#the pea soup in my lungs man

[justsomeguycore]

i have now been sick a full week and i’ll be honest with y’all. i’m over it. you would not believe the ectoplasm i am coughing up

[deltas-writing-corner]

Courtship (4): The Gargoyle Graveyard

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland (Malleus x GN!reader)

Author note: Again, thank you all for being patient with me and I apologize for having a very inconsistent writing schedule. I'm going to make it my goal to update on a bi weekly basis instead of leaving you all in silent limbo. Also a reminder I suck at figuring out which warnings to put so if there's something that needs to be forewarned that I failed to disclose please lmk!

Warnings: Mentions of heavy bodily injuries | childhood trauma/neglect | discussions/mentions of discrimination | mentions of virginity/sexual history

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AO3 version

Clay. Stone. Porcelain. Plaster. Metal. There are even gargoyles carved entirely of wood! Some statues are stand-alone works of art while others are part of a clear collection or series of similar inspiration. They even come in all sorts of shapes and sizes; as small as an apple or a towering height to rival Malleus himself. No matter what, each grotesque has been crafted with the utmost consideration, by well seasoned and knowing hands. Even the ones that have clear defects and cannot serve their intended purpose are free of overabundant ivy, weeds, or dust. There’s a clear degree of love and care the family who makes these statues has for their craft that makes him feel less alone in his interest in an uncherished form of art.

“It should be around here somewhere,” you muse aloud. Ever since he expressed interest in seeing more sculptures made with non-traditional materials, you’ve been keeping your eye out for a particular one that would fulfill his yearning. You eventually find it and eagerly point to it. “There it is!”

Malleus watches as you approach a massive-sized statue covered with a thick and half-wet tarp. He helps you remove the cover, revealing a winged and slightly humanoid canine. There are many more grotesques with a similar design, but what makes this one stand out the most is the material it’s made out of.

“Amazing!” Malleus awes. “I’ve never seen a grotesque of this size made entirely of glass! They’ve even managed to maintain their attention to detail despite such an abnormal material choice.”

“You can even see the inner channel where the water would flow in and redirect out of its mouth,” you notice.

“They even went out of their way to make it functional despite it being unfit for actual installation?” Malleus inquires with disbelief. “Such a shame.”

“If you’re looking to buy anything here, I’m afraid it's a lost cause. One of the first warnings the grandfather gave me is that none of these are for sale.”

“What was his second warning?”

“If we damage anything, even as small as a scratch, he’ll kill us.”

“How charming,” he chuckles. “I cannot blame him. These statues must take weeks to complete. Time is a human’s greatest enemy.”

“For some, sure. But when I went to visit the family and talked to the old man, he was lunging around all this heavy equipment like he was still in his prime,” you recall. “He lives for his craft. If there’s anything humans are at risk of their entire lives, it’s a lack of motivation and reason to live.”

“I suppose that’s true, but the lifespan of humans and the inevitable effects of aging is difficult to live with, especially once it begins to hinder one’s ability to do what one could previously do without issue. ”

“You’re not wrong,” you acknowledge. “But I think I’d rather live a short life with fulfillment than a dull, long-as-shit life.”

To show that he’s entirely on your side, Gunter lets out a guttural bark while his tail rapidly wags and thumps the damp ground, coating the ends of his bushy tail in specs of dirt and dirtied, remnant snow of the north that has managed to stay frozen on the isles warmer south end.

“You’re only agreeing with them because you’ve been promised food,” Malleus chastises. “Don’t think I didn’t pick up on your grumbling stomach.”

“And don't think I didn't pick up on your stomach rumbling either your highness," you quip back at him. "The family has a small cottage nearby we can use. We'll settle down for a bit and eat before sightseeing some more."

Before you turn and walk in the direction towards the aforementioned lodgings, you reach your hand out for Malleus to take and he latches onto you with restrained enthusiasm. He's taller than you, but he takes care not to take his normal strides as to not leave you struggling to keep up with him. Gunter doesn't know the way, so he trots beside you every step of the way up until the destination is in plain view. The cottage is small but well-attended. There’s a rustic flair to its construction that makes it feel familiar and safe despite never stepping foot in it before.

"Those gargoyles were something, huh?" you remark to him while you tap and shake off the gunk wedged into the soles of your heavy boots against the frame of the door.

"Indeed," he nods, taking your cloak off for you and hanging it on the wooden rack nearby. "I don't think I've ever seen that many gargoyles in one day. Just when my eyes land upon an intriguing one, there's several more that catch my attention."

The way he gets all wide-eyed is outright adorable. It makes you grin just as enthusiastically too. "I bet your club is going to have a field day once you tell them about this!"

His child-like smile turns into one of disappointment. "I'm certain they would, if I wasn't the sole member that is."

Your hands halt from pulling out and setting down all the premade food out of your pack. "Seriously? You're the only one?"

When he nods his head, you feel a twinge of hurt in your heart. Poor guy. You can only imagine how disappointing it must be to go through all those lengths to start a club (you would know since you're technically a staff member of the school and have been given a rundown on some of the school's functions and regulations) only for no one to show interest. Of course, you completely understand that gargoyles aren't exactly all the rage within the minds of teenage boys. Still! He goes through so much effort to build relationships with his peers but they always cower away, either due to his status or even because of the way he looks. You won’t deny that he does come off as rather intimidating at first glance, but he's a sweet guy once you give him the chance to speak.

But to expect teenagers going through social pressures and demanding academics to be as understanding and willing to understand someone like Malleus is an impossible demand. Given that everyone in the school can be a bunch of self-centered and easily agitated bunch of pricks, it's understandable that most of the student body isn't keen on trying to take into consideration the proper etiquette one needs to consider in the presence of a young and noble fae. Deuce has met and talked briefly with Malleus on one occasion, but even he visibly shakes whenever his name is mentioned, even in casual passing.

Wait until they found out who you've gone and gotten buddy-buddy with behind their back. They probably think they're slick or that their intentions are well swept under the rug, but it's clear they feel some semblance of responsibility for your well-being, as both a magicless individual as well as a close, albeit older, friend. You dread the day people begin to make the connections between Malleus and you, but you still can’t help but wonder what their reactions might be. You also dread the high probability those two idiots are going to find out and embarrass the living hell out of you, which you know you do not have the patience or tolerance for.

Gunter jumps up and sits himself down in one of the wooden dining chairs, pushing the small ceramic plate towards you with his nose, as if telling you "Alright, I’ve done what I said I'd do, now feed me what I'm owed." You tell him that you'll give him what he's well earned after you get a small fire started in the brick fireplace. Just because it's warmer near the southern half of the island and not as heavily blanketed with snow, doesn't mean the cold has completely vanished, Winter is still winter after all.

"Where did these scars come from?"

Malleus' unexpected question and closeness nearly make you drop the iron rod you've been using to stoke the growing fire. You've since taken off your boots and rolled up the bottoms of your pants just above your knee as the room starts to warm up enough for a thin layer of perspiration to accumulate and roll down your skin. The scars he's referring to are the ones on your right leg, both side by side at an awkward angle and discolored. You have a lot more scars than these, some much more gruesome in appearance than these two. Malleus has never asked about your scars, but sometimes you catch him looking in the general area of some that peak through your clothes. He likely keeps quiet about their existence out of courtesy.

Yet out of all the markings on your body, why did these two stand out enough that he'd finally ask about them?

"It's a long story," you say in an effort to stall the topic. "Sit. I'll feed you two once the fire is stable."

He doesn’t push you for an answer, instead simply doing as you say and lets you poke at the burning logs until they're properly aflame on their own. You made mostly some of your morning favorites; Creamy and thick potato stew with diced carrots and peas and some eggs, ham, and crispy hash browns sandwich between homemade halved croissants. You teased him about having picky taste buds earlier, but Malleus is content to eat anything you serve him so long as it is not comparable to the likes of Lilia's atrocious cooking.

(Seriously, how does a man as old as Lilia not know the basic fundamentals of cooking? And why does everything he makes end up burnt and tasting like something rotten? You will never understand.)

"Don't eat too quickly," you warn Gunter as you pour a bit of light-colored soup onto his designated plate. Your words are ignored, as the equally marred wolf sloppily slurps and munches on the few bits of potatoes and vegetables you generously scraped out of the thermos. His food is gone as quickly as it’s put in front of him and he looks at you expecting more.

"No. The rest is mine," you scold. "And don't beg Malleus for some either! I know you do it behind my back, you little shit!"

He turns to look at Malleus with an accusatory glare, thinking that he ratted him out to you. Malleus’s response towards the silent imputation is to turn and look out the window as if something caught his interest all of a sudden, cup raised to his lips as he politely sips away at his meal without an air of calmness. You have to slap a hand over your mouth to hide the amusement that overtakes your senses.

"Malleus, stop that!"

"Stop what?" he innocently asks.

"Stop making me want to laugh!"

He sets his cup down onto its matching serving dish. "It's not my fault you have an easily satiable sense of humor."

"Wow!" you say incredulously and put your arms up in offense. "And here I was thinking we were friends!"

His distant demeanor breaks and you both devolve into a fit of laughter together. Gunter unfortunately takes advantage of your joint distraction and slips away with a warm sandwich between his jaw, your sandwich in particular.

"That damn wolf!" you curse. "I knew I should have trusted my gut and pack extras.”

Malleus pities your distress before moving over to sit closer. "Worry not. I'll split mine in half with you,” he reassures.

"No, it's fine," you immediately dismiss his offer. "Have it for yourself."

"I'm not taking no for an answer," he firmly states. “Don’t be stubborn. It’s far too early for that.”

"I thought you liked it when I was stubborn?” you pout.

He shakes his head with a smile. “I would be lying if I said I didn’t”

"At least someone likes my attitude,” you say after chewing and swallowing a mouthful of soup. “Sebek certainly doesn’t."

"The boy is stubborn as well. When two equally stubborn individuals cross paths, you will witness nothing but discord between the two."

"Add the fact I'm human into the mix, and we'll be exchanging fists instead of words sooner or later," you scoff. "I get that some faes don't like humans, but what's his deal with acting like he’s got a vendetta against me?"

"Sebek doesn't hate humans for the reasons you might think," Malleus admits. "It’s more like he finds them difficult to think that highly of. Did you know that he is half-human?"

You nearly choke on your own breath over the sudden revelation. "Really?"

"Indeed," Malleus finds amusement at your disbelief. "Have you ever wondered why his ears aren't pointed like Silver, but his eyes are like mine and Lilia’s?"

"Damn,” you scratch the back of your head with embarrassment. “Now I feel stupid.”

"You aren't. Given the way he speaks, not many would assume he had human blood in his veins. His mother was highly regarded within her social circle, but her marriage to a human man tarnished her reputation a great deal. She's happy and does not seem to care what others think of her these days. However, when Sebek set out to be a knight, his mother's marriage and his lineage were often brought up as a way to scrutinize his character and capabilities rather than any of his actual shortcomings as an individual."

"Poor kid," you sigh. "Lilia told me those sorts of things still happen in The Valley, but it sounds so outlandish that I couldn’t take it that seriously."

"Many faes hold old traditions above all else, to a degree that the purity of one's blood stands above all other merits." His eyebrows pressed together in annoyance. "Even my grandmother thinks it's archaic, but as the reigning queen she has to embody a persona of neutrality between the social divide."

"It sounds like you have your work cut out for you in the future," you say, almost apologetically. "What do you plan to do about it once you're the king?"

There's a brief flash of surprise over your question, but Malleus easily answers it as usual. "I think my first course of action as king would be to properly knight Sebek and Silver."

"Bet my rifle that Sebek is going to cry the entire ceremony!" you remark with certainty. "That's all he ever goes on about, being a knight and all."

"He's devoted countless hours and efforts since he was a child. If there's anyone who deserves to join the knighthood, it's him."

"Definitely," you nod to further cement your agreement with him. "He could stand to lower his voice a bit. He'll give you tinnitus before long.”

"At least we won't have to worry about losing him in a crowd," Malleus jests.

"That's to say we'll lose sight of him to begin with," you remark. "He'll gladly lose me in a crowd. You? You'd be lucky to get out of arm's length."

"You underestimate me, dearest," Malleus smirks. "Ever since I've met you, I've perfected the art of avoiding Sebek's insistent searches."

"Have you now?" you razz back. "Don't let him catch onto the fact. He'll have my head."

He reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Each second his skin touches yours makes you tingle. Time slows down ever so briefly if only to savor the small instance of physical connection for as long as possible. "What of your aunts?" he inquires. "Are they as overprotective of you as Sebek is of myself?"

"They’re a trio of mama bears," you proudly admit. "I'm old enough to drink and well equipped to fend for myself, but in their minds, I'll always be the little tyke that couldn't even eat their meals without looking at them for approval. Especially my aunt Gia."

You have three aunts. There's your aunt Marisol, the mother of most of your cousins and the main caretaker of the household. Your second aunt Lucia was well into her studies at university when you came to live with them, but her stress and long hours of mulling over her course materials paid off in the long run. Your gardening skills wouldn't be what they are now without her expertise in agricultural botany.

Then there's your aunt Gia. Oldest of the three. An absolute tank of a woman. No spouse. No kids of her own. She lived off the land like an absolute titan. The woman raised you as if she was the one that carried you for nine months and not your actual birth mother.

How would you describe your parents? If your parents were told to list out their priorities in life, their careers would be at the top of the list and you would be put at the very bottom. Why they carried you to term is beyond your understanding. You later learned that Gia had even offered to take you under her care well before your birth, knowing that your parents might not be well-suited to take care of you in the way she thinks would be beneficial for you. It was a convenient offer that would have saved everyone the trouble years down the line when you had your accident. They worked in a cutthroat industry and were constantly moving up the executive echelons. They had no time for you, yet their pride as a pair of young, successful business magnates made them incapable of seeing past the reality of the situation. That left you mostly in the care of last-minute caretakers and your aunts, but only if they had time from their own busy and preoccupied lives to come out into the city and visit.

You were eight years old when things started to get better, but it was upstarted in the worst possible way. Your parents had to go away for the upcoming weekend for work and left you in the care of a babysitter as per the norm. The babysitter never showed up however and your parents apparently couldn’t be bothered to check up on you even once the entire trip. Their silence wasn’t surprising. You just went on about your business for the next three days on your own like nothing was wrong. Your aunt Gia had even called at one point to check up on you, but you didn’t bother to tell her that your parents had left you to fend for yourself. She would have exploded if you did, but not as much as she did when you woke up in the hospital after falling down the stairs and lying helplessly on the ground for several hours with a dislocated shoulder and a compound-fractured leg. You were lulling in and out of consciousness due to all the medication pumped into you, but what little you do remember seeing and hearing when you regained consciousness will forever stick with you for the rest of your life.

If people think your level of swearing is bad, they should have heard your aunt that day. She swore so viciously that it could set an innocent bystander's eardrums on fire. What will forever stand out the most to you was the fact that your parents didn’t even look the least bit apologetic or regretful. They didn’t even approach you once your aunt was done giving them a piece of her mind to check up on you. They simply talked with the awaiting social worker and doctors and then left. It was for the better, but the small part of you that continued to hold onto the desperate belief that your parents would come around one day sent you into a thrashing frenzy and you had to be sedated before you could hurt yourself anymore.

The next year was spent recovering from your injuries, meeting regularly with your caseworker, and going through therapists like a pack of cigarettes. By the time you were back on your feet and the legal proceedings of your custody case were concluded, all you wanted was to move on with it all. Nearly a decade of neglect left you this unattentive, uncertain husk of a person who couldn’t take a single step forward without looking for some sort of guidance or assurance. Your family was exhausted by the entire ordeal and over speaking with third parties. Your aunts took it upon themselves to help you regain your sense of self in the comfort of your new home, no matter how difficult or demanding it was going to be.

“It took some time, but eventually it clicked in my mind that I was in a better place and I started to get better. As for my parents, I have no clue what they’re up to these days.” You lean back into your chair and let out a shaking yawn. “I like to think they’re getting on well like I am.”

“I don’t understand.” Malleus looks at you with unbelievable confusion. “Your parents treated you poorly, yet you don’t sound the least bit resentful. Why is that?”

You shrug your shoulders. “What’s the point? I'm in a better place now, so I've let bygones be bygones. 'Doesn't mean I don't harbor any anger against them anymore. I do, but getting upset won't change what's happened to me."

Gunter, having sensed your discomfort over the matter, trots over and rests his head on your lap. You gratefully rub the top of his head, carding your hands through his thick, coarse hair. "I'm just glad they let me go without a fuss. Family court was hell for my family.” Your eyebrows knit together. “Expensive too.”

Crackling wood fills the momentary silence that befalls the small cottage. What you've recollected to Malleus is a lot to take in, and if you're being quite honest you'd prefer if he just dropped the subject and talked about literally anything else right now. You hope he doesn't say he's sorry or any other type of apologetic comment. That's all you were ever told that entire year it all happened, during court proceedings, your rehabilitation, by both strangers and distant family members alike.

"I'm so sorry. What happened to you was unfortunate. You didn't deserve it."

No shit you didn't deserve any of that. You were a kid. You don’t need one pity party after another to realize that what took place then had fucked you forever. But as you said earlier, you're in a better place now, with a loving and supportive family that's moved on alongside you. A family you need to get back to as soon as possible.

"I love you."

Well, if he was hoping to take your mind off the past. that certainly did it. How can it not? It came out of nowhere and as good as you are at holding your composure when need be, you're sure you look no less like a gaping fish when warm and plush softness presses right against the corner of your lips. A kiss. His kiss.

"What's wrong?" Your voice sounds shaky. You’re nervous.

"Nothing," he smiles reassuringly. "I simply said what I felt needed to be said."

"Fair enough" you concede easily. He was going to say it sooner or later. He already has actually, now that you think about it. Yet here you are trying to process his words like it’s rocket science.

"Am I going about this too fast perhaps?" he genuinely asks. His hands that have been busy massaging your calves that have settled across his lap somewhere during your long retelling gradually slow down, but his hands never go completely still. "This is my first time experiencing something like this."

"What?" You sit up a bit straighter. "A relationship?"

"Yes."

Your head tilts to the side. "Really?"

He nods hesitantly "Yes?"

For a moment, you go completely quiet. "I don't believe you,” you doubtfully say, head shaking to further showcase your refusal to believe him.

He must not have liked your remark, frowning with clear offense in his eyes. When he dislikes something, the vertical slits in his eyes contract into a thin line. "I cannot lie, yet you still doubt me?"

"I know you can't lie, but I find it hard to believe you haven't been with anyone else before," you explain. Before you can consider the appropriateness that was your newfound curiosity about Malleus's apparently non-existent love life, you blurt out, "Are you still a virgin?"

You slap your hand over your mouth the moment those words come out of it. He's equally caught off guard and nearly drops his warm cup of coffee. Even Gunter is surprised by your question, olive-colored eyes looking at you as if you've lost your mind. It's an invasive question, inappropriate even. You and Malleus have been dating for a little over two days. A question like that is way too early to bring up just yet.

"You don't have to answer that," you tell him behind your palm. "I shouldn't have even asked it. Forget I ever brought it up-”

"I'm not," he interrupts you, leaving you even more shocked than you already are. You’re practically gaping like a fish by now. "I'm not a virgin,” he further insinuates.

A deafening silence, but it’s eventually broken by yourself. “I still don’t believe you.”

Malleus gets further annoyed at your refusal to accept his truth. "I'm not lying!" he insists.

"Bullshit!"

"Do you want me to recount my history to you?" he asks, exasperated as you are at the shift the conversation is taking. "Will that satisfy your doubts?"

"You know what? It will!" you loudly declare. "Who'd you sleep with?"

"He was a young page at the time,” he reminisced. “It happened before I was a century old.”

Your eyebrows raise with intrigue. "Was he cute?"

"Yes," he hushedly agrees. The disconcerting admittance paints his face a pinkish-red glow. "But that's not why I bedded him."

"But surely his looks are what made you interested in the first place?” you make blatant regard of the fact.

“You’re not wrong,” he acknowledges, expertly avoiding agreeing with you outright. “But his looks aren't the sole reason I was drawn to him. He was bright-eyed and ambitious, to the point you’d think him insane given his position in the court. It was also the first time I ever truly met with a group of humans, and my young mind was eager to get a more accurate perspective of humans that wasn’t through the lens of my tutors.”

“An ‘accurate perspective’?” You make playful air quotes, eyebrows wiggling because you know the fact that he knows what you’re implying. The playful comment is met with a sharp pinch on your leg that makes you jump and shriek out in pain. Did he have to dig his nails into you? Apparently so, and now you have small crescent indents on your skin. “I bet Lilia had a good laugh when he found out.”

“He doesn’t know, actually,” he admits to you with what is obviously a proud smile.

“Now I know you’re lying to me,” you scoff. “Nothing escapes the old man’s radar.”

His hands begin to rub out the marks he’s left on you as a form of apology. “Lilia is sharp, but he had lost most of his vigor by the time I was born.”

You go wide-eyed again. “You mean his hearing and eyesight was better than it is now?”

He nods affirmatively. “From what I’ve been told, terrifyingly so.”

Lilia is already frightening as is. His short stature and boyish looks make him perfectly unassuming to those who don’t know any better. You once watched him beat up a couple of bulky, twice-his-height students from Savanaclaw without breaking a sweat, yet moments before he was jokingly scolding himself for dozing off so easily. You never once thought he was ever out of his elements. A cold chill runs down your spine thinking how much more perceptive the older fae may have been back during his prime years.

“Wonder what Lilia’s gonna think,” you ponder out loud in a quick effort to banish out the skin-prickling mental imagery your mind was invoking. “About us, I mean.”

Malleus seems surprised that you would change the topic to that of all things, but his initial shock goes away as quickly as it came. “As you may have guessed, he’s an open-minded individual, but he’s also very realistic and unafraid to say what’s on his mind.”

“So what does that mean for you and me?” you question with a bit of hesitation.

“Well,” he trails off and ponders for a moment. “He’ll surely like the scandal our relationship would invoke. However, as my caretaker and mentor, he won’t hesitate to put an end to it if he feels it necessary.”

Had it been anyone else sitting beside you, you’d have found that comment way too extreme and outright ridiculous. However, you are not speaking to anyone ordinary. You are not sitting before someone normal. It doesn't matter how well you get along with him. It sure as hell doesn't matter how deeply in love you are with him, and him of you. The moment you have been deemed a shortcoming, the outings, the closeness, it all stops. All of it will come crashing down and both you and him will be left wondering what could have been done differently.

Malleus is truly your best friend, because already he can tell that your mind is beginning to spiral even when you go quiet. He calls for your attention by gripping his hand around your bare ankle and carefully tugging the end of your limb. “Don’t fret over it too much,” he soothes, yet also sounding like he’s scolding you for letting your mind wander off so negatively. “Lilia is an exceptional judge of character. From what I’ve gathered, you’ve well exceeded all his marks. He trusts you, and to gain such a thing from someone as old and wise as him is an extraordinary feat.”

You brew over the attempted compliment he tried to pay to you. Unfortunately, it doesn’t snub out all these festering thoughts in your head. It doesn’t even give you temporary relief. Perhaps it would have brought you a sense of peace a few months ago, but with everything that has happened thus far, you doubt even Malleus can alleviate the storm that rattles inside you, even if what he speaks is without a doubt nothing but the truth.

Surely he can see that you are still having some hangups. When you lift his hand and plant a chaste kiss on the back of his hand, you hope he can decipher the gesture as a pitiful request for his forgiveness for dampening the once energetic mood. He is not at fault for your loss and inability to think optimistically at the moment and you need to make sure he knows it.

Today is about him, not you. Even if it’s just for today, you’ll put on a pleasant facade and worry about the rest at a later date. It’s just you and him, and for now, that’s enough.

You do a mental countdown starting from three, before finally giving him a late response to the three words he uttered in confidence to you earlier. “I love you too, by the way.”

You love him. You love him. You love him. That’s all his mind can think of for the rest of the day. He replays your reciprocation over and over like it’s sacred and all-powerful.

He had planned to return to his dorm before the sun began to set, but he found the mere idea of detaching from you deeply unwanted and made the last-minute decision to spend the evening at the Ramshackle dorm. He already has a few articles of clothing and personal essentials set up in one of the many empty rooms, so neither Lilia nor you had any objections at his sudden request.

“Don’t worry!” You shout across the room so that Lilia can hear you over his phone. “I’ll make sure he gets to bed on time!”

“You have my gratitude!” Lilia’s muffled voice responds gratefully. “Don’t cause too much trouble now, you two.”

“No promises~” you sing in jest before Malleus hangs up. Once the call ends Johnny, Benji, Franky, and you turn their attention back to their ongoing game of poker. Malleus watches and occasionally laughs to himself over the friendly banter shared between the quartet. At the end of every round, the winner is assaulted with colorful profanities whilst they take their newly won gambling chips with ebullience. Yet with each new dealing of cards, the animosity goes away and they’re all back to being friendly. He finds your interactions with your incorporeal roommates more entertaining than the book he’s been reading to pass the time.

“Hey, fairy boy,” Franky informally calls out toward him. “Don’t be a stranger now. Play a few rounds with us.”

“I’m afraid I’m not well versed in card games,” he admits, yet he still finds himself setting his literature aside and moving over to join them.

“Don’t worry,” you give him a reassuring smile. “They’ll go easy on you.”

“For how long?” he knowingly asks.

You give him an impressed smirk at his quick uptake. “I give it three rounds before they start to pull back their sleeves.”

Malleus is well-adjusted to the need to quickly learn a new topic and the expectation for him to fully comprehend it in full. None of them are harsh on him for his minor mistakes like some of the tutors he’s had in the past. Answers that he believes may be obvious or not as complicated as he thinks they are being answered with enthusiastic patience. The smallest achievements he makes are met with a proud response. When he makes a surprise turnabout and wins his first game, he’s rewarded with an encouraging round of applause by everyone.

“Not bad,” Benji praises as he shuffles the deck of cards. “You’re a fast learner.”

“So I’ve been told,” he humbly replies. “Is this the part where you all stop going easy on me now?”

“Don’t provoke them,” you half-heartedly warn. “Otherwise we’ll be up all night duking it out otherwise.”

Franky sets his glass of iced liquor down on the edge of the table. “Don’t you little lovebirds worry. We won’t take up too much of your well-needed time together.”

Annoyed at the clear jab at his relationship with you, you throw one of your chips towards his head. It passes through his body and clatters on the floor behind him. Your fawn Blossom jumps down from their spot on the couch and goes to sniff it, thinking it to be food, but walks away with a disappointed strut when he realizes it isn’t anything edible.

“I didn’t tell them a damn thing,” you defensively clarify. “It was so obvious what was going on between us that they figured it all out before we made it official.”

He lets out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “That’s...I can’t say I’m too pleased to hear about that.”

“We won’t say anything,” Franky reassures. “Just make sure to put a sock on the door whenever you guys want some alone time.”

“Franky!” you hiss at him. “What the hell?!”

“What?” he looks at you, unbothered by your clear embarrassment. “Do you honestly expect us to think you guys went out just to look at a bunch of statues?”

“Oh, I’m sure they were looking at something,” Johnny smirks. “It wasn’t made of stone though.”

“I hate you guys,” you growl out, arms crossing and leaning back into your seat with an angry huff. You don’t mean it. He can see the tremble of your lips as you try to contain the urge to grin. “Even if we did end up rolling around in the sheets, I wouldn’t be yapping about it for all to hear, much less you guys!”

“What happens in the gargoyle graveyard stays in the gargoyle graveyard, eh?” Franky winks at both Malleus and you, nudging you with his elbow.

“Exactly!” you affirm, batting the large ghost away from you for some much-needed distance. “Now stop being so damn nosy.”

They cackle one last time and everyone seamlessly goes back to their ongoing game. Conversations like the one that just concluded are commonplace in your dormitory. Even if he contributed next to nothing to the discussion, he enjoys watching them interact. You come from a world where ghosts are hardly as overt as the ones in this world. Ghosts are said to entertain themselves by picking on the living, to the point that it can be fatal. Your ability to come up with witticisms at a moment's notice is something he enjoys seeing in action. He feels great satisfaction not only knowing that he has secured your love but to also see you in a state of tranquility and within your elements.

As Benji and you have a hushed conversation on the sidelines, he reaches over and places his hand on your knee beneath the table. You quietly reach over and put your hand over his, stroking the back of his hand with your thumb like it’s instinctual. Unfortunately, the heart-fluttering moment is ruined by the sudden buzzing of his phone. He has half a mind to ignore it, but when he gives the screen a glance he realizes ignoring the caller is not an option.

“I’ll be out for a moment,” he excuses himself once he sets his hand down and stands himself upright. “This shouldn’t take that long, hopefully.”

They all stop to look up at him inquisitively for half a second. In unison, they ask, “Sebek?”

“Sebek,” he affirms.

There are simultaneous displays of annoyance, pity, and silent wishes of good luck directed at him. He’s tempted to ask where all this contempt for the boy comes from, but then he remembers the many times Sebek barges his way into their dorm at the worst possible moments. It is either when everyone is beginning to settle down after a long day or in the middle of an important house project, the former more so than the latter now that the dorm is much more stable and in need of less restoration. Malleus learned the hard way how ill you and the ghosts will react when your peace is unwantedly interrupted and your space invaded by an unwanted guest.

Sebek is also quick to scrutinize whatever he sees out loud without a filter. You never seem to mind half of the time, merely rolling your eyes and moving past Sebek’s ill-meaning remarks as if you never heard them. As you are someone Malleus highly regards and holds close to his bosom, he hopes Sebek can one day set aside his strife with humankind and give you the due diligence you deserve.

...Though, he completely understands that reaching that point will take time. While you can endure Sebek to a certain degree, there are times where he, unfortunately, pushes you past that threshold and, without flinching, you will tell him to “Shut the fuck up”. Your words, not his.

“Young master!” Sebek's transmitted voice peaks and he has to half pull it away to give his pained eardrums some relief. “I was informed by Lord Lilia that you will be spending the night over at the Human’s dorm. Have you all your accommodations at their estate? If not, I will swiftly-”

“That won’t be necessary,” he half laughs at his enthusiasm over such a small task. “I have enough to keep me comfortable and well for a few days. Your offer is still very much appreciated.”

“Y-Yes, of course,” he stutters. “If there’s anything you should ever find a need for, please inform me at once! I will fulfill your every wishes no matter the hour!”

He’s enthusiastic and ready to act at a moment’s notice, even during the middle of a cold and dark hour. Malleus doesn’t necessarily dislike this part of Sebek, but he’s starting to understand why someone like you would find such subservience difficult to deal with. At any moment, Malleus could ask Sebek to grab some insignificant item of his and tread through the thick snow to deliver it to him, and the boy would do so with jubilation and utmost timeliness. You on the other hand wouldn’t be caught dead ordering someone to do something on your behalf when you believe you are well and capable of doing it yourself.

You don’t put expectations onto the backs of others, choosing to trust yourself first before anyone else. He knows now that it’s a result of the one instance where you expected something from someone, only to be thoroughly let down and left wondering if it was you who did something wrong.

Malleus cannot make up for the pain you’ve been subjected to, but he hopes that he can become the outlier in your life that surpasses any preconceived notions you may hold onto others. He hopes...No, he absolutely will be the one who brings you your well-earned and deserved joy and repose, just as you have done for him and continue to do so.

You love him, and he will ensure he is worthy of every last drop of your fidelity.

[redhairedfeistynerd]

A Very Bucky Thanksgiving

Bucky Barnes x reader, singledad!Bucky, Riley and Piper Barnes, Steve Rogers

Summary: This is the first year Bucky has invited someone special to join in on their Thanksgiving dinner.Will everything go smoothly?

Warnings: some swearing, some sly sexual conversation, teasing, some humour

Word Count: 3K +

A/N: I originally wrote this piece for Canadian Thanksgiving but here we are!  I hope you enjoy another moment with the Barnes family.

For as long as his girls have been in this world, Bucky has been passionate about baking. He figures this came to fruition when his ex-wife started spending more time out of the house and preferred being away on business trips than building a life with him and their young girls. As their relationship slowly deteriorated, Bucky found solace in pastries, cookies, and breads. Navigating his way through forums and how-to videos online, searching for recipes like he once hunted for his latest mission.

His girls had requested their favourites for this last-minute weekend celebration. Pumpkin pie with maple cream, pumpkin walnut scones, and a new treat he was testing out today, pumpkin spiced doughnuts with maple salted glaze, and for his sweet lady friend; a pecan pie.

Bucky could smell the doughnuts before the time reached zero. The soft smell of cinnamon and sugar wafted through his two-story house, reaching him while he tidied up the bathroom from the girls attack on it early that same morning. Wiping down the counter, he flicked off the light, bounding down the stairs to the kitchen as the last seconds wound down on the timer. Oven mitt on, doughnuts pulled out of the oven (he was trying out a baked version this time) he had about an hour before the girls would burst in the front door after a day of shopping the holiday sales.

The weekend plans had changed at the last minute, his ex (Jackie) had cancelled on the girls again. The girls were to fly up to their mothers' cabin in Whistler, B.C. for a Canadian Thanksgiving but a last-minute job had come up and she chose that over her kids.

Bucky was not impressed by her choice. Riley rolled her eyes at the news and muttered “big surprise” when Bucky relayed the message to his youngest daughter.

Jackie always chose work before their daughters. Her new husband had more importance to her these days.

Her influencer status has skyrocketed after she left Bucky, leaving him high and dry to raise the girls. He didn't see it as an issue though, he loved his girls and if he had to do this on his own, then that's what he would set out to do. His Avengers status pushed away a few years before, he found that he was calling Steve a bit more during those earlier years. Sometimes he needs a break, to sit in a quiet room where Riley wasn't screaming at the top of her lungs, which would have Piper in tears. There was something magical about Uncle Steve though, maybe it was his rich voice, whispering sweet words to Riley to ease the screams to a low whimper. Maybe it was the way he sang the sweet songs of the 40s to stop the tears flowing from Piper's bright blue eyes. Whatever it was that Steve had, Bucky was extremely thankful for.  

One of their first Thanksgivings without Jackie, had both girls sick with the stomach flu. He'd never seen anything as disgusting as what his young girls were dishing out.  

Blood, wounds, and other violent memories had nothing on this. Who knew little people could cause THAT much mess?

Bucky was exhausted. Riley had finally fallen asleep on the couch and Piper was sprawled out in the master bedroom on his bed, resembling a starfish.

With one last swipe of the kitchen counter, Bucky tossed the rag in the laundry basket and released a sigh of completion. Turning on the hood fan, he turned off the track lights and walked towards his daughter who was now snoring lightly on the couch, when a soft knocking came from his front door. Puzzled, he turned away from his sleeping daughter and made his way to the entryway. He opened the door to Steve's smiling face.

"What are you..."

"Nat phoned and gave me the heads up that you were literally drowning in shit."

"Language," grumbled Bucky as he opened the door wider to let Steve in.

Steve chuckled and took a good look at Bucky. "Man, you're looking a little rough around the edges."

"You would too if you were knee deep in dirty laundry and had two goblins that were puking so much, they make that scene in the Exorcist look tame.

Steve scrunched his nose and tried to shake the memory of that scene out of his head. The previous year, Bucky had invited his old team over for a horror movie night while the girls were spending the night with their mom. Steve still hadn't forgiven Bucky for subjecting him to that movie. "Absolutely disgusting."

Bucky grunted and shut the door, Steve following him from the entryway and up the stairs to the kitchen.

"Here, Nat made some soup for you and the girls, if they are feeling up to eating it,” Steve said holding out the package.

“Oh ya, thanks. I’m sure the girls will appreciate their Aunty Nat making her famous soup,” he nods his head in thanks before muttering “hopefully it's not pea soup,” and walks across the kitchen.

Steve watches as Bucky tucks the soup away in the fridge, noticing how stringy his hair has become and when he looks his way, the dark circles are around his eyes. “Hey Buck, why don’t you leave the tidying up to me and you go take a shower, relax a bit.”

Bucky shuts the fridge door and looks at Steve. “Are you sure you want to clean up this cesspool?” He asks as his arms waving to point out the mess around the kitchen.

“Yes, I’m here to help you out, all right?” Bucky nods and pats Steve on the shoulder on his way up to the bathroom.

Steve manages to tidy up the first floor of the house, shift Riley from the couch to her bed, and fold a load of laundry. He’s pouring hot water into a mug when Bucky walks back in, looking like the shower did its job. “You want a cup of tea?” He asks Bucky when he sit down at the kitchen table.

“Please, a cup of something black so I can keep my eyes open for a bit longer. You feel like watching a funny movie? I feel like I need a good laugh after what this week has been like.”  

“Sounds good, how about you go on down and put something on, I’ll bring the tea and some snacks for us,” Steve replies and pours a second mug full of water.  

The men settle in and watch a classic comedy, quiet laughter sailing out of both of their mouths, trying to be quiet while the girls sleep. Steve decides on a second movie and they watch until they fall asleep on the couches.  

Bucky wakes up, his stomach twisting, and the pain, THE PAIN. "You've got to be fucking kidding.” He lurches off the sectional and runs to the bathroom by the laundry room.

Steve wakes from the sounds of his friend slamming the bathroom door, the unmentionable sounds have Steve pulling his pillow over his head. When he moves it away several minutes later, all he hears is silence. Steve gets up from the couch and makes his way to the bathroom, gently knocking on the door. "Bucky? Are you alive in there?"

"Fucking kill me, please,” he begs and Steve hears his best friend heave again.

Steve camps out at the Barnes household during that Thanksgiving weekend. There is no turkey, no pumpkin pie, or a dysfunctional family fight. Everything is quiet as Bucky careens himself in his bedroom while Steve manages the rest of the household. He keeps the girls busy and out of Bucky’s hair for several days; visits to the ice cream shop and to the park near their home, keeps them smiling and giggling while their dad is at home, miserable in bed.

Steve sits back on the park bench and admires the colours changing all around him; the leaves sway from left to right, falling gently down to the ground. Piles of brown and yellow sit before him, raked into tidy piles. He gets and idea, something to cheer Bucky up the last few days of having the stomach flu. He calls the girls over and tells them his plan to make their dad smile. He makes a video of them, jumping in the leaves and throwing them around, their laughter warming his heart. When the girls have finished frolicking in the mounds of colourful leaves, he takes each other their hands in his and begins the walk back to the house. He’ll send the little video to Bucky in the morning when he heads out and back to work.  

Bucky still smiles at the memory of that little video. He can now smile about his treacherous first Thanksgiving as a single dad but he made it up every year that followed; this year, he has to make up for what his ex has left behind. Riley is pressuring him to make her mom's famous stuffing (he laughs at this because this is a recipe that she took from a cookbook he had from his mom) Piper has decided that Bucky is THE WORST because he is going to kill an innocent turkey and all she wants is for him to save one (and yes, he does donate to a local farm that saves turkeys later in the week) and have it live the rest of its life, in their backyard. He notes that she will have a plate of vegetables tonight and he has no idea if that is sufficient enough for a teenage girl who that is 15.  

“Cranberries sauce”

“Check!”

“Water chestnuts.”

“Check!”

“Wait, what the heck are water chestnuts for, Pop?”

Bucky is sitting on the kitchen floor sorting through the pantry and about to answer when he sees you creeping into the kitchen, hiding behind his oldest, about to scare her. Her arms wrap around Piper and she squeezes her tightly expelling a high-pitched squeak.  

He will never get over how beautiful her smile is when her eyes meet his. His heart beats so fast that he’s afraid she will be able to see it pounding in his chest.  

The flowers she is holding scream fall – oranges, yellows, and reds – the cute Chinese lanterns that she adores, wobble back and forth as she walks towards him. She reaches for him with her free hand and pulls him into a tight hug, whispering “you look extra handsome today, soldier.”

“He got his hair trimmed for you,” Riley shouts from the top of the stairs and watches as her father’s face turns as red as the Gerbera's in the bouquet. She snorts as she walks down the stairs at Bucky’s embarrassment and hops down the last few steps to pull y/n into a hug.

“Hi sweetness, I missed your smiling face,” Y/N says into Riley’s strawberry blond curls.

“Missed you too. Are you ready for your first Barnes Annual Canadian Thanksgiving?” Riley asks while rocking on her feet.

Y/N looks at her, “Is it any different from the other Thanksgiving I would be having?

“Well duh, this one if full of maple syrup, poutine, and never-ending skits by Bob and Doug Mackenzie!

Bucky bursts out laughing and poor Y/N is looking between the two of them, lost when it came to the last item. “Okay, okay, Ri, leave the poor woman alone. Here love, let me take those flowers and put them in a vase.” Bucky squeezes her waist gently, taking the colourful bouquet from her hands. She follows him to the cabinet housing the vase and sniffs the air.

“What’s is that smell? It’s so-

“Delicious?” Riley adds as she passes by Y/N and hops up onto a bar stool? “Your taste buds are in for an incredible treat. Dad is the best baker this city has!”

“Pretty sure I’m not hun, but thank you for boosting me up a bit.” Bucky’s cheeks changing in colour, somewhat embarrassed by his daughter's compliment.

“Oh, come on dad, that’s why all the moms are always swooning when you join the bake sales,” Piper chirps in.

“The moms swoon over your dad? I’m pretty sure that has more to do with his-” she’s cut off by Bucky shoving a Snickerdoodle in her mouth. Squinted her eyes at him and waving her finger as if she’s promising to get him back later. He can’t help but smirk and squeeze her side.

“Shhh, my sweet. Don’t be telling my girls how irresistible I am,” he whispers into her ear and kisses it.

Riley makes gagging sounds from behind her dad and Piper’s face turns red from the affection their father is showing Y/N. This is the not the first time they have seen their father with a woman but this specific woman has done something to their father. He’s smiling, he whistles while he bakes, and he’s happy.  

Y/N turns to face Riley, “Oh kid, are we embarrassing you? Making you feel a little queasy inside?” She walks over to Bucky as he arranges the flowers in the vase and loudly kisses his cheek and laughs. “How about that Ri?”

“You’re the worst,” Riley chuckles and grabs the serving spoons to put on the table.  

Bucky pulls Y/N into a hug and kisses her lightly on the lips. He can taste the Snickerdoodle and it makes him wish he could fully indulge but he restrains, knowing that tonight they’ll have time alone once the girls head to their rooms for the night. He brings his lips to her forehead before taking the flowers to the table and placing them in the centre.  

“All right ladies, let’s get this show on the road!”  

“Don’t you mean Barnes’, Assemble!” Piper asks with a smirk on her face. Bucky just shook his head, a big smile across his face.

“Tell me where you want me, Barnes,” Y/N said as she looked at Bucky, his smirk telling her that where he wanted her was not in the kitchen.

“Turkey is in the oven, that weird Tofurky thing is in there too, I need to add the water chestnuts to the beans, the pot of potatoes needs to boil, and in a bit, we can get the rest of the veggies going too. Who’s good with making gravy?”

“I hope you made stuffing for me that isn’t in that bird, dad,” Piper said, giving her dad one of her teenage looks.

Bucky slides a bowl across the counter to his oldest so she can see the stuffing he made; animal free. “It’s vegan sweetie, I hope you like it,” Bucky responds. “I found this recipe online, some popular blog.” He watches as she scoops a bit of the warm food in her mouth, and can’t help but chuckle when a groan of satisfaction spills out.  

Y/N can’t help but take a scoop for herself, a squeal of delight escaping her mouth. “Shit, Barnsey, you’ve been holding back! Where have you been all my life?” She laughs and walks back over to him, wrapping her arms around him and going in for a quick kiss. “Let’s get this show on the road! All pots on boil!” She shouts and turns the last pot on.

The Barnes family and their first-time guest are indulging in their feast within an hour. Nothing but chewing and soft music can be heard at the table. It always amazes Bucky that it takes hours upon hours of work for this one evening and within minutes the food is gone. He’s thankful though; for his girls, for the life he now has, and for you. He wouldn’t change anything. One last scoop of mashed potatoes goes into his mouth and he places his fork down. “So, do you three want dessert now or do you want to digest a bit first?” Riley stands up from her seat and throws her hands in the air. “Roll out the cart of desserts for us to feast upon, father!”  

All Bucky can do is laugh, she’s always been the dramatic one and he lives for these moments. “Riley, I haven’t said what I’m thankful for yet this evening but one of those things I’m thankful for the humour you provide in this family.”

“Aww Pops, I appreciate that but can you please just bring out the good stuff?” Riley’s blue eyes sparkle and Bucky pushes his chair in and heads back to the counter where he has the pies and other sugary treats. He brings the doughnuts and pumpkin pie with maple cream out first, leaving the girls to help themselves as he returns to the kitchen to cut Y/N a slice of pecan pie. He places a dollop of fresh whipped cream beside it and carries it to her, his face turns red when he places it before her stating, “I made this especially for you.” A look crosses her face and its one he has only recently seen. He thinks its adoration? Or could it be...love? He’s not sure if it’s either but whatever it is, he hopes she continues looking at him that way. He sits back down across from her and watches as she takes the first bite of pie. Her eyes close and he can see the sparkle in her eyeshadow as the light above bounces off of it. It feels like forever before he hears a sound of approval from her.  

“Wow Barnes. I’m going to say this is almost as good as s-

“Well now, girls, how about you start cleaning up what you can and let Y/N finish up her pie.” He tries to pull back Piper’s chair and is met with resistance.

“No WAY, Pops. I want to hear all about how good this pie of yours is. Right, Riley?” Piper looks to her sister, eyebrow raised in hopes that her sister will join in on the teasing.”

“Hell no, I don’t want to hear about the crap these two get up to. Nu uh, NOPE,” she shouts and she grabs a few dishes from the table and heads to the sink to rinse them off.  

Dishes away and the leftovers wrapped up, Bucky takes Y/N’s hand and walks with her to his room. Door closed and locked behind him, Bucky finally pulls his sweet lady as close to him as possible. “Happy Thanksgiving, baby.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Buck.” Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulls him into a kiss. “Come on Barnsey, there’s one thing you haven’t warmed up yet this evening.”

“Oh, did I forget to warm up your pie because I can head back-

She quiets him with another kiss, deeper than the last. “You know damn well that’s not what I meant. Now, be good a good man and get ready for the real dessert.”

Bucky can’t help but curl up and laugh loudly. His girl knows all the ways to make him laugh and smile, tonight is no exception. With one pull, she is on top of him, where he wants her this evening; where he can be warm within and thankful for everything his life has brought him.

[littlemisslol-fic]

Varigo week continues!!! @alistairwrites these prompts are so fun omg

Day Two: First Kiss 😘😘

They said that if you wanted a favor, you could always go ask the Witch of the Iron Wood.

 Varian’s sure it’s bullshit, of course it is. Witches aren’t real- the only magic that he’s ever come across is from artifacts and space rocks; things that, no matter how you looked at it, are already goddamn weird to start with. Magic is just a type of power they have yet to harness, something celestial and ancient- but within the parameters of science.

 He’s never believed the rumours, that if you went to the woods bordering Corona and the Iron Kingdom and walked so deep into the woods you risked getting lost, you might come across the esteemed witch. For a price, they said, the witch would grant you a single wish and be done with you. Your debt would be paid, and you’d wake up in your own bed without a clue as to how you got there, with your wish fulfilled. Varian’s never believed it, never wanted to believe it- he’s a man of science, damn it, and he’ll stick to science, thank you very much.

 But…

 Then his dad had gotten sick.

 Something in Quirin’s lungs- potentially too many cold mornings working in the field, maybe too long trapped in the amber, or perhaps just a stroke of bad luck- had festered and eaten away at him, leaving the man nearly bedridden in a matter of weeks. Varian, only twenty, had been forced to listen as the doctor recommended that Quirin start writing an airtight will, just in case, to assure that Varian would be taken care of in case… in case Quirin didn’t make it.

 Varian had worked himself into a tizzy, refusing to leave his father’s side, brewing medicine and other alchemical solutions in an attempt to find a cure, a fix-it, something, anything, to save his father. But nothing had worked, and Varian was at his wits end.

 So when someone had spoken of their own failed trek to find the witch, Varian- desperate as he was- had packed a bag and started running.

 It was a long shot, longer than he liked to think, but if there was even a semblance of a chance that this Witch of the Iron Wood could help his father… then Varian was willing to try. So he’d packed a bag, left his father in the competent care of Old Corona’s best physician, and had started the three-day trek to the Iron Wood.

 The forest was ancient, and it wore its years well. Grand trees stood nearly thirty meters tall, gnarled and drooping with ivy and vines, covered every inch of the woods in a way that suffocated light and sound. Standing at the threshold Varian had nearly turned back- what good was he to his father if he ended up lost in the woods… or dead?- but the memory of Quirin’s pale face and limp chest spurred him forwards, allowing the woods to swallow him whole.

 He’d wandered for a two days, tripping over twisted roots and sleeping in trees to keep himself away from curious wildlife. It’s on the third day, when Varian’s well and truly lost, that he stumbles upon the cabin. It’s plain, humble. well kept but obviously old in the way the creeping ivy had grown close around the building, digging deep into the stone over the course of years.

 It's set in a small clearing, surrounded by a lush garden of herbs and plants Varian has no name for- he’s never been one for the apothecary side of the sciences- and a prim, well built fence. It’s a modest cabin, made of cobblestone and thick wooden timbers, with a single chimney merrily spitting a small plume of smoke. The windows are large, and Varian can catch sight of rows of plants poking out from under the curtains inside.

 The cabin is warm, inviting.

 Suspicious.

 Varian approaches with caution, walking forwards with a tenseness to his shoulders. He can’t be sure if this the cabin, or just a cabin, but it’s best to approach as if it were a trap- better to be wrong and look strange, than be too casual and end up dead. Birdsong rings through the calm clearing; sunlight beams down in shining pillars that sets the grass aglow. He doesn’t trust it for a second.

 There’s a little stone path that leads up to the front door. Varian follows it with a measured step, ignoring the happy little bees that gently float between the flowers. For all he knows, this is a trap. The Witch of the Iron Wood could be a con artist, a thief, hell, even an actual witch who wasn’t super into the idea of helping people so much as sacrificing them for weird witch-spells.

 Magic bullshit. Can’t be too careful.

 Still, Varian wasn’t raised in a barn; when he reaches the oak front door he still knocks like a normal person, and waits for an answer. It doesn’t come. Curiously, he raises his hand to knock against the old door again, only for the door to swing wide open by itself with a long, drawn out creak of old hinges.

 “Oh, that’s creepy.” Varian mutters to himself, peeking into the dark interior of the cabin beyond. “Super creepy.”

 He peeks behind himself, looking back down the path with a grimace. He could just turn around, go home… but then what if Quirin wasn’t improving? What if he was worse, and Varian had turned away from an option to save him because he was scared? Varian���s hands clench at the thought, so tightly he can feel his nails through his gloves. He turns back around and gazes into the darkness in front of him.

 Teeth grit, Varian walks forwards into the cabin.

 The interior of the building is just as well maintained as the exterior. The room Varian steps into is a great room of some sort, a larger space with a small kitchen pushed to the side and a series of mismatched, but well loved, couches and chairs surrounding a large fireplace in the very center of the room. Hanging above the fireplace is a large cauldron, filled to the brim with a smoking, bright purple concoction. The light from outside filters through the wall of plants Varian had noticed while outside, keeping the interior relatively dark.

 “This place just keeps getting creepier,” Varian grumbles into the empty air, approaching the cauldron with hesitant steps.

 “Well, thank you, I built it myself.” Comes a snarky voice from behind, startling Varian into flinging himself forwards, hiding behind the cast iron cauldron. For a brief second, he considers making a break for the door-

 Which slams shut of its own accord.

 Perfect.

 Varian risks a peek up and over the edge of the cauldron, the steam hazing his vision over as he crouches on the floorboards. Before him stands a blond man, looking at Varian with an expectant expression. It tugs at his pale face in an attractive way, tilts his glasses askew in a way that compliments the choppy blond hair and pony tail the taller boy sports. He’s dressed in green, a similar shade to his honestly stunning eyes and-

 Wow. Wow okay time to tone that down.

 Varian peeks over the lip of the cauldron a little more, sizing the taller man up. The other stands between Varian and the door, he’d have to get around him to get out-

 “So, what is it that you want?” The blond asks, and Varian realizes how out of place he is.

 “I- sorry!” Varian crows, stepping back from the cauldron as if it’d burnt him. “Sorry, the door was open, and I’m actually looking for someone that lives out here, and-”

 “Listen.” Blondie cuts him off. “I know that you’re here to ask your favour, so. What is it? Gold, immortality, love? I don’t have all day, spit it out.”

 “I-”

 “Wait, no, I bet you I can guess. You look like a nerd, something to do with fame? Glory?”

 “No!”

 Blondie raises a brow. There’s a brief second of pause, before Varian finally fully creeps out from behind the cauldron. He takes a breath. For dad, he thinks.

 “My name is Varian,” He starts. The blond man raises a brow, looking rather confused to be given a name. “What’s yours?”

 “H-Hugo.” The blond stutters a bit, like he wasn’t ready to be asked that. Varian smiles.

 “Hugo,” He repeats. “Nice to meet you. Are you the one everyone’s been calling a witch?”

 “Sure am.” Hugo replies, taking a step forward. Varian feels his face light up, even as he’s passed by in lieu of the cauldron. Hugo begins to stir the liquid, looking at it judgementally. He twists around towards one of the plants on the windowsill, plucking a leaf off it and tossing it in. The mixture goes a shade of green, not unlike pea soup.

 “Great!” Varian chirps, “I was wondering if you’d be able to help me?”

 “Yeah, your wish, right?” Hugo mutters, “That’s all anyone ever cares about. So what is it you want?”

 “I- that’s a little sad.” Varian says, “No one ever just visits you?”

 “Nope,” Hugo says, popping the p. “And neither did you, so spit it out.”

 “My… my father is sick.” Varian finally says, looking to the floor. “I’ve tried everything I can think of to help him get better, but nothing works.”

 Hugo pauses in his stirring, looking back to Varian with a calculating look. “You realize you could ask for anything, right?” He says, “Eternal life, endless fortune, riches beyond your wildest dreams.”

 “I didn’t think that was real.” Varian replies, frankly. “I thought you would just be a skilled healer. That’s all I was looking for.”

 “Just medicine.” Hugo says, as if he thinks it’s a joke. His face twists into something confused when Varian nods.

 “Just medicine.” The shorter of them says with conviction. “Nothing else. Whatever your price is, I’ll pay it; I just want my father to be well again.”

 Hugo looks to Varian like he’s grown a second head. Varian looks at him with a schooled expression, choking back the anxiety boiling in his gut. If this didn’t work, if this Hugo couldn’t help him, then Quirin would surely not have long left-

 “Fine.” Hugo says, “I think that’s a stupid wish, but who am I to stop you from throwing it away?”

 Varian’s expression must do something stupid, because Hugo laughs. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” He mutters, reaching forwards towards Varian with a grin. The shorter of them feels his face heat up in a blush, going red at their sudden closeness, but winces when Hugo reaches up and tugs a single strand of hair from his hair.

 “Ow,” Varian whines, rubbing at the spot the hair had been tugged from. “Why’d you do that?”

 “Ingredients.” Hugo chides, “And unless you’re going to stop asking stupid questions, you can go wait outside.”

 Varian pauses at that, quietly taking a seat on one of the chairs. Hugo looks at him with another questioning expression, but eventually the blond shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He mutters, and goes back to his work.

 Varian watches with rapt attention as herbs and other ingredients get tossed into the cauldron in precise amounts, the mixture going every colour of the rainbow over the next hour. Hugo works quickly, focused on his… potion? Elixir? Varian’s not sure what to call it actually. While Varian keeps from asking questions, that doesn’t stop him from watching with a keen eye as the mixture continues to bubble. After an hour, it eventually turns a rather pleasant shade of lilac purple and stops smoking. Hugo looks smug about it, so Varian assumes the mixture must be finished.

 Hugo takes a small pipette from a nearby shelf of strange looking glass instruments- Varian would kill to be able to know what they all did, though Hugo doesn’t seem apt to share- and uses the tool to transfer some of the mixture into a small, glass vial. He does this three more times, making a total of four, before placing them into a small bag.

 “And done.” Hugo says, more to himself than to Varian. He twists around with a smarmy grin, holding the bag out. Varian looks at it with a sense of wonderous apprehension, reaching out a hand but stopping himself before he can touch the crushed red velvet. He stands from the couch, pursing his lips.

 “What’s the trade?” He asks without malice, but with a hefty amount of suspicion. Hugo’s smile draws wider, and Varian brings his hand fully back to his chest. Always a catch, with magic, something cynical in him groans, absolute bullshit.

 “Well,” Hugo muses, “There’s always things that I need from around, though to be honest I’m pretty stocked up on anything I could want.”

 “Surely there’s something?” Varian says with a hint of panic- Hugo wouldn’t make the stupid potion only to refuse to trade Varian for it, right? The previous anxiety rears its head again; stupid magic, honestly, always being so contrived.

 “There is one thing,” Hugo muses, eyes trailing on Varian’s face. The shorter man feels himself blush again as Hugo steps close, cupping his chin in a way that feels scarily intimate for someone he’s only just met. “One, tiny thing…” Hugo says, trailing off. Varian can’t help but feel a little thrill, pressing closer, unconsciously, to the extremely attractive man in front of him.

 “Anything.” Varian says with a small grin of his own, having half an idea of where Hugo might be going with this from the way the blond’s gaze lingers on Varian’s own lips. He’s not against it, not at all; Varian’s not the type, usually, but something about the blond in front of him draws him in. Hugo’s smile widens at the permission, leaning forwards.

 It’s a chaste kiss, a little too soft and sweet for strangers, but one that Varian can say he enjoys. He’s never been kissed before, but if this is what it’s like- the smooth press of lips against his own, the soft feeling of a body pressed up against his front- suddenly all those romantic ballads make a lot more sense.

 Varian’s eyes slip closed, barely registering as the bag is slipped into his hands. After what could be hours, or merely seconds, Hugo pulls back. Varian keeps his eyes closed, hoping to entice the blond to come back and kiss him again.

 “Have your father drink that twice a day, every twelve hours.” Hugo says, his tone somewhat sad. When Varian opens his eyes again, he is standing in his bedroom, alone. He brings up a dazed hand to lightly touch at his lips, blinking in shock.

 The sudden silence rings in his ears.  

 BANNER

 “Well, Olivia.” Hugo says to his beloved pet, “Another few hours to go, and then we’ll break for dinner.”

 He’s out in his garden, weeding. Nimble, long fingers deftly pull undesirable plants from his herbs, tossing them into a nearby pile. Oliva, small little mouse that she is, does her own work of yanking out the smaller plants, working on her own pile. Hugo smiles as she chirps her assent at his idea, plopping a rogue dandelion on her pile with a squeak.

 It had been nearly a week since Varian had come to ask for his favour from Hugo- the blond couldn’t help but miss his company, to be honest. After the few hours they’d spent together, Hugo found himself to be a little enamoured. Hugo’s had dealt with every thrill seeker in the book, those who came to his cabin demanding fame, or glory, or riches, but he’d yet to encounter someone who had been so willing to make the dangerous walk to Hugo’s home for the sake of a family member. Varian had asked his name before asking for his help, had commented that it was sad that no one visited him. He’d been… genuine. Nice. Treated Hugo’s skills like they were less something to be demanded, and more like a gift to be asked for. He had been sweet, and it made something in Hugo bitter.

 It was a lonely life, out in the woods, but a peaceful one. Hugo was willing to live alone if it meant he was mostly left to his own devices, though times like when Varian had arrived, he couldn’t help but feel the sting of the isolation creeping in. Perhaps that was why he’d asked for the kiss, though now Hugo felt rather stupid about it. What else could he have asked from Varian? Something more useful for sure. Supplies, food, anything really to save him a walk. But instead his stupid brain had seen a pretty boy and gone totally blank. Hugo can’t help but be a little concerned at that- if he started giving things out for free, he’d surely be in trouble when winter rolled around. 

 Oliva squeaked again, this time something that sounded concerned. Hugo looked up from his plot of dirt to see her rush over to him, the little mouse scrambling up his shirt to perch on his shoulder. He looked up to where she had come from, seeing a familiar figure standing on the edge of the grove.

 “Hi, Hugo!” Varian said with a grin, holding up a small basket. “I was wondering if you wanted some company?”

 Hugo… short circuits. “What?” He asks dumbly as Varian walks towards him. The shorter man pauses at the gate, his face asking to be let in. Hugo nods, still stunned as Varian- Varian had come back????- lets himself in and strides over to Hugo with a smile.

 “Well, you said no one ever came to visit.” Varian said softly, “So I thought I’d change that.”

 “You… don’t want anything?” Hugo asks, struck stupid.

 “Well, I mean, I want to talk to you.” Varian flushes, biting at his lip. “And I wanted to thank you. And so does my dad! He helped me make this for you.” Varian shoves the basket at Hugo with a sudden motion, as if embarrassed to have it now that he’s dragged it all the way here.

 “He’s doing better, then?” Hugo says, taking the basket without thinking. It’s got some weight to it. A peek under the lid shows about four loaves of fresh bread, tucked away and kept good by a thick towel.

 “Much, thank you.” Varian says earnestly, “He was up and walking the day after I came to see you.”

 “That’s good.” Hugo muses, lost in thought. No one had ever come back to see him after they’d gotten their wish, let alone to thank him and bring him another gift.

 Varian nods with a smile, one that’s bright and happier than the one he’d worn before. Hugo likes it on him. “It’s fantastic.” He breathes, “I owe you more than you could ever know.”

 “Nah, we’re even.” Hugo says, flushing at the memory of Varian’s lips on his. “Your debt’s been paid.”

 “Oh,” Varian says, looking sideways. “Well, I mean, if you’re sure you don’t want to- uh. Again. Never mind.”

 Oh.

 Oh.

 “Hm.” Hugo muses, catching on quick, “Actually, you know, I think something went wrong the first time.” 

 Varian perks up at that, looking to Hugo with a small grin. “Oh?” He asks, “Should we- maybe…”

 “Sorry, goggles.” Hugo shrugs, leaning forwards, “Looks like we’ll need a second payment.”

 “Aw, shucks.” Varian rolls his eyes, leaning forwards with a smirk, “Whatever am I going to do?”

 “Eh, we’ll figure it out. Put you on a repayment plan.” Hugo grins, teasing for just a second more before Varian grabs him by the collar and drags Hugo down into a fiery kiss, their smiles melding together in the quiet of the grove. When they split for air, Varian smiles.

 “I can live with that,” He says, and Hugo can feel the grin splitting his face as he leans back down.

 Their third kiss is the best one yet.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Wet Sugar” [Part 23 of 30]

Summary: Erik and Yani face a new reality...

"I'm gonna look for my body, yeah I'll be back like real soon I'm gonna look for my body, yeah I'll be back like real soon I'm gonna look for my body, yeah I'll be back like real soon

But you know that a king is only a man With flesh and bones he bleeds just like you do He said "Where does that leave you" And "Do you belong?" I do I do

Be leery 'bout your place in the world You're feeling like you're chasing the world You're leaving not a trace in the world But you're facing the world…"

Solange – "Weary"

Erik stood in the lobby of the hospital and stared at the information desk. His feet felt like one hundred-pound weights were attached to them. Pulling out his cell he looked at Twyla's number and rested his fingers on the call button. His stomach churned and his chest felt like someone was stepping down on it.

"Killmonger…"

Erik turned his head to the left and saw Yani's baby sister Anika holding two cans of soda. She stood near a soda machine with swollen eyes and a puffy face. He exhaled fast and walked over to her.

"Am I…is she—"

Anika's face broke and Erik felt his legs buckle. She reached out to steady him.

"She still here. But she's so weak."

Erik wiped his hand over his face a few times and took in deep breaths.

"They are only letting family up to see her—"

"I'll get him in…"

Erik turned to see Leona.

"Miss Leona…I got here as fast as I could. Twyla got in touch with me…"

"I know. She told me."

Leona rubbed his back and Erik could barely hold it together.

"Come here," she said.

Her arms went around his shoulders and Erik leaned into her hug and felt his body shudder.

"You the strong one. I need you to be so strong for her right now…her and the baby…"

"How are you gonna get him in?"

"He's family. C'mon."

Leona led him to the information desk and Erik watched the woman lie to the duty nurse. He was led to a room and given a face mask and a robe and asked to scrub up thoroughly for precautions. Those with the virus were quarantined to one section of the hospital with limited in-room visitors.

When he followed Leona to the elevator, Anika started weeping. Leona reached out and held her arm.

The floor they went to felt solemn and the walk to Sydette's room took forever to reach with the heaviness in Erik's legs. His breath came in shallow puffs and he willed himself to be a solid wall of support. For them.

Twyla sat on a chair outside of a room with Yani's mother and Cee Cee. Kendall stood across from them with Chez and Yani's father.

"Why is he here?" Chez asked.

Twyla stood up.

"I asked him to come," Twyla said.

Yani's mother glared at him.

"He's not—"

"I told them downstairs that he was family. He was close to the baby, you all know this," Leona said.

"He's not blood," Chez said with weak conviction in his voice.

The man looked worn out. Erik's heart went out to him. He had lost one child already and was facing—

Erik focused his eyes on the closed door of Sydette's room. Leona touched his hand before she pulled up her face mask.

"Try and prepare yourself…she doesn't look—"

"I can handle it," he said.

Erik took another look at Chez and the man looked defeated.

"Your daughter is very special to me. I'm not here to bring drama."

Kendall gave Erik a head nod and Yani's father didn't even look at him. His eyes were downcast and his fingers were clasped tight. He rocked a bit in his seat. Chez leaned against the wall and waved his hand at Erik.

Leona opened the door and Erik held his breath.

Stepping in the room, the first thing he saw was the little mattress inside a toddler-sized incubator. A tube was down the baby's throat and half her face was covered with a breathing mask. Tubes were stuck in her thin arms, and a feeding tube was down her nose. Erik was shocked at how tiny she had become. It had been so long since he had seen Sweet Pea, and she had always been his plump little girl with quick chunky legs, and a big personality. She was just a tiny husk of a thing lying on the bed. He sucked in air the moment he saw her and his hands shook.

Yani was draped in a gown and her right hand was stuck inside a protective glove that allowed her to hold Sydette's hand inside the incubator. Another older woman sat next to her stroking her back, and when the woman glanced back at Erik, Yani turned her head also.

Her eyes were so drained of life that Erik felt one loose tear fall on his face staining his mask.

"How…?" she whispered.

Leona pulled Erik toward the incubator. The other woman stood up to make room.

"That's Chez's mother," Leona whispered to him.

Chez's mother moved to the other side of Sydette, her eyes hard on Erik's face.

"Sit," Leona said.

Erik took a cautious seat next to Yani. Her eyes went back to her child. She wiped her face with her other hand.

"Hey, Sweet Pea. Baba's here," she said.

Up close, Erik still couldn't believe it was Sydette.

"Hi, short stuff. I got here as fast as I could. Flew across the big water…"

He placed a hand on the glass and Yani pulled her hand out from the protective glove. She touched Erik's hand.

"Go ahead," she said, nudging his hand toward the incubator.

Erik slipped his hand inside and let one finger touch Sydette's right thumb. He stroked it for a moment, then lifted her small hand. She felt lifeless. Unreal. Erik rested his forehead in his left hand trying to hold his composure.

He prayed to get there in time, and now that he was, it almost felt worse than if he had just arrived after she…

He shook the thought away.

"Ms. Galiber—"

A short Black woman in a Doctor's smock walked in.

"Could I speak with you outside in private please?"

Yani nodded and stood up. Before she left his side, she turned to Erik, pulled down her mask, and kissed his forehead. The warmth from her lips made him close his eyes. Chez's mother jumped up and followed Yani out of the room. When she left, Leona sat in her seat and Twyla slipped into the room.

"They are only allowing three people in the room at a time," Leona said.

Erik focused on Sydette. He brought his face closer to the glass so that he could see the girl's closed eyes that faced his way. He slipped his mask down.

"It ain't time for you to go Lil Mama…cuz I said so."

Erik's eyes sought out Leona's.

"There's nothing they can do?"

"They've done all they could. They don't want her on the machine much longer because it will eventually damage her lungs because they are so small, but she may be too weak to breathe on her own and—"

Leona's lips trembled and Erik put his arm around her shoulder.

"—all the others…they passed away when they were taken off. Sydette's sister Star only lasted an hour when they took her off. Oh, Jesus! It has been a nightmare for all of us…especially Chez."

Erik reached up with his hand to touch Sydette's curls.

"Still wearing her hair all over the place I see."

"That's the only way she likes it," Twyla said tugging down her mask. A smile inched its way on her lips.

"I'm happy you are here, Mr. Killmonger," Leona said.

"Erik."

"Erik."

He held Sydette's hand again and his mind went back in time to when he was a little dude and he wasn't feeling good. His mother would make him some chicken tortilla soup and his Baba would sing to him and make the world and his body feel so much better. His favorite song was the one his father sang before he was born, the one his mother told Erik was sung to her belly while he kicked inside of her.

Erik hummed it under his breath, and when he was sure of the words, he moved even closer to the glass.

"Mother Moon comes down from the heavens to see the new little one…"

Twyla moved into the seat next to his and cradled her face in her hands.

"Lullaby, little one, the world is at your feet…."

Erik did the best imitation of his father's voice singing to Sydette and he felt his heart swell as the lyrics danced out of his mouth. He did a passable English translation while maintaining the Wakandan rhythm of the song.

"Where shall the little one rest their tiny head, eh? Shall the soft grass rise up? Shall the soft clouds climb down? Lullaby, little one…this whole wide world is yours…"

When he finished, Erik rested his hand on Sydette's chest to feel her heartbeat.

"Please…please…don't leave," he whispered.

He rested his forehead on the glass and wept.

Leona walked back into the room followed by the rest of the family. Her eyes held no more hope.

"They want to take her off—"

Leona's head dropped and Kendall pulled her aside as Yani and Chez took shaky steps to the incubator together.

Twyla's hand shot out and grabbed Erik's. He squeezed it and removed his right hand from the protective glove. Yani's mother started wailing and Twyla jumped up to help her back out of the room with Yani's father.

Erik felt untethered, and watching Yani and Chez move as a unit made him feel like an intruder. That was his baby girl lying there, but those were her parents. He stood and took one last look at Sydette.

This was not how he wanted to remember her.

"You can stay," Yani said to him. Her hand touched his wrist.

He shook his head.

"I can't. I don't want to…"

Her face pleaded with him.

Be her rock.

Erik stepped back behind her and gave space for Chez and Kendall. Yani's sister Anika and her other middle sister Dawnette stood on the other side of the room. They left enough space for the doctor and a nurse to open up the incubator.

"Wait—"

Yani's hands were balled up into tight fists. Chez held her arm.

"I don't want to let her go!"

Erik stepped forward and wrapped his arm around her chest from behind.

"I'm not ready…I'm not ready…"

Yani's voice pierced Erik's soul.

Chez's head dropped down and he shook where he stood.

"Yani," Chez whispered, "we don't want her to be in pain. Her body can't take any more from the machine."

Yani moaned in her mouth and her hand shot out to touch her child without any protection.

"Mama's right here…"

Anika ran out of the room followed by Dawnette and the doctor watched Yani's face. Erik felt Yani's body drop and he turned her toward him and held her tight. She clutched at his back.

"Baby. You are here for her. I know you not ready. None of us are. But she knows you're here."

Yani pressed her face into his neck and he stroked her back softly.

"I got you," he whispered.

"That's my baby—"

"I know—"

"I'm scared. I'm scared for her—"

"Don't be. You are so strong for her. Always have been. Let Sweet Pea feel that…"

Yani nodded her head and she turned back around. Erik felt her body tremble against his but she nodded for the doctor and nurse to continue.

The doctor was efficient and moved quickly to remove the breathing tube. They left the drip tubes in Sydette's arms, and when her face was free from the mask, the doctor and nurse stepped back. They could all hear Sydette's heart monitor, and Yani held her daughter's hand. The stillness in the room was unnerving and Erik held onto Yani for his own comfort. Chez's eyes were closed and Erik could only imagine the horror he felt going through this once more. He reached out a free hand and held Chez's shoulder.

Sydette kept breathing on her own and the doctor checked monitors with the nurse.

"Sweet Pea, I'm here…"

Yani kept stroking Sydette's fingers as they all watched her chest move faintly without the help of the breathing tube. It was a steady rhythm. Erik glanced over at the doctor again. The longer they stood there, the more the doctor's expression changed. What was once a grim face started to look a little hopeful.

"Let's give her a little bit of oxygen," the doctor said.

The nurse placed the breathing mask back over Sydette's nose and mouth. There wasn't a change in her condition. Twenty minutes in, Erik had Yani sit down in a chair next to Chez.

When an hour passed the doctor asked everyone except for Yani and Chez to leave the room.

"What's happening?" Anika asked with her sister Dawnette by her side.

"The doctor asked us to leave. Sydette is still breathing," Leona said with a tinge of hope in her voice.

Anika's face broke out into a weak smile.

"She gonna make it—"

"I don't know but she is still here. God is good," Leona said.

"All the time…" Yani's mother answered.

The two women held hands and Anika hugged her sister Dawnette.

Erik wanted to embrace the creeping of hope, but his life experiences always prepared him for the worst possible outcome. He sat down on a chair next to Yani's father and closed his eyes. Jet lag crawled over him and he tried to keep alert in case there were changes in Sydette's condition, but the weariness of the world pressed down on him and he knocked out.

###

"Big man…wake up…"

Erik's eyes fluttered open and for a moment he was disoriented. His lower back pressed against the hard seat he slept on sitting up.

"Here…"

Twyla handed him a cup of coffee in a thick paper cup.

"Sweet Pea…?"

His body jerked forward and she pushed him back in his seat.

"Alive and according to the doctor, has a real good chance of recovery if she keeps improving."

Erik looked toward one of the hospital windows and saw that it was bright daylight.

"What time is it?"

"Ten in the morning."

"Is Yani—"

"She's sleeping in the room with Sydette. Chez went home to check on Ursula. He'll be back."

Erik sipped from the cup. The bitter brew revived him.

"Can we go in and see them?"

"The doctor wants to keep all of us out except for Yani and Chez for now."

"Is Sydette awake?"

"Not yet. It's still wait and see. Her body has to fight on its own now."

Twyla plopped down next to him.

"Man. I'm not the praying type, but my ass was remembering every prayer from Sunday school," Twyla said.

Erik laughed.

"You and me both. Some of my Nana's oldie but goodies were popping up in my sleep," he said.

Twyla stared at his face.

"Yuh came through for my cousin. And my baby cousin. Thank you."

"Thank you for reaching out. I don't know how I would be if you didn't tell me…if she…you know…while I wasn't here."

"You were good to Chez too."

"I don't know how he'll handle this when it's over. And Star…shit…"

Twyla shook her head.

"Star was a sweet baby. I know she came here in a way we all didn't like, but before she passed, they all got close. Yani sometimes kept Star for Ursula when she had to work and Chez wasn't available to stay home. Somehow, they worked that shit out like adults. Mi never think that possible. Alla that bad blood between them? Tuh. Sydette loved her sister though. Them was cute together-"

Twyla burst into tears.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said with a soft voice.

"Don't apologize."

"I can't wait to get Sydette out of here. There's too much death around us."

"I feel ya."

Erik glanced around.

"Everyone else leave?"

"Some are downstairs resting on the lobby couches. The older folks went home to rest. They'll be in and out as we get more updates."

"Maybe you should go home and rest."

"No. I stay until that little girl walks out of here."

Erik's eyes looked past Twyla as he spotted Yani leaving the room. Her eyes darted around and when she saw him, she smiled. He stood up and went to her.

"Hey—"

"Her eyes are moving back and forth. Like she's dreaming. I think she's gonna wake up soon."

Yani's eyes were shiny.

"That's good to hear—"

"Twyla said you sang to her. Can you come in and sing to her again? Maybe…maybe it will help her?"

She clasped his hand in hers.

The doctor returned and stepped into the room. Yani pulled Erik in with her.

Sydette still looked weak, but she was hanging on. The incubator now had oxygen pumped inside of it instead of the baby wearing a mask. The feeding tube was back down her nose again. He hated seeing that.

They sat next to each other in the chairs near the bed.

"Sweet Pea, Baba came to sing to you."

Erik felt a little shy. Singing wasn't his thing. Yani had heard him bludgeon songs for Sydette before at the compound. But he never sang Lullaby Little One until he was at the hospital.

Yani's eyes regarded his. Her face was so vibrant. Erik turned to look at Sydette. He cleared his throat and sang the first two stanzas. He reached his hand inside the protective glove and held the baby's hand. The grin on Yani's face was worth the wobbliness of his voice.

Touching Sydette's cheek, he finished up what he could remember until he saw the baby's eyes flutter open. Her eyes fell on his and Yani clutched Erik's arm so hard he could feel her nails.

"Hi baby girl," Yani said.

Erik removed his hand from the one protective glove he used and let Yani slips her hands into both.

They both stared at Sydette as her eyes tried to focus on them. The tube down her nose startled her and she started to cry, but they were both happy to hear the sound.

"Mama's right here…oh, I know, I know, that nasty tube doesn't feel so good. Yuh hear Baba singing? Did his voice make you cry?"

Erik started laughing and Yani's eyes twinkled at him. She nudged his shoulder with hers.

"I have to call Chez," she said.

Yani freed one hand and reached for her cell on the hospital nightstand. The nurse returned and was delighted to see that Sydette was awake.

"Can I hold her? Not with the gloves, but my own hands?" Yani asked.

"Let me check with the doctor first," the nurse said observing Sydette's heart rate.

Erik stood up and headed for the door.

"I'll be back," he said when Yani's eyes questioned his movement.

He stepped into the corridor and rummaged through his duffle bag. Pulling out his toiletry bag he looked for the Men's Room. He found it and rinsed his hands with cool water. Splashing water on his face he stared at himself in the mirror. He looked worn down and he watched his eyes water. His left hand clutched at his face and he felt relief flood his body.

Erik brushed his teeth and used mouth wash to rinse away the sourness he was tasting. His back hurt and he was still feeling weary. Returning to the corridor, he sat near his bag and rested his eyes until he heard Chez return. He swept past Erik with the doctor and entered Sydette's room. He listened to Chez's excited voice at seeing his daughter awake and when Erik stood to look into the room, he saw Yani holding Sydette in her arms with Chez holding onto the girl's hand.

"Where yuh going?" Twyla asked.

Erik hoisted his duffle bag on his shoulder.

"I'm going to get a hotel room."

"You won't stay at the compound?"

"I don't want them knowing I'm back just yet. I'll go back in a few days."

"You still look whooped from your trip. I'll keep you in the loop."

Twyla peeked into the room and saw Yani and Chez sitting together and holding their child. Yani's eyes swept up and saw them watching her from the hall. Erik held up a hand to her and walked away.

"Let us know where you'll be," Twyla called after him.

He nodded and pressed an elevator button.

###

When Sydette was able to have the feeding tube removed and eat regular food again, Yani felt like their life could go on. Chez did all he could to be with their daughter as she recovered, but he was in the midst of planning a funeral and grieving with Ursula and her family. Whatever tenuous family understanding they had prior to Star's death vanished. Yani felt sorry for Chez. He wanted to stay and comfort his living daughter and not have to deal with the pain of consoling his other family that blew his cell up every time he visited the hospital. Ursula's loss was one that Yani was grateful to bypass, and it made her hold Sydette tight every time she held her baby in her arms.

"Go stay with her. We'll be home soon and you can see Sweet Pea after the funeral. Your woman has a hole in her heart and you should tend to that. We'll be here."

Yani watched Chez rock Sydette in his arms. He was so attentive and tender with her.

"We won't survive this, Yani."

His eyes looked dry and wounded.

"We struggled to make shit work, but yuh know how it is. She was always jealous of you…we fought all the time—"

"Not in front of Sweet Pea and Star I hope—"

"We was just maintaining, Yani. For Star's sake. Now our baby is gone and…what's the point? We don't love each other. Not the way yuh 'sposed to for a family to work."

He looked down at Sydette's peaceful face.

"Star was the only thing that made us."

"You need to hold it together for she homegoing, Chez. You need to stand together for Sydette's sister. You owe that baby girl. And this one here."

"The funeral will be held at Ursula's mother's church. Friday."

"I'll be there."

Chez's cell buzzed again and he shook his head.

"Go," Yani said, taking Sydette from his arms.

Her own phone vibrated on the chair next to her and she saw it was Zachary. He had been in Florida interviewing for jobs and planning to make a permanent move stateside as soon as he could find work. She texted him a quick message letting him know that Sydette was better and would be going home soon. There were so many people she was behind on getting in touch with. Twyla and Anika were a big help in informing non-family, but as it stood, Yani was just ready to turn the world off and get her baby home safe.

"I'll leave when I'm ready."

Sydette woke up when the nurse came in and Yani allowed the woman to check her.

"I changed her pull-ups already," Yani said.

The nurse checked Sydette's temperature and marked her results on the medical chart hanging against the bed.

"Her appetite is coming back," Yani said.

"That's good," the nurse said. She hooked Sydette's arm to a drip line again to give her more fluids.

"Yuh thinking of moving to Florida with Zachary?"

Yani glared at Chez.

"Zachary and I are friends—"

"Be real, Yani. You were with him before that other dude, and I know you want to go stateside one day. Better opportunities there."

"He wahn mi to transfer schools. I'll finish here first before I think of doing anything."

"If you can get away from here…do it. Take our baby someplace bigger. I'm thinkin' of leaving…"

"Where yuh go, huh? Your mother would have a fit."

"Nothing here for mi. Can't make no real money."

Chez's phone buzzed again.

The nurse handed Sydette back to Yani. She was wide awake and anxious to lay against Yani's breast.

Chez leaned over and kissed Sydette's cheek. He stood up and tucked his phone in his pocket.

"If Zachary can help you get a good life, take it."

"I can make mi own good life for us."

Chez nodded.

"See you soon," he said.

Yani watched him leave then looked down at her daughter.

"If Mama still had milk, you'd have it Sweet Pea."

"Hello there! How are we today?"

The doctor swept in full of the good cheer Yani really needed to feel at that moment.

Sydette's eyes looked tired again and she yawned wide.

"Some good news. Sydette's vitals look very good. Heart rate back to normal and she's putting on good weight. The viral load is undetectable and not contagious at this point anymore. You can take her home tomorrow. I want to keep her under observation for one more night, and then we can schedule check-ups."

Yani burst into tears and the doctor touched her shoulder.

"I know it's been a rough road to travel, but this little girl is one of the lucky ones. A little fighter."

"Thank you," Yani said wiping her face.

"This virus is simmering down on the island. The worst of it is over for now."

"Could Sydette get it again? I mean, if there were another outbreak?"

"It's always possible. But Sydette may have developed anti-bodies to help her in the future for this type of virus."

"But viruses mutate—"

"True, and unfortunately, we don't have the proper medicines developed to combat this particular strain. Your daughter's genetic make-up may have played a role in protecting her. She may have already had the natural anti-bodies in her system to help fight this virus on her own."

"Yuh blessed, Sweet Pea."

Sydette pressed her face into Yani's chest with droopy eyes. She fell asleep to the gentle rocking Yani gave her.

"How many children are still fighting this?"

"In this hospital, we still have three quarantined and I can't say how they will fare. Hopefully, they will come through like Sydette. The other hospitals have a total of five. And there are some adults and elderly spread throughout. A little over a dozen."

Yani asked more specific medical questions and the doctor was impressed.

"I'm studying to be a nurse," Yani said.

"You ask some very compelling questions."

"I want to work as a nurse/midwife, but since this has happened…I think maybe I want to work with sick children."

The doctor talked with Yani a bit more until she was needed for another patient. The woman was kind enough to give Yani her number in case she had more questions about pediatric nursing.

Yani rocked her daughter some more and thought about what Chez said.

Florida.

More opportunities.

For someone who had always been controlling, it sounded weird hearing him push her toward Zachary. In the past, she may have agreed with that idea. But with Klaue and Killmonger's money, she didn't need to anchor herself to anyone for survival. She had the means to take care of herself and daughter on her own.

She mulled the idea over and watched her baby slumber in her arms.

###

Yani knew Erik was on the fence about going to the funeral, but she texted him and asked that he join her. Some of her family were not going because of their hurt over Ursula and Chez doing Yani wrong. But a few—Twyla, Kendall, and Monice—were going because they knew Chez and wanted to pay their respects to Sydette's sister.

Yani left Sydette at home with her sister Anika. She worried about exposing Sydette to the outside so early, and she also didn't feel right about bringing her daughter to a funeral, family or not.

She wore big dark glasses and a black scarf over her head. The dark dress she bought was a little too long and she had to hold up the hem when she walked. Sitting in the back of the church with her cousins, Yani could feel the grief in the entire church pressing in all around her. It wasn't a big church, but it was big enough to draw a large crowd of people who knew Chez's family well. Yani couldn't even look at the front of the funeral program or inside of it. The big photo of Star sitting on a tricycle broke her heart, and inside the program, there were pictures of Star and Sydette together. She couldn't help but think that this could've been her same fate. Her entire family could've been in a similar church watching Yani fall out like Ursula was doing in front of the mourners. Twyla passed Yani some tissues and she wiped her eyes under her glasses.

"Yani."

Kendall whispered to her and when she looked over at him, he was staring at the aisle.

Killmonger stood there in a dark shirt and slacks with shades on. Yani scooted over in the pew to make room for him on the end. The choir sang a hymn and she was cognizant of the warmth seeping into her from Erik's side pressed next to hers in the packed pew. His body heat always made her feel safe and she leaned against him more. He raised his arm and placed it around her shoulder and she automatically pushed her face against his neck and wept. Ursula's sorrowful voice added to the lamentations throughout the church and Yani didn't think she could take much more. How could anyone really stomach the sight of a tiny pink and white coffin? Killmonger squeezed her shoulder and she stuffed the tissue in her hand under her nose.

"People always say that there's nothing harder than a parent losing a child…"

Chez's voice trembled and Yani turned away from Killmonger's neck to look at him. Ursula stood next to him with Chez's mother holding her hand. His words were sweet and he peppered them with stories of Sydette and Star. Yani could only wonder…if they had taken Star to the hospital sooner, would she still be alive like Sydette?

Other people stood up to speak and by the time the service was over and the congregation moved around to give condolences to the family, Yani was drained. She didn't want to walk up to Chez's or Ursula's family. Her cousins left the pew and made the solemn walk to the family, but Yani didn't budge. She stayed hugged up against Killmonger and wished she were somewhere else.

"Can you take me home?" she whispered.

Killmonger stood up and held out his hand for her. She took it and gave one last look at the back of Chez's head. She just couldn't do it. It was enough to be there for them.

Chez turned his head and looked back at her.

She steeled herself and raised her hand toward him. He gave a sad smile and waved back at her.

"I don't…I…"

Yani squeezed Killmonger's hand. A lump grew in her throat as her eyes watered.

The line of mourners grew smaller as Yani stood watching Chez and Ursula take more heartfelt condolences.

Once, not long before the children took ill, Yani had made some mild curried chicken roti and sat in front of her tv with Sydette and Star on each side of her hip. Both girls had their fingers outstretched and greedy mouths open as she finger fed them small pieces from her plate while trying to eat some herself. Star had snatched a piece and held it out for Sydette. Yani had put some chunky potato pieces in her roti and when Star handed it to Sydette they made a mess trying to gobble it up before Yani took it from them. Clearly, they had both inherited their father's appetite for food.

Yani sat with them lying on her lap as she touched Sydette's soft halo of curls and Star's silky ringlets, humming under her breath, thinking about giving them ice cream for dessert. She had just started calling Star Sunshine because of her infectious smile whenever she saw Sydette. The girl's face would just light up on sibling visits. Yani had fallen in love with the child and finally accepted that difficult and hurtful things happened in life that were not planned for, but there was always a way to turn it around and make peace with it. Not an easy peace, but one that wouldn't make her feel stuck.

Yani took a deep breath. She had to honor that baby's spirit.

"Killmonger…"

He walked with Yani up to the front of the church. They stood in front of Star's casket together.

"Alla we miss yuh Sunshine. Yuh Sweet Pea's special little angel now."

Yani reached out and touched the casket and then quickly clutched onto Killmonger's arm. He led her toward the family and Ursula started shaking as she wiped tissue in front of her eyes. Chez sat next to her but they were not close to one another. His eyes dragged up to Yani's face and she leaned down and hugged him. When she stood back up, Killmonger held her hand. She turned to Ursula and tried to give her some words, but Ursula turned her head away and clutched onto her mother who sat to her left. Yani's stomach tightened, and she pressed her lips together to keep from saying something she would regret. Maybe it was too much for Ursula to handle. Maybe it was a mistake to face them.

Killmonger guided her out of the church. Cars were already lining up for the processional to the gravesite. She saw Twyla and Monice heading to where they had parked, and Kendall lingered gazing up at her on the top step of the church.

"Will you go to the repast?" Kendall asked.

"No, I think I'll skip that."

Kendall stared at Killmonger.

"You'll take her home?" he asked.

"Yeah," Killmonger said.

Kendall blew Yani a kiss and made his way toward his cousins.

Killmonger walked her to a car that wasn't from the compound. He opened the passenger door for her and helped her in.

They were quiet for a few minutes as he maneuvered away from the church, but the moment they were free of the line of cars, Yani let out a long exhale that made her feel more centered.

"That was hard…I didn't think I could go up there…what could I tell them? Sorry sounds so trivial a thing to say—"

"Yani. It's ok-"

"I felt so selfish sitting there and just thinking about Sydette the whole time. Star was in that little coffin, and my mind was thinking of Sweet Pea eating a full lunch today."

"Don't beat yourself up about it. I'm sure other parents in that church were thinking about their children too."

"I used to think horrible things about Ursula. I used to pray that she would lose her baby or that she was a lying whore and Star was someone else's…or she'd be run over in a car, or a big boulder would roll down a hill and squash her and Chez and their cheating family…and now…I feel like a shitty human. Star didn't deserve this. I should never have put that negative energy out into the world—"

"Yani…"

She focused her attention out of the window. When they finally reached the east side of the island, Yani became more clear-headed.

"How long are you back for?"

"Not long. Plans are in motion as always."

She stayed quiet the rest of the way and when they reached her apartment, they sat in the car for a time.

"Do you want to come up and see her? I want you to."

"I want to see her…I want to see you…"

"But?"

"This shit is gonna be surface-level here on out. I can't make anything real with you. With her. Not the way you want."

Yani laid her head back against the headrest.

"Come up and see her as my friend then."

She held her hand out to him. He threaded his fingers with hers.

They took their time walking up to the unit. Anika was surprised to see him, but she only gave a coy glance at Yani's face.

"She's in her room," Anika said.

"Sleep?"

"I just put her in there. She was feeling a little warm earlier, but she's fine now."

Yani walked into Sydette's room with Killmonger behind her. Sitting on the bed, she touched her daughter's forehead.

Killmonger lingered by the door.

The baby shifted under the covers.

"Hey, Sweet Pea. Mama's home."

Sydette's eyes fluttered open.

"Guess who's here?"

Yani moved aside so Sydette could see Killmonger in the doorway. He stepped forward and Yani watched Sydette's eyes track his movement.

"Lil Mama…"

Sydette recognized his voice and face, but she turned her head toward Yani. He came closer and sat next to Yani on the bed.

"Hey," he said.

His hand reached forward and touched her cheek and she clutched onto Yani's waist, ignoring Killmonger by hiding her face. Stroking her daughter's still too thin shoulders, Yani looked at Killmonger. The corners of his mouth were downturned and his eyes were shadowy orbs full of sadness.

"She must be tired still," Yani said.

Killmonger nodded and his eyes looked away from Sydette.

"I'll make us some tea, yeah?"

"Sure. Sounds good," he said.

She pulled the covers up around Sydette's chest but the girl fretted and reached for her again.

"I'll make the tea," he said.

He left the room and Yani looked down at her daughter.

"Why yuh do that, Sweet Pea, huh? Him come so far just for you…"

By the time she heard the tea kettle in her kitchen whistling, Sydette was asleep again. Yani took her temperature with a forehead thermometer. It was just a slightly elevated temperature.

"Still drinking tea with all that extra sugar?" he asked when she stepped into her living room.

Killmonger had two mugs in his hand. Red bush tea for himself, and plain black tea with milk for her. He handed her the drink and they sat on her couch as Anika gathered up a few books she had on the coffee table.

"She's had her Pedialyte with lunch and she went to the bathroom by herself on her potty chair. How were things?"

"Sad. But it was a nice service."

"Chez and Ursula?"

Yani shrugged.

Anika glanced at Killmonger again and clutched her books to her chest.

"I'll hang out in her room," Anika said.

Yani sipped her tea as her sister slinked away still eying Killmonger and giving a look to her.

"Anika's been staying with me since Sydette's been back home. Helping me out."

"That's good."

"You still staying at the hotel?"

"Yeah."

"Thank you for coming to the service today. You helped make it easier. I mean…funerals are never easy…but…"

His eyes made her jumpy and she had to look away from him. There was compassion there, but also a burning intimacy that felt so heavy with them alone in her living room. She finished drinking her tea and tried to come up with things to say to him. Pleasant things. Things that would make her forget the sadness of the day.

"How was your trip to London?"

"It was good."

"Your family is well?"

He nodded and his eyes were once again hypnotizing her. His lips. She tried not to look at his lush mouth, but she couldn't help it. Every detail of his face looked dazzling and new, and even with the strain they had all endured with Sydette, Killmonger still made her feel alive when he stared at her. Like he could see the real her. The one that was blossoming and becoming something new.

"I was really surprised when you and Klaue gave me that money—"

He set his mug down and moved closer to her.

"I don't want to talk about that. How are you feeling? Have you had any real rest? You been eating? Taking care of yourself?"

"I try. But I focus all my energy on her."

He touched her face.

"Are you hungry now? Want me to get you something to eat?"

"No, I've got food I can heat up later."

He stood up and held out his hand.

"C'mon. You should take a nap."

She could feel her body feeling grateful that he named out loud what she needed.

He took her to her room and she slipped off her kitten heels and stockings.

"I'll check with you late," he said.

"Stay."

His eyes went to the open bedroom door and the hallway. She walked over to her door and pushed it partially closed so she could hear Sydette.

Pulling the dress over her head, she saw how Killmonger's eyes rested on the black silk slip she wore under it. She pulled the covers back on her bed and crawled in, making room for him. Glancing at the door again, Killmonger unbuttoned his shirt.

"You can get comfortable, it's okay," she said.

He hesitated for only a second and then he pulled off his slacks and laid them on top of his shirt on her dresser. His dark boxer briefs had her eyes ghosting over the shape of his ass. Everything about him physically looked so different. Chiseled. Like he had been in deep training preparing for something intense. He climbed onto her bed and slipped under her comforter and sheet.

Placing her head on her pillow, she faced him and they stared at one another. Light from the late afternoon sky filtered through her bedroom window. Her fingers flexed in her left hand and she reached out and touched his cheek. He closed his eyes and before she knew it, he pulled her tight against him.

He smelled so good.

Sandalwood mixed with bergamot.

Clean and fresh and so warm.

His lips rested on her forehead and his right hand rubbed her lower back. His touch ignited her skin and the more he rubbed the silk against her, the more her nerve endings came alive. They couldn't even take a nap together without the need to touch one another.

She needed the comfort of him next to her and didn't hesitate to tilt her head and kiss him. It took little to encourage him and his mouth opened the moment her tongue licked the middle of his lips. His tongue tasted of the natural sweetness of the red tea he drank and it made her mouth water as his tongue slid against hers. Yani heard herself whimpering when his hands cradled her neck and face.

She moaned in his mouth once she realized it had been so long since her body felt anything other than pain and sorrow. Stress. Fear. Physical sensations of pleasure had been stunted since Sydette's illness. Pleasure in eating good food. Pleasure in bathing. Pleasure in laughter or companionship. Pleasure in seeing her baby girl smile. Pleasure in dancing, or singing, or being alive.

She would've lost her mind if Sydette had left her.

But this man, kissing her as only he could, had rushed over an ocean the moment he was told Sydette was in trouble. Sang to her child and told her she wasn't allowed to leave the world. He stood with Yani when the doctor was essentially cutting the life cord away from her baby.

He once told her that he was almost killed and that she had saved his life by being a lifeline for him. This dangerous man in her bed had now done the same for her daughter. She wanted to believe that.

She touched Killmonger's face. He was still hers and she would always be his. He might be able to maintain a surface level relationship, but she knew she never could. And she knew that her heart would be broken again, but it was worth it. To feel like this. With him.

The headiness of his mouth on hers eased away all the tightness and tension she carried just trying to get through that day. She could feel his body reacting to her and he pulled his lips away. He turned her to face away from him so he could spoon against her. The consuming heat from his skin lulled her into a deep needful slumber.

When she woke up hours later with her arm flung over her head, she rolled over to look at Killmonger and found Sydette curled up on his chest.

Both of them sound asleep.

###

Chp. 24 Here

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[flutteringphalanges]

Summary:  “Am I in Hell?” Agatha’s voice was hoarse, a hint of fear in her tone. “That depends on your definition,” Dracula answered. “Perhaps.” His fingers felt cool against her burning skin, the fever raging through her body. “If you’re going to kill me, then do it,” she mumbled. The count chuckled, gazing into her eyes. “On the contrary,” he smirked. “I’m going to save you.”

((In which Dracula cares for a gravely ill Agatha))

Characters: Agatha Van Helsing/Dracula

Rating: T

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: Thank you all again for your wonderful feedback!  Comments/Kudos/Reviews are greatly appreciated! I'd love to hear your thoughts and if there was a certain part you liked! Until next time! Stay safe and healthy! -Jen

                                         Chapter Three

Suffocation. Oxygen clawing at her swollen throat, trying to push past damaged glands. Lungs working over time, forcing air that rattled out into coughing fits. Agatha heaved, torn from her sleep as her aching chest burned, fire from the built up acid and phlegm. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't focus. Something left a bitter taste in her mouth and she prayed not think of what it could be.

"Deep breaths."

His voice cut through her wheezing serrated knife. Just his presence alone made Agatha's skin crawl. When she felt his hand on her shoulder, the nun desired nothing more than to slap it away. But her body, like it had been, betrayed her. Hacking turned into gagging and Agatha felt her stomach begin to churn. The moment she felt the cool touch of a metal basin against her chin, she vomited what little she had in her stomach. Sour. It coated the inside of her mouth.

"Drink."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the glass Dracula held out towards her.

"No," she panted, shooting him a glare. "Go away and leave me be."

"While I applaud your undying detest towards me, your stubborn attitude can be rather agitating," Dracula sighed, rolling his eyes. "Have some water, Agatha, before you cause further harm to your trachea."

She stared at the glass cautiously before reaching out and taking it. The water was clear, not a suspicious speck out of place. She swallowed, still hesitant of the vampire's true intent. Inhaling, she pressed the rim to her lips and took a small sip. It burned like Hell going down, throat painfully raw, but the cold numbness that followed afterwards was welcoming. She sighed, slowly gulping down the liquid.

"Your fever still hasn't let up," the vampire commented, taking the glass back. "I've been monitoring you."

"How thoughtful," Agatha scoffed hoarsely. "It's reassuring to know that you are present in my bed chambers when I'm least aware of it."

"You are proving to be quite the least thankful guest," Dracula replied, smirking slightly. "Even Johnny provided better companionship than you-and he too was day," he paused. "Well, I had a hand in that, I should say."

"You're a cruel, sadistic brute," the nun coughed, her head beginning to spin. "You should have killed me in Budapest when you had the chance."

"Again," he sighed. "Where would the fun be in that?"

The nun shook her head, realizing her mistake when the room began to spin. Once more, she found her stomach beginning to churn. Leaning back against her pillow, she stared up at the ceiling. Stone. Cobwebs. Flies. Those damn bugs. Her skin began to prickle as if being singed by invisible flames. Despite being awake for only minutes, her energy had already depleted. She was weak. Vulnerable. And she hated it. Not to mention the headache. God was it getting worse. The throbbing. Focus. Focus.

"Agatha."

The pain was intensifying. Like a herd of horses repeatedly kicking her skull. Her vision was beginning to blur. This was new. At least something to this extreme. Dracula was looming over her and though, in any other case, she'd try to look elsewhere, she forced her eyes to stay locked on him. Stay awake. Stay awake.

"Agatha?"

Even if she wanted to reply, she couldn't. Her muscles had given way, nerves having a mind of their own. It felt as if a weight had been pressed onto her chest. It was hot. Scorching. The fever flaring up again without any sort of mercy. This was it. She was going to die. Her deathbed in the home of her enemy. How climatic. As she began to fade into the darkness, she nearly swore there was a glint of concern in the count's eyes.

                                                       XXX

Ice. Freezing. Her body jolted to consciousness by the unexpected drop in temperature. Agatha yelped in surprise, startled and confused by her new surroundings. A shock that turned into absolute rage. Mortification. She, Sister Agatha Van Helsing, was naked. Bare, no clothing to call her own, in a bathtub of ice water. And if that wasn't enough to rattle the ill nun, Count Dracula watched on from a nearby wall with a carefree expression.

"What…" she hissed through chattering teeth. "You've...you've…"

"Saved you from dangerously overheating?" The vampire finished, an eyebrow raised. "A thank you will suffice."

"How dare you," she snapped, hugging herself tightly. "What on Earth possessed you into thinking that it would be remotely okay to unclothe me?!"

"Trust me, Agatha, I have seen many a man and woman naked," he smirked. "You're nothing special. Though," he paused, playfully allowing his eyes to scan her. "For a nun, your physique is surprisingly appealing to the eye."

"Get out," she growled, pulling her knees up to her chest. "Now!"

"As you wish," he bowed, his lips curving into a smile. "Oh, I took the liberty of replacing your clothes. They were quite dirty after all. Unfortunately, I must admit I do not own any outfits that would be to your fitting so one of my shirts should suffice."

To her horror, Agatha finally noticed a neatly folded, white top. Long sleeved, buttons, and a distinct collar, nothing compared to her nun habit. He had planned this. All of this. And by God, however it was possible, her anger grew. Seeming to notice her dismay, Dracula watched in amusement.

"Do you seriously think that I will-" she began.

"You could always prance around naked," he suggested with a shrug. "But catching a cold on top of your already ailing state I doubt any doctor would advise."

"You conniving leech," she snarled, feeling more exposed by the second. "Why...why do you even have a tub anyways?"

"Everyone needs to have decent hygiene," Dracula replied. "Despite your impression of me, I do hold standards of cleanliness. Now, get dressed, I don't think it best you be out of bed for this long. I'll be right outside the door if you need me."

"I won't," she grumbled.

"All the same," he answered. "I am really attempting at being a good host."

Once he had slipped out of the room, the nun took a deep, rattling breath. How she envied those nuns who lost their lives in the massacre, as horrible as that sounded. Still rather unstable, her legs wobbling, she hobbled over to the stool and picked up the shirt. Surprisingly, for someone who only consumed blood, there wasn't a single stain to be seen.

Putting one arm though each sleeve, she began the tedious task of buttoning it up. Thankfully, due to his height, the shirt appeared more like a chemise than anything else. Short, falling just above her knees, but held a little bit of reserve. A hint.

"Everything alright in there," the vampire knocked. "Do you require any assistance?"

"The only assistance I desire is for you to disappear from the vicinity," Agatha grumbled, reaching for the door handle. "Now turn around, I don't want you looking." Not that it mattered, he'd already seen her nude.

Dracula stood off to the side of the room, his back turned when Agatha reentered the bedroom. She leaned against the wall, already beginning to feel dizzy from the movement alone. When her knees began to waver, the vampire was immediately by her side, grasping her firm, yet gently by the arm. She would've pulled away if she could, but the risk of falling was a much less desirable outcome.

"The shirt suits you," he said, helping her to the mattress. "Much better than that drab, old outfit of yours. Then again, anything in the realm of religion isn't a favorite of mine."

"So I've observed," the nun muttered, crawling back under the sheets. At least she didn't feel as hot as before. "It isn't just the cross then? Do you find fear in theology in general? Why is that?"

"So many questions, Agatha," Dracula exhaled. "Your hunger for education amuses me. Ah, on that subject of appetite, from my observations, humans can't primarily survive on a liquid diet of water. I've made you something."

Now filled with curiosity, Agatha watched as the count left the room. He was only gone for a few moments before returning with a bowl. She eyed it suspiciously as he held it out to her. Then, with great hesitation, she took it. Soup. At least, it appeared that way. A warm, red substance filled with what appeared to be chopped vegetables. Carrots. Onions. Peas.

"What did you do to it?" She inquired, frowning as he handed her a spoon.

Dracula let out a dramatic sigh. "Must you assume everything I do has an ulterior motive behind it?"

"Yes."

"Well, I suppose that's not entirely false, but I assure you, this soup was made with genuine intentions," he smiled. "Go on, have a taste. I promise I didn't poison it."

Still watching him, Agatha dipped her spoon in and brought the liquid to her lips. Warm. Rich. For someone who didn't eat, the nun wouldn't have guessed based on the quality of her meal. She hadn't realized how truly hungry she was until her utensil clattered against the bottom of the bowl.

"Delectable, right?"

"Tolerable," she mumbled, handing the empty dish back. "Sub par at most."

"I'll take that as a compliment," the vampire smiled. "Hopefully that will hold you off for now. I have a prior engagement tonight so I won't be home unfortunately," there was a glint of malintent in his eye. "I know you'll dreadfully miss me."

"Where are you going?" Agatha asked, ignoring his last statement. "Not that I'm too curious."

"Like you, I need to eat," he replied. The nun's skin began to crawl. "But don't worry, I won't be gone for too long. I'll have long returned by the time you wake up." His eyes flickered over to the sliver of a window, the heavy curtains drawn. "I've had a particular craving for epidemiology lately, and I believe I found the perfect candidate in a nearby town."

Agatha's jaw dropped. "You're considering slaughtering an innocent doctor?!"

"Science has ways of taking its toll on things," Dracula replied, heading towards the door. "But what it takes, it gives back. Try to think of it in a more positive light, Agatha. A life lost is a life saved-that being you, of course. Be thankful, that's the least you can give him."

"No one deserves to die," she frowned, trying to rise from her bed. "Except you."

"I'm already dead, Agatha," he smirked. "Your words mean nothing."

He adjusted his cloak, taking his attention momentarily away from the nun. The woman exhaled, leaning back against her pillows. Helpless. Guilty. Tonight a man would die because a monster had a twisted interest in her survival. She could do nothing. She felt hot again, only this time she knew it wasn't from her fever.

"I hope you get caught in the sun!" It sounded so childish, a pitiful insult. "I won't let you get away with this."

"And yet," Dracula smiled. "You already have."

Before Agatha could reply, the vampire had already disappeared. Dammit. Damn this disease. Damn Dracula. And damn herself. All of this was making her head pound and she was nowhere near closer to learning about the vampire. She needed to gain control. Force her body into submission.

As she stared at the bedroom door, the entrance slightly ajar, a thought came into her mind. Exploration. Maybe, just maybe if she could muster the strength, she could have a look about. A quick peek before the Lord of Darkness himself returned. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and even though she felt horrible, maybe some motivation would push her forward.

After all, how dangerous could the outcome be?

[inmyownlittlecorner5]

libera nos a malo Chapter 4: The Victory of Pyrrhus

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina

Rated for Mature Audiences

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content

Chapter 4/20

libera nos a malo masterpost+

unstoppable force/immovable object masterpost+

<< chapter three+

chapter five+ >>

“You’ve done very well today, Miss Miranda,” pronounced Healer A’isha as she ran her wand over Miranda’s body and studied the translucent diagnostic image that superimposed itself on Miranda’s skin as she did. “I am very pleased with what I see here.”

“Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without Severus dogging me,” replied Miranda with a wry smile, trying not to look at the sickening sight of her color-coded internal organs on display for the room to see. The examination table she was lying on was making her shiver, even as the acrid smell of the hospital room made her stomach churn. Severus seemed to sense her discomfort, silently taking one of her trembling hands and lacing his fingers through hers while the Healer did her poking and prodding. Like many people, Miranda hated anything resembling a hospital, and it bothered her how quickly being in one reduced her to a mass of overwrought nerves.

“Yes, and a terrible patient you were too,” Severus observed. By the glint in his eye, she suspected he was baiting her on purpose—he knew her well enough to understand that an angry Miranda was more grounded than a frightened one.

“Hmm…” Healer A’isha hummed. Internal examination completed, she vanished the grotesque spell and lifted the hem of Miranda’s robe in order to examine the scars sprawling over the American’s abdomen. Although they were still an angry shade of red, the skin was tightly closed over the wounds. One more set of battle souvenirs for her to remember her adventures by.

“Well, what do you think?” Miranda asked, trying and failing to keep the eagerness out of her voice.

“I think that you may resume light duties tonight. But if you receive any further injuries, I expect you to come straight here. The wounds are closed, but still inflamed by the căpcăun venom.”

“If it would be more prudent for her to continue to avoid active duty, perhaps another fortnight of rest would be advisable,” Severus said.

Miranda shot him a glare, but he was looking over her head at the Healer and avoiding her eyes completely.

“No, I think we can let you try your wings, Miss Miranda.” She pulled a roll of parchment out of her lime green robes and waved her wand over it. A florid script enumerating a list of potions and balms appeared on it, and Miranda was pleased to see that this new regimen was significantly shorter than the one she was currently subject to. “Please take this down to the apothecary, and wait for him to fill the order. We’ll cut back your healing potion to twice daily, and I’ve ordered a different balm for your scars that will not require bandaging. You understand the magical and physical exercises you should perform, and also the limits you should respect?”

“I do,” Miranda said.

“Excellent. Please return in two weeks so that I may see how you do with the increased activity. If all goes well we can lengthen the time between appointments again.”

“Thank you Healer A’isha.”

“You are very welcome. Good day, Professor Severus.”

“Healer A’isha,” he returned.

The door closed softly behind the Healer, and Severus helped Miranda sit up on the edge of the narrow bed. She let her hand slide up his arm, weaving her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck and he gave her half a smile before leaning down to kiss her. His thin lips were hungry on hers, coaxing sighs from her and swallowing them eagerly until she felt quite boneless in his embrace.

“So you did miss me,” she teased, surprised by the ardor of his welcome, especially since a nurse or a Healer might wander in at any moment and shame them like a pair of naughty teenagers.

“Surprising is it not?” he replied, peppering her face with feather-light kisses that made her lean towards him; aching for more satisfactory contact. “If you are not otherwise engaged, perhaps we might retire to you cabin.”

Oh, right. Her cabin. The heat that his touch had inspired in her body snuffed out and she pulled away from him, swinging over the opposite side of the table and beginning to dress with business-like efficiency.

“Well, about that,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you, but one of my brothers decided to come back with me.”

His shoulders tensed up a quarter-inch the way they always did when she said something that he didn’t care for.

“I see.”

“Finn wouldn’t take no for an answer. I think he wants to vet you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s the funniest thing. Even though I’m a grown woman, he still sees me as his baby sister and gets inconveniently protective at the most inopportune times.” She sat down on the edge of the bed to lace up her boots, turning her back on Severus’s pointed gaze. “Anyway, he’s back at the ranch sleeping, and I’m honestly exhausted myself. My body has no idea what time it is anymore. I was thinking I’d go back and catch some sleep before my shift with Aaron, and maybe you could mosey over to the cabin later tonight, say 10ish, and get the worst over with.”

“I see.”

The enigmatic answer snapped what was left of Miranda’s paltry patience. Between the the portkey lag and the guilt that was weighing on her over not extending a proper Christmas invitation to Severus in the first place, she was rather done-in.

“Look, you don’t have to meet him if you don’t want to,” she said angrily. “He’s not all bad. I mean, he’s an ass, but so are you. You might get along.”

Her cheeks were flaming when she stood up to face him—just in time to see a flash of pain twist his expression before he could banish it behind an impassive mask.

“As you like, Miranda,” he shrugged, feigning indifference. “I am willing to meet your brother if you wish for me to do so.”

The victory gave her no pleasure—maybe she should start kicking puppies for fun in her spare time too.

“Great. I’ll see you after work then.”

“Yes. You will.”

His response was half promise and half challenge; and she was within a hair’s breadth of allowing a casual I love you to escape her lips. But she bit her tongue to trap the impish spark from escaping.

She’d learned the hard way what came of lighting a campfire with kerosene.

*****

It should have been a pleasant night. The mercury was well above freezing, and Shoreditch was still sporting her Christmas finery; with twinkling lights and holly wrapped around every lamppost and store window. But the mist that might have made the neighborhood blur into a sugarplum fantasy sat thick and muddy like cold pea soup—unyielding, unappetizing, cloying in the lungs until one wanted to gasp for air.

“Maggie was cute as a bug at Mass yesterday,” Aaron said as he and Miranda patrolled through the abandoned streets. “Good as gold too. Didn’t make a peep until the end when she started trying to sing with the choir.”

His cheerful voice grated on Miranda’s fraying nerves. “I’m sorry I missed it.”

“Naw, you were right to go home. The folks must’ve been glad to see you.”

“They were. Finn even insisted on coming back for a spell.”

“That’s great! Why don’t y’all come to Mass with us on Sunday?”

Aaron’s relentless good mood was beginning to warm her. “That could work. Finn was talking about wanting to go down to Landanwg in Wales that day. Seamus is sending him on a wild goose chase after some album.”

“Landanwg? I’ve been meaning to get back down there. Best cawl on the island in my opinion, and the church is something to see.”

“Sounds like it’s settled then.”

The wind picked up and Miranda wrapped her cloak more tightly around her. She could feel her left shoulder riding high, and even the basic Hominum Revelio she’d used earlier in the shift had been fuzzy at best. If Aaron was aware of her struggles—and she’d be surprised if he weren’t—he was polite enough not to draw attention to them.

“I couldn’t believe the number of dresses Rachel’s mother sent for Maggie. I doubt that baby’ll wear above half of them before she grows out of the duds.”

“You made a good baby, Aaron.”

“I think so, if I do say so my…”

His voice trailed off and Miranda shivered, the hair on her arms standing on end as though some electric shock at touched her skin. Aaron’s shift from doting father to deadly Auror was instantaneous, and both of them had their wands in hand as they searched the mist for whatever foul stench had disturbed them.

“Did you hear something?” Miranda asked in a low voice.

Aaron put a finger on her arm and tapped,

NOT DO YOU HEAR SOMETHING DO YOU SMELL SOMETHING

Her fingers tensed around her alder wand, and she fancied it clung to the palm of her hand, ready to defend her to the last. Beside her, Aaron’s body was going through a set of inhuman contortions, until he dropped down on all fours and sprang into the midst, his dapper suit exchanged for the form of a massive bloodhound. He restrained himself to a sedate pace that his partner, hampered by her merely human legs might have a prayer of following, and she ran lightly after him, flicking her wand at her feet to muffle the crunch of the snow beneath her boots.

The chase led them to a residential street, lined with townhouses and matched hazelnut hedgerows. Aaron made short work digging a path through one of the bushes, and Miranda was able to push through after him without any trouble. She stopped short on the other side, where she found her friend nosing the body of a young woman, lying close on the ground with a dark haired man. The blood on the twisted corpses had barely congealed, and a juvenile thestral was boldly snaking around the bodies, eager to feast on the scent of death. Miranda stared down the sulfurous creature, and it recoiled, distrustful of a witch that was willing to meet its burning eyes.  

Aaron barked once in question, and the old rhythm of hunt and search imposed itself on Miranda’s bones. She quickly searched the bodies, discovering an unused wand, a Magical ID, and a handbag full of No-Maj paraphernalia, and shoving them into her pockets for later perusal. The wounds on their bodies were sickeningly familiar, and she wondered if this were Severus’s handiwork; or if he’d taught his signature curse to that many of his Death Eater comrades.

“He was a wizard. It looks like she was No-Maj,” Miranda murmured, digging four coins out of a pocket and placing them, one by one, over the eyes that would see no more. “Eternal rest grand unto them…”

She hit the dirt as Aaron, still in his animagus form, landed hard on her back, sheltering her from the vile green light that snaked overhead and splintered the hedge behind them. Before the bark could settle, Aaron had launched himself at their assailants, bounding towards the pair of black-clad wizards that appeared from shadows between the houses. Miranda covered the bloodhound’s charge, firing blasts of white that sizzled and sparked as they collided with the red bolts exploding from the wands of the Death Eaters. Within seconds, Aaron had brought down the taller of the two, snapping and snarling while the wizard yelped and struggled under the hound’s weight. The remaining Death Eater redoubled his attack, leaving his companion to fend for himself as he advanced on Miranda, red curses flying.

It was a duel that would have bored her to tears six months earlier, but tonight Miranda was hard pressed to keep up with the frenzy of deadly spells, and soon she was muttering her incantations through gritted teeth. Sweat poured from her brow as she forced hex after hex, humiliated by her puny efforts. At least Severus wasn’t here to witness them.

“Fuck!” she swore, crumpling to the ground as a nasty curse caught her square in the stomach. One arm went protectively around the wound as she rolled through her fall, and she could feel the skin crackling beneath her tunic as she gasped with pain.

By the time she managed to hobble to her feet, it was over. Aaron abandoned his barely moving prize to attack Miranda’s foe, and stumbled when the Death Eater disappeared with a violent crack; reappearing an instant later at his fallen comrade’s side. Another crack and the two wizards were gone; out of range and untraceable. Aaron sniffed his way over the ground for several moments while Miranda sat back on her heels, panting and holding her injured stomach. When the southerner was satisfied with his search, he snapped up the fallen wand of the taller Death Eater and trotted to Miranda’s side. A long, low whine emanated from his throat, and he shifted back to his human form, frowning down at his friend.

“Are you alright?” he demanded, stooping next to her. “Don’t answer that, I know you’ll lie. Just let me see where he got you.”

“Fine, I’m fine,” she protested through her panting; but she didn’t struggle when he gently pushed her back so that he could roll up the hem of her tunic and prod the blackened skin beneath.

“I’m calling Fisher and Hart, and then I’m taking you to St Mungo’s.”

She pushed him away and yanked down her tunic. “No! I’ve been there once already today. If I go back this soon, Healer A’isha will put me back on disabled and I’m not going to sit on the bench anymore!”

“Listen, you bull-headed woman, you’re barely off the disabled list because you nearly died. You’re going.”

It was time to switch tactics. “What if I go home right now?” she cajoled. “Severus is going to be there, and he can clean up this mess as well as any Healer.”

She could almost see Aaron’s internal debate raging. “And you have to take the rest of the week off.”

“But…”

“No buts! I don’t need you putting my ass in danger because you’re trying to run before you can crawl.”

“Will you come by and tell me what you and the others find here tonight?”

“I will.”

“Then it’s a deal.”

“Deal.”

They spat on their palms and shook to seal the bargain, a remnant of their schoolyard days. She leaned a little harder on him than she liked as he helped her to her feet, and he did her the honor of pretending not to notice.

“Don’t worry, Mira,” he said when she was steady. “You’ll be up to speed faster than green grass through a goose. You’ve just gotta have a little patience.”

“You think?” she replied testily, giving the besmirched lawn a final look. If one more person told her to be patient, she was either going to scream, or hex the fool into next Sunday. Aaron wisely held his tongue, and she limped into the shadows to Apparate home before she could give in to the impulse.

*****

A quarter past the appointed hour was as late as Severus could force himself to arrive anywhere without breaking out in hives. He made his way up the footpath to Miranda’s cabin (he did not mosey—he never moseyed), well aware that it would likely be an hour or more before she would deign to appear. He’d spent the last half hour debating over whether or not he should knock rather than simply enter, as was his habit, and had at last settled on knocking—if only because it seemed imprudent to startle a man raised in a family of bounty hunters.

Three short raps brought his host to the door. Miranda’s brother was clad in ripped blue jeans (did the man not own proper clothing?) and a black t-shirt. His dark hair was sculpted into a somewhat taller version of the pompadour that Aaron favored, his sharp blue eyes reminded Severus uncomfortably of Conor Rose’s, and a cigarette dangled negligently from his lips. All this, of course, was overshadowed by the fact that the man seemed to have mislaid his right arm somewhere. Fortunately, Severus had plenty of practice maintaining an impassive expression while being subjected to unpleasant circumstances, and was able to keep his startled reaction to himself.

“Severus Snape, I presume,” the man said around his cigarette.

“Correct, Mr Rose,” Severus replied, shaking Finn’s left hand somewhat awkwardly with his right.

“That’s me. Guess you’d better come in.”

The window was thrown open to the winter night, and the fire was burning high in the fireplace to compensate. A supper of cold meat, cheese, and clementines was haphazardly set on the table, along with a tin of fanciful Christmas biscuits. There was a half-drunk Muggle beer on the counter next to a bucket holding a dozen more on ice. Several Muggle magazines littered the coffee table, and a racket the likes of which Severus had never endured shrieked from the turntable.

Charming.

“Mira ain’t back yet. You wanna beer?” Finn asked, pulling a bottle out of the bucket and passing it to Severus before he could reply.

Severus did not want a beer, but he suspected the alcohol might be a necessary social lubricant in the current situation. “Thank you.”

Finn sauntered over to the table, and sprawled out on one of the chairs like an ungainly cat. Severus sat down like a proper human being, and summoned a glass from the cupboard with a silent accio, pouring the dark brew into it while Finn drank directly from the bottle like his Barbarian sister. Severus took a bracing sip, and the smokey flavor pleased him more than he’d thought it would. Now if only he could drown out the caterwauling from the turntable, they might manage to feign some semblance of civilization.

“So,” Finn said, “how’d you meet my sister?”

It begins. “She, shall we say, conscripted my aid in subduing one of her marks last summer,” Severus replied with a touch of irony.

“Obliging of you. You must’ve done a decent job if she kept you around. How long’ve you been a teacher?”

“Fifteen years.”

“That sounds God-awful. Do you like it?”

“No.” He did not like this one-way interrogation either. “I take it you are part of the Rose family business?”

Finn was not going down quietly. “Yep. You’ve done a good job, by the way.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Not asking about my arm. I saw you gape at it, but most people would’ve missed that, you covered it so quick. You’ve got a decent poker face.”

“So I’m told.”

“Go ahead and ask.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you are talking about.” This was worse than sparring with Miranda—all of the irritation and none of the pleasure.

“I mean, go ahead and ask about my arm. Most people are bustin’ at the seams to know.”

Severus was in no mood to give the man what he so clearly wanted. “I don’t see why I should care about any of the limbs you have managed to lose.”

Finn laughed and dropped the end of his cigarette into an empty beer bottle, while Severus took a long drink from his glass to steady his temper. Before either man could regroup for another tilt, the door banged open and Miranda limped through it, face pale, one arm wrapped around her stomach and the other moving from the wall to the sofa for balance. Both men were on their feet in an instant.

“What the hell happened to you?” Finn demanded.

“Nothing. A couple of Death Eaters,” Miranda replied, sinking down on the sofa.

Severus flexed his left arm involuntarily, and quickly closed the door as though he were concerned his fellows had followed Miranda home.

“Death Eaters?” Finn asked. “You mean those punks you were telling me about?”

“Yes. They got away, but one of them left his wand behind. Aaron and a couple of the other Aurors are going over the crime scene. We’ll catch them. It’s only a matter of time.”

“That still does not explain why you are limping,” Severus observed pointedly.

“I was getting to it.” She winced, pulling up her tunic to expose the blackened skin beneath. “I got hit in the fray. It feels like an adusto, and a clumsy one at that.”

Severus thrust Finn out of the way and dropped to one knee beside her to examine the wound. Fury coursed through him, causing his fingers to tremble as he ran them over the injured skin.

“What are you doing here?” he said angrily. “You should have gone to St Mungo’s. What was Aaron thinking, letting you come home in this condition?”

She flinched under his examination. “I’m not going back; I was just there. I thought you could take care of it.”

“It’s not an option. You’re going.”

“Come on, please? It’s only a little curse; no big deal.”

Her cajoling snapped the remaining thread of his patience. “Apparently nothing short of dying is a big deal to you, you daft woman! Perhaps you were not paying attention to Healer A’isha this morning, but I was. You were to return to the hospital immediately if you suffered any further injuries. Perhaps I do not wish to be a party to any more of your reckless, juvenile behavior!”

She blinked at him, obviously surprised by his unusual outburst, and he cursed himself for losing control in front of his infuriating lover and her wretched brother. A tense silence fell over the room while Severus caught his breath. Finn, seemingly unconcerned by his sister’s condition, produced a cigarette for her and a fresh one for himself, which he lit deliberately before voicing his opinion.

“Seems to me you don’t need to go pickin’ at my sister,” the American said. “Either fix her up or don’t; but there ain’t no call to be fussin’ her like a flustered ol’ school marm.”

Severus glared at the siblings and bit back the growl that was threatening to escape his throat. How it was that Miranda managed to reduce him to this level was beyond him; and he knew that the only way he would get her to St Mungo’s now was by throwing her over her his shoulder and dragging her by force, probably after stunning her fool of a brother first. He was too angry to enjoy either fantasy, especially when he found himself storming into his lover’s potions closet to gather the supplies to tend her wounds. No wonder she treated him like her faithful cur—he was so quick to play the part it made him sick.

“Thank you, Severus, I knew I could count on you,” she said.

“I don’t want your thanks,” he bit back. She ran her fingers through his hair while he worked, and he shook off her touch like it burned him.

Finn brought over a plate of food and a fresh beer for the patient; joining her on the sofa to enjoy the evening’s entertainment of Severus the Nursemaid. Soon they were talking over his head while he applied counter-curses, balms, and dittany, coaxing the skin back to a healthy shade of pink; a servant forgotten.

“What were the punks doing when you broke up their tea party?” Finn asked.

Miranda frowned at the piece of salami she was rolling around a mozzarella slice. “They offed a couple of people up in Shoreditch; a wizard and a No-maj woman.”

“That’s a cryin’ shame. Remind me what those shits are up to?”

“They’re stooges for some dark wizard who wants to take over the world.”

Finn snorted. “Is that all dark wizards ever want to do?”

“They are pretty unoriginal that way, aren’t they?”

“If I were a dark wizard, I’d just want my pantry full of fixin’s, my fridge full of beer, an endless supply of cigarettes, and eternal youth.”

“And all the women of the world to fawn on you?”

“Only the pretty ones.”

Miranda slapped her brother’s arm lightly. “You are such an ass.”

He winked back. “But I’m an ass with wholesome tastes. What about you Severus Snape? What would you do if you were a dark wizard?”

Miranda choked and sputtered on the beer she was trying to drink, and came up laughing so hard her face turned red. Severus tied the last bandage into place and rolled down her tunic with measured care before bothering to reply.

“I would never answer another foolish question for the rest of my life,” he said—and meant it.

“That’s pretty good!” Finn laughed. “Mira, your boyfriend’s got a sense of humor after all.”

“It’s one of the things I like about him,” Miranda agreed.

Severus left the Americans to their jocularity; first returning the supplies to the potions closet, and then stalking to the loo to scrub the mess from his hands. He stood there for some time, glaring at his sallow reflection and wondering what in Merlin’s name he was doing here in the first place. He’d rendered service to his lover, and she had her brother now to entertain her. He’d no intention of staying over with said brother sleeping on the sofa. He was painfully aware that Miranda had no desire to retain him in a role that would require certain sacrifices of him; such as enduring the company of her family members. Why put himself out? It wasn’t that he disliked her parents or her brother per se—indeed he barely knew them—but the entire comedy offended his sense of justice. If Miranda wanted him to dance the part of the dutiful boyfriend (what a moronic term that was too!) she could bloody well act as though she wanted him around.

Mind made up, he returned to the main room and announced, “I shall take my leave of you. Miranda, if you have any further troubles you will have to avail yourself of a Healer’s care. Good night.”

“Don’t go yet,” she coaxed. “We haven’t even had a chance to get the card table out.”

“I suspect you can play well enough without me.”

“Come on, professor,” Finn put in. “Isn’t it Christmas break or something?”

“Unfortunately, holidays for the students are not necessarily holidays for the teachers.”

“Finn, go in the bedroom for a minute, would you?” Miranda ordered.

“Why? Can’t you smooch lover-boy with me here?” he retorted, but he was already on his way out of the room.

“Did he call you?” she asked quietly, struggling to pull herself up from the sofa until Severus relented and came to sit beside her, if only to save the strain on her wounded core.

“No. Do not trouble yourself about that,” he replied.

“Did Finn say something stupid before I got here?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Are you angry with me?”

He was. “No.”

“I think you’re lying.”

He traced a long finger over her cheek, wondering darkly when her face had supplanted Lily’s in his mind as the measure of female beauty. “Leave it.”

She closed her piercing eyes and gave a frustrated sigh. “Fine. I should know by now that if you don’t want to talk about something, you’re not going to talk about it.”

“I am pleased to hear you’ve come to such a sensible realization. It should save us many tedious hours of argument.”

She caught hold of his hand and kissed his palm, her lips surprisingly fierce. “The Lees want Finn and me to join them on Sunday for a little excursion to Wales. Will you come?”

Her eyes were bright and hopeful now, and Merlin help him, he did want to come. He wanted to hold her hand like a bloody idiot, and spend time with her friends and family, and pretend that he was liked and respected by descent people. But he knew it was a lie; and he was too tired to tell it to himself tonight.

“I doubt I will have time.”

He went to the door to gather his cloak, and she asked without rising from the sofa, “Are you going to avoid me the whole time Finn is here?”

He couldn’t answer that question, and he didn’t bother to try. “Good night, Miranda.”

“Good night, Severus.”

The temperature had dropped significantly, and the frigid air stung his nose as he went out into the night. He had succeeded in wrenching the tatters of his dignity from Miranda’s capricious hands, and he wrapped them around his heart the best he could.

They were a feeble shield against the cold.

*****

Borgin and Burkes was quiet at five minutes to close on Saturday evening, but that didn’t bother the girl inside. Cassie was used to the singular merchandise, and dusting cobwebs off the cursed hands and shrunken skulls was as normal to her as scattering fairy clocks in the summertime. Indeed, she felt rather proud that her Uncle Orestes trusted her enough to leave her in charge of the business while he nipped down into the brighter arms of Diagon Alley for a last minute errand. The shop itself was well pleased to sit undisturbed this evening. Better to wait for the rightsort of customer than sully one’s skirts with dust from the wrong one.

The bell above the door clanged a mournful groan, and Cassie looked up from her sweeping to see Draco Malfoy swaggering inside. A blast of cold wind whipped through the front of the shop, ruffling the pages of the massive tome of inventory sitting open on the counter. He gave the door a swift kick, slamming it shut, and she scurried behind the counter to deal with the book. Her uncle would have her hide if he thought she’d left it out for other customers to browse. Borgin and Burkes prided itself on discretion, and she wasn’t about to be the weak link that tarnished that reputation.

“Hello, Draco. Are you having a nice Holiday?” she asked, tapping one of the floorboards with the toe of a polished Mary Jane. It opened with a creak, and she scooped up the book to replace it to its home beneath the floor.

Draco was in no mood for pleasantries. “Where’s that uncle of yours, Cassandra?”

“He stepped out to Mr Ollivander’s. He’ll be back any minute, though. We’re about to close and he’ll want to count down the till.”

“Business is booming I take it?” he sneered.

It wasn’t, not since the Ministry started leaning on all their regular customers. “It’s been fine, thank you for asking.”

She finally wrestled the book into place and pushed the board down tight over it. Wiping her grimy hands on her shop apron, she gave her classmate a friendly smile. No sense in riling tempers that were already short-fused.

“Is there anything I can get for you while you wait? Tea? Cocoa?”

“What? No,” he said distractedly. He was pacing near the front windows, peering out into the street that had been full dark for hours thanks to long winter nights. Suddenly he drew away from the windows and added with great agitation, “Actually, yes. You can go to the back of the shop and stay there.”

She felt her brow furrow and her hands turn cold. “I don’t think Uncle Orestes would like it if I left a customer unattended.”

“I’m not going to steal from your bloody uncle,” he snapped. “Bring me out that box of poison rings from the Carolingian era. Father needs a Christmas present.”

“Christmas was three days ago.”

“Yes, and we don’t celebrate it. Just do as I say!”

She almost obeyed him, he looked so desperate. Her hands gripped the counter as some inexplicable instinct told her to run. Before she could take action, the door opened again, this time admitting a raw-faced man with unkempt gray whiskers, rough clothing, and eerily sharp teeth. Draco’s face went a few shades paler than normal, and Cassie’s heart started beating as fast as a startled robin’s.

“Where’s Borgin?” the man growled.

Draco shrank and she caught the fear in his eyes before he puffed himself back up and faced the newcomer with a decent approximation of careless courage.

“Out,” Draco said, sounding bored as ever. “Maybe we don’t need to waste our time here.”

The rough-looking man swatted Draco to the side like he were swatting a fly, and Cassie resisted the urge to shrink against the wall as she slid her wand into her hand and hid it in the folds of her robes. As Draco recovered his balance, the older man scented her, and a nasty smile stretched across his mottled features. It did nothing to improve them.

“What have we here?” he said, ambling towards Cassie, who did her best to keep the counter between them.

“She’s nobody,” Draco muttered.

Nobody did her best to keep her voice respectful and even. Show no fear, show now challenge. “I’m Cassandra Borgin, sir, Mr Borgin’s niece. He just popped over to Mr Ollivander’s, and he’ll be back very soon, I’m sure.”

“Cassandra Borgin,” the man leered. “What a pretty little name for a pretty little girl. Friend of yours, Draco?”

“We’re here for her uncle, Grayback,” Draco said, his hands fisted at his sides.

“We’re here for what I say we’re here for.”

“I’m in the same year as Draco,” Cassie offered. Keep him talking. If he was talking, he wasn’t biting. “In Slytherin of course. What house were you in, Mr Grayback?” The man let out a snarl of laughter, and when he didn’t answer, she continued to babble. “Draco’s the Head Slytherin in our year too. It’s a privilege to learn with him. He’s so advanced.”

“Shut up, girl, you talk too much.”

“So sorry, sir.”

The bell rang a third time, and Cassie’s spindly uncle entered, stamping snow from his boots.

“Mr Grayback! Good evening,” he said, flipping the sign from open to closed and lowering the curtains with several quick wand flicks. “Cassie, I think some tea wouldn’t go amiss just now. Be a good girl and go and get the tray.”

“Yes, Uncle Orestes. I’ll be back in a jiffy,” she said, edging towards the door to the back of the shop and safety.

“Cassie is going to stay right where she is,” Grayback countered, “or she’ll be short one uncle.”

She froze on the threshold, and in a blur of movement, Grayback was beside her, wrapping her braids around his thick hand and pulling them until she was looking up at the ceiling. His breath was hot on her face and it stank of putrid meat.

“Such a pretty little girl. Older than I like, but still young enough,” Grayback cooed. “Don’t mind us, Draco, tell the man why we’re here.”

There was a hairline crack running the length of the moulded ceiling, and a pair of spiders were darting in and out of the rupture. Cassie watched them, and counted her breaths, doing her best not to make matters worse by falling apart. She was glad she’d had all those hours of detention, learning not to show her fear to Professor Snape to prepare her for this moment. Although, if she survived this moment, she doubted she would ever be afraid of her Head of House again.

“I take it you have encountered some difficulty in repairing the Vanishing Cabinet, Mr Malfoy?” Borgin asked calmly when the boy did not speak.

“Yes,” Draco replied harshly. “I’ve done everything you told me to do, and it still doesn’t work.”

“I am terrible sorry to hear that. I’m afraid that, as I cannot see the object, it makes it very difficult for me to advise you. However, I have been frantically researching the matter, and I expect to have further recommendations for you to try when term commences.”

“Perfect. Then I won’t be able to consult you when your new recommendations don’t work either.”

“Borgin, why do I get the feeling that you don’t want Draco to succeed?” Grayback put in.

“Of course I want Mr Malfoy to succeed,” Borgin protested. “In fact, I was just about to suggest that Cassandra here would be the perfect addition to the operation. She already has years of experience handling dark artifacts. I will instruct her here, and she will help you at school.”

“Or maybe I’ll take a little bite out of her and teach you a lesson about keeping your word,” Grayback offered.

Cassie was amazed at how steady her uncle was under fire.

“If you leave her in one piece, Mr Malfoy will have the further advantage of my on-going help. Cassandra and I can code messages back and forth in our usual correspondence.”

“That might work,” Draco agreed.

Grayback grazed Cassie’s neck with a pointed incisor, and though it did not break the skin, she could not keep from shuddering.

“We’ll let you try,” Grayback said at last. “But if you fail, the girl is mine.”

“I understand,” Borgin replied.

Grayback gave her neck a final squeeze and let go so suddenly that she fell to her knees. She kept her eyes on the floor and did not bother to get up. Her legs were shaking too badly now, and she could no longer check her frightened tears.

“Come on, Draco,” Grayback barked.

Draco wavered for an instant before following the werewolf out into the night. As soon as the door was shut after their unwanted guests, Borgin threw the lock and brought down the night wards. The relative safety caused Cassie to cry harder, and her uncle got down on the floor beside her to gather her into his arms.

“Well done, my girl,” he said, rocking her like she were a little child rather than a nearly-grown woman.

“Thank you,” she hiccuped. “I’m s..s..sorry. I can’t seem to stop crying.”

“You don’t have to stop just yet. In a minute well go in the back and get a cup of cocoa and some of Aunt Electra’s tea cakes. No need to frighten your Mum with all this.”

“Uncle Orestes, do you think we’ll be able to fix it?”

He gave her a sad smile. “Given enough time, we can fix anything, don’t worry about that.”

The next logical question was: would Fenrir Grayback give them the time they needed?

Cassie was not brave enough to ask that question tonight.

*****

libera nos a malo masterpost+

unstoppable force/immovable object masterpost+

<< chapter three+

chapter five+ >>

[crawling-out-look-peer-be]

Log: 2020.08.18

I didn’t have a great sleep this last night, as I woke up during the night. Instead of squandering the opportunity, I took it upon myself to do a 30 minute yoga session. Man, that was needed. :) I worked out the tension in my body from the day previous and passed time until my body felt sleepy enough to go to bed! It was good having that bridge as opposed to just tossing and turning.

Otherwise, I went for a 20 minute walk before beginning a 20 minute HIIT styled jump rope workout this morning. I do feel like I need to tweak the intervals a bit to make it more effective, but my heart rate was, apparently, around 160bpm. That’s a pretty big difference compared to my resting heart rate!

Other than that, I completed a lower body weight workout tonight. I skipped the split squats, though, as the top of my thighs, near my groin, felt like they were pinching and my balance is not great when just on one leg; I struggled doing the lunges in the warm up of this lower body workout let alone performing a weighted version of it. I don’t necessarily know how to build up my strength in one leg, but I suppose building strength in both will eventually lead to a stronger lunge?

I also nailed my goal of being between 1,500-1,900 calories again! I just came in at 3 litres of water, too, which means that I made my goal for that too. c: That feels good!

Intake #1: Eggs (210), homemade stir-fry (70.7)~ 280.7 calories Intake #2: Homemade stir-fry (180.3), grapes (57), roasted edamame (40.50) ~ 277.8 calories Intake #3: Rice Krispie that my grandma brought to me while I was at work! Lol. <3 (70) ~ 70 calories Intake #4: Homemade split pea soup ( 286.2), corn on the cob (237.8), baked potato (79.5), Earth Balance (35) ~ 638.5 calories Intake #5: Lemonade (30) ~ 30 calories Intake #6: Vega protein supplement (49.5), whey protein supplement (130), oat milk (130), almond milk (70) ~ 379.5 calories

Total calories = 1,676.5 calories

[fairyshuuu]

Astral Pt 1

Au!Dragon Nct Universe~ Pairing: Lucas x Reader Length: 12k Genre: Thriller (angst& fluff, possible smut in future chapters) Warning: Mentions of blood, anxiety, swearing *Author's note* It’s meant to be soft horror, but it’s my first time writing in this kind of style. I have no clue if it’s any good, but you can let me know!! Thank you for reading ♡

Your eyes open suddenly, filtering out the darkness, and swallow. As you do, you feel the harsh burning in your throat, a hoarse huff blowing past your lips. You recognize this room, you recognize the sound of rain tapping on the roof and the sound of cars passing by on the street below, yet still you don’t feel right. 

You notice your breathing then, sharp and strained, too heavy for being just awoken from a peaceful rest. Small drops of sweat line your brow. There’s a few moments of dragged out silence, where you steady yourself in bed, fingers digging into the comforter so harshly that your knuckles turn white, before another recognizable sound comes.

“Y/N?” It sounds, gruff and sleepy, the same voice that always greets you when you wake from a nightmare. Your door creeks, and then your father pushes open the door. His knowing eyes scan over you while he crosses the room, the nearing steps finally allowing you to untangle your fingers from the fabric, instead reaching out to him, in need of comforting. 

As he reaches you, and looks down with a worried expression, you realize once more why you need him so much. He sits down on the edge of your bed, and as soon as he opens his mouth to speak, your tiny arms are wrapped around him and your small face is pushed into his shoulder, a small sob breaking out.

You are small, but your father is tall, and reminds you only of a place of safety, a place of care and protection, tucked safely into his tight hold, as he brushes your hair in an attempt to calm you. “Shush, shush, munchkin. It’s okay,” he holds you tight to him, where you can feel his calm heartbeat, his steady breathing, “you’re okay.” You just weep into his shirt, muffled sounds coming from your lips as you try to explain, though you know you aren’t. You know you don’t need to. 

Your dad always knows when you have a nightmare, though some nights it’s easy to tell. You guess like this night, where the burning sensation in the far back of your mouth proves that you’ve screamed your lungs out of your body once more.

You hate night, and love day. You hate the darkness, the stillness, the void. You hate the way the wind creeps through the creeks and dances in your curtains, and how your toys cast shadows on the walls in shapes you don’t recognize because of the purple night light that’s always plugged in in the corner of the room. You hate the monsters underneath the bed, hiding in the shadows and making little scratches on the wood.

“Shh, shhh, I’m here.” He pulls back slowly once your tears have stilled and your shaking has lessened, and looks you in the face. Your dad doesn’t look anything like your mom. Your mom is cookies, soft hair and equally soft features and smiles. She’s determination, she’s trust, she’s quiet afternoons spent playing board games and red lipstick stains on coffee mugs. Your mom is the color of banana milkshake, tucked into the back of your mind safely. Your dad doesn’t look anything like your mom.

If your mom is softness, your dad is the sharp angles and silent street corners. He’s peace in a way you never knew you needed it, trusted on it so much that when it’s not there everything feels like chaos. Your dad is the smell of ground after a thunderstorm, warm and deep. Your dad is dark eyes, and long lashes, longer than your mom’s. 

Your dad is loud laughter, curling into his lips, nose, eyes. Your dad is messy hair from waking up too early and sleeping too late, and the sound of the television as you ascend the stairs to get tucked in. He’s the knight with the shield in the fantasy stories, the one who protects all. If your mom is tucked into your mind safely, your dad is the thing that surrounds your mind and everything inside it, and never let’s go.

“There was something under my bed.” You whisper, voice raspy and still stained with tears and fear, dripping from every syllable. His long lashes flutter, as he juts out his bottom lip into a concerned pout, before he puts his big hands under your arms and scoots you back against the headboard, pillow squished between your lower back and the wood, and pulls the crinkled blankets all the way up to your belly.

His expression fades into a small smile, as he wipes away some stray tears that were sitting comfortably on your cheeks. “Hmm.” His deep voice compliments the little nod that his head gives. “You remember what I told you, right?” You do. You do remember what he told you, you always will. “As long as I’m here, I’ll never let any monster hurt you. You do trust that, right?” His voice is soft, smooth, so unlike your lithe, trembling one, you wish you could have his. 

The magical ability to calm anyone down with the sounds that pass your lips, even when in panic or distress. You nod, confirming once more your complete blind loyalty to him, and anyone else watching. As long as he’s here.

Your dad smiles then, glad to see you calmed down and probably glad you didn’t wake anyone else in the house. He tucks your blankets close to you, tightly and you giggle as you wiggle your toes with a teasing glint in your eyes. Your dad laughs at that too, voice keeping quiet for the same reason, but ruffles your hair in affection. Your dad is your true nightlight, and you’re so happy to have him. “Let’s look at the monsters that are hiding under your bed then, huh?” He asks, laughing again at the way your eyes widen when you see him lean forward and lift up the blankets to look into the terrifying space between the floor and your mattress.

“Dad.” You squeak, tugging his hand in protest, but he doesn’t move from the light tugs that you try to shake him with.

“Oohh,” he gleams then, cheeks pulling up into a smile, and pulls his hand from under the bed while looking back at you, “we do have a very dangerous monster here.” Suddenly he tosses whatever he took from under there over at you, as you scream and scramble back in terror. Soon you make out the scary thing as nothing more than a piece of cotton, and squeeze it angrily in your fist. “A sock monster.” Your dad giggles, when you glare at him. You grunt then, a childish sound coming from you, as you crawl from under the blankets and stomp over to him, where he is straightening up from the floor. Your mattress wiggles as you do, shooting the silly man lightning, and then you jump around his neck, the impact almost knocking your dad over.

“You are a bully!” You hiss, and start tickling him with your chubby fingers. He doubles over in genuine amusement and laughs, growing louder and louder, before suddenly picking you up from the floor like a princess, and tossing you back into bed. You squeak again, and giggle as you try to hide under your blanket quickly, the steps of his feet quickly stomping closer.

“I’m a bully?” He asks, sentence rising at the end to mask his laugh, before he falls onto the bed, full weight. Or what feels like full weight for a child, while in reality he’s barely resting on you at all. “I’m no bully,” he speaks then, lowering his voice like how he does when playing the ghost on halloween, “I’m ‘the claw’.” He digs his fingers into your belly from where you were still hidden under your assumed safety blanket. You can imagine him forming his hand into ‘the claw’, something he’s done before while you were eating to make you and your brother laugh, and tickling you both so hard that you fell off your chairs, screaming for mercy. Your mom had just giggled, and shaken her head at the three children at the table, continuing stirring the soup.

When ‘the claw’ finally stops his attack on your belly and the bottoms of your feet, you breathe out deeply, and poke your head from under the blanket. Your dad’s cheeks are flushed, something that doesn’t happen a lot, only if he’s been laughing too hard, and he looks tired. You are tired too, squirming out of someone’s grasp is a lot more energy consuming than you’d think. He notices your droopy eyes, and sighs, a contented sound, before lifting himself from your bed to tuck you in again.

He lays you down properly this time, wiggling your legs towards the foot end until your head in back onto the pillow, instead of awkwardly rested against the headboard, and lays your blanket over you properly. When you’re all safe and warm, he nods, and brushes your hair out of your face. With a kiss on your forehead, and one on the tip of your nose, he stands up. “I’ll always protect you against the monsters, I promise that.” You give a sleepy nod, eyes already drooping closed, and yawn. “Goodnight, munchkin.”

“Good…” Another yawn. “-nigh.”

-Sleep tight, little one- the wind whispers hoarsely.

***

Your brother looks so much like your dad. When you were only a few years old, and his face still had the childlike chubbiness, it was harder to tell. But through the years, he’s grown more and more to look like him. The same strong eyebrows and long lashes, longer than yours, longer than your mom’s. The same truly joyful smile, that makes his eyes disappear into nothing more than two little half moons, the same dark hair and dark eyes. Your brother will resemble your father completely when he has kids, you know this. He already has the same teasing mannerisms, the same caring hug and comforting voice. Sehun looks just like your dad.

And you guess that if your brother resembles your father, you resemble your mother. Not as identically as Sehun does, but close enough. You have her smile and her healthy flush, her shiny locks and the same eyes as she does. You’re a little canary, the same bright vanilla color as your mother is. You don’t look anything like your brother, but you guys fit together like two peas in a pot. You love your big brother dearly, and somehow you two get along way better than most other siblings. You chalk it up to the age difference, though Sehun is convinced that it’s just his comforting-good-hearted nature. His words.

“Hun-ah!” You yell, turning on your heel to grab your raincoat and jamming your arms in. You’re determined to get food before the flood gates open again, like they have been all week, going from a light drizzle to actual thunderstorms, and that in the middle of July. Your brother doesn’t respond right away, and you’re not sure if he’s heard you. “Oh Sehun!” You yell, looking over your shoulder up at the hardwood stairs.

There’s a pause, and then feet sliding on socks over the floor. “What do you want, munchkin?” He mumbles, having pulled out one of his earphones to listen to you. His black hair lies over his face in strands, from where you know he has showered about three hours before.

You sigh, and pull your giant hood to cover your face. “You should really dry your hair, Hun. You’ll get sick if you walk around like that all day.” Your big brother doesn’t answer, his gaze still on his phone, though his lips do curl up at your mother-like worry. When he doesn’t respond, you roll your eyes. “I’m running out to get food quickly. Do you want anything?”

He looks up then, and juts out his lip while thinking. “No, I think I’m good.”

You lift an eyebrow. “Oh Sehun. I’m asking you this only once. Do you, or do you not want food?” He pulls his eyebrows together when you put your hand on your hip, and cock your head to the side. “I’ll get you something if you want something. If you say no though, you’re not getting a bite of mine. So, do you, or do you not want f-”

“Fine.” He sighs, glaring at your smart-ass smile, before turning around to head back in the direction of his room. “You’re already an actual mom, and you’re only eighteen.” He holds his steps just before turning the corner, and pulls away the earphone he was putting in again for a second, looking down at you. His playful mean-ness of earlier is replaced by the very familiar worry in his eyes. “It’s getting dark soon. Hurry back home, yeah? You’ll be okay?”

You hum. “I’ll be fine, thanks. There’s enough time still.” As you answer, you convince yourself too, give him a little wave, before heading out the door. When it falls into lock behind you, you sigh. The weather stinks. It’s too warm and too wet, and everything feels like it’s mushy under your feet. You walk down the path and spot the two empty parking spaces, the wheel tracks blurred almost beyond recognition because of the downpour. Your eyes flick over the empty street once, trying to catch any cars that might be approaching or driving by, but fail. Nothing or no one out on the street, you guess. You stroll over to the last parking spot, where Sehun’s way too big car is parked, and stuff your hand into the jacket to look for the keys. If they’re not in here, you’ll be pissed, to be fair. You are glad when your fingers glide over the familiar metal, pulling it out smoothly to unlock the car.

The lights flash, indicating you indeed do have the correct car keys. It’s lights stand out like a beacon in the slumbering state of nightfall already. It’s maybe because of the rainclouds that it looks a lot darker than it should be around 7 o’clock in July. You shiver slightly, feeling small raindrops hit your face and nose, lashes and fingers while looking around at the treetops. You don’t have that many trees around, but the few you do have in your street, are insane ages. Trees that have been here for hundreds of years, all with stems thicker than the sidewalk that runs next to it, and heights too wicked to comprehend that a living thing could develop to such a size.

You’re just about to hop in and close the car door against the splatters that start coming down harder and more frequent again, when a sound catches your ear. A painful creek, long and drawn out, from across the street. The enormous tree that stands there, next to the neighbor’s driveway, seems to sigh, possibly tired from the heavy weight the rain adds to all the spaces in between it’s leaves, branches and cracks. The tree doesn’t move though, you guess it has held it’s strong shape for years and years. Now though, the tree seems to slowly be breaking down, piece by piece. A few weeks ago, one of the more significant branches had fallen down, a good tens of feet down to block the road, the first sign of it’s last few years to come.

Someone from further down the street had told both your parents, and the neighbors, that the tree had started rotting, some spaces already hollowed out and chipping off wood. It would only be a matter of years now, before the tree would come down, one way or another. You think the neighbors made the decision to cut it down, but it hasn’t gotten that far yet. For now, the tree still lives, you guess. It might not be long before the poisoning of years from the inside out kills it, before you can. You like that tree. You hope it stands tall for as long as it can. After it’s desperate groan is swallowed into the ground, you blink up at it once more, before pulling open the door, and hopping in.

Sehun wouldn’t be happy about your soaked jacket against his couches, but he’ll have to deal with it. You start up the car, adjusting the seat almost twice as close to the wheel, and drive out of the driveway. The car sounds peaceful on moments like this, more so than the house. Houses catch every drip that hits them, you can hear it tapping, tapping, tapping. In a car though, definitely when you’re driving down the highway, the sound becomes muted. It becomes blurred like footsteps do in mud, mangled with the roaring of the engine, the sound of the wheels on the asphalt. You can just about see drops splat open on your windshield, and the muted sound of a drumming on the top of your roof.

You arrive at the place quickly. You haven’t really eaten here much, but you remember your mom and dad talking about the take-out. You don’t even really like take-out. It’s just convenient, and closer than another 5 minute drive to the city. And though you’d normally chalk it up to be laziness, right now it’s more of the acute awareness of the dimming light to illuminate the roads. When you take a right, you notice that the restaurant’s sign, while on, doesn’t look very on. 

The lights look so dimmed, and weak, you wonder why it’s even there in the first place. The neon light flicker every now and again, buzzing against the raindrops that catch on them. If you didn’t know of the place, that light wouldn’t attract you. It looks more like something out of a bad horror movie. The littlest bit of rain or fog, and the lights transform into an almost completely desaturated coloring book.

You sigh and shut off the engine, parking so that you don’t have to do any tricky maneuvers trying to get out of the parking spot, instead choosing one closer to the road straight back onto the highway home. You yank open the door, shutting it quickly, and cross over to the doors of the restaurant. You sure hope it’s open, otherwise you’ll have gotten wet a second time for no reason at all. 

The bright red doors with gold handles look too expensive and heavy for a highway pasta place, and as you push them open you really notice they are. The inside of the place looks almost as dimmed and muted as the sign outside does, only here there’s some dusty red couches to sit on. You quickly jog over to the counter. The place seems just about empty apart from the distant sound of conversation you guess comes from a couple around the corner.

Almost as quickly as you stand at the counter, a middle-aged lady comes to your aid. Her orange hair is pinned up into a curly ponytail, lips bright red and a tacky dark eyeshadow spread on her lids, where an even darker blue eyeliner is added too. She smiles at you, and nods. “Hello there, dear. How can I help you on this fine evenin’?”

Though she sounds normal, and says it in a friendly way, you can’t help the awkward smile you give. Often times, you feel uncomfortable around strangers who are just overly nice. This woman is definitely one of those people. “Hello.” You breathe, before looking over the menu taped onto the top of the counter quickly. “I’m here for take-out. I’d like… one lasagna bolognaise, one penne carbonara and two servings of garlic bread-” You tilt your head as you think, running over it. Your parents might not come home soon, but if they are, they would probably be hungry as well. “Oh, and a pasta with mushrooms and cheese sauce, pretty please.”

“Is that all, darlin’? No drinks, no desserts?”

You nod. “That’s all.”

The woman clicks off her pen, rips off the little paper, and gives you another little-too-wide smile. “You can go sit there while you wait, make yourself comfy. We’ll be right with ‘cha to ring you up.” As she disappears into the kitchen, you walk over to the little chairs that are lined against the wall, rolling your head on your neck. You’re aware of how quiet the restaurant really is, when you sit down there. 

All the tables to your right are empty, and the last few lights of the place aren’t even on. It creates a dingy looking atmosphere, and you’re glad you’re not staying here to eat. The place is not only basically vacant, but also feels just as damp as it does outside. You can hear the tapping of the clock on the wall, and the conversation you had noticed earlier, along with, of course, the rain. The people talking though, aren’t talking at full volume.

You guess they don’t really have to, when the rest of the place is empty. They speak under their breath, basically whispering to each other, the sound from behind the wall you’re sat against. They speak so quiet, in fact, that even when you strain to listen in, you can’t make out any word that passes their lips. You wonder how they understand each other, because you just hear a weird murmur of sounds. You soon remember it’s not considered very polite to listen in on people’s conversations though, and take your phone out of your pocket. You lean back into the chair and relax, letting the plush swallow you. As you look at your phone, you sigh.

You still have a lot of assignments and homework to finish, and in so little time. You really wanted to get some free time before your birthday to do just what you wanted, but that probably wouldn’t happen now. As the seconds tick by, you become painfully aware of the sound. It rings way too loud, and even though you’ve only been sitting here about ten minutes, it feels like hours have passed. For the nth time, you check your phone, confirming that your wait just passed 12 minutes, when the redheaded woman walks from behind the counter. She doesn’t have the artificial grin on, but does give you an enthusiastic nod, waving you over.

She puts the white bag with warm food on the counter, and taps everything on into the computer. “Right, one lasagna bolognaise, one penne carbonara, a penne with mushrooms and cheese, and two servings of garlic bread. That’ll make $18, sweetheart.” As she speaks, the smile comes back, and you quickly fish out your card, so you can pay and get out of here. When you type in the code, the woman stares blankly into the space behind you, something that makes you feel incredibly awkward. You can understand, though, the lady must be tired from working all day. You quickly finish up your order, and walk over to the door, pushing it open with your butt and out into the clammy air, sighing as you feel the waft of warmth hit your face.

You pause.

Silence. Complete, utter silence. When inside, you hadn’t noticed that the rain had stopped. You hadn’t even noticed that inside the basically empty room was still enough sound for this now to feel like even less. It sounds like emptiness, a moving void. You hold your breath. Right now, you kind of wish you still heard the strange whisper, or the distracting ticking of the clock. It’s also gotten significantly darker, to the point where Sehun’s black car seems to melt into the obsidian around it. The highway, of course, is surrounded by a forest. Woods that run too far and too deep. You groan to yourself, trying to calm down. You’re fine. You’re okay. You’re just freaking yourself out again, that’s all.

The stupid sign doesn’t give near enough light to illuminate the way to or from the car, and you put your hand on your chest. With shaky fingers, you dig into your pocket and ruffle around for the keys. You need the stupid keys and to get out of here- Aw. A sharp sting makes you pull out your hand quickly, breathing too thick for your own good. A small drop of blood pools at the bottom of the cut you’ve just made, before rolling down your finger and over your palm. You shake it off, and wipe your hand. Shit.

As you look out again, everything seems to blur even more. Your heavy breathing doesn’t waver, pressing on your chest harder. The thick swirls of black pull at you, willing you, daring you to move and you do. You don’t want to be here any longer. You can’t even look at the darkness. Your heartbeat bangs maniacally against your ribcage, as you take a step away from the door. As soon as you do, there’s the soft whispering again. Now it doesn’t sound from behind you, it sounds like it’s playing in the trees, jumping back and forward and surrounding everything. From the sticky way your jacket clings on your skin, to the ice cold shiver that crawls up your spine, coming from all the way down to in between your shoulders, up your neck, into the back of your head.

You will yourself to move, to walk with steady steps over to the shrouded shape of the car, while the food taps against your thigh with every step. Blood rushes between your ears with each movement away from the doors. All you want to do is hide behind the stupid doors and call Sehun to pick you up. But- you’re not a child anymore. You can do this. As you get to the last few empty parking spots, not taking your eyes off of the metal vehicle, there’s a moment where the forest seems to hold it’s breath. Like the little window of chance it had will close soon, and you dare to feel slightly triumphant. Step for step, unsure pats on the still wet concrete, you reach the car. It feels cold, but oh so safe, so secure, so real, that you sprint around the front and yank open the door, jumping inside of it.

You take a deep breath of relief, push on all the lights in the car and try to will yourself to calm down. You know nothing really will though, you hate the dark. You hate it with a passion, and soon tears sting in your eye corners, from both stress and frustration. You’re turning nineteen in a few days, this fear seems so irrational. But ever since you were a child, you have absolutely despised it. You blink a few times, just looking out into the darkness, and put the food on the seat next to you. When you put on your seatbelt, you can still feel your heart bang in your chest, all be it nowhere near as panicked as it felt earlier. You sigh, rub your hands over your face once, and push the keys into the ignition.

When the car starts up, a crow suddenly flies at your windshield, banging against it harshly. Your scream seems to ring like an echo in the car long after the surprised bird has flown off, just like your back is melted into the seat so tight that you don’t know you could move if you’d want to. You don’t want to, though. You shiver, and back the car up, not willing to let yourself linger on the panicked beady eyes of the animal. For an adult, you sure do have a lot of childlike fear. That’s what your mom told you with a sweet smile when you clung to her arm too tight one evening out shopping. You have to agree.

You’re on the road back soon enough, focussing your eyes on the street signs that pass by instead of the foggy solid out of your windows. When you drive up into the street, you don’t see any new cars, something that disappoints you but doesn’t surprise. You park, grab the food, and sprint inside. “Sehun, I’m back!” You yell, trying to camouflage the shock still clear on your face. He’d worry if he saw you this spooked.

The door upstairs opens, your brother walking out with something you can only describe as confusion or disappointment. He walks down the stairs, putting his phone in his pocket, and holds in front of you. Your brother is the tallest in the family, so much so that you need to look up all the way to catch his eyes. You just want to ask what’s up, when he speaks. “Dad is not coming home today.”

“What?” You frown, grip loosening on the plastic bag enough to make it dangle.

Your brother nods, rubbing his temple. “He was called for a surprise business trip, or something like that. It was all very confusing, I don’t know the details, and it seems like mom doesn’t either.”

“But it’s my birthday in three days. He’s never missed a birthday before.”

Sehun frowns, and takes the bag of food from your hands, tucking you under his arm in the process. “I know, munchkin. You know he never would want to, but sometimes responsibilities get in the way.” He walks toward the dining room, taking you along with him. You just look around the room with a pout, and sit down across from your brother as he takes out the food and puts it in front of you. “I think mom said she’d be back tomorrow afternoon, she got stuck in traffic and decided to stay in a motel for the night.”

You just nod, taking your fork in hand, and poke at your food slowly. You’re suddenly not very hungry anymore, and swallow harshly. As you look up at your brother, he’s already munching down on his food, stuffing the lasagna in his cheeks like a hamster. You look out of the window instead, running your eyes over the dark outside. When you stare, a cold chill skips over your shoulders.

Rain taps against the window playfully, laughing in victory. -Finally gone. We waited-

***

After you finish dinner, it’s too late. You sat at the table for too long, and didn’t eat basically anything. Sehun moves up the stairs behind you, playing with your hair and though you’d normally slap him, right now you don’t really care. You waddle to your room, sighing as Sehun leans into you. “Hun, please.”

“I’m tired!” He whines, walking with you to your door. He turns you around then, and pulls you in for a hug. You know it’s probably obvious, that you’re upset, but having him hug you feels like much needed comfort. “Don’t be too sad. I’ll send dad pictures, and ask him to send videos back. And I’m sure that he’ll find you the biggest, bestest present ever.” He pets your head, and sighs. “Don’t be too sad, okay? Goodnight, munchkin. Sleep tight.”

You nod, and look up at him. “Goodnight, bro. Thank you.” He smiles at your genuine gratitude, and squeezes your shoulder.

“It’s what I’m here for, sis.”

You move into your room after that, shutting the door behind and listening to Sehun’s footsteps shuffle over to the other side of the hall, his door closing after him too. You turn back to the room, and walk over to the bed. Everything seems so dark. Normally you don’t have a problem inside your own house, but today was a peculiar day, and your goosebumps refuse to leave. You jump on your bed, and lean over the side to plug in your old nightlight. You don’t use it on normal days anymore. Today doesn’t feel like a normal day.

You should feel safe. You should feel good, shouldn’t feel the need to call for your big brother but you do. You feel a drumming press on your chest, panic. Thick, suffocating terror, icing through your veins. You open your mouth to call out for your brother, but the words get stuck in your throat. You try to swallow. Monsters not only hide in the trees. They don’t just hide behind lampposts and in the sewers. Monsters hide under the bed. You shiver heavily when a gust of wind touches your neck, before jumping back. The dark shadow that sits under your bed slowly expands, dirty claws of darkness crawling out as you open your mouth to scream. No sound comes out, and you’re convinced you’re having another nightmare. The shadows spread out from the ground to reach around you, as you kick your feet wildly.

It travels up your shins, thighs, fingers and slowly but surely crosses your chest, creeping up your neck and face. It feels ice cold, though you are sweating. Your breathing too panicked. You’re not getting enough air. You just wait to wake up with screams, seeing Sehun’s worried face in front of you. You wait.

And wait. And wait. And you don’t wake.

You wait for what feels like hours, eyes shut tightly and muscles straining. You don’t wake, and swallow deeply. Your eyes flutter slowly, ignoring the dripping sound that you can hear in the back of your mind.  You’re standing up, in darkness. Not complete darkness though. You see the light as it catches the drops of rain that pummel down before you. You’re cold, and soaked. You try to peel your sleeves from sticking to your skin, but it’s no use. You blink again, and look around. Where the hell are you? You are in a stone circle, going up and up. There’s moss growing between the cobble, dark and dried, and you take a step back. With that motion you bump into another wall though, and shiver away from it. When you look up, there’s a bright light. Grey, bright clouds passing by. You’re at the bottom of… a well.

You swallow, and pinch yourself. This must be a nightmare, but it feels so real. Everything feels so real. You don’t have any injuries or anything that shows that you could have fallen down, though your feet are so cold that you barely feel them. You look up to the sky again, feeling the rain tap on your lashes, nose, lips. When you look back down, you’re not alone. You don’t know if they got here just now, but the black cloak turns to face you, as you scramble back as far as you can get. The first thing you see from under the cloak are the eyes. Yellow and beady, and way too focussed on you.

The thing, or woman, moves, stumbling closer like an injured animal. You yelp. “What are you doing?! Stay away!” You shuffle to the side with shaky legs, avoiding the thing as best as possible.

Welcome. She speaks, voice raspy and haggard. You shiver at the sound, whispers that seem too familiar. As she moves closer again, you quickly walk away from her, not daring to keep your back from the wall.

“I’m serious!” You yelp, holding out your hands as a shield. “I’m serious! Get the fuck away!” You wish you’d sound more threatening, but your throat just catches at the end.

The woman gleams then, a mean, nasty smile, before reaching under her cloak and pulling out something metal. It shimmers in the light from above, gleaming along it’s curved edge. A silver knife, held in her wrinkly hands, dirty nail running along it. One for assembly, she limps over closer to you still, while you open your mouth to scream, two for disdain.

Three for betrayal, and four for the pain, you don’t have anywhere to run, nowhere to back away from the thing as she approaches, coiling like a snake with bared teeth. Her eyes gleam when you start kicking in her direction, praying to everything that you’ll wake up. You don’t. Her chant continues, loud between our ears and pressing on your chest, as terror spreads. Five for acceptance and six for good will; seven for a secret never meant to spill. She smiles, and suddenly has a hold on your wrist, sharp and cold. Her old bony fingers wrap tightly around your arm, pulling it towards her and you pull back desperately, to no avail.

She plunges the metal into your skin, from the crook of your arm to your wrist, black liquid like blood flowing out. You scream in agony, the blinding pain soaring though your whole body, and you can’t help doubling over as you choke on tears. Soon after, the world fades black and your eyes flutter shut.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The sound loud, like it comes from right behind your pounding head, stemming from the end of your spine. You jump up, eyes shooting open. You’re not in the well anymore, and the woman is gone. Relief floods you, as you wrap your arms around your body. See, just a nightmare. Your tears are running down your face, this time from relief. You’re fine. You’re fine. Your breathing is still haggard and raspy though, making it hard to slow your heartbeat. You try to get rid of the thick, sticky feeling at the start of your tongue by swallowing, but your mouth is too dry. You straighten up, now taking the time to look around. The first thing you see are trees. Dark, rotten things that look like those of horror movies, curling in strange ways and sucking the light into their bark.

It’s too moist, and muddy, and you yank your feet out of the black slush you are stood in. You look around wildly, confusion really settling. “Hello?!” You yell, turning in circles to find just more trees. “Is anyone there?”

It’s quiet, something that makes you feel uneasy because no forest should be this sound-less. You reach out for one of the trees. It’s bark is more like charcoal, scorched wood that leaves black fingerprints on your skin. Only then do you notice the strange black dot on your wrist. The same wrist the woman grabbed. The same one that bled and stung like nothing you’ve ever felt before. You pull your right sweater sleeve up, revealing your forearm. Following the one on your wrist, there’s six other black dots, like drops of ink marked into your skin, forming a straight line up. You run your finger over them in an attempt to scrub it away, but nothing changes.

“Hello?”

You turn on your heels, ready to kick anyone who dares to come close again straight in the jaw. A few feet before you is stood a man dressed in a soft, pale, baby blue. He seems to be dressed in some royal attire, which is complemented by his soft honey colored hair and woven in there a fine diamond-like crown. His voice is soft and smooth, eyes wide. “Are you okay?” The man asks, taking a step towards you carefully. Your stance doesn’t drop, though you allow yourself to take a breath. He walks from behind one of the trees, and slowly raises his hand. “Woah, calm down. I’m not here to hurt you.”

You take a step away from him, sloshing around in the mud. “D- Don’t come any closer.” He pauses at the sound of your shaky voice, and holds. You stare at him as his mouth corners twitch to tilt up into a shy smile.

“You’re new here, aren’t you.” He affirms, speaking more soundly now, grounded. His eyes gleam as they take you in, tilting his head to look at you.

You decide to ignore his comment, and drop your hands back to your thighs. “W- Who are you? And where am I?”

He chuckles, running a hand through his hair as he approaches slowly, one hand still raised at you like a small shield to protect him. “My name is Jaehyun. I live just across the border, I’m not looking for trouble. Though judging by your expression,” he takes another step, balancing on his one foot into the huge puddle you’re stood in, “or your actions,” another hop towards you, as he stretches out his hand towards yours, motioning to take it, “you’re not from anywhere around here.” You look at your feet, where you’re almost stood into to your knees now. You don’t get the chance to think about the fact that you’re being sucked down, because Jaehyun takes a steady hold on your hand and pulls you towards him with one swift move.

Once you’re stood in between his legs, eyes wide, he walks backwards, tugging you along with small movements. Your legs feel terribly heavy. He lifts you out of the puddle easily, follows behind and shakes of his boots from the dirt. “Sorry for that. That was quite improper.” He nods to you, before pushing his hands into his pockets. “It would be sad to see a new visitor disappear into a sinkhole though.” You look down in embarrassment, shuffling on your feet awkwardly.

“Can you tell me where I am? I have no clue as to why I’m here or how to get back home.” You gesture at the trees, trying to ignore the sound the wind makes when rattling through them.

Jaehyun pauses, before eyeing you up and down again. “You have the warrior’s mark.” He suddenly says, bright eyes not moving away from the dots that line your forearm.

“The what-” You breathe, following his gaze.

Jaehyun frowns, and takes a step back. “The dragon warrior’s mark. Where’s your dragon?” He looks up to the clouded sky then, hands flexing and breathing holding.

You look at him in slight panic. This is the only person who can help you get back home, he needs to help you. “My wha- I- I don’t have that. I don’t know what you are talking about, I’m just lost. Please- I don’t know where to go.” You hold your open hands out in front of you instinctively. “Just tell we what way the highway is, I’ll get home from there some way.”

Jaehyun seems to consider your words. “You… you don’t know what that is?” You look down at the tattoo that’s catch his eyes again, and surely shake your head. “That thing,” he frowns at the marks, “makes you one of them. One of their slaves. And I’m a hunter of what you’re supposed to protect.” Your mouth drops open in complete confusion, as you look back and forth between him and the spots. 

“If you’re truly lost, your dragon will find you. You better just hope it finds you before we do.” Jaehyun backs up some more, giving you the most fleeting look of pity. “History makes us enemies, therefore I’m sorry.” He looks back once more, before slowing back from you, and you’re too lost to say anything. “Maybe one day I’ll be part of the team that breaks you out. I’m sure we’ll meet again, human warrior. Until we do, keep low.”

“No, wait!” You shout, bending down to your knees. “Please don’t leave me. Please. I- I’m scared and I don’t know where to go.” You take a deep breath as Jaehyun stops. He might not want to help you, but he does seem to have a strong moral code. “Th- This dragon you talk about, can’t you take me there? If you can’t help me, they can help? Please. I’m begging you.” You look up at him, from where he stands half turned, frozen as he stares at you.

He sighs, closing his eyes for a second. The wind picks up more, only making you shake in your wet attire. He’s silent for a long while, and then nods. It’s the tiniest movement, but you catch it. “I’ll bring you to one of them. If you’re in the wrong place, it’s your responsibility.” You just thank him with a deep bow, and get up from the floor. You’d be dusting off your knees if your pants weren’t entirely ruined already. Jaehyun doesn’t seem to understand that you’re planning on going home straight from here, but you won’t try to explain it to him. As long as he takes you to a house, they will be able to bring you home.

“Thank you.” You mumble, walking over to him slowly.

“Don’t thank me. I haven’t done anything yet.” He says, not looking over at you, but pointing out the way instead. He stays silent for a while, just the sound of your feet on the sticks that litter the gray-ish moss and dried grass, before he sighs deeply. “I shouldn’t be helping you.”

“Then I owe you.” You conclude, looking at the side of his face. “I’m Y/N. Remember that name. When I get home, I’ll remember yours. You can come ask a favor in return.”

He mouths your name, and looks back at you. “Where are you trying to go, anyhow?”

“Home.” You simply state.

Jaehyun frowns at you, pulling you into his side carefully when you almost walk into some thorns. “How are you planning on getting rid of that mark, then? You are aware that you can’t slay your own dragon, right?”

Again with the dragon. You pull your eyebrows together, and run your finger over the black marks. “I really don’t know what you are talking about.” You comment, and look at the piece of grass that tickles your ankle. A green strand of grass. It’s a normal color, but you hadn’t expected to see it here, and therefore it seems special.

Now Jaehyun’s eyes widen in true amazement, seemingly realizing something that you don’t, his lips falling open the slightest bit. “You’re not even from far away, you’re not from this place, are you?” He stumbles over his words as he turns to you fully. “You’re from above the skies. How did you get here?”

“Uhm,” you swallow, getting a little freaked out because of the intense way he speaks in such amazement, “I- I had a- had a nightmare. And then I woke up here. Why? Where are we? Am I- that far from home?”

“You’re not even in the same layer of reality anymore, Y/N. This is the lair of Hydra. I’m not sure how you’d accidentally get here, but you’re not going home. Not with that on your arm.”

Everything stops. “I’m what?” You stop right in your tracks, ignoring the whispering of the wind. What the fuck does he mean, ‘you’re not going home’? “What do you mean? I’m just- taking a lift home.”

“You’re chained to your dragon for eternity.”

“Why do you keep talking about dragons?! Monsters don’t exist!” You yell, both from panic and frustration. As if on key, a booming sound looms above you. The sound of giant wings soaring through the sky. Jaehyun ducks, pulling you down with him to the floor, clamping his hand over your mouth before you can scream.

He looks into your eyes intently. “They do, and now they found you. Like I said, if you have the mark, you’ll be found.” He carefully lets go of your face. “Go over there, and be polite. Remember that you are below them at all times. They are the evil of this world.” He cocks his head in the direction of the sound, away from the green grass and away from him. “Don’t talk about me. Now, go.”

“You want me to what?!” You whisper-yell, looking at Jaehyun who backs away. “Go over there? Are you insane?”

“You are one of them.” He persists, pushing you in your lower back to nudge you away. The sound of wings flapping quiets down, and then a ground-shaking boom, indicating the landing of whatever that is. “Trust me, you can’t be seen with me. You’ll end up much worse if you are.” For some reason, you do trust him. He gives you a nod, as you look back at him.

You stand up on trembling feet under Jaehyun’s gaze, and walk forward. When you look to the place the sound came from, you don’t see anything in particular. You look back in conformation again, but the blond man has disappeared. You swear to yourself, before swallowing deeply. It’s just a stupid dream. Nothing can hurt you when you’re dreaming, not really. You pinch yourself again, and start walking. Your arrival seems clearly indicated by the crunching of the sticks under your feet, and you wonder for a second if this is not a terribly stupid idea.

You don’t get to think much longer, because you reach the open spot in the forest, and hesitate in the tree line. It takes a couple of seconds to realize the two giant black tree trunks are nothing less than legs, attached to a giant monstrous thing- whatever it is- and you stumble back in shock. When you do, you trip over your own foot, and fall back onto your butt painfully, looking up more. The giant legs connect to a muscular body, huge wings folded where you guess the shoulders should be, and then a long neck. The thing’s eyes have been on you since you stepped into the clearing, a deep shimmering obsidian. It’s tail is curled around, resting on the forest floor.

You swallow while looking up, and freeze. The drawing you’ve seen as a child are both scarily accurate, and nowhere near terrifying enough. It’s black skin is leathery, thick and littered with small scars that heal in bumpy lines. There’s spikes, but they seem more like bended needles, littered all over it’s back, not only in a straight line coming down the spine. And in the bright light, silver specks shimmer from the scales scattered mostly on it’s face and neck.

In the few seconds it takes for you to flick your eyes all over, the thing seems to sigh in annoyance, nostrils flaring out with the sharp admittance of air, before bending down to you. You yell and scramble up, only for your legs to be swept down by a strong tail that curls around you like a snake’s body would. Neither the shakiness of your body or the kicking of your legs helps you get out of it’s hold, so the only thing you can do when you’re lifted from the ground and closer to the face of the ‘dragon’, is hold your arm up in protection.

“I- I h- have this!” You suddenly shout, pulling your sleeve up with trembling and clumsy fingers, revealing the black dots and holding it in the direction of it’s face. The face alone is almost the size of a small car, so you’re not sure of it catches your movement at all. You’re tiny in comparison, and would be easily crushed in a tighter hold. At your squeaky call, the movement hold, eyes zeroing in on the marks on your arm and again, the thing sighs.

A tongue peeks out of it’s mouth to wet non-existing lips, split like a snakes, before the mouth opens and reveals two rows of razor sharp teeth, curved in the same way as the spikes. You just close your eyes at the horrific sigh, and feel warm breathing on your face. “I’m aware, little gnat.” Your eyes shoot open at the deep, rumbling sound of speech coming from the thing. You had not expected it to speak, let alone in such a deep and terrifyingly shaking tone.

You bite your lip, initial fear ebbing away slightly. It hasn’t eaten you yet, which seems like a good thing. As you feel at the way the tail carries you closer to it’s face, as if to inspect you like something would, a wounded animal, you remember Jaehyun’s advice. You are below it. Well, metaphorically. “I- I’m sorry for bothering.” You say, not daring to lift your eyes any higher then it’s nose. “I’m new here.”

“Where is your owner?” The thing jaws, tongue peeking out with the sharp ‘s’.

You swallow. “I’m- not sure. I don’t know who my owner is.” The word ‘owner’ falls sour on your tongue as soon as you speak it. You’re not a pet to keep. You want to take back the words, or disprove them, but one move from the giant beast has you reeling with the idea that you’re really not in a position to argue.

The thing suddenly moves you back to the floor with a brisk movement, and you have to hold in a scream again. When you’re put down, your hair is all over your face, and you brush it away as best you can. The dragon before you straightens up, looking out above the trees, as if once more proving it’s size and you have to look up so far to see it’s head that your neck hurts. “Keep up.” It hisses, deep voice booming out over you again, before it shakes it’s wings. You stare in both fascination and extreme confusion. If it was planning on flying, there would be no way you could keep up, even if you tried. Instead of flying up like you expect it to, they pause, looking out into the sky.

It takes a few seconds, and then the gigantic monster in front of you starts heaving. They bend forward, neck curling much like it’s tail. Even though you’re standing a good few feet away, you can feel an increase of warmth rise from it’s pores and hit your face. The thing starts steaming, hot smoke crackling from the leathery skin like fireworks, and you squint against the bright spats of light that bounce from it. You should run away, or do something, at the sight of the gigantic thing shuddering and groaning, but for some reason your eyes stay glued to the scene.

The beast shakes again, long tail slowly curling up and retracting into it, much like the long neck. More heat surges from them, and that’s when you decide to take a few steps back, sweat lining your brow. It is too warm, and smells strangely of something resembling ginger, but still you don’t run. You should, but your legs feel too heavy. Every limb seems to shrink, with more pained huffs from the dragon, a blurry shape shrinking more and more, until the smoke starts lessening and the burning heat ebbs away. Your mouth falls open without being able to help it, because where once stood a dragon of monstrous size, now stands a person.

Someone who looks like you, or your family. You blink, unable to help the staring. The thing has not only transformed into a person in front of your eyes, he is also breathtakingly beautiful. He clears his throat, cracks his back once, and then turns to you. His half-long, dark brown hair falls messily over his eyes, wet from sweat. He has wide eyes, big and pretty and taking you in with something you can only guess is disgust. He’s quite tall, a good foot taller than you, with long, elegant legs and wide shoulders. He blinks a few times when you don’t move, don’t react, and then raises an eyebrow.

“Walk.” He throws in your direction, before turning on his heel and leading the way in front of you. You scramble up after a few seconds, not planning on being left behind in the scary dimness of the woods, but are unable to shake your absolute amazement. Even if you hated to admit it, you totally understand what Jaehyun meant when he said that the dragon- or person, in front of you was above you. You rush over to catch up with his strong steps on the ashy ground, staring at his back. The man moves in such a way that seems effortless, floating while still touching the ground, much more strong and stable than your wobbly steps on the tricky surface. Every movement rolls smoothly, almost unearthly in a way you can’t really describe.

If this wasn’t a dream, you’d call it something made up from a fairytale. The regal figure in front of you doesn’t wait up when you struggle and shiver in your wet attire, so you try your very best to keep up without getting too close. The man, though you feel quite strange calling it that, is dressed in all black. Agile- almost lace-like fabric covers his feet, disappearing into the wide leg of his loose pants. The flowy material ebbs along with his movements. On top he wears a kind of tight fit suit, with accents of silver littered across the shoulders and front, though you can’t catch much of the design from where you’re struggling behind him. The attire doesn’t look like anything you’ve ever seen, but it still looks extremely well-dressed.

The dark colors make the pale hue of his skin stand out more, a ice-ish tone spread over his face and hands like morning dew on grass. It hides the blush you’ve grown to associate with someone’s cheeks, and instead gives him an outer earthly sheen. The longer you stare at the back of his figure, every so often catching a tut of his lips or a flutter of his lashes, the more you’re convinced that such beauty is not to exist anywhere but your imagination.

You feel beneath him. And you hate it.

The man, or thing, you’re still not sure how to refer to it, suddenly stops, seemingly fed up with your slow pace. He lifts his chin a little when eyeing you, and you self-consciously cower into yourself. He puts his hand out to you, palm open and long, slim fingers stretched out to you, but doesn’t say anything. At the silent gesture, you look at your arm, and then back at his hand, before placing your wrist carefully in his hand. His hands feel soft, almost fluffy, and incredibly warm.

He just lifts his lip in distaste for a second, before reaching around and taking something from his pocket. It’s a sharp looking piece of metal, and he brings it to your arm easily, nicking you with a quick move. You yelp and instinctively pull back, looking in surprise at the metal that has a little drop of blood on it, and then at your arm. The small wound is barely something to worry about, but you still frown angrily. Before you can say anything though, he brings it to his mouth, and lets the drop slip onto his tongue. You coil back even more, disgust bitter in your mouth. What the fuck.

He doesn’t even give you another look as he licks his lips, tutting his lips in thought. It takes a couple of seconds, before a bright smile spreads over his lips. Wide and joyful, and followed by a little chuckle. “This is too good.” He gleams, shaking his head in disbelief.

You pout. “What is?”

As soon as you speak, the contented expression slips off, his obsidian eyes finding yours. They have an unnatural purple shine too them, something that makes you feel on edge. He might look like a human, but you shouldn’t forget that he’s not. He runs his tongue over his teeth, before looking back to the front and walking again. “I’ll make sure to tell him to put you on a leash.” He smiles at the words that don’t make sense to you, not yet anyway. “Should have guessed something frail like yourself for Prince Perfect.”

Without much thought, he comes over and tears a part of your sweater loose. “Hey! What the-” Ignoring your protest, he takes the fabric in both hands and circles your wrist with it. With swift movements of his slim fingers he starts tying it around your hand, fingertips touching you only as much as necessary. You don’t even get time to think about what just happened before it’s securely attached to your arm, and the man gives you an up and down.

“Come.” He nods, tugging at your arm like you’re an animal. You glare and want to shove it off your wrist, but with a more powerful tug, he pulls you forward without looking back. His pace picks up significantly now he can drag you behind him, your feet almost tripping over themselves. You want to ask him to slow down, or at least give you a little more walking room, but you don’t dare to anger him. He doesn’t really seem to have much regard for your humanity, and surely, making him annoyed wouldn’t help your cause much.

While you traverse through the forest, you’re surprised to see the scenery change from the same tall and scorched trees, to more overgrown foliage. Dark green plants spring out of the dark soil first, ferns and moss, wet and squishy under your feet. The trees also change in color and density, filling up the empty spaces between the tree branches. It still gives a dungy atmosphere, just harder to get through. That, along with the man walking in front of you, it’s hard to see what’s ahead. You’d walk next to him if he didn’t look so terribly disgusted with even the thought of you.

It’s only when the trees clear out and open up into a tiled terrace, that he allows you to walk to his side, so be it with a good space keeping the two of you seperated. The light amber color of the tiles stands out immensely against the dark, deep green of the leaves. The creature next to you don’t let you take time to look around in your amazed daze, and pulls you along quickly, smooth steps patting on the wet stone. When you look up a bit higher, you can just see the pointed roof of a tower above the trees, but the rest of your view is constricted.

Your ‘guide’ takes you to the side of the terras, where, under a thick layer of overspilling leaves and branches curling under the weight, stand walls made of the same colored cobble and a wooden door, weathered because the rain. He waits up for you for a second, eyes focussing on you sharply, and cocks his head towards the door in a silent command. You frown, but just follow his order, ignoring the way the fabric digs into your skin. You pull open the heavy entrance, and walk inside when the man doesn’t immediately move.

When you do, your mouth falls open, feet slowing to a surprised halt. Though you had expected something of this sort, nothing you could imagine could be this excessively beautiful and terrifying at the same time. While the man leads you on again, you notice how unimpressed he seems. It seems strange to not have a single reaction to the environment around you, even if you’ve seen it multiple times. There’s a similar terrace, with a fountain in the middle, terrifying creatures spewing crystal clear water into the basin below. The monsters are both human and not, with snouts and claws, mouths wide open. They seem to be in agony, the three stone creatures ripping each other’s wings off, sharp nails pulling at the beautiful limbs and making tears in the tender skin. The image makes you shudder.

You swallow and look away, focussing on the upcoming marble staircase, that leads into a magnificent gateway. You wish you could see more but a thick layer of fog covers anything in the distance, shrouding it from your view. When the dark haired man stills beside you, you suddenly feel nervous. Even though all of this is just a bad dream, this place seems more ominous than almost everything else you’ve seen. You think back at Jaehyun, his soft smile and his secure voice, and you briefly wish he would have helped you instead. You’d feel more safe in proximity of someone who didn’t look at you like you’re just an insect ready to be crushed beneath his feet.

The man lifts his hand to the door, and knocks his knuckles against the wood. The silence lasts for a while, and then he unties the strip of fabric. You rub the red mark it has left, and look up when you hear footsteps approach. It doesn’t take long before the door is pulled open. You stare at the man who is revealed with open mouth. He doesn’t even glance over in your direction, something you’re glad for because this much beauty would probably kill you. He looks strangely similar to the man beside you, both in attire, and complexion. He has the same dark hair and ice-cold skin, but is blessed with eyes that seem to reflect gold any way the light catches, full cherry lips, and stands ever taller than the man beside you.

When he speaks, the ground seems to shake with the tone, a deepness like that of the ocean bottom. You don’t understand the words he speaks, the tones falling short in vocabulary. When you look at the man beside you though, he greets the other. You understand then that the word the tallest spoke is the other’s name. “Yuta.”

Yuta, a mischievous grin coming to rest on his lips, speaks to him so you can understand as well. “Prince. I’ve brought you a present.” He grabs onto your shoulder and nudges you into the ‘Prince’s direction, who only now lets his bright eyes slide over to you. He, too, frowns with clear disgust, examining you in a way that makes you feel way too vulnerable. You shy away from his stern look, though you don’t get far because of Yuta’s hold on your shoulder. He mumbles something you again can’t make out, a deep rumble in question with an angry expression, that only seems to grow when Yuta giggles. “This is your warrior, Your Highness.”

The man freezes for a long while. When he finally moves, it’s to take a small step back, jaw clenching. He doesn’t look at you again, instead discussing with Yuta. Whatever he says, makes Yuta’s smile slip off, the same ice-cold expression of before appearing as he glares up at the taller. He suddenly grabs your arm, and yanks your sleeve up to reveal the tattoo you woke up with only a few hours ago. You frown, and watch as Yuta pulls you forward to push your forearm into clear view of the other. “I just found her.” Yuta hisses, top lip lifting to reveal his knife-like white teeth. His bony fingers dig sharply into your skin once more, but that’s not what you are looking at.

From the first dot, the one closest to your wrist, sticks a small diamond-like crystal. It’s rough and chipped, but you are very sure your arm didn’t look like that a few minutes ago. Still, the crystal is there, catching the light, from where it grows out of your skin. Yuta takes a step closer to the other man, therefor making you almost stand pressed up against his chest, a shiver running through you with the movement. The new man growls an answer, looking at Yuta in both anger and something that runs deeper than that. Yuta rolls his eyes.  “Isn’t that just too unfortunate then, Your Highness? Freedom is limited for all of us.” He lets go of your shoulder and shoves you forward again. One second you bring your hands up to keep your balance from the vicious shove, and the next you’re pressed against the door frame, throat held between the Prince’s giant hand.

He hisses furiously at you for just a second, before removing his fingers from you all together, like your touch burns him. Your lip shakes in shock when you sink back against the frame, tears lining your lash line. He turns to Yuta and brings out some growls that sound very much like a threat, to which the other just shrugs. “Careful, Lucas. You know what happens when you hurt your warrior. And these ones are frail and clueless.” He looks at his fingers arrogantly, ignoring both of you as he picks some dirt from under his nails. “I am just bringing you what I found. How you solve it is not my concern.”

He rolls his head on his neck once, and turns around. “Figure it out.” He gleams, calling over his shoulder as he walks away. You’re still frozen against the place where you were smacked earlier, legs almost giving out because of the shock. You quickly move aside when Lucas’ eyes slide over to you again, being forced into the corner of the hallway when he walks over to close the door with too much force. The man gives you an unsatisfied look, and starts walking away from the door, deeper into the dark hall that bounces the sound of his hollow footsteps back. You just follow behind on your still shaky legs, hoping somewhere that Jaehyun was right, and that this man could help you.

He doesn’t look very eager to help you though, shoulders bunched and fists clenched. But Yuta too, who was definitely not enthusiastic about coming to your aid, delivered you here. Maybe you really are ‘one of them’ in their eyes, which is why they help you, even without much politeness. You jump out of thought when the Prince’s deep voice sounds out in front of you, speaking something you don’t understand. He looks over his shoulder as if in request of an answer, eyes catching yours. Though everything about his stance, the way he walks and talks seems vicious and dangerous, one thing that doesn’t is his eyes.

Even glaring his gaze seems somewhat soft, running over you with utmost care and patience. It doesn’t really suit him. It reminds you too much of your dad and your brother’s look, who you are dying to wake up too, soon.

“What language do you speak?” He asks then, as your eyes widen. You hadn’t expected him to say anything you could understand. His voice is too deep, it makes everything he says sound angry, annoyed at best. Maybe he is just annoyed by your presence.

You speed your steps a little to lessen the space between you two, as he looks back to the front. “This one.” At your soft mumble, he sighs deeply.

“Don’t… touch anything.” He grunts, before stuffing his hands in pockets that you hadn’t yet noticed on the pants. You have to hold an eye roll and a sarcastic comment at his attitude, but stay silent. You follow behind into the darkness of the hall, where you can only hear his footsteps and yours behind.

Please tell me what you thought!! I’d really love some kind of response. Thank you so, so much for reading, I really enjoyed breaking through my little mood by writing something new and exciting. I hope to get a new chapter up soon. 

[chameleon-of-the-fandom]

Repetitive Treatment: Chapter 9

Words: 1341

AN: Again, not a doctor, so the medical things may not be accurate. Enjoy though!!!!!

A week later, you are sitting on the edge of your hospital bed, waiting to be discharged. Alex's hearing is on Monday, and you plan on going. As much as it terrifies you, you know you have to be there for closure. You are being discharged today as you had come down with a small infection that had to be monitored longer. But now, you are casted up and ready to go- as soon as the doctor okays it that is. Sweet Pea is the one driving you home today, as your parents had to go into work for a bit. You couldn’t be happier though, as you and Sweet Pea had grown closer this last week. Sometimes though, his behavior makes you suspicious, especially since if you were around, he wouldn’t be as physical in his anger, and you knew that was a part of him. But he had quieted down, not that you were complaining. Finally, the doctor walks in.

“Hey, (Y/N). How’s everything feeling today?”

“Good, I’m so ready to be out of here.” Doctor Sillaw smiles.

“I bet. So, I reviewed your chart from yesterday, and it looks like you are all good to go. You just need to continue exercising that lung, to avoid pneumonia, and continue to rest. Do not overdo it. I can’t stress that enough. If you overdo it, you will end up back here. And I would really like to avoid that, alright, kiddo?” He asks.

You nod, “Yep!”

“Good. So, I have the discharge paperwork right here,” he sets it on the rolling table, “and the meds, I have sent the prescriptions out, so you can get those filled asap.”

“Good.” You yawn, you guess the excitement from everything this morning must finally be hitting you. The doctor chuckles before excusing himself, and not to long after, Sweet Pea shows up with a wheelchair, which you don’t protest. He tucks your grungy hair behind your ear and kisses your forehead.

“Let’s go, (Y/N/N).” He says. Sweet Pea can tell your exhausted, so he grabs the discharge paperwork and carefully wheels you out to his truck. You’ve fallen asleep on the simple ride.

 Sweet Pea gently picks you up out of the wheelchair, and sets you up in his truck before buckling you in. He puts the paperwork in the glove compartment, and runs the wheelchair back into the hospital before quietly climbing into the driver’s seat of his old green and white truck. He starts and winces with the loud rumble before checking to make sure you hadn’t woken up. Satisfied, he meticulously drives the both of you home. When he arrives at your house, you are still out, so he picks you up bridal style and carries you into the house, and up to your bed. He tucks you underneath the covers, and dashes back out to his truck to grab the bag of clothing, the spirometer, and the medical paperwork. Once done, he starts the laundry, waiting for you to wake up, and decides to read the discharge summary, so he knows what he can do to help.

Three hours later, and Sweet Pea looks up from the paperwork to go check on you. He can’t believe how much time has passed. He fishes his phone out of his pocket on his way to check up the stairs. He finally gets it as he enters your room. He sees you rubbing your eyes, clearly still exhausted.

“Hey.”

“Sweet Pea.” He smiles at you, and you gesture him onto the bed. He softly crawls in, and smiles as you snuggle carefully into his side. As you fall back to sleep, he checks his phone again. 3 Unread messages. He clicks on Toni’s name first.

Hey, SP. How’s our girl?>TTopaz

Not too bad. SleepyJ>SPea

Next, he taps Fangs’ name.

SP! How’s she doing? Heard a rumor that you might need a love doctor, man! W2G!>Fangs F

Maybe, slight problem though. She is doing well!> SPea

Fangs’ reply is instant.

What seems to be the issue, bro?>Fangs F

I know I explode when I get angry. She won’t handle that well for a while.>SPea

Dude… That shouldn’t stop you. Just remember to take a breath and count to 10.>Fangs F

I’ve tried that… Doesn’t seem to work>SPea

So, take a walk to the gym and use the punching bag, or get one for your trailer ;)> Fangs F

That could work, I suppose…..> SPea

Gotta go, man. Stay chill!!!!! J>Fangs F

Next name to be clicked is your mom’s.

Hey, Sweet Pea, how’s my girl? Is she alright?> (Y/M/N)

She’s okay. Super tired. Slept on the way home and sleeping now.> SPea

Good. Don’t let her sleep too long tho. She won’t sleep tonite L> (Y/M/N)

No worries. I was gonna let her sleep for another hour or so.>SPea

Fantastic! Thanks hun!>(Y/M/N)

He grins at your mom’s usage of the pet name. It’s been a long time since anyone called him that.

He holds true to what he told your mom. He lets you sleep for another hour before gently waking you up. “C’mon sweetheart…. Wake up for me.”

“Just five more minutes.”

“If you don’t want dinner, sure.”

“Fiiinnnneeeee.” He chuckles at your whine.

“That’s what I thought.”

“I was promised food.” You rub your bleary eyes, and pout. He continues to smile at your antics.

“Fair enough. It’ll be up shortly.” He goes downstairs to warm up some chicken noodle soup. Sweet Pea briefly wonders how you aren’t sick of it yet. And as he watches it warm up, he doesn’t notice you slowly and gently descending the staircase.

You listen as the microwave beeps and the door proceeds to be opened and shut. You make your way out to the couch before lightly sitting down. Sweet Pea must open a drawer and grab a spoon because you hear a tinging sound before Sweet Pea’s footsteps grow louder. “Out here, Pea.” You say, careful not to shout. You’re not sure he heard you until you see him come around the corner of the couch. You are wearing a sweatshirt that’s at least two times your normal size.

Sweet Pea feels his face warm up at the sight of you on your couch, wrapped in a sweatshirt way too big for you. And suddenly, he thinks you would be that much cuter if it was his sweatshirt. He sits softly next to you and waits for you to get comfortable leaning on him before he hands you the soup. He smiles as you groan at the aroma and nearly laughs when you moan as you eat it. “Would you like me to leave the room?” He asks, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Maybe that would be best. Leave me and the soup alone and no one gets hurt.” You smile widely.

“Oof. Ouch. Here I thought I was loved.” Sweet Pea states jokingly.

“Never.” You say sarcastically.

“Right in the heart, (Y/N). Right in my heart.” He pouts. You chuckle for a second before groaning and handing Sweet Pea the soup so you can wrap your arms around your chest.

“Shit, are you alright, (Y/N)?” Sweet Pea’s face drops in concern and you grin up at him.

“Yeah, just forgot I can’t laugh. Now give me the soup.” Sweet Pea isn’t convinced, but hands it to you anyway.

“Okay, okay. If you insist.” He raises an eyebrow.

“I do.” You take it from him and continue to sip the broth and eat the noodles. You look up at him as he leans forward and grabs the remote, and wonder what it would be like to do this on a lazy afternoon with him. The atmosphere is comfortable, and you think that maybe you and Sweet Pea were never meant to be just friends. Maybe you were both meant to be more. But, you know he doesn’t feel the same way, and you can’t lose his friendship over this, so you’ll keep it to yourself. And hopefully, he’ll never find out.

Chapter One; Chapter Two; Chapter Three; Chapter Four; Chapter Five; Chapter Six; Chapter 7; Chapter 8

tags:

@answer-the-sirens 

@quinn-e-dawson 

@writing-yj 

@chipster-21 

@serpentmo 

@falling-stars-never-cry 

@poolpartyingwithjaws 

@acidparadox 

@theyouthfulmoon 

@fallen-for-fall 

@multifandomphenomena 

@shanetoo

@xdontxcare

[verrottweil]

la plus belle de céans

unbeta'ed but i just needed to get the first chapter of -whatever- this is out of my system, okay?

i wrote this because i really really like the way ifan says lohse's name and because i also high-key want to make the canonical sex scene a 100x more grittier and desperate. i mean i haven't written it yet, but /details/

on ao3

.

-Coin in the dead pauper’s mouth

will give me Lucian’s luck,

the noblewoman whispers before she slots

a Ducate

between an orphan’s frostbitten lips-

.

Superstition runs rampant in Verdistis.

At dawn, the prettiest scullery maids scour the skies for a single blue heron in the hopes a wealthy merchant’s son will notice them, and at dusk the city guards coat their breastplate with the crushed petals of a yarrow flower to ward off daggers in the dark.

Never mix your ales, the innkeeper reminds a barmaid when she cracks open a barrel, it brings us no luck lass.

Novice summoners throw bottles of expensive wines against late Corinna’s house, merchants refuse to shake hands over the threshold of their mansions and even the most crooked of thieves dutifully shoots a quick, simple prayer to the Divine before a heist. You was one o’ us, they’d whisper hotly, fumbling with a lockpick as if a demon was on their tail, and there’s still honor among us thieves, ain’t there?

These are certainties–

Good fortune rests in a pinch of salt thrown over the shoulder, a touch of stardust powder on a lovely woman’s cheek, a golden coin inside the dead pauper’s mouth–

Wolves will steal away little children sleeping too close to the edge of the bed and drag them underneath the willow root–

Ghosts won’t enter a home where sage is burning in the fireplace–

Lohse is ten years old and she knows that last one is complete and utter nonsense. Her mother crumbles sage leaves in the burning hearth every evening, but that doesn’t keep the spirits and demons out, doesn’t prevent her from turning into a haunt. Some take, some give, some teach her things – how to heal, how to hunt, how to hurt – and others don’t go gentle into that good night at all, seizing control of her small body and sending her into violent fits. One turned her tiny, clenched fists onto the city guard and she was dragged back home by the scruff of her neck, spitting curses in a foreign tongue, shrieking and wailing.

She’s a half-sized pint of energy regardless, wild and bright-eyed, with hair the color of a forest fire and skinny, skinned knees.

Don’t sleep too close to the edge of the bed, her mother often warns her, reaching for her under the threadbare coverlet, pulling her close against her chest. Her collarbones grow sharper, more defined as the days turn into months, and her face gaunt, pale, stricken with worry. The hovel smells of smoke, of sage, but the cold keeps biting at their toes regardless. Or the wolf will drag you to the forest, under the willow shrubs, my little one.

She bites her tongue, swallows down the brutally honest words she wants to give in turn sometimes, I’d let him mum, I’d bloody well let him.  

On crowded street corners, Lohse sings, jokes or dances, and on lesser days during the cruel, cold winter months mostly, she pleads, begs for alms or feigns death when a rich, soft-hearted noblewoman passes by.

She knows the city’s alleyways like the back of her hand and Lohse learns to survive on the skin of her teeth, on her lightning quick wit and razor-sharp tongue.

Whatever keeps the hunger at bay.

People have precious little coin to spare these days though. These are hard times, she overhears the general store merchant say to her mother, I heard sly ol’ Lucian’s rallying his army against the Black Ring, there’s a war coming, mark my words lady. She doesn’t really get what a war has to do with poverty, with an empty belly and no supper on the table, but her mother seems to understand and sighs and stretches herself even thinner.

The drunkards in the Ducal Inn always raise their mugs in unison when they talk about the war against the orcs, as if they were there too. In candlelight, they praise the Divine with flushed cheeks and slurred words as the barmaid brings another round to the table. Ferol is feral land, they agree, and bless Lucian for trying to tame it.

Lohse’s whole world is contained within Verdistis’ walls, and beyond there’s only woodland, the crumbling stonework of the old church they visit for mass, Rivertown market.

.

After the last frost’s thawed, the city holds a festival. Fanfare rings throughout the streets as the travelling troupe dances over the cobblestones, and people set up stalls in the park, hang garlands between the trees, hand out soup made of watercress and green peas for the poor, try to sell trinkets they no longer have use for.

Outside the wine merchant’s store, his servants load ox-drawn cart after ox-drawn cart with barrels and crates full of bottles.

Verdistis is bright, bold and proud in the face of a crusade.

Lohse’s thirteen years old and musters a cheerful smile, wanting to impress the sour-faced, burly leader of the travelling troupe with her song and dance.

There are patches poorly-sewn into her dress. Her fingers were clumsy from the cold, that seemed to creep through every crack between the planks of that sorry excuse for a hovel she lives in. I need to get out of here, she thinks, desperate, and sings even louder, does a magic trick.

Her mother died a fortnight ago. Ah yes, the bloody flux, the good doctor had exclaimed gravely, looking silly with his dainty handkerchief hard-pressed against his nose, you’re extremely fortunate not to have contracted it yourself, young lady. Lohse had to pay him two ducats for his troubles, and sold off anything valuable left to finance the funeral, to afford a cross planted in the rich graveyard soil with her mother’s name carved into the wood.

Orphans only last so long on alms and Lohse doesn’t intend to survive on moldy breadcrumbs and strangers’ bleeding hearts alone.

“Enough,” the ringleader bristles curtly. Her skirt whips around her ankles when she comes to a complete standstill, stopped dead in her tracks, and she rubs her hands together, shaking off the sparks. His eyes are glassy, like brass buttons under candlelight, when he gives her another once-over.

With a nod, – and even that’s too generous a description, it’s more a light inclination of the head – the leader of the travelling troupe makes up his mind. Lohse meets his scrutiny head-on, staring up at him with a defiant expression, as if her heart isn’t threatening to leap through her mouth. “If you know how to earn your keep, I got no qualms in you staying, girl.”

“I will. I mean, I do. Know how to earn my keep, I mean,” Lohse replies excitedly, rocking forwards and backwards on her toes. She tilts her head, pops her lips and asks, “So, uhm, what do I call you? I mean—”

The ringleader bares down the full weight of his gaze on her bony shoulders, on her patchwork dress and wildfire hair. He’s built like a brick house, scars and muscles, the type of man her mother would warn her to steer clear off if they’d met in one of the city’s alleyways. “Chief,” he says. “If you’re gonna call me anything, call me chief.”

Lohse meets the other members of the travelling troupe that same afternoon.

They’re a colorful bunch of singers, musicians, dancers, jokers and fortune tellers, from every corner on the continent it seems.

She pulls her weight. A young lizard dancer called Blaisdell, whose scales remind Lohse of the jellyroom growing in the shadow of the Ducal Inn, teaches her how to dance with magic, how to shoot searing flames from her fingertips. She learns how to strum the snares of a lute with nimble fingers, how to hold a high note without her lungs giving out, and how to execute the punchline of a crude joke properly.

They travel dangerous roads, so the chief has her practice with a bow, a sword, a dagger in each hand, and what her newfound family won’t teach her, the new spirits her roadside inn of a mind attracts will.

On one evening, after the travelling troupe’s just set up camp at the edge of the Dark Forest, Lohse shacks up with a fortune teller from the Mezd desert. Candles are burning in little stone bowls on their heavy trunks. Outside the dwarven musicians are quarreling about a lost game of dice.

My specialty’s palm reading, she says in a soft, melodious voice as she takes Lohse’s hand in her own, would you -perhaps- like a demonstration?

Her fingers are adorned with heavy rings and thin golden chains looping back to a fine, bright stone on the back of her hand. There are crow feet at the corners of her almond-shaped eyes and wrinkles around her mouth. Candlelight flickers over her face like a blessing.

With her forefinger, she gently traces the curve of the bracelet lines above Lohse’s wrist and hums lowly, channeling a burst of Source within her. When Lohse looks down on their held hands, there’s an unearthly glow clinging to their skin. She tells her of demons to come and adversities to expect, the customary niceties really, until…

You will run with a lone wolf, the palm reader intones, simultaneously looking and not looking at Lohse as she speaks, And make the whole world pack.

Those words seemed to stick, like honey to a teaspoon, like balm to skin, like blood to a murderer’s hands. Lohse would spend the night wondering what those words meant and would fall asleep dangerously close to the edge of the makeshift bed.

.

Even if Lohse feels indebted to the chief and his travelling troupe for getting her out of Verdistis, she was told there was never any obligation for her to stay permanently. Artists have always joined and left their ranks at a whim. Why’d you be any different, girl?

She’s eighteen years old and lingers hesitantly at the grand stone city gates, genuinely nervous for the first time in years, with a knapsack under her arm and a lute strapped to her back. Arx is noisy around her, and while the bones of the city are old and stately like a prim and proper merchant’s mother, the square is still thrumming with life and activity, even after the travelling troupe’s broken down their camp and loaded the oxen-drawn carts with their sails and tentpoles.

It’s close to lunchtime when she takes her goodbyes. Two magister recruits in their brazen red robes scramble past her towards the barracks, almost tripping over the cobblestones.

“Your name better haunt the roads, girl,” the chief says, with the midday sunlight baring down on his broad back and bald head. There are far more wrinkles around his eyes now, than when she first met him. She blinks back the tears in her eyes and ushers a facsimile of a smile. “Break a hindleg, like Blaisdell would say.” His voice is gruff, and Lohse could swear she saw something akin to pride on his face.

Lohse clutches the strap of her knapsack tightly and nods.

“There’s a whole continent for me to conquer, chief,” she responds determinedly. “And if Lucian can tame Ferol, what’s stopping me from doing the same, right?”

.

It’s hard, life on the road, but Lohse’s long-since learned how to scrape by on next-to-nothings.

She rouses tavern guests with rowdy drinking songs, watching how they toss coins at her feet until her throat’s sore and her voice’s gone hoarse, and the last of the drunkards slump over, asleep in their creaking chairs or against the counter of the bar. Oh, all the coin I e’er spent, I spent it in good company, she sings loudly, laughing when the crowd starts to sing along, and all the harm that e’er I’ve done, alas it was to none but me. Sometimes she falls into the good graces of one of the barmaids and gets a fresh pint, free of charge.

The farmers in Paradise Downs like her well enough when she leads the procession during the harvest festival, humming the traditional hymns, dressed up in autumn colors. Dead leaves crunch under her bare feet. There are swipes of dried sheep’s blood on her cheeks and the smell of apple cider hangs heavy in the air, like the promise of a night’s rest in a barn or – even better – in a farmstead’s bed. Lohse bows her head low to an effigy of Rhalic and prays that she better gets paid handsomely for this.

During a ride along Reaper’s Coast, she watches the faraway horizon slowly eat the silhouette of a magister’s ship. Lohse kicks her legs, holding onto the back of the wagon; the wheels squeak when they grind pebbles underfoot. Madcap fiddles with the strings of the fiddle, cursing sourly under his breath when another one snaps. Kroller keeps telling the same dirty joke about the difference between a lizard’s and an elf’s tongue to the coachman until he gets the punchline right. It takes a while.

Papa Joris claps her on the shoulder and points towards the sea. “Lohse, you ever find yourself in a sinking ship, follow the rats. They’ll find you a way out.”

“What’s this all about?” She asks, leaning back and settling her elbows on the wood, staring at him upside down. Her unruly hair falls pin-straight for once.

The well-natured dwarf takes on an air of importance and looks out over the water. He idly rubs at the large, jagged scar on his right cheek, that starts from his ear and disappears under the thick hairs of his beard. “I once fought a real beast, you know, in a different life. When I still served in the queen’s army.” Papa Joris sighs and all the tension bleeds out of him; the memories promptly tucked back under his skull and away from his loose-lipped mouth. “So. Take my advice, and follow the rats.”

“Sure thing, chief,” Lohse replies easily, bouncing her foot to the tune of Madcap’s broken fiddle.

.

Summer heat swelters under her skin, poised upwards like needles; sweat gleams in the hollow of her collarbones, in the curve of her elbows and knees.

The crescendo of her voice—

is not her own.

She’s the prettiest of the house, take her by the hand.

She’s the prettiest of the house, take her by the hand.

People are clapping to the beat of her feet stamping down on the floorboards. Lohse recognizes the numbness that comes with possession and has no choice but to allow the spirit’s presence to wash over her. Her awareness gets pushed into a narrow corner of her mind as her vision fogs up.

The crescendo of her voice—

rises, rises, rises.

Bring, bring our beautiful.

Bring your sheep from the fields, shepherdess.

Her hips sway like a snake-charmer’s pet, from right to left to right again. Someone smashes a bottle over the back of a woman’s head, and blood-stained glass and strong-smelling ale gushes down onto the floor. Whatever’s gotten a hold over her mind, is terribly persistent, hammered into the heart like a nail in Anhar’s boots. Stuck.

The crescendo of her voice—

rises, rises, rises.

Bring, bring our beautiful.

She’s the prettiest of the house.

Through the fog, Lohse hears someone screaming.

Everyone in the inn is staring at her, breathing haggardly, stumbling unsteady feet, holding onto one another as if dancing. The room stinks of spilled alcohol and blood.

The crescendo of her voice falls.

When Lohse catches a glimpse of her face in the reflection of a silver goblet, she finds her eyes turned pitch-black.

She swallows dryly and thinks,

shite.

.

It happens again at her performance near Driftwood—

One young magister backhands her harshly across the cheek; Lohse accidentally bites her own tongue and the overwhelming taste of blood fills the inside of her mouth. She watches the maddening crowd pull and push at each other from a frog’s perspective, lying defenseless on the ground from the blow. There are blurs of reds around her.

Two magisters haul her up by her arms and drag her away, muttering under their breaths about how she’s the ‘second sourcerer causing trouble’ and how there’s ‘still a spot on the Merryweather’. They hold her up so high, her toes barely brush the grass.

Lohse opens her mouth to speak, but before she can manage a word, the tallest of the two magisters kicks her in the shin and hisses for her to keep quiet. She can feel the bruise forming there, the shape and size of his foot, and groans incoherently in response.

They slip heavy iron bands around her wrists and ankles, and a strange, tight-fitting, blue-flickering collar around her neck–

“You’ll be cured,” the magister tells Lohse before she pushes her into the metal cage on the cart and slams the door in her face. “You better be grateful.”

“Oh really?” Lohse prompts back, stretching the ‘y’ in the word really, holding onto the bars. “I doubt you’re sending me to Fort Joy for an exorcism and a two-week vacation.”

The magister doesn’t acknowledge her anymore and turns the key inside the lock, and if there was ever a picture for the word final, this would be it.

.

[redhairedfeistynerd]

A Very Bucky Thanksgiving

Bucky Barnes x reader, singledad!Bucky, Riley and Piper Barnes, Steve Rogers

Summary: This is the first year Bucky has invited someone special to join in on their Thanksgiving dinner.Will everything go smoothly?

Warnings: some swearing, some sly sexual conversation

A/N: I originally wrote this piece for Canadian Thanksgiving but here we are!  I hope you enjoy another moment with the Barnes family.

For as long as his girls have been in this world, Bucky has been passionate about baking. He figures this came to fruition when his ex-wife started spending more time out of the house and preferred being away on business trips than building a life with him and their young girls. As their relationship slowly deteriorated, Bucky found solace in pastries, cookies, and breads. Navigating his way through forums and how-to videos online, searching for recipes like he once hunted for his latest mission.

His girls had requested their favourites for this last-minute weekend celebration. Pumpkin pie with maple cream, pumpkin walnut scones, and a new treat he was testing out today, pumpkin spiced doughnuts with maple salted glaze, and for his sweet lady friend; a pecan pie.

Bucky could smell the doughnuts before the time reached zero. The soft smell of cinnamon and sugar wafted through his two-story house, reaching him while he tidied up the bathroom from the girls attack on it early that same morning. Wiping down the counter, he flicked off the light, bounding down the stairs to the kitchen as the last seconds wound down on the timer. Oven mitt on, doughnuts pulled out of the oven (he was trying out a baked version this time) he had about an hour before the girls would burst in the front door after a day of shopping the holiday sales.

The weekend plans had changed at the last minute, his ex (Jackie) had cancelled on the girls again. The girls were to fly up to their mothers' cabin in Whistler, B.C. for a Canadian Thanksgiving but a last-minute job had come up and she chose that over her kids.

Bucky was not impressed by her choice. Riley rolled her eyes at the news and muttered “big surprise” when Bucky relayed the message to his youngest daughter.

Jackie always chose work before their daughters. Her new husband had more importance to her these days.

Her influencer status has skyrocketed after she left Bucky, leaving him high and dry to raise the girls. He didn't see it as an issue though, he loved his girls and if he had to do this on his own, then that's what he would set out to do. His Avengers status pushed away a few years before, he found that he was calling Steve a bit more during those earlier years. Sometimes he needs a break, to sit in a quiet room where Riley wasn't screaming at the top of her lungs, which would have Piper in tears. There was something magical about Uncle Steve though, maybe it was his rich voice, whispering sweet words to Riley to ease the screams to a low whimper. Maybe it was the way he sang the sweet songs of the 40s to stop the tears flowing from Piper's bright blue eyes. Whatever it was that Steve had, Bucky was extremely thankful for.  

One of their first Thanksgivings without Jackie, had both girls sick with the stomach flu. He'd never seen anything as disgusting as what his young girls were dishing out.  

Blood, wounds, and other violent memories had nothing on this. Who knew little people could cause THAT much mess?

Bucky was exhausted. Riley had finally fallen asleep on the couch and Piper was sprawled out in the master bedroom on his bed, resembling a starfish.

With one last swipe of the kitchen counter, Bucky tossed the rag in the laundry basket and released a sigh of completion. Turning on the hood fan, he turned off the track lights and walked towards his daughter who was now snoring lightly on the couch, when a soft knocking came from his front door. Puzzled, he turned away from his sleeping daughter and made his way to the entryway. He opened the door to Steve's smiling face.

"What are you..."

"Nat phoned and gave me the heads up that you were literally drowning in shit."

"Language," grumbled Bucky as he opened the door wider to let Steve in.

Steve chuckled and took a good look at Bucky. "Man, you're looking a little rough around the edges."

"You would too if you were knee deep in dirty laundry and had two goblins that were puking so much, they make that scene in the Exorcist look tame.

Steve scrunched his nose and tried to shake the memory of that scene out of his head. The previous year, Bucky had invited his old team over for a horror movie night while the girls were spending the night with their mom. Steve still hadn't forgiven Bucky for subjecting him to that movie. "Absolutely disgusting."

Bucky grunted and shut the door, Steve following him from the entryway and up the stairs to the kitchen.

"Here, Nat made some soup for you and the girls, if they are feeling up to eating it,” Steve said holding out the package.

“Oh ya, thanks. I’m sure the girls will appreciate their Aunty Nat making her famous soup,” he nods his head in thanks before muttering “hopefully it's not pea soup,” and walks across the kitchen.

Steve watches as Bucky tucks the soup away in the fridge, noticing how stringy his hair has become and when he looks his way, the dark circles are around his eyes. “Hey Buck, why don’t you leave the tidying up to me and you go take a shower, relax a bit.”

Bucky shuts the fridge door and looks at Steve. “Are you sure you want to clean up this cesspool?” He asks as his arms waving to point out the mess around the kitchen.

“Yes, I’m here to help you out, all right?” Bucky nods and pats Steve on the shoulder on his way up to the bathroom.

Steve manages to tidy up the first floor of the house, shift Riley from the couch to her bed, and fold a load of laundry. He’s pouring hot water into a mug when Bucky walks back in, looking like the shower did its job. “You want a cup of tea?” He asks Bucky when he sit down at the kitchen table.

“Please, a cup of something black so I can keep my eyes open for a bit longer. You feel like watching a funny movie? I feel like I need a good laugh after what this week has been like.”  

“Sounds good, how about you go on down and put something on, I’ll bring the tea and some snacks for us,” Steve replies and pours a second mug full of water.  

The men settle in and watch a classic comedy, quiet laughter sailing out of both of their mouths, trying to be quiet while the girls sleep. Steve decides on a second movie and they watch until they fall asleep on the couches.  

Bucky wakes up, his stomach twisting, and the pain, THE PAIN. "You've got to be fucking kidding.” He lurches off the sectional and runs to the bathroom by the laundry room.

Steve wakes from the sounds of his friend slamming the bathroom door, the unmentionable sounds have Steve pulling his pillow over his head. When he moves it away several minutes later, all he hears is silence. Steve gets up from the couch and makes his way to the bathroom, gently knocking on the door. "Bucky? Are you alive in there?"

"Fucking kill me, please,” he begs and Steve hears his best friend heave again.

Steve camps out at the Barnes household during that Thanksgiving weekend. There is no turkey, no pumpkin pie, or a dysfunctional family fight. Everything is quiet as Bucky careens himself in his bedroom while Steve manages the rest of the household. He keeps the girls busy and out of Bucky’s hair for several days; visits to the ice cream shop and to the park near their home, keeps them smiling and giggling while their dad is at home, miserable in bed.

Steve sits back on the park bench and admires the colours changing all around him; the leaves sway from left to right, falling gently down to the ground. Piles of brown and yellow sit before him, raked into tidy piles. He gets and idea, something to cheer Bucky up the last few days of having the stomach flu. He calls the girls over and tells them his plan to make their dad smile. He makes a video of them, jumping in the leaves and throwing them around, their laughter warming his heart. When the girls have finished frolicking in the mounds of colourful leaves, he takes each other their hands in his and begins the walk back to the house. He’ll send the little video to Bucky in the morning when he heads out and back to work.  

Bucky still smiles at the memory of that little video. He can now smile about his treacherous first Thanksgiving as a single dad but he made it up every year that followed; this year, he has to make up for what his ex has left behind. Riley is pressuring him to make her mom's famous stuffing (he laughs at this because this is a recipe that she took from a cookbook he had from his mom) Piper has decided that Bucky is THE WORST because he is going to kill an innocent turkey and all she wants is for him to save one (and yes, he does donate to a local farm that saves turkeys later in the week) and have it live the rest of its life, in their backyard. He notes that she will have a plate of vegetables tonight and he has no idea if that is sufficient enough for a teenage girl who that is 15.  

“Cranberries sauce”

“Check!”

“Water chestnuts.”

“Check!”

“Wait, what the heck are water chestnuts for, Pop?”

Bucky is sitting on the kitchen floor sorting through the pantry and about to answer when he sees you creeping into the kitchen, hiding behind his oldest, about to scare her. Her arms wrap around Piper and she squeezes her tightly expelling a high-pitched squeak.  

He will never get over how beautiful her smile is when her eyes meet his. His heart beats so fast that he’s afraid she will be able to see it pounding in his chest.  

The flowers she is holding scream fall – oranges, yellows, and reds – the cute Chinese lanterns that she adores, wobble back and forth as she walks towards him. She reaches for him with her free hand and pulls him into a tight hug, whispering “you look extra handsome today, soldier.”

“He got his hair trimmed for you,” Riley shouts from the top of the stairs and watches as her father’s face turns as red as the Gerbera's in the bouquet. She snorts as she walks down the stairs at Bucky’s embarrassment and hops down the last few steps to pull y/n into a hug.

“Hi sweetness, I missed your smiling face,” Y/N says into Riley’s strawberry blond curls.

“Missed you too. Are you ready for your first Barnes Annual Canadian Thanksgiving?” Riley asks while rocking on her feet.

Y/N looks at her, “Is it any different from the other Thanksgiving I would be having?

“Well duh, this one if full of maple syrup, poutine, and never-ending skits by Bob and Doug Mackenzie!

Bucky bursts out laughing and poor Y/N is looking between the two of them, lost when it came to the last item. “Okay, okay, Ri, leave the poor woman alone. Here love, let me take those flowers and put them in a vase.” Bucky squeezes her waist gently, taking the colourful bouquet from her hands. She follows him to the cabinet housing the vase and sniffs the air.

“What’s is that smell? It’s so-

“Delicious?” Riley adds as she passes by Y/N and hops up onto a bar stool? “Your taste buds are in for an incredible treat. Dad is the best baker this city has!”

“Pretty sure I’m not hun, but thank you for boosting me up a bit.” Bucky’s cheeks changing in colour, somewhat embarrassed by his daughter's compliment.

“Oh, come on dad, that’s why all the moms are always swooning when you join the bake sales,” Piper chirps in.

“The moms swoon over your dad? I’m pretty sure that has more to do with his-” she’s cut off by Bucky shoving a Snickerdoodle in her mouth. Squinted her eyes at him and waving her finger as if she’s promising to get him back later. He can’t help but smirk and squeeze her side.

“Shhh, my sweet. Don’t be telling my girls how irresistible I am,” he whispers into her ear and kisses it.

Riley makes gagging sounds from behind her dad and Piper’s face turns red from the affection their father is showing Y/N. This is the not the first time they have seen their father with a woman but this specific woman has done something to their father. He’s smiling, he whistles while he bakes, and he’s happy.  

Y/N turns to face Riley, “Oh kid, are we embarrassing you? Making you feel a little queasy inside?” She walks over to Bucky as he arranges the flowers in the vase and loudly kisses his cheek and laughs. “How about that Ri?”

“You’re the worst,” Riley chuckles and grabs the serving spoons to put on the table.  

Bucky pulls Y/N into a hug and kisses her lightly on the lips. He can taste the Snickerdoodle and it makes him wish he could fully indulge but he restrains, knowing that tonight they’ll have time alone once the girls head to their rooms for the night. He brings his lips to her forehead before taking the flowers to the table and placing them in the centre.  

“All right ladies, let’s get this show on the road!”  

“Don’t you mean Barnes’, Assemble!” Piper asks with a smirk on her face. Bucky just shook his head, a big smile across his face.

“Tell me where you want me, Barnes,” Y/N said as she looked at Bucky, his smirk telling her that where he wanted her was not in the kitchen.

“Turkey is in the oven, that weird Tofurky thing is in there too, I need to add the water chestnuts to the beans, the pot of potatoes needs to boil, and in a bit, we can get the rest of the veggies going too. Who’s good with making gravy?”

“I hope you made stuffing for me that isn’t in that bird, dad,” Piper said, giving her dad one of her teenage looks.

Bucky slides a bowl across the counter to his oldest so she can see the stuffing he made; animal free. “It’s vegan sweetie, I hope you like it,” Bucky responds. “I found this recipe online, some popular blog.” He watches as she scoops a bit of the warm food in her mouth, and can’t help but chuckle when a groan of satisfaction spills out.  

Y/N can’t help but take a scoop for herself, a squeal of delight escaping her mouth. “Shit, Barnsey, you’ve been holding back! Where have you been all my life?” She laughs and walks back over to him, wrapping her arms around him and going in for a quick kiss. “Let’s get this show on the road! All pots on boil!” She shouts and turns the last pot on.

The Barnes family and their first-time guest are indulging in their feast within an hour. Nothing but chewing and soft music can be heard at the table. It always amazes Bucky that it takes hours upon hours of work for this one evening and within minutes the food is gone. He’s thankful though; for his girls, for the life he now has, and for you. He wouldn’t change anything. One last scoop of mashed potatoes goes into his mouth and he places his fork down. “So, do you three want dessert now or do you want to digest a bit first?” Riley stands up from her seat and throws her hands in the air. “Roll out the cart of desserts for us to feast upon, father!”  

All Bucky can do is laugh, she’s always been the dramatic one and he lives for these moments. “Riley, I haven’t said what I’m thankful for yet this evening but one of those things I’m thankful for the humour you provide in this family.”

“Aww Pops, I appreciate that but can you please just bring out the good stuff?” Riley’s blue eyes sparkle and Bucky pushes his chair in and heads back to the counter where he has the pies and other sugary treats. He brings the doughnuts and pumpkin pie with maple cream out first, leaving the girls to help themselves as he returns to the kitchen to cut Y/N a slice of pecan pie. He places a dollop of fresh whipped cream beside it and carries it to her, his face turns red when he places it before her stating, “I made this especially for you.” A look crosses her face and its one he has only recently seen. He thinks its adoration? Or could it be...love? He’s not sure if it’s either but whatever it is, he hopes she continues looking at him that way. He sits back down across from her and watches as she takes the first bite of pie. Her eyes close and he can see the sparkle in her eyeshadow as the light above bounces off of it. It feels like forever before he hears a sound of approval from her.  

“Wow Barnes. I’m going to say this is almost as good as s-

“Well now, girls, how about you start cleaning up what you can and let Y/N finish up her pie.” He tries to pull back Piper’s chair and is met with resistance.

“No WAY, Pops. I want to hear all about how good this pie of yours is. Right, Riley?” Piper looks to her sister, eyebrow raised in hopes that her sister will join in on the teasing.”

“Hell no, I don’t want to hear about the crap these two get up to. Nu uh, NOPE,” she shouts and she grabs a few dishes from the table and heads to the sink to rinse them off.  

Dishes away and the leftovers wrapped up, Bucky takes Y/N’s hand and walks with her to his room. Door closed and locked behind him, Bucky finally pulls his sweet lady as close to him as possible. “Happy Thanksgiving, baby.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Buck.” Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulls him into a kiss. “Come on Barnsey, there’s one thing you haven’t warmed up yet this evening.”

“Oh, did I forget to warm up your pie because I can head back-

She quiets him with another kiss, deeper than the last. “You know damn well that’s not what I meant. Now, be good a good man and get ready for the real dessert.”

Bucky can’t help but curl up and laugh loudly. His girl knows all the ways to make him laugh and smile, tonight is no exception. With one pull, she is on top of him, where he wants her this evening; where he can be warm within and thankful for everything his life has brought him.

[alexmorrall]

A Secret of Steel

Her sister was gone.  She had to accept it.  Life would never be the same. She would never see her smile or play games in the woods.  Everything had changed.

That was how it felt as the wagon clattered its way into the village.  A tired nag sneezed dust, driven by a boy of sixteen summers. At his side was a girl of fifteen.

Night drove like a dagger into the land of summer.  Darkness crept over pines, and hills, and lakes deep as time.  Woodland beasts stole away to burrows and dens.  As light faded from the lakelands, Kaelyn desired warmth.  She wanted a voice other than Remy’s.  She needed hope, some sign of her sister.

They offered to muck the local stable for lodging their horse overnight.  While cleaning, a grey mouse approached Kaelyn, crept up her leg and nestled in her road satchel.  

“Hello there,” she grinned.  “You are brave, aren’t you? Warm in there?”

Leaving the horse at a stable, they walked to a tavern. The sign outside read, “No weapons.”

Kaelyn noted the sign, a knot in her gut.  Taking seats at the bar, they ordered pea soup. When it came, they basked in its steam. As the barkeep returned, Kaelyn asked for bread.  The warm round barely left his hand before she took a bite. Tucking a piece in her satchel, she heard nibbling.  Then she lowered the bag to the floor, letting its inhabitant out.

“Go find what you can,” she whispered to the mouse.

“Would Amaris go after him alone?” asked Remy.

“She might,” Kaelyn returned.

“Then she’s being held by… the bandit king.”

“I don’t care what they call him. He’s a man and he can be killed. I’m not giving up.”

“Kill him? What hope do we have? I can barely hold a sword and you…”

“What about me? I practice every morning.”

“I’ve never seen it.”

“You’re asleep.” Kaelyn shook, golden curls nearly spilling from her kerchief.

“Pretty lass, what brings ye to Arden?” asked the barkeep.  He sniffed. “Is that lavender?”

“We’re heading east,” she said. “Passed a field earlier.”

“Strange, never seen lavender outside Duskfall.”

“Left Duskfall two days back,” Remy lied, “must’ve caught a sprig in her hair.”

“Lovely!” bellowed the barkeep.

Kaelyn wished she had not bathed, but the lavender soap was a gift from her sister. Amaris was the only mother she ever knew. Her tunic was grimy, but beneath it lay something no stable girl carried in all of Kemp. Its cool steel made her wince every so often.  She kept it with her always, for it too was from her sister.

“Have you seen a man with grey hair and piercing blue eyes?” Kaelyn asked. “Fifties, travels with other men, armed and cloaked?”

“A group like that did come in day before carrying a bundle wrapped like a log.  They drank all night, but I went off to bed.  Left my barback to tend ‘em.”

“I don’t see your barback.”

“Yes, it’s odd.  He’s running late tonight.”

A chill swept through the tavern with six cloaked men. Villagers parted, gawking at the strangers. Their leader sat next to Kaelyn. A line scored one wrinkled brow, but his eyes whipped like a snake.  Twelve gold lilies appeared on the counter.

“Six Deerpeak Lagers.”

“Fresh out of Deerpeak.”

“What kind of backwater is this?”

“Arden, sir,” said a cheerful villager.  “A pleasure.”

“Raven’s Hill Riesling then,” the leader scowled.

“No Raven’s Hill out here.”

Remy nudged Kaelyn and tipped his head to the man beside her.

“What do you have then?” the leader demanded.

“House ale and gutdrink.”

“Six ales and six gutdrinks then. But this ale better not taste like piss.”

“Look at his face, it’s going to,” chuckled another cloaked man.

“What else does this place have?” the leader asked. “Rats? Better not be.”

When the ale came, the six men clinked their flagons together and drank.

A nibble on her boot brought Kaelyn’s gaze low again.  She reached down to pick up the mouse, hearing a few “meeps.”

“That bundle is in the cellar,” Kaelyn whispered to Remy. “He would’ve chewed rope, but it’s bound with chain.”

Remy’s eyes grew as he saw the mouse.

“You’ve been busy. Well, what you’ve got can cut any iron or steel,” he grinned.

One of the men stood and approached Kaelyn.  Her hands were smooth, face unblemished by sun, eyes like sunlit forests.  He tugged her kerchief back. Kaelyn slapped at his hand, as Remy stood up.  The bandit snorted and drew a knife.

“No weapons!” the barkeep slammed a flagon on the bar, as hands turned to fists.

With a crash, the tavern door burst open. In strode a ranger and two militia men.  They led a man bound in chains.

“This man serves the bandit king,” said the ranger. “Has anyone seen men like this?”

The six men at the bar slowly turned.  The stranger started to move away.

“You, hold there, let me see your face.”

“Well, seems you’ve found me,” the stranger turned. When pale blue eyes came into view, he sprang toward Kaelyn, setting a knife against her throat. “Stand slow now, girl.”

The bandit king guided her to the rear of the tavern.  As shouts erupted, they descended the cellar stairs.

Kaelyn was brought into darkness, as her wrists were bound with twine.  Light spilled in as two more bandits entered.  Kaelyn peered through barrels to a bundle at the rear. There it lay, covered in wool but betraying the shape of a female form.

As his two men braced the door, the bandit king paced. Soon, there was a tremendous crash.  Still it held, but the bandit king raged with curses.  Drawing broadswords, they readied themselves.  Kaelyn closed her eyes, thinking how foolish she had been, captured along with her sister who she had come to find.  She feared also for Remy, her escort who may now be dead.

The cellar door burst open, knocking the first bandit off the stairs, onto a crate of melons that sprayed juice. Remy was there, holding a broadsword.  He dueled the second bandit at the top of the stairs.  Surprisingly, he seemed to hold his own.  Kaelyn wiggled her waist, spread her legs wide and reached her bound hands beneath them, catching a falling object.  It was a dagger of blue steel which cut the twine like mist. She kept the blade behind her back.  

The bandit king pulled Kaelyn up, knife at her neck again.  She felt its cold blade bite her flesh.  She heard the bundle squirm at the rear of the cellar.

Then Kaelyn brought the dagger around at the bandit king’s heart.  He grabbed her hand as the dagger’s tip pierced his cloak, revealing armor beneath. The armor too was torn, and blood drawn.  She saw now, he wore crimson scalemail that burned with inner fire.  His hand clamped on her wrist.  Dropping from her fingers, the blue steel blade clattered to the floor.

Kaelyn heard a groan and looked to see Remy fall with blood flowing from his head.  The bandit king bent to retrieve her dagger, but Kaelyn kicked. The dagger scuttled through barrels to the cellar’s rear.  Cursing again, he almost went after it when he saw a mouse scurry over his path.  

“Rats! I knew there’d be rats,” he growled.

Then he looked to the stairs.  The ranger was there, thumping his sword hilt against the last bandit’s temple.

Snarling, the bandit king moved Kaelyn between himself and the ranger.

“Release her if you are a man.”

The bandit king drew a golden rapier from within his cloak.  Then he threw Kaelyn to the floor and lunged at the ranger.  He parried the blow and countered with a punch to the bandit’s gut. Pulling back his hand, the ranger grimaced.  Launching a flurry of jabs, the bandit king pressed his foe into a corner.

Kaelyn watched as Remy rose, gripping his sword. He moved to intercept the bandit king, but his target saw him and pierced his shoulder.  As Remy fell again, sound caught in Kaelyn’s throat as she forced down a scream.  She pushed the fear away and crawled forward, grabbing Remy’s sword.  Rising, she moved behind the bandit king.

When the ranger finally fell, Kaelyn knew it was her time. She brought both hands across in a mighty slash fit to tear the bandit in half.  Instead, the blade slammed into his hip and went no further.  His red scale armor shone through a torn cloak.  

“Dragonmail,” coughed the ranger. At the same time, Kaelyn heard a sound of steel cutting iron.

Cackling, the bandit king disarmed Kaelyn with a flick of his wrist.  She backed up to the wall, eyes searching.  With a smile, the bandit king readied his blade to run her through.

“Wait!” Kaelyn cried, catching a glimpse of gold. “You’d be wise to spare my life.”

“Oh yes? What good are you now? I’ll hack my way out of here.”

“All bandits desire gold, yes? Well, you should know… I am a princess.”

“Two?” the bandit king’s eyes doubled in size and narrowed again as he thought.

Then Kaelyn saw her move behind him, green eyes and golden locks much like her own. Amaris perched just over his shoulder, before sinking the blue steel dagger into his back.  He crumpled to the floor with a groan.

“Sister,” she said, helping Kaelyn to her feet, “Lovely time for a visit.”

[peterpcrkcr]

Into Your Scarf | A Peter Parker Imagine

#30

Peter Parker x Reader requested by anonymous Words: 2,238  Disclaimer: you're both about to start college just after graduating together. There's action, romance. Enjoy.  TW: Gun violence, no death.

 You were walking down the street, wearing your favorite fall boots, favorite winter jacket. Your scarf was up and over your face for the most part because the wind chill that swept through the city was particularly cold for the beginning of September. You didn't really mind it so much though, because you were on your way to a dinner and a movie date with Peter Parker, your boyfriend of exactly two months.

  When you arrived at the little 50's themed diner Peter was standing outside waiting for you. He looked so handsome. One lock of hair swirled over his forehead while the rest looked so soft and shiny over his head. He was looking down at his feet as he leaned against the doorway of the place. His jacket was a pea coat that fit him just right, something Tony Stark must have sent him for this very brisk day. He had cuffed his jeans to reveal his cute grey and white striped socks that tucked down into his boots. Oh, and he had his backpack. He always had his backpack. 

 "Hey Pete," you said as pulled the plum scarf from over your mouth. 

 You stepped over the curb to be right before the diner. When his eyes drifted off of the ground to look at you they started to beam. You were so stunning, so radiant, even with frizzy hair and a slight shiver to your bones. When he stepped forward to hug you he stepped right in the way of a group of people leaving the diner. You tucked your smile into the scarf at your neck. 

 "Oh! Sorry..." Peter said as an embarrassed blush creeped onto his cheeks. You chuckled just slightly as he danced around the group to stand in front of you. When he did he took your gloved hands and kissed your icicle nose. "Hello my girlfriend."

 "You're so cute... why do you always feel the need to tell me I'm your girlfriend? I know it. I cherish it." You asked as you swung your hands side to side. He grinned at you.

 "I like to say it because being with you doesn't seem real." You stopped swinging your hands and let your lips part just a little in surprise. "You're my favorite thing that's happened in a long time." 

 "Peter!" You exclaimed as you jumped forward into his arms. You knew he would catch you and remain upright because his core muscles were strangely fantastic. You poured kisses over his face until he started laughing with utter and un-compromised glee. You pulled back and slid your hands down the collar of his coat. You looked into his eyes and saw an undiscovered jungle of surprises and wonder. When he looked into yours he saw a seaside bungalow, you and two kids, and no worries for the rest of his life. He settled into a loving grin. You kissed that too. "Shall we?"

 "Oh yes..." he said as he reached a hand out to open the door for you, letting three people out of the diner instead. You smiled to yourself at Peter's adorable embarrassment again. 

 "You're very slick." You teased. He rubbed the back of his neck as you walked passed him and into the diner. 

 It was busy inside. Music from the 70's played and even though the diner was not of that era, it still gave the place a fun atmosphere. It wasn't packed by any means, but there were enough happy people in there to make the place seem perfectly excited. You let out a content sigh, to which Peter looked to the side to watch you shake off your coat. He helped it off of you. 

 "Table for two?" The waitress asked, to which you nodded and smiled, and Peter followed the two of you with a hand at the small of your back. You jumped forward a little at his touch. That made him smile. "There you are." "Thank you." Peter said as you slid into the booth. He slid in the seat in front of you. When she had set the menus down, and had taken your drink orders, and left you two alone, Peter leaned over the table to give you a kiss. A hello kiss, a sweet kiss. A kiss that felt like bright yellow sunflowers were sprouting over your heart. When he pulled away your eyes stayed closed, your lips stayed puckered. "(Y/n)?" 

 "I'm just- enjoying my hello." You said softly before opening your eyes. He was smiling at you, blushing. You loved when he blushed and smiled. This meant you were in love, and whether you had really recognized it or not before this instant, you needed to tell him. 

 "I'm gonna head to the restroom, okay?" He asked as he started to scoot out of the booth. You nodded. "If she comes back could you order the tomato soup and grilled cheese for me?" 

 "That's what I was going to get!" You said cheerfully. He exhaled happily. "Sure thing, Pete."

 Peter slid out of the booth fully, grabbed his backpack and slung it over his arm, and then kissed the top of your head. This meant you would have to wait until he returned to tell him you loved him. The waitress returned and said that the two of you looked really cute together, and you told her about how you were going to tell him you loved him when he came back, and she said that she was so happy for you that she'd order a special cherry pie slice for the two of you to share.

 "So two tomato soups and grilled cheese's?" She asked tapping the pad with the point of her pen as if it were a nonverbal question mark. You smiled and nodded and right as you were handing her back the menus, the bell of the door rang and the entire diner fell silent. One man in a ski mask was pointing a pistol at the head of the waitress that was doing the seating at the moment. She whimpered out of fear, looked like she was ready to cry. 

 "Give me all of the money in the register." He said calmly, like he'd done it a million times, or at least practiced before. No one moved, tears rolled down the face of the waitress at the door. "NOW! And nobody move or I'll shoot!" 

 She nodded and cried out and turned on her heel to walk around the chrome counter to get to the register. You sat in your seat, nervous for Peter. What would happen if he just came strutting out of the bathroom? It was right next to the counter, what would happen to him? You pulled out your phone and sent him a text, but he didn't respond. He didn't even read it. 

 "Come on, Peter..." you said quietly to yourself.

 A split second later the door chimed again that a guest had arrived and with it a web slung onto the gun in the hand of the robber. Spider-Man pulled the gun into his hand and set it on the hostess table next to him. 

 "You sure are wasting your bad-guy time robbing a little place like this." Spider-Man said with charm and sarcasm etched into his voice. It curled around your ears and made your heart beat back in tune. How had you not realized sooner?

 "Well if it isn't Spider-Man!" The robber said in a faux cheerful tone. "I was hoping you'd swing by." 

 "That's clever, but I'll need you to stand down. These people are all just enjoying their pie. How about you have a slice?" Spider-Man took the opportunity to sling a web to a metal pie tin on the counter that separated the kitchen and the dining room, to slam it against the back of the robbers masked head. He faltered a little, stumbled forward toward Spider-Man, who then slung webs to wrap around the robbers arms. 

 "You're funny kid if you think a little sticky web is gonna hold me up..." the robber pulled out a pocket knife and sliced the web enough to free his hands. "And you're funny if you think that was my only gun..." 

 "Hey!" Spider-Man had just enough time to move his head a little to the right to avoid the bullet that pierced the glass door. It shattered the entire pane of glass, which made everyone scream and stand from their booths in a frenzy. "Everybody! Calm down!"

 The robber turned to the waitress and shoved the knife in her face while the gun was pointed at Spider-Man. You sat there silently, filled to the brim with stress. "No funny business."

 "No funny business?! I was on a date!" Spider-Man exclaimed before kicking the gun up from the hand of the robber, webbing it toward him, and setting it next to the other gun on the stand. 

 "What the!" The robber yelled at he turned and lunged toward Spider-Man. Spider-Man dodged his attack, disengaged the knife from the robbers hand, and webbed the man to the ground flat on his back. 

 "Maybe don't be a criminal next time, guy." Spider-Man said before the entire place erupted in applause. He said a quick and humble thank you before running out of the door. 

 You turned to the waitress still standing by your booth and told her to cancel everything. She nodded and walked away stiffly, swallowing the lump of fear she had had for her coworker. You then stood up from your booth, grabbed your coat, and walked across the diner to where the restrooms were. 

 "Peter?" You knocked on the door rapidly. "Peter come out of there!"

 It was a long moment before the lock clicked and Peter stood there. His clothed disheveled, his breath a pant. You wrapped your arms over his shoulders and pushed him back inside with a big kiss. You turned your head and moaned over his tongue. He kissed you back fervently; pulled you in by his arms wrapped around your lower back. Your fingers found his hair where you tangled and teased him gently. When you pulled away he was doubly panting, and you still wanted more. More of his lips, more of the truth. 

 "Lets go." You said firmly. He nodded and took your hand as you lead him outside, until he took the lead. It was quiet for a long moment until you took a breath as if to begin to speak. Peter spoke instead. 

 "I jumped out of the window in the suit. Jumped over the building and hurried inside. That's where I was, and I think you know it now. I couldn't leave you out there, I couldn't leave any of those people in danger. I don't know what I'd do if you were ever hurt." He kept walking, his hand warm around yours. Stars shined in your eyes while you looked at the side of his face. 

 "Peteriloveyou-" you said much too quickly into your scarf as he was pulling you along. He stopped dead in his tracks and turned to look at you. Peter had heard what you said, and he felt it too, he just wanted to hear it again from you.

 "What did you say?" He sounded like he was going to cry. You sighed and lifted your mouth over the scarf to speak properly. 

 "I said... Peter, I love you." You swirled romance over your tongue and poured it over the words. You served your heart to him like a fine meal, and he ate it up completely. 

 "You meant it?" He was genuinely asking, prying for the absolute truth.

 "Of course, Peter. Now that I know you, all of you, how could I not?" You nodded while you spoke. Your eyes shined up at his, his eyes shined down to yours. You loved him, truthfully and wholeheartedly. 

 "You're the first person who hasn't been mad or upset with me for not telling them. You're the first one." He took your other hand in his and pulled you closer to him. 

 "Why would I be upset? People need secret identities, people need normal lives... I can't be mad when you were probably just looking out for me and yourself." His smiled grew as you spoke. "I don't mind it overall, but isn't scary to be in danger like that? Even if you have powers I am still going to worry, but I would never be mad about you doing what you think is right." 

 Peter didn't speak for a while. He stood there with this strange smile over his face. You were about to ask what was going on, and that's when his perfect pink lips parted and gifted you the words you've wanted to hear since you were young.

 "I love you. I love you, too, (y/n). (Y/n), (y/n), (y/n)! I LOVE (Y/N)!!" He yelled to the street, to the people bustling around them. You pulled him toward you by his chin and told him to shush. "Why? I have to tell the world!" 

 "You can tell me." You cupped his face which in turn poured a honey glow all over his cheeks. "You can just tell me."

 "I'll tell you everything." He said softly, kissing the top of your nose. You smiled, giggled. 

 "Is that a promise, Parker?" You asked jokingly. He nodded slowly and then quickly. 

 "I promise."

[leonmckennedy]

My Kingdom for a Prince

A fill for [this prompt] on the kinkmeme:

Noct is captured by a person or people of your choosing and fed exclusively Really Nasty Things for the duration of the kidnapping. Could be foods he flat-out hates, or could be things that people generally don’t consider food. Preferably some combo of both! Like, every other day they switch off or something. (No bodily fluids, though, please!) Anyway, he eats what they give him, or he doesn’t get fed.

[AO3 Mirror here]

Canon Divergence: AU where there was no arranged wedding, so Noctis and the bros were present for Insomnia’s fall. And also Ardyn does some fuck shit. Really, fuck that guy

Warnings: Gross food (obvi), bugs, vomit, force-feeding?

it’s around 6k words… Sorry y’all… I went overboard. After a while the AU started fleshing itself out a bit @__@ 

When Noctis wakes up, his first thought is the passing “god my fucking head hurts. ” He doesn’t move for a good few moments, only groaning when he realizes the pounding against his skull probably won’t let up anytime soon. Eventually he blinks his eyes open, waits for his vision to settle, and attempts to sit up. But it’s impossible, because his hands are trapped behind his back and his legs feel like jelly, and after a few more moments of that specific brand of hell he has his second thought. “fuck .”

Next he takes stock of what he sees around him; he knows he’s lying on concrete, as it’s cold and smooth and nothing like his bed back at the citadel. He wiggles to turn on his side, to get a clearer view of the room around him. It’s small and dark. The walls are a dirty gray, barren, no windows. The light he’s seeing with is but a little sliver filtering in underneath the door on the opposite wall. There’s a small latched window on the door, closed. Underneath it is a wider but narrower slit, also closed.

In the corner there’s a small bed, with no blankets or pillows, essentially looking no more comfortable than the floor. In the opposite corner, a small bucket.

The purpose of this room becomes abundantly clear the more he stares at it, and he takes in a deep breath in an attempt to curb the panic beginning to settle in. It’s a cell. He’s locked in a cell. The prince of Lucis, a prisoner.

Noctis flexes his fingers, testing the strength of his binds. There’s barely any give. He’s not sure he’d be able to break through even if there was, however. Because just turning to his side and moving his hands feels absolutely draining, equally so with the pain throbbing in the back of his head. Frankly, he just feels plain bad.

He makes a few more attempts to sit up and manages eventually, groaning when a bout of vertigo hits him. With his stomach churning and the dark walls spinning before him he almost doesn’t hear the approaching footsteps outside.

Noctis does notice when the door’s window slides open and light begins to pour in.

“Well, hello there.”

The voice is smooth and vaguely accented and Noctis recognizes it almost immediately.

His memories come in bits and pieces.

Insomnia… fell. The signing ceremony went well until it didn’t. The imperials moved in and everything went to hell. Noctis fought as hard as he could but there was only so much he could do when they were so vastly outnumbered. The explosions, the fires, the mass panic as the citizens fled for their lives. And—

“You, ” Noct spits, and his voice is quieter than he wants, too torn and broken.

“Oh my.” The voice comes with a face. The man, red hair all sorts of askew and damning smile adorning his lips, peers through the tiny window. “You aren’t still mad at me, are you?”

“You bastard!” The words seem to burn Noctis’ throat, and he knows now why his voice sounds like that. He’d been screaming, before. “You scum— you bastards betrayed us, and you … when I get out of here you’re dead.”

The man chuckles then, sounding for the world like he’s in the middle of a friendly conversation. It boils the blood in Noctis’ veins— he’s not just mad, he’s seething. He’s shaking, down to his core, tastes metal where he’s biting the inside of his cheek to stop from snarling.

Murderer. This fucking murderer stands in front of him and has the gall to laugh? Oh, he’ll rip this guy’s throat out first chance he gets.

“I take it you’re still sad about daddy dearest? Come now, an entire day has passed by now. It’s not healthy to hold grudges, you know.”

Noctis does snarl, then. He doesn’t have energy for anything, and he knows now that his skull is pounding from the beating he took to the back of the head. Neither of these stop him from dragging himself to his feet and launching himself at the door. It succeeds in doing nothing but making the man laugh, the window being too small for Noct to do much of anything.

“By the gods, my dear boy, we need to teach you some better manners.” The man turns away now, addresses someone Noctis cannot see. “here, give our guest a nice little surprise.”

The man’s face leaves. Noctis is too focused on following him with his eyes to notice the other window sliding open, and by the time he looks down there’s a metal instrument poking his stomach and it’s too late.

The shock has him convulsing and it hurts, it hurts so much but he can’t breathe, let alone scream. It only lasts a few seconds before he simply drops, hitting the ground hard and gasping, finally, when his lungs start to work again. His body shakes, and he takes in breaths that don’t stick, gives heavy coughs.

The man’s laugh starts up again, sounding so far away, and Noct can’t respond. All he can do is roll over and try to breath, focus on the frantic pounding of his heart.

Fuck.

The first night, no one comes back. Noctis slips in and out of a fitful sleep. His dreams are just disconnected memories; the citadel becoming overrun with magitek infantry, the monster like machines dropping in from the skies. People screaming. His father’s face the moment he died, pierced through the back by a man, smiling with a mouth full of tar.

What happened to his friends, he wonders. His Crownsguard who fought so hard to help him escape the palace at his father’s last wish, who stood by his side even when surrounded. Did they go down too, like him? Are they captives too? Or are they like his father, rotting in the center of a burning city, a kingdom lost?

Noctis doesn’t cry that first night. He stares blankly at the barren walls of his cell and imagines death. He feels numb.

The second day, someone approaches his cell. Or some thing , he should say. When the door opens it is what seems like an entire squadron of MTs that swarm in, surrounding him.

It happens at an inopportune time. Noctis had been attempting to conquer the armiger, to pull out a sword or a dagger, something, anything. He’d been trying for hours, unsuccessfully. Noctis isn’t sure if he’s too weak or too inexperienced.

“What the hell do you want?” Noctis asks. He’s not sure how threatening he sounds, with the dry, worn throat, but he tries anyway.

He’s standing, having pulled himself to his feet in the hopes it’d help his efforts. It was an ordeal, as it became more and more apparent how injured he is. He definitely has a few broken ribs, sprained shoulder, still nursing the concussion he knows he got from his head injury. If his hands were free he’d have checked on the rest of his body, as he’s sure there are other bruises and cuts all around.

All in all, he eyes all the MTs warily. Because while he definitely won’t go down without a fight, he knows it would be a very one sided fight.

Two of the MTs grab his arms, holding him in place. Another one approaches him from behind and removes the binding from Noct’s hands. Immediately Noctis lunges for one of them, and receives a swift kick to the side for his efforts.

He falls over, hitting the ground, and watches shakily as the machines start to empty the room, red eyes watching him the entire time. One of them leaves something in front of the door before it closes behind them, throwing the room into darkness again.

Noctis takes a few moments to recuperate before crawling over to the door, eyeing the left object with a cautious eye.

It’s a tray of what Noctis assumes is supposed to be food. Assumes, because it smells absolutely disgusting.

“Ugh….” Noct covers his nose with one hand, trying not to gag. It looks like some kind of soup except it seems more gelatinous than it should be, and smells like rotten meat. He’s not touching that.

The second little window on the door, upon closer inspection, has an indentation meant to carry food trays. The MTs left it open, probably to collect the empty tray when he finished. Noctis holds his breath as he picks up the tray and deposits it in the  window, only exhaling after walking away.

Gods, he’s already a prisoner. Beaten and trapped and hopeless. Disgusting slop would be the cherry atop the sundae, wouldn’t it? hell if he would fall to that level.

All he has to do is bide his time. Recuperate his powers slowly, heal up a bit, then he can find an opportunity to break it. Noctis isn’t sure how long that’ll take, but he is going to do it, that much is certain.

The third day, they come and take away the tray of gross slop, and return with another. Noctis takes one look at it and feels his stomach drop.

It’s a vegetable puree, mostly carrots if the orange color is any indication. It’s not a perfect blend, either, as there are whole chunks floating in it; a few peas, lettuce, something red that might be beets. The dish also smells repugnant, admittedly because of the vegetables.

“Are you fucking serious?” Noct asks absolutely no one, because besides of that murderer from a few days ago no one with the capacity for conversation has come by. The MT who left the tray is probably already gone, not that he’s sure the thing would listen to his complaint.

At least, next to this dish is a glass of water and what looks like stale bread. He downs the water too quickly, the warm liquid sliding down his throat feeling like heaven. After that he tries the bread, but it’s so stale it barely tears apart, and is like a thick gum when he tries to chew it. He eats half of it before he can’t anymore, which is a shame because he’s really hungry.

Noctis eyes the soup, dares to pick up the spoon even. I’m desperate, he tells himself. It looks better than the brown slop they tried giving him yesterday, and he needs to keep his strength up if he wants to stand a chance at escaping. So he scoops the orange goop into his mouth and promptly spits it back out, gagging and turns away.

It didn’t smell too bad but it tasted very not like carrots. It’s all sour and musty tasting. It sticks to his tongue even after spitting it out, and Noctis regrets downing his water too fast because he desperately wants the aftertaste out of his mouth.

Well, that’s all. He places the tray into the window and walks back to the bed, sitting down gingerly.

He’s checked himself over for injuries after being freed, and is fine outside of the numerous bruises he has. There’s an exhaustion that sticks to his bones now that he isn’t in an adrenaline pumping, battle situation. His head hurts constantly. He doesn’t know when he lays down and falls asleep, but he is glad for it.

He sees Ignis in his sleep, first. The man looks worried in his dreams just as he does in real life, giving Noct an exasperated yet caring look. The dream seems to cycle through different memories; stargazing as children, music lessons that Noctis could never get to stick, a time when Ignis had been sick and Noctis insisted on visiting him to make sure he was already. It wasn’t a thing for royalty to do, he was told, to check on a retainer. He had attendants to do things like that. But ignis was too important. He’d go over the young man’s place and made lukewarm soup from a can and wiped his face with a towel to cool him down.

When his first fit wakes up him, Noctis is trembling. He wants to see Ignis so badly. Wants to go to him like he did when they were still so young, to hear sweet assurances in his voice.

His empty stomach cramps and Noctis curls up into a fetal position, trying to listen to his own heartbeat to lull himself to sleep. It doesn’t work.

The fourth day is about the same. They come silently, besides of the vague whirring sounds that seem to follow MTs around, and leave a new tray of food. Just like the previous days, it’s something straight revolting.

Noctis isn’t sure where to start with this dish. It’s green and brown and those are colors that don’t agree with him when they’re on his plate. The brown seems to be chunks of meat, most of which are so overcooked that they’re actually charred black. Beside it is a green goop, of which the sight of makes Noctis groan. What was with these fucks and vegetable puree?

Nevertheless, Noctis ignores it. He downs the new glass of water, sipping it slowly this time, and then places the tray back in the window. He paces back to the bed and sits down. There he begins to stretch his shoulder. There’s not much he can do about most of his injuries, because without access to his armiger he had no potions. And no potions meant dealing with the pain.

He’s also dizzy; the water has been a life-send, but it only does so much for his empty stomach. The hunger makes him feel so weak, yet looking at those dishes makes nothing but bile rise to his throat.

Just a little longer, he thinks. He hasn’t had luck with the armiger, but he’s bound to get it eventually, right? He could escape. He could.

He relives a precious memory of his; Prompto staying over his place for the weekend, an increasingly frequent occurrence. They lay on Noctis’ bed, side by side, playing king’s knight until they’re too tired to stare at their phones so they talk instead.

It’s around the time Prompto began to join the Crownsguard, at Noct’s suggestion. He’s nervous about the training, he lets slip. He’s not sure if he’s ready. Because Noctis is too cool and stronger than he is already, and Noctis trips over his own tongue trying to deny those words.

Of all of them, prompto deserved it the least. Being attacked, having their nice life stripped away under their feet; it wasn’t good for any of them but Prompto is normal. A civilian. He didn’t deserve it.

There’s what feels to be a pit in the bottom of Noctis’ stomach, untouched by the gnawing hunger. It grows from his stomach to his chest and it becomes harder to breath for a few minutes before it evens out. Noctis gasps.

He hates this cell.

“A little birdy told me you haven’t been eating.”

On the fifth day, the man comes back.

“What does it matter to you?” Noctis doesn’t move from his perch on the bed. His stomach doesn’t hurt as much as it did before, but in place of the pain is an all encompassing exhaustion. just keeping his upright position feels draining. Speaking even more so.

“It matters a lot to me, my dear Noctis. I didn’t bring you all the way here just for you to perish.” at that the man backs away from the window and pulls it closed. Seconds later Noctis hears the click of the door being unlocked. “Here, I brought you something—prepared special for our lovely little prince. Made with love.”

When the door opens the man is standing there, look absolutely insufferable with his lips curled up into a satisfied smirk. Everything about him looked terrible, from the scruffy quality of his facial hair to his outfit, layers upon layers with colors that had no business being together.

The man doesn’t come into the room, however. Instead a small crowd of MTs begin to filter in on either side of him, marching right up to Noctis’ bed. One in particular approaches Noctis head on, carrying a tray in its hands.

The last few meals had been absolutely awful but this one is in a league all on its own. There’s a big bowl, filled to the brim with what looked like tar. Inside of the soup are floating chunks of what could possibly be meat or vegetables but are essentially indistinguishable. And then the smell is an entirely different story; it smells rotten all around. like rotting meat or dairy that had been left out in the sun. The scent makes Noctis’ stomach roll and he starts to pull away and finds that he can’t.

The MTs grab his arms, holding him in place.

“Now, now, Noctis,” he says, and Noctis throws his head up in time to catch another one of his god awful smiles. “Be a good boy and finish your food.”

A metal hand grips him by the hair, pulling his head back, and Noctis begins to thrash, the disgust rolling around his stomach turning to dread. gods, no, no. A s much as he fights it he doesn’t have the energy to push the machines off of him. He watches, shaking desperately, as the MT in front of him fills a spoon with that revolting slop and leans in closer.

Noctis tries locking his jaw, but another MT grabs his face and pulls it open. It hurts. It hurts and he can’t stop the fucker from pushing that spoon into his mouth.

It tastes like it looks. like spoiled milk, thick and sour and invasive. He wants to spit it out but they cover his mouth and he’s stuck tasting it, the gross consistency rolling around his tongue and sticking to the sides of his mouth. Noctis shakes his head, a last ditch effort to try to get free, anything, anything other than what’s happening. After a few seconds another hand covers his nose and Noctis nearly starts choking right there.

He’s going to die. He’s going to suffocate if he doesn’t swallow this mess and the taste is starting to burn and he feels the tears pricking at his eyes.

“My, aren’t you a fighter? Sure this is what you want?”

Noctis starts to chew. He bites into a chunk of rancid meat, the juices exploding over his tongue and starts gagging and the tears are flowing freely now. He keeps chewing and then swallows, shivering at the feel of the thick liquid crawling down his throat. He swallows it all down and the MTs, apparently pleased, remove the hands from his face and air graciously floods in.

He gags immediately. The tears are still running down his cheeks and he takes in a gasping breath and he feels his stomach lurch forward. It’s disgusting. It hurts. He wants to go home.

“Good boy.” the man sounds more smug than he should have the right to. Smug and victorious. And maybe it’s true. Noctis takes in heaving breaths and he shudders and it does, truly, feel like he lost. “I have some important business to attend to, but I’m sure you’ll finish your dinner while I’m gone, yes?”

The monster in front of him fills the spoon up again and Noctis shakes his head, a sob breaking out of his throat. “No. No, no, no, no—”

“Ta-ta, my dear.”

Noctis sees the man leave from the corner of his eye before the MTs move in closer, the hands returning to restrict his face again. Another disgusting spoonful is deposited onto his tongue and Noctis flails, trying and failing to spit it out before his mouth is covered again.

Each spoonful feels worse than the last. He hoped that he’d get used to the flavor after a while, but he doesn’t. The taste is revolting every single time, and he’s not free after swallowing because the aftertaste sticks to his tongue and the roof of his mouth. The soup started out warm but by the time he finishes the bowl it’s cold, and he’s not sure if that made it easier or harder to take.

Eventually they leave him. They take the remnants of their awful meal and leave Noctis to sprawl across the ground, spitting and heaving. The MTs close the heavy door, and the room is dark once again.

There always seemed to be this duality to Gladio. He could be harsh, yes, but strangely kind. later, when all the strength Noctis tried to keep fails him and he voids the contents of his stomach into the corner bucket, he thinks Gladio wouldn’t call him weak for it.

Gladio was strict. He would get angry at Noctis constantly back home, for skipping out on sparring lessons or for refusing to get back up after being knocked down. “My arm hurts,” young Noctis had said once, and Gladio had sneered at him.

“It doesn’t stop working just because it hurts,” had been the answer, but Gladio still sat down next to him, sighing heavily and announcing that they might as well take a break.

What he wouldn’t give to have those days back, to be the whiny brat complaining about his lessons. When he finishes puking he lies against the wall, stares up at the ceiling. There are small cracks in the concrete, and he busies himself with counting them until his eyelids are heavy and he falls into a restless sleep.

He also wishes he could go home, but in a desperate fit he remembers there is no home for him to return to.

A prince without a kingdom.

On the sixth day, Noctis regards the door with dread. Strangely enough, though Noctis has no sense of time in this cell he feels as though the troopers arrive earlier than usual. And like the previous day they march inside, surrounding him.

Noctis flinches when they come near, their metal hands landing on his shoulders and holding him in place. He’s seen more of these machines now than he has in his entire life, and it is no less unsettling to see them now than the first time he’d ever laid eyes on them. He wishes he’d been dealing with humans. At least they would talk to him, taunt him, yell at him, anything. Without that Niff man from before to laugh at him, it was just the MTs, and the most they could do is glare with their shining red eyes.

They move so oddly, like puppets being yanked by their strings, and they’re built much larger than he is. Noctis doesn’t like it.

“What,” Noctis starts, and his voice sounds much worse than he was expecting. He hasn’t spoken since yesterday, after all. He’s extremely parched and it hurts, just pushing out any words. “W… what you got for me now?”

Sure enough, one of the troopers brings him a tray.

Only the food on the plate is moving .

“No,” Noctis shakes his head, sucking in a shaky breath when a large hand holds it still. “No, not that. Oh gods…”

Noctis is pretty sure they just reached into the dirt outside and threw it onto a plate. It’s the only way to explain why there are fat, pink worms wiggling before his eyes, directly contrasting what looks like actual mud on the bottom of the plate.

His “meal” is glistening in the dim light. It’s slime, actual honest to god slime mixed in with his dirt and worms.

“I can’t— I can’t do this. Please, please.”

But there are no response from an MT. The one holding the tray lifts up an empty fork and holds it out in front of him.

He has to pick it up. They want him to pick it up and eat it himself. He’d be shaking his head if he could. The hands holding his shoulders down push harder, and Noctis just barely holds back a whimper. He takes in a shuddering breath and just. Thinks.

If he doesn’t do this, it’ll be a repeat of the previous day. They’ll hold him down and spoon feed him and he won’t be able to breath and he’ll choke and—

Noctis takes the fork. The MT holds the tray within arms reach, and Noctis cautiously pokes around the plate. He has a vague hope that maybe if he pushes it around he’ll find something actually edible. Instead, under a clump of dirt and an especially big worm he finds that… it’s not a worm at all. It’s red and big and has little bulbs sticking out of its head and is definitely a real fucking slug.

That explains the slime at least.

“C-can I get a raincheck on this, guys?” right about now he wishes he’d have that gross, vegetable puree from days ago. Even that seems more appealing.

The machines seem to hover in closer, and Noctis knows he’s pushing a limit now. He’s gotta get it over with, he’s just got to do it. With the fork he spears a small piece of dirt, gags when it crunches and he realizes it’s not simply dirt. But he’s done it now, so he lifts it to his lips and pushes it in his mouth.

He takes a bite and it’s disgusting. Whatever the crunchy thing was he knows it doesn’t taste good. It’s a bug, probably. He has to try really, really hard not to just spit it back onto the plate, because he doesn’t know how the MTs will react to that. Eventually he chews it enough to swallow.

Okay, not that bad. If the rest of it goes like that, then he can get through this. He can get through. He takes a chance, spears one of the smaller worms and brings it to his face. Eating it is nothing like a gummy worm at all, but at the very least, thankfully tastes like slimy dirt. Makes him gag, yes, but not the worse he’s ever had.

Noctis is strangely proud of himself for doing it. The troopers around him stare, but they aren’t holding his nose closed so he considers it a good thing. Only… the slug, sitting now in the middle of the plate and thankfully unmoving, bless the gods, is haunting him.

He’s not eating that.

“Alright, I think I’m full.”

No response.

“I’m done. Thanks guys but—”

The MTs on either side of him clamp down suddenly and Noctis feels the panic bubbling inside of him.

“No! no, I ate a lot of it already, aren’t we good yet?”

A hand on his head yanks at his hair, pulling his head back and making him yell out. Another grips his jaw, holding his mouth open and in one smooth movement that slippery monster is on his tongue and he’s thrashing, cries muffled by a metal hand.

The slug nearly hits the back of his throat. The taste is disgustingly bitter, so much so that it has him shaking with his desire to spit it out. He takes in a thick, panicked breath, the last he gets before fingers close his nostrils and he’s left to suffer with the taste.

He starts to chew. It’s possibly the worse sensation; it’s so slippery that it feels like he’s chasing it around his mouth while trying to chew. The consistency reminds him of a gelatin dessert, if gelatin was chewy like an overcooked piece of meat, or leaked copper-like blood.

He can’t stand chewing it, it’s that bad. Instead he pushes with his tongue and just swallows. It goes down so slowly that he starts to choke—but with the hand over his mouth he can’t spit it out, so he forces it down some more.

Once it’s down, and the MTs are satisfied with that they let him go. Not just his mouth or his head but fully, and Noctis stumbles from his seat to his knees, coughing. Two coughs in and the bile pushes up from his stomach and he’s voiding everything. The slug, the dirt, everything. His mouth, his nose, it all burns. He takes heaving breaths. It hurts so much.

The MTs leave then, going as abruptly as they arrived. Noctis watches the marching of their feet from the floor, sees their mismatched gait out the door and into the thing light coming from the wall beyond. Once the last one leaves, however, there’s another pair of feet standing in the doorway.

“My, my, what a right mess you’ve made there. Meal wasn’t to your liking, I presume?”

Noctis looks up, slowly, reluctantly, right into the face of his captor. And he’s never felt such unbridled hatred in his life.

“I’ll let it slide just this once but… and don’t get mad about this, dear Noctis…. you’ll have to start pulling your weight around here eventually. Cleaning up your own messes at the very least. And, here’s a little secret,” The man walks up to Noctis, bends down to level with him and whispers, “By cleaning, I mean… constructing your next meal, if you will. Just because you couldn’t stomach it the first time doesn’t mean you should let it waste.”

Noctis heaves again at the thought.

“Goodbye and good night, my boy. Sweet dreams.”

Noctis sleeps on the ground again that night. He’d only managed to crawl away from the site of his mess , not having the energy or motivation to pull himself to the bed.

He lies at such an angle that his vision aligns perfectly with the corner, so he stares at the junction between the wall and the floor. The more the darkness lingers, the more he stares, blinking into the nothingness ahead, the stronger the feeling in his chest becomes. Like a rubber band wrapped around his upper body, he feels constricted. A few more moments and he takes in a long, shuddering breath, blinking rapidly.

And then the calm breaks.

And then he breaks.

“F….father…” Noctis pulls himself into a tight ball, arms tight around his torso. His next breath leaves as a sob, and he can’t stop it.

His father was a busy man. He had to rule over an entire kingdom, and for all of Noctis’ complaining, he knew as well as anyone how much of a burden that was. Years, of seeing his father attend meetings for hours, being pulled away from family time to take care of urgent business. Years, even, of watching his father gray at the hairline, watching his gait get just that much slower, his body moving just that more heavier.

Regis Lucis Caelum may not have been the best father, by any stretch, but he was Noct’s father, and he misses him so, so much. Right now he feels the smallest he’s ever been in years, like he’s eight again and all I wants is to be in his father’s arms, where he could be safe. Where he could take away the pain.

But he can’t. Not because he’s locked up in a dark cell in some hellhole, but because he’s dead. His father is a corpse rotting on the floor in the place they’d called home, and Noctis screams because he’s dead and he’s never coming back.

The worse thing is that he’ll never forget that moment for as long as he lives; his father, ushering him away from the citadel with his Crownsguard, calling on his magic to shield Noctis in his final moments. The view he had, then, of a red-haired man, who he thought was just another stuffy imperial politician, breaking through Regis’ defenses —and what kind of man is he, to break a Caelum’s magic, to overpower his father’s will— and stabbing him.

And laughing about it, too. laughing that same insufferable laugh he’s given Noctis all week, and that smile that sends prickles of rage down Noctis’ spine.

Noctis screams out his grief until his already parched throat is sore, until there’s nothing but weak sobs crushing his chest. He doesn’t know how long he cries. Until his tears dry up, maybe.

When sleep finds him he dreams about his father’s smile.

On the seventh day, the man doesn’t come. None of the magitek troopers come either. Time passes and Noctis stares up at the ceiling, having dragged himself to a sitting position at some point. He waits. He flexes his fingers, vaguely searching for his armiger even knowing it probably won’t work, as it hasn’t the entire time he’s been trapped in this god awful place. He’s partially convinced he’ll never be able to conjure it again.

So he waits, and waits, and waits.

Eventually he starts to wonder what’s happening. The dim light that comes through the crack under the door shifts, as if people are walking by. Or running, even. Noctis hears the telltale signs of MTs, the rattling of their armor as they run, but none of the shadows under the door stop there.

Curious, Noctis gets to his feet and walks over to the door, putting his face against the cold metal and trying his best to make out the commotion outside.

Minutes pass and it gets louder out there; more moments and it sounds awfully like there’s a battle commencing just outside his cell, the precise clanging of metal that could only belong to the clash of a weapons ringing loudly in the air, along with the subtle explosions MTs are known for when they’re destroyed.

All at once, hope begins to bubble in Noctis’ chest. It’s probably foolish to think someone is coming to his rescue, that anyone even knows he’s here, but he figures whoever’s out there fighting off the imperials have to be an ally. They could help him.

“Hey—” Noctis starts, clears his throat because he’s not loud enough. “hey! hello!” he starts to bang on the little window, wishing they’d left it open so he could see what’s happening. “Anyone! hello!”

There’s some more explosions, more clashing. Then suddenly he can feel the presence of another outside of the door. He worries for a moment when they don’t immediately speak, but his fears are calmed when a voice, another human that isn’t that goddamn murderer speaks to him.

“…highness?”

Oh gods. They knew him. They knew him.

“Yeah— yeah, it’s me. Oh gods,” Noctis leans heavily against the door, lets out a laugh that’s a borderline sob. “Please, help me. Please, please .”

The door unlocks. It creaks when it opens, and Noctis barely has enough time to register what just happened before he’s grabbed, pulled into arms that aren’t familiar but are warm and human .

It’s less a hug and more that the man is checking Noctis for injuries. Noctis knows he must look awful— beaten, bruised, smelling like an actual dumpster. But he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed about it.

The man— who’s wearing a Kingsglaive uniform, Noct notices belatedly— pulls back, hands firmly on his shoulders, and looks him in the eyes. “Can you walk?”

Noctis nods.

“Good. Okay.” The man reaches a hand to touch the communicator in his ear. “Guys—I found him. He’s safe.”

I’m safe.

“We gotta move. Stick close to me, okay?” The man faces the door, pulling a dagger from its sheath on his side. “Can’t have you dying after we just found you.”

The man leads him out of his cell and through an MT infested corridor, fighting them off left and right. His heart is pounding in his chest the entire time, but it’s excitement rather than panic, and Noctis can’t complain about that.

He’s free.

Insomnia was destroyed. This isn’t something that has to be explained to Noctis, because he’d seen it first hand. The riots in the streets, the magitek weaponry firing from the skies, the troopers cutting down civilian after innocent civilian.

He doesn’t have to be told it’s destroyed, but just existing outside of it’s walls knowing that its no longer there… it’s a lot to take in.

Turns out he’d only been taken to an imperial base stationed in Lucis. He’s not sure why, when Niff technology allows them to travel far and they could have certainly taken him back to Niflheim, but he is still incredibly thankful he wasn’t that far from his homeland. and also thankful he isn’t dead. He’s battered and broken but alive and he can allow himself to be the least bit happy about that.

Right now he’s sitting in the backseat of a truck, speeding towards a safe-house, and he can definitely allow himself to be happy about that.

“We’ll be there in less than half an hour, highness.”

Noctis had been more than relieved to have a more familiar voice with him. He never interacted much with members of the Kingsglaive, as many of them still lived outside of the wall. So as gracious as he feels for the man who saved him– Nyx, as he’d introduced himself later – he didn’t know him personally.

But driving the car now, the man they’d met up with escaping the base is an influential member of the Crownsguard. It’s Cor the immortal, in the flesh, and just hearing his voice is enough to make Noctis relax a little.

In response to the man’s statement, he nods, head barely moving from where it lies against the back of the seat. Cor doesn’t say anything else, so Noctis assumes he saw that.

“They were worried sick about you, y'know.” Nyx speaks now, turning around in his seat to face him. “We were all looking for you, trashing niff bases left and right. I can just imagine the look on their faces.”

Noctis feels himself chuckle. It’s a little low in his throat and sleepy because gods he’s exhausted, but it’s genuine.

Yeah, he can imagine.

[undead-detective-blog]

Blood and Ivory

Fog had rolled in off the sea early that evening, draping the city of Boston in a near-impervious cloud. The street-lights flickered and tried in vain to cut through the fog that was as thick as pea-soup. Vincent stood beneath a particular light, his left hand cupped around the cigarette he held between his lips while the other held a lighter. Before too long he was sucking the smoke into his near-defunct lungs. Red eyes glowed beneath the brim of his fedora and, in spite of their looks, did a lousy job of making it better to see. 

He recalled the small, anxious man that had come into his basement office earlier that day. The little man was blond with grey hair upon his temples. The spectacles he wore were so large on his gaunt face they looked almost comical but what came out of his mouth nearly had Vincent choking on his whiskey.

“I’ll offer you twenty thousand dollars if you get my ivory brooch back,” he had said. Gerald Sinclair was the little man’s name and he’d laid all his money on the table. Figuratively, that was but it was enough to where it had made Vincent’s secretary stop her typing and peer boggle-eyed at the client before she started up again, albeit much more quietly so she could eavesdrop on the conversation. The brooch, Vincent had come to learn, had been in the man’s family for centuries. It had been passed down from mother to daughter for generations until him being the only son with no female siblings had inherited it. The man had been careless with the brooch and, somehow, it had gotten taken from him. The more Vincent tried to weasel that out of the man, the more he’d clam up. The only thing he offered the detective was an address to a nightclub. One that Vincent couldn’t afford even if he saved for years to enter. 

And now there he was, standing outside it as he watched the elite of the New England elite filter in and out. He blew more smoke out into the foggy night and looked at his watch. It was about fifteen minutes before eleven and he needed to charm his way in. Vince considered himself charismatic enough but this was the joint where money talked and that was a foreign language to the private eye. As for now he waited and watched as a shadow made it way through the fog. 

@blackwiidowsniper