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zzeraphilm · 1 year ago

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Building Bridges

Regulus Black X Potter!F!Reader

Summary: After finding the note left behind R.A.B in the presumed Horcrux. The Golden Trio seek Sirius’ help in locating R.A.B, they end up finding him yet the reunion is not as expected. (Roughly set at the beginning of DH)

Note: Sirius didn’t die in Order of the Phoenix and Regulus didn’t die in the cave he just run off abroad to hide :p

I haven’t written for Harry Potter (ever) so apologies for any thing that might be out of character! ;-; i kept thinking about this rough idea during work

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Harry looked up and locked eyes with his Godfather, Sirius had been silent the entire time. They were perched neatly in a two by two formation, his two best friends behind him and his only remaining familial tie. They had taken a portkey to the Scottish highlands, the icy gusts of wind cutting threw Hermione’s ponytail so high it nearly smacked Ron on the back of his head.

“Sirius, are you sure this is the right place?” Harry’s fingers clutched his forearms, rubbing them vehemently to produce some warmth.

In front of them was a lonesome cabin, mere metres away from the vast forest line that dotted along the coastal shores. Crashing waves hit the jagged rocks like the sound of an applause.

Sirius clutched onto the note the Golden trio had given him.

“For years I had questioned by brother’s last found writings. I am certain this is what he meant.”

The quartet marched ahead, the uneven stone path dug into Ron’s trainers, nearly tripping him, thankfully Hermione caught him by the seams of his jacket.

The door beyond had its metal hinges rusted beyond repair, a faint shadow of the number plate ‘8’ was the only reminisce of the original oak. Cracks and blackened mould painted over the door, weirdly however, the door knocker was untouched, no sign of usage or age. Despite Sirius’ persistence to wait to check the area, Harry banged his first against the wood, the booming shakes forced the door knocker to tap in sync.

There was a faint shout from within the cabin, heavy footsteps and whispers. Then silence.

The door creaked open, a woman tight lipped and furrowed eyebrows, her E/C eyes shot daggers towards Harry. She glanced at Ron, then Hermione and finally she focused on Sirius.

With a swift push, the door flung open revealing herself and a disheveled man behind her aiming his wand towards them.

“Sirius! Oh My! You’re alive!” She threw her arms around Sirius, behind Ron was flabbergasted, yet Hermione had her wand matched with the man behind the woman.

“Y/N, what are you- Regulus?” Before Sirius could enjoy his reunion with his long lost friend, he could only focus on his brother.

“Regulus Arcturus Black.” Harry spoke softly.

“Do not call me that,”

Regulus’ grip on his wand tightened with a slight shake in his wrist, his fingernails dug into his palms. “How did you find this place?”

Y/N took a few steps back and held onto Regulus’ raised arm gently easing it lower and lower.

“Darling, put your wand down. Your brother has finally come home yet you show him such malice. It has been years may we talk about this over tea,” her whisper felt like a soft hug unlike any other. “Please?”

After guiding the four to their small dinning table, Y/N left to the kitchen to boil the kettle. With only two chairs at the table, Harry, Ron and Hermione insisted on standing behind Sirius, who sat opposite his scowl faced brother.

After years of believing his brother’s death, Sirius now was sat face to face with the little boy he used to love. But they were both no longer just boys, now they were men, in the eye of a hurricane waiting for things to come to a crash. Regulus’ hair had become unruly, his curls was as just as untameable as Sirius’. His previously porcelain face, had deeply settled in scars and frown lines that framed his lips. He was far from the young boy destined for power and prestige. He now slept under a rotting roof with walls that could barely hold its own weight. Sirius was torn between grasping his brother after years of separation or running away from everything all over again. But war was coming and time was of the essence. They must leave Scotland for London by nightfall, with everything Regulus knew of the Dark Lord.

“Here, it’s just my own blend of floral herbs and spices. It is quite hard to purchase any professionally made tea round here. It tastes better with a bit of honey, don’t worry.” Y/N laid out two teacups, three short glasses and one tall glass full of her freshly brewed tea. In the middle of the table was a pot of honey with a teaspoon lodged inside. “Please bare with the glassware, we only have enough for the two of us.”

Regulus sat in silence, eyes closed lightly sipping his tea that had two teaspoons of honey mixed in.

“Let’s cut to the chase.” said Harry, Regulus still not paying him any mind, whilst Y/N’s eyes softened when he spoke.

“Regulus, we found this note in this locket signed R.A.B, your initials.” Hermione chucked the locket by its chain onto the table, skidding across to meet Y/N’s fingers. “We know its a fake. We need to know where the real one is now. Voldem-“

“Do not speak his name.” Despite his stern tone, Regulus had delicately placed his teacup onto the table with no splash.

“Under my roof, my home. You do not say that wretched name.”

Sirius slams his hands onto the table, abruptly standing up.

“Regulus, first you fake your death and now I find you cozying up with Y/N Potter, of all people! You are to give these children that bloody locket now or I will show you how Azkaban has changed me!” Sirius’ voice boomed against the four walls, leading Regulus to look up with a scowl.

“Brother,” the younger Black rose from his chair and stepped towards Sirius, in a matter of seconds he had grabbed the elder Black by his collar and slammed him against the nearby wall. His tongue spewed venom targeted his brother.

“You still remain as ill-tempered as always. You have no right to stand in front of me and disrespect my family. Leave whilst I show you mercy!” Regulus already had wand digging deep into Sirius’ throat, in response Sirius had gripped his younger brother’s wrist, attempting to claw his fingers away.

“Regulus! Stop it this instant!” Y/N screeched, pulling her husband away from his brother. Sirius dropped to the floor coughing, Regulus looked down at his brother with a glare, spat on the top of Sirius’ head and left the room.

Harry was left stunned in place. His Godfather looked like a shell of a man the moment he locked eyes with his brother. Now, his estranged aunt was comforting his Godfather after everything. How strange.

“Come, let’s move to the living room and we can all talk calmly there, without my husband.”

Ron turned to Hermione and whispered ‘husband?’ With his eyes darting across the room to focus on the many framed photographs of Y/N and Regulus. Hermione, as shocked as Ron was, merely shrugged and followed the adults to the front room.

Like the rest of the house, the sofa was barely useable, the longer they sat the further they sunk into the cushions. Harry, Ron and Hermione shared the three seater, Y/N perched at the edge of her armchair. Whilst Sirius leaned against the wall by the door with his head down, he felt beyond ashamed at his reunion with his brother.

Hermione coughed trying to clear the air of any tension, “Sorry that we didn’t get to have your tea Miss Potter- or uhm Black-“

“Y/N’s fine dear.” Her E/C eyes softened at the teenagers, they reminded her so much of her brother’s friends in their younger years.

“Y/N, how are you related to me? Sirius hasn’t spoken about you until earlier today.”

She gasped comically, clutching her chest to add to the act.

“Pads, you traitor! You were supposed to be my best friend!” She fake cried but Sirius looked up pleading to her with a string of unintelligible excuses. With a light chuckle her demeanour changed.

“No, in all seriousness I’m not surprised. You were never supposed to know about me Harry. We may be related by name, but not by blood. I was adopted into the Potter family, almost like dear Padfoot here.” Sirius huffed in response.

“I basically was already part of the family when I join you guys.”

Y/N chuckled sincerely this time, her left hand covering her smile, a noticeable silver loop around her finger.

“Yes and you ate all of my hidden chocolates by the third day you were with us!”

Harry couldn’t help but smile at this family’s banter. He was so used to the bickering and squabbling of the Dursleys’, and he hadn’t seen Sirius so animated with anyone but him and Remus.

“Harry, I wish I could’ve been there for you. But before your birth I had responsibilities that called for me that I could not disobey.” Y/N stood up and began to rummage through a chest of draws in the corner of the dimly lit room. She turned around and knelt by Harry’s knees placing a little cardboard box onto his lap. She began to slowly take out its belongings. An enchanted photograph, a notebook and a rusted Snitch.

“After my brother and his friends left for the Order, I tried to join but was vehemently denied by Dumbledore.” She lifted up the tattered notebook, “It would be too long to go into details but to summarise - he did not see me fit to fight alongside James. Instead I was given a separate mission that meant relocation to France. I too was tasked by Dumbledore to find a Horcrux, more so, I was tasked on recovering Regulus. I found both, clearly.” She placed the notebook back in the box and picked up the photograph.

“This was the last time I saw your father, my brother. 1979, their wedding. Look at how young we were Sirius!” She looked up, smiling lightly at the man holding back her tears, he now was leaning over the sofa looking at the photograph in her hand. It was the entire Marauder’s pack alongside Lily who hand her arms linked with Y/N’s both laughing towards the camera. Sirius had his arm slung over James’ shoulders whose tie and top button were undone. Remus and Peter were behind the two, ruffling James’ hair and chanting a silent hoorah for their union.

“That was quite a night, if I remember correctly you couldn’t stop crying at the reception. Saying how you always dreamed of having a sister and Lily was the perfect woman for the role. You were so drunk!”

“I was not!” Y/N screeched, Sirius only laughed in response.

The teens laughed at Y/N’s outcry. Harry kept watching the photograph loop, his parents and their friends could forever enjoy an eternal happiness in this photograph. He only wished he could experience all of their joy and warmth together in person.

“Ahem. As I was saying,” Y/N sat herself down on the armrest beside Harry. “I loved your parents Harry, I truly wish I was there for your birth, for everything. Unfortunately after that night, I had to fulfil my duty as Dumbledore’s foreign agent. By the time news reached to me of James and Lily’s death and Sirius’ arrest, it was too late. I was ordered to not contact you. So I,” With a deep sigh Y/N looked towards the hanging photograph of her and Regulus.

“I threw myself at work, by my fifth year of scouring the neighbourhoods of Europe, I finally found Regulus. And well, you can guess that happened next.” She dangled her ringed left hand over her knee.

“I never meant to keep everything a secret for so long, it became life consuming. By the time I had realised nearly 18 years had pasted, I was a different woman. I’m so sorry Harry.” Y/N clung onto her nephew in a tight embrace, tears dampening his shirt. He gripped her back in response as if she were to disappear from his arms. As they parted, Y/N’s sombre gaze started to brighten.

“Regulus means no harm to you three,” she turns to Sirius “Of course, you know your own relationship with your brother better than anyone else. I know you don’t plan on staying here any longer than you must, so let me handle it. Just stay here for a bit, I’ll get you the locket.”

Then she left the room, leaving behind an ear piercing silence.

“Do you think we could grab some food from the kitchen whilst she’s gone?” Ron uttered.

“I’m sure she won’t mind. Knowing her, she has probably hidden her snacks behind some bowls.” Sirius chortled, he drifted into the hallway and entered the kitchen.

He opened the cupboards one by one until he found Y/N’s fine china. And just as he guessed, she had placed a packet of custard cremes behind a stack of bowls. Still using the same hiding spot, shame there’s no chocolates this time. Before he could shut the cupboard door, he heard shouting from the slightly opened backdoor to the right of him.

“You have no idea what they’ve probably been through to even get here Reg!” Y/N was stood next to Regulus, who was smoking a cigarette and tapping his foot against the grass.

“He shouldn’t be here. I don’t care for the young Potter, he can do what he pleases with that damned piece of shit. I just don’t want to see him for one more second!”

“Don’t you dare raise your voice at me! Don’t you dare speak ill about my nephew! And in case you forgot, you took my name! You’re a Potter now as well, he is your nephew! Don’t you care about your family? Your brother is here acting more of a father figure than anyone else could for that boy who has only known pain. You of all people should know what it’s like to live like that.” Y/N hand grabbed Regulus’ hand and lightly rubbed the back of his palm.

“…so he can be there for Harry but not me. Y/N, I-I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. I can’t just let him back into my life like nothing happened. We left that world behind because of how much it has failed me. You. Us. I only planned my life with you in mind, not once did I consider my brother and now Harry to be there. It’s all too much. I just want things to go back to how it was. Back when it was just you and me.”

Regulus began to softly whimper, Sirius could see from the crack of the door Regulus’ shaking head of hair against Y/N’s shoulder, he saw his brother’s shoulders shake whilst he clung onto Y/N’s waist. Y/N lightly rubbed Regulus’ back with her right hand and patted his hair softly with her left. Just as he did when the two were children.

“I know darling, I know. But we’ll take it slowly. One step at a time. For now,” The two pulled back from each other, their foreheads pressed against one another. “We give them the Horcrux, and once it’s all over. We’ll invite them round for a proper meal. And we can finally clean up the place, yeah?” Regulus hummed a light tune and nodded, he closed his eyes and kissed Y/N’s lips delicately.

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“Exactly as I suspected! Right behind the bowls,” Sirius returned to the front room before he could see the couple be affectionate to each other. The thought of his best friend’s sister and his brother together was still alien to him. He drew a biscuit from the packet and kept it between his teeth, then threw the whole packet at Ron who gladly caught it in his arms.

It was nearing sunset, they would’ve ideally made their way back to London by now. Harry couldn’t help but sit in silence admiring the photograph in his hands, clutching to it like a prayer.

Y/N and Regulus walk into the room, hand in hand. Before Sirius could utter an apology to his brother, the younger Black pushed his fisted hand towards him, then revealing Slytherin’s Locket in the palm of his hand.

“Take it. Take it and destroy it. Once you’re done with it. Y/N wants you back for a proper dinner.” Sirius slowly takes the chain of the locket, once the weight had been freed from Regulus’ hand, he unlocked his fingers from Y/N’s and disappeared back into the halls of their cabin. Y/N only looked towards them with a glint of hope.

“He’ll come round eventually, you know. He’s changed over the years.”

Whilst Hermione and Ron were nibbling at the biscuits, Harry turned around and stood to face his aunt.

“Y/N can I, can I keep this? Just for now, I’ll give it back once I come back to visit. I just, I really-“

Y/N only chuckled at her nephew’s nervous demeanour, “Of course love. Just make sure you look after it okay? Plus I’ll need you back here with your uncle here so we can take more photos to put up on my walls!”

Sirius, who was still chewing half of his biscuit interrupts “Actually I’m his Godfather,”

The H/C haired woman flipped her head around, “Since when? Why would James- Are those my custard cremes?”

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“Goodbye Y/N! Goodbye Mr Regulus!” Ron waved as they walked down the stone path back to where they left the port key. He turned to Hermione, “You know maybe living out in the wild seems alright, you know? Pretty nice don’t you think?”

“You think you could make your own food and drink from just the bare essentials like Y/N?” The curly-haired girl retorted with a smile.

“Oh well no, maybe I could just conjure up something!” The two continued to bicker and laugh till the end of the path. Behind them Harry and Sirius stuck a few seconds longer to speak with Y/N.

“I’m sorry for the state of our cabin, my dear. I’ll make sure Regulus repairs all of the broken furniture before your return!”

A faint “I heard that!” echoed from the hallway. Y/N laughed and drew Harry into a hug, lightly patting his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll see you soon.” Harry squeezed her tightly and thanked her again softly, promising to return the moment he is finished with his goal. He turns back and rushes to his friends.

Y/N steps back and turned to Sirius. “Pads, tell me who else is left from us lot?”

“Ah well, Moony’s still kicking, still part of the Order.” The two laugh at the thought of their shared memories. A light sigh trails the end of their joy.

“Merlin, things really have changed so much now. I heard that it was Peter, yes?”

Sirius nodded, still resentful towards his traitorous friend yet his eyes gleamed with sorrow. Y/N rubbed his forearm in response to comfort him.

“You’ve got us now. Reggie will take a while, but you’ve got Harry and me. We’re family now. So, don’t be a stranger okay?”

After a lifetime apart, the two friends hug as if it was their last day at Hogwarts all over again. As Sirius walked back to the teenagers ready to go back to London, he took one last look at the cabin behind him. From an upstairs window, he saw his brother. The two nodded at each other, either out of pure politeness or an unconscious agreement to meet again, to rebuild what was lost.

#regulus black x reader #regulus black #sirius black #harry potter #hermione granger #ron weasley #the marauders #the marauders fanfic #regulus black angst #regulus black fanfic #sirius black x reader

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creepyclothdoll · 7 months ago

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Condemned

Paul loved escape rooms.

He just loved them. The lovingly-crafted set designs and props, the electric buzz that came from finding hidden items and putting together puzzle pieces, the euphoria of cracking a code, the adrenaline of the ticking clock, and most importantly, the thrill of the escape.

His friends had long ago stopped accompanying him every week, sometimes more than once a week, to escape rooms in his area. Especially once he started driving hours out of town just to try new escape game centers for a fresh hit of that delicious escape puzzle challenge.

Paul now preferred to go alone anyway. People just bogged him down. He didn’t come to make friends, he came to win.

Months of hot anticipation finally bore fruit when the “Great American Escape” opened its doors to him, at long last. Great American, according to the billboards and posters strewn around town, was the primary attraction of an entertainment mega-complex which took the place of a long-disused waterpark hotel. It would be huge, he knew. Not just physically. His great fear was that it would blow up on social media– maybe even on his feed– and then the solutions would be spoiled for him. So he had to be first.

Great American Escape was so new the day he strode in there that there were still “CONDEMNED” notices stuffed into the recycling bins and old lists of health & safety violations stuck in the vents.

“One ticket for Mystery Escape,” Paul, slapped his money on the counter and smiled at the teen boy working behind it. He was a short, lithe, wide-eyed man in his thirties with dark greasy hair and one navy blue university sweater he’d kept in moderate repair for a decade and a half.

“No group?” The boy asked. When Paul confirmed this, the boy said, “You’ll have to wait until a group comes in. You need three people at least.”

“When is the next group coming?” Paul asked.

“We don’t have any groups booked today,” the boy replied.

“... So, you’re not gonna let me in?”

“... Um… yeah. I can’t. Sorry.”

Paul put down another handful of bills. This wasn’t his first rodeo.

“I’ll buy three tickets,” he said. He made sure to draw the boy’s attention to the extra $20, a little tip for a helpful front deskman.

The boy, who was thin and bored-looking with a patchy teen mustache and his elbow resting on top of a stack of I Escaped stickers, glanced at the security camera which flickered in the corner, its blinking red eye frosted over with a decade of dust. The boy took the $20 and shrugged.

“You won’t be able to escape,” the boy said. “It’s impossible by yourself. But if you want to try… I guess you can try.”

The boy led Paul towards a set of slightly rusty elevator doors, past posters and cardboard cut-outs of characters from “Rattlesnake Gulch Treasure Hunt,” “Escape From Venus,” and “King’s Dungeon Jailbreak.” Paul planned to return to these, but he’d start by going straight for the crown jewel– Mystery Escape, which had been advertised exclusively with nothing but an open doorframe leading to darkness.

The boy went over basic safety guidelines. The door wouldn’t really be locked, red things were real alarms, things that said “staff only” were really for staff only, etc., blah blah blah, boring stuff. Paul listened impatiently, but carefully, only because knowing what was “real” (and therefore inconsequential) would give him a leg up in the game.

“The game starts when the elevator door opens,” the boy finally said. “Floor 3. Good luck.”

The elevator bell dinged, and the doors slid open. The light flickered. Paul stepped inside.

He waved to the boy as the doors shut. He pressed 3.

The light above flickered. Paul could almost see his reflection in the red-rusted metal doors.

The elevator began its ascent, and right away, Paul could tell something was strange. There was a creaking noise, like a train braking. The light flickered. The light sputtered out.

The elevator stopped.

Paul was trapped. It was pitch black inside the tiny car, which made no sound or movement.

The first thing Paul did in any escape room was to check around for hidden props. Keys, ciphers, and puzzle pieces were often hidden around a room for players to find, which would then give them a clue as to what to do next. Paul checked around the elevator car for hidden tools. He pulled up the mildewy carpet by its frayed edge– nothing under there but more mildew. But wait! On the bottom of the carpet there were numbers and letters: EL1. What could that possibly mean?

The next thing Paul did in an escape room was to interact with anything interactable he could see. In front of him was a series of numbers, 1-5, a “door open” and “door close” button, and “emergency.” But “emergency” was red, and red things were inconsequential.

Paul pushed all the buttons but the last. To his surprise, the door began to open slightly– then jammed.

Paul mused about the possible meanings of “EL1.” E was the fifth letter, and there were five numbers… But L?

Maybe it was a cipher. Paul thought on this.

He started trying combinations of buttons. The cipher thing was the key somehow, he knew it. A cipher worked with a code. Where was the code? Maybe it had to do with the symbols, not the numbers…

Suddenly, it all made sense to him. He pressed a set of numbers and then hit the door open button.

To his delight and satisfaction, the elevator doors creaked open. And with them came light.

Paul could see well enough now to see that he faced a concrete wall, which took up the whole lower half of the exit. But above that half, Paul could see a hallway of a hotel, so tantalizingly close.

Paul had beaten escape rooms that had physical components to them before, so this was cake. He gripped the edge of the concrete ledge in front of him and pulled himself up. He let out a grunt as his head and arms made it over the threshold. He just had to find something to grip so he could drag the rest of himself through the gap, and then it was on to the next puzzle.

The elevator lurched.

There was a sound. A scrape, a crash, a wet squelch, a snap. It all happened at once, and it was the loudest sound he ever heard.

When Paul finally sat up, he was somewhere completely different. It was dark here. Darker than the elevator car. The darkness of this place was crushing, like the depths of the deep ocean. There was a smell of meat all around. Paul quickly dismissed the idea of trying to adjust his eyes– he’d navigate by feel.

Paul reached out into the darkness and felt nothing. He stood. His hands pushed him up from a strangely soft, lumpy floor. He noticed something strange about the sound of his movements, and let out an inquisitive “Hey!” to check the echo. It did not bounce. He was… outside?

No– he must be in the disused waterpark proper. The building was huge. Paul was delighted by this thought. He’d chosen the right room.

Paul felt around for a wall, a light switch, a puzzle. Anything.

“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here,” said a deep voice.

“Hello?” Paul said after a moment.

“You lived a selfish life, Paul. You cared for nothing and no one but yourself and your own pleasure. You were an idolater, a heretic. You raised the Escape Game to the heights of a god. Pity that from this place, there is no escape.”

Paul listened carefully to the monologue. Selfish. Idolater. Raised. Heights. These things might be clues.

“Paul,” said the deep voice, which seemed to come from above, below, and all around him, “You died a foolish death. Pity that you did not suffer. But now, you will suffer for eternity.”

Paul was already climbing up a staircase he’d found. It was the disused waterpark. Raise, he thought. Heights. The key was to go up.

He found a craggy, warm wall. There was something under his hand– a button? He pushed it in, hard.

Under his hand, a huge glowing red eye flew open.

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHH!”

The eye blinked in pain and fury, welling up with tears. A thousand more eyes flew open along the wall before him, and Paul saw that it was not a wall at all, but some kind of enormous creature. It stirred, its red gaze illuminating the space around them.

“Stupid man. You woke something up.”

But now Paul could see the entire room– or space, or whatever it was. What he’d taken to be the “floor” was a mass of flesh– human hands, it looked like, reaching up stiffly. The hands started to stir as the creature woke from its slumber. What Paul had taken for a staircase was not that.

Paul was making some real progress. As the hands clamored over each other, rising like tentacles from around the immense eyes, Paul hopped onto the face of the thing and started using the eyes as hand-and-footholds, which was their obvious use. Paul could spare no time on figuring out little things like that the honest way, he was on a clock. As he stepped on the creature’s eyes, it let out another unearthly roar and started to rise.

There was a hole in the ceiling. Yes– this was meant to be a cave of some sort, and it had an exit.

“You idiot,” the voice boomed. “You–”

Paul kicked the creature in the eye a few more times to make it rise faster. A tsunami of pale, writhing hands on wiggling stems shot up towards him to slap him away, but by the time they reached him, he was already through the hole.

Paul scurried through the tunnel as fast as he could. If it was a three-person puzzle, you couldn’t waste any time.

He came to the next room, which was well-lit– a nice reprieve. In this room, a sweltering cave, some props department had gone all-out carving little demon faces that stuck out from the sides. These gargoyle-like stone structures leered at him and grinned in anticipation.

“The flametongue is coming, kindling,” the demon voices hissed. “Ready or not!” Paul heard a splashing, gurgling sound up ahead. He took quick note of some of the quirks of the gargoyle faces– most of them had black scorch marks on them, but some didn’t. That was a clue. The light from the other end of the tunnel grew brighter, as did the gurgling. Paul realized what he was meant to do, climbed up the protesting gargoyles, and found a set on the ceiling which had no scorching on them. Below, a wave of red-hot boiling sulferous-smelling magma flowed down, passing over the other gargoyles, who screeched and sputtered in it. Another puzzle solved. Paul dropped down once the stones cooled, and hurried up the tunnel– no time to spare. Only one more wave of “fire” passed before he solved the gargoyle pattern and pulled the right ones out of the wall in sequence to reveal a hidden exit.

This escape room was huge. He made his way through a room which featured a river of moving knives, which he was able to avoid by memorizing the timing and patterns, and climbed up into a room full of blistering ice and animatronic zombies which lurched toward him, their bodies crackling as they froze just as soon as they’d moved, their lips split by the cold. This puzzle was a simple matter of lining up the giant shards of ice in the room so that the light concentrated and blasted a hole through the glacial wall.

Paul’s own body was profoundly frostbitten by this point, but he didn’t notice. He was on a timer.

By the time Paul finally made it past the “three-headed-dog on a chain” puzzle, that subterranean voice from the first room had caught up with him.

“Paul,” the voice said. “There is no hope. There is no escape. Do you understand? You are dead, Paul–”

“Ssh,” Paul said, gazing at the puzzle before him.

The door was immense. It seemed to stretch above him and beyond for miles. It was carved from stone older than the bedrock of earth, and above it, in an arch as large as the firmament, there was carved a phrase:

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

This was clearly important, because the deep voice had already voiced it earlier in the game. After checking the area for tools, Paul ran through anagrams. There were a lot of little props around the big door– lots of discarded holy texts, some bones, some strange bits of giant insectoid carapaces which Paul could not immediately identify. The bibles and such had bits burned and torn off of them in places. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. That was a ciper, maybe. He was sweating. He had to be at nearly an hour already. He started arranging the bones.

“What you are doing is futile nonsense,” the deep voice said.

Aha! By turning the phrase above the gate into numbers and then matching those numbers to the non-burned sections of each holy text, organized by the printing date, Paul had discovered an anagram which, when re-ordered, spelled out skeleton key prop, ds flo knemb yyuq. Paul had only bothered to spell out the first three words, however, due to the time crunch. That was all he needed to understand what to do, and he had done it: he had connected all the bones into one big key.

“I don’t think you understand, Paul. This is not a game. You cannot escape your fate. You cannot escape your death. You cannot escape damnation. You cannot escape from Hell.”

Paul slid the giant skeleton key into the lock. It took all of his strength to shove it to the back. Behind him, the host of hell scrambled over each other up the lip of the abyss– the thousand hands and eyes, the fire-spitting gargoyles, the lurching ice zombies, the great black dog, and many others, come to claim him for their own special torment.

Paul turned the key. There was a click.

Well– more of a thunderous clunk.

The deep, gravelly noise of the stone door opening reverberated all throughout Hell.

“What the–”

“Hell yeah!” Paul shouted. He ducked through the door.

The red eye of the security camera caught it all. The man, crawling through the gap in the elevator. The lurch. The fall. The split.

The hopeless paramedics, the traumatized front desk boy, the shaking venue manager, the anxious lawyers, the dozens of police putting up brand-new yellow “do not cross” signage around the old hotel.

The red eye of the security camera watched on as people in grim uniforms put the larger piece of what had been paul into a black bodybag and fetched the rest from the third story floor.

“Used to love this waterpark when I was a little kid,” said one of the paramedics to another. “Now I hope they tear it down.”

“Wasn’t this place a lawsuit magnet back in the day?” said the other. “I remember a kid–”

The paramedics both noticed at the same moment that the body bag was moving. A lot.

“Is he alive in there?” The first paramedic choked out, even though he understood that the answer had to be no. But then the zipper started sliding down. The bag was opening from the inside.

The headless body of Paul Gibson sat up. It reached out with its stumps of fingers, covered in cool dark blood, and rolled out onto the hotel lobby floor. Both paramedics screamed and leapt away as the decapitated Paul stumbled to its feet and lurched forward. It felt around without its fingers, leaving smears of blood on the front desk, the wall, the table, the “do not cross” tape, until it found the small white cooler on the floor. He pried it open with his mangled hands and lifted his own iced head out.

Paul put his head on top of the gristle that was his neck. He had it the wrong way around, but his eyes opened and he smiled through bloody teeth.

“I ss-ss-olved the b-a-ag puzzle,” the formerly dead man sputtered. “Did it a-all mys-self.”

He turned around to face both paramedics, so that his front side faced away.

“Uh… congratulations,” the second paramedic said.

Paul choked up more blood and grinned wider. He stumbled toward the front desk, toward the paramedics. They backed away from him in horror as he reached out the wrong way and grabbed a commemorative I Escaped! sticker from the top of the pile.

“Th-a-ank you,” Paul said. “I’ll be su-ure to come back soon!”

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thus-spoke-lo · 1 year ago

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cw: gn!reader. shanks calls reader "kiddo" affectionately. a little angsty (can't write shanks lately without some sadness). in the same universe as "until the first leaf falls." just a quick writing warm-up bc i'm struggling.

“Shanks…what are we anyway?”

The lid of your stockpot clangs, metal against metal, as it nearly escapes your shaky grasp. Shanks is pressed against your back as you stand at the stove, his arm snaked around your waist, his fingers starting to slip up the hem of your shirt. He freezes at your question, only for a moment, barely enough to register if you didn’t know him the way that you do, before resuming, letting his warm, rough hand slide up and up and up, until his palm lies flat against your sternum.

“Well, sweetheart,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss up the side of your neck, running his tongue along the shell of your ear, “what is it you want us to be?”

“You know that’s not fair, answering a question with a question,” you grumble, annoyance laced through every syllable. You wriggle out of his grasp and turn to face him, crossing your arms in front of your chest, a gesture meant as much to keep from reaching out to grab him, from anchoring yourself to him, as it was to keep him from trying to distract you with his wandering hand.

Shanks chuckles softly, knowing better than to press his luck, and gives your shoulder a squeeze before plunking down at your kitchen table with a huff. He sits for a moment, hand on the back of his neck, eyes wandering from the ceiling to the floor—anywhere but on you. Finally he sighs, “Look…I don’t know, kiddo.”

You shift from foot to foot and shrug. “Well…I don’t either.”

“Does it really matter that much to you?”

“What?”

“Naming it. Isn’t enough that I’m here? And I make you happy?” Shanks raises an eyebrow and smirks, looking smug as ever. “At least, I assume I make you happy. It certainly sounds like I make you happy every night.”

You roll your eyes and allow the faintest trace of a smile to cross your lips. “Of course you do, bastard.”

“Then can’t that be enough? For now, at least?” It’s not a question Shanks desires an answer to, not an honest one anyway. He needs you to keep yourself whole, repair the cracks and the splinters that are forming in your detached façade.

But no—no, it’s not enough. It won’t be enough until you fall asleep with him every night, the steady rise and fall of his chest a soothing hymn that lulls you into slumber. It won’t be enough until you wake up with him every morning tangled in linens, his chin resting in the crook of your shoulder, his fingers dancing across your bare skin as the first light of morning peeks through your curtains. It won’t be enough until you see him grow old and grey, and he sees you grow softer and gentler, your sharpest edges smoothed by years and years of ardor. You press your lips together tightly, trapping the no that perches on the tip of your tongue.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” you muster, shaking your head and forcing a grin, as though you had lost yourself for a moment and suddenly regained a grasp on your emotions, tenuous as it may be—that you remembered who you are and what your place must be in all of this if you wish to hold onto whatever scraps he dangles in front of you. “Of course it is.”

Shanks nods and glances down at the table in response. “Good to hear.”

You clear your throat and find that little room inside you—the one that holds the part of you that will always want more, always need more, never be satisfied with crumbs when a meal is just barely out of reach—and swing its door shut, lock it tight, hope to forget it's even there. You gather yourself and saunter over to him, straddle his lap and let your hands slowly make their way up his broad chest, memorizing the rhythm of his heartbeat under your palm, letting your fingers map the smattering of freckles that spread across his shoulders.

It is, for now, enough.

#lo writes #shanks x reader

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oncewhenalongtimeago · 8 months ago

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Thistle, Scout and Scottish Bluebells pt 2

Pairing: Grumpy!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Modern!Fem!Reader

Words: 2,036

If troubles are anything, they are hard to lay to rest.

Tags: httyd 1, aged up, au, time travel, Hiccup’s POV, mixed flashbacks, angst

The sound of uneven footsteps rested like a heavy weight at the bottom of his sternum, worsening already pained aches and furrowing his brows so deep he thought they might pull like a leg in a rainy day, after running measures, a slightly more toned and a completely imaginary contrast to the now near-constant ringing in his ears, mimicking the way a thick hammer sounded clashing against metal.

Cracks lay like gashes in the stone, deep like the strike of lightning… like the way a knife’s blade carved lines in wood.

Formerly bulky shoulders flagged, laying haphazard across rumpled cross. A crooked jaw lay half-open as a previously jolly man was rendered pale and nearly lifeless by sickness and infection.

He relished in the cool shadow of the Arena’s overpass entrance for the moment it took to walk underneath, wincing slightly as he came to a stop just at where hard light drew a solid line over uneven stone.

He sat, shoulders hunched and hands clenched, sitting over a rickety chair, chanting desperate apologies as he listened to the rages of battle outside and to the final-screaming battle-calls of the warriors outside, lost to the night.

For a moment, running his hand along the border between open grated frame and the outside world, he reveled in the contrast between his own freckled, scarred knuckles and the cool, mottled surface of the arena’s colorless walls.

He weighed a rolled-up, wrinkled notice in his other hand before letting them both drop to his sides.

The Chief’s hut was far from the safest place on Berk. Tonight, for him most of all. A cold sweat ran down his shoulders, his jaw, his back.

He’d much rather be wasting away, wearing his wrists brittle in the forge. He yearned for that place just as much he hated it, walls plugged and nailed shut with smoke and soot filling the air with a thick film.

After all this time, he very much preferred to be left on his own. Being back here brought back memories he’d much rather leave forgotten.

He stared forwards.

They hadn’t noticed him yet.

They were all on the opposite side of the basin, where above, mounted along the rim of the arena, a cage that was once strong and well-taken care of was now crumbling in places, slightly bent and moved out of sorts.

Some cage doors were obviously offset and heavily dented, the logs used to lock them shut old and almost rotting, the pulley system levers and cogs and great draw-hinges attached to the sides and frame all old and slightly rusty and in need of oiling.

He stood, hand at his sides.

It would need to be taken apart and scrubbed raw, resealed and a new log mounted or perhaps replaced by more metal and held aloft by chains instead of rope. The already frayed ropes were probably not enough to hold its weight, half-snapped and dangerous. A head and a half thick, he remembered, was the proper measurement for the right… log.

The sun lay heavily across his shoulders, as if he was being burned over a spit, sparks flying from his heart and dropping from his half-open mouth as he looked around with a smile.

Every individual man made up one part of a whole, ripped sleeves, marching up thin ladders, boasting half-empty mugs and wives and a child running about.

A repair like this used to be a group event- throngs of Vikings gathering together, bumping shoulders and bolstering themselves up high, wielding hammers and hardy conversation like wooden play-swords. It was painstaking work made easy.

It was as if he didn’t exist- as if he was not so much an individual as one part of the merry-making, the festivities, the joy, even if there was no real holiday, even as he stood and watched. It was as if he wasn’t who he was; a runt, trouble… him.

…And it was the best feeling ever.

On his lonesome, with a ladder and a pulley, it might be managed.

It was all work he wasn’t going to do.

He took his time, lingering for a moment, judging.

He had better things to be doing.

“I-I think my invite was lost…” Fishlegs said, palms spasming, balled in front of him as if searching for papers and things that might as well never have been there.

He was different from the last time he’d seen him, though he was still a man just as large as he was tall, with a timid lilt to his shoulders that seemed quite unbefitting. His voice was just as squeaky as it was deep. The arena did a great deal to make it echo, just as it did the sound of patchy boots shuffling against uneven stone floors.

“I got it.” He said curtly, waving the notice in one hand, feeling his already rolled-up sleeve scrunch against his elbow. His voice, still slightly nasal for a man of his age, echoed slightly.

It was immediate- as soon as He spoke, it was as if time itself stopped. There were no breezes or motions besides a jerk or two in his direction, the eternal dancing of hearts and bodies and nature coming to a pause.

Something bucked and festered in his chest. He knew what the feeling wasn’t- hope, camaraderie, acceptance. It was more bitter, drenched in shame and long-held resentment. It had been his one constant companion all these years.

There were a set of two starved, wiry twins. They used to look nearly identical- now the male brother-half donned a mask of burnt skin and clumped hair on one side. Though his sleeves carried many holes and singes and stains from his time working in the forge, theirs was almost worse, covered in Nightmare-length, sticked claw marks and large, frayed, burnt patches.

There was a thicker, though somewhat short man there, too, standing besides a woman. He was just as scarred as he was stocky. His cousin.

“Oh, great,” Snotlout snorted, squaring his shoulders even more so as he stepped forwards, studded belt-sash shifting over his chest.

He glowered at the lot, his shoulders tall, cool air running invisible blades up and down his arms, standing all his hairs and giving way to prickled gooseflesh. He felt the grit of his jaw as he bit down on already gently clenched teeth.

“What are you doing here, Useless?” The woman asked, moving forwards when no one else would. She had a long, jagged scar running from just above her right eye to the curve of her jaw. Her voice wasn’t condescending, wielding Usless’s moniker more as if it was a simple factual statement than an insult, though he knew there lay plenty of bad blood between them.

Of course, it was his official title, now. That was unhelpable- as unavoidable as a blade held to his neck and a heavy, hairy hand lifting him by the scruff of his shirt, nearly choking him breathless.

Astrid Hofferson was her name.

Gobber was there too, thick cheeks now hollow, highlighting high cheekbones and a crooked jaw. A hunch that had always been there was now so severe he looked as if he might keel over at any moment, an ailing arm clutching at the top of a very short talking staff. His clothes hung thinly from his shoulders, moving in a way that, despite their solid color, made them seem so thin that they could have almost been transparent.

He was a shadow of a man- something dead walking. He turned his eyes away from Gobber just as he refused to cower as the Hofferson woman approached.

She stopped before him as he shoved down something a little bit like irritation, betrayal… grief.

He wheezed, crouching prone along the floor, his hands covering his head as thick smoke packed his lungs, making it harder to breathe. His chests ached, stinging and searing in lines, dull pain raging like storming waters just above his heart-

In the lilt of her brow, the intensity of her eye, the line of her mouth, the subtle scarring clawed into the side of her face and long since scabbed over, framed by dragon-skull shoulder pads and a hefty, patchy fur hood he saw what she thought just as clearly as she had said it all those years ago.

He couldn’t think, the world muffled past the uncontrolled crackling of dragon fire, clanging shields and swords, yelling and roaring, deep claws scraping against solid stone.

In a look he almost returned, he could feel it aimed right back to her. The sentiments, he could have mistaken it for the sun singing against his skin’s hairs, what with all the concentrated heat and the nearly sense-rending prickling of the hairs on his neck. It was anger, mostly. Really, it would be better for them all -him most especially- if he was left alone.

Where there once lay a special portion of his mind for mooning and yearning and other rash teenaged things there now lingered something mean and hollow.

Are you ashamed?

Awnry ringing was made more intense by the sudden, hollow whistling through the spaces between bars and over hollow basin.

“‘Iccup!” A hand reached towards him, cloth strips wrapped heavily around it, thick, through green smog.

He couldn’t move- his limbs clenched and spasmed, still reeling from the force of the dragon’s blow. There was a ringing, sharp and never ending, spearing through his ears and filling all empty spaces between noises, uplifting and entwining with the sound of screeching metal and heavy body rushing through sickly-smelling gasses.

His finger, his elbow, his knees all pulling in- he forced up his head as if working endlessly against the rusted, stuffed hinges of his neck just in time to catch a glimpse of him.

His face, bearded braids trailing slightly behind, rushing towards him, jaw open- It was action, both fast and frozen enough to almost be one of the many great, carved murals in the hall.

He’d remember it forever. He wasn’t fearful. He’d never really been, but in that moment, like the rapidly foaming top of a large, cresting wave, doom rose in his guts, ravaging through his middle and tearing his insides to shreds.

He was no warrior, battle-scarred or otherwise. Despite his stature, his frame was lean and he was worn. Though his chin was heavily scruffed, he was not bearded or thick. He was stubborn, though, and he was angry.

She knew who he was and made sure he knew it too. Even after- standing at stall windows, making mild conversation, forcing words out past hard hearts- to search for some kind of acknowledgement from someone who mattered, even if it was just a greeting, to know that he was real, he was here, he was worth something. All of that had long since been put to rest- killed, slain like a hapless animal. She made sure of that.

“I don’t know what you want.”

The world was still and bright outside, the shadow of the forge’s window covering him like an old blanket. He leaned back as she jabbed him in the chest. She was angry, her brows furrowed, leaning aggressively forwards-

He looked down on her.

”-Useless is your name, now After what you did in the arena? I don’t want to talk to you, see you or hear you. You sharpen my weapon and that. Is. It.”

He needed a drink. The taste of ale was phantom-strong on his tongue. It was a taste he’d become more familiar with in his late teens during times spent bitter and alone, but ale meant going up to the hall and he wasn’t soft on people.

That was where they gathered, mostly- those who had been left behind. Many abandoned their own homes for the safety and refuge of company and large, frigid hall walls, setting up old blankets and clumsy tents in abandoned, dusty corners.

Without looking away, he tossed the missive behind one crumbling barricade, propped up against the smooth arena walls.

He made sure to hold her gaze for one more long, hard moment before turning and waving an arm absently behind him, “I was just leaving.”

#httyd #how to train your dragon #x reader #hiccup x reader #fanfiction #httyd imagine #hiccup haddock #fem reader #female reader #toothless #I have two more asks to fill for this but this needed to come first

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oralmisery · 9 months ago

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Horny for Horsepower

written for @steddiesmuttyseptember

[ complete fic on ao3 ]

Rating: E | WC: 2511 | tags: Fluff and Smut, Fluff and Humor, Crack, Steve is a car, Sex with a Car, Masturbation

Week two prompt: Backseat

Steve is a transformer and Eddie is the mechanic in love with him. Dustin accidentally spills soda all over Steve’s backseat and Eddie has to clean it up. In spite of Eddie's best efforts the sticky situation only gets stickier.

(in which Steve IS the backseat)

From his crouched position on the ground, Eddie shifted to the right, barely avoiding the car door that swung open. He wobbled in place and stuck a hand out to regain his balance. His hand smacked into the car's exterior, where he was scrubbing with a soapy sponge.

“Hey! I wasn't even close to scratching your paint, this stuff is sticky, Dude. It's gonna take some elbow grease to get it out”, Eddie said. He swiped a forearm over his face, not sure if he's getting sweat or suds, but wanting to stop the trickle of moisture from getting in his eyes either way.

The door slammed shut in a huff but didn't move again when Eddie continued his scrubbing, notably with more care this time.

The 1983 733i maroon BMW was by far the most unique car Eddie had on the lot. The competition wasn’t steep, considering Munson Mechanic was a repair shop and junkyard in one. Most of the rusted cars around them were missing doors, side mirrors, engines, and decidedly not fit for the road. But, even if every hunk of junk on the property was in mint condition there would still be no competition. No, the maroon beamer was exceptional because it was actually a he . An alien–part of a race of autonomous robotic organisms that were hiding on earth disguised as human vehicles. And his name was Steve.

Eddie sighed, “Ya know, this would be easier if we went to a car wash”.

The car’s radio turned on, 𝅘𝅥𝅮 shot through the heart and you're to blame 𝅘𝅥𝅮

“Okay! okay! drama queen”, Eddie said with a laugh. “I'll spend my afternoon handwashing you”.

𝅘𝅥𝅮 You're the best around, Nothing's gonna ever keep you down 𝅘𝅥𝅮

“That's more patronizing than encouraging”, Eddie muttered. He swiped the last of the dark residue from Steve’s sparkling maroon. “They don't do interiors anyways, and, ah, Dustin really got it everywhere in there”. Eddie looked into the backseat where soda was lazily dripping from the ceiling and drying on the leather seats.

Steve opened and shut all his doors in a synchronized angry click. Eddie was reminded of a kid stomping their foot.

“ I know , but he swore he didn't know Lucas shook it up before he handed it to him so it's not really his fault”.

Steve honked but Eddie knew the car wasn't actually mad, just like Eddie wasn't that annoyed cleaning up the mess.

Steve loved the kids, he just had a grumpy way of showing it. Like, locking the doors on them when they tried to get in but driving them around the entirety of Hawkins anyways. Steve almost drove them into a ditch running down Billy Hargrove when he threatened the kids, but wouldn't move an inch until everyone's seat belts were fastened. Even this afternoon when Dustin doused the entire backseat and whatever got out the open window with an exploding can of grape soda, Steve still drove him home and did not start back up until the kid was safely in his house. He did pretend to run over the young teen’s foot but Eddie knew Steve wasn't even close, no matter what Dustin said.

Eddie grabbed a clean towel from the stack of cleaning supplies next to him and opened the back door wide. Steve started playing the only station that played metal. Truly a softie.

“Alright Stevie, let's get you shiny and new again”.

Steve rocked side to side, in anticipation or impatience Eddie can't tell. Maybe both.

Eddie started wiping down the wet areas. He mopped up the ceiling and the puddle on the floor first. He then used both hands to drag the towel along the grooves of the leather seats, digging in with his fingers to get every seam.

The radio cut out with static then stuttered back on.

“You okay?” Eddie asked, surprised, looking toward the dash.

Steve’s fuel gauge needle shot to FULL, meaning yes. A system Eddie had proposed when he and Steve first met.

“Okay…” Eddie said. Maybe Steve was more upset about being dirty than Eddie thought.

Eddie continued his movements, trying to be thorough. Steve was high maintenance at times. He’d let Eddie know, promptly and loudly , if he needed an oil change or his tire pressure was low and he refused anything but premium grade gasoline. Eddie honestly didn't mind that Steve was kind of a brat. He liked spoiling the automobile.

Finished getting all the wet soda, Eddie threw aside the ruined towel and grabbed a fresh one to dunk in the bucket of soapy water. Eddie got down on his knees on the ground beside Steve’s open door, bent over and with hard, fast motions started scrubbing the shit out of the carpeted floors.

Steve honked. A quick, seemingly accidental beep.

“Dude, are you sure you're okay?”, Eddie asked again. He paused and sat back on his heels, starting to worry.

Steve’s fuel needle jumped back and forth a few times before shakily landing on FULL.

[ continue reading ]

#steddie smutty september #steddie event #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #writing prompt #stranger things #ao3

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rapowersolutions234 · 11 months ago

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Repair Of Casting Cracks | Metal Stitching And Metal Locking

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vaishalirapower · 7 days ago

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Metal Stitching and Metal Locking Process: Cold Repair Solutions by RA Power Solutions

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#metal locking #crack repair by metal stitching #metal locking and metal stitching #cast iron repair #damaged engine block repair

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engineoverhaulingservices · 2 months ago

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Repair Crack Cast Iron by RA Power | With 45 Years of Experience

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satureja13 · 7 months ago

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The Boys are slowly trying to get back to normal on Great A'Tuin II after they found the creature. Vlad and Ji Ho are on their way back to their quarters to be fit for their next shift and Jack and Jeb will follow them soon. They are just doing some repairs for a few hours so their sleeping times don't overlap and they can return to a healthier schedule again. They thought about locking the creature up so he can't cause further damage, but since he's able to crack metal containers and seems quite peaceful after Jack repaired his friend, and he learned that the Boys are of no danger to him, they dumped this idea.

Ji Ho and Vlad just passed the 'meadow', when Skully played 'Push It' by Salt 'n' Pepa...

'Can't you hear the music pumping hard? Like I wish you would Now push it

Boy, you really got me going You got me so I don't know what I'm doing

Ah, push it Push-push-push-push it, push it'

Vlad gritted through is teeth: "I'm going to push Skully in the trash compactor one day..."

They are both so nervous to share a bed. This barely ever happened in all those years. (I only remember that night at Tartosa and one night in Tomarang after Ji Ho had been so drained from teleporting and he needed to be near Vlad. And after Vlad crashed Ji Ho and Caleb's wedding ^^' Oh, and after Ji Ho caught Vlad trying to bond with Morgan, omg!)

Vlad looked at the bed: "You can shower first." Does that - does that mean they are going to do it? Just like that?

Ji Ho hurried to the bathroom. Finally! They will sleep together in one bed and do all the things that lovers do!

The panels between the bathroom and their hobby room, where Vlad sat and tried to distract himself with writing, have openings - and Vlad could see Ji Ho in the reflection of his monitor... It was very hard for him to maintain his composure.

Ji Ho put on their Han and Leia shirt and looked at Vlad in anticipation. It will feel so good now that he has all his feelings back! Ji Ho remembered their incredible kiss in the ocean of Tartosa a few weeks ago - and blissfully shivered by the thought of how amazing it had felt. That kiss had shaken him to his very core. How would it feel to go all the way with Vlad? And even though they'd woohooed a few times before, this would be so different. But Ji Ho nervousness was still stronger than his desire. It's still so awkward between them.

Ji Ho sat on their bed - agitated - and waited for Vlad to take a shower and come to bed to him. Vlad looked very nervous too...

The Bond does not show them their exact thoughts, just how they feel. And so the Bond showed Vlad Ji Ho's inner turmoil. Eventually Vlad stood up and looked at him. Ji Ho caught his breath.

And then Vlad cursed under his breath and left... Ji Ho was stunned. What's that supposed to mean now? Does Vlad not want him? Was it too invasive to remove Vlad's bed without his consent?

Vlad went back to the engine room, to Jack. Jack: "What are you doing here?"

Vlad is too tired and exhausted to explain in a somewhat coherent way: "Ji Ho, he just looked at me. Into my soul. And I knew that I was wrong. I'm so sorry, Jack. I was just so upset you lied to me. But Ji Ho - I had to come to apologize. Thank you for what you did for him - for us." Jack: "Are you sleep walking? What are you even talking about?" Vlad: "About the shirts. Ji Ho made me realize that I was wrong." Jack was dazzled: "You are supposed to sleep to be ready for the next shift. Or at least hold him in your arms and do all the stuff you always wanted to - and Ji Ho said you were wrong and sends you back to apologize?"

Vlad: "Eh... he didn't actually say anything." Jack huffed a laugh: "You're wax in his hands, aren't you? Fine, apology accepted. Go back to him. Now. You're sleep deprived and takling nonsense. Or are you a bit afraid, hm?" Vlad: " What? No!"

On his way back, Vlad mulled over how much power Ji Ho has over him. Just one look and his anger is gone. He would go to hell and back for Ji Ho - all over again. Back at their quarters, Vlad held his breath at the beautiful sight. He would endure everything all over again if that would bring him here. To him.

Ji Ho is finally his. Vlad took a quick shower, put on his shirt and slid next to Ji Ho. Ji Ho wore his shirt all those years - for Vlad. He must have always believed in them. And even with all his feelings buried away, he must have loved Vlad. They will get there - at their own pace. And nothing's going to stop them now.

From the Beginning 🔱 Underwater Love 🔱 Latest

Current Chapter: starts ▶️ here Last Chapter: 'Here comes the Sun' from the beginning ▶️ here

📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 23-29

Outtakes

So excited - and nervous :3

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