#It took until yesterday afternoon to feel even vaguely like myself

[inga-don-studio]

Really trying to make lemons out of lemonade by taking that early morning work shift from a few days ago (& the resulting three full days of The Horrors resulting from the 180 to my sleep/wake schedule) to nudge my bedtime earlier.

Will it work for more than a week or two? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ But I’m going to try.

[smolghostbot]

GT July: Cursed / Melancholy

Yep, a second Melancholy, it was too good to resist. ... Honestly this... isn't even really a G/t piece since Melody doesn't even interact with Patch until the literal last sentence... but I felt like it was important to me to make a piece that goes into Mel's motivations. So many of the writings this month have had Melody just be the solution to Patch's problems, but honestly Patch is also the solution to hers, in a way.

(It was also kind of a vent piece. Both Patch and Mel have parts of myself in them, after all.)

This is technically an interquel between the full story's Spring and it's epilogue, which sets up their relationship for Summer. (Not that this means anything to people right now)

Word Count: 700 Character bios in my pinned post CWs: Vague reference to transphobia, and a lot of negative self-talk.

========

Was what happened yesterday real? Surely it was. Wouldn't be the first time Melody had driven somebody away… but definitely the worst. That may have been the universe's gift, a glimpse into a magical other world, and she squandered it.

Putting her phone away, she got out of bed and tried to stretch the regret away, to pretend like she hadn't accidentally kidnapped some kind of little fae by being… herself. The memories rushed back, her accidentally hurting him, bringing him inside without asking… trapping him in a misguided attempt to help… if she wasn't so… overbearing, and obnoxious, and rude-

Knock it off, Mel, no spiraling.

Mel sighed and walked into the main room. There was a morning routine to do. They went to the kitchen, got some water, and walked over to the shelves of plants. These plants understood her. Greeting each one, they gave them a healthy drink and checked for any dead leaves.

It was a lot of work, keeping so many plants alive in a place as soulless as a dim city apartment, but truthfully, they needed it. Having that little bit of green in her life was as close as she could get to an escape from the mundane as she could get. At least… aside from him…

Maybe they could find him and apologize? Nah, what would the odds be, he probably ran miles away after what they did. Sighing, they continued getting ready for a boring day at work. On her way out, though, she couldn't help but to place an apple slice in the flowerbed where she first saw the little stranger. Just in case.

They paid no mind to the missing apple slice when they came home. Probably a rat took it, or a bird, or something. But the next morning, they still found themself leaving another one. Just in case.

After a few days, the apple just became a part of the routine. Wake up, water plants, apple slice, go to work, come home, sleep. It's not like there was anything else to be doing. At the library, she kept the loneliness away by researching, desperate to figure out anything about the stranger she met. At the least, he proved there was something out there, even if Melody would never see any of it, since she was too awkward, and overbearing, and pushy, and weird, and-

Knock it off, Mel, no spiraling.

Finally, the weekend hit. As they had been all week, they left the apple slice in the usual spot. Going inside, they spent the day doing their usual. Reading, watching TV, anything to feel less… isolated. But that was the story of their life, really. Isolation. The joys of not having any friends, or family… Her eyes glanced over to the little trans flag sitting in one of the flowerpots, but she quickly took a deep breath and tried to not think of that. 

The last thing I need is to cry about the past.

Sure, their coworkers were cool with her, at least enough to be polite, but they weren't really friends. As far as Melody was concerned, all of their friends were in here, the plants and books. Actual friends were for people with social skills, people who didn't ruin every relationship they came into contact with like a social plague.

Well, with the afternoon free, and the boredom of isolation starting to set in, they could at least get some chores done. Gathering the trash from throughout the apartment, they headed to the apartment's dumpster, back in the alley. As she took in the dark, monochrome alley, the very image of the mundane and boring life in the city, she noticed something moving. Probably just a rat…

But wait… that's definitely not a rat, unless the rats around here learned to use little denim backpacks… Oh.

What should she say? Would he hate her? He should. Is he going to run? Probably. She would run too if she was being stared down by such a giant, careless, awkward, weird-

Knock it off, Mel, no spiraling.

"Oh, Patch! I, uh… hello."

[fereldanwench]

just some somewhat vague personal life ramblings under le cut:

(cw for mental health stuff) ((im okay now but i definitely wasn't lmao))

i had a really good talk with my brother last week--we were seriously on the phone for almost 4 hours--and I'm not gonna get into most of the specifics, but it was very enlightening and validating on some lifelong struggles we both dealt with in our family and how that's impacted us as adults. (although i think they impacted me more as the oldest daughter.)

more specifically, i did talk a lot about how i was fucking miserable last fall, and i knew i was miserable in the moment, but i don't think i did fully realize to what extent. i just could not dig myself out of the mental hole, and every time i tried, it just felt like quicksand--struggling to get out just made me feel like i was sinking deeper. yanno. classic depression shit.

and a lot of it is related to my professional life. tl;dr - last spring i had to go back to a job i hate because i couldn't find anything else and my husband was about to lose his job at the time, and it's almost been a year and i'm still getting fucked over by being in this psuedo-manager position while i am not being paid for it despite ten months worth of meetings trying to rectify this.

i wanted (still want) out so bad, but i couldn't even update my resume or look at job listings without just completely spiraling. the job-hunting process just felt... worse than being employed at a job i hate, i guess. not feeling like i could find a good match, the stupid corporate lingo in listings, easy applies not actually being easy, recruiters who never actually read my resume, dehumanizing interviews, straight-up scams--i couldn't fucking do it.

and on top of that, i had to carry me and the husband financially for about half a year. i don't want to rehash all that, but suffice to say i just felt like everything was on me, and i had no one to turn to for anything. he did find something that ended up being a really good fit, and he's been working for about 4.5 months now, which did help my mental state a lot. but even that took a while to mend those particular struggles.

but i think having an honest, empathetic conversation about all of this was really what i needed to move forward. i had just been burying so much of this deep down for so long that i was just never in the right mental place to actually fucking deal with it and move on.

and then last night i just got a burst of motivation and finally updated my resume, and i didn't even feel the urge to cry, lmao. not once. still wish evil things on people who write job listings but baby steps.

however, i'm actually not in a huge rush at this exact moment to leave my current job despite my many grievances--we don't get vacation leave until at least a year of employment, so i have to wait until this may to get a whopping two weeks of paid leave. i can stick out another two months for that.

i would like to be out by the end of this summer at the latest, though, and i would l like to not have to rush into another job that'll end up fucking me over one way or another. so i definitely need to start the process now.

and it's basically spring here! i got my little porch garden going yesterday which is like an automatic mental boost. loving the sunshine and warm, but not stiflingly hot, afternoons 💐☀️🌿

[calyxaomphalos]

The Ghosts of Windy Ridge

Turn #102, four components

location #10 - Foras's Lair (1) neighbor #9 - Zeb (6) item #19 - of great value event #10 - flurry of activity nearby

26 April 2022, Tuesday Afternoon

I left Tina's basement half believing that she'd gone off her rocker and was being unduly paranoid. But that was only half of me. The other half felt like a piece had clicked into place. I know the last time I was out at the mine, I found nothing of note. It might be worth another look around, this time with my phone looking for wifi signals and the like.

As I drove east under the highway and out toward the Thompson Gap Road, I could feel a deep unease, similar to the feeling I'd had the afternoon I'd found Cho on the floor of Foras' lair. Cho seemed well enough yesterday evening when I saw her out at the state park. I made the turn onto Thompson Gap easily enough, but the further I drove up the road, the more my stomach churned.

My left hand went to grab the amulet that Hank had loaned me in my first few days here in town. I was hoping that Foras would be nowhere in sight. Why I thought that when I was planning to turn off at the Mine struck me as odd until I found myself driving past the parking area and continuing on toward the end of the road and the tumbledown shack that I'd last visited when I rescued Cho from whatever trouble she'd gotten herself into out here.

Once I was over the rise and around the bend, I saw a car. It wasn't Cho's, that much I was sure of. But it looked vaguely familiar. I parked not too closely and got out of the car not knowing exactly what I needed to do.

Foras' Lair gave off an even more foreboding air than ever. It was as if the shack was actively trying to shift away into another dimension to keep me from entering. That uneasy feeling I had on the drive up was magnified. I stood on the path to the shack frozen in place, wanting to turn around and drive off, but compelled to find out who was here and if they needed any help.

The door to the shack creaked open. I couldn't move. But then I saw it was Zeb stepping back out of the shack, beaming as brightly as the shack was dark. Though I was standing at least twenty feet away, I could feel a prickly chill emanating from the shack. When Zeb saw me there, he looked triumphant. He raised his left hand in which he held a small box.

"I found it," Zeb said as he strode away from the shack, toward me and our cars.

"Found what?" I was already backing away from the shack toward my car.

"Won't say here and now. Ask me again in a day or two. Right now, we have to go!"

I'd never heard Zeb so animated, so I took him at his word and got into my car. As I closed the car door, I glanced over to the shack. It seemed to be writhing in furry forms. "Swarm of rats? I don't want to know!" I mumbled to myself as I fired the ignition. Zeb had already pulled out and was headed down Thompson Gap Road.

[whumpmatsus]

Yesterday I took the second coronal vaccine, totally fine until I woke up at 3:30 am feeling like shit, no one was home and I didn't know how to take care of myself so I just took a fever' medicine and tried to go back to sleep, was cring while calling mommy.

my fever dropped down yet I still feel the pain killing me and I have to go to school.

Now I want one of the brothers to feel my pain 🙂

awwww I'm sorry you went through that, hun! my second vaccine I was similar, feeling fine until I woke up in the middle of the night all nauseous and congested, thankfully I'd taken off of work for a couple days in advance in case I got side effects

I was almost normal by the end of the day though, it sucks you were still feeling bad and had stuff to do! this got sent like two weeks ago so I certainly hope you're feeling better now and you weren't miserable too long <3

... I decided on Osomatsu bc I've been feeling them Oso girl vibes lately, plus he's sooooo much a mama's boy it seemed to fit haha

I also decided to use side effects for the flu shot instead of the COVID vaccine, just because I'm uncomfy using current events in my fictional writings, but the gist is still the same

I may have taken a few liberties with the side effect symptoms, but hey, it's different for everyone, right? it's also funny that all the brothers got hit by one symptom worst, but poor Oso got hit by all of them XD

there's some Allmatsu slipped in here, but also Matsuyo babying her oldest boy a bit!

hopefully you enjoy your Oso suffering, I loved writing it!!! =)

-

Being alone in the house for once, it’s a miracle that Osomatsu was able to sleep at all.

When he wakes up, the clock blinking at him that it’s sometime around 3 in the morning, he almost forgets that he’s by himself, until he feels that the rest of the futon is empty. Everything trickles back pretty quickly ― why none of his brothers are around tonight.

Choromatsu is at an idol convention that’s pretty far out of town. Karamatsu is staying at a local hotel for a few days’ worth of music performances. Jyushimatsu is away for a week visiting Homura at her parents’ house in the country. Totty’s having a grown-up sleepover at a friend’s place. And Ichimatsu volunteered for an overnight shift at the animal shelter because one of the cats he’s been looking after wound up there.

For the record, there’s very little Osomatsu hates more than being all by himself in the futon. Even though it gives him a chance to spread out and sleep however he likes, it makes him feel lonely. He’d rather be huddled up with everyone than have all this empty space.

To make things worse, when he wakes up alone, he wakes up feeling like shit.He remembers not really drinking that much last night, so it can’t be a hangover… but… he did just get his yearly flu vaccine yesterday afternoon. The pharmacy tech who gave him the shot warned him that he might feel a little bad the next day or so, like he has a weak version of the flu. Annnnd… he’s pretty sure there was a sheet that was given to him that explained benefits, possible side effects, and a list of things that he should go to the doctor if he experienced.

Although he can’t remember where he put that paper, he’s sure that’s why he’s feeling so crappy right now.

The area of his arm where he got injected is stiff, and trying to move it makes him want to cry. There are aches creeping out into the rest of his body, including his head pounding. His stomach is swirling with nausea as soon as he sits up, and for a brief moment he’s convinced he’s going to be sick.

After he puts a hand against his forehead to try and will it to quit hurting, his palm comes back damp with sweat. Shit… do I have a fever? That’s no good either; fevers always make him feel vaguely panicky and uncomfortable in the most horribly nonspecific way.

“Mmm… Mom…?” he calls, but his voice comes out sounding hoarse and raspy. It hurts to talk, so he doesn’t think he can raise his voice more than this. “… Mom?”

Usually if one of the sextuplets calls for their mom, Matsuyo hears them and is in their bedroom only a moment later. At the very least, she calls back that she’s coming. Instead, the house is completely silent. It’s borderline eerie, especially to Osomatsu’s foggy mind.

Then it hits him; their parents are away, too. They went on vacation for a few days, just a short trip to rekindle their romance. So… he really is all by himself right now.

To try and keep himself calm, he does his best to breathe, except as soon as he starts to focus on it, he realizes his nose is plugged. Ughhh. He sniffles for a minute, seeing if he can get a good breath in. It’s kind of hopeless.

Okay, okay… breathe through your mouth then, dumbass. Don’t get all worked up. Just… fuck. Think about what you’d do if one of your brothers woke you up feeling like shit. How would you take care of them?

… It’s hard. Even though he could take care of someone else, it’s infinitely more difficult when he’s the one trying to take care of himself. His brain is all clouded and despite the fact that he knows it’s not serious, he’s probably not actually sick, he feels so terrible it’s making every idea a struggle.

He can’t call any of his brothers. They’re all out enjoying their own things… what kind of awful person would spoil his little brothers’ good times like that?

With that being said, he’s not really sure how to take care of himself. The only other options available are to go back to sleep, which he’s certain he can’t do at the moment, or… call his mom.

Although he hates to interrupt his parents’ vacation like this, he’s got his phone and is dialing Matsuyo’s number before he knows it. He won’t keep her awake for too long, just long enough to get some advice on what to do. She’s the only one he’s really okay with seeing or hearing him be really vulnerable, because even though he’s the oldest of her children… she’s still his mother.

Still, he can’t help but feel just a little guilty when her tired voice comes crackling through the phone. “Osomatsu?”

His arm is sore, so he puts the phone on speaker and sets it down on his lap. “Hi, Mom. Sorry I woke you up.”

“No, no, don’t worry. It’s okay.” She must hear the fatigue and congestion in his voice, because it sounds like she immediately perks up. “Is everything alright?”

The way her voice is already laced with concern makes his throat tighten. He woke her up in the middle of the night, when she was trying to sleep, on vacation, and she doesn’t even sound mad. He blinks away hot tears that have welled up fast, and they have nowhere to go except to drip down his cheeks. “I don’t feel good,” he croaks, reaching up to rub at his eyes.

Damn. What kind of stupid baby am I, crying over this…?

If it’s at all possible, Matsuyo’s voice softens even more. “Ah, honey. Are you sick? Do you need Dad and I to come home?”

“N-no!” His response is instant and visceral, though it probably sounds pathetic because he’s starting to cry. “I… I don’t think it’s… that bad. I just… I woke up and I… I’m all… my arm hurts, and I’ve got a really bad headache, I’m sweating and shivering at the s-same time, my stomach hurts…”

“Oh, dear.” She clicks her tongue. “… Hm. You and your brothers got your flu shots yesterday, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s probably why you’re not feeling well. Are you having any trouble breathing?”

“I-I mean… only ‘cause my nose is stuffy. I can still breathe through my mouth and it’s not… like… I can breathe.”

“Are you dizzy or weak?”

He has to pause for a second to figure how to answer that. “N-no… not really. Just kind of… achy.”

“Are you running a temperature?”

“I… I dunno. I think, maybe.”

“Okay, well, if you think you are, you should probably go check it to make sure it’s not too high. Do you want me to stay on with you while you do that?”

“Y-yeah… I guess. I just…” It takes all his strength to get to his feet, and his headache is still pounding away once he does. At least his sinuses clear up a bit when he’s standing. “I know I take care of my brothers all the time… but… I-I don’t… I don’t really know how to take care of myself when I don’t feel good…”

Matsuyo sighs softly. “Oh, Osomatsu, sweetie. That’s normal. It’s harder to take care of yourself than it is to take care of someone else; sometimes you don’t think right when you aren’t feeling well. Go take your temperature, and we’ll go from there, alright?”

“Okay…”

Getting to the bathroom is kind of a battle. Every part of his body just feels so heavy, and he keeps wanting to fall asleep right against the wall. By the time he gets into the bathroom and turns the light on, he’s drained from the walk.

Trying to open the medicine cabinet, he gets a glimpse of himself in the mirror and has to cringe. He just looks shitty ― pale and sweaty, his face flushed like it’s been barely kissed by the fever, eyelids drooping with exhaustion. He looks like some kind of hilarious caricature of a sick person on a Saturday morning cartoon.

Everything rattles in the cabinet for a moment before he finds the thermometer, and gives it a brief rinse before sticking it in his mouth.

He continues to make small noises of discomfort the whole time, and Matsuyo continues to offer gentle coos of encouragement. Finally the damn thing beeps, prompting him to pull it out.

“Osomatsu? What does it say, honey?”

“Mmh, it’s, uh…” The bleariness from being so tired forces him to squint at the screen. “37.8.”

When his mother speaks, she sounds relieved, which makes him feel a little better. “Oh, that’s not too bad. Anything under 38 is low-grade, which combined with everything else means you’re probably just feeling some side effects from the shot. The fever is what’s making you feel bad more than anything, I’d guess.”

He tears off a square of toilet paper to wipe away the leftover tears, still incredulous over the fact that something so simple and dumb made him cry. “So… what do I do? I mean… can I take anything?”

“Of course. If you can manage it, have a few crackers and take two paracetamol, alright? That should keep the fever from making you too uncomfortable.”

“… Ugh.” The thought of food right now isn’t really what he wants to hear. “Do I… have to eat anything?”

“Aaah, I know your tummy is a little upset, but… taking painkillers on an empty stomach isn’t a good idea, sweetheart. It might not get absorbed correctly, and it might make you more nauseous.”

Well… he supposes when she puts it that way, he should just suck it up and have a couple crackers, then. “Okay. Should I do anything else, or…?”

She hums in thought. “I can’t think of much else that would help. Taking the medicine and trying to go back to sleep is your best bet. You can put the hot water bottle on your tummy, if you want. Just make sure it’s not too hot. And you can put a cold cloth on your forehead if you feel warm. Rest will help you more than anything, I think.”

“Okay… I guess you’re right. I just don’t feel good, Mom.” He knows he’s said that several times already, and it sounds so babyish,but he can’t really think of how else to express it.

“Oh, honey, I know. Do you want me to stay up with you for a little bit? I don’t know if a lullaby will work over the phone, but, I can give it a try.”

He shakes his head even though he knows she can’t see it. “No… I’ll be okay. I’m just gonna… eat some crackers and take those pills and lie down. You should go back to sleep, too.”

She chuckles. “Don’t you dare worry about me. I’ll be back out as soon as my head hits the pillow. Are you sure?”

“Yeah… I’m gonna go try to just… take care of myself.”

“Okay, sweetheart. But you call me again if you need anything, alright?”

“Mhm, I will. Thanks for helping me.”

“Of course, my poor boy. Try to get some sleep. I love you.”

“Love you too, Mom. Night.”

Once he hangs up, the house feels too quiet again. It reminds him of those horror movies where someone wakes up in the middle of the night and starts walking around and the monster sneaks up on them without any noise and before they know it, the monster’s got them.

So begins the long trek downstairs after he puts the thermometer away and gets the paracetamol from the cabinet. Now he can’t ever tease Totty again for being afraid of the dark and monsters and all that shit, because he has to peer around the stairway to make sure something isn’t waiting for him at the bottom of the steps.

Thankfully, when he opens the fridge, he discovers a couple bottles of some off-brand sports drink; his mind dredges up a memory of Jyushimatsu telling him a while ago that those are good for sick people. That stuff keeps you hydrated and helps settle your stomach.

So he manages to get two pills swallowed, then forces a handful of senbei crackers into his mouth. Even though they don’t taste good, he’s crossing his fingers that it’ll keep him from feeling too sick from the medicine.

Even the kitchen is too lonely. He takes the rest of the bottle with him, just in case he wakes up again and needs a sip of something to be able to go back to sleep.

Being faced with the empty futon once more makes him almost burst into tears. Seeing nobody in it makes his stupid mind see everyone in it, like they all should be, squished up against each other. He can imagine Ichimatsu at the very end, pretending he’s not cuddling up to Karamatsu. And Choromatsu near the other end, being a good sport about Jyushimatsu curling up against him. And of course Totty right there next to Osomatsu, snuggling against his oldest brother for warmth on a chilly fall night.

He lowers himself down into the futon, but doesn’t actually go horizontal. The phone trembles in his hand, and he can’t stop himself.

-

“Mmmh, Osomatsu-nii-san?”

“Hey, Totty. U-uh… sorry… I probably woke you up, huh?”

“It’s okay. Actually, I’m… I’m kind of glad somebody called. I don’t wanna embarrass myself by waking up my friends, but… i-it’s kind of dark and I have to pee… I know you can’t actually come over, but just talking to you would be enough. Could you maybe… stay on while I go?”

“Oh… yeah, sure. I’ve got nothing better to do than listen to you take a piss in the middle of the night.”

“Oh, haha, so funny. I’ll be fast. Hey… is everything okay? You sound all stuffy.”

“Yeah, I’m good. Just… flu shot side effects making me feel crummy. Everyone else got theirs yesterday too, so I just… thought I’d check on you guys since I woke up feeling like shit.”

“Huh. Well, I feel okay. My arm’s a little sore, but beyond that I’m good.”

“Good.”

“Aaaah, okay, I’m done now. Can you stay on while I walk back to the other room?”

“Yeah, no worries. I hope you can get back to sleep pretty fast.”

“Ugh, me too. It was hard to go back to sleep with my arm hurting and being too scared to go pee. Thanks for checking on me.”

“Hey, what else are big brothers for?”

“Mmh, thanks anyway, though. Goodnight, Osomatsu-nii-san.”

“Night, Totty. Sweet dreams.”

-

“Aaaah, Osomatsu… yaaaawn… is everything alright, dear brother?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine, Kara. I just… miss you guys, since it’s just me in the house. I woke up and… forgot I was all by myself, pfft.”

“Hmph. I suppose I understand that. In my case, I do not believe I’m sleeping as well as I might with the rest of you. So at least it isn’t just you feeling that way.”

“Yeah… ha, that makes me feel a little better. Uh, how are your gigs going so far?”

“Oh? Are you interested? Well, surprise of surprises, the crowd gave me a standing ovation tonight!”

“Yeah, really? Damn, look at you. Better not have flirted with any pretty girls without me.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t dream of it, brother. Are you doing alright otherwise? You sound a bit off.”

“Mh, no big deal. Just the flu shot making me feel like shit. You’re not feeling too bad?”

“I believe I had a low fever earlier, but by the time I came back to my room, it had broken. You have my thanks for checking on me, however. And I sincerely hope you feel better soon.”

“Thanks, Kara. Hey, I’ll let you get back to sleep now; you need rest for your next gig tomorrow.”

“Haha! Why, I wouldn’t say you’re wrong. Goodnight, brother.”

“Night, Kara. Sleep tight.”

-

“Hey, shitty eldest. Are you really still awake?”

“Ouch, what a greeting. Right through my heart, Ichimacchan. Nah, I was sleeping, but I woke up. I was trying to get back to sleep… it’s just kind of… y’know, lonely over here.”

“Oh. Yeah, you’re the only one in the house, huh?”

“Yeahhh, it sucks. I just woke up and I was like, ‘shit, where are all my baby brothers?’ Pff.”

“Yeah, I get it. I’d come home if I could, but I’ve gotta take care of Fern right now.”

“No, no, it’s all good. How’s she doing?”

“Better than the last time I saw her. At least she’s eating now. She keeps hissing at anyone who gets close except for me.”

“Pffff… guess she’s copying you.”

“Tch, go die, Osomatsu. Actually, it sounds like you’re pretty close to it right now. You good?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m good. The fucking flu shot, you know?”

“Ouch, don’t even mention that. My head was about to split in half earlier.”

“Shit. You doing better now?”

“Yeah, it finally went away. Hopefully you feel better soon, too. Listen, I gotta go now ― Fern’s scratching at me for a little more food.”

“Oh, right, no problem. Go take care of her. And, uh, take some sleep if you can get it so you don’t pass out tomorrow.”

“I’ll do my best. If not, I’m napping on top of you tomorrow. Night, Osomatsu.”

“Count on it! See you tomorrow, Ichimacchan.”

-

“Heyyyyy, Osomatsu-nii-san!! You woke me up and the phone ringing almost woke up Homura-chan. Is everything okay???”

“Oh… oh, yeah, sorry, Jyushi. Everything’s fine. I didn’t mean to wake you up and almost wake her. I just wanted to call and… see how you were doing.”

“… Hah??”

“I’m all alone in the house… I guess I miss all my little brothers. Choro has some nerd shit going on, Kara’s doing gigs, Totty’s at a friend’s place, and Ichi’s at the animal shelter with one of his cats… and you’re all the way out in the country. Plus Mom and Dad went on vacation. So…”

“Oh. So you’re just lonely ‘cause you’re alone. And you woke up and felt bad so you called me?”

“Yeah… I’m calling the others too. Just… just, you know, checking up on everybody. Sorry, I didn’t think about that you’re probably sleeping in the same bed as Homura-chan…”

“It’s okay! Maybe if she wakes up we’ll go for round two, haha.”

“Jyushi! You sly asshole, saying something like that to me, pffff. You’re bad. You’re… having fun, though, right?”

“Yeah, loads of fun. It’s great out here in the country. Homura-chan’s family even has a dog! Are you okay? You sound funny.”

“Uh? Oh, yeah. I’m just feeling a little crappy from the flu shot.”

“Ohhhh. That’s right, we all got that before I left yesterday. I’m kinda sore too, but it’s getting better. I hope it doesn’t last too much longer for you. Maybe since it woke you up now, it’ll be gone when you wake up for real!”

“Maybe. I hope so. Mannn… okay, Jyushi, I’m gonna let you get back to cuddling with Homura-chan, okay? Enjoy the rest of your visit.”

“Hahahhh, thanks, Osomatsu-nii-san. And you can call me again too, if you want! Maybe during the day next time. Nighty night.”

“Night, Jyushi. Sweet dreams.”

-

“Mmmf… Osomatsu? If you’re calling me, someone better be dead or dying.”

“Ahah, or what, Fappymatsu?”

“Or I will reach through this phone and strangle you like we’re in a B-list horror movie.”

“Ouchhhh, you’re worse than Ichimacchan; at least he didn’t threaten me. Are you really that cranky that I woke you up?”

“Yes, because I was having trouble getting to sleep and I just started drifting off when my phone rang. If you don’t give me a good reason in the next thirty seconds, Karamatsu becomes my oldest brother.”

“Geez, okay, okay. Sorry, you grump. I just wanted to check on you guys. I woke up feeling like shit thanks to the flu shot from yesterday, and I… wanted to make sure it wasn’t making you guys feel crappy too.”

“I’m fine, Osomatsu. I mean, I felt a little queasy earlier in the night, but it passed. You, on the other hand, sound like death warmed over. You should hang up and get some sleep. Can we not leave you alone for five minutes?”

“Heh. Guess not. Sorry I woke you up. You should get back to sleep too.”

“… Osomatsu. Wait. Did… did you call everyone else, too? You seriously just wanted to make sure we were okay?”

“Uh-huh. Well… well, I guess I’m a little lonely, too. I mean, I woke up and the futon was empty and I just… felt like I should check on all of you. I’m the big brother. So… I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Well… thanks, I guess. Sorry I snapped at you, but, I’m tired. Don’t worry too much, okay? I’m a little anxious, being so far from home overnight… I miss all of you too. But it’ll be fine. Try some breathing exercises… if you can do that, sometimes it helps you relax enough to fall asleep.”

“I’ll try. Thanks, Choro-chan. I’m glad you’re doing okay. You try those exercises too, yeah? I want you to get some sleep.”

“Yeah, I will. Thanks for checking on us, Osomatsu. You’re not a bad big brother sometimes. Get some rest, okay? I’ll call you tomorrow. Goodnight.”

“Night, Choro-chan. Sleep well.”

-

When Osomatsu puts his phone down, far enough away that he probably won’t roll onto it in his sleep, he feels a lot better.

Not that he doesn’t still feel crappy, but his headache is starting to fade, and the anxiety he felt about being away from his brothers has calmed down substantially. It means that hopefully he’ll be able to get back to sleep.

He lies down on one side, rubbing at his eyes to get rid of the tears that started up again. The blanket is pulled up, so tightly around him that it almost mimics being hugged. With any luck, he’ll be out in a few minutes so he doesn’t have the chance to panic at the sounds of the house settling or the noises outside or anything like that.

As he closes his eyes and does his best to breathe rhythmically through his mouth, he curls his knees up to his chest.

He still feels lonely.

Everything will be better tomorrow.

[theodora3022]

Claim (Yandere Chuuya Nakahara)

Pairing: Yandere! Chuuya Nakahara X Fem reader

Summary: You have the courage to mock Dazai when he flirts with you casually, different from almost every other woman Dazai throws himself on. Seeing his nemesis being stepped on brings Chuuya great joy, which escalates to him taking a special interest in you.

Notes: So...If you read my BNHA fics you should know I have a thing for wind superpowers, so reader is going to have a wind ability in here as well. Be gone if you have problems with that. My first take on BSD, on Chuuya nevertheless... Hopefully this does not flop. I thought about writing Kunikida for this one, but I just could not get Chuuya’s smirk off my mind (Along with Fyodor’s but that is for another day) Also this is self indulgent as hell, so be warned. I’m not satifised with the final result, as some parts feels a bit forced...But there you have it. 

Word count: 2.8k 

Warnings: Drugging, coercion, mention of knife and blood, implied non con  at the end

You were sitting beside a floor window of a café when Chuuya first saw you, when he was on his way to get some beer. At first, it was not you that drawn his attention, it was that guy on the opposite end of the coffee table.

Osamu Dazai. Also known as the bane of Chuuya Nakahara’s existence and his greatest adversary. Out womanizing again, he never changes. He was about to ignore those shady behaviours and just carry on, until he hears how you are attacking Dazai with your words.

“Dazai, please. I bet you said that to every woman you met.” Slowly stirring your hot beverage, you smirk as you took a little sip. “It is a miracle how you got this far unscathed.” You seem to see right through Dazai, how clever. Now Chuuya have to hear how this can go down. His own drink can wait, this little comedy show is more worthwhile.

“But beautiful! Your eyes shine like the brightest stars, I just cannot let that go unappreciated.” “If you are so found of shining things, I can get you a pack of glitter to stare at. I would actually appreciate it if you stop staring right into my eyes, thank you.” This is a mistake, you thought. You thought Dazai was just being a good Senpai when he invites you to join him for a quick coffee at lunch. And of course being the naïve new recruit, you said yes without hesitation.

A pack of glitter? Oh dear. Out of all those years Chuuya has known Dazai, he had never seen the brunette getting such a good roast. Placing a hand over his mouth to muffle his chuckles, Chuuya is beyond amused. Most women would be too busy swooning over that pretty face, but you did not even flinch and insulted him just like that. You got some sass!  That is the first time the mafia executive had taken a formal notice of you. You are indeed a fair woman, no wonder Dazai would choose to hit on you.

He does vaguely recall recently hearing about the ADA obtaining a new recruit. A young woman with a wind ability. But you are far more interesting then that. “This has been pleasant, but I think it is time to head back to the office.” When Kunikida told you Dazai can be a handful yesterday, you did not expect this is how you would find out. You stopped him from taking out his wallet, shaking your head: “Dazai. I will pay for myself. Besides, you are in enough debt as you are now. See you back at the agency.”

Not even Chuuya can make Dazai appear this defeated, this discouraged. Just who are you exactly? Forget the beer, Chuuya needs to know all about you at once. 

Reading through your file back at the headquarters, your info is enough to make even Chuuya raise his eyebrows a couple of times.

You can command any gas to your will? That is a rare gift, even the Port Mafia had yet to secure that. Too bad you are on the wrong side, Chuuya can just think of so many ways of using your ability to its full potential. The file was put back to the storage, sure. But you had impressed him back at that café and peaked his interests. It would be hard to make him unsee Dazai being humiliated. But you did not linger on his mind much after. 

However, that would not be lasting too long. Chuuya was shocked to hear some of the members has died in dark alleys of yokohoma, apparently from lack of oxygen, but without any traces of choking or even a cut. Mori even called him to the office to discuss about this.

Pictures of you, in causal and business attire lay across the expensive office desk. You were smiling in all of them, although that smile does not look like an amused one to Chuuya now.

“Do you recognize this woman?”

How can Chuuya forget about you? The woman who gave him the best comedy show, who stomped on Dazai’s philanderer ways so mercilessly. “A new recruit of ADA. Her air control abilities must have enabled her to suck the oxygen particles out of human bodies. It also gives her the ability to levitate and an incredible speed, which is such a headache. Even Akutagawa cannot seem to finish her.”

What a little troublemaker you are. Consider Chuuya motivated. He knows you are strong, but not anyone can escape from Akutagawa. Where is the fun without a little challenge?

“I will go. My abilities would allow me to get the job done.” Heck, this once he would get something Dazai cannot have! In this mini game, at least, Chuuya would be the winner. 

“Chuuya, you seem awfully enthusiastic about this. May I ask why that is?” Stroking Elise’s hair, Mori carefully observe the young man’s expressions. “She has the guts to insult Dazai, should be a fun one. I do not plan to kill her, however. That would be such a waste.”

“Yes, that would be most ideal. Her ability would be a valueble asset, here’s some drugs if she is being too difficult.”

Oh but you are so much more then the wielder of a powerful ability to Chuuya.

------------------------------------

Work has been a pain in the ass lately, so on your afternoon off, you choose to take a walk along the water in the park. Everything looks so peaceful, children running amok, couples holding hands, the sound of the birds chirping, all sounds so natural and calming. You let out a sigh of relief as you settled on a bench beside a tree and closed your eyes, breathing in the forest scent, still sleep deprived from the nightmares.

Although you only killed those gangsters to defend a civilian, you regret it somewhat afterwards. You expected revenge, but not from someone like Akutagawa? You can only remove the target’s oxygen from their bodies when you are standing still and concentrated, never while fleeing for your life. If it is not for your unparalleled speed, you were sure one of those dark spikes is going to be your ultimate demise. It was too close for your liking. Before you were always able to leave safely with your ability, but this time you barely made it.

Dozing off in a park while the Port Mafia is on your trail? Chuuya would advise against that. 

However, he would say he much prefer this compliant, soft look on your face compare your sarcastic, confident grin towards Dazai. Dark circles under your eyes? Have you been having sleeping problems? Looks like the little hero is not as brave as she lets on.

Now, he needs to be careful. Even though you look as harmless as a little bunny now, Chuuya can still recall the last expressions his deceased subordinates made. Dying from oxygen loss surely does not look pleasant. While the file said you can only use that special method once per week, Chuuya cannot leave any room for errors. 

Ah, it seems you had carelessly dropped your handkerchief on the ground. You did not seem to notice. As if you want him to come near. Who is he to decline a lady’s invitations?

Sensing his approach, you jumped out the bench and distanced yourself from Chuuya. Always on your guard, this should be interesting. Instead of kept closing in the distance, Chuuya bend down and picked up your handkerchief. “Did you drop this?”

See, you were overreacting! He is only trying to tell you that you dropped something. Feeling the guilt of mistaking him for an assassin churns in your stomach, you put up an apologetic smile: “My apologies, sir.  And thank you very much.” Yet you cannot shake off the feeling of you saw him before. Is he a government official? Or perhaps a store clerk? It would be rude if you actually do know him. Yes, you definitely seen his handsome face somewhere. Reaching out to his outstretched hand, you tried to retrieve your handkerchief. But as you take the little square cloth into your hand, his slim but firm fingers snapped around your wrist like handcuffs, seizing you with a smug smirk on his face. “Let go of me, Sir. You wouldn’t want me to use my ability on you.” 

Your gaze turned cold as the winter snow, as if you are willing to punch him in the face then and there. 

A good chance to observe your ability in action. How can Chuuya miss this opportunity? You tried to wiggle out of his grasp while activating your winds, but to your horror, it does not seem to have any effect on Chuuya. Sure, his hat and hair are flowing because of the strong wind, but he has not moved a single inch, still clenching your left wrist in his hand, lips still curling upwards. Turning to your second solution: bringing rocks to hit him until unconsciousness. Why wouldn’t the rocks move? Just who is this man? “Are you with the Port Mafia?”

That took you long enough. Chuuya let out a sinister chuckle, pulls you into his embrace with ease. Locking his right arm around your waist, he whispers beside your ear: “Of course, cutie. And you just walked straight into my trap. Now, it is best if you do not move, I would hate for this knife to leave a scar on your fragile little neck.” Feeling a thin, cold blade pressed against your throat, threatening to cut into your skin, you nervously gulped. Who is he exactly? You should have memorized the faces of the big names of the mafia-

Your ability is impressive. Even Chuuya has to admit that much. If it were not for the reinforced gravity he applied on himself, he would be on the other side of the park by now. Such a shame you are working for that little agency. Crap. You finally remember. Cursing sleep depravation under your breath, you recall where you had seen his face: the files back in the agency. One of the executives, Chuuya Nakahara, with the powers of manipulating gravity. That is why your winds cannot push him away. Just how did you end up with an executive’s knife pressing against your throat? 

Under ideal circumstances, you would order the oxygen particles to stay away from this man, but that ability could only be used once per week. You have not recharged enough, and the fact that you are not in best condition does not help either. 

“Now, you got two options, sweet. First, you can try to get away, and it would not end pretty.” Chuuya laughs he feels you shiver, clearly frightened by the idea of your blood spilling out like a fountain once he slices open your throat. Your resistance has pathetic impacts on him, but you have to at least try. You have been neglecting your physical training because you often rely on that extraordinary speed your ability grants you. However, that also means you are helpless in close up situations such as present. Not so confident now, aren’t you? “Second, pay a visit to our headquarters. The boss would like an audience with you.” You certainly do not want to fall into the hands of the port mafia. However, there are civilians in the park. They did not seem to notice how Chuuya is holding you at knifepoint.  Letting yourself, an ADA agent die here would mean the agency’s reputation is done for. Getting yourself killed in broad daylight, in a public place no less! How incompetent. Looks like the only option is to go with him, for now. “Fine. I will go with you.” “Smart choice. But I would expect no less from an intelligent woman like you.” He carefully removed the knife, and just when you were about to relax and think of a retaliate method, you felt a sharp pain on your left arm. A syringe. Just what did he injected you? Watching you fall onto the ground by your knees, barely able to lift a finger due to the sedation drugs, brings him a strange sense of contentment. Chuuya does not consider himself as a sadist by any means, but after seeing how you treated Dazai, shining with confidence and smugness, only made this submissive version of you so much more satisfactory. “Do not look at me like that, dear (y/n). Just a little insurance that you would not leave without permission. I hope you understand.” You do not, but that does not concern him. Swooping you up effortlessly, Chuuya carries your weak body out of the park, straight to a van that awaits there for a long time.

You never imagined, not even in your wildest dreams, that you would be in the Port Mafia’s headquarters like this. Being carried through corridor after corridor ,by one of their executives like a doll, although not by your own free will. Guards everywhere, almost at every turn point. Maybe you can break one of the windows and fly out? Alas, that would not possible if all you can generate is little breezes due to your present condition. 

“Do not worry, (y/n).” Feeling your body tense up, Chuuya choose to reassure you, or at least try to. “If simple murder was my objective, you would be dead in that park.” 

There are worse things then death. You really did mess up this time. You do not even want to imagine what they could do to you. 

“Enter.”

Placing you gently on the carpted floor, like a fragile china artifact, Chuuya bowed to the man behind the desk. “I brought (y/n) here, as you requested.” A cloved finger lifts your chin up, forcing you too look up into his eyes. You did not flinch, instead you stared back with unveil anger burning in your (e/c) eyes. 

“Quite a feisty one. Would you like to join us? Your wind ability completely outclasses my other assassins. That speed and that special method! Truly impressive. You should not waste your talents in that agency. The Port Mafia could offer you more.”

Using the little strength you had left, you got away from the mafia’s boss’s reach and shook your head: “I would rather die a gruesome death then working for you. If you want to kill me, you can do it now.” 

“Then, I suppose we need to change our method of negotiation-” Great, you can already feel those cold torture instruments.

“I can handle it.” To your surprise, Chuuya stopped the man from saying any more. 

The older man looks to his subordinate with curious eyes. “Chuuya? Are you sure? Wouldn’t it be better to leave this to our experts?” 

“Leave it to me, boss. She would be compliant within a week, I can guarantee.” Why would he want to trouble himself with this? Well, he merely wants to claim what Dazai cannot, as simple as that. 

“As you wish, then. As long as you do not break her beyond repair, she is all yours.”

You want to shout, to scream that you are not some object to be hand over, but you just do not have the energy to do so. There is not much you can do beside being a silent observer on the ground. 

Instead of a torture chamber, Chuuya took you to his personal quarters in the Mafia base. Perhaps he wants to do this the tender way? Sway you with high salary or numerous other perks of working in this mafia? 

It is when he thrown you on the bed, straddling over your helpless form, tearing your clothes off mercilessly, you realize how wrong you were.

“You look so good under me, where you belong.” He did not even bother to unbutton your blouse, just ripped the fine fabric off swiftly, grinning at your horrified expressions. “Come on, do not look so scared. This is not like you. Where is your fierce spirts when you insult Dazai?” Has he been stalking you? How could he-

“Ah, no matter. That jerk tried to win you over, but it is me who would get you.You would forget all about him when you are busy screaming my name later. Do you think you can handle my torture methods, dear (y/n)? Gods, you are beautiful. No wonder why Dazai would be head over heels for you.” 

How you bit your lip to supress your tears, trying to cover your chest for some modesty, only made his lust increase drastically. This time, Chuuya can finally be proud of his accomplishment: claiming a prize Dazai can never possibly won.

[fific7]

Dangerous and Divine - Part 6

Billy Russo x Reader

Summary: Billy Russo is an itch you don’t want to scratch. But he’s all over you like a rash.

A/N: This does not follow canon, it’s mainly fluff & lemon zest 🍋 with a side of angst. The GIF is from Exposed, unreleased pilot show in case you’re wondering 😌... Billy vibes.

Warnings: Some drinking & swearing.

(My GIF)

He made it out onto the street, looking around him in all directions, heart sinking as he couldn’t see her anywhere.

Running his fingers through his hair, Billy continued scanning the crowded streets. No.... nothing. He grabbed his phone and dialled her number. She didn’t pick up. So he texted her.

“Angel, just saw you in the restaurant. I was there for a business lunch, really hope you don’t think there was anything else to it cos there wasn’t. Please - call me back or pick up when I call.”

He tried another couple of times including FaceTime but no, she definitely wasn’t picking up. Trying once more, he let it ring through to voicemail, and left basically the same message on there. He had no intention of returning to Madani and continuing lunch - too many awkward questions to face there apart from anything else - so he went back to his car, got in, slamming his hands down onto the steering wheel a few times before starting the engine, and driving back to Anvil.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You and your friend had only gone a few doors down to another restaurant, and luckily they had a table available. Once you’d ordered and had glasses of wine in your hands, your friend Karen had fixed you with a steely gaze and said, “Okay, give.”

She worked as a reporter at one of the big newspapers, and you hadn’t had the chance to catch up with her for a good few months. And you knew she wouldn’t let this go until she’d wrung all the juicy details out of you, so you took a big sip of wine and sighed.

Catching her up from the whole ex-boyfriend situation to the cocktail party and meeting your new love interest, through to becoming lovers and maybe thinking it could go somewhere, you finally got to today’s fiasco.

“So, literally as soon as we sat down, I look up and that big fucker’s walking in with some pretty girl and looking extremely comfortable with her!” You gave what could only be described as an angry growl, “I mean I’d sussed out from the get-go that he was a player, but ... uhhh!!!... how could I be so damn stupid to fall for his shit talk?!!! Telling me I was his girlfriend!!!” You blew out a big breath.

“And then...“ you switched to your fake “man” voice, “‘Oh, I got a job I’ll be on for the next couple of days, angel.’” Another angry huff from you. “Yeah, right, on a ‘job’...he was obviously gonna be ON her! For about 48 hours by the sound of it. Bitch! And he’s a fucking jerk.”

Once Karen could get a word in edgeways when your rant drew to a close, she said in a calming voice, “Honey, it sounds like you had a lucky escape. There’s a lot of them in New York, you know... fucking jerks, I mean.”

You felt your eyes welling up, but blinked the tears back fiercely, you weren’t going to cry over that stupid big douchebag. You pulled your phone out of your bag, “I mean, look! Look at what he literally put in my phone yesterday evening...” and, ignoring your notifications for the moment, you scrolled to Contacts and turned the phone towards her.

Karen rolled her eyes, “Urrrghh, how lame is that? ‘Your Boyfriend’?” shaking her head. Even though you were furious at him, you felt a twinge of annoyance at her comment. You’d thought it was quite cute. Well, you had before that little shitshow. Then she put her face closer to the screen, “Hey, wait a minute!.. lemme see his photo?”

You handed the phone to her, and she peered at the image. “Oh my god,” she breathed, looking up at you, “...what’s your guy’s name?” “Billy Russo,” you spat back, loath to even voice it. She handed you the phone back. “Well, that’s just damn spooky,” she said, looking amazed. She leant in to you, “I’ve been seeing a guy for a couple of months, his name’s Frank,” and your mouth dropped. “Billy’s got a friend called Frank!” you said, staring at her. She nodded, “Yep, works at Anvil which is owned by the one and only Billy Russo!”

She sat back, taking a long sip of her wine. “What a freaking coincidence this is,” she shook her head. “Frank’s told me a little about him, you know and I’m afraid you’re right - he sounds like a total player.” She looked at you sympathetically, “Sorry.” You waved a hand in the air, “Nothing I hadn’t guessed for myself, Karen. But... he seemed so sincere.” You laughed self-depracatingly, “I was gonna be the one who tamed the bad boy. Huh!!”

You scrolled through the notifications, realising they were all from Billy. “I think he must’ve seen me! He’s called and texted.” You read the text, huffing and showing it to Karen, who raised her eyebrows and commented, “Nice recovery, Russo.” “The voicemail’s the same,” you said, as you listened to it. “What a load of bullshit. I mean, c’mon, who walks a business lunch date to the table with his hand on her back?”

Karen nodded, “No-one, unless they wanna get slapped with a lawsuit.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy slammed his office door behind him, and threw himself into his chair, tapping out a staccato rhythm on his desktop with a long finger. He reached down, opening his bottom desk drawer and taking out a bottle of whisky and a glass. A moment later, the door opened and Frank came in, looking concerned. He took in Billy’s less-than-immaculate hair, bouncing knee and tense demeanour.

Billy waggled the whisky bottle and quirked an eyebrow at him, but Frank shook his head.

“Okay, Bill, what’s up? Something go wrong?” Billy looked up at him, scowling ferociously, “Fuck yes!” he bit out, “Frankie... everything’s gone wrong.”

Before he could say anything else, Frank’s phone rang and he held a finger up to Billy to say he was going to take the call.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he answered it, “how’re you?” Billy heard a big outburst of indecipherable speech from the phone, and then saw Frank’s eyes flick over to him. “Oh, uhhh okay.. umm right, yeah he’s here. Yeah... yep, I’ll let him know. Will I see you later?” He smiled fondly as he went on, “Okay! That’s great, see you then.” He hung up, hand going to his jaw and running over his stubbled chin, looking worried.

“Bill...” he started, just staring at him and Billy stared right back, “What?”

Frank said a name to him, his angel’s name, and continued, “You know her?” Billy nodded, “Yeah, that’s my girl.” Frank plopped down into the chair across from him, “Not sure that’s the case now.” Billy nodded, “I know. That’s what I was about to tell you. I took Madani out to lunch and my girl was in the fuckin’ restaurant.” He shook his head, “She ran right outta there and I followed but couldn’t find her. So I headed back here. Left Madani sitting there in the restaurant.”

He poured a generous slug of whisky into the glass and knocked back most of it. “Now my girl’s mad at me and Dinah’s mad at me, and this operation could be down the tube.”

Frank sighed, rubbing his big paw over his face. “And Karen’s her friend, can you believe that? So she’s mad at you too. Fuckin’ hell, Russo.”

“Yeah,” said Billy, also sighing. “How the fuck am I gonna fix this?”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Dinah Madani was not a happy bunny. She stomped into her office, yelling out “Sam!!!” as she went. He hurried in behind her. “Something wrong, Dinah?” She gave him a contemptuous look, “I see you’ve been working on your powers of observation. Well done! Yes, something’s wrong!” Sitting down behind her desk, she glared up at him, “Russo!!! That’s what wrong. That piece of shit.”

Inwardly, Sam laughed to himself. Despite Madani’s sarcastic gibe at his perceptiveness, he’d quickly realised as soon as Russo had popped up in this case that Madani had the serious hots for him. She thought she’d been getting somewhere with him, both on the case and personally, but now something must’ve put a spanner in the works on either one or both of those.

“What’s pretty boy done now?” he asked, trying and failing to completely hide his smirk. She scowled at him, “We’d gone out for lunch - to discuss the case,” she hastily added, and Sam thought to himself ‘yeah, right, and what were you hoping dessert was gonna be?’

“He spotted someone leaving the restaurant and off he goes, saying he’s got to catch up with them.” She viciously powered up her laptop. “Think it was a woman,” she mumbled. “Sorry, what?” said Sam innocently. “I said, I think it was a woman!” spat out Madani, “are you deaf or something?”

Sam smirked again, “Oh. Dear. Someone to do with the case, you think?” She stared at her screen, “How should I know? But that bastard’s got some explaining to do.”

Well this afternoon was gonna be a complete blast, thought Sam.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You’d returned to Chelsea, and spent the whole afternoon getting under your team’s feet in the café. Not wanting to sit and brood in your office, you’d busied yourself ‘helping them out’, when in fact they didn’t actually need any assistance. And you could sense you were vaguely irritating them. But you didn’t feel up to telling them what the problem was.

Eventually, you’d asked if one of them wanted the rest of the day off as paid leave, and Gabrielle had jumped at the chance. Her older sister had just recently popped out another baby, and she was keen to visit and fulfill her role as doting aunt.

The two guys had watched you warily for the rest of the day, in case all your nervous energy ended up causing some kind of coffee-shop catastrophe. You sent them off at the end of the day, saying you’d close up yourself. Which turned out to be a mistake. Looking vacantly out at the street, you closed and locked the door when they left, and that’s when you spotted the Wraith, parked diagonally opposite the café.

Resting your forehead against the cool glass of the door for a moment, knowing you should really have anticipated that this would be Billy’s next move when you didn’t respond to his attempts at contacting you. Either turn up here or at your apartment. Not difficult to work out. You got the fright of your life as the doorway suddenly darkened, and long legs clad in suit trousers and a pair of shiny black shoes appeared in your line of vision. You’d jumped back in surprise and Billy leant one one arm on the door, staring in at you and mouthing “Please?” at you, followed by (you thought), “I just wanna explain.”

You’d looked away from his pleading eyes, contemplating what you were going to do. Let him in, don’t let him in. You couldn’t deny you wanted to hear his explanation. In all its no-doubt manufactured glory. So, heaving a big sigh, you unlocked the door and immediately walked away to the counter, leaving him to actually open the door and walk in. A small victory, you thought. You hadn’t actually let him in after all. Sort of.

“Coffee?” you asked over your shoulder. “Please.” You made an Americano for him, and a caffé corretto for yourself. You weren’t too fond of grappa, so topped up the espresso with some brandy. Billy, who was leaning on the counter watching you, raised an eyebrow at you. “Ooh, that bad, huh? Can I get some too?” You just stared at him, and he added, “Please?” so you added a shot to his coffee and handed it to him.

Sipping your own strong and bracing beverage, you leaned back against the unit behind you, face neutral, waiting. He took a long drink of his fortified coffee, eyes never leaving yours. He carefully placed the cup back into the saucer, leaning his arms on the counter and looking back up at you, the tip of his tongue swiftly moving over his bottom lip.

“I know you’ll probably think this is total bullshit, but I promise you it’s not,” he said into the silence. You nodded, “Mmhmm.” His eyes drilled into yours, sincerity shining out of them, “That was purely a business lunch. She’s a Homeland agent, and Frankie and I are... in the middle of something with that agency. I can’t tell you any of the details... yet. I’m sorry.”

You huffed out a long breath. “Firstly, Billy, since when does a business lunch entail walking the woman to a table with a hand on her back?” He winced, but you weren’t finished, “And right now, to me, the only thing you looked like getting into the middle of was her.” This time he flinched back from the venom in your voice, but he maintained eye contact with you.

“Angel, I swear to you... On. My. Life. There is nothing and will never be anything between me and Agent Madani.” So.... Agent Madani, your brain rolled the words around your mind. “We’re in a joint operation with them, and I need to make sure she doesn’t drop us out of the loop, they’re good at doing that.”

“And how’re you doing that, Billy? With ‘business lunches’, with lots of flirting? She got the hots for you, hmmm Billy? Yeah? So, ultimately with sex? Keep her really sweet?”

Damn, you knew you’d hit the nail right on the head. His face had flushed, guilt written all over him and he’d slid back on the counter slightly. You’d like to bet that If he hadn’t met you, that’s exactly what would’ve happened. Maybe he’d just not got that far down his timetable with her yet.

You stared intently into his eyes, “Slept with her yet, Billy?” He straightened up to his full height, looking down at you, a strange distant expression in his eyes. “No, angel, I haven’t. And I can’t deny what you’ve just said. That was the plan. Me and Frankie need to know what information and leads she’s got. Yeah, she’d like to fuck me, she’s made that pretty obvious. But we hadn’t quite got to that stage yet.” He took a deep breath, and said in a rush, “We had a drink after work one night, and I kissed her.”

“Uhuh. Did you.” Statement, not question, folding your arms over your chest.

“Before we met!” he hastily added, emphasising the ‘before’, “...it happened days before we met. And it was purely business to me. Nothing more.” “Really? She’s pretty hot.” You could tell he spent a split second thinking how best to reply and keep his balls intact at the same time. “Well, yeah she is... but the spark’s not there for me. She doesn’t float my boat. Not like you do.” You smirked, good answer Russo!

“So what would your schedule have been?” He looked at you, puzzled, “What d’you mean?”

“Flirt, tick. Kiss, tick,” you made little air ticking motions with your finger. “Fuck...? Now, just when would that’ve been on the table, Billy?” He looked away from you, shaking his head, “I dunno. Whenever it would’ve been necessary.” Glancing back at you, “Look, I know this sounds really...” “Shitty?” you supplied. He allowed himself a small grin, “Yeah, shitty,” then the grin dropped. “But this is life and death, angel, and it means finally clearing our names as long as it all goes down okay.” You decided to spare Billy the verbal barb which had popped effortlessly into your head, along the lines of ‘would it depend on who went down on who?’

But you didn’t, instead saying. “Oh right, that’d be clearing your name from when you and Frank got arrested by Homeland, yes?” Billy gave you a hint of a smile, “So, you have been digging after all.”

You nodded, “Yes, I have. Not that I found out much. The dead CIA guy, him having funded you, you guys getting arrested. That was pretty much it.” He nodded, “That’s the bare bones of it, the important parts though. I promise you that as soon as I can, I’ll tell you the whole sorry story. We’re still right in the... it’s all still goin’ on right now.”

You smirked to yourself, you knew he’d changed what he’d been about to say as he was saying it, in case you took another dig at him about exactly what he was in the middle of.

He moved round the counter, and stood next to you. His dark eyes looked huge as they stared into yours, “I promise you, angel, you’re the only woman I’m interested in. The only one I want to be with. Please say you believe me.” The annoying thing was, you did. You didn’t like what he’d told you - that basically if you hadn’t been on the scene he’d have slept with Madani to keep her ‘on side’ - but you did believe that he hadn’t had sex with her. You thought that the small snippet of her body language you’d observed had screamed ‘I want him’ but not the casual touching and languid looks of ‘I’ve had him’.

You gave a big sigh. “Okay, Russo, I believe you.” A look of pure relief crossed his face, and he immediately grabbed both of your hands, pulling you close and kissing you hungrily. You pulled away after a few moments, just as he was trying to deepen the kiss. “But you’re on parole for a while.” He groaned, which became a laugh, “Okay, yeah... whatever you want, angel. For however long you want. I guess I deserve some punishment.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

After closing up, you and Billy crossed the road and headed towards his car. He beeped his car remote at it as he approached and then opened the passenger door for you. As you folded yourself into the seat, he put one arm on the door frame and leant in to kiss you again. “Sneaky,” you said as you moved your lips away from his. “Always,” he replied and smiled widely at you. He seemed very happy to have been granted ‘parole’, you thought.

As Billy drove off in the direction of his place - realising this produced a part-exasperated smirk on your face - you contemplated what a fucking awful, emotional, but ultimately good day you’d had.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Someone else was stewing about precisely the same thing. Only without the good ending.

Dinah Madani had a furious scowl on her face as she put her SUV into Drive and pulled out into the traffic flow, following Billy’s car.

She’d just watched that whole little pantomime as he’d opened the car door for that woman, then leant in and obviously kissed her, although she hadn’t been able to actually see that from her vantage point a couple of cars behind his.

When she’d followed Billy from Anvil out to Chelsea earlier on, for the life of her she couldn’t figure out why he’d headed into a coffee shop, of all places. She’d discovered that she couldn’t see into the café from where she was parked, and didn’t want to break cover and walk over to the window in case Billy spotted her.

Then out he’d trotted, hand in hand with whoever this woman was - a waitress in a coffee shop? “Classy, Russo, very classy,” she said out loud, in a bitchy voice. She could ask him about it, she thought, but knowing him he’d more than likely tell her it was none of her business.

Well, she was going to make it her business to find out whatever she could about this apparent liaison of his. She pulled over and watched as his car disappeared into the underground carpark of his apartment block.

It could have some bearing on the case, she thought, trying to justify this course of action to herself.

She ignored that other little voice in her head which said to her that she was just plain jealous.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

@blackbirddaredevil23 @galaxyjane

[jaskiersvalley]

I just wanted to say a) oh my gods the cute laiden fluff I die. b) holy crap you wrote that cute Little!Lambert fic I found a bit ago! Nice!! And c) rawrkin explicitly told me you were nice and worth messaging and who am I to pass up such an endorsement? I love your stuff it's very good. 💜💜💜

Considering I’ve already come and made a twit of myself in your inbox in response to this, I’ll keep it brief (and in reverse order). C) @rawrkinjd is out there being lovely and spreading rumours that I’m nice XD We all know they are the real sweetheart here! B) I’ve had a few more asks about Little Lambert come in (with Aiden getting involved too...) so there may be more of that to come. C) Fluff is where my heart will always lie. There are so many unhappy endings in real life, let fandom be where everyone gets to be happy and cute. With that in mind, I may work a hint of Laiden into your thank you ficlet which is a vague companion/follow-up to this one. :D

It seemed that Yennefer wasn’t best pleased with how winter was shaping up. The path up to the keep was still open and Lambert had been glancing out towards the approach regularly, as if expecting someone. Eskel seemed to be in on it, sometimes standing with him, a hand on the small of Lambert’s back, murmuring a soft “he’ll be here” at times. That already had Yennefer rolling her eyes. She still seemed quite bitter that her spell to turn the witchers into children hadn’t taught whatever lesson she wanted to instill in them.

As it tended to be, things came to a head with Jaskier. He had tugged playfully at one of the decorative ribbons on Yennefer’s dress as they moved around the dining hall, settling down for dinner. As Jaskier sat down, Lambert glanced longingly towards the door with a sigh.

“Have your happy families,” Yennefer growled and Jaskier was enveloped in a puff of purple smoke. As it cleared, a large eyed child sat in his place.

Nobody dared move for a moment, taking in the sight of a de-aged Jaskier until Lambert cleared his throat. “Oh no. He’s adorable.”

Not just adorable, also impeccably well mannered. Jaskier ate his dinner, already behaving like a dainty little lordling. It was all endearing and none of the witchers could look away from a toddler who had more table manners than the lot of them combined.

“Thank you very much for dinner,” Jaskier lisped. and Vesemir could see every stone cold witcher heart thaw in the room - including his own.

Settling Jaskier down for the night was an easy affair, he was sleepy, seemed quite determined that as it was evening, he would go to bed. That night, the wolves gathered in front of the fire and sighed.

“I didn’t think children could ever be this polite.” As he spoke, Vesemir stared into the fire. “None of you lot were ever this good.”

Famous last words. In the morning, Jaskier was gone. Not disappeared but definitely nowhere to be found. His altered scent led the witchers on a merry trail across the whole keep. Even worse, there was the occasional childish giggle and the patter of feet but Jaskier was nowhere to be found. They spent a whole morning looking, splitting up and taking different floors and wings of the keep, even going into areas that had been considered closed off for decades because nobody wanted to remember what happened behind certain doors.

It was futile, Jaskier was nowhere to be found. Even worse, the trail grew cold, there were no pattering feet or more giggles. The witchers reconvened in the dining room, looking haggard already, only to find Vesemir stood in the middle, staring up into the rafters, one hand raised to silence his wolves. Without a word, he pointed up into the vaulted ceilings. Only thanks to enhanced vision did the witchers see the small figure draped over a girder, arm dangling limply as Jaskier slept.

“How to we get him down from there?” Eskel asked, looking around.

“My question is, how did he get up there?” The counter from Lambert was also a fair one.

Before any answers could be give, Geralt broke into a run with “he’s rolling!” grunted between puffs of exertion. Sure enough, Jaskier had turned from his back to his side and gravity was doing its thing. Almost in slow motion, Jaskier toppled from the rafter.

“Eskel! Aard!” Geralt yelled. Only years of training together had Eskel sending a moderate blast towards Jaskier’s falling body. It won them enough time that Geralt could leap the final few meters and he caught Jaskier in his arms, his own shoulder slamming into the ground rather than their bard’s.

“Again! Again! Again!” Jaskier trilled, seemingly waking up without any kind of transition from sleep to sleepy to awake. Before anyone could react, he was up and off, rushing into the kitchen and, a moment later, running across a beam up high. “Catch me Geralt!”

The next minute Jaskier was falling again with a childish “whee!” and Eskel had to use aard to direct him towards Geralt once again. Thus the newest game was born. Jaskier had boundless energy to run, climb and jump, only to repeat again. And again. And again. Even Eskel was feeling the strain, his signs coming out weaker while Geralt huffed and puffed at having to run around to catch Jaskier who jumped off random beams, never the same one.

“Last one, then it’s lunch time,” Vesemir’s voice was clear through the hall and Jaskier took a running jump, almost missing Geralt as Eskel’s aard didn’t give him enough of a boost.

Sitting at the table, Jaskier eyed the plate of food, heated up remains from the previous night. While the witchers tucked in, Jaskier pushed it around on his plate before shoving it away.

“I don’t like it.”

“You ate it yesterday,” Geralt replied around a mouthful.

“But I don’t like it today. I want grouse.”

Even if Kaer Morhen had a stash of grouse, they wouldn’t have cooked any just because Jaskier was being picky. They ignored his indignant kicking of the table leg. The first sniffle and smell of salty tears had all of them looking up. Jaskier’s cheeky were ruddy red and large crocodile tears trickled down his cheeks.

“But I want grouse,” he wailed, voice breaking on a shriek.

Vesemir had honestly thought he had seen everything in his many years. But not once had he watched a child slither down a chair, muscles lax yet tight with rage. On the floor, Jaskier truly let loose, screaming, little fists pounding into the stone of the floor. The witchers all froze and stared at each other, not knowing what to do.

“If you won’t eat it, you’ll go hungry,” Vesemir ventured when Jaskier took a breath. Another howl of rage was his only answer.

Eskel was the first to decide this wasn’t for him. He picked up his plate and carried it into the kitchen, finishing his meal there, Geralt rapidly joining him. A look was exchanged between Vesemir and Lambert, neither wanting to be the last one left with a hysterical child. By virtue of being nearer the door, Vesemir won and made his hasty retreat.

Left alone with Jaskier, Lambert looked at his plate and then towards the door that led to the entrance of the keep. When no help seemed to come, he shrugged and kept eating.

There was a lull in Jaskier’s theatrics and Lambert felt a small wave of relief. “Hey kid, you done?”

“No.” More screaming.

“Okay.”

Eventually, Jaskier ran out of steam. After lying under the table for a little longer, he climbed out and sat back on his chair, arms crossed over his chest and glaring at the plate.

It was less than a day since Jaskier had turned into a child and already the witchers were tired. Not just the regular fatigue but the kind where they would have fallen into a pile in front of a fire and slept for probably a whole day. Eskel was worn ragged from all the signs, Geralt from the stress of catching Jaskier, Lambert’s nerves were fraying from the screaming and Vesemir thought he was too old for this shit. Sadly, his concoction only worked on witchers, otherwise he would have already pinned Jaskier down and forced a dose of the stuff down his throat.

The main door to the keep opened and a newcomer strolled in. A little put off by the lackluster greeting, Aiden followed his nose and found the others in the dining hall, a child opposite Lambert.

“You came,” Lambert sighed a waved. Three heads peered out from the kitchen and Eskel waggled his fingers with a tired smile.

“I did. And who is this? A Child Surprise?”

“Jaskier. The brat. I mean. The bard.”

Looking around, Aiden suppressed a smirk. He had a good idea what had been going on. Rather than make a big thing of it, he pointed at Jaskier’s plate. “You going to eat that?” A stubborn shake of head was his answer. “Sweet. I’m starving so you won’t mind if I-”

He cut off his words as a fork almost stabbed him in the hand. “Guess I’ll get my own plate then.”

The others watched as Jaskier glared at Aiden and hurriedly stuffed his food into his mouth, hunched over the plate. For his part, Aiden hid his triumphant grin and walked into the kitchen, getting a slight shoulder bump in greeting from Eskel.

After lunch seemed to settle down, the wolves were rather hopeful of an afternoon nap. Children did that, right? They piled in front of the fire, grumbling. Aiden joined them, Jaskier sat triumphantly on his shoulders and clutching his hair.

“Now,” Aiden said, “we need to put these big babies to sleep. Can you help me tuck them in?”

Little hands patted the throws down that Aiden draped over the other witchers. He tried not to laugh at how they were all drooping, cuddling up into a tangle of limbs.

A few hours later they woke in various states of decoration. Lambert had a candle stuck up his nose, Eskel’s hair was tied into a lot of small bunchies while Geralt’s face was scribbled on in charcoal and ash, giving him the most incredible eyebrows and scowl. Meanwhile, Vesemir was adorned in anything shiny that could be found in the keep.

“What the-?” Lambert growled and looked up at Aiden who was far too entertained.

“You left me with the kid. We kept ourselves entertained.”

Sitting up, Vesemir had to try and hide his own amusement. “How are you so good at keeping up?”

“He’s no worse than any other kid.” The shrug from Aiden seemed genuine. “You had them here too, didn’t you?” A look at the wolves and Aiden’s eyes went round. “You were all quiet and serious, weren’t you? Other than Lambert but even his firecracker ways were muted by comparison.”

It seemed that destiny had already matched the children to the schools they would fit in with the best. And it was safe to say, if Jaskier had been destined to be a witcher, he wouldn’t have been a wolf.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Welcome To Backwater ch.4 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Stretch is settling into small town life.

~~*~~

Read Chapter Four on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

The rest of Stretch’s week went about the same way as the first few days. Work in the morning, movie in the afternoon, dinner with Red at night. After what Red told him, he’d been prepared to Groundhog’s Day his way through his next visit with Doris if needs be, braced for a few reminders until he made a good enough impression.

For their second meeting, he got another popcorn just for her, tucking it into the cupholder on the opposite side of her seat. She was barely formed before she was leaning down to breathe in the buttery smell of it and from that angle, he didn’t have to witness any of her less appetizing manifestations. He also brought strawberry-flavored twizzlers, bought from the store and smuggled in under his shirt since the only candy at the concession stand was raisinets and those tasted like chocolate-covered dirt, no thanks.

He wasn’t too worried about going over his entertainment budget. Red paid him yesterday and they hadn’t discussed an hourly rate, but a hundred bucks under the table wasn’t bad for a few hours work a day, especially since Red had recently taken more of an interest in feeding him. Seemed he’d taken his brother’s order to look after Stretch pretty seriously and he started leaving packets of donuts on the counter in the morning or little boxes of sugary dry cereal to munch between customers. In the evening, Red dragged him back to his apartment at night for more Wheel of Fortune and food, either deliciously left by his unseen brother or frozen dinners.

It made Stretch feel even more like a scrawny lost puppy found in a parking lot, but he couldn’t say Red’s sudden adoption was unwelcome, especially since it meant less of his dwindling funds were wasted at ‘Mama’s’ getting takeout. Not that he couldn’t access his bank account, even Backwater had an ATM at the gas station, but the second he popped that plastic into the slot, he’d be advertising where he was. Better to save that as his last measly dollar, ‘hail Mary’ pass.

After indulging in her popcorn vice, Doris sat back up to her normal prim posture and there was a certain restrained excitement in her voice as she said, “You came back.”

“’course i did,” Stretch said from around his current twizzler even as he nursed a secret delight at being remembered. “i said i would, didn’t i?” He wondered what other friends she’d made and possibly forgotten, aside from Red. Maybe she thought she’d been alone all this time when she actually had others who came to see her on the weekends?

Whatever the truth was, there wasn’t much point in asking. Not like she’d know the truth, anyway, and Stretch wasn’t planning on ghosting her. Her smile was Mona Lisa subtle and probably held as many unspoken secrets, and that was fine. Stretch wasn’t a guy to pry. They sat together through ‘The Road to Morocco’ and he didn’t even mind when Doris hummed softly through all the songs.

On the third day since their haunting introduction, she appeared before the movie started while he was playing ‘Candy Crush’ on his phone and pointedly ignoring the messages piling up. She looked fascinated, watching the flickering lights from the game. “What is that contraption, Stretch?”

Hey, points for being remembered again, but then, he’d been here every day so far. He wondered idly how it would go if he took a day or two off.

Stretch held his phone out to let her get a better look. “you ever have a telephone in your house?”

“Of course,” she said, but her eyes, both pale blue and ghostly pale at the same time, were on the android, “My parents were on the exchange. Mama used to call Central all the time so she could chat with the ladies’ in her church group.”

Stretch wasn’t quite sure what that all meant, but the movie was starting soon so there wasn’t time to ask. “well, this little gadget is a kind of a phone and a camera, plus a few other things on top.”

Probably better not to bring up the deal with the internet just yet.

Her eyes went wide and round, without an ounce of disbelief. “You can take photographs with that?”

“yeah, sure. here.” He turned it on selfie mode and tipped his head her way, waiting until he was sure to catch her good side before pushing the button. One click later and there was his grin and her translucent open-mouthed astonishment, frozen in time. He held out the phone so she could get a good look. “see? i can get it printed later, but for now, we can see how it looks.”

“That’s wonderous,” she whispered in hushed awe. “You don’t even have to wait to develop it!”

“yeah, it is pretty cool.” It was, honestly. He didn’t really think about it too often but carrying around a little supercomputer that also took pictures was actually pretty wonderous. He remembered getting his first phone when they came to the surface, a huge upgrade from the taped-up flip phone he’d scavenged from the dump. Playing with all the apps, taking tons of pictures of him and Blue. He’d forgotten that wonder when it all became commonplace and it was nice to have a reminder.

Doris reached out as if to touch, but her finger passing through the screen. Her hand fell away and she didn’t look happy anymore, more pensive, her delight fading as some other thought filtered in and force it to sink.

He wondered if the culture shock was kicking in. He asked, low, “you okay?”

“Yes, of course.” She pulled out a hankie and dabbed at her eyes. “I simply haven’t seen myself in, oh, a very long time, I think.”

Shit, he hadn’t thought of that. She probably hadn’t made too many trips to the ladies’ room in the past few decades and now he was double-glad he hadn’t accidently caught one of her bloody ‘flickers’, she didn’t need to see that. “i’m sorry.”

“Please, don’t be sorry,” she assured him, “I’m happy to have seen it.” She smiled then, pretty as a picture, “you’re a good friend.”

“trying to be.” For as long as he could, anyway. The lights started to dim and Stretch tucked his phone away. They both settled into their seats to watch ‘Casablanca’, him munching on his popcorn, her giving hers the occasional sniff, and both of them ended up sniffling as Sam played ‘As Time Goes By’, Stretch into his sleeve and Doris into her lace-edged hankie.

He didn’t know what past lover Doris was thinking about, but he hoped it was a nice memory and not one that helped her on her brutal path over to the other side. His own memories were more bitter than sweet, and he replaced both with more butter-soaked popcorn. At least that was a taste he could stand.

~~*~~

The store opened late on Sundays and closed early, only staying open long enough for anyone who needed a quick pick up or a treat for their kiddos after church. Stretch didn’t have the slightest interest in religion, not even his own, but he listened for the deep clang of the church bells gonging through the town announcing the mass exodus, and rang up all the Humans that came in dressed in their Sunday best.

At least none of them seemed to hold his lacking against him. Their smiles as they paid for the ice cream treats that their kids were already devouring were the same as they’d been all week and the only raised voice in the shop was a mother admonishing her son to ‘Be careful of that nice shirt, Billy, don’t you be getting chocolate down your front!’

By the time he hung up the closed sign at three on the dot, there hadn’t been a customer in nearly an hour anyway. Probably everyone was holing up at home for an early supper out of the scorching heat. He swept the floor, locked the door, and that was done. He wandered back to Red’s apartment in hopes of a little early supper of his own, knocking briefly before stepping inside, “red?”

“out here,” floated back to him. The door that led to the backyard was open, only the screen keeping the humming insects at bay. Stretch went out on the porch where Red was sitting in one of the rickety rocking chairs he kept back there. His leg was propped up on a scruffy cushion atop a low stool, the pantleg oddly deflated and his shoe lying beneath the rocker. Next to him was a small cooler with beers floating in a shallow pool of water and the remnants of ice cubes. Dangling from his loose fingertips was a smoldering joint, faint wisps of pale smoke trailing from his darkened eye sockets.

Stretch went out, letting the screen door bang shut behind him. There was a sofa on the back porch even more ancient than the one in the living room and it puffed up a cloud of dust when Stretch flopped down on it. “you’re letting out all the cold air,” Stretch said.

Red snorted loudly, “you ain’t paying for it.”

“that is true,” he agreed. “i don’t pay for a lot around here, ‘cause you are a generous soul. speaking of,” he waved a vague hand at the joint that was nearly falling out of Red’s fingers, “gonna share that, too?”

Red didn’t even look in his direction, only blindly handed over the roll. The first hit was skunky-sharp, the smoke burning in his ribcage in a way that plain tobacco just didn’t, and Stretch was careful only to take a small toke to start. Red was the kind of asshole who either got cheap shit to match his cheap beer or he’d get the sort of weed that would have Stretch afraid to get up from the sofa because he might fall off the world. Better to start slow and figure it out from there.

Turned out to be somewhere in the middle and left him in a perfectly mellow buzz, all his stressors suddenly distant and unimportant. Stretch lived up to his name by sprawling out as far as he could on the moldering sofa, his sneakers dangling off the arm as he and Red passed the joint back and forth.

“ain’t bad, yeah?” Red said lazily. He took another toke, breathing out words and smoke, “ain’t legal here, yet, but the sheriff is one of my poker buddies.”

Stretch twisted to look at him, “seriously?”

“nope, but his kid is the one selling, so i figure he don’t mind.”

Stretch wasn’t sure if any part of that sentence was true and couldn’t be bothered to care. Blurry reality was so much better than having it sharp and in focus. The haze dug in deep beneath the surface, settling right and making itself at home. That was probably the only reason Stretch asked, bravely thoughtless, “so, why did your brother want me to leave town?”

“ehhhhhh," Red drew the sound out like it was a word of its own, his chair creaking on the dry wood of the porch as he rocked back, "he's jus' paranoid. folks that ain't used to backwater can get into trouble here sometimes."

“yeah, i can see how a town with only one bar can be loaded with problems,” Stretch snorted, “the locals aren’t as generous with their beer as you?”

“you’d be surprised at the kinda trouble you can find in a small town.” That sounded a little more bitter than expected and Stretch glanced at Red to see what kind of lemon he was biting down on. But Red wasn’t chewing on anything; instead, he was tugging at his pant leg, clumsily rolling the denim up. Stretch started to look away, didn’t want to make his landlord and new weed dealer uncomfortable but Red only let out that rough, scoffing laugh of his. “may as well look if you’re gonna be askin’ about the real shit.”

So he did, taking in the rounded nub of bone leftover from an obviously surgical amputation, the leg missing from right below the knee joint. Red only slumped back in the chair as Stretch studied it, giving every appearance of not caring. Unless, you know, a person wasn’t a complete moron and Stretch was at least one rung up. He could see the overbrightness in Red’s eye lights, the tight grit of his teeth, his jaw working even when Stretch fell back on the sofa.

Stretch asked with carefully affected boredom, “you’re telling me i’m gonna lose a limb if i keep hanging around? ‘cause when you offered to let me stay, i didn’t know the rent might be a literal arm and leg.”

A beat of silence, then Red chuckled roughly. The ice in the cooler rattled as Red reached in and grabbed a beer, loudly popping the tab and raising the can in a mocking toast, “heh, you got inches to spare, anyway.”

“only below the belt,” Stretch said, agreeably. “so what did he mean, then, that leaving isn’t an option?”

“eh, he didn’t really mean that.”

“he said it. leaving won’t be an option, that was what he said.” Stretch was a hundred percent on that, it was the sort of thing a person remembered very clearly, no matter how stoned.

Red only shrugged, rolling his shoulders with lazy ease, "toldja, he’s paranoid, is all. small town life ain’t bad, once you get used to it. folks settle in and don't want to leave. s'nice here, people are nice.” His sharp-toothed grin widened. “'m here, ain't i?"

“can’t argue with that." Stretch reached out and managed to catch hold of the cooler with the tips of his fingers. He tugged it close enough to fish out one of the beers. "does your brother live in town?"

"i ain't telling you where he lives,” Red said decisively, “ain't risking my meal ticket for your illusions of possible booty call."

Stretch choked on a mouthful of beer, thin streams running out of the sides of his mouth as he coughed, “i wasn't…" He broke off, stoned-stupid and too aghast to come up with a decent protest past the obvious. "that's your brother!"

"yep,” Red agreed, “all that means ‘s i am immune to his charms. don't mean i can't see 'em and you was staring at his ass like you wanted to take it for a lil’ test drive. telling ya right now, that ain’t a good idea.”

Stretch slumped down further on the sofa, sulkily muttering out, “the quality of your brother’s ass notwithstanding, i promise you, i am not on the lookout for any kind of call, booty or otherwise.”

“good,” Red grunted, “while we’re having this little soul to soul, you wanna tell me exactly what you’re running away from that got you all the way out to this neck of the proverbial woods? i can guess at the basics, but the finer details elude me.”

"digging out the best vocab for me, i’m honored.” Stretch rested his half-full can on his chest, played with the tab until it broke off then toying with the bit of aluminum. “not really. i broke up with someone and it sucked. i don't want to talk about it." He slanted his boss/landlord a look, "that a problem?"

"nope," Red took another swig from his beer, wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "man's business is his own, even when he ain't a man. already toldja, stay as long as you like." His easy voice went serious, weirdly intent, "one thing, though, them woods out there, you see ‘em?"

Stretch managed to lean up on an elbow, squinting out at the trees that were far enough away that the house regrettably didn’t fall under any cooling shadows. "yeah, it's kinda peaceful, i guess. if you like that kinda thing." Stretch didn’t, not really, the only greenery he was interested in was rolled up in Red’s joint.

"peaceful. sure. that's all fine and dandy, but don't you go walking out there at night, you hear me?"

It wasn’t easy, but Stretch managed to sit up, working at his wobbly balance to give Red the full weight of his disbelief, “uh. why the fuck would i?”

“didn't say you would,” Red said, a touch defensively, “just sayin’ don’t.

“no, seriously, why would i? do i look like the token monster extra in a horror movie?” Stretch let out an exaggerated shudder, “no thanks, no, no, no. no splitting up, no checking the funny sound in the basement, none of that shit. why, what happens if you go into the woods at night? ‘cause i’m cool with the town ghosts but i’d need a better door lock and a pay raise if you guys got vampires hanging around.”

Red gave him a strange look, his sockets narrowing around his bleary eye lights, "what the…no, you honey roasted nutbar! woods are bigger’n they look, i don't wanna have to dig up a search party to find your scrawny ass if ya get lost, is all!”

"seriously, me wandering in the woods at any time of day is the last thing you need to worry about.” Stretch wondered absently if that was actually a problem around here, people hying off into the woods at midnight, yeesh, might as well wear a ‘free snack’ sign while they were at it and speed up the process.

"great, i'll add it to the bottom of the list. vampires,” Red muttered in disgust, “fuck me.” Then louder, “mind me on this one, you hear? i ain’t your daddy, but i’m taking a liking to you, kid, want ya to hang around a in the land of the livin’ a while.”

That struck Stretch as absurdly funny. He started giggling and couldn’t stop, curling up on the sofa as he cooed, “aww, c’mon, daddy, you don’t wanna roleplay? if i do go in the woods, do i get a spanking?”

He ducked from the can Red threw at him halfheartedly, beer spraying out and splattering the porch, drying almost instantly on the parched wood. Stretch rescued it before it could soak the sofa, tipping the can back and drinking down the last warm mouthful.

“shut the fuck up and hand me that roach,” Red grumbled. He did, and they sat that way for the rest of the afternoon.

The sun was going down by the time they went inside, casting a bloodred glow over the horizon that extended across the not-so-distant trees. Stretch gave them a last look as he waited for Red to strap his prosthetic back on and head inside, maybe for canned ravioli, maybe for one of his brother’s much tastier meals. The leaves were visibly rustling despite the still air, heavy branches waving and creaking. Whatever breath of cool air that ran through the woods didn’t make its way into town.

Stretch shrugged mentally and followed Red as he limped his way through the back door. Air conditioning was better than breeze any day of the week, including Sunday.

~~*~~

tbc

[the-sympathetic-villain]

You Belong With Me - Chapter 9

AO3 | First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Description: Much to his surprise, after being released from prison for a crime he didn’t commit, Logan has been appointed as a the prince’s new advisor.  

Word Count: 6371

Author’s Note: This chapter gets pretty dark so be careful and check the tags, if you need to! Also, if you want to skip the darker subject matter, just skip he middle section. There are breaks between the sections and there’s enough context afterwards for you to be able to get the idea without having to read it. Enjoy the long chapter ;)

Chapter Warnings: Anxiety, Trauma Responses, Nightmares, Imprisonment, Panic Attack, Self-deprecation, Accidental Self-Harm, Swearing, Control/Abuse, Violence, Weapon/Knife, Stabbing (If I missed anything, please let me know!)

Tingling chills crept up Logan’s neck as Virgil slowly leaned away from him with a blank look on his face. Logan felt a sinking feeling in his chest as he waited for Virgil to respond. He nervously tapped his fingers on his leg as he considered the possibility that Virgil didn't believe him.

“I know it's-"

Virgil raised his hand, indicating for Logan to stop talking. He stood up from the sofa, moving to the fireplace. Gripping the mantel with one hand, he covered his eyes with his other hand, gently putting pressure on his temples.

Logan felt an eternity pass as Virgil stood unmoving at the fireplace. Logan’s throat and chest burned from tension as he waited for Virgil to speak. Every cell in his body ached to justify his accusation but Logan held his tongue, biting back the urge to push Virgil. If Virgil didn’t believe him, he hardly wanted to make the consequences worse for himself.

Finally, Virgil turned around to look at him with a serious expression. Logan's eyes flicked to the door, yearning to be anywhere else than on the receiving end of Virgil’s intense stare. He swallowed, tearing his gaze away from the door, knowing full well that Virgil was faster and stronger than him. He was trapped. Logan closed his eyes, bracing himself for Virgil's response.

“You’re absolutely sure?”

Logan's breath caught in his throat as he looked up at Virgil. He cautiously searched Virgil’s face but his face was calm. Logan couldn’t sense any malicious intent in Virgil’s inquiry. Still, Logan hesitated before he spoke again. “There’s no doubt in my mind.”

Virgil looked out to the window on the far end of Logan's suite. “We have to tell Roman.”

“Wait—" Logan protested.

“L, I understand your reasons for not wanting to tell him but his life is at risk if he doesn't know. You have to understand that already.” Virgil’s voice was firm but not unkind. Logan’s anxiety eased a small amount, knowing Virgil seemed to believe him.

“Of course, I understand.” Logan exhaled, defeated. “But Virgil, it's my word against Remus'. I don't know Roman as well as you, so forgive me if I'm wrong, but Roman’s reactions to my treatment have been quite emotional.”

Virgil was quiet, lost in thought as he listened to Logan.

Logan took a breath. He spoke with more confidence as his unease starting to settle. “I don't wish to be misinterpreted. I appreciate that Roman cares enough to be upset on my behalf, but I can only assume telling him that his brother was responsible for my suffering would illicit an even more extreme emotional response.”

Virgil crossed his arms, leaning against the wall behind him. “That's not an unfair assumption of how princey would react.”

“Roman’s already under scrutiny for how he's handled my situation. By some miracle, Roman saw through Remus’ façade and believes my innocence, but many people still believe I'm guilty. They believe that I am part of some greater conspiracy to manipulate Roman, and that Roman's naïve for believing otherwise.” Logan paused. “If Roman reacts rashly, it will only serve to confirm people’s suspicions that I'm somehow influencing him. I don't want to know what could happen if people start to lose faith in Roman, and I don't want to give Remus the opportunity to take advantage of Roman’s good nature, Vee.”

“You’re right. We need to be tactful about how we share this information with him or he could go totally off script.” Logan watched as Virgil started to pace back and forth across the room. “Roman hates his brother already. Even I can't even predict how he'll react, but we can't hide this from him. He needs to know, in case Remus decides to try again.”

“I know.” Logan murmured, watching Virgil from the couch. He could hear the hiss of the gas lamp and he watched Virgil silently pace the room.

Slowing, Virgil moved over to the window, interlacing his fingers and resting his fingers against his lips in a hushing gesture. Deep in thought, he silently gazed out the window, moonlight filtering down on his face. “I know a way to confine princey until we can talk him down.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “How do you intend to manage that?”

“I have to call in a favor.”

“That is unhelpfully vague.”

“You’re just going to have to trust me on this one, L.” Virgil exhaled.

"I guess that's the least I owe you. You are trusting me on this whole matter.” Logan leaned back, resigned. He exhaled and his eyes drifted up to meet Virgil’s. “Thank you for believing me, Vee. I am aware that this is a lot to accept from someone you only recently met.”

Virgil shrugged. “Honestly, it's not as much of a stretch of the imagination as you might think. Roman's no stranger to Remus’ cruelty, and it's no secret to me. It's only hard to believe he'd actually be bold enough to actually try to kill his own brother.”

Logan sighed, exhausted. “I didn’t even realize he was the Roman’s brother.”

“You didn't know?” Virgil turned to lean his shoulder against the wall, giving Logan a confused look.

Logan shook his head tiredly. His eyes were distant as he stared down at the ground. “Not until yesterday.”

Virgil didn't respond, quietly staring at Logan sitting on the couch. “L?”

Logan looked up at him.

“I know you don't want to hear this but you should probably get some rest. It's late.”

Logan sighed. “I know. I don't think I can sleep though.”

“That's the adrenaline talking. You’re exhausted. When was the last time you really slept?”

“I slept this afternoon."

“No, you didn't.”

Logan looked up at him in confusion.

“Your door was cracked open when I left this afternoon. I don't know how long you were listening to Roman and I but you weren’t sleeping.”

Logan’s face flushed. “I'm sorry. I-"

“It's fine, L. Relax. I'm not mad.” Virgil interrupted him. “It was nothing I wouldn’t have said to your face. Don't make a habit of it but, this time, I'll give you a pass. I can't blame you for wanting be certain that we weren’t deceiving you.”

Logan sighed, looking up at Virgil apologetically. “I’m glad I didn't upset you, but regardless, I apologize. I'm asking you to trust me, and yet, I clearly wasn't able to do the same.”

“Seriously, L. It's fine. I would have done the same thing.” Virgil leaned back against the wall. “My point was that you didn’t sleep.”

“I slept some.”

Virgil raised his eyebrow skeptically. “More than a couple hours?”

Logan hesitated, glancing up at Virgil, but decided to be honest. “Probably not.”

Virgil’s eyes narrowed in on him. “When's the last time you slept more than a few hours, L?”

“I don't know.” Logan admitted sadly.

“Go to bed. Table the issue until tomorrow, okay?”

Logan nodded, smiling at Virgil as he reluctantly moved to his room. He paused outside his bedroom door, fidgeting for a moment before glancing back at Virgil. “Uh, thanks for looking out for me, Vee.”

“Someone's got to do it. It may as well be me.” Virgil smirked over at Logan for a moment before his face softened into a smile. “Seriously though, I'm glad to do it. Don't worry.”

Logan smiled over his shoulder before slipping into his room. Once inside, he wandered to the bed and slid under the heavy blankets. Exhaustion settled over him as he pulled the blankets up, letting the dense blanket weigh him down. Sleep claimed him moments later.

-

Logan wiped the dust from his eyes as he pushed himself off the ground. His heart sank at the sound of metal restraints moving with him. Groaning, he laid his back against the cold, stone wall behind him, glancing anxiously around the cell.  Moonlight filtered into his cell through the window high above him, casting an eerie light in the space around him. Logan inhaled sharply, clenching his eyes shut and trying to quell the panic welling in his chest. He buried his head in his arms, trying to keep his breath steady.

It's only a nightmare. All you have to do wake up.

A few minutes passed and he wrapped his arms around his chest, digging his fingernails into his skin.

Why am I so useless? I can't even do something as simple as wake myself up.

A loud breath escaped him as he stifled a sob, burying his head in his arms. Waves of panic wracked his body as he willed himself to wake.

It's too real. Something’s wrong.

The cell only seemed to solidify around him as he dug his nails deeper into his arms.

No. Please no…I can’t—

He was jolted back to awareness as a distant noise from down the hall startled him. Logan’s muscles tensed as he heard movement coming towards him down the hall. He jumped up, scrambling across the floor to the far side of the cell, lifting his chains to avoid making noise. Curling up behind the cot, he tried to shrink himself out of sight into the shadows. He took a deep breath.

It's just a nightmare.

The voices continued down the hall and despite his best attempts, he couldn't make out who was speaking. He leaned forward, straining to hear, but he refused to move closer to the cell door.

Frustrated, he gave up and curled up tight against the wall as darkness crept in around him. Logan started to shake with anticipation of what that night would bring.

Stop panicking. It's just a nightmare.

He begged himself to believe it but he could feel his resolve weakening. This didn't feel like his other nightmares. This felt too real.

Something’s wrong. I need to wake up. Stop being so stupid.  Just wake up, you useless—

Logan stopped in his tracks as he spotted movement in the corner of his eye. An unusual, amber light began dance against the wall outside the metal bars of the cell door. Logan could hear indistinct voices coming down the hall towards him. Logan bit back a panicked whimper as he cowered back into the shadows.

No. Please, no…Just wake up, you idiot—

Logan's breathing became rapid and shallow. The flickering, amber light grew brighter, illuminating the entire room in a soft glow.

Logan forced himself to breathe normally, counting in his head like Virgil had showed him. When he finally regained his composure, he peeked his head out above the cot, trying to determine of the source of the bright light. Another wave of panic racked his body as he imagined that the tower may have caught fire but he dismissed the idea. He reasoned to himself that the room would be filled with smoke, if that were the case.

Logan stood slowly, hesitating as he crept to the door. Memories flooded his mind as he crept silently across the room, but before he could even reach the door, his chains jerked him back. He looked down at the taut chain restraining him to the wall. His panic gave way to frustration and he pulled manically at the shackles until they cut deep into his wrists, not caring if the loud noise brought him unwanted attention anymore.  Tears welled in his eyes as he stifled another sob, falling to his knees.

What the hell is happening?

A yell was ripped from his body a hand grabbed him painfully from behind, spinning him around. Logan stumbled back, trembling as Remus’ face popped out of the shadows. A threatening smile stretched across his face as he lunged at Logan.

Instinctively, Logan jerked back but his restraints stopped him midstep, causing him to stumble and hit the ground hard.

Nonononononono…It's just a night—

“Oh no, pretty boy. It's not a nightmare.” Remus interrupted his thought, chuckling coldly as he approached Logan. “Not yet.”

Logan tried to scramble to his feet but Remus jabbed his foot into Logan’s shoulder, forcing him to cringe in pain as he was pushed back down to the ground. Remus stepped on the chain connecting Logan's hands, pinning them to the ground above his head. He squirmed, feeling vulnerable but Remus held him effortlessly.  

"You’ll stay down, if you know what's good for you. You've caused enough problems already my little pest.” A chill swept through his body at the threat in Remus' whisper. Logan forced his body go limp, relenting to Remus' control.

“Good boy.” Remus' sick smile made Logan's stomach turn. He moved his foot off Logan’s chains, knowing he wouldn’t have to tell Logan twice. The amber light around them began to flicker chaotically as Logan curled up in a ball on the ground, shaking.

“So, pretty boy. I truly made a big oopsie. Didn't I?”

Remus' upbeat tone made Logan's stomach turn. He closed his eyes, willing himself to be anywhere else.

“I underestimated my idiot brother's tendency to take in strays. I really should have known he couldn't resist someone as pathetic as you.” Remus crouched next to Logan, smiling as he flinched away. “Still, I thought you knew better. A few days with Roman is all it took to ruin all the progress we made. Suddenly, it’s like you think you get to fight back.”

Logan remained limp on the floor, not daring even to breathe.

Remus smirked at him, rising back to his feet. He tipped Logan onto his back with his foot, smiling cruelly down at Logan as he loomed over him. Before Logan could react, Remus stepped on Logan’s chest, his boot digging into the bottom of Logan’s ribcage, resting all of his weight onto his sternum. Logan yelped, struggling to breathe.

“Answer me, pretty boy.”

“What?” Logan squeaked.

Remus’ ankle dug in deeper and Logan whimpered. “Do you feel like you can fight back?”

“No,” Logan wheezed.

“No, what, my little pest? I trained you better than that.” Remus stared down at Logan, the light flickering chaotically in his eyes. A demented smiled crept across his face.

“No, sir.” Logan spat out.

“Oh…no, no, no… that won't do anymore.” Remus giggled manically slid his boot up to Logan's throat. “You know who I am now, pretty boy. You'll refer to me as  ‘your highness’.”

“No, your highness.” Logan wheezed, gasping for breath.

Remus held his foot down, smiling at Logan’s compliance. It seemed like an eternity passed before Remus stepped off his throat, allowing him to breath. Logan curled up on his side, gasping for air. Orange and red lights danced around the edge of his vision like flames in a fire.

Logan felt Remus push him down onto his stomach and kneel in front of him. He groaned as Remus grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling his head up to look at him.

“Alright, my pest. Let's get down to the juicy stuff.” Logan cringed at the serious look on Remus' face. “I need to know if you've told my brother anything about our late night meetings.”

“No,” Logan muttered. “He knows nothing.”

“Try again.” Remus commanded, tightening his grip on Logan's hair. He choked back a whimper.

“No, your highness. He knows nothing.” Logan repeated, bitterly glaring up at Remus.

“Good boy.” He leaned down close to Logan's face. “Now, did you tell anyone else?”

Anxiety spiked in Logan’s chest but he shoved it down, trying not to let it show. He spoke as calmly as he could manage. “No. You’re highness. I told no one else.”

"Tsk, tsk, pretty boy.” Remus released his grip on Logan’s hair, shaking his finger at him.

Logan flinched at the scowl on Remus' face.

“I thought I taught you not to lie. Funny, a few days is all it took to ruin you.” Remus pushed Logan onto his side and stood up. Logan tracked Remus' movement in his periphery. He barely managed to brace himself before Remus turned around, plunging his foot into Logan’s stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs.

“Listen here, pretty boy. You know you don't belong in this world. Your not strong enough to play with the big boys.” He leaned over Logan as he glared up at Remus. He crouched down, grabbing Logan’s face and holding him still even as he tried to wince away. “My brother can't keep you safe forever.”

Logan was quiet, refusing to meet Remus’ gaze.

Remus laughed, pushing Logan’s face away. “All the same, I'm feeling generous today. I'm going to do a good thing for you. Would you like that?”

“Yes, your highness. I would like that.” Logan’s words were empty as he sank back down to the ground but he gave the answer he knew Remus wanted.

“Good boy. Now, listen closely.” Remus kneeled down on one knee behind Logan’s head. He gripped Logan’s shoulder, pulling it to the ground so Logan lay flat on his back again.

“If you keep our meetings a secret from my brother, I'll leave you alone. As much as I enjoy our time together,” Logan’s skin crawled as Remus ran his hand up his jaw. “I'm willing to give it up for some peace of mind. You can live your new life. Do whatever you want with my idiot brother. I'll leave you alone. All you have to do is keep my secret. How does that sound, pretty boy?”

“I would like that, your highness.” Logan spat out an automatic response, but his mind raced at the implications of Remus' suggestion.

Rems frowned. His voice turned to a menacing growl. “I hear a bit of hesitation in your voice, my little pest. So, let's talk about what happens if you’re not as cooperative as I know you will be.”

Remus reached to his waistband and drew a long, sharp dagger from its sheath. The lights danced on the silver blade and red light reflected in Remus' eyes as he flashed a deranged smile down at Logan. Remus dashed towards him and Logan tried to scramble away, but he wasn’t fast enough. Remus slammed on top of him, pinning his shoulders down with his knees. Logan tried to squirm away, but Remus held him down, leaning over him. Logan held his breath as he felt Remus press the blade against his throat. “If my dear brother catches wind of our relationship, I will take you from him in the dead of night. I will hide you away where he will never find you and I will make you will regret existing. Do you understand?”

“Yes, your highness. I understand.” Logan wheezed, feeling the cold metal on his throat.

“Good, pretty boy.”

The flickering light at the periphery of Logan's vision brightened. Logan squirmed as he realized the edges of the room had caught fire. Without warning, the whole room erupted in flame as Logan struggled under Remus' weight but he was trapped, unable to shake him off. He looked up at Remus. His pupils glowed red and he smiled maniacally down at Logan. Logan panicked, fighting to get away.

“Just one more reminder of what’s at stake,” Remus giggled wildly, plunging his dagger into Logan's shoulder.

Logan cried out. His vision blurred, flames flickering on the edge of his periphery

“Goodbye for now, pretty boy.  Keep our deal and you won't have to come back here. Choose to fight me, and you’ll be back here soon.” Remus twisted the blade in Logan's shoulder. Logan screamed, his vision fading to black.

-

Logan woke screaming, drenched in sweat. He flung himself forward, suddenly free of Remus's weight. Thunder crashed above him, shaking the room. He flinched, covering his head, as Virgil burst through the door of his room. Scanning the room, Virgil realized what was happening.

“It's okay, Logan. You’re awake. You’re safe.” Virgil jumped up onto the bed, pulling Logan into a tight embrace, trying to stop him from hurting himself in his panic.

Logan slowly started to recognize his surroundings, his panic dissipating. Seeing Virgil didn't startle him as much this time. Instead, feeling his arms wrapped around him brought a sense of relief. The adrenaline was fading from his body and he collapsed from exhaustion into Virgil’s warmth. Virgil sat holding him until his breathing slowly returned to normal.

“Jeez, L.” Virgil rubbed his shoulder. “That was a lot more intense than last night.”

“It-it wasn't a d-dream.” Logan managed to stutter.

“Of course it was, L. It wasn’t real. It's okay now. You’re safe.”

“No.” He replied, his voice steadying. He pulled back from Virgil, leaning his head back against the headboard.  “I've had nightmares since I was a kid, Vee. That wasn't a nightmare. That was… something worse.”

“What do you mean?” Virgil looked at him skeptically.

Logan folded his arms in his lap, silently trying to find the words to explain his experience. A flash of lightning illuminated the room and thunder roared in the distance as he processed what happened. He’d only just turned to Virgil to speak again when his shoulder started to burn, pain shooting across his chest. Logan groaned, clenching his teeth as he doubled over in pain.

“What's going on, L?” Virgil asked, panicked. Logan curled up in pain for several more seconds, leaning into Virgil shoulder. Unsure of what else to do, Virgil wrapped his arms around Logan gently.

“Logan. What's going?” Virgil whispered, panicked. He put his hand on Logan’s shoulder and he cried out in pain at the contact. Lightning lit up the room as Logan looked up at Virgil and a look of shock flashed across Virgil’s face. “Logan?! What—”

Logan exhaled as the pain faded to a dull ache. He collapsed into Virgil’s shoulder, closing his eyes as Virgil wrapped his arms tighter around him.

“I-I'm okay. The pain is easing.” Logan breathed. He sank further into the bed, exhausted.

“B-but—what—” Virgil stuttered manically glancing down at Logan. He shook his head, rubbing his eyes. “Great, now I'm seeing shit.”

Virgil frowned when Logan didn't even move. He leaned down to get a look at Logan’s face. “L? What just happened? Are you okay?”

Logan shook his head tiredly. Virgil watched in horror as he pulled down the neck of his shirt, exposing his shoulder. A large, dark bruise had formed just to the side of his collarbone. The skin around the bruise was irritated, red and warm to the touch.

“What the hell?!” Virgil gently reached over, placing his hand on Logan’s wound. Logan winced but leaned closer to Virgil.

“That solidifies my conclusion that it wasn't a dream.” Logan whispered, his eyelids drooping.

“I need you to stay awake, L.” Virgil guided Logan’s face up to look at him. “What’s going on? You’re freaking me out.”

Logan looked up at him tiredly. “It started like a dream. I was back in the dungeon, but everything was wrong. Nothing felt right.” Virgil could feel Logan quaking in his arms. “Remus appeared behind me. He knocked me to the ground and…” Logan shuddered and trailed off.

“This still sounds like a dream, L.” Virgil whispered softly. His heart pained for his friend.

“No, it was different.” A pained breath escaped him. “Remus spoke to me. The way he talked… it's like he knew we were in a dream.”

“He talked to you?” Virgil’s expression shifted but Logan was too exhausted to keep looking up at him.

Logan nodded. “The bruise. He…he stabbed my shoulder, and he twisted—"

Virgil wrapped his arms tight around him, pulling Logan’s head to his chest. “Shit, Logan. It's okay. You’re safe now. I've got you.”

Logan exhaled, exhausted. “We have a problem, Vee. Remus made it clear that if I tell Roman that he's responsible for what happened to me, he’ll take me from you guys. He’ll—” Logan curled closer to Virgil, tears in his eyes.

“I won't let him take you, L.” Virgil replied, fury in his voice.

Logan smiled at him for a moment, before his face dropped, defeated. “Virgil, he’s in my dreams. If he can keep me from sleeping, that alone could kill me.”

Virgil sat silently for a moment, running a hand through Logan's hair. He sighed, reaching into his shirt and pulling out a small, brass amulet on a long chain. He pulled it off and slipped it around Logan’s neck. Logan looked down at it, confused. The stone in the center was translucent with wisps of black. “Take it for now. It'll block some of the bad energy.”

Logan raised his eyebrow tiredly, as he examined the amulet. “What is it?”

“It's a dispelling charm. It scrambles your energy and makes you more difficult to find and blocks any negative energy headed your way.”

“That doesn’t make sense.  Stones are inanimate objects. They don't create or dispel energy.” Logan mumbled into Virgil’s shirt.

Virgil rolled his eyes, smiling playfully. “You were just assaulted in your sleep and you're going to debate me on this?”

Logan smiled.

Virgil relaxed, smiling down at Logan. “Listen, I think I know someone who can help. Are you okay enough to take a walk?”

Logan yawned, barely nodding. “I think I can manage.”

Virgil looked at him skeptically, watching Logan struggle to keep his eyes open. “Good enough. Get up. Grab your jacket. I'll be right back.”

“Wait, Virge—Don’t leave me—" Logan protested, anxiously grabbing at Virgil’s sleeve.

Virgil’s heart broke at the sad tone of Logan's voice. He rubbed Logan’s shoulder. “Hey, it's okay, L. I'm not going far. I'm just going to call the guards in the hall to escort us. Come on. Get up.” He nudged Logan towards the edge of the bed until Logan reluctantly stood up.

Virgil waited until Logan walked over to his closet before he left the room, glancing nervously back at Logan as he slipped through the door.

Logan pulled his coat out of his closet, but he turned to the bed too quickly. He staggered and nearly fell. Steadying himself, he moved over and leaned on the side of the bed until his legs felt stable again. He groaned. His chest ached from the bruises as he lifted up his coat, barely managing to pull his jacket on as Virgil returned.

“Are you ready?”

“I think so.” He said, pushing up of the bed . Suddenly dizzy, he stumbled, nearly falling into the wall.

“Easy, easy. Don't rush. L. Put your arm around my shoulder.” Virgil rushed over to help him. He wrapped a hand around Logan’s waist, careful to avoid his injured shoulder. Patiently, he waited as Logan adjusted until he felt comfortable.

“I'm good. Thanks, Vee.”

“Okay, carefully now. Let’s go.” Virgil led him through his chambers to the main door.

Stepping out, Virgil held Logan up while he locked the door behind them. Logan looked up nervously at the two armed guards standing on either side of the door, towering over them.

Feeling vulnerable, Logan leaned into Virgil. An uneasy breath escaped him.

Virgil turned to him. His eyes flicked between Logan and the guards before settling back on Logan. “You’re okay, L. I've got you. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“Okay." Logan replied weakly.

“Come on. We got a long way to go.” Virgil said softly, before nodding at the guards. They took positions in front of and behind them and followed as they proceeded slowly down the corridor. Thunder echoed around them and lightning illuminated the dimly lit halls.  Logan snuck a glance out one of the windows as they walked. The window glowed with a soft light and could see the moon peeking through the storm clouds outside. Logan’s heart dropped at the sight of the moon still hanging high in the sky.

“I must not have been out for long.” Logan thought out loud.

“Two hours, maybe. You definitely didn’t sleep long enough.”

Logan moaned and his speech started to slur. “I don’t know how long I can keep goin’, if I don’t sleep soon.”

“You’re going to sleep tonight, L. We're getting you help. Now, hush. Save your energy. We'll talk when we get there.” Virgil sighed, unnerved by how fast Logan was fading.

“Where’re we going?”

“You'll find out when we get there, okay?”

“’Kay, Vee. I trus’ you.” His words slurred with exhaustion.

“Save your strength, L. We're almost there.”

They approached a set of double doors Logan recognized. “Are we—"

Virgil hushed him. “Later, L."

The guard in front of them opened the door for him. Virgil led him into the courtyard. Virgil turned briefly to the guards. “You’re dismissed. Return to your posts.”

Exchanging confused glances, the guards nodded at Virgil. Logan sighed with relief as they turned to leave. They closed the doors to the castle, leaving Virgil and Logan alone outside the castle. Virgil pulled up his hood before helping Logan adjust his own. Logan looked down to the wet ground, his vision swimming as he tried to watch as the raindrops struck the puddles below them. Virgil led Logan through the rain, around the edge of the courtyard, keeping to the shadows.  They moved slowly, making every effort to stay out of sight. Logan’s eyes drifted up, focusing, as he recognized the path they were following.

“Are we goin' to see Patton?” Logan asked, confused.

“You know Patton?”

"Met him earlier.  Pat's nice. He doesn't hate me.”

“What?” Virgil cocked his head in confusion.

“He doesn't hate me, like mos' people. ‘Cause they think I tried t'kill Roman.”  Logan said, slurring and stumbling over as he nearly lost consciousness.

Virgil lunged forward to catch him, accidentally grabbing Logan’s wound.

Logan whimpered softly.

Virgil eased his grip apologetically. “I'm sorry, L. We’re almost there.”

“Why'd we leave the guards, Vee? I don't understand why we did that.” Logan asked. His eyes drooped, unfocused.

“Because I want as few people as possible to know where you are, L. For your sake and Patton’s.”

“Oh, ‘dat makes sense. You’re smart.” Logan mumbled, closing his eyes.

“Okay, stop talking, L. You need to save your energy.”

“Oh…” Logan made a disappointed noise. “I'm bein’ annoyin’.”

“What?” Virgil looked down at him. “No, you’re not being annoying. I just don’t want you to pass out.”

“It’s okay.” Logan slurred. “Sometimes, I get excited an' I talk too much. People don't wanna listen to me ‘cause it's annoying.”

Virgil couldn’t help holding Logan tighter as he helped him up the stairs. “I like hearing you talk, Logan. It’s not annoying. I just don't want you to accidentally hurt yourself.”

Logan quietly leaned into Virgil’s shoulder.

“You good?”

Logan nodded.

“Okay.” Virgil turned and pounded on the door, holding Logan up as he waited. “Patton, open up!”

A few moments later, the door slowly opened and a sleepy Patton looked out at them, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Virgil? What's going on?”

“Patton, I need your help.” Virgil pleaded.

Patton looked down, eyes widening as he noticed at Logan fading in and out of consciousness. Suddenly awake, he rushed to Logan’s other side to help Virgil carry him inside.

“Careful, Pat. His shoulder's injured.” Virgil warned, as Patton approached Logan's other side.

Patton's face filled with concern, but he nodded at Virgil as he gently slipped under Logan's arm. He wrapped an arm around Logan’s waist as they helped him through the door.

The small house was quiet. Virgil glanced over at the small fire crackling in the fireplace, illuminating the room in a warm glow. It would have felt cozy, if it hadn't been for the half-conscious friend he had hanging at his side. Logan murmured incoherently as they carried him across the room.

“Okay." Patton gripped him gently. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s get you in the bed, ‘kay?”

“Uh… huh.” Logan muttered. His eyes fluttering closed.

Virgil lightly jostled him. “Stay awake for a little longer, L.”

“‘Kay, Vee. I'll try.” Logan muttered, barely audible.

Patton and Virgil carefully helped Logan onto the bed, laying him down gently. Virgil sat on the bed next to him, making sure Logan stayed awake.

“What happened, Virgil?” Patton hissed at him, distressed.

"I'll explain soon. I promise." Virgil held his hands up in surrender. “But first, is your house warded?”

Patton stopped in his tracks, taken aback. “Well, yeah. Just basic stuff but it's protected.”

“Now's the time to drop whatever you've got, Pat. Make your house a fortress.”

“What? Why?” He looked at Virgil, confused. “What am I even warding against?”

“Astral projection. Psychic attack. Whatever it takes to keep them out of Logan's head.”

“Them who, Virge?” Patton splurted, exasperated.

Virgil smiled sympathetically at him. “Pat, I promise I’ll explain once we’re safe.”

Patton groaned in frustration but he turned to his desk, digging through the drawers. “Fine. Grab the dried sage off the mantel. Burn it in here. That'll give me a buffer to set things up.”

Virgil nodded and quickly set to work unwrapping one of the packages of dried herbs. He pulled out a small handful of sage, breaking it into pieces and dropping them into the small cast iron bowl that Patton had indicated. He lit the herb, gently blowing on it until it smoldered and smoke billowed out.

Once the sage was lit, he turned to watch Patton work, occasionally sneaking glances at Logan to make sure he was still awake. Virgil watched silently as Patton kneeled next to the bed and pulled out a large, metal box from under his bed. He didn't miss the sad look that fell over Patton's face as Logan mumbled into the sheets of the bed as Patton moved around him. Virgil smiled sadly as Patton reluctantly tore his gaze from Logan to flip open the box. Recovering his focus, Patton dug through the box of charms, pulling some out of the box and shoving it back under the bed.  He started to wander the edge of the room, hanging charms as he went and muttering incantations under his breath.

Patton barely had the last incantation out of his mouth as he turned to Virgil with a deathly glare on his face. “Explain. Now.”

Virgil shrunk back. He knew Patton wasn't angry at him. He was only upset at Logan’s current condition, but Patton had a way of reducing him to feeling like a petulant child. “Almost, Pat. I have another favor to ask.”

Virgil flinched as Patton continued to glare at him.

“Is there a way to get Logan to sleep without dreaming?”

“What?” Patton’s anger faded to a confused look.

“You heard me right, Pat. I want to keep him from dreaming tonight. I promise this is the last thing I'll ask of you before I explain what's going on.” Virgil glanced over at Logan, struggling to stay awake on the bed. It worried him that Logan hadn't even looked up at them as they talked about him. “Please, let's get him to sleep and I'll tell you everything.”

Patton stared at Virgil, frustrated, but his expression softened as he looked over at Logan. Patton sighed. “Fine. Yes, I can do that. Grab the valerian root off the shelf behind you and bring it here. Patton pulled out a small mortar and pestle out from his desk drawer. Virgil watched over his shoulder as Patton ground up the valerian root and mixed with a variety of other herbs and oils. Virgil thought he saw lavender and maybe rose petals but the rest of the herbs were a mystery to him. A sweet floral scent drifted up from the table as he watched Patton continue working diligently until the mixture formed a fine paste.

“That smells good." Virgil commented offhandedly.

“Yeah, it doesn't taste great though, so hopefully he can keep it down.” Patton moved to sit on the bed next to Logan. “Alright, Lo, you're going to have to sit up.”

Logan nodded. Virgil moved over to the bed, helping him up to a sitting position. He leaned into Virgil’s chest to stay upright.

Patton held his fingers on Logan’s neck, checking his pulse. Seemingly satisfied, he held a hand to his briefly to Logan’s forehead, looking him right in the eyes, which were partially glazed over.

“Lo, focus on me. ‘Kay, kiddo?”

Logan nodded tiredly, turning his head in Patton’s direction.

“Good, kiddo. I'm going to put a spoonful of this in your mouth and you’re going to hold it under your tongue.” He waited for Logan to nod before continuing. “It's going to taste really bad but you have to keep it in your mouth. It's going to help you sleep. Once it's under your tongue, count to sixty and then swallow it, okay?”

Logan nodded. Patton took a spoonful of the mixture and held it out to him. Logan obediently put it in his mouth. Immediately, he looked like he might gag.

“Don't spit it out.” Patton warned.

Logan nodded back, reluctantly.

“Good job, Lo. Keep it under your tongue and count to sixty.” He smiled encouragingly.

Logan’s face scrunched as he counted. The minute seemed to last an eternity but eventually Patton nodded to indicate he can swallow. Patton was waiting with a glass of water when he was finished and Logan downed the glass in one go, aching to get the taste out of his mouth.

“You did good, kiddo. Now, we're going to lay you down. It should kick in soon. Okay?”

Logan nodded tiredly as Virgil gently laid him back on the pillow. Patton pulled the blanket up around him and tucked him in tightly. His eyes dropped shut and a few minutes later, they could hear a gentle breathing as Logan finally slept.

“He's okay. Right, Pat?” Virgil asked, distracted. “He wasn't this disoriented when he woke up earlier. I know he hasn't been sleeping but—”

“You’re stalling, kiddo.” Patton interrupted impatiently, but he decided to set Virgil’s anxiety at ease anyway. “He's okay. His breathing and his pulse are strong and steady and he doesn't have a fever. I think he's just exhausted, Virgil.”

Virgil frowned, watching the rise and fall of Logan’s chest.

Patton turned to him, crossing his arms. “Time to explain, Virgil.”

“Okay, Pat. Come over here. I'll tell you what I know.”

You Belong With Me Taglist: @cas-is-a-hunter @insert-cool-blogname@ironwoman359 @i-know-im-smart @imbadatnames8d @optimistic-violinist @somehow-i-got-an-account @croftersphoenix @dwbh888

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter twenty-nine: new kid

Sam, Aurora, and Zelda stayed in San Francisco until early Sunday morning, and even though the latter had had a room with Zetro, she stayed the night with the two of them especially since they were all headed back to the Northeast together; and meanwhile, Lars vowed to take care of them for the rest of the weekend. His fridge was full of food and his tiny house was warm and dry from the dense, cold San Francisco fog bank. Some time in between then, on that Saturday afternoon, Lars took out a faded photograph from his bottom clothing drawer and he showed it off to Sam. A young couple with a young child in between them: the man had a thick lush beard that extended down to his chest while the woman wore a light lacy shawl about her shoulders.

“It's me and my parents,” Lars told her in a low voice.

“Aw, so adorable,” Sam remarked as she cradled it in her hands. She eyed Lars nestled in between them: his apple cheeks were large and round and his bright eyes gazed back at her. “How old were you here?”

“I was—seven, I think? Seven or eight?”

“Your hair looks so soft and smooth,” Aurora added as she peered over Sam's shoulder.

“It still kind of is, too,” Lars pointed out with a stroke across the crown of his head with his palm. “Speaking of which, I feel like a shower right about now, my ladies.”

“You wanna look good for us before we leave, right?” Zelda joked from the hallway. She appeared in the doorway and rested her hands on either side of the door frame.

“That's for me to know and for you to figure out,” he retorted with a wag of his finger. Sam peered down at the photograph and she wished for her journal right then, or at least a singular sheet of paper and her black ink pens with her at that moment. She could do it right there for him.

“When I see you again after we leave here, I'll try to remember to bring it back for you,” she vowed to him.

“Oh, no, it's alright,” he told her as he put his hands on the bottom hem of his shirt. “My dad actually has the original one back at his place down in Los Angeles. That one's just a copy I got and asked the photo people to make it black and white just 'cause it looks nicer to me.”

“Right, right...” Without another word, Lars stripped off his shirt and Zelda whistled at his slightly round little body.

“Avert your eyes, girls,” he commanded with a wave of his left hand. He ran his fingers through his smooth light brown hair and he let it drift down over his shoulders and the upper part of his chest. Sam skirted past him towards Zelda and the doorway, and Aurora followed suit. The three girls filed out to the hallway and, once Lars shut the door behind them, they headed into the den to wait for him.

Once Zelda sank down on the left side of the couch, and Aurora took her seat in the spindly chair next to the table right outside of the kitchen, Sam couldn't help but laugh as she looked on at the photograph in her hands.

“What?” Aurora asked her, but she never answered with anything other than another soft snicker.

“What is it?” Zelda joined in as she drummed her fingers on the arm of the couch.

“These people and their desire for me to draw their families,” she chuckled.

“Or just them as kids,” Zelda chimed in.

“It's because art makes one youthful and timeless,” Aurora explained.

“It's also indicative of a kid's behavior, too,” Sam added, “you know how when you're in elementary school, it seems so easy to make art and make a lot of it, too?”

“Absolutely,” Aurora said with a nod of her head. She then turned to Zelda with a stern look upon her face. “By the way, I'm taking what you told me about the label into account and I'll be chatting with Jon about it once we get back to New York tomorrow. Well, not tomorrow—Monday. But, you get the idea.”

“Okay, thank you so much,” Zelda said to her as she clasped her hands together.

“You're quite the manager, Aurora,” Sam told her. “I did work side by side with you over the summer.”

“Imagine if she's manager for the Cherry Suicides,” Zelda suggested.

“It'd be quite the promotion,” Aurora pointed out. “I could be manager for you girls and Sam could one for Stormtroopers.”

“Although I don't know how hard it's gonna be to listen to any harder music, though,” Sam confessed with a shrug of her shoulders. Both Zelda and Aurora showed her soft looks of comfort. It was in fact the truth: Cliff's absence made everything feel different, especially with the thought of that music scene firmly in mind and all around them.

“Speaking of Stormtroopers,” Sam started again, “what's the story on them? They kinda just stopped, didn't they?”

“I was talking to Scott yesterday about that,” she said, “and I guess that's—not too far from the truth. It's like an outlet for him and Charlie.”

The sound of water running in the wall filled in the brief silence and Zelda snickered at the sound of it.

“What's so funny?” Aurora asked her.

“Just thinkin' about Lars in that shower,” she confessed.

“You and drummers, I swear, Zelda,” Sam joked as she set her free hand on her hip. Anything to help her with the

“'Cause I be a drummer, too, y'know,” Zelda retorted with a little gyration of her head and a pattering of her feet on the hard wooden floor beneath them.

“You can be a drummer and like other musicians after all—like you and Zetro!”

“He's got a girl, though. Besides, I can't do that to my dear Lewis, either.”

“Louie Louie,” Aurora followed up.

“Louie Louie, yeah!” Zelda then lay her head on the top of the cushion and she tilted her head up so she could look at Sam upside down. “But what comes after Cliff now?”

“Just taking care of myself, I guess?” she said with another shrug of her shoulders. “Keep making art and being friends to these boys because they need us now.”

“They do need us.” Aurora drummed her fingers on the table top before her. Silence settled over them again. Silence save for the water that ran through the pipes in the wall.

But then the doorbell rang.

“I'll get it,” Zelda quipped and she ducked passed Sam there at the side of the couch. She turned to Aurora there at the table.

“Are you hungry? Especially since we haven't really eaten anything all day.”

“Nah, I'm good. I am kinda dying of thirst, though.”

“Okay—”

Sam sauntered into the kitchen for a glass of water and, when she poured it out of the pitcher rested upon the counter, Zelda's voice floated in from the front foyer.

“Aurora?”

“Yes?”

“Alex is here to see you,” she said.

“Me?” Sam stopped right in her tracks, and she faced the doorway. Alex was there again, and yet she had no idea if she wanted to see him again given he was so cold to her the day before. She had no idea if he would still be nonchalant towards her and thus she stood there before the counter with the glass of water in her hand.

“—he's in the shower, though,” Aurora was saying. “So what brings you here?”

“I want you to do something for me,” Alex started in a near whisper; careful not to bring attention to herself, Sam shuffled in closer to the doorway. They were about five feet away from her and yet he spoke in a voice so soft that she stopped at the counter's corner and leaned in closer to the doorway so she could better hear him.

“Go on,” Aurora encouraged him.

“Well, it's actually for the whole band—I'm just the one telling you, though.” He hesitated for a second and Sam wondered how he was feeling.

“Go ahead, Alex. It's okay.”

A soft rustling followed.

“Want me to leave?” Zelda asked them.

“No, no, it's okay—you're a musician, too,” he assured her.

“What is it?” Aurora gently encouraged him.

“Do you have any idea if we have a deal with the label yet?” he asked her in a small voice.

“First off, why are you asking me this?”

“I was asked to do it while you're still here in the Bay Area. Yeah, I was literally asked to do it. Apparently the guys think because I'm smart enough that I can do it.”

“Eric couldn't do it?” Aurora was flabbergasted by that.

“He had to go somewhere. So because I can drive now, I'm here.”

“I haven't heard anything, no.” She paused. “Why? 'Cause you're eighteen now?”

“Yeah. Like—I'm kinda ready to go on tour now. I'm out of school and everything.”

“Right, right. Well—I'm not really the right person to turn to with that, but I'd be more than happy to ask around, though. There is one thing I want to ask you, though, Alex, and that's the band's name. I distinctly recall hearing about a year ago that there's another band elsewhere called Legacy.”

“It's The Legacy, though, if I remember correctly,” Alex told her, “that's as far as I know. I'm kind of the last guy in the pipeline to know these things.”

Sam knitted her eyebrows together at that. If he was so smart and so cool for his young age, then why was that the case? He was in fact that young, she remembered. She was only three years older than him.

“I think Billy said something about that,” Zelda recalled. “I have a vague memory of that—of all of us sitting in that little room together and he said something about that. I forget what he said, though.”

There was another pause.

“Is there someone else here?” Alex asked them.

“Sam's here,” Aurora replied, to which Sam herself closed her eyes. “She's in the kitchen getting me a drink of water. Which, by the way—hey, where's my water?”

Sam sighed through her nose and she headed out of the kitchen with the glass in her hand. Alex, who had taken his seat across from Aurora, had his back to her. He turned his head when she stood in between the two of them and she caught a glimpse over at Zelda, who had returned to the couch. She shook her head at her.

He knew she was there. How did he know she was there?

He gazed up at her with those deep eyes. At least he wasn't wearing the yarmulke that time around.

“How're you doing?” he asked her, still with that cold tone of voice.

“I'm doing alright,” she replied, and she shifted her weight in that spot in between them. He just sat there with pieces of his thick black curls strewn down his shoulders and onto his chest and his hands rested upon his slender thighs in repose, and yet she was unnerved by that grave expression on his face. Young and old at the same time, and that tiny gray pearl over his brow didn't help matters, either.

The water switched off in the wall across from them, and that was her cue.

“Oh, good, Lars is out of the shower!” Sam declared as she felt her face growing warm. “I have to ask him something—”

She handed Aurora the water and she bowed away from there. She scurried past Zelda and down the hall to Lars' bedroom. She pushed open the door and ducked inside.

She let out a long low whistle but she almost jumped out of her skin when Lars emerged from the bathroom behind her.

“Sam, what the fuck you doing in here?” he demanded, and she covered her eyes with one hand once she turned around. “It's okay—I'm just wearing a towel but still! What're you doing in here?”

She lowered her hand; Lars stood in the doorway with the towel wrapped around his thick waist. His hair dripped wet and his chest heaved from the surprise.

“I just needed to get out of there,” she sputtered.

“Why?” he stammered as he padded out of the bathroom to his dresser.

“Alex is here.”

He stopped.

“Alex is here? Really?” His face lit up.

“Yeah, he's—talking to Aurora right now about something.”

And then he froze.

“Wait. Why exactly are you in here?”

She ran her tongue over her bottom lip and then fetched up a sigh.

“He's—unnerving,” she confessed in a low voice.

“What do you mean, he's unnerving?” He knitted his eyebrows together.

“He's like—chilly. Like there's something off about him.”

“Oh, that's just how he is,” Lars assured her. “The kid's a work horse having to balance school and being in a serious band for a while now, so it's matured him a lot in such a short amount of time. And as a result, he does seem a little bit arrogant to a lot of people. That's just how it is with Alex. It's nothing to take personally. In fact, if it's any comfort to you at all, he intimidates all of us. He's a young Jewish kid with this ferocious fire in his belly that's totally not what his parents expected and yet he still went with it. And he was taught by Joe Satriani, too. Kirk was a student of him, too, but even he's afraid of Alex.”

“Well, he hasn't been very comforting towards me, whereas most everybody else has been, especially you and Kirk. Actually no—I take that back. You and I were pretty much alone yesterday.”

“Well,” he began again as he turned towards his dresser for a fresh change of clothes, “a lot of it has to do with the fact that you were kind of hidden away when you and Cliff were together. It was a secret he kept away from even the three of us. But now that Cliff is—out of the picture—you can mingle and integrate yourself more with these people. It's alright, though. I had the same problem when I first came to America. Exact same problem. It just helps to—be a little more assertive. I can help with that.”

“What did you do?”

“What did I do?” He took out a clean pair of underwear.

“Yeah. And—you want me to avert my eyes again?”

“Please.” And then she turned away from him. “But I talked. Just talked to people. Just introduced myself to people, shook their hand and bonded right there. That was how I did it, I don't know about you, though.”

“Hmm...”

“I mean—I hate to do this to you, but your name is Sam. You can turn around now”.

“Right,” she stated as she did. “And what about it?”

“It's a man's name. You have a man's name. You have an androgynous name.”

“And?” She shook her head at that.

“When you have a man's name, you ought to go forth like a man. Be a lady but also be a man. That's the best advice I can give—is to act. Act like how men act, but I do not mean that in a literal sense. Take Alex's cool collected demeanor. You don't have to be as cool as a cucumber like him, but it does in fact help, though.”

He slipped on a clean pair of blue jeans, left leg first followed by his right.

“I mean, the fact you were able to move to a different coast and set up a homestead there tells me that there is a bit inside of there. You just need to—” He zipped up. “—tap into it more and tap into it more often to boot.”

“Be like Zelda,” she said.

“Zelda is a good one to draw from,” he noted as he slipped on a black Deep Purple shirt over his head. “I think her being a trommer helps, too. Very visceral and just—something about sweating brings something out primeval in a person.” He lifted his dripping hair out from under his shirt and then he reached for his towel again to better dry it off. He doubled back to the bathroom to hang it up on the rung, and then he returned to her with a twinkle in his eye.

“Come,” he beckoned her, and then he stopped. “Actually, no. You should be the one telling me to come.”

“Okay, come then,” she said with a straight face and a gesture of two fingers, which brought a giggle out of him: she noticed the little indentation over his left eye, about the size and shape of a pea, something she never noticed before then.

“What's this right here?” She fingered the spot over her own left eye.

“Oh, my scar? James gave me that about three years ago. You really honest to god don't want to know how he gave it to me.”

She then gestured for him to follow her back out to the hallway. If she was to be more forth going, then it began with comfortably standing next to Alex. Lars followed her into the front room, where Alex himself and Aurora stayed at the table, but he had picked up the photograph Lars had given Sam as a reference. He showed it to him once they came back into the room.

“Is this your parents, Lars?” he asked; his voice seemed a lot bigger and louder to Sam now that they were in close quarters rather than out in the open.

“Yeah.”

Alex turned it back around for a second look. “Kinda thought it was my parents at first. And I was thinking, 'my brother probably took this.'” That brought a laugh out of Aurora, but Sam and Zelda stayed silent: the former stood next to the couch with her hand on the top, right behind Zelda's head.

“We are both Jewish after all,” Lars pointed out.

“More so me, though. I dunno if you ever had your own parents refer to you as 'meshuggah' for wanting to go into music before and for the music you play, but that's the case with me.”

“A couple o' Jew boys,” Zelda joked.

“A couple o' Jew boys, exactly!” Lars laughed, but Alex continued to look on at the photograph, still with a collected look on his face. There was in fact something intimidating about him as Sam watched those deep eyes scan over the photograph as if he was reading over something important rather than a family portrait. There was a young boy in there still, but he had been locked away behind those deep penetrating eyes and that sliver of gray.

The three girls and Lars spent the night together, and then he drove them back to the airport bright and early that next morning. He threw his arms around all three of them before he let them climb aboard.

“I already told Zetro I was leaving early,” Zelda assured him as she picked up her suitcase. “And he gave me the biggest frickin' kiss before I said goodbye.”

“Aw!” Lars laughed at that. “Alright, safe travels, ladies! And Sam?”

She whirled around for one last look at him, and his expression switched to one of seriousness.

“If you need anything at all, just call me,” he told her, to which she nodded.

“Yet another person to tell me that.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Neither of us have much but we do have each other, though.” He then blew her a kiss and the three of them padded down the gate to their seats.

“Charlie and Marla already go home?” Zelda asked them in a low voice given it was still pitch dark outside of the window.

“Don't know,” Sam confessed. “Lars didn't say anything about them all weekend...” Her voice trailed off for a moment and then she remembered what she had said to Lars before they stepped into the plane. “By the way, Zetro kissed you?”

“I was thinking the same thing!” Aurora chimed in.

“Yeah. Just a little peck on the cheek, but yeah—he kissed me.” She halted right in her tracks. “Louie and I are just roommates,” she assured them. “I'm just paying his rent.”

“You sure about that?” Sam asked her as the image of them together at that market popped into her mind. Zelda let out an exasperated sigh.

“Okay, fine. Louie and I are in fact a couple, and we've been a couple for a long time, but—I don't think it's gonna last.”

“Why?” Sam was taken aback by that.

“Because of Legacy. They're a West Coast band and I'm a Rhode Island girl. It's been hard on him to be in the Northeast but he does it anyway because—” She pursed her lips together.

“He loves you,” Aurora stated in a soft voice, to which Zelda nodded.

“Yeah. He does. It's hard on both of us but we manage and we've managed for this long, too—we were together when Alex joined. We met at a Plasmatics show, believe it or not, and then he told me he had just joined a band and he was a drummer. And—” She then fetched up a sigh. “—I feel us slipping apart. We live together and we've lived together for almost two years now, and I feel us slipping. So I started talking to Zetro more because he treats me better.”

“That explains why you guys weren't really communicative with each other the other day at the ceremony,” Sam recalled.

“Yeah, and that's why I'm also flying home with you, too.”

Aurora gasped at that.

“Aw, I'm so sorry.”

“He'll be back at some point, though,” Zelda assured her. “He needs to fly back to Providence to fetch his things, so he needs to be back just to sign a thing saying that he doesn't live with me anymore. Or maybe I can send 'em back for him, I dunno yet...” Her voice trailed off and the three of them fastened their seat belts.

“I am gonna say this, though,” she piped again, that time with a serious look on her face and one pointed at Aurora. “The new Cherry Suicides album is going to be one worth looking at.”

“Will do,” Aurora vowed, and they took off from the blackness of the Bay Area and made the flight back to New York. Zelda picked up her car and Sam and Aurora drove back to the latter's apartment; meanwhile, Sam herself took the subway home.

“Are you gonna be alright?” Aurora asked her as she gave her one last embrace.

“Oh, yeah,” she assured her. “I have people to talk to now.”

Sam returned home and then she walked into school the next day and the next couple of weeks with a fresh feeling over her head. She continued to wear that hat but that time, she kept it on her head as she headed back home. Cliff was always with her even when he wasn't. She kept the hat next to her on the table as she ran her paint brush over the heavy grained water color paper and worked on the current painting of a cluster of red and yellow tulips.

Yellow to honor him, red to keep his spirit going even in his wake. The green of the leaves and the background meant he was part of the earth yet again.

It took her a week given the washes on the petals kept on washing out upon drying out, but she managed to make the darkest shade of red on the biggest tulip at the front with a pure bit of paint rather than from her palette. She handed it in that Friday before she walked up the block to visit Aurora on her break.

The autumnal rains were upon New York City once again as she held onto the hat by the crown. At a quick clip, she strode up the sidewalk to that vast white building on the left side of the street. The front door hung a little ajar, and she saw that the front room was completely vacant.

“Hello?” she called out, and Aurora surfaced from the far end of the hallway in front of her, complete with the deep purple sweater wrapped around her body.

“Hey! You came just in time!”

“For what?” Sam shut the door behind her and made her way down the hall.

“Two things,” said Aurora with a twinkle in her eye, “the first is we're moving.”

“You're moving?!” She was stunned by that, but Aurora burst out laughing at that.

“No, not me! Anthrax found a better place to jam and record at—a few blocks from here. The second is—meet Metallica's new bassist.”

She moved to the side and the tall, long haired boy stepped forward. He had a smooth, slightly square face, a prominent nose and brow, and yet his face lit up when he saw her. His long smooth mousy hair drifted behind him, much like Joey's hair, and he wore a short black coat that looked to be from a nearby thrift shop.

“Already?” Sam muttered aloud.

“Already,” he said in a soft voice, and he showed her a little grin as a result. “My name is Jason. Jason Newsted.”

“Hi, Jason Newsted,” she replied as she took off her hat for him and he nodded his head at her. “Awful quick.”

“I know, right? It was all kind of a whirlwind but I got into it.” He gave his hair a slight toss back and she noticed a bare spot on the right side of his head, right underneath the longest part of his hair, as if he had a cowlick there.

“He followed Metallica around for weeks on end this past tour,” Aurora told her.

“Yeah, I did! I was with another band called Flotsam and Jetsam, and when we didn't play, I studied Cliff's parts down to a T, like I took copious notes and tried it out myself. So when I tried out for the audition, Lars and James looked each other like, 'uhh, yeah? We need this guy with us!'”

“Well—I wish you best of luck,” Sam said to him in a soft voice and she held the hat close to her chest.

“Aurora told me about you and Cliff and—I just wanted to meet you first before we leave for Europe soon. He was an inspiration to me. You were a lucky girl.”

“And you're a lucky man,” she said, still in a soft voice.

“I have to make a couple of phone calls,” Aurora told them both.

“I do, too,” Jason added.

“And I have class in a few minutes,” Sam said as she put the hat back onto her head.

“Stay in school,” he advised her, “and I love that hat on you!”

“Cliff did, too,” she told him as she adjusted the brim. The three of them headed out of there and back to the burgeoning rain. Sam peered over her shoulder at Aurora and Jason as they headed up the sidewalk, the other way. No one could replace Cliff, but she had a good feeling about him. She had a good feeling that Metallica were in good hands with the new kid.

[bastillewolf]

Midnight In Sheffield (III)

Pairing: Alex Turner/Reader

Summary: When a soon-to-be-wedded insomniac author heads back home to visit her parents, she comes across the likes of a mysterious musician whilst on her sleepless escapade in the AM.

Notes: Took a bit longer to edit this chapter, and made it longer. Hope you enjoy!

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

@alexbandguy86​​​​​ @bettyschwallocksyee​​​​​ @fookingsummertime​​​​​ @juicebox-baby​​​@darksydork7​​​​ @edgythought​​​ @toolateformcrtooearlytoleaveemo​

Song recommendation: ‘Bistro Fada’ by Stephane Wrembel

Chapter III - No. 1 Party Anthem

It couldn’t be.

Surely, she hadn’t been that drunk.

If so, she would’ve felt more than embarrassed.

She was standing in the very street she had wandered through the night before, yet nothing seemed familiar. There were no vintage sales, or shops for that matter, or Ford Roadsters that were illuminated by the antique streetlights perched on cobblestone roads.

Instead, she was faced with boring old Sheffield; cracked and bruised asphalt. A few clothing stores and a newspaper office. There was one pub, but not the one she’d been looking for.

“Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Mark said.

“I- Uh, yeah. I could’ve- I could’ve sworn it was here,” she stuttered in response.

“The pub you went to?”

She nodded silently.

“Maybe you went in a different direction. You were tired, happens to the best of us.”

She shot him a look. “I grew up here, Mark. I know my way around this place like the back of my hand, yet that street I went into… I’d never seen it before in my entire life.”

“Hm, strange,” he noted. She knew he was mostly humouring her, and couldn’t shake off the feeling he had been judging her ever since they talked over what happened. It must look crazy, she realized, but to her that was no excuse to not be understanding. He was to be her husband, after all, and weren’t those things most important in a healthy relationship?

“Call me crazy if you want, but I’m telling you; I went to a different pub last night.”

“I know, I believe you.”

She gave a slight sigh of relief.

“Now, come on, let’s go find a restaurant, because we’re not going to that pub on an empty stomach.”

 They had searched all over town, with Mark generously tipping the cabby to take them everywhere they wanted. Not necessarily an odd request, but when she started to ask the driver about an old pub with the exact descriptions, - not failing to mention that smoking had been allowed - he gave her a strange look and told her he’d never heard of such a place before.

He must know, as he’d worked as a cabby for ages.

And so, she was currently sat at a random local bar Mark picked out, slumped in her seat, while her fiancée chatted on with Rachel and James. She couldn’t even bring herself to be annoyed with the pair, her mind too clouded to think of anything other than that very clear night.

She touched Mark’s shoulder, and muttered in his ear that she was going back to the hotel.

He nodded, “I’ll text you when I’m coming back. Don’t stay up too late.”

She smiled lightly, and kissed him on the cheek, before slipping out of the door, and leaving the musky scene behind her.

She didn’t really pay attention to where she was going. She was staring down at her feet, which kept their leisure pace on the tiled sidewalk.

She didn’t even bother giving the man in a tracksuit she nearly bumped into a second glance, or the dog that barked at her.

She walked up the few steps, through an alley, until she rounded a corner and was back at what appeared to be the main street. Only then did she actually bump into someone.

“You just keep appearing out of nowhere, don’t you?”

“Miles?”

She rubbed her tired eyes, until the flickering had disappeared, and she could look around again.

A cobblestone street, antique metal streetlights and shop windows filled with antique wear. The man that stood in front of her wore the same suit as yesterday, but without the tie and the top buttons of his shirt undone.

She couldn’t help but throw her arms around his neck in relief.

He huffed in surprise, “Good to see you again too, love. Hope that man of yours hasn’t been treating you poorly again, has he?”

“I’m just relieved to see you again,” she replied, avoiding his question, “I can’t believe I didn’t find this street earlier this afternoon! I went looking all over the place for it! Even asked a cabby, but he didn’t know what I was talking about. I’m so glad I found you.”

A mysterious glint flashed across his eyes. “Look for me, did ya? Worry not, love. You can always find me prancing about in the AM. I’ll most likely still be in bed in the afternoons. Best stay away from me then.”

She snorted as he linked her arm with hers and followed his lead into the pub, missing the way he’d given her a worried glance as she tried to memorize the name of the residence, which was painted in a neat cursive on the sign above it.

Mardy Bum.

 “Taken that bird with you again, Miles?” Alex asked from his seat at the wooden table, his foot sliding a chair out for each of them from underneath the table.

“Couldn’t help myself, Al. I just keep running into her. It’s like fate.”

“Call it fate or whatever you want, mate, but there’s no hiding you’ve always fancied the married girls.”

“Sorry, could you repeat that for me?” Miles held a hand to his ear facetiously. “I couldn’t hear you over the tune of ‘The Bad Thing’.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Are you playing cards with us, or what?”

Miles looked back at her, waiting for her answer. She shrugged, “As long as it’s not strip poker.”

“Shame,” one of the other men at the table muttered, who she recognized from the previous night as Alex’s drummer.

“This is Matt, by the way,” Miles pointed at him, before turning to the other two band members. “And that’s Jamie, and Nick. You remember them from yesterday, no?”

“Of course, you put up a great show.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere in a game of cards, love,” Matt teased, as he shuffled the deck of cards like he’d do every evening.

 And so, the night went on, filled with light and pleasant conversation, and a few more antsy rounds of cards. The beer gradually switched to something stronger, which she identified as a very fine whiskey. Not wanting to think about their tab yet which was bound to arrive at the end of the night, she enjoyed the smooth liquid burning her throat, and beat Jamie once again at his own game.

“I don’t like her,” he grumbled.

“Don’t be petty, Jamie. It’s not her fault you’re shit at cards,” Matt said.

“I’m not shit! I won last time!”

“Last time we let you win because it was your birthday,” Alex smoothly chimed in.

“What?!”

Matt burst out laughing at the guitarist’s aghast facial expression, and she noted even Alex himself smirked along with the merriment. She had only known him for two evenings, but from the lack of lines around his mouth, he didn’t seem like he smiled often, so it was nice to be graced with one.

What she did want to be able to unsee was the way he kept looking at her over the deck in his hands with those dark brown eyes. It made her squirm a bit in her seat.

“So, if we asked you to write an autobiography on the band, would you do it?” Nick asked. She’d told them about her career path, and how she hadn’t been able to write anything for a long while.

“I mean, if that’s what you’d want.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Matt quickly intervened.

“Well, why not?”

“She’d never believe us,” Alex drawled.

She met his eyes once more, and they looked awfully calm.

“No offence, but unless you’re going to tell me you go to Hogwarts and practice magic, I’m afraid you can’t say much that makes me find the story of a band who plays in pubs unrealistic.”

“A band who plays in pubs?! You must be joking,” the bartender suddenly intervened, setting the glass down which he had been drying with a towel for the past half hour. “They’re the most famous band in England! Even have their records played in America, they do. I’m lucky they still play in here, or it wouldn’t be so packed every Friday night.”

“We’d never abandon this place, John. This is where we became men and had our first beverages as adults,” Jamie said, raising his glass.

“Don’t play the fool with me, Jamie. You’d had too many pints before you got drunk to be a first-time drinker, and I’ve seen you sneak through the back when you were younger.”

“I didn’t know there was a certain age you’re supposed to be,” Alex quipped.

“Cause nobody told me!” Miles suddenly shouted, rising from his chair and humming a tune to himself as he cradled his drink closer to his chest.

“For the last time, Miles, if you’re going to dance, please find yourself a partner that isn’t the alcohol.”

The man in question pursed his lips thoughtfully at Alex. “Great idea, mate. I’m gunna take a piss and when I get back, I’ll have found my partner.”

He stumbled off in the direction of the restroom, and the group shared a look, for the hour was growing late and they were the only ones left in the pub.

“Sorry about Miles. He gets awfully vague when he’s drunk,” Nick told her.

She smiled. “Don’t worry about it, I’m having a laugh. I wish I could spend the whole night here. Haven’t had this much fun in a while.”

She noticed Matt trying to subtly glance down at his watch, which was close to striking 3 AM. “Probably not the best idea, love. I think it’s time to go home.”

Alex gave him a look. “Why? She could stay a bit longer, wouldn’t hurt anyone,” he slurred.

“You know why.”

“My fair lady!”

Their heads turned towards the back of the bar, where Miles had gotten down on one knee in front of a mop perched in a dirty bucket. “Please, grace me with a dance.”

The silence that followed seemed to be the cue for Miles to think the mop had accepted his offer, and for Matt to definitely call it a night.

Nick and Jamie helped Miles across the street – after managing to pry the ‘fair lady’ from his arms –  while Matt chatted away with John as he was closing the bar, and she was suddenly left alone with the singer himself.

“May I walk you home?” He asked her. “No funny business, I promise.” Though he’d held his hands up in surrender, the action was contradicted by the mischievous glint in his orbs.

“Sure,” she replied, and a very small part of her wished she had just said ‘no’.

 “So, since you’re famous and all,” she started, her gaze trained upon the way her feet carefully stepped on the individual stones cemented into the street’s dirt. “Have I heard any of your songs before? What were you guys called again?”

“I don’t think you would have. And we’re called the Arctic Monkeys.”

She raised her brow, the name sounding vaguely familiar.

“Stupid name, I know.”

“No,” she quickly said, “Not at all, actually. It’s somehow… Very fitting.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

 She smiled at him, until her eyes turned up to the sky, which was filled with flickering lights in the darkest of blues. “It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?”

He hummed. “You must not be one to stay up late often, then. It’s beautiful, sure. But not the best sight I’ve ever seen.”

“What is the best sight you’ve ever seen?”

He studied her for a moment, and couldn’t tell if he was deciding on whether to answer her or not, or thinking of long-lost memories. “France. On the countryside. I’ve been all around the world, but that one night – probably caused by the empty bottles of tequila, might I add – was incomparable. Starry, with a really thin crescent moon in the sky, which Jamie described as ‘the moon’s side boob’. I thought that was quite profound. So, I wrote it down. Might even slip it into a song one day.”

The corners of her lips quirked up mischievously, the tingling sensation of the alcohol running through her system finally catching up with her. “Sing me a song, Alex.”

“A song?”

“Yesss,” she pleaded.

“Not sure your husband would agree with that.”

“He’s out and about with Mark and Rachel. Said he’d text me if he’d get back. I think we’ve got time.”

There was a quiver in his stride. “A text, you say?”

She nodded absentmindedly. “Anyways, he’s not my husband, so being serenaded isn’t illegal just yet.”

He let out a chuckle, but it was short-lived. “Could you humour me for a bit?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Could you tell me who’s the ruler of England right now?”

“What?”

“Just- Just answer the question, please.”

“The… the queen.”

“Ah.”

“I didn’t get that wrong, did I? I’m quite plastered, I’m afraid.”

“No, not at all. Perhaps we do have to save that serenade for another night, though.”

They’d halted, but the building in front of them was not one she recognized, and the route they’d taken too short to have been able to get to the hotel. “I don’t think this is-“

He kissed her on the cheek, more gently than she would’ve expected, which left her hanging with her mouth slightly open, numb from sudden surprise.

“Have a good night, love.”

He spared her one last glance, until he turned, and walked back through the dark and deserted street.

She sort of stumbled through the doors, and her eyes widened at the sight, for she was back in her hotel, and when she looked outside, she no longer met with the cobblestone street, but only the cracked asphalt of New Sheffield.

[azvolrien]

Gryphon Beach Party

I’m not even going to pretend that this has much of a plot; it’s more of a slice-of-life thing, winding up characters and letting them bounce off each other, with a fair helping of worldbuilding. It also ended up quite a bit longer than I’d intended when I started, but I was having fun.

In the spring of Asta’s second year living in Stormhaven, she decides to attend an important cultural festival and makes a new friend into the bargain. What Happens Next Will Shock You! (no it won’t)

---

           There had only been one to start with, but as the afternoon went on more and more had joined the parade until a whole flock of young gryphons hurtled around the College, all screaming something over and over at the top of their collective voice.

           Asta attempted to tune it out. “So, remind me how many of the day students have decided to start boarding?”

           Matron Inkfoot sat up on her haunches and double-checked her clipboard. “Seven first-year apprentices, four second-years, and one third-year.”

           “A third-year? It doesn’t usually take them that long to decide.”

           “It is out of the ordinary,” said Inkfoot, nodding, “but Ffion Howell’s family are moving out of the city in a month, so she’ll have to start boarding on a full-term basis. The others will be week boarders.”

           “Right.” Asta scribbled the details in her notebook. “Will the dormitories require any reshuffling to make room for them?”

           “No, there are enough free beds,” said Inkfoot. “The actual floor space is running somewhat low, but the new dorm annexe should be ready by the end of the summer before the next batch of first-years arrive.” She hung her clipboard from one of her harness straps and dropped back to all fours.

           “Good, that ought to simplify things,” said Asta just as the bell rang to signal the end of the day’s last lessons. “I’ll amend the apprentice records in the admin office and see to it that the kitchen staff know how many breakfasts and dinners they’ll need to account for. And then…” The chorus of gryphons outside had fallen silent at the bell, but as soon as its echoes faded they took up their cry even louder than before. “…And then I give up. What are they chanting out there?”

           Matron Inkfoot cocked her head, angling her ears to listen properly. The tip of her tail flicked to and fro in amusement. “Arakhasthan,” she said, making the kh and the sth into a resonant click in her throat and a sort of roughened hiss from the sides of her beak.

           Asta rolled the word over in her mind a few times. “I don’t think I have any hope of pronouncing that properly,” she admitted. “What does it mean? I assume it’s Gryphic, but…”

           “No, humans always have trouble with Gryphic,” said Inkfoot. “You just don’t have the right vocal structures. It’s why our names are usually in Imperial. Arakhasthan means something like ‘time of new feathers’.”

           “Oh, the New Feather Festival?” said Asta. “Tigerhide mentioned something about it earlier but I didn’t know what she meant.”

           Inkfoot nodded and half-spread her wings to display her glossy new flight feathers, each one a deep gold-brown tipped with black and almost five feet long. “It’s when we celebrate the end of the spring moult, when everyone loses their winter plumage and gets their summer coat instead.”

           “I did notice the gryphons were all looking a bit, um…”

           “Scruffy?” suggested Inkfoot, her tail-tuft twitching again.

           “I was going to say ‘unkempt’,” said Asta, “but it didn’t seem polite to comment.”

           Inkfoot made a soft clicking sound in her throat – the gryphon equivalent of a light chuckle – before she cocked her head in the other direction and her crest-feathers raised slightly in a curious ‘frown’. “Were you not here for last year’s festival? I know you came to Stormhaven that Hawk Moon. Sirakithi, in the Kiraani calendar.”

           Asta stared into space for a few seconds, counting the months backwards on the joints of her fingers. “I was living in Stormhaven by then, yes, but I was on a trip up to Northold around this time of year.”  

           “That explains it, then. There aren’t as many gryphons up north – they don’t make such a big fuss about Feather Fest. Do you think you’ll come this year?”

           Asta blinked and drew herself up a little. “I – well. Is it allowed? I’m not exactly…”

           “A gryphon?” said Inkfoot with another flick of her tail-tuft. “Or from Stormhaven?”

           “Well, both, I suppose, but I meant being human.”

           “No, no, plenty of humans come to the festival,” Inkfoot assured her. “There are some parties in the city – you might’ve spotted bundles of shed feathers hanging from lampposts and so on – but the big get-together will be on Aberystrad Beach tomorrow. Quite a lot of the wizards like to attend; I’ll be shepherding a few apprentices myself.”

           Asta gave it a few seconds’ thought. “I… need to get this up to the admin office,” she said, holding up her notebook. “But after that… I suppose it might be nice to get out of the city for a few hours.”

           She was far from the only person to have made that decision. The next day was perfect weather for a festival – clear skies and a light breeze off the sea, with the warmth of late spring before the oppressive heat of high summer properly rolled in from the south – and there were so many people trying to leave Stormhaven that there was a queue for the north road. Asta drummed her fingers on Pardus’s saddle-pommel as she waited her turn to pass through the Soldier Gate. Stormhaven’s city walls were not as substantial as Kiraan’s old fortifications, now long overtaken by urban sprawl and only encircling a small area around the Emperor’s palace, but they were still more than twenty feet tall, five feet thick at the base, and a more than adequate barrier to everyday passage; while there were smaller gates for pedestrians around the walls, each of the main ones was only wide enough for two lanes of traffic. There were no checks, however, and the guards waved Asta through without delay. Outside the wall, she tapped Pardus in the ribs with her heels and spurred the construct into a brisk trot. Even past the gates, the road was busy with a steady stream of carts, carriages, pedestrians and beasts of burden both natural and constructed, but the pace soon picked up and as the city fell behind, the road widened until Pardus could overtake the slower traffic and accelerate to a flat-out gallop.

           Aberystrad Beach was a few miles north of the city, but Pardus at full tilt ate up the distance in less than a quarter of an hour, easily keeping pace with the cloud of gryphons soaring above and outstripping many of them. The well-signposted turnoff soon came into sight up ahead, and Asta tugged on the reins to steer Pardus down the narrower, more winding side-road to the beach. Rolling dunes covered with wiry marram grass rose up to either side until the paving was completely engulfed; only the trail of footprints and wheel-marks through the soft, dry sand gave any sign it should be there. The sand slid under Pardus’s paws as the construct slowed to a walk and crested the last dune before the beach.

           After five years in the Sea Lochs and more than one in Stormhaven, Asta sometimes felt she was used to the sight of the Western Ocean, but she seldom had a view with no buildings or hills in the way. Out here, beyond the city walls and on top of the dunes above the beach, there was nothing to obstruct the view, and for a long while she forgot to do anything but stare. There was a chain of islands out there somewhere, she knew, but they were far enough from the coast that even on such a clear day there was no sign of them. A single ship – three masts, so not Captain Steel’s Curlew – was under full sail a couple of miles offshore, bound for the north, but otherwise only a few white dots of seabirds and the shadow of the odd small cloud broke up that vast expanse of blue-grey-green stretching to three horizons.

           Below the mottled green-yellow of the dunes and with the tide well out, the beach was a long, broad sweep of white sand split in two by the River Ystrad, its broad, looping channel shallow enough to easily wade through. Above the river, a natural outcrop of some rock hard enough to withstand the sea had been carved into a huge statue of a gryphon – more than twice the height of the city walls – sitting up and gazing out to the west. Years of wind and waves had worn its front claws smooth, leaving only vague shapes to show the sculptor’s intent, but its head with its alert stare, fierce hooked beak and pointed ears could have been carved yesterday and the detailing of the feathers on its half-folded wings was still clear even from a casual glance. A few of its flesh-and-blood cousins perched atop its head and on ledges at its shoulders and haunches, but far more had staked out little campsites along the sand below.

           There was no shortage of humans as Inkfoot had said, but if the gryphons did not truly outnumber them, the numbers were as close to equal as Asta had ever seen; hundreds of gryphons had set up colourful blankets and sunshades all along the beach, lounging on the warm sand, while others queued at food stalls just below the dunes where scents of cooking meat billowed up from fire pits dug into the sand. Still more gryphons circled above, soaring effortlessly as they caught rising thermals beneath their wings. A small group was hard at work down the beach attempting to erect two thin poles almost as tall as the huge sculpture, perhaps markers for a game of some sort. Snatches of music and voices raised in song – enthusiastic if not always tuneful – drifted on the air. And yet, for all the bustle of the festival, the beach was big enough that it did not feel crowded, and when Asta rode down from the dune she easily found a free space for herself and Pardus beside one of the statue’s hind feet. She climbed down from the saddle, laid her travel rug out on the sand, and had Pardus lie down for a backrest before she unpacked her picnic from the saddlebags. There was no one she recognised in sight – or at least, no one she dared to approach unasked – so instead she sat back against Pardus’s flank to drink her tea and watch the goings-on.

           A few of the airborne gryphons had stopped their lazy circling and, while the others drew back to fly in a vast ring around them, launched into some kind of aerial performance, twisting into loops and rolls and locking talons to fling one another across the sky. Some had clipped brightly-patterned streamers to their feathers while others trailed strings of polished metal discs from their legs and their tails, turning the whole display into a riot of colour and light to shrieks of approval from the audience. A band struck up on a stage below – two gryphons with a harp and a set of drums, and three humans with flute, guitar and fiddle – but it wasn’t clear if they were setting a beat for the flyers above or just playing along with them. A crowd quickly gathered around the stage to dance along.

           Between the cheering, the music and the thunder of wings it was absolutely deafening, and the Asta of two years ago would have been terrified – not just of the general uproar but of the gryphons themselves, of their talons like grappling hooks and their beaks that could shear through bone – but now, after the journey south with Steel, Pirate and their crew and then months of living in Stormhaven and working with Inkfoot and the College messengers, it was no more threatening than any other festival. The gryphons may have been huge carnivores who showed more expression in their feathers than their faces, but they were people as much as any human or elf.

           Asta had just finished her first cup of tea when one young man peeled off from the crowd around the stage and trotted over to her, almost tripping over a trio of small, fluffy gryphon chicks who were making a determined effort to bury an older male up to his neck in sand.  

           “Want to dance?” he asked, holding out one hand with a cheerful grin. Asta glanced up from her mug, and something in her throat and her stomach came to a juddering halt. Fair skin, dark hair, incredibly blue eyes – not Daro, of course not him, that wasn’t fair on this innocent stranger, but-

           “That’s very kind of you,” Asta stammered once her voice would obey her. “But I- I think I’m fine where I am for now.”

           “Are you sure? You could-”

           A shadow fell over both of them. “The lady gave you her answer,” said a new voice, this one a deep, gravelly rasp. The young man swallowed, nodded, and retreated back to his friends on the makeshift dancefloor.

           Asta shaded her eyes and squinted up at the gryphon who had just landed on the statue’s foot. “He meant no harm,” he said. “He’s a good lad; son of an old friend from the army. But I like to see a ‘no’ is respected. Mind if I sit?” Asta shook her head and he hopped down onto the sand at Pardus’s tail, clutching a leg of meat in his claws. His feathers were an unassuming dark tawny colour with off-white barring on his wings, and like many gryphons he wore a harness around his chest. However, where most of the harnesses Asta had seen were made of leather and often decorated with carvings and medallions, this one was sternly utilitarian – all tough, heavy canvas dyed a dull grey-green – and its only decoration was an old rank insignia pinned to one shoulder-strap. Even without it and his comment about the army she would have thought him an ex-military sort: he had clearly and literally been in the wars, for half of his tail, one ear and a toe on his left foreclaw were all missing, and various odd ridges and discoloured patches in his feathers suggested more scarring beneath them.            

           As she watched – surreptitiously, from the corner of her eye – he took a waxed cloth from one of the satchels on his harness, spread it on the sand, and carefully laid the haunch on top before he pinned it in place with his talons and began to tear away strips of meat with the tip of his beak. The outside had been seared brown over one of the fire pits, but the inside was so rare it was almost still bleeding.

           “What is that?” asked Asta. “Beef?”

           “Horse,” he said with his mouth full, and flicked his head back to tip the flesh down his throat. “Want some?”

           “I… Wh… No, I brought my own food. But thank you for offering.”

           He gave a little shrug with his wings as if to say your loss and returned his attention to his meal. “Kiraani, are you?” he asked once he had stripped it to the bone. Asta nodded, and he lowered his head to the sand to scrub away the juices crusting on his beak. “Thought so. Last time I was in arm’s reach of one of your lot was during the war.”

           “Um.”

           He clattered a laugh in the back of his throat. “I won’t hold it against you. Bravest soldier I ever met was an Imperial scout I ran into in the Darkwald. Fought like a tiger, he did – not many humans’ll square up to a full-grown gryphon with just a knife to hand, but he left quite the mark. Would’ve liked to know him better, if we’d met under different circumstances.”

           “Is that what happened to, um…” Asta nodded towards his missing toe.

           “Ayah. What happened to this, too.” He turned to look at her squarely, and she narrowly stifled her horrified recoil down to a twitch. The same wound that had taken his ear had carved a huge gnarled scar down that side of his face, leaving a deep notch in the bony ridge above the empty eye socket and twisting the corner of his beak into a permanent grimace. He laughed again, waving what remained of his tail from side to side, and lifted a talon to his intact brow ridge in an informal salute. “Flight Captain Redbolt, lately of the Second Assault Wing.”

           Asta smiled despite herself. “Asta zeDamar, still working at the College of Sorcery’s admin office.”

           “Ah, the College? You’d know Inkfoot, then.”

           “Oh, yes, we often work together to sort out one thing or another.”

           Redbolt gave a little sigh and looked up at a small, wispy white cloud high above. “Had quite a crush on her when we were both younger, but she was never interested. Wanted to focus on looking after the little wizards.”

           “They do take a lot of looking after.”

           “Talking of schools,” said Redbolt, “here’s something I’ve wondered for a while. I know how we remember the Darkwald War. How’s it taught in Kiraan?”

           “Well, there’s a certain degree of embarrassment there,” admitted Asta. “As if a lot of the people writing textbooks aren’t really sure how the army of a nation as small as Stormhaven faced down the Legions and won.”

           “I’m not sure ‘won’ is the right word. Felt more like everyone just got tired and stopped.”

           Asta nodded acknowledgement of the point. “But otherwise it’s a lot more honest and even-handed than you might expect, both about how it started and ended and everything in between. The main focus from a tactical standpoint tends to be on the wizards and the gryphons – though you can tell in some of the older books that they hadn’t quite wrapped their heads around you being people rather than just well-trained animals.”

           “In the end, are we not all just well-trained animals?” said Redbolt with such exaggerated soulfulness that Asta snorted with laughter. “You know, the books – ours and yours – always gloss over how boring it was most of the time. Lots of long stretches of just sitting around waiting for something to happen, with the odd quick burst of-” he paused for an instant, glanced at her, and obviously changed what he had been about to say, “-heart-stopping terror.”  

           “The Voynazhi priesthood don’t really like to focus on that part for some reason,” said Asta drily.

           Redbolt chuckled. “Me, I always wonder how many priests of Voynazh have actually seen battle.”

           “And how many would find another vocation if they did.” Asta looked down at her hands for a moment and asked, more quietly and with some hesitation, “Have you ever met a berserker?”

           “One or two over the years. One or two.” Redbolt opened his beak in a gaping yawn and scratched under his jaw with a talon. “Deadly fighters, but they don’t make good soldiers. Don’t work well in a team; can’t hold a formation. What makes you ask?”

           “I… used to be a slave,” said Asta. Redbolt cocked his head slightly but offered no comment. “Up in the Sea Lochs. I escaped, but before I made it down to Stormhaven I… I lived with this woman for a few weeks. Roan.” Absently, Asta brushed her fingers against her lips. “She lived alone, a long way out on the coast miles from anywhere. And she was a berserker. I suppose I wondered… I’m not sure. If berserkers were usually loners like that, or if that was just how she was.”

           “Didn’t spend enough time with them to know,” said Redbolt. “Yours, well… Clearly not so much a loner that she wouldn’t let you stay with her.”

           “No, I suppose not.” Asta fell silent and gazed out at the horizon. “I hope she’s all right by herself up there.”

           Redbolt looked from Asta to the sea and back again, quietly scraping his talons through the sand, then got to his feet and stretched out his wings to their full extent, his feathers reaching thirty feet from end to end. Despite his buzzardish markings, his wing conformation was more eagle than hawk – long, broad, and almost rectangular – and he was the biggest gryphon Asta had met so far, taller than Inkfoot and more heavily built. “Tell you what,” he said. “They’ll be starting the ring toss in a few minutes. I can give you a lift up there if you want a better view.” He pointed up to the statue’s head high above them.

           “Ring toss?”

           He laughed. “Not the kind you’d see at a funfair.” Asta bit her lip, looking with some apprehension at the statue towering above. Redbolt cocked his head, lifting his crest a little, and went on more soberly. “By the sun’s egg and the sky’s breath,” he said, “you are safe with me.”

           Asta had spent enough time with Inkfoot to know how serious an oath that was to a gryphon. Some did follow human religions – she had once seen one making an offering at a shrine to Kura – but most kept to their own nameless sky-gods. She nodded, stowed what was left of her picnic back in the saddlebags, and stood up.

           “Ever flown before? Nah? I’ll give you the – ah – crash course now, then.” He took a belt made from the same canvas as his harness from one of his satchels and passed it over. “First, you can’t sit up like you can on a horse or a construct, or even a gryphon walking; the balance and the wind resistance’ll be all off. So…” He bent his forelegs and nodded for her to climb onto his back. “You’ll want to get your knees on the back of my wing joints first, just where they meet my shoulders – gods, do you have bird bones yourself? You hardly weigh a thing – and belt yourself to that back strap, then lie flat on your belly and put your arms forward over my wings. You see those loops on the harness collar? Put your wrists through them and hold on where they join the main strap, like you’d hold one of those handles that stop you falling over on a tram. There you go.”

           “You’ve done this before?” asked Asta.

           He nodded and walked away from the statue. “Every military gryph big enough to carry a human gets the training. Never know when you’ll need to pull one of your mates out of a sticky situation. Ready?”

           “I think so.”

           Redbolt rocked back onto his hind legs and leapt into the air with one massive downward stroke of his wings. Asta’s knuckles turned pure white, but the straps held; within seconds, they were soaring in a wide circle above the sea faster than Pardus could run. Asta looked down over Redbolt’s shoulder, watching his shadow skim over the waves. The sun-warmed water was a beautiful clear turquoise over the white sand beneath; more than a few festival-goers were taking a swim and throwing a ball around. As Asta watched, one of the gryphons flying above folded their wings and dropped in a breakneck stoop right into the water with an enormous splash, only to resurface to enthusiastic cheers with a silver fish clutched in their talons.

           Another, lazier beat of Redbolt’s wings carried them higher, before his outstretched feathers found a thermal that bore them upwards until they were above the statue’s head. Asta lifted her own to catch the wind on her face.

           “Make some room down there!” roared Redbolt. Half a dozen gryphons looked up from their perches around the statue’s ears and promptly scattered, leaving Redbolt free to glide in for a landing. He flared out his wings and the fan of feathers at the base of his tail to slow himself, lowered his hind claws to the carved stone, and dropped to all fours. “There we go,” he said as the other gryphons reclaimed their space. Asta unbuckled the safety belt, slid down from his back, and peered over the edge of the statue’s head. Pardus still lay on the sand where she had left it, some fifty feet below. “I’ll say this for you,” said Redbolt, hooking a precautionary talon into the half-belt at the back of her coat. “You’ve no fear of heights. Last rider I carried screamed his head off the whole time.”

           “No, I’d say heights are one of the few things that don’t scare me,” said Asta, sitting down cross-legged at the edge.

           “Evidently,” said one of the other gryphons, this one a younger female with grey-and-white plumage and long pointed wings. “When was the last time you gave a human a ride?”

           Redbolt shrugged. “Four, five years ago? I’ve kept up with the weight training in the meantime, though. Oh – Asta, this is my niece Gull. Gull, Asta. Thought she’d get a better view of the ring toss from up here.”

           “Ooh, yeah, you get the best view of the game from up here!” said Gull, her tail-tip drumming on the stone behind her. “Tunnel Fifteen’s put together a really strong team this year, but I was just talking to Stoat here and he thinks the Windstone Wing are the ones to watch.”

           “They’ve got a very good defence this year,” said Stoat, whose feathers did indeed give him a resemblance to the animal: mostly a reddish-brown, but with a white bib down the front of his neck and a black tail-tuft. “But it’s true, Tunnel Fifteen has some very quick players. Slate is one of the best flyers out there; the Wing’ll have to account for her if they end up against the Fifteens in the tournament. Who do you think’s in with the best chance?” he asked Asta.

           This was met with a blank stare.

           “You don’t… actually know how it works, do you?” said Gull. “Oh, well, it’s pretty simple. Each team has five players; they have to try and get the ring onto their team’s goalpost, but they have to throw it; if anyone’s touching the ring when it goes over the post, the point doesn’t count. A game lasts either an hour or seven rings’ worth of play, whichever’s shorter. If there’s a draw after an hour, they have a tiebreaker round.”

           “And no biting or clawing the other team,” added Stoat. “You draw blood, you’re out of the game.”

           “It’s not as interesting since they added that rule,” said Redbolt, his tone so bland that Asta couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. Gull cuffed him on the back of his head with one wingtip as the first two teams took flight above the game field, marked out from each other by different colours on their harnesses. Another gryphon with a blue-and-white harness – presumably a referee – flew overhead and dropped a foot-wide wooden ring from their talons, and both teams launched into play.

           Asta had very little idea what was going on despite the running commentary Gull and Stoat provided for her, but it was surprisingly engrossing nonetheless. Ring toss, it turned out, was a fast-paced game of skill and agility where the airborne players flung the ring to their teammates or intercepted it from their opponents so quickly that it was difficult to keep track of where it was until it landed on the goalpost and slid down to a hook a couple of feet below the top. None of the games lasted the full allotted hour, and a few of the more uneven ones barely went a minute between the referee dropping the ring and a point being scored.

           The tournament final had just started – as it turned out, neither Tunnel Fifteen nor the Windstone Wing had made it there – in the late afternoon when Stoat pricked up his ears. “Asta, you said your name was?”

           “Yes?”

           “Someone’s yelling for you.”

           Asta leant forwards over the edge of the statue – Redbolt held on to her coat again – to see Fayn, Wygar, Inkfoot and a handful of blue-clad apprentices from the College gathered around Pardus and looking in all directions except up. Fayn cupped both hands around her mouth and shouted again, then shrugged and said something to Wygar that Asta couldn’t make out.

           “Up here!” called Asta, waving one arm. They looked up at that; Inkfoot half-spread her wings, but folded them again at some comment from Fayn. Wygar nodded, stepped back, took a quick run-up, and clambered up the side of the statue as quick as a squirrel. He had abandoned his usual long blue coat in favour of a sleeveless shirt, baring his wiry, well-toned arms and the flowing blue tattoos on his shoulders. A couple of the apprentices giggled and nudged each other at the sight.

           “I hope you’re wearing plenty of sun cream,” was Asta’s only response when he reached the top.

           “Thought you were afraid of heights?” said Redbolt, his tail twitching.

           “Yes, Fayn and I are both well-protected,” Wygar assured her. “And I’m afraid of flying,” he added to Redbolt. “I like heights just fine. You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” Redbolt shook his head to muffled laughter from the other gryphons. Wygar turned back to Asta. “Fayn and Inkfoot spotted your construct down there and were worried when they couldn’t see you anywhere.”

           “Oh. Well, it’s very kind of them to be concerned, but I’m quite all right. Redbolt here carried me up so I’d have a better view of the ring toss.”

           Redbolt rubbed the back of one talon against the scar on his face. “Thought she looked like she needed cheering up,” he mumbled.

           “Inkfoot was right,” said Wygar, grinning. “You are an old softy.”

           “Oh-ho-ho, you want to have that conversation again, boyo?”

           “…You two clearly have some history together,” said Asta as Gull, Stoat and the rest of the gryphons quietly backed away.

           “All journeyman warmages are put through a course of gryphon-riding practice,” said Wygar in an extremely neutral voice.

           “You make it sound like some horrible torture,” said Redbolt. “‘Warmage’.”

           “The good Flight Captain here is of the opinion that no mage who hasn’t actually been to war should be permitted call themself that,” said Wygar.

           “I can see where he’s coming from,” said Asta slowly.

           “Thank you!” said Redbolt.

           “But if Stormhaven hasn’t seen an actual war in twenty years, surely there can’t be that many people in active service today who do fit that criteria.”

           “Which is my point,” said Wygar. “But the way he goes on, you’d think I’d never even been in a playground fight!”

           “Reckon you’re just going to have to agree to disagree on this one, lads,” Gull interrupted. “Look, the ref’s just dropping the last ring now.”

           The referee hovered above the pitch at the exact midpoint between the two goalposts and released the ring from their talons. Immediately both teams lunged into action. One big pale-feathered gryphon with crest-feathers long enough to mark him as male even from that distance grabbed the ring in his beak and hurled it halfway across the pitch with a flick of his head. One of his teammates stretched out their talons to catch it, but before it even reached them a smaller, quicker player from the other team intercepted it and threw it in a high arc to one of their own teammates, who batted it further up with their tail. One player with pointed falcon-like wings, hovering above the fray like a kestrel, hooked their talons through the ring and beat their wings, flying for the goalpost, but the pale gryphon half-folded his wings and barged into them with his shoulder.

           “Is that allowed?” asked Asta as the crowd gasped.

           “Didn’t draw blood,” said Redbolt with a shrug.

           The ring fell, but the pale gryphon’s teammate reclaimed it before it hit the ground and threw it to a player circling above the other goalpost. They caught it in their beak, passed it into their talons, and dropped it. The ring fell neatly over the post, the referee rang a bell to signal the end of the match, and the air exploded with gryphons cheering themselves hoarse.

           “What was that team calling itself again?” asked Wygar over the uproar.

           “They’re the Crag Shadows,” said Gull. “New team, they’ve never entered the Feather Fest tournament before, nobody thought they’d get this far – but look at them!”

           The captain of the losing team touched beaks with the leader of the Crag Shadows – Asta presumed that was the equivalent of shaking hands – and led their team off the pitch as the victors lined up between the goalposts and looked up at the sky. Asta hadn’t noticed in the excitement, but everyone who had been flying overhead had landed, leaving just one imposing figure in the air.

           Lady Starfeather, the chieftain of all the gryphons of Stormhaven, glided above the crowd and landed neatly on the pitch, settling on her haunches. The white tips on her otherwise jet-black feathers seemed to glitter in the sun, which had not yet begun turning red but was well past its zenith. The Crag Shadows bowed low, their beaks almost scraping the sand, before their captain straightened up and accepted the trophy – just a ring painted gold – from Starfeather’s talons. They touched beaks for the briefest of moments before Starfeather drew back and the team captain reared back on their hind legs, holding the ring above their head in both front claws.

           The cheers that followed almost totally drowned out the sound of another gryphon landing on the statue’s head. “You all need to clear the summit,” she announced. Like Redbolt, she wore a tough canvas harness, but it was dyed a vivid shade of red with a strip of gold braid down one side of her collar and she wore a sort of ornamental diadem-helmet, its bands of polished steel framing her face. The brass chestpiece of her harness, almost big enough to count as a breastplate, was engraved with a five-pointed star framed by raised wings.

           Redbolt stood up. “Time for the fledgling parade?” he asked. The newcomer nodded. “All right. Well, you all heard the Wing Guard – clear off, the lot of you!” Gull, Stoat and their friends took flight, leaving only Redbolt, Asta and Wygar on the statue’s head.

           “Need a lift back down?” asked Redbolt wickedly. Wygar just scowled at him, nodded to Asta, and clambered down the side of the statue. “Ah, he knows I don’t really mean anything by it,” Redbolt added when he caught the disapproving look on Asta’s face.

           “Does he, though?”

           “Well… Hm. Hop back aboard and I’ll take you back to the ground, eh? Truth be told,” he added as they glided down from the statue, “if it came to a real fight between him and me, unless I caught him off-guard, I’d be ash. No illusions there.”

           “Who, Wygar?” They reached the ground not far from where they had first taken off; Asta unbelted herself from Redbolt’s harness and dismounted. “I know he’s technically a warmage, but I see him around the College a lot; he’s really more of one of those harmless, slightly scatterbrained academic types.”

           “Oh, really? Ask that harmless academic about his body count some time.”

           “…You can’t be serious.”

           “I watched his Master’s exam,” said Redbolt. “He turned a bladehound into a puddle of molten steel.”

           “Wait, really? But those are-” Asta ran one hand back through her hair, attempting to reconcile that image with Wygar currently standing stoically as Inkfoot attempted to clean a smudge from his face with a handkerchief, much to the undisguised amusement of both Fayn and the apprentices. “That is… an odd idea to think about.” She shook her head as if to chivvy the thought away. “You said something to that guard about a ‘fledgling parade’?”

           “Oh, yeah, that’s an old gryphon custom,” said Redbolt as they walked back over to Pardus and the others. Asta unbuckled the saddlebags from Pardus’s harness and dismissed the construct into its summoning stone. “Though ‘parade’ is putting it a bit strongly. Every Feather Fest, all the youngsters who’ve just finished growing their first lot of flight feathers gets presented to her Ladyship up on top of the statue.”

           “It’s not mandatory,” said Inkfoot, tucking her handkerchief into one of her bags. “But a lot of families like to mark the occasion in some way – your first flight under your own power is a big milestone.”

           Lady Starfeather took off from the game pitch and flew up to the statue’s head where she landed on top of the beak, in easy view of everyone watching from the beach below. Young fledgling gryphons – not much bigger than the chicks, but with proper structure to their wing feathers and the beginnings of their adult markings instead of fluffy grey down – fluttered up out of the crowd towards her. Each one was accompanied by an adult, perhaps a parent or an older sibling. Complete silence fell on the beach, even among the humans, as one by one the adults escorted the fledglings up to sit in front of their chieftain for a moment. With each one, Starfeather lowered her head to inspect them, made some statement that none of the watchers below could hear, and lightly touched her beak to theirs before they and their escort glided back down. A hint of orange had come into the sun by the end.

           “I remember my presentation, years and years ago,” said Inkfoot once the last fledgling was back on the sand. Starfeather remained on the statue’s beak, lying down with her front claws folded over each other. “That wasn’t with Starfeather, of course – her uncle Lord Eclipse was in charge back then.”

           Redbolt chuckled. “I remember old Eclipse! Now, there was a gryph with a sense of humour.”

           “Wait,” said Wygar, rubbing the back of one hand against his face. “Lord Eclipse died in – Inkfoot, how old are you?”

           “Ninety-seven,” said Inkfoot brightly.

           “Have you told me that before?” said Fayn, wide-eyed. “I don’t think I knew that.”

           “Neither did I, and you practically raised me from age twelve!” said Wygar.

           “That’s a slight exaggeration,” said Inkfoot. “You did go back to your parents’ house every weekend.”

           “Hundred and three over here,” put in Redbolt.

           “…Huh.” Asta ran one hand through her hair. “You do give off a certain aura of ‘old soldier’,” she said to Redbolt, whose crest lifted slightly. “But I had no idea you were that old!”

           “Well, you haven’t known me very long,” said Redbolt, waving his tail. “Should have another fiftyish in me, all going well.”

           “Fayn, you’ve been in Stormhaven longer than I have,” said Asta. “Did you know gryphons could live to be that old?” Fayn shook her head.

           “I knew that they could,” said Wygar. “I just didn’t know Inkfoot, specifically, was that old!”

           Inkfoot just shrugged.

           “If it makes you feel any less out of place,” said Fayn quietly as her husband quizzed Inkfoot for further details on the ages of the various gryphons he knew, “this is my first time at the festival too. Wygar talked me into it – I’m not fond of crowds, but I get on well with Inkfoot.”

           “Doesn’t everyone?” asked Asta.

           Fayn laughed, nodding. “She’s a likeable person. Besides, Wygar’s actually got more of a role to play this year than just attending.” She cleared her throat and stood forwards, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the bonfires?” she asked.

           Wygar swore, prompting a chorus of “Ooooooh!” from the apprentices, and ran off.

           “He’s quite a fast runner,” commented Asta.

           “He is, isn’t he?” said Fayn with a fond smile as Inkfoot led the apprentices off to one of the food stalls. “Sometimes I think he doesn’t really have speeds between ‘stroll’ and ‘sprint’.”

           “What was that about bonfires?” said Asta.

           “That’s a human thing,” said Redbolt. “Before the first humans came to our land, we gryphons didn’t make much use of fire. But they have their own traditions for this time of year, so a bit got added into the festival. They light those big ones you can see along the beach at sunset,” now that he pointed them out, Asta could indeed see the wood and brush piled in heaps along the tideline, “and the littler ones in between. Folk line up to jump over the small ones for some reason.”

           “Oh, Beltane!” said Asta. “Yes, I’ve read about that. It’s sort of a fertility-luck ritual thing. The fire-jumping, that is.”

           “How is jumping over a fire going to help with fertility?” asked Redbolt.

           “That’s… a good question,” said Fayn, frowning.

           “I’m sure there’s some reasoning behind it,” said Asta. “It’s not really a Kiraani tradition – I’ll have to read up on it.”

           People returned to their little camps along the beach, chatting amongst themselves, until finally the sun touched the horizon and Lady Starfeather got back to her feet, flanked by the Wing Guards in their red-and-gold uniforms. She spread her wings, took a deep breath, and roared out over the sea. The roar of a gryphon was a higher, shriller sound than that of a lion, but still deeper and more resonant than the cry of a hawk and far more impressive than the chirping of an eagle. Standing at the edge of the water, Wygar stretched up one arm at her call and clicked his fingers. A brilliant spark flared around his upraised hand and every one of the bonfires erupted with flame, instantly burning as hot and as bright as if they had already had hours to build up.

           “He didn’t really need to do that,” said Fayn, clicking her own fingers. “That was just for show. He could’ve woken those fires with a thought.” Her voice was exasperated, but there was no disguising the pride in her smile.

           “See what I meant?” said Redbolt to Asta, quietly enough that Fayn wouldn’t overhear. “Ash.” Asta nodded.

           Wygar ran back over to them, and had just been dissuaded from explaining the precise technique he had used when Starfeather raised her wings for silence again and, once she had it, began to sing.  

           After more than a year in Stormhaven, Asta had heard many different sounds a gryphon’s voice could produce. She had heard them speak, roar, laugh and screech. She had never heard them sing. Starfeather’s voice was nothing like the high piping of birdsong; like her roar, it was a more resonant sound that reminded Asta curiously of drumming. Other gryphons took up the song, even Redbolt; humans, their voices incapable of the Gryphic words, had to settle for humming the melody. Soon it felt like almost everyone on the beach had joined in. Wygar had closed his eyes to listen; Fayn leant against his side and held his hand tightly.  

           Asta sat down on the sand, folding her arms around her shins as she listened. The lyrics meant nothing to her – she would have to ask someone for a translation – but the tune somehow conveyed a deep sense of renewal and belonging. Life goes on, the gryphons sang. We are a family, and we’re exactly where we’re meant to be.

           “Are you all right?” asked Redbolt once the song was over and Wygar and Fayn had gone to join the line of couples waiting to jump the fire.

           Asta sat up, blinking. She hadn’t even realised she was crying until she lifted one hand and felt the tear-tracks down her face. A few different explanations came to mind, but somehow the only one that made it past her lips was the truth. “I want to go home,” she said quietly.

           “Ah-hm.” Redbolt looked around. “Well… I can give you an escort, if you don’t want to go by yourself in the dark. Or you can maybe tag along with Inkfoot if she hasn’t already taken the apprentices back to the College. Where’s home?”

           Asta thought. Her flat near Stormhaven’s northern wall didn’t even register; instead her mind went to the house where she had grown up back in Kiraan, then considered Lady MacArra’s fine manor overlooking the water in Duncraig, and finally settled on an old stone tower by the sea, where hens pecked through a little vegetable garden in the shelter of an outer wall and water horses rested on the rocks after dark. “A very long way from here,” she said, watching the fires.

           “Ah. That kind of home.” Redbolt sighed and lay down on his front beside her. He laid Pardus’s saddlebags across his shoulders and took out Asta’s tea flask. It had held its temperature throughout the day and the tea was still hot. He handed it to Asta; she unscrewed the cap and poured herself a cup. “Tell me a bit more about your berserker.”

           Asta sipped her tea. “She’s… Have you seen the portrait the museum has of Lady Meredith?” Redbolt nodded. “It reminds me of her. She’s tall, very tall, with long red hair she usually keeps in a braid and fair skin with hundreds of little freckles. Lots of tattoos on her face and her arms, and maybe more under her clothes.” She smiled. “And strong, too. Very nice arms. I expect she could pick me up like a kitten if the mood took her, but she was always gentle with me while I was staying with her. Her eyes are… Do you know Captain Steel, from the Curlew? They’re grey like hers, like… well, like steel. Piercing, is the word. Like they see right to the heart of you.

           “She’s not always talkative – there’s a shyness there – but she always answered whatever questions I had and if I needed to talk, she listened. Really listened, not just sat in the same room while I spoke. I don’t think I’ve known anyone who listened to me like she did.” Asta took another sip. “The man I escaped from recaptured me after a month in her home and tried to take me back to his family’s castle near Duncraig.” Redbolt’s wings came up in a protective stance Asta recognised from Steel, though he didn’t seem aware he had reacted. “She killed him and his guards and put me on the next ship south – Curlew – to here, where I’d cross the border to freedom and be well out of reach if his family came looking for revenge. That – fighting the guards – was the only time I ever saw her go berserk. Maybe it should have scared me, but…”

           “But you felt safe with her,” finished Redbolt.

           Asta nodded. “I thought a lot about it on the journey south, and after I’d got settled here. Whether what I felt for her was real or if I’d just fixated on the first person to show me some kindness after… after a very trying period in my life.”

           “And?”

           “And… a lot of people have been kind to me since I got to Stormhaven. Surely those feelings would have faded by now if that was all there was to it.” She sighed and wrapped both hands more snugly around her cup. “What about you? Any romance in your life?”

           “Nah, not for a long time.” Redbolt stretched out his front claws, curling his tail as far around one hind leg as it could go. “Even among gryphons, the ladies prefer a fellow with both eyes and all his toes.”

           “Well, you’ve been very gallant with me today. I’m sure any lady would be lucky to have you.”

           “Ah, well.” Redbolt scratched his remaining ear. “You looked like you could use an outrider for the day.”  

           “It was very kind of you.”

           Redbolt folded his wings again. “I flew north once, a long, long time ago,” he said, watching the silhouettes around the fires. “Followed the coast all the way up to the great ice. Kept away from humans mostly – they’re not so used to us up there, or at least they weren’t back then – but I ran into the odd hunting party or trade caravan in the Sea Lochs, up in the hills or out on the water. Seemed a nice place to live – peaceful, even in the towns.” He sighed. “I’m no seer to go telling the future, but… I have a feeling you’ll find your way back one day.”

           “I certainly hope so. I’m just… Not entirely sure when.”

           “Give it time, and keep your eyes open,” advised Redbolt. “You never know when you’ll get your chance.”

           Asta finished her tea and packed the flask back in the saddlebag. “Thank you,” she said. “For everything you’ve done today.”

           Redbolt nodded. “Do you want an escort back to wherever you’re staying?” he asked. “A lot of folk just sleep on the beach – Wygar and Fayn would probably let you share their camp if you want to stay until morning.”

           “I’m sure they would,” said Asta, “but I wouldn’t like to impose. I think I’d rather go back to my flat, if you really wouldn’t mind.”

           “It’s no trouble.” Redbolt stood, stretched, and looked back at his wings. “Though I don’t think I have it in me to fly you all the way there. You ride your construct and I’ll follow.”

           The road back to the city was well-lit with lampposts every fifty feet, but it was still reassuring to have Redbolt prowling alongside Pardus while Asta rode at a walk or soaring above when she spurred the construct into a run. The sky was fully dark by the time Asta reined Pardus in outside 103 North Wall Street and climbed down from the saddle.

           “Where do you stay, out of interest?” she asked as she removed the saddlebags and dismissed Pardus.

           “Got a nice cosy eyrie up in Gryphonroost,” said Redbolt, flicking his beak in the general direction of the gryphons’ traditional home beneath the Crag. “Reward for my long service – don’t you worry about me.” He gave another little salute, tapping one talon against his scar. “Could show you around some time, if you haven’t been up to the tunnels yet.”

           Asta smiled, lifting the saddlebags onto one shoulder. “I’d like that, actually. Maybe next Starsday?”

           “Sounds good. I’ll meet you at the west ramp around noon?”

           “I’ll see you there.”

           “Sleep well, then.” With a last nod, he took flight and vanished into the dark. Asta let herself into the stairwell and climbed to her flat on the third floor. All things considered, it had been a rather interesting day.  

---

Asta gets on rather well with gryphons - once she’s used to them she finds them less intimidating than other humans - and in return they’re quite protective of her. Gryphons in general have a tendency to go ‘is anyone gonna adopt that’ and then not wait for an answer, even if the object of their interest is a grown adult in their late twenties. Redbolt made a passing comment once about how easy it had been to fly carrying her (she’s 5′5″, a fairly average height for a woman, but she is quite slim; Roan could indeed pick her up like a kitten) and the others got very concerned she wasn’t eating enough and started offering her snacks.

Further gryphon trivia:

The corners of a gryphon’s beak can curve up enough to mimic a human-style smile, but it isn’t a natural expression for them. They generally only do it if they’re trying to put a human at ease (or freak them out, whichever). A natural ‘smile’ for a gryphon is lightly flicking the tip of their tail from side to side, while waving their entire tail from side to side is a more effusive ‘grin’. Redbolt missing half of his tail means that other gryphons sometimes view him as much more stern than he really is.

Leadership among the gryphons is hereditary up to a point. That point is when the others decide that the current chief isn’t doing a good enough job and they elect someone new. Lady Starfeather’s family line have been in charge since her grandmother (Eclipse’s mother).

Although gryphons are longer-lived than humans - a hundred and fifty years is a fairly average lifespan - they mature more quickly; a ten-year-old gryphon is physically and emotionally an adult, roughly equivalent to a twenty-year-old human.

Redbolt was originally called Goshawk from his wing markings. ‘Redbolt’ is essentially a nom de guerre that people started using consistently enough that it just became his nom de paix as well. Lord Eclipse was named such not for any markings but because he was such a huge gryphon that people used to joke he blocked out the sun whenever he took flight.

[kindofcashton]

𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕  •  chapter 11  (Calum Hood AU)

THE NEXT MORNING was spent consoling Hannah.  She hadn’t heard from Ashton since the big blow up, which left her distraught.  Whenever they fought before, they always called or texted to let each other know everything was gonna be okay.  But Ashton was radio silent, and so it was my job to make sure my teary-eyed, emotionally wrecked best friend would be okay.

“Michael didn’t even look at me before he left,” she sniffled, rubbing her swollen eyes and pouting.  I winced; this fight had been huge, and spilled over into everyone else in the house.  I could tell Michael was feeling a little betrayed himself, and Luke probably shared similar thoughts.  Calum, of course, I had no idea about.  I only hoped they all wouldn’t hold a grudge against Hannah and make things even harder for her.

“He’ll get over it, Han,” I promised her.  “Trust me.  Once this all blows over you’ll be stronger than ever.”  She shook her head, eyes cloudy and filled with misery.

“I don’t know, Scarlett,” she said in a weak voice.  “It’s really bad.”  I bit my lip, unsure of what else to say.  I didn’t want to lie and say it wasn’t bad, because lying would help no one.  But I also didn’t believe this was the end of her relationship with Ashton.  They could mend the broken bridges between them, if only he was willing to try.  I think time was the only remedy needed, and once enough time passed things could start improving.

We were joined at that moment by Calum.  I avoided his eyes, still wildly confused about how to feel after last night.  He’d shown a deep understanding that he’d never displayed before, and it stunned me.  I thought Calum of all people would relish the opportunity to expose and humiliate me, but instead he chose to respect my plea for distance.  As he sat down next to me, I felt the heat of his body so close to mine and shifted uncomfortably.

But apparently he wasn’t feeling uncomfortable at all, because there was a relaxed smirk on his face.  He nudged his box of frosted cereal towards me.  “Here, have some since I know you’d just steal it later.”  His tone was jovial, causing me to finally meet his gaze.  It was light and innocent, making my brows raise in disbelief.

I took the box and gladly dug my hand in, enjoying the sickly sweet cereal as Hannah distractedly scrolled through her phone.  Calum shuddered beside me.

“I don’t know how you eat it dry,” he told me, pouring milk into his bowl.  I wrinkled my nose.

“Because soggy cereal is disgusting, that’s why.”  My expression was coy as I took another handful, and he rolled his eyes.  I liked the way we could play off each other and actually joke around, the usual tension missing for some reason.  I figured last night probably had something to do with it, but if this was the new normal I was completely on board.

Hannah looked up from her phone.  “Do you have work today?” she asked.  “I was wondering if we could spend the day watching bad movies and eating unhealthy food.”

I pursed my lips.  “Actually, yeah, in an hour.  But later we can totally--”

“No, no.”  She waved her hand, heaving a sigh and staring off into the distance.  “Maybe a little solitude would be good for me.  I’m way too codependent.”

I frowned.  “Hannah--”

“Don’t tell me it isn’t true, Scarlett, we both know it is.  I’m overly dependent on people and you’re obsessed with fixing them.  We both have flaws.”  I blushed a deep red as she exposed our relationship problems.  I felt Calum’s hand still above his bowl as he listened, and I suppressed a grimace.  He had definitely began figuring out just how much I liked to fix things, how I obsessed over little details until I thought it was perfect.  

Hannah pushed her chair away from the table and stood up, shoulders sagging and face crestfallen.  “I think I’m gonna wallow downstairs all day.  You’re welcome to join in the fun, Calum.”  He gave her a small smile as she trudged towards the basement door, and when she finally disappeared downstairs I let out a sigh.

Calum pushed the cereal around in his bowl, frowning thoughtfully.  “You think she’s gonna be okay?”  His question was sincere, and I could detect behind the words just how much he cared for her.  

Rolling my lips into my mouth, I shrugged.  “I hope so.  She’s been through a lot of shit recently, and I’d hate to see Ashton abandon her over it.”  I briefly panicked that I had gone too far, made it seem like Ashton was entirely in the wrong.  But if Calum thought this, he didn’t show it.  Instead he just nodded, finishing his cereal quietly.

I checked the clock on the wall.  “I ought to get ready, I have a bus to catch.”  I closed the cereal box and began to get up, but then Calum reached out his arm to stall me.

“Why don’t I drive you?  I have nothing better to do, and you’re probably really tired of riding that dingy bus.”

My lips parted in surprise, but his expression was earnest.  I blinked a few times, at a loss for words.  He merely rolled his eyes and stood up beside me, leaning in close as he said, “What, I’m not allowed to be nice?”  His breath was warm and I felt my body tense up at the proximity of his face.  But then he pulled away with a smirk to put his bowl in the sink.  I exhaled, fidgeting a little as I considered his offer.

“Fine,” I accepted.  “But you better be picking me up, too.”  I quirked my lips up challengingly, and he chuckled at the counter.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” he replied.  I smiled before turning to head upstairs, thoroughly confused but pleasantly surprised.  I told myself it was only because I didn’t have to catch the bus, not because a certain curly-haired boy was finally being nice to me.

I got ready fast and joined Calum by the front door, following him out to his car.  It was another beautiful day weather wise, and I sighed happily as we climbed into his mustang.  

“You better not complain about my music,” he warned as he put an old-fashioned tape into the cassette player.  The car was vintage and had all the old features, something I found charming and very much in character with the owner.  Soft guitar sounds drifted out, and I vaguely recognized the band.  I didn’t say a word as we drove off, enjoying the way the music seemed to match our peaceful mood.

I was almost disappointed when we arrived at the cafe, wishing I could keep driving for hundreds of miles with just Calum and his music and the comfortable quiet.  But this was reality, and I thanked him quickly for the ride before heading in.

Mack had realized a few weeks ago how well Roger and I worked together, and decided to schedule us with the same shifts since we had similar availability.  This meant seeing him every time I worked, something the two of us were definitely fine with.

“Did I see you climbing out of a cherry red sex mobile this morning?” he asked innocently, and I choked on the water I was sipping.

“If you mean Calum’s mustang, then yes,” I told him, rolling my eyes at his insinuation.  “He offered me a ride, how could I have said no?”

Roger smiled evilly.  “I know a perfect way you can thank him,” he said, batting his eyelashes.  I flipped him off with a laugh, trying not to imagine all the possibilities he had in his head.  They were surely all dirty and seductive, and thinking about Calum in a dirty and seductive way was not going to help me do my job.

It was a quicker shift today, ending in the early afternoon.  When I had about a half hour left, I began wondering what Calum was up to all day.  I always wondered this; he didn’t have a job, didn’t go to school.  What did he do all day?  Where did he go?  Did he have other friends, a different life away from us?  I could tell he was full of secrets, and my mind drifted to what they could all be when the front door opened.

“No way,” Roger whispered, causing me to snap out of my daydreaming.  Speak of the devil.

“Hey, Scarlett,” Calum greeted when he walked up the counter.  His smirk was cool and his eyes were hooded, and I bit my lip.  “Thought I’d try some of this coffee your always screwing up.”

I scoffed, and Roger shook his head as he butted into our conversation.  “Oh no, she hasn’t screwed up an order all day.  I want to see how long it will last.”

“Hey!” I protested, smacking his arm.  “I didn’t mess anything up yesterday, either.”

Roger narrowed his eyes.  “Debatable.  The amount of whipped cream you put on that poor man’s hot chocolate yesterday was almost criminal.”

I folded my arms at him.  “You can never have too much whipped cream, Roger.”  He just flipped me off and got back to cleaning the display case.  Turning back to Calum, I flushed.  Having him here was overwhelming; he’d stepped into a part of my life that was entirely my own, and I almost felt like he was invading my privacy.

“Do you know what you want?  Should I recommend stuff?”  I didn’t know why I felt so nervous all of a sudden, trying to tell myself it wasn’t because of the deep brown eyes studying me so intently.

“I like the sound of that whipped cream,” he started.  “Why don’t you pile it on top of a mocha.”  I nodded, punching in his order and accepting his cash with a small smile.  He went to sit at a table by the window, and I forced myself not to stare as I focused on his drink.

I’d made a hundred mochas by now, but this one I really wanted to get right.  I made sure to add the perfect amount of steamed milk, and tried way too hard to make the whipped cream swirl as even as possible.  Roger watched me work, clicking his tongue disapprovingly.

“You sure this is the drink that’ll get you in his pants?”  I almost threw the hot coffee on his face, fighting a smile at his stupid jokes.  I approached the counter and called Calum’s name, presenting the mocha proudly.

“I hope this is satisfactory,” I said as he took the mug and raised it in a mock cheer.  I was slightly disappointed when he sat back down without saying anything, but pushed this feeling aside as I finished my shift.

Calum was waiting for me when Roger and I emerged from the back room after clocking out.  My smile was shy and I hooked my bag over my shoulder nervously.  But Calum’s smirk was oddly comforting, and he held the door for me.

“I thought we’d make a quick pit-stop at the grocery store for more beer,” he informed me, and I knitted my brows together.

“Didn’t you just get beer yesterday?”

“It was only a six-pack,” he defended with a laugh.  “And besides, the guys all needed one after the blow up.”  I nodded, understanding him completely.  If I were Michael or Luke, I’d want to drown my worries too.

Roger appeared behind my shoulder.  “Am I invited on this little road trip?”  My jaw dropped, but he cackled and gave me a good-natured shove.  “Totally kidding, go have fun on your grocery store date.”  I almost tripped him at saying the word date, terrified that it would rub Calum the wrong way.  But I don’t think he even heard, and I breathed a sigh of relief as we got back into his car.

“How was the beer I suggested yesterday?” he asked me, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on his rolled down window.  I admired the way the sun struck his profile, the relaxed posture he drove in.  

Licking my lips, I answered, “It was actually really good, probably the best beer I’ve had.  But I’m not that picky when it comes to beer, though.”

He smirked.  “What are you picky about?”  

Smiling at his oddly personal question, I considered my answer.  “Well, cereal, as you already know.  I refuse to ever have it with milk.  Other than that...not much, I guess.  I’m fine with most things.”

Calum thought about this for a second, a distant smile on his lips.  “So you’re just so easy-going and carefree, huh?”

I laughed, propping my feet up on the dashboard to reiterate this point.  “Oh, totally.”

We arrived at the store and immediately went for the beer.  Calum pointed out a few good brands, and I pretended to take meticulous notes on his suggestions.  He picked out a case of the kind I bought yesterday, and we brought it back to the car.

He paused after stashing the bag in the backseat.  His expression was clouded, and more protective than it had been all day.  Clearly his walls were back up, but I didn’t know why.  When he finally spoke, my question was answered, “Want to take this somewhere and crack it open?  I don’t know, the park or something?”  He was scared to ask me this, worried I’d say no.  Fear of rejection, I thought.  Interesting, considering all of his arrogant bravado.

I nodded eagerly, hoping to ease some of his nerves.  “That sounds great.  And it’ll give Hannah more alone time I think she really needs.”

The park wasn’t crowded at all, and we found a nice spot up on a hill a little ways.  The shade of a tree provided us relief from the late afternoon sun, and at our vantage point we could watch the people roaming around below.  I laid on the grass, propped up by an elbow as I watched Calum crack open the beers.  As he handed me one we clinked the cans together in a toast, and when I took a sip I felt all of the past few days’ stress leak right out of me.  The breeze, the sun, the fresh air; it was all so cleansing, and I couldn’t harbor any negativity in such a serene place.

Laying next to Calum, I inspected his face, unafraid of him catching me staring.  I took in his full lips, thinking about all the different expressions they produced.  His curly hair fell across his forehead, and I imagined what it would feel like to run my fingers through it.  His eyes were definitely my favorite feature of his; rich brown in color, reflecting light in the dark depths.  If I could, I would gaze into them all day, just to uncover whatever secrets they protected.  Calum was an enigma I was itching to solve, and every day I felt a little bit closer to the truth.

Just as I thought, he caught me staring.  But I didn’t look away, bravely holding his gaze as he confronted me with a look.  A brief smirk crossed his face, before he took a swig of beer and sighed.

“What are you trying to find, Scarlett?”  The question was innocent, but it set off butterflies in my chest.  I liked the way he said my name, almost like it was music on his tongue.  Blushing, I finally did look away and focused instead on the people in the park.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I responded.  “Just trying to figure out all your little secrets, that’s all.”  Something about the atmosphere had me feeling daring, and I hoped he felt the same way.

He laughed.  “You don’t think I’m doing the same thing?”  We met each other’s eyes for a second, and then he added, “Alright, fine.  You tell me something and I’ll tell you something.”

“How democratic of you,” I joked, and he laid back on his elbows.  I thought about what to tell him, sifting through the multitude of secrets in my arsenal.  Deciding to take advantage of what little bravery I had right now, I said, “Okay, I’ll tell you something.”  He shifted his position to face me better, and suddenly I felt nervous.  But I pushed this away, determined to be honest, no matter how much his eyes burned into me.

“You’ve known something is up about me being home from school for a while now, and you’re right.  I’m not on a break: I had to drop out.”  I paused for a second to let him soak this in.  His smirk faded to a frown, but I pushed on.  “And the reason I had to drop out was because I was stone-cold broke.  I couldn’t pay the tuition, so I had to leave.  And the reason I’m broke is...”  I trailed off, wondering if this was taking it too far.  But I wanted Calum to know this.  I didn’t know why I felt this way, why I trusted him all of a sudden.  But I needed him to know what happened to me.  “My parents both died recently, in a car crash.  Everything went to the medical bills to try to keep them alive, but it didn’t work.  And now I’m here, alone, broke, and...”  I laughed morosely.  “And with no idea what I’m doing.”

Calum’s face fell, his eyes filling with sympathy as he opened his mouth to say something.  “Scarlett, I--”

I waved him off.  “I don’t want any pity.  That’s why I kept it to myself, because I didn’t want to be the poor sad girl with dead parents.”  Already I felt Calum’s view of me shifting, and I only hoped he wasn’t seeing a weak, pitiable basket case in front of him.

He sighed, brows low on his eyes as he seemed to be waiting for me to look at him.  When I finally did, he tilted his head.  “Pity and support aren’t the same thing, you know.  Everyone needs help when they go through something hard, it doesn’t mean people see you as weak or pathetic.”

My mouth felt dry as his words soaked in.  I’d never looked at it this way before, and his fresh perspective actually made me feel better.  I guess I hadn’t really let anyone just be there for me, I pushed everyone away.  Smiling meekly, I said, “Now where were you two months ago when I needed to hear that?”

He chuckled. eyes dancing with amusement.  I liked that even though we were talking about such a heavy topic, we kept it light.  For someone I’d always thought was so brooding, Calum had a gentler side that was exactly what I needed in this moment.

I lightly pushed at his arm, leaning on my hand as I faced him.  “Alright, since I just poured out my soul it’s your turn.”  The anticipation of finding out one of his secrets was killing me, and I bit my lip to contain my enthusiasm.

Calum rested the back of his head on his hands so he was gazing up at the cloudy sky.  His lips parted, and I held my breath. 

“You’ve probably noticed the lack of shit going on in my life,” he started, and I nodded with a small smile.  I was pleased that this was what he was going to talk about; it was what I was most curious about.  “The reason I’m able to live this way is because of the checks my mother sends every month.  She feels guilty for screwing up my childhood or something, I don’t know.  The money is good so I don’t complain.”

This was a lot of information to process.  I’d had a hunch for a while that Calum’s life was more complex than he let on.  It was interesting to hear about his mother and their apparent estrangement.  My fingers toyed with a few blades of grass as I waited for more of an explanation.

“I haven’t actually talked to her in months,” he admitted, sounding a little surprised himself at the confession.  “Not that I don’t...care about her.”  I noted the way he stumbled, avoiding the word love.  “I do, I want her to be happy.  I just don’t think me being around is good for either of us.”

Even though I had an entirely different view of my parents, this made sense to me.  Sometimes distance is the best thing for a relationship.  I was always close with my mother and father, but that was because they’d supported me my whole life.  I had no idea what Calum went through with is mom, or how they ended up so estranged.

I hadn’t realized he was looking at me, expectant for a response, and I blushed.  “Sorry, I just...it’s nice that you’ve found what works for both of you.  So many people try way too hard and just end up hurting each other.”

He smiled, brows lifting.  “Gotta say I’m surprised.  With all of your psychology books and deep analysis I thought you’d try to tell me to reach out.”

Shrugging, I let a smirk twist across my lips.  “I’m full of surprises,” I replied jokingly.  Truthfully, I did think that Calum reaching out would be a good idea.  Maybe not right now, but in the future when he was more mature and ready to confront his mother he should definitely do it.  He deserved to have a mother, someone who loved him unconditionally.  I wanted him to have a family.

When I glanced back over to him, I gasped lightly.  The way he was looking at me took my breath away; it was as if his brown eyes had pulled back all of my defenses and were staring straight into my soul, my thoughts, my body.  A gravitational pull was tugging at my chest, and for a second I contemplated closing the short distance between us and connecting our bodies.  I was sure he could hear my thunderous heartbeat, and I wanted to reach out and feel his own.

His eyes flitted to my lips for a brief moment, and then he whispered, “We should go.”  He rolled over onto his back and sat up, ending the moment just like that.

We were silent on the drive home, but it was a comfortable quiet I found myself sinking into.  The image of Calum’s face, so close and illuminated by the setting sun, was burned in my eyes as I stared at the road in front of me.  I wanted to kiss him.  I wanted to be the one to make a move, to reach over and do what we’ve both been yearning for.  But I also knew how much it would complicate things, and in a moment that was so blissfully simple, I didn’t want to ruin it.

I thought once we got home we’d both part ways and say nothing.  But as Calum parked in the driveway, switching off the engine and engulfing us in total silence, I held my breath.  He was going to say something, that much I knew.  But about what I couldn’t possibly comprehend.  

The interior roof lights cast a thin veil of yellow on his features, and in the small car it felt impossibly tight.  I twisted in the seat, lips pressed together as I waited in suspense.  Calum pushed a hand through his hair, letting the curls bounce above his forehead as he rested his arm on the headrest behind me.

He licked his lips, watching me closely.  “Remember when you said I knew nothing about you?”

I blinked, remembering the night clearly.  I’d hurled the words at Calum in the hopes he’d back off, leave me alone.  Instead he seemed to want to get closer, and now here we were together in his car after spending the whole afternoon together.  “Yes,” I said plainly.  “I remember.”

He looked away, out into the dark distance beyond the window.  “Well, you were right,” he declared, suddenly turning back to face me.  “I don’t have a clue who you are.  But the thing is...I want to find out.”

All of the oxygen had seeped out of the car.  Blood was rushing in my ears, my fingers tingled with nerves.  I felt like I was tilting in the seat, like gravity had flipped and suddenly I was fighting not to float away.  A million thoughts spun through my mind, none of them making sense.  Only one stuck out: I need to get out of this car.

And so I did.  I stuttered something incoherent and slammed the door behind me, practically running to the door then up the stairs to my room.  I tore my jacket off, then my shirt and jeans.  I felt suffocated by the constricting clothes, and pulled on soft shorts and a big tee shirt.  I began pacing across my floor, wondering if I’d just made a huge mistake.  Calum had said something I’d been itching to hear for weeks, without even realizing it myself.  But I couldn’t wrap my head around how we got here.  We fundamentally disliked each other, but somehow we’d poured our hearts out today and crossed into new territory.  I liked the territory, but I was terrified of it blowing up.  All it took was one wrong move for Calum and I to disintegrate, and I was scared of crumbling because of him.

I flopped onto the bed, staring up at the dark ceiling.  The stairs creaked in the hallway, and I felt the door to Calum’s room next door shut.  Having him so close but so far was driving me crazy and not helping me get over my anxiety.  I tossed and turned for what felt like hours, only thinking of him.  His eyes, his lips, his voice.  

Before I knew what I was doing my body took over and brought me to my door.  I twisted the door knob, expecting to walk into the pitch black hallway.  Instead I opened it up and was faced by the exact person I couldn’t get off my mind.

I hadn’t even heard Calum come to my door.  But here he was, clad in only a pair of black joggers.  I could barely see his face but I could make out his eyes boring into mine

I don’t know who leaned in first, but within a millisecond our lips connected.  My whole body reacted to his touch, lighting on fire with every skim of his fingers.  My hands went to his neck, his face, his hair.  I pulled him tightly against me, feeling his bare shoulders and running my fingers across his wide back.

His lips molded to mine like clay, his tongue teasing at my mouth as I breathed hard.  Our foreheads bumped together, teeth clashing and tongues dancing as the kiss deepened even more.  His hands ran along my sides, igniting the skin as he went.  I felt his fingers hook under my shirt, sliding up my skin and causing a string of moans to fall from my mouth.  The sounds only encouraged him, and I felt his thumbs brush my exposed breasts.

Our lips tore apart for a second, and I exhaled lightly.  “Calum,” I murmured against his cheek, and he attached his mouth to my jaw.  The sensation was overwhelming as he dragged his lips down my neck, finding a sensitive spot below my ear.  I couldn’t control my heavy breathing, and my knees weakened as he sucked gently on my skin.  I wrapped my arms tighter around his neck for support, melting into his body like butter.

He peppered kisses across my neck to my jaw to my face, kissing my cheeks before reconnecting with my lips.  The kiss had slowed down, softening into a sweet caress that calmed my racing heartbeat.  I traced my fingertips down his neck, resting finally on his bare chest as we disconnected once and for all.  My forehead bumped against his collarbone, his larger height making him rest his chin on the top of my head.

His hands rubbed up and down my arms, and I pressed a feathery kiss to his chest before leaning back.  I tangled my fingers into his, pulling him back into my room.

“Stay,” I whispered, and I heard him close the door behind him.  I fell onto the bed, pulling him beside me so we laid face to face.  He brought the covers up around us, encasing us in warmth.  I was finally breathing evenly again, sleep beginning to pull me under.  The last thing I felt before I went under was the feeling of his arm hooking around my waist and pulling me into him.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars XLVIII (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I feel like I go from ‘This is just a fun fluffy chapter with a nice picnic :)’ to ‘This is a bloodbath, you will cry and you will hate me.’ That’s cool -Danny

Words: 4,444 (this is aesthetically pleasing omg)

Warnings: Corpses, blood, trauma.

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Chapter Seven: New Lessons.

"Hey, Harry," said Seamus Finnigan during their Potions class that Thursday morning, "have you heard? Daily Prophet this morning — they reckon Sirius Black's been sighted."

"Where?" said Harry and Ron.

"Not too far from here- It was a Muggle who saw him. 'Course, she didn't really understand. The Muggles think he's just an ordinary criminal, don't they? So she phoned the telephone hotline. By the time the Ministry of Magic got there, he was gone."

"Not too far from here..." Ron looked over at Harry and Mel. Then he caught Malfoy staring and sneered. "What, Malfoy? Need something else skinned?"

The boy had returned with his arm covered in bandages, he didn't need them of course, but no one seemed to notice. Snape forced Ron and Harry to do the hard work for him, so he was sitting on their table.

"Thinking of trying to catch Black single-handed, Potter?" He asked with a taunting smile.

"Yeah, that's right," Harry said, not really paying attention.

"Of course, if it was me," Malfoy continued quietly, "I'd have done something before now. I wouldn't be staying in school like a good boy, I'd be out there looking for him."

"Are you sure you wouldn't be crying under your bed?" Mel asked through greeted teeth.

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" Ron frowned.

"Don't you know, Potter?" Malfoy's eyes examined his expression.

"Know what?"

"Maybe you'd rather not risk your neck," Malfoy shrugged. "Want to leave it to the dementors, do you? But if it was me, I'd want revenge. I'd hunt him down myself."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked with a lack of patience.

"You should have finished adding your ingredients by now; this potion needs to stew before it can be drunk, so clear away while it simmers and then we'll test Longbottom's..."  Snape said to the class.

They walked over to the gargoyle sink, Harry whispering his doubts to them.

"What did Malfoy mean? Why would I want revenge on Black? He hasn't done anything to me — yet."

"He's making it up," said Ron. "He's trying to make you do something stupid..."

"Wouldn't be the first time, would it?" Mel scoffed.

"Everyone gather 'round," said Snape, he was next to Neville and Hermione's table, "and watch what happens to Longbottom's toad. If he has managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don't doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned."

The Gryffindors watched fearfully. The Slytherins looked excited. Snape picked up Trevor the toad in his left hand and dipped a small spoon into Neville's potion, which was now green. He trickled a few drops down Trevor's throat.

There was a moment of hushed silence, in which Trevor gulped; then there was a small pop, and Trevor the tadpole was wriggling in Snape's palm.

The Gryffindors burst into applause. Snape, looking sour, pulled a small bottle from the pocket of his robe, poured a few drops on top of Trevor, and he reappeared suddenly, fully grown.

"Five points from Gryffindor," said Snape, which wiped the smiles from every face. "I told you not to help him, Miss Granger. Class dismissed."

"Five points from Gryffindor because the potion was all right! Why didn't you lie, Hermione? You should've said Neville did it all by himself!- Where is she?"

Harry and Mel turned. Hermione was nowhere to be seen.

"She was right behind us..."

Malfoy passed them between Crabbe and Goyle. He smirked, and it took a great deal from her to not throw a shoe at his head.

"There she is," said Harry suddenly, pointing at the end of the stairs.

"How did you do that?" said Ron.

"What?" said Hermione, joining them.

"One minute you were right behind us, the next moment, you were back at the bottom of the stairs again."

"What?" Hermione looked slightly confused. "Oh — I had to go back for something. Oh no —"

A seam had split on Hermione's bag. Harry wasn't surprised; he could see that it was crammed with at least a dozen large and heavy books.

"Why are you carrying all these around with you?" Ron asked her.

"You know how many subjects I'm taking," said Hermione breathlessly. "Couldn't hold these for me, could you?"

"But —" Ron was turning over the books she had handed him, looking at the covers. "You haven't got any of these subjects today. It's only Defense Against the Dark Arts this afternoon."

"Oh yes," said Hermione vaguely, but she packed all the books back into her bag just the same. "I hope there's something good for lunch, I'm starving," she added, and she marched off toward the Great Hall.

"D'you get the feeling Hermione's not telling us something?" Ron asked Harry.

"Maybe she's just carrying them to study between classes?" Mel offered, but she didn't actually believe that what she said was the whole truth.

A student approached her, he pocked her shoulder and gave her a note.

"Professor Dumbledore told me to give you this," He told her, going away as soon as he'd said it.

"Oh?" She unfolded the note. "Oh! It's my lesson!"

"What does it say?" Ron leaned over to read, forgetting about Hermione.

"He'll meet me tonight after dinner," Mel squirmed in her place, excited. "Can't wait!"

"Do you have any idea of what he'll be teaching us for our first class?" Hermione asked her anxiously.

Mel had told them (in utter secrecy) that Professor Lupin was sort of related to her, she didn't have to, but Ron and Hermione were her best friends along with Harry, and she wanted to be honest.

"I haven't talked to him since our first day," She tilted her head, "but I haven't heard bad things about him, so I trust he'll be good."

Professor Lupin entered the room just then, looking way better than the first night.

"Good afternoon," He said. "Would you please put all your books back in your bags. Today's will be a practical lesson. You will need only your wands."

The kids shared curious and excited looks as they obliged, wondering what the man may be planning. Once they were ready he glanced around and nodded.

"Right then, if you'd follow me."

Puzzled but interested, the class got to its feet and followed Professor Lupin out of the classroom. He led them along the deserted corridor and around a corner, where the first thing they saw was Peeves the Poltergeist, who was floating upside down in midair and stuffing the nearest keyhole with chewing gum.

Peeves didn't look up until Professor Lupin was two feet away; then he wiggled his curly-toed feet and broke into song.

"Loony, loopy Lupin," Peeves sang. "Loony, loopy Lupin, loony, loopy Lupin —"

Rude and unmanageable as he almost always was, Peeves usually showed some respect toward the teachers. Everyone looked quickly at Professor Lupin to see how he would take this; to their surprise, he was still smiling.

"I'd take that gum out of the keyhole if I were you, Peeves," he said pleasantly. "Mr. Filch won't be able to get in to his brooms." Filch was the Hogwarts caretaker, a bad-tempered, failed wizard who waged a constant war against the students and, indeed, Peeves. However, Peeves paid no attention to Professor Lupin's words, except to blow a loud wet raspberry.

Professor Lupin gave a small sigh and took out his wand.

"This is a useful little spell," he told the class over his shoulder. "Please watch closely."

He raised the wand to shoulder height, said, "Waddiwasi!" and pointed it at Peeves.

With the force of a bullet, the wad of chewing gum shot out of the keyhole and straight down Peeves's left nostril; he whirled upright and zoomed away, cursing.

"Cool, sir!" said Dean Thomas in amazement.

"Thank you, Dean," said Professor Lupin, putting his wand away again. "Shall we proceed?"

She'd only seen him do magic once or twice during her summer, but it was all domestic, little spells. This demonstration was the first thing Mel witnessed on her uncle's abilities, and she was intrigued, to say the least.

They stopped outside the staffroom and their Professor invited them in, they found Snape sitting in one of the armchairs, however, he stood up to leave.

"Possibly no one's warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear."

Mel scowled at the man in front of her, she couldn't believe that such a nasty person could teach at school. Professor Lupin didn't miss a beat.

"I was hoping that Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation," he said, "and I am sure he will perform it admirably."

"Now, then," said Professor Lupin, beckoning the class toward the end of the room, where there was nothing but an old wardrobe where the teachers kept their spare robes. As Professor Lupin went to stand next to it, the wardrobe gave a sudden wobble, banging off the wall.

"Nothing to worry about," said Professor Lupin calmly because a few people had jumped backward in alarm. "There's a boggart in there."

Most people seemed to feel that this was something to worry about. Neville gave Professor Lupin a look of pure terror, and Seamus Finnigan eyed the now rattling doorknob apprehensively.

"Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces," said Professor Lupin. "Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks — I've even met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock. This one moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the headmaster if the staff would leave it to give my third years some practice.

"So, the first question we must ask ourselves is, what is a boggart?"

Hermione put up her hand.

"It's a shape-shifter," she said. "It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most."

"Couldn't have put it better myself," said Professor Lupin, and Hermione glowed. "So the boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a boggart looks like when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears.

"This means," said Professor Lupin, choosing to ignore Neville's small sputter of terror, "that we have a huge advantage over the boggart before we begin. Have you spotted it, Harry?"

"Er — because there are so many of us, it won't know what shape it should be?" Her friend offered.

"Precisely. It's always best to have company when you're dealing with a boggart. He becomes confused. Which should he become, a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I once saw a boggart make that very mistake — tried to frighten two people at once and turned himself into half a slug. Not remotely frightening. The charm that repels a boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind. You see, the thing that really finishes a boggart is laughter. What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that you find amusing. We will practice the charm without wands first. After me, please . . . riddikulus!"

"Riddikulus!"

"Good," said Professor Lupin. "Very good. But that was the easy part, I'm afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. And this is where you come in, Neville."

The boy -quite bravely, if Mel would say so- stepped forward, trembling from head to toe.

"Right, Neville," said Professor Lupin. "First things first: what would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?"

He mumbled out something, but no one could hear.

"Didn't catch that, Neville, sorry," Professor Lupin replied, smiling politely.

"Professor Snape."

All the kids laughed, however, their Professor only nodded, deep in thought.

"Professor Snape... hmmm... Neville, I believe you live with your grandmother?"

"Er — yes. But — I don't want the boggart to turn into her either."

"No, no, you misunderstand me. I wonder, could you tell us what sort of clothes your grandmother usually wears?"

"Well... always the same hat. A tall one with a stuffed vulture on top. And a long dress... green, normally... and sometimes a fox-fur scarf."

"And a handbag?" prompted Professor Lupin.

"A big red one," said Neville.

"Right then," said Professor Lupin. "Can you picture those clothes very clearly, Neville? Can you see them in your mind's eye?"

"Yes?"

"When the boggart bursts out of this wardrobe, Neville, and sees you, it will assume the form of Professor Snape," said Lupin. "And you will raise your wand — thus — and cry 'Riddikulus' — and concentrate hard on your grandmother's clothes. If all goes well, Professor Boggart Snape will be forced into that vulture-topped hat, and that green dress, with that big red handbag."

"Oooh!" Mel exclaimed in her place, she couldn't wait to see that. And judging by the chuckles and nervous smiles of her classmates, neither could them.

"If Neville is successful, the boggart is likely to shift his attention to each of us in turn," said Professor Lupin. "I would like all of you to take a moment now to think of the thing that scares you most, and imagine how you might force it to look comical..."

Mel froze.

What was she afraid of?

The dark, perhaps- No, she didn't mind waking up at night and walking alone to the toilet. Insects? No... they were small, weak things. They couldn't hurt her...

Hurt.

She knew a thing or two about pain, there were worse things than spiders or ladies in white nightgowns and black, dirty hair. There are murderers, and death.

Death. Not hers... around her.

"Everyone ready?" said Professor Lupin.

She heard the rest of the students mumbling an agreement.

"Neville, we're going to back away," said Professor Lupin. "Let you have a clear field, all right? I'll call the next person forward... Everyone back, now, so Neville can get a clear shot —"

They all retreated, backed against the walls, leaving Neville alone beside the wardrobe. He looked pale and frightened, but he had pushed up the sleeves of his robes and was holding his wand ready.

"On the count of three, Neville," said Professor Lupin, who was pointing his own wand at the handle of the wardrobe. "One — two — three — now!"

A jet of sparks shot from the end of Professor Lupin's wand and hit the doorknob. The wardrobe burst open. Hook-nosed and menacing, Professor Snape stepped out, his eyes flashing at Neville.

Neville backed away, his wand up, mouthing wordlessly. Snape was bearing down upon him, reaching inside his robes.

"R — r — riddikulus!" squeaked Neville.

There was a noise like a whip crack. Snape stumbled; he was wearing a long, lace-trimmed dress and a towering hat topped with a moth-eaten vulture, and he was swinging a huge crimson handbag.

There was a roar of laughter; the boggart paused, confused, and Professor Lupin shouted, "Parvati! Forward!"

Parvati walked forward, her face set. Snape rounded on her. There was another crack, and where he had stood was a blood-stained, bandaged mummy; its sightless face was turned to Parvati and it began to walk toward her very slowly, dragging its feet, its stiff arms rising —

"Riddikulus!" cried Parvati.

A bandage unraveled at the mummy's feet; it became entangled, fell face forward, and its head rolled off.

"Seamus!" roared Professor Lupin.

Seamus darted past Parvati.

There she stood as the rest of the class faced their fears, and it was one of the funniest things she'd ever seen. The energy in the room was simply so full of life... And then it was her turn.

She stood above Dean's fear -a severed hand- and waited.

Crack!

Her mother laid dead on the floor- Crack! Dumbledore's corpse was in front of her- Crack! Ron's body- Crack! Hermione-

It changed so fast that she couldn't focus on what she was supposed to say.

'Say it!' She begged to herself, 'Say it before it turns into your uncle! Say it!'

Riddikulus. Riddikulus. Riddikulus...

Crack!  

Harry's eyes were staring right at her, eyes wide open in fear, but lifeless.

RIDDIKULUS!

ZAP!

Dashing blue sparks blew out of her wand and, with no warning, the boggart fell back at her feet,  this time as a rubber duck.

Professor Lupin exclaimed with wide eyes, "Miss Dumbledore... you know non-verbal spells?"

"I don't..." She was so shocked about her actions that her panic sounded like utter calmness, her eyes fixed on the duck.

"Outstanding..." Her uncle said with a strange glint in his eyes.

Mel stepped back, holding her wand tightly with both hands.

Harry and Mel were quite uneasy after class, the former because their Professor tackled his chance with the boggart with no explanation, and her because, well, it was never easy to see your loved ones dead.

Almost all of the class had left the classroom happy and talkative, but whenever their eyes landed on her they'd go pale, not daring to talk about what they'd seen.

She understood, of course. They saw Dumbledore and several of their classmates' bodies, it wasn't exactly a sight for sore eyes. She didn't know how dark her mind could go until the boggart showed it. She got up from the Gryffindor table until most of the students were gone, Dumbledore was waiting for her at the entrance, ready for their first lesson.

"Good evening," He said gently. "Follow me, please."

She didn't speak until Dumbledore mentioned her Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson.

"Professor Lupin had the kindness to let me know that today you managed to do a non-verbal spell," He started. "Are you aware of its meaning?"

"No," She said shortly. "I'm aware that it can't be normal."

"We teach non-verbal spells to our students, most are quite capable by the time they turn sixteen," there was something else to what he was saying, "But it's a difficult thing to accomplish being so young... how old are you, if I can ask?"

"Thirteen," She mumbled, and before she could stop herself she added, "I got scared! I tried to say it but I'd never seen it so... so real. I'm sorry-"

"What you did is nothing to be sorry, my dear girl," Dumbledore smiled, "your mind focused on the spell you needed and your wand did it for you. You might feel that it was completely unplanned, but I believe you're improving."

"You really think so?" She asked.

"I assume you read the books I gave you this summer," The man stopped in front of a Gargoyle statue, looked right at it and said, "Butterbeer."

The statue moved and revealed a set of stairs, Dumbledore signaled her to go through and she obeyed. Her thoughts were soon cut short when she came face to face with a large, wooden door. Dumbledore stepped forward and opened it, he turned to smile kindly at her and say, 'Come in' before closing the door behind both of them.

She remembered Harry describing a little how the office looked, he'd been sent there last year, when people thought he was the one causing the attacks on Muggleborns. The room was welcoming and warm, full of strange objects and books that she wanted to examine more carefully. However, she was there for a reason, and they needed to start right away.

She spotted Fawkes next to the desk and her heart jumped with happiness, she was quite fond of him. Fawkes flew swiftly across the room and landed on her shoulder, gently stroking her cheek with his head.

"I have taken the liberty to ask the staff what are their thoughts on your progress as a student," Dumbledore mentioned as he walked towards a closet. "Most of them think you're promising and have no complaints..."

"Most of them?" She raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Professor Snape, I think, holds his expectations high," Dumbledore smiled. "Do not take it as an insult, even him can be convinced of your abilities."

"Doubt it," She said under her breath, lovingly patting Fawkes.

"Please take a seat," Dumbledore pointed to the chair in front of his.

As she sat down, Fawkes went back to his place behind Dumbledore's chair.

"Tonight I want to work with your intuition," Dumbledore put two small boxes in front of her, "I think you know Professor Trelawney?"

"Yes," Mel tried to remain neutral. "I've assisted to her class."

"Very well. What I want you to do is something similar to what she asks, I want you to clear your head and feel- not think- feel, whatever these boxes may contain."

"I'm not a seer," She said quickly, having the bad feeling that she was about to fail her first lesson.

"It is not Divination," The old man soon calmed her, "it can be perceived as the same, but you won't use your mind for this bit, you'll be using your attraction to the power these boxes hold inside, and what kind of emotions you perceive."

"Oh," She frowned, unsure. "Okay, then."

"Take one of the boxes," Mel chose the one on the left, "and close your eyes, let the magic you own and the one in the box meet, take as much time as you need."

Now was not the time to let fear take the best of her, she was there to learn and she was going to learn. She took a deep breath, and sank in the loneliness of the dark behind her eyelids.

Mel knew that if she kept counting the seconds the stress would block the purpose, so she forgot about it. It could be two, three hours... she wasn't leaving that office without any results.

Then she felt it: a hard tug on her stomach and suddenly she recognized the energy, even if she hadn't seen, or heard it before. It seeped through her, blinding her for just a moment.

Light. Whatever it was inside that box was created to keep light and share it with its surroundings. She knew it, and so she told her great-uncle.

When she opened her eyes he was smiling at her.

"May I?" He pointed to the box, and she handed it over.

She blinked a few times, her eyes getting used to the illuminated room.

Dumbledore opened it and pulled out what looked like a lighter.

"This is a deluminator," He offered it back for her to hold, "it can take the sources of light from the room-"

As he explained this, Mel actioned it and suddenly they were sitting in the middle of a dark room, all the lights immediately flying to it.

"Oops," She said quietly.

She heard a low chuckle, and Dumbledore's hand gently reaching for the deluminator.

"However, it can also give it back," A soft click was heard, and the lights returned to their rightful place. "And in some cases, it can light one's path, clarify the way towards a big decision."

Mel nodded, then her hands reached the last box.

"Should I?"

Dumbledore's eyes shone in the candlelight, he had both hands in front of his face, as if he was pondering her answer, perhaps doubting her, though she didn't know why.

"Your fear..." Dumbledore replied, "you're allowed to not answer my next question if you don't wish to explain yourself... Has it always been death?"

Mel was taken by surprise, but she didn't think it was hard to answer.

"I don't think so," She played with the edge of her robes, "I don't remember having nightmares about it as a kid, not even about my dad... I think it started when, uh- well, after my first year here."

Dumbledore remained silent. Processing her answer, he nodded once.

"Harry and you have shared your own amount of adventures, and most of them had been nerve-wracking. I also know you want to protect your loved ones, you have that in common with your parents."

Mel waited for him to continue, his mind somewhere else.

"Ardent tempter, both of them. Emily wasn't patient with unkind behavior, even if she wasn't a saint herself during her school years. Matthew, on the other hand, picked his battles carefully– I believe he was pressured to do so, our family had its own fame, known for taking a few bad decisions from time to time... He tried to step away from it, to be perceived differently... I'm proud to say he succeeded."

"Sir?" Mel asked shyly. "Are you... Do you think I won't?"

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.

"Not at all, Mel. I believe you'll become something bigger than any of us ever could. Not a lot of people know this, but the women in our family have always been stronger than any men. Unfortunately, they're also more sensitive. Dumbledore women are bound to be the ones with big sacrifices in life, but also the ones with brighter minds and stronger wills. I believe that you've inherited their power, as much as their disposal to use it for others, or in the least, to protect others with it."

That was a massive piece of information.

"I think that your fear isn't death, but to fail on what you've decided to do, which is to protect your family and keep them safe. Believe me when I tell you, dear girl, that if you follow these lessons, you won't."

Finally, a clear answer to the question she feared most. She looked down at the untouched box and held it with determination. It took her less time than expected, only because she knew exactly what it was as soon as her magic and the one inside the box mixed together.

She hated it. Not the feeling, no. She loathed the object inside, and the hatred was mutual somehow- it filled her with anguish and a bitter taste in her tongue, its magic was dark, lethal.

"Riddle's diary," She stated, her hands shaking under the weight of its energy.

She put the box on the table, as far as she could from her body.

She recognized the feeling because she'd held the book once or twice last year. Of course, last year she wasn't paying much attention, but that night, with her radar all the way up like a radio finding the clearest station, it felt contaminating, blistering to the touch.

Dumbledore didn't bother to open the box. His expression, while serious, reflected triumph.

"That's all for today." He replied calmly.

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

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[soundofseventeen]

Happy Ending Pt. 7 (Lee Seokmin)

Hello! My first class today got cancelled so you are getting this now! (fun fact erins head works in a weird way so this was the first part of this series that i wrote) 💛

Masterlist

You crept towards the stables, your head arguing back and forth. You shouldn’t be doing this. You shouldn’t be going to meet him, especially not now. You definitely shouldn’t be wandering through the castle in the middle of the night, or even think about leaving the castle. You knew if you left through the kitchen, you would be able to get to the stables, plus there was less chance of running into a guard. You had mild concern about how you would get back in, but you figured that Seokmin would have a plan for that. 

You received the note this morning. Actually, Jun received it this morning. But then he gave it to you. All it said was to go to the stables at 10pm that night. It wasn’t signed, but you knew who it was from. You spent the whole day mentally fighting yourself, knowing you were getting upset over nothing. Despite what Jun had said, you knew there was absolutely no way that the prince liked you. You let it get into your head that he did though, so now you suffered. You had even decided that afternoon that you wouldn’t go, but as it got closer to 10, you suddenly found yourself grabbing your cloak and making your way out of the castle. 

You were right in that you could leave through the kitchens. You managed to exit the castle, breaking into a run once you got on the grounds. It wasn’t too long until you got to the stables, seeing a light on inside. You looked around once you got inside, not seeing anything that looked out of the ordinary. You continued to walk through, starting to wonder if you really did make a mistake and it wasn’t what you thought, when you heard a familiar voice. 

“...to do? I mean, this isn’t what I thought this would be… I always knew that this part of my life would be complicated and would probably not be great or anything but I never thought this would happen. How am I supposed to do this, eh buddy?” You looked around the corner, seeing Seokmin standing in front of one of the stalls, lightly petting the horse in front of him. He didn’t seem to notice you yet. “Maybe I should just become a horse. You seem to have a decent life. And I don’t mind carrots.” He joked, grinning at the horse. The horse neighed, nodding his head in your direction. 

Of course the horse would give away your position. 

Seokmin turned in your direction and immediately stopped once his eyes landed on you. He blinked a few times, hand still on the horse. 

“You came.” He simply said, patting the horse one more time before stepping away. 

“You asked me to.” You said, pulling your cloak around you, looking down. 

“...Right.” He said, kicking his foot on the ground. “I suppose you’re wondering why.” 

“...A little bit.” You kicked your own foot on the ground, not sure if you wanted to actually know. You technically already did know, but you didn’t really want it to be confirmed.

“It’s announced tomorrow. The betrothal, it’s being announced tomorrow.” Seokmin admitted, causing you to look up at him, even though he wasn’t looking at you anymore. 

“...I heard.” You said, going towards the stalls. You managed to find the exact one you slept in while you were here before. It felt like it was just yesterday, but also like it was million years ago. Seokmin followed, keeping a slight distance from you. 

“I…” Seokmin said, leaning on the stall door. “I’m sorry.” 

“What do you have to be sorry about?” You asked, giving him a small smile. 

“Well… Everything.” He said, a slight chuckle coming out of him. “For bugging you so much recently. For asking you to take me to the village that day. For constantly avoiding you otherwise. For not telling you sooner.” The last part came out quieter, followed by a sigh. You furrowed your eyebrows, sitting on the hay. It was late and you were tired. 

“Telling me what?” 

“I didn’t trust myself around you, you know that?” Seokmin admitted, not looking at you. “I thought you were already with someone, and I was able to accept that. But I had to avoid you until it went away because I didn’t trust myself. It’s so easy to forget everything when I’m around you. I just felt like I was Seokmin with you, not the prince or the future king or anything like that.” 

“Your Highness…” You said, pulling your knees to your chest. 

“Even that! When you first called me by my actual name, I felt something. You didn’t even say it in a special way or anything, you just said it! But somehow it felt different when you did. And when I found out that you weren’t with someone from Jun I…” This time he looked at you, seeing you looking at your knees. “I thought I had a chance.” 

You couldn’t believe you were actually here, listening to the prince tell you that he at one point thought he had a chance to be with you. The whole thing just broke your heart more than you thought it would. Before you could stop it, a tear fell from your cheek, which Seokmin noticed. He debated for a second, then decided to move to sit next to you, pulling you into a hug. 

Neither of you were sure if that would actually be helpful in the current situation, but neither of you stopped it either. You both just sat like that for a while, leaning against the hay, not really talking. 

“It’s okay, you know.” You eventually said, Seokmin looking at you. “It’s not like there really was any chance anyway.” You muttered, Seokmin sighing. While he knew that statement was only mostly true, he decided not to say that. It might be easier on you to think that there was never a possibility. 

“I have another confession.” He said, you glancing at him. “When I asked you to take me to the village, I didn’t want to just explore. I had actually been to the village more times than I could count. I even had a lot of chances when I was there with advisors or guards.” 

“Then why-”

“I wanted to spend the day with you. I wanted to determine if it was actual feelings or just a simple crush.” He saw the slightly confused look on your face, making him smile a bit. “Every other time I had feelings for someone, it would go away within spending an hour with the person. At most 2. You were the first time I had a crush that didn’t go away.” 

“So it was like an experiment?” You asked, feeling Seokmin nodding his head. 

“I guess you could say that.” 

“...So was it successful or not…” You looked at Seokmin, who sat in thought for a minute. 

“Inconclusive.” He said, looking forward. “I mean, I guess it was successful because it did prove the feelings, but…” He turned to look at you, and it was then that you realized that you were extremely close. Closer than you had gotten that night on the roof. Seokmin seemed to realize that as well, causing him to just stare at you. 

“Your Highness…” You whispered, Seokmin letting out a sigh. 

“Can’t you just use my name? Please?” He whispered back, going to move some hair from your face. You thought about it for a second, looking back at his eyes which were no longer on yours, but angled at the bottom of your face. 

“Seokmin, we really shouldn’t…” You said, your eyes following his lead. 

“You’re probably right…” Was all he said before you both leaned forward. 

It was a simple but pure kiss, that managed to do nothing but prove the fact that you were both going to be missing out on something great. Neither of you wanted it to end any time soon, but eventually you both pulled back, leaving your eyes shut and your foreheads together. 

“That…” Seokmin breathed, a small smile coming to his face. “...probably wasn’t the smartest choice.” 

“It probably wasn’t…” You said, opening your eyes and looking at him. “We should probably go back up to the castle… The gates will close soon.” 

“Can we just… Can we just stay here a while?” You opened your mouth but Seokmin beat you to it. “I know I’ll probably be in trouble for it in the morning, but right now I don’t really care.” You looked at him, and making yet another choice you probably shouldn’t be making you nodded your head, quietly tucking it into his shoulder. 

“You know,” Seokmin said after a bit, when you were half asleep. “I think we could have been happy. Even if I wasn’t the prince and we both just lived in the village. I could have worked with animals, maybe even take care of some of our own. You could have worked in the bookshop you took me to. We could have gone to those dances in the square, where I probably would have stepped on your feet a million times.” He chuckled, you letting out your own tired laugh. 

“You don’t seem like a bad dancer.” You commented, Seokmin grinning. 

“I’ve had training. Besides, it would be all nerves.” He sighed, your eyes shutting slowly. “I think it would have been a nice life. Don’t you?” He asked, looking down to see you asleep. His heart grew soft, moving some hair from your face again. He leaned forward and lightly kissed your head, letting out another sigh. “Sleep well Y/N.” 

Before long he fell asleep too, laying there hugging you, just before a guard did a quick patrol of the stable. 

*

“...Highness?” Seokmin vaguely heard, not wanting to open his eyes yet. He shifted slightly, feeling someone next to him. That caused him to open his eyes, blinking a few times. He smiled to himself as he saw you next to him, still sound asleep. He had the night before slowly coming back to his head, making his heart grow but also ache. He lightly kissed the crown of your head, letting his eyes shut again. 

“Your Highness?” Seokmin’s eyes fully opened now, looking towards the entrance to the stall. A guard was standing there, looking at him. “Are you-” Seokmin quickly put a finger to his lips, seeing that you were still asleep. He carefully got up, making sure not to wake you, then followed the guard further into the stable. “Are you alright?” 

“Yes, I’m fine.” Seokmin responded, rubbing his neck. Turns out there was no comfortable place to sleep in a stable. 

“Your father is looking for you.” The guard said, Seokmin looking at him. 

“He is? Now?” The guard nodded. “What for?” 

“He needs to discuss the betrothal with you.” Seokmin let out a groan, shutting his eyes. He exhaled deeply, nodding his head. 

“Alright. I’ll head up there now.” He said, dusting off his clothing. He didn’t want to give away that he spent the night here if his father didn’t already know. 

“I’m supposed to escort you to-”

“I think I know the way.” Seokmin smiled at him. “Can you do me a favor though? When she wakes up, can you take her back to the kitchens? Make sure that you leave her with Jun. He should be able to take care of her.” The guard let out a sigh, not about to argue with the prince. 

“Very well.” 

“Thank you very much. Your discretion is appreciated.” Seokmin nodded, patting the guard on the shoulder. He took one last glance at the stall, at what could have been, and then made his way back towards the castle.