We didn’t see anyone. The windows were all covered with ivy. Someone could have snuck up, cast the spell, and left without us seeing. I assume that’s what they did because there was no one in there with us. It was deserted. It felt deserted.”

Harry ruffles his fingers through his hair, trying to think. “If someone is trying to hurt you it must be someone under investigation. Someone from the league. Who from the league can cast Fiendfyre?”

“Everyone,” Albus says, rolling his eyes.

Harry sits forward in his seat. “Can you?”

Albus’s expression shifts. All his walls go up before Harry’s eyes, shoulders tightening, jaw jutting, expression glaring. “Is that an accusation? Because no, I didn’t just try to kill my boyfriend.”

His boyfriend. Ginny had mentioned that too, but it was just another one of those incomprehensible things that Harry hadn’t managed to wrap his head around. But now it’s right in front of him, made obvious by those interlinked hands and the surprised but delighted smile Scorpius is now giving Albus despite the gravity of the situation. There’s no denying it. His son loves Scorpius Malfoy, and Scorpius Malfoy loves him back.

Harry gets to his feet. “That’s not what I meant. I was just curious.”

Albus lifts his chin. “Then no,” he says. “I can’t. And I have no desire to. It’s... it’s horrible stuff. I hate it.” He mutters the last few words and drops his gaze back to his shoes.

“So it could have been anyone apart from you,” Harry says thoughtfully. “And we don’t know who it might have been.” He reaches across and sorts through his mess of files until he finds the one containing details of the league. He flips it open on top of the witness statement from Diagon Alley and frowns down at it. “Is there any reason why it couldn’t have been this Delphi herself who set fire to the house?”

Albus and Scorpius look at each other, and Harry recognises the intense but utterly silent conversation going on between them. Finally Scorpius sighs.

“Why would she set fire to her own house? And anyway, she’s been Albus’s best friend for the whole time he’s been away,” he says. “Albus doesn’t think-“

“Why would my best friend try and kill me?” Albus asks. “It can’t have been her.”

“Your best friend associates with former Death Eaters,” Harry tells him, trying to keep his voice soft and patient. In truth the information has thrown him completely. His son has been around the worst of people, criminals, who know how to perform dangerous Dark Magic. His son considers these people his friends.

“My boyfriend’s dad is a former Death Eater,” Albus argues.

“Yes but that’s-“ Harry holds his hands up and looks down at the file. The last thing he wants is to start fighting with Albus now.

“I think we should start by trying to work out what the note says.” Scorpius steps forward and picks the bit of paper up off the table. “I can’t read it. I don’t recognise the writing. There’s a possibility it’s written Parseltongue or something. I’d need to investigate. If we can work that out then we might find something.”

“You’re not investigating anything,” Harry says, looking up at him.

Scorpius looks confused. “But... this is my investigation. Why can’t I look at this next? It’s the logical way forward.”

Harry braces his hands on the table and looks Scorpius dead in the eye. “I’m sorry, Scorpius, but until we work out what’s happening with these attacks, I’m removing you from the investigation.”

Scorpius reels back a step, mouth open, eyes wide. He looks like he’s just been slapped in the face, but Harry knew that would happen. Of course it was going to hurt, but this is the only way. This is the second attack in a matter of days. Albus has been caught up in both and so has Scorpius. Taking Scorpius away from the case is the only way of keeping him safe; if anything happens to Scorpius then Draco will murder Harry. Equally, if anything happens to Scorpius then Albus will have no reason to stay. Maybe Harry should feel ashamed of that factoring into his thinking, but he’s not. He can’t be. Now that Albus is back the top priority is to keep him here.

“I’m sorry, Scorpius. This isn’t to do with your ability to handle the case, but I don’t want you in any more danger. I have people who are equipped to deal with this sort of thing. You aren’t one of those, so I can’t let you continue.”

Scorpius closes his mouth and swallows. He seems utterly lost for words. Unfortunately Albus isn’t.

Albus lets go of Scorpius’s hand for the first time since he got into the office and steps forward, right up to the desk, so he’s just inches away from Harry. His eyes blaze with anger, the way they always did when he was facing Harry. So little has changed.

“No,” he says. “You can’t take him off the case. You can’t.”

“I can,” Harry replies calmly. “I can and I am. I’m sorry, Albus, but this is Scorpius’s safety we’re-“

“But it’s not,” Albus interrupts. He gestures to Scorpius. “You know he’s brilliant. You have to. He’s been working for you for what, five years now? And he’s still stuck in the same job as he was when he started, even though you know what he can do.”

“Albus,” Scorpius murmurs. “You don’t have to-“

Albus ignores him. “This is his chance to prove himself. This is his chance to actually do something and you’re taking it away from him.” He folds his arms and glares at Harry. “I don’t know why I expected better from you. Seven years and you haven’t changed a bit.”

Harry opens his mouth, but Scorpius gets there first. He steps forward and takes hold of Albus’s arm.

“Let it go, it’s fine.”

Albus whirls round to face him. “It’s not fine,” he says, voice rising so it bounces off the walls of the office. “And you know it.”

Scorpius runs a hand down Albus’s arm. “Fine. It’s not. But I can-“

“Deal with it?” Albus asks. “That’s bullshit. You shouldn’t have to deal with this.” He turns back round to face Harry. “I ran away and left him, but I’m not leaving him again, because you know what? I learn from my mistakes. That must be a difficult concept for you, mustn’t it?”

Harry balls his hands into fists. How can Albus have so severely misunderstood what he’s trying to do here? This is always the way. Albus doesn’t get it. He doesn’t seem to understand that they want the same thing.

“Look,” Harry says. “I know Scorpius can do this. I know he can, but it’s too dangerous. This is a job for-“

“So give him a fucking Auror!” Albus explodes, flinging his hands up in exasperation. “Give him someone to help him. Stop making him the lowest of the low because you don’t want to face up to the fact that me leaving had nothing to do with him and everything to do with you. Stop letting him be your scapegoat, take some responsibility, and let him do his job!”

The heat rises and Harry glares at Albus across the table. “I am taking responsibility. I’m taking responsibility for his safety. Just because you can’t understand that-“

“You don’t even deny it!” Albus steps back with a disbelieving laugh, running his hands through his lurid pink hair. “You don’t even deny that you’ve been using him, lying to everyone, just because you can’t admit to yourself or anyone else that you’re a terrible dad who chased his son out of the door.”

“I haven’t used him!” Harry says, plunging his hands into his pockets to give them something to do. “And I haven’t lied to anyone. You left because you gave up on trying to be part of the family. It was an easy way out and you took it the second you could.”

“You didn’t give me another option!” Albus shouts back. His hands are shaking now. His whole body is trembling with rage, and Scorpius tries to touch his arm, but Albus brushes him aside. “There was nowhere left to go. At least Mum tried to help, but you just wanted me to change.” He puts on a mocking, high-pitched voice. “‘Stop being friends with Scorpius. Try harder in lessons. If you’re being bullied it’s because you’re being too different. Fit in, Al. Make the Sorting Hat change its mind and put you in Gryffindor.’”

Harry shakes his head. “That’s not-“

“I couldn’t be different,” Albus continues, cutting across him, his voice breaking like there are tears coming that he’s trying to keep at bay. “That was my problem. I couldn’t fit in. I couldn’t be the son you wanted. I thought seven years away might have shown you I was good enough anyway but I guess not.” He sniffs in a breath and folds his arms across his body, shoulders collapsing inwards, chest heaving as he tries to breathe past the impending tears. “Maybe I should just leave again, like you told me to the first time. You wouldn’t miss me.”

Harry steps sideways, round the side of his desk, moving desperately towards Albus. He reaches out to him, but Albus backs away, bowing his head.

“Albus,” he says softly. “I have missed you. I don’t want you to go. I-I love you.”

Albus nods. “Great,” he says. He looks up at Harry, eyes glittering now. “Thanks for that touching statement. Fat lot of good it does me. Fat lot of good it does him.” He takes a step towards Harry so they’re practically nose to nose, and Harry can see the tears caught on his eyelashes, flooding the warm brown eyes that look so much like Ginny’s.

“Keep telling yourself you love me,” Albus murmurs. “Keep telling the world. You can kid yourself and you can kid them, but you-“ He gulps in a breath as his voice truly breaks and a tear spills out of one of his eyes and down his cheek. “You can’t fool me.” He brushes it away and lifts his chin. “I know how you really feel.” He turns on his heel and marches out of the room, the door banging shut behind him.

Harry reels back and grips the edge of his desk for support. All the breath has been knocked out of him. He can do nothing but stare at the closed door where Albus has just disappeared, possibly forever now. That might be the last time that he-

He sniffs and straightens himself up.

“Scorpius,” he says, forcing himself to look at Scorpius who is also staring at the door, eyes wide with shock. “You understand, don’t you?”

“I-“ Scorpius looks at him. “I don’t know,” he says, sounding slightly dazed. “I-I need to go with Albus.”

“But-“

Scorpius shakes his head. “I’ll think about it.” He stuffs the paper he’s holding into the pocket of his robes and heads to the door.

“Isn’t that evidence?” Harry asks, gesturing to the paper.

Scorpius looks down at his pocket, then glances back at Harry. “Is it?” He wrenches the door open and disappears, leaving Harry alone.

For a long moment that seems to last a lifetime, Harry stares at the door. He wants Scorpius to come back. He wants Albus to come back. He wants to rewind the last few minutes and try them again. He doesn’t know what he’d do differently – to protect Albus he has to protect Scorpius – but there must be something.

He removes his glasses and buries his face in his hands. He remembers the tears sparkling in Albus’s eyes and clinging to his eyelashes. He remembers the grim line of his mouth, the coldness of his expression. Harry did that. Harry always does that. But what else can he do? He even told Albus that he missed him, that he loved him. He was honest, for the first time in a long time. But even honesty gets him nowhere with Albus. Maybe he’ll never get anywhere with Albus. Maybe Albus is gone forever now.

As that thought sinks in, his body bows and he starts to cry. Tears come thick and fast, wetting his hands, dripping between his fingers and sploshing down onto his desk. One lands on the photo of Albus from earlier, and he quickly brushes it away before it can stain that perfect, pristine, fiery image of his son. His son who he loves, desperately, who he’s missed for so long; who he can’t stop chasing away.

What if that was his last chance?

He sinks into his seat and rests his head on the desk, raking his fingers through his hair as he runs through every single wrong thing he’s ever said to Albus. There are so many. Hundreds of thousands of mistakes, both big and small. The insurmountable weight of them is heavy on his heart. At this rate they’ll be with him longer than Albus will.

“I know it’s my fault,” he whispers, wishing Albus was still there to hear him. “I know that. I know I should tell everyone. I know I should say it to you. I know that. I’m sorry.”

Why is it that these things are so much easier to say in the lonely silence of his own office than they ever are to say aloud; especially to the person they’re meant for? Everything is always harder in person. That’s been the problem all along.

 Albus is sitting on the edge of the Fountain of Magical Brethren when Scorpius catches up to him. He’s curled up into a tiny ball, sobbing into his hands, and he doesn’t seem to notice or care that every single person who walks past is staring at him.

The house elf standing on the plinth behind Albus almost looks like he’s watching Albus with concern as Scorpius approaches, and Scorpius can appreciate why. Albus’s crying is entirely unrestrained.

“Albus,” Scorpius murmurs. He sits down on the spray-splattered edge of the fountain beside him and puts a hand on his back. “Are you okay?”

Albus shakes his head. “N-no. No, I’m-“ He shakes his head again, unable to say anymore.

Scorpius gathers him into a tight hug. “I know,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to Albus’s temple. “I know.”

Albus grips him, holding tight to his robes, and buries his face in his chest. It takes another minute before the tears subside enough for him to even try and say anything else, and when they do he doesn’t lift his head, he just mumbles into Scorpius’s robes.

“He hates me. He- He still... I knew this would happen. I knew it. I-I don’t know why I’m crying. I don’t know why I’m surprised. This is how it is.”

Scorpius brushes his fingers through Albus’s hair. “I don’t think that’s true. I think he does love you. A lot. He just... I don’t think he knows how to say it.”

“He could start by being less awful to you.” Albus sits up and starts wiping his eyes. He looks a mess, covered in tears and snot, his eyes all pink from crying.

Scorpius pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to him. “Albus... I-I get why he has to pull me. I hate it. I really hate it. But I get it. It’s safety. I’m not trained for any of this. I could barely protect us from the Dementors, and I definitely couldn’t protect us from the fire.”

“The Bubblehead Charms were genius though,” Albus mutters.

“Thank you,” Scorpius says. “But I don’t even think that’s the biggest thing...” He looks down at his hands. “I’m... I am who I am. People think what they think. I can’t be seen investigating dangerous Dark Magic. People can’t see that.”

Albus stares at him. “You... you think that’s part of his reasoning?”

Scorpius shrugs. “I don’t know. But if it isn’t it should be.”

“But it’s not true though. We know it’s not. He knows it’s not.”

“I know,” Scorpius murmurs. “I know...” He looks down at his hands and tries to ignore the gnawing feeling inside his stomach that there’s something terribly wrong with him. Everything happens for a reason. Maybe all this is truly his fault. Or at the very least maybe he deserves it.

“I think we should go home,” Albus says softly, taking hold of Scorpius’s hand.

Scorpius looks up at him. “To yours?”

Albus shakes his head. “I... I want to see my mum.”

Scorpius nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“No,” Albus says, squeezing his hand tighter. “No. I want you to come too. If... if you want.”

“Oh,” Scorpius breathes. “Are you sure?”

Albus nods. “Very very sure. And I promise she’ll be better than my dad. I promise.”

Scorpius looks at him for a long moment, torn for whether he’s allowed to say yes or not. He doesn’t want to force his company on Ginny. Surely no one would want him in their house? But at the same time, Albus has invited him, and it’s such a nice thing for Albus to have done that he doesn’t want to say no. He also really doesn’t want to have to say goodbye to Albus now. Not after the morning they’ve had. There’s so much to talk about.

“Okay,” he says finally. “Okay, I’ll come.”

Albus’s tearstained face lights up with a smile like the sun, and he gets to his feet. “Thank you. We can Floo. We’re going to Holly Cottage.”

They cross to the fireplaces and Albus lets Scorpius go first. It’s a relief to be leaving the Ministry well behind and heading to somewhere where they both might feel less out of place.

Scorpius has never been to Albus’s house before. He’s never met Albus’s mum either, only seen her briefly on the platform when he was boarding he Hogwarts Express. He doesn’t feel afraid though, the way he normally does when he has to meet someone new who only knows of him from newspapers and gossip. Ginny is Albus’s mum, and Scorpius has always thought she sounds wonderful.

He spills out of the fireplace and rolls across the hearthrug, almost flattening Ginny who is sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, writing. She jumps back out of the way, upsetting her ink pot which spills all over the carpet, and Scorpius scrambles up.

“Sorry sorry sorry. I didn’t know you’d-“ He fumbles to pull his wand out of his pocket, and starts trying to clean up the ink.

“No,” Ginny says, also getting up. “It’s fine. I wasn’t expecting-“ She picks the ink pot up, moves her papers out of the wand and draws her wand to vanish the ink stain from the carpet. “It was probably a stupid place to sit anyway.” She lowers her wand and looks up, smiling.

Scorpius sees in her eyes the moment she realises that it’s him. They widen slightly and her lips part with surprise. He braces himself for a bad reaction, but then in an instant her surprise vanishes and she gives him one of the warmest smiles he’s ever been on the receiving end of.

“Hello,” she says. “Scorpius.”

“Hi,” he murmurs.

“How are you?” She asks, reaching out to put a hand on his arm.

He nods. “I-I’m okay, I think. It’s been...” He can feel himself wavering, all his emotions coming to a head the way they do when he’s faced with someone who’s really listening; who really cares. “It’s been a bit of a day.” He gives her a shaky smile, and tries to blink back the tears that are choking him. Crying in front of Albus’s mum would just be embarrassing.

She doesn’t seem to mind though. She draws him into a tight, wonderful hug and rubs his back.

“Sweetheart,” she says. “You’re a bit damp. Have you been out in the rain? You must be cold. Let me-“ She releases him and draws her wand, casting a spell that warms every inch of him and makes his clothes steam as they dry. “Are you on your own?” She takes hold of his hand, and he’s happy to let her. He’s fracturing inside, so empty and so full all at once. She reminds him so much of his mum, and it aches but he needs it. He wants it. Desperately.

“No,” he says, trying to hold himself together. “No, um. Albus should be-“

Albus flies out of the fireplace and falls flat on his face on the carpet, coughing. Ginny gives Scorpius a sparkling smile of amusement and rolls her eyes. Scorpius snorts and squeezes her hand. He loves her. She’s wonderful. How could Albus have run away from this?

“Hello, Albus,” Ginny says, and Scorpius has to bite his lip to stop himself laughing at the bright, fond judgement in her voice.

Albus picks himself up off the floor and brushes himself off, giving her a sheepish grin. “Hi, Mum.”

“You’ve certainly learned how to make an entrance in the last seven years.”

Albus shrugs, just a tiny twitch of his shoulders. “I like to make sure you haven’t forgotten I’m here.” He tries to smile, Scorpius can see the courage in his attempt, but he doesn’t really pull it off.

“Come here,” Ginny says, and she hugs Albus too, squeezing him tight in her arms, then she pulls back and casts the drying spell on him too, before looking between the two of them. “You look like two people who need a cup of tea.”

“Lemonade?” Albus asks hopefully, wiping soot off his face. “Do you still make that amazing lemonade?”

“Of course,” Ginny says, reaching out to get a spot of soot on Albus’s nose that he’s missed. “Have a seat. I’ll get drinks.”

“And the burn salve?” Albus asks. “Is there any left?”

She looks between them, scrutinising them, and Scorpius realises for the first time that the hem of his robe is charred, and that part of Albus’s top is singed, burned through to his skin, which is an angry red beneath.

“Yes,” she says. “I’ve got it. When I come back do we all need to talk?”

Albus glances at Scorpius. They both look a mess: tear stained, soot covered, and charred round the edges.

“Probably,” he mutters, and Scorpius nods, looking back at Ginny.

“I think so too.”

She squares her shoulders. “Alright. Drinks.” She disappears into the kitchen, leaving Albus and Scorpius to sit on the sofa in silence.

At first they sit at opposite ends of the sofa. Scorpius wants to put an arm round Albus, but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed when they’re sitting in Albus’s parents’ house. But then Albus slides across the cushions towards him.

“Can I-“ He gestures to the space next to Scorpius, and Scorpius holds an arm out to him in response.

Albus curls up against his side, resting his head on his shoulder, and Scorpius gathers him in, brushing his fingers through his hair.

“Your hair’s still bright pink,” he murmurs.

Albus closes his eyes and rests a hand on Scorpius’s chest. “That feels so long ago. It was just a couple of hours.”

“A lot has happened since then,” Scorpius agrees, picking at the scorched bit of Albus’s hair and wondering if there’s any way of fixing it. It probably won’t show up so much when his hair is back to its normal colour, but against the pink it’s painfully stark.

“I saw my dad again,” Albus breathes. “I-I saw him... It didn’t go well, but I-“

Scorpius kisses the top of his head. “You were incredible.”

Albus shakes his head and sits up. “I was a disaster.”

Scorpius smiles at him. “An incredible disaster.”

Albus looks at him, a tiny frown creasing his forehead. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”

“Everything is a compliment,” Scorpius says, leaning across and planting a kiss on his lips.

The door opens behind them and they spring apart as Ginny returns. She’s levitating a tray of drinks and carrying a small bottle, which she hands to Albus before setting the tray down. Albus mumbles his thanks and unbuttons the neck of his shirt so he can get to his shoulder. Ginny watches him, and Scorpius watches her, not knowing her nearly well enough to know what she’s thinking.

“So,” she says finally. “What have you two been up to?”

Albus has closed his eyes in sheer relief as the salve touched his skin, but he opens them now and glances first at Scorpius, then at his mum. “Well, I think I started off telling the world how wrong they are about him, and then we went to a creepy house and someone set fire to it and tried to burn us alive, so after that we went to the Ministry and I ended up yelling at Dad.”

Ginny looks at Scorpius, who nods. She sits back in her seat.

“I see what you mean, Scorpius. It has been a bit of a day.”

“Dad wants to take Scorpius off the case,” Albus says, sliding to the edge of the sofa and looking at his mum. “He’s being ridiculous. He-“

“He said he wants to keep me safe,” Scorpius mutters.

“He’s doing what he always does,” Albus continues. “And he still won’t admit that he’s the reason I ended up leaving. He’s still trying to blame Scorpius. If he stopped doing that then everything would be fine.”

“I’d still be investigating the league though,” Scorpius says, glancing at him. “And presumably that’s why someone is trying to kill me.

“No.” Albus holds a hand up to stop him. “No, if Dad was less of an idiot you wouldn’t even be doing this job. You’d have a job you deserve, so you wouldn’t be anywhere near the league.”

“But I wouldn’t have found you,” Scorpius points out.

Albus shrugs. “Maybe I wouldn’t have run away.”

Silence stretches between them, tense to the point of breaking. Scorpius needs to say something, anything, just to escape that silence, but before he can open his mouth Ginny gets there.

“I’m not sure I understand everything here,” she says. “Can one of you start from the beginning?”

They glance at each other, then Albus gestures for Scorpius to go ahead, and slowly Scorpius begins to piece the whole thing together for Ginny, interspersed with questions from her and plenty of interruptions from Albus. It feels good to actually talk about everything for the first time. Apart from his dad, it’s been so long since anyone properly listened to Scorpius and heard how he feels about everything. The longer he talks and the more in depth his explanation gets, the greater the weight that seems to lift from his chest, and the more space he seems to have inside him. The whole world feels a bit brighter, and when he’s finished he sits back in his seat and doesn’t much care what anyone says next. Telling the story has been therapy enough, without anyone trying to help fix everything.

“How... how have you been doing this for so long?” Ginny asks, staring at Scorpius like she’s seeing him for the first time and is amazed by the sight.

Scorpius exhales and a tiny, relieved smile crosses his face. “I don’t know.” He twists his hands together and shakes his head. “I just... have.”

“Well,” she says. “Something needs to change. I don’t know what, but- We have to do something. This isn’t fair. It’s not-“

Out in the kitchen the lock on the back door clicks, and they all look round. Ginny gets to her feet.

“We’re going to talk to him. Right now.”

Albus looks at Scorpius and there’s sheer panic in his eyes.

“I don’t know if I can-“

Scorpius reaches out and takes hold of his hand. “I know I can’t. Not without you. Stay with me?”

Albus looks up at his mum, who is heading into the kitchen. “Alright,” he murmurs. “I’ll try.”

They sit in silence and strain to hear the conversation in the kitchen. There’s a lot of low, soft talking going on, and they only hear snatches of words and phrases.

“They’re both here?” Harry asks, voice rising and carrying through the wall.

A few moments later they hear Ginny. “...reconsider... explain... after everything he’s been through...”

There’s a true silence, the silence of consideration, then Harry speaks again. “Alright. Alright.”

Footsteps cross the kitchen floor and Albus presses himself against Scorpius’s side, twisting to face away from the door. Scorpius puts an arm round him and they both look up as Harry enters the room, expression serious, with Ginny following behind.

“Hi,” he says, looking down at the ground as he undoes the buttons of his shirt cuffs and starts rolling the sleeves up to his elbows. When he’s done he lifts his gaze to looks at them, and runs a hand through his already wild hair. “Look, this isn’t about Scorpius. The case isn’t what we thought it would be when Scorpius took it on. It was meant to be a light, easy first case, but it’s not anymore, and-“ He glances at Ginny, who gives him a little nod, and he goes and sits in the arm chair closest to the sofa.

“There’s stuff going on,” he says. “A lot of stuff. You told me yourself, Scorpius. Dark Magic is in a resurgence. I mean... not exactly a resurgence, it never truly went away, but it’s shifting. Things are moving, things we can’t necessarily see, things we don’t understand yet. Fiendfyre arson and Dementor attacks might be part of that, but whatever they are they’re serious and life-threatening, and I’d take anyone off a case like that.”

Scorpius hangs his head. He gets it, but that doesn’t make it any easier. “Can I at least keep doing the desk work?” He asks. He pulls the crumbled copy of the page from his pocket. “Translating this isn’t going to get me killed, is it?“

“I don’t know what it’ll do,” Harry says. “I don’t know, Scorpius.”

Ginny starts to speak. “Harry, I think-“

At the exact same moment, Albus says, “Dad, I-“

They both break off, and Ginny gestures to Albus to go first. He shakes his head and looks down at his hands.

“No,” she says more insistently. “Go on, Albus.”

He sighs, shoulders rising and falling, and Scorpius feels the swell of Albus’s breath against his body. He grazes his knuckles along Albus’s side, wanting to encourage him, and Albus looks up at his dad.

“I’m part of that league, Dad. I know you know that. I haven’t left. I don’t want to leave. It’s my life. Those are my friends, my colleagues, they’re everything. If all this is to do with the league then that puts me in danger. And no matter what happens, I’m going to stay with Scorpius, and I hope he’ll stay with me, which means he’s in danger too.” He holds a hand up to cut Harry off when Harry starts to speak. “My point is that taking Scorpius off the case achieves nothing except the league’s not being investigated anymore. I don’t want Scorpius to get hurt, of course I don’t, but I trust him to do a good job at looking into this, and if we’re already in danger then surely a little bit of desk research won’t make much difference?”

Harry takes his glasses off and starts cleaning them in silence, and Ginny moves across to put a hand on his shoulder.

“Harry, I think this is important to both of them. I agree that we should be keeping them safe, but I also think, and correct me if I’m wrong, Scorpius, that even if you did take Scorpius off the case, he wouldn’t just give up.” She smiles across at Scorpius. “He’s not exactly lacking in will and determination, and I think we know by now that Albus is as stubborn as a concrete block. They’re going to keep doing this whether they’re allowed to or not, and I’d much prefer they had some sort of Ministry backing and protection than they run off in secret and get themselves killed.” She squeezes Harry’s shoulder and leans down to kiss him on top of the head. “He’s got your spark,” she murmurs. “Even after everything, he’s still your son.”

Albus twitches and turns away, resting his forehead on Scorpius’s shoulder, and Scorpius rubs his back, watching as Harry finishes cleaning every inch of his glasses, inspects them in the light streaming through the open window, and pushes them back on.

“None of you are taking no for an answer, are you?”

Scorpius shakes his head. He folds up the paper with the mysterious writing on and makes sure Harry sees him putting it back in his pocket.

Harry sighs. “How about this. There’s a spell you can use to call for immediate backup. I normally only give it to Aurors who are on dangerous solo missions so they can ask for help. It’s not something I hand out to everyone, and it’s only to be used in a life threatening situation. If I give it to you, Scorpius, you’ll be able to get help if anything else happens. That way you can keep investigating and there’s a safety net if something goes badly wrong. How does that sound?”

Scorpius looks at Ginny, then at Albus, then he nods. “I like that. It sounds perfect.”

“Good,” Harry says. “Excellent. I can live with that compromise.”

Ginny smiles and rubs Harry’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

Harry rubs his forehead and nods. “That’s alright. As long as everyone’s happy, then...” He trails off, and Scorpius realises that what he thought was the conclusion to the conversation wasn’t. Now Harry is looking at Albus, and it’s clear he’s not done.

“I think I need to say sorry. For some things. If you’ll give me that chance.”

Albus lifts his head and looks at Scorpius, and Scorpius gives him a small nod that he hopes says ‘yes, he’s definitely talking to you’. Albus looks down at his hands, then very slowly twists round to face his dad.

“Okay,” he says in a very small voice.

“Why don’t we go and sort out some more drinks, Scorpius,” Ginny says, giving Harry one last pat on the shoulder and reaching out a hand to Scorpius. “I think we might need to make some more ice cubes as well.”

Albus grips Scorpius’s arm and looks at him, wild-eyed. Scorpius cups his face in both hands and kisses him on the forehead.

“I’ll be next door,” he murmurs. “With your mum.” He pulls back and gives Albus an encouraging smile. “Listen to him. I promise it’ll be okay.”

Albus’s grip on his arm releases, and he detaches himself and slides off the sofa to go and join Ginny in the kitchen, leaving Harry and Albus to talk.

 Albus squashes himself against the arm of the sofa and folds his arms across his chest, curling up as small as he can get. He keeps his gaze down so he doesn’t have to look at his dad. Every instinct in his body is screaming at him to sprint to the fireplace and go home, go anywhere, disappear again. But he made Scorpius a promise, and if he‘s staying then he has to work out how to do this.

“Seven years is a long time,” Harry says.

Albus nods and messes with a burned bit of fabric on his shorts.

“You’ve grown up. You’ve... You look really good. Although I’m not sure about the hair.”

Albus runs a hand over his head. “That was James’s fault,” he mutters.

Harry laughs. “I’m not surprised. I...” He trails off, and an awkward silence hangs between them, a yawning gap separating the past and present from the promise of the future. It feels too big to be surmountable, a huge yawning chasm, and Albus has no idea how this is supposed to end. Forgiveness? Love? Or just more of the same?

“I am sorry, Albus,” Harry murmurs finally. “About... well, about everything I suppose. You know, I always thought that being Harry Potter was difficult. All this expectation and pressure, you know? Everyone waiting for me to make a mistake. But being your dad, being a good dad, is harder. And I don’t think I’m great at it. I certainly haven’t been in the past... But I do want to be better. I want to at least have that chance. And that’s not me asking you to forgive me, I can’t ask you to do that, but if you could find me some patience, at least... I can have a go at working out how to be everything I should have been all along.”

Albus inspects his fingernails. There‘s pressure building up inside him again, a wall of emotion and pain. All the memories of seven years ago come flooding back in a rush, and he pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on them, staring at the wall beyond his dad.

“You told me to leave,” he whispers. “Do you remember that? You said ‘if you’re so unhappy, why don’t you just leave?’ It was so much easier for you not to have me around, interfering with your perfect family. I never fitted, I know that. I’m not really a Potter. Not then, not now, not ever.”

“Albus... you’re different. You’re you. That’s a good thing.”

“Is it?” Albus asks, flicking his gaze across to his dad. “You always made it feel like it was the worst thing in the world.”

“It’s not,” Harry says adamantly. “I promise you it’s not. I...” He gets to his feet and starts pacing across the room, hands in his pockets. He’s never been good at sitting still.

“When you were younger,” he says, looking at Albus. “I used to think that maybe your life would be easier if you were more like James or Lily. You know, if you were more popular, if you had more friends, if you enjoyed Quidditch and did better at school. Maybe even if you’d been sorted into Gryffindor. But...” He pauses in his stride, turning on his heel to face into the room, head down. “That’s not you. And the things I missed most over the last seven years were all the things that were you.”

He goes over and perches tentatively on the very far end of the sofa to Albus. When Albus doesn’t move away from him, he settles an inch further onto the cushions.

“I missed coming home from work and the whole house smelling of the fumes from whatever potion you were working on that day, did you know that? I missed the little bits of emerald green everywhere – your tie on the back of a kitchen chair, your jumper on the washing line, that hoodie you never seemed to take off-“

“I still have that hoodie,” Albus says, looking up at him.

Harry smiles. “I’m not surprised. You loved that thing. I’m amazed you haven’t worn through it by now.”

“I had to get a second one,” Albus says, giving him a tiny smile.

“Of course you did.” Harry moves a tiny bit closer. “If you want to know another thing I missed, it was walking into the house and thinking no one was around, but you’d be sitting on the sofa reading. I’d come in and you wouldn’t even notice. You were the calmest thing about this place. Sometimes it’s still too noisy here, even now James and Lily have left. I missed your stillness. And I missed you helping me in the kitchen. I started missing that a long time before you left.”

Albus looks at him. “Did you?”

Harry nods. “I loved that. James would never cook, I still don’t trust him not to burn the house down, and Lily always had so much else going on. But you always wanted to help. I liked teaching you. I liked having your help.”

“I still cook,” Albus murmurs. “I like it. I have a really good kitchen in my house. I don’t get the chance to use it as much as I’d like, but when I can... There’s nothing like cooking my own food in my own kitchen to make me feel like I’m at home.”

“What’s your favourite thing to cook?” Harry asks, and he looks like he actually cares about the answer, gaze bright and attentive.

“Sunday roast,” Albus says. “But I don’t have anyone to cook it for... I mean, I suppose I have Scorpius now, but before... It has to be roast beef. Not chicken or whatever. And there have to be Yorkshire puddings.”

“Of course. It’s not a proper roast without Yorkshires.”

Albus sits up, uncurling his legs and looking at his dad. “I still don’t understand how you get them so fluffy, though. Mine always come out a bit too crispy. They’re too thin.”

“I can give you the recipe if you like,” Harry says. “I was going to give you it when you left home, but...” He trails off, and some of the brightness fades from his eyes.

Albus curls his toes into the sofa, then he swings round, so he’s closer to his dad, sitting next to him, feet on the carpet, nothing but a foot or so of space between them.

“I don’t get it though,” Albus says softly.

“What don’t you get?”

Albus crosses his legs and twists his hands together in his lap. “I don’t get any of it. I... I don’t get why we ended up fighting if you thought all this all along. I don’t get why you didn’t stop everyone saying all that stuff about Scorpius. I don’t understand how we got here.” He gestures to the world at large. “What happened?”

Harry looks at him and shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

Albus frowns. “If we don’t know then how are we supposed to stop it happening again?”

Harry sighs. “Well... maybe I do know. I think it was a lot of things, Albus. You probably know some of them better than me, but... I think we sometimes have the same temper. I get angry, and you can be stubborn and defensive.”

Albus glares at him. “What does that mean?”

Harry smiles at that, and Albus can’t help but smile too, ducking his head.

“Okay, so maybe I can.”

“We clash really well,” Harry continues. “Your mum used to say we were like fireworks going off. Spectacular at times but quite loud and ultimately dangerous if used the wrong way.”

Albus grins. “Am I one of those Roman candles that you think’s going to be incredible but ends up being really disappointing?”

Harry shakes his head. “You’re never disappointing. Difficult, individual, unique, but brilliant in your own way. I’ve seen Sev’s case file, Albus. I know you’re the best at what you do. That’s impressive whether it’s legal or not.”

Albus bows his head as his cheeks heat up. “Thanks,” he mutters. “I think.”

Harry nods. “So that’s the first thing. And the second...” He sighs. “I don’t have an excuse for that. I...” He fiddles with the top button on his waist coat, undoing it then doing it up again. “I suppose I was scared. Actually no, there’s no suppose about it.” He looks at Albus. “I know it was my fault. I know it was that firework factor, that thing between us that meant we could never talk. I know I said some really really, catastrophically stupid things to you. I spent seven years wishing I could erase all those words, all those fights, the things that came out of my mouth when my blood was boiling and I wasn’t thinking. But I can’t erase the past, no one can, whatever they do. You just have to make do with what you have, and my starting point was and still is rock bottom.”

He leans back on the sofa and turns his body to face Albus. “I was really scared that people would find out what a terrible dad Harry Potter is. My parents died for me, you know? I was supposed to be able to follow that example. But there’s something about this, about you, that terrifies me. I-I don’t know what I’m doing, Albus. Lily and James just sort of fell into place, but I was, I am, so out of my depth with you. It’s not your fault, it’s just... This is how it is. I wish it was different but it’s not, and it makes me feel so lost. And then when you ran away...” He rubs his fingers over the back of his scarred hand and stares off into space, not looking at Albus, although Albus can’t look away from him. “It was easier to let people think what they thought than have everyone find out what I’d done.” He looks at Albus and gives a tiny smile. “Not my finest work as a Gryffindor.”

“But Scorpius,” Albus says softly. “What about Scorpius?”

Harry nods. “What about Scorpius...” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I chased you away and then I ruined his life.”

“I think... I think his life was already shit enough before we came along,” Albus murmurs. “And then we both made it worse. Not just you. I was the one who walked out on him... We should set the record straight, somehow. Talk to someone. Make the Prophet publish it.”

Harry nods. “It would definitely be a start.” He skims his fingers over the back of his hand one last time and his shoulders slump. “I’m really sorry, Albus. For everything.”

“I’m sorry too,” Albus whispers. “A-and I missed you. Every day.” He gives a small, shaky smile. “Sometimes I even missed our fights. Just the sound of your voice. I missed you humming in the kitchen and you telling James off, and... I hope it’s okay that I want to come back.” He looks at his dad and the tears come flooding out again, thick and fast and sudden, spilling down his cheeks and dripping right down his neck and into the open collar of his shirt, where they trickle like rain against his skin. “I-I know it’s been seven years but I really want to come home. I want my family back. I want Lily and James and Mum. And I want you. I want to be a Potter again. Please.”

He buries his face in his hands and loses himself, sobbing uncontrollably. It doesn’t matter that his dad is watching. Everything hurts so much, it’s been hurting for longer than he realised. He’s had those words building up inside him for so long that it feels like a dam has broken in his heart and now he can’t stop crying.

“You-“ His dad starts, then stops, and Albus can’t look up to see why. He can barely even listen to what his dad is saying right now. In a way he doesn’t care what the answer is, even though he’s never cared more about the answer to any question in his whole life. Just the fact that he asked it is more than he thought himself capable of.

“Albus,” Harry breathes, and then Albus realises that he’s being hugged. His dad is hugging him, holding him, brushing his fingers through his hair, cradling him like he’s a kid again and he’s fallen in the garden and scraped his knee. It’s a healing, unconditional hug that overwhelms Albus even more than he already is, and he buries his face in his dad��s shoulder and cries even harder, because even though he doesn’t have an answer to his question yet, this hug itself is a sort of answer, and the answer is yes.

“You never stopped being a Potter,” his dad whispers into his hair. “You’re Albus Severus Potter. That’s your name. That’s who you are. You’re- you’re my son, and I love you. I love you very much.”

Albus clings to him, clings to his words, and cries more than he ever has before in his life.

[monigheandonn1743]

The Diary

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3

“I’ll admit that it’s strange. But I’m no’ really sure what you can do.” Ned explained in a voice so muffled that Jamie could hardly hear him over racket he was making in the background. He was banging cupboards, rummaging through draws, running water. If he didn’t stop, jamie was about to completely lose his shit. “Whoever she is, apart from trespassing, she hasn’t broken any laws, and even if she had, what could we even do without a name. Are ye sure there’s nothing in the diary?”

“I can hardly bloody hear ye! So will ye stop what ye doin’ for five fucking minutes and focus on what I’m sayin!” He growled as he climbed off the air bed, kicking his sleeping bag to the floor when it tangled around his feet. “She’s been in my house, Ned. She’s researchin’ my family!”

“Aye, I hear ye. But without a name ye ken there’s nothin’ I can do.” He reiterated, his voice clearer now that he’d stopped making so much Goddamn noice. “All I can suggest is that you send me the book. I’ll go though it for ye an’ compile a list of names to see if I can find a connection. Or ye could ask around the village, find out if there’s been anyone new in the area.”

Jamie balked at the idea of sending the diary to Ned. He didn’t know why, but just the thought of his lawyer going through it turned his stomach. He didn’t owe this woman a goddamn thing, she was invading his privacy, but for some unknown reason he couldn’t bring himself to let Ned invade hers.  

It almost felt too personal to share with anyone.

“I’ll go though it myself, It’ll be quicker, an’ I’ll send ye the list tomorrow.” He huffed as his eyes scanned the floor, looking for the book. “But I’ve no got time to be goin’ door to door. I pay ye enough to do the leg work, so send someone else up to fucking do it!”

“I’ll have Graham up there tomorrow.”

“Good. Tell him to keep it to himself.”

“Aye.”

Hanging up, he flexed his fist around his phone, and let his his head fall back. He was attempting to steady his breathing, taking deep breaths in though his nose and letting them out through his mouth, slowly, steadily. Putting into practice the relaxation techniques the doctor had given him. But he wasn’t sure how well they were actually working.

This project was supposed to be giving him an outlet for the stress. Yet he was more tense now than he had been when he left Edinburgh this morning. Between the state of the house, the diary and the girl, he wasn’t likely to make it through the trip alive.

He needed to let it all go, to put it to rest, to forget that he’d ever seen her and just get on with the job he was there to do. It was one random moment of insanity, and it was over and done with. The diary would be harder to forget, but he had to try. He’d spend tonight reading it from cover to cover, find what he needed, and hand the whole thing over to Ned.

He had a team of lawyers for a reason, and they could damn well earn their keep.

Taking one last deep breath, he straightened himself, and turned to look for the book. He’d expected it to be right there, sitting on the rug at the bottom of the bed where he’d thrown it. But it wasn’t. With his brows furrowed, he turned in a circle, scanning every inch of the room, from the window to the door.  

It was here, he knew it was. He’d seen it hit the wall, and fall to the floor.  

But there was no sign of it.  

Dropping to his hands and knees, he moved from the bed, to the wardrobe and then over to the chest of draws. Using the torch on his phone, he searched beneath each one carefully, yet he found nothing but dust-moats, dirt, cobwebs and a creepy dolls head. Growling in frustration, he sat back on his hunches, and looking around the room again.  

Jesus fucking Christ!

“Where the hell is it?” He growled, as he pushed back up onto his feet and turned off his torch. After shoving his phone in his pocket, he grabbed the edges of the wardrobe and heaved it away from the wall so he could check behind it.

It had to be in here somewhere.  

He was alone in the room, and he hadn’t left it for a second. So if, God forbid, that damn woman was sill here, hiding somewhere in his house, there was no way she could have been in and moved it.

The bedroom door was shut for fuck sake!

With no luck behind the wardrobe, he moved the chest of draws, the bedside tables, the curtains, the rug, his bag and the damn air mattress. But it was nowhere to be seen.  

Just like the girl in the garden the fucking thing had disappeared.  

“Fuck!” He screamed, as he threw his sleeping bag back onto the bed and yanked the bedroom door open. “I swear to God, if you’re still in this fucking house, you better damn well leave!” He yelled into the hall, before slamming the door and grabbing the chair.  

He wedged it tightly beneath the door handle, checked that it wouldn’t move, then stepped back clutching at his chest. The tight, clenching spasms echoed down his arm, numbing his fingers, and coating his brow in small beads of sweat.  

He shook his hand, attempting to ease the odd feeling, as he moved shakily over to the bed and grabbed his rucksack. The pain was getting worse, it always did before it got better, so he quickly popped two pills out of the packet and swallowed them dry.  

“Fucking hell.” He groaned, as he lay back carefully on the bed and closed his eyes. The pain was debilitating, and he rubbed firmly at the place where his aching heart lay, hoping to God it would pass soon. If it didn’t, he’d be calling his own air ambulance, and praying that he lived long enough for his sister to kill him.  

She hadn’t wanted him to come here alone, she was scared to death of this very thing happening, and had begged to come with him. But she had responsibilities, a husband and a child, and he’d needed the space.  

But maybe that hadn’t been the best idea he’d ever had.  

The heart attack that had sent him to the hospital had thankfully been small, and this time he hadn’t needed surgery. But if he didn’t get his stress and blood pressure under control, next time he might not be so lucky.  

He didn’t have coronary artery disease. There were no blocked arteries or plaque build up, he’d never smoked or taken drugs. He exercised daily, ate healthy - when he had time to eat at all - and he didn’t have high cholesterol. What he did have was coronary artery spasms caused by stress and there was no cure. At only thirty six he’d already damaged his heart beyond repair, and to prevent fucking it up completely he needed to change his lifestyle.  

And this wasn’t helping!

Gradually, the pain eased, and his oxygen staved heart fell into its natural rhythm. He took a deep breath, and then another, before he peeled open his eyes and glanced over at the chair. He laughed hollowly and shook his head. He was being a dick. He knew full well that no one had been in the room, no one had touched the diary. But on the slight chance that she was still in the house somewhere, he’d leave it there.  

He didn’t really fancy get shanked or molested in his sleep.

Moving his eyes from the door, he looked over at where the diary should be and sighed. Had he well and truly lost his mind? Had he imagined it just as surely as he’d imagined the girl? He’d swear on his own life that he’d touched it, smelt it, read it. But he was genuinely doubting his own sanity.  

Objects, and people, don’t just vanish into thin air.  

Unless they’re not real!

In frustration, he ran his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes again. He couldn’t think about this now. He couldn’t think about it at all. He wasn’t ready to face the real possibility that he was going insane.

He woke with a start, his heart pounding and his whole body soaked in sweat. He’d been dreaming, he knew he had, but as his bleary eyes scanned the pitch black room, the memory of it faded and he couldn’t quiet grasp the edges.

Actually, he couldn’t even remember falling asleep at all. He did a quick inventory, and found that he was still fully dressed, sprawled sideways across the bed, with his feet planted firmly on the floor. It was dark, so dark that he couldn’t even see his hand as he raised it to swipe at his face.  

Dropping it to the bed, he searched blindly across the mattress for his phone. Fruitlessly patting at his sleeping bag, and knocking his rucksack to the floor, in his vain attempt to find it. As he moved to sit up, he felt the solid mass digging into his thigh, and flopped back down onto the bed so he could dig it out of his pocket. It came to life as he lifted it towards his face, and he squinted painfully against the sudden brightness.  

Five past three.  

What the hell had woken him up at five passed three in the morning? He usually slept like the dead and had to force himself awake when his alarm went off at six.  

With a deep, tired groan, he sat up, and after stretching the kinks out of his back, he flicked on the torch and shone it around the room. The chair was still pushed firmly against the door handle, the curtains were still open and the window was locked. Huffing out a deep breath, he turned it toward the bedside table looking for his water.  

His mouth was so dry his tongue was practically glued to the roof of his mouth. But as he grabbed for it, both the bottle and his phone slipped from his fingers and clattered down onto the wooden floorboards.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

With a shaking hand he fumbled across the floor for his phone, cursing as he knocked it under the bed, and had to fall to his knees to find it. But once he did, he brought it back up and aimed the light directly at the diary.

It was sat there, as plain as day, on the bedside table as if it had been there all along. But it hadn’t, he fucking knew it hadn’t! He’d checked over it, under it, around it, and there had been no damn diary!  

He turned the light back to the door and after climbing to his feet, he stumbled over to it to check that it was secure. It was, and so was the window. So unless there was a secret passageway he hadn’t seen in his search, nobody had been in here.  

Panicked and confused, he made his way slowly back over to the bed and stood staring down at the book, hesitant to touch it. If he was stark raving mad, there was no point going through it anyway. Anything he found would just be a product of his insanity.  

But if he wasn’t?

He pursed his lips, trying to decided what the hell he should do. If he reached for it, was he giving in to his psychosis? Would he wake up in six months time, with his arms strapped to his chest, and the walls around him padded and soundproof?

Probably.

But if he didn’t, if he left it there and tried to ignore it’s existence, his curiosity would eventually send him over the edge regardless.  

What he needed was a way to prove that it was real. To have someone else read it, touch it, and confirm that he didn’t already have one foot in to loony bin.

“Get a fucking grip, Fraser.” He groaned as he quickly reached for the diary and just as quickly placed it on the bed.  

Turning off his torch, he opened his camera app and snapped a photograph of the front cover. When the picture came up, clearly showing the leather bound book, he flipped it open and took one of the first page. Over and over, page by page, he took one photo after another, even a few of the blank ones, before he closed it and took a shot of the back cover.  

He’d keep them to himself for now, but if it vanished again, he’d send a couple on to Ned, or maybe Gail, with some pretence or another. But for now, he needed to believe that he’d just missed it in his search.

Not seeing the wood for the trees and all that.  

With a sigh, he toed off his shoes, stripped down to his boxers, and after grabbing the diary, he climbed onto his sleeping bag. He wouldn’t sleep now, he was too agitated, and he wanted get started on the list for Ned. So he propped himself up against the pillows, lay the diary on his stomach, and opened the photographs.

He flipped passed the one of the cover, and had intended to skip the first page. He’d already read it, and knew all the names she’d mentioned. But he stopped and brought the phone closer to his face. It wasn’t the page he’d thought it would be. It was just a short passage, and it was written in a different hand, in a different pen, and it had a name clearly inscribed at the top.

Claire.

He’d been relying on the light from his screen and the flash when he’d taken the pictures. So he wasn’t sure if he’d missed a few pages and this was further in. Or whether he’d not noticed it when he’d read her first entry. But he had to know.  

So, he closed down the photos, tuned on the torch, and placed his phone on his chest. The light shone up towards the diary as he lifted and opened it to the first page. There was no natural bend in it, the spine hadn’t been broken in like it had on the subsequent pages. So it almost clung to the leather cover.  

That’s why he’d missed it, and as he read it, he wondered if she had too.

My dearest Claire,  

I know well how you will bemoan my having purchased this journal for your use. In fact, I can all but see the chastisement in your dark expressive eyes.  

But I beg of you, please accept it as a small token of our friendship, and of the gratitude and affection I have long since felt towards you.  

You are an exceptional young woman, Miss Beauchamp, with a beautiful heart and an extraordinary mind. Both are deserving of a place to run free, and I pray you will find that within these empty pages.

Yours eternally,

William Fraser.

31st December 1746

He flipped the page and reread her first entry before snapping the book shut and closing his eyes.  

He wasn’t an expert, but even his could see that the writing was vastly different. There were no similarities at all between the lettering. So clearly the first page had been written by someone else.  

So where did that leave him with the theory that it was a story, or the delusions of a living breathing woman? Had she dragged someone into it with her? Or could there be a simpler explanation?  

Occam’s razor.

Had he been completely wrong? Could the book be from 1747? In all his years of experience in old estates, he’d never seen anything so well preserved. But the diary hadn’t been completed, the last entry had been about the mother dying in childbirth sometime in June 1747.  

If something had happened to the author, the one that William Fraser was clearly so in love with, he could have preserved it. But that didn’t explain how it had found its way beneath the mattress.

He brought it up to his nose, and once again sniffed at the cover. It smelled and looked so new compared to the ones he’d seen in the library.  

Shit.

The library.

There were other books just like this down there. So, surely if it was older than it looked, they would be from a similar time? He’d go though the diary now, and then check the others in the morning to see if he could find any links. If there wasn’t any, he’d send the details onto Ned. If there was, he could finally put the damn thing to rest.  

But first he needed a drink.

And to find a place to piss without going outside.

Chapter 4

[exalok]

Prince!Daud AU, part 5 (repost)

Daud let out a heavy, aggravated breath through his nose and pushed himself away from his desk.

The reason for his irritation was unclear. The weather outside the open window was fine, sunlight splayed across the floorboards of the bedroom hot and distracting but toned down by the breeze coming in over the cliffs behind the palace. Corvo watched from the chair by the main doors, where he'd been honing the edge of his blade since he'd finished dismantling and cleaning the mechanisms of his pistol, as the Prince stalked to the wardrobe and threw its panels open. Maybe the paperwork was finally getting to him – Outsider knew Jessamine had raised her hands in defeat on a number of occasions when the build-up got to be too much – but Corvo had never met anyone as dedicated as Daud to the finishing of the thankless task that was reading and signing off on laws and orders.

“I'm going for a walk,” the Prince said, jerking on an overcoat – what for Corvo couldn't tell, since even with the temperature dropping as winter approached, Karnaca never reached what anyone might call cold – and frowned when Corvo got up to follow. “What are you doing.”

“I can't guard you from inside the palace,” Corvo said as reasonably as he could manage. He was starting to learn that these things maybe weren't as obvious as he'd assumed they were, especially when the Prince was in one of his solitary moods.

“Don't you have any marksman training?” Daud demanded rather than asked, and as he passed back around to the desk he threw Corvo a contraption he pulled from his desk drawer. “I imagine you know how to use this.” Corvo held it up to the window.

It was a crossbow: light, made of tempered metal, the mechanism sliding smooth like it was regularly maintained. Undecorated. Practical. A useful tool for someone like Corvo. Unusual in a noble's hands.

Daud was already leaving. Corvo called out after him:

“Where are you going walking?”

And from down the hall, probably shot over the Prince's shoulder: “The back gardens.”

Corvo sighed. On the good side, there was a decent vantage point on those gardens from the gallery rooftop. He hopped onto the windowsill and set about climbing to the eaves and hauling himself onto the roof of the palace. Avoid the steepest slopes – they were damnably troublesome to keep your footing on, the shingles threatening to unmoor at any moment, which he knew from experience – and set out across the stable apex; controlled slide down to the gutter; jump the gap between the roof of the grand dining hall and that of the gallery. The Prince's bedroom, on the other side of the palace, was on the third and final floor, but by the time one reached the back gardens along the cliffside, the ground had come level with the second floor – angled all the way up to the sheer drop of the cliffs into the sea. At least it meant he had less than ten meters to fall between the edge of the gallery roof and the ground if he slipped off, and wouldn't necessarily break his neck.

Corvo had made good time across the rooftops – it was a familiar enough environment, even if the specifics of the location were different – and so he saw Daud exit the palace by a servants' entrance tucked into the side of the long dining hall, square-shouldered, ramrod stiff, staring straight ahead like he was preparing himself to face a firing squad.

Looked like he had a lot on his mind. Maybe that was why he'd stormed off in a huff.

One more benefit to this vantage point: Corvo could see most of the palace's roof as well, and a certain distance across the dark sea. It was also a great opportunity to inspect the grounds on this side of the palace. He'd given the gardens a cursory look already, familiarizing himself with the area in case he'd need to make a quick getaway with the Prince, but he hadn't registered much detail at the time beyond hip-high hedges arranged in a mock maze and the meager amount of trees, twisted like metalwork by the wind.

Daud was heading for the mausoleum at the very edge of the cliff face. To pay his respects to his family? Corvo assumed the last Prince, Daud's father, had been interred there as well – but Daud skirted the heavy stone building and stopped further on, at a line of small upraised steles Corvo hadn't even noticed in the shadow of the royal vault.

Daud bent his head as he stood over the headstones. Corvo could hear nothing he might have said, but the Prince had that look of a full, stifling silence.

Since it looked like he wouldn't be moving for a while, Corvo took the time to scan the surroundings again. Wind was blowing in from off the sea: salt-smelling, pungent, stinging on the sweat he'd worked up climbing and running across the shingles. Earth and green from the gardens below, too. The sun was slowly drifting closer to the horizon as the sky's expanse deepened with blue.

Down by the servants' entrance Daud had used, another small figure lingered. One of Daud's bodyguards – not Dodge, but another Serkonan, the tall one whose tattoos showed at the back of his collar. He was watching Corvo, unmoving in the open darkness of the door. From this distance Corvo couldn't see the man's face, but – there was something strange about how still he was.

Corvo shifted, and suddenly the man seemed to remember what he'd come out to do, on the move up the slope of the cliff to where Daud stood over the graves. Corvo tensed on instinct. Ridiculous – this was one of Daud's five personal bodyguards; if he'd been hired to carry out the hit Daud suspected was on his head, he had plenty of opportunities where Corvo wasn't obviously watching from overhead.

The bodyguard touched Daud's shoulder and jerked his thumb at the gallery – at the gallery's roof, where Corvo crouched well in sight. Daud made some motion with his hand. Both started back for the palace at a brisk pace.

Corvo lingered a moment longer, drinking in the cool air and the radiating, sun-warmed heat of the shingles under him, before making his way back too.

(It involved a tricky moment where he dangled from the gallery eaves by his fingertips over what could either have been a springy bush or a tangle of thorns. Luckily, it turned out to be a bush, and he only had to brush woody splinters and leaves from his clothes before regaining the palace.)

His favorite way of getting around the massive stone building was the servants' passageways, discreet corridors lining the main rooms that let the kitchen staff and cleaning crew go from one end of the palace to the other without crossing its guests; the ones on both sides of the dining hall led down to the kitchens before climbing back up through the rest of the building. He'd had lunch with the Prince in the man's rooms, but the exercise had left him hungry. He was definitely considering snagging whatever was lying around.

Another bodyguard was waiting for him, the kitchens otherwise empty. A side of ham and a wheel of cheese had been left on the prep table, sliced bread from lunch in a basket on the counter. The other man gestured at the spread with his own hastily cobbled sandwich.

“Help yourself.”

Corvo didn't hesitate, hacked off a generous slice of the ham onto a slightly stale piece of bread, but he only sat on the table opposite where the man leaned against the counter, fingers picking at the crust. Corvo had no name to pin on this bodyguard either, but he recognized him: flute-voiced, the kerchief lopsidedly tied around the lower half of his face muffling it some, and a little taller than Dodge.

“Why are you here?” Corvo asked, one hand still on the table, near the carving knife. The bodyguard kept slowly chewing his mouthful of meat and cheese.

He met Corvo's gaze head on. “I got hungry,” he said. Then he settled his elbow on the counter and laughed a little, like he'd told a joke. “And the Prince is busy,” he continued, taking another bite. “Thomas told me to make sure you wouldn't bother him.”

Corvo filed the name away, but what he said was, “Personal protection is usually a full-time job.”

The man shrugged. “He doesn't trust you with everything yet.” That made it clear, at least, that the four bodyguards were in on Daud's little subterfuge around the marriage.

“... He married me,” Corvo said, half-challenging, “So he could have me around to protect him.”

Dodge shrugged again, this time looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Rich people, aight?”

Corvo stared at him, the curl of a frown in his brow. “Right.” Well, that had been basically what Corvo had been telling himself, though it was less about the Prince being rich and more about being high-born. He'd forgotten, though, over the span of eleven years in the luxury of Dunwall Tower, what it was like to live with hardly two coins to rub together – maybe his mother, if she was still alive, wouldn't have made much difference between royalty and new money. “Who's Thomas?”

The bodyguard stopped mid-bite, eyes big and blinking – and laughed, his mouth quirked in a way that said the humor was more at his expense than Corvo's. “Yeah, I forgot, we never really met proper. Busy few weeks, yeah? I'm – Lee.” He held out his hand; Corvo shook it firmly and withdrew. He hadn't missed that quarter-second of hesitation. Maybe it was a nickname; he doubted Dodge was anything more than a moniker, too.

“You talked about a Thomas.”

“Blunt, but all right,” Lee said, smile still crooked. “He's the –” Dodge waved a hand around above his head. The tall one who came to get Daud, then. Corvo finally bit into his ham sandwich, savoring the salt and smoke taste, the thickness of the bread. Sometimes he missed the simple things. (Only sometimes. A well-prepared oxblood steak was a thing of glory, and he wouldn't give up honeyed fruit tarts for anything.)

Corvo took his time finishing the sandwich, watching Lee frankly as the man plucked a pear from a bowl and bit straight into the skin, eating it to the core, sucking the juice from his fingers after. Thoughts turned in the back of his mind. Dodge had been friendly enough, and Lee didn't seem aggressive (if tense around the eyes, like his mouth was drawn tight), but there was something here that was starting to rub Corvo the wrong way – and not only because he didn't like grandstanding.

Speaking of rubbing him the wrong way: the unfamiliar weight against his side prompted him to draw the crossbow from his coat and hold it out, handle first.

“Here. Daud lent me this. I think he'll be wanting it back.”

Lee took the offered crossbow with a surprised look on his face – a look that quickly soured, the man's previously open face suddenly somber. “Oh. Thanks.”

Much later – there was only a finger's width of space between the sun and the flat horizon of the ocean, but no one had yet come to fetch Corvo from where he'd been wandering the front gardens, so Daud must still be busy with those state secrets or whatever it might be – Dodge appeared on the far patio, a cigarette trailing smoke in his hand. Corvo changed directions and joined him, footsteps quiet on the marble tiles.

“Is the Prince done yet?” Corvo asked, and Dodge jumped about a foot into the air.

“Fuck, where did you even come from,” he huffed, gasping for breath. The cigarette had dropped right out of his grip. Corvo stooped to pick it up, awkwardly dusted it off and handed it back with a sheepish twist to his mouth.

“Sorry about that.”

“'S fine,” Dodge said, sucking on the end to see if it would light again, then giving up and bringing out a matchbox from his pocket. His hands were still shaking faintly. “And uh, yeah, I think he might be.”

Corvo sighed, an aggravated breath blown out of his nose. It was the Prince's problem, really, if he'd rather waste Corvo's time and risk being attacked in the meanwhile, but –

“Is he always this reckless and annoying?” he asked, looking off across the courtyard to the railway station at the end of the tiny island. Dodge choked on the first inhale of smoke.

Corvo looked at him, mostly confused, a little worried, as the coughing turned to wheezy, nervous laughter.

“Yeah,” Dodge eventually got out, “Yeah, he always is.” He looked suddenly drained, leaning forward on the rail along the edge of the patio. Corvo considered reaching out, settling a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Didn't. He wasn't sure it'd be welcome.

[voidwalkwithme]

Wasted Youth

Even the lightest of footfalls echoed in the ruins of what was once a lighthouse, dampened only by the roar of the waves outside and the steady dripping of water from somewhere above her onto the cracked floor below. As if triggered by her footsteps, gritty bits of stone rained down from the eroding edges of the spiral staircase. The woman briefly pondered its integrity, faintly glowing blue eyes surveying the ground floor.

It had been plundered many times over the years, the evidence plain in overturned, tattered furnishings and the waterlogged remains of smashed wooden shipping crates. There was no movement, save for the sprinkle of water droplets and crumbling stone. She would have to venture up. With the toe of a stylish but weathered leather boot, she tested the stairs beneath her weight, assessing what she could see of them from her vantage point. The crumbling edges aside, there were gaps to mind, but the path to the next level appeared navigable. A strong southerly wind joined the rhythmic crashing of waves against the exterior wall, both enhancing her cover and making it harder to discern whether or not she was alone.

Salty, kelp-laden air and stale earth filled her nostrils, her heart rate rising with each treacherous step up the winding stone. Drawing slow, tremulous breaths through painted lips, she edged her way up, pressing her back against the wall as she ascended and the next landing began to come into view. The decay and disarray of the second level matched that of the ground floor. Her eyes roamed hastily for potential caches, and found none, but a shimmer of metal caught her eye: a candlestick, oxidizing but not yet fully corroded - salvageable. She cautiously stalked through the rubble, one hand opening the flap of the leather satchel secured to her person by a crossbody strap, and the other reaching to grasp her find.

No sooner had her fingers wrapped around the scrap than she was thrown against the stone wall with a reverberating slam, pinned by cold, sharp steel at her throat. When her eyes refocused, her field of vision was consumed by a Wretched man, unfathomably ashen for something still alive, and reeking of stale bloodthistle. Eyes blue with fading arcane energy burned into her own, and must have found something familiar in that void, because he spoke her name: “Jaeness, you greedy whore” he cursed, thready and gasping.

Every muscle in her body tensed in preparation. She did not recognize the Wretched, corrupted by unclean magic and withered by withdrawals. Was he a client? A man whose advances she’d rejected? Or one of the ones who’d muttered curses at her in the street, looking at her like she was dinner all the while? “Oh, come on,” she murmured, “it's just a bit of silver. I'll trade you” she swallowed, “for mana.” Bony fingers threaded themselves through thick, sapphire tresses, and a pale nose buried itself there, sniffing like a dog. “Put your blade away, and we'll trade: trash for treasure” she insisted, voice scarcely above a whisper.

There came an indignant snort that echoed through the tower, and the creature withdrew just enough. Swiftly, she launched the sole of her boot into his pelvis, causing him to stumble backwards. Committing before he could recover, she cocked her elbow back and drove it into his head in a rapid two-step, sending him over the edge. Fuelled by adrenaline, she hadn’t felt her booted calf ensnared by his gnarled hand. The swoon of vertigo overtook her as they plummeted to the ground floor, landing with a resounding impact that knocked the wind out of her. His body - now truly a husk - had broken her fall, and a frosty blue shimmer coated her skin for a fleeting moment. Her own hand still held fast to the candlestick. Feeling it in her grasp, she bludgeoned the corpse in the head with it before struggling to her feet.

After dusting herself off, she gingerly brought her pendant to her lips and kissed the dark blue stone that no longer shimmered with her magic. Her eyes turned upwards once more. Jaeness didn’t doubt that there was more scrap metal to be found within the lighthouse, but opted to leave it behind - she had another place she still needed to visit.

A mile down the shore, the scuffed soles of her boots scraped along dust and rubble coated wood floors that groaned beneath her weight. Glistening strands of spider silk were draped between the legs of overturned tables and barstools, reflecting the anemic sunlight that streamed through shattered windows. Outside, the wind yawned and the waves lapped lazily at the shore, a peaceful accompaniment to the soft crumbling and creaking and cracking she created with each reverent footfall.

So this is all that's left. Shards of broken glassware and so much dust beneath a crumbling ceiling - all exposed metal corroded or stripped, no steel eating utensils or copper mugs to be found. Jaeness breathed in the smells of kelp and decay, catching an unexpected whiff of ozone.

Thirteen years ago, she had stood in this very spot as the last of the patrons filtered out, smiling and serving up good night wishes. Something about standing there, in the remains, brought it all back. When the heavy wooden door closed behind the last straggler, quiet had descended on the dining room, and the small sounds became everything: the metallic scrape of coins shuffling in the palm of the guitar player as he counted out his tips in a gravelly whisper, the distant clacking of plates and slosh of water coming from the kitchen sink. Closing her eyes, she could hear it as if it were happening now.

She had hurriedly scooped up plates from abandoned tables and stepped into the kitchen with her haul. She checked her reflection in the blade of a chef’s knife, freshly cleaned and sharpened and laid out for tomorrow. Dewy skin and vibrant sapphire eyes looked even more comely with a hint of a rosy flush at the end of a busy night. She smoothed a wild strand of platinum silk that had begun to curl over her brow, then carried her tray to the wash basin, where her mother was finishing up her own work.

Madam Brightwater called herself a simple woman, but carried herself with the same poise and spent as much time with her wardrobe and vanity as any noble lady, never faltering even with the passing of centuries. Her hair, once silky and white like her daughter's, was more slate than platinum now, rolled up into a low chignon. Her skin had not aged at the same rate, but the phantom of crow’s feet and smile lines loomed. Jaeness would count herself lucky to age so gracefully.

She’d had no idea that tomorrow it’d all be gone.

A FORTNIGHT LATER...

Brisk, briny air carried the invigorating scent of mountain pine with it. At the docks, the odors of fresh fish and kelp overwhelmed, but there was much to smell throughout the port town: grilled and baked fish dishes, fruit tarts and tiramisu, coal, newly cut lumber… Jaeness sighed in satisfaction as she walked, led by a portly local merchant who spoke with an accent she had never heard elsewhere. As they slipped through a crowd, his broad hand slid carelessly from the small of her back to curl around the soft, pale blue flesh of her hip. When she carried on as if he had done nothing, he gave it a testing squeeze and an idle stroke with chubby fingers.

He was a swarthy and hairy, middle-aged human who smelled of whiskey and tobacco, not unlike the harbormaster from Sunsail Anchorage half a century ago. Boralus dwarfed her hometown, and had a much different kind of beauty and texture, but nevertheless reminded her of the home to which she could never return.

“Thank you so kindly for showing me the way, Mr. Ames” she purred, twirling on her toes to lean on his soft chest and belly and plant a kiss on his ruddy cheek, the length of her sapphire waves swishing around her like a curtain. “I do believe I can manage from here.” She tapped on his chest with a squared off, lacquered nail before slipping away without waiting for a response.

The Tradewinds Market was a gorgeous, bustling district. Packed end to end with little shops, restaurants, bakeries, taverns and inns, the street lined with market stalls and carts, it was barely navigable during busy hours. She chose the smallest, least conspicuous building to rent a room in: a cozy tavern with only a few bedrooms on the second floor. The proprietor looked down his nose at her disapprovingly and quipped “no guests,” which she answered only with honeyed laughter.

The room was quaint: small, and basically clean, but a bit dusty, which she felt contributed to its charm. A single lantern cast an orange glow over the space. It had a bed, with a trunk at the foot of it that she wouldn’t use, a small wooden table with two matching chairs, and a little bookshelf garnished with small trifles: a ship in a bottle, a shallow bowl filled with sea glass, and a miniature ship helm carved from wood. It held few actual books, which all pertained to local history and customs.

After acquainting herself with the room, she went out, leaving nothing behind. It was a space in which to work, and to sleep, evidence of her legitimacy should she be questioned by the authorities. It was not a home, although it smelled a bit like one. Later, she would have dinner at the tavern, by all appearances absorbed in her fish and chips and pint of ale, all the while listening in on the other patrons, hoping to pick up an intriguing rumor. Then, she’d get started on a new piece before bed - but none of that would come before she found some excitement: a card game, a trinket worth pilfering, perhaps even a pretty boy.

As luck would have it, she found all three, but only partook of one. Instead of working on a new piece by lamplight, she sat at the table with her elbows braced upon it, letting a brilliant red gem on a platinum chain dangle from her hand. As it slowly spun, it flashed between expertly faceted crimson gleaming with enchantment and its precious metal setting.

“What am I gonna do with you?”

[alliswell21]

I wish you would write a fic where... vampire!Finnick and vampire!Peeta try to understand human's modern-day social media! :P

Hi @thelettersfromnoone!!! Sorry it took me so long to answer your ask… I have to admit, when I first read the prompt I laughed, I envisioned it as a cheerful piece of comedy, but when I started writing it, it pretty much beat my hiney. I just couldn’t get the voices right, and the tone was all wrong, I think I rewrote it 3 times… it’s still not exactly what I set out to do, but it’s close enough… I hope this is ok.

Rated G

Louis de Pointe du Lac and Lestat de Lioncourt meet Vincent Vega and Jules Winnfield in this Peenick fic. Enjoy. (Most of the dialogue are actual rants I’ve heard from my husband’s grandfather, plus a few debates between my husband and his best friend from high school)

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

Daylight Savings Time is finally at an end. All the clocks have been set back an hour, and sunsets come earlier each day… too bad I can’t see the glorious colors painting the sky with my own eyes tracking the sun’s slow descent into the horizon while the scattered clouds turn gold, orange and intense pink. It’s the thing I miss the most about being alive. The good news is that cinema is there to provide glimpses of my beloved sunsets, even if they are a flat replica.

I take a look at the clock on the wall, and then eye the sun setting charter taped directly under it. Fall is our favorite time of year, with its longer, darker nights. We are free to leave our den and roam the town, we can even walk into any establishment while it’s still regular business hours like normal people, because while the clock says it’s 17:00, it’s inky black outside, and no trace of the cheerful sun can be felt.

Today is special, though. “We are renewing our wardrobes!” Announced Finnick earlier, so as soon as the sun goes down, and it’s safe to leave our place,1 we’re heading to the mall on a business call errand.

“Is it time yet?” Asks Finnick entering the room, wearing a different outfit than the one I saw him in 10 minutes ago. He’s anxious. We haven’t been out in a while, and I know he’s both looking forward to this and nervous at the same time.

“Two more minutes, then we can go.” I tell him.

He makes a face that’s full of annoyance. We just heard the weather report, and it’s supposed to be a gorgeous evening. He hates going out on nice evenings to run errands when he could be luring beautiful, warm-blooded gals into the darkness of his bedroom. He considers it a waste, if he’s isn’t hunting, but he was the one to call for a day of shopping, I could care less about clothing.

“You know most everything can be acquired online nowadays. There’s very little instances your physical presence is required for a transaction to be made.” I offer softly. His glare is immediate and expected, but there’s mirth behind it as well.

He wrinkles his nose in disgust, but smiles nonetheless. “So impersonal, Peeta. Not at all how a gentleman should conduct business.” He says in his usual debonair tone, “It’s almost as if you don’t know me at all!” He flashes me that smile he uses to enchant his victims before his fangs graze along smooth, pulsating, bare necks, like a deadly caress.

I simply avert my eyes. Finnick is not my creator, but he was made 50 years before I was even born, and that makes him my elder, but sometimes, he can be such a brat! Is hard not to think of him as a child at times. His smile doesn’t have quite the same effect on me, though. I’m not a living woman, so I drawl out a response.

“With all the technological advances of the time, why bother going out, for something you can get from the safety and comfort of your lair?” I shrug, then smirk, “I’m sure you can find other, more suited pursuits for a night such as this.” I fan out a hand.

Finnick’s devious smile widens, a dangerous glint takes over his eyes.

I was told once, that Finnick used to have a lovely set of eyes, the color of the sea; that his gaze held the warmth of the tropics and the light of the sun. But when I look into his eyes now, all I see is a washed down shade of green, with pupils as dark and empty as the abyss and a danger that thrills as it pulls you in the darkened recesses of his penetrating stare, where natural light is nonexistent.

“Humanity has made the current time a very convenient era for our kind, hasn’t it?” He says taking a sit and crossing his leg over his opposite knee. “But first impressions do matter, my friend. You can’t just buy clothing from stock. Tailors exist for a very, good reason!”

This is just a variant of his many sayings of ‘the suit makes the man’ sentiment. I check the clock again, nodding in agreement, “But the internet is so much safer, what with all the ways you can interact with others, without really doing it.” I say more to myself than him.

“Why yes, one only needs to fiddle a smart phone apparatus, and everything’s there at your fingertips… what’s the fun on that?” He sounds partially angry.

“It’s convenient.” My voice is soft and monotonous. “Efficient and saves you the hassle of having to interact with vendors that may be irritating.” But for me, is more than that.

I’m not really into eating humans all that much, I rather take a stroll to the blood bank and peruse through the samples until I find something I want. I hate looking at the lifeless eyes of my feed providers after. So gruesome, ugh!

“It’s boring,” He states. “How much longer?” He asks impatiently.

“Take your coat and we may go.”

The drive to the mall is uneventful and quiet, but as soon as we step into the building, we both wince at the brightly lit entrance, artificial light bathes everything the eye reaches, but at the end of 10 seconds, we grow used to the glare. Our instinct is to flee the light, but our reason tells us it’s harmless so we walk right in. While we could smell the whole town since leaving our house, the scent of fresh blood assault our senses like a tide wave; I inhale deeply and allow a satisfied smile take over my features, but next to me, Finnick hisses in displeasure at the throng of people meandering about, as if he just walked into a fresh meat market, after pledging to be a vegetarian under duress. I wished I could say I was sorry to find enjoyment in his pain, but it’s actually kind of funny.

We make a left turn after passing the hubbub of the food court, and then we see them: people meandering around with their cellphones aloft, heads bowed towards the luminous screens, while ignoring anything and everyone else around them. Is one thing to see someone checking their email while sitting and consuming a tray of food court bourbon chicken and a 32 ounce Diet Coke, but another one to see an almost accurate representation of a zombie apocalypse, where the undead only respond to pings and blips. I know in my frozen heart, there will be no shutting him up until we get to the menswear store.

“Why do they do that?” Finnick asks under breath. “They look like sheep. Silly ones at that.”

I observe the few people so absorbed in their phones that narrowly avoid crashing into things along the way by sheer good luck with mild interest while we take the escalators in the middle of the first floor, then shrug.

The whole ride up, Finnick rambles, watching the hypnotized humans with contempt. “Why do they insist on developing this, so called, ‘virtual community’ nonsense? It keeps them from real life interactions, everyone so enthralled with their media devices?”

We climb off the escalator and fall into step side by side.

“It keeps them informed, connected with people they don’t normally see.” I tell him as we pass a kitchen and baking supply store, my head turns to look at a handsome set of measuring cups… you can take the corpse out of the bakery, but can’t take the bakery out of the corpse. “It expands their horizons even from the confines of their homes.” I say calmly, like I’m speaking to an overexcited child. “It’s in their nature to network and exchange opinions. Man was not created to be isolated, Finnick. Humans have a driving need to belong, and social media satisfies the void.”

“They abuse it, Peeta.” He says easily as we take a right turn, “Give a person an internet capable device, Twitter, Facebook… hell! Give them a comment box on a news article! humans can’t shut up! People behave poorly and opts to ignoring their sense of decorum. Is like they lack a filter, they become rude and attack one another when their ideologies don’t match completely.”

“Humans depend on social media now, there’s nothing else to it. It’s not a perfect development, it has its drawbacks, but it also has many pros and benefits. There’s no need to write it off entirely because humans are naturally imperfect and they tend to use their tools inappropriately at times. It happens.”

Finnick stops and sighs exaggeratedly. We really don’t need to breathe, but we still need air to pass through our bodies just the same, he just does it out of habit. He glowers at a passerby that makes the mistake of looking up when he feels someone staring, and judging by the way he trips while rushing to get away, he’s scared witless. I shake my head.

“I hate it when humans lie online!” Finnick mutters sullenly.

‘Ah! the truth at last’, I think to myself, understanding dawning on me. Finnick continues, ignoring my knowing half smile.

“You try to make acquaintances online, you find people that pique your interest and their life story at your fingertips, you could’ve very well just st found your next conquest, but if the information on them is false, further interaction gets hindered.”

“And if they decide no to meet in person?” I propose, taking a step forward.

“It’s truly inconvenient, not to mention disappointing especially when you need to feed.” He smiles, flashing his fully extended fangs, and then retracting them back into his skull.

“How romantic.” I deadpan. “You sound like one of those desperate types that uses date sites… wait, you are one of those.” I say in fake surprise.

Finnick discovered one questionable such site, and had one extremely bad online entanglement with what he thought was a living women; it turned out, he’d been chatting and enchanting an overweight, greasy hair, foul looking fellow that posed as a girl looking to befriend other girls for his own nefarious agenda. Of course, Finnick really wasn’t there innocently trying to make friends either, but he never pretended to be an oversharing teenage girl to lure anyone to him. Somehow Greasy Hair Fellow- I like to think of it as providence- crossed paths with Finnick, and when finally the truth came to light… let’s say, a number of unsuspecting girls got spared both Finnick and Greasy Fellow for good. At the end, Greasy Fellows remains. were a real messy business no one likes to reminisce about.

Finnick values my partial humanity warring with my undead nature most of the times, it’s what called to him when we met, but sometimes he hates the fact that I still have morals.

“I know how you feel, about it Peet!” he defends. “Social media may suit you as it is, but not me, I see it as the biggest pest the world has seen, and I’ve seen pests in my time roaming Earth.” He ‘dusts’ himself, as if merely talking about it has made him sooty. “Facebook will be the demise of mankind, mark my words.” He enunciates each word for emphasis.

“Now you’re just being dramatic.” I tell him, bored. “You make it sound like it’s impossible to find people out in the streets. Plus, there are a great deal of amazing things online. For example, Wikipedia is possibly the crowning achievement of humanity. People of all backgrounds have come together to record an amalgamation and collection of knowledge, that can be expanded, corrected and consulted when needed. That’s a good part of social media.” My tone is monotonous, because I really cannot muster the energy to be excited. Finnick says it’s a side effect of my dietary restrictions, that if I fed from a fresh live donor, I’d be healthier and livelier. I cannot dispute him on it, but I won’t go tempting myself with someone’s life, just to feel peppier.

“People can get facts wrong on Wikipedia.”

”That’s why there’s other people scouring over it at all times.”

“If you enjoy it so much, then donate to its maintenance.” He sneers childishly. “People hide behind their anonymity shield, and act and talk as nasty as they can. There’s no respect or consideration anymore.

“Back when I was a child, no one even had a telephone! If a person wanted to chat with another, they met face to face. People used to visit one another. Letters where the way to communicate with long distance acquaintances. None of this nonsense!”

“Finnick, you truly sound your age.” I drawl annoyedly.

This causes him to snap his eyes at me scandalized. “Take it back,” he hisses lowly.

Then, give. It. A. Rest! Social media is a useful tool.”

“A tool? Social media is not merely a tool anymore, Peeta, it’s part of their culture, they need it, they crave it, they can’t go a moment without it… why it’s like they’re addicted to it!”

”That may be, but the same can be said about food, oxygen and sleep. Social media aids as the ability to reach others. Now shut up and shop!”

I arch an eyebrow at him and he finally grunts in displeasure but walks purposely ahead. I just watch him as he rattles the door to the store open and steps inside smiling a beatific grin.

“Ah! Wonderful! Colorful display. That should cheer you up, Peeta!”

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes, since he’s making it sound like I was the one raving and raging our whole commute about social media and it’s dangers. He’s finally changed the subject, there’s no need to rile him up again, which still does not change the fact that he’s insufferable.

“Absolutely gorgeous,” I whisper relieved and step inside.

[emathevampire]

the first 10 of the OC asks for Kihyue and Amanthos (my two favs to read about)

OH BOY ahhhh thanks for the ask! I love these boys and talked too much, oops. Okay, so, long series of answers under the cut here. Sorry this took me so long! Kíhyué is Amanthos’ hero, he trained hard to try and be just like the best demon hunter in the world so as a result they’ve both got very similar D&D stat spreads and builds (Amanthos is 6/20/-/30/11/14,Kíhyué is 10/20/8/30/14/6)... and they’re both know-it-all nerds who are stronger than they look.

Read on to hear about their voice, smile, achievements, insecurities and shortcomings, coping mechanisms, theme songs, favourite foods, and fashion sense (or rather, lack thereof).

1: their voice Kíhyué speaks softly, in a low monotone littered with archaic phrasing, bitter sarcasm, and deadpan snark. The only emotions it ever shows are salt, grief, grumpiness, disdain, and on rare occasions, that “passionate professor” voice breaks out of its cage when something excites him. He speaks so many languages and has travelled so extensively that his accent is impossible to decipher as it is many blended together, but the absence of contractions from his vocabulary is a dead giveaway to his race, first language, and country of origin. Think about how Vulcans in Star Trek usually talk, and you’ve got a pretty good idea of how he sounds.Amanthos is also Kamatian and a master of linguistics so his mannerisms and accent are similar to Kíhyué’s, but his voice is higher pitched, louder, and has the full spectrum of inflections and emotions. Kíhyué swears frequently (with such colourful things as “cyfr t’n ejj” and “nq’ytaar-ath”), but Amanthos is more reserved by human standards when under stress and usually only slips up with contractions and slurred words, which as far as their native tongue is concerned is a worse offense than an F-bomb.

2: their smile Kíhyué’s got great teeth, they’re surprisingly straight and intact for someone who’s spent their entire life getting the shit kicked out of them, but the scars on his face twist a grin into an awkward half grimace, and no matter what his mouth looks like the emotion in his eye is almost never matching (in fact, there’s rarely any). He’s seen with a pretty much perpetual scowl, Psamion jokes that he can’t laugh more than once or twice a century or he’ll explode… but that’s not entirely true. He just only sees Psamion a few times a century. The closest he usually gets is a Spock-ish smirk or a raised eyebrow, and even that’s a rare occurrence.Amanthos, on the other hand, tends to wear his heart on his sleeve and will beam with glee for hours if someone shows him a weird bug or asks him about quantum physics. He grins like an idiot with his whole damn face getting into it, he has the opposite of the resting bitch face problem (unless he’s reading). He might be dead but his eyes have infinitely more life and spark in them thanKíhyué’s one does.

3: their greatest achievement For Kíhyué, making his sword and fleeing his homeland to become the world’s greatest demon hunter and a hero to the common people. For Amanthos, it was meeting his hero Kíhyué before getting turned into an uncommon person for science and chucked out of their universe to go explore the multiverse.

4: their insecurities oh god, where do I even start with Kíhyué? I mean it all comes down to him believing he’s cursed because his mother died giving birth to him, and that because his birth caused death no amount of good deeds done or other lives saved can make his existence worthwhile. So basically, feeling worthless and evil, which is amplified every time he fails.Amanthos’ problem mostly comes down to him being hyper-lawful, so every time he makes a mistake he feels dirty and dishonourable and beats himself up about it. He literally keeps a list of every “crime” he’s committed, even though most of them are accidents that people have already told him not to worry about.

5: their shortcomings Kíhyué is terrible at talking to people, he hates governments and laws because they get good people hurt and prevent him from helping where he’s needed. So he’s frequently breaking the rules for the greater good, and is utter garbage at getting himself out of trouble when (there’s no if, it’s just an inevitable WHEN) he gets caught. So he’s spent a lot of time in jail, escaping jail, and living on the run. It doesn’t matter how many aliases he tries, it’s impossible to disguise his features, and he has the charisma of a rock that’s too smart for its own good. He has that Sherlockian problem of being impatient with those of “lesser intellect” to his own, and frequently says a lot of rude bullshit that gets him in trouble because his tongue, unlike Amanthos’, is more often than not a tactless blunt instrument that doesn’t care who it injures so long as it gets its point across.The shortcomings of Amanthos can generally be summed up as vanity and an overwhelming need for control, even when controlling a situation is impossible. He does not do well in a party where every single member except for himself is chaotic. The half-minotaur is at least a good person who’s easy to direct. Everyone else? He wishes he could say they drive him to drink, but drinking doesn’t even help.

6: how they deal with grief Short answer? Not well. Kíhyué tends to run away from it, literally. Maybe he’ll come back to it in another 300 years or so, in the hopes that everyone else will have forgotten it or forgiven it, because if they have, maybe so can he. Amanthos really hasn’t HAD much grief. Like, he had a relatively happy childhood, all his family and friends are alive and they parted on good terms... the only time he was really confronted with that emotion was when Danae played his funeral dirge and he was finally hit with the permanency of his actions. So I think for now he’s mostly just afraid of it. He knows he’ll fail to protect someone, or he’ll outlive someone he cares about eventually, and he’s got no clue what that will do to him... so he’s scared of what that will be like.

7: how they like to dress they have both worn roughly the same things for thousands of years.Kíhyué wears long black leather trousers, black knee-high soft soled pull-on boots, a white and grey linen button up shirt with a high collar that fits snugly. Covered by a padded, embroidered gambeson and scale shirt, scale and leather gloves, black leather sword belt and sheath, sword, dagger, boot knife. Long hooded grey travelling cloak. He made all of this himself.Amanthos has worn the same monk robes since he received them about a millenium ago, along with a tattered messenger back, soft leather boots and gloves, and the holy symbol of his god of time and knowledge.

8: what they like to eat Amanthos eats whatever is most aesthetically pleasing and within reach. He doesn’t really have much of a preference since he considers food a “distracting but unfortunately necessary evil.” But he does like teas, mushrooms, and fish soups, they’re comforting and remind him of home.Kíhyué, by contrast, loathes seafood, fish especially (it’s actually a pretty severe trigger for him), and gets grumpy when Arekos tries to serve him things of little to no Real Nutritional Value™. He likes mince pies and rabbit stews, and hearty grain breads with lots of seeds and nuts, smothered in clotted cream if he can get his hands on it.

9: their theme still a WIP, I haven’t found the perfect ones for them yet...Kíhyué: In My Sword I Trust, Ensiferum. The Cave, Mumford and Sons. Save Yourself, I’ll Hold Them Back, My Chemical Romance.Amanthos: Lullaby of the Crucified, Alesana. Dead!, My Chemical Romance. Heroes Of Our Time, Dragonforce.

10: their fashion sense these fucking idiots don’t have any. Kíhyué thinks fashion is overrated, and Amanthos is a useless gay who belongs to an order of librarian monks who believe that dust is sacred. Arekos is the one with the extensive couture wardrobe, which he periodically lends to Amanthos, but will NEVER share withKíhyué because he knows anything he borrows will get tracked through mud, dragged through hell, ripped, torn, possibly incinerated, definitely smothered in demon entrails and gryphon shit, and likely never returned. Also,Kíhyué is a whole foot taller than he is and a completely different build, so why would he waste time and money on alterations when he knows it’s just going to be ruined?

[honestgrins]

klaroline prompt from tumblr - "The girl playing your wife went home early today and I’m her understudy so I guess I’m your wife now haha why are you looking at me like that au"

I don’t know how I feel about this one, and I hope I did the prompt justice. Thanks for the prompt, Anon!

Drama Queen || Klaroline

“Forbes!”

Caroline perked up from her stretches to find the student director waiting impatiently. If there was one thing every freshman knew in Whitmore’s Drama Department, it was that Katherine Pierce hated to be kept waiting. Gunning to be a star one day, Caroline wasn’t about to disappoint her program’s dictator. She scrambled to stand, anxiously picking at her dance leggings as discreetly as she could. “Yes?”

“Lucy needs a rest day and Nora has a test tonight so she can’t understudy,” Katherine explained in a bored voice. “You’re on for Belle if you can fit the costume.”

“I can!” Caroline’s neck hurt from the force of her enthusiastic nod, but she thought it was a bit more dignified than clapping in her joy. Most underclassmen competed for the chorus spots, and she had been lucky enough to understudy for actual bit parts in that semester’s production of ‘Beauty and the Beast.’ To take the lead, even only for a night, would be a major opportunity. “Absolutely, I’m ready.”

Pinning her with an unimpressed stare, Katherine tilted her head. “We’ll find out in rehearsal,” she warned. “Klaus has already scared off the first two girls I asked this morning. Because of that, I need you to get to wardrobe ASAP then to choreography. I’ll be expecting you to have the routines down before vocal warm-up at four o'clock.”

As the director turned on her heel to check the other rehearsal rooms, Caroline wilted. Klaus Mikaelson was a legend in the department, more for his grumpy commitment to method acting than his onstage presence, which was plenty legendary on its own. Most people expected him to pull a Brad Pitt and head off to Hollywood one semester short of graduation - but no, he was finishing off his senior year as the Beast.

Boy, was that an apt casting.

Being in the chorus, the only time Caroline really saw Klaus was onstage or during full rehearsals. Apparently, his need to foster and channel the Beast even out of performance had him shut away from everyone in the cast. What she did see, however, was always intense and a little self-important. From what some of the older girls said, Gaston would have been a more natural fit for the dramatic ladies man he usually was. To be playing opposite as his love interest? Caroline was more than a little intimidated.

“What’s wrong?” Bonnie asked when Caroline returned to the chorus warm-up to grab her things. “You’re white as a sheet.”

“I’ve got to do a wardrobe check for Belle, I’m filling in tonight,” she said, her voice weak with trepidation.

Bonnie refused the blonde’s earlier restraint and bounced happily on her toes. “Care, that’s amazing!”

“Klaus Mikaelson is going to eat me alive.”

Snorting, Bonnie covered her mouth at Caroline’s pout. “From what Greta had to say about their fling last semester, you’ll probably enjoy it. Twice.”

Caroline fought a laugh, though her expression did pinch in discomfort. “TMI, Bon, and that’s not going to happen.” It wasn’t for a lack of appreciation, the man was hot. But her last boyfriend had been hot, too - until she found him sexting an ex-girlfriend on a date with her. “I’ve had my fill of fuckboys this year. I really don’t need to be the latest notch on the jerk’s belt.”

“So you say,” Bonnie teased. “The Caroline I know would have that bad boy wrapped around her finger before the show is even over tonight.”

Shaking her head, Caroline smiled indulgently. “Yeah, yeah,” she sighed. “I’ve got to get going before Kat notices-”

“Forbes!”

Caroline rolled her eyes, quickening her pace to the wardrobe department. Anxiety aside, she couldn’t let this chance pass her by.

After a hard hour of choreography practice and vocal runs, Caroline was jittery with nerves as she was laced into Belle’s petticoats for a mini dress rehearsal with the Beast himself. Katherine had very unhelpfully described the exact conditions that caused the first two girls she approached to run screaming from the opportunity, and all the ways her big break could go wrong constantly ran through her mind.

“Relax,” the director ordered, picking up the iconic blue dress Caroline would be wearing for most of the night. “Klaus is just a drama queen, no different than yourself when the costume almost didn’t fit.”

Caroline cringed as her minor fit came back to mind; if that was what she had to expect, then maybe she should be scared. “My ego can handle the needling and temper, but will he really drop me during dances if I don’t meet his standards?”

“Only during rehearsal.”

“Helpful,” Caroline muttered, smoothing the skirts along her legs. Her chest raised with a deep breath. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

Katherine smirked. “I knew I liked you.”

Giving her best pageant queen smile in return, Caroline’s eyes were decidedly cool. “Glad it only took you three tries to find the right understudy, then.”

“Don’t push it, Forbes,” the director warned, though her smile didn’t falter. “I just can’t wait to see how you handle Klaus.”

Caroline swallowed at the implicit threat. Back straight and chin high, however, she strode out of the room to finally face the Beast; weakness would not be tolerated.

Irritation buzzed around him like a mosquito, and Klaus knew he was testing the limits of his commitment to the character. When Katherine explained about the casting change for that night, it took everything in him not to lash out. Still, he realized his bad reaction might have been harsh to the poor girls meant to be filling in. Sent to his reserved dressing room for most of the afternoon, Katherine warned him to work out his anger before she brings the next Belle to work with him.

Lucy might have hated him, but at least she was used to his mood swings; Klaus pitied the understudy paired with his Beast.

“Oh, stop pouting,” Bekah snapped, working on the seams of his costume. His baby sister had happily played the nepotism card for internship credit in the wardrobe department, and she was probably the only person left in the building that wouldn’t completely avoid his act. “The self-loathing thing is your character’s worst trait, and it’s even worse compounded with your surly attitude. Get over yourself and try on this coat.”

Rolling his eyes, Klaus shrugged into the costume. He obediently stood still as Rebekah pulled at the lapels to straighten the lines, until a knock at the door distracted them both. “I want you onstage in one minute to run through the dance with tonight’s Belle,” Katherine called from the hallway. “You’ve burned through two already, and I’m out of time to prepare another. Make it work, Mikaelson.”

“Ugh,” Rebekah groaned. “What does Elijah see in her?”

Klaus just grunted in disapproval, sweeping out of the room to leave Rebekah pondering their brother’s love life. A part of him wanted to refuse the new girl just to spite Katherine, but their rivalry wasn’t worth ruining the entire night’s performance. He never knew who might be in the audience, especially as agents had been reaching out over the course of his final semester, hungry for an awarded up-and-comer. As he approached the stage, Klaus could only hope he actually had chemistry with the last-minute understudy.

The performance hall was almost deserted; the crew was probably grabbing a quick dinner before making final adjustments. A blonde woman practicing her choreographed steps was the only other soul around, and Klaus watched as the skirts swirled around her ankles. She was a bit robotic in her movements, clearly focused on landing them precisely. Her exacting frown endeared Klaus to the girl he thought he recognized from the chorus, and he felt drawn to join her.

Moving quietly, Klaus stalked toward her from behind and carefully watched each step she made. Just as she was about to turn, he grabbed her hand and twirled her into his arms. Her eyes widened as he continued their dance, and he rather got the impression she wanted to stomp on his toes for surprising her. Still, she fell into step with him, running her hand along his shoulder to settle against his neck.

Had he been wearing his Beast head, her hand would have appeared to intimately twine into his fur. Without the barrier, he could easily feel the stroke of her finger on his bare skin. It was a natural connection between their characters, and Klaus sensed the chemistry he had been hoping for.

Pulling her into the sweeping waltz, he couldn’t take his eyes off hers. With each turn he lead her into, a new spark would appear in her green eyes: confusion, an urge for control, or - his favorite - pure delight as he twirled her once more. She felt right against him, her hand fitting perfectly inside his. Blonde curls whipped around her shoulders and hit his neck.

Klaus itched to draw the breathless smile she gives on the final dip, her chest heaving that he could feel each gasp from the hand that held her up. He towered over her a moment too long, which she likely noticed when her eyebrows furrowed with tension. Coughing, Klaus raised her back to a standing position, his hand still lingering on her waist for no other reason than he didn’t want to stop touching her. He pulled back as though burned by the realization.

“Well, hi,” the blonde laughed, brushing her hair out of her face. “I’m Caroline, the understudy. Guess I’m your Beauty for tonight. Ugh, that sounded gross, but you know what I mean,” she babbled. When he didn’t say, she looked up in question. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Letting his face go slack, Klaus just nodded as he turned on his heel to stride away.

Caroline watched him go, a frustrated confusion overwhelming her.

Slow claps from backstage distracted her, however, from the infuriating man who just left their surprisingly charged rehearsal. Turning, she found Katherine smirking at her again. “What?”

“I’m congratulating myself for choosing well,” she gloated. “You really got under his skin.”

“Oh,” Caroline huffed without humor. “So that was the Beast I’ve been hearing so much about?”

Katherine shook her head. “Honey, that wasn’t the Beast. That was all Klaus. It’s about time someone broke his method ass, I was about to kill him. He’s inhuman enough as it is.”

With her skin still humming from their dance, Caroline wasn’t so sure.

Klaus stormed into his dressing room. The blood buzzed in his veins, and he needed to do…something. His thoughts were too frazzled for him to settle on a course of action.

Of course, he had forgotten his dressing room wasn’t empty for a bit of self-evaluation. Without looking up from her stitches, Rebekah sneered, “Are you going to scare this one off, too?”

“Leave me be,” he ordered.

Despite the grumbling fuss his sister put up, Klaus was pleased when she went without throwing so much as a shoe. She still had a parting barb as she dropped the costume she had been working on, though. “A little appreciation would be nice, Nik.”

The sentiment clicked for him, even if it would be directed in a different direction than Rebekah had hoped.

He pulled out his phone to look up the number for a florist. “Yes, hello,” he said when the call connected. “I’d like a bouquet for delivery, Whitmore Drama Department after seven p.m. Red roses in full bloom.”

He hears the florist typing, his heart beating oddly in his chest. “Anything for the card, sir?”

Thinking for a moment, Klaus licked his lips before answering. “'Thank you for the dance, Caroline.’”

[fanficshiddles]

Instincts, Chapter 28

The next time Layla woke up, it was in the middle of the night as it was pitch black. She couldn’t quite make out where she was, as her eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the dark.

She could make out a slight silhouette of a wardrobe next to a window. The smell was different, it wasn’t where she recognized. But the one thing she did recognize was the cape that was draped over her along with a big cosy blanket.

Before she had a chance to turn around, a pair of strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her into a warm strong chest. She knew it was Loki, from the feel of him and his scent, and she managed to turn around in his arms and snuggled into him, enjoying his scent.

‘We are in Rudolf and Freya’s old hunting cabin in the woods. We are safe here.’ Loki said quietly as he kissed her forehead and nuzzled his nose against her cheek.

‘What will we do tomorrow?’ Layla asked as Loki slid his hand down her spine, making her body tremble.

‘Rudolf said he will go and speak to some others like us that he knows of. See if he can get them on our side. Then we try and find more to build up an army.’ Loki said softly as his hand slid down and he cupped Layla’s bum.

‘Ok.’ Layla squeaked as she wriggled slightly because of where he was touching her.

Loki smirked and gave her bum a gentle pat. That made her blush and bury her face more into his chest, making Loki chuckle.

‘Am I turning you on, dear little omega?’ He teased.

Layla nodded and wriggled against him.

‘Mmm. Well, I shall have to do something about that.’ He purred and slid his hand round to her front, where he cupped her sex through her knickers.

‘Would you like me to do something about it, hmm?’ Loki asked as he slowly started to stroke her, the thin layer of her underwear was annoying her as she wanted to feel his skin against her.

‘Please.’ Layla begged as she tried to put more pressure against his hand.

Loki smirked and pulled her to him with his free hand, then he slid his other hand down into her knickers and he lightly touched her. He was delighted to find her nice and ready for him. But he was wanting to take his time.

Layla grabbed onto his forearm as he stroked her clit in slow circles. She tried bucking her hips up to him, but Loki only chuckled and continued his teasing.

‘Loki.’ Layla whimpered as her eyes rolled back in her head as the pleasure continued to build up inside of her like a coil tightening with each stroke.

‘Are you going to cum for me, little one?’ Loki purred and pressed his nose into her hair as she tightened her grip on his forearm.

Just as Layla started to cum, Loki moved a little and pressed his lips firmly against her own to quieten her moaning so they didn’t wake everyone in the cabin. Layla felt her head swimming with pleasure as she came. Her body shook in Loki’s hold as his tongue teased at hers.

‘You are so beautiful, even more so when you cum.’ Loki smiled as he leaned up over her and looked down fondly at her as she lay there in blissful content.

The following morning Loki and Layla got up a little later than the others. Eva was playing around in the kitchen with a spoon that Safir had accidentally dropped. Eva was chasing it all over the floor and batting it with her paw so it would go flying across the room.

Loki chuckled and flicked his hand towards the spoon. A small green haze surrounded the spoon and it started moving around the floor on its own. Eva was delighted as she continued to chase and pounce for it.

He sat down at the table as Freya dished up some breakfast for himself and Layla.

‘Thank you.’ He smiled at her. ‘Where are the others?’

‘Rafal, Rudolf, Dennis and Joan have gone to start gathering others. Safir came into heat in the middle of the night, so Armund has taken her out into the small shack at the back of the cabin. They will be there for the week, for obvious reasons.’ Freya told him.

Layla walked into the kitchen and laughed at Eva playing around with a spoon. She walked over to Loki and climbed onto his lap. Freya served a plate for her too and she tucked in, not realizing just how hungry she was.

After breakfast, Layla went outside to play with Eva. Loki helped Freya clear up the kitchen and then he went outside to chop up some wood. Layla stopped what she was doing and looked over at Loki. He had taken off his shirt so he was only wearing leather trousers with his boots.

She loved how his muscles moved with each swing of the axe. He was incredibly buff and strong.

She had been distracted that she never noticed Eva stalking her. Then Eva pounced and grabbed Layla’s tail in her mouth. Layla let out a yelp and she jumped round to see the young cub hanging from her tail.

‘Layla. Are you ok?’ Loki asked as he rushed over to her at hearing her yelp.

Yeah. Just Eva surprised me there. Layla laughed as she reached round and grabbed Eva’s scruff, getting her to let go of her tail.

‘You were distracted, were you?’ Loki asked as he crossed his arms over his bare chest.

Yes, I was… By a certain Alpha showing off his strength. Layla said as she placed Eva down to the ground.

‘Oh you were oogling at me, were you?’ Loki grinned and cocked an eyebrow up at her.

Maybe. Layla said as she directed her attention back to Eva.

‘Layla.’ Loki said to get her attention.

She looked over her shoulder at him.

‘Come here.’ Loki motioned her to him with his finger.

Layla walked over towards him, unsure on what he was going to do.

Loki reached out and stroked the top of her head, then he slid his hand to her ear and started to rub behind her ear. Layla let out a low growl and her head titled against his hand as her eyes closed. Her back leg started to move quickly on its own accord, making Loki laugh.

‘I do love the power I have over you.’ He chuckled wickedly as he released Layla from the trance.

So not fair. Layla huffed and pushed her nose against his side.

Then suddenly her ears started to prick up as she heard something. Loki picked it up too and he turned into his wolf form quickly and stood on front of Layla and Eva. Just in time as 6 wolves, a mixture of brown and grey came into view.

But to Loki and Layla’s relief, Rudolf and the others appeared with them.

You’re back. Loki said as he walked over to speak to Rudolf.

I have brought back some more wolves that want to help and join your army. I also found a couple that are travelling to Midgard today. They are going to put word out to as many as possible. They will be back tomorrow and I gave them directions to here. Rudolf said as the others all started to turn into their normal forms.

Excellent. Thank you, my friend.  

The wolves that Rudolf had gathered set up camp outside in many tents and a big gazebo at the side of the cabin so everyone could mingle together.

The main pack was all in the cabin. Some were playing with Eva in the living room. Freya was cooking dinner with Layla, who was keen to learn how to cook. Loki was sat at the table, watching Layla intently as she learned.

He adored how eager she was to learn new skills. He loved how she concentrated on Freya’s every instruction and move. The way she would stick her tongue out as she chopped up some vegetables, so intent on doing it right. The way she kept brushing her snow white hair back out of her face whenever it fell on front of her. There was no doubt about it, Loki was completely and utterly besotted with her... And every little thing about her too.

‘I think someone has something different planned for dinner.’ Freya commented to Layla with a grin.

‘Huh?’ Layla asked, confused to what she meant.

Freya turned and nodded towards Loki.

‘It looks like he wants to eat you alive.’ Freya laughed.

Layla looked at Loki and noticed the way he was looking at her was indeed predatory. But she could also see the love in his eyes as he gazed at her. It made her blush madly which made Loki smirk. Layla felt her heart flutter and her stomach flip as he stood up and stalked over towards her in two large strides. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her firmly on the lips, taking her breath away.

Then he looked over her shoulder at the large pot of stew they were making and he inhaled deeply.

‘I am not sure what smells better, the stew or you.’ He said seductively, making Layla giggle and push at his chest playfully.

‘Stop it. You’re putting me off.’ She said as she turned back around to face Freya.

‘You love it really.’ Loki teased as he slid his arms around her and placed his head on top of her own.

Layla had just placed the large lid on the top of the pot, when there was a knock on the door. Loki frowned and went over to answer it.

‘Yes?’ Loki asked as he sniffed at the man that was stood there. He could smell he was like them, so Loki wasn’t quite so worried.

‘I come from Midgard. A couple told me that you were looking for others to join an army against Odin. To save other wolves from being killed by him.’

‘Yes, welcome. Come in.’ Loki said as he stepped back and allowed him in to the cabin.

‘I have news though. My great grandfather is also one of us. He is known as the elder. He has been alive for a very very long time and is the oldest living wolf that is known. He is too old to travel here, but he has something very important he wants to speak to you about. You and your mate.’ The wolf said as he looked to Loki and Layla.

‘What about?’ Loki asked, confused.

‘He would not tell me. He says it’s the utmost importance that you both visit him. That it could be the answer you are looking for. And that the lives of all the wolves may depend on it.’

[seternm]

witches & strangers. prologue.

All Hallows Eve, 1856. Salem, Massachusetts.

The night was cold and frigid, and a breeze howled as it blew crinkled leaves against the cobblestone streets. Lamps illuminated the dark scenery while trees slumped over cemented sidewalks. A coach was parked on the side of the road, and the coachman sat in a mildly uncomfortable seat atop the carriage. The horses attached upfront whined impatiently, kicking their legs to signify their annoyance. The coachman clicked his tongue to quiet them down, and he leaned against the coach’s roof. He held a pipe in his gloved hand, and he squinted his eyes when he brought a match’s flame close to the pipe’s contaminants. He placed his lips on the pipe’s reed, and he inhaled the smoke, only for the toxic fumes to exit through his nostrils. His head turned, and he stared at the mansion that was displayed across the street.

Columns and pillars lined the front of the mansion, and a numerous amount of windows were placed all around the structure. Balconies hung over the sides, showing the locations of important rooms such as master bedrooms, the study, and even the library. The home was painted an alabaster tone, and the black shingles on the roof contrasted the pale white. In all of its entirety, the building stood four stories high. It was a piece of magnificence! The house’s qualities would have made anyone stare agape in disbelief, but not him. (Not anymore, at least.) A wondrous glow came from the home, and he would have gawked at the warming sight longer had the horses not begin to whine out of agitation.

Across the street, within the perfectly molded mansion, there was a festivity being held. The whole room was in an uproar. Old and plump men bellowed as they laughed; wives awkwardly recoiled each time their fat husbands attempted to kiss their necks. Eligible bachelors boggled at the fair maidens that danced playfully and waved their fingers for the boys to come closer. (Such sirens they were!) The band played symphonies of delight and elation, and in result to the melodies, couples waltzed around the room. Alcohol buzzed the guests’ senses; it made their eyes droopy and their stances wobbly. They all waited anxiously for the clock to strike midnight so they could drown themselves in the wine and whiskey offered to them throughout the nightly event. An infectious amount of alcohol spurred from an idea that involved guests to consume as much alcohol as their livers could handle once the time reached midnight; this was a common tradition in the Carson mansion. Nobody questioned the strange custom, especially if he or she was getting alcohol out of it. Most attendants were escorted instead of walking home and ending up in a ditch. Even rich men could not stray from acting like fools.

Aside from the guests, the house seemed to have an exultant facade as well. The ballroom was designed with marvy architecture, and intricate designs lined the walls and ceilings. Chandeliers dangled from the ceilings, and they were made from crystals that twinkled in the light. A balcony sat on top of two staircases, and a grandfather clock was placed at the base. Tables of food and drinks were displayed against the walls. There was cake, pie, scones, cookies; anything anyone could have ever imagined! An arrange of fruits surrounded a large piece of ham. The ham was drenched in honey, and on top of the ham pineapple slices were placed to complete the meal. It was almost too good to eat, but that certainly didn’t stop anyone from using their grubby hands to tear into the hunk of meat.

While guests rejoiced and danced giddily, there was one person who stood separate from the contagious merriment.

Adeline Carson, the mansion’s owner and hostess, stood at the top of the staircase balcony. She held a wine glass in her hand, gradually sipping away at her drink to ease her tensions. Anybody who looked at her assumed she was enjoying the party like the rest of the guests; she laughed, conversed, and waved at anyone who passed by. The reality of the situation, however, would only be knownst to her and those involved, but she didn’t worry. This plan was going to work. She knew it!

Adeline was known by everyone in the upper and lower class communities, and she made sure of that. She had a charm that would make anyone laugh or smile and an alluring persona that could make anyone draw near. In her lifetime, she had been dubbed as one of the most beautiful women alive. Compliments such as those only made her ego bigger than it already was.

Her hair was the color of gold, and it was so soft and sleek that many rumored her hair to have been woven by Rumpelstiltskin himself. Her eyes were as blue as the sea, and their glare made sailors wish they had never traveled by boat. Her orbs could pierce anyone with just a glance; some would say, if you looked directly into them you’d be dead! Her long eyelashes tended to emphasize her eyes’ icy color, and she batted her lashes innocently towards possible suitors. Her lips were colored a bright red, and while they were pouty and sensuous, her kiss would come with a painful sting. Her face embellished freckles, and a distinct beauty mark rested above her top lip. The shape of her countenance was sculpted with fine curves, and she had a heart-shaped and pale complexion. Her form was succulent and luscious, and she wasn’t afraid to show it off. She was usually seen wearing red or black tones, (maybe a white and gold dress for occasions) and a purple or blue color would be pulled from her wardrobe once in awhile. “Only a harlot would wear that outfit,” woman would say as they gossipped about Adeline’s apparel. People criticized her daily, but she wouldn’t allow such petty words to hurt her feelings. Consequently, it seemed she didn’t have any to hurt.

She was watchful as she stood over the platform, and her finger lined the edge of her wineglass. The sound of someone’s voice made her head turn, only for her eyes to settle on a young woman; it was Abigail Carson, Adeline’s daughter. Abigail was Adeline’s only child, born in the year 1836 and heir to the Carson fortune. Abigail looked so similar to Adeline, Abigail could have been Adeline’s twin!

However, the golden locks were replaced by copper ringlets that bounced with every step the young female took. The blue eyes her mother adorned were instead gifted with the color of gingerbread freshly made. Freckles kissed Abigail’s face just like her mother, but they were precisely defined in particular places on Abigail’s face. She looked like an angel sent from heaven. (The irony could have slapped Adeline in the face if it wanted to!)

“Mother? Are you heading to bed soon?”

Abigail’s voice was melodic and hushed; her vocals worked together to make a pleasing lullaby that could lull Adeline to sleep.

The back of Adeline’s hand gently stroked the girl’s cheek, “Darling, you mustn’t worry about your mother. Go, sleep and melt away your stresses. I plead you to dream of paradise and luxury. Don’t you have an eventful evening in just two days time?” The words were just enough to make Abigail pout, and it caused Adeline chuckle in amusement. “Yes, ma’am.” Abigail responded, holding the hand that ever so delicately touched her previously. The girl moved away to walk down the hall towards her bedroom, and the door is closed behind her. A sigh left Adeline, and she swallowed a large portion of her drink before the sound of a creak echoed behind her.

“It is rather cruel to die before the wedding, yes?”

“That is none of your concern, Burrell.” Adeline swiveled, “You dare question me?”

Color seemed to have been washed from his sun-kissed face, and the fearful expression he had made it all the more convincing. His dark brown hair was slicked back and reflected from the hallway lamplights. He was dressed rather refined, much like Adeline was. His name was Isaac Burrell; he was a dedicated servant to the mistress of the home. No one really knew where he came from or how he had gotten to his position, but most had rumored he had been hired right after Adeline had settled in Salem in the year of 1824.

His arms were behind his back, and his brown eyes showed worry as he stepped beside his mistress. “I would never. The plan, however, would surely fail if Abigail were to--” he was cut off by Adeline’s hand raising. “You needn’t worry; you only need to sit idly by and ensure my family line continues. That shouldn’t be too hard for you.” She downed the rest of her drink, “I’ve already explained my actions in journals and letters she will inherit once I am gone. You will make sure Abigail gets them.” Adeline straightened her spine. “The only missing component was a husband,” she hummed to herself, “I have a plan for everything.”

“You of all people should know this.” she traced a finger along Isaac’s jawline while her head tilted to the side playfully. A seductress she was, unable to keep her hands to herself even if her life depended on it. There wasn’t one night that her bed went cold. She used her advantages to get what she wanted, and only those who felt her lustful hand knew of her immoral actions.

“You love to play with your toys, don’t you, Mistress?”

“You know me so well; I applaud you.” she giggled.

Adeline stood over to watch the guests once again, and silence settled between the two of them. Isaac glanced at Adeline’s face. His eyes were lidded, and his face showed no emotion, but on the contrary, butterflies tickled the outline of his stomach. He had admiration, longing, and much more for the woman that stood next to him. His hand then raised in attempt to touch the small of her back, but he stopped himself. Don’t be such a fool, Isaac. He cleared his throat, “I’ll begin preparing the escort.” Adeline sighed and looked down to the floor. She blinked in the direction of her daughter’s bedroom, and she chewed on her lower lip.

“I’ll accompany you in just a moment,” she swallowed thickly, “I need to speak with Abigail first.”

Isaac walked away and left Adeline to journey down the halls alone. Her heels were quiet against the soft rugs that lined the walkways, her feet pacing towards the entrance to her daughter’s bedroom. A petite hand grabbed the knob in hesitation, and Adeline cracked the door open. The candle in Abigail’s room was still lit, and this candle’s light signified Adeline’s daughter was still awake. Abigail’s eyes looked up from a book she was reading, and she seemed to be invested from the concentrated look she had prior to looking up at her mother. “Are you here to tuck in my sheets?” A snort left Abigail, and Adeline soon followed suit. “Aren’t you a little old for such things?” Abigail grinned at her mother’s remark and patted the bed. Adeline moved to sit down beside her daughter, and Abigail leaned her head onto Adeline’s shoulder. “What are these silly comments about, mon amour?”

Abigail studied the look on her mother’s face. She could see every shift in her mother’s eyes, and she couldn’t bring herself to even say the words that wanted to spew from her lips. Abigail took her mother’s hands in her own, and she held them close. “Tonight is the last night I slumber here. I wanted to tell you a goodbye.” Adeline could feel her lower lip tremble, “Abigail.. My darling, my sweet, my flower! Do not leave, for as a wedding gift, I bless you with this house. I will be traveling to meet an old friend, and I might stay in their presence for awhile. Raise your young, let them grow up with your blessings!” Abigail looked at Adeline with shock, “Mother, I couldn’t--” Abigail squeezed her mother’s hands.

“Nonsense! The two of you will live here. During this home’s construction, I made sure it was made to your liking. This is your home..” Adeline kissed the back of her daughter’s hand, and Abigail sniffled. “Goodnight, my love. In the morning, I want you to expect me gone. I will send a letter for you,” Adeline brushed hair from her daughter’s face, “Isaac will give you my wedding gifts. They are for you only.” Abigail nodded, and Adeline stood. “I love you, mama.” Adeline felt a tear trickle down her face, but she wiped it away before any sign of it was seen. “I love you too, mon amour.” The two shared an embrace, and Adeline clenched her teeth. She couldn’t bring herself to do the horrendous evils that were to take place that night, but there was no other choice. A final hug would be Adeline’s goodbye, and words couldn’t describe the immense pain in her heart. Adeline stood and reached for the door. She turned to look back at Abigail, who gave a friendly smile towards her. Adeline closed the door behind herself, and she clutched her chest. What an emotional endeavor! She thought, but she was quick to brush off her dress and clutch her fists. It was time to leave.

Outside, Isaac contemplated whether the plan would fall through while he waited beside the coach. He tensed when a voice spoke behind him. “Why are you so worrisome?” It was the coachman, “Is it because you hold repressed feelings?”

The man’s name was Peter Kendalls, and he was the horseman and coachman of the Carson mansion. He had dirty blonde hair and green eyes. His orbs were dark and cold, and people strayed away from him to prevent themselves from falling under his harsh gaze. He had a chiseled face, and it was pretty fitting since he had a strong and muscular build. He was a stoic man, and he usually kept to himself. The only exceptions to this, however, were Isaac and Adeline. “You ought to know her well enough that she doesn’t fool with such things.”

Isaac scoffed and folded his arms behind his back, “You only speak words of jealousy.”

Peter laughed and slapped his knee in amusement, “You’re a card, Burrell! Go on, tell me another jest!” Isaac rolled his eyes with a grunt. The sound of the mansion doors opening and closing caught the attention of both men, and they straightened themselves.

“Mistress?”

The softness in Isaac’s voice made her turn her head, and she stared at him. His face showed a look of concern, but she brushed it off. He swallowed. “I’ll be waiting for you.” Adeline looked away from him, but Isaac could see a cracked grin at the corner of his eye. “I’ll be looking.” Adeline responded as entered the carriage without another word. Peter shook his head. “You’re such a show off.” Isaac grinned at Peter’s remark. The horses began to clop their hooves into the surface of the road before they pulled the coach. The horses started off slow, but as soon as Peter cracked his whip, the coach was gone. Eventually, the horses and the carriage were no longer able to be heard by Isaac’s ears. Isaac sighed and stared into the distance. “Goodbye, Mistress Adeline.”