#whoops I meant beasties

[doopn00p]

I could be your angel 😇 or your devil 👹

Credit to original brush artist:

[silverzoomies]

Great Pumpkin

peter maximoff x reader smut

warnings: shameless smut, smut, kissing, porn with plot, halloween, drunk sex, halloween party, porn with feelings, use of the speech quirk "yer"

word count: 7,878

a/n: meant to finish this one before halloween. whoops !! at least november is the spook before christmas !! or halloween 2, electric boogaloo !!

some notes about this one: i wanna apologize for the needless plot. i know it's unnecessary, but i got a little carried away. if anything feels awkward, out of place, or weird? that's my bad. sorry. i was havin' too much fun writing the less smutty stuff. some other notes - think of this as an au, i guess. where erik is hiding out at xavier's for...reasons? idfk. sitcom logic. everyone's living together !! but there's tension !!

tag list: @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @icannot3 @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz @scene-and-dandylover @quickandsilvers @luttic @billielourdslays

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All Hallows Eve.

Prior to the X-Family’s spooktacular bash, Hank whipped up a little something special. Using his Einstein brain - or wizard sorcery. Peter couldn’t be too sure - the beastly scientist conjured a powerful inebriant. He heard Peter joke one too many times about his inability to get drunk. Since the speedster’s body filtered through substances at break-neck speed. Leaving not a second’s worth of intoxication time.

No exaggeration there. Peter once tried chugging his mom’s entire stash of liquor, along with a bottle of Purple Toad wine. Some really fruity stuff. Such a mass of booze only left a burn in his throat, along with an onslaught of nausea. All of which lasted 0.2 seconds.

Hank wanted to do Peter a favor for all his hard work lately. And now, he could finally participate in what he missed out on. After all these years. As long as he didn’t use the substance for any nefarious purposes. Per Hank’s request. Whatever that meant. Not like Peter planned on playing pranks at this year’s party. C’mon…really? He’s a teacher, for Geddy’s sake! He's gotta set a good example.

Spoiler alert: he had planned on it. Keyword being had.

Until the inebriation actually kicked in. For the first time in his unconventional life, a warm buzz pooled through Peter’s bloodstream. One of the major side effects? Debuffs to superspeed. Which proved an otherworldly experience. If not a little uncomfortable. Still worth it, for a one-night-only lesson in drunkenness.

Peering lazily into his red solo cup, Peter blinked. His eyes followed swirls of neon cyan. Luminous in its irradiated glow. He couldn’t comprehend the science behind Hank’s glowstick booze. But he knew it filtered through his body at a much slower rate than other substances. The drink felt syrupy on his tongue, and tasted like - coincidentally enough - candy corn. Its effects proved weaker than Peter expected. 

Given his cells operated so incomprehensibly fast, Peter didn’t find this too surprising. So, what? He’d never get frat party wasted. Oh well. Peter came to accept that fact about himself forever ago. Still, fluorescent booze made him mellow enough to slow down a lot. Peter could totally vibe with mellow. No complaints there. Mellow’s copacetic. He definitely owed Beastie for his magic potion of slow-mo. Peter oscillated between a nice, tipsy balance. Muddled enough to let loose and enjoy himself. But conscious enough to avoid making any ultra stupid decisions.

Or, he thought so, anyway.

Hobbling around the mansion, Peter pushed through crowds of partygoers. All dressed in their spookiest, sexiest, or most low-effort costumes. Twinkles of orange and violet lights kept the mansion somewhat lit. With spoOoOoOoOoky decorations scattered amongst the school. A perfectly campy atmosphere for Halloween. Oh. And those decorations? All Peter’s doing. Of course, it’s no surprise the professor deemed him prime event decorator. He took mere microseconds to spice up an entire plot of land. Throwing forth all his effort, Peter dressed the building in balls-to-the-walls, haunting decor. 

Fake spiders with prickly fur lay strewn about in random places. Ghosts made of old, torn sheets swayed in the breeze. Skeletons hanged by the dozens. Streamers of orange and faded black dangled from the ceilings and doorways. String lights lined the mansion’s trim. Outside on the grounds, Peter even garnished the grass with inflatable Snoopys.

During his decorative escapades, he cracked jokes to the kids. Peter asked, “You guys think the Great Pumpkin’ll show up?”

They squealed with laughter, stomping their little feet. Candy buckets in hand, the kids yelled, “Mr. Maximoff, the Great Pumpkin’s not real!!”

In the midst of rearranging another Snoopy, he gasped, “WHAT?! He is too real!! Better not let him hear you say that!” 

A haunted trail veered off into the woods surrounding the mansion. It led to an old barn, stocked full of hay and populated with jack-o-lanterns. All carved by the mutant kiddos themselves. Another set of glittering lights decorated the barn, creating an autumn glow. A pair of giant speakers - Peter paid for them, mind you - roared Halloween tunes over the entire property.

Cool stuff. Talk about a hell of a set-up. Peter couldn’t help but be proud of himself. Such a slew of decorations might put even Scrooge Mcduck himself in holiday spirits.

Wait. No. What? Scrooge Mcduck? Wasn’t he more of a Christmas thing? Fuck. Peter might be more mixed up than he thought. He gazed absentmindedly into his red solo cup again. Blinking slowly, he wondered…what the hell did Hank put in this disco concoction anyway?

Whatever. By the end of the night, Peter hoped the kids got a kick out of his hard work. Not that he broke a sweat putting it all together or anything. But he wanted to live up to his awesome teacher reputation. The highest of honors, really. No way he’d let anyone else trump him on that front.

Then again… Peter nibbled his lip, grinning to himself like a huge doofus. He took another long swig of his drink. Candy corn sweetness tickled his taste buds.

Okay. So, he might’ve had someone else in mind while he decorated. Somebody he desperately wanted to impress. A lot. Or, just a little bit, actually. Like, on a microscopic level. Maybe.

That somebody? You. Except, not really. No way.

Pffffttt…he definitely didn’t do it for you. C’mon! Why would he? Think of the kids! Those precious, lil demon spawn! They practically worshiped him. They’re what it’s all about, right? Riiiight.

Peter’s holiday decorations tempted any passing trick-or-treaters to drop by. And the professor prepared quite the spectacle of treats for them too. King sized, candy bars and all. Hank and Raven - showing off their mutant glory without an ounce of shame - passed the candy out to children. 

Human children.

Magneto - still unaware he had a son sprinting around the mansion on any given day - dubbed the gesture hopeless naivety. Or something along those lines. Inviting humans to join in on a night of mutant fun? Totally bogus. Which…yeah. From Erik’s perspective? Fair enough.

“You think they’ll learn to accept you through meaningless, holiday gestures?” Erik griped, arms crossed, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Raven merely rolled her eyes. She made a comment about the inherent innocence of children. Erik didn’t appear to care. He groused some more after that. But Peter didn’t hear much of it. Nor did he imagine he even wanted to. At least, not tonight. Maybe once Peter sobered up a bit, he wouldn’t mind lending an ear. If his father ever felt the need to open up about his woeful turmoil.

But Erik disappeared upstairs. Out of sight. Still in hiding, all alone. Poor dude.

Unlike his misguided papa, Peter didn’t mind human inclusion so much. One: because he considered himself a pretty open minded guy. Easy to say, since he didn’t harbor anything remotely comparable to his father’s trauma. 

And two, on a less serious note: Human girls. They gravitated towards Peter like moths to a flame.

Throughout the mansion, the theme to Killer Klowns from Outer Space rang. Conversations buzzed around Peter like radio static. Candy corn booze made it impossible for him to comprehend them. Some partygoers played wallflower. Idling by snack tables, feasting on as much junk food as their stomachs could handle. It took every ounce of restraint Peter had, not to raid those tables himself.

Peter’s Terminator costume wasn’t much of a costume at all, really. It left most of the ladies confused. He didn’t recognize half the costumed cuties who pulled him in for dances. But they sure as hell recognized him. When another pretty girl pressed herself against him - tits bouncing, and bare thighs rubbing his pants - she’d ask the dreaded words, “What’re youuuu supposed to be?” Twirling her hair and giving Peter fluttery bedroom eyes.

Peter gave the same responses every time. Covered head to toe in black clothing, wearing a pair of sunglasses; he raised a prop shotgun from his back, responding with his best Arnold impression.

“I’ll be back.” Right on the money, Peter thought in his buzzed haze. Totally accurate. One to one.

If the girlies didn’t get the reference? So be it. Peter ultimately felt like a massive dork. But he got some sexually charged groovin’ out of it. A bit of groping here or there. He didn’t mind taking the L, if it meant grabbing some ass in the process.

But as the party clamored on, Peter knew he wanted only one thing.

To find you. Just to hang out, catch up, and have an innocent time. No other reason. Seriously. Honest. Why else would he wanna find you? To mess around a little bit? Nahhh. Why would he wanna fool around with you? And risk a long term friendship? He couldn't have that.

Not when you carried enough patience to put up with his day-to-day bullshit. Always listening to his senseless ramblings. Even if he spoke too fast for you to keep up.

During his lunch breaks on school days, Peter usually spent time with you. The two of you talked in the kitchen, or chillaxed in the lounge. Those chats? The highlight of his day. As corny as it seemed. He just couldn’t resist you and your kindly wiles. The wiles of his colleague. His…very pretty colleague. His…very pretty… platonic colleague.

Someone please end his misery now.

Peter wandered aimlessly. He danced his heart out and chatted up some more cute gals. Soon enough, he found you. Leaned over a set of snack tables, you picked through sugary sweet treats. Peter noticed the way you swayed in place. A little heavy footed like him, eh? He snickered to himself, sneaking up behind you. 

Lacking any filter or restraint, Peter blatantly gawked at your ass. A fitted, white gown draped your body. Flowing in an angelic fashion, it harmonized with your every curve. Even tipsy, Peter recognized your costume the microsecond he saw it. Princess Leia. Star Wars. Episode IV. Very sexy. Beyond sexy, even.

A flirtatious whistle caught you by surprise. You whirled around with a doe eyed look on your face. A kind of gaze that made his brain turn to mush. As if the alcohol hadn’t already. You licked the frosting off a funky colored cupcake, as Peter’s gaze flitted down your body. His eyes followed the smooth creases of your gown. A tasteful peek of your thigh kept his attention locked. Until the perky tease of your nipples captivated him instead.

Awesome. Amazing. 11/10. Best night ever.

“Ohmygosh!” You laughed, reaching out to touch Peter’s chest for whatever reason. Not that he minded one bit, “Peeeter, I’m sooooo sorry! I’m a little tipsy right now! It’s really unprofessional!”

Scarlet bloomed in his cheeks, burning hot enough to make him dizzier. Peter ogled you like the last Twinkie on the planet. A dollop of frosting caught the plush of your lip. You swirled it away with your tongue. Drawing in a hitched breath, Peter blinked.

Focus. He needed to focus on anything else. Not the parts of you he wanted to be on, inside of, and all other configurations of carnality.

“And?? You wanna hear somethin’ cray-crayyy?” Peter asked, lamely slurring his words. He raised his red solo cup, waving it in a clumsy motion, “So am I, princess! I’m totally hammered. And I looooove it!” He threw his head back, belting a loud, “WHOOOOO!!” Feeling more like a free spirit than he had in years.

Moving closer, you couldn't control your laughs. You shushed Peter, keeping your hand on his chest. Patting you on the shoulder, Peter chuckled. He feigned offense, but his sizeable hand lingered on you. A thumb grazed the soft cloth of your dress. For a beat, he wondered what you looked like under it.

“Whyyyy?? Why should I keep it down, huh?? It’s a party, baby! Everybody’s yellin’!” He shrugged. Peter smirked, throwing his head back again. He shouted another, “WHOOOOO!!”

A crowd of partygoers kept their eyes on the two of you. Their gazes lingering for a little longer than necessary. You snickered again. So tipsy, you could hardly get a word in through your giggling.

“You really are drunk, oh my gosh. You’re crazy, Peter! I can’t even-” Dropping your head into his chest, you erupted in woozy huffs of laughter. Great. He loved the closeness, “Peter, sorry, I’m sooooooo-”

“Mind-blowingly hot?” Peter lazily blinked, “Because yer-...you-ohhhh, man. You look really hot. Like-” He made a meaningless gesture with his hands, shaking his head, “Like, WOW! Have you seen yourself? Someone tell ‘Ro to make it rain. ‘Cuz yer on fiiiiiiire!” He joked. Cheesy and lame, but too smashed to even care.

You scoffed, cheeks set ablaze, “Oh, please! Give me a break! Mister Terminator casanova over here. Are you trying to butter me up like you did all those other ladies?” Playfully, you pushed off his chest. Peter mourned the loss of your touch, “I saw you! Getting all handsy out there!” You said, your tone lighthearted. Still accusatory.

Somehow, you recognized his costume. That caught him a little off guard. Peter’s heart did some kinda funny, fluttery thing. Jumpy, warm, and beating beating beating in his chest. But…nah. Couldn’t be because of you. Could it? Maybe the booze did it. Yeah. Irradiated Beast hooch must’ve give him palpitations. He’d tell Hank about this side effect later.

Peter arched a silver brow, “Oh, yeah? Mmmhm. Sounds like yer just jealous. ‘Cuz the ladies find my inner Schwarzenegger, action hero totally irresistible.” Bullshit. Most of them thought he dressed as Neo from the Matrix. Wrong action movie. Peter kept talking out his ass, “I bet it drives you up a wall to see ‘em all over me like that.”

“Oh, you think? Suuure. Like Leia would ever have the hots for some dollar store Terminator.” You teased affectionately, “Likely story, Quickie.” Fuck. Quickie. He loved when you called him that. You deceived your own protests, pressing your body against Peter's.

Your nails dug into his shirt as you palmed his chest. So…you wanted to play this little game now, huh? Alright. Fine. Peter bickered back and forth with you for an indiscernible amount of time. Standing in a corner by the snack tables, away from the noisy, party bustle. Unbalanced and wobbly, Peter leaned in. Keeping you both pressed together in a way too intimate for wandering eyes.

He almost spilled his neon concoction on your dress. Exchanging giggles again, Peter lingered even closer. His lips on the cusp of reaching out for yours. But in a clouded moment of self awareness, he stopped himself short.

“D-Do you…uhhhh-” He swallowed dryly. His nerves buzzed all through his body, “Y’wanna…get outta here? Maybe go do somethin’ reallllyyyy dumb? Like-uh…maybe make a mistake you’ll regret in the morning?” Peter suggested, wiggling his brows.

You gave him another lidded look, igniting a blistering fire deep in his bones. With your body still pressed to his - bodacious and oh-so-tempting - you brought a hand up. A beat of silence passed, as you moved his sunglasses up over his hair. Silver strands fell loose. You gazed into his puppy dog eyes directly. 

“And what makes you think I’d regret it?” You asked, your voice smooth and somewhat slurred. Oh...were you being real with him right now?

Your fingers traced flirty circles over his chest. Scorching flames in Peter’s heart burned warmth through his veins. Heat gathered in his groin. Peter’s eyes widened to a planetary degree. Clutching his solo cup a little too tight, he brushed your ass with his other hand. By accident. He only intended to pull you closer. You held his intoxicated gaze. 

Peter let his lips ghost yours again, without any direct connection.

“See, that’s-uhhh…hah…that’s just the booze talkin’.” He whispered with a soft chuckle. Steadily, he pulled himself from you, “Wanna know what it’s tellin’ me?” Peter gave you another lazy grin, nibbling his lip, “Youuuuuu and meee…” He sluggishly said. He dragged you along with him. Stumbling backwards, “...should-uh…gooooo have some…adult fun, yeah? A little romp in the hay?”

Did you know he meant that verbatim? Probably not.

Moments later, Peter clumsily navigated through the party. He made a beeline for the entrance hall, holding your hand the entire way. Floundering with every step, he traversed the crowded halls. Through each doorway the two of you passed, fluttering streamers dangled above. Soft tissue brushed across your face, tickling your nose.

The streamers proved more unkind to Peter. Staggering through the last doorway, he became tangled in them. Peter tried to shake the tissue off, twisting around and flailing his arms. He cursed aloud, making a spectacle of his embarrassing predicament. Caught in a web of orange and black, he looked like a Halloween decoration all his own. The streamers wrapped around his body and arms, even covering his head.

“MOTHER FU-” He cursed, jerking the tissue down with a rough tug. Peter tripped forward in the process. But he caught himself just in time. Compensating for his humiliation, he laughed, “I’m okay! I’m okay! Allllll good, guys. I’m good. Totally good! Meant to do that, actually.” Peter cleared his throat. He averted his glassy gaze from any partygoers nearby.

One of them being Hank, who stood alongside Raven. The two shared a few drinks and quietly chatted. The big, beast of man wore torn, red flannel. His blue fur peeked out from the undone buttons, appearing frayed. His costume? A smurf werewolf. A smurfwolf. Or something. Peter couldn't tell. And Raven? She hadn’t dressed up at all. Labeling Halloween: The one time of year she chose not to disguise herself. Why? Because, in her words, "It's funnier that way."

Raven stifled a laugh at Peter’s expense. But Hank didn’t hold himself back. He roared a rumbling chuckle, “I see the serum’s treating you well, Peter!” Hank teased, cradling a drink in his fluffy paw, “Why, it certainly looks that way. You seem to be having-uhm…fun? Yes! Fun. I'm delighted to see it!"

Peter idled in the middle of the doorway, swaying a little on his feet. Forgoing the streamers, he left them tangled around his limbs. Fuck it. His costume could use some added flair.

“I’m havin’ a-uhhhhh…a total blast, Beast my mannn!” Peter slurred. He passed Hank on his way out the mansion’s entrance. And roughly patted the scientist on the shoulder, “Thanks again, buddy ol’ pal! I owe you one!”

You giggled, beaming an elated smile as Peter dragged you out the door. Once you flew ungracefully by, Hank and Raven both did double takes. They gave you cautious looks, as if to say - uh, do you think this is a good idea? A little too sloshed, you failed to register their concern. Following Peter out the door with an inelegant skip in your step, you waved the pair goodbye.

“Well, now…that’s certainly going to be awkward for him tomorrow morning.” Hank joked, looking down at his drink. He swirled the beverage, the cup appearing itty bitty in his clutch. Showing off a crowd of snaggle teeth, he yawned.

Raven shook her head, scoffing, “Oh, it’ll bite him in the ass later. That’s for sure.” She added, sipping her own drink, “You proud of yourself?” Raven quipped, arching an orange brow. Hank held up a single claw, playful in his self defense.

“Not my fault! I gave him that serum because I thought he could have fun with it! And he is! Didn’t you see him? What he does under its influence is completely out of my jurisdiction!” Hank shrugged, stating in a matter-of-fact way, “I’ll have you know, I did try to warn him!”

In hindsight, Peter should have heeded Hank’s warnings. What he did under the effects of disco liquor proved supremely stupid. The nanosecond your feet hit the grass outside, he lost any restraint he had left. Peter kissed you full on. Ushering your sweet lips into an alcohol induced session of heavy smooching. Tongues interweaving, lackadaisical and reckless, the two of you shared careless kisses. Under decorative spider webs and amongst inflatable Snoopys.

But no Great Pumpkin in sight.

You slung your arms over Peter’s broad shoulders, letting him devour you. His sizable hands slid over your hips. He pulled you closer as he stumbled like a complete klutz. Thick fingers curled into the cloth of your dress. Caught up in the heat of the moment, Peter didn’t dare consider any consequences. With no filter to hold him back, one of his palms felt for your breast. He copped a handful, before you stopped him in his tracks. You tore your lips from his candy corn kisses.

“Heyyyy! Hey, hey, hey! Not here! What are you even doing??” You laughed, giving his nose an affectionate nuzzle, “Someone might see us, doofus!”

Peter hummed, pulling you against him in a more firm grip. He stole frantic kisses, heated and mouthy. Squeezing your hips, his nails scratched across your gown to your ass. Kneading your plush cheeks with little shame.

“So what? Let ‘em enjoy the show!” Peter snickered, diving in for yet another kiss, “I’m not gonna miss out on a chance to touch you like this. Now that I finally got you…”

Rolling your eyes, you didn’t seem to take him seriously. In an attempt to pull yourself away again, you stumbled backwards in the grass. Even with his reaction time outta wack, Peter managed to catch you before you fell. In one awkward motion, he scooped you up bridal style and carried you into the woods. The streamers coiled around his limbs came loose, at long last. Flitting away behind him in the wind.

He held you in his strong arms, following the mansion’s haunted, Halloween trail. The hayride already closed down for the night, leaving the trail - and the barn - open for some private necking.

Finding his way to the barn, Peter wobbled, slowing his stride. In his arms, you took a moment to admire the decorations he put so much effort into. Orange, twinkling lights lined the barn’s entryway. Vibrant in late night darkness. Magical, and kinda romantic. Through the trees in the distance, the garnished mansion appeared visible. A Halloweeny spectacle, engulfed in simulated fog.

Party music echoed from afar, faint, but clear enough he could hear. Peter perked up, overhearing a classic, Hallow’s eve tune.

“‘CUZ THIS IS THRILLLAHHHH!” Peter shouted off key, moving backwards into the barn. His steps were careless, “THRILLAH NIIIIGHT!” He sang, falling into a bed of cool hay. Strands of straw bounced in the air. You came down with him, and he kept singing, “AND NO ONE’S GONNA SAVE YA-” He cut himself off, leaning in to feast on your lips. Peter cradled you in his arms, humming Thriller amidst awkward kisses.

You laid bridal style over his legs, dipping your head back. Inviting Peter to devour your neck like a thirsty vampire. Without all the grace of Bela Lugosi. More like a hammered Nosferatu. If either of you had second thoughts, Peter couldn’t find it in himself to give a shit. He left that baggage behind. In the morning, sober Peter could unpack it all. Right now, he wanted his hands on your body, under your dress.

“Ohhhh~! Oh my-” You moaned, tacking on an erotic squeal of his name. Giggling in a kittenish tone. The sound made him wanna bite you harder, “W-Wait-...Peter, maybe we shouldn’t-oooooh~! Maybe we shouldn’t be-”

His sloppy kisses cut your hesitance short. Peter nodded his head in a lazy, loose motion. Bringing more dizziness upon himself.

“Mmmm? What? No-...” He hummed, “Baby, we should. We definitely should. Don’t even worry-” Peter paused for an abrupt beat. Holding you tight, he adjusted in the hay. Uncomfortable, Peter knitted his brows, “Wait-...this hay’s so-...why’s this hay so fuckin’ itchy, man?”

At the chime of your silly snorts and giggles, Peter’s words became lost on him. Whatever. It didn’t matter anymore. He couldn’t think clearly enough to recall them. Instead, he drew his attention back to you. Peter’s lips found your neck once more. Your floral scent replenished his lungs, a lifesource he desperately needed. Hot kisses peppered down your chest. In his clouded stupor, Peter buried his face between your breasts.

He loved the flustered squeal you made in response. Enough that he couldn’t help but do it again.

“Ohhhhh…hot damn, baby.” Peter groaned into your chest, motorboating your knockers. A graceless gesture. Lifting his face, his hair appeared a disheveled mess, “Yer so awesome, y’know that? Liiiike…yer really great. I know I’m pretty drunk right now, but-uhhhh…” He slurred, sneaking thick fingers under your dress, “I do mean it. No joke. I think yer really cool. Cool and-uhm…and-uh…hahaaa….I really like you.”

You erupted in more buzzed giggles, parting your lips to protest his drunken confession. But Peter silenced you with shushes, “Shhhhhhhh! Shhhhh, don’t-” He hiccuped. Your laughs were so contagious, he couldn’t help but giggle as well, “Shhhh! Don’t tell anybody!”

“I won’t! I won’t!” You chuckled, gently holding his cheeks. You pulled him down for more smooches, lips meeting in a slower embrace, “I like you too, Peter…but shhhhhh…keep it a secret.”

His fingertips danced along your inner thigh, clumsy and unsteady. Peter’s hand disappeared between your legs and under your gown. Hot digits grazed your panties. A flimsy, soaked piece of fabric awaited those digits. Breathing a low huff, Peter whispered, “Fuck.” into your neck. The steamy word tickled your skin, giving you chills.

Blindly, he wormed his fingers into your panties. Peter dipped his digits into your honeyed heat. Thick, syrupy cushions sealed around him. He focused on parting your tight walls. A little too uncoordinated to pleasure you in a more ideal way. Rough, repetitive motions curled at an awkward angle. Digging so deep, Peter could hear the squishy call of your insides - leaking wet, all for him. 

Your body tensed, knees spreading on instinct. Cool air caressed your thighs. Peering down into your lidded, baby doll eyes, he held your gaze. As your cunt pulsed around his digits, soft and constricting, he knitted his brows. Humming another groan, Peter dove down for your neck. He sucked mouthy, wet hickies into your skin. Leaving gifts for sober you to discover later tomorrow.

Speaking of sober.

Sober Peter never had trouble keeping up with anybody. Moreover, everyone else found it impossible to keep up with him. But in his buzzed daze, he could barely follow your lead. One blink, and his fingers buried themselves to the knuckle in your cunt. The next blink, you took initiative. Throwing him for a loop, you changed positions. You pushed Peter further back into the hay, straddling his lap.

As you fumbled for his jeans and pulled them open, more giggling ensued. Heated tension hung over the two of you like those glimmering, barn lights. You felt around, guiding your hand to a hot thickness in his pants. It rested in a curly bed of silver hairs, limp and untouched. Your giggles ceased, and your expression shifted.

“Peter, you’re not even-” You started, squeezing the softness of him in your hand. You gave him a few loose tugs, your voice teeming with hesitance, “Are you…are you sure you want-”

“Yeaaaahhhhh. Yeah. Yanno, it’s just-...I never thought I’d be the one gettin��� whiskey dick. Haha.” Peter joked, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat. Buzzed and uncoordinated, Peter harbored little patience for foreplay. His fingers sought for your weeping heat again. He pushed them through your soft, supple pussy lips, “Sucks a lot. I was really hopin’ I’d get to-uhmmm…ahahaaaa…” He bit his tongue, laughing, “Really wanted to show you a good fuckin’ time. But this shit feels like rocket science right now, sorry…”

Eventually, through sheer determination, you worked up enough sorcery to liven him up. Waking his cock from its soft slumber. Peter fumbled, clumsily guiding his dick to your flowery mound. It took some serious concentration on his part to do so. His tongue poked between his lips, brows furrowed tight. He leered between your sweltering bodies. Humid air clung to his skin, contrasting the sharp coolness of an October’s night. The smell of booze permeated in your sweat, mingling with the scent of your perfume. 

You sank over his cock, taking the now raging length of him fluidly. He bottomed out in a single intake of breath. Peter moaned, rolling his hips upward. Your fluttery walls stretched, cozy and soft around his dick. He dropped his head back into the hay, howling a goofy shout. It echoed through the trees, catching autumn wind.

"OHHHHHHH~! THAT'S IT! WHOOOOOO~!" He yelled. Peter chewed his lip hard, meeting your bounces with sluggish thrusts, "That's it. That's what I'm fuckin' talkin' about. Hoh-fuck..."

His rhythm was a little off beat, but he blamed the booze. Clenching the fabric of your dress in his fingers, he bunched it up tight. As if to hold you by horse’s reins, arduously guiding you on your ride.

Far in the back of his mind. Like, so far, Peter may as well have been on another planet. He had his first conflicting thought. Screwing you for the first time like this - hammered and careless - struck him as kind of…wrong. Really, he should have waited it out, and done this sober. But Peter couldn’t deny himself either.

"Peter, ohhh~! Feels really good~!" Your squeals of erotic, but sluggish pleasure sounded too much like music. Now cemented as one of his all time favorite songs, "Sooo good, I-aaahhh~!"

The bubbly feeling brought upon by Beast liquor made his body burn with ecstasy. His cock throbbed inside you, loving the tight embrace of your walls. Pleasure burned to an incomprehensible level of intensity. 

Even your dress felt unreasonably soft on his skin. Peter moaned again, drilling your cunt in unsteady surges of carnal bliss. He breathed thickly, the air between the two of you now sweltering. Choking on air, he kept his slow pace. His cock dug tunnels through your walls at a slacking speed. Completely unnatural for him. But overflowing with intoxication, he thrived in it.

“N-Not gonna-” Peter laughed. His voice a rough, breathless mess of incoherency. Sticky heat flushed his cheeks, and his tone wavered, “‘M not-...god…not gonna last. Fuck. Oh my fucking-” He swallowed another groan, suffocating on it. Peter’s hips rolled, their movement leisurely, “Sooooo tight. Feels like yer tryna-...like yer gonna-...aaaahaaaaafuck.”

Playing with your pearly clit, you squealed. The swollen nub burned, tingling as you circled it. With difficulty focusing, Peter brought his head up. He watched your little fingers while you pleasured yourself. His lidded, dark eyes stared, so spacy, so clouded. A growl caught in the back of his throat. You toyed with yourself a little longer, spreading glossy slickness under your fingers.

Your whines stayed at a respectable volume. Quiet enough, no one outside the barn could hear. But Peter refused to keep his enthusiastic voice down. He dug his big hands into your hips, fingernails clenching your dress. Scratching rough lines into the white cloth.

"Fuck, you gonna-...you gonna keep touchin' yourself like that? Gonna cum for me?" His words slurred. Peter used his immeasurable strength to hold you in place. Stuffing his cock through your pussy’s luscious, spongy grip. He fucked you in lethargic, but needy ruts, "P-Please-ohmygod-...please cum for me, baby. Lemme hear it, please?"

"Noooo~! Pe-ahhhh~! Peter, I cannnn't! Someone might-...Peter I can't-" You whimpered. Swirling your clit, you pushed yourself even further towards climax. A delightful, oncoming wave of scorching pleasure surged in your body. Sizzling through your veins, "OH, FUCK, QUICKIE~!" A sharp squeal bounced from your throat, as Peter surprised you.

"FUCK!! Yeah? You sound so fuckin'-Ah-...Yer so fuckin' good for me. Don't hold back, baby. Wanna-ohhhh~! Wanna hear you scream. Don't you fuckin' hold back-" Moving suddenly fast, he slammed his cock in deeper. His cherry red dick shattered your poor cervix. Burying himself to the brim, he slapped your mound hard with sharp pounds of his pelvis, "Mmmmmmfucking-...gonna fuckin'....aaaahhaha..."

Peter’s body tensed. His heels scuffed along the ground, crushing hay under his boots as he braced his feet. More loose strands tickled his skin where his shirt bunched up. Making him itchy again. But his intoxicated rutting never dwindled. He whined again, his voice cracking. Ruthless, quickening grinds of his cock knocked you hard. Sending you straight into a dimension of overwhelming, euphoric pleasure.

As tremors hummed across your sweaty skin, bliss ruptured deep in your core. At that moment, Peter forgot to consider any further risks. He burst with a hot, white pop of gluey heat. Rocking your sore cunt in sloppy, shallow thrusts. Peter soaked his dick in your sweet, inebriated love. The scent of booze and sex simmered in his nostrils. Lifting his hips, he met you in one or two more reckless, offbeat bounces.

Barely conscious of reality, Peter panted. Lying with you in a clumsy heap, he shared lazy kisses and steamy breaths with you. Had he been anymore sober, Peter would’ve rushed you off to the nearest bathroom. In dire need of a minute’s recovery, he laid there. Splayed out, Peter’s limbs rested loose and flimsy. The seconds passed, and he sobered up quickly. Post-orgasmic haziness began to clear.

You snuggled up next to him, grazing his cheek with your nose. The scent of alcohol lingered on your breath. Remind Peter that, unlike him, you were probably still a little drunk.

“You okay?” You asked out of the blue, tickling his neck with a giggle, “What are you thinking about? You’re not second guessing yourself already, are you?” Your fingers toyed with the zipper of his jacket. Which he gave you to wear in the cold, shortly after fucking you senseless.

In the distance, the faint roar of the party continued on. Rustling from inside the mansion and seemingly endless. Peter stayed silent, before snickering. He turned his head to the side, returning your nuzzles with a kiss. His lips met your hair. The smell of your conditioner made his heart skip a beat for some reason.

“Nothin’. It’s not-” He shrugged, turning his head again. Peter stared up at the glittering string lights hanging in the barn. His coffee bean eyes jumped from twinkle to twinkle, “It’s not super important. Kinda weird to be thinkin’ about it after-uh…” His voice trailed off again. Peter cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks flush, “Seriously, no big deal.”

You rolled onto your back, watching the lights sway in a cool breeze, “You sure?” You laughed, humming an, “Uh ohhh!” Before you continued, “Did somebody sober up and realize he made a dumb mistake? Hehe…” You teased, though he could hear the sliver of hesitance in your tone. A beat of silence passed, and you hugged his jacket closer.

“Regret wh-...huh? Nahhh, baby. You kiddin’? That was awesome.” He snickered awkwardly. Peter brought his hands to his face. He sighed, “I-uh…I was just thinkin’ about how…I could be spendin’ this holiday with my dad. I mean, shit…maybe he wouldn’t wanna spend it with me, but-”

He assumed you might take offense to this. Wouldn't it come off as a little inconsiderate? To think about his dad right now. After such an intimate moment between the two of you. But being the understanding person you were, you rolled over to face him. Drawing gentle lines into his shirt, you snuggled up close to him again.

“Is that where you wanna be right now? With your dad?” You asked, your tone gentle.

Peter swallowed, pinching the bridge of his nose. A pounding headache swarmed him from nowhere. The repercussions of Beast hooch. Hopefully, such ailments would pass just as quickly as he sobered up.

“I-...yeah? I guess? But…it’s not like I can just-...like, I can’t go see him. Since he still doesn’t know about me, y’know? It’d be weird if I just showed up on Halloween. Like, hey, man, wanna hang out? Goddammit.” Peter shook his head, sitting up fully in the hay. Straw-like strands stuck to his clothes. He brushed them away.

“Well…hey, I got an idea, yeah?” You tried to follow his lead, sitting upward. Swaying a little as you did, Peter could tell you were still on the edge of tipsy. You giggled, “Let’s go inside. And I’ll…try to get everyone together for a movie. Maybe a horror? And you can run off! Go find him. Use the movie as an excuse. Offer him the opportunity to come down and watch. Sound good?”

It didn’t. Erik wasn’t the type to indulge in such activities. Still, Peter smiled fondly at your consideration. Nodding, he stood to his feet in a flash. You blinked, finding yourself lying bridal style in his arms again. With a hand to his chin, you tilted his head down. Pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“Thanks…” He hummed, his half lidded eyes gazing down into yours, “I really did have…such an awesome time with you. I haven't done that kinda thing with anybody in a while. But lemme-uh…” Peter bashfully chuckled, “Lemme get you to a bathroom so you can clean up, 'kay? ”

After the surprisingly deep chat he shared with you, Peter rushed you off to a mansion bathroom. Leaning against a wall, he waited outside the door. As the party settled and people filed out into the streets, he became more nervous. The two of you spent the rest of the night together, by the other’s side. Treating each other as normally as you would any other day. Soon, you sobered up enough to gather the X-family for a late night movie.

Peter took your advice, despite expecting the worst. Zipping upstairs and all through the mansion, he searched for his estranged father. To Peter’s surprise, Erik caught him off guard with a yes. But before he made his way downstairs, Peter took a moment to chat with him. He asked Erik how he was doing, and what he’d been up to. Ever since he chose the mansion for a temporary hideout (an arrangement most everybody felt uncomfortable with).

Erik - for good reason - wasn’t the most emotionally open. He kept their conversation short, before dismissing Peter. They both caught up with everyone else in the living room. The X-family sat together with snacks and drinks, joined for a movie. Erik chose a spot next to Peter on one of the sofas. Something he hadn’t anticipated at all. Since he didn’t get much out of the guy too often, he felt he could settle for his company, at least.

Sitting at Peter's other side, you eventually passed out. You rested your head on his lap, and he raked his fingers through your hair. By the time the movie ended, everyone veered off for bed. At last, calling Hallow’s eve quits. But Erik remained. He spoke to Peter a little while longer. Chatting about nothing at all, and everything at once.

Come next morning, Peter stood tiredly in the mansion kitchen. It was an unreasonably cold Monday in November. Freezing weather seemed to hit Westchester out of nowhere. He held a mug full of coffee, milky white and loaded with enough sugar to send anyone else to the hospital. Scratching his head over a mess of silver hair, Peter yawned. Even though he had more important things to worry about, he couldn't stop thinking about last night. For several reasons.

The impromptu bonding time he spent with his father lingered in his mind. Even if said father didn’t know what their interactions meant to Peter. It happened all thanks to your tipsy encouragement. Peter knew, even sober, you would’ve pushed him to do the same. Because you cared about him that much. Always inspiring him to step out of his comfort zone.

Aside from the estranged dad stuff, Peter couldn’t stop thinking about you. And the more…steamy moments the two of you shared. Intimate interactions he still hadn’t sat down and discussed with you. Peter didn't have a clue what that little fling meant to you. Or if it meant anything at all. Distracting himself, he focused his attention elsewhere. Like the Halloween decorations littered about the mansion. He planned to take them down today after classes.

You came padding downstairs and into the kitchen not even five minutes later.

“Gooooood morning!” You cheerily said, blinking your sleepy eyes. Groaning, you brought a hand to your head. Your fingers touched your temple, “You know what’s surprising? I actually don’t have that bad of a hangover!”

Peter’s heart did flips, and he felt his stomach tangle in knots. Humming into his coffee, he threw you a casual nod of his head. Play it cool, “Mmmm. That’s good, though, right?”

You headed straight for the cabinets, standing on your toes to reach the highest one. You flailed around for the near-empty tub of coffee grounds. He left it up there without any consideration for short, mansion inhabitants like you. Totally absent-minded. Peter almost felt thankful he did. As you reached, the itty bitty, sleep shorts you wore rose by a touch. The cheeks of your ass caught his eye. Your bottom appeared etched in faint scratches, painted with red splotches. Damn…what the hell did he do to you last night?

Sipping his coffee with a groggy look on his face, Peter grinned.

Man alive, he wanted to screw you sober. Doing it drunk really wasn’t enough. Quickly, he dismissed that thought. Filing it away in his scatterbrained memory for later.

“Did you talk to Erik last night?” You asked, pulling Peter from his not-so-safe-for-work thoughts. You stretched a little further up, really reaching for that tin tub of Folgers.

Peter blinked, “Sorry, what?”

“Erik. I asked if you talked to him last night? Because I kinda remember you two having a chat. But then again, I was pretty out of it!” Your shorts hugged the shape of your cunt as you stood on your toes. An ache stirred in his groin, but he shook it off. Holy shit. What were you trying to accomplish here?

Peter’s heart skipped twenty beats. Sifting through the disorganized cabinets in his brain, he retrieved his previous thought. Ah, yeah. Screwing you sober? Not a want, but a need at this point. Focus, Quickie. He needed to focus. Especially if you planned on talking about something as important as his father.

“Uhhhh…” He ran a hand through his messy locks, taking a moment to process his racing thoughts, “Yeah, we talked. Not a lot, though. I meant to say thanks for that, by the way. Since I didn’t get to last night…” Peter brought his mug to his lips, averting his gaze, “Really. Thanks a lot. Don’t think we woulda had that time together, if you hadn’t pushed me to ask him 'n stuff.”

Still struggling to reach for that tin, you sighed. Your heels hit the floor, as you lowered your arm and turned to meet Peter’s eyes. Your sweet voice brought him an unexpected feeling of comfort. 

“Hey, anytime, Peter! I know it’s been really hard for you. Seeing him around here lately. And you don’t need me to tell you the obvious. But-” You timidly gazed down at your toes, shrugging. Peter knew exactly what you were about to say, before you parted your lips to say it.

Something along the lines of: Maybe it’s finally time you told him the truth. Or whatever.

It was too early for this kinda deep, introspective talk. Peter didn’t give you the chance to continue. Setting aside his mug on a countertop, he appeared by your side in a fwip. The breeze from his abrupt movement tickled your cheeks. He reached into the cabinet for the tub of coffee grounds. Handing it off to you with a tired, hooded expression. He sluggishly grinned.

“We got class in, like, twenty minutes.” Peter interrupted, and you took the bait. Whether you knew of his intent to dissuade the previous conversation, he couldn’t tell.

“Oh! Yeah! Shit!” You slapped a hand over your forehead. Peter gazed down at you, admiring your early morning features, “I’m so screwed!” Not yet you’re not, “I totally forgot to put together a lesson plan! I don’t know what the hell I’m gonna do today!” Well…you could always do him. Again.

Jeez. Dude. No. The hell’s wrong with him?? Be reasonable, guy! At least take your buddy out to dinner first. Which...yeah. Might be time to think about asking you on a real date.

“Yeahhh. I kinda forgot too. Had a bunch of other stuff on my mind, yanno?” Peter said, completely lethargic. He shrugged, “I’m so bad at my job, man.” He kept his eyes on you, as you threw together your own pot of coffee.

“Actually, that’s bullshit. And I think you know it too. You’re amazing at it. That’s why all the kids love you so much.” You replied. Smiling like you meant every word. Because you did. Man, why'd you have to be so freakin' sweet?

Early morning sunlight beamed through the windows. It bathed your hair and face in sparkling gold. Peter wanted to kick himself for swooning. He opted to change subjects.

“I gotta take these decorations down eventually.” He said, gesturing to the streamers hanging from the kitchen ceiling. For an instant, he remembered tangling himself in them last night, “I keep puttin’ it off. But it’s gotta happen sooner ‘er later.” Taking initiative, he reached up to tear some of them down. Balling them up in his hands.

“I could help you! If you need an extra hand!” You offered, innocently sipping your coffee. Peter took in the curl of your lips as you smiled. He cleared his throat, chuckling.

“Y’know you don’t have to, babe. It’ll literally only take me a second. I just gotta stop sittin’ on my ass.” Peter said. He tossed the balled streamers with a failed, Michael Jordan-style execution. They landed in a nearby trashcan, “Pretty soon, I’m gonna have to put Christmas decorations up too. Might get started on 'em as soon as these ‘re down.” He smirked, “I’m thinkin’ I get everyone some seriously ugly sweaters. Even Mags, if he's still around by then. Oh, and I'll need more Snoopys. The crotch goblins love Snoopy.” Peter paused for a beat, his dark eyes drifting down your body. A subconscious instinct, “And-uhhhh…gonna need lots of tinsel…uh…”

Peter reached for his coffee mug. What was he talking about again?

“Oh? That all sounds nice!” You tilted your head to the side, flirtatiously grinning at Peter. As if you could tell how distracted he was by your body. Heat set aflame in his cheeks, as he glanced up into your eyes. Noticing the way they seemed to twinkle, “Think you’ll decorate the barn again too?” You asked, a flirtatious tease pouring through your tone.

He choked on his coffee mid-sip.

[danco110]

“Cadira, this has to stop!”

“No! I won’t let you take them!”

The orc ranger stood alone, fearlessly facing down a dozen human hunters from the neighboring villages. Behind her cowered a small army of rabbits, fearful of the hunters shouting in their direction.

“Cadira…” One of the hunters shouldered their bow and stepped forward, hands raised to show they meant no harm. “I know you love them, but you’ve got…what, thousands of them? Maybe it’s time to just consider…you know.”

Cadira replied by scooping up a poor, defenseless rabbit in her arms, and scowling at the other archer. “You’ll never take my rabbits! NEVER!”

The hunter blinked in surprise. “Huh? Oh, what? Cadira, I’m not talking about your rabbits!”

“You aren’t? Oh…whoops.”

Cadira casually dropped the rabbit in her care. The small creature landed gracefully and scampered back to its enormous family, which immediately relaxed, as though they felt the energy in the clearing change.

“Yes, relax,” sighed the hunter. “Your rabbits aren’t the problem. They taste fine-”

“WHAT!”

“-and that’s not why we’re here.”

“Wait,” Cadira muttered. “Then, why are you all here? And carrying weapons?”

The archer gritted their teeth in irritation at the orc. “Well, Cadira, funny story about that. It’s concerning your-”

An ear-piercing shriek interrupted the hunter. The rabbits fled, and everyone present turned in alarm to see a mob of assorted furious animals charging down the hill towards their position. The hunters took up a defensive formation, while the archer who had spoken seized Cadira’s shoulder and pointed frantically to the approaching critters.

“Those! We’re here about those! Those are yours, right?”

Cadira nervously drummed her fingers against her bow. “Heh…you know, I’m not quite sure…”

[Cadira is always worried that the rabbits she raises will get her or themselves into trouble, be it by overpopulation, feeding on farmers’ crops, or whatever. Truth be told, it’s not her rabbits she should be worrying about, but rather the other frightening beasties she keeps as companions. (The tokens you need to have before you can start making rabbits)]

[vespertine-legacy]

It pays to have guildies who can craft lovely, lovely augments for you. Satele!Raz is now over 3200/15% alacrity. Her crits are significantly lower than Star Forge!Raz right now, but I can probably fix that with some augments now that I know I’ve got the hookup for augments, and Satele!Raz has got at least one better tactical for now until I can get my armstech on Star Forge up to 700 so that I can craft it... 

[datawyrms]

Dannymay2020 Day 31: Free Day (ghost sword fight lets go)

It was for science, a good cause. His life would be so much better if he didn’t have to hear his parents gleefully discuss ripping apart some mindless ectoplasmic scum molecule by molecule. Right now though, he was remembering the other reason he flinched in horror when having to take his parents anywhere. Complete embarrassment. One extra downside to ghost powers: knowing you actually can just have the ground swallow you up in shame, but knowing you really, really shouldn’t. When your dad is sitting with sodas strapped to his head and waving a foam finger with your friend’s name on it, it got very tempting.

He’d almost prefer dealing with an ecto gun. “Dad, you’re actually going to pay attention, right?”

“Course I will Danny-boy! That goth friend of yours will kick that ghost right back to its own dimension, and I’ll be watching.”

The half ghost groaned, crossing his arms. “Dad.”

“And totally see if it’s actually a fight with rules. I did listen, son! It’s just good to see young people taking up ghost hunting!”

“This isn’t ghost hunting!”

“Right. Your friend is just going to clobber a ghost with a sword. For Science!”

Well he wasn’t wrong exactly, but it wasn’t helping him not regret every second of this stupid plan. “It’s more Sam’s doing the ghost a favour, and Sam’s doing me a favour by letting us watch. Sooo don’t go calling the ghost scum or anything. Please.”

“Hmmhm. I did read your notes son. You think I’d come with no weapons if I thought your observations were shoddy?” he clapped the boy on the back, who had to struggle to not fall over. “Still gotta root for your friend kiddo!”

Yes. Yes he did, actually. Yet asking his dad to maybe be a little less enthusiastic was like asking the sun to maybe be a little less bright. Pointless, and possibly amusing to anyone overhearing you. “She manages without a cheering section most of the time,” he felt the need to point out before heading down the hill to check in with Sam.

“I don’t know what I expected. Not that, that’s for sure.”

“Tell me about it. I didn’t think he’d do anything but scowl from the hill because he’s worried about a dastardly ghost. Sorry.” he rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking between his friend and the bright orange blight on the hillside.

“Nah. Arlas will probably get a kick out of it anyway, she likes having an audience,” Sam shrugged, fiddling with the lightweight wooden sword. “I have a few new tricks. Who knew Star of all people would like fencing?”

“Did she swear you to secrecy?”

“Bought my silence by being a pretty good practice partner,” her grin faded somewhat “Guess I’ve been buying into their ‘popular’ shtick too. She’s not that bad.”

“Then I’ll pretend you didn’t tell me. You don’t think she’ll try and talk to Dad, right? That could get ugly real quick.”

“She might. She knows to keep the whole met in the ghost zone thing quiet, but I can’t promise much else,”

“Well I can’t promise he won’t call her putrid protoplasm so we’re totally doomed.”

“Maybe we can make it sound like good natured ribbing?”

“With what ribs?” Danny smirked in spite of himself

“Oh shut up you. Go worry about not turning invisible trying to hide from your dad or something. I’ve got this.”

He nodded, backing off to head back to his expected spot. He wasn’t meant to know the ghost well, after all. He did notice the ghost showing up before anyone else, but forced himself to act oblivious.

“Oh, there’s the spook! You mentioned the heavy leg armor, these ones can’t do the leg shapeshifting thing, right?”

Danny blinked. He’d actually read and paid attention to all of it? “Yeah, that’s right. It can be pretty heavy since they don’t have to walk much with the whole flying thing, apparently.” his eyes flicked to his Dad’s face, trying to figure out how the man felt about Sam and this ghost greeting one another in friendly terms. He didn’t look angry, so maybe it was a good sign?

“First to three hits is what you said, right?”

Man this felt weird. Answering things about ghosts without constantly worrying he’d be called a ghost for it. “Sam’s pretty sure five would take too long. Either because she gets tired out, or a ghost hunter barging in.” Something he had almost done three times, but he couldn’t mention that bit.

Jack kept his eyes fixed on the two, leaning forward even as he slurped from the ridiculous soda contraption. “That’s how she wins, right son?” he pointed as Sam blocked a swing and danced backwards, forcing the knight to give chase. “She outruns em and can go for smaller openings.”

“How did yo-yeah. That’s usually how, since she can’t just fly after her…” How could he pick up on that and not his son literally falling through things for a month?

Arlas looked as if she might have caught on to Sam’s usual plan as well, backing off instead of pursuing after another failed clash. He honestly had zero idea what to do in that situation that wasn’t ‘shoot ecto blast’, but his friend seemed to have a decent idea, feigning a left swing before jabbing forward at a much greater speed.

“Ha! Lookit that, already winning!”

“You’ll distract her if you cheer louder.”

“Nah, your little friends are tough!”

He did seem to be right, the boisterous cheering when Sam had the upper hand not earning as much as a glance from the fight. Sam did shoot Danny a look at the boo his Dad made when Arlas managed to turn a block into a strike Sam couldn’t defend against in time, and he could only shrug. Hopefully the knight wasn’t too annoyed at the blatant favoritism. Or maybe she expected it, being a visitor and all.

Still, making it through the combat without having to stop his Dad from trying to capture or hurt the ghost was pretty good. Even if it was still really weird to have him just watch. He personally didn’t even need to watch the fight, watching Jack was more than enough indication on how things were going. Okay, maybe he was a bit paranoid, watching just in case he had to do some split second overshadowing. Moreso now that the ghost apparently wanted to say hello to the watching human, to his complete dismay.

“Oh, so it is a family thing! What interesting armor.” Arlas said, looking at the bright orange jumpsuit. 

Jack did seem a little surprised at the possible complement, hiding it with a nod. “Always need to be prepared!”

Danny manared to peek out from behind his fingers. Dad hadn’t threatened her. That was progress. That was good! Him possibly wondering why she thought jumpsuits were a family thing was not good! Sam’s advice of remembering not to turn invisible suddenly seemed very useful.

“Still I hope it was a good show. Sir Manson is still a bit too fast for me, but I’ll figure out a way around that soon, you’ll see.”

“You could just lose the armor, you’re way better at planning than I am.” Sam pointed out, earning a laugh from the ghost.

“If I plan to work in it, I must be able to beat you in it! The extra preparation can only be a good thing. That, and I can use the same trick on the others if they get overconfident.”

“So you consider being a knight as a job? You could do something else if you got bored of the sword swinging gig?” Jack asked, hand on his chin as he watched the floating knight.

“Of course! There are plenty of things to do back home, but who wouldn’t want to help protect the Queen? It’s not like I cannot retire when I no longer wish to do it.” she paused, looking up at the sky as if searching for an example. “I suppose you do not really have proper communities of ghosts over here, just the stronger sorts or the occasional animal?”

“Nope. We just get the town attacking beasties”

“Ah, well who doesn’t? Troublemakers will be troublemakers.” she shrugged easily, apparently not considering herself a ‘beastie’.

Jack considered the answer, the loud slurping sound rather at odds with the pensive look on his face. Surely he didn’t think this ghost would make up an entire fake backstory, or be perfectly fine with losing to a human in a fair fight while being ‘mindless’. “So the Fentons are known over in your world then?”

“Well I wouldn’t say unknown. The outfits are pretty memorable! Yours more than your son’s. He is your son, I think. That’s the right term?”

Of course she had to bring up his jumpsuit. That he never wore. Because it was on his ghost form. Sam’s wince in sympathy did not help.

“See Danno, even the ghosts think you need more colour! Even Jazz’s is blue, maybe we should get you an orange one.”

“Maybe. Mine’s fine, thanks.” he managed to speak, hoping he didn’t sound too much like he’d been internally choking.

Sam took up damage control before her friend managed to be more suspicious than a wolf in a sheep pen. “Well, I’ve got stuff to do, and Arlas does too. See ya Mr. Fenton.”

The ghost did seem a little put out to not continue to chat, but took Sam’s lead, turning invisible before making her way back home.

“Not even going to try and scare anyone while she’s here huh? Interesting.” Jack commented. “Certainly a lot to think about kiddo! Our little researcher,” he ruffled Danny’s hair, earning a grunt from his son. “You think you might be able to arrange talking to some of these other ‘non-violent’ ghosts?”

“Oh. Yeah. Probably? Not right away, but sure.”

“Great! I want to see for myself if the stories line up. If they do, then we’ll need to figure out why only the blobs and animals showed up before the portal.” he got to his feet, apparently wanting to go write things down in the lab right away.

“Because they were the only ones dumb enough to leave the ghost zone without a portal to go home with.” Danny muttered “The smart ones wouldn’t risk it,”

“Right, you scrawled that on the back of your folder. Which ghost told you that again?”

In truth? Frostbite. Yet he didn’t have a way to explain that. “Phantom.”

“Well you can’t use yourself as a primary source son, that’d be considered speculation.”

Danny could only stare. Whoops.

[agent-cupcake]

Beastie and the Bard

Fire Emblem Three Houses - Dimitri x Reader (Chapter 7)

Yes, it’s been over a month. Unfortunately, I’m beginning to think this monstrosity is going to be a lot longer than I ever intended. Anyway, there’s some Sylvain in this one... Damn I love him.  

Opus 5,  No. 1 Dramma giocoso Act I. Apertura di Domani

Morning came. With it, awareness. A far off clanging of the hourly bells and the cold light of the winter sun slanting in through the thin window by your door, landing across your face and painting your vision with the red of your eyelids. Disgruntled and groggy, you moved away from the harsh beam, but it was too late. Coherent thoughts teased at the edges of your mind, the discomforts of a cottony mouth and a foot half-frozen from sticking out from your blankets. You fought it but even as you buried your face into your pillow and snuggled more comfortably into your blanket cocoon, distant recall was unearthed from the half-awake sludge of your brain. Each second ticked by with a more firm sense of lucidity, and eventually, you could no longer avoid reality.  

The White Heron Ball. The Goddess Tower.

Dimitri. You and Dimitri.

Your stomach flopped at the idea, all remnants of sleep wiped from your mind. Even as you tried to convince yourself it must have been a dream, that you were still half asleep and dazed, your eyes opened. Sure enough, evidence of the truth that surrounded you. The torn dress on your floor, candles melted to drippy stubs, a used handkerchief cast uncaringly aside. Other things, too. Bruises, sore feet, a twinge in your core. And memories, lingering feelings. Unrestrained desire upon seeing the fully revealed expanse of Dimitri’s body, his fair skin marked with scars and deceptively slim frame muscular and firm. A dizzy, shivering sensation when he looked at you with eyes half-lidded with lust, your reckless arousal to see his expression drawn with feral desire. The taste of his kiss, cider; his skin, salt. The masculine musky scent that filled your lungs when you were close, the sound of his groans rumbling in his chest. Dimitri’s lips on yours, his hands holding your hips, your bodies joined together, his touch unraveling you, sensation, stimulus, pleasure-

Dimitri, overwhelming you completely.

Memory rolled down your spine like a chill, urging action. Pushing off the comfortable blankets, you rolled out of bed and stood. It was too fast. The sudden shift nearly knocked you back down, head spinning and vision filled with spots. Pains that had been less noticeable while laying down demanded your attention. Without cover, your skin was exposed to the cool air of your room and prickled with cold. But you remained upright, blinking your vision clear. You had to see.

Reflected in the mirror was the truth entire. Bleary eyes, skin marked with bruises, and surrounded by a halo decidedly unruly hair. It was the appearance of someone who, last night, had given herself fully to a man. Studying your reflection, you tried to determine if you could detect a change. You were, after all, a virgin no longer. A girl made woman, unfit for the pure marriage your father had so carefully planned for. What would he say? You could almost imagine it. His anger, his disgust. His darling daughter ruined by a man she could never hope to keep. In that, at least, he would have been right. Shaking the thought from your mind, you took an even breath to steady yourself, watching your chest rise and fall with the action, following the trail of naked skin towards to find a change. Nothing.

Meeting your reflected eyes once more, you realized that the songs and stories were all wrong. Nothing had changed. Not you, not your feelings. They had been set as surely as if they had been carved into stone for far longer than last night. A dozen moments could have been the genesis; the night Dimitri happened upon you playing by the lake, that first battle when you were a puppet to the elation of victory, the stories he shared in the shadow of the stables; although you couldn’t entirely believe it was any of those moments, cherished as they were. The truth was far more simple, a cliche. Love at first sight. Twice over. It had always been Dimitri, even when he had been little more than an ephemeral dream in a dreary childhood. You would have had greater luck asking the wind to stop blowing than to stop your heart from loving him truly, to stop last night from being an inevitable consequence of your feelings.

You hadn’t changed, it was still the same you in the mirror.

As the memories continued, that thought lost its painful sense of charm. It was just you. Alone.

Dimitri’s goodbye finally came to be considered. It was an unbearably bitter aftertaste to the sugary sweetness of your coupling. As his final words returned to you, doubt followed, anxiety about the consequences of your thoughtless actions. Not for your sake, but his. For what it meant for him. To your love, you were powerless. But he was powerless, too. Dimitri was powerless against the goals he so desperately strived for, the drive that be belonged to so completely that his future was not his own. Last night had been a wish granted, and a reminder. No matter what you wished for, what you felt, Dimitri was not yours.

Despite the finger-shaped bruises on your hips, the soreness between your thighs, the red marks pulled to your neck by his overeager mouth. Despite the intoxicating and incomparable intimacy you shared. He was not yours.

Maybe you did worry about the consequences of your actions for your own sake, maybe you could only pretend to be selfless.

You looked away from the mirror and covered the evidence of his affections by getting dressed, pulling the collar of your uniform coat snug against your neck. With the same rigid efficiency, you wiped the makeup from under your eyes and brushed away the knots in your hair, tying it back. How frustrating that, despite your attempts in ignoring it all, your eyes burned with the threat of tears, your chest clenching on an empty feeling of loneliness.

It was silly, stupid. From the very start, you’d known that you couldn’t want for something more. You had to do as you told him last night, reject expectations of the future and live for what you had. Cling to these fleeting memories of perfection, moments to hang on your wall when the night was too dark and the silence too loud. You could do that.

The pain would pass.

Washing your mouth and smoothing down your hair for a final time, you rubbed the burn from your eyes and set out for the day, not wishing to linger in your lonely room with your circular thoughts. There was no class today, but that didn’t mean you could spend it wallowing.

The cool wintery sun that had woken you up blazed above. It brought light to the bright blue sky stretched above the monastery, although did little to warm the academy grounds. Clouds gathered on the horizons, bringing a faint mugginess made the chill air that much cooler. Judging by that, the hour was later than you usually woke up, although you could see similar grogginess among your fellow classmates. The ball had been quite the excitement.

At first, something akin to paranoia ran like bugs across your skin as you made your way to the dining hall, fear that everyone would see past your uniform to the memory of Dimitri’s touch littering your skin, that they would notice the odd gait you adopted as a result of the soreness nestled between your legs. But nobody gave you a second glance as you crossed the monastery grounds. They didn’t know what had happened, what indulgence you had committed. And even if they did, would anyone believe that you had lost your virginity to Dimitri, the crown prince of Faerghus? The only one who knew was you.

And him.

Even knowing it was a slim chance considering the hour, you couldn’t help but scan the crowd to find a familiar face. A splash of blue, of gold. Then again, during the day it was just as easy to find Dimitri by looking near the unmistakably tall figure of Dedue. You knew the poor odds, yet you found yourself disappointed in his absence. You wanted desperately to speak to him, to know what he felt. Not that he would discuss such things during the day, when other people were around. Normally he was too preoccupied for much of anything during the day. Training, studying, lost in thought. You wanted to see him anyway, to settle for simply being near him. Silly Thoughts. Your stomach grumbling was hardly an appealing trait to present in your misguided wooing attempts.

Half lost in your dramatic thoughts, you entered the dining hall and cut through the crowd. Waiting in the line, being served, and turning with your tray to find a place to sit were all done with automatic movements, your mind wallowing disconnected stream of worry and wishful thinking as you followed routine. Preoccupation kept you company with its bland ignorance, but not even you could zone out so thoroughly to miss the familiar voice.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Sylvain said, greeting you with his ever-popular smooth voice and easy smile, falling into step at your side. “I can’t help but notice that you look lonely. Care for some company?”

You nearly stumbled at the shock of being pulled from your thoughts so abruptly, head jerking sideways to look up at him. Sylvain looked as good as he always did, red hair messy but not unkempt and his uniform sloppy but not slovenly.

It was strange, but not altogether surprising, that seeing him would be such a happy relief. “Good morning,” you responded a beat too late to be entirely natural. Your voice was raspy, dry from disuse.

“Whoops, I didn’t mean to surprise you,” Sylvain said, clearly unrepentant. “You looked like you were really lost in thought. I’ve seen that look before, you know. You were thinking about someone, right?”

“Uh, yes…” you said before thinking. Sylvain’s smile grew at getting such an easy confession, urging you to quickly clarify, “Well, not exactly. I was thinking about how I wished I had someone to eat with.”

“Really? That’s strange, I was just thinking that I’d love to start my day by enjoying the company of a cute girl,” Sylvain said. “Having us meet like this must be some act of fate.”

Some part of you still felt embarrassed by his casual flirtations, even after all the months past. Another tugged a smile onto your face, feeling a sort of comfort in the familiarity of Sylvain’s slippery charm.

“Must be,” you responded. “Is right here okay?” You paused at the uninhabited end of one of the tables situated on the opposite side of the glaring sunshine slanting in through the windows. It was difficult to not hold a grudge against its rude awakening.

“Here? Are you sure?” Sylvain offered, half-raising an eyebrow. “We could always go somewhere with a bit more privacy.”

“Maybe some other time,” you responded, shrugging off the flirtatious question.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Sylvain responded, smiling as he set down his plate and took the seat across from yours. “You know, now that I think about it, it’s pretty late for you to be getting breakfast. You’re usually up early, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess I slept in a little long. Not that I meant too, but..” You shrugged, frowning at the reminder.

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” Sylvain soothed. “Personally, I think it’s pretty cute that you’re finally learning to loosen up a bit. I was worried His Highness had rubbed off on you.”

Well, that was one way to put it.

You made to sit, only to freeze when a pinching sort of pain between your legs caught you off guard, pulling a half-stifled squeak of surprise from your mouth. A not-so-subtle reminder of the strenuous activities of last night. It was impossible to cover for the reaction, so you opted to keep your head down as you sat, ignoring the unfamiliar pain and his curious gaze by grabbing your fork and picking through the pile of rubbery eggs on your tray.  

You willed the blush on your cheeks to cool. Sylvain couldn’t possibly know what you knew, or have been tipped off to what had happened by such a minute response. The reaction was no different than if you were sore from training, he would have no reason to suspect it was anything other than that. Yes, absolutely no reason-

“Sore?” Sylvain asked you knowingly. You stiffened, even more blood pooling in your cheeks as you looked up to his playful grin.

“What?” you asked.

“I guess I was right to worry,” Sylvain said, leaning in as if to conspire. “Did Dimitri work you a little too hard? His Highness isn’t really one to take it easy on people, I take it you’re no exception.”

Your stomach dropped low, the words only furthering the flush burning your skin. “How… How did you know what we….” you stuttered, physically unable to find coherency as you gaped at the man. “Did Dimitri tell you?”

“Wait, what?” Sylvain asked, his eyes wide in surprise. Genuine surprise. “I was kidding, but…” He leaned back, shock resolving into a thoughtful expression. “So you and Dimitri. Huh.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I mean, he asked me for advice, but… Damn, I didn’t think he had it in him.” Sylvain’s head tilted upwards, a smirk curling his lips. “Or, I guess, had it in you.”

A burst of indignant embarrassment was quick to ignite within you in response, your brain sputtering as it tried to think of a reaction other than the desire to melt out of existence. At first it was just shock that he would go that far, but then came the burn of regret that you had been tricked into admitting the truth right away. Anger invited itself as a quick rebuff of the crass joke to finish it all off, but after a second of facing Sylvain’s mischievous expression with your own disastrously flustered one, you decided to give it up.

“That was a joke- Huh?” Sylvain’s reflexive explanation cut off abruptly when he noticed the fact that you were clearly trying to swallow down a fit of giggles. His expression changed from overzealously apologetic to confused, the look doing nothing to help you from stopping yourself from the first bubbles of laughter. It was just too awful. Embarrassing, not to mention juvenile. Prying into something so personal and attacking the very thing you were most self-conscious about. Even still, the joke was a little funny. In a crude way. Completely awful. So you laughed. “Uh… Are you okay?” he asked nervously. “I was just trying to be funny, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Something about his tone of voice only made you laugh harder.

You nodded in response to his concern, breathless and unable to speak, waving your hands as if to deflect it. This was the wrong reaction, you knew that. Maybe you were more tired than you thought, exhausted by everything that had happened. There was no other explanation for why you were laughing. Certainly not at the joke, such as it was, and especially not at the fact that you’d just accidentally revealed a disastrous secret to him. Perhaps it was therapeutic. Laughing was good, cleansing, wasn’t it? Medicine of the same strain as music.

Eventually, you got yourself under control, wiping tears from your eyes and taking a heavy breath. “Sorry, that was… I don’t want to be rude, but your jokes really are terrible, Sylvain,” you said, still smiling.

He chuckled, although there was an awkward pinch of uneasiness to the sound, like he was still waiting for you to berate him. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before. Can’t say I’ve ever heard that from someone who laughed so hard, though.” “Sorry,” you said again, shaking your head to clear it. Like a leaf caught in a stiff breeze, your mood shifted, laughter no longer fighting off the embarrassment of before. “You, uh, you won’t tell anyone, right? About me and… And Dimitri.”  

“Huh? Of course not.” Sylvain laughed casually, although there was an abashed quality to it. He still eyed you cautiously, ready to be rebuked. “But…”

“What is it?” You asked when he didn’t continue that thought, eyebrows furrowing at the discomfort of his continued staring. Maybe you would have to yell at him after all.

Luckily, Sylvain’s gaze dropped as he shook his head, bewilderment crossing his expression. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for him. Dimitri needs a reason to loosen up more than any of us but… Wow.” He let the thought end there, picking up his fork to pick through breakfast. You let out a sigh of relief. “Yeah… Wow,” you echoed. If you stopped to think about it, you felt just as much surprise as Sylvain about the turn of events, the vertigo from the morning returning. Considering all you knew about Dimitri, perhaps it was all more shocking to you. But, having nothing else to add, you followed suit in digging in.

The food, cold as it was, didn’t taste half as bad when you had company. Odd how that worked. Even the quiet between the two of you wasn’t so bad. In fact, you half wondered if you were actually glad that one other person knew your secret. That made it more real, somehow. And besides, as much of a reputation as Sylvain had, you were certain that he was a good person. Out of any of your other classmates, you imagined he was probably one of the best. He wouldn’t judge and could keep a secret.

“I guess this means I don’t have a chance with you,” Sylvain suddenly said, before the silence could get too stale. From any other man, those words could have been uncomfortable, but a line was a line and Sylvain was a phony philanderer to his core. It made you smile, set at ease by knowing that things would be the same. That was good. Normalizing. You were still you, just like Sylvain was always Sylvain. And Dimitri… He would always be Dimitri.

“Sorry,” you replied, smiling with an apology you didn’t feel.

“Figured as much. That’s a shame, I’ve always wanted to date a musician, you know. Well, if he ever breaks your heart, I’m more than happy to be your shoulder to cry on,” he said, winking.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“But if you break his…” Sylvain continued, his tone losing that playful sound in favor of a hard edge. “I’ll never forgive you.” His expression had become serious, eyes intense. Through a veneer of pretend, you saw the truth.

“You really care about him,” you said, feeling impressed at the revelation rather than intimidated by the threat. After all, the idea of you breaking Dimitri’s heart was more devastating than any threat.

Sylvain blinked, surprised by your reaction. Just as quickly, that was casually shrugged off, his easy demeanor returning. “Yeah, I guess I do. Someone’s gotta look after him, he’s hopeless when it comes to girls.”

“You’d be surprised,” you replied without thinking.

That made Sylvain laugh. “He might have you fooled right now, but just wait. Do you know what he gave the first girl he fell for?”

The first girl he fell for? For a reason you didn’t like, you felt more curious about that than the gift, but you forced yourself to play along. “No.”

“A dagger,” Sylvain said, leaning in on his elbows to properly emphasize the answer. Then he hesitated, head tilting as he fixed you with a worried look. “He hasn’t given you a dagger, has he? I swear, I keep telling him that girls are delicate, that they should be showered in candy and flowers. Unfortunately, Dimitri is as stubborn as ever. He doesn’t understand girls like I do.”

“He hasn’t given me a dagger,” you replied, slightly amused by the idea. How utterly Dimitri. But from him, that didn’t sound like such a bad gift.

“Heh, maybe there’s hope for him yet.”

Sylvain seemed satisfied with leaving things at that, but you were caught up on what he’d said before, trying to think of a way to ask about the girl Dimitri had given said dagger to. But, before you could speak, you were cut off by an abrupt interruption to your table. He came to a loud, halting stop above you. A Knight of Seiros, slightly winded. He was armored in standard Garreg Mach guard fashion, red faced and anxious. Youthful, maybe only a handful of years older than you.

“You’re Professor Byleth’s students?” he asked without introduction or preamble. While inciting a fair share of startled curiosity, the question also made your heart sink. It could only mean a select few things, and none of them boded well for the easy morning you had hoped for.

“We are,” Sylvain said, looking from you to the knight with a curious hesitance.  

“There’s been an... Incident,” the knight said, his voice lowering with the last word. “Arm yourselves and report to Captain Jeralt and Professor Byleth in the front hall right away.”

“What was the incident?” you asked in an equal hush, cool panic coming to life in your chest in place of the concern, squeezing your heart.

The knight looked around, hesitating as he eyed the dining room. He had caused a commotion, drawing the attention of nearly all of the surrounding students. This was bad news, and everyone could tell. Bad enough that he worried about the reaction. “I can’t say here,” he told you both with a softer voice. “But it is absolutely vital that you hurry.” He leaned down, his voice lowering further, somehow. “There are lives at stake.”

“Understood,” Sylvain responded firmly, his playful expression wiped clean in favor of one of determination. The knight bowed, then moved on, his pace a panicked rush.

You let out a heavy breath to steady yourself, closing your eyes for the slightest second in an attempt to collect yourself. To become the knight you needed to be. When they opened, you nodded to Sylvain. No longer was he your playful, flirtatious dining companion, but one of the most formidable combatants you knew.

He stood. “Let’s go.”

Dramma giocoso Act I. Coro della Pioggia

Students trapped in by monsters within the so-called safety of the monastery walls. If you were given any time to contemplate the mission before the Blue Lions were marched out alongside a handful of knights to deal with the issue, that idea would have terrified you.

As it was, there was no time for thinking. The things that greeted you in the chapel square weren’t normal demonic beasts, if you could ever consider a demonic beast ‘normal’. Somehow, these were worse. Horrific creatures wrapped in bandage-like black skin, their narrow heads eyeless and jagged-toothed mouth’s foul. They were strong, too. Far more than any of beasts you had fought before.

You, Felix, and Annette had been sent to the western side of the square while everyone else moved on to take care of the beasts further in. Not great numbers, but there were too many of the things to have the entire class fight them one by one. Besides, Professor Byleth had trained you well. Even without your beloved pegasus Siobhan, you were deadly.

That was good because although the monster you faced was bleeding in a dozen places, the wounds hadn’t done anything to stop it from rearing up and rampaging forward, swiping at any in-range victim with enough force to break on impact and belching flames. Cold and humid air, blackened with smoke from the fires, wheezed in thick bursts through your lungs as you jumped out of the way again, avoiding the swipe of demonic claws by no more than an inch.

Too close! You were getting sloppy, panicking as the fight dragged on.

Hitting the ground in a hard roll knocked the breath from your lungs and would certainly leave you aching later on, but you were on your feet in seconds, moving in a fluid, battle-fueled frenzy.  

Still too slow.

The demon whirled, finding you easily despite the lack of eyes and hacking out more of its noxious flames, sending you into a mad dance out of the way. The scent of singed fabric coiled around you, although there was no time to check if you were burned or not. Any pain was ignored, as was the way your eyes watered and nose ran from the smoke. All you could do was blink rapidly and try to breathe in as little as possible as you pitched forward, still the subject of the beast’s focus. As much as you disliked it, that was apart of the plan. Being the fastest of your team, using you as bait was the best possible short-term strategy for this vile, violent creature. Hopefully it was enough, you weren’t sure how much more you could- The monster wailed as Felix took advantage of the distraction you created by deepening the large gash on its neck into a mortal wound. Beast blood sprayed from the slash in a dramatic arc, painting the cobblestones and splattering over you. The smell was a disgusting mixture of acrid ammonia and hot human decay. A butcher house under the summer sun. A back alley running with the urine and blood of sleazy violence. The monster twisted around, letting out a horrific screech of agony, but Felix was too fast for its enraged and clumsy movements.

Following him, you scrambled away from the demon as it thrashed about, sputtering blood and weak flames, thick strings of saliva and bile dripping from its teeth as it struggled to breathe. Air pushed out from its mouth as if from a giant pair of bellows, but its inhale yielded nothing but a strangled gurgle. It reared up. For a moment, you worried that it would land a final, dying attack, rampaging towards the both of you in one last act of destruction.

Magic beat against its legs in a quick succession of blinding power. Annette stood at a dozen foot distance from the creature, her hands outstretched and face a pale mask of focus as she shot spell after spell at the thing.

And that was it. The monster lumbered around to face her, but it was too weakened and disoriented to move more than that. Felix had cut at exactly the right place, cutting off its flow of oxygen as well as catching a major artery. Blood gushed from the wound out at a rate you could hardly believe and air wheezed out as a chilling death rattle. Annette’s magic had ruined its legs, working into the gashes and hobbling it.  

The demon toppled, a final attempt to scream echoing against the ruins.

Inky, bandage-like skin unraveled from the beast’s form, dissolving into the smokey air like powdery ash with each of its writhing, thrashing movements. The smell was revolting, the sight confusing. By the time it was over, the hulking creature had vanished.

Its body never came crashing to the ground.

Although noise raged all around you; the shouting of students, of knights, the crackling of flames, and the general chaos of battle; cold horror formed a chrysalis of stillness in your head. The beast was gone. A human body laid where the monster’s corpse should have. Shock swept through your veins, long-ignored nausea pulsing at the back of your throat. Monster blood was drying on your skin and puddled on the ground, the stones at your feet were charred by flame, and rampaged destruction surrounded you - all of it proof of the beast’s existence. Yet there was no longer any beast.

A student, one of those you had been helping rescue from the rampaging monster, rushed to the broken body, shouting a name. Some instinct wanted you to stop her, to save her from the beast, but there was no longer any danger. Just a body. Your ears rang with the beast’s great wail, masking the girl’s cries as she pulled the boy’s corpse into her arms, uncaring of the beast’s blood that stained her uniform.

A human corpse.

A beast.

“Like Miklan,” Felix noted darkly, standing close enough for his voice to cut through the static in your ears. Recognition came to life with his comment, understanding of why this scene felt so morbidly familiar. Miklan. Sylvain’s brother, the one who had been consumed by the awesome power of the Relic weapon Ruin and turned into some inhuman monstrosity. In death, he had been nothing but more than a man, the monstrous trinket of House Gautier’s blood-bound weapon at his side.

But… That only happened because of the Relic. Ruin, one of the weapons of the Ten Elites. Professor Byleth had told the class to keep what had happened in Conand Tower a secret, to never speak of Miklan’s fate to anyone lest fear spread discord among the students. He said that it was not going to happen to anyone else as long as they didn’t misuse the relics.

“How is that possible?” you asked Felix, turning away from the sight of the corpse. “Without a Relic, how could he…?” The question fell unfinished, the thought made incomplete by your fear of the answer. Even Felix, ever stoic, looked troubled. He was much better at pushing aside his personal feelings, however, and adopted a look of focus.

“It doesn’t matter. We should push on to Professor Byleth,” he said. “The knights will see to the students here.”

Right. No time to slow down and think. Swallowing down the sick feeling in your throat, you turned. “Annette!” you called, your voice raspy and throat singed by the smoke. She looked up at your call, her face ashen as she stood above the student’s body. Knights and other students had congregated there, confused and disoriented and scared. Of course they were, it didn’t make any sense. Even to you, to Felix and Annette, the sight was incomprehensible. When she met your eyes, you saw a reflection of the feelings you were trying to ignore. For a moment, her wide eyes spoke of a doe-like panic, an animal before it fled. But she was strong. Her expression hardened and she nodded, resolute as she hurried to you and Felix.

“That was... Kinda awful,” she said, playing off her anxiety with awkward casualness as she approached. Something more was hidden in those words, the questions none of you wanted to ask about what you had just witnessed.  

“We don’t have time to talk about it,” Felix said. “I can’t hear any more beasts, they might have already taken care of the rest. Either way, we should go.”

“You’re hurt,” Annette said, her eyes fixing on your left arm. You followed her gaze. Oh. The fire had gotten you after all. Burns were such awful wounds, but these weren’t terrible. Relatively. Your sleeve was worn through from the flame in several spots, revealing bright red and blistering skin. As if to make up for the time you’d been able to ignore it, pain swept through you. The terrible stinging, insistent bite of heat. Burns were nasty, constantly vying for your attention, refusing to be ignored.

“I’m… I’m fine,” you said, looking away from the sight and pulling a vulnerary from your belt, downing the contents with a wince. The liquid was bitter, doing nothing to help with the nausea invited by the scent of the demon’s blood and smoke, but it was better than lingering on the pain. “We should hurry.”

“Yes. Let’s go,” Felix said impatiently, without concern. All of you had sustained worse injury and pulled through. That was the price of battle.

“I’m sure Mercy will help when we catch up with them,” Annette said helpfully, adopting a forcefully positive tone.

“That’s true,” you agreed, although the thought of getting to Mercedes was not your drive to get to the chapel. Even in the midst of a battlefield, you longed to catch up to Dimitri, to Professor Byleth. They would make things right, drive away your fear and worry.

Annette looked back a final time as you left the western area of the square, but you did not. You couldn’t bear to see the destruction or chaos, to think again about the implications of that vulnerable human body laying where a monster should have. The three of you moved quickly towards the chapel, at the ready for any indication of danger. Just as Felix had said, there were no longer any resounding roars of beasts echoing through the muggy air. That was a good sign.

At the same time, you couldn’t help but feel there was something off. Clouds filled the sky above, crowding in to hide the sun and condensing in the air. The promise of rain stuck the scent of smoke to your skin, the chill of it an uncomfortable sensation against your sweaty skin. Your arm throbbed. People passed, but no faces you recognized. Students escorted by knights who gave your little group curt nods of recognition. Other than that was an eerie sense of quiet, the pressure of a coming storm. Did it seem to have gathered too quickly? Too strangely?

The three of you finally rounded the corner of one of the destroyed structures, having to weave around massive chunks of rubble to get to the chapel.

And you saw him.

Blue, first. A blue so intense it drained all else of the spectrum in the area surrounding it. Golden hair, a lance in hand, speaking with Alois in a voice you could almost hear. The sky was darkening, the daylight drained away by the promise of storm, but Dimitri was brilliant. He was battle worn, but unharmed. It seemed everyone else had made it out all right, too. Mercedes was seeing to the wounds of an unhappy Ingrid, Dedue stood at Dimitri’s side, and the others were nearby helping the remaining students and knights get free of the rubble and tending to the very worst of the wounded. Every face was ashen, troubled. They had all seen the same horror.

The deep unease within you faded somewhat when Dimitri saw your group, his eyebrows unfurrowing just slightly. “Ah, we were beginning to grow worried,” he called, his expression one of relief as he turned from Alois. “I was about to leave to find you.”

Felix made a sound of derision, approaching with a casual gait. “As if we’d need your help,” he said coldly.

Dimitri nodded in easy acceptance of Felix’s rude behavior, his eyes scanning each of you. He lingered on the burn on your arm, a feeling that made you squirm in a way that had nothing to do with the pain. The burns didn’t hurt very badly after the vulnerary, but his gaze most certainly had an effect. As did the worry in his expression.

“We took care of the beast,” Annette said, her forcefully friendly voice offsetting Felix’s sour tone. “All of the students are safe in that area.”

Dimitri looked away from you quickly, clearing his throat. “I’m glad to hear that. We were successful over here as well. Professor Byleth and Captain Jeralt are investigating the chapel.” He gestured to the giant edifice across from the group. Destroyed. Utterly so. The main entrance, or whatever remained of it, was on the other side.

“Alone?” you asked.

The sky grew darker still. The storm was setting itself up to be a frightening thing, fog beginning to rise in the cool air. Something about that didn’t sit right with you. Reflecting your thoughts, Felix’s shoulders were still unnaturally tense, his sharp gaze roaming the area restlessly. Then again, that wasn’t uncommon behavior for him.

“Captain Jeralt asked that we ensure everyone involved was okay before joining them,” Alois said in his usual boisterous manner, although you couldn’t help but feel that it was strained, an act put on to set everyone at ease. “Hah! Leaving us to do the cleanup while he gets to play investigator, how very like him.”

“Now that everyone is here, perhaps it would be wise to check on their search,” Dedue said, looking towards the chapel. His voice was as unmoved as ever, but you could see the signs of worry in the way his eyebrows furrowed and lips drew tense.

“I’ll go,” Dimitri said.

“Me too,” you volunteered without thinking.

“You’re injured,” Dimitri pointed out, frowning.

“It’s nothing,” you said, frowning at him. He had to feel it, too. Something was wrong. The storm, the monsters. Cold crept up your spine, tingled over your sweaty scalp. A wet breeze made you shiver, a dull ache rolling down your arm. The clouds swirled in smears of steel, of slate, the forboding hues of charcoal darkening where they were the thickest. “We need to get back to the monastery before this storm gets too bad anyway.”

“Right,” Dimitri said with only slight hesitation, giving a resolute nod before turning to Alois. “Alois, can you see that everyone here is taken back to the monastery?” Dimitri asked.

“Sure I can,” Alois responded. “Although I was hoping to enjoy this fog. Last time I mist my chance, although I suppose I can just dew it later.” He smiled at everyone in turn with expectant eyes, trying so brazenly to relieve the tension. A tittering, vapid sort of giggle left your mouth without thought, a sound born of anxiety. It only highlighted the resounding silence following his terrible joke. At the very least, Alois brightened slightly at the reaction. “Right, yes. I’ll see that everyone is safely back to the monastery.”

“Thanks. We won’t be long,” Dimitri said. He looked at you. “Let’s go then.”

You nodded, trying to smother some of your worry with logic. Dimitri set out and you followed, pushing yourself to keep up with his long-legged stride. It was not surprising that Dedue fell into step as well. Some part of you felt bad for leaving the group to themselves, for shirking your duties to your class. But the first beasts had been found in the chapel. Beasts that were students that were monsters without Relics. Something was wrong.

The three of you rounded the broken down structure that once was the grand chapel. Now it was grand ruins. So much history destroyed in a single afternoon, it was nearly tragic. The artist in you mourned the beauty.

Thick fog was settling the dust of destruction, but it was also making the stone and grass slippery. Not only that, but the foggy darkness lessened visibility. You restlessly searched your surroundings as you walked, unease growing by the moment.

“Did something, um… Strange happen? When you killed the beasts, I mean,” you asked the two of them in a lowered voice. You scanned the terrain once more, trying to see past the trees, into the shadows created by fallen pillars.

“We can discuss that later,” Dimitri replied. That was a yes.

You wanted to push it further, if only just to offset the tension, but a raindrop hit your face. Then another. One, two, three. Heavy and wet, cold like ice.

“What’s with this weather?” you asked, half speaking to yourself. Like an ill omen, your words beckoned the storm. Just as soon as the rain had appeared, it was pounding down. The clouds created the darkened cast of night, the intensity of it sweeping in far too fast to be natural.

“Something’s wrong,” Dedue said, his low voice carrying. Your breath caught, but he wasn’t looking at you. He stared straight ahead, his face drawn tense.

“I agree,” Dimitri said, hurrying the last few paces to round the corner.

A grassy field sprawled in front of the destroyed chapel. You had seen it in the daylight before, the verdant grass swaying with the breeze, but now it was darkened by the storm into a gloomy, intimidating court of fog and ruin. Rain grew heavier by the minute, it pounded against the remains of the chapel with a furious hammering of sound, its icy fingers crawling beneath your clothes. Through the dark, through the veil of rain, a figure in the center of the field. Fog swirled, tumultuous, and you saw Professor Byleth with more clarity. He knelt on the ground, holding something. Someone.

“That’s Professor Byleth… and… Captain Jeralt?” Dimitri asked, his voice hushed. Your heart lurched, reality pulling inwards and freezing the air in your lungs as fear of possibility and dread overwhelmed you. And then Dimitri was running, calling out to Professor Byleth in a voice weakened by the aggression of the storm. Far off thunder rumbled uncertainly.

“Your Highness,” Dedue called, following behind. You couldn’t move at first, held in place by a dissonance of the mind. But you didn’t want to be alone. Blinking raindrops from your eyes, you ran. Wooden legs carried you forward as you followed Dedue across the field, your feet coming close to slipping on the wet grass with every step. His looming figure stopped before getting too close, hesitant to cross some unseen barrier created by the dead.

The dead.

Professor Byleth knelt on the ground with his back bowed against the assault of the storm. Below him, Captain Jeralt was absolutely still. A crimson bloom of blood stained his middle, running thin and pink with rainwater. Professor Byleth looked vulnerable in a way you had never seen him, drenched by rain and despair.

Acting on some weak, childish instinct, you reached out your hand. Seeking desperately, you found Dedue’s hand. Clinging to it. You were shaking, but he was steady. The large, calloused hand that you gripped was warm. Where you were weak, Dedue faced death with the steadfast and patient familiarity of a man long denied the comfort of ignorance. He had every right to shake off your grasp, but while his reaction was stiff and uncomfortable, he didn’t.

“Professor,” Dimitri said, slowly kneeling to at eye level with Byleth.

You held tighter to Dedue’s hand. His fingers curled around yours.

Professor Byleth didn’t raise his head, still staring at Jeralt’s face. He said something you couldn’t hear, his voice lost in the sound of rain. Whatever it was made Dimitri go rigid. His answer was spoken at an equally quiet volume, but the intensity was clear. It made Professor Byleth finally look up. His expression was unlike you’d ever seen, cracked with pain and emotion. Dimitri said something else, and Professor Byleth nodded. The pain didn’t ease, but it was masked over with grim determination.

Dedue took a step forward, your hand falling free from his. “Your Highness. We need to return to the monastery,” he said. “Whoever did this could still be nearby.”

Dimitri didn’t respond to Dedue, his eyes not straying from Professor Byleth. He asked a question, motioning towards Captain Jeralt. Someone would have to carry his body back, you realized. That was the question. The burden Dimitri was ready to bear.

Professor Byleth looked down at his father’s face a last time, a foreign tenderness in his expression. Pain. His gloved fingers traced Captain Jeralts cheek, but he nodded, standing up. Dimitri pulled off his cape to cover Captain Jeralt’s face, a late attempt at providing him dignity in death, then gathered the corpse and stood. Dimitri did it all unflinchingly, taking both the physical and emotional weight in stride. No, that wasn’t true. His expression was dark, drawn with pain. You wanted to say something as Professor Byleth passed you, but there were no words. Just the rain and the squelching footsteps as your group marched a twisted funeral procession away from the destroyed rubble of the chapel.

It was deafening.

//

RUH-ROH! 

Haha, just kidding, Jeralt dying is like Martha and Thomas Wayne dying, at this point it’s far more about the aesthetic than the tragedy itself. There are 20,000+ words left of this little opera, and trust me, the finale is worth it. Maybe. Hopefully.

Tell me if you enjoyed it. Or just leave a cheeky like. Or literally anything because otherwise I’m screaming into the abyss and it’s just embarrassing for everyone. I got a slapdash method of editing so if you notice mistakes I am sincerely sorry and it’s probably not going to get better. 

[tumblunni]

MAN OKAY IM MAKING A SELF INDULGENT KINGDOM HEARTS SONA

Probably the only main reason i havent made another one since i was a kid is cos i never really wanted to be a keyblade master. Even as a kid i always hated "they are just all magically born evil because darkness energy" as a trope. Whenever an evil guy had minions who were all "mindless and evill" and you were supposed to mow them down in droves because of it, i always felt like they seemed LESS evil, yknow? Like youre canonically stating that theyre NOT evil! Theyre dangerous, yeah, but you just said that they dont have complex cognitive thought or ability to choose their own actions. Theyrr just being USED for evil, by the guy whos the real evil! Theyre like guard dogs who were abused into dangerness and if they cant be rehibilitated then its sad, yknow? Poor heartless!! And seriously how can they make them have such cute designs and not expect us to see them that way!!

So yeah i hate that canonically the heartless are all evil and canonically everyone good has to destroy the heartless, like its the entire damn point of a keyblade so i couldnt even touch one without being forced to slay the cutebabs! And KHDDD was great with the long awaited addition of CUTE BABS GOOD GUY MONSTERS YOU CAN HUG, although they were a whole new species of monster and its still canon that heartless are all evil and the equally as annoying canon that all good/remotely sentient Nobodies look like regular humans instead of the cute patoots they once was. THE CUTE PATOOT THAT NEVER WAS!!!! Srsly the low level Dusk is my fave design in the whole series its such a good squiggle boye

OKAY OKAY SO MY POINT IS

If i was gonna make a normal khsona itd have to be either specifically a Dream Eater trainer keyblade weilder whose entire story is about pet raising and none of the fightng evil, or an Organization member because theyre the only sympathetic monsters even if they dont look monstery anymore. Even though obviously rationally my self insert in anything would always be a good guy cos i am a very soft boyo who is too much of a wimp to do the slightest evil. But alas all the best characters are evil and the monsters look so cute aaaa!!

SO OKAY my ULTIMATE self indulgent khsona would be ME AM ANSEM NOW

Me as a heartless researcher who hugs all the heartless and becomes a heartless and then we heartlessly heartfully hug! Cos seriously it is a true fact that i would be a good guy but also if someone came up to me and was like "hey its totally possible to BECOME one of the cute monsters" id be like "oh noooo dammit i guess im evil now" *shrugs in heartless* But i wouldnt really do anything evil i'd just run like.. Old friends senior heartless sanctuary. Just make a big nice house for all my monsters and bake them cakes everyday. I WOULD LEARN TO COOK FOR THEM!!!! So if that makes me evil then i guess i am evil, dammit!! "Oh nooo we dont wanna get our souls stolen and turn into really fabulous cute designs with amazing supernatural powers" well you are WRONG okay. Just my most self indulgent everything idea is just *points at the evilest beastie* im gonna lovv and cherish that! *takes a running leap into a ballpit of Darkballs* SERIOUSLY DARKBALLS ARE SOME OF THE CUTEST AND ALL THEIR ANIMATIONS ARE SO CUTE WHY IS EVERY HEARTLESS SO CUTE AND SO ANIMATED WHY ARE THEY THE MOST DIDNEY THING IN DIDNEY WHY DID THE NEW GAME ADD A HEARTLESS WHOSE JUST A BIG PUDDING WITH A FACE HOW AM I MEANT TO NOT LOVE THAT hhhh

So yeah khsona bunni is some librarian mothafucker who does Deep Darkness Research but is also the nice goofy good guy sort of mad scientist, like the nutty professor or something. I'd probably be the comic relief on some team of actual villains, thats the only way id really be any threat to anyone. But i'd also totally be The Mom Friend and itd be like u guys are having some serious battle and then i call up Mr Big Villain mid battle like HEY YO COME JOIN KARAOKE WITH ME AND THE HEARTLESS and then hes like "damn man can we have a rain check on the whole end of the world thing?"

Like lol another self indulgent oc thing would be "power to be friends with all the fave villains and they are my friend and we hug". Like an all star teamup of just specifically all bunni's fave KH and didney villains and then also they never fight anyone and we just enjoy slice of life friendship antics. Like Kuja and Ursula would be so cool!! Cos theyre both similar personality yet Kuja had experience manipulating a more loser-y lady who looked a lot like ursula so i can expect he'd underestimate her and try his queen brahne plan again and maybe get outsmarted? And maybe theyd be locked in an eternal battle of two masterminds trying to manipulate each other and along the way they somehow end up accidentally forming a mentor student or mom and son relationship? Like ursula is the better version of garland and she helps kuja heal from his childhood trauma and also in the process maybe he helps her heal from whatever ambiguous backstory event led to her being ostracized from her royal family and such. THEY WOULDNT BE BAD IF THEY HAD HUGS OK let me believe this!! And also of course theyre both the big gay/trans coded dramatic fashion person from their respective stories, so srsly there could be so much awesomeness from the combination of The Two Most Stylish Of Two Worlds! Also i wonder how Kuja would even work in a khified version? Like maybe terra still exists as a separate world in kh world rules and it has a plan to destroy and take over gaia in the same way as the original ff9. Or maybe take some of kuja's other plot points and go from there? Like with how he disguised himself as a treno noble and how he eas created by garland to be an "angel of death", maybe in this world he's a shapeshifter Nobody assassin who infiltrates different worlds and corrupts important people to help garland destroy them? But since he's a very complex experiment and complex = humanoid in this universe, it could be an excuse for him becoming sentient over time and having a plot similar to repliku wanting to be a real human. And i dunno maybe zidane is his "brother" because he's the heartless made from the same original dead guy, who was discarded as a failed experiment? Like it could be interesting to see both of them as villains on the same side, and actually have a close relationship as loving brothers. And theres even already a monkey type heartless! And i dunno maybe the plot of garland creating the genomes infiltrator heartless and then kuja going on to create black mages still black mages? Like he still makes Vivi cos seriously its SO WEIRD that the heartless are based on black mages and then of all things they decided that Vivi would be the ONLY ff9 character allowed to appear in the whole kh series and itd just be in the role of "normal human kid". But they didnt even change his design!! He still looks like a heartless!! Why does nobody question why fredbob mcnormalson doesnt have a face!! So itd make much more sense if he was still a heartless and he's just a good one who wants to be a real boy BUT COS THE WORLD SAYS ALL HEARTLESS ARE EVIL I CANT HAVE THAT. Theyre all evil and only extra evil people get to be humanoid types! Boooo! So kuja doing Special Experiment Science could explain there being at least one special heartless thats not evil. And i dunno, kuja sends vivi out on his first test mission to infiltrate and destroy twilight town but whoops instead he becomes everyone's favourite baby brother! Like he's about to devour some dude's soul and then seifer and co come in and yell at the victim like DUDE ARE U BULLYING THIS POOR TINY CHILD and they drag off this poor very confused heartless in a hug and now he's Lost Forever I Guess. Kuja: damn he tasted icecream i'll never get him back!

Look ok i really like Villains Who Are Not Bad and i will constantly make Villains Who Are Not Bad and nothing will ever be better than Villains Who Are Not Bad

My khsona is Good Heartless who hugs Good Heartless in a team of Good Heartless and also brings in other cameo characters to become Good Heartless ok yes the end hell yea hugs n such

TYHE BEST OCS IS HUGS OCS OK

[powerstrangerdacre]

Wild

Summary: As Billy and Y/N’s feelings deepen, the gang finds out about their “relationship”. Things get rough with the gang and Billy can’t stand to see his little beasty get hurt.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Reader

Warning: Cursing, fighting

Word Count: 1620+

AN: I do not in any way condone any of Billy’s behavior in Stranger Things. His character is fun to write for though, so I thought I’d give it a try. If you want, please feel free to request anything. I write for either Billy, Steve, Dacre or Joe. Thanks for reading, I hope you’ll like this! (I know this is a repost. My account got deleted and I’m uploading most of my work once again...)

PART 1

Weeks and months passed, and soon the once foreign Hawkins slowly became your home. The empty, quiet house was now full of memories and laughter. Memories of you and the boys. Memories of you and Billy. They had become your family, your brothers. Obviously, a certain blue-eyed devil that had taken over your home, being the exception.

Billy had taken a liking to hiding away in your little corner of tranquility, and you didn’t know if you wanted to throw him out or keep him there forever. He showed up at your house every night without exception, and you didn’t mind. You weren’t dating. You weren’t in “love”. And while other people drowned in the simple concept of the complicated feeling, you dreaded it. Love was temporary. Love meant loss, and loss meant heartbreak. Love wasn’t meant for people like you.

But you found yourself laying on his chest one morning, drawing random patterns on his bare skin as he slept peacefully. And it felt right to you. It felt safe. It was as if the world fell away when the two of you were together. You had no worries, no stress. You didn’t have to think about what tomorrow might bring, because you knew that even if everything around you fell apart and disappeared, Billy would always be that one constant in your life. And you would be the one in his.

“’Morning beasty.” he called, voice raspy and deep. The sound made your fingers halt, making him groan in response. “Don’t stop. It feels good.” he grumbled, adjusting his position slightly so he could grab his cigarettes. He took two out of the pack, giving you one as he lit the other. You laid like that, talking about sweet nothings, until thunderous knocks on your door stopped you from speaking. You hissed a “Shit” and a “Fuck” under your breath, making him chuckle as you stumbled to put your clothes on. “You’ expecting someone?” he asked you as he extinguished what must’ve been his tenth cigarette. You thought for a second, then it hit you. The boys.

You walked to the door, stopping next to a mirror, fixing your hair to the best you could in five seconds. “Come ooooon beasty.” Luke sing-sang, mocking your now well-known nickname. “I know you’re in there, open the door.” with that, you swung the door open, letting the three guys in. “What are you doing here so early?” you asked, rubbing your eyes to look like you had just woken up.

But they weren’t looking at you, their eyes were trained on something behind you, and you prayed to all that’s nice and beautiful that Billy hadn’t been stupid enough to just walk out. Obviously, you were out of luck. He stood in the doorway to your bedroom, wearing nothing but a pair of jogging pants.

“Had a sleepover and didn’t even think to invite us?” Luke said, surprisingly teasingly. “What’re they doing here?” Billy asked you, not bothering to answer his question. “Well Billy, a little birdie told us that they saw you here, and… we were just trying to make sure that you didn’t come to… you know, do something stupid.” Luke said, walking over to Billy, putting an arm over his shoulders like they were the best of pals. “But it seems like we had nothing to be worried about.” Ace and Hunter laughed at that, making you confused.

“You’re not mad?” you whispered to Luke as the others went over to the couch, dragging Billy with them. “Look Y/N, I can’t say I’m not worried. But you obviously see something in that fuckface… and your friends are our friends… so…” he explained, making you smile. People thought they were the big, bad wolves of Hawkins, but really, they were just big softies. “So why did you really come?” you asked, making him shake his head. “Trouble.”

“What’s the deal?” “The jocks… they jumped us again yesterday. They wrecked Ace’s bike.” he explained, making sure that no one could hear him. The jocks had been giving you trouble for a while now, but this time it had gone too far. It was time to end the feud. “We did hear that Billy was at your place, we thought he was in on it, that’s why we came. We need to teach them a lesson.” “That’s exactly what I was thinking.” “Try to get Billy on our side, we need more people.”

 You walked away from the football field, spray-can and sledge-hammer in hand, and a grin that went up to your ears on your lips. They wrecked Ace’s bike, you wrecked what was most important to them. It was that easy. They would most likely try and take revenge, but you didn’t care. You were scared, but you didn’t care. There was one thought that made you ecstatic though. There would be no way in hell that they would be able to play their game on Friday with the leaderboard covered and the goalposts to the ground. “What now?” Hunter asked you, making you turn around on your bike as a cigarette hung loosely between your lips “Now, we wait.”

And you didn’t have to wait for long. Monday rolled around and with it came the rumors about who could have sabotaged the game. That was everything the people were talking about. “Why would anyone do that?” “What are we going to do about it?”. The teen’s murmur died as you and the boys walked through the school doors. All of a sudden, they knew what had happened, but they had no way to prove it. You smiled to yourself before seeing Billy storming towards you, making your smirk fall.

“What were you thinking?! Breaking the posts?! Spray-painting the leader-board?!” he argued as you reached the back of the school. You took a cigarette and lit it calmly, not looking at him. “Say something!” “What do you want me to say?!” “What could have possessed you to do something as stupid as that? The field is in ruins! Are you trying to get yourself expelled?!” “Billy! They wrecked Ace’s bike! They’ve been messing with us for months! Are you seriously taking their side?!” “This isn’t about sides-“ “-I can’t believe you! I get that you want nothing to do with it! But if it’s like that, then stay out of-“ “-YOU COULD GET HURT!” he yelled, the sudden volume change startling you. The silence that followed the shout made you wish that he would’ve kept yelling though. It would’ve been better to be screamed at than stared at in that way. “You could get hurt…” he said softly, breaking the silence. “I could lose you. And if you want to make this about sides, I’ll be on whatever side makes sure that you stay safe. Can’t you see that?” you shook your head, his words making you feel something in the pit of your stomach. You quickly masked it with rage though, not letting the weakness show. “I don’t care Billy! Listen… You’re either on our side, on theirs, or you stay out of it…” you warned, before walking away.

You knew you had been right about them taking revenge as you stood on the main street on the day of the game. Ace, Luke and Hunter stood by yours side, as you watched three cars pull up in front of you. “Billy in?” Luke asked, and you shook your head, cursing him in your mind. You knew your so-called “relationship” with him had been strained by the whole thing, so you didn’t expect him to show up.

Tommy walked out of his car, as more people started gathering around. “Well, well, well… The vandals actually showed up.” he said, making you chuckle. “You should’ve let us alone while you had the chance.” Luke called as he and Tommy walked to the opening between the two groups while you counted the jocks. Twelve to four, this shouldn’t give you any trouble.

Before you knew it, a fight erupted between them and your group. Shouts and grunts floated through the air, as well as the cracking of bones. You swung at one them, whooping maniacally when he went down. You saw two jocks make their way behind Luke, grabbing and holding him as Tommy swung his fists at his stomach. Running over, you got between them and jabbed him, making him stumble back a few steps. “You should’ve listened to Billy and stayed away, beasty.” You chuckled at his comment “You should know that a wild animal can’t learn how to sit, fucktard.”

You pinned Tommy to a wall as the boys fought what little remained of the jocks. “This isn’t going as well as you thought it would huh?” you asked as he growled at you. “Your pristine little momma’s boys not doing as well in fights as they did with ruining Ace’s bike? Does that make you scared?” you taunted. “Fuck you.” You noticed a glint by his hand, before you were pulled off him, just in time. The knife grazed your side, making you hiss in pain.

Billy held you back as Tommy ran to his car, calling his lackeys away. “What the fuck did you do?! They got away!” “I just saved your life! A thank you would be nice!” “Go fuck yourself Billy, why the hell are you even here?!” you yelled at each-other before silence fell over the both of you. He looked deeply into your eyes, making your head spin. “Stop. Stop doing this bullshit! Stop acting like you care when you obviously don’t! You should’ve just stayed away…” you hissed, but you couldn’t look at him. “I care about you Y/N! Okay?! I told you to stay away from this whole bullshit! It’s dangerous!” he silenced you.

The words repeated over and over in your head, “I care about you.”. “I don’t… I… I’m sorry Billy. This little… fling. It has to end. I don’t care about you like that.” 

“Maybe when you look me in the eyes while you say that, I’ll actually believe you.”

PART 3

[semi-imaginary-place]

Name: Nacre Hallis

Role: Perspective

They catch the updraft off the windward side of their Lighthouse, rising into the sky. A constant battle against gravity, an inevitable fall. They ride from wave crest to wave crest, just a little more.

Nacre is a Gull of Selkie’s Rock. Every day they leave the lighthouse either by glider or on their nimble one-person sailboat to watch for storms and incoming ships. Nacre spent their 20’s roving from lighthouse to lighthouse before returning to Selkie’s Rock and was both comforted and disappointed to find it much the same, the same families and the same problems but new coats of paint. They stirred the lighthouse up a bit when they first got back but nothing really came of it and they eventually settled into their job as a Gull. They’re a little bitter and a little tired.

Wish/Fear: "May winds stay fair”

Issue: Torn between their loyalty to Selkie’s Rock and their desire to chase the horizon and never look back

《Bond: Old Man Zim: Facinated by Zim’s monster stories, Nacre was inspired and encouraged to go beyond Selkie’s Rock. They often meet up for drinks. Nacre goes to him for seafaring advice.

》Bond: Maeve Conmara: Nacre sees Maeve as dangerous, that she’s always looking down instead of up, looking back instead of forward.

Locations: The Bluff, The Docks

 Nacre is just finishing filling out their side of the papers for the incoming vessel when they hear Cormac approach. They raise a hand in greeting, snorting at his question.“Well it certainly could be better, you’re right about that. Fair weather the whole week but the number of ships are down.”

“That Slimer’s really gone and done it this time. Who gave that idiot control of a ship? Oh right. His dearest family.” Nacre sighs but then pauses looking thoughtful, “But it can’t just be that. News wouldn’t have reached the Dallion Alliance yet, or the lighthouses farther out. And I can’t see them opening their hearts and caring all of a sudden...It might be the sea beasties, been seeing more of them. Saw one of those greater spined morays just this morning, you know, the ones with the giant head spines. “

.

 Yes:

Statement that no family rules selkies rock. Precedent

 No:

People will go hungry this winter

Conmaras will try to get away with more in the future.

 Nacre watches the *Azure Arrow* approach, her sails taunt from the wind, "Well, we’re going to be hurting for the loss of commerce. Then we’re going to hurt when all that oil affects the harvests. If the Conmaras don’t pay it’s the regular folk that will."

 Their eyes turn up to the gathering clouds, “Making ol’ Slimer pay sets the precedent. No family rules Selkie’s Rock. Not the Conmaras, not the LirBorns, you mess up, you pay for it.”

 Nacre looks back at Cormac, clasps him on the shoulder and walks over to greet Old Man Zim.

.

 “Well the council didn’t seem pleased with the proposal, but when I delivered this letter, the man immediately ran off, didn’t even close him front door. Wonder what that was about.”

 “How’s your morning been?”

.

 Nacre turns the bit of cloth in their hands. Rionna? or was this more Scrap’s doing? Part of Nacre was glad to see the foundations of the lighthouse shifting. Just, anything. Rionna, Cormac, Slider, Scrap, Maeve... yes. But also the crew cleaning up the spill, this whole leaning tower built on the families. Letting Slider slip out meant the burden would fall on those already hard hit by the poor harvest. Someone would starve regardless of how Rionna planned to use it as kindling. Disciplining the Conmaras would keep the other families in line, set a standard…

 Tear down the tower or brace it, either way a storm was brewing.

.

 Zarc Talkeen’s been a seaman for a few years now, practically jumped at the opportunity to crew The Mother of Pearls and follow in his mother’s footsteps out to sea. But then the rope snaps and tangles his legs and he is dragged along with it. Under the water, dashed against something he doesn’t have time to process, and under again; the shouts of Maeve and the workers are distant and interrupted, Zarc’s thoughts only on freeing himself, it’s the only thought his brain can process in the chaos.

 And then steel cable strikes steel and there’s a spark. Zarc’s last memory is of fire on the water.

.

 The moon hangs low on the sky closer to sunrise than sunset, its light mingling with that of the lighthouse’s. Nacre stands on the edge of the Bluff, watching the sheen of residual oil on the waves. They are exhausted, drained and numb after the events of the day. From seeing their friend go down to a blow to the head, unmoving, to holding a cloth to his head to stop the bleeding, to stepping back so Old Zim could speak, so awkwardly hovering besides their friend all the way home, Nacre had not stopped moving. Now everything was still, everything except the endless churning on the waves.

 All things pass, both foul and fair. The roar of the mob… they weren’t wrong, and with that a bitterness wells up to fill the emptiness. Always a step ahead or a step behind, never in the right place at the right time. Nacre had cried out of the Rock’s crumbling foundations, the corruption of nepotism and the turf wars between the families, but their voice hadn’t reached anyone. Like an invisible wall cutting them off from the rest of the Lighthouse, no matter how loud they had shouted, no one had turned their head.  Would the council try to sweep this too under the rug?

 .

 <NEW SCENE>

Location: at sea

 A Gull must be able to read the wind, it’s the wind after all the decides how long and how far you can go in a day, go too far or stay too late and you’ll be stuck in the middle of the sea. Nacre remembers watching the others take off from the Lighthouse, still stuck on the ground as the flight instructor explains they aren’t quite ready.

 This day has been clear with the strong winds that come in Autumn. Ardan and Nacre have been out several hours to the far reaches of the Gull’s range, leaving the ship registration to others for the day. Soon they will enter the danger zone for returning. Nacre is about to give the signal for the two of them to use the next gust to pivot and start heading back to Selkie’s Rock when movement catches their eye. Looking attentively, they see its not the movement of waves but a large fin sinking back into the water. Nacre and Ardan circle watch as another fin breaches the surface. The King Fishers are finally here along their annual circumpolar migration, a little late but here. Ardan lets out a whoop as the two head back.

.

 Nacre watches with amusement as Ardan bounces around. They then survey the rebuilding of the Docks, mycelium composite beams being hauled in to replace charred wood, “We need that oil”. The hand on their glider tightens.

 They back to Ardan, “Don’t get too excited now, if you wanted action you should have become a monster hunter instead of a Gull, our job’s just about done. Just some more scouting and maybe running a distraction during the hunt, but that won’t be you or me, probably Andre or Crisol or Haley, they all have excellent control. Its dangerous work, you know how every year someone comes back injured, or worse”

 Ardan deflates a little and seeing that Nacre exhales, takes a breath and says, “Look, just means you have room to grow. You do it, and you slowly get better at it. Look at us. A few years ago, neither of us could fly, and in a few more years who knows how far you’ll go.”

 Nacre lightly slaps Ardan on the back and starts walking towards the Lighthouse. They smile as they walk, “You know, Old Man Zim used to tell me stories of the old King Fisher hunts, the water teeming with so many of the scaly beasts that you could walk a mile on top of their backs without ever getting your toes wet. Always thought he was exaggerating that bit, certainly never seen anywhere near that many in my years as a Gull. But my gran said the same thing, that our boats would come back sitting low and fat in the water and we’d have extra for the entire next year and to sell.”

 All around them word of the arrival of the King Fishers is spreading, excitement grows as people look forward to a good harvest, a little more food on the table, the security that the light won’t go out.

 “Makes me wonder, where did they all go?”.

.

 As two pairs of feet make their way up the Lighthouse. Nacre turns over the question in their head some more and rubs the back of their neck, “I might just be rambling here—I mean who here really knows—all we’ve gots are the old tales of sailors to go off of and the recent unrest has thrown off my compass so to speak but I don’t know maybe they went somewhere else I mean they’re always going somewhere aren’t they just passing by or maybe there really aren’t many left things are always changing maybe it’s us I haven’t thought this one through—Actually you know who might have a clearer picture here. Ol’ Selsei . A right old seadog she is, been watching over the fisheries ever since she retired from monster hunting. Perhaps accessing the archives or asking Diana would be a good idea as well.”.

 “Just in time for the afternoon meeting.” Nacre nods at Ardan,  “Ardan, they don’t need two of us there. Go ahead and write the report and leave it on my desk, I’ll read over it and file it later. When I get back you can come with to go see Selsei is you are still curious”

 As Nacre nears the meeting room, they hear the rumble of conversation through the door. They knock and open the door to Lyra Conmara glaring at the Council of Selkie’s Rock. Lyra looks glances at the door before standing, setting her jaw and fiercely articulating “I dearly hope the Council remembers who are truly the foundation on Selkie’s Rock”. Nacre watched Lyra leaves the room, her heavy footsteps retreating down the hallway.

 “I am here to report on the patrol of today the 23 of the 10th month, a formal report will be available on file shortly. Today a group of approximately 16 King Fishers was spotted along the eastern boundary. The hunting companies have been notified. Taking into account yesterday’s finding, it is recommended that they embark soon,”

.

 “Rionna Lirborn hmm?”, Nacre turns their head to Rionna, face neutral.

“We all have a place here at Selkie’s Rock, but as our Lighthouse crumbles, you will find those places easily shift and fall away.”

“The council would do well to make an informed decision.”

.

Diana was a bit past her flying years but no one had a sharper memory or knew the archives better than her. And every afternoon she took tea with her old friend and diametric opposite Selsei. Today, Selsei and Diana sat in an alcove lit by lanterns, heads bent together, makeshift table cluttered with papers and mugs of redfan tea. At the approach of Nacre with Ardan trailing behind, Diana lifts a hand to greet her coworkers while Selsei tilts her head and chuffs at the new arrivals before taking a deep draught from her mug.

 “Excuse us”, Nacre nods to the two of them, “I’m sure the buzz of the King Fishers arriving has reached you two—Me and Ardan were out there this morning actually—and I had a thought. Wasn’t there more in the past? Diana you know the recorded sightings from past years, could I take a look? And Selsei you were out there on the water, Old Man Zim told me there used to be droves of them.”

 Diana lowers her eyes and takes a sip from her mug before folding her hands in her lap, mind sorting though all the reports she’d read. Selsel though leans forward, elbow on the table and says, “Nacre eh, ohhh the one always hanging onto Zim’s sleeves. Yeah, crewed a few of those with Zim and just as many on a competitor, heh, taught him a good few tricks I did. And well you’re not the only ones who’ve noticed, I may be retired but I keep up with what happens out on the sea. Them hunter still bring back a fair amount, but each year the big ones are harder to find. It used to be about testing yourself, reaching the summit of what us humans can do, taking down a god. Now its just business, feed the light, profit off other lighthouses. And the King Fishers the bring in keep getting smaller, haven’t seen a real big one in years. Oh what’d I do to hunt one again.”

 Diana speaks as Selsei falls quiet, eyes on her friend. “Yes, I do believe the reports match up. Well, the early records are all a mess, I never spent much time with those, full of strange words. But ever since we’ve been keeping track of the number of King Fisher sighted and caught, yes the trend has been downward. Let me write down the ones I remember.”

 Nacre frowns, “I can look up the remaining years, but would either of you two have an idea of why? I hesitate to jump to conclusions and say its us, but has anything else changed? Maybe their food or the water itself?”

 “Its those damn Lirborns muscling in and trying to squeeze us dry, all for what, a lil more cash”, Selsei scoffs, “They forget about the Hunt, and what it means to kill one who fishes for kings.”

 Diana glances at Selsei but looks to Nacre and responds, “Its hard to say for certain, the sightings and catch are what we have most consistently recorded, but everything else either falls outside of our jurisdiction, or its at the whims of the council. What is determined to be important enough to record cycles with who sits in the Council.”

 Diana sighs, “I tried appealing for a long term plan, but we need funding for that. Securing funding for the decades that have not come, it was difficult. But data like this is no use to anyone in fragments. I can’t track any pattern.”

 Nacre nods, “I guess we’ll just have to work with incomplete data. Maybe it really is us. If we killed all the big ones that’d explain when we don’t see none anymore. And the steady catch would be because every year we try harder. If that’s true then one day soon there won’t be any more King Fishers.”

 So there in the belly of the archive, four huddle over a small table as they try to piece together a puzzle missing half of its pieces, but elsewhere in the Lighthouse hunters prepare their harpoons while the council argues on. Along street and houses lanterns and paper fish are being hung up to welcome the arrival of the Kingfishers, children run along the street, King Fisher kites streaming behind them. The waters are calm, no back breaks the surface.

.

Y1: extinction of kingfishers (maybe not immediately but eventually)

N1: public moral plummets and discontent spreads

N2: resources shortages (food, oil), so winter rationing starts or something

 N1: king fishers dont go extinct

Y1: public moral increases

Y2: we make it through the winter

[zooophagous]

i meant cordial! whoops! either way he is so cute and I want to kiss his little snakey head

Its ok lol. Thank you, he is a very noteworthy young beastie.

[captainswanatk]

CS 12 Days of Christmas: Day 11

Today’s prompt: strangers meeting

That awkward moment when you realize that you didn’t actually show them meeting. Uh, whoops? You do see Killian seeing Emma for the first time though. This is an AU where Killian has agreed to become a department store Santa and find himself completely taken with the woman who is to be his Mrs. Claus. Or Emma Swan, when she’s not in costume.

AO3  FF

Department Store Santa

"I don't know how you talked me into this," Killian Jones grumbled as he shoved his arms in the Santa coat his friend, Belle French, had just handed him.

"Because I couldn't find anyone else," Belle reminded him, trying not to roll her eyes. She was one of the managers at the department store where Killian would be pretending to be Santa Claus. "And you were nice enough to do me a favor."

"Hmmph," Killian scowled. Now Belle did roll her eyes.

"Oh come, be a good sport," she urged. "You agreed to do this. And it's not like you're doing it for free. You're getting paid to do this."

"What the bloody hell do I know about being Santa Claus?" He demanded.

"What's to know? You act jolly and ask kids what they want for Christmas. Oh, and you should probably refrain from saying things like bloody hell in front of the children," Belle advised.

"There's no way that I'm ever going to be able to pull this off," Killian complained, eyeing the white beard in his hands. "I'll probably end up traumatizing some poor kid when they figure out that I'm not really Santa Claus."

"That's why you'll try to keep that from happening. And if it does, you just tell them that you're one of Santa's little helpers," Belle said, watching as he finally put the beard on.

"One of Santa's little helpers," Killian repeated, the words dripping in disdain. "I'll have you know, lass, that there is nothing little about me."

"I'm not even going to respond to that," Belle said, handing him the Santa hat.

"Ah, but you did," Killian smirked at her before sticking the hat on his head and then spreading his arms out. "So, how do I look? How bad is it?"

"Not too bad, actually," Belle said, after looking him over. "With that fake belly under there, it actually kind of works."

"Would it really be so terrible if Santa was in good shape for a change?" Killian asked, glancing down at his torso and wincing. "It's such a shame to keep me hiding behind this."

"Santa Claus has a belly like a bowl full of jelly," Belle pointed out. "Deal with it."

"This is so bloody ridiculous. I don't..." Whatever Killian was going to say, the words instantly flew out of his brain as he caught sight of a gorgeous blonde woman across the room. His jaw dropped.

"What?" Belle asked, confused.

"Who the devil is that?" he asked, gesturing to the blonde. "And why don't I already know her?"

"Ah," Belle smirked. "That is your wife."

"You mean..."

"Mrs. Claus," Belle confirmed. "Or Emma Swan when she's not in costume." She stifled a giggle at the look of awe on her friend's face. Killian looked as though he'd just been struck by Cupid's arrow. "Still mad you agreed to do this?" She teased him.

"You know what, Belle?" Killian asked, finally tearing his eyes away from the beautiful blonde that was to be playing his wife and looking at Belle. "Perhaps this won't be so terrible, after all. I must confess that I'm feeling rather jolly all of a sudden."

"Hmm, I'm not so sure that jolly is the right word for what you're feeling," Belle muttered, amused. "Just keep it professional while you're on the clock, alright?"

"Not to worry, lass. I shall be professionalism personified," he said. Maybe Killian had been a little quick to assume the worst. Maybe this job would prove to be a blessing in disguise. Especially if it meant getting to know the lovely enchantress across the room.

The job was not a blessing in disguise, as Killian learned by the end of his first day. He hadn't realized how hot that he'd get in his Santa Claus costume and he'd had more than his fill of crying babies. It was rather insulting, though he knew it shouldn't be. It wasn't exactly unusual for babies and little children to be afraid of Santa Claus. It was hardly personal.

He knew that. But it was hard to believe it after having eight kids in a row burst into tears in his arms. It was quite astonishing to witness the transformation. Some children would seem perfectly content whilst waiting in line, but the moment they were placed in his arms, it was as if the gates of hell had suddenly opened. Turning what had looked like sweet little children into shrieking little demons before his very eyes.

To make matter worse, his lovely Mrs. Claus had proven to be completely immune to his charms. So far. He'd figure out a way to break through her defenses. He supposed he'd failed to realize that not everyone shared his view of the wee little beasties that were those shrieking demons. As he learned when he'd made the mistake of calling them that in Emma's presence. She'd looked at him like he was some sort of villain, asking him to imagine how it would full to be put in a strangers arms without any say in the matter.

Killian's response had been to suggest that he should have loved to be placed in her beautiful arms at any point in his life. She'd simply sneered at him and said the following two words: you wish.

Ah, that he did. That's how he'd responded, earning himself an annoyed eye roll. He seemed to be earning himself plenty of those lately. No matter. He was not going to be so easily deterred. He would find a way to win over the beautiful Swan, his lovely Mrs. Claus.

"You should meet this guy," Emma Swan snorted as she scooped up a spoonful of cereal. "He thinks he's God's gift to women or something. Completely full of himself. Has an ego about the size of Texas. And he called a bunch of little kids shrieking little demons."

"Yes, so you've told me," Emma's best friends and roommate, Elsa, said while Emma chewed. "About a million times this week."

"He's just so frustrating!" Emma exclaimed. "And I have to pretend that I'm his wife. I can't wait until this job is over with! I don't know why I thought this was a good idea."

"Because it was a good way for you to make some extra money," Elsa reminded her. "And you don't mind kids."

"Oh yeah, that," Emma said, angrily scooping up more cereal. "I didn't realize I'd be working with the most annoying man who ever lived."

"Hmm."

"What?" Emma asked, narrowing her eyes at the smile on Elsa's face.

"It seems like all week all I've heard is Killian Jones this and Killian Jones that," Elsa said. "You talk more about him than you did about your last boyfriend."

"What exactly is your point?" Emma asked, though she had a bad feeling she knew where Elsa was going.

"My point is that you speak quite passionately about this guy," Elsa said, chuckling at the look on Emma's face. "Are you sure you don't have a thing for him?"

Emma's bad feeling had been correct. "You're not serious," she scoffed. "Me have a thing for that idiot? Please."

"Didn't you tell me you thought he was hot?" Elsa pressed.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Emma demanded, defensively.

"Why mention his looks at all?" Elsa asked. "But you did. More than once."

"Okay, so he's hot. I can admit it," Emma conceded. "Doesn't make him any less of an idiot."

"Mm-hmm," Elsa said, knowingly.

"Don't mm-hmm me," Emma shot back, annoyed. "I do not have a thing for Killian Jones."

"Keep telling yourself that," Elsa said.

"I don't!" Emma asked.

"Whatever you say, Emma," Elsa shrugged, smiling to herself. "Whatever you say."

"So, I wonder how many of the little darlings we'll meet today." Emma shot Killian a look of irritation. "What?"

"Little darlings? I thought you saw them as shrieking demons?" She asked. They were on their way to work their first shift.

"Why, I've had a change of heart is all, love," Killian said, grinning that annoying grin of his at her. "I've seen the error of my ways. I am but a changed man."

"What you are," Emma began, "is an idiot who thinks that he can charm his way into my pants by pretending that he likes children."

"Dear, Mrs. Claus," Killian said in mock-offense. "I resent the implication that all I care about is getting into your pants, as you say. Although, strictly speaking, at the moment it would be your skirt that I'd be trying to get underneath. And I wouldn't dream of such a thing." He looked over at Emma's snort of derision. "I would also like to state for the record that I never meant to imply that all children were shrieking demons. Just the ones who, well, shriek."

"You probably traumatized those kids," Emma replied.

"Aye, well, I was worried that I would traumatize some children. And wouldn't you know that that was the exact word I used. What a delightful coincidence," he said.

"Only you would find traumatizing children delightful," Emma said.

"No. No, no, no, no, no. My darling Mrs. Claus, what I find delightful is our identical word choice. Clearly, it's a sign that we're in sync," he said.

"Clearly, it's a sign that you must have been dropped on your head as a child," Emma shot back.

"A bit hostile today, aren't you?" he asked, unperturbed by her attitude. "And again for the record? I would much rather that I not traumatize children. But I can't seem to help it. I think it's the belly." Emma watched as he jiggled his fake belly experimentally. "I don't believe that it jiggles as a real belly would," he decided. "It's unnatural."

"I don't even know how to respond to that," Emma said, giving him a strange look.

"No, look, at it." Killian performed what Emma supposed was a shimmy of some sort and found herself fighting off a smile. He looked so utterly ridiculous that she couldn't seem to help herself. "Ah, now what's this? Is that...no, it can't be, surely not."

"What?"

"Was that a smile that just appeared on your lovely face?" Killian let out an over-dramatic gasp. "Did I really just find myself the recipient of an expression of something other than sheer annoyance on your face?"

Emma willed her lips not to twitch to no avail. "You looked completely ridiculous," she informed him. "I think that it might be best for your Santa not to shimmy."

"Why, Mrs. Claus, are you telling me that you don't find this appealing?" Killian asked, once again doing that ridiculous shimmy. "Admit it. You've never been more attracted to me." Now he did what Emma suspected was meant to be a kind of a body roll. "You're finding it hard to resist all of this, aren't you?"

"You're an idiot," she laughed, unable to help herself.

"Ah, that may well be," he said, grinning. "But at the very least, I'm an idiot who can make you laugh."

"I do enjoy seeing you make a fool out of yourself," she admitted.

"It's a start, I suppose," he nodded. "I can build on this."

"Don't be so sure about that, Santa," she said, though she was still smiling. "Wait a second. Your hat's all crooked now." Before she could think about what she was doing, Emma stepped closer and readjusted the Santa hat on his head. "There." She found herself looking him in the eye, surprised at how blue his eyes seemed. They were beautiful.

It was with that thought that Emma took a deliberate step backward. Nothing good could come out of having thoughts like that. So he had nice eyes and could be amusing, that hardly meant anything.

So why was she suddenly feeling so unsteady? She shook her head in an attempt to shake off the feeling.

"Are you quite alright, Swan?" he asked, looking at her intently.

"Uh, yeah," she said. "Come on. We need to get up there." Killian watched her dart up to take her place on the little platform where they took the pictures. A smile crossed his face. Oh, he was beginning to win her over.

He could feel it.

"What's so funny?" Elsa asked, looking up at the sound of Emma's snicker.

"I was thinking about this ridiculous shimmy thing Killian did in his Santa costume," Emma said, not seeing the way Elsa's eyebrows rose in response to this. Though she did look up at Elsa's hum. "What?"

"Usually when you talk about Killian, I can practically see steam coming out of your ears," Elsa said, grinning at her.

"Oh, not this again," Emma sighed. "I do not have a thing for the guy. He can just be funny sometimes."

"Okay," Elsa said.

"Even jerks can be funny," Emma pointed out, defensively. "It doesn't mean anything."

"If you say so," Elsa shrugged, still smiling.

"I do not have a thing for Killian Jones," Emma insisted.

"Methinks the lady doth protest a little too much," Elsa said, teasingly.

"Shut up," Emma grumbled, making Elsa laugh.

Emma was beginning to understand that she had completely misjudged Killian. She still found him annoying at times, but she was starting to see that he might not be such a bad guy after all. Not that she was falling for him like Elsa kept insisting that she was because she most certainly was not. She just may have been too quick to decide she hated him. She could no longer say that that was the case.

And then he did something that completely caught her off guard in the best possible way.

They were coming to the end of their shift. There was only one kid left in the line. A cute little girl with dark hair who looked to be around six-years-old, if Emma had to guess. Emma had noticed her in the line as it dwindled down to the last few children. But it wasn't until the kid in front of her had come up that Emma saw it. The little girl was holding a cane.

She was clutching onto the hand of who Emma assumed was her mother. After a little coaxing, the girl slowly made her way up to Killian. Emma could tell the exact moment that Killian noticed what she had. The lower part of the girl's right leg was missing; she wore a prosthetic limb, instead.

"Well, hello there, young lady," he said, using a more soothing version of his Santa Claus voice.

"Hi Santa," the girl said nervously, looking back at her mother for encouragement before climbing up to sit on Killian's knee.

"She's a little shy," her mother spoke up.

"Don't be afraid, sweetheart," Killian said, warmly. "What's your name?"

"Olivia," she said quietly.

"Hello Olivia," he said, smiling at her. "It's very nice to meet you. I'm Santa Claus and this is my darling wife Mrs. Claus."

"Hi Olivia," Emma smiled at her. "Would you like to tell Santa what you want for Christmas?"

"I wish...I wish I had my leg back," she said. Emma felt Killian take a sharp inhale of air and she found herself putting her hand on his shoulder in support. How was he supposed to handle this? This particular situation hadn't come up in the time they've been working.

"We, um, we were in a car accident," her mother said, giving them a shaky smile. "She's still adjusting."

"Well, you've certainly been through quite a lot, haven't you?" Killian asked, kindly. "Do you know what I think?" Olivia merely shrugged, still looking a little scared. "I think that you must be a very strong and brave little lass. And I know that you're going to be just fine."

"I wish I had my leg back," she said, softly. "No...no one wants to be my friend."

"Anyone who doesn't want to be your friend because of your leg isn't anyone you want to be friends with," Killian said. Emma could tell he was struggling to find the proper words. "I should be very honored to be your friend."

"You'd be my friend?" she asked, her expression lifting.

"Of course I would, lass. I think you must be a very special young lady. And do you what? We have something in common," he told her.

"We do?" She asked, her eyes wide. They did?, Emma thought. It was hard for her to imagine what Killian could possibly have in common with a six-year-old girl.

"Do you see my hand?" He asked, lifting up his left hand.

"Yeah?"

"May I tell you a secret?" Killian made a show of looking from side to side. "It's not real."

"It's not?" It wasn't?, Emma thought. She wasn't sure if he was just saying that for Olivia's benefit or not. She didn't think she'd ever actually seen him without gloves on since she'd known him.

"It's not," he confirmed. "I lost my hand in an accident. It took me a while to adjust, but I did. And you will too, lass. You're going to be alright."

"How do you know?" Olivia asked.

"Why, because I'm Santa Claus, of course. Why, I have no doubt in mind that you are going to do some great things. And this I must stress quite firmly," he said. "You mustn't ever let anyone make you feel bad because your leg isn't real. You're not any less special because you wear a fake limb, lass. Anyone who tells you otherwise most certainly has a place on my naughty list. While you, on the other hand, are most definitely on my nice list. And the next time you feel sad about your leg, just think that you have Santa and Mrs. Claus on your side."

"I do?"

"Aye, that you do," he said. "Don't you forget that. Now tell me, Olivia, what would you like me to bring you for Christmas?"

"I like horses," she told him after a moment's thought. "Can I have a stuffed one, Santa?"

"I will certainly do my best to make sure you get the stuffed horse of your dreams," Killian said, using his Santa laugh. They took the picture and then Olivia surprised Killian by giving him a hug.

"Merry Christmas, Santa," she whispered.

"Merry Christmas, Olivia," he said, his voice sounding a little rough.

"You should've seen him with that little girl, Elsa. It was really sweet," Emma said, sounding thoughtful. "And he wasn't lying about his hand, either. Apparently, he was a member of the Royal Navy and lost his hand while he was in the service. That was part of the reason he moved here. I had no idea." She took a sip of her tea. "The man's a hero and I had no idea."

"Hmm."

"What?" Emma asked.

"He's a hero and he was really sweet with that little girl," Elsa said, grinning.

"He is and he was," Emma argued.

"I'm not trying to say he wasn't," Elsa said, quickly. "I just think your reaction to this is interesting. Are you still going to tell me that you aren't interested?"

"I'm...not looking for a relationship right now," Emma said, evasively.

"Hmm."

"Would you stop doing that?" Emma asked.

"Emma, you've gone from ranting about how he's basically the spawn of Satan to gushing about how sweet he is," Elsa said.

"I was not gushing," Emma muttered.

"Sure, you weren't," Elsa snickered. "But I do think it's funny how you've come from vehemently denying having a thing for him to simply saying that you're not looking for a relationship."

"I'm not," Emma told her.

"That's not what I asked you," Elsa countered. "I asked if you were sure you weren't interested. And you still haven't said no." She watched Emma's mouth open and close a few times. "You are, aren't you?"

"I don't know," Emma said, finally.

"Mm-hmm."

"Stop that!"

"Alas, our time as Santa and Mrs. Claus has come to an end," Killian said, dramatically, as they were walking back to the break room. "Dare I say that it was a privilege pretending to be your husband?"

"You can say it," Emma said, carefully. It was Christmas Eve and they'd just finished their last shift.

"It's alright, love. You can go on and admit it," Killian informed her.

"Admit what?" Emma asked.

"You're going to miss seeing me every day," he said. "You're going to wish that you'd taken advantage of our fake marriage. It's fine if you don't want to say it. I know."

"You're a piece of work, you know that?" she asked.

"I've been called worse," he shrugged. Emma watched as he took off the Santa hat and beard before pulling off the coat. He'd then set them on one of the tables and disappeared to go change back into his regular clothes. She went to go change as well and found it impossible to get him off her mind.

Emma'd only just met him a few weeks ago and she'd started off not being able to stand him. But then the more Emma got to know him, the harder it was for her to dislike him. Now the thought that she may not see him again now that the job was done bothered her. It bothered her a lot. Killian had shamelessly flirted with her whenever he had the opportunity, though he'd backed off a bit as time went on. He still flirted enough to make her believe that he was still interested.

But was he interested enough to keep pursuing her now that the job was done?

Emma went back to the break room and found him there putting on his black leather jacket. His back was turned to her. The remnants of his Santa Claus costume were gone; she assumed that he'd gone to turn them back in. She bit her lip as she watched him.

"If you'd like to take a picture, lass, I'm not going to stop you," he said.

"What?" she asked, startled.

"I could feel your eyes on me, love," he said, turning around and smirking at her. "I can't say that I blame you. I am quite devilishly handsome, aren't I?"

"Oh brother," she muttered.

"Don't be embarrassed," he said. "It's perfectly alright." His eyes softened as he studied her. "Was there something you wanted?"

Emma took a deep breath. She was going to go through with this. She'd made up her mind. "This is probably a terrible idea," she began. "Actually, I'm positive it's a terrible idea."

"And what's this terrible idea, lass?" he asked, intrigued. Emma closed her eyes for a couple of beats.

"Want to go get a drink with me?" she blurted out.

"Why, Mrs. Claus," he drawled, "I thought you'd never ask."

Emma creeped out of her bedroom on Christmas morning, hoping that she could get some water and slip back into her room before Elsa woke up.

No such luck.

Emma found her roommate sitting at the kitchen table enjoying a cup of coffee. "Elsa!"

"Morning Emma," Elsa said, smiling at her. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas!" Emma said, nervously. "I was just going to get some water and then try to get some more sleep, actually."

"Not sleep well?" Elsa asked.

"Not really, no," Emma admitted, going to grab a glass and fill it with water.

"Hmm."

"What?" Emma asked, wincing at the look Elsa gave her.

"Are we just going to ignore the fact that that's a man's shirt you're wearing?" Elsa asked, calmly.

"Oh this?" Emma asked, innocently. She was wearing a black shirt that did, in fact, belong to a man. On her, it was really more of a nightgown.

"Oh this?" Elsa mimicked her. "Emma...did you bring a man home for Christmas?"

"I...may have," Emma said.

"Hmm. This wouldn't be a certain department store Santa, now would it?" Elsa asked, a knowing smile on her face.

"Kind of?" Emma asked, meekly.

"Kind of?" Elsa laughed.

"Okay, so maybe I did," Emma said, defensive now. "It's not a crime, you know."

"Of course it's not," Elsa agreed. "It's okay, Emma. You're a grown woman. You can do what you want."

"Thank you," Emma said, somewhat mollified.

"And thanks to you, I just won forty bucks," Elsa said, smugly.

"Excuse me?"

"I bet Anna that you'd bring Killian home on Christmas Eve," Elsa informed her. Anna was her Elsa's younger sister and another of Emma's best friends. "Anna had her money on New Year's Eve. And Kristoff had his on New Year's Day. I guess thinking that you'd start missing him and go hunt him down." Kristoff was Anna's husband.

"You...you guys bet on when I would bring Killian home?" Emma asked, somewhat horrified.

"Yup," Elsa grinned at her. "I knew I'd win. You've been crazy about him ever since you met him."

"I...he...you" Emma sputtered, narrowing her eyes as Elsa cackled. "Shut up!"

Emma slipped back into her bedroom carrying not one, but two glasses of water. Just in case he'd woken and was thirsty. She sighed as she set his glass on the bedside table next to him. Killian was on his back with one arm up above his head, his prosthetic hand rested on his bare stomach and the sheets were dangerously low on his hips. Emma felt her heart speed up at the sight of him. He looked pretty good in her bed, she had to admit.

She genuinely hadn't intended to bring Killian home when she'd asked him if he wanted to go out for a drink. No matter what Elsa and the rest of her friends thought. It had just sort of happened. And Emma wasn't complaining. She took a sip of her water as she walked back over to her side of the bed.

It had started with a drink. And then one drink had turned into two. They'd ended up on the dance floor sometime after that second drink and had started dancing, pretty innocently at first. They'd just been having fun and blowing off some steam at that point. It was more that they'd been dancing near each other and not so much with each other. But the space between them had slowly started decreasing. Until there was absolutely nothing innocent about their dancing. If you could even call it dancing at that point.

Emma could distinctly remember the feel of him against her back, his hands on her hips. Remember the way her body seemed to burn wherever he touched her. She could remember turning in his arms and crushing her lips against his. They'd called for an Uber to take them back to her apartment. She remembered him kissing her neck while she fought to unlock her door. She'd also had to fight to stay upright since his efforts had effectively weakened her knees. Emma supposed she should be grateful that they'd made it to her bedroom.

Now Emma couldn't help smiling as she set her glass of water on her bedside table and slid her legs back under the covers. No, she may not have intended to bring Killian home when she'd asked if he'd wanted a drink, but she didn't regret it. Not for a second. She felt the bed shift a bit as Killian turned towards her.

"Mmm," he grumbled, his eyes opening ever so slightly. A lazy smile spread across his face when he saw her watching him. "Merry Christmas, Mrs. Claus." Damn, his voice was sexy in the morning.

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Claus," she said, unable to resist scooting closer to him. "Huh. I never imagined I'd ever share a bed with Santa Claus," she added, making him chuckle.

"That's because you've never met a Santa like me before," he said.

"That is definitely true," she agreed. "You're one of a kind."

"Indeed I am," he said, reaching out to run his hand down her side and making her shiver. "It looks good on you, I must say."

"What does?" she asked.

"My shirt," he answered. "It looks far better on you than it does on me. You know where it'd look even better, love?"

"Where's that?"

"On the floor," he answered, making her bite her lip.

"Why, Santa," she said, "I didn't realize you had such a naughty side. I like it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, pushing him on the shoulder to get him back on his back. "Let me prove it," she added, straddling his hips.

"Oh now, I don't think that I could have asked for a better view on Christmas," he grinned up at her.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I knew I'd win you over," he told her.

"You did," she acknowledged, smirking as she looked down at him.

"What?" he asked, his eyebrow lifting.

"I think I miss the belly," she said, teasingly.

"Surely you jest," he replied, though he seemed amused.

"No, I don't know what it is, but I find you less attractive with it," she said, thoughtfully. Her eyes were twinkling.

"Bloody minx," he shook his head. "Admit it, it was the body roll that got you."

"I did enjoy the body roll," she nodded. "I love watching you look ridiculous."

"I seem to recall other things I've done that you loved even more," he said, his tone suggestive now.

"Hmm, I don't think I remember any of those things," she said, even as her heart started beating faster. "Maybe you should do them again to jog my memory."

"My darling Mrs. Claus." Killian said as he slid his hand up her bare thigh. "I thought you'd never ask."

[aalt-ctrl-del]

02 _ Straw Spun to Silk

First - A Gentleman in a Coat

Chapter 02 - We Follow Roads to Nowhere

  The next day Chad got an earful from his parents. Mostly on account he left his baby sitter in the toddlerpin all alone during the night, while he was in the backyard camping out. It was mostly his father Mason on the rampage, while his mother tended to Abigail.

 “You know we can’t be here all the time,” Mason fumed. He was pacing around the den, while Chad stood beside the work desk his father used. The desk had a few empty, stained glasses and a large half empty bottle. Chad suppressed his sigh. “We’re not asking a lot from you. But I suppose if you have too much time on your hands to be willy-nilly, then you need a few more chores to burn off that extra energy. Is that what you need?”

 The question was rhetorical. For the remainder of his Saturday, Chad completed tasks that had gone neglected; stuff the hired help would typically take care of through the mid-term of the week. Chad dusted the upstairs hallways and rooms – minus Sterling’s – and polished the floor.

 While tidying the downstairs, a knock came to the front door. Chad didn’t bother forsaking his work; his mother Larraine was already on a brisk walk for the door while he plugged on.

 “Hello Mrs. Chad’s mom— ow!”

 “Mrs. Spencer,” the other voice corrected, with a sharp cut. “How are you today? We’re wondering, is Chad available?”

 Chad slowed in his work, and crept around the corner from the kitchen into the living room. He couldn’t see the front door from this angle, but he could hear the voices better. Neil and Hugo, and maybe Tucker was with them too. Friends from school and just what the doctor ordered, if he didn’t feel so crummy about the day; never mind the endless scroll of chores he was enlisted with.

 “I’m sorry, boys,” his mother droned out. “He’s grounded this weekend. Unless you want to help him get through his work, then maybe we can work something out.”

 From the front door there was shuffling and stuttered, what sounded like a choked laugh.  “No thank you, Mrs. Spencer,” Neil replied. “Thank you though. We’ll catch him on our way to school, f’its all the same to you.”

 “That’d be fine,” Lorraine hummed. “Now, you be careful and stay together.”

 If Chad was hankering for adventure and freedom out in the wilds, he’d have felt disappointment with the hasty surrender of his friends. It was a bluff by his mother, but they could have in the least offered to take some of the burden for him. In the end, it didn’t matter. What he did have a craving for, just wasn’t meant to be. He did fall into deep thought about the night before, and if he actually witnessed a strange creature – Spate, it had a name – appearing from the woods, like an unwanted omen. He remembered the bleariness waking in the early dawn, damp and cold, and nearly forgetting the events of the night.

 He beat the long rugs and finished with the downstairs. The anticipation that he was done with his punishment was played with in his mind, but his father handed over the clippers and instructed him to trim the shrubs that encircled the home; a job usually left till later in the year. Chad was almost surprised his father didn’t make him chop wood or paint the porch rail, but there was still time yet in the day. He favored taking his time with shrub clipping, the brush was not large and easily dealt with. He did need to be careful that he didn’t take out his frustration on the poor plants.

 Mason emerged from the back porch, sifting through letters and puffing his pipe, right as Chad finished trimming the last two bushes. “And make sure you pack up the tent and store it away. No, on second thought – leave it by the basement door. I’ll find a place for it.”

 Chad wiped the sweat from his brow and looked up at his father. He knew Mason felt his gaze, but ignored him; foregoing further conversation for the notes in his hand.

 There was no way of getting around following the orders of his dad. It burned Chad to take down his tent and with loving care, pack all the equipment into the knapsack knowing damn well Mason was either going to hide it or flat out toss the whole kit. Mason was mad enough with Sterling, he’d do anything so ill planned. And Chad was fed-up with his father, it’s exactly what he expected. He wasn’t wrong either.

 Chad used the shortspade to loosen the pegs, which held the rope aloft of the tents canopy. Off and on he would stop and listen at the woods, straining to hear anything of the day before. The day was in vivid contrast to the day before, the sky clear and bright blue, the clouds thick and fluffy – not the low hanging, dreary maze of vapor from the fog. Even the birds twittered in the distant grove, merry with the caution that sun and long days would soon end.

 Insects and ants had taken to the neglected plates of food left out. Chad picked those up last, once he had the knapsack perfectly packed with the bundles of camp and tent ware. He returned after stashing the knapsack, and brushed the little critters off the plate. He gave the thicket one last intense stare, before heading back inside.

 It was more meaningless tasks and busy work all the way into dusk, but he got through to the end of it. There wasn’t much conversation going on during dinner, and Chad was lost in his own world. He did note that the knapsack left by the basement door was gone; later, he might try looking for his brothers camping gear. He had other thoughts that took priority, but Chad didn’t try hording some food away from his plate for later. He was to go straight to bed after eating, which he had no complaint with. He was exhausted.

 “And don’t forget your sister,” his mother reminded, as she cleared the table.

 “I remember,” Chad assured. He went to the living room, and lifted his sister from the toddler pin. “Time for bed Abby.”

 “No!” When handed Stiltskin, she threw him across the room.  Chad retrieved the bear, and took her hand. “No!”

 “If you’re a good girl, I’ll tell you a story.” Chad tugged Abby’s hand, and she complied. For now. He helped her up the steps, one foot at a time. “What kind of story you want?”

 Abigail babbled something about a jester and bells.

 “Once upon a time,” Chad yawned. “There was a kingdom, way out in the forest and atop a mountain. And it was ruled by children – no one ever grew up there. Except for the big brothers, and the jester.”

 Chad flipped the lamp on beside Abigail’s bed, and hefted her up onto the small mattress. Her room was small and simple, with a shelf brimming with small toys and puzzles. Chad covered his sister, and pushed Siltskin under the covers with her. “The jester was the oldest in the kingdom, and very fun to be with. He was also very smart, but you couldn’t tell. He had to make a joke out of everything.”

 Abigail giggled, as Chad tickled her under her chin. She went quiet when he resumed, her eyes swelling as Chad moved his arms, enacting the story with his descriptions; weaving a tale about a dark figure that emerged from the woods.

 “'I grant favors and offer wishes',” Chad sneered, in a crooked voice. “But only if you give me your tiniest sisters. The ones that are small and sweet, and easy to carry away in my coat. But the jester wagged his finger at the horrible beasty, ‘Our kingdom is happy and content. No one here wants your foolish wishes’. But this upset the beasty, he very much wanted to grant wishes and have food, and he became so-so unhappy. And he demanded that he get the tiny sisters. ALL of the brothers, AND sisters.’

 ‘The monster wouldn’t leave,” Chad explained. “And the Jester had to do something about it – the beasty frightened everyone, and all the creatures in the forest. So the jester made a bargain with the creature ‘If you can out dance me, creature with a big grin, then you can have all of the children. If not, you leave our kingdom and never bother anyone again’.’

 “And they had the most splendid dance event,” Chad exploded. But careful, so as not to rouse the suspicion of their mother and father. “It was very close. The orchestra played song after song, and the jester danced with the grinning creature, and there was much whooping and cheering. The jester jingled and spun, the grin beast dipped and flipped. It would be very close. The kingdom might have to surrender the children, AND the jester, after all. The oldest brother was very worried, worried he would lose his family and his sister. But, you know what happened?”

 “Whaah?” Abigail squeaked. She hugged Stiltskin to her cheek, her eyes brimming with rapt attention.

 “The creature,” Chad hummed, “was not made of meat. It was bones, all put into a coat. Tied up in the legs and arms of its coat. It danced so well, was limber and graceful – but the seams in the coat began to come undone. First, at the shoulder!“ Chad tucked his fingers into Abigail’s neck, and she squirmed and giggled. “Then his ribs! And his knees.” He nipped Abigail with his fingers, and she giggled at his antics.

 “Eventually, there was nothing left of the grinning creature,” Chad surmised. “It collapsed into a heap of thread spool and bones. The jester, exhausted but happy, collected up the mess in a big shoe box. And he and the other children buried it far-far on the other side of the woods, away from their kingdom. Sometimes at night, they can still hear the beasty humming the last song it danced to, before it’s body came apart.”

 Chad leaned over and kissed Abigail on the forehead. “Be a good girl and stay in bed, or the bone in coat will take you.”

 “Na ah.” Abigail yawned, and snuggled into her blankets. “He and the jester’ll dance and dance, and he’ll….” She mumbled something unintelligible, in her baby talk.

 Chad snapped off her light, and left her room. He adjusted the little fence at the staircase, before continuing along to his room.  The downstairs was still lit, and the subdued conversation drifted between his mother and father. He washed up, and retreated to the quiet seclusion of his personal quarters.

 The curtains rested slumped back from the windowpane, allowing the shrewd light of a quarter moon to creep along the edge of his wall. His room was on the corner of the house, which gave him a few small windows that overlooked the next house over, but Chad’s bed was up against the largest window and he could sit by the sill, and look out over the back yard. He didn’t expect to see anything, and there was nothing that he could see; the yard below lay still and dark.

 Chad unlatched the window and pushed it open. Foe awhile he listened to the crickets in the night tuning their orchestra, thrumming the temperature. A car or two rattled by on the road through the neighborhood, but all typical sounds. Nothing unusual. For the fiftieth time, he wondered if he dreamt up the exchange.

 Spate.

 Exhaustion overtook Chad, and he fell into a dream. Sterling was there, setting up the tent despite their fathers protest. The jester was dancing, and Abigail was coming along for her first camping trip.

 Chad awoke while it was still dark. But he could discern by the color of the sky and the lean of the moon, it was on the edge of dawn. He rubbed at his eyes, a little stiff from sleeping on his side crammed beside the wall. He leaned up and listened.

 “…a sweet or simple treat, deserts or a delectable tart – then of which I’ll grant good fortune and much luck. Cakes and warm breads with meaningful intent and a whole heart – warrants the protection from this slicked coat…..”

 The hymn dissolved out on the silent dawn. Chad strained to hear further, but it was beyond discernable. He climbed out of bed and quickly got dressed.

 The door of his mother and fathers room was shut, and the air behind the panel tranquil. Chad tiptoed by carrying his shoes. First, he went by Abigail’s room, and checked in on her. He made a last stop by his brothers room, before venturing to the stairs.  He fixed the little fence at the top step, and hurried down in a mad dash. In the kitchen he slipped on his shoes, and went to the fridge. He grabbed butter, cheese, and some bread, and hastily fixed something together; for good measure, he snagged a packet of cookies and rushed to the back porch.

 He hurried back for a plate, and took off once more.

 “Spate!  Spate!” Chad hooted, out into the thicket. His voice carried over the sudden lull in sound. Without hesitation, he set the plate and cookies together on the first step, and stood back. The wait was long and prolonged, unnecessary. Chad wondered if he did it wrong, was he supposed to build a fire? Should he have a light?

 The fog rolled in suddenly. It settled over the roofs of the homes and clustered tightly around the burning light of the stars and moon, and suffocated out visibility all around.  Chad watched and waited, chilled and uncertain. In time, he spied the flittering lights weaving through the dark vapor. He took a step back, and pressed himself to the wall of the house.  The figure didn’t seem so large, not until it carried itself up the steps one after the other.

 During their first encounter, Chad had been lying down. Now that he was standing, he could gauge an accurate estimation of its height to that of the porch its now standing witihin. Chad was perplexed at its stance; his father was not the tallest man in town, but he wasn’t short either. The creature didn’t look tall nor short, but seemed too loom. It could’ve been the light or the night air, working into the fibers of its coat; it was a part of the vapor and a bit of the gloom, but wouldn’t completely dissolve.

 “Your offering is accepted,” the creature uttered. The thick tenure of its tone stole Chad from his musing. “Make your request, and we shall negotiate as needed.” The lights glimmering within the eye sockets dimmed, and the creak of its limbs grumbled. “Tell me, and think hard of what you desire – that is all you need.  Your brother? Is that what you long for?”

 Chad nodded.  “Is that how I do it? Or, do I rub a lamp? Click my heels together?” He thumped his heels together, nervous and anxious. The creature huddled down, over what he presumed was the plate, and murmured.  “Can you find my brother? I wish to seek my brother?”

 “That is all and well,” Spate interrupted his nervous babble. He stood, and ruffled his coat. “I will pursue, and see where the path takes me.”

 Chad stepped forward, and announced, “I’m going with you. I… have to. I want to be there, when you find him.” The lights in the skull glimmered, curious. He held the stare, unwavering. He only just came up to where the waist of the creature was. “My brother will be scared. I should help.”

  “Come hither, then,” Spate rumbled. Chad followed it’s instruction, a knotted and shard edge to his shoulder – a hand – and tugged him close to the figure. The eye sockets dipped down and gazed into Chad’s face; he realized there’s no definition, no light in the back of the eye sockets. It’s nothing but black ooze with flecks of glitter, which capture the light.

 “You wear a coat that is not yours,” Spate presumed.

 “My brothers,” Chad mumbled. He had his own clothing, his own jackets. But he wanted to wear this one; Sterling didn’t take it with him. He left behind a lot of his favorite possessions, and should in the least have them back. Something in those deep eye pits glittered.

 “Good. But at the same time, risky. You do wish to return here? To your family, yes?” The light elevated, and relieved Chad of the intense scrutiny. “Mother, and…. Father? You love them, both?”

 “Of course,” Chad blurted. He was angry at them, they were treating him unfairly. But, he knew he did love his parents. Especially his sister, she needed him.

 “Very-very much.” A gleam that felt… sinister, fluctuated in its eye sockets.

 “Yeah,” Chad yelped. Almost. “And I have a kid sister too. I won’t leave her like my brother did, not ever.” As Chad wondered behind it’s interrogation, the tight grip released his shoulder. He swayed.

 “Go then,” Spate hummed. “And find a precious to you, that reminds you of your home. Some treasure to rekindle thoughts of your family, and what they mean to you.”

 Chad thought to question the request – among if it would be there when he returned – but the initiative escaped him. He scampered back into the home, and began his search in the living room. There were special books, a few toys, he thought about going upstairs and borrowing Stiltskin from Abigail, but decided against it. He eventually settled on a carved wooden mask of a rascal creature, with eye holes and a toothy grin.

 The mask was special, owned by his brother and used for games of Tag played along the edge of the woods, or anywhere the neighborhood kids deemed appropriate. The mask had a satin tie, and the one that was Tagged got the mask and wore it. They terrorized each other with it regularly, but it’s purpose was for the game.

 Chad tied the ribbon around his neck, and let the mask hang behind his head. He returned outside and found that Spate was waiting, patiently. A bit of the light was burning in the sky, but not enough to penetrate the sharp details of the creature. Instead, the outline seemed to shimmer with dew in the vapor.

 “You are certain?” Spate inquired.

 “Yes,” Chad responded.  He stared at the open hand offered to him. The hand was shriveled and dead, with long spindly fingers and gnarled fingernails tipping each. He reached out, hesitated, but took the proffered grip. The fingers coiled gently around his hand and wrist. The eye sockets burned.

 “Where last was your brother seen?” Spate began. His snout directed towards the door of the home, behind Chad.

 “This house. His room.” Chad shifted on his feet as the creature tugged him along. He almost wanted to resist, the hand was unnatural and cool, like leather. But he gathered his bearings, and fell into pace with Spate. They stepped off the porch and onto the greasy yard. “He ran away. Ran out the door, and I don’t know which direction he took off in. The places I thought he might go to, our usual hangouts.” He shook his head. “He wasn’t there.”

 At the edge of the thicket they stopped. The woods and lurking gloom festered in Chad’s eyes, swarming and twisting; he could perceive the groaning wrench of the branches shuffling, uneased by the presence of the oily man in the coat beside the boy. Chad look up at the creature, but its gaze remained forward. In the dark, the discernible plip-plip hit the soil far below, in front of it. He could make out the edges of the cheekbone illuminated beneath the hats rim, but he could not see the eyes in the pits of the skull.

 And suddenly, the grating rasp broke the silence. “You do not find what isn’t sought.” Chad was reluctant to respond, but he knew where they were. He couldn’t see through the murk, but he knew where the creature intended to begin. He was having second thoughts of its intents.

 “Do I have to go with you?”

 “No. I would prefer if you stayed, and waited. Remember me. When I am exhausted, I will return to you and report.”

 “I’ll stay with you,” Chad choked. He swallowed and gathered his voice. “So… you don’t get lost.” Then he, holding the creatures hand, stepped on ahead. He recalled more or less where the path was, the runoff from the yard created the little dip where animals frequented. The creature – Spate, it had a name and he didn’t want to use it – moved seamlessly behind him. He could hear the steps of its heavy boots, but he couldn’t hear the coat or the tight knit of branches grappling with his own jacket.

 In time, Chad’s eyes became accustomed to the cluttered black – he could make out the pale soil, the rocks, and the more sinister tangle of shrubs and stubble that lined the trail. The thicket reserved its rapt breath, never whispering, never calling with the speech of night dwellers. It began to felt that he and Spate stepped off the edge of the world, in a midnight realm that only dark beings had permit to dwell. For a long time Chad believed that Spate stole him from the living world, and he was trapped within this unnatural slice between reality and safety.

 Then he heard the gentle churn of the stream, the quarter mile from his home. The soil became rocky and perilous, difficult for his feet to keep balance. The coil on his fingers tightened, and his arm lifted. He put his other hand out and caught the side of Spate’s coat, before he could fall.

 “Careful of the slope,” Chad muttered. He picked up the pace, his hand tightened on the fingers. A little quietly he added, “People fall in and die – mostly adults. People around these parts know it’s not safe, but they still try. My dad said the currents strong, and roots and stuff are beneath the surface.” Spate wheezed; the sound was almost phlegmy.

 “Yes. I can detect that,” he assured. After a few minutes of navigating, seeking a suitable path amongst the thickening copse, he went on, “No. Your brother didn’t come here. I’m still seeking.”

 A low creak emitted from beside Chad. He winced a little when Spate hunched over him, and the lights in its eye pits settled on him – no less than four inches from his face. They paused for a brief spell; Chad didn’t dare move, not with the incisors directly by his shoulder. With the light in the eyes, he could make out fine cracks in the skull, and little debits or porous holes.

 After an agonizing minute, Spate elevated back to his looming stature and peered off. “He came here, I think. Did he come here often, before he fled?”

 “I don’t know,” Chad whispered. “Not with me. That’s all I know.” The thought that his brother came here – went anywhere secret without him – burned Chad. He didn’t care if his parents didn’t approve of Sterling’s misadventures and hauling Chad along, he and his brother were close. And now he was here with this monster, risking his safety to find Sterling. “Are you sure he didn’t fall in?”

 “We will follow yet,” answered Spate. “There is distance to cover. Let us proceed, and then we shall see.”

 The route that Spate led him on took them to a bridge, and a road extending through the thicket. By then the sun was lifting over the horizon, but the trees sheared off most of the light. And the fog, gave the woods a hazy, watery sheen. The colors of orange and blue bled through and were diluted; Chad wasn’t sure if he didn’t hear horses trotting up the road, but never saw the carriage or animals.

 “Are you the fog?” he inquired, as they followed the road.

 “The fog was there when I awoke, and followed me when I walk,” Spate replied. “I know the fog well, but I don’t own it.”

 Chad recognized the road they steered onward, and this put some of his nerves to ease. But he couldn’t shake the eerie toll of the swarming gloom, the steadfast trees and frozen branches – the air was static in time, but he could perceive the frailest chitter and creak coming from around them.

 At one point, Spate halted his tracks and gave their area a short glimpse over. He diverted their direction, onto another path which lead into the city. The sound of traffic churning forth put Chad more to ease, and he actually began to see people out in the early dawn making rounds. They stepped onto a sidewalk, he and the creature out in the open, and followed the storefronts of the street block. Store owners were setting up wares, or sweeping off the sidewalks, a large delivery truck was parked and the back open. Normal people looked their way, but few spoke.

 Chad was nearly stunned to spy Mr. Hemsworth outside, straightening a desk and folding shirts to lay atop it. He was beginning to think all of these people he witnessed were dead and ghosts, but Mr. Hemsworth he knew – or last saw – was alive and in good health.

 Mr. Hemsworth said nothing to Chad. He only looked up from straightening out a pair of trousers, looked from Spate, to the child, then resumed his work.

 Chad tugged Spate’s hand, and whispered, “Can they see you?” The response was not immediate; Spate barely acknowledged Chad.

 “They see what they intend to,” Spate gurgled. Black seeping dripped from his nostril opening and slithered down his chin. He turned his snout fully to Chad. “Don’t worry. They day is early, and they are grumpy.”

 This made Chad feel somewhat better. The response was cryptic, but it must’ve meant they couldn’t see him; no one would alert his parents that he was out wandering (alone).

 “My brother always told me fairytale stories with strange beasts. And people,” Chad quickly corrected.  He hesitated to continue, “You are real, huh? You’re not actually a person in a coat? Or just wearing a mask?”

 “I am in actuality a child with a seal perched upon his shoulders, in a coat,” Spate admitted. The sheen in its eye sockets fluttered when he peered at Chad. “I apologize, I should’ve told you sooner.”

  Chad grinned and elbowed Spate’s hip. No, it felt… solid, but at the same time amiable. Whatever Spate was, he was no person in a coat, or whatever. 

“Do you know if we’re close? Or where we’re going?”

 Spate stopped them on the edge of a street corner and peered at a divide in the road, and the Cineplex. “I cannot say. Your brother—”

 “Sterling.”

 “Sterling, was here.” Spate followed the putter of a car as it drove by. The light was out more, penetrating the overbearing fog and combating insolubility with a burst of warmth; the day was shrugging off the supernatural qualities, and the nature state of the world was reestablished. Chad noted that the upper sleeve of Spate’s coat catered a dark patch, and saw why this way. Spate raised his arm to his face, and wiped at the dripping threading from its nostril. “For a duration. But this could be before he departed your home. You should have stayed home, warm and safe.”

 “No! I—” Chad fought with his meaning and the words. “I should be with you. You shouldn’t do this alone.” He couldn’t shrug off his own misgiving for Spate’s motives. But this was for Sterling. And, if their roles were reversed, he knew his brother wouldn’t hesitate making a pact with the devil himself. Chad could handle himself.

 But the further they walked on, the more roads they took under and deviated off from, the paths they strolled on – Chad’s hopes began to ebb. At times he couldn’t recognize the landmarks or edifices they came across, not without a double take and some firm eye blinking. He blamed the persistent layer of vapor that clung to everything, and made the colors warp and run like he was staring through a misshapen glass vase. They visited a few of the old hangouts where Sterling and his friends frequented, places chad already checked but he reframed from telling Spate this.

 At times Spate mumbled to himself, just below Chad’s range of hearing. He caught snippets of its words and phrases, a knack he picked up from translating baby babble – the thought made him smirk, as he compared Spate to his young sister. He didn’t question Spate’s peculiar prattling, since he seemed fully lost in some rumination.

 “…a gift of sacrifice, a fresh slaying and butchery of stock raised with care and fed plump to bursting seam – I will grant sin. Though once human, no longer are we. Be keen with thy desire and clear of thine will. One wish is for you, but regret is my assurance. A pact struck is a nail in thine coffin.”

 Spate released Chad’s hand, and crept to the edge of the road. They were out away from the town, on one of the exit roads that steered clear of the woods. Beside the road was a deep ditch. Chad remained rooted to the spot, fearful of breathing.

 “This is where I begin.”

 “Begin?” Chad coughed.  “Begin? What is here? We ran all over the town and the forest, and nothing – is—” He cut off, throat tight. He didn’t want to see. “What are you looking at?” Spate checked over his shoulder.

 “Come hither, and witness.” Like the spirit of Christmas yet to come, Spate directed an arm down into the depths of the trench – a trench that lay at a roadside, where traffic frequented, sometimes too fast.

 Chad stepped up inch-by-inch, a knot in his throat and mind racing; what would he see, what would be there? He fumbled mentally prepare, and bide out his time. His brother was gone for four days – FOUR long days, in the sun.

 The procession took a good two minutes to cross three feet and stand beside Spate; now at a vantage that brought the full length of the trough into view. He followed the direction of the arm, and nearly wept.

Next -  To Pursue a Variable Clause

[justgotimaginary]

And here it is, my official piece for Mermay!

Usually when I do these little monthly events or drawing challenges, I try to make up new characters for each prompt, but I saw this as a nice opportunity to put a little spotlight on a character I’ve been meaning to draw for a while now - Jirah, the Leviathan.

As the [Name], the [Epithet] format might hint, she was originally meant to be a part of my Hero Workshop project - but I’ll talk more about that under the cut!

She’s the youngest of an elusive, aquatic race, somewhat inspired by sneaky sea monsters like our shy friend Nessie, and the pale and enigmatic Ningen. Her kind has been around pretty much forever, although their extremely reclusive ways have caused them to remain undiscovered by terrestrial races until very recently (ie. until Jirah decided to pop by and say hello, terrifying the crew of a small fishing vessel).

A far cry from sitting at the bottom of the ocean and eating particles all day, Jirah’s new life has been one of endless discovery - the world around her was filled with countless places, creatures, and ways of life, and Jirah would not be satisfied until she has seen them all. Her favorite things include staring into port towns at night and hearing stories from sailors about the places too far inland for her to see. She kind of wishes she had legs so she could see them all, but I guess even giant sea monsters are allowed to dream!

Also, for those wondering, she’s not bioluminescent - she painted on those markings herself with weird glow-y bottom-of-the-ocean goo. The design is inspired by one she saw on one of the many ships that accidentally rammed into her head before she decided to get tatted up (so that ships wouldn’t accidentally ram her in the head anymore). Talk about style with function!

EDIT: For those who have been following me for a while, you might recognize a familiar silhouette! 

NOW SOME GAME DESIGN STUFF

On the Hero Workshop project, back when I planned on having 3 of each role (one for each playstyle), she was meant to be a Support with the Control playstyle, a position eventually stolen by Ziki. 

Her whole deal was that she could allow her teammates to traverse the map incognito - shuttling them around like a submarine while shrouding herself with a heavy mist that obscured her from view and severely limited the vision of any enemies that tried to pursue her. The most she can do in big fights is spit waves of harmless mist at people and act as something of an escape vehicle if things go south, so she’s a lot more useful for team comps that tend to focus on staying a few steps ahead of their opponents.

I’m a big fan of using mechanics as a way to unify Heroes working under a similar theme, so that you could eventually put together a full team of them that plays together in a specific way - like a team of canines that’s good at chasing, or a team of desert-themed Heroes that can survive a long time away from their base and win wars of attrition. Jirah, then, was meant to play the Support role on a team full of Cryptids, including Idros in the Fighter role, a Mothman-style hero in the Mage role, a playful Yeti in the Tank role, as well as a few others I might go more into at a late date!

These heroes, as their theme suggests, are all united through their ability to obscure themselves from their opponents through some sort of central mechanic of theirs, such as Jirah’s heavy mist and Idros’s coral reefs. When acting as a full team, these blurry-photograph beasties would be able to overcome enemies through sheer elusiveness - staying out of sight whenever they didn’t want to be seen, and either getting the jump on lone and unsuspecting enemy Heroes, or using their enigmatic ways to strategically control the map in hard-to-predict ways. Of course, once their cover is blown, their overall lack of direct fighting power may lead to them getting an ass-whooping that’s hard to miss. 

(For those of you wondering how such a massive creature would be able fit on a MOBA-style map and play like a normal character, it would pretty much just be her head peeking out - like what you see in this piece! As for being submerged, well, there are some loopholes!)

[agent-cupcake]

Beastie and the Bard

Fire Emblem Three Houses - Dimitri x Reader (Chapter 3)

A symphony has four parts so does this, but it’s split because I’m lazy and didn’t anticipate the minuet to give me so much grief. Sorry for the wait, life is a lot all the time all at once, you know? 

Symphony Vittoria Opus 3, No. 1 I. Allegro A whooping shout echoed across the canyon, catching like fire upon a pile of dry leaves as the joyous sound spread across the triumphant troops. The bandit chef had fallen to Professor Byleth’s blade. The Blue Lions had won the battle of Zanado.

You felt dizzy, mentally dampened, and a bit confused at first.

“We won?” you asked nobody in particular, voice raised above the din of a few dozen voices talking at once. The man closest to you was smiling, nodding, speaking. You were slow in catching up, but you managed to make out his answer after a moment of focusing. Won, you had won. And then your ears were filled with the deafening sound of relentless noise and rushing blood, a roar of excitement that grew from within your own self.

You had won!

It didn’t happen in a steady turn, but in a sudden, jolting twist as all your focus and combat oriented energy changed to a joy for victory. It made you giddy, practically drunk on jubilance as the tension left your frame. Your head spun with a tipsy sensation of dizziness, a disconnect between mind and body. Some of it must have been the fatigue casting a haze over your mind as you emerged from the focused state of fighting. Past the overwhelming joy, you were aware that exhaustion had crawled deep into your muscles in a way it hadn’t during the practice battle, or even through your vigorous training exercises. It left your limbs in a loose and rubbery state, but not yet burdened with the aching pain you’d undoubtably face later. It made every sensation you experienced spark with particular interest to your racing thoughts, voices made that much louder and the blow of a cool breeze through your sweaty hair that much cooler.

It was similar to the high you felt after managing a difficult piece of music or finally pulling off a tricky sword technique, a swell of pleasant and overwhelming joy. A feeling too big to be contained within your limited body. A wild giddiness.

Oddly, the sun had barely descended past its watchful position straight above. It seemed impossible that hours hadn’t passed since you set out upon the canyon considering all that had happened. Then again, your mind recalled the entire battle as nothing more than a blur, a flurry of sword strikes and shouted commands slipping by in a matter of minutes.

There had been the cold and prickling anticipation as Professor Byleth performed his final inspection and gave orders, a shuddering dread as you lined up against the bandits with weapons that had never tasted blood, the fluttering anticipation when the charge was called, and then a surge of energy, strength filling your body as all you had learned in training took over and you fought your first battle with everything you could.

And now, victory.

You didn’t think about what to do next, sheathing your sword and beginning to move contrary to the tide of men. Towards the front line, searching the dissipating crowd for familiar faces. Or, really, just the one familiar face. Your expression split into a bright smile when you saw him, heedless of the exhaustion. Dimitri’s blond hair was messier than you’d ever seen it, even while training. It caught every drop of sunlight, shining gold even when sticking to his head with sweat, several bits swept away at chaotic angles. There was blood on his armor, his cheeks were spotted with a red flush from exertion, and his expression was a bit worn. But, most importantly, he was unharmed.

Right then, in your half mad mindstate, you felt a blind rush of affection. Excitement. Victory. Skipping on feet that felt lighter than air, you rushed past the few scattering ranks of your small force. Dimitri saw you, opening his mouth to say something, but you cut him off by throwing your arms around his shoulders, tilting onto the tips of your toes. Luckily, he was used to moving with a spearman’s firm stance, which was the only thing that stopped both of you from toppling to the ground. The recklessness of the action hardly registered. Impulsive and excited and bubbly with the vigor of life itself, you pressed a kiss to his cheek. It happened so quickly that the sensations barely registered; a whiff of the musky masculine scent of his sweat, the smooth warmth of his cheek against your lips, your hand brushing the back of his hair when your arms met around his neck; and then you were dancing away, smiling with a mouth on the cusp of releasing a bout of delighted laughter.

“We did it!” you said, uncaring of the childish sound of your victorious words. The fact that you had fought and won was more than the victory of battle, serving as solid proof that you were meant to be among the knights and students, that you were right in choosing your own fate. It meant that your father had been wrong. It meant you were supposed to be here. At Dimitri’s side, maybe. “I can hardly believe it. I was so nervous at first, but we did it! I did it!”

“That you did,” Dimitri said in a slightly stiff voice, a measured contradiction to your manic excitement. He had pressed his hand to his cheek, right over where you had kissed him. Was that displeasure you read in his widened eyes, or disgust? Maybe surprise, being attacked was an awfully good reason to lose composure. And more, was his face that red before, or had the color darkened his fair complection further? His hand dropped, being used in a casual gesture towards you. “And with energy to spare, I see,” Dimitri teased. Although he still seemed a little flustered, his blue eyes twinkled with laughter.

You giggled in response, a giddy and nervous sound. The situation was beginning to sink in. Firstly, it probably broke a dozen different rules of etiquette to have thrown yourself at him, and that was before you factored in the unspoken rules of friendship and boundaries his status afforded him. Not to mention the battlefield you stood upon, or the uncomfortable weight of the gazes of the remaining soldiers who lingered, or the fact that Professor Byleth stood nearby speaking to a knight, or that not even a dozen feet away laid the unceremoniously fallen corpses of the bandit chief and his main guard in puddles of drying blood-

No. You forced yourself not to look at them, unwilling to consider the dead in conjunction with the way you felt now. Instead you focused on Dimitri and the thread of enthusiasm that had brought you to him, refusing to allow embarrassment or doubt to make you fold now that you had already committed.

“I’m just so happy that we won!” you said as way of justification. “I never thought that I’d be able to do something like this… And I wouldn’t have been able to do it without your help so I wanted to thank you because if it hadn’t been for all that training I think I totally would have choked, but because of you I didn’t, so...” You let the thought drop there, your disorganized words rushed together just as badly as your thoughts. And then, what else was there to say? The jittery excitement was still thudding in your heart and making your hands shake. You wanted to apologize, but you also didn’t feel sorry, so you chose instead to settle for the middle ground. “Anyway, I… I should probably go back and help.” You gestured vaguely behind yourself, smiling like a fool for all that you should have at least tried to feel shame. “Um, see you, Dimitri! And you, Professor!” you called with a jaunty wave before turning on your heel. If eyes followed you, or if either responded, you didn’t know, and you were far too shy to check as you hurried up the steps to the top of the canyon where  the horses and knights were all congregated.

Embarrassment was easy in coming, but found little traction in the thrill that filled you as well. Victory was exciting in a way no song had ever properly described. Maybe more than any song could. And then there was the way your body buzzed, the warmth tickling your lips, and the way your heart pounded when you thought of how bold you’d been.

Victory truly was sweet.

Symphony Vittoria Opus 3, No. 2 II. Adagio

Victory, as it turned out, could hurt.

When Lord Lonato fell, it was with an awful, hollow stillness that came in the stead of fanfare or glory. This did not feel like victory, or at least any sort of victory you could be pleased with. Ashe waved away any of your attempts to console or help him, returning to the town alone to find his brother and sister. Even though you desperately yearned to, you didn’t dare follow him alone, knowing that you would be rejected as the enemy.

In the eyes of the townspeople, you were the enemy.

So you watched Ashe go, heart heavy and aching. It wasn’t Ashe’s rejection that stung, not exactly. What hurt the most was the knowledge that you, right then, were useless to him. Nothing you did or said would be able to help him, your words would fall on ears made deaf as they strained to hear the voices of the dead. Nothing you could do would ease his pain or set his world back to rights.

Just like your mother. You could picture her clearly right then, standing in a beautiful black dress above your father’s grave. Weeping because of her true, singular love for the man and the gaping emptiness in her heart that would never be filled without him. Like Ashe, your mother hadn’t wanted your help. To her, you had been nothing more than a reminder of what she could have had, what she was going to have before he died. That day, you lost your mother, too.

Would Ashe be the same as she had been? Would you be a symbol forever reminding him of the death of the man who raised and cared for him? Would he stay in a state of frigid misery, bound by the lingering hold of the dead and unable to move forward? You had only known him for a few months, yet the idea made your eyes hot and teary, a terrible feeling clenching in your chest.

No. You would figure out a way to prevent that from happening, you would not fail again.

Or so you swore to yourself, right then.

Turning away from the empty forrest road and that tremulous silent promise, you set out to find Dimitri. You didn’t know why. Certainly not to ambush him with a hug and kiss on the cheek as you had at the end of the last battle, or anything resembling any sort of excitement. For comfort, maybe. Maybe to ask for advice about Ashe. Then again, you weren’t sure you really wanted to supply a reason for desiring his company. More and more you’d begun seeking it out unprompted. You were friends, and that was definitely sacred and worth pursing. He shouldn’t have been special beyond that, but he was. And you didn’t like to think of exactly why that was, so you didn’t.

The knights were all packing up to make the return trip to the monastery, not losing a second of daylight in their meticulous routine. It struck you as horrifically callous. The church with all their men and might will come to kill your fathers and brothers and then leave within the hour, leaving naught a trace behind. But that was foolish, a childish fancy given teeth as you tried to reconcile what had happened with what you wished would have happened. It was kinder and more pragmatic to leave as quickly as possible and allow the people to grieve in private.

That was the reality.

You were better off with the indignant stance that Lord Lanato was the one at fault for the deaths. His own foolishness was at the cost of the men you had killed. But in the same breath of that scorn could you smell the blood, feel it flaking off of your hands like flakes of rust.

No.

You didn’t want to think about that, you couldn’t let yourself. A knight didn’t weep for those they killed if it was necessary. Those words were a lesson from your sword teacher in Fhirdiad, a knight who had retired after partaking in one too many of the ugly skirmishes that had popped up in the wake of King Lambert’s death. His eyes were haunted when he told you that it was important to know when to care, and when not to.

Another thought that was best left alone.

So you focused on your search efforts. Unfortunately, while dodging through the collected chaos you realized that Magdred Way’s tree lined paths weren’t great for visibility, even without that supernatural fog. Not only was your heart heavy with thoughts you cared little to entertain and you couldn’t find Dimitri, but everybody looked so sad as well. Your friends who should have been proud of themselves for achieving victory without any casualties were wearing grave masks and curled postures with slumped shoulders, the knights grim faced and terse. Professor Byleth was the only one seemingly unaffected by it all, pointing you in the right direction to find Dimitri without expression or comment, trailed by an especially and uncharacteristically severe-looking Catherine.  

Probably, you should have been concerned by that sight alone. But you weren’t, not really, because once you knew where to look Dimitri was easy to spot. He was tucked in the shadow at the edge of the trees, sitting on the convenient seat of a rock with his head bowed and hands folded in something like reverence. The cheerless image brought you up short, the words you had intended to use to call to him dying on your lips.

Pain clung to him, weighed him down with something more than than the cheap sorrow you’d been fighting off. You could easily recognize the way it crowned his head in invisible lead and sank deep and heavy into his bones. It was, after all, a familiar sight.

Holding completely motionless a yard or so away from him, you briefly considered turning around and leaving Dimitri be. People who looked like that had never fared well with your intervention. But you couldn’t. He just looked too sad and lonely. So you approached him with soft steps, feeling the hesitancy of regret before you even spoke.

“Dimitri?” you asked softly, uncertain. “Are you all right?”

He tensed up at hearing your voice, his posture straightening out with a snap as if to cover for the momentary weakness. Red rimmed his eyes, although you thought it was more of an effect of fatigue than tears. It complimented the bluish shadows beneath.

“Yes, of course. I was just resting a moment,” he told you, his expression and voice carefully controlled. “Did you need something?”

Any person in the world would be able to tell that he was feigning indifference. Pain was stretched thin in the forcibly casual tone of his voice like pottery held too tightly, seconds away from cracking. It hurt, strangely, that he would put on an act around you, but you didn’t dare think too hard about that sharp stab of pain or why you’d feel it. More than anything, you were worried, your heart set aching anew as you realized that his sorrow far overcame your own.

“No, I don’t. You looked...” Despairing. Agonizing. Like the weight of the world was crushing you and I don’t understand why. “Upset,” you said lamely. An underlying awkwardness edged your voice, created by your influx of emotions you suddenly had no idea what to do with. “I can… I can go if you want to be alone.”

“It’s not that-” Dimitri began with more false pretense, only to cut off whatever else he was going to add and let out a heavy breath, rubbing a hand over his face and allowing his posture to relax. “I’m sorry. I’m fine. I wanted a moment to collect my thoughts.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” you asked.

“No,” he said firmly. Then, a moment later in a softer tone, “I don’t know.”

“This battle was… It was hard,” you said, an understatement if there ever was one, but Dimitri seemed to understand all the same.

“It was, and I know that what we did was necessary, but... I can’t help but wish that we could have handled that differently, that there was a different way to settle things without such violent measures.” His voice lowered even further, head bowing. “But if it wasn’t necessary, then what we did...”

Dimitri allowed the silence to speak for him.

“I think I understand,” you said, although you weren’t quite sure if you did. A part of your mind rebelled at the idea that violence wasn’t a way resolve conflict, although another wondered what such peace would look like. “But… We just have to keep going, don’t we? Maybe there’s another way, but this… We can’t let it define us, we just have to keep going forward and try to do better in the future, right?”

“Don’t you find it wrong?” Dimitri asked, his question given passion and intensity as he suddenly stood. The louder voice as well as the dramatic physical shift pulled you up entirely short, sending you a step back. “Does it not bother you to indiscriminately take the lives of those opposing us without even questioning if we could achieve the same goals without death?” All of the dispassionate pain you had seen before was gone, lit to a blaze in the soft blue of his eyes.

“I… I hadn’t thought very much about it,” you answered. The words came honestly in the face of being so startled, along with the pang of guilt that hit you from the accusatory nature of the question. “If it’s asked of me and my loyalty… No-” You hesitated, trying to think of a better way to phrase your thoughts, a prettier way. “If something I’m doing is protecting the lives of those I care for, I… I believe that it’s right,” you told him carefully. But, beneath the searching weight of his gaze, you wondered if that was only something to say. Like a poem or song. In truth, you hadn’t given the nature of battle or what you did to your enemies any sort of deeper thought. You didn’t want to. A hero couldn’t be a killer, even if they killed. And wasn’t it the same for you? For him? You had to believe that.

“What if the enemy believes the same?” Dimitri pushed urgently. “If all they’re doing is defending the people they care for in a conflict they have no say in?”

That gave you further pause, your eyebrows furrowing and chapped bottom lip retreating between your teeth as you tried to find an answer. You saw his argument, felt it just as clearly in the conflicted pain in his eyes. Doubt was poisoning him. Comprehension was sharp in that moment, an understanding of something you had been missing in the months you had known him. Dimitri’s capacity to care, something you admired so much, was a double edged sword. Great strength and great vulnerability. Of course it was. You’d seen it before, the agony of caring just a bit too much.

“I’d be glad,” you finally responded, slightly indignant in your desire to stand against his questioning. “If I died because of something I believed in, I would not regret it. I hope that anyone I fight feels the same.”

“And the ones they leave behind?” Dimitri asked, his voice softer, the rigidity of anger gone from this question. You met his eyes. Pure, perfectly pigmented powder blue. The color of reliability and honor, but also the color of melancholy and cold. Now they were needful. Looking for an answer you didn’t have, that probably didn’t exist. “What of them?”

You had heard that question before.

Any and all desire to argue against him bled out of you, leaving the overwhelming swell of post-battle exhaustion and anguish to hit you in full force, so stark it was nearly physical. “I don’t know,” you answered, your voice even softer than his own.

Dimitri’s eyes closed as he turned away, dissatisfied with your answer. “There really is no answer, is there?”

“Maybe there is,” you said, a weak attempt at hopeful optimism against his stormy despair. Dimitri didn’t disagree, but he didn’t have to do anything other than allow the words to deflate and disintegrate in the relative silence of your little bubble on the edge of the trees. And with them, an argument you couldn’t help but feel you had lost terribly.  

“We should return to the others. Professor Byleth will want to speak to us all when we return, disturbing news had been discovered.” Dimitri said, his eyes opening and posture straightening out. The voice he used now was firm, but empty. Closed off once more. He did not wait for an answer before brushing past you, or look to ensure you were following.

“Right,” you agreed reluctantly, uselessly, following him on wooden legs.