#my prompt was to mix flowers and blood so. i made the owner of the shop a vampire. and it does play into the story

[daz4i]

you should know. that today. i actually wrote smth i liked. insane i know

[robininthelabyrinth]

MDZS prompt: Maybe Lan Wanji realising his feelings before the war and hesitantly trying to court Wei Wuxian while he is a student? Or non-war AU where Lan Wanji chooses to marry into Jiang Sect rather than see Wei Wuxian struggle under Lan way of life only to find he really likes being a Jiang (maybe gets on well with in-laws)

It was Madame Yu that came to find out what the fight was about, of course.

Her husband was still injured from the fight against Wen Ruohan some years back, the one that had won the Nie sect so much acclaim and which to this day made Sect Leader Jin’s teeth grit and his blood boil, and he rarely travelled far any more. No one was entirely sure why this change had led to Madame Yu’s abrupt improvement in temper; perhaps it was that he was unlikely to have more children, or perhaps her worries had finally been appeased by his formal announcement that he would start the slow process of handing over the tasks of Sect Leader to Jiang Cheng when he came fully of age.

The changes hadn’t made much of a difference to Wei Wuxian’s life before, since Madame Yu hadn’t had a radical personality transplant, still being harsh and vicious, but he had to admit that it was extremely pleasant to see her make mincemeat of Sect Leader Jin using nothing but her sharp tongue.

She even threatened to revoke the engagement, which everyone knew she wouldn’t do – well, everyone but Sect Leader Jin, that was. Either way, he put on such a disgraceful appearance that Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng had ended up sympathizing with Jin Zixuan for the first time in their lives, and somehow when the punishment that had been imposed on all three of them was over they were maybe even something resembling friends that only mildly hated each other.

Madame Yu had decided to stay at the Cloud Recesses for the duration of the punishment, for reasons known only to her, and it was her that raised the topic over dinner one evening.

“You need to stop playing with that boy’s heart,” she said, drinking her soup with grace and only a slight wrinkling of the nose over the fact that it was, yet again, vegetarian.

Jiang Cheng looked at Wei Wuxian and Wei Wuxian looked at Jiang Cheng and neither of them saw Jiang Yanli anywhere around – her being back at the Lotus Pier, that was reasonable – so they both looked in askance at Madame Yu.

“Wei Wuxian,” she clarified. “You’ve been playing courting games with the Second Young Master Lan for weeks under my very nose; do you think I haven’t noticed?”

Wei Wuxian gaped. “Courting games? With – Lan Zhan? That’s impossible. I don’t cut my sleeve.”

“You should let him know that, then,” she said. “He’s already completed seven of the twelve courtship rites the Lans require before a proposal of marriage.”

“Are you sure?” Jiang Cheng asked, a little doubtful. “I thought he hated Wei Wuxian.”

“Hatred and affection can often look very similar to the untrained eye,” Madame Yu said. “Well, Wei Wuxian? What are you going to do about it?”

“I – I…”

“He’ll tell him tomorrow, of course,” Jiang Cheng said. “What else would he do?”

“I need to think about it,” Wei Wuxian said, and dashed out of the house they’d all been occupying.

Madame Yu smiled into her cup of tea. “Jinzhu, go tell Lan Qiren that I’d like to speak with him tomorrow afternoon,” she said to her maidservant. “And tell him that this may be something that requires Qingheng-jun’s approval.”

“What do you need Sect Leader Lan’s approval for?” Jiang Cheng asked, blinking as the maidservant headed out.

“Settling the terms of the marriage, of course.”

“Marriage? But Wei Wuxian isn’t going to –”

Madame Yu left the Cloud Recesses for the Lotus Pier with her son and eldest disciple in tow three days later, marriage contract in hand and a smug expression on her face.

-

The Lotus Pier was very different from the Cloud Recesses.

Lan Wangji still habitually rose every morning at the prescribed hour and went to bed at the same, but unlike the quiet serenity of Gusu, the people of Yunmeng were always active, day or night.

There was a market at every hour: the morning fish-market, full of bickering fishwives and rowdy fishermen that all knew Lan Wangji by sight and called out to him; the midday mixed market, full of every type of ware imaginable from artisan crafts to flowers to clothing to fruit to food; and even after the afternoon rest period ended it was only the start of setting up for the night market, as much Wei Wuxian’s domain as the morning market was Lan Wangji’s.

They went together, sometimes.

Wei Wuxian would yawn and complain at first, wrinkling his nose at the smell of raw fish, but he’d marvel over the sunrise and make fast friends with everyone he met, making silly expressions as he tried new types of food minutes after the ingredients had been pulled out of the waves.

For his part, Lan Wangji would indulgently hold all the things Wei Wuxian bought in the night market. It was usually food: sticks of tanghulu, skewers of grilled seafood, cheese broiled lobsters and spicy rice-cakes. Sometimes it was clothing, usually gifts; other times it was just knick-knacks that nobody needed but which Wei Wuxian simply had to have and usually gave away a few moments later.

At other times, they went to the lotus ponds, where Wei Wuxian taught him how to eat fresh-picked lotus seeds and tried to teach him how to run away when the owners came yelling (Lan Wangji refused to run and paid more in silver for the seeds they’d taken than the entire pond was worth); they went to the restaurants, where Lan Wangji ate food that burned his mouth and made his eyes fill with tears that Wei Wuxian would wipe away with his fingers, feeding him white rice and promising him he’d adjust soon enough; they walked along the river in the light of the sunset, hand in hand, saying nothing at all.

At least one day a week, Wei Wuxian would insist on taking Lan Wangji somewhere new, to see or do something he hadn’t done yet; it was as if he were anxious to show him everything there was to see about Yunmeng before their six months were up, before they went back to Gusu for the six months of the year that they would spend there, no matter how many times Madame Yu impatiently reminded him that there was no need to rush.

No need to rush at all: after all, they were married, now. They had the rest of their lives to show each other everything they wanted.

And yet – Lan Wangji understood a little of that urgency. He spent entire afternoons writing lists of things in Gusu he would show Wei Wuxian when they went back there: the secret springs, the gardens, the grove he’d pretended to tend when he was just a child. He’d take him to the fruit orchard and feed him plums and cherries plucked straight from the trees, see the red smeared over his smiling mouth and use his own to kiss it clean.

He’d take him to the place where they kept his mother’s memorial tablet, and they would kneel in front of it together again, the way they had at his wedding, and this time Lan Wangji would tell him the story of what happened with her, the hidden tragedy of it, and he’d promise him that he’d never permit the same.

But that would all come later: for now, they were at the Lotus Pier.

Things were happy at the Lotus Pier: Jiang Fengmian, who no longer rose from his chair, looked at his wife with some puzzled awe in his eyes, and she reveled in it as their children watched them with great relief.  Jiang Yanli was kind and a little mischievous, Jiang Cheng was kind and not mischievous at all, and Wei Wuxian – was Wei Wuxian.

They were together all the time.

Lan Wangji was happy.

[unholyhelbig]

Pearls | Emily x Beca

Title: Pearls 

Ship: Emily Junk/ Beca Mitchell 

Summary: Beca and Emily share a deep conversation while a party rages downstairs. 

Read on Ao3 / Suggest Pitch Perfect Prompts/ Pitch Perfect Horror Week!

Emily felt the rain numb her skin. She could taste it, and smell it. The water was all-consuming and soaked through her yellow raincoat all the way to her fingertips. It fell in sheets and she simply wasn’t prepared for the magnitude of the storm. Even after she read the headlines in the papers, peering through the smoky windowpane of the bookshop until it’s grouchy owner chased her off.

She was dodging through the crowds of people holding their own bags and tattered umbrellas over their heads to block out the rain. A few of them grumbled obscenities at her but most ignored her labored breath and raw nose. She had pulled her hood up over her ears, and that seemed like the only part of her that remained dry.

Emily turned down a side street and ignored the rancid smell of day-old bread from the bakery, and then the equally as hollow scent of spoiled meat from the butcher. She hopped over trash bags and nearly took a tumble as she stopped to catch her breath at the corner; to check the watch that her father bought her ages ago. It was too fancy for her, but he was insistent. She was glad that it was waterproof.

There were already cars lining the street in front of their duplex. Their brake lights reflected like the pooling eyes of demons off the wet asphalt and their unmarked license plates spoke wonders. The people her family surrounded themselves with never drove anywhere. They had people to do that for them, people who were a lot better at parallel parking.

She steeled herself as her numb fingers gripped the doorknob and she quietly squeaked into the foyer. She was tracking dirt and water across the marble floor, but she didn’t’ care. If she could just sneak past the dining room and to the stone stairs without her mother seeing-

“Emilia Junk,” Busted.

Her heart sunk into her stomach, or launched into her throat; she couldn’t tell which one, but either way, that horrible feeling of dread washed over her. She had one hand on the stone and there was no temperature difference between the solid material and her own skin. She turned on her heel and the rubber sole of her shoe let out a brutal whine.

The woman held her chin high no matter the occasion; a fancy sweater covered her shoulders and a nice pair of slacks were pressed to perfection. She wore pearls, though, Emily assumed that a book club meeting was not that important. But she pulled the jewelry from the velvet box, even if she stopped for gas.

“Where is your shoe?” her mother asked.

Emily looked down at her feet; she had in fact lost a shoe somewhere along her sprint from the subway all the way home. She shrugged her shoulders “The giant mud puddle down the road demanded a sacrifice.”

She said it with confidence, even as she tasted stale rainwater. Emily had grown used to looks of disapproval from her parents to the point where she nearly craved it. The consequence she dreaded, but the annoyance sparked close to her skin.

Emily knew that the book club was today and all of her mother’s fancy friends would pretend that they read the latest mystery novels as an excuse to get drunk in the middle of the day like they needed one, to begin with.

Her mother fretted “Go upstairs and shower immediately. You will come back down to the party and greet our guests.”

She mock saluted and took one step before her mother wrapped her fingers around her wrist. It was hot compared to the ice of her skin and Emily had to admit, the shock bent her out of place a bit. But she would never reveal it. She glanced back.

“Be on your best behavior, Emilia.”

The rainwater that got on her mother’s fingers was rubbed together until they seeped into her skin. She looked at her with accusation for dirtying her perfect appearance before vanishing back into the living room. She heard the women fold around her mother like a saint. Like Jesus nailed to the cross, dawning the thorn circled crown. It would draw no blood.

Despite being caught, Emily took her time going up the steps. She opened her bedroom door, peeled off her raincoat and wet t-shirt before flopping down on the clean sheets. They smelled of detergent and made her want to curl into herself for the rest of eternity.

Fuck book clubs, and pretentious mothers, and pearls.

She stared at her ceiling; she must follow instructions at some point, but she couldn’t will herself to move. The rain still pattered against the windows and her bare skin ate the warmth of the heater up. A shower would ruin that. Putting on her nicest blouse and slathering on heavy makeup would ruin that.

“That doesn’t look like a shower to me.”

Emily didn’t look up at the voice. Instead, she gripped at one of the down pillows and shoved it over her face. She could feel a scream threatening to bubble out, but with her luck- the party downstairs would hear her frustrated growls, and then she would be done for.

Her mother didn’t trust her; didn’t trust her enough to do a simple task. She sent the driver of their unmarked Volkswagen to push her into compliance. Emily hated the idea of Beca more than she hated the fancy clothes, the extravagant beach house- and a book club that didn’t even read.

“Tell her I’ve caught a cold from all of her frigid rules.” She spoke into the pillow, breathing in lavender and warmth.

“We both know that wouldn’t go well.” She felt the bed dip. “Scoot over.”

Emily did as she was told for once. She pulled the pillow from her face and moved over enough for the driver to lie down next to her. They listened to the rain for a while before Emily frowned and looked at Beca; her features were pale and delicate like a porcelain doll, her eyes so blue they were almost other-worldly. Emily liked the way her lips curved, how a tattoo of flowers on her shoulder peaked out from the white button-down that she was forced to wear.

She had loosened her tie and rolled up the sleeves. She looked human; not like someone trapped in plastic. Not like someone trying to flash family jewels and softly pink pearls. “Beca?”

“Hm?”

“If you could drive anywhere in the city, where would you go?”

Beca frowned and glanced at Emily, her nose scrunched and she had a ghost of a smile on her face that one would deem charming in certain situations. “Why? Where do you want to go, Emily?”

“No, you can’t answer my question with one of your own. That’s against the rules.”

“I wasn’t aware we were playing a game.”

“We’re always playing a game.”

They both pulled their stares away from one another and returned them to the ceiling. Beca smelled like lemon and leather wax. It was earthy and thick, and both of them would get a lashing if they didn’t move in a few moments. But neither did. The rain continued to rush outside and the party buzzed on downstairs.

Beca began to toy with the top button of her shirt. “There’s a place downtown, by the old train tracks. A little bookstore that you have to climb what seems like a million stairs to get to, they sell the things that no one wants. The books with torn pages and notes written in cursive in the front cover because they meant something to someone at some point.”

She turned her head and her breath was hot against Emily’s throat. It made small bumps rise against her skin and her fingers curled into the duvet. “That’s where I’d go. I’d order a black coffee and give those books another chance to be loved.”

The rain enveloped them again, and Emily could feel the intense stare of the driver. It tore into her and mixed up her insides to the point where they were unrecognizable. She wishes she had glue to put them back together. To organize her thoughts and stitch them up.

“Do you think they read their book?” She whispered, finally moving her honey stare to Beca’s.

“I don’t’ think any of them gave it a first chance, must less a second.”

Emily swallowed the taste of rainwater that lingered on her lips and nodded. She thought of the way the novel sat on the glass coffee table, how the bookmark barely shifted through the pages. It moved to the nightstand once and then next to the pearls in the bathroom. And then nowhere, it became nothing.

She wanted to bite her tongue until her mouth filled with blood, until it dripped all over the nice sheets and the pristine carpets, just to defame another picture-perfect image of her family. To spit the crimson against the cross and the crown, to feed it what it deserved. She wanted to hop into the front seat of their car and go to that small shop that Beca mentioned.

“You never answered my question,” Beca whispered, voice gravelly. “Now, I don’t know what type of game we’re playing. But I’m sure that’s against the rules.”

Emily lifted a brow at the driver, confused, perturbed.

“Where would you like to go, Emily?”

“Anywhere,” her fingers moved up to her collarbone, a force of habit. Emily’s nails scratched pink lines against raw skin where pearls of the upmost importance would rest. “Anywhere but here.”

[elmidol]

The Shackles of Fate - Two (NSFW)

Dark Faerie Tale AU

Read on AO3

Read Chapter One

Summary:  If one misses curfew it is not only their life that is on the line, but their very soul. You are unlucky enough to encounter the fallen faerie prince when you miss curfew. He decides to claim your soul for himself rather than turn it over to the Master he has been enslaved by. As you are drawn further into his world, you learn more of your own past and how it is connected to the stories of your childhood.

Pairing: Kylo Ren/Reader Ben/Reader

Warning: dark fic, dub con, oral

The Shackles of Fate

Two

It smelled of damp soil in the place that you awoke. Your eyelids fluttered open and you discovered that there was an extreme lack of light. Darkness pervaded the area—was it a room? Normally when you were in bed there were traces of shadows that played along the walls. There was none of that where you now were. You inhaled deeply and worked to rely on your other senses in order to ascertain your current location. It occurred to you that this could well be limbo. Purgatory. The pit of Snoke’s stomach after he had consumed your soul. There were countless phrases and terms that would equate to the same thing. If not for the feel of moss under your fingertips, you would have truly believed that you had met death for your failure to make curfew. You sniffed the air once more, however, to reaffirm that there was a distinct lack of a gastric aroma.

 One unfortunate fact of your childhood was that, as the dark faerie had stated, you had had no parents to comfort you. They had abandoned you as an infant, leaving you behind to be raised in the orphanage owned by the Plutt family. That was where you had met and befriended Rey. She had been there only a little while longer than you had. Never once did she give up on the possibility that her family would return for her. You, on the other hand, had escaped into the faerie tales and rejected the possibility that your parents had loved you. It hurt you more to think that they had wanted you only to leave you there.

 Of the many household chores that you had been assigned, it was cleaning the toilets that had forever instilled the memory of regurgitated stale beer. You had done all that you could to ensure that the outlook you had on life remained overall positive. That was the very reason you had embraced and adored tales of faeries in your youth. Your becoming a nursemaid had been due to your growing desire to bring laughter into the lives of children as a means of preventing them from experiencing a similar childhood to yours and Rey’s.

 Present circumstances did not dissuade you from believing that you had chosen the correct path for your life. The governess that you worked alongside, a woman by the name of Rose Tico, had quickly become a dear friend; and she, too, believed that you had a gift for working with the younger children in the household. Though Rose was only twenty-two years of age, her word held much weight in your opinion. She had always been wise in repeating the rules regarding surviving Snoke’s power. If you had given more heed to them, such as the at morning ensure the clock is not broken portion, you might not have wound up there.

 Where there happened to be.

 In darkness where not even the white material of your nightgown could be seen, that was where you were. You touched your hands to the clothing. You could not help but wonder how filthy it was. When you returned home—you firmly believed that you would be returning; you were willing to fight tooth and nail to do so—you would invest in a nightgown that was a darker shade. The current one would undoubtedly need to be tossed out. Allowing yourself to think of these mundane plans helped you to keep a level head. You had since risen to your feet and had started to tiptoe through the darkness. One hand outstretched in front of you, wiggling your toes between each step in search of anything that might bring harm.

 You froze when light broke through the darkness. You squinted and shielded your eyes. A silhouette emerged, obscuring a generous amount of that brightness. You gave a quick sweep of the room to survey your surroundings in case you were again sealed inside. A shout for help lodged in your throat. You did not know if you could trust the individual. Were they yet another prisoner of the faerie? One of the guards?

 Perhaps, despite his words, the faerie prince did intend on carrying out his duty of ripping your soul from your body. Not wanting to do something did not always equate to refraining from committing oneself to the dreadful task. Much as it had been in your room, there were no weapons that you could use to defend yourself. Except, of course, your fists. Your childhood had resulted in you knowing basic defensive maneuvers as well as how to properly throw a punch to break someone’s nose. Rey had also instructed you on other techniques that she had picked up during her travels.

 “I can deliver you no harm. You are his guest.” Guest was certainly not the term you would have used. You clenched your teeth in order to bite back any retort you had for the female speaker.

 All the same, you stepped nearer to the light when the other being shifted towards the left in a gesture of welcoming. You repeatedly blinked as your eyes struggled to fully adjust to the brightness. Something touched your shoulder, prompting you to jump. You spun around, your hands lifting to touch the material that had been placed on you. Relaxing, you tucked your arms into the sleeves of the travel shawl. You were grateful to have an added layer to your attire given that the wetness from the moss was causing portions of your nightgown to become rather transparent.

 The faerie standing in front of you was dressed in earthly colors. Her wings were different than those of the dark creature that had entered your bedroom. These were a translucent pink. The faerie’s face was obscured by a mask and every bit of her flesh was hidden by her clothing.

 “Should you find yourself in need of nutrition, provisions will be provided.” The faerie offered a brief bow of her head then walked around you, leaving you to your own devices.

 You knit your brow in confusion. You twisted at your waist one way then the other, searching your surroundings once more. There were wooden shelves that held filled bottles and glass jars. Curled up in a corner underneath those shelves and observing you was a small feline. Its tail reminded you of a lizard, as did the tongue that flicked out from its mouth. The sound that emerged from it was a coo.

 Upon closer inspection of the jars and bottles, you discovered the contents were things that made your stomach turn. You fought off the urge to gag upon noticing the pinkish organs that you strongly believed were human. One of the jars held coagulated blood and another ashes. Recoiling from the collection, you were relieved to find that the feline did not move to follow you when you walked in the direction of a different door than the one the faerie had exited.

 Lanterns lit your path in the garden that the door opened to. You looked back over your shoulder, wondering what the hut you had just left was normally used for. It had not been a prison cell as you had started to fear. The stench of damp soil gave way to the various perfumes offered by the flowers in the garden. They mixed together to produce a calming aroma. You had never seen such plants in your life, although they did bear a certain resemblance to some of the illustrations in picture books.

 The lanterns did not illuminate your path near as much as you would have preferred. They were spaced apart enough where shadows played on the ground and the darkness threatened to drown you every few inches. One bush of the bushes that was easily visible had berries you could have plucked off and eaten if you had wanted to.

 You knew better than to allow anything too close to your mouth. Stories had long told of humans becoming trapped as servants to the fae when they ate or drank from this realm. Governess Tico did not neglect her duty to keep the entire household, including the staff, informed of these precautions and rules. The children that you looked after knew more about imps than faeries; those more malevolent creatures specialized in stealing children away to serve in the demon king’s army. Their souls were kept in a constant state of agony until they had worn out their use, at which point the imp would officially harvest the soul for Snoke’s meal.

 You considered yourself lucky that you had been met with a faerie instead of an imp. You did have a strong dislike of faerie dust though, or at least when it was used to assist in your abduction.

 Guest my ass, you thought, your lips puckering forward in a sour expression.

 You drew the gray travel shawl more tightly around your body. In the distance you could hear voices and the occasional laughter, some of it dry and humorless. You ignored those sounds. You used the lanterns as a guide; they carried you deeper into the garden and farther away from the voices. With any luck, you would find a portal to take you back to your realm.

 “You’ll be disappointed—the portal will not open for you.” The yelp that left you had your cheeks growing hot with blush. You recognized the voice and turned to its owner.

 An absence of his helmet had not been what you had expected to find. Your eyes darted about the features of his face, which were far different than you had believed they would be. Despite having seen his jawline while he had been on your bed with you, you had not expected the rest of his countenance to also look human. His brown eyes had an intensity to them. You could not decide if you would refer to them as fierce or deep. They drew you in rather than repelled you. Because of this, you chose to think of them with the latter term. His hair was longer than you had seen on men where you lived. Your fingers twitched at the thought that those locks could very well be as soft as they appeared. The light curls looked much like feathers to you.

 “You’ve been watching me,” you said, your tone less accusatory than the situation might have warranted. His jaw twitched. You watched his lips begin to purse only to settle back into their former frown of indifference. When he failed to reply verbally, you tried once more. “I hadn’t thought that your eyes were made for a darker world.” Instantly you felt a sense of regret over your poor word choice; faeries had not always been denizens of darkness.

 His wings stretched out an inch to either side. They folded in a similar manner to a bat’s, although their texture brought to mind a moth. “The helmet?” His natural voice caused you to relax. You nodded a single time in response to his inquiry. “There are obstacles that exist between realms.” The way he spoke had changed, his tone adapting a sardonic quality. It was akin to the moments you found yourself explaining the most basic of rules to the younger children for the umpteenth time. You wondered how old this faerie prince was. That information had not been readily available in any of the tales that you had heard.

 You digested the minute amount of information he had willingly provided. First, there was a portal, likely nearby given that he had felt a need to comment on it. Second, as he had stated, it would not open for you. Faerie magics were strong and it had been such forces that had once held Snoke back from your realm. You were not arrogant enough to believe that you could break them.

“Why did you bring me here?” you asked, your level of impatience winning.

When he spoke, it was not to answer your question, but to pose another. “You truly don’t know what you are, do you?” You, having glanced in the direction of the voices of the other faeries, laid your eyes on the faerie prince. His lips were curled at the corners in amusement, his eyes pinching. It was clear that he was holding in his laughter, though a breathy exhalation from his nose managed to break through. You waited for him to tease you while revealing whatever it was he believed he was going on about. You were left disappointed.

With a huff, you decided to change tactics. “Why did you put me in that hut?”

“To carry you over my threshold would have ramifications I doubt you would be prepared for.” He had worded his reply well. Your eyes widened. The prince’s smirk appeared once more and he turned his back to you. Each time he spoke, your gaze had lowered to his mouth. His canine teeth were more pointed than a human’s, although you would not refer to them as fangs since that brought to mind a vampire. You were beginning to believe that, in his own way, he had been merciful. When he had stated that he did not wish to kill you, he had meant it and acted in a way to prevent your death.

If things were as simple as that, he would be able to break free from the demon king. There has to be more.

You ran the fingers of your right hand through your hair, tucking some back behind your ear. The faerie tilted back his head. You could hear him sniff the air. Shoulders rising, you took a step in retreat. You were at a loss how to handle this behavior. The obvious statement of it’s not human would have made you roll your eyes; understanding this, though, did little to help you from feeling self-conscious.

The faerie twisted around, closing the distance between the two of you before you had a chance to react. His wings extended their full length. You turned your head to the left so that you could take in their full size and design. You had barely enough time to react to them closing again, this time wrapping around your body and pulling you against their owner. You braced your forearms against his chest, looked up at him, and glared. You would have verbally protested his actions had he not spoken first, informing you that he was masking your scent with his own. After the female faerie had referred to you as a guest, you had dismissed the idea that others in this realm might be interested in targeting you.

Your soul, according to the treaty signed by those who summoned the demon king into the human realm, belonged to Snoke as an offering. It had never been known for certain how it was that the faeries, imps and demons were able to sense who had failed to meet curfew. It was not as though those marked lived long enough to learn this secret.

A breeze rustled the leaves in the trees and bushes. The faerie’s wings shifted off of you to once more wrap around only their owner’s body. You looked down at your clothes and found that dust coated the material. The same dust that had previously knocked you unconscious. It seemed to have more than one use. You pinched the front of the travel shawl, rubbed your fingers together through the material, and inspected the digits. None of the dust had clung to your flesh.

“It will soon be morning.”

You looked up from your fingers and met the faerie’s gaze. “You will take me back to my home—I haven’t eaten anything.” His shoulders shook in silent laughter, one of his gloved hands concealing the lower half of his face. “I…” You released a strangled noise, temporarily at a loss for words. Recovering, you tried again. “I refuse to remain your prisoner!”

He lowered the limb from his face in unison with stepping around you. The faerie circled you, his eyes in constant motion. You tugged at the hem of the shawl’s sleeves. Did wearing their clothing seal your fate? The tip of his tongue peeked out from between his lips. The faerie took a step towards you and you took one back. He repeated his actions, you yours until you felt the hard surface of a tree trunk against your back, blocking you from going any further. His hands cupped you through your nightgown. You grabbed at his wrists, your eyes wide and glued to his face. He was meeting your gaze. “Don’t fight it.” He bent two fingers at the knuckles. Straightened them and bent them again. Short, slow strokes. He teased you through the thin layer of clothing that you wore.

You trembled at his touch and averted your gaze. You knew that you had not outright rejected him. What if you did? The words refused to form on your tongue as the warmth of pleasure blossomed in your stomach and pooled lower. Your panties were becoming damp. The faerie prince prodded at you, his gentle strokes coming to an end.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he asked. You bit down on the insides of your cheeks to keep from answering. “Some go to bed early to do so.” Teasing you, reminding you of your failure. You shrunk in on yourself then straightened as his fingers resumed petting you. “I cannot take their souls.” An admission that he played the role of voyeur. He applied more pressure, managing to work open your outer lips. He fucked his fingers into them. Your wet panties were now making the front of your nightgown wet. “I can smell you like this. You like it.”

A part of you wondered why he was doing it given his prior actions, that he had worked to mask your scent.

“You said you ate nothing?” You nodded. The smirk on his lips was a filthy promise that he sunk to his knees to deliver. “I will.” Once more you were stunned to silence. Your eyes wide, you watched as the faerie prince lifted the front of your nightgown and pulled it over his head. The fingers that had been stroking you now hooked into your panties, tugging them out of his way. His warm breath crept over you. You buried your face in your hands as your body reacted. The wetness between your legs trailed down your thighs and had undoubtedly dribbled onto his face.

Your mind conjured up the memory of that pink tongue between his lips as you felt it dance along your folds. The faerie prince sunk the tips of his fingers into your thighs, working them open, and flattened his tongue against you. You felt it undulate then curl. He pulled all that he could into his mouth, noisily slurping and groaning. If it hadn’t been for the tree, you would have collapsed. Your hands dropped away from your face and you held the back of his head through your nightgown. Tilting back your head, you closed your eyes and rocked against his mouth. The grip he had on your left thigh lessened. He hooked that leg over his shoulder then plunged his tongue into you. You gasped at the intrusion, at the way he felt inside of you. Your hands tugged at him in a futile effort to get him closer. He opened his mouth around you then slowly closed his lips, dragging them along your folds while his tongue again swirled, this time on your clit.

He repeated the act, only this time he flattened his tongue and dragged it up. Moved it in reverse so that the underside gathered more of you. Another lick from that devilish tongue. He started to draw lazy designs that may have been words. As he delivered a final stroke down with the very tip, you were brought over the edge. The world around you seemed to disappear, all sounds drowned out by the pulse in your ears. His hand was on your stomach to keep you from pitching forward. His mouth still on you, tongue greedily lapping up all that he could.

Once he was satisfied, the faerie prince withdrew from your nightgown, your panties shifting back into place. You wiggled to help them. All the while you worked to catch your breath and tried to remember why you had allowed this stranger to touch you. Not that it hadn’t felt good. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

“The portal will open and I will return you to your home—until night again comes. Your soul is marked. If you wish to keep it, you will not attempt to escape my protection. The imps can smell humans best of all. I will ensure your scent is masked.” He gestured in a wide arc to the many bushes in the garden. “In here you shall play while I serve the demon king.”

While you murder and ripe out the souls of others, you thought bitterly. Reality hit you hard and you felt physically ill. No matter how merciful appeared and alluring this creature was, he nevertheless was a murderer. A monster, twisted from whatever former beauty he may have been. You pressed your legs closer together and mentally berated yourself for giving into desire.

Turning, you toyed with the flower nearest to you. It was a red blossom with yellow streaks on its petals. You bent down, smelling its sweet scent, which reminded you of a hard candy that had always been your favorite. You lowered yourself onto your knees then sat on your legs. Your hands were in your lap and your eyes did not leave the flower. Resigned to your fate, until you could find a loophole, you asked for the faerie’s name. It came as no surprise that he failed to answer.

“What should I call you?” he asked. You rubbed your thumb along your leg, swiping it back and forth. Four seconds elapsed before you decided to humor the faerie prince by giving your name.

For this you earned nothing more than a grunt of acknowledgment. You rose to your feet and faced the faerie. “Are you...Ben?”

The dark winged creature flinched, drawing back from you as though you had given a great insult. “He was weak and now slumbers.” It was not exactly a no, not in your opinion. “Kylo.” He held out his hand to you. “I will take you home.”

That voice, those words, echoed in your head as you opened your eyes to find yourself staring up at the ceiling of your room. Had any of that truly occurred? Heat exploded across your face at the memory of that tongue. A dream? You touched your shoulders. There was no travel shawl. You sat up enough to push aside your blankets and examine your nightgown. It was clean, perfectly so. Your eyes shifted to the clock on the bedside dresser. It ticked, properly counting each second that passed. You started to convince yourself that it had all been a dream. Which would explain the ease with which the faerie had seduced you. Laying your head back on your pillow, however, you saw something in the corner of your eye.

You shifted on the bed, turning onto your side and staring at the small object that looked to you like a cocoon. Its design was familiar. They were… Your lips parted in a silent gasp. Kylo’s wings had the same pattern, but this was so tiny. You gently touched the tip of your index finger to the cocoon. It opened, one wing sliding down to reveal the face of a slumbering young man. He was nearly identical to Kylo, although his features were softer. More peaceful. Instead of the dark robes that Kylo had worn, this faerie was adorned in white with golden designs. He was curled with his head nestled on his crossed arms and his legs drawn towards his stomach. You carefully nudged the wing aside to see the remainder of his body.

If he were to stand his full height, he would have been just a little larger than your middle finger.

You spoke softly to the small faerie, urging him to wake up. He did not stir. You bit down on your bottom lip. If you were to leave him, there was a chance that one of the cats would enter the room and eat him.

Now slumbers, you thought with an outward groan. You had not even considered that the curse placed on the faerie prince by Snoke ran more deeply than being trapped in servitude. By night his slave, by day…

“I hope you don’t mind living in a pocket,” you muttered, rising from the bed and grabbing fresh clothes. You could already hear movement from the upper floors. The children were waking and within the hour you would once more be Nursemaid. Your predicament would have to wait until lunch hour, at which point you would be allowed to confer with Governess Tico.

[frizz22]

Prompt : Sabrina and Nick's wedding.

Anon, anon from Tumblr, and Ella, Andrea and Jewelz1642 on ao3. 

Notes: Apparently, I really really struggle to write Nabrina. Apologizes for the extremely long wait. Read on ao3

Asking Permission

He asked Zelda and Hilda for permission, of course. Hilda had beamed and tittered, immediately saying yes and standing from the kitchen table to fetch celebratory drinks. Zelda, she’d taken a long drag of her cigarette and leaned forward, eyeing him as she blew the smoke out of the side of her mouth.

“If you hurt her—" 

“Zelda!” Hilda admonished, setting down glasses and whiskey. “Nicholas wouldn’t do such a thing.”

Zelda just arched a brow and sat back, crossing her arms but holding her cigarette aloft to one side. “Of course, he won’t. Because he knows what I’ll do to him otherwise. Don’t you, Mr. Scratch?”

Swallowing slightly, Nick nodded, aware that this woman shouldn’t still intimidate him so much after 50 years—but it was good to know Sabrina was so well loved. “Absolutely, Zelda. I love Sabrina, I’ll do my best never to hurt her.”

A ghost of a smile touched Zelda’s lips. “Smart boy, you know better than to make absolute promises like ‘you’d never hurt her’,” she inclined her head. “You have our permission.”

Hilda scoffed, shaking her head, as though her permission hadn’t counted until Zelda agreed as well. “So generous of you, Zelds. Now can we celebrate this amazing news?”

“Lets.” Zelda poured them all a drink and they sat, chatting happily. Zelda pressing for details on when he’d propose and Hilda asking how he’d do it, mortal or witch. The question brought up a point he hadn’t considered before.

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

The Proposal

Nick had wanted to propose for months now. But it’d taken him ages to find a ring that was fitting. The two turtledove hearts were easy enough to acquire—though a little difficult to hide from Sabrina in their apartment. The ring though, the ring was hard. He wanted it to be perfect, and when he visited the same jeweler for the fourth time, scanning the same rings, the owner had thrown her hands up and gone into the back and returned with a small box in hand.

“I normally wouldn’t even offer such a piece to a warlock your age,” she began, arching a haughty brow. “But I can see you’re bound and determined to get something special for your partner.” She set the box down. “What would they think,” she paused for effect, opening the box, “of this?” She turned it around, revealing a stunning ring with various colored gemstones embedded in the band and a beautifully cut diamond set on the top.

A smile spread cross Nick’s face. “She’d love it. It’s perfect! How much?” He looked at the shop keeper eagerly, hoping he hadn’t tipped his hand and just sent the price skyrocketing.

Thirty minutes later, having haggled the price lower and promising in return to banish a ghoul inhabiting the store’s basement, Nick walked out of the store with a perfect ring in his pocket. Rushing home, Nick got to work right away inlaying various spells into the ring.

The spells ranged from durability, stain-proof, protection, and tracking. Tracking not only in case the ring was ever lost, but in case the wearer was ever lost as well; they’d lost one another too many times for Nick to want to risk it.

In the past, they’d had a penchant for danger—summoning high demons, his familiar attacking, his time in Hell as a vessel for the Dark Lord… to name a few. Nick wasn’t going to risk losing Sabrina again; which meant tracking spells on her engagement ring. The spell would only be activated if there was trouble though, which, praise Lilith, wouldn’t as often as it used to be.

Sighing, Nick was admiring his handiwork when the front door opened.

“Nick?” Sabrina called out, and he could hear Salem padding across the floor to greet her happily.

Hurriedly, Nick placed the ring back into its box and stuffed it into his pocket just as Sabrina walked into their bedroom where he’d been working.

Brow furrowing, she gave him a questioning look. “What’s going on?”

Licking his lips, Nick tried to look nonchalant. “I was just thinking, it’s supposed to be a clear night out tonight. Do you want to go for a night hike and stargaze?”

A smile tugged Sabrina’s lips. “That’d be so nice, we haven’t gone on a night hike in ages. Let me change and eat and we can go.”

Nodding, Nick changed as well, slowly though, waiting until Sabrina left the room before digging out the turtle dove hearts and burying them, along with the ring, deep into his jacket pockets.

~~~~~~~

They were deep into the Greendale woods; the hike having ended in a small clearing that afforded them a beautiful view of the sky. The entire thing reminded him of their first Lupercalia, how they’d laughed and grinned at each other like idiots that first night… even then he’d known she was the one.

Sitting up, Nick turned to Sabrina who’d propped herself up onto her elbows at his sudden movement. “Sabrina, I love you. So much, you taught me witches are capable of love, of sacrificing for the love. You’ve made me a better warlock, a better man. And if you’d have me,” Nick tried to pull both boxes out of his coat at once and fumbled them. “Shit. Sorry, I—”

Sabrina picked up the larger one, opened it. Seeing the turtledove hearts, her eyes widened, and she sat up as well. “Nick? Are you…” she breathed, bringing her eyes back to him.

Trying to salvage the situation, Nick snatched up the smaller box and opened it. “Will you marry me?” He blurted out before he could mess this up any further.

Lips spreading into a brilliant smile, Sabrina clutched the turtledove hearts to her chest. “Yes! Yes!” And suddenly, she was kissing him the best she could with the two of them smiling so widely.

Pulling back, Nick carefully removed the ring from the box and slid it onto Sabrina’s finger. Sighing in relief when it fit perfectly.

“Oh, Nick.” Sabrina murmured, gazing at the ring, the turtledove hearts still pressed to her chest. “This is perfect.” She touched his cheek tenderly, “I love you too. So much.”

They laid back down, Sabrina curled into his side, the turtledove hearts still cradled in her arms, and went back to gazing at the stars.

After a few minutes, Sabrina lifted herself up a bit to look him in the eye. “Thank you,” she breathed, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

A small chuckle escaped Nick as his hand swept over Sabrina’s back. “For what?”

“Doing both traditions.” She murmured, a tender smile on her face. “For honoring my duality.”

Nick smiled and kissed her forehead, holding her closer. “Of course, it’s who you are. I’m assuming our wedding will be a mix as well.”

Sabrina huffed in disbelief. “How did I get so lucky?” She asked, setting the box aside and rolling on top of him for a proper kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Wedding Bells

Standing by the altar, Nick waited anxiously, bouncing slightly on his toes as he waited for the final part of the proceedings.

Next to him, Ambrose gave his shoulder a comforting slap and squeeze. Prudence peered around Ambrose and winked, making Nick smile. Across the aisle, Roz, and Theo finished taking their places, completing the bridal party. Which meant…

The music swelled and reached its peak, indicating that Sabrina will be making her way down the aisle next. Clasping his hands to hide their shaking, Nick turned back to the front of the Church of Night, his stomach flipping nervously.

A vision entered the church then. A vision in her mother’s wedding gown, redone in the traditional black and red. Nick exhaled sharply at the sight of his bride as she made her way towards him.

Zelda and Hilda walked on either side of Sabrina, their arms looped and fingers intertwined as they made their way to the front—the two aunts turned parents now giving their daughter away.

When they reached the front, Sabrina faced her aunts, tears in her eyes. “Thank you, she whispered, smiling tremulously. Zelda adjusted Sabrina’s veil slightly and nodded, though she was beaming, Hilda handed over the dagger she’d been carrying for Sabrina, tears already leaking down her cheeks as she placed a careful kiss on Sabrina’s forehead.

The rest of the ceremony continued in the same emotional, but very happy manner. Though they drink the blood from the chalice handed to them, they tied their hands together with cloth instead of a strip of dead skin; neither of them big fans of that particular tradition.

Sealing their union with a kiss, Nick led Sabrina back down the aisle, now husband and wife, their hands still bound together. As they strode out of the church, cheers followed them and the witching attendees sent up sparks of light from their fingers while the mortals threw flower petals in their wake.

As they exited the church and made for the car that would take them to the reception, Nick glanced at Sabrina, his fingers still linked tightly with hers and couldn’t believe his luck. He’d married his best friend, his first love. How many warlocks could say that?

[artistic-writer]

Alii Dimidium Lunam (The Other Half of the Moon) - CS Werewolf AU - Ch 10

Title: Alii Dimidium Lunam (The Other Half of the Moon) by @artistic-writer   artwork by @cocohook38 & @artistic-writer

Rating: E (overall rating) for explicit sexual content, language and themes throughout. Trigger warnings will follow and be added as they are needed to avoid spoilers.

Art by @cocohook38 - Poster - Emma - David - Killian - James - Walsh

Chapter Art by @cocohook38 - Ch1 - Ch2 - Ch3 - Ch4 (NSFW)

Art by @artistic-writer - 1 - 2 - 3 - 

Also on: AO3 - FF

A/N: Here is ch 10!  There is art for this fic that I made that I will post seperately.  Also, this is a BIG reveal ch - so buckle up!  Some of you will be pleased to know we are not even halfway through this fic!  when I am sure of the number of chapters involved, I will start putting it in the title.  Massive thanks to my wonderful betas, @hookedonapirate who has done a fantastic job keeping my rabble in line, and @kmomof4 to whom this fic is also gifted.  Without your constant encouragement, I would have probably given up on this fic already.  Thank you to my crew, @hollyethecurious  @resident-of-storybrooke @courtorderedcake  and special thanks to @killian-whump @killianmesmalls and @sherlockianwhovian for how they helped later on. And to @flipperbrainwho drew THIS piece of art for this fic in December, before it was even written!

Taglist: @cssns @resident-of-storybrooke@hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @hookedonapirate@winterbaby89 @courtorderedcake @initiala @cocohook38@branlovesouat @teamhook @snidgetsafan@sherlockianwhovian @shireness-says@wingedlioness @lenfaz @therooksshiningknight @ilovemesomekillianjones @bmbbcs4evr @blowmiakisscolin@deathbycaptainswan @onceuponaprincessworld @chinawoodfan  @seriouslyhooked @snowbellewells@wordsmith-storyweaver   @jennjenn615 @delightfully-difficult-pirate @doodlelolly0910  @tiganasummertree @hookedmom 

Want to be tagged/untagged? TELL ME HERE

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They talked for what seemed like hours about their dreams, each recalling the smallest details that might have seemed insignificant to anyone else. It was how they knew they were in the exact same dream world, experiencing the same reverie. From the softness of the grass under their feet to the smell of soon to be erupted flowers, the sounds of the forest and the chill of the midnight air, they were under no illusion their dreams were one and the same.

Emma was filled with conflict. On one hand, she was relieved to finally know that her dream meant something, and she was not just plagued by the nightmare of losing her father for no reason. But what was the reason? The only differing detail in both of their visions was the name on the grave, so they had deduced it had to mean something, only they had no idea what it was trying to show them. Killian assured her time and time again it didn’t necessarily mean her father was fated to die, but the fact that Killian couldn’t locate his own father alive meant he didn’t exactly believe his own assurances.

To take their mind off things, Killian had suggested taking Emma to dinner. They were in a part of town she would not be recognized and so, without hesitation, Emma had agreed. He picked a casual Italian place, and when he had entered with her arm looped through his, the owner had almost danced with glee to see one of his favourite patrons finally dining with another. Emma gave him a nervous smile and they were seated opposite each other in a private little booth away from prying eyes, but the minute they sat down she was invaded with Graham’s scent.

“Are you alright?” Killian asked her gently, reaching across the table to grasp her hand with his when he noticed she was busy scanning the restaurant. For what, he wasn’t sure, and he didn’t detect anything out of the ordinary, casually inhaling to try and find the scent she could quite clearly smell. “You seem distracted.”

Emma frowned a little. “I can smell someone from my pack here,” she almost whispered, eyes still scanning over the other diners, but unable to find what she sought.

“Can you see anyone?” Killian asked her quickly, trying not to draw any attention as he fidgeted with his napkin.

“No,” Emma shook her head a little, disguising the action by pretending to flick her lightly curled golden locks over her shoulder. “I can’t see him.”

“Is it Graham?” Killian offered casually, opening the menu with his free hand and pretending to browse the selection.

Finally, Emma looked at him and gave a raised eyebrow and a smirk. “Are you jealous, Jones?” she teased, relaxing a little. The scent was old, a few days at least, and it was possible that, with all of her recent stress, Emma was confusing what she could smell with what she had smelled recently. It was a mixture of musk and human aftershave that could have been worn by a thousand other human men, not just Graham, so when she couldn’t visually locate the Misthaven beta, she figured she was being paranoid.

“Of course,” Killian winked at her, giving her hand a squeeze.

“You don’t have to worry about Graham, trust me,” Emma said firmly, scooting to the edge of her bench seat and wrapping her other hand around his. “He would be the last wolf I’d want.” Emma’s words left her mouth with a little more disgust than she had intended for her pseudo-sibling, and Killian noticed.

“He’s your betrothed, isn’t he?” Killian asked with a soft tone, the pain evident in his words. Emma held his gaze and swallowed slowly.

“Yes.” There was no point in hiding it any longer. Killian knew about everything anyway, so why not divulge the name of who her pack wanted her to marry. “And he is also the beta in my pack, so me running away is a big deal.”

“Ah, I see,” Killian nodded in understanding. “The chance of you being able to smell him is more than an unlikely coincidence then?”

“I’m afraid so,” Emma agreed. “He’ll find me eventually.”

Killian sat back in the booth, pulling his hand from hers and lightly scratching over the stubble on his jaw. Emma could see him thinking, almost hear his thought processes as he looked around the restaurant. He ate here frequently and nothing seemed out of the ordinary for this time of the week - no new patrons, no new smells - but clearly something had Emma spooked, and he would not abide that.

Killian had waited his whole life to belong, to feel like he was accepted. Emma gave him that. She gave him a sense of humanity, as well as accepted him for the wolf he was. He was not much by werewolf standards, smaller than the average wolf and with no pack or status to offer her, but he was sure, without a doubt, that he would fight with everything he had for her.

He would fight to the death if necessary.

“Then let him come,” Killian nodded with a tight smile. He sat forward and claimed her hands in his once more, his fingers tangling with hers and interlocking their hands tightly. “I’ll fight for you, Emma. I promised you forever, and if it means a little bloodshed to get there, then-”

“I don’t want that,” Emma interjected quickly, clutching his hand tighter.

“Neither do I,” Killian admitted honestly. “But I will fight for you, Emma. I will fight with everything I have to keep you safe.”

“Graham would never hurt me,” Emma said slowly, her gaze locked with Killian’s across the table. As acute as their hearing was, neither of them heard a single voice or sound in the restaurant in that moment except for the thrumming of each other’s blood. Emma flushed hot, a nervous human reaction to what they were both thinking.

“But what of me?” Killian laughed nervously, vocalising both of their fears. He didn’t know much about pack politics, but he knew enough that if Emma was to be married to another, and they wanted her back at all costs, then killing him or any other wolf in their way was nothing. Emma’s silence confirmed he was right.

The owner of the restaurant, Tony, chose that exact moment to appear, dogeared notepad in hand and a half length pencil tucked behind his ear. Killian stood to greet him, shaking the man’s hand vigorously and then introducing Emma as his date, the slight blush that crept over his cheeks at his admission not going unnoticed. Emma blushed as well, a very human reaction she had rarely experienced before because of the way it revealed too much to a foe.

After some pleasantries, they ordered one of the restaurant’s speciality dishes; a huge plate of spaghetti and homemade meatballs gently tossed into a basil infused ragu. Emma had never tried meatballs before but after Killian’s insistence, she was in love. The meatballs melted in her mouth, the taste of herbs and cooked meat so exotic and peppery on her tongue, she couldn’t help but moan after every mouthful, much to Killian’s amusement.

Emma was an eclectic mix of someone who had seen everything the world had to offer and yet had experienced nothing at the same time. Killian loved the way simple things seemed to excite her beyond belief, like she had learned everything she knew from books alone, without ever setting foot outside. She had mentioned her pack were old school before, but Killian couldn’t stop his smile each time she became giddy over such trivial things.

After the restaurant, they were strolling down the nearly empty sidewalk when Emma spotted a poster for a local fair. It came to town every year, and Killian had gone before, but never with anyone. He used to go with his brother as a way for both of them to remember their mother, who loved to go to such things, but he never had the opportunity to take someone else. Emma’s enthusiasm upon learning what a fair actually was, prompted her begging, almost whining, for him to show her as she excitedly tapped the ripped poster upon the rough brick wall.

The fair was close to his home and after they had driven back to his place, Killian suggested they walk there to enjoy the night air. It was crisp and cool, but the lingering smell of the pastries from the nearby diner had Emma’s smile growing even wider as they strolled to their destination. Like a kid at Christmas, Emma almost ran through the barriers as Killian paid for two tickets, watching her enjoyment and feeling the swell of his heart at how happy she was.

There was no way that Emma would have ever been allowed to go to a fair if she had been with anyone from her pack. This would have been on the forbidden list of human activities. The Chronicle was clear, as her father constantly reminded her, that any human activity deemed frivolous or that dulled the responses was not allowed. Apparently, fun was at the top of that list, because Emma had never had so much.

Her arms were overloaded with soft toys, and the taste of cotton candy still lingered on her tongue as they called it a night. Spun sugar had made her fingers sticky, but she didn’t mind at all, and even eating a corndog was new. Emma felt human for a second and loved each and every time Killian used his supernatural abilities to his advantage, winning her everything that she requested. There was no weakness in what she felt, only love and compassion for the wolf at her side, and not for the first time, Emma began to question the laws by which she had been raised. Nothing was off limits for her, Killian had made that clear, and as they ducked through the trees, taking a shortcut back to his apartment, Emma stopped him suddenly by grabbing his hand.

“Thank you,” Emma smiled sweetly, tugging his arm gently until he turned to look at her.

“For what?” Killian frowned, shaking his head a little from side to side as he stepped into her space. His chest bumped into the pile of bears in her arms, the soft furs brushing his arms as he rubbed a hand over her shoulders.

“Everything,” Emma smiled at him, leaning into his body.

“I just took you to the fair,” Killian blushed modestly, reaching behind his ear to scratch there nervously. “It was no trouble.”

“No,” Emma said definitely, tossing the soft toys to the ground beside them. One squeaked as it hit the ground and Killian’s ears perked up a little at the sound, but he kept his gaze trained on her. “You’ve done so much more.”

“It was nothing, lass,” Killian smiled. He trailed his hand down her arms, clutching her fingers between his, lifting their hands and interlocking their digits lovingly. Emma tightened her grip and pulled him even closer to her, their bodies crashing together and their noses almost bumping in the darkness. Even though it was nearly a full moon, the canopy of trees overhead afforded them some privacy from the silvery glow.

“It’s everything,” Emma breathed, her eyes flicking between Killian’s and his lips, visible in the darkness because of their ability to see in low lights. Killian swallowed and his mouth twitched, the corners tugging into a small smile. He licked them quickly, leaning forward to offer her a kiss, but Emma pulled away and he frowned, confused.

Emma stepped back, untangling their hands, and in one swift motion, she lifted her shirt up and over her head. Killian felt a different kind of energy surge through him, more than just arousal as Emma undressed, a collection of feelings that set his nerve endings on fire and made panic set into his bones.

“Emma, what are you doing?” he asked nervously, fully aware of the only reason werewolves took off their clothes in the woods. He knew enough about werewolf lore to know that if they were discovered right now, he wouldn’t be able to talk his way out of any punishment.

“I want you to see me,” Emma told him softly, tossing the last remnants of her clothing aside and standing in front of him gloriously nude. Her nipples peaked in the night air, pebbling into hard nubs atop the fleshy mounds of her breasts and causing his loins to stir.

“I can’t,” Killian turned away, clenching his jaw tightly and exhaling hard into his hand that covered his mouth. He hadn’t realised what Emma meant until that second - her shift. “It’s...I can’t let you. If anyone finds out-”

Emma snorted a laugh through her nose and walked towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder and encouraging him to turn and face her once more. “They won’t,” she offered lightly. “Killian, I want to show you this part of me.”

“Emma,” he ground out through clenched teeth, pinching his eyes closed almost painfully. He could smell her change coming, could sense the shift of bones and muscle about to happen, the electricity flowing through her hand and into his, like an open current.

Their connection was something special, almost like twins in nature, where Killian could feel everything about Emma’s change at the same time she could, but what was even more unnerving was the way he was desperately attempting to halt his own change at the same time. Killian’s inner wolf howled to be free, clawing at his insides, yearning to join his soul mate in their true, free form.

“It’s okay,” Emma soothed, running her hand over the sweat of his brow, calming him instantly. Killian exhaled hard, eyes tightly closed, and his face twisted with a mixture of pain and the resistance to join her. Emma leaned forward, pressing her lips to his cheek only briefly before stepping back and letting their hands fall apart. “I want this,” she murmured, offering him a smile he couldn’t see as her shift ravaged her body.

When Killian opened his eyes, he was not met with the usual hazel green hues of Emma that he could get lost in for hours, but was staring out into the darkness of the forest. A soft whine alerted him, and he looked down, the dirt lightly disturbed by the huge grey and red she-wolf sitting at his feet. Even as a wolf Emma was beautiful, and Killian’s breath was taken from him, the softness behind her almond shaped eyes warming his heart.

“Emma, you could get into real trouble. You shouldn’t have done this,” Killian admonished weakly, finally relenting to her will.

Emma cocked her head to the side, her maw slightly ajar, halting its panting, and her ears pricked on her head. She watched him intently like a dog focused on a ball about to be thrown, and when Killian reached for the buttons of his shirt, she jumped back to her feet, her tail curled over her back where it began brushing her spine in a slowly increasing rhythm.

“Forever, right?” Killian arched a brow at her, finally pulling the edges of the shirt open and pulling his arms free. He tossed the material her way, smirking when she hopped out of the way with a playfully growl. “Just so you know, and I’m only saying this because I know you can’t argue back right now, you are buying breakfast,” Killian teased, pulling his belt open and feeling the ease in his muscles as his body surrendered to the beginning of his change.

Emma’s muzzle hung open once more, her happy dog smile lighting up her eyes when she realised he was about to change. When Killian was fully naked in front of her, his clothes a discarded mess of jeans and leather boots, Emma gave him one final whimper of encouragement before tearing off into the night, her feet skidding against the dried leaves under her paws as she swerved to avoid his legs.

“Wait!” Killian called out after her, twisting his body to watch her go. The sound of breaking branches echoed from the tree line, growing more and more distant, the sound indistinguishable from the creaking of his bones. Killian let out a cry and fell to his knees, falling forward onto his hands and clawing at the ground with a grunt. It was not advisable to fight one's change, he had always been told not to, and now the pain tearing through his body was a testament to why. “One of these days, I’ll stop chasing after this she-wolf,” he growled to himself, the syllables of his last words stretching out and turning into a full blown howl when his transformation was complete.

Emma stopped running as soon as she heard the howl, a quick exhale leaving remnants of condensation in the air in front of her nose and she spun on her heels to face the direction she had cantered from. The leather pad twitched at the end of her muzzle, desperate to find the scent of Killian in the non-existent breeze, the still of the forest offering him the perfect camouflage and the absence of wind the perfect opportunity to stalk her. Emma’s canine heart pounded thrice as fast in her chest, eyes flitting around the trees to try and guess the direction he would appear from.

She was tense, no doubt about it. Suddenly she was the prey, a feeling she had never experienced before, and the hackles on the back of her neck sprang to attention. Her ears swiveled on her head, twisting this way and that, trying to find a single indication of Killian’s presence nearby. Again she tilted her head back, inhaling hard into the night, but was met with nothing but the approaching rain and the damp, forest floor.

She froze, holding her breath, her eyes wide in an attempt to let in as much of the little light that was in the forest that night. She saw nothing, her paws flexing in the detritus in anticipation of running, her tail hanging low between her legs. She was deflated. She thought Killian would follow her, she thought he would be at her side and for a second, she missed his contact, whining into the night.

A twig snapped behind her and Emma turned instantly, staring intently into the bushes behind her. Every hair on her body stood on end and she couldn’t hear anything but the pounding of her blood. The shape of her ears funneled in the noises of the night, but it wasn’t until she saw the glow of blue between the dark green leaves that she shifted her weight backward and her tail began to wag. It brushed her hocks, and she stamped her paws forward in a playful bow gesture, enticing the blue eyed shadow out of his hiding place to join her.

Killian emerged slowly, the bushes snagging against his fur, his ears flattened to the top of his broad wolf skull as he pushed his muzzle through the prickly branches. Emma made a high pitched yelp, spinning on the spot in excitement of his arrival, glad to finally see him. He approached her cautiously, fur puffed out and ears erect on his head, his bush-like tail laying over his back in a tight curl. Emma halted her spin, meeting him with a puppy like submission, licking at his maw and pawing at his face in eagerness, loving his masculine demeanor as he let her.

There seemed to be a switch in roles; Killian suddenly became protective and dominant over her. Maybe it was their connection, maybe it was something else, but Emma felt helpless against him and rolled onto her back at his paws, tail tucked between her legs where it swiped to and fro over her hairless belly. Killian sniffed at her, avoiding her pawing with a dodge each time she tried to press her foot to his muzzle, until Emma suddenly slipped out from under him and sprang to her feet once more. Killian flinched back, slightly confused by her sudden innocent nature, but he didn’t have time to react before Emma turned and high tailed it back through the trees in the direction she had come from.

Killian took off after her, a low growl tumbling from his throat as he pounded the earth, newly formed branches snapping under the weight of his body as he forced his bulk through the narrow brush. A squeak tore through the forest, close by he could tell, and with a wolfish grin he increased his speed towards their discarded clothes. When he burst through the tree line Emma was waiting, her tail flying from left to right and her head shaking from side to side. In her mouth, she had one of the toys he had won her from the fair, the squeak inside of its soft, filled belly igniting the playfulness inside of her as if she were a puppy.

Emma closed her jaws around the toy, again and again, the high pitched squeaker piercing his eardrums everytime she chewed on it and growled at the toy in response. Killian inched forward, his own tail wagging furiously as he attempted to nip at the toy in her jaws, carefully teasing the leg of the fluffy, blue bear away from her muzzle with a gentle pull. Emma growled but there was no malice behind her tone, pulling the toy away from his reach just enough that he attempted to acquire it once more.

It was a game, a silly game that only domesticated dogs played, but somehow, under the cover of darkness, two fully grown werewolves had entered into a game of tug-o-war with a soft toy neither of them really wanted. It wasn’t about the toy, it was about having fun, Killian’s final acceptance to embrace his wolfish nature for more than just running to relieve stress. Emma wanted him to be free, hold onto his true nature and stop fighting what they both already knew.

Two halves of the same moon may never meet, but they will always fit together perfectly to make a whole.

Whilst Emma was distracted by the hoot of an owl, Killian managed to grab the toy, the squeaker shrieking under protest but soon fizzling away as his powerful canine popped the thin, plastic shell. Emma pulled, the muscles in her neck tensing under the strain, but Killian did not let go, a low growl rumbling in his throat as he declared to her that the toy was his. Emma growled back, her feet digging into the leaf littered floor as she pulled back, her equal size and impressive strength moving him with her.

Killian pulled even harder, moving around her in an attempt to twist it from her jaws, but Emma would not yield, her head turning unnaturally and her body soon following to straighten up. They were at an impasse for a few seconds, blue eyes staring into green, grunts of exertion through half muffled noses filling the air between them before, with one last tug, Emma managed to tear the toy in two, and paraded around with the head of the bear between her teeth.

Killian sat and dropped his half, white stuffing fibers stuck to his tongue. He shook his head, twitching it to the side as his tongue rolled in waves to eject the offending material from his mouth, his eyes trained on Emma who had stopped to mock him with a wolfish grin. She had dropped the decapitated head of the bear and was pacing towards him determinedly, and if Killian didn’t know better he would say she was swaying her hips in an attempt to seduce him.

When she reached him, her nose touching his and pushing against his face, he reared up onto his back legs like a begging dog and lost his balance, falling back against the tree behind him with a low groan. He shook it off, slouched against the rough bark when an all too human cry of anguish filled his ears, and he looked forward again to see Emma mid shift.

Killian was too late to look away; he had seen too much. Paws became hands, fingers long and delicate and Emma’s tail disappeared to reveal the soft, white curve of her behind. She cried out again and Killian felt a pull, as if an invisible thread had been tugged on and when she sank to the ground on all fours as human once more, Killian felt his own body change.

There was no pain with his shift, only amazement, and awe at the woman in front of him who had made sure he would watch her this time. Emma had made sure he could see, made sure he was distracted enough with their frivolous game that he would never see it coming until it was too late, and he was gazing upon the most intimate parts of her. And there was no taking it back now, the gnarled bark on the tree digging into his human spine going unnoticed as Emma looked over to him with a smirk.

“Forever,” she said softly, reiterating his earlier words before she sank to the forest floor exhausted.

--

The morning was cool, a light covering of fog hanging in the air, slowly disappearing as the morning sun grew hotter, evaporating it from existence. Emma walked along the sidewalk with a definite spring in her step, her newly acquired hoodie hanging off of one shoulder and her hair tied into a loose ponytail to the side. She was sure Killian wouldn’t mind her borrowing a few clothes, especially seeing as by the time he stirred, she would have returned with an aforementioned breakfast.

There were few people around at this time of the morning. Emma had always been an early riser, unless especially exhausted, and she had discovered a new found affinity for people watching. Humans were fascinating, barely awake themselves, and yet able to function from muscle memory alone as they made their way to their places of work under the thrall of tiredness. It felt good to be amongst them, like one of them, blending into a society that knew no more than she would allow - something Emma had never been afforded as a Misthaven wolf before.

The Chronicle was abundantly clear when it came to affairs of humanity. To protect all werewolf kind, living with or near humans was discouraged, lest their true identity become a revelation. There had never been a werewolf revealed to humanity, not in Emma’s entire bloodline, but it was the fear of discovery that kept many of the werewolves in her community petrified of even gazing upon a human. They were nothing to wolves, and as insignificant as the insects that inhabited the world.

If wolves never bothered humans, humans would never know.

Emma rounded the final corner on her way to the diner Killian had told her about, the scent of the freshly raised sweet pastry dough filling her nostrils. Killian had given her very quick instructions, but Emma was sure she could have still followed her nose and would have had no problem finding the place. The entire block was filled with a sweet smelling sugary aroma that was so enticing she didn’t notice the musky scent of another wolf until it was too late.

Two huge hands grabbed her, pulling her sideways into an alleyway that was darkened by shadows and a dead-end brick wall. One hand held her still, pinning her to the wall whilst the other clamped over her mouth to stop her from calling out. Emma’s back hit the rough brickwork with a thud, the air leaving her lungs on a squeal into the wolves hand that smelled salty and weathered against her face, her eyes pinched closed as she waited for an attack that never came.

“Shh, Emma, it’s me,” the wolf whispered, his body leaning into hers as he cast a quick glance to the sidewalk in case anyone had noticed him grab her. Emma recognised the voice instantly, the dulcet Irish twinge behind his words easily distinguishable from any accent she had ever heard. She peeled her eyes open and shook his hand from her face, huffing a little as she pushed against his weight.

“Graham,” Emma spat, her anger immediately evident. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you found me,” she groaned, straightening up the oversized hoodie she was wearing.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Graham assured her softly, taking a step back. “Or Killian,” he added nervously. Emma’s eyes widened and the hues darkened a little with her rage.

“How do you…” she began suspiciously, but Graham stopped her.

“I’ve been following you all week,” he admitted. “Your father sent me to bring you home.”

“I’m not going home,” Emma said defiantly, shifting her weight onto one hip and crossing her arms over her chest. “You can tell my father that. And stay away from Killian, he’s done nothing wrong.”

“Emma, this is serious,” Graham pleaded. “Your father gave me strict instructions to bring you home and to kill the wolf you were cavorting with.” Emma stared at him for a second, the muscle in her jaw twitching and her lip curling into a snarl. “He is very angry.”

“Of course he is,” Emma snarled, whipping her hair over her shoulder. In the tussle, it had come loose and was now a knotty mess of unbrushed blonde tendrils covering her shoulders. “His little princess has her own mind and he doesn’t like it, but Killian doesn’t even know who I am, so leave him out of this.”

“Emma, please,” Graham implored, rolling his eyes. Emma was stubborn, just like her mother, and sometimes he was irritated by her younger sibling act as much as she was annoyed by the way he acted like her big brother. “I’m not trying to argue here…”

“Good. Conversation over,” Emma snapped, heading back towards the entrance to the alleyway.

“Wait!” Graham lunged out and grabbed her elbow, quickly pulling her to a halt. “This isn’t about you,” he quipped angrily, grinding his teeth together. “God, you are still so…”

“Don’t say it,” Emma warned him, pointing a menacing finger in his direction. He used to call her selfish all the time as pups because Emma was raised with a sense of entitlement that she hadn’t realised was unbecoming until her wolf day, and Graham had never let her forget how much of a princess she had acted. She hated him for it, because even though they had matured, he had never outgrown his jibe. “I can kick your ass now. I’m not a little pup anymore. You can’t bully me and you most certainly cannot convince me to return to Misthaven.”

When they were pups, Graham had taken it upon himself to torment Emma with his larger than average size and strength, defeating her in every game they played. It didn’t help that David regularly pitted them against each other in practice bouts until Emma finally worked out how to outsmart him, using her cunning skills to defeat him, despite his size. In a way, it had made her an impressive fighter, but it was at the cost of her ego that Graham had relentlessly crushed each and every time she was beat.

“Just listen to me, will you?” Graham snapped, clenching his fist in frustration. “Do you want to hear what I have to say, or not?”

Emma studied his expression, the fatigue etched across his features. Dark grey half circles sat under each of his eyes, the crows feet at their corners making him look much older than she knew he was. Tiny white hairs had sprouted from his browline and peppered his sideburns, the rugged growth on his chin unkempt and messier than usual. It had been a while since Emma had simply looked upon the wolf she loved as a brother, but something was clearly weighing heavy on his mind and manifesting itself in his weary appearance.

She relaxed a little, letting out a heavy sigh when he looked at her with pleading eyes. “I’m listening.”

“Good,” Graham exhaled with relief. “I need your help.”

--

The diner was surprisingly crowded for the early hours, and Emma suspected it was because of the delectable pastries. There was a long queue, so Graham had offered to grab them coffees and breakfast whilst Emma took a seat. She had calmed down somewhat after realising Graham wasn’t here to exact her father's orders, and when he had asked for her help, she was a little concerned.

Graham was a beta. He didn’t need help, and she was sure the last person he would need it from was her. She was nobody, not yet, not until they were married. If they were married, which if Emma had anything to say about it, would be never. Her connection with Killian was so intrinsic, she couldn’t imagine herself with anyone else, and if that meant she had to die to fight for her freedom to marry for love, she would.

The clatter of plates made her jump suddenly, and everyone in the diner looked to the bar area where a waitress had dropped a whole stack. As she hurried off, red faced and embarrassed beyond comprehension, Emma noted the other seated diners as they resumed their activities. There were four other people in the diner that morning, eating in - two men and two women - and Emma made a mental note of them and their physical attributes just in case there was any trouble.

Two of the men were dining together, suited and booted and both chatting into an earpiece whilst ignoring their company. There was a blonde haired woman typing away on a laptop, huffing at herself as she slammed her finger down on the delete key time and time again. The other woman was seated at the back of the restaurant, with long, dark hair and a pale complexion, unable to hide the glow emanating from her skin. She was smiling to herself, reading a thick paged magazine that lay out before her, and Emma noticed the faintest hint of increased hormones in her scent. If she didn’t already know, the woman was pregnant, but maybe that’s why she was smiling so broadly.

“I got you one of those disgustingly sweet pastries you like so much,” Graham announced, interrupting her from people-watching. He placed the small round white plate in front of her, the still warm bear claw almost making her drool.

“Thank you,” Emma said with a tight lipped smile, taking the mug of steaming coffee out of his hands so he could sit opposite her at the small square table. The whole restaurant looked more like somebody's house, the casual placement of a few well worn couches and a bookshelf near a disused open fire making it seem more homely.

Graham fidgeted in his seat, tugging at his shirt like it had twisted out of place, and shuffling his chair under the table even more. Emma watched him with a narrowed gaze, confused by his actions that were decidedly more human. “Are you okay?” She asked gently. “You’re acting weird.”

“Am I?” Graham asked nervously, his voice an octave higher than before.

“Yes,” Emma affirmed calmly. “Very weird.”

Graham cleared his throat, finally content with the position he had found most comfortable, and he covered his face with both of his hands. It was like he was trying to find the courage she knew he already had to tell her something, so she knew it had to be serious. Graham was nervous, but she could smell something other than fear on him - she just didn’t know what it was.

“You said you needed my help,” Emma prompted, trying to break the tension between them. She reached for the small bowl of sugar cubes in the center of the table and grabbed one, letting it fall into the blackness of her coffee with a plop.

“Yes,” Graham agreed with a nod before pausing. His short answer confused Emma, and she gave him a twisted look.

“Graham, will you quit acting so human and just tell me what’s going on?” Emma told him firmly. “I’ve never seen you so rattled,” she noted, lifting her mug to her lips and taking a sip of the acrid liquid inside. She winced at the taste, returning the porcelain to the table and reaching for a creamer in a second ramekin. She didn’t normally take cream, but the coffee was a little too strong without its sweetness.

“Okay,” Graham blurted, shuffling forward even more and leaning forward on his elbows. He beckoned her nearer with a crooked finger and Emma leaned towards him. “I can’t marry you,” Graham stated obviously and Emma fell back against her chair with a huff.

“I could have told you that,” she sighed.

“No,” Graham shook his head quickly. “I mean, I’m engaged to another.”

Emma’s bottom jaw dropped open and she almost knocked her coffee from the table, scandalized by his confession. “Who?” She demanded curtly, and before he even had time to respond, she gasped loudly with realisation. “My father doesn’t know, does he?”

Graham looked at her with a darkened stare. “You think I would still be alive if he did?”

Emma gave him a knowing look. “So, who is it?” Emma demanded a second time, swiping her mug up and taking another gulp of coffee. “Which pack?” She smacked her lips together, wiping them with the back of her hand.

“She doesn't belong to any pack,” Graham shrugged, casting a sideways glance to a man who brushed past them a bit closer than he would have liked. Emma matched his shrug and arched her back against the chair, the wooden legs creaking a little.

“A loner?” Emma asked nonchalantly. “I get that appeal,” she smirked, recalling the small smile on Killian’s face as he had slumbered beside her the night before.

Loners were pureblood wolves who had no pack and were usually ignored by others. They were often without a pack because of upheaval or conflict that had meant the end of any community they had known. Being a loner was a choice, not a punishment, and as such, they were permitted to interact with other purebloods freely. The Chronicle was indifferent to lone wolves, and in more recent times it had become acceptable that they join an established pack through marriage. The only aspect of interaction frowned upon was illegitimate children, which would result in exile for both parents.

Graham lowered his head and looked up at her sheepishly. “Not exactly. She’s human.”

Emma kicked the underside of the table as she jumped, half in shock and half in disbelief. She ignored the pain throbbing through her knee, eyes fixed on Graham’s for any sign that he was joking. He had to be. The beta of Misthaven was a force, one of the strongest wolves she knew. He was honest, dedicated and loyal to his pack and werewolf lore. He was not engaged to a human, was he?

“I don’t know what to say,” Emma swallowed, her face pale with shock. “I mean...” she stuttered, exhaling hard, her brow furrowing with thought.

“I know this is a lot to take in,” Graham whispered across the table when a few of the people in the nearby queue turned to look at what had caused the echoing bang of bone against wood.

“How long?” Emma asked eagerly. “How long have you...you know?” She made a weird gesture with her hands, not entirely sure what it was herself. There were no anatomical differences between wolves in human form and humans, so Emma attributed her odd behaviour to shock. Yeah, that was it. She was still in shock. Graham quirked an eyebrow.

“Going on three years.” He hadn't even finished his sentence before he winced in anticipation of Emma’s reaction.

“THREE!” She almost yelled and the entire diner paused and looked in her direction. Graham grabbed her arm, holding her down when she attempted to leap to her feet, a strange child-like chuckle escaping her lips at this new found information. “How? I mean, bravo for pulling it off,” she laughed, grinning broadly. “Really, I had no idea, and you’re still breathing so obviously my father doesn’t either…”

“And he never can,” Graham interrupted her rant, gripping her arm tighter and catching her gaze. His face was stoney, a real sense of panic plastered across his features that sobered Emma instantly. She calmed, her smile fading.

“There is more isn’t there?” Emma asked him coolly.

Graham released her arm, sitting back in the chair that groaned under his hefty weight. He licked his lips nervously, running a hand through his hair slowly as if he were signaling someone with a secret gesture.

Out of the corner of her eye, Emma watched as the lady with long, dark brown hair got to her feet, a very visible bump on display now that she was on her feet. She gathered up her things, tucking the magazine into her satchel and pushing her chair back under the table. The sound of wood on wood vibrated through the diner and Graham turned red, his face blushing and the scent of his sweat invading Emma’s nostrils. He didn’t say anything else, and Emma simply watched him squirm with a confused expression.

That was until the pregnant lady appeared at his side, bag slung loosely over one shoulder and gripped by one hand, drawing Emma’s attention. She watched in fascination as the woman’s other hand snaked its way over Graham’s shoulder as he wrapped an arm around her slender figure. He planted his hand firmly on the outside of her heavily pregnant belly, fingers splayed protectively over the unborn child, as he looked back to meet Emma’s wide eyes.

“Emma, this is Ruby,” he murmured, the pregnant brunette placing her hand over his on her stomach.

“Hi,” Ruby smiled brightly, which confused Emma even more. Did she know what she was? “Nice to finally meet you.”

[the-excursion]

Fictober #21

Prompt: “Impressive, truly.”

Original Fiction

Story: Vibes/Faded

Nicolette was moving through a large group of club goers dancing to music. She had come to Saotharlainne to speak to a few important people, fellow crime bosses and less than honest business owners. The group had reserved the VIP area for this meeting. She briskly made her way up to the top level of the in-orbit nightclub. After taking an elevator up she was let into the VIP area by NNO, the widget manning the floor. She found a seat off to the side and made herself comfortable. Nicolette gave a short nod to the other attendees. Nicolette’s young appearance awarded her demeaning stares. The group talked business amongst each other while ignoring Nicolette. She kept quiet as she stayed in her corner.

“Yeah, I do think creating a joint transportation network would be useful,” one of the crime bosses said as he sipped on a drink.

“Hold up why is this little kid here?” one of the others said under his breath with a glance to Nicolette. He waved to the group as he broke off and walked towards Nicolette. “Hey kiddo what are you doing here? Did you get lost?” he asked her. Nicolette sighed before locking eyes with him. He was now frozen in place unable to move. Small flowers started to grow from her sleeve.

“I’m not one to speak down to,” Nicolette said as she made vines and had them wrap around his throat. She started to choke him using the vines. His face slowly started turning purple. Everyone watched on in either interest or fear.

Chrysa was with Zinni sitting on one of the reserved booths in the club by the bar. They decided to take a load off and watch the patrons dance and enjoy themselves. Chrysa propped her feet up on the table while Zinni sat with her head in her hand leaned against the table as the two shared relaxed smiles.

“Ever since you’ve hung out with Willow, we’ve been getting more breaks to go out together. I’m glad she took out that thorn from your side,” Zinni joked.

“Hm not only, Dax. There’s Lexis and Nerium who are out there living their lives to the fullest. It was just my time to realize we can do that too,” Chrysa said with a smile. Suddenly, an alert began to flash on Chrysa’s watch which made the girls sit up. “It’s NNO on the VIP level in one of the rooms,” the two quickly stood and dashed into the elevator. They soon jogged out and were met with NNO who directed the two to the specific room. To be sure to grab the attention of everyone in the room, Chrysa kicked the door open with a loud slam. “What the hell is going on in here!?” She exclaimed until her eyes suddenly grew wide at the sight in front of her while Zinni put her hand to her mouth.

Nicolette let go of the man’s throat. “Who are you storming into rooms like that?” Nicolette said as she retracted her vines. Chrysa shook her head and gave a smug grin.

“You’re really going to ask me who I am in my own place?” She responded, quickly regaining her composure.

“Chrysa chill,” Zinni warned.

“We own the place. And if you’re going to be making a mess of it you better be willing to pay for it as well. I just got this place finished, damn it,” Chrysa remarked. “This meeting is adjourned. If you’re not going to respect the roof you’re under then get out,” she continued as she shot a glare at the others in the room. Nicolette knelt down by the man.

“Now you know who to thank for being alive,” Nicolette said to the man as she glanced at Chrysa. She stood up and started walking out of the room. The others soon filing out of the room as well. Chrysa stubbornly held the door open for them as she watched them with a raised brow until they all left and she closed the door to the room. Zinni and Chrysa then glanced at each other and finally took a breath.

“Thanks, NNO,” Chrysa said as she gave him a pat on the back. He only gave a nod and reentered the room to clean it back up.

“Chrysa.. did you see that?” Zinni asked in an unsure tone.

“So you saw it too..” Chrysa said in a hushed voice.

“What are you gonna do? Do you really think…?” Zinni cut her own thought in disbelief.

“As impossible and unlikely as it is, there’s no harm in making sure. Let’s see if we can catch her,” Chrysa said with a confident smile before she jogged to the elevator with Zinni. Chrysa sent a message to the widgets and Olea to keep an eye on things while the two went off.

Nicolette was on her way out of the club walking towards the hangar bay before she heard someone trying to get her attention.

“Hey, hold up,” Chrysa called as she and Zinni jogged after her. Nicolette turned around.

“Didn’t you want me to leave,” she said.

“Yeah leave the room. Not necessarily leave the place, unless you have a curfew.. if that’s still a thing..? Well you can’t have one if you’re out here picking fights. Where’re you supposed to be, kid?” Chrysa asked with a tilt of her head as they exited the club. Nicolette clenched her fists before taking a breath and calming herself down.

“You can trust me when I say I am definitely much older than you. The reason why I almost killed that last guy was because he referred to me as a kid. So, I’d prefer it if you refrain from that,” Nicolette said as she looked at Chrysa and Zinni. The two glanced at each other before looking back to Nicolette again.

“Sure, can’t judge based on appearance,” Chrysa said as she scratched her head. Zinni put her hand to Chrysa’s shoulder and shook her head.

“Look we’ll get to the point here. We saw how you, well, almost killed that guy and we.. just weren’t sure of what we saw exactly,” Zinni explained. “Now, we won’t get you in trouble or anything. And we may just sound crazy if you’re not what we’re thinking. Uh how do I say this-?”

“Are you part Fralseg?” Chrysa quickly came in.

Nicolette gave a short chuckle.

“Hmm, no I’m not. I am quite possibly the last breathing full blooded Fralseg. Why do you ask?” Chrysa went through a mix of emotions throughout Nicolette’s sentence.

“What- how- how is this possible? The last one was-” Chrysa stopped herself as she bit her lip and shook her head. “How are you alive?”

“Some dumb bitch turned me into a Xae 500 years ago, now I can’t die,” Nicolette said as she looked at her nails. Chrysa’s brows furrowed as she frowned.

“Are you kidding me? You’re lucky to be alive as a full Fralseg! You’re a part of something huge and important,” She said, clenching her fists at her sides.

“What am I a part of? I am cursed to live in a universe where my entire race has been decimated forever,” Nicolette said to her with a grimace.

“That’s not true!” Chrysa frustratedly shot back. Suddenly, the petals of the flower Zinni wore in her hair began to wilt and fall from the flower. Zinni caught them and looked at Chrysa with wide eyes.

“So, you're one of the mutts. A descendant of our race that managed to get our gift? So what? One day you’ll just die too,” Nicolette said as she looked off to the side. She now looked sad. Chrysa was taken aback by her harsh words.

“That may be true, but you can bet your ass that won’t be anytime soon. A mutt? Yeah thanks, I’ve been fighting my way through like one all my life. I may not be full blooded but what counts is how I feel about it. And I still feel like I’m full blooded in here,” she said in a broken voice as she put her fist to her chest. “What you did in there was amazing. Impressive, truly. But how you perceive the world makes me sick. Here I thought I had a chance. But life’s a bitch isn’t it. You think you finally find someone like you…” Chrysa trailed off as she shook her head in disgust.

“Chrysa hold on, maybe you’re taking it too personally,” Zinni came in.

“This is personal to me. Forget I said anything. Get out of here, pure bred,” Chrysa said as she shrugged Zinni’s hand away. She swiftly brought the flower back to life on Zinni’s hair with a short wave of her hand before walking back into the club. Zinni watched Chrysa leave before turning back to Nicolette.

“I’m sure you’ve been through stuff. But so has she. You get that, right?” Zinni tried. Nicolette looked back at Zinni.

“I get it, but she came to me. I don't know if she's allowed to come at me then storm off when I don't say what she wants to hear, but I'm willing to listen,” Nicolette explained.

“I think she just had high hopes upon first impression. But first impressions aren’t always the most accurate. I’m Zinni by the way,” she said with a wink as she shook Nicolette’s hand. “I’m sure she’d love to get to know you. You realize you two are the only ones in the galaxy with these powers. Best to take advantage of that. I’ll talk her into coming back out here.” She gave a short wave before jogging back into the club. Nicolette gave a nod as she stood to the side.

[spotty-lion]

Writing prompt: “You’re bleeding all over my carpet.”

Seeing as Jack is now a canon werewolf, have this story about how he was bitten.

There wasa chill in the air on the night that it all happened. It was dark and cold,just shy of a rainstorm, with wind battering at the branches of the dead trees,and howls from amongst the forest close by. Jack was fifteen at this point intime and he was in his room, crying.

‘Whycan’t she just accept it?’ he muttered to himself, ‘why can’t they both acceptit?’ He was in such a state because his parents, in the room across from him,didn’t call him by the right name, still thought he was their “preciouslittle baby girl”. But he wasn’t. And he didn’t think he ever had been.

He hadbeen crying since midnight and it was two in the morning now. He wiped hisitchy eyes on the back of his hand, and rested his head against the wall at theside of his bed. He saw that his window was open and shuffled over to shut it.

And thenhe looked out at the black forest in front of his room. He often thought therewere monsters roaming in its depths, amongst its branches and brambles. Heliked to take short walks under the overhang of the leaves when they were infull bloom, but in the winter it was a little bit more intimidating. Sharp,probing fingers carved from wood reaching out towards him, grabbing at hisshoulders and ripping his hair, trying to take him further into the depths oftheir world.

Hisparents didn’t like him going into the forest; they were worried that thewolves would get him. They didn’t have good relations with the wolves, notafter the incident that happened before Jack was born. He had heard thestories, seen the guns that his father kept locked away in the cupboard underthe stairs.

FrederickWolfwatcher was a prolific hunter. He made a living from the animals that heshot down, selling them for decoration and meat. His name was known all acrossthe land and he received many a request for numbers of deer or foxes or evenraccoons for the folk that couldn’t quite afford the price of a larger animal.But his most popular request was wolves from the forest that he and his wife,Rosemary, lived next to. Having the head of such a noble animal above one’smantelpiece was a sign of great wealth and power, whether the owner of thehouse had felled the animal or not.

And one night, fifteen years ago,Frederick had received such a request and was prowling the woods looking forhis quarry. There was a rustle in the bushes behind him and he swung aroundwith his gun raised, eyes peeled for movement. A low growl rumbled through theundergrowth towards the hunter’s feet and two glowing yellow eyes stared out athim. He took a few steps back, his gun raised and pointing in front of him.There was crushing silence for all of about six seconds, until a wolf - awerewolf, he found later - leapt out of the undergrowth with an echoing roar.Limbs grossly mixed between man and wolf reached towards him as the crookedfigure flew towards him through the air. And then there was the crack of a gunshotand a bullet crashed into the wolf’s chest and launched itself out of its backjust above the shoulder blade. The wolf fell to the ground, blood seeping outits chest and back, pathetic whimpering coming from its throat. Frederick stoodover the broken beast, breathing hard. 'That’s why no one fucks around withme,’ he spat at the wolf, whose life was slowly trickling out of it like theblood from the bullet holes.

Since that day, there had seemedto be a curse following the hunter; werewolves had scratched at his door,marking it with the three claw lines that warded away visitors. The symbol thatanyone who knew anything recognised as the werewolf’s curse, that theinhabitants of the house had greatly offended a pack of wolves. Other smallthings had happened, such as a missing cat, a few flowers soiled, small inconveniencesuntil that night, when Jack was looking out of his window.

He sighed and leant half way outof the window, breathing in the cool air as it nipped against his skin. Andthen he hoisted himself up onto the window shelf and put his leg out of thewindow to support him as he was about to drop down onto the ground below. Oncehis foot connected with the grass… that wasn’t grass… that was fur.

'Shit!’ he cried, but before hecould even think about dragging his leg back into the house, the wolf below himlet out a snarl and whipped its head up to grab his leg in its jaws. Bloodspurted out from his calf, where the teeth dug into his skin and muscle. AsJack yelled and tried to tug his leg out of the wolf’s jaw, the more the beastpulled back in a sickening game of tug-o-war. It took all of Jack’s strength tofinally tumble back into his bedroom with a yelp. He looked back and saw thewolf loping back into the forest, grey fur shining blue in the moonlight.

Tears in his eyes, he staggeredinto his parent’s bedroom. 'Mum! Dad!’ he yelled.

His parents jerked awake and hismother switched on the light. His father looked at his son and his browsfurrowed. 'You’re bleeding all over my carpet,’ he grunted, rubbing his eyes ofsleep.

His mother got out of bed andwent over to sit Jack down on the chair in the corner of the room. She knelt downto look at the wound and gasped. 'Fred,’ she said, gravely, 'look.’

His father peered over and hisface turned sour. 'She’s infected,’ he spat, 'by those dirty, mangy beasts.’ He clenched his fist. 'Fucking mongrels.’

'How do you know?’ Jack said.

But his father wasn’t listening;he was muttering to himself about werewolves and how they were a taint of theearth, and how they had dared to harm his daughter.

His mother sighed. 'You can tellby the green colouring around the bite, on your skin, see?’ she said, pointingto the discoloured skin.

'Do we go to a doctor? Thehospital? So it doesn’t get infected?’

'No, the wound is alreadyinfected; I’ll clean it as best I can and dress it,’ his mother replied, 'thenyou’ll go back to bed and keep that window shut.’

And that’s exactly what she did.The wound sealed and scarred over in a matter of weeks and it thankfully didn’thinder Jack’s walking. He was terrified about what would happen on his firstfull moon and what his parents would do with him.

'But I won’t tell you about thatjust yet,’ a much older Jack said to his fiancé, 'reliving that night isscary… but I don’t quite regret it.’

'No?’ Ydris questioned, tiltinghis head.

'Nah, it’s just a part of who Iam now,’ he said, 'and why not have another reason for my parents to look at mewith disdain,’ he added with a dry chuckle.

The wizard smiled and kissed his fiancéon the forehead. 'Well, I wouldn’t have you any other way.’

[like-a-bag-of-potatoes]

Same As It Always Is - Part 3

A/N: Written for @spnbuddywriters Annoy the Characters Writing Challenge. Our prompt this time was to include ‘someone taking up two seats on public transport so she had to stand’ and to try and annoy our character as much as possible. This is the third and final part to this ‘mini series’.

Part One - by @hanny-writes-spn Part Two - by @melonshino

Characters: Dean x Reader (kind of), Sam.

Warnings: Language… I think that's it...

Wordcount: 2078

*not my GIF*

 Getting back to the motel you had decided that a cab was your best option, so you had ordered Dean to sit down while he waited. The ride had gone fairly okay, except he knocked himself in the head with the car door as he was climbing in, and he tripped as he got out. He managed to stay on his feet, but he was growing angrier by the second.

“You sit down and don't move a muscle,” you ordered as the two of you walked through the door to your room. Sam was looking at you like he wanted to know why Dean had a black eye and a large bump on his forehead. “Don't even ask,” you sighed, getting a beer from the fridge. Yes, it was still early in the day, but if you were gonna put up with Dean you needed something to keep you calm.

“So, I was thinking we might be dealing with a haunted or cursed object. I don't think a ghost would be able to move around like this if not attached to something,” Sam said, looking between you and Dean, both of you waiting for him to continue. “Everyone who has died are linked to the store in some way, owner, delivery driver, the ones who died before we got here was regulars.” Sam ticked them off on his fingers. “It all leads back to Same As It Never Was.” 

“But I didn't take anything from there, so it can't be haunted,” Dean chimed in. He looked so defeated where he sat, slouched down on the bed.  

“You touched a hell of a lot, though,” you pointed out, both brothers agreeing.

“So we’re going with cursed object.”

You and Dean started to comb through the inventory lists again, this time trying to add items to the buyers. You knew that Dean had fallen into a lot of antique instruments, but there was no way of knowing which one had delivered the curse. Sam was online trying to find a curse that could describe what Dean was suffering from, but with so many cursed items around the world it was damn near impossible. After an hour or so online, Sam put his time to better use and went out to find the materials he needed to make a curse-box. He still had the instructions from Bobby and he was fairly certain that he could make one.

You and Dean stayed back, hoping to find whatever it was that had cursed him. 

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” you asked as Dean stood from his seat, worried that he would hurt himself somehow.

“I'm going to the bathroom, if that's okay with you?” he bit back. You couldn't really blame him for being a bit short, you had all seen the outcome of this curse, and even if you didn't have a timeline on this yet, you were pretty sure this wasn't something you lived long with.

“Yeah…” you said, an apologetic look on your face. “Just… sit down.”

Dean rolled his eyes and let out a very audible sigh before turning around, just barely avoiding crashing into the open door, before disappearing into the bathroom.

You just shook your head at him, concentrating on the long list in front of you. You knew that the Item had to be in the shop, or else Dean wouldn't have came in contact with it, so you tried connecting the regular buyers to certain items, looking for something that overlapped. Problem was that several things from the first victims house had been left to the shop in her will, and the second victim had purchased a few of them. He had also left some items to the shop, and then the next buyer had purchased some of the same things… and so it went. In places like this it was normal to find a fair few collectors and certain items attracted many of them, so it wasn't uncommon to have an overlap like this. You were about to put your papers down when your eyes landed on something, your mind finally seeing a connection.

You got up from your chair calling Dean's name. “I think I got something.”

You were standing at the end of Dean's bed when you heard him flush the toilet, your eyes still glued to the paper as Dean emerged from the bathroom. You had no time to react when he stumbled in the doorstep, he tried to stay on his feet making him stagger towards you, losing his balance and taking you down with him. You landed with your back on the bed with a ‘uhmf’, Dean lying on top of you, his lips so close to yours you could feel his warm breath fanning over your face. Under different circumstances this might have been a rather enjoyable situation to find yourself in, but you had no time to waste now.

“I've narrowed it down to an old violin or a wooden flute,” you said, Dean still on top of you.

“It was the wooden flute,” he said excitedly. “I didn't touch the violin until after I had fallen over.”

“Well, then we know what it is.” A large smile on your face.

“I could kiss you right now,” Dean said, mirroring your smile.

Your heart started pounding in your chest at his words. It was silly really, knowing that he probably didn't mean it, but you had dreamt about kissing him for so long now that you couldn't help how your body reacted to him. “Not that that's not tempting at all, but if you kissed me right now, you would probably bite my lip of or something,” you said, trying not to sound too excited about the idea.

“After we get this curse off me then,” Dean said, winking at you before he started to climb off you.

It was hard to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, but you needed to stay focused for a little while longer, at least until Dean got rid of this curse.

**

For the next few hours the three of you were rushing around town trying to find everything you needed for a cleansing ritual. You and Dean went to the local spice shop to get some herbs and stuff while Sam worked on finishing the curse box and getting the flute. Most of the ingredients you found fairly easy, but for the ritual you needed to hold the flute over smoke from the same type of tree that it was made from. Lucky for you, there was good documentation that came with the flute, unlucky for you, it was made from something called African Blackwood, which wasn't exactly indigenous to America.

You and Dean headed for the botanical garden to try your luck. It was like knowing that he was about to get cured, Dean was now a little less clumsy. He was still stumbling over his legs and such, but there had been no blood in hours, which was kind of impressive. The garden was huge and beautiful, blooming flowers in every shapes and colors, massive trees and bushes everywhere, the smell of summer filling your noses. Dean spotted a map right at the entrance and both of you scanned the information to find what you were looking for. Before long you were standing in front of a large tree which, to you, looked like any other tree there.

“So what do we need? Leaves or wood?” you asked in a hushed voice. There was plenty of people all around you, a couple of guards not far away. You really didn't want to get arrested for maiming a tree in a botanical garden.

“Sam didn't say.”

“We better get a little of both then,” sou stated. “So, how do we do this?”

“If you get on my shoulders I think you’ll be able to reach the branches up there,” Dean suggested.

“No way in hell am I getting on your shoulders, you can barely stand on your own.”

Dean sent you a bitch-face that would have made his younger brother really proud. “I don't see that we have any other option here.”

You looked around, but Dean was right. If you managed to sneak in behind the tree you would be hidden from view and then be able to get what you needed without getting caught.

Dean crouched down so that you could climb up on his shoulders before he slowly rose to his feet. He was very wobbly, but also very careful, knowing what was at stake here. You got the leaves and got safely back on the ground and the two of you hurried to meet Sam at the cemetery.

“Why do we always have to be at a cemetery?… In the middle of the night I might add,” you shrugged as you caught up with Sam, who had gotten everything ready.

“Hallowed ground,” he said matter of factly.

“I know..” you sighed. “Still creeps me out a lot.”

Sam mixed everything up in a bowl, added the leaves and lit the whole thing with a match. You had never seen a black flame before, but you hardly had the time to dwell on the beauty of it now. The flame got an extra boost as Dean threw the flute on the fire, making sparks fly from it. Now all you had to do was wait until the flames died down and you could lock the thing in the curse box.

**

It was long after midnight when you all got back to the motel, everyone in a much lighter mood than you had been for the past few days. Normally you would have gotten in the car and started on your journey back to the bunker, but the Impala was at a local garage and wouldn't be ready until tomorrow at the earliest, so you would have to settle for another night in the shabby motel room.     

A customary, celebratory round of beers were had before any of you would even think about going to bed. Dean managed to spill some of his beer and for a second you were worried that the ritual had failed in some way, but Sam assured you that it could take a little while until he was all the way back to normal.

After a few more rounds, you made your way to the bathroom to get ready for bed, you changed out of your jeans and t-shirt and into a flannel pair of pajama pants (the Winchesters were starting to rub off on you) and a tank top, brushing your teeth and tying your hair up in a loose bun before heading for bed. Next up was Sam, almost sprinting to the bathroom to get ahead of Dean. 

“I'm gonna turn in,” you said, like that wasn't obvious.

“Hey. We made a deal earlier, remember?” Dean asked.

“What deal?” you asked, pretending not to know what he was talking about. Of course you remember, but you didn't expect him to. He had never shown any interest in you, at least not in that way, so there was no reason for him to do it now.

He was coming towards you in long, determined strides, stopping so close you could feel the heat from his body. You had lost all control of your body, you just stood there, paralyzed by the emerald green eyes that was looking into yours.

“Stop me if I'm crossing a line here,” he said softly, inching closer to you when he didn't get a response.

You had no intention on stopping him. This was it. The moment you had waited for. Finally getting to feel Dean's lips on yours. The universe had other plans though. Just as Dean was about to kiss you, Sam dropped something on the floor of the bathroom, a loud crash startling you both, making you bump your heads together.

“Fuck,” you said as the pain spread across your forehead. Dean looked about as disappointed as you felt, but whatever it was between you just a second ago, the moment had passed. You couldn't help but laugh at the whole thing. It wasn't funny, by any means, but it was pretty darn typical. Dean joined in on you laughter, he too figured that this was a fitting end to what had been a long and crappy case.

Maybe it just wasn't meant to be between the two of you.

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[jackblankhsh]

New Year Same Ol’ Shit

Old spymasters used to whisper about intentional sacrifices, low level info catchers killed for Kali in the hope she spared the world.  And spurious reasoning seemed to prove them right.  For every Bond wannabe bleeding to death in a Moroccan alley, drowning in Venetian streets, murdered mid-sex, the world lived another day.

Such thoughts come to mind considering the night ahead.  At my buddy Sid’s, the neighbors have painted their faces into colorful calavera, while they kill chickens for the orishas.  I offer them a bottle of rum from the freezer.  They take it gladly, and I wish them the best of luck.  

“Which rum you give them?” Sid asks.

I shrug, “Does it matter?”

Sid says, “Yeah, if you want the offering to mean anything.”

He checks the freezer for what’s missing.  Nodding he says, “That’ll do.”

“Since when do you believe in gods?”

He sighs, “Since we need all the help we can get.”

The sentiment seems shared by all this evening.  On the stroll to Mr. G’s we pass wild mummeries.  The street lamps have all been shot out.  Lighting the way are burning pyres covered in various birds.  Exsanguinations of goats run red rivers down the gutter.  Revelers in phantasmagorical maquillage dance to music blasting out of cars, houses, and nearby bars, a chaotic cacophony of mixed styles blending into a delightful mess.  The noise is meant to get the attention of the heavens; and some assist the effort by wearing ornate accoutrements:  decorative plastic eyewear, ridiculous elaborate hats, and fake flower leis.  Whatever may glance down from above will surely get an eye snagged on the sight below.  

A yellow muscle car comes screaming around a corner, the “driver” seated on the roof wearing Viking horns.  He opens his mouth to shout something, but the vehicle drifts into a parked pickup.  As the two cars disintegrate the “driver” is flung out into the darkness.  Everyone cheers.  No one checks on him, though a keen ear may’ve detected the sound of snapping branches… or bones.  Either he survived, or he belongs to the gods.  One more sacrifice to earn us a better tomorrow.

We stepped into Mr. G’s, and joined the worldwide effort, contributing our own sacrificial brain cells, aiming for a global googolplex.  

For whatever reason, the owner of Mr. G’s decided to hire a DJ, a young Puerto Rican with a neck tattoo, who plugged his laptop into the stereo system, and proceeded to run a playlist.  Sid, unable to stomach electronic music for more than thirty seconds, did his best to remain calm, but forty seconds in started lobbing empty shot glasses at the DJ.  The practice caught on, and Regulars eventually rained glasses at the DJ until he fled.  I took his laptop, appraised its value, but decided it would be safer to smash it out of existence lest he return.

#

Without prompting Reilly starts a story:

“Someone’s talkin’ like, ‘No one really knows when a new year starts.’  ’nd I’m like, ‘Okay, that’s interesting.’  Noddin’ Ima sippin’ muh beer, I realize ‘s a cup of piss.  Literal piss.”

“Literally,” I correct him.  Why I have no idea.

“You wanna finish my story?”

Shake my head, “Nope.”

“Right.  So liter-rally piss.  Happy?”

“Not typically.”

“I’m fucking telling a story,” Reilly says.

“Then finish it,” signaling for a round of shots.

Reilly takes a minute to remember his place, “So this jackhole is yammering about are-bit-tarry , dates.”

I suspect he meant arbitrary, however, I let that one slide.  GG pours us a few artillery shells, while Sid finishes rolling a joint.  She flashes a playful frown that says, “Really?  All out in the open?” to which Sid replies by blowing her kiss.  She catches it with one hand, rubs her vagina, and sashays to another waiting customer.

Reilly continues, “Sos he’s talkin’, while I’m like why I got dis piss?  Fogs is clearin’, but not fast enough.  I mean I might not’ve needed to be holding it for fuck’s sake.  Then I ‘member Fake Dave was in the bathroom.”

“The Fake Dave?” I ask, “The real Fake Dave?”

“The one and only,” Reilly nods.

Sid taps me on the shoulder.  Laws being what they are, it’s necessary to go outside to smoke.

I say, “Hold that thought Reilly.”

“For a beer I might.”

Oddly enough, I don’t feel a need to buy the end of the story.  On the way out I can hear Reilly wrapping things up.  Tossing words to any ear willing to hear he sits basically talking to himself.

#

Pool balls collide, cracking like thunder.  The jukebox sings as if the seventies are alive and well; that era of rock still reigns supreme.  A delivery boy arrives carrying several pizzas, and is promptly hogtied, and thrown in the basement – no one feels like paying.  Several of the senior lady-regulars slip off to have their way with him, while the rest of us pound beers, and gorge on greasy pizza.  A few folks sing along with the jukebox, though they can’t quite remember the lyrics:

“A dull lesson sent pumps into a vat With a boulder for a shoulder Feeling kind and colder, I tripped that Mary go down With her cock teasing, wheezing, and sneezing {indecipherable} She was! Blinded by the light, wrapped up like a douche In the middle of the fight. Blinded by the right, warped up like a douche In the riddle of the night...”

And they keep singing even after the song is over.  Bobby and Jennifer decide now is as good a time as any to go over the details of their custody battle, while their kids desperately focus on the television showing New York’s countdown.  No illusion about their future, I buy the kids thimbles of whiskey.  Sid disappears with GG, and a half hour later the two come back wearing each other’s t-shirts, her tits turning the Motörhead logo into something three double d; only I know better than to make stupid jokes.  Mainly because they think no one’s ever seen the two vanish to her battered GTO for a quickie.  The secrecy is part of the romance.  

Ol’ Davy shouts, “Let the booze flow like blood refilling soldiers in the war against sobriety.”

A few cheer the old poet, “Sláinte, Davy.”  He’ll never finish the piece, though he’ll cover a bar napkin in inky murmurs.  

It could be any Friday, Saturday, or Tuesday.  The only difference is that at midnight silence descends.  The septuagenarians emerge from their basement orgy with the bewildered delivery boy.  The jukebox karaoke crowd halts their performance.  Bob and Jennifer cease fire.  Their kids start the countdown, and soon the whole bar is one voice, “Five, four, three, two…” and as the new year approaches I walk outside with a pint.  A brief ovation comes muffled through the door.  

Lighting a cigarette I can see the sacrificial pyres are now just embers.  The red rivers no longer flow, though the stains remain.  Even the wreckage from the ghost driven car/catapult vanished at some point.  The revelers though, they still dot the streets, shooting fireworks into the sky, adding temporary stars to the night.  Brief constellations made of Roman candle ammo offer a new astrology – the promise of a new day.  And shuffling out of the dark is a figure in a horned Viking hat.  He looks dazed, but not confused.  His eyes are set on the door to Mr. G’s.  What didn’t kill him made him thirsty, a taste of madness is never enough – it’s time to glut on insanity.  

Holding the door open I say, “Glad to see you made it.”

“Me too.”

So a new year begins.