#where Sky is very clean neat and sharp edges

[beedreamscape]

Sketching some outfits for a painting I wanna make, try and guess which bad bitches these belong to

[kashimos-hajime]

the girl in purple (1/8) | r.b.

summary: In his mind, you’re wearing the white blouse and long purple skirt again, long riding boots covering dark pants, innocent smile on your face as you wait for him in the noon sunlight. Or, four years ago, Bertholdt asked for a favour and you said yes.

WARNINGS: swearing, ass jokes, flashbacks and flashforwards, mostly fluff and banter, pining and angst at the end, bertholdt is our soft best friend <3 pairing: reiner braun x fem!reader word count: 5.0k

a/n: pt 1 of 8 of a birthday present for the legend, the icon, the bad bitch herself, ISABEL!!@!@!@ @luciilferss​ ALSO, song not mine! it’s the sea shanty called wellerman.

masterlist

crossposted on ao3 x

You sigh, wiping the back of your hand before grabbing the next hay bale that needed to be lifted to the loft. Your back aching, you grit your teeth as you lug it towards the ladder. It’s the last one and after a sweaty afternoon, you just want to get into bed. Hopefully Annie did end up getting you supper—you had to work through it just so Shadis didn’t get your ass up tomorrow to finish the job.

“Here, let me help.”

“Oh, thank you,” you reply, glancing to see your savior and a warmth shoots through your body when you realize it’s Bertholdt. “You know if Shadis catches you helping me, it’s going to be hell to pay, right?” The boy smiles, shrugging, and you can’t help your own grin as he gestures for you to climb up. Skirting up the ladder, you turn around to take the hay bale and pushing it towards the corner before jumping down and dusting off your hands. Stable clean-up is never fun, but with autumn right around the corner, they all want to get a head start before the chill sets in.

“I wanted to ask you a favour.”

“I knew there had to be a reason you were in here,” you tease. “Shoot.”

“Well, we have visiting privileges next weekend,” Bertholdt continues as you walk around the stables, picking up tools as you make your way towards where the broom is leaning against the wall. The tall boy ambles after you and you shoot him an amused look, curiosity pricking at your fingers. 

Half-way through their training in the corps, and Bertholdt still manages to keep you guessing. You don’t know what it is about him, but your friend’s always been the quiet one. It’s part of why you like being around him, but you just wish his friend liked you. Annie seems more than fine with you.

Reiner, on the other hand, can barely even look at you. It’s a real downer.

“I was just wondering…”

“You should ask Annie,” you cut off before he can finish, picking up the broom to begin sweeping the stray hay into a neat pile. Bertholdt’s spine goes ramrod straight and his cheeks redden so intensely you can’t help but laugh. “I’m pretty sure she would say yes. You guys are friends, right?”

“Yes, but we’re—we’re not—why would I ask Annie, specifically?” he stammers. The horses neigh as you walk past, their necks stretching out for treats but you ignore them, heading for the entrance. “She could go with a bunch of other people.”

“Yeah, but she always goes with me.” Glancing at Bertholdt, your eyes narrow when he smacks his forehead, covering his flustered expression miserably. Poking him in the gut with the handle of your broom, you continue, “And she only likes a few people here. You’re one of them, Bertl.” 

“Well, if you think so. I mean, you’re her dorm mate, not me, so… argh!” he groans as you walk past him, sweeping. “You’re not helping!”

“Helping with what?” you ask innocently, not paying him a second look. You hear him let out a sigh as you brush hay to the back of the stables. “You’re the one who wanted a favour.”

“Yeah, and I still need to tell you.”

“Literally no one’s stopping you, Bertholdt.” Another resigned sigh. “Okay. Okay. Ask me. I promise I won’t tease you for the next ten minutes.” Turning around, you rest your broom against the post between two stalls. A horse nudges at your face and you scratch the stallion’s chin as Bertholdt walks closer. His eyes inspect your own expression, searching for trickery, but you only grin.

Then, he drops his crossed arms and says, “Someone wants to ask you out next weekend for our visit to Trost.”

“Er, okay? Why didn’t they just ask me themselves?” Crossing your own arms, you lean against the post, the lantern hanging above your head and casting everything in a warm glow. It softens Bertholdt’s smile as he shrugs mischievously. “Who was it?”

“Reiner.”

“Reiner?” His name is punched out of you, sharp with shock, and your broom slides off the post, clattering to the floor between the two cadets as you stare at Bertholdt. 

“Mhm?”

“Reiner Braun.”

“Yep.”

“We know the same one, don’t we?”

“Blond, makes ass jokes, this tall?” he shoots back, raising a hand that comes just near his ear. You nod. “Yeah.”

“But he hates me.”

“What? No, he doesn’t. Why would you think that?” Bertholdt’s eyebrows knit together and you stare at him incredulously, not sure if he’s joking or not. Shaking your head, you let out a scoff and bend down to pick up your broom to continue your sweeping. Mind a swirl, you try to reconcile the Reiner, who has never said more to you than ‘pass the grease’ during ODM maintenance and ‘you have dirt on your chin’ after forest exercises, with the Reiner who had to ask Bertholdt to ask you out for him.

Sounds fake, but you digress.

“Okay,” you drawl, unable to help the disbelief from creeping into your voice. “This was a good attempt at a joke, but you need to try harder next time.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“Why would I ever believe you?”

“Because I would never li—make something up like that,” he says, correcting himself, and you send him a strange look. “Just… when we get to Trost, you know that bakery that sells the stuffed cream buns. The one you mentioned before?”

“Yeah. Annie likes them,” you inform him pointedly, and Bertholdt’s mouth drops open to argue but he seems to think better of it this time.

“Yes, that one.” Fighting a furious blush on his cheeks, he continues, “If you’re there at noon, you’ll see I’m not lying.”

“And if I’m not there?”

“Reiner will be very sad for the rest of his life,” Bertholdt declares and you can’t help your serious expression from sliding off. “Will you please just consider it?”

Staring at your friend, you study his expression. It’s completely genuine, open, eyes wide and you feel a part of you melting at how adorable he is. For such a tall guy, he’s so goddamn gentle it blows your mind he’s a fighter. You can’t see him hurting even so much as a fly.

It’s for that reason you relent. Because Bertholdt’s never gone out of his way to scheme your downfall. He doesn’t have that in him. “Fine,” you say after a moment. “Fine, I’ll consider it.”

.

When Reiner steps back into the port city, he can’t help but think what he always thinks when he gets off a battlefield. Four years, and every thought is the same. Routine, almost. Or maybe, a habit to keep something alive.

And he almost takes comfort in it. That you would’ve loved it here. In Marley—Liberio, or otherwise. There are so many kinds of sweets, pastries, so many sights to see—the water stretches on for miles and miles, and you could’ve tried seafood. Maybe you would’ve liked it.

You never tried seafood. He promised. He promised—

Fucking hell. 

He steps out of the barracks, insides twisting into a tight knot as the sun blinds him. Lifting a hand, he squints and blinks, trying to get used to the brightness as people pass him by. Galliard’s voice trails after him like a ghost, and he scowls to himself, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He feels like he hasn’t slept a wink, and his body aches in places so deep he can’t rub it out.

“I saw you through her memories. You acted like the tough, reliable type. Not at all like yourself. And you were with that girl. Who was she to you, anyway, Reiner? Because my brother would have never cozied up with the enemy.”

Cozied up with the enemy. It’s as much as implying fraternization as anything and Reiner had barely chained back the words that would’ve torn both him and Galliard to shreds.

Don’t you fucking dare reduce her to just some promise I broke ever again. It stopped meaning something to me years ago.

Shaking his head free of Galliard’s voice, an image of you flashes through his mind to replace it and the urge to send a fist into his own face lances down his arm, but he barely restrains himself from doing so. Instead, he tightens his hand until his nails dig into his palm.

You’re always the one thing he can’t shake, nor does he think he wants to. 

Hollow, his feet drag his battered body towards the harbour. 

As he walks along the water, he hear some of the fishermen whistle and sing their shanties. It takes him a moment to recognize they’re all singing the same song, and he’s thrown back to when he came to the port the first time he was to go off to Paradis, how he committed the shanties to memory so he could take something with him to what was supposed to be an Island of Devils.

It makes his entire body ache, the uplifting tune filling his body up until he can’t possibly breathe. The way the sailors all sing together, smiling at each other—the camaraderie.

“Soon may the Wellerman come, to bring us sugar and tea and rum, one day when the toungin’ is done, we’ll take our leave and go…”

He misses that the most.

.

The sun is hanging in the centre of the sky as you glance from your plate to your surroundings. The fountain is full of life, people milling around the edges, tossing coins in and making wishes, and you hide a smile behind your hand when you watch a group of kids trying to flick their coins to the top most basin of the structure. The tiny plink-plink is barely heard, but either way, their groans of disappointment are far more amusing.

It helps pass the time at least, while you waste away your afternoon waiting for someone you’re not even sure will come. Dressed in a white blouse tucked into a long dark purple skirt that covers your pants, you cross one leg over the other as you wait.

You don’t even know why you’re here. Bertholdt had all but avoided your questions for the past week, and Annie didn’t budge, although, it’s harder for the blonde to slip. Being bunkmates helps, but not that much.

You keep people-watching, glancing up at the sky occasionally to see if any birds pass over, your bread untouched. Glancing up and down the street, you rest your chin glumly on the palm of your hand, elbow resting on the table. 

No pretty blond head in sight. 

Groaning, you lift your head when one of the waiters approaches, asking if you wanted anything more. You shake your head, a warmth spreading over your face and watching him go when a shadow falls over your table. 

“Oh, you got something to eat already.” 

Head jerking to the voice, you look up in surprise at whoever’s blocking your sunlight. Standing upright, your chair clatters against cobblestone as you clear your throat.

“You’re actually here,” you blurt out to both of their surprise and Reiner rocks back on his heels, running a hand through his short hair. His eyebrows struggle to meet his hairline and he smiles sheepishly.

“Sorry I’m late. Uh, sit down. I just… got lost.” You sink back into your chair and he takes the seat down across from yours nervously. He’s dressed in a pale green button up and darker slacks, but for once, he’s not scowling at you and you offer a slight smile. “How… how are you?”

“I’m okay. Slow morning.” He nods. You glance at your plate and nudge it towards him awkwardly. “I got it for you. It’s my favourite. I dunno what Bertl told you about me, or… why I’m even here, honestly.”

He picks up the bun tentatively, and you look down at your boots as he takes a bite, too nervous to watch his reaction.

What if he hates sweet things? What if he can’t drink cow milk? Don’t you remember? What if it makes him shit his pants—

“Oh, wow. I need to come to this place more often,” Reiner mumbles, taking another huge bite and your gaze flits to his face as he chews. His eyes are focused solely on the bun in a way that reminds you a lot like Sasha, and the corner of your mouth pulls into a pleased hint of a smile. “This is heaven…”

“You like it?” 

A noise escapes the blond and eyes jerk to meets yours as if he just remembered you were there and you tear your eyes away, clasping your hands together on the table. You close your eyes. Can the embarrassment just swallow you up already?

Reiner clears his throat, taking the cup of water left out for him after a quick point and your nod. He drains it to buy them both time, and your thumbs rub together. If you just walk away now, would it be too bad? You could probably find Annie or Jean pretty easily. Bertholdt’s probably just exploring the city with… if you had to hazard a guess, maybe Armin? They both like the architecture—stuff like that.

Honestly, you have no idea.

Porcelain rests against wood as Reiner nods. “I do. I didn’t know you had a sweet tooth.”

“Er, yeah. Since I was a kid. We didn’t have much, uh, variety, so stuff like this was kinda a delicacy. I grew up at this orphanage where we worked the fields.” You shift in your seat as Reiner continues to eat, and you sigh silently to yourself. Why did you give up an afternoon looking at paint supplies with Jean for an awkward date like this?

Wait, this is a date right? That’s what Bertholdt said. Ask you out. Those were his words, right?

“Where are you from?”

“Just inside Wall Maria, so when Shiganshina was breached, we had more time to move inward,” you explain briefly. “But we mostly ate what we grew for crops. I mean, it’s not like we could buy cream buns every day, you know?” Reiner nodded silently, and you give him an uneasy smile, feeling the need to elaborate. “Ever since we joined the corps, they send me money for birthdays and stuff. I don’t know.” You clear your throat. “Anyway, I just thought you might like the bun.”

“Even though you think I hate you?”

“Wha—“ A strangled noise comes out of your mouth. “Who told you that?”

“Why would you think that, anyway?”

“Because all you do is glare at me,” you say pointedly. Crossing your arms over your chest, you shoot him a narrowed look. “And scowl. And you generally avoid being anywhere near me. I mean, do I stink to you or something, Braun, because I have news for you—“

“I don’t hate you. I actually really like you,” he tells you bluntly, cutting your rant in half, and your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Reiner looks down at the empty plate, crossing his own arms and leaning forward on them. 

“Y-you like me?” you stammer and his cheeks redden.

“I mean, if Annie likes someone, I’m inclined to believe that they’re worth my time.”

Frowning, your shoulders slump. Gears turning, your expression scrunches up as you think aloud. “But, you asked Bertholdt to ask me out for you. Unless this is a dumb dare—wait.” You sit upright, twisting around to see if any of the other boys are milling around the plaza. Scanning for brown hair, or grey hair, or even blond hair, your cheeks begin to burn at the idea that someone’s watching you embarrass yourself but a hand on your elbow brings your gaze reeling back to Reiner.

A smile curls his lips impishly, but his eyes are resolute, calmer. Even still, he looks like he’s trying to fight a small panic rising up inside him, just like you are as he tells you to relax.

“This isn’t a dare,” he says. “I’m not that cruel.”

“I’ve seen you do worse to Titan dummies.”

“Exactly. I just wanted to get to know you better. Bertholdt offered to help me out since you guys are already friends, and I thought what the hell.”

You turn that explanation over in your head tentatively and a part of you recognizes it makes sense. Despite your hesitation, you know you only said yes because it was Bertholdt who asked you.

Otherwise, how inclined were you to say yes if it had been Reiner stalking up to you and asking you to hang out in Trost? How likely would it have been that you would be sitting here instead of walking along the stalls with Sasha and Connie?

“I’m kinda ashamed I don’t know you that well,” Reiner continues, fighting off tones you can’t decipher laced in his voice. Your brow furrows. “But I want to fix that, if you’d let me.” 

Dazedly, you repeat, “Fix… that?”

He nods and you simply stare at him, trying to get your mouth to work. It’s like he stole all the words from your mouth and time seems to slow as your lips part.

Absently, you realize his hand is still touching your elbow, fingers firm but not tight, and you swallow, studying his expression. Golden light plays on his face, sharpening the shadows of his nose and cheeks and lips, and yet everything about him seems to soften. Normally, you see him as hard rigid lines, like the shape of armour, and there is always an imposing aura around him that has become more muted now that he’s sitting beside you.

And you believe it. That he doesn’t hate you.

Maybe he really, really doesn’t, and you’d be an idiot if you don’t take up the offer.

So you stand up abruptly, and pull your arm out of his grip before slipping your hand into his.

“Fine,” you annouce, pulling him up. His eyes widen and you lead him away from the café with a small grin to yourself. A new plan begins to formulate in your mind as they step into the welcoming sun. Reiner’s long strides catch up to yours and he falls into step beside you. His stare burns into your cheek and you only tighten your grip on his hand as you lift your chin haughtily at him. “What do you say to a game of twenty questions?”

His eyebrows shoot up, but then a smug smile pulls at his mouth and he squeezes your hand back. “Sounds perfect, creampie. I promise, I’ll be perfectly honest.”

“Creampie?” you repeat dumbly, eyebrows shooting up and a horrible burning licking at your heart. Reiner gives you a vulgar smile and you let go of his hand, shaking your head and smacking his arm before looking down at the ground. Half of you wishes the ground would open up and swallow you whole—the other half thinks you’ll die of embarrassment before that. “How do you even know what that is?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

You straighten up, spine straight as an arrow. Flustered, you stutter, “That’s none of your business.”

He tilts his head back and laughs. “Guess that was your first question, then, huh? Bold start. Surprised me, too, creampie, so that gets you bonus points.”

“What? Wait—no! That doesn’t count!”

.

Walking past the hospital every day, it feels almost ritual to look past the gates and into the courtyard. Sometimes there are patients milling around, doing their daily physical activity, or nurses and other workers walking through to get a break from all the depressing shit that must be going on in there, and Reiner always, always, wonders if he should be in there with the rest of them.

It’s why he turns his head on reflex now, peering through iron-wrought gates. No one’s inside except for a pair walking through the path and he stops for a moment, watching. 

One of them is most definitely a woman, a hat covering her head and a long coat the shade of plums. A white Eldian armband is stark against the shade of her clothes. Meanwhile the other looks like he’s been dragged through hell. With one leg, he hobbles along with his crutch, black hair streaming past his shoulders, and he’s ragged, white shirt kind of messy from where Reiner stands. The Eldian armband is wrapped tight along his bicep. But he stands straight-back, shoulders set, the gait of a soldier. Pride keeps him up, not strength.

He’s too far away to hear them speak, and they stick to the shadows of the hospital, but after a short moment, the woman wraps an arm around the one not desperately holding onto the crutch, leaning in closer towards the man as if he has the most riveting thing to say.

For a moment, it is not a woman in a purple jacket and a veteran with one leg but two cadets walking the streets of Trost, sunlight shining down on them warmly. The blond boy leans to listen to the girl beside him, smiling until he thought his cheeks would fall off.

“This is your last question, Reiner. Make it count.”

“Hm… alright, if you could do anything in the world, anything at all, what would you do? No Titans, no soldiers. Let’s say there was no war at all and you had unlimited resources, yadda, yadda, yadda…”

“Oh? Hm… I’d want to live where there’s a lot of water. Like a lake or something. I’d get to try all these foods I’ve never thought of before, and I’d, uh… I don’t know what I’d do for money. I guess I’d figure it out somehow.”

“Chopping down wood sounds fun.”

“Yeah, right! I’d rather chop my fingers off. Hm… Maybe I could raise some kids, like I was raised. Give them a home.”

“That’s a lot of responsibility.”

“I dunno. I like being responsible for things. It makes me feel like I’m needed, I guess. I don’t want a kid to grow up lonely like I did.”

“That… that sounds nice.”

“You could visit, you know. As long as you chop the firewood.”

Reiner blinks, and the two are gone. Not a hint of them are in sight, and a soft breath slips out between his lips. He must’ve been seeing things.

Shaking his head to himself, he turns away.

.

The past year and a half has been turbulent since you became friends with Reiner, but for some reason, you don’t think you would change the thing. 

Not even when Connie would come at ghastly hours in the morning because “CAN YOU PLEASE TELL REINER TO STOP SNORING? We would but we’re too afraid of being crushed by the weight of his entire body. Thank you! You’re the best, seriously.”

Or when they’re studying and Reiner makes one too many jokes about how he could fuck a Titan, despite Bertholdt’s resigned sighs and you throwing a book at him, and it only gets you, “Keep acting like that and I’ll take a bite out of your juicy ass next, creampie,” and a heat that kisses at your face.

Not even after reclaiming Trost and losing yourself in his arms.

You feel something inside you shatter as the smell of ash tickles at your nose. Walking past the combat medics base they set up for the parameter of the recovery effort, you don’t even look up at any of your friends still left as you walk past. Your entire body burns from the aftermath of Trost, and you wonder if you’ll be able to even get up in the morning as you limp over to a secluded alleyway and lean against the stone.

You don’t know if you’ve ever fought for that long or hard in your life, and you can’t feel your legs anymore as you sink to the floor.

Too many bodies. There are too many bodies.

“Hey.”

Looking up, you pull your mask down when Reiner stands before you. Tearing the fabric off your neck, you draw your knees up and rest your arms on top of them, the mask hanging off your fingers limply. A strange relieving wave washes over you to know he’s still here, even surrounded by so much death.

“Hi,” you murmur. “It’s a lot.”

“Yeah,” he agrees simply, leaning in beside you and sliding down. Their knees knock into one another as he tugs his own mask down. Sweat glistens along his skin and his sleeves are rolled up as he clears his throat. “I’m glad you made it out.”

You smile faintly at him but it flickers out before it can find a place on your face. Looking at your hands, you imagine the rough skin of calluses forming on your palms still and you wish you could rip your gloves off but every part of you is too exhausted to move now. Softly, you tell him, “I’m glad you made it out, too. There are a few of us I haven’t really caught sight of. I know Eren’s squad is dead. I—“ you stop yourself. No way Reiner is interested in the fact that you had taken their deaths in stride because you had to in the moment and now you don’t think you can feel at all— “but… Marco. I haven’t seen him in days. Jean hasn’t seen him either.”

“M-Marco?” Reiner whispers and your eyes lift to look at him. “You haven’t found him yet?” Gaze widening at the colour draining from Reiner’s face, your stomach flips and a dread fills your entire being as you sit upright, your legs sliding down, your arms falling to the ground to prop yourself up. Lungs tightening, your lips part as if to form his name but no sound comes out.

You know what his silence means. His silence is death spelt out in glaring red letters—the same shade as blood. 

But Marco?

Why Marco? A caustic voice screams inside you and your nails dig into the cobblestone as Reiner turns his face away, jaw clenching. Trying to breathe, the air stalls in your throat and your gut clenches as your gaze drifts to the street full of combat medics and doctors, other soldiers who still walk. What—what do you mean Marco isn’t one of them? You want to grab Reiner by the jacket, shake him until he makes sense, but instead you search for freckles behind every mask, stumbling to your feet. Marco never did anything wrong. He was supposed to join the MPs. He was our… our leader. He never did anything wrong.

He never did anything wrong. Never. Never. Not Marco. It can’t be. The thought tumbles through your head as you push yourself to your feet but your knees nearly give in on the first step and you stumble to the other side of the alleyway with a harsh noise. Shoulder crashing into the stone, your eyes squeeze tight and hot tears pour down your face as you clench your teeth, trying to chain back the sob that’s working through your body. Head hanging, your mouth pries open as an ugly moan comes out of you, so deep inside you that you want to crumble.

Days seem to pile onto your shoulders until you think your bones will break and your fingers curl into tight fists as you try to stop the tears from falling, but they keep coming, tracing your nose, pushing everywhere and everything is so hot. Shit, you can’t even breathe—

Hands take your shoulders and you let out a ferocious scream, thrashing yourself out of your grip but fingers only slide to your biceps, pulling you away from the wall as your boots slip against the cobblestone and then hands are on your wrists, pushing away your blind fists.

“Let me go! He’s dead, isn’t he?” you scream as he lets go of you for just a second to wrap his arms around you and you let out a shuddering breath as he crushes you in his embrace. “Reiner! Tell me! Marco’s dead!”

“Yes! Yes, he is!”

His words spear through your skull, sending electricity down your spine and your entire body goes limp as he collapses to his knees, you with him. Your arms at your side, your eyes blink open and you feel fresh tears fall down your face as he cups the back of your head, holding you to him and as something wet seeps into your shoulder, it’s as if you are set on fire.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

 On their own accord, your arms come up under his and fingers hook onto his shoulders. Chest to chest, you swear your heart beats in a mournful beat with his, and his entire body collapses against yours. Eyes closing, you press yourself closer, hoping that the heat of his body will chase away the cold that’s rapidly spreading through your body.

Reiner’s arm around your waist tightens. You swallow hard against his shoulder.

“Please forgive me,” he whispers against your neck, wet cheek pressing against your jaw, and your chest stutters as you try to remember how to breathe.

“Reiner…”

You barely breathe his name. It only makes him curl tighter against you.

.

Liberio is colder at night than he remembers. He has to pull the blankets up to his chin, and still, he shivers.

Rolling onto his side, he can nearly imagine you staring back beside him, smiling, hand reaching to touch his face, and his eyes flutter shut when your fingers seem to pass through his cheek.

In his mind, you’re wearing the white blouse and long purple skirt again, long riding boots covering dark pants, innocent smile on your face as you wait for him in the noon sunlight. 

By then, he had known there weren’t any devils on Paradis, but he’d never seen an angel until he saw you cast in gold.

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

Can you write something where a Supervillain was an absolute jerk to hero, but when she finds him, tortured, sick, and left to die, she helps him anyway?

Thank you!!!

Sure thing! Sorry this took a while. I had a million ideas for this and had to focus in on one.

Dear Diary

Warnings: fevers, delirium, left to die, betrayed, Stockholm Syndrome (implied, not directly stated), fungal infection, exposed bone, broken ribs and nose, starvation, implied neglect, bathing, stripping of clothes (non-sexual), blood, crying

~

Hero sat down at her desk, illuminated by a small lamp and pulled out her worn, leather notebook. She opened the first thirty pages to an empty one, taking brief notes of the way the pages were clearly, neatly filled out top to bottom.

Then, she took her pen- an object of sentiment, nearly as old as her, and gifted to her by her late grandfather- and wrote, as neat as the previous pahlges, in her cursive sign:

Dear Diary,

Then she stopped writing and glanced over at the sleeping figure in the nearby bed. His brown hair tousled, but neat. Old injuries securely bound by more bandages than Hero cared to admit. His once flushed and feverish skin, now placid and evenly moist, was completely neutral with no signs of that agony that brought screams that still haunted Hero at night.

Smiling, she changed her writing to a more easy going print and started writing.

I apologize for not writing recently. It's been so hectic that I think I need a vacation. So, before I tire my hand out complaining, let me tell you about the past couple weeks...

Two weeks ago:

Hero drove smoothly over the recently tarred road. It was night and the sky was absolutely glamorous with stars and constellations of all sorts of celestial bodies. She sighed, contentedly, and aimlessly tapped her fingers against the black steering wheel. She hummed no song in particular as cheery eyes scanned the long, expansive track in front of her.

Until suddenly, the monotonous road was broken by a Ford stranded across the center. Thankfully seeing it immediately, Hero flashed the lights on top of her patrol car, and stepped out with her gun in hand.

A F250, manual with only two seats, but it was empty. Hero raised her gun again and stalked to the other side. Nothing, just an eerie, sporadic vehicle in the middle of a county road.

She whisked open the door. The acrid smell of tobacco and liquor plummeted into her nose and she grimaced. But, like the exterior of the whole truck, there was nothing in the cab.

"Hmm." Hero shrugged, and slammed the door shut, slightly annoyed. She was about to call it in when she heard a tiny, pained whimper.

She tensed, bringing her gun back up again, and spun around. Nothing. Not even a deer or a racoon.

Then, the whimper sounded again.

"Who's there?" Hero asked, but she was starting to think it was just a young fawn or a toad or something.

But it sounded so human.

"Help."

The plea, the breathless plea, sounded the still air. Hero, now completely able to locate it, bounded to the bed of the truck and looked in.

To find a man, bloodied and bruised, with sweat glistening across his dirtied face. He seemed to be conscious- at least awake enough to call for help, as weak the call was- but his eyes were half-lidded and dazed. Blood, still fresh, streamed from a very broken nose.

"Sir?" Hero asked, lowering her gun and putting it in the holster.

The man's eyes opened slightly and he looked at Hero with wonder. A small smile formed on parched, ruined lips. Tears seemed to flood his eyes and he started to cry.

Baffled, Hero climbed into the truck and gathered the man into her arms, mindful not to hurt his neck or spine.

"Hey buddy," Hero cooed, concern evident in her voice. "Are you okay?" No, obviously.

"She-she left me," Supervillain rasped. "She left me here." He started to sob, clawing at Hero's shirt. "Villain left me."

Wait Villain? The stuck-up, obnoxious, feminine bastard that acted as if the world bowed down to her? Hero looked down at the shivering man. Villain, as arrogant as she was, wouldn't hurt a person to this grave extent, unless...

Unless it was...

"Supervillain?" Hero asked. The man turned his head and only then did Hero recognize the sharpness of his jaw and those dashingly handsome golden brown eyes. He let out a hoarse whine and pressed his face back into Hero's leg, chest rattling with broken ribs and mucus.

It was him.

Hero pushed the man off her lap and scowled. He didn’t deserve comfort, or love. Heck, he deserved whatever catastrophe Villain wreaked upon him.

But, after that cruel shove, Supervillain started to scream from the pain of both his horrific injuries and the fresh feeling of betrayal again. He curled his battered form into himself and started a nonstop crying session.

Feeling awfully guilty, Hero laid her hand on his hot shoulder and sighed. She took it back, no matter how mean or terrible a person is, they didn't deserve this.

Before Hero knew it, Supervillain was asleep in the back of her car. As she drove home, night shift forgotten, she thought of her plan. He needed a bath to wash the injuries out and to see the full extent of them. And then he probably needed stitches and a few bones set.

She glanced in the rearview mirror at the limp body. He was breathing, but very subtlety. If it wasn't for the periodic moan or a distressed cry here and there, one might've mistaken him for dead.

Hero shook her shoulders out and looked back at the road, slightly paranoid that she would stumble across another hazardly placed truck. Specifically a manual F250 owned by a certain woman named Villain.

But of course, she didn't. She arrived at home safe and sound, turned off her car, and gathered the now unconscious supervillain in her arms.

"Okay bud," she whispered, hauling him in a bridal carry as she made it to the door. If he wasn't so starved and lightweight, he would've been a big problem to lift.

She opened the door, then immediately in a sudden instinctual rush to hurry, locked the door. She took Supervillain to her bedroom and laid him across the floor. Then, she took off his shirt to reveal a whole menu of wounds.

He had, across both his sides, large purple- nearly black- bruises around his ribcage. They greened at the edges, leading to his torso where cuts and puncture wounds made up a revolting soup. His broken ribs barely had anything in the terms of flesh or muscles on them. Only skin.

His abdomen was sunken in, remnants of days without food, revealing high, pointed hip bones. Hero winced, running a finger lightly across a particular large cut. It was so deep that it revealed the ivory bone beneath. Supervillain, even in his unconscious state, stiffened and whimper pathetically.

Sleep was not an escape from the pain.

Hero stripped the rest of his clothes off. Even his legs and lower body were covered in those red and purple marks. She picked him up again and carried him to the bathtub where she delicately showered the dirt and grime out of infected wounds and off his face.

When it was over, Hero was dumbfoundly shocked at the lack of color in his ghostly face. He didn't wake throughout the process; he was throughly exhausted and sick. Fever raged behind those closed eyelids, appearing in his hot breaths and lolling head. Hero put some old shorts of her's that she bought at a garage sale a couple months ago. They were way too big, but maybe a bit of foreboding told her that they may be necessary one day.

Then she scooped him back up and carried him to her room, laying him on top of the bed, and got to work on stitching and bandaging the wounds.

Supervillain stirred when the needle accidentally pricked a bruise. The second his eyes opened, he screamed and tried to thrash away.

"Leave me alone! Leave me alone!" He yelled. "Villain? Villain! Help me, please!" He started to sob, pressing his cheek into the pillow. "Please... V-vill...ain."

"Shh, shh," Hero laid a hand on his shoulder. He tensed and made a blubbering sound. "You're safe, okay?"

"No, no... I-i want Villain," he sniffled, tears streaming down his face like a waterfall. "I-i need her."

Hero felt her heartbreak at the desperation taut in Supervillain's voice. She gently placed her hand on his forehead in an attempt to comfort and check his fever. He was hot, super-duper hot.

Supervillain pulled away from the touch, watching her with wary eyes. Hero gave a small smile and stepped away. He didn't trust her and her presence might freak him out more. So she stepped away and went to her desk, back facing him.

After a while, his sniffles ceased. Hero took the risk and glanced at him to find him asleep. She sighed, the poor guy was so sick and hurt and tired...

Hero walked back over and went to work again. She applied some antibiotic ointment on some of the more severe wounds, hoping the infection wasn't too deep.

She was about to get to work on tending to his legs, when something in his hair caught her eye. It was a tuff.

Curious, she went over and gently pulled on it to find that it just fell out. A feeling of nausea rose in her throat as more and more hair fell loose. Crunching her brows together, she cleared a hole spot on his scalp to reveal reddened, puffy and dry skin.

A fungal infection. She recognized this from when she took zoology classes in high school. They went on a field trip and the staff gratefully allowed them into the vet area.

Hero rummaged through her medical supplies and found an antifungal cream for athlete's foot. She hesitated, not knowing if something for feet would be good for scalp.

But it was all she had, and something was better than nothing.

So she spread the cream on Supervillain's head, watching as the rose colored flesh glistened with newfound moisture.

Then, she went back to work on stitching and cleaning the wounds of his lower body.

When that long feat was done, she went into the kitchen and grabbed a bag of frozen peas. She wrapped it in a towel and placed it on Supervillain's forehead. Even unconscious, he whimpered and relaxed into the new, relieving sensation.

Hero started to pace. As the minutes ticked by, his breaths seemed to get shallower and shallower and then would increase in a sudden gasp. Periodically, his eyes would flutter open, but only for a moment before he passed out again.

She ended up sitting on the other side of her bed, far away enough to not scare him if he ever regained consciousness enough to be aware of her, but close enough to monitor him.

Hero felt herself dozing as she watched Supervillain's chest rise and fall, but suddenly he awoke fully. She started backwards, then froze. Maybe he would fall asleep again...

But he stared crying, mucus filled lungs heaving. Then he started sobbing, then wailing.

"Villain!" He cried, loudly. "I-i need you." He pulled his legs into himself and Hero did nothing to stop it- too petrified about him hurting himself if he got too spooked.

"Please," he mumbled. "Please, please, please. Don't leave me. Leave me... please no. I don't want you to, I love you please."

Hero's heart broke at that.

Supervillain went silent, apart from nonstop screams of fear and incoherent begging. It got to the point where Hero had to roll him over and gather him into her chest.

"Hey, shh, shh," she cooed, rubbing his back. "It'll be okay. It'll all be okay. Deep breaths... that's it. Breathe in, breathe out. Good job."

Supervillain calmed down and clutched at Hero's shirt. He buried himself into her and fell back asleep.

[dendotdrabbles]

when i write stuff for the skelebros, i like to use House on lane 66 rules for magic, because i think they're fun. here are my hcs for the skelebros magic colors and smells (and bonus Dusks :])

-the dusks dont have multiverse names yet, so bear with me <3

Undertale Skelebros!

-Classic Sans' magic is prussian blue, and smells like fresh linen. i feel like if you were to kiss him, he'd taste like the smell of warm, fresh linen. if that makes sense? he really loves naps, ok?

-Papyrus (universe nickname is Paprika) his magic is orange (duh) and while i love Lane 66's idea that his magic smells like oatmeal cookies, i think he sees himself as a very energetic tough guy!! so i think his magic would smell like fresh cut grass. if you kissed him, he tastes very herbal. i think he'd joke about his kisses being good for your health. it just feels right.

-Dusk is a patience soul with an integrity twin, which lightens the cyan of patience into a nice sky blue, and their magic smells like coffee. they are a very hardworking person who gets shit done, and likes to have a nice cup of coffee while they work.

(since hybrid magic is purely based on the soul, the color of their magic reflects the state of their soul as well. meaning that all dusks have similar colored magic, due to their almost identical souls. )

Underswap Skelebros!

-Blue. i got tired of the infantilized ideas of blue and classic paps, and i think you can tell. in my brain, Blue's magic is electric blue, and smells like rain. if you kissed him, he'd taste like petrichor.

-Stretch! look, i know we love a sassy skele, but i feel like Stretch is very sweet at heart, he is a papyrus after all. they all had once truly believed that anyone can be a good person, even if that ideal is warped now. anyways, Stretch's magic is amber in color, and smells like dandelions. i bet he'd taste a little floral if you kissed him.

- Swap Dusk is still pretty hardworking, but pushed their efforts in a different direction, instead of leadership, they became an influencer (and they hate it, it feels like lying, but they're trying to sway the people into voting for them) their soul is more patient then their counterparts, leaving them a seafoam blue with magic that smells like Eucalyptus

Underfell skelebros!

-Red. we all know that he's a big ol softie under that gruff exterior, and i think he knows that too. but he doesn't think he's worthy because of the bad things he's done in the past, which is why i think his magic smells like burnt marshmallows. also its red, ofc. i don't think i've seen a fell sans who's magic isn't red.

-Edge! we know him, we love our little tsundere, and i think his magic is blood orange and smells like gunpowder. i think it'd be that color because he feels incredibly guilty for all the lives he's taken, as much as he tries to hide it. i remember a fic I'd read where (i think it was a swapfell fic actually) mutt had drawn every person he'd killed so he wouldn't forget their faces. i think Edge does something similar. not sure what yet tho. maybe he writes letters to them, never to be sent.

-Fell Dusk. they are the General, leader of their district and protector of their people no matter the cost of personal relations. they must be strong and logical at all times, making their soul a shade closer to integrity than the Tale version, a nice cerulean blue with magic that smells like peppermint. sharp and eye watering if used correctly.

Swapfell

-Nox. i feel like his magic is royal purple, and smells like disinfectant. i feel like hes a neat freak because he wants to have control over something in his life, so he cleans nearly obsessively and his magic shows that. i feel like Mutt teases him about it "you clean so much that even your magic is clean!" and Nox doesn't realize he's teasing? so he's all proud of himself. very cute, can you tell i love the swapfell brothers?

- Mutt! or Rus. either or. anyways, his magic is Mulberry in color and smells like cinnamon. where as Lane 66's Mutt smells like cloves (which is a VERY powerful smell, i feel like its very bold and the cloves reflect that version of mutt perfectly) my characterization of mutt isn't as bold, he's more shy around people that aren't his brother or other trusted person, which is why i think cinnamon suits him more than cloves. still "spicy" but more toned down.

-Swapfell Dusk is known as the Guardian, they are not the leader (yet) but are in charge of protecting and providing for everyone, creating a safe space for their people to thrive. ironically, swapfell dusk's soul is the closet to tale's in shade, being a baby blue in color, and their magic smelling like burnt jasmine.

Horrortale

-Bear. we love our boy, but he is very tired and very scared, even if he doesn't show it. his magic is slate grey (with a blue-ish tinge. very subtle tho) and his magic smells like charcoal

-Cook. very sweet soul, in a bad environment which forced him to do bad things to survive. his magic is rust colored, and smells like old books. i feel like when he's overwhelmed or having to do something he doesn't want to do, he retreats into his mind, and pretends he's reading a very scary book.

-Horrortale Dusk is a very sad sight, someone who was once so calm and put together falling apart when their twin and children were killed. they protect their last two loved ones with their life, having no regard for their own safety, and if it came down to it would become their dinner willingly if it meant their survival. since the integrity twin was killed, dusk is nothing but corrupt patience now, their soul being a sickly pale blue and magic smelling like smoke

House on Lane 66 belongs to @oolongteacup426

highly recommend!! its such a great fic <3

[apaintedfoxx]

Day 4- Couch

--

read on ao3 here

--

She should’ve headed the ominous warning the dark, dense clouds tried to give her as she stepped out the door. A quick walk, she had told herself, she could beat the rain. The sky had laughed at her challenge, and about halfway through her usual route, the downpour began. Fat rain drops fell in an unrelenting torrent, cold and menacing and threatening to take every last bit of warmth from her body. Her clothes were soaked through after just minutes, the hood of her jacket a mockery of a covering.

Lena quickly runs through her route in her head; there should be a shortcut up ahead somewhere she could take if she made a turn at the café she liked to frequent with Kara…

With a decision made, she ducked her head, pulled her soaking hood tighter over her head, and trekked onward. As promised, the café soon came into sight. Lena turned into the alley that would take her back to the apartment building. She only made it a few sopping steps before she heard it.

There was a pitiful mewling coming from somewhere in the alley.

Loathe to leave any creature out suffering in this monsoon-like weather, she stopped in her tracks, trying desperately to locate the sound above the sounds of rain in the city. It was a miracle she had heard it in the first place, and of course it had stopped as soon as she noticed. The alley itself only added to the problem. It was wide, enough to fit two cars side by side, and consequently filled with stuff. A couple of dumpsters stood sentry outside back doors of businesses, while litter and trash lined both sides of the makeshift street. An abandoned couch sat further down, obviously dumped with little regard. The sound could be coming from anywhere.

“Come on little guy, where are you?” Lena muttered, as if it could hear her. By some miracle, the mewling began again almost in response to her prompting. She followed it as well as she could; it brought her to the broken couch, which looked more dilapidated the closer she got. The fabric, like everything else around, was soaked through, so the original color was hard to determine. Combined with the many stains covering its surface, the best Lena could tell was that it used to be a brown couch. There were tears in the cushions, and obvious wear in the places that were sat in the most. The sound she was searching for had gotten louder, but Lena was not looking forward to touching any of it. She decided to check the most obvious, and least repulsive, option first. She lowered herself to a crouch, ignoring the collection of water on the asphalt, given how wet she already was, and leaned over, peaking underneath the worn piece of furniture.

A tiny pair of eyes shone back at her, and she could just make out the silhouette of a small kitten.

Lena knew in an instant she was not going to be leaving it there a moment longer. It had stopped making noise as it spotted her, peering at her with an unmistakable look of curiosity. She contemplated her next move. She didn’t have anything on her that she could use to tempt the kitten out from her hiding spot, but reaching for it might scare it even further underneath.

As she considered her options, the kitten continued to observe her. It took a tentative step forward, and Lena held her breath, not wanting to scare it into retreat. It squeaked at her as it inched forward, it was getting closer and closer, almost enough for pick up.

“You can do it, little one,” she murmured encouragingly, ever so slowly extended a hand out. She made no move to grab it yet, instead resting it a few inches from the edge of the couch. She gave her fingers an experimental wiggle, hoping to entice the kitten. It froze, and Lena began to panic, she had no idea how long it had been out here by itself, and knew it needed care immediately. Before she had too much time to worry, however, the kitten gave another squeak and pounced on her hand. She quickly, and carefully, got ahold of it with her other hand and stood.

“There we go,” Lena said, finally able to get a better look at the small creature now cradled safely in her hands. Though she knew next to nothing about animals, this kitten was obviously still very young. It’s mottled black and ginger fur was plastered to it’s shivering body, and it stared up at her with mismatching eyes, one blue and one green.

Though her jacket was far from dry, Lena didn’t want the kitten directly in the rain, so she carefully cradled it close to her body, hoping some of her own natural heat would help warm it a little, and covered it with one side of her jacket. She spent another few minutes looking around to make sure the kitten had been alone, but the mewling had stopped as the kitten settled against her. After deciding it had well and truly been alone, Lena quicky made her way back to the warm, dry safety of her apartment.

---

The next few days were a kitten-focused blur. Lena had taken it to a vet as soon as she had gotten them both dry and warm. She’d learned the kitten was just barely seven weeks old, that she was female, and that besides from a bit of dehydration, she was perfectly healthy.

The problem now was figuring out what to do with her. Lena had told Kara and the others about the kitten the morning after she had found her, which resulted in a bombardment of pleas for Lena to keep her. But she couldn’t keep a kitten. Her apartment wasn’t at all prepared for a pet of any kind, and with how much time Lena spent at work, it hardly looked like she herself lived there. Sure, it was functional as far as somewhere to live was, but the décor was sparse; Kara called it empty, Lena preferred minimalistic. That, however, was rapidly changing. After initially getting used to Lena and the new space, the kitten had taken ownership of the admittedly spacious penthouse suite. It ran from room to room, the thud of little paws could be heard almost constantly during the day, and especially the middle of the night. Wishing to save her expensive furniture from the fate of sharp kitten claws, Lena quickly invested in some toys for her to play with, just until she figured out a home for the little one, she sternly told herself and any teasing friends.

Having to eventually return to work resulted in Lena bringing the rambunctious kitten with her. Being her own boss did have some perks, after all, and she didn’t trust the little monster enough to leave her unattended in her apartment. Watching the kitten explore the new environment was admittedly adorable, and when Kara visited for lunch, she spent the entire time curled up in the other woman’s lap, watching her with rapt attention. Kara threw out some not so subtle name suggestions.

Gradually, the kitten became something more permanent. Lena got more toys for her to play with, and some proper items for kitten care, including soft food and a litter box. Lena’s strictly neat, magazine cover worthy apartment became something a little more lived in. On a day Lena wasn’t able to take the kitten to work, she reluctantly left her at the apartment with plenty of food and toys in her vicinity. Upon return, Lena was surprised to see the apartment still standing, and the kitten fast asleep underneath Lena’s couch, her little black paws a stark contrast to the white fabric of the couch. It had become a favorite nap spot of hers, unsurprisingly.

After that, she wasn’t as nervous about leaving the kitten alone. In fact, without realizing it, she gave Lena a reason to come home at night. Late nights at the office were no longer an option to a kitten that had a seemingly endless appetite and energy level, and with the apartment not being so startingly empty anymore, she found herself enjoying spending time within its walls. Even her friends began to notice, teasingly pointing out how messy the space had become when they came over.

It was game night when it all clicked for Lena.

Her friends had a long-standing tradition of game night, everyone took turns hosting, and tonight was Lena’s turn. She had tried to clean up after the kitten the best she could, but the little creature had had other ideas, and shortly after everyone had arrived, she proceeded to throw all of her toys around and climb into everyone’s laps.

It was many hours later, however, and the fun had wound down for the night. Most everyone had left, and Kara had stayed behind as usual to help clean up the games and leftover snacks. They now sat comfortably on Lena’s couch, each with a glass of wine in hand, a late night tv show playing quietly in the background. The kitten was, to no one’s surprise, curled up happily in Kara’s lap, purring contently.

“She likes you,” Lena said softly, watching the sleeping kitten. Kara only gave a hum in response, gently running her fingers through the kitten’s soft fur.

Several minutes passed in this comfortable silence, before Kara spoke up. “She still doesn’t have a name,” she said.

Lena lifted her gaze from the kitten to find Kara’s eyes on her, watching her curiously.

“I haven’t found anything that really fit,” Lena admitted, giving a slight shrug of her shoulder.

Kara smiled. “She’s good for you.”

Lena didn’t ask for an explanation, nor did she need one. It was obvious, though surprising. She would never have considered herself a good candidate for owning a pet, considering how demanding her job was.

“I love how much energy she has. How rambunctious and curious she is. I found her starving under a broken couch, and yet she hasn’t let any of that affect her,” Lena admitted, taking a sip of her wine. She had clearly already had too much of the stuff, if she was getting this introspective already.

Kara only smiled in response, and as silence fell once again, Lena contemplated her words. A smile broke across her face, and she looked at her closest friend. “I know the perfect name for her.”

“And what’s that?” Kara asked with a sweet smile of her own.

“Hope. Her name is Hope.” 

[sushiburritonoms]

I've been having terrible writer's block lately, not enjoying anything I've written, not getting anywhere with WIPs. Poor @darkisrising and @bronze-lorica have had to talk me off edges lately (thanks guys you're the best!). I think I finally have a chapter 3 for Sacred Texts but I'm sitting on it for a while to see if that's the direction I really want to go. I'm soooo sorry for the delay.

In the meantime I was looking through my notes for The Father the Son and the Exile and I found a bunch of scenes I wrote and abandoned as the fic moved in different directions. I figured I'd post some of them because they'll never see the light of day otherwise and because I have nothing else to offer right now.

Originally in Exile, Din and Luke were supposed to make it to Tython. I had them meeting up with Han AND Leia on the planet Ajan Kloss (its the planet Luke and Leia train on in TROS). Its interesting looking back at this, Din and Luke have a different dynamic since I wrote this a long time ago back in March when the story was going in a different direction (I also wrote an homage to one of Writer Owl's fics in the dialogue). I enjoy playful Luke, I don't really write him that often and that's a real shame. Anyways here's wonder wall, enjoy!

Ajan Kloss  was a swampy humid hellhole of a planet that no rational, sentient being should visit, let alone enjoy. Of course that meant that Grogu and Luke were comfortable in the sticky humid environment. In fact there was a rare smile stretched across Luke's face and he sounded almost nostalgic as he talked around their campfire.

“There’s a certain type of moss that grows on the trees here that’s edible.”

Din refused to look up at Luke from where he was cleaning their meal.  “I’m not drinking any tea you make out of it.”

“It’s more of a garnish?”

Din sighed. “Don’t touch my fish.” He forcefully stuck a stick lengthwise through the fish as an emphasis.

“Grogu should really have more vegetation in his diet. Master Yoda used to eat plants.”

Din snorted. “You’re welcome to try.” It wasn’t like the kid never ate vegetables but they were always fried and covered in spices. That probably wasn’t what Luke was getting at.

“Maybe later. He did eat two whole frogs.”  Luke edged himself closer to the fire. “Maybe after this we could swing by Dagobah. You know, assuming we’re not about to trigger some sort of sneak attack or trap. There are tubers I could dig up for him that Master Yoda ate, plus I could pick up more gnarltree bark.”

Din blinked and raised his head up to properly look at Luke. He knew what Luke was doing. He was trying to distract himself with thoughts of the future. It was a tactic Din often used himself--strategize every possible outcome in the hopes the future won’t be as terrifying as it feels.

On the one hand, he was amused and touched by Luke’s continued fixation on Grogu’s eating habits, even if it was hypocritical of Luke given his own poor diet.  It reminded Din of some of the older members of the Covert that used to watch Din when he was little. They always used to harass him to eat everything offered to him and gave him sharp nudges when he tried to skip directly to the occasional sweet treat left out for all the foundlings to share. It was very Mandalorian of Skywalker and it felt good. Familiar.

On the other hand, Din really, really didn’t want any more tree bark in the Wayfinder. So Din didn’t really know what to say.

“Hold this.” Din shoved a fish skewer into Luke’s hand. Yeah that worked.

Luke took the skewer with a hint of a smile.  “Master Yoda used to eat certain mushrooms too, I think I can safely identify them. Or maybe I could put together an aquarium in the Wayfinder and we could take more frogs with us. I bet I can repurpose one of the smaller cloning cylinders I have in the back and add a filtration system...”

Din shuddered at the thought  of living with a cloning vat filled with frogs and the likelihood of frogs, moss and tree bark for dinner several nights a week.  Just no. “This is why our people are ancient enemies,” he shuddered. “You live like animals.”

There was silence. Too long of a silence. Din looked up.

Luke was staring at him with a shocked look on his face. “Our people are ancient enemies?” He whispered.

Ah kriff. Din winced. “So I’ve heard.”

“....Oh.”  Luke looked crushed.  “Nobody told--well. There’s a lot nobody told me,” he sighed. “About being a Jedi.”

Damn damn damn. Din wanted to throw his hands up in the sky.

“I guess that makes sense,” Luke mumbled. He was fiddling with the fish skewer in his hands. “All the other Mandalorians I’ve ever met have tried to capture or kill me. I thought it was just the Bounty…”

“I’m not like other Mandalorians.”  Din interrupted, desperate to turn the conversation. It was technically true, probably just not in a way that helped their relationship. Er--their partnership?  Their--whatever this was.

“I mean I like you…”

Din froze. What.

“You’re really good at fishing and Grogu loves you.  I’d hate to have to kill you.”

Din’s heart restarted in his chest again.  Was Luke...messing with him?   “You wouldn’t leave a mark.”

Luke blinked up at him innocently and fluttered his damn eyelashes.  “I could totally kill you in your sleep.”

The little shit!  “I’ll poison your tea.”

“It’s pretty much already poison. I’m immune.”

Heh, true.  “Your fish then.”

“I’ll just go grab a frog.”

“You’re staying here and eating my damn fish!”

Luke burst out into sudden loud laughter.  It was like a sudden fierce rainstorm in the way it showered over the camp. It startled Grogu, who had been ignoring both of them in favor of playing with some shiny rocks nearby.  He tilted his head and then matched Luke’s laughter with a baby chuckle of his own.

“Sorry! I think it's just my nerves talking but that just sounded wrong and so funny--”

Din just shook his head. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out what had set Luke off but he didn’t care. “Crazy Jedi.”

“Trigger happy Mandalorian.”  Luke gave him a giant smile.  “Hurry up and finish this.” He gave Din back the fish skewer and chuckled again.  Despite his comment about his nerves, Luke’s shoulders were relaxed and his legs were spread out comfortably by the fire. Din could stare at his lopsided smile all evening, especially as the sun set and the fire highlighted the delight in his eyes. The sun shone through the lighter parts of Luke’s shaggy long hair. It was now untied from the neat bun it had started in and looked soft and golden in the light.

Stars above help him.  Luke was beautiful.  Din was tired of denying the thought. He wanted to touch Luke’s face with his bare hands, run his fingers through his hair and that was terrifying. He hadn’t wanted to take off his armor for anyone, besides Grogu, in ages. Maybe with Omera...but this was much different. The feelings he’d had for her were a momentary weakness compared to the colossally bad idea this was to develop an attraction for this damaged Jedi.  Din had no idea what tomorrow was going to bring.  Even if nothing happened, there was the uncertainty of the next day and the next to worry about. Luke was a marked man and every day there was a chance something could take him out. Take him away. The thought burned in him like a chemical fire inside a reactor.  Caged deep inside of him, destructive it released, and burning with an intensity greater than Din could stand.

This was why he never got involved with people before he found Grogu. He didn’t know what to do with the intensity of his feelings and how to fit them into his unpredictable life.

“Din?” Luke’s smile fell slightly. “You ok?”

“..Yeah.”  Din did what he always did. He pushed his feelings away and tried to focus on the present.  What had they been talking about? Food. He sat and thought for a moment. Maybe...

“I have a contact on Tatooine, from a rural town few people have heard of. Mos Epsa.”

“Mos Eps--I thought that was wiped from the planet years ago.” Luke looked impressed.

“It’s still there.”  Din handed Luke a cooked fish skewer and settled back with his own. “We could go there, for a while. We’d be safe. I’m assuming we can both eat Tatooine food.”

Luke picked at his fish. “I do miss blue milk.”

Good.  “I’ll add it to the list.”

Luke chuckled. “You have a list?”

“Of safe planets we can stop at. We should have alternatives to the drop pods and not be reliant on the New Republic. My list is probably different from yours so we have more options.” Din stabbed his fish a little harder with his skewer to make his opinion of Luke’s employers known.

The smile on Luke’s face got impossibly wider. “That makes sense...Thank you.”

Din grunted. The smile on Luke’s face was too distracting.  Instead he looked down at his food. Oh. Right. Damn.

Luke made the exact realization at the same time. “Sorry! I forgot, I can go back to the ship--”

“Shut up and sit down, Jetti.” Din shook his head. He only hesitated for a half second before he reached up to his helmet and unlatched it. He opened it wide enough to take a bite.

“Or you could do that. Of course.” Luke babbled.  He turned his head so he wasn’t looking at Din.  Which was sweet. But also meant he wasn’t looking at his food.

“Eat.” Din growled. “All of it.” How was it this hard to feed a grown adult? Grogu gave him less trouble. Gods help Skywalker, Din was about to channel some of the fiercest warriors he knew to get him to eat more.

Luke gave him a mock solute. “Yes sir.”

Din began to reach for his sidearm.

Luke responded with a rather unnecessarily dainty bite of fish.

Din began to unhook his blaster.

Luke nibbled at one edge of a fin.

The blaster powered up.

Luke kriffing licked his fish.

“That’s disgusting.” Din gave up. He couldn’t help it--he chuckled as he powered down his blaster.

“Yeah it is,” Luke stuck his tongue out. “Fish is gross.”

“I thought you said you’d eat anything.”

“I do. I don’t have to like it.  I didn’t grow up eating fish, it’s both slimy and spikey at the same time.”

“You eat frogs.”

“You can eat a small frog in one bite! I’ve gotten fish bones stuck in my throat.”

“You’re not supposed to eat the bones.”

“Nobody told me that the first time. What part of ‘raised on a desert planet’ does no one understand?”

“You’re an idiot.”

Luke sat back. “I’m done now, mom. May I go now?”

Din sighed. “No.” He held out another fish skewer.

“You got to be kidding me.”

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

“How hard is the har--YIKES! NO! LETGO! ARGHHH!!!!!”

‘Yup’, Din thought to himself as he held the struggling, still too skinny, Jedi in a headlock.  He had it bad and he was going to regret this.

Tomorrow. He’ll regret it tomorrow.

“DJARIN LET ME GO NOW OR YOU’RE GOING IN THE SWAMP!”

Here’s hoping the desert boy could swim.

[sazzafraz]

ects snippet one

I don’t see this bit changing a lot so its spoiler freeeeeee

He thinks of acid and bile first. His tongue is on the points of his teeth searching for the stale carrot taste. Dead bodies in a lake almost make him hungry. Like soup, Kyuubi says, now, should add some salt. Naruto thinks of their families and draws from Konoha shinobi standard what he should do next. The Uchiha graves are the only ones he’s seen up close. Found and burned away by his Sasuke years ago, not yet warded against yin spirits. Those small piles had been lumped together too close to the houses at first and then reburied in a Konoha approved location when Sasuke became Konoha’s only Private Citizen. Now they’re done by matrilineal lines and decorated with Uzumaki shells and ribbons from Lightning. When Naruto was asked, allowed, to come Sasuke had him press strawberry seedlings into the ground. Sasuke had been messily eating from a different bowl and had pulp smeared across his mouth and jaw. Then, Naruto had wondered if he was allowed to sweep them away with his tongue, if people did that sort of thing in graveyards. Now Naruto knows that the dead do not appreciate love or lust.

People soup. Naruto counts twice and draws a grid on the shallow shore with his foot. 

Monkey Leader is inattentive to Naruto’s actions. He sits between them and their merchants keeping his gaze on the horses. Only one of them likes Naruto. A chestnut mare with a band of white around her mouth and eyes that make her seem mean -she’s downplaying exactly how vicious she is, but she likes him, and that's more than he was expecting. Naruto pulls the body into the grid and starts with the teeth. Pulls back molars for the guys in T&I. The skin sloughs off the dead man's face, puddles down into his wet clothes. Naruto burns it off with Kyuubi’s power, excellent as always for getting rid of evidence. Molars should be enough.

He has a sort of frustrated passion about this. See, Naruto knows intellectually that this has to be done, is done regardless, because you can’t have dead bodies in waterways. They bloat and rot and make people sick. The kind of sick that people like Giri come to fix and then leverage into destabilising the entirety of the Elemental Nations. Naruto also knows that a missing tooth is a decent price for the families of these poor dead to get closure. The third, worst thing Naruto knows is that things come to see dead bodies, things like him. Ninja like him. Spirits like him. Sons of Oceans and Mountains and tall white pillars to the underworld, like him. None of them, really, should be looking at these dead bodies. 

Six teeth. Naruto eyes a leaf moving out of sequence with the wind. Tanuki, an earth specialist.  Tanuki nods and quiet as a mouse the bodies sink into the shore.

--

Sunagakure welcomes them and their trophies at dawn. They sneak in over the sand tide-line two to a row before even the most thrifty merchant has set their wares. Gaara’s office will not be officially open for another three hours, not even his Twilight Guard will accept a visitor now. So Naruto does what he does, cracks his back and makes a loud exclamation about finding a place to sleep. Monkey Leader sets them on a course through Suna’s cruisy districts and around the intelligence quarter. The Konoha away barracks are part of their recent trade deal. A cushy thing on their end and Naruto knows where his room is. After the Summit, before the War, Naruto quietly moved all the things he previously left in Gaara’s spare bedroom to a Jounin room with an ensuite. This room is at the end of the hall with no windows, nothing in or out. A dead end. Monkey Leader espys him but does not comment. 

In the room Naruto turns off the radio left playing on the dresser. His old book lies with its spine cracked, a pair of pants he left to wash last time crumpled on the bed. His single pillow looks lonely. Someone has been in since he was here last, the footprints in the thick carpet aren’t his own. Following this probably-not-a-stranger he sees that his personals have been restocked in the bathroom, laid on the rim of the strange standing bathtub. The grates have been cleaned. Naruto runs a bath and dumps a satchel with Sakura’s clean, neat writing into the water. A small bag sits next to it and he recalls a short conversation at dinner some nights ago. Sasuke and Kakashi had been having one of their weird bonding moments over Naka rocks. Kakashi would run his bandaged fingers over them looking for some indefinable flaw. Sasuke would say that’s not the point and hand him another. He and Sakura watch this for a few minutes, giggling into their beers. Sakura had just shaved her hair down again and the elfin lines of her face were so perfect he’d had trouble not telling her so. 

“Naruto,” Sasuke says in his low clear voice, “what are you thinking about?”

“Sakura’s pretty,” he blurts out. Sakura lowers her eyelashes for a moment, laughing.

“Yes.” Sasuke agrees. “But what are you thinking?”

“‘Bout rocks?” Naruto shifts his gaze carefully. He’s bowled over often by how much he loves looking at Sasuke. If he does it too fast the soft pink of his mouth and thin scar that meets his ear makes him drool. “Dunno, that one.” He picks one from the pile and holds it triumphant.

“Idiot,” Sakura says. She too picks a rock. “Momentos? Right?” 

Sasuke flushes from his heart upwards, making the pink of his lips plush. Sakura keeps her rock, eventually Kakashi meets his proteges standards and departs with his own. Naruto pockets his but forgets it in the wash. Here it is again in Sunagakure with Sasuke’s hair ribbon around it. 

In reality Naruto does not now nor has he ever had momentos. He has moments and memories aplenty. Long, too long sketches of Konoha night in the main thoroughfare in the early morning. The drift and drag of everyone's footsteps lying in the dirt, on the street, leading to the houses they share with people that want them there. Swing sets. Shrine steps. Stoops. All of them empty, at least when he’s there. A city is a lonely place in his experience. 

Things are better now. He has Sasuke, when they aren’t fighting. Sakura, when she’s capable of acting without compromise. Kakashi, when he isn’t fighting a cold war alone. His other friends, when time allows. Allowance is better too. Assured at the very least. 

Compromise is a word he knows now. A strange little door into the way life actually works. 

See, Naruto’s first idea of how things work is formed at 4pm, 2am on weekdays and 7-11am on Saturdays. There’s a little alcove outside one of the curving windows of Konoha’s Library, high above the main hall near one of the old study nooks not even ANBU use. On rainy days the water sloshes off the side. On sunny days the heat only touches the edges. There is enough room for a boy to escape with a little apple and the free water from the front desk. The window is permanently cracked open to let out the musty air. When Konoha’s long hot days and nights were too much for even the most dogged badgering Naruto would skin himself raw heaving his body into it. A radio plays all day in the library, old records and ads for toilet paper. Like everyone else Naruto drowns out the patriot tunes and concentrates on the old radio head that chooses which stories play at the end of the school day. Hashirama and the Seven Headed Snake, Subaru and the Stolen Sword, Himawari Sunrise, Nariko Ascending. He’s heard them all at some point, drifted away to the tales of heroes and Hokages. 

Naruto’s met Hashirama now and he’s a whole different deal. Tsunade makes more sense when you know that that was her first idea of a hero. 

In The Seven Headed Snake Hashirama does not speak. He does wield a sword of redwood through the thick neck of a serpent so big it blots the sky. His heroism is in his quiet dutiful battle. The way the man telling the story describes his strong back and long hair. That’s your back, he says. That’s Konoha’s back. It sounds so absurd, even to a child training to be a ninja: cut through the sky, mold the earth, call forth life to do your bidding alone. The snake’s carcass, the narrator informs them, is as long as the Naka river, and buried somewhere near the big swell the Uchiha worship. On dark nights its eyes watch the village, warily, for Hashirama’s redwoods stand sentinel. Not even in death can he be escaped. 

People don’t let things like Naruto in their houses. This he knows before he can speak. There is something in him people don't want on their doorsteps. Later he knows it's the Kyuubi. After that he knows that it’s the Uzamaki blood. Even later, when he came home from a war that crushed out the light he thought he could carry anywhere, he knew it was simple mortal fear. Something inside Naruto will never die, and anything more mortal than him knows that. Well, except Sasuke. 

In the warm bath water he caresses his leg, not letting it go any further. Far from home he misses his love. There’s an edge in Naruto, sharp as his chipped tooth, that’s only soothed by long dark hair and a softening body. Naruto leans up to look at the scents and staples Gaara’s left in his room. Sweet aloe and greens. Salt and fresh made sand. He thinks of Sasuke’s skin and Sasuke’s soft smile and how he cuddles close to warmth. Naruto’s had grim reason to be grateful for how hot he runs, this last winter when Sasuke’s feud with their electricity provider cut their power mid cold-snap he’s had happier, hornier reasons to be joyful.

Sasuke has a vicious glee about domesticity that is deeply adorable. He loves arguing with the cashier about his coupons and going to PTA meetings and making trendy sandwiches. He does it with a soft violence that Naruto absolutely does not relate to but finds charming. Never has a man wanted for mass murder been so invested in a collect-a-coin newspaper competition. He plays music and cooks food. He goes to town halls and puts up with the mean crooked smile in their fruit vendors eyes. Naruto loves him so much when he makes noise. Naruto loves him more when it’s quiet at home. Naruto loves when Sasuke will talk to him about things he cares for: plants, dumplings, people. Here, far away from his love, Naruto loves that he doesn’t have to lie to him.  

Naruto drags his hand up to his stomach and uncorks the bath. The soft slush of water is the last noise in the room.

[rosemaidenvixen]

In the Fullness of Time

Chapter 2: Years Past

Ao3

Content warning: Violence, Child abuse.

Hisirdoux sat on his heels, arms wrapped around his bent knees, staring intently at a frog perched on a rock directly in front of him. The frog stared right back, it’s gangly green limbs tensed and ready to spring. The slightest motion from Hisirdoux would send it bouncing away.

He willed himself to stay as still as a statue, but not because he wanted the frog to stay.

Every now and again Hisirdoux would get a buzzing feeling, like having a nest of bees in his head. Whenever it happened his fingers tingled and the edges of his vision went blurry. After a while Hisirdoux figured out that when he focused on the buzzing he could pull and tug it, making the tingling and blurriness get better or worse before it eventually faded away, only to come again days or hours later.

The buzzing had been coming and going for as long as Hisirdoux could remember, flaring up when he least expected it and vanishing just as quickly. Now, when the buzzing had come on good and strong, Hisirdoux wanted to see just how far he could push it.

To see if he could make the buzzing touch something else besides him.

He kept his eyes locked on the frog, trying to push the cold tingling out of his fingertips towards it. Not much, just a tap to send it hopping away.

The frog’s eyes bore into his; brown meeting amber.

Hisirdoux forced himself to ignore the numbing chill slowly spreading up his arms and pushed even harder.

Move.

The frog blinked at him curiously.

Move.

It let out a contented croak.

Everything around him besides the frog was a dizzy blur. His vision was swimming and his hands were losing feeling, but Hisirdoux didn’t dare let up. This was the strongest the buzzing had ever come over him and he didn’t know how long it would stay away once it left.

No one ever believed him when he told them about the buzzing, but if he could touch something else with it they would have to believe him.

He had lost feeling in his arms and an unbearable chill had taken into his chest. It felt like he might faint, but Hisirdoux forced himself to keep concentrating on the frog, not even daring to breath.

Move frog.

It croaked again.

“Hisirdoux!” 

Concentration shattered, Hisirdoux fell back on his backside, the buzzing gone with a puff. The frog, startled at the commotion, hopped away into the bushes. Heart sinking from his failure, Hisirdoux nevertheles got to his feet and scurried over towards the barn. 

He stopped in his tracks just outside the door, only poking his head inside. No going into the barn, he was too young. The last boy his age who’d tried had gotten a box to the ears.

“Yes father?”

His father stepped out from one of the stalls and came up to him, carrying a wooden pail in his hands.

“I need you to take this milk over to your mother and the other women over at old Gurdy’s house, you understand?”

He nodded “Yes father,”

Hisirdoux held out his arms to accept the pail, but his father held it back and fixed him with a stern look “No spilling any of it this time, you hear?”

A flush spread across his cheeks “Yes father,”

“Good,” with that his father handed over the pail and headed back into the barn.

Now left alone with his task, Hisirdoux carefully adjusted his grip on the pail, turned, and took his first steps over towards old Gurdy’s house. 

He wasn’t going to spill a drop this time, he was going to carry this whole pail all the way there all by himself, and then old Gurdy would pinch his cheeks and croon about how big he was getting.

Hisirdoux didn’t like it when old Gurdy pinched his cheeks, but mother and father said she was his esteemed elder and he had to tolerate it.

The milk sloshed against the sides of the pail as he stepped over a tree root. Biting his lip, Hisirdoux tightened his grip on it and kept going. The pail wasn’t so heavy he struggled to carry it, but it was so very full, he had to take each step very carefully so the milk didn’t come splashing out.

His heart gave a delighted leap when he saw he was over halfway there, but the pail seemed to get heavier as he went on.

The edges of the wood dug into his fingers as he tried to go faster without jostling. He wanted to readjust his grip again, but if he did that he might drop it.

And if he lost a whole pail of milk there would be no supper for him.

He had to get it all the way there. Without spilling. He couldn’t spill again. If he spilled his mother would know and she would scold him again for always being clumsy and messy. And then she would tell his father and he would grumble and glower about what a useless, blundering son he had.

It wasn’t like he wanted to be clumsy and messy, but it seemed like no matter how hard he tried Hisirdoux always made a mess of things.

But this time he would do better.

He wasn’t going to lose so much as a drop of milk. He was going to carry it all the way there and show his mother that he could be clean and neat and reliable, he wouldn’t even grimace when old Gurdy pinched his cheeks.

Hisirdoux focused entirely on the pail, not even looking where he was going. Trusting his feet to carry him the right direction as all of his concentration went into keeping the pail steady.

Then the familiar prickling feeling crept back in.

His stomach dropped.

Not now. Please not now.

Despite his furious pleading the buzzing steadily rose, tingling across his skin and at the corners of his eyes, stronger than it had been earlier; stronger than it had ever been before. His entire body was cold and jittery all over, it felt like his skull was full of hornets.

Hisirdoux forced himself to ignore it and concentrated on moving towards old Gurdy’s house in the distance.

It wasn’t even visible through the blurriness in his eyes, he was barely able to feel the pail in his hands past the icy tingling. It took everything he had just to stay standing.

He would not drop, he would not spill. He would not drop, he would not spill.

Hisirdoux said those words over and over again to himself as he fought past the buzzing and struggled to move forward with the pail.

He would not drop, he would not spill. He would not drop, he would not spill.

Biting hard on his lip, the sensation scarcely able to cut through the icy tingling in his skin, Hisirdoux kept going. He couldn’t bear to fail again and see the disappointment in mother and father’s eyes. He just couldn’t!

He would not drop, he would not spill. He would not drop, he would not spill.

All of a sudden he stumbled on an uneven patch of ground and the pail flew from his arms.

His heart shot up into his throat, buzzing swelling so loud everything else faded away. Without even thinking, Hisirdoux shot his arms out towards where he thought the pail might be in a desperate attempt to keep it from falling.

Suddenly the buzzing vanished with a pop.

Hisirdoux swayed, blinking in surprise, unused to being able to see and feel clearly again. As he slowly came back to his senses, he realized that the buzzing hadn’t quite vanished after all. It had condensed into his hands; cold, sharp, and clear as a winter morning, but all the numbness and discomfort were gone. And much to his delight, he could still feel the dense lacquered wood of the pail, but no longer as heavy as before.

Still a little unsteady on his feet, he looked down only to freeze. His hands, still ablaze with the buzzing, were surrounded by shining, sky blue light.

He blinked in surprise, transfixed by the strange shimmering blue surrounding his hands.

But wait, if there was nothing in his hands but light why could he still feel the pail?

Hisirdoux looked back up, letting out a gasp as he did. The pail was floating in midair right in front of him, surrounded by the same blue light that covered his hands.

Stunned, he looked back down at his hands, then the pail, then his hands again.

He could still feel the pail, but there was no weight attached to it, just the texture of wood and a very slight pressure.

Out of curiosity he pushed on the sensation of the pail in his hands.

Ahead of him the pail moved forward by a foot, hovering steadily in the air without the slightest wobble

As Hisirdoux continued to stare at the pail of milk floating in midair; a giddy smile slowly spread across his face.

This was wonderful! Amazing! Hisirdoux was never going to spill or break anything ever again! Why hadn’t mother or father told him that you could carry things this way? Now he could carry all sorts of heavy things, no more being too small and clumsy to help. He needed--

The cold sensation started receding from his hands and the pail wobbled in midair; the blue light around it dimming. Hisirdoux quickly pushed the coldness back down into his palms, steadying the pail and brightening the light.

It looked like even though he could move heavy things this way without spilling or dropping them he still needed to focus and not let it fall.

But what an amazing discovery this was! He needed to show mother and tell her the good news.

Nudging the pail ahead of him, floating in its cloud of blue light, he hurried the rest of the way to old Gurdy’s house.

Once he got there Hisirdoux stepped in the door, letting the pail float a little ahead of him. None of the women so much as glanced at him, Gurdy’s house full of the sounds of them chopping, kneading, and baking various portions of the harvest. Even with all the people packed into the small space, it didn’t take long for Hisirdoux to spot the familiar drak braid and russet skirt he was looking for.

“Mother!”

She didn’t even turn to reply, merely kept pounding at the bread dough on the table in front of her “Not now Hisirdoux I’m busy,” 

Normally Hisirdoux did his best not to bother mother when she was busy doing important work, but news this good was worth an interruption “Mother look!”

Dropping the dough with a plop, she sighed and looked at him over her shoulder “Hisirdoux I told you I’m--”

She froze, eyes going wide.

Hisirdoux beamed proudly at her, floating the pail right in front of him “Look at what I can do!”

Her mouth dropped open wide, but instead of praise or a scold coming out it was a scream. A shrill, ear shattering scream. The other women started and turned at the sound, and when they saw him they began screaming too.

All the loud, sudden noises startled Hisirdoux, making him lose his grip on the blue light and the buzzing vanished. Pail falling down to the floor. All the joy from being able to show mother his new discovery gone.

What was wrong, why was everyone screaming? What was happening?

Aunt Molly broke free from the rest of the wailing women and ran up to him, grabbing his shoulders “Hisirdoux who told you how to do that!”

He just stared at her mutely, everything had changed so fast he couldn’t keep up with what was happening.

“How did you know how to do that!” Molly shrieked, shaking him as she did.

Suddenly a wave went through the women as old Gurdy collapsed to the ground. Everyone in the room was scurrying around now, most women were either fluttering around old Gurdy or screaming at him with Molly.

Hisirdoux heard these things happening all around him, but he was still focused on the pail, on all the milk draining out onto the floor, churned and mixed into the dirt by dozens of careless feet as people rushed from either side of the room. 

An entire pail full of milk spilled, wasted.

Why was no one doing anything about it? Why were they shouting at him? Why didn’t they care about the milk?

He was still watching the white liquid soaking away into the dirt when from out of nowhere his mother grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him out the door; practically yanking his arm out of its socket. Hisirdoux was too stunned to do anything but stumble after her.

Buildings moved rapidly by them as mother all but ran with him through the village. Hisirdoux swiveled his head from side to side. Watching with wide eyes as from behind them the shouts and screams of the women in old Gurdy’s house slowly began to spread, until it seemed like everyone in the village was wailing and running around.

Without warning his mother hurried into the smithy, pulling Hisirdoux behind her. Johan, clearly startled, looked up from his anvil at them “What is the meaning of--”

Whatever words he had to say were lost as Hisirdoux’s mother released his wrist, sending him stumbling into a pile of loose firewood, and rushed up to the anvil, speaking with the blacksmith in low, hushed whispers.

Immediately Johan’s face went gaunt, he spared a quick look at Hisirdoux before ducking his head and exchanging more muffled words with his mother. Starting to gather some of his tools as he did.

Hisirdoux slowly sat up, curious eyes on the adults. From outside he heard the hustle of more adults in the village shouting and running around. One of them abruptly rushing in.

He let out a small gasp.

It was father. 

But why was father here, right now? Didn’t all the men need to hurry and get all the animals ready before winter? Didn’t he have important work to do?

“I came as soon as I could,” he hurried over to Johan and mother, glancing at Hisirdoux as he did.

Hisirdoux felt the breath catch in his chest when he saw his father’s face. 

Once when talking to his mother and Aunt Molly, old Grudy had called his father a ‘Stoic-serious-stick-in-the-mud’, when Hisirdoux had asked what that meant the three of them had chuckled before Gurdy said that it only meant his father wasn’t the type of person to get worked up or lose his temper easily. And when he thought about it, Hisirdoux deemed her words to be correct. His father’s face rarely shifted from his normal, solemn expression. Every once and a while Hisirdoux had seen him frown, and even let out a rare laugh. But he’d never seen his father look like this before.

For the first time Hisirdoux had ever seen, father actually looked...frightened.

Tearing his gaze away, father spoke to mother and Johan in a hoarse voice “Is it...is it true?”

“Yes,” mother replied sharply “I saw it with my own eyes, along with my sister, Gurdy, and half of the women in the village,”

Father grew pale, the fear on his face deepening rather than fading back into his normal sternness “By god….”

Johan peeked at Hisirdoux from the corner of his eye before grabbing his tongs and pulling both of them in closer, the adults’ conversation continuing in low tones he couldn’t hear.

Hisirdoux watched them silently, stomach twisting uncomfortably.

He didn’t understand what was happening, why was father afraid? Why were the adults acting so strange? What did he do wrong? He was just carrying the pail.

More men walked through the entrance towards Johan and mother and father, their arms were full of something but he couldn’t quite see what. All the adults drew in tighter together as they joined the hushed conversation, one of them glancing back at him every now and again, only bits and pieces of their words rising loud enough for him to hear.

“Never thought it possible--”

“--always kept a good eye out for this devilry,”

“He’s never shown signs before--”

“--have to stop the evil from spreading,”

Abruptly clanging sounds started coming from the center of their cluster and drowned out their words, more bangs of metal on metal rang out as Hisirdoux saw Johan’s shoulders start to heave. Clearly working on something on the anvil.

His stomach lurched dangerously and he felt a chill sweep over him.

What were they talking about? And what were they making? He’d never seen all the adults in the village act like this before, what was going on? 

Fighting against the tremble in his limbs, Hisirdoux shakily got to his feet “Mother, Father, what’s wrong?” he said softly.

No one moved. If they heard him they were ignoring him.

Taking a timid step forward, voice just a hair louder, he asked again “What’s wrong? What did I do?”

Again, no response.

Desperation weighing out over manners, Hisirdoux reached out and tugged on Mother’s skirt.

“Mo--”

A burst of pain and then he was laying sprawled on the ground, half of his face throbbing. Getting a glimpse of his mother turning back into the knot of adults.

He gingerly touched his stinging cheek, slowly sitting up.

Had Mother...hit him?

Hisirdoux didn’t want to believe it was possible, but he couldn’t think of any other explanation for what had just happened.

Mother and father had scolded him before, yelled at him, sent him to bed without supper; but they’d never struck him, not once.

He started to tremble all over, heartbeat thrashing in his ears, pulsing in time with the ache in his cheek.

It was only now that Hisirdoux started to realize that something was really really wrong.

The bangs and clangs came from where the adults were clustered abruptly ceased, more coarse whispers coming up instead.

“--think there’s enough?”

“--rush job but it will do,”

“-it’s the only way to contain Fae beasts,”

“They’re ready as they’ll ever be, grab him,”

All of them snapped their eyes towards him, Hisirdoux shrinking under the force of their gazes. 

Why were they all staring at him like this? Why did they all look so angry? What did he do wrong?

The beginnings of tears started to burn in the back of his eyes as he sat pinned under their glares, too frightened to do anything but tremble in place. 

He wanted to run, hide, be far away from here. He wanted everything to be normal again and for the adults to not stare so angrily at him. 

Father breaking away from the knot of people around the anvil and stomping towards him snapped Hisirdoux out of his frozen state. Stumbling to his feet and trying to dart towards the exit, but before he could get far father grabbed him by the wrist, gripping so tight it forced out the tears that had been building up out of Hisirdoux’s eyes, and started dragging him towards the anvil.

“Father I-- I’m sorry,” he managed to stutter out “I won’t do it again, please I’m sorry--”

He might as well be apologizing to stone. Father grabed his other wrist and yanked Hisirdoux off his feet, forcing down both of his arms over the anvil.

Hisirdoux was never ever supposed to touch the anvil or any of Johan’s tools. They were dangerous and he could be badly hurt or even killed by them. Everyone in the village knew that.

So why had father thrown him on it?

Helping the men of the village with the fishing catch last summer, watching Uncle Kai take them from the net. Throwing the wiggling fish onto the wooden board one at a time and beheading them with one swift chop of the cleaver.

Hisirdoux squirmed and twisted, fighting to get away with everything he had. Feet flailing uselessly in the air, whimpering from the bruising pressure on his arms and the strain in his shoulders from being held up over the anvil.

 “Mother-- Father-- please I’m sorry, “ he managed to hiccup out “Please let me go-- I won’t do it again,” he didn’t even know what he was promising not to do, he just wanted father to let him go and for everything to stop.

They all ignored him, Johan looking over and addressing his mother instead “They’re all set, if he’s truly the devil’s spawn we’ll know soon enough,”

She gave him nod, face grim “Do it,”

Johan reached over and picked up something Hisirdoux couldn’t see, heart threatening to beat out of his chest as the blacksmith loomed over him with the mystery objects.

He squeezed his eyes shut, terror reaching its peak and making him go completely limp in his fathers grip. Praying that whatever was coming wouldn’t be more painful than he could bear.

For an instant he felt cool metal against his skin.

And then white hot agony burned to life on his wrists.

Hisirdoux screamed. And screamed and screamed and screamed as hot, scorching pain seared into his wrists and crawled up his arms, getting hotter and hotter by the second. 

Once when he’d been helping mother make stew, despite the many warnings she’d given him, his curiosity had gotten the better of him and Hisirdoux had reached out to touch the bare metal of the cauldron. Causing a flicker of hot pain to flare up on his fingertip. 

Back then most of the pain had vanished the instant he jerked away, leaving only a dull throb in the pad of his finger. 

This time the heat from the metal around his wrists was so much hotter. And no matter how much he thrashed and twisted under the metal bands on his wrists. He could not. Get. Them. Off!

In the tiny part of him that wasn’t swallowed up by agony, he noticed the arms holding him release, and the ground rushing up to meet him. He knew that there were still other people in the smithy standing around him, but they all seemed so very far away.

Hisirdoux was far beyond caring about either of these things. Too far gone to care that he was laying sprawled in the dirt floor or even beg the adults to take the metal off. His entire world consumed by the searing heat in his wrists. He wailed, faintly aware of gritty dirt pressing against his cheek as he bawled against the ground, flailing and clawing at the metal cuffs, desperate to get away the fiery heat burning on his arms.

As time crawled on the pain didn’t subside, but little by little, his wild thrashing on the ground slowed and eventually stopped. No matter how much he pawed at them the metal cuffs wouldn’t come off. If anything moving made it worse, burning on his wrists hotter and hotter, sending bolts of white hot agony throbbing up his arms.

Hisirdoux laid there slack on the ground, eyes shut tight and still whimpering in pain. Exhausted and trembling and trying desperately to not so much as twitch and send another jab of pain through his arms. Small and shuddering on the floor of the smithy.

He didn’t know how long he laid there like that but eventually someone, who he didn’t know, grabbed the collar of his shirt and started hauling him towards the door.

The movement brought a fresh wave of pain, wringing a sob out of Hisirdoux, too weak to do anything but cry as he was dragged away.

[takethehighwaytoheaven]

The crysanthemums by John Steinbeck

Warning: This story is NOT mine(No hell) Hope you like it

The high grey-flannel fog of winter closed off the Salinas Valley from the sky and from all the rest of the world. On every side it sat like a lid on the mountains and made of the great valley a closed pot. On the broad, level land floor the gang plows bit deep and left the black earth shining like metal where the shares had cut. On the foothill ranches across the Salinas River, the yellow stubble fields seemed to be bathed in pale cold sunshine, but there was no sunshine in the valley now in December. The thick willow scrub along the river flamed with sharp and positive yellow leaves. It was a time of quiet and of waiting. The air was cold and tender. A light wind blew up from the southwest so that the farmers were mildly hopeful of a good rain before long; but fog and rain did not go together. Across the river, on Henry Allen's foothill ranch there was little work to be done, for the hay was cut and stored and the orchards were plowed up to receive the rain deeply when it should come. The cattle on the higher slopes were becoming shaggy and rough-coated. Elisa Allen, working in her flower garden, looked down across the yard and saw Henry, her husband, talking to two men in business suits. The three of them stood by the tractor shed, each man with one foot on the side of the little Fordson. They smoked cigarettes and studied the machine as they talked. Elisa watched them for a moment and then went back to her work. She was thirtyfive. Her face was lean and strong and her eyes were as clear as water. Her figure looked blocked and heavy in her gardening costume, a man's black hat pulled low down over her eyes, clod-hopper shoes, a figured print dress almost completely covered by a big corduroy apron with four big pockets to hold the snips, the trowel and scratcher, the seeds and the knife she worked with. She wore heavy leather gloves to protect her hands while she worked. She was cutting down the old year's chrysanthemum stalks with a pair of short and powerful scissors. She looked down toward the men by the tractor shed now and then. Her face was eager and mature and handsome; even her work with the scissors was over-eager, over-powerful. The chrysanthemum stems seemed too small and easy for her energy. She brushed a cloud of hair out of her eyes with the back of her glove, and left a smudge of earth on her cheek in doing it. Behind her stood the neat white farm house with red geraniums close-banked around it as high as the windows. It was a hard-swept looking little house, with hard-polished windows, and a clean mud-mat on the front steps. Elisa cast another glance toward the tractor shed. The strangers were getting into their Ford coupe. She took off a glove and put her strong fingers down into the forest of new green chrysanthemum sprouts that were growing around the old roots. She spread the leaves and looked down among the close-growing stems. No aphids were there, no sowbugs or snails or cutworms. Her terrier fingers destroyed such pests before they could get started. Elisa started at the sound of her husband's voice. He had come near quietly, and he leaned over the wire fence that protected her flower garden from cattle and dogs and chickens. "At it again," he said. "You've got a strong new crop coming." Elisa straightened her back and pulled on the gardening glove again. "Yes. They'll be strong this coming year." In her tone and on her face there was a little smugness. You've got a gift with things," Henry observed. "Some of those yellow chrysanthemums you had this year were ten inches across. I wish you'd work out in the orchard and raise some apples that big." Her eyes sharpened. "Maybe I could do it, too. I've a gift with things, all right. My mother had it. She could stick anything in the ground and make it grow. She said it was having planters' hands that knew how to do it." "Well, it sure works with flowers," he said. "Henry, who were those men you were talking to?" "Why, sure, that's what I came to tell you. They were from the Western Meat Company. I sold those thirty head of three-year-old steers. Got nearly my own price, too." "Good," she said. "Good for you. "And I thought," he continued, "I thought how it's Saturday afternoon, and we might go into Salinas for dinner at a restaurant, and then to a picture show—to celebrate, you see." "Good," she repeated. "Oh, yes. That will be good." Henry put on his joking tone. "There's fights tonight. How'd you like to go to the fights?" "Oh, no," she said breathlessly. "No, I wouldn't like fights." "Just fooling, Elisa. We'll go to a movie. Let's see. It's two now. I'm going to take Scotty and bring down those steers from the hill. It'll take us maybe two hours. We'll go in town about five and have dinner at the Cominos Hotel. Like that?" "Of course I'll like it. It's good to eat away from home." "All right, then. I'll go get up a couple of horses." She said, "I'll have plenty of time to transplant some of these sets, I guess." She heard her husband calling Scotty down by the barn. And a little later she saw the two men ride up the pale yellow hillside in search of the steers. There was a little square sandy bed kept for rooting the chrysanthemums. With her trowel she turned the soil over and over, and smoothed it and patted it firm. Then she dug ten parallel trenches to receive the sets. Back at the chrysanthemum bed she pulled out the little crisp shoots, trimmed off the leaves of each one with her scissors and laid it on a small orderly pile. A squeak of wheels and plod of hoofs came from the road. Elisa looked up. The country road ran along the dense bank of willows and cotton-woods that bordered the river, and up this road came a curious vehicle, curiously drawn. It was an old spring-wagon, with a round canvas top on it like the cover of a prairie schooner. It was drawn by an old bay horse and a little grey-and-white burro. A big stubblebearded man sat between the cover flaps and drove the crawling team. Underneath the wagon, between the hind wheels, a lean and rangy mongrel dog walked sedately. Words were painted on the canvas in clumsy, crooked letters. "Pots, pans, knives, sisors, lawn mores, Fixed." Two rows of articles, and the triumphantly definitive "Fixed" below. The black paint had run down in little sharp points beneath each letter. Elisa, squatting on the ground, watched to see the crazy, loose-jointed wagon pass by. But it didn't pass. It turned into the farm road in front of her house, crooked old wheels skirling and squeaking. The rangy dog darted from between the wheels and ran ahead. Instantly the two ranch shepherds flew out at him. Then all three stopped, and with stiff and quivering tails, with taut straight legs, with ambassadorial dignity, they slowly circled, sniffing daintily. The caravan pulled up to Elisa's wire fence and stopped. Now the newcomer dog, feeling outnumbered, lowered his tail and retired under the wagon with raised hackles and bared teeth. The man on the wagon seat called out, "That's a bad dog in a fight when he gets started." Elisa laughed. "I see he is. How soon does he generally get started?" The man caught up her laughter and echoed it heartily. "Sometimes not for weeks and weeks," he said. He climbed stiffly down, over the wheel. The horse and the donkey drooped like unwatered flowers. Elisa saw that he was a very big man. Although his hair and beard were graying, he did not look old. His worn black suit was wrinkled and spotted with grease. The laughter had disappeared from his face and eyes the moment his laughing voice ceased. His eyes were dark, and they were full of the brooding that gets in the eyes of teamsters and of sailors. The calloused hands he rested on the wire fence were cracked, and every crack was a black line. He took off his battered hat. "I'm off my general road, ma'am," he said. "Does this dirt road cut over across the river to the Los Angeles highway?" Elisa stood up and shoved the thick scissors in her apron pocket. "Well, yes, it does, but it winds around and then fords the river. I don't think your team could pull through the sand." He replied with some asperity, "It might surprise you what them beasts can pull through." "When they get started?" she asked. He smiled for a second. "Yes. When they get started." "Well," said Elisa, "I think you'll save time if you go back to the Salinas road and pick up the highway there." He drew a big finger down the chicken wire and made it sing. "I ain't in any hurry, ma am. I go from Seattle to San Diego and back every year. Takes all my time. About six months each way. I aim to follow nice weather." Elisa took off her gloves and stuffed them in the apron pocket with the scissors. She touched the under edge of her man's hat, searching for fugitive hairs. "That sounds like a nice kind of a way to live," she said. He leaned confidentially over the fence. "Maybe you noticed the writing on my wagon. I mend pots and sharpen knives and scissors. You got any of them things to do?" "Oh, no," she said quickly. "Nothing like that." Her eyes hardened with resistance. "Scissors is the worst thing," he explained. "Most people just ruin scissors trying to sharpen 'em, but I know how. I got a special tool. It's a little bobbit kind of thing, and patented. But it sure does the trick." "No. My scissors are all sharp." "All right, then. Take a pot," he continued earnestly, "a bent pot, or a pot with a hole. I can make it like new so you don't have to buy no new ones. That's a saving for you. "No," she said shortly. "I tell you I have nothing like that for you to do." His face fell to an exaggerated sadness. His voice took on a whining undertone. "I ain't had a thing to do today. Maybe I won't have no supper tonight. You see I'm off my regular road. I know folks on the highway clear from Seattle to San Diego. They save their things for me to sharpen up because they know I do it so good and save them money. "I'm sorry," Elisa said irritably. "I haven't anything for you to do." His eyes left her face and fell to searching the ground. They roamed about until they came to the chrysanthemum bed where she had been working. "What's them plants, ma'am?" The irritation and resistance melted from Elisa's face. "Oh, those are chrysanthemums, giant whites and yellows. I raise them every year, bigger than anybody around here." "Kind of a long-stemmed flower? Looks like a quick puff of colored smoke?" he asked. "That's it. What a nice way to describe them." "They smell kind of nasty till you get used to them," he said. "It's a good bitter smell," she retorted, "not nasty at all." He changed his tone quickly. "I like the smell myself." "I had ten-inch blooms this year," she said. The man leaned farther over the fence. "Look. I know a lady down the road a piece, has got the nicest garden you ever seen. Got nearly every kind of flower but no chrysanthemums. Last time I was mending a copper-bottom washtub for her (that's a hard job but I do it good), she said to me, 'If you ever run acrost some nice chrysanthemums I wish you'd try to get me a few seeds.' That's what she told me." Elisa's eyes grew alert and eager. "She couldn't have known much about chrysanthemums. You can raise them from seed, but it's much easier to root the little sprouts you see there." "Oh," he said. "I s'pose I can't take none to her, then." "Why yes you can," Elisa cried. "I can put some in damp sand, and you can carry them right along with you. They'll take root in the pot if you keep them damp. And then she can transplant them." "She'd sure like to have some, ma'am. You say they're nice ones?" "Beautiful," she said. "Oh, beautiful." Her eyes shone. She tore off the battered hat and shook out her dark pretty hair. "I'll put them in a flower pot, and you can take them right with you. Come into the yard." While the man came through the picket fence Elisa ran excitedly along the geranium-bordered path to the back of the house. And she returned carrying a big red flower pot. The gloves were forgotten now. She kneeled on the ground by the starting bed and dug up the sandy soil with her fingers and scooped it into the bright new flower pot. Then she picked up the little pile of shoots she had prepared. With her strong fingers she pressed them into the sand and tamped around them with her knuckles. The man stood over her. "I'll tell you what to do," she said. "You remember so you can tell the lady." "Yes, I'll try to remember." "Well, look. These will take root in about a month. Then she must set them out, about a foot apart in good rich earth like this, see?" She lifted a handful of dark soil for him to look at. "They'll grow fast and tall. Now remember this. In July tell her to cut them down, about eight inches from the ground." "Before they bloom?" he asked. "Yes, before they bloom." Her face was tight with eagerness. "They'll grow right up again. About the last of September the buds will start." She stopped and seemed perplexed. "It's the budding that takes the most care," she said hesitantlv. "I don't know how to tell you." She looked deep into his eyes, searchingly. Her mouth opened a little, and she seemed to be listening. "I'll try to tell you," she said. "Did you ever hear of planting hands?" "Can't say I have, ma'am." "Well, I can only tell you what it feels like. It's when you're picking off the buds you don't want. Everything goes right down into your fingertips. You watch your fingers work. They do it themselves. You can feel how it is. They pick and pick the buds. They never make a mistake. They're with the plant. Do you see? Your fingers and the plant. You can feel that, right up your arm. They know. They never make a mistake. You can feel it. When you're like that you can't do anything wrong. Do you see that? Can you understand that?" She was kneeling on the ground looking up at him. Her breast swelled passionately. The man's eyes narrowed. He looked away self-consciously. "Maybe I know," he said. "Sometimes in the night in the wagon there—" Elisa's voice grew husky. She broke in on him. "I've never lived as you do, but I know what you mean. When the night is dark—why, the stars are sharp-pointed, and there's quiet. Why, you rise up and up! Every pointed star gets driven into your body. It's like that. Hot and sharp and—lovely." Kneeling there, her hand went out toward his legs in the greasy black trousers. Her hesitant fingers almost touched the cloth. Then her hand dropped to the ground. She crouched low like a fawning dog. He said, "It's nice, just like you say. Only when you don't have no dinner, it ain't." She stood up then, very straight, and her face was ashamed. She held the flower pot out to him and placed it gently in his arms. "Here. Put it in your wagon, on the seat, where you can watch it. Maybe I can find something for you to do." At the back of the house she dug in the can pile and found two old and battered aluminum saucepans. She carried them back and gave them to him. "Here, maybe you can fix these." His manner changed. He became professional. "Good as new I can fix them." At the back of his wagon he set a little anvil, and out of an oily tool box dug a small machine hammer. Elisa came through the gate to watch him while he pounded out the dents in the kettles. His mouth grew sure and knowing. At a difficult part of the work he sucked his under-lip. "You sleep right in the wagon?" Elisa asked. "Right in the wagon, ma'am. Rain or shine I'm dry as a cow in there." It must be nice," she said. "It must be very nice. I wish women could do such things." "It ain't the right kind of a life for a woman. Her upper lip raised a little, showing her teeth. "How do you know? How can you tell?" she said. "I don't know, ma'am," he protested. "Of course I don't know. Now here's your kettles, done. You don't have to buy no new ones." "How much?" "Oh, fifty cents'll do. I keep my prices down and my work good. That's why I have all them satisfied customers up and down the highway." Elisa brought him a fifty-cent piece from the house and dropped it in his hand. "You might be surprised to have a rival some time. I can sharpen scissors, too. And I can beat the dents out of little pots. I could show you what a woman might do." He put his hammer back in the oily box and shoved the little anvil out of sight. "It would be a lonely life for a woman, ma'am, and a scarey life, too, with animals creeping under the wagon all night." He climbed over the singletree, steadying himself with a hand on the burro's white rump. He settled himself in the seat, picked up the lines. "Thank you kindly, ma'am," he said. "I'll do like you told me; I'll go back and catch the Salinas road." "Mind," she called, "if you're long in getting there, keep the sand damp." "Sand, ma'am?. .. Sand? Oh, sure. You mean around the chrysanthemums. Sure I will." He clucked his tongue. The beasts leaned luxuriously into their collars. The mongrel dog took his place between the back wheels. The wagon turned and crawled out the entrance road and back the way it had come, along the river. Elisa stood in front of her wire fence watching the slow progress of the caravan. Her shoulders were straight, her head thrown back, her eyes half-closed, so that the scene came vaguely into them. Her lips moved silently, forming the words "Goodbye—good-bye." Then she whispered, "That's a bright direction. There's a glowing there." The sound of her whisper startled her. She shook herself free and looked about to see whether anyone had been listening. Only the dogs had heard. They lifted their heads toward her from their sleeping in the dust, and then stretched out their chins and settled asleep again. Elisa turned and ran hurriedly into the house. In the kitchen she reached behind the stove and felt the water tank. It was full of hot water from the noonday cooking. In the bathroom she tore off her soiled clothes and flung them into the corner. And then she scrubbed herself with a little block of pumice, legs and thighs, loins and chest and arms, until her skin was scratched and red. When she had dried herself she stood in front of a mirror in her bedroom and looked at her body. She tightened her stomach and threw out her chest. She turned and looked over her shoulder at her back. After a while she began to dress, slowly. She put on her newest underclothing and her nicest stockings and the dress which was the symbol of her prettiness. She worked carefully on her hair, pencilled her eyebrows and rouged her lips. Before she was finished she heard the little thunder of hoofs and the shouts of Henry and his helper as they drove the red steers into the corral. She heard the gate bang shut and set herself for Henry's arrival. His step sounded on the porch. He entered the house calling, "Elisa, where are you?" "In my room, dressing. I'm not ready. There's hot water for your bath. Hurry up. It's getting late." When she heard him splashing in the tub, Elisa laid his dark suit on the bed, and shirt and socks and tie beside it. She stood his polished shoes on the floor beside the bed. Then she went to the porch and sat primly and stiffly down. She looked toward the river road where the willow-line was still yellow with frosted leaves so that under the high grey fog they seemed a thin band of sunshine. This was the only color in the grey afternoon. She sat unmoving for a long time. Her eyes blinked rarely. Henry came banging out of the door, shoving his tie inside his vest as he came. Elisa stiffened and her face grew tight. Henry stopped short and looked at her. "Why—why, Elisa. You look so nice!" "Nice? You think I look nice? What do you mean by 'nice'?" Henry blundered on. "I don't know. I mean you look different, strong and happy." "I am strong? Yes, strong. What do you mean 'strong'?" He looked bewildered. "You're playing some kind of a game," he said helplessly. "It's a kind of a play. You look strong enough to break a calf over your knee, happy enough to eat it like a watermelon." For a second she lost her rigidity. "Henry! Don't talk like that. You didn't know what you said." She grew complete again. "I'm strong," she boasted. "I never knew before how strong." Henry looked down toward the tractor shed, and when he brought his eyes back to her, they were his own again. "I'll get out the car. You can put on your coat while I'm starting." Elisa went into the house. She heard him drive to the gate and idle down his motor, and then she took a long time to put on her hat. She pulled it here and pressed it there. When Henry turned the motor off she slipped into her coat and went out. The little roadster bounced along on the dirt road by the river, raising the birds and driving the rabbits into the brush. Two cranes flapped heavily over the willow- line and dropped into the river-bed. Far ahead on the road Elisa saw a dark speck. She knew. She tried not to look as they passed it, but her eyes would not obey. She whispered to herself sadly, "He might have thrown them off the road. That wouldn't have been much trouble, not very much. But he kept the pot," she explained. "He had to keep the pot. That's why he couldn't get them off the road." The roadster turned a bend and she saw the caravan ahead. She swung full around toward her husband so she could not see the little covered wagon and the mismatched team as the car passed them. In a moment it was over. The thing was done. She did not look back. She said loudly, to be heard above the motor, "It will be good, tonight, a good dinner." "Now you're changed again," Henry complained. He took one hand from the wheel and patted her knee. "I ought to take you in to dinner oftener. It would be good for both of us. We get so heavy out on the ranch." "Henry," she asked, "could we have wine at dinner?" "Sure we could. Say! That will be fine." She was silent for a while; then she said, "Henry, at those prize fights, do the men hurt each other very much?" "Sometimes a little, not often. Why?" "Well, I've read how they break noses, and blood runs down their chests. I've read how the fighting gloves get heavy and soggy with blood." He looked around at her. "What's the matter, Elisa? I didn't know you read things like that." He brought the car to a stop, then turned to the right over the Salinas River bridge. "Do any women ever go to the fights?" she asked. "Oh, sure, some. What's the matter, Elisa? Do you want to go? I don't think you'd like it, but I'll take you if you really want to go." She relaxed limply in the seat. "Oh, no. No. I don't want to go. I'm sure I don't." Her face was turned away from him. "It will be enough if we can have wine. It will be plenty." She turned up her coat collar so he could not see that she was crying weakly—like an old woman.

[secondhand-trash]

Harvest Moon: Plus Ultra!- A New Beginning

A/N: finally starting this series for real and I’m so pumped!!

Description: When you found yourself barely able to breathe amidst the mundane routine that you were stuck in, a letter from your grandparent’s semed to be the answer to your call for change. As you left everything you knew behind, it was time for a new beginning in a faraway town.

Word count: 2169

Tag list (dm to be added to the general tag list or to be tagged in a certain character’s arc):

@redbeanteax​ @mrsreina​ @blu-that-one-nerd​ @lady-bakuhoe​ @sparkncharge​ @todobunhon​

(back to the home screen of Harvest Moon: Plus Ultra!)

Dear (y/n):

Hello, we hope that you are doing well! 

It has been a while since you last visited the ranch and many things had happened. Don’t worry, the large fields at the front of the house that you used to love running through is still here and Henry the chicken is still well and alive. All the animals are doing great in face and the crops are growing as nicely as ever.

Everything is going fine but we are growing old and we feel like it is harder and harder for us to carry on with the chores of running the farm as each day goes by. A month after we write this letter to you, we would be retired from all the work and set off on a trip across the world to all the places we have wanted to visit but never had the time to.

It was a tough decision but after thinking of the many possibilities together, we decided that this is for the best. The only thing left for us to handle is the future of the ranch. We thought about selling it but after spending so much effort and such a long time on these grounds, it pains us to think that this place that is so tied in to many of our wonderful memories would be gone. 

While being on the phone with your mom, she told us that you were starting to feel tried of your life in the city and the stress is starting to weight on you. Although we get that this is a huge decision, but how would you feel about taking over the ranch after we retire? You used to like being around the farm so much and even though running it on your own might be tough work, we feel like the farm would be safe in your hands. We know that this is a lot to ask of you, but we support whatever decision you make and we hope to hear from you soon.

Take care of yourself, a healthy body is the greatest asset you will ever have. Don’t forget to go to bed early and drink enough water!

Love,

Grandma and grandpa

Folding the letter in half along the neat edges that you had opened and folded back together for countless times, you put it back into your bag and sighed. You had been on the bus for what felt like an entire lifetime but you were still nowhere near your destination. There was nothing to see when you looked out of the window, just endless trees and greenery that didn’t seem to have a stop to it. The car went smoothly ahead on the road, with occasional bumps and turns as you got further and further away from the city. 

The city. It had yet to settle in your mind completely that you were actually leaving that place. Not a vacation, not a trip that you had to go back from. You were leaving, and there was no turning back. You could still see the concrete walls and the busy streets at the start of the ride, but the plain view of nothing but green from where you were now was a huge contrast for what you were still living amongst merely hours ago. 

The city was bustling and filled with adventures around every corner but in all honesty, you were tired of it. Your apartment was a box and the cubicle you spent most of your time in was no better. Always going from one place to another, with no purpose but to make ends meet. You wouldn’t not die without your job but you did not want it either. You were not alive but you simply weren’t dead either. It was boring, and the last bit of passion inside of you kept screaming at you to break out of the cycle that you were trapped in but you simply did not know how.

That was when the letter came and it was like seeing a ray of light shining through the windows of your 80 sqm apartment. Your initial reaction when you held the envelope in your hand was to just stand there in shock. You could not believe that your grandparents were finally retiring. From what you remembered, it was like they had more energy and liveliness than everyone of your family who were way younger than them. It was a true call from reality to think that they were getting old too. You also thought of the ranch that they pour their heart and soul into managing. You remembered how you used to beg them to let you help with the work around the farm whenever you visited them as a child.

It had been way too long since you had been around the fields. You still remembered the feeling of being covered in sweat and dirt but still got back to the house with nothing but satisfaction in your chest. The smell of grass in the morning as you rode on the back of a horse and the things you had learnt through taking care of all the animals still fresh in your head. 

That was how you took probably the biggest risk in your life and say yes to their offer. Now you were on the bus to Yuuei Town, days after you quitted your job and headed for a new start in somewhere you had never been to since you were still in middle school.

It was horrifying to think of to say the least. But you had made your decision and there was no turning back. This was your one chance of getting a whole new life and you would be damned if you didn’t take it. Many things could happen, and a lot of them were far from being good, but you were excited for your new beginning.

The sudden break of the car let out a sharp squeak from the tires and your body fell forward as it hit a stop. You looked out to see that you were no longer surrounded by trees but under the open sky, the tiny sign of the bus stop being the only thing man-made you had seen in a while.

“Yuuei Town”

Quickly getting your many luggage and your bags, you got off the bus and took a deep breath. Cold air filled your lungs and you felt alive once again. It had been too long since you had last gone anywhere remotely rural, even the air felt different. You did not quite remember which way was the correct one to your grandparent’s- well, perhaps you should call it your ranch from now on but you still tried your best to go on the right road with the little instruction that you were given.

You weren’t sure if they had renovated the roads or your childhood memories had betrayed you, but it took way longer than what you expected and a lot of going back after realising that you made the wrong turn for you to finally get to where you were supposed to be.

It brought you a sense of comfort to see that the ranch was still the same as what you remembered it as. The farmhouse was in a distance with the fields being in front and the barns for the animals were at the back. It had been a while to say the least, but as you walked past the wooden fences it was like going home after a long journey away.

The door to the farmhouse was unlocked and with a light push, you poked your head inside. Your grandparents had already left for their first destination by the time you arrived, as seen by how all the furniture were covered by a white plastic cover. Sliding a finger along the window frame, you scrunched your face together when you saw just how much dust was covering everything. It would take a long while for you to clean everything up, you sighed as you put your luggage down onto the floor. 

You didn’t even know where to start with all that. Feeling absolutely clueless as you faced the lifeless house, the anxiety you had regarding this decision was starting to appear once more. You were on your own now, with no one to help you and no one to go to if you come across any trouble. It would take you days just to get everything settled down and not to mention getting the hang on how to actually get everything running...

You were scared, and you wondered if you really made the right decision.

It was as if the universe wanted to tell you to stop worrying when you heard a knock at the door. Opening the door, you were face-to-face, actually no he was nowhere near being your eye level, with a white mouse in full business attire. He(?) had a soft smile on his face and behind him was a man with stacks of files on his hands and a pair of rectangular glasses sat neatly on the bridge of his nose alongside with a girl who was very, very pink from head to bottom.

“Hello! You must be the new owner of the ranch, your grandparents told me about you before they left and I decided to come welcome you.” The mouse reached his hand out, “I’m Nezu, the mayor of this town. I will be in the Town’s office if you need anything.”

Shaking Mayor Nezu’s extended hand, you did not have much time to process the fact that the town’s mayor was a mouse before he continued. “This is Iida kun who is the secretary of the office,” the man behind him bowed and you did the same in response in absolutely panick at how formal he was, “and this is Ahisdo san who runs the stable in town.”

The girl grabbed your hand and beamed, “Nice to meet you but Ashido is too formal, you can call me Mina!”

“Ashido san! You are going to intimate them!”

You managed a chuckle at the exchange between the two people. Mayor Nezu cleared his throat to stop them from rambling and he continued. “I’m sure that there’s a lot you have to do to settle down. Yuuei Town is not very big but you can get everything you need in the town square. Please do get to know everyone around when you have time, everyone is very friendly and I’m sure they look forward to meeting you! I brought Iida kun and Ashido san here with me today so they can help you with some basics on how to get around the farm and other things you should know...”

They taught gave you all the information you needed about the town and tips on how to run the farm. It was a lot to take it and your mind was so close to wandering away only to be pulled back at the last second on several occasions. After what seemed like hours of talk with phrases that you had barely heard of before, countless bickering between Iida and Mina, and several moments where you wonder if mice can kill when you sensed the rising danger in Nezu’s tiny eyes as the two argued, they finally left but not without telling you that you were always welcomed to go to them for help if you need anything. Mina also very eagerly offered to take you to the best (and only) restaurant for lunch next week as Iida yelled at her to keep up.

Like that, they were gone and you were alone once more. It was weird to hear just how silent the house was when seconds ago it was filled with people talking. You definitely felt better when they were around but now that it was just you, you were starting to feel lost once again.

This would not do, you had to start somewhere. Your searching eyes landed on the same window frame you touched when you first entered the room. This place could use some ventilation. Taking a deep breath as if you had decided something, you pushed the windows open.

The evening breeze hit your face and you looked out to see that the sun was setting. Everything you saw was under the lovely golden hue of the descending sun. Leaning onto the wooden frame, the last bit of warmth landed on your face, creating a perfect balance with the soft wind. The grass moved along with the movement of the wind and its ruzzling passed into your ear.

From some reason, for no good reason at all, the sight in front of you gave you the sudden relieve that everything would be okay.

Everything would turn out to be okay.

Leaning back, you turned around to look at the mess that was your new home and rolled your sleeves up for first of the many days of hard work ahead.

[unicyclehippo]

Prompt: Beau trying to learn to bake to make Jester a special pastry (something cute and Valentines related) OR sad angsty valentines related stuff

kamordah was a fertile place only in selected areas, either luck or some witch-fortune designating those rare spaces. even so, on the day of wild’s grandeur, before the evening dance and feast, young lovers would spend the day together in rest and exchange their gifts, enjoying the world they are a part of. those harbouring secret love would plant a seedling on the day—if it grew, it meant hope, it meant there was a chance for a future. if it didn’t, well. kamordah has never been fertile.

it’s an old tradition and one beau has never put much stock in. even so, as dualahei moves swiftly toward its close, beau finds herself standing in an orchard at the edge of the gallimaufry, an enormous wild hedge maze to her left, and the neat lines of the orchard continuing out to her right.

‘a human,’ says a bright, rock-scratch voice from high over her shoulder.

beau spins to find her eyes level with the shoulder of a scaled creature—she takes a step back, lifts her eyes to those of the lizardfolk individual.

they stand easily seven feet tall, perhaps a little shorter but with a tall spined frill that adds a few inches to their height. they’re far more slender than the few dragonborn beau has encountered but still not small—broad, sloping shoulders lead into long limbs and a long, solid looking tail. and all over, a heavy scaled hide protects them. all in all, they look very capable.

beau might be shorter, smaller, and thin-skinned comparatively—but she’s more than capable too.

‘yeah, i’m human. what are you—a toad?’

the lizardfolk fixes her with a clouded green eye before cracking a wide smile. toothy. their laughter hisses up from their gut. ‘this one hass been called worsse,’ they say with a chuckle. ‘this one is called shariss.’

beau takes the enormous clawed hand extended toward her. ‘beau.’

the frill lifts in what beau assumes is acknowledgement.

‘what brings beau to this garden? this one is its custodian.’ shariss leans brightly into the word, smile growing slightly when they see beau hear the pun and grimace. ‘not amusing?’

‘it was fine.’

shariss hisses their laugh again. they shift the tool they carry—a spade-type implement—from one shoulder to the other, and wave a hand toward a small hut that sits between the hedge-maze, from which shariss had emerged, and the orchard.

‘tell me what you wish from this one,’ shariss orders. ‘be quick. this one has work to do.’

beau falls into step beside the stranger. stares down at the grass—pale, not a vibrant green, but alive nonetheless. it crunches slightly underfoot which reminds her unpleasantly of home. it’s probably why wild’s grandeur had occurred to her, something she hasn’t thought of in years.

‘time iss wasting,’ shariss says, not unkindly. they reach the hut and shariss steps in, ducking their head low beneath the frame. tools chatter as shariss replaces the spade and selects something else. with the lizardfolk sequestered within, beau finally says,

‘do you know what wild’s grandeur is?’

‘the wild is grand,’ shariss agrees.

‘no, it’s like a holiday—fuck you, dude,’ she cuts herself off when shariss laughs from within. ‘you can just say yes.’

‘beau ssquawks. it iss funny.’

‘fuck you,’ she says again, with less heat. ‘look, there’s this thing that happens and i need a seed or a sapling or whatever.’

silence meets her. beau shifts her weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other and then starts as shariss’s long face emerges slowly from the dark, eyes fixed on beau. they’re gleaming with interest, which beau dislikes on principle.

the toothy smile grows, which had seemed impossible, wider and toothier.

‘beau is in love.’

‘what? no!’

‘you wish to plant a seedling,’ shariss says. ‘to see love nurtured.’

‘no!’

‘this one thinks it is sweet, beau does not have to be embarassed. what is this one wishing? the gift of fruit, a large family?’

‘kill me.’

‘a mighty ironwood, love unbreakable?’

‘this is the worst day of my life, do you have a fucking sapling or not?’

shariss hisses their laugh. squeezes the bulk of their body from the hut—leaving the tools behind—and hurries surprisingly quickly deeper into the orchard.

‘this one has the perfect seed,’ shariss calls. when beau groans and runs to catch up, putting on a burst of speed to close the distance with the long-legged lizard, shariss smiles sharply down at her. ‘this one is friend of our queen, yes?’

‘how did you—‘

‘a human in rossohna. not common.’

‘well. that’s fair.’

‘this one hears the gossip, even if not many folk wander close to the whisper gardens,’ shariss continues. ‘eyes like cloudbreak, they say.’

beau frowns. ‘cloud bre—the sky?’

‘yess. the sky,’ shariss agrees dreamily. ‘sso pretty. it has been sso long.’ their hissing grows stronger, words so fondly spoken.

beau shrugs away her embarrassment, glares down at the path again. ‘so what’s this plant, then?’

‘this one has ssunlight? a great green tree.’

‘yeah. our magic users put some light spells to help grow the garden.’

shariss sighs happily. ‘sstunning.’

soon, ignoring beau’s question again of what this sapling is, they arrive deeper in the orchard where a number of small trees and saplings sit in hessian bags, heavy with dark dirt and the pungent scent of manure. fertilizer, beau assumes. hopes.

‘here,’ shariss waves a hand. ‘take whichever you wish.’

‘what are they?’ beau asks again, curious. the larger ones, similar enough to be the same as the seedlings, are not quite like any tree she’s ever seen—the bark is silver-grey with hints of blue here and there, and the leaves long and tapered. the scent when she crumpled one of the leaves curiously is familiar—sharp and clean.

‘for health. for long life, and strength, protection. all good ssigns.’

beau nods slowly. she steps toward the seedlings, searches for one that she will be able to carry and that looks healthy. at least, to her uneducated eyes anyway.

‘how much?’

shariss shakes their head. the frill flares along with their pleased smile. ‘sseedlings wish to be planted. this one is pleased to have one in ssunlight.’

//

beau’s arms are burning by the time she returns to the xhorhaus. the seedling hadn’t been even the largest of the lot and even so, over the course of the walk, the weight of it has forced her to stop a few times and shake out her hands, twist her back in an attempt to loosen the bunching muscles.

and she hasn’t even made it up the stairs to the tower yet, she realises in some despair.

kicking open the front door, she hasn’t made it more than halfway through the foyer before jester calls cheerfully down from the floor above.

‘we’re super powerful so you better not be a thief!’

beau grunts a laugh. ‘not a thief.’

a pause then, ‘be-au! what do you have? is that a plant? oh no,’ she gasps, and then beau is glad she had paused at the base of the staircase because jester is flying down it and staring at her with big, wide eyes. ‘you didn’t! caduceus didn’t take you as well!’

‘huh?’

‘if you’re going to be anyone’s paladin it can’t be the wildmother too, beau, the traveller is so cool and he loves you so much and - and the wildmother already has two worshippers, it’s not fair,’

‘what the fuck are you talkin’ about?’ beau steps up. hates herself for picking a fucking seedling instead of like. sunflower seeds. a picture of a flower. for doing this at all.

‘you’re not worshipping the wildmother?’

beau has no energy to do anything but breathe and climb the steps. even so, she cuts a confused frown sideways at jester. ‘what? no?’

jester’s crumpled expression brightens instantly, as though she had cast light inside of herself and it shines from her eyes, from her beaming smile. ‘oh good! not that she’s not super cool and stuff but—wait. why do you have a tree?’

‘it’s—fuckin’—sapling.’

‘a sapling, then,’ jester says, annoyingly agreeable, and curious, and altogether too clever. ‘oh my gosh, beau, is this what i think it is?’

‘doubt it.’

‘is it a grandeur gift?’ jester squeals, tail twisting around her own wrist as she claps her hands and hurries to the top of the stairs to clap excitedly. she waits there for beau to join her, puffing. ‘ooh, be-au, who is it for? are you in love?’ she teases.

there’s a moment where beau thinks about telling her. there’s another moment beau spends searching jester’s face for any sign that she is jealous or, or yearning or something like that. anything that might say she thinks or hopes that beau likes her. but beau finds nothing there and so she grips the rough sack harder, hitches it higher in her grip, and continues slowly up to the next level of the stairs.

‘it’s just an old tradition,’ she tells her, and it’s not much of a lie. ‘we used to plant one so the estate would flourish. thought it might be nice for the house.’

‘oh. i thought it was for people.’

‘can be. doesn’t have to.’

‘oh.’ jester’s face falls. ‘that’s boring.’

beau huffs a laugh. can’t help but look fondly over to her friend. ‘i guess.’

jester stays with her a little longer but it’s clear that she has lost interest since it doesn’t, apparently, have anything to do with a steamy secret romance. beau is glad of it because there’s only so long she can keep her own expression clear of the way her stomach burns with acid that has started to climb up her throat. jester doesn’t like her and never will. the plant is useless. but if it grows, she can hope. and if it dies, she’ll know for sure.

[brigirl3]

A Trial Story! Please give me feedback ;w; ( DBD )

I always overthink everything so I started this draft because I was fed up with myself.  Please let me know what your thoughts are.  I am currently on the fence if I should continue this or not...

Think of this as chapter 1 I suppose :s

The entity is a hard thing to understand, one minute it’s pitting its victim against each other and then the next they are granted hours to do as they please.  Without any known way to escape this hell, both the killers and survivors are forced to play this twisted game.  Or so that’s what they think, no one is really sure what is out there.  

On the far side of the twisted rows or corn lay a barren field before giving way to a tall pine forest.  Here, the survivors come from time to time to de-stress and take in the sweet smells of the forest.  It is unknown how vast the entity’s world expands but it does have some nice areas surprisingly.  A soft fire began to cackle as a few gathered around to take in the warmth.  Claudette hugged her knees tightly looking into the flames, her expression was tight.  Unlike the others, who either chose to lie in the low hanging branches or cook food she wanted to be alone.  Finally having enough she quietly moved to find a better spot.  It took a bit to get far enough from the light so it wouldn’t be too bright but eventually she stumbled upon a neat little hideaway.  A patch of bushes giving a little leeway to an under path, crawling through it she found herself encased in a circular space surrounded by shrubbery.  Low hanging branches made for a soft roof with a leafy opening for the moonlight to hit her face.  Claudette was left speechless, all she could do was situate herself to stare up through the opening at the beautiful night sky.  “ I.. didn’t know the entity could create something like this..” she said to herself, barely as a whisper.  The sweet smell of the forest wafted around her as she continued to stare at the view, unaware that the lull of it all was getting to her.  

Back at the camp, the others continued to enjoy the scene together.  Meg cooked up the fish they caught by the fire and Jake hummed a tune under his breath as he brought back the fire wood he collected.  David told stories of his fights in various bars and tidbits of his previous life before the entity claimed him.  His stories were riveting and never failed to entertain, a few were gathered around but Cheryl was especially drawn in as per usual.  Bill and Dwight were on the side having a private discussion, sharing notes about what they found within the Entity.  “ Francis came back from the South, no matter how far he went it didn’t seem to end,” said Dwight, his expression was a cross between fatigue and frustration.  “ Quentin basically reported the same thing,” Bill let out a long sigh, “ So is it safe to assume that this place doesn't have walls outside the trials?”  Dwight placed a hand on Bill’s shoulder, “Unfortunately, but we can’t give up.  Let us rest up for tonight, have fun and enjoy our fellow survivors before we are summoned.” With a final nod they both rejoined the rest of the group, just in time as Meg called out the food was ready. 

The group gathered together to enjoy a nice meal, everyone was content as the smell of freshly cooked fish filled the air. “ You seem to be opening up a bit more now Cheryl.” Meg chuckled a bit before handing a blushing Cheryl her portion, “ I am glad that someone is helping you warm up to us~” Meg glanced in David’s direction who was too busy not paying attention.   “So anything new Dwight?” Meg looked up, a small sliver hope in her eyes.  Dwight choked on his fish at the sudden change of topic, “Um. Unfortunately no, our original plan to try and find the perimeter was a bust.  There doesn’t seem to be one.”  A moment of silence fell over the group, only the sound of the fire cackling and chewing continued.  “ .. We are going to die here aren't we..?”  “Cher-,” Jake was cut off as Cheryl stood up beginning to yell, “ NO!! We are! There is no way out and we are forced to play this sick game!!” she began to breathe erratically, putting her hands on her neck as she let out several wheezing noises.  “ She is having a panic attack,” Jake got up to try and comfort her but she pushed him away, distrust was written all over her face.  “ Don't..- touch..”  Meg turned to David but he was already on it, “ Cheryl take deep breaths, it’s ok.  No need to work yourself up.”  He approached her cautiously before putting his hand on her shoulders to steady her.  “ Look at me, breathe.”  Her eyes locked with his, her hands relaxed from her throat as she synchronized her breathing with his.  Not before long she was back to normal, staring deeply into his eyes still matching his breath.  The fire illuminated their faces and made them seem so far away from everyone else.  Cheryl quickly looked away, she mumbled sadly, “ How can we be sure there IS a way out? What if there isn’t one?”  A look came across Dwight’s face but he quickly replaced it, “  If there isn’t a way out, then we will make one.  Don’t give up so easily, we keep fighting till the end.  We are survivors and we will keep going no matter what.”  “Hell yea Dweet!” Nea fist pumped the air in approval, a few others cheered in response.  The night carried on with a more upbeat vibe as the survivors forgot about their troubles and enjoyed each other’s company.

A sharp whale of a siren pierced the air startled the group, the sound was very familiar.  A warning that danger was coming a change of some sort, whether they moved or not was optional but who would choose to stay with potential danger?  The survivors hustled around, putting out the fire and gathering up the remaining food to take back to the main Fire.  Panic slowly took over the group as they left a mess in their wake.  Some of the food was left behind along with kicked up dirt and strewn logs that were meant to keep the flames going all night.    Before a matter of minutes they were gone, leaving behind a faint wisp of dying fire smoke.  Not even a few seconds after they left, a gangly figure appeared out of the darkness.  Her figure loomed over the fire and strewn pieces of food.  Letting out a high pitched noise she happily began to feast on the dirt fish.  “ Oh come on Lisa, you are better than that.”  Another figure appeared to the left of her, surveying the area.  “ It seems like we just missed our friends...”  Lisa didn’t respond, her attention was entirely on the delicious(?) meal in front of her.  God it had been so long since she had some fresh meat, she didn’t care if they were covered in freshly turned mud and twigs.  “ Slow down,” he said in a gruff tone, leaning down to snatch up the remaining fish.  “I can try to clean it for you.  Pretty sure there is a stream nearby if I remember correctly..?”  The only response he got was a snarl and a mean look, “ Come on you can’t be mad at me for looking out for you.”  He rolled his eyes, turning a fish in one hand, “ We will probably have to start this fire back up anyway to dry the fish, might as well hunt for more meat.”  At the mere mention of more food her expression softened and again, high pitched noises ensued; yet they sounded kinder.  She reached out a hand to touch his leg as a way to say thank you, surprised by her sudden gesture he jumped a bit only to compose himself quickly.  “Don’t start acting nice now that you want something..” he stood up and was quick to disappear with a few fish in hand, heading off in an unknown direction. 

There was darkness for a while.  Nothing was happening nor could anything be seen or smelt.  It went on like this for a while until moonlight appeared above, illuminating the dark.  All around there were hills, valleys that stretched on all around. The scenery was colored with a dim blue light, a steady sound of a stream could be heard.  Crickets chirped and the owls sang a melancholy tune.  Weirdly, trees appeared out of nowhere along with a steep drop where the water cascaded down into nothingness.  Inching closer and closer to the edge felt right, gravitating towards danger but there was no sense of fear or urgency by the ledge.  Looking down there was darkness, no light nor sound just black.  There was a strong urge to dive right in, so much so that it felt natural.  She didn’t know what to make of it but before she knew what was happening, she found herself falling head first into the abyss.  “ GUha!!”  Claudette jumped from her nap and made friends with a cute low hanging branch.  It smacked the shit out of her forehead nearly knocking her glasses off and knocked her flat on her back.  Dazed she stayed on the ground for a while, her head throbbing violently making it hard to concentrate or see straight.  A few minutes passed before she attempted to touch her forehead, the pain felt less and less with each touch.  The moonlight continued to shine brightly through the canopy opening, but nothing could be heard other than the sounds of the forest.  She held her breath listening hard for her friends.  After several minutes of silence, she came to the conclusion that she was either too far away or that everyone has settled down for the night.  With a sigh she slowly gathered to her feet only to be startled by a rustling sound.  She froze mid stance, not daring to call out to the unknown.  A figure started to part the bushes entering into, what she thought, was her private little getaway.  With a panicked motion, her feet began to back slowly until she could feel the leaves of one of the walls tickle her skin.  Using one of her legs, she rubbed the wall searching for the way she came in.  An arm was visible now and more was coming through the far side of the bush.  She felt her calf go from brushing up against leaves to being greeted with a cool gust of air.  Without hesitation she got on all fours and crawled out backwards quickly, checking to make sure the figure couldn’t see her.  As she escaped, she noticed huge brawny arms with tubes sticking out.  Just before its face could be seen, she could see a pair of milky eyes glowing coming closer and closer until it was in full view.  It was the Doctor, by the time he came all the way through, Claudette just barely made it through the under bush and dashed to one side of the opening.  She could hear his heavy breathing as he moved around a bit, as if he was searching for something.  “ …..” He was talking to himself but she couldn’t make out exactly what.  Regardless she cautiously began to make her way back to the campsite, it was this way right?

  God it was too dark to tell where she came from, she followed her gut and made a sharp right.  Several minutes passed and Claudette found herself going deeper and deeper into the forest.  This doesn’t seem right.. She felt like she was a lot further than she did when she found her napping spot.  A rapid gust of wind blew past her unexpectedly, the damn thing nearly pushed her over.  Hopping a few times forward in an attempt to not fall, she lost her battle with balance and tumbled down into a steady roll.  She felt gravity take her over a hidden drop straight into a cold lake.  

[stellar-alley]

•The One With The Monster•

Hey guys! Just a little warning before this chapter starts, I will be touching on religion, but it is in no way accurate and I am not trying to offend anyone in any way. This is all simply for the story, so if I say anything please do not take offence.

Also: This story is based on the song Monster by Dodie, so if you'd like to listen to it while reading then it can help set the mood.

Enjoy!

~

"So what are we going to do with him?" The arc angel glances over at his associate.

"Well, I suppose we could always assign him to an unsolvable case, someone who can not be saved. That way he will stay on earth forever" The lower level angel suggested.

"We could always assign him to-" The arc angel tapped a name the list he held with his index finger.

"Hm... Good choice. A demon he's bound to fall in love with, he will be gone within a decade. Clever" She smirked at him.

"Would you like for me to inform him? Or shall I?" He asked as she shook her head.

"Oh no don't you worry, I will tell the boy about his new and permanent position"

(Basically, our little angel was just assigned a case to a demon where he'd inevitably fall in love and die, all because they couldn't accept that he was gay)

~

Tell me again about how it hurts

"Okay... Eddie please, just tell me again how much it hurts" Richie leaned forward to cup Eddie's face with his hand. The shorter boy pushed him away. Suddenly Eddie was up and of the bed, pulling at the ends of his hair as pain flashed through his eyes.

"I-It feels like someone stabbed me in the back with a needle and I can feel the fucking venom spread through my system. Like roots of a fucking weed growing" He hissed.

Shit... This is what I was worried about

Being awfully loud for an introvert

There was a moment where Richie didn't speak, he just let Eddie rage.

Eddie sat down on the edge of the bed, practically hugging himself, with blank eyes and an emotionless face, "God, I can feel it seeping into my blood" he sighed. "Rich... Baby, what's happening to me?" Eddie's fear-filled voice cracked as his eyes grew watery.

Richie couldn't even meet his gaze as he muttered a guilt-filled, "E-Eddie... I'm so, so sorry".

Eddie's brow scrunches together, he tilted his head like a confused puppy. "Richie... what did you do?".

~

Richie moved out of his family's house at the young age of 22. His parents were very reluctant to let him live on his own, worried that he'd somehow spill the family secret, start the next set of witch trials or something. He was a demon after all. He loved Maggie and Wentworth with his entire heart, but as Panic At The Disco once said, if you love me let me go.

He wasn't a monster, neither were his parents. They were just two angels in love who made a wrong choice, so of course, they were thrown down to earth, banished. And heaven forbid there be any angels on earth that aren't guarding a human, so Maggie and Wentworth there stripped of their white angelic feathers and gifted new ones, darker ones.

Still, they were just as magical, just as magnificent. Long and elegant,  they shimmered like the dark night sky. Their wings only came out when they wanted them to, unfurling like a red carpet being rolled out, it was one of the best feelings in the world to Richie. But if not then they just kinda went poof, disappearing. Although they would have to let their wings out at least once a week or else they'd wake up with major back pains. Sometimes Richie would even do it subconsciously in his sleep, he'd wake up from a nightmare and he'd just be curled up in his own dark wings. It was oddly comforting. When they went full dark angel, they had the wings as well as small black horns that would peak out through Richie's equally as dark curls. There were also dark eyes and sharp fangs.

There were other things that came with being a demon. They had magical powers, to a certain extent, they could make things happen, some call it miracles. Oh and also if they were to lash out and lose control, one would be able to see their pointy fangs and blood-red eyes. Richie had always been in love with his demon eyes. Their normal brown colour turned to a deep red, and the rest of the whites in his eyes turned black, making him look like a total satanic worshiper. Which they weren't by the way just cause they were demons didn't mean they had to worship the dark lord.

His place was magnificent, to say the least. It was a one-bedroom apartment with a kitchen and living room and just enough space for an office corner. But he made it work. He was only one person after all. He tried to keep everything organized, only half failing, which had surprised even himself. The apartment wasn't messy, he kept the dirty clothes in the hamper and the trash in the bin. Although he did always have a couple of dirty dishes in the sink and way too many papers on his desk, but he didn't mind.

Everything changed about two months after he moved in. He was sitting at his desk, some chill music on the in the background (Fly by Bloodwich to be precise. Recommended by Stan) when he heard something smash and fall from outside in the hallway. Richie waited a moment before he decided to go make sure no one was like... bleeding out on the floor.

Stepping out into the hallway that connected all the apartments, he noticed another male figure. Richie couldn't make out his features as he was crouching down on the floor in front of his door, back towards Richie. The guy had dropped a vase, pieces of porcelain scattered across the floor.

"Shit shit shit! Mom's gonna kill me!" The guy whispered, he frantically tried to collect all the pieces.

Richie knew he could help, alongside his miracle abilities, he also had a little bit of mind control. And he couldn't bear to hear this guy whimper about this damn vase any longer. He was going to command the guy to back away and he'd miracle the vase back to its original state, then just clean up the boy's memories a little before letting him go, so he wouldn't question the now fixed vase.

Before he gave the command he allowed his eyes to roll back into his head, they reverted back into their demonic state as he commanded, "Stop". Richie's voice stern and deep, it always got that way when he commanded someone to do something.

The boy froze.

"What?" He suddenly jumped up from his position on the floor. Richie wiped his eyes away, they changed back to their normal brown just as his eyes met the eyes of the other boy's. For a moment he could've sworn that the other's eyes were blue, but not like, blue but blue. A blue that could give the sky and sea a run for their money, a blue that'd make someone have to shield their eyes cause it was so bright. But he blinked just as Richie tried to focus on their colour, and suddenly they were brown, just brown.

"Sorry... I uh... Thought you were my neighbour, they party a lot and I always tell them to shut the fuck up" Richie told a terrible lie. No one on his floor partied, they were the Losers floor after all. He knew how weird he sounded so he quickly kept going, he tried to get rid of the awkward tension. "Sorry about the vase" Richie rubbed anxiously at his neck.

"W-What vase?" The guy asked with a lifted eyebrow.

"The one that broke..." His voice drifted off when he looked over and saw the vase that sat perfectly on the ground beside the other boy's feet. "oh" was all he could say at that moment.

Good going trashmouth. What the fuck just happened?

"I'm Eddie," The guy, who is apparently Eddie, said, forcing the awkwardness away. He stuck out his hand for Richie to shake.

"The name is Tozier, Richie Tozier" He replied and shook Eddie's hand. "Moving in I see?" He motioned to the boxes that line the hallway.

Eddie's eyes went wide for a moment, maybe a moment too long before let out a laugh mixed sigh, "Yeah, this is me" he pointed to the door right across from Richie, the sight caused the trashmouth to smile a little bit more at the thought of having a cute neighbour.

Now that Eddie was no longer crouched on the ground he was finally able to get a good look at him. Eddie was a petite guy, for sure a couple inches shorter then Richie and had a smaller build as well. He had a head of neat chocolate brown hair that flopped into his eyes, which he constantly swatted away, Richie found it adorable. He wore a pastel blood hoodie and black skinny jeans and some nameless runners.

"Welcome to the Losers floor" He said with a wink.

"The what?" Eddie asked.

"The Losers floor, that's our name. You've got me, Richard Trashmouth Tozier, the leader of course" He nods, "Beverly Marsh, the badass" Richie points to the apartment beside his own. "Benjamin Hanscom, the nerd" He points to the farthest room, the one after Bev's. "Mike the animal lover, he has a cat, but don't tell the landlord" Richie smirked, he gestured to the room across from Ben's. "And then there's Bill and Stanley. God, I don't know how they fit two people in that fucking apartment, let alone a god damn bird".

Eddie's eyes went wide at the statement, "A bird?".

"Yeah, Staniel loves them. I think her name is like Alley or something" Both of the boys turn to the camera like it's the office.

He leaned casually against the doorframe to his apartment, "Need a hand with the boxes, Edwardo?" Richie asked.

Eddie had to resist the urge to shoot the nickname down and deny his offer, but he knew that be seeing more of Richie in his life. Eddie was his guardian angel after all (;

~

Eddie was an angel, well he was pretty sure he still was. Eddie always had an enteral battle going on inside of him. They fought over what was right if he should be listening to his lord and saviour or to his heart. He repressed his feelings for centuries, but love always won. Coming out was something. (I don't feel comfortable going into details). But everyone seemed okay with it, sure some hated the idea but everyone liked Eddie. And as luck would have it, a week later he got his first official Guardian placement, Richard Tozier. They'd given him everything he needed, a book full of fake memories and a storyline to follow, it was all set, well... kinda. They basically just gave him the job, no further explanation on why Richie needed to be guarded or anything at all for that matter. They just told him he had 3 days to prepare before being shipped out.

Living on earth was something. But the guys above gave him some books and tips to keep his heavenly side a secret.

Don't fly in the city, don't use your powers unless necessary,  and never, ever tell your person about your secret.

All they said was don't fly in the city, they never told him he couldn't just sit in his apartment with his blinds drawn and his wings out, so that's what he did most nights. He had specific shirts and hoodies with little slits in the back so his wings could come and go with ease. Sometimes he'd just opt to sit shirtless on his couch while watching Will and Grace reruns.

With no knowledge of what he needed to guard Richie against, Eddie simply chose to be the friendly neighbour that was always there to help. But then he realized how dreadfully annoying Richie can be, and then their iconic banter began. But during all of their arguments and bickering, a spark was lit. The two went from friendly neighbours to each other best friends. They'd developed countless traditions that were carried out throughout the week, Taco Tuesday, well that was just the day they went to eat at Burrito Gringo. There were also Sunday laundry nights, where they'd spend countless hours in the creepy basement laundry room laughing their asses off about some random ass shit since anything was hilarious after 1 am. Although on Mondays, both of the boys always seemed to be oddly busy. Maybe it's because these are the days when they both hiked to different parts of the city, heading deep into the forest, away from civilization before letting their wings out and taking flight.

Around the one-year anniversary of Eddie moving in, Richie had no doubt in his mind about 2 things. 1) That he was head over heels for Eddie fucking Kasbrak, and 2) that said Eddie fucking Kaspbrak was also an angel. How did he know this? Well, the first day the two met, Eddie literally miracle-d the vase with shiny blue eyes. These eyes were not only a one-time occurrence, sometimes when Eddie laughed a little too hard, the times he got a little bit too embarrassed, or when he sneezed too hard, or if Richie's touch lingered a little bit too long on Eddie's body, they'd appear. Even though it was always only for a moment, blink and you'll miss them, Richie always noticed. And one day when Richie was walking home from the radio station he may or may not have noticed that he could see perfectly into Eddie's apartment. From there, he watched the short boy grow angelic wings from his fucking back. So, yeah Richie kinda knew Eddie was an angel.

He never brought it up, for various reasons. Richie knew a lot about demons but he also knew his fair share about angels, and he knew that if word got out to the people above about someone knowing Eddie's secret, he'd be in deep shit.

Even though the trashmouth knew what he saw, he could practically feel the angelic powers pour out of his little angel, but he didn't want to face the facts. He didn't want to believe that the boy he loved was an angel. They could probably be together, to hell with the sides! They'd make it work... But then came the inevitable, the biggest thing that stood in their way. Something everybody knew.

An angel and a demon could never share a kiss. It was a curse put upon the first angel and demon who fell in love, all those years ago. The curse states that when the two opposing creatures kiss, the being of light will lose their spark, it will go dark, they will go dark. Basically it means that Richie was to kiss Eddie, Eddie would lose his wings, and he'd turn into the same beast that Richie was. Or even worse, Eddie could die, if he wasn't able to survive the turn.

So Richie suppressed everything, his thoughts, his ideas, his feelings. Anything that could lead to having a crush on Eddie was shoved into a box and stuffed into his metaphorical closet. He wouldn't allow himself to be the reasoning behind Eddie's banishment, he couldn't... Richie wouldn't be able to live with himself if he knew that he was the reason his little angel was turned dark. So he made a vow to never kiss Eddie.

So Eddie kissed Richie instead.

~

It had been officially one year and one month since Eddie moved in across the hall from Richie, and it has been exactly one month since the two started dating. Richie was the first one to make a move, he was reluctant since he couldn't kiss Eddie, but he could see the yearning in his angel's eyes and he really just wanted to be happy, to make Eddie happy. That's all he ever wanted.

So he gave in. Eddie confessed his feelings one night after Richie's failed attempt at a tinder date with some asshat named Connor. Eddie spilled his guts out about since the first time he saw Richie in the hallway, he has been living on this high, the feeling that he only got when he was with Richie. And that feeling gave him life. What Richie didn't know was that the life Eddie was feeling was the feeling of finally living. He was doing what he wanted, on his own terms, with the man he loved. That night forward they were officially boyfriends.

Eddie found it kind of odd that they didn't share their first kiss after they both confessed their true feelings. Instead, once Richie finished spilling his guts, he simply wrapped Eddie up in his arms and the two held each other, their hearts beating as one. That night they slept together, no sex, just being wrapped up in each other's arms was enough. And Eddie was okay with that.

~

It was just another morning that the demon and the angel had woken up together. Eddie had woken up first. To no surprise, he found his limps were tangled up with Richie's. But once the demon had woken up, the two sat facing each other in bed for a while. Until Eddie practically jumped on Richie, cupping his face and kissing his lips.

Richie was left in shock. They'd kissed. And it was amazing. There was only a single moment where Richie's mind burst at the thought of their lips touching, but instead, he drowned it out by passionately kissing Eddie back. Eddie had pushed Richie onto his back, playing with his hair as the made out on the bed, that's when Eddie jackknifed off of Richie. That's when he started to turn, and that's where we are now.

~

"Eds, baby I'm so sorry. I should've told you sooner" Eddie snapped his head to face Richie. His angel eyes were showing, and they were blazing like a roaring fire. The flames so burning hot that they turned sky blue.

"What the hell did you do?!" He hissed, anger and confusion laced his voice.

Richie could barely let out a stuttery, "I-I'm..." that's when he let his eyes roll back. With regret he let his demon eyes roll forward, he hoped it would be more than enough of a response.

His blue eyes snapped open wider than ever, "Y-You!" he shrieked. Eddie went to stand and get the fuck out but before he knew it, he'd stumbled over his own feet and landed on the carpeted floor of Richie's bedroom. With the pain that radiated through his body, he felt something, stress relieved from his shoulders, but now there was more weight on them than usual. His wings. Eddie curled up, the pain simply had more space to cover.

Richie slid out of his bed and shuffled over to Eddie. "Please can I just-"

"No, NO! Get away from me" Eddie backed away, "You demon fucker, you did this to me" he hissed. Hastily he got to his feet,  he stumbled out of the room.

Get out of my room, smile wiped clean Isn't it weird to be so mean?

Eddie had sworn Richie out countless times, but nothing stung as badly as the words that just slipped out of his mouth. He couldn't even begin to imagine the pain Eddie was going through. The guys below always described it as the feeling of what it's like to burn in the deep pits of hell. But the least he could do was make sure Eddie didn't have to go through this alone.

He marched into the main area of his apartment where he spotted Eddie had sprawled out over the couch. The demon moved quickly to crouch down beside Eddie. The angel's eyes were in a half-open stat, but once they caught sight of Richie they reverted back to their blue shocked look. But now they were focused on something just above Richie's eyes.

I'm guessing that I've grown horns I guess I'm human no more I can tell I've rotted in your brain

"Oh... Sorry. This happens sometimes" He smirked down at the shorter boy. His hands wandered up to brush up against the small horns that had appeared in his dark curls.

The shorter boy was hugging himself, the pain pounding in his head. "I can't believe you'd do this to me. Turn me... Make me into a monster" Eddie breathed breath after breath, each word filled with a hatred that was new to the both of them, and Richie hated every moment of it.

Oh, how easily passion twists You think I'm a crazy bitch I craft my words to fit your head 'Cause no one listens to the dead

"You think I wanted to do this? Do you think I wanted to turn the fucking love of my life into the same thing that haunts me? The thing that looms over my fucking head every goddamn day of my life? Eddie I always wanted what was best for you, that's why I joke and I play and I never let you in because I didn't want to get close. I didn't want to feel anything for you but I couldn't" Richie's emotions were about to overflow when he realized the amount of stress that sat on his back. So with a roll of his kneck and a stretch of his arms, he allowed his pitch-black demonic wings to magically roll out behind him.

If Eddie's eyes could grow bigger then they already were, then they did. "LIES! That's all your kind does. It's all been lies, and to think I fell in love with a fucking spawn of satan".

The words burned like a slab of meat over an open flame. There was one way that Richie knew he could capture Eddie's attention, grab his attention by the balls and tell him what's what.

So maybe I will talk to you The only way I know how to I've said my speech through sharpened teeth

"Edward mother fucking Kaspbrak. Do you think, that I would spend over a year, lying to my dumbass neighbour just to turn him? 365 days, 8760 hours, 525600 fucking minutes, all so hell could have one more damned demon? Eds, Eddie, light of my life, I never, ever, planned on turning you" Richie's voice was stern and serious. It was something that was new for Eddie. He couldn't help but notice the fact that Richie's teeth had sharpened into fangs, poking out from behind his lips as he spoke. They must have unconsciously lengthed as his emotions grew stronger.

Although he wasn't focused on Richie's new way of talking. He was focused on the words, the phrase he just said. Light of my life. A direct quote from The Shinning, the same words Jack Torrance told his wife Wendy during the climax of the movie. It was their safe word, the phrase they said when something was happening when they needed help, when they needed each other. If something was happening and the other needed help, no questions asked. Suddenly everything became so much more serious to Eddie.

Eddie curled deeper in on himself, with closed eyes, and a weal voice, he wept, "Then why am I dying".

Richie's dark heart broke at the sight of his boyfriend who crumbled before him. "oh... Spaghetti" He muttered, collapsing beside him, throwing his arms around the angel. "I-I'm gonna figure this out".

With that declaration, the two stayed like that for a while, Eddie curled on the couch with his wings behind him with Richie's arms wrapped around him. Their foreheads pressed against each other's. Richie's wings even lowered down and wrapped around the angel. When the dark wings touched the lighter ones, it was like the first time their hands brushed up against each other. It sent a shiver up both of their spines.

Eddie's body had almost grown used to the pain, it was numbing, his body ached, but the feeling of Richie's touch made everything just a little bit better. As much as Eddie wanted to be mad about this, it was Richie's fault, deep down Eddie knew his boyfriend didn't mean it.

The angel felt the demonic presence that cuddled against him shift and move, followed by the all too familiar 'Click' sound of Richie's phone turning on. He tilted his head upwards and saw Richie's head was perched on top of his own while he scrolled through the contacts on his phone. "Seriously rich? Ruining our moment? I'm literally dying you asshole" Eddie's voice had a little less pain and some more confusion mixed in there, and maybe even a little laughter.

The demon's lips turned into a little smirk. He slowly slipped off of the other, "I've got this angel, just give me a moment. Don't die!" He hollered whilst he walked into the other room.

Richie had his parents on speed dial and the phone rang three times before they answered. He cut to the chase and asked what to do if an angel was turning. Of course, Maggie informed him that there's nothing he can do, the change will most likely kill the angel.

Richie's voice came out sounding way too chirpy for the situation he was in, "hmm, no. My angel won't be dying today. So we need another way".

There was a sudden muffled sound, followed by a very quick argument of few words before Wentworth picked up the phone, "Son? yeah, I'll call you if I find anything until then, keep the angel awake and alive. Love you son" and the line went dead.

You break the rules and spikes grow from your skin

Eddie had heard the stories, every angel knew them. The ones of the curse and what it's done to the angels that were stupid enough to fall for a damned demon. But for some reason, Eddie knew that deep down he would've kissed Richie again if he had the chance to go back, he'd do it again and again, no matter what the cost. Because deep down he knew that this boy.... this demon, was the only person Eddie truly ever felt this way about. He's never cared about anyone the same way he cared about Richie, it was love.

The angel could sense the demon when he re-entered the room. At that same moment, another jolt of pain shot into his body. This time it started at his lower back and spread like roots to a virus up his back.

"H-Holy shit" Eddie's eyes snapped up to meet Richie's, worry washed over him when he noticed that the demon's face had gone as white as a ghost.

"What? Rich, what is it?" he questioned. Richie stared in shock as black veins slowly kept up the back of Eddie's neck. They edged their way up to his neck and into his wings. They trained the whites of his wings as they. It seeped into the feathers and kept growing, black spikes in a world of white.

"Eddie, hey, sweety, trust me okay? It looks bad, I won't lie. But we're gonna beat this, you and me" Richie's voice was reassuring, but Eddie still needed to see what was happening. He rapidly sat up, ignoring the pain that it caused. He moved towards the full-length mirror Richie had proper up against the wall in his living room.

His voice was weak, only able to let out a soft "No....". Richie stood behind him, which was good since Eddie basically collapsed after seeing himself, the shock had overtaken his body.

Please let the devil in

Richie, of course, caught his boyfriend. He cradled the boy in his arms, softly stroking his hair while he wept into his sweater. The apartment was silent, the only sound to be heard was the soft sobs and sniffles that the angel.... that Eddie let out as Richie held him close.

A meter apart, we blankly stare

The demon wasn't that strong so at one point he had to slowly lower himself and the boy who laid in his arms to the ground. That's where they laid for a while. The pain pulsed through Eddie's body which caused the tears to keep falling. Richie held him tight, one hand holding the other's while the other would run through Eddie's hair, in slow calming motions. The two laid on the kitchen floor, Richie's back was leaning against the counter for support. Both of their wings were sprawled out everywhere as they laid together.

After countless minutes, Eddie's weeping stopped, so did the rising and falling of his chest as he breathed. "Eds?" Richie asked, voice low. When he was left with no response he asked again. "Eddie?". Now worry filled his face as he turned his boyfriend over to see his face had gone soft, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. "HEy, Eddie, Eddie?"

We shout in our heads, "Are you still in there?"

"no, no, NO... no" Richie winned, he ran his hands along Eddie's body. He moved his index finger and his middle finger along the boy's neckline, he tried to find a pulse, anything. But there were no signs of life.

Well, this ends bad then, we knew it would

"It can't end like this... I-I won't let it".

The sound of his phone ringing cut through the air like a knife. He grabbed his phone from his pocket, he smashed the answer button when he realized it was his father who was calling. "What?" His voice came out weak, hopeless even.

"Son... Blood" His father sounded out of breath. "A demon's blood can change him, bring him back".

"What? Dad, no... No, I can't turn him, h-he's an angel"

"Richie, either you turn him or he dies. You don't want him to die, do you?" The question made something snap deep within the demon. He knew what his dad was doing by the tone in his voice. He'd used it in the past to manipulate Richie, not in a bad way, but he needed it right now. His dad knew he wouldn't want to lose Eddie, so he left him no choice.

"Fine" Richie hissed, he clicked the end call button before dropping his phone.

So we won't eat our words, 'cause they don't taste good

(Mild blood warning)

The demon slowly moved his boyfriend off of him and laid him carefully onto the cool tile floor beneath them. Richie moved quickly through his kitchen, he got one of the various knives from a drawer before he took a seat again beside Eddie.

"Okay... Eddie, I'm so sorry" Richie apologized again for the 100th time. He took his own hand and with the knife, he made a clean cut across his palm. The demon hissed, fangs poking out from his mouth, at the pain.

Before he could change his mind, the demon carefully picked up his boyfriend's hand from where it sat on his chest. He studied it for a moment, examing the soft skin against his. He shook his head, cleared his mind. It was hard, his hand began to shake the moment he gripped the knife.

Just do it. He thought.

"I love you," He said as the knife drew blood.

The moment he was done with the knife he let it clatter to the ground. Instead, he put Eddie's hand in his, pushing their cuts together in hopes that enough blood would enter the boy's system for this cult-like ritual to work.

He held their hands together, he pressed his lips up against the back of Eddie's hand, and just held them.

Eddie's eyes snapped open. His heart beat strong and hard inside his chest. He looked over and saw Richie, a demon, his demon. He held their hands together to his chest, his head tilted downwards.

His voice was weak, tiered from the aches and pains, "Rich..." he whispered.

The demon's head jolted upwards. He was overwhelmed by emotions, he's alive. A smile spread across his lips as he let out a small, "Eds".  Without missing a beat he jumped at him, wrapping him in his arms and hugging him.

The sudden action caught the former angel by surprise. "H-Hey... It's good to see you too trashmouth".

Tears began to fall from Richie's eyes, unable to hold back his emotions any longer. He slowly let go and moved to face his boyfriend, "I, thought you were dead. You flatlined" he looked into Eddie's eyes and suddenly his face fell a little.

The angel's eyes were still blue, but there were no whites to them. They were actually similar to Richie's, which he loved. The only difference was that instead of red, it was blue, and everything else was pitch black.

Eddie noticed immediately and mirrored his emotions, fear, and worry. Which Richie caught on to and quickly changed this up, "I have something to tell you". Eddie simply responded with a small nod, "So you know the curse right?".

"Of course, everyone does".

"Exactly. So, uh... Yeah we kissed, and you almost- um, ya know... died. But I brought you back! You're here now, and you're alive. But y-you aren't the same" He glanced away, unable to meet his gaze, suddenly ashamed of his red and black demonic eyes. "I-I guess it's better if I show you".

Richie slowly got to his feet and helped Eddie to stand, the boy's legs were a little wobbly but he wrapped an arm around Richie's waist for support as he led the shorter boy towards the mirror. What stood before him sent a little shiver down Eddie's spin. He looked into his new eyes, the blue he was used to seeing remained the same, but instead of the normal white that usually surrounded them was replaced with a black as dark as night. The darkness grew wide for a second, his eyes stared at himself in shock. His wings had changed as well, the black veins were now gone, and so were the white feathers he knew so well. Although his wings weren't black like Richie's (Which Eddie kinda found dark and sexy), his new wings were a silver-grey, they shimmered under the light, slightly changing as he moved and tilted his body.

I'm guessing that I've grown horns I guess I'm human no more

The no longer angel noticed something else. Little spikes poking up through his brown messy hair. The little horns felt smooth to the touch.

"I'm so sorry Eddie. I never meant for any of this to happen" Richie kept his eyes on his hand, where the cut had already healed.

"Richie... We could've never been together before. An angel and a demon? That's insane, totally against every rule, on both sides" His voice was stern, anger slowly building up as he went on. It all changed within a moment, "But I'm not an angel anymore..." His voice drifted off a moment before Richie realized what he meant. The dark-haired boy stared wide-eyed at his boyfriend,  not 100% sure what was going to happen. His heart began to flutter. Then the smile he's grown to love spread over Eddie's lips, even going up to his demonic eyes.

"So it's just you and me now" Without missing a beat, Eddie closed the gap between Richie and himself, he moved his hand to grab the collar of Richie's shirt before he pulled him down towards him and kissed him.

~

"So what now?" Richie asked his boyfriend, who's head was leaned against his chest as the two laid together in Richie's bed after a hot and intense makeout session. It left both of them sweaty and speechless. The power that the two shared was something neither of them had ever felt before, leaving them both a little mad that they hadn't done it sooner.

Two ugly creatures, two sinister preachers

"Well... Now that we're two ugly creatures, two sinister preachers" The jokes rolled off his tongue. Richie could get used to these demon themed jokes.

Blind to the past, like a couple of monsters

The newly deemed demon rolled over to lay propped up on his elbows, facing Richie. "Rich there's one thing I know for sure. Heaven can't get to me, and I have a feeling Hell can't get to you". Eddie hadn't a clue about Richie's past, but he knew he'd find out sooner or later since they were in this mess together. Two separate sparks that by some miracle collided, creating something amazing.

"So it looks like it's just us..." Eddie's voice drifts off.

"You and me" Richie confirms.

"Us, together" The two smiled at that thought, "Just a couple of monster".

~

Word count: 6119

D A M N

Guys, I'm pretty sure this is the longest chapter/oneshot I've ever written. I had so much fun writing this chapter! Exploring their backgrounds and giving the whole angel x demon thing a go, and I really enjoyed it, I hope you guys did too!

As I said this chapter is based on the song Monster by Dodie. I knew the moment I listened to this song that there was some deeper story behind the lyrics and I needed to bring it to life.

Anyways that's all for me! I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter, and don't forget to like and comment, it shows that you like my work and encourages me to keep writing.

Until next time

so long and goodnight.

[goldeneyedgirl]

Ficathon: Mad World

I’ve spent today on uni work and chipping away on Shadow to Light, so instead of a prompt fic, have a sample of one of my WIPs - this one is Mad World, a fic where Alice is the daughter of Charlie Swan’s estranged sister who goes to live with Bella and Charlie. It was an experiment in gothic horror/romance, tbh.

“If you don't know where you are going any road can take you there.” - Lewis Carroll

When I look up at the sky in Forks, I don’t see clouds. Or I do, but they’re obscured by leaves and branches; the forest stretches above me and it’s nice. Private and safe, even though it makes it feel a lot later and darker than it really is. It’s like we’re in a cocoon, and there’s no one else in the world.

I return to reality as his teeth rasp against my stomach, above my belly button, and I giggle, ticklish. I’m splayed across a rock, and it's scratching my back - my sweater is balled up in the dirt, and my shirt is pushed up above my bra.

My fingers twist in his hair and I smirk as he looks back up at me. Jasper Hale; who I sit next to in History and in Trig. His shirt hangs open, revealing a body that will be taking pride of place in my fantasies.

“You okay?” His voice is low and even, but his eyes are sharp. Dark, and watching me. For a moment, I see calculation and something I should react to. Something dangerous. Like he could kill me right here and now; fuck me and choke me; rip me into wet, meaty pieces; beat my skull into dust with a rock. This boy, this man, is dangerous, and I have invited him to get much, much closer. He could do whatever he wanted to me, and he wouldn’t be the first.

And I don’t care. That darkness, that rage, and potential for violence, I’m not scared of it. I haven’t been for a long time. It’s easier to consent than to resist. And more than that, I like that darkness. I like that sharp edge. And what I know of Jasper Hale, I like.

Whatever I am feeling twists and fades into the steady thrum of lust, of confidence and willingness.

“Absolutely nothing,” I say, and tug his hair to bring his face closer to mine.

And that’s how I spent my third afternoon in Forks; fooling around with Jasper Hale in the woods behind the high school auditorium.

—

It’s a rainy Thursday night when I finally, finally arrive in Forks. And in that moment, it is the most beautiful place on earth - the green of the forest, the grey of the rain, the fresh air. It is Shangri-La on Earth, and I am apart of it.

I left North Carolina on Monday, and since then have taken a bus, a train, another bus, another train, and a third bus. I have layers upon layers of deodorant and grime upon my skin; my phone is dead; my hair is greasy from the endless styling tutorials I looked up to combat boredom, and all I want is something to eat and a shower. Anything that isn’t itchy seats, never-ending road, or snack foods would be heaven upon earth at this moment.  

In truth, I don’t feel human anymore. I feel like a transient spirit, a modern-day gypsy, a lost girl. That for the rest of time, this will be my life - dirt and fuel and waiting for an end that never comes. But somehow, I have made it to Forks; the red ‘x’ on my photocopied map is finally a real place, with buildings and streets and people. Forks isn’t home, but it is the most welcoming sight I have had in years.  

I jump down from the bus; a backpack on my shoulder, a satchel across my chest and a duffle bag in one hand. For all intents and purposes, this is all I own in the world. Twenty-three dollars in my wallet, and my entire life in my bags. I could go anywhere I wanted, except twenty-three dollars won’t take me many places.

No one else on the bus carries as much luggage as I do, and no one is dressed alike either - I changed at the Seattle bus station into my second-to-last clean outfit, to try and make a good impression. Everyone else is wearing a jeans-parka-boots combination, which is probably smart with the horrible weather. Not that I will miss the hideous summers of North Carolina. But I get the sense that this bus is full of locals, who busted happened to be travelling from Port Angeles or Seattle. There’s something about them, like the green of the forest, the dirt and mud of the ground, the rainwater has sunken into their bodies and marked them invisibly as belonging to the town of Forks. I wonder if I’ll be here long enough to be marked too.

The bus station is the smallest I’ve been to on this whirlwind road trip - a tiny convenience store, a spinning rack of postcards, a payphone, and endless wooden benches.

Uncle Charlie is right there, waiting for me - sitting on a bench with a paper cup of coffee. Even if he hadn’t been wearing his uniform, I would have guessed he was my uncle. He doesn’t strictly look like my mother, but there is something in the way they carry themselves, the way that they fill space. I don’t know. I just know that he is definitely Mom’s little brother, one Chief Charlie Swan of Forks, WA.

My new guardian - saviour or gaoler is yet to be determined.

“Uncle Charlie!” I put a big smile on my face and march straight up to him - if life has taught me nothing else, it’s that first impressions count.  And not to piss off the person in charge of your welfare. “I’m Alice.”

Uncle Charlie looked up at me, and for a moment, just stared.

So, my outfit wasn’t the best first impression I could have picked. But it was the only one left that I could wear in public - my beloved, holey galaxy leggings; ancient floral Dr Martens that I had laced with pink ribbons; a giant purple and black sweater, and a black miniskirt. Combined with the pancake make-up I had used to cover up my blotchy-skin and dark under-eye circles, my greasy hair knotted in two buns with my collection of dollar-store butterfly clips, and the fact that I smelt like four days of bus, sweat, and fried food, I definitely looked like the devil child my mother probably portrayed me as.

“Mary Alice!” Uncle Charlie recovered. “How was your trip?” He smiled awkwardly and stood up.

“Long,” I said ruefully. “But I’m here now.”

—

Uncle Charlie tried to make conversation as we drove back to his place, as if a truncated game of ‘Twenty Questions’ could undo the awkwardness of not knowing about each other for seventeen years.

And it wasn’t like I could abridge my messy, ridiculous life story into a fifteen minute car trip, anyway. Or that Charlie Swan could become a beloved uncle between the bus station and his home.

Who was I?

I was Mary-Alice Brandon, eldest daughter of Annette Marie Swan-Ackerman, the only child of the late artist Nicholas Brandon. Resented step-daughter of Stephen Ackerman. A granddaughter and a niece and a half-sister. Former prisoner of a remote reform school. Epileptic. A secret keeper, and an artist.

How could I tell Uncle Charlie all the tiny details that made up me, and the reason I was here with him now?

That my mother is no Swan, but a chameleon, a snake, a cuckoo in the nest?

That the last of my stitches came out last week, but the scars still itch like crazy?

That I used to love gas-station slushies, especially pink ones, until I was twelve? That now I love soda, so cold it makes your brain and teeth hurt, and tastes like static?

And besides, what do I know about Charlie and my cousin? He’s a divorced police chief, and his daughter Isabella is also seventeen years old - five months older than me - and lives with him full-time. She attends the local public high school. That my grandparents are dead, and my ex-aunt has since remarried.

That’s it. That’s all I really know. And I am about to live with them.

If I think about it too much, it just feels like another trap.

—

The Swan house was small, but then, so were all the houses on the street. It was old, too, but I’d always known that was a probability. It didn’t make it easier, though. I’ve never done well in old houses. It needed a few repairs - the paint was peeling off, one of the shutters was hanging at an angle, and the front garden was dirt, grass, moss and ferns. Uncle Charlie struck me as a neat and practical kind of person, so this was surprising. But maybe in the spring, I could coax some kind of garden to life, as a way to say thank-you.

We walked in the backdoor, letting it swing shut behind us with a bang.  Inside, the hallway was narrow and dark, with stairs leading up, and a few aged pieces of art hung on the plaid walls - mostly landscapes, and several of fish that were very good, if hideously ugly.

The first thing my eye caught was the mantlepiece in the sitting room, above the fireplace - a shrine to a teenage girl who bore a startling resemblance to Mom.

“Wow,” I said, moving closer. The eyes, the smile, the brown hair - this had to be my cousin. “Is that Isabella?”

“Yeah, that’s Bells. She’s out with her boyfriend at the moment,” Uncle Charlie said, setting down my duffle bag.

“She looks just like Mom,” I said, amazed. It was uncanny - Bella looked more like Mom’s daughter than I did.

“I guess she does,” Uncle Charlie said. “Bells is much prettier than Annette was at that age - but that’s all Renee.”

Charlie sounded uncomfortable, and I had to admit to myself that I was uncomfortable hearing my mother’s name. Turning away from the photographs, I pasted a smile back on my face.

“Sorry, I’m easily distracted,” I said. “You were going to show me my room?”

“Yeah. It’s not much,” Uncle Charlie began. “It’s pretty small…”

“You’re taking me in. That makes everything else perfect,” I said firmly, grabbing my backpack again. “Lead the way.”

—

Well.

Uncle Charlie had warned me that my bedroom was tiny.

It was more than tiny – more like a large alcove with glass doors. The walls were off-white, and a square window looked over a tiny yard and the forest. A narrow bed was wedged against the wall, made up with a hideous yellow bedspread. A dresser was arranged against the wall between the bed and doors. Opposite the dresser was a tiny desk and chair. Jammed in the gap at the end of the bed, next to the desk, was an old laundry hamper.

I was betting I could touch the window and the door with my arms outstretched.

Luckily I was used to small living spaces. I wasn’t sharing with anyone; that was enough to make up for the fact that this room would have been a better closet. Or window box. Apparently, Uncle Charlie had used it as an office when he needed to bring work home.

I set my bags on the bed. This was going to be my home for the next year and a half. It felt overwhelming all of a sudden, that I would be living with an uncle and cousin I had never even met before. It wasn’t like school, where I had shared a room with seven other girls, and we’d all been strangers.

I could do this.

It was only eighteen months. I had been away at school nearly three times that long, and if I could survive school, I could survive living at Uncle Charlie’s.

I had intended to unpack and settle in before dinner, but in the end, I just changed into some pyjamas, shoved my bags under the bed, and fallen asleep nearly instantly. I didn’t wake up until much later, almost midnight, starving and disorientated. I crept out of my room, making a note to buy some kind of curtains for the glass doors to give myself some privacy.

Uncle Charlie and my cousin were clearly already asleep, so I got myself a glass of water. There was a note scrawled out for me, telling me to help myself to food, and that they’d see me tomorrow. I felt bad for vanishing without spending time with them or even meeting Bella, but there wasn’t much I could do about that now.

The house was quiet in the darkness, but I used my phone to carefully navigate - and look around. The shrine held a wedding photo of a much-younger Charlie, and the woman who was my ex-aunt; a sad memento when I knew that Uncle Charlie had been divorced for quite a long time. An off-brand recliner sat near a small, out-of-date television, the remote on top of a TV guide, with various sports matches circled in pen. Several pairs of shoes sat by the front door - my cousin was clearly a strong supporter of Converse sneakers.

The leftovers in the fridge looked kind of suspect – some luminous mac and cheese, a chicken that was nearly picked clean, and some greasy looking Chinese. I ended up slapping some peanut butter on some bread, and drinking nearly half a carton of milk, before vanishing back into my new ‘bedroom’ for some more sleep.  

Peering out of the uncovered window into the night, I could see beyond the fence line into the black of the forest. The tops of the trees cut the bottom half of the sky off perfectly, like an old-fashioned silhouette. It was strange to imagine my mother living in this kind of town, growing up here. But then, I had a hard time picturing my dad and her being married, too.

Lying back, I stared out at the night sky, the slow movement of clouds over the stars lulling me back to sleep.

[thoseofgreatambition]

get well soon

cha/n: thank you for all the great feedback for my prologue! i'm excited to keep telling this story and watch it grow into something special. it's definitely going to be a fun one. please keep up and keep sending in your thoughts! xoxo --LeeAnn 

prologue | pt 1. {get well soon} 

smoke and roses masterlist

                                  ___________________________________________

You could see Fred out of the corners of your eyes. He stood in your peripheral vision constantly, a somewhat frustrating but reassuring presence. Typically, your vision was either black or hazy, today however it was clear. 

Before, when you came in and weren’t sure what was happening he sat in bed with you and talked you through everything. 

That it’d be alright. 

It wouldn’t hurt.

You could stay or go. 

Things like that. 

However, as time went by he went further and further away. To the edge of your bed. To the chair where George sat. To the edge of the room. Now, you could still see him but he seemed very far away. 

George came in like he always did. About a half hour after the shift changed. It was only recently you’d begun to get well enough to notice these sorts of things, but you noticed them nonetheless. George had become a man of habit. 

Read the newspaper to you. 

Read your letters. 

Fix your hair so it didn’t become matted. 

Tell you about his day.

It had become such a constant that you could tell when the nurses would come in and tip the potions into your mouth by the time he finished reading your letters. 

Today was different. 

He had a quill and a folded up parchment in his shirt pocket. 

And you were growing increasingly certain that today was the day you’d be able to speak, after trying for about a week now. 

                                 ___________________________________________

George told you hello, asked how you were with no expectation of a response, and sat down heavy in his chair. 

He fingered the edges of the Daily Prophet for a moment, about to open it when he actually looked in your eyes. 

There was a sharp gleam in them that he hadn’t seen in almost a year.

“What is it, y/n?”

There was a lot you wanted to say, but couldn’t quite bring yourself to. Your throat felt scabbed over and tight with disuse. 

“George.” 

The name felt foreign in your mouth, the sound grated in your ears. 

You had forgotten your own voice. 

However, George hadn’t. 

It looked like someone had breathed life back into him, his face lit up like a child’s. 

Words escaped him for a moment, before he seemed to bubble over in excitement. 

He shifted quickly to sit at the edge of the bed smiling so hard his eyes burned. 

This was it. 

This was what he wanted. 

This was what he’d hoped for.

Some little bit of normal to come back to him. 

“I missed you.” 

The strain in his voice matched yours when you replied. 

“Missed you too.” 

With those three words George found himself melting into you as he folded you into his arms and pressed a dozen small kisses to your face. Weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, and he wouldn’t deny how lovely to know that you missed him too. 

For a moment George lost all of his sense, nothing else mattered aside from the fact you were giggling underneath his kisses, and you were calling him ‘Georgie’. 

As he came up for a breath, flushed with excitement and giggling along with you the fact that you two weren’t dating hit him like a train. A rather embarrassing one at that. 

You’d known George long enough to know what those bright red ears meant. 

Poor George always did get flustered pretty easy. 

With a cough George straightened himself up, “Sorry-- let me go and find your healer so she can check you out.” Before you could say that it was alright and you quite enjoyed that, George was off leaving you to shoot the door a meaningful look. 

George had come to you every day without fail. He brought you quilts when it was cold, and flowers every few days. 

You knew how he felt, you’d be incredibly thick if you didn’t. 

To his credit though, you could see why he didn’t know how you felt. 

It probably was difficult to read romantic interest from a sweaty, fevering blob of a human. 

By the time the healer had come, you had struggled yourself into a sitting position. Huffing and puffing, covered in a light sheen of sweat, you frowned at the healer as she guided you to lay back down. 

Clearly she didn’t know how hard it was for you to sit up. George hovered by the doorframe for a moment, still red-faced.

“I’ll give you some privacy, Y/N. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Just like that, he was gone. 

With a huff, you stared right up to the ceiling. 

You could still see Fred out of the corner of your eye. 

                                ___________________________________________

There was a long while where you were left in silence, no sound in your room aside from the healers in the hallway, and a faint radio from the room across from you. You’d been propped up with quite a few pillows, and the healer had given you a potion to help ease your throat. 

Talking didn’t hurt so much anymore, but it was still strange, and you were finding yourself already worn out. 

You saw flowers around you, and a neat assortment of get well soon cards on your windowsill. 

George must have done that for you. 

“Sweet man.” 

Your eyes snapped towards the source of the noise and saw Fred Weasley standing before you. 

“The nurse said I’m just seeing you because of the pain potion she gave me.” 

“You could say that.” He gave a cheeky grin, looking so full of life that you truly wondered if he was gone. “Or maybe I’m just checking on you. Thought of that?” 

“Because you thought I’d kick it, huh Weasley?” 

He waltzed over to your bed and plopped down heavily beside you. “You did seem rather close to kicking it, in my defense.” 

You stared him down, studying the goofy grin. There was a lot you wanted to say, a lot you wanted to talk about but at the end of the day this wasn’t really Fred. 

When your eyes began to water Fred gave you a brighter grin. “Don’t cry, Y/N. You’ll get better soon and go home, do a bunch of sappy shit with George and live happily ever after.” 

With a sniff, you frowned at him. “But we miss you.” 

“That’s shouldn’t stop you from doing sappy shit with George.”

“Be serious!” 

“Can’t, I’m Fred.” 

Unable to help it, you let out a short bark of laughter. 

How could  you not? Fred had a habit of making you laugh. 

You watched as he rolled off the bed and stretched, “Do you have to go?” 

“I do, yeah.” 

“I want you to stay.” 

“Sorry there Love, can’t help you with that.” 

His grin looked a little sadder at that. “Take care of Georgie for me, alright? Please.” 

“I will. I promise.” 

Just like that, he was gone.

                               ___________________________________________

In a matter of time that felt like the blink of an eye but also overwhelmingly long, George found himself helping you prepare to leave St. Mungos for the Burrow. 

By help obviously he meant doing most of the work and urging you to sit and rest even after the healer said you were alright. 

With a small smile, you hid the rolling of your eyes and folded up the quilts that he’d brought you. “I can do things, if you haven’t noticed.” 

The look on his face was most comparable to a pout. “I don’t want you to get over-tired is all.” It was hard for him to keep up the pouting look when you let out a laugh. It was too nice that you were actually getting out to be anything close to upset. “I’ll go check and make sure we have all the potions, and then we can go, alright?” 

With a small nod from you, you watched as he walked out before pulling a torn out sheet of parchment from your pocket. You’d found the folded up piece of writing that morning, and could recognize George’s handwriting. 

Curiosity had put it in your pocket. 

You’d never known George to write. 

Finally you had a moment to take a peak. 

Clean air. 

The poison has been sucked out. 

I can breath. 

The sky seems blue again. 

It matches that jumper you knicked. 

An odd feeling,

freedom when I was already free.

Softness when softness had always existed. 

Warmth when I didn’t know I was cold. 

You’re smiling now. 

I can hear your laugh again. 

My own sounds less fragile lately. 

I don’t know what this is, really. 

Healing?

It’s so hard to tell. 

Just like I can’t tell what you know. 

But you’re soft and warm,

the air is clean,

and I feel balanced for the first time in a while. 

I can’t ask for more. 

You could feel your pulse going off in your neck, almost as if your heart had moved up from your chest. Cheeks red, you folded up the paper and tossed it to the corner where George had dropped the bag he’d packed for you before stuffing the quilts in. 

When George came back in, it was almost as if your fingertips were buzzing as he came closer. 

“Healer says we’re all set to go! You ready?” He paused to take in your red face, “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah!” however convincing that sounded you weren’t sure, but George seemed preoccupied enough once he noticed his poem on the floor that he didn’t question that. You watched as he stuffed it into his pocket and hoisted the bag over his shoulder. When he caught you staring at him, his head cocked a bit to the side. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Quickly, you nodded. “I am.” hooking your arm with his free one was a bit of a guilty pleasure, but you shot your best carefree smile at him. “Let’s get going.”

Tag list: taglist: @fainting-fancy @aziraphale–crowley @insearchofnewdreams @stillwater20-blog @siriuslyimmoony @oh-the-snowinthemoonlight @notstandingstill-imlyinginwait @geeksareunique @hermione-who @phantomhive-shadow @blusnowflakee @l-am-tired @carolinesbookworld @imaginethis-st @xinyourdreamsx @wildfire-whizbangs @dwarfwizard-from-panem @doct0rstrange @slytherin2800 @neontiiger @lovelivelovesomemore @diary-of-an-onliner @answer-the-sirens @hasinoreb @1moom-girl1 @nikki5209 @familiarcrow @amortentiaimagines @chocok22 @mrsbluesmize226 @fandom-rpblog @familiarcrow @kimytimeywimey @knreidy1

[ilovemygaydad]

title: until we meet again

pairing: demus (deceit/remus)

summary: a zombie apocalypse isn’t the place to be catching feels. unfortunately, dc is doing exactly that with a mysterious man that he met in an alley.

word count: 4.1k

warnings: remus, deceit, sympathetic deceit, zombie apocalypse, mentions of cuts and bruises, swearing, heated making out sessions, implied nudity, weapons, threats, almost attempted murder, mentions of broken glass, mentions of casual sex, mentions of hickeys, innuendos, fainting (once), mentions of STDs, death mentions, crying, sadness, anxiety, sort of breakups? it really isn’t one but idk, sexual attraction, possibly something else

***this fic obviously has a lot of triggers in it, so if you have any questions or concerns, or if you need a summary of parts with specific triggers, please send me an ask! your safety is my number one priority here, and i would hate for anybody to be engaging in unsafe reading practices!***

a/n: so this is... new for me. i’ve never written this ship or this kind of au, nor have i had deceit be the main character (in a serious manner, at least), and i’ve never attempted remus seriously, either. i hope i didn’t fuck up the descriptions of sexual attraction and making out because idk what i’m doing as a sex repulsed asexual! rip me i guess lol. also shoutout to @adultmorelikeadolt for listening to me ramble about this and proof reading it <3 they’re the real mvp here, so check their stuff out, too!!! also, this got way longer than i thought... whoops?

a/n 2: this is heavily based off of death valley by fall out boy! you can listen to it here

Commission Info

consider buying me a coffee

---

DC breathed a heavy sigh of relief as soon as the beat-up VW bus screeched to a stop inside of the checkpoint station. It had been far too long since the last one, and each mile that ticked off on the odometer made him increasingly anxious. The dense forests of Maine were the perfect hiding spots for zombies or bandits, which Virgil so fantastically liked to point out every time that it got dark. Yet they trudged deeper and deeper into the state, driving towards the safety of Canada.

But finally, they had made it.

Roman threw the bus into park and hopped out of the driver’s seat, and the others piled out of the back right after. The checkpoint station was huge--easily one of the largest in the country--but its size made sense given that it was one of two in the entirety of New England. DC gazed around the part of the checkpoint that he could see, and he was in awe at how normal it looked. Other than the giant fences and sentries, it looked like an average New England town. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have believed that there had never been a zombie outbreak in the first place.

Neat, uniform streets of houses stretched before him with shops-turned-supply-stations interspersed between them. Children were outside playing, and adults were going about their days with only a slightly heightened level of concern. Unlike all of the other stations they’d passed through on their way from Miami, it was clean and calm, and a person didn’t have to worry about being pickpocketed or stabbed on their way back from getting their rations.

The guards advanced on them, and Patton talked to the officers as they searched the bus for illegal contraband. Once the bus was clear, they were ushered into the nearest building--a small, gray brick cube that looked more like a sad excuse for a shed than anything--and were tested for the virus. With the exception of Logan fainting, the group was completely cleared to continue into the checkpoint without issue. A guide was designated to them for their month-long stay both to help them become familiar with the checkpoint and to dissuade any of the residents from becoming hostile towards the newcomers.

They drove fifteen minutes into the checkpoint to the visitor park, which was where they were allowed to park the bus. Although their guide, whose name was Remy, offered them a tour, they politely declined. They had been on the road for nearly six days, only stopping to rest or refuel, which might have been circumnavigated had it not been for the Pittsburgh checkpoint being on lockdown.

Long story short, they were tired and really just needed to sleep.

Well, everyone else needed to sleep. DC was too keyed up from the trip to feel anything other than restless, so as soon as he was sure the others were asleep and that the sun had set, he snuck out of the bus and took to the darkest alleys of the checkpoint. He moved with expert silence through the night. His feet took him far from the bus to a more desolate area. Similarly to a normal city, the checkpoint had a dilapidated section of buildings that the more unfortunate people lived, which seemed proportional to the size of the area. 

It was eerily silent amidst the ruined structures. Aside from the occasional rat skittering across an alley, it was completely, utterly quiet.

Footsteps echoed just behind DC. Those footsteps were not his own.

Lightning fast, DC had his stalker pinned against the crumbling brick wall. He expected a fight back, but the man was merely grinning at him in glee. Electric green eyes stared at him with an unnerving amount of energy.

“The last time someone pinned me against a wall, both parties ended up without clothes on,” the man giggled, leaning his head as far forward as DC’s hold would allow. His mustache twisted along with each movement of his mouth. “I wouldn’t mind if this interaction ended the same way.”

DC decided to ignore that comment. “Why were you following me?”

“‘Cause you’re new! We never get visitors.”

That seemed fair. People tended to stay at their original checkpoints.

“And I think you’re hot.”

“Oh, and that makes stalking me so much better. I’m not disgusted by you right now.”

The man’s odd smile grew. “People usually are, so I’m not surprised.”

DC didn’t even know how to reply. He opened and closed his mouth, scouring his brain for a comeback, when a rogue hand tugged on his belt loop. Before he could even process what was happening, their positions had been reversed. 

Oh, shit.

“You’re so pretty when you’re pretending to be tough!” The man was surprisingly strong, and his hands held DC firmly in place regardless of how much he struggled. “I wonder what it would be like when you’re angry. Just fully animalistic.”

“Fuck you,” DC spat.

“Promise?”

Logan probably would have been worried about how aggressively DC rolled his eyes. “In your dreams.”

“Who says we can’t make dreams a reality?” the man whispered in a voice that sent a chill running through DC’s blood. Was this man seriously flirting with him? Was he seriously flirting back?

“I don’t give myself up so easy to dirty street dwellers.”

The man smirked, and a dark glitter flashed in his eyes. “I put the ‘d’ in dirt, baby. I can show you if you’d like.”

DC was suddenly glad that the scars covering the left half of his face were gnarly enough to distract from any blushing.

“Come on,” the man crooned. “Come with me, and I can show you a good time.”

“No. No, I can’t.” DC rushed, and to his surprise, he was immediately let go.

“Okay.” The man took a step back, allowing DC an escape route.

“Okay?”

The man gestured down the alley, still smiling. “You are free to go. I can’t keep you here.”

“Oh,” DC said. “Okay.”

As DC walked away, the man called, “Good bye!” He pretended that he didn’t hear.

---

For some godforsaken reason, DC found himself sitting on a dumpster in the alley the next day. Being out at night didn’t affect him much as he tended to prefer sleeping during the day, and he had yet to be caught by either guards or the rest of his group. Still, he hadn’t exactly been expecting to want to return to the place where he had met the strange man.

But he had, so there he was, sitting on a dumpster lid and staring up at the sky.

“BOO!” a voice suddenly shouted behind DC, and he barely managed to catch  himself before he could be sent tumbling to the pavement. The same giggling from the night before echoed through the alley as the man skipped around the dumpster, stopping right in front of DC. “Hiya!”

“Hello.”

“I can’t believe you came back! People don’t usually want to be in this area of the checkpoint.”

“Well,” DC said, shrugging. “I’ve been told that I’m very usual.”

The man laughed, setting his elbow on the edge of the dumpster to place his chin in his palm. “You’re so funny!”

“Thanks.” DC tried to imagine what the man had found so funny, but his train of thought was cut short when the man moved again. He crossed his arms on the dumpster edge and rested his chin on DC’s crossed legs, looking up through his thick lashes. It took every ounce of restraint not to make a strangled noise at the very, very intimate position.

“So... Why did you come back?”

There was a second that DC considered lying, but he knew deep down that this man would be able to tell. “You.”

“Oh,” the man said breathily as if all of the air had been knocked out of his lungs.

“Kiss me?”

The tone of the man’s voice (the man--DC didn’t even know his name) turned dark, and he said, “God, yes.”

They moved quickly, and the second that DC’s boots hit the pavement, he was pressed back against the dumpster with a searing kiss. He hadn’t felt such an intense fire under his skin since before the apocalypse--since before he’d sworn off feelings altogether. A sharp flash of teeth ran across his lip before biting down so hard that DC was surprised his skin didn’t break. In retaliation, he thread his fingers in the other man’s hair and tugged, which elicited a surprised moan out of his companion. 

If DC’s skin had been on fire before, he was burning now, and he took advantage of the distraction to deepen the kiss further. Too soon, the other man pulled away, grinning dangerously with shining green eyes. His cheeks held a heavy flush that matched the red swell of his lips. 

“Do you want to take this somewhere more appropriate?” he asked in a husky voice that nearly made DC’s knees give out.

“Please.”

---

DC continued to sneak out to meet up with the strange man. It was fun and extremely enjoyable, so why wouldn’t he go back? He had to spend the month in the checkpoint anyway; it made sense to find something to do (literally) in his free time. Once his time was up, he would leave, and everything would go back to normal.

He could forget any of these meetings ever happened.

He would.

Because they were merely for sex. Nothing else.

They didn’t mean anything.

DC turned his head to look at the man next to him. They still didn’t know each others’ names. They were two strangers who happened to cross paths in a dingy alley. Nothing more than the product of long lines of choices. A high that they just couldn’t get enough of.

The man’s eyes were closed, and his breathing was even and deep. In the moonlight that shined through the broken window, the gray streak in his hair glimmered like a silver lake. The soft part of his lips was starkly juxtaposed with the harsh bruises and scrapes on his skin. If it were any other time, DC would have described him as stunning.

Wait.

...

No.

No. No, He wasn’t thinking like that. Sure, the man was attractive, but that was it. He was a good fuck--a good time during the god damn zombie apocalypse. DC wasn’t some fucking teenage YA protagonist yearning for the pretty bad boy. It wasn’t like he’d fallen in love with this crass, borderline violent stranger.

Holy shit, DC had fallen in love, and he had no idea what to do with himself.

The man’s eyes fluttered open and met his gaze. He yawned and propped himself onto his elbow, grinning his usual Cheshire smile. DC’s heart pounded heavily in his chest.

“Ready for another round?” the man teased as he traced the hickeys on DC’s neck.

“I-I’ve gotta go!” DC scrambled off of the stained mattress, throwing on his clothes with urgency.

“What?”

“I just--I have to go.”

The man couldn’t even get another word in before the door to his room slammed closed.

---

The following three days were spent moping, napping, and pointedly not leaving the bus. Mostly napping. Definitely not moping.

He didn’t want to think about the pretty man from the alley. No part of his mind wanted to be reminded of soft lips and green eyes and burning passion. It was so damn tiring to confront the horrible reality of DC being in love. 

Because this was the apocalypse.

And he was going to leave in a couple of weeks.

The apocalypse was neither the time nor place to grow attached to a man who skulked around in alleys like the rat bastard that he was.

But god, he had fallen hard. DC would close his eyes and see a silver streak and tan, calloused hands and shiny scars. Memories of sharp teeth on sensitive skin mingled with the sensation of hot flashes in his blood, quickening his heart rate as he wished to go back and be held and loved. What deity had he angered in a past life to deserve the burden of emotions? Why couldn’t he have just stayed in the bus on the second day instead of going to the alley? How was he supposed to move on?

A sad, strangled noise escaped his throat as he contemplated his existence.

The back door of the bus swung open, and DC stilled, pretending to be asleep. He was luckily turned away from the door, so his tear-streaked face wasn’t visible to whomever opened the door. They clambered in and shut the door with a heavy thunk. They sat, of course, right behind DC’s back.

“Dee, I know you’re awake,” Virgil said. “I could hear you sobbing from outside.”

“I know what you’re talking about, Virgil. I was crying.”

Virgil huffed out a short laugh. “Wow, double lies. That’s pretty impressive.”

“Don’t go away.”

“Alright. I won’t.”

DC turned to glare at Virgil. There was no reason to hide his obvious crying when Virgil had already called him out on it. “I hate you.”

Virgil smiled sympathetically. “I know, Dee, but you’ve been in this slump for days now. Even Logan is starting to notice that you’re upset. What’s wrong?”

“I just...” he trailed off, trying to think of what he wanted to say. “I met someone.”

“We all have met people in the checkpoint, dude. We don’t know anybody here--oh. Oh, you met someone.” Virgil’s eyes went wide as the realization hit him like a truck. “You fell for them.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter anymore. I ran away.”

“You what?!” Virgil screeched.

“Please, continue acting so incredibly melodramatic. It suits you,” DC grumbled. He rolled his eyes and turned away. 

Virgil scoffed. “I can’t believe how fucking stupid you are! I might as well have a god damn rock for a friend.”

“Your words are so kind.”

“I’m sorry that you threw away your own fucking happiness because you’re afraid of love! You had it, DC. You found someone, and you want to just throw it away!”

DC pulled himself up, throwing a harsh look at Virgil. “We have less than two weeks left in this checkpoint. When that time is up, we will leave, and I will never see him again. Continuing to see him will only bring me more distress, not to mention that I have no idea if he even feels anything for me aside from sexual attraction.”

“Dude, can you shut the fuck up for a second? Seriously, for the past few weeks, you were happier than I’d seen you since well before the apocalypse.” Virgil let out a heavy sigh. “At least apologize. I know you like to keep up your morally-gray schtick, but he deserves to hear why you ran away.”

There were a few seconds of angry silence before DC spat, “I love when you’re right!”

Virgil merely smiled and pat his shoulder, climbing out of the van.

The sun wouldn’t be setting for a few hours, so DC had plenty of time to figure out what the fuck he was supposed to say.

---

It felt like major déjà-vu for DC to be sitting on the same dumpster, hoping that the man would show up. Sure, he could have just traveled to the man’s odd little apartment, but it was far more difficult to make a quick escape from a building than it was an alley. Thus, DC had settled to take his chances of sitting on the dumpster should his partner (fuck buddy? significant other???) be furious. 

Anger was a pretty valid response given the circumstances.

It had been a couple of hours since he’d arrived, and it was a bit chilly. He shivered, pulling his old leather jacket closer around him. His eyes squeezed shut as if he could will away the cold air. Canada’s weather was going to be an absolute bitch if Maine was bordering on unbearable for DC.

“Oh,” a familiar voice exclaimed from in front of the dumpster, and DC’s eyes snapped open. The man had his hands on his hips in a childlike pose, but the glimmer in his eyes bordered on murderous. “Y’know, I was starting to think I’d have to hunt you down myself, but you just waltzed back in like the idiot you are!” He shifted slightly, and the moonlight caught the metal of the knife in his hand.

“Don’t wait!” DC cried when the man lifted his arm in preparation to strike. “I didn’t want to apologize. Please, you don’t have to hear me out!”

“I do? I didn’t realize that I was under the jurisdiction of lying bastards!” The man laughed, but it was dark and lacking any humor.

“I love you,” DC blurted before he could stop himself. He clamped his hands over his mouth in horror.

I love you. The words hung in the air like a child’s mobile. They couldn’t be retracted; they couldn’t be taken back. Each syllable stuck in reality. I love you.

“Oh,” the man said, staring at DC in shock. “You aren’t lying.”

“Yes,” he lied. “I am. I wasn’t scared of my feelings. My friends and I won’t leave in a week and a half, and after that...”

The man let the knife drop to the pavement with a heavy clatter, moving to take DC’s hands. “We’re going to die. It’s just a matter of time before it happens, but what we do with that time is up to us.” He paused, and a wicked smirk twisted his lips. “Who you do is also a choice to make.”

DC choked out a laugh because it was so familiar to hear a stupid innuendo coming from this man’s lips. Love coursed through his veins for all of the stupidest reasons, but it felt so good. Virgil had been right--he was happy. He was purely, simply happy. For once, the apocalypse was on the back of his mind, and he was enjoying existence.

“I won’t have to leave,” he murmured despite himself. “It will last.”

“We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it. Let’s make every second of this next week and a half count, okay?”

Maybe Virgil had been right about DC being an idiot, too, because he nodded and said, “Okay.”

---

There were only twelve hours remaining before DC had to leave the Maine checkpoint station.

There were only twelve hours remaining before DC had to leave the only person that he’d ever truly loved.

They were laying together on the man’s mildly disgusting mattress. The man--yes, he was still known as the man because they decided anonymous identities would be best--was lightly tracing his fingers down the bare skin of DC’s back, which would have been soothing if they hadn’t been acutely aware of the clock running out. 

“You should come with us,” DC whispered. He’d been mulling the idea around in his mind for a while, but he hadn’t known how to bring it up.

“What?”

“Come with us,” he repeated fervently, sitting up. “The rest of the group wouldn’t mind one more person, and we could easily take you across the border.”

“No.”

It was DC’s turn to say, “What?”

“No,” the man sighed as he sat up as well. “I can’t go with you.”

“Why not?!”

“Look around!” He gestured at the debris-filled room. Glass and rock littered most of the floor, and the rest was covered in clothes and containers of food. “I have no worth. I despise using the characteristics of ‘good’ and ‘bad,’ but it isn’t fair to such kind people to have to take on someone like me.”

“They’d be happy to let you tag along--”

“I know, but I have to make it on my own.” His green eyes sparked with determination. “I’ll make it on my own.”

“Will you promise? I don’t care if it’s meaningless, but... it’ll make it easier to leave if I have reassurance that you’ll find me.” DC let his fingers intertwine with the other man’s in an attempt to forget about the pit in his stomach.

“I promise.”

---

One Year Later

Things had finally started settling down for the group. Nearly all of them had been able to secure some sort of job, and they had a roof over their heads that wasn’t attached to a vintage bus. Things were good. DC was happy, healthy, and safe.

A bit lonely, but he still had his friends.

He knew deep down that the man he’d met in Maine wouldn’t make it to Canada. DC had left him with a map marked with where the group was going to end up, but without a mode of transportation, the whispered promises to find each other would stay in the crumbling ruins of an apartment complex. That was okay, even if his heart still held on to the green-eyed stranger like there was a chance of being together.

When he’d eventually told the others of his fling, they’d all been supportive in their own ways. Patton gave him a long hug and whispered gentle reassurances into his ears, and Roman had told him that anything was possible until proven impossible. Logan scolded him about being reckless, claiming that he would have been pissed that DC had survived the apocalypse for so long just to be taken down by potential STDs. Even though Virgil had already known, he still offered a shoulder to cry on. DC would never admit it, but he appreciated how loved he felt.

He shook his head to clear his mind. It was nearly two in the morning; he should’ve been trying to sleep instead of dwelling on the past. Logan always liked to preach about circadian rhythm and all that jazz.

Whatever. DC cut his losses and went to the tiny kitchen, throwing a pot of water on the stove to boil. He took out his mug and a packet of chamomile tea that Patton had stocked for his insomnia as he waited. At least he was trying to coax his body into sleep. Virgil usually just listened to news stations on the radio until the sun rose. Old, paranoid habits died hard, he supposed.

A knock at the door pulled DC out of his thoughts. They never received any visitors, and they definitely were never this late at night. Cautiously, he grabbed the heavy flashlight from its spot next to the hall closet. He prepared to swing at whoever was outside and peered out of the peephole.

Bright green eyes stared back at him, and the flashlight clattered to the ground, barely missing his foot. He flung the door open because there was no way that he was seeing things right, but standing less than a meter away was the man from Maine. DC couldn’t believe his eyes. It couldn’t be real.

“Hey,” the man said as though they had never been apart.

“Holy shit.”

The man giggled, playfully setting his fists on his hips. “I traveled nearly three hundred miles to see you, and this is the greeting I get?”

DC wasn’t able to respond as Roman’s tired voice appeared behind him. “Dee, wha’s goin’ on?”

“Dee? Oh, that’s a cute nickname!” The man turned to Roman and said, “Hi! I’m his boyfriend.”

That sobered DC up fast. “He’s the one from Maine.” My boyfriend.

“Oh! Holy shit!” Roman’s eyes went wide with realization. 

“Roman, this is...?”

“Remus,” the man supplied.

“Roman, this is Remus.” The name felt like gold on his tongue. “Remus, this is my friend, Roman.” 

Roman held out his hand, which Remus shook. “I can’t believe you made it. How’d you even find us?”

“I secretly embedded a tracker in Dee’s skin before he left!” Roman looked horrified, and Remus cackled at the response. “Just kidding! He told me that you were going to Moncton, and I just asked around about a VW bus for a while until I found you.”

“Right...” It seemed that Roman had become thoroughly uncomfortable by Remus’ sense of humor. “I’m gonna go back to bed.” He paused, making direct eye contact with his friend. “And DC? Don’t be loud or whatever.”

“We won’t,” he assured at the same time that Remus said, “No promises!”

As soon as the door to Roman’s room was shut, DC threw himself into Remus’ arms. “You actually did it.”

“I did,” he said. “I promised.”

“I didn’t think you’d actually make it!” DC cried, feeling hot tears brim in his eyes.

“I didn’t either, Dee. I really didn’t.”

“I love you.”

Remus’ fingers tangled in his hair. “I love you, too.”

And maybe DC cried, but that was okay. He had someone to wipe the tears away, now.

now with a part 2 minific