#lest we see unsavory sights

[n3ongold3n]

Ngl i'd love to see him in a cool harness 😅💚

[hyaciiintho]

"I would have no better aid at my side, though, perhaps it is best you speak that to no one else." Lest their other, and very capable companions, take offense to being called second best. All in good jest, he knew, though there was little time to dwell on the matter, Azdaja squirming within his palaka indicating IMPATIENCE as she broke free and fluttered eagerly about.

It made him chuckle fondly at the sight, nodding her direction. Yes, yes, they were going. Centuries of being SHACKLED in nothing but darkness did that to one, he supposed.

"I have no particular destination in mind, though I would like to see her experience the shores." The waves in their ebb and flow would surely delight her, especially now with her smaller size. It would be easy to let her run the coast with a bit more freedom with little worry of monsters ruining the moment-- and it would be easy to spot any unsavory sorts attempting to approach. Not that he suspected anything to happen, but.

CAUTION-- He was far too fearful of losing her again.

"If you've any places you think she must see, I would be open to suggestions. We may depart whenever you are ready, but please, do not let me rush you." Sanguine eyes glanced momentarily at the project the other had at hand, not wanting his friend to feel the need to quickly finish.

A familiar voice drew his eyes away from the project he'd been working on. He was mid-stitch on a top—one of his shirts that had been damaged in his last fight—when green eyes finally found Varshahn's.

It was hardly odd to see him, though he seemed in better spirits than he had been recently. For much of the duration of their search for Azdaja, his face had been understandably sour with worry, so it was nice to see him more relaxed.

He greets him with only his eye, a familiar quiet settled over them for a moment before the reason for his visit made herself known. Azdaja peeked out at him, elicited a chuckle from Vrtra and a fond smile from X'kijin, the antics of the small creature too similar to his own sister's.

"You know I'm not good with blades," he said, though the pleasant lilt in his voice gave away the intent behind his joke. His gaze moves away from Varshahn, back to quickly finish his repair. "But if you don't mind a laser gun..."

Of course he didn't. He would've complained earlier if he did, though the nouliths he carried were certainly a queer weapon in Radz-at-Han.

"Did you have any places in particular in mind? Or were you going to ask for suggestions, too?"

[epiphyllous]

gift of immortality (Malleus x Reader)

The potion of immortality has been made and Diasomnia rejoices over its discovery. No one is happier than Malleus, who upon the knowledge of the potion existing, presents it to you immediately. The last thing Malleus expects you to do is gently close his hand around the vial of immortality and shake your head. word count: ~2.4k  notes: malleus x reader, gender neutral reader “you,” established relationship, angst to fluff; hurt/comfort (it works out in the end), diasomnia dorm

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For a fae, Malleus is much too aware of his lack of mortality. For as powerful as he may be, he will always be beat when it comes to facing the march of time. He is not affected by it-- not directly, anyways, but recently Malleus finds that he wishes that it did touch him the same way it does others, like it does you.

If it did, perhaps his fear of being left behind would not have such a hold on him when he thinks of you growing old. 

He tries not to think upon it too much. He already has so little time with you to lose any of it to the fear of something that is only inevitable. You have told him this very notion several times as gently as you could, so perhaps his fear is not so easily masked (perhaps just to you). And he is fine with it; accepts that things will be as they are, and that his life must be lived to the fullest with you here with him. 

This goes well for him until the time you get sick. And the fear comes back tenfold. 

(Malleus isn't sure what he would have done if he had lost you then, futilely holding onto your clammy hand as your breaths come out unevenly and labored. He isn't ready to lose you. Not then, not now, and now he isn't sure if he ever will be.)

Which is why when a potion of immortality is given to him on a silver platter, Malleus does not hesitate. With Sebek and Silver trailing after him, their congratulations interrupted by his abrupt exit, Malleus goes to find you sitting in the Diasomnia lounge with Lilia and announces the solution to all his problems.

"This is quite the miracle," Lilia says, blinking, "if it is what we believe. When did you request such a potion to be made, Malleus?"

Malleus avoids your searching look as he answers, "A few months, though I am also surprised by how quickly they have developed it, even with my help."

At this, Lilia perks up. "Well, if it truly is a potion of immortality, that is quite the discovery!" Malleus sees the fae gaze at the vial with a hint of longing, and Malleus hopes that his friend will forgive him for not giving him the first batch of the vial for what he assumes would be for his son. Yes, that would be quite the sight-- Silver, Sebek, and Lilia by his side as he rules over Briar Valley for eons on end like his grandmother. 

He looks to Sebek who is switching his attention between looking up at him and the vial in awe. And certainly, Sebek would be wanting the vial for his father as well, as much as he grouses about having a mortal father-- and if not for himself, then for his beloved mother or his siblings to have a father who will live with them throughout their lives. "This is a fantastic endeavor that you have set out to do, young master!" Sebek exclaims, "To possess the power to grant immortality-"

"Shh, now, now, Sebek," Lilia drawls with an indulgent smile. "Not too loud now, lest unsavory company hears of such a thing."

"A-Ah, yes, of course. My apologies..."

To the side, Silver looks on quietly, though even his gaze follows the vial in Malleus' hand as though entranced. 

Finally, he hears your voice then, but it is to teasingly berate Sebek for his loud voice than to comment on the potion that has captivated everyone else's attention. 

Malleus calls out to you, and he likes the way you turn to him immediately, laughter still in your eyes as you look at him. "What do you think of this?"

“About the potion?" You say, "I think it's nice. For those who want a longer life... I would say it's great. You can help a lot of people with it... or get paid a lot of money."

"Perhaps you belong in Octavinelle," Sebek mutters immediately, avoiding the swat you gave him for his comment. 

"It is what it is," you tell him, as you have told Malleus and others countless times before. "Immortality would definitely sell. It's dangerous, even. So I hope we're careful about who we give this to, if anyone."

"Yes, Malleus, that would be correct." Lilia says, looking at him carefully. "What did you intend to do with the first vial?"

The vial itself is not very large, as large as his pinky with a liquid that is deeply magenta. Malleus has yet to open it, but he wonders if you will be able to smell it and tell him what scent it holds. He walks to you and holds the vial out to you. "I want you to take it," he says, watching as your eyes widen. 

Malleus thinks of a life long-lived with you by his side. You who temper his anger and guide him to wisdom, you who know him better than he knows himself, you who he has told of all his hopes, dreams, and fears, you who he knows he wants to spend an eternity with (the road to realizing and accepting this was a long one, but he is here now)-- he gives you this vial of immortality.

The last thing he expects is for you to gently close his hand around the vial and shake your head.

"Please don't look at me like that," you say to him after looking away, and Malleus wonders what he must look like for you to tell him that. He thinks that it is a shame that the worst of his emotions are clear on his face at the worst of times. But he cannot quash the feeling of betrayal that comes up at your refusal. 

Perhaps it was foolish of him, but it did not once occur to him that you would ever deny the offer of immortality when others covet it so. When the sense of betrayal fades, it bleeds into disappointment and even the feeling of hurt, tinged with an indignant anger that consumes him like wildfire. 

Don't you want to live a life with him? Hasn't he told you about the loneliness of it all? Do you not understand the pain of being left behind, or do you simply not care?

You suddenly look up at him and snap with a voice just as brittle as he feels, and he realizes he must have spoken aloud. "Don't you dare say I don't care," you say. "How could you even say that?"

"Then take the potion," he says, and his voice is low when he sees you take a step back as though the vial were poison.

"This is a huge decision, Malleus," you say instead. "This isn't something a person does on a whim."

"Then you will think upon it and take the potion then?" Malleus presses, and when he sees the hesitation on your face, he knows you are only trying to placate him. "You will refuse me again when I offer even then, won't you?"

You stand before him with an unwavering resolve that he has always loved about you-- that he wants nothing more than to crush if it would make you see his way. "I'm not going to drink it, Malleus," you say warningly.

Malleus snaps, taking a step forward. "Then shall I make you drink this then, if you will not take it willingly?" 

"You wouldn't," you say, your voice trembling at the strength it takes to speak. "You wouldn't dare, and you know it." 

He wouldn't. He respects you too much to force something upon you, and it is a weakness he didn't expect to have until this moment. (You would never say it is a weakness, though.) Still, Malleus growls, eyes narrowing.

"If you make me drink it," you say resolutely, "then you will lose me."

"And if I do not," Malleus says, a fluttering sense of panic in his heart that he cannot control, "I will lose you anyway! Please.” You look up at him in surprise as he pleads, "Understand where I am coming from. What I am asking of you." 

"This is not something that I can do for you," you tell him, your voice breaking at the end. "No matter how much I love you."

Malleus swallows, hands gripped at his side, as he struggles to speak without his emotions holding him captive. He knows with certainty he has never experienced this predicament before, but loving you has shown him that his emotions can run deep and loyal. "You have never been afraid of me," he says, closing his eyes. "But I've found myself increasingly more afraid of losing you."

"Malleus-"

He says your name and you snap your mouth shut. Malleus thinks he would beg on his knees if you would like him to. Cut his hair, break his horns, leave him bare-- if only you would tell him 'yes.' A future in which you are not in it is beyond what he can imagine. Though there was once a time he was frightened by the love he felt for you, he can no longer remember how he has been able to live a life without it. Without you. "Please.”

He watches you as you step closer to him and take the vial in his hand. Instead of opening it, as you seem to want to lay eyes on it as little as possible, you hide it away in your other hand as you grasp his hand with yours. 

There is a silence, and Malleus watches as you shift where you stand, and it is only then that he vaguely remembers that they are not alone in the room. (Not that it matters to him-- not when he has always considered the three in the room akin to family.)

"Can I talk to Malleus alone for a bit?" You ask them, your eyes never leaving him for a moment.

It is telling in his kingsmen's trust of you that they do not question your request, Lilia quickly ushering the two out with a knowing look at you, and Sebek and Silver filing out with little complaint. (Sebek does mutter a little to himself though, but for him, that means a lot.) 

You take his hand and lead him to the couch, and he follows without a word, quieted by the emotional outburst that has left him wrung out.

"Malleus," you begin to say, rubbing his hand with your thumb comfortingly, "how do you feel about the time you've spent with me so far?" 

"I enjoyed it," he says immediately. "Very much so. Though we have not known each other for very long (in my eyes), it feels as though I have known you forever." Malleus takes your hand in his and squeezes it, liking the way you squeeze it back almost automatically. "My time with you has been worth living through," he says, and you smile; he feels himself lighten with just the sight of it.

"I think," you say, "that I have been very lucky to meet you where we are. At this time, at this age." You look at the wall of the dorm, lost in thought. "We could have not met at all." Malleus flinches at the thought of it. "Isn't that funny?"

"I would not go so far as to call it 'funny,'" Malleus mutters, and you laugh, quick as you are to find amusement in his fits of petulance. 

"Well, what I'm trying to say is getting to know each other is a miracle on its own." You tell him, your eyes meeting his, "You are my chance encounter, Malleus. I feel very lucky to have met you in this lifetime.”

"We could have more than a lifetime together," Malleus says. He eyes the vial in your other hand, and when you see his line of sight, you bring it to him, palm up. When he does not take it, you place it in the space between the two of you where it stays.

"I do not want immortality." You raise your free hands to cup his face, thumb brushing against his cheek tenderly, and he feels like falling apart. "I want to make this life of mine count. I know you don't understand that right now but..." You reach up to press a kiss to his forehead. "Maybe you will someday. But regardless, this is my choice, Malleus."

Malleus closes his eyes when he feels you press your lips onto his skin, your hands holding him as though he were a fragile gemstone. He reaches up to hold onto your wrist, your pulse a comforting beat against his fingers, and he thinks that love is oh-so-loathsome at the same time it is wonderous. To have known your love and touch but to also covet it and know what it would feel without it-- it is overwhelming. 

"I hate the knowledge," he says finally, "that you will one day go to a place where I cannot follow."

At this, he feels your hands curl into his face, and before he knows it, your lips are on his, pressing kisses into them as though it were your last chance. Malleus wastes no time in hesitating, returning your affection with as much fervor as you-- tilting his head and pressing forward until you are as close as can be, his hands grasping at your sides. 

"...Is this really okay?" You ask, your voice wavering with the presence of tears, more unsure that you've been in the past hour. You press your forehead to his, squeezing your eyes shut from the world. "If everything works out with us, beyond NRC, beyond... everything else with your royal status, my education... is it really okay that I stay with you?”

Malleus breathes out your name, feeling you shudder. He grasps onto your face gently and whispers to you, "A day, a week, a month, a year, a decade, a lifetime-- even if I cannot spend my entire life with you, I am yours for as long as you will have me."

"Till death do us part," he hears you say wetly, and he brushes a stray tear away from your cheek.

"'Till death do us part,'" he says back to you, like a promise, and the two of you hold each other as though protecting the other from the world.

The vial of immortality lay temporarily forgotten in the divot of the couch.

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taglist: @malleusmybelovedd @supernatural9000

[minijenn]

Keys to the Kingdom Preview

In which Sora realizes you need money to exchange for goods and services and also realizes that he’s got none of that bc the Duck and Dog Dads never let him carry any of their cash around. Also the child is starving. Fun!

***

The third night is the first he goes to sleep hungry. 

Sora leaves that first world not long into the next day, largely for one very simple, yet very important reason. He can’t find a single source of water anywhere, something that soon starts to become a problem when, after only a few hours of wandering under the relentless sun, his rising thirst slowly starts to turn into the first signs of dehydration. He’s already feeling weak and lightheaded when he caves to summon a dark corridor; and, as he’s quickly starting to get used to, he feels even worse after he crosses through it. 

He still doesn’t know how to control where his dark portals lead to, not that the destination really matters as long as it's as far away from either the lights or the Organization as possible. Fortunately, the first thing he sees as soon as he collapses out of the corridor is a river, rushing clear and cool just a few feet away from him. He nearly falls into it, desperately swallowing several mouthfuls of water until he ends up inevitably choking on it. His stomach settles rather quickly this time around, but he’s left with a lingering headache from the short trip through the shadows. He does what he can to ignore it as he splashes some river water onto his face, washing off the thin layer of dust and dirt he hadn’t even realized accumulated on it back in the canyon. 

Upon taking a cursory glance at the rest of his surroundings, he finds the river is bordered by dense trees on either side of it, woods that are more comparable to a jungle than a forest. The air is hot here, but different than it had been in the last world, much more humid and bearable as a symphony of wild sounds sing out from the surrounding trees. But what catches Sora’s attention the most is something he can see from his spot on the riverbank, resting downstream just a short distance away: a village. 

It’s a relatively tiny town, composed of a collection of simple huts and houses that are by most accounts, largely primitive. Still, Sora heads straight for it as soon as he sees it, knowing that where there’s a town, there’s bound to be something else he’s in need of if his rumbling stomach is anything to go off of: food. 

Despite its small size, the village is quite populous, filled with midday hustle and bustle of its humbly-dressed residents going about their usual business. Most of them barely notice Sora as he unceremoniously walks into town, though a few do spare him odd or curious glances as they pass him by. To not arouse any unwanted suspicion or alarm, he keeps his hands tucked into his pockets, his claws out of sight and his head down as he strolls into what appears to be an open air market of sorts. Several stalls have set up shop, pedaling a variety of goods and foods, from fruit to meat to herbs and more. Out of all this, the appetizing scent of freshly baked bread is what draws Sora over to one certain stall, one selling all sorts of loafs, biscuits, and even a handful of cakes. He eyes the impressive display hungrily before picking out a few delectable-looking rolls, as well as a few small, fruit-topped tarts for good measure. He’s still going through the stall’s stock, however, when its owner finally speaks up from her spot on the other side of it. 

“Your eyes certainly seem to be overloading your stomach, boy,” the older woman remarks, her face and tone both quite grouchy and detached. “That doesn’t matter much to me though, as long as you can pay for that stash you’re piling up there. You can afford all that, can’t you?”

“Oh, yeah, no problem,” Sora nods, shifting his potential purchases to rest on one arm. He searches his pockets, checking his jacket first and then his pants, only to quickly reach a very startling discovery: he doesn’t have any money on him to speak of. 

 Before, he’d never really needed to carry money on him. Between the three of them, that had usually been Donald’s job, a job he’d taken away from Sora relatively on into their first adventure together, claiming that he wasn’t “responsible” enough to handle their funds. Sora had playfully brushed the comment off at the time, and over the years, had largely gotten used to either Donald or Goofy keeping track of any money they obtained and what supplies they spent it on in his stead. Only now that he’s on his own without a single cent to his name that he wishes the pair had trusted him just a bit more, at least enough to carry a little of their money around, just in case. 

“Um… so… this is pretty funny, I’m sure you’ll get a good laugh out of it,” he begins, throwing on the most charming, pleading smile he can manage. “But... I don’t really have any money…” he hesitantly tells the shop owner, looking between her and the bread in his arms. “You… don’t happen to give out free samples, do you?” The shopkeeper only responds to his small, hopeful smile with a cross, deadpan look, one that gives Sora an answer that’s every bit as clear as words would have been. “Right…” he sighs in defeat, putting every piece of food right back where he found it. “Didn’t think so…”

He sullenly stuffs his hands back into his pockets as he walks away, trying not to steal a glance at any of the other surrounding food stalls, lest his unsatisfied hunger only continue to rise. He nearly makes it out of the market altogether before spots something he’s hard pressed to pass up: a stall selling several different types of fruit. Among them is his favorite by far, a treat he’d always enjoyed snacking on back on the islands: mangoes. The stall doesn’t carry many of them, in fact its entire stock seems to be rather small and largely unimpressive, but one is really all Sora wants right now. After all, something, even if it's something as small as a simple mango, is bound to suffice after three days of eating basically nothing at all. 

It’d be easy enough to just take one too. The stall’s owner has their back turned, preoccupied with going through the rest of what they have to put out. All he’d have to do is swiftly pass by, pick one up, and shove it into his pocket without anyone seeing. He’s not very keen on the idea of stealing, especially after how much trouble the unsavory act had gotten him into back in Agrabah. But there, he’d stolen a priceless, magical treasure; here, the only thing he intends on making off with is a single, largely inconsequential piece of fruit. And given just how hungry he’s starting to get, how bad could taking just one really be?

He nearly moves in to do exactly that, though stops short only a few feet away from the stall as a small child, no older than 6, suddenly runs out from behind it. “Papa! Papa!” the boy calls, standing on his tiptoes to peer over the edge of the stall. “Can I have one of the mangos? Please?”

The shopkeeper turns, a kindly-looking man, though his eyes are tired as he looks down at his young child. “Oh, I’m sorry, son,” he frowns, shaking his head. “But those are the last few we have. You know the harvest wasn’t good this year, and if we don’t sell those, we won’t have enough to get the materials your Mama needs to make you new clothes.” The shopkeeper smiles a bit as he steps out to hoist his son up into his arms, affectionately ruffling his hair. “You’re growing so fast that it’s getting hard for us to keep up with you.”

The child laughs as his father carries him back behind the stall, his former request for food all but forgotten by now. Neither of them notice that their warm exchange had been watched from afar, and as soon as it's over, Sora instantly feels guilty for even considering the thought of stealing from them. Of taking something from a family that clearly needs it to survive, simply for his own selfish, singular needs. He hangs his head in shame as he briskly walks past the stall, not even sparing it a second thought as he starkly leaves the village behind entirely. 

He finds a place to sleep not too far outside of town, in a well-shaded nook at the near edge of the jungle. It rains that night, and he largely doesn’t sleep, even though he manages to stay relatively dry thanks to the thick canopy of trees overhead. Because the entire night, the most he can really do is lie there, his arms wrapped around his empty, aching stomach, silently pleading for some kind of relief from the starvation he doesn’t know how to stop. Eventually, he somehow falls asleep, dreaming of all of the delicious dishes his mother used to masterfully make for him back home, from freshly steamed salmon, to sweet pineapple cake, to savory vegetable soup. Only to wake up the next morning, still longing for food, longing for his mother, longing for home. 

All while knowing painfully well that he won’t get to see any of those things any time soon. 

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 34: The Chamber of Secrets

The sensation of falling wasn't unknown to a Quidditch player, but James usually had control of it! Instead he was left a screaming, flailing mess as something hard slid along his back, and there was minimal lighting at best as pockets of air kept shooting in his face like he was being spun past whirlpools. He was sure he screamed, and it wasn't just him.

There was an unsavory crack upon his landing, and the shooting pain of landing on his rear led him to the fearful belief at first he'd cracked a bone in his arse. Scrambling madly to his feet to detect any damage and deny any such thing lest his friends die of laughter, his hands scraped over something that too cracked and shifted beneath him, something even digging into his palm as he got upright. The pain lingered, but no worse than usual, so he let out a final gust of relived breath he not only could stretch as much as need be, but there was plenty of space around, even if it was all pitch black.

Then he shivered and swallowed loudly upon realizing this same thing. "Guys?" He called hoarsely, from dust hovering about the place he assured himself, not any sort of fright of what could be lurking around this unknown area.

Seven calls came back in varying degrees of pain, then one pitched higher than the rest. "Eww, get it out!"

"Evans?" He called quickly, stumbling in his haste to try and pinpoint her voice and flaming hair in the gloom.

"There's something in my hair," she insisted as he slowly came into sight, indeed swiping at her long locks. He could just make out something gossamer indeed tangled in, and so desperate was she to get it out, she didn't even argue the point as he stepped forward and helped her.

"Here, I got a light," Smith popped up beside them and did as such as James pulled off something long and white clinging to her.

"It's on you too," she wretched, stepping away from him and still batting at herself in disgust. "What is that stuff?"

James knew from his many escapades deep in the forest, but didn't want to tell her.

"Think it's spiderweb," Regulus called, his voice still far enough away in the gloom it was echoing, but his tone was almost semi-conversational. Between Evans being more repulsed by her situation than being near him and the young Black's gratitude of being able to stretch again, everyone seemed in an almost pleasant mood. "I'm guessing we were just in Aragog's cupboard Hagrid kept him in."

"Well, I guess I count that as the lesser of two evils, considering where we could have ended up," Peter said from close behind him. He was trying to shuffle around much more carefully than anyone else, but the sharp snapping noise every time he moved his foot still echoed about them.

"Great, now we know where we were, let's have a chat about this place," Longbottom sighed, lighting his wand too and raising it as high as he could. Still farther off in the distance, James could only make out the source of the brightness, but everyone made little gasping noises of surprise that finally had him looking down too.

Eight sharp sounds of rat bones now snapping beneath them filled the chamber at once. None succeeded as the floor was absolutely littered with them.

"Did we find where Mrs. Norris stashes her meals?" Peter demanded in a wobbly voice, and James really couldn't blame him for being a little extra sick at the idea of this.

"This place is huge," Sirius disagreed. "There's no way we're on Hogwarts grounds and we don't know of this area."

"So conceded, the lot of you," Evans huffed, crossing her arms and glaring up at James as if he'd said the words. Though he hadn't exactly disagreed with his best mate either. "You think you know every inch of this entire castle and it's grounds."

James bit down on his lip to stop himself pointing out their map of the place should be evidence enough, but instead offered her a saucy smile and opened his arms invitingly. "I'd gladly search them all with you Evans."

She rolled her eyes and walked away, James watched her go in the dim light for a moment with an incorrigible smile before turning to Peter and whispering softly, "keep your eyes up mate, I do not like to think what led Harry down here."

"Don't have to tell me twice," Peter agreed, his face still a bit green around the edges as he reached over and plucked a little rat bone out of James' palm.

More than ready to get out of this place, James summoned the book to him. The sound of yet more bones scattering around them as it flew to his hand sent shivers up his spine, where he hoped it stayed, instead of splayed out around him. The second he flipped the book open to where the chapter began, his breath stopped cold in his heart.

"James? Prongs? What's wrong?" Remus and Sirius were suddenly surrounding him, and the cascade of noise beneath their feet should have made that much more obvious. It was hard to hear anything over the sudden pounding of his heart though when he answered.

"I think I know where we are." Taking one more shallow breath, he managed to get out the chapter title in barely more than a whisper.

He swore the air around them got colder, even as everyone tried to step a bit closer to each other.

"How, why is Harry in here?!" Evans's voice echoed more than ever in their surroundings as no one even seemed to be breathing anymore in fear of attracting anythings attention.

"I'm more concerned with getting us out, I'm sure we'll get your answer as we do," Longbottom called. James took another uneasy breath, but readily agreed with that.

Thankfully the beginning of the chapter didn't start with anything too harrowing, just the boys rehashing everything. Nothing of interest happened at all really until Ginny arrived acting like a suspicious little thing, but James excused that as a first year acting as scared as the rest of the school was. Merlin, Evans still was, and she was the toughest person he knew. Yet he saw it every time he looked out of the corner of his eye at her, the way her hands shook, the way she stood ready to run at a moments notice since these attacks had begun, how she was actually seeking out companionship from someone other than Snivellus in Longbottom and Smith.

Peter had to jab him in the side to remind him to continue, and he dragged his eyes back to Percy acting like a shifty git. They were all eternally grateful Moony hadn't let his Prefect status change anything about him.

McGonagall catching the boys trying to sneak off and see Myrtle, and the exchange that instead caused them to go visit Hermione was at first the highlight of his day.

"She always was a sucker for our sob stories the most," Sirius agreed with chipper.

"You know, after she took away fifteen points each for catching us in the first place," Peter rolled his eyes.

The boys were having so much fun reminiscing James was hardly paying attention to a word he was reading, and almost glossed right over the detail of what Hermione had in her hand.

"A, a basilisk?" The demanded question came out in such a soft hiss, the others all shifted around in unease waiting for the beast to show its face. Frank couldn't even attempt to keep going without that same panic in his voice. "How, that's not possible- a basilisk!"

"It makes sense though," Remus managed in just as low a whisper, crowding closer to his friends and eyes peeling through every shadow. "All the clues Harry just spelled out were right there the whole time." He was kicking himself now for not thinking about this more, every time the stray thought occurred to him to investigate and put together the same his friends distracted him, as usual.

"We really need to start paying more attention to this stuff," James managed in a hoarse voice he still tried to make lighthearted.

"It's not as if there's one down here," Sirius made a brave stab and a much better attempt at sounding casual. "If Slytherin put it down here, I mean, even those snakes can't live as long ago as that."

"But there's something prowling around the school now," Peter reminded, eyes flickering in so many directions he was worried they were going to fall free of his head. "And whoever's opening the Chamber now could have just as likely put one down there, especially if it's the same person who done it fifty years ago. Basilisks live a couple hundred, yes?"

Regulus watched from the mouth of the tunnel as the lot of them debated this with disbelief. He'd had his suspicions it was some sort of monstrous snake for ages, and here they were arguing the point even when that little Muggleborn good as confirmed it. He could only watch the back and forth for so long before he finally burst, "would you get on with it! What does it matter, we're still stuck down here until you bloody finish!"

There was an odd silence as everyone turned to him in surprise, before he managed to spot Sirius' flashing smile. "Mother would be so disappointed, you speaking out of turn like that."

"Shove it Sirius! I just want to go home!" His voice had managed to remain calm and collected this entire time, but the force of his words he was sure must be impactful. He could swear even the ceiling let out a trickle of dust.

Potter continued anyways, clearly eager now to at least admit to the fact getting out of this place would be the better option. He'd barely managed to get to the revelation of McGonagall summoning all the teachers though when the ceiling began to more than sprinkle dust, it suddenly became a flood, and before anyone had time to process more, the whole Earth seemed to be shaking around them. He was sure someone shouted out the command to run, as if that weren't obvious enough. Jumping back into the tunnel as the first bit of safety his mind latched onto, he clung to the hard metal that barely allowed him to rise off the ground it was so slick, the curve that had shot them all out impossible to actually find purchase on. He felt right through his bones the shattering of the ceiling behind him.

He tried to take a breath, but all that came up was a sharp, painful cough as dust continued to settle around him. Refusing to let himself stay curled up in here a moment longer, he poked his head back out and swore his heart stopped in surprise.

"Sirius?" The uneven croak could have come from anyone, surely it hadn't been his voice to crack like that upon seeing the wall that had bombarded them from nowhere.

There was more coughing now, he was sure it wasn't his own! Fighting his own legs refusing to uncurl from his position, he eased back onto the leveled ground and demanded his eyes to focus in this new gloom, the dust still lingering at all levels in the air like he was trying to see through mist.

Movement, and he was stumbling forward, still fighting back his own cough just to get a glimpse, yes! Sirius was doubled over, holding his chest in discomfort for coughing so hard even as he was still trying to stagger about like a drunkard. Potter was right beside him, patting his back and alternately glancing at Evans, whom he barely recognized now. Her shock of red hair looked as if it had aged a couple hundred years in the span of the few seconds. He was sure none of them looked any better.

He heard voices as if from a long ways off, his ears still ringing so loud it was hard to distinguish who was shouting for who, but at least someone else had survived on the other side of the wall. Sirius caught himself then, eyes darting back to awareness in a panic and at once latching onto his brother. The relief that actually flew onto his face was too much for Regulus to process all at once, and he sat down on the spot, too tired to fight back his own coughing.

"Hey, hey, it's fine. Come on Reg, let it all out," Sirius promised, his voice probably not as soothing as he was going for as restricted as it still was, but patting him roughly on the back had the same effect.

"We're fine, hey Wormtail, don't do anything stupid! Yes, all four of us, we are fine."

Potter's voice sure could carry, even managing to make itself heard through the pounding of his head, surely the others on that side heard as well. Still eyeing his best mate, he directed towards Evans now, "you sure you're alright?"

"I, ah, yes," she muttered, carding her fingers through her hair without purpose, looking him full in the face with pure shock. Regulus didn't know what had happened there, but he could imagine it. Everyone else had made a run for the other side, the opening none of them had wanted to go near. Potter and his own brother though, hadn't. What had Evans been doing to have her unwanted admirer seek her out? What had Sirius been thinking coming back!

Mother was on the verge of disowning him if he did one more thing to disgrace their name, and he'd given no uncertain emotion he was okay with that. Sirius had been avoiding him the entire time they'd been to school together and they'd had little to no contact even during the holidays.

So what had possessed him to come charging this way? Aside from backing up his best mate...

"Look, if everyone's still breathing, I'm going to bloody finish this before the rest of the roof goes!" Potter called out. He had to clear his throat several times, and still only managed some painful coughs for his efforts.

"Here, cup your hands," Evans suddenly said. Potter gazed at her for a second before tucking the book under his arm and doing as asked. With a wave of her wand and a quiet uttered word, a fresh pool of water appeared. He took a tentative sip, spilling most of it down his chin.

"Thanks," he finally said in a clear voice again. She just nodded once, crossing her arms defensively again once more and turning her attention back to the wall, brushing her fingers across the rough surface.

Potter finally went on reading, and the horrifying news there was a little girl dragged down here all on her own was enough to make him wish the ceiling had caved in the rest of the way, blocking anyone from ever being down here again. Ginny, a little pureblood who'd never done anything to anyone.

"Reg, here, would you put these on already." He startled, not having realized Sirius had even stayed beside him this whole time. He felt so out of it the basilisk could probably appear at this point and his head was still so stuffy he wouldn't even be able to run. This could be remedied by the shoes his brother was holding out.

"Where did you get those? You really been toting them around with you this whole time?"

"Nah, I've always been good at transfiguration," Sirius rolled his eyes without care. Regulus felt his mouth open in surprise as he glanced down at the piles of rocks now all around, his mind still drawing a blank at such advanced magic when most students in his brothers year were still struggling to turn mice invisible, let alone into something completely other.

"Thanks," was the only thing he could manage to whisper. Regulus knew he was many things, but not a fool. Knowing when to accept something had always been one of his biggest attributes, his mother had always praised, so he accepted the boots while bunching up a handful of his dusty robes and trying to wipe up several scrapes of blood across his feet. The stinging didn't even start until after the first few swipes, proving just how numb he'd been to the world.

"Oh here, let me," Sirius quickly waved his hand away, and a few quick utterances later with his wand and Regulus' feet were bare of anything except skin once more.

"Have a secret talent for healing charms as well?" He muttered curiously as he slipped the socks and shoes on.

"Practice," was the only vague answer he was going to get, as Sirius was no longer paying him any attention, his entire focus suddenly back on Potter and the book.

Regulus understood why. He'd only been half listening to the poor Weasley family's suffering and the boys attempts to right the wrong, and really what had they been thinking going to a fool like Lockhart for help? Now here that old fraud was, being even more of a bastard than any of them could have predicted.

"I swear when we get out of this, I'm going to make sure that fool doesn't have a head to use, let alone a hand to write those lies with," Potter hissed, his hands fisting along the books bindings.

"Oh this can't be good!" Evans groaned in protest as the boys next leap of logic was to take that neanderthal with them to this very place. Their presence down here left none of them in doubt Harry and Ron would find a way down to where they currently were.

Indeed they did, with a little help from Myrtle pointing them in the right direction of a tap, with a snake on it.

It didn't take long after that to find out what had caused the cave to collapse, and every one of them had the urge to do something much stronger than just kick Lockhart in retaliation.

James clung to as much relief as he did fear in these last pages as Harry forged on ahead, alone. At least he could still rely on his friends around him as they were plunged into the next unknown.

[turquoise-stones]

Edge of Insanity Ch. 5: Slow Burn

Yandere!Todoroki x fem!reader

Previous Chapter

A/N: fluff incoming! the yandere is coming soon, dw ;) for now let’s enjoy innocent todoroki while he lasts.

. . .

You hadn't shown up for your last class. Even when Todoroki tried to take his mind off that fact, your seat, which was so glaringly empty, pulled his thoughts back onto you. On any other day, he wouldn't have been so worried. But after the events that transpired today, he felt his fear was well warranted.

The building frustration with himself only made it worse. If only he had decided to follow you and Shinsou earlier today, he could have comforted you, he could have protected you from all those staring eyes, he could have been the first to find you, he c-

He let out a sigh of frustration. He wasn't even there for you during lunch. While his friends managed to find and comfort you, he was on the other side of the school searching, which made him feel like an utter failure.

After lunch, when he saw you again in class, he had promised himself that he wouldn't let you out of his sight. And seeing how relieved you looked when he offered to walk you from class to class was enough to make his heart ache. He relished the feeling of helping you, relished the feeling that he was needed by you.

And the day had passed smoothly, with him staring daggers at anyone who let their gaze linger too long, until just minutes before the last class when you excused yourself to the bathroom, urged him to go ahead without you, and just never returned.

He felt like it was his fault. Did you slip and knock yourself out? Were you locked in a stall? Or at the very worst, did someone attack you? Another drawn-out sigh escaped his lips. Maybe he was overthinking it and you just had a stomach ache.

"Todoroki? Are you alright?" Kirishima whispered on his left. "You're biting your fingernail."

Todoroki nodded absently, a bit irked that Kirishima broke his train of thought. He glanced at the clock. 25 more minutes until class ended. He really just couldn't wait any longer. He raised his hand and waited impatiently for his teacher to call on him.

"Yes? Todoroki?"

"May I use the bathroom?"

His teacher let out a sigh and waved for his go-ahead. Todoroki needed nothing more to bolt out the door. The moment he was out of sight, he whipped out his phone and sent you a quick text. Eyebrows furrowed, he waited impatiently for you to respond, but as the minutes ticked by, he decided that it would be better to just go look for you.

He first checked the bathroom, fighting back a flush of embarrassment as he cracked open the door, averting his eyes in case there were any girls still inside. Luckily there weren't any there to witness his shame. However, no one responded when he called out, which made him all the more concerned. A quick peek under the stalls showed no bodies or feet (which quelled the fear that you had hurt yourself) and he quickly left the bathroom, hoping that no one saw him and assumed that he was nothing more than a shameless pervert.

He wandered the halls, a bit more frantically than before, searching for you. It wasn't likely that you went home, since you always had work after school...

He walked from floor to floor, shoes making loud squeaks that echoed down the empty halls. He peaked at any empty classrooms and courtyards, but you were nowhere to be found. His lips pressed together into a thin line as frustration and restlessness settled in. Walking slowly back to class, he passed a storage cabinet, but froze when he heard the quietest of noises coming from within. Tiptoeing closer, he leaned against the door, half expecting to hear crying or something akin to that, but instead, soft music sounded from within. Something so quiet he must have missed it the first time he looked down this hall. It had to be you.

He knocked quietly, frowning when he heard no reply. He put his hand on the knob, hesitant to open it lest he scare you. But he couldn't just walk away knowing you were in there, especially since people don't just hide in storage cabinets for fun.

Slowly, he creaked the door open. In front of him were rows and rows of dusty textbooks, illuminated by a dim yellow light. There you were, snuggled against a corner of the small space, fast asleep. Your arms were wrapped loosely around bent knees, and your head rested against the bookcase, hair falling over your face and neck. Your phone, which was balanced precariously on the books next to you, was softly playing calm music. Your backpack was haphazardly thrown opposite you. The word 'relief' could not even begin to describe the feeling he felt when he saw you weren't hurt.

He quietly shut the door behind him, the room scarcely giving him enough space to crouch down next to you. He looked at you thoughtfully, not sure what to do now that he had found you. He didn't want to wake you up but it didn't feel right to simply leave. Would it be too much to touch you? The skin that peeked out from under the curtain of hair looked so soft.

He waited a moment longer to see if you would stir, and when you didn't, he brushed a knuckle against your cheek, admiring the soft warmth that radiated off of you. He paused, listening for changes in your breathing, before gently pushing your silky locks behind your shoulder.

Your eyes were still baggy like they were earlier today, but Shouto noted with a pained frown that they were now puffy and wet too. Tears still glistened at the base of your eyelashes. But even in tears, you looked so lovely. He had never been so close to you, but now that he was, he could unabashedly stare at your pretty features. If you were awake, you would undoubtedly cover your face with embarrassment. You even smelled sweet, like shampoo and soap.

He brushed your bangs behind your ear as well, careful to not be rough, lest he disturb you. His heart ached when you parted your lips and let out a quiet sigh. Black dots spotted his vision and he realized that he was holding his breath.

And then it hit him. Maybe it was the oxygen-deprived delirium speaking, but at that moment he realized that his feelings for you were more than just infatuation. Would it be too much to say that he loved you? He had only known you for a month yet you already meant the world to him. He would do anything for you, do anything to make sure your eyes never filled with tears again. So maybe he did love you. It was a terrifying thought.

The soft music came to a stop, and the song changed to something more upbeat. At the sound, your eyes fluttered open. He froze, feeling as if he had been caught doing something unsavory. You blinked in confusion for a second before your eyes widened and you jolted away from him in surprise. Your elbow knocked into the bookcase with a thump, and the impact caused a plume of dust to come raining down on the two of you.

After a long moment, the dust literally settled, and you gasped his name out.

"W-what? Why are you here?" You placed a hand over your racing heart as the adrenaline slowly ebbed off.

"I... you didn't show up to class and I was worried."

You glanced about, embarrassed to be seen in such a pathetic state, and still a bit disoriented. He was very close to you, probably close enough to kiss you if he wanted to. You hurriedly swiped the tears from your eyes, brushed the dust off your head, and grabbed your phone to turn the music off. Upon seeing his concerned texts, you cast him a guilty look.

"I'm sorry for worrying you... and for not replying. But I'm fine so... it's okay."

"Don't apologize. And... don't lie either." He shifted from his crouching position in front of you to sit next to you on the dusty floor. You looked down, saying nothing.

"What happened?"

You were about to say that everything was okay, but he did seem so genuinely concerned that you couldn't bear to just push him away.

"I bumped into Inomata in the bathroom." You felt him stiffen next to you. "And we... talked a bit."

His face came into your field of view and you glanced up at him. His multicolored eyes scanned your face and then your neck, lips tilted down in a frown, looking for any bruises that he may have missed earlier. You realized what he was doing and shook your head.

"No, we didn't fight. She just gave me a lot to think about."

"What did she say?"

"She told me why she hated me. And I guess... well I don't know. I guess I'm just too dense. Our quirks are very similar. She said that I stood in her way."

Todoroki was quiet for a moment, before saying, "She should know that competition breeds better heroes. And by removing her competition," he gave you a pointed look, "she's only taking the easy way out."

You purse your lips and nodded in agreement.

"And you're the one in 1-A, not her."

"Yeah..." you let out a sigh, and Todoroki was disappointed to see that his words didn't have the comforting effect he had hoped they would have. You leaned your head back against the bookcase and closed your eyes.

"Do you hate her?"

You almost snorted out loud. "Todoroki, of course I hate her. But I don't hate her for having the same quirk as me... I hate her for what she's done to me. There's such a thing as healthy rivalry... but then there is cruelty."

He hummed in understanding.

"I didn't just transfer to 1-A because I felt like it. When school started I was actually pretty happy in general studies."

He raised an eyebrow at you. Ever since that day in the cafe, he had suspected that there was a dark underlying reason for your transfer.

"Inomata and I were friends for a while actually." You let out a sad laugh. "Probably 'cause our quirks were alike, you know? So we had the same training and sparred with each other a lot. And when you're around someone so often you just kinda get close to them."

"But I think something like... I'm not sure how to describe it. Something soured? Something went wrong. The more time passed the more bitter she got."

"She was jealous of you." Todoroki offered.

"Jealous of what? I'm just... I'm just trying to get by. Nothing about me is worth being jealous about..."

"You're kinder, for starters."

You cast him a shy smile. He never ceased to be charming. But the smile quickly faded as you recounted the next part of your story.

"Well... her bullying got a lot worse really fast. She would steal things from my desk, harass me in the halls... and injure me during training. Never enough to look suspicious, but always enough to hurt. I think she was trying to get me to drop out. Or at least leave the class."

Todoroki had known that general studies was a miserable experience for you, but the severity of the situations you were explaining, and the exhaustion in your voice was jarring. If it wore you out even to recount the past, it must have been absolutely terrible in the moment. His blood boiled as he imagined the things that happened to you, and he couldn't imagine how things could even get worse.

"But I finally decided that I couldn't take it anymore when... one day she and one of her friends made me destroy my hero suit.

"What?"

"They made me destroy it. With my very own quirk." You repeated, sounding pained. "And they filmed it."

You realized that the small closet was considerably warmer than it was a second ago, and you realized that rage-induced waves of heat had been steadily rolling off Todoroki's left side.

"Her friend... my classmate had a quirk that could control air. They threatened to suffocate me if I didn't do it. It's not the loss of the suit that hurt me so much, I mean I have a new one now... it was the fact that they literally made me destroy my dream of being a hero."

You were starting to tear up again. Were Todoroki not momentarily frozen by his rage, he would have cursed out loud. She threatened you. She hurt you.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" He hissed.

You looked at him, angry. "Would it have helped? Sure, she would have gotten expelled, but she also would have released that video. I thought about it... but if hero agencies saw that video they would never even consider me. The things they made me say..." you shuddered. "They are things I never want anyone to hear me say."

You glanced up at him and flinched at how intense his stare was. You knew his anger was directed at Inomata and not towards you, but the expression on his face could have frozen blood. Upon seeing you twitch away, the concerned expression returned and he reached out to touch your hand.

"I'm sorry that you had to go through that." He said softly. "No one deserves that."

"And... she still has that video. As long as she does, she'll always have power over me. And I'll never be able to escape her. I... I..."

You started crying again, and Todoroki was at a loss. He already had trouble confronting his own emotions, so it went without saying that he had even more trouble with the emotions of others.

"I-I'm sorry I keep crying, I'm just really overwhelmed and everything is t-terrible right now." You hiccupped, trying desperately to stop shaking but the flood of painful memories had all resurfaced.

Todoroki hesitantly touched your arm, and when you didn't move away, he scooted closer to wrap an arm around you.

"Shh... it's okay to cry."

"A-and that post she m-made today..."

"Shh... shh..."

"A-and what she said in the bathroom..."

"I know... I know..."

At his warm touch, you leaned into him, pressing your face against his shoulder and wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. You normally wouldn't be so forward but honestly, you needed to be hugged and comforted so badly.

His other arm wound around your back and he pulled you into his lap to hug you tighter. He rubbed soothing circles as you wet his shoulder with tears.

"There there... you're okay. You're okay. You're a hero and don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise."

"Can you promise me... promise that you'll always believe that?"

"I promise." He murmured.

You squeeze him tight at his words, warm tears starting to soak through his shirt. Todoroki tried to remember back to when his mother would comfort him when he was small, and rocked you the same way she used to.

And the two of you sat like that, quiet and comfortable until your shaking stopped and your breath slowed. His heartbeat, fast yet steady, and his protective embrace soothing beyond measure. Outside, the final bell rang, but even the muffled shuffling of exiting students did nothing to disturb the peace.

For Todoroki, it felt so good to be needed by you, to have you holding on to him like your life depended on it. He had spent his whole life feeling used and unwanted, but you were the one thing he could make better, the one thing pure and worth protecting. He relished this feeling of your soft form in his arms. It felt so correct, as if you were made to fit with him so perfectly.

As the school quieted down once more, it occurred to him that you must have fallen asleep again. Your hands had relaxed and your head was heavy on his shoulder. Feeling a bit braver knowing that you were asleep, he reached up and stroked your hair, sighing at the silky feeling. He was obsessed. Obsessed with the thought of you. You had so much influence over him and you didn't even know it, and it scared him.

You lifted your head off his shoulder for the first time in a long time. Your eyes were tired and your cheeks were flushed. He froze, staring at your flustered expression. His hand was still tangled in your hair and the other settled at your hip. You let out a soft breath and he felt it fan over his lips.

"Shouto..." You mumbled in a sleepy haze.

His heart skipped a beat. You had never called him by his first name before, and it rolled off your tongue effortlessly. He murmured your name back, lifted a hand to brush against your cheek.

Your eyes were so lovely up close, framed by dark lashes, and looking almost multichrome in the light. He leaned in, your noses practically touching...

Abruptly, your eyes snapped open and you jerked back, practically tumbling out of his lap. Your face flamed a brilliant pink as you clapped your hand over your mouth. You didn't mean for his name to slip out like that.

"T-todoroki I-I'm sorry that was so... so..."

He had turned rather pink too, suddenly very shy for having been so close to you just moments before.

"T-thank you so much for comforting me today. I-I need to get to work." You stuttered out hurriedly. You bowed your head adorably at him in gratitude, before rapidly gathering your backpack and books.

"I..." the normally eloquently spoken boy was at a loss for words. He hadn't meant to lean in like that but his body did it before he had even registered the fact.

"I-I..." you tried to say something but your words died on your tongue. "Thank you, again. P-lease... please get home safe."

And with that, you sped out of the closet, a furious blush on your face. A gust of wind ruffled his hair before the door closed and he was alone.

He sat there in the closet, feeling much more empty without you. You had pulled away in the end... but he could have sworn that when he leaned in, you did so too.

Next Chapter

[milesoffiction]

17 and/or 1 with hojokami somehow

I’m not gonna attach the image because It Big but it was of the outside of a motel!!

The trip was a total bust. Asami was planning on taking Sadayo on a fun countryside retreat so they could get closer. They already became friends from work, went on some outings, even shared a few drinks together. A long trip together seemed like the perfect opportunity to get to know each other even better than they already did. Maybe then Asami would get the courage to confess the feelings that had been bubbling inside her for so long. But that was all before all her plans were ruined. Her truck broke down on the side of the road, and the only place close to the garage looked like the last place you’d want to stay during a relaxing road trip. 

“God, I’m sorry for all this,” Asami grumbled as they walked up to the reception of the small, rather seedy motel. “Couldn’t even find a nice place to stay at...�� 

“Hey, it’s fine!” Sadayo smiled and patted Asami’s shoulder as reassurance. “You couldn’t have predicted your truck breaking down, and fancy hotels are overrated anyways.”

Sadayo’s words might have hit better if her face didn’t scrunch as they walked into the office, but who could fault her? There were no pleasant experiences to be had in the building. The musty smell, the foul taste in the air, the sticky warmth, the multiple flickering or entirely broken lights, and the old man at the counter loudly smacking his gum while making no attempt to hide the rather unsavory videos he was watching, all made for an experience deserving of more than just a scrunched face. The small bowl of candy on the desk looked somewhat pleasant, but the overall condition of the room said that the contents were not to be trusted. The only positive experience was knowing they’d be there for a few minutes at the very most.

“Hey, we’d like a room,” Asami said, already too disgusted with the receptionist and the condition of the office to make any attempt at having basic manners. “Two beds. We only need it for the night.” 

The man looked up from his video, clicking his tongue as he looked between the two before letting his eyes settle on Sadayo. God the look in his eyes was repulsive. As if that wasn’t enough, he had the absolutely gall to lick his lips! Before he could oogle any further, Asami moved in front to block his vision of her friend, slamming her hand on the counter. 

“Look, we’ve had a long night and would like some sleep,” she said with nothing but malice and murder in her eyes. “Just get us a room and we’ll be on our way.” 

With a groan and an eye roll, the receptionist turned to get a key and handed it off to Asami. “Room 26, on the left and up the stairs.” Asami kept her glare on the receptionist as she slowly backed away from him, not turning around until she was certain Sadayo was out of his sight. 

The two walked in silence up to their room, having to carry their suitcases up the stairs because of course the elevator was broken. Asami wasn’t quite aware of it, but her face was twisted into a vicious scowl. The violent thoughts she usually held back were in full force. She wanted nothing more than to make that man pay for his disrespect. Sadayo probably wasn’t the only woman he disrespected like that. The world would be better off without disgusting people like him. No one would even care if he just-

“Asami! Hey! You alright there?” Once Sadayo had her attention, Asami realized how tense she had gotten while caught up in her thoughts. Her fists were clenched so tight her knuckles turned white, her face was sore from twisting so much, and she was surprised her teeth hadn’t cracked she was clenching them so badly. She took a few deep breaths of the crisp late evening air (a joy to feel after the environment of that office) and relaxed herself. Once she felt herself fully calm down, she sighed. 

“Sorry,” she muttered, ashamed she let Sadayo see the “scary angry thug” side she tried so desperately to bury. “I just... The way that man looked at you disgusted me.” 

“Oh yeah, about that. Thanks for what you did.” Sadayo’s grateful smile calmed Asami somewhat. “You don’t have to worry about me though, I’m used to weird old men at this point. I  wish he was the worst of it. I’ve handled more than just a few creepy stares.”

Asami had to hold herself back from losing her temper again. It was clear that Sadayo was referring to that whole maid business. God damn it, every time Sadayo mentioned her old side job, Asami wanted to get the contact information of every single client and just... No. We’re ending that thought here. Not going down that path again. She focused on Sadayo to keep herself grounded. 

To Asami, Sadayo’s presence was one of the most calming things on the planet. An appearance most would mark off as simple was nothing short of angelic to her. The soft, fluffy, cute brown waves of hair were just the right length to make her features stand out, especially her eyes. Those gorgeous eyes that had perfect dark brown shade so easy for Asami to get completely lost in given the chance. And those soft looking lips... lips that Asami had always dreamed of being pressed against hers as they held each other close. 

But she couldn’t let herself get too caught up in her co-worker's beauty, lest she get carried away and space out again. She admired Sadayo just long enough to calm herself down before turning to unlock the door to their room. 

The room was only slightly better than the office in terms of smell, but at least the air felt better. A few cobwebs attached themselves to Asami’s hand as she flipped the light on, and she groaned as she tried to get them off. At least this light worked. 

Things were a lot more clean and well maintained than the reception area. Still not the best, as dust and cobwebs covered a few surfaces, but at least the floor was clean and the bed was made. Could be better but-

Wait. 

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me!” Asami cried. “I know I asked for two beds! That bastard was probably just mad that I wouldn’t let him do what he wants, so he pulled this stupid stunt as some pathetic-ass way to get back at me.”

“We could go back and ask for another room,” Sadayo suggested. 

“Hell no, I am not letting you be alone with that guy, and if I go near him again I won’t be able to hold myself back.” She looked around the room for a second, and her eyes fell on a small chair in the corner of the room. “I’ll just sleep there. You can have the bed.”

“No, that wouldn’t be fair. If anything, I’ll sleep in the chair but-” Sadayo paused for a moment and turned to the bed. “You know... we could always just sleep together. The bed’s big enough, and I don’t mind.”

That alone was enough to Asami completely lose her cool. Her face heated up as she waved her hands in protest. “No! No I couldn’t do that to you I mean, you deserve the space and I tend to cling a lot in my sleep, and you know I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything.” Oh god sharing a bed with Sadayo. Oh god being close to her and waking up next to her. I’d totally end up holding onto her overnight I’d wake up like that oh god! Her mind was truly getting the best of her. 

“I don’t mind if you cling,” Sadayo said with a shrug. “I usually hold a pillow in my sleep myself, but you wouldn’t be a bad replacement.” 

Fuck. Asami lost all ability to so much as think rationally. She wants to hold me she wants to fall asleep next to me she wants me I can’t handle her! After a moment’s panic, she found her words. “I-I mean, if it doesn’t bother you then it doesn’t bother me!” She said with an anxious laugh. “Maybe we should go ahead and get ready to sleep. I’ll get dressed in the bathroom. If the rest of this place is any indication, it won’t be pleasant, but I’ll live.” 

“Just don’t touch anything in there and you should be fine,” Sadayo joked. 

As expected, the bathroom was as unappealing as the rest of the motel. Everything was stained, and it smelled almost as bad as the office. Asami got changed quickly into the tank top and shorts she totally didn’t pick out to show off her muscles and impress Sadayo. Nope. Nothing funny here. 

The instant she was done in that revolting room, she hurried out and closed the door so the smell didn’t find its way into the at least somewhat more pleasant smelling area they’d be sleeping in. She got about halfway to the bed when she froze at the sight of Sadayo sitting in the bed, quietly checking her phone. 

The pajamas Sadayo wore were a rather interesting choice. The small silky nightgown clung to her pristine figure, her chest just barely peeking out as if to tease Asami, her legs looking so soft and god damn touchable. Asami was amazed she could even survive with her heart rate soaring like it was. If she didn’t know better, she’d say Sadayo chose that nightgown for the same reason she chose her own outfit. 

“Is there something on my face?” Sadayo’s words increased Asami’s panicked state. She didn’t realize she was staring! 

Say something you idiot! She probably already thinks you’re weird! “You... look nice in that.” Fuck. Now she definitely thinks you’re weird. Good going. You’ve ruined everything. Total bust. Idiot. 

Despite what Asami’s thoughts told her, when she finally got the will to look at Sadayo, her crush seemed far from bothered. Her cheeks were tinted the cutest shade of pink Asami had ever seen, and the small smile on her face as she looked away made Asami’s heart sing. 

“Oh uh... thanks. This is my favorite nightgown. Thought I’d wear it for our big trip you know?” 

And there was that fun grin that made Asami melt. Would it be bad to kiss her right there? Would it be bad to just get close to her... hold her chin... whisper a gentle confession before-

Can you focus on anything for fifteen seconds please?! 

“A-anyways, we should uh- probably get to bed, huh?” God she hoped her face wasn’t as bright as it felt warm, and that she wasn’t sweating the amount she thought she was. “I uh- I prefer to sleep on the left if that’s fine? Unless you want the left of course! Whatever makes you comfortable!”

Sadayo chuckled, and Asami could swear she could hear a bit of teasing in that gorgeous laugh. “You seem tense. You know, I’ve been told I’m pretty good at massages. It might help you sleep.” 

Is she flirting...? Teasing...?? Trying to mess with me...??? Asami’s mind was in full gay panic mode. No, don’t read too much into it. She’s just trying to be helpful. You should take the help. No that’d be weird. No it’d be more weird not to take it it’s just a massage. You get them all the time at the spa and that’s not weird. No. Yes. Don’t take it. Just take it. “Yeah, that might help!” Yeah good luck with controlling your thoughts after this one. Mind and rational thoughts, out. Peace. It’s been good. 

“Alright then!” Sadayo hopped up and she almost seemed more... cute, in a way. A weird, unsettling way. “The bed’s not the best, but we can make this work. Just lay down on your stomach, relax, and let me take care of everything!” What was with that weird cheesy cute tone...? It was slightly jarring, but Asami didn’t want to interrupt her flow.

Despite her qualms regarding her friend’s tone, Asami relaxed on the rather stiff bed, and let Sadayo get to work. “Holy shit...” she said, not even realizing she was speaking out loud until it was too late. “Fuck, sorry. You’re just... wow... so...”

Sadayo hushed her gently as she continued to work her back. “I need to focus,” she scolded. “But wow, you’ve got some good muscle~ As expected from Shujin’s star volleyball coach~” God if her voice weren’t so weird that’d send Asami over the moon. 

Still, Sadayo sure could work some magic. Asami didn’t realize just how strong the other woman was, and how precise... Every knot, every point of tension, it was like it was being melted away. Like Sadayo knew exactly where her hands needed to be... Don’t word it like that, dumbass. 

“All done~! Was my performance to your liking, Master~?”

‘Mater?’ So that’s what it is. Again with that fucking job.  “Sadayo... the massage is nice... but please for the love of god never fucking do that again. The act, not the massage. I might like another massage again some day.” 

Sadayo sighed loudly as she sat on the bed. “...Fuck. Sorry. I thought maybe you’d be into that kind of thing or something so I wanted to try it out...”

“Into that..? Why would I be into something that was hell for you?!” Asami didn’t realize how much her temper had flared over something so small, but it was so hard to control herself with this maid shit. It made her blood boil. “Fuck that, I’m into you the way you are!”

Silence.

Absolute silence. 

Absolute.

Deafening. 

Silence.  

You fucking idiot. 

“Fuck, Sadayo, I’m sorry. Forget I said anything. Forget I exist even I can go to a different room you can just ignore me I shouldn’t have said that I really shouldn’t have I’ll go now I am so damn sorry I-”

“Asami. Calm down. It’s alright.” Sadayo placed her hands on Asami’s shoulders and smiled gently. “I...I’m into you the way you are too.” 

Emotions and thoughts raced through Asami at a rebarkable rate. From joy to doubt to fear all in a moment’s time. She feels the same! No, there’s no way she would ever. What if I’m forcing her into this? What if she feels obligated?

 “You don’t have to make things up like that. You don’t have to pretend for me. I’m fine with rejection.” 

Sadayo slowly moved her hands to either side of Asami’s face, cupping her cheeks gently as she looked directly into her eyes. “I’m not lying or pretending, Asami. You...” She took a deep breath. “I see the way you work with your students. Those upperclassmen have been through hell, and are so clearly still hurting, and yet you’re so gentle with each one, even when you’re angry at the injustices they faced. No matter how hard it gets, you’re there for them in an instant. I wish I could be there for my students half as much as you are.” 

Asami stared in awe of Sadayo’s words. Did she really feel that way? But why would she think she didn’t do enough for her students? “What are you talking about? You’ve always been there for your students. From the day I met you, you’ve worked harder than any teacher I’ve ever met to support them. It’s what I- it’s what-” No. It’s too early for that word. “It’s what I admire about you.” She sighed and rested her forehead against Sadayo’s. “When I said I like you the way you are, I meant every last detail, especially how you support your students.” 

There was silence between the two, and Asami fully took the time to take in Sadayo’s presence. Though she wasn’t ready to fully say it outloud, she knew she was in love. 

But, now wasn’t the time to worry about feelings. 

“Why don’t we talk about this more in the morning?” Asami offered. “I feel like late night after the day we’ve had isn’t the best time for this kind of emotion talk.” 

“Yeah, probably not,” Sadayo agreed with a laugh. “You said you like the left right? And that you’re a cuddler?”

A soft blush tinted Asami’s face. “Jeez, don’t word it like that,” she muttered. “Yes I like the left and yes I will cling to that gorgeous body like my life depends on it.”

The comment earned a smirk and a playful nudge from Sadayo. “Is that your idea of getting back at me?” 

“You figure it out,” Asami teased back before crawling over to lay down and snuggling under the blanket (a surprisingly easy task for a motel bed, not that the lack of attention to tucking the covers was a surprise). “Now come over to your ‘cuddler.’”

Sadayo chuckled, and moved over to the other side of the bed to curl up in Asami’s arms. As they closed their eyes and muttered their goodnights, a soft, contented sigh escaped both women.

Perfect, Asami thought. This is absolutely perfect. 

And somehow, just somehow, she knew her love was thinking the same thing. 

[inactiive-shit]

Leaf You Happy

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Title: Leaf You Happy

Prompt: jumping in leaves

Warnings: Remus, brief Deceit, Remus-regular dialogue

Pairings: Familial Creativitwins

Words: 1,450

@sanderssidescelebrations This is for the first day of Spooky Month! I had a lot of fun writing this and I hope y’all have fun reading! If there’s anything else I need to tag/warnings I need to mention, let me know!

Without further ado, my first submission!

Roman sits inside, staring out the window longingly. There is not a speck of green in sight, and he could not be happier. The trees stand as tall but bare guardians against the sky and their leaves litter the ground like some kind of giant’s discolored dandruff. Even with the window open only a crack, the most delicious autumn chill is creeping in the air and he can already smell pumpkin spice. He can’t wait to go to Starbucks for his first official Pumpkin Spice Latte of the season.

But that isn’t what has him so excited today.

Today, Roman is looking more specifically forward to a tradition he and his brother have enforced since they were children. Something neither one of them could imagine going without, and also something entirely undignified. It was maybe the least princely thing Roman derived joy from. But also quite possibly the best.

The Annual Leaf Jump. It has been called many things over the years, but the rules have never changed: you make a truly absurd pile of leaves, you run at it, and you jump in. It’s how they know that sweater season has started, and how they welcome Halloween every year. It appeals to Remus’s taste in the messy with the explosion of leaves and the damp ones on the bottom of the pile and Roman’s taste in the beautiful, cinematic splash of reds and oranges that make him look amazing if you get a picture at just the right moment.

He can’t wait to do it.

In preparation, yesterday he and Remus had raked all the leaves in their front and back yard into a pile and then even raked their neighbor’s leaves up too, free of charge. It was a lot of work, but now the giant pile of leaves was almost as tall as Roman and in all the most beautiful shades of red and orange and yellow. They dried in the sunny chill of the autumn day and now are perfectly crunchy.

Roman wishes Remus didn’t have class today.

Still, there’s nothing to do about it except wait until he gets home at two. Luckily, that’s only twenty minutes away. Unfortunately, that is still twenty minutes away.

Until the front door bursts open and Remus is spilling in.

“Remus! It is today! Are you ready?” Roman yells. Remus is already grinning maniacally.

“Ready as a juicy butthole.” Sometimes Roman regrets that Remus was given the power of speech. Sometimes he wishes he’d absorbed his twin in utero.

“Yeah, uh, okay,” Roman says. “Are you going to wear…that?” Roman gestures vaguely at Remus’s shirt, a dark green crop top proclaiming ‘BLOW ME’ and the matching booty shorts that say ‘NASTY’. Roman has accepted how Remus dresses. That doesn’t mean he wants to be seen in public with him.

“Well, why wouldn’t I? They’re my clothes. I think.” Remus looks down suspiciously at his shirt, and Roman decides the last thing he wants to do is ruin today by thinking about what person Remus found that would have the same disgusting taste in clothes. He will grin and bear it.

“I don’t want to know,” Roman says. “Let’s just do this.” He pulls the door open, ready to get them leaves, only to be greeted with Virgil’s face. Virgil is their neighbor on the left who occasionally has duets with Roman in exchange for art pieces. His roommate Dee always wears bright yellow dish-washing gloves and has never once even hinted at a reason why. Roman doesn’t trust either one of them as far as he can throw them, but they have good taste in movies, great pillows for pillow forts, and are willing to host up to twelve people in Disney Marathons. So they’re pretty alright at the end of it.

“Virgil!” Roman sings, doing his best to pretend that didn’t start out as a scream. “Hello! My brother and I are busy today, please come back tomorrow.” Remus shoves them all out the door and pulls it shut behind them. Roman begins to pull up the camera on his phone so he can record this epic moment and edit it later so it looks as amazing as it feels, but Virgil has yet to leave.

“Uh, did you need something, Dark and Stormy?”

“I’m going to Starbucks. Dee’s too embarrassed to admit he wants a Pumpkin Spice Latte so I’m going to get one to drink in front of him. Do you want to come?” Roman sends a look at Remus over his shoulder.

“What if you went bobbing for apples and found eyeballs instead?” Remus says as though it’s an answer and Roman knows that’s as close to acquiescing as Remus is going to come.

“Yeah, we’ll go. Right after this, though.” Roman pauses. “Actually, could you record it for me?” He shoves his phone into Virgil’s hands, and Virgil sighs.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re going to jump in the leaves,” Roman says.

“From the roof!” Remus adds, a gleam in his eyes and quiver in his mustache. Roman immediately throws a hand out toward Remus. There’s no telling what he’ll actually do and what he’s just saying because it flitted through his mind.

“No! We are not jumping from the roof.” Remus pouts.

“It’d be cooler,” Virgil mutters but says nothing else and holds the phone up. Roman decides it’s best not to comment on that at all, lest Remus or Virgil get any more unsavory ideas. Instead, he grins and looks to Remus.

“Are you ready? Actually, don’t answer that. Let’s do this.” Quickly, Roman directs Virgil to the front of the house and angles the camera how he wants it. He and Remus start on either side of Virgil, and then they nod to each other.

“One,” Roman says.

“Two,” Remus sings.

“Three,” Virgil sighs and they both take off. They whoop and scream as they launch themselves into the leaves, and Roman enjoys the feeling of weightlessness followed by a soft, (unfortunately) moist landing. Roman laughs loudly and he can hear Remus laughing next to him, for once a real laugh instead of his usual evil cackle, and Roman really feels like fall is here. This is, in all ways, the best season. He is heavily biased, but that doesn’t make him wrong.

“Whoo!” comes from the side, and Roman looks over to see Patton jumping up and down next to a confused-but-disgusted looking Logan. “That looked like a lot of fun, kiddos! Now I see why you couldn’t just leaf all those leaves lying on the ground!” Logan’s face loses the confusion and is now pure disgust, and Roman feels a little smug. Just a smidge.

Remus flings himself out of the leaves, somehow having already knotted multiple leaves into his hair and covered his face in dirt. His genuine laugh turns maniacal again and Roman takes that as his cue to leave. He jumps from the leaf pile and runs for Virgil, snatching his phone back.

“Thanks, Incredible Sulk. You ready for Starbucks?” Roman doesn’t wait for an answer, instead heading for the sidewalk. It’s just chilly enough for a jacket and the walk isn’t that far. It will be good to get some sunshine.

“Where are you kids going?” Patton asks. Roman can see the eye-roll from Virgil, supposedly two years older than Patton despite not even looking like an adult, and he can practically hear whatever nasty thing Remus is going to shout if given the opportunity to answer, so he answers for all three of them.

“Starbucks. Do you want to join? They’ve released the Pumpkin Spice Lattes again.” Virgil grumbles something about this being his trip, and shouldn’t he be in charge of inviting people along, but Patton enthusiastically agrees and loops his arm through Logan’s to pull him along at the same time Dee materializes behind Virgil like some kind of Pumpkin Spice summoned spirit, and Roman grins. Remus goes running ahead of their group for the most part, disturbing leaves and catching bugs to gross out Patton and Roman, and together the six of them head for Starbucks.

It’s a good day. Roman feels amazing. He feels so good, in fact, Dee might only have to ask him to order the Pumpkin Spice Latte for him twice before Roman does it. And he might not even make fun of him for wanting something so widely considered to be mainstream teenage girl culture.

But he probably will. And Patton will make puppy eyes at him until he stops, and then Virgil will take the torch. It’s a good day, and it’s setting up to be a perfect day. Roman can’t help but smile.

[aj-the-psycho]

The Band of Rotten: Chapter 6

THE LONE COWBOY

Summary: Patton roamed the desert with his new companion. Along the way, an unsavory news followed them.

Ao3 Link

United States, 1860

The breeze in the desert did not bring the expected cool air that caress his sweaty skin. Instead, it brought with it loose soil that clouded his eyes and even hotter air. It only made him more restless and long for a cool shade. The mare below him, too, was getting impatient. Orchard no longer walked with vigor, but with exhaustion clear in her posture. Next to him, Roman walked with his feet dragging on the sand, groaning every now and then.

“What is this place you seek, dear rider?”

“Ay, pal, ya talk like some kind of royalty,” Patton commented, forgetting to answer Roman’s question. “It’s funny.”

“I don’t quite understand what you meant, but I take that as a compliment. I have after all, dreamed of being a prince.”

“Oh, and answering yer question, we goinna the coast now.”

Patton lowered his hat lower on his face, shielding his eyes from the sun. It was light-brown in color, almost like wet sand with a darker hatband. His brother had given it to him long ago. And since the day he left, the hat never left his sight. Speaking of, what does a lone cowboy doing, travelling to the east? Patton didn’t quite know either. There were too many things to think about when it comes to reasoning, all tied up to his past. He would rather not think of it at all, lest the memories come biting back.

The two continued their silent walk across the desert which didn’t seem to have an end. It had been a few days, and still the desert goes on. The arid weather and its heat burned whatever it touched—at least it felt that way. Patton had wanted to bolt ahead with Orchard, eager to find someplace to rest. But, a small groan reminded him of Roman’s presence. He could never leave a friend behind.

“How long does this journey take, Patton?” Roman groaned as he dragged his feet. “I think my feet are going to break.”

“Aye, fella, ye don’t have to be dramatic,” Patton said loudly with a good-natured laugh. “Here go, get on the horse.”

Patton hopped off of Orchard’s back, patting the saddle firmly for Roman to get on. Seeing that Roman was about to argue against his suggestion, Patton laughed again, taking Roman’s arm and pushed him lightly towards the mare. After Roman reluctantly got on the horse, a relieved smile painted Patton’s face. He took Orchard’s reign and towed her along as he walked.

“How ‘bout this, pal,” he said with a warm expression, “ye ride for two three hours, then I get on. Another two three hours and ye get on. Sounds good?”

“Of course! Your idea is truly genius!”

“Ye see? Dramatic!”

They continued their way to the east, not stopping until the sun dipped into the horizon. There were sparks of yellows and oranges in the distance; a small town, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. And slowly, the lights became brighter and brighter as they came closer.

“Ey, pal, why doncha hop on the horse, yea?” Patton asked as he gestured towards the small space of the saddle behind him.  We can get to the town faster.”

It took some effort for Roman to get on, especially with the darkening sky, but they managed. With that, the two galloped down to the town, seeking some comfort in the midst of the Wild West dessert. They can see silhouettes of people, walking around leisurely or sitting on wooden landings in front of their houses. And again, as they went nearer, the silhouettes turned into colors. The town was less crowded than they had anticipated. With the little money that Patton had, they decided to go into a saloon to have a little drink.

“Welcome to The Rogue Bull,” the saloon keeper greeted them with a wide grin. “New faces! What a delight, now. What can I getcha?”

“Ay, fella!” Patton greeted back. “An old fashioned for me. Whatcha want Roman?”

“Ah, just ale for me is fine.”

They sat by the bar, watching the keeper work his magic. He was tall, hairy as a bear. His beard was so thick that his face was almost buried in hair—yet nevertheless, he managed to look quite the friendly fellow. The thick overalls he wore looked awkward for such a massive man, but it still worked somehow. And despite his size, he could move around behind the small bar without any accidents of spill. Soon, their drinks were presented to them. Patton did not expect himself to order such alcoholic beverages, but it was just right for him at the moment.

“Anything else I can get ya?” The saloon keeper asked.

“It’s all good here, pal.”

“Right then,” the keeper said again. “Name’s Wyatt. I assume you’re travellers?”

“That, we are!” Patton was enthusiastic as usual. It was as if the long travel did not wear him down at the slightest.

“I can give you some advice. Safety and all.”

“Safety against what?” Roman chimed in with a question. “Thieves and robbers? I think I know how to handle those.”

“Oh no, no, buddy,” Wyatt said as he rubbed his palms together in thought. “Murders.”

The smile that Patton had worn all day fell in an instant. Murder was not something he could simply talk in passing. He took a sip from his glass, hiding his face. He ended up downing the whole glass entirely, grimacing at the harsh taste of alcohol burning his throat. Patton tried putting up a smile. Roman gave him a look, but he decided not to mention it.

“What’s with the murder, pal?” Patton questioned Wyatt, trying to hide his discomfort.

“Well,” Wyatt started, a little hesitant, “there’s been a few people turning up dead or something like that. So far, there’s been six or seven in the past five months.”

“Woah, that is quite a concern!” Roman exclaimed, fortunately conscious enough to keep his voice low. “Don’t you worry, dear Patton. I can protect both of us when the time demands.”

“No need, Roman. I can do that m’self.” Patton gave him a sweet side-smile. Roman knew nothing about his skills with guns.

His fingers drifted to his belt where a holster was fastened. The gun he owned, twin revolvers given by his brother, was as precious to him as gold is to any other man. He remembered the day they were gifted to him. It was his thirteenth birthday. He had been beaming when his brother put a small leather case in front of him in their small bedroom. The grip was marble-white with a horse’s head on each side. It was perfect—and still is. At fourteen years of age, Patton had become the fastest pistol in town—youngest at the time. And it was no wonder that every cowboy clan in town wanted him with them. Though knowing the violence and competition that came with it, Patton refused all offers, even when his sisters and brother joined in.

He ripped himself from the path of his memory. He’d had enough thinking of the past when the present is about to give him something to work with.

“You see,” Wyatt continued his story, “some of those guys who turned up dead were found with bullets in their skulls. Rumor has it they got tied up with some kind of gang from up north.”

“What gang, y’know?” Patton asked, morbidly intrigued. He should know his enemy well if he’s going to fight them. “Shouldn’t be too hard, ain’t it?”

“Ah, I wouldn’t say that.”

“Well, in that case, we should probably head off.” Roman finished his drink quickly upon noticing Patton’s discomfort. He joked, “wouldn’t want to be the next victim, do we?”

Soon enough, the two exited the saloon with a heavy weight on their shoulders. Patton did not say a single word, walking leisurely to where Orchard stood nearby. Roman was a few steps behind him, looking around carefully. At this point, anyone who so much as glanced at them looked suspicious in their cautious mind. Patton hopped on Orchard’s back, ready to gallop away when he remembered Roman with his sad and worn leather bag standing next to him. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his fears and gave Roman a small smile. They walked quickly to the other side of the small, unnamed town, eager to leave it behind them.

They much preferred to camp in the dry and cold desert night rather than risk their life to have some comfort renting a room in the town’s lodging. It became their habit in the past few days, staying in the outskirts of a town rather than staying in—a good habit to have when one does not have money to spend. That night, they settled in the open desert, finding no tree to hide under or even a single bush for cover. The sky was their roof, the stars their night light. The desert was ghost-quiet, only the occasional crackle of firewood and Orchard’s steady breath accompanied their night.

Patton laid his head on Orchard’s back, facing away from his companion. Was he worried about his safety? Not quite. He knew what bothered his mind, but he did not want to acknowledge the thing nagging at the back of his mind. Slowly, he dipped into a restless slumber.

Prologue Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 7 Ch 8 Ch 9

[some-guy-writes]

FTB: CH 3.

Fifty Tungsten Bullets: Chapter 3. Forty-Six

Summary | Start | Prev

Sebrum might have been a hellish place day time, the only hell Spiv had ever known, but at night, it was downright gorgeous. More stars than the concept of numbers could fathom and the unmistakable figure of the Milky Way stretching as far as the eye could see. The same Milky Way every man, woman and child slept under. Immortal, cripple, rich folk or poor, each and every one squandered their days under ancient light from the same distant stars. If there was any fairness to be found in this life, it’d be that. The desert landscape itself looked a field of stars too, come nightfall. Luminescent foliage littered the sparse hills and valleys with blues, greens, reds and yellows. Soil on Sebrum was poorer than a bum on his last kollar, more so in the outback. Much of the bush had taken up luring whatever happened to wander by. More than a few species could snip a finger off if you weren’t careful. Always best to poke a shiny with a stick first, lest it be a clever snapping plant. 

The sun crept over the horizon like a golden spear thrust forth by some ancient god, touched by a deep sulfuric blue. Spiv thought for a minute the old pantheons of Earth might have been wise to a thing or two. Something as magnificent as the azure sunrise of Sebrum was far too great a feat for a single deity to conjure, no matter how all powerful. Mornings of the like made Spiv forget it was just natural gasses burning in the upper atmosphere. Some days, he hoped never to remember. 

The air was still cool by the time the crew rode onto the main street of Jepsum. Quaint little town about half the size of Bakersville. All six of them had paid their visits many times on scouting ventures. 

“If we’re gonna do this thing, we’re gonna do this right,” Spiv said, rising and falling with each wide step of his mount. “And to do that, we’re gonna need supplies and info. Jersey, Carolina, K.C, you’re on hound duty. Snuff out any deets you can gather about the Faceless Gang. Where they perused, what business they might have here and where they may be headed. Hudson, Kit, you’re with me. We’ll hit up the bounty boards to raise some funds and get some target practice.” 

“We ain’t never been bounty hunters,” K.C. spoke as if she had a pill bug rolling around in her mouth. 

Spiv and K.C. rode side by side, but neither took their eyes away from the road ahead. 

“True as that may be, we are in dire need of money and experience. If we can’t take out a few measly outlaws ourselves, what hope do we have against the Gang?” 

“Just don’t wanna make a habit of roundin’ up folks we know nothing about.”

“Even if them’s scoundrels?”

“The scoundrel I know can bake for all I care. But the one I don’t ain’t a scoundrel to me.”

“Suppose you’re right. As always,” spiv chuckled. “Can’t claim to be a righteous man who don’t give reasonable doubt when it’s due. Tell ya this, I won’t be offending no one until we deem the bounty on their head is warranted.”

“Quite reasonable by the sounds of it,” K.C. said before splitting towards the pubs. “A righteous man you may yet be. Just don’t be going the way o’ the martyr. Stay safe, Spiv.”

Martyr, huh? Had to admit, ‘Spiv the martyr’ had a nice ring to it. That being, if his name wasn’t Spiv. ‘Saint Spivenson the martyr,’ more like. Though, on account of martyr’s being dead and all, Spiv was well inclined not to become one any time soon. Not until the deed he set out to do was done. 

The Sheriff's office wasn’t much farther ahead. Smack dab in the center of main street. Now, Sheriff wasn’t a particularly conventional term in most independent townships. No such thing as cop or a governing body of any kind, except for the mayor and town council and often not even that. What Sheriffs did in these parts was collect funds for bounties from the townsfolk. A quick wit and an even quicker trigger could make a decent living going place to place, catching folks with ill intent and making them chew on lead. Many a tall tale sprung up from a lone gunslinger going toe to toe with a legendary outlaw. Word in Bakersville was that Spiv’s pa was one of the best. Took out the entire Green River Gang in the east single handed in his youth. Went on to fight for the independence of the entire region. Only one to survive in his platoon nine times over. Spiv’s ma was mighty fond of the old coot. He came around to Bakersville every chance he could just to see her. Did every bounty on the board, and when there was none left, he skipped town until tell of there being more. Then one day, while ma was expecting little Spiv, he never showed. Bounty boards piled up month after month, but still no sign of him. Not long after Spiv saw his first sunrise, his mum took a strider ride and went the way of his pop. Wasn’t a word on where either of them were in the better part of two decades. These days, even if there was word on where his parents went, Spiv didn’t much care to hear it. 

Spiv, Kit and Hudson locked their striders by the feeding trough. Hudson unclipped the feed bag from his and dumped it in the trough for the bipeds to gorge themselves. Mix of all sorts of crap. From beetles, to corn, to hay, to manure. Gourmet cuisine or shit in the literal sense, didn’t make a difference to striders. 

The office was a rickety old house scraped together from seeding ship hulls. From the second or third migration, Spiv reckoned. Likely one of the first shacks to be set up in Jepsum. Inside was lively. All sorts of unsavory types who didn’t look too unlike outlaws themselves. Wouldn’t be uncommon to find a bounty hunter in one town had a bounty on their head in the next. 

A large, flickering screen displayed three posters above the Sheriff’s booth. One big one, and two smaller to the side. The larger of the three had cracks running all over it to the point that reading the text was nigh impossible, and three bullet holes from which every crack on the screen sprang. Petty bounties were listed all over the room. A thousand kollars here, two thousand there. Disorderly conduct, larceny and the like. Most of the folks around perused those. The competition consisted of some plain looking fellows, a few that weren’t far off from drunkards on a good day and even one guy wrapped head to toe in bullet belts and hand guns. The belt boy looked a might ridiculous and, to some degree, intimidating. One of two ways about it: either he was a fool about to die a fool’s death, or a professional good enough to not give a damn what others thought. Coin toss as to which. While Spiv was known to be a gambling man, he preferred odds better than fifty. 

One lady had her sights on the prize. Stood right in front of the Sheriff’s booth without looking away from the board above. Dressed in lamb leather duds to boot. Plain enough aesthetic from a distance, but upon closer inspection, the remarkable craftsmanship was evident. 

“Wouldn’t expect nothing less than lambskin from someone peering at the dead or alive type bounties,” Spiv said to her. He was a good twenty years her junior. Though, if she were in the bounty hunting occupation long, might put that at fifteen. Days in the heat of Sebrum’s star would put years on a face like nothing else. 

“I have expensive taste,” she replied, giving him a quick side eye. “Might add I like a man with an insight for quality.”

“In the business of knowing a curiosity’s worth, miss. Or, used to be, I should say.”

“Only folks who get in the business of hunting bounties are folks with nothing to lose or something to prove. And if you still got something to lose, then I suggest you stick to your curiosities.”

Spiv chuckled. “Think myself the latter. But I got a mind to make sure no one else has to lose anything neither.”

“Aye, also been known to enjoy a garnt of reefer on occasion,” the woman laughed.

Spiv didn’t heed that comment. He knew right from wrong and that’s all there was to it. Right being whatever was best for his crew and wrong being whatever wasn’t. And if someone messed with him or his associates, well, that was mighty wrong of them. That perspective did give him a tid bit of sympathy for those who had been messed with, and a whole lot fewer for those who did the messings. 

“What say you about the fellas in the center there?” Spiv asked. “Worth a hundred K for all three of ‘em.”

The lady in leather grinned and patted him on the shoulder. “Won’t have to worry about me competing for your bounty. That’s all I’ll say.” She proceeded to the Sherif’s booth to download specs to her deck. 

Front board bounties typically offered the highest reward. On account of being the most troublesome. And troublesome often meant the subject didn’t have to come back with the hunter. High pay didn’t necessarily mean most dangerous, just the largest investment for seeing them gone. If a veteran wasn’t willing to take a bounty, it simply wasn’t worth their time. Up to interpretation as to why. That being as it may, no matter which way Spiv spun it, a hundred thousand Kollars would go a long way to taking down the Faceless Gang. Might even be able to find a hired gun or two to tag along. And, well, if there weren’t going to be anyone else after these guys, he couldn’t contemplate a reason not to try. 

Spiv returned to his crewmates. “One in the center, front board. Don’t reckon it’ll be easy, but a hundred K is a hundred K.”

Hudson nodded. He went up to the Sheriff’s booth to get the specs. 

Kit’s eyes drifted around the room. Soon enough, her feet began to follow. 

Spiv plopped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. “Just where do you think you’re going?”

Kit frowned something nasty, but resigned herself. “You know what I smell?” she asked.

“Moonshine?”

“Yeah,” she retorted. “Half the pricks here can’t barely stand straight. E-a-s-y money.”

Spiv shook his head. “Not looking for pocket change. If we’re ever in a pinch, I’ll let you scam suckers until the fourth moon rises. But for now,” he said through his teeth, leaning, “stay out of trouble.”

“Fine,” Kit said, folding her arms. “But next sucker I find, you’re not getting a cut.”

“What’s the deets?” Spiv asked as Hudson returned with his deck. 

“Looks like a threesome of bandits hiding up in the hills along the road to Jepsum. Raid anyone who comes by. Estimated thirty or so dead, fifty injured. Whole town hasn’t gone a mile near the place in months.” He looked up from the text. “You sure about this Spiv? They’re mechanists from Third York. All accounts say they got armor.” 

Spiv patted the gun at his side. “Ain’t no armor on Sebrum enough to stop what we’re packing. Caution be warranted, but I do believe the odds are in our favor.” 

The day was still young as the three of them set out. The climate was temperate, but began to have a dry and dusty bite. The hills were a day's walk out from Jepsum and in traditional times, an essential route from the northern cities to the southern townships. And where money flowed, bandits gathered. Like strider herds at an oasis. 

Spiv dug his spurs into Jeffery’s sides. The strider’s meandering gait accelerated into a dead sprint. Kit and Hudson weren’t far behind. The crew laughed at him back in the day for buying the runt of the litter off K.C.’s pop. Spiv couldn't pass up half off a strider pup, runt or not. Six year later, he had the fastest biped mut in all of Bakersville. Many folks tried to get Spiv into racing thinking he had an intuition for striders. Those folks soon came to the realization Spiv just had keen sense for inexpensive breeds. A lot of people lost a lot of money after listening a little too closely to his thoughts. But one or two got steal of a deal on thoroughbred racing striders. 

It was only an hour or so into the expedition before the trio came to the hills outside of Jepsum. Striders were fine beasts when it came to traversal. In the wild, they’d run for days on end to get from one watering hole to the next. 

“Reckon this is the place,” Spiv said as Jeffery strutted to a stop. 

“Reckon so,” Hudson replied. 

Spiv squinted. Something not far up the road was reflecting the star’s light mighty sharp. “Think that a shiny or an ambush?” he asked, pointing to the object.

“Well,” Hudson said, “If I were bandit lookin’ to rob some folks, that is exactly where I’d be.”

“Only one way to know for sure.” Spiv handed Jeffery’s reins to Hudson and dismounted. His spurs jingled as his boots hit the ground.

As he approached, the sun’s glare lessened to reveal nothing but a periscope sticking out of the dirt. Before Spiv could take another step, the sand in front of him erupted forth to reveal two hulking suits of rusted armor. Both stood nearly twenty feet tall. The larger of the two, round and burly with thick sections of jagged plates covering its innerworkings, pointed a large, gun-laiden arm directly at Spiv.

Spiv clicked his tongue. He was right to leave Jeffery be. Sand scorpions were natural enemy to bipeds. So, naturally, bipeds got spooked by whatsits coming out of the ground. 

“Leave yer strides and belongings and ye can leave with yer lives,” an amplified voice echoed from the larger machine. 

“You’re them bandits from Third York, right?” Spiv said, taking off his hat. He cupped his hand over his brow to shield the sun. “How many folks you rob now? Kill?”

“What business is it of yours?”

“There be a hundred thousand kollar bounty. Wanna make sure I bring the right carrot cocked potato fuckers justice.”

The suit bellowed a heavy, unhealthy laugh. “Yer got ten seconds before I blow ya to shit.” the armor suit boomed. “ten, nine, eight-”

“Wouldn’t recommend it,” spiv said. “Got something mighty valuable on my person. Be in your best interest to keep it intact.”

“six, four-”

“Five comes after six.”

“Shut the fuck up cunt!” 

The hydraulics squealed as the mech took a step forward. Spiv looked at his wrist. There wasn’t anything on it, but he liked to imitate the fancy folks from old world movies sometimes. 

“five, three”

“Say, Hudson!” Spiv shouted behind him. “Where you thinkin’ them pilots are positioned?”

“Dead center beneath the chest piece,” Hudson called back in a manner atypically calm of him. 

Nervous or complete faith? Spiv couldn’t tell which. But he knew what he would put money on. He grinned like the devil.

Armor was slow by drawing standards. Most folks could react in about a quarter of a second. Processing through mechanized armor over doubled that. With the penetration of Jeeb’s weapon, Spiv couldn’t lose. 

“Two, one-”

In a flash, Spiv drew his gun. Before the cloth he kept it wrapped in even hit the ground, he took a shot directly at the thickest chestpiece of the suit of armor before him. He deftly let the recoil swing the revolver around his middle and index finger, hooked in the trigger guard. He caught it as the sights came over the smaller unit and fired again. This time the momentum carried his hand skyward. The spotless silver metal gleamed in the sun. Both suits of armor wobbled where they stood, with two large, bloody holes directly through the center. 

Hudson whistled in the distance. “Actually managed to pull off the double switch blade with that thing,” he hollered. 

“Reckon you owe me twenty kollars!” Spiv shouted back. 

“Reckon so.”

Spiv chuckled. He’d practiced his trick shots the entire way to Jepsum. Not much else to do. Hudson didn’t think he’d ever be able to use one in a real fight. 

Spiv holsted his gun and spat. “Now where was the third,” he muttered. He turned around, eyes darting every which way. But nothing stuck out. Hudson didn’t call any snipers either. Lord knew that man had vision like an eight winged hawk. Sometimes Spiv wondered if Hudson could see infrared. All experiments so far were inconclusive. 

“You killed them!” a child’s voice screamed from the larger mech. “You killed muh ma and pa!”

Spiv couldn’t quite discern whether it was a girl or a boy. Right then, it didn’t much cross his mind. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the armor jitter back to life. It didn’t shoot, but it did stampede directly for him. He hadn’t considered that. Having a copilot wasn’t unheard of. One to handle movement, the other to handle gunnery. But what made this case unique was the lack of indication of such from the outside. 

“Run Spiv!” Kit screamed at the top of her little lungs. “Run!”

Her voice was soon over powered by the rumble of mech armor and the wails of the child piloting it. 

Hudson fired a couple rifle rounds at the armor, but those plinked off like feathers in the wind.

Spiv sprinted for the hills as fast as he could. He was making good ground. The armor began to slip away. He glanced behind and did a double take. The armor had ignited a rocket and was now rising beneath a column of black smoke. It arched over the road, stalled, then came crashing down. Directly on top of Spiv. He didn’t even try to shoot back. The second chair in a custom built, dual pilot mech could have been anywhere inside. Miss, and Spiv was good as dead. Not to mention a bullet wouldn’t do much good against several tons of metal in freefall. But a few of the tungsten variety might do some later down the line, even if he wasn’t there to fire them. Spiv undid this bullet belt and holster. He leapt, tossing them as close as he could to Hudson as the mech came careening down. 

The mech sent a wave of sand washing over Spiv as it made impact. The gun landed at the feet of Hudson’s strider. Spiv let out a sigh of relief. Odds were good the suit’s legs collapsed when it hit the ground. And a mech that couldn’t move or shoot was about as useful as biped without feet. Spiv tried to picture that. What he had in mind was something like a very tubby worm. 

All of a sudden, the rocket ignited again. Spiv could hardly breathe from all the smoke. The child inside screamed bloody murder as the armor slid forward through the sand. 

Spiv clawed at the dirt as quick as mortal body would allow. “Oh f-” he began as the armored hull slammed into his chest. He clung to the gaps in the plate for dear life as the mech took him along for a ride. Large, sharp rocks deep in the sediment bashed his legs. Spiv heard bones shattering. He did not let go. 

The armor slid to a stop, pinning Spiv by the knees beneath it. The child’s tantrum didn’t wane a minute. The suit raised the one good arm it had left, ready to squish little Spiv beneath it. Spiv watched, eyes wide open. If he was gonna die, he wanted to see it coming. 

Hudson picked up Jeeb’s gun. He stepped behind the mech, pulled back the hammer and fired. The child fell silent. Hudson angled the shot so the over penetration missed where Spiv lay. The impact still half buried him in dirt. The mech teetered to a halt, arm still raised above Spiv.

Hudson rubbed his wrists. “Gonna be sore in the morning, I’ll tell you that,” he said.

“Kicks harder than Kit on a particular day of the month,” Spiv groaned. 

At those words, Kit proceeded to kick him in the stomach. 

Spiv coughed. “See.”

He didn’t feel it though. Spiv didn’t feel much of anything to be perfectly honest. High as a kite on endorphins without a thought going through his head. Because if he thought for a moment what happened to his legs, he’d lose his mind in an instant. 

 Hudson looked down at Spiv. “You okay?” 

“Just peachy,” Spiv winced. 

“Lemme grab a shovel. We can dig you out,” Kit said.

“Don’t bother.” Spiv hissed. “Legs are caught between a boulder and I’m pretty sure my foot got lost a hundred feet back.” He could see a bit of the wake the armored suit left and a trail of red sand in the middle of it. Spiv only hoped it wasn’t his. 

“Shit...”

“Kit,” Hudson said, “grab your medical knife.”

“Bout the only option I can think of,” Spiv said with shaky breaths. Those words sent a chill down his spine. Half because of the excruciating pain beginning to come to his senses. The other half because it was about to hurt a whole lot more. 

Medical knife made the thing in Kit’s possession sound a whole lot more clinical than it was. The correct terminology was heat blade. A knife that ran a current of superheated plasma as its edge. The one Kit salvaged could chop down a forest, six inches at a time. While heat blades were mighty useful pieces of tech to have, just about all anyone in these parts used them for was amature surgery. 

“Want me or Hudson to do the cutting?” Kit asked, blade in hand.

“I trust Hudson’s steady hands with my life, make no mistake,” Spiv said. “But someone who can win every game of find the marble under the cup has the hands of a surgeon.” 

“Glad you think highly of me for something,” she replied in a morbid tone. 

“Don’t pretend I don’t,” Spiv said through clenched teeth. “Just don’t much value the words out of your mouth or the thoughts in your head. Rest of you ain’t so bad.” He was expecting a swift kick in the shins, but it never came. Not that spiv could feel his shins at the moment.

Hudson fastened some twine around Spiv’s legs, just above the knee. He undid his belt, looped the thing in on itself a couple times, then stuck it in Spiv’s mouth. 

Spiv clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. The whole ordeal was less than ten seconds. The searing sting and smell of his own roasted flesh made it feel like eternal damnation. If there were ever a description of Hell to make him step foot in a church, this’d be it. 

Kit and Hudson hoisted a whimpering Spiv onto Jeffery. Spiv couldn’t even laugh at the fact that Hudson’s pants were falling down and his knickers were showing. Hudson tore the shirt on his back in two, doused both pieces in ethanol and wrapped them around Spiv’s new stubs. Spiv screamed in agony as the alcohol made contact with his cauterized flesh. It took the crew a whole month to brew that much. They were saving it for a good haul. Spiv would have shed a tear in another circumstance. Currently, he was shedding plenty. 

Since Hudson’s shirt was now in use as Spiv’s makeshift boots, Hudson had taken to wearing his poncho. It only rained for a week a year in this part of the world, but for that week, you’d be cursing yourself for not affording a poncho when you had the chance.

“For the record,” Spiv said in a shaky voice as they rode back to Jepsum, “I have some qualms about shooting an orphan.”

In another life, Spiv wouldn’t have been in a position much different from that kid. Though, the knowledge that said kid may have been complicit in the deaths of thirty others lessened the guilt a little. 

“Well I got some qualms about you being the one who orphaned him,” said Hudson. 

“Hey, better an orphan than dribble from shit stain parents,” Spiv said. 

“Better dead than an outlaw,” Hudson replied. 

Spiv frowned. “Don’t know if I agree with that, but I ain’t gonna argue it.” 

“Sides, it was either you or him. I chose you.”

“Grateful for that I am.”

Spiv looked to Hudson. “Don’t tell K.C.?”

Hudson nodded. “Don’t tell K.C.”

“What’s that you chewing?” Kit asked Spiv.

“Nothing much,” Spiv grumbled. 

Kit squinted at him. “That ain’t opiate gum, is it? ‘Cause if it is, I’ma be mad.” She rode up to Spiv and began snatching air in his direction. 

Hudson squeezed his strider between the two of them.

“I haven’t found a scrap of opiate gum in all of Baskerville in months,” Kit whined. “Gimme some!” 

“That’s ‘cause we let everyone know you’re addicted and told them not to sell you any,” Hudson spoke. “It’s for your own good. We need to save it for situations like this,” nodding at spiv. 

Kit wasn’t listening. Her face got redder and her eyes narrower by the second. “You bastards,” she growled. “You goddamn bastards. Where are you hiding it?”

Hudson grinned. He didn’t say a word. 

“Just give her some,” Spiv said. “Don’t think I wanna be molested in my sleep when Kit gets curious.” 

It took a minute, but when the implication finally dawned on Hudson, he shuttered. He reached deep into the seat of his under pants and took out two packs of opiate gum. “Fine,” he said, tossing one pack to Kit and the other to Spiv. “But Spiv gets half. He’s the one who needs it.”

Kit’s pack didn’t even last the rest of the road back to Jepsum. She was half asleep as they entered town. If they were lucky, she’d forget all about Spiv’s supply by tomorrow. Hudson tied up her strider. As well as her to it so she didn’t fall off. He then hoisted Spiv upon his back and waltzed into the Sheriff’s office and up to the booth. The sheriff himself was a scruffy looking old man whomst reeked of too much booze and looked of too many pastries. 

“Center board is clear.” Hudson said. “Head up to the hills anytime if you wanna look for yourself.” 

“Evidence?” the sheriff rumbled. 

Spiv slid to Hudson’s side, with one arm wrapped around his shoulder and the other supporting himself against the booth’s counter. Hudson slipped the sheriff his deck. 

“Fine work,” the sheriff said, flipping through the photos. “Color me impressed. Your reward is in order.” he disappeared into a backroom.

“That’s some quality snuff,” the belt covered boy from earlier hissed from an uncomfortably close distance. 

Hudson looked him in the eye. “Fifty kollars and the photos are yours.” 

The two of them exchanged goods and currency, then belt boy went on his merry way. Spiv couldn’t do nothing but frown at the whole series of events. He had qualms about what just transpired. A number of qualms indeed.

“Don’t you look a wreck,” the lady in lamb leather chuckled.

Spiv turned over his shoulder with a scowl. He was not in a jolly mood and had no tolerance for anyone who was. The woman had two men bound at her waist by rope and two pistols pointed in their backs. Spiv almost felt sorry for them. Though, he felt considerably more sorry for himself. As well as anyone else who happened to lose a fine pair of calves this morning.

“Wait your turn, hag,” Spiv grumbled. “Once we get our money then you can have yours.” 

The sheriff returned with a strider hide case. Spiv and Hudson opened it immediately, without a care as to who pavlov-ing saw.

“This is only twenty K!” Spiv shouted. “Where’s the other eighty!”

The sheriff cocked his greasy head to the side and leaned back in his seat. “Sheriff’s tax. Been on the board for four months. Sheriff takes 20% per month.” 

Spiv slammed his hand on the booth counter and leaned in close to the gross little man, dragging Hudson with him. “I got my fuckin’ legs chopped off and now you’re saying I only get twenty of my hundred grand? What say you about me putting this as bounty on your head and see how fast it gets separated from your body? You corrupt three chromosomed spawn of your sister’s diseased cunt!” 

“Aye, ye could do that I suppose,” said the sheriff. “But unless the township appoints a new sheriff, be no one to pay it out.” 

The old woman put a hand on Spiv's shoulder. “Told ya I wouldn’t be trying to take your bounty,” she said. “Rough day rookie. Remind me of myself once upon a time.” She lifted up the leg of her pants. Beneath the leather was a finely proportioned prosthetic. “Lost this leg three times over, and the other two and half. Hit up Third York. Look for a mechanist by the name of Jose and tell him Debbie sent ya. That said, if you do take this sheriff out of commission, I’ll be short of ninety grand and it’ll be comin’ out of your pocket.”

“Well heeded,” Spiv said. “Apologies for the inconvenience.”

Hudson loaded the cash into a sack. The two of them hobbled out the way. 

“Before you go,” Debbie said. “Heard your crew was after the Faceless Gang.” 

The sheriff glared at her. “Speak your mind woman, but know Jepsum had no part in it. We don’t want no trouble.”

The lady smiled. Spiv would have killed to see that face two decades prior. Jersey would have killed to trade places so he could see it himself just as it was.

“Won’t get a word out of these chaps,” Debbie said. “Gang keeps them all tongue tied. But thems being borg twats, they all gots to come around Third York sometime. Keep an ear out ‘round those parts and I’m sure you’ll hear something.”

“Mighty considerate of you,” Hudson said. “Till we meet again.”

“With your friend’s luck, I wouldn’t bet on it. But you never know.”

There was some commotion as Spiv and Hudson were about to step out the door, followed by a gunshot. Spiv glanced to see one of Debbie’s captures free from his rope, falling to the ground with a hole in his back.

“Aw, shit.” Debbie turned to the Sheriff. “He’s still kinda breathing, so I expect the full bounty!” She turned around to look at the profusely bleeding man. He most definitely wasn’t. “Blood’s still warm. Seventy five percent and I won’t be any trouble.”

Hudson readjusted Spiv’s position and continued on his way.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Spiv whispered to Hudson. “Would prolly be dead right now if I’d set out on my own.”

“Ain’t no thing.” Hudson said. “Cause I know you woulda done the same for me in a heartbeat.” 

“After this, damn right I would. Owe you a real one. But I can’t help feeling guilty for dragging you all into this.”

“No shame in walking away,” Hudson spoke. “None of us would blame you.”

“But I would,” Spiv sighed. “Wouldn’t be able to live with myself knowing there’s an immortal faceless bastard out there doing the devil knows what, and I didn’t do anything to stop him. This is something I gotta do.” Spiv already walked away once. He had a mind never to again.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Can you pretty please continue the fic where Claire is pregnant when Jamie saves her from BJR in Fort Will. ?

Mod Note: This one, I feel, has been completed. So here - have a similar but different new one

The clink of the chains rattled even in her dreams, but for now they were very real. Claire Randall passed the warm, wet washcloth through her fingers as she passed it to one of the soldiers.

“Thank you, ma’am…” the redcoat mumbled as he washed the grime from one of the prisoners festering wounds, “though I don’t see the need.”

“Well, Officer,” she spat back, in no mood for his dismissive attitude, “if we don’t care for the wounds, they’ll never be fit for the next round of their punishments. Understand?”

Clearing up the detritus from the latest flogging, Claire placed her herbs back in her medicine bag and collected the various blood soaked rags. “Just do as you’re asked, Smith, or I’ll see to it you’re the next one on the whipping post.”

The officer paled, standing a little straighter with fear. He’d forgotten himself in the presence of Mistress Randall before - and he had felt the harsh consequences of her wrath from such an action. The Scottish prisoner beneath him hissed a little as he pressed too hard and Claire turned, her eyes harsh on the soldier as he tried to avoid her gaze.

Claire rolled her eyes and slammed the jail door on her way out, her bag tucked neatly under her arm. She tired of the darkness, of the dank walls and the lingering odor of misery. Despite the constant fear and the hardship, she had learned to survive. It had been hard to adjust with her husband by her side, but with Frank's death had come an increased isolation. His brother, Jack, was not of the same temperament and had brought about an inexplicable harshness. Claire found herself adapting; instead of distancing herself, she adopted his characteristics in order to survive.

Electing to take a hard line with the men under her command, Claire had stricken fear into their heads and hearts. Neither the soldiers nor the prisoners got in her way. Claire prefered it that way. Locked away in her room once more, she shook the aches of her day from her shoulders as she undressed and crawled onto her small cot. Safely hidden, she buried her face into her clean pillow and screamed as loud as she could. Frustration, fear, anger and hopelessness burned heavy in her heart. Claire would cry bloody murder, but not a soul within the prison walls would hear her. It was easier to harden oneself against a dark reality than to drown amidst it.

---

The new day dawned, the sound of the bugle outside pulling Claire from her restless slumber. Steps echoed through the spiral corridor that led to her chambers, causing her to sit up quickly and cover herself. There was only one who dared venture this far, and if he was looking for her it meant trouble.

Putting her best game face on, Claire pulled the blanket up from the bottom of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders just in time for her door to be flung open.

“You’re needed down in the cells, Claire,” he barked, no room for introduction. “I need him fit as soon as possible, lest he forget the seriousness of his situation.”

“Alright, Jack,” Claire snapped, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she gave him a good hard glare. Though Captain Jack Randall was feared throughout the fort, she wouldn’t let him see her in such a state. She wasn’t a soldier under his command, nor a prisoner at his mercy. “You don’t have to march up here and snap orders at me like a skivvy.”

“Careful, Claire,” he snarled, his eyes serious and downcast as he put a solid grip on the lash that was resting angrily at his hip. "You would do well to remember you are still in my care. Do not think for a moment I would not punish you as I do the men."

Claire sneered, flipping her head to free her forehead of the odd errant curl that had fallen from its binding during sleep. "I'll be down," she answered, ignoring his threat, "when I am dressed." She might have assumed fearlessness, but she wasn't stupid. Baiting him further would cause no end to his taunting.

The door closed without Jack saying another word, leaving Claire to herself once more.

She was down in the bowels of the fort before long, trudging with her shoulders back and her chin jutting out in defiance as she splashed through the mud and filth of the dankest cells in the prison wing. It smelt putrid; the foul wash of death, disease, putrefaction and rotten flesh clinging to the walls with the rain water.

The heavy clink of the lock reverberated along the corridors for a few moments before Claire reached where she had been summoned. Jack appeared from the shadows of the doorway, a look of pleasure plastered across his face as he wiped away fresh blood from his hands. Claire swallowed her disgust hard, nodding her head once at him before walking into the darkened room. Claire hid her disgust as she nodded her head once at him and slid past him into the darkened room.

Facing away from her, huddled in a ball on the shit-stained floor lay a rather broad man. Claire watched as he shivered violently, a coldness seeping through him that no heat could cure. As she stepped closer, the cause revealed itself and for the first time, she felt herself overcome with a blind nausea at the sight. Jack had flayed the lad to the bone, leaving his back in a tattered mess of bleeding flesh. And the malicious bastard had met her grinning at the sight of his handiwork.

“You’re going to need to fetch me bandages, do you hear? Fresh ones, not those mouldy excuses for rags that you usually supply me with!” She whisper-yelled at the commanding soldier on duty, giving him a piercing gaze that made the soldier half cower under it.

Steadying herself, Claire allowed herself to take one long breath, her hand resting over her heart as she tried not to startle the lad. She wasn’t usually affected by the prisoners. Claire was used to Randall’s less than clean technique but this was only the second time she’d seen him employ such a brutal flogging upon another human.

Memories of the first time she’d seen such a mess of human flesh darkened her visions and she had to steady herself for the second time in as many minutes. The last prisoner to experience Randall’s dark side had hung himself only days later. Claire had been privy to all of it, the whole sordid affair and it made her sick to think of it happening all over again.

“Christ what has he done to you?” She whispered, reaching tentatively for his face with her fingertips. “Can you hear me lad?”

"Aye," he answered, his raw voice barely audible even in the silence of the dungeon, "I hear ye..."

“I need to tend to your wounds. That means you’re going to have to stay still lest I catch you. Do you understand?” She said as the guard quietly returned, placing a bucket of water and a pile of rags by the door before leaving once more. Claire hadn’t meant to sound abrupt, this was the one situation where she didn’t wish to come across as unfeeling. For the first time in a long while, Claire was trying to be empathetic.

Unfortunately she missed the mark, unpractised as she was. Instead her words sounded callous and cold and the prisoner at her feet stilled under her words. She sounded just like Randall and he had heard the barbarousness in her tone.

Swallowing back the regret in sounding so brutal, Claire tried to switch off the white noise of thought in her head. She had a duty of care to this man, and care for him she would. Wringing out the cloth in warm water, she began to wipe away some of the residual grime from his skin.

He twitched, though only slightly, as she caught the edge of his flayed skin.

“I’m sorry,” Claire whispered, just a breath on the light breeze running through the cell. Her voice wavered with apology, filled with the absent sensitivity of her earlier words.

“Dinna fash, matron,” he replied, breathing heavier with each word. His fingers splayed across the crumbling mud beneath him, his broken nails digging into the floor suppressing any risk of anguished cries. “J-just get it over wi’.”

Claire’s eyebrow raised in surprise at his tone, but continued on with her task. She had to admit that he was brave - that or terribly stupid.

A sudden loud bang broke her concentration and she dropped the now bloodstained cloth on the floor at her feet.

“Ifrinn…” her patient cursed as he tried to turn, the stemmed areas of bleeding now streaming crimson again.

“Don’t you dare!” She scolded, shifting to see what he was up to. “You’ll tear yourself open doing that. Stay still!”

He continued to ignore her, instead twisting his mangled spine in a desperate attempt to push himself up. “Ye shouldna --”

Before he could finish his sentence the door flung open, a whoosh of air flowing into the room. Claire stood up straight, guarding the man against any intruder. Lit torches entered the room, and holding them were three ragtag, bearded Scots who had somehow acquired redcoat uniforms.

“Jesus...H…” She cursed, seeing the sight before her, “GUARDS!” She cried out, her militant call startling the men huddled in the open doorway in front of her. Clearly they hadn’t expected anyone else to be in the cell with the lad.

The smaller of the men launched himself forwards, intent on silencing Claire as he raised his hands to clamp over her mouth. Claire though was prepared for any dirty tricks they might have otherwise relied upon to get her out of the way. Part of her understood their actions; they were just trying to save their friend after all - but it was too late for sympathy now. Instinct had kicked in, and there was no way she was letting him out of her sight in the state he was in...even if that meant condemning him to more of Randall’s unsavory proclivities.

Reaching under her skirts at an unnerving speed, Claire slid her small dagger from her garter and swiped it towards the rugged Scots with rage in her eyes. She meant business and she wasn’t equipped for failure. “Stay where you are! I know how to use this, don’t mistake my gender for incapability,” she growled, her heels solidly ground into the floor as she readied herself for a fight.

“GUARDS, where ARE you?” She screamed again, rage burning in her veins as she sliced the knife forwards through the air.

“Ye dinna want to do that, mistress,” her would-be assailant warned, his voice low and threatening as he held his hands in mid-air. “Naybody is--”

As if to fall in Claire’s favour a scrambling sound came from above, the soldiers finally responding to her loud calls. She quirked an eyebrow at the collective, a smirk covering her face as she stalked forwards, pushing the disguised Scots backwards. “If I were you,” she whispered, lowly, threat lacing her words, “I’d hightail it out of here before they catch you and you find yourselves at the end of a rope, *ken*?”

The men began muttering to themselves in gaelic and Claire could tell that it wasn’t complementary. She didn’t care, adrenalin coursing through every inch of her as she took one more measured step forwards. Turning quickly on their heels, all three decided to heed her advice and dashed off just before a rabble of half-dressed soldiers skidded into the cell to join her.

“That way!” She yelled, pointing towards the corridor that the Scots had just rushed off down, “Quickly, you buffoons!” She castigated, her cheeks heating with rage as the incompetent infantry took one startled look at Claire, stood still with the knife in her hands, and then hurtled off in the same direction.

Her patient, his thoughts obviously still on the foiled escape, was pushed up on his elbow with a face awash with incomprehensible pain. The shaking had increased tenfold as he tried to raise himself upright. “N-no…” he sighed, a low sob settling in his throat and an accompanying sorrow alight in his eyes as he looked between Claire and the now closed door.

Claire's heart lurched in her chest with the realization that her actions may have been an egregious mistake. She had essentially sentenced this man to death herself, ruining his one chance at freedom.

He was slouched in a ball on the floor at his feet, mumbling through a wavering voice in Gaelic. She wasn't sure if it was pain or hopelessness that caused the anguish in his tone, but she had been a cause of it.

They were silent for a moment until Claire made the move for him again.

"I'll finish cleaning you up." She said, ignoring the twisting of her belly as she dipped a clean rag into the now clean water. He flinched under her touch, moving away from her attempts at remedying his back.

No more words were spoken, instead he lay quietly as she wiped away the dirt and blood from his back.

She was nearly finished her job before they were interrupted again. Claire knew instantly who it was, his calm yet predatory steps echoing down the hall long before the clink of the lock sounded out his arrival.

“Have you finished with him now?” He shot at Claire, his tone irritated as he signalled to his guards to enter. “I need the lad, it seems he has some intruders to answer for.”

Claire balked. The prisoner didn’t move but she could tell he was readying himself for further assaults upon his person.

“I have, but you’re not to touch him again, Captain. Do you hear me?”

Jack’s face hardened at her insubordination and he looked ready to throttle her. “Do you question me, madam?” He asked, his tone measured as he held the soldiers back with his hands. One word from him and Claire would be forcibly removed and she’d have no say what happened to the young man behind her. But she wasn’t afraid of Jack or the consequences of her outspoken nature.

“Of course I do! You,” she said, pointing a bunch of red rags in his direction as a matador waved red before a bull, “asked me down here, Captain. You requested that I tend to the boy. So here I am. If you now mean to come down here and take yet more flesh from his bones, you can wait until he’s in more of a fit state to answer for the actions of others...because I damn sure don’t see him going anywhere right now, do you?”

The redcoat soldiers stood either side of Randall looked horrified. Frightened of both Mistress Claire and of Captain Randall, the exchange had them nervously shifting from foot to foot. Torn between being ready for their next instructions and choosing which of the strong pair would win this verbal battle, the soldiers kept their feet splayed and their knees bent.

“Maybe,” Randall began, “if his *friends* see him trussed up, bleeding out all over my nice, clean gibbet,” he paused for effect, leaving an icy chill to settle on the room, “they will think twice about trying to fool me.”

“That may be true, Captain,” Claire sneered, “but I’m not in the business of allowing accusations meant for others to fall upon innocent parties. You may wield a lot of influence over these barracks, Captain Randall, but so do I.”

Randall chuckled, a deep ominous sound that made Claire shudder uncomfortably. She held his gaze, the fear masked under her hard expression. Jack in turn held her in his gaze, waiting for her to flinch, or to show some manner of intimidation. When she refused to crack, his dark smile widened.

Tipping his hat as he bowed sardonically, Randall smirked up at Claire before stepping backwards. “As you wish, madam. I shall make doubly sure I increase my efforts to find the men truly to blame for the abrupt invasion of the fort. But don’t get too comfortable, Mr Fraser,” he aimed at the prisoner on the floor, “I will be back for you...in time.” He took one last look at Claire and turned, clicking at the soldiers who followed behind him like lap dogs. The door closed with a swinging thump that thunderously echoed around the room.

Waiting until silence enveloped them once more, Claire knelt beside her patient and reached out once more.

“Dinna,” he spoke, his teeth clenched as he shifted his whole body away from her once more. “Just leave me here to die. It’s one kindness ye could lend to me now.”

Taken aback by the defeat in his words, Claire held her hand steady not yet shying away from him. “I’m here to help you, Mr Fraser,” she said, using his name or at least what she knew of it, for the first time. “I won’t leave you to rot so be quiet and let me do what I’m here for.”

“I’m going to die here,” he repeated, “now ye’ve scared off my rescue party..” His voice fell short again, thick with emotion. “I get the feeling ye ken what fate awaits me should ye heal my scratches. So dinna bother. Have mercy on me and leave me to die from my wounds instead.”

“I’m not in the business of granting wishes, Mr Fraser.” She replied, clenching her jaw tight as she finished covering his back in damp, clean bandages.

When the final piece of bandage was placed, Claire stood and brushed the dirt off her skirts before collecting the rest of her belongings to leave. She had this gnawing sensation in her gut, one she hadn’t had for a good while and she didn’t like it one bit.

Looking to his shadowed figure, she saw a broken man whose hope of escape had been destroyed by her actions. This young man who had fallen ill of Jack Randall… She sighed heavily. Balancing her supplies in her arms, she made two knocks to the door, prompting the soldiers to allow her to leave. With a final glance, she whispered a parting word she knew he’d likely not hear.

“I’m sorry, Mr Fraser.”

…TBC

[winedwords]

Aleister| In The Dark |Black

Title; In The Dark

Pairing; Aleister Black/Reader

Words; 5200

Summary; He ate my heart out.

Warning; NSFW. SMUT. AU AF. Heathens!verse. Sex pollen/venom trope. Magic healing dick trope. Thigh riding, oral sex, public sex. Kinda dubcon. Persephone and Hades spin if you drink some wine and squint. morally flexible aleister. porn with the faintest traces of plot. shit editing and proofreading is shit. ye have been warned.

A/N: Repost from the old blog

I don’t know how I got talked into this.

This wasn’t my scene. There were too many people entirely too close to me. The lights were blindingly bright and the strobing made my eyes hurt. The music was so loud, I could feel the bass rattle in my chest and thrum through my veins. Or maybe that was the several shots of tequila that I felt in my veins? Even if this was an outdoors event, there was little to no airflow and sweat clung to every inch of skin from the heat and exertion of my pitiful attempts at dancing.

My roommate and coworker, Adrienne, had talked me into coming to coming here and wearing as little as I was. This wasn’t me, at all. Whereas I would have been content with a game night and a couple of glasses of wine, like the homebody I am, she wanted the lights and the sounds and the feel of writhing bodies pressed against each other. She wanted the crush of uncontrolled euphoria brushing against and dancing with her magic.

I love her to bits, I really do, but this is what happens when your friends worship Dionysus. They would throw themselves into anything hedonistic and it would feed their magic. That magic would then reach these euphoric pinnacles and Adrienne swore that it was better than any orgasm she’d ever had, so I just had to come with her to this club.

My usual night out attire was not appropriate, oh no.

Adrienne had insisted on the tiniest, strappiest neon blue bikini I had ever seen. I’d balked at her as she pulled it from the shopping bag, the microscopic bits of polyester would barely cover anything and I’d told her as much. She’d just laughed and said that there would be others wearing far less and to stop being such a prude. Her Circle would be there and nothing would happen she said, so why not have a night of fun? Like an idiot, I relented.

Yes, it was a Circle dedicated to hedonism and the worship of Dionysus, but I knew that if they had any say about it, no harm would come to me. Not when they would have to face the unholy wrath of the North American Council.

I guess you could say that I was special, even amongst the magic folk.

See, magic is a finicky thing, temperamental and as unique as a fingerprint. Most magic folk do not fall into strictly black magic or white magic, but rather on a spectrum of grays. We are all born with innate ability, affinities and knacks for certain types of spellcasting. Our magic comes from the blood and each individual had different talents. Some, like Adrienne, are ridiculously skilled at charms and summoning magics. Others, like those in the Order of Osiris, were stewards of the dead, shepherding lost souls to the afterlife and banishing malignant spirits.

Then there was me.

The only White Witch born in nearly four centuries.

White magic was beyond rare. Difficult to wield, incapable of actually causing harm, and the only magic capable of healing wounds and curing illness, those with white magic had been worshipped and revered throughout history as living deities. With white magic, everything had a cost, every action had an equal reaction.

The biggest reaction was the prevalence of black magic. My tutors had said that white magic burns so brightly, that it must always be followed by the impenetrable darkness as its shadow. Black magic was expressly forbidden by mainstream casters, for good reason. Blood magic, sex magic, necromancy, there was no taboo that was considered to be off limits. Black magic could steal free will, snuff out life, summon inconceivable eldritch horrors from parts of the universe best left untouched.

My tutors had warned that white and black magic were inexorably drawn to each other, like two primeval magnets. That they were two halves to the same coin, the light and the dark, yin and yang. Precautions had been taken to never allow myself to be anywhere in proximity of a user of any type of dark magic, lest the inconceivable were to happen.

I felt him long before I ever was able to lay my eyes on him. The brush of his magic against me felt like velvet and tasted like single malt scotch.

I’d been followed before. Since my birth, there was always someone watching from a respectful distance. They were always nondescript people, blending in with their surroundings, if it weren’t for the feel of their eyes trailing me. I’d grown used to them with time, knowing they were there at the back of my mind, but also knowing that they’d never approach.

He was disturbingly handsome and not trying to blend in, in the least. He stuck out like a sore thumb in the sea of writhing humanity, as still as a statue with the slicked back mohawk and the clearly tailored black on black suit. He wasn’t dancing like the others around him, I wasn’t sure he was even breathing. He was just staring. At me.

I was close enough to make out the tattoos on his hands and the crescent moon high on his cheekbone through the crowd and I shivered for reasons I was not ready to examine closely right now.

Illuminati. And an enforcer at that.

Why in the world would they be sending someone who should be doing their wetwork and other unsavory bits of business to keep tabs on me instead of their usual nondescript types? Both the Templars and the Illuminati sent the same types of people to shadow me, always nonthreatening and certainly never got this close to me.

Both groups, the Illuminati and the Templars, were tasked with keeping balance in the world, maintaining order, and cleaning up any… messes to keep the ordinary and non-magic from discovering us. They just happened to go about it from each other.

The Templars were an ancient order, able to trace their beginnings to Babylon, with a strict code of ethics and morality. Everything was for the greater good. Duty, honor, and sacrifice were revered amongst them and it was not unusual for them to sacrifice their lives so that others may live. The ultimate white hats and do-gooders. The handful of Templars I had interacted with had reminded me strongly of the Knights of the Round Table and my mentor had laughed, saying that the Templars made up the entirety of the Knights of the Round and that Arthur was practically a saint to the later generations.

The Illuminati were a whole different breed. Young in comparison to their arch nemeses, the Templars, only about three centuries old, and infinitely more ruthless. They would do anything, no matter the cost, to keep balance. Blackmail, treason, deceit, murder, torture, it was all on the table. They had no such scruples about manipulation or power grabs. It was well known that they were the people on grassy knolls, the shadowed faces in corporate board rooms, and the kingmakers in every political system around the world.

I had been followed and tracked by both factions since I came into my magic. The Council had told me to not be worried, that this was par for the course whenever someone was born with significant magic, especially when it was black or white magic. I was warned that eventually, when the time was right, they would make a play for my allegiances. I had been assured that I should barely notice them with time, that they would eventually become fixtures of my everyday background. The Council was right, they had become my personal shadows, the faces and shapes changing but never enough for me to pay them much mind because I was never approached.

Until this one.

As soon as I had registered who and what he was, he was gone in the blink of an eye. Even if he was gone from my sight, the taste and feel of his magic still lingered.

So much darker than my own, that mysterious suited man’s magic felt like smoke and velvet and tasted as heavy as the darkest of chocolates with the after burn of a finely aged scotch. It seemed to swirl around me teasingly, caressing along my skin like a lover’s hand would. Then it was gone. My own magic crackled along my skin pleasantly at the loss and it reached up and out of its own accord to seek his out again.

I panicked, it felt like my throat was closing up, and I began attempting to push through the crush of  the writhing crowd. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before, my magic which I had such a tight control over from a young age, attempting to do something of its own will. The loss of control paired with the tequila and the hum of the euphoria spell that the Dionysus cult had cast was fogging my thoughts and I just needed a moment to breathe and to collect myself.

The bodies of revelers were tightly packed and it was damn near impossible to make any headway to the back of the venue, where there were fewer people. The bass of the music was overwhelming and the strobe lights were dizzying, making progress through the teeming masses of human flesh all that more difficult.

I’d made it a scant few feet when a delicate, but impossibly strong, hand latched onto my wrist. I pulled hard to attempt to get out of the iron like grip, but there was no give. I turned back to confront the person accosting me, but the anger and panic rushed out  of me as soon as I made eye contact with a pair of hypnotic and eerily dark eyes. The woman holding onto my wrist tightly gave a blinding smile and leaned in close.

“Dance with me.”

The will to fight drained from me and I smiled dreamily at her. She was petite, with a delicate heart shaped face and an overly full sensuous mouth. Those eyes had hooked me in and all I wanted was to please her and make this strange woman happy. I moved closer to her, my hips swinging to the rapid fire beat that the DJ was playing over the speakers, and she leaned in to press a teasing kiss to my shoulder.

“God you smell divine.”

Her words tickled and I threw my head back with a giggle, exposing the tender skin of my throat. I didn’t see the way her eerie dark eyes zeroed in on the thumping pulse point in my neck, nor did I see the way her teeth seemed to elongate into sharp points. I was too entranced by this woman, the feeling of being around her seemed to enhance the tequila that was lowering my inhibitions.

“You don’t mind if I taste just a little, hm?”

She didn’t wait for a response, leaning in with fangs bared for my exposed neck. I stood stock still, my head heavy from her hypnotic eyes. I could feel the heat of her breath against my skin and then the pinprick of fangs. I relaxed for the barest of moments into her touch before she paused, a strange gurgling noise at the back of her throat.

Then the fog around my brain cleared, the gravity of what just almost happened weighing heavy. My eyes were wide as she practically exploded into dust, her mouth wide in a silent scream, revealing that handsome suited stranger from before, holding a wickedly sharp wooden stake in his left hand.

He cursed in a language I didn’t understand, his eyes drawn to the small pool of blood at the nape of my neck from where that… creature’s fangs had broken skin. I wouldn’t have even noticed the small scrape if it weren’t for the slight burning irritation that emanated from the area. Dust from the creature clung to the lapels of his dark suit jacket, which was clinging to his broad shoulders in what was becomingly an increasingly interesting way to me.

“Do you like men or women?”

The sound of his voice startled me. Deep, cultured, with just the faintest traces of an accent. My skin was starting to feel almost too tight and the thrum of the bass of the electronic music was vibrating straight to my core. I laughed uncomfortably at his words as soon as they registered through the returning fog that was becoming thicker and thicker in my head.

“What? Get out of here you creep.”

The suited man’s face tightened into a grimace, still deathly serious. His magic flared and surrounded me completely. It was heavy, all encompassing, and so dark that it sung to my own magic in a way I had never known before. It was simultaneously exhilarating and comforting. I couldn’t help the purr that escaped my throat and the answering bright burst of magic. I was so lost in the feel of his energy that I missed the way he shivered and the rapid bobbing of his Adam’s apple.

“You were bitten by a dhampir, woman. They have a rather potent venom that acts as an aphrodisiac in their saliva.”

Well that certainly explained a lot about the way I was feeling. I’d begun to break out in a cold sweat and I could feel slickness that was most decidedly not sweat clinging to my inner thighs. My heart was racing and I could feel the panic bubbling up inside of me. How did I miss the signs of the dhampir? It was clearly trying to influence my behavior and get me alone… I could vaguely remember something about an anti-venom, but the crush of the bodies around me and the fog of the aphrodisiac was clouding my memory and judgment.

“Anti-venoms?”

His smile was wry but unapologetic. His sharp eyes were cataloguing my every reaction, likely calculating how long I had until my senses left me and I was reduced to a babbling, horny mess.

“The blood of the offending dhampir, which is out of the question now, or… a high dosage of the unique cocktail of adrenaline, endorphins, and oxytocin that’s released during orgasm. Now tell me, men or women?”

My mouth was dry and my brain was still whirring to process. My answer was clearly taking too long and he hurriedly pushed his hand through his dark hair with a frustrated sigh.

“The venom works quickly, you only have about five more minutes before the it overtakes your nervous system and begins to liquify your internal organs. Which means someone needs to make you cum in the next five minutes to stave off the effects. Do… Do I have your consent to see you through this?”

I was most certainly not ready for this, to be afflicted with a venom that was going to take away my free will, let alone a man offering to help and asking for my consent before I was turned into a mindless sex machine who’s organs turn to mush. He was dangerously handsome, I could definitely do a lot worse, and the touch of his magic alone pulled me to him. What was I forgetting though? This damn pink fog was beginning to take over my vision and I had somehow inched myself closer to him, so close I was practically plastered against his front, the brush of the soft fabric of his suit making my blood roar.

“I trust you. I don’t know why, but I do. B-but what’s your name?”

He smirked, something dark and hungry crossing over his face, but the venom was pumping too thickly through my body for me to pay too much mind.

“Aleister Black. It’s a pleasure, (Y/N).”

There was no chance to respond, as Aleister had swooped in for a sinfully feverish kiss one hand cupping the back of my head and the other playing with the many straps of the neon bikini at my hip. The cool metal of his lip ring felt like a brand against my lips and a quick nip from his teeth had my lips parting to make way for him to deepen the kiss. My insides clenched at his touch and I was already so, so close. His lips began to trail downwards along my jaw line and he chuckled as I shivered against his lips.

I felt like I was burning up. 

Every nerve was on a razor’s edge, to the point where every touch by a dancing partygoer and every touch of his lips against the bare flesh of my decollete was a pleasurable torture that bordered on pain. I couldn’t say what part of my body’s reaction was due to the guttural, primal attraction that drew me to him and what part was what that…. thing did to me.

It felt like someone put a live wire to my sweat drenched skin when he pushed his thigh between my legs and up against my core. The pressure on my hypersensitive center was delicious, already on the brink of release, and I couldn’t stop my hips, even if I had wanted to, from rutting against his firm, muscled thigh. Mere seconds had passed of my feverish grinding and the fabric of his suit pants were completely soaked by my desire.

My mouth was agape at the combination of friction and pressure in the place where I needed it the most and Aleister seemed to realize it. Both of his hands grasped my hips in a vice like grip and pressed me down hard and faster than I could manage against his thigh. His teeth clamped down on my earlobe and my release jolted through my body like I was struck by lightning.

I writhed in his arms, hips jerking shortly while my eyes rolled into the back of my head. Aleister hummed his approval, raspy foreign words spoken into my ear. My body eventually stopped shuddering, my chest heaving with my inhaled breaths and my heartbeat still fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings. The relief was only momentary however, then the lust was back and just as overwhelming as before.

I mewled in desperation, frantic for something, anything to bring relief to the pressure. The suited man in front of me made sure to double his efforts of dragging my core along his thigh, before gliding a hand underneath the small polyester triangles of my top. The rough pads of his fingers teased, then pinched the pebbled flesh of my nipple, the pleasure-pain sending jolts of pleasure directly to the tight bundle of nerves between my legs. Aleister caught my lips again, his tongue twisting with my own in the most ancient of dances.

The crush of the bodies around us was pressing me tight against him and it just took a sudden shove of a partygoer against me to send me into another orgasm at the rough treatment. Shudders wracked my body longer this time, the release feeling three times as strong as the one before it. It took several deep breaths to finally gain some semblance of control over my motor functions again, the white hot pleasure finally fading.

The pink fog that clouded my brain and my vision seemed to lessen in its density for just the barest of moments, long enough for me to begin to paw at the front of Aleister’s suit pants. He chuckled and swatted my hands away, only to be met with a high pitched whine that somehow came out of my mouth.

“You’re so cute when you pout.”

His affectionate words only served to double my effort in getting his pants off. His much larger hand grabbed both of my wrists and held them tightly, his once amused face now like stone.

“Sorry, beautiful. Not here, and most definitely not right now. I need to get you somewhere safe before others come for you.”

His magic swarmed me, the taste and feel of it overwhelming my already compromised magic. I weakly in his arms and against his magic for a couple of breaths, before I fell unconscious.

An undetermined amount of time later, I found myself splayed lewdly across the back seat of a large SUV, Aleister between my legs lapping at my core with abandon. I had only been conscious mere moments before I was shrieking his name and grasping at his hair. The pressure and pace with which his tongue had been moving lessened considerably as I rode out my pleasure, the shudders of my body slowly lessening.

It was then that I noticed the hastily drawn symbols on my thighs and lower abdomen, the vast majority of which I could not make out.

“What are these?”

My voice was so much breathier than I would have liked and Aleister looked up, the lower half of his face and beard glistening from the fluids of my core. I flushed brightly at the sight, arousal and embarrassment burning through me. His smile was predatory and filled with male satisfaction, the bright white a stark contrast with the darkness of his beard.

“Sex magic. Increases your pleasure while staving off the effects of the venom. I had to do something, you were starting to seize as I brought you to my car.”

The squawk I made would have embarrassed me further if I wasn’t so indignant.

“Sex magic?!  Are you out of your fucking mind? I cannot be party to this!”

I scrambled to get up and he made no movement to stop me, still crouched over my lower body as still as a stone, waiting. I had no idea what he was waiting for, too preoccupied with looking for the skimpy bottoms of the neon bikini, when a muscle cramp unlike any I had ever felt before wracked my lower abdomen. I groaned and attempted to curl in on myself to try to quell the pain.

“You’re going to have to be party to it. The only other choice is to die. Now come to me, this is going to get worse before it gets better.”

The cramp passed for the moment, leaving me exhausted and weak.

“You talk as if you speak from experience.”

He hummed noncommittally, pressing a kiss to the skin of the top of my thigh, his tongue flicking across the gooseflesh that his kiss caused.

“Enough experience to know how long this will last. Your mind is coming back to you, but your body is still prey to the effects of the dhampir venom. It’s going to be a long night.”

I hesitated, just a moment too long, then I choked off a scream as another cramp seized me, this one even more vicious than the last. Aleister’s face was hard, before making short work of his button up dress shirt, the suit jacket in places unknown.

“Do you trust me?”

My eyes were bleary with tears of pain and I could barely make out his face through them. He’d seen me through this far, the only untoward thing he’d done was drawing symbols of profane magic on my body in sharpie, in an attempt to ease the process. There wasn’t even a question.

“Yes.”

I didn’t have the time to read into the flurry of emotion across his face or the way his magic rubbed and purred against me in a decidedly feline way. Aleister had practically lunged upwards  to my lips, his kiss demanding and unrelenting. I groaned and arched upwards into him and into his mouth, returning his kiss with equal ferocity. I was so distracted by the flurry of our tongues, teeth, and the taste of myself that I barely noticed Aleister pushing his pants down his thighs.

It was the heavy press of the blunt head of his cock that made me pull away from his mouth with a gasp.

“Last chance. Say the word and I’ll do my best with my fingers and my mouth.”

His raspy words made me tingle in the most delightful of ways, the need in his voice pulling at the dark and primitive part of my psyche. The heavy pink fog had made its return with a dizzying speed and I frantically shook my head. I was just so… hungry for him.

“If you stop now, I could never forgive you.”

Aleister didn’t respond verbally, surging forward between my slick folds and not stopping until he bottomed out inside of me. My scream was wordless and he didn’t pause for a moment, his hips setting a bruising pace against my own. My hips were stuttering upwards into his, desperately craving every generous inch of him, needing more more more.

I was already on the brink, my magic crackling like lightening around me. It reached up to touch his skin, sizzling against the sweat and he groaned. Aleister began muttering in a language I was wholly unfamiliar with, his magic caressing along my skin so heavily it felt like an actual touch. He shifted ever so slightly and the heavy drag of his length inside of me caught that one spot that made me gasp at the immensity of the pleasure.

“Found it.”

I couldn’t be mad at his smug words, because they were delivered so breathlessly. Every thrust of his hips caught the hidden bundle of nerves inside of me, my hands clutching desperately at him as I mewled and moaned and writhed underneath him.

The orgasm was too big, too intense, and came on entirely too quickly for me to adequately prepare. I tried to say something, to warn Aleister, but his thrusts felt like they were driving the air straight out of my lungs. Then the knot that had been coiling inside of me snapped.

I remembered screaming, a sudden rush of fluid leaving me, and the delighted curses from Aleister’s mouth.

After that everything had faded and blurred into a rush of orgasms, different sex positions, and Aleister, most importantly Aleister. Somehow we had made it to a residential building and made it inside, unseen. My memory was hazy and I didn’t remember collapsing from exhaustion.

I woke in an unfamiliar bed, the silk sheets a sensory overload to my touch sensitive skin. The venom may have been out of my system, but it was still wreaking havoc on me. Religious and occult artwork decorated the walls of an otherwise sparsely furnished room and it took me some time to gather my bearings, the walls seeming to seep magic and the smell of Aleister surrounding me. There was an unfamiliar thrum in my chest and at the back of my mind, I could feel annoyance that wasn’t my own.

It took several moments, but I was able to gingerly make my way out of the bed, every muscle in my body screaming from the overexertion last night and my feminine flesh was almost painfully sore. I shuffled my way out of the bedroom, turning to what must have been the kitchen by the sound of a coffee machine and Aleister’s voice. I felt like I was being pulled by a cord towards him.

He was speaking with someone.

It wasn’t until I got further down the hall and closer to the kitchen, did I realize that he was speaking about me to someone on the phone.

“I understand that this was not what the bosses meant when they said to watch her, but what was I supposed to do?”

He paused, before chuckling.

“I’d like to see what you would have done with a pretty little thing like her begging for you.”

Hurt burned in my chest when he gave a bellow of a laugh. Was this some sort of sick cosmic joke?

“No, no, it was not like that. Dhampir venom. You just don’t get it though Michael. Her magic practically sings to me. That’s… its impossible to describe.”

He stopped speaking for a moment, running his hands through his hair.

“She knows that I used sex magic last night to fight off the venom last night. I just don’t think she realizes that her magic bound us together. It’s for the best though, the bosses will be thrilled that she’s ours now. And it wasn’t even as hard as they were making it out to be.”

Aleister paused at my gasp and took a breath. My magic had bound us last night?

“Dante, I must call you back.”

He hung up the phone, not turning to face me. Even through my shock and hurt, I was still struck by his terrifyingly beautiful appearance and the tattooed skin pulled taught over expanses of muscle. I wasn’t of the mind last night to have explored him as thoroughly as he had explored me.

“Did… did last night mean anything at all?”

Aleister turned towards me, his eyes suspiciously dark and molten, with a small and secretive smile on his face. I blinked and then he was in front of me, body heat seeping through the thin fabric of the t-shirt I wore. He filled my vision, all I could see, smell, and feel was him. Anticipation curled in my stomach and my breath was caught in my lungs.

“You were my mission.”

He hooked a long and tattooed finger underneath my chin and pulled me in for a kiss that was simultaneously chaste and claiming. I could feel my magic begin to crackle in the air as my anxiety began to rise. He could sense that between our neophyte bond, brushing his thumb against my lower lip to give me some comfort. Affection was all I could feel from him, with the barest traces of pity.

“There is nothing I wouldn’t have done to have you.”

I wanted to sob.

“Th-that’s not what I meant, Aleister, you know that.”

He gently pushed an errant strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers caressing slowly down my cheek. His touch was almost reverent and my skin seemed to hum with pleasure in the wake of the path of his digits.

“It’s all that mattered at the time.”

The lump in my throat felt like a boulder, cutting off my airflow. He may have answered my question, but I hated that I still had to ask.

“And now?”

He leaned in, his forehead resting against mine and one thick, tattooed arm snaking around my waist. Aleister’s magic washed over my skin like the heaviest of velvets and instinctively, I relaxed into him. This is what I was warned about, the bonding of magics like ours. We were two halves of the same coin, one light and one dark, forever drawn to each other by forces so much bigger than us.  

“You are mine as I am yours. I would open the gates of Hell and let every demon loose before I let anyone, including my brothers and sisters, touch you.”

Aleister then ducked his head just a little further and caught my lips in a claiming, soul searing kiss. The touch of his lips did not quell my unease for what was inevitably to come. The… circumstances of our joining was sure to start a war.

[huvall]

A new assignment ... catherine x hugo

Three different texts in a row, all marked urgent, had brought the demon down to Catherine's home. She had been actually anxious about Josie from what she had learned from Augustus. If her prized bodyguard was really running around the town taking people hostage and killing them in broad daylight, this needed to be stopped as quickly as possible. Augustus was right when he said eventually he couldn't bury it forever, and so, Hugo's services were needed once more. Sitting in her home office facing a window away from the door, Edwards, her butler, made Catherine aware he was here to see her. After giving the okay to send him in, she took in a deep breath, letting the demon's smell wash over her to indicate his prescence. "I need you to follow Josephine." she said flatly, still turned away from him.

There wasn’t a lot in the world that made Hugo nervous anymore but being beckoned by a certain Catherine Vernon always assured a slight twinge to begin in his gut, a light sweat under his collar if he predicted her mood would be anything less than unsavory. Today, however, he was for once blind-sighted on what she could possibly want from him. After all, he’d found out almost immediately, courtesy of Ophelia The Witch, what exactly had provoked the ghoul infestation last weekend so this week, Hugo was on an easily earned holiday of sorts. Well. Until now. A thing he appreciated about Catherine was her absolute candor, and impatience for beating around the bush. Plain and simple, the assignment was laid out before him not four seconds after entering her office. Hugo attempted not to let a smirk grow on his face just at the topic of the assignment. “She getting up to no good again, is she? Sounds like you’ve got a wild child on your hands.” He grinned, putting his hands into his pockets and shifting weight to the back of his heels. “See. This is why I’ve never really been interested in parenting.”

At his, of course, flippant reaction to it, she found her nerves being tested. Josie was a subject that Catherine avoided unless she was giving the girl an assignment or praising her valiance for their kind. Not today, however, and so the immediate reaction for her was one of steely aggrivation. The vampire spun around at once, revealing the hardened look on her face as her icy blue irises met his own. "I would love to know where in that statement I invited you to joke." Catherine never liked being this harsh with Hugo, but today, her patience was nowhere to be seen. Catherine stood up, "I know you and Josephine had some kind of...affair, and are aware of how unbridled she can become at a moment's notice, but I'm afraid that her gumption has been a danger to us all recently. She kidnapped someone and lost them, attacked another vampire in front of humans, and apparently has been up to her other usual nonsense with less--" Catherine's jaw locked on the words, eyes looking down away from him as feeling them strange to use as she described the woman she sired, "--discretion than I taught her to possess."

He wasn’t afraid to ever hold Catherine’s gaze, but just about everything else about her remained prickly and sharp like a cactus covered in glass needles, so he knew his place. His smirk sobered quickly, laugh lines fading into a stern and obedient sort of expression. “Wow,” He responded instead to her recount on Josie’s recent adventures, a little surprised at her ‘gumption’ as Catherine had put it. No shit, he thought, Josie could be reckless at times but she must have been seriously bored to let it go this far. For a moment, he wondered if he was Option A for Catherine in steering her prodigy back into formal formation, and whether he should advise Josie that an Option B would probably would cost her dearly, though he was sure he wouldn’t really have to. They both knew Catherine. They both knew how this would go if either of them displeased her out of their own redemption.  “Well sure, of course, you can always count on me, Mistress. Anything you need.” He assured her with a nod. “Under the circumstances that she speculates, though... what might you want me to tell her?”

Catherine liked Hugo for many things, the top of which was the way he could quickly take a hint when need be. He was intelligent, obediant, and sometimes...fun, if she was still allowed to use that word. When Hugo responded with the surprised mark, Catherine nodded somberly, "Wow, indeed, Hugo. Josephine has always been a handful, but just one. Now I feel as though I am juggling, if you understand." searching the floor with a bit of shame. Hadn't she been a better teacher than this? She had practically handed the girl everything she needed, and now, she was going to carelessly expose everyone? Perhaps she should have just killed her, like she originally planned. When he asked, Catherine's eyes squinted, thinking of what would work. Coming from behind her desk, she walked over to Hugo slowly as she thought, finally breathing out and looking up to address him. "I want you to try and stay a distance from her at first. Just follow and watch her. If she knows that I've sent a babysitter after her, especially you, who knows what idiotic thing she will pull." The vampire breathed out some of the frustration she felt, then looking over Hugo. Smoothing her hands over his top and straightening it, she continued talking, "If she finds you, asks questions, you have to stop her mid-murder-- whatever it is, pacify her. Tell her it's just you, you're crazy about her, threaten her, have something more urgent, whatever works at the moment. You're charismatic and persuasive, as your kind usually is, so use your natural gifts and you will go far with her." Once she was done, she pressed her hands on both biceps, smiling genuinely at him. "This--Josephine means a lot to me, to all of us vampires. She is what enforces our treaty, but, you, Hugo, are what stops my head from being ripped off by one of the canines."

Hugo had just been thinking it the second Catherine mentioned it. If Josie knew that he was reporting every detail back to her superior under some secret service, there was no doubt that she’d attempt to put his head on a platter next. Nodding again but this time slower, Hugo quickly went through his plan for the week and mentally highlighted when the best time to check up on Josie might be. Of course, due to her biological makeup, however, it would appear unlikely that he might be getting any sleep this week. The thing that made it all worth it though was having Catherine dote on him, slender fingers adjusting the material of his shirt that unfortunately served as a barrier to her cool touch that always excited him. Still, it coaxed him into hanging onto her every word regardless. Hell, it made him feel special. “It’s a fine head, I like it where it is, your highness.” He responded with a grin, suddenly feeling more at ease as she stroked his ego (and also his arms). “I’ll do my best with Josie, you have my word. Always.”

Hugo, whether he was aware or not, was easy to manipulate himself. Catherine had taken more than a few psychology classes over the years, and it seemed that sexual energy was the most effective on getting him to do what she wanted, that and money, like everyone. Still, Catherine wasn't above prostituting herself out to suitable gentleman, or just using her own sexuality to her advantage. Hell, it was why she was still living today. With, Hugo, though, she was usually genuinely interested, and so buffing him up was no challenge. At the title change, Catherine hummed out a pleased chuckle. "We shall save that title for when I get that bumbling Mayor out of the way, hm?" she asked, eyebrows lifting at her suggestion, fingers lighting clutching onto his fuzzy chin. "If you do well with this, you will be rewarded with more than just money." Catherine teased, voice tilting into the more sultry tone. Just as fast she had began, though, she turned back and went for her throne chair, talking as she walked. "Do what you have to, as always. She has to eat but...make sure she is discreet, and perhaps doesn't completely drain them." Once she sat back down in her chair, she sighed, "If she does something especially outlandish, but I mean something like standing on top of City Hall and murdering someone to announce she's a vampire, then you can kill her. Only then. Do you understand?" she asked, her tone becoming much more serious from the lighter one she had touted earlier.

He felt the hairs raise on the back of his neck the more Catherine cooed at him, sending him all kinds of signals, some of which he was too apprehensive to pursue lest it be the wrong move on his part. Her absence felt cooler than her touch, and Hugo only wished that this was a little more than his average business meeting with the Vampire Queen. “I wouldn’t intend to take it that far. Josie knows where the line is, I just have to remind her of it it would seem.” He responded, feeling a tender jab in his chest at the mere thought of having to put Josie down. He knew that ultimately when the declaration of war was nigh, there wouldn’t be a lot of choices left in the world. Still, though. Josie meant something to him if nothing else good in this world did. “But I understand.” He assured her. “Anything else?”

At his opposition to killing off his apparently still somewhat beloved ex, Catherine felt herself squint with skepticism. Did her pet know where the line was, or if it even existed anymore? She couldn't help but think no, after everything she was hearing, but instead decided to trust Hugo's judgement. Who knows what kind of hell he had to go through dating her, all Catherine did was groom her. She sighed, "Alright. If that is what you think is best." the vampire finally decided after a few minutes of silence. When asked if there was anything else, Catherine shook her head, picking up the pen on top of the pile of papers on her desk and beginning to scribble some things down onto them. "That is all. Thank you, again, Hugo, I know I can expect only the best from you. Perhaps in another life you would be a vampire," she mused for a moment before looking down to her papers, flicking her hand in dismissal.

[rustleandeddy]

Chapter 6

Rustle flitted and darted about the room, his voice raised in a squealing cacophony as he looped around irregular columns of ice.

“What do I do! I killed him! I killed my friend and I’m trapped in a strange chamber in a strange tunnel in a strange cave in a strange mine in a strange rift at the bottom of the sea! I’m going to die here. Why did I do this! I should have known better than to try anything like this! I should have stayed near my pond. That’s what the males are supposed to do!”

“C-calm d-down!” Eddy said. “This isn’t b-bad.”

“It is bad. You’re frozen! You’re going to die! Only the best water fairies can survive freezing.”

“It is different for us. Th-the ocean gets cold. W-we have to not freeze, so we d-don’t.”

“So you’ll be fine?”

Eddy blinked again, slowly. “W-what?”

“I said you’ll be fine? Tell me you’ll be fine!”

“I’ll b-be fine. I just… Can’t breathe much… So I’ll s-sleep…”

“Until when!?”

The merman blinked again, even more slowly. “Until the ice is g-gone…”

“But that could take forever! The water is warm but it’s a lot of ice! And the bag with the food is frozen in there with you! Eddy? Eddy!”

The merman’s eyes fluttered shut as he drifted into a trembling doze. Rustle flitted up to his face and grabbed him by the ear.

“Don’t fall asleep! You’re strong! Break the ice!”

Eddy didn’t stir, too far into the slumber now.

For a moment, Rustle let the panic have complete control. He buzzed in tight circles, tugged at Eddy’s hair and slapped his face. He flipped back and forth between desperately trying to wake his friend and simply darting about like a lunatic.

“No! No. This helps no one,” Rustle said, placing his hand on his chest to try to steady a heart that was buzzing faster than his wings. “You caused this, you can fix it.”

He looked about. Encased in the mound of ice along with Eddy was most of their equipment. The pick—not that he could lift it—was sticking out the top of the mound a bit behind Eddy’s head. The bag was practically it its core. On the floor of the chamber, however, his ‘claw’ had been jostled free at some point. It had a crust of ice, as almost everything in the chamber did at the moment, but the warm water had already fractured it. Rustle darted down and tugged at the ice, hauling free big flakes of it until the sharp gauntlet Eddy used for scraping and shaping rocks was free.

Rustle gave the tool an experimental tug, grabbing hold of one of the rubbery hide straps that held it together. He found that by working his wings and his legs for all they were worth, he could lift it. He placed his tiny feet on the floor of the cave, crouched down and hefted the glove over his head. Without a hand inside it, the thing flopped down over him. In fact, no mount of shifting or juggling could maneuver the glove into a configuration that didn’t either block his vision, foul the motion of his wings, or leave the glove dangling uselessly below him.

His frustrated search for better handholds did, however, dislodge one of the pointed teeth that extended from one of the fingers.

“No! Now I broke it! I’m spoiling everything!” he muttered, throwing the tooth aside. “I was the careful one. I was the one doing everything right, everything the cautious way, just like the elders teach, and look at the mess I’ve made! Think… What else do the elders teach? A fairy is small, but a grove of fairies is big. A job is big, but the pieces of the job are small. With enough fairies, a job is only as big as its smallest piece, and any fairy can handle the smallest piece of a job.”

He huffed and kicked one of the glove’s straps.

“All of our lessons are only good if there are lots of us.”

Rustle turned aside and eyed the bit of glove he’d thrown. It was lodged in the bottom of the mound of ice that held his friend. He buzzed over to it and levered it back and forth. The motion not only dislodged the tool, it caused a chip of ice to float free. He hefted the single tooth and looked at the veritable mountain of ice.

“The job is still made of small parts…” He mused. “Parts small enough for one fairy.”

He tugged at the straps that had formerly held the tooth to the glove and, with a bit of effort, managed to tie them into a loop he could grip with his hand. The single tooth was half as tall as he was, but quite light. Holding it by the strap, it looked as though he were equipped with a vicious and barbaric-looking shield. He flitted back, angled its angled tip, and darted forward to drive the tip into the ice. With all of his weight behind it, it bit considerably deeper, and a few shoves and yanks fractured a larger chunk of ice free.

“I don’t have a lot of fairies once…” he said, tightening the loop and buzzing back for another blow. “But I’ve got the same fairy lots of times. I guess today I’ll learn if that’s just as good.”

#

Quite far to the southwest, Mira was patiently waiting just below the surface. It was tempting to give up and leave, as she’d lingered for several hours without so much as a glimpse of a boat, but she knew better than to do that. Reliable, consistent, and fair contacts among the surface people were vanishingly rare these days, and having developed a mutually beneficial trade relationship with a Tresson woman, she wasn’t about to risk it by letting her impatience get the better of her.

She peeked her head above the waves and shook the water from her hair, scanning the horizon and squinting at the brightness of the sunset. A smile lit up her face as she saw the distinctive patchwork sail of her trade partner. She ducked beneath the waves again, worked her tail, and breeched, sending a sparkling cascade of water into the air to catch the attention of the enterprising mariner. The sailor dropped her sails and Mira swam eagerly to the edge of her tiny, single-person fishing boat.

“I am so sorry to have taken so long,” remarked the Tresson woman in a thick accent.

“You need not apologize, Disaahna,” Mira said. “I am only happy that we didn’t miss one another.”

The woman pulled back a flowing hood to greet the mermaid with a smile. Mira had met precious few humans in her time—it was seldom wise to linger near them, lest she risk encountering some of the more unsavory aspects of the species—but those she had met all had the same dark skin baked darker by the sun. Some of the other merfolk of Barnacle had a similar complexion, but none of the humans seemed to be as fair skinned and fair haired as she.

“I had a very hard time finding what you wanted, but I think I have something you will like,” Disaahna said.

She carefully tugged a small bag from the deck of her boat. A bit of fiddling with knots and rummaging through the contents revealed a small, sun-bleached skull. It was perfectly white, with the distinctive, wedge shape of a lizard of some kind.

Mira gasped and tugged at the edge of the boat to pull herself higher. “It is gorgeous… What sort of creature is it?”

“A rock gecko, or so the shaman in the neighboring tribe said. I have three of them, and many other bones besides. Take it, see if it is what you wanted.”

Mira reverently cradled the intricate skull and swam back from the boat, holding skull first where a pendant might hang, then against her head where a bow would normally sit.

“I can think of dozen ways to use it. And that’s assuming there isn’t just a collector who wants to have it.”

“So strange,” she said, shaking her head and holding out the bag for Mira to return the skull. “No gold for you. No silks. None of the things everyone else trades for. You want bones.”

“They are so exotic, Disaahna. And there simply isn’t any other way to get them. Besides, is it really so different that you want these?”

Mira offered up the small sack of pearls. At the sight of it, Disaahna’s eyes widened and she eagerly traded her bag for the pearls.

“You want the little impurities from our oysters and clams, I want the skeletons of your desert animals.” Mira sifted through the bag and turned up a tiny snake skull. “Imagine it… these things live in a place with no water at all… It is almost mythical.”

“I suppose for you that may be… Oh, there are some lovely ones here… It is good you had so many, because I warn you now I may not be here for a week or two?”

“Why?”

“There was an earthquake in my village. Three houses fell, the church is badly damaged, and also the well. We must do what we can to rebuild quickly. And also the terrible waves did much damage to the pier. I am lucky my boat was spared.”

“Really… Disaahna, does that happen often? The shaking of the earth?”

“Sometimes. But never so often as this and never nearly so badly.”

“We have had trouble with such things as well. My home has always been coping with such things, but I’d never heard of it reaching the land…”

“There are those who say it is an omen. That we have angered forces beyond us.”

“But how? I cannot imagine anything that those of the surface and the sea would do to bring the wrath of the gods upon us both.”

She raised her hands. “We cannot know the intention of the gods. We can only pray for their mercy and thank them for their bounty. Oh! As I speak of their bounty!”

She shuffled from the edge of the boat into the small bit of shelter beside the till.

“You spoke of your brother and his appetite. If you are so fond of things we have only here on land, I thought perhaps he would like this.”

Disaahna emerged with a strange, leathery coil.

“Oh? It looks like an eel.”

“No, no. Dried sausage. Most dishes call for it to be soaked for three days before using it.” She held it out. “I think, for you, that will not be a problem, eh?”

Mira took the sausage, but the sailor’s words stirred something in her mind.

“Something wrong, Mira?”

“No… No… The tide is ready to turn back, and so should I. Two weeks, you say? Until we meet again?”

“Two weeks, from this day. A friend of mine tells me he can get a good price for more of the shell bracelets you made. And that bone knife fetched a fortune.”

Mira nodded. “I shall see if I can have more of each for you.”

“And as for you?”

“I wonder… Have you heard of this thing… a… Ki-oh-tay?”

“A coyote, yes. Not so rare.”

“Excellent! I had a chat with someone from Deep Swell and they said they had the most beautiful bones. The teeth especially.”

“You have a buyer?”

“No. This one will be for me.”

“I shall do my best to find one with all of the teeth then. But as you say, the tide shall leave soon, and I have more fishing to do.”

“Until next time,” Mira said.

She plunked down into the water, sausage in one hand and heavy bag of bones in the other. The return trip at this time of day would be a simple one, the flow of the sea taking her out with little effort if she let it, but nevertheless she worked quite hard to quicken her pace. All of the talk of the trembling ground had brought terrible thoughts to mind. Every day her brother toiled in the mine, in the same stretch of the sea that had claimed their father when the sea shook. Eddy was skilled, alert, and resourceful. But he was also clumsy and foolhardy. There was no reason to suspect anything had happened. The sea hadn’t shaken since she’d seen him last… but all of this talk of damage and collapse had made her eager to see him again, and soon.

#

Rustle stopped to catch his “breath,” if such a word applied in his curious situation. He’d been chiseling at the coating of ice for longer than he thought possible. Flakes of ice lifted away and melted quickly in the warm water, leaving an oddly smooth little crater in the crust that held his sleeping partner. His efforts thus far had been dedicated to exposing Eddy’s other hand. Rustle wasn’t entirely sure what he thought he would achieve by doing so, but it seemed as good a target as any. He was tantalizingly close.

With a final, mighty charge, he launched himself into the carved divot and drove the tooth home. It shattered through the last of the ice and, to his dismay, nicked the back of Eddy’s hand. He pulled back and bit his lip in concern as a thin ribbon of blood curled forth, but to his his relief it was only a tiny nick. After a moment or two the bleeding stopped.

Having achieved his task of the last few hours, Rustle took some time to consider what to do next. At this rate it would take days to chip through enough of the ice to free Eddy, even with the warm water helping melt it away. But what other choice did he have?

If his mind had not been so through twisted up in uncertainty, he might have been struck by the odd motion of Eddy’s blood. Thickened a bit by the cold, it clumped together into a curling, undulating orb rather than spreading and mixing with the water. The dark red blob drifted slowly downward until it finally plopped against the stone of the floor.

Or more specifically, the stone of the dish in the center of the room…

The effect was immediate. Mystic energy, the same focus that had drawn Rustle here, intensified. Rustle flitted back and took shelter behind his sleeping friend’s ear, tossing his tool aside as though it were evidence of some crime.

All around him the gems pulsed and intensified. The water was crackling and alive. The columns of ice that still hung in the water around them fractured and burst. Even the mound of ice that held Eddy cracked, though not sufficiently to free him.

Rustle shut his eyes, but there was no use in doing so. The things he was seeing weren’t the most terrifying. It was the things he was feeling. The strange thing about this place had been the focus without a mind, without a will… But he felt the will now. It was powerful, crystalline in its clarity.

He opened his eyes again. The glow of the room was blinding, and rose, it had been joined by a radiant form in the center of the chamber. This glow was independent of any gem. At first it was simply an indistinct haziness, but before his eyes it became more defined. Arms resolved out of the light. Then a lashing, fish-like tale. Finally a piercing pair of eyes opened.

The figure before him was a merperson… or at least the general shape of one. It wasn’t defined enough for him to know if it was a mermaid or a merman. All he knew for certain was it was a figure of terrible power. Power that persisted even in death.

Its eyes swept across the walls, and previously unseen lips curled to reveal the fainter interior of a mouth. It looked to be admiring the carvings that had so enthralled Eddy upon their arrival.

All Rustle wanted to do was escape. It was precisely what he had been taught to do in times like this. It was the wise thing to do, the safe thing to do. But two things stopped him. The lesser of the two was his curiosity. As a creature of magic, this figure was a being of awe and wonder. The most important factor in keeping him from fleeing was Eddy. It was his fault Eddy was trapped here. He didn’t know how he would protect the sleeping, frozen merman, but it was his duty to do so.

If he couldn’t run, and he couldn’t hide. That left just one option, something that went against everything he’d ever learned or felt.

With a hard swallow and a final moment to steady himself, he flitted forward.

“H-hello…” he said.

The radiant figure turned to him. Little more than bright eyes and a dimmer mouth, it was difficult to read its expression upon seeing the fairy. Interest, certainly. But was it the interest of a scholar presented with a fresh curiosity? Or the interest of a predator presented with fresh prey?

“I… I am sorry that we invaded your… home?” he continued.

It did not answer, its eyes now sweeping slowly to the sleeping, frozen figure of Eddy. Rustle felt a sting of concern and darted in front of Eddy, placing himself in the creature’s line of sight again.

“We didn’t mean any harm. We were just… We were having an adventure,” he said.

Its eyes focused on him again. The tail curled and it darted forward, but before it could reach either Rustle or Eddy, the chains carved into the relief pulsed with light and the figure was drawn back to the center of the room.

Rustle gazed at the smoldering chains in the relief, then thought back to the the heavy door with its complex lock. A lock that was fastened from the outside.

“This isn’t your home…” He said, realization and fear flavoring his voice. “This is your prison…”

[aruneshgoyal]

7. Sisters

It was all bonhomie and joy spread all over in the Awasthi household as Sunil and his mother, Lilavati, were coming that day to see the elder daughter of the family – Mrigya, while Astha was the younger one. Mrigya was reasonably fair in complexion, had a sweet disposition N personality and what gave her the maximum respectability was the fact that she was calm, composed with the ability to take deep matter-of-fact decisions in the mutual interests of everybody. On the other hand, Astha was chirpy, charming with pleasing mannerisms and took sensible decisions with self-interest uppermost in her mind. Suddenly, Astha came running across to Mrigya – “Didi! They have come. I was cycling in the lawns when he collided with me head over and hands down. He seems to have taken to me at first sight. Now, get ready quickly lest they might think you are some maid in the household.” 

“How is his mother? Have you seen her??” – inquired Mrigya curiously. “So-------so…….Nothing much to talk about really” – retorted Astha before resuming her cycling in the garden. 

Mrigya went for a quick shower and then changing into a golden brown sari and carrying a steel tray with tea cups, sweets and namkeen bhujia, came into the main room on being called by Mr. Awasthi. 

At the end of the tea session, Mr. Awasthi politely asked Lilavati Ji – “so, should we consider the deal done?” “BhaiSahib, it’s almost done!” “I don’t get you. What do you mean and imply??” “BhaiSahib, you see, there’s a small hitch. Actually, my son Sunil has taken a fancy to your younger daughter, i.e. Astha. I want to make Astha my daughter-in-law instead of Mrigya!” Mrs. Awasthi, who was so far a silent spectator and listener to the whole conversation, now suddenly intervened and interjected – “what are you saying, Behnji? How can we do this?? Without marrying off Mrigya first, we just can’t even imagine the marriage of Astha in our wildest dreams!” 

“Think about it carefully. Otherwise, we better be on our way!” – retorted Lilavati, suddenly changing and shifting gears. 

Mrigya had since long left the main room, going up to her own study on the first floor and lying down beside the pillow, had cried her heart out. Mr. Awasthi was discussing and sorting out the problem with Mrs. Awasthi. He was saying – “see! We have to marry Astha also one day. I see no problem in Astha marrying Sunil instead of Mrigya. After all, both of them are our beloved daughters. And, we are not an enemy of any one of them!!” Mrs. Awasthi’s reply was – “but you are not getting the picture. It’s unfair to Mrigya. What will she say? How will we explain the situation to her??” 

Meanwhile, Mrigya had gathered her wits about her and at once, understanding the gravity of the situation, had come running to her mother – “it is okay, Maa! Let Astha marry first instead of me. I’ll now concentrate on my studies and complete my hitherto incomplete thesis for a Ph. (D) in Philosophy.” The parents felt proud of both their daughters and then apprised Astha of the new situation that had developed. 

Astha to Mrigya: “See, Didi! I had already warned you. The moment he collided with me, I knew, he was gone, for good!!” Mrigya to Astha: “Okay, my dear! Now, be happy and keep him happy too”, and the two sisters burst out laughing together in unison. 

Soon, preparations began for Astha and Sunil’s wedding in right earnest. Mrigya actively participated in all the purchases for the big occasion and Mr. & Mrs. Awasthi were only too happy to see the spirit and sacrifice of their elder daughter (Mrigya) for the sake of younger sister (Astha). 

Anyway, Sunil came riding a white mare on the appointed day to take away his bride, Astha. After the seven rounds around the sacred pyre were over and after the mutual garlanding ceremony too had been carried out, it was time to settle down for the wedding dinner late into the night. 

During the dinner, an unsavory incident occurred between the two sisters – Mrigya & Astha.  While Astha was talking to her would-be mother-in-law (Lilavati for all purposes), a glass of “Raita” fell from Mrigya’s hands spilling over and on to Astha’s bridal sari. Lilavati gave Astha a strong stare and glare. And, possibly only this led to Astha abusing her elder sister Mrigya thus – “MRIGYA, SEE WHAT YOU HAVE DONE!! DON’T YOU HAVE ANY MANNERS? OR, ARE YOU STILL NURSING A GRUDGE AND SMIRKING FROM INSIDE??” 

These were indeed harsh words for Mrigya and she least expected them especially coming from Astha. She immediately fled from the marriage scene straight on to her bed, crying bitterly before dosing off quietly into sound and restful sleep. 

Now, Sunil was scheduled to fly to Canada the following morning as he had got a lucrative job over there. That’s why all his relatives, including his mother Lilavati herself, had been in such a rush about his marriage. When Mrigya got up in the morning, she was a bit embarrassed and puzzled at the same time about Astha’s absence. Mr. Awasthi came over to her and feeling N seeing her discomfiture, said softly – “no reason to be embarrassed in any way. Astha left happily along with her hubby Sunil for Canada. We didn’t wake you up as we didn’t want to disturb you whatsoever!”