#lets make him our dusty wet old man

[gutsybitsies]

Handsome Gentle Perfect Jason who doesnt care about fashion and looks good in any ratty t shirt is out.

Dorky Awkward Clumsy Jason who does care about how he looks BUT has his own fashion sense that exists on a separate plane of reality is in.

He thinks socks and sandals are the height of fashion and that fanny packs are legitimately the coolest fucking thing. He always accidentally steps in puddles and bumps into railings.

He insists in fixing his plumbing and electric problems at home by himself. He ends up passing out due to exhaustion when he told everyone the electric wiring is fixed but actually he couldnt figure it out and has been using his very fine tuned electric powers to keep the everything supplied with electricity.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

The Dark Passenger - Chapter Five.

A huge thank you for such glowing feedback! Yep, I went full on man bastard with EZ and ohhhh, you’re all going to hate him so much more by the time I’m done here! Oh, and to the people reading who only offer a like, could I tempt a little comment out of you, perhaps? Maybe a reblog? Your author is in need of feeling appreciated :)

Previous chapters - One  Two  Three  Four

Words - 3,576

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed

“It is a pity, Ezekiel, that your club voted down on the idea of you supplying us with the product, but this does not mean we shall not continue to press ahead with it.”  

EZ closed his eyes for a few seconds, a wave of cold, biting anger rising within him. Of course, what Soledad wanted, Soledad got. And she wanted her product cut with fentanyl, doubling the club’s risk, except with none of the payoff they would receive from organising the supply. He knew it was bad when she’d called him personally, rather than relaying the message to Miguel Galindo in his role as intermediatory between the two groups. When she wanted to be nothing but a hundred percent clear, she always did reach out personally, though.

The head of the LNG might have been tiny, but lord, she was mighty.  

“Message understood,” EZ spoke, each word almost bitten as they passed over his lips. “Until next time.” Hanging up, he hurled his phone across the clubhouse in a fit of rage, a couple of glasses following. It was all their fault, the sets of eyes that watched him, expectant for an answer. “She’s going ahead with it anyway, so our risk is doubled, and we get no pay out from it. I hope you’re all fucking happy with the gutless choices you made. Every single one of you bar Nestor, all lacking in spine.”  

“EZ, that ain’t fair,” Bishop spoke up. “Truly, you shouldn’t have approached her before you did us, given her the idea she could have easily cut us out from, which is exactly what she did.” In his naivety, green as he was in some respects in dealing with a cartel as he navigated his way through being president of an MC, of course, EZ was bound to make the kind of mistakes Bishop wouldn’t have. He needed to see here that this was one of them.  

And beneath his rage, EZ did know it, which is what caused his fury to pulse even whiter hot, knowing it was his fuck up.  

“How is it gonna be more of a risk, though?” Hank interjected with. “You said you’d got a chemist organised.”

EZ’s head shot round to look at him sharply. “One she didn’t mention to me she’d be using. We have no power over how this will be being controlled here, so that’s where the risk lies. What else do you need fucking spelling out for you tonight, huh?”  

Hank left it there, nodding in the wake of his president’s vented venom, venom he continued to let pour. Everyone received a yelling at from a highly irate EZ, his tirade only coming to an end when he felt something soft brush his leg, a wet nose pressing into his hand. Looking down, he saw his faithful pitbull sitting at his feet, her tail wagging, eyes pleading with him not to shout any longer. Sally was perhaps the only thing he had close to him who could calm his rage.  

He was so stressed and so worked up, his head was pounding, but the pureness in her big, brown eyes soothed him, EZ jerking his head towards the back of the clubhouse. “Come on, you want food?”

Woof.  

His jaw was still set as he cast a disapproving glance around the room, turning and heading for the stairs. Above the clubhouse, for many years it had just been a mainly disused, dusty old attic. That was until EZ took the gavel and decided to convert it into an apartment, growing tired of life within a trailer. It wasn’t huge, but it was big enough to call home, had a small bathroom and kitchen area, and most importantly, a large bed he could stretch out on, or be able to roll around upon with a girl without ending up on the floor. That last girl had left her underwear there the night before, EZ picking up the small, orange thong from the mess of sheets in the unmade bed and putting it in the trash.  

She was forgettable. She wouldn’t be returning.  

Heading to the kitchenette, he pulled out the large bag of dried dog food, putting the cupful into Sally’s clean bowl and turning to place it on the floor, patting her belly as she scampered over to eat. For himself, he chose a pouch of ready mixed grains and quinoa, mixing it with broccoli and chicken, something simple and quick, since he hadn’t eaten anything close to decent in nutritional content all day. Coffee and tacos were far from it.  

By the time midnight had rolled around, he felt no better, his headache still present despite the Advil he’d taken, Sally curled up in her bed asleep while he lay back listening to music quietly. He needed a distraction from his residual fury, and knew exactly where to go looking for it.  

Camille felt her stomach explode with butterflies when she turned at the top of the pole, seeing EZ beaming up at her from the previously empty seat, the club virtually dead at that time, just twenty-five minutes from closing. She’d been wondering when he’d pop up, and despite the words of warning from her friends, despite Mai’s near unbreakable assumption that he was married, she’d been secretly feeling excitement about when she’d see him again.  

“I see that perfect ass is back to being perfect again,” he commented as she dismounted the pole neatly sauntered over, deciding to call it a night.  

Reaching to the back of the stage where it dropped down and met the back of the bar, she picked up her glass of diet Coke, moving to seat herself next to him. “Yes, all healed very nicely, now.” Sipping her drink, she set her glass down, suddenly having him lean into her space, kissing her softly.  

It made her a little anxious, since Martin advised the girls not to fraternise with anyone they might be dating while out on the floor, that it was a sure-fire way to kill the fantasy from the client's point of view, but Camille didn’t know what he was to her yet. Was he just casual sex? Where they at the beginning of the dating game?  

“Are you hungry?”  

The randomness of his question made her chuckle softly, her face contorting in a way that had him return such. “I could eat.”  

“Good,” he hummed, sipping his beer. “I know a place, open ‘till late to deal with people rolling out of the bars and clubs in search of food. Are you okay with Jamaican food?”

Now, there was something new. “I’ve no idea, I haven’t ever tried it.”  

Forty minutes later, and she was pulling into a parking space behind his bike, EZ waiting while she got out of the car, taking her hand in his and walking her down the street to where the small eatery was located. “So, how was work?”  

Taking her for food, hand holding, inquiring about her day. Yep, maybe this was the beginning of them dating. “Tiring on both counts. Trudi booked me in to give three massages and four electrolysis treatments to do, and then having to grasp a pole all night hasn’t really helped the hand cramps.”

“Well, there go my plans for later.” She couldn’t help but snort with laughter, giving him a little shove against his huge arm when he looked down at her with a wink.  

“There’s nothing wrong with my mouth.”

Her statement made a bolt smoulder right through him, remembering just how amazing she was at blowjobs. Hell, he had to have something to look forward to, and maybe quell the persistence of his headache. Looking at her again, his smile grew, suddenly halting, leaning down to kiss her. “She’s the girl who says all the right things.”  

“I do?” she questioned, EZ continuing to lean down to her diminutive height, her back bending further.  

“Mmm.”

She giggled, her arch continuing, glad of her flexibility. “Mmm?”

“Mmm.” His confirming hum was followed by another kiss, straightening again quickly, taking her hand in his once more. She walked along fizzing on the inside, all hopped up on the brand-new energy, the excitement of it all. As for EZ, everything was going exactly as he wanted it to. Hell, he was even enjoying it on a level that wasn’t tied to him playing games with her, deliberately making himself unavailable for a week, not leaving his phone number so he was the one in control of when he saw her again, keeping her hooked with the token of flowers.  

She was hotter than hell, too. He enjoyed the envious looks he received from passers-by at seeing him with such a stunning woman, it fed the need for his ego to be ever-inflated quite nicely. No more so than when they walked into the establishment with the amazing aromas drifting from the door, Horace, the owner, immediately thrusting a fist across the counter.  

“Ezekiel!” he roared brightly, smiling a mouthful of silver teeth. “How’s it going, my brother? And damn, you didn’t tell me you were dating Pamela Anderson! You slummin’ it down here away from Hollywood, darlin’?”

EZ bumped fists with him, grinning. It hadn’t escaped him, that she very much resembled the famous blonde actress. “Yeah, all good, Horace. This is my girl, Camille.”

Immediately, she widened her eyes while turning to look at him. “I’m your girl?”

“Yeah,” he chirped, leaning in close, kissing her neck several times.  So, there was no wife, then. Surely if there was, he wouldn’t be so open about referring to her as his girl. “Why wouldn’t you be?”

She wanted to say because they still barely knew one another, because it hadn’t been discussed, but the way he looked at her, god, she let herself get swept up by it, the tornado that was EZ and his obvious affection towards her. He noticed it, though, that she looked a little spooked by the rapidity of his statement.  

“Good to meet you, Camille. Imma call you Pam, though!” Horace boomed, clapping his hands together with a loud, raucous laugh. “Now! What are you guys eating?” EZ ordered the jerk chicken and steamed vegetables, Camille looking up at the menu, unsure.  

“What would you recommend for someone who hasn’t sampled Jamaican food before?”  

“Do you like spicy, my darlin’?” Horace asked, heaping jerk chicken into a takeout container.

“I do, but not too much,” she confirmed.

“Then I recommend the stew chicken, with rice and peas.” She took his recommendation, EZ paying him and grabbing a couple of sodas from the fridge before they sat down, Camille taking her first mouthful with a soft noise of appreciation.  

“Oh my god, that’s so good!” she exclaimed, looking very happy. “Thank you, too.”

“You’re welcome,” he began, licking a drip of hot sauce from his lip. “Oh, and I didn’t mean to freak you out or rush things by calling you my girl, it’s just that anything else either felt too much, or too casual. We don’t have to be official or anything, so don’t panic. I’m like my name, easy.” The tone of her eyebrow raise earned her a soft foot to the shin under the table. “Behave!”

“What?” she exclaimed. “You said it.” They paused, sharing a look before falling into laughter. Official, unofficial, whatever it was, she was enjoying it immensely. He was the nicest, most attentive guy she’d dated in a while. Once they were done eating, they returned to her place, Camille thinking they’d head right on through to the bedroom, EZ surprising her by taking a seat on her couch.  

“Can I be a pain and request a coffee, please?” he asked, Camille leaning to kiss his head.

“That isn’t being a pain, of course, you can. How’d you take it?”

“One sugar and the tiniest splash of milk. If you by chance have any dairy free, that’d be awesome. I got this fucking headache, and dairy always seems to make them worse,” he revealed, his eyebrows knitting together.  

“Yeah, I have almond milk in the fridge. It makes much nicer smoothies than regular. And protein shakes, they go all thick...” she began, EZ chiming in with her.

“Like a McDonald’s shake!” they both spoke at the same time, Camille nodding vigorously, heading back through the lounge and into her kitchen, finding her guest had decided to follow after a few moments, hindering her progress around grabbing mugs and tipping coffee grinds into the machine by having him clutching her waist as he kissed the side of her neck.  

“You’re hampering me here, Ezekiel,” she complained lightly, switching the machine on, the element hissing into life, EZ finally letting go and leaning back against the counter. “So, I didn’t get to ask you how your day was? How was the shifting of many, many tonnes of metal?”  

Of course, she wasn’t to know that his illegal activities far outweighed any kind of work he did around the scrap yard. Few did. He wasn’t about to reveal that he’d ridden to a meet in order to negotiate some kind of truce with the Sons that morning, his terms clear. Back down, allow the heroin to flow freely through their turf, or feel the weight of the Mayans continue to bear down upon them. Chibs Telford didn’t intimidate him.  

He also couldn’t reveal to her that his wife, the famously fearsome former IRA foot soldier turned arms dealer very much did, EZ instructing everyone to run checks from then onwards upon any vehicle they happen to climb behind the wheel of, or motorcycle they mounted, since he knew well Abigail Telford’s penchant for making vehicles of those who displeased her explode.  

She might not have been a member of the club, but she was, by extension and marriage to the president of the mother charter, a very, very lethal asset to the Sons. He also knew he didn’t need the weight of the army coming for his club, should he decide to make the iron lady of Charming disappear in a pre-emptive move to thwart that possible threat.  

No, EZ definitely couldn’t reveal much about the day that had begun with him getting up at 4am to deal with the mother charter of the Sons, and ended up with him having his idea swiped out from under him by the cartel he and his club ran heroin for. Even if he could, he wouldn’t. There would always be a part of himself that would remain mysterious to her, without Camille ever actually knowing it.  

“It was tiring,” he began in answer, stifling a genuine yawn, “productive, though.” She wondered to herself what he’d truly been up to, those thoughts over his illegal activities never far from her mind, but perhaps clouded enough by how happy she felt while she was around him to not let the fact he was a criminal bother her more than it did. She then remembered back to her chat with her friends.  

“Oh, before I forget! I don’t have your phone number, and I’ve been meaning to ask for it,” she put to him, watching him roll his eyes and cover his face with his hands for a moment. Her heart thudded sharply, scared for a moment, wondering if his reaction was because of her asking that question, before he emerged, cringing slightly.  

“I’m such a dick, I never even thought to leave it for you. God, what an idiot! I guess I’m enjoying myself too much and overlooking silly little things like that.” She was fooled completely by his self-deprecating reply, EZ pulling his burner phone from his pocket, and not the cell everyone else contacted him on. They were indistinguishable but for a carefully placed nick on the end by the charging jack on the burner one. He guessed he needed to give her something here.  

Moving back to the lounge with a cup of coffee each, he recited the number, requesting Camille call him so he could save hers too, making her melt completely by what he saved her as after turning the screen. Beautiful girl. He changed it to simply read ‘C’ when she wasn’t watching. They sat at opposite ends of the couch talking, EZ being very attentive and rubbing her feet for her, Camille making him laugh with her little observations from her evening at work.  

It was one of those times where he felt himself slip and actually enjoy her with no agenda. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her, he very much did, but he liked what she, and manipulating her could do for him much more than any feelings of sincerity toward her. Then, just for a little flash of a moment, he wondered why the hell that was.  

“Sorry, too hard?” he asked, backing off the pressure he administered to the centre of her foot with his thumbs when he noticed her wince.  

“No, no it’s great. I think it’s something else. Excuse me a moment.” Getting up, she kissed his head on the way past, EZ giving her hand a squeeze. When she returned five minutes later, she didn’t look pleased. “Well, there goes my plan to bounce you around the bed through the early hours. I just got my freakin’ period.”  

He crinkled his nose a little, poking out his bottom lip at her, Camille never seeing sympathy look so adorable. “Come up here, come on.” He patted his chest, Camille moving to lie on top of him, EZ holding her, sliding one hand down to her lower abdomen. “Heat, to help with the cramping.”  

She smiled, receiving a forehead kiss, wondering how the hell she’d gotten so lucky with him. “You’re great, you know that?”  

“I’m not bad.”  

Yes, he was. Knowing that he wouldn’t be getting laid by her that night, he lay there being attentive for a while, letting her settle before pulling his cell out and discreetly sending a text. Dina, one of his regulars would likely still be at the clubhouse, since people didn’t usually start leaving until 4am on any given Friday or Saturday night.  

‘I’m here, yeah. Got Tranq all over me, so hurry up and save me! I need daddy to come make me bite down on his belt while he’s nailing me from behind.'  

He felt his cock twitch at just the thought of doing that to her, sending her a reply.

‘I’ll be there at about three. Just got something to sort out. Actually, send me a text in twenty minutes. Something else nasty, you filthy little bitch.’

Placing his phone down, he returned his arm around Camille, kissing her head a few times as she snuggled into him more, continuing to watch the movie she’d put on. He wasn’t really interested but feigned it all the same. For the next twenty minutes, at least.  

“Ahhh, shit. I gotta go, sorry, baby,” he spoke, after receiving a picture of Dina, her fingers splaying herself open with the message ‘can’t wait until you’re right here’ accompanying it. “That was my sister-in-law. Apparently, Angel isn’t home yet so I gotta go find him. It’s kind of a regular thing with them.”

“Oh, okay,” she spoke softly, a little sad she wouldn’t have his warmth to cuddle up to. Her heart went out to Angel’s wife, worried, with no idea where her husband was. What a man to be married to, she thought. Except, of course, Angel was nothing short of an adoring husband, one who was currently showing his beloved wife exactly how much he’d missed her while she’d been on tour. Camille wasn’t to know that, of course. “When will I see you again?”

“Erm, not sure,” he spoke, standing up, shoving his feet back into his boots. “I’ll call you, though. Promise. Actually, can you get out of work on Wednesday night? I could take you out for dinner, if you like?”

Standing to join him, she reached up on her tiptoes, kissing under his chin, EZ granting her his lips, tickling her sides softly. “I’d really like that!”

“Alright, well I’ll call you about it. Want me to come tuck you in before I leave?”  

Her eyes were soft like her smile, kissing him again. “I appreciate it, but no. I’m going to stay up and watch the rest of the movie before me and my disgruntled womb hit the sack.”

He laughed at disgruntled womb, enjoying another lingering kiss before leaving. Fifteen minutes later and he was striding through the clubhouse, seeing Dina at the bar, Hank next to her, still trying his luck. EZ simply breezed in, threw her over his shoulder and continued walking, his brother looking put out as his president turned back to him with a cocky eyebrow raise. “I’m taking her upstairs to fuck her brains out, just in case you need that spelling out for you, too.”  

Hank got up and left, wondering what the hell had happened to the EZ he used to know. As for the man himself, he was taking off his belt, kneeling over Dina as she sat back on his bed, taking the leather at either end, yanking it to make it snap.  

“Open your mouth.” Her jaw dropped immediately. “Mmm, good girl.”  

Yes. For the most part, EZ was perfectly fine with the man he’d become, even if others weren’t.  

[waterfallofspace]

#84 for M/orizawa. Either Mori or Fukuzawa can be sneezing; just wreck someone please 😊

Thank you for another request!! I will try to fulfill the urge for wrecking~~ I chose M/ori to be the one sneezing because I find the idea of F/ukuzawa tormenting him ADORABLE, for such a ‘proper’ man to be reduced to practically a schoolgirl level taunting. Though I apologize in advance for their voices possibly being slightly out of character. It’s my first time attempting them, and their dynamics are still a touch new to me, so hopefully it’s still enjoyable for you! (M/ori is a touch easier for me, but I enjoyed the challenge either way, just hope the results are to your liking~ :D) 2.3k words (a touch long, sorry!) prompt 84, story under cut! 84. “You know that I’m allergic to that, right?” (Slight violence implication/threat, though no violence actually occurs, just in case anyone doesn’t like that! Also definite spoilers for parts of B/SD season 3, so proceed with caution!) 

~~~~~~~

As Fukuzawa sits in the decaying chair, he allows his mind to wander back to the last time he was in this room with him. A ‘rescue’ mission where no one needed rescuing, and a plan set in motion that had been fated from the start. The door creaks, and he finds his hand gripping his sword before he can even process the movement. 

“Easy there, Silver Wolf.”

“You and I both know I stopped going by that title long ago, Mori. As have you yours. No longer underground doctor, instead, leader of the Port Mafia. Didn’t bring backup?”

“You flatter me Fukuzawa, and yet its chased away as quick as it came by an insult. Of course I didn’t bring anyone, not when I was so specifically requested not to by the great head of the Armed Detective Agency. Climbed the rankings well in the public eye, though I guess it’s just as Master Natsume planned all along.”

 “Certainly appears to be the case.”

Both men stand facing each other, tension rippling through their bodies as Mori attempts to feign nonchalance. Fukuzawa makes no such attempts, letting his discontempt seep through each movement, perhaps as a way to disguise something else entirely. His hand twitches towards his sword as Mori makes a sound, quickly halting the movement as the wet sniffle seems to echo through the abandoned hall.

“Excuse me- ah’iNGxt-! hH’HnGkt-!”

“I see you still have your taste for control.”

“My my, quite brash today, aren’t we? Seems that hasn’t changed either, though the humour in your tone is one I can’t say is familiar to me. eH’knGT-! Apologies, something seems to be… irritating me.”

Fukuzawa lets out a faint huff, a thinly veiled attempt to cover the smile that nearly broke its way onto his stern face. Thankfully for him, Mori is too preoccupied scrubbing at his nose to notice.

“ah’hHknGT-! eh’NXT’chh-!”

“Something the matter, Mori?”

“Nothing of importance. So, you called this little rendezvous, and in this place no less, was there a reason behind it?”

A pause settles uncomfortably in the room as Fukuzawa takes a second to calm his tone before it gives away his motives too quickly. ‘Ease into it, as if it were a mission. He’s the leader of the Port Mafia now after all, no longer just your rival, but the enemy of your organization.’

“I wanted the privacy to talk freely. This place came to mind, so I checked it out. What with all the dust floating around, I deemed it unused for months, and thus safe for our purposes.” 

“heH’enKNXgt-! I see. This says ‘unused’ to you, Fukuzawa? You must be slipping in your old age, this place has quite noticeably been cleaned recently.” 

“Yes, but only by me. To make sure it wasn’t too distracting. This place was dusty when it was used, I deemed it necessary to provide a light cleaning to ensure the meeting went as planned. Even I would have been… irritated… with the amount from before.” 

He doesn’t miss the way Mori practically flinches at the word ‘cleaning’. A smile starts to burn against his mouth as Fukuzawa bites his tongue lightly to keep it in check. He was always a man of a cold expression, but the sentiment never did extend itself below the surface. 

“Cleaning you say… eh’KnGt’chh-! What exactly did you use for said cleaning..?”

“Just a product I picked up at a local store. Not a high quality item, but it served its purpose.”

‘At least, it seems to be. Your nose is growing quite flushed already, Mori. Seems the reaction is even more intense then I had remembered.’ A light fluttering starts in his chest, quickly repressed as Fukuzawa attempts to ignore the way his breath catches right along with Mori’s.

“hiH’dnGT’chh-!”

“I understand if you wish to be sure of its satisfaction. I will give a demonstration of its effectiveness.”

“W- wait-”

The warning is pointedly ignored, Fukuzawa reaching onto a nearby desk and holding up the bottle. He reaches towards a shelf to his left, letting the sprayer release the soft mist into the air, maybe missing the shelf by just a touch.

A morbid sort of satisfaction settles in his gut, lips twitching into a smirk at the way Mori physically recoils from the spray, though he quickly replaces it with stone once more. Across the hall, a gloved hand rushes to Mori’s nose, a faint growl escaping his throat. ‘I don’t believe that was even intentional.’

“knGT’shh-! eh’dNXgt-! You know I’m allergic to that, right? hEH’knGT’shh-! hAH’INGT’schh-! ” 

“It had completely slipped my mind. I don’t normally store such personal details about the Port Mafia, unless it seems relevant.”

Mori twitches slightly, gloved hand still pressed firmly against his nose, seemingly doing nothing to quell the burning quickly spreading throughout his sinuses. Fukuzawa can’t help the smile starting to shine in his eyes, letting them narrow as if in deep concentration in an effort to conceal it. 

“Had it now? C- hEH’nnXGT-! eh’KNgxtt’shh-! Convenient, isn’t it. You just happen to pick the exact brand that- that… haH’INGTT’shh-!”

“I grabbed the first one I saw. Is someone of your standing going to be unable to continue the meeting because of it?” 

The only response Fukuzawa receives is in the form of a watery look. Mori seems to be attempting to study him further, however his nose has other plans, a gasp prying its way out of his mouth as he ducks back into his hands. Fukuzawa clenches his teeth in response, another futile attempt to prevent the smile from seeping out across his cheeks. 

“ihh’gNXT’chh-! eh’kNGt-! heHhh-! hH’KnxGt’shh-! heH’INGGT’shhoo-!”

Mori’s pale face seems to illuminate the dark room as a blush spreads out from his cheeks, barely noticeable if it weren’t for the pink hue adorning his nose being a matching tint. A hint of a laugh works its way out of Fukuzawa before he can suppress it, Mori turning to him with a ghost of a smile painted across his own face. Before long his eyes gloss over once more, gloved hand fanning his face as his eyelashes flutter.

“Ap- apologies… I fear I may… I think- think I need… I’mgonna-! haHhhH-!”

“You fear you may…?”

“hAH’aEShh’oo-! heH’KNNGshhh’oo-! hH’keschh’uu-! huhh… hiHHhh-! hAH’RSHHH’oo-! kESCHhh’oo-! ah’yyiishhh’oo-! hAH’IESSH’uu-!”

“What a display.”

“hH’mmFSHH’oo-! heTCHuh’shoo-!”

“Truly an unsettling lack of control, Mori.”

“AHh’knggshhh’uu-! aeeiishhh’oo-! kesschhh’oo-!” 

“I expected more. I mean, the leader of the Port Mafia-”

“hAH’EIISHH’uhh-! Guhh… heHHh-! hehh’IESHH’shoo-!”

“-reduced to such a watery mess so easily. Do your-”

“knNgT’choo-! eH’DNgxt’choo-! haAhH-! hH’keSCHH’oo-! hh’YYIESHH’oo-!”

“-enemies know of this overwhelming weakness?” 

Fukuzawa waits for a retort, eye roll, glare, or even a scalpel aimed for his throat. Nothing comes, Mori remains as before, eyes snapped shut, hands glued to his face, whole body convulsing as he dips again and again. ‘He’s practically trembling with the need to sneeze… perhaps I underestimated his sensitivity to such an allerg-’ Fukuzawa’s thoughts are quickly cut off as Mori drops to his knees, aiming only for the floor, his hands moving to brace himself as the fit continues to wrack his frail form. 

“Yo- hEH’INNGT’choo-! You knew- hH’AIESHH’oo-! That this wou- eh’RSHHH’uu-! This- hah’yyESHH’oo-! kESCHH’oo-! This woul- ah’DNGXT’choo-!”

“Are you alright?”

“Do I- heHZSHH’oo-! knGTSHHH’oo-! hAH’INNGGT’choo-! Do I see- hH’KNXG’SHH’oo-! heHHhh-! hAIYYSHH’oo-! Seem alright? hHAISHH’oo!”

Stone faced as he may be, Fukuzawa is not without conscience, and watching Mori’s desperate attempts at finishing a sentence, ‘Let alone drawing a full breath with the rate these are coming at…’ is enough to let a steady flow of guilt start dripping into his heart.

Reaching into his pocket he retrieves his handkerchief, kneeling beside the frantically sneezy man and holding it out. Mori seems to hesitate, glancing at his gloves, and peeling them off before accepting the offering.

A spark jumps from the contact, unwelcome emotion flooding his brain as Mori’s fingers graze his hand. Skin touches skin, sending chills up his arm and down his spine. Fukuzawa nearly resists the urge to pull the hitching man into his arms, ‘What kind of thought is that- He’s your enemy, pull yourself together. You only feel bad that it was this severe, that’s all.’ 

“heh’kNGshhh’oo-! aH’EIISHH’oo-!”

“Can you stand?” 

“I ca- hH’KNGSHH’uu-! I can try.”

Fukuzawa watches the attempt for a minute, concern starting to form on the outskirts of his mind as Mori trembles from the effort. Finally he can’t take watching anymore, and drapes the man's arm across his shoulders, dragging him to his feet.

“dTSHhh’oo-! hH’YIZZSHH’uu-! hH’NNGXT’choo-! knNGT’choo-! heh’inGT’choo-!”

The sneezes have Mori wavering again, even with Fukuzawa supporting his weight, so he comes up with another plan. ‘Forgive me for this, and please, if you can, forget it as soon as it’s come to an end.’ With that, he lets his arms wrap around Mori’s shaking frame, scooping him up in an uncomfortable hold.

Mori lets out a sharp gasp, scalpel being pulled from his jacket in the blink of an eye, but the blade never touches Fukuzawa. Instead, the two remain frozen, scalpel mere inches from his throat, Mori’s face pasted with an awful smirk.

“You in- huhHH-! intending to meet your end today, Fukuzawa? This is c- hEhHhh-! certainly an interesting way to go about it.” 

Before Fukuzawa has to offer a response, Mori’s eyes flutter once more, nose twitching as he attempts to duck into his own shoulder, instead only succeeding in pressing his nose against Fukuzawa’s chest before the sneezing begins.

“hH’MMFYYSHH’oo-! mMMIZSSHh’oo-! heH’EMMPFF’shoo-!”

Taking advantage of Mori’s lack of concentration, Fukuzawa removes them from the allergen soaked room, quickly relieving himself of the man in his arms as soon as they reach fresh air. Mori huffs lightly at being dropped, but manages to catch himself easily into a soft kneel. He stands on his own, though Fukuzawa takes a step nearer as he notices Mori still slightly trembling at the exertion.  

“Well that was raahhh-! hAH’GSHHH’oo-! Rather unpleasant.”

“I wasn’t aware you’d be allergic.” 

“I was ac- ehHAAISHHH’oo-! Actually referring to being so informally lifted.”

“Ah. Unpleasant indeed, just as much so as necessary. You seemed unable to stop.”

“Not like you t- to… hehH’RRUSHhh’oo-! To forget such an important detail, Fukuzawa.” 

There’s a mischief in Mori’s eyes that Fukuzawa recognizes instantly, sending shivers down his spine full of unease and… something else he’d rather not dwell on. 

“Not like you to stay in a room where you’ll be reduced to such a vulnerable state, Mori.”

“I suppose you’ve got me there, haven’t you?”

Mori offers a smirk, but there’s a light in his eyes that Fukuzawa finds himself unexplainably drawn to. ‘I haven’t felt this in so long… I haven’t seen that light in so long eithe-’ Once more his thoughts are interrupted, this time by a feeling he’d nearly forgotten the sensation of. His eyes trace down to Mori’s head, resting softly against his shoulder as he holds the handkerchief to his nose, sniffling headily into it.

At first Fukuzawa’s hand tenses back onto his sword, almost every fibre of his being telling him to strike fast. Almost. Instead, almost without thought, he finds his own head resting against Mori’s.

Something bone chilling ripples through him, a deep unsettling feeling he seems to get every time they’re in the same room. Almost as if Mori’s darkness is calling to his own, dragging a part of him he’d rather bury to the surface. But something else joins it, a soft light shining through his eyes, as if Mori’s darkness was finally giving it the space it needed to reveal itself.

For a second, just a second, Fukuzawa lets himself consider staying like this. He doesn’t miss the way Mori’s heartbeat seems to have sped, or the sensation of his own joining the race.

‘And still, despite whatever this may be, I must remember my place. He is nothing more than my enemy, and the enemy of those I care most for.’ With that, he pulls away, Mori quickly readjusting to press the handkerchief against his nose once more, cheshire smile painted over his face once more.

“I suppose thanks are in order for the consultation.”

“I don’t believe we ever actually got to that part, did we Fukuzawa? We could always discuss it now… hH’INGSHHH’oo-! Excuse me.” 

“No need, I’m sure we’ll be more than capable of handling it ourselves. So I guess instead of thanks I should offer apologies for the reaction. ”

“I’m still a doctor, I can handle said reaction. As for the offered thanks, none is required. A simple request is all I ask in return for all the trouble.”

“And what would that be?”

Fukuzawa allows his stern expression to resume its rightful place. Mori’s smirk does the same as he glances at Fukuzawa, raising the handkerchief once more to catch another harsh- 

“heH’ITZZSHH’oo-! AH’RUSHHH’oo-!”

-Before responding, voice once again calm and collected, a hint of something hidden below the words, just as it had always been with him.

“That we meet again at a later date so I may return this. Washed, of course.” 

The stern expression softens one last time, the flicker of a smile lighting up the dark evening as Mori matches it with a gentle look of his own. One Fukuzawa is well aware was used for show, to set his enemy off-kilter, and yet… ‘And yet, I still feel as though it might have a hint of something real.’ The only response he offers is a slight bow, his face cold once more, turning and walking away from the old clinic, and the old memories. 

He allows his mind to drift, just a little, as he hears another set of sneezes echo out from behind him, along with a nearly silent sentiment.

“iHH’KnGxt’choo-! kesschh’oo-! Ahh’yesshh’oo-! See you then, Fukuzawa.” 

‘I’ll be counting on it, Mori.’ 

[twistedroseytoesy]

the washing song

crack idea of aduce, epel, and my mc, Rosa, washing their faces for the first night that vil gave them the order to do so. using the dwarves washing song from snow white.

Rosa, ace, deuce, and Epel walked into the large vanity bathroom of the decrepit dorm. Rosa placed the products down on the counter as the other guys stared at the products. “uhh so how do we do this?” Deuce asked scratching his head

Epel groaned, “there’s gotta be more stuff here than what’s needed to plant an orchard!” Rosa looked down at one of the products noticing its differences from the other products. The bottle was more like that of a potion bottle, with a grainy old dusty texture on it. Realizing that one of the ghosts was trying to pull a prank once again. She looked over the potion and popped the cork off before hearing a faint melody from the neck of the bottle. Rosa smiles before pouring some onto her hands. “Come on guys. It’s not too hard. Let’s start off with watching our hands a bit. Here.” She passes the bottle to deuce, he shrugs and pours some onto his hands scrubbing it in. The others follow suit before a giggle was heard as a ghost floated through the ceiling. Rosa waved him off before turning back to the vanity. A sudden melody being hummed by her and somehow continuing to play in their heads as some lyrics started to spill from their lips.

Rosa: Come on, now men. Deuce: How hard do you scrub? Ace: Will our whiskers shrink? epel: Do you get in the tub? Ace: Do you have to wash where it doesn't show? Rosa: Now, now, don't get excited. Here we go.

the others looked confused at the words spilling from their lips, and Rosa just smiles, before motioning toward the full sinks.

Rosa: Step up to the tub - 'Tain't no disgrace Just pull up your sleeves and get 'em in place Then scoop up the water and rub it on your face And go brrr, brrr, brrr!

She wiped the water from her eyes as she laughed as deuce followed and ace laughed. Epel looked upset huffing and turning away. Rosa grabbed a special face scrub and squeezed some into her hands.

Rosa: Pick up the soap - now, don't try to bluff Work up a lather, an' when ya got enough Get your hands full of water, ya snort and ya snuff And go brrr, brrr, brrr!

she watched as ace and deuce followed her advice splashing along to the melody only they could hear.

Rosa: Ya douse and douse Ya scrub and scrub Ya sputter and splash all over the tub You may be cold and wet when you're done But ya gotta admit it's good clean fun!

Rosa said the last part looking pointedly at Epel who gave a Hurumph sound and sat on a stool next to the large bathtub in the room. She felt some water hit her back and quickly splashed back at ace as he snickered.

Rosa: So splash all ya like - 'Tain't any trick As soon as you're through you'll feel mighty slick Epel: Bunch of old nanny goats, ya make me sick Goin' brrr, brrr, brrr

Rosa and ace shared a mischievous glance before whispering to deuce about their plan. If they were required to wash each night then to was Epel, even if there would be a fight. Deuce approached the purple haired man before hooking his arms under the screeching man’s armpits as ace wrangled his legs. “oi!!! What to yer think yer doin?!” Let go!” Epel howled as the music started up agian.

Rosa: Now scrub good and hard, it can't be denied That he'll look mighty cute as soon as he's dried Ace/deuce: But it's good for the soul and it's good for the hide to go Epel: Brrr, brrr, brrr!

Once Epel had had his face scrubbed, washed and dried they let him go, he turned to them fuming his pen already glowing with magic. Suddenly the music cut and each of the freshmen were a bit startled as the potion ceased so suddenly. Before Epel or the other could recover Rosa spoke up. “come on, that was fun wasn’t it? I loved that song from a movie I watched growing up. Thought it would be better than trying a boring old wash. Sorry about the rough handling Epel, you need to be more open to cleaning up though.” The Pomefiore student grumbled before pushing past her. “next time just… no singing ok?” He grumbled before stomping down the hallway

Ace, Deuce, and Rosa shared a look before laughing loudly together. Oh ya, that potion is going to be fun to use in the future.

[undecadent]

                                            ODE  TO  THE  MAN  OVERLY INVESTED IN                                            THE  PERSONAL  LIVES OF  STRANGERS.

GENERAL DETAILS.

BIRTH  NAME:  unknown. LEGAL  NAME:  cesar  de  estrada NICKNAME(S):  ces,  juli AGE:  forty  three ETHNICITY:  guatemalan GENDER:  cis  man PRONOUNS:  he/him ORIENTATION:  bisexual OCCUPATION:  horror - mystery novelist SPEAKING VOICE AND ACCENT:  somewhat  raspy,  with  a  southern  lilt. SPOKEN LANGUAGES:  spanish,  english,  french,  conversational  german

PERSONALITY.

LABEL(S):  the  lothario.  the  incompetent  sleuth.  the  oddball.  the  gatsby. POSITIVE TRAITS:  gregarious,  devoted,  observant,  self - assured,  acute NEGATIVE TRAITS:  enigmatic,  obsessive,  apathetic,  sardonic,  rapacious VICES:  greed,  gluttony,  anger VIRTUES:  fortitude,  charity INSPIRATION:   hercule peirot,  jay  gatsby  ( great  gatsby ),  officer  k  ( blade  runner  2049 ),  tony  wendice  ( dial  m  for  murder ),  benoit  blanc  ( knives  out )

SPARKNOTES                                              INT  –  OUR FATHER WHO ART IN HEAVEN

the  dusty  nowhere  surrounding  ohio  is  where  cesar  grew  up,  a  wooded  edge  that  kisses  right  up  against  town  and  teeters  on  county  lines.  he  was  an  odd  child,  born  to  a  peculiar  family  that  lived  in  a  little  yellow  house  on  the  edge  of  a  bluebonnet  field.  for  years,  these  hues  of  pallid  yellow  and  lavender  paint  his  life━though  they  only  paled  as  the  years  marched  onward.  his  hometown  is  one  that’s  never  felt  quite  new,  rather,  there’s  always  been  a  tinge  of  the  past.  like  this  old  mining  town,  ces  was  run  down  sooner  than  he  knew.

the  sacred  walls  of  his  little  yellow  house  are  where  he’d  tell  his  first  lies.  crosses  nailed  in  each  room,  wallpaper  cracking  with  temperature  and  peeling  away  at  the  edges.  he  spent  his  childhood  wondering  if  it  was  always  like  this.  soil-covered  hands  pressed  together,  he  would  pray  for  the  unfortunate  children  down  the  road  who’d  just  lost  their  gran.  god,  ces  would  say,  but  he  knew  he  was  speaking  to  his  father.  the  shadow  in  the  door  frame  that  stood  in  that  small  creak  of  light,  a  lean  figure  stretches  out  as  if  he  did  not  see  him  there.  oh,  please  bring  them  good  graces  in  this  time.  let  him  take  the  pain  from  their  shoulders.  learning  to  be  a  ghost  in  his  own  home.

taught  to  behave  like  a  young  man  ought  to,  taught  to  take  the  deer  by  the  antlers  but  not  to  look  it  in  the  eyes.  ces  knew  only  to  pray  for  others,  only  to  care  for  the  world  around  him,  rather  than  the  bruises  on  his  back,  or  the  grazes  on  his  knees━or  his  mother  who  left  when  he  was  too  young  to  know.  the  woman  who  now  lives  with  her  new  husband,  and  kids━leaving  ces  and  his  siblings  with  him.

he’s  just  a  child  that  first  time  pa  takes  ces  and  he  watches  him  wash  the  sinners  clean.  he  watched  them  cry  out  hallelujah  and  praise  jesus,  praise  his  pa.  it  was  his  pa’s  hands  on  them,  not  god’s.  pa  tells  him  that  god  is  in  him  too,  and  this  will  be  the  first  and  last  time  a  reflection  he  recognizes  ripples  across  the  water.  

                                          EXT  –  OUR FATHER WHO ART BURIED IN THE YARD

god  is  in  you,  boy.  so  cesar  let  pa  take  him  to  the  water’s  edge  again  once  he  was  a  bit  older.  he  can  still  hear  the  hum  of  the  hymnals  even  now.  do  you  hear  the  word  of  god?  have  you  believed  another  gospel?  ces  looked  just  like  the  woman  his  pa  hated  most,  and  this  would  be  his  downfall.  so  pa  plunges  him,  washes  cesar  of  the  sins  not  committed  at  his  hand,  but  rather,  those  of  his  mother.  because  if  she  could  not  be  here,  he  would  take  her  place.  shoved  beneath  the  frigid  surface  by  the  hands  of  his  pa,  under  the  guise  that  god  made  him  do  it,  sending  his  own  son  thrashing  like  some  wild  thing  his  pa  once  claimed  he  could  tame.

pa  considers  it  only  a  miracle  of  god  that  ces  hadn’t  drowned  that  day.  he  returned  to  his  siblings,  sopping  wet  on  the  porch  of  the  little  yellow  house  with  the  peeling  wallpaper.  ces  began  to  pick  at  it  when  no  one  was  looking,  chipping  away  the  watery  gray  floral  print  to  unveil  the  wood  paneling  beneath  it.  life  is  stolen  of  its  color  but  at  least  he’s  not  alone  in  his  suffering.  not  that  it  makes  it  any  better  that  his  siblings  are  subject  to  his  father’s  delusions.  ces  still  spat  out  his  morning  prayers,  but  he  started  spending  more  time  sitting  on  the  roof  with  the  boy  from  across  the  way  when  everyone  else  had  gone  to  bed.  it  doesn’t  matter  if  the  sky  is  starless,  so  long  as  ces  doesn’t  have  to  feel  so  alone  in  his  existence.

it  stays  like  this  for  a  long  while.  seeing  his  little  sister  off  to  the  schoolhouse  each  morning,  and  making  a  point  of  not  eyeing  the  brown  and  green  glass  bottles  that  she  strings  up  on  the  tree  in  the  front  yard  like  liquor  store  wind  chimes.  his  father  isn’t  the  man  ces  thought  him  to  be.  he  considers  that  maybe  he  was  always  like  this  and  that  ces  was  the  last  to  realize,  the  last  one  to  find  complacency  in  his  disillusionment.  and  that  only  makes  it  worse  so  he  pledges  that  one  day,  he’d  leave  that  little  yellow  house.  that  ces  would  rebuild  himself  like  an  old  factory  town  and  come  back  two  times  better  than  before.  had  only  he’d  known  he  would  always  be  that  odd  little  boy,  with  the  odd  family  in  the  yellow  house  on  the  edge  of  town.

he  would  plead  for  the  forgiveness  of  sins  not  yet  committed  &  ask  pa  to  give  him  mercy  in  all  his  cruelty.  ces  asked  him  to  look  him  in  the  eyes.  and  yet,  time  could not  rob  ces  of  one  thing.  he  may  be  a  bastard  but  he  was  his  mother’s  child.  and  much  like  her,  ces  would curdle  like  old  milk  in  the  sun.  it  needn’t  matter  that  his  brother  is  the  first  to  witness  the  cracks  in  ces’s  foundation.  ces loved  him  enough  to  dig  a  grave  for  the  both  of  them.  he  was  his  sacrifice.  but  the  very  moment  ces  set  foot  in  the  limelight,  he  fractured  ---  cracked  a  fine,  ugly  shade.  he’s  better  a  shadow  than  he  is  a  person  so  ces  retreated  into  it,  embraced  this  darkness  as  a  familial  right.  a  black  sheep,  in  part  of  his  own  making.  except  ces  is  no  sheep,  he  merely  wears  the  skin  of  one.  

HEADCANONS

critically  acclaimed  fictional  horror - mystery  writer  taking  inspiration  from  the  works  of  agatha  christie,  he’s  a  novelist  most  proficient  in  the  murder  mystery  genre. 

culminated  a  bunch  of  fuckin  lies  about  himself,  a  lot  of  the  ‘truths’  about  himself  are  fabrications.  srry  not  srry 

worked  briefly  as  a  privately  contracted  sleuth  in  up  until  a  case  that  would  inevitably  end  his  career  in  his  early  thirties;  he  couldn’t  solve  the  mystery  and  as  it  turns  out,  he’s  far  better  at  writing  them. 

common  arthouse  and  matinee  enjoyer.  going  to  see  a  north  by  north  west  showing  at  9:30 am  type  vibe. 

gatsby  if  he  was  a�� short  king;  a  myth  of  a  man,  you  might  not  know  his  face  but  you  certainly  know  his  name  and  that  much  will  suffice.

to  sum  up  his  immense  family  trauma,  cesar  is  the  product  of  a  ( later divulged )  affair,  his  father  may  or  may  not  have  killed  his  mother  because  of  it  and  instead  convinced  cesar  and  his  siblings  that  she  moved  away  to  live  with  her ‘ new  family ’.  was  raised  very  southern  evangelical  christian  which  is  ofc  a  demonstrated  theme  in  his  fictional  works.

no  one  really  knows  how  ces  got  his  start  in  writing,  nor  how  he  came  to  achieve  such  great  success  but  some  theorize  and  others  know  that  he  got  his  start  as  an  avid  diarist  ━  chronicaling  his  day  to  day  as  an  nyu  student. his  first  published  work  is  meant  to  be  a  commentary  akin  to  the  work  of  evelyn  waugh,  but  it  rapidly  spiraled  into  a  thinly - veiled  version  of  his  world  with  a  melancholy  tinge: the  foibles  of  the  inner  circle  that  was  never  quite  his  own.  nonetheless,  the  book  was  an  overnight  sucess  and  the  rest  is  history.

[vampireshmampire]

A Hole in the Family Portrait (1/5)

Guillermo is gone, and his absence is so palpable even the new familiar notices. Nandor's so busy moping he might miss his chance find a way to bring him back, and lose him forever.

The camera opens on a young man in his early twenties with dirty blonde hair and wet grey eyes. He shifts in his seat, his smile nervous and his eyes flickering from the camera to the crew.

“Do I just talk at the camera, or? Right.” He clears his throat. “Hi. My name is Rusty. I’m the house familiar. Well, specifically I’m Nadja and Lazlo’s familiar. There’s another vampire here, Nandor? But I don’t see a lot of him.”

Nadja raps her knuckles softly Nandor’s coffin.

“Nandor,” she calls, in a gentle, cajoling voice, “We’re going to go out and eat some people. Do you want to come?”

From within the coffin, comes a short, sharp, muffled “No.”

Nadja glances up at the camera with a worried grimace.

“Come on, Nandor, we’ll find a scary movie theater and chase them when they come out. You like that!”

“No!”

“I live up in the attic, which is kind of cool. I can use the stairmaster as much as I like. There’s no insulation up there so it gets really cold at night, but I bought a space heater, so it’s fine.”

Rusty proudly shows off the little cot and folding card table that have been set up in the attic. The roof walls are pasted with old horror movie posters. He poses in front of Bela Lugosi, imitating his wild eyed stare.

“I’m just really excited to be here.”

-

Nadja and Lazlo look unusually tense. Lazlo is drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair. Nadja picks at the lace on her sleeve.

“Dusty is a good familiar,” she says, flatly.

“Weird name, but he gets the job done. Not hugely bright, but he’s got a good sense of humor.”

Rusty whimpers as he hangs from the chandelier, the step ladder lying toppled below him. Nadja walks into the room and starts to laugh. She calls over her shoulder. Lazlo arrives and they both laugh uproariously. Rusty joins in, his fake laugh cut with fearful sobs.

“And we all need a good laugh right now,” Nadja says with a sigh. “Nandor has been an absolute bore lately--”

A door in the back opens and Rusty walks in carrying a mop and bucket. He stops when he sees the camera crew.

“Oh, uh--”

Nadja and Lazlo turn and glare at him.

“Dusty, we are doing the interview!” Nadja scolds.

“It’s, it’s Rusty, mistress--”

“Get out!” she snaps. “Go! I told you not to interrupt when it’s our turn!”

“Sorry, mistress,” Rusty mumbles as he backs out of the room. Nadja lets out a huge, irritated huff as she faces the camera again.

“You know who never interrupted?” Lazlo says, and Nadja shushes him furiously.

“Don’t!” she hisses. “Or do you want Nandor to sulk on the roof for three days straight again?”

-

Rusty is mopping the front hall. The water in the large bucket is already dark pink, and the puddle of blood stretches across most of the tile.

“Nadja has trouble pronouncing my name,” he says. “I think it’s because of her accent. And Lazlo doesn’t want to make her feel bad about it so he calls me Dusty too. I’m not really sure if Nandor knows my name. He doesn’t really talk to me. Ever.”

Rusty straightens pictures in the fancy room, and looks up as Nandor steps in. The vampire stares at him. The look on his face is complicated--disdainful and irritated, but also pained.

“Hello,” Rusty says politely. “I was just fixing the pictures.”

Nandor continues to stare.

“Um. Do you...need me to do something--?”

Nandor turns on his heel, long coat swirling behind him as he stalks out of the room. Rusty looks at the camera and shrugs helplessly.

-

Nandor is slouching in his seat, fingers gripping the ends of the chair’s arms so hard his already bloodless knuckles are even whiter than usual. He glares sullenly at the camera, his brow furrowed.

He doesn’t move or speak. The silence stretches on, tenser by the second.

Nandor bares his fangs and growls.

-

Colin Robinson looks almost glum.

“At first it was great, you know? Like a non-stop smorgasbord of anger and resentment and self-loathing.”

Colin stands silently in Nandor’s room, glowing eyes fixed on the coffin, mouth open wide.

“But depression is better at sucking out energy than I am. Now it’s all weak and watered down. Plus it gets old, eating the same thing all the time. You know when people ask you, if you had to eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be? Most people say their favorite food, but if you think about it logically, you would want to pick something fairly bland, like oatmeal. Strong flavors would get overwhelming, and you’d get sick of them really quickly. You’d also need to pick something with strong nutritional value. Even if you can still take vitamins, you’d need to take a lot less if you chose something like potatoes. Combined with dairy, they contain almost all the vitamins humans need to survive. That’s why the Irish famine was the Irish Potato Famine; they were already so poor they needed to eat something that could provide--”

-

“The house is really big. It’s hard to keep it all clean, but fortunately there are some places the vampires don’t go a lot, so I don’t have to do those places as often.”

Rusty grins.

“I keep hoping I’ll find a secret passage or something.” His smile falters a little. “But, uh. I don’t.”

Rusty is carefully organizing a large closet. It’s full of garbage bags, boxes of thick rubber gloves, and bottles of bleach, all jumbo-sized.

The voiceover says “I used to live in Brooklyn before this, so I’m not used to having so much space. Especially storage space. There’s so many closets in here, it’s really great. I mean, not up where I am, but it’s still nice to be able to buy in bulk and know I’ll have somewhere to put it.”

“I did find one weird thing. I thought this was just a tapestry or something but when I went to clean behind it--” He pulls the curtain aside, somewhat dramatically. “It’s a little room under the stairs!”

The narrow space is mostly taken up by the bed. There is a desk at the foot of the bed, but so close to it that the chair can’t be pulled out all the way. The walls are rough, unfinished wood, here and there dotted with the corners of paper roughly ripped away.

Rusty sits on the bed and bounces a little.

“Isn’t this cool? It’s way nicer than what I have. Kinda wish they’d let me stay here instead.”

Rusty points at the black tally marks that spread across the wall like mold.

“I think they were keeping someone prisoner in here,” he says, with a half-laugh. “I’m, I’m kidding. They wouldn’t do that. They usually keep people in the basement.”

There is a small pile at the foot of the bed.

“Whoever left did it in a hurry. I found some stuff they left behind. Um, a few pencils and pens, couple postcards...” Rusty holds up a red plastic package and shakes it. “Wet wipes, might take those, they’re really handy. This sweater, found that under the bed.”

He holds the sweater up. It’s covered in dust bunnies, but the beige color and cable-knit pattern are still visible.

“It’s a little too big for me, but like I said, it gets really cold in the attic, so I might take it anyway. Oh, and uh, this was on the desk.”

Rusty holds up a piece of posterboard covered in glitter. Some of the glitter has fallen off, and certain sections are at odd, overlapping angles.

“No idea who these guys are, but somebody really didn’t know how they felt about it.” He turns it around, revealing a jigsaw of torn pieces held together by tape. “Frankenposter,” Rusty says with a grin and drops it back down on the bed.

“I was thinking of sneaking down here and sleeping here instead,” Rusty says, slyly. “You know, during the day. It’s not like they’re going to know, right?”

The light in the small room dims, and the camera jerks around.

Nandor looms like the undead horror he is, eyes dark with fury, his fangs bared in a snarl.

“How dare you come into this place? How dare you? Get out!”

The camera moves back to Rusty, frozen on the bed in fear.

“I said get out!” Nandor booms.

The cameraman hurriedly backs away, but Nandor doesn’t move. There isn’t quite enough space for Rusty to get by. Rusty turns sideways and squeezes past, trying to to get by without actually touching Nandor, and Nandor refusing to step out of the way.

“I’m, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I, I didn’t know--”

“Shut up,” Nandor snaps, irritably.

Nandor picks up the repaired picture and sets it carefully on the desk, balancing it against the wall.

“Over the summer, we...lost Guillermo. It was quite sad. I have lost familiars before: accidents, old age, other vampires, I got hungry…”

Nandor sits on the bed and looks around the room, expression mournful. He picks some lint off the sweater. It settles on his sleeve. Nandor tries to brush it away, but it floats up and over to a different part of his shirt.

“But Guillermo was with us for a very long time. He was a good familiar.”

Nandor stares at the picture on the desk. He stands abruptly.

“Excuse me. I must go.”

-

“I’ve started working on a new topiary,” Lazlo says, proudly. “I wanted to do something complicated, something that would really push my skills to the limit. I actually had to get two hedges for this one, because it’ll be so wide. I’m making…” He gestures dramatically at a topiary that is still an indecipherable blob. “A ba--”

A low, sorrowful howl fills the night air. The living room window opens and Nadja leans outside, panicked.

“Lazlo, the werewolves are back!”

“No,” Lazlo says, long-suffering. “Nandor’s on the roof again.”

The camera looks up and refocuses on a dog sitting outside the attic window. It lifts its head and howls again, a long, low cry.

Nadja slumps in the window, rolling her eyes and letting out an exasperated whine of “oh for fucks sake.”

“As I was saying, I am making--” He stops as he is interrupted by another howl. “I’m making a ba--”

Another howl, this one even louder. Lazlo slams his pruning shears onto the grass.

“Right, that’s it!”

“Lazlo, don’t,” Nadja calls imploringly. “He’s just having a hard time.”

“Bat!” Lazlo shouts, and in a puff of smoke, a small bat flutters towards the roof, chittering angrily.

Lazlo lands, grabs the dog around the middle and tosses it in through the attic window. He points angrily after it.

“You need to pull it together, I am tired of dealing--”

The video bobs wildly as the camera man rushes up the stairs towards the attic. Muffled shouting becomes audible as the door is pulled open and the last flight of stairs is ascended.

“--not moping! I am feeling my feelings!”

“Oh you’re feeling your feelings alright; the whole damn house is feeling your feelings!”

“Why can you not be supportive of me in my trying times?” Nandor demands in a voice that is very nearly a whine.

“I have supported you six ways from Sunday--”

“What does that even mean--”

“--you need to move on!”

Nandor bares his fangs and hisses. Laszlo hisses back. Both vampires float up and slam directly into the low attic ceiling. They collapse back down to the floor.

Laszlo sits up, rubbing his head.

"For fuck's sake, Nandor,you need to pull yourself together. This is pathetic. He walked out on you, he didn't die."

[youryanderedaddy]

Caged bird

Summary: When your prince finally catches you, you are forced to see things his way.

Tw: female reader, kidnapping, abuse of power, slight violence, slight non-con, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior

Locked in (pt. 1)

You, the little concubine, who had managed to so quickly and mercilessly steal his heart, were standing in the corridor – delicate wrists in heavy silver handcuffs, face dirty and dusty, clothes all messy. Your eyes were shining brightly despite the heavy air and your lips were softly mumbling, whispering silent pleads and prayers. Your whole body was shaking with fear, shock and misery. The prince slowly walked towards you, only stopping when the distance between you was nonexistent. You could feel his minty breath tickling the hairs on your exposed neck and it made you shiver like a million of ice-cold arrows trough your heart.

‘’My love, I can finally see your beautiful face again.’’ The man spoke quietly, bordering on a whisper. His fingers were stroking your hair gently, yet still pulling at the ends every time he got to them. “I showed you nothing, but pure kindness and adoration, and what did you do in return?” Suddenly William tugged at your silky locks and dragged you to the wall, finally slamming your frail, tired body roughly against it. He captured your wrists with his own and suppressed the need to devour you right then and there.

“You ran away, my love.” The prince purred in your ear and it made your blood run cold. “You toyed with my endless trust, you broke my heart and left me to suffer all on my own.” He clenched his teeth in an angry fashion. ‘’Damn traitor.’’ Will cursed under his breath, but that did little to stop the tears of raw emotion streaming down his cheeks. He felt so hurt and betrayed by you it was hard to even think about it. “Why? Why did you do it? ” The rage – filled man pushed you further into the stone-cold wall. You looked up at him, almost apathetic towards the fucked up situation. You couldn’t find enough strength in your heart to fill sorry for the pitiful ruler.

“My lord, please excuse my stupid, impulsive behavior. I was unhappy at your palace. The golden walls and honey – colored collars feel like a cage when you are miserable. ” You admitted after a while, staring deep into the prince’s cold eyes. Some pathetic, forgotten part of you still believed that he would realize his faults and the pain he had caused you. “I wish for nothing more than freedom - to be able to travel around the world and explore its secrets, it’s my only desire.” You continued carefully. Every word felt as if you were dancing on thin ice, applying more pressure could result in a big crash of suffocation, drowning and agony. “I also wish to see my family at least once. I beg you, Sir, let me go.” You knew your cheeks were rosy now due to the humiliating nature of your dolorous pleading but you had no other choice. Will looked at you for a second before smashing his cold blue lips into your soft warm ones, in a mockery of the sweet gesture, shared between lovers. His kiss was harsh and desperate, violent, without a trace of passion or consideration. It conveyed all his scattered emotions – sadness, hurt, anger, all mixed together in a sloppy wet mess of tongue and salty tears. By now the prince wasn’t sure who they belonged to.

‘’Dearest, you haven’t seen anything yet.” Will muttered darkly, while holding you close. “But you will. I will make sure of it.”

Three hours later you were still crying on the floor. Your wrists were covered in bruises from the handcuffs and your weak bare feet felt numb to the heavy metal around your ankles. Your pearly white tears were falling to the ground. You were inside a small pitch black room all alone again. Sickening, terrifying and empty, this was your punishment. No amount of tears could change your fate – owned by a cruel master and away from everyone you truly loved.

You were nothing but a beautiful caged bird singing a sad, lonely song.

Caged bird (pt. 2)

The prince sat down right next to you and ran his hand gently across your face. He started humming a sappy song about the kingdom you two had grown up in, about the good old days when everything felt way sweeter and warmer like an endless summer.

“How are feeling today, my love?” Will asked, suddenly concerned about your well – being. But you learned the hard way to never trust a word coming out of his lips. You decided to be honest anyways.

“Sad and perhaps even a bit lost. In fact I think I lose a part of myself every day that I wake up locked in here. ” You answered in a broken voice. All of it was true, you weren't yourself anymore – you refused to eat, sleep or even talk to anyone besides your master and you were getting weaker by the day.

“And why is that, dearest?” The prince replied quickly, his tone on the line between calm and threatening. He tried to control his nerves only this time, since you already looked low in spirits.

“I miss my parents and my friends. But most of all I miss my older sibling, Your Majesty. I really want to see them.” You took a deep breath as you realized how daring and rash your words were. “Sir, excuse my boldness.”

“You are not excused, dearest.” William snapped bitterly and grabbed your wrist in a tight, punishing grip. “Do you know what happened to the person you hold oh-so-dear?” The prince whispered into your ear, enjoying the way it made your whole body still. You shook your head and the man had to fight off the urge to give you a sly laugh as a hint of what you were to hear next. He pulled your beautiful hair up in order for your eyes to be on the same level. “I killed them. I tortured them for hours until they lost all of their energy, body and soul.” The prince pronounced every word slowly and sharply, using it as a poisonous weapon against you. “That stupid punk.” He continued, pleased as he watched you struggle to get out of his grasp, but to no avail. He had you trapped in place and you weren’t going away until you have heard each and every painful bit of truth. “I hated him with a burning passion, you know? He was constantly trying to take you away from me and I just couldn’t stand it anymore.” William smirked viciously. He had officially won. “But don’t worry, my love. He can’t get in the way of our love ever again. No one can, not even you. Even If you try to run away again, I will simply drag you back and chain you up down here until you finally realize there is no way out. Loving me is your best chance and you better use it.”

You couldn’t hear the madman’s ramblings anymore. The big salty tears were suffocating you, you were drowning in them, swimming around helplessly, only to be met with an even bigger wave. All you could do was suffer silently and pray that one day you would learn to love him.

[sweetsunflowerkisses]

rest.

Pairing: Pietro Maximoff (MCU) x Fem!Reader

Genre: Soulmate AU

Warnings: Mild language, cannon divergence, reader is kind of an oblivious shy dumb-ass who avoids her problems TvT

Summary: After everything life has put you through you just want to walk through life unnoticed and unbothered, but that seems to be out of the question when you're an enhanced working for the avengers and catch the eye of a certain speedster who just so happens to be your soulmate.

Word Count: 3.1k

a/n: this is very shitty and doesn’t make much sense im sorry i haven’t written something like this in so long :’) 

Sokovia. 2015.

“Glad you like the view, Romanoff. It's about to get better.” Fury said punching buttons on his data pad, “Nice, right? I pulled her out of mothballs with a couple of old friends. She's dusty, but she'll do.” Fury laughed, looking over at the small but capable team of Ex-SHIELD agents, smiling, as the old helicarrier pulled up beside the ever rising city.

You looked out of the window as the battle raged on in the city, you still weren’t sure why Fury had asked you to come with him. After all, you didn’t exactly have a useful skill set for this fight, you couldn’t operate the fancy systems that kept the helicarrier in the air, and despite being enhanced you definitely didn’t have the fighting set to help out the avengers, who were fighting in the city, saving the planet from total destruction once again.

You sighed, turning your back to the window and going to stand next to Fury, who rarely let you out of his sight.

“Sir, I’m grateful you trusted me enough to bring me along but if I could ask, why did you bring me?, My skills aren't exactly useful here.” you said with a frown.

Fury looked down at you grimly, “Just a feeling Mrs. [L/N].”

You nodded, turning your attention to your colleagues, who were diligently aiding in the rescue of the sokovian citizens, and the battle raging on outside. You watched in awe as Tony Stark- or rather Iron Man and War Machine began to destroy the bots that had begun to attack the helicarrier.

Suddenly Agent Hill’s voice rang out “INCOMING!”. You barely had time to jump out of the way as a robot crashed through the front window, Maria immediately emptying her clip into it as Fury finished it off with a piece of metal debris.

“And here I was thinking I wasn’t going to see any action”, you quipped, staring at the mess of metal and oil on the helicarrier floor.

You sighed, trying to even your breathing, absentmindedly running your fingers over the inky black words imprinted on the inside of your wrist. In this world everyone had a soulmate, all 7 billion people, and the first words they’ll say to you appear on the inside of your left wrist when your born, which turns red after you have your first kiss with your soulmate, however you don’t have any expectations to ever meet yours, and you don’t really want too, after all life moves pretty fast when your an Ex-HYDRA experiment and an Ex-SHIELD trainee, and these days you really just wanted to spend the rest of your days unnoticed and unbothered - aside from work of course.

You were broken out of your thoughts when a voice crackled over the comms, “Guys we have a problem!” It was Agent Barton, his voice was panicked and his breathing was ragged, “Pietro’s been hit, I can’t tell if he’s alive or not.”

Fury looked over at you, his face as stoic as ever, but you could see the slight bit of fear in his eyes “Showtime kid, let’s see what you can do.”

You nodded, taking off down the hall and jumping into a small craft, piloting it to the city where you could see Barton leaning over someone’s body. You landed, running over to them, it was one of the twins, a fellow enhanced experiment of HYDRA. You leaned down placing a hand on his bullet riddled chest, a small teal light eminitated from your hand as you closed your eyes and concentrated.

Suddenly your eyes snapped open, you looked up at Clint, “He’s alive,” Clint let out a sigh of relief. “but just barely, I  need to get him back to the medical bay immediately.” You finished. Clint nodded, helping you get the man loaded on the craft you arrived in, he gave you a small nod of thanks before running back to the rescue transports.

Back in your lab you had him hooked up to nearly every medical machine available, while your abilities had managed to stop the blood and heal the internal damage there was still the possibility of him not making it through the night, after all he had yet to regain consciousness and enhanced powers could only do so much, bringing back the dead wasn’t really one of those.

You sighed, leaning over his resting form, brushing a stray piece of his bleach blonde hair out of his face. You studied his face, he was quite possibly one of the most handsome people you’d ever seen, and that was even with the blood and dirt caked on him.

You turned gathering a cloth and a bowl of water, deciding it would be best to at least clean what grime you could off of him. You started with his face before moving to his chest, it was still caked in blood and dirt from where the bullets had ripped through him, though the wounds were closed and healed now. You took note of how well built he was but tried to focus on that as little as possible, after all he was your patient and you hadn’t ever even spoken to him.

As you ran the wet cloth over his body your mind began to wander, however you were broken out of your thoughts when a hand grabbed your arm. It was Pietro. You let out a squeak, mildly startled by his sudden consciousness, however it was clear that he was extremely disoriented and out of it. You moved, setting the washcloth and bowl back on the counter before gathering your clipboard to write that he had regained consciousness.

“Are you an angel?” He asked weakly, you turned looking at him, shocked. Those words, the ever familiar words that had been carried with you since birth, it was him. You inhaled, pushing all that aside, shaking your head as you approached his side.

“Rest.” Was all you said, before you walked out of the room, and for the rest of the night Pietro faded in and out of consciousness, only holding on to the fading sound of your voice.

Avengers Tower. One Month Later.

It had been a month since Sokovia. One month since Pietro Maximoff had almost died. He often found himself wondering what would have happened if he had died, would Wanda have been okay? Would anyone have cared? The other question that seemed to plague his mind day and night, the thought that had burrowed it’s way into his dreams and his absent minded musings, was the thought of seeing that girl that had saved him again.

He didn’t remember much about that day after he was shot, but everytime he closed his eyes he could see her, the girl with the (y/h/c) hair and the soothing voice, he couldn’t remember her fcae or if he had said anything to her but he could remember her touch and he craved to feel it again. The word “rest” also filled his mind, the way it sounded rolling off her tongue, it was the same word that had kept him grounded over the years, and the word that he so often traced on the inside of his wrist. He found himself feeling like the prince from that old animated mermaid movie Wanda made him watch as a kid, looking for the girl that saved him. Looking for his soulmate.

He broke himself out of his thoughts when he heard Maria Hill, one of the many people that had eagerly welcomed him to the Avengers and the remnants of SHIELD calling his name.

“Agent Hill, what can I do for you?” He asked, lifting himself off of the couch, turning to face her.

“Are you doing anything around 1:30 today? I’m supposed to be giving a tour to our newest Avenger today but I have a prior obligation around that time and was wondering if you would mind running it instead, normally I would ask someone else but I feel that you would be the best option in this case due to your…” Maria trailed off trying to come up with the word “Commonalities.”

Pietro’s ears perked up, a new member? Commonalities? Needless to say it was intriguing and would definitely provide a good distraction from his thoughts. “Okay.” He said, shrugging.

Maria smiled, handing him the manilla folder that was your file. “Her name is [Y/N] [L/N], she’s talented, all the necessary information should be in there.” Maria sighed inwardly as she clasped her hands behind her as she watched Pietro speed read through the folder.

To be honest, though she’d never tell Fury, she was hesitant to let you join the Avengers. You were talented no doubt, but she worried about you, maybe it was the fact that she had been the one to rescue you all those years ago, before the fall of SHIELD, before she ever worked for Stark, but still something told her maybe it was too soon, after all you had seemed pretty shaken after the Ultron ordeal.

“Well, you’ll need to meet her at the west elevator on floor 34 in an hour. Just take her through the itinerary there and get to know her, make her feel welcome.” Maria said with a smile before leaving back the way she came.

Pietro smiled as he waved goodbye, before looking down at the picture of you, of his soulmate, the girl that saved him.

Avengers Tower Floor 34. One Hour Later.

You rocked back and forth on your heels. It had been a month since Sokovia. One month since you had saved the man who was supposedly your soulmate. After that fateful day you went back into hiding with Fury, back to training with Fury, but now, according to Fury at least, it was time for you to join the Avengers as their medic.

You walked down the long glass hall, Agent Hill had told you that your guide would meet you outside the west elevator. She had also told you that your tour guide was one of the twins, due to your “commonalities” both in being enhanced and in being the newest members. You hoped it wasn’t going to be him, after all you still hadn’t really had time to process it all. Of course, life never really listened when you asked it for things.

The elevator dinged, signaling it’s arrival, you turned your attention from your wrist to the elevator,pulling down your sleeve to cover it as the doors slid open to reveal the gray clad speedster.

“They told me we were getting a new recruit, but they failed to tell me of your beauty.” Pietro smirked leaning against the elevator wall. You blushed, looking down at your shoes before sliding past him and stepping into the elevator. “Not talking huh? It’s okay I'll get you to crack eventually.” He smiled, winking at you only causing your face to flush even more.

As the tour went on Pietro did what he could to make you talk, though you usually only answered with one or two words. He was confused to say the least, did you not know? It was as the tour came to a close that he finally asked you the question that had been plaguing his mind the whole time, wondering if you would admit to him that you knew or if you were just clueless. “So, [Y/N], they tell me you are enhanced, like us, with healing abilities.” You nodded, “Were you there in Sokovia? Last month I mean, when Ultron attacked.”

You looked up sharply. “Um yeah, yeah I was.” You sighed, fidgeting with your sleeves.

“Then you're the one who saved me that day, thank you.” He smiled, bringing your hands into his, “I’m very happy you’re with us, and I hope that you will allow me to thank you properly? Maybe dinner?” His eyes were hopeful.

Did he know? You wondered, would he bring it up then, ease into it, charm you? Or had he been too out of it to even realise and was simply trying to be nice? Either way it was too much too fast.  “Um, I’ll think about it, I’m just kinda tired right now.”

“I understand, I’ll see you in the morning then beautiful, yes?” He smiled walking you down the hall to your room. You nodded, before looking down at the floor again. “Well if you need anything Wanda and I are both on this floor and if we’re not here we’re likely on the common floor.” He smiled watching you nod once again before retreating into your room.

Pietro sighed, running a hand through his hair, you had to know by now, if he hadn’t spoken to you that day what he said on the elevator should have been the words on your wrist? Why were you so hesitant? Did you not like him, was he not everything you had ever hoped for in a soulmate? He let out a short breath as he pushed the button to call the elevator, fine, he was charming right? He’d do whatever it took to convince you that he was the perfect guy for you, after all you were an angel to him.

A Stark Party at Avenger Tower. Two Months Later.

It had been two months, two months since you had joined the Avengers and you were still just as shy around Pietro as you had been on your first day. He couldn’t understand it, while you were shy around most of the other members too, save for his own sister and Sam Wilson, yet you seemed to purposefully avoid him. He couldn’t help but wonder if he had done something to make you mad or uncomfortable, he couldn’t understand why but it hurt, it hurt more than getting shot in Sokovia had, it was raw and painful but he did his best to hide it and simply be as polite and nice to you as possible.

“Hey there speedy, you seem quieter than normal and I don’t think I’ve heard one smart remark out of you today, what’s going on?” Clint Barton said, placing his hand on Pietro’s shoulder. Despite Clint’s general teasing of the younger man he did genuinely care for him and that was something Pietro was grateful for.

“I’m just lost in thought, thank you though Clint.” Pietro sighed, taking his coffee and heading to his room, after all Stark was having one of his infamous parties tonight and even if he wasn’t there with you Pietro still wanted to look nice for you.

Nearly six hours later everyone was downstairs, the floor alive with people, and Pietro found himself seated at the bar, nursing a whiskey as he watched you converse with his twin. You looked amazing, your gorgeous body clad in a gray knee length cocktail dress with gorgeous lace sleeves and accents. Despite the fact that you rarely spoke to him somehow, some way every little thing you did imprinted itself in his brain and only made himself fall harder and harder for you.

His mood quickly changed however from adoration to jealousy as he watched a group of suit clad men isolate you from his sister and begin to speak to you. Under normal circumstances he would have simply let you be, never wanting to make you uncomfortable or angry, but you were picking at your nails, something he had noticed you only did when you were uncomfortable.

So he did what any love-sick gentlemen would do, and he went to rescue you. Within seconds Pietro was by your side, snaking a hand around your waist, secretly praying to god that he wasn’t making you more uncomfortable.You tensed at the contact but relaxed with a sigh of relief as you looked up to find Pietro.

“Hello my love,” Pietro smiled looking down at you before turning back to the group of men, “Hello gentlemen, I hope you don’t mind if I steal my soulmate for a minute, it’s important Avenger business, you know?” He smirked, giving them no room to respond as he turned and led you to the balcony.

When you arrived on the balcony you sighed as you let the cool air roll over you. “Thank you for that Pietro.” You said softly. “I’m really grateful.”

Pietro smiled softly, “Of course, what are friends for.” He turned heading for the door, but stopped when your voice rang out.

“I’m sorry Pietro.” He turned back to look at you, your eyes trained on the floor, “I’ve been cold and distant and all you’ve done is try and be nice and make me feel happy and safe and welcome here and I’m just so sorry.”

Pietro sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’ve known this whole time haven’t you. That we were soulmates.”

You looked up meeting his eyes, they were blue and piercing and oh so gorgeous but they were filled with pain.

“Yes, I’ve known since Sokovia. When you first regained consciousness you asked if I was an angel, I couldn’t focus on the fact that we were soulmates in that moment so I pushed it away, after that I just began to wonder, I mean I’m so different compared to you, you're so handsome and kind and talented and I’m just plain and boring, I figured that the universe probably made a mistake, and that you would be better of with someone else, but I never meant to hurt you,” You looked up at him, his face filled with a mix of shock and pain “I’m so so sorry.” You said, your voice breaking as you looked down, tears rolling down your cheeks.

“You are the most oblivious girl I’ve ever met.” Pietro chuckled, your head snapping up to look at him, “For one I’ve been flirting with you since you got here, you’d think that that would be a sign that I find you attractive, No?” You chuckled, “Second, Not talented? You saved my life, I was nearly dead and would be without you. Not kind? You have made my sister feel so happy and so welcome, you’ve given her the best friend she’s always wanted. Not pretty? My Angel, you are the most beautiful girl at this party. I’ve loved you from the minute I saw you, your smile can light up a room, and your laughter can make any sadness fade away, you my darling are perfect.” He smiled softly at you, cupping your cheek as you stared up into his eyes. “I love you moy angel”  

You stared up in awe at the silver haired speedster, “I- You’re so perfect, you have been so understanding and-” Your voice broke as more tears rushed down your face, Pietro simply whispered sweet nothings as he wiped away your tears. “I love you too.” You whispered smiling softly.

“Could I kiss you?” Pietro asked with an airy chuckle, you smiled,nodding before pressing your lips to his, letting the world around you melt away, as both of you reveled in the warm feeling of your marks changing from black to red.

[tales-unique]

FAULTS OF THE HEART

Chapter 1

The woods were always a sacred place for you. When you entered their depths you felt a sense of serenity and safety that had no comparison in the civilized world. The sounds of the wind rustling through the leaves, flowing streams, and the sounds of the birds and the rabbits and the deer — all the sounds of Life. So, it felt only natural for you to go to them when running for your life. Even under the light of the full moon, dappled on the ground through dense tree cover, you knew how to navigate the trails in the undergrowth. “She’s heading into the trees!” The call echoes and forces you to push harder, to run faster, so you might live to see the sun rise.

Neither you or the others in your small village knew of the now occupied reach and how the surrounding lands had been claimed until it was too late. They waited until someone unwittingly stumbled onto the land so they could make an example of them in a show of power. He called himself The Baron. He was an asshole. In taking what had been free land for himself he had doomed your village to a slow, painful death of starvation unless they bowed to his will. There was no other alternative for the village, lest they lose everything. It was his brutish thugs that pursued you, all because you strayed too far trying to feed the people you cared for. “I can’t see her! Where’d she go?” “I don’t know! Just keep looking!” You stop, sliding down an embankment to seek cover.  Hunkering down further as you hear your pursuers coming ever closer, you force yourself tighter between the gnarled roots of an ancient tree. Mud and mulch cling to your cloak and soak your back and legs but you know that if you move now you will die. Holding your breath you freeze as one of the men stalks by where you’re hiding, narrowly missing your head when he strays too close to the edge. It feels like hours, lying there in the cold, wet earth, before you hear their voices and their steps recede until there’s only the sounds of the forest left. Even then you wait a moment longer before slowly rising to your feet, brushing yourself down with shaking hands. The Baron won’t stop pursuing you if he knows you’re nearby, so it’s with a heavy heart that you know you can’t return to the village. Your possessions, though meager and few, are lost to you. Your small home left to fall into ruin. The friends you had made will become distant memories. Bitterness settles deep within your stomach and you weep, out of anger, out of sadness, that one mistake was your undoing. It’s difficult to stop the torrent once it’s unleashed, but you know you can’t linger any longer. You should already be running far away from this place. Sniffling, you wipe frantically at your eyes and nose on tattered sleeves, continuing your escape.

The soft, building light of the rising dawn brings with it a sense of melancholic relief. You wander wearily through the trees, their figures no longer familiar now that you’re so far from home, the waking songs of birds sounding triumphantly in the air. They have survived the night, and so have you. Almost. The sharp, searing pain that erupts abruptly in your left shoulder blindsides you and you stop, the world suddenly going still. For the longest moment you forget how to breathe and your mind goes blank. A choked gasp escapes you as all at once the harsh reality of what has happened comes crashing over you like a tidal wave. At first you can’t tell exactly what is lodged in your flesh, your mind a garble rush of adrenaline, only that the pain is pointed in a single location. An apprehensive glance to your shoulder sends a chill down your spine. With a whimper you reach up with your uninjured arm to feel the sharp iron tip poking through ripped flesh, warm, fresh blood coating your fingertips, then behind to gingerly finger a long, slender body of wood. An arrow, lodged so deep in your flesh it came out the other side. Your nose crinkles as the metallic tinge in the air finally hits you, gagging from the rush of dizzying sickness that sends your stomach into freefall. Pain radiates from it, rippling outwards, rending your arm useless. The shrieks of panicked birds in the canopy overhead snaps your attention to the archer hiding among the trees, the rushing footfalls thudding against the ground betraying their path; one small mercy. You force yourself to move, crying out with the effort as you hold your arm still with a firm grip. It’s the only way to limit the damage the arrow can cause while moving, but it does nothing to stop the excruciating pain it leaves in its wake. Blood leaks between your fingers but you don’t stop, can’t stop, or else you will die at the hands of this assassin. Another arrow narrowly misses your head as you veer sharply to the side, towards the sound of running water. If you can make it to the water and lose them you might just make it. That is, if the exhaustion and blood loss don’t take you out first. Several more join the hunting party, to your dismay. You pant, your head spinning and your mind beginning to fog, but at least you don’t fall. The sight of clear water fills your vision and, to your shock, a man. He startles as you rush into view, arm veined with bright scarlet, bringing with you a band of armed men. It looks as though he’s in the middle of fishing, but that’s quickly forgotten when he sees your injury and the company that are after you. “Please!” You plead, falling to your knees before him in the dewy grass, “please don’t let them kill me!” Sharp gold eyes watch you for a moment in shocked silence before he turns to eye each man as they surround you both. They’re all pointing their weapons at him, swords and bows and arrows alike, shouting for him to leave them to their business. One of them separates to train his bow on you, likely the same man who shot you in the first place, as you clutch desperately at your bleeding wound to stem the flow. “We said be on your way, stranger!” Another one snarls to the man, “this bitch is ours.” It all happens in the blink of an eye. You barely have time to comprehend the situation before it’s already over. The man stands before you, a hovering sword at his side, and only then do you realize that he has killed them all in a single sweep without so much as raising a hand. You hazard a look at the carnage around you and instantly regret it; each man dead with his throat cut, shock petrified on their faces. Quickly you look back to the man, watching him with wide eyes as he descends upon you. He speaks not a word as he looks over your shoulder, still bleeding despite your grip on it. “P-please help me,” you beg feebly, your body feeling heavy under its own weight. The blood loss was starting to take its toll on you and, though the feeling felt oddly muted and detached, you were terrified.

The sequence of events that follows next are mostly lost to you, but not for a lack of trying. You remember fragments, haphazardly pieced together. Blurred scenery. White hot pain. The scent of burning flesh. A tightness around your shoulder. Muffled talking. You try to sit up, the edges of your vision tainted black, but a firm yet gentle hand on your chest pushes you back down into soft sheets. “Where—” Your voice quickly dies in your throat as searing pain shoots through your shoulder and down your arm, a sharp cry escaping you. It takes you a moment to recover but when you finally open your eyes you gawk at your surroundings.Your mysterious savior has brought you to a musty room filled with shelves upon shelves of books, a low, crackling fire catching your attention in the dusty fireplace. Looking down at yourself you see that you’ve been set upon an old chaise lounger, a lumpy pillow beneath your head. It smells of dust, as do the sheets, but there’s an odd sense of comfort that they, and the room as a whole, offers. “I removed the arrow,” he finally speaks, golden eyes observing you as you struggle to sit up, “you should rest, you’ve lost a lot of blood.” He moves to stand, collecting up the bloodied rags and tossing them into a bowl filled with water dyed crimson as he walks to the door to leave you in peace. It’s only as he’s leaving that you realize that he’s cleaned and bandaged your wound, no doubt saving you from infection and blood loss and the slow, painful death they would have brought you. “Wait!” You call, voice hoarse. He stops, remaining with his back to you. “I,” you swallow, breathing laboured from the effort of your outburst, “I wanted to thank you, for helping me,” you grind out, an aching throb pulsing from your shoulder down your arm. For a moment he is quiet and you wonder if you’ve made a mistake in speaking to him, but that thought soon vanishes when he turns to look at you over his shoulder. You wait in anticipation for his reply, clutching the sheets weakly. “Get some rest,” he says, softer this time, but he quickly steels himself and leaves the room without any further comment. The door is left slightly ajar so you listen to the sound of his receding footsteps before sinking back slowly into the sheets. The makeshift bed is nothing like your own but it’s more than you could have expected from a stranger so you’re thankful, heaving a sigh of relief. Then you frown, because you don’t even know his name.

[stillebesat]

Meeting Virgil (5x1) -Third Time

Sanders Shorts: Remy Sanders Sides: Virgil Blurb: A Special Delivery Prequel. -Five times Remy tried to give Virgil a child and the one time he succeeded. Inspiration: @book-of-charlie​ asked: What did Virgil mean by “the last 5 times?” Fic Type: STORK!AU, Winged!Remy Chapter Warnings: Implied Neglectful Parents, Implied Miscarriage Taglist in Reblog. To Catch Up: First Time Second Time

Little Lacey was going to change the world. Remy knew it from the moment the baby girl’s eyes had lit up upon seeing him and his wings. From the second she had opened her mouth and let out the most contagious laugh he’d ever heard.

Even now, as he wound his way through the golf course parking lot crowded with stalls and people waiting for the fireworks to start on the hill above them, Lacey drew smiles from everyone standing nearby with that contagious bubbling laughter as she bounced in his arms.

He’d been tempted to put her to sleep when the twin lines of green and purple he’d been following led straight into this noisy place with music blaring, kids screaming, and the smell of popcorn and cotton candy thick in the air. First impressions with new parents hardly went well if the baby was screaming their head off after all, yet Lacey apparently loved the chaos surrounding them. She’d perked right up, her giggles ringing in his ear before he’d even landed.

There was no doubt. Despite her previous parents’ best attempts to treat her like a forgotten dusty doll in a china cabinet, Lacey thrived in having everyone’s attention focused on her. For being in the limelight. Yes. Remy knew she would change the world once she was older if the way everyone cooed -from the lady waiting in line with her son to get their face painted to the burly motorcycle dude that looked like he could tear your head off with his pinky- at her was any indication.

It was attention that Remy wasn’t exactly used to dealing with himself anymore. Usually his S.T.O.R.K. duties took him to places that were...quieter...more…secluded environments. One on Two situations where he could meet the new parents away from watching eyes, give them their new bundle of joy and then take off soon after their bond was established.

“Oh, isn’t she precious!” A grandmother cooed at Lacey, her hands twitching with the obvious old person urge to pinch the baby’s cheeks as she gave Remy a warm smile. “You’re one lucky fella having such a beautiful daughter!”

His stomach did a little uncomfortable flip flop at that. It wasn’t the first time he’d been mistaken as a parent, but it always threw him off when people assumed he was capable of such a feat when growing up it had felt like everyone expected him to die before he reached twenty.

According to Larry and Dot, however, despite the years he’d spent ferrying babies around -and getting them to their parents without issue...well, major issues-- he was still quite ‘rough around the edges.’

Ha.

He’d like to see them say that when faced with the burly motorcycle dude two stalls over. He couldn’t be that rough acting anymore.

Probably.

Maybe.

Eh.

Remy shook his head, wings twitching against his back as he grinned at the woman, glad his metallic green eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses. “She’s adorable alright, but I’m just watching her for a friend while they grab a bite to eat.” He tilted his head to the twin lines that led towards the other side of the food stalls beyond the lady as Lacey giggled in his ear, nuzzling her head into his shoulder.

The words flowed easily enough off his tongue, despite the bitter taste they left. Lying wasn’t really a thing with S.T.O.R.K.s hence his...technical truth. He was watching Lacey, though friend might be a bit strong of a word when he’d never met the parents before. But he was planning to grab some of those delectable chicken strips he could smell afterwards. So yah...basically the truth.

He was good at that.

Larry and Dot would visibly roll their eyes but quietly smile their approval at his ability to find and exploit loopholes.

The grandmother’s eyes grew softer as Lacey wiggled, reaching fingers grabbing onto the feathers her little hands could reach. “How sweet.” She murmured, placing a hand over her heart.

Did she mean Lacey or the fact Remy was ‘watching’ her? He sighed internally, keeping the smile in place with effort. He’d never been the greatest at interacting with old people who would ‘dear me’ and ‘oh my’ him to death if he accidentally slipped and swore in front of them.

“Mhmmm, if you’ll excuse me.” He gave her a nod, wings pressing harder against his back as he edged around her, waving one hand over his head like he was acknowledging someone in the distance and quickly vanished into the crowd, following the green and purple ribbons that would lead him to Lacey’s future family.

Still both glowing with the exact same shade of brightness. Still unknown just which one would end up with little Lacey’s shining personality in their lives.

Well. He paused as the two colored ribbons finally diverged. The Purple leading to the right to where the sun had just set. Green leading to the left to where hundreds of people were sitting, waiting for the show in the sky.

Both options meant still more people. But with the brightness being so close, he’d have to scope out both possibilities first before making a decision.

He exhaled, trying to remain relaxed as the crowd brushed by him, his wings trembling against his back. It wasn’t like anyone could see his wings so he had nothing to fear about being mobbed for his feathers. But still. The constant press of people unknowingly touching them had him on edge.

“Purple first.” He mumbled, adjusting his grip on Lacey as she sat back up, clapping her hands together with a squeal as he moved them closer to a brightly colored bouncy house. It wasn’t like the Edgelord would be here among the Good Old Rocky Mountains when he lived on the opposite side of the country, but it would be best to confirm that first.

With how quickly ‘Virge’ had vanished that night in the woods, it wouldn’t surprise him if the poor guy was still lost in the backwaters of Virginia.

No. Probably not. He seemed resourceful enough...unless he’d gotten himself captured by a Mothman colony--did they have colonies or were they more of a solitary creat--

Remy unexpectedly broke through the crowd, coming out where a line of porta-potties stood like quiet stinky sentinels in the fading light.

And there, right where the purple line ended, stood Mr. Not-a-Good-Dad himself in all his gothic glory. Wearing a black tank top that showed off his arms, artistically torn jeans, and purple dyed hair falling into his storm colored eyes.

Remy’s heart skipped a beat as he stumbled to a stop, rapidly blinking to clear his vision of this impossible mirage. “No. Fu--Freaking. Way.” He breathed, staring at Virge just as the guy reached down and picked up a little girl who couldn’t have been more than four or five years old, easily balancing her on his hip like he’d done this exact action multiple times before, speaking softly to her as he brushed the tears from her wet cheeks with his thumb.

Remy swallowed, bouncing Lacey as she wiggled in his grip. Lost maybe? Had to be. He couldn’t see the bonding lines between the two of them for all that Virge looked like a Father patiently calming his distressed child.

Of course, that didn’t rule out the possibility that she was his cousin, or even a niece or some kid of a friend. He would need to get closer to the girl to know for sure if there was any connection between the two.

Remy shrugged, drawing in a steadying breath. Well. Better make his move now rather than later. “Well, Laceyloo” He said, giving the girl a wink as he moved forward. “Ready to try your luck with our resident Emo?”

Didn’t the saying go that the ‘third time's the charm’ or something? With how adorably cute she was...and with how comfortable Virge seemed with this other little girl, perhaps Lacey’s laughter would be the key to convincing Dark and Brooding to accept his obviously destined role as a Father.

One could hope.

“Hey Stranger.” He called, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair as the Edgelord jumped like he’d just been electrocuted, causing the little girl to cry out and cling to him as stormy grey eyes met Remy’s metallic green ones.

Virge glowered at him even as his hands moved to soothe the girl, low words leaving his lips as she buried her head against his chest, his stormy eyes only softening as Lacey sat upright in Remy’s arms and gave him a tiny wave of her hand and a delighted giggle.

“Hey.” He said, still focused on Lacey, a myriad of conflicting expressions crossing his face.

Hook.

Remy moved a deliberately casual step closer, wings fluttering with anticipation. “Fancy meeting you here.” He made a show of looking around. “Does Mothman usually attend this sort of thing?”

Virge rolled his eyes, glancing at the girl in his arms before focusing back on Remy. “Slenderman actually.”

A what? Remy paused, glancing at the sniffling girl with a raised eyebrow. “Really?” She didn’t look like a...whatever a Slenderman was.

Another thing he’d have to go look up if these encounters with V-man were gonna continue and he kept insisting on referencing random fantasy cryptid creatures that Remy had barely heard of.

That way he would be more prepared next time.

If there was a next time.

If Lacey failed to work her magic.

Which she wouldn’t.

Because she was Lacey the Amazing and this was their lucky third encounter. So of course he wouldn’t be seeing his stubborn Emo Nightmare again.

Unfortunately.

Virge snorted. “No. She wouldn’t be considered one if I was. Lily here has lost her parents. I’m helping her find them. Right Lily?”

The child glanced up, face tear-streaked, bright brown eyes shimmering with more tears waiting to fall. “They’re gone.” She whimpered.

“And we’ll find them.” Virge assured, voice going soft. “Remember? You were telling me what your Mommy was wearing. A pretty pearl necklace right? Her favorite that you can’t yet wear?”

She sniffled, nodding. “Yah.”

Remy shook his head. Well that was a helpful description.

Not.

Still. Edgelord had shown more patience with the crying kid than most strangers would in this sort of situation. “A necklace.” He repeated. “Like you’ll be able to see that in the dark.”

Virge rolled his eyes. “It’s more help than you’re currently being, Eagle One. Plus I am listening for anyone calling her name.”

“Mhmm in this crowd? The parents would need to scream quite loud.” He took another step closer, smiling as Lily and Lacey made eye contact, the baby in his arms wiggling as Lily straightened with a “Hi you!” as she waved at Lacey. “No, It sounds like you need help from an Expert.” He said, spreading out his wings, flapping them once.

A bad decision really with how many people were around that he could have hit, though the surprised sound Virge made as he lifted a hand, taking an automatic step closer as his grey eyes darted to the people continuing by made it well worth it.

He froze as Lacey laughed, making grabby hands at his wings and Lily gasped a soft “Angel?” leaving her lips, her brown eyes growing bright with awe.

A S.T.O.R.K. But he wouldn’t begrudge the child for her confusion. Remy nodded to Lily, bouncing Lacey in his arms. “I’m here to help you Lils. We’ll find your parents.”

This close he could see easily her parent line--the same Green one he’d been following earlier ironically enough, because of course it would be the same fu-freaking line he’d followed all the way here, winding its way upwind of the porta-potties to a low hill with a couple shade trees at the top. Well, if it didn’t work out with Mr. Reluctant here, at least it appeared Lily already liked her potential new baby sister if their shared giggles and fascination with his wings was anything to go by.

Virge stared beyond Remy, watching the crowd, growing more tense the longer everyone else continued walking by without reacting. “They can’t--” He whispered.

“See them? No.” Remy folded his wings, unwilling to keep them open and exposed around so many individuals now that he’d made his point. “Betcha that’s why people don’t usually see your Mothman either.” Probably. It had to be a magic related thing. Or belief thing. A blending ability? Were S.T.O.R.K.s like Mothmen? Bigfoot? Vampi--oh, yah no….his wings pressed against his back. If it turned out Vampires and Werewolves and Mothmen were actually real only then would he have a mental breakdown over maybe being in the same category as mythical creatures. Right now. He had to focus. Find Lily’s parents. Give Lacey to the Edgelord and walla. Mission accomplished.

Virge slowly shook his head, shifting Lily against his side before he rubbed the back of his neck. “No, there's been enough credible sightings of Mothmen by people to discount that theory.” He said, shrugging one shoulder. “It may explain why, when people talk about their encounters with Angels, that they rarely mention them with wings though.”

Remy rolled his eyes. “Not an Angel, V-man. I already told you. I’m a--”

“Stork. Yes. But are you sure that’s not a type of Angel?” He asked, eyes gleaming in the faint light given by the lamp posts. “You bring babies to parents who want children right? You’re willing to help me find this girl’s parents. Therefore a Stork could be a subset of Guardian Angels.”

Huh.

“...You been thinking on this alot?” Remy asked faintly.

Which One. It shouldn’t thrill him that Gothica incarnate was thinking about him. And Two. Questioning his so-called ‘Angelhood’ was definitely not going to keep him up all night regardless of how this encounter ended. An Angel? HIM?! Ha. Larry and Dot would have a conniption that their troubled ward was considered some sort of goodie two shoes Guardian Angel.

Maybe.

Else Larry would tear up, crush him in a hug, and start blubbering Dadisms of ‘being so proud’ and Dot would pat him firmly on the back and say “about time.” It was hard to tell which they’d go most days.

Remy shook his head, raising a finger and jabbing it in Edgelord’s direction. “You.” He said. “Are distracting me from helping Lily” and Lacey “find her parents. Shame. On. You.” He spread a wing towards the girl in Virge’s arms. She immediately perked up, a shy smile on her lips as she reached out to touch his feathers.

Laughter danced in Virge’s eyes as tilted his head, purple tipped bangs falling in front of them, shadowing their grey color further as he maintained eye contact, not at all distracted by the wing inches from his arm. “Oh? Then tell me, O Mighty Stork, how can you find her parents?”

“Same way I keep finding you.” Remy said with a smirk, heart fluttering in anticipation as Popsicle blanched. So close. “Not that you can see it.” He pointed to the ground where the purple ribbon still shown between Virge and Lacey and then over to the green one that also streaked from her to run parallel to Lily’s line that would lead them to her parents. “But all children have a connection between them and their parents or guardians that we,” he gestured to himself, “can see.”

Virge licked his lips, glancing to Lacey, then to the ground, his arm tightening protectively around Lily. “And Lily’s parents are?”

“Right up that hill.” He said without hesitation, pointing to where the green line led. “I can’t see who it ends at, but they are over there. I can easily reunite Lily with them, if you don’t mind holding little Lacey here for me in the meantime.” He said, his wings rising and mantling around them to block Virge’s view of anyone else as he held out the baby for him to take.

Lacey automatically reached out to her potential new Dad, making grabby hands along with a soft cooing sound demanding to be held.

Line.

Virge reached out, arm already curving to take the baby from him, only to hesitate at the last second, grey eyes flickering with shadows as he met Remy’s green ones. “That first time. When you broke into my place. You said…” He licked his lips, hand trembling as he pulled it back to hold onto Lily. “I would only have to ‘hold her and see.’ What did you mean by that?”

….Smart Fish.

Remy exhaled, shaking his head. Sinker totally sunk. Suspicious Nancy here just had to remember some off hand comment he’d made ages ago and question it.

It was times like this that he wished he could Lie to potential parents. It would make his job so much easier. But at the same time, he knew all too well that starting out a budding connection with lies would mean a crumbling family foundation later on. Best to stick to the truth to give the child the best connection with their new parents from the start.

Remy pulled Lacey back into a more steady position against his chest, soothing her disgruntled sounds as she still tried to reach out to the Emo--or maybe it was Lily she was reaching for? The other little girl was bouncing in Virge’s arms hard enough to be a workout as she stretched towards Remy.

Probably a good idea to not have those two touch just yet. He wanted to try and make the bond with Virge work first before allowing Lacey to complete the bond with Lily’s family. He shifted to keep the two out of reach from each other before speaking to Virge. “A parental bond is only established with a child in the custody of a S.T.O.R.K. when said child is touched or held by the new parent. It’s a love at first contact sort of thing.” He said, not at all surprised when the reluctant Emo took two quick steps back away from him.

Stubborn. Why was he so stubborn about this?! Shouldn’t him showing up Three Fuc--Freaking times be clear enough indication that PopStar here was meant to be a Father?!

“So~. If I were to hold Lacey for you while you helped Lily--’” Virge asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I would have killed two birds with one stone.” He said simply. “Lily would return to her parents and Lacey here would have bonded with you and you’d be her new Dad.”

Virge growled at that, eyes flashing as his shoulders hunched high enough to nearly touch his ears. “I told you before that I’m not a good Dad.” He hissed. “And yet you just tried to trick me into--”

Well most people weren’t this stupidly resistant to becoming a parent.

Remy raised an eyebrow. “Ah Huh. For some reason, LolliPop.” He gestured to Lily still comfortably resting in his arms. “I don’t believe you.”

Virgil bared his teeth, arms tightening protectively around the girl. “This is different. She’s lost! I’m not going to leave her to wander around here all alone!”

“And Lacey is different how?” Remy retorted. “She is lost, looking for a new Dad, and walla you’re here to save the bloody day!”

Virgil shook his head, taking two more steps back, nearly hitting the nearest porta-pottie. “NO.”

And just like that the Purple line fizzled, growing hazy to Remy’s sight as the Green line took on an even brighter glow.

Remy groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Jiminy Crickets! And he’d had such high hopes that Lacey would be the breakthrough to Virge’s reluctance in joining the Fatherhood Club. “It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be, you fuc--freaking scaredy cat!” Not that he had any personal experience in it, but he’d seen it. Seen how happy the men were to become fathers once the bond was established. “I don’t make mistakes in this. You’d be an excellent Dad no matter your doubts. I wouldn’t be here talking to you otherwise!”

“You don’t know that!!” Virgil retorted, a tint of panic to his voice. “You can’t! How can I believe some guy showing up with a random baby in his arms--you could have kidnapped her for all I--”

“You’ve seen my wings.” Remy interrupted, spreading them out and flapping them for emphasis. “Obviously I’m not exactly some guy. I don’t kidnap babies. I rescue them from bad situations and take them to better ones. That’s what a S.T.O.R.K. does!”

“I can’t--”

“You’ll have to at some point.” Remy snapped. “I’m going to keep coming to you until you do. You do realize that right? You’re marked for Fatherhood and if it’s not me that can get that through your thick skull it will be a different S.T.O.R.K. who does.”

Virge violently shook his head. “No. I’m not--”

“A good Dad. I know. I’ve heard.” Remy rolled his eyes, snapping his wings shut as he turned away to follow the green line, adjusting as Lacey twisted in his arms trying to look behind them. “I still don’t believe you.” But it was obvious by how the purple line had faded to nearly nothing that Lacey wouldn’t end up as the Edgelord’s kid.

A pity. The dude could use some serious laughter in his life. Bright and bubbly like little Lacey’s. Too bad he was apparently immune to her charm.

“...Where are you going?”

Remy fought back the urge to snarl. “To take Lacey here to her next best option, which funnily enough is Lily’s parents so are you coming with me to reunite them or not?” At least he already knew that Lily would get along with Lacey. One hurdle gone in that regard.

Virge made a noise of surprise. “They lost their child and you’re taking another to them---”

“Mistakes happen.” Remy said shortly, glancing over his shoulder. “No one can be the perfect parent 24/7. It’s impossible. You get distracted at the wrong moment and walla your child has slipped away. Or you think someone else is watching them while they think you’re watching them and no one questions why they haven’t seen the kid recently. it---her parent line is still bright, Virge.” He looked away as Mr. Reluctant caught up and fell in step with him. “They aren’t horrible bad people just because they lost her tonight. They love her. No doubt about it.”

And if Cynical Gothica was so concerned about them and their parenting skills then he should have said YES to being the Dad to Lacey before his purple line had fizzled out!

Virge ducked his head, shoulders hunching as he brushed Lily’s hair out of her eyes. “...Okay.” He mumbled a dozen steps later. “But what if they--they loved--love her, but…but did something---what if something happened to hurt her? Badly? And they couldn’t--what if it’s not fix--fixable? What then? Would you really--”

Remy stopped just short of cresting the hill, wings prickling, goosebumps on his arms sending a chill through him as he turned back to Virge. This. He could sense. Was important.

“Mistakes happen, V.” He repeated in a softer tone. “Whatever mistake you think you’ve made that you think disqualifies you from ever becoming a Father…” He stretched out a wing, brushing the Emo’s cheek, causing him to look up, eyes so soft and vulnerable that it made Remy’s chest ache. “It’s not an unforgivable one. Again. I wouldn’t be here if it were.”

People changed. People could become better than they were. Whatever had happened in the Edgelord’s past wasn’t a deal breaker to the S.T.O.R.K.s. The three times he’d shown up in his presence had to be some sort of proof. He’d never heard of someone refusing parenthood before, but the fact that Remy kept returning, the fact that Virge kept coming up as an option in the first place, had to mean something.

V bit his lip, eyes troubled as he looked to Lacey then back to Remy, the purple ribbon connecting the two flickering like a sputtering candle. “I’m not--” He whispered.

Remy let out a slow breath, well aware that his wing was still touching his cheek, but unwilling to pull away just yet. “It’s something to think on, Virge O’Doom.” He said, voice still soft. “Once is a Chance, Twice a Coincidence, Thrice? It’s a Pattern. It’s just a matter of deciding if you’re ready when I come back a Fourth time.”

As much as he wanted to convince him and make it to work between Lacey and the Emo...the line had already fuzzed once. He didn’t want Virge to have any doubts in this.

“LILY?!” A shrill woman’s voice suddenly rang through the air, breaking the tension between them like a snapped wire. “LILY WHERE ARE YOU?!”

“LILYLOO?” A man called out, his voice breaking on the last syllable. “Lily?! Has anyone seen my daughter?!”

Remy smirked, pulling his wing back and raising an eyebrow to Virge as Lily jerked upright at her name, nearly pulling free from his grip in the process. “See? Not bad parents.”

Virge drew in a visibly shaky breath, his arms tightening around the little girl. “Right.”

“MOMMY!” Lily cried, wiggling to get free. “DADDY!”

“We got her!” Remy called, using his wing to push Mr. Reluctant forward up the hill, pitching his voice so it would carry to the frantic parents. “Over here!” He raised his free hand, waving to draw their attention as he moved his other wing to cover Lacey, hiding her from their view for now.

“Oh, Lily!” Her mother rushed forward wild curly hair streaming behind her like a banner, pulling her free from Virge’s grip with little effort to smother her with kisses. “Don’t scare me like that.”

Lily wrapped her arms around her Mother, burying her head against her chest. “Sorry Momma,” She whimpered.

“Where was she?” Her father asked, hovering anxiously behind his wife. His fingers running through his daughter’s hair.

“By the bathrooms.” Virge said, shuffling awkwardly in place. “She was crying, so we---” He gestured to Remy and himself. “Were helping her find you.”

We? Nope nope. “Pretty sure that was all you.” Remy muttered under his breath, shifting as Lacey wiggled in his grip, trying to peer out from around his wing. He would have never been aware of the girl’s situation if Castlevania hadn’t taken the initiative. His job usually involved helping unloved kids. Not loved ones. Even if they were lost.

“Lily,” Her mother scolded in a soft tone, lifting up her chin. “You know you need one of us to go with you.”

The girl sniffed, eyes welling with tears. “But I’m a big girl! I can go by myself! I’m no baby.”

Grief flashed across the Mom’s face, one hand dropping to her stomach before quickly rising back to cradle the back of Lily’s head.

Ah. Remy straightened, light green dust swirling at his fingertips as recognition flashed through him. He’d seen that particular look hundreds of times before from mothers who’d lost a babe in the womb. He’d bet his sunglasses that the baby would have been the same age as little Lacey here had they survived to full term, hence why the line was so bright. Lacey could easily slip into the family like she’d always been a part of them.

“That may be.” Her husband said, taking the opportunity to pull Lily into his arms, squeezing her tight as he gave his wife a concerned look, his own eyes showing a hint of grief as well. “But you know how your mother worries about you.”

“So much, baby girl. So much. If I lost you too-” Her voice hitched as she abruptly cut off, bowing her head, wrapping her arms around her middle.

“But you didn’t.” Remy said soothingly as he moved closer to the family, fingers of his free hand twisting to scatter green dust around them so that any nosy viewers would stop paying attention now that the little family reunion was complete. “Everyone is safe and sound. No harm done.” He pulled back his wing back to reveal baby Lacey, purposely brushing his feathers along her neck, causing her to break into soft laughter, twisting in his arms from the tickling sensation.

The Mother looked up at the sound, mouth dropping open. “Oh.” She breathed, clasping her hands over her heart, eyes shimmering as she stared at Lacey. “She’s--”

“Cute right?” Remy asked, holding her out in an unspoken invitation to hold her.

Unlike Virge, the Scrooge of Fatherhood, hovering beside him, she didn’t hesitate. She reached out to gently take Lacey into her arms, a hidden weight vanishing from her shoulders as Lacey giggled, nuzzling her face against the Mother’s neck, tiny fingers gripping onto her shirt.

“She’s absolutely precious.” She murmured, pressing a kiss into her thick hair. “What’s her name?”

“Lacey.” Remy said simply, the tip of his wing stretching out to push the Father and Lily closer to them.

“Lacey.” The Father repeated, moving to her side, a smile tugging at his lips as he watched his wife slowly rock the baby back and forth. “An L name.” He reached out, running a hand down Lacey’s back, causing the green line in Remy’s sight to flash twice indicating the parental bond had been accepted. “Just like Lily’s.”

Perfect. Remy exhaled, snapping out his wing to block Virge just as he tried to interrupt the moment.

Idiot.

Remy grabbed him by the arm, dragging him away as his wings fluttered, sending more light green sparks swirling away to settle around the newly expanded family, ensuring that Lacey would be able to bond with them in peace without further interruption.

Virge struggled, twisting in Remy’s grip, unable to break free as the first set of fireworks burst in the sky overhead. “That’s it?! You can’t seriously just--”

Remy rolled his eyes. “Can. Did. Bought the T-Shirt.” Or food. Could he still get his chicken strips if the fireworks had already started? Probably not. That was disappointing.

“Seriously?! You can’t just drop off a baby and leave!”

Funny. Remy pulled them to a stop at the bottom of the hill, mantling his wings so that Virge stood in his shadow. “I’m a S.T.O.R.K., Grimm Reaper. You do remember what that means right? Leaving babies on doorsteps is kinda the whole jig.”

Virge bristled, not at all intimidated. “But you just left her!”

Must be all those Mothman encounters. Remy crossed his arms. “In good hands, Virgeroo. Not all parents need me to stick around once I give them a child.” Thankfully. He hated dealing with the ones who had a million and six impossible questions they wanted answered. But he wasn’t actually going to leave little Lacey there just like that. What sort of S.T.O.R.K. would he be to literally just dump a child in a lady’s arms and leave?

He’d double back around to check in once he was sure Virge wouldn’t go try to find them and ruin everything.

“But!”

“No.”

EmoDramatic threw up his hands. “How will they explain this though? Going to a fireworks show with one child and coming home with two!”

Remy spread his arms, wiggling his fingers. “Maaagiic~.” He smirked, snapping his wings shut. “They can explain it however they want.” The bond would ensure that whatever reason they gave for suddenly having another child, it would be believed by those who heard it. “It’s not your concern.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, brushing past him.

Not until Mr. Not-a-Good-Dad accepted his fate at least. And who knew when that would happen. Would his curiosity help spur him into taking that final step?

Virge whirled with him, fingers brushing his wing before landing on his arm, sending a shiver down Remy’s spine. “I don’t understand.”

“And you won’t, LolliPop.” Remy shrugged free from his grip, slipping his sunglasses back over his eyes. “Not until you say yes to Dadhood. That’s another thing you can think on until I see you next.” He gave his Edgelord a two fingered salute as he jumped into the air, shimmering dust whirling around him helping him to vanish from view as a series of green and purple fireworks exploded overhead.

To Be Continued.

[manianart]

Bunny Sheriff pt2

It had been a lot easier to adjust than Sheriff would have thought it to be. It had been about a week now

A week that he had stayed with the others and it really wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. Once everything was explained and it was put out that Sheriff would be staying nobody made a fuss about it. On the contrary, even. Deimos seemed rather excited at the thought of keeping a pet. Sheriff didn’t know what to think about that but he was thankful nobody was against him staying.

After a while Deimos and Sanford said they’d go out for a drive. When they came back they had brought a bunch of pet supplies for bunnies.

Deimos went to set them up right away with Sanford by his side, reading out of a booklet with the title “how to care for lop bunnies”.

Was that what he was? Sheriff cocked his head to the side and blinked a few times, not really sure what to think about all this but not really able to raise any questions. Once everything was apparently ready Deimos went over and took Sheriff from the Doc, who ever so slightly tensed up.

A few seconds later Sheriff was plopped into a new cage.

Great.

He huffed out a bit at the thought of having to stay in yet another cage but then he noticed something. The cage ground was soft and it was a lot bigger than the other one. There was food, water, bedding, some toys, straw and, to Sheriffs delight, a little hut that he could use to hide in. 

D:”Don’t worry lil dude. This is only for nights or when we can’t keep an eye on ya.”

Deimos smiled at Sheriff. Such an honest smile and such a nice gesture. Sheriff wanted to say thanks but being that he couldn’t talk he did the next best thing. Leaning up towards Deimos hands, that were still somewhat in his cage, he nuzzled them carefully, the way he had seen cats do when asking for pats.

Deimos smile grew and he started to carefully pat the soft fluff behind the Sheriffs ear.

Both Deimos and the Sheriff were too occupied with their interaction to see Hank draw close up until he was kneeling in front of the new cage.

H:”Looks like he likes the new cage.” Deimos stopped himself when he heard Hank and looked over, now smiling at Hank.

D:”Yeah! I’m glad. Wasn’t easy to decide which one to get but Sanford found that book on bunnies and that made it somewhat easier.”

Sheriff looked over to where the other man stood, still reading in that booklet they had brought along.

Sanford noticed and slowly started to wander over to the cage before kneeling down and starting to look between the Sheriff and the booklet.

S:”I think I found out what kind of bunny this one is.” D:”Oh? Which one is it?” S:”Pretty sure he’s a dwarf lop bunny. See? The book has some pictures on them and he looks exactly like this one.” Deimos and Hank both leaned over to see where on the page Sanford was pointing to. Sheriff too tried to look, leaning on his hind legs and stretching up as far as he could to see the page as well, not having much luck with it though. By the reactions of the other two men he was pretty sure it was right though. Sanford met Sheriffs gaze and turned the booklet around, pointing to a bunny that was pictured on the page.

S:”Look, this is you.” Sheriff looked at the image. So that’s what he looked like now, huh? He had to say that that picture was rather cute, no wonder Hank didn’t want to hurt him when he found him. He wouldn’t have had the heart to do anything to a bunny like that either.

Just then he heard one of them yawn. Looking up he saw Hank open his mouth, sharp incisors and a metal jaw making him slightly flinch before he felt himself yawn as well.

2B:”It’s getting late. We should go to our quarters and head to bed.” The others nodded but then Deimos brought up a good point.

D:”So, who’ll get to keep the lil bun with them tonight?” 2B:”I don’t know but I sure as hell ain’t gonna take him to my room.” H:”I can keep him in my room.” D:”No fair! You had him the most out of all of us today!” S:”How about we play a round of rock paper scissors? The winner takes him with him for the night.” Hank and Deimos nodded at that, not even glancing at Sheriff to see what he had to add to that.

The first match they all went against each other, mostly to gage who would then go against each other in a one to one, but that wasn’t even needed. One draw and Sanford won, having given paper while the other two gave stone as answer.

Happy with the result and not willing to draw things out Sanford simply grabbed Sheriffs cage and walked to his room with it.

Once inside Sheriff looked around a bit. It was a clean room, sparsely decorated with only a few personal items.

What drew the Sheriffs interest were some pictures hanging on the wall above the table he had been placed on.

They showed Sanford and Deimos mostly but some also showed the other two men with a third one Sheriff didn’t recognize.

While looking at the photos Sheriff hadn’t noticed Sanford starting to undress, only noticing when the latter spoke up.

S:”Hey, I’ll go shower real quick. Behave while I’m gone, okay?” Sheriff watched the man head to a door that apparently led to a bathroom attached to his bedroom. Geez. Now Sheriff started to feel dirty. It had been a while since he had gotten the chance to shower.

Sighing he thought about what he could do.

He could try and get Sanford to let him bathe in the sink or something, though he wasn’t really sure if the man would understand him at all. He could use the water bowl in his new cage to bathe in but then he wouldn’t have any water to drink.

Sighing Sheriff thought about his last option. Just doing it the way bunnies would usually do it. Meaning using his tounge.

He shivered at the thought of it but in the end it was the only viable option at the moment. He looked at his front paws, they didn’t look too bad. Now...how did bunnies do that again… Shoot he really didn’t know. Maybe he should just let the body do it’s own thing? Could he do that?

He just decided to start, bringing his paws up and licking at them a bit before smoothing them over his face. Okay, this felt right. Moving on he re-wet his paws and continued with his ears.

He moved slow and methodical.

He was only at his second ear when Sanford came out of the bathroom again. Not noticing the other man he continued cleaning himself until he heard a chuckle.

S:”Y’know you could have pointed to the bathroom and I would’ve gotten you a washcloth.”

Sheriff looked over to the other, happy he couldn’t see his blush, and slowly sat down onto all fours.

S:”One moment. I’ll get something to wipe you down with. I’d be eager for a cleaning too if I had been dragged around by so many people and had to withstand the dusty wind outside.”

Sure enough Sanford went back into his bathroom and came out with a wet washcloth wich he proceeded to use on the Sheriff, carefully cleaning him wherever Sanford could reach.

Shortly thereafter Sanford layed down and turned out the lights, signing the Sheriffs first day with them drawing to an end.

Now it was a week later.

Sheriff had slowly begun to trust the others, finding that his worries of them killing him or torturing him once they found out who he was were unwarranted.

Quite the opposite really. They treated him rather well. Maybe because they thought he was a non-threat now, maybe because they could all kill him without so much as breaking a sweat or maybe just because they pitied him.

He honestly didn’t care.

He felt safe.

It had been ages since he had felt safe. Even when he was still his old self he hadn’t felt this safe in a long time.

The last time he had felt anywhere near this safe was when he had just started out as Sheriff.

When everything was still easy.

When he had only one man under him, his partner in crime-fighting, Adam.

Sheriffs mood dulled a little at the thought of his old partner.

It had been a while that he had thought about Adam. He had been his best friend and his confidant.

His loss had been the thing to make Sheriff snap and start cutting people off.

A hand was suddenly on his back, petting him carefully.

Looking up he saw Deimos looking at him, his face showing worry.

D:”You alright there Bunniff?”

Bunniff. That silly nickname Deimos had come up with about 3 days after he had been brought here.

Sheriff hadn’t liked it when he first heard it but it had grown on him. Just as much as Deimos and Sanford had grown on him, being the two that took the most care of him.

Sheriff nuzzled into the touch somewhat, trying to ease Deimos worries.

What he wouldn’t give to be able to talk.

D:”You trying to be cute to get an extra snack?”

Sheriff gave Deimos a side eye at that comment but couldn’t help himself turning towards the other to see if he did have a snack.

D:”Hehe. I gotcha lil buddy. Here ya go.” With that Deimos got out some yoghurt drops, that they had gotten from their trip to the pet store, and held one out to Sheriff.

Sheriff carefully took the drop with his teeth, having learned that those were rather sharp now, the hard way by biting his tounge, and started to nibble at it.

He truly did appreciate the snack, even if it wasn’t really the thing that he was looking for at the moment.

He was halfway done with the snack when 2BDamned stepped into the room with a clipboard.

Sheriff looked up and sighed.

Time for the daily testing.

The doc had started with those the day after Hank had brought him here, saying that, since Auditor was the one to revive Sheriff and they didn’t have a good gage on his powers, they couldn’t know what kind of anomalies could occur around and or with the Sheriff.

So far nothing had come of it.

Sheriff finished his snack quickly before he was lifted from the couch, where Deimos had placed him so they could watch some TV, and carried to 2Bs room.

Half an hour of tests later and the Doc was once again only staring at the results with a scowl.

A long sigh escaped the man before he walked over to the small cage he had placed Sheriff in to pick him up again.

2B:”. . . I still don’t get WHY Auditor would do this to you! . . . hopefully there’ll be no side eff-”

The Doc was interrupted by a loud sneeze coming from Sheriff. Sheriff didn’t even know where that had come from, he didn’t feel it coming on but oh well.

Opening his eyes after the sneeze he blinked a few times. He was still in 2Bs hold but something felt...off.

2B:”-cts…”

Doc was staring at him now.

Did he have something on his face? Reaching up he touched his face to see if something was hanging out of his nose.

Wait.

How did he do that? Normally when people held him like that he couldn’t use his arms.

Looking down now he saw...a hand?

A furr covered, paw-like hand for sure but still. A hand.

Looking back up again he met 2Bs eyes, seeing the surprise in them. His mask was hiding it but he was sure his mouth was standing open as well.

Sh:”What just-”

Sheriff heard himself beginn to say before stopping himself mid sentence.

He could talk.

HE COULD TALK!

Before he could revel in that fact a little longer 2B brought him close, holding him like a child now and rushed into the living room with him, to where the others were at the moment.

2B:”HANK!”

The others looked up at the Doc who proceeded to almost shove the half-bunny Sheriff into Hanks face.

2B:”I TOLD you he was a danger! LOOK! Who knows what’ll happen next?! We have to-”

The Doc was interrupted by Hank standing up so fast he threw down his chair, glaring at the man inside of his grasp.

Sheriff swallowed hard, his body beginning to shiver. He felt his still attached tail go between his legs and grabbed his ears in a nervous attempt to somewhat hide, using the brim of his hat as well.

Hank was towering over the other and Sheriff didn’t know when it would come but he was SURE that he would get hurt.

Silence.

Sheriff didn’t even know when he had shut his eyes but he had, waiting for the hurting to start.

After minutes of no harm coming his way he slowly opened one eye again before carefully looking up at the other.

Hank was looking...happy?

His eyes were fixated on Sheriff for sure but they held no malice or anger. A second later and Hank had taken him out of the Docs hold and was now holding him like he was the most precious thing in the world.

D:”Well… this is new...Hank be careful not to break him with that stare of yours.”

Deimos quipped, giving a snicker when Hank gave him an annoyed glance before returning to look Sheriff all over.

Sheriff felt himself begin to relax again. Hank wasn’t angry. He didn’t think Sheriff had planned anything evil or malicious.

That was a relief.

Well for about a minute it was.

That was until Sheriff realized that, holy shit, he was practically NAKED!

Sure he’d been naked all the time as bunny, but that was just the problem. He had been a BUNNY. Those normally didn’t need clothes. But now he was NOT a bunny anymore...at least not fully and that fact made him feel really exposed now.

Using his arms to kind of instinctively hide his chest and crotch, even though there was literally nothing visible there, he made a squeaking noise out of embarrassment.

That was when Sanford gave him a shirt.

S:”Here, you should probably put that on.”

Hank lowered him to the ground and grabbed the shirt for him before lifting it over his head and helping him into it.

It looked way too big on him but he didn’t care, he was just glad he didn’t have to feel naked anymore.

SH:”Thank you.”

Now everyone but the Doc and Sheriff froze.

D:”You can talk?” Sh:”Uuuuuhm~ apparently?” Sheriff shrunk a bit at the others reaction but the smile that followed gave him a little reassurance that they didn’t dislike it.

A slew of questions followed, none of wich he actually knew how to answer aside from the last one.

S:”So, what do you want to do now?”

Sanford was smiling but Sheriff knew the gravity of that question.

Before he could think about it much more, about where he’d go now and what to do or what they would do now to prevent him from doing something stupid, his stomach growled loudly, interrupting everyones thoughts.

Sh:”I guess eat something.”

The tension that had slowly been building in the room fell away at that.

They could think about this all later, for now they were just gonna roll with it.

And now it was time for dinner.

[comfy-whumpee]

Corpsed

Whumptober Day Nine: Presumed dead. @iaminamoodymoodtoday, @wildfaewhump, @ishouldblogmore, @lektric-whump, @that-one-thespian, @raigash, @paingeneering, @whumpywhumper

Mud tasted exactly how you expected it to taste, Northlight thought with a dim kind of recognition, face-down in the puddle. Kind of earthy and kind of dusty, and very bad. He sighed, and distantly heard the surface of the water let up the bubbles.

Dragging sodden arms under him, he pushed upwards for a breath, one arm leveraging him onto his side. He landed on his shoulder with a breath, the old pain of the sigil throbbing hard through his flesh. Ow.

He could breathe now though, without inhaling puddle water, so that was what mattered. It was still cold, bone-deep chill hugging him through wet clothes, but as long as his paper scraps were securely in their waterproof pouch, he didn’t care. He’d been colder. The sound of the rain around him was nice and it meant everyone else would stay away.

He woke up to something jabbing into his back.

“You stop! Keep away from that!” A shrill, plaintive voice like pinpricks on their back.

Jab, jab into him. He squelched and shifted, and there was a little shriek.

“I’m getting Papa!” the voice complained.

Jab, jab, jab. Northlight groaned, and the nagging pain stopped. He lifted his head, hair hanging around his face, dripping into the puddle around him, and glimpsed through its tendrils a little boy with a big stick and round eyes filling with dread in the timeless expression of someone knowing what they were doing was wrong and suddenly facing consequences. If this little farmer’s boy had known how to say oh shit, he would have been saying it now. Although that might have gotten him into even more trouble.

He gathered his bravado as Northlight splashed to a half-risen position and said boldly, “Are you a monster?”

He spoke, then coughed out some water and tried again, voice hoarse as a frog. “Maybe.”

The boy brandished his stick. “Well you stay back from me! My pa’s coming and he’s big as a bull!”

Sounds like my type, Northlight thought, and smiled to himself. To the boy, he only said, “It’s not nice to prod people while they’re sleeping.”

“It’s not nice to make people think you’re dead,” the boy shot back.

Northlight smiled again. “Fair call, that.” Pulling a knee under him, he rose to a crouch. “I’m harmless as a lamb, though, I swear.”

“Lambs bite.” The comment was made with the dark weight of someone speaking first-hand of the betrayal.

“I’m known to bite,” Northlight admitted, working the other knee up. Their bones seethed with cold. “Can I borrow your stick to lean on?”

The boy scrunched his face, little brown eyes narrowing. Then he thrust the stick towards Northlight, turning his nose away. “Fine.”

Northlight took the stick in one muddy hand and leaned on it to help drag him to his feet. He wobbled, then staggered clear of the puddle, battered leather boots making an undignified squelching sound. The boy wasn’t wearing any shoes at all.

“There he is!” the girl’s voice rang shrilly across the field, and Northlight looked up to see a large-shouldered man hurrying towards them, the daughter in his wake. He stayed still as the boy turned and looked up at his father with a fearless grin.

“It’s okay, pa! He’s not dead!”

“You get yourself inside right now, Little Ben,” the man broke in with an out-of-breath but stern voice. “You and your sister go upstairs and stay there till me and our guest have sorted things. Got that?”

“But Pa…”

“Hush! Up the stairs now.” One large hand pushed the boy into a turn, and reluctantly, he hurried off to meet his sister.

That left Northlight, half-drowned, leaning heavily on a borrowed walking stick, and dripping with quiet noises that were creating a pressure headache second by second.

He farmer was a different lot. Strong and broad to Northlights knobbly-kneed underdevelopment. He was confident in voice and gesture, the way Northlight only was with a story the had rehearsed. He moved like he owned the fields, and maybe he did, if they had been rich enough to buy the land.

The hand he offered was large and roughened from hard work, and Northlight took it without hesitation.

“For what purpose are you on my land, stranger?”

“Got lost,” Northlight croaked, then coughed wetly.

The farmer frowned. “Tis a bad season to be out. Do you have a place to go?”

I have all the places in the world and yet none. “None I can find in this rain.”

“Then stay with me awhile, until it passes. We’ll get you cleaned up, warm and fed. Once the sky clears, you can be on your way.”

Northlight looked up at the farmer with a small smile. “You do me a great kindness. What should I call you?”

“You call me Ben. Yourself?”

Northlight span his internal roulette. What name paired nicely with Ben? A good country name, a solid and honourable one. He smiled. “Penrose.”

[catboynecromancy]

from the college experience prompts... “i accidentally flooded the laundry room and you really needed to do laundry” au 💕

SOPHIE! This one was so fun, it kind of got away from me, just a little. I actually....really like this one! It's sort of tempting to post it on AO3! I hope you enjoy! Thank you! 🥰

-

“Shit.”

Ronan walks down the empty hall, a plastic hamper filled to the brim in hand. It’s been weeks since he’s seen the laundry room, a little too long, really, but he hates having to sit in there for hours when he could be doing literally anything else.

“Shit, fuck —”

He pauses at the propped open, metal door, listening to a nice-sounding voice raise a fuss without peeking inside.

“Oh, my God, what the fuck am I going to do?” The frustration in the stranger’s tone has just about doubled, edging into something like a whine. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, there’s — there’s so much water, what the fuck?”

It’s this last bit that makes Ronan step forward, glancing in to see something he probably should have expected but, somehow, isn’t prepared for at all. Rows of old, white Maytags appear fine, except for one in particular spewing out a mixture of soapy bubbles and water. Next to it is a boy, probably a freshman like Ronan from the looks of him, disheveled and panic spread across his ethereally gaunt features.

The boy runs long fingers through already messed up hair, sighing loudly. “I should call maintenance...no, what if they try charging me for this?”

Ronan’s light eyes flick down to the floor, where at least an inch of sudsy water pools around thin, canvas sneakers. His frustration grows as he realizes this means it’s unlikely he’ll be able to do his own laundry, not with the current state of the room, but ebbs away as Ronan hears the boy going over the potential cost of replacing a 1988 Maytag washer out loud, how he’s putting an awful lot of thought into something that, to Ronan, seems so, so simple.

Oh, well, it isn’t too bad if he just flips a pair of boxers inside out to re-wear, right?

He makes a show of dropping his heavy hamper in the hallway, smacking loudly on the wet pavement. The boy jumps, head jerking up to stare at Ronan with a widened gaze, his sun-kissed, freckled face turning more and more red as seconds pass between them, stuck in an awkward silence.

Ronan opens his mouth to speak, shuts it in a grimace that stretches up to his dark eyebrows, and tries again. “You gonna waste all that good soap?” He asks, sarcastic, pointing at the bubble bath still collecting on the floor at the boy’s feet.

“Am I — What?”

“The flooding, you’re wasting precious laundry soap, man.”

“I,” the boy seems just as baffled as he is embarrassed now. “I’m not doing it on purpose. The machine...broke.”

Ronan smirks, a sharper look than he intends to give but it happens naturally, without any thought. “Uh huh, that’s what they all say, especially when they’ve definitely done something bad.”

His attempts at humor seem to be falling flat, although Ronan thinks it’s more his company’s fault for lacking good taste and being uptight than his jokes being bad. The boy’s flush darkens but he seems almost pissed. “I didn’t break it. All I did was start a load, and this happened. You can’t prove I did anything wrong.”

“No, I can’t,” Ronan looks towards a random corner, letting his eyes linger as if there is something of interest there even though he sees nothing but ugly, off-yellow paint over concrete walls. “But that can.”

The boy snaps his attention to the spot. “That?” He repeats, “I don’t see anything. Is something supposed to be there?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I...Okay, you’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

Ronan snorts, crossing his arms against his chest. He leans on the door frame to stare at the boy, trying not to let his gaze wander too much, although it’s impossible to stop himself from taking in a wiry frame underneath loose clothing, and a strange face that could either belong to a couture model, or some 19th century soldier lost to both war and time.

“No shit,” he says after a moment, tilting his head. “Had to cheer myself up somehow after realizing I’m gonna have to wear yesterday’s dirty drawers and you seem like the kind of guy who’s easy to get riled up.”

Just like how Ronan had been doing moments prior, the boy’s blue eyes shift along his form, lingering on a few spots before finally finding it’s way back to his face. “And you seem like an asshole,” he says, no heat to the words, like he’s stating a fact instead of insulting Ronan. “You get off on messing with people who are already freaking out?”

He pushes off of the frame with a shrug, stomping into the flooded room without a care towards getting his leather boots wet. “You don’t look like you’re freaking out,” Ronan replies and stops a short ways off, close enough to see the water is still spilling out like a goddamn waterfall. “Not anymore, at least.”

Now it’s the boy’s turn to open his mouth, about to protest but he stops. It takes another couple of seconds but then, all of a sudden, he’s got this dorky sort of smile. “Shit, you’re right. Did you do that on purpose?”

“Not really,” Ronan edges closer, closer, until he thinks any further would be encroaching on the boy’s personal space. “Need some help with that?”

“You know how to stop it?”

“Nope. Figured we could fish your clothes out and head over to the east wing, try our luck there.”

“And just leave it like this?”

“Yeah, why the hell not? You got a better idea?” Ronan reaches in, grabbing the first piece of clothing he can find, pretending he doesn’t realize it’s a pair of boxer-briefs he’s now got in his hand. “You gonna call maintenance so late on their day off? Pissing them off is a surefire way to get charged for the goods.”

When the boy doesn’t say anything right away, Ronan tosses the underwear at his face, laughing when it hits with a plop and an oof. He peels it away, frowning, and tosses it right back so it smacks Ronan’s face. “Okay, fine,” he says, trying to sound exasperated but failing. “Help me out and I’ll let you use my soap. I’m Adam, by the way. Adam Parrish.”

“Ronan,” he replies, grabbing more sopping wet clothing to throw at Adam, who huffs in an amused sort of way. “Ronan Lynch. Let’s get outta here before someone catches us.”

“Would be a lot quicker if you weren’t shucking my clothes at me, y’know,” Adam points out as he removes another pair of underwear from on top of dusty, light brown locks.

“I’m helping,” Ronan answers, casual, doing it again. “Not my fault you're shit at catching.”

Adam gives him a withering look. It shouldn’t be exciting, to be glared at in such a way, but something about impressing a difficult person is more satisfying than all the ones who just fawn over Ronan because of his good looks. “Do a better job at tossing, then, asshole.”

Ronan smirks, wide and toothy. A night that had seemed like it was going to be filled with nothing but boring laundry has somehow become much, much more interesting than Ronan could have hoped.

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 23

AO3

Beta reader as always is @thesnadger!

It's harder to say it out loud.

Jon and Martin catch up.

As the seconds ticked by and Martin failed to respond, Jon adjusted a small bag slung across his shoulder. “It’s um- I understand this might come as a shock. I hadn’t meant for my entrance to be so dramatic, but this place seems to insist on a particular atmosphere.”

Martin heard the words as they slipped past on the wind, the skin drawing his full attention. It wasn’t like his mother’s, dusty and worn and so very old. No, this seemed to shine in the rain and seawater, but his chest constricted at the sight of it.

Despite Jon’s efforts to conceal it, a shiver ran through his shoulders. 

“Right, sorry,” Martin croaked out, then coughed until his throat behaved itself. He found his hand still gripping the door knob and gave it a twist. “Sorry. Yeah, come on in.”

Jon’s stiff shoulders dropped, and with some eagerness he walked up the stairs to escape the rain. “Sor- Thank you. It’s not the best night to be out dressed like this.”

He wasn’t wrong. Warm light poured out from the doorway onto the front porch, illuminating Jon in his soaked-through fleece jumper and jeans, a far cry from the waterproof seal coat in his arms. It was no wonder that Jon was quick to enter the house and leave the damp, cold night behind. With one last look outward, Martin dipped inside and shut the door behind him. 

Jon seemed uncertain where to go next and stood next to the coat hooks, leaning from one foot to the other. 

“Do you want to...um, put it down? You can hang it up in the shower if it’s still wet,” Martin said, placing his own coat on a hook as casually as he could manage. “I don’t know if hooks would be, um, good for it?”

With a nervous glance downwards, Jon nodded and slipped his shoes off. “Right. That makes sense. I guess it is dripping everywhere.” Yet he continued to stand on the front rug.

Ah, right. “If you don’t want to lose sight of it, that’s-”

“It’s not- I’ll go hang it up now. Is it down the-”

“Second door on the right.”

“Right.” And Jon stalked down the hall into the toilet and closed the door, leaving Martin by the front entrance.

Martin wasn’t going to scream and freak Jon out right off the bat. Not that Jon worked too hard to give him the same courtesy.

Jon was a-

Shit. Martin pressed a shoulder against the wall and forced himself to breathe. It was fine. It made sense, right? Jon’s interest in selkies was bound to come from somewhere. He was knowledgeable in a way that would’ve required access to a selkie directly, and finding one couldn’t have been easy. 

There was a twisting in his upper chest, but he heard the door down the hall open and straightened himself out. Jon came out in a plain t-shirt and different trousers, evidently leaving his other clothes to dry. 

He rubbed his upper arms. “An explanation is probably necessary.”

Martin took a good look at him, all skinny limbs and uncertain glances. Bags much deeper than before dragged down under his eyes and without the extra layers hiding him away it was even harder for Jon to hide how much he was shivering.

“You-” Martin pushed up his glasses and rubbed his eyes. There was no helping it. He walked to the living room and motioned for Jon to follow. “I’ll make some tea.”

In spite of himself, Martin found it in him to fuss. He ushered Jon onto the couch and pulled the old blanket down from where it lay over the top just so it fell behind Jon, resisting the urge to pull it snug. At first Jon lifted a hand to wave him off, but as he sank further into the seat he let out a weary sigh and leaned forward onto his knees.

“Thanks.”

“Mhm. Be right back.”

Martin strode toward the kitchen in a way that he hoped didn’t look like bolting and escaped Jon’s line of sight.

A kettle. There was a kettle on the countertop. It was… technically not washed, not for a few days. Good. That gave him some time. He got to work, scrubbing at it much longer than necessary to settle his thoughts. As if there would ever be enough time for that.

So. Jon was on his couch after revealing himself to be one of the sea folk, looking cold and tired and very uncomfortable with the circumstances. That was all he had to work with, that and the cheap tea bags he tossed onto the countertop. 

He’d gotten groceries for two. That would be the polite thing, to offer food. 

If Jon intended to stay for more than an evening. This might be one rest stop on the path to elsewhere, land or sea. He certainly wasn’t packed for an overnight stay with that tiny bag he’d apparently managed to fit with him inside his coat, a train of thought Martin had no desire to follow. Maybe he’d even eaten… on the way? Hm, no, that wasn’t a great place, either. Whatever, he might not be looking for much more than a place to sit a while.

And then the tea was ready and poured out into two mugs, one with a pastoral scene of some sheep and the other a faded logo of a long-gone tackle shop. He’d run out of time.

The two mugs lent warmth to his hands as he walked back to the living room, catching himself before he tripped on his own feet. On the other side of the room, Jon had chosen to bundle himself up at one end of the couch, legs and all tucked into the blanket. It was all Martin could do to offer him the sheep mug without making eye contact and pray that the lamp light was too dim to reveal the red across his face.

Thankfully Jon didn’t seem to notice Martin’s awkward demeanor as he slipped his hands from under the blanket to curl his fingers around the mug. “Thank you, again. I’m sure you have questions.”

He would, wouldn’t he? He had several a moment ago, but unfortunately with all the heat emanating from his ears it seemed every question had risen right out of his head. Instead Martin sat on the other end of the couch. “You’d know better about where to start.”

From under the blanket Jon squared his shoulders. “Right. I don’t think there’s much to explain on this first point. I’m a selkie, or sea folk as you once said. I hope it explains the intensity of my… concern, regarding your mother.”

Martin squirmed a little. Jon's anger at the possibility of Martin holding one hostage took on a much more personal bent in hindsight. It must’ve been like a horror movie to find the skin there. “Yeah, I got that part.”

“As for my showing up here today, I…” Struggling somewhat with words, Jon took a sip of tea and gave a small noise of approval. “Okay, from the beginning. The day I’d finally finished with all of the extra work piled onto me, I’d settled on digging further into Elias’ connection with the Lukases. Possible overlap in goals, reasons for why the three of us were sent to this town, etcetera.”

He continued. “There wasn’t much. If I had to guess, it’s all largely in financial records that I have no access to, but I’d hoped that other strange happenings connected to the Lukases would explain something.”

“But they didn’t,” Martin said.

Sighing, Jon said, “No. So I changed direction and focused on Elias’ goals. If it wasn’t the lighthouse he wanted us to look at, then there were two options: either he just sent us out there to look at nothing, or he thought we would find something else of interest. Or that I might find something I’d been looking for.”

Martin’s heart could’ve stopped. “You don’t think-”

“He of course knew of my research into selkies. It’s the main reason I was eager for this position, all the resources he offered. I kept my more… personal motivation quiet, of course, stuck to how it was ‘underrepresented in our field’, which is entirely true and I could- anyway, I thought I was careful.” Quickly, he turned toward Martin as if he’d realized something. “And I was, with regards to you and your mother. I promise I never said anything about what I found. That secret isn’t going anywhere.” He rested the mug in his lap, tapping his fingertips on the white ceramic.

“But?”

“It appears I wasn’t doing a good enough job hiding myself. He always knew.” His mouth set into a grim line. “When we first got back I thought something was off about my flat, but the workload had gotten so high and there was so much to think about that I brushed it off.”

He gripped his knee through the blanket as it bounced with agitation. “I know someone came into my flat while I was gone. I know this because the day after your incident with Simon Fairchild it happened again, and this time he was sloppy.” 

A tremor had crept into Jon’s voice, just enough to be heard, though it wasn’t for the cold or for fear exactly. Anger? Irritation? 

“I was sent to check on something outside the city, not far but enough that I was able to get reimbursement for a night’s stay. It wasn’t the first time I’d been sent off without warning, obviously-” Jon motioned in the general direction of the town. “-but something was wrong. I could feel it, just like I could feel that someone had been in my flat.” At this point Jon stopped and leaned over to rub at his forehead, his shoulders rising and falling with long, deep breaths.

“Jon?” Martin said. He lifted his hand and then placed it on the back of the couch.

The tired man shook his head, “I’m fine. Just let me finish.”

“So I went back late that night. Didn’t tell anyone, didn’t cancel my hotel. And when I entered my flat, what did I see but a figure in the dark rifling through my things. A familiar one at that.” A sardonic edge snuck into his voice. “Never expected Elias to be the type to get his hands dirty in a work sense, let alone an illegal one.”

“There was a struggle. I rushed at him without thinking, and when pressed he eventually admitted to knowing what I was. I knew what he was looking for then, didn’t really need to ask, and so I… ran.”

Martin’s hand twitched, but he kept it in place. “That sounds… awful. I’m sorry.”

With a shaky inhale, Jon said, “I-I ended up staying with an old friend of mine for a few days, outside of town. When I initially got the job she’d agreed to keep my, um… my skin, while I was in the city. So Elias was never going to find it by looting around my things, on either attempt.” He smiled, eyes empty and humorless. “Paranoia pays off sometimes.”

“Sounds like you have a good friend, then,” Martin said, looking down at his barely-touched tea. “Why’d you leave?”

“Because three people and a cat take up a lot of space in a one-bedroom?” Jon replied with a small but genuine laugh. “My friend, Georgie, she lives with her girlfriend. Her girlfriend and I don’t get on at the best of times, and cohabitation while I’m a terrified mess is not the best of times. The cat didn’t seem to mind, though.”

“I figured the next safest place would be in the water, while traveling at least. I couldn’t take much with me, but I wouldn’t need much either. My main goal was to just stay hidden as best as I could.” He looked back at Martin sheepishly. “Which I hope is a good enough reason for my number being unavailable.”

Martin nearly dropped his tea. “What?”

“What?” Jon frowned, brows knit together in confusion. “Oh. Um, yes, I deactivated my account. Maybe a bit more precaution than necessary, but at that point I was too nervous to take any risks. Tossed my mobile as well.” 

A horrid wave of guilt hit Martin right in the stomach. The number wasn’t reachable, which he’d have known if he’d just called. Stupid, of course Jon had a reason for not calling. How much more of an ass could he be, assuming things when Jon had his own worries to deal with? Not everything had to be about himself and his problems.

“Makes sense,” he said, hiding his own unhappy mouth behind the mug. 

“Anyway, I left the land for… an amount of time. It was hard to keep track. And it’s still the wilderness, so it wasn’t safe. Eventually I decided being stuck surrounded by wild animals wasn’t going to help me and figured this was the best place to go next.” He leaned back. “I couldn’t exactly see Tim or Sasha for updates, though they know to pretend to trust Elias for now, thanks to Georgie. Once I see them in-person, it’ll be safer to explain why I’d disappeared on them.”

And in the meantime pretend that Jon was off to the side, too busy to bother with a group text. He might as well have been asleep the whole time with how obvious it all was. And there he’d been writing Jon off without evidence instead of feeling concern. Horrid.

Jon took a deep breath. Some of the tension slipped away from his forehead, smoothing the creases into faint lines. 

“Had a harder time than expected finding this place considering the lighthouse looming over everything. I think I got turned around after losing sight of the coast and the fog certainly didn’t help. But things cleared up enough, and now I’m here.”

Martin withdrew his arm from atop the couch and leaned away into the arm rest. “And now you’re here.”

There in the present, they sat on their respective sides of the couch. Jon settled further back into the cushion, pressing both hands to his mug of tea and enjoying the warmth it brought to his skinny fingers. 

The man needed to sleep. It was clear in his struggling eyes, his voice, his shoulders obscured by the blanket’s folds. How long had he been at it, swimming mile after mile until he found his way here? How much further was he planning to go?

“Are you okay?” 

Martin started, ripping his eyes from Jon’s face. “Fine, yeah. Just, just taking it all in I guess.”

Jon rubbed the back of his neck. “I know it’s a lot. If you wouldn’t mind, though, I wanted to ask if anything else happened here since I left.”

Martin replied, “Not much. I delivered the letter for Simon a few weeks ago. Peter has been spotty ever since and has been on a boating trip for a few days.”

“The only way to avoid Fairchild, maybe. Until he goes out on his own yacht. Or flies there.”

Martin snorted and took another sip of tea. 

“And nothing else has changed?”

In the grand scheme of things? “No. Not really.”

“Good. I’d worried about getting here- well-”

“Too late?” Martin said with a rougher edge than he’d intended, and he saw Jon flich. Quickly, he continued, “I’m fine. If anything you didn’t have to deal with weeks full of nothing like Tim and Sasha.”

It was Jon’s turn to snort. “That would’ve been preferable, I think. Being so out of the loop, not knowing what to expect when I managed to get back. It wasn’t pleasant.”

“So, what now?”

Jon chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I’m not entirely sure. There isn’t anywhere else for me to go now. But since you asked, there was something I’d been considering.”

Twisting in place, he faced Martin directly with a nervous expression. “Truth be told, I don’t know anyone else like me, not personally. The sea might as well be the woods or the mountains for all I know on how to navigate them. If anyone was going to be able to help me with my particular situation, I figured it would be-”

“My mum.” The words came out throttled. 

The room shifted, the sides of his vision blurred until all he could see was the dead television. If he stared at that point long enough, he could almost see the burnt-in images of something he’d left on pause for too long.

From beside him, he heard the rustling of the blanket.

“I- yes, th-though if that’s too much trouble I understand. I would never want to make you or your mother’s lives harder by getting her involved with me. I know I’m a liability to her safety just coming here, but I’d at least wish to speak with her, ask if there’s anywhere or anyone she knows that could help if she herself is unwilling. She’s already asleep I assume, so I could wait until tomorrow-”

“She’s gone.”

His words cut through the air with a swiftness, the quiet settling in so deeply that he could almost hear tv static as his mind tried to fill the gap. With nothing to be heard and his vision so caught by the television, Jon might as well have vanished into thin air.

But he hadn’t. With something between wariness and disbelief, Jon muttered, “...Gone.” 

“Four days ago.” Martin blinked away the tunnel, looking down at his own hands. “Took her skin and nothing else.”

“That’s… Did she say when she might come back?” 

Without answering, Martin stood up and walked to the kitchen. When faced with Jon’s protestations he placed a hand up, signalling for the man to wait, and from the kitchen table plucked the unmoved note. Then, wordlessly, he handed it over to Jon and sat on his own end of the couch. 

The note was short enough. “...That’s it?”

“Yeah. Sorry I can’t be of more help.”

“That’s- you don’t need to apologize to me. I imagine it’s been difficult.” A pause as Jon set the note on the side table, and then, “You did the right thing.”

Something pushed upwards in Martin’s throat, something bitter and harsh and awful, but he clenched his teeth and kept his tone even. “It’s for the best.”

“If there’s any… If you have any questions, I’ll do what I can to answer them.” As Jon spoke he was plainly starting to regret it. “But I suppose you would know her better.”

Martin frowned and said nothing.

“Right… right. Family business.” Jon drained the rest of his mug and then dragged his fingers down one cheek. “If you’re all right with it, I’d like to spend the night here and figure things out tomorrow, when I’m feeling more myself. I’ve sorely missed sleeping somewhere dry and horizontal.”

“You really slept that way with your face sticking out?” The image of a little seal head popping up out of the water fast asleep came to mind, a welcome distraction. He let himself smile a little and leaned a cheek into his knuckles. “You seem a bit drift-y, yeah.”

“I hope that’s not meant to be a pun. And sleeping in the water is difficult,” Jon replied, deadpan. “So I have permission to co-opt your couch?”

“Knock yourself out. I need to get to bed, anyway.” He pushed himself back up off the couch and grabbed both mugs. As he walked back to the kitchen, he looked back at Jon. “... She left her medication here. Does that mean anything?”

Jon shook his head. “She’ll be fine. She won’t need them unless she returns to a human form, according to my own, er, experimentation.” 

Martin nodded and waved goodnight with one of his full hands, making his way back into the kitchen one final time to place the mugs in the sink. Every motion reminded him that he too was tired, so tired, so they would be washed another time along with the plate of whatever it was he’d made for himself. Had he offered Jon something to eat? No, but the man was capable of asking for things.

One thing had been helpful. He looked at the half-empty pill bottles that sat undisturbed on the counter and with one swift motion tossed them into the bin.

[fablesrose]

Drunk on the Memories

Summary: Eliot gets drunk with an old friend, before he even joined the military, they insist on singing to each other

Word count: 1805

Pairing: Eliot Spencer x Fem!Reader

Square filled: Drunken Confession

Masterlist ~ Bingo Masterlist

Warnings: Talk of war, drinking (obv)

Songs: I Wanna be in the Cavalry by Corb Lund, I Wanna be in the Cavalry Reprise by Corb Lund, Wish You Were Here by Pink Floyd

A/n: this is for @girl-next-door-writes Make Me Feel Bingo, I did cut out a verse or two on the first too songs to keep it shorter and less graphic but I really enjoyed writing this, so enjoy! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you drunk enough yet?”

I shook my head and knocked back another drink, “Now I am, you?”

Eliot took a large swig of whiskey right from the bottle, “Hand me the guitar.”

I passed it to him with a smile. He grunted and strummed it a couple of times, grumbling that it was out of tune. He started turning the knobs to change the pitch of the strings and my mind drifted to the last time I had heard him sing.

It was years ago, we were both young, broke, and stupid as hell. His one brain cell was telling him to join the military, so that’s what he did. He was being deployed the next morning, so all of our friends and family gathered round a fire, passed the booze around, and insisted on having a swell time. It got to the point where we were drunk enough to do anything, so someone shoved a guitar into Eliot’s hands and told him to put on one last show.

He laughed but started to sing all the same.

“I wanna be in the cavalry if they send me off to war

I wanna good steed under me like my forefathers before

I wanna good mount when the bugle sounds and I hear the cannons' roar

I wanna be in the cavalry if they send me off to war.”

Everybody quieted down to listen to him. It was an upbeat song, but it settled in that he was going to war. And with a voice like his, how could you not listen?

“I wanna horse in the volunteer force that's riding forth at dawn

Please save for me some gallantry that will echo when I'm gone

I beg of you sarge let me lead the charge when the battle lines are drawn

Lemme at least leave a good hoof beat they'll remember loud and long”

Wolf whistles rose from our group as the energy picked back up again. His face was smiling, young, and full of joy.

“I'd not a good foot soldier make, I'd be sour and slow at march

And I'd be sick on a navy ship, and the sea would leave me parched

But I'll be first in line if they'll let me ride, by god, you'll see my starch

Lope back o'er the heath with the laurel wreath underneath that vict'ry arch”

We laughed. He stood and we cheered him on as he danced around the fire and wove through us. I became mesmerized by him as his voice seemed to light up the area as much as the fire, and warmed me the same amount. Before I knew it he was singing the last verse.

“Let 'em play their flutes and stirrup my boots and place them back to front

For I won't be back on the rider-less black (jack) and I'm finished in my hunt

I wanna be in the cavalry if I must go off to war

I wanna be in the cavalry, but I won't ride home no more”

I was pulled out of my trance as the Eliot before me started to sing, similarly drunk, but different in every other way.

“I wanna be in the cavalry if they send me off to war

I wanna good steed under me like my forefathers before

“Courageous at first we took their worst, our positions we held stout

We clung to belief and we hung on the speech from our trusted leaders' mouths

Overwhelming odds and a hopeless cause and our cities overrun

There were them that said we was badly led and God were we outgunned”

When we met earlier he seemed okay, happy even, but with the alcohol came a weariness that only someone who had seen too much could hold. His hands were precise and aged, far from the man I knew that was young and quick, but they still held the same grace with the music.

“I lost count of the worthy mounts that from under me were cut

My favourite mare with her head in the air took the cannons in her gut

In the first two weeks on that bloody creek my brother lost his arm

Was only sixty days till all we prayed was get us home unharmed”

My heart ached as I remembered similar prayers that left my lips, prayers for peace, for safety, for an end of the pain, anyway necessary at points. I could tell that more feeling was in this version of the song then the one I remembered so long ago. That every word that flowed from his mouth was a more of a memory.

“O for the day that we signed our names and the well that we were wished

The men's congrats and the pats on the backs and the ladies that we kissed

The band that played and the grande parade and the patriotic shouts

All faded fast, didn't even last till the uniforms wore out

“We were finally forced to feed on horse and carcass we could scrounge

When the wagons stopped and we'd burnt their crops to charred and barren ground

With morale in doubt and our pride run out no honour did I see

All I seen were a thousand dreams piled dead in front of me

“I wanna be in the cavalry if they send me off to war

I wanna be in the cavalry, but I won’t ride home no more.”

The apartment echoed the reverberations of the strings. I felt myself sway a little before I grabbed onto the counter with a clap. The alcohol was stirring up some unwelcome feelings in the silence.

“Come on little filly, I believe it’s your turn.”

I chuckled, shaking away the previous emotions, “Fine.”

I grabbed the ukulele that was laid on the floor by the counter.

He laughed, “You still play that thing? What are you gonna sing? Somewhere Over the Rainbow?”

I shook my head, “Yes, as a matter of fact I do still play this thing, and no I won’t be singing Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”

I did think about it. I will admit that, though only to myself. Instead, I chose something that I remembered. Something familiar. Maybe the alcohol had something to do with it.

I strummed the strings, making sure it sounded right before plucking out a tune.

“So, so you think you can tell

Heaven from hell?

Blue skies from pain?

Can you tell a green field

From a cold steel rail?

A smile from a veil?

Do you think you can tell?”

I felt my eyes water. I kept telling myself I drank too much. It was the alcohol making me emotional, but I knew that was only part of it. It’s been years since I last saw Eliot. We had led different lives, but somehow we still ended up here, more similar than we would have thought.

“Did they get you to trade

Your heroes for ghosts?

Hot ashes for trees?

Hot air for a cool breeze?

Cold comfort for change?

Did you exchange

A walk-on part in the war

For a leading role in a cage?”

Eliot’s face was blank, cold. Maybe he was lost in some memories of his own this time. I blinked away the wet eyes and focused back on the strings under my fingertips.

“How I wish, how I wish you were here

We're just two lost souls

Swimming in a fish bowl

Year after year

Running over the same old ground

What have we found?

The same old fears

Wish you were here.”

I sighed and squeezed my eyes shut.

“That was real pretty.”

I smiled bitterly, “Why thank you, you aren’t so bad yourself.”

“What made you pick that song?”

I poured myself another drink, “What made you pick yours?”

He paused, not expecting the question.

“Memories.”

I smiled and nodded, “Me too.” I moved to take a sip, when I hesitated and placed it back down, anymore and I would be sick. “You know, I sang that song to myself every time I missed you.”

“So once every couple of years?”

“Everyday sometimes.”

There was a pause between us.

“It almost hurt worse when I saw you afterwards, because I would still sing it. Because you still weren’t here with us, not really. Now here we are, both drunk as hell, both got dirt, probably more on our hands, and I’m singing it to you.”

I touched my face to find the tears rolling down my cheeks.

“Now what does that say about me?” I wiped my face and sniffed, trying to compose myself again.

Eliot slid off his stool and stood between my knees,  “It means that you’re still that same girl I left in that small and dusty town.”

I scoffed, “We both know that’s not entirely true.”

His hands came up to my face, “Sure it is, you’re still strong, beautiful, caring, and the best friend I could barely hope for.”

His hands were warm on my jaw, rough, but soothing. I couldn’t help but whisper, “What if I told you I wanted to be more than friends?”

He took a step closer to the point where I could feel his breath on my face. I looked up at him, still a little taller than me even on the stool.

“What if I told you I wanted to kiss you?”

“I’d tell you I feel the same.”

“Me too.”

He dipped his head to my lips. He tasted of the whiskey we’d been drinking, but maybe the taste of my last shot was just lingering on my tongue. His hands drifted to the back of my neck, his fingertips caressing my scalp. I found myself gripping his shoulder and forearm, trying to keep myself anchored. Eliot took another step that pushed my stool backwards. Now my back was against the counter and Eliot’s chest was pressed against mine.

We paused for a moment with our eyes closed and foreheads pressed together.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.” I could feel the vibrations in his chest as he spoke, and I let out a sigh.

“Yeah.”

Eliot’s hands softly untangled from my hair and drifted over my shoulders, down my back and traced my waist. He slipped them under my thighs and lifted me up onto the counter, pushing the stool underneath and out of the way. He didn’t make a sound as he wrapped is arms around me, burying his face in my neck.

I ran my hands through his long hair, holding him close. Eventually he left soft kisses on my neck, leading up to my jaw, before leaving one more on my lips.

“You don’t have to sing that song alone anymore, I’m here.”

“Yeah, you are. You rode home. You rode home to me.”

Best Buds: @snarky--starky  @kitkatd7 @confetti-its-an-imagine-blog @kaogasm

[slippinmickeys]

Five Seconds (1/8)

This is the sequel to “Of the Eight Winds,” which began from a small simple prompt from Sunflowerdeedsandscience: “Mulder is unhappily married when Scully is partnered with him, and while he doesn't cheat (because sorry that's not romantic), he falls for her so hard that he finally gets the courage to end the marriage and start fresh.” That prompt took on a life of its own that became ‘Of the Eight Winds.’ This fic immediately follows the events of that piece — I would encourage reading it first if you haven’t.

This is not written in the same Rashomon structure as the original — it is absolutely linear. Hope that doesn’t throw anyone.

I’ll be posting the first two chapters today, and then one chapter a day until next Monday. You can also find it on AO3 here.

PROLOGUE

They say in the heat of the moment, you have five seconds to make a decision. Five seconds between right and wrong. Five seconds between life and death. As Mulder stood watching one gun pointed at his children and another pointed at an immensely pregnant Scully, five seconds seemed an eternity.

XxXxXxXxXxX

6 Months Earlier

She watched the house from the shadows. Occasionally from her car. It was harder to follow the woman as she worked at a secure government facility, but the man was easy. He had a small private psychology practice in a townhouse in Old Town. He usually ate lunch at a Panera near the office or brown bagged it from home.

The kids both attended a private prep school out in McLean. The girl drove herself and her brother most days. The boy would often stay late for sports practice (ice hockey, if the equipment was any indication) and the man would usually pick him up. Their lives were pretty routine.

After two weeks, she finally made an appointment with the man’s scheduling service and waited nervously in the outer office. Right on time, he opened the door.

“Olivia?” Dr. Mulder smiled at her, “come on back.”

She passed him through the doorway and settled into a plush leather couch.

He sat down in a chair across from her and crossed his leg, looking relaxed. Up close, she noticed that his hair was starting to grey at the temples, but he still looked fit, and conveyed an easy manner.

“Thank you for seeing me,” she said, trying to calm her nerves.

“Of course,” he said, looking down at his notebook, “I see you were referred to me by Dr. Heitz Werber?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself,” he said.

She took a breath.

“I grew up here in DC. After grad school… My father worked for the State Department and I, uh, went into the family business.”

Dr. Mulder nodded, his expression neutral.

“I can imagine that’s pretty stressful work,” he said.

“It was,” she said, “I don’t do it anymore.”

He nodded again, waiting for her to fill the silence. She went on.

“The work I did… it hurt people. And I’m… I’m trying to make amends.”

His expression gave nothing away. She steeled herself, took a deep breath.

“Dr. Mulder, my name is Olivia Kurtzweil. Our fathers knew each other a long time ago. I’m here to warn you. You and your family are in danger. Your wife and her baby…”

His nostrils flared, but he maintained his composure.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out several pictures.

“I can prove it,” she said, “This is me and my father, this is me and your sister Samantha. And this is our fathers together.”

“I think you need to leave,” he said, his voice tight for the first time. He was not looking at the pictures.  

She rose.

“There’s not a lot of time.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper with a phone number on it, set it next to the pictures, which she left on the office’s small coffee table. “Call me at this number. Soon. I’ll tell you all I can.”

With that she left, her heart hammering in her chest.

CHAPTER ONE

Arlington Cemetery May 2nd, 2018

Mulder descended the stairs quickly, the leather bottoms of his dress shoes scraping loudly on the dusty grit of the steps. The occupants of the underground lair were the perfect people to call when you needed information, but good housekeepers they were not.

He entered the code on the security box at the door at the bottom of the staircase, and the door swung open.

“Guys?” he called into the cavernous space once the door sealed shut behind him.

“In here!” he heard a muffled call from near the back.

He stepped around gunmetal shelves awash in circuitry and computer parts and turned right into the sanctum sanctorum of the place: the desktop on which sat the AMD Threadripper 3000. Two men were hunched over the screen, one sitting, one standing just behind him.

Grease-stained napkins were wadded up next to the keyboard and crinkled butcher paper sat nearby, sporting the red-splotched remains of marinara sauce and a few errant banana peppers.

“You want a meatball sub, Mulder?” came the nasally voice of the man standing, “We got extra.”

“I don’t relish the thought of being up all night with heartburn, Langly, but thanks,” Mulder said, and Frohike turned from the chair, his wispy hair now more white than grey.

“They’re from Gino’s,” he said around a mouthful, “you’re missing out.”

“Tell that to Gino,” Mulder said, “didn’t he die of a heart attack in ‘04?”

“His wife is still running the place, bursting with health,” Frohike said, and reached for a styrofoam cup.

“But she doesn’t eat the subs,” said Mulder, and swung into a nearby chair. “Where’s Byers?”

“Staying with Suzanne for the weekend,” Langly said, like he couldn’t imagine why.

“Is that safe?” Mulder asked. The Gunmen had been hiding out in a government-built safehouse under their own graves in Arlington Cemetery for more than a decade.

Langly shrugged.

The three men looked at each other for a moment. Finally, Mulder spoke again.

“What did you find?”

“Enough,” said Frohike, turning back to the screen. Mulder stood and walked up behind him.

Frohike tapped a picture on the screen.

“Olivia Kurtzweil,” he said, “born December 4th, 1963, daughter of Dr. Alvin Kurtzweil and Ruth O’Brien Kurtzweil. Graduated from Sidwell Friends School in Washington DC in 1981, got a PhD in both Biology and Virology from Boston University in 1987. Employment records get kind of muddled after that, but it would make sense if she worked for the State Department, though what a Biologist/Virologist would be doing for State is troubling.”

Mulder leaned back. It was the same woman who’d been in his office earlier that day.

“And the pictures?” he asked, “of our fathers together? Of her and Samantha?”

“The real McCoy,” Langly said, “they don’t appear to be altered in any way. Sent them to Chuck Burks, too. He concurs.”

Mulder sighed heavily.

“What’s going on, Mulder?” Frohike asked, his tone serious.

“She came to my office today, Olivia Kurtzweil,” he said, nodding at the screen, “she told me that Scully is in danger.”

“In danger?” Langly said, puzzled, “how?”

“Scully is…” Mulder paused, “she’s pregnant,” he said, and he saw both men’s eyebrows go up. “This woman told me that our family... that Scully and the baby are in danger.”

Frohike and Langly traded looks.

“We haven’t told anyone about the pregnancy,” Mulder went on, “and Scully’s OB is an old friend from med school that she trusts implicitly. This Kurtzweil woman knows about the baby and insists it’s in danger. I need to know what’s going on.”

“Firstly,” said Frohike, who stood and put a hand on Mulder’s shoulder, “Mazel tov.” Mulder smiled at him. “Secondly,” he went on, “it appears as though this woman is telling the truth -- at least about who she is -- I would talk to her. See what you can find out.”

“How’s Scully taking this?” Langly asked.

“I haven’t told her yet,” Mulder said, and the boys traded another look. “I didn’t want to scare her without knowing more.”

Frohike squeezed his shoulder again and then let his arm fall.

“Let us know, huh?” he said, “However we can help.”

Mulder nodded and drifted back toward the door, a ball of worry sitting heavy in his gut.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Where are the kids?” he asked as soon as he walked in the kitchen. He hadn’t even taken off his coat.

“I had a good day, thanks for asking,” said Scully with a grin. She was loading the dishwasher and turned to look at him. Her face fell, turning serious. “The kids are upstairs. What’s wrong?”

“I had a patient come in today…” he started, and her features softened. She probably thought it was just empathy for one of his patients, a tough case. “Scully, she showed me a picture of herself as a kid. With Samantha.”

“What?” Scully said, standing up straight, “how?”

“I don’t know,” he said, and moved past her and into the living room, making for the bookshelf that held old family photo albums. He pulled one out and skimmed through it. Pulled out another. Halfway through, something caught his eye and he flipped back a couple of pages until he saw it. A picture from the same 70’s-era party at his childhood home on the Vineyard that Olivia had shown him. There was his father standing next to Alvin Kurtzweil, and down in the corner, both wearing swimsuits and gap-toothed smiles, pigtails frizzy and wet, sat Samantha and a 7 year-old Olivia Kurtzweil.

He felt his breath leave him.

Scully had come up quietly behind him, put her hand on his arm.

“Mulder?” she said.

“I need to make a call,” he said.

He pulled the note Olivia had left with him out of his pocket. She picked up on the first ring.

“Olivia, this is Dr. Mulder,” he said. “We need to talk.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

The next morning at 9:00am, they found themselves sitting across their kitchen table from Olivia Kurtzweil, Special Agent Monica Reyes, ASAC John Doggett and Assistant Director Walter Skinner.

Scully was sitting, arms crossed in front of her defensively, at the head of the table. Reyes sat next to her, looking at Kurtzweil with an equal amount of curiosity and distrust. Doggett was too amped up to sit and paced through their kitchen. Skinner sat, quiet and still, looking as menacing as ever at the far end of the table.

Mulder felt a certain odd protectiveness toward Olivia, and couldn’t help but treat her a bit like a patient.

“Olivia,” he said calmly, “why don’t you start at the beginning.”

The tale she spun was as fantastic as anything they’d ever heard in their years on the X-Files. Olivia had been groomed from childhood to work on what she called “The Project.” When Samantha Mulder had been abducted, The Project had used her DNA to create alien-human hybrids. Throughout the years, these hybrids had been used by different factions of The Project to further their agendas in relation to a colonization project that Olivia said once threatened the world. She had fought with others to bring it down and now, The Project’s last ditch effort to resurrect itself lay in the cells of the child Scully was carrying.

“How was my father involved?” Mulder said, his voice like ice.

“Your father did everything he could to protect you and your sister,” Olivia said after a pause. “He was the person I initially approached when I became disenchanted. He and I worked together for years dismantling everything we could.”

Mulder narrowed his eyes at her.

“You were at my father’s funeral a couple years ago,” he said, recognition dawning on him, “I saw you at his wake.”

Olivia nodded.

“He couldn’t save your sister,” she said, “but he saved you. And in the end, he saved me.”

“My sister,” Mulder said, his stomach feeling as though it were in his feet, “is she alive?”

“No,” Olivia said, “I’m so sorry. And that’s the problem. Your sister’s DNA was the only one that was able to create viable hybrids. Her DNA was the key. And the last living hybrid sacrificed herself before a rogue faction could get her. That rogue faction is after Scully and your baby for the DNA markers particular to your family.”

“Then why aren’t they after me?”

“The particular markers they’re looking for are rendered dormant after a baby is born. The genetic material they can use is only found in--”

Scully spoke for the first time, finishing Olivia’s explanation. “Embryonic stem cells from our baby.”

Olivia looked pained and nodded. “It’s their last, best hope for restarting the program,” she said.

“How do they even know about the pregnancy? We haven’t told a soul.”

“A hack on your medical records is my guess. HIPAA means nothing to these people.”

“I’m less concerned with the how and more concerned with the why,” Mulder said. “You say embryonic cells. That means they’re on a clock, right? Once the baby is born...”

“Destroy the umbilical cord. The placenta. Those cells are only found in a few places. Destroy anything they might be able to use. After that… you and your baby will be safe.”

“So no one else in our family is in danger?” Scully asked. Her eyes darted unconsciously to a family picture that was framed on the wall above Olivia. It was a candid photo, taken the year before when they had hired a photographer to take Lily’s senior portraits. In it, Mulder and Scully were holding hands, looking at their two kids who were laughing about something Will had said. They were all smiling and carefree. In the moment, it felt like a world away.

“I know the technology and the biology it draws from,” Olivia said, “I helped design it. Their only hope is getting their hands on the embryonic stem cells from your baby. If you were planning on getting an amniocentesis test -- don’t.”

“Why not?” Skinner asked, “why not just give them what they want?”

“Because they’ll never stop,” Reyes said.

Olivia shook her head sadly. “She’s right. They take and they take, and they don’t care who gets hurt or what is lost.” She looked to Mulder. “Your father and I worked for years to shut it down. Finish it. Hide your wife. Protect your baby. Once it’s born, you should all be out of danger.”

“Tell me about this rogue faction,” Doggett’s voice coming from the corner of the kitchen startled everyone.

“Mercs for hire,” Olivia said, “Only one of them that I know of is familiar with the working pieces of The Project. I don’t know him well. I only ever saw him in the periphery.”

“Do you have a name?” Doggett asked.

“I doubt it’s his real one,” Olivia said.

“We’ll take whatever you can give us,” said Reyes, who shot a look to Doggett.

“I only ever heard him called ‘Krycek,’” she said.

Mulder felt his gut drop.

XxX

“What do you think?” Mulder asked Scully, as they sat together around their empty dining room table. Doggett, Reyes and Skinner had left and it was nearly noon, the sun bright outside their windows. Nevertheless, the room felt cold. Mulder could feel anxiety press on him from all sides as though he were under water.

“I don’t know what to think,” Scully said, a hand resting unconsciously on her stomach, which had just started to push out. “Mulder, for almost fifteen years our lives have been ordinary, calm. After all this time…? It strains credulity.”

“Scully I would agree with you. But… some of the things we saw when we were on the X-Files… We know credible threats. This feels like a credible threat.”

“Do you really believe everything she said? About your sister?” He could see her skeptical reserve crumbling.

Mulder let that question sit in the air for several long moments. “Just tell me if the science checks out,” he finally said.

Scully huffed an almost amused sigh. “I couldn’t even begin to-” she started.

“Scully, you yourself were filling in the blanks of Olivia’s story. If what she says is true, does the science check out?”

Scully gave him a long look. “Yes,” she finally said.

He held her gaze, a feeling of overwhelming affection coming over him. “Scully,” he said quietly, “we have to get you somewhere safe.”

She looked down, added another hand to her abdomen so she was cradling it with both. On the countertop, there was a half drunk bottle of Deer Park and a single yellowing banana. Someone had left their iPhone headphones sitting in a semi-coiled loop, and there were crumbs in front of the toaster, dishes in the sink. They sat in the middle of a half-lived life.

“I won’t leave without you,” she finally said, “without you and the kids. We all do this together. If the threat is really what Kurtzweil says it is, I couldn’t bear the thought of them trying to use you or the kids to get to me.”

Mulder nodded curtly.

“I’ll go to the guys,” he said, “see what they can do for us. Skinner and Doggett and Reyes will do what they can to protect us, but I think given everything we’ve heard, it’s best to avoid… governmental oversight.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you,” Scully said.

“We need to leave soon. We can’t wait.”

Apgar jumped on the table then, looking for affection. Scully, who normally wouldn’t tolerate a cat on any eating surface, reached out and pet the cat absently, her eyes far away.

“Where are we even going to go?” she asked.