#sincere apologies.. i did put a reminder but i was rushing an assignment over the weekend that i forgot

[candydos]

F.O.N.A.A! / Game-On!

https://mega.nz/file/4S4CjSJa#NSyazwrkmYe89wvsf4LhFL47Jz46fV-7sHRl1JfQM7U

(if that doesn't work, try https://drive.google.com/file/d/18oFSEGrwFfX_K7lHlItNwaK312spAn4G/view?usp=sharing)

[takingcourage]

A Stroke of Serendipity

Pairing: Luke Harper x MC

Word Count: 1,850

Rating/Warnings: General; no warnings

Summary: During her first term at university, Helena discovers that there’s more to her housemate than meets the eye. 

Note: I'm not usually one to write AUs, but @choicesficwriterscreations​ ’s post about Silly Love Stories crossed my dash and I couldn’t resist trying a few. This story was written to fulfill the the prompt of "Roommates/Neighbor,” and takes place in a modern setting.

Despite the chill in the air, it was unseasonably warm for November. For the first day in weeks, the lawn was cluttered with students choosing to linger in the sunlight for just a bit longer than necessary before heading inside for their lectures. 

Making her way past the crowds, Helena unlocked her bike and mounted, finding equilibrium easily. She felt a tinge of shame with the memory of how daunting the task had seemed just weeks before. Keeping her coat out of the spokes and her backpack balanced had presented an unexpected challenge at the start of the term, and it had earned her more than one pitying glance from passersby.

Pumping the pedals, she picked up enough speed to glide over several lengths of sidewalk. Fellow students blurred as she moved past, their forms merging with her thoughts before they faded altogether, consumed by her ever-growing list of assignments.

When her estranged father had insisted on paying her way through university, she’d jumped at the opportunity -- goodness knew she didn’t want to work the till at Morrisons forever. At first, Vincent’s offer had seemed too good to be true. Nearing the end of her first term, however, reality was stripping away much of the mystique.

She gripped the handlebars a little tighter.

Being a student again was hard. Sharing a house with her brother and his roommates meant that the transition had been a little smoother, but being a first-year student in her twenties was complicated. Life away from Grovershire was complicated. Life without her mother was complicated... 

How she wished sometimes that life could be simple again.

Helena pushed herself through the next turn, traveling quickly enough for the wind to leave a pleasant sting behind on her rosy cheeks.

At this time of the afternoon, their street was still quiet. Students weren’t back from classes, and most everyone else wouldn’t return home from work until evening. Helena coasted up to the curb, taking a quick glance at their windows in an effort to determine who might be home this early in the day. For all appearances, she had the house to herself.

With a sigh that had more to do with relief than exertion, she put her bike away and unlocked the side door. Time alone would be welcome.

As the doorknob clicked open, the strains of a violin floating through dispelled any notion of solitude, though her momentary disappointment was soon replaced by curiosity. Was someone playing Tosca?

She halted briefly, shaking off her deja vu to find eager curiosity in its wake. Slipping her shoes onto the mat, she proceeded up the stairs toward the lounge. In spite of her quiet footfalls, the music ceased as soon as she hit the first creak.

“Don’t stop!” she called out, dismay lending her a boldness she rarely showed.

After a pause, the aria resumed with steady conviction.

It wasn't her stepbrother or Annabelle, of that she was certain. She might not have learned everything there was to know about Edmund in the past year, but she did know that guitar was the only instrument he dabbled in. She was equally sure that the closet she and Annabelle shared didn’t house a violin case either. Ernest had rushed home the night before to deal with family matters, which left her with only one possible conclusion: Luke. 

He was the roommate she knew the least, always so busy between his studies and his time in the lab that no one in the house saw very much of him. With a quirk of her lips, she decided it was entirely possible he could be a proficient musician without her knowing.

Her suspicions were confirmed as soon as she crested the stairs.

Violin still snug beneath his chin, he turned to face her slowly. Light streamed in from the window behind him, and Helena couldn’t help feeling that she’d stumbled upon something almost divine. Somewhere between the quality of the music and the intensity in his brow, she found herself enchanted. 

She’d known he was attractive: that much had been obvious since the day she’d met him at her father’s home some months before. He was tall and broad shouldered, and his eyes were a mystery she’d been trying to puzzle out since their first meeting. Sometimes, they were honeyed gold; others, they seemed impossibly green. As she watched him now, they fell closed in concentration. 

Helena’s breath caught before the final strains had begun to fade.

"I must have lost track of the time,” he started, lowering the instrument to his side as he addressed her. “I apologize."

"I'm back early.” She tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “The fire alarm went off in our building, and after twenty minutes on the lawn they decided to send us all home." She tried not to draw attention to the fact that her eyes kept drifting toward his long, elegant fingers as he worked to secure the violin in its case. 

It had been months since they’d met: why wasn’t she used to the sight of him yet?

“I imagine you’ll be grateful for the time to study.”

Raising her eyes from the floor, she met his tentative smile with one of her own. “I am,” she agreed, shrugging her bag into the nearest chair. Though her studies were nothing rigorous compared to his own, she found herself grateful that he recognized her kindred spirit.

The click of the case snapped her back to reality. “Well, I won’t bother you."

With an accommodating nod, she turned away from him and toward the hall, but her mind lagged behind. Somehow, going upstairs to study wasn’t quite as appealing a prospect as it had been mere minutes before. "Actually, I think I’m going to make some coffee first,” she rushed before she could lose her nerve. “Would you want any if I did?"

"I'd like that."

"So," she began, attempting to stoke the conversation as she measured out the scoops of grounds. Somewhere between the second and third spoonful, she started to feel a little mischievous. "Do you always perform your concerts solo, or is that right reserved for Puccini?"

"You know Tosca?" he inquired, following her into the kitchen.

She smirked at the incredulity in his tone. “Not what you’d expect from a shopgirl from Grovershire, hmm?”

His face froze, and she immediately regretted the jest. “I didn’t mean to offend--”

“I'm joking. My mother loved listening to operas. I think I'd heard more arias by the time I started primary school than most of my classmates did by Year 10. There was always music playing somewhere in our flat."

“Ours too.”

They shared another small smile that left her feeling like the roof had opened and the sun was shining into their modest kitchen with full force.

“To answer your question...” he continued. “No, others suffered through my performances for years. Growing up, I think my family was sometimes sick of how much I played, though I always wondered if they hadn’t brought it on themselves by putting me in lessons. No one here signed on to hear it at all hours, so I mostly play when I’m alone.”

“I’m sorry I intruded, then.”

“I don’t mind. It was rather nice to have someone listen for a while.”  

“Maybe you’ll play again for me sometime?”

“I’d like that very much.” He gave a quiet laugh, and she felt heat rush over the fullness of her cheeks.

Hiding her blush, she put the cabinet door between them and began peering onto the shelf for her favorite mug. Though she’d lived in this house for several weeks, this was the first time she’d spent more than a couple of minutes alone with Luke.

Not the first time you’ve wanted to, her conscience reminded, and she could feel the warmth returning to her cheeks with further thoughts of him. The man was driven and intelligent, studying biology on scholarship with the intent of becoming a veterinary surgeon. He was quiet, but had shown himself to be exceptionally generous and kind. If she wasn’t careful, the intrigue that had been building since they’d met could easily develop into full-blown infatuation.

“Do you play any instruments?” he broke in, handing her one of the spoons he'd withdrawn from a nearby drawer.

“Piano, but not in a very long time. Father doesn't have one, and we sold mum's a few years ago to pay for treatments."

As the reservoir bubbled noisily, she darted instinctively to the fridge, arm extended to retrieve the sugar bowl from the top. Luke beat her there, his height making short work of the task. Again, her attention was drawn to the way his long fingers splayed over the object. They were unmistakably musician’s hands: it was a wonder she’d never noticed it before.

“Thank you,” she intoned, wishing that her voice didn't sound quite so breathless.

“You’re welcome.” He placed the sugar on the countertop before stepping aside. “I’m sorry; I'm sure you must miss it.”

It took a moment for her to realize that he was still talking about playing piano.

“I wouldn't have much time for it now," she told him with a shrug, moving back to the coffee machine to pour them each a mug of the steaming liquid.

“My brother used to play. Mother keeps the piano in the front room in case he comes round, but he hasn't done anything with it in years.” He fell quiet for a moment, considering. “If I asked, I think she'd be willing to part with it for the next four years. There'd be room for it on that wall, next to the bookshelf." He indicated the space with his free hand.

Helena took a sip of coffee to disguise the fact that his offer had rendered her speechless. Fortunately, the shock of caffeine was just enough to restore her senses. “You’re very accommodating, Luke Harper. Quite the gentleman.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Not to me.” Hoping to prove her sincerity, she met his eyes, green with a vibrance that made her forget it was the middle of autumn. “I’m not planning to hold you to it, but I appreciate the offer.”

"It's no bother. Besides, I think she'd be glad to know it was being used." His voice lowered as he studied her face. “Would you play if if I brought it over?”

Helena's throat thickened. Much as she'd craved that next taste of coffee, it would be impossible to swallow now. As it was, she could barely manage a nod in response to his question.

Luke beamed, a wide, guileless smile that left her feeling as if her insides had been scooped out and replaced by the contents of her mug. "I'll ask when I talk to her Sunday.”

She was still fighting back the threat of tears when Edmund burst through the door, shattering the stillness that had descended between them. Even so, she couldn’t bring herself to mind the interruption overmuch. 

Somehow, the last twenty minutes had felt more like home than anything since she’d moved in. As she exchanged one final smile with Luke before her brother joined them, she knew it wouldn’t be a foreign feeling for long. 

[lbigreyhound13]

Outburst (BOTGD 2 Oneshot)

Takes place right after Don’t Do the Crime 

Grey’s outburst based on this and this

It was silent as the Chief and her husband walked back to the house with the Night Fury. After Milae and Dario were brought to the prison, Grey and Brandt agreed that their trial take place in two days’ time...so that it would be over quickly, and that was the last time Brandt heard his wife speak. As they left the Great Hall and put out an order for the council to convene for the trial in two days, Grey hadn’t said a word, but Brandt knew that Grey was at her wit’s end. He felt the tension radiating from her body, and the fact that she briefly talked about a vacation in Yrus was evidence enough that she needed a break from the Rebellion. 

However, he couldn’t force her to admit that. She needed to do that on her own, and if he knew his wife, that would happen pretty quickly. It was very rare for Grey to get angry, but when she did, she always tried to hold it in until she could finally let it out. Throughout the talk with Milae and Dario, he could see that she was just not enjoying it at all. It was weighing down on her...especially when two of their comrades were connected to a murder of one of her old friends. He was able to see a subtle glow on her hands, but she was able to keep it at bay. 

As soon as they walked in, Brandt closed the door, and he knew the kids were off in the village, which worked great. They were alone. 

Grey didn’t say anything and moved to take off her cape, but Brandt quickly stepped in from behind.

“Let me, sweetheart,” Brandt said quietly. He was her husband, her second-in-command. Her burdens were his.

“Thanks,” Grey said quietly. She felt somewhat better as Brandt removed the shoulder pads and the cape...the very symbol of her position as Chief and leader of the rebellion...from her back. 

Over the years, Brandt had become her sanctuary. Her whole family was...her mother...her children...her adoptive siblings...her nieces and nephew...but her husband...he was always there...the constant reminder whenever she came home that she was not just the Chief and the leader of the Rebellion. She was simply his wife and the mother of their children. She didn’t have to take charge at home...she could just be Grey...his wife, and she loved that more than anything. He was there to take the burdens away...just for a while, but that didn’t change what happened. Milae killed one of her people, and was about to go to trial. At that thought, she took a deep breath as she leaned on a chair gripping it tightly.

“That was pretty rough,” Brandt said as he hung up Grey’s fur cape.

Grey scoffed. “You think?”

“I do,” Brandt retorted as he sat down at the table, “and I also know that if you want to vent or scream or kill something...I’m here to listen.”

“Yeah, like that’s going to make all this go away...the trial, Milae’s crime, Magnus being murdered, Rhenco, all this...High Central...Rebellion crap...” The Chief felt guilty for saying that. She didn’t mean it, and Brandt knew that too. She was bearing a lot on her shoulders, and she appeared to be reaching...her breaking point.

“It’s not, but...honey, you’ve been working so hard...juggling everything...” Brandt said remaining completely calm. “This...whole thing with Milae and Dario was just the tip of the iceberg, and it’s perfect natural to just...let it all out. Just...tell me what to do, I can hel--”

“Hey!” Grey shouted as she banged the chair with a fake smile. “If you really want to help me, I have an idea. I’d like Milae--that arrogant goat half-breed to be brought right here...”

The sight of her old friend...Magnus...dead...fresh in her mind...Dario and Milae scared out of their minds as the guards brought them to prison...

“...and for High Central--those lovely racist shitheads...”

The dungeons...the attack on her home that forced her teenaged son to step up...as acting Chief...

“...and for Rhenco--that no-good kidnapper alchemist...”

The memory of Rhenco holding him hostage...threatening all three of their children...and then him...having the nerve to mention her son’s name...

“...and for those stupid home-attacking, racist Night Furies--no offense, Shadow...” Shadow looked at her...not with anger but concern for her sister as she felt the anger building up more and more...

Kari almost being killed...those Night Furies not even listening to Indigo...Nimbus dying at her hand... 

“...to be brought here too! I want all those assholes brought...right here...in our house!” She threw one...two chairs to the floor with a scream before turning back to her husband, who didn’t even flinch. “And I want to look them straight in the eye, and I want to tell them...what horrible...no-good, rotten, low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, overstuffed, ignorant, arrogant, brainless, heartless, bug-eyed, worm-headed assholes they are! Praise Hel! Holy shit! Where are the ice blocks? I have a headache!”

“In the box from the last time you needed them...” Brandt replied still not flinching from his wife’s outburst.

The Chief practically stomped into the kitchen and pulled out two ice-blocks before walking back over to the table sitting down at the one chair she didn’t flip over and sat down across from Brandt placing the blocks on her head and feeling the chill rush into her head. She looked up at her husband and her Night Fury, who were looking at her with concern. She sighed. “I’m so--” 

“No, don’t apologize,” Brandt said. “It’s been a rough few months, and you’re entitled to be stressed.”

Grey took a deep breath. “I know,” she said, “but I’m the leader...the Chief. What kind of message am I sending if I can’t handle it?”

“You are handling it,” he said as he stood up and walked over to her standing behind her. He gently placed his hands on her shoulders massaging her shoulders. “You have been handling it, and yes, you are the Chief. But you’re still human. You deserve a break every once in a while.”

She sighed again feeling the tension leave her shoulders as Brandt rubbed them.

“You know...that trip you suggested to Yrus...it’s not a bad idea,” he said after a moment. “We can leave in a week or two so that we can get things settled and stay there for a few days. I’m sure Akkey would love to see us, and...I know things are rough with Seasick right now. Akkey, Hunter, and Maya can be your outlet.”

“Yeah...that would be nice,” Grey replied. The thought of the fields and the mountains...the peaceful landscapes already relaxed.

“And...you know...while the kids go do their thing when we go...” Brandt said smirking at Grey moving down so that his lips were on her neck, “you and I...can stay in the inn for a day...” He kissed her neck, “or two.”

“You are bad, Sir Brandt,” Grey said closing her eyes and sighing.

“The worst...” he whispered. “So, what do you say, my beautiful wife? I can write to Akkey and ask her to put in word for us at the inn. We can leave in a week or so.”

Grey sighed. “It would be nice to get away,” she said. “Alright, why not?”

“Great,” Brandt smiled. “I can write to her today, but...before I do that...I say you leave the cape home and come on a walk through the forest with me...and take a flight on Shadow before you take care of the rest of your assignments.”

Grey giggled. “You are amazing.”

“I try.”

-----

Dear Akkey, 

Grey and I hope all is well with your family. We’ve had some...interesting things happening on Haligan, and Grey’s been in need of a break. I was wondering if you all would be up for a visit from the Felman family. We will be more than happy to stay in an inn and visit you all. I know Grey would love to see you, and it would be great to catch up. Thank you so much! We hope to see you soon!

Sincerely,

Sir Brandt Felman

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Fictober18 Day 13

Original Fiction

Prompt “Try harder next time”

This is a continuation of Day 12!! First Part HERE. 

“Everyone, quiet down, before we begin class we have a new student who transferred in to introduce.”  

The teacher waved her arms, trying to get everyone’s attention until the general noise of the room quieted to a dull roar. There were a few moments of initial silence, however shortly after her announcement  the class all began talking loudly, speculating amongst themselves about who would transfer in during the last year of school

“We’re getting a new student?!” Erin’s best friend Olivia rubbed her hands together excitedly. “Think of all the money I could make if I get the scoop on their story and sell it around!”

“Don’t bother them.” Erin muttered in reply, rolling her eyes at her friend’s money obsessed strategies. She glanced around uncomfortably at the class, noticing that a few students who had been at the practice grounds yesterday were looking sidelong at her. 

No, there’s ten different classes at our level, even if he transferred in, there’s no way my luck is that bad… Just as Erin was thinking this, however, a familiar young man walked into the room. 

“Hello everyone!” Gerald waved cheerfully at the class, causing many in the class to sigh in admiration. Erin buried her head in her hands wondering if it was too late to call in sick for the day.

He wouldn’t mention the proposal thing again in class right?

The teacher smiled at the new arrival. “Hello there, welcome to our class. Please introduce yourself.”

Gerald squared his shoulders, making a bow towards the class. “I am Prince Geraldo de Riciancia of the Ellurine Alliance.” He straightened up, contrasting the previous formal gesture with a casual grin. “Feel free to call me Gerald though.”

“Alright Gerald, is there anything you would like to tell the class about yourself? Perhaps a goal that you wish to accomplish?” The teacher prodded the new student, making Erin groan in frustration.

Please don’t say to get married to me… please don’t say to get married to me….

“To learn as much as I can, and apply it when I return home, and make my nation stronger and more prosperous.” Gerald’s serious expression startled Erin, who had been viewing him as a fairly silly person.

I guess I judged him to quickly. She thought ruefully. I can’t believe I was so conceited as to think he would declare he wanted to marry me in front of the class…

“And of course my other goal is to marry Erin and bring her back to my country as the strongest bride in the history of the Ellurine Alliance!” He was smiling again, looking at Erin with bright, innocent gaze.

Kill me now. Erin put her head down on her desk, trying to ignore the stares and exclamations of all the surrounding students.  

“Umm… How… straightforward, Gerald… Why don’t you have a seat, and we’ll get started with class.” The teacher was obviously confused at Gerald’s declaration of his intentions, but trying to move past it. Gerald nodded and moved forward to sit down at the empty seat between Erin and Olivia.

“You witch! How dare you get engaged to a handsome prince and not even tell me! I’m cutting you off!” Olivia pouted as she studied Gerald with a curious gaze. 

“We’re not engaged, Olivia.” Erin sighed as she spoke, rubbing her forehead.

“Not yet at least! But I haven’t given up yet. Now… Olivia, was it?” Gerald chimed in, reaching out to grasp the smaller girl’s hand. “Are you a friend of my future wife?”

She looked slightly dazed as she took his hand in her own and shook it. “Best friend, actually.”

“So I have to do my best to get on your good side then!”

“Ooh, I like him!” She laughed and gave a thumbs up gesture to Erin, who ignored her.

“Quiet, class, we’re beginning the lesson now.” The teacher rapped on the desk a few times to gather everyone’s attention, and then started to speak regarding magic relativity.

Erin tried her hardest to listen, but unfortunately, she already knew this material very well. She noticed that Gerald was writing notes diligently throughout the lesson, while Olivia spent most of the class trying to send her paper notes using her wind magic behind her back. Erin silently gathered them, and then incinerated them to ashes without reading them with fire magic. She ignored the death glares that Olivia sent her afterwards.

Finally it was self study time. Gerald turned to face her with an excited expression.

“Can we start the tutoring now?”

Erin looked away from his puppy dog eyes. “Why in so much of a rush?”

“Well, although my nation is very advanced with regards to nurturing magical abilities, the theory and science that goes behind magical advancement as well as artifact creation and use are simply non-existent there.” He clasped his hands in front of him. “You’re my only hope!”

She rolled her eyes. “No need to be so dramatic, I’ve already accepted your money for tutoring sessions.”

“Hooray!”

“Hold it!” Olivia jumped in, her eyes wide. “So you’re using the old ‘please tutor me’ trick to get closer to my best friend, eh?”

He shook his head. “No, I desperately need help with the material, she’s the top scorer in the school in magical theory. Even if I weren’t proposing to her, I would have asked for her help.”

He paused, thinking it over. “Although I have to admit it is a great chance to get to know her better.”

“You know…” Olivia grinned. “I’m the best resource in this school regarding all the Erin trivia you would want to know.”

“Shouldn’t I learn that from her?”

“Well, all the major stuff yes, that’s for bonding. But the small things, like her favorite colors, favorite gifts, date ideas… you need someone with the inside scoop!”

Gerald’s eyes widened. “I hadn’t thought of that.”  He stood up and bowed before the girl. “Olivia, will you be my teacher with regards to courting your best friend?”

She stuck out a hand. “It will cost you.”

Erin felt she had to stop this, as the poor guy was already searching his pockets for cash. “Olivia, what are you doing?! You can’t sell information about me! And Gerald, don’t let yourself be taken advantage of so easily!” She placed her hands on her hips and glared. “Do I make myself clear?”

They both hung their heads down. “Yes, Erin.”

“Good, now let’s start the tutoring session.”

She pulled out a piece of paper, drawing as she spoke. “Starting from the basics. Magical theory all comes down to two major concepts: capacitance and induction speed. Capacitance is the amount of magical power a person has at their disposal.”  She drew two circles, one large and one small.

“Think of it like a body of water. You know that a level 1 fire ability might be able to shoot sparks or light dry wood. Now a level 4 would be able to burn this whole school down without breaking a sweat.” She pointed to the large circle. “The capacitance of a level 4  compared to a level 1 is like a lake next to a puddle of water.”

Gerald raised his hand diligently. She chuckled at the sight. “Yes?”

“What about the capacitance of a level 5?”

She grinned. “It would be like an ocean compared to these two. A level 5 fire ability could turn the whole country to ashes.”

He nodded and turned to Olivia. “So your healing abilities would be considered quite rare then?”

She raised her eyebrows. “How did you know I have level 4 healing abilities?”

Erin shook her head. “He has Insight.”

“That’s how I know that Erin is the strongest student in this school, and is the perfect bride.”

Olivia snorted. “At least you have good taste.”

“Continuing on!” Erin interrupted, coughing uncomfortably. “ Induction speed in the time it takes to utilize your magic.” She drew pipes next to the two circles. “Think of it has a pipe to pump out the water. The faster your induction speed, the more magic you can use in a single spell.”

Olivia smiled. “So even lower capacitance magicians can be more effective if they have a higher induction speed.”

“Exactly.”

“Of course, both of these factors will change throughout your life, but the time of the most rapid change is during puberty, typically age 13-19.” Erin shrugged, drawing arrows within the circles pointing outwards. “People experience the relatively the same amount of energy exerting their capacitance and induction speed to grow during this time, so this has a much greater effect on people with lower level abilities.”

Gerald nodded, writing notes. “Why is that?”

“The smaller container of magic, experiencing the same amount of energy, will be forced to grow more to accommodate that. So a Level 1 ability may grow 1-2 levels during adolescence, whereas it is very rare for a level 3 or above ability to change levels at all.”

Gerald was silent for a few moments. “What if you could forcibly restrict a higher level power to a level 1 power, would you then experience greater growth during that period of time?”

Erin felt the blood drain from her face. He guessed it. She looked down at the ground, avoiding his gaze, trying desperately to think of an excuse.

“Don’t be silly Gerald, there’s no such ability like a ‘restricting’ power!” Olivia laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Could you imagine the impact such a power could have on our military? We depend on magic to defend ourselves! If you could simply restrict someone’s ability…” She shuddered. “It would be chaos.”

Gerald smiled, but it didn’t quite seem as sincere as his earlier expressions. “I see. That was a foolish question.” He turned back to Erin. “I apologize.”

“N-No that’s’ umm… that’s ok.” Erin shook her head, and continued on with the lecture.

The study time ended without further incident, and at the end of the class, the teacher made an announcement.

“Everyone! Please be aware that there have been several incidents of students found unconscious on school grounds.” She shook her head. “I will remind you all that unsanctioned dueling is NOT allowed. Now, report to the practice field for the remainder of your practical training.”

Erin walked forward to hand in the previous weeks assignment, and when she headed back to her desk she saw Gerald and Olivia sitting together. Olivia was lecturing while Gerald was furiously taking notes. Erin leaned over, groaning when she saw the contents of his paper. She snatched it up, reading it.

“Erin’s favorite foods?”  She sighed. “Olivia, what did I tell you about selling my information?”

“Oh don’t worry, I didn’t charge him.” Her friend took the paper back and handed it to Gerald. “I’ve decided to whole heartedly support your love.”

Gerald held the paper tightly, his eyes shining. “Thanks Olivia!” He turned back to Erin. “I have your friend’s approval! Makes you really rethink this whole ‘not marrying me’ thing right?”

“No.”

Olivia patted him on the back. “It’s ok. Try harder next time.” She grinned. “With my support it’s only a matter of time before you win her over!”

“Stop playing around guys, we have to go to the practice field.” With a sigh Erin dragged the two of them behind her, heading out to the field.

As they all lined up, Olivia headed off to the sidelines with a wave. As her abilities were all healing oriented, she was excused from dueling, and was charged with healing all the participants of battle. Gerald smiled and held out a hand. “Would you like to duel?”

Erin shook her head. “You’ve seen the extend of my battling abilities, you would be better off facing one of the higher ranking students.”

“I don’t think I can find a stronger student though…” 

“What nonsense!” A strident voice called out, interrupting their conversation. “She’s the lowest ranked student in the Academy!” A young man walked up, a prideful expression on his face. Immediately behind him stood Wilhemina, who glared at Erin smugly over his shoulder. 

He held out a hand towards Gerald. “I’m Frederick de Rochester, the top student in this academy.”

The prince stared cooly at his outstretched hand, not moving to take it. “Prince Gerald. Can I help you? You’re interrupting a private conversation.”

“…” There was an awkward pause as the smile slowly slipped from Frederick’s face. As the student council president, there weren’t many students at this school who didn’t treat him like royalty. Erin found that her opinion of Gerald just improved a bit. She smiled at him and continued their conversation.

“I’d be happy to duel you.”

The prince’s face lit up, “Really? That’s great! Winner gets to marry the loser?”

Erin rolled her eyes. “Don’t bother.”

He shrugged. “It was worth a shot.”

They were about to take up positions in the practice field, when Erin felt a strange fluctuation of power off to the side. It felt like…

Oh no.

Using all the physical strength she could manage, as well as a gust of wind magic, she pushed herself towards Gerald, grabbing him and throwing him to the ground… Just as a flash of fire magic passed over their heads. The edges of it brushed past Erin, burning through her uniform and scorching her shoulder. Her breath came out between clenched teeth as the pain of the burned flesh hit.

“What the heck are you doing?!” She turned and glared at the attacking individual, Frederick.

“Just a friendly prank, Princess, no need to get worked up.” The boy’s grin was nasty. “If you two are strong enough to brush off the student council, then you should be strong enough to fight us.”

That’s it!

Something within Erin snapped, and she launched herself forward at three times her normal speed. She felt a tearing pain as she forced more magic than the restriction spell allowed out into the world.

Frederick’s eyes widened. “What the…” He didn’t have any other time to react before Erin’s fist struck him in the face. He went flying, filling Erin with satisfaction. She was about to attack again, when the pain from rebelling against the restriction went from a bad headache to feeling as if her head was being cut open. With a groan, she fell to the ground, clutching her head between her hands.

“Erin!” Gerald’s concerned shout didn’t reach her, as her eyes glazed over with the pain.

“Think you can get away with hitting me? Try dodging this.” Her vision blurry, she could barely make out the sight of Frederick standing over her, his face enraged, his hand coated in flames as he prepared to attack her. 

It’s over. 

Erin could tell the power behind the attack would be lethal. She wanted to dodge out of the way, but still the rebound from the restriction spell held her firmly in place.

Am I going to die here?

Just as she thought that, however,  a shout startled everyone, pulling the attention away.

 “HELP! A student’s been attacked near the dorms!!!”

Frederick sent a final glare at Erin, before extinguishing his flame and turning towards the commotion. 

“This isn’t over, Worthless Princess.” He muttered, rubbing his bruised face as he stalked away.

She watched him walk away, breathing through the intense pain in her head until it slowly faded. 

I lost again.

“You’re right. This isn’t over.” She muttered, resting her head back on the ground. “Not yet.”

[k-pop-imagines]

Protector | Chapter 7

Protector Masterlist

Summary: While Donghae is recovering from his injuries, you are stuck with your new bodyguard, who is a complete mess, to say the least.

Word Count: 1724

A/N: Just a quick reminder, comments of any kind are very appreciated, whether they are nice or contain (constructive) criticism! 

A week and a half had passed since the adventurous incident in the warehouse. Except for Donghae, there were no other dangerous injuries and much to your dismay, your future husband made it out alive and unharmed as well. Your dad was still dead set on forcing you to marry him. And if that wasn’t bad enough, you were still stuck with the new bodyguard your father had assigned to you. It was a mess, to say the least. The man, who you found out was named Jen and recently turned 22 years old, got easily distracted and probably never received proper training. He didn’t seem to take his job seriously. It was beyond you why your father had hired him.

Donghae was still recovering from his injury. You hadn’t seen him in a few days, so you didn’t know how well he was doing by now but one thing you knew for sure: You needed him back. With Jen, you were bound to get killed sooner than you ever imagined.  

Speaking of Jen, he was late again. You had been waiting in front of your room for around ten minutes now but he was nowhere to be seen. You grew impatient. And hungry. You weren’t allowed to wander the halls without protection, especially after these recent events but you were about to head to the dining room to get breakfast yourself. Just as you started rounding a corner, you bumped into someone. Expecting it to be your new bodyguard, you were ready to scold him but quickly stopped when you were greeted by Donghae’s confused face.

“Where’s your bodyguard?” he asked, glancing around suspiciously. If only you knew. “No idea. Though I’m slowly getting used to him not being on time.” Donghae shook his head slightly in disbelief. Punctuality was extremely important and crucial, especially in dangerous times like these, after an attack.

But no, you waited another five minutes in the hallway, Donghae bearing you company. You were talking about how his wound was healing, that it didn’t hurt that much anymore, that he was hoping to get back to his job in soon. You sincerely hoped he’d be cleared for work within the next few days. Your conversation was interrupted by Jen turning up, walking casually, not even hurrying to get to you. He didn’t care that he was late.

“So, are you ready to go, ma’am?” he asked, a cheerful smile on his face. “You are late,” you stated simply, completely ignoring his question. You were annoyed. “Ah, yes, about that, I kind of overslept.” He didn’t even bother apologizing.

“You can’t just oversleep. You are to relieve the night guards at exactly 8am. What if someone attacked and killed your completely unprotected client while you were still sleeping soundly in your warm and cozy bed?” Now it was Donghae’s turn to intervene. He stared at the younger man with a raised eyebrow while scolding him. You knew that he was overexaggerating a bit, the manor itself was heavily guarded and the night guards would always patrol the halls a little longer than necessary. The risk of you getting killed in here was low. It was there, of course, but not as bad as Donghae made it out to be.   You assumed he was just being petty about having been replaced, even if it was just for a short time. And he was most likely enjoying this to some extent as well, he got to show that he was superior, that he knew better, that he could not be replaced.

“I am aware of that, I have been properly trained. Nothing happened, right? Let’s just get you to the dining room, okay?” Directing the last sentence at you and apparently having been heavily offended by Donghae’s words, he motioned for you follow him, which you did. Jen walked ahead, hands in his pockets, lazily gazing at the paintings that littered the walls of the many hallways. He wasn’t paying attention.

Donghae followed a few feet behind, making you send a confused glance his way. He quickly explained that he wanted to keep an eye on you, considering that your new bodyguard wasn’t doing a very good job right now. Turning around to continue your way, you almost bumped into Jen’s back. He had stopped in the middle of the hallway.

“Hey, lovely! You have absolutely gorgeous eyes. How long have you been working here?” You couldn’t stop your mouth from falling open in shock at his behavior. Was he flirting with one of the maids? “You can’t be serious…” you mumbled, more to yourself than anyone else before turning to Donghae. “Is this guy serious?” The disbelieved question left your lips as you ran a hand through your hair in frustration. You knew Jen got distracted easily but this topped everything.

“Listen, I get that you are probably very desperate for affection and haven’t had sex in ages but you are still on the job. Stop thinking with your dick and take care of your client.” Before you could stop yourself, an amused snort left your throat. Jen just rolled his eyes and continued escorting you to the dining room.

After breakfast, you decided to take a walk in the garden, wanting to savor the fantastic weather today. The sun was shining, the sky was bright blue, and the temperatures were neither too warm nor too cold. It was perfect. As you strolled through the park your father had planted behind the manor, followed by Jen who seemed bored out of his mind and annoyed by the bugs, you saw Donghae still watching you from a fair distance from the corner of your eye. You didn’t mind. At least you felt a bit safer, knowing that he was still around in some way.  

When you bent down to take a closer look at the white roses, your favorite flowers in the entire garden, a loud noise made you jerk. It sounded like a gunshot. A really close one. One, that barely missed you.   “Hide!” Jen’s voice got you out of your slightly shocked state. You looked around, trying to make out where the gun had been fired from but you couldn’t see a shooter. Running for cover, you hid behind a stone bench, seeing your bodyguard do the same a few feet away from you. A few more gunshots rang out, hitting the statues and benches, making tiny pieces of stone fly through the air. Then they stopped. Instead, you heard footsteps on the gravel path, making their way over to you. You clamped a hand over your mouth, not wanting to make any noises, though the attacker most likely already knew where you were. You threw a desperate glance towards Jen, hoping to get any reassurance, that he was ready to fight back. No, the young man was fumbling with his gun, trying to put in the ammunition and failing miserably.

A few seconds later, you saw black boots stop right next to you. You looked up, right into the face of one of the men who had attacked you in the warehouse ten days ago. He must have been here to finish what he and his friends had begun. He raised his gun to your head. “Fight! Don’t just sit there like a deer in headlights!” Jen yelled but you couldn’t react. You weren’t trained to fight back. Your bodyguard was trained to protect you but he obviously not able to do so. He wanted you to protect yourself but you never learned how. You could only stare at the barrel of the gun, remembering the last time you had been in a situation like that. This time, you’d be done for. This was it.

Or not. The guy didn’t even have the chance to pull the trigger before he slumped forward, limply falling to the ground next to you. He had been hit over the head and was out cold.

Donghae. He had saved your life again, even though he wasn’t on duty. The blond man held out a hand to help you stand which you gladly took. After checking for any possible injuries on you, he started walking towards Jen.

“You’re absolutely useless! What kind of bodyguard expects their client to fight for herself? You can’t just leave her all alone and hide like the coward you are! You have to put your life before hers, protect her at all costs! You’re a joke!” His voice was raised, making you take a step back in surprise. You had never seen him this genuinely angry before. He had scolded Jen multiple times throughout the day but it was mostly for his own amusement. Now, the guy had seriously messed up.

“I am useless? I’m not the one who has to be protected all the time, who’s completely dependent and can’t do anything on her own!” His words made you think. He was right, kind of. You had to be watched constantly, being a burden to those around you. Maybe you should have been able to fight back, somehow. Donghae just shook his head in disbelief. “You should probably consider a different career if you think that way.”

A few guards rushed into the garden, having been alerted by the commotion, and Donghae explained the situation to them. They asked Jen to follow them inside, your father was about to have a serious talk with him. And hopefully going to throw him out.

Only Donghae and you were left. “What he said isn’t true.” He must have seen the thoughtful look on your face. “Remember that auction? You actually kicked one of the attackers in the balls and threatened to fight me. I wouldn’t call that useless. Also, no one can expect you to react in a calm and calculated manner when being face to face with a loaded gun aimed at your head. Don’t beat yourself up about it,” he added, patting your back before leading you inside. “Also, this guy wasn’t a proper bodyguard. You’re not a proper bodyguard until you take a bullet to the chest for your client.” So petty.

That day, Jen was fired and Donghae returned to his position as your bodyguard, despite not having fully recovered yet. And you had never been gladder to have him by your side.

[whisker-biscuit]

Harley Quinn is Not A Good Role Model: Chapter 5

Rated T-M for language and graphic descriptions of violence

Pairing: Dr. Flug/Black Hat

Summary: Dr. Flug Slys is a successful psychiatrist working at one of the world’s most respected mental institutes for the criminally insane. But this new patient is unlike anything he’s ever encountered. Flug is determined to help him, nonetheless.

Black Hat has other ideas.

Chapter 5: Masquerades

The trek from Black Hat’s cell to Flug’s office usually took four minutes, give or take. The psychiatrist didn’t know if his panic attack would wait that long.

“Dr. Slys, wait! Why are you walking so fast?” Dr. Bautista hurried after him, hard-pressed to keep up even with his height advantage. “Please, Doctor, we should review our notes, slow down!”

He refused to slow down, refused to even look at his colleague until they were stuck together in the elevator. Flug almost considered taking the stairs, but his office was on the first floor and he didn’t want to have a breakdown in an echoing stairway where people could hear. Even so, stepping into the lift with this man was a true test of patience.

“Jesus, Doctor, what’s the hurry? We got what we wanted, the schedule’s made, everything’s fine.” Bautista watched, bemused, as his distraught colleague pounded at the buttons. “I don’t understand what your problem is.”

“Oh, my problem? My problem?” Flug snarled at the control panel in lieu of his frustrating companion. “My problem, Doctor, is that a d-dangerous, volatile patient learned my full name when I didn’t want him to. A p-patient, who, if I may I remind you, has only ever been incarcerated for less than a week and who ruined the life of his last psychiatrist.” He slumped against the metal wall as the elevator dropped, clamping his hands against his bag and pulling hard. “And he’s already tried to kill me once yesterday. Who’s to say he won’t try again?”

Dr. Bautista waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, don’t worry so much, Doctor. That’s why we’re being careful, so you’re not alone with him anymore. He can’t try anything here.”

“Yeah, ‘here’ being the keyword.” Flug took his clipboard from under his arm and flipped hurriedly to a page full of Black Hat’s crimes. “See this? See how many people he’s killed? That’s only the documented ones, they suspect a whole lot more, you know!” The lift dinged open and the doctor slipped out. Bautista followed him. “Who’s to say he won’t come after me if he escapes, when he escapes, whatever!”

“I really think you’re overreacting,” was the grumbled reply. “This place has never seen a successful break-out, and most inmates hold grudges for officers, not psychologists. Besides, it’s not like you haven’t given your first name to patients before.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a first time for everything, and I don’t gamble.” The yellow gloves were stretched up to Flug’s elbows and he didn’t stop walking when they reached Bautista’s office first. “I’ll email you my notes so you can look over them, but I need to get ready for a counseling session. Thanks for joining me.”

“Oh hey, wait a second,” Bautista called out after him, causing the doctor to hesitate. “You’re going to visit Patient 243, right? Would you be willing to take Martin Naaji with you, for work experience? He’s my intern.”

“Uh…Martin, curly black hair, short, darker skin?”

“Yeah, that’s him. He’s pretty new so I had him help the nurses out with dispensing medication two days ago, but I heard it didn’t go so well.” Bautista shrugged. “Personally I think the kid’s a lost cause, but he’s here for another two months and I’m trying to find things for him to do.”

Well, that explains a lot, Flug scowled under his bag. “Sure, sure, just tell him to be at my door by 10:50 sharp. If he doesn’t show then that’s not my fault.”

“Will do, Doctor.” His colleague whistled obliviously as he disappeared into his room, and Flug seriously considered putting in a request for a different companion. He decided against it by the time he got back to his office. The man was of a much larger build than him and every bit of muscle would help, regardless of his lack of subtlety.

He stepped inside his personal space, locked his door, and promptly lost his cool.

Less than an hour later, when Martin knocked on his door at 10:49, Flug had reorganized every book on his shelf by publication date instead of the author title as it was previously, wiped down all hardwood surfaces with Clorox as well as the doorknob, cleaned the little window view of the parking lot, and systematically cut perfect, symmetrical goggle holes through fifteen spare paper bags, just in case.

He had been prepared for the intrusion but his jittery energy had yet to fully dissipate and the knock nearly made him fall out of his chair with a yelp. He hurried to correct himself and brushed off his lab coat, folding his hands formally in front of him.

“Come in!”

The knob turned only a quarter of a fraction before it forcefully stopped, and Flug remembered a little too late that he had indeed locked the door.

With a stumble and a quiet “dang it” the psychiatrist scooted around his desk and reached the door in four long strides. He opened it in a flurry and came face to face with the same wide eyes he had scolded two days ago.

“Um.” Martin took a cautious step back. “Hello.”

“H-Hello.” The doctor attempted to look a little more professional by putting his hands in his coat pockets. It didn’t really work. “So, uh…hello.”

The intern looked at the ground, nervous. “Um, so are we going or…?”

“Oh! Yes, I,” Flug turned and rushed back to his desk, scooping up Dementia’s case file and his notepad. He brushed past the teenager and closed the door. “Sorry, sorry, I’m uh, just let me lock the door real quick and we can go.”

“Okay,” Martin had his feet against each other, swaying a little. He tensed to attention when the psychiatrist started down the hall and followed meekly behind. “So…is this okay?

“What do you mean?” Flug tried not to touch his bag as they walked.

“It’s just…isn’t there patient confidentiality?”

“Oh. Well, yes, but we asked Dementia if she’d give disclosure to let interns sit in on her counseling session or review the notes we share for experience, and she agreed. You, ah.” He squinted sideways at the teenager. “You’re the first one who was willing. For her case.”

“Oh. Okay. I mean, I was assigned to this by my superior. But that’s cool, I guess.” They shared the ride up to Floor 5 in awkward, heavy silence. When the doors opened again, Flug stepped out and touched Martin’s shoulder to stop him.

“Listen, I, uh, we met under…unfortunate circumstances t-two days ago and I – I don’t regret what I said, I meant every word of that, but, it’s a new day and I don’t…” He trailed off, struggling to find the right words. The intern stared just under his line of sight, nervous. “Okay, um, what I mean to say is, I’d rather we don’t think of that, encounter, while we’re here together. I know you don’t want to be here with me, and that’s – that’s fine if you don’t like me at all, it’s, I don’t care. But please try to relax when we visit Dementia.”

Martin made real eye contact and his mouth parted in surprise. “Oh, um…okay. I can do that.”

“Good, c-cause she gets wound up really easily when other people are tense and it’s hard to tell sometimes, I mean, sometimes she tries to exploit that and sometimes it makes her wary and withdrawn and I, I really don’t want to have to deal with that, so – ”

“No, I get it.” The intern’s gaze dropped resignedly. “I’ll wait outside her room, if that makes you happier.” He shuffled away from his superior and tightened his lips together.

“Ah no, you don’t need to…actually, that might be a good idea for you to stay away.” Flug winced internally at the way that came out. “I mean, uh, maybe I’ll talk to her first, let her know you want to join us. We’ll see how it turns out.”

“Sure.” Martin didn’t pick his gaze back up as they made their way to Dementia’s cell. The doctor peered through the bars and didn’t see anyone inside. He leaned forward right at the same moment a maniacal, screaming face popped up in front of the window.

“HEY FLUG!!”

“Gah!” The poor psychiatrist reeled backward and nearly crashed into the spooked intern behind him. He recovered fairly quickly and threw his hands in the air. “Dementia! What have I told you about doing that?!”

“Not to do it,” the girl cackled, tongue poking playfully through her teeth.

“Then why did you?” He crossed his arms.

“Because of the noise you make.”

Flug pressed the top of the clipboard against his face, exasperated and exhausted. It wasn’t even noon yet. “Okay, that’s wonderful, really great to know that’s what you value about me.”

“Aww Flug, I’m just teasing, you know I love –” Dementia froze with the ‘you’ forming in her lips as she locked eyes with Martin, just past her doctor. Her playful demeanor drained to something very, very cold. “The hell is he doing here?”

“He’s here to –”

“What the hell are you doing here, Newbie?! Who do you think you are?!” She screamed at him, whole body pressed rigid against the door with a slam. “Wanna try me again, huh! Wanna grab hold of my mouth again, I bet that gets you off real good, you sick fuck!”

“Dementia! He’s not going to do anything!” Flug took one look back at Martin, who had plastered himself against the opposite wall, shameful and scared. The doctor put his head in front of the frothing girl, blocking her view of everything except his bag. “Calm down, please!”

“Why is he here, Flug? What is he doing here?!”

“He’s here to apologize, that’s what he’s here for, calm down!” They faced each other, her nose practically touching the paper on his face. “I’m not going to let him try anything, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Her eyes trembled like furious candlelight. “You promise?”

“I do, I promise.”

“¡Júrame!” It was a snarl, a desperate command.

“Te lo juro, te lo juro.” Flug lifted his goggles just barely, so she could see his sincere, serious brown eyes beneath. “Nadie puede herirte aquí.”

“Better stick to that,” she spat out, irritated but backing down. The girl stepped back from the window and took several angry steps to her bed, where she sat and glared at him. The doctor adjusted his glass-wear back into place over his eyes before turning around. Martin remained at the wall, face open and agitated.

“Listen, uh, I think it might be best if you stay, um by the door for a while, while I talk to her. Don’t, ah, don’t let her see you through the window, please.”

The intern nodded, lips twitching together, and came over slowly. With prompting he sat down next to the cell door, eyes downcast, and Flug patted his shoulder in awkward sympathy before unlocking the room and stepping inside. He closed it behind him and glanced over to the angry, pouting girl who was now staring at a far point on the wall.

So, uh…” The doctor sidled up about a meter from her mattress and settled down onto crossed legs cautiously. “Having nightmares recently?”

“What makes you say that,” she mumbled, refusing to look his way.

“Well, when the incident actually happened, you seemed a lot calmer about it afterwards than you are today.” Flug tapped fingers against his thigh. “So I’m guessing the last few nights have been rough.”

“Pff, what do you know.” Dementia leaned her head back, staring at the ceiling now. They remained silent for a minute before she had the courage to speak up again. “I dunno, I just…it’s hard sometimes. Dreams are hard sometimes. Cause I can’t do anything about them. Can’t control them.” She laughed, short and self-deprecating. “Not like I can control much else about me anyway.”

“Anything, anything noteworthy? Or that you want to work through? Get off your chest?”

“Nah, just same-old, same-old.” The girl nuzzled her chin into the collar of her straitjacket. “That stupid intern showed up in one, but it wasn’t too bad. He didn’t,” her eyes darted briefly in Flug’s direction and darted away. “He didn’t really do anything. In the dream. Was just there in the background.”

The doctor bobbed his head, quiet and respectful. They lapsed into silence again until she flipped over to lay on her back, head half hanging upside down off her bed in his direction. “Hey, Flug?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever get bad dreams?”

“Oh, all the time,” he looked at her. “Being a psychiatrist is stressful, you know. Especially here.”

“No, I mean…” Dementia blew stray bangs out of her face to give him a serious stare. “I mean about before here. Back when, when it wasn’t as safe.”

Flug opened his mouth to respond truthfully, but stopped himself and gave a nervous glance towards the door. He didn’t know how much could be heard out there, and he really didn’t want Martin – or any staff, really – to know things he wouldn’t normally share.

Dementia seemed to understand why he hesitated, because she wriggled closer until her back was on the ground and her legs trailed up and over the mattress. Her head was right next to his crossed knee, curious eyes watching him attentively.

“Well, I don’t know about this place being that safe for me,” Flug offered, pitching his voice a little quieter. “But yeah, before all this it was…really hard sometimes. I had a, a lot going on that I’m not super proud of, that I don’t want to get into for,” he glanced at the door again. “For personal reasons.”

The girl nodded sagely, in understanding brought only by experience, and he continued.

“And it’s not as bad as it used to be, the nightmares I mean. Sometimes they sneak up on me, and sometimes it’s hard not to think about, those times.” He reached up and lightly trailed a line down the cheek of his bag. “But I just have to remind myself that there’s a today, and a tomorrow, and they don’t have to be related to what happened yesterday, or last week, or whatever. I know it’s really cliché to say time is a good healer, but it is a good starting point, at least for me. Does that make sense?”

Dementia turned her head slowly, face searching somewhere beyond him. “I think so, yeah.” She locked eyes with him. “So why do you wear your bag? Is it related to the bad stuff?”

“Well, the bag isn’t really related, per se, but I don’t think I should answer that.” Flug looked down at her, at the sad, reserved expression she wore only when things were starting to be too much. He was very familiar with that look himself. “You’ve asked me about it before, way back when. I will tell you someday, I promise, but right now I don’t think I have the courage.”

“The courage to show me?”

“The courage to remind myself.”

“Oh.” Dementia worked those words over in her mind, and a small, crooked smile quirked up one side of her face. “Well, I better be the first one when you do. It’s only fair, after everything I’ve told you.”

“Trust me, Dementia, if I ever get that brave, you will probably be the only person I show it to.” He took a moment to move his lab coat to a better position across his shoulders, then looked at his mostly-forgotten clipboard. “I had an outline for our session today, but I don’t think we’re really going to follow it. What do you want to do?”

“Mm…” She bit her lip and looked at the door. Something distantly related to pity appeared in her face. “If I didn’t scare the newbie away, maybe…maybe I’ll listen to his apology.” The girl glared up at her doctor good-naturedly. “Doesn’t mean I’ll accept it! Just wanna hear him grovel.”

“Oh absolutely.” Flug stood up and brushed the wrinkles from his pants. He strode over to the door and waited until Dementia sat up and gave him a verbal confirmation to open it. As the doctor stuck his head out, he saw Martin slumped against the wall with his head in his arms between his knees.

The intern lifted his head when the psychiatrist cleared his throat. “Do you…does she want me to leave?”

“No, she’s willing to talk to you.” Flug offered a hand up, which the teen took. “But I want you to stay at least five meters away from her, hands by your sides at all times, and the first words out of your mouth need to be an apology. Got it?”

“Yes sir,” Martin agreed hastily, rubbing his arms as if chilled. He ducked inside the room behind the doctor like a wraith. The inmate and the intern made eye contact, and a rambling burst of energy spilled out of the teen’s lips.

“I’m so sorry, Ma’am, I shouldn’t have tried to force you to do anything! And I shouldn’t have touched you that was unprofessional and wrong and I, it…” he ducked into himself, embarrassed with both gazes on him. “I’m…I really hurt you, didn’t I?”

Dementia snorted. “Takes a lot more than a sissy-boy to hurt me, Chiquito, but it’s something.” She stood and ventured closer, keeping Flug between them like a buffer. “Martin, is it? You’re kinda scrawny. Are you sure you’re cut out for this job?”

“Um,” the intern looked to his superior for help, but the psychiatrist was trying not to laugh. She had said almost the same thing to him months ago. “I don’t…thank you? I can manage.”

“I sure hope so, kid, cause I’m one of the nicer ones.” She shook her head and long hair spiraled out around her. Flug rolled his eyes.

“Funny, I thought you were one of the tough ones.”

“I’m both, you dense doctor, I’m well-rounded.” Dementia shimmied in place, pretending to pose like a model. It was quite the sight with her attire. “Anyway, I’m bored now, so either pick a spot and pop a squat or get the hell out of my room. I’m not wasting any more time in my appointment with the only reliable guy here.”

Martin sat where he was, startled, and at his quizzical look the girl smiled like a shark and dove onto her bed. “You think I don’t know what interns do? I’m just surprised you didn’t bring a notebook, you’re not very prepared.” She scooted her feet up and propped her chin on her knees. “Flug, get your butt over here, you’re the one getting paid for this.”

A little under an hour and a half later, the two employees stepped out as Dementia smacked her feet together in lieu of clapping. “Bye Flug! See you soon! Bye Martin Maje! Don’t let the door hit you on the way out!”

Martin waved half-heartedly as the doctor locked the cell, then whispered quickly, “What does ‘maje’ mean?”

“Ehhh, don’t worry about it.” Flug adjusted his bag and shrugged one shoulder, fidgeting uncomfortably. “She gives, um, nicknames to people sometimes. Don’t take it personally, it means she likes you.”

“O-Okay,” the intern looked confused but dropped it. “So, now what? Do we go over the session? Do I tell you what I think? What’s next?”

“…You don’t know what comes next?” The psychiatrist was baffled by this.

“Well I haven’t, been here very long and Dr. Bautista…” Martin looked at the window of Dementia’s door. “He doesn’t really give me much to go on. Just, ‘go help this person with this’ or ‘go ask the nurses for something to do’. I haven’t done much, really.”

“Oh.” Oh indeed. Flug was really starting to regret accepting his offer to help with the other case. “Well, I’ll talk to him, maybe work out a more concrete schedule. How’s that?”

The intern’s face lifted just a little, then fell. “Ah, thanks but um, I don’t want to get in your way. Especially not after I screwed up with your patient.”

“I’m just glad she accepted your apology,” the doctor said bluntly. “And I’m not going to lie, I’m still upset about that. But we really need all the help we can get here and I’d rather you know what you’re doing than…whatever you’ve been doing the last few days…week? How long have you been here?”

“Six days.”

“Ah, okay. Yeah. That’s, that’s it then.” They started working their way down the hall and Flug continued. “I might just let Dr. Rorschach know you need stuff to do, she’ll probably be better to help than me. Not that – not that I don’t care I just, have a lot on my plate right now.”

The poor psychiatrist had a sixth sense for bad timing, he’d swear up and down, because at that moment there was a distinct hair-raising, ear-splitting shriek from the other end of the hall that was all too familiar. Flug made a pained expression as Martin whipped around in that direction.

“What – what was that?!”

“That would be one of my patients.” He handed his clipboard to the shocked intern and pushed him towards the elevator. “You go ahead back to my office and look over my notes. Get a pad and write down questions or thoughts, save it to show me later. I uh, I need to take care of this.”

“Oh, do you, do you want help or –”

“No! No no no, I appreciate it but please no!” Flug shook his head frantically, not wanting to imagine bringing this inexperienced kid anywhere near Black Hat. “Just, j-just go back downstairs, please, I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“Um, alright,” Martin complied and started walking reluctantly, and the doctor waited until he was safely in the elevator before putting his hands to his face and moving to the opposite end. There was another shriek and he grimaced.

The lights above the reinforced cells were dimmer than Flug remembered them being just that morning. He stopped carefully in front of the sole occupied room and peeped inside discreetly. Black Hat was there in the other side of his padded prison, kicking angrily at his mattress and straining hard against his straitjacket. His collar blinked but didn’t make a sound.

“Um, Mr. Black Hat?”

The inmate went still in his movements and cracked his head around in a near one-eighty. His face, contorted in rage, restrained itself to a neutral, unreadable position.

“Doctor Flug. To what do I owe the displeasure?” His body turned to match his head, and the psychiatrist winced at the noise it made. “I was under the impression we wouldn’t see each other until the date set tomorrow.”

“Oh, w-well, I happened to b-be here and you…” Flug looked at the abused bed. “Uh, I heard a y-yell, and I was j-just checking in.”

Black Hat’s mouth gave a spasm, but whether in the direction of a smile or a frown it was hard to tell. “I see. Well, I will take more care to keep my grievances to myself, until I feel the need to share them.”

“Good, that’s…good. Is there, uh,” he swallowed. “Is there anything else you need?”

“What I need is not something you’d provide, Doctor.” His patient was settling down a little, at least in energy. He was no longer as rigid. “I highly doubt you’d be willing to entertain my possession of an alternative set of clothing. This one is quite, restrictive.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda the point,” Flug mumbled before he could catch himself. He jolted when his brain caught up and put his hands to his mouth, horrified. “I mean, I d-didn’t mean to say that, I –”

“Oh it’s quite alright, Doctor Flug, I prefer honesty.” Black Hat looked vaguely amused again. He stepped closer to the door and the doctor pushed down the urge to take a matching step away. “Which reminds me; you were not very truthful about your identity. Refusing to share your full name? Tut, tut. Rather deceiving, Flug.”

Every use of his first name sent a shiver up his back. “I r-really wasn’t being untruthful, Mr. B-Black Hat. Just evading a f-full answer.”

“I suppose I cannot dispute that,” There was another step. “But now that it’s out in the open, I have to say it’s been intriguing me. It is an abnormal name, after all. Were your parents aware of its meaning?”

Flug clamped his mouth shut. He wasn’t letting anything else get past him. His inmate stepped forward some more, only a meter or so from the door.

“Is it a birth name? A changed name? An alias, perhaps?” Step, step. Black Hat was at the window now, hot breath curling out and under the paper bag. The doctor clenched his hands into his coat to keep the flinch from escaping. “Oh come now, Flug. Surely you can’t expect me to believe there are no curious circumstances. Flug Slys is too much of a word to be a name.”

Flug took a loud, slow inhale. “You could say the same thing about Black Hat.”

“Ah, true,” the patient’s mouth curled like the Grinch, “but I use that name for stage and show, something you pitiful humans can wrap your heads around. I highly doubt your situation is similar.”

“Well, m-maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.” His knuckles were white. “But that’s as much as y-you need to know. I’m not – I’m not going to l-let anything else be c-compromised.” He squared himself, trying to look braver than he felt. “Got that?”

They were very close now, face to face just as he had been with Dementia. But there was a different kind of test here, an alternate set of rules. Flug had to learn them before he fell behind, because he had the distinct sense that losing was not an option.

Black Hat’s one visible eye was half-lidded lazily, but through the illusion the doctor could see his pupil searching, studying, sifting into everything he had foolishly allowed to be seen. The smile turned to a grin deliberately sluggish, and the inmate made a noise deep in his throat. It could have been mistaken for a purr if one was suicidal enough.

“Yes, Doctor Flug, I understand very well. You are a man of mystery, keeping your secrets close and your half-truths even closer.” A forked tongue could be seen only briefly behind the deadly teeth. “It will be fun prying every single one from your trembling, broken hands.”

Flug’s hands were so tightly curled in his coat he could feel nails pressing into his palm through the gloves and the fabric. “That’s f-fine, Black Hat, but I h-hope you realize that it’s a t-two way street.”

“Oh I’ve no doubt about that,” the patient backed away from the bars. “But if I recall that will not begin until tomorrow. Official appointments and all that.”

He turned away and only then did Flug release his lab coat from his death grip, taking a few shaky steps of his own, putting distance between himself and the door. He shook as he shuffled away, fiddling with the crumpled ends of his mistreated coat. Behind him, Black Hat cleared his throat.

“Until next time, dear doctor. Ta.”

And so for the third time in two days Flug left that room, shaking and quiet and traitorously, treacherously excited.

Longest chapter so far! Hope you like it!

[montyduff]

Origins || The Reaping // Self Para

“Do you need help?”

A little girl with brunette hair near longer on its own than the length of the person it belonged to took a seat in a chair that barely rose above the ground. The little boy she was speaking to, though not little to her, was losing a battle against the colored pencil in his hand. She watched as he tried to clutch it somewhat like the way their teacher had taught them earlier in the day. While everyone else quietly went about their assigned duties, the boy beside was getting further and further behind. 

“You have to put your thumb over your pointing finger,” she instructed him in his silence. Boldly, she grabbed his hand and attempted to fix it for him, but he resisted and yanked away from her.

“This is dumb,” he argued as an excuse for his ineptitude. Miss Railia had warned him that temper tantrums amounted to nothing under her roof, nor anywhere else, so he let the pencil roll away from him instead of throwing it. It didn’t matter if the color jumped in-and-out of the lines anyways. It was still completely filled-out, which was the assignment. “I just want to get out of here.”

“Don’t be sad! We can do it together.” The girl adjusted his fingers again, stubbornly persistent and determined to make things work. He didn’t object this time. If she was a ticket to getting out of more work, he’d take it. Everything they did in class just seemed so pointless compared to what he could be doing if he was home. Not his bed in the room he shared with three other boys. Home home, back out in the wilderness. 

Thought he didn’t refuse her. 

*****

“Did you get 3/4s for number six?”

“Yep,” he said, writing 3/4s down as his answer. 

“Do you remember anything about your parents?” Gemma knew she shouldn’t ask Niko, not while he was still so prone to sulking and sealing himself away in the orphanage when he thought too much about the family he used to have. She only wanted to hear him talk about them kindly in ways she could never speak about her mother. She barely knew her face, merely a picture that hung near her father’s bedroom mirror. 

Niko, laying on the ground fighting growing pains, felt his face twitch at the out-of-place question. “Just their faces, what we used to do together,” he answered. “Not much else.” What sucked the most was how he remembered their faces of horror and their screams more than their voices because of the night their life together ended. When the white soldiers came. He knew now that they were peacekeepers and he dodged them like the plague. They would sooner end up knocked out than anywhere near him. 

“Sorry for bringing it up. I’m stuck on number seven and I needed a distraction,” she apologized. It was sincere and she regretted asking, but she needed his answer. Her dad had been so distant lately and he didn’t like talking about her mom. It was like everyone around her thought parents were a taboo subject. 

“I don’t care,” he responded apathetically. He hadn’t cried about his parents in years.  “Just skip it.”

“The question? Then Mr. Tankagine will mark it wrong!”

“So you get one wrong. You’ll still pass.”

“Not happening.” 

The boy circled C for number seven, all the while clutching the bronze key he’d worn around his neck for the last five years, the answers attached to both uncertain. 

*****

“Kids! Keep those babes moving! No stopping!” A burly man with a beard in need of trimming shouted at the both of them and the day’s team. For whatever reason, a bunch of cars transporting Capitol people were traveling through Six and were in desperate need of a cleansing.

“Yes sir, Mr. Raz,” they answered in near-unison. Gemma managed the windows, as usual, while Niko cleaned out the gunk caught in the tires, as usual. 

They had worked at Raz’s Car Wash since the day they were both twelve-years-old, earning minimal cash to pay for whatever treats and gadgets they wanted to get their hands on. Richard had hired them on mostly as a joke, but the pair of best friends actually ended up as decent workers when he needed them most. 

“You’re coming for dinner tonight, Niko,” Richard began. “I’m making those quesadillas you like.”

“Bomb,” he replied, punching a fist in the air as a tiny surge of water ricochet

“I already told you, we’ve got the spare bedroom. I don’t know why you don’t just shack up with us. You’re damn there more often than Gemma is.”

“Dad, he’s told you a million times that he doesn’t want to be a bother,” Gemma reminded him, though at the same time bumping Niko’s hip with her own. “Even though he isn’t.”

“I got a bed with Mrs. Railia. Use the spare room for all of Gemma’s trophies,” he taunted. 

“You’ve just been such a big help,” the big man tailed off, resigned to let the young man have his way. He turned to his daughter who reassured him that keeping out of other people’s business was the best way to go. 

“Is anybody gonna help me with this last one or do I have to clean the whole damn thing myself?” yelled one of the workers from afar. 

“We’re on it!” Gemma cried, pulling Niko with her towards their last vehicle of the day. He didn’t want a spot under their roof, but he’d always have a spot right next to her. 

*****

“And the female tribute is....Gemma Raz!”

Gemma couldn’t breathe. Niko couldn’t breathe. 

Gemma pretended to smile as she was walked up on stage.

Niko looked around at the rest of the crowd. Was literally nobody going to volunteer? There were so many 18 and 17 year-olds that were going to be useless sack of shit adults, none of them wanted it to end now in their prime? 

Gemma took her place on the stage, greeted by the bright eyed escort who was already gunning for the boy’s bowl. She gazed out into the crowd of so many faces she knew. Boys and girls from school. Their tiny siblings barely towering over the knees of their parents. Engineers from the station. Women who washed the laundry for their worker husbands day in-and-out. Niko. Her father, whose rugged appearance was hidden beneath the stream of tears cascading out of his eyes. 

Niko wasn’t even in District 6 anymore. He wasn’t the same version of himself anymore, instead the five-year-old who saw fading glimpses of his parents as he was thrown into a flight-enabled machine. Everything in the world was being taken from him as he was forced to stand there, forced into position by the fucking white soldiers. Everything in his life was divided into two separate pieces. His family before, Gemma after. There was no way he was letting them splice it again.    

“The male tribute is...Ryder..”

“I volunteer!” Niko called out, the world around him suddenly rushing back. 

Fuck, he thought to himself.

He was pushed on-stage by the peacekeepers who he resisted the urge to push back. No temper tantrums, they would do him no good. 

Side-by-side again, Gemma peered into her friend’s eyes, silently asking him what he could’ve been thinking. Niko, in his own head, was thinking the same thing as he took the spot next to her.

“The tributes for District 6,” screamed the escort. “Gemma Raz and Niko Bello!”

[geekmama]

Aftermath: The Christmas Album

Side A: 1. I'll Be Home For Christmas, 2. The Holly and the Ivy, 3. O Tannenbaum, 4. The Gloucestershire Wassail, 5. It Must Have Been The Mistletoe, 6. Deck the Halls

I’ll be home for Christmas, you can plan on me…

“It was easier, before,” he muttered as they rounded a corner of the narrow country lane and his parents’ home came into view.

“You mean when you were a high functioning sociopath?”

Sherlock’s peripheral vision had apparently caught her air quotes and suppressed laughter. “I mean, Miss Malapert, when easier meant a quiet Christmas at Baker Street.”

“Miss Malapert? You sound like my maiden aunt.”

“You don’t have a maiden aunt.”

“Yes, I do.” Molly looked down her nose at him, raised her brows, and said in pretentious accents, “She has blue hair and is frightfully posh. You’d get along swimmingly.”

“Liar.”

She grinned. But then said, thoughtfully, and far more soberly, “I haven’t really been to a Christmas at 221B since that one time.”

He frowned as he pulled up in front of the house, and after he’d shut off the motor he turned to her. “I know that. And it… the incident still upsets you? Though I admit, my apology was insufficient.”

She shouldn’t have given voice to it, for now the scene came rushing back to her in detail: the excruciating embarrassment, followed by shock -- everyone’s, not only that he’d actually apologized, but that she had finally had the nerve to stand up for herself. The memory of his lips against her cheek. And then… “Well, that text alert didn’t help matters.”

He grimaced. “No.”

This was ridiculous. It was neither the time nor the place to dredge up ancient history. She said bracingly, “You can make it up to me tonight. I’ll sneak into your room.” She waggled her eyebrows at him, to show him the past was past.

“Why would you have to do that?”

“But… you don’t think--”

“Molly, my parents are quite aware that our cohabitation is far from innocent. We’re engaged to be married, for god’s sake -- and you’ve already held out the lure of grandchildren, remember? Of course we’ll be assigned the same room.”

She blinked, processing the idea of them sharing the bed he’d slept in as a child. But then her lips quirked. “Cohabitation? Another maiden aunt word?”

“I felt it expressed our deliciously sinful arrangement more accurately than just ‘living together’.”

She began to chuckle, her heart warming at the amused light in his eyes. It was sinful, indeed, how much she loved this man, had always loved him, and enjoyed his company. She added, happily, “And our wedding is just around the corner, of course.”

“Please don’t remind me.”

“Oh, Sherlock!” she protested, cast down again.

“Are you certain we can’t elope?” But then he relented. “Alright, don’t look like that. Come here. It was a long drive and it’s been bloody hours since we last kissed.”

Impossible man, she thought, scowling, but moved to comply.

How things had changed between them.

It was a good kiss… a very good kiss… and they were still immersed in it when there came a rap on the window and his father’s muffled but cheery voice: “Now, now! Time for that when you get inside! Your mother has tea and mince pies all ready!”

Molly giggled. “Mince pies -- your favorite!”

“Nothing less would make up for the intrusion,” Sherlock said, grimly, but his smile was irrepressible.

  ❈

  Of all the trees within the wood, the holly bears the crown…

 “Oh, lord. It looks as though a Christmas bomb exploded.”

“Merry Christmas to you, too, my son,” his mother said, very wry, as she came into the foyer to greet them. Then her smile grew warmer. “And Merry Christmas, Molly. You look lovely in that jumper.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Sherlock murmured, though his eyes laughed.

Molly said to Millicent Holmes, “Thank you -- and just ignore him, ma’am, your house looks beautiful. Is the holly from your garden?”

“It is! Vernet fetched in the cuttings just yesterday.”

“Well, it’s lovely -- very tastefully done.”

“Except for that!” Sherlock exclaimed with disapprobation as he strode past them and into the living room. He pointed at a group of framed photos pinned to the wall -- and not just any frames, but childish ones, carefully constructed of various papers, yarn, and glitter.

And not just any photos. “Is that you?” exclaimed Molly, coming up behind him and delighting in a portrait of an innocently smiling, curly headed little boy in shorts. “Sherlock, you were adorable! And Mycroft -- look, there are two photos of him, and he’s holding you in this one, you were so little! And is this--”

“Eurus,” Sherlock said. He looked at his mother.

She looked straight back at him, but sounded a little uncertain as she replied, “In happier days.”

Sherlock considered this, then nodded. “Hidden away too long.” He looked at his sister’s picture, then at the entire grouping. “Did… I make these frames?”

His mother smiled. “You did! You were so artistic as a boy. Mycroft, too. I found two ornaments and a little tree he made me. Styrofoam and pasta shapes and gold glitter. Before you were born.”

Sherlock’s eye held a satisfied glint. “You’ll have to show Lady Smallwood when she arrives.”

Millicent chuckled, but said, “Alicia may have helped him make them, for all I know. She did babysit for us, off and on, for a number of years.”

“Mmm.”

Sherlock looked around the room, now, and Molly could see he was pleased. She slipped her hand into his and said, “Admit it: you’re glad to be home.”

But Millicent said, “I’m very sure you being here with him will make it seem more homelike than it has in many years.”

Sherlock turned to his mother in surprise, and she returned his gaze with a look of tender understanding.

Molly, moved, bit her lip.

But then Millicent smiled, and said briskly, “Come! Let’s repair to the kitchen and drink that tea while it’s hot!”

  ❈

  O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum, how richly God has decked thee…

 “I’ve taken your bags up to Sherlock’s old room,” Vernet Holmes said, coming in when Sherlock was on his third mince pie.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have!” Molly protested. “We could have done it.”

“It was my pleasure,” Vernet said with great sincerity, sitting down  at the table as his wife poured out a cup of tea for him. “Ah! Thank you, my dear.” He took a sip, then said to Sherlock and Molly, deceptively bland, “I do hope that bed will be big enough for the two of you. It’s only a small double. But we had to give the guest room to Mycroft and Alicia, since his old bed is a single.”

“We’ll be fine,” Sherlock said, giving Molly a rather cheeky smile.

“I daresay you’ll contrive,” Vernet said, a twinkle in his eye. He picked a one of the little star-topped pies from the plate in the center of the table and took a bite, closing his eyes in ecstasy. “Delicious!” he said to his wife, when he finally could. “My dear, you’ve surpassed yourself. This pastry is divine! But should we save some for Mycroft?” He looked askance at his son, who’d just picked up a fourth pie.

“No,” said Sherlock, and took a bite.

“No,” Millicent agreed, placidly. “I’m making another batch presently, so they’ll be fresh for him and Alicia.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes but made no further objection, his mouth being full of pie.

*

After they were refreshed and Millicent had risen from the table to start on that second batch, Sherlock led Molly upstairs and down the hall to his old room.

“The room hasn’t been changed from when I was still in school, I’m afraid,” he warned her.

“Like a shrine to young Sherlock?”

He gave a crooked grin. “Something like that.” But then he opened the door, stopped on the threshold and stared. “Good god.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Molly finally jostled him aside and then gave a crow of delight. “A tree! They’ve put a Christmas tree in your room!”

“Our room,” Sherlock corrected, stalking in behind her. “And not only a tree. Where the devil did they get this duvet set?”

“Oh, it’s lovely!” Molly exclaimed, taking in the red striped pattern featuring trees, reindeer, hearts, and stars on a snowy white background. “It’s like my jumper!”

“It’s far worse, since there’s so much more of it. What was my mother thinking?”

“That it’s Christmas?” Molly went over to the corner of the room where the little tree stood glowing, covered with fairy lights, strings of beads, and tinsel garland. “It makes the whole room smell of pine forest! And did you make some of these ornaments?”

Sherlock came to stand beside her, and she saw that he was trying hard not to smile. He said, “Yes. And the rest appear to be some that were given to me by various friends and relatives when I was a child. I had no idea they’d saved them all these years.”

Molly slipped her hand into his and gave it a squeeze. “Your parents love you very much.”

Sherlock’s eyes met hers and his half smile faded. She could see that he was barely able to fathom how such love had remained evergreen in spite of the many ways he had tested it through the long years.

They both sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at the tree.

“We must thank them,” Molly said, presently. She leaned against his shoulder.

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, and bent his head to hers.

  ❈

  Wassail, wassail all over the town…

 After recovering from her surprise that not only Molly but Sherlock himself had embraced her and expressed thanks for their bedroom’s holiday decor, Millicent Holmes sent the two children out on an errand.

“I must have ground cardamom, I’m making that lovely Swedish Christmas Bread for breakfast tomorrow. It’s still early enough that the shops will be open in the village. Can you two go get some for me, please?

“We’d be glad to,” said Molly. “I’d love to see the village dressed for the holidays!”

Sherlock said to Molly, with a sly look at his mother, “You see? I told you it was traditional to be sent on a wild goose chase for some obscure commodity on Christmas Eve.”

Millicent smacked him on the arm and said, “That’s the least you can do, you impudent snatch-pastry.”

“Ha! Another maiden aunt word,” Sherlock exclaimed, but ducked behind his prospective bride in a most cowardly fashion to escape further retribution.

*

“They’ve been gone an awfully long time,” Millicent said, trying to keep worry from her tone. After all, what could happen to them in the wilds of Suffolk?

“Sherlock is probably just showing her the sights,” Vernet tutted. But he left the kitchen, wandering into the living room to peer out the window, into the fading afternoon. Then, after a minute or two, he called, “Here they come now!” and Millicent gave a sigh of relief -- which was ridiculous, of course.

But still.

She wiped her hands on a towel and joined her husband in the living room, to greet the prodigals, and arrived in time to see that Molly had been driving, and that Sherlock staggered a bit as he exited the car. There was also a suspiciously fatuous smile on his face.

“Good God!” said Sherlock’s father. “But he wouldn’t… not with Molly right there!”

But the two of them actually began singing as they approached the door, Molly’s light soprano a charming contrast to Sherlock’s booming baritone harmony...

 Wassail! Wassail all over the town! Our toast it is white and our ale it is brown; Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree; With the wassailing-bowl, we'll drink to thee!

 “What on earth!” Millicent exclaimed in delight. They hadn’t heard Sherlock sing in years! And when Vernet opened the door the two kept right on singing as they entered the house, Sherlock looking inordinately happy and slightly bleary, and Molly positively glowing.

Millicent’s boy turned to Molly and pulled her into a dance, waltzing her around the foyer and living room until finally they both collapsed laughing on the sofa.

Vernet had closed the door, and now said to the giddy pair, “It appears you’ve been doing some wassailing yourselves.”

“Every shop had a bowl of punch!” said Sherlock happily.

“And there were several groups of carolers!” said Molly. “It was the most wonderful thing! I could’ve listened for hours!”

“But we didn’t,” said Sherlock, reaching into his pocket for the packet of spice. He held it out to his mother in triumph.

Millicent took the packet, not quite laughing. “Thank you, both of you. I particularly appreciate you driving Sherlock home, Molly. It seems he did a bit more wassailing than you?”

“No, not at all,” she said, matter-of-factly, though her eyes danced. “He just can’t hold his liquor.”

“Can too!” Sherlock objected, his smile disappearing for the first time.

“Nope,” Molly said, exaggerating the final ‘P’ as Sherlock sometimes did.

The light of battle was kindled in Sherlock’s eyes, and his smile returned in a rather more mischievous form.

His father said, quickly, “Now, now! Perhaps you two had better retire for a bit, have a nap.”

“Sleep it off,” said Millicent, never one to mince words.

“Yes,” Vernet agreed. “Mycroft and Alicia won’t be here for a couple of hours yet, and mother is just finishing up some baking. It’ll be a good chance for the two of you to… ah… rest.”

“What an excellent idea,” said Sherlock. He hauled himself to his feet, swaying only a little, and pulled Molly up after him. He said scornfully as they headed toward the stairs, “Can’t hold my liquor! Ha!” and he actually gave Molly a swat on the arse just before they disappeared from sight. Her outraged objection was mixed with laughter, and then she gave a little screech and from the sound of it the two were running up the remaining stairs and down the hall.

Millicent turned to her husband and found her disbelief reflected on his countenance. Then they both began to laugh, and after a warm hug, retreated in good order to the kitchen to savor the moment.  

  ❈

  It must have been the mistletoe…

 Molly turned to him as soon as they were through the door.

“No!” she said, trying not to smile, her finger raised in warning.

He halted immediately and stood there, swaying a bit, considering her, shoving the door shut in the meantime. The click of the latch waked something in him and he turned and also set the lock. Then he turned back to her and said, “Yes.”

She almost laughed. “No!”

He came slowly toward her, and she backed away – toward the bed.

“But yes!” he told her. “You have to.”

“I don’t,” she said, chin raised. “Why should I?”

He advanced (and she retreated) just a little more, and then he stopped and looked up toward the ceiling.

She followed his gaze and gave a slight gasp. “Mistletoe!”

It was, tied with a red ribbon to the overhead light fixture -- and coincidentally, hanging over the foot of the bed.

And she’d been caught, now, distracted by the sight of those green leaves and white berries and perhaps by the thought that they’d been placed there with set purpose by his outrageously liberal minded mother. Distracted, and he had stepped just close enough to trap her. With a smile at her sudden surprise, he drew her close against him, said, “Yes!” again, in a voice dark and soft as velvet, then bent his head, and kissed her.

  ❈

  See the blazing Yule before us…

 Vernet Holmes prided himself on his ability to build a fire, and when Mycroft and Alicia Smallwood arrived an hour after sunset on that cold Christmas Eve, that skill was much appreciated.

“Heavens, it’s freezing out there!” exclaimed Alicia, trotting up to hold her hands to the blaze.

“Quite literally,” Mycroft added, taking off his coat. “There’s a chance of snow tonight, and there is ice on the roads as we speak. I’m certainly glad we left London when we did. Any later and it would have been exceedingly dangerous driving.”

“Perhaps we’ll have a White Christmas this year,” mused Vernet. “But you two sit down and warm yourselves by the fire. Mummy’s bringing in tea -- unless you’d like something stronger? No? And fresh mince pies -- Sherlock’s not up from his nap yet, so you’ll have them all to yourselves.”

“His nap?” Mycroft laughed.

Vernet put his finger to his lips. “Mummy sent him and Molly to town and they were a trifle overserved. Or Sherlock was, at least.”

Mycroft nodded and, after his father had gone to the kitchen to help Mummy, he explained to Alicia, “Sherlock so rarely drinks alcoholic beverages that it takes surprisingly little to inebriate him.”

“As long as it was only alcohol,” Alicia said with a grimace.

Mycroft chuckled. “I’m fairly sure Molly would have his head on a platter if he indulged in anything more addictive at this point.”

“Yes, she would,” said Molly herself, coming into the room, following by Sherlock who was glaring, but rather mildly.

The two looked quite cheerful, actually. Apparently it had been a very refreshing nap.

Molly added, “And the rest of him might never be found, who knows? But that’s why he loves me, after all. How good it is to see you, Alicia… and you, Mycroft.”

“Merry Christmas, Alicia,” Sherlock said, with a smile.

Alicia raised a brow.

“I’m full of the spirit of the season,” Sherlock said, sounding facetious but looking at Molly with a warmth that could not be mistaken.

And Molly actually blushed as she returned his regard.

“Well, this is something different for the holidays,” Mycroft said, looking from one to the other. “I knew you’d tamed him somewhat, Molly, but this seems quite extraordinary.”

“Not at all, Blood,” Sherlock said succinctly. “Molly merely has the ability to keep me right.” He sat down beside her on the sofa and took her hand.

“Well! Peace on earth, good will toward men, by all means!” said Mycroft. But just then, Mummy and Dad came through the door with the tea tray and a heaped plate of mince pies, fresh from the oven. Mycroft turned to Sherlock. “If you spoil my enjoyment of those pies in any way, brother mine, you will deeply regret it. Decapitation will be the least of it.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to voice some irreverent retort, but Molly jabbed him with a sharp elbow. He exchanged a glance with her, then sighed in defeat and said, “Oh, alright, then.”

Mycroft and Alicia exchanged a glance, too. Perhaps peace and good will would not be out of the question this Christmas.

   To be continued on Side B…

[after-avenging-hours]

Incubus [11]: Bucky x Reader

Incubus / Part 2 /  Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 /  Part 8 / Part 9 /  Part 10

Word Count: 3056

Warnings: a good amount of language

QUICK REMINDER THAT PART 10 WAS POSTED ON THURSDAY

“Can you walk?” Steve asks once your bindings are loose.  He comes back to your front and gently pulls you to your feet.

Your legs wobble precariously before completely giving out.  “That’s a no.”

Steve is quick to catch you before you fall.  “Alright. I’ve got you.”  He lifts your body into his arms as if you weigh nothing. You wince when all the jostling makes your stomach turn.

Steve leaves the room.  The brightness of the hallway hurts your eyes. You tuck your face into his neck, trying to shy away from the light as a headache begins to develop on top of everything else.

“Shit.  You’re burning up!”  Steve can feel the heat coming off of you in waves.

“Really?  I hadn’t noticed,” you mumble dryly.

Steve walks as quickly as he can through the base, though it takes a little longer since he’s trying to use hallways he knows will be abandoned.  If anyone sees him, he can easily enough tell them that he’s just taking you to the infirmary, but he’d rather avoid any unnecessary interactions. “We won’t be able to use a translocation circle to get out of here.  It’ll alert the crew and they’ll be able to track us.  Will you make it if we fly?” Steve asks you.

“Only one way to find out, I guess.  But if I throw up on your wings, I’m not apologizing.”

Steve finds his lips tilting upward ever so slightly.  “Glad Rumlow wasn’t able to wipe out that sarcasm.”

“Rumlow’s a prick,” you mutter in disgust.

That makes him frown.  “Y/N, I’m so sorry.  I never should have left you with him.  If I had known-”

“But you did know,” you argue, though your voice is weak, it’s still accusatory.  “It’s why you hesitated when Pierce ordered you.”

Steve winces at the truth of your words.  “But we don’t do this.  Not to our own kind.  Not to those that are innocent.”

If your throat wasn’t so raw, you would have scoffed.  “I can’t tell if you’re truly that ignorant.  Or just stupid.”

Your conversation is put on hold when Steve finally steps out onto the back deck.  The wind whips at your hair and face.  The coolness of it feels good against your heated skin, but the rush of air also burns your lungs.

“If you drop me, I’m going to haunt you for the rest of my undead life,” you warn feebly.

“I’m not going to drop you,” Steve responds, unsheathing his wings and letting them stretch out.  He pulls your body closer into his chest before he takes off.

You crack open your eyes, watching over his shoulder as the distance between yourselves and the Helicarrier grows.  You release the breath you didn’t even realize you had been holding.  “I sincerely hope this isn’t some figment of my imagination drummed up by the venom,” you mutter quietly.

“Venom?” Steve questions, glancing down at your face as you tuck it back against his shoulder.

“Rumlow forced me to drink arachnae venom,” you wince, your body reminding you of the burning pain with a particularly intense throb.

You feel Steve’s entire body stiffen.  “Shit,” he curses, before beating his wings a little faster.  “Hang on, Y/N.  At least until I can get you back to Wanda.”

“Wanda?” you ask in confusion.

“She performed a clairvoyance spell to check on you.  When she realized something was wrong she told me to come looking for you.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Because she was worried about you.  She does see you as a friend, Y/N.”

You know you should feel happy about this, but you find your mind drifting down a dark path instead.  This whole escape plan was orchestrated because of Wanda?  Did Bucky even know that you were gone?  Did he even care?

You squeeze your eyes shut and bury your face into Steve’s neck, trying to fight off the tears.

The rest of the flight is spent in silence.  You figure Steve must have thought that you’d fallen asleep, but really you were in too much pain to do so.  You blink open your eyes when you feel his feet land on solid earth.  You look up at the familiar building.  Your apartment.  Steve hurries inside.

“Wanda?!” he calls out, shifting you a little so he can knock on the door.

She’s there in seconds, tears coming to her eyes when she sees you huddled in Steve’s arms.  She gasps, covering her mouth with a hand.  She quickly ushers Steve inside, directing him to set you down on the couch.

“Oh, Y/N!  I’m so sorry.”  She grabs a blanket off the back of the couch and gently drapes it over your shivering form.

“I’m going to run a perimeter check.  It won’t take SHIELD long to realize she’s missing.  They might already know.  We can’t stay here,” Steve tells Wanda before he heads back to the door.  “Keep an eye on her.”

Wanda nods.  She pulls her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans and types a quick text to Bucky to let him know you’re here.  She turns back to you, hesitantly taking a seat on the couch. You eye her warily.

Her gaze meets yours, full of remorse.  “I swear, this was never supposed to happen.  I was just trying to keep you safe.”

You look away, your gaze staring unfocused at the wall across the room.  “The road to hell is paved in good intentions,” you repeat the phrase that had been running through your head during this whole ordeal.

She winces openly.  “What happened?  Who did this to you?”

“You have no right to ask,” you huff.  With the amount of pain filling your entire being, you can’t seem to find any sympathy. Nor do you want to.

She lowers her gaze in shame. “I’m sorry.  I know that this is all my fault.”

“Was I always just a mission to you?” you ask some of your betrayal leaking through your voice.

She looks at you in confusion.

“They told me you were assigned to keep an eye on me.  Were we ever friends?”

Her face falls, “Of course we were.  Y/N, you’re my best friend.  I was just trying to protect you.”

“You call this protection?!  To send a Nephilim to kidnap me?  To take me away from the man that truly cared about my wellbeing.  To take me to a place where I would be tortured and interrogated, all because of the one person I care about?  Because my ideals and the way I choose to live my life doesn’t match with SHIELD’s?!”  Tears of frustration sting at the corner of your eyes and it takes everything within you not to let them spill.

Wanda doesn’t have as much luck, a few tears spilling down her cheeks.  “I will never be able to apologize enough for what’s happened.  After James made me realize what they might do to you, I tried to make up from my mistake.”

Your gaze whips to meets hers. “James?” you repeat.

She nods with a sniff, trying to wipe at her tears.  “He came here looking for you.  I thought he was going to kill me, I could feel the anger radiating off of him. Demons are usually masters at concealing their emotions, but looking at him was like watching a caged tiger.”

You release a stuttering breath, your mind not entirely sure what to do with this information.

The front door bursts open with a loud bang, making you jump.  You look over in surprise, your eyes meeting with that familiar cerulean gaze.  “Bucky?”

The look of pure relief that washes over his face makes your heart stop.  “Y/N…” his voice sounds just as raw and broken as yours.  He’s in front of you in seconds, falling to his knees at your feet.  There’s a crease between his brows, his eyes wide, his lips trembling.  He looks scared. You don’t think you’ve ever seen this look on his face, nor did you think you ever would.  His hand shakes as he reaches out for you, before he pauses and you suddenly realize what’s causing this fear, because you feel it yourself.  You’re terrified that this isn’t real.  That he isn’t real.

But then his fingers brush against your knee and you just completely fall apart.  “Oh god, Bucky!”  You lean forward, throwing your arms around his neck.  His own arms are around you in an instant, pulling your body as close as physically possible, even though it still doesn’t feel like it’s enough.  You bury your face into his neck, inhaling his familiar scent with every breath.  “I thought I’d never see you again.”  The tears you’d been trying to hold back are now flowing freely, sobs racking your whole body.

His arms tighten even more. “I was so worried about you, Lumina. I was going out of my mind!”

Your fingers grasp at his shirt, your muscles protesting again the effort it takes to squeeze him so tight. But you needed to feel him against you.  “I didn’t tell them anything, Bucky.  I swear!” you cry out, desperately begging him to believe you.

Bucky looks up at you in confusion.  “Didn’t tell them what, Lumina?”

You sniff, choking on another sob. “About you.  They wanted to know your weaknesses.”  You feel his body tense.  “But I didn’t tell them, I promise,” you add quickly, scared he won’t believe you and he’ll leave.

But instead, his gaze softens. One of his hands loosens from around you and moves to frame the underside of your jaw.  “My Lumina.  So brave and strong.”

You nuzzle your cheek against his palm, your gaze washing over his face and really take a look at him.  There are dark circles beneath his eyes, his skin an almost sickly pale, his cheeks slightly sunken in.  You frown in concern, your hands framing his cheeks as your thumbs swipe gently beneath his red-rimmed eyes.  “Bucky, you look so tired,” you whisper quietly.

The very corner of his mouth twitches as he fights a grimace.  “I haven’t slept properly since you were last in my arms.  I haven’t really done anything since then.”

A broken sob escapes you when to realize the implication behind his words.  It becomes difficult to breathe around the heaviness of your cries.

Noticing your distress, Bucky tries to wipe away your tears.  “What’s wrong, Lumina?”

You shake your head, trying to push away his hands.  You didn’t deserve his comfort.  “He- He told me you wouldn’t wait. That you would have to move on in order to feed.  I didn’t want to, but I was starting to believe him.  Oh Bucky, I never should have doubted you.  I’m so sorry!”

Bucky remains persistent, pulling your body closer and pushing the hair out of your face.  “Hey, Lumina no.  You have nothing to apologize for, draga mea.  If anything, I should be the one that’s sorry. I never should have let you leave my hotel room.  You wanted to stay and I made you leave.  None of this would have happened if I let you stay.”

You hate seeing that look of blame on his face, but it’s enough to help you snap out of it a little.  With his face still framed between your hands, you lift his gaze to meet yours as you lower your head slightly.  “None of this is your fault Bucky.”

“Lumina…”  You notice the way his eyes dip a little to your mouth, but he fights the urge.  He doesn’t want to push your limits.

You feel your heart melt for him, the love of your life.  You were so lucky to have him, sometimes you still couldn’t believe it.  You lean forward until your lips are pressed.  His reaction is instant, his response urgent. His hand cradles the back of your head while your fingers comb through his hair.  Everything about him is so familiar, it helps to dispel the thoughts that this might be an illusion.  His taste on your tongue, his scent in your lungs, the spark that ignites beneath your skin wherever he touches you…  Everything is a reaction that you know can only be caused by him.

Bucky feels the same need as you. To tell his mind that this is real, that you’re here.  He needs to feel you beneath his fingertips, to taste you, to breathe you.  His hand pulls out of your hair, fingers brushing down your neck; however, the moment his hands brushes over the curve of your shoulder, you pull back with a gasp of pain.

He releases you instantly, worry clouding his face.  “What is it?”

You wince, releasing a small whimper as you clutch your left arm to your chest.  “My shoulder,” you respond without thinking, the pain clouding your better judgement.

You don’t realize your mistake until after Bucky’s pushed the blanket away and has begun to lift the sleeve of your shirt to see what’s wrong.

You hear the gasp escape from Wanda’s lips, but the only thing that registers is the flash of rage igniting in Bucky’s eyes.  The blue turns to a vibrant hot red, his pupils dilating.  “Who did this to you?” he growls through clenched teeth.

“Bucky…” you eye him cautiously. You try to pull your sleeve back down but stop at his growl of warning.

“I’ll fucking kill them all.”

“Y/N,” you turn your head at Wanda’s call.  Her gaze is firmly planted on the mark.  “Who did that?” she repeats Bucky’s question.

You wince, feeling another wave of pain surge forth, the venom and the mark seeming to be in competition with each other.  “A man named Rumlow.”

“Rumlow?!” she questions in shock.

“Who is that?” Bucky asks, glaring her down.

Wanda gulps, not particularly enjoying being on the receiving end of such a look.  “He’s the lead interrogator for SHIELD.  Why were you with him?” she asks you.

“Because I was ordered by Pierce to take her to him.”  The three of you look up at the sound of Steve’s voice.

The red in Bucky’s gaze turns to black and in a flash, he’s got Steve pinned against the wall, his forearm locked over Steve’s throat.  “Give me one good fucking reason not to rip your wings straight off your back, Nephilim,” Bucky spits out the word like it’s dirty.

“Bucky!” you cry out in surprise at his reaction.

“James, just hear me out,” Steve starts, trying to keep calm.

“Fuck you!  I should have fucking known this was all you.  You fucking coward!”

Wanda shoots to her feet, unsure if she should step in or not.  “James!”

He ignores the two of you, pressing his forearm harder against Steve’s throat.  “First Natalia and now this?!” he hisses through his teeth.

Steve’s gaze narrows into a pointed glare, his calm demeanor vanishing in an instant.  “Don’t you dare bring her into this.   You’re the one that turned her into your personal sex toy!  I was just trying to stop you from doing that to another innocent woman!”

Bucky’s glare hardens as he bares his teeth.  “What are you fucking talking about?!  I’ve never even had sex with Talia.”

That seems to throw Steve off for a second, but then his jaw ticks and he glares again.  “Don’t lie to me!  A bond forms between the demon master and the one he turns!”

“The bond between us is platonic, you idiot!  I’ve never touched her.  She’s like a sister to me.”

Steve’s nostrils flare when he exhales as he tries to get ahold of his emotions.  “Look.  I think this is a matter to discuss at a later time.  You need to focus on Y/N.  Rumlow put arachnae venom in her.”

That seems to cut through the rage in Bucky’s head enough to get him to release Steve.  Bucky steps back, the glare still firmly planted in his eyes. “Anything happens to her?  You’re as good as dead, Rogers,” he threatens before turning and moving back to you.  He kneels down in front of you.  “How long has the venom been inside you?”

You shrug, wincing when it tugs at the mark on your shoulder.  “Don’t know. They don’t exactly keep clocks in the interrogation rooms.”

Steve steps closer cautiously. “Can’t you just use your blood to counteract the venom?  Like with…” his voice falls away before he can say her name.

Bucky’s jaw ticks in annoyance. “Talia had been human when the arachnae bit her.”  He looks up at you, distress and worry lining his features.  “The angel blood running through your veins would fight against mine before it could even get to the venom.”

“So what can we do?” Wanda asks.

Bucky stands and moves to lift your body into his arms.  “I know someone that should be able to help.  Lumina, I need you to hang on just a little longer, okay?”

You wrap your arm around his neck as he holds you close to his chest and nod you head.  “Okay.”

“I’m coming with you,” Wanda takes a step forward.  “I want to help.”

Bucky doesn’t bother trying to stop her as he moves for the door.  It would just waste more time.

“Wait.  Where are you going?” Steve questions.

“None of your fucking business,” Bucky remarks coldly before he’s out the door.

“Buck,” you chastise weakly. It’s not difficult to discern the history between the two of them, but you hated seeing that discourse.  “He got me out of there.  You could at least be a little grateful.”

He scoffs, stepping into the elevator.  “He’s the one that took you there in the first place, isn’t he?  The one that left you with that maniac.”

You release a low sigh, tucking your head into his shoulder.  There really wasn’t much point in arguing over it, you realize.  And you guess it was a little hypocritical, considering your current opinions on your roommate.

Once you’re all out at the car, Wanda helps to open the passenger door to allow Bucky to set you down in your seat before she climbs in back.  Bucky pulls his phone out of his back pocket and quickly dials a number as he makes his way to the driver’s side.  “Sam?  I’m gonna need a favor…”

Part 12

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