#whatever he is he would rather stare into an eclipse than look in the mirror

[trelkez]

Eddie really said "I guess the dead wife I never really connected with while she was alive was the love of my life and I never realized it. I guess I'll just never move on from my dead wife. Never gonna dance again the way I did with my dead wife, who I never danced with in the first place." That man's closet is constructed from 100% grade A dead wife. Is there a rainbow flag inside that closet? An aro flag? I don't know, and neither does Eddie

[trashyswitch]

Day 17: Interrogation

Drew loves wearing his boyfriend's sweater. But when Vel comes home, Drew refuses to let him have his favorite sweater back. So...Vel bribes his boyfriend with the tickle fight Drew had been waiting all day for.

I wrote this fanfic for my special boys! @foxboidrew and Vel! <333 I hope you enjoy!

Drew was giggling as he walked around, wearing his boyfriend’s Ice Nine Kills sweater. It was a comfy black and red sweater that was several sizes bigger than him. But…Drew didn’t care. He rather enjoyed the feeling of large sweaters. He loved the feeling of drowning in sweaters. And he loved the feeling of being engulfed by something that solely smelled like his boyfriend. And comfy…so comfy and soft. 

He walked around the house in the zip-up sweater with a bright smile on his face and a hop in his step. He fixed up his short green hair, and blepped at himself in the mirror before walking off. Then, Drew brought out his tablet and digital pen, and began to draw some Sun & Moon Show fanart for a while. 

He had just finished outlining his drawing of Solar from The Sun & Moon Show, when he heard the front door open and close. He gasped and widened his eyes, knowing exactly who it was. It was Vel…His boyfriend. He was back from work, and was likely exhausted. But Drew had a sense that Vel would want to wear the sweater Drew had stolen from him. And Drew…he did not want to give it up just yet. He refused to let him have it. It was HIS sweater. His to steal and nom on for all eternity. 

To further ensure the sweater isn’t stolen back, Drew took it off and put it on top of his bed, before putting the covers over it. With that out of the way, Drew ran out of the room to greet him. “Hellooo!” Drew said, hugging him tightly. 

“Hi Drew.” Vel replied, hugging him back. “How was your day?” He asked. 

“It was good. I played a bit of Rainbow Billy, and I’m almost done drawing Solar!” Drew told him. 

“Cool!” He replied. 

Vel walked to his room, disappearing around the corner. While Vel was doing whatever the heck he was doing, Drew sat himself down and continued to draw Solar. He finished outlining the chest and shoulders, before moving onto the robotic arms and hands. 

Soon, Drew felt someone sit on the couch beside him. “How’s it coming along?” Vel asked. 

Drew zoomed out his tablet and showed him the half-outlined drawing of Solar. “It’s good Eclipse.” Drew explained. 

“I see...” He replied. “Hey Drew, have you seen my sweater?” Vel asked. 

Drew blinked, acting like he had no idea what he was talking about. “Which sweater?” Drew asked him innocently. 

“The…” Vel sighed. “The Ice Nine Kills sweater.” He told him. 

Drew tried to think of a good response to this that didn’t sound suspicious whatsoever. “Uuuuhhhhhhh-no.” Drew replied. 

Vel narrowed his eyes and slowly looked over at Drew. “...Are you sure?” He asked. 

Drew veeeeery slowly looked towards Vel, and grew a wide, ‘innocent’ smile. “.........Yeeaaah?” Drew admitted. 

Vel stared at Drew for a good 10 seconds…while placing his controller down very gently onto the table. He was still keeping eye contact with Drew as he brought his hands back. “You have one last chance to tell me the truth.” He warned him. “Do you know where my favorite sweater is?” Vel asked. 

Drew stared at him, with growing mischief on his face. His smile slightly widened in response. “...Nooooooo?” Drew replied. 

And in a matter of seconds, Vel had tackled Drew onto the couch. He grabbed Drew’s wrists and held them above his head. “Awwww, is the poor baby scared?” He asked, wiggling his fingers. 

Drew squeaked as the tickly evil hand touched down on his stomach. “EEEK! HEEHEEheeheeheee! EEHEEK! HEHEEHEE! HEHEEK!” He laughed, fighting his tickles a little bit. Vel stopped his tickle attack and looked at Drew with a happy smile. “How are you doing?” He asked. “How are you doing, huh? You doing good?” He asked playfully. 

Even though the tickles had stopped, Drew was still a giggling, blushing mess. 

“Scared?” He asked with a laugh. Drew giggled and nodded his head. Vel smiled and dug into his hips next. “Hehehe~ Good.” He said. 

Drew’s cute little girly giggles filled the living room for a few minutes. Vel had this method of tickling Drew, then stopping. Tickling Drew, then stopping. Tickling Drew, then stopping. This made fits of giggles and squeaks burst out of Drew every single time. It was an adorable fact about Drew that Vel rather enjoyed, and took advantage of constantly. 

After a few minutes in the hips, Vel moved onto his neck. “Awwww, so shy…” He teased, poking the left side of his belly. 

“Heeeheehehee- EEEK!” Drew squeaked, arching his back as he laid helplessly on the couch. 

“So giggly like a baby…so squeaky like a mouse.” He teased. “Tell me, why the laughter? What’s so funny?” He asked. 

“HEEHEeheeheehee! Yahoo know whyyyyEEEE!” Drew yelled, before throwing his head back with more giggly laughter. 

“No, I’m afraid I don’t. Why do you commit the laughy laugh?” Vel asked. 

“Yohou’re meeeehehehehean!” Drew complained. 

“Mean?!” Vel yelled, offended. 

“Yeheheheah! Meeeeheheanie mean!” Drew kept saying. 

“Say it one more time…” He brought his fingers closer and closer to one of Drew’s worst spots. “I dare you.” He warned. 

Drew smirked and blepped at him. “Meanie bitch.” He declared. 

Vel slowly took in a big, dramatic gasp. “You…Little…” He immediately started squeezing his boyfriend’s inner thighs. “You have taken it too far. ACCEPT YOUR DOOM.” Vel declared playfully. 

Drew threw his head back and bursted out laughing and squeaking. As if it wasn’t obvious enough already, Drew absolutely loved being Vel’s little lee. He loves teasing the hell out of his boyfriend, and loves getting destroyed with tickles as a result. And since they knew each other for years, Vel knew exactly which teases Drew loved the most. 

“So, baby…” Vel stopped his fingers and let go of Drew’s hands. “You ready to tell me where my sweater is?” Vel asked. 

Drew’s breathless giggles filled the room for a few moments while he recovered. “Ihihi…” Drew looked up at Vel, unsure whether he should tell him the truth, or lie to him again. As much as he loved the idea of telling the truth to Vel and seeing Vel wear it…lying would earn him more tickles. And Drew may or may not be craving a few more minutes of tickles. 

“.......No.” Drew replied. 

“Determined to keep your precious little secrets?” He asked in a sly, deep voice. 

Drew widened his eyes and squeaked. “N-No!” He reacted helplessly. 

Vel used both his hands to tickle either side of his ribs. “Ooooh, such a giggly little baby.” He teased. 

“Heheehee-EEK! HEEHEE! EEHEEK! HAhahaha! EheheheeeeEEEK!” Drew laughed. 

“Stuck in place with nowhere to go…” He said with a smirk. “I’m afraid you are forever stuck…being tickle-tickle-tickled.” He kept going in his sly voice. 

“EEhEEHEEK! HAHAHA! HAHeheheehee! NAHAAHAA! AAHAHAhee!” Drew teased. 

“I’m barely even touching you…” He smirked. “And yet, every little poke and flutter seems to make my baby jump.” Vel explained. “Are you really…that ticklish~?” Vel asked in his sly voice. 

“NAhaAHAHA! EEEHEHEhehee! Heheheeha-HAHA!” Drew cackled, his laughter jumping up and down in volume. 

Vel started kissing him all over his neck, earning him more high-pitched cackles and giggles. “Such a sweet little ticklish neck…” He teased, fluttering a single finger up and down his neck. “I could kiss this face for hours~” Vel teased. 

“HEEHEHEE! HAHAhahaha! EEEK! NUHUHUUU!” Drew laughed. By this point, Drew was wiggling around and kicking his feet so much, his shirt had begun to ride up his middle, exposing his belly. 

“Oooh? What’s this?” Vel asked, looking at Drew’s belly. “Has Drew…offered me his belly?” He asked, poking it. 

Drew squeaked and attempted to cover his belly. “EEK! NAHAHA-!” Drew laughed. 

But Vel grabbed his wrists and held them up, before taking advantage of this wonderful little ticklish spot. “Pinch!” He teased, gently pinching his belly. “Pinch, pinch, pinch-pinch! Pinch-pinch, pinch, pinch, pinch-pinch, pinch-pinch, pinch-pinch, pinch!” Vel kept teasing, pinching his belly. 

“AHaha! AHAha! HAHAha! EheHEE! HEHEEEK! Heheha! HAHaha!” Drew kept giggling in spurts. 

“Pinch-pinch-pinch-pinch! Pinch-pinch-pinch-pinch! A pinch-pinch-pinch-pinch!” Vel kept teasing, continuing his gentle little pinches on his belly. 

“aAAHAHA! HAhA! HAhah! HEHEHa!” Drew kept going, shaking his head and failing to cover up his face. 

Vel finally stopped his little attack, and put his hands down again. “Alright…” He mumbled. “So…” 

Drew held onto his belly, still giggling up a storm on the couch. His giggles eventually turned breathless as he attempted to recuperate his lungs. It was tiring being interrogated like that…but does it really count as an interrogation if the interogee is enjoying the punishment? 

“Where’s my sweater?” Vel asked. 

“Ihihi…Ihin my room…under thehe cohovers.” Drew replied. 

Vel ran to Drew’s room, and came walking out with the black and red sweater. “Thank you!” Vel replied, playing with the drawstrings. 

When Vel sat down beside Drew on the couch again, Drew rested himself against Vel and his special sweater, and cuddled with him for the evening. He loved his boyfriend so much…and looked forward to every future night they would spend time together. 

[captainthomasrobbie]

Frozen with fear, burning with hatred

Charlie Lonnit-centric fanfiction

Sometimes, even when you try really hard, and give all you have, it's still not enough.

After all, we all can, and will, be erased.

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

What was your home? Paper not stone, A lean-to at most.

The ceiling, grey, as if mirroring the emotional state the person staring at it was feeling. Charlie was stuck, frozen in fear, and losing himself to his thoughts, he was fighting himself to not close his eyes. To keep moving. He was the one who got them all on this Isle, he should be the one who would get them out, right?

And when you pulled your half away; Gravity won. Like it always does. Did I weigh a ton?

If only it would be possible... Jamie is well, dead, well dead. Mark can't walk properly and his own hand was severely burned. Kate and Erin were fine, for now, if a bit traumatized. They were unharmed. Charlie was glad, he was guilty for he was the one who brought them here. He already hurt them some much, least he could do is help them get away. Whatever it takes.

He was surprised when Erin accused him of being Du'Met's complicit, did they really think he would kill his Crew like this? Did they think him a monster same as the one they were trapped here with? Was he?

Would it be easier.... To just delete? Our pages and the plans we made?

Mark believed him, but Charlie saw the look in his eyes, it wasn't a light decision. He knew, he could not trust any of them. They didn't trust him, why should he? Should he even trust himself? He followed them into the lighthouse, looking over his shoulder and saw a silhouette in the back. Shiver went through his whole body and as he looked back at his crew, he wondered, if it wouldn't be better to just go straight to deaths arms.

Erase me! So you don't have to face me. Put me in the ground and mow the daisies. Ah, the memories, see how it goes. When you.... Erase me. Erase me.

Kate joined them, Charlie was- oh so very happy- to see her, she was alright. And he wanted to help her, she looked at him sternly, did she not believe him? He knew their bickering was nearly nonstop but he thought that when the push comes to shove she would be at his side. Now tho, she pushed him aside- no, shoved him. She said she would rather do this alone... She would rather be alone than be helped by him, even with a dangerous murder behind their backs. And Charlie? He honestly didn't know what to do about that information.

So what will you do? With no me for you? I know what we said, but if I left a thing or two, we know that you don't seem to think about what you need 'til you reach to find that you've-

He was terrified as he watched the policeman fall down dead. None of them hesitated to climb on the boat, but whatever they done, it wasn't starting. Du'Met was close behind them and Mark took a sharp harpin he found on the floor, ready to protect them. Walking over, ever so slowly, Du'Met cracked his knuckles, his eyes burning with hatred, his face blank as a sun in eclipse. Charlie suppressed a shiver. Kate was trying to start a boat and when Du'Met thrown Marks only weapon away- Erin took Charlie on his elbow and with as much strength she could foster threw him at their attacker, sending both Charlie and Du'Met out of the boat to the wooden planks.

- Erased me! What the fuck is this? You're crazy! Turned around in two weeks time replaced me.

The boat finally started and they put some distance between themselves and the isle, there was a mistake tho, Charlie was missing. He looked at the boat in hurt and surprise. They left him here. After all he'd done. But maybe- he truly deserved this?

Ah, the memory, everybody knows how it goes; you just? Erase me!

Du'Met took him back to the castle, not killing him yet, he showed him the proofs of how his 'friends' were doing... Kate and Mark have become known for the story and now have more job offers than ever before. Erin is doing what she always wanted, video editing. They are doing great now, their little happy ending.

Did me like a bro and tazed me? Fireworks - poof- it's gone, amazing. New bio, you've gone solo. Drawing mustaches on our wedding photo!

Charlie found hatred in himself, flame slowly burning him from inside, it wasn't shame that was slowly eating him alive, it was the hatred. With every single video that his captor showed him, he fell deeper and deeper.

Erase me! Erase me!

He couldn't believe himself as he looked at his hands, bloodied from the red substance of his once dear friends... He found them and... It felt good, it felt so good. He couldn't help himself, he started laughing, histericly, tears pouring from his eyes. He looked up at a person looking at him from further away, white mask sitting firmly on his eyes. Charlie knew this was the end.

Erase me! This is us shouting baby! Erase me! Do we call the cops now, baby? Ah, the memory everybody knows about the brand new home.

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

Hector Munday was sitting in his chair in his home in lighthouse, mother sitting near window as she always did. And now, his spouse, his beautiful creature, sitting across him, was Charlie Lonnit. The man who truly understood. The man whose pain was greater than those who Hector grasps at Normaly. His fingers traced his cold cheek, smiling softly at the corpse in the chair. Kissing his forehead lightly he started the voice recording again. The voice of the man, singing the song full of his pain.

Erase me! And you'll never have to face me! Erase me! Option-Command-Escape me! And if you feel nothing? Guess what I'll wanna be?

[crater-lake]

25

4/17/23

I wrote a really good song. It is called Open Spring. It is five minutes. I started it last Monday and I have completed it. I just shared it with Seojin and her friend, who I’ve seen on Grindr. They were impressed with me. I shared it with Charlie as well, who brought me to a poetry reading tonight in NYC. They were really moved by it and that means a lot to me, because they are a really intelligent and thoughtful individual. They are also extremely emotional, which I appreciate. Right now, I feel elated, and therefore good. This morning I was inducted into Phi Beta Kappa, a prestigious honors society and I also went to the gym. I met Anne Wallen which was cool. I went to NYC and met a cool poet I guess who was a translator and liked that I was a polyglot. Charlie was showing me off. I felt important and real! I spoke French and German to a gay man. I walked on the high line with my eyes glued to Grindr. So what. 

I’m so tired. Yesterday I drank myself to sleep because I felt alone and pathetic and I do not feel like that right now! But, it still concerns me because I felt awful and I didn’t know what to do to make it better. I felt bad, bad, bad. I was talking to Amay on Grindr and I told him I know about the DL frat dude and his OnlyFans and how I saw him and Simon at the Yard together (future me, does this have context?) and he was like, “who are you?” and I said that “anonymity suits me tonight.” And yes, and whatever. I was a black hole of self. There was not one thing glorious about my suffering. I could not write or compose and even if I did, that would not have ameliorated the feeling. It is hard to be a person. Sometimes I live in a bad house (I am embodied.) I haven’t written a poem in a bit which is its own sort of forewarning. In my drunken state, I ordered AirPod pros. So what? I am about to literally graduate college. (In a way, I was never supposed to get here - when did I start living?)

Dear Murod, I still think of you most every day but more like you are the sun inside of my eyes and I close them and the whole landscape of my spirit erupts under your fire. More like if there is a sun inside of my eyes it is because I put the summer away like porn on my computer the colliding bodies inhibiting the inert electric wirings of my consciousness Like here is enough light to burn darkness into flesh and bone Like, Murod, you are the best collection of neurons I have ever grown. The amount of times I have slept in your smile. The soft pink feeling right at the center of my chest is what a prayer feels like answered. I have lived through enough epilogues. Or my ear, on top of your chest, I heard the ocean of your breathing and drowning seemed like a destination rather than a consequence. Like I look into mirrors and eyes blink awake to capture this looking. If the passage of time had a body it would be a good one, but maybe very sad, like a too big tree which has seen too many years of Earth. Dear Murod, I convinced myself I can speak to the seasons, you are the baby in the barn, summer is meaner than winter, whatever is behind the moon you are likely hiding from me, you are not dead either, and whatever eclipsed horrible worse feeling crouching behind this paragraph is beating like an about-to-be-dead thing. You do not know the depths of my perfect suffering. I am hiking a trail snuffing out your shadow. I am trying to taste the worlds you have endured with the memory of your tongue. Bright summer mornings where you woke up and the sky aglow a soft shade of blue like it would flake its magic into the next world I actually witnessed the fate of being a person and know more than I could ever release to you, my one true love, destiny is a poem I will never write and I am staring at it and only when I am not in that place can I really communicate to you with my most genuine sense of self that I am here.

[marshmallow-phd]

Scarlet Moon

Genre: Scarlet Heart Ryeo!AU, Time Travel!AU, Alternate History, Royalty!AU

Pairing: OC x EXO OT9

Summary:  This isn’t Gwen’s time. She was from the modern era, with technology and electricity. But during a solar eclipse, she’s transported back into a previous life in a time and place she does not know. Now, as the foreign daughter of a merchant living in a prince’s household, she must tread carefully, watch her back, and guard her heart. But with the princes locked in a battle over the throne, the chances of her making it out alive might disappear.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3

                                        ********

The bright sun felt warm against Gwen’s skin. Chae Ryung half-heartedly chastised her about burning her face, but Gwen hardly gave a listen. It felt like it had been years since she’d simply stopped and took in the light. All she ever did was go to work, do her schoolwork, and watch dramas. She never really took much time for simply… being. After a minute or so, Chase Ryung convinced her to keep walking through the courtyard, but she still went slow, taking in everything.  

The other servants would stop in the middle of their work and glance at Gwen in a fashion they might have thought was sneaky, but was, in fact, fairly obvious. Some gave looks of concern, others, it felt like, of awe. Gwen ran her fingers through her hair, the red catching in the sunlight. She stuck out more here than she ever did back home and it made her stomach queasy. 

“So, Chae Ryung,” Gwen finally said, “what is it that I usually do during the day?”

“All day?” she echoed. She pursed her lips side to side as she thought. “Mostly you keep Lady Hae company. She’s a bit lonely as Prince Suho’s wife. You’re the closest to her station here.”

Suho. An interesting name for a prince. I remembered Papa inquiring after the pale but beautiful woman in ornate clothing. “And she’s sick?”

Chae Ryung nodded sorrowfully. After looking over her shoulder, she lowered her voice as she leaned in. “Some are worried that she doesn’t have much longer and the prince still doesn’t have an heir.”

“Is it that bad?” 

Chae Ryung nodded again. Gwen’s heart went out to the beautifully tragic woman. In the single moment she’d met the Lady of the household, Gwen could tell that she had a kind heart. The look of worry and concern was etched in her mind, not a single twitch giving away possible deception. Spending her days with Lady Hae didn’t seem like too terribly a time. Perhaps she could be another person to lean on, to help Gwen when she stumbled. Because she would certainly be stumbling every other step in this place. 

Gwen and Chae Ryung wandered around the grounds for hours, the latter filling Gwen in on what she couldn’t put together for herself. 

Apparently, this Gwen had had a tendency to be a bit rambunctious, taking liking to archery just as much as needlework. Often, she would be caught joining in the servant boys in whatever rough game they were playing that day. Not exactly a good look for the daughter of a wealthy merchant. It had to be a comical sight, the horrified looks this girl must have produced from the other women around the household as a child. But over the last few years, she’d calmed to be a bit more demure. Chae Ryung went into explaining the wide gray area Gwen was given as an outsider. Though this girl knew the rules of society, she was able to bend them ever so slightly. 

Excellent. 

Coming up on the path was a pond, round and expanding, the edges lined with tall grass and fresh flowers that gave off calming scents. A family of little ducks floated on top of the clear water. Fish in bright colors of oranges and yellows swam freely, their tails creating the slightest ripples on the surface. As they walked around the water, Chae Ryung described a beautiful gazebo that this Gwen apparently loved to hide away in when she wanted to be alone. Disappointingly, though, the gazebo was already occupied by the Prince and Lady Hae. 

Looking like a happy but conservative couple, they drank tea together and spoke softly. Prince Suho smiled at his wife as he brought the teacup to his lips, but as his eyes drifted over to the spot where Gwen stood, the smile changed. 

It deepened, almost. An uncomfortable feeling settled in Gwen’s stomach. She smiled back, though, and waved, to remain polite. She was probably reading into things or misunderstanding them. Prince Suho held back a laugh before turning back to his wife. She still didn’t fully understand the dynamics of this world and could easily misinterpret his actions. And her head still slightly throbbed, so that could be clouding her thoughts as well. 

“It’s inappropriate to stare at a married couple’s private moments,” a high voice snipped. 

Confused, Gwen turned to find an elegantly dressed girl close to her age. Or, rather, this body’s age since this Gwen was a few years younger than the body she’d left behind. 

This new girl’s face was pretty, but it was destroyed by the snobbish and self-satisfied look she wore. Chae Ryung bowed deeply, but Gwen stayed erect. Bowing was not something that came as second nature to her and she didn’t want to do it for just anyone. Not surprisingly, this defiance deepened the annoyance on the girl’s face even more. Sensing danger, Chae Ryung forced Gwen into a bow.

“Greetings, Your Highness,” Chae Ryung said with a shaky voice. She gave Gwen a pointed glance that was ignored. 

“Apparently, not only have you forgotten your memories, but the few manners you ever had as well,” her highness sniffed. “I would be happy to be your teacher. Maybe we can make you a more respectful person this time around.” 

“Perhaps we have two different definitions of respect.”

It was subtle, but the girl’s smile strained, stiffening and tightening in the corners. Gwen knew that irritated look all too well from high school. The girls of the popular crowd would often shift into this body language whenever Gwen ignored their insults or countered them with a response they weren’t expecting. It had made her extremely unpopular, but that was never important to her. All she ever cared about was getting out and graduating. It was sad that mean girls had existed back in this time as well.  

“How dare you speak to me that way,” the girl hissed. “You think because you’re a freak of nature you can do and say as you please?”

“Just because I look different from you doesn’t mean that I’m a freak of nature!” Gwen shouted. Her nails dug into her palms as she tried to reign in the urge to respond physically. That particular subject had always been a sore spot for her. She didn’t think she was ugly, per se, but she wasn’t a beauty. Society’s standards, as ever changing as they were, always felt too far out of her reach. “Pretty” was not something she ever saw in the mirror. And, unfortunately, this body held the same face. 

“What is going on here?”

Gwen stiffened at the Prince’s voice behind her. Slowly, she turned around and bowed deeply. Prince Suho had abandoned his wife at the gazebo to investigate. She hadn’t meant to ruin his date, especially since they probably didn’t get many moments like this. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, Your Highness.”

Prince Suho looked past her to the girl and then back at Gwen. “Perhaps, it’s best for you to go back inside, Lady Gwen. I don’t want you to tire yourself out and I fear it might get colder. ”

Nodding, Gwen bowed again and walked away. There was no point in arguing. Besides, she didn’t want to hang around this self-important girl, who she didn’t dare give a passing glance to and give her the satisfaction of besting her. Once out of sight, however, Gwen’s bravado deflated. 

“Who was that girl?” She bit her bottom lip in a very unladylike manner as she slouched against the outer wall of a red-painted building. 

Chae Ryung tutted nervously. “That was Princess Yeon Hwa. You’re lucky that her brother stepped in.”

That girl was Prince Suho’s sister? Gwen shuddered, feeling sorry for Suho since he had to be related to her. “Mom always said I was too spiteful. But I wasn’t being disrespectful by looking for five seconds. They just looked like a scene out of a movie.”

“A movie?”

Oh, crap. There you go again. “A novel. I meant a novel. They looked like a scene from a book.”

“Oh!” Chae Ryung nodded, though she wore an expression of confusion. “Still it would have been better to apologize and walk away.”

Gwen shrugged. “Maybe next time.” 

Looking up at the blue sky, Gwen wanted to pout. It was such a nice day. Even with these layers of clothes, she wasn’t too hot and a nice breeze played with her hair. But Prince Suho had told her to go inside. He must have figured she would cause less trouble there. He also said it might get colder. Gwen hated being cold. 

“When I have to stay inside, where do I like to go?” she asked as she looked ot her friend. 

Chae Ryung grinned from ear to ear. She seemed excited as she took hold of Gwen’s wrist and pulled her along to a building near the middle of the compound. It wasn’t a large building, with spaces barely able to be called rooms. That hardly deterred the excitement bubbling up in Gwen’s chest. 

Inside were wooden shelves, thin and easily seen through. But unlike the thick, hardbound novels Gwen was used to, the books stacked here were thinner, flimsy and held together with twine. Another servant girl shuffled up before they stepped into the room. Chae Ryung was needed elsewhere. She urged Gwen to go on ahead and stay at the library for a few hours. 

Within the shelves, she lost herself. 

Reading was always a comfort to Gwen, but she tended to lean towards adventurous fiction filled with romance and challenge. She doubted she would find such stories in the Prince’s library. If she could even read these manuscripts. 

Gwen blinked, reflecting on her presence here. Somehow, she was able to communicate with the others despite the fact that they weren’t speaking English. The real Gwen’s knowledge - at least, with speaking and reading - somehow had remained behind. As her eyes drifted over the Chinese characters written on the spines, she understood what they said. A small laugh escaped her lips. She’d always wanted to know more than one language. All it took was being transported back in time to a different body. 

From what Gwen could make out of the titles of the volumes, they were mostly science based - medical treatments and catalogs of animals and plants - along with a few recorded histories. There were no fictional stories to be found, so Gwen went for the next best thing and grabbed a book that recounted the story of how King Taejo founded Goryeo. 

The wording was a bit dry and straight forward, the author giving only the occasional flourish here and there. Still, like any written word, it absorbed her attention. To receive a recount of history from a source so close to the time that it happened was not to be taken lightly. Gwen walked through the aisles as she read, unaware that another visitor had arrived. In the middle of a sentence about a deciding battle, her pacing was stopped by a soft wall. She looked up and sucked in her breath. 

Prince Suho.

She bowed, thinking that her back would start aching from all this bending over. “I’m sorry, again, for earlier,” she whispered. It was a sincere apology. Though it wasn’t her fault, she’d egged it on and caused the Prince trouble, which in turn could cause trouble for this Gwen’s father. Both men had been kind to her since she woke up and she didn’t want to repay that kindness by being a burden. 

Instead of acknowledging her apology, Prince Suho asked, “Do you really not remember anything?”

Gwen shook her head, unable to meet his eye. She could feel his gaze seering onto her face, however. Warmth tickled at her cheeks and she hoped that it wasn’t a visible heat. The Prince was handsome, with a strong chin and kind eyes. He spoke softly.

“Do you remember why you were at the bathhouse?”

Gwen snapped her head up, confused. Why would he be asking her about a bathhouse? “The bathhouse?” She knew nothing about a bathhouse or what this Gwen would be doing there. 

He sighed. “Truly?” Did he not believe her? Did he think she was faking it to avoid getting into trouble? 

“I-” she stopped. Would she be punished for something she didn’t even do? She tried to be as sincere and honest as possible. She didn’t know what could be done to her if he didn’t believe her. “I’m sorry. I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Prince Suho didn’t look receptive to her answer, but he backtracked anyway as he looked away. “Perhaps I was merely seeing things,” he murmured to himself. Regaining eye contact, he took a step to shorten the space between them. “When I invited you and your father to stay here, I took it upon myself to look after you, knowing your foreignness would make you a target. I’m afraid I’ve neglected on that duty. It has caused Lady Hae great worry.”

Gwen took a step back, her hands behind her back. “No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I think I’m causing you more trouble than I’m worth. I promise, I’ll watch my steps from now on. The last thing I want is to be in the way. If you need anything, I’ll do it. I want to be a help, not a burden.” He nodded, the expression on his face softening slightly. Feeling the conversation was over with that last declaration, she bowed and scurried out of the library after replacing the historical text. 

With that haven now compromised, Gwen concluded the best place for her to go was back to her room until dinner. 

                                                    ********

After a few days of managing to stay out of trouble, Gwen ran into Lady Hae on one of her leg-stretching walks. She didn’t seem to be upset about the incident at the gazebo, though she was disappointed that Gwen hadn’t come to see her. Gwen stumbled through an apology, not realizing that she would be so missed. In fact, she thought she was doing everyone a favor by staying out of the way. 

Accepting the apology, Lady Hae asked if Gwen would like to learn how to make lotus lanterns for the upcoming festival. Gwen raised her eyebrows in surprise. Thinking it would be fun and distracting, she agreed and followed Lady Hae to one of the buildings with open walls that allowed a gentle breeze to keep them cool. The temperature hadn’t dropped like Prince Suho had predicted. When Gwen saw who was already at work in the building, she instantly regretted her decision to join. A groan was barely suppressed as she sat down beside Lady Hae.

“Lady Hae, I see you brought a friend,” Yeon Hwa sneered cheerfully. 

It took willpower, but Gwen managed to ignore the princess’s snide remark, instead focusing on Lady Hae’s explanation of how to put the lanterns together. The glue had a potent smell that stung at Gwen’s nose. No wonder they were in a building that allowed the air to drift in and out. It took a few poor looking lanterns for her to get the hang of it, but finally they looked worthy of being hung up for other people to see. Glancing over at Yeon Hwa’s, Gwen huffed internally. Though they were the same design, the princess’ were begrudgingly far superior.

“Lady Gwen,” Yeon Hwa called out. A faux-sweet smile stretched across her lips. “Why don’t you go take the dry lanterns and put them in the Moon building for storage until the festival?” 

Gwen returned a smile just as fake. “Of course.” 

Chae Ryung, who had joined the group soon after Gwen’s arrival, stepped forward. “I can take them, my lady.”

 “Lady Gwen is perfectly capable of carrying them herself,” Yeon Hwa snapped. The evil look gleamed in her eyes, as if she were punishing Gwen with such menial labor. 

Little did she know the request didn’t bother Gwen in the slightest. She was giving the perfect excuse to leave her presence. While making the lanterns, Gwen’s mind had wandered towards the village beyond the walls and - with everyone occupied here – sneaking out on her own should be easy enough. She wanted to see more of this world that she now resided in. 

Filling up her arms with as much as they could carry, Gwen shuffled up the hill, following the directions Chae Ryung had given to the Moon building. 

“Gwen, you’re out of your room.”

Papa walked up, a smile on his face causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle. He seemed out of place in the Goryeo fashion he donned, yet comfortable as the shiny fabric swayed around his legs. He wore the hanbok with dignity and ease. Back home, Gwen prefered less complicated clothing and was still adjusting to the multilayered dresses that needed an extra pair of hands to put on.

“Yes,” Gwen said. “I was helping Lady Hae make lanterns for the festival.” She held them up proudly for him to see.

“Those are very beautiful,” he complimented. Gwen’s smile stretched farther across her lips at the praise. “I’m happy to see that you’re getting back to your old self.”

The joy in his eyes was almost too overwhelming. Gwen thought back to her own father, with whom she was close. They seemed so much alike. Tears threatened to brim her eyes. Within the last few days, she’d grown an affection for this man. He was patient with her and caring. And, as an outsider himself, a small connection that she clung to. “I’m happy that you’re happy, Papa.”

“I have some business to oversee at the house. Please, stay out of trouble.” He gave her a kiss on the head and resumed in the direction he was headed before.

Continuing on her own way, Gwen barely reached the steps of the Moon building before a man in brown clothes ran, bowed, and took the lanterns to store them. He must have been a servant in the Prince’s household. She hadn’t seen him before but she gladly handed the lanterns over. Thankful that her task was now over, she waited and watched as the servant hung the lanterns up on a long string inside the open doors. Now it was time to explore. Taking a different path, she headed for the gate.  

This place was certainly different. Monarchies weren't as widespread in her own time, most nations having moved on to people-elected governments instead of blood-appointed kings. Though it was different, Gwen appreciated the underlining respect that drove this culture. The differences in formal and informal speech and the hierarchy of that respect ran deep within the people. The mutual heritage they all shared made her a bit jealous. She was from a place that didn’t have that. 

The sound of drums broke through her thoughts. They were deep, rhythmic, calling out to anyone who wanted to listen. Answering the call, Gwen followed them. 

In a giant dirt courtyard near the palace stood about six figures, some dressed in red, others in black. They were spaced equally apart in a square structure. Gwen hid among the archways, too fascinated to walk away like she should have. The figures danced in unison and with power – except one of the men in red, who was lacking enthusiasm and proper rhythm. The others noticed and stopped their dance, the drums fading out as well. They all stared at the one who had finished incorrectly as he flopped down to the ground. Gwen covered her mouth to soften the giggled. He was throwing a fit. A grown man by the looks of him, he was acting like a spoiled child. Among the figures was Prince Suho, who seemed exasperated at the situation.

So, those must be the other princes. 

This festival must be important, if royalty was performing. Gwen made a mental note to have Chae Ryung explain it in more detail when she went back to the compound.

A few of the princes ganged up on the one on the ground, criticizing him for still getting the moves wrong after such a long practice. Huffing, the one on the ground jumped up. He pointed a long finger and accused another brother of making a mistake as well. Gwen laughed loudly at their altercation, the noise pushing through her fingers. Prince Suho glanced up in her direction. She took off, scared to be caught. 

Once among the common people, Gwen’s mind eased. She wandered around the city, trying to ignore the whispers and stares that followed. The market was abundant with people. Men gossiped with their friends while the women picked over the vegetables and meats, inspecting for any impurities. Children played loudly and ran through the streets, uncaring if their feet were covered in mud. Different stalls caught Gwen’s attention, some selling soaps and bath grains, others selling intricate hairpins that sparkled under the sun. She made a mental note to ask Papa to come with her next time to buy a few wares. Maybe Chae Ryung could teach her how to place the pins in her hair. 

Leaving behind the market, Gwen came to a small bridge over a shallow river. The water flowed steadily, uninterrupted. She stared down at her blurry reflection, wondering how she could still look so much like herself. There was no railing to obstruct the view, so she bent down for a closer look. 

The face looking back was still round and pale, the soft jaw line giving a youthful appeal. Red hair fell natural, gentle waves that never liked to obey. Not even the multiple hairpins keeping it out of her face could tame it completely. Sea green eyes sat in hooded sockets on either side of a thin nose and average lips. Freckles dotted the bridge of her nose and apples of her large cheeks from years of sun exposure. Forced to come back to a time that wasn’t hers, the least magic could have done was improve her looks. 

The cries of the villagers reached her ears too late. Searching for the source of the hysterics, Gwen stood and turned as the villagers ducked out of sight. A mad man on a black horse galloped through the market. The rider didn’t care about others around him. He didn’t look back behind him or stop to check on those who dived out of his path. A villager with a traveling pack hanging from his shoulders scurried across the bridge to run away from the rider. In his haste, he knocked into Gwen. She lost her balance, flailing her arms worthlessly, and began to fall into the river that had served as my mirror just moments ago. She closed her eyes and braced for impact with the surly cold water. But it didn’t come.

A steadfast grip snatched her by her waist. When she opened her eyes to see who had saved her from the water, she was face to face with the rider.

[aureolusfirewrites]

Guess what bitch is back with another chapter of her halloween in February story

Veined in Black

Chapter 2

/Oct. 30/

Rook went down the halls of Plumber headquarters to Ben's room. Ben hadn't shown up for patrol today and Rook was starting to feel nervous. Now Ben normally was late, but even so there was usually a text saying why. He didn't get one of those today though, and Ben also didn't respond when Rook had tried repeatedly to call him. 

Rook stopped in front of the door and let it scan his badge. He was one of the few people that had an override to Ben's door. It slid open and Rook went inside. Nothing out of place... 

"Ben? Are you here?" 

"Mnnm" a sleepy groan came from the back of the room. 

Rook let out a sigh of relief. Ben was laying in his bed with his blankets so twisted around he looked like he might be tangled in them. "Ben you need to get up we have patrol today." 

"Huh? What? Oh- yeah okay gettin up" Ben's voice groaned. Rook watched his partner roll off his cot wrapping himself up again while doing so. Rook sat down and waited while Ben groggily got ready for the day. 

Rook knew Ben had a rough day yesterday between the murder clown costume and the ectonurite but his partner looked so out of it right now.

After a few minutes Ben trudged out of the bathroom rubbing his eyes with his hair still uncombed but with new clothes on. "Alright I'm all set" Ben said stopping to yawn. 

"Are you sure you are good for today you seem tired" Rook's uneasy feeling didn't leave. "Pssh, Rook I'm always tired, just a little more so today I'm fine really let's go!" Rook nodded and sighed. Ben would plow himself into the ground before admitting to being to tired for work.

They stepped out in the hallway and started walking towards the hangar where Rook had the proto-truk parked. The plumbers base had the lights dimmed to give it more of a "spooky halloween setting" but Rook was pretty much convinced that it was an excuse not to have such a high electricity bill. 

Rook buckled up in the driver's seat and glanced over to Ben. The small hero was staring into space it was- in all honesty- disturbing. His eyes were locked in front of him staring out the windshield like he was sleeping with his eyes open as if he wasn't really in his head but rather far away. 

He turned the truck on revving it to life and Ben snapped back to reality shaking his head and rubbing his hands through his hair. "Are you sure you are good?" He was getting concerned now. "Yeah I'm f- fine" Ben stuttered slightly. 

Rook drove out of the hangar onto the streets of Bellwood. It was beautiful out the sun was shining brightly and- and Ben recoiled at it. He let out a small groaned hiss and curled up slightly when it lit up the cabin of the vehicle. But just as soon as it happened he was able to shake it off. 

Ben watched out the window for a long time. They passed a few halloween stores. Despite Ben's generous efforts he wouldn't let his partner lead him in one. Rook was used to it by now, having Ben offer to take him somewhere that he knew would cause him mental harm simply for the fact that Rook hadn't been there. 

"Hey Rook, what are you gonna be?" Ben spoke up after passing yet another costume shop. "Pardon?" "Y'know for the plumber's halloween eclipse party" Ben said. 

"Hm I did not know that I was in need of a costume" Rook knew that humans traditionally dressed up as various things for the holiday but the plumbers party wasn't a costume party as far as he knew.

"It's not about if you need one Rook" Ben said with a smile "it's about fun and dressing up just for the hell of it." Rook couldn't help but smile back. "And what may I ask kind of costume would I even wear to said party?" Ben looked in deep thought for a moment before he spoke. "Hm well I don't know but I bet even seeing you out of your armor counts as a costume for you" His partner made a snorting noise and broke into laughter. Rook grinned and shook his head. 

Ben's laughter broke off into moaning. Rook slowed down as Ben put his hand to his forehead. Ben started falling forward slightly his head hitting the dashboard. "Ben!" He pulled over and looked to his partner.

"Ben what is wrong what is happening?" Ben shook his head. "Ugh I- I dunno Rook my head feels like it's gonna explode but also feels like I'm not really in it."  Rook's frown deepened "maybe we should take you to the med bay at plumber HQ" Rook suggested not liking how Ben was reacting. "No, I'm fine Rook really be- besides it doesn't hurt as much now. I think I'm just tired" Ben said slowly taking his hand away from his forehead and easing back into his chair. 

The hero wasn't exaggerating on one thing though. Ben looked beyond tired. Ben normally had bags under his eyes but now, now they looked horrible and they were darker than he thought any human's should be, and Ben's skin had gone from his normal tan to an unhealthy pale. It was so drastic it almost looked fake. 

Ben must've picked up on Rook's frustration with his blatant disregard for his own health because once again Ben was smirking. "Nice to see you actually care bout me though partner." A healthy pink blush spread across his sickly pale skin along with his smile. 

Rook felt his own flustered blush underneath his fur. "Of course I care about your well-being although you do not make my job at doing so any easier." The red on Ben's face grew up his ears. 

'You are sure that you do not need to go to med bay?" Ben opened his mouth then clamped it shut before saying, "Yeah I'm sure Rook, don't worry I'm just tired. How bout this I'll sleep and you find a costume or something." Rook realized Ben was going to try and push him away unless he had an excuse. "And what do you have prepared for a costume?" Ben's smile grew especially wide. "Don't worry about a thing Rook I've got it all covered." 

Rook rubbed his hand over his face "That is what I am afraid of."

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

Ben had no idea why he felt so crummy. He thought maybe it might be because he hit his head the other day but that couldn't be right, he had taken harder hits than that and always got back fine. Plus the feeling in his head was odd. 

It felt like his adhd was trying to take over his entire head. Sure he spaced out sometimes but this was like he was watching things happen from in his own mind and all the extra space inside was filled with static. He didn't feel entirely in control of himself like maybe he was just sharing his body with something but whatever dots he tried to connect got all blurred and fuzzy before he could come to a conclusion. 

"Ben I am serious. Are you sure you do not want me to stay with you?" No. "Yeah I'm sure it's alright dude just chill out Ive been home alone before besides my dorm is in the plumber base" Rook gave him a skeptical look "Alright I see your point. Sure plumber base isn't the most... Secure place but I've been staying there for months now I'm sure it'll be fine. Besides nothing's gonna get the drop on Ben 10!" 

Ben got to his room and Rook took one last glance at him before letting the door shut. 'He's so cute when he's worried' a sleepy thought broke through his daze. 

Ben yawned and stretched before popping a few tylenol tablets in his mouth. He shook the bottle and it made a hollow noise. 'Hm running low on tylenol...' he'd have plenty of time for that later right now he wanted one thing. Sleep. 

He flopped onto his bed still wearing his clothes he really didn't care at this point. Normally it took a while for him to fall asleep but tonight it came easy. He thanked the sky above for that. 

Soon he would learn to eat those words.

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

'Thump'

The teenager's body hit the ground solidly and he walked over to a mirror. Looking in it what stared back at him was a pale face with a wicked smirk and dark pits of eyes. 

He threw his head back and in a raspy voice he cackled out a maniacal laugh. 

"Nothing can keep Ben 10 down indeed."

[deepslateemeraldore]

goin’ crazy from the moment i met you

for the @itfandomprompts gift exchange! this is my gift for @a-portable-snack who requested “ (college Au) Losers go to karaoke and Richie sings Untouched by the Veronicas to Eddie drunkenly and Reddie Chaos ensues “! hope you enjoy this!!!

   - 4k words   - Mentions of weed and alcohol   - Mentions of Bill’s past relationship   - Talks of crushes

  Sleepy college towns are never really thought of as anything other than that. They’re small, oftentimes quiet communities, with bands of young adults trying to find their places in the grand scheme of things. There’s heartbreak, love, loss, and on occasion, loud drunken nights singing karaoke obnoxiously and proudly in the shitty little dive bars that offered such sad excuses for attention. Who in their right mind would find such an embarrassing pastime enjoyable?  

   The answer: Eddie Kaspbrak. A rising star in the world of local track and field, and often found running wild with his band of misfits on the weekends (though, to him, the fact that they were misfits is what made their bond so strong). He couldn’t help the image that the town had put together about him, trotting at the heels of the other town losers; Bill Denbrough, Mike Hanlon, Stanley Uris, Beverly Marsh, Ben Hanscom, and last but not least, Richard Tozier (though, calling him anything besides “Richie” was bound to get you an earful unless you were his mother). 

 If only the judging eyes could see Eddie, laughing himself sick amongst said friends, singing songs that hadn’t been popular since his elementary school years. They’d take turns picking their most hated songs to sing at each other while the recipient of that round would make sour faces at the offender (but secretly, they wouldn’t be upset. They’d think it was the most hilarious thing, only to be replaced by the following week's act of tomfoolery and embarrassment).

 In fact, karaoke had become a sort of group therapy for the clan of friends. It fell into routine after everyone’s first year at college ended with Richie using his newly acquired fake ID to load up the back of Bev’s car with enough beer to last a whole winter. The three drank at Bill’s until their knees went numb, and ended up wandering around downtown for a bit, stumbling into a shitty dive when the need for greasy food set in. By mistake, Bev signed up for karaoke, and the rest is history. Ben came the next time with Mike, who invited Stanley who invited Eddie. The latter of the two had stood solid on their stance of karaoke being dumb and childish until they’d decided to duet to “Total Eclipse of the Heart” in homage to changing majors. Eddie had never felt more alive than in that moment. 

 Over time, the song selection had grown from moody teenage anthems to half-time show routines, before settling comfortably in a genre appealing to only the chaotically single and nostalgically lonely. That’s not to say they were sad songs, oftentimes they were very fun and upbeat songs, but lyrically they could bring a drunk Bill Denbrough to his knees (though that was a very easy task that only required a small amount of hard liquor). 

 However, one particular night at the Bleu Jay will forever have a choke hold on Eddie Kaspbrak’s tender heart. 

 It was an average Saturday in late March, and he and Bev had spent the morning at various craft stores hunting for diploma frames. Bev had graduated the past winter with a BA in Textile and Apparel Studies, immediately accepting an offer to work with the Penobscot Theatre (along with several other theatres in Maine). She became impassioned for the art made by local seamstresses, and it was clear the feeling was mutual as soon as she joined the team. 

 Eddie would be graduating at the end of that spring with a Bachelors in Statistics (although it was assumed he would enroll in a new program for Anatomy and Biology the coming fall), becoming the fourth of his friend group to get his degree. And he was proud of himself, little “Wheezie” Kaspbrak, coddled by his mother until he could break free, going to college against family wishes and proving that he had more to him than what was publicly thought. And it was exhilarating in the same vein, existing outside of his mother's (womb) house. 

 And, as almost every Saturday since becoming legal went, they set out to celebrate with drinks. And karaoke. 

 Mike and Stan arrived first, Bill, Ben, and Richie next, and lastly, Bev and Eddie. The agreed upon meeting time was always seven thirty, and like every Saturday, Bev and Eddie were late. 

 “Man, you guys are s-s-so late,” Bill slurred, sitting shotgun in Ben’s car with the door propped open. Bev hadn’t even put the car park by the time the smell of shitty weed had made itself known. Bev giggled as she opened her door, shooting Eddie a look as if to say “this should be hilarious.” Eddie followed Bev’s lead, opening the door of the ‘99 Camry, careful not to slam the door too hard, and checking that the mirror had not fallen off (again. It was a junk car, but it ran like a dream, Bev would say). 

 “I already sm-smoked all Richie’s weed, Bev.” Bill followed up. Eddie took one solid look at his friend and let out his own little laugh. Mike led everyone from the parking lot into the bar, and after having their IDs checked (they came weekly, at this point you’d think the poor old bouncer wouldn’t care) they made way to their table. It was the only horseshoe booth in the place, furthest away from the bar counter, and the best place to be loud without getting any funny looks from other patrons. They were also the largest group to ever set foot in the dive.

 Mike would always sit in the middle, Stan and Bill on either side of him, Ben then Bev sitting to Stan’s left, Richie then Eddie to Bill’s right. Just like always. Stan ordered the first round of drinks, making sure to order Bill’s Bloody Mary with more tomato juice and less vodka (the conversation outside the bar between he and Richie about Bill being a “One Hit Wonder” went right over the accused’s head, making for a good laugh all around) and Eddie’s Appletini sans garnish. Bev chimed in to ask for a basket of fries, making Stan’s eyes shine bright. 

 “I knew there was a reason we’ve kept you around, Marsh.” He teased, clapping a hand on her shoulder. Ben smiled at the interaction, happy to see the most tense member of their group relaxing so soon into the evening. As soon as the waiter stepped away, small talk grew into a medium rumble, and talk about classes and grad school and professors everyone hated began to snowball. It only got worse as drinks made their way around.

 “I thought Richie said Short was a good head for the theatre department?” Mike asked Bev softly. Before Bev could respond, Richie had butted in. 

 “No, Mikey, I said Short gives good head to the theatre department,” Was Richie’s reply as he knocked back a shot of Jameson and winced. “Everyone loves a good gum job from-“

 “Beep Beep, Richie.” That was Eddie, exasperated having to hear about the old guy for what felt like the hundredth time. Richie turned to his friend, mock hurt, and scoffed. 

 “But Ed’s, you love to hear about me getting all the foxy grandpas and-“ Eddie’s cheeks flushed pink. 

 “I said beep beep, Dick. Shut up.” Richie stared at Eddie meekly as Eddie turned back to the group and picked up his martini. Without missing a beat, he spoke to Bill. 

 “So, are you and Audra on speaking terms now?” The table sat quiet as Eddie spoke, partially because the tone he’d just used was borderline frightening, but also because Richie had never shut up that quickly before. Bev would have to commend him on it later. Bill cleared his throat. 

 “We t-t-talked about it on Wednesday. I went to s-see her after her shift and all was f-fine. She said she’d rather see me h-happy with a guy than mi-miserable with her.” He shrugged, taking a sip of the water Stan had slyly moved closer to him. Bev nodded, as did Ben, Richie, Eddie. Everyone took a drink. Richie cleared his throat.

 “I’m happy for you, man. Really. Growth and all that shit. Mazel tov or whatever.” Everyone laughed save for Stan, who groaned, sinking into the booth. 

 “So, are we tipsy enough to start singing or does the Donner Party minus Bill need another round?” Richie asked, looking around the table. He was met with stares of confusion. 

 “Why are we the Donner Party minus Bill?” Ben inquired trying to connect the dots mentally. 

 “Because Bill fell off the wagon after I let him hit BabySpice in the parking lot.”  Ben nodded, not bothering to inquire further. Bill made a noise of protest, but was too eager to make a fool of himself on the small bar stage to say otherwise. 

 And so the night began. They moved as a herd to the DJ booth, signing their names after finding a song (although, Eddie had to sign Bill’s name and song, seeing as the lightweight was a bit too fucked up to hold the pen properly. Seriously, one hit and half a Bloody Mary?), then retreating back to the booth, awaiting their names being called to the stage when it was time. They had a few more sips and laughs in between.

 Mike was called first. Mike usually went first just to ease the tension, but tonight he seemed almost a bit too excited to go first. 

 “Is it just me, or is he skipping up there?” Eddie asked Richie, leaning in and whispering while still keeping his eyes on Mike. He felt Richie lean in a little closer to him, too, making his cheeks flush pink again. 

 “I think he might have a crush on someone,” Richie motioned with his head to Bill very subtly. “But, you didn’t hear that from me.” Eddie’s eyes grew to the size of saucers as he turned to face Richie, who smirked and held a finger up to his lips. “Shhh.” Eddie let out a light chuckle, turning his attention back to Mike on stage. The song started up as Mike waved to his friends, who smiled back and began to sway to the music. 

 Eddie smiled to himself as he zoned out, thinking about what Richie has just said. Mike and Bill. Bill and Mike. It didn’t bother Eddie in the slightest, in fact, he became almost excited at the thought of them two dating. They’d always been close, and they’d always made a really good team. And if Bill thought the same way about Mike, then that’d be just dandy! But Bill did just get out of a relationship, but he also seemed happy to bring up the whole “happier with a guy” thing… who knows? Not Eddie. Not in the slightest. Eddie reached for his drink, bringing it close and sipping it throughout Mike’s song, thinking. 

 He thought about “crushes” he’s had in the past on a few girls from his childhood, then the crushes he had in middle and high school on boys, and the crush that he’s had on the same boy since high school. He felt his neck grow hot and downed the last few sips of his martini. Mike’s song ended and they all cheered, although Eddie wouldn’t have been able to tell you what song he’d even sang. The waiter came by their table as Mike came back, earning a pat on the back from Ben (who was up next) and a thumbs up from Bill who appeared to be… blushing? God, if Bill was blushing then I must look like a damn lobster, Eddie thought, then turned to the waiter and asked for a Long Island Iced Tea, sub the rum for extra tequila. 

 The waiter was back within the first minute of Ben’s song, prompting Eddie to waste no time sucking his drink down. His first sip took a bit more than a third of the glass and burned only slightly on its way down. He took another big sip, the glass now just below halfway, which earned a sneering chuckle from Richie, lightly sipping his fourth Jack & Coke.

 “You got a hot date or s’mthin?” Richie asked, almost a little too close to Eddie’s ear.

Now I probably look like a ripe fucking beet, just peachy. Eddie blinked, turned his head to look at Stan and jeered back:

 “Yes, actually. Stanley and I were talking about bringing a himbo or two back to the condo. Why, you think you qualify?” It was Eddie’s turn to smirk, and the blank look on Richie’s face counted as a victory in his book. Eddie focused his attention back to Ben on stage, clapping for his friend as the song finished, hoping his blush was subtle. Richie sat completely still.

 Bev went after Ben, planting a kiss on his cheek as they walked past each other. Bev sang “Baby Got Back”, much to the surprise of everyone other than Eddie (they’d discussed these important matters on the drive). Bill went after Bev, Richie after Bill (although in everyone’s mind, the “Tequila” song did not count, which earned him a do-over for after Stan went), Eddie after Richie (Eddie was also razzed for choosing “Sweet Caroline” due to its extremely popular nature with the drunk crowd), and Stan following last. Eddie had enjoyed Stan’s song, “SexyBack” but only because once Stan was nearing drunk, he would go all out with his dance moves, getting the entire bar (really, the only 5 others in the bar besides the losers) to clap with him. It was fun! It was all fun! 

 Until Richie got up to perform his do-over song. Eddie had gotten up to let him out of the booth, but the way Richie’s normally swinging gait sagged was cause for concern in Eddie’s inebriated mind. Bill, now far too “drunk” from a grand total of three and a half shots worth of alcohol, was whooping and hollering as Richie talked to the DJ. Eddie was prepared, as was the rest of the table, for Richie to choose something to get off easy, something in the family of “Rolling in the Deep” or “Jolene”, with Stan bidding on “Hand in my Pocket” because “it’s just a karaoke classic!”. 

 The conversation roaring around the table while Richie and the DJ looked for some song that wasn’t coming up in the catalog turned to making fun of Bill, who had claimed his “high was wearing off” and that he had “never been this brunk defore”, earning a hearty laugh from the six. Stan and Eddie worked to prop Bill up so he was at least not head first on the table. In fact, they would’ve all missed Richie starting if it hadn’t been for the tapping on the microphone, followed by:

 “Hello, I am slightly tipsy and extremely sorry for what you are all about to see.” Violins came from the speakers surrounding the stage, and when Eddie looked at the screen behind Richie’s head, the panic set in, surrounding the bar in the sounds of 2000’s pop. 

 Richie began to dance, albeit very poorly, to “Untouched” by The Veronicas. He was a little drunk. Eddie was a little drunk. A man sitting at a booth near the DJ was clapping and cheering, and also probably a little drunk. The losers were clapping and cheering. Eddie felt like he was inside an ice cube, and also like he was going to pass out. 

 “I go ooh ooh, you go aah aah,

Lalalala, lalalala,” Richie began to sing, his voice reaching somewhere between a valley girl and a horrible Britney Spears impression. 

“I wanna wanna wanna get get get what I want, don’t stop,” Richie sang to the man in the booth, who hadn’t stopped clapping. It occurred to Eddie in that moment that Richie couldn’t be drunk. Drunk Richie was funny, aloof, extra clumsy, and could barely mutter out a proper sentence. No amount of alcohol would make him do this.

 Eddie tore his eyes away from his friend on stage, intensely studying the remaining ice in his glass. He tried to bring a hand up to fiddle with the straw, to keep himself distracted, but the way his hand shook was going to give away everything he was trying to keep in. Don’t look up. Don’t look up. Don’t look UP. If he thought about it hard enough, Eddie supposed he could have made himself throw up from the amount of sudden stress (which was code for Gay Panic) building in his abdomen. He could faintly hear Bev and Bill cheering, and out of the corner of his eye caught Stan standing up in the booth to join in the support of his friend. Close your eyes. Close your eyes. Close your eyes. 

  “Cause you’re the only one who’s on my mind, I’ll never ever let you leave, I’ll try to stop time forever, never wanna hear you say goodbye,” jerked Eddie back to reality, but only because he could feel his worst fear currently coming true. 

 Richie had stepped off the stage, and Eddie had looked over at him just as he had made his way through the small crowd of the bar (and as far as the mic cord would allow). Eddie could feel the eyes shift to him, and was certain that if you hooked him up to an EKG, he would be legally pronounced dead. 

 “I feel so untouched and I want you so much, that I just can’t resist you,” Eddie could tell by the look in his eyes, Richie was determined about something. 

 “It’s not enough to say that I miss you,” maybe this was directed at Bill, because Richie had a crush on him once upon a time. 

 “I feel so untouched right now, need you so much somehow, I can’t forget you,” or maybe this was directed at the guy, sitting alone by the DJ who hasn’t stopped clapping. Maybe Richie was being dramatic, building tension. 

 “Goin crazy from the moment I met you.” It was the direct eye contact Eddie had accidentally made with Richie that kick started his heart. This was directed at him holy shit. 

 “And I need you so much,” Eddie could hear Bev yelling for him to get up, he could feel Stan trying to shove him out of the booth, to go up there right fucking now because this is your one fucking chance. And like some miserable, absolute asinine fool, Eddie stood up, betraying every nerve in his body. He couldn’t hear Richie singing anymore, he could hear anyone in the bar clapping or hollering, hell he could barely even make out Richie’s face as he walked towards him. He watched his lips move, god I’ve never wanted to kiss someone more than right now, tip toeing, trying to keep his balance, trying to make it to Richie before someone else takes the opportunity. 

 There were only a handful of times where Eddie Kaspbrak had felt completely in charge of his situation. The most notable being the day the town bullies broke his arm, and instead of letting them win, he got up and laughed in their faces, sending them running for the hills. However, that was about to be bumped down.

 Without breaking the eye contact, without breaking the cadence of his walk, Eddie Kaspbrak reached out to grab Richie Tozier, his crush, his damned high school through today crush, by the collar of his unbuttoned flannel, god it’s so soft, causing Richie to drop the microphone just as Eddie pulled him down to kiss him. Edward Kaspbrak was kissing Richard Tozier right now in the shitty karaoke bar in fucking Bangor, Maine. And it. Felt. So. Right. 

 It was like all was suddenly right in the world, the planets had aligned, and Santa Claus himself has just had delivered the best fucking gift to the both of them. Eddie felt Richie’s hands grab at his cheeks, then fly around his shoulders, trying to get closer, both of them numb to the fact that they we’re making out in front of their friends and a handful of strangers in a shitty dive bar! Who FUCKING knew?!?

 Eddie pulled away first, partly because of shock, partly because he wanted to open his damn eyes and look at this, commit it to memory. Everything around him became more clear. Bev and Stan screeching, the rest of the losers whistling, and a few of the random patrons subjected to this very odd-and-overtly-sexual non-verbal confession of love. Of love. Richie let the microphone fall to the floor, feedback scratching through the speakers. 

 “This isn’t the way I thought this would happen,” Eddie chuckled, letting Richie pull him into a hug, still in the center of the bar. “But it makes too much sense because it’s you.” He felt Richie press a kiss to his hair, then drop an arm to grab one of his hands. 

 “Let’s, uh, let’s get out of here, yeah?” Richie struggled to get out, his smile distracting Eddie from the fact that his hair was matted to his forehead via sweat. Eddie only nodded, leading Richie past the table of their friends (who had begun to chant “Get a room! Get a room! Get a room!”, earning a swift flick of the bird from both Richie and Eddie), out the door of the bar, giggles from both parties ringing out all the way to Richie’s car, then into Richie’s car, and finally as Richie drove away in his car. 

 The losers had gotten up one by one to follow them out, not even upset at the fact that they would have to cram into two cars now. Stan and Bev were out the door first, still wolf whistling as their (lovebird) friends drove off, Bill, Mike, and Ben at their heels. 

 “Wow, now that’s the m-miracle of lo-blargh,” everyone had turned just in time to see Bill barf up soggy French fries and an obscene amount of water. Calls of:

 “Jesus Christ,”

  “Eww, Bill,”

 “And that’s why we give you water, lightweight,” rang out in their circle, the friends taking a step back, Mike motioning for Bill to take a seat on the curb they stood on. 

 “I think that’s our cue to leave,” Bev stated.

“Ben, you wanna run in and pay the tab real quick? Take my card.” Ben nodded as Bev extended her hand with a card to him, disappearing back into the bar a final time. 

 “So, Marsh, where’s that twenty you bet me our Senior year?” Stan joked, helping Mike get Bill standing again, heading towards the cars. Bev laughed, throwing her head back. 

 “Where’s my twenty for saying Eddie was going to be the one to kiss him first?!” Bev shot back, reaching into her bag to pull out a crumpled twenty. Stan reached into his pocket, producing a folded crisp bill. They exchanged cash, laughing. 

 “This made no sense,” Bill offered coherently, stumbling closer to Mike. Stan and Bev turned to face him. 

“Why did Mike sing a Blondie song if he’s not blond?” It was Mike’s turn to throw his head back, letting out a hearty guffaw, before turning to Bill and responding. 

 “It’ll make sense someday,” Mike offered, wrapping his arm around Bill’s shoulder. Bill smiled, and shut up promptly. 

 They all sat around the parking lot for a while talking, sobering up. Bev had had a few cigarettes, sharing with Bill hoping to bring him back to earth. It was just as Mike and Bev got ready to drive off when Richie and Eddie pulled back into the parking lot, swinging between the two cars. Both were smiling messes, giggling and pink with a few new bruises on each of their necks. 

 “Just to put this out there, Eddie Kaspbrak fucks!” Richie yelled, peeling out from between his friends' cars, Eddie laughing and yelling “no! No! Shut up!” Between laughing fits, pulling back out onto the main road once more, riding off into the night. 

 “Let’s make that an extra twenty, Miss Marsh.” Stan smirked, waving at Bev shaking her head. Ben waved back as they pulled out of the lot. 

 “I should’ve thought this through more.” Bev laughed, reaching for Ben’s hand, and joining the other two cars on the road home. 

[beyondconfessor]

The Infernal Contracts [11/16]

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Lilith/Zelda Spellman

Summary: "You're in no state to drive," Lilith reminded her. "And I doubt you could so much as charm a strand of hair to stay in place, let alone teleport back to your home––wherever you call that now. You're to stay here."

N.B.: Also posted on AO3

Zelda laid staring up at the ceiling, catching her breath. Her muscles were exhausted, her head felt clouded and heavy. There was a soreness in her back and arms, from cuts and scratches (she recalled a few things breaking) and general fatigue on top of it all.

It'd been some time since she'd engage in a sexual marathon. Decades ago, perhaps? Before the first World War had occurred.

There was a fire beside her and Zelda couldn't quite remember how they'd reached this room. Initially, they'd been in the foyer, and then briefly in the narrow hall, before…had there been stairs involved at some point?

She closed her eyes, listening to the sound of her heart slow back down as the fire crackled beside her. The reprieve wasn't long as she felt fingers drawing over her abdomen, as lips began drawing over her throat. Zelda laughed, low and warm as the featherlight touch drew down her belly. "Lilith, I can't."

"Can't or won't?" Lilith asked against her skin, pressing kisses down to her collarbone.

Zelda hummed, feeling the mouth teasing over her shoulder. The woman had likely learnt every erogenous zone of her body. Despite the sex haze that settled over mind, she couldn't help but respond.

How many hours had they been at this, she wondered. There'd been brief respite between moments where Zelda had drifted asleep. Each time, Lilith had awoken her by kissing a new part of her body, arousing her from sleep.

"What time is it?" Zelda asked, lifting a hand to rest against Lilith's back.

Lilith lifted her head, looking up, over at a wall behind them. "It's only two."

"Two," Zelda echoed. That didn't seem right. She squinted at the room. It was dark, lit only by the fire. The window before her was shrouded with curtains, but no light spilled from underneath it. "In the afternoon?"

"Oh, no, we've been here much longer than that."

A panic rose in her. Zelda tried to push up on her hands, and then as her arms shook, she gave out, lying back down. "I was meant to meet Faustus for a game," she said. She had planned to spend her evening between fixing Faustus' and her own schedule, to marking the homework she usually reserved for her Saturdays.

"A game?" Lilith enquired and then her fingers were sliding over her sex again, and Zelda was humming, her thighs shaking already. "What game?"

"Backgammon, chess, whatever the mood suits," she said truthfully, feeling the rising climax at the woman's teasing. "Lilith," she whined.

Lilith slid back and forth, slipping between her folds and over her clitoris. "And what do you do after he wins?"

"What makes you think-"and Zelda cut off as Lilith stopped teasing her and began focusing her attention in utterly ravaging her.

"Hmm?" Lilith teased as she sucked a point on Zelda's neck.

Zelda's eyes squeezed shut as she hissed a string of swears under her breath. The climax thundered through her body, and as fast as it began, it ended as the woman drew her fingers away.

When her eyes opened again, she found Lilith watching her with great interest as she drew the fingertips to lips and cleaned them one-by-one.

Zelda stared, feeling a new burst of energy return despite the haze that had drawn over her moments before. She pushed forward and kissed the woman's lips, tasting her arousal on her tongue as she pulled Lilith against her.

Her hands wrapped around the woman's ribs, drawing Lilith's body back upon her own.

The fire crackled warmly against their skin, mirroring their first night all those weeks ago as Lilith straddled her hips and kissed her with feverish passion. What had once been a blessing on her marriage, now felt like sinking into the depths of hedonism.

It was like drowning in pure bliss. She knew that there would be repercussions, but right now, the reward was within her sights, and the risk seemed so far away.

Here was Lilith, first of the witches, first of womankind, gasping when Zelda bit down her throat, shivering as she ran her fingertips through her dark hair. It was so human and yet, so divine.

To draw her tongue over her throat and feel the intake of her breath against her hand. To feel Lilith's heart beating against her own, her thighs quiver and muscles clench. It was worship like none other, eclipsing all other displays.

Lilith sighed in her ear, and Zelda felt the sound run down her spine. That was her doing, her hands elicited that sound from Lilith's lips.

Never had she felt that her hands had been made to touch another person. She'd always thought that they had been created for the purpose of magic. It separated them from animals and mortals alike. But as she felt Lilith's ribs expand with a deep breath, as she slid between their bodies, then inside of Lilith and brought the woman to climax once, then twice more, worship seemed a superior purpose (after all, magic was apart of that, too).

Lilith's eyes fluttered, and then she was kissing her and Zelda could feel the moan reverberating against her chest. Again, she wanted to ask as the sound dispersed, and there was only the hushed panting of their breaths as she looked into Lilith's eyes.

They seemed to pause, staring at one another as if both realising they were too far gone. They had exhausted each other and still hungered to touch, to stroke and tease each other.

Zelda felt her chest tighten, knowing she should leave and return home, and then Lilith was kissing her again, her hips rocking over her fingers and Zelda couldn't remember what she'd been thinking about except how nice it was to bite down on Lilith's shoulder and feel the woman's fingers dig into her hips.

The sex blurred, and finally, Zelda drew her hand away (feeling the muscles in her forearm ache with fatigue) and laid back on the floor. Lilith hummed, her head rest against her shoulder as the light dimmed around them, their legs tangling together as they both slowly caught their breath.

The world was quiet, filled only with the sound of the crackling fire and their breathing settling down.

Zelda's mind felt heavy with abstract thoughts drifting. There was a dim sense of warnings coming from inside of her, but she brushed them away. She didn't want to think about her life, her family, her marriage, or her work. She was so tired of it all.

It was nice to lie here, drawing lazy patterns over the woman's back. There was no need to ruin it with thoughts of tomorrow.

Slowly, Lilith lifted her head and looked at her with bright, blue eyes. "Is this how you celebrate his win?" she asked, a wicked grin spilling over her lips.

Zelda paused, momentarily confused before she recalled their previous conversation. "It's just a game. We don't-"

"You don't?" Lilith echoed. "Not even on your honeymoon?"

"There's no need to be jealous."

"I am not jealous," Lilith said, her voice cutting with a warning.

"Of course not, that would be too human." Zelda stretched her jaw and then slowly pushed herself to sit up. Lilith moved from atop of her, to lie beside her, perching her head upon her hand.  

As Zelda rose to her feet, she caught the woman staring at her strangely, as if she was studying her body for some sign that someone else had been there.

Zelda was covered in an array of marks. Her head hurt from where it'd banged against the wall and doorway, there were teeth marks, bruises and scratches littering her body, carpet burn on her legs and arms, and she was uncomfortably sticky everywhere.  

"You look lost," Lilith commented, finally pulling her eyes to Zelda's.

"Where's your shower?" Zelda asked.

"Down there, to your left," she said, pointing down the hall.

Zelda fixed her hair as much as she could before taking slow steps towards the bathroom.

The mentioned shower was one of those hoses connected to a bath, much like the one the Spellman Manor had.

Easing herself into the bath, she turned on the hot water and felt the warmth spray over her body. Then, as she felt the exhaustion wash over her, she allowed herself to kneel in the tub and wearily began to shower herself with soap, cleaning the mess of sex from her body.

The bathroom door creaked as Lilith pushed it open. Zelda sat up on her knees and mustered as much energy as she could. "I'll be done in a moment."

"And likely passed out in the bath," Lilith said, setting a towel aside on the sink, now dressed in an emerald robe that looked rather stunning on her if Zelda was truthful.

"You don't need to..." she murmured as Lilith took the showerhead from her and sat down on the edge of the tub.

"And have you drown yourself? I don't think so," Lilith said. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to wipe your memory of this before you leave."

Zelda leant against the side of the tub, her head pressed against the porcelain as she felt hands lather soap over her body, before the hose washed it warmly from her.

"You'll have to stay the night."

"Absolutely not," Zelda said, though the words were mumbled in her stupor. "I'll rest and then leave."

"You're in no state to drive," Lilith reminded her. "And I doubt you could so much as charm a strand of hair to stay in place, let alone teleport back to your home––wherever you call that now. You're to stay here."

"Fine. But I only require a short respite, and then I'll have enough reserves to…" she trailed off and gestured with her hand, humming as the fingers massaged through her hair. Zelda knew that tomorrow would be a problem. Tomorrow, she had to address Faustus where she'd been (and likely Prudence). But tomorrow was a few hours away, and Lilith's hands were soothing as they massaged her scalp.

She heard the sound of the taps being turned off before Lilith was tugging at her to stand.

"Come, now," she said, helping her to her feet, before providing her with a towel. "You can rest for an hour, and then you may leave."

"I may leave?" Zelda echoed, tilting her head to look at her.

"It is my house, after all."

"Is it?"

Lilith smiled tightly at her but didn't respond. She watched Zelda step out of the bath safely, before leading her up the stairs. Zelda wanted to argue that she should sleep on the lounge instead, but the words died on her lips as Lilith turned and gave her a 'don't even think about asking for it' look.

The room was small, quaint with a built-in wardrobe, two bedside tables, a chest of drawers, and a mirror in the corner of the room.

Sheets and blankets were pulled back, and Zelda found herself not fighting as the towel was removed and she was manoeuvred into the warm bed.

"An hour," Zelda agreed as she rested her head on a pillow. She watched as Lilith pulled the blankets up, and then slid into the other side of the bed, a soft expression on her face.

Zelda wanted to tell her how lovely she looked in the golden lamplight, but Lilith's fingers touched her lips, a warning look crossing her face.

"Close your eyes."

Zelda obeyed, feeling the blankets pull over her skin.

Something warm slipped over her body, and for a bare moment, it felt as though fingers touched her cheek, but when Zelda stirred to open her eyes, the room was silent, Lilith was asleep beside her.

She should have left then, but there was a hand strewn over her waist, and Zelda didn't want to disturb her.

She closed her eyes again.

It seemed she'd only just managed to fall asleep when she was awoken by the coolness of air against her bare skin.

Waking up, Zelda looked around the room, finding the bed empty beside her. A golden hue filled the room from beneath the heavy curtains, where the morning light seeped in. It was far beyond the one promised hour. Zelda wondered why the woman hadn't stirred her away sooner.

Sitting up, she noticed the swath of blankets had been twisted off her at some point during her sleep, likely the cause of her waking up.

As her bare feet touched the cold floor, she glanced around the room, looking for her clothes. She didn't have to look far, they had been folded and neatly placed on top of the set of drawers.

Zelda dressed, slipping her clothes on and then went to the mirror standing in the corner of the room. Her hair was a mess, her clothes wrinkled, and her make-up had been washed off from the shower last night (it seemed like a dream as she remembered Lilith's hands running over her back).

There was no way she could return to the Academy like this, she looked like she had some lurid affair.

Slipping her heels on, Zelda threw a cautionary look behind her to the bedside table, wondering if she should write a note.

No, that was absurd. Whatever they were (contractor and contractee) it did not require a hastily written note advising that she would be returning home. Lilith was not her paramour. She was the holder of their contract, an occasional body of worship, a significant figure in Satanic Lore, but not something so personally intimate that required notice of her whereabouts.

And yet her stomach tugged, a strange twist at leaving without seeing her again.

Zelda ignored the feeling and left the house, easing the front door shut. She was thankful Lilith's house resided remotely away from its closest neighbours, allowing her to head to the car without prying eyes. The last thing she needed was to be the talk of the town.

The Spellman Mortuary was not a distant drive, but it felt long. Her knuckles gripped the steering wheel as she tried and failed to not recall every last detail of what had occurred––before realising that not only had she not ended the contract, she had forgotten to discuss the prophecy and what that meant, as well as leaving Leviathan behind again, the alleged purpose her trip.

What in Satan's name was she doing?

She wasn't like this.

She pulled up on the gravel of the driveway and climbed out of the car, feeling panic claw at her throat. Her body ached and every moment reminded her of what she'd done.

Was she having an affair, she wondered? Was she sinking into the woman's thrall deeper and deeper until––

No, she couldn't think about this right now.

Slamming the car door harder than necessary, she stalked up the porch steps of her home to where Ambrose sat on the banister. He gave her a look, opening his mouth to say something witty no doubt, before he swallowed his words, turning away as he caught her icy glare.

Zelda pushed through the foyer, up the stairs, passing her niece as she marched down the hall, to her old room and pulled out a dress that would just have to do. Because she couldn't go to the manor in soiled clothes, and she certainly couldn't go with the marks visible on her body.

Zelda had managed to change out of the clothes into a slip when Hilda knocked on the bedroom door.

"You okay, Zelds?" her sister asked.

"Perfectly fine," she said, pulling her dress on and then turning in the mirror to ensure there were no unwanted creases. She caught her sister hovering in the reflection of the glass, nibbling on her lip like she wanted to ask something, but was too timid to spit it out. "What?" she demanded.

"I'm not one to judge…" her sister began.

Zelda rolled her eyes, turning back to the dresser and pulling out her spare comb from the drawer, trying to fix her hair as best as possible. It was absolutely disastrous having slept on it wet, but at the time she hadn't even thought about something as trivial as her hair.

No, that wasn't true. She'd fallen asleep thinking about Lilith's fingers in her hair, drawing over her scalp. Zelda blinked, washing the memory from her mind.

She really wanted a cigarette, but the case was in the car.

"…say that I'm worried," Hilda finished.

Zelda looked at her sister, realising that she'd likely been speaking the entire time. "What in Lilith's name are you babbling about?"

Hilda stared at her. "Lilith?" she inquired.

"Lilith?" Zelda echoed, a clawing panic rising in her chest again. Did Hilda somehow know about the contract? About last night? How did she guess––perhaps she should kill her. No that wouldn't do, she promised she wouldn't do that. A forgetting spell then. It worked well enough on Mr Scratch, so it––

"You haven't spoken of Lilith since we were at the Academy," Hilda said. "I remember when you used to pray to her before bed, saying your prayers first to the Dark Lord, then to her."

Oh. Zelda realised, feeling the panic settle. "Yes, well, old habits," she muttered, turning back to the mirror to fix her hair. Circles were beginning to form under her eyes. She'd have to pull out something from Hilda's greenhouse to fix that.

"Okay, um, well if you want to talk I am here. You know you're always welcome back, no matter what happens."

"Thank you, sister, but as I told you before, I'm fine."

Looking in the mirror, she placed the comb down and adjusted the high collar. Satisfied that she looked presentable, Zelda drew away, pushing past her sister to go downstairs and make herself a coffee and find a cigarette. Somewhere in the house, she'd kept a set in case of emergencies, and right now, she was craving one more than she ever had before.

Moving around the kitchen, she found her cigarette and lit it without its holder (which was sitting in the car, and really she should go and get it). The nicotine flooded her bloodstream, and within the minute, Zelda felt her panic ease.

Zelda sat down at the kitchen table with a coffee in front of her. She rested her head in one hand as she smoked with the other, feeling the world begin to steady for the first time since her morning begun.

She needed to come up with a lie, but there was nothing believable that would make sense as to why she would disappear for nearly a whole day without telling Faustus where she'd gone.

She clicked her jaw, feeling the strained muscle twinge.

"So…are we pretending you didn't just do the walk of shame?" Sabrina asked.

Zelda snapped her head up, not realising her niece had sat down at the table. "Hardly. You'd have to feel shame for that."

Sabrina blinked at, a small smile on her mouth before she returned to her cereal.

"Don't you have school?"

"Nope," Sabrina said. "Ms Wardwell's coming over today. Told me to call in sick."

Zelda froze, looking at her niece. "Your teacher's coming over?" she asked.

"Principle," Sabrina corrected, before spooning a mouthful of cereal. "She was meant to come over yesterday, but she rang last night to reschedule. Apparently, she was going over some lesson plans with another teacher."

Zelda almost laughed but managed to draw the cigarette to her lips and hide her humour. Lesson planning. That was certainly one way to put it.

She didn't recall Lilith using the phone, but there had been moments were Zelda had rested between bouts. Likely it had occurred in one of those brief moments of reprieve she'd found.

"And just why is the Wardwell woman coming to visit?"

"Something's wrong with Nick," Sabrina admitted. "He came over yesterday and couldn't remember anything he's read. It was like all the books and knowledge over the years have just…vanished from his mind."

"Feeble-minded?" Zelda inquired as she as her stomach began to clench uncomfortably.

"No, not like that.

"Sounds like a curse was placed on him."

"Aunt Hilda thinks it's a forget-me spell gone sour, but she couldn't break it." Well, her sister wasn't wrong. She had used a forgetfulness spell, and likely the hex had extracted further than she'd intended.

"And so you went to Wardwell instead of your other Aunt?" Zelda asked, hurt that her niece hadn't asked her. Not that she could have fixed it. Technically, she was likely the only person who could as it was her spell, but memory charms were fickle things, and the consequences of undoing it would need to be dwelled on.

Firstly, she would need to understand why she'd done it in the first place. Nicholas had not been a threat, but somehow his actions had felt as if they were a threat at the time.

And then to take the book to the very person leading Sabrina down the Path of Night?

No. She saw that look in Lilith's eyes. The woman had been horrified, knowing that she'd be shunted aside for some underaged girl to take her place on the throne (the very idea of which still sat sour in Zelda's mouth, enough that she found her own faith extinguished).

"Aunt Zee?" Sabrina called. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know why people keep asking me. Yes, Sabrina, I'm fine," she said sharply. Flicking the ash of the cigarette, she sat back in the chair. Her own classes wouldn't begin for a while. She could sneak back into the manor and sleep for a few hours. Or move upstairs and lie down on the bed she had up there.

No, Lilith would be here soon, and she didn't need another run-in with her, lest she finds herself doing something foolish again.

"Did something happen last night?"

"No," Zelda said. "Where's Mr Scratch?"

"Upstairs," Sabrina said sheepishly. "He was a bit distraught when we realised what happened, so I had him stay with me last night."

"Truly?" Zelda asked, turning her head to look at her niece. "And what did you get up to last night?"

Sabrina's cheek coloured, giving away her modesty. "Nothing like that!"

Disappointing, Zelda thought. She didn't understand why Sabrina held back from embracing carnal desire, but who was she to talk? Right now, maybe she should take a page from Sabrina book and stop indulging herself every time Lilith walked into the same room as her.

She blew out the smoke of the cigarette and watched it curl in the air. Exhausted as she was, a part of Zelda wanted to loiter around the Mortuary, and wait for her to arrive. It was a dangerous thought. She'd only just sprinted her way through a few months worth of sex and already felt a growing desire to return to the woman and push her against the wall before ripping the clothes from her body.

The memory of Lilith kneeling before her brought a sudden wave of desire and Zelda took a deep inhalation of nicotine, hoping it might take the edge off.

"I'm worried about him," Sabrina said.

Ah yes, they were still talking about the warlock, Zelda realised. "Does he know when the curse occurred?"

"No. He thinks maybe Prudence did something, but I don't know. Maybe he read a cursed book?"

"If he was studying restricted books, there's every possibility," Zelda agreed as she snuffed out the butt of the cigarette. "In any case, I'll be heading to the Academy. I expect you'll attend those classes at the very least?"

"We'll see," her niece said, tapping her spoon against the bowl, knowing it grated on her nerves.

"Sabrina, your education at the Academy should be placed at the forefront of your mind. How are you expected to continue solving problems when the answer may very well be in one of your classes?"

Sabrina frowned, and Zelda knew at least in some way her niece could understand where she was coming from. "We'll see," Sabrina repeat again, but with less animosity.

Zelda rolled her eyes. She was too exhausted to argue with Sabrina's defiance. "I'm certain that whatever the cause of the spell is, you could find the answer in a book yourself." With that, Zelda rose from the table and left before the alleged Mary Wardwell appeared, and Zelda found herself being dragged to a secluded corner.

____________________________________

It was evening by the time Zelda found herself catching up to her lost weekend.

Zelda flicked through the assignments. The weight of exhaustion making it difficult to recall the last line she read. She'd managed to get a few hours sleep before attending her classes, catching a meal break in-between lessons, only to notice that the hall was much quieter than usual.

Not only was there the strange absence of Nicholas Scratch and Sabrina, but her step-daughter Prudence also seemed to be missing.

Throughout the day, she'd inquired to those who were likely to know of her appearance, but neither of Prudence's sisters could say where she was, and their puzzlement only caused Zelda to become further concerned.

Prudence was old enough that Zelda was not so concerned to perform a scrying spell, but there was anxiety. For all she knew, her step-daughter had fixed things with Ambrose and was currently also in the Spellman Manor, albeit under different circumstances, and yet a part of her gnawed at the idea, wondering if Faustus had misled her down one of his Judas Boys path.

If she didn't see her tomorrow, Zelda would inquire further.

She flicked to the next paper. The quality of the assignments had surprisingly increased since her honeymoon. It seemed almost as if the students had become inspired by their studies in some way.

Although she would like to thank her own teachings for it, she doubted it was the cause. Going by the hallway gossip, the students were flocking to Sabrina as if she was some messiah (Zelda's stomach twisted as she remembered the prophecy). By proxy, it seemed, they looked to Zelda with newfound respect.

It helped that with the contract's added surge to her own magic, demonstrations often had a more striking flounce to it. Zelda downplayed the effects, trying to encourage the students that with patience, practice and time, they could eventually become as powerful, but a part of her was quite pleased with newfound power, despite it few ill-effects on lesser spells––such as simple memory charms.

She would have to do something about that. She couldn't have Mr Scratch wandering around hopelessly.

Flicking through the last of the paper, she set the final assignment on the desk to dry and capped her pen lid. It was late, and her husband would likely be returning soon, and Zelda was still at a loss at what to say.

She'd seen Faustus briefly at the Academy, he'd given her a long stare as if considering an equation from afar, before walking away without saying a word. Zelda dreaded what that meant. He likely suspected an affair, perhaps her plotting something, but whatever it was, she doubted he was going to ignore the signs.

She'd been reckless, careless by allowing herself to sink into the woman's grasp, and yet throughout the day, her thoughts had drifted back to her. Back to how Lilith had felt against her fingertips, how she'd looked down at her with a mass of dark hair and grinning teeth, how at peace she'd seemed asleep/ Zelda thought she was the most divine being.

It was blasphemous to think, and yet her thoughts drifted there more and more.

Zelda reached out, grabbing her cigarette and lighting it.

The nicotine hadn't been helping of late. If anything, it only caused her thoughts to wander towards Lilith, and that was the last thing she needed.

In the previous two days, her thoughts did not circle around the woman's carnal abilities. Instead, she kept going back to the dinner, to the moment outside, to how soft Lilith's face had been as she stared up at the night sky. There was a sinking melancholy to it, her wonderment of the stars, shrouded by her fear that all things became irrelevant in the end.

All the stories she read from the Satanic Bible spoke of Lilith's freedom with Lucifer, her eagerness to serve and be rewarded.  

"Yes, well, it's not true. Few things in that book are."

Zelda drew in the cigarette smoke, holding into her lungs as she thought on the woman's words. Perhaps Lilith was sent to torment her, test her faith for the Dark Lord.

No, she doubted that.

The truth was, maybe what they'd been told of the Dark Lord was not entirely true. The Lord she'd studied and worshipped wouldn't choose a child to become His Herald, to aggrandise her to the throne of Hell as a child bride. What possible reason could the Dark Lord want someone so young and naive, if not to manipulate them to His will?

Sabrina may be intelligent and stubborn, but she was still so very young.

The front door clicked shut, snapping her from her thoughts. Snuffing out the cigarette, she rose and left the office, looking to see who had returned home.

"Zelda," Faustus greeted as she entered the parlour. "How was your day?"

"A day as any other," she commented politely. "And yours?"

"Much the same," he said, pouring himself a drink. Then, holding the glass, he turned to face her, a neutral expression on his face reserved only when he was trying to hide something. Zelda felt a coldness slip over her, but she gripped at her anxiety and pushed it deep inside of her, smiling dutifully at Faustus instead.

She stepped further into the parlour, over to where Faustus had set Judas' bassinet down and peaked down at the boy. "I missed Prudence today, have you sent her somewhere?" she asked with as much nonchalance as was reasonable. Faustus knew she cared for Prudence, there was little need to hide that.

"She'll be on leave from school for a few days, I trust that her absence won't disrupt your class?"

"She's one of the brightest students, her absence will be noticed," Zelda said as she fussed with Judas, fixing his clothes and blanked to prevent her hands from shaking. Whatever he had planned, she didn't like it. Prudence may be safe from harm, but Faustus was just intelligent enough to manoeuvre Prudence into danger without any involvement from himself. "When should we expect her return?"

"Soon enough," he said, a small smirk twisting at his lips before he hid it behind his glass. "Your absence was noticed, as well."

"Is that so?" she inquired. She stepped back and turned to face Faustus. "We'll have to reschedule our game for another night."

"Why another night when tonight is just as suitable?"

"I'm drained from a full day of lessons and grading. Perhaps tomorrow?"

"Oh, I insist, Zelda. I think a nice game would do well for us. I can even tell you of my plans for tomorrow's assembly with the Academy."

Zelda felt her stomach twist against. Folding her arms, she looked him over, studying his expression. Without a doubt, he was plotting something nefarious, but whatever it was, she would need to play to find out. "As you wish," she agreed. "Shall I fetch the board?"

"If you don't mind."

Zelda left the room, retrieving the chessboard from Faustus home office, before bringing it out to the lounge and placing it on the game table. She set the board up and then sat down in the armchair, across from her husband and waited for him to make the first move.

"I've spoken with the Council, and the election will be finalised at the end of the month."

"Excellent to hear," Zelda said. She made her move, barely focusing on whatever strategy Faustus was using on the board. "I take it the assembly will be connected with this?"

"Quite," he said. "As the Anti-Pope, I feel a bold move will be required to help us move forward. As such, I will be bringing forward the new changes to the Church of Night to take us into the Dark Lord's grace. It will do well for us to implement them in our Church first before expecting the other covens to follow."

Zelda swallowed, recalling what adamants he wanted to be made. "All of them?" she inquired.

"All of them. We, as a family, must uphold them so that the others can follow in our image."

She moved her pawn to be slaughtered as anger burned inside of her, but she held it deep within her, not allowing it to escape. "And is this the Dark Lord's will?"

"Do you doubt me?" he asked, moving his knight. "I've spoken with the Dark Lord extensively about this, and we're in agreement that this is the only path for the Church of Night's survival."

Bullshit, Zelda thought, maneuvering her knight. As she went to take his pawn, Faustus hands came to cover hers. Looking up from the board, she met his eyes and saw the mirth glowing like embers in a fire-pit.

Zelda could feel nausea rolling in her belly, knowing that the rollout of this plan was only the beginning of whatever he had planned. Eventually, the high from being the Anti-Pope would fade and he would grow to crave the next thing, and then the next until he had absolute control. She couldn't allow that to happen –– and yet there were more important things at play. In the scheme of things, Faustus was a small fish in a vast pond. She just needed to ensure she didn't underestimate him.

"I want you to be my partner in this," he said to her, still holding her hands. "I know we've had our differences, but I married you because I believed you were the only one suited to stand at my side for this."

Zelda smiled because it was the right thing to do. She squeezed his hand, and the pulled away, sliding her hands back into her lap. "I'll stand beside you, and serve you as Lilith served the Dark Lord," she said. "I expect great things will come from this."

"I believe they will, too," Faustus said. "I'm so glad you're in agreement, Zelda."

Zelda smiled, and she lifted her hand to place the pawn down, before realising that her right hand was now bare of the ring Lilith had gifted her. She looked up to Faustus and watched as he fiddled with the ring, circling it around in his fingers.

"Now tell me, Zelda, where did you get a ring like this?"

"It's an old gift," she said before holding out her hand. "And I would ask that you relinquish it back into my possession."

"I'd never seen it before Rome, and now I don't see you go a day without it."

"Faustus, what in Satan's name are you trying to get at?"

He looked at her, closing his hand around the ring. Zelda felt the shift of magic disperse through the air and knew that he had it teleported elsewhere.

Dropping her hand to her lap, she rolled her eyes and looked at him, trying to ignore the growing fear clenching in her stomach. He stared back at her, looking rather pleased with himself.

"I should have known after that wonderful dream you parted me with that something was going on, it was so vivid I had thought that maybe you had finally agreed to slip back into bed with me, but that's not the truth, is it?"

Zelda didn't respond. She watched as he smirked across at her like he'd figured it all out.

"You'll be a dutiful wife tomorrow, you'll stand by my side and agree that the Church of Judas should go ahead," Faustus said, "And you will no longer visit whomever you were with last night. You'll be mine and mine alone."

"Is that so?" she said, quirking an eyebrow. His face twitched, displeased with her backtalk.

"It is," he affirmed. "Because if you don't, your dear niece will suddenly have her head on the chopping block and you will lose all grace you have with the Dark Lord."

Zelda laughed. She didn't mean to, but the threat was quite comical in the current context. "You won't," she said. "Because if you were really in communication with the Dark Lord, Faustus, and believe me, I know quite intimately that you're not, you would know that Sabrina has a very bright future ahead of her with the Path of Night." She moved her chess piece and then looked up at him, watching his face freeze. "Perhaps you should speak with Him before making idle threats to your wife. Maybe then, you wouldn't look like a fool."

His lips pressed tight, and she watched as the fury built in his eyes. Zelda enjoyed the strange way his eyes bulged as he tried to shift through her words, looking at the subtext between them.

"I will stand by your side as you deliver your tenets," she promised, "and I will reasonably uphold them, but do not think for a moment that makes me yours. I don't belong to anyone, Faustus. Least of all you." She sat back in her seat and gestured to the board, her eyes never leaving his. "Your turn."

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Trail (Part 5)

Since it has been a while. https://archiveofourown.org/works/19143391?view_full_work=true

This chapter deals with mothman because I’m going through a phase. 

A warning… the voice echos in her mind.

The stretch of road before them is long and damp from a rain that had fallen before they had made it into the area. Azula cranks the windows down and lets a breeze waft through the car. It is a particularly hot night and it had been an even hotter morning. Zhao and Sokka--Sokka especially-had complained about it all day. Azula herself found it rather nice, especially when thinking back to their more frigid endeavors. She imagines that Zuko is enjoying the weather too. 

He peers into the rearview mirror and she sees a faint little smile. There are so many crickets out tonight that she can hear them even over the wind and the car engine. 

“We need some tunes.” Sokka suggests. 

“I rather like the night noise.” Azula disagrees. 

“We’re on a cryptid hunt, we should get some Johnny Cash and Deadman’s Bones. The Doors?” 

Azula rolls her eyes. 

“Come on. Riders on the storm, into this house we’re born.”

“Please stop yer singin’ laddy.” Zhao grumbles. “I’m with the lass, crickets are fine.” 

“Come on, every good monster hunt needs a good soundtrack.”

“We’re not even on a hunt right now.”  Azula replies. “We’re just driving. Sometimes you just drive on forested roads because that’s where the GPS takes you.” 

Katara stifles a laugh. 

“Where’s our next turn?” Zuko asks. 

Katara peers down at the map. “It’s coming up soon. At the next intersection, turn right.”

Azula watches moths, mosquitoes, and fireflies flit in and out of the headlights. A light mist swirls along the road where the puddles are the thickest. She leans out of the window and snaps a few photographs.

“Azula, what did I tell you about doing that!?”

“Relax Zuzu, you aren’t driving that fast.” 

“What if a bird comes by?”

Azula rolls her eyes. “Brids aren’t nocturnal, dumdum.”

“Fine. What if a bat or an owl comes by?” 

“Then I’ll have a nice photo.” Azula slips fully into the car once again. “Besides, it’s a nice night. If it were up to me, we’d park this car and take a little stroll.”

“Have ye no fear, lass?” 

Azula smirks, “not an ounce. Why? Are you afraid, Zhao?”

“It is night, we are in an unfamiliar forest, and it is misty. Of course I’m scared.” 

Azula rolls her eyes. “Yes well the car is running just fine, the weather is wonderful, and, if you shut your mouth, you can hear crickets and owls and all sorts of night sounds.” He only blinks at her. “It would be so noisy if a predator was around.”

“Turn!” Katara abruptly exclaims. 

Zuko jolts and jerks the wheel. 

“Ah shite!” Zhao shouts as the car fishtails. 

Katara grips the armrest as Sokka lets out a hollar of excitement. “I used to go do doughnuts on the gravel road until dad stopped me.” He declares as though that will help Zuko any. Azula clutches her camera protectively. 

Zuko turns the wheel a few times until he gets the car under control. “Good thing you weren’t leaning out of the window.” He declares. 

“Shut up, Zuzu.” She grumbles and folds her arms and slouches back into the car seat. 

“Are we oot of the forest yet?” Zhao asks. 

Katara looks at the map, “not for a while, Zhao.” 

“My legs are getting tired.” Sokka frowns and folds his arms across his chest. “Like, I’m starting to get that annoying tingly feeling.” 

“We can pull over.” Azula shrugs. “There’s a rest area over there.”  She points to a small recreation area with only a single and dim lamppost. Zuko rolls the car to a stop but doesn’t unlock the door. 

“I don’t know, it’s kind of eerie.” 

Azula unlocks the car door and wanders out. The place looks ancient; there is a single log building that she assumes is a bathroom. This has two smaller and even dimmer lights above each door. Creeping ivy has taken to climbing over the logs and spilling out from between them. The sidewalk leading up to is cracked with age; grasses and dandelions poke up from between the cracks. 

The sound of crickets grows in volume as Azula makes her way over to one of six wooden picnic benches. Out in the open, she can hear the croak of tree frogs and the buzz of other insects. The wood of the bench is damp when she sits upon it. She notices tufts of moss creeping up and down it. There is more graffiti than moss though; mostly just names with years and initials in hearts. Azula traces her finger over a particularly deep etching as she watches a moth ram itself into the streetlight. “Are you guys coming?” She asks. 

Katara and Sokka exchange a look before Sokka emerges from the car. Azula looks to the left at the sound of a creak. The wind has taken to gently tossing a swing back and forth. The thing looks as ancient as the picnic table. The slide next to it is made of rusting metal. Azula wanders over to it and wraps her fingers around the chain of the rocking swing. 

“Can you guys just get back in the car?” Zuko asks. He seems to shudder after his request.

Azula rolls her eyes. She supposes that she can go back to the car, but while she is out and about she photographs the park. She crouches down to tuck her camera back into its case. Something heavy and oppressive befalls her and she halts her fumbling to look at the treeline. It is not like it usually is, the crickets still chirp and the frogs still croak. The fireflies still glimmer on and off as if they aren’t sensing the same energy that she does. She scans the treeline more intensely and a chill vibrates through her soul. She squits and slowly rises to her feet. 

She can’t tell if the creature is perched in a tree or if its head simply reaches that high. Whatever it is, it stands pillar still and observes her with a ruby gaze. She as as transfixed as she is disquieted. 

She knows that she should go back to the car, but she finds herself curiously drawn to this being. She puts less thought into it than she should--really she puts no thought at all into edging closer to the treeline.  

“Azula!” Zuko shouts. His voice cuts through the mesmerized haze in her mind and she jolts. In a flicker, a sense of ominousness replaces the enchantment. She backs away with just as much slowness. If it is one of the weres, then she is in rather deep and running will only draw more attention. But she has never known the weres to be so compelling. 

The creature leaps off of the trees and fans out wings so black that she can’t tell if they are feathered, furred, or leathery. She can tell that they are huge, perhaps ten feet or so. It makes no sound as it descends and Azula’s stomach turns. 

Zuko slams on the horn, a long and loud bleat but the creature is undeterred. It is as focused on her as she had been on it. 

She whips her head around to flash a longing stare at the car, they are all yelling for her. Things that she can’t quite catch under the sound of flapping wings. The being eclipses her view of the car entirely. 

It can take her so easily. 

It towers far above her. She fully acknowledges that, that isn’t saying much. But it would tower of Zhao as well and the man has a good six feet and then some on him. 

And yet, Azula isn’t afraid. 

She doesn’t feel particularly pleasant either. 

She realizes that she doesn’t feel anything at all, save for faintly curious. She wonders if the creature is curious as well. But no. She can see in its deep rose-hued eyes that it knows. It has a wisdom older than perhaps the park itself. 

I want to show you something. Its voice slides into her head. She doesn’t block it out, though instincts tell her to throw up as many mental walls as she can. I will show you something. There is a very brief flash of images. This time she does erect her walls.

It speaks again, this time its communication is external. “No harm.” It is a raspy whisper, a stark contrast to the deep and smooth voice in her had. 

What it instills within her this time is neither a voice nor an image but a feeling of soothing. Something warm. Something akin to brushing her cheek against something fuzzy and gentle. Something like when her mother used to wrap she and Zuko into a blanket and coo them to sleep.

She will give it a chance. 

It wraps its wings around her. 

Distantly she hears a shout and a few pops. 

Very close she hears a shriek of pain. It breaks her stupor once more. She sees the gun poised and ready. “Zhao, no!” She hollers. She hears another pop. This time the creature flees, but not without her. Zuko shouts for her but she doesn’t resist. 

It has knowledge and she has a curiosity.  

Azula isn’t sure how far it takes her. She watches pines roll by green ash and river birch roll by, sees the mist churning and swirling like a grey-washed river. The night air is still pleasantly warm on her cheeks.  The entity comes to a clearing, it sets her down onto the forest floor and perches itself in the branches. 

Now the other forest creatures know.

Now it is dead silent. 

Silent except for that deep, silky voice. Let me show you.

Azula nods, she wants to see. “Trust.” It says out loud. It reaches a clawed hand out and brushes it tentatively over her hair. A sense of deeper soothing ripples over her. Trust, it repeats. And her head seems to split. A deep pounding cracks her skull and she falls to the floor. 

She is in her bedroom--her childhood bedroom--staring at the tinkling mobile. A tiny topez dragon, a citrine phoenix, and a ruby monkey. At the center is a little dream catcher. It sways and bobs in a breeze that isn’t natural. From somewhere she can hear a music box. It should be comforting. It has the atmosphere of something cozy and yet the shadows furl and unfurl in ways that make her feel queasy. 

She notices that she is bleeding, but she can’t tell from where.

Maybe it isn’t actually hers. Maybe she just has blood on her. 

She tries to sit up but her body remains paralyzed as though a weight is being pressed upon her. She can’t scream. Neither can she blink. The shadow unravels further before thickening into something more solid. 

Something more palpable and putrid. 

It is slick and oily and it plops onto the floor with a wet slosh. 

Azula’s shout is locked within her throat. Her world goes black but she still has her eyes wide open. When the blackness clears she can see Zuko, his figure ringed by a halo of silver-blue moonlight. 

But he is wrong, all wrong. His eyes are a such a shade of black, to the likes that she has never seen. He opens his mouth in a silent scream and that oily sludge comes pouring out. Out and out until it pools around the bed. Until it rises to the height of the mattress. 

Zuko’s face flickers between his own and another. Something masklike; smooth and silver but oddly akin to a liquid. It shifts and simmers. Every now and again an eye or a mouth or a nose emerges on the surface. It is a different one with each flicker. 

Finally Azula can cry out. But no one can help her.

The slime has reached her feet.

She finds herself laying on the forest floor, a cold sweat glistens on her face. She is shaking. A figure still looms over her; tall, muscular, winged, and imposing. “A warning.” It speaks. She can’t bring herself to move. 

She opens her mouth to speak. 

Go home. The voice eases into her mind. But she doesn’t know where home is anymore. For the longest time home has been the RV that she and Zuko have parked in a rented lot back in their home city. The one they’d grown up in has long been foreclosed. 

Maybe it hears her thoughts. No, it definitely does. Or perhaps it just knows. Knows in the same way that it foresaw the collapse of the Silver Bridge. It projects another image into her mind. She is sitting in a living room--she knows, somehow, that it is in Scottland, that it is Zhao’s home--watching TV. Zuko is next to her snoring. The atmosphere is inviting. The Scottsman enters the room and declares that they will be going to the loch, that Nessie would like to see her again. Azula swallows, the idea of seeing Nessie again isn’t so bad. You need to go home. It says again. 

And once more her head seems to fracture. She lays in that dark room again. This time it is in a state of disarray and the sludge gathers in inky splotches around the room. She only sees Zuko’s pitch black gaze and his mouth agape in that grotesque silent scream. The last droplets of ooze dribble down his chin.

[jmeelee]

Sterek and #3 things you said too quietly please and thank you 😊

#3. Things you said too quietly

The first few weeks after Stiles is turned are unnervingly easy. Derek anticipates a tide of rough full moons, blood-lust and base instincts, but these growing pains ebb almost immediately, and a beta more even keeled than any of his others breaks the surface. It’s as though Stiles has taken every manic impulse and focused them entirely on self-control. He’s insistent, brave, loyal and smart, qualities he always possessed now amplified, turned up to maximum volume and calling to Derek like a serenade outside his bedroom window. He tracks Stiles’ movements with his eyes, his ears. And it’s because of this close monitoring that he notices the deafening silences before anyone else catches on.

Human Stiles is a cacophony, a wave of noise smacking you in the face, dragging you under. He’s butchered song lyrics and inharmonious humming, he’s drumming fingers and tapping toes. Werewolf Stiles is contemplative stares and controlled intensity, head cocked, listening for answers to questions he hasn’t asked. There’s a swelling of pride in Derek’s chest when he looks at Stiles, and a jolt of wild unease. Something is unnervingly familiar about his behavior, but every time he tries to pin it down, it slips through his fingers. After all these years, Derek is fluent in Human Stiles, can translate every flail and facial tic with authority, but Werewolf Stiles breaks his confidence. His silences communicate at a decibel too low for Derek to comprehend. They quietly suggest a lacunae, slyly offer him teasing glimpses of things he can’t comprehend.

The only thing loud about Stiles these days is his thundering heart.

“Has becoming a werewolf finally shut you up?” The words are spoken as a joke, but not a joke at all. Stiles spreads his hands in response, a gesture of…what? Defeat? Concession? Repudiation?

It’s like the Nogitsune all over again, something just below the surface darkly thrashing, only this time around Stiles is the epitome of perfect physical health. Gone is the sickly pallor and bruised, gaunt eyes, replaced with hardy muscle, lupine grace and a blushing glow. He is palpably the same man, the planes of his face intensely familiar and as eye catching as always, but something is off enough to set alarm bells shrieking inside Derek’s skull.

So he follows Stiles, a regression to the early days when he camped out in the woods alongside the high school lacrosse fields or behind Stiles’ bedroom door. This time he leaps to Stiles’ rooftop, lingering above his cracked bedroom window, listening for signs of life within. He hears shallow breathing, then Stiles’ amused tone. “Just come in, Derek. I know you’re there.” And pride rears up again, sinking sharp claws into his heart. It would have taken the other betas hours to notice he was there.

He swings down, sliding the window open and leaving it at half-mast behind him, allowing the world outside to filter in. A lone bee travels the overgrown lilac bushes two feet below the windowsill, wings humming at a low frequency. In the woods behind the house a fox takes down a rabbit with a choked-off scream, and car tires continuously buzz down the highway a few miles away.

Inside the room, Stiles is sitting on the carpeted floor, an unopened glass mason jar laying next to him, half eclipsed by the baby-blue dust ruffle of the bed. These days Derek is a pendulum, swinging wildly from culpability and guilt to gratification and relief each time he sees the flash of golden-yellow, always so similar to Stiles’ whisky-brown irises. Does he hate me because I turned him? He’s alive, that’s all that matters.

“What’s wrong, Stiles?” Derek is not a natural sounding board. It’s one—of the many—ways in which he falls short of his mother and Laura. When people talked to them, they listened, the kind of committed listening that produces a sense of catharsis. Derek chafes against that form of therapy; he’d rather act, find a remedy. But for Stiles, he will be a confidante. He will do whatever needs to be done, and he always will.

Stiles sighs. “I keep coming back to this.” He shakes the jar, jostling the contents—powdered, formless, but obviously significant. Derek sits cross-legged on the floor in front of Stiles, offers out his hand. Stiles places the cool, heavy glass in Derek’s outstretched palm, and when he holds it up to the light he sees the dark gray power is mountain ash.

“Peter was right, about me.” It takes Derek a few seconds to recognize Stiles is referring to Derek’s uncle. He’s not used to the name being spoken so plainly, without a mockingly offensive nickname or colorful obscenities attached.

“What did he say?”

“That I wanted this, to be a werewolf. That I wasn’t allowing myself to acknowledge it.”

“When did he tell you that? Where? Why?”

“When I was sixteen. In a parking garage. And why not? For once, he wasn’t lying.”

How has Derek gone so long without knowing about this conversation? For someone who wears his heart on his sleeve, Stiles is awfully good at smoke and mirrors. Derek racks his brain for why Stiles is looking at the mountain ash with a mixture of longing and dislike.

“Would you rather I…” Derek stops, clears his throat. “Do you wish I never turned you?” His entire body revolts against the thought of the burning flame being snuffed from Stiles’ eyes.

“No,” Stiles answers, heartbeat strong and steady. “I’m glad you did. It’s just…stupid.” He averts his eyes. “It’s childish and ungrateful. But when I laid a line of mountain ash I felt useful, I felt different, but in a good way. That magic, it was coming from inside me, my belief, my brain, which had always seemed like such a spastic failure.” He reaches over, plucks the jar from Derek’s fingers, holds it to his face and studies the contents that are now dangerous, a tool to be used against him. “This transformation has granted me a wealth of riches, and a painfully sharp deprivation.”

And now Derek finally recognizes it, the ghost that has been hovering at the corner of his eyesight, dispersing into mist when he looks too closely at Stiles: grief. Stiles feels like he now has everything, and nothing at all. It’s so obvious. How could he not have known? This whole time, he thought Stiles was speaking too quietly for him to hear, but he’s been screaming.

“I was born like this,” Derek reminds him. “It’s all I’ve ever known. I can’t ever hope to understand, but I’ll help you however I can. However you’ll let me.”

Stiles shoves the jar under the bed frame, out of sight. “May I?” he asks, eyelids lowered and shoulders braced for rejection, though Derek never would. He holds out his arms, and Stiles crawls into his lap, nudging Derek’s chin, running his nose along Derek’s neck and breathing deep. Stiles sighs, content. Satisfaction wells up again, at how tactile Stiles is, his fearless physical expressions of devotion and intimacy.

“It will get better. Things will get easier,” Derek consoles, sure that, together, there is nothing they can’t overcome.

“I know,” Stiles answers, breath hot and wet against Derek’s throat. “I can take care of myself, but knowing you’re here, your strength, your friendship…” Your love. The words aren’t spoken aloud, but they will be. Someday. “It helps. More than you could ever know.”

Outside these four walls the lone bee is joined by a few friends, working tirelessly to gather pollen to transform into sweetness. The fox shares her kill with her hungry growing cubs, and an endless parade of cars continue on their journeys to destinations unknown.

Time marches on, and so will they.

Send me a pairing and number and I will write you a mini fic

[rkcheri]

﹡   𝐌𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒❺ EPISODE 8    ━━  𝗥𝗢𝗬𝗔𝗟𝖥𝖫𝖴𝖲𝖧  ◆  COACH CHERI .

first place comes as a surprise -- not because mijoo didn’t see it coming, no, it definitely wasn’t that. but because she’s learned time and time again not to put her expectations too high, no matter the talent and hard work that pulses between veins and exhausted bones and beads of sweat that trembled against desperate entities. 

( a part of her wills expectations to be thin, but they rise more and more as names are called and their team has yet to come -- she sees sunmi’s team place last and her heart falls, remembering throughout the episode how hard their team worked and how much her best friend was trying, although harshly, to help them. and the way that same heart flutters at the sight of mason, his smile as his team, trc -- antidote -- receives third place )

she wants to hope the best for them, she wills it in every way she can, dashing hearts, crossing fingers -- sprinkling mythical fairy dust in every corner of her mind up until the winners are announced. they’ve worked hard for this, but mijoo has tasted victory once before and lost it all in the same breath. it’s why, watching the show in real-time with nayoung, she’s on edge; fingers clutching tightly to her member’s as they baek jiyoung recited the first place of the night and ultimately, who would be departing from them. 

it’s bittersweet -- a perfect win with a devastating loss paired with it.

mijoo didn’t see it coming, she couldn’t -- wouldn’t dream of assuming who out of the five would leave them but there he goes, his whimsical smile last seen moments before his name is called and mijoo has her breath caught between a gasp and a choked up sob. 

she barely hears the rest of the monologue go by -- negating her attention elsewhere now, fingers loose from nayoung’s hold to grab her phone and immediately text a message to hyojin. 

( after she had left their last run through of their stage, she had distributed her cell phone to each -- inciting that if ever they needed someone to talk to, whether to calm their nerves or to recommend a good chicken place, she was always free to message. emergency or not, mijoo left her line open. only now, it seemed she would have to reach out first )

﹡* ❪  SMS ☎︎ ┊  김효진  ❫  ⨯

… 💌 ᵎ  i just saw the last episode, you did amazing, hyojin-ssi! … 💌 ᵎ  this may be the end for you on the mgas, but please know that a good opportunity is always around the corner! … 💌 ᵎ  if you still feel bad, i’ll treat you to ice cream next time, yes?

it’s the least she can do, she knows loss well. she’s felt it to the bone -- seen it in the eyes of her team many moons ago. mijoo had hoped to never feel it again, but as she sees the rest of the taped episode go by, she knows this is the last she’ll keep her hopes up so high.

                                            ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━      

but first place was first place and mijoo still thought winners deserved to celebrate. it’s why, when the topic had come up among the coaches -- all in favor of ice cream cake -- it was decided instantly, that while the winners could have their cake, it wouldn’t be fun to just let them eat it like that, right?

a plan is set into motion: a small prank to congratulate them on all their hard work. while mijoo wasn’t one to overly praise, she did think such achievements deserved their own rewards. so, when the day came -- she comes flying into the room, singing her own little tune, a little too happily, a little too ‘clumsily’ she comes, swinging this way and that as she comes closer and closer to the little group until her words stop and she’s ready to hand over the cake to the first to come her way. 

and it’s a one-two exchange, one she doesn’t usually mess up but -- oops! there goes her fingers and oh no! there goes the cake. 

 by the way her facial expressions pull into a look of horror, mirrored heavily upon the other’s faces, mijoo can’t help the way her lips threaten to spill into laughter rather than the exaggerated ‘o’ they fell into at the get-go. 

it was priceless, watching them in unison stare in horror as the cake fell from grace -- kyungsoo was hilarious as he stood, arms outstretched, like the cake would just reverse back and fall into his hands, instead -- even to mijoo’s eye, she felt her own stomach plummet at the sight of a delicious cake going to waste but alas, all in the name of comedy. an entire gotcha! moment that spills into laughter as she tries to stop the giggles from over taking her. it’s quickly relieved when seolhyun and wonwoo come in after her with another cake, resolving the fiasco that was the ‘fallen cake’ mission 001. ( that doesn’t save her from sighing, in the end, as she cleans up the rest of the cake, piling it into the box it had fallen from ) 

time moves on, all is forgiven ( at least that’s what mijoo thinks ) as they’re giving their slices and seated across from one another. enjoying their time, their victory in the end when eric suggests calling hyojin and mijoo finds herself growing lighter. another bittersweet feeling taking over as she forks one helping after another between her lips as she hears the tone beep, waiting for the receiver to answer: and he does before long, and mijoo can’t help but smile at the sight of him beaming at them without fail.

it sucks, that he’s not there with them but she hopes it’ll pass, the guilt. 

( it will, she thinks, it has to )

“don’t worry, hyojin-ssi! when this is all over, we’ll go out for cake, all of us -- together!”

                                          ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━      

 in the same breath, cake and all, they’re still as serious as ever. it’s a determination that mirrors the one mijoo had felt the week before but this time, she feels the chills. the determination to do better than the last, to prove that last week wasn’t a fluke -- that they weren’t just going to be complacent because of this win. 

song choices are hard to come by. when they agree on one, they’re far too contemplative on another. and by some force, mijoo finds herself throwing in the suggestion of adding a feminine element, they have been dominantly suggesting male songs, and while they had one girl: pretty heejin-ssi, she thought it would be interesting if ... -- perhaps ... “a girl group, maybe?” and she waits, with expectant eyes as the group digests her words.

( they end up agreeing on she’z ‘luv’ and mijoo couldn’t have been more ecstatic -- if the mimicing of the iconic L-O-V-E hand movements wasn’t a tell-tale sign )

                                         ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━      

as choreography goes, mijoo is no where near as athletic as any of the team. watching, and grimacing, when seolhyun brings up the idea of doing squats in order to build the muscle and endurance in order to pull of the more complicated movements at the beginning of the performance.

purposely pretending not to notice the look seolhyun passes her way when she brings it up -- personally praying she’s not forced to participate for team morale. ( thanking god when the day passes and she seems to be saved from the torture that would come to her thighs )

in the days leading up to the performance, while she’s not as busy seolhyun or wonwoo, she’s still confined by her own practices; running back and forth from the practice rooms to the vocal lessons that when she’s able to come visit the team while the other coaches are away, it’s at a time when they’re doing the dread squats seolhyun had suggested and mijoo can’t help but laugh ( trying with utmost care to not sound like some wicked stepmother as she did so ) at the sight: one by one, the four of them were lined up doing squats all while harmonizing various parts of their song ( a practice mijoo had suggested after the four had finished singing flo-rida’s low for the millionth time ) ; phone in hand as she filmed footage to send to the coach group chat she shared with seolhyun and wonwoo. 

an attached ‘🤪🦵🦵 LEG DAY FOR DAYS’ comment sent along with the video shortly after.

                                      ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━      

perhaps, saying all was forgiven was spoken too soon. let it be known now, mijoo wasn’t partial to scary things.

she did not take kindly to being scared.

whether intentional or not, all she can remember is the memes that followed her ridiculous screams during royal survival. honestly, she had thought her screaming career had ended then and there. dusted her hands of anything scary and that was that.

but here it is, in plain sight -- hidden beneath smiles and false senses of securities as she and ella are walking, talking simultaneously -- an unfortunate rookie move in this case -- as the door is pushed open and --

“boo!” 

she’s immediately collapsing on the floor, crawling backwards into the hall, screaming at the top of her godly lungs, “DEMONS! DEMONS!” -- her might propelling whatever sound could come from her all while pointing a finger into the room. it was a dirty trick and one mijoo probably should have saw coming but that didn’t mean she couldn’t still feel hurt by it.

her hurt is shown in the case of pouts and the tears that were rounding tear-ducts as she’s helped up from her fetal position at the other side of the hallway by suwoong. she’s still sniffling, fingers to her heart, hoping to calm it’s racing pulse, all while mumbling, “i forgive you but that was really, really mean.”

                                     ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━      

one day, it’s a day of reminiscing -- and while most days, all mijoo does is avoid it. today, she finds her peace and laughs at the memories that flood her.

they’re wonderful memories, days that started her journey -- that led her all the way to here. she opens up like a book untouched, dust in the air as she breathes in the memories and laughs along the way. “my favorite performance?” she sighs, head shaking. “it’s been years. let it be known that i participated way back when in 2013 during the first mgas, so i’m not sure how relevant the performance is these days but it was our final performance. i was on a team with eclipse’s haseul, too. we performed after school sunbaenim’s ‘because of you’ and surprisingly, i rapped. i know, shocker, right? but i think that’s my most memorable because it definitely pushed my limits. we were fighting for our dreams, much like you guys are now -- and the only way we knew to win was to fight it with every inch of our potential.”

“just like how i see you guys do, every single day you come to practice. just like how i know you guys will when you get up on that stage saturday.” 

and while it’s not a promise for the better, mijoo knows ( she digresses, hopes ) there’s no regrets to follow.

                                          ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━      

it’s too soon -- smooth sailing is an assumed default and mijoo is a fool to take to this carefree nature.

when they come for another visit, to supervise the practice again, the team announces they’ve changed the plan for the finale. this shocks them all.

enough that mijoo finds herself making a face, one that doesn’t hide her skepticism as they show her just what they meant by changing the performance. 

and of course, it was a joke.

but maybe, just maybe, it was the first time, mijoo almost felt the flame of frustration strike a chord in her ( one that was quick to be extinguished once the laughter had put a dent in the wall and allowed the flood of jest to overcome them one by one ).

again, mijoo comes with a pout -- and a, “yah! that was mean! i thought you guys were really serious!”

                                           ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━      

in the days leading up to the performance, she’s more and more scarce as her own schedules take time away from helping but she does what she can. and she hopes that’s enough. on one of the last days, she lingers to the side; not saying much rather than watching them proceed again and again. not to the point of exhaustion but she can see their profiles well, see the improvement flexed into their bodies at each performed segment.

they’re trying their hardest, much like last week.

hopefully, this final time, victory treats them just the same. 

                                          ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━      

𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐃   ∙    @rkella, @haseulrk, @rkmiya, @rkmason@rkwon, @hyojinrk, @rksuwoong, @rkkyungsoo, @rkheejin, & @ericxrk

[papijoonzpizza]

Fireball (M)

Hoseok smut (one shot)

Both the demise and blessing of your night, with fireball coursing through your veins you find it hard to resist those eyes staring at you from across the room.

Warning: Smut, public sex, drinking, oral (both receiving)

Word Count: 6,281

This idea has been in the back of my mind for a while, but a lot of inspiration came from the feelings I got from watching this

“Oh come on _____ you gotta let loose in some way… PLUS it’s not like you have any other plans for tonight do you?” Actually, you did. Although some might not call the half finished bottle of Chardonnay and Step Up DVD Rental much in regards to importance, for you however, it certainly takes the cake when compared to being surrounded by intoxicated sweaty limbs that tend to wander to places you’d rather not have them go. This tends to be most cases of course, every now and then you actually enjoyed the night but of course you were always in the mood then... unlike now.

“Sung Hee I am just not feeling it right now. I’m going to take a rain check and we can go next Saturday instead yeah?” You look up at the brunette seated across from you, now exhibiting a glint in her eye… uh-oh, you sigh and slouch your head in defeat. You wait for the next thing to leave her mouth, knowing that whatever it was would leave you with no choice but to follow her throughout whatever she had planned tonight.

“Awww, but I already told my dad that we were going to go! He said he wanted me to get along with my seniors, I guess I will just have to tell him that you weren’t up to-”

“Alright fine” you groan, flattening out your pencil skirt while getting out of your chair. She gets up and follows you as you empty out your tray in the trash bin.

“Fine what? If you really aren’t up to it I can just explain-” , “Fine let’s go to whatever place you had in mind” you say through gritted teeth. Sung Hee’s face breaks into a smile and she does a little dance causing you to roll your eyes. You continue to walk towards your office, cursing at your luck. If only it wasn’t you who she had chosen to entertain her power with. With her dad being one of the higher ups in your company it was no surprise that everyone else sucked up to her, being nice enough as to even do some of her job for her. Everyone else except you, whom had decided to stay as far away from her as possible. It was this exact reason however, that she fixed herself to your side and tested her limits so as to keep herself amused.

“Well you see there is this place called Eclipse that just opened on-”

“Cool, I will meet you there” you interrupt, not wanting to waste more time than had already been given. “What time did you want to meet up?” you turn around and face her head on suddenly causing her to stumble backwards. A brief flash of fear flashes in her eyes and at this you lean backwards awaiting her response.

“How about you pick me up at 9 pm, I will text you the address. Bye ____, thanks for having lunch with me, see you later!” Sung Hee quips and turns around, walking down the hall.

You glare in annoyance at the oversway of her hips as she passes her male coworkers. She isn’t exactly the most celibate individual, in fact you had overheard several times from the male coworkers about how good she was at this or that. You never really cared for this information knowing that it could all be talk. You realized soon after that at least some of it had to be true since you had caught her having sex at least four times in the conference room. Each time it was with someone different and you have yet to hear from someone at the company who has not “had their way with her” to put it in their words. Even with all of that, she still managed to seem a little fearful of you. You turn around and smirk, if only she feared you enough to leave you alone. Shaking your head you open your door and enter your office.

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

Getting home later that day, you groan and throw yourself back onto your bed. Lifting your wrist to your eye level, you find your watch notifying you that you roughly had an hour and forty five minutes until your impending doom. You get up and begin undressing, getting into the shower after you put on your playlist. You calm almost instantly as the music blends with the falling water. Running your fingers through your hair you begin to massage your scalp and sigh as your body relaxes. You wash away the feeling of filth that has collected throughout the day, feeling fully refreshed at the end. You exit the shower while grabbing a towel and begin to dry your body. You open the door allowing the steam that has accumulated in the bathroom to spill out towards your room before making your way to your clothes.

Looking through your closet you find that you don’t even have the slightest idea as to what to wear. It’s not like you knew whether or not she had selected somewhere fancy or more casual. As if almost on cue, your phone dings from the other side of the room. You open it and roll your eyes at what Sung Hee has sent you.

Sent from: Sung Hee             8:03 PM

Here is my address! Make sure to wear something that shows some skin, I still have a reputation to uphold.

Delivered to: Sung Hee          8:04 PM

K, see you soon

You respond and throw your phone onto the foot of your bed before turning around to face your closet. You approach the end where you keep your favorite black dress, pulling it out to admire it in the mirror. You grab your red pumps and make your way to your bathroom. Proceeding to get ready, it doesn’t take long until you find yourself glancing at the clock and find it time to leave. Grabbing your things, you leave your apartment and call the first cab you see. After giving them Sung Hee’s address you notify her that you have left. Staring out the window you find yourself lost in thought as you stare at the stars. You almost don’t even notice the cab stop until a sudden chill gets sent throughout the cab with the opening of the door.

“It took you long enough ____” Sung Hee states, shutting the door behind her. She turns and takes in your appearance “well at least you dressed nicely.” At this you scoff and take in her appearance. She’s wearing a white cocktail dress that rises up so high you see the black lace adorning her hip. Her attention is fixed on the reflection in her mirror as she fixes her makeup, gasping when the cab reaches a speed bump almost causing her to ruin her entire look. A chuckle makes its way out of your mouth and you quickly turn it into a coughing fit when her eyes begin to shoot daggers at you.

“______ have you ever hooked up with anyone at the office?” she asks, beginning to apply her lipstick. At this you shift uncomfortably in your seat, unsure as to where to begin so that the conversation ends quickly.

“Uh-uhm no, why?” you fiddle with your fingers as she turns to look at you in almost shock.

“Really? Like you haven’t thought about it at all?” she pushes, leaning towards you with a almost piercing gaze, searching for any indication that you were lying. You proceed to shake your head, meeting her gaze straight on. She shrugs, fixated back to her mirror and proceeds to clean any overlap she has created with her application.

“Well maybe you should consider it, I mean some of those guys really know what their doing.” she blows a kiss to her pocket mirror before closing it and placing it back into her bag.

“Yeah?” You raise one of your brows at her. “Like who?” you question, curious as to who could possibly be that good that she was recommending that you sleep with them.

“Well for one there’s Dae Hee, Eun Soo, oh, even Sung Ki! well... I guess they are all good, but maybe you should try with Tae Song first since he’d probably be the best first lay” She taps her fingers against her puckered lips in thought, tilting her head slightly as she stares at the roof of the cab. Seeing your opportunity, you take the chance to ask the one question that had made its way to the back of your mind, itching to make its appearance in the conversation.

“Um, not that it is really any of my business and I don’t mean this with any condescending manner... but you used protection when hooking up with them right?” you take in her reaction and turn your attention out the window when she tilts her head questioningly. Oh god, she knew what protection was right? She had to...

“Protection? What do you mean, like mace or pepper spray? Haha you’re silly _____ why would I use that?” At this you shake your head and face palm. You massage your temple before starting to open your mouth, ready to begin your speech on safe sex practices and their importance. Before you can even start however, she begins speaking once again.

“Oh you mean like protection like condoms and stuff?” she chuckles and places her hand on your shoulder as if you were held out on some big secret that would change your life.

“Oh _____, as long as they pull out in time that’s all that matters” your brow furrows in concern as you pull her hand away from your shoulder. You realize that she is only thinking about pregnancy.

“That’s not it-” you begin only to be cut off by the cab driver.

“Here we are” the car slows down, indicating for you to gather your stuff and pay him what’s due. Sung Hee gets out almost immediately after he stops and you throw the fare in his hand before racing after her.

You catch up to her right as she is about to enter, the bouncer giving you a onceover and nodding his head in approval. You grab onto her arm as she twines her way through the crowd of people that have accumulated in the hallway entrance. You step into a big room and instantly let go of Sung Hee, jaw dropping in amazement at the interior of what seemed to be a small building. You certainly had not expected there to be enough room for a balcony, let alone the huge stage they had towards the back of the venue. You spin around, taking in the supporting Tuscan style columns. Pretty classy for a club setting you think, and even then the flashing lights don’t seem out of place. The slight discoloration is doing wonders when placed against the mass of sweaty bodies located on the dancefloor. It almost seems inviting to you and that’s saying a lot.

You spot the bar and walk towards it, finding a stool with no one sitting beside it. You might have found this strange, but after seeing the amounts of booths located upstairs you find it hard to believe that groups of people would rather sit at the bar. You call the bartender over and ask for a shot of tequila, downing it quickly before turning to see if you can spot Sung Hee. Scanning through the crowd you curse at the amount of people that decided to go out in white attire. You almost give up, ready to order another shot before your eyes fixate on someone across the room.

What catches your eye first is not the bright red blazer that adorns his black and white striped button up, but the red colored hair that he runs his fingers through. Although dull in comparison to his blazer, his red hair is flattering against his glowing skin. His sharp features are very attractive and you find yourself shifting in your chair as he brushes his hair back. Your eyes trail down, eyeing the slits that trail dangerously high towards his hip. The tight material does little to mask the tight muscle that flexes as he adjusts his position against the wall. With the sudden movement, your eyes flash back up to his face and you freeze. His gaze pierces yours causing your eyes widen, turning back to face the bar and asking the bartender for three shots of fireball. It’s not like you particularly liked cinnamon flavored whisky, you just wanted to prepare yourself for the slow burn of the night ahead of you.

The first shot burns your throat, depraved from the pleasuring tingles that normally ensue after it makes its way down. You still end up smiling as the warm feeling stays in your chest instead. Glancing around again, you choke on air the moment you find him still staring at you. He licks his lips wickedly and at this you sit up straight, quickly becoming distracted by the glow of your phone. You frown as you notice it’s not anything of importance. Clearing your throat you check your other notifications before placing it back in front of you. The hairs on your arms raise as you sense someone standing behind you. Smirking slightly, you think that maybe he couldn’t stay away after all.

“Jiho’s the name, going home with you tonight is the game” You turn, expecting to see the red head but frown at the sight of tall, built individual with several tattoos adorning his biceps. With the amount of muscle protruding against his polo, you find it hard to believe that he isn’t flexing right now as a means to impress you. When you meet his eyes he smirks and eyes you up and down prompting you to scoff and once again face the bar. This night could not possibly get any worse. “Alright alright, even I admit that that one was a bit too much,” he muses adjusting his pants, “I’m sorry babe but I saw you from across the room and wanted to hear what your voice sounded like. You look absolutely gorgeous by the way, did you come here alone?” Rolling your eyes you massage your forehead before responding.

“Listen boy, if you’re going to talk so much you might as well go chat up that pole over there, I’m sure that it’s tired of only listening to the music.” You nod towards the column that currently supports not only the building structure but a pair of individuals that hold no concern for any wandering eyes that stumble upon their groping forms. At this he chuckles and takes the seat at the bar next to you.

“Alright listen, I don’t really care if you end up going home with me or not but I really just want to dance with you at least once before you end up leaving tonight. How does that sound babe?” You eye him from the corner of your eye as you down your second shot of fireball, grimacing at the burn that makes its way down your throat. You go to grab your third shot and scowl when you find it in his hand, gasping as he quickly downs it and turns to the dancefloor. He quickly faces you again before getting off the stool. “Well if you change your mind I’ll be over there” he signifies by jabbing the air behind him with his thumb.

You shoot a glare and turn back towards the bar signaling the bartender over once again. “Fucking prick” you mutter under your breath, waiting for your turn. As he makes his way towards you, you catch a blur of red out of the corner of your eye and as you open your mouth to order another shot another voice makes its way across the counter to the bartenders ears first.

“Two more shots of what she was drinking please” at this the bartender nods and grabs two shots, serving them quickly before turning his attention elsewhere. Your mouth opens slightly at the sight of the redhead beside you. Your eyes follow his hand as he grabs one of the shots, placing it in front of you.

“What kind of dick takes someone else’s drink? I mean even if you’re friends you still gotta ask don’t you?” You meet his eyes finding them amused with your expression. You giggle and shake your head. Taking your shot glass into your hand you offer to clink it against his. He raises his and the clink of your glasses seems to echo in your ears as you lock eyes. You both bring the glasses up to your lips and knock back the liquor in record time. You find yourself entranced by his gaze and follow the trail of liquor that makes its way down the side of the shot glass and onto his thumb. He brings it up to his mouth and sucks the liquid softly into his mouth while observing your reactions. He smirks at you and only then do you break eye contact, choosing instead to stare at the wall of alcohol before you as your face flushes. You find heat pooling in places that leave you cursing at how good he smells at this proximity. Clearing your throat you face him once again, glancing at his lips briefly before meeting his eyes once again “and what’s your name?”

“Hoseok, and yours?” he leans forward creating a fluttering feeling. “It, it’s ___” you manage to stutter before signaling the bartender to get you some water.

“Well ____, if I didn’t know any better I would guess that not only did you not want to be here to begin with, but that asshole didn’t do much to make your night any better did he?” he nods his head towards the dancefloor where you spot the guy from earlier now dancing with another girl.

“What makes you say that?” you glance downwards, sipping on the water that is placed in front of you.

“The friend you came with left you almost immediately, and for the past hour you have been glancing at your phone non stop” you almost choke on your water. Looking into his eyes you search for any indication that he’s lying but you find nothing but a hint of teasing.

“Haha quiet the creeper aren’t you?” you chuckle, raising your brow at him expecting him to shift uncomfortably in his seat.

Instead, he leans forward, voice dropping an octave lower.

“Ehh, I’d call it more so observant,” he leans forward more, whispering in your ear “then again only in what I want to be.” A shiver is sent down your spine and you squeeze your thighs together. This only minimally soothes the ache that has formed between your legs. Only growing with the almost sinful way he sits back in his chair and gazes at you. Not at your figure, but you yourself as if he already knows what you look like underneath your clothes. As if he has already had his way with you before and he’s hungry for more.

“and what would that be?” you whisper, suddenly feeling as if the air is too thick to breathe. Biting your lip you find that his gaze follows this action causing your breath to get caught in your throat. He opens his mouth and you find yourself slightly leaning forward, eyes attentive on his lips as he licks them before using them to form words.

“Well-”

“____ there you are! Why aren’t you out there dancing? There’s this hot guy and… oh, who’s this?”  Sung Hee’s voice rings behind you. Whatever held you so close to Hoseok snaps and you turn immediately to find the brunette eyeing Hoseok with fluttering eyes while twirling a piece of her hair around her finger. Sung Hee then brushes her hair back bringing a scoff from your mouth as you see just how much cleavage she shows, how typical.

“Hoseok” he says shifting in his seat, sitting up straight. “You must be here with ____ right?” he glances between the both of you as she comes closer to his proximity.

“Well we came here together… but it doesn’t mean we have to go home together either” she says trailing her finger down the broad expanse of his chest. You roll your eyes and call for the bartender, lifting up two fingers to indicate two more shots.

“How about you come dance with me Hoseok, it doesn’t look like ____ is planning to leave that bar stool of hers any time soon” At this you glance at him from the corner of your eyes before downing the amber liquid. He stares at you for what feels like minutes but is probably just a solid couple of seconds before he is pulled away towards the dance floor. You turn, following them with your eyes as they bore holes at the back of Sung Hee’s head. Clenching your jaw you take out your phone and try to distract yourself by looking through your social media. To no avail you find yourself stealing looks at where Sung Hee presses her back into Hoseok as he holds her hips.

Not even noticing when it happens, you find yourself staring at their forms, cursing Sung Hee for deciding to take the one enjoyment of the night you had thus far. You get lost your thoughts as you imagine how things might have ended had she not came back to find you. Had she not just left with someone else you would have gladly allowed yourself to be put at his mercy. Your stomach churns in anticipation as you imagine the way he’d kiss you, the way he’d take off your dress, at the way he would start to kiss his way down your neck making his way to where you wanted him most. You break out of your thoughts as he turns back to find you staring. At this he smirks and turns. Finding yourself no longer facing his back you instead stare at their sides as he tightens his grip on her hips. Sung Hee raises her arms, wrapping them around his neck as she becomes more engrossed in their dancing. Hoseok holds your gaze and then just slightly he begins to move his hips into her, her head falling back against his shoulder as she smiles. If you hadn’t already been staring you wouldn’t have noticed the action, but you cursed your own fate. You bet she feels so ecstatic right now, she must be feeling so lucky to be dancing with someone who moves his hips so sinfully. He begins to run his fingers down her hips, trailing them across her thighs before inching them back up, wrapping them across her middle.

Breaking the gaze, you take your last shot before making your way towards the dancefloor making sure to sway your hips as you do so. Spotting the guy from earlier, you show no hesitance in tapping his shoulder. He turns from the girl he is currently dancing with and smirks eyeing you up and down once again. You cross your arms and turn annoyed as he dismisses the girl, pushing her towards the bar with some cash. She huffs and stalks off  but not before giving you a dirty look.

“Joowon right? I think that it’s time for that dance you wanted” you walk towards him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you push your body flush against him. You begin to sway your hips against his and glance around, only stopping when you lock eyes with Hoseok. You smirk as he eyes the way you begin to roll your body. A grimace makes its way onto your face at the feeling of this guys hands making their way to your ass. At this you turn around, pushing your back against his chest as he places his hands on your hips. You sway your hips in a circular motion, paying specific attention to the way you push them back towards his crotch. At this he groans and you glance up at Hoseok who is now eyeing your temporary partner with venomous eyes. You raise your brow at him when you lock eyes and then proceed to close your eyes when you feel lips tracing your neck. You pretend that instead of this prick, its Hoseok. That it’s his fingers wrapping themselves against your hips just how they would while taking you from behind. You open your eyes, glancing to where Hoseok and Sung Hee are now locking lips. This cracks the facade you find yourself in and you break away from Joowon or whatever his name is, muttering an apology as you fix your dress back in place.

Walking towards them you catch Hoseok’s eye as he pulls away briefly. “Hey Sung Hee, can I borrow Hoseok for a second?” you tap on her shoulder. She turns and looks at you confused “Oh _____, what do you want?”

“Hoseok” you repeat, sneaking a glance at him as he eyes you curiously. Apparently only Sung Hee remains oblivious to the double meaning of your confession because she is not reluctant in her dismissal. She heads towards the direction of the bar stating that she needed another drink anyways. Knowing her she probably thinks that you aren’t a threat, that you stand no chance with the redhead who now currently stands attentive to you.

Grabbing his hand, you pull him behind you as you make your way towards the bathroom. Opening the door you make sure no one else is inside before pulling him in and locking it behind you. Facing the mirror, you bring your eyes to meet his gaze.

“Are you going to take her home?” you spit out, slowing down your words as you continue “she’s not what you think she is, and I wanted to warn you that you’ll probably end up catching some sort of disease from sleeping with her.” A chuckle is released as exchanges looks with you.

“Why do you care?” he questions, brows raising in expectation.

“I don’t” you reply almost immediately, turning to face him head on. He walks forward, hands reaching towards your hips only to brush against them slightly as he places them on the sink behind you. Your body tingles where he touched you, a whimper escaping your lips as he smiles smugly at your response. You glower at him, cursing the heat that begins to pool at his proximity.

“Is that so? It didn’t seem that way when you started to dance with asshat over there” he hisses, pulling your body towards his. You gasp, hands placed against his chest you begin to fist the fabric of his button up as he firmly grabs your hips. You smirk at him, feeling his bulge through his pants.

“I don’t know what you are talking about” you whisper pulling him down by his blazer and meeting his lips with yours. A fire ignites its way throughout your body as he growls, pulling you closer before beginning to tangle his tongue with yours. You moan as he palms at your ass, massaging it with his hands before pulling you up to sit on the sink counter. You whimper as he leaves open kisses down your neck, pushing the sleeves of your dress down so as to have better access to your cleavage. Hoseok hikes your dress up, exposing the fact that you had decided to not wear underwear that night. Noticing this Hoseok chuckles and nudges your legs apart with his knees. You gasp at the sudden rush of cold air against your throbbing cunt. He pecks your lips one, two more times before getting on his knees before you. His eyes lock against your center as he removes his blazer, tossing it to the side.

“Holy shit, you’re this wet already?” he asks, dragging his finger through your slickness. You watch as he places it into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it before releasing it with a pop that seems to send an electric current throughout your nerves. His gaze darkens, looking hungrily at the mess that has accumulated between your legs.

“I’ve been wet since you- fuck!” you gasp out against the feeling of him licking a stripe up your center. He chuckles and pulls back waiting for you to continue, your arousal coating his lips in a sleek shine. “Sin-since before we were interrupted by my shitty coworker” you finish, closing your eyes at the feeling of his mouth against your core once again. He proceeds to tongue at your center and then moves up, circling your clit as he begins to massage your thighs. You cry out as he sucks on your clit the same time he enters a finger. He begins to pump in and out of you while he makes his way back up to your mouth. You grab at your zipper, pulling it down and allowing your dress to pool at your hips. You bite his lip softly, letting it go as he pulls back. His eyes trail down, a groan leaving his throat at the sight of the barely there white lace being the only thing shielding your hardened nipples from the cold. Leaning forwards, he mouths over one of your nipples and you arch into his hold, crying out as he massages your other breast in his hand. He quickly becomes impatient and pulls down the straps, placing open mouthed kisses across your chest. He proceeds to leave love bites, causing you to whimper as his thumb begins to circle your clit. You moan, wrapping your arms around his head, keeping him in place as you struggle to hold onto your sanity. Just when you start to feel your stomach tighten, he adds another finger causing you to gasp out, cursing at the sensation of him reaching new depth. You feel as though you are about to combust, body shaking as you sense yourself reaching your peak.

“Ho-Hoseok, please” you whisper in his ear, pushing him away desperately. He whines softly, pulling away from your neck as he catches his breathe. You step down from the sink counter and slip your dress off, allowing it to fall onto the ground.

Falling to your knees, you begin to undo his belt as he runs his hand through his hair. You unzip his pants and he grabs your hand, leading it to palm against his hardness. You whimper softly at the feeling of him, precum seeping through his briefs. He leans his head backwards as you continue to palm him. You glance up and proceed to pull down his briefs. His cock springs out and your mouth emits a gasp, the length of his cock making your mouth water. You reach forward and take him into your hand, stroking him twice in order to take in his reaction. He bites his lip and you lick a stripe up his length, stopping at the head before bringing it into your mouth. You moan at the heavy feeling of it against your tongue, swirling around the head of his cock before pulling back. You kitten lick the tip and motion for him to remove his shirt. He begins unbuttoning right as you sink your mouth down his length. He curses, hand moving and twining itself in your hair. You chuckle and his cock twitches at the vibrations. Pulling back you allow him to finish taking of his shirt while you softly mouth the side. You sink your mouth down his length once more, bobbing your head up and down at a steady pace as your hands travel across his abdomen. When your eyes meet his hooded gaze he groans “Fuck ___ you’re unreal you know that? You’re driving me crazy”

Your fingers begin to trail the outlines of his abs as his breathing stutters. You pull back, stroking him at a slower pace as you lean up, licking along his abs before standing up and meeting his lips with yours. Pulling back, you tug at his length a little harder. “I know, now why don’t you get on with it and fuck me already?” you whisper provoking him even further. He growls, lifting you back onto the counter before pulling out a condom from the front pocket of his blazer. Rolling it on, he positions himself at your entrance as you grip his shoulders preparing yourself to the best of your ability.

“Are you ready?” He pants, observing your expression and searching for any indication that you didn’t want this anymore. You nod, pulling him into a deep kiss as he begins to move his hips forward. He inches his way slowly, pushing all the way in until he bottoms out. You moan at the filling sensation that temporarily satisfies the ache in your core. Catching your breath you begin to roll your hips causing him to pull back and begin thrusting into you at a steady pace. Gasps begin to fall from your mouth as he grips your hips in place. Swallowing the small whimpers that leave your lips, Hoseok entangles his lips with yours groaning at the feeling of your bare chests against each other. He begins to thrust into you at a faster pace as you feel the coil in your core start to tighten. “Fuck fuck Hoseok, Hoseok ah, I can’t… fu-fuck” you cry out, scratching his back as you graze your fingers down.

“No, you don’t get to come just yet” he grunts and pulls out, turning you so that you face the mirror before you. You wince at the cold feeling of the marble as he pushes your chest down flat against it. Lifting your chin, he leads you to meet his eyes through the reflection.

“I want you to watch, watch just how well your pretty little cunt takes my cock” he snarls, pulling back just until his tip his left inside of you before slamming back into you. You cry out, reaching to hold on anything, whimpering when you find nothing to help you keep you stable. You watch, eyes locking onto his as the slapping of his thighs meeting your ass echoes around you. You struggle to catch your breath, taking each thrust one at a time. He trails his hand down your front, stopping at your clit before beginning to send you over the edge. You fist your hands feeling at your wits end, fingernails indenting little moons into your palm. At the feeling of the coil snapping you scream out his name. He slows down, riding you through your orgasm as you pulse around his length. Your body begins to shudder in overstimulation and you sob as he continues his relentless attack on your mound. Grabbing his hand, you pull it up to your breast encouraging him to grasp it into his hand. He plays with it as you begin to push your hips back into his at a faster rate. You squeeze around him as his hips begin to stutter. “Shit ___, fuck” he groans spilling his load into the condom. He thrusts into you shallowly and you collapse against the counter while trying to gather your breath. Hoseok pulls out and disposes of the condom before pulling up his briefs. Moving your hair out of your face he leans forward and places a gentle kiss against your cheek.

“You were so good babe” he says sincerely, moving back to finish fixing his pants. He grabs a couple of paper towels and wets them in the sink beside you. He reaches for your hip and gently taps your thigh so that you open your legs. You smile tiredly and allow him to clean you up, gasping at the sudden coldness and wincing at the sensitivity that ensues from his actions. “Sorry babe, I think that’s as good as it’s going to be for now” he muses, tossing them into the trash. He grabs your dress and hands it to you, checking to make sure that you are able to dress yourself. Your legs almost give out from under you but you manage to place it back on. Turning to the mirror you begin to fix your disheveled hair and sigh at the sight of your now faded lipstick.

“Well what now babe?” he asks, buttoning his shirt up. You eye him questioningly through the mirror and chuckle, shaking your head in disbelief. He wanted more? Well it’s not like you had any problems with that, if only Sung Hee could see you now. You turn to face him “The club is going to close soon isn’t it?” You both know that there were still about 2 hours until closing time but that didn’t stop you from wanting to leave. At this he only smirks, leaning in towards you to whisper into the shell of your ear.

“Well… who says the night has to end here? Why don’t we head back to mine? It’s not like your shitty coworker is going to notice that you left.”

You nod before leaning up to peck his lips. He smiles in satisfaction as he grabs his blazer before unlocking the door.

Leaving the bathroom, Hoseok grabs your hand and leads you through the crowd. You don’t know what you just signed yourself up for, but boy you could not be more anxious to find out.

Happy New Year everyone! I hope that you enjoy this. There will not be a sequel.

PLEASE ASK TO REPOST, DO NOT TAKE CREDIT, DO NOT COPY

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Unrest of the Wicked, Part 3

Todd’s fear grew.

Waiting in the biting wintry air left him cold, but his countless hours of service in the constabulary had hardened him to such exposure.

His fear of getting caught grew with each minute of Johnn Von Brandt taking longer to pick the lock. The only thing standing between them and the accursed corpse hiding within the museum was this locked doorway. And the only thing Constable Todd really needed this alleged bandit Von Brandt for was to get inside.

Perhaps his prior experience with creatures of the night might help.

Todd’s inquisitive gaze swept up and down the fog-riddled Crimsonport street, expecting anybody to approach at any time now. The lanterns lining the road cast no shadows upon the door to which Von Brandt picked away at the lock with tiny metal tools. Todd’s mind played tricks on him, causing him to imagine people wandering down the street and spotting them, catching them in the act. He shot an impatient glance at Johnn, but bit his tongue rather than urging him to hurry up.

Todd could not afford to land on the wrong side of the law. Not now, not with all he knew.

For all he knew, important authority figures of all station within the city could be in league with the dark powers behind these wicked machinations. He considered his potential allies and how damaged their standing was within Red Coast society—the only people with the savvy and drive to combat the creatures of the night.

Nora Morrissey, former mercenary turned hunter, now rotting in prison for murder—of an aristocrat who had been possessed by a deranged demon. Johnn Von Brandt, scoundrel and suspect in multiple accounts of theft and burglary. Agnes Letterford, herbalist and midwife accused of practicing witchcraft by religious zealots, chased from the city by a superstitious mob who ended up burning down her home. Oddly enough, Luca Vadas, gunsmith and notorious gambler, happened to be the only one without such a stained reputation as the other three, but most people mistrusted him on principle due to Vadas belonging to a caravan of roaming folk.

Todd’s chest burned and he placed a hand there, with fingers numbed by the merciless cold air. He felt the shape of the amulet that the small girl, Magdalene McLachlan, had given him just moments before the two men approached the museum to break in.

Was this young girl also a potential ally? Appearing as deathly pale as a corpse?

The constable dismissed the thought and assured himself that he had only imagined the burning sensation emanating from the amulet.

Little time had passed since he had learned that vampyres, beast-men, and angry ghosts all posed real threats to the people of his homeland. Todd still erred on the side of skepticism, in an attempt to keep his sanity intact in face of all these unnatural threats. To do so, he would need to strike every shred of excessive superstition from his beliefs. Black cats crossing his path, walking underneath ladders, even breaking mirrors—he would have to assume that such things were nonsense until taught otherwise. Because the more he learned, the more he realized that there might be a kernel of truth hiding within each such folk tale, albeit knowing the difference between silly superstition and that kernel of truth might spell out the difference between life and death.

He looked to the clock-tower, looming in the distance over the rooftops of the city’s houses, nearly invisible through the thick banks of fog that obscured the nightly image of the sprawling metropolis. Todd could barely make out the tower’s outlines. He did however recognize the church’s holy symbol jutting out from the tower’s highest point.

He wondered how the Good God could allow such deviltry to run rampant and endanger his homeland and his people. He pondered if King Sieghard was just as corrupt and twisted as Earl Irvine Tyson, in league with evil creatures.

At each and every scene of a crime that Constable Todd now connected to unnatural events, he had always found a specific clue that the public remained oblivious about.

A single black rose.

The same symbol emblazoned on the crest of King Sieghard’s family.

He shot another glance at Johnn, who was focused on picking the lock to the museum door and oblivious to Todd’s festering sense of dread. He considered that he might need to tell him, but now was not the time. Yet.

The lock clicked and the door opened by the width of two fingers. Johnn looked back at Todd with determination burning in his eyes. Todd’s heart skipped a beat—knowing that whatever would happen now, it would eclipse the fear he had felt waiting out here. Hell, it might just eclipse the terror he experienced when he helped Luca Vadas battle a vampyre. The constable feared the possibility of dying this night. He feared dying in ways he dared not imagine.

Todd’s meaty hand grabbed Johnn by the shoulder of his coat and he yanked him up to his feet with furious vigor, pushing both of them along to make a hasty entrance into the museum’s bowels. Johnn stared daggers back at the constable over the gruff gesture but refused to comment on it.

The constable quietly closed the door behind them, shrouding them in near-complete darkness. Only feeble rays of light shone in through cracks between the curtains, casting the edifice’s exhibits in the eeriest illumination possible.

The two men snuck in between stands and displays within fine glass cases. Todd could barely make out the relics, though his earlier visit to the museum under the supervision of the Earl’s lackey helped him to find his way through this assortment of foreign objects.

Artifacts exhumed and brought here from a faraway, sunken kingdom of the sands.

Stone tablets swallowed the light here, shadows concealing their confusing hieroglyphs. Bizarre statuettes of animal-headed humanoids stood there, shining with an otherworldly golden sheen.

And finally, the artifact they had come for.

Todd and Von Brandt stopped in front of the huge sarcophagus, standing up straight against the wall like a totem pole. Both of them gazed upon it in awe. A majestic air surrounded this towering object. Their eyes had adjusted to the darkness and allowed them to admire the luster of the enormous coffin’s gilded surfaces—oh, how they almost glowed despite the lack of illumination. And upon the face of the sarcophagus a face had been painted in a forgotten age, yet the artwork remained and defied the sands of time—the painting of a face that bore both the insight of a sage and the soul-piercing stare of a cruel and unforgiving god-king.

“This is it?”

Todd only nodded in response, unable to peel his eyes from the sarcophagus.

“You have the tools and know better what to do,” he said to Johnn.

A sigh exited the bandit’s mouth, carrying a staggering exhaustion and sense of futility. But his swift movements spoke to a specific desire—the desire to get this over with. As quickly as humanly possible.

Johnn produced a heavy bag from his coat and untied its top. He crouched down and began pouring its contents out onto the floor, creating a large circle around the two men and the sarcophagus, best he could. He squeezed behind the relic, closing the circle back there.

Todd surmised that this was the rock salt. It would either keep the ghost outside and prevent it from taking over the mummy—or trap it in there. With them inside the circle, as well. Todd flinched at the latter thought.

Once the bandit was finished, he handed the constable a silvered decanter and a lighter.

“Now, I am not sure how or if this will work. If this circle does not stop the ghost from possessing the mummified remains, then we need to use the consecrated oils and burn them,” Johnn said. He bit his lip as he paused before asking, “Or we use the oil to attempt another circle at enclosing the phantom?”

Todd’s brow furrowed.

“How is it that you understand as little as I do about all of this despite having slain a beast-man and a warlock before?”

“They are not the same creatures, for one, and for another, I—look, it is difficult to retain all this nonsensical information about their weaknesses, alright?”

“Nonsensical information that will decide whether we live or die this night,” Todd hissed back at him.

“Listen—the lore gathered in Nora’s journals is vague at best. We will have to make this up as we go.”

Johnn swallowed a retort and placed two iron rods on the floor between them, as well as a stack of paper scrips inscribed with a strange style of writing that Todd only recognized at second glance—writing native to a remote realm in the Far East, from which the most wealthy of merchants delivered silk and exotic spices.

The bandit picked up one of the iron rods and gripped it in his left hand. He exhaled sharply as he stared at Todd for another moment and then turned to face the sarcophagus.

The steps Johnn took towards the huge relic fell silent upon the hard wooden floors underfoot. Caution and trepidation made each step deliberate and slowed down by the palpable sense of dread welling up inside his stomach. The same dread that Todd was also subjected to right now.

Todd stood as still as one of the desert kingdom’s derelict statues on display behind him.

Johnn’s slender fingers reached out towards the sarcophagus, creeping up close to curl around a groove which he could latch onto and pull the coffin’s lid open.

Before his fingertips connected to the shining golden surface of the strange royal coffin, it opened. An inch. No sound accompanied it, but it caused the hearts of the men to skip a beat.

Then a sound like a chorus or an army of people exhaling simultaneously erupted from the darkness, pouring out of that crack. Like one hundred souls breathed their last breath, all at once. Then something heavy hit the floor with the weight of a grown horse.

THUNK.

First Johnn stepped aside, then Todd reacted at the last moment. The lid of the sacrophagus fell forward, crashing down onto the museum floor with a frightening THUD.

Dust filled the room and their lungs, causing the two men to cough and swat at the air around them in a futile effort to create some breathing space. Both wanted to swear out loud and understand what was happening—what was going wrong.

The force of the sacrophagus’ lid crashing down had blown the salt away in every direction, disrupting the circle Johnn had carefully laid out.

Todd winced and squinted his eyes, trying to see what evil emerged from the darkness of the sarcophagus�� insides, ready pounce on them like a savage beast. Ready himself to fight back with all his might. He steeled himself. Every muscle in his body tensed up.

But nothing came. Once their coughing had ceased and the dust had settled, they perceived only a humanoid shape wrapped entirely in bandages with golden relics embedded in the wrappings. The shape just stood there, tangled up so thoroughly that it had no leeway for it to move its legs or lift its arms from their resting place, crossed upon the mummified corpse’s chest. Todd had expected a more grisly sight and felt underwhelmed. The vampyre encounter had left his imagination of the mummified desert king’s possessed corpse to run wild. This turned out to be utterly unspectacular in contrast.

With the loud sounds of the lid crashing down still echoing in their mind, a deafening silence enveloped them.

It would not last for long, as the two men began to hear small sounds from all around. Scraping, scratching, chittering, and hatching. Millions over millions of tiny legs tipping and tapping, of diminutive wings flapping, of swarms upon swarms of undefinable things approaching.

Fast.

An icy fear gripped Todd’s heart and pure instinct drove his next motion. He flicked the lighter to ignite its small flame and regretted it right away.

A number of insects so unspeakable that it looked like a flood closed in on them from all directions, surrounding them like a dark tide threatening to swallow a tiny island. Todd loathed insects and spiders especially, and there were so many of the creatures about—so many writhing little bodies with too many legs and alien multi-faceted eyes glaring back at him—that a crippling revulsion made his stomach churn.

Johnn blurted out, “Oil. The oil!”

Heart pounding away with such strength that his chest threatened to explode, Todd extinguished the lighter’s flame by accident as he fumbled with the silver decanter in his other fist. Panicking, he slung it out without second thought, spraying a thick liquid in semi-circles around the two men, splatter by splatter.

He flicked the lighter’s flame back into existence and no second too soon, as he could now once more see the countless millipedes and woodlice and ants and other insectoid creatures with more clarity, even if he could not identify them all. The vermin had already gotten so close that dozens of them already crawled and climbed up their boots and pant legs. Defying the cold’s numbness still clinging to his flesh and bones, Todd then felt something slither around his hand.

Todd shuddered and failed to suppress a yelp from escaping his throat as he dropped the lighter. Huge flames roared into existence around Johnn and him both. Not in a perfect circle, but enough that the consecrated oils now burnt brightly all around them.

They both panted and swiped at the swarms upon them, brushing them off into the fires and kicking at them and stomping and grunting with an irregularity fueled by panic.

Unnatural screeches sung from the flames in choruses of pain and death where insects burnt to death. The swarms outside the ring of fire withdrew from the bright light, and those flung away from the bodies of the flailing men skittered away or landed in the flames where its heat incinerated the tiny pests.

Only now did Todd notice how the mummy had gotten closer, inch by inch, hovering within an arm’s length. What revealed its approaching presence was a strange scent that reminded him of his mother’s flower arrangements and a sudden burst of emotion that overwhelmed his senses.

Hatred.

A hatred so pure that it took control.

His skin crawled, not from the dread of the insect swarms that beleaguered them, but from a fire underneath the surface. Every last ounce of discontent and every single shred of spite in Todd’s body and soul suddenly bubbled to the surface and he fought the urge to turn on Johnn and attack him.

When his eyes met with those of the bandit, he knew that the same foul sorcery was laying siege to his compatriot’s mind.

They lunged at one another, rather than at the mummified corpse. The unnatural thing hovered a foot off of the floor, just next to them, looming and silently drinking in their rage. If it could laugh or feel amusement, it would. But it felt nothing but silent wrath.

Their fingers wrapped around each other’s necks and clamped down like vices, ready to strangle the life out of one another. Johnn’s teeth gritted and the fire of the consecrated oils reflected in his eyes, mirroring his rage over Nora’s incarceration and blaming Todd for everything that had gone wrong since. Todd’s amassed regrets and grievances coalesced into a hatred for Johnn, seeing him not as the root of all his problems, but the symptom that he needed to eradicate before moving on to take down the spineless nobility that corrupted his homeland.

But the skittering swarms of insects held at bay by the fires, shining pitch black like living oil, reminded Todd of something.

The true menace.

The black rose.

In this moment of inspiration, he gagged under the pressure that Johnn exerted around his neck as he braced himself, then delivered a sharp kick to his opponent’s shin, sending Johnn reeling and causing them to both release their iron grips around each other’s necks. Todd saw stars explode around him when Johnn punched him in the face but the constable retaliated with his elbow, connecting to something hard and bony, and then grabbing onto thick fabric and gripping and turning around—

And throwing Johnn right into the mummy, sending them tumbling backwards into the sarcophagus.

Todd growled, “Not now. Snap out of it, fool!”

Staggering and struggling to remain standing straight, Todd regained his bearings and rubbed his tortured throat with one hand. He coughed in pain and his eyes darted between the iron rod on the ground, the Far Eastern exorcism scrips next to it, the dying fires of the consecrated oil that kept the insect swarms at bay, Johnn getting back up onto his feet with murder in his eyes, and the god-king’s mummified corpse still hovering above the ground with unnatural might—now floating towards him like a menace from out of this world, faster and faster.

The mummy’s wrappings tore and dust exploded from them, but it sounded just like those times when Todd visited the butchery at the precise time of the butcher doing his grisly work and he could hear the tearing of muscle and ligaments and snapping bones with all the detail that haunted his younger years.

Spindly hands reached out, ready to end Todd’s life.

The chorus of a thousand dying men exhaling their last breaths flowed forth once more, and a gale of warm wind swept through the museum’s hall. The fires from the consecrated oils flared up brightly and then died in the subsequent instant.

Instead of grabbing him by the throat like Johnn had done, the mummy aimed for Todd’s heart. The constable’s bravery and defiance drained away in a flash, leaving him paralyzed in sheer terror. Whispers filled the air, conveying words in forgotten tongues that carried both the weight of power and the muted menace of incomprehensible threats.

The skeletal fingers, once meticulously wrapped in burial bandages, shot down and dug into the flesh of Todd’s chest like thorns. He felt the warmth of blood pumping out from the five puncture wounds as the mummy’s fingers sunk in deeper, wriggling and digging past his ribs.

A deafening shriek pierced the air and Todd’s eardrums and he stumbled away from the mummy, while the mummy fell to the ground before him, writhing like a worm in confusion or a man contorting in unbearable agony.

Todd groaned and then screamed as he peeled his jacket open to reveal Magdalene’s amulet having left a scorch-mark upon his skin—right above where his heart lie hidden—surrounded by the five bleeding holes that the mummy’s fingers had now left behind.

Johnn had snapped out of his uncontrollable frenzy and he lunged at the mummy with a desperate shout, flying into it and ramming the iron rod through the monster’s belly. The voluminous cracking of dry bones and wooden floor hinted at him pinning it to the ground, proven by the mummy’s limbs wildly flailing around and the unholy creature emitting one inhuman wail after another.

The ancient undead flung its arms about and tried to throw Johnn off. It tried to escape the iron rod pinning it down.

“Do something,” wheezed Johnn through bloodied teeth, glaring at Todd.

Before Todd’s mind could recover from reeling and formulating a sound plan of action, an invisible force with the power of ten horses flung Johnn away, sending him crashing through glass panes of the exhibit’s display cases. The bandit came to a halt somewhere in between the maze of relics littering the hall.

Todd gasped as he saw the swarm of insects closing in on Johnn and both himself. Within seconds, both men screamed at the top of their lungs as the masses of tiny skittering and scampering horrors climbed the lengths of their limbs, threatening to burrow into wounds and crawl into any orifice they could find.

Acting blindly, wincing and brushing off wave after wave of the insect swarms now clouding his sight, Todd gave up fighting and nearly vomited at the sensation of feeling something forcing itself into his ear despite being too large for it.

He tossed the decanter in front of himself, hoping to hit the mummy. Then he coughed, choked, spitting out chunks of vermin he had accidentally bitten down upon, retching at the acrid taste spreading within his mouth. Todd struck the lighter. And let go.

He flailed about, trying his best to rid himself of the insect swarm that robbed him of all his senses. He screamed again, terrified of knowing this was how he would die.

A bright light pierced the layers of insects picking away at his eyelids and he brushed them away again, scratched and clawed at his own skin in futility, and stumbled forwards into the light—into the scorching fire.

It hurt, though it was harmless to him. It would leave some burns upon exposed skin, but it drove the swarm away. Todd rose above the burning corpse of the mummified remains, now brightly ablaze like the dark silhouette of dry wood disintegrating in the greatest heat of a mighty bonfire. With each swipe, he freed himself of more of the swarm, thinning out their ranks and returning something he had given up: hope.

He retched again and coughed out another bug and ripped something out of his ear with a squelching sound followed by the feeling of his own warm blood trickling down his earlobe and then down his neck.

Todd nearly froze—now in awe. Marveling at the sight of the mummified remains burning up in an unnatural blue fire, surrounded by embers of a ghostly green light rising up around him. He watched the summoned angry ghost dissipate, driven from this plane of existence. The insects fell off of him, dead from the scorching heat or withdrawing like normal vermin would be wont to do.

From the corners of his eyes, Todd spotted that Johnn still flailed about. But the bandit, too, emerged from the swarms of insects as they retreated from him, disappearing into cracks in the floorboards and walls and other shadowy places hidden from human eyes.

Todd stumbled away from the burning mummy’s remains and shielded his eyes as it exploded in an even greater blue flame. The ancient undead emitted another inhuman wail that curdled Todd’s blood, but it died down slowly and joined the rising embers, swallowed by oblivion itself.

The constable squatted down, grabbed the exorcism scrips and threw them away, allowing the thin long scrolls to scatter in every direction. He had no idea if they would serve any purpose, but at this point, he figured none of it could hurt. Before all of them had stopped fluttering about and landed on the museum’s floors, Todd stormed over to Johnn and grabbed him by an arm. Johnn clutched back at Todd’s arm and the constable helped the bandit back up.

“We need to leave,” Todd said. He spat over his shoulder, trying to rid himself of the foul taste.

It was not working.

“Is it over? Is it really banished?”

“The hell do I know? But I want to make sure.”

Johnn nodded slowly, the same thought dawning on him.

They proceeded to set fire to the entire estate, ensuring that it would burn down before rescue forces could put it out.

The constable and the bandit fled the scene with swift steps, descending into the city’s sewers. They had destroyed the ghost of the desert king that Earl Tyson had summoned—before it could cause any damage. The newspaper would herald the tragedy of the museum’s destruction by reckless hoodlums. The heroism of these two men facing this ancient evil would remain unknown to the public. They had emerged from the battle, with most of their bodies and their sanity left intact.

Waiting in hiding, in the dank and miserable cold of the sewers, they sat at one point, resting in silence, taking turns to get some rest while the other held watch. As Johnn slept nearby, Todd held Magdalene’s strange amulet between his fingers, turning it and staring at it and wondering what would have been without it.

What would have been mattered not, his commanding officer used to say. What mattered was what happened.

They had won.

This time.

—Submitted by Wratts

[limpblotter]

Bury Me In Stardust

Summary: @midnigtartist and I and probably the rest of the fandom are hurting sooo take this y’all

Life is such a delicate dance. A pace set in motion by the smallest things, a simple turn could mean the beginning of a new piece or the end of the song all together. That was the absolute beauty of life; the simplicity that nothing was certain and that nothing should ever be taken for granted. Because love was a dance without reason, it could go for as long or as short and it was left to the odds to decide what happened next.

What a beautiful, wonderful, careless, hideously painful thing life was. For the sheer moment the music stopped, the dancing halted, then life would end. And in it's place was the searing complacently woeful silenced called … Death.

It was a slow consumer, Death relished in the soft ease taking over. Like watching a solar eclipse there was no stopping this massive shadow as it crept over Mollymauk’s barely conscious body. He could see the backlight of the sky above against the outline of his undertaker. His executioner, looking down at him like an umbrella as the snow flurries whirled past him.

Stars mirrored life effortlessly. At least to Molly’s knowledge they did. Stars began life in an explosion, a grand entrance into the cosmos and he like to think he did. In his own way, he made his entrance, a star thousands of light years away from anything else like him. One small light, breaking into the dark lonesome world around him.

With every passing moment he met others like him, for brief moments he was caught into their spin before rocketing away to the next beckon of interest. When life offered so many colors, so many variations of beauty, all bright and full of whimsy, how could he attach himself to only one? Light was fleeting, and Molly was chasing it with the fever of a shooting star whose days aglow were numbered.

Then came the change. The moment the universe forced him to be...stagnant. He found himself caught in the pull, in the orbits of new faces. All of which were radically and fantastically different from each other and more so his. Each a color vibrant and unique, a spectrum of people that were like him but so much more.

He remembered these days with an eternal fondness in his chest. He thought after his first year of, life his eyes would simply stop lingering on the romanticized wonder of all things “new” but here he was. Relishing in this new tapestry of a sky. No longer a sole star racing past other points of light. He was part of something, a constellation, part of a larger picture, a more important harmony.

“Ah bloody hell…” he groaned softly, his hands instinctively going to his finishing wound but felt nothing. No pain, no dampness of fresh blood. He looked down and saw his normal clothes, untattered and cleanly pressed against his skin like a fresh wash. Slowly, the lavender tiefling sat up and slowly examined himself over and over again. What happened?

Immediately the last memory of being stabbed while laying on the cold ground, the sinking pain in his gut before everything dulled. He flinched, his eyes casted down as he saw...what looked like himself. But the differences were so striking Molly almost didn’t recognize him.

His spectral eyes scanned his mortal body over, the wounds, the thick, blotches of crimson that stained his open blouse. His face frozen in his last moments, lips slightly parted, eyes wide and open, staring off into nothing. “God I look terrible” Molly forced a chuckle out of him. The sound was meant to be light and careless but broke through his lips more like a pained gasp.

This was truly it, the end of the line. Molly sat down on the ground beside his forgotten mortal body, staring at the flurries that had collected around him. He smiled briefly remembering the magic of seeing snow. Now through the gaze of his afterlife, the snow seemed to do nothing to move him. There was no magic, no chill of excitement, the luster that he had ingrained in himself had also died the moment he did.

Trapped in what felt like a forever in his mind, soft mumbling broke his trance. He looked over and saw by this time a pair of ratty, bandaged Goblin hands were combing through his hair. They fumbled turning soft curls into messily knotted braids, with a few wild flowers and tall weeds between a few strands. “Nott…” Molly felt the corners of his mouth turn up a bit. “What in gods name are you doing?”

Of course she doesn’t hear him. She works with what looks like the nimble, practiced hands of someone who uses them often but the inexperience of doing delicate deeds such as this. Molly watches on in silence before shaking his head a bit and simply sighs. “If I had known I’d get this treatment perhaps I would have died weeks ago…” Perhaps ...perhaps he began to think, he should have.

“Nott, we...uh...we’re moving out soon so…” the voice of a grating human woman was replaced with a softness as though she was speaking to someone who was resting rather than deceased. “What...are you doing?”

Molly looked up at Beau with a smirk, “please stop her, she’s turning my head into a flowerbed.” He teased and naturally received no answer. His smile dropped a little as it began to sank in. He was on the other side of life now, watching with absolute, alien envy of them all.

“I was just thinking...if Jester were her she’d probably want to make him look pretty or something...and if-if Yasha was here she might have brought him flowers...They’re not here to say goodbye...but they should be here.” Nott mumbled a little, as the realization their once large group was nothing more than three, beaten, downtrodden wanderers.

Beau’s face twitched, her eyes began to blink repeatedly as she batted back tears. “Ah...fuck…” she pressed the heel of her palm against her eye roughly, pressing down like a dam against the small streams that gathered. “If...Fjord was here he’d have some good words to say…” They went silent, if their party was fully here perhaps...perhaps one of them wouldn’t be dead.

“You know...you could say something, you have been practicing and all…”

Molly shook his head, “Oh gods no, I’m already dead don’t kill me any further.”

Her face shook a bit, “what’s there to say? I was right there...and I couldn’t do...I should have…” She paused a minute, “we lost a lot before we started this journey, things we could get back or replace in time and hard work...this...Molly, is not one of them.”

Shit...Mollymauk slowly lowered his head to his still, deceased form. That was the nicest thing that trash human ever said to him, he mused to himself.

“—should we bury him?”

“Oh god please don’t my fucking robe—“

“Nah...get dirt on his fancy digs? Molly would die in the afterlife too” Beau responded to Nott much to Mollymauk’s relief. “Let’s uh...lets wrap him up, lets...do him right.”

Beau slowly without looking him in the eye, picked Molly up and began to walk. They didn’t get far into the thicket, but found a rather lovely tree with flowers growing a long the roots. While she worked in wrapping him up in a rather gaudy tapestry of gold and silver, Nott spent a few seconds with her dagger, carving the letters, M.T, into the trunk.

“...See ya around...you fucking…” her voice broke clearly, Molly watched a pained smile across her face as Beau’s eyes welled with tears. Even though he knew she couldn’t, he felt her looking at him, at his eyes as she muttered. “You asshole…”

“Right back at you...wonderfully terrible trash woman.” He held up a hand, as Nott and Beau lingered for only a moment before turning and walking away. He watched them with a longing to follow but knew...knew that whatever was coming for him would come.

He leaned up against the tree beside the carefully wrapped, humanoid figure that was now him. “Now that I’m forced to look at this forever, that is a god awful design”

Molly closed his eyes, waiting for something to bring him to where he was suppose to be. He couldn’t stay in this in between watching life around him for eternity. That would have been a hell...or perhaps this was it and he was repaying for something he had done. Had he done anything worth repenting? He mulled over his moral choices.

Nothing he deemed...totally deplorable.

The soft crunch of feet apparching forced him awake. He immediately went to grab his weapon and realized...he had none. He shook his head, it was going to take a while to get out of the habit of being...well...alive. He looked at the figure approaching, eyes tensed, hands nervously rubbing over each other, “Caleb—“

“Molly…” He seemed to almost react as though he heard him, Molly allowed himself a small bit of hope perhaps the strange, uniquely wonderful wizard could. Most likely not, but still. Slowly the red haired human man, walked around to the other side of Molly’s wrapped corpse and gingerly began to unwrap just his face.

Eyes still blazed open and wide.

“Hasn’t anyone told you, staring is rude…” Mollymauk kept his own gaze away. He didnt have the stomach to star at himself much longer.

“I was not prepared to lose you today…” Caleb muttered…”You should know I was prepared to leave...ya...that night before when I was on watch alone...I really thought about leaving...Because I had no place here, with them, with you.” He motioned with his hand, “I am not strong enough to do anything but hid, my whole purpose has nothing to do with any of you but...I couldn’t do it.” Caleb slowly brought his knees to his chest.

“Oh Caleb, enough of that now it's…” He reached with his phantom hand and phased right through Caleb’s cheek. Molly froze in mystified horror.

Caleb roughly rubbed his face, pulling at the growing roots of his facial hair. “But how could I leave all of you...Beau, Nott...you...I don't belong here, especially with you, a fucking rainbow...ja but I guess I have trouble letting go…”

Molly turned his head and watched as Caleb began to rummage through his pockets, muttering frantically under his breath. He watched with somber interest as gently Caleb moved his hands over Molly’s opened eyes and closed them once more. He placed two dull copper pieces over each eye. “We’ll talk about this later…” Caleb cracked a smile, a small lopsided grin before leaning in. His lips softly pressed against the cold flesh of Mollymauk’s chilled lavender forehead. “Mr. Mollymauk.”

A delicate, almost thin layer of magical essence coated Molly as Caleb gingerly wrapped him up again. Molly felt the warmth of the magic over his skin and broke into a small cry. “Later then...Mr. Caleb” He smirked, head resting on the tree.

For all the while, he chased life, knowing that he was hurling towards death. A pull he knew, whether he liked it or not he was on borrowed time, a borrowed body...a borrowed life and soon it would be time. He thought he had grown to accept it, like stars once blinking balls of light and fury also came to their inevitable ends. Their light still stained the skies for many years to come.

Mollymauk had seen his life such as that, a star. Who once blown out, his life and light would remain for a few more years after him.

But he was not at peace with this. He wasn’t chasing life and waiting for death. He had been running from death. Desperate to prove he deserved to be alive because he lived so extreme in every moment. His downfall no doubt. He deserved this body, this life, this chance...he deserved more than nothing.

Molly curled into himself, pressing his head to the top of his knees as tearless sobs broke through his rib cage. He didnt want this. He refused, he wanted to live, he wanted more moments in the sun. More cold nights around a fire, he wanted the pains of fight and the ecstasy of love of someone he loved in return.

“I suppose we’ll have to try again, Molly” A woman’s melodic voice whispered to him. Molly turned his head a bit and stared at the faint, pale glow of a beautiful elven woman who was a few feet away from him. He...knew this aura...he had felt her before in his darkest hours. “Come...lets ...find you a way out before he does.”

Molly slowly rose to his feet, he took one glance back at his body and then at the elf woman.

His soul departed, unsure to where or what. But he followed the woman to whatever she had planned for him.

Slow did a star form beside the full moon that night.

As the moonweaver walked her son to his new, great beginning.

[goodfortune-au]

Good Fortune (Soulmate AU) Chapter 10: New Year

It’s 1989, and Angel is reeling. All she can hear is the sound of her thundering heart. It eclipses the chirruping song of sparrows on a crisp winter’s morning, the blood pulsating restlessly in her torrid veins as she sits motionlessly in bed. She stares down at the blanket splayed out over her lap and presses cold hands to her burning cheeks. She remembers, she processes, she relives the dream she just had and she cannot stop herself from squeaking kittenishly into her palms at the thought of it all. Her face is growing hotter with each vivid detail that she recalls and her stomach starts to flutter so deliciously with want and desire. She’d dreamt about him again… She truly couldn’t believe it. All she can think of is his hands, his eyes… His lips, pressed against hers… She buries her face in her blanket and starts to giggle.

New Years of 1989 had started out a very good day. Once Angel had woken up and slipped out of bed, the world truly seemed a better place, at least for the time being. She greets Mayor Jello with uncharacteristic cheer and good spirit, and sets to making breakfast on a lazy Sunday morning. It’s French toast with bacon, and she scarfs it down happily, still entertaining thoughts from her dream the night before as she hums along to a record playing on her turntable (It was a Sgt. Peppers kind of day). She cleans her plate right away and sets it to dry, and then she gets dressed. She slips on the silk sweater with a pair of baggy black cargo pants, then laces up her boots and slides a long, thick trenchcoat over her shoulders. When she dons her favorite pearl heart she smiles at herself in the mirror. She studies her reflection for a moment, letting her eyes flicker over all the details and imperfections of her face; the bumps and acne on her olive skin, the perpetual bags under her eyes, her cute little button nose, the fullness in her lips… And then her eyes trail downward, all the way to her stomach, and her smile sours. She squeezes the fat underneath and grimaces, staring in dismay at the way her figure protrudes outward, her belly surely more pronounced than it was before as a result of all her recent indulgence. And before she knows it she’s fixated on it, it’s been so long that she’s just been standing there staring at her own reflection, and she forces herself to leave when she can almost feel bitter tears building.

She steps outside and takes a deep breath. Think about different things, forget about all that. She needed to. She opens her eyes and steps down from her stoop. Fresh snow crunches underneath her heels and she shivers as the chill from outside seeps into her bones, rubbing her gloved hands together as she walks down her driveway onto the sidewalk. She takes her stride at a slow and even pace, savoring the journey from Witcham Street onto Up-Mile-Hill. She passes all the houses in her neighborhood in silent contemplation, noting how each one was distinct in their own way when she walks past. Derry certainly was a town that, by all accounts, didn’t appear much different from any other. It seemed so innocent and unassuming, and anyone just passing through wouldn’t be able to tell that there was a monster in the closet from first glance unless they did some digging around. They’d simply just assume that it was another sleepy little Maine town closed off from the outside world, a one-horse burg with a rustic charm and modest flair. Growing up in such a place was strange, and Angel certainly had to wonder why she chose to stay behind while the rest of her family moved on. She couldn’t really explain it, but when the time had come, she simply felt like she needed to stay. Felt like she belonged there somehow. Call it destiny, perhaps.

And it would seem that destiny was in fact calling to her in a sense, as she truly had no other inkling as to why she’d been chosen as the supposed fixation of a higher power. Ever since it had begun, Angel had resolved not to question the whole thing so much, as stranger things had certainly happened and, she had to grant, it was certainly better to be on the side of good fortune rather than bad in this town. Still, some part of her had to wonder just what the nature was of this thing, and why it had chosen her specifically to dote on. She had to wonder of its intentions, and what role it played in regards to whatever had been causing the disappearances, if it played any role at all. Could they be perhaps one and the same? No, that couldn’t be. She refuses to believe that something so kind and thoughtful to her could be responsible for something so heinous. She allows herself a little smile at the thought of them, perhaps looking on her from above as she continues along. She’d brought a gift along with her on the offchance that she might find something from them, an old friendship bracelet she’d made that said “Neo-Maxi-Zoom-Dweebie.” It was an old memento from years past, and given that she didn’t particularly have a use for it anymore she didn’t necessarily mind parting with it. She hoped that they liked the things she was leaving for them. It wasn’t as though she was an old hand with this, she was simply going with the flow as it were. Simply just trying to return the favor, and repay back all the kindness that they saw fit to bestow on her for whatever godforsaken reason. It was the least she could do.

Pennywise was simply delighted with all her gifts. He hadn’t expected her to respond so favorably to his offerings at all, let alone so much so that she felt the desire and compulsion to leave things for him in return. He smiles. She truly was meant for him; it was all playing out just as he’d hoped, and all because of their inevitable compatibility, the stars aligning simply to bring the two of them together. They belonged together. She belonged with him. Only a girl such as her, so peculiar and odd and fascinated with the offbeat and the bizarre could match him so well. Only a girl so sweet and loving and longing for friendship and affection could be such putty in his wicked hands, a perfect compliment to his sinister nature giving herself in to his manipulations so easily and willingly, though she didn’t yet know it. Only a girl who would not only accept his advances, but respond to them in kind, would become his so effortlessly. Oh, how he couldn’t wait. He counted the days in restless anticipation, longing for that fateful moment where he could take her in his arms and give her all the love he had been saving just for her. It wasn’t long now.

She was rather enjoying her walk so far, getting lost in the way all the white blends seamlessly together, in the way icicles reached down from the gutters of the houses and the roads were slick with grimy mush from the neverending commute of passing cars. The Christmas decorations were still displayed outside in people’s yards, as people hadn’t yet an opportunity to take anything down, and she admires all of it in its collective splendor, enjoying it in the moment as much as she possibly can. Golden lights on the outside of one particular house strike a familiar chord inside of her as she walks past and she finds herself thinking of Pennywise now, her mind wandering back to the dream she’d had the night before. Her cheeks are rosy, numb from the cold, but they start to warm when she thinks of the way he’d looked at her, the way those eyes had turned from a swimming ocean of blue into fulgid, blinding gold when she’d come closer to him. It reminds her of something else, memories of the stars in the sky when she’d almost gotten trampled at that concert, the deja vu of having experienced near the same thing some months later when she’d passed out on Halloween, of the shadowy figure that had loomed above her on both occasions. The phenomenon of it was a tad peculiar, and as she’s lost in thought she finds herself coming to a sudden realization, that being that there was a possibility it could have been her guardian angel protecting her on those strange and peculiar occasions. Yes, that… That could be it, it seemed one of the only plausible explanations, even if it sounded mad. Hell, this whole thing sounded mad. If anyone had told Angel even half a year before that she would become the object of some mysterious benefactor’s inexplicable attentions, that she would continually cheat death and fatal injury as a result, she would have laughed right in their face. But now, it all didn’t seem so crazy.

She kept seeing those lights, so close yet so far, like beacons calling to her from lightyears away, and she thinks… They weren’t much different from Pennywise’s eyes in her dreams. It was almost like she was starting to conflate the two, starting to merge the two things in her life that were bringing her the most consistent comfort from her woes. It wasn’t so odd, it seemed to make an inkling of sense. In a way, it could be argued that her guardian angel was trying to court her in some fashion, as they seemed to be paying close attention to gifts she liked more than others and offering her solace in times of hardship, and Angel very much liked the idea of that attention coming from the same thing she herself had begun developing feelings for. She knew it wasn’t really possible. Pennywise was just a character in a children’s show after all; there was almost zero chance he was little more than a man in a costume. Still, she couldn’t deny the allure of it all, the thought of him looking over her, out for her, leaving her little trinkets and trifles for her delight, simply trying to win her favor. It was an idea too delicious not to entertain.

She comes upon the awning outside Secondhand Rose and, on a whim, decides to step inside. Angel had always adored thrift stores and antique shops; of course, this one didn’t rotate stock very often, but when it did things were often interesting to look at at the very least. She hadn’t stopped in for a while- couldn’t hurt to check, right? Lord knows she had nothing better to do on New Years, everyone being busy with their families and whatnot. Though, if she were honest, she’s surprised to find it open in the first place. The door jingles when she steps through the threshold, and she’s greeted by the shopkeeper and the musty, old smell of the wares waiting inside. There’s immediately a lot to take in. Items of all different shapes and sizes are visible from the ceiling to the floor, and things are not arranged very neatly. There are several rows of items simply stacked on top of each other, and various signs and license plates decorate the walls of the space. She scans her eyes over the various shelves of knick knacks and curios, and finds herself getting lost in all the colors and patterns within. There are lamps and wicker chairs, there’s empty tea kettles and old dartboards. There’s chipped sculptures and ghoulish taxidermied animals, several rows of dusty old books; there’s clocks and regal mirrors of different shapes and sizes and old, dented lunchboxes. There’s what looks to be a persian rug on the floor, a Royal typewriter in relatively decent condition, several guitars hung all over the front wall and a great big painting of a turtle propped up against the counter, striking somehow amid everything else. Angel finds her eyes lingering upon it in wonder as she steps past it to peruse the shelves.

“You lookin’ fer anything in particular?” The shopkeeper asks from behind her. She glances over her shoulder.

“N-no, I’m just… Just looking.” She says with a nervous laugh.

“Okay then, take yer time. Ring the bell if you need anything.” He says, heading into the back.

She nods. There’s an even more prominent stillness in the room now and she can hear the clocks all ticking in tandem as she moves through the store. Everything was so old, and clearly had a past behind it; she finds it so fascinating, looking upon each little thing and wondering what it’s story might have been, how it might have ended up here in the first place. She finds herself so comforted by the smell and atmosphere of it all that she thinks she could just stay in here forever, surrounded by a quirkier side of Derry’s eclectic history. She smiles as she examines a basket of donated childrens’ toys sitting in a Radio Flyer wagon. Among them is a couple vintage Barbie dolls, original 1959 and 1962 models, a timeworn teddy bear with one missing eye, a Mr. Potatohead, a pile of building blocks and… A little clown doll. When her eyes fall on it she stops dead in her tracks, and she feels that familiar tingling warmth when she stoops down to pick it up from the basket. She turns it over in her hands and finds something of a grin creeping across her face. It’s a charming little knit doll, red and white in color, with red yarn hair, googly eyes, and a felt nose and lips. It wears a baggy striped suit with red poms down the front of its midsection, and there’s a cute little ribbon tied about its neck. She can tell that it’s homemade just from the look and feel. The more she looks at it the more she falls in love, and she notices the tag sticking out of its foot. Only five dollars! Well, she could certainly manage that. She takes it over to the front counter and rings the bell, but not before leaving the friendship bracelet behind in its place.

The shopkeeper comes shuffling out of the back again and takes a seat where he was before. She gently pushes the doll across the counter along with a five dollar bill.

“Just this, please.”

“Ahh…” The shopkeeper says, opening the till and depositing the money inside. “This strike your fancy? Was donated just last month, toys from one of the local girls that went missing, uhh…Jenny Baxter, I think her name was. Was all over the papers.”

“Is that so?” Angel says awkwardly, trying her best to keep the conversation. It was… Unsettling to say the least, knowing that’s where the toy came from, but she tried not to think about it too hard. There were probably a number of things in here that had ties to the disappearances.

“Yeah, folks seemed glad to be rid of the stuff.” The shopkeeper says, printing up a receipt. He’s just about to hand it to her, but when he looks up he jerks it away before she can grab it.

“Your necklace.”

“My- huh?”

His eyes are beady, squinting at it. “That thing around your neck. Where’d you get that?”

“O-Oh. Well, I-”

“I had a nice vintage blouse worth a great deal sitting on a hanger in this shop not a few months before, had buttons on it just like that. Where’d you get it?”

“I found it.”

He leans back in his chair with a condescending chuckle. “Oh, you found it, huh?”

“Yes, I did!” she insists. “I found it by a sewer grate on Jackson Street and Witcham. Scout’s honor!”

“Oh, so the buttons just happened to go missing on my shirt, making it virtually worthless, and then you just happened to find the buttons outside some sewer grate?”

“That’s what I’m telling you, I swear.” She asserts. “What reason would I have to steal buttons off a shirt of all things?”

“I’m not entirely sure, you’d have to tell me.” He says curtly. “Either way, no sale.”

“I- w-what?”

“Get out of my store.”

“Hey, man, I already paid-”

“And I had to scrap a shirt that was worth almost $100.” He snapped. “Get out of my store before I call the cops. And leave the goddamn doll behind.”

Angel ruminates on it in anger as she sits in a greasy diner not far down the street, trying her best not to cry in public as she sips on her coffee. She’d wanted that doll. She almost felt like she needed it, like something in her blood and in her mind was telling her that it belonged to her. She was almost certain that it was meant for her to find, like it was a long-lost piece of her she hadn’t even known was missing until she saw it. She’d felt that feeling, that energy… It was as though her guardian angel was speaking through her, telling her to take it, and she’d failed. In that moment she feels like she’s somehow spurned the gift of her protector even if it wasn't her fault, and she feels terrible knowing that someone else will likely come along and take it instead. It now leads her to wonder about her little collection of gifts, and just how many of them might have been pilfered from dubious sources like that, like her pearl heart pendant. Was she just walking around in a bunch of stolen jewelry? Her heart sinks at the realization. She’d truly thought that what she was taking was lost, unwanted things that no one would miss, that she was hurting no one by taking these things. The waitress comes by with her food and she hardly touches it.

She ends up toting her food home in a takeaway box, having found herself too upset to eat after stewing in her thoughts now. It's all she can think about that night in bed too, driving herself crazy trying to rationalize and justify everything she'd been finding now that her collection's origins have been called into question. Finally, she arrives at a conclusion she can cope with, that someone else must have ripped the buttons from the shirt and her guardian angel simply found them to offer as a gift. They almost seemed like a bird in that sense, attracted to shiny, pretty things, scooping them up for a collection and graciously offering them to her, a kindred spirit. She sighs, staring at her alarm clock in silent thought. Yes… That seemed to ease her conscience quite a bit. There was no way her guardian angel could be so careless, right? They were a good thing, a moral thing, and they surely wouldn't steal things from people just for her, would they?

Even if they had, just how bad was that, really? Most of what she was finding were inconsequential things, things no one in their right mind would possibly miss, like marbles and paperclips and bits of crumpled up tinfoil. It was… Unfortunate that some people were losing things they might possibly miss, but people lose things all the time. She's lost her fair share of things over the years, things she's sure people have found and made off with. And she can deal with that, she certainly wouldn't begrudge someone for keeping something they rightly found. Where would someone even go to return it if they'd felt so inclined anyway? She finds herself feeling slightly better with this rationalization, and settles back into her pillows with much greater ease. So what if her guardian angel was taking a couple things for her here and there? What was a little selfishness on her part in such a heinous little town, accepting pilfered trifles? She could certainly be guilty of much worse crimes. The more she thinks about it now, the less guilty she feels, and with her mind assuaged she's finally able to fall asleep.

~~~~

Back to work today. Angel groans as she rolls out of bed and quickly sets to getting dressed for the morning. Following a few minutes of indecisively rifling through her drawers, she finally decides on a baggy gray sweater with black jeans and Mary Jane heels. After a moment of deliberation (and silent defiance to the shopkeeper of Secondhand Rose), she reaches into her chocolate box and puts on her pearl heart with the matching pair of earrings. She regards her reflection for a moment in the mirror, studying herself from the front and the side, analyzing her figure as she had obsessively grown to do in her adolescence and then she glances at her bedside clock. Only had so much time to get ready. With that she strides out into the living room to feed Mayor Jello and make her departure.

"How are you doing this morning, Mr. Mayor? Sleep well?" She says tiredly, pulling out his bag of food. She dumps a hefty pile in his bowl and puts it back in the cupboard. He doesn't answer her.

She sets a few heaping scoops of grounds into a filter and sets the coffee maker to work. As she enjoys the rich and sumptuous scent of the beans wafting through the cold air of the house she walks around the kitchen over to the living room, where she sits down with a groan and picks up the TV remote. Turning it on, she flips from the static of Channel 27 (no Derry Children’s Hour this morning, she notes disappointingly) through the catalog of available channels. Nothing much on this morning either save for the news, it seems. She leaves it on the Derry Local News and goes to check on her coffee. The machine has started to deposit the brew into the pot slowly but steadily, and when it’s done she pours herself a cup in her favorite mug before stirring in milk and a copious amount of sugar cubes. She takes a nice, long sip and sighs as the warmth slowly travels from her throat into the rest of her body. The TV speaks loudly into the emptiness, making the room echo with its matter-of-fact delivery.

“Grim news for Derry today as it seems another citizen has turned up missing, this time a Caucasian man of 62 by the name of Charles O’Brien.”

She stops in the midst of dropping another sugar cube into her cup. She tries to take a sip but has to stop herself gagging on her coffee, staring wordlessly at the television screen as it displays a picture of the lost man.

“Charles O’Brien was the primary owner and proprietor of a local antique shop, Secondhand Rose, Secondhand Clothes. It’s reported that he went missing at approximately 1 PM yesterday during the celebration of New Years, and his whereabouts are as of now unknown. Just terrible- John?”

“Yes, it certainly is Nancy. Anyone who may have a clue as to where he might be is encouraged to contact the local Derry police as soon as possible, until then we have all authorities on hand investigating the matter thoroughly. And that’s--”

She turns off the TV before it can cut to commercial, and stands dumbfounded at the kitchen counter in disbelief. She has to force herself to sit down, and when she does she starts to shake, contemplating all of which she’s just heard. The coincidence of his disappearance coupled with her encounter with him yesterday is simply… Too much to process, and she finds herself staring down at her heart pendant. She doesn’t know how she feels; she feels numb, almost paralyzed. She doesn’t know what to do or think, she simply sits in silence. Mayor Jello is gone from the room after having eaten. She spares a glance out of the corner of her eyes at the clock overhead, and realizes it's almost time to leave for work. Can’t afford to dwell on this much longer. She gets up and straightens her back, grabs her purse and her lunchbox, and steps out the door. She tries to forget it.

Turns out forgetting it was not as easy as she’d hoped. Angel had had a bit of an off day at work, stumbling around clumsily in her heels, staring vacantly at the shelves as she took the front desk, putting books back in the wrong places. She’d taken her lunch later than normal for lack of appetite but that proved to be a fool’s errand, as when she did she still sat on the monument outside and did little else but keep her gaze rooted to the pine tree across the way. She’d brought her sketchbook with her but couldn’t for the life of her manage to draw anything. Well, it wasn't as though she'd been able to draw much in the last several months anyway. The librarian hadn’t truly stopped being cross with her ever since that book went missing, and today she hadn't been more merciful for the sake of Angel's weak constitution. She still expected she fulfill all her daily responsibilities and Angel could do little else but just that, as she couldn’t afford to invoke any more of the librarian’s laser-guided ire than she already had. She’d been on thin ice the last couple months ever since she couldn’t track down that book and decided she couldn’t afford to call out on this particular occasion, traumatized though she felt. No, couldn’t risk losing her job. It’s not like there was a lot else in Derry that she could do to earn a living. She wasn’t exactly qualified for much, and the things she was qualified for were well above her threshold of discomfort.

Angel spends her second fifteen entirely in the bathroom in the hopes of finding seclusion from everyone and everything else. She needed time alone, because as of now she clearly wasn’t coping very well with the day’s early discovery, and now more than anything she simply didn’t want to be seen. She can’t stop thinking about the shopkeeper from Secondhand Rose. She has to wonder if the circumstances of his disappearance were coincidental, some freak occurrence, some strange mishap or, rather, something else entirely. She wished she knew more about the context of his disappearance, but if his disappearance was anything like Patrick’s she was betting dollars to donuts that the man was almost certainly attacked by the same thing he was. The same esoteric monster that seemed to plague Derry like an eternal pestilence, and now she thinks… What if the monster was after her? What if that was the reason people around her kept dropping like flies? She thinks of her guardian angel, and the way their presence seemed to challenge or defy that of the monster. Was she being fought over? Was there some strange cosmic game of tug of war happening, with her somehow the prize? Oh god… What if… What if the monster eventually got to the kids…? Her head sinks into her hands and she starts to sob at the thought.

She hadn’t slept very well that night. Well, not at all if she was really honest. She just lay there in bed, staring up at the shadows on the ceiling, counting the minutes as they tick by and trying to distract herself from nasty wayward thoughts. The next day, however, was a little easier. And the day after that, and the day after that. By the time a couple weeks had passed, Angel had forced herself to forget about it as much as she was able, becoming consumed in the rhythm of her daily routine once more and the momentary security of little disappearances to fret over. The distraction of the gift-giving game between her and her guardian angel kept most of her attention, and the rest was allocated to her growing fixation on Pennywise, who now more than ever was becoming quite important to her. With everything that had been going on lately and her increasingly more prominent issues with self worth, Angel found herself steering more and more into her crush and the delusions of being in something of a relationship with him. She hadn’t been having those dreams anymore, so Angel had started to cope by imagining him in bed with her every night instead. Every time she nestled under the covers she would turn onto her side and hug tight a pile of pillows very strategically placed so as to mimic his form, starting to drift idly in thoughts of them together, thoughts of them holding each other under the covers, so close their noses are almost touching. Thoughts of him whispering sweet things to her with that deliciously gentle voice, lulling her into such a sense of genuine security that all she can do is melt under his words. Thoughts of him shushing her when he makes her snort laugh in the cold, quiet night, finally leaning in close to kiss her when she can’t stop giggling and quieting her with a soft, sensuous kiss. Thoughts of that kiss turning into one more, and one more, until he rolls her onto her back and stoops to lick and nip at her neck, the way he would gently reach down between her thighs to peel her panties from her legs and cast them to the side. Thoughts of them, being intimate with one another… She would think of it all until she fell asleep and left each day behind her. And then she would continue on into the next, only to repeat the whole cycle all over again.

It had continued that way for quite some time into the New Year. Angel was pleased to find that the Derry Children’s Hour was starting to feature Pennywise more and more, and as a result she was growing far more distracted as time wore on, just trying to keep herself from thinking too hard about everything that was wrong. She began to neglect herself more and more, was letting her house and her room more specifically grow cluttered and unkempt as her haze-like funk continued. She would stare starry-eyed at the screen, hardly breathing as she watched his every movement; she would swoon and sigh and giggle like a schoolgirl at his on-screen antics, and then when it was over she would waste away the hours either lounging about the house and fantasizing about him or cuddling with her pillow pile until she dozed off. Errands were getting forgotten and she would settle for whatever was collecting dust in her pantry when she needed to eat, usually blue-box mac and cheese or Hamburger Helper or something equally low-effort. She only ever left the house to go scavenger hunting for gifts; on a more productive day she would go grocery shopping, but only ever came home with more junk food or superfluous impulse buys. And though she had gotten used to not having the dreams anymore she still held out for them regardless, had never stopped trying to have them in a sense. As she laid with her pillows and thought of him she hoped she would see him there as she had before, but when it didn’t happen she tried not to let herself be disappointed.

Angel was not without moments of clarity, however. Though her depressive state rendered her unable to take care of herself much of the time, there were in fact days where she knew she needed to work on getting things back to the way they were before, lest the Losers come back into her life and see just how much she’d let herself go in their absence. It was on a day like this that she attempted to undertake the somewhat daunting task of cleaning her house, or at the very least, decluttering her room. Angel was the type to get stressed out by a copious amount of mess, and although she was too far gone to care on most days, it still ate away at her regardless of her notice. It had reached a breaking point when she couldn’t even see the floor in her room, covered in clothes and other errant objects, and she’d almost eaten shit when her foot got caught on a shirt. So she rolled up her sleeves one Saturday afternoon, put on an Oingo Boingo album (Good For Your Soul, her favorite) and got to work.

Have you ever felt that somehow

You were not yourself?

That your body was the same

But everything around you wasn’t right

And images so strange and foreign

Flooded in like raging water~

So far so good. She’d started with the garbage first, and so far had filled up two full bags, another byproduct of her recent distraction. Then, once she was done with that she got to work on the floors, first collecting all the clothes and laying them in a pile on her bed. Then she started to pick up everything else that was a potential hazard, setting them down in better places or binning them for storage in the closet. She figured she could kill two birds with one stone and do a big load of laundry today once she was done. It was certainly well overdue, and she could stand to catch up a little. The floor isn’t perfectly spotless but it’s certainly adequate, and she starts to clear off her bedside table and her dresser now. She tosses old candles and water bottles, rearranges the books on her shelf, throws out old papers and mementos that are taking up space inside her drawers. She needed to reorganize her clown collection too, and she knew they surely needed dusting. She pulls open her closet door.

Have you ever been in love

With someone you hardly knew?

Whereas every time you closed your eyes

You saw this person come alive

It kept you wide awake at night

You felt like you were burning up

It made you want to scream

Then you passed out in a dream

Just once or twice

Is good for your soul...

Her eyes fall on her shelf and all the little figurines waiting inside for her scrutiny. They gaze back, staring at her silently and she reciprocates their wordless gesture. There’s little more than two dozen of them, statues in colorful attire with painted faces, and there’s a row of bean-stuffed dolls among them, all with similar porcelain faces. Angel had collected all of these from thrift stores over the years, figuring they were from elderly peoples’ collections, unwanted now for whatever reason or donated as a result of their passing. Either way, she was delighted to give them a new home whenever she found them, and the best part of it was how inexpensive they tended to be. She takes the tallest figures and lines them up in the back, and then arranges two more rows of the medium-sized ones followed by the small. Finally, she places the porcelain dolls in front, two on either side of the rows. She steps back to admire her handiwork, finding the activity to have been almost therapeutic in a sense. All of a sudden, she gets that warm rush working its way through her flesh and she smiles. She knows the signs, she wonders what they might have left for her this time. It had been a couple days since the last one. Hopeful with anticipation she turns around to face her bed again, but she jumps ten feet in the air with a yelp.

Ever laid half asleep

All hours of the night

With some nagging demon

Tugging at that tiny bell inside your mind?

And suddenly that strange idea

Bursts into an inspiration

You grab for it and then

The whole things slips right through your fingers

Just once or twice

Is good for your soul…

That clown doll, the one from Secondhand Rose, is there to greet her, propped up against her pile of clothes. It smiles at her, almost knowingly, and the sight of it has her heart thundering in her chest so hard she feels as though it might burst out. She backs away, and bumps into the closet door behind her.

“What the f*ck? What the f*ck?”

[alykazamfanfiction]

Stolen Hearts in the City of Thieves Chap. Four (Final Chapter)

In the late morning Gajeel slowly opened his eyes to the room around him, his eyes found Levy as he watched her write on her naked, love bitten, and passion bruised skin with her pen while standing before a dingy full size mirror that hung on the wall by the door. He could not help but observe her as he felt the proof of his passion on her skin made her all the more beautiful.

“What'r'ya doin?” he asked while propping himself up from the mattress with his arms, startling the small woman. She sucked in a sharp inhale as she turned to the dragonslayer, but levy's fear quickly ebbed into relief and a chortle as she backed away from the mirror.

“Oh! Gajeel, you dummy, you scared me! I'm just concealing some of...these...” The Fairy Tail mage turned her nude form around to both show Gajeel, and admire with her own hooded eyes, the small bruises and and marks that covered her fair skin.

She smiled sheepishly as she continued, “it's not that I wish to cover them up, but given my small stature and all; if anyone from the guild were to see me like this, they would become ridiculous about me going on missions solo.”

“Well that's stupid! Don't they trust ya?” Gajeel questioned as she returned to writing her magic on her delicious soft skin. Watching how every pen stroke caused the evidence of his love for her to fade away.

“You would think,” Levy answered while focused on her work, “considering the group missions I go on end up with me doing more of the work than my comrades. I may be small, and my magic isn't very offensive. But as you know, it is how I use my magic that makes me strong. Sometimes strength is more about how cunning you can be with your magic rather than how much power you can force behind it.

The Iron Dragon curled his lip into a smile. She was truly incredible.

“Promise me,” he commanded from the bed stopping Levy in the middle of her spells.

“Gajeel...”

“When this war breaks out, and I know it will, promise me ya'll let me pull ya outta harms way.”

“But my-” Levy tried to argue but was interrupted with a shout and a hard thud as Gajeel struck the headboard with the bottom of his fist.

“Damn it, woman, I don't care about yer friends! Hell I don't even care about my own damn guild!” the dragonslayer quickly left the bed,the bed sheet that covered him slid away from him silkily as he stormed up to Levy. He grabbed his lover's shoulders before pulling her into a tight embrace. His face fell into her wild hair; it was soft and her scent was like a truth serum as he let his guard down and  whispered, “Please. Just let me do this. I don't wanna lose ya.”

Levy returned the embrace and held her ear to his chest, hearing his beating heart that now belonged to her. A monotone melody that, she wondered, had faintly been heard by anyone else. The script mage could not reject that gentle beating that reverberated within him. In her thoughts on sunny days, dreaming about what love could be like, she never imagined how powerful a feeling could be. She assumed nothing in Earthland existed with the power to forsake her family.  

“I promise,” she sighed into his firm tanned chest. “I'll run away with you when the time comes.”

They held each other in a comfortable silence before separating to finish packing and readying themselves to go their separate ways. These were their last hours in the City of Thieves.

~~**~~

After leaving the inn their walk to the train station was long and solemn with both mages walking slowly through the streets to prolong their last moments together. Other than the occasional small talk the stroll through the city was also a quiet one to boot. Upon reaching the station levy purchased her ticket back to Magnolia from a small old man who reminded her of her guild master. Typically seeing familiar faces of her guild mates in strangers made her eager to return home, but today it only caused melancholy to stew in her stomach.

Gajeel stood behind her a few feet from the ticket kiosk. She would probably wish for him to join her for the ride back home but he rather her not see him fall ill from motion sickness from the train. It always made him feel embarrassed for anyone to see how weak transportation made him.

She turned and walked to him after receiving her ticket, he heard the words before they even left her soft full lips, “You're not getting a ticket? This train makes a stop as it passes through Oak Town.”

Trying hard to retain his confidence he shook his head and replied, “Nah, I'd rather walk. It'll give me time ta think about some things.”

The Fairy Tail mage was curious if Gajeel's decision to walk was for the same reason her friend and guild mate Natsu always declined the use of transportation, wondering if all dragonslayers had a deficiency for uncontrolled motion. She found it easier to leave the curiosity a mystery for the time being. “Would you at least wait for the train with me at the platform? I feel like there's so much to talk about before we go our separate ways.” Levy paused before continuing, “I don't want to say 'goodbye' yet.”

 “Then don't,” was all that Gajeel stated to the blunette as he brushed a stray lock of hair that escaped her headband behind her ear with a rough calloused hand. The Iron Dragon felt the same, not wanting to return to the routine of his everyday being around so many hooligans he honestly wanted nothing to do with. He did not want what he had before him to be a passing ship in the ocean voyage of life, but that was neither here nor there, she had to go home to her guild and he had to give in, he had to let her go.

“C'mon, let's get ya to tha train before I decide ta take ya back ta Phantom Lord,” he added as he reached for her hand, leading her to the train's platform.

“G-Gajeel!” She called out as he pulled her stumbling form down the station's wide hallway and outside to the sunny wooden platform.

“What?” He turned to her seeing a determined woman with fire in her eyes.

“Why are you being so calm about this!?” Levy demanded an answer for his sudden behavior. She could not shake the feeling that maybe somewhere in her extraordinary mind she had doubts about her feelings; mainly of whether or not he reciprocated them.

Gajeel stood tall before her, the sun eclipsed by his great form, he was dark and his red eyes glowed like stoked coals in a fire as he stared into her own that shimmered like gold in the sunshine. It were as if the light of the world had met darkness for the first time, unaware of how they both needed the other to simply exist.

“There ain't nothing calm about me,” his voice was quiet but rough with a miasma of emotions he was withholding. He was frightening and beautiful to the script mage, and Levy's heart began to beat like a war drum within her ribs. “I wanna steal ya from Fairy Tail, I wanna go rogue from Phantom Lord. But I know how ya fairies are about yer loyalty, and well, I like tha dirty work I get ta do for my own guild.” Gajeel ended with a dark chuckle and a grin to match.

“But,” He added with a sudden change in his tone, “ya do somethin' ta me and I'm startin' ta think I know what it is. 'N' because of that I am anything but calm.”  

With those last word, Gajeel brought his hands together. He held one hand open while the other had his fingers clustered to a point as he placed the bundled fingertips at the center of his open palm. The iron mage pulled his hand away from his open palm as a thin trail of iron followed his fingertips, subtle movements of his hand added shape to the iron as he created it with his magic. The result of his spell revealed an iron quill much like the one Mira had gifted Levy. But unlike the golden light pen's soft feather fringe, the dragonslayer formed the feather to resemble dragon scales.

Gajeel grasped the iron quill in the hand that molded it and reached for Levy's small hand with the other before placing the offering into it lovingly. His gentleness reminiscent of their first kiss the night before. Staring at the gift now in her hand, the scrip mage understood the gravity of her lover's internal battle, and how remarkable it was that someone as notorious as he would have the heart to be compelled to make such an amorous gesture.

Suddenly Levy understood her own fears and desires, awestruck of the splendid power that something as simple as love possessed. She tightened her grip on the iron quill in her hand knowing her new pen was strong and dark like its creator as tears began to swell in her eyes only to plummet down her cheeks.

“It's not fair, you know, forcing me to make a promise to abandon my family,” The Fairy Tail mage began as tears continued to fall from her eyes. “Like I'm some princess that needs to be saved. Well I'm not! I am bound to the chains of fate just like you! So it's only right that you do the same for me!”

Gajeel was relieved that they were the only ones waiting on the platform. Having this shining woman crying before him would only bring him misinformed glares and whispers of judgment from other passengers awaiting their trains, hoping the shadow that darkened her mood would just leave her alone and go away. However by being alone he was free to reveal his heart to her as the iron walls that encased it had crumbled to rubble for the fairy woman effortlessly. His eyes widened upon hearing her confession and was ready to comply to any demand she would ask of him.

He cupped her face in his hands and wiped the tears from her cheeks. He wanted to look into those amber eyes as he spoke to her words that would never be meant for anyone else.

“Name it, I'll level entire countries if ya wanted. Whatever ya wish I'll give t'ya.”

Levy gazed into his garnet eyes as she whispered her wish.

“Promise me, no matter what happens, that you'll be by my side. If this war destroys everything, or never comes at all; even if I somehow become a casualty, please promise me you'll stay by my side.”

The Iron Dragon heard the words and answered her without hesitation as he leaned in and pressed his forehead against hers, taking in her scent of ancient tomes and ink now laced with hints of his own scent mixed in, “I promise.”

They leaned in for one last kiss as the train whistled for passengers after slowly coasting to the platform. Levy smiled at Gajeel as she reached for one of his hands that were holding her face and wrote the word 'iron' in the palm of his hand, creating one last gift for him. The metal word in his hand was different than the first time she created iron from her magic as he noticed the small heart in the 'o'. The dragonslayer smiled letting out a small “gihi” from his lips.

Levy began to step away, their hands holding tightly as long as they could before finally letting go. Allowing their fingertips to graze each other in a final effort to remain connected before becoming two lonesome travelers once more. As she walked to the train car she looked back at her dragon with the long unruly hair that cascaded down like a jagged shadow, making his piercings shine brighter in the sun, one last time; waving her goodbye to him as he lifted his own hand to the same. The smiles they wore were bittersweet, for despite being forlorn about separating, they were happy beyond words to have found each other in the chaotic world they lived in.

Moments after she was no longer visible after boarding the train began to whistle one last time to announce its departure from the platform as it trailed away, gaining speed while it disappeared in the distance toward Magnolia.

Gajeel sighed as he lowered his waving hand and looked down at the iron in his hand. He placed it to his lips and bit down, tasting the sweet element only her magic could conjure. The dragonslayer devoured all but the 'o' with the heart in its center. He eyed it for a moment with a smile before stuffing it in his pants pocket as he walked away from the platform pondering over the seeds of change she planted that had now taken root in his heart. With that, for the first time, he hoped the gods would allow fate to be kind to them if the war between the Fairies and the Phantoms were to finally break out.

A/N: the final part of this story with Gajeel eating all but the 'o' in the word iron was inspired by Rboz's doujinshi when Gajeel became injured during a solo mission after seeing someone confess their love to her.