#and the very inhuman looking cup and pitcher

[sadcatjae]

The Demon & The Priest - Part 2 - Curse

Part 1 Here

CW: Explicit language, albleist slurs, ableist terms to describe mental illness, physical violence, burning/branding

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But Ashaxi has never been kind to Lial. Even now, as Lial rests in the Temple of the Light, the den of his sworn enemy, his lord’s oppressive hand ensures his punishment.

Pain draws him out of sleep. At first, it’s quiet. A deep, grinding pain that rolls through him like waves of stone, osmium slow. It sets his teeth on edge, sets his nerves alight, and strips him back until he’s raw.

And then, the pain explodes into a tempest of agony, fire-wrapped, titanic, with the will of the gods.

He drunkenly lurches out of bed. Claws at the sweat soaked sheets tangled around his seizing limbs. He's unable to breathe, unable to scream, his panic as true as his suffering.

He’s being burned alive.

The inferno consumes him until he no longer understands pain. His fraught nerves fail him, one by one. He’s simply feeling, just feeling, and whatever that he is becomes shapeless and unfathomable.

Lial ceases to be. Ashaxi fills the void.

Returning to his senses is a fragile process. He’s lying on the cold stone floor, staring at the shadow drenched ceiling. Muscles twitch and burn in the aftermath of the attack and they are slow to respond. He is vaguely aware of how cold he is, the winter draught brittle against his clammy skin.

When he licks his lips, he tastes copper.

“How often does that happen?”

Lial raises his head and sees the priest standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. He seems both irritated and mystified, as if Lial is a puzzle he’s struggling to solve.

“...Whenever my defence is lowered,” the demon rasps, dragging himself upright. His arms shake violently under his weight, and he slumps against the bed, panting lightly.

“Defence. I assume you mean an infernal defence magic of some kind?”

“Some kind,” Lial affirms in a grunt.

“And when you sleep, you are unable to keep focus on the magic.” The priest strokes his jaw as he muses, staring at Lial through hooded eyes. “This is the only effect of the curse?”

“For now.” The demon twitches as he tries to wipe the sweat from his brow. Frustration breaks through the haze of his exhaustion and he scowls to himself, exposing a glint of his fangs. “The stronger the curse, the more degenerative it is.”

“What happens at the end?” Julian asks, raising a brow.

“I don’t know,” Lial growls, sanguine glare flaring. “Why do you think I have come to you?”

“Mind your tone, demon,” the priest says, sharply. “I have given you sanctuary out of a sense of duty. That does not mean that I have allied myself with you nor will I tolerate your discourtesy.”

“Discourtesy,” Lial scoffs. “Do you seek to teach a child of the infernal etiquette?”

“Demons are not beyond manners.”

“Do you plan to reform me, priest?”

Julian gives him a deadpan stare. “While you are here, I may very well try.”

The demon’s laugh is coarse and full of gravel, like his throat had been scorched by fire.

Julian leaves the room briefly and returns moments later with a cup and a pitcher. “You have lost a lot of water. Drink, and we will think on what to do next.”

Lian ignores the cup and grabs the pitcher instead, ripping it out of Julian’s hands to guzzle. Water drips down his chin and catches upon his bare chest. The priest averts his gaze.

Lial gasps in satisfaction and tosses the empty pitcher aside. The priest catches it with inhuman reflexes and places it upon the desk instead. “Have you come across infernal curses before?”

Julian sits in the wooden chair set by the desk. He gives Lial a thoughtful look. “Simple ones, yes. Those are usually straightforward in intent and execution. The one you bear however, is unlike anything I’ve seen. What did you do to warrant your lord’s wrath?”

“How did you undo those curses?” Lial says, pointedly ignoring the priest’s question.

Julian huffs through his nose. “How else but with the light, of course. However, those curses had been placed upon humans. I have never attempted to break a curse on an infernal.” He pauses, then says tersely, “It may have undesirable effects.”

“Do it.”

The priest starts. “Excuse me?”

“Do your thing. Break the curse how you would the others. Can’t hurt to try.”

“On the contrary. I am certain it will. Very much so.”

“I am an infernal. I am not afraid of a little pain.”

“Clearly you are, else you would not have come to me on your knees, begging me to save you,” Julian says dryly, tiring of the demon’s obstinance.

The frayed threads of Lial's composure snap.

He lurches at the priest and grabs the front of his white robes, twisting and yanking, almost lifting his feet clear off the floor. He hunches overhead, growling low in his throat like a wounded beast.

"What do you want?" Julian snaps, trying to control his rising fear.

“I want to sleep!” Lial's face contorts in mad desperation. Scarlet eyes spread wide. A quiver in his pallid cheeks. “It's been months. Months." There's a subtle keen in the back of his throat, though he doesn't seem to be aware of it. "I want to sleep but he won’t let me. Every time I close my eyes, he-he disassembles me. If this curse does not kill me, my mind will go first-!! ”

The demon's head snaps to the side as he's suddenly struck, ears ringing with the resounding clap. But instead of bringing him to his senses, it only exacerbates his unhinged state.

Lial snarls in the human's face, saliva dripping from those terrible snapping fangs, his pupils mere pinpoints that speak only of the primal, and for a heart-stopping moment, Julian is convinced that the demon's sanity has finally failed him.

“Unhand me, demon!”

An immense, burning force sends Lial flying. He hits the wall with a sickening crack, and slumps bonelessly to the ground.

Thin wisps of smoke rise from the demon's chest. Wheezing, he touches the burn, a blistering mark in the shape of a hand. Stinging sparks follow his trailing fingers. He doesn’t seem at all bothered by his new brand.

He chuckles, and when it hurts him, he doesn’t stop. “What does it matter if your light harms me?” His voice cracks. Crumbles. There's maddened glint in his red-rimmed eyes. “Just do what you do best, priest. Curse me with your light, so that I may rid of his will. I would rather be marked by you than him.”

Julian tries to calm his breath, his green eyes flinch wide at the demon’s words. He takes a moment to collect himself, to think, mind racing faster than he can process. “What happened, Lial?” he finally says. “Tell me.”

The demon hangs his head, chin dipping to his wounded chest. Even from here, Julian can see him smile, though he also notices those clawed hands curl into trembling fists. “...I showed him my fangs one too many times.”

“You rebelled against your lord?” Julian asks, surprise evident in his voice. “Why?”

Lial pauses. There’s a flicker of emotion in his face, a glimpse of true vulnerability, but it’s obscured by his wild white hair. “Why else? I wanted to take his throne for myself.” He barks a laugh and drags himself to his feet, using the wall behind as support. “I am a demon. Demons are inherently greedy creatures. There is nothing more to it than that.”

“I should have expected as such,” Julian sighs, far from impressed. “You were foolish to think you could rip Ashaxi from his throne. He is one whose power rivals the Elders of our order.”

“Yes, I have clearly learned my lesson,” Lial growls. “Does that sate your curiosity? Will you try to break the damned curse now?”

“Speak with thy barbed tongue and I shall not hesitate to withdraw my protection,” Julian says in a perfunctory tone.

"I am not of the light. I don't have to follow your finical ways.”

“It is a sign of respect, demon. And you will learn this well.”

“If you break the curse, then maybe you’ll have earned my respect. Until then…” Lial waves his hand in the air, dismissively. “It’s not like you respect me, anyway.”

“You would be incorrect,” Julian says, rolling up the sleeves of his ruined robes. “I have respect for all living creatures, including demons.”

“So the priest knows how to lie.”

“I am not lying.” The human brings the chair to the bedside and sits down. He gestures to the bed. “Sit down. It is possible to respect a creature and their rights to life, even if said creature rejects the light. Otherwise, I would not be helping you now. Give me your hands.”

Lial drags himself to the bed and holds out his hands. Julian grasps him by the wrists, his hands warm and firm around his cold flesh.

“My very nature rejects the light,” Lial corrects him. “I have little choice in the matter.”

“There have been demons in the history of our order who have accepted the blessing of her light. Though rare, it is not unheard of.”

“They must have gone mad.”

“Not any madder than you, surely.” Julian’s emerald eyes lock with Lial’s. The intensity of his gaze keeps him hostage. “This will be unpleasant.”

Lial’s heart stutters. He licks his lips nervously. “Not any more unpleasant than you, surely,” he jests, and then he screams.

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @pattonvirglsanders @wolfeyedwitch

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Part 3

Masterlist

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[king-finnigan]

Beyond The Treeline - Part 3

Masterlist!

***

It’s six in the morning by the time he arrives at the edge of Dewbury. It’s no more than ten houses, spread out over a few square miles, but it’s as close to a town as you’re gonna get in these parts.

He unlocks the front door of the house he’d inherited from his parents, and frowns, as he realizes that at some point, he’d stopped feeling those amber eyes staring at his back. He turns around, and well enough, there’s no sign of the Witcher. He squints his eyes, trying to see if he can find a trace of the white-haired one at the edge of the woods, but unfortunately, he can’t.

He shakes his head slightly. Obviously, Geralt’s probably not keen on walking through the barely-town at six in the morning, when people are starting to get up. Jaskier can’t say that he blames the guy.

He closes the door behind him, dragging his feet up the stairs, falling down limply on the bed in his old childhood bedroom – he still can’t bring himself to sleep in his parent’s old room. It just feels wrong.

He breathes in the familiar scent of the pillows, as sleep quickly overtakes him. He’s tired. He’s so goddamn tired.

---

He wakes up at two in the afternoon, when the sunlight’s angled in such a way that it falls directly onto his eyelids. He groans, rolling onto his side, pushing the pillow over his face. To no avail, unfortunately. He’s awake now, and he knows his body’s not gonna permit him to go back to sleep.

He makes a late lunch in the kitchen downstairs, eating as he stares out of the window, at the treeline half a mile away. There’s only one other house standing between him and the forest, so he has a pretty good view of the trees and the shadows that lie beneath their crowns.

He doesn’t know why he half expects Geralt to be standing there, just beyond the treeline, in broad daylight. He doesn’t know why he’s disappointed when he can’t see the Witcher.

He calls the towing company for his car, and they tell him they can have it fixed up by the time he has to go back to work tonight. They suspect he needs an oil change or something – or maybe more oil? He doesn’t know. He’s not that good with cars, he doesn’t care for them, either.

He doesn’t tell them that there had been a light blinking incessantly next to his steering wheel for the past two weeks. They’ll probably figure the problem out anyways.

---

He sits on the bench, sheltered from the light drizzle by the bus stop, as he waits for the next bus to arrive. He looks on his phone. It should’ve been here ten minutes ago, according to the schedule. Which means he’ll have to wait another twenty minutes for it to arrive, probably – the buses are always at least half an hour late. If you’re lucky.

He wonders what possessed the town to put the bus stop next to the treeline, right next to the wall of brown and green that separates the barely-civilization they have here from the wilderness of what’s out there. He can’t help but glance to his left from time to time, keep an eye on the trees and the shadows beyond them. He can’t help but feel a little bit jumpy, looking over his shoulder again and again.

He can’t help but hope that he might see a shock of white hair in the darkness of the woods.

He can’t help but feel disappointed when he doesn’t.

---

A nauseating bus ride and two hours later, he finds himself in his nan’s arms, as he hugs her tightly.

“The nurses treating you well?” he asks her, and she nods, hands folded in her lap as she looks out of the large window at the slight drizzle. It’s fairly quiet in the common room of the nursing home, though he doesn’t really know where the other residents are. He supposes it doesn’t really matter.

“Yes, Julek.” She smiles at him, and he feels a wave of warmth washing through him at the familiar, old nickname. “They’re very kind here. No need to worry about me.” She leans forward, bright blue eyes suddenly alert as her wrinkled fingers trace a scratch beneath his eye. He remembers, last night, when he’d hurt himself, accidentally almost taking his own eye out with the car key he had stuck between his fingers.

The warmth his nan gave him dissipates, cold freezing his veins over, as he remembers the barghest.

“You, on the other hand,” his nan utters, “you seem different, Julek.”

He shrugs. “Car broke down last night, had to walk home through the woods.”

She smiles widely at him, understanding in her kind, blue eyes. “Ah, I see. You saw something beyond the treeline, didn’t you? You met him.”

He swallows thickly, as he shrugs again. “Well, yes and no. A barghest attacked me in the middle of the road. The Witcher did save me, though.”

“Of course he did.” She leans back in her chair, gaze growing whimsical as she looks out the window again. “I told you he would look out for you.”

“But it’s not the first time I met him.”

She smiles again, nodding sagely. “You work at the diner, don’t you?” He nods. “Back when I was a little girl, when there were no diners in the middle of the woods, my mama used to make eggs and potatoes right before going to bed. She’d always put them on the windowsill. The plate would be empty in the morning.” Her eyes grow even more distant. “We never lost any of the livestock. There are foxes in those woods, Julek, and the occasional wolf. But all the cows and chickens always survived.”

“Wait. Babciu used to feed the Witcher?”

She nods again, smiling faintly. “I once saw him – well, not him, but his eyes. Glowing in the darkness. I hid under the bed all night, after that.”

He chuckles. “Well, he’s not so scary, nana, he’s quite nice. Saved my life.”

She looks at him with an almost terrifying clarity in her eyes. “That’s what he does, Julek. That’s what he’s always done, that’s what he’ll always do.” Her eyes grow distant again. “Say, when are your mama and tata gonna visit again? I haven’t seen them in a while.”

He frowns, putting one hand on hers, folded in her lap. “Nana, mama and tata are dead, remember? They have been for ten years.”

She blinks, then frowns, looking out of the window again. “Ah. Niestety.”

He nods, blinking the tears out of his eyes. He hates to see her like this – hates to see her losing her once so clear memories. “Yes, nana. Unfortunate, indeed.”

---

The Witcher doesn’t show up at the Denny’s that night. Or the night after that. Or the one after that.

Jaskier tries not to worry, tries not to stand at the large windows all night, checking the treeline for a sign of the Witcher, tries not to feel something weighing down on his shoulders every time he has to throw the cold plate-full of food away, has to empty the pitcher of iced tea in the sink.

On Thursday, he can’t take it any longer, can’t just sit there all night, waiting for someone who’ll never come, can’t just keep staring at the window, hope and disappointment washing over him, like waves lapping at a beach, over and over again.

Do not ever go out into the woods at night, Julek.

But fuck that, right? He went out into the woods, just a few days earlier, and he lived to tell the tale. Because Geralt saved him.

So why not try again?

3 AM comes and goes, the plates of food growing cold, the pitcher of iced tea lukewarm. He hops off the table he’s been sitting on for the past two hours, staring out of the big windows, nose practically plastered to the glass. The bell rings merrily as he opens the door, then again, faintly, when he closes it behind him.

Shit. It’s really cold outside, and he forgot to wear a thicker jacket, again. Well, whatever – he won’t be out here for long, hopefully.

He tucks his hands under his armpits, walking across the parking lot to the dark treeline. He squints, but can only see darkness – no eyes glowing back at him, no fangs reflecting the light of the Denny’s, no inhuman growl. No monster. No Witcher.

Well, got nothing to lose, he thinks. He snorts. Except my life, maybe.

He cups his hands over his mouth, taking a deep breath. “Hey!” he shouts, the syllable bouncing between the trees, echoing a bit. “Hey! Witcher! You out there?”

He stands still for a moment, listening intently for any sounds, like the snap of a branch or the rustling of leaves – of course, he doesn’t expect Geralt to shout back. Obviously. Meanwhile, his eyes are scanning the treeline, as he turns in a small circle. Nothing.

He tries again. “Witcher! Geralt! Your food is growing cold!” His voice comes out a bit weaker this time, and he feels out of breath, the first tendrils of adrenaline lapping at his veins. He is standing here in an empty and dark parking lot in the middle of the woods, after all. His throat is starting to hurt.

“Witcher!” It’s no longer a shout – though his voice is still raised, hands hanging limply by his side. “Look, I just- I just want to know if you’re still alive, alright? Don’t leave me worrying like this.” Still no sound, no movement beyond the treeline. “Please,” he says, more to himself than to the Witcher, “don’t let me worry like this.”

Nothing.

He sighs, turning around, going back into the Denny’s. He throws the long-cold plates of food into the trash, he empties the pitcher in the sink.

The next shift arrives at 7, as the sky starts to lighten slightly. Triss throws the door wide open, all sunshine smile and freckles. “Good morning!”

Yennefer trails behind her, hand wiping over her face as she groans. “God, it can’t be morning, it’s still fucking dark outside.”

Jaskier laughs, taking off his apron, throwing it on one of the tables unceremoniously. “Sucks to be you, I guess.” He bumps hips with Triss, as they do every morning, and slaps Yennefer on the shoulder. “I, on the other hand, am going to bed to get some much-needed rest.” She glares at him.

He walks to his car, wiping his hand over his face to chase the sleep away just that little longer, just enough so he can get back home without driving off the road. As he opens his car door, his eye is caught by something on the windshield, tucked under one of the wipers. It’s a small, leather bag.

He frowns, taking it from under the wiper carefully, getting into his car. He leaves the door open, to leave the light on, one foot on the asphalt, as he opens the little bag. He reaches inside, fingers closing around something cold and hard.

He pulls it out, opening his palm, gasping softly.

It’s a piece of quartz, translucent and pale, a soft sheen of purple tracing through the white. It’s beautiful. He frowns, wondering how it ended up under his windshield wiper. Wait.

He looks up at the treeline, and catches a glimpse of amber eyes, before they suddenly disappear.

He scrambles to get out of his car, nearly tripping and falling face-first on the asphalt. He regains his balance, before running towards the forest, towards where the amber eyes had disappeared into the dark.

“Wait!” he shouts at the trees. “Hold on, wait! Geralt!”

He stops just a few feet short of the treeline, out of breath, the quartz and leather bag still clutched in his hand. He walks forward another few steps, laying his other hand on one of the thick tree-trunks.

Suddenly, his entire world narrows down to where his skin and the bark meet, and he feels dizzy, nearly falling over. His heartbeat thrums in his ears, the sound of his own blood rushing almost too loud to bear. He blinks, pushing himself away from the tree, looking into the forest again.

“Geralt? I know you’re there. I-“ he’s not sure if he should be saying this, not sure if it might push the Witcher away, but it’s been laying heavy on his chest for the past few days. The Witcher has been occupying his thoughts almost every waking moment, his absence leaving a gaping hole in Jaskier’s mind and heart, so yes, maybe he shouldn’t be saying this, but he also can’t not say it. “I miss you.”

He swallows thickly, half hoping for a sign that Geralt is there and listening, half knowing he won’t get one.

“I miss you,” he repeats, clutching the quartz to his chest. “I miss the sound of the bell when you open the door at 3 AM. I miss the safety I feel when you’re there. I miss the way you actually appreciate my cooking.” He snorts. “Not a lot of people do that,” he mutters, mostly to himself. He looks back at the silent trees. “I miss the relief I feel when I know you’re still alive, still doing okay. I miss-“ he cuts himself off, sighing deeply.

He’s run out of words, it seems – can’t really explain all the ways in which he misses the Witcher, misses his nightly visits. For some reason, it had made him feel connected to the Witcher, had made him almost feel like a friend. The visits were theirs and theirs alone, and now they’re gone.

“I miss you,” he says again. He waits for a second, eyes still trained on the trees and the darkness behind them, quartz still in his fist, pressed against his chest.

After a few moments of nothing, he sighs, and turns around, disappointment heavy on his shoulders. He walks back to his car, ignoring the curious glances Yennefer and Triss throw him through the large windows of the Denny’s, and gets in.

He lays the quartz on the passenger seat, and starts the car. He looks out of the windshield, looks at the quiet and still treeline for a few seconds longer, before driving away.

When he finally gets home, he doesn’t sleep well.

[madamquacklemore]

Chapter 5 Truths unspoken

a/n apologies for the slow update! In this chapter we will see the motives of the Celts a little more light shed on Tarian’s past and some more FinanxTarian time.This is a direct continuation from chapt 3 Tarian leading Finan away hand in hand. Major S03 spoilers and language warnings

Let's pretend I told you what I wanted Make believe it fell within my reach Would there be a place for what I hoped for? In the end would there be a place for me? ...show me what to do I get by on nothing as long as something keeps me close to you Black lab-close to you

Finan

When she let go to fetch some ale Finan was acutely aware of how much colder he felt,  how he already missed such a simple guesture that it left his hand tingling. By the time she returned with a pitcher he regained his composure.

"Well Finan I may have sworn an oath without knowing what is going on but swear it I did. I've never sworn an oath to one person but I'm fairly sure you don't back out when the going gets tough." she said simply.

Finan ran his hand through his hair and sighed what kind of people were Celts if they didn't believe in oaths and the promise of their honour and word? It mattered little Tarian was in the here and now and what ever she was running from was of little consequence. He debated on reaching for her hand again but instead to the beverage she offered and took a big gulp.

"It's no short story Tarian nor for the faint hearted." he said, for the first time there was no humour in his voice. Where did he even start?

"Do I look feint of heart?" she laughed.

"No I s'pose not. I don't even now where ta begin to be honest wit ya."

"The start. Osferth mentioned you and Uhtred were...well were.." she seemed to struggle with the last of her sentence. He didn't want her pity and he didn't want to feel the shame,  the inhumanity of it all again.

"When we were on the slave ship. " he finished for her.

"Yes." she replied softly.

Finan new sooner or later they would have this conversation it was inevitable. She was running from her past as was he the only difference was it was in his dreams.

"Righ' so Uhtred and another Saxon man by the name of Halig were betrayed and sold to same ship as I under a bastard named Sverri. After several failed attempts we were eventually freed by Uhtred's brother Ragnar under the orders of Alfred. Ragnar and his woman Brida were taken prisoner by Alfred after the Danes were defeated at Ethandun." Finan began. "But the funny ting is if Uhtred had never been sold I probably woulda died on that ship." he laughed bitterly. Finan paused to take another sip. He wouldn't wish slavery on his worse enemies-no that's bloody lie i'd send everyone of those bastards to that ship.

Finan had been looking into his mug when Tarian reached for his hand. There was no pity in his eyes he thanked the virgin mary for but rather something else burning behind those beautiful green eyes that he often found himself lost in. Finan caressed her fingers neither of them letting go as if the very action gave him the strength to continue. Uhtred and himself very rarely spoke of their time in slavery. It was over they had survived it there was nothing else to say on the matter. He continued telling her how he made good on his promise and killed the slave master  how they went on to rescue the woman he later then went on to marry- Gisela the sister of the man who had been responsible for his slavery in the first place. That Uhtred had promised another year's service to Alfred,  how he had given of them a choice to follow him or not. He told her his confrontation with Guthred,  of their journey to Dunholm how he was of Uthred and Ragnar's vengeance and the rescue of their sister.

"I was surprised he didn't kill the bastard. Brida the woman who turned up today she's ballsy I'd say she woudn loved ta of killed him herself. You'd probably like her or wanna kill her. She's that kind of woman." he laughed to himself reciting her nickname for Guthred. The atmosphere was lighter now and she was still holding his hand. "Did the lady Aethelflead tell ya of what happened to her with the brothers?" This part of the story wasn't a necessity nor did Finan feel it was his place to say.

"Yes she had mentioned her kidnapping. Poor woman I can't imagine what that was like. But she earned herself a reptuation that night. Tales of her battle prowess that night spread as far as our lands." Tarian replied. They laughed a little while Finan the great story teller that he was renacting Aethelred after waking up in a pig sty.

"She left that part out!" Tarian nearly choking on her ale. Finan without a moments thought wiped the spittle from her face with a table cloth. Tarian looked down was she blushing or was that the firelight? Did every touch set his body alight as it did his? She held his gaze and in that moment the world ceased to exist.

Laughter from the other side of the room brought them back to reality and Finan continued his story right up until the exchange of Skade for Aetheflead and the cursing of Uhtred once again.

The hall grew quieter and colder Finan had spent several hours telling her the events that lead up to now. She said very little and it seemed nothing could shock her which was a relief but did he expect anything else? She was a warrior after all. These pass months he had made it known he wanted a woman and not just an endless string of tavern wenches at that. Finan new in his heart of hearts he wouldn't be with a pious Saxon woman who'd flinch at the mere sight of blood and now it seemed God had delivered a heathen warrior to their doorstep. Fate Uthred would call it. He watched her get up to stand in front of the dwindling fire. There was something he needed to know of her though.

"Why were your people trying to kill ya?" he asked softly joining her.

Tarian pressed her lips together frowning into the fireplace. "It is a long story and one i am not even sure of myself." She turned round to face him "How did you come by to be a slave?"

He had wondered if she would ask that question and that she had asked it Finan wasn't sure if he wanted to answer it or not. Looking around the hall he saw that most of the men had replied,  "that m'dear is a story for anotha' time. It's gettin' late and we've a long journey tomorra."

Finan offered to walk her back to the room she shared with Liliwen. "It's on me way back anyway." The silence was not an uncomfortable one but it wasn't exactly at empty either. There was so much he wanted to know of her and to tell her. Finan suspected she was the same. He hadn't seen her like this before as if walking on hot coals unsure of what to say, she would open her mouth to speak then close it again and bite on her lip.

In no time at all they reached her room both of them pausing at the door. Tarian had yet to look him in the eyes. "Something you wish to say?" Finan chuckled.

"Sorry? Oh yes goodnight Finan, "she turned to walk away when he gently reached out to her.

"Tarian?" he frowned.

"Yes?"

He closed the space between them in half a step his left hand cupping the side of her cheek thumbing it gently. Those eyes those lips Gently he raised her up to meet his gaze. "Tarian?" her name was all he needed to say. She nodded ever so slightly and his lips came crashing down on hers. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she pulled him closer to her. Finan had intended on taking this slowly if she felt the same but that plan went out the proverbial window as she returned his affection with undisclosed desire. His hands dropped to her waist pulling her even closer, working their way up her tunic, his cold hands on her bare skin only encouraged her further. If they kept going at this rate anyone walking by would be sure to find them in a state of undress. Finan didn't care and by the looks of it Tarian didn't either. He could feel himself growing harder,  Tarian was pressed so tightly against him she was was sure to feel it too. Rather than repel her it seemed to driver her on, kisses were faster and her fingers ran through his hair his shoulders his neck it was if she couldn't quite decide where or how or what.

"Tari..?" sound of her door creeping open brought them back down. Finan jumped back as if he had been burned and Tarian flattened her hair and pulled her tunic down. "Tari is that you?" Liliwen's sleepy voice called out her half opened eyes adjusting to the hallway torches.

"Fin?" she yawned noticing the Irishman first on the opposite wall.

"Hello lil one. Did we wake ya?"

"Tar-"

"I'm here Lil" Tarian replied.

"You...late. Dont you go somewhere morning?" she rubbed her eyes,  mumbling in broken English she yawned again.

Tarian crouched down. "Tomorrowing morning. Yes. I am late. It is time for sleep indeed. Say goodnight to Finan."

"Nigh' nigh' Fin." she yawned taking Tarian by the hand she pushed her way back into the room,  Tarian giving Finan wordless goodnight and smile.

Finan nodded and made his way down the corridor after the door had shut. Holy mother of Jesus he thought to himself running his hands through his hair. Oh sweet Jesus.

Tarian’s POV

The sun had not risen but she had woken. Liliwen’s snores had woken her and Tarian marvelled at how someone so small could take up so much of the bed for she was barely able to lie flat on her back without falling off the edge. Tarian smiled to herself touching the lips that had passionately kissed only mere hours ago. What was she doing? Should she even be entertaining this? It was just a kiss. Now that she had a taste of him she new she wanted more as did he that much was obvious. Smiling to herself she got up sleep was not going to come again she knew that and besides there was much to prepare. Tarian dressed herself in the clothes and armour that had been provided for her. Boots and cloak on daggers attached she made her way to the stables and then on to the forest. She would not be warrior nor die a warrior's death without the body paint that showed the gods just who she was.

Tarian had been trotting through the forest her eyes sharp for the isatis tinctoria plant -surprised it grew here- she felt it. Someone was following her. Tarian knew she fought better on her feet than horse back so she dismantled. Were her people still here? Watching her every move? Or was it Danes? The full moon was both an advantage and a hindrance as she made her her way into the thicker woods. They were so close now. So close she could nearly here them breathing. One was certainly within reach but were there more? 1 2 3... She spun round dagger unleashed and it met a Celtic shield. "Tarian!" the voice cried out from behind the shield. Recognising that voice she prepared to fire the second for she had recently aquired a third. Yet she hesitated. "Why are you still here Arthfael?! Come to finish what your assassin started?" she spat. "That was not on my orders." Arthfael replied from behind the shield. "Give me on reason why I should believe anything you say!" "If I wanted you dead child you would be." Tarian snorted. His words were not a comfort despite how true they were. "Put down your dagger child there is much to discuss and very little time to discuss it." "How many more are out there?!" "None I came alone. I have been watching you since you left the estate. I would have killed you already if I wanted you dead." Tarian sighed. She should've known. Arthfael despite his age was one of the best archers in their kingdom and he done her grandfather a great service during his reign. Tarian sheathed her dagger. "Speak your peace." Arthfael lowered his shield taking out the dagger he walked towards her handing it back on the promise she would not attempt to kill him again. "Your assassin has been dealt with." "Who was it?" "According to Arawn it was a warrior of Dyfed by the name of Gwenlith." "Arawn?" Tarian asked Arthfael nodded both of them knew the man was not to be trusted. "Her husband had died in a manner similar to what would have been your fate. You had the good sense to teach Liliwen a thing or two." "Yes it saved my life as did she." The was a pause when Arthfael did not speak  Tarian added. "Is this what you risked your life to tell me?" Arthfael laughed "No child. You are being watched. Every step you make." "So order them home." "While those currently here are mine more will come. Everyone has an interest in the kingdom's take over since the death of the your grandfather. You should now your mother's brother has fallen." "What? How?!" "Illness." "Illness?!" "It is suspicious yes. His heir was is too young and your uncles are now fighting for the throne. Everyone is looking for you as your marriage may will settle the dispute." "Marry one of my uncles?! How would me marrying settle any of this?" The very thought disgusted her but it was not unheard of in their lands. "It's not just your uncles who see take over. There are others from Gywnedd and Dfyed who all say they have a claim." Tarian scoffed at the idea. "And for this I was nearly killed?! Surely I am not the only woman with an apparent connection to the throne eligible for marriage?" "No you are not but you are the best prospect. You battle prowless has garnered much attention not to mention your father." Tarian stared at him stunned. He had never mentioned her father before in fact no one had mentioned him-ever. How Tarian came to be about on this earth was never spoken of. "My fath-" "Yes the great Jarl Jurgen. You didn't think it was chance those Danes were able to take you did you?" Tarian remembered the events of that day and had at some stage realised it was a trap. "So it was a set up by whom and why?" "I have some theories." Arthfael sighed "But the most plausible one is that your father offered a great reward for your return and whoever had organised this clearly got wind of it." "Why would a great Danish lord want his bastard child-a woman at that- from a slave that badly?" "You are not a bastard." "I-I'm wh-" "You are not a bastard."  Arthfael replied. "Explain. Please." her voice was barely that of a whisper. "After your mother was taken it was sometime before negotiations begun. As typical with Danes they asked for too much. Your uncle Merfyn who had inherited our land from your grandfather declined. He knew he was going to have a fight on his hands to keep his crown so he told the Danes no." "Shit eating coward." "I offered to rescue your mother. I said I would shadow walk-I believe the Saxons call it? And kill everyone of them. Merfyn wouldn't allow it. Your mother was my greatest friend and her brother wouldn't even let me rescue her." "Probably worried about the threat if she married or-" "Exactly. We had many battles in the upcoming weeks two attempts on his life directly. By the time I could get to your mother she was pregnant with you. I journeyed to their stronghold and waited days and nights I knew how much she loved the forest-you are so much like her" he reached out to rub her hair. "She was picking berries with your father and his guard. She was happy laughing stroking her swollen belly as did he. I left her a message on the tree and she came one night alone. Your beloved mother told me she had been free to leave a long time ago but chose to stay. She knew the political upheaval and despite your brother quite happy to leave her in the hands of the enemy she did not wish to endanger his life or rule by returning. So she stayed." "She's a better woman than I. I would have had his head." Arthfael laughed "Well you are part Dane." "So the night we were rescued." "You weren’t rescued. Your mother loved her husband that I am sure of. I went bac once or twice to see her always in secret of course. You were both so happy and healthy. You look so much like her in beauty and in battle.That temperament however" he teased as they both laughed. Tarian's face sobered "Then who is responsible for her death? And why is my father only coming for me now?" "I know not but I shan’t rest ‘till I find out. As for your father well you are now of age and perhaps he has heard of the threat to your life. Who knows of his reasons? One thing is for certain you cannot ignore this forever." A twig snapped in the distance. Footsteps approaching. Arthfael held his arms up in the air as he felt the end of a sword in his back. "I am no threat to you Saxon." he said in their language to the surprise of Tarian but what surprised her even more was the man on the other end of that sword. "Who are you and why are you in the land of Mercia Celt?" The voice belonged to that of Uhtred of Bebbanburg. "He is a friend Lord." Tarian replied yet Uhtred still had his sword pointed at the elder's man back. Should Arthfael resist Uthred would kill him. Tarian eyes wide stared at Arthfael silently pleading with him. The older man was quite unpredictable but he was not stupid. Surely he knew resisting against the land's greatest warrior could only mean death. "Correct me if I am wrong Tarian but was it not your own people who tried to kill you?" "Yes Uhtred it was-but not on my orders" Arthfael said exasperated. Tarian wondered if he was starting to tire of saying that. Uhtred looked to Tarian who nodded. "Is there any danger to the lady of Mercia or those who reside with her?" "Believe it or not Dane Slayer  the Celts have no interest in your activities provided they stay on this side. The perpetrator has been dealt with I have no quarrel with you or those under your protection and it is mostly my people that watch these woods." "Why do you linger?" "Has Tarian sworn an oath to you?" Arthfael asked Uhtred ignoring his question. Tarian who was beginning to get annoyed with them acting like she wasn't here responded. "Yes Arthfael I have sworn an oath to this man and I will not go back on it. Liliwen is to stay she is safest here they have sworn to keep her safe." Uhtred looked and Tarian with surprise. Did he honestly doubt her? Tarian felt hurt rather than offended at the thought. He still did not trust her fully. "Yes you are right." Arthfael replied. "Liliwen wouldn't come willingly. She is happy?" "Yes." "Then I will leave. I have said all I need to say. I will withdraw with my people and head back home." As Uhtred lowered his sword Arthfael went to embrace Tarian he whispered in her ear "You will have to face your past eventually. I can only keep them away for so long. They will never stop as long as you are still breathing." He kissed her the way a father would a child and retreated to thicker part of the forest. Even though the sun was rising Arthfael disappeared almost instantly in the shadows. Uthred raised an eyebrow at Tarian she would have a lot of explaining to do. "Why were you out here lord?" she asked as they headed back to the forest. "You ask me that question?" Uthred asked almost teasing. "I could ask you the same. I could not sleep and saw you heading to the forest. I was curious." he added. "You do not trust me do you?" "I trust you more now. What did the man say to you?" Tarian told Uhtred that likewise she could not sleep either and of what Arthfael had said to her. She delberately left out the part of her father not wanting to cast further doubt over her loyalty. "I would be lying to us both if I said I didn't expect this. Our kingdoms have always been at each other 's throats. More so than Danes or Saxons they do not hesitate to kill their own blood. My grandfather was the one who inherited the great kingdom of Gwynedd and Powys thus ruling over the majority of Wales. There are lesser kingdoms who naturally were not happy with this." "Well on the upside Tarian should you perish in the battle to come it will no longer be your problem." Uhtred laughed as they mounted their horses. Tarian glared at him. "I will as you one more thing" Uhtred added. "Yes?" "It is about Finan." Tarian blushed and looked away. Had Finan told the men about their passionate embrace outside her door? Probably he is a man is that not what men do? Boast of their conquests? Why did she believe him to be any different? Was Uhtred going to reprimand her? She had been silent for too long. "What about him Lord? "I saw you both in the hall yesterday evening. Normally I wouldn't intervene in these types of things with my men-warriors-" he corrected himself. "But he is one of my dearest friends and a good man. I ask you for his sake should you become his woman and he your man that you do not keep him in the dark about this he will need to know if he is to remain at your side." Tarian paused for a moment looking at the lord trying to remember what had happened to suggest anything. The grabbing of his hand when he wiped my face.. And what of Finan? Do I truly desire him that much? To put his life in further danger? Tarian cursed herself for being too forward. He did not mention the kiss did that mean Finan didn't tell him? "Should it go any further I will tell him what he needs to know." Tarian replied after much thought. "Does this mean you approve?" "I do not disapprove." Uhtred shrugged. "Speaking of good men my Lord Finan brought me up to speed in regards to everything with this curse. I offer you my condolences for your brother lord that and the head of this Norse witch." Uhtred smiled sadly and looked  towards the gate they were now approaching. "My thanks for your offer Tarian but I must be the one to end her life if I am to end this curse."

@itzmegaaaaaaan @geekandbooknerd @laketaj24 @tesstrash @ariellostatci

@xthezodiacage @sprinklesthrows17 @medievalfangirl 

[justjessame]

Early Warning Chapter 5

Riley spent the next morning keeping Ben company while Reed studied Sue and Johnny. First, she put on some music to help her think. Her playlists included things for cleaning (solid AC/DC and metal, cleaning sucked, right?), cooking (always a pleasure so Imagine Dragons and Hozier), and writing (depended on the topic). She clicked up the cooking playlist and began.

First on the agenda was finding a better way for Ben to eat. Already half of Reed’s silverware was mangled. Sadly his massive hands and newly acquired strength weren’t made for regular utensils. She was ignoring the amount of shattered drinkware.

As she cooked him a full breakfast complete with fresh squeezed orange juice, she contemplated the dilemma. Searching the drawers in Reed’s kitchen, she shocked Ben with a happy squeal. She held up a large cooking spoon, a meat fork, and a butcher knife and did a happy dance as Ben chuckled.

“Nearly as ingenious as your brother, lil sis.” His gravelly voice offered as he took his new set of flatware. He smiled as he used them for the first time on her well prepared breakfast. She followed up the first discovery by giving him a plastic pitcher full of orange juice.

Riley felt accomplished and extremely proud. One issue down. Around 1,000 more to go.

They sat and joked about past visits, killing time until Reed’s attention would focus on Ben’s turn in the petri dish. They were leaning over the photo album Riley carried with her everywhere and reminiscing about the past. It was filled with photos of her and Reed throughout the years. Their parents and Ben were also featured prominently. So engrossed with laughter at some of the passing years’ memories brought to the forefront by the pictures, they didn’t notice when the others joined them.

“What are you two so fascinated over?” Reed asked, taking a look over Riley’s shoulder. “Dear God, put that away.” His voice was heavy with embarrassment.

“Come on, Reed,” Ben chuckled, his mood vastly improved by the morning with his adopted little sister’s company. “Not ALL the pictures are embarrassing. The one at Riley’s graduation is pretty decent.”

“It’s at the very end of the book.” Reed protested. Sue and Johnny were looking far too interested for his sanity.

Riley giggled, “Look, big brother, no one picked out those clothes for you.” She rolled her eyes at his silent pleading. “I’ll put it away.” She stashed it in a nearby drawer. “How was whatever it was that you were doing?”

Reed launched into an explanation that she had no hope of understanding. In fact, aside from Sue, she doubted anyone else present in the kitchen could hope to keep up with her brother’s scientific mumbo jumbo. While he kept blathering on, she set about making the others breakfast. Frying eggs, sausage, bacon, toasting bread and squeezing oranges for more fresh juice. She hip checked Ben to reach for the butter. She didn’t realize that she had a captive audience. Johnny watched while Riley flitted around the kitchen, smiling as she practically danced while keeping the breakfast cooking. Her brother kept talking about his findings, but like him, she showed little interest. When she bumped her hip against Ben’s, he wished she was touching him.

Putting plates, glasses, and non-destroyed silverware in front of the three of them, she filled their plates and poured juice. Reed stopped talking when he noticed his full plate. While losing himself in the excitement of his research, he hadn’t noticed his sister fixing breakfast.

“Looks wonderful, Riley.” He offered, taking up his silverware. The first bite made him make an almost inhuman moan. “I forgot how good your cooking is, good God.”

Smirking she leaned against the counter. “Now that he’s quiet,” she glanced at the others. “Dig in!” They did and she felt that at least she’d kept them fed.

Johnny took a bite and had to hold back his own moan. Damn, how did she make regular breakfast food taste so amazing? He wondered what other talents she had and flashed to the night before-the bathroom, her wet- He felt a sharp poke in his side. Sue had pulled him out of his thoughts.

“What?” He glared at his sister. She pointed at his hand, it was steaming, as was the rest of him. “Shit.” He dropped the fork before he could melt it.

“Having some steam thoughts, flame boy?” Ben gave a gravely chuckle.

Riley bit her lip, fairly certain where Johnny’s train of thought had led, but sobered when she reconsidered. She was most definitely NOT the only naked woman he’d ever seen. Hell, she couldn’t be sure she was the only naked woman he’d seen this week. Sighing she sat another, cool fork down in front of him.

“Once you cool off, try this one.” She offered, starting for her rooms on the other side of the building. “I cooked, clean up is up to you!” And she was gone.

Johnny felt confused. He was sure that she knew what caused the embarrassing display. He’d seen her bite her totally kissable lip, saw the look in her eyes, and then it was gone. And so was she. He wanted to rush through the amazing breakfast she’d made and rush after her, but he couldn’t, at least not yet.

On the other side of the building, Riley sat at the desk in her room and faced her computer. She needed to spend at least some time writing, she told herself. Refusing to admit that she just ran away from the kitchen and one of the literally hottest men she’d ever met.

Opening up her saved document, she reread the story so far, it had been awhile since she’d sat down and gave it a go. The story came back to her as she scanned it, fixing the few errors she noticed on this read. Rolling her shoulders and moving her neck so it could release some built up tension, she reached for her phone to put on her writing playlist. Thank God for Pandora, she thought, bringing up the best playlist/channel to go with her current story. Settling in to the music, who could write with regular classical music she wondered as she listened to Ed Sheeran begin the song “Happier”.

At the end of the document she found it easy to keep the flow of the story going as she lost herself in the music and the tempo that she was building. She didn’t notice him watching from the doorway. Didn’t see him smile as he watched her fingers move across the keyboard of her laptop like she was in a trance. She did everything with such passion that he couldn’t help but admire her. And music, he noted played a large part in her life. Here, in the bathroom, in the kitchen. He listened to the music and found it nice and sad. He wondered what she was writing that this was the inspiration?

“Are you going to stand there staring or are you going to come in and say something?” She asked, never taking her eyes off her screen. She’d felt his presence as he listened to the next song on her playlist. She didn’t look at him, deciding that he could have his say while she worked. Multitasking was a skill she was proficient at and she was choosing to utilize it now.

He gave a small sigh and walked in. Standing awkwardly he tried to think of what to say and if he should sit. She looked busy. Finally deciding to sit on the bed, he watched her for a second and then blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Why’d you run out of the kitchen so fast, Riley?”

It was her turn to sigh. Tact, she thought, was clearly not Johnny Storm’s strong suit. Then she considered the little bit she knew about him and wondered why she was surprised. He was open and honest, something she could admire and enjoy. Unfortunately, it made for uncomfortable situations like this one. “I didn’t run. I have work to do.” She lied.

He grunted, not convinced. “Work came up when I nearly set fire to the kitchen?” He asked, his eyebrow arched, even if she couldn’t see him.

She bit her lip, damn him and his observational skills. “Well, you seemed to get it under control, and I haven’t worked on my story for awhile, so-”

“So you ran like I lit your hair on fire.” He said, groaning and lying back on the bed crosswise. “I don’t buy it.” “I don’t really care what you buy, Johnny.” She said, turning her chair to face him. “Not everything is about you.”

He raised up, using his elbows to elevate him to meet her eyes. “Bullshit.” His eyes looked slightly hooded and framed with the longest lashes she’d ever seen on a man. And damn, they were so blue she had to bite her lip again. “I don’t mean that everything is about me, Riley, but you ran like a rabbit when I started to steam. I know you know exactly why I was steaming too. So why’d you run?”

Her eyes dilated. So it was about her. “I wasn’t sure.” She started, realizing that writing words for others to say in a situation like this was much easier than saying them herself. She rolled her eyes and looked back at him laying so sinfully on her bed.

“About?” He asked, sitting up and letting her thoughts calm a little.

“What made you steam.” She answered, staring him dead in the eye. “I mean, since I’ve known you, there’ve been a bevy of women, and it’s been two weeks, maybe.”

He blushed, realizing she was right. He was a playboy, for fuck’s sake it was a running joke with everyone from his family to Ben. Of course she wasn’t sure. He was such an ass, and a dick. Shit.

He reached out and took one of her hands. “Riley, it was you. That’s what I was thinking about. You, in the bathroom, in that bathtub, and the bubbles almost gone. My God, do you have any idea how hot you are?” His skin started to steam again, and she pulled him off the bed.

“Calm down,” she whispered, smiling. “You’re going to make my bed catch flames, and I can’t be sure that anything in this room is flame retardant.”

Her touch and voice did it. He didn’t want to accidently set fire to her, or her bed. Sighing he cupped her cheek with a still very warm hand. “This is so hard.” He almost whined. “I didn’t have any issues with control-before.”

She understood. He meant with the nurses, or the other women he’d entertained since coming back from space. With her, however, it seemed to be flare up, no pun intended, without his even noticing. “You didn’t hurt anything, Johnny. It’s fine.”

“Is it?” He asked, pulling his hand away when he noticed her skin getting a little clammy with sweat. “Your skin is sweating because I touched you, Riley. If I can’t even cup your cheek, how can I-”

“Johnny,” he brought his eyes back to hers. “Your control is going to come back.” He snorted with doubt. “Hey, didn’t I figure out Ben’s utensil and drinking issues? My brother might be the scientific genius in the family, but I figure out how to fix things.”

He stared at her, wondering why he felt so strongly for a woman he’d barely kissed. No one had ever held his interest for any longer than it took them to have sex. Then he’d be right on to the next one. Maybe that’s what the steam was, he wanted her and once he had her he’d be back to normal. The thought wasn’t a pleasant one and he was shocked. It’s almost like he wanted to keep her.

“Riley,” he whispered, wondering if he could manage to kiss her again without making the walls burst into flames. As he dipped his head toward hers, he realized the song playing was “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran, and thought it was exactly how he felt. Their lips met, her hands came to wrap around his neck and he felt amazing. She was perfect, the way their lips fit, the way her hands felt on his skin. As the kiss deepened, he wondered how he could keep her.

[autvmnalsky]

Jeon Jungkook Is Dead (1/3)

Jungkook has been acting a little strange lately...

Member: Jungkook 

POV: Reader 

Genre: Crack, Angst, Mystery, and do I dare call this SciFi?

Word Count: 3,145

Content/Warnings: Non romantic affiliation between Jungkook and reader but there is Jikook relationship. Strong language, mentions of sex.

A/N: written with the help of my soulmate @jeonjiah

Jeon Jungkook has always been a strange one. With his toned, muscular body and contradictory adorable bunny face, his absurd athleticism and ridiculous ability to do anything and everything perfectly, it's a wonder how he's even human.

You’ve watched him grow and change over the last few years, become the man he is today. And that man… That man… Oh boy, where do you start?

When he first came to BigHit, he was so small, so shy. Whenever you did his makeup or helped him get dressed, he would always look straight ahead, never at you, and definitely not in your eyes. You didn’t see this as rudeness. You’ve worked with countless trainees in the past, and knew that having all these people constantly touching you takes some getting used to.

He quickly grew out of his shyness and became more confident (maybe a little too confident)  in his looks and his abilities. Within the first year of his debut, he changed so drastically that, looking back, you have a hard time processing that the little, shy boy who came to you nearly six years ago was the same man who is seated before you right now.

Jungkook sits in your makeup chair while you dab foundation on the small scar on his cheek. You wonder why you’re even doing this, since his skin is always completely flawless. But you guess if you didn’t, you’d be out of a job.

“Noona, I’m thinking of changing my earrings,” Jungkook states as you apply concealer over his non existent dark circles.

You sigh. “Jungkook it's only been a few months. You have to wait at least a year for them to heal completely,” you tell him. Jungkook is always overestimating himself, thinking he can do things that don’t seem possible. However, you supposed he has good reason to, since he’s always able to do those impossible things.

“No, I don't,” he insists. “They're perfectly fine right now.” To prove it he flicks his ear a couple of times just below the piercings. You wince, because on any other person, that would have hurt.

“Didn’t your piercer tell you that they heal from the outside in? So even if they look healed, there’s a high chance that they’re not this early on.”

“But Noona I really think they’re ready!” 

Again, you sigh. “I don't think you should do it, but you’re an adult and I can't stop you.”

He gives a smug grin as you finish up his makeup and send him off to get changed.

The next day you see Jungkook and lo and behold, he changed his earrings. His helix now sports two little silver rings that fit his ear just right. 

The first thing he does when he sees you is walk over to you so you can survey his new jewelry in all its glory. “See, Noona! They’re fine!”

Amazingly they are fine. No swelling or redness or anything whatsoever. Even though it's only been three months. His healing time seemed inhuman. Out of all the people you've known with cartilage piercings, including you, trying to take them out before the suggested healing time of one year caused the piercings to become inflamed and sometimes even infected. But his look as if they’d been healed for years.

How is that possible? Three months! What kind of person could do that? Everyone. Everyone– piercers, piercees, even just random people on the internet– says you have to wait at least a year and here he was totally fine after only three months. This just does not seem possible. This was the first of your suspicions that something was off about Jeon Jungkook.

You kind of just accept this odd feeling and pretty much forget about it after a few weeks. With Bangtan flying all over the world for their tour, doing American promotions, and attending the Billboard Music Awards, you don’t have much time to think about anything but work.

A couple months later, Bangtan are scheduled to do some overseas promotion in Japan. One of the events they will be attending is a baseball game where Jungkook has been chosen to throw the first pitch. “We’re going to have baseball jerseys with your names on them made for the game, but you get to choose the number on the back,” you explain to Jungkook. “What number do you want?” “Hmm…” He gives the question some thought. “Fifty eight,” he declares with a nod. “Fifty eight? Why?”

The other members chose numbers that related to their birthdays or birth years, aside from Hoseok, who chose 7 for all seven members of BTS. But you couldn’t think of any relation between the number 58 and Jungkook.

“Sounds like oppa. Oh. Pal,” he answers sternly, nodding once again.

This fuckin kid I swear to god, you think to yourself. “Why? You hate being called Oppa.” “I changed my mind.”

You’re taken aback by how plain and matter of fact his answer is. “What do you mean you changed your mind?”

“ARMY love calling me Oppa, and I love ARMY, so by transitive property, I now love being called Oppa.”

You don’t know what to say. You have no choice but to put in the order. Thus, two weeks later, Jungkook throws the first pitch at a Japanese baseball game with fucking Oppa on his back. 

The morning after the game, one of the other stylists catches up with you while you’re getting your morning coffee at the hotel’s cafe.

“Hey did you hear about Jungkook?” He asks you.

“Hear what? Is he okay? Did he hurt himself yesterday?” He was always pushing his limits when it came to sports and athletics, so it would only be a matter of time before he ended up seriously hurting himself. “I haven’t seen him since before the game.”

“No, he’s not hurt or anything like that.” He grabs a packet of sugar and dumps the contents into his cup.

“Oh. Then what’s up?” You ask, handing him a stir stick.

“You know how he threw the first pitch right?”

“Yeah…”

“Officials said his pitch exceeded speeds of 100 kilometers per hour…”

You take a sip of your coffee. Knowing nothing about sports, you look at him expectantly for an explanation.

“That’s usually only accomplished by experienced pitchers.”

You almost spit out your drink. “What the fuck? That doesn’t sound right? Jungkook just started practicing last week!”

You remember accompanying him to practice that day and watched him pitch a baseball for the first time in years. He was a little rusty. The pitches never landed where he wanted them, but apparently the kid learns fast. Maybe a little too fast...

About a week and a half later, on Bangtan’s fourth anniversary, yet another incident occurs.

There you are, minding your own business, doing Jimin’s makeup when Jungkook walks in with half a kiwi stuffed in his mouth.

“Hmm mmm mmm,” he mumbles.

“What?”

He chews and then swallows. “I said ‘Hey Noona!’” He grins and waves at you.

“Oh hey, Jungkook. How are you today?” You ask distractedly, struggling to get the eyeshadow on Jimin’s eyelid to look how you want it.

“I’m great! Jimin, I brought you something.” Jungkook hands Jimin a bowl full of freshly cut fruit.

“Thanks,” Jimin replies, trying to stay as still as possibly so you don’t accidentally stab him in the eye.

“Noona have you eaten yet?”

“Not yet Jungkook. I’m going to grab something to eat after I finish up Jimin.”

“I ordered a food truck for our fourth anniversary so all of the staff get free lunch today.”

“That’s very sweet of you, Jungkook.” You finish up Jimin’s lash line and step back to smile at Jungkook.

“Guess what the truck is called, Noona!” He’s bouncing up and down, childishly giddy.

You giggle. It’s so cute to see him so happy like this. Lately you’ve only seen him act all serious for interviews and public outings. Seeing this excited is quite refreshing.

“What is it called, Jungkookie?” You address him by the pet name you hadn’t used since he grew out of his baby face. However, seeing him like this, you felt the urge to bring it back.

“OPPA!”

The smile falls from your face. “Oppa,” you repeat, mouth forming a straight line.

“Yes. Oppa. The Oppa Truck.” He looks so proud of the name, as if he just won an award for it or something.

“You must be kidding me.”

You just stand there, stunned, maybe even a little exasperated. Just a few months ago Jungkook was adamant about not being called oppa. If you even mentioned the word around him he would look disgusted and walk out. One day he throws a hissy fit over someone calling him Oppa and the next he’s naming everything associated with him Oppa? What is up with him?

The first thing you do when you get home that night is investigate. And according to you, “investigating” means turning to Google to answer the questions that have been plaguing your mind.

“Sudden changes in behavior” you type into the search bar. Most of the results have to do with dementia in older adults, and you didn’t think Jungkook had that, so you decide to try again.

“Sudden changes in behavior in celebrities” you search. The first article is about how celebrities can start to think that they’re above the law or above public scrutiny when they possess a great amount of wealth. What Jungkook is doing is definitely not illegal, nor is it particularly controversial. It’s just odd as hell for him. These results are better, but still not what you’re looking for.

You keep clicking and searching and somehow you end up on an article about celebrity conspiracy theories. More specifically, theories about how some celebrities actually died years ago and were replaced by doppelgangers, robots, and, in Avril Lavigne’s case, a lizard person.

Finally something that makes sense! It’s so obvious now! The Jungkook you knew and loved was replaced by a robot! That explained the sudden change in personality, the superhuman healing, and the absurd knack for athleticism. That’s it! But Jeon Jungkook being replaced by a robot had to mean one thing:

Jeon Jungkook is dead. 

But when could that have happened? You were with him for a majority of the last few months. Surely you would have noticed if your long time friend and client died. And there was that one time during the Wings promotion where Jungkook cut himself and bled on stage. Robots can’t bleed so it would have had to have been sometime after that.

Your mind draws a blank when you try to think of what happened between then and now. Holy shit, you think. Does this have something to do with the government? Did they wipe my memory? Why can’t I remember anything?

You can feel a migraine starting to develop and resign to go to bed. Maybe you’ll confront him in the morning. Maybe you’ll wake up and find that this is just a dream. All you know right now is that you’re exhausted and staying up probably won’t lead to anything new, so you go to sleep.

In your sleep, your mind tries to piece everything together. You dream of Jungkook – not like that, to you, he’s still a child for god’s sake. You dream of him laying on a bed – again, not like that– with a vague figure hovering over him. Jungkook’s chest has been cut open, revealing wires and circuit boards and all sorts of technology far too advanced for you to even comprehend. The vague figure pokes and prods around in there, moving wires around and soldering pieces together. He’s so absorbed in what he’s doing he doesn’t notice you standing by the door. He keeps working and you keep watching. Suddenly, one of Jungkook’s eyes pops out of his head and rolls off the bed toward you. You scream as it comes to a stop near your feet. The vague figure looks up, and once he realizes he’s been caught, he lunges at you with a screwdriver, driving it through your eye socket and into your brain. The world goes black and then you find yourself awake in a cold sweat.

You try to remember the details of your dream. You try to remember the vague figure’s face.

You’ve seen that face before. You can’t remember what he looks like, but you remember thinking as he lunged toward you, I know this man.

This dream only acts as an affirmation that it’s up to you to find out what’s going on.

The next day you go to work all jittery. You opt to skip the coffee, since it would make your hands shake even more, which would not be good in your line of work.

You need answers, but you don’t even know how you would go about getting them.

Do you just ask around? Does anyone know? Has anyone noticed a difference in Jungkook? Did anyone witness his death? You need to know.

Your first client of the day is Jimin. Having worked with these boys for years, you know that Jimin is the closest with Jungkook out of the other six. You also know that he can’t lie to save his life, so hopefully he’ll crack and tell you something. You start off the conversation comfortably, asking him how his day is going, whether or not he’s eaten yet. The usual.

Once there’s a break in the flow, you take the opportunity to attack.

“Hey Jimin have you noticed anything weird about Jungkook lately?” You ask, keeping your voice light and casual. His eyes bulge. Got him. In all honesty, you weren’t expecting him to crack so soon. You make a mental note to never trust him with any of your secrets.

He shifts in the makeup chair. “Why do you ask that?” You take a fluffy brush and sweep a brown shadow over his lid. “I don't know. I feel like he's been a little off lately and you seem to be the closest to him.” You lean in so that your nose is less than an inch from his and whisper, “Also I know you can't lie.” He leans his head back to get away. “N-no!” He replies a little too abruptly. “I think he's totally fine!” You lean in closer. “You’re lying, Park Jimin! I know it!” “No I'm not!” He tries to squirm out of the chair. “YOU’RE A TERRIBLE LIAR!” Seeing as you’re not going to let him go any time soon, he resigns. “Okay, fine there is something going on.” He sighs. You listen with anticipation. ”But I don't know if Jungkook would want me telling you. “ You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Come on please?” You pout. “I thought I was your favorite noona.” You’re so close! You just need him to break. “You are... but... I don't know. I just can't. Not many people know. Not even some of the members.” Why would they hide something so big from the members? Surely it would be important enough to tell Bangtan that their own lead singer died and was replaced by a robot?

“Fine,” you huff.

You finish up Jimin’s makeup and dismiss him. You don’t know who they’re going to send through your door next, and your heart starts racing when you see that it’s Jungkook.

“Hey, Noona! What’s up?” he greets as he plops down into the chair. You uselessly begin applying BB cream on him with your hands. “Your skin feels so real,” you observe, not realizing that you had said it outloud.

“What do you mean by that, Noona?” Jungkook’s brows furrow.

“What? Nothing.” You choose to finish up his face with a makeup sponge. “How are you Jungkook?” you ask him, trying to shift the attention away from you. “Not much is up with me.” You narrow your eyes at him. “But I know something's up with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I asked Jimin if there was something going on because I felt something was odd about you lately and you know he can't lie. But he told me to ask you about it.” You lean closer trying to stare him down. But his eyes don’t change, his breathing doesn’t waver. He frowns at you. “There is something going on, Noona.” “Tell me, Jungkookie.”

He hesitates. Is this it? Are you finally going to get confirmation that Jungkook is a robot? You can’t stand the anticipation. Your heart is beating out of your chest, your hands are gripping the armrests of the chair as you lean forward, waiting.

“Jimin and I are sleeping together.” “Are you real?” You blurt out at the same time. “What?” you both say together. “Noona, what do you mean am I real? As opposed to what? A robot?” He chuckles at the trivial notion. “Uhhh I uhhh. You and Jimin huh?” You ask, trying to change the subject after realizing how ridiculous your theory sounds when said out loud “Yeah. Is that wrong?” He looks up at you for your approval, as if he was afraid he’d disappoint you. Again you see in him the small child who once came to you whenever he was nervous. The one whose hands you had to hold to keep them from shaking too much before a performance. As much as this kid annoyed you or frustrated you, he could never disappoint you. “No. Not at all.” You place a hand on his cheek to reassure him. “To be honest, I had been suspecting something between you two for a while, but I just assumed you were really close.” All traces of that child disappears so suddenly and a cocky smirk takes its place. “Oh we're definitely close.” He winks at you. You roll your eyes and lean back. “Okay that solves that,” you declare, clapping your hands together. “Thanks for telling me.”

You expect him to get up and leave, but he remains in his seat, so you just stand back and stare at him. 

“Wait, are we done?”

“Yup.” You dispose of the makeup sponge and clean up your workstation.

“But what about my makeup?”

“There’s not much to be done, to be honest. You’re flawless as always, Jeon Jungkook.” “Alright, cool.” Smiling, he stands up and makes his way to the door. Before he exits he turns back to you. “Oh, and can you please not tell anyone, Noona? Not even Taehyung knows and I don't want it to get out. It's not that I don't trust them, I just... I'm not ready to tell them yet.”

“Okay, I understand.”

He leaves and you go about your work day without realizing that his answer didn’t explain any of the strange things that have been happening with him.

[moonlit-maiden]

The Archer’s 1000 Picspam —> 87: Bisexual Fairer-than-a-Fairy

Fairy Re-Tellings

In a far-off land there lived a King and Queen who were blessed with many happy, healthy children. One day, the royal pair decided to take one of their routine journeys across the kingdom to see the people and get a sense of the goings on. As they journeyed, the Queen asked to stop at a castle, for she was heavy with child. Said child was ready to be born and came crying into the world with strong lungs and tears down her face. But despite the tears and afterbirth, she shone with a loveliness that was almost unearthly. Thus, she was dubbed Fairer-then-a-Fairy by the attending midwives.

As Fairer-then-a-Fairy grew, her loveliness continued to bloom; skin so pale as to be translucent, hair light and waved like silky moonbeams. Her eyes were a pale grey and lips as sweet-pink as rose petals. Her beauty became known throughout the lands and many came to visit, just to catch a glimpse of her loveliness. One such king brought his daughter, Désirs. Désirs was almost Fairer-then-a-Fairy’s opposite in coloring; hair dark and thick like midnight, eyes the rich brown of soil after the rain, and delicate freckles sprinkled over her nose bridge and cheekbones like stardust. The two young maids met and fell in love, hearts pounding and cheeks flushed as secret smiles were exchanged. Many times after that the two princesses would sneak away and spend long twilights in the gardens, talking about their lives as they held hands and gifted one another with sugary kisses.

One springtime, Désirs did not appear. Her letters became stilled and Fairer-then-a-Fairy wept, heart broken in her chest. She wrote letter after letter, begging for forgiveness for whatever transgression she had mad in err. Still no reply. Fairer-then-a-Fairy stopped writing, silently locking away her sorrow.

At the age of 12, word of Fairer-then-a-Fairy’s beauty had spread so far as to reach the ears of the ephemeral Fae. They seethed in anger at the audacity to name a human such a thing, but also of whatever forces of Fate had gifted a lowly human with such radiant beauty. The Queen of the Fae, Nabote, knew this scalding insult could not stand. And so, she went to the castle, planning to drag the impudent wench from her own home to receive her punishment. As she did, she was ensnared by magic and cried out in agony as the spell woven into the very mortar of the castle lashed at her. It seemed a spell had been placed on the castle that allowed the occupants neither to be taken from their home unwillingly nor to be bewitched into leaving themselves. Queen Nabote knew this would make her task more difficult but she wasn’t the Queen of the Fae for nothing.

To this end, Nabote transformed herself into a simple servant girl and entered the service of the royal family. In this way she befriended Fairer-then-a-Fairy and once gaining the naive girl’s trust, laid out her plan. In truth, Fairer-then-a-Fairy found the servant girl beautiful, reminding her of her lost love Désirs. So, when the disguised fae feinted fainting outside the castle walls in line of Fairer-then-a-Fairy’s sight, the girl rushed to her side and was taken away.

Fairer-then-a-Fairy was placed into an enchanted room, her silks and chiffon shredded into rags and caked in mud as she had been dragged by the Fae Queen. ‘Clean until this is spotless!’ she was commanded, before being left all alone. But try as the girl might, the room only became more sullied. Should she sweep, her broom deposited dirt. Should she dust, the feather duster coughed up cobwebs.  Fairer-then-a-Fairy sat down in the filth and cried, heartbroken once again in sorrow for being taken from her home and family.

Unknown to the girl, another fae watched her weep, heartstrings pulled both by her sorrow and her beauty. It was the Queen’s son, Phratis, who watched the innocent girl cry and in a fit of passion decided to help instead of hurt. With the flick of his willowy wrist he made the dirt disappear and Fairer-then-a-Fairy startled at the sudden change. ‘I mean you no harm.’ Phratis said shyly, revealing himself to the human. Fairer-then-a-Fairy couldn’t help but stare at the young man, the way his limbs moved with inhuman grace, the way his eyes were the soft green of the meadow. She caught freckles sprinkled across his collarbone and cheeks like fairy dust, hair waved and wild like a dark wind. The human flushed at such beauty in a man, noting only when she looked away the gossamer wings behind him, like a dragonfly’s.

‘Take this key.’ Phratis instructed. ‘And open the wooden panel right over there. Look what is behind and take joy into your heart again.’ For he knew what was behind the panel and though it ached his heart, so taken by Fairer-then-a-Fairy’s beauty that he’d rather her happiness then his own. Fairer-then-a-Fairy did as instructed and cried out in joy when her eyes set upon the princess, Désirs. The two locked gazes and sprang into each other’s arms, weeping with joy. Désirs explained to her beloved princess as to her disappearance; she had been taken by the fae for her dark beauty, the fae angered that Fate had gifted a human so. ‘Why must they cage beauty?’ Fairer-then-a-Fairy asked out loud, stroking Désirs midnight hair. ‘Because we cannot bear to let it be free from us.’ Phratis whispered in reply at the archway as he looked at the joy the two girls shared.

With another wave, Phratis cleaned the eternally dirtied room Désirs occupied and disappeared, hoping this would be enough to let the princesses be free and happy together. Alas, it was for naught. When the fae guards came to check on the girls, they saw the spotless rooms and reported this to Queen Nabote. The queen flew into a rage and came herself to see the miracle. She knew only another fae could have done this and so ripped the girls apart and tasked them once more; Fairer-then-a-Fairy was to gather the Water of Immortal Life from the peak of Mount Adventurous as Désirs was sent to a beach to write something, anything, on the sands on the condition it never faded neither by ocean waves or sea winds.

Fairer-then-a-Fairy was dragged away. Her arms and back were covered in scalding wax and large feathers pasted upon her as to imitate the wings of Icarus. She sobbed at the pain but flew, up and up and up until she almost couldn’t breathe the air so thin up so high where the peak resided. She tumbled just short of the top, unable to go up any higher or else no breath would reach her lungs. Again Phratis came, cradling the worn-out girl and softly singing to her to restore her strength. ‘Why do you help me?’ she asked. ‘Because I love you.’ was the simple reply. Fairer-then-a-Fairy was unsure what love really was. She was still young, in the spring of her youth. She knew being with Désirs brought her joy and warmth, a sweet pleasure in her belly as they kissed. Yet in Phratis’s arms she felt no fear but rather soothing calm. Was this love as well?

The fae prince took the pitcher and laid the princess down on a bed of enchanted heather that grew so high near the peak. He then flew the rest of the way and gathered the water with ease before bringing both water and girl down to the base. ‘Help Désirs. Please.’ Fairer-then-a-Fairy begged and the boy did so without hesitation.

When the two girls returned, tasks complete, Queen Nabote smiled all ice and diamonds. Her rage was now compressed and fused into the coldest of things. ‘I give you one final task.’ she said to the two girls. ‘And should you complete them? You will go free. But fail? You shall die.’ With the stakes raised, Fairer-then-a-Fairy was tasked with capturing the Hind with Silver Feet while Désirs was whisked away to the Fair of Time to collect the Rouge of Youth for the Queen.

Being left alone in a thick forest, Fairer-then-a-Fairy ran after the animal. But alas, she was just a human not even trained in the art of neither hunting nor running. Her limbs trembled after hours of running, energy drained from her body as twilight set in. Just as before Phratis came, this time with honeysuckle nectar for her parched throat and soft sweet rolls for her stomach. ‘I cannot do this. Why am I so weak!’ she lamented. ‘You are being tasked with things that, though easy for a fae, are impossible for a human. You have worked hard and done your best. There is no shame in accepting help.’ Fairer-then-a-Fairy leaned her head against the prince’s shoulder, thinking. With Phratis she did not feel helpless nor coddled. With his help and his gentle love she was finding strength to carry on for herself and Désirs. After a rest, the two went to a pool as smooth as a mirror and pure as the heavens. There they waited for the Hind. Once it approached, Phratis quickly roped its neck with vines he’d twisted together as Fairer-then-a-Fairy calmed the beast. Upon seeing some brambles stuck to its horns, Fairer-then-a-Fairy removed the offending object and freed the fae within the beast. For the Hind was the true Fairy Queen, ensnared by the false Queen Nabote in order to exact cruelty upon humans at a whim. Horrified, the trio went quickly to the fae palace to confront the fake Queen.

Upon their arrival, the three found Désirs about to be executed for not completing her task. Nabote shrank back in fear as the true Fae Queen came forward. With a sharp snap of her fingers, Nabote was turned into a squirrel which was promptly caged and taken away. Now freed, Désirs found herself in Fairer-then-a-Fairy’s embrace and tucked her face into the crook of her neck, inhaling her delicate scent. ‘As thanks for freeing me, I shall marry you to whomever you chose, be it human or fae, man or woman.’ the true Fae Queen said as she settled into her throne once again. At this, Fairer-then-a-Fairy was torn. But the dark-haired Princess saw this and tenderly cupped her lover’s face. ‘My Princess. Our time together had filled me with joy and light. Your kindness, your laughter, your will. You will forever be the fairest bloom of my heart. But I see it in your eyes that our shared time is gone and so I wish for you to feel no sorrow nor fear. Go to him and know I give you away with bittersweet joy. For though I wish you were mine, I will not take away your happiness for my own.’ Tears ran down Fairer-then-a-Fairy’s cheeks but she understood; time and experiences had changed her heart. Though she loved Désirs still, that love had changed and another took its place. The two shared one last kiss – the kiss of goodbye – before Fairer-then-a-Fairy went to Phratis’s side and shared with him the kiss of hello.

[jaden-does-art]

50 w Hamilton & Jefferson.

50. “Why does anyone have to be naked?”

Alexander headed over to Thomas’ house for a ‘private discussion about personal business’, more or less they’re going to be in the same room together and no one to stop them from fighting. Not that it would surprise anyone if they both ended up missing and founded lying on the ground with choke marks from the two men, besides it wouldn’t be the first time the two idiotic men nearly killed each other but Washington or Madison will not be there to prevent the certain casualties of the two. Alexander was in his normal attire which was not a surprise to anyone, the short man approached the huge glass door and huffed before knocking on the huge glass door, and to his surprise Thomas was at the door in a heartbeat. Thomas opened the door without hesitation, which really confused Alexander since Thomas was really mean to him, Thomas was dressed in a normal long sleeves white shirt that was pulled up to his elbows and in a pair of tan pants. “You could have at least looked presentable you know.” Alex advised. “I don’t remember asking for your damn opinion, Hamilton” Thomas recited to the shorter man and with that the taller man moved out of the shorter mans way to allow him to entire the giant house. “Take your shoes off please, then just head upstairs and take a right that’s were our meeting will be held” The taller male directed before shutting the front door,then disappearing into the kitchen, The short male imitated the other male when he left and slide his shoes off before heading upstairs then taking a right just as instructed. The room looked oddly decent for being owned by a pompous asshole who seemed extremely inhuman as it was, no one should be that insufferably stubborn but that didn’t matter at that moment as Alex took his seat at a rather large table, Moments later Thomas entered the room with a tray. On the tray there was a display of a coffee pitcher, wine glass and a water pitcher, It never really seemed like a surprise when wine was presented by the tall, lengthy male, yet it was never a surprise when the short, snippy male chooses coffee. Thomas shut the door and locked it like normal. “Why do you lock the door? I mean minus the fact that this is a private meeting” Alex remarked. “It’s habit” Thomas replied sarcastically to the other and the other looked at him with narrowed eyes. “You’re real funny you asshole-” “Yes, I know, blah blah blah. Could we just stop this useless bickering now? We have important business to attend too.” Thomas interrupted Alex due to limited time with him and Alex let out a sigh before nodding, It wasn’t very often when the two men acted grown up. Thomas poured Alex a cup of coffee and handed it to him afterwards he poured himself a glass of wine and water, which was oddly good to know that he poured himself water to help him settle down or set the wine. “Let’s began” Thomas commented.Halfway through the discourse there was a knock on the door. “Thomas, I brought your lunch and medicine and some information to discuss with you, Can I please come in?” The voice was deep yet very frail and kindly sickening, Thomas looked at Alex and panicked a bit. “No, you can’t I’m sorry. Alexander is disrobing in here, practically nude. I’d rather not have you blinded” Thomas commented with a small smirk showing and Alex looked back at him in disgust. “As if!” Alex shot back. “If anyone is going to be practically disrobed it’s you Jefferson!” “Me?! Pardon me! But I have class, unlike you Hamilton!” The two men bickered with each other til the door to the meeting room opened slowly to revel a short frail figure, walking in slowly the other men. The two arguing men stopped and looked at the figure and a small tsk came from it. “Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton, in a room together not dead just yet. Surprising, but my I ask, Why does anyone have to be naked?” The frail voice asked. “James It’s not what you think-” Alex started. “No, really, that’s a really good question to ask Jemmy. Why did I even say that?” Thomas stated with a weak chuckle. “Who knows what goes through that intelligent, yet ignorant mind Thomas” Alex replied slightly bitter. “Was that a complement Hamilton?” Thomas gloated. “Absolutely not! You’re so full of yourself!” Alex shot at Thomas, James sighed and sat down, he knew this was going to be the start of a long meeting.

[xjhhfwejr]

6 geese a-laying

De' woke up.

It was morning like it usually was, but she lay there for a few seconds anyway, a grin growing on her face as she strained her ears and heard nothing. Had she done it? She'd done it! She'd actually woken up before Lucifer!!

The girl flopped out of bed and scuttled across the floor, cramming cold feet into the fuzzy slippers by the door -- and after some hesitation, to the window, parting the curtains reaaaalll slow so no-one would notice, peeking out at the sky. She didn't know what time it was (there was a princess clock on the wall but she couldn't read it properly yet; the teacher hadn't taught them what the little hand meant!) but the sun was up, hiding behind all the rain clouds. Maybe it would fool her brother into staying in bed late? She hoped so -- she needed all the time she could get to get The Surprise ready!

The Surprise was very important. She'd been planning it for ages.

De' ran back to the door and took a deep breath, jumping for the dressing gown on the hook; she had to try a few times to get it down and then it only came because the hook broke, but there was no time to worry about that now! She shrugged her little arms into the big ol' sleeves, wiggling at the sudden warm. They pooled down at her elbows as she reached out and sloooooowly turned the door handle, but she was used to that.

The creak sounded real loud, but if she did it it slow, there was no chance of Lucifer hearing -- she'd learned that off the cartoons! As soon as the crack was enough to slip through she did, but her sleeve caught on the corner and pulled it with her. She tried to tug free and lost her balance, yelping as she fell over and bopped her head on the wall. The door slammed open and into the wall behind her, but stuck in the hole it made in the wallpaper, so at least she didn't have to close it again!

There was still no sound from the rest of the house, but of course it wasn't -- she was practically a ninja!

She skipped down the hall, her grin even bigger now, and held the banister real tight as she plonked her way down. Lucifer got mad when she didn't, in case she was going to fall over or something (which she practically never did!), and she didn't want him being mad instead of excited.

He got mad way too much and worried about way too many things, so to make things easier, she was going to... make! him! breakfast!

De' was rather proud of this plan; she'd thought and thought and thought about how she could make his day better, and this was it! He was most tired in the mornings and yawned lots, so if she took care of breakfast, he'd have even more time to wake up, right?

She thwip-thwipped her way into the kitchen confidently, her fuzzy slippers opening and closing their mouths with every step, and she knew he was going to be just so happy when he saw what she had done!

===

Lucifer was pretty sure there was a demon in the kitchen. He stood outside the closed door, dully considering the inhuman sounds coming from beyond, and sighed.

Fuck it, they could take him -- making coffee was way too much effort, anyway. After he'd managed to slog through the task he'd have to be a mature adult and sweep the floor and take De' to the dentist and do the laundry and all sorts of other bullshit, so being stolen away by infernal creatures of the underworld was kind of the best case scenario.

And after he gave in and pushed the door open, there was no kind of about it. The little goblin in the center of the mess -- which didn't just cover the bench, but also the floor and the walls and -- somehow -- the door -- spun around, startled.

"You can't be in here!" squealed De', tumbling off the chair in her haste to get down; she left a trail of something white and gooey in her wake, and he grimaced, expecting tears but getting none. She didn't even seem to notice what was probably going to blossom into two dark bruises on her knees and rushed him, slamming sticky hands into his stomach and trying to force him back. "I'm not done yet!"

"You are definitely done," growled her brother, not budging an inch. He hoped what was now smeared all over his shirt was just flour, considering it was also all through her hair, but it seemed unlikely he was that lucky.

"Nuh-uh!" De' protested, letting go off him and crossing her arms. She scowled and huffed, hard -- where had she learned that behavior from? It was terribly unladylike. "Out!"

"I think you've forgotten who the grown-up is here, De'."

"And you've forgotten who is making breakfast!"

Lucifer faltered -- had he heard her right? Surely he hadn't heard her right.

"I--"

"Out!" De' commanded, and almost burst into tears as she stamped her foot.

It would be a mistake to leave, Lucifer acknowledged. There was no way she was on top of this, and it was all going to end terribly. She could barely get herself a cup of water, she was probably going to kill herself if she was unsupervised.

...But she was so proud of herself. Could he really tell that face no?

Her brother groaned. The deep despair of the sound went completely unappreciated by the small monster in front of him, and he walked out with his head in his hands and his eyes closed. If he couldn't see it, it couldn't hurt him.

She didn't even notice when he walked into the door-frame.

===

The acrid smoke alarmed Lucifer, but before he had a chance to go and see what was burning, the kitchen door opened -- De' trotted in, proudly bearing a tea towel-covered plate in both hands, smoke trailing in her wake. He craned his neck to see what else was in flames, but the door closed.

It was nothing. It was probably nothing. Don't think about it, and it can't hurt you.

"Bomb-a-papeep!" flourished his little sister, brimming with all the wisdom and confidence a day-away-from-five-year-old usually possessed. She dumped the plate in front of him, and something sloshed onto the table.

He tried very hard not to notice.

"Smells delicious," lied her brother, not smiling -- she would have thought he was lying if he did, because he never smiled on purpose.

"I know!" agreed the brunette, and fixed him with a stern look that made it clear she expected him to mean it. Then she grasped the cloth, went dun-dun-dunnn! under her breath, and whipped it away.

She took his silence to mean he was in awe, and he wasn't about to correct her. She would have been crushed if she had known.

"I worked really hard!" chirped the girl.

"Yes," agreed her brother, stoically.

"I made you toast!" She pointed at the pile, which she clearly saw as carefully cut pieces of toast. What he saw was a clumsily dismembered, smoldering pile of dead bread. "I know how much you love toast!"

"I do," he agreed.

"And I squeezed you orange juice!"

It came with pulp, just the way he liked it. Lucifer knew it was fresh because she had squeezed it directly on top of the toast, and there were seeds in it. The seeds turned funny if they were in the air for long.

"I see," he said.

"And bacon, too!"

One day he would have to teach her that not all pink meat was bacon. Spam, for example, was spam.

"I...."

"And eggs!" De' was the most proud of this; he could tell, staring hard at her chubby, beaming face, that nothing was more important than knowing she had made eggs for her big bro. "I didn't even use the stove, 'cause you said I wasn't old enough yet!"

Of all the things he had ever said, this was what she had listened to -- but true to her word, she hadn't put a hand anywhere near the heat. The eggs hadn't gone near it, either; six perfect ovals teetered precariously on the plate, surrounded by soggy mush and flakes of could-be-meat-in-another-life.

Jesus Christ, what had he done to deserve this?

"Well." Lucifer cleared his throat and picked up his fork, covering his hesitation by looking at her. "I'm very... proud of you. Thank-you."

She almost exploded right then, and it was worth the lie -- right up until her face crumpled.

"Wait!" De' blurted and spun around; there were stains on the sleeves of her robe and her ponytail was thick with-- "I forgot your coffee!"

Her brother was wisely silent. He hadn't heard the jug, and he would have known if the jug had come on. He had no idea what she had created that she thought was coffee, but was it really worth the danger of finding out? This time her concoction might actually be fatal -- it wasn't like they kept the dish wash in a locked drawer or anything.

It went without saying she was never being let into the kitchen again. The only choice that remained was did he tell her this now, or later?

Staring down at the carnage before him, Lucifer's shoulders slumped. His despair came out as a tiny, unbearably deep sigh.

"Why aren't you eating?" complained his little sister, and he didn't have to turn around to know the sloshing was a pitcher. The big pitcher. The really big pitcher, filled almost to the brim with something that was going to be brown and watered down. Visions of leftover grounds from the day before swam behind his eyes -- and that was the best thought he had. "I worked so hard on it. Don't... don't you like it?"

One of these days they were going to look back at this and laugh, he knew -- laugh and laugh and laugh about all the horrors she had subjected him to. Unfortunately, for future!Lucifer to get any entertainment out of this, the Lucifer of the present had to suffer through the story.

He picked up the fork.

"Don't be silly," he uttered, and his voice didn't waver in the slightest, despite the dread he felt. "You did great."

He deserved an Oscar. He even swallowed.