#It saved me from harm twice and I have the vague memory of knowing this was the plush itself in dreamland | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thedarkplume · 4 years ago

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I'm back again, guys! I recently received a message from @definitelyjakejensen with a drawing from @kocuria depicting a C. Ev character with tentacles extending behind him!

I looked at that picture for about a minute, and afterward, this story began to take shape. I had spent the day before binge streaming Universal Horror films. While I was writing this, I was watching The Creature from the Black Lagoon. Such a beautiful film! It managed to knock Frankenstein down as my favorite Universal Horror film.

I want to thank my awesome Beta @georgiapeach30513 for not only editing this massive story but for being such a great source of motivation and support. I honestly could not have gotten through all my annoying self-sabotaging thoughts without your continued support.

For those of you reading this who don't already know @autumnrose40 is the expert on all sea creatures and wolves. So, it is with an anxious and excited heart that I prepare to post this!

Special thanks to @roguemonsterfucker and @monsterkinkmeme for their amazing blogs featuring prompts, art, and stories that fulfill all our monster-loving needs!

By the way, the title Cabin by the Lake comes from the greatly underappreciated Judd Nelson made-for-tv film, released in 2000.

Songs used: To Be Loved by Jackie Wilson (1958), Sleep Walk Instrumental by Santo & Johnny (1959), Saving All My Love For You by Whitney Houston (1985), You Give Good Love by Whitney Houston (1985), Who’s Lovin’ You by The Temptations (1965) & Pledging My Love by Johnny Ace (1954)

Books used/referenced: Captive Rose by Miriam Minger, Unbirthday from Disney’s A Twisted Tale series by Liz Braswell, Almost There from Disney’s A Twisted Tale series by Farrah Rochon, Grimm Fairytales by The Brothers Grimm & Scary Stories Treasury by Alvin Schwartz – The Haunted House & The Drum

Text excerpt of ‘The Drum’ taken from Scary Stories Treasury by Alvin Schwartz, specifically, book 2, More Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark (1984).

Disclaimer: The characters within this story are the property of Shirley Jackson, Stacie Passon, Sylvain White, Tobe Hooper, Steven Spielberg, Andy Diggle & Gideon Raff. I only own my OCs and Sylvie the Border Collie.

Warnings: NSFW 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. Isolation, gaslighting, blood, animal violence, animal sacrifice, death, murder, character death, smut, exophilia, somnophilia, dubious consent, profanity, reverse transformation, tentacle sex, monster threesome, oral sex, upside down spit roasting under the cut.

p.s. No chickens were harmed during the writing of this story.

Word Count: Over 15k!!! Again.

A Cabin by The Lake

I was never close to my biological father. I had vague memories of following him around the house on unsteady toddler legs. I remember at those times that I loved him. But after those memories, there were sadder ones punctuated by prison letters and timed phone calls. Sparse moments of contact that ceased completely when he moved on with a new wife and raised new kids. It came as a complete shock to me that upon his death, the executor of his estate contacted me with a letter and a deed to a property my father willed to me in Okeechobee, Florida. I loved it there when I was a child. It was my grandparents’ place. I went there two weekends every month for years. I would fish on the dock behind the cabin and sometimes swim under my grandma’s watchful eye. When they passed, I stopped going to Okeechobee. I can’t exactly remember why, but my mother always tried to compensate for the loss of the visits by taking me into the town to shop twice a month. She never once granted my requests to even drive by the property.

I lived in Alabama after having moved there following my high school graduation. My town was as remote as it could be. Not even a town really, more of an opening in the woods like something ripped from Wrong Turn. I went to school at what was called The Friendliest Campus in the South and was two semesters from graduating when my stepfather fell sick from Alzheimer’s. My mother, who had been estranged from my stepfather at the time rushed home, only to have an accident that left her with a broken neck. It was a miracle that she was not paralyzed. Once she got better, she ordered me to return to school and finish what I started. She said that I was the only child she had, and she would be damned if she was the reason I didn’t finish school. After I finished, I mostly stuck close to home finding freelance work online, but my feelings of restlessness never faded.

They quieted once. Two years before my father’s death, I met the most handsome and charming man. He had a sort of rugged old Hollywood beauty to him. He was a professor in the Political Science Department. My degree requirements were already met by the time I registered for The Judicial Process, but it sounded interesting enough and would be another 400 Level course to add to my transcript. From the moment he stepped in front of the class and introduced himself, I was hanging on his every word.

Professor Charles Stanford.

He scheduled office hours with each of us individually as a way to get to know his students better. I was thrilled of course for more than one reason. The main being that it was always a good idea to have three or four interpersonal relationships with your professors in the real world. The lesser more intimate reason, I just wanted an excuse to have his attention all to myself for a while.

As the semester went on, we met in his office often. Once a week at least. We never talked about his class or my grades, but about things like our favorite books and songs. We even argued over why films lost their appeal when Hammer Studios entered the scene—his opinion, not mine. He was a lover of gothic literature. When I noticed his leatherbound copy of Jane Eyre, he noted the change in my expression and from there we spent hours discussing the Bronte Sisters and the writings of that period. I questioned exactly why he was teaching a law class in the Political Science department when it was clear he belonged in the English Department. Our relationship, despite what others still think, did not progress to anything romantic until after I graduated.

We dated a full year before he proposed. It was almost too soon, but I was so happy with him, what else could I say besides yes?

It all came crashing down during our wedding rehearsal dinner. The police kicked in the doors and dragged Charles away from me in handcuffs, arresting him for the murder of three women in the town of Oxford, Alabama. I didn’t know what to think or how to feel. My Charles, a murderer? It was too insane to even consider. It had to be a mistake. Then there were other charges. Other accusations. The police had a search warrant for my mother’s house. They turned the place upside down looking for anything that could help their case. They even took my engagement ring as evidence. They said that it was taken from the body of one of Charles’s victims.

As the weeks turned into months, I was forced to accept that Charles Stanford, who was really Charles Blackwood, was wanted internationally for murders in Italy. An entire family, two servants, and three women who all died Mrs. Charles Blackwood. The police showed me the wedding photos. His hair was longer, and he didn’t wear glasses or have a beard, but there was nothing he could do to hide the likeness.

I held on to my naïve belief that this was some case of mistaken identity until Charles called me from jail. He would remain there until the courts determined which murders he would face trial for. He tried to persuade me that it was all a mistake, but there were too many facts and too much evidence. Charles finally snapped and said, “And you should be grateful I found those other women to feed this insatiable need for blood and violence inside of me! Do you even realize how many times I could have killed you? How easily you could have been like the others? Do you? But I love you and I committed these unspeakable acts, as you say, just to keep from taking your life!”

After that call, I ended all contact with Charles. I silently accepted that the man I had fallen in love with, the one whose arms always left me feeling safe and loved, the man who made love to me so passionately, was not only an imposter but a murderer of women and children and anyone who got in his way. There are not enough words to describe a pain like that. It’s something that no one should be made to face. That life we lived together, the life we were working to build was all a lie. It was a lie, but it was my lie, and now it was gone forever.

It was decided that Charles would be extradited to Italy to face trial for his crimes there. I would eventually have to testify for the murders he committed here, but until then, I was free to move about as I pleased.

My father’s death coincided with Charles’s arrest. I didn’t attend his funeral, despite my mother’s urging. I knew I had as much right to be there as his other kids, but it didn’t feel right to me. When the executor of my father’s estate contacted me, I made the decision to return to Florida to my grandparent’s old lake house. It was a little over five hundred miles from Alabama to Florida. I made the trip the same as we used to in the summers. Get up around three am and be on the road around four. My mother packed me a lunch like I was a child and hugged me for a long time. I know I can’t stop you, she said. But be careful. It’s been a long time since you’ve been down that way.

It felt good to get away.

A year passed, and people still whispered behind my back that I was the Black Widower’s Bride.

I only needed to stop twice for the eight-hour drive, once for the restroom and the other to pick up essentials. Using a grocery pick-up app became second nature to me. I could still feel the bitter sting of embarrassment when the other shoppers stopped and loudly whispered about my perceived complacency in Charles’s crimes. The store manager was polite enough to pull me aside when he requested that I start using the pick-up app rather than coming inside for my own safety and peace of mind until things died down. My mother ranted and raved telling me if I don’t want to sue, I should at least report him to the corporate manager.

I told my mother I would probably only be a week or two, but I was planning to stay at least a couple of months. By the time I made it to the house, the estate lawyer was already there waiting. She was an older lady named Janna Curtis. She wore glasses and had her hair in a stylish platinum pixie cut. She unlocked the door and showed me around. There was the sitting room, the laundry room just behind a door in the kitchen, the master bedroom and bathroom, my old room, another bathroom, the dining room, and the library. It was jarring being back after so many years away.

I knew it was all too good to be true. Ms. Curtis revealed to me that my grandparents had it in their wills that I was to be granted the deed to the house and the surrounding land as a college graduation present, but my father buried that fact because he was hoping to refinance the land to get quick cash for his last drug bender. It didn’t work, thankfully, and would have been given to me outright had he even had the chance to try.

The house, as far as appliances go, had been updated since I was a child. A new stove, refrigerator, and deep freezer. There was a deep fryer and microwave oven. Back when I was a child, my grandparents only had the microwave, blender, and slow cooker. The new side of this modern charm was…charming. Electricians came by regularly to check on the wires and electricity, along with a dependable housekeeping company to keep it clean from dust and mold, as well as a lawn service to keep the grass cut, the flowers tended, and the weeds down. There was even still a chicken coop with about ten or so live chickens. There was even a new alarm system put in place the week before so that only me and Ms. Curtis knew the code. The power and water were turned on, per my request, two days prior to my arrival so settling in was no problem.

“The lawn service company will come by next week. You have one visit left before you have to decide to keep them or take care of it yourself. If you do decide to keep them, I can handle the transfer of contract, if you would like.”

“Thank you, Ms. Curtis. I would appreciate that.” There was enough money left in my grandparents’ account for the upkeep of the property to continue utilizing the lawn service company. Even when that money was gone, I was going to do everything I can to keep my home as beautiful as it was in my memories.

Before Ms. Curtis left, not only did she leave with the keys, but she also left a letter from my grandma written before she passed. She assured me that no one, not even my father or aunts, knew the contents of the letter.

When Ms. Curtis left and the groceries were put away, I sat in my granddad’s favorite chair by the window and opened the letter.

“My little Buttercup,

I’m watching you outside the window as I write this. You and your granddaddy are fishing at the end of the dock. I miss you already because I can feel that when you read this, we will already be gone. I wish that when we are gone, my fool of a son will be there for you in our absence, but I know that will never happen. Aside from our love, this home and this land is the only thing we can leave you so that these moments we spent together in this house and all the land that surrounds it, will never leave you. You won’t be back here for a very long time.

When you do come back, things will have changed. I see how much you love the water even as a child, and I know that love will never fade, just be forgotten for a little while. I know you. When you come back the first thing you will want to do is to let this place know you’re back to claim it. I ask that before you do, you give Offering to the Lake the same way we used to on the first day of every visit.”

I stopped reading there as a memory, long forgotten, suddenly came back. The three of us, me, grandma, and granddad, would walk down the dock, all the way to the edge. Grandma would put a small, sharp knife in my hand, while grandpa held one of the chickens. She guided my hand with the knife to its neck and—

I shook my head, not wanting to think about the blood squirting on my clothes and onto the dock. I exhaled heavily, continuing.

“I can almost imagine the disgust on your face now, remembering our Offerings. I felt the same way in the beginning, but everything and everyone serves a purpose. The Lake knew you well when you were a child, but not only will you be gone for years and return without us, your scent, your essence, everything about you, will have changed to bring you from childhood to womanhood. I beg you, my little Buttercup. You honored our traditions when you were a child, please, please, honor them again. Do not enter that water without an Offering first. Look after the Lake, and the Lake will look after you.

I love you, my Buttercup.”

It was crazy. Completely insane. Yet, just before the sun went down, I took a chicken from the coop and walked it down to the end of the dock. The chicken clucked and looked at me liked it trusted me. I almost backed out, but another memory, one of my granddad telling me that if we didn’t do this every time, worse things than gators would come out of the water, made up my mind.

I pressed a kiss to its head, whispering “forgive me,” just before I slit its throat. I turned it just in time so that most of the spray hit the water and not me. I tossed the dying chicken into the lake and turned on my heels not bothering to see whatever may happen next.

I went back inside ignoring the splashing sounds behind me. I took a long hot bath. I almost couldn’t believe what I had done, but a part of me felt like it was the right thing to do. I called my mother and checked that she was still alright. I really wanted her to come with me, but she was never a fan of leaving her home to state jump for any reason.

I got ready for bed that night while playing my grandparents’ old vinyl records. I went through all of them, smiling to myself as I remembered them dancing to Jackie Wilson’s To Be Loved. I let it play, the music filling the house, making every room come to life again. I could almost hear my grandparent’s laughter and see them dancing in my mind’s eye. My favorite song was Santo & Johnny’s Sleep Walk. Not the singing version, but the instrumental. That haunting melody was so peaceful. My granddad used to let me stand on his feet and we would dance around the living room with Sleep Walk playing and grandma taking pictures.

But then I found the last vinyl in their collection. Johnny Ace’s Memorial Album. Charles loved Johnny Ace, specifically his Pledging My Love. We always danced to it, and every time, I would think how much my grandparents would appreciate that I found the last true gentleman in the world. I turned off the music. The memories were no longer pleasant and happy, but sour and painful.

I tried to go to bed and forget, but my mind would not let me. I knew what I had to do, even if I was putting it off longer than I needed. I put a robe over my long-sleeved sailor moon shirt and socks. Not giving myself time to think or change my mind, I went to my closet and removed the garment bag. There was a fire pit in the backyard. I unzipped the garment bag. Inside was my wedding dress. It had been over a year since I let myself gaze at the beautiful layers of lace and chiffon. Spare no expense, Charles had told the Parisian seamstress he hired. Nothing but the best for my Mrs. Stanford. I remembered the way it felt against my skin when Charles talked me into letting him fuck me in it the day before our rehearsal dinner. Charles was rabid that day. Something dark danced behind his mesmerizing gray eyes as he pulled off his tie and wrapped it around my throat. With each powerful thrust, his grip grew tighter and tighter. I came harder than I ever had, but a part of me was terrified he was not going to stop. I should have known then that Charles was not at all the man he made us believe he was.

I arranged the dress on the pit, dousing it with lighter fluid. Ignoring the tears trailing down my cheeks and the ominous feeling of being watched by unseen eyes, I struck a match, hesitating for only a second. Throwing that lit match onto my dress was as painful as it was freeing. I stepped back as the flames rose, steadily consuming the material until nothing remained but ashes.

“Fuck you, Charles,” I whispered, brushing my tears away with my sleeves.

When the fire died down, I went back inside, locking the door behind me. I felt better and completely drained. I made myself a cup of hot tea and stood at the kitchen sink, feeling the exhaustion sink into my bones. The sky was pretty that night with stars all over. I looked out onto the lake and saw that the water was moving, rippling. I squinted my eyes, trying to see what it was. I knew it was not a gator because even a really big gator would not make that size of a disturbance. Something peeked above the surface. A moccasin maybe?

I shook my head. I would have to check the garden shed tomorrow for lime. I gave the lake one last look before shutting the curtains and climbing the stairs to my room.

That night, I had the best night’s sleep since everything with Charles started. I woke up early that next morning feeling a huge weight had lifted from my shoulders. I made myself a loaf of homemade bread, scrambled eggs, and another cup of tea. It was a lot colder on the lake than I remember, especially for it to be Florida. I showered and dressed in a pair of jeans, an olive V-neck sweater, and black booties. I enjoyed my breakfast outside. Breathing in the crisp morning air, I felt like a new person.

I took my jellied slice of bread and started to walk down the dock. It was one of those dreary mornings. The sun was hidden behind the clouds, and it looked like it might start raining at any moment. I loved when the weather was like this. There was a heavy mist lingering across the body of water behind the house. It was strangely quiet for this type of morning. There were usually birds chirping or squirrels foraging, maybe even a deer or two randomly walking in the yard.

I swallowed the last bite of my toast thinking of what I might do today. I might start job searching. I had some money in my savings from working the fast-food racket before, during, and after college, but I had no intentions of going back to that thankless cycle of take, take, take, without any significant give. Distantly, I wondered if I should change my name. Or perhaps take my mother’s maiden name. My last name was synonymous with the Black Widower.

I sighed, sitting by the edge of the dock. My mother had been trying to encourage me to get back into my writing. Outside of the required writings in class, the last time I wrote something…I closed my eyes, remembering exactly the last time I wrote something. I started feeling inspired during my last semester. It felt like the world around me had transformed from the monotonous dead-end of serving ungrateful, entitled customers for nickels and dimes to suddenly being able to go anywhere and do anything as one of the graduate elite.

I wrote two chapters and was so excited to show Charles. There was a time when I was painfully self-conscious about showing anyone my writing, but Charles had become more than a partner to me. He was my greatest motivator. I felt that there was nothing I could tell him. My story was about an elementary school teacher whose family was chosen to have a protector born in each generation. The protector would leave their home in the dead of night, lost in a trance, and venture deep into the woods behind their family home. There the protector would transform. I was still developing what that transformation would become. The townspeople would release a violent member of their community into the woods, the rapists, the child predators, the murderers, and domestic abusers, so that the protector could dispatch them. They would never remember changing, killing, or even going into the woods. They would be brought back to their home and returned to their bed as if nothing had happened. It was a shaky concept that needed a lot of work, but the seedling of the idea excited me.

When I let Charles read the two chapters I wrote, he laughed. He laughed and told me that it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever read. Worse even than some of the papers he had to suffer through during his courses. He pulled me onto his lap and kissed my forehead, still chuckling. “You have many talents, darling, but writing is not one of them.”

My tears fell soundlessly into the water. I didn’t mean to start crying but remembering the pain and embarrassment I felt under Charles’s cruel laughter hurt.

I heard splashing, just like last night. This time it was closer to where I was sitting. I peered down into the water. It was hard to see with the heavy mist covering the water.

I gasped.

There was something.

Something emerging from the water.

It was a man? Maybe?

He had blonde hair and pale skin. So pale it was blue.

But it was the eyes. There were no white or even iris or pupils. There were only yellow orbs in a vertical shape. The mist obscured the rest of him. The only clear thing was his face. His nose had a distinctly patrician shape. His lips were full and pouty and there were ridges underneath where his earlobes should have been.

“Please tell me I’m being pranked by Guillermo del Toro and you’re really Doug Jones in some amazing fucking makeup,” I rambled, trembling.

The man—creature—thing tilted his? Its? Head at me. Yellow eyes unblinking.

“Can you understand me?” the unblinking stare. “Can you speak?” still nothing. “I guess you’re the secret my grandparents kept from me. You ate the chicken yesterday, right?” his, its, eyes still didn’t blink and that was more than uncomfortable. “Okay, so, you’ve been here since I was a child, probably longer. That’s fine. I won’t tell anybody. I mean, this is obviously your lake and I’m just—” tentacles. Tentacles peeked over the edge of the dock. Dozens of them. They slithered and coiled independently of each other like snakes. The undersides of the tentacles were covered in suction cups that opened and closed like tiny mouths mimicking kisses. “Okay, let’s be cool. Okay? Let’s not start touching!” I tried to keep the hysteria from leaking into my voice, but I was doing a pretty shit job because the tentacles moved even more determinedly. “You want another Offering, right? I’m supposed to do that every day? Grandma didn’t put that in the letter, but times change and I’m nothing but adaptable. So! I’m going to go and grab you one of those chickens or two, why not, right? It is cheat season, after all, once October hits!” I tried to crawl back when two of the tentacles wrapped around my ankles, dragging me back towards him. It. I almost bit my tongue off, trying not to scream. Don’t panic. Never, ever panic. But the Creature brought me even closer than I was before. Now my legs hung over the end of the dock. I felt the cold water around my ankles. The Creature’s webbed claws rested on top of my thighs, the water off its skin seeping through my jeans. It opened its mouth and there were fangs, sharp, ivory white fangs surrounded by jagged teeth. Its tongue lolled out, long, thick and red. I gasped, choking out a whimper when it touched my cheeks, lapping up tears I didn’t know were falling.

“Bu—but—er—up…” it rasped.

“What?” I trembled. More tentacles emerged. They surrounded me, touching my cheeks, pressing my hair, slipping under my shirt. “What are you doing?”

“But—er—up…” it repeated. It moved closer, the tip of its cold wet nose touching mine. “But—ter—up…”

Then it hit me. “Buttercup? Aa—are you trying to say Buttercup?” it didn’t answer, but one of its tentacles tightened once around my wrist. “Yes! I’m Buttercup.” Surprisingly, I felt a little better knowing that this, Creature, had been around long enough and intelligent enough to not only understand my grandparents calling me Buttercup, but to remember me. “Or at least the taste of my tears,” I mumbled. “Do you have a name?” that unblinking stare was my answer. “What do the others call you?” the tentacles thankfully withdrew from my shirt and ankles. I looked beyond it and at the surrounding water. “Are there more of you? Here in my—your lake?” its expression did not change, but there was a strange feeling of sadness in those yellow orbs staring unblinkingly at me. “Only you.” A single squeeze around my wrist as if to confirm my words. “I’m alone too,” I whispered. “I wanted to be. It’s why I came out here.” I couldn’t believe I was making a conversation with a…water…creature…thing. “This is your lake. Do you, do you want me to leave?” the tentacle around my wrist squeezed twice this time. “Stay? You want me to stay?” a single squeeze.

The Creature let me go without trying to eat me. Its yellow eyes tracked my movements back towards the house. Just to be sure, I grabbed another chicken from the coop and held it over the water for another Offering. The Creature watched me with silent yellow eyes and made no move towards it until I turned my back. I ignored the splashes and horrific ripping sounds as I walked back to the house careful not to run. Don’t ever run.

I’m not proud to admit it, but when I went back to the house after locking every door and window—like that was enough to stop it if it wanted to come inside—I changed out of my wet clothes so that I wouldn’t catch pneumonia and lit the fireplace. I opened the freezer pulling out a chilled bottle of vodka. I promised my mother I would stop spending my days drinking, but this was different. This particular bender had less to do with a serial killer ex-fiancé and more with the Creature from the Black Lagoon inhabiting my lake. Usually, I mixed it with cranberry juice or even orange juice, but after seeing what I just saw, I drank that shit from the bottle. I drank until my insides were burning.

“So much for a productive day!” I slurred.

I stumbled to the living room to the old record player. Sleep Walk was still on the player. I turned it on, letting the music lull me. Even with the vodka coursing through my blood, I was still shaking.

I woke up the next morning to a pounding in my head and a sour, rancid taste in my mouth. But what had me wanting to reach for my bottle again were the damp spots on my clothes and the distinct smell of the lake clinging to the fabric. Slowly, hesitantly, I glanced out of the kitchen window expecting to see the Creature watching me from the lake, but there was nothing there. Just the calm open lake, the surface swaying from the gentle breeze.

I took a long, warm shower, still not quite adjusting to the unusually cold Autumn weather in Okeechobee. I slipped on a burgundy long-sleeved scrunchie dress, black tights, and thick wooly socks. I hoped that the Offerings would tide the Creature over for the next couple of days because I had no plans of venturing out to the dock. A part of me was still holding out hope that yesterday was just some hysterical episode triggered by not only the move but by participating in my grandparents’ superstitious practices.

“God, if the Game Warden had any clue what I was doing to those chickens I’d have fines out of my ass, not to mention my very own cell. Wouldn’t that be a fitting end for the Black Widower’s Bride?”

With nothing left to do, I unpacked the few vinyls I refused to leave home without. I decided reading would be more than a good distraction. It was a good thing I brought my own books along. More than half of the books in the library were my grandma’s and those books all had Fabio Lanzoni on the cover. “The next man I’m going to marry if your granddaddy puts even one toe out of line,” she used to sigh, staring fondly at the cover of her favorite, making my granddad huff and mutter under his breath, “well, if you get Fabio then I’m going after Pam Grier.” I put on Whitney Houston, smiling to myself when Saving All My Love For You began to play. I made myself a light brunch of soup, warm bread, and Gatorade to help settle my stomach. I put the Creature in the lake out of my mind and lost myself in the pages of a book from Disney’s A Twisted Tale series. Unbirthday was book number ten in the series. I’ve read them all at least twice and liked to reread them again and again until a new one drops. I was bidding my time until Almost There is released, the ‘What If’ take on Princess Tiana’s story I’ve been waiting for.

There was a noise over my music.

Knocking.

For a moment, I was afraid that the Creature from the lake was knocking at my door.

“No, that’s stupid. Why would it knock?”

I forced myself to leave the sanctuary of the library and trudge to the front door. A tall man dressed in a police uniform faced away from the door. I opened it a little peering out.

“Yes?” there was no such thing as a good visit from the police, and in the past year, the police had not been kind to me.

“Good afternoon, ma’am.” He turned to me, taking off his shades, revealing startling blue eyes that managed to be both kind and concerned. “I’m Sheriff Levinson. Would it be all right to speak with you for a moment?”

“Yes, Sheriff, please come in.” He took off his hat and stepped inside, brushing past me. He smelled good. “Would you care for some tea or a cup of coffee?” I offered. I had a bad feeling about the Sheriff being here and wanted to put off whatever his reasons for this visit were as long as I possibly could.

“A cup of coffee sounds lovely, ma’am,” he smiled politely, showing off incredibly white and perfect teeth behind one of the most glorious beards I’ve ever seen.

When I returned carrying the wooden serving tray my grandma loved to use on days when we would all sit in the library room, the Sheriff was standing by my granddad’s old chair looking out the window towards the lake.

“Coffee’s ready!” I called a little too loudly, terrified that the Sheriff was seeing the Creature.

“Thank you. It’s always been a little colder here than anywhere else in town,” he remarked.

“I don’t remember it being this cold during my visits when I was a child.”

“It’s the lake,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“The lake?”

“Yes, after your grandparents passed, may God rest their souls, all of the warmth seemed to go with them. In the winters, the lake gets so cold that it’s unable to freeze. It’s the damnedest thing.”

“I’m sure.” Sure that the Creature has everything to do with that. “Whitney Houston.” He smiled with a sigh, listening to You Give Good Love. “I see your grandparent’s taste in music lives on in you.”

“Did you know my grandparents well, Sheriff?”

“I did. I spent a lot of time here in the summers helping your granddad keep the land up. I’m awfully fond of this place, particularly the woods.”

“Well, thank you for being here when I couldn’t.” I hope he knew I meant that. “And you’re welcomed here at any time.”

His eyes lit up and his smile was as beautiful as the rest of them. “Do you really mean that?”

“I do, Sheriff. It always bothered me that I didn’t push more with my mom to come back here. The time I spent here with my grandparents was some of the happiest of my life.”

“I’m sure they knew that. Thank you, Buttercup.” The Sheriff mirrored my wide-eyed gaze over his slip.

“Does everyone here know me by that name?”

The Sheriff’s cheeks turned an appealing shade of red. “I’m sorry, but your grandparents used Buttercup more than your actual name when they talked about you.”

“It’s fine, Sheriff.”

“Please, call me Ari.”

“Ari,” I repeated, liking the way his name sounded. “I’m going to regret bringing this up, but I don’t believe coffee and a friendly conversation was your motivation for stopping by today.”

Ari’s smile fell. “You’re correct, unfortunately. I got a call this morning from INTERPOL.” I think my heart stopped. “Charles Blackwood was killed last night in a prison riot.”

We sit in silence for a moment. Ari’s eyes are on me as I stir my now lukewarm tea. Whitney Houston still sings to us. The grandfather clock in the library chimes signaling a new hour. INTERPOL declared Charles Blackwood dead and the grief or relief I should be feeling never comes. Maybe I did know him better than I thought.

Ari’s warm, calloused hand settled over mine. “Are you alright?”

“I can’t answer that right now. I need to stop by the fish market for a couple of pounds of turtle meat. I was so busy trying to get here the other day, it completely slipped my mind.”

“I don’t think you should be driving right now, Buttercup. I can make that trip for you.”

“No, no, I can’t ask you to do that, Ari. You’re the sheriff for god’s sake!”

“And as the sheriff, it’s my duty to assist each and every person in my jurisdiction.” Ari’s hands took mine as he moved to kneel in front of me. He was such a large man. He was wide and rugged like a lumberjack and tall enough that even kneeling he still had to look down to make eye contact. “You’ve opened your home to me, this is the least I can do for you.”

The sincerity in his eyes and the softness of his voice left me powerless to deny Ari. “Thank you, Ari.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“But I want to. I, um, didn’t see a ring, so I’m hoping that I won’t offend you or a possible significant other by inviting you to dinner.” Even with the numbness settling into my bones over Charles’s apparent fate, the little part of me I ignored since the arrest, the part of me that longed for even one friend who didn’t want me around just to talk about the murders, wanted to reach out to Ari.

“There is no significant other, and I would love to have dinner with you. Tomorrow night, if you can?”

“That’s perfect.”

“Great. I’ll bring the meat back then, too. Unless you need it now?”

“No, I don’t think I’ll be doing much cooking tonight.”

Ari licked his lips and reached inside the pocket of his coat. “This is my card. It has my home phone, my cell phone, and my direct number at the station. You call me anytime if you need anything. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see myself out. You just take it easy today.”

I stayed in my chair long after he was gone. I should be calling my mom. There’s a chance that the authorities contacted her to contact me. But all I could do was just sit there.

“Killed in a prison riot,” I mumbled. “That sounds exactly like Charles.” I forced myself to trudge to my bedroom. There was still one small bag I left unpacked. It contained my jewelry—the ones not seized by the police—my perfume bottles and nail polish along with the sparse collection of eyeliners and lipsticks. Underneath those were pictures. Not many. Just two or three.

Grabbing my flannel shawl, I stepped outside with the pictures clutched in my hand. It was still cold like I was back in Alabama where the winters could get as low as thirty degrees at night. I spared a passing glance to the ashes of my wedding dress still lingering in the pit. I sat by the edge of the dock, tucking my legs underneath me. I was still examining the pictures in my hand when the splashes came.

“Charles never liked having his picture taken.” It was funny. Looking at the pictures now, it was obvious Charles always did something to obscure focus. Fiddle with his cufflinks, turn his head to glance at something over his shoulder, or whispering my ear so that the person with the camera focused more on my smile than Charles hiding his face. Anything so that no one could take a decent picture of him. “He always said he would rather sit for a painter, but that there were hardly any painters left worth the time and money. The red flags were always there. I suppose I just didn’t want to see them.” I came to the last picture. This was the only candid shot I had of Charles. “But there was one time when he was tending to my mom’s garden. He looked so happy and at peace.” I turned the picture around so that the Creature could see Charles. “I snapped his picture just as he looked up at me. I still get chills thinking about the look in his eyes that day and how he punished me that night until I had to lie and say that the picture didn’t take because of his quick movements.”

The Creature regarded me with its silent yellow eyes. Only this time, I felt sure that it understood every word I spoke. “I’m giving my relationship with him a disservice. Charles never hit me or forced himself on me or anything horrible that everyone always assumes happens when you say you were punished. He was really good to me. I could talk to him about anything.”

I could see a little more of the Creature now. The surprisingly broad shoulders and pecs. There were four slits on each side of the Creature’s neck that fluttered rhythmically. Gills. Lake water settled in the dips of its collarbones trailing down its pecs and disappearing in the water below.

My core clenched around nothing, and I had to laugh at the absurdity of the entire situation. “I must be losing my mind.”

But the Creature’s nostrils flared, and its eyes were locked on my legs. It made me nervous.

Then its slithering, writhing tentacles broke the surface of the lake, crawling up the dock. Like the day before, two tentacles wrapped around my knees. The strength of these weird limbs startled me and nearly toppled me backward. The tentacles pulled me closer, holding on to my legs in a firm grip. Unlike yesterday, I had no desire to fight this Creature. Maybe it was my own failures in life, my failures as a woman in not seeing the monster lurking just beneath my fiancé’s charming façade, all for the sake of being loved for the first time, that made me think I should let this Creature do whatever it wanted with me.

Another tentacle, this one a little thicker than the two holding me came up between my legs. The third tentacle brushed against my center tentatively. The light, barely-there pressure left me gasping and clenching around air. More of its tentacles slithered and crawled up the dock. Before I could blink, the tights were ripped from my body. It brought me closer to it, putting my legs over its shoulders. My heart raced and I knew it was completely stupid and horribly dangerous, but when the Creature’s tentacle nudged at the gusset of my thong before tearing off too, I begged. Laying on the dock in the freezing cold, I begged this humanoid creature to touch me.

My lips were swollen, my little nub was throbbing, and my arousal dribbled out of my hole and down my ass. The tentacles with their opening and closing cups, mimicking kisses writhed all over my mound. It drifted lower, making me cry out as one of the cups closed over my nub.

“Oh, god!” I cried. It had been so long since someone touched me that way. “Please, please.”

The Creature after saying my name only once and then going back to being mute, started making odd sounds. It was a mix between a whale’s song and a dolphin’s clicking. The odd sounds must thrum through the Creature’s body because I could feel the vibrations through its tentacles. That third thicker tentacle probed my opening before pushing inside me, stretching me.

“Fuck,” I whimpered, wriggling my hips to take more. It squirmed and wiggled inside of me, the little cups kissing and sucking my walls. I came with a wail, writhing like I was having convulsions. As amazing as sex the sex was with Charles, he had never gotten me off so good. I opened my eyes to see the Creature now nose to nose with me. Its breath coming in little puffs against my face. The Creature kept going, this time taking another tentacle, this one smaller than any that’s touched me to circle my puckered hole. My eyes rolled in the back of my head. The Creature’s tongue lolled out of its mouth, dragging up my chin to my lips. The tip of the second tentacles slipped into my hole, twisting, and wiggling until I opened enough to take it all the way inside me. The little cups kissing and sucking me there along with the third tentacle inside me and the extra still attached to my bud, I came again, my screams echoed around the trees as my vision went white.

When I came back to myself, the Creature had politely pulled my dress down to cover my nudity. The inside of my thighs was slick, and I could feel a big wet spot on the back of my dress. Its tentacles had retreated to the water and its claws rested on either side of my feet. Charles’s picture lay shredded beneath those claws, making me smile.

“The sheriff will be back tomorrow night. He says he’s been here with my grandparents before they passed. I trust him. Granted, I’m not the best person to gauge anyone’s character, but…I know you were in the house somehow after I fell asleep yesterday.” The Creature blinked and there was something in that blank stare that came across more of a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Clearly, you can leave the water at any time you wish. I guess what I’m asking, with the sheriff and anyone else, I’ll bring you an Offering as much as you want, but please, don’t stop looking after me or this land.” The Creature made its chirping sound. I smiled a little, cupping its cold cheek. “Thank you, Jake.” The Creature tilted its head at me. “You look like a Jake.”

I slept well that night. So well in fact that I woke up twenty minutes after eleven the next morning to my phone ringing.

“Hello?” I answered, still laying there with my eyes closed.

“Well, thank you for calling me last night to let me know you’re okay!”

My mother’s tone made me wince. I meant to call her last night, but after the day I had, and the ending with the Creature—Jake, I barely had enough energy to shower. “I’m sorry, mama. You know about Charles then?”

“Yeah, the police called me trying to reach you and it’s on every news channel. I don’t wish death on anybody, but I can’t lie and say that I’m not relieved he’s gone. Are you alright?”

“I’m,” I sat up, sighing. “Sad that the person I wanted to marry wasn’t real, but I’m not sitting here crying because they told me he’s dead either.” But you didn’t want to talk about Charles. He was the past and there was so much more ahead of me now. “I wish you would change your mind and come down here. You know T.J. would drive you and watch the house while you’re gone.”

“Yeah, I know, but I just don’t want to travel right now.”

“I’ll probably come back in another week or so. Other than the patties, is there anything you want me to bring back? Oh, and before you ask, Dandee Bread isn’t on the shelves anymore. They were bought out by the company that makes Sunbeam.”

“That’s so fucked up.” She was not alone in her disappointment. It might not seem like a big deal to most people, but simple things such as a brand of bread or dairy were an essential part of our past. Florida had been both of our homes for years before the move to Alabama. Both her parents and my dad’s parents were gone now. Losing these two staples of the past was like saying a final goodbye to the vestiges of a life you’re not ready to let go of. “I guess a couple of pounds of crabs and shrimp.”

We chatted a little longer about the latest gossip happening down the street and with the handful of celebrities she still cared about, before saying our goodbyes. I had a lot to do today. Not only did I have to cook a nice meal for Sheriff Ari, but I needed to make my Offering to Jake, as well as see about getting some more wood chopped for the fireplace. Between yesterday on the dock and this constant abnormally cold weather, I would be lucky if I ended the week without a cold.

Dressed as warmly as can be in one of my granddad’s old flannels and a pair of jeans and sneakers, I made the familiar trek down the dock to give Jake his daily Offering. I didn’t turn this time. I watched the chicken’s blood spread through the water. The crimson tide beckoned Jake forward. I tried not to shiver watching his head slowly break surface like he was Sadako in Ringu.

“Good afternoon, Jake!” I smiled brightly. “One of these days I’ll be able to say good morning instead.” Jake looked pointedly at the chicken and then to me. “After yesterday, do you think I’m afraid to watch you eat that? It’s okay. I promise.” Jake looked at me for a long time before he finally grabbed the chicken with his claws and took big bites, making more blood gush and splash across his face. “Chicken is one of my favorite types of meat, you know, of course, I do love it cooked.” I rocked back and forth on my heels looking over at the surrounding woods. There was still no sign of wildlife out there. “You being here, it’s not scaring away the animals in the woods, is it?” Jake to no great surprise did not answer me but kept his eyes on me as he ate. “I don’t think it is. Even when you do get out of the water, I don’t think you like to take strolls through the woods just for shits and giggles. Something else out there is keeping the animals away.” It was a sobering thought. I could still remember when I was a child and me, mom, and my stepdad would drive around to find new fishing spots. We came across a panther. Its fur was blacker than a starless sky and eyes as yellow as Jake’s. I didn’t necessarily want to see a panther or a coyote or even a bear, but it made me wonder, if something like Jake could keep the gators away, what could keep the big game animals out of my woods?

“I need to get back inside and get started on dinner.” I turned back to Jake, and he had already gone back underwater. “Rude,” I huffed. He emerged again before I could head back to the house. What he brought with him made me smile. Two large bass fish. “Hold on a minute.” I jogged back up to the house, grabbing a ten-gallon bucket. “Put them in here, please.” He dropped the fish in the bucket, his gills fluttering lightly. “Thank you, Jake.” He nuzzled my hand when I cupped his face. A part of me wanted to stay and keep talking to Jake. Having him as a soundboard was turning out to be better than any conversation I had had in the past, but there was still so much to do. “I’m going to go back inside now, Jake. I’ll see you later.”

I put the fish in a mixing bowl of cold water inside the fridge, resolving to gut and scale them tomorrow. I washed my hands twice to get rid of that dead fish smell and started on my dinner for Sheriff Ari. Downhome South seemed like a good choice. Deep fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, mixed mustard and turnip greens, and honey butter cornbread. Dessert would be my grandma’s homemade yellow cake with malted chocolate buttercream frosting.

I set up my MacBook in the kitchen to start streaming the Universal Horror films on Peacock. The sounds of Dr. Frankenstein’s rapture over his monster taking its first breath filled the kitchen. Even as I cooked my eyes kept flickering to the lake. Sometimes, I would see the water moving in certain spots or the hint of tentacles skimming the surface. By the time I pulled the macaroni and cheese out of the oven, Jake had his head out of the water watching me through the window. It must be so lonely for him to be the only one of his kind. From what little I knew of humanoid creatures, thanks in part to fanfiction, Jake must have been a Cecaelia. It was crazy trying to wrap my head around the idea that creatures like Jake existed. What else was out there? Was the old adage true? Every story about myths and monsters is rooted in some form of truth. Did that mean that there were really vampires stalking their victims in the dead of night? Were there werewolves running through the woods during full moons? What about witches? Were there covens powerful enough to bring the world to its knees if they willed it? It might explain the Coronavirus Pandemic.

“Doesn’t matter. One monster in my life is more than enough.”

After icing the cake, I took a quick shower and may or may not have taken a little extra time with my hair and eyeliner. It was ridiculous to feel so anxious about dinner with the sheriff, but it was nice feeling anxious about dinner with a guy again. If I grabbed a tribal tunic that hugged my curves a little more and a pair of those special leggings and ankle booties, who would know? I dug out my grandma’s Temptations collection and put on The Temptations Sing Smokey.

The sheriff arrived just before sunset. He came to the door dressed in tight jeans and a red plaid collar shirt and Timberland boots. His pretty eyes flattered me as they languidly perused my body. Sheriff Ari seemed to be pulling out all the stops bringing along a bag of my presumed turtle meat, wine, and a flower bouquet. Buttercups. Cute.

“Good evening, sheriff.”

“Miss Buttercup,” he grinned, offering me the bag, wine, and flowers.

“Please come in.” Ari pulled off his heavy coat and hung it by the door. “I hope you don’t mind, but I remember your grandma saying how much you loved her rabbit stew, so I went and picked up a pound of that, too. I picked that up from Gus’s Market. It’s on my account, but I told him you were in town, and he’s willing to send deliveries this far out.”

That was incredibly thoughtful. This house was beyond city limits making deliveries impossible. “Thank you so much, Ari! Boy, at this rate, I may never have to worry about going into town again.”

“You don’t have to thank me. All a part of being the sheriff.” It really was not, but who was I to argue with a handsome man wanting to do nice things for me?

Ari’s appearance outside of his sheriff’s uniform stunned me. He wore black leather suspenders. I never knew suspenders could look so sexy on a man. His sleeves were rolled at the elbows showing off tattoos on his forearms, and a hint of ink on his chest, exposed through the three undone buttons on his shirt.

“It smells good in here.” Ari kept his eyes on me as he said this. If I were naughty, I would think that he was talking about more than just my cooking.

“I hope it tastes as good as it smells.”

His blue eyes darkened a little as he licked his lips. “My instincts have never led me astray.” But then his stomach growled, lightening the mood. “I guess I’m hungrier than I thought,” Ari laughed.

“Good! Like my mama, I tend to overcook a little so there’s plenty for seconds and thirds.” I found a vase in the kitchen for the lovely bouquet of buttercups. “There’s some wine glasses in the cabinet.” I didn’t have to say that though, because Ari was already reaching for the glasses before I could finish. Exactly how much time did Ari spend here with my grandparents? “We can eat here or in the dining room.”

“Here is fine.”

“Then have a seat.” I glanced over my shoulder and asked, “so are you a leg or a breast man?” His eyes widened a bit as he floundered for an answer. “Chicken, Ari. How do you take your chicken?”

Ari laughed, shaking his head. “Both. I’m not a picky man. How have things been here so far?”

“Pretty quiet. Just me and the chickens.” And Jake. “I thought about maybe getting a pet or even a fish tank.”

“That’s a good idea. You don’t want to get cabin fever being out here all by yourself.”

“I don’t mind the quiet so much. It’s giving me a lot of time to think.” Ari made a pleased sound when I set his plate in front of him. “And while most people here probably know who I am, they don’t seem to care about the scandal like the people where I moved from.”

Ari took a hearty bite of chicken and moaned; full-out eyes rolled in the back of his head moan. That sound and the sheer ecstasy on Ari’s face were forever cataloged in my mind. “This is amazing, Buttercup! It’s like going back in time and having your grandma cooking for your grandpa and inviting me to stay for dinner after the baseball game.”

My eyes misted a little remembering grandpa patiently explaining to me the rules of baseball when we watched the Atlanta Braves play. “How much time did you spend here, Ari?”

“More than a little,” he smiled with all the charms of a child who wanted to say, I know something you don’t know. “It’s been too long since I’ve had a homecooked meal.” I was halfway through my meal, when Ari asked, “is it okay if I have a little more?”

“You sure know how to play into a woman’s ego, sheriff.” I happily swapped Ari’s empty first plate for a second. “Charles never cared for my cooking like that.”

“I would ask if he was crazy, but given the truth about his crimes,” Ari shook his head with a frown. “Could you really have gone through with marrying someone so unappreciative of you?”

I took a bite of my mac and cheese considering his question. “I would have.” I felt ashamed to admit my mistakes to Ari. “I guess I told myself that something as trivial as cooking or even my choice in hobbies didn’t matter much. When we were on campus, it was like there was something in the air that just made all those little differences that should have been big differences irrelevant. Charles was so sophisticated and worldly. He made me feel like I could have more than the small-town life I was destined to live after college.”

Ari’s sage eyes held no judgment or pity. “He let himself become everything you wanted until he knew you would never leave him.”

“You make it sound like he was abusing me, Ari,” I huffed, taking a generous swallow of wine. It did little to soothe my nerves.

“Abuse is not always violent, Buttercup.”

“No, I guess it’s not.”

Dinner ended on a more somber note than I would’ve liked. I did the only thing I could at that moment. I showed Ari to the living room and brought out two pieces of cake. David Ruffin’s soulful voice asking Who’s Lovin’ You created the perfectly relaxed atmosphere.

“I don’t know how, but I’m going to go out on a limb and say you’ve saved room for dessert.”

Ari’s smile was big and happy. “There’s always room for dessert!” He did that happy moan again, making it harder not to squirm beside him. “This is the best meal I’ve had since your grandparents passed. God bless their souls.”

“Thank you, Ari, but you should try my mama’s cooking. Now that’s someone who should have had her own restaurant years ago.”

“Is your mother coming down? I never got the chance to meet her and, forgive me for saying, but I wish the same could be said for your father.”

The flat look in Ari’s eyes and the anger simmering in his voice surprised me. “You didn’t care for my father much, I take it.”

“It’s not in my nature to speak ill of the dead, but the only thing worse than your grandparents not being able to see you as much, was the grief your dad caused them.”

“He caused a lot of people grief.” I still remembered how for weeks after his passing my mom would cry at night when she thought I was asleep. She moved on, but she never quite stopped loving him.

“Okay, enough gloom and doom for one evening! Do you have any plans for this Sunday?”

Ari's question puzzled me. “What happens Sunday?”

“Halloween,” I could hear the ‘obviously’ in Ari’s tone.

“Oh, shit. I can’t believe I forgot.” There was too much happening around me to make me forget about Halloween. “Halloween is my favorite holiday!”

“With all that’s happened, it’s not surprising you would forget.”

I bite my lip, considering my options. While it would be nice to see all the little kids in their costumes, I didn’t really think their parents would be willing to drive them to the secluded house of a stranger just to get a few pieces of candy.

“I want to wait and give the townspeople a chance to get to know me before I even start to think about passing out Halloween candy to their kids.” That and I kind of liked the idea of spending time on the dock with Jake.

Ari nodded thoughtfully. “That’s smart. They know of you, but it’s better to wait for them to see for themselves why your grandparents loved you so much.”

There was a moment when our eyes locked, and I thought that he might kiss me. I was torn between wanting to lean into it and wanting to run from it. Was it too soon for me to want to fuck Ari? Forget about the fact that I’ve only known him for two days, there were still so many unresolved issues with Charles, and then there was this whole thing with Jake. We still, or maybe I should say I since I would be the one talking, had not had the opportunity to address what any of that could mean.

A loud clap of thunder seemed to shake the house at its foundation. I jumped, looking towards the window. Lightning splintered across the darkened sky, and in less than a minute later, rain beat heavily against the roof and windows. “Where did that come from?”

“Anywhere and everywhere. I’m sure there’s a storm coming from the tropics to make landfall.”

“That’s the one thing I didn’t miss about Florida.”

“I should get going.”

“Ari, no. It’s damn near a hurricane out there. You can’t drive in that. Please, stay here. At least until it clears up.”

Ari sighs, standing with his hands on his hips. They sure as hell don’t make men like Ari in Alabama. “I guess I can stay until it clears up. I just don’t like leaving Sylvie alone when the weather’s this bad.”

“Sylvie?”

Ari grinned, taking out his phone. He thumbed through his pictures until he found one to show me. “This is Sylvie.”

Sylvie was this beautiful border collie with black and white fur. Ari was in the frame hugging Sylvie with a big, happy smile. “She’s so beautiful.”

“You have that longing look of someone who’s never had a dog before, Buttercup.”

“Because I haven’t. My mom is afraid of dogs and she’s allergic to cats. Growing up, having pets never went beyond one or two fish tanks.”

Ari sat back down beside me. “And you were an only child? Sounds like a lonely childhood.”

“It was at times, but the benefit was having a close relationship with my mother and stepfather.” Occasionally, I chatted with my half-siblings online, but there was no bond or connection there no matter how badly they seemed to wish it. “What about you? Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“I’m an only child, too. I think it was what made your grandparents take to me so quickly. They needed someone to help fill that void of your absence.”

The storm continued to rage outside, and I wondered if Jake was alright. A ridiculous thought really, he was more accustomed to the turbulent and unpredictable Florida weather than me. I turned back to Ari to find him already watching me. His eyes were so blue. “You’re not at all what I expected from a sheriff.”

His mustache wiggled as those blue eyes sparkled in good humor. “How so?”

“I don’t know. I guess when I think of cops, I think of artificial sincerity and arrogance. Someone full-figured or a string bean. Definitely not someone looking like they climbed off a Harley.” I wondered what other tattoos were hiding underneath his shirt.

“Close. It’s a Suzuki from the 80s.”

“Really? Did you restore it yourself?”

“I did. Working on old cars and bikes is my way of decompressing.”

That sounded important, like this was his way of saying, ‘the news pretties it up, but you civilians don’t see all of the shit we see every day.’ But all I could think about was how good Ari must look covered in grease and sweat. Maybe he does it wearing, what we used to call in 2006, wifebeaters. Or even better, maybe he does it shirtless. All those tattoos on display. That fine dusting of ginger hair teasing me through the opening of his shirt, probably covered his pecs and made a delicious trail down his stomach.

“Buttercup?”

Ari’s smile was all too knowing, and I almost wished for the wind to blow me away from the embarrassment of the moment. I stole a glance towards the window again. And blinked. And blinked again. There was something in the sky. It was large like a buzzard, but I could not remember ever seeing a bird of prey or any bird for that matter flying while it was lightning.

“I guess I’m more tired than I thought.”

“It doesn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon, so, you can head to bed if you want, and I’ll stay down here.” For a moment, I had that small spark of stranger danger ticking in the back of my mind.

Drop-dead-gorgeous-tattooed-motorcycle-riding-sheriff or not, I really didn’t know Ari. Mama would knock the hell out of me for even thinking of leaving a strange man in my living room during a storm where help couldn’t come even if I needed it, while I slept in another room. “Um, I don’t know if that’s—”

“Hey,” Ari’s soft voice cut across mine, calling me by my real name as he took my hand. He placed it against his chest. Beneath that fine dusting of hair, that warm skin, and hard muscle, I could feel his heart beating steadily. “I promise you that I will never do anything to hurt you. When you wake up in the morning I will be gone, and I won’t come back until you ask.”

“Then I have one condition.” Ari waited expectantly. “The next time you come here, bring Sylvie. I want to meet her.” There was the skip to his heartbeat.

“She wants to meet you, too.” Ari looked down, cheeks staining a faint shade of pink. He grew shy all of a sudden. “I told her about you.”

It was still a little awkward going to my bedroom while Ari waited out the raging storm in the living room. I felt a little better and more than a little guilty turning the lock on my bedroom door. “It’s only sensible,” I told myself. I shook off my guilt of not completely trusting Ari and got ready for bed. The storm still raged by the time I lay down. The steady raindrops and rhythmic thunder rumbles lulled me to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I blinked my eyes blearily. I was lying on my stomach. The room was barely lit by the dim lamp at my bedside. The rain was still beating heavily against the window. My breathing slowed down, sensing a presence in the room with me. I turned over on my back. Ari stood at my bedside. The fear and anger I should feel never came. My eyes greedily drank in his nude form. The light dusting of ginger hair, the multiple tattoos of shapes that my tired mind didn’t have the energy to recognize, and that happy little treasure trail down Ari’s eight pack, underneath his little belly button, and straight down to the little thatch of dark red hair at the base of his cock. It was just as big and beautiful as the rest of Ari. Standing straight up and leaking. A pulsating vein adorned the underside of his cock, leading further down to his heaving balls that were about the size of a peach. Even Ari’s thighs were big and thick and rideable.

“Is this a dream?” I whispered, feeling like I was in that dreadful state of suspended sleep.

“It could be.” Ari gripped the sheets in his large fist, drawing the covers back. “Is that what you want?” he lifted a knee to climb onto the bed. I could feel the heat of his skin against my bare legs. Was this a dream?

“I don’t know.”

“Well,” Ari’s hands cupped my thighs, spreading them apart. “While you think about it,” he leaned forward, his towering frame blotted out the dim light. “Let me see if I can help you decide.”

I woke with a start. The storm had passed, and my bedroom was awash with sunlight. Pushing the covers back, I looked down at myself. I was still dressed the same as when I went to bed. The door was still locked. There was no way Ari could have been in my room. It was a dream. But it felt so real. Even taking a cursory glance around the house, softly calling, “Ari?” only to be met with silence, did not shake those thoughts that last night might have been more than a dream.

In the shower, I kept thinking about how soft Ari’s lips felt against my skin. That soft contrast to the rough scratch of his beard.

Dream Ari set one of my legs over his shoulder, kissing my ankle, and moving up my calf. The feeling of his lips and beard against the inside of my thigh had me choking on a laughing moan. Ari moved closer and closer to my center.

“You smell so fucking good!” he groaned, mouthing at the damp gusset of my panties.

“Please,” I whimpered, twisting, and turning to get as close to his mouth as physically possible.

“Not yet.” Ari pulled back, switching to my other leg, giving it the same treatment. “Will you let me taste you, sweetheart?”

“Please, please!”

I tried to shake away that dream, feeling the steady pulse in my center. There was too much for me to do to be thinking about fucking Sheriff Ari Levinson.

But even as I sat in my kitchen, having my small breakfast of grits and eggs, thoughts of Ari between my legs assailed me.

He tore the panties off my body with a flick of his wrist. I couldn’t even be angry when he stuffed them in my mouth.

He dove in, licking and sucking on my hard nub with a passionate hunger that I’ve never experienced. I sat up a little, careful not to disrupt Ari, and yanked my shirt off. I fell back, cupping my breasts, pinching, and rolling my nipples.

“Ari!” I moaned, feeling him work one of his thick fingers inside my leaking hole and then another until the sounds of my wetness competed with the raging storm outside my window.

“That’s it,” Ari groaned as my channel began tightening around his fingers. “That’s it, be a good girl and come on my fingers.”

My body was his to command as I fell over the edge with a muffled cry, giving him exactly what he wanted. The dream blurred together as I went from laying in my bed to being down on my knees, deep throating Ari as he grunted and groaned above me.

Was I imagining the phantom ache in my jaw from swallowing down Ari’s thick cock? His taste was like nothing I had ever experienced. He was salty and sweet. The scent of his skin was so soothing. Cedar, grass, and strawberries.

“Fuck, sweetheart! Just like that,” Ari growled, pulling back to let his come spread all over my tongue.

The dream changed again. Ari was still hard. His large body took up all my bed. His eyes were so dark as his big hands cupped and fondled my breasts, letting me ride him.

“Going from letting a mythical sea creature get me off to fantasizing about having semi-somnophilia sex with the hot sheriff, god, I need to get laid.”

Sitting on the dock with a blanket on my legs and a pillow underneath me, I talked poor Jake’s ears off. “People already think that I’m weird, so what difference will it make if I raid Walmart and Target on November 1 for their half-off Halloween decorations? It won’t be all tombstones and skeletons in the yard. I think I just want to keep bales of hay out here and some of those huge wax pumpkins. Would it offend you if I put some lanterns on the lake?” I printed out some pictures so Jake could see exactly what I meant. “It would look like this. Maybe not as many, but some.”

Jake's tentacle, that seemed to love wrapping itself around my ankle squeezed twice.

"Good, I'll order the lanterns tonight." I put the pictures aside and picked up my book again. I had started reading to Jake from Alvin Schwartz Scary Stories To Tell in the Dark. It was a hardback treasury of all three books in the series. He particularly enjoyed The Haunted House and Room For One More. "So, this one is called The Drum.

��Once there were two sisters. Dolores was seven, and Sandra was five. They lived in a small house in the country with their mother and their baby brother, Arthur. Their father was a seaman and was away on a long voyage.

‘One day Dolores and Sandra were running across a field near their house when they met a g*psy girl playing a drum. Her family was camping in the field for a few days.

‘As the girl played, a little mechanical man and woman came out of the drum and danced. Dolores and Sandra had never seen such a drum, and they begged the girl to give it to them.

‘She looked at them and laughed. “I will give it to you,” she said, “but only if you are really bad. Come back tomorrow and tell me how bad you were, and I will see.”

Before I could read the next part, I heard the phone in the kitchen start to ring. I sighed, disappointed. I loved these stories and once I got into them, it was hard to put them down.

“Let me grab that right quick.” I tried to stand, but Jake squeezed my ankle twice. “Jake? What’s wrong?” he did it again. His expression never changed, but there seemed to be a sense of panic around him as eight of his tentacles, the most he had ever revealed to me, writhed, and twitched on the dock. “Hey, it’s okay. I promise I will be back.” I leaned forward, brushing my lips over his, distracting and shocking him enough to loosen his grip for me to scamper away. He made that odd whale cry that almost made me turn back around. “It’s going to be okay, Jake,” I said lowly, knowing he could hear me. “Everything is going to be okay.”

I jogged back to the house, going straight through the back door to the kitchen. Maybe one of these days, I would remember to install a phone in the bedroom.

“Hel—?”

“Listen to me very carefully,” my mother said, cutting me off. “Lock the doors and call the police!”

“Mama, what’s wrong?”

“INTERPOL was wrong. Charles didn’t die in that riot!” my heart dropped into my stomach as everything I believed deep down was suddenly confirmed. “Did you hear me, baby? He’s not dead!”

But my mother’s frantic voice no longer registered. All I could hear was the music playing in the front room. “I love you, mama.” I hung up the phone so that I couldn’t hear her cry.

Forever my darling our love will be true

Always and forever I’ll love just you

My hands trembled at my sides as I left the kitchen. I refused to grant him the satisfaction of chasing me down.

Just promise me darling your love in return

May this fire in my soul dear forever burn

Too soon I found myself standing in the living room with Johnny Ace continuing to croon his love and devotion.

And across from me, gazing out of the window with his hands clasped behind his back…was Charles. He turned around to face me. He looked nothing like the man I fell in love with. He shaved off his facial hair and grew out his hair. Gone were the soft sweaters I used to love stealing. No more casual jeans and John Lennon reading glasses I now know that he only wore for show. Or maybe it was camouflage. He stood in a crisp black suit; expensive-looking rings adored his pinky fingers. He even leaned on a silver wolf’s head cane. Professor Charles Stanford was gone and, in his place, stood Charles Blackwood, the Venice Ladykiller. The flat look in his eyes and the slow smile curling his lips made something in me ache to run away.

“Charles. Or should I call you something else?”

“I’ve always been partial to you calling me daddy.” My nostrils flared and it took me digging my nails into the palms of my hands to keep from losing it. “I know that it has been a while since we were together, but I don’t believe we have been apart long enough for you to forget your manners.” He cocked his head towards my granddad’s alcohol. Keeping Charles in my sight, I poured a glass of cognac. Charles’s fingers wrapped around mine for a moment before he took the glass out of my hand. “You were right before. About my name. I’ve changed it so many times over the years that I can hardly remember what my mother named me.”

“How long have you been here?” I ask as calmly as I can.

“Long enough to know that rather than grieving my reported demise, my little wife is content to open her bed to the good sheriff.”

“Charles, I—”

“Sshh,” he pressed his fingers against my lips, silencing me. “I won’t tell you I’m not angry, because I’m incredibly angry, but most of this is my fault. I found you and somewhere along the line I grew sloppy.” Charles pressed his forehead against mine, his hands digging harshly into my waist. He swayed us to the music with his eyes closed. “I took my first victim at the tender age of thirteen, and in all that time, you were the first woman I met that I didn’t want to kill. Now that’s not to say that there weren’t times I thought of just wrapping my hands around your throat and squeezing until I watched you take your last breath. But those were fleeting thoughts.”

“Until they weren’t.” I ignored the tears pooling in my eyes and spilling down my cheeks.

“Until they weren’t.”

“Did you ever love me, Charles?” on some levels I had to be a masochist. Why else would I ask the painful question I already knew the answer to?

“Darling, love is the fairytales we tell children before bed in the hopes that they won’t wake up one day to be the shitty people who deserve to have their throats slit from ear to ear. No, what I felt for you was not love. It was a profound desire to keep you from ever becoming one of my victims.”

“And now? You have to know this is the first place the police are going to check.”

“I’m aware.” Charles opened his eyes, looking down at me with a gaze so dark, it made me wonder if that was the last thing all those poor women he murdered saw. “What did you do with your wedding dress? I did have time to stop by your mother’s house while she slept, and I know you didn’t leave it there.”

I couldn’t begin to try to answer his question as the implications of what could have happened to my mom festered in my mind. Charles’s hands gripped me a little harder, making me wince. “I don’t have it.”

“You destroyed it,” Charles said, lips thinning in anger. “Don’t look so surprised. You always were a slave to your emotions. Be thankful that I didn’t get here in time to see you do it because if I had, I would’ve spanked your ass bloody before you even lit the match.” Charles took a deep breath to compose himself, working his neck back and forth. There was a time when I would have urge him to sit down so that I could work out those kinks and pains. “Open the bag.”

Charles had a garment bag on the couch. My heart dropped to my stomach already guessing what was inside. He took another sip of his cognac, watching for any signs that I would run. The wedding dress was not as beautiful or as elaborate as my old one.

“It’s not great, I know,” Charles made a face of displeasure. “But it will serve its purpose. Put it on. Right now.”

I didn’t think twice about arguing with Charles. He had nothing left to lose and that made him all the more dangerous to me. He leaned against the wall, sipping from his glass as he watched me strip down to my underwear.

“Stockings, too.”

I held my tongue and slipped on the unnecessary thigh-high stockings. The dress itself had a lace spaghetti top and tulle skirt that would brush the floor if I wore heels. He gestured impatiently to the white veil still in the bag. Once it was clipped to my hair, Charles swallowed the last of his cognac and prowled towards me. He circled me, taking in every angle of my body in the dress.

“Oh, yes. Not ideal, but it will do.”

“Do for what, Charles?” I found the courage to utter. “What are you trying to do?”

His smile that was once so beautiful and open now had the most sinister and foreboding aura. “I’m going to give us both what was stolen from us.” Charles grabbed my arm in a harsh grip, uncaring of my cries of pain. He forcibly dragged me from the room and out the door. He led me to the dock, and I was finally seeing the horrible conclusion to his plans. He pulled a gun from his jacket, enjoying the shocked fear etched in my expression. “I know, guns are so primitive, so impersonal, but when you’re in a pinch…” Charles dragged me midways the dock, forcing me to face him.

“So, that’s it? You’re just going to shoot me.”

“Shoot us, darling, shoot us! Our deaths here today will not be the end. Do you know that movies aside, there is a belief amongst the Japanese that if a person dies violently, it causes a deep, festering rage that gives that person the power to go on living beyond their death?” Charles ranted, looking more unhinged than I had ever seen him. “And believe me, my darling, these past months alone have filled me to the brim with incessant and uncontrollable rage.”

“By that logic, all of your victim’s spirits have lived on beyond their murders.”

“Then they should be thanking me for granting them life eternal.” He reached in his breast pocket taking out two gold rings, one of which he forced onto my finger. “With this ring, I thee wed, and all my worldly goods I thee endow.” I could only listen in undisguised horror as Charles recited his wedding vows to me. “In sickness and in health, in poverty or in wealth, ‘til death do us part.” He pressed the cold metal barrel against my temple, forcing me to put the ring on his finger. “Say the words.”

The heavy fog grew denser around our feet and the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees at once. “With this ring,” I could hear faint splashes towards the end of the dock. “I thee wed, and all my worldly goods I thee endow.” There was a distinct crack of a branch being stepped on from the trees behind me. “In sickness and in health, in poverty or in wealth—”

A loud roar sounded behind me. I had only a moment to glance over my shoulder to see a huge bear bounding towards us. I screamed, immediately throwing myself to the side as Charles swore and began firing bullets towards the charging beast. I was too scared to look up, but I don’t think he hit it, because Charles was the one crying out as a spray of hot blood covered my face and chest. Another burst shook the dock, soaking the three of us with freezing cold lake water. This time I did look, and shi—

Jake was holding out on me. He didn’t have two legs like a regular man. His entire lower half that tapered off like the bottom end of a Dorito chip formed a dozen tentacles that were not only as thick as both of Ari’s thighs put together, but long like the monster drawings of the fabled Kraken’s attacking pirate ships. It was no wonder he stayed in the lake; he needed every inch of it.

“How the hell did he get all of that inside my house?” I muttered, feeling only half hysterical. Jake’s monstrous tentacle held Charles in place while the bear charged. “Fuck, are they working together?” I squeezed my eyes shut and tried covering my ears to block out the sounds of Charles’s screaming. But then the screams turned to wet garbles and choking sounds. Then there was nothing but silence. The dock shook underneath me as razor-sharp claws clicked along the wood. Oh no. Hot snuffling breaths blew against my face as the bear turned its attention to me. Oh, fuck. I was next. A big, wet, and even hotter tongue licked along my face. “Goddammit, killing machine or not, that’s fucking gross!” I opened my eyes to give that damn bear one last glare before he tore me to shreds, only to see it huff and sit down in front of me. Its blue eyes seemed bright with humor despite the blood matting its fur and staining its snout.

Wait.

Blue eyes?

To my amazement, the bear shrunk in size, the fur retreating inside its follicles. The snout retracting back into a nose, followed by the claws on its hands and feet. It was like watching a reverse Rick Baker transformation.

“Hey, Buttercup,” Ari waved awkwardly in all his naked glory.

“Ari??? What the hell—?” but then one of Jake’s monster tentacles, grabbed my ankles, dragging me down towards the end of the docks. “Jake! What are you doing?” he had tentacles holding both my arms and legs spread-eagled. He used another set of tentacles to tear the wedding dress off me along with my bra and panties, leaving me wearing only the thigh highs and veil.

“You scared him, sweetheart. All you had to do was stay out here and keep chatting with him and I would’ve taken care of that insane piece of shit for you.”

“You knew he was here? In town? You asshole!” I shrieked, knowing if I had my hands free, I would have taken a shot at that pretty face.

“Don’t be like that,” Ari purred, lowering himself by my head so he could nuzzle my nose. “I would have never let him hurt you.”

I wanted to argue more, but Jake brought my attention back to him when he unsheathed his cock from behind his tentacles. “J—J—Jake, I don’t think I can—”

“You can, and you will,” Ari said firmly. He was kind enough to spit on his fingers and reach between me and Jake. I tried to stay mad, but Ari’s fingers worked me open too good to be mad about anything. “There you go,” he cooed, kissing my forehead as he pushed three fingers inside me. Jake’s long bifid tongue poked and prodded at my mouth until I opened up, letting him lick all over.

Jake, seeming to have lost some of his own anger, pushed inside me carefully. He felt about as big as Ari and that was still almost too big. I was careful not to bite down on Jake’s tongue as I wiggled as much as I could to meet his deep, hard thrusts. His smaller tentacles with those sucking cups, teased my breasts, leaving my nipples hard and aching.

Ari, feeling left out, angled his hips upwards, sliding his cock inside my mouth beside Jake’s tongue. Jake’s unchanging expression seemed annoyed, especially when Ari shot him a roguish wink, but Jake didn’t pull back and even helped me by wrapping the split tips of his tongue around Ari’s cock.

Between the adrenaline of the fight and almost dying at the hands of my insane ex, the sex between us grew faster and harsher. Jake, Ari, and I made our own soundtrack of wet slaps and heavy moans, and guttural groans and clicks. My toes started curling as my legs shook. My back bowed as much as I was able and I came with a cry, gushing around Jake’s cock. He followed behind me with his high whale’s song, tightening his tongue, dragging Ari over the edge who shot his release down my throat.

We lay in a pile, tangled around each other, catching our breaths. If it weren’t for the freezing cold, I could’ve drifted off to sleep without a care in the world, surrounded by my two monsters.

“Jake?” I whispered, stroking the back of his neck, liking the way it made his gills wiggle. “I need to get warm or else I’ll end up catching pneumonia.” The pout in his eyes was cute. I leaned up, pressing my lips against his for only the second time. “I’ll come back out tomorrow.”

Jake drew his tentacles back, allowing the rest of his body to submerge back in the water. Ari helped me stand, looking free and at ease being completely naked beside me.

“Before you two came charging out, did you hear the last thing Charles said to me?”

“I don’t know about this one,” Ari gestured to Jake. “But I was more focused on making sure he didn’t shoot you before we could stop him.” Ari’s hands fell lightly atop my shoulders, rubbing them. “What did he say?”

“The short of it is that he thinks being killed and filled with rage at the point of dying gives you some sort of ability to live beyond death.” Jake and Ari exchanged a look. “What? Oh, don’t tell me Charles is actually going to be haunting my lake for eternity?”

“If he wants to share the lake with Jake, just so he can rip him apart over and over, so be it. But I doubt that’s possible for him. The rage and violent way he died does not trump the violent way he lived. He has a lot to answer for on the other side. He’s not going to be hanging around here in spirit form or anything else.”

I stared at the gold ring around my finger. Not so long ago, I would have given anything to become Charles’s bride. Now, the thought of rings and weddings and dresses made me want to vomit. I pulled the ring off my finger, giving it one final glance before casting it into the water, watching it sink into the darkness.

“Til death do us part.” Ari kissed my forehead, bringing me back to the topic. “And if you’re wrong?” I was genuinely concerned about my lake.

“Then I know a little lady who will perform an exorcism in exchange for ingredients to brew her potions.”

“What little lady?”

“You know her, or I should say know of her. She has a very distinct height and tone of voice.”

I thought about it and shook my head. “Bullshit. There is no way Tangina Barrons is a real person.”

“I swear that she is, Buttercup. Zelda Rubinstein shadowed her for six weeks when Tobe Hooper tapped her for Poltergeist.”

“My god,” I rubbed my temples. “Cecealias, werebears, witches, what’s next?”

“You saw Larry,” Ari offered.

“Larry?”

“Yes, Larry the Lightning Bird.” Ari’s boyish grin simultaneously charmed and unnerved me. “I needed an excuse to stay the night. I tried to be patient but knowing that you had already had Jake just pissed me off.”

“I thought I was having some kind of kinky dream! You’re an asshole, Ari Levinson.”

Ari’s smile fell. “You’re right. I am an asshole. I’m making a joke out of something serious, but it’s because I didn’t want to tell you that I asked Larry to make that storm because when I arrived at your house for dinner, I could see your ex watching your house from the woods.”

I shuddered, not fighting Ari’s hug. If Charles had managed to hide a little better, he could have killed me that night.

“I’m sorry for not telling you, sweetheart.”

“I’m still mad with you Ari, and no amount of pouting is going to change that, so don’t even start.” I was more annoyed than angry that I was half asleep, half hypnotized during my first time having sex with Ari.

“Fine.” Ari took my wrists in his hands. His hands were so big they looked like shackles around my wrists. It made sense that he was a bear. “What can I do?”

“Bring Sylvie tomorrow.”

“Done.” Ari kissed my knuckles. I was not going to forgive him.

“And you are going to cook for me.”

“I can do that. What else?” Ari’s eyes raked over my body, reminding me that I was only standing in thigh-high stockings and the veil that somehow survived Jake dragging me across the docks.

“After I’ve slept for the next twenty years, I want you to answer all my questions about yours and Jake’s world. I want to know what else is out there and why you all seemed to be drawn to my land.” Ari opened his mouth as if to answer. “I said, later. Not now.” As we walked back to the house, it finally felt like everything was going to work out.

Ari pressed his hand between my thighs, casually scooping up Jake’s spend dribbling out of me. He held eye contact as he pushed the soiled digits into his mouth, sucking them clean. Fuck. This man was going to be nothing but trouble.

“Your phone’s ringing, Buttercup.”

“Shit!” I took off running to the house not even thinking about Jake and Ari both getting an eyeful of my naked ass. “I forgot to call mama back!”

AN: And that's all she wrote!! I hope you guys had as much fun reading this as I did writing it. Send me your thoughts below, and tell me who you like more Cecaelia!Jake or Werebear!Ari. Happy Spooky Season!!

tags: @georgiapeach30513 @autumnrose40 @gotnofucks @jobean12-blog @luxeavenger @specialk-18 @maroonsunrise83 @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @honeyloverogers @stargazingfangirl18 @caffiend-queen @geminixevans @angrythingstarlight @avintagekiss24 @indyluckycharlie @the-iceni-bitch @slothspaghettiwrites @giorno-plays-piano @foxgloveprincess @navybrat817 @river-soul @wayward-blonde @boxofbonesfic @xxindiglow @sweetlyscared @lotusss-flowerbomb

#sheriff!ari levinson x black!reader #cecaelia!jake jensen x black!reader #past charles blackwood x black!reader #ari levinson x reader #jake jensen x reader #charles blackwood x reader #ari levinson #jake jensen #charles blackwood #SoundCloud

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merlinfic · 4 years ago

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group ask for lost fics #32

Hi y��all! Below are a few lost fics that us mods just can’t seem to find. That being said, we’re hoping that you lovely followers are able to help! If anyone knows any of the fics below please reply below or send in an ask with which anon/user and group ask that the fic corresponds with!

Note: previous group asks and all lost fics!

Anon 1 asked:

Hello! First of all thanks so much for everything you do for the fandom! Also, I’ve been trying to find a fic for a while where Merlin and Arthur are both super into each other and Arthur keeps trying to seduce Merlin but Merlin thinks he has to remain pure until the dragon tells him that’s not the case w Arthur and I was wondering if you could help! Thanks so much 💖🥰

Thanks to statistical-nightmare for suggesting Touch Me (Not) by veronamay!

@ohmytimeturner14 asked:

Hey! I'm kinda getting back into the merlin fandom and I was looking for a fic I once read and can't find it. It's a sick fic where merlin gets sick with pneumonia I believe. Can't remember how long it is, at least 3k and most likely under 20k? I think part of it had Morgana offer to read to Merlin when he was sick? I think it was Merthur but I couldn't swear to it. Love your blog, Keep up the good work!!!

Hey! I love your blog. You always do such an awesome job.

I lost a fic, its at least 5K probably leaning twords 20 though. It involves Merlin getting sick, I think pneumonia. I remember that at one point Morgana reads him a book when he's sick, and Arthur almost leaves to get Hunith because he thought Merlin wouldn't make it. May have something to do with a formalwear tunic that made him cold and got sick, but that might be a different one. I also think he was going to go to a party of Gwen's before he got sick?? sorry if this is kinda vague

Thanks to fractalinferno for sending in Midwinter Festival by Miss_Em!

Anon 2 asked:

hello!! yay the ask box is open again!! 🥺 I’ve been going through the asks for a quartermaster/007 thing but I can’t find this particular fic where Merlin was Q, and closer to the end of the fic he gets kidnapped on a train (to be specific.) It’s slash, but not pre-established, happens during the fic. Arthur bursts into Merlin’s apartment and manages to have flashback about the laptop’s password or smth too! Thanks in advance!

Thanks to wiggly-jiggly-higgledy-piggledy and overworked-bookworm for suggesting You Only Live Twice by storyforsomeone (WIP)!

Anon 3 asked:

Hello! I was wondering if you'd be able to help me find a fic. The only thing I remember from it is that both Arthur and Merlin are in the crystal caves and Merlin sees Arthur's death through one of them and completely freaks out and comfort ensues with Arthur. Sorry it's so vague but I'd love to see if you can find it! Thanks again!

@eyra-j-nee asked:

Hi!! I’m looking for a fic that was on ao3, (TW: non con) in it Merlin was assaulted in the stables and he called I think both killgarah and aithusa come and won’t let anyone pass into the stables except gaius and eventually Lancelot. Arthur figures out it’s Merlin and I can’t remember what happens after that. I’ve looked through your hurt and abused Merlin tags and I didn’t see it. I can say it’s not “all of himself” by StormDancer but they are very similar! Any and all help would be appreciated. As always THANK YOU for what you do, this blog and your hard work is a godsend!!

Thanks to fangirl485 for sending in The Fire of a Dragon by ma_r (check warnings!)

Anon 4 asked:

hi I am looking for a fic, it's post canon au and magic is legal, arthur & gwen aren't married though and all the people of Camelot are used to see Arthur and Merlin together or near each other and one time they don't, so they ask merlin who tells them that the king is on holiday today so they come to merlin with their problems and even after the holiday is over they still come to him and start calling him lord and Arthur is very amused and they get together at the end of the fic

honestly I'm a little annoyed that I remember this much but not the name of fic but I can't find it in my bookmarks, so thanks

Thanks to onceandfuturekid for suggesting King of My Heart by illiterateowl!

Anon 5 asked:

hello! i was wondering if you know about this one fic where merlin receives a purple tunic as a reluctant gift from arthur and he worries about it because it's the colour of royalty. i think it was gen? i can't really seem to find it and this is very vague, so im sorry. thank you for all you do!! <3

Anon 6 asked:

Hi I’ve been looking everywhere for one particular fic. It’s pretty dark and modern au. Merlin is immortal, has lost his memories, not thinking clearly, and is suicidal. Arthur is reincarnated and has the urge to kill. They somehow? come to an arrangement, and Arthur “consensually” kills Merlin, and then is filled with regret. But it kind of ��resets” Merlin so when he comes back his memories are restored and he’s ok again? Any ideas??

onceandfuturekid asked:

hi I'm looking for a fic where there's a new servant master (?) who is harming servants so arthur disguises himself and pretends to be servant and merlin & gwen take him under his wing,,, also the servant master (?) was a druid I think or atleast banished from them and was looking for power of emrys

Thanks to atlantablack-chaotic and avery28 for sending in The Serving of Servants by CaffeinatedFlumadiddle!

Anon 7 asked:

Hi! I've been looking for this but can't seem to find it and I would greatly appreciate it if you guys could help me. It's a genderbend!Merlin. The story basically follows canon with Merlin becoming Arthur's manservant just that on top of magic she has to hide the fact that she's a woman and when things go "further" Arthur thinks he's forcing himself on Merlin, since he can't "feel his desire". Thank you do much for your help! ❤

Anon 8 asked:

Hi, I've been trying to refind this fic for a while but I'm having trouble finding it. I can't remember much of it which makes it difficult, but I just remember that Merlin gives Arthur a gift, which I think is a ring, and he finds out Merlin had magic and questions whether Merlin enchanted it against him. It's in the canon era where Merlin is his servant.

Thanks to fractalinferno for sending in A Little Roughing Around Never Hurt Anyone by melennui!

@emritz86 asked:

Hi, it's been a while I asked smthng. Caught up with work and stuff. I read a fic where Merlin was a doc and married to Arthur but Arthur didn't like Merlin at first and didn't even let him enter to their bedroom. Later he realised how awesome Merlin was and tried to reconcile but Merlin already thought about filing divorce. Do not remember the name but I'm certain I read it and saved it somewhere. Anything similar would be great too. Thanks.

Anon 9 asked:

Hey! I was wondering if you could find a fic for me where everyone thinks Arthur is dead and then Merlin goes to look for him but the knights are like he’s dead and Merlin says something like “half my soul resides in him. I would feel his death like a wound” ps this blog is literally my life

Anon 10 asked:

I'm looking for 2 kind of similar stories. The first is a canon au where Merlin is actually a dog that Arthur finds in the woods. I remember toward the end they both get injured and Arthur is frantic when he wakes up. Asking Gaius where his dog is.

The second is modern au where Merlin is blind and Arthur is reincarnated as his seeing eye dog. I don't remember much more than that, sorry. Thank you for all the work you out into the fandom. MUCH MUCH appreciated!

Thanks to fractalinferno for suggesting Familiar To You, Strange To Me by TheYaoiChick for the first part!

@gaylord1027 asked:

Hi,

Do you know of a fic where Merlin was raised by Balinor in the cave after Hunith died and Merlin has some for of mental affliction. It starts with Arthur coming to them for help and then he wants to protect Merlin. Nimueh is in it and she befriended Merlin and died when Balinor lived to keep the balance.

Anon 11 asked:

I was wondering if you knew of the fic where Gwaine and Arthur are fighting to see who's merlin's best friend but in the end they realise it's Lancelot

Thanks to fractalinferno for suggesting Merlin's Favourite by OwlsWithFins!

#other: group asks for lost fics #other: fic find #other: lost fics #mod danielle #sorry for the long post lmao #we have A Lot of asks

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increasethythunders · 4 years ago

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the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat 2/?

- sephiroth/reader

- sfw

“You look like shit.” said one of your fellow 2nds - Devon - through a mouthful of food.

“Thanks.” you replied, sitting next to him like a bag of rocks.

By the time you dragged yourself out of the training room (not even bothering to hit the communal showers and heading straight for the cafeteria in an exhausted stupor), there was only pallid, unspecified meat and soggy leaves that might’ve been a salad once left in the reservoir. It wasn’t bad. But it wasn’t good either, uncomfortably sitting somewhere in the so-so region. Looking at the vaguely edible shapes in their cold, rectangular boxes, you figured they were more of an essence of whatever they labeled it as. A single piece of white bread had more flavor. You stacked your tray with what you could, and just before you left to grab a seat, you doubled back to grab a water bottle.

After finally having the chance to settle, the muscles in your arms and legs ached. Like someone had taken a hammer to your joints. It was nothing like the feeling of being a spunky 3rd just coming back from rigorous training - you had ached then, but it felt good. It felt like progress. Now you were just dead tired. You suspected with great indignation that the feeling wouldn’t subside in a good while.

You were about to shove a fork full of the essence of meat in your mouth when you couldn’t help but look up at the friend sitting across from you. He was staring at you with wide, bluer-than-the-sky eyes. His puppy stare (that you made sure never to call it that to his face).

“Vic.” you said, feinting a stern tone. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

You were dying to talk about it.

“You’re dying to talk about it.” said Victor and Devon in unison.

You groaned, hands flying to your face and tugging at your eyelids as you dragged them down. You had laid there in the training room for a good five minutes after Sephiroth left, half-expecting him to come back and further damage your ego. But he didn’t. And thankfully, no one else happened upon your battered form, for better or worse. Admittedly, you were feeling a lot less achy now that you were moving around, but where your back had collided with the floor now spouted an angry bruise in varying shades of yellow and purple.

“You sparred with Sephiroth?”

Victor - a 3rd and a few years your younger - always had at least one star in each of his eyes, but as you finished your lackluster retelling of the bout, he was twinkling like the night sky. “That’s so cool.”

“Oh yeah, real cool.” you picked at a clump of soggy leaves. “Ice cold.”

“That bad huh?” Devon said, with all the concern of wet concrete.

Slouching back down from where he was practically leaning across the entire table, Victor pouted.

“C’mon, it couldn’t have been that bad! At least you’re not stuck doing drills every day. Do you know how many of these guys would beg to be where you are?”

“At least you have someone to tell you what to do. Sephiroth just..expects me to know. It’s so - he’s so-” you punctuated with a grumble in your throat and a stab at the chalky meat on your tray, but it was so tender that it flaked away.

“He trusts you - that’s a good thing!”

You paused, taking a begrudging swig of water. “I guess..you have a point.”

You were still feeling slightly bitter, but a childish smirk played at the corners of your mouth. “Okay maybe it wasn’t completely terrible.”

They both perked up, looking at you curiously.

“I might’ve cut his hair.”

Both of their eyes shot open. “You what?”

---

It was dark by the time you and your friends dispersed, drowsily heading back to your respective quarters. But as tired as you were, you still felt like gum stuck on the bottom of someone’s shoe, so with a heavy sigh you hauled yourself to the showers.

They were empty, and completely quiet save for the tap-tap-tap of a few leaky showerheads. You tried to control your shivering as you turned the squeaky knob, a paralyzing chill washing down your body as cold water hit your skin like thousands of tiny icicles. The temperature evened out after a minute or two, though it was so late in the day that the highest it was able to reach was a tepid lukewarm.

You made quick work of your hair, combing out the last of the suds with your fingers. As you washed the rest of your body, your thoughts wandered back to the bout. It had only been a few hours since the training session, and you were already feeling a little better, if a little sore. But now the bruise was the least of your worries.

Sephiroth. Trusting you. You.

You wanted to laugh. You didn’t know why the concept was so unfathomable. To you, it just seemed like he was above that sort of thing. You knew of the other 1sts - it was almost impossible to avoid them, even if you wanted to - and how they were as thick as thieves. You knew your mentor was closer to them than anyone else, recalling brief memories of seeing them roaming the halls together, laughing and being..normal. You couldn’t imagine yourself in that sphere. You’d have better luck trying to catch a cloud.

Shutting off the water, you halfheartedly dried yourself off, your hair still slightly damp on your pillow as you faded into a dreamless sleep.

---

Waking up that next morning wasn’t as much of a chore as you thought it was. You were still sore as hell, but at least you could get up without complaining. Much.

You got dressed, your back popping as you threaded your arms through your sleeveless shirt’s armholes. Then, you rolled your shoulders, taking your wrist in one hand and pulling it across your chest, stretching and popping the joints in that socket. And then the other. Sliding your suspenders over your shoulders, you spied your reflection in the mirror in your bathroom. You could fit yourself inside it, with at least a foot to spare. But that foot was reserved for the door to swing open. You couldn’t count the amount of times you’ve stubbed your toe while opening the thing with both hands twice over. Brushing your teeth, you poked mindlessly at the dark bags under your eyes. You hadn’t noticed when they had gotten there, nor for how long. You spit into the sink.

Fixing your hair - which had somehow knotted itself in the back, making you look like you had gotten shocked by lightning in your sleep - with your hands, you were satisfied enough to leave your room. It was still early enough in the morning that the cafeteria was closed for at least another half-hour. Feeling restless, a prickling in your bones that couldn’t be quelled by sitting alone in your room - or anywhere else for that matter - you decided to go for a run.

The base’s outside training fields (that weren’t fields at all, but rather a series of cleared pads that weren’t completely overrun with crates of ammunition and other surplus supplies that had yet to be shipped to a warehouse somewhere) were a fair walk away, but you didn’t mind.

As you reached the end of the hallway, the elevator leading to the ground floor already in sight, the door slid open, revealing a figure that you didn’t quite register at first. You awkwardly stopped, your boots slightly skidding against the linoleum as if urging you forward. Which you did anyway, like a machine that had sputtered slightly before kicking itself back into gear. Sephiroth hadn’t seen your buffer, but the sound of it drew his eyes to you almost immediately. He stepped out, jutting one shoulder out first before the rest of his body followed. Trying not to meet his eyes, you waited for him to exit the elevator.

“Morning, sir.” you muttered, leftover grogginess on your tongue.

He nodded, a cordial expression flashing across his face.

As you passed him, one foot about to land in the elevator, you paused. There was a hand on your shoulder. You took a step back, straightening your posture without thinking.

His hand was gloved, always gloved, the leather not entirely warm - like he had just put them on. He wasn’t grabbing you in place, but Sephiroth had a gravity to him that made you want to stay there. It kind of scared you, but you were too busy shaking off the last vestiges of sleep that liked to hang around in the morning to care. If anything, you were just confused.

“Um.” you didn’t mean for the sound to come out, but too much silence made you nervous. You stayed quiet, too muddled to think of anything to say.

Sephiroth himself wasn’t silent for too long, but it was long enough to put a little seed of apprehension in you. You shifted your weight on your feet.

“Was this from yesterday?” he said in a notably smaller tone than usual.

It took you a full second to notice that he was looking at your shoulder, and another second to realize what he was talking about. “Oh - oh, that?”

You twisted your neck as far as it could go, bending back slightly even though the motion was more irritating than you’d like to admit. You gave the bruise a passing glance.

“I mean..yeah.” you said. “But I’ve had worse, can hardly feel it anymore actually.” you quickly added after seeing his brows crease lower on his face.

“Hey, man, seriously I’m over it. It’s just a bruise, you didn’t like, cut my arm off.” Though for a moment, you thought he would have done exactly that.

“I tend to get carried away with that sort of thing..it was unprofessional of me,” He almost seemed to shrink into himself, but he looked more like one of the droopy willows you saw once while patrolling a small village outside Midgar. He withdrew his hand like he had just stung you. “I apologize for causing you harm.”

“You..don’t have to, Seph, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“But-”

“Honest. It was just a fall, that’s how sparring matches are.” you waved him off. His concern was sweet at first, albeit strange and just a little uncomfortable. But now you felt like you were consoling a kicked puppy. “Besides, it was fun.”

“..Fun?”

“Well, yeah. It’s not every day you get to fight, er, you.”

“I see.” he said, noticeably relaxing a bit. “So you’re sure you’re alright?”

“Positive.”

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly in..satisfaction? Relief? Something like that. He looked like he was about to leave, but before he could fully turn his back to you he stopped, turning his head.

“Oh, if you can, meet me in the briefing room in about an hour. There’s something I’d like to speak to you about.”

You could feel your stomach actively turning into a pit. “Aren’t we talking right now?” you said, feeling more than a little thick in the head and wanting very badly to slap yourself when you saw a crease form between his brows.

“It’s important. I requested a meeting with Lazard.”

The pit in your stomach was now a sinkhole.

“Oh,” you said. “Okay, uh...cool.”

Sephiroth snorted with some degree of amusement. “Don’t be late.”

“Sure!” you said maybe a little too enthusiastically. You never were good at masking your anxiety. “Sure.” you quickly repeated in a markedly more composed tone, doing an even worse job at sounding calm.

He was already walking away - thank god. You didn’t want to see his face. As the elevator doors severed you from him, you found yourself tapping your foot against the panels of the floor, arms crossed so tight they felt stiff and weird dangling at your sides as you walked outside to the training field.

You ran laps (you weren’t counting, but it felt infinite), your brain shutting itself off without you meaning to. There was too much to think about, but it was so early in the morning you told yourself, that you deserved not thinking about any of it. Just for a couple minutes, a few more laps. The apology, the hand on your shoulder, the meeting, the apology - nope. Not thinking about it.

---

By the time you reached the cafeteria, you found that you weren’t that hungry at all.

#sephiroth #sephiroth x reader #ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #crisis core #ff7 crisis core #my fics

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chaseatinydream · 5 years ago

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pirate king (79) || atz

You can’t breathe.

Every inhale and exhale feels like gargantuan effort, not the movements that should come to your body as naturally as well, breathing. Mind swimming, your stomach heaves with each movement as you struggle to focus your gaze, which insists on remaining decidedly hazy.

What happened?

Groaning, you rub a hand across your eyes, fighting back the nausea. There’s an ache in every part of your body, legs burning like they’re on fire. Your head throbs like it’s trying to split itself in half.

“So, you’re awakening.”

Startled, you sit up as fast as you can and your vision swims, black spots breaking out over your vision. Retching, you turn to the side, body shaking and the taste of bile in your throat. When you look back, your heart leaps into your mouth, lips parting in shock.

A pair of liquid green eyes stare back at you, mouth curled into a sad, pained smile.

“You!”

Scrambling backwards is your first instinct, mind blank and your back hits a wall roughly. You yelp in pain and the man’s eyes widen in worry and he reaches out to steady you but you flinch away. He’s an unknown figure that has taken many forms, a young man, an elder, a young boy - who knows what his intentions are? And yet something in you feels at ease with him, the same feeling you get when you step aboard the Treasure and your body matches the rhythm of the ship’s pitch and roll like it’s your own heartbeat.

“Peace be upon you, I have not come to harm you.” The green eyed man says softly, and his voice sounds like the swaying of leaves in the spring wind. Staring up at him, you frown, and decide that he doesn’t look like he’s about to run you through with a blade any second.

What happened before this?

When you try to recall, pain surges once again and you clutch your head, gritting teeth. The memories wash over you, being separated from your master, overhearing the pirates’ plot, being chased and then...

And then running into that man with startlingly similar eyes to your very own captain, dread seeping cold into your veins. He had been dressed much like the townspeople that frequented the town, in dusty cloths and salt crusted sea boots, but that hadn’t been effective in the least in dampening to power you had felt hidden deep within him, like a roiling, pitching storm.

Instantly, you glance about in wariness, anxiety spiking through you. “That man! The one who I met earlier, I-”

When your eyes catch the sight about you, your heart falls into the pit of your stomach.

The harbor has broken down into chaos. What had once been the pier where the marketplace once stood is now a wreckage of wet timber and matchwood and shredded canvas, and shopkeepers shout in panicked voices to each other, picking their way through the rubble The wooden docks have been smashed into matchwood as well, only the bare structures left standing and wood scraps floating about in the grey water.

But the strange man is gone.

Your mouth falls open. “What on earth?”

People call to each other for help, some cursing and some crying, their voices strangely disembodied. The green eyed man lifts his shoulders gently, looking at them. “They won’t be able to see us,” is all he says in a form of explanation, vague and soft. You open your mouth then shut it, head pounding too much to try and understand what exactly is going on.

“What happened?”

“A tidal wave crashed into the shoreline a few minutes ago.” The man says, crouching next to you. His eyes are filled with melancholy, so acute that you feel it in your own chest. “Miraculously, the Treasure was not destroyed.”

“Freak storm.” You mumble under your breath. You want to ask how he can say that with so much surety, but you give up on trying to figure this man out. Something tells you that you won’t be able to. Instead, you curl up, staring at him with a hint of suspicion. “We’ve met so many times, I can’t even fool myself into thinking that this is a coincidence anymore. Who are you?”

“What am I.” He corrects you, with that same mild, unchanging smile. You blink at him, once, twice and then speak again. “Okay then. What are you?”

He smiles again. “I cannot say.”

He’s about as unhelpful as San when it comes to steering the ship, so you give up prying for answers and move onto your next question. “Why are you here?”

At that, his expression falls, green eyes nearly dimming from the spark that vanishes from his eyes. “Any other time, it would have filled my heart with joy to see you, however, the circumstances under which we meet are unfortunate. I have come bearing a warning.”

Your eyebrows pinch, fist clenching. A chill runs through you. “A warning?” You wonder aloud. “Sounds... bad.”

The green eyed man nods sagely. “You are beginning to experience agony with each step you take, are you not?”

You stare at him for a moment, before you put your head in your hands and rub your temples, as if that will rid your head of the dull ache there. Today has been a crazy enough day already, and if something else decides to happen you might walk right off the cliff of insanity and never come back. “I’m... not even going to ask how you know that. Yes, what about it?”

His green eyes don’t waver as they meet yours, and you can’t pull your own gaze away. “You should have guessed by now that your body is starting to fall apart. It will not be long before you lose all control of your legs as well.”

“Well, aren’t you a ray of sunshine.” You mumble, running a hand through your hair. For a moment, you wonder if Yeosang would be able to create prosthetic legs for you as well. You’d be more wooden than clay at this rate. “You can’t use your voodoo powers and save me, can you.”

His smile is sad. “I cannot interfere any more than this. It is your journey that you have undertaken, and must continue to do so alone.”

“I’m not alone.” You say sharply, voice firm. For a second, you’re surprised at the unwavering tone of your own words. “I have a crew... a family.”

The man’s eyes widen a fraction, before they curve into gentle half moons, looking as content as you have ever seen them. Warmth settles in your chest. “That is something I am happy to hear. However...”

“However...?”

“You are the one who poses the biggest danger to them right now.”

You taste iron in your mouth. “The Royal Navy... other pirates won’t let us off with such a sweet bounty on my head.” The man does not reply. “Although I wonder what will kill me first, the Royal Navy or my sickness. I suppose you don’t know any way I can save myself?”

He looks at you dead in the eye. “There is a way.”

You nearly choke on air.

“What?” You sputter in shock, whirling to stare at him. “There’s a way I can stay alive? Tell me!”

His expression turns stony. “I cannot.”

Rage flares up in you. Part of you wants to throttle the man in front of you right now. “What do you mean? Perhaps you really do want me die?”

Hurt flashes in his green eyes and instantly your heart sinks. All your anger evaporates in a split second and you reach forward to take his hands in yours, suddenly desperate to retract what you’ve said. “Wait, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, I just... I know you’d never wish any harm upon me, Eorth-”

The second the word leaves your lips, you know you’ve screwed up.

“Ahh!” Your tongue burns, pain so fierce raging in your head that you almost crumple to your knees. You weren’t supposed to say it, you can’t say it. “It hurts!”

The man’s face crumples, and he quickly pulls away from you, rising to his feet. He looks like he wants nothing more than to hold you close, but does not do so. “Your time is nearing its end.” He says quietly, eyes wet with tears. “The hunter is almost upon you. You must succeed before he steals your essence as well, Chin Hae. It’s your only hope.”

“Wait!” You gasp, struggling to sit up. He pauses, and looks at you with an expression so forlorn you almost cry yourself. “You don’t want to tell me, or you can’t tell me?”

The man takes a step back, and suddenly he starts to crumble himself, right before your very eyes. Your mouth falls open in shock at the unbelievable sight. “I cannot. If I did, it would no longer be the way. But now... it is time for you to run before the predator, Chin Hae.”

“Huh?” That’s all you manage to utter, as the man vanishes into thin air, dust blown away by the wind. Distantly, you hear bells ringing frantically, but you feel as if you’re underwater. “Time to run...?”

“Be careful of him... and most of all, beware yourself, Chin Hae.”

The spell shatters, and the sound of the town bells - alarms, you realise - wreck your ears with their desperate ringing. And then you hear the screaming.

“Royal Navy! Royal Navy fast approaching!”

>>>

This day really is shaping up to being one of the craziest days of your very short life.

You tear along the wreckage that is the pier, jumping over piles of timber. The freak storm earlier had caused all of this... and you remember your reflection in the mirror when all of it had started. You wonder if the crazy storm had caused you to have weird visions, or maybe you’d just been struck by lightning and your brain had fried. All you know now is that you need to get back to the Treasure, and you need to get the hell out of here.

As you race down what’s left of the wooden piers, you see other crews scrambling to make their ships seaworthy again, howling to their men to raise the sails and make headway. The appearance of the Royal Navy bodes well for none of them, least of all yours.

Before you reach the dock housing the Treasure, however, white hot pain shoots up your legs and you stumble, nearly crumpling to your knees. You can feel cold sweat dripping from your head, although whether it is from fear or agony, you don’t know.

All of a sudden, a warm arm reaches around you and yanks you to your feet, and you cry out at the agony that tears through them. “Hells, are you okay, Chin Hae?”

You come dangerously close to Wooyoung’s face, gentle eyes brimming with frantic concern. “Woo?”

“San came back a while back in a panic, saying he lost you and couldn’t find you. He thought you’d be back here with us, but you still hadn’t returned. And then the wave hit, and the Royal Navy... I thought-” He cuts himself off, burying his face in your neck for a second, and you can feel him trembling. “No, it’s alright. You’re safe. What happened?”

“I... I might have sprained my ankle, or something.” You lie through your teeth, guilt seizing your chest. Wooyoung looks horrified, and scoops you up easily, warm arms holding you close to his chest. His heart thuds frantically under warm skin as he turns to run towards the docks, battered planks creaking dangerously under his feet. “Thank the gods I found you. The Treasure is making preparations to set sail.”

You chew your lower lip as you tighten your hold around his neck. “What if... what if you couldn’t find me?”

Wooyoung gives you a flat look. “Captain would have refused to set sail and taken on the entire fleet on his own. And if he didn’t,” he looks straight at you, mouth pressed into a determined line. “Then I would not have left Tortuga at all. I wouldn’t leave without you, so don’t go thinking about silly questions like that, okay? Okay.”

He doesn’t even give you a chance to disagree, you think, and despite the situation you’re in, you let out a tiny laugh. Wooyoung smiles.

“Stop right there!”

Wooyoung grinds to a halt, and you look up in horror to see a man standing at the very end of the pier, between you and where the Treasure is docked. It’s the burly man from earlier, you realise, and there’s a sword in his hands.

You swallow. “Uh oh.”

“Now, boy.” The pirate holds out the massive cutlass, and the blade gleams cruelly in the storm dappled light. “Drop the woman. I don’t want to kill her on accident, when she’s worth so much.”

“I’m afraid she’s worth more than you can afford.” Wooyoung says dryly, although his hold tightens on you, unwilling to let go. “More than money can buy. So I won’t be handing her over to a thug like you. Anyways, shouldn’t you be focusing on running? The Royal Navy is coming, you know.”

Wooyoung isn’t carrying his sword, you realise in horror, and you’ve lost your satchel during the storm earlier. Frantically, you work the straps holding your prosthetic to your arm. It comes loose, buckles clinking.

“Don’t be so stupid, kid.” The pirate levels his sword at the two of you. Wooyoung grits his teeth. “Don’t you know the Royal Navy is offering pardons for anyone who turns her in alive? I’ll never have to live in fear of those bastards again. Hand her over to me peacefully, and you’ll be pardoned too.”

“Wooyoung, walk towards the man, and kick him as hard as you can when I give you the signal.” You murmur under your breath. Wooyoung squeezes your thigh lightly, signifying that he understands. Then he walks forward calmly. He’s putting his trust in you, and you refuse to let him down. “I can be pardoned as well?”

“Of course! There’s an unbelievable amount of wealth too.” He chuckles as Wooyoung draws within striking range, eyes hard. The second he does, the man’s gaze snaps, and in the blink of an eye he’s raised his sword, a triumphant cackle leaving his lips. “But I’ll be taking it all, fool!”

At that second, you hurl your prosthetic right at the man’s head. He shouts as it collides with the man’s face. “Wooyoung, now!”

“I know!” Gripping you tight, Wooyoung is already lifting his leg and kicks the man so hard in the chest that the two of you fall backwards hard, you cradled in his arms. The man, on the other hand, isn’t as lucky and doesn’t have anything to catch him. Instead, he stumbles backwards, realises there’s nothing to step on and falls into the water below with a satisfying splash.

“You’re amazing, Chin Hae.” Wooyoung laughs brightly as he lifts you up again, running down to the docks. The Treasure is within sight, the orange and black flag fluttering at the mast a friendly sight. You only groan, and bury your face in his neck.

“Yeosang is going to kill me.”

“He loves you too much.” Wooyoung replies cheekily, and before you know it, the two of you have cleared the gangplank, feet thudding onto the deck. Your heartbeat seems to sync instantly with the rhythmic pitch and roll of the ship. “Captain, I got her! Let’s go!”

The main deck is in chaos, powder monkeys and gunners rushing about hauling bags of gunpowder, cannon shot, swabbing out the artillery guns and preparing them for a sea battle. You swallow down the panic, look upwards.

“Drop the sails!” Mingi bellows, and in the masts above you see Yunho silhouetted against the sun shouting commands at the rest of the rigging monkeys as they scramble to cut the ropes. At the helm, you see your captain standing with his back straight, red fur coat around his shoulders, cutting a striking figure in the grey light of the storm.

“Crew,” he commands sharply, “Set sail!”

The winds howl, as if in response to his command, and the Treasure surges forward. It’s only then that you notice the number of ships on the wide ocean before you, and your mouth drops open in horror.

It’s an entire fleet.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #ateez pirate king #w; ot8 #w; pirate king #w; fanfiction

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the-sympathetic-villain · 5 years ago

Text

The Stowaway’s Heart - Chapter 2

AO3 | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Description: Virgil is rescued by selkies after being abandoned at sea and brought back to their pod to recover. Virgil's poor, gay heart may just explode from how attractive they all are.

Pairings: Analogical, Platonic Logince (There may be more as I go along!)

Word Count: 5148

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, Sensory overload, Dehydration, Anxiety, Fainting (Let me know if I need to add anything!)

Author’s note: I thought this chapter was going to go up like a week after the first, but I wrote it, edited twice, lost 3 hours of editing before deciding to scrap it and start over. But I’m much happier with it now <3 With any luck, Chapter 3 will not take as long!

Shadows shifted slowly around Virgil as he floated through the empty void surrounding him. The distant noise of his own vague thoughts echoed in his mind, gone before he could even process them. He listened to the murmuring of his own being as the gentle noise nearly lulled himself into a deep, deep sleep. He leaned into the comforting warmth of darkness, letting it surround him as he drifted further and further into oblivion.

Am I dead?

The single coherent thought shattered the illusion around him. He suddenly felt himself fading away. Groggily, Virgil dug into the depths his mind, manically searching for any recognition of what had happened to him. The effort only seemed to make him dizzier. Resisting only seemed to cause him to slip away faster. Any feeling of safety fell away as a surge of panic seized his being. Manically, he clung to each thought passing through his mind, feeling them slip away from him. The world turned upside down on him and he faltered, desperately hoping for the spinning in his head to cease. He felt the energy leaving his body as he resisted and the hazy darkness around him threatened to consume him.

Fuck. I'm definitely fucking dead.

His mind edged closer to despair, but even as the thought crossed his mind, his certainty faltered. A gentle tingle started to move across his body and feeling returned to the tips of his fingers. He shuddered as the gentle tingling turn to the burning of pins and needles piercing his skin. The prickling sensation crept its way slowly up his arm, across his chest, spreading to his limbs as feeling returned to his body. Virgil sucked in a sudden breath as he was forcefully pulled back to awareness. He felt his chest rise and fall as he took rapid, wheezing breaths and his muscles went limp with exhaustion.

Fine. Not dead.

The bitter thought was short-lived as the sound of moving papers near his feet sent another wave of adrenaline surging through his body..

I'm not alone.

The realization sent chills surging up his spine. Virgil tried to open his eyes, his breath catching in his throat as he realized that they were sealed shut. A fresh wave of fear crashed through him as the sound of footsteps approached him. Manically, Virgil pushed himself backwards, yelping in pain as his head smashed against the stone wall behind him. He groaned, baring his teeth at whoever was closing in on him.

“Be still, dear one. I give you my word that no harm will come to you while you are in my care.”

Virgil froze, confused. His initial distrust wavered as the soft tone of the voice above him lulled him into a sense of security. His burst of energy faded and he sunk back into the soft pillow beneath him, too exhausted to be defiant.

“Good." The stranger paused. "Forgive me for not immediately announcing my presence. You stirred a few times since you arrived here, but you were not fully awake before.”

Virgil felt the weight of the bed shift as the stranger sat down beside him. Virgil’s skin tingled as a soft hand brushed his hair from his face.

“I tried to offer you water, but you...um, hissed at me. It was an unexpected response, given what I know of humans. I would have expected that kind of reaction would be more characteristic of someone of my species than of yours.”

That voice…

The stranger chuckled softly and the gentle laugh struck a nerve in his brain, sending his memories rushing back. Images of being caught by the ship's crew and thrown in the brig of the ship flashed through his mind. He inhaled sharply as the sounds of screaming reverberated loudly in his mind. Virgil shivered violently as his last memory came back.

I was hanging on by a bare thread.

Too weak to move.

I should have died.

He swallowed, nearly choking on his swollen tongue as he recognized the stranger's voice.

The man from the boat…

He actually rescued me.

Virgil barely had barely had time to process the thought when a cool hand came to rest on his forehead, sending chills down his spine. His initial shock faded quickly and he relaxed, leaning into the stranger's hand as his cool touch soothed Virgil's burning face.

Logan. His name was Logan.

“You are still abnormally warm. It would be best if you could drink something." The stranger's hand moved to the side of his cheek. "Do you think you could hold water down, if I assist you?”

Virgil opened his mouth but his voice was weak, and he barely managed to push out a raspy breath.

“Do not try to speak, love.” Logan paused. “Can you nod for me, if this is an acceptable arrangement?”

Virgil managed a small nod as he leaned back into the pillow behind his head. He felt Logan's hand move down from his cheek to his jaw, tilting his head upright.

“Give me a moment. I will return shortly.”

The bed shifted as Logan moved away from him. Virgil listened, tracking Logan's movement as he walked to the far side of the room. His attempt at focusing was short-lived as his mind subconsciously started to drift as he listened to the shuffling sounds of Logan as moved about the room. He yawned nearly drifting to sleep at the sound of the pouring water.

Time seemed to blur around Virgil and he couldn't be sure when how much time had passed when he realized the pouring had stopped. Virgil tipped his head up, listening intently, but he couldn’t hear the sounds of Logan moving at all. A pit of dread settled into his stomach as the silence continued. Dread gradually turned to panic as time passed

He left me…

I won't make it on my own…

I can't—

A groan had barely escaped Virgil’s lips when a loud, metallic crash broke the silence. A whimper escaped him as his eyes unwillingly peeled open in shock. Opening his eyes felt like dragging hot sand across his pupils, and he immediately clenched them shut. The burning sensation persisted even as his eyelids closed, but the thankfully the pain seemed to be muted.

“I apologize. I—" Logan's usually silky tone held an unexpected edge of anxiety.

Virgil curled in pain as the sound of Logan clearing the mess echoed loudly in his ears. The sounds seemed to reverberate in his head, growing in volume with each passing minute. Virgil moaned, reaching his hands up to his ears. He weakly pressed his wrists against his ears, trying to drown out the unbearable noise. Barely registering that Logan seemed to have set whatever he'd been clearing down, a wave of nausea washed over him as Logan dropped down next to him. He bit back the urge to gag from the unexpected movement and started to shake as his heightened senses threatened to overwhelm him.

Virgil flinched as hands touched his cheeks. Instinctively, he tried to pull away as shivers swept down his body at Logan's touch, but Logan held his face steady. Logan's thumbs came to rest on Virgil's temples and his fingers teased at the edge of his hair as he guided Virgil's face upright.

“Give me your pain, love.”

Virgil barely had time to process Logan's words before a wave of relief surged out from his temples, washing down his body to the tips of his limbs. He sighed gratefully as the pain evaporated out of his body and his senses dulled back to normal. He inhaled sharply as his chest opened up and his wheezy breathing became regular once more.

Logan moaned softly next to him and Virgil felt his grip on his face slacken. Exhaustion was apparent in his voice when he finally spoke again. “Be at peace, dear one. Please, forgive me for my momentary distraction. I did not intend to cause you harm—”

Virgil heard Logan pause as he cracked open his eyes. Logan’s blurry silhouette was barely visible against the bright light behind him, and after only a moment, the burning sensation forced his eyes shut again.

“Hold still and do not open your eyes, dear one.”

Virgil stifled a moan as Logan’s thumb brushed his cheek, sending pleasant tingles across his face as Logan examined his eyes. Logan turned away from him and Virgil listened carefully as Logan shifted objects around off to the side of the bed. With a final splash and dripping sounds of water, he felt the chill of a wet cloth being laid across his eyes. Virgil quivered gently as the chill eased the inflammation in his eyes.

“Your eyes were not ready to open. You must be patient, and let your eyes rest.” Logan paused for a moment before sighing. “I understand you are anxious to see where you are, but please, trust me a little longer. You will be able to see for yourself soon.”

Virgil swallowed, disappointed. His face clenched as he bit back the urge to gag on his own tongue, but he nodded tensely at Logan.

“Thank you.” Logan's words were quiet, and for a moment he fell silent. Virgil couldn’t even hear Logan's breathing as he sat next to him on the bed. When he finally spoke again, the exhaustion in the undertones of his voice was even more apparent. Virgil felt a pang of guilt in his stomach, realizing how far Logan had pushed himself to save him.

“May I lift you into a better position for you to drink safely?”

Virgil nodded weakly as his body went limp. He felt a hand on his arm. Logan moved slowly, slipping his hands around Virgil's shoulders and underneath his knees. He paused briefly, allowing Virgil a moment to adjust in his grip before attempting to lift him.

A gasp escaped Virgil’s lips as Logan lifted him off the bed, gently edging him closer to the head of the bed. Logan carefully lowered Virgil down on the bed with him, slowly resting Virgil’s upper body on his leg and supporting Virgil’s neck in the crook of his arm. There was a brief pause and Virgil felt Logan turn his head to look over at him.

“Are you comfortable enough, love?”

Virgil couldn’t help the shivers that gently made their way down his body as he felt Logan’s breath on his neck. He nodded, leaning into the coolness of Logan’s arm as Logan leaned over to the side of the bed. After Logan shifted back, Virgil felt a cup at his lips. He leaned forward, eagerly downing the water. Relief washed over him as the cool liquid eased the dull ache in his throat. Logan allowed him to drink longer than he expected, but still, he had to stifle a pitiful whine as he felt the cup leave his lips.

Logan laughed softly, clearly noticing Virgil's displeasure. “I do not mean to disappoint you, love.”

“Logan…” Virgil felt like he was choking as he squeezed out Logan’s name out, but he was beginning to resent his forced silence.

“You... remembered my name?” Logan's voice was soft with shock.

Virgil nodded. His voice was barely more than a wheezy breath, but forced himself to continue to speak.. “More… please…”

Logan hesitated but his resolution quickly weakened. “Very well. I suppose a bit more will not hurt you, as long as you are certain you are not going to make yourself ill.”

Virgil nodded, leaning his head tiredly into Logan’s chest. A moment later, the cup was at Virgil’s lips once more, and he sipped slowly at the water, savoring the coolness of the liquid as it eased his scratchy throat. Virgil willingly stopped drinking before the cup was pulled from him. Satisfied, he leaned back comfortably into Logan’s cool body.

“Where am I?” Virgil’s voice was stronger, though his voice was still gravely and rough.

“Somewhere safe, dear one.” Logan took a breath. “It is an island a good distance off the mainland, but you would not know its name.”

“Why do you…keep calling me that?” Virgil winced, almost overextending his voice.

Logan paused, confused by the question. “You are referring to when I call you ‘dear one'?”

Virgil nodded.

“I hope I have not offended you by doing so.” Logan's voice seemed almost anxious as he spoke.

Taken aback, Virgil shook his head slowly.

“Good. I do not want you to feel that I am taking advantage of your vulnerable position in my care.” Logan paused. “I do not wish to cause you discomfort.”

Virgil 's hand instinctively closed around a handful of Logan’s shirt and he felt Logan stare down at his hand, quiet as he considered Virgil’s question.

“I must admit referring to you as such simply felt natural to me. I was not entirely aware I was doing so until you asked.”

“You don’t even know me.” Virgil grumbled tiredly.

Logan shrugged. “Perhaps not, but admittedly I'm not well-practiced in concealing my feelings. I care about you.”

“Why?”

Logan turned down to look at him. "Why not?"

"You don't even know me." He growled again. "I could be a killer."

Logan was quiet for a moment. "Are you?"

"No." He mumbled tiredly.

"I imagine you would not be surprised if I hated you on sight. So, why is it so hard to imagine that I might care about you instead?"

“Why did you save me?”

“Why would I have left you to die, if I had the capacity to help?”

“You don't know me.” Virgil repeated bitterly, uncomfortable with Logan's pity.

Logan was silent as Virgil anxiously awaited his response. He heard Logan sigh tiredly. “Even after all this time, humans still find ways to confound me.”

“Humans? What—” Virgil whispered, but his voice was weak and Logan continued as if he hadn't heard him.

“Why would I have to know for you to be worth saving?” Virgil could almost feel Logan’s eyes burning into him. His voice held an uncharacteristic harsh edge but Virgil couldn't stop himself

“Your friend didn't think I was worth the effort.” He spat out without thinking.

Logan paused in shock before slowly turned his head away from Virgil. He was silent for a long time and Virgil started to shift nervously, realizing he probably shouldn’t have intentionally antagonized the only person who seemed willing to keep him alive. He opened his mouth to apologize but Logan spoke first.

“I do not blame you for judging Roman so harshly, but you should know, his hesitancy to act had little to do with you. Roman has people he is responsible for protecting and his thoughts were with them.” Logan paused. Virgil was surprised at his sudden apologetic tone. “His hesitancy still does not diminish the value of your life, love.”

Virgil was quiet, unsure of how to process what Logan was saying.

“Do you have a name, love?”

Virgil hesitated.

“You are not obligated to share.” Logan yawned. “I only ask so I have a proper way to refer to you.”

“My name is Virgil,” He muttered into Logan’s chest.

“Virgil,” Logan said his name slowly, almost like he was savoring the sound on his lips. “Okay, Virgil. Are you ready to open your eyes?”

Virgil nodded nervously. He felt Logan slip out from underneath him and lay him gently back on the pillow behind him.

“I must ask that you do not open your eyes right away. Give me a moment before you try.” Logan said as he peeled back the wet cloth from Virgil’s eyes.

Virgil heard a soft splash of water and felt Logan dab gently at his eyes, wiping away the excess buildup on his eyelids, until the felt almost normal again. The burning had subsided nearly entirely as they'd talked .

“You can open them now, Virgil.”

Virgil blinked, looking up at Logan. He could barely distinguish Logan's golden brown hair and blue shirt from rest of the blurry colors around him. He grumbled with disappointment as he tried to blink the haze away.

“Be patient, love. Your vision will clear soon." Logan chuckled softly, leaning closer. “May I have permission to touch your neck? I would like to be sure that your pulse is regular.”

Virgil grunted his affirmation, barely distracted from his attempts to blink his vision clear. His focus broke as Logan's hand brushed his jaw before coming to rest on his neck, sending a pleasant shiver down his body. Virgil felt his cheeks start to burn, embarrassed by his body's reaction to Logan's touch, but Logan seemed not to notice. His mind seemed occupied as he held his fingers to Virgil's neck. Virgil looked up blinking gently as Logan looked down at him.

“If the question is not too distressing…” Logan paused. “May I ask what happened to the ship you were on? The upper deck was in quite a state when we finally dared to board.”

Virgil closed his eyes, clenching his jaw. “I don't know.”

Logan paused, confused. “You know nothing of what happened?”

“I assume the ship was boarded, but by who or why, I don't know anything. The screaming and yelling woke me from my sleep that night, but I was trapped in my cell below deck.” Virgil felt himself grinding his teeth for moment before he forced himself to stop. “I couldn't do anything but sit there and listen to the screaming, until—”

"Until what, love?" Logan asked cautiously.

"Until two of them found their way down to where I was being kept." Virgil felt numb at the memory. "They almost took me with them."

Virgil's intonation seemed to give Logan pause. "Would that not have been better than being left in your cell?"

"No," Virgil's voice dropped as he sifted through the unpleasant memories. "They cornered me, talking about what they could do with me. Easy money was all that was on their minds. Being left to die was a mercy compared to what could have happened. Fortunately, it seems I wasn't worth the effort."

Logan hesitated, staring down at his hand on Virgil's neck, unsure if he wanted to continue. “Why were you being kept in a cell, Virgil?”

“I got caught stowing away on the ship.” Virgil relaxed, relieved at the distraction from the memories playing back in his head.

“I am unfamiliar with that particular phrase.” Logan said uncertainly.

Virgil shrugged. “I snuck on the ship without paying for passage and I got caught hiding in their supplies.”

Logan was quiet for so long that Virgil finally opened his eyes to look up at him, squinting through blurry vision. When Logan finally spoke, his voice quivered with barely concealed anger. “That small of an offense warrants imprisonment?”

Virgil shrugged uncomfortably. “I didn't pay them and I was on their ship.”

A low, guttural growl sent a chill down Virgil’s spine. Logan’s voice had a rough edge as he fumed. “You humans' greed is so great that a few lost coins is reason enough to take someone's freedom? That is an abhorrent practice.”

Virgil shuddered at the anger in Logan's voice, shrinking back into the pillows but Logan seem to have forgotten he was there. Logan's breath was ragged as he raged. Virgil blinked wildly, suddenly uncomfortable being blinded. He sighed with relief as his vision finally came into focus and he was able to look up at Logan.

Oh no…

Virgil swallowed and his heart started to pound in his chest.

He's really pretty…

He held his breath as his gaze drifted from Logan’s soft looking hair down his sharp jawline. Virgil paused to stare at his icy, grey eyes. They looked volatile, like the clouds over the ocean as a storm approaches. He shivered, pulling his attention away from Logan's eyes, letting his gaze drop further. The top of Logan’s blue, silk shirt was open, exposing the top of his chest. He groaned throwing his head back into the pillow, his heart racing in his chest as he took in Logan's appearance.

What is wrong with me—

Virgil flinched as Logan's head spun down to him, but when he peeked his eyes open to look up him. A soft concern filled Logan’s eyes. All sense of danger disappeared as Logan leaned over him apologetically.

“Oh, love. I am sorry.” Logan's voice quivered. “My anger was not intended for you. I did not mean to distress you.”

Oh fuck. Those eyes—

“Not distressed...” Virgil squeaked out, nervously cutting off his own thought.

Logan looked down at him confused. “Your vocal tone and increased rate of your heartbeat lead me to believe otherwise.”

Virgil’s gaze flicked down to Logan’s fingers in his neck.

Fuck. I guess lying is off the table.

“I'm not scared.” Virgil whispered desperately as he clenched his eyes shut, trying to slow his heartbeat.

Logan paused, confused at Virgil’s words. “Well, that statement was at least more truthful than the last.”

Fuck.

Logan continued, trying to make sense of Virgil’s reaction. “The rate of your heart slowed as you closed your eyes—”

Fuck.

Logan was silent for a long time, before Virgil had the courage to peek up at him. His bravery faltered as he noticed Logan looking down at him with an annoyingly, coy smile.

“You were finally able to see me clearly.” Logan laughed quietly. “Am I right, Virgil?”

The edges of Virgil’s vision blurred as his breathing became ragged. There was no use in denying anything. He desperately tried to catch his breath, unable to calm himself.

I'm going to faint.

Who does that?

Who actually faints over finding someone attract—

A pleasant tingling shot down his body as Logan’s hand gently moved from Virgil’s neck to his jaw, guiding his face up to look into Logan’s eyes. Virgil nearly lost himself looking into Logan’s eyes as he leaned in close to Virgil’s ear, inches from his neck.

“Tell me, Virgil.”

Virgil moaned at the feeling of Logan’s breath on his neck.

“Do you like what you see?”

All meaningful thought left Virgil’s mind as he listened to Logan's silky voice in his ear. His breath caught in his throat as darkness crossed his vision and he fainted back into the pillow.

Logan chuckled softly to himself, reaching up to brush away the hair that had fallen into Virgil's eyes. Perhaps that hadn't been the most gentle way to put his guest to sleep, but it was certainly the most entertaining. He leaned back from Virgil, watching him as he snored peacefully. Logan sighed, smiling as he checked Virgil’s vital signs one last time before reluctantly standing to leave.

“Sleep well, Virgil. I will return to you soon.”

A deep hum echoed in Logan's ears as he turned to the door, drowned out only by loud, metallic creaking of the door. He cast a soft look over his shoulder at Virgil as he slipped out into the network of tunnels running underneath the island. He paused as the the door slammed shut behind him. Reaching into his pocket, Logan pulled out a heavy, metal key. He looked down at it in his hand for a moment, feeling a pang of guilt as he slipped in the lock, turning it until he felt the lock click shut. Locking his guest in his room felt unnecessary, especially given that Virgil couldn't even sit up without assistance, but it was a necessary precaution. He sighed, reminding himself that this was a temporary solution.

He turned to leave, pressing his wrist against his ear. The previously dull hum in his head was becoming insistent. He had been kept away from his pelt much longer than he had intended and it was calling to him. Logan increased his pace, winding his way deeper into the island. He breathed heavily. The call of his pelt seemed to resonate with the stone walls around him, reverberating back at him with even greater force. Logan could feel himself fading as he turned the last corner. He was barely aware of the dim, amber light flickering in the doorway as he approached. His body shook as he stopped in the doorway. His eyes glazed over as the call of his pelt consumed him. Logan felt himself disappearing from his body as the world seemed to fall away from him.

“Logan?!”

The panicked voice barely registered in his mind as he disappeared deeper in his mind, overwhelmed by the call of his pelt. Vaguely, he felt hands on his arms.

“Hold on, Lo. I've got you.”

An eternity seemed to pass as Logan stood there. Unable to even feel if the hands were still touching him, he ached for his pelt, feeling like a stranger in his own skin. A voice spoke next to him, but the words were muddled, unintelligible among the noise in his head.

The haze in his mind broke as his soft pelt brushed against his skin as it was pushed into his chest. Gently, he felt the world come back to him, and he wrapped his arms tightly around the grey, spotted fur burying his face in its warmth. Arms wrapped around his shoulders as his awareness of his surroundings gradually returned to him. The grating sounds around him fell silent and he felt whole once more.

“I hate this feeling, Roman.” Logan murmured into Roman’s chest as he relaxed.

“I know, Logan. Please, forgive me. I'm so sorry I have to ask this of you."

Logan pulled out of Roman's grip and looked up at him. He noticed Roman’s own dark brown pelt was wrapped around his neck as his pitiful eyes looked down at Logan. He smiled appreciatively up at Roman but his tone was serious. “I made this decision, Roman. You do not need to ask for my forgiveness. Any responsibility for my current state lies solely on my own shoulders.”

Roman stared down him sympathetically. “Regardless, Lo. You're family and I hate seeing you suffer, especially for the sake of some human.”

“His life is no less valuable than mine, Roman.” Logan said tiredly.

“If I thought he believed the same about you, I'd agree with you, but humans never do.” Roman exhaled bitterly.

“Virgil is different. He barely seems to think his life is worth my time, let alone worth more than my own life.” Logan glanced up to see a skeptical look on Roman’s face.

“Virgil?”

“The human.” Logan corrected himself. He hung his head at the serious look in Roman's eyes.

“Don't get attached, Logan. He's not staying. As soon as he's well, he will leave.” Roman voice was empathetic but firm.

Logan took a deep breath, crossing his arms nervously in front of him. He hung his head lower. His voice was barely a whisper. “I connected with him, Roman.”

A heavy silence hung between them. When Roman finally spoke, Logan shuddered at the edge in his voice. “You what?”

“I connected with him, Roman.” Logan’s voice was stronger, though he couldn't help as his voice quivered at the end of his sentence.

“You already have—” Roman yelled, but Logan cut him off.

“I know.” Logan spat out. "I did not ask for this, Roman."

“That’s not even possible. He's human, Lo.”

“It is an unlikely occurrence, but not impossible, Roman.” Logan muttered, unable to meet Roman’s gaze. His stomach twisted with guilt for defying Roman’s authority, even if he did so unwillingly.

“Logan, you don't know what you're saying—"

Logan head shot up to Roman, anger burning in his eyes as he interrupted him. “Are you suggesting I do not know what a soul connection feels like, Roman?”

“No. Of course not, Logan." Roman’s face immediately softened. "I'm just... surprised. Does he know?”

“I do not believe Virgil knows about the existence of soul connections.” Logan looked away guiltily.

“I wasn't referring to the human, Logan.” Roman said flatly.

“No, Roman. I have not seen him since we returned from the ship.” Logan looked down at his feet. “I am planning on going him after I leave here.”

“You'll tell him tonight. Won't you?”

“Yes, Roman.” Logan said bitterly. “I am aching to tell him. You know I would not deceive him.”

“I know, Logan.” Roman stepped forward, gently pulling Logan into another hug. “I don't mean to interrogate you. I trust you. This whole situation just makes me nervous. We still don't even know this human's role in what happened to that ship.”

“Virgil is not responsible. He was imprisoned where we found him the entire time the ship was attacked." Logan yawned, leaning into Roman's chest.

“Lo, your willingness to trust people is endearing,” Roman sighed, looking down at him. “But this human could simply be lying to you.”

Logan shook his head. “I was checking his heartbeat, when I asked. I would have been able to tell if he was lying. It was steady the entire time he talked about it, and given how he reacted to other things I said to him, I believe it is a safe assumption that he is not practiced in concealing his emotions.”

Roman raised an eyebrow at him. “Did the human know what you were doing?”

Logan shook his head, barely looking up.

“You’re a bastard, Logan.” Roman couldn’t help cracking a smile as he released Logan.

“I have been called worse.” Logan smirked tiredly at him and shrugged as he swayed tiredly. “I honestly doubt he would have refused if I had told him what I was doing, but this way the results are more compelling.”

Roman nodded absently. “They aren't absolute though, Lo. You still need to be cautious. Even if he wasn't responsible for that ship, he could still be dangerous, especially if he got a hold of one of our pelts.”

“Virgil is not a danger to us.” Logan barely managed to stifle a yawn as he spoke.

“I know you mean well, but trusting the wrong person has gotten you in trouble before, Lo." Roman sighed sympathetically. "All I'm asking is that you keep your guard up.”

“I will, Roman.” Logan smiled weakly at him.

“Good.” Roman put a hand on his shoulder, guiding him to the door. “Now, go get some rest. You’ve done enough for today.”

Logan nodded, letting Roman lead him out. He turned his head back over his shoulder at Roman. A small appreciative smile crossed his face. “Thank you, Roman. For allowing me to save him.”

Roman laughed, giving him one last gentle push out the door. “Don't worry about it, Lo. I'm here to look out for you. Regardless of whether I approve of your decisions or not.”

Logan nodded, smiling tiredly as he wrapped his pelt around his shoulders and made his way out into the network of caves. He yawned loudly, looking forward to some long overdue rest.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #ts #ts virgil #ts logan #analogical #platonic logince #The Stowaway's Heart #villain writes

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zealouswerewolfcollector · 4 years ago

Text

Never Say Goodbye

Another part of my Canon Divergence AU

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 or start reading the entire series on Ao3

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, implied past torture, chronic pain, self-harm, lots and lots of angst

On Ao3

Maedhros was an immobile, dark stain against the green forest. He hadn’t moved since Maglor spotted him. Fingon was nowhere to be seen, and Maglor’s stomach twisted anxiously. He quickened his pace but slowed down again as a wave of agony went from his palm up to his shoulder. Maedhros looked up only when Maglor was almost right in front of him. He focused his gaze on his brother with difficulty.

“Well?” he asked.

Maglor thought that in the few days of his absence, his brother had gotten gaunter, weaker. He didn’t answer the question.

“Where is Fingon?” he asked instead.

“Fishing,” Maedhros said impatiently. “Did she agree?”

“Yes.”

Instead of relaxing, Maedhros tensed even more if possible. He inclined his head in a nod and seemingly forgot to raise it again.

Maglor sat in front of him. “We don’t have to do this,” he said gently, hopefully.

“Yes, we do.”

“But he wants to stay. Would you make a decision for him against his wishes?”

“Once he made a decision for me against my wishes. I have come to regret it, as he would too if he were in his right mind, but I will not regret this one. I am allowed to answer in kind, to save his life after I led him to torment and abandoned him to it twice.”

It was useless to argue that point with Maedhros, so Maglor tried another approach. “Fingon is better. He has even gone fishing. He will get better.” He hesitated for a moment. “I will not help you do it. It will destroy you.”

“How many days have you been away? Five? Six? Ten?” Maedhros said as if he hadn’t heard Maglor. “He has spent over half the time in terrible pain. He couldn’t move, didn’t know where he was, couldn’t remember anything, neither his name nor mine. And I could not do a thing, could do nothing except sitting there and telling him things he didn’t understand, I could not even damp a rag and put it on his head. Do you know how it feels to see someone you hold so dear in so much pain and be powerless to do anything to help?”

Maglor stared at Maedhros, swallowing down a biting reply. Maedhros’s eyes darted away for a moment, then returned to his brother.

“It will be done,” he said. “If it destroys me, let it be so.”

“No,” Maglor said through gritted teeth. “I won’t let it happen. I won’t let you send him away, so you can die. You will not leave me alone. I will help you only if you promise me that.”

Maedhros looked at him, and for a moment, Maglor was afraid his brother would either strike him or start weeping. But instead, his shoulders slumped, and he suddenly seemed smaller, insubstantial.

“Are you really doing this to me?” he asked in a low voice.

He already sounded defeated, so Maglor didn’t answer.

“I promise,” Maedhros said. “I promise I will live.”

Maglor felt no satisfaction for getting what he wanted because he saw how Maedhros’s eyes dimmed as if what life still remained inside of him took a step closer to the abyss.

“It’s a five-day walk,” Maglor said, looking away from his brother. “Maybe longer with Fingon. She guarantees our safety and freedom. Her husband won’t be there.”

Maedhros said nothing, didn’t nod, didn’t move.

“What are we going to tell him?” Maglor asked.

Not receiving an answer, he lapsed into silence too until Fingon returned.

“Makalaurë!” he exclaimed. “You are back.”

Maglor stood and hugged him carefully. Fingon, too, looked worse than before. He seemed more brittle, his eyes were sunken, his limp more pronounced, even the burn scar that stretched around his throat seemed darker. His hands were shaking so badly that he kept dropping the two small fish he had caught when trying to clean them. But he was smiling, his mood clearly improved after Maglor’s return.

“Did you find our cousin?” he asked after he was done with the fish.

Maglor nodded. “She is expecting us. We will be on our way as soon as we have eaten.”

Fingon’s smile disappeared. “She is… Whose daughter was she?”

“Uncle Arafinwë’s.”

“Oh, right. I met him. In the camp.”

Maglor was silent for a moment. “I know, Fingon. You told us.”

“Right.” He looked at Maedhros and asked quietly: “Why do we have to meet her?”

Maglor waited, but Maedhros didn’t look like he intended to answer. Seething, Maglor said: “She is our cousin, after all. She will be glad to see you. And… she might help you-us. With your ailments and ours.”

Fingon still looked unsure. “Is that the only reason?”

“Of course. What other reason could there be?” Maglor said, not without bitterness.

Fingon shrugged. “Is it true, Russandol?” he asked.

Maglor bit his lip, irritated. As if Russandol would tell him the truth. Maedhros didn’t answer for a long time, but Fingon waited patiently.

“Yes,” Maedhros said finally.

Fingon smiled. “Oh, wonderful. I would love to meet her.”

Maedhros turned away, and no matter how much Fingon insisted, he didn’t eat.

---

In the end, the journey took them over ten days between Maedhros walking as if in a dream, Fingon losing himself in pain, and Maglor exhausting all his strength to sing healing songs for his cousin.

When Fingon was asleep, Maglor tried to argue with his brother. It was the anger and the desire to do something, rather than hope, that forced him to hiss alternatives to Maedhros’s plan under his breath, while he changed the damp cloth on Fingon’s forehead or stroked his hair with nervous but gentle movements. Maedhros didn't answer. He spoke very little and never to Maglor. Sometimes Maglor thought his brother didn’t even hear him, but he would flinch and walk away whenever in his pain-filled delirium Fingon cried out things that were incomprehensible for Maglor. Maedhros often stayed silent, even when Fingon asked him something, but their cousin was relentless, repeating the question until Maedhros would say a few words. Fingon would smile to him but then send a concerned look to Maglor, to which he would answer with a helpless shrug.

Approaching Galadriel’s camp, Maglor had the same feeling as the last time. It was reminiscent of what he had felt while crossing the border of Doriath. Judging by Maedhros’s grimace, he felt the same. Fingon seemed wary. He rolled his shoulders as if trying to shake off the enchantment.

All three of them started when Galadriel appeared out of nowhere. She didn’t spare even a glance to Maedhros and Maglor, instead walked to Fingon with a smile.

“Cousin,” she said. “Welcome! I was glad to hear the news of your survival and gladder now that I can see you with my own eyes.”

“I am… glad to meet you,” Fingon says. “I…”

He looked furtively at Maedhros and Maglor, asking them for help. Maglor could tell from his eyes that he hadn’t remembered Galadriel.

“I have been told your memories aren’t complete,” Galadriel said, as though reading his mind. “Don’t worry, I don’t take offense if you cannot remember me yet. But surely you remember my brothers?” She linked her arm around Fingon’s, walking him away. Fingon tensed but followed her. “Angrod and Aegnor,” Galadriel said with a distant look. “They were your friends. You used to ride together in Aman and here, in Ard-galen-that-was.”

“I think…” Fingon glanced back at Maedhros and Maglor, who hadn’t moved, aware that there were others between the trees, so many eyes trained on them. “Aren’t Russandol and Makalaurë coming?”

Maglor saw the panic in his look and smiled a strained smile. “Of course we are,” he said.

Maedhros was already walking to him. Galadriel let go of Fingon’s arm and approached them. “I am doing this only for Fingon,” she said very quietly so that only they could hear. “Try to be invisible. I am barely holding back my people from slaughtering you.”

“We will not disturb you,” Maedhros said. The first words that he had spoken in a couple of days came out shakily.

Galadriel looked him over. Her gaze stopped for a few seconds at his bandaged left hand, then at his face, his dimmed eyes. She nodded.

When Maglor turned to Fingon, he seemed a little more at ease.

“I think I remember your brothers,” he said with a faint smile, which quickly faltered. “But they-they were angry with me?”

Maglor froze. They hadn’t talked with Fingon about Alqualondë yet and didn’t know how much he remembered.

Galadriel took his arm again. “It is all in the past, Fingon,” she said. “Let’s go.”

---

Someone was singing far away. Or maybe not too far away. Maedhros couldn’t tell anymore. It had become so difficult to process what was going on around him. His thoughts were slow. Voices reached him from a deep well. The last few days had all blended together, and if asked he couldn’t answer how long they had walked, in what direction; couldn’t tell when the day had changed into the night; was surprised to find himself sitting against a tree. He knew he was losing touch with reality at an alarming rate, but he was too tired to be concerned about it. He saved the remnants of his strength for Fingon, for making sure he would be safe. He had to do it and then… And then he couldn’t even die. Maglor wouldn’t let him.

The spike of anger died as quickly as it had risen. No strength to spare. His mind felt untethered. He wondered vaguely where his brother was. Not at the feast, surely, but probably not too far from it, keeping an eye on Fingon, repeating the new songs he heard under his breath to find a way to improve them. The thought almost brought a smile. He leaned back and felt life coursing under the bark of the tree. It grounded him enough to be able to hear someone approaching.

He would recognize Fingon’s footsteps, even if it weren’t for the distinct limp. He had missed those steps for the last hundred years, and now that they were back, he was doing everything to never hear them again.

“Russandol, here you are,” Fingon said, sitting next to him.

Maedhros noticed his wince and frowned.

“I am fine,” Fingon said, smiling. “Nothing hurts too much. I’ve brought you something to eat. Will you let me?”

Maedhros nodded just because he knew it would make Fingon smile again. He didn’t feel the taste of whatever it was Fingon was feeding him, focused on Fingon’s movements, on the minute changes in his expression as he strained to keep his hands steady.

“I like our cousin,” Fingon said, once Maedhros had eaten and drunk everything he had brought. “Although she is…” He paused, looking for the word. “Intimidating. And she doesn’t like you very much. But I think she can be convinced to help you. How long are we going to stay with her and her people?”

Maedhros could only raise his right shoulder. He didn’t trust himself to speak, didn’t trust himself to even breathe, afraid that he would give himself away, would confess the lie, and ruin everything.

“I know it is hard for you, Russandol,” Fingon said softly. “I know that feeling. Back there, I was constantly afraid that I would forget how to speak, so I kept talking to myself in the dark, but it got harder and harder to do until I forgot why I wanted to remember. But you helped me, you helped me remember, and I will help you too.”

He moved a little forward as he spoke. His eyes were so bright, and Maedhros’s entire being longed for a touch, for a moment, just a moment of oblivion. He strained all his muscles deliberately, to stop himself, to lock himself up in his invisible prison. Then he looked at Fingon again and in a moment of weakness, decided to give in to the temptation, just this one time, as an apology, as a farewell. He inclined his head and rested his forehead against Fingon’s.

Fingon's lips twitched in that half-smile that Maedhros knew so well, that he had been gifted with so often, that he hadn’t seen for so long. He found himself smiling in return, letting himself forget for a moment everything that had happened and was going to happen.

Fingon raised his hand to Maedhros’s face with a gentleness that even Angband hadn’t been able to beat out of him. Maedhros could feel the tremble in his fingers. He wished desperately to reciprocate the gesture but trying to move his left hand resulted in a gasp and a wince.

Fingon cupped his face, frowning a little in concern. Maedhros’s eyes closed of their own volition. His lips moved, forming words he didn’t dare to say out loud.

“Forgive me,” he whispered.

“There is nothing to forgive, Russandol,” Fingon said.

Maedhros shook his head, tried to find a way to tell him but couldn’t. Words were eluding him, hiding in the mist that was threatening to invade his mind. Another slight against his father’s legacy. The thought made him laugh soundlessly, only his shoulders moving.

“Findekáno,” he said finally. “More than anything in the world, I want you to be safe, I want you to heal, I want you to be happy.”

“I know that,” Fingon said, puzzled.

“Forgive me,” Maedhros repeated in despair.

“Of course,” Fingon said readily.

Maedhros winced again and pulled away. He turned his back to Fingon. “They will miss you there,” he said.

“Did I do something wrong?” Fingon didn’t sound hurt, but there was worry in his voice and a note of fear.

Maedhros turned to him. “No! No, you did nothing wrong.”

He ached with the need to touch him, to reassure him. For a moment, he regretted breaking skin contact, but no, that had to be done. He had no right. No right to seek comfort with Fingon when he was lying to him, betraying him, even if it was for his own good.

“Nothing wrong,” he said. “I only wish to be alone.”

Fingon nodded. He didn’t smile as he stood and walked away. Maedhros leaned back against the tree, drained. He knew Fingon hadn’t gone far. He could feel his eyes on him from somewhere between the trees. He took a breath and curled his fingers. Pain, piercing and all-consuming, shot up his arm, went like a lightning bolt through his entire body. He opened his mouth in a silent scream, then fell forward, dizzy, breathless, biting his lip, feeling the blood trickle down his chin. He gave himself a few moments to breathe. Then he did it again.

---

Maglor didn’t sleep the night, wandering along the outskirts of Galadriel’s camp to avoid suspicious and sometimes outright hostile stares. He thought he was the first to see Finarfin approaching with a few of his chosen warriors. No, not the first. His cousin appeared suddenly, way ahead of him, and threw her arms around her father. Maglor found it prudent to draw back.

He saw Maedhros sitting on the ground and Fingon behind him, trying to braid his hair. Maedhros face was twisted horrifically, as though he was being put through the worst torture. Fingon broke his concentration to raise his head and smile at Maglor, who forced himself to smile back. He knew now the answer to his question. Maedhros hadn’t told Fingon. Not that Maglor thought his brother would have the courage.

He walked away and found a good spot to hide just in time to see Galadriel approach Maedhros and Fingon. She said something very quietly. Fingon tied Maedhros’s braid with a narrow piece of cloth and got to his feet, closing his eyes tightly for a moment and swaying. Maglor sighed. Dizziness usually preceded Fingon’s debilitating headaches, which would definitely make this whole deal a lot harder.

“Would you like to come with us, Russandol?” Fingon asked.

Maedhros stood with his help but shook his head. Galadriel took Fingon’s arm and led him away. Maedhros stared after them for a moment, then forcefully tore his gaze away and curled his fingers, quivering. Maglor flinched and almost ran to his brother, but Fingon’s cry distracted him. Maglor turned his head and saw through the trees Finarfin’s armor glinting dully. He had one hand on Fingon’s shoulder, the other one raised to his nephew’s face but not touching. Galadriel was gripping his arm. Even from that distance, Maglor could see that Fingon was trembling.

“Let me go,” he said, pulling away from Finarfin.

“Listen to me,” Finarfin said. “Findekáno, please, just listen—”

But Fingon was shaking his head. “I am not-don’t want to— Please, let me go!” His voice was louder now, frantic. Maglor’s wanted to stop listening, wanted Finarfin to leave, wanted Fingon gone already, so this would be over. He glanced at Maedhros, who had thrown his right arm over his eyes. Maglor wanted to go to him, to shake him, to make him put an end to this.

“Russandol!” Fingon called.

Maedhros jolted and pressed his back to the great tree he was hiding behind.

Go to him, you coward, Maglor found himself thinking.

“Russandol, you said you would never lie to me!” Fingon’s voice was getting more and more distraught. “Why are you doing this to me?” Soft murmurs tried in vain to placate him. “Russandol, please!” he cried. “Please don’t do this to me.”

Fingon’s words hit Maedhros like a boulder. His eyes glazed over. He slid down the tree and sat there, dazed, his look empty. It seemed like all the threads tying him to life had snapped all at once.

“Makalaurë!” Fingon called in despair. “Please help me!”

I am helping you; I chose you over my own brother. Maglor himself was surprised by how bitter and even vicious the thought was. He was angry, angry with himself, with Maedhros, with Galadriel, angry even with Fingon, who was blameless in this.

He closed his ears, hid deeper in the shadows, but when Fingon desperately called his name again, he walked to his cousin almost against his will.

Finarfin was holding him by the shoulders, both he and Galadriel were whispering, but Fingon kept shaking his head, trying to twist away. When he saw Maglor, his eyes lit up with hope.

“Makalaurë,” he said, his voice breaking. “Tell them I am not leaving. Where—” His face was distorted in pain. “Where is Russandol?”

“He doesn’t feel well.”

He hated how concerned Fingon suddenly looked, forgetting about his ordeal, hated that he could not hate him.

Fingon tried to say something, but it turned into a sharp hiss of pain.

“Let’s go sit somewhere and talk, all right?” Maglor said.

He looked at Finarfin, who reluctantly let go of his nephew’s shoulders. Fingon’s knees buckled, but Maglor caught him with one arm, steadied him, then took his hand and pulled him away. Fingon sat carefully under a tree and hid his head in his hands.

“Is it a bad one?” Maglor asked.

Fingon didn’t answer, focused on controlling his breathing. “Why—” he started, then closed his eyes tightly and pressed his fingertips to his temples. “Why would you do this? I don’t-don’t want to— Take me to Russandol.”

“Later,” Maglor said. “When you both recover a little. You cannot talk to him like this, can you?”

“I told him—” Fingon gasped and clutched at the knee of his bad leg. Maglor knew it meant the pain had spread through his entire body, inflaming every injury, old and new. “Told him— Why wouldn’t he listen? Tell them—”

Fingon grabbed Maglor’s uninjured hand, squeezing it hard enough to hurt. He doubled over, keening thinly. Maglor realized what he had to do, but it took him a few moments to cross that line.

“How about I sing a song of healing, and we will talk when you feel better?” he offered.

Fingon squeezed his hand again, lightly this time, to signify his consent.

Maglor started an ancient slow song. Galadriel and Finarfin, who had followed them at a distance, joined him. Fingon’s pain was great enough that he didn’t even question it, didn’t question that this wasn’t similar to the healing songs Maglor had sung for him before. As the song went on, the purple flowers peeking through the grass bowed their heads, the branches of the tree above them lowered, and Fingon fell into a deep sleep, leaning against his cousin.

When Maglor fell silent, Galadriel and Finarfin approached.

“You have days. Get him to the ship before he wakes,” Maglor said, struggling to get the words out through the haze of weariness and grief. He rested his head against Fingon’s, murmuring an apology.

“Thank you,” Finarfin said, his voice strangled.

He picked up Fingon, nodded at Maglor, and walked away. Galadriel said something, but Maglor was already past the brink of consciousness.

When he woke up, there was no sign of Galadriel’s or Finarfin’s people. His hand was newly bandaged and seemed to hurt a little less. There were a few pouches in his lap with what he assumed was food. Maedhros was sitting next to him, awake but motionless. He, too, had new bandages and food.

Maglor didn’t know what to say or what to do now. All the words on his tongue were bitter and angry, so he swallowed them down because they were of no use. He just sat in silence, waiting for Maedhros to take the first step and knowing that he wouldn’t. As he expected, Maedhros neither moved nor spoke. When Maglor, restless and eager to leave, pulled him to his feet and offered to start walking, Maedhros followed him, but he didn’t make a sound, and Maglor knew that he would not speak again. All the threads tying him to life had indeed snapped all at once, leaving only one, his promise to his brother.

#silmarillion #maglor #maedhros #fingon #some others too #is there anything more intimate than a forehead touch #maybe hair-braiding #canon divergence #zwc fic

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pvremichigan · 4 years ago

Text

Thank You For Loving Me. [Hell Arc Drabble 5]

Mich looked up at the man, the gray husk of a city before them nearly crumbling away, only visible vaguely through the corner of the eye. Her focus was on him, almost as if they stood in a gray senseless void atop a single strip of cement, creating the sidewalk between them. As if a vision had formed and so desperately tried to capture the surroundings but fell short of the details, the world nearly phasing in and out. This was excruciatingly unreal, the common feeling she’d experience in her dreams that had included Ryan.

Did she ever dream before then..?

Seeing him again. After over three years of his absence. The feeling was barely joy. It was agony. Mich was on the edge, on the verge of simply breaking down and losing it. How pathetic she felt knowing a single man could tear her composure down within moments, the composure she spent many lifetimes building up and solidifying to ensure nothing could drag her down so easily. Yet a single guy, a single man... Would be her downfall. Had been her downfall. It felt like he, in a way, would always will be even if just a small bit.

Something about him seemed so uncanny yet so familiar. This moment made her, for a moment, forget she was even in hell. Again, it felt like another dream. Another drunken blackout and the time in her mind that filled the gaps between consciousness. Perhaps the uncanny feeling came from the fact that she nearly couldn’t even recall what he looked like up close. She remembered the main features. The eyes, the hair, the terrible sense of style, the warm yet cold energy. Her stare lasted for what seemed like hours having only been minutes. The man spoke up, his awkward but stern composure showing through.

“Hoped I wouldn’t have to see you here again...”

The guilt struck as soon as those words left his mouth. That’s right, she would never be able to forget that... She was the reason he ever had to see her here in the first place. The guilt was immense, her chest and throat tightening worse than before. The tears began to weld up in the corners of her eyes, but she fought to refuse the fall of water.

“Move it, soldier. Let’s get outta here.”

...

Had he come back to save her again..?

For a moment, Mich had the urge to reach out and follow his command. She wanted so badly to just follow him to safety. It was only the flickering of the soul between them, it’s abrupt disappearance that brought her back to her mind. The reason she’s here is for that very thing, where the hell did it go...

Her heart sunk, realizing how close she was and how quickly she failed by distraction. The green haired man gave a light chuckle, putting his hand up as if to ease her.

“We’ll find it. You just need to follow your heart.”

What the fuck did he mean by that? This encounter made her uneasy... But he did have a point. It was very similar to what Xephrel had told her to do.

This didn’t feel real. For years she even had Carter scan hell for his soul or even his presence. Nothing, he was gone. Ryan was gone, there was no way he was here the whole time. The relief yet heartbreak of seeing Ryan again was so short lived. There was no way... Especially being so close to her soul. There was no way.

“Mich... We gotta go and we have to go now. We don’t have time, we have to get back home. I know a shortcut, let’s hurry up.”

Didn’t he just tell her how to get her soul though? He was rushing for them to leave. To escape. A shortcut..?

These demons need to learn how to mislead in better ways. This one was too easy. But... Knowing it was simply a demon - an obstacle - and not the man she once loved that had disappeared... It hurt. It did, it hurt. Shattered her... Better now to get it all out. Once... And for all. Besides.

There’s no way he’d try to save her from hell twice.

“No.”

“- No? Mich, we don’t have time.”

“I said no.”

“- No? Mich, we don’t have time.”

He... Just repeated the same thing. Yet the voice grew a tiny bit more distorted than before. The redhead took a deep breath, standing in a way that would help her run or defend herself if need be all while seeming discrete. It’s time... To just let it out.

“No. ... For years, I waited. For years, I just waited. Waited on that very fucking couch. Your words- Ryan I GLUED them to my heart. Sewn them in with everything else you said. I held you to it. You said you’d be back, you PROMISED me you were gonna stay. You never did. You never did because that was the last time I ever saw you again.”

The tears were fought back but ultimately her eyes lost as the floodgates had opened. The anger in her tears could burn through wood. Like fire dripping from her tired eyes, she stood her ground. The surrounding area seemed like it grew darker in light, but her focus stayed on the one before her. If this was the first real fight, there was no backing down. Especially not from this.

Ryan, or ‘Ryan’, began to shift uncomfortably before her. His figure beginning to contort and distort the more she spoke, voice distorting further and further until it was barely recognizable.

“- No? Mich, we don’t have time.”

“̵̧̛̛̺͖̝̜̥̪͇̩̭̞͕͙͆̿͒̄̊̑̌͌͌̈͑͊͂̌̂̂̈́̄̄̅̓̀̂̄̀̈́͊̈̇͗̽̽̈́͐̾̔͑͗́̀͂̒͠͠͝-̶̨̡̡̛̛̻̻̠̪̠͓̪͇͕̞̫͉͉͖̯̦̘̻̘͋̓͋̊̑̏̉̀͆͌̈̀̒͊̈͛̌͋͐͊́̉͂̊̇̀̆͐͘̚̚̚ ̶̢̨͖͚̹͓̝͍̜̑̿N̸̡̻̞̣̦̞̗͎̠̩̱͖͎̤̮͕̩̲̻͖̟͇͚͔̟̙̙̖̳̥̰̦̳͎̝͎̐̆́͑͜ͅͅỡ̷̢̢̡̨̨̱̖̙͕̖̥̘̪͍̰͖̰̺̟̖̜̺̗̥̩̗͔̗̲̭̲̣̰̭̱͉̯̓̃̊̄̈́̀͌͑͆̅̍̉̄̓̐͘͜͜͜͠ͅͅ?̸̢̨̢̛̳̫̗͇͉͈͈̣̰̰̭̹̞͚̱̦̼̹̠̉̓̓̊̀͌̋͗̃̉̐̊͑́̈͐̎̍͋̀͊͒̒́͑̽͊̈̕̚̚̚͘͠͝͝͠ ̵̧̡̢̧̢̗͔̰̻̙̮͖̗̝̖̼̬̼̝̮͔̬̙̠̱͓̼̜̪̖̗͔̝͚̬͈̙̲̅͒̍̑͜ͅͅM̷̻̞͉͚̩͉͉̮̙̭̣͚̼͌̇͋̆͐̅̑̊̓̆͂͑͂͒͌̐̌̓͆̆̃̍̊̇͗͑̇̈́͛͗̓̓̋̐̄̈́̒̈́͘͘̕͘͝î̷͉̂̾̌̎̽̓̃͛̔̌͂̂̈̇̐͂͆̐̋̾̎͗͛͑̿̎́̽̽͛͠͠͝c̵̢̛͉̲̭͙̩͔̰͎̣͇̪̰͇͚͉̰̘͎̭͇͖̽̂̂̈́̿̽͊̅͛͐̋̀͆̃̀͊̌͊̍̉̓́̆̈́̓͌̅̅̎̒͗̒͜͝ȟ̷̡̗̺͉͕̹͓̮̲̦͙̪̮͉̩̙̪̠̳̰̗͇̖̠̬̭̗͎̰̥̞̻͍̤̋̍̏̅̂͠,̴̨̡̢̳̖͖̤̻͇̹̰̻͍͙̤̲͈͈̬̫̱͔̣̲͖̜̦̘͔͓̮̄̄̃̎̿̿̓̕͜ ̷̢̧̧̢̛̛̜͉̰̮̟̟͚̘̖̥̣̳͖͔͍͖͚̣̠̫̻̥̪̘͈̣̰̙̱͚͚̱̖̯̗̥̭̖̹̝̫̈́͒̀̋̊̑̇̅̃͐̈́̈̾̽͛͑͆͋͐̆̒̏̋̑̊̾̐͐̃͑̈̎̀̕̚̕̚̕ͅw̶̎͗̾̓̿̒̾̕��̢̛͖̝͈̪̬͔̱͈̣̲͉̱̹̼̪̬͕̩̗̣̪̗̘̯̣̯̫̰̖̖̝̖̹̳̺̿͂͗̈́̔͗̓̑̾̏̌̃̽̂̚͘͝ͅͅé̷̡̯̜̪̝̗͕̼͖̳̤͉̘̪͕͖̮͍̳̬̜̫̩̣̪̞̝͍̯̟̯̳͚͍̱̟̜͇̩͉̟̬͙̘̄̀̑͗̃́͛͌̌̓̃̿̿̓͆͘͠ ̷̰̖̻͉̝̙͛̄̍͋͠͠͝d̴͖͖̯̹̜͇͎͈̈́́̌̈́̌͗̃̀̈́̃̓̆̃̌͘͠ǫ̵̡̨̛͇͓̻͙̟̱̣̳͓͙̼̳̟͓̭͕̫͖̼̳͕̙͇͇̞͚̺͖̱̖̝́͐̎͆͊̌̄̈̀̎̀̅̋̐̈̂̿́͂͗̊̔̇́̌̂̓͒̈̕̕͘͝͝ͅn̸̨̢̻͔̘̭̖̝̟̹̻̱̝͍̠͖͙̽̒̄͗̀̀̒͜’̵̨̡̢̦̯̗͇̪̫͕̗̩͖̠̹̖̪̬̭̲̲̦͈͖̫͂̅̓̔ͅͅt̸̛̺͎͔̞̥̯̓̍̋̋̿͋͊́͛̀̐̐̂͘ ̶̡̢̛̞̗̺͉̠̘͚͕͕̦͖̫͖̱̗̦͎͍̗͍͉̮͕̹̲̫̼̠̗̮͚̺̺̘̝̤̱̟̹̐́́̒̃̋̿̈́̔̈́̎̌͋̂̑̇̏̉̀͒̋͜͜͜͜͠ͅh̷͈̠͙͕͓̳̤̋͋͗͝a̷̧̅̈́v̸̨̨̧̢̨̛̛̥̳͓͙̼̹͍̩͍͖͎͍̗̘͇͚̟̟̹̘́̈̑̀͐̈́͂͊̉́̔͗͑̇̌̽̈̚̕̚͝͝͝ḙ̸̛̣̤͚͋̓̅̇͊̑̍̔͑̄̉̃̈́̃̋̿͑̄͆͐̆͊̍̂̊́͊̊͘͘͘͘̕̕̚͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ ̵̛̘̰͋̃̂̅̃͑̓͒̇̇́͐̏̾̍͒̄̀́́̂̏͛̊̚͝͝t̶̨̧̨̛̛̛̹̬̪͚͖̦̘̮͓͉̫̬̙͚̟̣͈̣͕̹̘͔͉̤̉̓͑̿̈́́̐̉̈́́͌̿̈́̈́̒͆͊͂̒̓̓̈́̀͊̅̓̓̒̓͒̚͘͝͝͠͝͠i̷̡̢̨̡̖̜̲̘̻̰̦͔̘̲̮͕̘̘̣̘͇̫̘͕͈̹͙̟͎̳̲̦͇̦̮̪̱̲̯̙̤̮̔̈̉̈́̀̈́̓͆͋̆̌͒͐̋̄̈́͑͌̈́̑͌̐͐̌͗̋́͒͆̉̊̕͜͜͜͠͝m̸̡̢̧̠̹̣̲͖͕͉̫̹̤̞̘̬̻̳͕͚͔̹̻̘͖̻̋̌̿̐̚͜ę̶̢̧̡̛̯̼̝͈̩̣̖̞̟̜͖̩̻͓̻̜͆́͗̓͌̈́̾̚͜͝ͅ.̴̢̡̺̜͇͍͕̰͕͉̟̗̯͕̻̜͖̙͓͙̜̭͂̃͋͑̉̾̌́̃̏̃͛̒͛̉͒̌̑̽̆̈́͛̎̈́̊̈͘͜͠͝͝”̴̢̤̣̪̥̳̞̝͉̼͎̜͙̝͍̤̲̗͍̠͎͌̈́̽̓̊̓͆͌̊̾̚̕͘͝

The scene in front of her was disturbing, sure. However she was never truly visually disturbed. It was the emotional disturbance of knowing she really would never see the real version of him again that had unsettled her. Still, she spoke on.

“I don’t know why you left... I don’t know why you never came back or even just broke up with me. I never got closure, that’s all I wanted. Because of you... Because of ME... I started drinking. Every night. Blacking out. Waking up. Repeating the day over and over again until 3 GOD DAMN YEARS PASSED. 3 years... Of doing NOTHING but wait at home, drink, and fucking lose myself in the process. There was no more spunk for you to come back to, there was no more fiery passion, there was just disdain and misery. I let go of myself, I gave up on myself. Seeing Riley... Every day it hurts. Knowing you named him, i-it’s a constant reminder of EVERYTHING you ripped away from me.”

The tears weren’t enough, there was some moments to breath before the next word was said, even some light sobs here and there. The pain continued to grow as this now grotesque creature grew still in front of her. There was nothing recognizable about it. It was no longer Ryan... But instead a distorted memory of what he became in her mind. A simple leech she held onto solely for the fact of keeping what she knew instead of what it was now. The voice that had distorted grew monstrously devious as it began to sound exactly like Ryan, despite the voice not matching the figure it stemmed from.

“I didn’t leave you... I didn’t leave you and Lance.”

Lance...

Her eyes widened a bit at the mention as her heart sunk further down once again. It was enough pause to send her into a state of derealization, only to come to when the monstrosity had made the decision to lunge at her. There was nothing comprehensible about this amalgamation, the image kept changing each time she looked. All she knew was that it existed and was out to fool her and harm her. Of course it would.

This is hell.

“You LEFT. You left us behind and DISAPPEARED.”

Her fists clenched, the power from the borrowed soul seemingly glowing gold in her veins, an urge from an outer source caused her to jump out of the way. Every attack was evaded instead of fought against. It’s all she could do. There were no weapons, there were too many risks with hand to hand at this point... All she could do was run away.

She’s so tired of it...

“YOU RIPPED IT ALL AWAY, ALL THE HOPES AND FUCKING DREAMS OF BECOMING A GOD DAMN FAMILY. WE HAD A FUTURE, RYAN, WE HAD PLANS AND GOALS AND DREAMS AND YOU ABANDONED US. YOU ABANDONED ME. AFTER BRINGING ME... FROM AN ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP WITH SOMEONE WHO FUCKED ME UP MENTALLY SO SEVERELY THAT I DID NOTHING BUT LASH OUT AT YOU, AFTER TAKING ME IN AND STAYING BY MY SIDE NO MATTER WHAT, NEVER LEAVING AND NEVER GIVING UP ON ME EVEN AFTER I SHOT YOU DEAD, DOING YOUR BEST TO BOND WITH... WITH MY S-SON... EVERYTHING... WE HAD EVERYTHING. I WAS EVEN TRYING MY BEST TO IMPROVE, TO BE THE BEST I COULD BE FOR YOU. YOU LEFT. YOU LEAVE, YOU DISAPPEAR... WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU GO, RYAN?!”

There was no hiding it this time. The tears were endless it seemed, it was agony. Misery and heartbreak at its core. Trying to lash out at the idea, the illusion of the cause of the pain... Never being able to face the source itself and instead having to let it all out on a figment of what it really was.

“I CAME BACK INTO THIS WORLD SOCIALLY AND I WAS TORN APART, RYAN... ALL I WANTED, ALL I FUCKING WANTED... WAS JUST TO BE LOVED. I DIDN’T EVEN REALIZE AT THE TIME THAT IT DIDN’T NEED TO BE ROMANTIC. I CONSIDERED BARELY ANYONE A FRIEND... I JUST WANTED TO BE LOVED. I DIDN’T EVEN HAVE DAVID AND PENNY, I DIDN’T HAVE MY FAMILY- I HAD NO ONE. I WAS ALONE... I WAS...”

There was no strength left to shout, no strength left to yell and lose her mind.

“I was so fucking alone... You- You were the first person to really teach me what love felt like. Romantically, you were truly the first person I’ve loved genuinely. I didn’t want to lose you... I loved you so much... I could tell you loved me. Every moment you got, you’d be right at my door. Then why... Why did you disappear..? So abruptly too... It makes me think something really happened, something prevented you from ever seeing me again. It just hurts so... So fucking much that I can’t help but blame you. You gave me the world and I wanted to return that favor.”

It seemed like her acceptance of the situation was shining through. The beasts attacks grew slower, the thing seemed far more fatigued than before. The more when she was in denial and anger, the bigger it seemed to be. Her acceptance and confrontation was slowly driving this monstrosity to the ground. Its unfathomable stature began to stiffen, gray discoloration growing from the bottom up. The monster must’ve been turning into stone.

“Even after I sent the message in December... It still hurts. I still held on, but I thought it would help. A-And it did... But it wasn’t enough.”

Looking to the side, an object that hadn’t been there before had now caught her eye. A rusted crowbar, how... Cliche. She made no rush as she walked over to pick it up, seeing now that the threat was barely able to move.

“Seeing you, even if it was fake, was what I needed. I’m know... I will never get closure on what I wanted closure on. All those questions unanswered, the answered speculated. It’s not doing me any good and I want to move on... So I’ll make my own closure.”

She raised the crowbar over the shoulder as if readying a bat in baseball. Her eyes stained with tears, the heartbreak still visible in her eyes and expression. Though she tried to force a smile, it was tight and painful to hold or even manage in the first place.

“Thank you for showing me what love was like.”

“Thank you for loving me no matter what I did...”

“Thank you for loving me.”

A bit of a lip quiver, but the woman took a deep breath at the figure. Within the blink of an eye, it pitched a last ditch effort to stop her despite being nearly completely turned to stone. The monster was back to Ryan’s form. As if he were right in front of her once again, reaching out with the same exact expression and pose he had right before he dropped dead during the time she had shot him to death. At this point, Mich was too far in to stop... Though she lowered the crowbar, arms practically limp for a moment before she dragged herself forward and wrapped her arms around the stone figure of Ryan. A desperate moment of weakness, just keeping him in a tight hug as she cried once more against the cold stone. All the memories of the past... The first time they met, the time he held her until she passed out, the time he ran to her house in the pouring rain, the time he kissed her for the first time, the Christmas party... Every single moment played in every detail as if they were all happening before her all over again, the memories swarmed through her mind. Moments go by for what seemed like hours. It was hard to break the embrace, having to force herself away with a couple sobs as she weakly stumbled back and stepped a few steps back more, raising the crowbar with shaky breathing. The crowbar trembled with her hand, but her determination to finally come to terms was enough to steady the shaking just a little bit.

“This is our last goodbye, Ryan.”

“Goodbye.”

Once that final parting was said, she took the crowbar and reeled back, swinging it towards the stone at full speed with a swift swing. The stone seemed to obliterate on impact, crumbling to near dust from top to bottom. As soon as that stone crumbled, it felt like a giant weight had been lifted from her shoulders. There were no more tears to cry. No more worries to contemplate. Whatever answers were needed before were no longer necessary now. For the first and last time regarding this subject, this topic and situation that has haunted her for years... She was finally free.

The gold in her veins dimmed as the light source extracted from her body. The empty husk-like feeling of being soulless dawned on her yet again, and the dread nearly kicked in until she realized that it wouldn’t be forever anymore. However... Seeing how weak Xephrel’s soul had gotten within 3 weeks... Of course it needed to return. The fact that this took longer than it was supposed to... Was far more concerning than she had anticipated. Had she not been so far gone with memory loss and near death... She feels it would be a bit easier. However now there’s no time for contemplating what could have been. She doesn’t have long before she won’t survive without a soul here.

Mich was tempted to drop the crowbar, but knowing this place, she decided to keep it on her. She might need it. Having regained memories and not having a soul to block out the call of others, there was a calling - a lure she hadn’t heard as clearly as before. A positive call, a welcoming energy, like running home to loving arms. In a negative realm like this, that could only mean one thing...

Her soul.

And so... She ran. She followed that calling, Mich ran as fast as she could towards the call. The feeling, the energy. It drew her in. She had that locked in, after weeks of getting nothing and getting nowhere, she has a lead and she’s following. The only thing to stop her now was death... But the clock was ticking.

So she ran.

And she kept running.

And she never stopped.

#[[Trail of Smoke]];; Drabble #[[gun powder]];; Mich #[[Pull the Trigger]];; ic

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fortune-fool02 · 5 years ago

Text

From Future to Past

Jean Pierre Polnareff x teenage daughter reader

Requested by: anonymous

Time Travel Au

I originally denied this request but I decided to actually attempt it to see how I do with Time Travel AUs. Please enjoy.

Looking around the area, the young [Hair colour] teen shifted her eyes to the map in her hands then back up at the sign. Apparently this was the place. Maybe.

She slipped the map into her pocket and swapped it for the photograph of a man in his late thirties with silver hair that was styled upright, seeming to defy gravity, and a form of stylised eye patch over his right eye. With the inability to use his legs, he sat in a wheelchair and dawned a couple of prosthetic fingers. From his ears hung two earrings that gave the impression of a broken heart.

This photograph, in this time, was twelve years early so she doubted he would look exactly like the photo but he would look close. Time displacement always complicated everything but she needed to find the man in the photograph before the enemy did, otherwise, there would be no future for her.

Literally.

Slipping the photograph back in her pocket, [Name] took off South, hoping to find her father before her enemy did.

***

How big was this damn town? It looked so small in the map but it was nowhere near small. How was she supposed to find her father in this place? None of the signs were in English, every street looked the same and she was certain that she has passes this street already.

Great, she was lost and there was no trace of her enemy nor her father. How was she supposed to-

[Name]’s thoughts were cut off when the hood of a car collided into her side, sending her rolling down the road a little and smacking her head against the dirt ground, leaving her slightly dazed but nothing to severe.

“God dammit, Polnareff!” a voice was heard followed by car doors slamming open and footsteps. [Name] felt someone’s hands on her in a gentle manner to prevent further pain for her.

“Are you alright, miss? He didn’t see you.” A red-haired teen asked, seeming to be a few years older than herself. She sat up slowly, her hand resting against her temple to soothe the aching throb from the ground.

“I-I think I’m alright. Merci sir.” Her eyes opened to see four males standing around her, the silver-haired one turning to the red-haired beside her.

“Excuse me but she ran out into the middle of the road. How was I supposed to stop?” All fogginess in her head cleared away at that voice. She blinked a few times to clear her vision and looked up at the man.

Silver hair styled upright that seemed to defy gravity. Pale blue eyes that wasn’t accompanied by an eye patch. two earrings that bared resemblance to a broken heart. With the ability to use both his legs, there was no need for a wheelchair. There was no denying, this man was the same man in the photograph that sat in her pocket.

This man was her father.

The older man took in her appearance, noticing the strange resemblance she bared to their French friend. “Hey, Polnareff, she kinda looks like you.” That directed the attention to her as the men examined her closer. Her eyes were an exact replica of his pale blue ones, their skin shared a similar shade and the French that slipped her lips earlier also added to the pile. But the earrings was what drew most attention.

“That’s funny, she does.” Polnareff commented, realising that this girl did bare quite a resemblance to him that was a little odd. “Who are you, mademoiselle?” [Name] thought. How was she supposed to explain this? Was telling him bad? No, her father -from her time- told her that, if everything goes correctly, then they would forget everything that happened and things would return to normal.

Taking a breath, she looked up at them. “My name is [Name] Sherry Polnareff, I’m your daughter.” The Frenchman blinked once, twice, taking in her answer to the point she could see the gears turning in his head, before a reaction was given.

“WHAT? How is that possible?” The sudden increase in volume caught her off-guard, making her flinch, as this was the first time she saw her father react in such a way. “How’re you my daughter? You’re like twelve years old and I haven’t even had sex with anyone!”

Of all things that could have been said, those were the words that came first? This man was unlike the father she knew, this man was foolish and childish whilst her father was serious and mature. What on Earth happened between those twelve years that changed him in such a dramatic way?

Her father never spoke of his time in Egypt and whenever he did, the answers were always vague and short; and there was always this expression he wore, a mixture of happiness and sorrow. Whatever happened that caused it must not have happened yet.

“He’s got a point,” the elder man said, catching [Name]’s attention, “How can you be his daughter? That’d mean you were born when he was about ten.”

[Name] pushed herself to her feet and dusted the sand off her clothing. “It would be better to talk about it somewhere safe. But there’s something I must say first,” she turned to Polnareff, “Your life is in danger.”

***

After returning to the hotel they were staying in, [Name] explained everything. How the enemy that had been hunting her father from her time had found a way to go back in time to kill him to re-write history in a way, and how that would lead to her vanishing from existence completely, as well as resulting in the death of all the crusaders.

It was quite a lot to take in and processes, and there was that sense of distrust from them that demanded further evidence that she was who she claimed to be. And so she showed them her Stand, a combination of Silver Chariot and her mother’s Stand, along with some features of her own. Now they couldn’t deny the truth. This girl was, indeed, Polnareff’s daughter. And that knocked the Frenchman off his feet for a good couple of minutes.

“So, this enemy, who is he?” Kakyoin asked her after she had explained it.

“He’s someone that needs to be stopped at any cost. That’s all you need to know.” Despite the small look he gave her, he accepted her answer. [Name] turned her gaze to her father who had yet to say anything, aspects of the man she knew peeking through slightly.

“And what happens after we defeat him?” Mr Joestar asked,

“Everything will return to normal. I’ll return to my time and it would be like none of this ever happened, but he won’t exist, therefore, completing our goal.” Polnareff turned to her, confusion on his face.

“As in, we’ll forget about all of this?” She nodded. Something flickered across his face but vanished before she could read it. With a sigh, she stood up and turned to them all.

“Look, I understand how bizarre this all is but please, all I’m asking of you is to help me stop this man before he kills my father. That’s all.” She had travelled back through time to save her father’s life, and if these men weren’t going to believe her that was not her concern. She was going to save her father’s life with or without their help.

Polnareff approached her, his form towering over her smaller one. “Alright, what do you want us to do?” She smiled at that.

***

The trap was set. Kakyoin and Jotaro were waiting inside the cafe with Polnareff whilst [Name] and Mr Joestar stood outside, waiting in the shadows. The plan was in place, Kakyoin, Jotaro and Polnareff were to set a display that made it appear they were arguing and he would storm out and wander off, [Name] and Mr Joestar would trail him and wait for the enemy to strike.

The arguing was the easiest part as by the sound of it. As the two trailed behind the Frenchman, [Name] saw the third shadow trailing him and motioned to Mr Joestar. The shadow darted from the safety of the alley, his Stand materialising beside him and ready to strike; that would have been the case if [Name]’s Stand materialised and clashed against his and throwing him off.

“You little bitch!” he shouted, his attacks now focused on the daughter rather than the father. With the knowledge of this man wishing to bring harm to her father, [Name] showed no mercy. Her Stand’s attacks were ruthless, striking at incredible speed that could equal that of Silver Chariot. Polnareff couldn’t help but watch this. Though when he saw the enemy’s Stand land a strike on her chest, knocking her into a building, something in him took hold.

He couldn’t explain it, it was like a primal urge of sorts to protect her by any means. And so he did. Silver Chariot struck through the enemy repeatedly, spilling blood from him and throwing him off guard as his attention was consumed on [Name].

“Don’t you dare touch her!” Silver Chariot’s weapon pierced through the enemy’s head at that, delivering the killing blow and reducing the man to nothing but a lifeless corpse. Before Mr Joestar or the others could do anything, Polnareff rushed past them towards where [Name] had landed to find her injured but alive. Relief washed over him as he took her into his arms, dusting her off and assuring her that he was alright and the enemy was dead.

She smiled. He was safe, both in this time and hers. Her mission was complete. With no reason to remain, [Name] prepared herself to be returned to her time when she spoke.

“One more thing, before I go,” she said, turning to her father, “When you get to his mansion, don’t split up. No matter what, stay with your friends.” And with that, she was gone.

***

The years passed by and all memories of what happened had faded minutes after transpiring. And now Polnareff sat in the hospital room, cradling his new born daughter in his arms. She was so small in his arms that he was almost afraid of damaging her. His finger gently caressed her pale skin that matched his own, his eyes shifted to his friends.

Jotaro. Mr Joestar. Kakyoin. Avdol. All of them were there, proud for their friend. “So, what’s her name?” Avdol asked him.

Polnareff looked back down at his daughter, a loving smile on his lips. “Her name is [Name] Sherry Polnareff. And I owe her so much.” he pressed a soft kiss on her forehead, promising himself that he would never allow harm to come to her.

#polnareff #jean pierre polnareff #jojo bizarre adventure #polnareff x reader #jean pierre polnareff x reader #jojo bizzare adventure x reader #jojo #jojo x reader #polnareff stardust crusaders #stardust crusaders #stardust crusaders x reader #jojo part 3 #time travel au #daughter reader

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fiercestpurpose · 5 years ago

Note

hi u talked about how jean often gets overlooked as a mother, would u be willing to talk more about it? its really curious to me how scott is often associated with the role of 'father' and his relationships with nathan and rachel, how he 'failed them etc, gets talked about to death but people dont talk about jeans as much. anyways would love to hear what u have to say!

Hi! I really have three main categories of thoughts about this: Jean’s relationship with Rachel, Jean’s relationship with Cable, and Jean’s relationship with the idea of family/her own motherhood.

Jean’s relationship with Rachel is… complicated. First of all, Jean is incredibly important in Rachel’s life, but it’s not always our (616) Jean. Rachel is obviously the biological daughter of another woman, 811 Jean, and that woman raised her and was her mother until she died when Rachel was about 8 (well before the rest of Rachel’s X-Men did). Losing a parent that young is frequently very traumatic and defining, and it certainly was for Rachel, so she develops this relationship that is not so much with Jean as it is with Jean’s death. She comes to the 616 and she learns that Jean is already dead, and she vows to reclaim the name Phoenix and honour her mother’s memory (even though 616 Jean is not really her mother). And then, at least twice during the Cross-Time Caper, Rachel has to watch different universe’s versions of Jean die, trying and failing to save her. So Rachel has this whole relationship with Jean as a concept, with Jean dying and leaving her, before she and 616 Jean ever develop a real relationship with each other.

And sometimes, people (fans and writers both) use Rachel’s preexisting relationship with Jean As A Conceptual Mother as evidence that 616 Jean doesn’t really count as Rachel’s mother. However, 616 Jean and Rachel do have a relationship. It starts with Jean rejecting Rachel, denouncing her because she doesn’t accept the future that Rachel represents and doesn’t want to consider her as her daughter. She later apologizes for this, saying that she shouldn’t have pushed her problems onto Rachel because they weren’t Rachel’s problems to deal with. And we see them hug and make up and it’s clear that they consider each other family.

That relationship, the daughter viewing her mother as a concept more than a person, the mother pushing her problems onto the daughter and trying not to accept the future that she thinks the daughter represents, reads to me as a very believable mother-daughter relationship. The circumstances are a little strange, but the emotions are familiar. Many children have a hard time adjusting to seeing their parents as their own people. Many parents have a hard time recognizing their grown children as being their own people and also their children. It’s a very complex relationship that’s certainly worth exploring, and referencing it only when they want to make a joke of it (as X-Men Gold and All-New X-Men both did) is a sign of writers who are not really invested in the emotional lives of those characters.

Onto Cable! In some ways, Jean’s relationship with him is a lot simpler because he is actually and inarguably her child. To be clear, she’s not his biological mother, and we’re going to put her blood relationship to his biological mother aside because it’s not actually that important. Jean is his mother because she raised him. In X-Factor vol 1, she becomes one of his primary caregivers once his mother is out of the picture, largely because she is dating his father at the time. (I’m not going to get into the whole Sinister-creating-Maddy-to-breed-with-Scott thing or the Maddy-living-in-Jean’s-head thing. It’s messy and it complicates things, but it doesn’t change the basic facts of Jean’s situation.) Jean in X-Factor is a co-parent with a day job, a woman who’s responsible for feeding the baby and changing his diapers and helping teach him how to walk and talk and keeping him safe from harm (that time she takes him into a fight excluded, of course). The first manifestation of baby Christopher’s psychic powers is that he and Jean share a special telepathic bond. It’s hard to tell how long this goes on for (comic timelines are, as always, vague and difficult to pin down), but it’s at least several months.

After Simonson’s run on X-Factor, baby Christopher is removed from the picture by being sent off to the far-future — only to be raised by Slym and Redd, who are, of course, Scott and Jean. As a Scott fan, a Jean fan, and a Scott/Jean fan, I’m always surprised and frustrated by how little The Adventures of Cyclops and Phoenix gets referenced. This is years of their lives that they spend raising their son. Specifically, twelve years, which is quite a long time, and means that Cable is probably 13 by the time Slym and Redd have to leave. Redd is the mother that Cable remembers when he grows up. She’s the one who rocks him to sleep, who negotiates with his father about how to properly raise their son, who does everything in her power to protect him while continuing to participate in a secret rebel organization. And the telepathic connection he had to her resurfaces, so that they are able to fight together on the astral plane.

(If you ever want to cry about Scott/Jean or Cable’s childhood or the Summers family in general, I highly recommend The Adventures of Cyclops and Phoenix. I will forgive Lobdell any number of crimes because he gave us such an excellent miniseries.)

But she isn’t just there during his childhood. Jean has a relationship with her adult son as well. They work together as X-Men many times, before and after she realizes that he is her son. Of course, there are those incredibly cute panels you may have seen of Scott and Jean and Cable all getting together to celebrate Christmas. And after the defeat of Apocalypse, when Scott is believed to be dead, Jean and Cable become especially close. It is Jean that Cable confides in, sharing with her his feelings, his loss of purpose now that his war is over, how hard it is for him to be vulnerable again. And when Jean thinks Scott is still alive but no one else believes her, Cable is the one who comes with her and helps her bring him back. Unfortunately, post-Search for Cyclops, Morrison comes in, and Morrison has no interest in love or families and does have an interest in killing Jean off to further his ship.

Prime Cable is dead now, of course, so I cannot hope that writers will explore that relationship any further. (EDIT: Oh, yeah, he maybe sort of came back again in a comic last month. Clearly that shocking turn of events made a big impression on me.) I did enjoy getting to see Jean and Hope bond after his death over the love they shared for him, and I can wish that the writers will carry that relationship forward. As for Bable (baby Cable), he’s an angry teenager who experienced the events of The Adventures of Cyclops and Phoenix #4 about three or four years ago. He’s angry, he’s upset, he’s lashing out by killing his future self. There could be something really interesting there, in Jean’s relationship with Bable, if they chose to remember that he’s still the kid she raised. Her place as the mother of a rebellious teenager is complicated because he’s both the boy who brought her husband back to life and the boy who killed the adult son that she loved. If writers looked past the soap opera of it all to actually acknowledge the emotions involved, they’d see there was an interesting story there, one that is not just about the Scott/Cable relationship but necessarily involves Jean as well.

I’m sure there are things to be said about Stryfe and Nate Grey, but I honestly do not know or care enough about alternate versions of Cable to really have a coherent picture of Jean’s relationship with them, so I’m gonna skip that.

Next, I want to talk about Jean’s relationship with the concept of family. I would like to mention (as I always do), that Jean’s entire family — her parents, her siblings, and her siblings’ children — were murdered by aliens. How she feels about this is a mystery, as the comics have not addressed it at all, but she might feel guilty, because though it’s not her fault, they were killed because of her. She might also feel guilty because while family in the abstract is very important to her, her relationship with them was strained and she wasn’t as close to them as she’d like to be. She might also feel angry as hell that somebody decided to murder her family despite them doing absolutely nothing to provoke it. Any of those emotional responses would influence how she relates to her children and her granddaughter. Maybe she becomes a little more attached and attentive because she has no other family left. Maybe she distances herself from them out of grief. Maybe she rounds up her incredibly angry son and takes him into the stars to attack aliens so they can be angry together. I think any of those, done properly, could be interesting and in-character for her, and I just want some writer to acknowledge Jean as a character with her own history and her own relationships that shape her actions.

Finally, Jean’s relationship with the concept of her own motherhood. Jean is someone who wanted and expected to be a mother. I usually tend to read Jean as coming from a more traditional and conservative family, but I don’t think that’s an adequate explanation. I think Jean genuinely wants children. In X-Factor, she says, “I always thought we’d have a girl,” when talking to Scott, showing that she had thought about children being part of their future. When she talks to Rachel about her upcoming marriage to Scott, she mentions that she thinks it likely that another Rachel will be born. She wants kids, she’s seen them as part of her future for a long time, and then she got them! She got to be a mother, to Nathan Christopher and to Rachel, as explained above. I think a woman who wanted to be a mother and now is a mother should be allowed to have real relationships with her children. This isn’t like Emma, whose distance from the Cuckoos can be read as her viewing herself more as their teacher than their mother, since Emma always understands herself as a teacher. When Jean holds a baby in X-Men Red and winks at the mother and tells her that she’s implanted a psychic suggestion he not cry so much, that’s because Jean has been responsible for a baby before. Being a mother is part of who Jean is, just like it’s part of who Jubilee is or who Sue is, and I wish that writers and fans understood that.

#Do I have thoughts about Jean? Oh boy do I!#jean grey #rachel grey #x men blogging #asks #Anonymous #long post for ts #ch: heart and soul #ch: mind and will #cable

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lightspeedrobin · 5 years ago

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Found (Chapter 3) - Morisawa Chiaki/Reader

Summary: Chiaki can vaguely remember that time in kindergarten when he saved a girl during a school field trip but he knows that it was the first time he became someone’s hero. With only a dolphin plush and a worn-out handkerchief to remind him of that memory, he finally meets her again.

A/N: A lot of IRL stuff happened which caused the delay of this update but here it is~ Hope you enjoy and please look forward to the next and final chapter~!

Chapter 3: A Snippet of the Past

It seems like today is his lucky day as Chiaki is called up on stage by the emcee, his smile couldn’t be any wider as he joins the other kid next to the sea lion. The next bit of the show was to have volunteers from the audience play some tricks with the aquatic animal.

He was waving excitedly to his mom from the audience seats when he heard a scream followed by a splash of water.

The crowd was in panic as the girl was pulled underwater, the emcee calling for a lifeguard through the microphone and the girl’s classmates shouting at her. Chiaki is stunned as well. One second she was just standing next to him and the next she’s gone.

But he was moving before he even registered what he’s about to do and jumped into the water, the worried voice of the emcee fading as he tried to swim deeper into the water to reach the drowning girl.

‘Heroes have these kinds of moments too, huh? Suddenly rushing in to help without giving it any thought.’, he thinks to himself, stretching his arm long enough to grab hold of the girl. With the sudden charge into the water, however, Chiaki didn’t have a chance to take a deep breath so he was struggling to pull themselves above water before he ran out of breath.

But he couldn’t hold it any longer. He lets out air from his mouth, bubbles escaping and making their way upwards, and started to inhale water. It was painful. Despite that, he kept a firm hold of the girl’s arm. Judging by the ease of pulling her towards him, the animal must’ve let her go.

However it was too late, as Chiaki’s senses were fading and his grip started to loosen.

It was the aquarium staff who ultimately saved both children, pulling them out as quickly as they could. Thankfully, they were able to regain consciousness after receiving first aid, and their worried parents rushed in.

As his mother was patting his head in relief, Chiaki looked over to the girl who was fighting the tears in her eyes, telling her mom how scared she was and the older woman comforting her. She seemed okay physically, at least.

They were led to the infirmary for a quick check-up, and after confirming that both didn’t sustain any injuries were taken to the souvenir shop to get some dry clothes.

Chiaki feels a tug on his shirt and turns around to see the girl in a fresh new set of clothes bought from the shop. She was fidgeting with her fingers before shyly meeting his eyes.

“Mommy said I should always thank people who help me… so… thank you very much for saving me!” She bows her head and Chiaki is at a loss for words.

“No, no. It wasn’t really me who saved you.” The young boy quickly denies despite the warm feeling her words brought him. He felt like he didn’t deserve the gratitude. He did almost drown with her after recklessly jumping in after her.

She shakes her head. “I already thanked the nice adults earlier. But you were the one who tried to save me first, right? So, thank you!” She insists and bows her head again. The sincerity of her voice made the young boy give up any more argument and accept her gratitude. He smiles in reply.

“A hero never hesitates when there are people in need, after all.”

Chiaki then notices a paper bag beside the girl. It was the same size as the one he has after purchasing a souvenir from the shop. “Did you also buy one?” And the girl tilts her head to the side in confusion.

He points to the bag. “A souvenir, I mean.” He clarifies. She turns her attention to the bag and nods.

“Yes. The dolphins from the show were cute”, she reaches inside the bag and reveals a pink stuffed dolphin, “so I want to keep one too!”

Chiaki’s eyes grow wide and opens his own bag. “I also liked the show so I got one too!” A blue stuffed dolphin peeks from inside, the same kind the girl has. The girl gasps in awe and giggles before speaking again. “We match!”

“We do!” And he matches her laughter with one of his own before being interrupted by a sudden sneeze, surprising the both of them.

“Are you okay?” The girl worriedly asks, and Chiaki quickly wipes his nose with his sleeve.

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine! This usually happens when I get a little chilly but it should be fine when we get outside.” He explains. He was never good with changing temperatures to begin with and the air conditioning of the shop was doing more harm than good. They did both just came from the outside stage earlier and that summer heat was no joke. Not to mention them being dripping wet not too long ago.

The girl gives him one more concerned look before patting on the pockets of her skirt. She pulls out a handkerchief. “Here, you can use this. Mommy always makes me carry one.”

Chiaki was hesitant but gave an awkward laugh before taking it. “Thanks! It’s a little embarrassing you had to see that.” He can already feel his cheeks turning red. He should really start bringing a towel of his own in the future. But the girl pays it no mind and says that it didn’t bother her at all.

Before they could start another conversation, a voice calls out and the girl turns around to see her mother waving at her from the entrance. It must be their time to leave.

“Mommy is calling me... I guess it’s time to go home.” She says, a hint of sadness in her voice. The girl didn’t move from her spot and looked down on the floor with a frown. It must be hard to say goodbye to a new friend so early.

A cheerful ‘Well, take care!’ should at least break the silence, Chiaki thought. Though he too didn’t want to part too soon, he knows his mom would be calling for him too. So he puts on a brave smile and steps forward. But just as he was about to open his mouth the girl lifts her head.

“It was nice meeting you! Thank you again for rescuing me!” She spoke with all the appreciation she felt at that moment. “... And I hope we can meet again.” She quickly grabs her paper bag and runs away before Chiaki can even utter a reply. She takes her mother’s waiting hand but before the two exit the shop, she turns around.

“Bye bye, Mr. Hero!”

Chiaki lies awake on his bed, his mind still reminiscing the incident from long ago. How could he have forgotten?

He remembers having a field trip when he was younger. A troubled expression of his mother when she realized Chiaki picked up the wrong paper bag from the aquarium shop. And the panic he felt after realizing he and the girl had accidentally swapped bags. He remembers coming down with a fever on that same night.

So that memory wasn’t a fever dream after all?

He sits back up on the bed and reaches for the old paper bag he left by his bedside. A pink dolphin, a handkerchief, and a name. No matter how many times he opens it, nothing changes. He closes his eyes to let it sink in once more.

He was the one who saved her. He was her first hero.

After dropping by the ES building for work, Chiaki spends the rest of his free time roaming around ES. He still can’t believe it. Remembering what happened is one thing, but meeting the girl he had saved back then was almost too coincidental that the brunette wonders if there really is some divine being at work here. Or it could also be fate trying to tie them together. Not every person you meet will cross paths with you again, after all.

Maybe this is the universe giving Chiaki an opportunity to give her back her handkerchief. He didn’t really intend to keep it back then, just wipe his nose quickly and then hand it back, but she was gone too soon. The pink dolphin was hers too, so he can give that back as well. But that could mean her giving him the blue one, which was supposed to be his. She had treasured his dolphin for so long and for her to just return it like that, in exchange for a pink dolphin that he didn’t really paid attention to all these years, would be a really disappointing trade.

All he’s thinking right now is if their current relationship would change if he tells her. And if that change would be for the better or for the worse.

Right now, he’s assuming the worst.

He thought a walk would clear his mind of these thoughts, but it only made him think about them more. He needs to find another way to distract himself.

But somehow in his wandering around, he ends up at the front of the cafe. He must’ve navigated there by instinct, though he wasn’t sure if he would call it that considering he was only able to go there twice. Well thrice, if he counted today.

He steps a little to the far side of the road to let the other people walk past. It would look a little suspicious if people saw him just staring at the shop so he takes out his phone and pretends to be texting someone.

He subtly looks up from his phone to see inside the cafe and spots the owner by the counter, picking up the orders to serve. Another female joins her with a tray in hand. That must be the other employee who was sick for the last few days. Well, he’s glad the owner didn’t have to wait tables alone today. Yesterday was a hectic day indeed but today’s atmosphere looks a little calmer, with a manageable amount of customers.

‘There was a festival nearby which would explain why there were a lot more children in the area’, was what the owner told him.

At the thought of what happened the previous day, Chiaki remembers a funny exchange he had with her. He had tried to pay for his order but she insisted it’s on the house, saying that she might still get in trouble for making him work so it’s the least she could do.

“Haha! I told you, you won’t. So it’s okay, really. Let me pay for it.” Chiaki was already reaching for his wallet, taking out some L$ and placing them on the table in front of her

She pushed the money back at him, shaking her head. “Well, then just consider it as payment for helping out. It’s the least I can do.”

“No, no. Just take it. I’m still a customer after all!”

“Usually when someone’s offered something for free they’d gladly take it, you know?”

“And I’m not one who just takes advantage of that and not compensate you properly for your hard work.”

Their exchange went on for a few more minutes until both started laughing at how silly they both are for just a parfait. In the end, they decided to just meet halfway and pay the dessert on a discount.

A small laugh escapes Chiaki’s lips after looking back at the memory and he finally tucks his phone back to his pocket. Maybe he really is just overthinking it all and she’d actually be happy when he tells her. Maybe. He should probably at least tell Kanata or Kaoru about this whole situation. Knowing their thoughts about it would also help him get out of his pessimistic tunnel vision.

Chiaki nods to himself and takes one last glance at the cafe before heading back to the office, now with an objective in mind.

this fic is also up on my ao3, @lightspeedrobin , do give me a follow there too if you can~

Ch.2 | Ch.4

#enstars #ensemble stars #Morisawa Chiaki #chiaki morisawa x reader #cafe owner!reader #fluff

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eolian-234 · 5 years ago

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The Hourglass

Previous Chapter Fifteen: Down Once More

Summary: In a world where his family is gone, Peter believes he is living on borrowed time, but when he runs into Tony Stark that will all change. Will he fight for more time or is all lost?

Hope you are all doing well. Short but important

Chapter Sixteen: Confessions

Tony drove them in silence on the way home from the hospital. His hands gripped the wheel too tight and from the back-seat Peter could see the veins shadowing the tendons in his fingers. Tony’s eyes drifted from the road to gaze at his two passengers too often for comfort but neither of them said anything. Peter shifted once, twice, and a third time in his seat as he felt eyes on his face but still, the thick silence continued.

At their arrival he opened the doors, made sure to grab their bags, and after checking to see how they were doing, stiffly walked behind them the whole way. His darkened expressions acted like a dreary cold on their already subdued party. Rhodey kept his friend’s mood in mind, allowing him to sulk and simultaneously fuss over them, until the man headed straight for his room and punctuated their arrival with a slammed door.

“Tony,” Rhodey called after and sighed at the lack of response as he slipped of his shoes. He shivered and began coughing. Deep, scratching coughs came from his chest sounding painful and draining. Peter hurried to the kitchen. He brought back a glass of water before grabbing a kettle for tea.

Rhodey plopped down on the couch. Peter paced in the kitchen, waiting for the water to warm and just stopping himself from rushing to his room. So fazed was Peter that he didn’t even notice the couch they settled on with barely more than a wince.

Rhodey noticed and asked between sips. “Why don’t you ever sit here?”

Peter fiddled with the handle of his teacup and glanced out the window weighing what he should say. All of his well thought out plans flew out the window when Rhodey had fallen into the lake. If he had only said something, told them it was the lake from before. The lake he had once upon a time fallen into then they wouldn’t have gone. He was confident enough to know their consideration for him would have outweighed their need for fun. If he’d confessed, Rhodey wouldn’t have gotten hurt. Full transparency was always the right way to go. Mostly.

Still, he wasn’t sure if he should tell Rhodey why the color green brought a sour taste to the back of his throat. His aunt wasn’t someone he talked about often, or ever. He wiped his palms against the thighs of his pants. May was precious to him. He was protective of her now that he’d failed to be in real life. Peter kept her close in his heart, locked away and safe from any who would try to take her away from him a second time. Rhodey placed a hand stopping the fidgeting he hadn’t realized he was doing. Peter thought back to how nice it was waking up from the nightmare with someone there for him. Maybe he should share her. She wouldn’t be forgotten or gone from him if he did. Her memories would be greater than him now. May and a piece of her light would reside with Rhodey if he shared.

He never thought he would admit Tony was right but he was. It was time to break the endless cycle he was trapped in. That timeless aching in his chest so familiar to him now trembled at his reached decision. Against all odds he would do as Tony said and trust them not to bring any more pain to him.

“My aunt. I lived with her for a long time and our apartment was broken into. They held me there. It could have been the exact same couch, for all I know. She insisted it was olive green. And I saw her… she was shot in my living room. I was… I’ll never forget.”  

“Shit. I’m so sorry Peter.” He shook his head. It was done now, though said in half-sentences and rambling words. His chest tightened. It wasn’t fair to burden someone with his worries and nightmares. But Rhodey put his arm around Peter’s shoulder and pulled them together. The sideways embrace was warm and comforting. Peter settled back into the couch, chest easing until a languid tiredness returned to his countenance.

“Is Tony okay?” He asked wondering about the boy’s odd behavior.

“It’s not your fault. Tony’s protective of his family and yesterday probably brought a lot of bad memories to mind.” He sighed and turned to face Peter. “Did he ever tell you why he was at the hospital?”  

“No and I never asked. Everything happened so fast.”  

Rhodey nodded. He fell back against the couch and the mood shifted into something more pensive. Peter stared at the curtains, limp and dark, across the room. Not even the light from the moon could squeeze through the cracks.

“I know and I’m so happy it did. Tony’s parents were killed right before Christmas. He was there, hurt in the back and unconscious because of the impact. Tony had been in the hospital for over a month refusing medicine and an evaluation of his mental health. He met everything with anger and resistance. I was worried about him, more than usual that is. His eating habits were nonexistence and they had a watcher with him most nights but then you showed up. It was the best thing that could have happened, in all honesty. And, well you know, he’s Tony but there was something he could focus on.”

“I don’t want to be burden.”  

“Peter, you aren’t. We were stuck in this depressing cycle before you arrived. You’re timing couldn’t have been any better.” Rhodey said with a small smile.

Peter’s stomach dropped.

This could be the moment. He could tell them everything and by doing so protect them from any harm in the future. He could confess to knowing them and their circumstances to make sure they would never meet. Rhodey and Tony could be safe and live their lives without worry about him. If he ever made it back to his time it would be… empty but ultimately worth it.

He would be calm and careful. Only telling them certain parts. Peter got up nodding to himself.

“Peter?”  

“Wait here.” Peter walked down the hallway and stood in front of Tony’s door before knocking. He could hear paper shuffling from inside under the music. His patience began to wear thin and Peter was about to lose courage when Tony called out from inside.

“Nobody’s home.”  

“Tony? I Need to talk to you and Rhodey. Please.” There was a pause. The loud music turned off and he came out. They trailed one after another into the living room. Tony sat next to Rhodey on the couch and Peter stood before them. His heart pounded against his ribs. He imagined his pacing digging into the carpet and forming a tunnel he could climb down to hide. Was he going to do this?

“I have something to say and I would ask you don’t interrupt before I finish. Also, that you try to believe me.” He checked to see that they understood. Though Tony still had a furrowed brow from earlier they both focused on him with unusual seriousness.

“What are you talking about Peter?” Of course, Tony couldn’t sit still for long, he would have to talk fast. He swallowed and just blurted it out.

“I’m from the future.”  

Oh no. He’d said it. Peter stood frozen on the spot, staring past them at a point in the wall of no importance. His breath was too fast and too slow all at once. Peter was frozen, reality, as much as he could tell, was still going. Time passed at a snail’s pace and he took that as a sign he hadn’t disrupted any time space continuum. He clenched his hands together. Nothing was coming apart at the seams. He was there and whole in body and mind. If he ignored the incredulous looks, it would’ve been hard to imagine he’d confessed to the impossible only a second ago.

The two on the couch were in a rare state of silence. Peter took a large breath and began again.

“I know it sounds out of this world but I was attacked in my time and fell into the lake, the same one outside. I fell in and woke up in the hospital here. I don’t know why or how but it happened, or has yet to happen. I dunno time travel is confusing. But I can feel it more now than before. It’s worse than before, I think, because I went into the water. There’s this grit on my skin and this sound of sand running against itself, like the constant falling in an hourglass. I think my time here is almost up.”

Peter hadn’t realized all of this before he said it. But the words didn’t stop coming and they felt right to him. His time was up here. It was all so vague and confusing. Maybe saving Rhodey was why he came back. Maybe it was meeting them again. Maybe he was looking for reasons where there wouldn’t be one. The hollowness in his bones grew deeper. Peter bowed to the ground out of breath.

“I have to go.” He whispered. Peter rubbed a hand along his wrist and turned to pull back the curtains so he could stare out the window. Ice and snow stared back with a remote intensity that made his stomach clench. Rhodey and Tony gazed at him. He could see their minds, ever on the move, turning with the new information. Peter had to give them credit. The two didn’t denounce him or laugh at his statements. They gave each other a shared look before staring back at him.

“You’re one strange kid, you know that Peter?” As serious as Tony could ever be. They all smiled at one another, relieved the tension was broken, but Peter’s earlier words cast a shadow in their eyes.

Thank you! About five more chapters to go.

Next chapter Seventeen: Kaleidoscope of Memories

#ironman #war machine #spiderman #marvel AU #marvel time travel #peter parker #tony stark #rhodey #james rhodes #mcu #mcu AU #spiderman au #fanfic #peter parker fanfic #time travel #AU #irondad #spiderson

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weforgotthatwearethestars · 5 years ago

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No Memory is Gonna Save You Now (part 2)

Told ya it’d be up tonight 😅

To reiterate (aka the summary):

While out on patrol, Peter looses most of his memories. Through the kindness of strangers, his friends, and his family, he learns exactly what those closest to him mean to him.

Starker, so don’t like don’t read!

Also here on Ao3!

Tags: amnesia, temporary amnesia, team as family, canon-typical violence, fluff, angst, happy ending

As it turns out, and much to Peter’s amusement, Tony may have overestimated his ability to ‘fix this’.

The situation is stressful, sure. It took Tony showing him half a dozen videos of the two of them, relaxed, in and out of the suits they wear before Peter would be convinced to hand the suit he was wearing over to Tony. It takes Peter even more time to trust Tony to sift through the wires and code on his own, at Tony’s insistence to get cleaned up and have a damn nap already, your jaw is clicking when you yawn.

But Peter trusted him. Not all at once, but after too many questions and Tony showing all the patience in the world it was hard not to.

Besides, Tony’s name was written in his arm.

Underlined.

And Peter was still choosing to believe that meant a hell of a lot.

So when Peter wakes up, still clutching the I.D. card, wrapped in a blanket and borrowed clothes, with no more memories than when he fell asleep, he looks around for Tony. And he can’t be blamed that he finds the sight of the genius arguing with a man in a red cape that’s twitching like it’s alive amusing.

They’re going back and forth about time constraints, spell ingredients, and “ - he’s saved your ass before, Strange! You can’t just - ”

“Talking about me while I’m asleep. Super classy of you guys.” Peter says as he sits up on the old couch in the lab, shoving the I.D. card into a pocket. Strange, The Asshole Wizard (as Tony has called him many times now) sighs in what sounds like relief and says something to Peter. He’s not too focused on what because the red cape has floated off his shoulders and is coming for him!

Peter manages a squawk before it wraps around his middle in what he comes to realize is a hug….? He pats the bit of cape that’s over his chest and it ripples happily under his hand.

“Y-you’re alive?!” he exclaims as the cape ripples around him a little more. Peter starts to giggle as the cape seems to be enjoying the petting and attention. After a point it starts to move him around and before long it sweeps Peter off his feet and tosses him like he just jumped off a trampoline. Peter shrieks, half delight half fear, as he’s launched toward the ceiling, the other two men shout as well. He reaches the apex of his toss at just the right height to calmly reach out and stick himself to the ceiling with all of his limbs. He laughs a little more as he arches to look over and down to see -

“How the hell are you doing that!? That’s so cool!”

A portal had opened just underneath him, Strange seemed to be holding it open while Tony had his arms out as if to catch him. The cape floating between them, twitching this way and that. Tony looked like he couldn’t decide between amused and annoyed, and honestly either would be a good look on him.

Peter grinned and it seemed to tip the other man to begrudgingly amused. I’ll take it.

“Let go, Pete. I’ll catch you.”

Peter snorts because if he’s learned anything about his abilities in the hours before he fell asleep it’s that he could get down off the ceiling by himself, with or without the portal.

But, he lets go without much of a thought, passing through the portal and landing in Tony’s arms, bridal style.

As much as he’s learned about his own abilities, he’s also learned a decent amount about Tony and the amount of pure caring he’s got packed into himself for others. Or at least for Peter and his own creations. As soon as Peter is through, Strange lets the portal fizzle out.

“I thought you said he didn’t have control of his powers.” Strange says, sounding smug. Peter expects Tony to have some sort of snappy comeback but when it doesn’t come immediately, he pulls his eyes from the fizzled out portal, face pulling out of the goofy grin and into something more concerned, to look up and over at Tony. Tony’s looking at Peter already, stunned and shocked at best, something deeper twisting in his eyes. Tony’s grip tightens on him minutely and it clicks.

Possessiveness.

Peter doesn’t have time to react to his revelation before, “I’m sorry, should I come back?”

Tony and Peter’s heads whip around like they’ve been caught doing something far worse than staring at each other. Tony clears his throat while Peter blushes and both scramble to get Peter’s feet on the ground.

“So, ah,” Peter stutters out, shaking himself mentally to get back to the issue at hand, “You guys were talking about my memories?” This seemed to reboot Tony completely as he looks sharply back at Strange and Strange’s smug amusement falls to generally disheartened and vaguely annoyed.

“Yes, we were.” Strange replies, “As I was trying to explain to Stark, I can’t just put your memories back. It’s a process. And it’s going to take even more time to put them back because we were so quick with removing them to begin with.”

Peter feels his eyebrows draw together and before he can really think it through, he asks, “Why were you rushing the first time?” Strange looks dubious while Tony just glares at him but both, somehow, look guilty.

“You got kidnapped by aliens that are part of a hive mind that are trying to take over this planet. They’re highly advanced, technologically, but not magically. When you dropped off the map and Stark couldn’t find you, he called me.”

Peter blinks at him once, twice, because how - “How did you just say all of that with a straight face?” he asks, completely at a loss.

Strange rolls his eyes with a muttered, “Always a damn comedian.” while Tony snorts and says, “Good one, Pete.” Peter just blinks at the two of them. That seems to make them realize he’s not joking.

“I explained all of this to you last night!”

“I thought you were being dramatic! Or, just, like, making things up so I’d pay attention!”

“I mean, that doesn’t sound far from your usual, Stark.”

“I swear, Tinkerbell - ”

“Guys!” Peter half shouts to get his voice above their bickering, grin growing as he looks between the two men and the floating cape. “Magic is real!” and now he’s really grinning like a lunatic, “That’s fascinating!”

Tony has a fond, confused smile crawling up his face while Strange just rolls his eyes and mutters with a slight smirk.

They discuss things a little longer, determining that they will have to at least wait until the alien threat is gone before they attempt to put Peter’s memories back. Strange is called away while they discuss the details of the ritual, which leaves Tony and Peter with more questions than answers, really.

“He’s always so damn cryptic.” Tony mutters as he heads back to his project.

But that’s before the banshee in Peter’s stomach decides to growl.

Peter smiles sheepishly while Tony turns back around to raise an eyebrow at him.

“Baby girl, what time is it?”

“11:34 am, sir.”

“With your metabolism, you must be starving.” Tony mutters as he saves his holos and shuts it all down with a few waves. Then Tony claps, rubbing his hands together on the way to the door and says, “To the kitchen!” with Peter trailing behind him.

Peter tries to protest a little, managing to at least delay things mildly when he asks if he should be carrying around his memories in an I.D. card in his pocket. Tony just takes it from him, striding to one end of the lab, open a fucking secret panel in the floor that has five kinds of crazy locks before it opens up with a dull thud and a grunt on Tony’s part. Once the card is placed inside, Tony just strides back, grabbing his arm gently as he walks by, guiding him firmly out of the lab.

He’s determined to feed Peter it seems.

So Peter just keeps his mild panic to himself.

Because Peter isn’t stupid he knows that, in a place this big, they’re likely to run into someone. And if they’re going to their usual haunts, then they’re much more likely to run into someone they know. The lab seemed like a place that was just for him and Tony (and the bots). Who knows if ‘the kitchen’ is a communal space or private. And this line of thinking just raises more questions for Peter.

Because he doesn’t know anything.

He doesn’t know what building this is other than the ‘Tower’. He doesn’t know if people live here, if this is a business place, or where literally anything is. There is apparently a lobby, a lab, and a kitchen and this, really is as far as he’s gotten. They’re on their way to find food and he doesn’t even know what he likes, for Newton’s sake!

What if he has a food allergy? What if he manages to harm himself and he doesn’t know if he has any allergies to medication? Oh, nononono, what if he has pets and doesn’t feed them? What if they die and - ?

“Are you coming? Or are you going to just…..stand in the elevator all day?” Tony asks, snapping Peter out of his internal existential spiral.

“Do I have pets?!” Peter asks, a little frantic, wild eyed as he stares at Tony.

He blinks once or twice then, “No? But we can go to your room after this, if you want? I mean, I don’t think you have a living pet but you make robots at random and, knowing you, you’ve adopted a rock and feed it, like, love twice a day or something.” Rolling his eyes fondly, Tony grabs Peter’s arm lightly and starts towing him out of the elevator, saying, “Come on, you’re not getting out of food.”

For some reason, this makes Peter relax a bit.

Peter lets himself be towed down a hall and through a living room with couches and a large tv and into a well stocked, modern kitchen. Tony drops his arm as he passes the stools tucked into an island and rounds, making a beeline for the fridge. Peter takes the hint and sits on a stool as Tony turns back towards him with a calculating look on his face.

“If I ask you what you like to eat, would you know the answer?” It seems like an overly round-about way of asking if he even remembers what foods he likes but Peter shakes his head, frowning in response to his realization.

Tony’s face softens though and with a flap of a hand he says, “Don’t worry. I know what you like. Sweet or savory?”

Peter feels his face scrunch a little, then replies, “Savory?”

“Got it.” Tony fires off with a grin before he’s on the move again. A green apple is soon tossed his way, a moment later a jar of peanut butter, too. He notes that it’s labeled with his name before a knife is placed on the counter in front of him. “Usually you just slap the peanut butter on the apple and bite into it all together.”

The face Peter pulls must betray his confusion and mild disgust because Tony laughs as he pulls the peanut butter jar from Peter’s hand lightly. “I know how it sounds but usually when you’re hungry,” he starts as he works the lid of the jar then tilting the opening toward Peter’s face, “you get impatient.” Peter gets one whiff of the peanut butter and his stomach growls loudly as his mouth starts salivating. Shocked, Peter looks up at Tony, wide-eyed, as the other man grins at him, happy to have gotten Peter so right.

He gently takes the jar from Tony, blinking down into the contents and wondering for the millionth time just how well this man might know him. Tony nods to himself, happy, like he’s ticking off something on a to-do list, then turns around to the fridge.

He’s going about the kitchen, taking things out and settling into some sort of rhythm all his own so….Peter just watches. He contemplates offering his help once or twice as he makes his way through half the apple and a third of the jar but he never feels like he needs to. Like he’s expected to. It’s the first time he’s sat and just….existed since he woke up under those trees and it’s both oddly forgein and terribly comforting.

He slathers on more peanut butter and munches more of his apple and tries his best to just, be.

It doesn’t last long, sadly.

A man walks in with too many muscles, long hair flung wildly around his face, and a metal arm in his hand. The man grunts in his direction before he turns to Tony, dropping the metal arm on the counter in front of Peter. Tony and the man start talking but, honestly, Peter couldn’t care less what they’re saying because the arm in front of him is beautiful.

His hands are running all over it before he really ever gave himself permission or thought to ask for anyone else’s. The design is a thing of wonder but it’s heavier than he feels an arm maybe should be. He’s got about three ways to improve the weight as he articulates the limb only to find that there’s a snag in the elbow. There’s a memory in his hands as he checks over the plates of the arm, feels vaguely like he’s done this all before somehow. There’s no visual, techni-colored memory to pull up as a reference but he knows, in his fingers and his wrists, the way to twist the arm around, the way plates are supposed to shift, and where the access panels are.

He’s got it open as easy as breathing and he’s got his hands on the issue in nothing flat. Pulling out the flat, floppy magnet with a content noise and a smile, seems to be what breaks Peter out of his mechanical-sleuthing trance. He drops the wrist onto the counter with a loud clang, causing the long haired man to look over at him sharply from where he was busy making what looks to be coffee.

“You good, Queens?” Peter hears the man ask as he continues to stare at the arm, trying to figure out, understand somehow, that his fingers knew more than he did for a little while there.

“Did you find something weird in it?” the man asks and Peter jumps. The man is standing at his side and he doesn’t remember hearing the guy move. The guy takes the magnet that’s still in Peter’s hand, inspects it quickly, before he seems to relax a little and almost, maybe does something with his lips that could be construed as a smile.

If you squint.

“Clint.” the man states, fond annoyance bleeding into his tone. He ruffles Peter’s hair which turns into some sort of shoulder squeeze. Then he leans over, taps all the panels closed, picks the arm up, and jams it holy mother of - !

It’s the guy’s own fucking arm, Peter thinks in complete and utter horror and fascination.

The guy wiggles the fingers around, bends the elbow, rotates the shoulder then smiles, properly this time.

He picks up his mug, waves at Peter and Tony vaguely, with a “Thanks, kid.” thrown over his shoulder before he’s gone again.

Peter’s still gaping a little at where the guy disappeared out of. He’s probably been gaping for an inordinate amount of time when there is a hand (flesh and blood, because that’s a note we have to make now) wiggled in his face.

Peter blinks once or twice to pull the hand into focus and, after a moment or two, sees that the hand is attached to Tony.

A confused Tony.

“Why didn’t you tell Elsa you lost your memories? Did you recognize him or something?” Tony asks and Peter just gapes.

Tony’s about to add something when, “His name is Elsa?”

Peter has a feeling that the incredulity is what startles the rawkus laughter out of Tony, but he supposes he can’t be sure. Further testing will definitely be needed, he thinks as he feels his lips curl into a grin at the warm, happy sound.

Tony takes a little while to get a hold of himself before he manages, “I guess he’s not familiar then.” He smirks at Peter, laughter still in his eyes as he explains, “His name is Bucky. He’s got a metal arm and you fix it for him when it breaks, most of the time.” Peter makes a thoughtful noise as Tony continues chopping things and mulls the new information over.

“Is he like a brother or more like good friends or something?” Peter asks. He figures it’s an innocent enough question and that it would fit with the man’s, Bucky’s, actions. He’d ruffled his hair, squeezed his shoulder, deposited his beautiful, malfunctioning, cybernetic arm for Peter to fix (and drool over). Peter figures that’s the kind of thing you do with someone you know and trust.

Fixing someone’s arm is a big deal. But then being an arm down around someone is a vulnerable position as well.

With this thought Peter adds, “You must mean something to him too, right?”

There’s no immediate response so Peter looks back over at Tony only to find that the man is just staring at him with his kitchen knife half way through an onion. Peter frowns and asks, “Are you alright?” which seems to shake Tony out of whatever trance he’s ended up in.

“Yeah, no, ah -” he coughs a bit then goes back to chopping as he continues, “We’re fine, mostly. But you’re pretty right. About you guys. He trusts you, you’re pretty good friends. He’s on the team, sorta. It’s similar to how you’re on the team sorta.”

“How many superheroes are there? Do they all live here, too?” Tony chuckles at that but seems to relax a little more with the broader topic. Peter tries to remember to maybe avoid Bucky as a topic in front of Tony until his memories are back in his head.

“Not all the hero's live here but there’s a decent amount who do. Want me to tell you a little about everyone?”

Peter grins, “Please?”

And Tony tells him.

Tony tells him about how the first time Peter meant Captain America in the suit, he had stolen the shield from him and earned the nickname ‘Queens’ and how, after a long fight, everyone got their shit together and talked like adults.

He told him about how the first time he met Natasha in the lab, out of his suit as Tony’s intern, she had narrowed her eyes at Peter, then Tony, then back at Peter and said, calm as anything, “If you hurt him I’ll kill you.” and walked out. Tony says it took him nearly two weeks to convince Peter to go back to the lab after that.

He laughs through an explanation of the ‘severe fanboying’ Peter had done when he had met Bruce the first time and how happy Bruce was to science with Peter after he had gotten a feel for him. And he smiles fondly through the story of Spider-man meeting Hulk for the first time and becoming fast friends through junk food and play wrestling.

By the time Tony is finishing up with the food Peter feels like he’s gotten to know the people he apparently lives with a bit better. Tony’s eyebrows draw together at some thought before he’s quickly adding in, “In case you were worried, anyone who has access to these floors knows your identity. And Friday’s programmed to warn you and make it harder for people to get to you if you’re in the suit but don’t have the mask on. You’re also my ‘intern’ and you live here so if you say you’re Peter Parker and that you live here, no one’s gonna think you’re Spider-Man just because of that.”

Peter...honestly hadn’t thought about it too much.

But - “Does that really happen all that often?”

Tony snorts, actually snorts, at Peter’s look of confusion and replies, “To you, Pete? Too often.” Tony’s still chuckling to himself as he plates up the food he cooked which turns out to be spaghetti.

Scratch that, Peter thinks as he takes his first bite, he made heaven in a food!

Peter feels a happy noise crawl out of his throat around his mouthful before he starts trying to scarf it down as quickly as possible.

“Woah, kid. Breath a little, please. There are several people that would kill me if you die from food inhalation.”

Peter manages to swallow all the food in his mouth before he’s quipping back, “If they tasted this they would understand! How do you cook like this, it’s amazing!”

Tony just waves him off saying, “It’s not that great, kid. You’re just starving from a high metabolism and currently have no memory of what a hot meal is.” Peter would have continued his uphill battle but in walked….someone who likely lived here as he was a man in sweatpants, an over large tshirt, and an exceptional case of bed head.

“Hey,” Peter says at the guy, who looks up with a very confused look on his face, “tell Tony that his spaghetti is amazing.”

The guy blinks, then blinks again, then, “There’s spaghetti?”

His voice was gruff and very confused, but Peter being himself replies, “Tony just made some.”

The guy grins like a puppy with a tennis ball and mumbles, “Tony s’ghetti.” before he shuffles to the stove to serve himself. Peter gives Tony a smug look that Tony just rolls his eyes at. But drinking from his glass of water doesn’t quite cover his blush.

Huh.

Before Peter has much time to think about the blush on Tony’s face or what that might mean, another person walks into the kitchen.

“Hey! No class today, Peter?” Tony curses, scabbling off the stool he’s on before he’s running out of the kitchen.

Peter blinks at where he’s disappeared out of but tries not to worry too much.

Tony’s a) an adult who can likely take care of himself but also b) a seemingly chaotic person at best. Peter figures if something was terribly wrong Tony would tell him, or Friday would.

Peter looks back over at the new person, trying to figure out what he's supposed to do now.

He looks similar to the man now standing with a bowl of spaghetti and downing a separate bowl of coffee. They both have blue eyes, broad shoulders, and an inordinate amount of height. Both also have short, blonde, messy hair, though the man that's just looking at him in confusion seems to be sweaty and damp, unlike the sleep ruffled look of the other guy.

"Do you know what that was about?" the sweaty guy asks, nodding toward the hall Tony had disappeared down.

Peter just shrugs at him and keeps eating his food, hoping he won't be questioned further. What was he supposed to say anyway? Nah, I have no idea what just happened but I've been confused since 3am when I fell out of a tree and some girl called me Spider-Man so I may not be the right guy to ask.

Yeah that would go over, swimmingly.

After eating (i.e. practically inhaling) the rest of his food, Peter puts all his dishes in the sink and grabs Tony’s bowl from the counter.

He’s about to ask Friday where Tony went so he can bring him his food when sweaty guy pipes up, “Did you have a rough patrol last night?”

Peter half turns back to him, reluctance probably too clear in his posture, and just nods and sort of mumbles something vaguely affirmative sounding.

He’s about to book it out of there when a deep sigh sounds like it’s pulled from the guy’s chest as he continues, “Look, Peter, I know we’re not on great terms but if you’re having a hard time please talk to someone? Maybe Nat? If we get called into the field and -”

“Yeah! I’ll, uh, talk to Nat. I’m. Just, um. Gonna bring this to Tony really quick, sorry. Bye!” Peter manages to stutter out before he’s running down the hall and into the closest available elevator before anyone else has the time to stop him.

Well, that could’ve gone worse, he thinks to himself as he directs Friday to take him to Tony.

The thought rings a little hollow though, as he really has no idea how it could’ve gone worse than if someone had tried to physically fight him.

*****************************************************************************************

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lokidoki-imagines · 6 years ago

Text

The Wailing Woman Part One

Pairing: Diego x Reader

Content/Warnings: Sweet Klaus and a slow burn baby, slow burn

Words: 2355

I’d do anything for this soft boy 💘🔪 If you want to be added onto the tag list for this, let me know ☂️

When Klaus gets a phone call in the middle of the night he doesn't hesitate to help his friend out. After all, who better to help with the dead than the seance himself?

Reader is one of the 43 who roommates with Klaus and gets dragged into helping with the apocalypse. The world is ending, so whats the harm in a slow burn?

You didn’t realise how cold it was until you stopped walking.

The walk to your launderette wasn’t too far from your apartment, a walk you’d grown to loath in the cold wind of March. Your washer-dryer had broken down just before Christmas when a little bag of questionable contents had worked its way into the motor. It was safe to say neither you or your roommate were best pleased.

“That was high quality stuff Y/N!” Klaus whined, his head falling into his hands.

You snorted, “Well maybe you should keep your high quality stuff in a high quality safe place and not the washer!”

“It seemed logical at the time I’m sure.”

It wasn’t unusual for Klaus’ little bags to turn up in the strangest of places. Once, he’d hidden his ecstasy pills in with the frozen fish fingers because ‘the fish can’t get any higher than they already are, the little heathens’. But that was the first time his little habit had actually broken something expensive, too expensive for you to replace just yet anyway.

And so, for nearly 4 miserable months you’d been making the twice-weekly walk to your local launderette. Sally, the owner, was a nice old lady who had become enamoured with Klaus ever since she met him. His first trip with you he spent the whole time flirting with her and trying on some of her old skirts from her younger days. In Klaus’ defence, he always managed to pull it off and wore them, freezing weather be damned, each time he decided to accompany you.

Shivering again you wondered where your laundry was now, bras and socks were probably littered among the streets of New York along with one of Sallys old skirts. You vaguely wondered whether Klaus would forgive you for losing it.

The harbour was empty, save for a few empty shipping containers and the stray animal or two. Your feet seemingly working of their own accord carried you further forward as you wondered how far you’d managed to walk this time. At least 5 miles you reasoned, knowing that your apartment wasn’t the closest to the sea much to Bens disappointment.

You stopped as you felt something wet seep into your socks through the hole in your trainer. It wasn’t unreasonable to think that it was the sea, some spray from that storm a few nights ago that hadn’t quite disappeared yet. Clenching your fists you dug your nails into your palm as you rounded the corner of a high pile of shipping containers.

3 of them. That’s why you’d walked so far.

Under the dull light of a distant lamp you heaved as the light glistened off the blood. Leaning against the container you heaved again as the buzzing noise began to increase, hands on your knees and eyes cast downward you realised that it wasn’t spray from the ocean; you should be so lucky. Blood mixed with the spray had seeped into your shoe, feeling nauseous at the sight you vomited.

Steeling yourself you stood upright and slowly wandered forwards towards the three men, knowing that the buzzing wouldn’t go away otherwise. Pulling your cardigan up to cover your nose from the stench you studied their faces. You didn’t recognise any of them. They looked like normal people, one who seemed greying in a nicely pressed suit while the other wore simple jeans and a hoodie. The strangest though was the third, a rotund man in nothing but a pair of boxers. Burns covered his body in the strangest of places, his ears and nipples being the most prominent.

You searched your pockets for a phone with numb fingers and shaky hands. Fumbling with the lock pattern you dropped it into the blood beneath your feet.

“Shit!” Picking it up you wiped it on the jacket of the dead guy, mentally apologising for being so rude. Pulling up Klaus’ number you hit call, hoping and praying to anything that he was sober enough to answer.

“Y/N! I was just -”

“It’s happened again.” You interrupt with tears beginning to collect in your eyes, “I think I’m by the harbour and there’s three of them and I don’t know how I got here and -” Your words come out fast and slurred, the cold making it hard for you to talk properly. “- and I just wanna scream.”

Klaus shushed someone on the other end of the phone, “Where are you? Don’t scream yet, I’m a little fragile.”

Hugging your body with your spare arm you looked around frantically, “I don’t know! I’m by a load of shipping containers? Near the harbour I think, I can see the sea.” Closing your eyes you felt rain begin to patter down around you.

“Is she near Hammerpit or Junior?” Someone spoke to Klaus, a voice you hadn’t heard before.

Walking out of the circle of containers you looked up and down the harbour for a sign, “Neither,” You replied as you caught sight of a sign in the distance. “There’s a sign that says ‘Cookies bait shop’ just down the way though.”

Klaus repeated it to someone, “Do you know where that is?” He asked them as you perched on one of the bollards. “Yeah, it’s about an hours drive though...How did she get there on foot? It’s miles away.” You’d walked farther than you’d thought.

“Klaus I’m freezing.” You whispered, your teeth chattering together now as you began to feel more like yourself again. “It’s so cold -”

“We’re coming, don’t turn into a fish finger just yet.” You could hear a voice and a car engine in the background. “Diego said to stay away from the sea front, you’ll get colder if you stay there.” He paused as you began to walk back towards the inner harbour walls. “Don’t go sleeping with the fishes now Y/N, you -”

Pulling your phone away from your ear the screen faded to black. Just your luck that the battery had to die just when you needed it most. Shoving it into your pocket you sat down on a cold metal bench and waited, wondering who the men were that had been murdered.

You felt yourself being shaken, “Y/N! Come on I told you not to turn sleep with the fishes!” Opening your eyes you saw Klaus and another man. Sitting up you looked up at Klaus with an apologetic frown, “I lost Sally’s skirt.”

“Maybe I should just leave you here then.” Klaus teased as he pulled you up from the bench.

“Maybe we should get her into the car before she catches pneumonia.” The other guy spoke, gesturing towards their ride. Nodding vehemently you followed and took his advice on sitting in the passengers seat, ‘The heaters work better up here’. He’d explained as you wrapped yourself in a blanket Klaus had thrown at you off the back seat.

You were thankful for your friend coming to get you, and to the stranger who had managed to get him here so quickly. “Thank you Klaus,” You mumbled after a moment or two of having your face mushed up against the car heater. “And you too.” Shooting the stranger a quick smile of thanks he started the engine and began the drive back into the city.

“This is Diego, my brother.” Racking your brain you could vaguely remember Klaus mentioning his brother. From what you could remember he had four, Ben who you’d already met, five who had gone missing when they were young and another called Luther. “Right, Klaus mentioned you a few times.” Turning in your seat you got a quick look at him in the light of passing street lamps. “Knife guy right?”

He let out a quick bark of laughter, “That’s me, knife guy.”

You hummed in your seat, “Ben told me about you a bit too.” Letting your eyes close you missed the sideways look he gave you. Looking back at Klaus who just shrugged, he settled his eyes on the road ahead, figuring you were perhaps just as strange as Klaus. It would, after all, explain why you were roommates with his brother.

“So did they have their brains blown out or what?” Breaking the silence Klaus leaned forward between the two front seats, his olive eyes on you.

“Jesus Klaus!” You felt the car swerve a little, your nausea making its way back with the motion.

“All different, one...” You mumbled, the cold dead gaze of the people you found flashing in your mind. “One of them was just in his underpants, had some sort of burns on his nipples and earlobes.”

“Wowee now that’s what I call a good way to go,” Klaus giggled, resting back into the backseat again. “Jesus...” Diego muttered, his face scrunched up in disgust.

“Oh don’t start making everything about you.” Klaus whispered to the space next to him, “We’ll get waffles later.”

It was strange with Ben. You’d seen him before and could probably draw a semi-accurate picture from memory, but you couldn’t see him all the time. At first you were a little freaked out when some strange Korean guy pulling funny faces at a cat sat outside your window appeared in your apartment, until Klaus saw you staring at him anyway.

“Can you see him?”

You scoffed, “Can’t you? Who is he?”

After that Klaus and Ben sat you down with a nice martini a la Klaus (Which in other words is a glassful of gin with half a dried lemon in it) and explained that Ben was actually dead, and had been for quite some time.

“Are you sure you’re dead?” You drawled as you took another sly look at the man. “Because you don’t look dead.” You threw the accusation that he was lying at him as you took another mouthful of gin.

“Last time I checked...Yeah.”

Since then the three of you had lived in almost perfect harmony. You could hear Klaus shouting some nights at seemingly thin air, mostly when he was higher than a kite about how ‘it’s his life to waste if he wants to and Ben can’t change his mind’. You hadn’t figured out yet why Ben seemed to appear and disappear from your vision at random points, but you didn’t mind, you’d always continue your conversation right back off where you’d left it.

“What were you doing out there anyway?” Diego spoke, ignoring his brothers seemingly insane ranting in the backseat. “It’s freezing out and you’re not exactly dressed for late night hiking.” Referencing your thin cardigan and tracksuit bottoms you pulled the blanket further around yourself.

Blushing you tried to search for the right way to explain yourself without seeming completely deranged. “It’s a bit like how Klaus can see the dead.” You started, your fingers toying with the tassels on the blanket. “I don’t ever mean to find them, but sometimes I’ll be going somewhere and before I even realise how I’d got there there’s...” You trail off into silence, letting the obvious fill the void. “It’s just my bad luck that this time I was walking to the launderette.” You chuckled humourlessly as you looked over at a smirking Diego.

“Oh so it was your underwear we saw on the drive here then?” He joked, earning a tired laugh from you.

“Oh the red lacy ones? They were mine actually.” Klaus piped up from the back seat, making the three of you laugh once again. It felt nice to laugh easily, the shock from finding them hadn't quite worn off yet so it was nice to keep your mind occupied.

Klaus leaned forward again, “So did you do that scream this time?”

You weren’t sure, did you scream? Your mind was in such a haze you couldn’t even really remember ringing Klaus properly. “I think it’s normal to scream when you find a pile of dead bodies Klaus.”

“No it’s different when she screams, it brings you to your knees and not in a good way may I just add.” Leaning back he kicked his feet up and yawned, “It’s almost like she’s wailing.”

Leaning against the window you pulled the blankets tight around you and tried to drift off to sleep without seeing the bodies again.

For the second time that night you found yourself being shook awake. Blinking your eyes open you looked over at Diego who gestured outside. You were home, having slept for most of the journey you were surprised to find that you didn’t dream about the bodies this time. Grateful for the peaceful sleep you sat up and yawned. “What time is it?”

“4:32am.” Diego answered as you watched your apartment lights flick on. Figuring Klaus must have already gone up you unbuckled your seat belt. You’d been out longer than you thought, figuring you must had left for Sally’s at around 8pm.

“Thanks for coming to pick me up, I can only imagine what a pain in the ass Klaus was on the ride here.” Hoping that your apology and gratefulness came through, you smiled at the man beside you.

“Nah he was alright, truth was I don’t think I’ve seen him that upset or worried since Ben died.” You sat in silence for a moment. “Otherwise I think I would have thought he was being dramatic. He seems to worry about you a lot.” Feeling a wave of guilt wash over you at the thought of causing your friend worry, a tight lipped smile worked its way onto your face.

“I wish he wouldn’t, he has enough to deal with without worrying about me too.” Sighing to yourself you opened the car door and got out.

“Hey Y/N,” Diego called as you were about to leave, bending down you looked back at him. “I don’t think he minds. Stay safe, yeah?”

You smiled back at him earnestly and gave a small wave, “See you later Diego.”

Walking up the steps to your apartment you pushed the door, glad to finally be home. “I’m counting on it.” You heard behind you before the sound of a car faded into the distance.

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grimmseye · 5 years ago

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A Bird in the Hand: Chapter Nine

Read on Ao3 here!

Rating: M

Fandom: Critical Role

Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast (eventual),

Chapter Characters: Mollymauk Tealeaf, Essek Thelyss, Jester Lavorre

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Molly Rez, Amnesiac Mollymauk, Oh My God They Were Roommates, Acrophobia, Violence, Tarot, Bed-sharing

— — —

Essek goes silent in the days leading up to the peace talks. It's an affair Mollymauk only faintly understands, static-filled memories informing him of something, some tension in the air of impending violence and fear. There's a memory of his own voice urging them to get out, there's a reason he doesn't want a Name, attention is fine but being known is not.

This is going to determine the immediate fate of two countries. The lives of their soldiers, thrown to the slaughter for a cause Mollymauk could not comprehend, could be saved. And that was good, yes, in a distant and grand sort of way. It was too big for him to fit it into a scope he could understand.

Essek, he was sure, knew that scope, and yet Mollymauk doubted that was the source of his stress. There was something else under the surface, that connected to the way his ears started to droop when the conversation swung to the Mighty Nein. More concerning, though,was the fact that Essek had started to disappear. Where Mollymauk had previously heard a muffled voice from the tower's door, there was now silence, the kind that emerged from an absence of a person to be quiet. By the time Mollymauk took notice of it, the absences were regular enough to be timed.

Let the world feel a shudder wrack its spine when Mollymauk Tealeaf produced the beginnings of a plan.

It would never go beyond those beginnings — he wasn't the planning sort. Essek disappeared, which meant that his room was empty and unguarded, which meant that if Mollymauk was going to break into his space, it would have to be now.

He didn't even wait to be sure. A minute spent double checking was a minute sooner Essek would return, so the moment that silence made itself known, Mollymauk was already crossing the tower's bridge. He checked the lock for anything that would explode if he tried to pick it, found nothing, and grinned to himself as he slipped a homemade set of thieves tools into the slot.

Molly's triumph was short-lived. The hook found nothing, no tumblers to leverage into place. It was like the inside was perfectly smooth, but when he tried the knob, it refused to turn.

A grimace stole his face. "Wizards," he growled. A vague sense of someone disappearing in the middle of a fight, off to who the fuck knows where — but that hadn't been a wizard, had it, no, that was the odd drawling voice that asked after Molly's swords and he didn't feel a lick of guilt spinning a lie on the spot because it made relief light in Fjord's eyes and wasn't that a good thing, better to comfort someone with a lie than torment them with a meaningless truth.

Fjord. Taller than Molly with a frame that suggested a strength he really didn't have. Sneaking up behind him and dunking his head under the water and laughing as the man began to sputter, that'll show him. Warmth in the chest as — that was the wizard, yes, the one who froze amid fire and didn't even know how to skim off the top — as someone offered a gorgeous sword to him that let him flit out of one space and into another. "Mister Mollymauk."

"Mister Caleb."

The words fell from his lips, thick as honey. His hand slipped from the doorknob, and he felt a soreness in his palm. How long had he been gripping it?

Mollymauk shook his head to clear it, grinding his thumb against his temple. Door was locked, so —

Windows. He could always get in through a window.

The brick of the towers were uneven enough to climb, though falling from that height without a net to catch him would not end well. Right about now he would kill for a sword that let him teleport. Or Nott's feather spell to catch his fall. Yasha, who he knew would throw herself off a ledge to catch him, and be just fine when she hit the ground.

His chest felt tight, the aching loneliness clawing to the surface. Suddenly he regretted not telling them, these people who were blurred in his mind but make the space beneath his ribs feel hollow.

He drew a sharp breath. The Nein meant something to him. Essek, no matter how much Molly liked the man, was doing something to harm them.

The first brick was cold under his hand. He wasn't the strongest individual, but he knew how to climb. Molly kept himself level with the bridge so if he did lose his grip, he wouldn't fall all the way to the ground below. His muscles ached far sooner than he would prefer. He might have to start doing strength training on top of his stretches. But his hooves took to the narrow brick, his tail working as a counterbalance, and it was only in the moments where he had to ease away from the safety net of the bridge that his pulse really began to race.

The window was positioned where a drop would send him directly to the ground. Much as Molly wanted to stop and catch his breath, freezing now wasn't an option. He dragged in slow breaths to try to calm his palpitating heart. Hand then foot then hand then foot. Sweat on his fingers made his grip slide, panic washing cold over his back as he seized the brick and panted against it. The pitching sensation continued, his body screaming at him for this foolishness. He'd dug himself out of the dirt twice only to break himself from a fall. It likely wouldn't even kill him, just crush his bones, sternum crunched into his lungs for him to bleed out his mouth until he either expired or Essek returned to find him.

He nearly sobbed when he felt the cold of the window against his fingertips. Molly braced his hand against it, palm sliding over the glass with a squeak. Nausea rose in his throat. Did the window even open? Was it locked, or just stuck from disuse?

Grinding his teeth, Mollymauk braced as much weight as he dared against that hand, trying to muster the leverage to force the window up — gods he'd break it it necessary —

A loud crack split the air. Molly's hand slipped.

He watched the tower fall away and blur, too quick to feel anything but shock as he hit empty air. And then something else hit him, knocking the wind out of him as he tumbled, stars spinning to earth before coming to a halt clutched in Essek's arms.

Molly wheezed and clung to him, the position awkward — Essek's shoulder dug just between his ribs, but he was more than happy to sling legs around his waist and claw at his mantel for a handful of material. In the haze of his manic vision, he saw branches of light — spectral wings that extended from Essek's shoulder blades, flapping periodically to keep them aloft.

The descent made Molly squeak and cling tighter. Sweat was dripping from his temples, shaking violently as Essek stooped down to force his hooves onto solid earth with a grunt of exertion. Even then, Mollymauk didn't let go of him, just clinging to his arms instead.

Essek yanked himself away. Molly let him go, wrapping his arms around himself. He forced a grin, saying, "Good — g-good save, Mister Thelyss."

Molly had never seen anger on Essek's face before. It was a quiet thing, simmering beneath a frigid surface. The pin of his ears, the tremor in his hands, the clench of his jaw, those were the things that tipped Molly off to just how badly he'd fucked up here.

"What were you doing?" Essek asked, voice dangerously steady.

Mollymauk even considered telling the truth. Then he remembered how Essek had physically crushed a person's body into an unrecognizable mash, and said, "Well — let me tell you — that was not worth it." It let his brain race ahead as he lifted a finger and played up his breathless state. Not snooping, not spying, just — "I even forgot to actually bring the paints with me."

"The —" Essek's anger faltered. "Paints?"

Molly gave him a grin, rubbing the back of his neck. His legs were trembling too violently to remain upright, and he let himself collapse into the grass instead. Play up the pity angle. He's just a frightened, helpless tiefling, nothing to see here. "I was gonna paint a dick on your window."

Blue, blue, blue. Blue skin, blue hair, but she danced with every other color. A streak of mischief that Mollymauk adored, and he'd snarl in infernal just to delight in her laughter, the best audience he could ask for.

Essek's eyes took on the same hopeless adoration that Mollymauk felt. His shoulders slumped, and he ran his fingers through his hair. Then again. On the third time, his fingers caught, and he tugged at the white strands, for Molly to push himself upright with a "Whoa, hey —" and then to pitch forward as black spots flitted in his vision.

He landed against Essek again, and wheezed a laugh. "I need to sit down. Like, now. Come on."

Molly grabbed Esseks arm and fell back onto the grass, yanking the drow with him to bully him into lying down. It was tempting to just burrow against his side, bask in pressure and warmth. Instead he just let their arms brush where they splayed in the grass.

"These are expensive clothes," Essek said.

"And you can magic the dirt off them, can't you?" Mollymauk looked to the stars. He wasn't sure if they were different here than in the Empire. He thought he remembered somebody pointing shapes out to him, an art not unlike the cards he dealt. You could be born under certain stars, but Molly didn't know them. No matter how many times the lines were traced, he only saw a field of pinprick lights.

"That was stupid, you know," Essek murmured. "Climbing the tower. At least Jester can catch herself if she falls."

Mollymauk scoffed. "Who needs magic? Well, their own magic, anyway. Apparently I've got a wizard at my beck and call."

"Oh, gods," Essek rasped, and Molly cackled. "I should have let you hit the ground."

"It was your fault I lost my grip, anyway," Molly snorted. "Is teleporting always that loud?"

"Yes. Something to do with the displacement of air." Essek raised a hand, curling his fingers through the air. "If you had not been scaling my tower, you would not have fallen."

"Now let's not go pointing fingers." Molly smirked as he grabbed Essek's hand to force it back down to the grass.

The moon smiled down at them, lopsided and thin. A cloud skimmed past it, stealing away the light that bathed them. Mollymauk wasn't particularly devout, but he had to wonder if it wasn't Her blessing.

The Peace Talks arrived almost without Mollymauk's awareness. They were only heralded but the shift in Essek's attitude, from a quiet that was uncharacteristic even for him to snappish remarks, banishing Mollymauk from any space the two of them just happened to end up in together. That was only when he made himself visible at all, still shutting himself away in his towers, shielded from prying eyes.

Mollymauk still wished he'd managed to get in, but whatever was coming, he would have no say in it. And really, that was just fine. Molly really wasn't one to interfere, only to react.

Just waiting had his nerves twisting up, and he found himself slipping things into a bag throughout the day. Swords in their scabbards, the sturdier outfits Essek bought him, gold pieces stolen unabashedly from a cloak left hanging up to be washed later. He hardly realized he was doing it until there was no more room, and he was having to stretch the chord to fit it around the button.

A sigh pushed from his chest. Mollymauk set the bag aside and reached for his supplies. He had a card to make.

The Eclipse was joined with Fractures. Upright, it meant convergence, the joining of multiple parts. Reversed, it was separation, a breaking point. One of the more straightforward symbols, and one that felt right as he began to sketch the pieces.

The sun, and the two moons, overlapping in a line of three. At the edges where they met, they shattered.

Molly, Molly, what does that one mean, is that you?

He was smiling before he looked up. Jester was practically sprawled over his back, her hands falling on his shoulders as she peered at the cards he'd laid out.

"Naw," he grinned. "It's us."

He was being facetious, but there was a sliver of truth tucked into it. Jester gasped, "Us? Us like you and me or like all of us?" A grin spread across her face as she pressed her cheek to his. "Molly," she giggled, saying his name like Mawl-ee with that curling accent of hers, "do you have a crush on me?"

Her giggling said it was a joke but he purred, "You know I do, dear." And again, he sort of meant it. Not really, not like how she obviously pined over Mister Fjord, but Mollymauk gave his heart easily, and if almost anyone of this ragtag group wanted to hold his hand or take him to bed, he'd be happy to follow along.

"Okay okay okay, but you only have one," Jester points out. "What are the rest?"

"You want a full reading?"

He was already reaching for his cards as Jester swept a chair to his side and threw herself into it, tail curling with excitement. "Of course," she scoffed, and then perked up. "But first, what's that one?"

"The Eclipse," Mollymauk told her. "So if you take this as the past for the Mighty Nein, this is very literally just our meeting. It's the convergence of multiple parts into a singular whole, see? Now, for present..."

He spread the remainder of his deck on the table. Molly reached for her, saying, "Here, take my hand. Since this is for all of us, the more guiding our hands, the better." And if maybe he nudged them to his own pick, all that mattered was that Jester didn't realize.

He guided her hand to the middle of the arc, then drew and flipped a card. This one was an image of two coins, one gold and one silver, balanced on opposite ends of a scale. "The Coin," he announced. "Reversed. Also known as Risk. Things are uncertain right now. We may be headed for misfortune — but it's not defined just yet."

"What kind of misfortune?" Jester asked.

"Well, they're not exact," Molly chuckled. "But maybe the Future will tell us?"

"Oh!" Jester perked up. "Can I pick it?"

Molly laughed and leaned back, offering her the table. With Eclipse out of the way — and more importantly, Fractures — there wasn't much that could give her a terrible reading —

Jester pulled a card towards the end of the deck, flipping it with a "Hah!" and all but slamming the card on the table.

Even though he was the one to make it, Mollymauk felt his gut twist at the sight.

"The Broken," he announced. The image looked like a web, twisted, jagged spokes of a wheel that ran into one another. "Upright, this card calls for..." Tragedy, specifically. Not always, but often. "Harrowing times. Loss. It looks like we've got our work cut out for us, Jes."

Molly looked at her, feeling his heart skip at the crestfallen expression on her face. He reached for her hand, giving it a squeeze. "So it's good we're together, yeah?" He cajoled, bumping his shoulder into hers until she started giggling.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Thanks, Molly." She stood up and, sensing the cue, Molly went with her. It was entirely unsurprising when she wrapped her arms around him. Their tails twined together, mutual purrs rumbling in their chests as they swayed back and forth. Then she stepped back, going, "Okay okay okay. Do me, now!"

"I already gave you a reading."

"Yeah but that was age-s ago!"

"Alright, alright, but it'll cost you."

The cracking sound of a teleportation spell snapped Molly out of his reverie. He gasped, sitting bolt upright and gouging into his work. His face was wet. The card was ruined.

Cussing, Molly wiped at his eyes. He tossed the card aside, not the least bit satisfied by its tap against the wall as he headed for the door.

Night had long since fallen, keeping the halls dark as he nudged the door open. From below, a sound made his heart skip: a heavy thud, and rasping breath.

Molly froze for just a second, then grabbed one sword before rushing downstairs. The moment he hit them, he could make out Essek's collapsed form, small and shaking. Snippets of his voice were muffled by the curl of his own body, unintelligible muttering between panting breaths.

"Essek," Molly started, "what the hell —"

"Leave me alone, Mollymauk." His voice was a whisper. Essek draw a sharp breath and started to force himself to his feet, the legs quaking so violently they threatened to give out.

"You're a wreck," he shot back, reaching for Essek's arm. "You —"

Essek snarled. Gravity impacted Molly's chest, spots flying in his eyes as he was clawed away from Essek. He collided with a table, the panel of glass screaming against its metal stand, the sound of a crunch as pressure fractured it down the middle. A hot, throbbing pain settled in his back where he'd impacted.

Molly stared at Essek, where the drow stood, a hand still outstretched. His eyes were wide, pupils blown and ears pinned back. A croaking down dragged from his throat.

Molly groaned and staggered to his hooves. His hand dipped to the handle of his scimitar, lips peeling back as he glared at Essek through narrowed eyes.

"Mollymauk," Essek panted, a tinge of shock in his voice. His hand wavered and then fell, he took an aborted step forward.

Molly prowled towards him. Essek gave no fight as Molly drew his sword and walked him back against the door. Essek's feet were flat on the tile, putting him low enough for Molly to crane his head up into his face.

"Are you done," he asked, voice dripping with derision. "Or do you have to break something else to feel better?"

It was satisfying to watch the shame drip into Essek's face, a horrified light behind his eyes. He didn't speak, only stared, chest heaving.

It was a testament to how rattled Essek had to be that he didn't put up a fight. Molly didn't think he could take him one on one. The man could skip through the air, twist his mind like puddy, turn his body into a puppet on strings if he needed to. But he only shrank against the wall, lips trembling, looking an inch away from crying.

Molly could push him that extra inch.

"Answer the question."

"I'm — sorry —"

Molly cut off his gulping with a, "I didn't ask if you were sorry. I asked if you were done with your tantrum." He pressed a hand to Essek's sternum, intentionally trapping him against the wall. "Well?"

Embarrassment flooded Essek's cheeks, staining his ears as he looked away. "Yes," he rasped. "I... I am done. And I am sorry."

"Care to explain what the fuck that was about?"

Essek took another breath, sharp and shallow. A second. A third. Molly could feel his heart pounding under his palm.

"I..." His voice faltered, and he licked his lips. "I. Today. The Nein discovered my betrayal. That... that I stole one of the Beacons of the Dynasty, and handed it over to the Empire to be studied."

Mollymauk studied his face, Essek's pale moon pupils. There was a sheen to them, not yet crying, but close. He could hear each breath, pulling in and hissing out, feel the heaving us his pulse. He eased up on the pressure, letting Essek stagger away from the wall.

"Alright," Molly said, "that certainly sounds like a lot."

Essek glowered. "You don't even know what that means," he sneered.

Mollymauk bared his teeth in return. "Enlighten me, then."

It didn't take much. He remembered what the Dynasty had done to retrieve their Beacon, the collapse and the panic, the call to war. Essek just drew the line between the dots Molly already had.

As they spoke, more and more of that brief spark of life drained out of Essek. He sagged against the wall, cheek turned away from Mollymauk to speak to the air beside him.

It was bad. It was really, really bad. Worse than anything Mollymauk had forgiven before. Still, he listened, as Essek's voice shook through each word, until they broke into a sharp sound and lapsed into silence. And then it was just Essek, eyes squeezed shut, hands clutching at the wall as he gasped for breath.

Mollymauk drank the image in, and let out a sigh. "Okay," he murmured. "C'mere." He cupped Essek's jaw, drawing him down to press his lips to his forehead. A gasped wrenched from Essek's throat, and Molly hushed him. "Shhhh," he soothed. "Shhhh-shhhh-shhhh. Come on."

Mollymauk took him by the arm, guiding him up the steps. It was slow going with how Essek trembled, and when they reached his bedroom door, Molly had to remind him to open it. Whatever enchantment kept Molly from breaking in parted the way for Essek.

His room was exquisite. Four-poster bed, large enough to comfortably fit two, maybe three. Satin pillows, dramatic curtains framing the window, a shelf of organized components, the rest heavy with books. A bathroom was attached, and gods did Molly want to spy on what was in there.

That was a good idea, actually.

"Have you eaten anything?" Molly asked, unsurprised when Essek shook his head. He didn't say anything else for the next few minutes. Instead, it was spent figuring out how to undo his mantel. First the material, falling away heavier than expected. The metal that guarded his neck came apart in two pieces. Then earrings, Essek's ears twitching away from his touch. Essek stood still, letting him do as he pleased.

"Can you get the rest?" Molly asked, tugging his shirt for emphasis.

Essek took a solid moment to process it, and gave a single nod. He reached slowly for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head.

"Great," Molly smiled. He cupped Essek's face, making sure their gazes met. "You take a shower. Just rinse off, you don't have to do anything else. I'll be back up with dinner for you. Alright?"

"... Alright."

"Wonderful." Molly gave his cheek a solid pat and pushed him towards the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He didn't wait to head down the stairs, but listened for the spray of water as he scrapped a meal together.

He made two trips, one for a pitcher of water and glasses, the other for two bowls of soup. By that point, Essek had emerged from the shower, dressed in a long robe and seated on the bed, staring at the floor. He was mostly dry, but his hair was messier, so Mollymauk had to assume he'd magicked the water off. That was a good sign.

Molly set one bowl down on a dresser to click his fingers. "Hey," he said, voice sharp in a way that wasn't meant to snap, just to catch his attention. Essek glanced up, and Molly handed the bowl over. "That's yours. Eat as much as you can."

It was good soup. Simple, but good. That was most of what Molly knew how to make.

The first few bites were a visible effort, but they seemed to awaken Essek's hunger, as he hurried through the bowl, only breaking to take sips of water. When their bowls were empty, Molly set them aside and banished Essek to the sink to brush his teeth, vanishing to do his own.

He ended up having to pull Essek away from the mirror with a huff of, "Come on, no getting existential before bed."

When he pulled the covers back, Essek only stared at him. A raised eyebrow got an explanation: "I do not need to sleep."

Mollymauk squinted at him. "Right." He drew the word out. "You meditate. Well. Can you meditate laying down? Like, you have a bed. If you're not using it, then you will give it to me. Capiche?"

Essek stared through him for another few moments before absently nodding, and climbing into the bed, letting Molly pull the covers up around him.

"There we go," Molly smiled. "Snug as a bug in a rug."

"A bug in a rug would likely be hopelessly lost," Essek murmured. His eyelids were already drooping.

"Oh hush," Molly snorted. He hesitated for only a moment before saying, "Now, I'm gonna ask you a question here. No judgement, alright?"

Essek heaved a sigh. "That is always a good start."

"I said hush, no more sass." Molly flapped a hand. "Do you want me to stay here tonight?"

That got his attention. He looked more alert than he'd been since leaving this morning, just gazing at Mollymauk without saying a word.

Molly gave a faint smile. "Let's make this easier. Do you want me to leave?"

A moment's pause, and then Essek shook his head.

"Great. Will you flip out if I get in the bed next to you?"

Another shake, this one with an eye-roll to boot.

"Excellent," Molly purred, and wasted no time in sliding into the bed. He immediately seized a pillow to bunch under his head, stretching out with pleased sound. "Oh, fuck, this is wasted on you. Wasted." What was the nicest bed Molly had ever slept on? It didn't matter, this won.

Essek gave a quiet, breathy sort of laugh. "Your turn to hush," he murmured. "I... am exhausted." And it showed.

Molly made a show of theatrical offense, before settling back down and tucking just one lock of loose white hair back into place. "Alright, then. Goodnight, Mister Thelyss."

The sounds of their breaths became the ambience of the room, amid the cool breeze outside, nighttime dwellers singing their songs. Amid it all, Molly very nearly missed Essek's whisper, muffled and half-slurred as it was: "Goodnight, Mister Tealeaf."

#mollymauk tealeaf #essek thelyss #shadowmauk #cr #cr fic #my writing

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flightfoot · 6 years ago

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A Convergence of Apollos Chapter 7 - END

God!Apollo’s POV

We arrived at the Empire State Building shortly before sunset. On the one hand, I was afraid that maybe the demigods (and satyr, and... me?) had already completed the quest, and my counterpart had fled. On the other hand, I was grateful I didn’t have to wait long for them to show up. I have a tendency to get lost in my own head when given the opportunity to think while stressed, and right then, I had nothing BUT time. Well I suppose I COULD have practiced for my concert (which at this rate I’d probably have to cancel, I didn’t think I could deal with performing at the moment) but there’s no way I could concentrate on it.

So I paced.

I was grateful that Artemis believed me enough to come at least. My tale was absurd; I KNEW that. If I’D heard another god spouting about a time-traveling mortal version of themselves, I’d assumed they’d either been tricked or was crazy.

But I COULDN’T write off what I’d seen. I’d felt a vague sense of familiarity while looking at the boy, something that said ‘Look closely and THINK.’ But another, louder part of me had screamed ‘DON’T LOOK. Don’t listen. Not if you want to maintain your worldview. If you look too closely, even you won’t be able to hide from the truth of what you’ll see.’

So I tried to avoid looking. I invented a somewhat plausible-sounding reason for why they might have appeared out of thin air. I tried to maintain my careful facade.

Then my other self smashed it to pieces.

“Do not harm her. Don’t you dare harm ANY of them. LOOK AT ME! REALLY LOOK AT ME, DON’T JUST STARE THROUGH ME LIKE WE ALWAYS DID, DON’T PRETEND PEOPLE FEEL THE WAY THAT’S CONVENIENT FOR US, FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE, TRY TO UNDERSTAND! “

I couldn’t stop myself. I did as he asked and looked closer, into his essence, into his SOUL.

What I found shocked me. But I can’t say I was truly surprised. Part of me had already known what I’d find.

It was my own essence. My own self. Only a bare sliver, but undeniably there, and undeniably ME.

I’d freaked. I couldn’t help it. And I did what I always did when in emotional turmoil. I went to my family.

I glanced over at Artemis. She stood stock-still. To someone who didn’t know her, it might have looked like she wasn’t doing anything. I knew better. That was the look of a hunter waiting for their prey.

If my other self HAD been a trick, I would’ve felt sorry for them. Most gods knew better than to get on my sister’s bad side, myself included. We might mess with each other a little, but it was very, VERY rare for us to do something that would truly, deeply upset the other person. The times that’d happened...

I shoved the thought away before it could fully manifest. I had enough going on with my current internal crisis. No sense picking at old wounds.

I heard the sound of rapid footsteps. I glanced up.

My mortal self charged towards my sister, a look of desperate NEED on his face.

How long had he - had I - gone without seeing Artemis?

Was Zeus truly that cruel, to deny me from seeing my twin?

Who was I kidding. Of course he was.

My mortal self SMASHED into Artemis, sending him sprawling to the ground. I winced. That HAD to hurt.

He scrambled back up, winded. My sister - HIS sister - helped him up.

I looked at Artemis’s face. The look of concern and shock in her eyes... clearly she’d realized that I hadn’t been tricked or mistaken. This boy was somehow, impossibly, ME.

He babbled brokenly into Artemis’s shoulder, tears running down his face and soaking Sis’s shirt. I watched silently. I was NOT about to get in the middle of this. For one thing, my other self NEEDED this. For another... well, who WOULD? Honestly if I could reasonably give them privacy I would, but we were in the middle of New York City right near the Empire State Building, and it didn’t seem like either of them were thinking about the location at the moment. I also hoped to hear more about what my future self went through. Maybe if I knew I could prevent it, or at least make it less traumatic.

Then Artemis checked him for injuries. And things got so much worse.

At some point along my journey, I’d been injured BADLY. Really, REALLY badly. And I seemed almost ASHAMED about it.

What my other self hinted he’d done - how he hinted about these other people being held captive, with his own life as the only bargaining chip he had - it chilled me to my core. Had he done what I thought he’d done? Nearly killed himself to help save a handful of demigods?

I didn’t quite know how to feel about that. I’d never had that level of resolve. I’d never been put in a situation where I’d had to choose between my own life and someone else’s.

If I was, could I make the choice my counterpart had?

Maybe... maybe if it was Artemis or Leto. But for a handful of demigods? They were disposable. I tried to help my own children at least, but even then I didn’t always realized that they’d died until years later. I’d been striving to get better on that front, but I still wouldn’t put myself in mortal danger for them.

The closest I’d come was with my favorite son, Asclepius. When Zeus struck him down, I’d been FURIOUS. But even then, I didn’t go up against Zeus directly for fear of being destroyed. I’d taken it out in the Elder Cyclopes instead. I was still punished, but it would’ve been MUCH worse if I’d outright attacked Zeus.

What had happened - what had he - what had I - been through, that had caused me to put the lives of a few demigods above my own?

Why did he care so much?

I refocused on my other self. Maybe I could glean some answers from him.

I listened to his description of what Medea was going to do to him. What she HAD done.

I nearly threw up.

I stumbled to the nearest light pole and slid down it until I was sitting on the ground.

I- I’d nearly been destroyed. COMPLETELY.

Death was one thing, but THAT? That was MUCH worse.

And Zeus! He must have seen this. We weren’t omniscient - not by a long shot - but he would be watching me already, if only to laugh at my suffering.

He didn’t do anything.

Of course he didn’t. He didn’t even want me to help Artemis when she was captured, why would he intervene on MY behalf?

Because he would be partly responsible for your destruction, I answered myself. Because this goes beyond just sitting back and not helping. He would be the reason I was vulnerable in the first place. He would be responsible for it.

Oh who was I kidding. Zeus would just shove the blame onto someone else. Or maybe he’d just argue that I deserved it and it was my own fault I wasn’t tough enough to survive.

“I- I w-was saved. I- I- regained some of my memories. But n-not all. I- I...! ”

Wait, WHAT?! I hadn’t regained all my memories afterwards? What did I forget...?

No.

PLEASE NO.

PLEASE ZEUS, PLEASE.

“I- I- I forgot you, Artemis. I forgot you existed.”

Not seeing my sister was one thing. But forgetting her entirely?

That- that went beyond anything I could’ve imagined.

I couldn’t - not without my sister - how - how had my other self even had the strength to CONTINUE? When something so fundamental to myself was ripped away?

I could survive with being mortal. I’d done it twice before.

I didn’t know if I could survive without being able to even REMEMBER the person I was closest to.

Artemis knew me best - perhaps even better than my mother. She was my rock.

To have that swept away...

“I’m- I’m so sorry Artemis. I for-forgot you. I’m a horrible-”

From my outside perspective, I knew it wasn’t his fault - MY fault - that he’d forgotten Artemis.

But I also knew that in his shoes, I’d blame myself too.

Maybe we weren’t so different after all.

Artemis wasn’t having ANY of it. “NO. Apollo, you are NOT a horrible ANYTHING, least of all for something you have no control over. YES, I’m shocked and angry, but not at you. NEVER at you. At our Father, at Caligula, at Medea, yes. BUT NOT AT YOU.”

Artemis... what had I done to deserve such a wonderful sister?

I teared up as my other self collapsed into my sister’s arms.

Artemis... she’d known just what to say. Of course. She always did.

After awhile, my other self calmed down enough to speak.

I almost wished he wouldn’t. That I’d never have to learn what had caused him such pain. But I needed to know. I needed to UNDERSTAND.

My other self finally said how, EXACTLY, he’d gotten that wound.

So this... this was why he’d changed. Why I’d changed. Jason... he’d been willing to die without a complaint, because he couldn’t stand someone else dying in his place.

No gods had come to his aid. But a demigod HAD.

Jason had been more willing to help, to put himself on the line, then any of my divine brethren.

Of course that’s what heroes do, a voice whispered in my head. Jason is hardly unique in that way. But you never cared about that before. So why are you being affected now?

Because it’s me, I answered myself. It was always someone else before. It wasn’t me, so I wrote it off. I wrote off all those demigods and I HADN’T CARED.

My other self’s tale wasn’t done.

It got worse.

Jason at least was a demigod hero. I would at least EXPECT heroic actions from him, even if I hadn’t fully appreciated such heroics in the past. And from the sound of it, he hadn’t just sacrificed himself for me. It had mostly been for Piper.

But Crest?

It took me a moment to even remember what a Pandos WAS. I wouldn’t have expected much of anything from one of them. And from the sound of it, Crest was a child.

And yet...!

He’d... this kid... he’d not only gone against the orders of one of the cruelest people I’d ever known in the hope of getting some music lessons, but had continued to help my other self beyond ANYTHING he would have asked for.

He hadn’t stopped either. He’d sacrificed himself for me. He’d had SEVERAL chances to leave me to my fate, and yet he’d chosen to save me even if it killed him. Even though it killed his dream.

He didn’t even KNOW me.

Abruptly I realized that I’d stopped thinking of this as happening to some other version of me, and had started thinking of it happening to MYSELF.

I couldn’t help it. Hearing what had gone down, I connected more closely with this other version of myself. I saw how I’d gone from being me to being him.

We weren’t any different at our core. Of course we weren’t. We were the same person until very recently. It was only his recent experiences that distinguished him from myself, and hearing what he’d been through, I at least had a shadow of his experiences.

I didn’t think I could ever become like this other version of myself entirely, never reach the sheer depth of his understanding and compassion for the mortals that I’d been neglecting for so long.

But I could try.

Maybe that would be enough?

Watching my other self collapse into my sister’s embrace for the third time, I decided that it would HAVE to be enough. I had to become someone worthy of the help my other self had been given. Someone worthy of those sacrifices.

I- I wanted to be a better person. A GOOD person. I didn’t know whether that was even possible. I’d done some horrible things in the past, and allowed others to occur in my ambivalence. But I would TRY.

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My other self calmed down enough to continue speaking again after a few minutes.

He turned to me, seeming to just remember I was here. I couldn’t blame him. With all he’d been through, with all he’d lost, I’d get tunnel vision too.

He stared at me for a moment, seeming to search for words.

“Do you understand?” he asked at last, seeming to look into my soul.

“I- I think so,” I replied, my mouth suddenly feeling dry.

He seemed to consider what I said for a moment, then nodded. “There are some things you need to know. I told Percy a lot of what happened, what’s GOING to happen, so you can ask him for more information later. But there’s some things I didn’t go into. Some things I wanted to tell you in person.”

I nodded, trying to hide my anxiety.

“Our kids - ALL of them... try to be there for them more? When I went to Camp Half-blood, they- they tried to make me feel comfortable. Tried to help me feel like I belonged. Even though I barely knew them. Even though I’d only visited them in person a handful of times, spoken to them in dreams a dozen more. They still tried SO HARD to help me. They cared about me SO MUCH. They deserve better.”

Guilt twisted my stomach. I’d always felt that I should spend more time with my children. But I was afraid of what the other gods would say, ESPECIALLY Zeus. He preferred us to be hands-off if possible. I couldn’t do what he was asking...

Oh who was I kidding. It was true that Zeus didn’t like us spending too much time with our kids. He might notice if I vastly increased the amount of time I spent around them in-person, but he wouldn’t be paying as much attention to dreams, especially right now, when he had bigger things to worry about.

And I could probably sneak in a few more visits to Camp Half-blood than I did before. I’d just have to come up with some sort of excuse, like needing to talk to Chiron about something, or needing to drop off some stray demigod Artemis found who didn’t want or was unable to join the Hunt.

“I’ll try my best,” I said.

My other self sighed, “Good. Sometimes that’s the best we CAN do.”

He fell silent for a moment, his face twisting up a little. “There’s also the matter of one of my Legacies. Octavian.”

I tensed, glancing at Percy and Grover. He was talking about the Romans HERE? Now? In front of some Greeks? Sure he’d mentioned Jason before, but he hadn’t said anything to give away that he wasn’t Greek. Just MENTIONING the word ‘Legacy’ was a tip off that something was different about Octavian.

My other self noticed the look on my face and explained. “I already told Percy and Grover about the Romans. They’d need to know soon anyway, since Gaea is awakening and the Greeks and Romans will need to unite.”

I choked. Gaea was WHAT!

I opened my mouth to speak, but my other self cut me off. “I already told Percy most of what he needs to know, you can ask him for details later. I don’t know how much time I have and I don’t want to repeat myself too much.”

He took a breath and let it out. “So, Octavian. I think... he’s kind of like Commodus. I was enamored with Octavian’s promises, his vision of a future where I was head god of Rome. I fell for his flattery, ignoring any warning signs, just like I did all those years ago. Octavian, he... something’s wrong with him. I’m not sure what. Not exactly. But he REALLY hates the Greeks. I’m not sure why. You’ll have trouble forging peace between the camps if he’s in a position of power, at least as Octavian is now. Octavian... I think he’s ill somehow. After an unfortunate incident that led New Rome to believe the Greeks had attacked them - again, ask Percy - he went kind of crazy. Manic. He refused to listen to reason, and believed that anyone who questioned him would stab him in the back.”

“I don’t know whether he can be saved. I wasn’t able to save Commodus. But maybe... maybe if you catch him early, you can stop him from deteriorating too far. It’s worth a try. There’s no chance of success without TRYING.”

“Just make sure he’s not in a position of power or influence right now. He needs therapy, or medication, or SOMETHING. But if he’s able to retaliate... well, I don’t think he’d even believe ME telling him that he needs help. I can see him believing that I’m compromised or tricking him or something. And if he believes that there’s a threat, he’ll try to neutralize it. Probably fatally.”

“I don’t know whether you could get him the help he needs. Maybe there’s no saving him. Maybe there was no saving Commodus. But you HAVE to try.”

I flinched, thinking of Commodus. I HAD to kill him. The alternative was too horrible to withstand.

That didn’t make the guilt lessen.

If I could avoid having that situation again, I would.

“I’ll try. I’ll look in on Octavian, try to find some sort of help for him. I think I’ll take a closer at the Romans in general, I haven’t spent much time with them lately. I think I’ll try to get to know Jason better as well. After what you’ve told me... well, I want a chance to know my little brother for more than a few hours. I’ll visit my children as often as I can get away with, considering Zeus and the War. And I’ll try to find Crest. Teach him to play the ukulele. Even if he’s never met me in this timeline, I still feel like I owe him for what he was willing to do in yours.”

My other self smiled at me, a bit of hope entering his eyes. “Thank you.”

I felt something snap into place, threads of destiny coming undone and reweaving themselves into a new tapestry. I could tell my other self felt it too.

He blurted out, “Find Meg! She was captured by Nero, She’s in-”

The air started twisting around them. My other self cut himself off, looking back at Meg in a panic. I had a distinct feeling he didn’t know WHERE Meg was, and he didn’t have time to ask.

Meg read his look. “Albany!” she blurted out.

CRAAAACK

The air untwisted, turning shimmering shades of green, then returned to normal.

There was silence for a moment.

“What just... happened?” my sister asked.

Oh yeah. She was the only who hadn’t seen this happen before.

“That’s what happened when they arrived. Except, you know, they appeared instead of vanished. Presumably they’re back in their own timeline now.”

I turned to Percy and Grover. “We need to talk. But it can wait until tomorrow. I need to hold this concert - can’t cancel without a lot of people wondering WHY, and I don’t want to divulge what happened to everyone just yet. Not before making plans. And I’m sure you two are tired after everything that’s happened.”

Percy smiled at me slightly. “Thanks. I’ll need to tell Annabeth, she can help.”

Grover suddenly looked nervous. “Um... Lord Apollo...” He gingerly returned my lyre.

I looked it over, noticing the reason for his anxiety. A large scratch on the shell. Nothing that would impact the quality of its music, but I HAD said “not a scratch”.

That seemed like a lifetime ago.

I gave him a small smile, hoping I looked comforting. “It’s fine Grover. I should have expected it to get a little banged up, with you bringing it into combat.”

His face collapsed in relief. Percy gave me a weird look... awe? Understanding? I wasn’t sure. But he seemed happy with what I’d done.

As they walked away, I called out, ‘Oh, and Grover?”

The satyr looked back at me questioningly.

“Happy birthday.”

His face broke out in a smile. “It has been.”

I stood there for a moment, savoring this brief period of peace. Tomorrow I’d have to meet with Percy and Grover, find out what else my other self had to say about the future, what else should be changed. Tomorrow I could go looking for Meg and Crest.

But tonight, I had a concert to get to.

“You coming Artemis?” I asked my sister.

“You have room for all my Hunters?”

“I think something could be arranged.”

“I’ll see you there then.”

I vanished as the sun set on one of the most important afternoons in Greco-Roman history.

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(A/N) So that’s it for this fanfic! I’ll probably write a sequel showing what happens in this new timeline, but I don’t know when I’ll start it. I might work on something else first. Oh, and in case anyone’s wondering, Meg and Apollo reappeared back in their own timeline back in the room with the cloth. This uses a divergent timeline model of time travel, so nothing that happens in the past will impact them.

#trials of apollo #toa #fanfiction #lester papadopoulos #apollo #artemis #percy jackson #Grover underwood #meg mccaffrey #A convergence of apollos

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