#whoever said hardwood is great has never had hardwood

[fruitless-vain]

Moving a chair to clean the floors and scratching the deepest damn gouge in to the floor about two feet long was the exact aggravated motivation I needed to start demoing the kitchen

Got the cabinet doors removed + disposed of and some of the baseboards pulled. Jacks bringing home some boxes so we can pack up the soon-to-be coffee nook items and start breaking open that wall.

[wandasgf]

SHE'S A GOOD GIRL (and it felt great to be a liar). mdni. 18+.

pairings: ghostface!yelena x fem!reader

synopsis: you really wish you hadn't gone to this party without your girlfriend

warnings: yelena has a dick !, sub!reader, dom!yelena, character death (not reader or yelena), violence, blood, knives, alcohol, threats (r receiving), daddy kink, pet names (princess, pretty girl, sweet thing, etc.), slight breeding, marking, subtle manipulation

wc: 3.8kish

The party was in full swing by the time you’d arrived, your best friend Bucky had insisted on being fashionably late for some reason. Certainly not because he was getting his costume together last minute, he assured you when he said he'd be late picking you up. Usually you’d be seen coming to a party like this with your girlfriend Yelena, but she had said something along the lines of preparing you a surprise when you asked if she’d be attending.

Whatever that meant.

You didn’t realize she hadn’t outright said no, just assumed that’s what she meant by the cryptic response.

But that was hours ago and now Bucky was nowhere to be seen, probably gone off to have some sort of drinking competition with Sam. You groan, not even Carol was here to keep you company, which was strange, she usually would never pass up the opportunity to get under Yelena's skin by spending so much time with you. They were friends, but Carol had always had a slight crush on you, telling you that you picked the wrong blonde. Now that you think of it, you hadn’t heard from her all day… that’s strange.. But you push the feeling down and look around the room to try and find a familiar face. The drink in your cup was bitter and you grimaced as you took a sip, staring at it with contempt as you swirled the amber colored contents inside it around.

It was a few more minutes of looking around for Bucky that you gave up, settling down on the bed in one of the empty bedrooms of whoever’s house this was. Steve’s, you think Bucky had told you? You didn’t know much about the blonde man, but Bucky had seemed actually kind of excited when he told you about it, you couldn’t just tell him you wouldn’t go. You assumed Yelena would come to keep you company as well, but she hadn’t and now you regret agreeing to come at all. You wanted to go home, but you needed Bucky for that and your phone had died earlier in the night. You cursed yourself for not charging it before you left, at least then you could have had Yelena come save you from your boredom.

It was quiet in the room, only the muffled sound of music coming from downstairs accompanied your thoughts. You thought you heard something akin to a scream at one point, but you quickly brushed it off as the alcohol that you were drinking was affecting your mental state. You don’t know how long you sat contentedly on the bed, basking in the moonlight and the serene state of the room, ignoring the party that raged on outside the door.

You jumped when your serenity was interrupted, a thud on the closed door breaking your near silence. You didn’t say anything, waiting for the person on the other side to say something, but when that something never came you curiously walked towards the door. The sight you were greeted with once you opened the door almost had you turning to puke onto the hardwood floors as you staggered backwards into the room.

Bucky. Your best friend Bucky lay massacred on the floor right outside the bedroom door, the thud you heard was his body slamming against it as he sank to the floor. Blood, there’s so much blood. Splattered on the door and on Bucky’s torso, pooling on the floor. You’re panicking, looking around frantically, fumbling to get your phone out of your purse even though it’s dead.

What are you supposed to do? What can you do? Oh god, what if the killer’s still out there. Maybe you should hide? You could hide, that’s a good idea, right?

Your brain is going haywire trying to figure out what you should do, you’d only ever seen these types of things happening in horror movies.

It’s too late, though, your inability to get your feet to move, frozen as you panic, has put you in perfect view of the person walking up the stairs. They’re wearing a mask you recognize, one from the horror movie scream, one of your favorites, and they tilt their head when they look at you through the doorway. If you could see their face, you’d see the fond smile on their face, what a pretty thing you are, practically offering yourself to them like a lamb to a slaughter.

Their all black outfit is splattered with blood, darker and shiny in certain spots than in others. The knife in their hand is menacing and dirtied with the blood of who you can only assume is Bucky, who tried running upstairs to get away, but ended up killing himself in the process, as they slowly start to walk towards you. They’re taunting you, there’s nowhere to run except towards them, the only way back downstairs is behind them and you’re too high up to try and escape through the window. You’re trapped. You’d taken too long.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” The masked person asks, in a voice that you recognize as familiar, but can’t seem to place because of the way the mask muffles it. And, well, it used to be Scream, but now you’re not so sure. You can’t get yourself to speak, the only sound escaping when you try to tell them you’ll call the police is a little squeak, and even then your voice cracks. You knew you shouldn’t have come, you should have stayed home with Yelena, you wished she was here now, her strong arms wrapped around you and keeping you safe.

“Don’t be shy, pretty girl. You can tell me. If you answer correctly I’ll tell you mine.” The person speaks again, they’re much closer now and you take a few steps backwards to try and create more space. The sound of their black combat boots against the hardwood as they keep walking closer makes your heart race. You’re going to die, this is it, you’re going to die here. The way they step over your best friend’s body on the floor, stepping on a cold hand and hearing a sinister crack makes you dry heave, turning like you’re going to puke but nothing comes out.

You’re shaking and you can’t get your heart rate or your breathing to calm down as they step into the room, backing up until you can’t anymore, back pressed up against a wall. You whimper as they invade your personal space, lifting the knife up and using it to tilt your chin and force you to look at them. They’re much taller than you and the mask is more terrifying than you ever remember it being. “It’s a very simple question, doll. There’s no need to be scared, but I do hate to repeat myself. You know that.” The masked intruder lets that last part slip, not that you can tell, you’re too busy shaking and trying not to cry, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “I-I like—” you can’t help but let out a little sob, “Pearl.” It’s a new one, you know, but you wouldn’t dare call scream your favorite movie anymore.

Their breathing is getting ragged, very clearly affected by your frightened state. They’d barely even done anything besides intimidate you and you’re acting like this. They lick their lips and look at you with a predatory gaze that you can’t see. They might have to reveal themselves sooner than they planned, they need to see those teary eyes as they ravish you. You’re lying, they know, and it makes them click their tongue in disappointment. “That’s not true, don’t lie to me. I’d hate for you to end up like poor Bucky over there, he lied to me too and I don’t like liars.” And the sob that racks your body is music to their ears, but they couldn’t have you tiring yourself out from crying so much, could they?

“Shhh, it’s okay, I’d never do that to you, pretty girl.” And the stranger lets the knife go slack in their hand, no longer piercing painfully at the bottom of your chin. They tuck the knife into their back pocket in favor of reaching up to cup your cheek, they know you’d never even attempt to reach for the knife, thumb soothingly rubbing across your soft skin. You know you shouldn’t, you don’t know why you are, but the touch feels so familiar and comforting, warm, that you can’t help but sniffle and lean into it. “There you go, calm down now, I’m not going to do that to you.” Alarm bells should be going off in your head at the familiarity of their voice and touch, the pet names they’re using and their actions.

It makes them smile when their touch calms you down even when you don’t know it’s them, such a loyal little girl. “Now, I’ll repeat myself just this once and you’ll tell the truth, right?” It’s not like you have a choice in the matter, but you nod anyway. “What’s your favorite scary movie?” They ask again, it’s both more menacing and less menacing than the first time they asked, but their hand on your cheek keeps you from working yourself up again. “The o-original Scream.” you sniffle and they wipe at the tears that are still falling down your cheek. “Good girl. That wasn’t so hard was it? I told you it was a simple question.”

You want Yelena, you want to go home. You want to be anywhere but here because you know how this movie goes, they say you won’t end up like Bucky, but you’ve seen this movie more times than you can count. You’re going to die. But maybe… maybe if you do what they want they’ll let you go? It’s a stupid thought to have, but they haven’t hurt you yet and they had plenty of opportunity to.

Their hand trails down to hold your jaw, their thumb grazing over your bottom lip and you whimper, panic surging through your veins. “I-I have a girlfriend!” Oh? How cute, the stranger chuckles, their thumb pulling your bottom lip down and then swiping over it. “Well, she doesn’t seem to be here now, does she? Unless of course she was downstairs… She didn’t happen to be the one with the blonde hair, did she? The strong one? Hm, yes, she fought back.” That elicits a reaction out of you. One they weren't expecting. Your right hand flies up in an attempt to hit them, but lucky for them their reflexes are quicker, catching your wrist just before your palm can make any impact.

You struggle against them now, you can’t believe Yelena was here and you didn’t know, and now she’s dead. Maybe it was someone else, your girlfriend can’t be dead, that’s not right. You can’t function properly without Yelena, this can’t be real, it has to be some sick alcohol induced nightmare. You're trying to fight back with both hands now, your wrists caught in your assailant’s hands before they’re slamming them against the wall and holding you in place. “You need to calm the fuck down, куколка.” Their voice is almost a growl now, low and angry, it makes you freeze. You’re screwed now, you made them angry and now there’s no way you’re making it out of here alive. But their tone is still familiar in a way you can’t place, and the way they called you little doll is almost like—

“One more move and I snap your neck, understand?” Their breathing is heavy now, for reasons other than arousal, it took more effort than they thought to calm you down and they make their intent very clear by letting one of your wrists free to wrap their hand around your throat. You nod furiously, not wanting to push your luck any further. “Now, I’m going to let your other wrist go and you are not going to move it. Do I make myself clear?” They don’t wait for a response before letting go this time, reaching up and grabbing onto the bottom of the mask. Oh God, you’re absolutely going to die now. As soon as you find out who the killer is you’re going to die because there’s no way they’d ever let you live after letting you see them. You squeeze your eyes shut, maybe if you don’t look they’ll put it back on.

You hear them chuckle and you slowly open your eyes again, but all air is knocked out of your lungs when you see who it is. “Hi, princess.” Yelena grins, letting the mask drop to the floor and releasing your throat, “I told you I had a surprise for you, didn’t I?” Well, she did, yes, but never in a million years did you ever think it would be this. Your head hurts with the information you’re taking in. Yelena killed Bucky. Yelena hurt more people downstairs. Yelena was going to hurt you, but most importantly, Yelena was alive. You know you shouldn’t, you know you should be screaming at her and running, but you crash into her and wrap your arms around her.

Your girlfriend coos, wrapping an arm around you and bringing her other up to stroke your hair. “Oh, I must’ve scared you so much, huh? I’m sorry, принцесса (princess), I shouldn’t have made you think I was hurt. That was really mean of me, wasn’t it?” You nod against her chest and she grins. What a silly thing you are, so wrapped around her finger that you’re more concerned with her well being than the murders she’s just committed. It’s endearing. “You really hurt my feelings just now, baby, fighting against me and attacking me like that when I was just having a little fun with you. How come you couldn’t tell it was me, hm?”

Your breath catches in your throat, you hurt Yelena's feelings? You didn’t mean to, you hope she’s not mad at you for it. She’s right, you should’ve been able to tell it was her, so why couldn’t you? You blame it on the alcohol. “ ‘m sorry, ‘Lena.” You mumble, pulling away from her just the littlest bit so you can pout up at her. “I know you are, sweet thing, but you still hurt Daddy’s feelings.” She lets the title slip as she moves her hand from your hair to cup your cheek. When she sees the way you visibly relax, eyes glazed over just the slightest, she knows she has you right where she wants you.

You sniffle and she coos, “But do you know how you could make Daddy feel better?” You perk up and shake your head, waiting for Yelana to tell you. “You could let her fuck that pretty pussy of yours. Would you let her do that?” You think for a second, but then nod, you want Yelena to forgive you, you hate when she’s upset with you, “Yes, Daddy.”

The sight of you all teary eyed and scared had gotten her so worked up, she didn’t know if she even had the patience to let you know who she was before forcing your legs apart, but she would never scare you that much, she had self control. She lets go of you and leans down to press a kiss to your lips, chuckling when you chase her lips with a whine as she pulls away. “Go get on the bed for me, baby.” You’d almost forgotten where you were, in the guest bedroom of some stranger’s house, an actual stranger this time, but you’re all too happy to obey your girlfriend, walking over and crawling into the bed.

Yelena smirks, following you over and pushing you onto your back, spreading your legs and slotting herself between them. Your skirt rides up as a result, and she just flips it all the way up, “Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” She cages you in, forearms resting on either side of your head as she hovers over you. The praise makes you melt, leaning up to capture her lips in another kiss. This one is longer, messier as your lips move against each other and Yelena grinds against you. You moan into her mouth as you feel her bulge pressing against your clothed cunt.

Yelena usually prides herself in her patience, able to work you up until you were a mess underneath her, begging and crying for her to please make you feel good, but tonight she just can’t control herself. You awakened something primal in her when you didn’t so much as bat an eye at her homicide, instead apologizing to her for not realizing who she was. It made her heart beat out of her chest.

She pulls away from your lips to trail kisses across your cheek, down your jaw, and then your neck, remaining there. She reaches one hand behind her to grab the knife from her back pocket, laying it on the bed and then reaching between your bodies to unbutton her pants. You whine and pant as she kisses and sucks at your neck, she’s intent on marking you tonight. Her cock finally springs free from its confines as she gets her pants undone, pulling it out of the boxers she wore. She groans, her pants had become much too tight too quickly.

You arch up into her when she bites down on your neck, groaning as she grinds against you, the tip of her cock catching on your clit when she pulls back only to push forward again. She’s usually so good with making sure you’re nice and ready for her before she fucks you, working you open with her fingers and making sure you’re nice and wet. She reserved fucking into you with no warning for punishments, making you feel the burn as she didn’t allow you to accommodate for the size of her cock, but her patience is just so thin tonight, she can’t help herself. You’d never fault her for that, right?

She reaches blindly for the knife she tossed aside just a few minutes ago, fingers finding the handle and gripping onto it. Your breath catches in your throat when you feel the cold metal of the blade against your thigh, but she shuts you up before you can even speak by leaning back up to capture your lips in a bruising kiss. She bites down on your bottom lip at the same time as she slips the blade under the fabric of your panties and slices upwards, cutting through the tin fabric and doing the same to the other side. You whimper, reaching up to wrap your arms around her neck and tangle in her hair.

She grabs the torn fabric and tears it away from you, tossing it aside along with the knife. When she pulls away from your lips once more, the look she gives you is dangerous and predatory. “You can take it, right? You can take Daddy’s cock like a good girl?” And you gasp as you feel her fingers against your clit, rubbing teasing circles against it. You whine and nod, “Please, Daddy! I can take it, I promise, please!”

All she responds with is a groan, reaching further down to gather your slick on her fingers, teasingly pushing the tips of two fingers into your hole before pulling away again. She strokes herself a few times, her breathing becoming uneven as she coats her cock with your slick before lining her tip up with your entrance. “Good girl, Daddy’s good girl.” She breathes before snapping her hips forward and bottoming out in one fluid motion. The moan she’s rewarded with is music to her ears and she growls, it’s animalistic, the way she feels towards you. Always, but especially right now. Such a good girl for her, all for her and no one else. She’s ruined you for anyone else, all you want is her.

Her pace is unrelenting as she fucks you, bullying your poor cunt and biting bruises into your neck. The way your nails dig into her back only spurs her on further. “That’s it, baby, take it. Take your Daddy’s cock. Gonna fill you up nice and good, gonna make sure you’re only mine.” She’s panting into your neck, her warm breath against your skin and her quiet grunts and groans only proving to drive you even crazier. You’re scratching at her back and practically wailing with how good you feel. It had been a week since Yelena fucked you before today, you’re starting to think maybe she did that on purpose.

She should’ve done this so much sooner, taken you like this after a crime. A reward for her hard work. But it had to be perfect, it had to be the perfect occasion with the perfect set up and the perfect build up of your desperation. It had to be perfect because you were perfect and she only wanted the absolute best for you. Her darling girl.

She reaches between your bodies and lays her hand just above your cunt, her thumb ghosting over right where you need it. All it takes is a cry of ‘Daddy, please!’ for her to begin working at your clit just the way she knows you like. She can tell you’re about to cum, the signs are there, your trembling thighs and your high pitched whines, the way your nails dig into her skin and how you clench around her cock oh so nicely. And she’ll let you, if you ask, but you have to ask because those are the rules.

You know better than to break the rules.

You can’t hold it anymore, no matter how much you want Yelena to keep fucking you, your orgasm is quickly approaching whether you want it to or not. “Daddy! Daddy, please—please, I’m gonna—I need to— Daddy, please I’m gonna cum!” You’re almost sobbing, ready to plead one more time before Yelena speaks up, “Cum for me, принцесса (princess). Cum all over Daddy’s cock like a good girl.”

The sound of your pleasure washing over you, your moans and whimpers as she fucks you through your orgasm, has Yelena pushing over the edge too. Groaning and letting out an uncharacteristically needy whine as she cums, filling you up in a way you weren’t ready for. She was usually careful not to cum inside, says she’d love for you to have her kids, but you’re not ready. She’s breathing deeply to calm herself down as she gives you a minute to catch your breath too.

“Daddy was afraid you’d run away from her, angel, I’m so glad you didn’t make me hurt you.”

[svnflowervol666]

An interview during self-isolation with Zane Lowe (Harry Styles x fem!Reader)

Word Count: 2.2k

Author’s Note: I’ve gotten a ton of asks to the tune of this scenario - about what a quarantine video with Harry and his family would look like. I put as many of them together as I could for you all! Hope you enjoy and it’s not too confusing, as this isn’t my typical writing style, but I tried my best to make it worth your while! Take care and TPWK.

“Harry, can ye’ hear me alright?” Harry heard Zane Lowe’s voice fill his right ear as he readjusted his headphones.

“Yeah, I can hear ya,” he responded, running his fingers through his hair once everything was situated and his laptop was balanced perfectly on his knee.

“I’ve just been video calling and chatting it up with everyone on how they’re navigating the pandemic, so I’m very thankful you’ve agreed to join in.”

“‘S no problem. Thank you f’ having me.”

“Oh!” Zane interjected his own strain of thought, “I see you’ve brought a special guest for us today,” he said when Harry’s screen finally focused and he was able to see everything on Harry’s end.

Harry chuckled, the dimples on either corner of his mouth growing wider at the mention of the sleeping body on his chest that’s got a fuzzy blanket tucked into their sides and draped over Harry’s upper half.

“I have,” Harry agreed, “Though he’s not gonna be worth much. Being a two-year-old is exhausting apparently.”

He gave the toddler a few gentle pats on the back and continued to look at Zane through the webcam.

“This is your son, right?” Zane asked.

“Who? Him?” Harry asked, nodding his head in the direction of his child, “Nah. Found him on the street.”

Both men laughed, but Harry tried to lower his volume as to not wake up his son.

“Well, he looks an awful bit like you t’ be a stray, don’t ye’ think?”

“I suppose the curls are quite convincing, aren’t they?” Harry sighed, playfully rolling his eyes.

“What’s brought your bubs along with you for this interview?”

“Erm,” Harry thought, wondering if he should be talking this much about his personal life but ultimately deciding it wasn’t too invasive, “Y/N’s been pretty tired lately, so I’m just trying to keep him out of her hair so she can rest. He’s going through a phase where he’s very clingy right now so he’d probably be crying f’ me at some point if I left him in his room.”

“Oh, that’s right!” it suddenly dawned on Zane, “You two are expecting again, aren’t you?

“We are,” Harry smiled softly yet proudly into the screen, “‘s kinda scary for us right now, but we’re hoping everything is cleared up before it’s time.”

“Yeah, yeah. I was just about to say right now’s probably not the greatest time to be havin’ a baby.”

“Well, the baby’s not due for a few more months so I think everything’ll be alright, but it’s still just kinda nerve-wracking ye’ know?”

“Absolutely,” Zane added, “This has all got t’ be tough on your guys; having to self-isolate with a toddler plus having one on the way.”

“Ehh, it’s not so bad,” Harry countered, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles as he spoke. “We’ve been spending a lot of time t’gether, which is pretty great. I just got done with all of the album promo, so I’d already been gone for a while. Plus, I was about to leave for tour for like a month so we were kinda sad about having to say goodbye before, but now I don’t have to. We talk to our families a lot and keep in touch with everyone pretty regularly so we don’t feel like we’re going too crazy.”

“Good! That’s good.”

Harry nodded in agreement.

“I was going to ask you about tour actually. You’ve pushed the European leg of your Love on Tour to next year, is that correct?”

“Correct.”

“That must be hard for you, I’m sure. I bet you were so ready to get back on the road and to have it all pulled out from under ye’ was probably not the greatest feeling.”

“I mean, it’s obviously disappointing, but like, in the grand scheme of things, it’s not the most important thing in the world. But I think everyone kinda understands that there’s not anything you can do about it and ye’ have to do what you can to keep everyone safe, ya know?”

“For sure,” Zane nodded, readjusting the hat on his head.

“Plus, it gives you time to practice doesn’t it?”

Harry’s belly shook as he laughed softly.

“Definitely gives us plenty of time to be prepar-”

Harry stopped in his tracks and looked down at his son who was still napping away, lifting his hand up from where it had been rested on his tiny bum.

“Everything alright?” Zane asked Harry after he was still quiet for a few seconds and his eyes were as wide as saucers.

“Uhh, yeah,” Harry stuttered as a noticeable heat climbed to his cheeks, “Think m’ son’s just farted on me in his sleep.”

This made Zane laugh even harder than he had before, clutching his chest while Harry remained embarrassed that his son had just passed gas on him during his first interview.

The commotion seemed to stir Harry’s son from his sleep. His pudgy legs began to stretch against Harry’s chest and his balled-up fists reached up to rub at his closed eyes. Harry seemed to sense some trepidation, like his son was going to start fussing at any given moment, so he quickly began bouncing his small body against his knee to soothe him and shushed him quietly in his ear. Zane didn’t draw much attention to it, but he couldn’t help but swoon over how easily Harry’s son settled back down.

Harry whispered, “’s alright, bubby. You’re alright,” before kissing the top of his curls gently, no doubt making the viewers lose their minds at home with how gentle he was being towards his boy.

“So your boy farts himself awake, huh?” Zane joked.

“Wouldn’t be the first time. He’s an absolute mess,” Harry added.

“Does he take after you or Y/N?”

Clearly, neither of them were interested in talking about music or tour anymore. Harry’s son had stolen the show, and he wasn’t even conscious.

“A little bit of both I’d say. He’s extremely kind and caring like Y/N, but loves to mess around like me. Can’t really say he got any of Y/N’s looks, though.”

“Absolutely not,” Zane chuckled into his mic, “That one’s all you.”

Harry laughed again, rubbing the tip of his nose with the palm of his hand out of habit.

“Is he excited to be a big brother?”

“Ehh, I think he kinda gets the idea, but not really,” Harry tilted his hand back and forth to symbolize the fact that his toddler could just barely come to grips with there being another baby in his mum’s belly.

“He knows there’s ‘something in mummy’s tummy,’“ Harry noted using air quotes, “And he like, gives Y/N’s stomach kisses all of the time because we tell him to and he sees me do it, but I don’t really think he’s come to grips with it.”

“Well, that makes sense,” Zane responded, “He’s only two.”

“Right, right,” Harry agreed, “But he’s, like, super cuddly and loves his stuffed animals and stuff, so I don’t think he’s gonna have a hard time at all really.”

Just when Zane was going to try to get back on topic with his prepared list of questions he had written up for Harry that didn’t involve his son, there was a commotion on Harry’s end that occurred somewhere beyond the view of the camera.

It was the sound of a door shutting a feet padding against hardwood steps.

“Harry!” a voice called out.

“Have you seen my laptop charger? I’m trying to FaceTime Gem- Oh,” the voice stopped.

“Sorry, baby,” Harry spoke above the laptop screen to whoever had just walked into the room, “Couldn’t find mine and I had t’ talk t’ Zane.”

“Which Zane?”

“Is that Y/N I hear?” Zane asked Harry.

Harry laughed at his wife’s words, quickly specifying that it was Zane Lowe and not his former bandmate.

“Yes, it is Y/N. She’s awoken from her beauty sleep it appears.”

The camera wasn’t able to pick up the way Y/N rolled her eyes at Harry.

“Gimme one of those,” Y/N demanded, holding her hand out for the other earbud that Harry wasn’t wearing so she could join in on his conversation with Zane.

Harry swung the free earbud around his chest with his free hand as to not disturb their son, smiling smugly at his wife while she settled onto the sofa next to him and cuddled into his side.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Zane greeted her.

“Hello, handsome,” Y/N responded, “How come you never call to talk to me anymore? Why do you only care about this nobhead?”

She playfully shoved Harry’s shoulder, but not hard enough to actually knock him sideways.

“He does have the number one album in the country right now. Kinda makes sense to check in on him now, dunnit?”

“And I’m his baby mama, so where’s my praise for carrying his little spawns?”

“You truly are a saint for tha’ one. I won’t lie.”

Harry feigned offense but failed to hide the smile that tugged on the corners of his lips.

“I’m sitting right here!” he scoffed.

“We know, love,” Y/N cooed him as she looked over at him and brushed his curls that had fallen onto his forehead back into his mess of hair. 

“How are you doing, though, Y/N? We talked a bit about you while you were away. Harry said you’re strugglin’ a bit?”

“Umm, I mean, it’s just normal pregnancy stuff,” she dismissed his qualms as she absentmindedly stroked her protruding belly that was just barely in the frame, “I’m at the point where everything hurts all of the time and everything Harry does annoys the piss out of me, but other than that I’m pretty much normal.”

“Goodness. He didn’t tell me that part,” Zane chuckled, “Please elaborate.”

“Okay, well first of all-,” Y/N started.

“Why are you acting like you were just waiting f’ someone to ask you that question?” Harry forced through laughter.

“Because I’ve got a lot to say!” she exclaimed.

“You don’t pick up your dirty clothes, you leave your tea mugs all around the house, and you and your son eat all of my bread!”

“I do not eat all of the bread!” Harry started to playfully argue with his wife.

“I caught you sneaking into the pantry at midnight eating bread right out of the bag, Harold.”

“Well, what were you doin’ awake in the kitchen at midnight anyway, hmm?”

“I’m pregnant. I’m allowed to be hungry every twenty minutes. You’ve got no excuse.”

Harry sighed in defeat, meanwhile, Zane sat back and enjoyed listening to the two of them bickering like children. 

“Sounds like the quarantine might getting t’ the both of you, huh?”

“Oh, no,” Y/N dismissed Zane, “We’re always like this.”

Just then, Harry felt the weight distribution on his chest shift, and saw a pair of emerald green eyes identical to his open and look back and forth between him and Y/N. His pudgy cheeks were flushed a warm, crimson color and the t-shirt he had taken a nap in was tugged over to the side from how well he had slept.

“Well, hello there, bubby. Nice of you t’ join us,” Harry spoke calmly to his son that was in the middle of waking up, gently brushing his fingers along the side of his face.

“Dear god. He looks just like you, Harry,” Zane said in disbelief.

This made Harry blush and hide his face in his son’s plush blanket, and Y/N looked lovingly down at her two boys.

“I know he does,” Harry confirmed, “Poor thing.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at Harry’s comment. As if that was meant to be an insult.

“Hung-y,” the three of them heard the toddler mumble.

“What’s that, lovie?” Y/N perked up.

“I hung-y” he repeated, his arms outstretched for his mother to which she happily accepted.

The boy crawled right over Harry towards Y/N, his foot sinking deep into Harry’s gut and making him grunt in reaction. 

“You’re hungry?” Y/N asked, “You want some lunch, bubs?”

He nodded into Y/N’s shoulder where he had tucked himself away, clearly still in the mood to be loved on and cuddled.

“Well, let’s go make you something to eat then. What do you want? A banana?”

“Bread!” cheered the two-year-old, which earned a laugh from everyone in the room and an eye-roll from Y/N.

“Of course, you want bread. Wouldn’t expect anything less from your father’s child.”

“Why are you bullying me?” Harry fired back.

“Because you’re eating all of my damn bread!” Y/N yelled before scooping their son up from the couch and teetering out of frame into the kitchen.

“Alright,” started Zane, “Seems like it’s time for me to leave you three alone. Thanks for stopping in t’ chat.”

Harry chortled, readjusting his headphone one last time to sign off.

“Thanks again f’ havin’ me. Sorry my family crashed your interview.”

“It’s no bother at all, mate. ‘S actually quite refreshing seeing ye’ like this. I’m sure everyone watching would agree. Reminds us all that you’re human and not some robot with perfect hair and the voice of an angel.”

Harry hid his face in his hands, blushing for what felt like the thousandth time during this video call. 

“I hope you lot continue to stay safe and healthy through all of this.”

“Thank you so much. You as well,” Harry added.

“Of course. Tell Y/N I’ll ring her up soon.”

“Will do,” Harry nodded, “If she doesn’t kill me f’ asking her t’ make me some toast first.”

[hockeywhhores]

outlaw- m. tkachuk

Matthew Tkachuk x f!Reader

warnings~ swearing, miscommunications, alcohol consumption 

summary~ The wags don’t really like you, what happens when they decide to stir shit up? 

genre~ pre-established relationship, angst 

word count~ 3K

Valentine’s week masterlist

main masterlist 

remember that this is all fiction! I don’t think any of them would actually act like this! 

Matthew knew of the reputation that preceded him. His nickname was Chucky, for god’s sake. Having such an evil reputation never bugged him off the ice until he met you. You never made him feel bad for the way he acted, in fact you were always defending him. Social media was not kind to him, and when you started dating him, social media also turned on you. Nasty tweets were always being thrown your way, but you just let it all roll off your shoulders. Your stubbornness always drew in Matthew. He loved how you didn’t take shit from anyone. Yet it messed with him, because he knew you were only taking all this shit because of him.

“Babe, I’m done getting ready!” you hollered from down the hall. Effectively pulling Matthew from his thoughts while he was semi-watching some sports channel. He heard your heels on the hardwood floor first, then he saw the mini sparkly black dress you were wearing. The dress was something you bought a couple months ago, but it still took his breath away whenever he saw it. It hugged you in all the right places, and the neckline plunged perfectly, catching the roundness of your boobs. “Close your mouth or you’ll catch flies.” He gaped at you like a fish, and you just laughed.

“You look gorgeous.” Matthew finally found words, but still didn’t think they were strong enough.

“You look handsome as always.” you smirked back, looking him up and down. Matthew was wearing a black t-shirt that captured how big his arm muscles were. His jeans also made his ass look great.

“How did I ever get you?” he rhetorically asked. You just shrugged and then grabbed his hand, dragging him out of the house. He locked the door, and you went down the elevator and to his car. The drive was perfectly fine with the radio station playing all the right songs with little ads.

The flames had their longest rest period of the season, so a lot of the guys were out tonight with their wives. You talked with one wife, before making your way to the actual bar. Matthew had made it up there before you and had already ordered. They served your drinks to you quickly. Then you dragged Matthew to the dance floor. You were moving your body against his, and just having a good time. Dancing like that for a couple more songs before you had to go to the bathroom. You tried to make your trip to the bathroom quick, but slowed when you heard some wag. The voice sounded like Katie’s, talking about you and Matthew. You kept hidden in the stall, trying to hear everything before you showed yourself.

“I don’t get what they see in each other.” Katie’s high-pitched voice was bouncing off the walls. “I mean, she looks like a slut, and he has some major anger issues.”

“I know right, did you see the dress she was wearing?” the second voice sounded like Jessica’s. “And how she was dancing on him. Doesn’t she know he is just going to leave her? I bet they will only last one more month, and then they are done.”

“With his track record, give it another week and he will be onto the next girl that will spread her legs for him.” Katie’s voice sounded off. You were sick of hearing what they were saying and showed yourself. You stepped out of the stall, and their heads snapped in your direction. You just smiled too sweetly and went to wash your hands.

“I would suggest you make sure you’re alone before you talk shit about other people.” You happily informed them.

“Why should we? You know we’re right. You just can’t admit to yourself. Matthew will never change his fuckboy ways for a girl like you.” Jessica was the brave one and spoke on her and Katie’s behalf.

“I’m not trying to change him, because he doesn’t need changed. So I suggest you shut your mouths, or at least know what you are talking about before speaking.” you walked out before they could say anything else. You went back over to Matthew, who was now sitting at the table talking with his teammates. You waved at him, and whoever he was talking to, then went to the bar to get something stronger. The bartender served you the shots you ordered, and then you went to go sit with Matthew. You would not let them ruin your night. Johnny talked with you, while Matthew continued his conversations with Mark.

“This season is getting crazy! It feels as if we have no rest time.” Johnny confessed to you. You nodded your head in agreement.

“It feels like that, because it is. You get like half a night to rest, before another practice or game.” you agreed with him.

“Hey, Isn’t that Chucky’s ex?” You heard Katie asked. You didn’t even realize that she was back at the table. Nevertheless, Matthew’s ex, Kelcie, was at the bar talking with the bartender. With her showing up and the conversation you had with them in the bathroom, you suspected them of inviting her. Matthew’s head snapped towards the bar, and you felt yourself stiffen. You had no hard feelings towards Kelcie. She was actually really nice to you whenever you had previously talked.  

“Let's invite her over.” you suggested. Matthew was the one to stiffen at your suggestion. “Hey! Kelcie! Come sit with us!” you hollered at her. She heard you and came over. “How are you?” you asked in a sickly sweet tone. Patting the chair next to you, showing for her to sit down.

“I’ve been doing well. How is everyone else? The season looked good, but I bet you are all ready for the offseason.” Kelcie politely sat down.

“I’ve heard you kept busy, Kelcie.” Katie was the one to speak up in the awkwardness. “Does last Saturday ring a bell?”

“No. Last Saturday didn't ring a bell.” Kelcie looked genuinely confused.

“I heard you and Matthew had a nice dinner together.” Katie insisted. You felt Matthew to go stiff as a board, and you knew it was true. You quirked up your eyebrow, showing your interest in the conversation.

“We just had dinner and a glass of wine.” Kelcie quickly threw out. You looked back at Matthew sitting on your other side. He was already looking at you with guilty eyes.

“If you say it was just dinner, I believe you.” you concluded. “Sorry Katie, if you want me gone, you are going to have to try a lot harder.” If it was just dinner, then Matthew wouldn’t have lied about who he was having dinner with, but you would not let Katie win.

“I think we better get going, y/n” Matthew grabbed the back of your arm, pulling you out of your seat.

“Bye everyone! Kelcie, we need to grab some lunch soon!” You shouted out before Matthew could get you far enough away. “Why are we leaving, Chucky?” you asked, your voice as sharp as a knife. He just led you to the car. “If it was just dinner you didn’t have to lie to me.” you mumbled out.

Matthew was silent throughout the entire drive. The radio wasn’t even playing, and you were getting increasingly more worried. Why wasn’t he answering you? You were never so happy to see his apartment complex. No one said anything until you made it inside his apartment.

“Matthew, you have to fucking talk to me.” you finally got out. He now has no reason not to talk. “I thought you were going to stop fucking around. Please tell me you have.” you pleaded with him, tearing welling up in your eyes.

“I stopped fucking around.” Matthew finally answered you. “I can’t tell you why I was going to dinner with her right now. I just need your trust.”

“You need my trust? You do not have the most trustworthy reputation. Why can’t you just tell me?” you were now letting the tears fully fall.

“I just can’t tell you right now.” Matthew signed out.

“I think I need to be alone tonight.” you sadly huffed out.

“Please don’t leave. I just need some time.” Matthew now was the one pleading with you.

“I just need some time, Matthew. I need tonight to myself. Now I am going to take an Uber, and you will not show up at my apartment, until I can get my head together.” you explained. “I was happily proving all the wags wrong, and then you throw this shit at me.” Matthew nodded in understanding, and you got the notification the car you ordered was ready out front. You left with a ‘see you later.’ Not being in the talking mood and your driver understanding that, you kept to just listening to the radio.

You were exhausted when you opened the door to your apartment. It was cold inside and felt slightly foreign. You hadn’t been there in at least a week, choosing to just stay at Matthew’s. Quickly getting ready for bed, you didn’t waste any time getting into your queen sized bed. You didn’t sleep well at all. You missed Matthew’s cuddles and getting warm from his body heat. You even missed having something to wake up to, besides an empty bed. Tossing and turning you decided you should check your phone since putting it on do not disturb. You had a couple social media notifications, and some text from Johnny, Mark, and even Kelcie.

“It really was just dinner.” Kelcie had texted you.

“Matthew loves you, he is always telling us so. Please, just trust him.” Mark’s message read.

“I don’t know what the fuck happened tonight, but I am so sorry for the way the girls treated you. Matthew loves you. Just hear him out.” Johnny’s message was the last one you read.

Bursting out in tears, you couldn’t believe what happened tonight. You did nothing wrong to the wives. Why did they hate you? You ended up crying yourself to sleep and woke up way past noon. The sun was already set high in the sky, and you have to force yourself out of your bed. Making yourself ‘breakfast’ and turning on the TV. You were skipping through channels, stopping when you saw Matthew doing a pre-game interview on Sportsnet. The Flames had an early, one time game against the Oilers, and then they were off to Montréal to play the Canadians. You honestly didn’t know if you were going to talk to him before he left.

Deciding to go against your brain, you sent him a quick ‘good luck’ text before shutting your phone back off. You had some work to do, and just let the game go on in the background. Cleaning your kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom, before working on some spreadsheets you had taken home from work. You didn’t check your phone for the rest of the day, staying busy with work. The Flames ended up winning, and you got the horn sound through your TV. You still smiled when the camera zoomed into Matthew hugging his teammates.

When you turned your phone on the following day, you went out of your way to avoid all text messages from anyone that was associated with the Flames or Matthew. You just wanted to get through work and come home to have a bubble bath with some wine. And you did just that. You tried not to take too many breaks at work, because when you did all you could think about was Matthew. When you made it home and got into that bubble bath you’ve been dreaming of all day, you couldn’t help and think about how Matthew would hold you as you both bathed together. You pushed all those thoughts away, and slipped into the bath, letting the warmth of the water comfort you. You went to bed early and only ever looked at your messages when you needed to text one of your coworkers.

The next day was like Groundhog Day, where Billy Murray’s days repeated. You felt like a zombie. Work went as normal and you even got done early and could head back to your apartment an hour early. This was the last series of hockey games for the season. The Flames weren’t going into the offseason, but you were still proud of Matthew, anyway. You quickly texted Matthew a quick ‘good luck.’ He always said that was his good luck charm. Saying that he just plays better after getting that text. And who were you to mess up his game? You didn’t read any of the text he had sent you and watched the pre-game interviews. You weren’t paying too much attention until Matthew’s voice came out of your speakers.

“We have Matthew Tkachuk with us!” the reporter excitedly cheered out. “How are you doing, Matthew?”

“I’m doing fine, how about you guys?” Matthew answered back.

“We are doing alright! What are you doing to get ready for this game?” the reporter was just asking him generic questions.

“Well, I’m just doing everything I usually do.” Matthew seemed a little uninterested, but kept the interview going.

“Do you have anything planned for the offseason?” This question sparked your interest.

“Yeah, I hope to be spending it with my beautiful girlfriend.” Matthew conceded. The interview was over quickly, and you couldn’t stop thinking about Matthew. You did really miss him. The Flames schedule was two games back to back, a rest day, and then the last game. Matthew had told you before that they were planning on flying home right after the last game.

The days were separated by how you spent your night. One night you went out to dinner with a coworker, another night you spent going to the movies alone, and the other two were spent trying new dinners recipes. When you tried the new red pepper pasta dish, you caught yourself thinking about how Matthew would like it, and how you should make it for him sometime. After you couldn’t get him off your mind, you spent the night crying about how much you missed Matthew. Without thinking, you checked the messages Matthew had previously sent you:

I love you.

Please don’t leave me.

Would you be willing to meet with me at my apartment tomorrow night? I have something I need to confess.

Nothing bad, I promise.

I really love you.

My mom misses you, and I do too.

You chuckled a bit at the last text. Before you could chicken out, you texted Matthew saying that you would go to his apartment after work. He answered back quickly, saying how he missed you and couldn’t wait to come clean. You didn’t sleep too well that night. Your brain was just stuck thinking about what Matthew could have to tell you.

The morning came too soon, and so did your alarm. You thought about calling in sick, but thought better of it. The morning was the same as any other, and you went to your plain-old job. Today your boss swamped you with work, meaning you would have to work a little later than you had planned. You rushed over to Matthew’s after you finished your last spreadsheet. You were definitely driving over the speed limit in some zones, but you just wanted to get to Matthew’s apartment. When you came to his door, you didn’t know if to knock or not. You haven’t knocked on his door in what felt like forever. You thought it would be better to knock, and Matthew opened the door in record time. “Sorry I got caught up at work.”

“No, you're right in time. I just finished making some dinner.” Matthew waved you off.

“You made dinner? Oh, no.” you chirped him, and he laughed. It felt good to hear him laugh.

Dinner was fantastic. He made chicken with some vegetables on the side. Conversation was easy between you guys; it always has been. Matthew told you stories of what happened during the road trip, and you told him what you have been up to.

After eating, Matthew became really serious. “Give me a minute, and I’ll explain everything.” After that, he left the dining room and went to his bedroom. You had moved into the living room and waited patiently for him to come back. When he did, he asked you to turn around, and you followed his directions. “Turn around.” he whispered.

Matthew was on one knee, with a ring box open in his hands, “Will you marry me?”

“I need some answers before I can give you an answer.” you admitted.

“I’ll tell you everything.” Matthew begged.

“Why did you lie about having dinner with Kelcie?” you questioned

“She was helping me plan a more romantic proposal, but I kinda ruined the plan.” Matthew explained. “Nothing ever happened between us. I lied because I didn’t want you to ask why I was going to see her. I just wanted things to be perfect.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?” you asked.

“I wanted to wait until after the season where we could have some time to ourselves.” he explained.

“Ask me again.” you demanded.

“Ask you what?”

“Ask me to marry you again, Doofus.” you chuckled.

“Oh, um. Will you marry me y/n?” Matthew questioned nervously.

“Yes!” you gladly said. Matthew sprung up and slid the diamond ring on to your finger. You kissed him passionately.

“You don’t know how excited my mom is going to be.” Matthew sighed. “She loves you. I think she almost flew out, when I told her what I did.” You just chuckled.

“I love you, Matthew, but never fucking do that to me again.” you said.

“I promise to never do that to you again. You stole my heart, future Mrs. Tkachuk.” Matthew whispered in your ear. The night turned out better than you expected. You couldn’t be more excited to show your ring to everyone, knowing the love of your life was right there beside you.

finished

[queenmuzz]

So, anyways, I saw something @liulyam had posted for Spardaverse a while back I DON'T KNOW HOW I MISSED THEIR WONDERFUL ART FORGIVE ME! Anyways, I saw specifically THIS piece of art, and it sent the brain juices into overdrive....

So, the same thing plays out everyday. Nero gets off the school bus and runs in, backpack flying, and tells his uncle excitedly about his day at school, before racing up the stairs to tell his dad the same thing, in the same adorably animated manner. Unfortunately, Vergil doesn’t respond the same way as Dante, sitting still, not even acknowledging that the boy is talking to him. Initially, Nero doesn���t mind, understanding his recently rescued father has been through a lot, and needs time and patience to recover. But as the months pass by, Dante notices that his nephew doesn’t run up the front steps as eagerly, his descriptions of school become shorter, paler. And most worryingly of all, Nero spends less and less time with Vergil, preferring to peek his head in the man’s room, sigh, and slowly make his way to his own room, closing the door sullenly.

“What’s going on Nero?” Dante takes the plunge and asks him one day, before the boy trudges up the stairs. “You haven’t been that rambunctious ball of energy lately.”

Nero kicks the worn hardwood floor. “It’s dad… I know you told me I need to be patient,” his face scrunches up at the word, it’s a thing he’s never been able to truly do. He’s definitely a Sparda boy. “But he just keeps ignoring me. He won’t talk, won’t even look at me. It’s like I don’t even exist! Maybe...maybe he doesn’t want me to exist-”

“Hey now!” Dante needs to nip this train of thought in the bud. He knows first hand where it can lead to. Had he not found Nero nearly nine years ago, while wandering the world, drinking up every bar’s entire inventory in a vain attempt to fill a void in his chest, who knows where he would have ended up? “Your dad...well, even without the stuff he’s been through, he was never much of a talker. Always preferred to have his actions speak for him.” “But that’s the thing, Uncle Dante!” Nero blurts out, close to tears. “He DOESN’T DO ANYTHING!!! He doesn’t care!” And with that, Nero bolts up the stairs, past Vergil’s room, not even checking up on him, and slams his bedroom door with such force, Eva’s portrait wobbles on the desk and tips over. Dante sighs, sets his mom back up, and slowly makes his way up the stairs. Not to Nero’s room; Dante knows better than to provoke that tiger cub when he’s in an ornery mood. It’s time to talk to his dad.

Vergil, or what’s left of him, is sitting in an oversized chair, the only one that fits his giant frame, facing the window, the only one in the place with a view. If he’s heard the ruckus (and Dante knows he has), he makes no indication that it affects him.

“Verg,” he calls out, “I know it's been rough, I know I piled on a lot of shit on you, the whole thing about having a kid and everything these past nine years. I’m not expecting you to just snap back to normal, and start insulting me like in the good old days, but…” Dante’s not good at this sort of thing. He’d rather Royal Guard his emotional turmoil. It used to be with alcohol, but now it’s with a cheery smile. “The kid needs a sign that you’re still there, you’re still fighting. I know you are, hell, you’re the one that helped me take down that bastard Mundus on Mallet Island. But that’s the thing, Nero’s only heard things that you’ve done, not seen them. You need to show him yourself, otherwise…” Vergil makes no motion, and even Dante, stubborn as he is, knows it’s fruitless to continue much more, “you’re gonna lose him too.” And then Dante heads back downstairs, to see if he can whip up a snack to bribe his nephew to come out of his lair. Strange, he swears he hears the rustle of fabric from Vergil’s room, as if his brother had just moved.

--

Nero sits at Dante’s desk, working on his math homework. It’s his least favourite thing, fractions. Uncle Dante is a whiz at them, and usually would be able to help him, but he’s gone out on an ‘Really quick, won’t be more than a half hour’ errand run. It’s been nearly two hours, and the only other adult here is his dad… so Nero is practically by himself.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of Nero’s neck prick up, and he hears scrabbling at the front door. He’s still not allowed to go out with Uncle Dante or Auntie Lady on their hunts, but he knows what a demon feels like, especially when there are a lot of them. ESPECIALLY when they’re really powerful Instinctively, he grabs a chair, and wedges it underneath the door knob, and looks around in a panic. He’s never had to deal with a demon attack by himself before. He remembers his uncle has a case of weapons that he was told to NEVER touch beside the jukebox, but Nero figures that he can say sorry to his uncle later. He smashes the lock with a billiard ball, and yanks open the lid. He’s disappointed. He thought there would be a treasure trove of swords and guns, but all there are two swords, one red and one blue. But he doesn’t have much of a choice, and the whine of protesting wood ends with a thunderous CRASH, and demons pour through. “FIND THE HERETIC GOD SLAYER!” One says, before turning in Nero’s direction. Without much warning, it shrieks as it launches at him with razor sharp obsidian claws.

Nero might be little, but his uncle has trained him well. Whipping the two blades around, they connect the monster’s waist in a pincer move, and like a pair of scissors, bisect it in a shower of blood and ash. Nero swears he hears a voice (or is it two voices?) approvingly say, “Impressive!” but doesn’t have a chance to savour his very first demon kill as another demon comes at him, knocking him over. The reddish gold blade clatters away on the floor, way out of reach, not that it matters. Nero’s pinned to the ground by a skeletal foot, as the demon lifts a blade to impale him. He squeezes his eyes shut, preparing for the end.

The final blow never comes. Instead, he hears shriek, and the pressure on his chest instantly subsides. He opens his eyes, to see it stagger back, its decapitated head clattering to the floor. Its brethren likewise are either dead or dying, their high pitched screams shattering the glass in the jukebox.

Nero’s first thought is that his Uncle has finally come home, Dante’s come to save me! But what’s odd is that there’s no sound of Dante’s beloved Ebony and Ivory. And last he checked, his uncle never was able to shoot out blue ghostly blades that now impale most of the horde. But it doesn’t matter, because his uncle is here to save the day! That is, until he yelps as he’s quickly, but not roughly picked up and held as whoever holds him spirits him out of the building, the blue blade still clutched in his hand. Nero begins to panic, but hears a voice, almost like a croak, as if the vocal cords had been in disuse for years…

Nero

And even though the voice is harsh sounding, it's one of the most comforting things Nero’s ever heard.

--

Of course that half hour errand run would turn out to be three hours. But when he was promised a free pizza for clearing out that demon nest on the West side, Dante couldn’t say no. Besides, he’d pick up some freshly baked chocolate chip cookies on the way home as a way of apologising to Nero. The kid might be cross with him, but he’d forgive him the moment he smelled those chewy biscuits. Dante might even let him have more than half of the package.

So when he gets home to find his front door smashed open, his office trashed, and worst of all his jukebox shattered-wait no, worst of all, his nephew missing, all thoughts of pizza and cookies vanish from his mind as he rushes in, guns drawn. There’s no sign of life, but the black splatters of demonic ichor painting the walls shows that some real bad mojo went down here. The strangest thing though, is Agni, a weapon Dante was definitely sure he had under lock and key, laying there on the ground, alone.

“Alright, time to spill your guts” he yanks the blade up so that he’s at eye level with the pommel, “What the hell happened here?” Agni makes the same response as Vergil. Which means silence.

“I swear to…” he pulls out ivory, and presses the muzzle into the (more troubled than usual looking face), “You’re gonna tell me what went down, or we’re gonna see how many bullets I can jam into your ugly mug.” “You told us to remain silent.” He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, consider that rule temporarily relaxed.” “There was an attack.” Agni starts, its distorted voice unusually agitated, “The little one fought with great valour, but eventually even he was overwhelmed.” Dante’s blood goes cold. “But then a great bulk of a demon came out and slaughtered the attacking filth, and spirited the boy away, alongwith my brother.”

“Rudra’s still with Nero?” That’s odd, if they were trying to capture the kid, they’d disarm him first.

“Yes, they are not far, I think they’ve stopped moving.”

“Alright,” Dante makes his way out of the disfigured wood, “let’s go find the kid and your bro...and if he’s alright, maybe I’ll reconsider giving back your talking privileges.” “Oh, that would be wonderful, will you allow us to leave the dark box? It’s been so long since we’ve fought, we crave batt- ”

“I said IF, and I won’t guarantee anything if you keep jabbering on and on.”

--

Angi directs the demon hunter to a dark secluded alleyway, a few blocks from Devil May Cry. One hand on its hilt ready for attack, the other fingering the trigger of Ivory, he cautiously makes his way past the recently overturned garbage cans, to a shadow alcove, where a shadow crouches. Beside it is Rudra, glowing faintly, it’s turquoise blue light providing enough illumination for Dante to make out what has happened. There’s Nero, peacefully slumbering away, apparently unharmed, not even his shirt is torn. And holding him gently, stroking his downy white hair with a giant hand...is Vergil… And for once, even though he is still staring straight ahead, there’s a different look on his face, a sense of contentment.

Huh Dante thinks to himself as he holsters the weapons, I was right, actions DO speak louder than words.

[moonlit-imagines]

Mutant One Seat Over

Peter Maximoff x reader

warnings:

a/n: ahhhh anon you are so super sweet!!! thank you so much! to do this awesome request, reader is gn and has natural spider powers! (as opposed to engineering tech to accommodate powers, but i know you said “like peter parker” so i hope this is okay!) mwah!

prompt: anonymous: “Hi Could you do a Xmen- Peter X Spider!Reader one shot where the reader is a new student in the school for gifted youngsters and they have spider powers (like peter Parker). They don’t really attend classes or have any friends and Charles are trying to get them more comfortable in the school So he literally drags her to class. she has to sit next to Peter maximoff and he is totally mesmerized by her and and they become really close and starts dating.

Ps: hope your having a great day and staying safe. Your such a talented writer and also don’t feel pressed to do this I totally understand if you decide not to, just do what you feel like🥰❤️❤️”

Ever since puberty, you just haven’t been the same. I might have to mention that you’re a mutant, let’s just say that you had a different idea in mind when warned that “your body will go through all sorts of changes.” The surfacing of your mutation was startling, uncomfortable, and confusing.

Some lovely abilities you had acquired were: sticking to almost anything that came into contact with your skin (you’re working on it), being able to spin your own webs (which you were getting pretty good at, fantastic vision, super strength, and much more to be explored.

After a little mishap at school when you got stuck in a bathroom stall for three and a half hours, your parents thought it best to send you to a boarding school that was “much more your speed.”

“No. No, I don’t want to leave!” You pleaded with your parents once they broke the news to you. They were heartbroken that it had to go this far, but this is what needed to be done.

“It’s only until you get control of your powers, y/n. You need to be around other people who share your experiences.” You mom explained, grabbing your gloved hands. At this point, you couldn’t do anything without being covered from near head-to-toe in clothing, it stuck to you and only you.

“Yeah, I heard you the first time.” You snapped, jerking away and stomping up the stairs, but there was a certain sound that stopped you. A car horn. “You didn’t...” You glared at your parents and watched them avert eye contact from you, your heart broke into a million pieces. “A cab? Really? You won’t even take me there yourself?”

“Your suitcase is already packed, y/n.” Your dad’s ashamed tone gave you chills, you never thought you’d have to be sent off like this. You hesitantly stepped back down the steps while your dad walked into the mud room to grab the bag he’d stashed. “We’re sorry, but this is for your own good.” You snatched the bag from him and swung the front door open.

“We love you!” Your mom called as you slammed the front door hard enough to knock down a few dozen pictures and wall decorations throughout the house. “They’re never going to forgive us for this.”

—————

Truth be told, you didn’t enjoy this school at all. Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. The place was teeming with outcasts just like yourself, it made you sick.

At least you were in charge of yourself here. You came and went from your room when you pleased, but you pleased to stay in your room as much as you possibly could. Yes, you had classes, but you just so happen to miss...all of them.

“Well, we don’t know what they’re going through.” A voice mumbled outside of your dorm door. “It took me a while to acclimate to all this change, I imagine they feel the same.” You wouldn’t have let it bother you, but whoever was out there had just disturbed you from a fascinating dream that had taken you far from here. You threw off the covers and swung your legs over the edge of the bed, taking a moment to recover from the headrush.

“I’m so sick of this shit, some peoppe are trying to sleep!” You yanked the door hard enough for it to make a dent in the wall, but that wasn’t nearly as bad as opening the door to Professor Xavier, the headmaster of this boarding school, and another resident from the building, Hank. “Oh. Hi.”

“Mx. l/n, your teachers informed me that you have not been attending your classes, is this true?” The Professor interrogated, but you knew that lying couldn’t save you from a telepath.

“Yep, it’s true. The change of scenery’s just a little overwhelming, you know how it is.” You carelessly shrugged and even tried to close to door on them, but Dr. McCoy caught it and looked to the Professor in shock.

“Yes, well, maybe we could work on that. Why don’t you follow me to your next class? It really would be best for you to keep up with your studies. Maybe you’ll even make some new friends?” Professor Xavier wouldn’t give up on you, which was both comforting and exhausting. With a roll of your eyes, you peeled off one of your gloves and slapped yout hand against the wooden wall.

“Oh, no.” You deadpanned. “I’m stuck.” The two adults exchanged exhausted glances and stared at you in silence, you doing the same. You obviously were a stubborn kid, the Professor had seen this a hundred times before. But it gave him an idea, he knew the perfect candidate for a long lasting friendship, now he just needed you to quit all these games.

“Hank? Would you..?” Xavier politely suggested his friend’s assistance without outright saying it, so you were just a little puzzled when Hank stepped inside your room.

“Brace yourself, y/n.” He pushed his glasses up before planting his feet and grabbing you by each shoulder. Your eyebrows conjoined out of pure confusion, but just like that you were unstuck from the wall. He...okay, he was strong? That would have been good to know. Maybe they should have started with that before yanking you off of a hard surface. There were a few chunks of wood still connected to your hand, you’d have to pick them off later. “I suggest you put the glove back on, y/n. Wouldn’t want to get stuck again now, would you?” Hank gave you a forced smile and waited for you to do the right thing.

“Fine.” You pulled the glove over your hazardous skin and picked up your backpack. “If you insist, I’ll try out a class.” You huffed and dragged your feet across the hardwood floor, bringing joy to the Professor’s face. Maybe he enjoyed the suffering of mutant children.

“Splendid, this way.” He wheeled himself beside you, giving you a pep talk the whole way through the halls. “I do think you’ll like it here, you just have to give it a chance. Everyone here has something in common, that’s what makes it so great. I know it’s not easy having to leave the comfort of a familiar lifestyle, but life has a funny way of coming together, you’ll see.” You observed the decor that you’d ignored time and time again as you kept your head down and shuttled yourself from one place to another.

“Yeah, right.” You scoffed and stood in front of your classroom. It was already embarrassing showing up for class late in normal school, all eyes on you and everything. Was it any different in mutant school? Well, you were on your way to find out. The room went silent as the door crept open, you and the Professor entered with, you figured, all eyes on you.

“Class, some of you may know y/n, some of you may not. Please make them feel welcome here, I trust that you will.” Xavier took a quick look around the room and, just as he suspected, there was a vacant seat next to a mutant he had in mind. “Peter, raise your hand, please. Y/N, take the seat next to Peter. Enjoy the rest of your class, students!” The Professor exited as the rest of the class said their goodbyes in unison, it nearly gave you a headache, but you made it to your seat next to Peter and dropped all of your stuff with a thud.

“Peter Maximoff, nice to meet you. What’s with the gloves?” The silver-haired boy asked with a hand out to shake, with you reluctantly accepted. He didn’t seem so bad.

“I stick to things.” You answered in simplest form. “Aren’t you a little young to have gone gray?” You cocked an eyebrow while admiring Peter’s dime-silver locks that were almost distracting.

“Yeah, that’s what happens when you rush growing up.” Peter chuckled, running his fingers through the knots. “I’m a super-speeder. It just sort of happened. I don’t mind it, though, I think it’s sexy.” He shamelessly admitted, getting a genuine laugh out of you. Maybe he was one of the better people here, who knows?

“Whatever you say, Maximoff.” You leaned back in your seat, facing front to at least appear to be focusing, but you snuck a few glaces at the mutant one seat over. He, on the other hand, made his looks overt. The entire class period, his eyes were on you.

After that class period, you actually ended up enjoying your classes. The Professor checked up on your personal attendance often, chuckling to himself abour how simple his plan was.

“Do you really think it was a good idea to introduce y/n to Peter? Of all the people here?” Hank’s concern showed that he cared. Everyone here wanted the best for you, it was easier to see now more than ever.

“I had to start somewhere.” Xavier justified, which was actually pretty reasonable. There was no right way to deal with all these unique kids who had been through so much already. All he knew for sure was that they needed to feel supported, something he had absolutely no issue with.

Meanwhile, as your final bell rang...

You gasped when a gust of wind blew right past you. It wasn’t the wind that stared you, it was the obnoxious teen mutant that followed.

“Hi,” Peter awkwardly waved, then backed up to stand beside you, placing his hand on your middle back to lead you around the mansion going...well, who knows where you’re going? Not you, that’s for sure, “so hear me out. I think that we are like, the perfect pair. Wouldn’t you agree? Don’t answer that, I already know you’ll say ‘yes.’”

“Is there a point to this, ‘Quickie?’” An evil smile formed from your lips as Peter pushed a bit harder on your back, getting you to speedwalk with him.

“Hey!” I told you that story in confidence!” You stifled laughter and waited for him to continue. “Anyways, I’m gonna get straight to the point before you pull another fast one on me, my point? Well, yeah, my point...” He used his free hand you tap at his chin, then completely halted.

“Did you forget why you came here to talk to me?” You gave a disappointed shake of your head, but still seemed quite amused. The buzzing of kids around you didn’t even faze you, you’d just realized you were too focused on peter to even care.

“Can you maybe go over what I’ve said so far? It’ll jog my memory.” His request made you groan, but you did as he asked nevertheless.

“You said, ‘Hi. Hear me out. We’re the perfect pair. You agree. I told you that in confidence.’” At least your paraphrasing skills were on point.

“Right! Okay, okay. Back on track.” He continued on course, easing up on speed by just a pinch. “So me and you, right? Does that sound crazy? ‘Cause to me, that sounds pretty awesome. I mean, we are the hottest people at this school, we’d be unstoppable.” You’d finally started to piece together his ramblings.

“Are you asking me out or...something?” You tilted your head to analyze his lipless grin and raised eyebrows, was he clamming up?

“...Yyyyyes?” Peter finally admitted, finally showing his teeth through a smile.

“Alright, well...yeah, okay. We’re dating now.” You didn’t accept in the most conventional way, but you did accept, which counted for something.

“Really?!” Peter gasped. “Can I...can I kiss you?” Asking was everything, especially when you risk getting stuck to the other person. I mean, he wouldn’t mind being stuck to you, but he was a little hungry.

“I’m not gonna lie, Pete, we’re gonna need a lot of baby oil. It’s not gonna be pretty.” You made him burst into laughter upon the thought. “It’s not funny!” You playfully slapped his arm. “Where were you leading me, anyways?”

“Oh, nowhere in particular.” He explained through his wheezing. “I just really do not like standing still.”

taglist: @locke-writes // @randomawesomeperson102 // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @thisetaernallove //

[shapeshiftersandfire]

The Woman at 29 Wilson - pt 1

@whumpinggrounds​ @sie-werden-nie-vergessen​

okay kids, buckle up, grab a box of tissues and a stuffed critter to hug, this is where it starts getting Sad

Verna Bellows

Washington, DC

29 Wilson Drive

20002

Stella stares at the address all the way down. The bus is hot and cramped and uncomfortable, full of people from states all along the bus route going to one place or another, but Stella’s eyes are all for the four lines of red text in the middle of an otherwise blank page.

Verna Bellows

Washington, DC

29 Wilson Drive

20002

Sarah is leading them right to Verna. Sarah herself is telling them exactly where to go to find her missing, dead aunt…and Stella can only guess why.

It has to be a cemetery. Verna’s family, her real family, whoever they were, must have set up a memorial of some kind for her. A headstone with nothing buried underneath it. A marker on a family plot where one space will always remain unoccupied.

But why would Sarah lead them there? Why would Sarah lead them anywhere? She’s never shown any inclination to cooperate with them, much less give them the exact information they need. What changed?

Stella runs her fingers over the words. They’ve dried since they were first written; she can touch the words without smearing them, without leaving streaks of red ink behind on her skin. They don’t seem real, they don’t feel real, none of this feels real. And yet, just a few hours after saving Ruth from her own horrific end—Sarah hadn’t spare them a story, after all—she’s on a bus on her way to Washington, DC, with Chuck and Ramon in tow, and into the heart of the nation on the brink of turning on itself, in search of a woman who has been dead for the last seventy years.

She’s not sure what she’s expecting to find, or if she’s expecting to find anything. She’s not sure what’s going to happen as they follow the address through the city, where it’s going to take them.

They’ll just have to wait and see.

Stella turns to the window, watching the landscape roll by, lost in thought at the leg of their search that awaits them, and it’s just after the driver announces that they’ve crossed the Maryland border that something on the paper moves. Stella’s heart leaps; she sits up, ,thinking another story is being written before her eyes and she’s on a bus, unable to do anything about it.

But instead of being a story, it’s a message.

Tell her I’m waiting for her.

                                                     [***]

The address is not a cemetery at all, like Stella assumed, but a one-story house with beige siding. The neighborhood is quiet, not a soul in sight, driveways either empty or occupied with empty vehicles. The drive at 29 Wilson is occupied by a single white pickup truck, rusty and dirty with a cracked headlight. Stella looks around the property, at the lawn strewn with colorful autumn leaves, the short evergreens on either side of the perimeter blocking it off from the neighbors’ homes. One tree at the corner of the driveway is bare; the other is mid-loss, with great patchy areas empty of leaves. Wind chimes blow somewhere in the distance. The leaves in the yard rustle. The whole place seems empty and abandoned, feels empty and abandoned; there’s a heavy, sorrowful feel over the house, as though something so horrible happened here that the nature itself was never able to shake the weight of it.

Stella looks around at the house. It seems so quiet, unnaturally so. She dares to take a peak through the sliver in the front window curtains, but the slightest look in gives her shows her a house with the lights off and no one wandering around inside. When she listens closely, there’s not even the sound of the television on.

Is anyone even home?

She goes up to the door and knocks anyway.

For a long while, nothing happens. Then there’s the faint sound of shuffling from the other side, the door clicks and swings opened, and in the doorway stands a woman in a pair of gray capri sweatpants and a ratty old yellow t-shirt, looking as though she’s just rolled out of bed despite it being late in the afternoon. Her copper hair is tied back in a loose ponytail and haphazardly thrown over one shoulder. She looks at the trio with a distant kind of curiosity, as though she’s grown used to having people come to her front door and having yet more strangers show up is nothing new.

“Can I help you?” She doesn’t sound unfriendly, just…tired.

For a moment, all Stella can do is stare at the woman. She looks vaguely like Verna, she thinks, something in her face that resembles the woman in the drawing in the newspaper. A distant relative, maybe?

“We’re, um, we…” She wrings her hands, glancing at the boys standing behind her. She takes a breath. “Did Verna Bellows live here?”

The woman leans back with a deep breath, jaw clenched. She doesn’t answer the question. Something in her eyes darkens. She says nothing, but steps away from the door, letting the trio inside and shuts it behind them. She gives them a firm look before she disappears down the hall and around the corner. They don’t follow.

Stella adjusts her bag. It feels heavier, being in the house. The weight she felt outside on the porch was nothing compared to what it feels like on the inside. There’s a sense off warm homeyness, but it’s suffocated by a thick, sorrowful fog.

Something awful happened in this house.

She adjusts her bag again and tries to listen as the woman has a muffled conversation with someone in another room. She can’t make out the words, and the voices are almost hard to distinguish, but one of them sounds noticeably more pained and tired than the other. Then a chair rolls along the hardwood floor, someone sniffs, and the floors creak as they walk. The copper-haired woman reappears around the corner, followed by someone else who looks…eerily familiar.

The new woman is shorter than the first by a few inches, with shoulder-length black hair and a black dress that comes down in a short V. Her heels click on the floor, her step sluggish and slow and aching. Dark circles line her eyes as though she hasn’t slept well, or at all, in quite some time.

Stella’s breath catches in her throat. Chuck grabs her arm. “Holy shit, it’s her.”

All Stella can do is stare. She’s supposed to be dead. Everyone always said she was dead. No way, there’s no way, there’s no damn way. Why isn’t she dead?

Verna Bellows herself stands before them, alive and well, and not looking a day older than she had in her portrait in the newspaper.

[feed-your-neopets]

Valdemar x Devil!Lucio Fluff (One-shot)

Writer Preface:

First, I haven’t written fanfiction in years. Nor have I read a book recently. So, don’t feel bad about pointing out grammar mistakes or spelling mistakes. It’s been a while since I’ve done anything like this. Also, my knowledge of the science and medical world is pitiful. Please, let me know if I said something ridiculous.

Second, it is cannon that Lucio has a New Jersey accent. It may enhance the story to imagine him with it, because I did while writing this.

Third, this is just slow, awkward, fluffy Valdemar x Lucio stuff. I was trying to piece together how a relationship could even develop between them, and I love the challenge of unlikely, cursed pairings. I was thinking this would probably take place in Muriel’s route (so, smoll SPOILERS from this point on). I would think Lucio’s social circle would be dwindling since – ya know – he merged with the Devil and all. Lucio would definitely be longing for friendship and companionship. Valdemar will humor him if it means they get new things to study. Get that bag, Valdemar.

---

The salon was one of the few rooms left in the palace where one could find some peace. Ironic, as this room was once one of the livelier places in the palace. After all, the salon was where Countess Nadia would entertain her guests. Now, it was an echo of its former self.

Since his resurrection and merging with the boss, Count Lucio ran with a different crowd, and these new guests had a habit of “borrowing”. Not that Valdemar cared about the state of the rooms throughout the palace, nor the drunkards who sloppily paraded through the hallways with pockets full of silverware. However, the room was simply lacking. It was not quite the same without Countess Nadia’s fingers gliding across the ivory keys with precision and grace. Instead of the haunting melodies of a grand piano and the idle chatter of the other courtiers, the room was filled with the distant echoes of intoxicated partygoers reciting a rather impolite folk song about a sea captain’s cousin.

However, Valdemar was paying little attention to the commotion outside and quietly sipped their tea. They chose instead to focus on the decorating choices they felt were an improvement. For example, the dying flowers wilting in waterless vases were a nice touch. Additionally, the portrait that Count Lucio had commissioned in his mother’s likeness had some alterations. It was laying waste on the ground below where it was once proudly hung. The vandalism was done with such intention that Valdemar was certain the count had crossed out the eyes himself. Valdemar pondered if he had done so in a fit of rage. The count had such a temper, and judging from his interaction with his mother, there was a lot of emotional baggage to unpack. While the symbolism was a tad on the nose, Valdemar appreciated the irony none-the-less. It was Lucio who murdered his own mother. It was only fitting he should be the one to remove the light from her portrait’s eyes too.

Without much warning, the doors of the salon burst open with a bang; shaking the few portraits that still hung on the walls. Yet, Valdemar sat unflinching despite the abrupt entrance from the count.

“Alright, I’ll catch you guys later.” called Count Lucio to a chorus of guttural cheers and whooping from the end of the hall. Valdemar peered at the count from over their teacup as they took a long sip. They had been wondering what was taking the count so long. He had been the one who had requested a meeting with them. To keep them waiting seemed in poor taste.

“Crazy guys.” chucked Lucio to himself before turning his attention to Valdemar. “Hey, there you are! Where have you been? You weren’t at last night’s party. You missed Vulgora tackling several new recruits. You should have seen them go at it. We were taking bets and everything.”

“Hm.” hummed Valdemar as they peered into their teacup, finding more interest in the way the tea leaves settled to the bottom of their cup than Lucio’s story. However, Lucio did not seem to notice as he reenacted the punches and kicks of last night’s tussle; knocking over a chair in the process. “But hey, don’t worry about missing it. They’ll probably do it again tomorrow night. You’re gonna love it.”

“I am sure, my count.” lied Valdemar.

Lucio seemed convince Valdemar was genuine, and with an exaggerated groan, he slumped into the chair next to them. Valdemar watched as he adjusted the scabbard on his waist, the end of which clanked aggressively on the hardwood floor. His legs then spread out for maximum comfort as he sunk into his seat. It would seem he was finally situated, and he looked merrily back at Valdemar expecting them to speak first. The quaestor closed their eyes. Admittedly, their patience was wearing thin. With a short sigh, they placed their teacup on the table and prepared themselves to address the count.

“Is there a reason you have called me here today, my count?” asked Valdemar as politely as they could muster.

A spark of realization lit in Lucio’s eyes. “Oh, yeah, that’s right! I gotcha something.” said Lucio as he started rummaging through a small satchel. “I felt like we left it kinda weird at that old broad’s house, and I been wanting to make it up to you.”

“Old broad?” whispered Valdemar to themself as they searched their lexicon for a translation.

“Yeah, you remember. I gave you her heart. I was weird about it, but you were just asking for your payment.” explained the count. “It is nothing amazing, really. You probably have twenty of ‘em, but I was traveling through the market, and I saw it, and I thought - do you know who would like this? Quaestor Valdemar - so, I got it. No big deal, ya know?”

From his bag, Lucio pulled out an adult human skull. Embedded in the eye sockets were large rubies that burned in the orange glow of the setting sun. The count placed his gift in Valdemar’s hand, who made quick note of the condition in which the skull was in. In short, it was nearly perfect. The dental work was most fascinating to Valdemar. Not a single tooth was crooked or missing. No sign of disease or decay. Whoever extracted this specimen knew what they were doing. Valdemar was so transfixed by the skull, they almost forgot Lucio was still in the room.

“Yeah, I thought you like that.” said Lucio as he leaned forward in his chair. “I got that off a guy who was selling all kinds of wild, kooky stuff.”

Valdemar was quiet as they studied the skull. They were far more impressed by the specimen itself than the embellishments. Gemology was not at the top of their list of the most appealing subjects, and frankly, they thought the rubies were rather gaudy.

As they pondered the feasibility of extracting the gemstones without damaging the bone, a visibly nervous Lucio shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the silence between them.

“I -uh- I got it because the eyes remind me of your eyes.” said Lucio. As the words left his mouth, he instantly wished he had just swallowed them instead. He was not prepared for Valdemar's undivided attention. Their eyes were fixed on Lucio. Their expression was blank. Their entire form was eerily motionless. He immediately felt the need to elaborate. “Ya know, because the rubies are pretty - pretty like your eyes.”

To Lucio’s relief, the compliment was enough to break their stare. No one had ever called their eyes pretty before. Creepy. Unsettling. Unnatural. But never pretty. Pretty was a meaningless word. Pretty was objective. Pretty could not be measured. Pretty was unscientific. Yet, the word bounced around in their mind, unextrapolated and uncategorized. Valdemar wanted to dissect its meaning. They wanted Lucio to elaborate. What did it mean to have pretty eyes?

"Hey, is that thing broken?" asked Lucio. who had unknowingly grounded Valdemar from their slow spiral into the definition and interpretation of the word pretty.

"Pardon?" asked Valdemar.

"Did that bastard give me a busted skull?" asked Lucio gesturing to a fissure starting from the bottom of the eye socket across the cheekbone.

Realizing what the count was referring to Valdemar had to stifle a laugh. "No, that is a zygomaticomaxillary suture. You'll notice the second one, right here." They turned the skull to allow Lucio to see the other fissure reflected on the other cheekbone.

"Oh, so it's okay then? It's not broken?" asked Lucio.

"This specimen is in excellent condition." reassured Valdemar. A moment passed between them before the quaestor softly cleared their throat, and managed a polite thank you to the count. They fully intended to investigate the skull further for any clues of what may have lead to the specimen’s demise. They loved a good mystery. Afterwords, it would look lovely in their display cabinet - pretty ruby eyes and all.

“Right, so that guy I got this skull from. He has other things too. Goopy things in jars. Dead things in jars. Dead things out of jars. Drawings of bones and meaty parts. Books. Does any of that sound interesting to you?” asked Lucio.

Valdemar considered Lucio’s offer before replying, “I suppose that I am always in search for new specimens to add to my collection. Additionally, this could be an opportunity to ask the merchant where the rest of the remain’s of this specimen can be found.”

Their response seemed to greatly please the count as he leaned back in his chair. For the past few nights, he had done nothing but party - which he loved to do, and would surely want to do again - but sitting with Valdemar, as the sun lowered into the horizon felt nice. Not to mention, they knew a lot, which Lucio appreciated. Having them around could be quite helpful to keeping his kingdom. Additionally, he was curious as to what was under their bandages. His money was on horns, but it would be fun to confirm his suspicions.

“Great, I’ll take you down there sometime.” said Lucio. “And, if you see anything you like, consider it yours.”

While material possessions never interested Valdemar, the idea of discovering something new was quite alluring. Perhaps, the merchant had a sealed jar of an entirely forgotten disease, or maybe they would uncover an ancient tomb that described a real account of an unsolved death of an entire village. The more they thought about it, the more exciting the prospect became.

“Would now be an appropriate time?” asked Valdemar who had moved to the edge of their seat. Their body was stiff with anticipation, as they leaned over ever so slightly towards him. A coy smile spread on Lucio’s face. He knew the moment he agreed, Valdemar would be sprinting for the door. Frankly, it seemed cruel to make them wait another moment for his answer.

“I’ll have someone fetch two cloaks and a carriage.”

END.

[creepy-spooghetti]

A Hapless Endearment [Creepypasta x F. Reader]

Chapter 10 - Tag, You’re It

_____

Jack doesn't return for several minutes, though she can hear the sound of muffled talking from the confines of another room nearby. The words are incoherent and muffled, but considering that there's nobody else in this house that she knows of, she guesses that he's on the phone, mostly based on the fact that the only voice she can hear is Jack's. She ponders what he said to her and tucks her knees into her chest, trying to tame the steadily rising fear that's making itself more and more apparent in her chest.

She knew from the beginning of all this chaos that there had to be a deeper meaning buried beneath the surface, even though she didn't want to acknowledge it and instead opted to come up with valid explanations for everything that happened, reasons that wouldn't make her seem crazy. But now? Now, it doesn't look like she has another option but to accept it. She has to admit, Jack made some pretty reasonable points, even if the points in question take a great suspension of disbelief. How else is she supposed to explain the things that have taken place over the past several days? She didn't have a clue about what was happening and why it was happening, and now she does. But is it the honest-to-God truth?

Being stalked by some supernatural being is definitely hard to believe, but so is mentally predicting the death of one's aunt and uncle, being kidnapped by someone without eyes, and subconsciously drawing some kind of freaky symbol. She hasn't another explanation for all of the eerie occurrences lately, what else is she supposed to think? At least she's been provided with an answer—whether that answer is correct or not has yet to be solved—but it's still an answer. It's more information than she could ever get out of her grandparents or anyone else. A therapist probably wouldn't even know what's going on with her. This way, she has a theory to go off of, something to build around until she finds something more... realistic. More believable.

Her eyes flick up to Jack as he re-enters the room, being ultimately pulled from her deep thoughts and watching him stuff, what she identifies as a phone, into his pocket. He turns her direction, his uncanny oozing gaze sending goosebumps up the length of her arms. "There will be someone over here in a bit to pick you up and take you to Brian's house. She's bringing a pair of shoes with her, too."

Oh, it's a girl. Maybe I can find some common ground and convince her to let me go. Unless she's trapped here too... She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear and sits more naturally in the chair, her feet meeting the hardwood floor and her posture straightening to come across as more intimidating. Granted, she knows she isn't going to intimidate this monster of a man, but it makes her feel a little safer anyway.

"Who is she?" Her words are sharp and straight-to-the-point as she stares up at his tall frame in an attempt to seem, for the most part, fearless.

"Wisteria. Don't get your hopes up, she's almost as bad as Jeff." Releasing a huff, she rolls her eyes though chooses not to respond. "Do you want a glass—no, sorry—do you want a cup of water?" He puts great emphasis on the word 'cup', indirectly reminding her of the way she launched the glass at his head in an attempt to escape previously. It did work out in the end, she supposes, and she would have actually gotten out of this place had Jeff's hellhound for a dog not taken it upon himself to chomp down on her ankle and keep her firmly planted where she laid in the dirt until someone came to retrieve her. That 'someone' being Jeff.

"What, so you can poison me?" She mutters, crossing her arms stubbornly. "I think I'll pass."

"Did you not hear anything I just told you a few minutes ago?" He sighs, running gloved fingers through his copper-brown hair. "If I wanted to hurt you I would have done it by now." Ignoring the dryness in her throat, no doubt from lack of water, she only stares up at him with an obstinate expression, refusing to take anything that he has to offer. After a couple of moments, he too crosses his arms. "Ya know, it won't do you much good if you dehydrate and end up dying anyway."

"I'd rather dehydrate than trust you with anything." They continue to stare at each other for what feels like minutes when in reality it's only around ten seconds before Jack shakes his head in defeat.

"Fine. Suit yourself." He takes a seat on the couch, being mindful to keep a fair amount of distance between himself and Y\n, and leans back to get more comfortable. "I know this is a lot to process, but you're gonna have to get used to the fact that you can't go back home. You can't see your family again, it would be too dangerous for both yourself and them."

"Is that a threat?"

"No. It's a warning. You go back home, try to live a normal life, and you eventually snap. You'd be compelled to go to the very thing you've been trying to avoid and kill whoever got in your way. Even if that includes your family." She leers at him through skeptical e\c eyes, comprehending what he's telling her and trying to brush away the feeling of trepidation that rises within her stomach. "It's happened before. I've seen it, too many times to be proud of. It isn't a nice process."

"You're crazy if you actually think I'd kill someone, much less my own family." It's true that she has less-than-desirable parents, but there's no way that she'd ever lose herself enough to physically harm them or take their lives. She isn't a bad enough kid to do something like that, not even under the direst of circumstances. Especially if it involves her grandparents. They've shown her nothing but kindness and support, why on earth would she ever murder them? The very thought sends shivers down her spine.

"Denial is something most people express at first. But it would happen, whether you wanted it to or not." She shakes her head, furrowing her eyebrows together in objection.

"I would never."

"You say that, but you don't know what he's capable of. You don't know how much power he possesses." She averts her gaze to the ground, hugging her torso insecurely and listening to the slightly muffled words that leave Jack's mouth. "He drives you mad. It may start off subtle, maybe you'll have some bad dreams, or minor coughing fits, nothing too concerning. But it will get worse, and worse, and soon you'll be seeing things that aren't there, becoming paranoid because at every turn you feel like something's watching you, but you don't know where or by what. You'll isolate yourself, refuse to talk to anyone, become distant from your friends, your family, society as a whole. And it will continue getting worse, and worse, and worse until you're at your breaking point. You'll just want it all to stop, you'll just want it to be over. You'll be desperate. So you'll listen to him, obey his commands. He'll take you to your breaking point, all without lifting a finger."

The words leave his mouth slowly, making the situation all the more unnerving. There's a sinister kind of truth to what he says that makes an eerie fog blanket her mind in a sense of dread and impending doom. He's right. She knows he's right. There isn't definite proof, but the very tone of his voice and his serious posture tells her right then. He isn't lying. This is real. This is all real, no matter how much she may try to deny it.

Letting out a shaky sigh, she rubs her face with her hands and attempts to slow the rapid beating of her heart. One question floats to the top of all of her thoughts, and she picks it up and analyzes it for a few moments before speaking. "...Why me?" She sees him tilt his head to the side a bit, silently questioning her inquiry and asking for clarification. She happily delivers. "Why, out of seven billion people, does it want me?" She scrapes a hand through her hair in an effort to compose herself, her voice trembling. "What did I do to attract it? I'm just...I'm just a normal person. Why would it want me to do...whatever?"

He takes a few seconds to respond, stringing the words together in his head and coming up with the best possible answer. "I...I don't know." He shrugs lightly, craning his neck toward the couch beneath him. "You told me you had some family issues. He preys on the weak and vulnerable. If you've been going through stressful things, that's likely to be a big contributor to the reason he chose you."

"So you're telling me that I'm being hunted by a paranormal entity because I have garbage for parents?" She chokes down the bile threatening to rise in her throat. "How is that my fault?"

"It doesn't have to be," he simply says, shifting in his seat to better face her. "He's attracted to whoever is at a bad time in life and isn't handling it very well. If you've been stressed, he'll try to get you. It isn't always the victim's fault." Thoughts swarm her mind, though they zip by so quickly she barely has time to process each one before the next one takes its place. But one question manages to stand out above the rest, and she stares at the floor intently.

"But... but I've been going through stuff for years and I haven't had any problems like what's been happening recently until I got here." Her eyes shift up to his featureless, navy-blue mask curiously. "If it wanted me, why didn't it start before?"

"It's difficult to stalk someone and drive them insane when they're in the middle of a city," he says after a moment. "He probably knew about you before, at least to a point, but he couldn't really get to you until you were closer to where he resides." She gulps, eyes glistening with unfallen tears of dismay. "He wanted you more isolated. He can affect you easier that way."

"He's only after me, right?" Worry blooms in her chest and she leans forward absentmindedly. "My... my grandparents aren't a target, too? It's just me?"

"I doubt he'd have anything to do with two people like that, unless..." He pauses, and she presses her lips together in an anxious line.

"Unless?" Her voice holds a sense of distress. "Unless what?"

"Unless..." She can tell he's hesitant to finish his thought, though if it concerns the well-being of Nana and Pops, she won't stand for any unanswered questions. "...well, unless he wanted to use them. To manipulate you."

"How would he do that?" Now fully invested in the conversation, she tries to stabilize her breathing as she stares impatiently at Jack, desperate to get a response.

"He has different tactics. It'd be hard to say which one he'd use on you." Releasing a tremulous breath and trying to ease the nervous pit in her stomach, she clenches her fists.

"Would he hurt them?" For now, she's going to assume both of them are still alive and well, though utterly frantic over her sudden disappearance. Jack hasn't given any proof that he didn't harm them in any way, but she'd rather think about the possibility of life over the possibility of death.

"I don't know. He might."

"Well, then I have to get back to them!" She shoots up from her sitting position, causing a wave of dizziness to wash over her and nearly make her stumble to the floor, but she manages to keep her balance before that can happen. "So let me go."

"Y\n, being irrational isn't going to get you anywhere."

"I'm not being irrational!" She shoots a glare at where he still sits on the couch, starting to limp her way to the front door. "I'm being a good granddaughter. I'm not letting them get hurt." He sighs, a sound that's really beginning to get on her nerves, and slowly stands. She backs away warily in response.

"Your grandparents are fine. He likely won't even do anything that involves them because they're so far away from you now." Just how far away from them is she really?

"Where did you bring me then??"

"I can't tell you. Not yet." He eases closer to her, and she eyes the door. She isn't getting anywhere with her ankle being the way it is, and she knows it. But it's worth another try, right? She darts across the rest of the living room, but before she can even get close to grabbing the knob, a pair of strong arms wrap around her torso and pull her back. Despite her attempts at freedom, his hold doesn't even loosen.

"Let me go, Jack!"

"You already know that isn't going to happen." She lets out an exasperated groan, trying not to put pressure on her injury as she struggles fruitlessly against the tall male currently holding her back and succeeding, much to her displeasure. "You need to calm down."

"How am I supposed to 'calm down'? The only two people who actually give a crap about me are in danger!" She growls, attempting to kick him in the leg or elbow him in the gut, though he skillfully dodges each time and locks onto her tighter, remaining unphased by her actions.

"And you'll be putting them in even more danger if you go back. You heard what I said. Do you really want to hurt your own family?"

"Just shut up! I'd never do something like that. Not if my life depended on it."

"Well, it would. Y\n, you don't understand." He effortlessly spins her around to face him, her neck having to bend upward due to the large height difference between the two of them. She watches the tar-like substance as it leisurely drips from his empty sockets and down his mask before having to glance away. "Once you get to that point, he controls you. He owns you. He can make you do whatever he deems necessary to please him, and you can't stop it." She huffs, biting her bottom lip and holding back distressed tears. "Do you really want that to happen to you?"

She brings both her hands up and pushes harshly against his chest to create some kind of space between them before crossing her arms and sending him a glare, gathering the nerve to look directly into the vacant pits in his head. "I don't want any of this to happen to me," she mumbles, taking deep breaths just to stop herself from crying. "I just want to go home and be with people I love." The words leave her lips as a harsh whisper, voice cracking in the process.

"That can't happen." His tone changes from mildly irritated to sympathetic in an instant, and he takes a small step back in an effort to make her feel more comfortable. "I'm sorry."

She uses the back of her arm to wipe away a stray tear that had begun rolling down her cheek as her gaze lingers toward the hallway. She doesn't want to be anywhere near Jack, or anybody besides her grandparents. She wants out of this mess. At least she knows it isn't her fault, not completely anyway. Not that the thought soothes her very much, but it's something. "...Where's the bathroom?" It comes out as a half-hearted demand, and he answers immediately.

"First door to the right." She nods in silent gratitude and starts walking that way, ignoring the bit of pain that erupts through the bottom half of her leg as she does so. Once inside the desired room, she shuts the door behind her, flicks on the light, and tries to calm her fast, unsteady breathing and erratic heart rate. What is she supposed to do? Take Jack's word for it and stay here? Escape and try to find the way to a police station? Neither option sounds too appealing at the moment. She doesn't forget the words Jeff used before he ever so kindly walked her back to her kidnapper's house.

"Cops don't scare me. I've dealt with way, way worse than guns and tasers."

It sounded like a threat, and given the brief, though memorable, interaction with Jeff she had, it's very probable that's exactly what it was. A threat. Like he was telling her if she managed to break free and get the police involved, he'd hunt her down and wipe out everyone within his path. And it wouldn't bother him a bit. Of course it wouldn't, if he's crazy enough to supposedly carve a smile into his face, then he's crazy enough not to care in the least as he straight-up murders people.

How could somebody be so... twisted? Is it the doing of that thing, the one Jack informed her about? Or is it something totally different? Well, if she's going to be here a while, as she assumes she will be whether she likes it or not, then she'll be sure to gather as many details about the ones that live around here as she can. Maybe she can ask that girl that's supposed to be coming by with shoes, according to Jack. What's her name? Wendy? Whitney? Wanda?

No, dummy, it was a flower. She's named after a flower... Petunia? Lily? She shakes her head in disregard. That isn't even close. The bathroom is small, with a sink counter to her right, a toilet to the side of that, a tub to her left, and a slender cabinet ahead of her, right beside a window. The thought only crosses her mind briefly to use the window to escape; not only is it too high for her to properly reach without some kind of boost, but it's too small for her to even begin trying to squeeze through.

Nausea bubbles in her stomach as she thinks more and more about her hopeless situation. How does she handle this? Her whole existence just got flipped upside-down in the matter of a few hours. She doesn't know where she is, the people around her seem completely off their rocker, and her grandparents are at risk of being hurt, or possibly even killed by some other-worldly creature that she's seen a grand total of once, and that sighting was vague. What about that one time she saw that figure in the woods? The one with the white mask? Was that a hallucination, or was it real too?

She has no way of knowing for sure, and that thought alone makes her want to collapse and cry until she can't anymore about her misfortune. But she won't, not right now. Instead, she throws herself at the sink, desperate to rid herself of the foul taste filling her mouth and swallowing the vomit creeping up her throat. She turns on the faucet and welcomes the cool water that spills out, pressing her lips against it and gulping it down. She savors the pristine liquid as it slips down her throat, bringing an end to the dryness she felt in it prior and relieving her of the discomfort.

Letting out a strangled cough, she turns the faucet off and looks up, only now noticing the large piece of cloth—presumably an old sheet or blanket—covering the area where a mirror usually is placed. She lifts the corner of it up, only to find that there is, indeed, a mirror underneath, but finding herself a bit perplexed. Why would there be a sheet blocking the mirror? Did Jack do it? Does he not like to look at himself?

How would he see himself if he doesn't have eyes? She knits her eyebrows together, sniffling and licking some residual water away from her lips to stop it from dribbling down her chin. But he seems to move around just fine as if he can see where he's going. She's already established that he isn't normal, but just how not-normal is he? How does one see without eyes? Does he have some kind of sixth sense that allows him to somehow know his surroundings? If the whole 'no eyes' thing is only part of his mask, it's definitely fooled her. It looks so... so real. Just like every other aspect of him.

If he's like that, and Jeff is like that, then what do the other ones look like? She knows that there have to be others, Jack made that blatantly obvious by mentioning someone named Brian and the other named...Daisy? No, that's not it either. How much freakier is it going to get for her? Just how many more psychos has she yet to come across? She isn't too eager to find out. Jack's bad enough, and though he hasn't given her any more reason to hate him, the fact still stands that he took her from her house. Not only that, but he drugged her to do so, and before that, tricked her. Lied, right to her face, all to make her think he was trustworthy. Which he clearly is not.

She isn't sure whether to feel mad, betrayed, or a mixture of both. No, the two weren't friends, but they had talked for quite a while and she had told him things about herself that she certainly wouldn't tell some grey-skinned, eyeless thing. Is he even human? He doesn't look like one. She thought that there was a sort of bond that had sparked between the two of them during their encounter, though now she knows it was just a big, dirty trick.

She sighs through her nose, rubbing her eyes and leaning against the counter. Should she have just stayed home? Sure, she didn't really have a choice but to go to her grandparents' house while her mom and dad went wherever their work lead them, but she knows for a fact that her father in particular would have much preferred to keep her away from them. For some reason though, he had still hauled her off to a place she hasn't visited since she was eleven years old. It may have had something to do with Y\n refusing, under any circumstances, to stay at the penthouse with their absolute snob of a nanny, all alone, for God-knows how many weeks on end.

And seeing as how her mother's parents weren't an option, it was either her father's or summer camp. The last time she was at summer camp, she didn't have a very good experience, and pair that with all of the people in a hurry to make fun of her just because they're jealous of her parents' money, yeah, her grandparents were the better option by a long shot. But... if she would have just stayed home, would this have happened? Would Nana and Pops still be safe? Would she still be leading a generally boring, miserable life? Jack said himself that the creature chasing after her wouldn't be able to reach her in a populated area, like a city, and that's why he only now started attacking her. Because she was easy bait.

Is this actually her fault? Could she have avoided all of this had she just stopped being stubborn and stayed put in her home? What if Nana and Pops get killed if they aren't already? All because of her want to reach out to and see family that actually still care about her? Throwing around blame isn't going to help anything. Though that's what she tells herself, she can't help but think about it and feel guilty.

If I'm dreaming, now would be a good time to wake up. It all feels a bit too realistic to be a dream at this point, but she still clings to that little sliver of hope that this whole charade has been something her mind created while she's unconscious, and that soon she'll awake, perfectly healthy in her bed, with no giant noodle man to worry about, or crazy weirdos with masks, or strange dreams, unexplained dizzy spells and coughing fits. No whacky symbols. That would be incredible, even though she knows that really, she's never that lucky. It's all actually happening, and there's no way to escape it.

She doesn't even try to stop the tears that softly slip down her cheeks and make tiny little drip noises when they land in the porcelain bowl beneath her, only huffing in agitation and dipping her head to collect her bearings. And I thought I had a screwed-up life before...

After a few minutes, she's able to compose herself and gather enough courage to step back outside into the hallway, glancing toward the living room and catching sight of Jack on the couch, book in hand, and head craned down as if reading the words on the pages. Now how does that work? She steps forward, and at the sound of another presence nearing, he tilts his head up and meets her eyes with his soulless black pits.

She pauses under his gaze, nerves jumping with unease at his attention before she continues walking, stopping to idly lean against the wall farthest from him. "You okay?" His voice makes her flinch slightly, having not expected him to speak and break the tense silence that had built between them, though she's able to blow it off and act as if nothing happened.

"No," she says, tone harsh as she crosses her arms and drops her gaze down to the floor. "Why would I be 'okay'? This isn't exactly an everyday occurrence."

"I know, I know." He folds his book over and rests it in his lap, slanting forward slightly. "I'm not expecting you to be alright with this. Not for a while, at least." She narrows her eyes at him and presses her lips together. "I just need you to understand that this is your best option. It ensures both your safety and your family's safety."

"You just told me that my family could be used to manipulate me." Her tone is taut and her eyebrows furrow together, peering at him through resentful e\c orbs. "That doesn't sound very 'safe' to me."

"Yes, and then I said he probably won't feel the need to use them at all because you're so far away from where they live." He straightens his posture and tilts his head. "Trust me, going back would be more dangerous."

"And what if he does decide to 'use' them, huh? What then?" It takes a few infuriating moments for him to respond, and she shuffles around on her feet a bit to give him a well-aimed glare. He either doesn't notice or chooses to ignore it.

"We'll have to cross that bridge if we come to it." She opens her mouth to complain, to say something along the lines of, 'no freaking way am I standing aside and letting my grandparents become targets for some freak of nature,' but before she can there are three firm raps on the door, coming from the outside. It startles her, and she cautiously averts her gaze to the source of the sudden noise.

Jack moves the curtain to the side and glances out through the window placed directly behind the couch, seemingly checking for who could possibly be at the door. "Relax, it's alright." He stands to his feet and heads toward the wooden portal. She sends him a questioning look, and he motions outside. "Wisteria's here."

[saltyghostsworld]

Hello! This is a valentines day gift for @aphforeignrelations ! I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing this!

I'd like to give special thanks to @istoleludwigsbaumkuchen for Beta reading this for me! You truly are the best Worm ace.

-______________________________________-

A Mirror to Me

    The first shirt was too big, the second too small, the third was unflattering, and the fourth just ugly. The fifth and the sixth looked too similar to be noteworthy, and whoever said that seven was a lucky number was a liar, considering the monstrosity that Gilbert had pulled out of the closet. Gil loved Francis, he truly did, but by gods, his fashion taste left something to be desired at times. The eighth shirt looked decent, but not formal enough for tonight. The ninth was too formal to be worn at any event, and Gil wasn’t sure why he owned such an article of clothing in the first place. The tenth, however, was just right. 

    A deep maroon, partnered with the black-tie given to Gilbert as an early birthday present by Lovino, looked great with the black slacks Gilbert had chosen to wear. Nice leather belt, watch, and a little bit of cologne before Gilbert would be ready to go. That is if he puts on the outfit.

    The problem wasn't that Gilbert did not wish to go to the restaurant, quite the opposite. It's just. Tonight was a very important day for Gilbert. Tonight would be the first time he will be setting foot back into The Maple Garden in what, two, three years? Not since the accident, that was for sure. Rationally, Gil knows what happened to him wasn’t terrible. He made it out in pretty good condition, and what he did that day saved lives. That's what mattered in the end. 

    Shuffling over to the bathroom mirror, Gilbert took one, long look at himself. He has gained back most of the weight he had lost. No longer is his skin ashy and pale as it was back during those few months in the hospital. Any scarring would be covered up by his clothes, which helped his anxiety immensely. He looked good! He even stylized his hair, just a little bit for tonight. It will be alright in the end. Gilbert was sure of it. 

    Taking one last look at himself, Gilbert braced himself on the wall as he hobbled back to the bed where his clothes lay in wait. Sitting down gingerly onto the bed, Gilbert stretched his leg out hissing a breath through his teeth from discomfort. The pain was nowhere near as bad as when he first started walking again, but hell if it wasn’t going to take some serious time and effort to get used to. Physical Therapy helped, it did, but some things just take time. With this in mind, Gilbert finally slid the knee brace on. Even after two years, it still felt so strange to put it on. It was nice though, to finally be able to pull on the brace without help. It felt quite nice to have some independence back in his life, and these past three months have only solidified those thoughts. It was good to be back.

    After getting dressed, Gilbert couldn’t help but look at himself in the mirror again, smiling at how nice he looked. A year ago, Gil would have broken down into a sobbing mess, feeling like an imposter within his skin. Now, though, Gil felt good. No, Gilbert felt great! The cane truly matches all outfits, and it added a sense of maturity to his image. It felt good. It felt right.

    Walking out of the room, Gilbert found himself feeling nostalgic. Every step brought back years of feelings and pains, but growth and accomplishment alongside it all. Taking the first step down the staircase, Gil is reminded of his first day waking up in the hospital. It was cold, and his body felt numb. He could remember how he couldn’t feel his leg and how all he could do was blink, then fall back to sleep. It carried on that way for two weeks, trying to contain the infection on his leg Gil had found out at a later date. Once he was allowed to fully wake up, the numbness had followed for another week before the Doctor had recommended cutting the use of painkillers to a minimum. 

    It was difficult, waking up and finding how damaged he was. To learn that he may never be able to walk again. To discover that his life would never be the same. Gilbert had shut people out at that time. He felt the worst during this period. He refused to see any of his friends or coworkers, as shame overtook all rational thought. Gil had honestly thought that his brother would only gaze upon him in pity. Looking back at it now, Gilbert could understand why he’d done it. Why he still hasn’t reached out to anyone. That was the point of tonight though, wasn’t it? To reconnect. To build new, stronger bridges where the old ashes lay. To take the final steps in his recovery. 

    Gilbert was a quarter down the staircase now, thoughts turning to his first days of physical therapy. The pain was indescribable. His leg could barely move, and Gil could hardly find the strength to continue. He thanks the patience of Dr. Ivan Branisky, for helping him work through all his physical problems. Dr. Branisky had been one of the most stubborn people on earth that Gilbert had ever met, save 2 or 3 others. The Doctor refused to let Gilbert give up, nor would they allow him to wallow in self-pity. It had been infuriating at the time, but soon became something Gil had needed desperately at the time. Now Gilbert could walk on his own again, with the help of his cane of course. 

    Halfway down the staircase now. Anxiety and anticipation were waging war inside of Gilbert, knowing that soon this journey would be coming to an end. And with this thought in mind, Gilbert allowed himself to reminisce of the time when he allowed himself to live again. A whole year after the accident,  working tirelessly to gain the use of his leg again without crippling pain almost rendering him unconscious Gilbert had gone to his first therapy session. 

    It was a difficult decision to go, as any thought or suggestion had left him restless and irritated for days at a time, cruising the name of all that caused him to be in the predicament Gilbert had thought himself fine. There was no need for some stranger to peer inside his head and tell him how damaged he was. He told himself that enough already, thank you. Every moment spent thinking about it had sent Gilbert into rage and depression, only causing the people around him to insist that it was a reason further to go. This had been another time when Gilbert had burned bridges with people, scalding words and spiteful actions driving many away. Another reason why tonight was such an important event to Gilbert.  It offered him the chance to apologize to many people he hurt and cut off.

    Upon his entrance to the Office, Gilbert knew that it would be hell. The place felt artificial, with cream colors and few items here and there. The receptionist, Tino had such a cheerful attitude, which had felt grating during the first months.  Anger was the strongest emotion Gilbert had been feeling, other than sadness. Thankfully, Dr. Heartman had fully prepared herself to drag Gil’s feelings out of him. She left no stone unturned and had him leaving raw once he walked out the door. He could hide nothing from the woman, which certainly helped in the end. 

    It had taken Gilbert almost three months with Dr. Heart before he allowed himself to even refer to the incident. Finally, he had found the courage to tell her what had happened after weeks of dancing around the topic. Before everything, Gilbert had been a cheerful person. He loved life, he loved beer, and he loved work. Gil had helped out wherever he could, whether it be advising exorcising or helping with fixing houses or volunteering in general. It had been volunteering which had allowed Gilbert to meet the love of his life in the first place, and for that, he would be eternally grateful. Gilbert smiled now, memories of their first encounter dancing through his mind. The two had hit it off rather quickly and came to no surprise that they had gotten together if their friends' reactions were to go by. Gilbert had limited free time, and the two had made the most of it whenever together. Gilbert had been a firefighter, working diligently to keep people safe. He never took into account that one day he would require rescuing himself.

    Gilbert had been called in to put out a fire at The Maple Garden, believing it to be the usual grab ‘n go response. The building had collapsed when Gil went inside to check for any remaining civilians trapped inside, crushing his right leg and severely burning his back. Thankfully no one else had been inside when the restaurant fell, and his injuries had been minor considering the circumstances. Everyday Gilbert takes some time to truly appreciate the fact that he had survived such an experience. Dr. Heart had been proud that he could finally put the experience into words, telling him that Gil was finally set on the right track of healing and improving his life. 

    Gilbert finally took the last remaining steps of the stairs, sliding down into the chair right beside them to give his leg a break. It feels good to be where he is now. Sure, he could no longer do many things he used to the same way as before, but that doesn’t mean his life was over. All it meant was a new one had started. 

    Footsteps on the hardwood floor caused Gilbert to look up, a loving smile slipping onto his face. Here was the one person who stuck beside him through it all. Here was the person whose sunshine smiles brought life into Gilbert's dead world. Here was the single most important person in his life, other than his brother. The love of his life, Alfred F. Jones. Alfred smiled back, coming close to place a kiss on Gil’s head. “You ready for tonight?” Alfred asked, bringing his hands up to cradle Gilbert's face.  

    “No, but I will be.” Was Gilberts reply. He wasn’t ready to go. There were sure to be uncomfortable conversations, countless apologies, awkward silences, and more than a few tears shed tonight. It needed to be done, however, and what a better way to rekindle lost friendships and smooth over past grievances than a wedding announcement? Placing his hand upon Alfreds, Gilbert couldn’t stop the rush of excitement and pure love from showing on his face when their rings clicked together softly. 

    Yes, tonight would be long and tedious, but it would be well worth it in the end. Not just for himself, but Alfred as well. Together they would be stepping into a new chapter of their lives, one sure to be filled with love and joy for the rest of their lives. 

[queerofthedagger]

27 with jegulus?

Thanks for the prompt, Nonnie! 27 was: "Help me I'm being hit on at a bar please be my fake boyfriend for a second."

Like You Mean It

Pairing: James Potter/Regulus Black; Wc: 7109; Ao3

Warnings: None; Tags: Fake Dating, Professional Quidditch, Au - No Voldemort

Summary: When Regulus gets hit on in a Muggle bar while celebrating his graduation and signing up as a professional Seeker, he thinks asking James to pose as his boyfriend for a moment, instead of hexing an unsuspecting Muggle, is a rather smart move. After all, it's only for a few minutes, so it won't be much of a problem with the small crush he has. Right? Well - let's just say it doesn't work out that neatly. Until it does.

Regulus is going to kill Sirius, he thinks, weaving his way through the throng of people clustering the shady bar his brother dragged him to, narrowly avoiding getting drinks spilled on his shirt.

Alright, maybe nothing that drastic but he’s not sure why Sirius thought a ratty punk-bar in Brixton would be the obvious choice to celebrate Regulus’ graduation and signed contract for the Seeker position of the Falmouth Falcons. Or maybe he simply isn’t drunk enough yet.

Ducking underneath another elbow, he steps up at the end of the long-winded bar that runs along the wall, leaning his elbows onto the dark wood and watches as the two barkeepers try to keep up with the string of orders.

The bass of the rough music is reverberating in his head, he can feel the vibrations through his shoes and up his legs and the strobing lights let everything appear slower, like watching a series of individual pictures in quick succession and he can admit, at least to himself, that he kind of gets why Sirius likes to come here.

It’s a stark contrast to the wizarding world, to everything they grew up with and he can nearly taste the sense of defiant freedom the people here carved out for themselves – he’s just annoyed that he lost Sirius, James, and Remus somewhere in the jumping crowd and isn’t all that certain that he fits in here.

“Hey there, pretty boy!” a loud voice shouts way too close to his ear for comfort, the words slightly slurred and he clenches his jaw, refusing to visibly jump.

Taking a deliberate step back, he slowly turns, lips curving into an instinctive sneer. Maybe he’s going to reconsider the murder plans from earlier he thinks, looking the guy up and down. He’s taller than Regulus, which is saying something, and twice as wide, with an unkempt beard and an unrefined face. Worst of all, he’s leering and Regulus’ fingers itch for his wand.

“What do you want?!” he asks, raising an eyebrow and standing up a bit taller.

His hostile attitude doesn’t seem to deter the guy; he simply takes another step towards him, leaning close and grins. “Don’t be shy. You look bored, and a pretty guy like you – “

Right, no. His eyes flicker to the side and he thinks he’s never been more relieved to see James Potter standing only a few feet away, leaning over the bar and talking to the barkeeper. Without another word, he steps around the guy and pushes his way over to James, pressing up close to him.

James looks surprised but flashes him a quick smile. “Alright there, Reg? Enjoying yourself?”

He silently thanks whoever is listening that just now there’s a switch of the bands, just background music filling the small space, and that he doesn’t have to shout to be heard. “No, but listen. There’s this absolutely disgusting guy hitting on me so, to prevent me from hexing the living daylight out of some Muggle, pretend to be my boyfriend for a moment, yeah? Great, thanks. There he comes.”

James' eyes widen and he opens his mouth, but Regulus elbows him into the side before wrapping an arm around his waist. James tenses for a moment but he seems to get it quickly enough, eyes suddenly dancing with mirth. He throws an arm around Regulus’ shoulders, leaning close. “Alright, but you owe me.”

Regulus spares a moment to consider that this might not have been his best idea; he harboured a small crush on James for years now, and they’re going to play on the same Quidditch team soon. Then again, it’s not like this is going to take longer than a few minutes and he’ll probably only have to help him prank Sirius or something.

Shaking his head, deciding to worry about this later and ignoring the little voice in his head telling him that he might be drunker than expected, he leans into the hug, turning his head when the guy steps up next to James and looks at the two of them.

James’ smile vanishes and he tightens his grip on Regulus, who’s definitely not enjoying this more than he should. “Need something?” James asks, all that arrogance and cockiness he carried through his first six years of school breaking through.

“I was just talking to your friend – “

“My boyfriend,” James says with a pointed look. “And he didn’t appreciate it, so if you could get lost – “

The guy frowns, lips curling downwards and for a moment, Regulus thinks that this could turn very ugly. “Are you certain about that?”

Regulus sneers, glaring and leaning around James. “Who the fuck do you think you are to question that? Even if I wasn’t, I was obviously not interested so I’m going to repeat what James just said – get lost!”

He thinks there’s something like recognition flickering through his eyes, but it’s gone just as quickly. “Well then, your loss.”

Both James and he snort and shake their heads at his retreating back. Before either of them can say anything, Sirius steps into the empty spot, looking between them and the guy that just left them alone. “What in Merlin’s name did you talk with Andrews about?”

“Who?” James asks, taking his glass from the bar and downing half of it, still not taking his arm from Regulus’ shoulder.

He tells himself he only stays close in case they’re being watched, but he’s not sure he believes that himself.

“Andrews – the new Beater from your team? You know, Quidditch – “

“You’re kidding me,” James states confidently, shaking his head and smirking at Sirius like he easily sees through his joke.

Sirius looks confused though, slowly shaking his head. “Eh no, I don’t? He was at the try-outs and got the spot – how can you not know that? And what did you do that he looked so pissed?”

James falters, running a hand through his hair and Regulus takes his glass from him because he really needs a drink right now.

“We – well, he – what the fuck is he doing here? This is a Muggle bar,” he says, his throat still burning from the whiskey.

Sirius looks at him like he’s a bit dense and he scowls at him.

“The whole team is here, you know that – and what is it with you two, anyway?!”

James groans, dropping his head onto Regulus’ shoulder who keeps himself from running his hand up and down James’ spine by pure force of will.

“He was hitting on me, and rather disgustingly as well,” he says, lips twitching when Sirius’ exasperation morphs into an annoyed scowl on his behalf. “He didn’t get the message and I spotted James, so – well, I asked him to act as my boyfriend for a second.”

Telling it to Sirius, it doesn’t sound as smart anymore as it did a few minutes ago and Sirius’ barking laugh doesn’t help matters. “You did what? That’s the best you come up with when someone is hitting on you? Merlin Reg – “

“I know, I know okay?! It’s not like James didn’t agree though,” he says, rolling his eyes and nudging James a bit who finally looks up again.

“Did you, now?” Sirius asks with an amused smirk, raising a brow at James.

James shuffles his feet a bit, avoiding to look at either of them before flashing Sirius a sheepish grin. “I didn’t know it’s him – and well, Regulus said otherwise he’s going to hex the guy, so I thought, you know, before getting an incident on our hands because of breaking the Statute of Secrecy – “

Sirius laughs again, shaking his head. “Very self-sacrificing, Prongs. Well, if you two don’t want to have a spit with your future teammate already, I’d suggest you keep that up for a while.”

Regulus’ eyes widen and he quickly looks at James, who appears to be far less concerned by that idea than he has any right to, instead just tightening his hold on Regulus and grinning at him.

“Well then, seems like we have a fake dating thing going on.”

Yeah, definitely not one of his best ideas Regulus thinks, plucking the glass out of Sirius’ hands. How is he supposed to get through this without going mad within weeks?

*

He wakes up with a pounding head, a dry throat and pain in his back, and it takes him long moments to remember where he is and why he feels like he had a run-in with a Hippogryph.

Blinking his eyes open, he looks around the messy living room of James’ and Sirius’ flat, books, vinyl’s and a few empty mugs littering the dark hardwood floor and available surfaces and he slowly pulls himself up into a sitting position.

“Morning,” Sirius greets him, levitating two mugs and handing one to Regulus, looking way too cheery for his tastes.

All he manages is a grunt in response and he closes his eyes in bliss at the first sip of hot coffee. Sirius throws himself into one of the worn armchairs across from him, watching with an amused expression as Regulus slowly returns to the land of the living.

“As often as you’re staying here since you graduated, we could actually consider giving you the third room,” Sirius breaks the silence after a few minutes, and when he looks up, he’s smirking. “Would give your whole relationship-story a bit more weight, too?”

He’s confused for a few seconds before realisation washes over him and he curses under his breath, pulling his knees up to his chest and burying his face into them.

“Oh come on, James isn’t that bad,” Sirius teases, obviously enjoying the whole thing far too much and Regulus thinks he would like to hex his brother. “I was serious about the room though. It basically serves as a storage room right now, and then you wouldn’t have to stay at Grimmauld’s. Or constantly sleep on the couch.”

Distaste is clear in Sirius’ tone and he looks up again, sighing to himself. “Mother is going to throw an epic fit if I move in with you. Even worse than when she found out I signed up for Quidditch.” He doesn’t manage to hide the slight wince at the memory and Sirius’ face turns a bit softer.

“Exactly why I’m offering, she’s not suddenly going to stop pestering you about it.”

Drawing his bottom lip between his teeth, he thinks about it. Normally, he would agree without a second thought. Sirius and he mended their relationship over the last 2 years after drifting apart when he was sorted into Slytherin, and while they’re always going to be different, they get along well enough.

The bigger problem is James – not because he doesn’t like him, more due to the fact that he probably likes him a bit too much, and just got himself into a fake relationship with him. He’s not so naïve to think that this couldn’t blow up in his face.

“I’ll think about it,” he says after a few moments, sinking deeper into the cushion and closing his eyes, trying to calm his racing heart.

James finds them like this, flopping down next to Regulus unceremoniously. A quick glance at him is enough to nullify all his effort to calm down – James looks soft, hair wet and wearing a white t-shirt that stretches over his chest and shoulders, and he’s smiling at both of them.

“That was a good night, wasn’t it?” James says, stretching his arms over the backrest and coming terribly close to Regulus. “Got drunk, danced a lot, celebrated Regulus and I even got a new boyfriend.”

The smirk and satisfaction in James’ tone nearly make him choke on his coffee and he has to fight hard to keep his composure. Of course James Potter would make a joke out of it he thinks, not without some bitterness.

Sirius just snorts, throwing a cushion vaguely into their direction and missing by a landslide.

“You should probably come up with some story, so when someone asks, you’re not contradicting each other. It’s bound to get some attention, seeing that you’re both professional Quidditch players now.”

Regulus just groans again, letting his head fall back and startling when it lands on James’ arm. Merlin, what did he get himself into?

James hums, obviously unbothered by their closeness. “We started dating after I left school and finally got over Evans, otherwise nobody is going to believe it anyway, or make a whole lot of drama out of it. I don’t know, we met through you, of course, and kept the whole thing silent because Reg was still in school.”

“Oh yeah, that’s good! So you’ve not been together for long, let’s say a month? Means you’re still in your honeymoon phase though,” Sirius goes on, throwing his legs over the armrest of the chair he’s sitting in. “You don’t have to shout it from the rooftops, of course, it all depends a bit on how much Andrews is going to bother you about it or if he’ll just keep his mouth shut.”

Regulus doesn’t think that it’s very likely, seeing how bad the idiot took their proclamation last night, but he doesn’t feel inclined to join their planning session right now.

“Makes sense, though we shouldn’t act like we’re just friends all the time. It’s not like there’s much room during practice to be all couple-y but, you know, arriving and leaving together, holding hands, that kind of stuff,” James says, his hand nudging Regulus’ shoulder who only nods in response.

“Oh, and then you can stage a breakup in a few weeks – if you didn’t date for long and say it’s a mutual decision, nobody’s going to doubt that it’s not that hard for you two to still get along – for my sake, if for nothing else,” Sirius grins, clapping his hands together.

“What do you think?” James asks, and it takes him a moment to realise that the question is directed at him.

Shrugging, he leans forwards again to get away from James for a bit. “Sounds fine to me. Now that I know that the git is a wizard, I can simply hex him if he’s getting on my nerves anyway, so we could actually cut this rather short.”

There’s a flash of… something in James’ eyes but then he shakes his head and grins. “Don’t spoil the fun, I actually like the idea. It’s going to be great!”

Of course James would see it this way, just another prank he can pull.

“Yeah alright, it’s probably better to not already antagonise my teammates already,” he says with a sigh. If he tells himself often enough that it’s the only reason he’s agreeing to this, he might actually believe it at some point.

*

The next few weeks are flying by and the whole thing turns out to be less taxing on him than he thought. They simply arrive at and leave training together often, hold hands and share their breaks – ignoring the hand-holding, which is rather nice as far as Regulus is concerned, it’s not that different from what they would be doing, anyway.

Unfortunately, the press catches wind of it soon. They can’t be sure if they’ve been seen or if their teammates couldn’t keep their mouths shut, but about a month after it all started, there’s an extensive article both in the Prophet and Witch Weekly.

 Both Bachelors Black and Potter off the market!

Dear readers, you’re going to be as surprised as I was when the news reached me the first time. Regulus Black (18) and James Potter (19), both fresh, young players of the Falmouth Falcons, are no longer single!

James Potter already became well-known over the course of the last season, filling the position as Chaser directly out of Hogwarts where he led the Gryffindor team to the Quidditch cup six years in a row, the last two years as captain.

Many girls and boys are aware of James’ good looks and charming smile, and there have been speculations about his relationship status for the whole of last year, only outmatched by his best mate, Sirius Black (20).

This season found another young talent among the ranks of the Falmouth Falcons. Sirius Black’s younger brother, Regulus Black, got chosen as the new Seeker and is rumoured to easily match James Potter’s talent. He not only matches him in talent though – the Black family is well-known, not only for their high standing in society but also for their very good looks, and Regulus is no exception.

So maybe it shouldn’t be such a huge surprise that both rising Quidditch stars found themselves a partner – but I think nobody is going to contradict me when I say that it’s rather unexpected that they are in a relationship with each other.

An anonymous source tells me: “Potter and Black always arrive at training together and are basically inseparable as soon as they’re off the pitch. They’re often seen holding hands and Black spends a lot of his time over at his brothers flat, where both Sirius Black and James Potter live together.”

Well, dear readers, I can’t say that they aren’t making one of the most handsome couples I’ve laid eyes on in some time! I’m sure we would all like to know how their relationship came to be! Is Sirius Black fine with this fresh love between his brother and his best friend? What does the Black family think about it? And what will happen if they break up at some point – that wouldn’t be easy, playing on the same team! Stay tuned, this reporter will make sure to keep you up to date!

Regulus would have laughed about the article as much as James and Sirius probably did if he hadn’t found out about its existence by his mother reading it out loud, her voice trembling with barely repressed fury.

His first instinct is to deny it, but the annoyance and defiance that’s been building within him for some time now rears its head – it shouldn’t matter what the bloody hell he does with his time, or whom he’s dating and even if this relationship wasn’t completely fake, she has no right whatsoever to demand he ends it. He stubbornly ignores the voice that tells him that he’s starting to go a bit far for this whole thing, tells her straight-up she can shove it, packs his stuff and moves into the spare room in Sirius’ and James’ flat.

Sirius looks way too proud when he tells him what happened, grinning brightly and throwing an arm around his shoulders. “I knew you had it in you! We have to celebrate that!”

It’s then that James walks in, bags of groceries in his arms and he smirks at them. “Hey, hands off my boyfriend, Padfoot!”

Regulus chokes out a laugh, still a bit incredulous that he actually walked out on his mother, but Sirius simply snorts, rolling his eyes at James. “You can be glad I let you fake-date my little brother, don’t test me.”

Regulus smacks the back of his head before stepping out of his reach. “You said something about celebrating? I could use a drink.”

“Let’s go to the Leaky Cauldron, we shouldn’t get too wasted seeing that it’s our last training before the match tomorrow and that never works out in Muggle London. We can ask Remus and Peter as well,” James pipes up from the kitchen.

When they walk into the pub an hour later, Regulus’ nerves calmed a bit and he actually feels like he made the right decision. If everything goes to hell, he can always find his own place, it’s not like he’s lacking the money.

His good mood dims when they not only find Remus and Peter but half of their team in one of the boots in the back, including Andrews who made it his personal goal to get on both of his and James’ nerves in the last few weeks.

Still, it would have been impolite to not join them and it’s not like they don’t give as good as they get.

It’s still a funny night; they drink too much beer and firewhiskey, exchange guesses and theories about the coming match and Quidditch in general and he gets into a lengthy discussion with James about the possible uses of Transfiguration in a duel.

They’re sitting close to each other, James’ arm over the back of his chair and their knees knocking together occasionally. It’s a good thing that everybody believes they’re dating and that he can put his lingering glances down to acting his part; his heart is beating too fast and he feels warm, and he tries to keep reminding himself that this is not real, that James’ small smiles and short touches are nothing but an act, a game to him, but he’s not all that successful.

At some point, the inevitable needling from Andrews starts, because of course it does. “So, how’s it with the two of you? We only ever see you holding hands and sure, it’s cute and all but you’re either disgustingly innocent or maybe not as in love as you claim to be.”

“What, just because you don’t find us snogging on the Quidditch pitch every other day?” Regulus sneers, unable to help himself. “If you want a show, visit a strip club, for Merlin’s sake.”

James laughs and a warm sense of satisfaction curls in his chest at the thought that it was he who put that carefree expression there.

“It is a bit weird, though,” Mary Charleston speaks up with a thoughtful look. “Don’t get me wrong, you two are definitely disgustingly in love, there’s no doubt about that – “

And isn’t that a bad joke, Regulus thinks bitterly, carefully keeping his face free of that emotion.

“ – But I didn’t take either of you for much of a prude – well, especially not Potter.”

He’s just readying himself to tell them all where they can stick it and that he doesn’t need to indulge in public displays of affection because he doesn’t owe them anything, when James’ hand slides up his arm and settles on his neck,  and at the same time he turns, leaning forward in his chair and kisses Regulus.

It’s like his mind goes blank within a second, everything narrowing down to the soft, warm lips pressed against his, the thumb drawing circles into his neck and James’ smell invading his senses, of freshly cut grass and soap and something spicy – pine maybe, he can’t think straight enough to actually tell.

It takes him a moment to open his eyes again after James pulls back, their faces still close and a soft smile tugging at James’ lips before he gives a soft sigh and sits back in his chair, smirking at the others. “There, satisfied?”

Reality crashes back into him and he swallows against the feeling of cold disappointment that replaces the warmth and elation within seconds. He’s never been so thankful for the endless hours of his mother telling him to never show what he feels, he thinks, biting his tongue and raising a challenging brow at Andrews. Right. All just an act.

“Alright, that was hot. And convincing,” Mary says, grinning at the two of them and he forces himself not to tense when James puts his arm back around his shoulders.

Later, when they’re home and he retreated into his room, there’s a soft knock on the door and James steps in, wearing sweatpants and a washed-out shirt that makes Regulus fingers itch to pull him into bed.

“Hey, just wanted to check – sorry if I overstepped earlier, I was…” James trails off, ruffling his hair and the movement has his shirt riding up, revealing a sliver of tanned skin Regulus has to draw his eyes away from.

Gesturing dismissively, he just shakes his head, looking back down at his book. “Don’t worry about it, it was just a short kiss.”

James is silent for a moment and when he looks back up, he’s watching him with a small frown.

Exhaling slowly, he smiles. “Honestly James, it’s alright.”

“Yeah I – okay, good. Goodnight then,” James murmurs, leaving his room and shutting the door before he can say anything else.

*

The next morning, it’s like nothing happened and no matter how convoluted his feelings on the whole matter are, Regulus is glad for that right now. He’s nervous enough as it is with their first match taking place today, and he shoves each and every thought that involves James as far away as possible.

Still, as soon as he takes off and the game starts, it’s like he left all his nervousness behind. It’s perfect weather for flying – it’s cold but the sky is clear, weak November sun promising a good chance to spot the Snitch, and he quickly starts circling the pitch above the rest of the players, letting his eyes wander and keeping half an ear on the commentary.

Puddlemere United played rather badly in the last season but they exchanged half of their team and it’s hard to tell how it’s going to affect this year, though if the fact that, after 15 minutes, the Falmouth Falcons are already leading with 50 points, it might have not been of much use.

James is in his best form, and Regulus catches himself a few times watching him play for a tad too long – that’s definitely a habit he needs to let go of he thinks, letting his eyes roam over the stands.

It wasn’t that much of a problem in Hogwarts, seeing that they only ever had one match against each other per year, but he can’t keep getting distracted now. Maybe he shouldn’t have joined the same team then, that annoying, little voice speaks up again and he shakes his head to dispel it.

A flicker to his right catches his attention and he turns his head, fixing his eyes on the little, golden ball that’s currently hovering at the bottom of Puddlemere’s goalposts. It’s closer to him than the opposing Seeker, Jones, and he doesn’t waste another second to drop into a dive, weaving between players and taking a sharp turn when the Snitch zips to the left.

A brief look over his shoulder shows him that Jones noticed the Snitch as well, or at least that something is going on, but he’s too far behind to catch up and if the Snitch doesn’t do something very annoying, he shouldn’t have much of a chance.

As if reading his thoughts, it suddenly changes directions and flies straight up. Gritting his teeth, he follows, ignoring Jones when he pulls close to him. There are only a few feet left before he can grab it and he curses under his breath when it pulls to the right, directly out of his path. He just thinks he’s going to lose after all when it flies back, back into his way and he can’t help his whoop of joy when his hand finally closes around it.

James touches down only a second after him and before he knows what’s happening, throws his arms around Regulus’ neck and pulls him into a deep, demanding kiss. His body is still soaring with the rush from winning them their first game and he simply clenches his fingers into the front of James’ robes, pushing against him and letting himself get lost in this marvellous feeling.

A hand lands on his shoulder, pulling him back and they break apart, for a moment just grinning at each other and then there’s a bright flash and Regulus whirls around, staring at the reporter holding a camera and wearing a self-satisfied smile.

It’s like dropping into the freezing Great Leak from hundreds of feet up in the air, his chest clenches and he balls his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms and teeth grinding together.

It’s only minutes of celebration until they’re free to go to the changing rooms but it feels way too long, thoughts racing through his head with only the burning need to get away really reaching him.

Bloody hell but he can’t do this any longer. It’s been fine when holding hands was all they did but this, this makes him go mad because the longer it goes on, the more often James kisses him, the more he realises that he’s long since past a simple crush.

All that time they spent together, in training, in their flat, talking about books and Quidditch and James making him laugh until his stomach hurt, it’s simply too much and he doesn’t think he can keep up this façade any longer; not even regarding their teammates or the public, he honestly couldn’t care less about that now, but he just knows that one of these days he’s going to break and tell James exactly how little of his affection he has to fake.

And if he’s certain about one thing, it’s that he can’t do that. It’s been obvious from the very beginning that this is all one great, hilarious prank to James and in the best case, James would simply laugh at him; in the worst, he’s going to be sorry for Regulus and he doesn’t think he could take that.

He needs distance, desperately so, and as soon as he’s out of sight and can slip away from his still cheering team, he apparates back to the flat and storms into his room, haphazardly throwing a few things into a bag and leaving again within less than 10 minutes.

He’s a bit surprised to find himself on Barty’s doorstep. They kept in touch after school, one of the few real friends he actually made at Hogwarts, but he realises with a start that it’s been some time since they’ve seen each other and it’s mostly due to him spending nearly every moment with James and Sirius.

They have that effect on people, he thinks, clenching his jaw – drawing you in, making you forget everything else, and he got completely lost in it.

Fortunately, it’s Barty’s mother that answers the door. His father never liked Regulus much, solely because of him being a Black, and he’s not sure he could have stayed calm and polite right now on top of everything else.

“Oh, hello Regulus, I didn’t know Barty was expecting you. No matter though, he’s in his room, just go on through,” she greets him with a kind smile, and he forces himself to return it.

Her worried frown tells him that he wasn’t all that successful, but he quickly ducks into the corridor, thinking that he’d probably break and spill everything if she asked him if he was alright in that motherly way he always envied a bit.

Barty’s sitting on his bed, surrounded by books and parchment with an ink-stain on his left cheek and a quill tugged behind his ear, getting a fleeting smile out of him.

“Hey,” he says quietly, staying in the doorway and suddenly uncertain what to say.

Barty’s head flies up in surprise but it’s quickly replaced by a bright smile. “Reg! Didn’t expect to see you, come in! Didn’t you just have your first match today?”

The tight knot in his chest loosens ever so slightly at the warm, familiar comfort of Barty’s company and he drops his bag to the floor where he stands before flopping down into the chair next to Barty’s bed. “Yeah, we won.”

“Alright – shouldn’t you be… I don’t know, happy about it?” Barty asks with raised eyebrows, slowly gathering the many pieces of parchment into a neat pile.

Shrugging, he looks away from him, pondering what to say. “Yeah I am – or well. It was a good match, at least,” he finally sighs, running a hand over his face, fingers lingering on his lips for a short moment.

Honestly, James Potter doesn’t have any fucking right to kiss him like he means it.

“Well, why are you scowling like someone killed your Kneazle, then?”

Grimacing, he blows out a long breath and closes his eyes for a moment. “It’s – I – James…”

“Your boyfriend?” Barty asks surprised, leaning back against the wall and stretching his legs out. “By the way, you could have told me that you finally got your crush to go out with you, you unfaithful git.”

He groans, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees before burying his face in his hands. “He’s not – we’re not together.”

“What?! Did he break up with you?! I swear to Merlin – “

A quick look shows Barty already half up from his bed, wand in his hand and a short laugh escapes him, and even he can tell that it sounds vaguely hysteric. “No, we were – we just pretend to be together. Pretended. Salazar, I swear this is such a mess.”

Barty stares at him for long moments before slowly sitting back down. “Do you mean to tell me that you thought it’s a good idea to fake-date the guy you’ve been crushing on ever since 5th year? Didn’t you even move in with them?”

He just nods defeatedly, feeling the beginnings of a headache.

“Merlin Reg, that’s so exceptionally stupid I wouldn’t even have expected it from your brother, much less you.” It’s a sober, clinical statement and he can’t help but agree.

“It’s not like I planned to, you know?” he says with another sigh and Barty just looks at him disbelievingly. “Really, we were in this Muggle bar and there was a guy hitting on me, not taking no for an answer. So I asked James if he could act like my boyfriend, thinking it would be a case of a few minutes. Well, turned out that he was the new Beater of our team.”

Slowly, Barty pulls the whole story out of him, his face becoming more sympathetic and exasperated with each passing minute.

“Well,” he says when Regulus is finally finished. “It’s still stupid and you could have ended it weeks ago, but I kind of see why you didn’t, you miserable sod.”

Regulus just opens his mouth to answer, he doesn’t even know what, when the door to Barty’s room opens.

Expecting to see Ms. Crouch, he startles violently when James is stepping inside, face flushed and slightly out of breath.

“No, absolutely not!” Barty snaps, already up and halfway through the room before Regulus even processes what he’s seeing.

It’s kind of cute and reminds him that Barty has always been a bit overprotective for whatever reason, but it’s also misplaced. He calmed down considerably since getting here and it’s probably better to get the whole thing over with rather sooner than later.

Getting up, he pulls Barty back from James who, for his part, has his hands raised in a placating gesture and looks terribly confused. “It’s alright, I’ll be back in a minute,” he says tiredly, gesturing for James to lead the way. “Let’s go outside.”

They’re silent until they reach the French doors leading into the garden and Regulus leans against the wall, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. Bad habit he picked up from Sirius, he thinks, staring at it for long moments before sighing again and meeting James’ eyes.

“I just – Why did you… I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t know it would bother you so much more than last night and I was just – “

Exhaling the smoke in a rush, he holds up a hand and shakes his head. “It’s not about that. I just – we should end this whole charade,” he says quietly, watching as the wind whips around white particles of ash before carrying them away.

“What – why?” James stammers, his voice somewhat rough and when he glances at him out of the corner of his eyes, he’s frowning and has a hand fisted into his hair.

Shrugging, Regulus looks away again, fixing his eyes on the forest at the edge of the grounds that are already becoming indistinguishable in the fading light. “It was never meant to go on for so long anyway, and the longer we keep it up, especially with – “ he gestures helplessly into James’ direction, “Stuff like you did today, the more complicated it gets.”

James huffs, staying silent for a moment. “But I’m – I mean it’s going well, isn’t it? I stop kissing you if you want – “

“For fuck's sake,” he finally snaps, glaring at James who takes a step back. “You had your fun, it’s all been a great prank, but I can’t – I don’t want to do this anymore, so you just have to find yourself a different pastime, alright?”

“It’s not been some prank for me!” James instantly shoots back, his eyes blazing.

“Oh yeah? Then what was it, really? And don’t tell me you simply did it because I asked you to, it’s been rather obvious how much you enjoyed this little game,” he sneers, burying all his hurt and disappointment deep underneath the anger and not caring one bit that he’s being a bit unfair here. Honestly, James could have simply left him alone, or at least agree to stop the whole thing and leave it at that.

“I enjoyed it because I like you! Because I’m – I have – “

“Oh great, yeah. I like you too, but that doesn’t mean that we have to pretend to be a bloody couple. You don’t do that with Sirius either, do you?!”

James stares at him incredulously, his hands balled into fists at his side and it’s a weird feeling all this provokes in him – it’s painful, fighting like this, but it’s also easier, better than this soft, intimate side he witnessed over the last few weeks, and the self-destructive, proud, stubborn part of himself wants to make it worse, wants to burn all the bridges they’ve built between them and only remember this because it would make everything so much safer.

“Are you – for Merlin’s sake Regulus,” James sighs, suddenly sounding tired, shoulders slumping and his hand messing up his hair for the umpteenth time. “I have a bloody crush on you, alright? Not even – I suppose it’s more than a crush and really, I should have told you earlier and not take advantage of the whole situation but it was just – at least it let me pretend, for a moment, that it – that we could be something more because, well… Nevermind, I should go.”

There’s a strange, rushing sound in his ears, he can feel his heart racing painfully in his chest and his mouth is dry as he watches James turn with one last, sad look at him.

“Wait,” he manages to choke out, the word coming out raspy and silent and he quickly takes two steps forward, curling his fingers around James’ wrist before he even knows what he’s doing, before he has any idea what he’s supposed to say.

James turns slowly, frowning and looking at the spot where Regulus is still holding his wrist. He lets go on instinct, wincing at the resigned look flashing through James’ eyes. Merlin but he’s absolutely shit at talking about feelings, there are a thousand things he wants to say and each and every one of them sounds more ridiculous and stupid than he can bring himself to voice.

The longer he’s silent, the more James’ face shutters, his lips pressing into a thin line and his shoulders tensing, and fuck he really needs to say something and maybe it doesn’t matter all that much what it is, exactly, in the end.

“I – Me too, I mean – it’s why I… Why I was so set on ending this because I just couldn’t – it’s too hard to pretend, all the time and you – fuck, why is this so hard?” he laughs hollowly, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair. “I like you, like, a lot.”

James turns fully towards him then, taking a step closer and slowly raising his hands to Regulus’ face, thumbs running over his cheekbones and he closes his eyes, leaning into the touch.

“I should have asked you this much earlier, but can I kiss you, please?” James murmurs, so close already that his breath is ghosting over Regulus’ lips and he doesn’t think he could speak if he wanted to, so he simply nods.

It’s a soft, careful kiss, just a brushing of lips and completely different from their first two kisses but it makes his breath catch and a shiver run down his spine, much more intense than the others. He wraps his arms around James’ waist, pulling him closer and deepens the kiss, has to fist one hand into the back of James’ jumper because he feels like if he doesn’t ground himself somehow, he’s just going to break apart or drown, going to burst with the rush of happiness and disbelief and joy that’s threatening to overwhelm him.

James tangles his hands in Regulus’ hair, humming softly and bites into his bottom lip before running his tongue over the spot.

“Hey Reg, are you – oh.”

They only slowly break apart and it takes several moments for him to comprehend that Barty is standing in the doorway, looking at them with wide eyes. Regulus can’t help the laugh escaping him, his heart still racing and happiness bubbling within him. Really, he thinks, going through such a wide arrange of emotions in the course of half a day can’t be healthy, and he leans against James for support because he fears his legs might just give out in exhaustion.

“I’m fine, as you can see. We kind of – sorted it out,” he finally manages to say, knowing that he must look like an utter sap right now but he just can’t find it in himself to care.

Barty snorts, shaking his head. “I figured. So I take it you’re not staying?” he says with a smirk, looking between the two of them.

James' arm around him tightens at the mention, making his heart jump again. “No, thank you. But we should catch up soon, yeah? You need to visit us, or come to one of our matches,” he says, still remembering that he thought he should see Barty more often.

“Will do,” Barty says with mock-seriousness before pinning James with a look. “Don’t do anything stupid, Potter.” With that, he turns on his heel and disappears back into the house, and Regulus can only hide his laughter in James’ neck.

“Let’s go home,” James murmurs into his hair, and Regulus didn’t think something as simple as that could sound so terribly good.

[inspirationdivine]

You Can’t Sit With Us || Lydia and Cece

Timing: Current Parties: @inspirationdivine & @thebickedwitchoftherest Summary: Cece provides Lydia with some much needed security. Warnings: Head trauma tw, stalking reference

Lydia's heart has taken up permanent residence in her throat. It pounded fast as she sat in her kitchen. Thank God the summer sun hung in the sky so long, keeping her safe with every minute of its presence. The doorbell rang, and Lydia used her smartphone to see through the camera who it was. Showtime. Lydia picked up her crutches and slowly, achingly shuffled to the door. She wore a long dressing gown, heavy make up and as much glamour as she could manage. She wouldn't look well, she wouldn't look herself, but the blackened bruises on her face would be hidden, not would she look anything but human. At least, for as long as she could hold it. "Ms Bishop, thank you ever so much for coming as such short notice." Lydia smiled, but no amount of magic could hide the croak in her voice. She hopped aside, careful not to say any invitation.

Cece felt like a call girl, without any of the implied action. She waved at the camera after knocking and readjusted the bag on her shoulder. The thing kept getting heavier and heavier as she added more things to it she deemed necessary. God forbid anyone decided to check her bag. They would probably think she was insane. The woman, who Cece assumed was Lydia, opened the door and Cece sucked in a low whistle. She didn’t look good. She answered on crutches, and despite the makeup and expensive looking robe, it was pretty evident that she was in a rough place. “Anything for a friend.” Cece answered, wondering how it was that Lydia and Remmy had become acquainted in the first place. “You can call me Cece, it’s preferred actually. What should I call you?” The two stood for a long moment before Cece realized that she wasn’t about to get an invitation into the home. “I’m just gonna let myself in then.” Cece leaned forward, talking softly and then pushing past Lydia and into the home. Smart choice though, avoiding words like that. Clearly, Lydia had learned the wrong way. “So a little birdy told me you’ve got some vamp troubles. What’s the story? Ex-lover? Pizza boy? If so, I hope you gave a shitty tip.”

She smiled thinly, nodding at the name. "Lydia will do nicely," she replied, and lead CeCe into her home, slowly, with the loud click of crutches on hardwood. She couldn't, however. Hide the disgust as Cece tried to guess at the causes of the dispute. "Nothing worth sharing. I just need to know that he won't ever walk back in again." Lydia squeezed her eyes shut from the sun. Bright light was a terrible thing. She grabbed for the sunglasses she kept on a nearby counter, and hoped Cece wouldn't question it. At least the place was clean, Lydia thought. Nothing on display. There was a couch sized gap in the living room, but beyond that, not much to be concerned about. "I don't know how it works. Your spell, I mean. Where do you need to set up? Does it work for the entire house or do you need to do it at each door? Because I have a lot of houses." Lydia frowned, pinching her nose. "I mean I have a lot of doors. Just the one house to spell. Do you- do you want a drink, uh- a coffee or something?" 

Cece got the message. Lydia wasn’t much of a conversationalist it seemed. At least not regarding the vampire she wanted to be permanently evicted from her house. “Point taken. Well, no vampires will be coming back through this door unless they’re paying rent.” Cece began unpacking things from her bag. Multiple bottles of water, a tuft of sage, and the ever spell important candles. She eyed the sunglasses, wondering if Lydia had spent the night coping with her problems. Cece had her own pair of hangover sunglasses she dusted off and fashioned from time to time. “The spell? Piece of cake. I can set up right here. I’ll just have to circle your house a couple of times, but I’ll do the actual spell near the front door. It’ll work for the whole house, and all vampires. Unless you just have one you want to keep out.” Cece grabbed two bottles of water from her bag and carried them over with her to Lydia. “That depends. Do you have wine? Whiskey? Anything alcohol actually.” Cece questioned, never one to turn down a free drink if offered, “Holy water” Cece held the bottle up and shook it for clarification, “I’m gonna go and sprinkle this around the house. Be right back.”

"Right, right of course." Lydia nodded weakly. Wine was doable. While she couldn't drink it right now, she had plenty in stock, and might even enjoy briefly discussing it. Until she imagined bending down or crouching to reach into the wine cooler, and she felt electricity shoot down her spine. But the whiskey was in the cupboard, just below eye level. "Whiskey I can do," she agreed. "See you in a little." Considering that Lydia's home contained her entire restoration studio, her luscious living space, work studios for Sammy and Chloe, and multiple spare bedrooms, it was a large mansion, so she might not be back immediately. Lydia hobbled to the kitchen, moving on automatic as she got out the glass, grabbed the whiskey. It wasn't until she'd finished pouring the whiskey that she realised she has gotten Cece a wine glass rather than a whiskey one, and had poured her a wine portion size of whiskey. She could repour it, but that simple effort was suddenly overwhelming, as Lydia staggered into a kitchen chair, cradling her head between her hands. She stayed there until she heard footsteps back in the hallway, her heart plunging into a panic as she sat upright a little too fast. "Cece?"

“Whiskey it is!” Cece answered before jogging out the door with her bottles of water. The house was massive, far larger than Cece’s own house. This town managed to have an impressive amount of large homes and rich people for its size. Clearly, she should have worn more comfortable shoes today. Curse her for matching the shoes with the outfit. She used her keys to poke a hole in the top of the first bottle of water, squeezing it to spray a stream of holy water into the grass. She began her long trek circling the house, switching bottles once she ran out of the first. Once she had finally circled the yard, she used the small leftover amount of water to spray around the front door. When she went back into the house, Lydia practically jumped. Fuck. Whoever this vampire was, it did a real number on her. “Just me. Don’t freak out.” Cece held up the empty bottles and abandoned them on the counter, noticing the wine glass full of whiskey, “Now that’s what I’m talking about. I like you.” She grinned making a beeline for the glass and taking a long drink from it. “Part one done. Ready for part two? We get to burn some sage, light some candles. Really sets a nice ambience.”

If Lydia had looked pale before, she might have been mistaken for a Banshee now, all the blood drained from her face. She dropped back into her seat, shoulders low, back hunched. She eyed the empty holy water bottles, and swallowed as she realised that it might have just been water, and she wouldn’t know until she tried. It occurred to her, quickly, that she didn’t have any vampiric friends that she’d invited in her home, no one to test with until he tried again. Lydia swallowed, looking back up at Cece with a small smile. “Let’s pretend that was entirely deliberate, shall we?” The smile immediately faltered as Cece told her the next step. “Does that… require my involvement? I’m not feeling too well, I’d rather just sit here.”

“I’m great at pretending,” Cece swirled the glass as if it was wine in it instead and took another sip. Lydia didn’t seem up to the task of helping out with the spell, which wasn’t that big of a deal. The spell was simple enough, it just involved a certain amount of Christian iconography that Cece didn’t typically work with. “You sit there and look pretty, I got this.” Cece grabbed the sage and moved towards the door. She lit a candle and began the incantation, using the candle’s flame to light the sage in a dish. As she spoke, the smoke from the sage began thickening, turning a dark red color as the spell began working it’s literal magic. Cece didn’t stop the chanting until the the smoke began to lighten, turning its regular color and eventually burning down completely. Then, Cece dipped her index and middle fingers into the bowl, gathering a bit of ash on her finger tips and using it to draw a crude outline of a cross on the front door. After that, she made her way back to her bag and dropped off the bowl of sage and candle and wiped her hands clean. “Leave that cross up for a few hours and you should be vampire free.”

“That’s what I’m best at,” Lydia said drily, feeling anything but pretty as some beat drums inside her brain. She listened carefully as Cece moved around the downstairs, if only because keeping her eyes open was harder and harder by the minute. The sage smelled thick and heavy, lingering in her nose and irritated throat. When Cece came back, Lydia shuddered, her head ringing like thunder, hard as the hit which had caused the concussion. “Wonderful. What is the best way to pay-” Lydia inhaled sharply, then groaned. Her glamour began to falter - her ears grew longer and pointier, her bathrobe filled with the bulk of her wings, and her face slowly gave way to the deep bruising and heavy swelling that she’d been hiding. Her glamour came in and out in patchwork, flickering unevenly on her skin, shrinking her ears and then revealing their  full length again. 

Lydia brought up the discussion of payment and Cece began waving her comment away until something flickered. It had been so quick that Cece wasn’t sure she had actually seen anything at first. Until it began happening again. It was like a glitch in a computer program, flickering in different areas of Lydia’s body. They were just flashes, too hard to be able to make anything out clearly. But it was enough for Cece to figure some things out. This was a glamour. Which meant that Lydia was hiding something nonhuman. From the few features that she could see, incredibly pale skin, long nonhuman ears. Something that could pass for human from far away, but the closer one got features would start seeming irregular. “Well that’s different.” Cece tilted her head, studying the woman and questioning her next move. Clearly, the woman didn’t want her true form revealed or she wouldn’t have been glamored. What did that mean for their conversation? Cece was here to do Remmy a favor. She was hardly in the mood to brawl it out with a mutual friend. Best to proceed with caution. “Your glamor seems fucked up. You do that yourself, or is it some kind of bewitched jewelry?”

“What’s different? Oh- Oh shit.” Lydia didn’t even realise that her glamour was falling out of place until Cece said something, but then she wasn’t much in the mood for noticing much of anything at all. The headache roared inside her like one of Jared’s beasts. Ringing in her eyes, burning under her eyelids. Inescapable. Lydia scrabbled in her purse for the decoction of liverwort and stray sod, cringing at the mulchy texture. It helped, just enough for her to yank her glamour back on, although if anyone had looked at her skin too closely they would notice the lack of veins and imperfections. “My own. My mistake, you should never have seen that.”

That had been a panicked response. Cece couldn’t exactly blame her. Being a witch came with it’s perks, and the main perk was that in all other aspects she was a normal human. To avoid detection the only thing she had to do was not do spells in front of others. If she had been something else, something that looked less like the status quo, she would probably be a little panicked if her disguise had failed in front of a total stranger too. Luckily for Lydia, Cece was pretty chill about that sort of stuff. Hopefully for Cece, Lydia took notice to that and didn’t get defensive. Or aggressive. “Seen what?” Cece questioned, rifling around in her purse, “Even if I did see something, my lips are sealed.” Cece found her notepad and pulled it free, scribbling down her cell number and holding it out towards her, “I know you have my online information, but here’s my cell. Call me if you need anything else or if you have any more troubles with that vampire. I could pencil in a count Chocula ass whopping pretty quickly.” Cece hopped back and forth on her feet, throwing a fake punch and acting as though she were in the middle of a boxing ring.

Lydia squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing her forehead, and didn’t even think to try to promise bind Cece to her words. “I appreciate that. Like I said, I’ll… pay you back in kind.” She peeked open her eyes as paper was rustled near her face. She nodded, eyes flicking over the numbers as she took none of it in. “Thank you,”she said again, words she so rarely spoke ever now coming out of her lips quite quickly. “He’s- Well, I don’t know that he’d appreciate being called count Chocula.” Her lips quirked. At the very least, Remmy had sent her a fun human. Maybe she could ea- hmmm maybe not.  “You’re very sweet. Thank you.”

Cece got the feeling that it was time to let the woman rest. She seemed even less focused than she had been when Cece first got here. Keeping up the glamor in her current state probably took a lot of energy. “This was a favor for a friend. You don’t owe me anything.” Cece waves the offer of payment away and flung her bag over her shoulder. “Well I don’t appreciate a vampire roughing up a mutual friend. Frankly, I don’t give a damn what he thinks.” All packed up, Cece was ready to split and let the woman get some rest. Luckily for her, she didn’t need to worry about any blood sucking visitors making an unwelcome entrance. “Since you’re all set, I’m gonna head out, okay? Looks like you could use some sleep.” 

[myhockeyworld87]

Nervous Regrets - Tyler Seguin - Part 13

Word Count: 3089

POV: Reader

Warnings: Smut, NSFW, Oral, sex, cursing

Notes: Finally the smut you’ve been waiting for, or at least I have...haha! Hope you enjoy! As always love your feedback. Peace, Love and Hugs!

It was exactly day twelve that you finally woke up pain free, no headache, no soreness, absolutely nothing; you felt like a million dollars. The only problem was, there was no one to celebrate with except the dogs. Tyler was away on a road trip; which wouldn’t see him home for another five days. He had not been happy about leaving you alone for eight days, and had tried to con you into going to stay with your parents; or have them come up to stay with you. In the end he relented, since your friends would be here on and off the whole time; which they were. However, since it was seven o’clock in the morning and most of them were getting ready for work; you were left on your own.

 So, instead you got up and went about your day, feeding the dogs and making yourself breakfast. It was the same routine you’d done the last three days without Tyler. Usually, you’d head over to the couch and binge watch television; but it was slowly driving you insane. It wasn’t like you could even start to pack up the house for the move which would take place in a few days; since Tyler had already hired a company to do that.  Maybe you needed some retail therapy, but you still weren’t cleared to drive. Hopefully that would change tomorrow, after you saw your doctor for a checkup. Wandering into the office you sat down at the hardwood desk, realizing it didn’t match your new home at all; it hadn’t been what you originally wanted to shop for, but it was a start.

Over the next couple hours, you combed website after website purchasing some new furniture and fixtures for the home you’d be moving into shortly; one thing in particular caught your attention though, cribs. There were so many to choose from. There were small round ones, ones that converted to a toddler bed later, white ones, hardwood ones, the list went on and on. You really needed to start buying stuff for your little one. It was a shame that you weren’t feeling well, when Tyler’s family was here; for you knew they were all dying to go baby shopping. They would all be back in Dallas shortly, so you’d just have to make up for it then.

 You really hadn’t made any decisions about which room would be the baby’s in the new house; so furniture buying was out of the picture for today. Besides, you kind of thought Tyler might want to help with that. So, instead you started shopping for small items you knew you were going to need; all gender neutral of course. In no time, you had the online cart filled with pacifiers, swaddling blankets and cute little onesies; that’s when you heard your phone ring.

 “Hey Ty, How’s your morning?”

 “Morning? Babe it’s one o’clock in the afternoon. Are you feeling worse or something? Or have you been sleeping all morning?” You could hear the concern in his voice.

 Time must have really gotten away from you, had you really spent the last four hours or more on the computer? “Actually, I feel fantastic. It’s the first time I literally haven’t had any pain at all, anywhere; not even a headache.”

 “Oh, so you must have been watching our favorite show without me then, that you lost track of time.”

 The two of you had decided to re-watch all of the Game of Thrones episodes before the final season came out; you swore to him before he left that you wouldn’t watch any without him. “No, I’m not watching G of T. I was doing some online shopping.”

 You could hear him groan through the phone, yet still he chuckled when he spoke; “I’m surprised the credit card company hasn’t called to tell me I’m over my limit.”

 “Oh stop, I didn’t even use your card. I have my own money you know.”

 “I’m just teasing you. You know I don’t care if you use the credit card; that’s why I got one in your name too.” It was in your purse, and you never used it. He had originally given it to you when you moved in the first time; and had offered it back, now that you were together again. Even back then, you’d only used it sparingly; it just didn’t feel right.

 “I know you don’t care; but you also know how I feel about it.”

 He sighed heavily; it was an issue the two of you always had. “(Y/N) I wish you would just use it, but I’m willing not to argue about it; for now.” Well at least your headache wasn’t going to come back. “So, tell me what are you buying that has you losing all track of time.”

 “Well it started with a desk for the new house, which lead to a new chair, and then I saw the most gorgeous bedding set for our bed, so I had to buy that. Then right before you called, I was just about to get some stuff for the baby.”

 “Woah, that’s a lot of stuff. What did you buy for the baby? Nothing important, I hope.” There was disappointment in his voice, and you immediately felt guilty.

 “No, it was just some small things, bottles and stuff like that. I looked at cribs and stuff, but wanted to wait for you. Maybe when you come home, we can go shopping together and look at things.”

 His voice perked up, as he said; “Yeah, I’d really like that. Though I should confess I bought the baby something as well.”

 “Really, what?”

 This was unexpected, and had definitely piqued your curiosity. “Nothing major, just this cute little stuffed animal I saw.”

 “Awww I can’t wait to see it. I really miss you.”

 It was Tyler’s turn to sound surprised, “really?”

 “Of course, I’m so bored here.” While that was true, you also missed the way his skin smelled when he came out of the shower; grown accustom to him holding you at night and the soft sweet little kisses he gave during the day. Those thoughts of him now, made you long for his touch. Though his voice pulled you out of your daydreams.

 “Oh, so you only miss me because you’re bored huh? It’s what every boyfriend wants to hear.”

 You let a flirtatious tone take over your voice. “Well, I might miss you for other reasons.”

 “Mmmm, such as.”

 “Well…I miss the way your lips feel on mine when you kiss me.” His breathing hitched up, and so you continued; “And the way your body feels when it’s pressed up against me at night. Your leg wrapped over mine.”

 “Yeah….anything else you miss.” You knew he was getting turned on; the fact that it was doing the same to you only made you keep going.

 “I miss the way your hands roam over my body, and how they caress my breasts.” Leaning back in the chair you abandoned the computer; giving your full attention to thoughts of Tyler. “I miss running my hands down your chest, until I can feel the hard length of your cock in my hand.” A moan escaped his lips, and you knew he was touching himself. “I miss sliding my hand up and down your shaft.”

 “Fuck, (Y/N) I miss you so damn much.”

 “I want you so bad Ty. I need to feel you inside me.”

 He must have had you on speaker, because you heard a knock in the distance. “Go away…sorry babe, I didn’t mean you. I meant whoever is at the door. Keep going.” The knock came back again. “Fuck” There was mumbling in the background. “I’ll be there in a minute. Babe, I gotta go, team meeting or some bullshit. I’m so sorry.”

 Chuckling, you said back, “No need to be sorry, we can pick this up when you’re home and I can show you instead of telling you.”

 “Stop, you’re not helping,” to which you only laughed more. “I’ll call you after the game. I love you.”

 “Love you too.” Hanging up the phone you realized these next 5 days were going to be longer than you originally thought.

 However, it ended up not being so bad. On Friday, you were cleared by the doctor to resume normal activities; though it was a bit awkward asking if sex could be included in those daily actions. Weeks ago, when the doctor first brought it up, you hadn’t foreseen you and Tyler progressing that far in your relationship. Now you couldn’t think about anything but that. So when the doctor said he saw no problem with you resuming sexual activity; you couldn’t wait until Tyler got home.

 Saturday, your friends came over and you all had a girl’s night; minus the alcohol for you of course. It was great to just laugh, talk and hang out with them. Sunday you took the dogs for a nice long walk, which had you feeling completely amazing; so, you took them over to your apartment and packed the rest of your things. Admittedly, you might have overdone it; as you were a bit sluggish on Monday. While you had good intentions of heading back to work; you decided to take the extra week they had given you off, and simply work from home. It actually gave you a chance to get caught up on things without any interruptions.

 You were just finishing up a conference call with your boss, when Tyler came home the next day; Gerry and Marshall running out to greet him. Ever your faithful sidekick these days, Cash stayed with you in the office. “(Y/N), babe, where you at?”

 “I’m in the office, just finishing up an email.” He was leaning against the doorframe when you finally looked up from the computer; dressed in a dark charcoal gray suit, with a black shirt unbuttoned at the neck. His hair perfectly slicked back taming the riot of curls on his head; he looked like he just stepped out of a GQ magazine. A small smile played across his lips. “There’s my girl. God, I missed you.”

 Before you knew what was happening, you were out of the chair and in his arms; legs wrapping around him as he lifted you up. “I missed you more.” Your lips crushed down on his, in a searing kiss that stole your breath away. You gave yourself over to him, letting his tongue wander inside your mouth before yours joined in. Sliding your hands up, you let them roam through his perfectly combed hair. It was as if you couldn’t get enough of him. For the last two weeks, you’d either laid beside his half naked body or talked to him on the phone; as you fantasized about this moment. It had been entirely too long since the two of you had been like this, and now that he was here in the flesh with you; you saw no reason to deny yourselves any longer. You broke your mouth free from his, breathing harshly; “take me to bed Ty. I need you.”

 It was all you had to say, the next minute you knew, his lips were back on yours; as he carried you back to the bedroom. He shut the door behind you, locking both the dogs and the world outside. Gently he laid you down on the mattress, his body coming on top of yours. Reaching up you slid the expensive suit coat, off his shoulders. His mouth rained kisses down your neck, as his calloused hands reached the hem of your shirt to glide it up your body, and remove it. He looked down at you then, soft brown eyes burrowing into yours. “Are you ok to do this?”

 Your hands fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, as you answered; “yes, the doctor said its fine.” You could see his eyes searching, he was hesitant to go further; thinking he would hurt you or the baby. “Ty, I’m fine. I’ll tell you if something doesn’t feel right.” He seemed to accept that answer, for he replaced your hands and threw his shirt off with ease. Snaking your hands around his neck, you brought his mouth to yours kissing him feverishly. His hand wandered down to your breast, where his thumb brushed against your nipple; a soft moan escaped your lips. His mouth replaced his fingers as he sucked the tight peak through the thin fabric of your bra; wetness pooled in your pussy with every lap of his tongue. “Mmmm…Ty…that feels so good.” Shifting, he went and gave your other breast the same attention. The moment his mouth touched you, your hips bucked up against him.

 He rolled your bodies so you were on top of him, his hands skimming along your side; as you reached down and undid his belt. “God, baby you are so beautiful.” You leaned down and captured his lips again, while he unfastened your bra; the garment drooping off your shoulders. Slowly he pushed you up, so he could worship your breasts; flicking his tongue over your nipple. You grinded your hips against his thigh seeking some sort of friction to the tension that was building within you. Running your hands down from his chest, you moved toward the flap of his pants, wanting to feel his hard length in your palm. He sucked in a harsh breath when you cupped his balls through his boxers, feeling his cock harden even more.

 He flipped you on your back, before you could do anything more. Kissing his way down your body, his hands slowly pushed at your leggings to remove them; you lifted your hips to assist him. His mouth paused when he was at your tummy; a small baby bump had formed in the few days he’d been gone. He reverently placed a kiss there, then looked up into your eyes. “When did this happen?”

 Suddenly you were self-conscious. “A few days ago.” You tried to pull him back up to you; but he couldn’t be budged.

 He kissed your belly again, then began to caress it. “Damn (Y/N) this is so sexy. I have never wanted you more than I do right now.” You released a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. He continued to worship you with his mouth, kissing your pussy through your panties; as he slid them slowly off your body. You moaned, the sound echoing through the bedroom. His finger slid between your folds, “Fuck, you’re so wet babe.”

 His thumb found your clit, you practically jumped off the bed from the sensation. “Ty!” The next thing you knew, his mouth was on your hot little nub; flicking it with his tongue. You arched your back, seeking more. Hands threading his hair, you tugged him closer to your core. He slid a single finger inside you, making a come here motion with it. Your head thrashed against the bed, it was too much and he’d barely touched you. You could feel the orgasm building inside you; legs starting to shake as it built. Your body felt on fire, and with one hard suck on your clit from Tyler; the orgasm hit with full force. “Tyler” you screamed out as waves of pleasure washed over you. He held your hips down with his free hand, as his finger pumped in and out of you; milking the orgasm from your body.

 He raised his head, “You ok baby?”

 You smiled, “Mmmm, yes.” He kissed the inside of your thigh, nipping lightly at the skin there; as he made his way back up your body. He discarded his pants and boxers in the process, so that both of you were naked. You raked your nails along his back, and he hissed out his pleasure. He kissed you, and you could taste your essence on his lips. Cock in his hand, he ran it along your length; coating it with your wetness. Placing it at your entrance, he stilled; not moving, as he ravished your mouth with his. With one swift thrust, he was fully engulfed in you.

 Your body shivered, and he looked down with questioning eyes. Lifting your hips, you urged him to move, yet it wasn’t the verbal confirmation he wanted. “Please Ty, I need….”

 “What do you need baby?” A small smirk crossed his lips.

 “You….Ty…I need you.” Only then did he start to move inside you. Slowly, thrusting in and out of your pussy; as the two of you built a rhythm. Your hips moving up to meet each of his thrusts. He bent down capturing a hard nipple in his mouth, and you groaned in pleasure. You wrapped a leg around his waist, changing the angle and letting him push deeper inside you.

 “Fuck (Y/N) I can’t last much longer.” You reached between your bodies and found your clit, stroking it in a way that had you on edge in minutes. He started to tense, his thrusts becoming faster and shorter. You applied a little more pressure to your clit, sending your body over the edge as the orgasm hit. Your pussy contracting around his cock. With one last hard thrust he pushed deep inside you and came. Both of you screaming out the other’s name. He collapsed on top of you, and immediately you tighten your arms around him, not wanting to move. Ty tried to roll over, but you wouldn’t let him. “I’m gonna crush you.”

 “I like to feel you on top of me.” He kissed your forehead, then your lips; sliding his hands underneath you, so he could roll you with ease now. “Not fair, you protested.” So he rolled you both on your sides.

 “Better?” you nodded. “Are you ok? I didn’t hurt you did I?”

 You giggled, “No Ty, you didn’t hurt me. I feel amazing.”

 “Mmmm me too.” He reached down and brought the covers around both of you. “Sleep.”

 “It’s the middle of the afternoon?”

 “Mmmm I know. And I’ve just thoroughly made love to you, I think we both need a nap. Then we’ll go for round two.”

 Snuggling into his chest, you said, “Round two huh? I think I like that idea.” His hand lightly skated up and down your back; and in no time you found your eyes getting heavy as you relaxed into his embrace. It was as if all the pieces of your life were finally back together.

[yeet-me-dad-dy]

Control

Summary: Connor has to stop your dark alter ego.

Characters: Connor x Reader

Warnings: Gore, blood, swearing, death, murder

Words: 2,710

The house was awake with shadows and monsters, the hallways echoed and groaned. Connor and Hank were bombarded by whispers the moment they stepped over the threshold into the large, dilapidated house. It was as if they were inside of Connor’s head, swirling around. Mocking him. Taunting him.

They don’t love you. How could they? You’re nothing.

You’re just a machine.

You’re not human.

Hank hadn’t even made it five feet into the house before he dropped his gun and clutched at his head, trying to block out the whispers, muttering, “no, no, no” over and over again. Connor quickly ushered him outside through the pouring rain, back to his car, before returning to the house. The thick, ornate door slammed behind him and he rushed over to pull at the handle. It wouldn’t budge.

He couldn’t leave.

You can’t really feel.

You’re just their toy.

The house was drowned in blackness. The storm clouds outside obscured the moon from view, its silver rays unable to penetrate the thick blanket. Doubtless, it wouldn’t have helped illuminate this rundown house; all of the windows were boarded up and covered with thick, moth-eaten drapes. It was times like these that Connor was both glad and hated that he was an android.

The RK800 model was equipped with enhanced night vision; he could see in this blackness as easily as if all the house’s lights were on. By RA9, though, he wished he couldn’t. The walls were slick and dripping with fresh blood, the wallpaper drinking it up. Two bodies lay on the floor in the entryway where the android stood - one on the stairs before Connor, the other between the stairs and the door, directly at his feet. A scan showed that the nearest corpse’s spinal cord was severed. It seems he’d almost escaped from whatever was - is - in this house, but was eliminated just before he reached freedom.

They’re playing you.

You’re so gullible.

So naive.

A chill went up Connor’s spine. His sensors detected movement upstairs and he knew he should go investigate, but he couldn’t move. He was scared.

Hank and Connor were sitting at their desks in the DPD when the android’s LED flashed, indicating he was getting a call. He answered happily, but his mood quickly fell when he heard what was on the other end of the line.

“Connor?” the voice was male, strained and wavering with fear. “You have to get here. I called for backup, but they’re all dead. It’s (Y/N). They killed them all. I’m the only one left and I can’t get out of here. You have to stop them. You have to-”

Static filled the line for a moment and Connor called into the receiver, asking if the man was still there, if he was okay. He was greeted with your voice… almost your voice. It was you, unmistakably, but something was… off.

“Hello, love,” you purred. Connor could hear a gurgling sound in the background, like someone trying to breathe with water-filled lungs. “I was wondering how long it would take for them to get a hold of you. Are you going to come and play?”

Connor took a tentative step around the body and toward the stairs, gun raised. To his right was an archway leading into the living room, and the kitchen was to his left. There were more bodies in each, the hardwood floors drinking up both blue and red blood seeping from severed arteries as they mixed together to create a sickening shade of purple.

“Connor!” he heard a cry from above him, a female’s voice this time that was quickly cut off. It wasn’t yours, but it was calling for his help. He raised his gun and started up the stairs, cringing at every creak and groan the staircase offered.

He stepped off of the stairs and around the banister. More bodies. So many bodies. This hallway was as wide as the entryway, with two doors to the right and one to the left.

“Once more…” he heard a whisper, so faint that even his enhanced hearing almost missed it.

“Help me! Plea-” The voice was cut off again, but Connor was able to pinpoint that it originated from the left door.

He made his way cautiously over, stepping over bodies, his footsteps splashing in the deep pools of blood. At the end of the hall was a set of glass doors leading to a balcony. The doors were shattered and a body was slumped over the balcony railing, dangerously close to slipping and falling to the ground below. Its bulletproof vest was eviscerated; deep gashes went right through the material and into the officer’s back. The RK800 cross-referenced these claw marks with all known creatures, but his test came back negative.

Whimpering reached his ears and he pried his gaze from the body on the balcony and turned it swiftly to the door now ahead of him. It was ever so slightly ajar, dripping with blood, and he could see bullet holes littering the thick wood. These weren’t the only bullet holes, however. They were everywhere - all over the house. Most belonged to handguns, but some he identified as belonging to automatic weapons. It was then that he noticed a few of the corpses were clutching bigger guns. The faces that he could see were all frozen in various states of terror.

He heard another muffled sob. He should have been in the room already - rushed in to help whoever was in distress… but he was stalling… hesitating. He didn’t want to know what was on the other side of that door, though he had an idea... one that made his blood run cold.

He swallowed hard and used the toe of his boot to push open the door, gun readied. He stepped over the threshold into a large bedroom. There was a body on the bed before him, some bookshelves and another door to the balcony to his right… and someone crouched down in the corner to his left.

His heart stopped.

The figure turned to regard the newest arrival, shifting so that Connor could see the android they had cornered. Its legs were missing, sparking wires and crumpled metal indicating that they had been torn off by some great force. He kept his gun trained on the crouching figure as he slipped his flashlight from his pocket. He didn’t need it; he knew who the figure was. But… he had to be sure. He positioned it under his gun and switched it on with a click.

The glint of sharp steel at the android’s throat was the first thing he noticed. Your eyes were second - black like the void - and the sharp claws on the ends of your fingers were third.

“There… I- I did as you said. I called him up here. Please… please let me g-” The android stopped as you slid your knife across her throat, cutting through her like butter. Thirum spurted out, adding a swirling blue to the sea of red and purple already on the floor.

You were soaked in it. You rose suddenly, slowly, black eyes never leaving him. What was this? What were you?

“Hello, Connor.” Your voice was like silk and velvet and caramel - smooth, soft, and sweet. Intoxicating. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to show.”

The android took a tentative step forward.

“(Y/N)?” he asked quietly.

You laughed lowly, a wicked grin overtaking your features. “Oh, no darling. Your lovely (Y/N) isn’t here right now.”

“What is this?” he asked. “Why are you doing this?” His heart was beating faster than it ever had before.

“Why?” you asked innocently. No... not you. It. It took a step forward and the darkness seemed to swirl around it like ink. “Because this is the only way I was ever going to get to meet you-” In an instant, it was standing before him. Its body had turned into a cloud of darkness, darted forward, and then regained its physical form. “-face to face,” it whispered. “They sure as hell weren’t going to introduce me.”

It’s face was only centimeters from his, breath reeking of blood. “(Y/N)… Please, you’re scaring me,” he tried, gazing into those shining black eyes, desperate to find any sign of you behind them.

It sneered and took half a step back. “I’m not (Y/N). And goddamn right you should be scared of me.” Its arms went out to its sides, right hand still clutching a dripping knife, as a blast of darkness erupted from you, shaking the house and sending Connor flying back into the bookshelves.

“ Ḯ͉̭̐͆ͪ͐͒ ̧̼̊Ä̠̲̞̠̠́̀̂ͭ̊͞M̙ ̗̻͓̼̮ͯ͑ͦͧI̋ͬͩ̑̈́͑̀N͔̬ ̆̎̒C̲̽ͤ̐͂̕O͎͙̮͕̠̕N̠͛̂ͤͨT̞̹ͦͪ̌R̜͙ͭ̐̓Ō̰͓̲̝̯̐̔ͫ͞L̲̯̞̙̠ͫ̌ͫͪ̃̊͞!̦̜̣̮̱̽ ” it shrieked.

Connor found his feet quickly, raising his gun to point once more at whatever dark creature had taken hold of the love of his life. Its left arm dropped to its side. It pointed the knife at Connor and lowered its head, gazing through its lashes at the android.

“Are you going to shoot me?” it asked sweetly, voice echoing around Connor in hushed whispers.

“If you give me no choice,” he warned.

It smirked and shifted the knife so that the tip was now pressed up against its chest, just above your heart. “You kill me and your love dies too,” it said flatly.

“Why are you doing this?” Connor asked once more.

“I already told you.” It took a step toward him, knife dropping back into a neutral position, glinting in the beam of his flashlight. “I wanted to meet you.”

“Why?”

It scoffed. “To kill you, of course. I want them to get a taste of what it’s like to be locked in that cage, helpless. I want them to watch as I kill you - slowly, intimately… in all the ways I know you fear… And their screams of grief will sing like music in my head.”

He hesitated. “Who are you?”

It shrugged, taking another step forward. “I’m them, but I’m not. I’m them, but better. Stronger, faster, smarter.” Its smirk widened into a grin. “More dangerous. You’ve known about me. You saw the signs. ‘Anger issues’ they said. You knew that wasn’t it, but you chose not to see. You chose to ignore it - to pretend everything was fine. You could have stopped me, but you just watched-” It raised its arms again with a smirk. “-as this happened,” it hissed, referring to the massacre.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” he asked.

The other you clicked its teeth. “They’re in here,” it said, raising the knife’s tip to your temple. “It’s rather annoying, really. They’re screaming. Crying. Struggling to take back the reins, begging me not to hurt you. It’s rather inconsiderate. I never made nearly as much noise when I was the one locked in the cage.”

Connor was backed against the bookshelves with it between him and the door. He could try for the balcony, but it’d catch him. He shouldn’t run anyway. You needed him, and he couldn’t allow this… thing to remain in control of you. If he could just get through to you…

“(Y/N),” he tried again, his voice quiet as he gazed into the black abyss of the demon’s eyes. “I know you’re still in there. I know you can fight it. You can regain control.”

The demon laughed, throwing its head back. “Oh, that’s cute. I’ve got them locked away, deep within their subconscious. They can hear you, but they can’t fight me. Not from where they’re at.”

He’d have to try a different approach. “You said you wanted to meet me so you could kill me. Why?” he asked.

It chuckled. “Because I know you. I’ve seen every loving gaze, been on every insufferable date, had to experience every disgusting love-making session. I’ve been here the whole time.” Its voice wavered and its head twitched. It were radiating darkness; it was seeping from its skin, rising to swirl around it like smoke from a campfire. “I’ve had to sit by and watch while my arrogant other half got to be happy. Why do they get to be the one in control?” Its voice was rising now, the darkness growing thicker, heavier. Connor’s ears were ringing. The blackness was swirling around him like a hurricane.

“T̴́H̢̛͞E̴Y̛͢͞ ̢P҉R̢͜OM̛͜͢I͡҉͢S͠ED͜ ̸͢TH̛E͞͏Y ́W͟͡Ơ͟UL̸҉D͜ ̶͘L̴̸Ę̡T̡͘͝ ͝҉̀M̀E͠͞ O͜U̸T̷.͝ T͝H̢̡E̢Y ̧͏Ṕ̸R̷Ơ͢M̀I͘S҉È̡͜D ̛͘͜T̢HE̡Y̵͡ W̢͜͝OU̷̢L҉҉D̸͘ ҉̡G̷̸̕I͟͠V̛É̴ ͘ME ҉C͏O̢͜N͢͞Ţ̵̶R̸̀O̕͢L͜͝.͟”

And suddenly the world went still. The ringing stopped. The only sound to be heard was the blood dripping from its knife to splash in the pools at its feet.

“It’̷s͠ my̷ tu̷r͞n̡ n̷ow͡,” it whispered.

It lunged toward Connor in a cloud of smoke, pinning him to the bookshelves, its knife at his neck, claws trailing lightly down his face, caressing him as it smirked.

“And I’m going to start by destroying the one thing they love most.”

It pressed the knife into his neck and he could feel the blade break the skin, the tickle of thirium as it trickled down his neck, leaving a trail of blue in its wake. Its hand was shaking, knuckles white as they gripped the knife. It’d broken only the top layer of skin and plastic. Why wasn’t it killing him?

“No…” it muttered. “No… you fucking… don’t…” Its head twitched again and it lurched backward, away from Connor, landing hard on its back on the floor. “I won’t let you hurt him,” it hissed, only this time… it wasn’t sickly sweet. This time… it was you.

“ŅƠ͜!” the other one shrieked as your body turned, propping itself up on its elbows. It dropped the knife and brought its bloody hands up to its head, twisting its fingers in its hair, claws digging into its scalp.

“I̝ͧ͑̒̔̾̅͊’̞͙̪͚̞̽M͍͐ ̾ͥ͛I̬͎̲̙̼͗͊͑ͧͪ̈́̚̕ͅN͚͇̟͜ ̀C͈̲͓̯̬̓̃͐ͅO͈͐Ṇ͚̘̬͚̀ͦͤT̔̑̈́ͦͧͦͧ͏͓̦R̍̓ͤ̄͡Ọ̥̣́̐̍͗̇L̼̟̻̥̣̰̈́ͬͥͯ̍ͬ͗ͅ ̫̲̽̒ͫṈ̬͕̘̠͂̔ͅO͙ͯ͛ͩ͘W͓͍̞̼̊.̙̪͖̤̺̟”

“Connor!” you cried and the android was ripped from his state of shock. He rushed forward, gripping you by the shoulders and pulling you into his lap. He wrapped his arms around you as you clawed at your head. “It’s in my head… Its voice. I can’t stop it, Connor! It’s too strong, I can’t stop it!” You were sobbing, hot tears leaving deep trenches in the blood coating your face. You took in a shuddering breath. “You have to. You have to stop it. Please. Please, Connor, I can’t. I’m not strong enough. I’m not-

“E͙̠̩ͭ̐͐͝N̯̣͎̲̝̱̿̆̾͌ͯ͘O̭̬̠͕͈̮ͫ͐͒ͯỤ̡̙̱͓̅̇G̠̘͓͇͋͆H͈̰̠̱̀!̦̦̱͕̝̥̝̆ͮ̓ͩ”

It wrenched itself out of Connor’s grasp, grabbing the knife as it crawled across the floor to slump against the wall. The android raised his gun again. He could feel tears prickling behind his eyes, threatening to well up and spill over.

“Į̡͌T͌ͮ̄͆ͥ̽͒͝͝’̛̅̊͆͋̕Sͤ͛ͫ ̡̓͒ͪͮ́̚̕M̶ͪ́͊̀Y̏ͮ̅̄ͣ͑͢͟ ̈̅̀͌̾̽̚͏T̈̔̓ͩ̎͛̚̚҉Uͬ͐ͥR̛̒ͣ̄̂͠N͌̓ͤ̐̔̓̈́ ̴̛̆̌ͪ͆̑̂͂ͧ͘N̛ͩ́̏͛̈́Ỏ̋ͩ͂̌͘Wͬ͛̽͆̃ͤ̅͏͜,́̈́͗ͣ̇̽͋͏” it insisted, gripping the knife tightly once more as it adjusted into a crouching position. He knew it was going to lunge for him again, black eyes boring into his. This time, he knew you wouldn’t be able to stop it. This time, it would kill him.

“Please, Connor.” And suddenly your eyes were yours again, begging him to help you. “Please.”

Their color faded back into black as it rushed forward. Connor barely had time to react.

BANG.

It fell just short of where he knelt and the knife slipped from its hand, skittering across the floor. The android’s heart stopped as his brain tried to process what had just happened, what he’d just done. He dropped his gun.

Oh god… what had he just done?

“No… No, no, no, no, no,” he begged as he knelt forward, taking your body in his blood-soaked arms and turning you onto your back to cradle you.

“No, please. Please, please, no.” The tears were falling freely now. You were gazing up at him, eyes lifeless and cold, a bullet hole right in the middle of your forehead. Your own blood was running down your face to mix with all the other blood in this godforsaken house. He clutched you tightly to his chest, resting your head in the crook of his neck as he began to sob.

“I’m sorry!” he wept. “I’m sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t want…” He was gasping, choking. “I’m sorry. Please, please don’t be dead. Please wake up. (Y/N), please!”

He didn’t hear Hank enter the room, the Lieutenant’s breath catching in his throat.

“(Y/N),” Connor whimpered. “Please… Don’t leave me. I love you…”

[wxldhxrt]

Path of the Incandescent Soul 

weeks have turned to months and your journey to olympus, your acceptance of your life as a demigod, has lead up to this moment. it's been brutal, wrought with pain and close calls, thick with loss, but you've endured. as you begin to get ready to sleep, winding down for the night, something inside of you feels different. there's a strength that grows that you only dimly knew was there before. you feel stronger, faster, more attuned to your senses and your own inner power. if you ever doubted that you might have divine blood in your veins before, now, more than ever, you feel it. 

 as soon as your head hits the pillow you fall fast asleep, exhausted from the events that have lead up to this point. who knows however long later, you "awaken". you're not where you fell asleep, nothing is as it was when you slept. you have to blink a few times but you realize that you're in a place that seems familiar to you. describe this place? what does it look like, sound like, smell like?

The feeling of wakefulness seemed to come slowly, washing over Greyson like a gentle tide. He wasn't laying down beside Ender as he had been when he'd gone to sleep that night, bone tired from the day's events. He was stood, but he couldn't remember getting up. He looked around, feeling the vastness of the space before he really saw the features of the room. Then the lights around him seemed to rise, waking up and pooling a soft glow all around, casting shapes into view. He knew this place, he had been there a number of times before. It was the Royal Albert Hall, the familiar stage was beneath his feet, hardwood floor, spreading out around him. 

 Greyson looked left, following the flow of the room up towards the great dome above that created the most perfect of acoustics. It was strange however, he had never been on the stage before, only ever looked at it longingly from the stands, sat in the perfect velvet chairs, watching as great pianists and orchestras performed their masterpieces, wondering if perhaps he would ever find the courage to be up on that stage. 

 As Grey turned his eyes down from the lights and ceiling above, hazel gaze scanning across the rows and rows of empty seats, he finally noticed the huge grand piano at his side only a few short steps away. A smile curled his lips at the sight of such a beautiful instrument, able to play the most exquisite of sounds when in the hands of a master. He closed the distance between himself and the piano, fingers stroking across the ivory keys, daring to touch and play a few single notes to fill the silent space with music.

royal albert hall is just as you remember it. you've never seen it this empty, though, and the vastness of it seems daunting and overwhelming. as your eyes fall upon the piano, your heart skips like a staccato, as if the ivory keys are plucking at your heartstrings with a yearning that swallows you whole. 

 the lights of the hall beam down on you as if you're bathed in radiant sunlight. it doesn't feel artificial, it doesn't feel like spotlights. it's the warmth of the sun over your skin and it follows your fingertips over the keys of the piano. you pluck a few of the keys and the sound echoes through the hall, reverberating off the domed ceiling in acoustics unlike anything you've ever heard—it's almost otherworldly, ethereal. 

 you look up and outward toward the rows of seats, where you once sat, and you can see a figure bathed in light, as if created by it. you focus and you can make out the details through the lights, as if you're willing them to take shape. who or what do you see? what shape does this figure take and do you recognize it? how does it make you feel?

When the sounds of the piano ring out with an ethereal tone, Grey paused, for a moment worried he had touched something he should not have, like a child caught with their fingers in a jar of sweets. But the light above feels warm, this place feels safe even in the vastness of its grandeur. For a brief moment Greyson was tempted to sit and play, the let his fingers dance across the keys and fill the hall with beautiful melodies he held in his soul and heart, melodies he'd only ever played for himself, that he probably would only ever play to an empty room. 

 But his eyes catch the light out in the rows of seats, his seat and he saw a figure. For a moment the distance felt too great to make out whoever was sat there. "Hello?" Greyson called, surprising himself when his voice seemed to echo, but then the light cleared, like light always did for him, bent to his will when he wished it so, and his hazel eyes went a little wide at who was sat there. "Professor?" 

 Grey had not seen him in almost a year and their parting had been a painful one. But there he sat, same crop of dark hair atop his head, thick beard across a sharp jaw Greyson's lips had once learned so acutely he knew every inch. The memories seemed to flood back when he looked at those striking blue eyes that had once held the wisdom of the world in them for Grey. 

 His first day in class, Professor Adam Faust, easily the most charming man on campus, but it had been his passion for music that had drawn Grey in. They had hit it off so quickly, but he never expected it to go any further than that. Adam was married, Greyson was naive and yet...Their time together had progress to after hours, out of class, what had once been a Professor and his student became more akin to friendship and then there was the kiss. A kiss that stole his breath away.

An affair that lasted all of Greyson's time at university and then more after that. It had taken Grey too long to realise this man, that he was genuinely in love with, was not in love with him or if he was, he wasn't about to throw away his marriage for one boy. 

It had been hard, to see him that final time, to tell him this was it, he couldn't live like this anymore, the secret, the second choice, Greyson needed more, he needed someone to love him completely. It had been hard to walk away. But he had done it. And now, seeing him here, the place Adam had brought Greyson for the very first time to watch and listen to the most beautiful music Grey had ever heard, it felt painful, like an old wound opened up again that Grey had been healing with time. "Adam." Greyson said softly, the name falling from his lips in a whisper that he wondered if the other would even hear across the distance between them.

the more you focus on the figure within the lights, the more it seems like they're fading away, taking shape. adam sits there looking just as you remember him. his eyes stare at you as you sit at the piano, a small curve of his lips makes you realize that he's smiling. he stands, straightening his blazer, and takes a few steps toward the aisle and begins to speak. 

 at first, you think it's a joke, but the only sound you hear is the soft keys of a piano being plucked, the chords filling the space between the two of you. but as you focus, you can begin to hear the words and, more than that, the voice that speaks them. what do you hear when adam faust speaks? does the voice belong to him? is it male, female, animalistic? describe what you hear and how it makes you feel.

Greyson strained to hear Adam's voice better, but all he could hear was the soft melody of the piano. It feels unreal to see him again after that last departure, especially with how Grey's life had changed. Everything he'd once known about himself had been shifted on its axis and he still felt as though he were spinning. But the more Grey listened to that soft press of the keys, the music fades out and words fade in. 

 For a moment he thought it was Adam's voice, that low timbre he had that seemed to make music when he was lecturing or had just been talking to Greyson about the performance they had just seen, or wrapped up in sheets, breathy and soft against his ear. But the more he listened Greyson could hear another voice, clearer than Adam's tone, it whispered through as if carried by the wind or the distant piano keys. He recognised it so clearly, a sound Greyson knew he would carry with him forever like so many songs. 

 Ender's voice. 

 It was rich and soothing, the sound deep like the rich red wine the other demigod was fabled for. It was a sound that made Greyson smile, brought him such joy and light, kept him war and safe. It was the sound he wanted to hear each time he woke and before he lay down to rest. The two voices seemed to mingle, past and present, two men who had and were so influential to Greyson's life, one who had shaped him and one who was now with him on this new journey. Ender's voice was stronger, so familiar like every time it wrapped around a soliloquy just for Greyson, and it was strange to hear that voice come out of someone else's mouth, but it was familiar, it was home.

the duet of voices spiral around each other, like reciting a monologue or singing a song, and it's like music to your ears. adam continues to move, stepping onto the stage until he's standing across from you at the piano. 

 finally, you can make out his words. 

 "i've been expecting you." the smile still spreads across the plains of his face, reaching into you striking, ocean blue eyes. he motions for you to sit at the piano. "show me what you've learned."

"Expecting me?" Greyson questioned with a confused little frown pulling at his brow. They had agreed to never see one another again at least, Greyson had asked for that mercy when he'd called off their affair. It would have been too hard to remain friends, not with how heavy his heart had felt at the choice that had been made. Her not him. It shouldn't have come as a surprise but it had and it had hurt. 

But those ocean eyes and that voice that wasn't all Adam but instead the most familiar and comforting one of all seemed to lull away that old ache and pain in his chest. He looked at the piano between them when Adam's hand motioned to it. And then he sat. 

This was familiar, known to Grey. While he might never have played on a stage so grand as this, he had played in the quiet of Adam's lecture hall, in the warmth of his home. He had played for him so many times it came almost naturally to Greyson to lay his hands upon the keys and begin the opening chords. The song choice was easy, Greyson didn't even need to pluck it from his many lists of melodies. It was his favourite to play, the song that he'd always felt captured his heart and his soul and bared it open for the world to hear. 

Yiruma - River Flows In You. 

 Greyson's fingers danced across the ivory as elegantly and controlled as any dancer. Each press of a note deliberate, creating the beautiful and timeless flow of music, filling the Royal Albert Hall with sound like so many musicians before and so many would after. Greyson didn't need a crowd, his eyes closed and he let the music flow through him, felt that earlier warm light like the sun on his skin. He played until the song drifted off, until the melody came to an end.

for the duration of the performance, adam stands at the edge of the piano with one hand resting on it and eyes focused on you. his smile never falters nor does he speak—not his voice or ender's voice interrupts you as you play. 

 when you're finished, and you open your eyes once more, you're met with his smiling face. it could be soul crushing if the sun wasn't beaming onto you as if the dome of the hall had opened up to let the sun in. 

 "you are your father's son." he says. "what is it about music that draws you to it?" he questions. "everyone's connection to music is different, what's yours?

That smile was a familiar echo to a life now over. How manny times had he looked upon that face for praise after he'd played a song or a piece of music? Too many, but the encouragement and wonder he'd never received from his own stepfather was always reflected back at him. It had allowed Greyson to bloom and as much as the end of things still pained him, he couldn't regret any of it or all the things Adam had taught him. 

The praise made a blush rise to Greyson's cheeks. His father's son. He still wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but it felt good to hear. He wanted to live up to whatever expectation he needed to, to be the son of Apollo. "Thank you." Grey said politely even though he expected no thanks were needed, but he had been raised right by his mother at least, always the proper English Gentleman. 

The question made Greyson pause as he gave it some thought. What did music mean to him? "I...I don't know really. I suppose music has always been heart and soul to me. It was an escape, freedom from the...darker parts of my life. In a lot of ways it was my lifeline. I never needed to try very hard to be good at it, I just...was. But through it, it's opened doors for me, its saved me when I was drowning. Music is a part of me, sometimes I think it's the best part of me." Greyson answered, eyes turning up from the keys beneath his fingers to look upon Adam's face, almost hopeful that he'd answered correctly.

"music is part of you, greyson." ender's voice is more prominent when adam speaks, the tenor of his voice ringing true, thickly laced with the red wine slur that you've grown accustomed to. "is that what you wish it to be when you play? a lifeline for others, a means to combat the darkness, to always be able to come back to the light no matter the circumstance?"

Ender's tone ringing through seemed to soothe away any worries of his answer being wrong. The other demigod just had a way of making Greyson feel like he could do something, anything, even when Grey himself feared he could not. He considered the question once more, turned it over in his mind. Is that what he wanted, his music to be a lifeline for others? He didn't know. 

"Maybe...but my music has always been...just for me. I worry that even if I play the most perfect melody people will find something to criticise, something to hate or put me down for." Grey sighed, his head hanging in an old habit as his fingers once again idly danced across the piano keys. He wasn't playing anything in particular, just allowing the somber melody to flow from his fingers. "What if what I play can't help anyone? What if I can't be the light in the darkness like my father? I don't....I don't shine brightly like him, I can't take a stage in front of people. I'm a quiet light in the distance..."

"how does one get better without criticism? you cannot improve without it." this time, adam's voice is a little more prominent, as if trying to prove a point, instruct you. 

he taps his fingers against the wood of the grand piano and looks up at the sunlight that radiates onto you, swallows you into its warmth. 

"are you a quiet light, greyson, or do you turn yourself into one out of fear of being truly seen and noticed?"

It a question Grey had been asked before and he's once again reminded of the fact that he probably does hide himself out of fear more often than not. He had his reasons, and with age and experience those reasons had seemed childish at times, but old habits die hard. A lifetime of degrading, belittlement and punishment for just being himself had made Greyson shy away from ever truly letting someone see him. From being in the light. 

Now he could direct it, control it. Light was his to command and to wield and so he turned it to others, raised them up, healed away their hurts, aches and pains. He still didn't focus that light on himself. For a moment Grey thought of the other demigods he truly admired. Ender with his passion and his strength, he could charm his way into and out of any situation. Credence, with as much power and confidence as the storms he commanded. Gideon who had so quickly shown Greyson it was okay to live a little. Elijah, wielding the power of his mother's garden. They were all so strong, people Greyson looked up to. 

He saw their faces as if they sat there in the audience below before Grey once again looked at Adam at his side. "I want to be stronger, for my friends, for Ender. I want to be more like my father and less like...who I've always pretended to be to hide. I don't want to be afraid anymore, I want to be able to protect the people I love with everything I have. I don't want to be that quiet far away light anymore."

adam nods his head and he looks up to the dome ceiling of the royal albert hall. slowly, it's as if the lights begin to fade away until there's nothing but darkness. everything around you begins to fade away, leaving the familiarity of the hall a distant memory. you can barely see, can barely make out the details of adam's face even with him being only an arm's reach away from you. 

"darkness will always be present. but you are the light." he reminds you, voice stern as if chastising a student. 

then, it's ender's voice that rings through the harmony of their voices. "show me who you really are. let the light out."

When the lighted start to fade, fear suddenly seemed to creep across Greyson's skin. He felt powerless in the darkness, alone and lost. He watched Adam's face fall from view, blackness flood over him like a thick fog he cannot escape. For a moment Greyson's breathing picked up, hard and fast he stood from the piano, trying to reach out for Adam like he was a lifeline, another soul in the darkness to remind Greyson he wasn't alone. 

"But what if I can't?" Grey's voice faltered, he wanted to be enough, but that creeping self doubt pushed through. His stepfather belittling him, telling him he would never be enough, not good enough, not smart enough, not what he wanted him to be. The voices of angry hateful school kids ringing louder and louder in his ears, swallowing him up. 

Before it's all Greyson can hear, Ender's voice, sweet and warm like honey wine, pushed through the deafening darkness. And Greyson steeled his resolve. He could do this. He was his father's son. Son of Apollo. The light was his to command. 

Greyson reached within himself, dug deep through all the doubts and self pity that buried his light and he washed it all away with that nectar voice guiding him. He let the light pour out of him, bright as the sun, a healing heat so warm and welcoming it felt like life. Sunlight was life. Greyson was the sunlight. His eyes seemed to glow with nothing but a white radiance, golden rays pouring from his skin and perfect wings of light and colour filled the hall, chasing away the darkness. "Is this who I really am?"

for a moment, it's almost as if the darkness is completely engulfing you, swallowing you heart, body, and soul. it's a ruthless darkness, a steady convergence of nothingness that threatens to end the light that makes you who you are. you can feel the panic of being alone settle in, of being left, and then that voice, the same one that's always whispered sweet nothings into your ear, guides you to you center. 

to who you are. 

brilliant, radiant light unfurls around you like a heartbeat, a pulse of sunlight emmenates from you, illuminating the darkness and melting it away. your eyes glow a bright, white hot light, and you stand there like a beacon of light, turning the visage of the hall back to it's glorious brilliance, only basked in bright light. "it is. it's always been who you are."

Feeling that radiant, white light fill the hall and melt away the oppressing darkness, Greyson was imbued with a new sense of purpose, of belonging. This was who he was meant to be, a beacon of light and hope for those around him, the warmth and life of the sun flowed through his very veins. It was as if he could feel it, that burning golden heat, pulsing with each rapid beat of his heart. 

"This is who I am." He echoed, turning to look at Adam's face as the light seemed to settle when Greyson did. This was the man who had set him on a path, and his voice was the one who was to join him on his current. He knew their collective goal, but Greyson had his own sense of purpose as well. He was to be the light and the song that kept his friends strong, that never let them falter. For a moment he thought of Ender, of his face and it was a silent promise to himself never to let him fall, to protect him always. That was Greyson's duty, his calling. 

"This is all a dream isn't it? But when I wake up I won't forget this feeling. I think I know myself better now than I did before, thank you." He smiled at Adam with a warmth and radiance that matched the sun.

"this is as real as anything else you've experienced, greyson." adam says to you as he leans against the piano. "you're finally ready to embrace your destiny, to combat the darkness." he moves to stand beside you and rests his fingers against the ivory keys of the piano and plays a few notes. 

"always remember who you are. even in times of strife, don't allow the darkness to overtake you." he places a hand to your cheek and smiles. "can you do that?"

"I'm still pinching myself most days waiting for the inevitable wake up rush whenever we face something unbelievable." Greyson joked, a soft chuckle as gentle as the melody he played falling from his lips. He knew out there in the waking world it was all real, so he supposed he shouldn't question his dreams too much, especially considering he could peak into the future, and what was foresight but a waking dream really? 

When that familiar hand touched his cheek, he didn't feel the same ache in his chest he had before, those thoughts of not being enough for this man to love, didn't enter his mind like they might once have. Adam was a part of his past, a lesson, he had his future, beside his sleeping body in their shared tent. "I can do that. I'm going to be the light in the dark for everyone." Grey nodded, a resolution in his voice that sounded strange even to his own ears. But it was a good strange, proof of dedication. "I hope to make my father proud, if I ever meet him someday."

"i'll lend you my power and we'll see you combat the darkness. for yourself and your friends." adam says and sits down on the bench beside you, he begins to play a soft melody on the keys, plucking away without even looking at them. 

"maybe one day you will. there will be trials and tribulations that you'll need to overcome, but with my help and the help of those you care about, you'll succeed. you just need to remember who you are." 

you wake up and you're back in the tent with ender's long, lean form stretched out beside you. there's darkness surrounding the camp but you can see the faint colorings of the lava lit sky that almost make you feel like the sun is beaming down on you. you fall back asleep, still tired from the events that have lead up to this moment, but when you wake up the next morning, you feel as if 

you've slept better than you've slept in years.

[reyarey]

A Tear in Time - Chapter 1

A fanfiction about a Minecraft Roleplay series “The Haunting.” Here’s the channel if you guys haven’t seen it. Quality gets better as the the series goes on. Anyways, here you go!

Words: 1073

           The only sound that echoed off the dying trees around them was their own voices and footsteps. Snapping twigs, crushing leaves underfoot, tossing jokes and conversation back and forth merely to pass the time.

           Green eyes peeking up from the map and a smirk stretching sideways across his face, Grayson turned his head slightly to continue witty banter, messy blonde hair whipping around with his movements. He ended up putting the map away, confident in his sense of direction and adjusting his fingerless leather gloves and reaching to grab a few blueberries from his backpack as they walked.

           Seeing his chance, Drake leaped forward, snatching a few blueberries from Grayson’s hand with a victorious “Haha!” Pointed, enderman ear twitching, he popped the blueberries into his mouth, mischievous grin never fading. He had gotten an eyepatch sometime down the road to cover his white eye. He enchanted it too to slow the progress of… Well he’d rather not think about it. But he gets less headaches and scares less people, if any at all. He’s basically gone blind in that eye anyway, so it’s not like he cared too much.

           It did apply some disadvantages though, like being none the wiser to Grayson snagging some raspberries on his blind side until he saw his friend tossing them into his mouth like popcorn. They did this kind of thing often though, so they were able to keep walking with a laugh.

           “How much longer ‘till we reach that temple?” Drake asked after a while.

           “What are you, five? Pulling the ‘are we there yet’ joke?” Grayson jested.

           Drake made a mocking face. “Answer the question.”

           “Look for a ravine.”

           “What, like that one?”

           Drake was pointing just ahead, towards a sharp drop off.

           “Exactly like that one.” Grayson said, approaching the crevasse.

           Peering down, Drake and Grayson saw a monument. Statues of winged ladies littered the grounds below that were built into the wall of the wide ravine. Some statues were intact, though cracked a bit, while others were missing arms, heads, sometimes even entire torsos. Great murals were etched into the walls, recounting the genesis of the land, and all the havoc that He has wrought upon it. Pillars stretched high above the floor, supporting the ceiling above and preventing it from coming crashing down on any inhabitants that happened to be taking shelter. There hadn’t been any in a long time, however, since the stairs leading down to the southern temple of the goddess had crumbled down to the rushing river below long before the arrival of the two travelers.

           “You know what to do.” Grayson commented, not even looking at Drake.

           The mage placed his hand on Grayson’s shoulder and, after a few moments, they had teleported safely to the ground below. Now that they were within the temple, it seemed more magnificent compared to staring down from the land above. The pillars seemed taller, the details of the statues were clearer, and the stories painted on the wall more gruesome than before. But they were looking for a library, if one had even survived this long.

           The two split up, Drake remaining on the same floor while Grayson descended to a lower one. But after thorough searching, no books or maps were found. Grayson ended up discovering Drake in a small room, a small purple butterfly flitting around his hand.

           “Find anything?”

           Drake shook his head, dismantling the butterfly and pulling the mana back into his body. “Absolutely nothing. Just some spare parchment.”

           Grayson let out a long sigh and sat down next to his friend. “I knew the draco hatchery would be hard to find, but this is ridiculous.” He pulled out the small black egg. It was smooth, a deep void black with galaxies stretching across its oval form. It looked more like an onyx stone instead of an egg, especially since it could fit in the palm of his hand. “I wonder how long dragons can survive in an egg.”

           Drake chuckled. “Millions of years, Grayson. I can check it for life, though, if you want me to.”

           Grayson shook his head. “No, it’s fine. Save your magic for when we actually need it.” He sat there with Drake for a bit before standing up again and stretching. “I’ll get a fire started. We should stay the night here.”

           A silent dusk-till-dawn is what followed, but Drake often found himself wide awake, thinking about how things have changed since the Magic Library. He recalled that ass time passed, the badlands grew more vast, taking over town after town. More people died to the creatures, the empire doing nothing to prevent it. It was bad luck to oppose the badlands. The emperor was focused on retrieving the dragon egg anyway, so it wasn’t like he cared. Drake and Grayson hadn’t seen another living being since they left the magical library a year ago. They often wondered where Mia had ended up. They couldn’t explain how they ended up together after going through that portal, but it wasn’t like they were complaining.

           Neither of them bothered to keep watch overnight. No monster would go near the temple and they were out of sight from any mercenaries. It was the safest place they had stayed in a very long time. As a result, they had the best sleep of their lives.

           The next day’s journey was uneventful to say the least. Until they reached where the badlands ended, at least for the time being. Trees were finally blooming with beautiful flowers and the cheerful chirping of birds grew more common as they ventured deeper into the decorated pillars of hardwood.

           Then they heard voices.

           The two froze, making glances at each other as they approached the source of the sound, Drake splitting up from Grayson to take a flanking position. The two came up on a clearing after the voices had stopped. But it was empty; no signs of life.

           Confused, Grayson stepped out from his hiding place. There was no camp, no fire, no sign that anyone had been there except for patches of dry grass covered in footprints, but he had no way of knowing just how old those footprints were.

           Then, snapping twigs from behind him, followed by a familiar voice.

           “Um, excuse me?”

           On instinct, Grayson drew his sword, spinning around and aiming at whoever was behind him. But he couldn’t believe his eyes.

           It was Armen.