#may you never darken my doorstep again!

[blackrabbit-megapig]

[chernabogs]

I saw in your tags for the scenario promts that you're accepting requests👀 How about “you will always follow the trail in the wood, and it will guide you on the same path, to the same cottage, the same witch. it will always be your undoing” with Yuu? or, if you don't write for them, “names are not like currency here; they are more precious than diamonds and legacies” with Malleus?

I'll give u both xoxo

The Woodcutter and The Prince

Inc: Malleus Draconia, Reader/Yuu, Sebek Zigvolt, Silver, Lilia Vanrouge, Grim Warnings: None for once LMAO WC: 4.3k Summary: A fairy tale of a woodcutter, a beast, three knights, and a lonely prince.

It feels appropriate to begin the story with ‘once upon a time,’ the token element, as that’s what all tales of magic and monsters begin with.

So, once upon a time, there was a woodcutter. 

You, or Yuu, as many called you, were somewhat of a respectable member of your village. As one of the few people who was brave enough to go trekking into the darkened woods beyond the boundaries for the needs of the villagers, they often turned to you for aid when times grew dire, and winter began its inevitable descent. You had grown up in these woods. You had seen many of the things that the shadows and the soil had to offer, and so you had come to settle into this life alone, becoming quite content in your role as a provider. 

One day, when you are deep within the bowels of nature that never seemed sated, the sharp blade of your axe biting into an oak as you sought to fill your quota, a great beast steps onto the path before you. Fire laps in its ears, and it has a tail like a trident, which twitches and sways in irritation. It holds its head low to meet your gaze, and it’s with that stare that you find your arm stilling, the axe soon held limply by your side. When you cease your cutting, the beast gives a low rumble from within its chest before speaking. 

“Woodcutter, there is a beast in this forest that cannot stop devouring. If you can satisfy him, you will be rewarded.” 

You take a wary step back then, your gaze uncertain as you observed the power rippling beneath the great cat's skin. Its toothy smile contrasts the softer tone it uses to share with you its plea. Yet, despite all these aspects, you feel no malice in its presence. So you heft your axe onto your shoulder and fix the beast with a frown. 

“How can I be of help? I come out here to cut the woods, not satisfy the monsters they house.” 

The beast's tail flicks again as it settles on its haunches. Reptile-like claws dig into the soil of the earth as a shuddering sigh leaves its form. “The beast is a prince who, despite having all the possessions in the world, still carries an emptiness in his core. He is guarded by three knights who let him do as he pleases. Open their eyes, and your reward shall be even greater.”

“How can I even find this prince, or beast, or whatever he may be? The woods are so grand you can hardly expect me to know every corner.” You gesture to the thick trunks and towering leaves around you. “I know only what is close to my home, as that’s all I’ve ever needed. These woods have been more than giving.” 

“You know where he is already. You have walked that path before—though you may need to dig into your dreams to see it. You will always follow the trail in the woods, and it will guide you on the same path, to the same cottage, the same beast. It will always be your undoing—or, in this case, his.” The beast smiles a great grin that showed its many rows of shard-like teeth. “Do you not love your home? Do you not love your kin? If you leave him be, he will come upon your doorsteps in time like a starving wraith. He will claw his way into your homes and feed you sweet dreams until you rot to dust in your beds. Then, he will simply move on.”

“He sounds horrid,” you sputter, your grip on the axe tightening. The beast nods. 

“In a sense, he is. But even the most horrid can change with the right prompting. So tell me—are you good at carving?” 

You find your curiosity soon outweighing your fright over the beast and the tales that he spins. His warnings of what will happen to your home, should this prince be left unchecked, sends shivers up your spine and you find yourself nodding at his words. The beast almost looks satisfied as he rises again with another rumbling purr. He slips back into the brush that he emerged from, the foliage swallowing his form, until all that is left for you to see is a pair of burning blue eyes. 

“Good luck, woodcutter. The forest now rests in your hands.” 

And with that, he leaves you alone once more, with nothing more than an axe and a marred tree as your companions. 

________________________

You do not remember your dreams very well. You never have, even in your youth. They seem to dissipate out of your mind as soon as you wake, leaving you grasping at the vaguest of visions to piece together what tapestry your mind wove. Still, your feet carry you forward into the woods with sure steps, the axe still held on your shoulder as you walk. It feels as though you travelled for many hours until you came upon the first of the three the beast warned you of—a man with green hair, and armour of iron. 

“Today, we will enter the valley,” the man declares, unaware of your presence at the edges of the meadow, “and my prince shall find his companionship there.” 

You watch on as the knight looks back along the path, as though expecting someone else, before he moves to a stream close to your hiding position. You lower yourself closer to the twigs and branches below before clearing your throat to speak in a low murmur. 

“Fine knight,” you coo, throwing your voice to make it sound far different than it is, “do you truly intend to let your prince enter the valley?” 

The green knight stands sharply, his hand touching his sword hilt as his eyes flash with anger. “Who goes there?” He demands, his voice like a booming of thunder across the meadow. You remain concealed as you speak again. 

“Fine knight, do you truly think your prince will find a companion in the valley? What will he do if he does not? He will become more despondent, more enraged, and he will pull you into a dreamless sleep as he has so many others. Will you let him do that?” Your nails tap the handle of your axe as you watch the knight's expression. “Will you let him steal your dreams too?” 

The knight doesn’t seem too fond of the idea as he stands by the stream, a conflicted look upon his face. His hand clenches and unclenches on his sword hilt before he looks back to the path once more. “I do not wish… to see my prince despondent anymore,” he murmurs, his voice now less fierce than before. 

“Then find me a piece of yew and bring it to where your prince lay. I shall make it so that he may never feel alone again.” You urge. The knight seems uncertain still. 

“Who are you? How can I trust you?” He demands again. You hum quietly from your hiding place. 

“I am Yuu, and I swear that I will not lay a hand on your prince. If I do, you may guide the waters that fill this stream to fill my lungs instead.”

Well, this satisfies the knight, and with a huff and a nod he goes stomping into the forest to search for a yew tree. Once he’s gone, you creep out of your hiding place to continue down the path from your dream, pleased that the first obstacle is now done. 

________________________

You find yourself disheartened as the walk carries on and the sun creeps further across the sky. It was dawn when you began, and now it is midday. Still, your mind remains focused as the beast's warnings play over, allowing you to be alert enough to hear humming before the figure emerges. The second knight is a creature in himself—a fae, wearing the clothes of a travelling merchant instead of the armour the first knight adorned.  

He does not give you a chance to hide. His red eyes are locking with yours before you can even move, and the grin he offers shows a pair of brilliant white canines in his mouth. “Fine day, is it not?” 

You pause, your axe on your shoulder as you open your mouth to respond before falling silent again. The knight and you observe each other for a moment before he speaks once more. “What brings you so deep in these woods? You are of the valley.” 

“I am.” You answer deftly as you squeeze your axe handle again. “I am here to complete a task.”

“And what task might bring a woodcutter out here?” The knight prompts, taking a seat on a nearby stump to prop his chin in his hands. His smile does not waver as he watches you, and you know that trying to lie about your purpose to him will be a folly on your end. 

“Do you truly intend to let your prince enter the valley?” You instead ask, lowering your axe as you shift your weight on your feet. The knight raises one dark eyebrow. 

“Why should we not?” He replies easily. “He is our prince, after all. He wishes to find companionship, among others.”

“But dearest knight, do you truly think your prince will find a companion in the valley? What will he do if he does not? He will become more despondent, more enraged, and he will pull you into a dreamless sleep as he has so many others. Will you let him do that?” Your nails tap the handle of your axe as you watch the knight's expression. “Will you let him steal your dreams too?”

“I have no dreams left to steal!” The knight laughs as he leans back on the stump. “My nights are as empty as an abyss.”

“Then what of the others? When he steals away dreams and leaves everyone asleep, he will simply move on to another village. He will still be utterly alone. Do you wish to see him like that?” You pause to gesture to the silent woods around you. “Will you let him continue to hurt as well?” 

The knight seems less fond of this idea as his smile wavers. Perhaps you are misjudging it, but this knight has an almost fatherly look about him when it comes to matters regarding his prince. His black nails tap his leg before speaking. “What do you offer him in turn, then?” 

“Find me a smooth carving stone and bring it to where your prince lay. I shall make it so that he may never feel alone again.” You urge. The knight tilts his head in consideration.  

“Who are you, and how can I trust you?” He muses. “We take great offence to lies, you know.” 

“I am Yuu, and I swear that I will not lay a hand on your prince. If I do, you may urge the roots that tether these trees to tether my body instead.”

Well, this satisfies the knight, who rises from the stump with a soft laugh before stepping towards you. He touches your arm lightly and looks up at you with a mischievous grin, which does little to hide the wariness in his eyes. “Be kind to him, hm?”

Once he’s gone, you hoist your axe back upon your shoulder and continue down the path, the knights parting words now playing alongside the beasts in your mind. 

________________________

Once more, you become disheartened as the midday sun soon shifts onto afternoon. You thought you’d find the prince faster and perhaps bypass the final knight, but it doesn’t seem that the world is willing to give you this break. When you come across the third obstacle, you do not see him as much as you do trip over his form. A stuttered gasp passes your lips as you regain your footing before looking down, where a pair of aurelian eyes are blearily looking up at you. 

“Hm?” Languidly, the third knight sits up from his position beneath the tree. His silver hair nearly blinds you in the sunlight, but this still doesn’t stop you from seeing the peculiar army of animals hovering around his form. Squirrels, chipmunks, birds—it’s as though the entire forest rests by his side. “Who might you be?” 

“Yuu.” You answer immediately, blinking your confusion away as you shift to face the odd man. He seems unbothered by both your presence and your axe as he remains sitting on the forest floor. “Are you… a knight?” 

“Mhm.” The man hums back as he rubs his eyes before rising to his feet. The act sends the animals scurrying away in a tizzy as his attention drifts to you. “Are you in need of aid? You’re quite far from where the village lay in the valley.” 

“I’m on a quest of sorts.” You watch the animals hovering on the edge of the treeline in interest before looking back to the knight. Despite his sleepy gait, there’s an alertness in his eyes that warns you off from trying any form of deception. “Do you intend to let your prince enter the valley?” 

The silver knight looks surprised for a moment before he crosses his arms, a frown touching his lips. “... if he wishes to, yes.” 

“But do you wish him to, knowing all that he will do if his desires fall through?” You decide a more honest conversation is best with this knight, who seems apprehensive of the plan to begin with. The silver knight looks past you to the pathway beyond for a moment before exhaling a soft sigh.

“I do not wish to see him hurt. I care for him dearly, for he is family to me, but…” the knight trails off, leaving you to pick up his sentence. “I also do not wish to see him so alone anymore. My father, my friend, and I—we have always been here for him, but he seems unable to see that.”

His father and his friend must have been the other two knights. You brave a step closer to the silver knight. “Do you think your prince will find a companion in the valley? What will he do if he does not? He will become more despondent, more enraged, and he will pull you into a dreamless sleep as he has so many others. Will you let him do that?”

“I can travel in dreams, so it is of no worry to me. But my father and my friend cannot.” The silver knight seems torn for a moment, standing on the precipice of loyalty and love, before his brilliant gaze looks to you again. “What are you offering, Yuu?” 

“Find me clay—primed for creating—and bring it to where your prince lay. I shall make it so that he may never feel alone again.” You promise. He looks unsure for a moment. 

“How can I trust you?” He asks, his voice soft and full of genuine concern. 

“I swear that I will not lay a hand on your prince. If I do, you may take the stones that lay on this forest floor and lay them upon my body instead.”

Well, this satisfies the knight, who nods his head somberly before turning away. A wave of his hand sends the birds fluttering, the squirrels skittering, and many of the animals into a frenzy as he steps into the woods. You watch him until he vanishes before turning back to the path. 

___________________________________

When the sun dips below the horizon and the sky above the woods is a blaze of golds and reds, that is when you see the home where the prince resides.

True to the beast's words, it is not a grand palace you encounter, but a cottage nestled deep within the woods. A garden surrounds the home, which is built of stone and oak, and a fence guards the path to the front door. You push it open with some trepidation before following the stones to the entrance. A part of you seeks to take your axe within, but another part protests, leaving you to set it aside instead. 

The door gives in to your push with little protest. When you pass through the threshold, you are enveloped in a warmth that seems unnatural, making your skin prickle beneath the wool clothing that keeps you safe in the woods. You tug on your collar as you look around the room—carvings and trinkets decorate the space, each one hand-crafted by someone who resides here. 

And this is when your gaze comes to rest on him. 

He’s observing you as you observe the space. He is a tall man—of this you can tell, even from where he sits—with sharp green eyes and dark lips which are twisted into a frown. Two black horns rise from his head into sharpened points, which are where your eyes go to immediately even as he speaks. 

“Yuu.” Your name rolls off his tongue with such ease that it sends a chill down your spine. You look at him in surprise, wondering how he knows your name already, which he then goes to answer with his next few words. “Names are not like currency here; they are more precious than diamonds and legacies. You give yours far too freely to expect it not to spread.” 

“Was it your knights?” You query as you move closer, drawing a chair out to sit across from him. The act momentarily surprises him as his expression shifts. This is a victory you take. “They all asked me for my name before I passed.”

“No, not the knights. Nature is a most noisy companion. Every breeze, every leaf, and every insect are buzzing about your venture. Dearest woodcutter, what is it that you seek from me?” The words are spoken with an undercurrent of distrust as the prince’s lip curls, showing teeth similar to those of the second knight. You take note of his pointed ears as well. A fae—not a monster like the beast said. Not even close, in fact. The guardedness in his gaze is not born of hostility. “You left your axe outside.”

“I haven’t used it at all on my walk. And I seek nothing more than a conversation.” You lean back in your chair as you glance out the nearby window. This position will let you see when the three knights make their return. 

“You do not seek congenial conversation. I sense an interrogation is on the horizon.” He gives a harsh scoff as he crosses his arms. The temperature in the room seems to rise with his frustrations. “What is it you want, woodcutter?” 

“Are you going to the valley?” You bend to his demands and ask your questions as you meet his eye again. There is no cowering or simpering in your seat—you match his gaze steadfast with your own resilience. 

“What if I am?” He counters with all the haughtiness a young prince may possess. The act makes him seem more human and prompts a quirk of amusement in your lips. 

“What is it you desire?” 

“Why does what I desire concern you?” 

“Because I have been warned of what may happen if you cannot find it.” A moment of silence passes at your statement as the prince’s stubbornness remains. Then he sneers. 

“Did the beast offer you a prize? Is that what you want? A pretty reward for stopping me?” He hisses. You consider his words carefully. At first you did want a reward, in addition to aiding your fellow villagers. The three knights you’ve met have altered this perception, however. The first one with his unwavering loyalty showed you what the prince could be. The second one with his paternal concern showed you what the prince has been. The third knight with his uninhibited care to both the prince and his family showed you what the prince is. 

This is not a monster. This is a man in a cottage who has, in some way, been put in a role he isn’t sure he wants to fulfill. He has fallen into content monotony—precisely like you. 

So you shake your head because you know this is the truthful thing to do. “I did want the reward, but not anymore. I would rather talk to you for a while.”

Another flash of surprise sparks another twinge of victory in your chest as the prince leans back in his seat. “... talk to me?” 

“Mhm.” You gesture to the room. “Did you make these?” 

“I?” The prince then looks around as well, as though noticing the carvings himself for the first time, before clearing his throat. “Some, yes. Others were aided by my knights. It is somewhat of a stress reliever for us.” 

“They are quite nice.” You praise, which eases the tension in his body a little more, opening the opportunity for more. “How did you get into such a hobby?” 

________________________

When the three knights return, night has fallen, and you have managed to coax the fearsome prince into quite the drawn-out conversation. You note that he becomes far more vibrant in his speech when speaking of things he’s passionate about, to the point that he hardly notices the three knights nudging open the door until you pause the conversation yourself. 

“Hello again.” You greet them, noting the materials they carry in their arms. The green knight seems guarded still as he looks between you and the prince, while the other two knights merely offer brief, knowing smiles before setting the materials on the counter. 

A piece of yew, a stone, and an excess of clay held in a makeshift bucket. The prince’s eagerness is replaced by curiosity as he leans forward to stare at the items. 

“Did you go foraging?” He asks the second knight incredulously. A tittering laugh is his response as the knight drifts to your side. 

“Lilia.” Malleus shoots back with a narrowed gaze, which only prompts Lilia’s entertainment over this matter further. “You, Silver, and Sebek are all obliging to a woodcutters orders, hm?” 

“Well, Yuu. You’ve seemed to have made yourself quite at home here,” he muses, the amusement never leaving him as glances at the prince. “Malleus, to not have even offered our guest a drink. Have I taught you nothing?"

A wave of his hand has a steaming mug of... something, appear before you. You eye it for a moment before lightly taking the mugs handle. You don'r drink it, though.  

“Oh, our dear Yuu was persuasive. They told me I could feed them to trees, told Sebek he could feed them to the river, and told Silver he could stone them if they put a hand on you—so we were not overly concerned.” Lilia pinches your arm lightly before looking at the supplies you asked. “I wager I have an idea of what these were gathered for, but please Yuu, do enlighten us.” 

“Well, it’s far too late to do anything now—at least for me,” you quickly add as you glance at the quartet, “but I understand, Prince Malleus, that it’s companionship you’re seeking?” 

Malleus seems slightly displeased at your read of him as he glowers at you—a sharp contrast from his previous joy. It’s Silver’s light nudging to his arm that finally draws a curt nod out of the prince. 

“I know it may not be apparent to you, but companionship is already something that you have. Are you not accompanied by people who care for you in your daily life already?” You gesture to the three knights before continuing your points. “It may be hard to hear but promises of dreams and endless sleep are not ways to earn more people by your side. I began this thinking I was hunting a monster, but now I sit here across from you knowing that you and I are more alike than we think.” 

Malleus seems ready to speak, but you shake your head, which causes his mouth to close once more. You then point to the items that the knights collected. “Each of those items are capable of being crafted and changed in some manner. What tools would you use for them, Malleus?” 

“A blade for wood, a chisel for stone, and my hands for the clay.” Malleus answers immediately. 

“Those are all tools you have on hand. Tools that can allow you to craft wonderful things if used right and if taught correctly.” You then look back to the prince. “Speaking with your knights has shown me that you are someone worthy of being cared for, of being around. You don’t need to go storming into villages—you have tools to earn their care. You just need someone to show you how to use them.” 

You then sink back in your chair with a sigh. “I’m just a woodcutter, yes, but I’m also someone who knows my village well. If you let me, I can introduce you to them—without the sleep part.” 

A pause fills the room as Malleus seems to consider your offer. The three knights remain silent near the door, but you can see by the looks being exchanged and the shifting on their feet that they, too, are hoping he concurs. 

“... you give a rather valiant speech.” Malleus finally hums as his fingers go to touch his chin thoughtfully. “If you are willing, then perhaps… yes. I think I would quite like that, dearest woodcutter.” 

If the room could heave a collective sigh, you’re sure that it would as you rest your elbows on the table with a small laugh. You do not know what the beast’s reward was meant to be, and the curiosity about it fades as you offer the cautious prince a reassuring smile. 

You haven’t the heart to tell the man that you’ve never carved a single thing in your life, and that your entire speech was winged on the spot—but that’s an issue for another day.

[littlelesbinonny]

The Devil's Den

Chapter 38: In Which The Daylight Is Fading

You can read this also on Ao3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46831621/chapters/117962293

::!TW!:: *brief depictions of blood/gore*

There was still a hint of the sunset radiating in through the stained glass of the church and Alcina winced at the tinge of pain in her bones that came with it. At least it would be gone soon, but truly she had something much more pressing to deal with than that of the setting sun. Still, the haunting color of the darkening amber to red was ominous.

A coldness set in as she had followed the priest with haste; hope beyond hope, she was sickeningly praying to any God that may exist that she wasn't about to walk into what she thought she was.

But she did.

A mutant had been here.

At her very doorstep. It had made itself known. 

But how many? One? A handful? A hundred?

A boiling rage and fear began to pour down her spine; a thousand and one thoughts slamming to the front of her mind while she look upon this mangled human.

This boy the priest had so hysterically been crying over was splayed out on the ground in a large, spattered pool of blood and entrails. His flesh was torn apart from his face to his belly. His skull was visible through the damage as was his ribcage. If she hadn't known better she would have guessed a tiger had escaped a local zoo. She shuddered internally as flashbacks of her own altercation raced through.

He lay near the deacon common hall doorway near the exit she so often took to escape into the human world, an easy location for this attack to happen; the predator would take no notice until the deed was done and scatter off in the blink of an eye.

Father Sullivan was there, as were two other priests, a deacon, and now Alcina, three of her men, and the priest who'd come to fetch her.

The humans were pale as death; sickened to their stomachs as they were not used to the sight nor the smell of a freshly carved up body. The rank, metallic smell of blood affected the vampires in a very different way than it did the clergymen, but this was more than a somber, disturbing manner. 

The men stared at Alcina and her men with blank faces. Pure shock. Sprouting anger, perhaps, and utter disbelief this was taking place. Alcina and her men were no better; blank stares, void of visible reaction.

"Send for Donna," she whispered over her shoulder to the vampire on her left, "immediately."

He left in a blink.

"W-what h-have you to say for yourself?" Father Sullivan finally uttered, his tone drenched in a whisper that bore the depths of pure hatred masking the fear, keeping any semblance of power he was desperately grasping for.

"That the enemy that slaughtered this boy is also ours, Father. Be careful with your quick judgements; don't you teach at great lengths about that?"

"H-he had just turned 17!" 

The priest holding the most upset about the situation chimed in again, breaking the stare-down between Alcina and Father Sullivan.

"What are we going to tell his mother?" 

He droned, kneeling next to the body, his mannerisms in a fit just as much as his rambling.

"H-how?! How can this be?"

His eyes darted back to Alcina, his lips twisting into rage as he clenched his fists; "you don't have enemies! Vampires have no enemies - you lie! You lie through your sharp teeth of death!" he rose haphazardly, his sight never leaving the vampires before him, "y-you devils - evil - pure evil! The church's alliance with you has never made sense to me! I knew - I knew! Something was going to happen - none of you can be trusted - how can the House of God make deals with the Devil Incarnates!?"

"Father Archer!" Father Sullivan shouted, "enough!"

"No, no! I won't be silent! I won't - I have to say my piece! God would not have us -"

Father Archer was silenced as Alcina, quicker than their sight, grabbed him by the neck, hoisted him into the air and slammed him into the neighboring stone threshold.

She bore her teeth, scowling detested, silencing him with not only her dangerous visage but her strong grip around his throat.

"The mutant beast who did this, the one you so vehemently brand to belong to us, is not of our sect!" she spat, "I'll have you keep your bullshit behind your lips or I'll take your tongue with gladness! You know nothing of what you speak and I'll prefer your silence to your barrage of misinformed prejudice! And if it comes down to tit for tat, Father Archer - I - and my vampires, my lycans, have kept your pitiful little church and all your people safe for centuries which you should be ever so fucking grateful! You all live so freely above us with no returned services but the use of your church to the entrance of your world. Do you really think to be so much better than us you could evoke smite to the underworld with your pitiful excuse of self-righteousness?!"

"Please!" Father Sullivan interrupted, fitful and bothered, "please, can we stop this?!"

Alcina held her gaze at the kicking, struggling, crumpled-face priest in her grasp as she silently heeded Father Sullivan's request. She was about to lower him when she felt a presence that froze her solid. A presence she never, ever, in a million years that could be her existence, wanted to feel lingering near the doorway to her right.

No.

-

You took Monday off from work because, well, you were far too preoccupied with magick than sitting at a fucking desk for eight hours.

Your crow family had not left your balcony all day as you sat in your room alternating from your bean bag chair to your bed, reading and practicing, mindfully staring out your balcony doors, and pondering the entire earthquake that had reshaped your entire life. Whenever you grabbed yourself a snack, which was becoming more and more frequent as you worked up such an appetite while you practiced your magick, you shared with your crows each time. They cooed and purred and made all sorts of sweet noises each time you came out. If it weren't cold outside you'd leave your door open and see if they'd wander in. But, they seemed content to be where they were and you couldn't help but smile every time you looked up to find them there.

The vampire memoire, as you were beginning to call it, was full of so much information. The further you got into it, it started to give way to information on vague locations of vampire covens all over Europe, Africa, Asia, and now North America. Not to your surprise, it mentioned the covens in New York, right under your feet. Nothing was terribly revealing, as the author of course was much too smart for that, but it mentioned the the Basilica of Saint Patrick's Olde Cathedral not far from you. That piqued your interest greatly and you decided to pay it a visit later today. 

This book also went into decent detail about how the truce and coexistence between vampires and the church began. There had been a stalemate take place in Romania; a vicious, bloody battle was waged in a village between a large coven of vampires and a church back in the 1600's. Eventually only one priest and one vampire were left. They both lay nearly at death with each other in the demolished courtyard after the bloodshed, and agreed that their kind could benefit each other if they could come to an agreement, otherwise they'd wipe the other off the face of the earth, and in the end was it worth it? The priest allowed the vampire to feed from him which revived the vampire, the vampire took the dying priest and bled him, turning him into one of them to solidify the truce. Then the two of them approached the neighboring churches to explain what they had done and to plead their case. It had been a compelling argument and the church, and vampires, agreed to cohabitate. The vampires promised to never attack and kill anymore clergy, and to protect the churches from any enemy, lycans mainly, that might attack, and the church offered dark safe havens for the vampires to dwell in during the day, and allowed entrances from covens underground passage into the human world peacefully.

Crazy shit what goes on in the world and no one knows the wiser.

You assumed that Saint Patrick's Cathedral must be one of the many entrances to the human world for the underworld. Who knew how many times Alcina used that very church to come see you, the thought made you smile.

When you bundled up and left your apartment to go find something to eat late afternoon, your crows loyally followed you overhead. Sometimes they'd swoop down to hop along a high stone fence you trekked along, cooing and cawing and otherwise making you grin from ear to ear gaining you off-hand looks from the other passerby's. You didn't care. You were a magickal creature, of some sort, with your own little army of crows and they were boring, plain old humans - they could suck it.

The evening was becoming beautiful. The breeze had stopped, which made the otherwise biting cold now very bearable, though you almost perfected the warming bubble you'd used on the plant and you weren't so bothered by the cold so much anymore. And now you were off on your last adventure for the day after a wonderful warm dinner.

'Careful.'

You heard as you walked through the dispersing and meandering crowds on the sidewalk.

'Careful.'

It came again several strides later.

You couldn't help but look around you, seeing if someone was speaking to you directly or if you were simply hearing a passing conversation. But nothing.

Ebony and the rest were hopping along the fence as they had been and you brushed it off, taking another turn down a block to the cathedral.

'Careful!'

The warning came in louder this time, almost inside of your head and you looked up to find all six of your crows were huddled much closer together and now taking to the sky above you. Setting your sights back on your path you began to wonder if this was not the same voice you'd heard when you named them all, that resounding, yet soft, 'yes' reply was eerily similar to you.

Not yet a handful of buildings away from the stone wall to Saint Patrick's, you were suddenly being bombarded by your crows. They were dashing in front of you, blocking your path, cawing at you, almost colliding with you as you ducked.

"What the hell! Quit!" you halted and merged yourself to the fence beside you, watching their strange behavior with apprehension.

Then once more;  Careful - Careful!     Careful!   C-careful!                         Careful, careful!  Careful!  C-careful!

And then they were gone.

What the literal fuck? You thought as you watched them scatter to the sky and fly down the street, taking a very sharp turn towards the basilica and disappearing.

Suddenly you were very still and silent, feeling the wave of sharp uncertainty takes it purchase in your heart for a long moment. 

Were your crows... warning you?

So you had heard Ebony speak that day, just as you had heard them now, plain as day.

While you were in excited disbelief to think they could possibly telepathically communicate with you, you were still pretty shaken by their upset. What on earth had made them act in such a way?

Against your better judgement, you continued on and found yourself at the entrance to the large, beautifully ornate Saint Patrick's Old Cathedral.

It looked welcoming, a thing you never really experienced from a church. And perhaps that was because you associated it with your Lady of the Night, her kind, her easy ability to come see you from such a close distance because of this building, right here.

As you walked slowly along the well kept black iron fence to search for a possible opening for you to enter and explore, you noticed the large forest green door that you assumed lead into a courtyard of sorts, was open. Everything was locked up tight, so it shouldn't have been, should it? And from there you could heard what sounded like shouting.

Without much real control of your own, your feet took you through the threshold, almost ignoring the beautiful large trees and dead grass of the courtyard, and found you were being drawn to a warm amber light spilling out from another open door where the voices had gotten sharper and louder, and then silent all together.

You were not prepared for the sight that met you.

And you were unsure what you saw or comprehended first.

The pool of blood. The absolutely mangled body in it. A clergyman standing there, still as a statue. Or Alcina, holding up another clergyman by his throat against a doorway, her white turtleneck covered in blood.

Like a magnetic pull, her eyes were drawn to yours and your sights locked.

It was palpably disconcerting.

No. 

No, this couldn't be.

Her lips seemed to move as if uttering your name breathlessly, the look on her face twisting between emotions you couldn't decern. And you just stared.

Surely she had not done this, surely this was not what it looked like. It didn't make sense. This didn't make sense. You were caught in a time loop where the same phrases continued to replay causing a spinning hectic argument within your heart and mind.

No. No.

The bickering became so loud you began to stagger away. You couldn't think, you could only move, and moving you were. Quickly.

She couldn't have done that. She wouldn't have done that. Alcina isn't a mindless brutal killer. This isn't right - this isn't right! 

Had blood-rage taken her over like it had the other night in my apartment? Had she snapped unwillingly and someone unfortunately got in the way? Had she lost control? 

No! No!

You couldn't stop the barrage of thoughts and you began to run. 

You weren't sold on what you were hearing, but it sounded like Alcina was calling after you, and though it was getting closer it sounded so far away.

You knew her. You knew her. There's no way she had done that. She was a protector; a woman you loved so deeply; a woman who had never hurt you even though she had more than enough capability. She hadn't done it. 

So why couldn't you stop running?

The cacophony in your head nearly had you screaming for silence as you slammed your door behind you, slumping into it letting the cool of the steel chill your overheated face. You don't even remember getting to your apartment. You don't remember flying up the hundred stairs since you couldn't wait for the elevator.

Once more you heard your name and you spun but kept your back flat against the door.

In the darkness of your hallway was a familiar silhouette that would normally make your heart sputter with glee, but this time it was fear and complete uncertainty and you hated that almost more than the thought of Alcina being part of whatever the fuck you walked in on.

Alcina was apprehensive as hell, panicked at the whole of this situation, dreading this moment with fervor. 

"Please," she said softly and as calmly as she could, "please, just listen to me before -"

"Did you have something to do with that?" you blurted, anxious and uneasy, letting the demon of blame take hold. 

Alcina halted in her approach giving you the space you were silently demanding, twisting a painful dagger in her chest.

"Were you involved with whoever was slaughtered in there?" you asked sharply.

"You weren't meant to see that -"

"No fucking shit?! You think?! Did you? Did you?"

You were so overwhelmed. 

Alcina was overwhelmed. Maintaining it much better than you were.

She had to take pause and a long breath in and out as she tried so hard to figure out how to navigate this conversation. You had every right to be upset and confused and blame her for what you saw. Which you never should have. The fates were playing cruel tricks on her in a time she absolutely did not need them. You were never supposed to see that! Why were you there to begin with?! Of course you were going to have a thousand questions, questions she couldn't answer. She couldn't tell you what you rightfully needed to know, not yet, not now, it was all too much.

"Of course I didn't!" Alcina finally barked, not so much at you but at how annoyed she was at this fucking situation.

You could see how she was trying to hide her despondence. It gave you a little hope of your own that you were, in fact, overreacting. But then, were you really?

"I know you are hell bent to keep what happens underground a secret from me, which ok, fine, but it seems like it's no longer under the ground and I think you owe me a goddamn explanation."

"Draga mea, I -"

"No, no, don't you draga mea me right now - I am - upset, I'm scared, I'm - wanting that scene expunged from my motherfucking brain!" you blurted as you walked into your living room.

Turning halfway there, you looked to her. She was still so eerily beautiful even though she was covered in blood and it made you angry. You wanted to just fall in her arms and forget everything but that was not happening.

After another bloated pause, realizing she wasn't going to offer up anything, you flopped your arms at your sides, "I want to know what is going on."

Alcina's visage turned hard, her breaths apparent as she took her time to keep calm, "I cannot tell you that."

"Is this another one of those won't's disguised as a can't?"

"For fuck sake draga mea!" she replied as her hands flew into the air, her eyes showing a most unusual form of defeat, "You must understand it's not out a spite for your asking! There are simply things I just cannot and will not tell you right now! Telling you will implicate you in a danger I refuse to push you any closer to!"

"So I am in danger?" you shot back.

"You certainly could be."

"But that's not something you thought might be good for me to know?"

Alcina took a visibly steadying breath, lowering her hands at her side as her fists clenched slightly, "you're already too close to this than I ever wanted you to be, draga, I am trying to protect you."

You huffed, trying yourself to calm your unrest, "did it ever occur to you that maybe what I need is for you to be truthful and open and honest with me? To, I don't know, not leave me in the dark and instead fill me in on some threat that might be lurking around the corner when you're not here? What am I supposed to do if you're not here and I walk into this blindly?"

Oh you were infuriating. You weren't allowed to counter such a valid argument when she clearly wasn't prepared and not in a place to tackle this right now. She had so much on her plate as it was and this was going to send her overboard.

"Draga please, I just need you to trust me!" she pleaded as she reached the end of her rope.

"It's not so much about trusting you Alcina! I'm absolutely petrified of not knowing what to expect now. Why can't you just tell me what the fuck I might be facing so I can defend myself?"

Alcina's face dropped and she stepped towards you, reaching for your shoulders and gently taking them in her grasp, "don't be absurd," she nearly whispered, her eyes dark and stern, "you absolutely could not defend yourself against it..." the look on her face growing more severe, "do you remember what I looked like when I came back to you many months ago? Do you remember the scars, the gashes, the wounds that should have healed through me with ease? Do you?" she asked harshly, "I nearly died, draga mea... I was almost killed. You are no match for this foe, that I know for certain. This is why I need you to trust me. Please, please leave this be!"

You swallowed involuntarily, feeling the unease getting worse as she spoke. Of course you remember. Your blood was what healed them.

"And do you remember what healed you?" you questioned right back, your palms now resting on her forearms, "I healed you. Which is something I want to talk to you about very soon... I'm... changing. Drastically. I still don't know how or what, and neither does Malka, but -"

"Who the fuck is Malka?" Alcina asked briskly, releasing her grip on your shoulders as her jealousy shot through her veins, a lesser of her finer attributes.

Oh boy. 

"Uh, she, she's an older lady I've known for years. She's been helping me - she's a Jewish Mystic - "

"What?"

The spikey energy prickling off Alcina made you throw your hands up and you stepped back, rubbing your face as you paced a few times through your groans, "she is not what we're talking about right now! We're talking about me!" you relented, facing her once again, "please! Alcina... please, I need you, I need you and your guidance and support now more than ever. I'm so scared about so many things that I currently, at this very point in time, am so beside myself I do not know what to do... please... I will trust you, if you'll please just give me a little in return. Please."

Alcina felt her heart sputter, and not in a good way. That look in your eyes, that pleading uncertainty made her wince.

She approached you again and took your jaws in her cool, soft grasp, "I... tomorrow I will come back to you and we will talk," Alcina spoke softly, "I promise. I will listen to you. And I will tell you more."

You nearly melted into her touch as she caressed a loose piece of hair from your face, that familiar visage of the caring, nurturing, loving woman you need so much returning giving you some semblance of peace.

"For now I must return to what I left. Please, I want you to stay put, stay here, don't leave at night if you can help it, not until I return to you, alright?"

Your nod was a little hesitant, "o-ok... I won't."

"I love you draga mea, more than I think you understand. Please keep yourself safe."

"I love you too... you stay safe too, ok?"

She nodded and leaned to kiss you, pressing her lips reverently to yours, breathing you in, savoring the last it of silence she would have for a great while she was sure. Alcina still held your face as she pulled away, burning the image of you into her memory, the fear still lingering in the pit of her stomach making her uneasy.

"I must go."

Her parting left you cold and unsure. Something still didn't feel right. Not at all.

You grabbed your phone and dialed.

"... Malka?"

"Ketzeleh! ...what is wrong?"

"I uh, I need to see you, I need your help."

[dreamersinthedaylightinspo]

I'm apparently not FUCKIN capable of writing this chapter coherently because I need to focus myself down a bit actually - though I did have some success today! So here is another snippet Im hoping maybe to rework for the chapter. I love writing from Tamlin's perspective... Prince of Self Hatred, drunk on self-sabotage.

Tamlin's lips pulled back from his teeth, hackles raised, the sharp tips of his claws gleaming.

Rosheen inclined her head. "It is good to see you, my lord."

"Why are you here?" Tamlin growled.

She looked the same as she always had, in all the time that Tamlin had known her. Pensive, thoughtful, her dark eyes sharp and her hands folded neatly behind her back. When his father's loyalists had deserted him, he had found his pool of military officer candidates meager and thin. His first instinct was to make Andras or Bronn his captain, but instead, he chose Rosheen, a stranger, out of fear he'd be accused of favoritism if he gave a lofty position to one of his old friends.

And Rosheen had served him, faithfully, perfectly, for nearly three centuries. Her counsel was invaluable, and her guidance had made his sentries into the finest fighting force that Prythian had ever seen.

The last time he'd seen her was the last time he'd seen Feyre, before everything went to shit.

He had known, immediately what it was. There was no one but another High Lord who could have broke the wards that he himself had wrought. The manor had reeked of Night magic - and yet, he had already been on edge, replaying the last argument in his mind for hours. He had been riding hard, and long, and the standoff with Hybern was tense, blood spilt, and the king was offering to parlay with them, and it didn't matter what else. When he saw the broken wards and realized that Feyre was gone again, he simply exploded.

When it was over, two sentries lay dead in the hall, ripped to shreds from the wind, scorched by wild lightning. The sight of their mangled corpses made Tamlin so furious that he felt sick to his stomach, molten with it. His mouth filled with blood where his fangs tore his lips, his cheeks. His clothes strained to hold back his beastly form.

And so he'd called Rosheen to his office, and he'd roared until his throat hurt. He told her that it was her fault that the soldiers she trained were dead, that she was pathetic and useless and it was her fault that this had happened, and unless she wanted to become the next corpse, she'd leave and never darken his doorstep again.

Rosheen had only bowed her head, and told him -

"I have failed you, my lord. I must do what I must to make it right."

The audacity of her was stunning. As if she needed to apologize to him! As if she had done wrong.

Tamlin whirled on Eunomia and snarled, "Make her leave."

"Easy," said the general, low with warning. Bronn stepped in front of his sister, guarding her, and Lucien eyed Eunomia like he was ready to do the same as well.

"I really must protest, my lord," said Eunomia, only a mild alarm in her voice. "Captain Darrach is simply vital to our defensive strategy!"

No. It couldn't be. There had to be someone else, someone who hadn't born witness to one of his most heinous offenses. Not Rosheen, whom he had disrespected more thoroughly than anyone, with the possible exception of Lucien himself.

"She won't listen to me," Tamlin snapped. "You make her leave!"

Eunomia stared at him, and then, seemed to raise herself up just a bit.

"As your counsel in this matter, I refuse."

"You'd disobey a High Lord's command?"

"If I believe it to be an unwise decision which may sabotage the pursuit of justice, which is my sacred duty, then yes, my lord."

Well, Tamlin supposed he could at least respect that - her determination to stick it to the Night Court. They had that in common. And there was reason, logic in her words. Perhaps, for that, he could try to face Rosheen again.

[stalkedbytrains]

Would You Like to Buy a Vacuum From Beyond the Realm of Human Comprehension?

It was almost 6 in the evening. This late in the summer, the sun would be going down in the next hour or so. Paula was going to have to lock up and double check her wards soon. Without the sun, things would get bad, she just had the feeling.

Like always, she started at the back of the house, checking the witching jars hidden among the double row of sunflowers that ringed her house. The witching jars had confirmed utility against the Wet Things, but the sunflower was merely a superstition that Paula inherited from her mother and her mother’s mother. The story was that devils and other dark things wouldn’t cross the flowers of the sun.

There was no empirical, scientific measurement to prove that was true when salt and silver worked so much better. But the comfort that the flowers brought to Paula was immeasurable.

The sunflowers follow the sun with their bright yellow and black faces, and for a moment Paula swears that they turn towards the front of her house, much lower than the actual sun approaching it’s inevitable daily end.

Then there was a loud, but not impolite, knock at her front door.

It wasn’t too late for visitors, but an uncommon time for one to be sure.

Paula quickly goes back inside, locking her door with brass lock and salt on the ground. She moved quickly through her small home to the front door. Through the looking glass she tried to spy who it was, for a brief second all she could see was a wide smile and an errant ray of sunshine temporarily blinded her before resolving into a charming looking woman in a brown leather hat, radiant smile, and wavy yellow hair that reminded Paula of the comforting feeling of her long ago lost first great love.

“Hello ma’am, I was wondering if you were interested in buying a vacuum. I can promise you that you’ll never see another opportunity like this again in your life,” the woman says, her voice like spring, refreshingly warm.

Vacuums, old world tech, from the world before the Shift, before the Slip, and well before the Fall. She’s heard stories of a seller of vacuums wandering the wastes beyond the Dust Desert just outside of town, but Paula never believed them.

“Who are you?” Paula asks cautiously, one hand on the door knob, the other on a worn and dusty sickle, kept near the door for protection.

The seller speaks a name that slips from Paula’s mind in a way that should have concerned her but resolved a moment later into “Eloise”.

Paula takes a pinch of the salt from the floor around the threshold, and opening the mailbox she flicks some out, hitting the woman in the worn traveling boots. Nothing sparked or bled smoke.

The saleswoman didn’t flinch.

“I shall submit to a test of silver or a trial of riddles if you so choose.” 

Paula cracks open the door and slips out the edge of her sickle, not pure silver, but enough to damage anything that would darken her doorstep. The saleswoman, still smiling, extends a hand and pricks her finger against the blade.

“Satisfied or shall I recite a limerick for you to prove-”

Paula undoes a rune and a lock and opens the door. “What do you want? The sun is going to be going down soon, and I have wards to check.”

“I shall take only a few moments of your time, I shall be gone long before the sun will set, and you have my utmost promise that you shall be entirely safe while I’m on your doorstep,” the woman says in response.

The seller was pretty. At first, Paula thought, in an ordinary way, but as she kept looking the woman grew prettier among the details.

She smiled at Paula. “Would you be interested in a vacuum cleaner, ma’am? I can promise you, you’ve never seen one like this before. May I come in?”

The smile was so warm and disarming, that Paula found herself wanting to say yes. She knew she shouldn’t, there had to be a trick to it, but there was something safe about this woman named Eloise.

Paula let her inside. “Fine. But make it quick.”

Another charming smile, or perhaps the same one never left her face since she first knocked at the door.

The saleswoman swept into the house, her wheeled case barely making a sound.

Paula locked the door behind her and turned expecting to see the saleswoman opening her big case to reveal the product. Instead, Eloise was already facing her, vacuum already out and ready to be shown off.

It wasn’t a pretty thing, if Paula was perfectly honest. A pale yellow and red contraption, that was actually a little garish if she looked too long at it. As best as she could tell it appeared to be some kind of… molded plastic bags hung with some stainless steel acting as a base or foundation. Paula was positive there were no more factories, at least within 500 miles of the Dust Belt that she lived on the ever encroaching edge of, that could manufacture molded plastic like they used to in the Old Old World.

“There you have it, the last vacuum you will ever need,” Eloise said with a bright smile.

Now that the salesperson was within Paula’s house it was easier to get a good look at her. Well worn traveling boots that went up to her knee. Sensible pants. A long, brown leather duster. A wide brim hat. All of it sensible, all of it a bit dusty from the world outside the door. But she seemingly lacked the things that every traveler of the Dust Belt needed: a mask, eye protection, a weapon. Eloise was either foolish, or… completely unafraid of the fate that comes with testing the creatures of dust and shadow that haunt the nights and spaces between.

Paula was going to ask a question but Eloise continued with her speech before she could put a voice to the thought.

“Of course it is solar powered, so if you simply leave it in a sunny spot for 6 hours or so it will fully charge up. A battery will last at least 3 days of hard use, which I’m sure you’ll find plenty of out here. And I know how important solar power is out here with your… faulty electric grid. Things haven’t been the same since the fall of Niagara.”

Niagara. An old name, from before even the first Fall. A name that none would recognize, save possibly Paula, who was a researcher of the Before, trying to save or reconstruct the history and technology of that bygone world.

“You know of Niagara?” Paula asked.

Eloise smiled, this time a knowing smile. “I do. It was a sight. The way the sun would cause rainbows in the water spray.” The salesperson went quiet for a moment, as if remembering something from long ago.

“I shall not bore you with the technical details but this unit has one of the greatest filters you’ll likely ever see. It captures dirt and dust and collects it here in the back.” Eloise taps the back of the unit, the bulkiest part but one that still fit the relatively slim design. “You’ll only need to change it out once every solar year. And I see that you are a woman who is a firm believer in the power of salt circles. If you flip this switch here, you active a special mode unique to this model that will divert and purify any salt you collect and put it here in this little detachable container. This will allow you to clean your whole house and reuse any salt you collect in a new circle.”

“That’s very impressive,” Paula had to admit.

“And if you need to get into those hard to reach nooks and crannies, well we have this extension,” Eloise says as she pulls out a plastic tube that bends and folds while making strange little noises that ends in a foot and a half long silver metal… nozzle for lack of a better word. The extension was strange and didn’t seem to belong to the rest of the vacuum.

“It has a little hole at the tip and it allows you to really get into those corners and clean up any dust mites trying to break in and undo your home’s safety. And it is made with consecrated siderite so in a pinch it will function as a fairly lethal weapon.”

“Surely this cannot work as well as you are selling it.” Paula was suspicious and growing more so by the second. “I’m afraid this isn’t for me.”

“May I do a demonstration? To prove to you my product’s efficacy?”

Paula sighed. There was something about Eloise that she couldn’t just outright refuse. If all else fails she’s going to have a clean carpet. “Fine.”

“When you purchase this model it comes with a manual that tells you how to clean and take care of the unit, but it also gives helpful tips on how to vacuum, and certain patterns for bestowing certain benefits of having a clean room. I’ll do a very basic anti- clockwise pattern for metamorphosis and a feeling of bountiful energy.”

Eloise turned on the vacuum, which wasn’t as loud as Paula thought it would be. She stood in place near the threshold of the room that lead towards the front door and the stairs up to her bedroom. No matter how Eloise turned and moved in strange circular patterns pointing out how things are working and the beauty of a clean and open space, Paula never saw her turn her back. This bright and chipper woman seemed to be exceedingly careful, perhaps more so than Paula gave her credit for. But even knowing that Eloise wouldn’t ever turn her back on her, Paula tried to look for the movements, to catch her turning in a strange way to move around her living room, but she never caught it. She was just always looking at Paula or in a slight profile. It was exceedingly odd.

In the demonstration, Eloise pointed out a few rogue dust devils that Paula had missed in her earlier cleaning. They were strong enough to do anything yet, but if they were clever, in a few days they could start undoing wards overnight and invite something truly nasty inside or become something nasty themselves. Eloise and the vacuum destroyed them with minimal effort or fuss, which is more than Paula could have done.

After collecting some of the salt that was picked up in the demonstration and reapplying it to the circles and wards the demonstration ended.

“It is a very impressive machine you have there,” Paula admitted. “What’s the catch? What payment do you want for it?”

Eloise smiled, wide, bright, and a touch predatory. “I want very little. I like knowing that I can help keep people safe and warm. Just on days that you can see the sun, I’d like you to go outside and stand in its brilliance and say a word of thanks. No more than 10 minutes of quiet contemplation in the sun, on sunny days.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Paula felt the hair on the back of her arms stand up. Her skin felt tingly and warm. The room bristled with energy and she felt more awake and alert. Maybe that’s why she only now noticed that Eloise had the most brilliant yellow-gold eyes. A color not natural to humans.

“You promise that’s it?”

Eloise took one of Paula’s hands in her own tanned, warm, worn hands and held them there for a moment. “I swear it.”

Paula had heard stories of deals made with devils and Saints, genies, and the Wet Things. None of them went well. But those were stories, legends. Weren’t they? This pretty woman behind her was offering a simple tool to help her maintain her small home and stay safe. And she only asked for thanks in the sun on sunny days. This close to the Dust Belt, there were only so many days she could see the sun when it wasn’t covered by swirling dust storms.

“Very well,” Paula said, taking the deal.

“Wonderful!” Eloise beamed at her. “You can take this model right now. Or I can put in an order for you for a different color scheme or an advanced model with more luxury features that I don’t think you’ll need.”

“If you’re willing to part with this one, I can take this one right now.”

“That is agreeable.”

The bargain was struck and the deal made, and Eloise made to leave. She walked backwards telling Paula to study her new owner’s manual, and Paula swore that the sunflower heads followed the mystery salesperson as she walked up the sidewalk and then away into the approaching evening where Paula just suddenly lost sight of her.

[stalkedbyplanes]

Would You Like to Buy a Vacuum From Beyond the Realm of Human Comprehension?

It was almost 6 in the evening. This late in the summer, the sun would be going down in the next hour or so. Paula was going to have to lock up and double check her wards soon. Without the sun, things would get bad, she just had the feeling.

Like always, she started at the back of the house, checking the witching jars hidden among the double row of sunflowers that ringed her house. The witching jars had confirmed utility against the Wet Things, but the sunflower was merely a superstition that Paula inherited from her mother and her mother’s mother. The story was that devils and other dark things wouldn’t cross the flowers of the sun.

There was no empirical, scientific measurement to prove that was true when salt and silver worked so much better. But the comfort that the flowers brought to Paula was immeasurable.

The sunflowers follow the sun with their bright yellow and black faces, and for a moment Paula swears that they turn towards the front of her house, much lower than the actual sun approaching it’s inevitable daily end.

Then there was a loud, but not impolite, knock at her front door.

It wasn’t too late for visitors, but an uncommon time for one to be sure.

Paula quickly goes back inside, locking her door with brass lock and salt on the ground. She moved quickly through her small home to the front door. Through the looking glass she tried to spy who it was, for a brief second all she could see was a wide smile and an errant ray of sunshine temporarily blinded her before resolving into a charming looking woman in a brown leather hat, radiant smile, and wavy yellow hair that reminded Paula of the comforting feeling of her long ago lost first great love.

“Hello ma’am, I was wondering if you were interested in buying a vacuum. I can promise you that you’ll never see another opportunity like this again in your life,” the woman says, her voice like spring, refreshingly warm.

Vacuums, old world tech, from the world before the Shift, before the Slip, and well before the Fall. She’s heard stories of a seller of vacuums wandering the wastes beyond the Dust Desert just outside of town, but Paula never believed them.

“Who are you?” Paula asks cautiously, one hand on the door knob, the other on a worn and dusty sickle, kept near the door for protection.

The seller speaks a name that slips from Paula’s mind in a way that should have concerned her but resolved a moment later into “Eloise”.

Paula takes a pinch of the salt from the floor around the threshold, and opening the mailbox she flicks some out, hitting the woman in the worn traveling boots. Nothing sparked or bled smoke.

The saleswoman didn’t flinch.

“I shall submit to a test of silver or a trial of riddles if you so choose.” 

Paula cracks open the door and slips out the edge of her sickle, not pure silver, but enough to damage anything that would darken her doorstep. The saleswoman, still smiling, extends a hand and pricks her finger against the blade.

“Satisfied or shall I recite a limerick for you to prove-”

Paula undoes a rune and a lock and opens the door. “What do you want? The sun is going to be going down soon, and I have wards to check.”

“I shall take only a few moments of your time, I shall be gone long before the sun will set, and you have my utmost promise that you shall be entirely safe while I’m on your doorstep,” the woman says in response.

The seller was pretty. At first, Paula thought, in an ordinary way, but as she kept looking the woman grew prettier among the details.

She smiled at Paula. “Would you be interested in a vacuum cleaner, ma’am? I can promise you, you’ve never seen one like this before. May I come in?”

The smile was so warm and disarming, that Paula found herself wanting to say yes. She knew she shouldn’t, there had to be a trick to it, but there was something safe about this woman named Eloise.

Paula let her inside. “Fine. But make it quick.”

Another charming smile, or perhaps the same one never left her face since she first knocked at the door.

The saleswoman swept into the house, her wheeled case barely making a sound.

Paula locked the door behind her and turned expecting to see the saleswoman opening her big case to reveal the product. Instead, Eloise was already facing her, vacuum already out and ready to be shown off.

It wasn’t a pretty thing, if Paula was perfectly honest. A pale yellow and red contraption, that was actually a little garish if she looked too long at it. As best as she could tell it appeared to be some kind of… molded plastic bags hung with some stainless steel acting as a base or foundation. Paula was positive there were no more factories, at least within 500 miles of the Dust Belt that she lived on the ever encroaching edge of, that could manufacture molded plastic like they used to in the Old Old World.

“There you have it, the last vacuum you will ever need,” Eloise said with a bright smile.

Now that the salesperson was within Paula’s house it was easier to get a good look at her. Well worn traveling boots that went up to her knee. Sensible pants. A long, brown leather duster. A wide brim hat. All of it sensible, all of it a bit dusty from the world outside the door. But she seemingly lacked the things that every traveler of the Dust Belt needed: a mask, eye protection, a weapon. Eloise was either foolish, or… completely unafraid of the fate that comes with testing the creatures of dust and shadow that haunt the nights and spaces between.

Paula was going to ask a question but Eloise continued with her speech before she could put a voice to the thought.

“Of course it is solar powered, so if you simply leave it in a sunny spot for 6 hours or so it will fully charge up. A battery will last at least 3 days of hard use, which I’m sure you’ll find plenty of out here. And I know how important solar power is out here with your… faulty electric grid. Things haven’t been the same since the fall of Niagara.”

Niagara. An old name, from before even the first Fall. A name that none would recognize, save possibly Paula, who was a researcher of the Before, trying to save or reconstruct the history and technology of that bygone world.

“You know of Niagara?” Paula asked.

Eloise smiled, this time a knowing smile. “I do. It was a sight. The way the sun would cause rainbows in the water spray.” The salesperson went quiet for a moment, as if remembering something from long ago.

“I shall not bore you with the technical details but this unit has one of the greatest filters you’ll likely ever see. It captures dirt and dust and collects it here in the back.” Eloise taps the back of the unit, the bulkiest part but one that still fit the relatively slim design. “You’ll only need to change it out once every solar year. And I see that you are a woman who is a firm believer in the power of salt circles. If you flip this switch here, you active a special mode unique to this model that will divert and purify any salt you collect and put it here in this little detachable container. This will allow you to clean your whole house and reuse any salt you collect in a new circle.”

“That’s very impressive,” Paula had to admit.

“And if you need to get into those hard to reach nooks and crannies, well we have this extension,” Eloise says as she pulls out a plastic tube that bends and folds while making strange little noises that ends in a foot and a half long silver metal… nozzle for lack of a better word. The extension was strange and didn’t seem to belong to the rest of the vacuum.

“It has a little hole at the tip and it allows you to really get into those corners and clean up any dust mites trying to break in and undo your home’s safety. And it is made with consecrated siderite so in a pinch it will function as a fairly lethal weapon.”

“Surely this cannot work as well as you are selling it.” Paula was suspicious and growing more so by the second. “I’m afraid this isn’t for me.”

“May I do a demonstration? To prove to you my product’s efficacy?”

Paula sighed. There was something about Eloise that she couldn’t just outright refuse. If all else fails she’s going to have a clean carpet. “Fine.”

“When you purchase this model it comes with a manual that tells you how to clean and take care of the unit, but it also gives helpful tips on how to vacuum, and certain patterns for bestowing certain benefits of having a clean room. I’ll do a very basic anti- clockwise pattern for metamorphosis and a feeling of bountiful energy.”

Eloise turned on the vacuum, which wasn’t as loud as Paula thought it would be. She stood in place near the threshold of the room that lead towards the front door and the stairs up to her bedroom. No matter how Eloise turned and moved in strange circular patterns pointing out how things are working and the beauty of a clean and open space, Paula never saw her turn her back. This bright and chipper woman seemed to be exceedingly careful, perhaps more so than Paula gave her credit for. But even knowing that Eloise wouldn’t ever turn her back on her, Paula tried to look for the movements, to catch her turning in a strange way to move around her living room, but she never caught it. She was just always looking at Paula or in a slight profile. It was exceedingly odd.

In the demonstration, Eloise pointed out a few rogue dust devils that Paula had missed in her earlier cleaning. They were strong enough to do anything yet, but if they were clever, in a few days they could start undoing wards overnight and invite something truly nasty inside or become something nasty themselves. Eloise and the vacuum destroyed them with minimal effort or fuss, which is more than Paula could have done.

After collecting some of the salt that was picked up in the demonstration and reapplying it to the circles and wards the demonstration ended.

“It is a very impressive machine you have there,” Paula admitted. “What’s the catch? What payment do you want for it?”

Eloise smiled, wide, bright, and a touch predatory. “I want very little. I like knowing that I can help keep people safe and warm. Just on days that you can see the sun, I’d like you to go outside and stand in its brilliance and say a word of thanks. No more than 10 minutes of quiet contemplation in the sun, on sunny days.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Paula felt the hair on the back of her arms stand up. Her skin felt tingly and warm. The room bristled with energy and she felt more awake and alert. Maybe that’s why she only now noticed that Eloise had the most brilliant yellow-gold eyes. A color not natural to humans.

“You promise that’s it?”

Eloise took one of Paula’s hands in her own tanned, warm, worn hands and held them there for a moment. “I swear it.”

Paula had heard stories of deals made with devils and Saints, genies, and the Wet Things. None of them went well. But those were stories, legends. Weren’t they? This pretty woman behind her was offering a simple tool to help her maintain her small home and stay safe. And she only asked for thanks in the sun on sunny days. This close to the Dust Belt, there were only so many days she could see the sun when it wasn’t covered by swirling dust storms.

“Very well,” Paula said, taking the deal.

“Wonderful!” Eloise beamed at her. “You can take this model right now. Or I can put in an order for you for a different color scheme or an advanced model with more luxury features that I don’t think you’ll need.”

“If you’re willing to part with this one, I can take this one right now.”

“That is agreeable.”

The bargain was struck and the deal made, and Eloise made to leave. She walked backwards telling Paula to study her new owner’s manual, and Paula swore that the sunflower heads followed the mystery salesperson as she walked up the sidewalk and then away into the approaching evening where Paula just suddenly lost sight of her.

[notruevampire]

Growth must come from intrinsic motivation. That is, you have to want it from inside. You can't do it for someone else--or at least, not to simply salvage a single relationship, particularly with a victim. You must choose to do better because it is the right thing for if that individual leaves, if you only did it for them, you'll return to who you were, and you'll feel even worse than when you were there before.

You can change for those you will meet in the future, but again, you can't attach it to them. It must be fore all of those you may meet, always. And you choose it again and again, no matter how many times you stumble--or succeed--until it's as natural as your old behaviors or for the rest of your life. There's no guarantees except that you will do better in the world.

And no matter where you start, you can make that choice. Which begins with accepting that no one you've harmed may ever forgive you, and you aren't entitled to it anyway.

And there should be more stories about heroes who refuse to forgive the villains but also don't attempt to sabotage their growth. Just a, "Good for you. Never darken my doorstep again," and the enmity ends.

the concept and idea of “you can always start trying to be a better person” is extremely important to me both in media and irl and i continue to be deeply deeply disturbed by the trend on this site pushing that these ideas in media are bad writing or even morally reprehensible

because theyd rather someone stay terrible or just straight up die than become a better person 

from a compassionate point of view it’s deeply distressing and from a pragmatic point of view it’s outright frustrating

it’s fucked up. 

[iphigeniainaulis]

Eternal Lovers

Character: Isaac Prompts: Masks that come off only once you meet your soulmate | Masks which represent one’s true self

A little something for dear @cheese-ception (the Ikemen Flash Exchange (@flash-exchange) 🌙

Once upon a time there was a town on the very top of Milky Mount. Snow white trees surrounded its walls like a giant seashell full of pearls and diamonds. The sky there was painted in deep sapphire, and the emerald grass held the scent of heather and cornflowers. But it wasn't nature that the place was famous for. The most intriguing part of the town was its citizens as each and everyone of them wore a mask that was a reflection of their own soul.

You’d never been able to see your mask in the mirror. Yet, something inside you whispered that it wasn’t that awful. Some people, indeed, avoided you, covering their eyes in a hurry. Others grumbled in displeasure, crossing the street to hide in the shadows. Most of them, however, welcomed you with a sweet smile. You did the same, listening to their complaints, calming, caring, helping. Every morning you woke up the citizens, ringing the bells of the Golden Tower. Every day you harvested wheat and warmed up water in the rivers, watched after sunflower fields soaked with yellow. And every evening you went back home, getting rare words of gratitude from the locals who seemed no more interested in you. It was okay. You still loved them deeply for they were your only family. But the night fell, and it wasn't gentle. The feeling of eternal loneliness came all over you again and again, reminding you how those people praised you only for as long as they needed something from you. There wasn't a single soul that appreciated you for just the way you were.  

Until one day.

A mysterious astronomer settled down in the town. You saw him once or twice from behind. His soft cherry hair resembled the summer sky before the sunset, the skin was more pale than the crescent moon. He used to walk with a slouch, always so fast and anxious. It was strange, almost cute, and made you chuckle in delight. One evening you saw his slender figure in the apple orchard. 

It's already so dark and chilly. He will catch a cold if sitting here like this.

You coughed loudly and deliberately stepped on a withered branch to introduce your presence, but the astronomer was sleeping peacefully, leaning his back against the apple tree. Sneaking from behind, you gently touched the man’s shoulder. When it didn't work as well, you hugged the tree trunk and started to shake it vigorously. 

“Open your eyes, sleepyhead! Or you may gravitate to the ground.”   

One red apple fell from the tree and landed on the unlucky astronomer’s head. He jumped on his feet, moaning in pain. 

“For God’s sake, my name is Isaac, not a ‘sleepyhead’! And I wasn't going to gravi…W-what? What did you —”

Isaac turned to you in haste and caught nothing but the haze of your laughter. He took the red fruit from the ground and stared at it both in disbelief and excitement. 

That was how your strange friendship began to bloom. You never met face to face but could feel when one of you was near the other. Every day you brought freshly baked pies and hot tea to Isaac’s door, and every evening you lit colorful lanterns on the streets in case he felt the need to study late at night. Isaac, in his turn, obediently followed you after the growing dusk, protecting you from the dangers waiting in the darkening allies. And sent you baskets full of red apples where you sometimes could find little hedgehog, Harry, always sleepy and clumsy, just like his owner.

It was a month after your first meeting. The sapphire sky was covered with pearl clouds, and little drops of rain were hitting the roofs like a wooden mallet touching a xylophone, filling the streets with the crystal music of autumn. 

You wanted to hide from the weather in your cozy cottage when you saw a familiar basket full of apples at the doorsteps. As usual, a spiny friend of yours was sobbing right there, surrounded by red juicy apples. 

“Harry, you little wretch! Isaac will get worried when he finds out you’re not with him.”   

Suddenly, noisy sounds of someone’s sharp breath came from behind, giving you chills. After all, it was dark, it was rainy, and nobody was there to save you except your own self. So, you raised your hand in defense, turning back and hitting the stranger’s face. 

The person most certainly didn't expect that from you and after a few seconds of desperate attempts to restore the balance dropped on the wet grass. The light from lanterns revealed his soft cherry curls that were previously hidden behind the hood. 

“I’m so sorry” – you ran towards the man, watching ruefully how the dirt painted circles on his white shirt – “if only I could help–” 

“As you always do. Even though they don't deserve your kindness.” He’d been avoiding your gaze all those days, but now his eyes, tender and clever, were studying your face through the slits of the mask. His mask. The most beautiful creation you’d ever seen.

Probably, your intense gaze embarrassed Isaac because he quickly turned away.

“I-I didn't mean to scare you!  Harry was nowhere to be seen, so I decided to go and search for him,” he mumbled softly.

“It's alright!”, you were quick to assure him. ”I just didn't expect to see you here…talking.”

Your words surely didn't help. He lowered his gaze and looked even more embarrassed than ever. Probably, you thought, it was your first and last conversation. But before you could think of any way to smooth over the awkwardness of the situation, Isaac started speaking again.  

“I wanted to say something but never had enough courage to approach you. This town, it’s…I’ve felt so lonely here. They all think that I’m strange and avoid me. You’re the only one who appreciates me for what I am. Before meeting with you I struggled to find my destiny, but your light and warmth showed me the way. You make me feel safe and loved. I…I want to give something to you in return. I–”

He was in desperate need of air, cheeks crimson red as if from fever.

“…I just want t-to be with you.” 

“Nobody cares for me in this town. They’ll miss me only when they lose me. You’re the only one who values and guides me through the darkness. I just want to be with you, Isaac.”  

You reached out to each other, sharing the same sky, the same pain and the same love. The moment your hands met, two masks dropped on the ground. One sparkled with the abiding faith and loyalty of the elegant Moon. And the other one captured the dazzling beauty and burning passion of the shining Sun.   

[rayshippouuchiha]

Oh, it's fanfic writer appreciation day?? Almost missed it. All my love to my all time favorite fic author, for giving us delicious AUs, wonderfully wicked ideas, loving support, and breathtakingly good fics that I reread at least once per year! Love you Ray, thank you for all you do for us, I wish you all the happiness in the world 🥰🤗🌸💗💜💙🎉(and maybe this is a bit selfish, but I also wish you the best of luck with writers' block, may it never darken your doorstep again😘)

[husbandohunter]

Dottore with short drabble “You only ever brought me pain and I’m sick of it.”

Something angsty pls? Thank you!

Tainted Glass [Dottore x Reader/Genshin Impact]

Synopsis: Can you escape the prison you made?

(A twisted Cinderella story. The girl was covered in cinders because she was fatally addicted to drowning in flames.)

Warnings: angst, emotional abuse, violence, death

(A/n): To be honest anon, I didn’t know what the word ‘drabble’ means until I googled it. I uh...hope you don’t mind the length :> 

-----------------------

You fell back against the cold hard floor with your arms bent and head turned sideways. The stinging pain spreads across your cheek. It burns. But your mind was still trying to register what had just came into fruition. 

Why?

The thought was so foreign somehow as if you could hardly believe he was doing this. But then the scene plays in your head again. You froze, your gaze enlarged and clueless while staring at the pale ground as it slowly begins to darken in the seeping movement of his menacing, haunting shadow. 

"Insolent woman, you wretch!" He spat in a disgusted tone, "How dare you speak to me in such demanding manner? Have I already told you, only talk when you have something important to say?"

You didn't respond, rather you merely let the strands fall in front of your vision as you gingerly pressed your hand against the place where he hit you. 

I…don't quite understand…

Dottore glowers down at your hunched form. He was never a man known for the virtue of patience. This man, the one who calls him your husband, you learned a long time ago to not meet his eyes as they would signal a hint of dominance amidst his authority, especially during moments like these. You came to feel his eyes instead, they were usually intense and full of wrath, sometimes crazed and curious while looking at his finest creations. He always loved experimenting in his labratory. After all, it was the only thing that could truly make the madman smile.

What is it that I'm missing? Where did I go wrong?

And you would do anything to obtain at least a fraction of the love he had left in his heart. 

He marches onward with heavy footsteps, paying no mind to your well-being, "Tch get out of my sight. I don't have the time to entertain with anymore these theatrics."

At the sound of him leaving you darted your attention towards him, "Wait, come back. Come back, " you plea softly, "Hector…" But he ignores your call. The back of your fiance disappears behind the door and slams it with a resounding thud. He was gone. You couldn't save him.

"No," As a result, you burried your face into your palms and cried.

“I'm sorry.”

…

What is love?

Being raised in one of the most prestigious bloodlines of Fontaine, a life filled with riches since your parents were well known scholars throughout Teyvat, they provided you and your family with everything you needed. From exquisite dishes to priceless jewelry, yet even among those riches you never did find an answer to your question. They were tangibles and short-lasting, eventually leaving you with nothing until the glass of your heart was filled empty. They seemed to have cared more about their fortune along with the brightest child of their family line, your brother, a male heir, someone who fulfilled their expectations where you couldn't do so. And because he was able to give them what they wanted, he was loved.

I see, love is conditional.

Realizing that you possessed no talent to achieve what your brother had accomplished, you came to accept that you were undeserving of their love. Love was for the smart. Love was for the gifted.  Love was for everything you are not. There was no place for your kind and thus you locked yourself up in your bedroom chambers along with your fragile heart where no one would try to find you, picking up the books upon the shelves and getting lost in their fantasies. 

They told you many beautiful things about the world and many reasons why it was so tragic. Because they weren't real. The story begins with a princess who was a kind-hearted soul, deprived from the care of her evil stepmother and dreams of marrying a prince from a land far far away. They often end on a happily ever after with the princes finding her one true love. You've never seen anything like it. Where two people, despite the struggles they went through, loved each other unconditionally.

Unconditional love only exists in dreams.

Or so you thought to believe.

One day a man marched right at the doorsteps of your mansion. He was a student coming all the way from Sumeru Academia and had high hopes of building a business partnership with your father. The man was declined of course, you watched from the garden bushes as he was sent off back into his carriage. He stops abruptly and turns his head ajar to catch your figure, his inquisitive eyes were both striking and sharp. Like thorns of a rose that was ready to prick anyone who dares to come close. Even so, they made a very lasting impression.

Red eyes.

It was the first time that someone had looked your way.

Couple of months later, the government had arranged a grand ball where all nobles would gather and commit to building their social circle. Useless events. There was no reason for you to engage. While your parents were occupied with the latest gossips and your brother surrounded by fathers who were eager to marry their daughters to him, you snuck outside to the balcony and hid away from the crowd. Quiet at last. And as things should be. The moon was your only friend because she was just like you; half empty. Maybe that was why you still had a glimmer of hope for the other half to be filled. 

Part white, you inquired, pristine and untainted. From far away it looked similar to snow. 

"My, how pleasantly surprising."

While the other part was stained with black cinders.

You glanced over your shoulder to see a man leaning against the pillar. His mint coloured bangs were slicked back in a trendy fashion, complimenting the white suit he adorned himself with. The golden chains hanging around his ebony boots dangled and clanged with each step he took forward until the light finally reveals his face.

"You seem familiar," you say while squinting your eyes, "Are you the person my father rejected back in February?"

He quirks one brow and you were afraid if you had offended him. But before you could utter an apology, the man splits his lips into a toothy grin and bursts out into a maniac-like laughter. He was completely insane, you thought to yourself. Though he paid no mind to your discomfort and continued to dwell in his amusement, "Hahaha straightforward, I like it! So what if I am? Is it a requirement to be a noble for me to simply have a chat?"

"And if I may ask why?"

"Hmmm, why?" The man reaches for the balcony and presses his back there. He threw his head backward before drilling his ruby gaze into yours, "I too am not fond of annoying crowds. Those snobbish fools thinking they're above everyone else just because they have a couple of mora when that is all they are worth. It's almost too hilarious for my own good."

You could tell there was disdain in his tone. Mainly towards your father who were one of the many unkind nobles of Fontaine and was only liked because of his success. Gripping your hands upon the stone railings, you looked down at the distant trees below while the wind rustled them apart, "I can't deny that," you say dissapointedly, "It's common for nobles not to associate with lower classes as it could potentially ruin their image. Though I may not have been there but I'm sure you had much to offer in terms of your brilliance, erm, Mister…?"

"Hector," Hector placed a palm on his chest with a polite bow following suit, "Hector Dufour-Lapointé. It is a pleasure to make you an acquaintance Lady (Y/n)."

"You know my name?"

"How could I not?" Hector smirks lazily as he danced around you, "I saw you before hiding behind the rose bushes back in your estate. Quite curious why you didn't attempt to say hello."

He even remembers that too. You fiddled with the fabric of your dress, "My apologies. I'm not use to socializing so much."

“Is that so? I think you're not giving yourself enough credit," he complimented while shrugging, "This is much more entertaining than hanging in that insufferably crowded room, it was an unexpected occurence to meet you here of all places. However, I must say time can fly if I'm able to enjoy myself."

You shifted away from his stare, "You flatter me. We've only been talking for a few minutes."

"I have yet to realize it then" Hector's cheerfulness remains at stance despite your gloomy response. He leans forward like a curious child and tosses you a question, "Then allow me to ask, what brings you out here Lady (Y/n)? I don't see any reason when your family are such highly respected people of Fontaine." 

"I'm not like them!" You retort instantly, causing the man to glance at you with skepticism, "I mean, I have nothing to do with them and they have nothing to do with me. That's just how it is. They already have Clement after all…"

Why am I telling him this?

"Ah your brother I assume. Yes so I've heard much about his genius mind. There were a few instances where he and I collaborated at Sumeru Academia," Hector speaks as if regarding to his unpleasant memories, "Although he never said anything about having a sister."

"We're not that close. And I'm not very fond of him," you confessed bluntly.

"Neither am I," Hector agreed with a scowl, "He claims his position using the knowledge derived from history books but never tries to think beyond the norm. That ignorant mindset of his will surely be his downfall one day."

"Ignorance can lead to anyone's downfall. If they turn a blind eye to the truth, so much can be taken from them," you paused shortly from rambling too much, "That's what I read in books at least."

"As expected of your lineage," he sighs whimsically, "Such avid readers."

"Well my family prefers documents and research. I've gone through them too but I will always love reading fiction."

"Ha! Seems you really are trying to be different from the rest of your family."

Seconds turn to minutes and minutes to hours, you had already forgotten about the cold breeze despite your dress being less than ideal for the outdoors. The man, although he can be a little to blathering at times, was more than what seemed to be on the surface. At first you thought of him as someone here to take advantage of your relations to your father but he seemed so sincere when listening to your stories, so eager while expressing his thoughts and even made you laugh a couple of times. You didn't realize that the clock had already struck twelve as the guests were preparing to leave but you just weren't ready to do the same.

"Until next time (Y/n)," he takes your fingers and pressed a kiss on top of them, though you were more struck by how he addressed you without honorifics, "I look forward to speaking with you again."

A warm smile graces your lips as you cursty, "Likewise Hector. Thank you for listening to me. I know I must have taken a long time."

Hector sneered but you already learned that it was simply his way of expressing amusement, "Hardly. I was thoroughly entertained."

When your parents found out about your meeting with him, they made it clear that you would never see him again. Hector Dufour-Lapointé is what he calls himself but the real name behind this man was Hector Valliere who came from a village hidden in the west of Fontaine. Rumours said that he was chased out of his hometown by an angry mob, claiming him to be a madman conducting unethical experiments on humans. Shortly after his arrival in Sumeru, he abandoned his past identity and replaced it with a new one in order to enter the academy under legal supervision. Associating with a man of a suspicious reputation would only cause harm to your family's name. Though you could barely care much about their reputation. There was nothing for you to benefit from it.

Few weeks have passed and you evetually gave up on the thought of hearing from Hector. They were only fleeting moments, nothing more. Your routine would stay the same as you kept on plucking more books off the shelves, killing whatever time you had. However the activities you used to enjoy somehow lost it's flair and there would be a slight pain in your chest whenever you turn to a page with the princess as she is surrounded by her friends. What exactly changed? Your family still treated you the same. Did you suddenly grow bored from doing the same thing everyday? Why is it that you feel much more lonelier despite being alone for so long? It was hard to tell in a singular perspective. If only there was someone here to give you some insights on things you couldn't see…

A silver bird lands by your front window and you nearly fell out of your chair as it flapped their wings violently. A machine?! They dropped what seems to be an envelope within the thick bushes before taking off and buzzing into the evening sky. You switched off the lock and lifted the glass within a single movement, snatching the piece of paper so that the wind wouldn't blow it away. Hastily you opened it. Both curious and cautious of why would anyone send you mail in such a discreet approach.

Chère Mademoiselle (Y/n),

I can only imagine the shock of your expression once reading this letter. I'm only writing to you since I assume that your father had already told you those nasty rumours about my past. No matter. I trust that you have a good head on your shoulders to not prejudge people using such miniscule details. I wish to speak with you again. Unless you have other plans staying in that stuffy room of yours, meet me behind the clock tower at 11:00 p.m. Don't be late.

Bien à vous,

H.

"It really is him!" The happiness spreads all across your features as you clutched the letter to your chest. For some reason, your heart wouldn't stop racing. It was a simple yet thoughful action on his part but despite how short his greeting was, every word held the weight of a thousand sparks, "I…I can't stop smiling."

And without hesitation, you prepared to leave. No one noticed your absence.

-------

It was only halfway where you realized that Hector didn't give many details redgarding why he planned this sudden event. You caught sight of him standing under the roofs with his hands hidden behind his back. He had on his signature lopsided grin, brows uneven as he glanced at you casually.

"How very punctual, were you so eager that you couldn't wait?" He teases.

"I was surprised when your bird knocked upon my window," you inform, "Is it something urgent?"

"Not at all. I merely wanted to catch up with old times," Hector tilts forward to emphasize his suggestion, "Care to indulge me for a bit?"

You crossed your arms, "Then what is it that you're hiding behind your back?"

"Hmm?" He hums, "You mean this?"

"Ah!"

Roses. A bouquet of bright red flowers were presented to you, nicely wrapped in fabric. In the language of Fontaine, recieving them could mean multiple of things and you couldn't help but feel hesitant despite his thoughtful gesture, "Why are you giving me this?"

"Is it so wrong for me to be a gentleman? I thought it would be best to prepare you a gift after you put all that effort to come out in such a late hour," Hector mused to himself, "Especially when you had to make sure no prying eyes would catch us."

You let out a small laugh before accepting the bouquet, "I wouldn't go as far to say that."

"Oh?" Although it was hard to see, Hector managed to catch a glimpse of your flushed cheeks hidden behind the flowers. A darken smirk climbs onto his face at the inviting thought of what it could mean, "Tell me more."

The whole night you both spent walking around the empty plaza with only the stars as your guide. They paved a silver path reflected in the horizon above, free flowing like one of the many watercolour paintings hung in your chambers, uncertain where they may lead but you followed them regardless. If it weren't for Hector's inivtation you might have never known about the parts of your city due to the restricted lifestyle you lived. He listened to every one of them. The stories you had to tell when there was no one for you to talk to and the complaints about your brother whenever he wanted to snitch on your actions just to get the praise out of your father. You expressed your frustrations when speaking about your incompetences, joy after reading a good fairytale book written by your favourite author, there was so much to say that you were worried if Hector soon grew tired from them.

"Go on. I'm listening."

And your heart flutters again. Suddenly everything felt so light with each step you took, it was as if you walked across the stars in the sky rather than the heavy pavement of the ground you called your home. But even if happiness was a bliss, it tormented you. Because companionship made you realize how poor your were all along. That you had everything yet you had nothing, slowly withering away like the roses you held in your hand. Convinced that your existence was worth nothing more than nothing itself. Doomed to be dismissed and forgotten. Rotting away...Hector stays by your side as you cried softly into the night.

From a distance the bell rings and echoes just like the time before during Fontaine's grand ball. Hector shows you a secret route so that no one could find you.

"Will you write to me again?"

The request was so innocent, purely from genuine intentions and devoided of anything he had in mind. Hector would always laugh in these situations when things have gone unexpectedly yet pleasingly his way but held back knowing that it would be foolish to waste such a priceless opportunity. And so he gave you his smile, one full of secrets where you had mistakened it as a promise, "Of course my dear."

Every night you could no longer fall asleep since he had occupied your thoughts completely. Sometimes you'd dream of him and their tales would unfold similarly to the ones you have read. It gone to the point where the maids would have to wake you up during late afternoons due to the dramatic change in your sleep schedule. Though, you didn't care what they did to you. As long as no one found out about your secret rendezvous.

You never thought that there'd be a day where you would voluntarily give up reading your beloved fairytales. They were now replaced by a stash of his letters that have been accumulated over the past few months. You read them each day, pacing back and forth within the walls of your room, whispering his sentences as if he were the one saying them to you. He made you feel special. You were addicted to this feeling. Eventually you managed to memorize his words by heart. 

The pages of your diary were filled with notes. Like your very own  fairytale carved into reality. From the rose petal, now dried, to the hairpin he snatched from a distracted merchant and a single strand of his hair you found within your cloak after a warm embrace, all of these items, a remnant of the man you loved were taped up in these pages. Sometimes you could even feel his prescence because it was all you needed. It didn't matter if Clement threw insults about how worthless your existence was, your parents could lock you in this prison if they wanted to but they shall never take away Hector from you. Never. You swear it. He was your whole world and the prince who saved you from a life made of aching emptiness. You would do anything to keep him by your side. Anything to gain his affection.

Anything.

"I had a feeling that you were the culprit dear sister."

Your arms stutters as they clutched tightly on the scrolls you took off from the shelves. The light crept into the room like arms reaching out to clutch around your ankles, warning you for trespassing. You turned around dreadfully to see Clement pressing his shoulder against the doorframe with his arms folded and a wicked expression aimed at your pitiful state.

"Why…Why are you still awake?" You say in disbelief, "I thought everyone was asleep."

"Please. Not only are you shameless but hypocritical as well. You truly are a dissapointment to our family."

"Wait," taking a step forward, you stopped him before he makes his exit, "I'll put them back. Just don't tell father about this."

But like your parents, your brother was unkind. Clement doubles over and hugs his torso, cackling through his teeth, "Is that how it is?" He swipes his arm up and you see a parchment paper held between his fingers. 

"No!"

"Ma chérie (Y/n). I must say all this tenacious effort of sneaking in my letters to your window is becoming more and more tiresome. But of course, you are an exception. I want the scrolls you've mentioned the other day at my lair tomorrow evening. Make sure no one discovers this. I'm counting on you. Cordialement! Hector."

"No…" you whispered, feeling the weight of the world fall upon your shoulders as it shattered apart. Hector. If possible, you hoped that the pieces could just crush you right then and there. Your knees felt weak and a fright takes over but despite your turmoil, Clement didn't show a shred of sympathy.

"So this is why you've been acting odd lately. Pathetic," he flaps the paper tauntingly in his grasp, "I can't decide if I should be impressed or baffled by your actions. A secret romance with a criminal and the bloodline of Fontaine's most respected government associates? Even though you've hit rock bottom, you still decided to dig deeper."

"Clement you don't understand!"  Stumbling upon your footsteps, you desperately tried to convey your predicament even if it meant feeding his ego, "Hector is not the man you think. He was shunned by the people of his hometown, treating him as if he were nothing. They…They ignored him! All this time he needed someone to recognize his brilliance, someone to understand." Shakily, you brought your tensed arms to your chest and screamed a silent whisper, "Someone to listen but no one did. He must have felt so alone…"

Clement flinches when you suddenly clutched onto his biceps. When he looked into your eyes, a shiver ran down his spine.

"Hector is counting on me. I'm the only one who can save him. No one else. He needs me Clement, he needs me!" 

"Tch."

An ear-splitting scream of his hand against your face echoes across the room. It knocked you out of your stance and you bumped into the table, grunting while the scrolls to tumbled to the floor.

"Crazy woman, I'm embarassed to be related to you!"

While you were still trying to regain your balance, your brother had already ran off. It wouldn't be long before he alerted your parents, the clock ticking away like sand until the final hour leaves you with nothing but an empty glass. 

"No," despair swallows the strength away from your legs and you crawled towards where he used to stand, "Don't take him away from me…I need him…"

I can't live without him.

I can't live without him.

I can't live without him.

Tears begin to form by the corners of your eyes as you clenched your teeth. This was no time to cry. Balling your fists, you sprinted out of the room, pushing whatever stood in your way as if you were running for your life. 

And if you considered everything else, it wasn't that far from the truth.

-------

"Hector! Hector are you there?" After arriving upon his house, you began knocking on his door aggressively. The lock clicks and you were greeted by an evidently annoyed man gnawing his teeth together.

"Tsk. There better be a good reason-"

"They're coming for us! We have to go. Now. Before it's too late. My father is probably already waking and making arrangements for you to-"

"Enough, I can't even catch what you're saying," He pinches the bridge of his nose while you were still stuck in a frenzy state. He takes a step back and opens the door wider, gesturing for you to come inside, "Get in already. I have a feeling that this will be a long night."

Hector observes intently at the words you tell him.

Not out of concern but akin to the way he watches the insects react when he exposes them to a different environment.

He was a scientist after all. A madman in which you deliberately fell in love with, so much to the point that he was able to feel pity for once. How you trusted him wholeheartedly with all of your vulnerabilities, emotions and secrets like handing him your parts just so he could put you back together again. Tinkering was always one of his favourite hobbies and he couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of pride at the thought of you being completely wrapped around his finger. 

Perhaps that was the reason why he loved you. Because he didn't love you. He loved you in parts.

"It was only a matter of time," Hector sighs. He sneaks his grasp into yours, knowing how much it affects you and puts on an invisible mask of deciet, "I already knew this day would happen long before anyone could have predicted it."

"You did?" With worried eyes you gazed at him, "What shall we do then?"

Knowing he hit the target, his lips begin to curl up towards his ears, showing his sharp white teeth that shone against the dim-litted room. Hector asks, "Do you love me?"

A silly question. You didn't hesitate to answer, "Of course I do. I've said it many times."

"Prove it to me," Forcing his forehead against yours, Hector commands in a dangerously low tone, "Kill your brother and only then you can truly be mine."

Your brain sutters, trying to absorb what he had just said. Kill? As in to take a life? It sounded wrong. But...was it wrong if the life belonged to someone who ruined yours?

Dumbfoundedly, you glanced into the bloody orbs of your lover, his black pupils thinning into knives while burning in the hellfire of his true colours. Hector runs a hand from the scalp of your hair, down to your cheek before gingerly sliding his fingers at your jawline. He pulled you close and whispered into your ear.

"Are you scared?"

Ah, this wasn't about your feelings. This was about him and your future and there could be no future you without him by your side.

You let your eyelids drop and leaned into his touch, "I could never be scared of you Hector. Whether it is within my power or not, I will make sure no one gets in our way. I swear it."

"Good," he continues to have you feed on his affection, "I knew I could count on you."

-----------

The news of your brother's death filled every headline Fontain had to offer. He was driven off a cliff while making a trip towards Sumeru. No one survived. The remains were so crushed to the point that authorities had trouble identifying their bodies. The only explanation they could come up with by observing the leftover tracks was that the horse must have gone out of control and ended up dragging the carriage along with it.

Ha. Serves him right.

Food poisoning. The vial Hector made was very effective. You made sure to bury it away from your mansion.

With no other choice, you became your family's next heir. Hector notifies you that he would be away for several months to solidify a unique connection with a man hailing from Snezhnaya. You didn't think he would arrive at your doorsteps with so much authority. Fatui soldiers followed from behind as the staff paved a way for them to enter. Your father was clearly displeased by his outrageous approach but he knew he was in no place to deny.

"Upon the agreement between Fontaine and Snezhnaya, Lady (Y/n) will become Harbinger Il Dottore's wife," the Duke announces, "This news will be publicly announced at the end of October."

Dottore? Is that what he calls himself?

As if claiming his victory, Dottore shoots your father a devilish smile. You could feel the dining table shake when he kept pressing his fist against the smooth surface, begrudingly congratulating you both for the new engagement. Your mother bursted into tears.

Was it worth it?

You watched both of your parents mourn silently in their own manner. Perfectly knowing that you were the main cause. But you weren't able to feel any sadness because in the end, you now had everything you've ever wanted. 

The inheritance.

Their attention.

But most of all, him.

And when you were convinced that this was your happily ever after, that fairytales were not just beautiful lies for the sake of comfort, you didn't realize  you were already living a life made of beautiful lies conjured by your own mind for the sake of your own comfort. 

"You're nothing without me."

Dried and calloused hands squeezed around your throat as you flailed your legs against the soft fabric of the carpet floor. He encases you in a straddling position, enjoying the sight of your tortured and clenched face. Hector…no, Dottore hated it when you disobeyed him. He despised it when his creations don't work the way he wanted them to and he had no use for things that are broken.

"G-hka--k..-"

"How many times do I have to remind you to not use my birthname. Do those ears of you even function properly? Or must I fix them myself?"

You gasped for air when he relaxed his grip. Vision a blur, you coughed a few times before he pulls your arm so that you lay flushed against his chest.

"Don't forget who saved you dear (Y/n). Because of me you were able to escape that miserable life you've despised for years. I expect the utmost gratitude on your part at all times, it is only fair that I punish you for not meeting my requirements, don't you agree?" Dottore lifts his hand up to pinch your cheeks, pulling your head to stare at your eyes, "After all, there is no one else in this world who can put up with you…but me."

His words were poison in which you drank like a woman starved. It made you feel numb to the pain the more you drowned in their alluring scent, the taste was sweet, a remedy for the bitterness of reality where the man of your dreams was nothing but a cruel monster. You came to believe that the reason why he treated you so harshly was because he was scared of losing you. You were caught in the trap of what seemed to be love and devotion when truly, you were just a toy to be used at a means end. He breaks you and he puts you back together, over and over again, filling in between the cracks formed in your glass heart with the phrases you loved to hear. Just like how he filled the other holes of your life where no one else did. You called it kindness. He saw it as entertainment.

Most people pay attention to the flower's beauty but they never acknowledge the thorns hidden beneath it's blossom.  That is why they bleed. They get hurt. Though, you didn't mind shedding blood if it was for his sake.

Because you would do anything for him.

You would do anything to bring back the memories of Hector Dufour-Lapointé and save him from the Harbinger that ruined his life. Your life. It wasn't his fault. You knew you could change him to what he was before because you were in love with him, that he might still in there. Somewhere.

Right?

…

Please come back.

Time continues to flow like the tears of your dying heart despite yearning for it to turn at the past. Dottore already left the room a long time ago but you didn't. Raising your head away from your hands, you peered at the door in front of you, begging desperately through a chanting record of despondence. 

Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back.

Images, they slipped through your fingers, slowly becoming more distant until your mind began to see them as illusions. Dreams. Things that were not real. Telling you that your life was a lie. 

"Come back to me…Hector."

Because the man you loved was withering in your memories and you couldn't do anything to save him.

A dry croak robbed you of your breath as you turned to look in the mirror.

Worthless. You were always worthless, it was what your parents told you since birth. It was what you became when he wasn't at your side because without him, your existence was worthless. You lied for him, you stole for him you, took a life for him. You destroyed yourself for him to point that it was hard to believe you were even looking at yourself.

Worthless. It's who I am.

And despite it all, you couldn't obtain his love.

(Crack).

Worthless things don’t deserved to be loved.

(Crack. Crack).

But what if it’s because I’m worthless, that he won’t love me back?

(Crack).

Your eyes jolted open, causing you to gasp sharply. When the sweet lies dispersed in your head and cleansed you of deceit, everything started to make sene. You came to realize why your wish was impossible all along.

Dottore...no, Hector, the reason wasn't because he didn't return your feelings. Neither was it due to the fact that he hurt you through his actions. Nor when he made you cry or scream for help before feeding you with more lies, thinking he would never hurt you again. It was none of those things.

It was because the man you loved this whole time was someone who could love no one but himself.

"Ha...haha," sucking in your breath, a sinister laugh escapes your mouth, "Hahahahahahaha.....!"

Everything was worthless.

You grabbed a nearby hairbrush and threw it at the mirror, watching yourself shatter into a million pieces.

There was only one thing left to do. 

------

"Ugh, where is it?!"

It was late into the night where every staff had gone to sleep. The Harbinger fumbles with his keys while standing at the door of his basement as he was too busy proceeding with his research rather than considering the thought of rest. Usually he acted upon them on his own will, performing various experiments for enjoyment. However, ever since the Snezhnayan court had requested him to look into the ancient arts of alchemy, Dottore was forced to carry it out before the deadline approached. Otherwise his position as Harbinger would be revoked.

"What a bunch of self-centered blockheads. Can't they understand that it take quality time to get quality results?"

Most of his important documents were stored on the otherside. Half of it came from his father-in-law's library. He had you to thank for that.

"Ah finally," he mutters, though still dissatisfied, "I should have a word with my butler for misplacing them."

Dottore shoves the key into the lock but instead of twisting the knob he noticed something strange. It was old and had yet to be fixed but somehow he didn't have any trouble adjusting his wrist. Then he saw there were a set of freshly made fingerprints upon the smooth metallic surface. However, the only person awake at this time would be him-

An intruder!

Dottore drops everything to the ground and yanks the door open. He skittered down the stone stairs while cursing under his breath. Using the delusion gifted by the Tsaritsa, the Harbinger activated his lazer-like pillars as he took advantage of their glow to light up the unlit room.

"What in the abyss...?!"

Except it wasn't dark.

"All of these scrolls, I recognize them," without sparing a single glance, you spoke nostalgically towards the bookshelves, "It brings me so much memories..."

Dottore clenches his teeth together as his eyes shone an angry red, you were holding a torch dangerously close to his hard-earned collection, "What do you think you're doing?!" He fumed, "Put that out, AT ONCE! Don't make me repeat myself!

"They're precious to you aren't they?" You finally shifted to face him, "More than me."

"What has gotten into you?" He was about to hurl at you until he saw your torch lowering, causing him to retreat. You were strangely noncholant and he couldn't help the feeling of disturbance. Accepting that he didn't have the upperhand, Dottore decided to use a different approach, "(Y/n)."

The sound of your name falls from his lips. You faltered.

"I'm sorry for what I have done. I know I was dishonourable to you, as your husband and lover, and that you didn't deserve to see me so aggressive. You have every right to express your anger, my dear. I was in the wrong."

It was only a mask. You knew it well. But seeing him with softened eyes and a tone so comforting, made you desperately wanting to run into his arms so he could wipe away your sorrows just like once upon a time. To live happily ever after.

Hector.

Dottore runs his fingers through his hairstrands in frustration and sighs, "However the Tsarista needed me to do something very important and I can't seem to fulfill her request no matter how hard I try. It angers me. If I don't finish this, there would be no place for us to stay."

"Hector..." you sniffled quietly. He looks so much like him right now.

"Can't you see I'm doing this for you?" He consoles, yet his weapons still remain, "I only intended to make you happy and there's nothing I won't do to achieve that. How about I show-"

"Enough."

Dottore froze upon your sudden command. He didn't sense a hint of subjugation and it seemed that you had perfect control of your emotions. How very inquisitive. Did you grow immune to the style of his voice? In such a short period of time? The facade he had on was now replaced with a growling animal-like expression. You looked at him dissapointedly. His Harbinger self returned. Hector was no more.

"Ha, you're the same as always. Even before the time you became a Harbinger. The same man that I fell in love with but it is me who will never be the same again," For a moment you averted your gaze as if trying hard to swallow your own words, "Remember when we first met at the balcony? That I told you my favourite books to read are fiction? I knew they weren't real but deep down, I wanted to believe in them anyways. And you know what? They did come true, to some degree..."

As the memories come flashing back, he defenselessly watches your expression contort from sadness to a calm contemplation and finally, enraged disgust, "But you only ever brought me pain and I'm sick of it!"

Swaying the torch to the side, Dottore flinches forward but he didn't dare to come close when your current state was unpredictable to him, "I JUST WANTED YOU TO LOVE ME," you wail, I just wanted to be loved, bringing a clawed hand against your forehead and trembling upon contact, "It's all that I ask for..."

Dottore narrowed his brows. Perhaps he may have gotten too far.

"But I know it's impossible. The world is a cruel place and there's no point in trying anymore. That is why I'm going to set us free."

"...What do you mean?"

You shut your eyes closed and tossed the flaming torch to the ground. A horrified expression takes over his features. It didn't take long for the fire to begin spreading amongst the room.

"NO!" Dottore yelled powerfully, he frantically darts his gaze at all directions as they continued to flicker and blend into his precious documents. You stood still and watched him grab the ones that were intact, savouring the most he could but they slip out of his arms every time he moved. Dottore glances behind him to see a rising cage of hellfire. Then he turns to you.

" 'Til death do us part!" you laughed maniacally.

The madman looked back with angry dismay, "You're out of your mind!"

Abandoning whatever he held in his hand, Dottore spins around towards the staircase. He covers his face with his sleeve and did whatever he could to prevent the fire from touching him. However, he accidentally stumbled on his footsteps and something fell off the heights, knocking him in the face. He grunts painfully.

"That will leave a scar," you smile while he clutches at his injury, "I can break you too.”

Just like how you broke me.

Knowing that you've managed to leave a mark of your existence on him in someway, you peacefully watched your lover wobble between the hell you created. But the hell you knew was not made of scorching heat and thundering flames. Hell was empty. Hell was a void. This feeling was far too gentle to be considered hell. If he can't return your love, then at least let these caging arms bask you in the warmth you’ve always desired.

Lifting your head, you looked towards the ceiling and closed your eyes.

Ah, this cannot be death.

[helloliriels]

Asks by @detafo - More fake fic titles:

The Case of the White Gloves (answered)

Emergency Protocol

Blade of the Knife

Tipping Point

.....................................................................................

Emergency Protocol

John is the kind of charmer most girls would like to marry …

Handsome, funny;

An established writer;

A cable knit wearing, respected London physician;

And a decorated veteran, with a casual limp and a penchant for whiskey that keeps him humble …

Only …

As Sherlock starts to find himself falling for the-guy-next-door ... who has overtaken his life as the horribly attractive flatmate-next-bedroom … he uncovers hidden layers to John’s terrifying set of skills. An emergency protocol that when activated ... takes over the entire man! Changing his personality entirely.

Has the ‘good’ Doctor been hiding a lot more than a shrapnel shaped scar or a purple heart in the closet? Or has he been manipulated and controlled without his knowledge?

Sherlock may have to follow the loose threads … all the way to the center of a spiders web, in order to bring the truth to light. He only hopes he is not too late to follow through with his last vow, to save what remains of John Watson.

Blade of the Knife

One blade, breaking my heart One blade, tearing me apart.

Everybody got a knife it can be just what you want it to be ... A needle a wife or something that you just can't see.

Sherlock had fallen for John, much harder and faster than he was ready for. When John makes a move ... it terrifies Sherlock, and he runs back to the shelter of the familiar. Falling in the public eye and causing John to abandon the life they had as well. Little choice.

He has to begin all over again.

He finds himself a wife. A normal life ...

Trying and failing ... to convince himself that the cuts left behind were not still bleeding ... and that Sherlock doesn't want anything to do with him ever again.

Until one day, he literally finds the detective fallen at his doorstep ... This time high as a kite, and convinced that John's new bride is an assassin with ties to Moriarty! John isn't sure if this is a last desperate attempt to say he's sorry and save him from the biggest mistake of his life? Or the ravings of a madman he should never have trusted with his heart in the first place ...

Tipping Point

So Who's That Ghost Knocking At My Door? You Know That I Can't Love You More

Will You Let Them Out? Will You Let Them In? Will You Ever Know When It's The Tipping Point?

Sherlock jumped.

John watched.

John grieved.

John went through hell ...

So when the ghost of a man, he thought he'd never see again - now darkens his door ... He isn't sure which way side of him will lose ... ?

The side so hurt and angry,

it wanted to never see him again?

Or the side so deep in love ...

it swore to never give up hope?

Either way, they were past the tipping point. From which, their friendship as it was ... could never now return.

(If I loved you less, perhaps I could say it more.)

.......................................................................................

[nixalegos]

"I didn't say contentious. I said we aren't close. Frankly, I'd be shocked if he had any actual friends, and I certainly don't keep any, but he was there at the start of a bloody period of time. As was I. Shared history makes for strange sympathies even of the adversarial, and considering I've shared more drinks with him then blows.." He continued, "I wasn't going to tell him this for the same reason I'm regretting wasting time to knock and talk to you about this when I could have simply let paracasual fragments of dead worlds impact your retinas everytime you dream until you go blind with visions of places you'll never be able to visit." He said plainly. "He'd never accept a favor from me, rightfully expecting there to be some cost. So I'm not doing it as a favor, really, this has turned into a bother. I should have handed the runic roller to my summon and have them do the job unseen while you stood there flapping your jaw at me, but no, I wanted to play nice. That'll teach me." He said grumpily. "As to your...small talk I'm sure you are picking up the fact I'm really not the personable type, and I try not to spend my time on it. Seeing as you prefer your threshold unguarded, forget I darkened your doorstep, and let your father know that'll cost you both double to fix that particularly unfun problem if it occurs. Or don't. I don't care." As he turned to leave, he spoke over his shoulder. "...But yes. The climbing has been enjoyable up there. May our next crossing prove to be more pleasant. Or at least profitable, Miss Duskhaven, as I won't tolerate you touching me as you did again without taking a pound of your flesh as compensation." At that, the hooded man lifted both arms, one swiftly, the other stiffly and mechanically, and began to cast what looked like a portal spell. If one didn't care about things such as the fact the universe was screaming at the forceful expression of will into the Nether. The man simply gripped the air as if nothingness was tangible to him and pried the distance between her apartment door and where ever the hell he was going apart and stepped into the dimensional rift as surely as a demon itself would. And then as if he'd never been there at all, he, and the damnable portal he'd torn for himself was gone! @simplysoriya

❛ i'm here for business — not pleasure. ❜

With a creak the door to her Silvermoon apartment propped open leaving a dark robed figure standing within the archway. Soriya was perplexed at first, quirking her brow as she sized the visitor up. Eventually settling into a relaxed demeanor as an all too easy smile crept up the corners of her lips.

“Okay definitely not the weirdest greeting I’ve heard but still a little intense. Do you usually come here for pleasure? ‘Cause if so I have some questions,” she joked with the signature Duskhaven snark as a smirk beseeched her smile.

“Uhm, look, if you’re looking for my dad he’s not here right now. I don’t really help with his business stuff.”

Leaning against the archway of the door, her arms folded casually at her stomach as she blocked the entrance into the apartment.

{ @nixalegos !}

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Timestuck AU: The Power of Mabel ch.6

While fighting over a time machine so one twin can win a pig or the other can win the heart of a girl, Mabel is left stranded in a snowy forest with no time machine and no brother. Oops.

ch.5 - ch.7 (finale)

~~~~~~~~~~

The air was still quite nippy and crisp, but the afternoon sun sparkled on the white snow and made the atmosphere pleasant to stand in if the Main Sequence Star was shining directly on a living organism, like it was on Stan from where he stood on the porch. He sighed tiredly as he dug into his hoodie’s pocket for a fresh cigar and lit it with his Zippo-style lighter. He knew he probably shouldn’t smoke with a kid in the house, but after the few days he’s had, he needed and had well earned a smoke-break.

The door opened and Stan hid his cigar by his side, his right arm glued to his hip to hide the newcomer on his left, but when he saw it was an adult, he relaxed and took another puff. “M’trying to quit.” He mumbled.

Ford snickered. “Yeah, it looks like you’re trying really hard.”

“Don’t be shitty.” Stan said casually.

“Mind if I lend one? I can replenish you in a few minutes.”

Stan stared at his goody two-shoes of a twin and handed him a cigar and the lighter. “You smoke?”

“Not often. For a celebration or after a long day.” Ford answered as he lit his borrowed cigar. “Maybe twice a month. Thrice?”

“Huh.”

Ford looked down at the lighter in his hand, and he was surprised when he recognized it. He can clearly remember seeing the tiny silver box in a store and thinking Stanley would like it as a Only One More Year of High-School present. “I gave this to you.”

Stan smiled as he took it back and pocketed it. “Yeah, it’s a good lighter. Only needed to change the flint a few times.”

“Hey guys!” A small voice called from inside the house. “Do you like vanilla or chocolate?”

The twins looked at each other, smiled, and called back. “Both. Both is good!”

“Both it is!”

Stan chuckled and shook his head. “Knucklehead… I knew she had to be family just by looking at her!” He bragged proudly.

“I suppose I was too distracted by the fact that a cold girl was at my doorstep to recognize the family resemblance.” Ford reasoned, shrugging. “I wanted to make sure I did the right thing. I didn’t exactly feel like getting arrested for kidnapping.”

Stan barked a laugh. “Yeah, you got a good point.” The conman yawned and stretched his arms over his head. “Guess I’ll head out tomorrow.” He mentioned offhandedly.

Ford stared at him, a little saddened and disheartened by this fact that was news to him. “You’re leaving?”

“I mean, yeah?” Stan equally stared at his brother, confused and not daring to be hopeful, but still. “What?”

“I just…” Ford hesitated and busied his mouth by taking a hit of his cigar. With everything that has been said and how well he and Stan have been communicating, he really didn’t feel like ruining it now. He relaxed his shoulders and said with his eyes on the snowy woods. “I was really hoping you would stay.”

Stan looked dumbfounded, like a child discovering candy for the first time, but he looked away and down at the porch floor. “Oh.”

“I’ll of course be taking care of Mabel until Dipper comes back in time for her…”

“He might not.”

“We got over our grudges. They can do the same.” Ford said firmly. “Still, you have a point. Dipper might not be able to come back. Regardless, whether it’s for a short time, a long time, or for the rest of my life, I will take care of her. I might not be the best for her, I can acknowledge that…”

“C’mon, Sixer, don’t be like that.” Stan scolded lightly, giving a sympathetic look to the nerd. “What else can you do, y’know? There’s no way in hell you’re gonna give her up, I’ll kidnap her and run away to Canada before I let you…”

Ford laughed and waved a hand as he smiled. “No no, I promise I won’t.”

“Good.”

“The point is, she loves you. Clearly. And it takes two, and I’ll be busy with my research, especially once the snow melts and the anomalies become more active in the spring and summer, but…” Ford bit his lip. This was a bad idea. If he makes it seem that the only reason why Stan needs to be here is because of Mabel, if or when she’s gone, then Stan will have no reason to stay. And there were many reasons why Ford wanted Stan to stay.

Despite how much of a social-cripple Ford was, he knew that Stan was homeless. His frequent traveling and how full his car was right now was enough proof of that. And Ford hated that for his brother.

But there was another, bigger reason why Ford wanted Stan to stay. So he better just say it.

“Do you know why I went to Backupsmore?” Ford asked.

Stan’s facial expression darkened as he looked away and he shrugged. “Cuz I fucked up your project?”

“No,” Ford answered plainly. “I may not have been accepted into West Coast Tech, but there were so many other colleges that wanted me. I could apply to Yale or Harvard or any college from New York to California and instantly be accepted.

“But I didn’t.” The author added grimly. “Stanley, when you left… When you were gone, I was a mess. So many days I just lied in bed without meals or sleep. Ma was hysterical. I failed most of my exams and only barely scraped a C in the ones I didn’t fail. My GPA dropped significantly and I even lost my Honor Roll. Thankfully my past grades were enough to let me graduate with a 3.2, but my clean record was stained and a lot of prestigious colleges didn’t want me.

“All I wanted at that point was to get as far away from Glass Shard as possible. Luckily there was a small college outside of San Francisco that practically accepted everyone and had a wide range of studies to offer, so I applied and was accepted by graduation day.”

“Good for you.” Stan grunted.

“No! The point is, I…” Ford groaned, feeling like he was failing, but he had to try. “I understand if you don’t want to stay. I understand you have your own life and things you want to do, and I can live without you again if I have to, but… I really, really don’t want to. Yes, I know that part of growing up is going in different directions and being independent and all the other bells and whistles, but it doesn’t have to be. So, if you can tolerate living under the same roof as me again, and if you’re okay with it, I want to offer you a job.”

Stan raised an eyebrow at the six-fingered man. “What kinda job?”

“The committee gives me monthly boosts so I can continue my research. As long as I prove to them once a year that progress is being made, I have a good income coming in. It is a big job, exploring the large woods, climbing mountains and waterfalls, combing the lake, mapping the Enchanted Forest, and hunting down monsters and anomalies to learn more about them. I’ve always managed to make it out of trouble alright, but… I need a partner, and I want to keep it in the family.” Ford smiled at the last sentence.

“What are you saying?” Stan sneered, not daring to believe, not daring to hope, but that stupid smile Ford had…

“I’m saying I want you to do this with me, Stanley.” Ford said matter-of-factly. “I can share the grant with you after bills are paid and groceries are purchased. We can renovate the small room on the ground floor to be Mabel’s bedroom and you can have the entire attic as your own space.

“I know it’s not sailing around the world, but… Please. Will you give me another chance?” Ford pleaded with a soft smile.

Stan grinned and shook his head. “Shit, Sixer, you’re a better salesman than me.” He looked him in the eyes. “Okay. Yes. I’ll stay.”

Ford’s cheeks puffed with happiness as he smiled, his lips pressed together, and he looked ahead, happily daydreaming his future. Being surrounded by weirdness for a living was amazing by itself; doing it with his twin and raising their niece together on top of it was better than anything he could have imagined.

Stan was watching him and laughed good-naturedly, then held out a hand to him. Ford blinked at it like a startled owl, but then returned the smile and sealed the deal with a high-six.

Both brothers stood contently outside with their cigars for a minute, but then heard a bowl clatter on the floor. Mabel must be making a mess in the kitchen, which was fine.

What wasn’t fine was the sound that followed of a body falling on the floor.

Ford raised an eyebrow and called calmly, “Mabel, are you alright?”

They both expected a quick “yeah, sorry, I’m okay,” and maybe an explanation to follow, like she tripped getting down from a chair or something. But there was no reply.

“Mabel, sweetie?” Stan hollered, trying not to sound mad or scared or anything but cool-under-pressure, but this voice trembled with fear.

Still no answer.

Ford and Stan quickly discarded their cigars and bolted inside. Racing like children for cookies, they soon stood at the doorway of the kitchen and were horrified to find Mabel sprawled on the floor on her front, her hair scattered over her face to hide her expression, and her legs and bottom-half of her body slowly fading.

Literally. Fading. Mabel was fading away. She was disappearing like a stain on cloth.

“MABEL!” The men screamed and were immediately on their knees beside her. Ford scooped her up into his arms and felt her pulse and looked over her.

“What happened to her?!” Stan cried out. “Pumpkin, what’s wrong?!”

Ford’s eyes widened in panic as a horrifying realization slapped him in the face. “Mabel… You changed history.”

The tired girl nodded with her eyes closed. “If… If you guys had a fight… and never made up… in my timeline, then I guess…” Mabel paused to yawn tiredly. It didn’t hurt, but she was really sleepy now.“I guess that timeline doesn’t exist anymore, huh? I guess I don’t exist anymore.”

“WHAT?!” Stan yelled and took Mabel’s hand and squeezed it. “We have to do something! You’re family! You’re… We can’t just let you d- not exist!”

Ford held Mabel tighter and closer to his warm chest, making her smile. She swore she could hear his heartbeat. It was too fast. She would have to fix that. Poor Ford was also shaking like a leaf. Mabel could fix that, too.

“I’ll exist.” She smiled up at her uncles. “In a few years.”

Ford bit his lip. He shouldn’t ask this, it was probably dangerous to learn about the future, but the worst was already happening. What else could possibly happen that was worse than losing his girl? Ford couldn’t help but ask, “When?”

“August 31st, 1999.” Mabel’s eyes dazzled. “You’ll meet Dipper, too.” She shifted her eyes to only Stan and whispered, “Did you know you were there? You came to see us when we were born?”

Stan’s eyes watered as he smiled at the new piece of information. “I did?”

“You did. I came out first. You were so proud when I kicked the doctor in the jaw.”

Stan made a watery chuckle and wiped at his eye. “That’s my girl.”

“Dipper came next. He was blue. Umbilical cord wrapped around his neck.”

“Was he okay?” Stan asked.

“He was fine. You knew he would be. You never doubted.”

“I never will, pumpkin. I swear.”

The fading is now much worse. It was spreading over Mabel like a virus. Her legs were hardly visible to the naked eye, and even her shoulders were losing color. This Mabel is almost completely gone. 

Ford, pressed for time, bit his lip as tears flooded his eyes and he cupped Mabel’s cheek and cradled her. “I… I can’t let you go! We just started to become a real family! Wh-What am I going to do without you?!”

Mabel smiled and used the free hand not holding Stan’s trembling hand to caress Ford’s jaw and lower cheek, then cupping his face so her fingertips grazed his sideburn. “It’s okay, really. I’ll see you again, and next time it’ll be when both of you come to see us. Totally worth it.” 

Ford held his breath, and shut his eyes, a tear escaping from each eye and sitting comfortably in the corners of his windows to his soul. Stan hiccuped a laugh and rubbed her hand between both of his. Both of them were doing everything in their power not to cry. 

To that, Mabel laughed and said, “Boys are stupid. It’s okay to cry.”

The cursed power of Mabel. Making people be honest and breaking dams.

Ford curled into his niece, his face sloe to her heart, and cried gently. He wasn’t ready, but he didn’t think he could ever be ready for this.

Stan laughed with tears streaming down his face and he kissed Mabel’s tiny fingers trapped in his hold, then held their hands close to his bowed forehead and just focused on feeling her pulse between his palms.

It only lasted another minute.

Ford was mortified when his chest sank and his arms were empty. He threw himself back and stared at his lap and felt sick to his stomach to find his little girl missing.

Stan’s hands also clasped together and he squeezed tightly, his fists against his trembling lips as he cried.

The genius who always seemed to know what to do didn’t have a damn clue what to do with himself. He growled in his throat, squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth, then let out a painful howl and moan that most definitely disturbed birds and made a deer or two gallop farther away.

Ford removed his glasses and held his knees, sobbing his heart out. Stan blinked his tears off his eyes, resulting in them rolling down his face, as he watched his brother completely shatter to pieces. He had seen him upset before, sure; all those years of bullying, of Pa’s outbursts and sometimes physical punishments, hopelessness that he was actually worth something. You don’t spend seventeen years with a person and not see them break every so often, granted the blessing to help them put themselves back together again.

But Ford didn’t need Stan to swoop in and fix it. There were no bullies to punch or parents to stand against or jokes to crack that would make this okay. All Stan could do was throw his arms around him and bury his face into Ford’s shoulder and cry, too. 

So that’s what they did on the kitchen floor for over an hour.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dipper blinked to try to see, but all he saw around him was inky blackness for miles. His heart raced as he looked around for his sister. “Mabel? Mabel! Mabel, answer me!”

The boy scrambled and collapsed out of a portable potty at the fair. He blinked his eyes rapidly to adjust to the sunlight, scurrying off his hands and knees, clutching the warm time-machine in his hands. Wendy was still admiring her price and Robbie was still sulking, and Waddles was still trying to get away from Pacifica.

That didn’t matter! Mabel was stranded back in time! But how far back?! When was Mabel?! Dipper started jamming the button, but the machine wasn’t working, and it was soon swiped from him by a black-gloved hand.

“Mason Pines,” A gruff voice commanded above him and Dipper looked up to find two new guys with that Blendin guy. The two other guys were muscular and guarded with high-tech armor. 

“You are under arrest for violating the Time-Traveler's Code of Conduct and for jeopardizing the timestream.” The man labeled as Dundgren stated as serious as death.

“Do you have any idea how many rules you just broke?!” Blendin squawked. “I’m asking. I wasn’t there with you. It was probably a lot, right?”

“Wait, wait please!” Dipper begged as the two members of the Time Paradox Avoidance Enforcement Squadrent each grabbed the boy by an arm. “My sister! She’s still back there! We have to get her!”

“You have the right to remain silent.” The man labeled as Lolph informed robotically. “Anything you say can and already has been used in the Court of Time-Law.”

“Let me go, Mabel needs-...” And Dipper and the three time-travelers were blasted forward in time.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the endless space of time, Dipper was levitated off the ground by a giant baby using the power of his forehead-hourglass to trap him in a baby-blue field. Members of the the Time Paradox Avoidance Enforcement Squadrent circled the two, and Blendin stood with his arms crossed over his chest and smiling smugly as the kid who caused so much trouble was getting what he deserved.

“You and your sister have broken the eternal laws of space-time.”

“I’m sorry!” Dipper cried out, trying to fight the energy circling him, but it was futile. “I’m sorry! Do what you want to me, just help my sister!”

“Your sister does not require help, nor do you require punishment.” Time Baby informed as he held his feet. “You are lucky the events that occurred do not change anything drastically. However, your timeline has shifted and therefore this reality’s version of you and your sister are no longer viable and will cease to exist.”

“What?!” Dipper squeaked and looked down at his body to find his legs disappearing. “No no NO! What’s happening to me?!”

“You and your twin sister will be born again on August 31st, 1999, but too many things are different in your timeline for this version of you to continue to exist.”

“W-W-What did I do wrong?! What did I change?!” Dipper cried out as his whole body was drained of color. “What changed in our timeline?!”

“Your uncles have amended their bond thirty-four years ahead of schedule. As unfortunate as this is, your sister miraculously delayed the plans of Bill Cipher by an entire millennia.”

“What uncles?!” Dipper asked, panicked as the fading reached his neck. “Who’s Bill Cipher?!”

“If you wanted the answers you sought out, you should have been patient.” Time Baby scolded. “We all get the answers we seek… in time.”

“P-P-Please!” Dipper begged as he appeared as a ghost. “Please! What did Mabel do?!”

Time Baby cruelly stayed silent, testing Dipper’s strengths, but he was dying, anyways. Might as well.

“She met the Author of the Journals. Your missing uncle.”

Dipper’s eyes widened. “Mabel…” He rasped, and then he ceased to exist.

[thepetulantpen]

(Based on @sprinklersart incredible roleswap au. Here’s the first bit-- the rest, mostly following episode 1, will be up on ao3 when I’m done editing! Should be sometime tomorrow.)

The concept of fate has never convinced Ava until now, when the first stop on her reunion tour of Harlan is to see Raylan Givens.

There he is, leaned against the porch railing and smiling the same smile she remembers from school. The Raylan Givens smirk, with all his outlaw charm and his doesn’t-give-a-shit attitude that she thought she’d gotten sick of. It’s the kind of thing you’re supposed to outgrow—but you never do, not until you’ve wound up making some irreversible mistakes.

Arlo’s house feels frozen in time, just as shitty and rickety as she remembers. She’s sure it’s actually worse- after all these years, and the trouble Arlo’s kicked up, there has to be more bullet holes than paint on its walls- but to her eyes, every spot of chipped paint and splintered wood is the same.

Raylan haunts this home like a specter, soul tied to a gravestone he doesn’t have a use for yet. He’s lost a lot of pieces of himself, over the years of hanging on for something better. A baseball career in as many pieces as Dickie’s shattered knee. Clouds of coal dust and collapsing rock weighing down his lungs, pinning him in place. He’ll always end up right back in Arlo’s front yard, in a box or otherwise.

Doesn’t mean he’s stopped trying. Ava knows, from the light reading she’s done in the office, that he’s not here especially often, disappearing to one of the Crowder’s many cabins whenever he can. Today’s an occasion, meeting the marshal and keeping her out of Arlo’s shit.

“Ava,” he calls, in a voice she no longer knows, “Just as pretty as I remember. What’re you doing, all the way out here?”

She stops at the top of the stairs, at an invisible boundary between the civilized world and whatever Arlo keeps locked up in there. Raylan’s standing just subtly in her way, keeping her from the threshold. It’s not Arlo she’s here for- but it pays to be safe, she supposes.

She shifts, hand drifting to her waist. Not settling on her gun, though with a Givens, that might’ve been recommended. “I imagine the star might’ve given that away.”

“I meant here,” he says, just a touch of annoyance bleeding into his tone, “in Harlan County, on my daddy’s porch.”

“Why, Raylan, I think you know the answer to that, too.”

“It’s not because you were just dying to see me?” That smile again, aimed directly at her like a fucking spotlight. It’s been too long—so sue her, if she finds it charming. She doesn’t flinch, though, and Raylan’s eyes darken ever so slightly, disappointed. “You’re lookin’ for Boyd.”

It says a lot about Raylan’s self-awareness that he knows- of all the criminals he works with, even lives with- she’s here for Boyd. Not in a Crowder’s holler, but the Givens’ doorstep, since it’s the only place she’s guaranteed to find one of them without stepping in a bear trap first.

Harlan’s got the same complications and simplicities it always has. The marshals haven’t been particularly subtle about nosing their way into Boyd’s business— just the amount of subtlety he’s owed, after the stunt with a rocket launcher. And where there is Boyd’s business, there is Raylan’s business, and where there is Raylan’s business, there is a threat to Arlo’s business. Arlo is in the wind, chasing god-knows-what, with god-knows-who— but the Givens home has a guard, as it always must.

“Folks say you two are tied at the hip these days,” Ava says, trying to put it lightly. They may as well have put a billboard up. Not that it’s any news, to the people who grew up with them— one of those awful things you see coming, and can’t stop. Red skies at dawn. A train careening off its tracks. Two boys tangled up in the back of a truck. “Among other things. Not that I’m here to judge.”

“Just to arrest him.”

She inclines her head. Only a nod if you’re a particularly generous observer. “The Marshal Service wants to have a word with him. We were hoping you might help arrange that, you two bein’ so close.”

It’s so far from the realm of possibility, it’s almost embarrassing to suggest— but Ava is the new girl, and she’s stuck with shit like this. Least she can do is make Raylan squirm a bit. Maybe more than a bit; she’s probably owed that, after everything Harlan’s put her through.

“Wish I could help you,” Raylan runs a hand through his hair, jaw working as he considers his next move. He’s holding something back—other than the obvious, “but Boyd’s not interested in hearing from the marshals. Least of all you.”

“Me?” Something about the Crowder clan’s vendetta is funny to her— now that they’re on opposite sides of the law, and still arguing over a divorce. The people of Harlan couldn’t tell you the difference between a feud over a dead man, and a feud over a baseball game. “Why, what could Boyd Crowder have against me?”

Raylan sighs, comically beleaguered— like a tired housewife, covering up for the world’s dumbest mob boss, “Boyd tells me to tell you that he’s giving you 24 hours to get out of Harlan.”

“Is that what he said?” She smiles and tilts her head, innocently, “And what would happen if I didn’t?”

“He didn’t elaborate,” Raylan says, “though I did omit some bullshit remorse for having to hurt a woman. For your sake and mine.”

“Well, I appreciate that, Raylan.” She leans partially around him, looking in the doorway without making any moves forward. “Does Arlo have blocks of cocaine stacked in your living room, or can you invite me in for a drink?”

Raylan shifts, looking off behind her like they’re still in high school, dodging their parents. Like Arlo might be coming up the driveway, shotgun in hand, any minute now. “Suppose that’d be alright. There’s nothing fancy in the fridge, just beer.” He pushes the door open casually, but follows her closely. Doesn’t take chances, not like his old man.

The interior of the house is better than Ava imagined, though it is helped by her having imagined it gutted, an empty front. It’s clear that Helen still lives here occasionally- when she’s not tailing Arlo, or visiting marginally more pleasant relatives- manages to look livable, so long as you’re alright with the cheapest beer available. Raylan hadn’t lied about that, at least.

Ava accepts her drink— it’s not to her taste, and she’s on duty, but she figures she’ll need something if she’s going to spend the day in Harlan, thoughts of Crowders and rocket launchers stuck in her head. She watches Raylan, and his manufactured flippancy as he leans against the counter across from her. “Did you know I’ve had a crush on you since I was twelve years old?”

Raylan raises an eyebrow, not surprised, “Since?”

She hums, crossing the kitchen to stand close to him. A part of her considers throwing caution to the wind and getting her kiss, right here and now. Start taking back everything Harlan never gave her. Another part of herself is still seething at being trapped here, forced to go back on her word. Crowded into another goddamn holler when she’s seen what else the world can offer.

There’s likely room for both of those trains of thought, given the time and opportunity.

“Raylan,” she says, real close to him now— he’s not quite smiling at her, because he’s not as much of a fool as he’d like her to believe, “I need you to understand something. You may be pretty, and you may have something— let’s say special with Boyd, but,” she looks up at him, “I got dragged down here to deal with Boyd, and if I have to do it with a bullet between his eyes, that’s how I’ll do it.”

“See, now I’m getting mixed messages,” he brushes her hair away from her face, implying he is absolutely not confused about what messages he’s supposed to be receiving, “First, you tell me you have a crush on me. Then, you tell me you’re fixing to shoot my closest friend.”

“Closest friend? Is that what we’re calling Boyd?”

Raylan smiles, almost sheepish, and hums. “Sure. Just like we’re calling Winona your best friend. Ex best friend, excuse me.” His eyes are sharper, serious. The sheepishness disappears.

It gives her pause. She doesn’t pull back—that’d be just as good as blood in the water, in this home. Her hand finds his arm, and his hand finds her waist. Slow, like he’s still not sure if she’s going to shoot him. She hasn’t quite made up her mind.

“Least Winona hasn’t blown up any banks.”

“That you know of,” Raylan grins, and it’s empty, doesn’t reach his eyes, “Say, isn’t shooting a man how you got into this trouble in the first place? The old countdown trick seems like something that’s only cute once.”

Not even a blink at his own hypocrisy. Maybe it’s because he’s washed his hands of Boyd’s half-cocked efforts to be an outlaw. Maybe it’s because he knows Boyd won’t put his money where his mouth is.

Maybe he has lost all the brains he used to have.

She tilts her head, but stays otherwise still. The hand on her waist stays where it is. “Are you going to pitch me on why I should let Boyd Crowder go, or were you hoping that sleeping with me would do the trick?”

“Would it?”

She sighs, having been all too sure he’d say that. “No, Raylan, it wouldn’t.”

“In that case, I do have a few things I could tell you. Like, for example,” he leans in, conspiratorial and not nearly serious enough for fraternization that could get him shot, “between the two of us, I’d say you need to worry more about Bowman.”

If they weren’t so close, if Raylan’s hand wasn’t on her, she’d freeze. As it is, she pretends they’re talking about any old criminal—someone she hasn’t shared an altar or a bed with. She’s good at this, at pretending. “That what Boyd told you to tell me?”

“Accusing me of conspiring with alleged criminals, now.” Raylan smirks, “Actually, I think he would be rather displeased to learn I told you that Bowman’s the one pushing the whole ‘get out of Harlan’ shtick.”

Ava leans back, and Raylan lets her go. His expression is perfectly still, calm and cold. None of the warmth she remembers from their school days. They’re having a different conversation now, one he was always planning on having. “And why wouldn’t he want me to know that? Seems to me he’s got the perfect out, with Bowman’s coercion.”

“Boyd wants to be the big, bad criminal that drove a marshal out of Harlan.” Raylan’s mouth twists, in some kind of distaste- hard to tell what for. She’d think it wouldn’t be for Boyd, but with the two of them, it’s not entirely out of the question. “Not some sucker stuck under Bowman’s thumb.”

“And what do you want, Raylan?”

“I just don’t want Boyd to end up shooting, or getting shot by, a federal. That’s the kind of stupid shit our daddies would do.”

It’s the first thing he’s said that Ava’s fully believed, the closest he’ll get to admitting anything near concern. Because Raylan, he’s not like Arlo, he knows when to cut his losses. It’s just a shame he couldn’t have gotten out of Harlan before he landed in bed with one of them.

This is all Harlan is, boys doing the same stupid shit their daddies would be doing if they weren’t in jail or shot or worse. Boyd and Raylan are the same as everyone else, taking after the fathers they hate, except — except their daddies would’ve taken up with some young pretty thing they could control, something they could choke and bleed the life out of. Raylan and Boyd have uniquely decided to be each other’s poison.

“If that’s really what you want,” she says, feels like she has to, even if she knows how this goes, “I suggest you get into a different line of work.”

Raylan laughs, really laughs. It’s only a little more mean than she remembers. “Thanks for the suggestion. I suppose it really would be better to see Boyd choke to death on coal dust, or have his head blown off in a desert.”

She wonders what he’s trying to do here, if he really thinks any of this will make a difference. As if Ava, of all people, could stop Boyd from doing what he wants to do. Especially where Raylan’s already failed. “Prison would kill him slower.”

“You need work on your persuasive arguments.” Raylan pulls away from her completely, turns to the fridge to get another drink. He doesn’t offer her one. “Maybe you should stick to the countdown thing.”

Her phone buzzes in her pocket, some message from the office she’s probably going to ignore. Raylan’s shoulders are hunched, annoyed now that he’s said everything he’s wanted to say and she’s still here. He keeps glancing at the door, waiting for someone, and Ava’s not sure she wants to stick around to find out who.

“Do you have any other sage advice for me?”

“Yeah,” Raylan doesn’t look up at her, feigning preoccupation with the fridge, “Keep an eye on your girl. Bowman’s still driving that shitty red pickup.”

[kim-monsterlings]

Kip - M Bat Person x F Human (Reader) // NSFW Monster Match

Monster match for @sammyofthesea​​ <3

Matches will be under the read more!

Content: NSFW/Lemon - Grapefruit; flirting, intimate embraces (throat kissing, hugging, passing touches), plus sized reader (with slight insecurities, not a focus), only one bed (+ monster with nightmares), use of endearment “honey”, breeding kink, light choking/breath play, hair pulling, penetrative sex (unprotected), mentions of receiving oral and fingering, slight overstimulation, alluding to more

Masterlist // Monster Match Info + Masterlist // My Ko-Fi

Headcanon

Never once subtle in all your time of knowing him, Kip's tendencies to invite himself over had once unsettled you. Somewhere along the way - from only opening the door an inch, to now flushing at the darkening doorway - you welcomed him indoors.

Fearing him so long ago had been nothing more than a natural response. For a creature of such a strong, broad frame - fingers tipped with claws and draping wings with talons, it was only instinctual.

To now have progressed into somewhat of a hidden infatuation, imagining how it would feel to have those wings blanket you.

He no longer unsettled you; he captivated you.

Having him crouch at your door frame was more than fate and crossed fingers. Remembering what recipes had him gasping and praising you lured him from the slightest scent of them.

"Something smells good," he breathed, the tilting of his head lifting your lips. He reached out to run his smooth hand against your loose hair. "As do you."

With a playful rolling of your eyes - to deflect, to cover the ache in your hips, you closed the door with him close at your heels.

By the time you'd whispered, "bend down," Kip was already leaning close, gripping the counter beside you, tight enough his arms touched your waist. The apron barely suited him, but it was your chance to stroke his strong, rounded ears - so sensitive he trembled, before helping with the sweet dessert.

So easy to lure him over, that having him waiting at your doorstep worried you. Even resting by the door brought him nearly to your chest, and you reached to cradle his turned away face, frowning.

"My home's being redecorated," he murmured. "The paint fumes are so strong, I..."

"Need a place to stay? It'll cost you."

Kip's lips pulled back in a soft smile. Little fangs brushed your wrist in a kiss. "I have your favourite films and homemade dessert."

Though he loathed what you adored - the thrill of jump scares, the rush of adrenaline, he remained close throughout the evening, a hand stroking your arm over your shoulder.

Only with the film finishing to be replaced with another did the time register in your thoughts - so late, and you hadn't yet accounted for your friend needing your bed.

Kip's warmth pressed to your back, his arms falling around your larger frame to whisper, "no need to tidy. I'll take the sofa. I've already imposed enough."

It was an indulgence, leaning back. "You've not imposed, and you won't fit."

"We can't both take the bed."

You hadn't yet understood the implications of your thought, before you whispered, "why not?"

The hitching of his breath had him nodding once in acquiescence, and of something not to be challenged again. Though the sight of his long legs still reaching beyond the bed daunted you, the gentle smile and his arm reaching out coaxed you to join him.

"You're too far," he said. "May I?"

However gently he touched you - a passing stroke to your heavy thigh, you tensed. In something more revealing, you were reluctant to lean into him, until the covers shifted with his wing replacing them.

"We were cuddling not even ten minutes ago." His small nose nudged to your forehead before he breathed, "I want to cuddle you now, too."

When the bed trembled in the middle of the night, his embrace tightening with a quiet cursing of your choice of films, you didn't turn away. You kissed the fluff of his chest and felt his heart racing like yours.

Drabble

Sweetened by a day's work, not a breath passed before warm hands were sinking against your body. Claws traced your bared skin as he removed your clothes - what little he usually wore already vanished, and leaned low to silence your early pleas for him with a light kiss. 

"Trust me," he murmured. Stroking through your hair, he turned your head aside to angle your throat free for his lips. The brief sting tingled from his tightened hold until you were breathless. "I want you, too." 

Though he never once seemed to rush, you were reclining on your bed and aching in what felt like mere seconds. The sensation of warming fur teased you until you were trembling, curling your hands into the covers as he pushed your arms from your body. Replaced by his lips, the pinch of teeth, a low hum. 

He never moved without allowing himself to taste you; nose nudging your soft thighs, falling around his temples and locking tight. "Almost smells like you're in heat, and all for me," he groaned. "Want me to give you what you need?" 

The tip of his pink tongue poked between dark lips - glistening with your need, your ignored desire. With all the precision gained from memory, he traced the muscle from your throbbing slit and up, stroking at his own leisure over your clit until you wriggled, whimpering. 

"I need you now." 

Slick so soon - always aroused by the state of you, so loose and aching for him, his curving cock glided through your lips. Your pleas couldn’t tempt him as he returned a hand to run up from your nape, steadying you. 

"Enough of that. Nice and slow," he murmured, and eased his tip into your tight heat. "Going to take my time with you." 

With your every soft whine, his delicate touches flitted higher, special attention given to your most sensitive areas; the dips of your hips, the soft skin of your inner thighs, heavy around his hips and beckoning him deeper. He'd memorised every dip and roll from your hips to chest in lingering touches until you were clenching around him and gasping. 

"I know you're sensitive." That sugared whisper coaxed you closer, desperate for more of him even as your legs quivered. "Stop whining. We're not done until I say, and when is that, honey?" 

Honey. 

So sweet, he would always whisper, just as you fought for your breath. Smooth pads of his fingers would press to your thighs when his cock eased back, so slick and your body full. The pressure of his fingers running through your mess had you moaning again, lifted up to his lips. 

It was a promise of more when he curled his hand to your throat, fingers flexing; a treat learned and since utilised, to lure your focus from the twitching of his thick length burying itself inside you and deeper than the moments before, and up to his dark eyes. 

"Tell me when that is." 

Near delirious with his hand turning your head to the pillows, you whispered, "when you've filled me up." 

Always oversensitive - body tingling, the last orgasm not faded before he lifted your hips to have his release inside you - Kip laughed at your gasps, rutting again. 

"When I say we're done."

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

The Last Chthonian

Bucky x Reader, Sam x Reader, Zemo x Reader

Part 10

A/N: I can’t believe I’m already on part 10 for this series and to be honest it’s fun to write. And in all seriousness, the tumblr mobile app needs to allow you to put a read more link. But anyways love you all and let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list! Mwah! 🖤🖤🖤

Summary: Imagine being Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, doorways and crossroads, creatures of the night, and ghosts and necromancy. You stumbled upon Earth many centuries ago and since then have resided on the foreign planet. During the recent years you created an alias for yourself to hide your true identity, and after the war against Thanos you chose to live out your days in the Scottish countryside, until a certain trio appear at your doorstep one day.

Warnings: language, some violence, and blood

“Im sorry, did you just say Madripoor?” You blinked at Zemo, dreading the destination ahead of you.

“What’s up with Madripoor? You talk about it like it’s Skull Island.” Sam questioned, looking between you and Zemo.

“Imagine Mos Eisley from Tatooine but without the aliens and blasters.” You tried to make an analogy. “In other words, a shithole. And to be honest, I’d rather be in Mos Eisley.”

“It’s an island nation in the Indonesian archipelago. It was a pirate sanctuary back in the 1800s.” Bucky explained to Sam.

“It’s kept its lawless ways.” Zemo added before turning to James. “But we cannot exactly walk in as ourselves. James, you will have to become someone you claim is gone.”

You had a feeling Zemo would suggest all of you going in with different identities, and being the only woman in the group, you already had a wild guess you weren’t going to be ecstatic about yours. You looked to Bucky with a frown on your lips. You knew what Zemo had meant towards him, and you didn’t know how it would affect him to transition back into the person he tried so hard to deviate from. Bucky saw the sympathetic smile you gave him, and he returned it with a look that reassured you that he would be fine.

“Y/n.” Zemo now spoke to you, tilting his head to meet your eyes. “I’m sure you are aware of the conditions.”

“Zemo if you...” Bucky trailed off as he glared at him, silently warning him to watch what he says next.

Sam and Bucky kept their eyes on Zemo, waiting to hear what his suggested persona for you was and ready to beat his ass if he dared to suggest something that would be demeaning to you.

“No way in the pits of Tartarus. I am not going in as an escort.” You voiced with a clenched jaw. “And if it’s eye candy you need, you have Sam.”

Sam gave you a surprised look from your comment, flattered to have you recommend him to be the designated eye candy before going back to the topic at hand. “Hell no Zemo. You’re not having y/n pretend to be an escort.”

“I’m afraid Sam is already going as someone.” Zemo sat back with his hands folded in his lap. “And don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on having you go as an escort, it isn’t befitting of a baron like me. Plus, I figured it would be uncomfortable for you, so I was going to suggest you act as my fiancé, if you are willing of course.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, pondering on the subject. You were a bit relieved in all honesty. But to pretend to be Zemo’s fiancé and be in close and almost physical proximities with him?

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to y/n.” Sam uttered to you.

“I’ll do it.” You confirmed.

“Are you sure?” Zemo asked you again, making sure you were comfortable with acting the part.

“I thought Zemo might step out of line with this one, but we don’t want you to do something that will make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m sure. I’ve had to do things I wasn’t comfortable with plenty of times in the past.”

Once you had all landed, Zemo decided to stop by a place so that you all may get dressed. You had already packed a dress and a pair of heels with you just in case for situations like these, since this wasn’t the first time you had to dress up for a mission. The dress you wore was a black, burned velvet silk slip-like dress with the velvet print being dark red roses. The dress wasn’t too tight to be constricting of movement and fit perfectly around around your curves. If the situation should arise that you needed to defend yourself, you needed the freedom to be able to move. Going down, the fabric flared slightly at your hips, brushing barely against the floor with your heels on. The skirt was slightly sheer from the bottom of your thighs and down with the floral velvet print, and had a slit going up your right thigh, perfect for kicking and concealing your dagger. The top torso portion of the front of your dress was a spaghetti strap cowl neckline that stopped just above the curve of your breasts, allowing for just a bit of cleavage. Your back was left bare, stopping at your mid back with thin straps that came across in a pattern. Your dress almost had a Grecian/witchy look from the way it draped over your chest and hips. It wasn’t too formal or too scandalous, it was elegant and classy, and showed just the right amount of skin where it wouldn’t be too revealing.

Even though you completely loathed and detested heels of any kinds, your heels were fairly simple, made of black velvet with straps that came across your ankles and toes. You dreaded heaving to wear them but at the same time you’d stick out like a sore thumb if you wore your docs with these. Perhaps you should’ve brought your nicer sandals, but it was too late now. You kept on your mother’s necklace and wore a set of amethyst drop earrings, throwing on a silver cuff bracelet on each wrist. Your hair was let loose to conceal your short sword that you hid on your back underneath your dress, the hilt resting right between your shoulder blades. You prayed that having your hair down would cover the scars and the sword you had on your back. But you were mostly focused about the scars, you failed to mention them to the guys about it since it was something that was hard for you to share. The only makeup you had on was some eyeshadow and mascara to darken your eyes, very little blush, and a lip tint.

The last thing to do was to put on some perfume, so you spritzed on your favorite oil based one that you had from Olympus on your pulse points. The scent was filled with incense-like scents like dragon’s blood, sage, crushed red roses, sandalwood, ghostly white musk, absinthe, almonds, and heady gardenia. It wasn’t as harsh as the common alcohol based ones, this one was more earthy and ancient, and every time you wore it, the scent lingered and heads turned. You gave yourself a once over when you were done, taking in a deep breath before heading out to join the others.

You became nervous as you saw them gathered together, talking amongst themselves as they haven’t noticed you yet. You rarely ever wore dresses these days, especially of the kind you were wearing now which left you feeling bare and exposed even though the dress wasn’t at all much revealing. So as you approached them, you couldn’t help picking at your fingers in anxiety.

The men turned at the sound of your heels clicking against the ground, and when they laid their eyes on you, they couldn’t help but gawk with their mouths parted open, as if they had seen the most beautiful creature to ever walk the earth. You chewed on the inside of your cheeks as you saw how they stared at you.

“Wow.” Sam was the first to say something. “You look like a million bucks.”

“What? Never seen a woman in a dress before?”

“No, I’ve just never seen you in a dress before.” Sam answered. “You’re always dressed like some hippie/librarian, with your bands shirts, sweaters, plaid pants and jackets.”

“Haha vary funny.”

“Also since when did you have muscles?” Sam noticed as he poked your bare arm. “And since when did you have a tattoo?” He observed the mark you had on your upper right arm, right below your shoulder. It was the mark that was given to you to signify your Olympian status and what you represented. It was about the color that henna left behind after you wiped the paste off your skin, the color of ginger and bronze. The center of your mark was a lightning bolt, which represented a child of Zeus. Below that was your symbol, the torch and the triple moons.

“Since when did you start asking so many questions? But yeah, I’ve always had muscles Sam, I was trained in combat since I was, you could say 9 years old in human years. Also, technically everyone has them, it’s what allows us to move and lift things. And that.” You pointed to your tattoo. “Is my goddess mark, not a tattoo. Every Olympian god has one and they each have their personal symbol that represents them.”

“Wait, so you’ve been trained since you were a kid?” Bucky looked at you to clarify what he heard as they all started to head out.

“Technically, everyone on Olympus starts training that young. Then, when they become of age, a tournament is held to display their skills, following a ceremony after, to celebrate their victory.” You explained as you walked beside them.

The four of you were currently walking on the bridge that led to Madripoor. You could see the city’s skyline out in the distance, the cyberpunk like buildings lighting up the night sky.

“Do you need my coat?” You heard Zemo say beside you, making you look at him.

“Sorry?”

“Do you need my coat?” He repeated himself, referring to how your arms were bare against the cool night. “I wouldn’t want you to get cold.”

You stared at him, stunned from the kind gesture as you tried to form words to say. “Oh uh.....I appreciate the gesture, but I’m fine actually. I’m not that cold.” Though you didn’t want to admit it, you actually would’ve liked to try on his coat, because in all honesty it was a damn nice coat.

“We have to fix this.” You heard Sam say with irritation visible in his voice. “I’m the only one who looks like a pimp.”

“Only an American would assume a fashion-forward black man looks like a pimp. You look exactly like the man you’re supposed to be playing.” Zemo mentioned as he pulled out his phone to show Sam. “The sophisticated, charming African rake named Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger.”

“He even has a bad nickname. Hell, he does look like me, though.” Sam observed the photo.

“You smell this?”

“Yeah, what is that? Acid?” Sam sniffed the air as you did the same.

“Smells rancid.” You scrunched your nose at the smell.

“Madripoor. No matter what happens, we have to stay in character. Our lives depend on it. There’s no margin for error.” Zemo instructed as a black car pulled up in front of you. “High Town’s that way. Not a bad place if you wanna visit, but Low Town’s the other way.”

“Let me guess. We don’t have any friends in High Town.” Sam remarked as he opened the door for the back seat.

“Y/n. A moment please, if you will.” Zemo uttered to you.

You stopped in your tracks, seeing Bucky and Sam stand on either side of the car doors, looking between the two of you and especially Zemo, with caution. You nodded your head at them, signaling you were fine and that they can get seated. And though they sat themselves inside the car, that didn’t stop them from keeping their eyes glued to Zemo to make sure he didn’t pull anything stupid.

“What’s the issue?” You turned to Zemo, giving him your attention.

“Since you will be portraying my fiancé, there’s a certain key element you will be needing to complete the image.” You watched as he pulled out a ring from his coat pocket, displaying it in front of you. “If I may?”

You stared at Zemo blankly before nodding your head and holding out your left hand for him. You knew this was only for a show, but you couldn’t help but stiffen as he delicately held your hand with his gloved one before slipping the ring onto your ring finger.

“There.” Hi smiled softly at you, his hand still holding yours. “Now you look the part.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, his thumb brushing against your knuckles, leaving behind a trail of warmth as he gazed down at you. Zemo swore he could have gotten lost in the violet swirls and gold flecks of your eyes forever, which now sparkled against Madripoor’s lit up skyline, the neon city and the places he’s visited not even coming close to the beauty he held before him.

You tried not to blush under his gaze as you gave him a polite smile before slipping your hand out of his. “I should probably change my eyes huh.” You remembered, changing your eyes to a normal color known to earth. “Should I hide the scar?” You asked him, referring to the one on your face.

“I think you should leave it. It suits you, and besides, you never know who might recognize you without it.”

Nodding your head at him, you headed to the car and settling in beside Bucky as Zemo followed, getting in the passenger seat in front of you. In the car ride there, you glanced down at the ring Zemo slipped on your finger, it was definitely a beautiful elegant ring, with a rose gold band and a pear cut garnet in the center that had diamonds that accented the bottom. Once you arrived in the city, you walked through the neon lit streets beside Zemo while Sam and Bucky followed behind. You loosened up your body as you went, swaying your hips slightly as you tried your best not to walk like a bodyguard and look threatening as everyone’s eyes followed the four of you strolling through the streets.

“Here we are.” Zemo announced, stopping in front of a bar before speaking to Bucky in Russian. “Ready to comply… Winter Soldier?”

As you went in, Zemo leaned in to whisper in your ear, his warm breath tickling your neck and startling you as he spoke in a hushed tone. “I want to apologize in advance, forgive me.”

You looked at him with furrowed brows to question what he meant until you felt his gloved hand slide across your back before resting on your waist, pulling you closer to his side. You noticed how his hand fumbled after brushing across your sword as he gave you a questioning look. What was that on your back? Did you really conceal a full on sword on your back underneath your dress? On your way to the bar table you saw people stare as you went through, some of them gawking in surprise at Bucky, or the winter soldier as he was now portraying, while the slimy men in the area roamed their eyes over your body hungrily. Zemo noticed your uneasiness from the way your muscles tensed, though your face didn’t show a sign of it, and glared at the men who dared to lay their eyes on you, only pulling you closer to him to prove that you were with him while Bucky and Sam noticed this as well and positioned themselves where you were blocked from the view of your peers, allowing you to breathe a little better as you approached the bar.

“Hello, gentlemen.” The bartender greeted you all. “Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.”

“His plans changed.” Zemo answered for him. “We have business to do with Selby.”

“The usual?”

Sam nodded his head.

“And for the lady?”

“Um Something fruity.” You answered with a flirtatious smile, silently hoping they had something like that on the menu and that you hadn’t blown their cover by ordering the wrong drink.

The bartender handed you what looked to be a pineapple martini and you internally thanked the gods for your sheer bit of luck, taking the drink and thanking the bartender with another smile. You watched as he went to work on Sam’s drink, pulling out of a jar what definitely was a snake. You gulped, your stomach feeling nauseous as you saw the bartender cut open the dead snake, taking out its guts and throwing it in the shot glass. You were mortified to say the least, snakes were one of your symbols and you had owned plenty of the gentle little creatures. You shot Sam a sympathetic look once you saw his expression.

“Cheers.” Zemo held up his glass while Sam stared at his before gathering the courage to drink it all in one go. If Sam wasn’t going to throw up, you were going to do it for him.

While your eyes were trained on Sam’s expression, you felt someone breathe over your neck before feeling a clammy hand graze across your ass.

“Hey baby-“

Your eyes widened before you grabbed the wrist of the man behind you in one quick motion, twisting his arm to an unnatural position as you yanked it away from your body, causing the sleazy looking individual let out a yelp of pain. You would’ve crushed his wrist like crumpled paper if Zemo hadn’t put a cautionary hand on your arm as he whispered to you. “Careful now.”

You let go of the man’s wrist before shoving him aside like a pile of garbage. If their identity wasn’t at risk of being revealed, Zemo, Sam, and Bucky would have gone over there and beat the guy up after you were done with him.

“I got word from high. You ain’t welcome here.” You watched from behind Zemo as a bearded man approached him.

“I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists, he can either come and talk to me…” Zemo gestured towards Bucky.

“New haircut?”

“Or bring Selby for a chat.”

The man glanced between Zemo and Bucky before leaving.

“A power broker? Really?” Sam turned to Zemo.

“Every kingdom needs its king. Let’s just pray we stay under his radar.”

“Do you know him?” You asked.

“Only by reputation. In Madripoor he is judge, jury, and executioner.”

Another man was approaching in your direction, most likely to kick you all out or worse, and after following your gaze, Zemo turned to Bucky, speaking to him in Russian just as the man laid a hand on his shoulder. “Winter Soldier. Attack.”

You stood back, watching as Bucky grabbed the dude’s arm and twisted it back. You refrained yourself from intervening as Bucky took down the men that fought against him.

“Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form.” Zemo commented to you and Sam.

Bucky slammed one of the men down on the counter. And as you heard the clicking of guns being loaded, your defensive mode nearly kicked in as you almost reached for your sword before Zemo stopped you.

“Stay in character or the whole bar turns on us.” Zemo whispered to you both before turning to Bucky and speaking in Russian again. “Well done soldier.”

You let your arm drop back down to your side, not a single change in your expression as you eyed everyone around you.

“Selby will see you now.” The bartender spoke up after getting off the phone.

Zemo gave him a thanks, nodding you over and holding out his hand for you to take as you went to his side again, Bucky and Sam following after you. You went through a back door, going down a dark corridor with Zemo’s hand on your back as he guided you through.

“You should know, Baron. People don’t just come into my bar and make demands.” You heard a woman’s voice speak, turning your head to see an older woman in a suit with short white hair lounging back on the coach with her security around her.

“Not a demand. An offer.” Zemo sat down on the couch before waving you over when he saw you standing near Sam. “Come sit schatzi.”

You straightened up, plastering a smile on your face as you went over to him. Selby’s eyes followed you curiously as you placed your hand in his, your eyes rapidly moving in nervousness for what area would be the most appropriate area to sit. Were you......were you supposed to sit on his lap? Is that how couples work? No, that would be inappropriate. Before things got awkward, you quickly plopped down on the empty spot next to him, crossing over your leg in a way so that it draped over his, leaving your thigh completely exposed from the slit in your dress, save for the dagger that still remained hidden. Sam and Bucky widened their eyes at what you just did, while Zemo stiffened at this sudden movement from you as you also draped one arm around his shoulders, bringing yourself closer to him. Were you even doing this right?

“A lot has changed since you were here last.” Selby observed the two of you before her eyes landed on your ring. “Who’s this pretty little thing?”

“This.” Zemo looked at you with a loving look, throwing an arm around your waist to draw circles on your bare back, while his other hand rested on your thigh, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps on your skin as you felt shivers go down your spine. “Is my fiancé. Gorgeous isn’t she?”

How long has it been since you were this close and personal to someone? The last you could remember, women still wore corsets and people still rode carriages. You felt your body heat up from being this close to him, and from the way he stroked your back. How was a mortal man able to leave you feeling like this? If he was able to send shivers down your spine with the mere touch on your back with his gloved hand, you wondered how it would feel to have his bare hands on you, just skin to skin. And if you were being honest, you never really were a fan of cologne but his smelled of a deeper earthy tones with hints of musk, and you were surprised and almost ashamed to say you liked how he smelled. You returned the same loving look to Zemo, trying to make it as believable as possible as you ran your fingers through the hair on the back of his head before placing a kiss on his jaw close to his ear. Sam and Bucky couldn’t believe their eyes at the scene before them, the same you who preferred to be a hermit and didn’t go on dates because it involved human interaction, was cuddling up to none other than Helmut Zemo himself. Zemo’s breath faltered a bit from from your touch as he swallowed the lump in his throat, struggling not to break character. Being this close to you, he was able to get a whiff of your perfume and my goodness, Zemo felt as if he could drown in your scent, you smelled like the heavens, not overbearingly sweet, but dark and luxurious and even seductive. Is this what vampires and sirens smelled like when they lured people to their deaths? You raised a brow at Zemo, your heightened senses were picking up on his breathing patterns and heartbeat. Was he getting nervous?

“Extremely.” Selby commented, smirking at the two of you before roaming her eyes over your body. You could feel her taking you in but you kept your eyes trained on the side of Zemo’s face. “Where did you pick this one up? She looks like a fighter.”

“As they say, why not get a woman who can do both. She was part of the Sokovian armed forces, I met her through there.”

“By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?” Selby added after finally taking her eyes off you.

“People like us always find a way, don’t we? I’m sure you’ve already figured out what I’m here for.”

“You’re taller than I’d heard, Smiling Tiger.” Selby turned to Sam with a flirtatious grin, using her hand in a claw like manner as she let out a purr. “What’s the offer?”

“Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum.” Zemo got up off the couch, going over to Bucky and holding his chin between his fingers. “And I give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course. He will do anything you want.”

“Now that’s the Zemo I remember. I’m glad I decided not to kill you immediately. Yeah, you were right to come to me. Arrogant, but right. The super-soldier serum is here in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you wanna thank. Or… condemn, depending on what side of this you’re on. The Power Broker had him working on the serum, but… things didn’t go as planned.”

“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?”

“Oh. The bread crumbs you can have for free, but the bakery is gonna cost you, Baron. And before you get all cute, don’t think you can find Nagel without me. But.....” She turned you with a sly smile which made your insides turn. “Throw her in with the package and you have yourself a deal.”

Zemo, Sam, and Bucky turned to look at you with dread upon hearing her words. This wasn’t at all part of the plan.

“No, no no. That wasn’t the deal.” Zemo stepped over to where you sat, blocking you from her. “She’s not for sale.”

“Why not?” Selby raised her brow at Zemo. “I’m pretty sure a man like you could pick up someone else to be your plaything or fiancé or whatever. I like this one in particular.” She turned to you again.

“That’s not-“ Zemo started before he was cut off by Sam’s cellphone vibrating.

You breath was caught in your throat and it felt as if the room had dropped in temperature. You could feel the tension floating around the air as everyone’s eyes were trained on Sam now, making you sit up straight and uncross your legs so that they were planted firmly on the ground. Your hand rested on your thigh just above where the hilt of your dagger was as your eyes darted around the room, watching each and every person like a hawk about to swoop down on its prey. You had a feeling this wasn’t going to end well.

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