#Neither does this giant trailing robe though so

[helnjk]

Bad Idea - F.W.

Fred Weasley x fem!reader

Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates 🤍 Wishing everyone a wonderful holiday season & new year 🧚🏼‍♀️

this is the first installment of my showtunes fic list, based on the song bad idea from the musical waitress !

Summary: fred weasley has the ability to get under her skin in a way no one else can. he also sends butterflies straight to her stomach like no one else can. 

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: enemies to lovers, slight cursing, steamy scenes but no outright smut

song lyrics are bolded & italicized

-

It’s a bad idea me and you

Y/N rolled her eyes as the Weasley twins made something or other explode at the Gryffindor table at breakfast. The awed cheers and whispers of her schoolmates at the colorful display of miniature fireworks did nothing to sway her opinion on the irritating duo. In fact, it might have even made her dislike for them grow.

It wasn’t as if she had no basis for hating the pair of them. They had been nothing but rude to her since their first year, and she was sure it was mostly due to her adorning the green and silver crest on her school robes. She had been at the receiving end of their nasty pranks more than she liked to admit, and some of them weren’t even a sliver funny. 

As if he practiced legilimency, the older twin’s eyes moved from his showy display of spellwork to hers and sent a subtle wink in Y/N’s way. 

“Like what you see, Y/L/N?” Fred yelled across the hall, causing the onlookers to turn their heads in her direction. 

Angrily, she felt heat flood her cheeks, “Not at all Weasley. Just wondering how many points I could take away from Gryffindor today.” 

She heard the members of her table snickering quietly at the sound of points lost for their least favorite house, but she paid them no mind. In all honesty, she knew that no amount of points taken away would sway the Weasley twins from their mischief making. 

Later in the day while Y/N made her way from her last class to the library to catch up on some coursework, she heard the familiar snickers of the two boys she wanted to interact with the least. 

“Oi! Watch where you’re going!” She yelled, annoyance bubbling in the pit of her stomach as the redheaded menaces rushed past her and nearly knocked her over. 

“Going to take some more points from Gryffindor, Y/L/N?” Fred taunted over his shoulder as his brother let out a huff of laughter. 

“Well, it’s not like she has any other important things taking up her time, don’t you think Freddie?” George said.

“You are absolutely right, George.” He replied. 

“Honestly, don’t you two have anything better to do than get on my nerves all the time?” She gritted out.

The twins slowed their pace and Fred turned around casually to wink at her, “No can do, love.” 

“Don’t call me love!”  

Their raucous laughter echoed across the hall as she pushed past them in a huff. Stupid redheaded twins. Stupid Fred with his stupid teasing. Stupid George for laughing and egging him on. 

Something about the way she determinedly called out over her shoulder made Fred pause. 

Her eyes caught the fading light that streamed through the windows of the hallway, and shone brightly. Her skin seemed to glow in the amber light, reflecting the sun as it set in the horizon. The way she moved so confidently as she weaved through the sea of students made heads turn, and Fred was beginning to understand why their gaze gravitated towards her. 

He had never noticed how pretty Y/N had gotten over the years. Another pause. Did he find her pretty? 

Yeah, pretty annoying. He tried to reason with himself, but still he couldn’t shake this new feeling. 

For the rest of the week, Fred had decided that if he couldn’t get her out of his mind, he would simply have to make sure he was on hers as well. Whenever the two of them walked past each other in the halls, he always had some sort of cheeky remark up his sleeve. 

Subtly, he would get close enough for their shoulders to brush and would mutter under his breath, just enough for her to hear. 

“Looking good today, Y/L/N, such a shame you’re a snake.”

“What’s a lad got to do to take a pretty prefect like you out on a date?” 

“Cat’s got your tongue, Y/L/N? I know it’s ‘cause you think I look right fit, you don’t have to say anything.”

The more she ignored his comments, the more it seemed to spur him on. She would catch him sending her flirtatious winks during meals, feel his gaze on hers in their shared classes, or hear him whisper something or other to his twin while he glanced in her direction. 

If it wasn’t something he said, he would manage to send practically every kind of prank her way. Tripping jinxes, jelly-legs jinxes, dung bombs in classrooms she was about to enter, puking pastilles or nosebleed nougats slipped into her drinks. 

It was getting to a point that Y/N grew frustrated and angry all day. Her friends tended to avoid her when she got this way because she would just repeat the same things over and over again to anyone who would bother to listen. 

Fred Weasley was a massive arse. Fred Weasley could jump in the lake and be used as food for the Giant Squid for all she cared. Fred Weasley this and Fred Weasley that. 

They had even once asked her why it was specifically him that she complained about and not just the Weasley twins in general. 

“Well, both of them do irritate me to no end,” She explained, “But there’s just something about Fred that irks the hell out of me. Merlin, does he know how to push my buttons!”

Y/N didn’t know what it was about Fred that got her going. It might have been because he was the instigator of most of the twins’ pranks, that he acted first and thought of the consequences later. It might have been that he would purposely send bludgers her way whenever Slytherin played Gryffindor and the many bruises that came from it.

It might have been the little flutters she would get whenever he whispered something cheeky into her ear. But that last one she had a hard time admitting to even herself. 

By the end of the week, Y/N was at her wits end. Every time the bell rang and she gathered up her things, her hand would clutch her wand, ready to put up a small shield charm or send a hex in the direction of a certain redhead. 

It being the weekend, many of her fellow classmates rushed out the door the moment they were dismissed from class. Y/N took her time packing her things back up, as her only plans for the night were to catch up on one of the novels she had had no time to read recently. As she exited the classroom, her eyes scanned the bare hallway for any sign of Fred. Her suspicions rose when she began her walk back to her common room and nothing out of the ordinary happened. 

She soon stood corrected as a flash of red hair danced in her vision and she was suddenly pressed up against a wall. 

With a gasp she said, “Weasley? What in Merlin’s name are you–”

“Can’t be quiet for a second, can you, Y/N?” Fred teased, his lips skimming the shell of her ear and sending shivers down her spine. 

She gulped at the proximity of their bodies, her eyes darting around the empty hallway for any onlookers. 

“Get on with whatever this is then,” She breathed, trying to keep her nonchalant act up, “I have other plans for tonight that I’d rather be doing.” 

A slow chuckle escaped Fred’s lips, causing her heart to beat even more erratically than she thought possible, “So impatient love.” 

“And I told you not to call me ‘love’.” 

His eyes darted quickly to her lips and she could only hope that he couldn’t feel just how fast her heart was beating, “I’m going to kiss you now.” 

He waited for her to give him any sign of discomfort or to say no, but she merely glanced at his lips and back up at his warm brown eyes. Then, as quickly as he had appeared in front of her, his head dipped and he captured her lips in his. 

Y/N felt all the breath in her body leave as Fred pressed the searing kiss on her lips. He was intoxicating, his smell, the feel of his skin as she gripped onto his strong biceps, the way his breath mingled with hers. 

When they broke apart, his eyes trailed the length of her body in a way that made goosebumps rise from her flesh. Y/N thought she must have looked like a fish out of water, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide. 

“Just a taste of what could be.” He winked at her and then turned on his heel, “Think about it, Y/L/N.” 

Far longer than she would like to admit, Y/N stayed rooted on the spot, staring in the direction that Fred Weasley had disappeared in and fingers running along the lips that he had claimed. 

Heart keep racing Let’s make mistakes

The adrenaline pumping through Y/N’s veins gave her a feeling of weightlessness and grounding at the same time. Being Slytherin’s best beater came with the responsibility of carrying most of the game and she played her role well. Still, she always made it a point to play fair and to compensate for the shitty sportsmanship the rest of her team subscribed to. 

When she had spotted a bludger to her right, making its way to where Malfoy was slowly circling, she set off. With a strong swing of her bat, she had it hurtling in the direction of one of the Gryffindor chasers. Neither of the Weasley twins was able to make it in time and the ball scraped the unassuming chaser’s shoulder. 

With the boost of confidence this gave her, she proceeded to play one of the best matches of the season. A triumphant grin etched its way onto her face at the frustration leaking from the Weasley twins, who were trying to keep up with her and her co-beater’s synchronization. 

Though, she had to admit that the way Fred’s arms flexed and his grunts of exertion every time he did manage to hit the bludger were a tad bit distracting too. The cheeky winks he sent her way weren’t helping either. 

“Feeling a bit tired, Weasley?” She teased when he began to hover close to her, “Can’t keep up?” 

“In your dreams, Y/L/N!” He all but growled and the fire in his eyes made her heart stutter for just a second before she set off in pursuit of another bludger. 

The game had ended when Malfoy caught the snitch, a feat especially when Gryffindor had Potter, and Slytherin had won.

She couldn’t help but feel a smug sense of pride as she and the rest of the team walked out of the pitch, hearing the cheers of her house at the stands. She took her time in the changing rooms, trying to still her erratically beating heart. Her teammates slowly trickled out, reminding her of the celebrations that were definitely going to happen in the common room. 

When she heard footsteps approaching the tent just as she had finished stuffing everything in her bag, she had just assumed that one of her teammates had forgotten something. She stood corrected. 

“Quite a game today, wouldn’t you say?” 

The familiar baritone voice made Y/N pause. Without turning to face him, she said in reply, “Definitely, Weasley. It’s always nice to kick your sorry arse out on the pitch.” 

“Now, now Y/N,” He drawled, his voice inching closer to where she stood rooted on the spot. Her hand gripped at the strap of her bag as she tried to think of an escape route, “That’s definitely not the context I imagined you’d be talking about when you first mentioned my arse.” 

She let out a scoff at his insinuation, but couldn’t shake the feeling that he could see right through her bluff. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest as she realized that she was trapped in the quidditch changing rooms with the person who had been plaguing her thoughts. 

The air surrounding the pair was thick with tension and charged with electricity. Countless days of teasing and rivalry, all the discreet glances and brushes of shoulders against each other, bottled up into a single moment, this moment. By the time Y/N had turned to face the cause of the palpitations in her chest, he was mere inches away. 

His hot breath fanned her face and his deep brown eyes scanned over her. She could practically feel the heat of his body against hers, white hot and tempting. He knew exactly what he was doing to her. 

“What do you want, Weasley?” She breathed, finally managing the courage to meet his eyes. 

“You.” He said simply, tongue darting out to dampen his lips. 

For a moment, it was as if they had both stopped breathing. Neither of them said a word or moved an inch, anticipating the other’s next move. 

“Fuck it.”

Before Y/N could let out a word, his lips were on hers and his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. 

All of the frustration and built up resentment between the pair of them came to play in the harshness of his kiss. It was not sweet nor soft, not what one would imagine a kiss between a prince and a princess to be. Rather, it was passionate, playful, and powerful. Two opposing forces clashing against each other, their convergence causing an eruption of flames. 

Fred was not a shy person, and it was evident in the way he kissed her. 

If she was the least bit surprised, he couldn’t tell, because as soon as his arms rested on the small of her back, she pressed her palms against his chest and leaned into him. For once, she let him take the lead and their mouths molded together in a passionate dance. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” She gasped as they broke apart for air, chests rising and falling rapidly. 

“You think too much.” He responded, leaning down to capture her lips in his once more. 

The way his lips deftly glazed over her neck and attached themselves to the point right below her ear made small sounds of pleasure escape her lips and her hips rutted against his. 

These sounds only spurred him further as his arms slid down from her waist to the backs of her thighs, urging her to wrap them around him. She complied, and soon her back was against the wall as he continued the assault on her neck. 

When the pair finally broke away, they took a moment to breathe, panting heavily. Y/N was the first to break the silence, laughing slightly at the compromising position they were in, and how they had just spent the last several minutes taking their frustrations out on each other. 

“What’s so funny then,” Fred smiled as he slowly eased his grip on her thighs, lowering her back to the floor.

“Nothing,” She shook her head, surprised at how casual they treated the situation, “Just not what I’d expected to happen when Slytherin won today.” 

“And what did you expect?” He quirked an eyebrow, “Especially when you were out there playing so well and looking that good.” 

Y/N had to bite her lip to keep herself from grinning like an idiot, “Definitely not snogging you in the changing rooms, that’s for sure.” 

“I know for a fact that you quite enjoyed what we did,” He whispered, pulling her close to him once more and closing the gap between them.

“In your dreams, Weasley.” She breathed.

And then his lips were on hers again. And again and again and again.

-

Over the course of the next few weeks, many noticed how the dynamics between the two shifted ever so slightly. There were still jeers and taunts in the halls, teasing comments made in classes or during meals, but there were also fewer eye rolls and less malice behind their words. It was almost as if they had an unspoken agreement. 

The only one who had really caught on to what was really happening between the two of them was George, and it was only because he walked in on them on Fred’s bed in the dorms. 

Y/N had been on top of Fred, straddling his midsection and pressing soft kisses all along his face and jaw, while he had his arms wrapped around her waist and held her tightly. Chest to chest, a soft hum verbrated from him as she continued her ministrations.

There wasn’t any sort of sexual tension at that moment, in fact, there hadn’t been an ounce of it the whole day. Laying like this with Fred made Y/N all sorts of confused, but she still enjoyed whatever the hell was happening between them.

It was cut short, though, as George had walked through the threshold of the dorm and saw their slightly compromised position. 

“Bloody hell!” He exclaimed, and Y/N sprung up immediately, his twin’s arms falling limply at his sides at her sudden movement. 

“Erm-” She mumbled, trying to move away, but Fred had none of it. If at all, his grip on her thighs tightened. 

She could feel his body shaking from the laugh he was trying to hold in, and smacked him on the chest, “Fred! Stop that!” 

“What?” He laughed, “It’s not like he saw anything, did you, Georgie?”

George, who was still trying to process what he had just witnessed, blinked a couple of times before shaking his head in disbelief, “Good Godric, so this is why you two have been acting so odd lately?” 

“Well, it’s not as if we’re bloody dating,” Fred rolled his eyes, but Y/N felt her heart skip a beat, “We’re just having some fun s’all.”

She swallowed the lump that was suddenly in her throat and gave a feeble nod, “Yep. Just some fun.” 

It was a pretty good bad idea  Wasn’t it though?

Y/N didn’t know why she began avoiding Fred. 

To everyone else in the school, all was well. The teasing between them hadn’t stopped. The little jabs at meals, in classes, or out in the hallways still happened. She was still a prefect and took points from Gryffindor whenever she caught the twins outside of curfew or running from Filch. They were both still beaters who played for their respective teams and shot remarks mockingly at one another out on the pitch.

Outside of those moments, though, Y/N made it a point to walk the other direction when she saw him walking her way, with or without his twin. She would slip out of shared classes as soon as the bell rang and their professor dismissed them. She even went as far as hiding in a spare broom closet once, when she was doing her prefect rounds and heard his telltale laughter just around the corner. 

They hadn’t shared a moment alone in a few weeks and Fred had wracked his brain trying to figure out what he did wrong. Their set-up had been practically perfect before she started avoiding him. Stolen kisses and the excitement of sneaking around with her were some of the best times of his life there in Hogwarts. He hadn’t had the Gryffindor courage to tell her how he really felt, but at least they shared intimate moments alone, away from prying eyes and judgemental stares. 

Instead, now he had taken to staring at her whenever he could, replaying all of their previous interactions to find out what went wrong between them. 

“Oi, quit staring at Y/N before McGonagall takes points from us for not paying attention to her,” George hastily whispered one day.

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” Fred defended, his eyes still locked on Y/N. She paid him no mind, unconsciously twirling the quill in her hands and chewing on her bottom lip. 

He thought she looked stunning. 

“I never thought I would say this,” George groaned softly, “But you’ve gotta listen in class right now or else we’ll lose even more points and everyone’ll be right chuffed. We can figure out your dumb bird problems after.” 

With a roll of his eyes, Fred finally brought his attention back to what their professor was going on about. He’d worry about whatever was going on with Y/N later. 

-

“I think it’s simple, really,” George shrugged, later on in the day when it was just the two of them in their dorm. He leant back against the headboard of his four-poster, an image of calm and nonchalance. 

“On with it then!” Fred exclaimed, the exact opposite of his twin at the moment. He fidgeted from his position on his own bed, his foot tapped anxiously on the hardwood floor and his hand kept running through his already disheveled hair. 

George couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His own twin, all out of balance because of some bird. 

But it wasn’t just any bird, he knew, it was Y/N. And if it had to be any bird in the whole school for Fred to become this mess of feelings and uncertainty, at least it was because of her. George always knew that their rivalry would either end in them realizing their feelings for each other or them hexing each other to death. 

“Grow some balls and just tell her how you feel, you daft git!” He exclaimed, humor sparkled in his eyes. 

“Be serious here, George,” Fred groaned and pushed his face against one of his pillows. 

His twin rolled his eyes, “I am being serious! It’s obvious she fancies the balls off of you, so just ask her out on a date or something and save us all from this awkward dance the lot of you have been doing for the past few weeks.” 

George’s words rang in Fred’s mind for longer than he liked to admit. 

One night, as dinner was coming to a close, he’d had enough. He spotted Y/N getting up from her seat at the Slytherin table and stood abruptly from his half finished meal. As she exited the Great Hall, he followed her out and into the drafty corridor.

“Y/N!” He yelled before he could stop himself. 

She paused briefly, shoulders tensing at his call to her. Instead of turning around though, she picked up her pace. 

Fred cursed softly, “Y/N, I know you can hear me!” 

As his legs were much longer than hers, he caught up to her quickly. Still, she paid him no mind and continued her on her way, “What’s got your wand all in a knot, Y/L/N?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Weasley.” Came her reply. 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Y/L/N,” He rolled his eyes, “You’ve been ignoring me recently and I can’t think of anything that I’ve done wrong.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’ve been actually paying attention to my classes and doing all of my coursework, that takes up most of my time these days.” She shrugged, turning a corner and continuing her fast pace, “And I’m not at your beck and call, Weasley. I’m not yours.” 

“You could be.” 

Y/N’s resolve seemed to be taken away with the tide as he muttered those words aloud. In fact, she was so shocked at what he said that she quite literally had to stop walking and merely stared at the redheaded boy. 

“Don’t be daft, Weasley.” She managed to choke out after a few beats. 

He turned to face her and Y/N had never seen him look so serious before. Fred was usually the louder twin, the more explosive one, the one who acted first and thought of the consequences later. But now, now she could see that he had nothing but genuine intentions as his eyes scanned her and gauged her reaction.

She huffed, unwilling to let her walls down for even a second. It was too frightening, telling the person she had spent much of her formative years rivalling with how she truly felt about them. In fact, despite her act, she couldn’t get it in her to look him in the eyes.

“This, whatever this is, you know that it isn’t a good idea.” She tried to argue, but as the words left her lips they seemed to carry no weight in them. 

“It’s a pretty good bad idea if you ask me.” He said with as much conviction as possible, “C’mon, Y/L/N, you gonna back down from a challenge?” 

That sparked a fire in her eyes that he had missed seeing, one that said she meant business, “I’ll say yes to you on one condition,” She said. 

“Anything.”

“Take me out on a date first.” 

[titan-wolfdog]

maybe some mutual pining sessokag with a side of jealous inu? 👀

You got it, my dear anon! Hope this is to your liking!

Word count: 1117

Rating: General - T

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Laughter filled the air; everyone gathered at the table after yet another successful mission. There was no jewel shard retrieved but the wealthy guests, who they had saved, had invited Inuyasha’s crew for a delicious dinner in their palace.

Of course, due to destiny, faith or luck, Sesshomaru and his two servants had strung along in time to save the family’s lands, so the demon lord and his two faithful companions, Jakken and Rin, were invited over for dinner too.

Inuyasha grumbled, protested and complained under his breath, and to the priestess as well. He was not happy about having his arrogant, all-too-powerful half-brother in the same room as him, taking what was supposed to be his victory just because he waltzed in at the right time.

And even more, he disliked the fact that Kagome had to sit between the two so they wouldn’t fight like dogs and cats, or better said, dog and smaller dog.

‘‘He doesn’t even like human food, why is he here still?’’ Inuyasha muttered to Kagome, not caring whether the older demon listened in or not. A little angered, she pinched his arm under the table, frowning at her half-demon friend.

‘‘Don’t be rude!’’ She muttered-yelled at him, thankful the jokes and laughs from the rest of the group drowned out their little argument. ‘‘Just try to get along tonight, we have nowhere else to sleep and Sesshomaru did do his part in killing that giant demon!’’

Inuyasha bit his lip, focusing on gulfing his food down to avoid having to look at her, or his older brother. His usual keh! letting her know she had not won the argument, but that he wouldn’t bother to keep it going any longer. Kagome frowned, but proceeded to do the same though much calmer than the half-demon was doing.

Minutes past, and she heard a soft Hn… to her right. She could feel the lord glancing at her every few moments. He was subtle in his looks, but there were no efforts to conceal it from her, and frankly? She liked it when her own glances were caught by his.

The rest of the dinner was nice, and soon everyone gathered their things and were taken to their respective bedrooms. Ready to lie down under the warm blankets and soft matresses.

She awaited till Sango, Shippo and Kirara were knocked out by slumber to tiptoe her way out. His scent of ancient cologne was easy to identify, no one else would be rich or wealthy enough among the ones awake to smell like that. There was a minute of hesitation in her steps, as she watched him from behind a wall, looking for that confirmation that no one was nearby.

A deep breath, she stood next to the mighty lord, eyes tracing over his silver cascade as it fell over his shoulders and on his back. Blessed, he was tall enough to be seen past the massive fluff that his tail- or shield, she hadn’t figured it out yet -was.

‘‘I couldn’t thank you properly for saving us back there, Sesshomaru.’’ She smiled, and the lord gave a quiet glance as reply. She leaned a little over the wooden fence, whereas the lord only rested his clawed hands.

‘‘It was but a mere coincidence, priestess. There is no need to thank this one for a mere lift of his finger.’’ His baritone was serene, calm. His stoic demeanor exchanged for the more commonly-seen impassiveness of his.

‘‘Still, I want to thank you, we could have gotten hurt if it weren’t for you.’’ Daring, she reached to touch his hand for a second, an excuse in her head forming to refer to his toxic claws attack. He did not flinch at her touch.

‘‘I will allow so, if you finally allow this one to repay for handing over the cure for Rin’s illness from weeks ago.’’ His body shifted towards her, no longer facing the lands. Sometimes Kagome forgot how much taller and vigorous he was compared to his half-brother.

‘‘And how would you do that?’’ Her question did not have her usual tone; it was more like she asked What will you give me?

His clawed finger traced her cheek, lining down to tilt her chin up. A blush spread across her cheeks, much to the lord’s delight, as a minuscule smirk appeared on his moonlit face.

‘‘Whatever it is that you are seeking from me,’’ He almost purred to her ear, and he lifted her ever just enough to make her tiptoe. ‘‘Tell me, and you might find out I seek the same from you…’’

Her face went red, her heart pounding against her chest faster than the adrenaline coursed through her veins. She didn’t notice when her hand caressed up his arm, sliding under the silky robe. She didn’t care if someone caught them there and then, all that mattered was the warmth of his body against hers.

There was an instant when his lips caressed hers. It wasn’t a kiss but the closest they could come to one. It was the modest touch of his lips against her that sent a shiver down her spine, craving to pull him close and fulfill it whole, for as long as eternity could last.

They pulled back, neither risking each other’s safety as they could feel an approaching presence. It was but a servant that passed, but the beating of her heart gave away to him her worry. Gently, he rested one hand on her waist, the other running through her hair.

‘‘Go back to bed, you need a proper night rest,’’ He ordered, not with a stoic request but a soft plea. ‘‘We shall meet again, with more time and in a secluded spot.’’

‘‘How are you so sure, Sesshomaru?’’

‘‘The moon has never shone this bright.’’ His cryptic reply felt, for some reason, comforting. For the priestess, all he could leave for now was another tender caress, and he walked away to his lodging first. Her blue gaze travelled to the moon, longing for her light the same way she longed for him.

She trailed back to her room and found the half demon along the way. His darkened stare as he glared down at her, she knew he could smell him on her, but she could not care any longer. She couldn’t care how much he knew or does not knew, she was too bothered by the inability to hold Sesshomaru, to touch the demon lord and be held in his strong arms, to think of what Inuyasha wanted any more.

For now, the moon would suffice her thirst and longing, until she could be by his side once more.

[aria-i-adagio]

Ch 21: There’s Definitely Something Going on Upstairs

Fandom: The Arcana

Chapter Rating: M

Wordcount: 7400

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A/N: co-written by @ilyarium​

Val pauses at the base of the stairs leading to Lucio's wing and rubs his temples.  Dealing with Valdemar is never pleasant, but at least they had proceeded directly back to the hole they occasionally crawled out from.  Unlikely that they would remain there, but one could hope.  Ghosts though.  Superstition.  The witch must have seen some trick of the light and gotten spooked, and if Devorak was with them, well he was a man of science, but he was also high strung and prone to histrionics.  

But what if she is right?  Besides, perhaps he should survey the wing himself before Nadia renovates it.  He doesn’t really trust anyone’s opinion except his own - and that little enough.  Val backtracks a few steps down the hall, and seizes a candle from a sconce in the wall, before starting up the stairs.  The oh-so-familiar stairs that he'd slunk up more than once in the dead of night, candle clutched in his hand, half hating himself with each step.

After all is said and done, I'm bored again.  Horribly so.  Up here, with the remains of her blood and then Valdemar's visit, it felt like things were finally happening, but now I'm all alone again and . . . they said I'll soon be good to leave these rooms for longer periods of time without losing myself so easily, they promised, but it's not quite time yet.

Steps?  Yes.  Steps indeed.  Heels clicking on marble, so not the horrible little Devorak girl or the witch.  I wouldn’t mind the witch, so much.  Or Jules.  Nor are these steps one of the courtiers, I can feel those by now.  Another part of this deal that I very much regret.  They are a constant faint mumbling in the back of my head, but at least, even Vulgora is only that, small mercies, talking of hunger and rage and worms and, sometimes about the things I know now Valdemar cares for, things that remind me of the horrors of the battlefield, of finding a half-dead comrade and . . . I gave them merciful deaths at least I was that human.  Valdemar would gleefully cut them apart and see how long he can make them last, taint their flesh so much even the crows wouldn't feast on it.

Noddy maybe, in a pair of those nice black riding boots?  No.  Those steps aren’t nearly temperamental enough for her.  Jules would have loved to be under those heels, but always was too afraid to ask.  Gladly would have given him my place.

The hounds greet Valerius at the top, tails wagging.  Unsurprising, he was one the few people that Lucio consistently allowed through.  And it was true that the dogs had been neglected for the past three years.  A wonder that they weren't even more destructive.  He pauses to scratch the pitiful hounds behind their ears, then holds up a candle to the hallway.  The state of disrepair is shocking, far worse than the last time he set foot in the wing.  The portraits along the walls have been shredded, starting from the eyes and working outward.

That smell . . . Smoke and old oak and . . . no, it cannot be. He's dead. He must be dead, embalmed in wine, drowned in old sadness and despair, and I come to greet him like a dog, to see if he is really there, surprised by how much it makes me yearn for . . .  I forgot what it was. I wonder what he'll say when he sees me.

Sees me . . .

You have been here once before, haven't you, Val?  Drunk off your pale ass and bawling your eyes out, and then you gave your honest opinion, said all the things you always wanted to say to me to my portrait, and then you cried some more, and I wasn't strong enough to do anything but watch.  You look like shit when you cry, Val, and I may have cried a little too, or would have if I could, just because you looked so horrible with a face full of snot.

Air brushes past him, a draft with no explanation.  Could the witch actually be right?  No, that’s nonsense.  The dead don't return to haunt the places they lived and died.  No more than the figures on cards could speak to people in dreams.  Neither phenomenon is anything more than the product of too much emotion and too much alcohol.  A mind that he continued to quiet with alcohol, so that he could ignore it going to pieces.  Ignore everything around him going to pieces.

"You look like death," I tell him, because he does, and drag on his silly braid like a naughty schoolboy.  He has such nice hair, and I never understood why he wears it like this instead in the luxurious waves it wants to be.  He looks so gaunt, filled with some underlying sickness, some stupid, undramatic one, that nobody sees coming before it's way too late.

Something tugs on his braid, and he spins on his heels.  Certainly, it's one of the other courtiers - Vulgora probably - playing pranks.  But there’s no peal of uncouth laughter, only a hint of white in the corner of his vision.  Nothing and no one he can see clearly.  It can't be.  Ghosts don’t exist.  But the dogs are circling around, wagging their tails and smiling like they never did for anyone other than Lucio.  (Well, Lucio or Devorak, the dogs always liked the doctor.)  Val holds up his candle and turns once more.  No.  There's no one here.  No one will answer.  Yet.  "Lucio?"  His voice wavers, and he wishes he had brought a bottle with him.  Wine would welcome.

Look at me, I say.

Look at me. Louder.

Look at me! I shout, but those sad pale eyes just stare right through me, and I know he is afraid, and I try to thread my fingers through his, cold and clammy, just to drag him closer to the bedroom, where I am still at my strongest.

Something cool tugs on his wrists.  It's weak, but it's definitely there, pulling him toward the bedroom.  He stumbles forward, caught off balance in his heels, and through the door.  A bust Lucio had commissioned to commemorate some victory or another was shattered across the floor, and true to Valdemar's description the bed was wrecked well beyond being burned.  Valerius had never understood just how the fire damage could have limited itself to the bed - in fact, just the section, Lucio had been laying in - but now ash was scattered about the room and the remains of the bedspread lay tangled in the floor.  Heedless of the ash, both dogs go to the tangled fabric and curl up in it, their silky white bodies pressed tightly together.

Back then, did I ever have the chance to do you in this bed, Val?  Properly.  Like you would have deserved.  Did I ever do you anyway?  That, too, I can't properly remember.  Why are the important things gone, and just the bitter ones stay?  It is not fair.  Once again, it is not, I don't deserve this, because I'm better than that, and you know it, Val, right?  You know it.

"Why did you come here?" I say, and this time, you may have heard it.

"I -"  He heard the voice, asking why he came, but he doesn't want to admit it.  And he doesn't know.  Or rather he can't put into words, not coherent words why he's here.  Because Lucio was beautiful, and maddening, and more intoxicating than wine.  Because he's alone now.  He's been alone, with the wretched court, and now Nadia, who can't quite seem to decide if she despises him or needs him, and the only certain thing is that no one wants him.

I desperately want to touch him, and then I do, because I am Lucio, and who should stop me, and my hand, my claw, looks giant on his chest, and so utterly inhuman, and for the first time in quite a while, something feels wrong, I think that's the word, and I stare down on the frail human in front of me, and he stares up, or stares through me at the picture on the wall, the last one I couldn't bring myself to destroy.

Val’s chest is suddenly, painfully cold.  He reaches a hand to place over it, but there's something there, between his palm and the fabric of his robe.  No explanation.  No matter.  The massive portrait of Lucio on the wall is still intact, somehow, some why, when all the others have been destroyed, and Valerius wants it.  No one else will, certainly not the Countess.  She'll remove it, place it in storage.  Maybe burn it if she's feeling petty.

I focus on his hand on mine, no, in mine, and curse that the witch is not around.  Everything was easier in her presence.  It's almost there, visible, short white fur that's probably coarse, I mean, it looks coarse, hard to tell if you can't touch it, and I think I can feel warmth under it, where it rests on the silky white fabric of Valerius' shirt.

Valerius turns his head slowly, to where there should be someone standing before him.  He thinks he can see something.  Some large shape, pinpricks of red where the eyes should be.  A trick of the light.  The light and the alcohol that is always in his blood now.  Or maybe, just maybe.  "Lucio?"  The name is a whisper leaving his lips.

They’re too far up to be eyes.  Human eyes, at least.  "It's my damn room, Val," somebody says, and he sounds a lot like the dead man.

This . . . this shouldn't be, but . . .  He closes his fingers over his chest and feels, fingers there.  Long, elongated, not quite human.  He loosens his own grip and trails his hand up, along an arm that isn't quite present, to a shoulder, broad and muscular from years of sword practice and then down to a chest that's nearly at the height of his head.

I shiver under the gentle touch.  It has been so long . . .  A sudden surge of desire floods me, and I wish to pull him close and just hold him, and maybe he'd whimper softly like a little kitten, because he craves me and wants me as close as it can possibly be, and . . . is he even into that? It feels like I should know, and I wonder if I ever cared before.  I think I did.  

I could do it.  Right now, I'm here enough to do it, but . . . I don't want to scare him.  Not even more.  He looks like he's seen a ghost already.

Valerius manages to choke his sob before it can leave his throat.  But certainly whoever was standing before heard anyway.  Not Lucio, he tries repeating that mantra.  Just the alcohol messing with his head.  Not Lucio, even if the muscles in the shoulder and the chest feel so familiar.  Too tall.  A spasm of laughter overtakes him.  Lucio did always want to be taller.  Took dieing to achieve that.  The laughter turns to tears.

"Val . . ."  Oh fuck it, I'm no good with that kind of emotion.  No, no, don't be like this, please.  I wrap my arm around him, just to reassure him, but maybe I'm just driving him mad, Gods, help me with hysterical women, c'mon, Consul, calm down, say something vaguely derogatory.  Don't cry again.  Please don't.

The sensation of a heavy arm falls around his back, and he can just hear his name.  Chest heaving from trying to hold back sobs, Valerius stumbles into the ghost that he’s only just admitted is there, stopped short of falling by something in the space that should be taken up by a body.  He's dimly aware of dropping the candle, but this part of the floor is stone tile, and he can't be bothered to worry about it.  Not right now.

"Don't come complaining about your puffy face later, idiot,"  I say and bury my face in his hair - well, as good as that goes, it's more like one of the dogs putting their muzzle against you affectionately.  Didn't they say that only after death you know what people truly thought of you? It's so strange that you of all people are like this.  Pretty sure you hated me more than once.  Probably for good reason.

Val has never understood why the Count's death affected him so much.  Yes, there was the raw horror of the manner of it, but he had been dying by inches for nearly a year by that point.  "You died.  You died and left me to clean up the mess you made.  You left me."  His eyebrows knit together at the thought of how many times he had dismissed the servants with a sneer and an excuse about needing to speak of business, only to curl up at Lucio's side, not able to quite comprehend how someone as powerful, as magnificent as Lucio could be knocked so low.  And no one else gave a damn.  No one besides Devorak, and the man has been so lost in his own grief and guilt that he was nearly useless.  Oh, Val had heard about Julian's little hedgewitch in the city, with her herbs and her books and her pretty eyes.  He'd listened from across the room when the doctor stumbled in drunk and distraught.  Watched as Lucio, in a rare moment of unselfish compassion, soothed the man with soft commands and softer touches, until he was passed out with his head in Lucio's lap, the Count toying with his red hair.  He'd despised himself for the envy he felt.

"You make it sound like I wanted to," I grumble.  The mess had been there before.  It's not like it was my fault alone, or his, just a city on the edge slowly breaking down.  Of course, they'd blame it on me and not on decades of other aristocrats filling their own pockets.  When I came to Vesuvia, it was already a lost battle, and as a mercenary you try to grab as much as you can and run.  I should have left earlier, before my earlier mistakes caught up with me.  That was where I went wrong.

This time, Val is sure that he hears him, and sure that it's Lucio.  The same old deflections.  "I've missed you, you fool."  Because he has.  No amount of reviewing the city's ledgers, watching the deficit drop each month, instead of growing provided consolation.  No number of whores in his bed (always blond now, so trite, so pathetic).  Nothing had satisfied.

"Of course you did, you good-for-nothing piece of senatorial scum."  I smile, and it feels so wrong, because this mouth is not made for it, but for biting and tearing apart.  It took death and the devil to make me sentimental, but here I am.  Want to touch his skin, very much so, but his silly layered robes won't allow easy access.

Val can't decide whether to look up or keep his eyes down.  The ghost doesn't look like Lucio that much is clear, and it's easier to pretend if he doesn’t look directly at him.  Fingers slide into his hair, and Val shivers.  "Don't mess up my hair, Lucio."  It's an old ritual, one that always ends up with his hair in a disastrous state, but he needs to lodge a pro forma protest.

"Don't mess up my hair, Lucio," I mirror his tone and chuckle, "don't cut my clothes from my body just because you're needy, those are new, don't touch me like this in public, we might be seen..."  Yes, yes, now I remember, at least a little.  I like to imagine him blushing him down there in my embrace, and with the words come the memories of his face when I made him forget himself for a few precious moments. "It still feels like silk."

"I put a lot of effort into keeping it that way, thank you very much."  These are all old steps in a dance that Val knows very well.  "And please don't cut off my clothes, I don't care to wear anything that's been moldering in here for years, even just through the hallway."  He'd allowed Lucio that once, entranced by the extravagant wastefulness of it and by the cool dangerous touch of the knife against his skin.

"Still so shy.  You're in luck; it's a little hard to carry a knife like this."  I could probably eat them off his body.  The thought kills my mood.  Having the courtiers see me like this is one thing, but the thought of him setting his pale eyes on me is oddly off putting.  A monster or, worse, a barnyard animal.

"Why did you come here, Val?"  I whisper into his hair.  "To say goodbye?"

Goodbye?  That would be . . .?  Freedom in a way.  He always hated this as much as he loved it, hated how it made him vulnerable, and craved that same state.  But . . . no.  That isn't what he wants.  "I don't know.  I didn't believe what the witch said, not really."

"I hear that Noddy wants to purge these rooms.  Finally get rid of me.  Make them new and shiny with money she doesn't have."  And now I say something Val probably always craved more than anything else I could offer him.  "You may have been right about her all along."

He was the first and only one who dared to raise his voice in doubt when I was head over heels in love.  Mentioning much it would suit Prakra to marry one of their scions into city state that already struggled to maintain its independence.  How she, as the youngest daughter of so many, didn't have big chances to be married off to someone of any real importance, and how she seemed so very interested in the power that she herself would wield.  Meaningful.  Important.  I would not have that around me back then.

"I . . ."  He isn't sure what he thinks of Nadia anymore.  He does appreciate her intelligence.  She might prove a competent ruler in time.  Or perhaps she would flounder and fizzle out as all the others had before her.  Certainly, she had never loved her husband and stood to gain the most from his death - a city state of her own to rule over - the power she had always wanted.  Were it not for the matter of her laying comatose for the past three years, Val might think . . .  But that doesn't matter so much in the present moment.  "I wanted something of yours."

"If you want a part of me, I suggest a broom.  The little witch and the Devoraks made quite a mess.  May have scared them a bit, admittedly, but that reaction was a little over the top."  I'm still not willing to let him go.  For a moment I muse if I like the idea of making love in my own ashes.  Am more shocked about me thinking about 'making love' than anything else.

"Not quite what I had in mind."  Valerius takes a step back and his eyes flick over to the portrait on the wall.  There was no one else who would care, but perhaps Lucio had some reason that he had let that one remain untouched.  Vanity, more likely than not.

"That? My old face?"  That's sweet or strange. I think sweet.

"It's not like you've left me many options."

It may be the only one I left intact here. It is not the only I left intact, and it would be such a shame of letting them go to waste.  "You probably don't intend to hang it anywhere it can be seen, right?" 

Valerius huffs.  "Of course not.  That wouldn't do at all."  He's spent years pruning sentimentality out of his public persona.  He isn't about to begin to allow it through now.  He’ll wrap the portrait and have it sent to his house.  Hang it in his private room, the one he stoops to tidying and dusting himself because he doesn’t care for even his most trusted servants to see it.  

"Because . . . if it's for strictly private use, I might have something better.  If you're interested." I'm giggling.  Almost forgot about them, and that's probably why they are more than shreds of paper scattered across the floor.

In the past, Valerius would have rolled his eyes.  Not from actual distaste but simply to keep up appearances.  Some of that is moderated now within this spell, dream, hallucination, delirium tremens.  Later, he knows, the memory of this moment will be painfully raw; he's never quite learned how to process intimacy, even the mere memory of it.  But for now.  For now he's here.  "Oh Lucio, only you would have a private collection of your own portraits."

"It's not exactly portraits, Val.  I mean, my face is on it, but . . ."  Another giggle.  I'm not quite sure why this makes me so happy, maybe because it feels like being a really naughty boy.  And I haven’t gotten to be that for so long now.  "I'll need your help though with getting to them."

He arches an eyebrow, but without the sneer that usually accompanies it.  Lucio's vanity, his teasing humor - these aren't things he'd thought he'd ever miss.  But he wants to indulge Lucio and, if he is honest, indulge himself.  "Lead on then, you absolute peacock."

"Don't forget about the impressive tail."  I grin and feel my teeth float in the air like the sickle of a yellow moon.  Hope he doesn't look up at this moment.  "This way then."

He snorts in amusement.  Of course, Lucio would turn that into a compliment - always had a talent for things like that.  And for a moment, he forgets that the ghost in front him looks nothing like Lucio.  He can only see the Count's old smirk.

"The bottom right corner of the frame.  There's a mechanism there to open a door.”

Valerius retrieves his candle from the floor, thankful that it hadn't burnt out, and steps across the room, heels clicking against the floor, painfully loud in the silence of Lucio's movement behind him.  He bends over beside the massive portrait and runs a hand along the frame, feeling for anything that stands out.

There it is.  A slightly raised piece of the carving gives underneath his fingers.  He presses down, and the movement triggers a mechanism that swings the painting out from the wall.  The motion is slow enough to allow time to move before being knocked in the head by the heavy frame.  Clever, clever.  He wonders if Nadia designed it.  She had always seemed to prefer her tinkering to actual administration of the city.  Behind the painting, a low door opens on a dark staircase.

He glances back at Lucio, and the ghost gestures for him to go ahead.  He has to duck a bit to pass through the doorway, but once inside the ceilings are high enough that the space isn't claustrophobic.  High ceilings or not, his stomach starts to twist as he descends the stairs.  Too much wine and not enough food, perhaps, but when he pauses and closes his eyes for a second he's hit by a wave of what he can't convince himself is anything other than a lost memory of dashing up the stairs in confusion, panic even, a shout from the top landing, and the roar of a fire catching.

A touch on his shoulder steadies him somewhat.  He takes a deep breath and continues down the stairs.  They turn a corner and open onto a small, but grandly appointed dining room.  The table is set for twenty two, the moldering remains of a feast laid out on it.  His lip twitches up in distaste.  And then, as he steps down from the last stair, setting foot on the floor, he feels some strange force pulling him toward one of the chairs.

Lucio's fingers close around his arm; the sharp claws dig through the layers of fabric, halting his movement. 

"No, no.”  Don’t let the magic that remains here take control of him, please no, just let me have this one thing.  Other side of the room.  There's a door hidden in the paneling."  I'm rather proud of myself about the secret room behind the secret room.  Well, at first I only wanted one, but then I thought to myself  'Why only have one when you can have several?'  The best thing about it was that one of the former rulers must have thought the same thing, and while we were making space, we stumbled into a whole network of hidden passages, some still intact, some broken down or sealed.  It was an adventure, or it would have been if I've had enough time to explore instead of doing count-ing.  There may be some treasures hidden in there yet, or at least some bodies.  Pretty sure at least some bodies, some of the dead ends smell pretty odd.

He finds the second door easily enough.  It's outlined by seams in the paneling that are just a little wider than the others.  It swings open easily to a gentle push.  The room beyond is small, intimate.  Dusty plush furniture is grouped closely together.  When Val lifts his candle, which is growing distressing short, he can make out mirrored sconces on the walls, and he walks the perimeter, lighting each one in turn.

"It's my private place" I say, somewhat proudly.  Hardly anyone knows it exists, and for sure not Noddy.  It was supposed to be for special guests, but in the end, it was mostly Lucio relaxing with Lucio. "Want to sit down for a bit?"

Why not?  Besides, he's spotted a wine rack with several unopened bottles that won't have been destroyed by three years. And while Lucio's palate has never truly developed, it hadn't been atrocious either.  "Mind if I drink?”

"Have I ever?"  I enjoy a man with vices, and when they are so easy to satisfy as those, all the better. I wonder why I haven't come down here earlier.  It feels . . . so full of me.  It's easier to remember here than it was upstairs, and gods, I'd kill for a glass.

That was one of Lucio's good qualities.  He was greedy and ostentatious, and also extremely generous with his friends.  There's a corkscrew convenient and glasses, but they're a lost cause under the layer of dust.  It won't be the first time Valerius has drunk straight from the bottle though in Lucio's presence.  He dusts off a red with his sleeve and takes it back to the seating area with him, sprawling on a sofa without his usual regard for decorum.

"I fear you'll have to open it yourself this time."

"I can manage."  If there's one thing that Valerius knows how to do, it's opening a bottle of wine.  The vintage is better than expected.  It seems like the Count actually listened to his drunken rants about good varietals ever now and then.

I rattle at the drawer below the little table where I stashed the various herbs and powders I used to feel better.  And other things that I didn’t want Noddy to find.  Old habits die hard.  Yes, In here.  "Help yourself, and open this at your leisure."

He takes another drink from the bottle and sets it aside on the table before leaning forward to pull the drawer open.  Lucio’s stash hardly surprises him.  Glass jars with tight stoppers.  An elegantly curved pipe laid across the front of the drawer accompanied by the lamp to heat it.  Valerius arches his eyebrows and removes those.  After all, this night is already a lost cause as far as anything akin to productivity is concerned.

"As a true opium eater, you of course have to be half naked between luxurious layers of fabric.  Something for the artists, and something for me if I can't have anything of the rest."  Yes, this sounds reasonable enough, at least for this moment.  Had I really never brought him down here when I was alive?  Never wrapped him velvet and posed him on this couch with an elegant curved pipe held to his pouting lips?  What a waste if I hadn't!

"And just where do you propose getting this luxurious fabric?"  Another drink of wine.  A deep one, and all the old feelings that Lucio used inspire in him come rushing back.  He undoes the brooch holding his shawl in place, letting it slide over his shoulders.

"Right now I fear I can only offer furs."  I chuckle, even though he can't understand that one.  He can’t quite see me, and that’s well enough.  I don’t want him to see me.  "The drawer.  Feel the leather scroll under all the things?  Take it out."

Another drink.  He needs this.  And needs the wine to keep him from trying to process.  He reaches back into the drawer, shawl slipping further down his shoulders as he does.  A tug on the fabric pulls it off him entirely.  Underneath his fingers, the leather is buttery soft, and he slides it out of the drawer.

"Have another one, and then open it up." I sit down at his side, like I would have if I still had a body, and tug his robe, just a little.

The pillow next to Val sinks down as someone, something takes a place on it.  He still can't quite make out the form that Lucio's ghost has taken.  Tall.  Oh, Lucio would like not needing to worry that his heels were just a bit higher than Nadia's, or Valerius's own.  Another drink.  Red eyes.  But that shouldn't be surprising, not for the spirit of a man who had been fending off death from the plague for as long Lucio had managed.  Is he repeating the same thoughts he had upstairs?  Perhaps he is.  Dreams often work like that.  Patterns.  Repetitions.  His undoes the knot holding the lacings of his robe outer robe together.  Another tug from a not quite seen hand, and it slides off his shoulder.   Val leans over as a cold hand slides down his back.  He flicks the leather portfolio, letting it unroll across the low table.

What he finds are a few drawings lined in black ink, the faint marks of a pencil sketch just barely visible beneath.  Lucio drawn like one of those Prakran girls, naked except for his furs and his boots, in poses that certainly were not made for a public eye.  The last one though is different. A quick sketch of a vulnerable Lucio lounging without his golden arm, a cigarette between his lips, face serious for once, all the grandeur gone.  The artist must have caught him in a break, or in one of the rare dark moments, and the Count had allowed and kept it, even if it was just for this very private place.

These are better than the portrait (which he still might take); these are representations of Lucio himself, not the image of Lucio he cultivated so carefully for presentation to the public.  He runs a finger over the illustration.  "These are . . . beautiful."  That's the only word for them.  And he says it, despite note being so sure that beautiful is the word that Lucio wants to hear it.  Magnificent, perhaps, he would prefer that.  Beautiful sounds too soft, too human, or intimate, yet those are the right words for the sketches.  And he wants them.

"Beautiful?"  I'm surprised by his choice of words.  Would have gone for 'hot" or 'decent fapping material' maybe, but not for that.  I may be blushing, well at least I feel like I should be.  "You can have them if you want.  Better than letting them rot down here."

Val runs his hand over the parchment.  He'll certainly take these.  They're more . . . discrete than a full body, wall sized portrait.  And closer to what he wanted anyway, much closer.  The portrait is Lucio in his public persona.  Still beautiful, but . . . not his.  This, well, this are the Lucio that caught him in some sort of spell.  Some magic.  Something that someone might call love, if that was a word that Valerius allowed himself to use.

I wrap myself around him as he leaves through the artwork.  Jules made them, I think?  I remember I started drawing on his pale skin with his ink and his feather when I grew bored posing, creating the patterns of the people of the south I remember so well.  He whimpered so sweetly whenever the quill scratched too deep, and we continued with it as I buried myself in him.  Wasn't the worst night, not at all.

At first, Valerius is too busy looking to notice the heavy cold that drapes over him. Something that might be a leg over his lap, and another one behind him, and a head heavy on his shoulder.  And then it was there, the sensation of a body wrapped around him. 

Lucio had always always been clingy in private.  Sometimes in public.  All the various substances in his collection, yet physical contact was the drug he had really craved.  Valerius runs one hand over the leg in his lap.  Muscular, yes, and coarse fur, like Lucio’s ghost had decided to haunt the palace in the barbarian finery that he had occasionally worn when he wanted to piss off Nadia.  But less cold than the hand on his chest upstairs had felt, as though something down here is making the ghost more alive.  The wine is making everything hazy, distracting him from just how bizarre a situation he found himself in.  But, he shivered, either from the touch or from the cold, and he wasn’t really sure.  This might call for something stronger.

"You haven't eaten again today, have you?  It can't always be a banquet in my honor. Well, of course it should, but still."  Are you tipsy already, Consul?  Back then, you could outdrink me easily, now you're barely holding together, and...

I stare down at my leg, amazed that I actually feel the warmth of his hand.  This cannot be.  Asra said back in the day that the walls down here were thin, whatever that meant, that's why he insisted on having the ritual where they had it, but this is something else.

"Mmm . . . I had to excuse myself from dinner to deal with a situation.  Your delightful head of research."  He raises his hand to his forehead rubbing at one temple, aching some; although, not nearly as bad as usual post an encounter with Valdemar.  His twists and rummages through the drawer again, lifting each of the jars and examining their contents.

"Searching for something special, Val?"

Clawed fingers dance over his scalp, messing up his braid, of course Lucio is going to mess up his hair - even as a ghost, but it's pleasant enough, easing the ache beginning in his temples.

"What do you think?"  He could swear that the fingers in his hair and the legs wrapped around his are even less chilled as they were just a moment before.

"Probably not an aphrodisiac, mrh?" I chuckle.  Maybe.  Hopefully.  I always liked watching him touch himself with his long, elegant fingers, the despair in his face when he pleaded me to come and join him.  So delicious to have a pretentious patrician begging for me.  All the better when I made him come apart in my arms.  I lick along the shell of his ear - another habit I had forgotten, like teasing his hair from its braid and him from his clothes.

He shivers, feeling the trembling running all the way down his spine.  No way out of this now, even if he could have said that he wanted an escape.  "No . . . what did you call me earlier.  A true opium eater."

"Third one from the right, the silver cap.  You already found the pipe."  It's a black substance in a dark glass, looking innocent enough.  "May I see you like I was allowed to back in the day, my little fawn?"  Warmth and skin, those things I don't have anymore.  Warmth and skin and life.  Such simple cravings.

Fawn.  He'd hated that as much as he loved it, back in the day.  A reference to the colors he favored wearing, a reference to the painfully clear fact that he was prey as far as Lucio was concerned.  The clawed fingers are tugging at the lacings of his lighter robe and his hand goes to them, pulling the gold cords loose, shrugging out of the silk, before retrieving the jar from the drawer.  Sticky poppy resin.  There’s a tiny knife near the jar, convenient to pack it into the pipe without too much of a mess and a tightly stoppered bottle of oil that would fuel the lamp.

I hold my breath. Even if I always prided myself as a connoisseur of nudity in its various stages, it feels a little virginal right now, like it has been lifetimes since anyone . . . well, in a way, it has been, and I've been so very lonely.  Everything about him is still so very slender and elegant, and I trace the curve of his shoulder blade with my claw.

Valerius shivers again, this time not even from the cold, so much as the mere touch.  He lifts the leg off his lap and gets up, ignoring his robe sliding off the sofa and into the floor.  He pauses to step out of his heels and pads across the plush carpet, fumbling for a moment to light the opium lamp with a taper.

I drape myself across the space where he sat, pillows still warm from his body and chuckle darkly when notice I automatically end up in a position that is nothing but revealing.  Nobody can enjoy this view now, but then I don’t think that he can quite see me. 

"What worries you so much, my dearest consul?  You were never so ready and willing to escape like you are now. Aren't things better without me?  Everyone else here seems to think so when Noddy can hear it."

"I'm not running, am I?”  Val pauses, choosing his words carefully.  "This is . . . Disconcerting."  He's had dreams that are something like this, and each time he wakes up shaken and unsure and fumbling for a drink.  Easier to drown his emotions.  

The lamp will take a few minutes to warm up.  He sets it down on the table, fixes the chimney over it, and turns back to where Lucio is pulled - no pushed, because he thinks it's his own desire - toward Lucio.

"Not from me.  From everything else?   A little."  Grin.  I'm running too.  Always was.  Just did it with more style.

"Everything else is a nightmare."  

Lucio's form is still not clear, but he can see enough to recognize that the pose is entirely Lucio, sprawled on his back with one leg hanging off the couch.  Valerius can't help but smile at the familiarity of it.  He rubs the back of his neck, before undoing the clasps down the front of his shirt and letting it fall into the floor.

"Come to daddy."  I pat the pillow before me.  "Changes were never your thing.  How're coping with the old folks coming back?  Devorak?  Asra's little bitch?"

He sinks onto the cushion without his usual grace.  Blame it on the admittedly rattling nature of the events of the last few days.  Is there still something left in that bottle?  Ah, yes, there is.  

"I haven't seen Devorak, and for his sake, I hope I don't.  I'd rather not have to arrest him twice."  Not for something that he didn't do, that he couldn't have done.  Devorak was never a killer.  Madness to have thought that, even in all that confusion.

"I meant the gal with that, not Jules.  Honest mistake to make."  I wrap around like a giant cat.

"The witch, you mean?  She could be worse."  He sinks against the ghost's chest, powerful whatever else might be true of this form.

"Do you trust her, then?"

Claws run gently down his naked back and catch at the waistband of his pants.

"Do I trust anyone?”  And trust the witch to do what?  She'll have her own goals at some point, once she's figured out more.  Goals beyond saving Devorak's skinny ass.  

The sensation on his back isn't quite the same as Lucio's metal hand, but the thin, sharp lines are close enough that he can pretend.  "Please, don't stop."

"The girl likes the good doctor.  She doesn't know it yet, but she does.  Question is only... do you like her too?"  I press down slightly harder.  Is it envy I feel?  That it's all around the magical girl all of a sudden, and not me, that magical girl living my life?  Not quite hard enough to draw blood, and I feel Valerius wince.  Mumble a silent, but honest "Sorry".

"She already knows she likes him.  I think she's liked him from the start of this entire farce with Nadia."  The claws on his back turn over, smooth side soothing over the scratches.  "Do I like her?  As much as I like anyone, I suppose."  He helped her earlier, when he didn't have to, when he didn't expect any gain for himself because of it.

"Do you want her?" A part of me wants to hear a no, and that surprises me as much as anyone. "The last years have been lonely, and I know you enjoy competence in others."  I curl around him a bit more; my head lands on his shoulders.

"No."  Valerius shakes his head.  Lonely or not, he doesn't want her.  As for competence, if that was the primary factor in his attractions, he wouldn't be here.  Or maybe it was all carryover from Luci's indisputable prowess in war.  No matter.  He rolls over and strokes the head on his shoulder, surprised by the coarseness understand his fingers instead of hair that's slightly sticky with too much pomade.

I might be willing to work with . . .  No.  No, I'm not.  Not another deal, especially not with a traitor raised in Asra's stables.  Quietly humming under my breath.  Val's presence calms me.

"You wanted to light up, Consul.  Are you fine dreaming in the presence of a ghastly monstrosity, no matter what it might do to you?"

Ghastly?  That seems strong, even if Valerius thinks he can feel horns.  As for a dream, perhaps this already is one, and unlike most it's one he wants to continue.  Uneasy and uncanny, yes.  But also soothing and intoxicating with the knowledge that someone actually desires his presence.

"I've always trusted you too much.  Why stop now?”  He reaches out and picks up the pipe, holding the bowl above lamp and once it’s heated through, taking a long draw.

"Because you're still sober enough to realize you did.  The monster might ravage you, might tear you apart."  I notice I'm getting hard as I'm saying this. Bad Count. Very bad Count. My claws in his hair again, dragging back his head just a little, just to make a point.

Valerius doesn't fight the pull on his hair.  He's long past that point, past trying to understand the conflicted emotions in him.  Past caring that he shouldn't want to stay in this dissolute dream, and if a monster consumes him, so much the better.  After all, there was always something monstrous about Lucio.  It has been part of the appeal, that reminder of the shadow side of human nature. "I want to stay."

"Do you want me to be the monster in this, my sweet Valerius?  If you want to stay and dream, it is your decision . . ."  For a heartbeat, I'm scared of what this body that is mine and yet is not might do to him, but in the end . . .

"Let me have my dreams, Lucio."  He closes his eyes and turns his head.  "I don't have much else now."

"As you like, my little fawn. As you like."

The body above him is warm now, a little more there, and Lucio is wearing more furs, or at least, that’s what he’s going tell himself.  A cool tongue slides along his jaw, his neck, and he trembles again, now not so much from fear as simple anticipation and pleasure.  Valerius wants to leave it at this thought as he reaches out for the pipe again.

After all, it's only a dream . . .

a/n: chapter title from Nick Cave, ‘Dig, Lazarus, Dig’

Next Chapter

[alexdarceyposts]

Lipstick...A bag..A cup. A few, silly childish pranks. How did it spiral out of control to this?

I fought with myself as sleep ebbed away. I didn't want to open my eyes, but my body was already awakening itself. My eyelids were struggling to open and let in the sunlight, my muscles wanting to stretch, an annoying itch on my arm. "Fucking hell!" I whispered through barely open lips. I was hoping I could convince my body to go back to sleep. "Miss Alex." A voice rang out, a voice that was way too happy for this time of the morning. "Either you've been there all night, or I missed your entrance....while I was sleeping," I growled as I flung myself onto my back. Sleep wasn't going to show itself again anytime soon now. "Miss Alex!" The annoying voice was now sounding demanding. "WHAT!" Sitting bolt upright in bed, mistake, big mistake. The pulse that attacked my frontal lobe caused my stomach to do a flip that would make an acrobat jealous. I opened my eyes; this didn't help any situation whatsoever. "It's here." The voice informed me, as sunshine filled the room from the drapes being flung open, after which, a hand shot out in front of me, there, resting in the upturned palm was a small silver serving tray, the edge of the tray where engraved intricate swirls turning in on each other, the suns reflection catching on them. Covering the centre was a pristine white envelope, no stamp, but my name, beautifully written. "Are you going to look?" I slowly moved my eyes from the envelope up to a face that was giving me a disapproving look. I gave a small chuckle and smiled. Through the disapproval, Anetta's face was warm and caring, her loving eyes looking down at me. Anetta was 'The Maid,' her working title in the house, but she was so much more than that. I was a child of absent parents when I say absent, that's exactly what I mean. The honourable Mr and Mrs Darcey had missed every milestone of my life, first steps, school productions, my period, you get the picture. Annetta had always gathered me in her arms through all of it, she'd mopped my tears, picked me up when I fell, sat front row for my graduation. She was the only parent I knew. "Well!" She waved the plate right under my nose; I swear I could smell the cologne of the person who delivered it. "Shower first, and then I'll open it." I could hear Anetta's disgruntled mumbles trail behind her after she'd placed the tray on my bedside cabinet, then continued to leave my room. The bathroom filled with the steam from the shower as I strip, my slip making a small pile of silk on the floor as I step out of it. The waters jetstream parting as I climb into the shower, steamy rivulets pounding down onto the top of my head, droplets finding their way onto other parts of my skin. The constant sensation on my skin from the water surprisingly calming, considering what that envelope would contain. I was a little surprised anything would be able to achieve this. I closed my eyes, enjoying the heat soaking into my skin, just for a second, I let myself believe I was somewhere else, it can't last though. The tray teased me as I sat on my bed, the sunlight still dancing across the silver,  projecting an artificial rainbow effect on the wall. I ignored the envelope as much as I could, it seemed, wherever I turned though I could see the teasing white envelope out of the corner of my eye as I dressed. ~~~ Seduce Owen Wearing ~~~   The only three perfectly positioned in the centre, words, wrote on the paper inside the envelope. I read and then re-read them, time after time. I felt the massive sigh from deep within me, before it found it's way up and out my mouth. My head flopping against the top of the back of the chair I sat in, even the damn sun now seemed too happy, its sparkling sunbeams happily dancing across the ceiling. "ANETTA!" I wasn't sure why I was screaming at the ceiling, but suddenly a face appeared in my eye line above me, interrupting my view of the dancing sunbeams, I squealed and quickly sat up. "Stop doing that!" I was beginning to think that perhaps she was a figment of my imagination of a maid we'd once had, who could, at any given time, walk through walls. Maybe she'd died, and I'd refused to accept it? That's a therapy session all on its own. "Get me Owen Wearings itinerary." I saw her eyes peruse over the paper in my hand as I turned to look at her. Anetta's eyes left the paper and met mine. "Are you sure you need it?" Her voice had a hint of warning in it, but, there was care as well. "Yes." She flounced out the room surrounding herself with disapproving 'Tuts' and mumblings. As she shut the door, I heard the words, "Been going on too long.'  Perhaps she was right, this game we continued to play, had, at times, gotten out of hand, to the casual observationalist. I deserved this one, though. Owen Wearing was the son of Justin Wearing; Wearing Industries was a multinational, multibillion-dollar company. The snivelling little shit walked around in his designer clothes as though he owned the world. Princeton educated, though the rumours were his Daddy had bought his graduation with an undisclosed 'donation'. We'd crossed paths at a few events over the years. His grubby little hands had caressed my ass once, and the one-time act had earned him a Whiskey Sour in his face. I informed him, in no uncertain terms, he would be replacing the drink before he left. "Fuck my life," I whispered to myself. "He has meetings all day." Anetta floated a piece of paper down to me. "Tonight he has dinner at...." I felt her body weight pressing down onto my shoulder as she leant over, her finger-pointing at the name of the restaurant. This would be my chance. I submerged my body into the warm water, the smell of the oils that had been added spread with the steam in the bathroom, making the air smell divine. Lifting my leg out of the water after a while, running my palm down the pinkening skin, I smiled. Owen didn't know what was coming his way. I plunged my leg back into the steaming water, slipping my whole body down further into the bath following my leg. As I lay under the water, the only sound, my pulse echoing in my eardrums, I thought back to how all this had started. I broke the surface of the water, gasping a little for breath, that would teach me to get lost in thought. I laid back and relaxed. The dares had started when we were young, stupid ones to begin with, though they were dumb, still, neither one of us would surrender. I remembered the first lipstick I'd stolen, in fact, I still had it all at the back of my closet, hidden away with all my other ill-gotten gains, Tiffany earrings, a brooch, a pair of silk stockings, even a pair of Louboutins. None ever wore. None ever saw daylight and nor would they, but, still I kept them. The older we got, the more complex the dares, the more serious the consequences of our actions should have been. I want to say we'd never been caught; if I did, it would be a lie. The break-in and taking off with the Lamborghini, along with the subsequent crash, saw to that. That should have been a prison sentence. It wasn't thanks to the name of Darcey. It held a certain amount of respect and along with substantial amounts of cash handed over in bribes, saw that never happened. Nothing negative ever got printed in the press, no court cases to stain the name, no prison time. I suppose the elusive parental unit was good for something. The water my body was submerged in, had cooled, way too much for my liking. I'd stayed in too long; a giant white prune wasn't going to be alluring, my thoughts had got lost in times past. I stepped out of the bath, water dripped onto the floor as I grabbed my robe, heat shrouded me like a welcome home hug. My reflection stared back at me from the mirror; my blonde hair looked dark due to the wetness; it reminded me what my natural colour was. I ran my fingers through it, the wet strands falling into my eyes, I pulled faces at myself, the reflection copying me exactly I couldn't help but laugh. There was always time for pulling faces. My closet was filled to the brim with clothes; as I pulled some out holding them against myself, then discarding them on the bed, none seemed right. I heard the door down the hall open and close; this caused an eye roll. My door opened a few seconds later as I knew it would, it opened more politely than I'd slung his this morning. "You're not ready?" That damn annoying gravelly voice asked. I was guessing that he'd seen the clothes on the bed, so already knew the answer. "Does it look like it?" Without looking around the closet door. "You backing out?" For just a second I thought there sounded like hope in his voice. "He won't be around for long." I heard the door close, with another eye roll and exasperated sigh, I continue to grab clothes out. The cool breeze brushed against my skin under the sheer material on my arms, wrapping itself around my bare calves in the skirt I'd chosen to wear, as I stepped from the car. "Will you need the car again tonight?" I contemplated saying no, just for a second. "Yes, yes, I will." I nodded my head to emphasise what I was saying. "I'll call you." As I stepped towards the restaurant, the doorman opened the door for me to enter. The heels of my peep-toe Louboutins caused a clicking sound against the wooden herringbone pattern of the floor; I was maybe concentrating a little too hard on ignoring the chatter that filled the room. Everyone was too deep in conversation to notice the small clicking sound. The wall lights help to light the room now dusk was setting in, the wall of windows would seem to disappear soon into the darkness. The plush bar seats littered with bodies either come for dinner or on their way elsewhere. Tables precisely scattered across the room, just far enough away from each other that conversations couldn't be overheard by others, without raised voices. A nod of my head towards familiar faces, a fake smile to those who knew my parents, brief platitudes to those I knew. Slowly, but surely I made my way to the fire burning at the other end of the bar. The fireplace took up a quarter of the wall, a grandiose thing that had probably been imported so they could say it was an 'original feature'. It wasn't the fire I was interested in, a group of men sat around a table, sat, might be an off the cuff way to describe it. There casual lounging, arms across the back of the chair, legs spread, each trying to display who had the biggest ball sack, in the middle of it all, holding court Owen Wearing. Owens seat, just to the side of the flames behind the glass of the fire, the top button of his white dress shirt open, his slim black tie slightly askew while being pulled down to just under his open-top button. His suit jacket must have been replaced at some point, with a leather one, an orange cast from the flames in the fire reflected on one side of his black hair. Owens sharp features were even more predominant in this light, his beady eyes scanning the face of one of the slightly over animated men in front of him. He hadn't noticed me making my way over to him, so I excused myself from the small talk and took a deep breath. The clicking sound of my heels ceased as my shoes hit the carpeted area near the fire, my hips swayed just slightly more than usual, the soft smile on my face wouldn't fool anyone who knew me well, he didn't. "Alex?" Owen's eyes had flickered from the face of the man he was in conversation with, a small look of shock on his face as he noticed me as I approached. "Owen, it's nice to see you." I just hoped he wouldn't catch the slight hint of boredom in my voice. The man that sat in the chair turned around, his face slightly flustered, I couldn't help but wonder what that conversation had been about. "Mr Jackson." Stunned by the face that was looking up at me. I didn't let the shock remove the smile that was fixed upon my red-stained lips. Reginald Jackson was a self-made man; a respected man in the business world and upper society. Why would he be with one of the low lives of it? Polite coughing ensued, both men rushed to stand, Mr Jackson, bent, kissed both cheeks, made a lame excuse to leave after a brief "Good evening, Alex." I didn't miss a beat, ignoring the man who had left returning my full attention to Owen. His face was a mix of confusion and apprehension; I felt the muscles in my cheeks start to ache from the smile that was still in place on my lips. "I saw you when I came in." My hand waved behind me towards the bar. "I thought I'd come over and say hello." My eyes trailed down his slightly unkempt appearance, as they found their way back to his face, his own eyes were sparkling, a leering smirk sat upon his lips, and I'm sure if we weren't in the company of other people I'd be wiping drool from his chin. Repulsion ran through my body, I took a few calming, quiet breathes. "Want to buy a girl a drink?” Owen stepped towards me; his fingertips slid down the inside of my arm, unfortunately I felt it through the sheer material, my skin crawled under his touch. “Of course, I would.” His hand was moving from my arm. Instead, he placed it in the centre of my back as he manoeuvred us both to the bar.The barman placed a whiskey and whiskey sour down, napkins set before the glasses, of course, couldn't have marks on the shiny wood of the bar. Owen had pulled the stool out for me as I'd sat before we ordered. Unfortunately for me, my feet couldn't quite reach the bar on the base of the barstool; I sank my heel behind the piece of metal as I crossed my legs, the leering look at my legs Owen was giving had made me grateful that the skirt I'd worn was calf length. "How have you been, Owen?" My voice was overly high in the hope of drawing his eyes upwards. It worked. "I've been busy, Alex; I'm taking over the business...." My thoughts began to wander as he continued, my eyes left him, searching around the room for nothing in particular as long as it wasn't him. "...Do you think?" I diverted my gaze back to him quickly, my mind trying to catch up with the conversation I'd missed. Owen's voice sounded happy, perhaps excited, that could be a clue. "I.... do." I hesitantly replied. It must have been the right answer because he continued. I watched as the sharp angles on his face became animated again, he had the look of a hawk I found as I scrutinised him. I reached for my glass, and as I did, his hand moved quickly to grab mine, his fingers entwined between my own, giving him a coy smile I ran my thumb down the outside of his. Owen leant in towards me; my skin rippled with repulsion as his cheek pressed against mine. "You've always been the one I wanted Alex." His lowered voice whispering in my ear. I felt his warm breath brush against the hairs on the back of my neck; his head tilted slightly as his lips began to make their way along my jawline. Looking for an excuse to pull away from him; the bartender kindly giving me that excuse as he placed fresh drinks on the bar for us, a sign, from the Lord Of Alcohol that Owen was to close. I pulled away. My fingers opened slightly slipping away from his grip, as they did my hand knocked his whiskey over, the golden liquid fanning outwards making its escape from the glass creeping its way to the edge of the bar. Owen grabbed the napkin, halting the getaway. We continued to talk, or more precisely he spoke at me, I was trying my hardest to pretend to be interested in about what he spoke, nodding and smiling along even throwing in a giggle or two. A trio of men walked over to us in the middle of a sentence, Owens faced glowed with pride as he discontinued his talk and introduced us, the men had already had a few drinks, their suits crinkled from being sat too long. They where dishevelled. They grabbed stools from the bar, placing them next to ours. Tonight wasn't the night for the dare. As more drinks were drunk the more impaired Owen and his friends got. They began reaching out, touching, leering and using suggestive words, I was starting to feel uncomfortable, an unnerving feeling was beginning to spread through my body. When a natural pause came while they all syncronised their drinking, I quickly made my excuses and picked up my purse. A smiled sat upon my lips, a genuine one, first of the night. "Goodnight gentleman, it was a pleasure to meet you." I said politely but whispered through stilled lips "In the loosest term." I walked as quickly as possible without looking as though a fire had started under me. Smiling and saying "Goodnight" to those I knew. The doorman opened the door, walking down the steps after thanking him, practically running to the corner of the building I took the turn and leant against the wall. My whole body shook as my mouth gulped at the air, my lungs stinging from the amount of oxygen I was trying to inhale. I felt as though I'd ran a marathon. There was a noise of the flimsy material giving way as Owen grabbed for me, I pushed his hands away, grasping at my shirt, pulling it into a bunch. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" An overwhelming wave of shock running through me that he would have the audacity to do that. I could hear his friends laughing as I tried to speak to him before this got out of control. "Owen, I think you've had too much to fucking drink," My voice dismissive. I was silently admitting to myself that perhaps I'd taken this a little too far. I hadn't seen this coming. Turning away quickly, still convinced it was just high jinks between him and his friends, it was then I felt his hand roughly on my arm. "Where do you think you're going, bitch?" That sickening, grating voice asked as I felt myself being spun back around towards him. The sarcastic retort I was about to answer with cut short as a sharp sting hit me, the bastard had slapped my face. The look on my face must have been priceless; Owen just sneered at me. The sneer changed to a menacing look as his face got nearer to mine, then he kissed me, all I could smell was the alcohol, my stomach turned, even then I was convinced he wouldn't hurt me, even though my face was still stinging from the slap. I could hear his friends saying things to him, egging him on, slurred whispers in the night, but I was to busy trying to keep myself covered up from him and them. It was then I felt a shove to my chest; I fell not quick enough to save myself, my arms landing beneath my torso. There was excruciating pain in my head as it hit the floor, ringing in my ears, stars in my eyes, and a haziness was descending on my vision. It gave me a feeling of everything being far away. After that, everything was in slow motion. My voice didn't seem my own as I said, "No No No" over and over again. Owen's hand smelled of whiskey from the spilt drink as he covered my mouth with it, the other hand ripping at my clothes. I managed to roll over it was easier to move, my legs trying to kick at him, my hands hitting out, the sick, realisation, suddenly dawning on me what he was going to do. He was going to go through with this. He jammed his knees between my legs to stop me from kicking.  "Do it, do it." Owen's friend's voices were now more evident as my hearing began to come back. His hands muffled my screams, my hands now curled into fists as I continued to punch then scratch at him, the panic I felt now turning to utter terror. After moving my head from side to side trying to remove his hand I stopped, I stared at him trying to communicate with him with my eyes, pleading with him to stop. The pain that ripped through me was worse than anything I'd felt in my life, my mouth opened but no noise came out as my insides felt as though they were being torn apart. I could feel the tears trickling down the skin on my cheek, my fingernails dragged onto the ground, looking for something, anything, but I did it with such force they ripped from my fingers. One after the other, they took their turn, they found it funny to hit me maybe by then because I'd closed down, no screaming only tears, perhaps they liked the blood that was running down my face from the cuts and grazes, I do not know. Still, I felt myself slipping away, and I thanked God, my breathing got shallower as I fought for oxygen. When my eyes reopened, I was laid alone in the street, but stars were twinkling in the sky. My eyes flickered open, my pupils retracting quickly against the pulsating false light above my head. I groaned as I tried to move. Every muscle in my body screamed against the motion. "Keep still." I knew that voice. I turned my head towards it. "Anetta, we need to go home." My voice was hoarse and strained. "Soon."Anetta's voice sounded like an angel. I pulled myself up, and every muscle made sure I knew the disgust it felt. I continued to look around the hospital room, a massive bouquet of peonies the first thing I saw, all the colours I loved sat on the table. I didn't have to ask who they were from, I knew. As I continued to look, I saw suitcases, magazines, empty cups. The place looked like a drop-in centre for street people. "How long have I been here? Have you been sleeping on that chair?" I couldn't hold back the disdain in my voice. "You've been here for three days and yes... I've slept in the chair." Anetta rubbed at the bottom of her spine to prove the point. "You..." Her eyes diverted away from me. "You needed to sleep, rest...." She lowered her voice. "You needed to heal Alex." "Well, I'm healed now. We are leaving!" I snapped. Doctors came and went for around the next hour, asking questions, talking at me, trying to explain medical terms that I didn't want to listen or understand. I wanted to go home. My body co-operated with me enough so I could get to the bathroom after the removal of numerous tubes, pads and needle lines. Why did hospitals have white bathrooms? Didn't they realise a  little colour would make the place feel much less clinical? I wasn't quite sure why I'd come in here, perhaps to get away from the constant noise of the beep, beep of the machines. To remove me personally and mentally from the fact I was in a hospital. "I'm sorry I didn't realise...." I looked closer, and I couldn't help but gasp in shock as the pair of grey and hazel eyes looked back at me. Tentatively my fingers explored my face, the cuts, the bruises, my top lip no longer the perfect cupids bow, the plumpness of my bottom lip unnatural. My cheekbone lifted so high that it seemed to be connected to my eye socket. I moved my finger, catching the tear trickling down the side of my nose. "NO!" The person in the mirror shouted the word the same as I did. The door flew open; a woman ran in her head flying from side to side. "Miss Alex?" Anetta's voice filled with fear. My head dropped for a second, my shoulders sunk, and as they did, I felt familiar arms surround me, the feeling of home shrouded me, protecting me, loving me regardless of everything. I allowed myself to wallow, the self-pity, the pain overwhelmed me, my knees gave way, but those strong arms didn't falter, didn't let me fall. They were holding me in place. I wasn't sure how long we stood there, how long I took strength from this formidable woman, but my legs became my own again. The self-pity ebbed away; the pain seemed to ease. "I'm fine, Anetta, thank you." I composed myself, pushed away from this most amazing lady. My saving grace. I gave a small cough. "Are we ready to leave?" "When you are Miss Alex." She didn't look at me with sad eyes as she removed her arms, her business face back in place. The soft hum of music filled the hallway of the apartment as we entered, my steps shorter than usual, my body slightly off centre, I ignored the music he was home. I didn't have to thank him for the flowers; I knew the sentiment they had meant. I continued down the hallway. My room had cleaned back to its usual perfection, the bed made, no clothes left strewn on the bed, all back correctly in the closet. "Anetta, get me an envelope." As though she knew what I would say both paper and an envelope appeared on the table, every muscle in my body relaxed as I sat down. Three words perfectly positioned in the middle of the paper.         ~~~ Kill Owen Wearing ~~~Three weeks had passed; the bruises had faded, the scrapes that had adorned my skin had healed. The only two remnants a discolouration on my back that the doctor said would fade in time, and the scar inside no one could see. That was something that I wouldn't ever allow to be seen or touched. The ping of phone drew my attention, collecting it from the unmade bed I'd just crawled out of I read the headline:   ~~~ Heir To Wearing Industries Found Dead ~~~ I reread the headline, the words screaming at me from the page, I wasn't sure how to react. Yes, it was what I wanted, there was never any time limits on our dares, but still reading it in black and white was different. He'd deserved it,  they deserved it, and I had no intention of feeling guilty. My eyes scanned the rest of the article reading what had happened. The car had, had a head collision with a wall; the picture left nothing to the imagination. The cars front end had crumbled under the force; the wall had hairline cracks a complaint of the impact. The paramedics had discarded clothes as they'd tried to save lives, bloodstains were evident on the fabric, on the road. The bastards had suffered, and it made me happy. No, it made me ecstatic. I cleared my phone, with a little pep in my step I went to the bathroom, considering to myself what the best way to say thank you was. It was slightly less brain hurting than I thought to find something. The three girls stood in my room. The blondes hair perfectly straight down her back apart from one errant piece which laid over her shoulder, dropping to her natural breasts. Chocolate brown eyes sparkled, her arms perfectly toned with a tan that would make most green with envy. She wore a pale grey silk dress, and the dress stopped in the middle of her perfectly shaped thighs, her ass perfectly pert. The sultry brunette looked around at the surroundings she found herself in, my bedroom wasn't that exciting. Her hair shone through the curls like those on the commercials on tv. She had slightly too much make-up on, her breasts slightly too big for her frame to be natural, the top she wore revealing that much. Her shorts left little to the imagination. The redhead had a sprinkling of freckles across her nose, and her short pixie-cut suited her. Her porcelain skin exquisite she too wore a dress, not overly tight and leaving something to the imagination. She would be his favourite. "Ladies please make your way to the room down the hallway, pass on my thanks." A small chuckle ran through my voice as I told informed them where to go. Anetta opened the door, the three women sauntered through the door and disappeared. I gave one look around my room and then picked up my coat. "Anetta, I think I will be out for the rest of the day." I walked down the hallway after leaving my room, and I didn't need to be here for the sounds of the show. The number of jewellery boxes under the tree gave me a silent message; the message was that the parental unit had no intention of turning up to celebrate to Christmas. The red boxes from Cartier, the royal blue boxes with trim from Bvlgari and the black boxes with HW initials scattered neatly. Anetta hovered around, waiting for someone to appear to consume the breakfast banquet that had been prepared, the smile and happiness she exuded had my mouth turning into a smile. Ignoring the gifts, I walked straight into the dining room. The heart of the home. Our heart though needed some sort of electric shock to bring it back to life and hail the return of the parents. A crisp, creaseless, pristine table cloth covered the solid wood, the edges perfectly falling towards the floor. Red snowflake placemats with white plates sat upon them, green napkins perfectly folded into a Christmas tree shape laid in the middle of the plate. I sat in my usual seat, the smells of breakfast mixed in the air but through that, the overwhelming aroma of coffee. Strong coffee. The clear pot placed in front of me, Anetta on the ball, as usual, her smile warm and only love sat in those old worn eyes. "Happy Christmas." Her voice high pitched, slightly excited. "Happy Christmas Anetta." A small chuckle ran through my voice as i replied. The double doors sat slightly ajar, and I couldn't help but look down the corridor, all the doors firmly closed. Anetta must have caught me looking. "He's not here."Anetta's soft, understanding voice said. I ignored her, my eyes firmly staring at the suddenly oh so alluring coffee pot. Of course, he wasn't, why would he be? No one else was either. "Bacon, sausage and eggs." I knew I'd snapped, but I couldn't help it. My plate of food was as perfect as always. As I ate, I looked around the table, imagining others sat with their families, laughter and chatter filling the air. Young children excitedly shuffling in their chairs for what surprises the day would bring them. My thoughts came back into the room to be greeted by silence. Every place setting still as it was when I sat down except mine, my knife and fork now sat close together on the dirty plate, my cup also had a circle of brown fluid in the bottom. I left the room, wandering down the hallway past my door to the double doors further down the corridor, the ones I'd been looking at through the ajar door. Placing my palm on the cold wood, hoping to feel something through it, of course, I didn't but the overwhelming need to feel something, feel warmth, had pulled me here but there was none to be had. There was nothing. I laid my forehead on the door, and a whispered "Please" The word came out somewhere between a plead and a sob. The sudden noises from the dining room had me removing myself from the door. I quickly composed myself in case Anetta did one of her appearing magical acts. The cleaning elves had been in my room. While I'd eaten breakfast, everything had returned in its rightful place. On top of the throw that now lay across my bed sat a box, not an expensive box like those that still lay beneath the tree. A plain, brown unassuming box. I bent down, lowering myself to my knees, my finger ran across the top of the box, I could feel my whole hand start to shake as my finger stopped and flipped it open. A red silk cushion held a silver band in place, the thick rudimentary silver seemed old, the lettering old fashioned and clunky. I took the bracelet out, slipping it onto my wrist. Perfection. As I looked down and read the words, 'Every fairytale needs a good old fashioned villain' I felt the tears start to fall down my cheeks. Before I knew it, everything that had happened over the last few months overwhelmed me. The attack, the killings. The being alone.

~TBC~

[ladyramora]

With friends like these...

Lolz walked up the path to her friend’s home with a basket full of food held carefully in both hands, rolling her eyes every two minutes or so that the young man in Garlean robes following her was being so Gods damn obvious. She was a Warrior of bloody Light and this bastard thought his trailing behind her and peaking out of things and being loud enough to wake the dead was the right amount of stealth to use here?

She was a bit insulted by that assumption, looks like she’d have to dish out some pain after she pulled some more information out of him like she did with many other Garlean guards.

She had a good idea why the man was following her, and decided that she’d find out for sure as she turned the next upcoming corner.

She slipped around the corner and through hedge into a small area between the hedges and the side of a house, waiting for a moment before hearing a male voice hiss out a swear.

That was her cue.

She popped out of the bushes behind the man and asked, “Excuse me, sir, are you lost?” she asked, feigning confusion.

He jumped and she bit back a smile as he quickly put on an innocent face and said, “Oh, you frightened me, I hadn’t seen you there!”

“Really?” She asked, tilting her head, “Because you’ve been following me around all morning, so I highly doubt that.” she said.

He seemed a bit taken aback, “I’m quite sure I don’t know what you mean…"he tried.

"Save it.” She said, her tone still innocent and sweet as it was before, her basket now hanging off of her arm and her weapon out and pointed at his neck, “I have a pretty good idea why you’re here and I can tell you right now, the giant jackass you’re looking for probably left hours ago, so you’re shit out of luck.”

“J-jackass!?” He spat, his false innocence quickly shifting into anger before he snapped, “My Lord is the heir to Garla-”

Lolz placed a finger in front of his lips, silencing him as she said, “I know, I know, Zenos is an all powerful psychopathic prince of evil, I get it. I fought him before. He’s still not here…?” she moved the hand in front of his face to motion for him to introduce himself.

“Asahi!” The man declared, a crazy look in his eye as he continued on to say, “His right hand man and most devoted of his servants!”

Lolz rolled her eyes, “I’m sure you are. I’m Lolz and Zenos is still not here. And it’s a good thing he’s not, I don’t even really like him and I feel bad for him to have a creepy stalker like you around.”

“Stalker!?” he blurted.

“You’ve been stalking me all morning just to try to find him! You ever think that maybe he leaves because he prefers having some time to himself… or with some sane company?” she asked, “I mean, considering that he’s a fucking crazy man who enjoys long swords in innocent flesh and painting tragic scenes out of the blood of his enemies, I think that, if anything, a devoted follower would be happy that he’s calming down a little, for your own safety at least!”

“Lies!” he accused as he took out his sword and sliced at her free hand, leaving a deep cut in the palm that made her let out a pained hiss as he ranted that, “My Lord’s skills and bloodlust cannot be dulled by the likes of a whelp like you and your comrades!”

“Then why are you here if you apparently have nothing to worry about on that front? If there is no risk and he’s a big bloody boy who can wipe his own arse than why are you going this far to escort him back?!” she asked, exasperated, “He’s pretty good with directions and there are people he can ask if he does get lost, so why come out here? Why follow me?”

“You’ve been seen collecting and making large amounts of food for days now and rumor has it, you’re taking it to the home of the whore-”

Lolz didn’t let another word leave his mouth before sending him flying through a few fences and smacking into the side of a sturdy house, dazed before she grabbed him by the collar and whammed him back into the house with a swift wave of her weapon and a venomously sweet snarl, “My friend is not a whore. She’s a good person with a good heart and who likes having company over.”

She put more pressure on his neck by pressing the back of her hand into his throat, and with the sweetest smile she purred, “Insult her again and I will make sure that there is barely enough left for Zenos’ lackeys to identify you with. Although, if I were being honest, I don’t see him even so much as blinking at your death, let alone losing sleep. A clingy bastard like you is more of an annoyance than an asset to any leader, murderous monster or no.”

With that, she pushed his head so hard against the house that he went limp and she let him slump onto the ground. She paused for a moment before she stuck both of his hands in his pants before she continued on her way to her friend’s house snickering like a child as she reached the property and knocked on the door.

“Rammy! I brought you brunch!” she called.

The door opened to a massive wall of naked flesh and she jerked her head back, “For the love of the Gods, Zenos! Either put on some bloody clothes or calm your Zenis before you take my eyes out!”

“My what?” Zenos asked as he glanced down at the tiny midlander before him, “You constantly say that to me and I have yet to understand what you mean by ‘Zenis’? Is that a Midlander phrase?”

“It’s a nickname Ramora came up with for your penis, you know, the 'special sword’ you plunged into her repeatedly last night?” She said, using one hand for air quotes before holding up the basket to him, “I brought more food.”

He perked up and let her through, taking the basket with an eager expression as she began searching the house for her friend, finding her only wearing stockings and searching through the discarded clothing for something in her bedroom.

“Rammy.” She called, the elezen in the room stopping, her ears perked up as she turned around and greeted her pal with a smile that made her mismatched eyes twinkle, “Lolzy! You’re rather early today!”

“It’s two in the afternoon, if anything, I’m late.” She replied, before thumbing behind her, “I brought food, better head out there and get some before the holder of the Zenis decides to claim it as an offering to his giant dick!”

“It would be a well deserved offering!” Ramora joked, both girls snickering before she threw on a dress and walked to the doorway.

“Thank-” she stopped, mid-sentence and stared at her friend, her eyes quickly clouding with anger, “Lolzy, what happened to your hand?”

“Hm?” she asked, holding both palms up to get a look at them and remembering the cut that the creepy man had left in her hand, which was now crimson colored and was starting to throb with pain, “Oh, I met Zenos’ stalker lackey today on the way over.” she said, trying to dismiss it as nothing, “Think his name was Ass-something, I dunno know. I told him your boy toy down there wasn’t here, he said he was… Long story short, Ass the Yandere is sitting bashed up a few doors down and we might need to add some security measures around your house,” she said as she began putting more pressure on her bleeding hand.

“Lolzy…” Ramora warned.

“I have it handled, white mage, remember?” she said, pulling out her staff and feeling her wound begin to close back up.

“Lolz…” she growled.

“I’m fine.” She assured her, “Really, you should see the other guy. After I knocked his arse out, I stuck his hands in his pants. Considering that he was probably seen following me all morning, if anyone found him like that, well, it wouldn’t be hard to assume the worst and lock him up for indecency and maybe even assault…”

“He was following you around all morning?!” Ramora cried out, horrified as she inspected her friend for more injuries, even going as far as beginning to undress her right then and there to make sure there weren’t any wounds she was hiding from her.

“Ramora!” she squeaked, her face pink as she tugging at the bottom of her blouse as the Elezen carefully inspected her torso and began poking about her small clothes, “I said I’m fine! The little shit is about as stealthy as I am fierce looking!”

Ramora struggled for a moment to contain the smile that was threatening to break through her concerned expression as she continued her check before dragging her friend to the nearest sink to wash her hands and then the two worked to heal it within seconds before joining Zenos at the table. 

He refused to share, as Lolz predicted, so she made her friend some eggs and toast and began chatting about exploring a new weapons shop later on that day before Zenos gathered his belongings, got dressed and started towards the door.

“Rematch?” Ramora purred at him.

“But of course my beast.” He replied, his eyes bright and eager at the suggestion before looking at Lolz, “Lalafell.” he dismissed, although if he couldn’t tell if she was one or not or if he forgot her real name, neither woman at the table knew…

“Zenis.” She replied coolly with a sip of her tea and a flash of her middle finger.

Ramora sighed and shook her head as he left.

“And here I thought you two were starting to get along.” she said.

“Not at chance.” Lolz said, “I just put up with him because you’re my friend and he, oddly enough, makes you happy. If that changes, I’m killing him and having his Zenis made into a trophy for your wall.”

“Daww, Lolzy!” Ramora cried as she gave her friend a hug, the two embracing before she said, “If you see the cur who cut your hand, next time call for me, okay? I’ll repay the favor to him tenfold!”

“He’ll be too busy being locked up in chains to be either of our problems for a while.” Lolz assured her, “I wouldn’t worry too much about him…” Ramora scowled at her and she sighed, “but, considering he could start stalking me too, if I do see him, I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you!” she said sternly before the two got up to leave for the new weapon shop to drool over blades and staffs.

“Hey Rammy?” Lolz said.

“Hm?”

“Thanks for worrying about me.” She said, “Even though I can probably handle that little creepy fuckboy myself, I’m glad that you want to look out for me.”

She smiled back, “Any time, Lolzy, after all, that’s what friends are for!”

—-

Asahi returned to the Garlean base a fortnight later, still fuming at the false accusations of him stalking and then trying to assault the wench who had gotten in his way!

If he ever saw that tiny bitch again, he’d kill her where she stood! Little lying demon! Hiding behind an innocent face and tone of voice and seeming so honest and sincere!

THAT WAS HIS THING!!! 

He stomped up towards his Lord’s throne room, hoping he could calm down a bit in his presence. After all, his Lord didn’t deserve to endure his lingering frustrations, he only deserved him at his best.

He opened the door and practically ran up to him to bow deeply, “My Lord, my apologies for not returning sooner-”

“I had not been aware of your departure.” Zenos said simply, barely sparing him a glance.

“I’ve… I’ve been gone for a fortnight, my Liege.” he said, shocked before scowling as he recalled the little mage’s lies, 'he wouldn’t even blink at your death, let alone lose sleep.’

Zenos’ eyebrows rose for a moment before he let them sink back down and got up from his throne and squinted down at him.

“You seem different than you had been before.” He said, thoughtful.

“A fortnight in a prison cell does that to a man, Sire.” He said, his fury forgotten as his beloved Lord bent forward and smirked, “Surely being locked away has not made you thirst for blood like you just did.”

He stood up as tall as he could and locked his eyes onto his Lord’s gorgeous blue depths, “No my Lord, I crave catharsis! Vengeance! I want payback on a warrior who has smeared my good name and reputation! I-" 

"You have a beast you want to hunt.” Zenos purred, excited, “And here I thought you were only satisfied with serving me! Come, come! Let us train and chat!” He said, motioning for him to follow.

Asahi dashed after him eagerly, not sparing the pink wench a second thought as they made their way to the sparring grounds. 

He just found a way to have his Lord notice him and he sure as hells wasn’t going to fail him!

(To sum up what happens after: Ramora keeps getting the d, Lolz keeps dealing with a d and Lolz wishes she put more into her luck stat. Zenos and Asahi keep having 'beast talks’ with Asahi barely paying attention as they train together, which is probably for the best as Zenos spends most of it talking about Ramora.)

(Submitted by @lolzwaitwhat)

[hellomissmabel]

Mångata part 1

MASTERLIST

AO3 account

Pairing: Thor x plus size!reader. OC!daughter Stella, OC!twins Frey and Atlas.

Warnings: Fluff. Sexual references to male member in the downstairs department but nothing NSFW.

Word count: 2k

Summary: Born from a falling star erupting on Asgardian ground, her small body was covered in little marks that would grow into birth marks representing the constellations. Once of age, Y/N agreed to married Thor and become the future queen of Asgard. Now she is the goddess of the stars and accompanies Heimdall during his watch. However, as the universe exhibits a unique yet peculiar string of events, she is forced to seek shelter on Midgard from an enemy that might just be her own flesh and blood.

A/N: written for @supersoldierslover and my prompt was “showering together (non sexual)”.

Series masterlist can be found here

You stood bare in the reflection of the moon, a rich and deep golden hue circling your Y/E/C eyes whenever you’re admiring the stars. Your twin boys are sound asleep in the adjoining room yet your husband Thor is still tending to your daughter, trying to sing her to sleep. His atrocious singing voice only inspires laughter in the blonde-haired child and just like many nights before, Thor shows her Mjolnir and tells her the tale of how his hammer was created. Eventually she doses off into slumber, sleeping soundly throughout the changing of day into night.

“Shall we bathe together, wife?” The God’s rumbling voice is accompanied by the whisk of thunder, emphasising his request to spend some time with his other half. Without awaiting your reply, he sheds himself of his robes and presses his girth against the small of your back as he embraces your curves. He is not a shy man and already thick with arousal for what the night will bring.

While you crane your head so you can present your husband with a loving kiss, the golden rim around your eyes grows into a stormy light blue sparkle befitting the God of thunder. “Of course, husband.”

Guiding you by the hand first before swooping you up into his arms, he carries you towards the bathroom. Entirely made of Asgardian marble, the bathroom has an open roof so the waterfall can cascade down on you as you look up to the heavens above. His strong hands dig into your hips as he pulls you into his chest.

“Did you see the changing of the stars this eve?,” you inquire softy as he rinses your hair.

“No, I did not.” His answer rumbles through his chest like a lightning bolt through the sky. “Why should I care about the stars that are so remote when I have a far more celestial being right in front of me?”

Caressing your voluptuous body with a tenderness many claim the crude Asgardian does not possess, he washes you softly, gently massaging the oils into your skin while paying close attention to the markings that are the wondrous constellations etched onto your skin. “Sometimes you can be such a barbarian, all divine beauty lost on those electric eyes.”

The blond’s chest heaves with laughter. “The only divine beauty I see is you, Y/N.”

“I am in love with a fool,” you chuckle heartily, a warm smile playing on your lips as you press a chaste kiss to his cheek. Another follows quickly after and soon your lips are permanently locked with his.

When he tucks away your wet hair with his strong, sturdy hands, Thor kisses your forehead affectionately. “The Lady Sif informed me of your training. She speaks to me of your progress yet still you refuse to wear the armour I had made for you.”

You sigh softly into your robust shoulder, running your fingertips over his collarbone while resting your cheek in the nape of his neck. “I have no desire to look like a warrior. I prefer the robes of a wife and mother.”

“Whatever robes you choose to wear, my queen, you will always be a warrior. Even when you were bearing the fruit of my offspring in your womb, you were fighting alongside the lady Sif and myself.”

Thor gazes down at you with an endearing expression. “I am aware of your lack of need for weapons, your godly abilities providing you with sufficient protection. But Y/N, despite your immortality, your flesh still holds a boundary of weakness.”

His fingers trail down your back as they follow the constellation of Orion. “At daybreak, I will see to it that the armour fits. Then I shall attend to my usual tasks. Satisfied, husband?”

Thor places an open-mouthed kiss to your pulse point, seeking out the sensitivity of your human flesh so he can inspire some much-needed relaxation upon your tight, sore muscles. “Very much so, wife. Do they still need your services at the Soul Forge?”

“Odin has decided that Frigga shall continue without me. My presence is therefore required at Heimdall’s side at all times.”

The blond senses there is something off about your answer. Heimdall does a fine job at keeping Asgard and the nine realms safe. So why is it that the Alvader rules with such an unusual insistence?

“If anything happens, Y/N, you must take our child and hide on Midgard. My friends, the Avengers, shall protect you,” Thor speaks carefully into your ear. “If the alignment of these stars is indeed as peculiar as you have told me, then it is not safe on Asgard.”

“But what will you do?,” you query with concern as Thor’s feather-light affections shift from your hips to your face, his warm hands cupping your face.

“You are not of this realm. Odin has warned us that the day your ancestors might come for you might be closer than ever before.” Searching your eyes, the blond speaks insistently. “Tell me more. What have you seen?”

“I can show you.” Looking up to the sky, you release one of your arms wrapped around Thor’s waist to reveal to his eyes the same miracles your eyes fall upon every second of every day. Many more stars are now exposed to his baffled gaze and their light fills up the heavens in a rainbow of metamorphosis.

The changing of the clouds on Midgard is nothing compared to the exchanging of celestial energy between two stars of this universe and perhaps the next. “This realm is enveloped by three fiery stars and one of ice, one of earth and one of air. These stars are called Elementals and once they align, they morph into one entity.”

Thor followers your pointer finger, directing his eyes towards where one heavenly object shines brighter than the others. “That’s the earth star, the sun of Midgard.”

Her fingertips now reach another stellar, forming the tip of the nose of one of your favourite constellations, the little bear. “That’s the most beautiful star, the ice star. It is the diamond of the galaxy. And right next to it is the air star. Both of them are only visible at the stroke of midnight and only for a very limited window.”

Enraptured by the mysteries unfolding before his curious gaze, Thor returns his attention towards the wondrous creature in his arms. “And what about the three stars of fire?”

Squeezing your ass with a teasing chuckle, you lift the veil of the skies one last time for your husband to worship its exquisiteness. “They only shine at dawn, but only few can see them. Even Heimdall has to look very closely before he can locate their position.”

“But you can see them effortlessly,” the Asgardian hums lowly. “My omniscient wife.”

“I only have to look at the stars and I can see various possible future outcomes unfold in front of my eyes,” you smile up at your blond deity. “But with the alignment of the stars comes the alignment of the past, present and future.”

There’s a fair warning to your tone, goose bumps rising on your exposed skin. “It is a most dangerous time loop that will be created. Things that have been done, can be made undone. Events that have yet to come, can be postponed or even worse, obliterated. Time is most fickle and to meddle with the wheels of time is a death sentence.”

“And have you brought your suspicions to Odin’s attention as well?”

You shake your head in regret. “I have not. Odin is too enamoured by his grandchildren to be bothered with the tides of the universe.”

“My dearest, you should inform my father as of immediately!,” Thor presses with clear firmness. “We must protect the nine realms if such a dark fate awaits us!”

“My love, it is not certain these stars will ever align. And if they do, we will be prepared for it. I will speak to Odin at the council in two days’ time.” His eyes swirl in a great depth of blue and they easily remind you of your twin boys. “No need to worry yet, my love.”

All your children have the same eyes, Thor’s eyes, even though Stella’s are a tint darker. There’s truly no purer colour than Asgardian sapphire, yet there’s a part of you that wishes your celestial powers wouldn’t prohibit you from passing on your unique eye colour.

“Agreed. I trust you, Y/N,” Thor replies as he cradles your body in his arms, his lips resting against your temple. “I love you, too.”

“It is a most interesting thing to witness, the dynamics between Atlas, Frey, Stella and Odin.” Now it is your turn to take care of Thor, his favourite oil in the palm of your hand as you see to his muscled torso.

“Atlas, the apple of Odin’s eye, the young giant who appears to have been created in his father’s image and possesses the strength of titans. My sweet, frail Frey with his boyish features has charmed his way to Frigga’s heart. And even though he might not hold a mirror to his father’s looks, he does have his mother’s heart that yearns for the infinity of the galaxy. And Stella, oh Stella.”

With a loving chuckle, you swiftly turn on the heels of your feet so you are facing Thor’s back, continuing your careful ministration. “My girl with the temperament of a thousand stars. One day she will be as mighty and as worthy as her father.”

“I would argue with you on that,” the God of Thunder hums softly, enchanted by your tender touches and the butterfly kisses they accompany. ““Odin does not have any favourites, and neither does Frigga. But you are right.”

“A wife is always right,” you wink at him once you are face to face again. “Isn’t that why you waited so long to ask for my hand in marriage?”

Rolling his eyes at you, Thor spins you around so your back hits his sturdy chest for the God adores the feeling of your plump ass against his member. “Atlas is a miniature version of myself and he indeed possesses the ability to influence the sky,” he whispers into your ears as he embraces you tightly.

“Frey takes after his mother in many ways and is the cleverest of the three.” His hands roam your stomach, appreciating the soft skin with great precision so he does not miss an inch. “And Stella, she is the heir to my throne, the thunder in my veins. My little girl will master the art of the heavens faster than Atlas will bring forth his first victory or Frey will solve his first riddle.”

Thanks to the comfort of the warm shower and your husband’s body sheltering you from all negativity, you allow yourself to melt into him without a worry on your mind. “Such beautiful children,” you sigh quietly as Thor pecks the sweet spot under your ear.

“If I had known you would bless me with such precious offspring, I would’ve courted you sooner!”

Thor has always been the most valiant and gallant of lovers. Nevertheless, even when he was younger, he already had a very outspoken profile and very direct in his affections. Soon the whole of Asgard had heard of the God’s advances towards you. However that did not stop him from pursuing you, for Thor does not know any shame in the game of love. Never with little presents and neither with grand gestures, but always with a message straight from his heart.

“You courted me as soon as I started showing interest in boys,” you mumble to yourself as his lips find another sensitive spot to woo. Your hips sway gently while you cross your arms over his and take his hands in yours. “But I only ever had eyes for one.”

Tagging: @avengerofyourheart @a-little-hell-to-raise @marvelingatthewonder @mrshopkirk @hardcorehippos @knittingknerdy @winterboobaer @italwaysendsinafightt @viollettes @hymnofthevalkyrie @feelmyroarrrr @justareader @austinamelio @volklana @howlingbarnes @themcuhasruinedme @theoneandonlysaucymo @caplansteverogers @amrita31199 @emilyevanston @minervaem @howlingbarnes @buchananbarnestrash @youandb @you-and-bucky @fvckingsteverogers @thatawkwardtinyperson @barnes-heaven @that-sokovian-bastard @abovethesmokestacks @marvelrevival @marvel-fanfiction @justanotherbuckydevotee @barnes-heaven @heartmade-writingbucky @buckyywiththegoodhair @captnbarnesrogers @its-not-a-phase-hux @melconnor2007 @ivvitm1109 @toofuckinfabulous @ailynalonso15 @hollycornish @delicatecapnerd @camigt1999 @learisa @curlyexpat @palaiasaurus64 @fanndas-snow-goddess @crisssivonne @yourenotrogers @tomhollandzs @supernaturaldean65 @beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep @aletheladyinred @stefenrogers @xbergiex @reniescarlett @promarvelfangirl @capbuckybuchanan @lovemarvelousfics @yknott81 @rrwilson66 @pegasusdragontiger @salty-holographic-stickers @sammyissassy @sebstanchrisevanchickforever19 @kudosia @bellejeunefillesansmerci @lumelgy @mizzzpink @southernbellestatues @daringtodreamawake @neurotic-narwhal @cokamarie24 @blue1928 @movingonto-betterthings @breezy1415 @isnt-the-blog-youre-looking-for @jesspfly @weenie-butt @debzybrazy @fuckingchaotic  @always-an-evans-addict @petersunderroos  @thegreentgirl @nedthegay @eve1978 @yourtropegirl @4theluvofall @lostinthoughtsandfeelings

Tag list for all plus size stories: @suz-123 @kiwi71281 @whatisaheroanyway @ilovebeingjoyful @veronicalei @meganlane84 @thescarsweleave @isaxhorror @pleasantdreamqueen @georgiadean37 @revlismoriarty @evyiione @salamander-falls @taylorjacksonandtheolympians @jughead-wuz-here @jasmineladjevardi @sonofadeanwinchester @3dsaunt @marvel-at-bucky @nothin-after-79 @sexy-sea-basss @shesmade0fcandy @wtfisalltherandoms @mrs-dr-strange @disneymarina @secondsandstars @brandybucky @metal-armed-dino @amethyst09 @sydsmut @princess76179 @marvelsdaughter @spideynygma  @beautifulbri26 @allyp1023

Strikethrough means tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you!

[darveyfics]

PROMPT: Donna, Harvey, Mike and Rachel go to Vegas for Mikes birthday and Darvey get so drunk that they accidentally get married. They're not allowed an annulment as they'd known each other for so long and the only way to get one is for them to live together for two weeks and not fall in love. ( I changed it a little - There is a complication with their annulment and they are forced to keep up appearances.) You can decide if they do or not.

“Don’t Call Me Baby (Unless You Mean It)”

Donna carefully pries an eyelid open and shuts it again fast when a harsh sunbeam shoots right in, awaking an encore performance by an out of sync bongo drummer band between her temples. When it tapers off slightly, she swallows, desperate to lubricate her dry throat. Her mouth tastes evil and she swears her teeth are cramping. She’s a giant ache from her knees to her forehead. She rolls over to her side, groaning as she curls into herself, and pulls the duvet over her head.

“I’m never drinking champagne again.”

“Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

Her eyes snap open and, though the goose feathers dim the natural light, she regrets the action immediately when her surroundings come into focus.

Harvey Specter is laid out in front of her – in all his naked glory. 

She doesn’t need to take stock of herself to confirm that the silk draped against her skin is all sheets.

“Oh shit.” She slides out of bed, taking the covers with her. The throbbing in her head increases tenfold when the world is suddenly brighter again. Peering through one eye, she locates the remote control on the nightstand and hits the button to close the drapes. The runners scrape against the metal rail like a freight train on rusty tracks and she holds her breath, not daring to add to the noise.

“Donna, what the hell?” Harvey grabs one of her pillows and covers himself, flinching before making the necessary adjustments to get comfortable. 

And that’s when she sees it.

“Holy shit.”

He smirks at her from his position against the headboard, his hair sticking up at odd angles like it had been raked through and tugged at. Vigorously. “Is that a good holy shit or a bad holy –”

“Look at your left hand.”

She watches him as he does what he’s been told, turning his hand in front of his face to inspect the ring from both angles, his expression sobering. Then he looks up at her, his gaze landing on her chest. Instinctively she clutches the bedding tighter.  

“You have one too.”  

Her heart pounds in rhythm with her head when she glances down, spotting the gold band on her finger. She already knows the answer, but asks anyway, “Harvey, did we get married last night?”

“That seems to be what the evidence suggests.”  

“And we…” She finishes the thought by waiving a hand between them. The lace bra hanging from the lampshade on his side of the bed is another obvious clue, but her brain is stubbornly refusing to put the pieces together.

“It’s fuzzy, but I remember…” He trails off, searching the area in his immediate vicinity. Spotting what he’s looking for, he leans over to grab something from the floor, inadvertently exposing a side-cheek. Her eyes dart away, and fall on the shiny object he’s holding, similar to the one she keeps in her top desk drawer.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I never joke about the can opener.”

Donna’s face flushes when his comment triggers a very vivid memory. Her stomach starts to flutter, and it quickly turns violent, causing her whole body to shake.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” 

He frowns at her, but she misses it when she sheds the duvet, clinging to the sheet as she rushes to the nearest washroom.

Harvey is beside her moments later, clad in his boxers. Without a word he gathers her hair, lifting the strands from her face as she empties the contents of her stomach down the toilet bowl. She tries to wave him away, mortified that he is seeing her like this, but he ignores the gesture and drops a hand to her back, rubbing soothing circles across her exposed skin as he waits for her to finish. When she finally straightens with a shuddering breath, he reaches around her to push the flush button. He gets up and returns with a wet washcloth. She takes it from him and wipes her mouth.  

“Better?” he asks.

She nods, despite the acrid aftertaste in her mouth, threatening to trigger a second round. Keeping track of him in her peripheral vision, she notices him turn away again and rummage through the cabinet over the sink. He finds a bottle of mouthwash, twists off the cap and hands it to her. She takes a big mouthful, swirls, gargles, and spits into the bowl beside her before passing it back blindly, refusing to look at him now that he’s seen her at her worst.

“Donna.”

She curses inwardly. After more than a decade, he is still capable of melting her resolve so easily with the way he says her name. She glances up at him, surprised that he doesn’t seem fazed by what just happened. Then she remembers that he picks up women at bars quite often. She wills her mind not to go there.

“Why are you not a mess?”

“I’ve had a lot more practice than you.”

She rolls her eyes at him. It hurts. “Please. I can drink you under the table.”

“Maybe that’s what I’ve led you to believe.”

With a disbelieving snort she pushes to her feet on shaky legs. She reaches for the basin to balance herself, but then the sheet starts to slip and, before she can decide whether it’s better to be bared, or sprawled across the floor, Harvey is at her side again, steadying her with a hand under her elbow and one low on her back. She really needs to find some clothes, she thinks, because he’s touching her too much, and it’s difficult to keep her wits about her when her skin is on fire and her insides feel like they’re liquefying under his intense gaze.

“Maybe I’ve led you to believe a lot of things.”

For a moment she’s sure she misheard him, his voice so low she wouldn’t have caught the comment had he not stood so close to her. She opens and closes her mouth, at a loss for how to respond, but he’s already retreating, taking a step backwards as his hands drop to his sides.

“Will you be okay in here by yourself?” 

She nods, ignoring the hot pulse making its way down her spine as he gives her a once over, then watches him leave. It’s what he does, and for once she doesn’t feel the need to call him on it. What she does need is a shower and a chance to clear her head so she can try to make sense of their predicament, but despite her best intentions, she suddenly finds her voice again when he’s almost out the door.

“Harvey?” 

He stops and turns, his expression a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. 

“Thank you.”

His bare chest rises and falls with a deep breath, momentarily distracting her. “Anytime, Donna.”

When Harvey hears her turn the shower on, he pads to the other bathroom. A glance at the clock confirms that they have about an hour before Mike and Rachel are due to arrive for the private breakfast that Donna arranged for them, at Mike’s insistence, before they all headed back to New York. Harvey suspects the kid just didn’t want the pool table in their Penthouse Suite to go to waste, but he was happy to indulge him. The main reason for the impromptu trip was to celebrate Mike’s birthday – his first since his grandmother died.    

He makes quick work of his hygiene routine, a little put out by the fact that he has to use the products supplied by the hotel, as his are in the bathroom Donna is currently occupying. The Palazzo doesn’t skimp on quality, but drawing the line at using products not recommended by his personal stylist, he runs his fingers through his towel-dried hair, taming it the best he can. Dressed in clean boxers and a robe, he makes his way back to his bedroom.

The shower in the en suite is still running. He welcomes the reprieve from the conversation with Donna he knows they can’t avoid, but at the same time he’s anxious to get it over with. For the moment, all he can do is distract himself by picking up the clothes they discarded the night before. He tries hard to concentrate on the task, and not dwell on what led up to the evidentiary trail between the door and the bed, but when he holds up the midnight blue dress, he distinctly remembers the moment Donna stepped out of her room, ready for their night on the Strip. The Versace number that poured over her curves, ending just above her knee, was enough to make his mouth go dry. That was until he spotted the hemline slit and his heart nearly stopped. The memory of sliding his hand up said slit, tracing the smooth skin of her thigh, flashes through his mind, and he starts reciting the fundamental principles of civil procedure to get himself under control. He crosses the room to hang the dress in the cupboard next to his suit. He leaves their shoes by the door, side by side, and gathers his shirt and Donna’s underwear, piling it up on the chair in the corner.

The door to the bathroom opens just as he grabs the can opener, half hidden under a pillow, and he jams it in his pocket before sinking down onto the foot of the bed. Donna emerges, her wet hair hanging off one shoulder. Her freckles are no longer in such stark contrast against her fair skin. He knows she has to be naked under her robe, but shuts down the thought quickly as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together.

They stare at each other for a full minute, the silence bearing down heavily on them.

Harvey inhales slowly as he tries to decide which situation they should address first. It doesn’t help that the hours between post show drinks at Drai’s and stumbling through the door to their suite are a complete blank. What followed is still mostly sketchy too, but if his recall is anything to go by, neither of them had any regrets at the time. This morning that doesn’t seem to be the case anymore, and suddenly an all too familiar fear grips him.    

“Donna,” he starts, and that’s apparently the catalyst she needed.

“We have to find the guy who did this and tell him we didn’t mean it.”

He sighs and shakes his head. “You know it doesn’t work that way. Besides, we can’t even remember what the guy looks like, or were we actually got –”

“How did we let this happen?” She starts pacing, gesturing wildly. “And shouldn’t there be some kind of law against letting people get…do that when they are clearly drunk out of their minds?”

“Donna, it’s not a big deal.”

She stops in her tracks and spins around, gaping at him, one hand still half-hanging in the air. It was clearly the wrong this to say, but he’s had little practice with this side of her. The only other time he’s seen her unraveled, it ended with her telling him that perhaps he shouldn’t be her boss anymore.    

“What I mean,” he says, “is that this is a legal issue. I can fix it.”

He holds his breath as he watches her consider his words, her lips pursed as she thinks it over. Then her arms drop to her side as the tension leaves her shoulders.

“Of course. You will take care of it. We’ll go back to New York, file for an annulment, and it would be as if this never…” She trails off with a frown as her gaze lands on his hands. Only then does he realize he’s been subconsciously twisting the wedding band around his finger. He clasps his fingers together again and looks up at her. “…happened,” she adds, almost inaudibly, tearing her eyes away from him. She spots the clothes on the chair and grabs them. “We should get ready. Rachel and Mike will be here soon and they can’t see us like this. And we are not telling them, or anyone else. You’ll just…make this go away quietly. Right?”

He nods slowly when she ventures a glance in his direction. Family law isn’t his area of expertise, but the law in general is, and he handled Esther’s divorce not too long ago. He’s sure, with a bit of research, he’d be able to figure out what paperwork to file.

“Okay, good.” Donna starts to head for the door, but he calls her back.  

“I have a condition.”

She turns around slowly, eyeing him warily. “What kind of condition?”

He debates with himself on whether or not to let that particular issue slide, but he can’t risk leaving any loose ends that can come back to bite him in the ass. Swallowing down the nerves that suddenly threaten to overwhelm him, Harvey tilts his head towards the tousled sheets.

Donna takes an instinctive step back, her perfectly sculpted eyebrows nearly hitting her hairline. 

“You want breakup sex?”

His head shoots up. “What? No!”

She flinches, either still suffering some after effects of their eventful night, or taking his response as a rejection. He wants to tell her that that is the furthest thing from the truth, but he has already failed to keep himself in check earlier. He can argue circles around opposing council, pick up any woman who strikes his fancy with the Specter charm, and negotiate his way out of a lose-lose situation, but when it gets personal with Donna, he always seems to find himself out of his depth and following her lead. As that is not an option now, he decides to rely on their tried and trusted fallback.

“Technically it would be annulment sex.” His quip renders her speechless for a moment and he takes the opportunity to cut straight to the point. “We slept together last night.”

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

The words fall from her lips too quickly for him to be fully convinced that she means it.

“Are you sure? Because you said if it ever happened again, you’d no longer work for me, and I don’t want to lose you.”

Her expression softens when she realizes what he’s getting at. “You’re not going to lose me, Harvey. It was a one-time thing. We can still work together, as long as we –”

“Put it out of our minds and never mention it again.” He’s familiar with the loophole in her rule. It wouldn’t bother him so much if she hadn’t changed her policy not too long ago – for someone else. Given how that turned out, he shouldn’t be surprised that she’s reinforcing it.

“We don’t remember most of it anyway,” she says, pulling him back to the present.

“So, we’re okay?”

She nods. “We’re okay.”

Harvey scans through the finance section of the New York Times, but after rereading the same paragraph for the fourth time without taking in a word of it, he folds the paper and tosses it on the coffee table. He glances over his shoulder at Donna’s bedroom door, which is still shut. Though they’ve reached an agreement over the unexpected turn of events they were faced with when they woke up, he still can’t shake the feeling that he’s missing something. Turning back, he rubs his hands down his face, pausing when his eye catches a glint. He pulls the ring off, weighing it in the palm of his hand. Then it hits him full force.

He is married. 

To Donna.

His best friend, his confidante, his secretary, is now also his wife, albeit for the time being, and in name only, and he’s not sure how he feels about any of that. He is so used to putting his feelings for her in a box, but it’s been harder to keep a lid on it since she told him about her and Stephen, to the point where he actually tracked her down and told her it bothered him.

“Rachel texted. They’re on their way.”

He almost jumps when she speaks behind him, and curls his fingers around the ring, hoping she didn’t spot it. “They can’t just take the elevator up and knock like normal people?”

Rounding the couch, Donna is about to say something, but three raps on the door diverts her attention. 

“That was a waste of a text.” Harvey rises, slipping his fist into his pants pocket, and let go of the ring. 

With a hand on the doorknob, Donna looks over at him. “Not a word,” she mouths. 

He nods, taking a step closer when the door swings open. Mike has an arm securely around Rachel’s middle as his eyes dart from Donna to Harvey. Then a grin practically splits his face in two. 

“Look, Rach,” he says, “it’s the honeymooners.”  

[a-salty-alto]

Tony Stark, Served Well Done

[A/N]: This is my fill for the “Hansel and Gretel” square on my Fairytale Bingo card. It was interesting to write, because I don’t usually write full AUs, much less in first person. I hope you like it!

Tony

I always knew this is how I was going to die.

Now you might be thinking Oh, Tony, you’re being hyperbolic, “eaten by a witch” is a weirdly specific way to go, there’s no way you could have expected it.

Yeah well, I’m not.

Ever since I stepped foot in this school I’ve known something like this was going to happen.

Okay, let me backup.

Hi, my name’s Tony Stark, soon to be dinner.

I’m a junior at Shield Highschool. Now, most people in town who don’t go here think that we’re just a bunch of stuck up genius snobs who get away with whatever we want.

That’s not true.

Well, the genius part is true, obviously, I go here. And so does Bruce, and Sam, and Natasha’s scarily good with computers and of course Jan and Bobbi- and I’m getting off topic.

Anyway we’re all actually a group of barely-functioning hot messes. If it isn’t exams, it’s school clubs, homework, the fact that none of us get enough sleep because we have to get up ass-early in the morning to get here on time, everyone’s got something to worry about here. We don’t have time to be stuck-up.

My current worry is the large boiling vat I’m dangling over.

Right, right, moving on. So, as Principal Coulson will tell you, if you’re in the mood for ten minutes of him waxing poetic about what the school,  Shield High was built on top of a potter’s field, which is a mass grave for unmarked bodies.

So yeah, school’s literally built on top of a pile of dead bodies of spirits that are probably pissed they never got a proper burial.

The first time I heard that little tidbit, my immediate thought was “some idiot is going to bring a Ouija board here and get us all killed.” It was joke, but I still called it.

So, it was after school, and I was hanging out with the D&D club that my friends and I formed with the help of the BEST PHYSICS TEACHER EVER, Mr. Yinsen, when suddenly the lights went out, a draft picked up through the school an an unearthly screech ripped through the building.

It was pitch black, so, naturally, we pulled out our phones to have some sort of light.

Natasha put her phone to her ear.

It couldn’t have rang more than once before she took it away again and shook her head.

“I don’t have any signal.”

At that, everyone else immediately started checking their phones too.

“No wifi,” Jan announced.

“Landline isn’t working either” Mr. Yinsen sighed

“This can only mean good things.” Clint muttered.

“Why don’t we take a look around?” Steve said, because he’s a giant innocent puppy dog who’s probably never actually seen a horror movie.

“Are you crazy?” Sam practically screeched. “No.”

“Rogers, what are you a, dumbass? This whole scenario screams demon attack.” Rhodey added..

“C’mon don’t we at least want to be in a room with actual, you know, windows? It’s only 3:30 in the afternoon, even if it’s cloudy, it’ll be more light than in here.” Brucie Bear suggested. It seemed like a good point. Mr. Yinsen’s room doesn’t have any windows, which makes the room darker. Even if we did walk into a monster movie, a you’d think a better lit room would have to help right?

WRONG! Oh so wrong, because as it turned out the sky had become, as Clint so eloquently put it, “a fucking bloodbath of hatred and death.”

Instead of the soft gray clouds and light snowfall that would be expected this time of year, the clouds were a hard black, and the sky was a deep crimson occasionally split in two by the crack of thunder and a lightning strike.

Like any sane person, we immediately tried to nope the fuck outta there, but the windows weren’t opening up and it took us exactly 5 minutes to realize we were very lost. In the school most of us have been attending for a little over 2 years at this point.

“Well, fuck.” I announced, because really, what else was there to say? I’m not sure if anyone else had noticed it, but the speakers which usually pumped terrible jazz music through the halls instead were playing a heaving breathing sound. I didn’t really feel like pointing it out to anyone at that moment, though.

“So. What do we do?” Clint panted.

Steve immediately took charge. I don’t remember what he said exactly, I may have been too busy staring at him as he got that stubborn look in his eyes and went into full protective mode and his eyebrows scrunched up just so and UuuuuggGgGHHhhhhhh.

Okay, so I might have a slight crush on Steve. You don’t get to make fun of it, I’m about to be boiled.

Anyway so, I wasn’t exactly paying attention but I got paired up with Natasha. I have this habit of aggressively hoarding snacks in my backpack, so I gave some to each of the pairs. In theory we’d each head in a different direction and follow the food trails back to where we started.

As Natasha and I made our way up the stairs and somehow ended up in the basement, we heard moaning. Immediately we shared a look and then ran after the voice. Who did we find but none other than Justin Hammer.

Now, Justin is a prick, but even he didn’t deserve the sorry state we’d found him in. He was pale, clutching his arm, and he had a black eye.

“Stark. Romanoff,” he grunted, as if the words hurt to say.

“Yeah, it’s us.” I helped him up and slung his arm over my shoulder.

“Justin, do you know what’s going on here?” Natasha asked taking his other arm. We shared a silent look and agreed that we should take him back to the meeting point.

“I was playing Ouija.” he said.

A few hours ago neither of us would have believed we were having this conversation, but now, the evidence was kind of hard to refute.

“Aren’t you not supposed to do that alone?” I said. “Or in a place where people are buried?

“Justin, what kind of  spirit did you summon?” Natasha asked at the same time.

Yeah, Nat was probably asking better questions than I was. I decided to leave the interrogation to her.

“A witch,” Justin whispered.

“And what does she want?”

“Him.” Justin said shifting his head in my direction.

“Wait, I’m sorry, what?” I yelped.

“When I summoned her, she wanted to eat my soul, but I knew you’d be here with your nerd club, and she said she wouldn’t eat me if I got you for her.”

“Shit.” Natasha said,  and we dropped Justin like a sack of potatoes.

It was too late though. High cackling laughter erupted from around us. Suddenly, an invisible force knocked me into a wall, and everything went dark.

*

When i came too again, i found myself in my current predicament, tied up and dangling upside-down over a vat.

“More sage.” A voice from the shadows called out, and a very grumpy Natasha was pushed in the direction of the pot.

“Hey! Leave her alone!” i yelled. I like to think I was somewhat intimidating.

The witch just laughed though, and practically glided over to me. I don’t know what she looks like other than she wears a dark robe with the hood covering her face.

“Ah, Iron Man, I’m glad to see you’re awake.”  She said, placing a bony hand to my cheek. “This is such a lovely little universe that buffoon called me to. You Avengers all have the same delicious spirit, but none of the pesky toys or skills.”

“I’m sorry, it might be the blood rushing to my head, but that doesn’t make any sense.” I bit back. Avengers? What was she going on about? “And if you just want to eat my soul, why do you need the pots and spices.”

The witch laughed again. “Oh, I want you to suffer. You’ve all wronged me, but you, Tony Stark sealed me away, so you get to feel being cooked alive. Your friends’ punishment is getting to watch.”

With that, she glided back to her corner, silently watching the two of us.

“So, Nat. Don’t suppose you can convince her I’m not fat enough to eat?

***

Steve

This isn’t good. I’m back at the meeting place, and Rhodey, Jan, Clint, Bruce, Sam and Mr. Yinsen have all made it back, but Tony and Natasha are nowhere to be found. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t an artist, because I can picture very clearly what it might be like to find the two of them ripped apart by whatever was causing this.

The school has seemingly become its own dimension. The hallways send you to completely different floors, the walls randomly become soft like flesh, and strange voices everywhere. Creepy didn’t even begin to describe it.

Not only that, the school was empty aside from the eight D&D club members and Mr. Yinsen. No other teachers, students from other clubs, or any janitors or security guards could be found.

I’m completely out of my depth when it comes to occult stuff like this. I wish Thor wasn’t out of town for family business, he’d know what to do. His brother practically lives and breathes this kind of stuff.

“How long has it been?” I ask absently while pacing the hall.

“30 seconds since you last asked, so about 5 minutes since we our agreed rendezvous time.” Bruce says. Oops. I stop and realize the others are watching me. I’m probably worrying them.

“Ok, let’s just go look for them. They did leave a trail.” Sam points out. “Either we’ll find them at the end or bump into them as they head back.”

Right. That sounds smart, why didn’t I think of that.

“Okay,” I say, “but let’s stick together, I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

With that, everyone in the group nods and we head off after Nat and Tony’s trail. We travel in relative silence, everyone’s concern is palpable.

We eventually make it to the end of the trail in the basement, where our missing friends are nowhere to be found.

“Shit.” Rhodey curses. I feel like punching a wall, but I swallow my frustrations.

“Let’s keep going. See if we can find any sign of them.” I say. It sounds like something the leader would say, which I guess I am.

We scour the basement looking for any signs of our friends, but find nothing. At least until Clint literally trips over Justin Hammer.

The guy’s unconscious, and pale in a way that doesn’t look healthy.

Immediately, Mr. Yinsen kneels down next to him and checks him over.

“He’s breathing, but it’s shallow. He needs medical attention.” The teacher’s gaze is stern. “James, Janet, and I found the Nurse’s office while we were searching. I’ll take him there.”

“I can go with you” Bruce offers, but Mr. Yinsen holds up a hand. “No, I want you all to stay together. Find the others, then meet us back at the rendezvous point in a hour.”

“Right,” Steve nods. As we watch their teacher take off with Justin in his arms, I can’t help feeling worried.

And by that I mean I’m screaming internally.

Right. Stay calm Steve. You’re in charge. You gotta at least hide your worry.

I stick up my head, and move onward.

Eventually, we find ourselves in the boiler room, and we hear voices. I motion to the others to be quiet as we sneak through. The voices stop as we enter a room, and see Nat, with her leg chained to the wall and Tony...

Tony’s being strung upside down over a large pot.

Ok. Weird, but could be worse.

"Ah, it seems the rest have arrived." A chilling  voice says from somewhere in the room. Clint and Sam scream and grab hold of eachother, but I stand my ground

"Who are you,” I definitely don’t stammer, “what are you doing to Tony and Nat?"

I actually manage to not screech when the terrifying lady appears right behind me and puts a bony hand on my shoulder. Yay me, I’m so proud of myself.

"I only wish for you all to suffer, and for his to be especially painful, and delicious." she whispers, and suddenly Tony screams as he starts dropping closer and closer to the pot.

With instincts I didn't even know I have, I grab the circular lid from a nearby garbage can and throw it.

It whizzes past Tony's head, bounces off of the wall, then another, and finally hits the lady in the face, knocking her down, and stopping Tony's descent.

I guess I meant to do that.

"Um right. Okay. She needs to be focused to do her magic. Clint, you and Jan help Nat, everybody else keep the lady busy. I’m going to get Tony down.” The others all nod and get back to work.

Rushing over to the pot, the first thing I do is try to tip it over.

“Steve.” Tony says.

It's really heavy, but Tony’s counting on me.

“Steve.”

I can’t let him down.

“Steve! It’s still on fire doesn’t that hurt?”

I look down and realize that there’s a fire lit under the cauldron and yeah, it is really hot.

But not as hot as it probably should be. Still, I jerk away.

I look at my hands and yeah, they're a little burnt but not something I can’t deal with. They’re already healing in a few places anyway.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, try snuffing out the fire first.” Tony says, misinterpretting my shock. Suddenly the rope drops some more and Tony screams again.  

That weird muscle spasm that let me throw the garbage can lid causes me to jump into the air, do a flip, and catch the rope dropping Tony.

I land balanced on the cauldron, and pull Tony into my arms.

“Impressive Cap, when did you start taking acrobatics?”

“I don’t know and- Cap?” Tony’s never called me that before and Tony looks just as confused as I do.

“Uh, just ignore me. I’m not sure how long I was upside down. Probably just woozy from all the blood rushing to my head. Anyway,” and Tony looks up at me and gives a little smile, “Thanks for the save.”

I can feel my face turning beet red. I try to tug on the rope that’s holding Tony, but it doesn’t budge. Looks like I’ll just have to carry Tony while the others deal with the witch.

It’s fine. This is fine.

I can just feel my face turning beet red.

Damn it massive crush on Tony, I thought we had an agreement where you wouldn’t do this to me anymore.

I try to focus on the others fighting the witch.

Looks like Clint and Jan have gotten Nat out, and they’ve all joined in the fight.

The Avengers are all on the defensive though. We don’t have anything that will actually hurt her, and most of us can’t survive more than one direct lightning blast. I mean none of us can, we’re all humans, what am I talking about?

“Yo, Wicked Witch!” Tony shouts. Oh god Tony please don’t antagonize the angry magic lady when we’re standing over a boiling pot of water.

Still, the witch turns to us and growls.

“You!”

“Yeah, guess you didn’t get me after all. Can’t even beat me when I don’t have my toys?” He mocks.

The witch howls and lunges towards us. Somehow I know the exact moment I need to jump to make sure she smacks face first into her own cauldron.

Her screams as she boils are going to haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life.

She finally stops, and a blinding flash of light envelops all of us. A split second later, Tony’s untied, the cauldron’s gone, and Tony is suddenly really heavy.

I put him down on the ground as the others come over to us, clearly very confused.

“So, what just happened?” Clint asks, “I mean I’ve always been awesome but I don’t think I’m usually able to dodge lightning for that long.”

“It’s almost like we were actually that thing she was talking about? The Avengers?” Tony asks, turning to Nat, who gives a nod.

“Yeah. The reason the witch wanted to eat Tony was because another version of him sealed her away with alternate versions of us. Apparently in another life, we’re superheroes.” She explains.

Superheroes, huh?

“So we accidently absorbed our other selves’ superhero skills? Is that even possible?” Rhodey asks, and Sam just shrugs.

“We just fought a witch, and didn’t die. I think it’s definitely something more than just dumb luck.”

“Cooooooool. We have to try that again some time!” Jan squeals. “I want to design all our outfits.”

Everyone laughs and starts to leave, but Tony hangs back.

“Something wrong, Tony?” I ask.

“Um yeah, I just wanted to give you something better. To thank you properly.”

“What-” And suddenly I’m cut off by Tony giving me a kiss on the cheek and running off after the others.

So today, I got transported to a weird alternate dimension, my friend/crush nearly got boiled alive, I got proxy superpowers, and my crush just kissed me.

Weird day.

Not a bad one though, so I start chasing after Tony.

[skeletonwoman]

Purple Lingerie (James Potter)

SO. I am doing a super cool pal favor of filling some requests for for @daphnegreengrass who is super cute and lazy and busy. (this is 1 of 4) (i also don’t have the prompt list link so lol)

Request: 21 and 32 with James Potter please (or sirius black if that's easier for you!) thank you! 21. “You know, it hurt when I realized that you’re not in love with me. But nothing can compare to the pain I felt when I saw you fall in love with her.” 32. “I’m so stupid to make the mistake of falling in love with my best friend.”

This one, while supposed to probably be angsty, I decided to mix up and make super cute because I love twisting and stealing all ur dreams (fem!reader as usual)

James wraps an arm around your waist, and you groan, trying not to smile as he presses a kiss to your bare hip.

“I’ll be late.”

The word is soft but he releases you all the same and you rise, slipping your clothes back on and padding from the dim room.

Lily laughs loudly and you can’t help looking up. Across the room, James holds forks to his head and you frown. Sirius snorts, only to smack his friend upside the head when the fork wielding James barks at him.

Oh.

Their patronus’. Not that it’s any of your business.

You’re not even part of their friendship group. And the fact that you even know what James, Sirius, Remus and Peters patronus’ are is laughable.

Laughable.

His arms encircle you and you can’t help the way your body melts to his.

“I got a ninety-eight on my transfiguration quiz,” he mumbles, trailing kisses over your shoulder and you can’t help scoffing.

“You’re a transfiguration genius, I’d be amazed and surprised if you got less than seventy,” you counter, turning in his arms and sliding your hands over his shoulders. His smile is warm as his gazes travels over your face.

“Want to celebrate?”

“Of course? You got an amazing mark and deserve all the praise that comes with it.” You sigh contentedly as his lips brush over yours, his hand sliding to your ass.

Upside down from his broom, James waves his arms like an idiot. This isn’t the surprising bit, what’s surprising is when Evans does the move back and he laughs. Hard.

In a sick, unreasonably possessive sort of way, you’re glad when the ball hits him in the gut and he has to cling to his broom.

It’s wrong of you to be jealous.

You’re not his girlfriend and you don’t want to be. Neither of you want a relationship.

“I need your opinion.”

“Yes, I like the purple satin better. I know you thought I’d like the red but f*ck, you in the purple?” James groans, his pupils wide with lust as he remembers the last time you’d worn the purple lingerie.

“Okay… That’s fair, but I was going to ask if you were okay with Remus and I going to the Yule Ball together?” You chew your lip and he seems to freeze for a moment before thawing and smiling at you.

“Why wouldn’t I be okay with it? Have you fallen in love with me?” He jokes and you scoff, gently pushing him away.

Good. Going with Remus would be a tight line to walk but it would also remind you of the line in the sand. The sand line that says no falling in love with James Potter.

You hadn’t planned on joining on the shopping trip but at least a third of the year and girls from all the houses were going so you’d allowed yourself to be roped into it.

Technically, you were having fun. Not that you didn’t expect to not have fun but…

“What do you guys think?” Lily beams, turning in a circle and you can’t help but admire her outfit. The gold dress, with its off the shoulder straps and a slight v at the bust drew more than a few jealous compliments and you smiled at the other girl.

“James is going to freak,” someone says and your stomach curdles. How you hadn’t picked it, you don’t know. Who else would he go with? He’d always had a thing for her.

“Oh my gosh, Y/N! Look at you!” Someone else says before the conversation can go further and you blink, shaking off your jealousy and grin at the group.

“I think I found my dress.”

“You ready for tonight?” James murmurs, his lips trailing over your shoulder and you mumble nonsense, arching into the touch. Four AM, when you should be getting beauty sleep, and you’re tangled with James in the announcers tower at the quidditch field.

“Ready to dance with a guy who can actually dance and knows how to behave himself in public?” You ask, laughing softly when James growls.

“Well, lucky my dates so agile if I’m such a terrible dancer then,” he counters, laying warm kisses across your collar bone.

“Hey.” You lean back slightly, your fingers catching his chin to keep him still. “Lily’s going to look amazing, you’re really lucky.”

He looks like an idiot. Mooning at her like that. She’s beautiful, sure, but should he really be mooning?

You smile at Remus, who returns the expression and leads you toward your seats.

“James!” He greets his friend, who blinks and grins at him, barely sparing you a look. James momentarily glances at Lily before turning back to his friend and wiggling his eyebrows.

Okay. Jerk.

“Remus, you ready for a dance off?” James jokes and Remus laughs, but shakes his head.

“Why would I dance with you when Y/N is so much better looking?” He says, leaning toward you and whispering, “want to dance?”

Nodding, you let him lead you onto the floor and into the crush of dancers. 

The night draws to a close and you wonder if you’ll see James tonight. You have got the purple lingerie under your dress, though by the look on his face all night he might kiss Lily at the stairs then go to sleep alone.

You try to imagine not kissing him again.

What if your last kiss was your last kiss? Sleepy early morning kissing is supposed to be your last kiss?

A wave of dizziness hits you and you feel yourself sway.

“Y/N?”

You stumble toward the exit, only to find your path blocked by a marble staircase.

You manage to think how pretty they look clean before they’re rising up to meet you.

“I’m on my back.”

“Yeah, baby.” James leers from beside your head and you startle, jerking away from him.

“Why are you in my room- Why am I here?” You grumble, glaring at the infirmary around you. “Why are you here?”

“You just dropped. I was there so I caught you before you hit the stairs but… Jesus, Y/N, don’t scare me like that.” He’s stressed, obviously, and a part of you is glad. It’s petty, but you’ll take what you can get by now. It’s pathetic too.

“I don’t… I was just dizzy and then- Lily! Is it okay that you’re here?”

Madame Pomfrey appears behind James and you startle. Everything about the woman makes you nervous, she’s pretty without being obvious, smart without gloating. She’s subtle and it’s creepy. “What are you doing awake? You need rest, my girl! Mr Potter, what are you still doing here, the ball is still going?”

“I… I wanted to stay. With Y/N,” he says, the words slightly shaky and he catches your hand, squeezing it between both of his.

“Oh.” Madame Pomfrey squeaks, her eyes lighting up before her lips turn down. “I am sorry to do this then, but the girl needs her rest.”

Leaning over, a wand fills your vision before tapping you between the eyes and your head is suddenly full of cotton.

“She’ll conk out in a few minutes- and don’t hold anything she says against her, she’s going to be loopy. She likely won't remember anything past a few hours ago too, so now's the time to confess any secrets.” With her orders complete, and a wink dispensed, she slips from the space and flings the curtains closed around the bed.

“Is Lily ok?”

“Lily’s-”

“I don’t want to hear about Lily!” You thunder, filled with righteous jealousy. “She’s a turd! You know, it hurt when I realized that you’re not in love with me. But nothing can compare to the pain I felt when I saw you fall in love with her. I want to kick her off a stoop. With my foot. Because I am angry and hurt. Because I’m so stupid to make the mistake of falling in love with my best friend.” You waggle your finger in his face and his thumb rubs across your cheek. You frown deeply when you see a tear on his thumb. “Where’d that come from?”

“Y/N, I…” His words trail off as darkness encroaches on your vision and you watch his lips shape words you can’t hear before you drift into sleep.

James stares at you all breakfast, only interrupted by Sirius smacking him in the face with the letter that had landed before him. He doesn’t open it, doesn’t look at it, just slides it into his robes and continues staring.

Nothing's changed since yesterday, as far as you know. There's a blank spot from the Yule Ball to this morning but you were with Remus and Remus would've looked after you.

So the staring's a surprise.

And you’d be uncomfortable if it was anyone but James. The hours you’ve spent naked with nothing for him to look at but you have made it impossible to be nervous or twitchy or uncomfortable.

So, maybe you’re still twitchy. Whatever.

When he pushes to his feet, you duck down and hope he passes you by.

“Y/N.” His voice is solemn and deep and when he sits down beside you, you meet his gaze confidently.

“What’s up, Potter?”

“I love you,” he says calmly, drawing a gasp from the girls around you. “I’ve been in love with you for months and I thought I’d tell you.”

“Oh my god,” someone wheezes across the table and you frown at him, taking in the news.

“That’s fair.” You shrug and pick up a piece of bacon from your plate, nibbling it. His smile is as bright as the sun when you look back, a giant grin only creased when he takes some of your bacon and eats it.

“Good.” He smiles, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I’ve got practice but I’ll see you at lunch, right?”

“Sure, sure,” you mutter, feigning casualness and he grins, obviously giddy. The sight brings a flush to your cheeks and when he hesitates to leave, you catch his chin between your fingers and press a slow kiss to his lips. The feeling’s old, but hell if it isn’t just as sweet as always. “You should get going.”

i don’t write HP and haven’t before these fics so my apologies if they SUCK

also, i love the marauders 

[thatishogwash]

Impossible

KuroDai Weekend 2017 Day 2: August 26th, Action Undercover Agents AU AO3

Kuroo closed the solid door behind him, clicking the lock into place and turning slowly to face the room behind him.  He wasn’t sure why everything seemed to slow down to a crawl before him, even his heartbeat felt far too slow, the beats spaced too far apart though he could hear his blood rushing in his ears.  The room was dimly light but the torches were far too bright.  Kuroo’s legs felt weak, his whole body too heavy to support him as he took a step forward.  He had none of his usual grace.

The only other figure in the room had their back towards him as they removed the formal robes, one layer at a time.  There were so many layers and Kuroo had helped put them all on him just that morning.  It had felt like an eternity ago but it also felt like only a moment had passed.

Had the room always been that large?  Kuroo felt feverish, he hadn’t been able to eat a single thing at the feast but he still felt ill.  Was his breathing as loud as he thought it was?  His fingers felt so numb and his muscles were shaking.

“How angry do you think my father would be if I just cut myself out of this?”  A deep voice asked, they sounded so far away even though Kuroo knew he was almost within touching distance.  “Facing my father's wrath would be nothing compared to my mothers, so I suppose I will take it off and hang it up respectfully.”  There was a resigned note in that deep tone but true love and admiration shown through.

How didn’t he know what was about to happen?  How could he joke about his father and mother like he didn’t know what was going on?

“Kuroo?”  The figure finally turned around, half dressed as he tilted his head to the side.  “Are you alright?  You’ve been quiet all night.”  Which wasn’t like him at all, Kuroo knew he wasn’t playing his part correctly.  He was going to give it all away but maybe that was for the best.  Maybe he just needed to come clean right there and then.  Tell the man in front of him that he was sent to into the castle to get as close to the royal family as he could.  No one, especially not Kuroo, expected the young Prince to take a liking to him.  Kuroo had expected him to be a fool, as most royals were or wicked or cruel, horribly spoiled.  But he wasn’t, the prince was none of those things.

Kuroo tried to picture the faces of those who depended on him but all he could see was the tanned one in front of him.  Dark eyes trained on Kuroo’s face, concern causing his mouth to dip down in the corners.

“Tetsurou?”  Kuroo wanted to weep, to fall to his knees as beg for forgiveness but he knew there would be salvation here.  Too many lives depended on him, depended on him doing his job.  Was the life of one prince, a man of 17 he’d only known for a couple months worth the lives of the people closest to him?  Those he has known since childhood, those he had sworn to protect.

“My lord-” Kuroo croaked out as the prince stepped forward.  Kuroo didn’t want him to close the distance, he could feel the weight and metal pressing against his back.

“Please Tetsurou, I told you when we’re alone Daichi is fine.”  Sawamura, the young and most beloved crown prince smiled up at him.  Worry had darkened his features.  Kuroo felt sick.  Sawamura reached up slowly, gently laid his hand against the side of Kuroo’s face, causing the taller boy to flinch.  “Tell me what the problem is and I will make sure it is fixed.”

“My prince,” Kuroo tried again.

“Daichi.”  The prince reminded him, thumb trailing over Kuroo’s cheekbone softly.  “Whatever it is, I will help.  Please tell me.”  Kuroo couldn’t look into the trusting face any longer, so open with his concern for someone who didn’t deserve it.  Kuroo leaned forward, clutching the prince to him with one arm.

“Tetsu?”  Sawamura didn’t pull away or try to push Kuroo off, he just hugged him tightly. An ugly sob broke out of Kuroo’s throat, he felt gutted.  Kuroo reached around his back, pulled the blade from the hidden sheath and clutched it in his grip.

Horns sounded from outside the castle, Sawamura clutched Kuroo to him tighter as loud footsteps came down the hall.

“Prince Daichi!”  A familiar voice called out from the hall, trying the door and finding it locked.  Kuroo had run out of time.

Kuroo buried his face into the prince's neck and drove the blade between his ribs, right up into his heart.  The body in Kuroo’s arms jerked in surprise.

“Tetsu?”  Sawamura asked in surprise.  Kuroo pulled back and felt his overwhelming emotions fall around him like rain.  Sawamura was looking up at him in confusion, brown eyes still soft and concerned.  Kuroo slid the blade out of Sawamura’s side, let it clatter to the ground as Sawamura’s weight followed its lead.  Kuroo knelt with him, curled the prince close though he knew he didn’t deserve this small comfort.

“Prince please open up!  We must evacuate immediately!”  More voices from outside the door but Kuroo didn’t move.  He stared down at the boy in his arms.

Blood soaked the robes covering Sawamura’s torso, Kuroo’s hands and trousers.  Neither said anything.  Sawamura unable to as blood dripped out of his mouth, his eyes becoming unfocused but Kuroo still say the moment when Sawamura finally realized what had happened, what Kuroo had done.  Kuroo stayed silent.  Apologizing or explaining anything would be a selfish action, only meant to alleviate some of Kuroo’s guilt.

Sawamura’s eyes finally saw no more, the small gasps dying out to sudden silence.  The only noise in the room was the pounding on the door.  Kuroo gently put Sawamura on the floor, tried to arrange the body in a comfortable position though he knew it didn’t matter any more.  Kuroo pressed his lips to Sawamura’s forehead, not bothering to ask for forgiveness for such a terrible and selfish deed.

12 Years Later…..

Kuroo woke up on a cold floor.  He thought he must be underground given the temperature, the ground beneath him was hard packed dirt.  It had been a while since he had been in a dungeon.  Even longer since someone had managed to knock him out.

Kuroo carefully tested the bindings around his arms and legs while he tried to piece together what had happened.  He had been out in the forest catching something for his group to eat.  He had needed the time alone, he had woken from memories and blood that just never seemed to wash off.  When he had gotten back into the small clearing they had set up camp in everything had been wrong.

His arms were tied behind his back, forearm to forearm bound tightly with cloth over his hands so his clever fingers couldn’t unwind any of the knots.  His shoulders hurt from the strain and his legs were tied in a similar fashion, twisted back to connect to a rope around his neck.  If he tried to straighten out his legs at all he ended up choking himself.

The small group had been simply outnumbered and captured, bags with herbs that knocked them out put over their heads.  Kuroo had tried to fight but a man with a hood casting half his face in shadows had appeared.  There had been no bag with herbs for Kuroo.  He had been punched once in the cheek, knocked to the ground when he was stunned, and then knocked out with another well placed bunch.

Felt like it might have been personal, which didn’t really narrow it down.

The blame for Karasuno burning was placed firmly on Kuroo’s shoulders, though he had only killed the crown prince.  The King's brother had been jealous and greedy, he had blackmailed Kuroo into killing the prince.  The King’s brother had hired others to take out the King and Queen, and he had taken to the throne.

Kuroo had wanted what was promised to him, his friends freedom but the King had decided that he knew too much.  He had tried to have Kuroo killed.  Kuroo ended up killing the Mad King instead, but no one knew he was behind his own brothers murder.  Kuroo was painted as the aggressor, the horrible villain.  Karasuno had been attacked during its weakest point and the city burned.

All of that happened before Kuroo’s 18th birthday.

So yes, Kuroo had quite a few enemies.

“Ah good, you’re finally awake.”  A cheery voice called out as the loud sound of metal doors being opened echoed through the dungeon.  Kuroo couldn’t see a thing because he was blindfolded, but he could hear just fine.

“Suga, maybe it’s not a good idea to be in there with him.”  A soft but deep voice advised nervously, though Kuroo heard a heavier tread follow the first one into his cell.

“Nonsense.”  The one called Suga said before the blindfold was removed and Kuroo was blinking in the surprisingly well lit room.  “And if he tries anything, you’re here to protect me.”  The man appeared like an angel, dressed in white robes and smiling angelically up to a giant of a man behind him.  Kuroo wasn’t fooled by the looks.  The Mad King had been broad and handsome, always quick with a smile.  He had given the dagger to Kuroo, told the boy exactly where to stab.

“Where are my people?”  Kuroo asked.  Suga sat right on the ground in front of him, a long staff stood straight up beside him.

“They are safe and no where near here.”  Suga gave another soft smile, eyes scanning over Kuroo’s face.  He was sure the other man saw far more than Kuroo was comfortable with.  “My name is Sugawara, but you may call me Suga, everyone does.”  Kuroo pressed his lips together.  They undoubtedly knew who he was but he wasn’t going to confirm it.  His name was a curse now.

“Safe for now you mean.”  Kuroo wanted to scream because he could almost guess why he was in this situation.  A situation he had been in when he was younger.

“So untrusting.”  Suga’s eyes seemed to concentrate on Kuroo’s cheek, where he was sure there was a nice dark bruise there.  “When this plan was brought to me I thought he was insane, but now I feel differently.”  Suga reached up and the hovering giant stepped forward, helped the pale man up to his feet.

“What do you feel now?”  Kuroo asked, wasn’t able to keep the bitterness out of his tone.

“Hope.”  Suga smiled, shocking Kuroo as the two walked out of Kuroo’s cell and the door was closed behind them.

Kuroo wasn’t left alone for long but he used the time to center himself.  He tried to pull on his trusty facade of false bravado, full of sharp edged smirks and double edged words but he couldn’t.  He was worried about his people and he knew, he knew he should have broken off with them long ago like he originally planned.  He was cursed but they didn’t have to be.  But Kuroo let himself be talked into staying with them and selfishly he had allowed himself to stay and now they were in the same situation Kuroo had promised they would never be put into again.

Kuroo tried not to think about how they cut Inouka’s leg off last time or they beat Fukunaga everyday until he stopped speaking or how they sold Kai nightly to the highest bidder.  He would do whatever was asked of him, let them drop their guards and kill them all for ever thinking they could use his own people against him.  After all they couldn’t ask him to do anything that would hurt his heart any further, he had cut that organ out and laid it to rest when he stabbed the prince all those years ago.

Kuroo forced himself into the present and away from those dark thoughts.  They had undid the ties around his legs, had four guards on him as they brought him out into the sunshine.  Horses were lined up and well packed, people running around and doing their jobs with quick efficiency.

“Am I to be told what you want of me or is it to be a surprise?”  Kuroo asked the bald headed guard to his right, already singling him out as the one with the temper.

“You will be guiding us in the Isle of Giants.”  A deep voice rasped from behind Kuroo.  Kuroo snorted, turning to poke fun at the one who thought he would willingly go back to that island of demons and monsters where even the fauna tried to kill you.

“You-”  Kuroo didn’t get another word out as he saw the man striding towards him.  He wasn’t any taller than he was at 17 but he was somehow so much broader, wider without an inch of fat on him.  The light leather armor only added to the fact, it was stained black like the rest of the soldiers around him.

“Cat got your tongue?”  The man asked, voice too deep but so familiar.  The soft rasp, the dark brown eyes, the slightly crooked nose were all the same.  But impossible, utterly impossible.

Kuroo had killed Sawamura Daichi so how was he standing in front of him 12 years after they buried the crowned prince?

[sarriane]

remus & sirius: prank!fic

i’m posting a few old unpublished fics from 2011 to try to get myself back into the fic game. enjoy! :)

this is my contribution to fic about the notorious Prank. remus/sirius pining, but no smooching or canoodling, sorry.

*

Sirius Black is barely 16 years old when he falls in love with his best friend. It hurts as much as anything.

It was a stupid idea, one of his worst, to trick the slimy git into the Shrieking Shack. He had only intended for Snape to catch a glimpse of the werewolf within and retreat, running, but James had thankfully intervened.

After James explodes at him about what it could have done to Remus, Sirius only catches a brief glimpse of Remus' own pain.

"You can't go risking lives like that!" James shouts across the dormitory. Sirius is worried that others might hear, but he knows neither of them is daft enough to yell "werewolf" or mention Remus by name.

"I only meant to scare him!" Sirius replies, "you're always about testing the little slimeball, and I thought--"

"Don't give me that shit! Besides being reckless about an enemy, you risked a friend." James' eyes flare up. "We're supposed to be the Marauders, we're supposed to be inseparable, like brothers," his voice lowers, but he remains livid. "Think of what pain that would have caused Remus if he hurt Snape? If he killed him?"

"I didn't mean for Snape to get hurt, I didn't think--"

"You didn't think at all, you bastard!" James punches Sirius in the mouth, his lip splitting, and tears out of the dormitory, leaving the door swinging.

Remus is standing stock-still in the threshold, fresh from the hospital wing, his eyes wide.

Sirius has seen Dumbledore's contained anger, McGonagall's fuming lecture, Peter's disgust, and James' raw fury, but none of it is worse than the look on Remus' face. Disappointment swims in his eyes. Sirius doesn't know what to say. An apology half forms in his mind and is caught in his throat. He's almost thankful for it halting, because he isn't sure his limp and twisted tongue could spit out words.

Remus walks over to his battered trunk and ruffles through it, perhaps to find a change of robes or a book, but probably to avoid looking at Sirius. Sirius figures he must be disgusting to look at. He doesn't move or make a sound, causing the rustle of the items in Remus' trunk to sound unbearably loud.

Sirius just stands in the middle of the shared dormitory, watches Remus pull out his pajamas, a book, and a chocolate bar, retreat into the safety of his four-poster bed, and pull the curtains tightly. A lump builds in Sirius' dry throat, a lump that drops down into his sour stomach and bounces up into his lower chest, where it grows like the feeling of the woods before rain.

He moves in jerky motion towards the door, shutting it slowly, retreating down the stairs, numbly floating along. Remus' disappointment sticks in his stomach, floating below the new feeling in his lower chest that he still can't name. He goes for a walk in the rain, across the abandoned and muddy grounds, and doesn't return until it's nearly curfew (he's in enough trouble as it is).

Sirius lies on his bed in his soaking robes and figures he deserves this and worse. He falls asleep shivering and wakes up to find that someone has used a drying charm on his clothes and covered him in a blanket.

He has a cold for a week, and afterwards Remus begins to talk to him again.

*

"And then he said, 'You can't just rip out my heart and replace it with chocolate!"

"He didn't actually say that, Padfoot, you're being melodramatic." Sirius glares at James from across the dormitory.

"He did! And now he's refusing to talk to me." He collapses on his four-poster bed and buries his face in his hands. James sighs.

"It's been a month," he says in a quiet, serious voice while he walks over to Sirius. "You have to accept it. Whatever it was that you had--" he stops, catching Sirius' eyes, "that trust -- it's broken."

It's Sirius who feels broken, to hell with the trust.

"That was his big secret," James continues. Sirius rather wishes he'd shut up. "His life revolves around it being kept. He'd be kicked out of school if the parents knew. The Ministry would…if the wolf had…" he finally trails off, looking at Sirius' dark eyes.

"I'm an idiot," Sirius moans. "A git. A bastard."

"Continue," James says gruffly, then claps him on the shoulder. "Good luck with that." He leaves Sirius alone in the dormitory and goes off, probably to chase Evans. Sirius curses him.

"Twat," he mutters, half to himself, and closes the hangings of his bed to sulk.

*

"I'm sorry," Sirius says as he passes the marmalade.

"It's not your fault they don't have bacon this morning," Remus says conversationally, and Peter turns bright pink.

"Not about the bacon, that's Peter's fault." They all take a moment to glare at Peter, who makes a sort of squeal that reminds Sirius of a pig. Out of which he would love to make bacon. Out of loyalty, he doesn't mention it.

"Sirius, I've heard this. Now, can you let me eat my toast in peace?" Remus looks at Sirius, not properly, but in the way he has for the past month: eyes a little out of focus, a little over his shoulder. Sirius swallow his eggs bitterly and stands up to leave the table.

"Sirius," James calls after him, his voice half firm and half pitying, but Sirius ignores him and leaves the Gryffindor table. No one follows him.

He runs up to the common room to grab his cloak, and goes outside. It's cold and the ground is frozen with a dusting of snow. Soon, it will be snowball fight weather. He doesn't feel the excitement, though. The entire day is off kilter. His feet bring him to Hagrid's hut, the new gamekeeper who has been friendly enough to Remus and him when they had sat by the lake and argued about books. It was thanks to Hagrid that they knew a few secrets about the giant squid.

He doesn't quite know what to say when Hagrid opens his door and looks down on him, but Hagrid growls, "Come in," like it's an inevitability and he closes the door behind him. He's never been inside before.

The hut is warm and dry and one room. Hagrid sits on a large stool by the fireplace and stokes up the coals underneath the kettle. Strange plants hang from the ceiling, and something rattles in a cage in the corner. Sirius decides he quite likes the hut and especially Hagrid. A puppy boarhound nips at his ankles and yips excitedly.

"Down, boy," Hagrid commands the dog, who doesn't listen. Sirius scratches the dog's head where he knows it feels the best. The puppy licks his hand.

"Does he have a name?" Sirius asks, at a loss for how to talk to Hagrid. He's not quite a teacher, but still an adult. And he doesn't quite know why he's here. Hagrid doesn't seem to mind, however.

"Nope. Not yet." Hagrid fills two giant mugs with tea and sets out a plate of treacle fudge. Sirius takes a large bite and instantly regrets it. "Seems to like yeh, though. 'e was snapping at my heels when I first got 'im." Sirius tries to speak, but his teeth seem to be glued together. He takes a sip of tea, hoping it will help before he has to speak.

"So," Hagrid says, eyeing him carefully, "what can I do for you?" Sirius swallows and regains full use of his mouth.

"I…" he trails off. "I need to earn someone's trust back," he says decidedly. Hagrid looks at him like he's a bit thick. Sirius feels slightly offended.

"Ah," Hagrid says. He feels his face blush slightly in embarrassment as he realizes Hagrid knows exactly what he's talking about. "Trust ain't easy ter lose or gain," he tells Sirius.

"I've discovered that," Sirius says through gritted teeth.

"I s'pose…" Hagrid trails off, deep in thought. Sirius wonders what he's thinking about. "Well, there's nothing much yeh can do," he booms, and Sirius' heart sinks. "Yeh just have to prove that yeh can be trustworthy, and that yer friendship is built on more’n that." Sirius looks down at his hands, feeling ashamed.

"But what if…what if you can't talk about it? What if Re--this person, refuses to talk about it?" The large man takes a contemplative slurp out of his mug and sighs.

"Then it seems both of yeh got a problem. If he won't talk about it and he can't trust yeh, then the pair of yeh need to work that out," Hagrid says gruffly.

"Work it out?" Sirius says blankly.

"Yeah," Hagrid nods, waving his mug around so a little tea splashes over the edge. "I don’t know what yeh'll have to do to get 'im to listen, but that's how yeh rebuild relationships. It's half heart, and half followin' yer head and makin' a mess of things."

Sirius nods, "Thank you," and stands up quickly to leave.

"Wait," Hagrid stops him, "why don't yeh stay an' chat for a while." Sirius smiles slightly, and he does.

*

It's almost Christmas time, and Sirius is still upset that Remus is ignoring him.

"It's not even ignoring, exactly, he's just not talking to me like he used to," he whines. Lily Evans looks up from her book and tucks a stray strand of her red hair behind an ear.

"I'm sorry things aren't working around between you and your boyfriend, Black, but I'm trying to read," she says patronizingly. Sirius glares back at her.

"Yes, but how am I supposed to fix this!? I can't just leave things be!" he says stressfully. "Remus has been hanging around you lately, so I thought maybe you could talk to him, or something," he says lamely. "Please?" Lily whistles lowly, and marks her page before setting her book down.

"This is a whole new level for you, isn't it, Black?" He groans through gritted teeth, wishing she would just get to the point already.

"Yes, Evans, will you help me?" he says quickly, looking around to see if anyone is eavesdropping. It's the library, of course, and even though it's only Wednesday, they're the only people in there (minus Madam Pince, of course). Remus would be in here usually, but it's the day after the full moon.

(A full moon he missed, that James and Peter stayed away because they knew Dumbledore was watching – a full moon that looks like the worst Remus has ever had.)

"Well," Lily says tantalizingly, and Sirius realizes that this is probably why Prongs can't help but feel hope for his future with her. "Maybe I’ll help." He now curses himself for even thinking about Lily in any way close to the way Prongs might.

"Maybe? " he repeats hopefully.

"Maybe," she sighs, seeming to regret her half-answer already. "He's just…not himself. I don't know what it is. We've never been very close, and all of a sudden--" she glances around and lowers her voice, "--he just, talks to me. Really talks to me. And at first I thought it was Potter, asking him to set us up, but I don't know. I think it's--I think it's you. He's lost without you. You were like two sides of the same galleon." He likes the thought. It makes sense.

"I know I've been an idiot," he admits.

"Telling Severus that your best friend is a werewolf?" Lily smirks. "Understatement."

Sirius looks at her in shock and makes a choked noise in the back of his throat. He gasps, "He told you?"

"He didn't have to," she shrugs. "I figured it out ages ago, and I overheard Severus threatening Potter the morning after."

"And he--"

"He would appreciate it if you would stop whispering about him in the library." Remus' voice makes Sirius jump. Lily looks ashamed of herself.

"Remus--" Sirius spits suddenly, standing up and nearly knocking his chair over. "Please, can you listen to me for a minute, I--"

"I've heard it all Sirius, okay?" he sets a pile of books down next to Lily's stack and crosses his arms. For someone who was a howling, mindless werewolf just over 12 hours ago, he seems quite steady on his feet -- but Sirius notices the bandages around his arms and peeking out from under his shirt. He feels something in his chest fluttering then sinking and wants to kick himself. This is somehow his fault, he knows it.

"No, you haven't, I--"

"Don't, Sirius," he stops him, and some of the pain of his injuries reflects on his face. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to check out these books and get back to bed before Madam Pomfrey fries me alive." He offers a smile to Lily and half a grimace to Sirius, who feels the fluttering-sinking thing in his chest fall into his stomach, where it will likely be digested by his acidic insides. He waits until Remus has disappeared among the stacks before he lets his head fall against the desk and groans.

"Don't be so dramatic, Sirius," Lily says, piling her books up so she can check them out before the library closes. "He's still talking to you."

"You call that talking?" Sirius moans, his voice muffled by the arms he's thrown around his head.

"Well, he's acknowledging your existence, which is more than can be said about Potter and I. And Potter seems to be deranged into thinking we're dating. At least you know a break up when you see one."

Lily does offer him a pitying smile before she leaves him to angst in peace, but it doesn't stop him from seriously questioning his best mate's taste in women. Or, perhaps, why he's the only boy in their year that doesn't seem to have had a crush on Lily Evans.

A shiver runs down his spine, which is probably a direct result of the glare Madam Pince sends his way.

*

November passes, and Christmas break looms, big and lonely and snowy. James and Peter are going home, as usual, but Remus always stays (he doesn't like to talk about his father, much, which makes Sirius worry when he goes home for the summer) and Sirius has nowhere to go.

"Stay," Prongs had encouraged him. "Work things out." Sirius vaguely wonders if this had been a ploy to get rid of him.

Christmas break is just as lonely and cold as it had threatened to be. There are no classes, nothing to do, and very few students are still at school. Sirius begins to hate hanging around the library, common room, and dormitory; if he even looks at Remus, he receives an exasperated, "Yes, Sirius?" in reply.

He takes to long walks around the lake that end in frozen toes and red ears. He likes the chill air, his breath as it floats to the grey skies, and the smooth ice of the lake. He likes the silence, too, even if it allows him to think too much. He owls James once a day after his walks, but even "Shut up Prongs, you fat git," gets old on paper. Peter's letters are filled with effort, but the stories of his misadventures with Muggle girls get old as well.

On one of his cold walks on Christmas Eve, he just stares at his already frozen feet and concentrates on the monotony of trudging through the crusted-over snow. He's forgotten his mittens, so he rubs his hands together and breathes into them, looking up at the sky. The clouds loom darkly and he looks upwards just as fresh new snow begins to fall. The snowflakes catch on his dark hair, but don't melt. He's only halfway across the lake, so he has plenty of walking to do before he's inside and warm. He's happy for the cold, even if it leaves a painful numbness in his extremities.

His thoughts are interrupted when he runs into something – something very unexpected, and very solid.

He falls onto the ground and realizes that this something is a person. Mostly because of their entangled limbs. Somewhat because of their loud groan. But definitely because Moony's head collides with his own and knocks stars into his vision.

"Ow!" they yelp in unison, a tangle of limbs and scares, snow flying in all directions, wind blowing it down their cloaks.

They both halt in their scramble for purchase, just for a moment, and there is peace and stillness. Remus' steamy breath and the snow flying down from the clouds get into his face and block his vision, but for the freckles on Remus' nose and the snowflakes on his pale eyelashes. He would move, except Remus is a warm weight pinning him down and he doesn't want to move.

"Sirius?" His name is a question, breathed sweetly upon him so that it warms his face. Remus' voice carries that rare shock he cherishes hearing. It's been a long while since he's heard anything except disappointment in that voice. It ends all too soon when Remus scrambles to get to his feet.

"Sorry," Sirius chokes out, wishing he had more air in his lungs. He gets to his feet quickly and brushes the snow from his front. "I should have--"

"It's fine," Remus says in that tone he hates, and Sirius wonders if he's been hanging out with Lily Evans enough that he's picked up her womanly way of saying she's "fine" when she definitely doesn't seem to be.

"No, I--" But Remus is already walking away.

Sirius leans down, grabs a handful of snow, and sends it flying. The snowball hits Remus right between the shoulder blades. He stops. Sirius holds his chilly breath inside himself, letting it warm so that it turns to steam as he exhales. He watches Remus’s back. He just stands there, still and quiet.

"Are you just going to stand there and take that?" Sirius lets out the breath with a yell. His fingers are freezing, numb, and painful from the bare skin against cold snow, but he feels like his sheer yelling will clear the cold from his fingers. All of his frustration and regret have turned into anger in his lungs. The fury pumps like oxygen into his heart and spreads through his veins, bubbling in the hot blood. The snow seems to melt around him.

Remus doesn't move, so Sirius makes another snowball and throws it. It hits in the exact same spot. The white stain is a sharp contrast on the faded black wool.

"Fine! Just absorb it and ignore me! Don't you want to play?" he yells bitterly, then kneels down again to scoop up another handful of wet snow.

This time, Remus ducks, and Sirius wonders if it's because of the nearing full moon that Remus knows when to dodge. Sirius screams then, his yell carnal and angry, and Remus turns suddenly and stalks up to him, panting from the effort of running through knee-high snow banks.

"I'm not the problem here, Sirius," he growls through gritted teeth. His voice, his blessedly upset voice, takes Sirius' breath away. He moves suddenly, as if to turn away, but Sirius grabs a hold of his cloak and holds him there.

"Talk to me, Remus," he says, his adolescent voice breaking at the worst moment. He wishes his lungful of oxygen would turn to confidence instead of fear inside him, but the change is already running through his blood and freezing his veins shut. "I've told you, I'm sorry. Forgive me. Please." Remus tries to tear away, but he's not using the brute strength that Sirius knows he has.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," Remus sighs, now a bit more calmly.  With that emotion in his voice, Sirius wants to scream again.

"Remus," Sirius says, and now he feels like he is breaking. And now Remus pulls away with some force, turning his back, trudging towards the castle, his cloak floating in the breeze.

"No!" Sirius yells. He scoops up more snow and throws wildly, missing the first time. "Stop!" he throws another, "And! Listen! To! Me!" the last snow ball goes off target and hits Remus' head. He stops again, this time to brush the snow out of his hair. And now it's Sirius who is running towards his friend, reaching to grab for his shoulder but flinching away, murmuring, "Sorry, I'm sorry, sorry," over and over again like he thinks he can redo the past.

Remus simply shakes his head and closes his eyes for a short moment.

"No," he says simply. "You're not."

Sirius looks slack-jawed.

"I was--that was rather a good shot," he tries to come back lamely, but Remus shakes his head. Sirius' heart sinks.

"You're sorry that we're not friends anymore," he sighs. "That's it."

"I never--you never--we're not friends?" Sirius' voice croaks. His heart continues into his feet, where it melts into a puddle. He wishes he could follow it and sink into the ground. Remus sighs, deep, in the back of his throat again, and shakes his head.

"You betrayed me," Remus says simply, making the phrase seem an everyday thing.

"I didn't mean to," he pleads. "Please, Remus."

"Please, what?"

"Forgive me!"

He gives Sirius a long, hard look. Sirius is pretty sure his heart is underground, now, where the worms are in hibernation.

"It doesn't work like that. You told Snape--" Sirius titters, as if to correct Remus, but he holds up a mittened hand and silences him. "You told someone my secret, no matter how you spin it. You endangered his life. You endangered mine," he says in a hoarse, whispery voice. "I could have…what if I had killed him?"

"That wasn't you," Sirius says quickly, "that's the wolf." But Remus shakes his head again, his eyes darkening.

"No. It's me. If someone is hurt, it's my fault. If someone is hurt, it's me that goes to Azkaban. It's me that will be tried and kicked out. My life will be ruined. And, worst of all, someone will have died--or worse, have to suffer what I do every month," Remus' voice breaks like Sirius' pulverized heart, and he wants to step forward and hug Remus tightly and tell him he'll never let that happen. But it would be a half-lie, as he almost did.

"I'll quit Quidditch," Sirius says suddenly, stupidly. He feels an even bigger idiot after the words come out of his mouth and splash across Remus' face in utter disbelief, but he can't stop the torrent that follows. 

"I'll do all of my homework, and help you with yours, and not let James or Peter copy anymore. And I'll take Arithmancy with you, and Ancient Runes, even though I don't want to go to N.E.W.T. level. And you can stay over at my place during the summer if you'd like. And I'll stop curling the pages of books like I know you hate but you never say. And I'll--I'll eat my vegetables!" Sirius stops, breathless, at the change of expression on Remus' face.

He sighs.

Sirius' heart breaks further somewhere underground, into tiny shards that archaeologists will likely dig up in a thousand years and study to find the origin of his breakage.

"Sirius," Remus says slowly, "offering to eat vegetables does not make a good bargaining chip." And they can't help it, because the next minute they're laughing together for the first time in months, the mirth eating away at their resolves to be serious and quiet. There's Sirius' barking, sharp laugh, and Remus' slightly reserved chortling, blending together in the winter air. They roar for what seems like hours before the joy bleeds away, and they stare at each other awkwardly.

"I don't know what to say," Sirius admits.

"Me either," Remus murmurs. It's quite a rare moment. "I can't forgive you," he says, "not just yet."

"It's okay, I guess," Sirius sighs. "I was stupid. I don't deserve it."

"Sirius--"

"You've been a great friend to me, and I betrayed your trust," he shrugs, and begins to walk away, staring once again at his shoes and trying to rub warmth back into his fingers.

Remus walks him walk away, towards the castle, and reaches his hand into his pocket, pulling out Sirius' mittens. He watches at the retreating figure disappears into the flurries of snow and heads towards the lights of the castle. He hesitates, and then follows him inside, kicking snow up as he goes.

***