#An adder looks like an ANGRY BOY

[bonefall]

One of my next Clanmew expansions is going to HAVE to be snakes because girl help everyone draws Honeyfern and Frecklewish being poisoned by pythons and it makes me want to pop a wheelie.

[adder24]

Wreckage

Part 1| Part 2| Part 3|Part 4|Part 5|Part 6

Rating: 15+ Because cussing and gore Authors notes: This is some original fiction that I have wrote and been developing for 20+ years. Welcome to the world of reapers

Summary: To say open season being declared on the reapers was the worst thing to happen to them, is a pretty underwhelming statement. To say Open season being declared was more of a shit storm, is a little more accurate.

Warnings: More blood people!

This is available on Wattpad so if you are a member or have an account, please, I encourage you to leave a comment :) Tales from the reapers scythe Wattpad link

Tagging mutuals but please do tag on, reblog, comment, whatever you need to do :) Story beneath the cut.

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To say Open season being declared on the reapers was the worst thing to happen to them, is a pretty underwhelming statement. To say Open season being declared was more of a shit storm, is a little more accurate.

Adder and Lee managed to get the boy to safety, staying out of sight when the family he knew answered the door but it still didn't stop every single reaper in the world having a bounty on their heads. The Banished relished every moment of it. Of course the finger of blame was being directed towards Lee and Adder and as usual, Adder was taking his frustrations out by violent means. More barrels were damaged, more walls cracked and Lee was exhausting every option he had in order to calm him down, nothing was working and Lee feared the beast within would be making a permanent residence.

So Lee resorted to something obscure, a means to put all of that pent up aggression into something productive. A project if you will. See what you didn't know about Lee, is that the man has a love for American muscle cars. We're talking about Plymouth Barracudas, Mustangs, Impalas, Chevelle 454's, Dodge Challengers and Chargers. It was a passion he shared with Adder and he knew the other man's favourite car, one that always stopped the man dead in his tracks whenever it rode past.

A ninety sixty eight Dodge charger RT, specifically in black.

There was no way Lee would be able to get one brand new, so he went one better, he found one at the bottom of the hudson, paid someone to retrieve it and brought it back to the warehouse and boy was it in a state.

It had clearly been in the saltwater for some years, The paintwork had been stripped from the body, the body itself was rusty, brittle and crumbling away, the chassis had seen better days and as for the seats and furnishings, well they were just rotten, smelling, disgusting and destroyed. To add to all the problems, the once loud and proud V8 engine was seized, silencing the beast altogether; It was a sad sight to see, one that would make a car enthusiast's heart sink but Lee was sure it was in good hands, despite the fact none of them had an ounce of mechanical experience.

"She just needs a bit Love" Lee said proudly

"A bit of love? Lee she's practically dead" Adder retorted

"Well if she is dead, she will rise like a Phoenix from the watery grave" Lee replied happily

"How? We have no experience with these things." Adder asked

"No but there are reapers who do. I know one and he does amazing Greek food too." Lee replies as he pats his shoulder happily "Will help you focus that anger into something productive"

"Just looking at it is making me angry and you know what....I'm gonna wash it, make it slightly less of a tip"

"There you see, it's working" Lee replied cheerily

"You're not funny Lee!"

How they would find time to fix it up was beyond Adder's understanding but if he made a start on the car, it would be a small step in the right direction. Washing it would be therapeutic, ridding it of all the gunk it dredged out of the Hudson would be a fresh start, a new beginning for the beast's rotting corpse. Symbolic in a way but Adder didn't really think about that, he just wanted to clean it up and get rid of the river pong that lingered around the car.

It took him hours, cleaning it down, scrubbing it to within an inch of its life and working his job as a reaper but it was done and Adder felt a sense of satisfaction when it was no longer stinking of the Hudson. The thing was, once Adder got going, he didn't really know when to stop. He was up till the early hours of the morning, stripping out the seats and the interior before collapsing on his bed at four in the morning and waking up again at nine when he could smell bacon being cooked.

It was a smell that could quite literally wake the living dead but as Adder rose from his bed and made his way to the kitchen, he sensed a sullen atmosphere around Lee. Something had happened while he was burning the midnight oil.

"You'll burn yourself out if you are not careful," Lee said to him softly. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Yeah...slept like a log. Is everything okay Lee?"

"More reapers were attacked during the night by hunters, souls are becoming lost because these attacks are either disrupting the judgement process or they are stopping reapers from getting there in time. The balance is being rocked by these inconsistencies and I don't know how much longer we can keep it stable" Lee replied quietly

This sombre Lee unsettled Adder, he was used to the jovial, happy go lucky Lee that always had a way of cheering Adder up, not this Lee, the Lee that was looking defeat in the face and quietly accepting their fate. The hunters wanted blood for the family that was almost vanquished by the Banished but somewhere down the line, wires were crossed and their bloodlust was directed at the reapers, not the white eyed monsters that plagued them.

"Who was the family the Banished almost wiped out?" Adder asked

"The Woodman family, Hunters that were held in high regard, very respected and had a very long history of hunting, losing that kind of knowledge and that threat has an affect"

"Then we need to prove our innocence" Adder suggested, determination In his voice.

"And how do you suggest we do that? Do you think the Hunters will spare you a minute to plead?! They want blood Minari, not excuses or stories. Blood!" Lee snapped as he slammed down the fish slice "When the lead hunter speaks they listen. Why do you think reapers have been working in groups right now?"

"Well I'm not going to sit around and let this witch hunt go on, we have been given a bad name since day one and I have been seen as cursed since I stepped into this life. One way or another I am going to clear our names!" Adder growled in retaliation.

"So what are you going to do? Hmm? Bait yourself? Jasper Lockheart takes every chance he gets to bring down his prey. He gets a chance with you he will take it and he won't be gentle" Lee warned

"Then so be it" Adder replied angrily as he grabbed his scythe and headed to his first call of the day.

It left Lee frustrated, he knew the dangers the hunters possessed, especially Jasper but Adder was at breaking point and he was not willing to listen. He was determined to put things right and although Lee admitted it was a sign of a good leader, he was also worried it would get Adder into trouble. He was going by experience of course, remembering when he was in Adder's position, always striving to prove a point and ended up making mistakes, getting into fights or finding himself in some kind of trouble, yet his master didn't interfere, he allowed him to have his space and to make those mistakes, so that Lee could learn from them and this was exactly what Lee was.doing with Adder. Adder Angry was never a good idea but if he learned how to control that rage, Lee knew he would make an excellent Leader one day and it would help him have better control over the beast within.

Lee went about his own duties that day, providing support for Puma, of all reapers. The man still cursed him for making Adder a reaper but the finger of blame wasn't completely directed at Lee and Adder, the hunters had their share of the blame too. The topic all day was how this all stank, how the facts didn't seem to add up and that the Banished, the reapers worst enemy, had mastermind this to slow the reapers down. It Thoroughly pissed Puma off,

"Something stinks about all this" Puma grumbled as they walked towards Times Square, squeezing through crowds of people "You heard the man tell his son to not hunt us, you heard him forgive us and yet they still want our blood. Pisses me off" He growled

"And Adder is determined to prove our innocence" Lee replied

"How? He's gonna go knock on their door and do a reenactment in the form of Ballet? Come on Lee you know the hunters, they're pig headed and stubborn" Puma asked annoyed

"And so is Adder, he's determined." Lee Iterated

"No offence but does he have a death wish? Jasper Lockheart isn't a hunter you mess about with. If he can take a shot, he will and he will make you suffer great amounts of pain. I heard the shit he does to his prey, it ain't nice"

"That's the least of my worries right now Puma, the balance is becoming difficult to maintain, Adder is becoming more and more angry at the world and the Banished are growing in numbers. Maybe Adder has the right idea... if we prove our innocence we can at least call a truce with the hunters, maybe use them to help" Lee suggested

The suggestion caused the lightbulb to turn on in Puma's head as he paused and looked at Lee, wagging his finger at him.

"You know that ain't a bad idea! If we can hold counsel with them we can work this plan." Puma replied excitedly

"One problem." Lee replied

"Adder" Puma interjected

"We need eyes on him, we need to stop him doing something stupid while we try and resolve this amicably"

"I can get my guys to keep tabs, alert me when they see him, can even use Siren to lure him" Puma mentioned as he approached a hot dog stand and ordered two. "You know Siren has a way with the opposite sex, it's why she got the name"

"I remember when I first came here, I lost everything, was starting again, finding my way and you sent her in to size me up." Lee replied with a smirk as he took his hot dog "She almost had me"

"Yeah but she underestimated you, told me that the Samurai were a different breed. Had no clue what she was on about till I met you and you kicked my ass." Puma replied as he bit into his food

"And we have had an odd relationship ever since" Lee chuckled

"Damn straight"

You'd think it would be straight forward, that Adder would be that angry he'd get seen and Lee and Puma could conduct a counsel with Jasper. You'd think that wouldn't you? Well it didn't happen like that. Adder didn't want to be found and he made sure to stay out of the way. There were no sightings of Adder the whole day, Puma even sent some teams out to see if they could find him but there was nothing, not even breadcrumbs to say he had made an appearance. Like I said, if Adder didn't want to be found, he'd find ways to stay out of sight.

He'd been out all day, he never returned for a hot meal or to soak in the old tin bath to ease aching limbs. Instead it was meals on the go, taking fruit from stalls when the opportunity arose and drinking from water fountains. Basic survival means while he dodged contact with other reapers and now that the sun was setting, he could make his way to Central park and wait.

He knew Lee was against his plan, he knew that this plan could get him killed but if he didn't try, a fate worse than death would be waiting for them all.

He set up camp within the wooded area near the Bethesda fountain and waited patiently for midnight. He watched as the steady stream of people passing through slowed down and turned into a trickle before it became eerily quiet, the only sound being that of the water cascading down from the intricate fountain.

Adder checked his watch, noting he had five minutes to move into position. He grabbed his scythe and made his way to the fountain, making sure he could be seen clearly, baiting himself for the Hunters. He hoped they would aim their weapons at him and let him talk, he hoped they would be understanding to some degree and he hoped they wouldn't be hostile.

Hope was all he had but the hunters didn't really see it that way. Puma was right about Jasper. He saw a chance and he took it. Out of nowhere Adder was hit in the chest with a bolt from a crossbow. The short stubby arrow was black with red fletchings and Adder was about to take it out, till he was hit again, causing him to scream out in pain as another bolt struck his shoulder. His scythe dropped from his grip and bounced on the ground and in that time, the bastard known as Jasper had shot him another two times, one in the left thigh and one in the right, stopping Adder in his tracks.

Jasper got a kick out of watching Adder fall and as Adder lay there, exposed, vulnerable and in tremendous amounts of pain, Lockheart's hunters emerged and surrounded the fallen Reaper. His scythe was within reach but as he went to grasp it, a boot stepped on his hand, breaking bones and causing Adder to growl in agony.

"They say a reaper can be undone by his own weapon" Came a gravely southern drawl voice, "Always wanted to test that theory myself"

Adder managed to turn his face to the voice and was greeted with the face of Jasper Lockhart. Scarred, weathered and emotionless. He tipped the peak of his stetson to reveal the piercing icy blue eyes and the deep scar on his forehead, caused by a beast wanting his head. His beard was as white as snow, trimmed and tidy.

"The other thing they say about the scythe is that it can burn those that are not its assigned owner" Jasper gruffed as he pulled on some thick, black, industrial welding gloves. "So I came prepared"

He picked the scythe up with ease and gazed upon the blade, smirking a little as his eyes darted back to Adder.

"Why did your people kill the Woodmen Reaper?" He asked calmly

"We didn't!" Adder growled as he managed to yank out one of the bolts from his thigh, the bones in his hand healing and snapping back into place at a fast pace "We noticed our scythes reacting to the slaughter, we knew something was off and went to where the Scythe led us. When we got there, the Banished were taunting the Father and the small boy, who we saved...we were just too late for the others"

"Reapers are deceptive. You expect me to believe this tall tale of the banished? What even are they?" Jasper replied as he began to circle Adder.

"They are the reapers who followed the path of myth and lore...the ones who deceive, kill when they shouldn't and get greedy. Only unlike Myth and lore, they have white eyes, no pupils nothing...just an empty white gaze"

"Huh" Jasper said as he stopped in front of Adder "Can't say I've come across any" He said calmly

There was a brief moment, a moment where the steely blue eyes of Jasper held Adder's gaze. A moment where the man became unreadable, a moment where Adder dropped his guard.

Jasper had swiftly hooked the scythe into Adder's chest and slowly dragged the blade from his left shoulder to his right hip; For Adder it felt like an intense burning sensation, like he was being ripped open by a searing hot blade as blood oozed from the deep trench that carved into his chest.

"A reaper harmed by his own scythe is their own weakness, like superman and kryptonite. You become weak..almost mortal" Jasper said calmly as he eyed up the blade. "Sure I could take your head off if I wanted to...but I want you to suffer like you made Rick suffer."

"It wasn't us" Adder replied through gritted teeth, fighting the pain and trying to fight back the beast within.

"Lies. His last words condemned your kind" Jasper growled as he prepared to swing the scythe again.

Another blow would have put Adder at the door of his ancestors, his time as a reaper short lived but good old Lady luck stepped in, smiled and spared Adder in the most unlikely way. Lady luck came in the form of the man who made it clear he didn't like Adder, the man that would have happily started a fight in the middle of a busy Central Park.

Puma.

Adder didn't see what happened, he was too busy with his own fight to focus on what the other reaper was doing but he did hear his scythe drop to the ground, the blade bouncing a few times before finally settling. It allowed Adder to summon it while Puma and Jasper exchanged heated words.

"Ask the boy who saved him!" Puma growled "Or are you scared that your little fairytale about us is about to be blown wide open?"

"Only if you prove your ghost story about the white eyed nasties to be true" Jasper growled as he got right up in Pumas face and attempted to stare the man down.

"Take the subway line that runs under Brooklyn bridge, you'll get your proof. Oh and make sure you aim for the head and turn the bastards to ash" Puma replied, eyes still fixed on Jasper's.

"And if they are not there?" Jasper asked

"Oh they will be there...the starving ones always go there." Puma growled as Jasper began to back away, a smirk on his face.

"Know this...if you're lying to me reaper, we will make all of your lives a living hell" Jasper replied calmly

"Used to it!" Puma spat.

He watched as Jasper quietly ordered his hunters to walk away before looking back at Puma, a smirk etched on his lips.

"Don't fancy his chances" Jasper taunted before walking away.

As much as Puma wanted to rip the man's head off his shoulders, he had to restrain himself for the sake of the balance. He turned his attention to Adder and gently studied the trench left in his chest.

"Another blow like that and we'd have lost you for good" Puma gruffed "Not out of the woods though, we need to get you to a place of worship, get some holy water into that wound"

".....Lee.....where is Lee?" Adder groaned as he screwed up his face with pain.

"Left him at the other end of the park. Ain't got time to be worrying about that, we gotta move. Times ticking Adder." Puma ordered as he draped Adder's left arm over his shoulder and helped Adder up.

How Adder's innards didn't fall out at that point was a miracle but that wasn't Adder's concern. He was losing blood, severely injured and best up and yet his concern laid with the beast within that was fighting its way to the surface and Adder was in no state to fight it back. He needed Lee.

"GET. LEE!" Adder growled as blood started to ooze from his mouth.

"Alright...alright I'll get Lee but time is not on your side Adder." Puma replied as he helped Adder onto a bench, concerned with the amount of blood that was pouring out of his body.

"...It's not on your side either." Adder warned weakly, slumping to the side and struggling to keep awake.

He watched as Puma faded out, watching the whisps of black smoke circle in the air before disappearing. Once he knew Puma was out of sight, he laid himself across the bench, staring up at the stars as he tried to keep focus.

"You need me!" Said a deep voice from the shadows.

Adder smirked as he closed his eyes "Oh you talk now?" He asked himself, knowing the voice.

"I can buy you time" it growled

"At what cost? What do you want in return?" Adder asked before coughing up some blood.

"Polars head!" It barked.

"You'll get it... when I let you...if I let you...if we make it" Adder replied as he looked at his blood soaked hand.

"We will make it" It snarled

"You can't do anything!" Adder growled before screaming out in pain.

He then felt something placed over his chest, hands applying enough pressure to stem the bleeding, he then felt someone carefully take his scythe from his hand before he felt he was being lifted off the ground, carried like a child in distress. Adder clung onto them but he could feel his strength leaving his body with every passing second.

"Hold on Minari" He heard Lee say calmly

He wanted to tell Lee that the beast within wanted to bargain, wanted to break free in exchange of sparing his life but his body didn't give him the chance, he felt himself go lax before blacking out, falling into the silent black abyss. It felt like his soul was floating in a state of limbo, oblivious to what was happening around him. Quiet, eerie and cold but that would soon be gone when he heard something breathing in his ear.

"Wake up!" It snarled

Adder's eyes flew open, his breathing rapid as he tried to figure out his surroundings. He was laying on something flat, it was smooth like marble and cold to touch, above him was a bronzed canopy with turquoise inlays in the ceiling. The metal work, detailed and intricately put together. He then started to move his head around, noticing stained glass windows, high vaulted ceilings, benches, extravagant crosses and an Organ. He was in a place of worship and as he tried to figure out where he was, his thoughts were interrupted by hurried footsteps coming towards him.

"He's awake!" He could hear Lee say

"Lee... Where am I?" Adder asked weakly, wanting to get up.

"Stay still Minari, save your strength," Lee replied.

Puma rushed hurriedly alongside Lee, carrying a bowl filled with water in one hand while the other was gloved, holding Adder's scythe. Together they approached where Adder was laying and before Adder could protest, Lee quickly soaked some clean rags in the water and began to bathe the wound across Adder's chest.

For a moment it felt like the water was doing nothing to the trench that lay across Adder's chest but within seconds, Adder could feel the wound beginning to burn, like the wound was being cauterised by a searing, white hot poker. He gritted his teeth, tried to bite back the pain but it intensified, causing Adder to scream and flail his arms around. Puma was forced to restrain him as best as he could while Lee worked.

"It's holy water Adder, it's doing its job" Puma said hurriedly

"It feels like fucking bleach!" Adder growled as his body arched and squirmed

"It's clearing the poison from your blood" Lee replied

"Poison?! He struck me with my own scythe! There was no poison!" Adder snapped

"When you are struck by your own weapon, your powers become restrained, limited as a means of punishment. Your blade turned against you, will poison you and the only way to rid the poison or curse is to come to a place of worship and clean the wounds with blessed water." Lee replied, still cleansing the wound.

There was a chance that Adder could curse some more, maybe even take the lord's name in vain a few times but all that came out of his mouth were screams of agony, wailings and choked back groans. He managed to stay conscious throughout the ordeal but by the end he was tired, the fight all but left him while Lee carefully wrapped the now cleansed and closed wound.

"Like many mortals who are cut deep, you will carry a scar as a mark of your mistake, This is a lesson Minari. A lesson you must learn about self control and restraint. You could have died tonight had we not come looking" Lee scolded as he placed the blood soaked rags into the now empty bowl.

"Hey take it easy on him Lee, he did what he had to" Puma replied, defending Adder.

"Says the man who believed him to be a curse." Lee replied

"Yeah you got me there but he put his life on the line to clear our names. You could say it was stupid, sure but at least he was willing to do something about it."

Lee wasn't always wrong but when he was, it was always a bitter pill to swallow, especially hearing it from a man who wasn't exactly the number one fan of his apprentice.

"Time will tell if he made the right choice or not. Let's get you home Minari, you need to rest, heal and learn to not be so headstrong" Lee said softly as he carefully helped Adder to his feet, draping one of Adder's arms around his shoulders while he wrapped one of his own arms around Adder's waist, supporting him.

"How are you gonna teach him that?" Puma asked as he handed Adder his scythe.

"By working on our little project," Lee replied with a smile.

Project Charger, as Lee would call it, would be the distraction Adder would need during his down time and the lesson of keeping a level head. Let's be honest, even the most experienced mechanic can still find a way to lose their mind when a car just refuses to work. All that aside, while Adder is laid up and made to rest, the hunters decided to take Puma up on the opportunity to encounter the banished. They took the subway, they went on the line heading towards Brooklyn and as Puma predicted, they were there.

The hunters thought it would be a trick, so they sent a small team of three experienced Hunters that had nothing better to do and out of that team, only one barely made it out alive.

[boxofbonesfic]

here’s lookin’ at you, kid

Title: here’s lookin’ at you, kid

part 1

Pairing: Chef!Bucky x Aspiring Chef!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Kitchens are loud and hot, but you’ve never minded that. Never minded the burnt fingers, and cut hands. What you do mind is Chef Barnes, the cocky talent that put Black Adder Brewery on the map. You’re even less used to hating someone quite this much, but you’re sure, somehow, you’ll manage—if you don’t stab him first.

Warnings: No smut, but...heavy innuendos, kitchen typical misogyny, Bucky being way too full of himself, light hazing, enemies to lovers, fluff, a little angst, eventual smut (gimme like three chapters y’all, I beg)

A/N: inspired by this headcanon i wrote!! WHEW. Part two is here, three days behind schedule, but it’s here! The positive response has been so overwhelming 🥺 Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think in the comments and reblogs ❤️

This is a work of FICTION, and there will be ADULT themes and content included therein, so I assume once you’ve clicked through the link that you are comfortable with that. I do not give consent for my work to be copied, translated, or posted elsewhere, even if I am credited. This work is entirely mine, and unbeta’d, so read at your own risk! MINORS, DNI!

🔪The one where you kiss two guys.🔪

“You smell like cigarettes. I thought you said you quit smoking,” Kara complains over breakfast. You’re still in your clothes from last night, having fallen asleep on the couch before you could even make it to your room the night before. Your arms still pulse with the painful memory of last night’s work in the dish-pit, and though your socks are dry now, your feet still feel soggy. 

 “I did.” But it’s the only time I get to be away from him. You think silently. You’re tired, but you’re also tired of King Asshole—looming over you, telling you you missed a spot, making you lift compost bins twice your own weight with no help. He’s torturing you, and he’s doing it on purpose. One cigarette a night bummed from ever-happy-to-share Peter Parker isn’t going to kill you—at least not before Chef Barnes does. 

 “I thought you were excited to work at Black Adder. Come on, girl, when do I get my free meal?” She points a manicured finger accusingly at you. “I heard their crab cakes are to die for.” 

 You snort, rolling your eyes. “Kara, you’re the last person who needs a free meal.” You decline to tell her that you haven’t even tasted the food at Adder yet—you’re too afraid to wander over to Chef Barnes tasting sessions, and the angry gleam in his eye every time he looks at you tells you you’re not welcome to them anyway. 

 “I love free shit.” She shrugs. You can tell this is her way of trying to make you feel better, reminding you of the opportunity you were so excited to finally have in your grasp. Her way of telling you not to give up. “All your moping around is depressing me.” Not her fault she sucks at it I guess.

 “I’ll keep that in mind,” You say tiredly, wrapping your aching fingers around your mug as you bring your coffee to your lips. You take the blessed first sip, and close your eyes as you moan with pleasure. Oh, coffee. What would I be without you? You’re off today, only your second day off in the two weeks you’ve been at Adder, and it’s a welcome respite. The cash sitting comfortably in the drawer of your bedside table made you feel better at first, you can’t dismiss the sour feeling in the back of your throat every time Bucky snarls at you. You’ve felt unwelcome in kitchens before—they’e all boys clubs anyway, dick measuring contests to see who’s best at what. 

 You’re used to that, having to hold your own, having to work twice as hard for just an ounce of the same recognition. You’re no stranger to that, not in any aspect of your life. But the simmering hatred, the utter disdain for your entire existence—that was new. And all of Steve’s kindness couldn’t save you, not when he was almost never in the kitchen to curb Bucky’s behavior. 

 None of the other members of the kitchen bother speaking to you more than in passing, either. All polite, but zero interest. Like they just know you’re not going to last long, like he’s done this before, run people out of his kitchen with total abandon. You don’t even bother bringing your knives after the third day—it’s clear Bucky has no intention of letting you touch a single piece of produce that hasn’t come back to the kitchen half eaten or stuck to the plate. Instead, your hands crack and bleed from the rough chemicals in the water, your knuckles raw and aching. 

 Kara flounces off for another day of shopping after another bout of inadequate comforting, and though her curt, tone-deaf comments are irritating, they do make you feel just a little bit better—more motivated, at least. The kitchen chair creaks as you rise from it, stretching as you head for the bathroom. You take the longest, hottest shower of your life, letting the water rinse the smell of fryer grease and charcoal from the grill out of your thick mane. You pick the fluffiest towel from among Kara’s wide array, wrapping it around yourself, before sinking onto your comforter with a sigh. 

 Your whole room smells like lavender, and the scent is as comforting as your mother’s don’t give up! show those boys what you’re working with! text. To be fair, it’s not like you’ve been completely honest with her, she doesn’t know you’re smoking again because of the stress, doesn’t know your knuckles bleed if you look at them funny. Failure isn’t an option, not when you’re so close to making it. You don’t want to taste the bitterness of it again; the cloying, sickly sweet flavor of almost and not enough. You know it too well. 

 You clench your fists against the towel as you lay there. King Asshole may be a bully, but you’re not going to let him chase you off without a fight. You sit up with a sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose before you begin to work your fingers through your still-wet curls, dragging out the tangles. 

 I bet my asparagus is going bad. You think absently, your mind suddenly running through the ever changing list of produce you keep in your mental tally. Your hands twitch, and you almost want to laugh. You’re half sick of kitchens and food and eating—but you still find yourself itching to meander into your own kitchen, pull out ingredients and get to work. 

  Restless hands, that’s what your mother used to say. Restless hands make idle thoughts. 

 In the kitchen is where Kara finds you when she comes back in the late afternoon, laden with bags of clothes she’ll only wear once before donating them, and shoes that will slowly but steadily take over the apartment if you’re not careful enough about reprimanding her. Your hair is pulled back behind your trusty bandanna, your tongue stuck out between your lips as you measure heavy cream. You have another bowl with egg yolks, and another for whites, and flour stains both the skin of your cheek and your hands. 

 “Good day off?” Kara asks blithely, tilting her sunglasses down at you. 

 “That depends. Do you like grilled peaches on lemon sponge cake with fresh clotted cream?” You ask as you turn back to your measuring with a small smile. You already know the answer is an enthusiastic yes, and you’re already excited to be making it. That’s what you love about Kara—no matter what you make, no matter how weird, or eccentric or inspired, she always tries it; and with gusto. You’ve never seen someone that tiny put away half a cheesecake before, but you’ve never had anyone practically drooling over themselves to eat your food either. 

 “Oh fuck yes. What else are we having? I mean if we’re just eating cake, that’s fine too,” She amends quickly, and you laugh. “I’ll fuck up some cake.” 

 “I made gnocchi. And some kind of asparagus and garlic cream sauce with those wild mushrooms I bought at the farmer’s market. I could grill that salmon that’s been sitting in the fridge since wednesday, too…” You’re more talking to yourself than Kara at this point, but you know she doesn’t really care. This is your thing, and you know she’s happy to see you in better spirits, even if only because she gets to eat the results. 

 In the end, you manage a feast for a family of six by four thirty, and as you and Kara happily tuck into your meal, your phone rings. It’s a number you don’t recognize, and you shrug, ignoring it. “God, I think I’m actually gonna burst,” Kara groans, and you laugh.

 “Who told you to eat three slices?” Together, you’ve eaten at least a third of the cream and grilled peach layer cake, a bowl of gnocchi, half a side of salmon, and a delicious medley of grilled vegetables you threw on at the last minute after the fish was done—though most of it was Kara. You always felt better with a belly full of good food, and now was no different. She scowls at you. 

 “Who told you to cater enough food for a wedding?” She retorts, muttering into her wine. “You’re trying to sabotage my summer body, I just know it.” Your phone buzzes again, and you look at it irritatedly. It’s a city area code alright, and this is the second time they’ve called. 

 “Hello?” 

 “Ah, good, I finally got you.” 

 “Mr. Rogers?” You say, sitting up in surprise. Kara looks over interestedly, and you know she’s listening with all her might. “I’m sorry, I didn’t have your number saved…”

 “No problem! I just was wondering where you were.” Your eyebrows furrow. Why would he want to know that?

 “I’m… I mean I’m at home.” 

 “Oh. Didn’t anyone tell you? We go out once a month, the whole crew, all together. You should come! Don’t know why no one told you.” He sounds so genuine that you force yourself to swallow the biting retort. You know why. You know why no one includes you, why no one talks to you. Why no one gives you anything but dirty dishes to wash and surreptitious glances that tell you they’re all just wondering why you’re still there. 

 Because King Asshole hates me, Mr. Rogers.

 You don’t want to go. You don’t want to immerse yourself back into the cold, unfriendliness until it’s absolutely necessary, but you also know that this is Steve trying to extend the olive branch so Bucky doesn’t have to. He hates you, and you hate him. 

 But you want this, maybe more now than ever, especially because no one seems to want to give it to you willingly. And if socializing at a stupid bar with people who hate you makes Steve feel better about throwing you into the literal snake pit, then so be it.  

 “Where is it?” 

 🔪

 The bar is crowded and loud, and you aren’t sure if you’re hot because it’s summer, or because you’re nervous. You lean against the bartop, rubbing your temples. You almost talked yourself out of coming, and if not for Kara loudly complaining that your pussy was going to atrophy if you didn’t get some hot salami—her words—you probably would have stayed home, told Steve you actually weren’t feeling well, and that you would see him on Monday, thank you very much. 

 Instead, you were here in a pair of Kara’s jeans—that she’d practically had to grease your thick thighs to get you into—and a short, flouncy little top that showed off your side tattoo, ordering a drink for courage before you finally text Steve to let him know you’re here. The bartender brings you your whiskey, and you sip it, relishing the burn as it slides warmly down your throat. You turn to grab your phone, but your elbow smacks into someone’s arm. 

 “Oh, shit, sorry—”

 “Oh, no problem.” The man smiles at you, before his eyes widen in recognition. “Oh shit, hey.” It’s Bruce, the saussier—he only works about three days a week, but when you do see him, he’s usually polite, if quiet. He’s older than you by a good bit, but still handsome, and the salt streaking his black hair made him look distinguished. “Nice to see you.” 

 “Oh? I’m surprised to hear you say that,” You answer honestly. “I don���t think we’ve said ten words to each other.” 

 He grimaces. “Yeah… Didn’t think you’d still be here, to be honest. Chef’s been coming down pretty hard on you.” He doesn’t even try to deny it, and for some reason, that makes you feel a little better. It’s heartening to know that he sees it too. 

 “What can I say? I’m the thorn in his side he’ll never be rid of.” You say snarkily, taking another swallow of your drink. And the tomato stain on his shirt he’ll never get out. Bruce laughs. “So, um, where’s everyone else?” He looks over his shoulder and points to a large, circular booth. There are at least two smaller tables pulled up beside it, and about fifteen people are all milling around, talking and laughing. To your surprise—and immediate relief—you don’t see Bucky. 

 Thank God. I’m fresh out of produce to throw.

 “No one’s going to make me wash dishes if I go over there, right?” You ask, and Bruce snorts.

 “No. Well, not here, anyway.” He grabs his drink when the bartender drops it off, and jerks his head toward the booth, motioning for you to follow. You swallow thickly, suddenly wondering if it’s too late to take the other job offer sitting, stale in your inbox. Maybe being the general manager of Wendy’s won’t be so bad. Steve sees you first and grins, waving. 

 “I didn’t think you were going to make it! Pull up a chair.” There are lots of waitstaff here too, you notice; people you had only seen in passing. A redhead with shoulder length, wavy hair scoots over, allowing you to slide into the booth. You set your drink on the table, slowly peering at all the faces around you. Sam is there, and those honey-sweet brown eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles at you.

 “Look what the cat dragged in,” He says, tipping his head at you. You’re not sure what to say—you don’t want to mention that no one bothered to tell you about the group hang-out, but you know that your late appearance is a nod to that anyway. You settle on a warm smile of your own, forgoing the obvious.

 “Yeah, I was playing with a few recipes at the house,” You laugh, offering that as your explanation. “I got caught up.” It’s half true anyway. His eyebrow quirks with interest. 

 “Oh? And you didn’t bring any to share with the class? Damn. Cold.” He laughs.

 “Next time I’ll make sure I bring you a doggie bag.” 

 “He is a dog,” The redhead interjects, grinning at you. It’s clear the animosity you’re experiencing in the kitchen hasn’t carried over to the front of house, which you’re glad for. “So that’s pretty fitting. Natasha.” She introduces herself, and you smile, nodding as you give her your name. 

 “Well, woof.” Sam says lowly, and the cheeky grin he gives you makes you squeeze your thighs together just a little tighter. “Well now I gotta know. What’d you make?” He leans over a little, like he’s genuinely interested, and it makes warmth spark in your chest. 

 “Fuck. Way too much food,” You lament with a cartoonishly dramatic sigh. “We have a little charcoal grill in the yard, so I kind of went hard.” You rub the back of your neck as you detail your meal, going over each recipe and describing them as lovingly as you would a member of your own family. But it’s as you’re recounting the process for your grilled peach-layered sponge cake that you realize all the conversation around you has dulled. Everyone is listening—listening to you, including Steve, including all of the back of house staff who have practically ignored your presence for the past two weeks. 

 Your mouth goes dry, and you falter a little. 

 “You make your clotted cream on the stove?” You lick your lips with a sandpaper tongue, and drain the rest of your glass, suddenly nervous. This voice belongs to Clint—the one and only pastry chef at Adder. He always has the most dishes, and though you know pastry often requires a million different containers and measuring implements, you can’t help but feel like it’s just a little personal when he dumps the dirty twenty five gallon mixing bowl into the slop sink. 

 “Y-yeah. I mean, it’s not traditional, but for the quick and dirty, it works.” 

 His eyebrows rise in pleasant surprise, and he shrugs, taking a swig of his beer. “Didn’t know you had pastry experience.” None of you fucking know anything about me, because King Asshole runs the goddamn show. You think bitterly, hoping it doesn’t show on your face. “You got any of that cake left?” He asks, and you nod. “Bring it in tomorrow, I’ve gotta try that.” You exhale the breath you didn’t know you were holding, and gulp down another sip of your drink. 

 “For sure.” You say, trying your best to sound friendly and casual. You hate the way your stomach tightens in excitement and anticipation. You can’t help but feel the exhilaration sparking in you at finally having broken through at least some of the ice wall that Bucky had tried to build around you for daring to set foot in his kitchen. Conversation comes easier after that, and suddenly everyone is talking at once.

 One of the servers—Scott?—returns to the booth with a tray of drinks, and your empty glass is replaced with a shot of mystery alcohol. You’re feeling good—laughing, talking. Better than you’ve felt in weeks. It’s when you’re in the middle of recounting the duck tongue story that everything takes a sudden hard left turn.

 “They have bones in them,” You say, a shudder running down your spine at the same time that Hope, one of the brewers, pulls a face. 

 “Bones?” Her voice is incredulous. You nod, an exaggeratedly grim expression on your face. 

 “Oh yeah. You gotta pull them out.” You make a yanking motion with your hand, and Sam barks out a laugh. 

 “And you ate that?” He asks, and you nod. You’re about to describe the texture in detail, when you hear him.

 “Hey, Buck. Thought you weren’t coming.” Steve’s jovial tone almost makes you miss the name.

 Great.

 You’re already squeezed into the booth tightly next to Natasha, and you dread looking up—but it’s like your body doesn’t get the memo, or it’s listening to something you can’t hear, but your head lifts despite the screaming protests of your brain, and you find yourself looking King Asshole right in his dreamy, gray-blue eyes. 

 No! Bad brain. No dreamy, only asshole.

 “Short-stack.” He greets, his lips pressed into a thin line. You don’t like the heat that rises in your cheeks as his eyes slide over every inch of your exposed skin. You give him a curt nod. 

 “Chef.” You down another shot of Scott’s mystery alcohol, relishing the burn as it makes its way down. King Asshole sits on the opposite side of the booth, next to Steve, and you watch as servers and back of house staff alike scramble to get out of his way. He takes one too, and you force your eyes not to follow the bob of his adams apple as he swallows. 

 “So?” Sam asks, directing your attention back to himself with a gentle clearing of his throat. “What do they taste like?” You’d forgotten you were even talking, suddenly going silent at the appearance of your boss. You wrap a strand of curly hair around your finger and release it. 

 “Honestly? They made me bread and fry them, like little chicken nuggets.” You say, laughing. “Pretty fucking good.” He shakes his head, laughing as he scrubs his hand over his head and down the back of his neck. 

 “No way.” 

 “No, seriously,” You say, and he bites his lip at you as his grin widens. It makes your chest go a little tight, and you wonder if they’re as soft as they look. Maybe slow down on the alcohol. 

 “Guess you’ll just have to make them for me so I can find out.” He says, and you immediately let out a nervous laugh and down another courage shot. So much for slowing down… “But if it’s bad, I reserve the right to a full re-do.” He waggles his finger at you in warning, and you roll your eyes as you laugh. 

 “Make what, now?” Bucky interjects gruffly, and Sam chuckles again.

 “Duck tongues,” He says, and Bucky quirks an eyebrow.

 “Shit, short-stack,” His tone is almost impressed. “Didn’t know they had duck tongue at Mcdonalds.” You bite back a scowl at his snipe. This is neutral territory—this isn’t Adder, and he can’t just send you to the back to wash dishes when you say something he doesn’t like. It’s obvious he doesn’t like people talking to you, doesn’t like seeing the way Clint tilts his phone towards you so that you can look at the strawberry crepe cake he’s trying to recreate this week, doesn’t like Bruce asking you how you would make a boysenberry and balsamic reduction. 

 You laugh with everyone else at his jibe, before shooting a sugary sweet smile in his direction. “Almost. I worked at Iron Bull, in Berlin for three months. I’m sure you’ve heard of it, haven’t you?” You make sure to school your expression into one of earnest curiosity as you cock your head. You’re not one to name drop, but if King Asshole is going to do his best to take pot-shots at you, you’re going to return fire. 

 It’s Scott that takes the bait. “Shit, the Iron Bull?” He asks, slapping a hand against the table as he leans forward. You nod innocently, keeping your eyes wide and your smile soft. “That’s… shit. We’re supposed to go on our honeymoon, but I heard you have to rob a bank to afford your bill.” Hope slaps his arm, and he laughs. 

 “It’s not that bad,” You say, taking another shot from his seemingly endless tray. “But I mean… don’t forget your wallet.” You chance a look at Bucky, and he looks pissed. You can’t help the cocky lift at the corners of your mouth, and his expression sours further, telling you he’s noticed. You revel in your victory, no matter how small. 

 “It’s getting late,” Hope says, and Scott nods. You scoot out of the booth, stretching as you stand to allow them to pass. He gives a salute to Steve, who grins. “We’ll see you tomorrow?” 

 “Of course.” 

 Scott turns to you, winking. “And make sure you bring some of that tongue to work—” he’s cut off as Hope grabs him by his collar, dragging him away as laughter echoes behind him. You shake your head. 

 “No tongues in the kitchen,” Bucky calls behind him. “I’d hate for short-stack to lose the only tongue she’s got in the house.” You know he’s just pushing at you, trying to get a rise out of you—it’d probably be easier to fire you if you throw a drink at his head with Steve in the vicinity. 

 “Oh you fucking wish you could try some of this tongue,” You retort boldly, and when Bucky turns his gaze on you, you meet his eyes with your own. “Hating from outside the club, and can’t even get in.” You’re next to Sam now that your buffers have left, and you don’t notice his arm going around the back of your seat. He’s laughing hard beside you, as Steve shoots a warning glare between you and Bucky. 

 It doesn’t work. 

 “Maybe I shouldn’t call you short-stack.” Bucky snorts, knocking back the remainder of his beer. “Frigid bitch might be a more fitting title.” No one is talking now, and knowing that everyone is watching this exchange lights a fire in your belly. 

 “Frigid?” You bark out a laugh. Maybe Kara’s rubbing off on you, maybe you’ve had too much to drink—three shots and a mixed drink isn’t too much, right?—or maybe you’re just fucking crazy. Either way, Sam doesn’t stop you as you swing a leg across his lap. Your other coworkers are drunkenly hooting and cheering behind you, and you silence the maybe this is a bad idea angel on your shoulder with a swift and deadly snap of its neck as you press your lips to his. 

 Sam’s hands are warm on your hips through your jeans, and they tighten just a little as you run your tongue across the seam of his lips. He opens promptly, letting you control the kiss as your tongue strokes along his. Sam tastes like whiskey; smokey and sweet. You drag your teeth across his bottom lip as you pull away. Sam remains still for a moment, his eyes lidded and his hands holding nothing but air as you settle back down into the booth, a few more inches of space between you than before. 

 “God fucking damn.” He mutters, and the entire table erupts into raucous applause. Your face begins to burn as the realization of what you’ve done filters through the confident haze of alcohol. “Gonna have to disagree, Buck.” He says lowly, and when you chance a look, King Asshole is gripping his beer bottle so tight you can see the veins popping out on his muscular arms. He looks like he wants to punch you—or maybe… something else. “You’re bringing that to dinner too, right?”

 You swipe your thumb across your bottom lip and give him your best imitation of his own smirk. “Guess I’m not frigid after all.” You bow with a little flourish, and Natasha holds up your hand by the wrist. 

 “The winner, everyone,” She gestures at you. “The heavyweight champ.” 

 One by one, everyone starts to filter out, until finally you stand too, stretching. It’s at least a thirty minute walk back to the apartment, and you don’t much feel like being mugged on your way back. You bid everyone a farewell, including Bucky, who glowers at you. You can feel his eyes boring holes through your back as you head for the bathroom, and you sigh with relief when the door shuts behind you. You leaned against it heavily for a moment before glancing at yourself in the mirror. Wow, Kara was right. This eyeliner really does stay on come hell or high water. 

 A knock comes as you’re washing your hands, flicking water onto your face and then patting it dry with a towel. “One sec,” You call, reaching for another towel. As you’re drying your hands, it sounds again, more insistent this time. “Jesus, there’s another bathroom, you know!” You yell, only for the knocking to become louder. You turn to yank open the door—and are crushed against the sink of the tiny bathroom as Bucky’s body fills the space. You barely register the door closing behind him before he’s tilting your chin up with rough fingers, his mouth smashing against yours. 

 It’s nothing like your kiss with Sam, which was soft, sweet and slow, like honey pooling on your tongue. Bucky’s mouth is devouring yours, his tongue thrusting between your lips as his teeth nip at any flesh he can reach. It’s hot and hungry and relentless, and when a little whine escapes your throat, he pulls back. You’re half sitting on the cool porcelain sink, with King Asshole slotted neatly between your thighs. He smirks at you as he pulls away, reaching for the door. 

 “You have a good night, short-stack.” 

 What the fuck just happened? 

Next Chapter

[vanserraseris]

END OF PART IV - This is just some more Lucien and Eris. Eris is pretty ooc, idk, I just imagine that Lucien and Eris got along at some point. I hope you enjoy it :)

yesssss im so here for lucien and eris being brothers <3 

Prince of Ashes. Part IV.

masterlist.

Eris had read the same business proposal three times. With a small, useless snarl, he threw the sheets of paper onto his desk and frustratedly rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms. He took a deep breath. His father had been demanding more from him, a strange thing Eris couldn’t understand considering how quickly his father had shoved him out of The Forest House after the War.

Eris had also managed to get into another fight with Cato, which, while a very common occurrence, still managed to leave him in a terrible mood. Blowing at a strand of blood-red hair that had fallen into his face, Eris lifted the proposal once more, hoping that this time the words would make some semblance of sense. When he became High Lord, Eris decided he was going to make his brothers answer all of his correspondence so that he wouldn’t have to.

Eris almost growled when the heavy oak door to his study slowly creaked open, but he opted to ignore whoever thought it would be a good idea to interrupt him. Perhaps they would just leave, Eris hoped, eyes scanning the document in front of him. With a scowl, Eris raised his head to snap at what was most likely a new servant, but when he saw no one at the door, Eris paused. He carefully placed the proposal off to the side, the fireplace on the other side of the small room flaring.

Just when Eris was about to stand, a small face peaked up at him from the opposite end of his desk. Eris frowned, “Lucien?” He asked it in a soft tone, one that he reserved for only three people in his life. Mother, Rufus, Lucien. Eris didn’t know what it was about them that put to sleep the dark thing inside him, but for whatever reason, he felt at peace in their presence.

“I knew you had come,” his youngest brother must have been on the tips of his toes to look over the desk at Eris. He didn’t look too pleased. 

The frown did not leave Eris’s face, “I am not to stay long, but I have much to do.” 

“You couldn’t be bothered to come say hello?” Lucien lifted his chin, the loose curls of his short hair shifting with the movement. Eris had not realised how upset Lucien was, his little face red in the cheeks with what Eris supposed was anger.

“Our father has given me a task, I can’t be spending the day with you,” too harsh for a child that had yet to reach half a decade, but Eris always had a hard time with softness. 

Lucien didn’t back down, with a small shake of his head he spoke, “You could have said hello.” 

“Go pester Rufus, Lucien,” Eris mumbled, lifting the paper and taking his eyes away from the sad gaze of his brother. Eris waved his other hand in the door’s direction, “Or go back to the lessons I know you should be in.”

Eris heard Lucien’s frustrated sigh and his small steps as he scrambled out of the room. While Eris knew that Beron paid very little attention to the whereabouts of Lucien, Eris had gotten plenty of beatings for missing a lesson. Noticing that Lucien had not closed the door but feeling much too lazy to do it himself, Eris settled once more into his cushioned chair. Grabbing a pen, Eris began to write out a lengthy response to the proposal.

He almost snorted when he got to the bottom of the page and signed it with his father’s name. As if Beron had such lovely writing, Eris thought rather arrogantly. His father hadn’t learned to do anything other than fight for the crown of the Autumn Court. He’d slaughtered five brothers for it. It was not hard to imagine how ruthless Beron must have been in his youth, but Eris also couldn’t believe how his father had killed his own brothers and slept at night.

Eris had always been thankful for having been firstborn. If being the eldest was good for nothing else, Eris was glad he wouldn’t be the one killing any siblings for a centuries old scrap of metal. 

Eris almost fell out of his seat when he heard the loud clang of the plate that landed on the desk, knocking him out of his miserable thoughts. Eris peered over the top of his desk, scowling. Red hair that was the same as his own was all he could see.

“Old Sae says you haven’t eaten,” Lucien made his way to Eris’s side, a small sneer on his face. Eris thought Lucien had never looked more like a Vanserra, like one of them — stubborn and determined, his chin tilted up and his nose lifted in a snobbish sort of way. 

“Lucien,” Eris began, but stopped to help his younger brother as he climbed onto the arm of the chair. “Fox, what in the hells are you doing?”

Lucien didn’t bother answering him — something that he did quite often — as he settled onto Eris’s lap, curling his small body up against his oldest brother. 

“Lucien,” Eris sighed, “I’m busy.” 

“I know,” Lucien said, looking up at Eris, russet eyes pleading, his mouth set in a pout, “I swear it, Eris, I swear that I won’t ask you to read to me or give me riddles or play chess with me, I swear.”

It was true that Lucien was always looking to Eris for attention, but he found it strangely calming to sit around with Lucien and do such ordinary things. Eris had thought about what he would do if he’d been born ordinary — if hadn’t been the Autumn Court’s heir — much more than he’d like to admit. 

Eris shook his head, but he was finding it very hard to say no. So much for not getting attached to the little runt, “I’m busy,” he repeated.

Lucien frowned, settling against Eris’s side and facing the desk, “So you be busy, and I’ll stay here and watch.” 

Eris felt something spark in his usually hollow chest. He sighed, leaning his chin onto the top of his brother’s head, hoping that Lucien understood how much Eris appreciated him in that moment. Lucien was a creature that gave love so freely, Eris prayed to the Mother that he would always be this way. “Alright,” Eris scooted the chair closer to the desk, “But I have a lot to do.”

Lucien hummed, knowing very well that he’d managed to do something great. Lucien had gotten very good at getting Rufus and their mother to do whatever he wanted, Eris was a bit more of a challenge. Small fingers lifting an apple slice from the plate he’d dropped onto the desk, Lucien handed it to Eris before he took a slice for himself and bit into it. Eris ruffled Lucien’s red locks, biting into his own apple slice with a small smile.

And so that was how Eris would spend the rest of his day. With Lucien sat quietly on his lap as he did the brunt of his father’s paperwork. Lucien had stayed true to his word and hadn’t asked Eris for anything. The sun had set by the time Eris was on the last letter, some marriage request for a young female in the aristocracy. The lord was hoping for a beneficial union between his daughter and one of the Vanserras.

Eris guessed that no harm would come from throwing that particular letter in the fire. It would be just his luck that Beron would choose another potential bride for him, assuming the old bastard had forgotten what a disaster it’d been the last time he had tried to marry Eris off to the first available female. With a knock on the door to his study, Eris wrapped an arm around little Lucien, who’d fallen asleep against his side. The door was thrown open, Priam walking inside with silent steps.

“Father knows Lucien missed his lessons and wants to speak with you,” he sounded calm and unbothered, but the embers flaring in his russett eyes gave away the fact that some emotion was brewing behind that cold façade. 

Brilliant, Eris thought, handing the sleeping Lucien to Priam, “Find Rufus,” Eris said, trying to keep his frustration at bay. He often had to remind himself that none of his brothers were at fault for whatever Beron was about to do, but he often got angry at them instead.

Priam didn’t give Eris a response, and as soon as Lucien was settled in Priam’s arms, they winnowed away, hopefully to Rufus. Rufus loved being around children, Eris wasn’t surprised. Rufus had always been the kindest of them, the most understanding and most loving. Eris had kept Rufus far away from their father, and while their mother had mostly ignored little Rufus, he didn’t seem to hold it against her. Eris supposed he should ask Rufus how he did it the next time he had a chance.

Only moments after Priam and Lucien had left, Eris felt the heavy, choking presence of his father’s magic, the smoking scent of it. He could only wait for whatever punishment his father had in store. Eris didn’t bother standing as his father walked into the study, his short brown hair brushed back and away from his face, his crown nowhere to be seen.

The High Lord of the Autumn Court slowly walked to Eris’s desk, his hand absently picked up a book that Eris had lying there. Eris wondered if Beron would throw it at him. 

Beron’s beringed fingers flipped through the pages of the book, his eyes scanning the words as he spoke. “I don’t pay those tutors for nothing, boy.” 

Eris swallowed, licked his lips, “I wasn't aware they were being paid.” Eris watched as his father huffed a humourless laugh.

“I don’t think I have to tell you that your behaviour has been unacceptable as of late.” Beron elegantly set the heavy book down, his voice calm. 

He’d been told countless times by his father to stop spoiling Lucien. Eris found that even without a vow to protect Lucien, he would have done it just to keep the smile on his youngest brother’s face. Mother above, Eris was a real idiot for thinking he could love someone in this court and not have it be a weakness.

Eris set his jaw, opting to act like a fool, “What behaviour?” 

The back-handed blow to the face he’d earned for that would surely bruise. Quick as an adder so that he hadn’t seen the hit coming, but Eris knew he wouldn’t have moved out of the way even if he had. 

“Don’t play the idiot with me, Eris, I have no patience for it,” Beron growled, his hand snapping up to hold Eris’s face in a tight, uncomfortable grip. Beron leaned over the desk, “I don’t think I need to teach you another lesson?”

Eris shook his head, his father’s grip on his chin still too tight, “No, High Lord,” he ground out. Eris had been beaten bloody less than a fortnight ago for taking Lucien and Rufus to the city for a day trip, but Beron’s lessons had always taught Eris absolutely nothing, and that one had been no different. Not only that, but Eris found he was very good at repeating his long list of stupid mistakes that managed to make his father absolutely livid.

Beron practically threw Eris’s face to the side, “Be careful, boy, I have six other sons to take my place. I have no use for an heir who can hardly obey a simple order.” 

The sudden urge for Eris to bark that Beron only had five was overwhelming, but he settled for glaring at his father’s back as he stalked out of the study. Eris would gladly give one of his brother’s the throne, he’d never fucking wanted it anyway.

Eris slumped back in his seat as his father left the room, the control on his own magic slipping so that golden flames flickered in his eyes. Eris wanted to flip the desk in his anger, but he hated making a mess of things, so he took a deep breath instead, cooling the fire in his veins. Eris raised a pale hand, wiping some blood from his split lip with the pad of his thumb. It would heal by morning, Eris thought, and all would be as if it had never happened.

[de-profundis-ad-astra]

King of Nothing

Author’s Note: @firefeatherx reminded me with her message that I haven’t reposted this chapter since I trashed my old blog, so here it is. This is the first chapter of my urban gothic WIP, Wretches and Kings. My masterlist with other posts about this WIP, as well as my other project, can be found here. Word Count: 2k Rating: The project as a whole is R-rated. This chapter is a bit tamer than what follows. Just be warned that there’s some language and a graphic description at the end. Taglist: @firefeatherx @goldenhour-goldenboy @mandoplease @phoenixhalliwell @havenforafrazzledmind @beatriz-silva-00 @pascal-isaac @worldominatorx @givemethatgold @agirllovespancakes @lilacyennefer @dignityneeded @veuliee @briskywalker @davairys @aetherwrites @ryns-ramblings @teriwrites @thenewfaustus @marmaladewords @nominalnebula @procratinatingwriter (let me know if you want to be +/-)

“Boy with gunsmoke for breath. Boy with rebellion in your bones. Your city is ignited, your city is screaming your name. Your city is raising its fist. Your city is slamming its body against a police shield and smiling a bloody red smile.”

The very streets whispered his name.

Here comes the Renegade, they seemed to say, the thin scratches weathering his skull mask shining in the pale moonlight. Behold, the Master of Death as he walks among the living.

Truly, he lived according to his titles. Dark and silent as a shadow, he moved as though he existed on a separate plane, only seen because he wanted to be seen. He burned the city every night with his stare, cut it to ribbons with his silver tongue, and by morning, his city quietly rebuilt itself, ripe once more for the harvest.

A mystery behind a mask, the winds whispered through the trees. An enigma even unto himself.

The city sat in wait on its knees for him. Because without him—without their one certainty—this place would lose its collective mind.

After all, sighs the wind. The devil is in the details.

--

To call the Easthold Pulse a night club was—simply put—a gross oversimplification of what services it truly provided. Most nights, parties stretched beyond the club’s walls, an unprecedented multi-block party attended by locals and tourists alike as though it was the epicenter of their life force.

All Hallows’ Eve was one of the Pulse’s busiest nights; all streets within a three-block radius cleared and barricaded as everyone—from ghost-story enthusiasts to common party-goers alike—flocked to central Easthold. To the thumping of basslines and guitar riffs that they considered the very heartbeat of the city. 

For the thousands of denizens of downtown Easthold fled the scene well over forty-eight hours in advance, twice as many swarmed in to take their place, camping out on the streets and on rooftops for what was sure to be the party of the year, every year.

The Renegade was one of many who thrived on such excitement.

But for him, tonight was not for dancing, sharing ghost stories, or getting perpetually smashed. Tonight was one of the few nights of the year the Renegade could meet with his wealthiest contractor without attracting any prying eyes. The only second glances tonight came from those who recognized his identity. Or the one they’d all come to know.

“Nice mask!” Echoes of the compliment followed him as he bobbed and weaved through the dense, writhing crowd. “It looks just like the Renegade’s!”

And when he turned to give them a quick glance, sometimes even a nod of acknowledgement, if they were lucky enough, those who fawned after the Renegade veritably swooned with their fellow partiers. Such interesting creatures, the people of Easthold. Where serial killers amassed cult followings, celebrities in their own right.

Getting within the Pulse’s walls on a night like All Hallows’ Eve without a reservation might have been a death wish for the average layperson. For many, just getting close enough to hear the music coming straight from the source was a victory. Tonight, the Pulse became a temple, and those inside would dance, drink, and debauch in worship to whatever god out there would listen. A temple of pure pleasure.

The Renegade had no intention of entering the club through the front tonight, and rumors of people losing their lives by sneaking in through the back was enough to dissuade most attendees from making an attempt of their own. He elbowed his way through the last few clumps of people and then, as though there was an invisible barrier no one dared to cross, he reached his destination.

The shadows behind the Easthold Pulse were so deep that, were he alone, the Renegade might have removed his mask to improve his vision. He was now, at least, alone enough to breathe easily, save for the homeless dreg of a man lounging near a dumpster and a firmly muscled bouncer standing guard near the rear entrance under the light of an old lamp.

“You’re not supposed to be back here,” the bouncer informed him stonily, staring down at the Renegade’s tall frame from his even more impressive physical height.

“The angel queen sleeps on the night of devils,” was all the Renegade said by way of greeting.

A flicker of recognition flashed behind the guard’s brown eyes, but he said. “You’re late. Go back to the front and wait, sir.”

Must have been a long night already, if he felt ballsy enough to give the Renegade a hard time like this.

“They askin’ clients to sweeten the deal with cash now—”

“Get back to the front before I throw you there,” the bouncer menaced. “Self-righteous prick.”

Behind the mask, the Renegade’s smile faded into an amused smirk. The eye sockets of his skull mask seemed to swallow all the light in the already dim alley.

“I’m going to put this as politely as possible,” said the Renegade gingerly.

His hand snapped from where he’d so subtly slipped it into the depths of his jacket. The bouncer, too focused on the permanent grin etched into that wicked mask, hadn’t noticed. The Renegade thrust the end of a suppressed pistol into the soft skin underneath the bouncer’s chin.

“The angel queen sleeps on the night of devils,” the Renegade repeated in a soft whisper that sounded too much like a lover’s. “You know the rest.”

The bouncer stood frozen for a moment, his eyes wide and head angling away from the cool end of the weapon digging into his skin. The Renegade’s gloved finger curled slowly around the trigger. His breath came out in short, barely audible whispers as he whispered, “Tomorrow she will seek retribution.”

Slowly, he twisted the handle of the door and pushed against it. The loud throbbing of synthetic dance music flooded the Renegade’s ears. The door opened to reveal a dim hallway with multiple doorways to the right, ending in a curtain of silver beads that flashed with bursts of light from further within the club. He didn’t need to go further than this hallway. He had no need to.

“Thanks,” said the Renegade, putting his pistol back into his jacket, patting the bouncer on the shoulder as he walked past and slid the door shut with the heel of his foot.

Several people lounged in the hallway. Many wore masks, others did not, but all eyes were on him as he strode passed, and all were smart enough to not utter a word as she threw open one of the doors and showed himself in.

“You’re late,” said the man behind the metal desk taking up the center space of the room without bothering to glance up as the Renegade slammed his weight into the only other chair in the room.

“Make yourself more accessible and I’ll improve my punctuality.”

The man behind the desk dismissively returned the papers in his hand to his desk, his dark brown skin accentuated by the office’s dim lighting. “This was your messiest year to date.”

“It was also my most difficult year to date, Adder.” The Renegade casually slung one leg over an arm of the cushioned chair, leaning into the opposite armrest. “Perhaps you should thank me for getting all the jobs done before my deadlines.”

Such a relaxed posture, everything about him open and vulnerable, save for that damned skull mask hiding the Renegade’s face. The man called Adder knew better than to be put off by it. Underneath it all, he was just a man, same as any other.

“You know, it’s customary for my clients to show their faces when they meet with me,” Adder gestured to the mask. “Are you going to cooperate this year?”

The Renegade remained firmly rooted where he was. “Take a guess.”

Adder pointed at the Renegade, his elbow propped up near the edge of his sleek desk. “You know damn well I don’t hire your services out of necessity. And I know damn well you don’t work for me out of the same necessity. There’s nothing holding me back from deciding to not contract you for another year.”

The Renegade showed no visible signs of alarm. His head tilted back, and Adder felt keenly aware of how exposed his neck was, noting the dark stubble darkening the line of his jaw.

“How unfortunate for you,” he said. “Do you know how many people in this city alone request my skillset?”

Adder shifted. “Far too aware, I’m afraid.” He was the one who dealt with all the bullshit paperwork, after all.

“So, consider, that maybe you do hire my services out of necessity. You’re going to have some very angry customers on your hands if you notify our good friends out on the dark web that you, Saxen Adder, no longer contract with the Renegade. Angry customers mean poor reviews, and suddenly coming straight to the source, willing to pay triple…”

Saxen reined in his grimace; he could hear the damned smile in that man’s voice.

“You forget that if I choose to not contract you, the process becomes far more complex and permanent than a simple vow of silence for everything you did while working with me. There won’t be a Renegade for people to go running to to handle their dirty work.”

“Oh,” the Renegade sneered. “Could you imagine the uproar if the people found out that I no longer existed?”

“They’ll find someone else to obsess over. Don’t think you’re so special.”

“But I am.” The Renegade place a hand over his heart. Were it not for the mask, the attire, the very demeanor he carried himself with, the sentiment might have been easier felt. “Not only am I the most skilled contract killer in the city, but I work with the post powerful person in the city, and maintain my own clientele. Don’t you think that would supersede McFarlane and put me in the position of top dog?”

“Careful how you choose your words. If she catches wind of you placing yourself above her, she won’t take kindly to it.”

The wide-stretched grin across the Renegade’s mask was all-seeing. Even in a technical seat of power over him, Saxen Adder felt oddly exposed underneath that hollow stare. This was a man with too much power, and too little to lose.

“McFarlane is losing her relevance.” It could very well have been the first time someone had spoken such ill of Easthold’s queenpin. “It’s only a matter of time before her empire falls with her. And who will be left in the ashes by the phoenix to build it back up?”

“You’re a self-serving bastard, you know that?” Adder hissed.

“It comes with the title,” all traces of humor left the Renegade’s voice. “Make your decision. I don’t have all night.”

He never saw it coming.

Saxen Adder whipped out his sidearm, and painted the wall with the Renegade’s brain.

[missing-aria-blog]

“Invisible” Chapter 2: Stand in the Light

A year has passed since that night when your life changed forever.  You fled the city of your birth and never looked back.  You now lead a quiet life as a healer’s apprentice in a town far from your home.  The prince of this region is a bit… odd, but his people were more or less happy and Prince Average had never met you so there was no chance he’d recognize you if you were to see him in the streets.  

You lived in the attic above the shop that your teacher, Mistress Grey, ran.  She hadn’t asked too many questions when you’d answered her help wanted sign.  Your knowledge of herbs and slaves had been more than enough for her to take you on as an apprentice and the work suited you.  You’d been getting on well enough that she largely left the general business of making remedies to you these days.  Her daughter ran the shop below and was kind to you, even if she had no healing gift herself.  She knew the stock and that was all that she really needed.  

You step out onto the rooftop terrace where your herb garden thrives.  Your assortment of healing herbs and flowers was probably half the reason your teacher had taken you on so easily.  You smile as you trail your fingertips over the leaves and petals around you, each plant seeming to twine briefly around your hand as you pass over it.  Pulses of joy and contentment at the morning sun’s rays filtered through their touch and into your mind.   Good, you could enjoy your day off to its fullest.

Today was the last day of the local festival and your teacher had given you leave to enjoy the celebration.  She was to depart the next morning to buy some of the rarer materials needed in the practice’s medicines, so you needed to enjoy the time off while you had it.  She’d offered to bring you with her, but this particular trip would go a bit too close to your hometown for comfort.  

Even in the short time you’d been with Mistress Grey you’d been able to travel all over the continent.  She’d even taken you to the ocean!  That had been a fun trip and she’d taught you all sorts of medicinal uses for various seaweeds.  You’d miss her while she was gone this time.  Her daughter, Marina, was your age though and was excellent company.  

You left the terrace, closing the doors behind you before going to examine yourself in the mirror.  Your hair was done up in a braided crown, silk flowers woven into it in hues of pink and white.  Your green dress was well suited to the spring festivities and beautiful weather.  

Taking your light cloak off of the hook by the door you make your way downstairs.  Marina is packing jars of salves and pouches of dried herbs into a large basket, probably to bring out to the stall set up in front of the shop for the festival.  She looks up and smiles at you as you peer into the basket.

“Are you sure you have enough for today?” you ask as you notice certain cures are looking a bit low, namely the hangover teas.  Not surprising given the parties that went on during festivals.  

Marina playfully rolls her eyes at you, “Yes of course!  Mother is already working on packaging up what you two made yesterday.  Go enjoy yourself.  I saw the baker putting out some of those croissants you love so much.  If you hurry you’ll catch them while they’re still warm.”  

“Fine fine.  But you will let me know if you need me, yes?” you pull a necklace out from the front of your dress.  It’s a simple leather cord with what looks to be a plain white adder stone hanging from it.  There was magic in the rock.  If Marina or her mother activated their own stones it would let you know to return to the shop post haste.  They’d been a pricey bit of magic, but completely necessary when emergency patients came through the door.

“You know I will,” Marina made a shooing gesture with her free hand, “Now leave before I tell mother that you need a whole WEEK off.”

You gasp in mock horror before giving her a quick hug and heading out the front door.  

It was still a bit early and most of the stalls were only just finishing their set-ups, but the baker was already quite busy.   Even so, he spotted you and waved you past the crowd, “I set one aside special for you my dear.  You really helped me out of a bind with those herbs.  I really thought we’d ordered enough but that boy must have counted our stock wrong.”  

“Don’t be too harsh on him, he is your grandson after all,” you smile as you gratefully accept the offered croissant swirled with pink strawberry jelly, “He’ll get the hang of it.”  

The baker sniffs but it’s obvious he isn’t actually mad about the situation.  Just putting on a face, “Well, either way, keep me in mind if you ever have a surplus in the future.  I don’t know how you grow such flavorful stock but you truly have a gift.” “I will!  Thank you for the breakfast!”  You wave and duck out of the way of the hungry crowd.  

You munch on the pastry as you wander through the stalls, stopping here and there to browse and occasionally purchase items to be delivered to the shop later on.  There are dancers, musicians, and other artists displaying their talents for everyone to witness and you stop here and there to watch and listen, your body swaying gently to the music.  

As the day goes on the town square begins getting set up for the evening musical performances and the dance that will likely last until the wee hours of the morning.  Multicolor paper lanterns are strung from cords above the square and lit with care.  Vendors sell the springbell flowers that are the icon of this particular festival.  It’s tradition to buy one to give to those you hold great affection for.  A symbol of the hope that your bond will grow in the year to come.  The flower is one that can sprout roots from its stem when tended with care, and it’s considered good luck if the flower you’re gifted with thrives under your care.  

You stop at one of the carts, “Two please,” you reach into your belt pouch and pull out the required coins, handing them to the seller as she hands you back three of the blooms, “Oh, you gave me an extra one…” The woman shakes her head, “It’s the same price for three as it is for two.  We had a good harvest this year.  Thanks for that fertilizer by the way.  It worked like magic!” “I’m glad!  Let me know if you need more.” you carefully tuck the blooms away in a hardshell leather pouch, making sure the stems are properly wrapped before closing them up safely inside.  

As you turn back towards the town square you hear shouting coming from one of the alleyways.  Out of curiosity you make your way towards the sound.  Whomever is making the noise is clearly moving away from the main street but you can still make out some words.  ‘Hand it over’ stands out in particular.  You hurry after the retreating sounds, reaching out with your inner magic to feel for the roots under the paving stones and the vines crawling up walls.

The alleyway makes a sharp turn behind a shop that’s closed for the festival, which would explain how no one else had noticed this happening in what was a mostly safe town.  You press yourself against the wall before peeking around the corner.  You see two men, clearly not locals, standing over something, or rather… someone.  You can’t see whomever they’re harassing, but it clearly isn’t a friendly encounter.

“I can tell by your clothes that you’ve got money dwarf, so hand it over and we’ll let you go without TOO much damage.” the man’s companion chuckles darkly as he flips a knife in the air.

“Ah yes well, you see there’s the problem,” the responding voice is heavily accented, but speaks with a distinctly calm air.  You aren’t sure if it’s confidence or stupidity, but either way  you can’t stand idly by.

“Hey!” you shout as you step out from behind the corner.  You can feel the magic in the earth below you responding to your anger.  How dare these thugs try to ruin someone’s day like this!  Your attention is locked on the two who whirl to face you, so you don’t really see who they were threatening before said person seems to blink out of existence.  A fellow magic user?  Well that would explain why he hadn’t seemed concerned.  Of course that left you with two very tall, very buff thieves to deal with on your own.  

They both narrow their eyes, then sly gins split their faces as they realize they’re dealing with a single, if a bit angry looking, girl.

“Well well, what do we have here?” the knife flipper takes a step towards you.

“You lost us our payday girlie…” the other growls, “You should have just kept going.” “Maybe so,” You can feel the roots under their feet pushing at the flagstones, “But maybe you two just picked the wrong town.”  

You’re about to call the roots up to tangle their legs when a barrel lid comes flying out of nowhere, braining the knife guy upside the head.  The other turns, confused, just in time for an invisible something to come crashing into his nose, causing blood to spray as it breaks.  He sears as he looks around in a panic.  His eyes land on you, “W-witch!”  

You probably look just as confused as he does, “That wasn’t me...”  You gather yourself and smile at the guy, “Looks like you’ve ticked off the town’s guardian spirit.”  The lie rolls smoothly off of your tongue, you father was a master merchant after all.  You knew your fair share of fast talking.  

“G-guardian spirit?  You’re lying!” he tries to help his dazed companion back to his feet with one arm while his other hand covers his bleeding nose.  

“Well, I could be.  But then, if I’m lying then you’re right and I’m a witch that you just pissed off,” you shrug, “Either way, I’d say you’re screwed.”

The man’s eyes widen, “You’ll regret this!” he drags his friend along with him as he flees into the surrounding woods.

“Doubtful,” you mutter as he disappears from sight.  You send energy down the connected lifeforce of the woods, urging the very forest itself to trip up and otherwise hinder the thugs, lending credence to the claim of a ‘guardian spirit’.  When you’re sure that they aren’t coming back you scan the alleyway, “Hello…?”  

Silence greets you for a long while, then that accented voice answers you, “Merci mademoiselle, for the rescue.”  ------------------------------------------------------ Fanfic “Invisible” is available to read on Wattpad https://www.wattpad.com/story/259956086-invisible-jack-x-reader

[thebmatt]

FFXIV Write 2021 Prompt #15: Thunderous

thunderous – relating to or giving warning of thunder, very loud, powerful, or intense

It had been something of an eventful few days for the Warriors of Light. A cure for tempering, found. A civil war within Limsa Lominsa, averted. The first step towards peace with a beast tribe, taken. Had it not been for the strange towers appearing all across the star, not to mention Fandaniel introducing them all to his new version of Bahamut, it might have actually been called a good few days.

It was all of these events that had brought them to Gridania on this day. Kan-E-Senna and her subordinates within the Twin Adder needed to be briefed on all that had occurred, so they could begin making plans for how best to use their soon-to-be arriving flock of porxies. Privately, Rheika thought it would be hilarious to just let them all arrive and watch the chaos unfold as the Elder Seedseer and the Hearers of Stillglade Fane attempted to figure out just why there was a sudden mass of flying pigs in their city, but alas, getting their beastmen neighbors untempered and beginning overtures of peace was too important.

They’d spent the past few bells getting her up to speed on all that had transpired, explaining how the porxies actually functioned, how to route any communications that needed to be passed to the Scions concerning the towers, describing the appearance and capabilities of this “Lunar Bahamut”, and the like. Many had offered to make the report in their stead, but for now there was little for the Warriors of Light to actually do at the moment, and since they’d been present firsthand, they felt themselves the logical choice to inform the remaining Alliance leader who’d not yet been apprised of recent events.

As they left the Lotus Stand, emerging from the path that led to the Seedseer’s private altar into Gridania proper, Rheika gave a brief nod to both the Serpent Officer and the Conjurer stationed there, and briefly looked around. As usual, there were plenty of blue-robed conjurers going about the business of dealing with the many bureaucratic matters Stillglade Fane was responsible for. Petitioners asking for blessings for their harvest, permission to sell new wares within the city, a few asking for healing. Rheika fought to keep a sneer from her face. Gridania was for all intents and purposes a theocracy, nothing allowed to be done without the blessings of the Elementals.

She didn’t particularly trust the Elementals. She might have been born here, but her community of Keepers of the Moon generally paid them no mind. They’d lived there for generations without so much as a thank you to the elementals outside of simply taking care of the place they lived in, not over hunting or despoiling the land, and no nature spirits or treants had ever so much as bothered them. Any talk she’d ever heard of the Elementals had long since come to resemble talk of Primals rather than some benevolent forest Gods that allowed people to dwell within their boughs.

Learning how Stillglade Fane actually functioned had made it far worse. The “Hearers”, the blue robed conjurers that made up the staff of Stillglade Fane, were barely able to actually  hear the voices of the Elementals. Mastery of that particular skill was unique only to the small population of horned humanoids known as the Padjals. Their small numbers meant they were spread out through the Shroud dealing with major problems, with the only two permanently in Gridania being E-Sumi-Yan (who was permanently needed within the Conjurer’s Guild as head teacher) and the Elder Seedseer herself. Both were endlessly busy, far too much so to handle all of the requests from the citizens that needed to be answered. Thus the Hearers had developed a series of rites and rituals to attempt to divine the Elementals’ will, which they utilized in answering the day-to-day petitions brought to their doors.

Rheika had never known what exactly these rituals consisted of, but Dahkar had attended a small class on them as part of his training as a Conjurer. As an adventurer, he was not expected to serve as an official part of the Fane, but the Hearers made the class open to all students of the guild, in case they perhaps wished to utilize them in their travels through the Shroud. He’d told her what he’d learned in the quick lesson, most of the rituals consisted of what was essentially the casting of lots using leaves and sticks, and using their best interpretation the patterns that emerged. It had all seemed utterly foolish to her, and she’d seen more than one instance of a Hearer going rogue and forcing his own interpretations of the Elementals’ will onto others, only to be revealed as incorrect later on.

Rheika hated this place. She wanted to get out of here and head back home to the Rising Stones as quickly as she could. Her fellow Warriors of Light were following behind her, chatting amicably about dinner plans. They had a few other matters to discuss, but outside the guild was a poor place to do it, the Hearers did not care for loitering without official business. She traipsed forward, making for the aetheryte shard placed not far from the Guild’s entrance, already envisioning her destination, the city’s main aetheryte plaza, in her mind’s eye. She’d almost reached the shard when a series of voices reached her sensitive ears.

“-please, you must do something!”

“The girl’s only seen twelve summers!” “I’m sorry, but such is the will of the forest.” “But that’s not right!”

Rheika stopped, her hand inches away from attuning range. The words played over in her head. “Twelve summers”. “Will of the forest”. “Not right!”. She turned to look in the direction they’d come from. An elezen, a hyur, and a lalafell, all similarly garbed with upset expressions on their faces were speaking with a Hearer. The Hearer, a hyur man, was making a series of exaggerated gestures as if talking to children.  Rheika wasn’t entirely certain what to make of the petitioners, perhaps a blended family or workers at an orphanage, but it was clear that a girl in their care was needing help, and their cries were falling on deaf ears.

Few things enraged the Warriors of Light more than the inflicting of suffering on children.

She turned to the others, who had noticed her change, and looked to her with anticipatory expressions on their faces. She held up her palm, then tilted her fingers away from herself twice, a clear back up and wait signal. The others immediately backed off and stood away, near the treeline. She nodded, and turned to walk up behind the Hearer. She tried to keep the anger bubbling within her down as she spoke, only mostly successfully. “Excuse me, but what is going on here?”

The hearer didn’t even turn around, simply sighed and waved his hands in a dismissive gesture. “Move along, outsider, if you’ve business with Stillglade Fane, you must wait, not interrupt-”

“Listen up, you moss-addled twat! First of all, I was BORN in this forest. Second of all, turn your ass around and LOOK at who you are talking to!” Rheika thundered.

The hearer turned “How dare you? If you really-”. His words cut off with a gasp. “Y-you’re Rheika Aliapoh. One of th-the Warriors of Light!”

“Good boy.” she replied sarcastically, crossing her arms and giving him a disapproving look. “Unfortunately for you, you used your turn to piss me off. So now, I’m talking to them.” She looked over to the trio of petitioners, her face more sympathetic. “Hi, I’m Rheika. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

The hyur woman wiped away tears falling down her face. “H-hi. My name is Lina….my daughter Dani is sick. We think it’s Greenrot. She’s holding strong now, but it’s getting worse. We came to the Conjurer’s guild for healing but…they’re saying it’s the Elementals’ will that she die!”, Lina said as she burst into tears. The Elezen male put his hands on her shoulders and looked at Rheika. “We’ve been friends with Lina for years, and we all moved in together when times got tough for us all. Mani’s like a niece to us. Please, can you….” he trailed off.

Rheika nodded to him and turned back to the hearer, absolute fury in her face. “And you’re just going to let that girl die?”

“I-it’s not like I WANT to, but-”

“It’s a fairly simple fix, hearer. One quick Esuna cast. Hell, I’ve only had rudimentary conjury training and I know it. Surely a big bad hearer like yourself ought to be familiar with it” she said, venom dripping from her voice. “Less than a few minutes of your time, and that girl gets to live. And you’re gonna sit there and let her suffer and probably die. A CHILD.”

His face contorted into an ugly sneer. “Look, I wouldn’t expect a keeper of the moon like you to understand, given how much your kind seems inclined to just take whatever they want from the forest without-”

Rheika reached back towards the gunblade she carried strapped to her back, stopping just short of actually grabbing the hilt. “You keep talking. Give me a reason.”

“You come here to this place and try to tell ME, who has trained to hear the Elemental’s voice for years, how to do my job? You can’t POSSIBLY understand-”

“And what about me, Hearer?” intoned Dahkar’s steely voice as he stepped towards them, coming from behind Rheika. “Surely you’re not such a tremendous idiot as to believe I cannot understand, correct?”

The Hearer spun to regard him, anger on his face immediately vanishing as he blanched. Dahkar was over seven fulms of very angry looking Au Ra, clad in the pristine white robes that the Hearer had only ever witnessed the Padjals wear. “Y….you’re…you’re the one the Padjals trained in the White? But…you’re not even of the forest!”

“Wrong answer. The correct response is ‘No, Dahkar of the White, Warrior of Light, I know you understand. Also I’m going to apologize to Rheika and throw myself at her mercy before going to heal the diseased child’. Do you see the difference?”

“I….I will not be spoken to this way!” the man said, stamping his feet. “I am a Hearer, charged with listening to the wills of the Elementals and ensuring the people of Gridania live according to their will, lest we awaken the Greenwrath! Who are you, a man clearly of the Far East, to question how-”

“Gonna stop you right there.” Dahkar growled. “First of all, you really should stop making judgements about where someone is from based on what they look like. I might have been born in the Far East, that’s true, but I’ve lived in the Shroud since I was a babe, just like Rheika here.”

Rheika smiled innocently.

“Secondly, I’ve been through Conjurer training, clearly. I’ve seen how the Hearers work. The only people who can directly hear the Elementals, much less communicate with them, have horns on their head, and I don’t mean this kind” he continued, tapping the large black-scaled horn on his own head. “You and I both know a lot of being a Hearer is using your own good judgement and hoping the rituals you’ve devised over the years give you the correct result. Lot of room for error there.”

The Hearer pondered that for a moment. “Well, yes, I suppose there are instances of Hearers being wrong. I do recall that kerfuffle with the animal exhibits outside the Leatherworker’s Guild…” He looked up in realization, then began delivering with the gusto of a professional orator.  “Ah, but even you must admit that if the people lose faith that the Hearer’s word is that of the Elementals, then chaos shall reign in the city! Every pronouncement we make will be endlessly questioned, or even ignored! The peaceful symbiosis we have achieved will be undone, and the Greenwrath will be upon us all! Yes, surely even you must agree to that?!”

Dahkar’s laughter drew the attention of other nearby Conjurers, who were suddenly very interested why their fellow was loudly arguing with a Warrior of Light and a White Mage, no less. “Or you could simply exercise better judgement and not leave the healing of the citizenry that are supposed to be in your care to blind chance, perhaps? Or are you going to seriously tell me you think the Elementals have an opinion on the health of a single member of the community?”

Rheika idly watched them continue to go back-and-forth with their arguments. In truth, she was hardly interested in the debate. She was more interested in keeping the count she’d quietly started running in her head ever since drawing the Hearer’s attention to herself.

Now, she reckoned, that count had gone on long enough. The Hearer was now going on a tangent about equilibrium in nature when she interrupted him. “Thanks for hopping in there, Dahk. I was afraid I was losing his attention”

Dahkar turned to her and smiled, crossing his arms. “Reckon we gave them enough time to get it done?”

Rheika turned towards the path that led from Stillglade Fane to the rest of Gridania. “Well, I can’t see any sign of them, so I’d say it’s definitely gotta be close enough.”

The Hearer sputtered. “What…what exactly are you two talking about?”

Rheika smiled ever so sweetly at him. “Aren’t you forgetting about someone, Hearer? Or rather, ‘someones’?”

The Hearer, shocked, spun around. The three petitioners were no longer there, and as he frantically looked around the area, he saw no sign of them. “What? Where…where did they go?”

Dahkar laughed again. “Well, if we timed this right, our companions have hopefully gotten them back to their dwelling by now and are using their own healing skills to cure the little girl! They might not know anything about Conjury, but they’re pretty good in their own right. Fearless is an expert in Sharlayan Astrology, and Franks has revived the teachings of the Scholars of ancient Nym!”

The Hearer was dumbfounded. He flailed about, as if he felt like he should do something, but had no idea what. “But…the Elementals…what if this angers them? What if…”

Rheika sighed through his abbreviated rant and cut in “If the Elementals get THAT upset over this, then I’m sure the Seedseer and the other padjals can calm them down, like they have to do entirely too often anyway. Given how little they seem to care about the million other things affecting the Shroud, I doubt they’ll even notice.”

She turned to regard the other assembled Hearers and other Conjurers. “But if they do? And Kan-E-Senna can’t get through to them?” She smiled. “Well, my friends, luckily for you, we’re the Warriors of Light. We have a fair amount of experience dealing with powerful beings made of aether that care little for the lives of the mortals around them.”

She crossed her arms and smiled happily. “So I wouldn’t worry. We’ll be here to protect the people of Gridania and the rest of the Shroud if it comes to that!”

She turned and walked out of the Fane. Dahkar gave a confident smile (which most non-Au Ra would agree looked more sinister than simply confident) and nodded to the assembled Hearers before turning and following her out.

The Hearers would spend several days debating their words and whether or not they should bring them before the Seedseer. In the end, they simply opted to wait and see what would come.

[bo-sin-limite]

Dangerous game

We walk in the bush. Every morning and afternoon we will take a group of students straight into the wilderness. It is beautiful and fascinating. It is where the wild animals roam. None of them are actively hunting humans, otherwise we would be in a whole different ballpark. But many of them can be dangerous: If you surprise a sleeping buffalo in a thicket, if you get between an elephant and her calf, if you meet a hungry lion pride, run into a clan of hyena at night, block a hippo’s escape route to the water or step onto a puff adder. You may even get kicked by a zebra if you corner it. Or maybe you just meet a rhino that is having a bad day. 

There are no guarantees, no insurance, no off-switch. This risk is an unfortunate byproduct of being in the wild. But it is also an essential part of the experience. This fear changes your perception, your awareness. It feels like the difference between being on a highway in a car, versus a motorbike. It intensifies everything. Being on a safari drive can be amazing, but it’s not the same as walking through the bushveld and seeing potentially dangerous game animals without 3 tons of steel between you and them. 

When you take people into the bush, it’s your responsibility to make sure everyone gets out well. Today’s city dwellers don’t know anymore how to behave in this environment. They are noisy, clumsy and unpredictable. How would they?

And if it goes wrong, somebody gets hurt. Either one of the guests or the animal. Your most important tool is awareness. You look where you walk, you listen carefully what is behind those trees, you check where the wind is blowing. When you see animals you anticipate what they will do, you take care not to make them feel threatened. Nobody wants things to escalate. 

We are out here, because we love animals, we want to admire them, we want to experience their world. But if shit does hit the fan, you need to protect your guests. You need to be ready. You need to be fast. For safety every group has 2 rifles. You hold this thing in your hand, constantly. All day long. It’s annoying and 99.9% of the time you don’t need it - just like a seat belt. 

But that one moment, when that 700 kg buffalo dagga boy runs towards you with its head down, you need to spot it, get a round into the chamber, shoulder the rifle, aim, pull the trigger and put a bullet into its brain. If you miss, you’re dead. You may have 4 seconds, if you are lucky - but it could be less. Charging animals can run at unbelievable speed: 10 meters per second for an angry hippo, 22 meters per second on a lioness.       

So here you are on a fun walk with nature loving tourists watching a buffalo herd: And you catch yourself thinking where exactly it’s brain sits, how fast it could get to your current position, how far you would let it advance before you call it. Are you paranoid? Well you must be vigilant, it’s your job. But some people seem to get obsessed with speed: getting your rifle into action instantly as if it was a race.

But often the bigger issue is knowing the threat. One day we are walking through a thick patch, and alert for buffalo suddenly hear a massive commotion in the bushes. Something is moving, fast. Instantly I put my hand on the bolt, ready to chamber. Half a second later I see a warthog running away. Instant relief - false alarm. Nobody noticed, how embarrassing would it be to chamber a huge caliber on a warthog?

[therandomavenger]

Anger and Acceptance

I've been listening to the Halliwell book Delivered from Distraction which was a follow up to his Driven to Distraction which was my introduction to adhd. And let me tell you, fam, it is bringing up some memories. It's a guide to what we knew back in 2005 about adhd, as well as inspirational stories about people who have persevered.

Now, I wasn't diagnosed with adhd until I was 32. The fact that I functioned at all before that time was a miracle, because I could look back on my childhood and young adulthood and see the signs in myself.

I was constantly losing things. In third grade they started handing out lunch tickets, which had to be purchased ahead of time. No ticket, no lunch. My parents were always good about buying them for me but then came the crucial next step: I had to keep track of them. No ticket, no lunch. At least twice a week I would be holding up the class, making us late for lunch, because my lunch ticket would have vanished into the black hole that was my desk. Everybody would be standing there, impatient, thinking 'what an idiot' because I, a non neurotypical eight-year old had not been able to keep track of a piece of paper that was about the size of a playing card. I seemed to be the only one who had a problem with this. It even came up at a parent-teacher conference. Did anyone attempt to help me come up with a strategy for helping me keep track of my lunch tickets? Maybe intervene with some easy organizational strategies or reminded of where I should put it? Of course not, it was just constantly pointed out as a problem that I shouldn't be having and I of course internalized that, thinking I was just a bad person.

Things didn't go better as I got older. In fifth grade we were supposed to have memorized our multiplication tables. Now, I had trouble with math, but I'd learned my multiplication tables. I knew them. I couldn't do them fast, but I could do them. So, of course my fifth grade teacher, a grumpy old man named Mr. Southwood, started doing timed tests. We had five minutes to do 100 multiplication problems. Now, this was a nightmare for me. I knew my multiplication tables, but could not perform at that speed on demand. Plus, at the end of every test we had to call out our score verbally, which would then be recorded. This, of course, followed intense stress with humiliation. Sometimes I did ok on them, rising up to the 70s or 80s, often I was down in the 20s and 30s.

But there was hope. If you achieved a perfect score twice, you were exempted from taking them in the future. We did these like three times a week. Now, through some miracle of variable performance, one day I managed to achieve a perfect score. Everyone was shocked when I reported my score, but nobody checked it, which gave me an idea. The next test I got like a 70 or something but when we were reporting our scores I said I got 100, hoping I would be spared more of this torture.

Well five minutes later Mr. Southwood gave a real barnraiser of a speech, how there was nothing he could think of worse than a liar And how for no reason he could think of someone had lied about their score on the timed test. I have no idea how he knew I'd been lying, but it was obvious that I was the one he was talking about. So my name went on the board with the words "for lying" next to it and I had to stay after school.

Another time, also in fifth grade, we were given packets we were supposed to work our way through when we had downtime. I put mine in my desk and promptly forgot about it, of course. Did he remind us of them over the course of the next week? Of course not. I had no idea this time bomb was about to go off until it was time to turn them in, at which point I remembered the fucking packet and realized I had done none of it. Was he understanding? Of course not, he just made fun of me and said I was spending too much time reading.

When I became a teacher I remembered all of these things and how they'd made me feel. I was always on the lookout for the adhd kids, and I got along well with them when a lot of other teachers didn't. But I don't care who you are or what your problem is, there's never a reason to humiliate a student.

But it was the 80s and I'm my small town none had ever heard of adhd. I was diagnosed with the unhelpful label of " learning disabilities" and in fourth grade I was in a pull-out program where they helped me slow down my lightning fast brain so that I could at least write coherently. They tested my iq, and found it was high enough I should be performing better. But no one said adhd, though it was a diagnosis at the time.

It was probably because I was not as hyperactive as some. Though I was hyperactive. I could not sit still and was constantly moving to the degree that it annoyed my classmates. There's video footage of me racing around my aunt's backyard doing cartwheels a hundred times a second. So really, the educational professionals in my life should have realized something more specific than "learning disability" was up.

But I fell in love with reading, which helped. I could hyperfocus on books for hours at a time. And I discovered a love for writing stories, which gave me worlds of my own making to escape into when the heat of daily life grew too intense.

My own kids both had adhd, but my ex wife and I were always on top of it, or we tried to be. And the teachers in their lives mostly understood. There were some that gave us trouble, but I can only think of one teacher who actually tried to humiliate my son.

So remembering these things has made me so angry on behalf of the little boy who once inhabited this skin. These are far from the only instances too. I just want somebody to find him and say, 'you're not stupid your brain just

works differently.'

When I was 32 my daughter was diagnosed at the age of 5. The pediatrician told us to read Driven to Distraction, which we did. And let me tell you, fam, it was a revelation. I put the book down after some description of people who could not keep their cabinet doors closed to save their lives and looked at my then-wife and said, 'this explains my entire life' and she was like, 'you think?' So I immediately called the psychologist we'd been referred to and asked to be evaluated. He gave me many different types of tests and even had me assessed for allergies and diagnosed me, saying 'i wasn't sure about you until you took the TOVA (a computerized test measuring attention). Most people are between -2 and +1 with larger numbers meaning more intense attention problems. I was a +6.

So I've had to accept this about myself. I've come up with ways to achieve my goals, while letting go of some things. I can write, but only for about an hour. But I can write 1000 words in that hour which is a good enough pace. So I've accepted myself and learned to work with the brain I have. I could accomplish nothing without adderal, and don't get me started on people who claim you shouldn't take medication. If you have eye problems you wear glasses and nobody makes you feel bad about it. For me, adderal is just glasses for my brain.

So I am still angry on behalf of the kid I was and on behalf of all non neurotypical kids who are made to feel worthless by people who are supposed to be helping them. We know better these days, and we can do better.

[gloves94]

To Be So Lonely [Draco Malfoy] 27

Rating: M Pairings: Draco Malfoy/OC Chapter warnings: Numb! Suicide Thoughts! Verbal Abuse!

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

MY MASTER-LIST

“And then? What happened?”

“Nothing,” The girl shrugged her shoulders as she sat on the floor of the greenhouse surrounded by growing vines leaning her back on a wooden table on which dozens of colorful pots which held some strange and most peculiar plants. “I told them about it.”

“My father will hear about this!” Daphne paced around the Slytherin Common Room late one night. “He’ll know what to do,” She said referring to the fact that her father was a fearsome prosecutor in the  Wizarding World.

Normally Tracey would’ve made a joke of Daphne sounding like Malfoy, but it really wasn’t the time or place. The Quidditch fanatic was sitting with her head ducked in between her hands.

“Don’t. There’s no point,” Nel let out a drained and exhausted sigh. “Ellar Lestrange is practically  ‘untouchable.’”

“Why is he?” Tracey suddenly snapped her nostrils flaring as she sat up erect. “Why is he so damn godly and untouchable? Just because he’s a Lestrange?” She spat out the last name with resentful bitterness.

“We have to do something,” Daphne insisted. “If not, he’s going to do the same thing- perhaps, something worse to somebody else,” she stressed the somebody and the importance of holding him accountable for his assault.

Despite Daphne’s insistence and Tracey’s frustration Nel remained silent. She had her knuckles pressed to her lips and she seemed lost in thought, head pessimistically shaking slightly  from side to side.

“What can we do?” She gave them both a defeated look. She really had turned ever nut in bolt in her head endlessly trying to think of a way to even things out – even a way to hurt Ellar Lestrange.

“Please,” Tracey scoffed, dark eyes rolling. “Everybody has a weakness. We just have to find out what his is!” She said determined, her expression mimicking her friend who was sitting next to her in the black leather sofa.

“Yes,” Daphne began murmuring. “Yes, yes, yes…” She anxiously paced over, and over which made Elowen dizzy. It seemed like the lightbulb went off when she finally stopped and clapped her hands together.  “I’ll write to my cousin in France. Perhaps she knows a thing or two.”

“I’ve also written to Professor Lupin. Maybe he knows a thing or two as well.”

“Lupin?” Daphne wrinkled her nose in distaste at the werewolf. Why? Her knitted brow said. Nel ignored it.

“A werewolf? Teaching?” Nathair interrupted. “Filthy,” He hissed. “I’ve seen them, lost packs hunting together in the Forbidden Forest. Formidable creatures.”

Irritated Nel lightly flicked the tip of the snake’s snout. The adder hissed at her in response flashing its large fangs. She seemed unfazed by this gesture. “Most creatures seem to agree with me.” It spoke to her as it coiled around her neck seeking the warmth of her human body.

“Professor Lupin is a good person. He could be a vampire for all I care.”

“Walking leeches,” The adder added to the bloodsucking creatures.

“What if I was a werewolf?” She mused more to herself with her arms crossed and resting on her knees. “Maybe then I’d have a pack to run around with,” her voice dulled into a pessimistic feeling as the waves of loneliness and missing a family that there never was came. “I also am already formidable.”

“Oh, I know what are,” The serpent whispered in her ear.

Upset, lost in thought Nel dusted the dirt of her clothes and left the greenhouse with the snake snuggly coiled around her neck. Her shoulders were pessimistically slung. She rounded behind the greenhouses and sat behind them on a small grassy hill that overlooked the Whomping Willow and Hagrid’s Hut and pumpkin patch. The Forbidden Forrest bordered in the distance. “What do you think I am?” She asked solemnly fisting some grass in her hand and ripping it up from the ground. She met the adder’s beady red eyes with a profound sadness. It seemed like the more she dug into her past, the more she questioned and wished to know who her family had been or if she still had one the worse things got and the uglier her past appeared to be. Perhaps… it was best this way. Perhaps there had been a reason for her abandonment at Wool’s Orphanage all of those years ago.

“You’re just a silly little girl who’s afraid of water with too much time to spare. Shouldn’t you be reading? Or doing somebody else’s schoolwork?”

“I hate reading,” She huffed humorously. Maybe Nathair was right, maybe she should use her time wisely and continue working on other’s assignments. After all the more financial cushion she had the better for the future. Inhaling a deep breath, she held it for a moment before ripping a strand of weeds rather aggressively and releasing the blades of grass for the wind to carry. “Maybe you’re right. You’re a snake and have always been a snake and I’m just a stupid girl and I’ll always be a stupid girl.” Nathair’s loud hiss made her head rapidly tilt to the side.

“Self-depreciation does not suit you,” it advised.

Rising to her feet again Nel rose and brushed the few strands of greenery in her hands.

“Terribly hiding spot if you ask me,” A familiar voice broke the momentary peace. The snake hissed slightly at it and hid its head and tail inside the student’s sweater and underneath her coat. “It’s that boy that looks like there’s something stuck up his-,” the snake whispered into her ear. She ignored it. “Maybe it’s all that cologne he wears. I can smell him from a mile away.”She ignored Nathair’s comment, no matter how humorous she found it.

“If I was hiding you wouldn’t find me,” She shot back at Draco without missing a beat.

He stood a couple of feet away with his hands sank into the pockets of his dark coat. Hair parted on the side, bangs falling across his forehead. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he said his lips twisting into a frown.

Not a lie.

Her frown turned into a scowl as she marched past him. Or at least attempted to.

“I don’t understand why you’re so damn upset,” He followed his temper quickly flaring in frustration.

Not wanting to engage she walked away from him. After being on the verge on an ongoing identity crisis that seemed to be reoccurring every couple of months, she really wasn’t in the mood to argue.

“Nel, come on,” He implored. He stopped following when he realized she wasn’t going to stop in her step. “You’re not a mudblood.”

Halting she turned and zeroed in on him with a deathly glare.

“I’m going to bite him.”

“Would it matter?” She snapped furiously at his filthy comment. “What?” He looked startled at her sudden rage. “Would it matter if I was?” She marched up to him. “Would it make any difference to you if I was a muggle or mudblood or whatever disgusting and prejudiced, racist, narrow-minded spat of a word you use to call these people?”

He looked startled at her question. “Of course, it would,” He admitted with narrowed eyes looking at her as if she had just grown a second head. She was questioning an ideology that was deeply rooted inside of him. The Malfoy family, like many others privileged wizard families, had reaped and sowed from with their elitism in the Wizarding World. It was a dangerous ideology that had been planted in his young brain and nurtured to grow into a toxic vine that seemed to both wrap and stretch to ensnare every aspect of his life.

She pursed her lips and slowly nodded her head understanding, “Right.”

“But you’re not,” He insisted arching his eyebrows. “You’re a Parselmouth, you’ve clearly got some wizarding blood in you.”

She opened her mouth ready to protest that the status of her genealogy was absolutely nonexistent.

“I don’t understand why you’re so angry.” He was sincerely flabbergasted.

“I don’t understand why you hate them so much,” She shook her head just as perplexed. “What did they ever do to you?”

She stepped closer still looking at him in disbelief waiting for a logical reasoning to his rooted prejudice.

“Well, the other sort,” He scratched the edge of his nose before running a hand through his bangs as he fidgeted uneasily. “They’re just not the same, are they? They haven’t been brought up our ways.” He reasoned with ease.

“Just like you don’t know theirs,” She retorted sharply. “Draco, I was brought up with muggles. Wizards and muggles are more alike than you think.”

His eyes widened and eyebrows arched at what he took as a serious offense. “Nel, we’re biologically superior to them. You can’t argue with that.”

Okay, true. A muggle really was no watch for a wizard. The average wizard’s lifespan extended to more than 200 years while muggles only lived a fraction of those years. Her silence was her answer.

“Don’t be a traitor to our blood,” he spewed words hailed by pure blood supremacists.

“Please?” He added, his eyebrows knotting in the center of his forehead after hearing her silent response.

“Being with them, muggles,” He spat the word out with disgust. “It shows weakness in one’s character. They’re filthy. Brutal, uneducated in our ways- they use their hands,” He raised his pale hands in front of his chest and lightly waved his fingers “To do things. Like muggle-brawling. It’s barbaric,” He scoffed in disgust.

“Those aren’t your words,” She glared at him. He was sounding more and more like Lucius Malfoy by the minute. He stood in silence looking at her with pleading eyes. As he asked her to agree with the ways he was so sure of.

“I am my father’s son,” was all he said.

The two shared a silence. It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t pleasant. It was heavy and lingering and allowed the other to know where they stood in this argument. “I see we’re not going to reach an agreement,” she said quietly now averting her gaze from his. The scaly texture of the snake hidden underneath her clothes a reminder her she had places to be. Sensing she was about to walk away Draco summoned every ounce of strength that he had, and once again spoke.

“Nel,” He attempted to catch her eyes with his. “There’s something I have to say to you.” One of his hands which had been nervously twirling the emerald ring his mother had given him was now pulling at one of the velvet black buttons of his coat. He tried his best not to fidget as he remembered the conversation, he had had with Theodore Nott what now seemed to be ages ago. He had insisted that he tell her whatever it was that had been keeping him up at night and always had him starring at her lost in thought in Transfigurations class. He tried to ignore his pounding heart. He had a feeling she wasn’t going to take whatever it was he was about to say well.

“Whatever it is- I don’t want to hear it Malfoy!” She barked eyeing him from head to toe as if he was covered in filth. His vulnerable body language completely going a miss to her.

“Give me a moment,” He demanded entitled reaching for her shoulder boldly stopping her from taking a harsh turn when it happened.

Draco let out a small yell and immediately flinched bringing his hand back to his lip biting down on the fresh venemous bite.

Nathair revealed himself from the inside of Elowen’s clothes and crept out resting like a diamond patterned scarf. The adder’s snout was open in a dangerous snarl as it bore it large fangs in a threatening snarl. Its body was still as it coiled aggressively sensing its master had been threatened.

“Your snake! It bit me!” Draco cried out. Eyes wide at the stinging realization.

‘Disgusting!’ Nathair spat out in a pronounced hiss. ‘And I won’t hesitate to do it again pretty boy!’ Nel looked at the snake in astonishment, sure she was upset but she wasn’t expecting her pet to attack!

“It bit me!” Draco cried out exaggeratedly. “I’m going to die!” He shouted dramatically holding his hand which was beginning to turn pink and swell from the venom of the adder.

Oh boy, this is the same person that had been kicked by a Hippogriff and had the ‘bloody chicken’ almost beheaded.

“Draco,” Nel began slowly and carefully inching closer towards him. “Get that damn thing away from me!” He looked at the snake with fear. The girl paused and picked up the snake from her neck before putting it down near the front of the green house. ‘Never put your fangs in the hands of the ungrateful,’ The snake sneered in disappointment at what it perceived to be a lack of thankfulness. Its master gave it a warning look that could be interpreted as an ‘We’ll talk later.’ The snake slithered away complaining about how disgusting human flesh tasted even tossed a ‘Swine’ somewhere in its rant.

“Okay- you need to calm down,” She approached him with a wary look hands stretched out hoping he would become more appeased.

“Are adders venomous?” He asked with a panicked expression. All the blood seemed to have drained from his face. For a second she pondered if she should lie or not. “Yes,” Nel responded carefully hoping not to elicit an explosive reaction from him.

“I’m definitely going to die!” He wailed in desperation. She instantly regretted telling him the truth. Merlin, he was acting like a child. It was only a snake bite. Didn’t he worship serpents? His whole family being in a House with one in its crest, even wearing one engraved on one of his rings? “Adders are venomous, but their bite is rarely fatal. If anything, it’ll just swell up for a couple of weeks. The venom might cause some damage and discomfort, but certainly nothing fatal,” She explained calmly. Or at least she wished she could’ve completed that short explanation. Instead, halfway through Draco’s eyes seemed to go blank before his body tilted forward as he collapsed, his body going limp.

xxx

Madame Pomfrey walked across the Hospital Room with ease as she retrieved something from her cabinet of special potions and ointments.

Nel sat on a chair with her arms crossed a bored and unconcerned look on her features as she looked down at the pale boy in the hospital bed.

Hearing the sound of chattering enter the Hospital Room, Nel looked up and waved at her two friends that entered the room and immediately rushed towards the bed standing across from their sitting friend.

“What did you do to him?” Daphne asked her eyes wide in awe as she looked at the unconscious Slytherin in the bed.

“I love that you assume this was my doing,” Nel sniggered proud at the formidable reputation she had built for herself in her past 4 years at Hogwarts.

“A snake bit him,” She explained in brevity.

“Is he-?” Tracey asked as she looked down at her school mate with a concerned look. “Not that I’m concerned or anything, but- this means there’s a slot in the Slytherin Quidditch team!” She finished her sentence in an eager and upbeat tone.

“We thought something happened to you!” Daphne whipped up a note that had been sent by owl that in six words read: Come to the Hospital Room. – Nel. “Be more detailed next time, Stars,” Daphne shook her head irritated from the panic attack she had suffered from rushing to the Hospital Room. Nel apologized for the worry she must’ve caused the two.

It was then that Madame Pomfrey shooed the two Slytherins from the side as she walked behind them and poured what looked like pumpkin juice and placed a bar of fudge on the stand next to Malfoy’s bed. His hand had already been lathered with ointment and bandaged.

“Mr. Malfoy will be just fine; he can leave as soon as he wakes up. Nasty little shock is all,” Pomfrey explained before once again retreating.

Both Tracey and Daphne looked at the back of the Healer as she retreated and back to their friend.

“He fainted?” Tracey failed to hide her laughter. “He actually fainted?” She held her stomach as if it was the funniest thing she had ever heard. Even Daphne couldn’t stop her giggling. “Not before throwing a fantastic tantrum,” Nel added joining them in their laugh.

“How did that even happen?” Daphne asked.

Nel shrugged. “Accidents happen in the greenhouse all the time,” she said dismissively really not wanting to explain she had been venting to a snake.

“And you two were there – together?” Daphne’s eyebrows arched so high up they almost vanished into her hair line. Eyes wide. Tracey who looked like she hadn’t been thinking about the scenario now looked intrigued by the blonde’s question.

Nel felt like she was on the hot seat in the middle of an interrogation she really didn’t feel like answering.

“Malfoy,” She derided with an exaggerated overemphasis. “You know how he is,” She let out an irritated sigh. “Just wanted to torture me.”

“What was he doing in the greenhouse?” Daphne pressed heavily sensing there was a missing piece to this story.

“Looking for me,” Nel retorted sharply and much more rapidly than she intended. She bit her tongue rapidly switching topics before she could ask any more questions. “Anyway- I wanted to read to you two the letter I got from Professor Lupin.” She said digging a hand into her coat’s pockets and whipping up a wrinkled and crumbled letter.

“Right here?” Tracey asked wondering why she would read the letter to the two of them in the middle of the Hospital Room. Her dark eyes looked down at the sleeping boy.

“He’s passed out.”

“You know, you don’t have to wait for him to wake up, right?” Daphne asked her eyes squinting as the edges with heavy suspicion. She was observing her friend closely waiting for her skin to flush or for her to stumble on her words and reveal a glimpse of sincere emotion.  

“I feel obligated,” Nel responded cooly leaning back on her chair with her arms crossed. She pretended the hot flash that she felt behind her neck wasn’t really there.

“Sure,” Daphne responded with a satisfied smirk. Her suspicions had been right all along. Theodore had also slipped to her about a little talk he had had with Draco only a few weeks ago. Tracey appeared to be clueless to all this.

“Anyhow-“ Saintday cleared her throat and she brought the parchment paper Lupin had written to her eye level. She skimmed over most and simply read over the relevant parts of it.

‘Ellar Lestrange comes from an ancient wizarding family of pureblood fanatics. Many practice the Dark Arts and have been known to be vocal and the most loyal supporters of You-Know-Who. His father Rabastan has been in Azkaban for the violent torturing of two Aurors. His mother Cloelia, I believe it is rumored feigned being a victim of domestic abuse as a way of being coaxed into following You-Know-Who.’

Nothing they didn’t already know.

“Is that true?” Tracey asked sounding concerned. “If she lied that’s really messed up!” Daphne said in awe. “We should always believe victims but this-“ She hesitated to finish her sentence and instead decided to remain silent.

Nel thought about all of the mental and physical abuse she had endured when living under Cloelia’s roof. She liked to think that a victim would never do something so monstrous to another person, much less a child. However, maybe she was more than familiar with torture methods having picked them up from her husband. Still, with the Lestrange’s one never knew.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past him,” Nel responded in a dull tone, her expression pained as she continued to read. The possibility of Cloelia being a victim of a life of domestic abuse no matter how far-fetched was possible. “Like I said- they were known to be some of You-Know-Who’s most loyal followers. I can’t help but get an ill feeling when I think about the strange reason, they must’ve had to adopt you. I wish I-“ Nel stammered and soon lost her voice.

Again, nothing they didn’t already know.

Tracey and Daphne asked her to continue. When she didn’t and they noticed her glassy eyes, they became concerned. She kept the next part to herself.

‘I wish I could do more for you Nel. I would be proud to be your guardian, but due to my condition I’m afraid it is not safe and would make the adoption process impossible in the eyes of any court.’

“Sorry,” The girl mumbled weakly as she wiped the inside of her eye with her thumb fighting back the tears that had threatened to spill.

The thought of having an adequate guardian. Somebody as kind as Professor Lupin. Someone that didn’t scream, yell, lock you in a room, or hurt you – It seemed like such a far away ideal. A dream the girl had long accepted would never become a reality.

“I would advise you to do everything in your power not to return to them this holiday.”

She lowered the parchment down to her lap and sucked the inside of her lip in deep in thought. The majority of information was useless. If anything, it only confirmed what the three already knew, that the Lestranges were in fact very dangerous people.

“So, what are you going to do then?” Tracey asked. “You could come home with me for the holiday if you’d like,” She offered kindly willing to provide a sanctuary to her best friend. Nel’s face lit up. That would be ideal! The two would have the best time going to Quidditch matches and staying up late talking about the best and worst flavor of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Jellybean or watch Muggle films

“Really?” She answered loudly grinning broadly.

“Wait-“ Daphne interrupted the moment the two were sharing. She also didn’t offer her home. Knowing full well what would happen to her and her guest if she even dared bring home somebody whose surname wasn’t listed in the Sacred Twenty-Eight. “That doesn’t tell us anything about Ellar. Nothing we didn’t already know,” She said returning to the focus of the conversation.

“I heard back from my cousin in France,” she began. “She used a very colorful language to describe Ellar. Said he’s a – what was the word she used? ‘Manipulative snake,’ that he can be downright foul. Apparently, he event went a far as assaulting a muggle-born witch that worked in the same Department. It got so bad she eventually quit.”

“Like- sexual harassment?” Tracey squinted.

“Does it make a difference?” Daphne arched an eyebrow. “Not that my cousin ever did anything to stop it-“ She admitted regretfully. “But this is exactly what I am trying to say!” Daphne slapped her hand on her thigh as she continued to speak her tone becoming louder and more passionate. “You’re clearly not the first girl he’s done something like this to – and you’re obviously not the last. Who knows how many more survivors there are-“ Greengrass didn’t realize the shift in emotion in her friend’s whose face twisted into a confused expression? “Survivors?” She coughed with disdain. “-If he did this to you, and to this girl, he’s going to do it to someone else!” She finished with a concerned look. “We have to do something about this.”

“What do you recon we do?”

“I also heard back from my father,” She began to explain. “He said this is very serious. However, he says conviction cases for these types of crimes are very low. The success rate of a conviction in England is 5.7%.”

“5.7?!” Tracey’s mouth went a little slack.

“And that’s coming from an even smaller percentage of victims who actually speak up.” Again, Nel lightly flinched at the word ‘victims’ it wasn’t something she would ever wear as a label. If anything, it was something she saw as a branding to her identity. She wouldn’t allow Ellar, Wool or whoever to have that type of power in her life. Daphne took in a deep breath before continuing. “He also said it’s going to be even harder to prosecute considering we have no physical evidence including your memories which most Wizarding courts consider to be unreliable, and even if we did - The Lestranges have too much power in the judicial system.”

“Bunch of crooks,” Tracey shook her head disappointed biting down on her thumb as she appeared to be deep in thought.

“You have to do something about this Nel,” Daphne insisted. Her friend looked at her with a pure look of negation. “As much as we hate him, you have to tell the Headmaster.” She looked between the two girls. “Tell Dumbledore?” Eyes were wide in disbelief at what the Slytherin had just suggested.

“I can already tell you what would happen if Dumbledore knew,” Tracey leaned back on her chair. “Absolutely nothing,” She said pessimistically. “We’re Slytherin. He hates us.”

Daphne’s shoulder’s slumped in defeat.

Going to Dumbledore had also been Nel’s first instinct. Something Snape had strongly advised against. His reasons unknown as the old bat kept his agenda so cleverly hidden. Regardless, there had to be a valid reason. Either Snape knew no good would come from it or he was protecting Ellar Lestrange. There was no in between and Elowen wanted to find out which it was. “Trace is right,” Nel admitted sadly. “He was already expelled from Hogwarts once. What are they going to do him? Expel him from Beauxbatons?” It was a hard pill to swallow but people like Ellar Lestrange – privileged entitled, monsters – more than often got away with only a slap on the wrist.

“The least he can do is protect you,” Daphne continued pressing.

“I’m not telling Dumbledore. Why are you being so pushy?” Nel scowled bothered on how much her friend had been insisting she tell the truth to Dumbledore. Daphne looked greatly frustrated. “This is such bullshit!” The Parselmouth angrily kicked the hospital bed making the boy in it let out a deep brown and the sudden disturbance. She seemed to ignore this.

“You need to do it Nel,” Daphne again insisted, this time her tone stern. “You’re a victim.”

“I am not a victim,” The other snarled in denial. “I refuse to allow this, or any other sad incident define my life!” The girl said terribly upset speaking through gritted teeth. “Do you know what would happen if I told on every single person that’s ever-“ She brought herself to a halt before emotionally shutting down. Both Daphne and Tracey saw the distant look in her dark eyes. “This is my battle to fight.”

“We’re here to help you. You don’t have to do it alone,” Tracey said gently. The tension increasingly growing between the two parties. “Alone. This is my battle to fight alone,” She corrected defensively isolating and building high emotional walls around herself. Her head hurting and suddenly feeling hot as an incoming migraine began to set in.

Tracey looked wounded. Daphne’s nostrils were flaring. “I can see we’re not going to agree,” She retorted flatly.

“I guess not,” was the other’s answer, her tone made it seem as if her mind was many miles away in some distant faraway place.

Daphne stood up and angrily walked away without looking back. Tracey called after her. Her eyes darting between her blonde and brunette friend. With one last woeful look towards her friend, with a tucked tail she followed after the blonde.

Sitting alone in the Hospital Room the orphan pinched the bridge of her nose in great frustration and lowered her body to bury her head on her knees. If only life were as easy as Daphne made it seem. If she told on Ellar odds were, he would only receive a slap on the hand and he and his terrible mother would come after her with a blind wrath. It wasn’t a risk she was willing to take. She was betting this was what Snape was afraid would happen.

She fought back the tears that were threatening to spill and sucked in an exhausting breath as she tried to think of nothing.

“You can’t tell Dumbledore,” A throaty voice interrupted. She didn’t move an inch but heard Draco’s sheets moving as his body shifted positions. “It’ll only make things worse. My father always says he was the worst thing that ever happened to this place.”

She could hear him drinking the juice that Madame Pomfrey had left out for him.

“You heard everything?” She asked meekly.

“You wanted me to. If not, you would’ve left,” He rationalized.

“Touché,” She said sitting up using both of her hands to comb all of her hair and bangs away from her swollen face. Not wanting to think about Ellar, the drowning or her awful fight with her friends she looked at him with a lopsided grin and instead decided to bully him. “Is it true you fainted? Like- actually fainted?” She joked mocking him just like he had done to Harry the year before.

However, he didn’t laugh.

“You sent your pet after me,” He ignored her jab and downed the rest of his juice.

“If I wanted to hurt you, I would’ve done it myself,” She answered her voice returning to an unfriendly tone.

“Right,” He agreed. Afterall, she wasn’t the type to shy about this kind of thing. Considering he wasn’t freaking out about the snake bite Nel assumed he had also overheard everything that Madame Pomfrey had said about his condition and the status of his health.

“That git,” The words rolled out of his lips in a dangerously angry voice. She looked at him confused and noticed how his hands were tightly clenched into balling fists. “I’ll make him pay. I promise.”

She knew that if Draco was anything he was determined. She had no question he meant what he had just said. Yet she couldn’t help but be confused by his words.

“You don’t have to do that,” She squinted perplexed. “Not for me. I can take care of myself,” She said lowering her head, her voice dropping to a whisper as her hair once again came down hiding her emotion. After all this was her own fight, one she wanted to win or lose alone. She sat with her head lowered and her shoulders tensed when she felt a soft hand gently press against her forehead. Keeping her gaze lowered, she allowed him to push her brown hair out of her face and comb it over her forehead.

He let out a small chuckle. Nel wasn’t sure whether it was at the strange expression she must’ve been wearing or at the thought of whatever evil plan he was crafting to hurt Ellar. “I’ll enjoy this,” He said maliciously.

Something about the way he said it embarrassingly made her heart skip a beat. Draco was now sitting up still wearing his weekend clothing. He had brought his uninjured hand to his chin and was twirling one of his rings with fascination as he looked deep in thought. The slightest of growing smirks on his face as he concocted the fatal details of his vengeful plan.  

“Wait-“ She paused snapping out of his charming behavior. “Let me get this straight. You can do this for me- but you can’t learn to accept muggles as your equal?”

“Muggles are dangerous,” he began to explain lowering his hand and relaxing in his bed.  Hadn’t he just said wizards were superior? “I’m not contradicting myself. What I mean to say is-  haven’t you paid attention in History of Magic?”

Obviously not. Merlin’s beard it was the most awful class in all of Hogwarts with Binns mindlessly lecturing which seemed to go on for hours and hours. “Muggles used to persecute our kind, burn us at the stake, drown and torture us.” Nel visibly recoiled at the mentioning of the word drowning. “They singlehandedly almost destroyed our kind and forced our world into hiding. It shouldn’t be like that.”

She pondered on his words for a moment. “You have a point,” She finally agreed with him. “But I know muggles. They are more scared of us than us then we are of them. They fear what they can’t understand. I don’t blame them for-“ “For what? For massacring hundreds of our kind!” She wasn’t expecting him to raise his voice.

“How many of them have we killed?” She shot back just as loudly. “Hundreds? Thousands? How many did You-Know-Who kill? Or your father?” She spat coldly.

Ouch.

He grew silent at the mentioning of his father’s illicit activities as a Death Eater. His icy eyes were hard when he looked at her. For once Malfoy didn’t have a snarky comeback or any colorful words to throw at her.

“Don’t. Bring my father into this,” He sneered out in drawled out sentences.

“He’s cruel and vile and I will be bringing him into this as long as he continues to poison your mind. Go out there into the real world and once you’ve seen what it’s like I’ll let you make up your mind about it. Because you know what-“ She hadn’t meant for it to happen but her eyes began to water, her voice cracked at the emotional exhaustion of the day something he had not been anticipating happening. “As of right now,” She broke, trying her best to hold it in together, to not allow the stinging tears from spilling. “I have met many, many more cruel wizards in this side of the world than in the other and that’s from someone that was raised by Cordelia Wool,” She let out a doleful weak laugh.

“Who’s Cordelia Wool?” Malfoy asked after a moment as he racked his brain for any instance in which she might’ve mentioned it. He remembered her saying Wool’s more than once. Maybe this is what she meant.

One hot tear followed by another which meant it was time to go into hiding being the recluse she was.  “Forget it,” She said rising from her chair wiping her tears and walking away without bidding him goodbye or good riddance.

Draco tossed his head back and looked at the ceiling feeling a great frustration. Why was it that something always come in between them and royally fucked things up? Perhaps it was better to leave things the way they were, spare her the pain as Theodore had once suggested. However, looking up she was horrified to see Professor McGonagall standing in the entrance of the Hospital Room. The look in her eyes severe, lips drawn into a thin line. It could only mean one thing.

Fuck.

“Ms. Saintday, the Headmaster has requested to see you.”

Xxx

Dumbledore’s office was warm and welcoming like it always was. McGonagall escorted Elowen into the office keeping a close mistrustful eye on the student.

Walking in she crossed paths with Daphne Greengrass whose gaze was hard and did not meet her friend’s as she brushed past her on the way out.

Fucking Daphne.

Nel felt the pits of her stomach bubbling with rage. Looking at her. Tracey following behind with an apologetic look and then back to Professor Snape and Professor Dumbledore who gravely stood before a fireplace both wearing solemn expressions on their faces. It was obvious Daphne had croaked.

Elowen was livid. How dare she. This was her story to tell, NOT HERS. Nel was the affected one, NOT golden haired, precious, privileged, beautiful, Daphne Greengrass. A deep scowl formed in her features as she shot a chilling glare to the girl’s retreating back.

“Ms. Saintday,” The Headmaster acknowledged her momentarily seizing her attention. “It’s been a while since our last visit,” He said smiling at her softly. The man stood tall as he usually did, wearing his half-moon glasses holding both hands resting on his lap.

Snape looked at her with a condescending look.

Nel remained silent at the greeting ignoring it.

“Ms. Greengrass and Ms. Davis have just come to me with a most serious concern,” Dumbledore began. “Perhaps accusation is a better word of choice.”

Her mouth felt dry. McGonagall was still standing behind her. Snape’s bottomless eyes carefully fixed on her. Dumbledore looked as if he was attempting to pry into her mind with his twinkling blue eyes. “Before any actions are taken, we wanted to hear the story from your own account as it happened.” He stretched out a hand signaling for her to take a seat before the fireplace. She did no such thing and remained standing looking at the two with hard eyes.

The silence was deafening with the exception of Fawkes combing over his feathers and the fire softly cracking in the background. She could also feel the eyes of the many former Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts’ looking down at her in judgment.

She could feel him now physically attempting to pry into her mind. She emptied her head out of all thoughts and the vision of a safe shut tightly and the dial spun hiding away her thoughts and secrets.

“Your master has taught you well Elowen,” Dumbledore commented at her growth in occlumency. Wait- how did she know that word? Occlumency, the art of magically closing one’s mind against Legilimency, or mind readers. She didn’t know how, but somehow, she knew what the word meant.

Again, she did not say a single word. His eyes moved over to Professor Snape who uncrossed his arms and from inside one of his sleeves pulled out a small vial containing no color and bubbling slightly. “Know what this is?” He drawled out; his voice emotionless.

“Bubble bath soap?” She retorted with dripping sarcasm.

Snape did not seem amused.

“Veritaserum,” He responded. “Three drops of this and You-Know-Who himself would spill his darkest secrets.” She looked at him incredulously. Certainly, they weren’t hoping to use it on her. “The use of this on a student is regrettably forbidden. However, seeing as Mr. Lestrange’s involvement in this anecdote cannot be ignored and since he is no longer part of this institution my hand might just slip on his pumpkin juice and we might have to hear his version of the events.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” She lied flawlessly as if her life depended on it maybe it did.

Snape exchanged a look with Dumbledore.

“Elowen, Ms. Greengrass claimed that Ellar Lestrange lured you into the docks some time ago. There he not only threatened you, but he also made an attempt on your life mocking and attempting to drown you in the Black Lake. Is this true?” Dumbledore leaned forward as if attempting to pull the truth out from her.

“It’s a lie.” She answered flatly.

“Elowen,” He pressed again this time taking slow strides around her almost like a shark rounding its prey. His eyes looking for any sign of betrayal. “This is a safe space. This institution does not tolerate the harassment of others. Much less if it endangers the life of one of our students.”

‘Rich coming from the same people that allowed Slytherin House and others to bully me for the majority of my time in this institution,’ she thought with bitter resentment.  

“Ellar Lestrange is my adoptive brother. Why would he hurt me?” She probed in her best reasonable logic. “I’m just as aware of his reputation, sir, but tell me- this being true, what reason would I have to protect him?”

Dumbledore nodded his head slowly. “Ms. Saintday, if you confide in us. I can assure you that no harm will come to you. The steps that would follow would be taking Mr. Lestrange’s witness, then contacting his parents, and then-“ She had to interrupt. “And then what? He’d be expelled from Beuxbaton and transfer to Durmstrang? Just like he did from here, right?” She responded with snark.

Dumbledore allowed her to continue.

“I think the real question here is why Ms. Greengrass and Ms. Davis would make up such an elaborate lie.”

Again, silence as the three professors exchanged knowing looks.

“Saintday has a point,” Snape suddenly broke the silence. She tried her best not to look at the Professor with surprise. So, he was siding with her. She was holding up her end of the bargain and keeping her mouth shut to what had happened. Her suspicions were correct. If anything, Ellar would only receive a slap to the wrist, get away with it and then she’d have to deal with Cloelia’s blind wrath. To her it seemed like they were in the same page.

“I assure you I keep a close eye on my House Headmaster. Specially on Saintday who seems to have the keen ability to surround herself with... trouble. I can assure we would not be standing here having this hopeless discussion, if I had caught wind of this rumor before.”

Dumbledore stopped now holding his hands behind his back as he gazed at the fire deep in thought as he marinated on the Potion Master’s words. “For as much as you persuade Ms. Saintday, I don’t believe you,” He looked back at her with a mistrusting gaze.

“But you believe Professor Snape, sir,” Nel shot back her body language mirroring the Headmasters.

Behind her McGonagall looked at the interaction with concern.

Snape gave Dumbledore a look that seemed to say this conversation was over. After all, they had no arguments if they didn’t have the main witness admitting to the events. However, unknowingly to the student all of this had been pre-rehearsed and already discussed amongst the two men.

“Very well,” It seemed like Dumbledore had given up. “But do tell me Elowen, and I hope you are truthful. How do you fancy your new guardian Ms. Cloelia? Real nit-picky student from what I recall.”

It was lie, after lie, after lie. Nel had never lied so much to a person before. She was surprised at how easily the lies slipped from her mouth. She wasn’t aware that Dumbledore didn’t seem to believe a single word that came out of her mouth and if she did, she didn’t care. Instead, the Headmaster was looking at her moving mouth and edging grin with a fearful eye. It wasn’t the first time he was witness to it, but the shadow of a lonely orphan boy from a familiar background who also possessed the affinity to speak to snakes and the ability to flawlessly lie was instead standing before him.

His assumptions, as always had been correct. Despite Severus best efforts to protect her. Nel Saintday was beyond salvation. The evil within her louder and bolder than ever. It was then that Dumbledore decided that “The Girl Who Died” would have to return and die at the hand of her creator.

Professor Snape walked Nel down the stairs of Dumbledore’s office and lead her down to the dungeons and to his office. His hand in the form of a C was angrily pressing on the nape of her neck as he quickly  ushered her inside of his office.

“Let go off me!” She slapped his hand away and looked at him with a furious expression. “I am not a child anymore!” She heaved drained from the restless day she had had.

“You insolent, stupid, dunder-head, foolish, girl!” He exclaimed and whipped his wand behind him to lock the door of his private office. This spew of insults and verbal abuse coming from the Professor was sadly not unfamiliar to her. She wasn’t expecting him to be so upset.

He was acting as if she had signed someone’s death sentence.

“Shut mouths catch no flies,” He raised his want in offensive. Triggered she did the same not blinking afraid the professor might strike her. After all, it had never stopped anyone before. Putting on a brave face, she attempted not to show the fear she felt or how her knees were trembling as she expected to be gravely wounded. There was no way she’d be able to take on a Hogwarts Professor, much less somebody as ruthless as Snape.

“Foolish girl. You had to open your damn mouth and babble to Greengrass, Davis and Merlin know who else.”

“What Lestrange did was fucked up and you know it,” She spat vulgarly not minding she was speaking to an adult. Neither lowering her trembling hand or stance. Jaw clenched tightly as she hoped her focus would be of an advantage to her. Snape’s body mirrored her own.

Just looking at her made an emotional wound on his chest soar with painful heat and a burning guilt. Dumbledore felt Elowen was beyond reason. That her nature had long ago sealed her fate. That, that awful curse that branded her face had also sealed this same destiny.

But he liked to believe otherwise. He liked to believe she could be good. That she had a choice.

There was no use in beating around the bush when it came to discussing why it was best not to take any action in punishing Ellar Lestrange with the juridical system involved. Both saw the bigger picture and were in the same place. Snape wasn’t protecting Ellar, he was protecting her, but why?

“He can’t kill you,” He said directly.

“Why?” Her sharp tongue followed suit.

“You serve a very specific purpose for the Dark Lord and have been placed under the custody of the Lestranges because of it.”

“Right,” she answered with a deep canyon forming in between her brows and a tightly clenched jaw. “That I gathered. A Parselmouth orphan taken into the home of one of Voldemort’s most loyal followers I could hardly expect it to be charitable.”

“Good, you’re catching on. Perhaps you have matured since last time we met.”

She ignored this. Whatever he meant by saying last time. This conversation. This scenario it almost felt like it had happened before as if they had already had this conversation, but something had gone awry wrong. It was almost like dejavu.

“You’ve been teaching me occlumency, not how to control my emotions or whatever bullshit that was.”

Snape remained silent. It was true.

“Why?”

“You will find that just like today the ability to hide one’s thoughts is a useful one and I haven’t the slightest doubt that others, witches and wizards more dangerous than the Headmaster might even rely on sadistic methods of torture to pry the truth from your big mouth.”

“Who else knows about the incident with Ellar Lestrange?” He questioned.

“No one,” She lied without hesitation. Snape whipped his wand, and a red spark stung her arm like a pinch, she winced at the sensation. “Dare you use my own spells against me.”

“Draco Malfoy,” She spat truthfully with a look of concern. “He won’t open his mouth. “I trust he won’t,” Snape added swiftly knowing well that Draco Malfoy had more on the line than Elowen did. Being directly related to the Lestranges he wouldn’t raise any hell towards them. Nel decided to keep what Draco had promised her to herself. Snape slowly lowered his wand and guard. Elowen didn’t. “He’s got more bidding on the line than you do if he spreads your precious little secret.”

She bit her tongue standing angry and frustrated. “Why does he want me? What does he want from me? What could I possibly give him? I have nothing. NOTHING! I am nobody,” She heaved as her emotions came crashing like waves and spilled like tears. Like broken risks, recordings of Wool telling her she was worthless, locking her in the Chokey, Lucy going missing. Not having a parent, a name, a single galleon owed to her worthless life. This life that Elowen had been given… She didn’t want it. It was numbing moments like this that made her feel like it wasn’t worth living.

“Same reason he wants Potter,” Snape cleverly lied to hide the Dark Lord’s true intentions and motives.

“To kill me,” Nel nodded and lowered her wand slowly as the horrible realization sank in. The only reason Ellar hadn’t killed her that one night or Cordelia had all summer long was because they were saving her like a pig for slaughter. She thought about the way most of the Purebloods looked at her, the way Mr. Malfoy always so strangely looked and fixated on her. He obviously knew this – How many more people knew? Did Draco know? “He need not bother, at this point I’ll do him the favor myself and give up on this miserable existence.” She wasn’t expecting her wand to fly out of her hand or for Snape to look at her with such fury, in his eyes was reflected a broken look. Again, Snape was haunted by the dark flashback of the night Elowen came to be during that obscure evening all those years ago. The guilt of the atrocious things he had done still rocked him to his core.

“I do not take threats such as suicide lightly Saintday,” He warned her. “I still expect many things from you, cowardice, is not one of them,” he glowered with cold contempt.

Snape again pointed his wand at her and Nel flinched expecting him to wound her instead a chair behind her crashed into the back of her legs forcing her to sit down. Emotionally defeated she complied and sat, wiping away the numb tears that slid down her emotionless face. She now felt a burdening guilt at the words that had just left her mouth. Where had that venomous thought come from? The terrifying thought made her body violently shake as the tears continued to spill.

“I will not apologize for my tone or harsh words towards you,” Snape began harshly now speaking in a collected and calmer voice. Hands behind his back as he stood tall looking down at his student. “Life is hard. We learn and we grow and I’m afraid I will not allow you to have a choice in this or leave us behind to pick up the broken pieces of your short, sad and pitiable life,” He soothed in his own twisted way. Words which didn’t alleviate her pain or made her feel any better about the horrible thought she had just had.

“It is her purpose,” Dumbledore said coldly with much indifference. “As I’ve told you before, it does not matter where Elowen Saintday resides, the Dark Lord will find her. How many more lives must be lost?”

Snape swallowed hard displaying the slightest glimpse of emotion. Be it his guilt, he always felt a sense of responsibility to protect the creature sitting before him. He had brought her to this world and because of that this monster was his responsibility. Burden or not. His alcoholic muggle father had once walked out on his mother and him, be of relationship to this child or not, would he be able to do the same? Was this something he had inherited from his bastardic nature?

No, that wouldn’t be him. He wasn’t his father. With a deep sigh he approached her and stood before her. She sat deep in thought, miserable, friendless having pushed everyone who cared about her away. She was so lost in thought she didn’t hear the Professor clearly saying her name until he knelt on one knee meeting her eye level.

How many times had he had the poor girl crying her eyes out to him? How many times had he failed in his ways to show her the smallest glimpse of humanity?

“Nel,” She stopped sitting with a surprised look on her swollen, red face. She couldn’t remember if he had ever addressed her by the name, she considered to be her own. “Look at me,” his voice was softer than his typical nasal tone. She obeyed, nastily sniffing and wiping the snot that was coming down her nose.

Seeking the bits of humanity that were left in him Severus chose to look inside his heart. What would Lily say? What wisdom would she provide to the broken girl sitting in the Potion Master’s office chair. “I understand,” He spoke in brevity. He chooses not to divulge any details about his personal life. “Perhaps I was out of line,” He admitted regretfully. “I’m aware that I can be rather harsh, but I want you to understand it comes from…” He paused for a moment masterfully and very carefully picking the words he would say next. He’d never vocally admit to it coming from a place of care. “I want you to be strong. Life isn’t easy. We both know yours hasn’t and it is not going to get any easier.”

She didn’t respond to his unfamiliarly kind words.

“Just know,” He said placing his large hand on her upper arm in a familiar way hoping to comfort her. His brown eyes zeroed in on her dark ones and maybe from up this close Snape looked human and not like a giant sulking bat. He smelt of salts and other potions ingredients. Even the middle of his forehead was sunken in genuine concern.

It took great will power to make the following promise. A promise he intended on keeping. “I will do everything in my power to protect you.”:

Unsure of what came over her the girl threw her arms around the professor and held him tightly. He held the child back.

[thegalaxysyst3m]

More Highschool Au Info: Remus, Roman and Patton

Remus

Remus channels his energy into dance

He's got a lot of energy

He's not as popular as Roman and he can't help but feel angry that his brother does things with such ease.

He takes adderal but he still struggles with his executive dysfunction and is super behind in all his classes.

He used to be a gifted kid when he was younger but as he got older he stopped being able to keep up with class

His parents try to help him as much as possible and he's managed to get his classes from F's to D's. But he still needs help

He really does want to succeed even if it looks like he doesn't care.

Roman

Roman struggles with English cause of his dyslexia.

Up until middle school he just thought he was slow

He's not really failing English. He has a D

His parents just hate to see him struggle so they sent him to tutoring.

He has an app on his phone that reads his scripts for him so he doesn't have to struggle to learn his scripts. It's hard enough in the first place.

He's actually really good at sports so he plays runningback for his school football team

Patton

Patton only came out as Trans to his parents in middle school and it took a lot for them to finally except him.

Once they did it was almost immediate

They got him a binder and he cut his hair and he got new clothes.

They changed his name in sophomore year

He got on Testosterone in the middle of sophomore year

He's been on T for 7 months

He's in the school cooking club and once he meets the rest of the boys he brings baked goods to the study meets.

The post that started this

[gaamagirl565]

Matters of the heart Ep 3

WARNING: FOR BLOOD AND VERY MILD LANGUAGE Matters Of The Heart Episode 3: Festival Follies {OPENING CREDITS} {the sun rises over old corona; cut to Varian peacefully asleep in bed. The bed shakes a bit and we see Varian smirk a bit. 6-year-old Isaiah comes into frame and climbs on Varian} Varian: *chuckles* augh! Isaiah...can I help you? Isaiah: It’s harvest day daddy! We gots ta help grandpa! Come on! Up! *pulls on his bangs* Varian: augh! Okay okay! Easy on the hair buddy! {he playfully grabs Isaiah and they get up and it cuts to Varian making breakfast and serving it} Isaiah: *sees Ruddiger on the table* Ruddy! Ruddiger: *chitters happily* Isaiah: *plays with him* Varian: boys come on now...settle down. Isaiah: yes daddy…*sit and eats the eggs he’s given* {cut to Varian and Quirin out in the field; they’re talking about how to expand their crops} Isaiah: *runs over* DADDY! Daddy! Look what I found! *holds up snake* Varian: AAAHH! ISAIAH PUT IT DOWN!!! Quirin: only your kid would go near a poisonous puff adder… {Cut to Varian doing alchemy and mixing herbs} Varian: this should cure miss Balman’s gout. {he adds a drop of a chemical and it blows up in his face} Isaiah: Thar’ she blows! Varian: *hacks and coughs* and that’s why I have the goggles! {Cut to autumn with Varian Helping Quirin by the barn and Isaiah playing in the straw} Quirin: *looks up* VARIAN! 

 Varian: huh?  *looks and sees Isaiah on top of the barn roof* AHHHHHH!!!! ISAIAH! STAY.RIGHT.THERE!

 {Isaiah gets closer to the ledge giggling} 

 Varian: ISAIAH!

 Quirin: *drops shovel* ISAIAH!! 

 {Isaiah falls off the roof into a hay bale} 

 Varian & Quirin: *run over in a panic* 

 Isaiah: *giggling* daddy I almost flew! 

 Varian: *looking him over realizing he’s not hurt before embracing him* oh thank god… my boy….

Quirin: …..100% your son. 100% {cut to winter} Isaiah: *playing out in the snow* Varian: Son, come here for a second! Isaiah: *runs over* yeah daddy? Varian: *gives him a wooden sword* happy birthday… Isaiah: WHOA! Just like the real guards! I declare myself the protector of old corona! {snow falls on him} Isaiah: I’m okay! {cut to night time; Isaiah being tucked into bed} Isaiah: goodnight daddy! Varian: goodnight buddy… *blows out candle and he kisses his head* {sun rises and the camera pans from the window over to the bed where Isaiah now 12 years old is sleeping. the rooster crows, and Isaiah wakes up} Isaiah: hmm? Yes! {cut to Isaiah peering around the corner and sees the front door to the lab} Isaiah: *smirks and starts sneaking to go out* Varian: Oh no you don’t! {Varian picks him up} Isaiah: Auughh! Dad! Varian: And where are you off to so early may I ask? Isaiah: to the orchard! Augh! No noogies! Varian: The orchard? Isaiah no one is there at this hour. Isaiah: Exactly! Perfect time for me to practice! Varian: okay okay...just be careful. Your grandfather and I will be in the south fields if you need us. No running with your arrows, and Take Ruddiger with you! Isaiah: whhhyy!? Varian: I don’t like the idea of you being completely alone. Old  Corona may be nice but it can be dangerous when it wants to be. Isaiah: yeah okay...come on Ruddy… Varian: Don’t forget your bow! {Isaiah grabs his bow and arrows and runs out the front door and down the road running past Quirin} Isaiah: Hi grandpa! Bye grandpa! Quirin: huh-wha? Haha. Morinin’ Isaiah! {Isaiah runs to the orchard with ruddiger and over to a tree with various arrows lodged in it} Isaiah: *deep breath and looks up at big shiny red apple* Ruddiger: *chitters happily* Isaiah: oh no you don’t! That one is mine! Ruddiger: *angry face* Isaiah: oh get over it...here we go... {he sets his arrow and aims at the apple; he fires and nails it perfectly} Isaiah:....I did it...I DID IT! Ruddy did you see that!? Ruddiger: *shocked face and chitters angrily* Isaiah: It’s just an apple Ruddiger! {Nathaniel walks into frame with two other kids} Nathaniel: nice shot, loser… Isaiah: oh no...hello Nathaniel… Nathaniel: practicing archery are we? Pfftt...why bother? No Captain in his right mind would accept you into their ranks. Isaiah: you act as if they’d accept you. Nathaniel: they probably would! Considering my father isn’t a traitor. Ruddiger: Hiss! Isaiah: *gets closer* You dare insult my father in front of my face? Nathaniel: why not? It’s not as if you’re any better! My father says his traitorous blood runs in your veins and one day you’ll prove to be just like him! Isaiah: hold your tongue, Nathaniel! Nathaniel: haha! Striking a nerve? Your father is nothing but a pathetic knave! I seriously wonder what kind of Fusty lug it takes to love a traitor. You’d have to be an idiot! Guess that explains your mum! {Isaiah yells in rage and he tackles Nathaniel; The two throw punches and tussle in the dirt} Isaiah: *punches him* You filthy muck spout! Nathaniel: Only telling the truth ol’boy! Ruddiger: *jumps on the boy and claws at him* Nathaniel: AUGH! get him off me! *kicks ruddiger off* Isaiah: Ruddiger! *runs over and picks him up* Nathaniel: bloody beast bit my foot! You’re lucky this time Isaiah! But one day your rat won’t be around to save you!... let’s go guys… {Ruddiger chitters sadly and nuzzles into Isaiah} Isaiah: *angrily tears up and hugs ruddiger* Varian: maybe you should move the crop to the north...

Quirin: good ide-Isaiah!?

Varian: Isaiah! *runs over* what happened!?

Isaiah: nothing...I’m fine...

Varian: Isaiah those bruises didn’t come from thin air...

Isaiah:....You wanna know what happened!? I HATE NATHANIEL! 

Quirin: Joseph’s boy? He did this?

Varian: Isaiah it’s gonna be okay I promise...he’s just a bully...why not go w- {a goo bomb goes off on a rat}

Varian: not again! I hate rats...anyway why not go wash up for dinner...I’ll make some stew ok? Besides, tomorrow is the sunflower festival! We’re gonna have lots of fun tomorrow! Forget about those jerks!

Isaiah: *staring at the goo bombs* Yeah..okay...

Varian: that’s my boy...

 (Isaiah gets an idea. Cut to Varian in his lab, working on what appears to be fireworks for his contribution to the festival. Isaiah enters the lab)

 Isaiah: Say uh, dad?

Varian: *distracted* wha-huh-yeah buddy?

Isaiah: I was wondering....if perhaps....ok, so you know how, Queen Punzie always says, live your dream, right?

Varian: *clearly not listening* uh-huh, yeah, puzzles are mean, they’re the worst-

Isaiah: That being said, I’ve come to... an aspiration of sorts.... *dramatically* father, i yearn to be your spitting image. *more seriously* I want to learn to do what you do.

Varian: *now interested* wha-?

Isaiah: *mutters to himself quietly* and I got his attention, good one Isaiah. I want you to teach me how to do alchemy.

(Varian sits there staring at him. Isaiah appears confused)

Isaiah:*chuckles nervously* un-unless that falls under the no-no category, because if that’s the case then NEVERMIND.

Varian: *gets up from chair. He walks towards Isaiah, SLOWLY*

Isaiah: *gets nervous and backs away slowly* y-you know what?? A joke! I’m joking! That was a joke on my part, sorry! *chuckles nervously* just a—Oh!

Varian: .......you want me to teach you how to be an alchemist?

Isaiah: ........yes?

Varian: *begins to tear up extremely, with joy*

Isaiah: uhhhhh—-

(Varian’s face is GLOWING with silent tearful joy)

Isaiah: ......is that a ye-

Varian:  YES A THOUSAND TIMES YES

Isaiah: GREAT! Can we start right now, perhaps?

 (Que montage with spunky background orchestration of Varian and Isaiah gearing up with STYLE. We end the montage on a shot of them standing out in the alleys. Varian’s doing a superhero stance. Isaiah notices and sloppily attempts to follow suit. Varian is wearing the SAME outfit that he wore when he met Estelle; his adventure attire from the old days: teal alchemist coat and golden goggles. Isaiah.....Isaiah has on a neon hoodie with a scarf and bubbled up hair dyed black with a blonde streak....)

Varian: *glances at Isaiah*......wha-what are....what is this???

Isaiah: oh i just thought I’d pay homage to younger you! Black hair with a streak!

Varian: that looks nothing like me.

Isaiah: oh? What, too punky?

Varian: very.

*both glance at the screen in self-awareness*

Isaiah: fine I’ll go change—(walks away to the left offscreen. Varian is left confused)

{cut to them standing outside}

 (Musical number of Varian teaching Isaiah alchemy. “Legacy”} {VARIAN} Don’t look so nervous you’ll be alright

Keep your legs apart and stand upright It’s time you know how I became who I am You’ll be the jealousy of every man It’s time to lead your legacy Feel the energy inside your veins

With each new chemical reckoning A spark so bright it’s like a glowing star Even if hard the answer is never far Don’t you worry it’ll be just fine

Don’t forget you have me right by your side Keep this memory you’ll find your destiny As It’s time to lead your legacy

 Varian: WOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

 (They both parkour across the kingdom above the streets. They look SO happy together . They soar into the moonrise)

 (Cut to a bit later: they’re heading on home)

 Varian: *out of breath* OH MY, *hyper breathing* THAT-TH-THAT WAS—*heavy breathing*—I-*stammers* I CANT FIND THE WORDS—

 Isaiah:—spellbinding.

 Varian: *appears shocked with surprise. He then proceeds to kiss Isaiah on the cheek.*

 Isaiah:—*annoyed* ughh, dad.

 Varian: Ok! GAAHHHHH THIS IS GREAT! Now, we can *stutters* we can go on adventures TOGETHER! Giving one-twos to all those crooks out there! *laughs excitedly* I haven’t felt this starry-eyed in YEARS, not since.....*detracts. He digresses* Ahhh, alrighty, how about we have a nice meeting with the man on the moon? (He means sleep) Pun intended!

 (he stands by the door opening it for Isaiah, with a cheeky smile on his face, expecting a high five or something. Isaiah just walks in and goes to bed. Varian meets this response with simple bliss. He’s just too happy. they all go to bed. Isaiah lies in bed, with a determined game-face. He knows what he’s gonna do now. He glances at the table of alchemical substances, and has this, determined, yet dark look on his face)

 Isaiah: Just you wait, Nathaniel. You’re in for high-water. (He goes to bed)

  {cut to outside and night turns to day; cut to Isaiah in the wagon with his father.} (We open on Varian and Isaiah arriving to the festival in a carriage)

 Varian: *laughs excitably* oh my gosh I’m soo excited, I actually cant contain my-GAHHHHHHHHH SO EXCITED! *viciously turns to Isaiah* JUST LOOK AT ME IN THE EYE AND TELL ME YOURE NOT EXCITED????

 (Varian awkwardly stares at Isaiah. He’s basically ONTOP of Isaiah here . They’re legit FACE TO FACE. Isaiah nervously responds—)

 Isaiah: *laughs nervously* yes! Yes-yes, yes, Uh—OHH! Gosh I spent this whole time excited over our lessons-

 Varian: -which aren’t finished.

 Isaiah:-which aren’t finished, but yeah, anyway, I forgot to ask-what IS your contribution to the Sun and Moon Festival?

 Varian: ohhh buddyy just you wait  IM IN CHARGE OF THE LIGHT SHOW OF THE COSMOS!!!!!

 Isaiah: Uh-huh....

 Varian: *annoyed* fireworks.

 Isaiah:)-FI-FIREWORKS YES!!! OF COURSE.

 Varian: riiiight.  you look like you just saw death.

 Isaiah: PPFFFFT. 

 Varian: you’re more blue than my hair. 

Isaiah: N O. (Scoffs) I just....yesterday was really...really cool.

 Varian: oh heh...yeahhhh....it was, I won’t ever forget it.

 Isaiah: mmm..

Varian: I feel 18 again.

 Isaiah: well you DO look younger than ME-

 Varian: PFFT YOU LITTLE COMET, YOU! *Tackles Isaiah*

 Isaiah: *laughs* OK! Ok,ok!.......dad what do you do when someone just...does something to you, something awful, and you wanna just....WIPE THEM OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH FROM EMBARRASSMENT?

 Varian: .....can’t relate. 

 Isaiah: Really? Haven’t you ever felt like just.....CRUSHING them under your fist? Do you think they deserve it?

 (Varian appears feeling somewhat ...called out by this. His face seems guilt-ridden.

) 

Varian: uhhh—*nervous chuckle*....this—hypothetical guy seems like someone actually deserving of it—haha...On that part I can’t relate...Ehhh-haha, but of course you gotta forgive them! Forgive them even BEFORE they apologize. You gotta come to terms. Or else you’ll.........you’ll explode *looks at Isaiah*...

 Isaiah: ........dad—

 {They have arrived}

Varian: Oh-OH! W-We’re here! Haha! Ok, um—-I almost forgot. *turns to Isaiah, who is yet to get down from the carriage* Isaiah, son—operate the light show with me. A Star-studded act! All we need to do is get you in the designated outfit for the act and—

Isaiah: but dad—

Varian: OHHHH! You’re right! Let’s inform the king of the last minute additions! *to Eugene* YOUR MAJESTY! SIR!

(Varian is about to head out to Eugene, but not before he looks back at Isaiah. They share one last glance—-with a contrasting emotion on the other’s face. Varian? Pride and excitement. Isaiah? Guilt and inner turmoil) 

Isaiah: Dad…

Varian: I’ll see you later buddy...

 (Varian leaves. He goes off into the festival crowds to go meet with Eugene. Isaiah feels bad for a minute, but then he pauses and thinks)

 Isaiah: (glancing at his alchemy bag)....You’re doing this for mom. For dad. I’ll avenge both of you. *determined face* 

 (Isaiah then goes off to find Nathaniel. He goes through the heavy crowds, squeezing his way through the many people. There’s nothing but a determined look on his face. Isaiah then suddenly gets pushed over by an adult and trips and falls onto the ground, back-to-the-ground, facing up. He looks up to see Nathaniel, who is looking down on him. LITERALLY)

Nathaniel: well well, actually decided to show your ugly mug around here huh? Isaiah: yeah...we have a score to settle… Nathaniel: oh really? I see you didn’t bring the rat… Isaiah: Ruddiger is a raccoon...the only rat I see is you... Nathaniel: you bloody cur...you dare speak to me like that!? Isaiah: people who speak ill of my parents don��t deserve respect… Nathaniel: oh really? Isaiah: The only thing you deserve….*takes out goo bomb*...IS HUMILIATION! {Nathaniel gasps as he throws the goo bomb; a large explosion happens and it cuts to Varian and Eugene as screaming is heard} Eugene: What on earth was that!?

Varian: WHAT HAPPE-

Eugene: I THINK A FIREWORK MUSTVE—I DONT KNOW—

Rapunzel: (arrives) WHERES LILY!?

{Varian walks ahead of the two—who are both talking, inaudibly. Varian recognizes a chemical in the atmosphere of the blast....it’s one of his own alchemical formulas. There is no other possible cause...it was Isaiah. It couldn't POSSIBLY not be him. Varian then realizes....HIS SON USED ALCHEMY ON PEOPLE. Varian almost comes close to crying.). He realizes......his son used him).

Rapunzel: LILY?!! LILY!!! Lily: MOTHER! *runs into Rapunzel’s arms*

{a few guards run past Varian and Eugene into the marketplace} Varian: *runs past destroyed kiosks and frightened people* ISAIAH!?...ISAIAH WHERE-....... {Isaiah lays unconscious in the middle of the road in a puddle of blood and not far is Nathaniel gripping his arms in pain} Varian:...no...no! *runs over and picks him up and gags at his maimed face* Isaiah!? Can you hear me? *tears up* Isaiah!...please...open your eyes, buddy...Isaiah...My baby…*sob*...please don’t do this to me...not him too... Isaiah: *groans* Varian: ISAIAH!? Eugene: *runs over in shock*...GUARDS GET A MEDIC! Pete: *runs* MEDIC! MEDIC!!! Varian:...isaiah…. Eugene: *tears some of his clothes and placing it on Isaiah’s eye* Isaiah: Augh! Varian: I-I know buddy! But we need to stop the bleeding! Eugene: it’s not enough...he needs proper bandages...WHERE'S THAT MEDIC!?

{Isaiah whimpers and grips onto his father}

Varian: It’s okay Isaiah! Daddy’s here…*brushes hair from his face* {Medic runs over and checks both boys} Medic: dear lord ...these boys need immediate medical attention. Get the surgeon! Varian: SURGEON!? {The medic picks Isaiah up} Medic: I’m sorry sir. We’ll tell the king where you can find him! *runs off with Isaiah* Varian:....Isaiah... {cut to throne room} Eugene: *pacing the floor* Rapunzel: Eugene please calm down you’re scaring Lily… Eugene: *looks over at his daughter* sorry sunshine...daddy’s just upset is all… {Varian Bursts into the throne room and runs over to them} Advisor: A-ah! Varian of Old Corona! Eugene: Varian!? {Varian bows down on his knees} Varian: Your majesties! Please accept my humblest apologies for what happened! My son knows not what he does! Please forgive- Eugene: Varian!...calm down...first things first is he alright? Varian: *looks up and rises*...he’s badly injured...the entire left half of his face is burned...charred really... Rapunzel: how did this happen? Varian: I’ve examined the explosion aftermath...he wanted to learn alchemy s-so I taught him...I had no idea of his true intentions...he seemed to have tried to make one of my goo bombs but...he made it explosive by accident..Your majesties I would never have allowed- Rapunzel: Varian...calm yourself...what happened is bad, I'm not going to lie. But no one else was seriously hurt. Punishment will be given in due time but first we need to wait for wounds to heal and We need to keep our sanity. Marketplaces can be rebuilt... Varian: Rapunzel? Rapunzel: Varian... I remember a boy who made terrible mistakes because he was angry...don’t be too hard on him Varian. He needs you now more than ever. {Varian looks at her with wide eyes; Rapunzel hugs him} Varian: *hugs her and cries* {cut to his house late at night; Isaiah lays in his bed heavily breathing with bandages covering the left side of his face} Varian: *sitting by Isaiah’s bedside dabbing his head with a cloth* Isaiah: *coughs and groans* Varian:.....what were you thinking…why would you-...*pinches bridge of nose* Isaiah: *coughing fit then whimpers* Varian: shhh...I’m here!...it’s okay buddy i’m here...Close your eyes and dream of fireflies

as they light up the sky.

Let me sing you this lullaby

as your dreams come alive.

T-There is no room for...Fear…*sniffles* {Varian looks out the window and groans at the sight of a mob approaching his door* Joseph: OPEN UP TRAITOR! WE HAVE A BONE TO PICK WITH YA! Crowd: YEAH! Varian: *sighs* daddy will be right back… {he walks to the front door and opens it} Varian:....Joseph...how can I be of service? Joseph: That little runt almost killed my son! Have you seen Nathaniel’s arms!? They’re burnt to a crisp! That child is insane! if the crown won’t punish him, we will! Varian: And what would you do? I realize what Isaiah did was wrong, I realize he could’ve God forbid killed someone but he didn’t and wouldn’t you say he’s been punished enough!? Quirin: Varian is right Joseph, what would punishing him even accomplish at this point? Joseph: Are you kidding me, Quirin!? what? are you letting him off the hook because he’s your son!? do you not remember the things he did as well!?

Varian: Don’t talk to my father and your leader that way! Joseph: Why don’t you shut your bloody gob Traitor!? figures your runt would take after you. How a grand lovely Duchess such as Estelle agreed to give birth to that pathetic whelp is beyond me…perhaps she was just as mad. {Varian lunges at him only to be held back by Quirin} Quirin: Varian! calm yourself son! Varian: You take that back! You muck spout! I’ll end you! Joseph: you’re still just as insane as when we were kids, alchemist! Quirin: Joseph! ...That was out of line Joseph. we do not speak ill of the dead and may I remind you Isaiah is still my grandson.:. Joseph: tsk...As you wish Quirin…come, everyone…let us leave the rabble. Physician: You had best hope he doesn’t get an infection…for I will not be the one to heal him. {they all begin to walk away. Leaving Varian and Quirin alone} Quirin: Varian? son...Are you okay? {Varian screams and punches a wall} Quirin: Varian! Varian stop! *grabs his arm* {Varian shakes and looks up at him sobbing} Quirin: oh my son… *hugs him* Varian: *sobs* {END CREDITS}

[narakussy]

i’m having them biracial blues and this is 100% a rant about my life written in some weird ass...i dont know man, i got up in my feelings and it’s hardly coherent but

gif credit, cuz i couldn't get it in the actual gif adder thing

i dont think ill ever forget schoolyard taunts about my thick, black body hair. or that my eyes were demonic because if the light didn’t shine just right, they could almost be black. or that my eyebrows were too big and oh they can see a little bit of hair connecting between them. i never forgot when the girls who were supposed to be my friends started calling me broccoli nose because it’s wider than theirs, you see. or when the boy i had a crush on and a boy who’d always been my friend decided that instead of friend, i should be their yard workers or maids or harvesting their food but its funny ha ha cuz that’s what mexicans do! i wont forget that my hair was boring and why is there so much of it? why is it frizzy? “because i dont have that problem!” said the girl with strawberry hair. and the color! black, but just shy of the inkiness that is beautiful.

i won’t forget that my skin was brown or that the little girl i ran into at toys-r-us, excited and chatty because she’s a friend i thought, walked away with her mother berating “you didn’t tell me she was mexican!” as i stand next to my red-haired, light skinned cousin. i wont forget that no one could say my name proper and it was never worth the effort to try and it didn’t matter if they’d known me for years because it was too foreign on their tongue and it didn’t matter. but heaven forbid i didnt properly pronounce theirs because “its not that hard!!!!” it’s only hard when its attached to someone like me, right? even when it comes from europeans just the same, forced onto my people like the blood of theirs in my veins as a result of their violence.

i’ll never forget thinking my abuser of seven years was so beautiful, right to the very end. i wont forget being eight years old and fighting against fear every time i saw her but going all the same because she was all golden hair and ocean eyes and certainly that means shes good. even as she tells me to shave my hands, my stomach, get rid of the nasty hair that makes me look like an ape. even as she tells me my mouth is too big, my lips look like they’ve been stung. i suppose we are taught, then, from youth to see beauty in our aggressors. for how lucky we are, just to be in their presence. i felt that, in some obscure way. desperately and with all of my being i felt that and hoped and prayed and wished that i could be her.

that i could look like her. it was all i wanted, to look like her because maybe then the world would look at me and see something pretty. something worthy of love. beautiful, and good in all the ways i was told - even without words - that i couldnt be. something worthwhile.

i wanted to look like the mom who raised me. the one i wanted to be perfect for even when she never asked me to be, never even implied it. because to her, i already was. she always told me i was beautiful. braided my hair and kissed my cheek and told me all the things i got from my family that lived across the country, some still in mexico, and why it was such a beautiful thing. do you know what it’s like, that the person who sees you as a treasure is the one no one would ever connect you to? to go out with your mom and your two friends, and people are shocked to hear that youre her child and not the blue eyed blondes? even with her brown hair and hazel eyes and no features to share besides, it was more believable that they were her daughters rather than you.

their only similarity being the color of their skin and yet the message is clear even if you can’t articulate it: you couldn’t possibly be from her, someone who belongs to the group that sets the standard for beauty and worthiness.

that wasn’t me, brown skinned and dark haired and with every feature that runs strong in my papa’s family. my tia said it herself, when i was born. “oh julie, im so sorry. she has the family nose” because she knew, too. my beautiful tia who has no need for shame and she knew that my moms whiteness couldn’t protect me because their features showed full force in me, left no place for my mom’s family to show itself.

i wont forget that the world told me from day one that i was less than. i would always be less than. it’s awful funny, that i lost my love of the outdoors when i first heard that it darkened you. no more summer days spent in the pool, fingers pruning but refusing to get out. no more bike rides, gone in the morning and returned by dinner. no more outdoors karaoke or baton twirling in the driveway. the tree i once loved is abandoned and the branches i’d climbed till i couldn’t any longer grow weak and lonely with time, missing the child who’d settle in and fall asleep in its branches. the warmth of the sun was something i deprived myself of for years with only the wishes of lightening my skin, getting rid of just one of the many things that separated me from everything i thought i should be.

but i found that it didn’t matter how pale i became. because, you see, it’s not a lightness that indicates whiteness. its an “i havent seen sunlight in a year” kind, one that doesn’t fool many and never for long. and how could it? my name would betray my heritage even if my features didn’t.

at twenty-eight, i still havent recovered. i havent learned how to live under the sun again. i havent learned to rediscover that kid that would wait for the weekend and the adventures it’d bring, step outside my door and into the sunlight and stay there in the world, under the heat of the sun until it started retreat into the night.

i wont forget that all expectations of me were based around what i looked like, what they saw in my name. how surprising it was, that i might know things. how unexpected it was, that i understood anything. after all, how could i deign to perform better than some of the other girls, the ones that were expected to go places when it was quite clear where most people expected me to end up.

it didn’t take long, for anger to show itself because it was easier to show that than shame, sadness. it’s strange, that at twelve, a black girl calling me a “white bitch” was offensive for the first part rather than the last. white...white....the thing i wanted to be and yet i was angry when she called me that. angry even if i didnt understand why, at the time. but i do now. i understand the fury in my bones at that moment when she pushed me and i swung back, a kid noted for being quiet and well behaved because i couldnt believe that she saw that.

that because i was not darker then my struggle did not matter. that because i did not look like her, then my disadvantage didn’t exist. the one thing id yearned to be a part of felt like a fist to the gut to be sided with because...i wasn’t. it was the first time i realized that maybe there wasn’t a place for me. that i’d be doomed to be too white for all the people who could empathize with my struggles and too brown for all the people who’d been a source of them.

and it only got worse when people would thing, for appearance, that it was better. but its not a compliment to be fifteen and having a guy hit on you because he “likes them spicy” wink-wink, nudge-nudge. it’s not a compliment when someone wants you to be his spicy hot tamale. even when the things that were detriments about me aged into something desirable, it was twisted and tainted and never felt like anything close to acceptance.

and then....and then to get out of all of it, all those moments that tore me down and made me ashamed to be who i am and realize the beauty in my features, in my wide nose and big lips and dark hair all over my body. to learn to love these features that mark me as part of a people with a history so rich and roots so deep into the soil of this continent...to learn these things and fight against all those ideas and people who ever made me feel otherwise and then be told that it is not my place. that it isn’t true, what i said. that i am pale and so that means i am white and i don’t know racism because my mom is white.

it’s a unique thing, to be biracial, and i dont think people talk about that enough. one foot in one history, the other in another. both but not enough for either to accept you. and i know that truth, too. i remember family gatherings with my moms family. i remember feeling always like my brother and i were julie’s little mistakes. oh sure the words were not spoken but in a sea of white people who married white people and had white children...the contrast makes you aware.

aware that you are not a fit. aware that they will love you only if you never bring up your papa, never bring up the aggression against you simply for existing as a product of love and understanding between people from such different worlds. little whispers about your papa that you wont understand for years as your mom shakes her head no, no, he’s a good man because her love has never gone. changed, perhaps, from what it was. but steadfast and true. they criticize him for his drug problem but she tells of a man who always took responsibility for his failings, always admitted his wrongs, never harmed a hair on our heads.

a good man who is sick but a good man nonetheless.

both, but never fully one or the other. and they let you know that, too. even the ones you’d thought all your life were the few that accepted you fully. but then you argue, you fight to defend your people against the new husband of a cousin you loved so much. the anger...the anger feels like a heart about to explode because it isn’t all anger. its fear and sadness and hurt and the anger is what you grasp onto, inflate as you stand shaking to take a breath, get distance before a panic attack has set in. you do that a lot in life.

and you hate crying but you sit on the front porch doing it anyways. your mom knows better than to follow but your aunts dont. so they come and they talk and they try to ask whats upsetting because well we were talking politics, people don’t always agree.and you scream, voice breaking “he’s talking about my people!” because how could you have ever identified with whiteness? but you don’t find understanding or comfort. only your favorite aunt, the one you loved for so many years, the one you thought accepted you no matter what, says with just as much passion: “we’re your people!”

and you realize, in your mid-twenties after a lifetime of being mistaken, that the acceptance is only if you throw away a part of yourself. that only if you will forget your mexican half do you matter. that they would prefer to forget you’re not white because how can they possibly love you if you arent?

it’s a lonely thing, too. because your papa is sick and he did not do right by you in the all right ways. and you spend your childhood missing him, wanting to live with him because living with mom is too painful if that’s what it will be like. but it bitters, too. childish ignorance cant last forever and for years you are angry, furious, refusing to see his sickness as that and instead as a choice he made.

he chose to leave you. to stay with a woman who looks like him, to create a child who belongs. one who learns his native language and gets all that you dont. the good and the bad. it....hurts, that the first words your little brother says to you are in a language you cant understand because your father...he lived far away for so long and where else could you learn when your mom can’t speak it, either? he’s three and spanish will be his first language and age will bring anger that this is so when your attempts through your life just never seem to work.

you just cant seem to make the words right. they feel wrong on your tongue and youre sure it’d make anyone who knows the language laugh.

people often dont get why i am offended by being called white. because well, im not, for one. sure, my skin is pale but my features are not those of a white person. to reduce it to that is so offensive when my experience has been lived as a person of color. it’s rare that people assume i’m white. and yea, it makes me mad when they do.

because i haven’t benefited from whiteness. i have never been treated as it. ive noticed people treat me poorly by my name alone, before they’ve even seen me. my MOTHER has noticed this. she kept my fathers name and she’s told me before appointments made at new places, she is often regarded more rudely but when she shows up and they see her whiteness, it changes.

for me, though, the biggest indicator is that other mexicans seem to....know. its a blessing and a curse. its adorable when little mexican kids come up to me, start trying to say something in spanish. it makes me feel this...wanting. to be a part of that culture, to learn more that i havent been able to because im across the world from everyone who was meant to connect me to it. but it hurts, too, because its another realization of my defect.

that i am a part of them, but only partly. and not everyone is so kind. some will see my distance from my heritage as sign enough that im not a part of it at all.

this...really got away from me and honestly, i dont even feel like ive really scratched the surface. this wasn’t meant to be a “poor me” but to be honest.....just because people have it worse than i do, and i KNOW they do, doesn’t make my suffering less significant.

so much in my life i have been told my people of color that i cant say anything and i have no right to it and this and that and whatever because my skin is pale. some try to make me say im white passing if i must engage but you know what...fuck that

if i was white passing, this post wouldn’t exist.

[denbroughbill]

chapter 1 of “sky so blue”

word count 2.3k

author’s note based on the hc i wrote that recieved positive feedback! the medieval times written are not completely accurate just to be a little humorous and have fun with this story :) the lowercase letters are intended. also please let me know if the paragraph spacing is awkward! i’m working from tumblr mobile

there was a crooked, tiny, wooden cottage on the outskirts of the town of derry. the ivies outside had overgrown, wrapped around themselves and found comfort in the cracks of the house’s walls, making it an unruly sight to by-passers, but the owners enjoyed it that way. inside, there were shelves upon shelves lining the walls. they had books that were not in order and glass bottles of different shapes and sizes, filled with adder’s tongue, baby’s breath, and dragon’s blood.

this is where beverly lived.

beverly was a young woman, fair skin and face splattered with freckles, who was shunned when she cut her own hair with the blade of a sharp sword, offering her auburn locks wrapped in a tight braid to the norse goddess, frigg, ruler of marriage and love.

and it worked.

beverly’s partner ben was a blacksmith, who worked closely with the kingdom — their go-to man when armor and weapons required repair, which spared beverly from being burned at the stake for her witchcraft. he worked outside in their shed behind the cottage which held his swage block and hammers and bellows and drifts.

in the afternoons, there was a man in a hooded cloak. he would bring gifts of fresh bread and candles for ben and beverly, and ben would allow him inside.

his name was prince edward.

prince edward walked from his castle to visit beverly and ben, walked for hours starting at night until he could begin to see the sun rise on the horizon. at one point before, his feet would ache with every step he took, but he was used to this now. he had no fear in his mind or heart when he would look towards the village and see the dim lights from the houses, and he would set off on his trek to the village.

sometimes he would look back, though. he would look back at this fantastic castle, towering over the meek rest of the village. his grey eyes narrowed in anger, he looked back in disgust.

he did not have to duck under the ivy leaves that reached out to touch him or the herb plants in hanging pots. he was a smaller man, and looking up at the dangling plants was similar to looking at the chandeliers that adorned the castle.

candles were lit for edward’s arrival, and beverly smiled her all-knowing smile, beckoning him closer.

“so we meet again, edward.”

edward rolled his eyes in good humor, sitting on the wooden stool across from beverly, her work space separating the two.

“bev, please, i told you to call me eddie.”

eddie liked beverly because they shared the same belief system that the natural riches of the earth and their loved ones were worth more than anything. prince eddie was never one to decorate himself in silver or jewels; to him, every rock was precious, every ray of light golden.

she removed the clear crystal from the top of her deck of cards and began to shuffle. she had eddie shuffle the cards, too, filling them with his energy, thinking about the longing question he wanted beverly to reveal the answer to.

being a prince kept him hopelessly cut off from the rest of the beautiful world, and romance was something he constantly found himself craving. he never let those thoughts disturb him, for he knew that it wouldn't happen anytime soon. sometimes eddie wished that his prince charming would come rescue him from his dismal world of passivity. he would take him traveling all around the world, and he would assist him as he made his kingdom a better place. after one month, he would take his hand in his, kneel on one leg, pull out a wonderful diamond ring, and ask for his hand in marriage.

“this is the queen of swords — reversed,” beverly laid down a card on the table in front of eddie. pictured was the queen of swords, sitting on a stone throne, holding a sword in her right hand. this card was upside down.

“there is a treacherous enemy. a resentful, cold-hearted person blocking your relationships and clouding your vision.”

eddie shook his head, laughing, “that’s just my mom, bev.” she has also been shown as the queen of pentacles and the devil.

beverly pulled other cards. the queen of swords ruled over eddie’s chance of ever reaching the sun, the seven of swords, and the lovers.

he sighed.

“maybe you could try a different question? want a hex spell?” beverly asked with a friendly smile.

eddie thought to himself. there could be glass shards, dead scorpions, vinegar, or garlic in the jar. if he said yes, beverly would probably instruct him to cook his mom’s hair while she slept. or worse, an eyeball.

he politely declined. “hm, maybe some other time, beverly.”

“hey, stick around for a while,” ben placed his heavy hand on eddie’s shoulder. his warm smile brightened his coal-blackened face.

eddie thanked them both but decided it was time to leave.

treading through the grass once more, eddie thought the fortress of kaspbrak itself was a fine castle, built with a panorama of the surrounding land. from the towers once stood medieval watchers, quiver and arrow ready to fly, and moss clung to the ancient walls in the shade, which reminded him of beverly’s cottage.

he made it back before suppertime. the halls were bustling with activity, but the click of the heels of his leather boots on the tile floor stopped them in their tracks. there was complete silence except for the sound of eddie walking through the halls and his personal butler walking towards him.

“good evening, william.”

“you muh-must change for supper.”

the suits of armor and framed oil portraits of elders towered over the both of them.

he liked william a lot. his mother had lined the potential workers in front of him one day and allowed him to chose his person butler himself. the rest were picked off to work the courtyard grounds and cook meals.

eddie picked william because he was close to his age. he liked his red hair and blue eyes, and sometimes william visited eddie in his daydreams of marriage. eddie also thought he would look better in the gold lacework and rich embroidery clothes eddie had to wear. william liked how eddie allowed him to spend time in the courtyard when he was not tending to the prince; he thought he was kinder than the queen, and they became good friends.

but neither would allow eddie’s mother to hear the boys call each other out of their formal names or whisper and laugh together, nor would they let her majesty see william pick loose leaves and twigs out of eddie’s blonde hair.

there was no need to question the prince; he was obviously visiting beverly again. there was a long, painstakingly unnecessary spiral staircase that led to where eddie slept.

william ushered him ahead, opening the heavy wooden door to his chambers. he would be back to fetch eddie when he was dressed properly.

prince eddie stood in front of the open window, head perched in his hands as he watched the bright, clear lake shimmer in what was left of the sun. he wondered frequently why he had to dress for the occasion of sitting across the incredibly long table, where food was in such abundance that it looked more like decoration, for just him and his mother to eat. it made him angry, the thought of food going to waste as the queen at the opposite head of the table rubbed her full, plump stomach.

a voice called out from below him and pulled eddie out of his thoughts. “could you help me out?”

“oh, yes. my apologies,” eddie said. reaching outside the window, he grasped the clothed covered hand of a man.

he screamed and jumped backwards, reality setting in now. there was a stranger climbing the cobblestone walls of the castles, how had he not noticed? was this thief foolish enough to climb through the prince’s chambers to steal from the bottlery? was this planned — had he chosen this window, knowing it was the prince’s, to hold him hostage? he hoped william had heard him.

eddie stood with his back against his wardrobe, fist tightening around the door knob. he fought between the thoughts of fighting to the death or flinging the door open and hunkering down small, hiding himself between long silk robes and hidden jewels. he understood now why the thief had chose his chambers.

the man acted quickly. with the boost eddie had given him, he was able to grab hold of the edge of the windowsill and climb through the window.

and before prince eddie could grab the glass candelabra from his bedside table and wield it as a defense weapon, there was a man standing in his room.

eddie did not care how well-dressed this man was — there was an intruder in the castle. and he didn’t care how tall, dark, or handsome he was, either.

he could not cut, thrust, or slash with the candelabra, but he was willing to try. his knuckles were turning white from his tight grip. eddie didn’t have to pretend to be brave; he could call for a servant or guard immediately, but then the mysterious man could attack. he noticed the actual sword in the man’s bronze scabbard, and his eyes widened.

the man firmly placed his hand on eddie’s mouth before he could call out and wrapped an arm around his waist. eddie clawed at the gloved hand for his life as fear and dread swirled in his stomach. he’s watched his mother force two townsfolk to fight to the death for entertainment rather than call for the jester. the sight was evil, twisted, and bloody, and eddie did not want stains like those on the finest silk of the land. he tried his best to fight back and squirm, but his grasp was too tight.

“i don’t want to hurt you.” eddie stopped struggling when he loosened his grasp, but still trembled in fear. the man let out a soft laugh, and his voice was smooth and soft spoken, but strong somehow, like he wanted eddie to believe him. he removed the hand from eddie’s mouth, and placed it on firmly on his shoulder, other hand on his waist now.

he was taller than eddie, with dark skin, strong shoulders, and brown cassiterite eyes – heart-stopping eyes that flickered when he said, “i want to marry you.”

“oh,” eddie laughed, slapping the man’s chest in a manner that said, ‘how foolish of me.’ “why didn’t you just say so?”

they leaned closer, a faint smile on the man’s lips and eddie giggled under his breath. when he thought of his moment before, he thought he would be in a horse drawn carriage, or whisked away on the back of a white, noble steed. he didn’t even know this man’s name, but butterflies in his stomach told him there was no time for introductions now.

as their lips drew closer, there was a knock on the door.

“the queen is wuh-waiting for you to accompany her.”

“okay, you hide in here,” eddie whispered, grabbing the man by his lapel. he forced him inside his wardrobe. “what’s your name?”

“michael, prince edward.” michael responded, silk hanging over his face now.

“okay, mike, i’ll be right back.”

eddie plastered his most charming smile onto his face, forcing himself to enjoy eating in the grand dining hall with his mother. at least stanley’s performance was enjoyable.

eddie called him stan for short, and he had sunken eyes and curly hair and what eddie thought to be a rather lovely nose. the entertainment consisted of satire and self-deprecating humor, but he was nice. eddie also thought it was silly when he danced with his scepter and the bells from his hat jingled. stan was loyal and friendly, and even the queen enjoyed his company. she even consulted with him once to make strategies for battle— stan had agreed with everything she said because he believed she just wanted to hear herself talk.

supper ended, and eddie did not protest about all the food that had gone to waste, partly because mike was waiting in his wardrobe, and partly because he knew what his mother would say; “that's how hierarchy works.”

the halls were nearly deserted, and only their shadows followed as eddie strolled with mike, hand-in-hand, showing him every inch of the castle. he learned that michael hanlon was a farmer who worked in the fields under the blistering sun from dawn until dusk. he assured him he wouldn’t have to do that anymore, his smile as warm as the candles and lanterns illuminated around them.

“and this is our oubliette. this is where my mother leaves prisoners to die.”

mike gasped. “that’s kind of cool.”

“what does that mean?”

“i don’t know.” they both laugh.

eddie sighed, heartfelt and knees weak. “oh, mike, i’ve had so much fun getting to know you. i can’t wait until we marry,” he said, bringing mike’s hands to his chest. then he exclaimed with a brilliant idea, like if the light bulb had been invented then and it was dangling over his head.

“let’s marry tomorrow! at sunset!”

the excited gasp brought attention to the pair, alerting the guards that there a intruders afoot. eddie thought fast, and pulled the two into a small, dark corridor. he wasn’t afraid of his guards by any means, it was his mother he feared. and he did not particularly need to sneak mike around, but it was kind of fun.

they were pressed together, breathing heavily from the anticipation of being caught. their faces drew closer, laughing softly, and the image of doves flying crossed eddie’s mind as they kissed.

prince edward had always seen beverly and ben kiss, but he never knew what it felt like. a surge of energy and passion from being engulfed in this kiss made him think he should’ve asked beverly for a love potion years ago. he never wanted this moment to end.

and it wouldn’t, as they would be married at sunset tomorrow. eddie could not think of a single thing that would ruin their nuptials. taglist: @reddiesetrichie, @veganmikehanlon, @bumblerea, @eddiessecondfannypack, @tinyarmedtrex, @jwilliambyers, @edstozler, @eddiecare, @stephenskings, @constantreaderfool, @imeddie, @kaymcgivemeacall, let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

[queenslasharchive]

Another Damn (Vam)pire Story, Chapter 4 (The Prologue)

(Author’s note: This is the epilogue of Another Damn (Vam)pire Story, but not of the Another One Bites At Dusk Series. You’ll be seeing more installments soon! :) 

Also: We do not support pedophiles or non-con here. Amy and Robbie’s (more than platonic) relationship is completely consensual and doesn’t occur until Robbie is a grown ass adult who can make his own decisions about who he wants to love and be with. :)

Bapuji: Robbie’s name for Freddie, father in Gujarati. Bunic: grandfather in Romanian.)

“Eye of newt, and toe of frog, 

Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, 

Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting, 

Lizard’s leg, and owlet’s wing,— 

For a charm of powerful trouble, 

Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. 

Double, double toil and trouble; 

Fire burn, and caldron bubble.” 

― William Shakespeare

Robbie Deacon met The Devil when he was seven years old. 

And he wasn’t talking about his Bunic either, Froggie’s father. 

Actually, Amy was a Prince of Hell, so just a powerful demon. Not exactly The Devil but close enough. 

He met his then-contractor at a street carnival in Piccadilly Circus, he had a pocket full of 10 quid and a line of younger siblings trailing after him like a clutch of eager ducklings.

Mikey, Lo, Jimmy and even little Felix, a too-warm wet face nuzzled into his neck as he toted the vampiric toddler along. 

Their fathers had been busy preparing for a show at the time, leaving the kids to their own devices or in the care of their usual Nanny Freestone. (Of course they’d snuck away from Uncle Phoebe. It was all they ever did). 

The babies, Lulu and Rory, were still with their minder.

While an excited Mikey made them stop and stare at every shop window as they passed by. Lo and Felix were gumming at Robbie’s mustard-colored hair or yanking at it in fistfuls. Jimmy had his face buried in Robbie’s tummy like an angry little limpet as they waddled along.  

Being a big brother right sucked sometimes. 

Mikey raced on ahead of them, until he collided sharply with a pair of black jeans that sent him falling backwards onto his bum, arms pinwheeling as he went down with a soft oomph.

The tall redhead scowled down at Robbie’s little brother, as though the poor kid had killed somebody instead of just being his overexcited self. 

Robbie raced over (well, as fast as he could race with all his attachments) and dragged his little brother to his feet, positioning himself between Mikey and the scary redhead. 

“Sorry, sir. He’s just excited.”

Robbie really didn’t sound all that apologetic, but he smiled anyway. 

Concealing his birth-father’s temperament behind his soft child features. 

“It is okay, Robert.” 

The tall man hummed and Robbie thought that was the end of it, dragging the kids along with him. But he stiffened mid-turn. How did he…?

“Come.”

The man wasn’t smiling, but he seemed warmer somewhat as he beckoned, fingers curling towards his palm in a come hither motion. 

Robbie’s arms were suddenly weighed down, heavy as anvils with the children who rested there.

He remembered being utterly terrified of the redheaded man, in his dark clothes and rattling chain jewelry. It was like a nod to one of the ghosts from A Christmas Story. 

The seven-year-old was planning on just plain running, until he saw the glint of something strange in those dark feral eyes. Oh no. 

“Mikey, take the kids and go to Uncle Phoebe. Now.”

He passed over Felix and Lo near seamlessly and Jimmy obediently took Mikey’s hand at Robbie’s behest. “Run, and don’t look back.”

“But…” He saw his little brother’s lip start to quiver and he shook his head slightly, eyes wide. 

‘Remember Froggie’s lessons?’ He mouthed pointedly, as clarity dawned in his little brother’s eyes this is what he trained us for and in the next second the younger was practically flitting away, off to get help and their little siblings to safety.

As Robbie turned back to the redheaded man looming before him, tiny hands curled into fists as he stood his ground. 

Trying to portray his whole defense with his eyes alone. My Froggie, one of my fathers, has fangs half the time, and my baby brother does too. My Uncle Phoebe is a hairy scary werewolf. You aren’t all that impressive, bruv. 

“Come, Robert. We have an engagement.” 

The redheaded man, his demon, his soon-contractor, Amy before he knew him as Amy, took him by the hand.

One tiny soft (human) hand wrapped in a huge clawed other. 

“How did you know my name?” 

Petulant, with his bottom lip jutting out plaintively as he was tugged along into the shadows. The walls around them seemed to ripple, all the colors and lights were swimming around and around and made him nauseous. He used the redheaded man’s hand to anchor him. 

“Are you here to hurt my family?” 

That question came out more demanding than the first, and when neither was answered, he ripped his hand away.

Teeth gritted tight and his nose wrinkled, spinning around with fists raised. As if he could actually defend himself against one of Froggie’s enemies. 

The room stopped moving the moment their hands disconnected. 

The demon before him was less than impressed. 

“I’m not here to take anything from you, or to hurt anyone you love, Robert. In fact, I’m here to give you a gift.”

Robbie’s narrowed suspiciously. “I don’t want The Bite or a Turning.” He wasn’t stupid. 

The redheaded man smiled. 

“I am not a werewolf or a vampire, little Deacon. I created them.” The creature came closer and closer, until they were right in front of each other, close enough to touch. “Oh no, I am here to give you a gift that will let you help your family, keep them safe, and thwart the laws of life and death.” 

“That’s impossible. Besides my family is full of immortals anyway. I don’t need you.”

Scowling, pudgy arms crossed and lips pursed like a pair of taut strings. 

“The living dead cannot die.” Robbie froze. “That little brother of yours? With the diluted vampiric blood? Enjoy his maybe twelve years of life, before the vampiric blood destroys the marrow of his long bones and takes his life with it.” Robbie looked up with genuine fear in his big blue eyes. 

“Felix? That’s going to happen to… I’ll be able to save Felix with your gift?”

The demon nodded, extending a hand again. 

“You’ll be able to save them all.”

Robbie Deacon, seven years old and raised by human monsters, peered at that hand suspiciously once more. “What’s the catch?”

“I, Avnas, Prince of Hell and 58th spirit of the Goetia, will have claim to your human soul.”

Robbie Deacon gave claim of his soul to a demon when he was seven years old. 

He became a contract-witch that day, a future warrior of Amy’s thirty-six legion army. 

One of the damned. 

-X-

“Why me?” 

Robbie would ask in later years, sleeping with his head pillowed in Amy’s lap after one of their consensual midnight excursions. 

He would ask it as a man, with a halo of mustardseed curls around his head, a pentacle scar on his palm and a tongue like a viper. His porcelain fingers interlaced with a hand that had once been so big. 

The redheaded demon’s blue flames licked at his skin like the raspy tongue of a cat, tickling rather than burning as the witch snuggled closer to his contractor, his demon, his lover.

Amy used his actual forked tongue to play with Robbie’s pointed ear, bending the cartilage back and forth, back and forth, before he spoke. 

“I am all-knowing, all seeing, carissimus.” The latin word term of endearment sent a pleasant shiver up his spine. “I saw more than you as a stubborn child back then, I saw what you would become.”

Blue eyes met red. 

“You knew that you’d love me one day?” Robbie smiled, smugly like the cat who’d gotten the cream. Amy rolled his eyes and lightly pinched the younger man’s backside, making him pout something fierce. 

“No, you cheeky little imp.”

Before Amy, he wouldn’t have known that a Prince of Hell could blush.

“The love is all your fault. Nobody else but you would fall in love with a demon. Perhaps there’s something wrong up here.” Gently knocking on the side of Robbie’s head.

The witch shrugged, wiggling even closer. 

“My Dad fell in love with a half-vampire, So I guess like-father-like-son. We both love the dangerous types, the ones who could probably kill us.” He furrowed his brow, still pouting. “But …If not love then what?”

“I saw what you could do, what you were going to be…My boss didn’t want you fighting on the side of the angels.”

Those hands, burning with blue hellfire, gently rubbed their thumbs across his cheekbones. 

“I just wanted a soldier.”

Robbie snapped his teeth instead, in a beautifully gory smile. A man who wouldn’t bow, who wouldn’t be tamed. “Funny, ‘cause if I remember correctly, I’m the one who wanted you.” 

-X-

Robbie knew that his Bapuji was sick, long before the adults bothered to tell them anything.

But they knew. 

At least poor Felix certainly did. The little boy could smell it, the same way the cats could. Sometimes he would have to cover his nose and mouth and run into another room to cry. Things were really really bad. 

For the rest of the kids it was just a suspicion, but it wasn’t hard to see the looming death-sentence with the way everyone else acted around him. Hell, around them. They weren’t that dull. 

Bapuji was always smiling though, smiling widely with all his teeth exposed, as he would ask them what they wanted for Christmas and their birthdays. Even if their birthday had just gone by. He went shopping over and over and over again. And sometimes he would spend hours in the garden painting. 

When Robbie found the little clutch of presents for each of them, hidden away in a room upstairs, with different dates and birthdays written on them in Bapuji’s careful hand, he stiffened and closed it again.

Running to his room before he burst into tears. 

He was thirteen years old, still in the stage of his platonic frenemy relationship with Amy, that was far more hate than anything else… although edging towards eventual begrudging acceptance. 

When he awoke in the middle of the night to the demon’s voice himself, shaking him awake, he scowled and almost cast a spell from sheer irritation but…

“Robert, your Roger is dying. He tried to…”

“…Turn, Bapuji.” His raw more-than-awake voice finished for the demonic entity speaking inside his head and he threw himself out of bed. “Shit!” 

Snatching up his rusted bloody athame, ceremonial knife, from the little locked box he kept hidden behind the wooden slats underneath his bed, and an old book that Amy had given him, after he’d used his own blood to sign his name on the first page. It had become his, the ritualistic Book of Shadows of a contract-witch. 

Then he was running down the hallways and a flight of twisty stairs as fast as his pink socked feet would allow him to do so. 

Cursing both the carpeting and Bapuji’s penchant for pretty things, every time he nearly tripped and flung himself into the sun with the force of it.

He knew the way to his fathers’ room, nestled as it was in the center of the house like a heartbeat, because he’d traversed the path multiple times a day, from the time he was old enough to be autonomously mobile.

Of course he loved his Mum, the way a child is always wont to do.

The same way he loved his Aunts and Uncles Joe and Phoebe. But his fathers were something else entirely.

Froggie, Bapuji, Dad, Brimi, they were his primary parents. Sure, his Mum was as well, especially on tour stuff, and the Uncles and Aunts had been loving on him since the day they’d arrived. But his relationship with those four was something special.

It no accident that he called his siblings, his siblings. 

Despite the differing blood in their veins.

He careened into that room with all the decorum of a battering ram, nearly taking his eye out with the fucking casting knife as his hip slammed against an end table near the door and shattered a fancy purple vase. Fuck.

He was just about to apologize too, on reflex, when he actually processed what was happening in the room before his eyes. 

Holy. Fucking. Shit. 

Joe was shaking in the corner, arms wrapped tightly around himself and eyes shut against the world. 

Bapuji was crying at the end of the bed, held safe in Uncle Jim’s arms, turned away from where Robbie could see, all he could see was the hair… hair that was longer than he remembered, a lither body too… and the quaking shoulders as he sobbed.

Brimi was on the floor, legs tucked under him and staring at the carpet, not even making a sound. Like he’d just crashed there or something. Unable to move, think or even breathe. 

It was the scene on the bed though, that really made Robbie feel ill. 

Phoebe, Dad and his Bunic, his grandfather Vlad, were feverishly working over a corpse with fanned out dark hair and the same round features as Felix. 

Froggie.

But also not Froggie at all. 

Despite his chaotic entrance, it was if nobody had so much as seen him, a veritable ghost as he neared the bed, eyes wide and horrified, pupils stretched from corner-to-corner of his blue irises. 

His Bunic was biting Froggie’s arms and chest, over and over and over again. 

Phoebe was doing the same on his end, hoping that at least one venom would take hold, and it looked as if someone had tried to force the corpse, that thing lying akimbo that was once Froggie, to drink as his full lips were smeared with crimson blood. 

His Dad was doing CPR, pounding on Froggie’s chest with the whole of his body weight, as if desperate to get the dead heart beneath his hands to start beating once more.

It was utterly devastating to see. 

His Dad wasn’t normally good with emotions, unless it was anger or upset. But the man on top of Froggie was frenzied, sobbing so hard and screaming complete nonsense, that it was a wonder that he had enough air to blow into the corpse’s mouth at all. Forcing the chest up and down, up and down. 

But it wasn’t catching, it wasn’t doing anything.

That spark inside the corpse, that spark that had once made Froggie, Froggie, was just gone.

That thing wasn’t their Froggie anymore. 

His hand reached out, and he felt all of two years old again, reaching out for Froggie to kiss his booboos better, a tiny pale hand that always found a home inside a too-warm one. 

A slightly larger pale hand now touched that same skin and it was chilled like ice. He recoiled at the wrongness of the sensation. 

“Froggie.” He whimpered. 

Something that finally seemed to spurn the acknowledgment of the other living beings in the room. Although now it was Robbie who couldn’t look away from the dead. 

“Robbie.” Phoebe sounded strangled. “Robbie, please go back to bed.” A forced tearful smile that never reached his eyes. 

“…There’s nothing you can do.”

“He wouldn’t want you to see him like this.” His Dad sounded utterly destroyed, his voice was wrecked and almost as bad as he looked.

“Well, I don’t give a damn about what he wants!” Blood pooled in Robbie’s cheeks. His teeth were gritted tightly and he flung his athame and blood book onto the bed, climbing up on his hands and knees to join them. “I’m going to save his life!” 

Vlad blinked at him, and those ruddy feral eyes honed in on the ritualistic items before him. His mouth falling open slightly in shock. Robbie could see the fangs playing peekaboo there.

Then his gaze turned back to his fallen son and he was resolute all at once. 

“What do you want us to do?”

His Dad was aghast. “Robbie, what are you on about?” A sad laugh as he stopped giving chest compressions and sat back with a tearful desolation about him. “Love, there’s nothing you can do.” He sounded like he was already dead. His father opened his arms for a hug or maybe absolution, but Robbie simply shook his head, setting his jaw tightly as he took his Book of Shadows into his arms. 

He opened it to a blank page and used the sharp edge of the cover to garner a drop of blood from his thumb. Pressing it to the parchment. 

Amy, I need candles for the circle and symbols of earth, air, fire and water to call each corner. 

Please. 

“Here you are, little witch.”

The candles were made of long strips of white and black wax, life and death, five that he set to one side, a vial of water (at least he sincerely hoped it was water), and a handful of …dirt.

Yes, of course, thank you so much Amy for this handful of old black dirt without a container. 

“Cheeky little brat.”

He resisted the urge to stick out his tongue. 

Instead he snatched up the candles and all but threw them into his Bunic’s arms. “Here! Make a circle around the bed but don’t light them.” 

“What are you doing, darling? Where did those come from?!” 

His Bapuji’s voice sounded weird.

Not a bad kind of weird, but like he’d never smoked a ciggie before in his life or ever even gotten sick in the first place. Robbie turned over to see blood tears drying on a Bapuji that he’d only ever seen on old album covers, except this one had red eyes, fangs that stuck out farther than his existing teeth and a strange feral sheen about him, with the way he focused on everything Robbie was holding. 

The only thing the little witch could say was: “Oh God, it actually worked.”

The next thing was: “I summoned them. Please I’ve got to heal him, Bapuji. I need you to get Brimi off the floor and Uncle Joe out of the corner. Please trust me, I can do this!” His voice was verging on the desperate and his Bapuji must have seen something there, because he jumped into action. 

Uncle Jim helped as well, his Uncle Jim who looked at him in a way that he never had before.

Almost with something akin to fear. Fear of him or fear for him, the boy didn’t know.

“Bri, please get on the bed, love… Yes, there. Now that’s the ticket.”

“Joe, darling, come we can’t do this without you.”

It was only when they were all on the bed, looking at him in varying states of shock and confusion that he picked up his athame again. 

And used the sharpness to carve a pentacle into the soft pale flesh of his hand.

Blood welled up from the deep slashes in his flesh, like oil from the deep dark recesses of the earth. His Bapuji swallowed hard, turning away from the blood with the trembling form of a newly turned vampire, while his Dad cried out and snatched up his son’s injured hand with his own. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Trying to blot at the raw flesh as if to stop the bleeding.

Robbie snatched his hand back defiantly. Setting his jaw against the only person who could out-stubborn him. Their usual peacekeeper was a corpse between them.

“Robert Deacon!”

He completely ignored his father and turned to the group at large. 

“Join hands and don’t scream.”

He took the dirt into his own.

“I call to the guardians of the North! Children of the earth and new life! Hear my cry, bring back your son who cannot die!”

He spoke in a voice that wasn’t his own. But one that wasn’t Amy’s either, his casting voice was deep, raw and gravelly like it was being dragged up from the very pits of hell. Blue flames exploded in his palms to burn up the dirt, and the candles at the front of the bed lit up with hellish light. 

Then the vial of water. 

“I call to the guardians of the West! Children of the sea and change! Hear my cry, bring back one who cannot die!” 

Then he paused. Looking at the many faces pressed in a circle around him, looking at him like they never had before. Like in that moment he wasn’t their son, he wasn’t little Robbie Deacon anymore. He was a monster. A thing of nightmares. 

“I need something made of metal to call the guardians of fire…”

Instantly his Bunic was pressing a black steel ring with the face of a gargoyle into his hand. 

“I call to the guardians of the South! Children of fire and passion! Hear my cry, bring back a father who cannot die!”

Then he held his athame into the air, still dripping with his own blood. 

“I call to the guardians of the East! Children of air and loss! Hear my cry, save one who cannot die!” 

Suddenly the entire room was ablaze with hellfire, flames that wouldn’t burn anything except for what Robbie wanted them to. His eyes were closed as he reached out and laid a hand on his Froggie’s bare chest. 

“Lower, Robert. Find his iliac crest, where his blood cells are made. Wake up the marrow.”

He slid his hands down lower, to hug his father’s hips. Staining the icy skin with his blood. 

Under Amy’s careful guidance he forced the blood cells to reform, forced the vampiric blood in those veins to start jostling about once again. Fighting inside the body to manipulate it. To get that heart beating. He poured everything he had into it. 

Froggie holding his hands as he stumbled through his first steps, his first lost tooth, his first triumphs and his first defeats, his first crush, his first broken heart: all the milestones of his first thirteen years of life.

Dancing around the kitchen with socks as ballet shoes.

He never cared about his father’s unique lineage or the red eyes and fangs. He never cared about the baggies of blood in their fridge or anything that they couldn’t control.

His Froggie was always perfect in his eyes.

He always knew how much the family meant to his Froggie, but he also knew without a doubt, that above all else. They, he and his siblings, were the loves of Froggie’s life. 

Reading goodnight stories in funny voices to make them laugh, coming up behind them to sweep them up in his arms, tickling and kissing the daylights out of them. Spinning them around up on his shoulders.

Froggie would’ve done anything for them. He had even given his life for Bapuji. The purest kind of love was selfless love.

Love beyond all confines. 

Please. He doesn’t deserve this. Amy, please. 

He felt the small twitch and then how that deadened heart began to beat once again, slow at first and then in the frantic pounding staccato beat of a dhampir. 

Froggie’s skin grew flush with an uncomfortable heat, and his fanning dark hair began to lighten. Half-mast blue glassy eyes darkened to a crimson red, the milky haze fading away. 

Roger Taylor woke up screaming.  

Jackknifing up ramrod straight with full vampiric features displayed: wrinkled bat nose, elongated fangs and bloody eyes.  Alive, so fucking alive. 

Well, about as alive as the living dead could be. 

The flames on Robbie’s body were extinguished all at once, and he flung himself into his Froggie’s trembling arms, sobbing like he was three years old again instead of thirteen.

Clinging to that bloody skin and letting that too-fast heartbeat fill his ears with its heavenly sound. 

-X-

The fact that his dads’ bed was strong enough to hold all of them (Froggie, Dad, Brimi, Bapuji, Mum, Auntie Dom, Uncle Phoebe, Uncle Jim and Uncle Joe), was pretty spectacular, considering all of them were clinging to Froggie and each other, without the slightest thought of letting go. 

Dom tore his dads and uncles a new asshole each for not calling her once things went sour with the change (the one that apparently everybody knew about but him) and Froggie seemed to be reeling from the fact that he’d nearly ended up six-feet under. 

Robbie shook his head from where his face was still smushed into his Froggie’s furnace-warm chest. 

“No,” His voice was small, eyes still closed. “The living dead can’t die.”

His Bunic was sitting by the windowsill, a gentle smile on the young yet ancient face. 

But that smile faded when turned on his grandson, edged by a touch of knowing sadness. 

“Which one was it, guriță?” He asked softly, eyes shaded. “Which demon?”

Froggie was sitting up at once, looking at Vlad with bewilderment. 

“What demon, Dad? What are you talking about?”

Vlad gestured to Robbie, then turned fully to face the teenager. “Which demon did you sell your soul to, Robert?”

To say that all hell broke loose would be an understatement. 

He simply hung his head and spoke over the throng. 

“Avnas. And I didn’t sell it, I let him lay claim.” 

Vlad cocked an eyebrow, “A Prince of Hell? Well. I suppose you deserve credit for shooting high.”

“So I wasn’t hallucinating you being on fire?”

His Froggie sounded sick. Robbie just shook his head. Still not daring to raise his gaze from where it was examining the drops of blood on the bedclothes, ones that looked like rose petals spread across the plush duvet. 

“You’re thirteen years old! How in the hell did you sell your soul to a demon?! Why? What possessed you to do that?”  

His Dad looked livid and it was finally enough for Robbie to raise his head and glare with everything he had. 

“I was seven years old!” He wailed, fists clenched and tears welling up in his eyes. “It wasn’t exactly in my life plan, alright?” 

He whipped his head around to meet their stares head-on. “Yes! I’m a contract-witch, I let a demon lay claim on my soul to save my little brother’s life, to have the power to save all of yours, and I’d do it again if given half the chance!”

He was crying genuine human tears. 

“No need to worry about my damnation!” He let out a little hysterical laugh. One of his Froggie’s favorite words. “I’ve already gone and damned myself.”

His Brimi, his closet father at the moment, dragged him into a hug so crushing that he whimpered. The others followed suit.

He almost didn’t hear Amy’s sad voice, heavy and guilty in his head. He never knew a demon could feel remorse.

“Little witch, I am so sorry.”

-X-

Phoebe turned Joe into a lycanthrope once he started showing signs of having AIDS as well. 

They had been together for as long as Robbie could remember and he threw white petals at their little forest wedding in the backyard. 

Their family grew as he did, every years or so bringing more siblings with it. 

Josh came only a year or so after his first meeting with Amy. Luke and Cam were his Mum’s last foray into the baby-making front. And he was old enough to have fathered them himself by the time they came along. But he loved them all the same. 

Tiger Lilly and Rufus Tiger Taylor came after a family trip to Mexico. 

They were naguals, shape-shifters who could take the form of jaguars. Mesoamerican indian folklore called them protective spirits that guarded the rural villages from the dark sprits who lurked in the deepest parts of the jungle.

He called them his little pain-in-ass imps who were always underfoot, causing mischief with their half-transformed faces and bending Bapuji’s cat army to their will.

But beyond it all, they were his baby brother and sister, and he loved them thusly. 

Lola May Taylor was a Christmas baby, left on their doorstep like a little Christmas miracle.

Obviously her parents hadn’t realized that they’d chosen to leave their baby on the Addams’ family doorstep. (Or maybe they were more like the Munsters?)

She and Aunt Mary’s little boys completed their family. 

As years passed, he wondered how long it would be until Bapuji and Froggie would change Dad and Brimi. 

The answer for Dad was on a warm spring day in March, when he was in his late fifties. 

Curly hair shot with thick waves of gray that they teased made him look like The Bride of Frankenstein. He had been in the kitchen with Phoebe that morning, making a cup of coffee with Bapuji sitting up on the countertop stealing kisses, as the family all sat around the table and wherever else they could fit.

Hanging out during a weekend brekkie. 

When his father’s face had suddenly creased with a surprise pain, and the cup had fallen from his grip, shattering into a dozen pieces on the floor. They’d all watched it fall. 

Watched as their father collapsed to his knees, gripping his chest and curling inward from the pain of his heart-attack.

For an instant Robbie actually thought the older Deacon was bending down to clean up the mess. 

Froggie and Bapuji changed him on the kitchen floor, all of the kids huddled around like a horde of emperor penguins. Robbie ready to conjure, just in case. 

Dad woke up to his new life with everyone he loved watching with bated breath. Robbie would never get used to the way he looked like his vampire Dad’s twin. 

Brimi lasted the longest, he was in his early seventies when he came home from from a routine doctor’s visit with a set of test results in one hand and a clutch of freshly cut flowers in the other. They changed him in bed, all three of them together. Robbie sat against the door into the wee hours of the morning, listening, ready just in case. But he wasn’t needed. 

They were all okay. 

And it was only the beginning…

-X-

His Amy, his friend, his contractor, his demon, his lover, was a living, breathing demonic asshole. 

But Robbie had to give him credit, a living, breathing demonic asshole with morals. Nothing happened between them until Robbie Deacon was a grown man, a goddamn adult with a free-for-all choice of what he wanted to do to with his life. He didn’t owe anything to Amy or hell until the day he was steered away from the pearly gates. 

But they fell in love anyway. 

Even though demons were meant to never love humans. Even though he should hate the demon prince for claiming his soul like a greedy asshole who didn’t want him tearing Hell apart by the seams. 

They loved anyway. The truest rebels of all. 

“My little witch, my sunshine… I’ll burn the contact, take it all away, if you only ask.”

“No, this is my life. My choice.”

You’re my choice.

He didn’t say. He didn’t need to. 

It wasn’t ordinary. It wasn’t normal. But it was theirs.

They loved. 

-X-

“Mama, life had just begun

But now I’ve gone and thrown it all away…

Mama, ooh (any way the wind blows)

Didn’t mean to make you cry

If I’m not back again this time tomorrow

Carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters

…I’m just a poor boy, nobody loves me

He’s just a poor boy from a poor family

Spare him his life from this monstrosity

Easy come, easy go, will you let me go?

Bismillah! No, we will not let you go (let him go!)

Bismillah! We will not let you go (let him go!)

Will not let you go (let him go!)

Never, never let you go

Never let me go, oh

No, no, no, no, no, no, no

Oh, mama mia, mama mia (mama mia, let me go)

Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me, for me, for me…”

-Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody 

[msmoonlighter]

All About Piper King! (It’s really long, sorry)

Full Name: Piper  Eurydice King

Ethnicity/Nationality: Mexican-Italian American

Age: 22 Family: Pierce Alastor King ( older half brother), Natalia Romero-Blackwell (Adoptive mother, Banshee ), Lysander Blackwell (Adoptive father, Vampire), Heather Brooks (Adoptive sister, not related to the Blackwells, Human turned werewolf, her family abandoned her after she was turned, they were hunters), Lorena King (Biological mother, Gorgon, an asshole),  Santiago Adder (Biological father, never met his kid, not an asshole, Gorgon, would actually make an okay dad)

Species: Gorgon, descendant of Stheno, one of the original three Gorgon Sisters Gender: Female Height/ Body type: She’s 5’3 and got a kinda slim thick thing going on. She’s a little curvy around the hips and thighs and chest, but not extremely so. Appearance: Dark/medium green snakes, pale green skin, red or gold eyes I can’t decide, red lips, I can’t decide whether I want her fangs to always be visible or if I want them to be like real snake fangs and have them only pop up when she opens her mouth. Guess I’ll alternate?

Job: Works at a bunch of places. She’s an art student, she needs that coin. She works as a barista at a coffee shop during the colder months, during the warmer months occasionally she works at a fast food joint where she gets to roller skate people’s food to their car and she LOVES rollerskating. She also babysits year round when she can because 1) she loves kids. They amuse her, and she has this weird motherly streak, and 2) A lot of monster kids love her snakes. A few are terrified of them, but she has a pretty good chance of getting the kids being enamored with them. And if she needs to get the kids to quit acting up, she pulls out the “you’re making the snakes sad” card. Her snakes play along and act all disappointed until the kid feels bad and complies. Dirty trick, but it works. If the kid is a little shit she has two options. Either she busts out the “I’ll turn you to stone, I won’t hesitate.” card, or  “I’m calling your mom and she’s not going to be happy.” Usually that doesn’t have to happen though because kids either adore her, or are scared shitless by her. Hobbies: Art, sculpting, painting, sketching, graphic design, the works. Also music. She’s a drummer for her brother’s band Sweet Poison Fangs or SPF and sometimes even sings for them. She also loves hiking, exploring nature, taking care of her snakes, reading books and comics, lowkey love of soccer (or futbol), and generally being creative or getting to be outdoors. LOVE SWIMMING. SO MUCH. LIKE WOW. WATER? GOOD SHIT. GIVE HER THAT H2O. She has a high key love of roller skating because when she moved in with her adoptive parents the first thing they did for family bonding time is go rollerskating and it became a tradition to go out roller skating on her birthday each year.

Personality:

- Main  traits: Opinionated, independant, strong willed, kind hearted, laid back usually but she can have a temper, creative, casually (but very) affectionate, and loyal as FUCK, fun, outgoing, easily flustered by flirtatious behavior towards her (when welcomed), hardworking, compassionate

-Don’t mess with people she cares about she will come AFTER you - Cares about the environment and shows it. You littered? You pick it up or you become a new museum piece. She wears lots of “Save the (insert endangered species, or ecosystem here)” shirts and picks up trash whenever she sees it. Like doesn’t matter where she is, if there’s litter, she’s grabbing it and carrying it to the nearest trash can. Consequently, she uses a lot of trash in her art and repurposes a lot of stuff.

- May seem easygoing and fun but please don’t try to fight her, chances are you will get fucked up. She’s been taking MMA classes since she was twelve and lemme tell you, there is nothing hotter than seeing Piper punch, disarm, and take down, a mugger in four seconds flat.

-  I’m not gonna lie she’s a little bit flirty but she usually does it jokingly and makes that clear. The second you turn it around and flirt with her she becomes a mESS. An uncharacteristically flustered MESS.

- A bit of a perfectionist when it comes to her art and music, when she gets worried about school work she basically shuts down and loses the ability to give a shit to avoid stress. It’s a sucky coping mechanism and often her brother has to snap her out of it. Soon as he does though she’s IN IT TO WIN IT and won’t be stopped until she’s blown all her schoolwork out of the water. (Unless it’s done the day before then she’ll get like a C tops.)

-  She’s so loving and welcoming towards other people, like my god if see sees you crying she’s automatically there to ask if you’re okay and comfort you no matter if she knows you or not. But she’s not all kind. If you’re an asshole she’ll take one look at you, push her guilt away and go “Suffer.” But usually that’s reserved for people who have wronged others around her.

- She actually met one of her good friends, a half shadow demon, half vampire named Naomi at a cafe. She took one look at the tiny, shy girl in the corner, sipping her coffee and looking sad, and just casually walked over, slipped into the seat across from her, and said, “Hi. I’m Piper. Could you give me your opinion on a few drawings of mine?” And after they got to talking admitted that she came over because Naomi looked sad. She uses her quick wit and extrovertedness to make people smile and earns a lot of friends because of it.

- She’s kind of a bit self deprecating and has low self esteem, but she’s super supportive and uplifting towards everyone except herself.

- Straddling the line between true and chaotic neutral

Backstory: Her mother was, in short, fucked up. She had Pierce at eighteen, as a senior in high school, and then three years later had Piper, and they were both from different fathers. She lived in an apartment complex, running on money from her parents, and was kind of a shitty mom. Lorena fed them and stuff, but like, she wasn’t very loving or motherly. She was more like a vodka aunt who they just happened to live with. And she was an asshole.

She didn’t have a job, except for when she went and worked at McDonalds and that didn’t last more than a year. And it wasn’t like it was because she couldn’t get a job, it was just because she didn’t care. Whenever she got angry and frustrated she’d scream and curse and hit them, and let her snakes bite them.

Gorgons are immune to snake bites so it didn’t do anything but it still scared them and hurt because Lorena had rattlesnakes for hair. She went partying constantly, leaving Pierce and Piper to fend for themselves until late at night. The landlady cooked for them sometimes, and she was the only real source of motherly care they got.

When Pierce was thirteen and Piper was ten, Pierce came out as gay and Lorena, who had been threatening to get rid of them for years, finally snapped. She shouted about how she’d put a roof over his head, given him food, and he’d repaid her by being ‘disgusting’ and ‘unnatural’. Piper stepped in and defended her brother, trembling as she told her mother that Pierce did nothing wrong and that if she thought that they needed to repay her terrible mothering, neglect, and abuse then she was more demented and delusional than Piper had thought. She told her that she was a terrible person, a terrible mother, and that Pierce was fine the way he was. Lorena hit  Piper so hard Piper stumbled back into the wall and told them both to leave and never come back. Pierce and Piper threw their stuff into two suitcases and two backpacks and left. They wandered around for a while, until they came across Middleverse. They planned to keep moving, but then they got adopted. They were actually trying to steal from a hotdog stand when they met their adoptive father. Pierce was distracting the vendor by stealing his wallet and running, leading the vendor to chase him. Meanwhile Piper swooped in and stealthily swiped some dogs with help from her snakes. Then, all of the sudden, someone clamped a hand down on her shoulder. First reaction? Punch them. Piper wasn’t used to physical contact of any kind except harmful, she’d been living on the streets, and her mother often grabbed her shoulder or arm when angry, so she just whirled around and sucker punched the guy in the face. The man was tall, blonde haired, and very much in pain. He held his nose, eyes watering for a second, before giving her an awkward grin and saying, “Okay, that was my fault. Sorry about that.” Piper grimaced at the blood slipping through his fingers, but she didn’t back down. Her snakes rose up, hissing, and she eyed him warily. “What do you want?” “Look,” The man said, still blinking back tears. Piper handed him a napkin from the stand. He held it to his nose “Thanks. Now, kid, why do you feel you have to steal these hotdogs? Can’t you just buy some? Don’t you have parents who can buy you some? I just don’t want you to get in trouble. I saw you and the boy do the whole diversion thing.” “I don’t have money.” Piper replied automatically. “Or parents.” “You’re orphaned.” The man said, solemnly. “No.” Piper said, taking a bite of her loot. “My mother kicked us out.” The man hesitated for a long second, then, one hand still covering his nose with the napkin, pulled out his wallet. “I’ll buy you some food. How many hotdogs you want?” Piper was obviously wary, wondering if there was a catch. The man assured her there was none, so she let him slap some money on the hotdog stand and let him walk with her to the spot she and Pierce said they’d meet. The man told her his name was Lysander Blackwell, he was a vampire, he worked as a college professor, and he was married to his “gorgeous, talented, and amazing” wife Natalia, a banshee. She was just telling him about her snakes, who up until this point were her closest friends, when Pierce ran up with some cash and some hotdogs, grinning. When he saw Lysander, however, his smile fell. Piper assured him that Lysander was cool, and he trusted Piper’s instincts so he begrudgingly allowed Lysander to take them on a walk through Middleverse. At the end of the day, after buying them ice cream, and taking them to the art museum, where he had been heading to meet his wife, Piper and Pierce felt a little more comfortable with Lysander.

He was a really nice guy, who liked to make bad puns, and dad jokes, but who could be genuinely funny, and was really intelligent. Natalia, who was the prettiest, most genuinely loving woman Piper had ever met, told her that if she wanted a place to stay, she could stay with them. The King siblings were tired and hungry, and these folks had fed them and taken them to a museum, so they reluctantly agreed. Time passed a little by little Piper and Pierce became more and more comfortable with the Blackwells, until one day, they just decided to stay. Lysander and Natalia adopted them, and were great, loving, understanding parents. The first moment Piper really felt like she had a family was when Natalia and Lysander took them to the roller rink to skate. Piper had fallen and gotten tripped over. She started to get up, and hissed as her scraped palms and knees touched the floor. Natalia rushed over and helped her up and asked her if she was okay and Piper was like ???? affection and caring????? This is so nice ???? And she looked over at Pierce and Lysander laughing as they ate pizza and just kind of had a moment. She realized that she finally had parents who loved her and cared for her. She didn’t answer, she just wrapped her arms around Natalia and hugged her real tight. Natalia, though surprised, hugged her back and didn’t question it. As Piper got older, she became more and more aware of the fact that she was not straight. When she was fifteen she finally worked out that she was pan. She was surprised that she wasn’t afraid to tell her parents. They had been supportive of Pierce and had openly voiced their approval every time he brought home a nice guy (there were occasions when Pierce brought home a guy that they told him afterwards was no good) so Piper felt minimal fear to tell them. But when she finally walked into Natalia’s office where Lysander and Natalia were working on a paper about the decline of the sumatran tiger population, she suddenly became very nervous, and her snakes gave that away. Often her snakes reacted to her emotions, and when she becomes nervous they do too because they can sense her fear. Lysander got up to hug her and welcome her home from school, and one of her more skittish snakes, Bowie, struck at him. Lysander, who recognized this as a sign of fear, of course asked if Piper was okay. Natalia offered to get what they called The Comfy Blanket. A soft blanket they threw into the dryer and warmed up to give to Piper when she needed comfort. Being part reptilian, though warm blooded, she felt more content when warm, and sometimes when she was anxious, they’d get out The Comfy Blanket. After a long moment, and lots of blabbering and stalling, Piper finally got it across that she was pansexual. Natalia and Lysander assured her that there was nothing wrong with that and that she was still their daughter and that they loved her. Piper broke down crying she was so happy. Her snakes flocked to her cheeks and wrapped around her shoulders, giving her semblances of hugs and resting their heads against her cheeks in attempts to calm her, and Natalia and Lysander hugged her, telling her over and over that they loved her and that they were happy she told them and trusted them.

Piper discovered her love of art a few months after, when they adopted Heather, the newly turned werewolf girl who made beautiful drawings, much more advanced than Piper’s. Piper told Heather she wished she could draw like her. Heather advised Piper to take some art classes, and when Piper did, she realized two things. 1) Art was hella hard, and 2) she adored it. From then on she threw herself head first into sculpting, painting, graphic design, any form of visual art she could. She has a very tight bond with Pierce, and a bond almost as tight with Heather. She’s supportive of both, and fiercely loyal. She’s very protective of Heather, mostly because when they adopted her she seemed so in need of love and reassurance and comfort. She was a newly turned werewolf who was abandoned by the only family she had on the side of the road, left for dead after being beaten cut with a silver knife. Of COURSE Piper was going to be protective of her. She and Lysander and Pierce formed a sort of Heather Protection Squad, making sure to threaten, beat up, or at least intimidate anyone who even looked at Heather wrong. They will protect and attack for their little gorl. To quote Lysander when a vampire had asked why Lysander was allowing a werewolf to walk with him in the park, “That is my daughter, and you will treat her with respect, or I will stick my foot so far up your ass you’ll be able to taste your racism. And let me tell you, buddy, it tastes bad.” And to quote Piper when one of Heather’s schoolmates called her a dog. “Have you ever felt the feeling of all your limbs stiffening and your body dying as you turn to stone? Would you like to? Because you’re going to if you don’t shut the fuck up, you disgusting piece of racist filth. And who are you to call someone else a dog? I swear to god, you look like a naked mole rat and a deformed chihuahua had a baby. Back off.” And to quote Pierce when a kid in Heather’s class told Heather to fetch and threw a branch at her. “Hold my guitar, Piper, I’m gonna go fuck up a 14 year old. HEY BITCH! YEAH YOU FUCK-TARD. YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH MY SISTER? YOU WANT THAT STICK SHOVED DOWN YOUR THROAT? BECAUSE I’M ABOUT TO SHOVE THAT STICK DOWN YOUR THROAT AND RIGHT THROUGH YOUR INTESTINES.” Basically, they all love Heather and aren’t afraid to throw down for her honor. When Piper was eighteen Pierce got this idea that they should form a band. And they did. And they’re really good. They’re a multi-genre (mostly Alternative, punk and rock) band called Sweet Poison Fangs or The Fangs or simply SPF. Mostly because everyone in the band has fangs, but also because it’s something Natalia called the King kids whenever they got a sassy mouth. “Alright then, Sweet Poison Fangs, if you don’t want to fold your clothes, I guess you don’t want to go to the movies tonight either.” Piper’s best friend, other than Pierce, is a redhead witch named Aspen, who is also an artist, and writing a comic book with her. Aspen loves writing and so she’s doing most of the storyline for the comic. Aspen’s more into theatre than she is, and participates in at least one major local production a year. She’s really fun and has the same sense of humor Piper does, meaning they get along fantastic. She’s a more energetic though, and often her ADHD antics get Piper out of the house, so Mr and Mrs Blackwell love her. She works as a barista with Piper, and sells her art to make money. Piper’s second best friend is Wyatt McCoy, an instrumentally talented, and socially awkward werewolf she met in sophomore year of highschool. He’s kind of a huge nerd, and wants to study to become a wildlife biologist and a chemist, but his mad ADD interfere with school and he’s putting off college. Among her other friends are Alessandro Nightshade, the first guy that Pierce dated, Jade Darksea, a Nixie, and Naomi Nacht, a shadow demon-vampire. Alec is an incubus and therefore hella hot. He’s kinda really flirty, but once he becomes close to you, the flirting dies down to just occasional jokes, and he becomes like an older brother. As in he steals your food and embarrasses you in front of your crush. He was pretty great as first boyfriends go and he and Pierce are now best friends instead of having a messy breakup and never talking again. He plays bass guitar in the band. Jade is quiet and a bit moody, with long black hair that’s constantly in her face and wet and a penchant for asking to eat people when she’s annoyed with them. Don’t go swimming with her. Just don’t. It won’t end well. She’s usually backup vocals in the band. Naomi is a sweet and shy girl, easily flustered and very good with animals. She has a lovely singing voice, but refuses to sing in public, but also really wanted to be in the band, so she plays whatever small instrument they need in the band. She takes over playing percussion if Wyatt has to play a woodwind or brass. She’s super pretty with black hair cut to her neck, big dark blue eyes, and freckles. Her horns are like those of a deer, and her tail is that of a white tailed deer too. She hides them both. All in all, Piper is happy with her life, but she’s still bothered by the fact that she’s never met her biological father, and she’s a little insecure still. She wants to travel the world, but is afraid to leave Middleverse, seeing as it’s the only home she’s ever known, and Aspen’s not strong enough to cast a semi-permanent glamour over her to hide the fact that she’s not human.