#and spoke in eager tones of such hideous possibilities

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts

Today's prompt is: calm.

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 7)

Summary: Rosie is brought to school in a police car, and it has nothing to do with her parents. What's more troubling is her attitude about the events afterwards...

Seven Years Old

Being brought to school in a police car by a uniformed police officer got me some unwanted attention, but there was nothing for it. (I say unwanted…)

Everybody thought it had everything to do with Papa’s detective work. A mistake easily made, but no, it had absolutely nothing to do with either parent, uncle or the DI at New Scotland Yard.

Dad and Papa were away for a few days, and Molly and I made a girl’s weekend out of it. We went to Madame Tussaud’s, Daunt Books, and St, James’s Park. Molly painted my nails, we applied hideous looking face masks and covered our eyes with slices of cucumber, watched the Narnia films, ate popcorn, ice cream, chocolate, pizza and Molly’s homemade scones.

When Monday arrived, I was eager to get to school and tell my friends all about the wonderful time I’d had. I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth after breakfast when I heard Molly cry out and then a man’s voice spoke. Not a voice I was familiar with, and his speech was slurred. A commotion ensued.

“Stay calm. Focus. Deep breaths. You can do this, Watson.”

It was Papa’s voice, urging me into action with a calm tone, and I knew what to do. He and Dad had trained me for this if an emergency should occur.

Molly had a landline in her bedroom, so I called 999. The woman answering was very understanding when I told her, in as few words possible, that a man had forced his way into my godmother’s house, could she please send a car over asap.

We were in luck, because a car with two officers was patrolling the area. The doorbell rang a minute later. 

“The door is open. Come…”

Molly’s voice went suddenly muffled. The man was probably holding a hand over her mouth.

Bite him, Molly, I thought, but then the police entered, and chaos followed next.

***

It turned out that the man breaking an entering, was drunk, hence the slurred speech. He lived one street down, and evidently thought he was locking himself into his own house. Molly had left the door unlocked after she’d brought out the bins. We were after all about to depart minutes later. So, when this man saw Molly in “his” house, he thought she was a burglar.

Molly was a bit shaken, but the man had been too drunk to have the strength to harm her. Another car was called, and Miriam, one of the police officers, offered to drive me to school, lest I’d be late. (Actually, it was me who asked her.) The reason she acquiesced had probably everything to do with my heroic effort, and resourcefulness in saving the day.

I told Miriam all about Papa and that I knew Greg Lestrade. Miriam didn’t know them, but she’d obviously heard of the great Sherlock Holmes. I think she was a bit amazed that I was his daughter.

So, this is why I was delivered at school in a police car, just in time for my first class of the day. Our teacher was supposed to read us a story, but everyone, her included, was bursting with curiosity about this morning’s events. Now that I knew a bit more about the West End, as I was a part of the school’s theatre group, I gestured and dramatized as best I could, which seemed to have the desired effect.

***

That evening, Dad told me about what had happened after Miriam had driven me to school. Two minutes later, uncle Myc arrived, had a stern talk with Molly about locking her doors when his precious niece was in her care, and when Molly returned from work, a top-notch alarm system had been installed.

Also available on AO3

[smileygoth]

24. The Masquerade (Vamptober 2022)

Find the full list of chapters here.

Jazz and Lucas take part in their first - and last - mission as part of the Sabbat.

CW: Fire, violence, brief mention of threat to children.

Word count: 2,160 words.

Image from a cut scene from VTM: Bloodlines (PC) - again, if you haven't played it I highly recommend it! It's available on Steam (but remember to patch it)!

They were summoned to the scrapyard the next night. Quinn welcomed them all at the office doors and ushered them inside. To Jazz's surprise, the interior was neat and decorated in cool tones with modern furniture. The gang looked like ink stains on white satin as they sat down on the ivory sofas and lounged by the pale wood bookshelves. 

Quinn sat behind her desk, which dominated one end of the room. The surface of the desk was completely empty and spotlessly clean. "So as you all know," she said, leaning forward on her elbows to address them, "The plan against the Camarilla is for several packs to run interference missions tomorrow night, with a concentrated war party hitting the Prince's building the night after, while they're still reeling and playing clean-up."

Jazz tried not to show her confusion. This must have been discussed at the gathering; after the horrendous display of the Tzimisce's 'artwork' she had completely zoned out, all her efforts going to just not freaking out in a hall full of Sabbat vampires.

"The interference missions will concentrate on key locations," Quinn continued, "Where we are to cause as much mayhem as possible. We're talking big Masquerade breaches, in case that wasn't already obvious." The gang stirred restlessly, grinning and muttering eager agreement. "One of those locations will be where Lucas has so kindly directed us, and where our pack will be targeting - the Sheriff's haven. Or at least, his public haven; if he actually stays there during the day then he deserves everything that's coming to him."

Laughter rang out around the room. Lucas laughed with them. Jazz managed a weak smile.

Quinn's eyes landed on them. "Lucas will be taking you there, since he knows the location. Carl will take charge of the combat, as usual. These are your two leads. Listen to them and keep close eyes on each other. The war party the next night will consist of those packs who are still in good enough condition to keep fighting - so if you want in on that, don't die." 

"Taking down a Prince?" Donna piped up. "Hell yes I want in on that!"

"Then look after each other," Quinn replied sternly. "You come back torpored or missing a limb, you'll be stuck on the sidelines for the main event. Is that clear?"

Everyone nodded. Quinn smiled. "Good." Opening a drawer to her side, she pulled out a large map and spread it out over her desk. "Lucas. Carl. Get over here and start planning."

Lucas and Carl stood up and joined Quinn at her desk. As they all bent over the map and started talking and pointing, the other vampires began to mill and chatter around the sofas. Jazz looked away from the desk and did her best to sound enthusiastic. In reality, she was scared as hell.

The next night found them all piled into an unmarked white van, heading into Jazz and Lucas's old home town. Quinn had sent them off with a quick blessing and another Vaulderie, though mercifully without the burning brand. Jazz had taken as little of the combined blood as she thought she could get away with, but still it had her feeling a camaraderie with the pack that was battling hard to overcome the horror she felt about the last few nights. Lucas sat up front in the van, directing Carl. 

They were all wearing moulded plastic biker armour and carrying knives on their belts. Carl and Magnus had handguns too. Most of them had thrown a coat or a hoody over their armour; Grease and Cal hadn't bothered. Looking at them, Jazz supposed it didn't matter; the second they stepped into view people would be staring. Cal's eyes glowed yellow in the dark like a cat's eyes, and Grease was hideous.

 Lucas spoke up at the front of the van. "There it is."

Carl nodded. "Okay." He drove a little further before parking the van. Then he turned in his seat to address them all. "We're outside the city centre, so there's not a huge amount going on around here at this hour by the looks of things. So we're going to need to draw people out. Grease, you got those Molotovs?"

Grease lifted up a canvas bag, which clinked as it moved. "Right here."

"Hand them out. We're going to target the cars, make a lot of noise, get people looking out their windows. Donna, we passed a bar just down the street. Go in there and start shouting about gang attacks or something, get the people in there to come out. Once we've got a few doors open and a few people coming out to stop us, Grease and Cal, start going into houses, dragging out the people inside. Women and kids too. Put the fear into them - let them see your faces. Everyone, one we've got a crowd it's fangs out, vamp faces on. We're right on the Sheriff's doorstep, so expect him or his men to come out and try to stop us."

He looked at Lucas. "You and your girlfriend. Hang onto your Molotovs. When you see the Sheriff or his men come out, you go in. Torch the place. Any prisoners in there, release them. Give them a chance to join us. If they refuse, kill them if you can. Cat, you go with them."

Cat pouted. "But I'll miss all the fun!"

Carl grinned over his shoulder at her. "I doubt that, sweetheart. You'll make plenty of fun inside, I'm sure."

Grease pushed a bottle into Jazz's hands. The glass felt greasy, and the top was plugged with a sodden rag that stank of gasoline. She held it away from her as if it was already on fire. "You know how to use that, princess?" Grease said with a sneer.

Jazz glared at him. "Yeah," she replied stonily. "Thanks."

Carl went on. "Remember, as always, you hear sirens, get back in the van. If you're not in the van by the time the cops show up, you're on your own. We don't want to hang around to help the Cammies clear up the mess." He looked round at everyone. "Okay, we ready?"

"Yeah!" the pack called in unison.

Carl grinned. "Then let's do this!"

He threw open the van door and jumped out. Cal threw the rear doors open and the rest of them piled out, eyes bright and eager, bottles raised in hands. Donna, the only one without a bottle, sprinted down the street toward a hanging sign lit with neon. Cat grabbed Jazz and Lucas and smiled. "Lead on, newbies," she said, as the first crashes of broken glass and blooms of flame disturbed the night's peace around them.

Lucas led them to the side of the building. It was a three-storey town house on a corner, small windows near the pavement denoting a basement level and narrow steps leading up to the front door. They crouched around the corner from the front door and waited. The street began to echo with angry shouts, and then screams of panic and fear. Someone - Jazz guessed Cal or Carl - let out a bestial roar. The scent of blood began to pick up on the breeze. From their vantage point they saw Donna come running back, a small crowd of men behind her, some wielding pool cues. It made Jazz think of their initiation night, and she shuddered, thinking of what was likely about to happen to those men.

The sound of a door crashing open made her jump, and then more angry voices joined in with the cacophony. Lucas, peering round the corner of the building, held up his hand. "Five guys just came out," he said.

"Vampires?" Cat asked.

"Oh yeah," Lucas confirmed. "No Sheriff though."

"Sweet," Cat grinned. "Maybe we'll get to take him down."

"Coast's clear," Lucas said.

Keeping low, they ran round the front of the building, using the parked cars as cover, and went in through the front door. At first glance, the place appeared to be deserted - the living room and kitchen areas were empty except for a table covered in papers and a worn sofa facing an old-fashioned TV. Cat looked around. "Layout?" she asked.

Lucas pointed. "Basement for prisoners. Upstairs for troops. This level's like the office."

Cat nodded. "I'll go up, you two go down," she said. "Remember what Carl said about the prisoners. Oh, and ..." She pulled out a lighter, lit the rag of her Molotov, and threw it at the table. It exploded into flames, the papers all instantly charring and curling. "Let's get this party started," she said, grinning at them before she ran upstairs.

Jazz couldn't help recoiling from the sudden burst of flames. Thankfully, the basement was in the opposite direction. She nodded at Lucas and they crossed to the basement door together.

"Remember what I said last night?" Jazz asked Lucas.

Lucas nodded. "We see a chance to get away, we take it."

Jazz nodded back. "We could run now," she said. "In the confusion they won't notice til we don't come back to the van."

Lucas sighed and turned the handle of the door. Unlocked, it opened easily. "Let's at least let the prisoners out," he replied. "If there are any. So they don't burn to death."

They went down the stairs, Lucas in front. The basement was in darkness, but Jazz remembered it well. A plain room with brick walls and a concrete floor, the only hiding place would be underneath the stairs. 

Why was the door unlocked, Jazz? the Voice asked. It's supposed to be a prison, right?

Jazz opened her mouth to voice this to Lucas, but before she could she heard him grunt in surprise, and his silhouette jerked sideways and disappeared off the stairs. Glass shattered below them. Looking down, her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she saw him, clutched in the arms of Sheriff Marcus. He had one hand in Lucas's hair and held his head tilted sideways, exposing his throat. The other arm held Lucas tightly around the chest, pinning his arms and keeping him in front like a human shield. Lucas's Molotov lay shattered at the foot of the stairs, making the room reek of gasoline. There was no one else in the basement.

"You two little shits," he growled, baring his fangs. "I give you an out and you run to the fucking Sabbat? That's fucked up."

Jaz held out her hands. "Wait wait wait!" she cried. "We didn't know what we were getting into - we've fucked up, I know! But we want to leave them! We know their plan! Let us leave and we'll tell you!"

Marcus glared at her. "You think I don't know about the Sabbat's little blood-bonding ritual?" he sneered. "Why should I believe a word you say?"

"We're not fully bonded yet," Jazz replied. "We can still run. We want to run. Don't we, Lucas?"

Lucas hesitated, reluctance showing in his eyes. Slowly he nodded his head, as much as he could in Marcus's grip. "Yeah," he agreed.

Marcus glanced at Lucas, then back to Jazz. "What's the intel? If it's good, I'll let you run."

Jazz opened her mouth to reply, but found herself hesitating. Something inside her was resisting, wanting to keep the pack's secrets, to not betray them. Something else was pulling the other way, wanting to protect Lucas, but that urge was weakening. With an effort she pushed her own will through them both, forcing the words out of her mouth. "The Prince. The Sabbat will attack her building tomorrow night."

Marcus's eyes widened. "The Prince? And just how the fuck do they know where her building even is?"

"I ... I don't know," Jazz lied. Her eyes wanted to flick to Lucas, but she made herself hold the Sheriff's gaze.

Marcus let out a frustrated growl and shoved Lucas into her. "You're lucky I don't have time for you two tonight," he snarled. "Get the fuck out. Once this shit is dealt with, I will be after your heads, so you'd better run far.  This is the last second chance you get out of me." He dodged past them and took the stairs three at a time, disappearing into the house. They heard him shout: "And you set my fucking house on fire?!"

Jazz nodded at Lucas, and they raced up the stairs and out of the house. They caught a brief glimpse of the Sheriff running into the fray, aiming for Grease, the most obvious vampire in the fight. Bodies were laid out up and down the street in pools of blood, nearly all the cars were now on fire, and several terrified people, including small children, were huddled against a wall on the opposite side of the road. Jazz tugged on Lucas's hand and pulled him round the side of the building, and they fled up the street and into the night.

The sound that stayed with Jazz as they lost themselves in the city was the sound of Cat's voice as she poked her head out of an upstairs window, seeing them flee. "TRAITORS! COWARDS! WE WILL FIND YOU!"

[silentexplorer18]

A Holly Jolly Christmas: A Draco Malfoy Short

Summary:  You throw a party on Christmas Eve for some Hogwarts alumni.  However, the weather has other ideas in mind for you this holiday season.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Female Reader

Warnings:  Slight mentions to before the war and not seeing your family at Christmas time.

Read it here on AO3.

Masterlist

Golden flickers trailed up the wall and over the glittering tree that burst from the corner of your parlor, the warmth of the fire adding a glorious heat to the otherwise chilly room.  The tree was real, charmed to retain it’s deep green hue, and adorned with a plethora of festive ornaments.  Garland trickled up the mantle and through the room, teasing doorways with hints of holly and mistletoe.  For the second time that evening, you bustled through the homey space, assuring all the presents were snug under the tree and the cookies, one of many assortments of holiday treats, were arranged delicately on your favorite platter.

Everything was in order for a perfect holiday celebration.  Thus, you were eager to open the door when the first set of sharp knocks echoed through your home.

Swinging open the sturdy wood, a cold gust of wind slapped against your figure as your blond guest slipped through the entryway, tailored shoes resting stiffly against your old, woven rug.  His face contorted in distaste.  Presumably, that’s what happens when a man of polished wood furniture and marble pillars and pristinely pressed outerwear encounters a woman of mismatched furniture and homemade holiday decor and distinctly overzealous Christmas apparel.  That’s just what happens when Draco encounters you.

At least he had the decency to withhold a sneer; undoubtedly, his cheeks were too numb to form a proper one.

“Draco,” you spoke warmly, attempting to hide the discomfort in your voice at being alone with someone who quite earnestly abhorred your lifestyle, “I’m so glad you could make it.  If you’d like, I can take your coat.  Then we can wait in the living room for the others.”

He eyed you with an expression you couldn’t quite place, already beginning to unwind the snow speckled scarf from around his neck.  “No one else is coming,” he stated, the sharpness of his tone forming a pit in your stomach with each new syllable.  “The local floos are all shut down from the blizzard, and the weather is far too unfavorable for people to be apparating tonight.”  Your look of shock morphed to one of disappointment and dismay before his very eyes, an expression he did indeed scoff at.  “And as if things couldn’t possibly get any worse,” he huffed, “I’m trapped here until the storm lifts.”

Numbly, you took his scarf and coat, draping them over the coat rack near the door.  Nobody was coming.  All your festive excitement had been a waste.  “I suppose you should make yourself comfortable while you wait,” you suggested, attempting to ignore his blatant disgust, instead opting to attempt a civil evening for the both of you.  With a wave of your hand, he stepped into your all too festive living room.  Draco spared you any scathing remarks on the decor, instead perching himself uncomfortably on one of your mismatched chairs.  The beige paisley was hideous, even you had to admit, but the joy of it being yours, your first piece of furniture, made up for the unsightly pattern.

He held his hands toward the fire.  Again, you were struck with what he had said: a blizzard.  On Christmas Eve no less.

“Tea?” you queried.

“No, no thank you.”  He mustn’t have been as cold as you thought.

“Is there anything you’d like?”

Another scoff.  Pronounced even more with an eyeroll.  Somehow, he still managed to make them appear elegant, posh even when they were directed toward you.  “I’d like to be home on Christmas.”  Tone icy, heat rose to your cheeks as he continued.  “I don’t see why you feel it necessary to hold these parties so close to Christmas anyway.”

“Christmas Eve is as good a time as any to celebrate,” you shot back, not bothering to mask your irritation.

“Christmas is meant to be spent with family.  These parties encroach on that time; it’s rather selfish of you.”

“I know,” you snapped, noting the way his brows arched in surprise.  “I know.”  With a huff, you plopped down on the carpet beside the tree, hands pulling out the carefully wrapped parcels.  Silently, you began to sort them.

Potter.  Weasley.  Weasley.  Weasley.  Longbottom.  Potter.  Potter.  Weasley.

The silence was almost peaceful until Draco had to break it.  “What in Salazar’s name are you doing now?”

“Sorting,” you sighed, eyes raking up to meet his own.  “I’ll need to owl everyone their presents now, won’t I?  All of them but yours.”  You continued sorting.

“Mine?”

Reaching under the tree, you pulled out a thin box with golden wrappings.  The paper was ornate and glimmered in the firelight as you slid it across the carpet to him.  When you’d done the wrapping, you’d adored the beautiful, golden cover, and figured Draco would find it lovely.  The sinking feeling in your chest suggested you were wrong.

“You got me a present?” he asked, eyeing it warily.  With a nod, you finished sorting the last of the packages, allowing yourself to look up at him again.

He’d picked it up while you weren’t looking, turned it in his elegant hands and examined it with a scrutinous gaze that seemed to bore through everything.

“I simply can’t take this,” he stated, holding the package out toward you.  “I haven’t gotten a thing for you.”  Aggravation still ebbed into his voice despite the fact that his gaze had softened considerably.  “Your invitation clearly stated not to bring presents.”

Rising, you perched on the couch, clearly avoiding taking the box from his hands.  “I know what I mailed out.”  His pointed look prompted you to continue.  “It’s just nice, is all, giving a little something to everyone.  That’s what Christmas is all about, mind you, bringing people kindness and joy.”

“Well providing presents to people who can’t provide anything back certainly isn’t joyful,” he snapped.  “Just take it, give it to someone else.  Why waste your money on a gift for me, for any of us?”

“Not all of us have family to give gifts to.”  You offered him a sad smile, and the look of surprise and discomfort that washed across his face, through his body, stiffened his spine all the way down to the bones in his dapper shoes, sent a pang through your heart.

“I thought your parents were muggles?”  It was more a statement than a question, as you both remembered the word mudblood fall from his lips as you crossed paths in Hogwarts.

You bit your lip, choosing your next words wisely as he studied you.  “They are.”  Your tone was awkward.  “I needed to obliviate them to protect them from…”

Death Eaters.  You both knew the end of that sentence, both too uncomfortable to finish it.

Although you’d forgiven Draco for his part in the war, knowing wholeheartedly that his decisions, while seemingly wrong, were based on his upbringing and protecting those he loved, Draco seemed far less accepting of his choices.  It seemed he would never forgive himself for what he’d done.  What he often failed to forget was that regardless of what side he’d chosen, Voldemort’s or Harry’s, people would have died either way, and, regardless, he would have blamed himself for those deaths.  Over time, he’d gotten much better at being unruffled by the mentioning of Death Eaters and the war, but tonight, on Christmas Eve of all nights, he wasn’t prepared for it.

“I should go,” he rushed out, rising and heading toward the coat rack quickly, having gently deposited the present on the coffee table.  His coat was pulled on rapidly, scarf in his fist as he pulled the doorknob.

The snow was a good half a meter high with fluffy flakes still floating downward rapidly.  Having followed him to the door, you stared in shock at the vast amount that had accumulated.  With a shiver, you placed a hand on Draco’s elbow.  The blond glanced at you, pushing the door shut again with nominal effort.

“I think I’ll take that tea now.”

~

The two of you sat on the couch together, a little farther from the fire but still warm nonetheless.  Draping some blankets across both of your laps, you dug into some of the holiday treats you’d made for the party, gently sipping at tea along the way.

He’d been pleasantly surprised by your options, even offering a compliment as you displayed a small array of tea bags.  The conversation was civil.

You could tell he was still uncomfortable from what you’d mentioned before, so you opted to choose a slightly different route.  Desiring to be vulnerable enough to even the playing field, you began, “My parents only celebrated Christmas because they had me.  My father hated holidays, all of them, and my mother was always exceptionally frugal.  But they wanted me to experience Christmas, so they celebrated for a long time.  I’ve gone back a few times after obliviating them, just to see how they are.  I don’t talk to them or go inside, just use a little magic to check on them.  They don’t celebrate anymore.  I don’t exist, so they never had a reason to celebrate.”

Draco was staring at you, nearly gaping at your words.  He probably would have been, were it not for his desire to appear poised and dignified at all times.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t be,” you shook your head.  “They hated Christmas.  If anything, I did them a favor,” you laughed.

He cracked a smile at your joke, eyes still holding a little guilt, but the joy was enough to move forward with.

Saying the two of you became fast friends would be a bit of a stretch, especially since you’d known one another since First Year, but as the night progressed, awkward silences became less frequent and there were jokes aplenty.  The longer Draco was by your side, the more comfortable he seemed to become, offering a great deal of conversation amongst cookie munching and tea sipping.

By one in the morning, you’d drifted off to sleep on the couch beside him, and the blond realized with a flush that it was Christmas Day.  Reaching forward hesitantly, he grasped the gold box in his hand, gazing at it in faint wonder.  The paper tore gently and it didn’t take long for him to slide open the black box inside.

There was a note, incredibly simple in your neat scrawl, as if you’d taken time to assure your writing was pretty and legible.

Draco,

I saw someone with one of these and thought of you.  I remember you saying once that you adore decorative things.

Happy Christmas!

Pushing open the tissue paper revealed a handkerchief.  Cream colored and already folded for a suit pocket, he gazed at the swirling green lettering on the corner.  D.L.M.  It was elegant, beautiful in every embroidered loop and swirl the dark threads provided.  Securing the box lid on it protectively, his cheeks flushed with realization as it occurred to him that it must have cost a fortune for you to purchase something custom for him, even getting the color down to the perfect Slytherin green - his favorite.

He had to make things up to you.

~

Eight in the morning was far too early to wake up on Christmas Day, you realized glumly as you rose from the couch.  Bleary eyed and off balance from your unusual surroundings - it was not often you found yourself asleep on the couch -, a small sigh left your lips as you noticed Draco had disappeared.  Gift no longer on the table and coat no longer on the hook, it was safe to assume he’d awoken and taken the closest floo back to the manor.  He had mentioned his mother always adoring Christmas.

The light tap on the door startled you.  It was not often someone came knocking at such an hour.  Standing, you waved your wand, muttering a few quick spells to freshen your appearance before carefully opening the door.

It was Draco.

And more.

Before you could really register what was going on, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Luna, Neville, George, Angelina, and all the children came bustling through the door, pulling off coats, unraveling scarves, discarding gloves, and offering jovial greetings.

Your eyes shot to Draco’s.  He was waving his wand casually, the cookie trays replenishing themselves, kettle cleaning itself and preparing tea anew, blankets and pillows righting themselves on the furniture, and, of course, the presents sliding back under the tree, as well as a few others, a few new ones, that seemed to have arrived with your merry bunch of friends.

“Draco, what in Merlin’s name are you doing?” you asked, unable to hide the surprised smile on your lips.

With a smirk, he replied, “Spreading a little kindness and joy.  That is what Christmas is about, after all.”

Your smile was priceless, and although he would deny it later, Draco was smiling, too, when you all sat down to enjoy a cheery holiday morning together.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading!  I hope you all enjoyed it.  Happy holidays to all of you out there that celebrate.  I hope you all are doing well.  :)

[istheresomebodywhocanimagine]

Tomorrow Never Came PT. 4

You have one job - travel decades into the past and save your mother from a horrible future. You can’t fail or you’ll have to start over again completely, and you have to act on your own. Already having broken rule number two, a new revelation forces you to reflect on how much impact you’ll truly have, not just on your mother’s life, but on other’s as well. 

Read PT. 1 here | Read PT. 2 here | Read PT. 3 here

(a/n: i wish i could have put more deacon in this ksdkfjsd i love him but it felt forced if i put too much in there. anyways big things happening here hehe ok not huge but still wild. im gonna go to a basketball game now pray that the nacho cheese is good bc im craving a walking taco)

“So you were just working and you heard this loud boom? That’s terrible!” Brian exclaimed, leaning forward from between you and John. His abnormally long legs were spread out, leaving you scarcely any room to sit comfortably as the six of you chatted away.

“Yes, it was quite terrifying, really,” Mary practically gushed, leaning over Freddie’s lap as they lounged on the floor together, Freddie’s back against the side of the chair Roger was casually seated in. “There were hundreds of us in there, I’d never learned any protocol on how to handle a bomb threat. Closed us down until a few days ago, the back room was in shambles!”

“Who did it?” you questioned, genuinely curious about who would have a beef with Biba in this day and age. That being said, you also knew this day and age almost purely in textbook definitions and whatever the limited scope of your world had to offer you in the last two months – so basically, you only knew 70’s Kensington.

“Wasn’t it the Angry Brigade?” John chimed in, rifling through a magazine lackadaisically as he spoke. “I think I read that they claimed it in IT.”

“What have they got to be so angry about?” you asked, Roger snorting and letting his head fall back against the chair as he rested a leg on Freddie’s shoulder, quickly getting it brushed off. Giving Freddie a sour look, he hooked his legs over the armrest instead, lazing back in the chair and getting extra comfortable as he began to speak.

“I’d be angry if I had horrid taste in clothing too. Imagine wanting to bomb Biba and thinking ‘Wow, I’m really letting those fashionable fuckers have it! Anarchy!’”

Freddie toyed with Mary’s hair as she draped herself over his lap completely. Smiling at the sweet gesture, you hugged your knees to your chest and rested your chin on your right knee, looking down at the couch in front of you and tugging on a frayed fabric.

“Well, at least you’ve got a job again,” Freddie directed at Mary, who nodded and smiled as she leaned into his hand that was running through her hair.

“And you’ve got a place to come pester me besides my flat,” she added, laughing when Freddie retracted his hand and gave her a resentful glance before crossing his arms. “I’m joking, I love when you come see me at work, lovie! Don’t stop playing with my hair, I like it.”

Rolling his eyes playfully, Freddie sighed before going back to running his fingers through her hair. You were observing their conversation all the while, so when they quieted, you looked up and found that Roger had also been watching them. He looked up and met your gaze, pretending to gag himself with his middle finger and making you laugh as you turned away from him.

“What’s so funny? Surely, it’s not Roger.” Brian’s tone held a sort of faux innocence, but he was clearly prying at Roger’s patience – what was new, though? In the handful of times you’d been around this rag tag group of friends for the past two months, they had tested each other’s patience in every way possible. Yet here everyone was, laughing and having a good time with each other over a couple bottles of cheap wine. You regretted that you didn’t get to spend more time with them – you used overtime hours at the café as an excuse, but you knew that it was mainly because you really didn’t want to cry any harder than you already were going to when you had to return to your actual reality.

“I’ll have you know, Brian, I’m a regular comedian!” Roger protested, taking a sip of his wine as he glared over the rim at the curly-haired giant next to you. “Y/N was laughing at me, in fact. Or maybe it was your pants, who knows?”

Brian looked down at his admittedly hideous trousers, a shitty shade of brown that did not compliment his skin tone well at all. On top of that, they were a horrendous pinstripe pattern, and they didn’t match the striped green jumper he had on. “I’d rather accept that than even entertain the notion that you were remotely funny enough to make anyone laugh.”

“Salty today, Brian?” you asked, giving him a gently nudge with your elbow and receiving a nudge in response as he chuckled, crossing his arms.

Suddenly, Roger was giggling gleefully to himself, playing with a kerchief he’d had around his neck as he seemed extremely amused by it. “Brian,” you thought you’d heard him mumble, and you raised an eyebrow as you watched his snickers intensify, making him squeeze his eyes shut for a moment. He was clearly enjoying something, and you were eager to know what was so funny about what you’d just said.

“Rog, what in the hell are you going on about over there?” Brian asked, doing the dirty work for you as you watched expectantly, Roger’s eyes raising to meet the gazes of both of you.

His cheeks reddened a bit and he nervously let his eyes fall back to his kerchief, fiddling with it. “Nothing, I just thought of something funny.”

“Let’s hear it then,” you encouraged, giving him a smile as he chuckled and glanced at you quickly, giving an almost ashamed smile while he tried to decide whether he should say it or not. He felt anxious, like he was under a microscope suddenly, and he knew that the joke he’d said in his head was cringe-worthy at best. But you looked so insistent and so supportive of him that he finally grumbled and dropped the kerchief to his lap.

“I was laughing because I thought you called him Brine.”

The look on your face faltered as you struggled to comprehend what he was saying. “You thought I called him Brian? Isn’t that his name?”

“No!” Roger whined, Brian cocking his head to the side and making Roger groan as he pressed a hand to his forehead. “I mean, yes, that’s his name! But I thought you called him Brine, like salt water brine, and I laughed because it’s salty and so is Brine. I mean, Brian. Damn it! It’s fucking funny, okay?” He quickly shot up out of his seat, stomping towards the kitchen as you watched, still just as confused as ever, but Brian was laughing.

“You ever notice how much faster he moves when he’s wrong?” Brian noted, and you couldn’t help but laugh as he rose from his seat, following Roger into the kitchen as he refused to pass up an opportunity to keep giving him hell. Today, and only today, Brian seemed to have time to keep up with Roger.

Keeping up with Roger any other day? Now that was a chore. As much as you tried to focus on the sole reason you were here in 1970’s London, you couldn’t help but be intrigued by Roger as an individual. He was an enigma, his motives, knowledge, and way with words completely baffling to you. With people like Brian, it was easy. Brian, although reserved, was very much an intellectual when he spoke, and he always had a sort of predictability to him. Sure, he was a wild man when he’d had a few pints, but not like Roger. Roger was a wild man every single day, and it excited you so much that it simultaneously exhausted you.

You were lulled out of your thoughts by the feeling of the couch sinking down next to you again, and you found that Roger was now seated next to you instead, in the midst of an argument with Brian.

“Brian, you’re just upset because you’re so clearly up your own arse that you can’t understand anyone else’s humor! Get a grip, mate.” Watching Roger, you observed as he glared at the taller man, who sunk down into the chair that Roger had been in just moments ago.

“Or you just have an unrefined sense of humor?” Brian suggested, his voice laced with the slightest bit of animosity as he tried and nearly failed to ignore the “up your arse” comment. When Roger rolled his eyes and began mocking him in a high-pitched, feminine voice, Brian scoffed and looked down at Freddie, who’d been watching the exchange quietly. “What a pathetic display. I’m genuinely ashamed God made me a man.”

“Yeah, well I don’t think God’s doing a lot of bragging either!” Roger spit back, fire practically shooting out of Brian’s eyes as his head whipped up so he was staring at Roger.

“You fucking wanker! You’re just showing off and trying to be all funny because Y/N is here,” Brian accused, his usually gentle hazel eyes brimming with hostility. Your eyes widened at the tension that settled between the two of them, a heavy weight in the air as you desperately looked at Freddie for some help. Freddie just shrugged, though, offering no assistance and pretending to ignore the petty argument as he braided a small section of Mary’s hair.

“Um, should I go?” you asked, pointing at the door as you glanced between Brian and Roger. Obviously, this tiff had something to do with you, and while you had no idea how, you figured it was best for you to just let them figure it out. Rising to your feet, you tugged your pajama shorts down before grabbing your glass of wine and padding off to Roger’s room as Roger yelled at Brian once again.

“Now you’ve done it, you big moron. You’ve scared our roommate out of her own room! God, you’re really something, Brian.”

Snickering at the fiery words, you shook your head and entered Roger’s semi-messy room, crossing over to the window and curling up in one of the two beanbags situated next to it. Tucking your legs underneath you, you sipped your wine and stared out at the twilight sky, a creamy semidarkness to the horizon that framed the city’s buildings. You could just see the outlines of the church across the street, which made you scowl as you imagined your mom’s haggard face, her head leaning back against that damned rocking chair, just sitting there motionlessly. “Fucking prick,” you muttered, the fleeting thought of your father and the two men from the church poisoning your thoughts, a bitter reminder of your current purpose.

“Yeah, Brian can be a bit of a headcase, but he’s alright sometimes.” You jumped as you suddenly heard Roger’s voice behind you, and you turned to look at him as he crossed the room and stood opposite of you, leaning against the window frame..  “Definitely a fucking prick, though.”

“Oh,” you breathed out softly, furrowing your eyebrows as you pushed all of your previous thoughts out. “Yeah, he’s mental. Funny guy, though.”

“Don’t say that,” Roger groaned, giving you a small grin before he looked out the window as well. “Fred wants you back out there. Says he’s got an announcement.”

“I suppose I better bless the room with my presence then, huh?” you teased, Roger chuckling and pulling you to your feet before letting you lead the way. As you exited his room, he tried and failed to ignore the way your pajama shorts were riding up, just revealing the curve of your ass beneath it. Catching his tongue between his teeth, he had a brief ‘Lord help me’ moment before it was ended all too soon by your hand reaching down to tug the shorts back into their original place again.

Following you out to the main room again, Roger resumed his spot on the couch next to you as Deacon chatted with Mary politely, quieting down when he realized everyone was there again. Brian shifted uncomfortably in the chair, avoiding looking at you or Roger as he waited for Freddie, who was now in the kitchen, to speak.

“Now that we’ve decided to take the band more seriously, I figured I should start taking myself more serious now too.” Freddie walked out with an envelope of things, pulling out what looked like a passport and handing it to Brian, then pulling out a few sketches and handing them to Deacon, who marveled at the artwork as Brian looked up at Freddie. There was an amused look on his face, and you listened curiously as they spoke while you sipped your wine.

“Mercury? Like our song?”

“Freddie fucking Mercury. Doesn’t that sound delightful?” You choked on your sip of wine, turning beet red as they all glanced at you. This was news. Freddie Bulsara was actually Freddie Mercury, standing right here in front of you, your roommate and closest friend for two months, and you’d had no idea. “Well, if you didn’t like it dear, you could have just said so!” Freddie laughed, handing you a paper towel so you could wipe the wine off of your nose.

You laughed nervously with him, cleaning yourself up as you stared up at him, still floored at this development. “Just went down the wrong pipe,” you replied quietly, in awe at the living legend who’d just handed you a paper towel because you were a moron who didn’t put two and two together for actual months. If that was Freddie Mercury, then this must be Queen. It had to be Queen.

Your suspicions were confirmed as Deacon handed the sketches over to Roger, who ooh’ed and aah’ed at them as he eyed the details. There was the Queen crest, and you felt dizzy as you realized how blind you’d been all this time. You were casually rooming with two rock legends and you thought you’d just been slumming with a few students that had side gigs as musicians.

“Mercury seems like a bit much, but then again, you are a bit much,” Brian taunted, Freddie tossing a pillow at him as he sat back down again, chuckling.

“Well, as some illustrious person once said, ‘You can tell a lot about a man by his name.’”

“You just made that up, didn’t you?” Brian asked, raising an eyebrow at Freddie, who laughed once again.

“Maybe. But I do stand by it, honest!”

It all made sense now. Your mom had been a huge fan of these guys – you, not so much, for you were admittedly out of touch with the 80’s and 70’s. But you very vaguely knew about them, and of course, the two remaining members were still bigshots as far as your country was concerned. John Deacon, the bass player who’d dropped off the face of the Earth in the 90’s, lounging at the end of the couch. Brian May, the guitar legend who’d once played on top of Buckingham, squinting at Freddie’s passport and turning it in his hands. And next to you, ogling at the newly designed logo for his band, Roger fucking Taylor, a legend as far as drumming was concerned and one hell of a singer from what your mom had said.

You’d never asked him about the band or about the name. You really had thought they’d just been playing in pubs for fun, which at this point, they might very well be. And you’d never been around to hear them practicing or talking about the band – you’d been too busy in your own little world of the café and the church that you hadn’t paid any mind to their musical work. Now, you realized that you very well should have.

“You want to have a look?” Roger suddenly asked, grabbing your attention again as he offered you the papers, which you accepted shakily. It felt like your head was spinning as you stared down at the iconic crest, the two lions that framed the crown and letter Q, which was topped by a crab. Two fairy women stared up at the Q from below, and a phoenix stole the show at the top of it all, encompassing the entire work and bringing it all around into one big individual crest.

“Don’t hog it, I want to see,” Brian complained, and Roger rolled his eyes as you took a deep breath and handed it to Brian, who switched you for the passport. There was Freddie, long hair, clean-shaven face. This was not the iconic Freddie photo you knew. You only knew Freddie from the mustache, from the unique voice. This was a young Freddie, an inexperienced Freddie – this was not the same rock legend that your mom adored back in the present.

Oh, God. “I need some air, I’m getting a bit overheated,” you murmured, handing off the passport to Roger, who glanced at you curiously before looking over the document with Deacon. Excusing yourself, you tiptoed back to Roger’s room and opened the window, leaning out as your heart sank in your chest, heavy with the weight of what you knew.

Freddie Mercury was dead long before you’d even been born. AIDs had prematurely ended his life, his career, and that was something that even you knew. A man you considered to be one of your best friends as of currently would be dead in 20 years, and there was nothing you could do about it. You couldn’t stay here for a whole two decades, monitoring Freddie, keeping him out of harm’s way. Who knew how he’d contracted the horrible disease? It could have been anything at any time. And that killed you inside.

On the other hand, you had to watch yourself. This was literally Queen you were talking about here - if you meddled any more than you currently were, who knows what kind of shit could happen to the band? How big of an impact were you going to have here? Anything you say could alter their path irreversibly. If it was bad enough, you’d have to restart your mission completely, setting you back months in your progress already. God, this is some Butterfly Effect-type shit. I miss Brooklyn 99 and not having an existential crisis every time I make a choice.

“Freddie asked me to bring this to you, I figured you’d be in here again.” Roger’s voice once again interrupted your train of thought, and you sighed as you waved listlessly at the floor next to you, leaving your head resting on your other arm in the window frame. “You alright? You’re not gonna keel over on me, are you? ‘Cause I’d prefer if you bit the big one in Freddie’s room.”

“Fuck off,” you laughed weakly, sliding back into the room and dragging yourself onto one of the bean bags as you picked up the refilled wine glass that he’d brought you. When you looked up at him, he shrugged and took a seat across from you, his legs tangled with yours in the small space. “Sorry for being a party pooper. Just have a lot on my mind, and I’m tired.”

“Well, you are working a lot,” Roger remarked, a worried expression crossing his face as he crossed his arms. He was undeniably gorgeous, even in the dark. The streetlights coming in from the window highlighted his face in a way that made his cheekbones seem even more prominent, his jawline sharper than usual, casting an angular shadow on his neck. Light played around in his eyes, making them paler but just as striking as he observed you with a concerned eye. “Maybe you should take some time off, you’ll catch your death if you don’t relax a bit.”

His words were sinfully calming to you, and you beat yourself up inside as you sipped at your wine glass, tearing your eyes away from his irresistible gaze to look out the window at the now-night sky. “No, I need to focus on work,” you murmured, an uneasy look passing over your face as you avoided his piercing gaze, refusing to falter. You had to focus. Your mom’s livelihood was in your hands. “It’s too important.”

“Are you not important too?” he questioned, making your heart race. You couldn’t help yourself – you met his gaze once more, chewing on your lip as the intimidating stare seemed to try and pick you apart, piece by piece. He was worried about you - this meant he was genuinely attached to you, and that terrified you. But you couldn’t help yourself once again - you had to pry. 

“I don’t know. Am I?”

PT. 1 PT. 2 PT. 3

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EDIT: HI IM SORRY I FUCKED UP THE LAYOUT ON MOBILE I LITERALLY HATE TUMBLR MOBILE WITH MY WHOLE BEING HAHAHAHAA FUCK

[theresnoturningback]

Gone Fishin’ [PART THREE]

A/N: I am so lucky to be able to do this, I am enjoying every minute of it. Thanks for making it possible. I am a blessed woman. My heart is full. I don’t know what else to say. I love that you love this little fanfiction work, even though is almost all fluff. Almost. Ugh, and no matter how I want to write it, Aasim will always find a way to be in whatever it is that I write. I hope enjoy part III. Comments and reblogs are always greatly appreciated Word Count: 5798

‘Hey Brody, wait up’

The girl turned around to see Louis running and waving at her

‘You can’t take it back, Lou. You promised you’d help me’ She protested, used to this kind of behavior on his behalf.

‘I won’t, I’ll be there...it’s just that…’ Brody raised an eyebrow and folded her arms, intrigued.

‘Would it be OK if I informed Clem about these last minute changes instead?’

‘I have no problem with you doing that. In fact, you’d be doing me a big favor’ She smiled.

‘Well, that’s what I’m here for; being helpful...You should go have some rest, get better soon, bye!’ He turned on his heels and ran back to the courtyard to look for Clementine, but she wasn’t there. There was a high chance she was still asleep.

As he walked, he wondered why he was so happy, if the girl he liked clearly didn’t like him back. A myriad of questions invaded his head

Why didn’t she show up yesterday? Why did she looked so hurt and conflicted last night at dinner?

She definitely didn’t like him the same way and judging by her behavior during dinner, she was looking for a way to reject him. At least that was his conclusion.

He shook his head as he quickened his steps. Whatever the scenario was, he needed to know.

He arrived at Clem and AJ’s room and announced himself, so the little boy wouldn’t get startled.

‘Hey, what’s happening in here?’ He exclaimed in his usual energetic tone.

Clementine and AJ both turned around to see him standing next to the boy and putting his hands on his hips

‘Hi Louis! Clem said I have to practice my reading’ AJ said with an annoyed smirk

‘Without having breakfast first?’ His eyes widened and turned to the girl ‘Are you crazy?’

‘It’s just a couple of sentences’ She defended herself, unamused

‘Come on, little dude, go eat something. I hereby release thee of this punishment’ Louis exaggerated his movements as he picked up the textbook he was reading, closed it and tossed it over the bed.

AJ chuckled, but still looked at Clementine for approval. She rolled her eyes and smiled at him.

‘Go…’ She conceded.

‘Thank you, see ya, Louis!’ AJ high-fived him.

‘See ya later, bud’

‘Be sure to thank Aasim for your new book’ Clementine yelled at the open door, hoping AJ heard.

Once alone, the atmosphere changed abruptly.

‘Well, look at you being a concerned mother’ He joked, resting his body weight on the back of the chair.

‘Say what you want, but he’s getting better’ Clementine stood up and started putting the books, pencils and papers away. Louis followed her with his eyes.

‘Well, I’m not surprised. He has a great teacher’ He commented in a mellow tone.

She pretended she didn’t notice his flirtatious mood, but she still couldn’t do anything about the reddening on her cheeks.

‘So’ She said sticking AJ’s latest doodles on the wall ‘What brings you here today?’

‘I have big news’ He straddled the chair so he could face her ‘We are going fishing today’

Clementine looked at him, confused.

‘We as in…?’

‘As in...you and me’ He confirmed with a big grin.

She grew silent, worried about Brody while Louis’ smile faded slowly at the thought that maybe he had been too eager in his announcement.

‘What happened to Brody, is she okay?’

‘Well, that’s the thing’ He shrugged ‘She says she is in a lot of pain and that she can’t eat, so she doesn’t have the physical strength to fish. That’s why she asked me to step up’

‘I understand’ She nodded. She noticed his chill attitude had dropped for some reason and decided to lighten up the mood ‘Is that why you came here all happy?’

‘I just like to fish, is all’ He shrugged nonchalantly. She knew he was lying, and laughed under her breath.

‘I’ll see you at the gates in 10 minutes, then’ Louis stood up and made his way out ‘Bring your knife, hopefully we’ll get to kill some walkers’.

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

Just as agreed, Clementine found Louis waiting for her, resting the big chair leg he used as a weapon on his shoulders.

‘Ready to go?’ She showed him her knife in response.

‘Ready’

‘Let’s go then…’

Most of the walk towards the cabin was silent.

The both of them wanted to start a conversation, but none of them knew how to do that without bringing up the events of the past two days.

‘I used to fish a lot with my family’ Louis finally mumbled, walking a couple of steps behind her, covering her back ‘‘before the world went to shit...and spearfishing is different to what I used to do, so don’t laugh too hard when I fail the first ten times’

‘I will try not to…’ She responded after snickering, but didn’t add anything to the conversation. Her thoughts  were loud enough to keep her silent the rest of the way.

The curiosity was eating him up inside. He had to know exactly how she felt about him.

No matter how hard he tried, he could never maintain a cool act for too long when he was alone with her.

‘So um...did you, by any chance, get anything that might have resembled a letter?’ He stuttered nervously.

Clementine understood immediately where his question was leading up to, but she didn’t know if she had it in her to know what his thoughts were about her written reply right then.

‘Yeah, I did’ she muttered more to herself than to him, looking at her feet as she walked steadily

‘Well, now you know Lou…’ He thought to himself, lips pressed tight in disappointment.

He was coming to terms with the fact that Clementine didn’t like him at all, at least not as he would like, when they arrived to the cabin.

Clementine took out a couple of spears and nodded at his friend to get a medium size bucket that was on the floor near him.

As she gave him one of the spears, she enquired timidly

‘Did you...read something that could have resembled a response to your letter? Maybe this morning...while playing the piano?’

His eyes darted around while he tilted his head to the side in confusion.

‘Louis…you...didn’t...?’

He looked at her, opened his mouth but words wouldn’t come out. He was honestly too shocked to realize she had taken the time to write a response.

‘Louis! I left you a letter on the piano last night!’ She confessed, raising her voice in frustration.

‘Im sorry! I didn’t have the chance to even look at the piano today! Marlon and Brody dragged me to Marlon’s office early and I….Oh’ His jaw dropped ‘Your letter is still there, isn’t it?’

‘Shit, Louis...I swear to God...’ She groaned, shaking her head in embarrassment and getting her spear.

‘Please don’t point that thing at me’ He yelped with genuine fear as she walked past him.

The next thirty minutes were slow and dreadfully silent. Both Clementine and Louis were too immersed in their own minds to talk to each other. They managed to catch a couple of fish each while thinking about what had just happened.

After a while, the river looked empty. All the fish had stopped swimming to their deaths and the two teenagers decided to wait for them to come back, getting away from the unrelenting sun and its heat. They sat under a tree and next to each other.

‘So…’ Louis finally broke the silence ‘What did your letter say?’

Clementine hugged her knees and shrugged, embarrassed

‘I wrote it so fast that I don’t remember anymore…’

‘It must have been a terrible letter’ They both shared a laugh.

‘It was, actually’ She glanced at him for a second ‘That’s why I’m burning the hell out of it as soon as we get back’

‘Not if I win that race and read it first’ He nudged her with a playful smile.

‘Bring it on’ She returned the gesture in a more reserved way.

The continuous murmuring of the stream filled their silences, make them at least bearable this time.

‘About your letter…’ Clementine smiled to herself, recalling that night she read his words for the first time ‘I can’t believe you’re actually glad I crashed my car’

Louis just looked at her, brows drawing together. He wanted to say how sorry he was for phrasing his feelings so badly, but he then saw in her eyes she wasn’t serious

‘Tell you what, I’ll let you burn what you wrote if you give me back that hideous paper’

‘Never!’ She chuckled ‘I’m holding it for future blackmail’

Clementine would cherish Louis’ words as long as she lived.

‘Then it’s only fair that at least I get a chance to read what you wrote me’ He insisted.

‘Fine..’ She surrendered to his bright eyes narrowing with glee.

They didn’t look away from each other for some seconds. It didn’t feel wrong just to silently admire each other, so there wasn’t really a reason to look away.

Louis looked away and sighed heavily. With the last bit of hope he had, he spoke again

‘What I really meant to say is…’ He fidgeted, trying to find courage to be completely honest with her and himself ‘I’m glad I met you...and I’m glad that you and AJ got to stay with us. Everything looks so different with you around’

Clementine felt her cheeks go warm, not allowing her to respond.

Seeing he’d get no other answer than her long silence, he stood up and resumed his task.

The girl was furious at herself. Why couldn’t she just tell her she liked him more than he could imagine? It was simple, in theory, but the more she thought about it, the less prepared she felt to open her mouth and say the words he so desperately wanted to hear.

She stood up, picked up her spear and fished in a separate section.

Not many fish came back their way, but she needed to be alone with her thoughts for a moment.

She looked at him from a distance. He had just pierced through a rather big fish in one swift move. She walked closer to his side as he put the dead animal inside the bucket. Both looked at the stream, prepared to catch the next one.

‘I wanted to apologize to you for not joining you’ She spoke softly, concentrated of the quick movement of the water.

A fish escaped Louis’ strike, making him frown and sigh. He couldn’t be angry at her for what she felt. It wasn’t fair.

‘Marlon told me that Brody told him that AJ told her that you were sick, or something’ He shook his head, worriedly ‘She shouldn’t have sent you here if you’re not feeling well, just as she is not here right now’

‘I’m OK, Louis’ Clementine walked away from the rocks while talking ‘That was a lie that AJ told Brody to cover me...I overslept’

‘You teach your kid to lie for you?’ He scoffed, faking disgust ‘The nerve…’

‘Hey!’ Clementine raised her voice and stomped back at him ‘You have no idea what I’ve gone through to keep him alive!’

‘I’m joking Clem, of course I’m joking’ He walked back, almost falling in the river ‘I wouldn’t even think that of you’ She crossed her arms, maintaining her defensive stance ‘I actually believe he’s got the best person to raise him right’

She gave up. There was no use to get mad at him about it. She knew he didn’t mean any harm. She turned around, put her spear down and sighed tiredly.

‘You overslept’ He continued, as he got no answer ‘That’s not a sin. We all do it from time to time’

She sat on the ground

‘Usually, I don’t. That’s why AJ probably thought I was sick’

He walked next to her and rested his body on the tree.

‘What kept you up all night, then?’ His steady eye contact made her heart skip a beat and look away.

‘Stupid stuff’ She shrugged.

‘You weren’t thinking about me...were you?’ He questioned hopefully.

She shook her head, smiling faintly with her eyes closed. She knew that if she looked at him know he’d know for sure.

‘You wish...’ Her eyes opened and fixated on the river, trying to think of anything else that wasn’t him. She finally decided to go and check on the traps.

He just looked at her walk away, in awe that such a shrewd-looking young woman could actually so secretive and charming at the same time.

If this was really a case of unrequited love, he knew he was screwed.

‘Help me out’ Clementine called, waking him from his daydream ‘Brody said there were a set of traps lined up over there’ She pointed away

‘I’m on it!’

Louis took a hair tie out of his pocket and put his dreadlocks up in a bun. Right after, he took off his jacket, so that he could be free from the unforgiving heat for a couple of minutes.

He noticed he had caught Clementine’s attention while he neatly folded his jacket and put it on the ground. He raised a brow

‘What? I’m hot! And I refuse to walk back to the school cooking myself in my own sweat’

He turned around and walked away.

She remained silent, judging his form as he marched away from her. She realized she never had the chance to see him like that. He looked like a whole new person. This look actually was much more fitting to his gregarious personality.

She looked away, trying to focus on picking up the few fish that got trapped. While putting the fish down in the bucket, she looked around. Louis was still working hard under the sun.

During the past few weeks, she had studied in secrecy every detail of his face, every freckle and the way that his eyes narrowed when he smiled, among other things. The more she watched him now, though,  the better he looked. With an intent gaze, she discovered another whole set of characteristics she clearly hadn’t seen before; They way he distributed his weight while standing, how his shoulders squared when he was trying hard to concentrate and the way his becoming features blended so harmoniously with the landscape as if he was music himself. It was almost troublesome now that she realized how handsome he really was.

‘Are you OK, Clem?’ The girl didn’t notice had already walked back with three small fish in his hands. Her absent-minded expression amused him greatly.

‘I was thinking I had never seen you without your jacket before…’ She squinted while looking up to meet his eyes

He put the fish down and put his hands on his hips.

‘And? What do you think?’ He asked, full of himself.

‘I think you need to mend the holes of your shirt’ She pointed at him ‘That’s unusable’

‘First of all, ouch….’ He put a hand on his chest ‘Now I have no other choice but to hide in my coat forever’

‘Or, maybe, I could sew it up for you sometime...if you want’ This made Louis extremely happy, but he tried to play it cool.

‘I like that idea, but here’s a counter-offer: What if you teach me how to do it, and then I can patch up my own stuff. I like to think I’m self sufficient, you know?’

He already knew how to sew, but he’d take every chance to share a moment with her.

‘That’s fine by me’ Her eyes smiled for a moment before looking at the bucket and

sighing ‘There’s barely food for all of us tonight…’ She said, disappointed.

‘Do you think that maybe if we fished with our bare hands, we’d catch more fish?’

She moved her gaze back to the boy. His eyes were lost in thought, as if he was honestly considering it ‘You know...like bears?’ He continued despite her silent judgment

‘I get it, Louis’ She sentenced with an exasperated sigh.

‘So…?’

‘So this is a serious matter!’

‘I am serious too!’ He defended himself ‘Well, most of the time…’

‘I hope the hunting party had better luck today’ She threw her head back and closed her eyes, looking for peace.

He let her had a moment of silence. Unfortunately for her, it didn’t last long enough.

‘Well, those fish aren’t coming back anytime soon’ He exclaimed looking at the river while untying one of his boots. She knitted her brows

‘What are you doing?’ she asked cautiously.

‘This heat is killing me, so I’m going to put my feet in the water for a while, maybe test my theory about the bears...have some fun’ He took his other boot off and put it away next to him ‘You’re more than welcome to join me’

‘Do we really have time for that??’ Clementine questioned ‘You know they expect us to bring back some food, right?’

‘And we already took care of that’ He nodded at the bucket full of fish. ‘It’s ready to go and I think we’ve earned the chance to unwind for a moment. Don’t you?’

‘I don’t know…’

‘Besides, you owe me from the other day…’

‘I don’t owe you anything!’ She protested, standing up before him ‘I never really accepted your offer in the first place’

‘Well’ He smiled charmingly down at her ‘You did tell me you wanted to apologize for not showing up…that means you had the intention to see me...am I in the wrong here?’

‘Ok, smartass, let’s relax’ She blurted, taking off her worned out hat, her jacket and untying her boots as Louis walked away triumphantly towards the river.

The water was cold to the touch, refreshing. He immediately decided to walk a little further, until the water covered his knees over his pants.

‘You’re getting all wet!’ Clementine commented, sitting down a rock, dangling her legs to damp her feet up to her ankles as she watched him look around himself.

‘Uh, I think that’s exactly the point of being in water’ He shouted back, walking five steps towards her ‘It’s hot as hell, I’ll dry out in an instant and I could really need some freshening up’ The girl shook her head, her curls hanging loose ‘And so could you’

‘Excuse me?’ She scoffed, offended

‘Hey, I’m an honest guy…’

‘That was rude, not honest...’

‘Seriously, though,when was the last time you washed your face?’ He waded towards where she was sitting and offered her his hand accompanied by a confident smile. She knew he was right, so she preferred not to argue back.

Clementine was hesitant at first, but she finally decided to get down from the rocks and settle herself in the water. The sensation of her clothes sticking to her skin wasn’t fun, but the warmth of her hand in his tight grip made her forget all about it.

He led her in the river with caution, not taking his eyes off her wary stance. She looked like a cat about to take a bath, but much more adorable.

She freed herself from his hand and washed her face meticulously. Louis fell speechless when in front of him there stood at renewed Clementine. Her skin looked soft and young, her many little scars adorned her face and neck in a way he hadn’t seen ever before.

He was truly captivated by her, while she didn’t know how to respond to his love-struck expression. This was all new, unexplored territory.

A splash of water to his face made him gasp for air. When he opened his eyes, he saw Clementine laughing wholeheartedly.

‘Oh, you’ll pay for that!’ He laughed with her, splashing back. These actions resulted in a good twenty minutes of horseplay in and out the water.

They were children once again, enjoying each other’s company, chasing and wrestling one another in the stirring waters that drenched them from the hips down. For a moment, they forgot all about the apocalypse, about Ericson and about everyone else.

Who cares how they got there?

Who cares about their past, their scars and their tragic memories?

They were there and that’s all that mattered.

Louis finally caught up to Clementine and lifted her in a hug. He lost balance over a slippery rock and they fell over.

She panicked for half the second her head was underwater. The last time she was completely submerged a body of water wasn’t exactly fun.

‘You OK?’ Louis helped her sit up, with worry in his face. She met his eyes and she suddenly didn’t care she was soaking wet and let out a nervous laugh

‘I’m okay, Louis...but I think that’s enough fun for today’ She stood up and managed to wade back to the riverside. The boy followed her.

They dried their feet with a piece of cloth they took from the cabin, put on their socks and boots and sat down near the high grass, hoping the sun was kind enough to dry their outfits before they had to head back to the school.

Clementine put her head on Louis shoulder absentmindedly. Only when she could feel Louis’ heartbeat quickening , she realized what she had done.

She didn’t regret it, though. Instead, she took the opportunity as a chance to prove she was brave enough to be honest about her feelings.

‘That night’ she began, hesitantly ‘I couldn’t stop thinking about your stupid face...and the words you wrote’ Louis looked down at her with raised eyebrows as she continued with a self-accusing tone ‘I must have read that letter at least five times before even thinking of going to sleep’ He did not answer. She looked up at him and kept on talking to avoid any more awkward silences ‘I’m also glad I could stay here… AJ needs a family like Ericson and I...I don’t think I could go back on the road after meeting you’

Louis tried to find the correct words to respond to her beautiful declaration of crush.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Clementine shivered and began trembling, despite the heat.

‘We shouldn’t have stayed so long in the water’ He said instead while standing up to get his coat ‘You’re gonna catch a cold’ He continued as he put it on her. She shook her head, smiling.

‘I had fun. It’s just that the cold and I don’t get along’ She confessed while adjusting the sleeves to her own arms length.

Louis lifted the short hair strands at the back of Clementine’s neck, so the coat would fit her better. His hands stopped moving as she looked up at him. He was paralyzed by her timid stare.

Slowly, he moved his right hand from the back of her neck to her cold cheek. Just as his thumb brushed against her jaw and the corner of her mouth, she felt her stomach flutter making her gasp lightly. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his, feeling unusually fragile at the touch of his fingers.

He simply could not close his eyes. His attention was fixed on her mouth and her shivering breaths, still in disbelief that she was so close to him. He wanted to kiss her so badly. His thoughts were racing and crashing inside his mind, but none of his muscles would react accordingly.

Noticing this, she pushed all her fears aside and put her right hand on his chest. She had no clue as to what she was doing. She only knew that every second was painfully long. She couldn’t take it anymore and leaned in to press her lips against his for a couple of seconds.

It was the first time both of them had kissed anyone with this amount of innocence.

Louis leaned back thinking that was it, but Clementine’s lips lingered on and followed his mouth almost instinctively. With eyes still closed, his name escaped her mouth in a breathy whisper, as if she was asking him to never leave her.

His eyes opened in response, her voice woke an unknown craving for her, he wanted her as close as possible at all times. He put his hand against hers on his chest, letting her know with the sole beating of his heart what she provoked in him.

His mouth met hers with parting lips, almost not touching. She didn’t like being teased like that. He soon discovered he secretly loved toying with her impatience. He tilted his head to the side and she put her arms around his neck, pulling him even closer to her.

She would have stayed that way forever, until an urgent gasp reminded her that she also needed air to live and as if she had just woken up from an vivid dream, she opened her eyes abruptly only to notice that Louis was just was short of breath as she.

‘I’m sorry’ she apologized multiple times, quickly pulling away from him, embarrassedly surprised by her newfound intensity. She stood up and began walking back to the school with arms around herself.

Once he finally realized what had just happened, Louis grabbed Chairles and ran behind her.

‘Hey, whoa, whoa! Don’t you think we need to address this issue before getting back?’ He said standing between her and the rest of the way.

‘Don’t you get the feeling we shouldn’t have done that?’ She answered, not stopping for one second.

‘I’m afraid the feeling I got was just the opposite’ He made her stop with both of his hands on her shoulders ‘In case you didn’t know, it’s the end of the world out here, and I stopped giving a shit a long time before that. I just want to live for today and enjoy whatever time I have left. I have absolutely nothing to lose’

Clementine’s eyes saddened at his blunt words.

She realized that if she lost him right after how he made her feel minutes ago, she wouldn’t be able to stand it.

She felt powerless.

‘Please, Louis...don’t say things like that’ She begged on the verge of tears. She pushed his arms away and kept walking firmly.

‘Just tell me you didn’t feel the same way I felt back there’ He insisted ‘Tell me you’d never do it again and I’ll leave you alone forever’

Forever is a long, long time. They both thought in a fraction of a second as the river sang its constant murmur. The sky was turning orange and the breeze started blowing a little colder. Clementine hugged herself, avoiding Louis’ interrogative eyes.

‘Whatever just happened...I can’t say I didn’t like it, and I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again’ She confessed, feeling warm only at her cheeks

‘All this time I thought you didn’t like me, but now it turns out you do... but now you don’t want us to be a thing...I’m super confused, I just don’t get what the problem is, Clem’ He blurted out impatiently.

‘I really like you, but-’ A rather loud hungry groan interrupted her.

She looked around to locate the threat, took the knife from her pocket, walked firmly past Louis and pushed it angrily against the skull of a legless walker.

They hadn’t noticed it crawling behind him all this time.

‘...But look at this mess…’ She pointed at the lifeless body with her knife. ‘We cannot live in our own bubble, away from the disaster that is the world today’ She shook her head, trying to convince herself, too ‘We just can’t’

‘Look, I’m just as lost as you are in here, but hear me out’ Clementine spotted another walker approaching quickly. She kicked its knee, making it lose balance and making it easier for Louis to finish it off with Chairles. He moved his stare from the grossly decayed corpse to her young, lively eyes ‘You can’t deny we make an amazing team’

‘Yeah, when we are focused...but when you’re too close to me, I lose track of time and reality and it’s...dangerous...I feel weak’ She wrapped her arms around herself

‘That’s how I feel, too...and I have no idea how it happened, all I know is that I like you, Clem, and I like you even more now that I’ve seen this side of you, I don’t care if it turns dangerous in the long term, this is what I care about right now...more than anything’

‘Louis-’

He wouldn’t let her keep protesting.

‘I want to keep discovering you, every side of you, and I want you to know me, too...like nobody does’

His words were almost unbearable for Clementine. She wanted to believe him, kiss him again, and forget all that drama. Instead, she put her knife away and turned around with the intention of walking towards the school gates.

Before she could take her first step, he took her hand and turned her back around to face him. He was soft with his touch, but his words were firm and decisive.

‘Sometimes you’re really hard to read’ He told her in a serious tone ‘Are you going to tell me why are you so scared of us?’

‘I’ve seen it too many times’ Her voice cracked when she looked at him in the eyes ‘People losing that one person they cared about the most...they end up broken beyond repair’

Her thoughts went to the memories of Kenny losing Duck, Katjaa and then Sarita. She recalled that fateful day when Christa lost Omid and then their child. She could have gone on and on about other people she’s seen lose part of themselves in childish stand-offs and misunderstandings, but her eyes shut close and with them all of her mind went black and red. She battled against her tears, but it was a losing fight in the end

‘If you ever…’ She dared to look at him again, with painful tears streaming down her cheeks

Louis dropped Chairles to the ground and pulled her close for a tight hug to hush her grim thoughts.

‘I already live with the constant fear of losing AJ forever, and now, the thought of losing you, too…’ she cried with her voiced muffled against his chest between helpless sobs.

He was shocked. Just the previous night he had gone to bed thinking this girl was indifferent to him, now he’s holding her as she cries mournful tears at the thought of him dying.

He caressed her hair as he shushed her tenderly.

‘It won’t be like that. It won’t be like any of those times’ He promised her, shutting his eyes closed as she tightened her grip around his waist, sniffling ‘We’re stronger together. Stronger than any other team you’ve ever seen. You’ll see...’

They remained close to each other in silence until Clementine finally got a hold of herself. She pulled away from him with a long sigh, her eyes and cheeks were drenched in her own tears, but looked away when she talked

‘I just can’t afford to lose you like I’ve lost everyone else’

He gave him a reassuring smile as he dried her remaining tears with his thumb

‘I’m honestly amazed that you think you can get rid of me so easily’

She tried to laugh, but couldn’t play along.

She buried her face in his chest once again and apologized several times, more to herself than to him. It was unlike her to act like this around others, she’d usually just keep her raw feelings to herself, but this time she couldn’t avoid them and that frustrated her to the point of tears. She had heard him say that he wanted to know her as she really was, but she hated this side of her and the fact that he got to see it.

‘It’s okay, Clem’ He comforted her softly ‘I won’t insist, I promise...we can take it as slow as you want, or just don’t take it at all...whatever you decide’ He didn’t know why he added the latter, but sadly enough,that option was now available for her.

‘Thank you’ She muttered, not being able to face him.

She turned around and he let her go just as fast as he held her close minutes before.

They kept a distance from each other, the atmosphere had turned awkward once again.

Their pace was tired and slow.

The sun was setting just as they ran into Marlon, Violet, Aasim and AJ.

The little boy shouted Clementine’s name and ran to embrace her, only to pull away almost immediately after not recognizing her usual scent.

‘Is that Louis’ jacket? He looked up at her  ‘Where is your hat?’

The three teenagers were still standing there, confused as they’d ever be

‘What happened out there?’ Marlon asked first, then turned to Louis ‘Where’s Chairles?’

Before Louis could even realize he went back unarmed, Aasim stepped up to continue the interrogation

‘Where’s the fish?’ His tone was more apprehensive than concerned. Violet tried to be more careful in her questioning.

‘Were you guys attacked?’ She said, hoping for a negative answer.

Clementine and Louis shared a look and nodded.

‘Five of them’ Louis started

‘They caught us with our guard down while we were f-fishing’ Clementine continued, discreetly eyeing his party mate.

‘Yep, that’s why we’re like this’ The boy concluded, hoping their friends wouldn’t keep questioning them.

‘You know we need the food’ Aasim continued, a line forming between his brows

‘And I need my bat, Sherlock’ Louis argued back, crossing his arms in front of him ‘I’m going back for all of it’

‘I am’ Clem stepped up ‘You’re not going anywhere unarmed. I’ll make a run for it. I’ve done it before’

‘I will go, too’ AJ proposed

‘No, it’s getting dark and I don’t want to be there more than necessary

’

‘But, Clem-’

‘I said no, Alvin Junior, that is final!’ She sentenced with a harsh tone she rarely used on the kid. She wasn’t proud of her emotions ruling her mind and she didn’t want to feel her friends’ judging stares any minute longer, so she turned around and ran back into the woods.

Violet and Marlon shared a look.

Aasim looked at Louis and then at AJ, both of them had a hurt expression in their eyes.

‘Don’t worry’ He said to the kid, taking out his bow ‘I’ll watch over her’ he looked back at Louis and nodded.before running off behind the girl.

[incensus-nix]

.: the capital wasteland :.

Two years ago:

❝ Knight Hart, take the initiates down to the city. They need target practice with the greenskins. ❞ The paladin ordered her to rally up a small troop of recruits, to which she reluctantly had taken under her wing. It wasn’t uncommon though for the higher ranking Brotherhood to take on the responsibilities of leaders as there was only one Elder and so few paladins. Knights were eager to reach such status, but few ever got there. Some just settled for a set of power armor.

❝ Affirmative, paladin, ❞ Brittany said quickly, holding her stance with her hands behind her back. Only a second after her response was she dismissed to rally up her team, herself locating her power armor stored at the old Galaxy News Radio tower.

Switching out fusion cores and pushing it hard into the back of the armor set, a heavy set of footsteps approached and leaned into the rusted station holding her suit. ❝ Heading over to Metro? ❞

It was the familiar voice of Paladin Danse. Tall and dark haired, and a long scar cutting into his right brow. Turning her head, the knight rolled her eyes and leaned on her elbow into the chest piece of the armor suit. ❝ A bit beyond that, but yeah... I’m tellin’ you — I’m about to lose my mind over these runs. I haven’t been able to repaint Delilah here in over four months. ❞

❝ That’s really not that important, knight. It’s a noble duty eliminating the supermutants out of the city. The only people willing to settle in the area is us and them. ❞

Rolling her eyes, she readjusted the lens on her helm. ❝ You forgot the raiders that have been popping up. Let them take care of the problem and we can focus on our actual mission here. ❞

His tone dropped. ❝ Protecting the Capital is top priority. Remember, everything that threatens innocent lives and misuses technology needs punishment. Supermutants, ghouls, hell, we’re even hearing about synthetically created people now. All bastardizations of technology. We can’t let that become acceptable again. ❞

He was right, forcing a sigh from Brittany as she stopped fiddling with the power armor. ❝ Yeah, I get you — ❞

A slight smirk appears on the paladin’s face, pushing himself off the station. ❝ You know why you’ve been chosen for all these mission right? ❞

She pushed out her lips. There was an inkling… ❝ You’ve been setting me up haven’t you? ❞

Setting his hands on his hips, he looks up and away from her smugly. ❝ Elder Maxson’s setting his sights on the Commonwealth. He needs recon teams to scout the area and I told him you’d be ready with a few more training sessions and he agreed to let me monitor your progress. I say by the end of your battle today, you’d be promoted. ❞

Squinting her eyes a moment, she tried to not smile at the news. She knew he was up to something lately, but she had no idea it was along those lines. ❝ Sonova — ❞ She punches his shoulder, then wags her finger. ❝ You should’ve said something! ❞

He rubs the area of impact and shakes his head. ❝ That’s not how it works — Besides, I’ve been your sponsor for how long? This wasn’t the first time we’ve been through this. ❞

With a softer smile, her hugs herself. ❝ I know, which is even more annoying I didn’t catch on this time either. ❞

Resting a large hand over her shoulder, Danse leans in a bit. ❝ Hey, it only means I was doing my job, too — ❞ Cut off, he turns to hear the loud clanking footsteps of Procter Ingram marching through the armory. Straightening up quickly, Danse throws his hands quickly behind his back and stands at attention, clearing his throat. ❝ Proctor. ❞

The woman approaches the two, Brittany not as quickly standing at attention but getting there eventually to be noticed by her superior. Raising a brow, she looks away from the knight and to Danse instead. ❝ Paladin. Knight. ❞ Without looking back down to make eye contact with Brittany, the woman stomps away in her power armor, allowing Brittany to breathe a little bit easier, but not without a look of defeat on her face.

Nudging her shoulder, however, was Danse again. ❝ Good luck out there, Knight Hart. ❞

Biting the inside of her cheek, she nods. ❝ Affirmative. ❞

16 years prior:

❝ Everyone, move out! Get to the subways! I said move people! ❞ A young woman’s voice commanded through her helmet’s speaker phone. Towering over the civilians running panic, she held her laser rifle at the ready, wearing the symbols of the Brotherhood of steel painted across her chest armor as well as a lion’s head over the shoulder piece.

❝ Sentinel Lyons! We’re about to get overrun! ❞ a knight in power armor yells back, seeing a horde of green skinned humanoids approaching the station.

❝ Shut your mouth, knight or I will blow it off myself! ❞ she snaps back, turning the corner to see how close their enemy had truly gotten. At least two dozen of them, several carrying heavy machinery and possibly a missile launcher. It wasn’t good, but keeping the panic at minimum was her goal.

Bracing for attack, sounds of booming rifles were now firing off rapidly as combat begun. Turning quickly to account for her team, the sentinel quickly shouted command. ❝ Knight Danse, you lead them through the tunnels and eliminate any ferals. We’ll follow you shortly after. ❞

With a quick response and nod, the other knight began to force himself to the front of the pack of civilians and leading them into the darkness.

Their odds where slim, but Sentinel Lyons knew she at least had the brains to pull off the operation even against the numbers she was working against. She pressed on, however, beginning to open fire against supermutants looking to exterminate.

Inside the tunnels, Knight Danse used a dim light to track their route, keeping his gun low to avoid attracting too much attention. It was a group of seven, a family of three, a couple and other individuals that followed the Brotherhood solider into the metro subway just outside the city. ❝ Everyone keep your voices low — We must try to not attract any hostiles. ❞

Hostiles? Weren’t the tunnels supposed to be safe? The thoughts of a nine year old shivered, closing in on her mother as she pulled on the length of her sleeve.

❝ Don’t pull like that, Brittany — ❞

❝ — Quiet! ❞ another snapped.

Despite the low voices, a howl and footsteps came rushing for the group, Danse lifting his rifle up and began to fire quickly. ❝ Get down! ❞ A few rounds into the creature, its arm firing off and soon dead on the ground, the knight kicked it over onto its back to reveal its gruesome nature. ❝ Damn ferals… ❞

The young girl cried a bit, never seeing a ghoul so hideous before, burying her face into her mother’s shirt as they kept walking. Even she was horrified.

A few more turns, a handful walking corpses attacking but nothing short to quick work for the Brotherhood knight, as they approached an open clearing where prewar civilians would gather to board their train. Skeletons lay about everywhere, the scent of decay still lingering after two hundred years.

Cautiously moving forward, Danse lead them up to a broken escalator to hopefully find a safe exit. It was painful in the deafening silence as multiple footsteps climbed up higher. And then more loud footsteps. Then running.

❝ Everyone retreat! ❞ His commands where too late though. As he hoped to prepare the unarmed few with the attack, more feral ghouls had closed in on them. Some at the front, while some had jumped and climbed up the side of the rundown escalators, reaching and clawing from the edges.

In a panic, everyone tried to fend off their attackers, but all most of them could do is scream. Scream for anyone to come save them. End their misery.

The Brotherhood knight refused to backdown, however. Shot after shot, he fired his laser rifle at their foes, taking them down one by one. But forever ghoul he had defeated, they had taken one of his to protect. Even if he were to make it out alive, it was a losing battle.

❝ Take her — ❞ a woman’s voice called out to him, pushing the young girl into his armor. She has already been attacked at her legs, forcing her to moved with her arms and crawling towards him. ❝ Take my baby girl — go on… ❞ Blood was circling down at her ankles as she slowed her movements. It was gruesome, missing both feet and having the feral on her still and pulling the mother back. She yelped, then pleaded up to the knight. ❝ I won’t ask again. ❞

One second felt like an hour. Knight Danse looked down at the sobbing child, dirt smeared across her dark skin and hair that had debris and dried blood stuck to it. He wasn’t going to win, but this girl still stood a small chance of reaching her adult years.

Ceasing fire, the knight took the child up into his arms and began sprinting down the tunnels, ghouls still emerging and surrounding their easy prey. Kicking and screaming, the girl reached out for her mom as she was torn apart by mindless creatures of the radiation. He had to fight to keep her from slipping but the promise was made. Her had to take her and save her.

Outside the tunnel, there was quiet. No more echoed screaming from the underground tunnels. Just soundless horizon and a blinding sun. Setting the girl to her feet, she lost her footing and collapsed to the earth onto her knees, rubbing dirt from her eyes that stuck by her now long tired up tears.

❝ She got torn apart — ❞ the voice squeaked out, coming to the realization that she’d never see her mother again. She never got to hear her father’s voice for the last time, either. His must’ve been quicker. Perhaps far less painful than her mother’s. But now she had nothing — no one in this world.

Kneeing at her level, the knight dropped his gun and pulled the child’s chin up to meet his eyes. ❝ You’re going to be one of us now. ❞

Digging her fingers into the broken cement, shaving her nails down to the skin, the child grit her teeth, then spoke with a tight jaw. ❝ I’m going to kill them all. ❞

Rising from his position, Knight Danse loomed over her, for only a moment’s pity, but then with authority, clearing his voice. ❝ Good. On your feet, squire. ❞ Shaking, with both shock and anger, she rose up to both her feet, knees wobbling against each other. Her hazel eyes found his, now have grown up past her years in a matters of minutes. She didn’t know how else to stand other than as straight as possible, her hands close her sides in balled up fists, ready for a fight. A moment, Danse looked over her, his features hardening. ❝ Outstanding. ❞

They proceeded to then take the long walk back around the city to find the Galaxy New Radio tower to find their brothers and sisters. It was quick that the girl had already begun to fall behind, her feet swollen and shoes worn to the holes in the soles, doing everything she could to march on just like the solider that had saved her. Looking around the area, Danse saw not a single breathing creature other than themselves in the desolate city making any movement. Slowing down a bit, he pulled an armored glove off his hand and proceeded to reach out towards the other.

There was a pause from the girl, then swiftly she reached out for it, clasping onto the warmth of another human and pulling herself closer to him. It would be the last moments of innocence she’d be allowed before becoming just like the rest of them.

16 years later:

❝ Goddamnit, knight! ❞ the sounds of a voice screaming at Brittany through a muffled speaker. The static rang in her ears as more gunfire and smoke shrouded them, leaving much of her eyesight blinded.

She was panicking. Much of the mission had already failed, loosing two initiates in their first bouts of battle and alerting the supermutants to run forth. Everything had turned into a mess quickly. It was supposed to be a simple in and out assignment with clearing out an old SuperDuper mart. The warning of the dead raiders scattered about should’ve been a clear sign to enter with caution, but every Brotherhood solider walked in with ease and confidence. They didn’t even bother with dismantling the grenade traps at the front entrance with killed two initiates immediately.

Now, around the corner of an isle, Brittany clutched to her laser rifle as the supermutants moved in on them, firing off hundreds of rounds from their gatling guns hanging off their hips.

❝ Fuck this, everyone, listen up! ❞ It was Rhys, taking over command on the intercom linked to all the other Brotherhood soldiers. ❝ Line up on the walls and fire towards the center. Eyes and ears open and aim only at things that are bigger, greener and uglier than you — ❞

A response from another solider, ❝ Smart you added greener, Rhys. ❞ Another snort of a laugh from an initiate and the dismantled team started to get themselves back into offensive combat.

Brittany still remained almost paralyzed in her position, her body wanting to move but her feet planted firmly to the ground yet still. Instead, she changed her radio frequency on her helmet, reaching to the base. ❝ Requesting backup. Out numbered and overrun. I repeat, requesting backup. ❞

Despite the team holding it together, it was not to shortly after a recon of paladins came barreling through the mart’s doors, zero contest taking down supermutants quickly with their heavier artillery and completely suited in power armor.

Still slumped in a corner, Brittany listened to the gunfire and the howling cries of the dying green skins, their voices fading as they were parted from the wasteland one by one. The paladins moved forth to find their brothers and sister in arms, one in particular now hovering over Brittany shaking their helm.

❝ On your feet, soldier! ❞ The muffled speaker yelled at the other, the knight’s heard sinking into her chest. It was Danse ❝ Now! ❞

Pushing herself up with every bit of willpower she had, fumbling over her gun as she stood at the ready. There was no sound, but the actions of the paladin’s shoulders moving heavily up and down meant there was an exasperated sigh underneath.

His voice softened a little, but not met without disappointment, taking a few steps back and turning to leave the grocery mart. ❝ Get moving, soldier. Elder Maxson needs to speak to you. ❞

10 years prior:

❝ Piss off — ❞ The young initiate threw her dirty rag at the other, a boy entering his teen years. Catching it in mid air, he threw it back at her and walked off, giving her the finger as he did. Shielding her face, the rag hit her forearm as she cursed out, ❝ Asshole… ❞

In perfect timing, a figure posed behind her, arms folded and frowning. ❝ Watch your tone, initiate. ❞

Outstanding. ❝ He started it, ❞ Brittany plead, kicking the rag from under her feet agains the suit of armor she had been tasked with cleaning. ❝ He’s always messin’ with me, I’m over it. ❞

Standing more at ease, the paladin scratched the side of his head. ❝ You never know who might save you in battle. It’s better to not make enemies out of anyone here, no matter how difficult that task might seem. We’re family, brothers and sisters under one banner.❞ Biting her tongue, she just turned from Danse and quickly started polishing the boot of the power armor, trying to not say anything more out of line with him watching over her. Seeing how she was attempting to control her attitude, he forms a light smirk. ❝ That’s not without siblings fighting here and there. ❞

She paused, turning her head up a bit and easing up, following up with a small grin back at him. ❝ So, you’re saying I can punch him next time? ❞

Waving his hands, he shook his head. ❝ Absolutely not! Not at all what I mean — ❞

Rising to her feet, she flips the rag over her shoulder, then folds her arm. ❝ Uh-huh. I think you said something something, fight something. ❞ With a shrug and pushes her way past him, nudging his rib a bit. ❝ I’ll find a way where Sentinel Lyons won’t find out. ❞

Rubbing his face, he rolls his eyes to follow her. ❝ Well, don’t tell them I said anything if you’re going to do that. Your fellow initiates aren’t as thick skinned as you are, Hart. ❞

❝ You’re damn right. ❞

Long had she been into her teens, and nothing less than difficult. She hardly got along with any of her peers save for a tiny girl that had been getting picked on by the other squires. Brittany tried to show her how to toughen up, but it seemed the young girl by the name of Haylen was more interested in her books and learning.

Danse found himself trying both to distance himself and control the situations. In the end, it seemed he was watching behind glass. Still, he encouraged initiate Hart’s behaviors when it came to the younger sister in the ranks. If nothing else, she’d could protect those weaker than her. 

Something he felt strongly about.

10 years later:

❝ You had such potential, Knight Hart, ❞ the soft tone of Elder Arthur Maxson spoke out, facing away from her with his hands folded behind his back, staring out through the window of the airship given the namesake Prydwen, overlooking the Capital Wasteland. It was no secret once the engines were in perfect condition, they were about to set sail north to the Commonwealth. There was talk of recon team Bravo already setting up base at Cambridge in one of the abandoned police stations a few short months ago. The signal had been lost however, and it was only due time until the rest of them has their eyes looking north.

The mission was to prove ranking as well as joining Danse and one of their top scribes to investigate.

Slowly turning, Maxson’s intense features narrowed on her. ❝ But you’ll be staying here, to finish projects on the Prydwen. We’ve found a more suitable replacement for you in the meantime. ❞ Another step forward, he squints a moment. ❝ You should really thank Knight Rhys. His quick decision making saved the team and your life. ❞

Working her jaw, she simply nods. ❝ Affirmative, elder. ❞

❝ Dismissed. ❞

He barely had to finish exhaling the words from his lips as she about faced from him and removed herself from the room to move to her bunk on the ship. If he only knew it was the paladins that rushed in to save them were the real heroes. And it was her call to ask for backup that allowed them to all to make it out alive. But know one else saw it that way, not even her closest of companions. They all had agreed that Rhys was the one who made the right decision and had the opportunity to take on the special mission with Paladin Danse and Scribe Haylen.

Slumped over the edge of her bed, she sniffed a moment, then rubbed her nose with the sleeve of her uniform, staring down at the flooring between her knees.

❝ Chin up, Hart, ❞ a women’s voice called out to her. Across from her bed was Haylen, quickly jotting down a few notes then closing her notebook shut and tossing it across her bed. ❝ You’ll be in the Commonwealth in a few short months anyway. ❞ Remaining quiet, Brittany just picked at the seam on the knee of her uniform. A bit of a sigh, Haylen pushed herself up from her mattress and plopped herself up next to the knight, folding her legs up and leaning forward to look at the other. ❝ Besides, it’ll be good, they won’t have to send you on anymore dumb errands with the initiates. ❞

Brittany snapped her head around quickly, then barked, ❝ You don’t get it, do you? I’m supposed to go with you two! That’s how it’s always been. Maxson knew he should’ve let me go but him and Rhys have got this — I dunno, thing. I didn’t have to prove myself over and over, it’s bullshit. I should be a paladin by now and I should be watching your backs, not mine! ❞

Pushing her lips to the side, the scribe was certainly not going to miss Brittany’s bouts of frustration, but there was a point. She’d been tasked more over the others to reach rank. It was almost becoming obnoxious. The chemistry the trio had was undeniable, but in the end, it was always about the mission… Everyone was family. ❝ We’ll save you a seat then… ❞

Getting up from the bunk, Haylen just moved back over to hers quietly and settled in, turning off her lamp to mind her own business for the rest of the night. It wasn’t going to help anything; she knew by now that when Knight Hart was upset, it was best to follow up later.

The next morning, the sun barely peaked over the ruins of the city as the Brotherhood managed to start going about their daily duties. Brittany sat in the galley moving her food around a tray, mostly sipping on a cup of black coffee as the world moved around her.

Without asking, Danse placed himself next to her, poking her coffee hand with a fork. ❝ Eat, ❞ he commanded, before putting food in his own mouth.

❝ Not hungry. ❞

Swallowing, he said again, ❝ Eat, or you’ll regret it later. ❞

Wiggling away from him a few inches, she forced herself to take a bite, then flared her nostrils at him. ❝ Happy? ❞

He huffed through his nose, then took another bite of food before speaking again. ❝ You know I’m not happy about it as much as you are, but it’s the way it is. ❞

She keeps her gaze into her coffee mug. ❝ You don’t sound as pissed off. ❞

❝ I’m not going to fight Elder Maxson. He knows what he’s doing and he’s gotten us this far. Plus, he’s ambitious, far more than I’ve seen from anyone else. Our numbers can double once we head north and eliminate the threats there. The Commonwealth is riddled with chaos. Don’t forget our purpose here, Knight. ❞

Their purpose. She doesn’t really remember having an option. One minute she was in the arms of her mother and the next she was competing in push ups for Nuka-Cola against six other squires. She did what she had to survive in order to avenge her parents deaths. If it meant taking out the sins of the wasteland, so be it. But everything she did, it was to follow Danse. He was her mentor and the one person who protected her. When the squires failed in training, he’d always sneak something extra for her to feel better about. Whenever she was stuck with only getting half, he’d offer her his other to make up for it. Without him close by, she wasn’t so sure if she could do it on her own. Just like in the SuperDuper Mart. He was always there when she needed backup.

❝ What am I supposed to do if something happens to you? ❞ she whispered out, cupping both her hands around her coffee tightly. ❝ I can’t call in for backup if you’re not there. ❞

He looks away, now repeating her motions of moving around food on the tray, a bit lost for words. Danse made sure that whatever problems she had, he’d take care of them later. He made a promise to her mother, after all, and he intended to keep it. But now? This was out of his hands. ❝ Just remember everything I ever taught you. It’ll be fine. ❞

They both had their doubts, but neither one of them could say anything.

After a few long moments of silence, Brittany poked his hip, catching his attention and looking at her with wide eyes. ❝ Hm? ❞

❝ You be careful without me, you hear? ❞

He cracks a smile and nods. ❝ Affirmative. ❞

Three years prior:

In the skeleton of the Prydwen, Danse and Hart sat the bar in the galley, clanking their beers together and having a sip. The ship had been well into the process of completion and it was common to find anyone from the Brotherhood hanging out in the different levels. The GNR building was old news at this point and the soldiers were seeking any new environments to hang out in.

Once they had a chance to get the refrigeration going, cold beers become the new norm. For some, it was their first time ever having something cold to drink. It became part of the lifestyle when duties were completed for the day. And everyone wanted to find something to celebrate.

❝ So, congratulations on the ranking of Knight, ❞ Danse starts out, taking a sip out of his bottle.

❝ Cheers to that, ❞ she replied back, drinking from her own. Earlier that day she was granted ranking to Knight by Sentinel Lyons, and finally receiving her first power armor set. She’d been dreaming of having her own for some time now, knowing very well that would put her at the top of her game and able to cut down on her foes far more easily.

Few more beers in, the galley started to clear out of the small party, but the duo still had been chit chatting beyond closing hours. ❝ Bar’s closed you two — ❞

She waves off retired knight running the show behind it. ❝ Yeah, yeah, we’ll close things down. ❞ Danse just shrugs him off, still sipping on his drinks at a steady pace.

❝ We’re going to feel like hell in the morning, ❞ he remarks, looking at her side eyed.

She laughs, rubbing her hand across her face. ❝ Tell me about it — but I don’t wanna ruin a good time now. ❞

He lets out a small chuckle, Brittany herself leaning onto the counter, the palm of her hand digging into her cheek. ❝ You wanna know something wild? ❞

A thick eyebrow lifts, setting down his drink. ❝ What’s that? ❞

She laughs again, rubbing at her eye. ❝ You look exactly the same as I remember you when I was kid. Damn, if I haven’t met a white boy with as good of genes as you. ❞

A snort of a chuckle, then he shakes his head. ❝ Guess I’m lucky? ❞

❝ Very. Have you seen Arthur? He looks 40 and not a day over 18. ❞

Covering his mouth of a laugh, he tries to wipe his lips of his own smirk. ❝ Watch yourself, he’s got potential. ❞

❝ Pfft potential for what? ❞

❝ To beat your ass — ❞

She smacks his arm, then the both of them cracking a bit into a fit of laughter. He wasn’t wrong, by 13 the youngest Maxson had taken down a deathclaw that not even a veteran paladin could do on their own. If they were tough as nails, Arthur Maxson was diamonds.

One year ago:

❝ Knight Hart! ❞ It was Haylen, rushing to the side of the other, panting with her hands to her knees.

Aboard the Prydwen hovering over the ruins of Boston’s airport, the soldier turned to the other, eyes narrowing in with annoyance. ❝ What is it Scribe Haylen? ❞

❝ It’s — it’s Danse. ❞

Alarmed, the knight now had her full attention. ❝ Spit it out, what’s wrong? ❞

❝ Paladin Danse, he’s — he’s a synth. ❞

[willsherjohnkhan]

Angel of Death

, Chapter 3: A Chance of Redemption

***

USS VENGEANCE – 237,000 KM FROM EARTH

“Don’t get me wrong,” Molly continued, nodding towards the still frozen Alexander Marcus. “He’s getting what he deserves. You’ll get no argument from me on that point. But the consequences of your actions for the others you’ve killed before, and the lives you are still to take will come at great cost to you in an unpleasant and permanent way.”

As she spoke, Khan had moved cautiously around the bridge, his eyes remained firmly fixed on the young woman that had made such an unexpected appearance at the most crucial point in his plans for revenge.

With his inspection complete, Khan was satisfied that there were no additional surprises awaiting him, and he made his way back to where the young woman sat.

“You can’t possibly know that,” he responded.

“I can actually,” she replied, almost cheerfully.

Khan’s patience snapped. “Who are you?” he demanded, standing over her like the avenging angel he was.

With lightening speed Molly was on her feet, and before Khan could react she had pressed her sickle against his chest and shoved him forcibly back.

When he looked at her, he saw her as those who were headed for the Bowels of Hell would see her, a ghoulishly hideous figure, with harsh, cruel eyeless sockets, and a skeletal frame covered only by her hooded robes.

“I am the Angel of Death,” she intoned. “And I am here to take you, Khan Noonien Singh to the place of your reckoning where you will spend eternity in endless torment.”

In the blink of an eye she had reverted back to how she had looked when she had lived.

Khan, for possibly the first time in his life was lost for words. The thought that this petite, sweet-faced woman was the embodiment of such a frighteningly powerful force left him completely stunned.

Eventually, he managed to get his still befuddled brain to form a dazed question.

“So why are you here now?”

**

It was not a decision she took lightly.

In all the years she had tirelessly performed the tasks assigned to her, she had never once intervened in the outcome.

What was it about this man that made it necessary that she now take such a step?

The answer was simple – her heart. From the moment she first laid eyes on him, her heart that she believed long dead with the rest of her corporal body miraculously began to beat once more. Its cause, a love she had not allowed herself to feel in a very long time.

Rightly or wrongly she didn’t want to strike Khan down.

So she decided to take matters into her own hands. Not as Death, but as Molly Hooper.

**

USS VENGEANCE – 237,000 KM FROM EARTH

“I have a proposition for you?” she explained.

“And that would be what...?” Khan frowned, uncertain how to refer to her.

“Molly Hooper,” Molly suppled as she offered him her right hand.

Khan shook her hand firmly. “And what exactly is it that you propose, Molly Hooper?”

Molly’s reaction was a shiver of delight. Due in part in hearing someone refer to her by her true name. But also that it be said in that deep, rumbling rich tone that made her toes curl.

Taking a deep breath, Molly tilted her head up so that she was looking straight into his intensely beautiful blue-green eyes.

“There is no stopping the fate that will befall you. In the next couple of hours you will die, the trajectory is fixed and set in that direction,” Molly paused, and in a measured tone she advised him. “However, rather than escorting you’re damned soul to Hell, I can offer you an alternative – you could work with me. The choice is yours.”

Khan carefully considered her words, and her offer.

“Why would you do this?” he asked softly.

With complete honesty she replied. “Because this job requires some very difficult decisions, and I think the load would be more easier to bare with another’s assistance.” Then as tears began to well in her eyes, she continued, her voice becoming raw with emotion. “And because I’m lonely. And because I...”

Khan gently took her face in his hands. He could feel her loneliness, and her pain. As he gazed down into her big brown eyes, he found himself willingly drowning in their depths. It would have been so easy for him to exploit the unconditional love she clearly felt for him. But there was something about her that called to a gentler side of his nature that he didn’t know existed until that moment. So rather than fighting these new feelings, he chose to embrace them heart and soul. If his fate was to remain at her side for eternity, than he would regard himself a very fortunate man.

Holding her gaze, he lowered his head, and just before their lips met he whispered, “Because you love me.”

Molly was in pure bliss. The kiss was sweet and full of promise that her love would be returned. But it was brief, as events still needed to play out first.

Khan made his way back over to Admiral Marcus. But a curious thought had him turning back to Molly. “Two Angel’s of Death, is that even possible?”

“There’s nothing in the Rule Book that says that there can’t be – I checked,” Molly answered with a grin.

Khan responded to her grin with a wink. “See you on the other side Molly Hooper.”

*** Khan’s suicidal act of guiding the crippled ship to its end began with...

***

USS VENGEANCE – TWO HOURS LATER

The once great warship tumbled, burning internally, weaponless, without shields – but not entirely without control. Dragging himself to the forward console, a wounded but still functional Khan fought to make his orders heard above the crackle and thunder of instruments exploding and structural elements failing all around him.

“New destination!” he roared. “Starfleet Headquarters!”

“Engines compromised,” announced the voice of the ship’s computer, “Cannot guarantee we will reach intended destination, specified destination off-limits. Do you confirm order/?”

Khan’s one word response emerged as a snarl, “Confirmed.”

*

The USS Vengeance was in bad shape, trailing fresh flames as it struck atmosphere as it plunged towards the surface below, large chunks of torn and twisted metal, fiery internal components, and disintegrating pieces of its interior formed a wild trail of destruction. It fell rather than flew, almost completely out of control.

Almost...

*

Screaming past the Enterprise, the gargantuan metallic corpse that was to have been the late Admiral Marcus’s flagship to his envisioned dream of a militarized Starfleet hurled recklessly towards Earth...

As the ship ploughed down towards its destination, smoke began pouring from its crippled engine nacelles.

Though the consequences of his doomed ship’s arrival would be devastating enough, it did not strike precisely where Khan had hoped. As if by a giant hand, the ancient monument that was the prison on the island of Alcatraz was scraped clean from its rocky promontory. The collision was just enough to critically slow the vessel’s descent and alter its intended trajectory. Instead of smashing into and through Starfleet Headquarters, it plunged into the bay.

Its momentum, however, was sufficient to send it through the water and slashing into the city bay-front. Tower after tower succumbed to the sickening impact, crumbling before the crushing mass, until the wreck of what had not long ago been the most powerful vessel in Starfleet’s arsenal finally came to a grinding, groaning halt.

The concomitant wave that rose out of the harbour swept across the low-lying harbour front, inundating facilities, smashing apart landscaping, and tossing vehicles about like toys.

***

THE GOLDEN-GATE BRIDGE – A SHORT TIME LATER

There were numerous injuries and unavoidable deaths, but the greater carnage Khan had hoped to inflict did not occur. The slightest of maladjustments that had affected the intended course of the warship’s death dive meant that many more survived who would otherwise have perished.

*

Molly looked down on the scenes of devastation below her, noting with satisfaction the countless number of untold acts of heroism, bravery and sacrifice taking place in its wake.

“You’re doing I take it?”

There was no malice in his tone.

Of course he’d noted the change in direction of the Vengeance’s descent, an act of God, or in this case, a benevolent intervention from the Angel of Death.

She turned and grinned as she noted just how delicious Khan looked in his new apparel.

“Call it my little gift to humanity.”

Khan began fidgeting with his robes, attempting to stretch them out so that they would fit a little less snugly than they did currently.

“Do they really need to be so tight,” he grumbled.

Molly’s gaze wandered over his broad and powerful frame, her admiration more than clear. “Yes,” she playful responded.

Khan shook his head in resignation.

“Come on,” Molly said, suddenly all business. “There is work to do.” She paused briefly, before adding. “With one in particular I’m certain you’ll enjoy dealing with.”

“Lead on,” Khan said with a smile, feeling genuinely invigorated and eager to begin this new unexpected stage in his existence.

***

[anodyne-sunflower]

Love me like you do (Part 23)-Balem series

A/N: Here we are. Part 23, geesh. This is the longest fic I’ve ever written lol I really hope you guys have been enjoying this ride, it’s definitely a pleasure to write. No, this isn’t the last chapter lol Anyway, Few notes: Famulus is Titus’ assistant in the movie, she’s a deer splice. Midian is a planet owned by Abrasax industries. I’m not entirely sure what color the moon on his gold collar is, but it looks red orange to me….I’m also not sure if it is a moon or something else, but fuck it. Ummmm other than that. Enjoy.

MOOD MUSIC: Paint it, Black by Ciara

***

The ticking of the grand clock on the ceiling resounded off the walls of his chamber, slowly lulling the Primary into a scene of emptiness. He could gaze all around this lavish room, with its aureate light across the walls, and find nothing short of silence. It had been this way for a long while, devoid of all life but that of his own when he took residence in it. He cherished his time alone, away from those who would seek his power or leech off it. But, for a time now, he found little solace in this empty chamber. Where that pendulum grated on his nerves and did little else but spin him into a frenzy of anger. His fingers curled into the papers on his desk, crumbling them into a mess as he seethed silently. His eyes darted towards the clock on the far wall, glaring deeply at it, as if the very object mocked his self loathing.

He could blame you, every illogical section of his mind wanting so badly to do so. To say that a single woman caused him to break into this pathetic pining individual he was now, but that would be unfair to you. Perhaps you had done what no other could in all his long life, but for that he should and truly was, grateful. He adored you beyond anything else in his world, he would not lie to himself anymore. You were the center of his universe, and he knew that no matter what became of you both, you always would be. It would be fair to say that was precisely what vexed him. The fact that a simple earthling girl, meant to become the very essence of his business, could so easily gain his love. You were beautiful, intelligent, but in the grand scheme of things there wasn’t anything particularly special about you. He had met and bedded many gorgeous women in his lifetime, none as fair as you, but equally capable in a sense to find themselves the holder of his heart. He could pretend that was the case, but deep down he knew exactly why you were the one to make him feel so alive. And the simplest way to explain that, was that you loved him without ever expecting more from him. He wasn’t a man who could change easily, and even though he could see you wished for him to do so on occasion, you never once begged or asked for it. You loved him for everything he was, it was raw and it was real.

Balem looked back again at the doors, conflicted on whether or not to give chase. He had a choice before him, and unlike his usual self, he had no clue as to what to do.

“Forgive me, my lord-”

Mr. Night came rushing into the Primary’s chambers, arms restlessly moving at his sides as he tried to catch his breath. He looked flustered, as if some grand thing had just occurred and he was all too eager to relay the information. Balem, however, was in no mood to entertain the splice this afternoon.

“Mr. Night-” he warned, slouching down into his throne with a sound of discontent. “I am in no mood.”

“Yes, my apologies, Lord Balem. But, I have urgent news.”

Balem rubbed tenderly at his temple, propping his elbow up onto the arm of his throne before waving his free hand for the advisor to continue.

“As commanded, my lord, your fleets have taken residence near Titus’ territories. Most of his ships have been eradicated.”

The Primary glanced up at the information, eyes wide for a minute. He had forgotten in his anger he had made such a request, and it brought little comfort to his distressed heart.

“Titus?”

“Alive, my lord. He’s currently en route to Midian.”

He nodded in response, not surprised Titus had somehow managed to escape the attack. In truth, he wished his younger brother had perished. At long last this rivalry would come to an end. Kalique was manageable, Titus was the wild card. And he was well aware that he would stop at nothing to gain his title.

“How disappointing.” Balem spoke apathetically, laying his hands in his lap and lacing his fingers together. It was an entirely reckless plan on his part, but in the aftermath he may as well find some degree of happiness in it. The less Titus had at his disposal, the better. “Pull back our forces, have Greeghan personally see to the storm gates, and if Titus wishes to speak to me…I want to hear of it.”

The advisor bowed, swiftly turning away and rushing out the door to give the orders. Balem was left to contemplate his next move, thinking just how desperate Titus must be feeling right now. So alone, with nothing but that hideous clipper of his to keep him sane. It brought him joy for a minute, knowing he dealt his message to the scheming little brat of a brother. But, he was aware that his own future was as bleak as Titus’ now. He had likely descended the family into war, and even though victory would surely be his, he would still be left just the same at the end. Empty of all in life, but the riches at his disposal and the power at his hands. He had always been cognizant of this fact, it was hard to ignore when all you lived by was the same values of the entitled code. People like him didn’t get happiness, they only grew rich and old, and in their time they learned one thing: fight for more time. All to get even richer and powerful, until you were the god of everyone and everything and no one could stand in your way. That was his aim, until he met you. He didn’t think it possible to want anything more than the power available to him, to constantly fight tooth and nail for it. Now it all seemed a fruitless endeavor, when at the end he’d find himself still hungry for more. Time was still worth fighting for, but it all meant nothing in the conditional sense. He could forever strive for wealth and power, but he was positive he’d never find anyone like you again.

The Primary gazed back to the exit, heart straining terribly in his chest. He wasn’t sure he’d ever grow accustomed to the feeling, but at the sting of tears in his eyes he rose from his throne. He would not shed a tear, but it was the first time he ever truly felt the pending loss of someone dear to him.

He strode towards the exit of his room, stopping just at the doors and coming to a conclusion. He would not lose you, not ever. You were his, and he would make sure of that. He left his chambers in a rush, walking down the halls and ignoring his staff and soldiers on his way to the servant quarters, where he was sure you’d be. Upon his arrival, the corridor appeared empty, save for one man who was busy cleaning.

“Where is she?”

The servant jumped at the gruff tone, pushing back into the wall when he found the head of the alcazar glaring at him. He had never spoke to Balem before, let alone made eye contact with the intimidating lord. “I-”

“Get out.” The Primary ordered in frustration, already knowing the servant was going to be useless to him. It didn’t take long for the man to listen, and he bowed quickly as he ran out of the area. “Fool…”

Balem looked around the corridor, noting every room and passing them by one by one. He didn’t recognize anything, all of the belongings in them unknown to him. He tried finding you, but it all appeared to be in vain. Until he heard soft humming coming from the showers, a sweet little tune that he had heard once before in the night. When you thought he was asleep, tracing random patterns upon his back and humming out that same song.

He brought his gaze to the shower area, slowly moving towards it and stopping just at the entrance. The servants showers were built into the marbled black walls, each individual area sectioned off by long draping gold curtains for privacy. As soon as he entered, the steam hit him, enveloping him in a warmth and scent that was all too familiar to his senses. It enslaved him, beckoning him forward to the shower it came from. His boots stalked along the water seeping along the floor, the ends of his cape now soaked as he found his way to you. Yet, he couldn’t possibly trouble himself with such a thing, for his mind was hooked on one person.

Balem paused at the end of the showers, standing before the curtain, and reveling in the enchanting silhouette within his line of vision. He was so fond of that bewitching form, every part of him yearning to have it back in his arms where it belonged. The longing had him propelling forward into the shower, hand coming up to shift the curtain aside. His eyes immediately were drawn to you, bathing under the heavy flow of water that came from a long spout above. Your hands worked the soap over your curves, your back turned to him as you ended your humming to extend your face into the stream.

His breath left him in awe, eyes scanning every inch of your bare body. He had never felt desire like this, his heart aching to be with you and body begging to have you. It was a passion that wouldn’t easily fade.

Your hands ran over your thighs, wet hair clinging to your skin as you washed and scrubbed at your body. The shower proved helpful enough, washing away the dirt and grime of the day’s work, yet ridding your heart of the turmoil it felt. If only for a few minutes. You were certain those feelings would return with a vengeance once you finished up. In fact, you were positive they’d haunt you for the rest of your days here. Balem managed to work his way under your skin, nearly controlling every logical part of you. There was so many things to detest about a man like him, and yet you adored him for all he was. That would never change, and you would just make peace with that.

You sighed into the water, closing your eyes as you tilted your head back and appreciated the heat spilling over you. It reminded you of him, his warmth, his caresses, the way he’d lean down and whisper intimate words into your ear. Bathing with him was a heavenly gift, one that you happily shared in numerous times. But, those musings only heightened your sorrow, knowing he didn’t want you anymore. You fancied yourself a strong person, but even heartbreak could tear the strongest people apart.

Balem advanced over the water, unmoved by the droplets seeping into his attire. His focus was primarily on you standing before him, so unaware of your effect on his being. He was so close now, one slip of his hand, and he’d be reaching out to touch you.

You angled your neck to the side, massaging at your shoulder that felt just a tad sore. The heat of the water loosened your muscles, making you moan in comfort at the feeling. As your nails glided along your flushed skin, a soft touch made you freeze. The feeling of fingertips moving up your mid back, and over your shoulder blade causing you to shiver. You knew that touch, but in the back of your mind you warned yourself not to believe it was him. You didn’t dare look back, heart already hammering away within your chest as those fingers walked over your shoulder and affectionately covered your hand. From the corner of your eye, you could see the glint of gold rings, his thumb sweeping over your knuckles in an enamoring way. It captivated your attention, tongue coming out to lick across your lips as you finally brought yourself to turn to him.

His other hand came to rest on your left arm, traversing up your now prickling skin as he pulled you back into his hold. You felt the black gems adorning his shirt prod into your back, his breath ghosting along your cheek as he leaned down.

“Turn around.” He pleaded, nose pressed into your cheek as he inhaled your scent. How he missed this closeness, just feeling you encased in his arms. He was a fool to have let it go before.

You did as he asked, tentatively turning in his grasp until you found yourself gazing into his handsome face. Most would break under the stare of him, finding that distinct barbarity in his gaze too difficult to comprehend or endure. You had felt that once, months ago when he held you to a wall and let that inviting voice of his seduce you. It was the beginning of the end for you then, little did you know his cold, calculating eyes would become such a pleasure for you to look into. All fear aside now, you simply allowed yourself to enjoy them, even as they bore down into you.

“What are you doing?…” It was a weak whisper, conveying the excitement and confusion in your heart. Balem offered no explanation, and without further question he lifted his hand towards you. The water above slid down his palm, cascading over his fingertips as they swept over your cheek. He touched you with such devotion, so unlike his typical callous nature that it made you pause in your thoughts. You couldn’t make sense of his change, but if those green eyes told you anything it was the deep sadness pooling within them. Something he so desperately wished to be unburdened from.

He trailed his thumb down, bringing it to your perfect lips and tracing over them. He relished the warmth of your breath against his fingertip when your mouth parted, a shaky breath leaving you at his attention.

“You have no idea what you’ve done to me.” It was said in despair, his words proving that he was finally at the end of his rope. He could no longer deny what he needed in his world, not when it was standing right in front of him.

You made to speak, eyes welling with tears when he leaned forward to press your foreheads together. There was many things you wanted to say, even some that would convey the struggle he had put you through, but all that was lost when he pushed you both back into the wall.

The water fell upon him, drenching his clothing, and completely flattening his usually slicked back hair. But, Balem only kept his attention upon you, his lips taking your own into a fervid kiss that left you positively breathless. You clung to his shirt, gripping tightly onto his sleeves as he cupped your cheeks. His lips moved slowly over yours, savoring every touch, every noise of pleasure until you begged for air. He would pull away momentarily, letting you recover before fulfilling his desires again. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get enough of you, but he’d resign himself to a fate of trying if it meant having you near.

“Balem…” You gasped into his mouth, simultaneously wanting to bring him closer and push him away. Your heart could only take so much of this, and you only wanted for him to know that. “I can’t…” You moved your face away, his lips brushing over your cheek from the sudden movement. The urge to cry was building, every single heartbreak he caused threatening to spill out. But, you forced yourself to keep those emotions at bay, unwilling to allow him the pleasure of your pain. Not that he ached for it, he would never wish to bring any harm to you.

“Little bird,” Balem kept his lips on your cheek, kissing it softly before moving away. He respected your anger towards him, but he wasn’t willing to part from you yet.

“Don’t.” You begged, an audible whine escaping you at the sound of his pet name. It always caused a mix of emotions to build, making it harder to ignore your desire to be with him. “Please…”

“Y/N…”

His sudden switch made you turn, brows knitting together in shock at the way he said your name. It was a rare sound to witness, and you could count the number of times he actually used it. Only this time it was sincere, as if he was trying to keep you calm in his hold. You glanced up at him, tears rolling down your cheeks when he tilted your chin up. His habitual icy glare replaced by a genuine look of adoration. He didn’t need to smile, he didn’t need to say much else, because you felt it then. An overwhelming tenderness that was displayed in the way he caressed your cheek, brushing off the tears. He ran his fingers through your wet hair, gently tugging you forward and into his arms. Your chin came to rest on his shoulder, eyes wide as you felt him embrace you, your breasts pushing into his chest as he held your head and waist in his hands.

You could’ve broke down then, allowing all your pent up emotions to rush out in a heap of sobs. But, you merely bit down on your lip, letting it quiver between your teeth as he hugged you to him.

Balem didn’t say anything else, he allowed you a moment, waiting until he felt your body still in its silent cries before unhooking his cape from the buckles on his shoulders. He gracefully pulled it around himself, bringing it over your bare body and wrapping you as best he could. He craned one arm around your back and hooked the other under your knees, lifting you protectively into his arms.

The cold cloth made you shake, but you didn’t care too much, your focus trained on the powerful man gazing down at you in his arms. He turned the water off, keeping you snug against him as he took you both to his chambers.

Neither of you cared when you passed others in the hallways, your eyes remained fixed on each other. Trying to disclose the extent of your feelings that had long gone unsaid. It wasn’t until you came upon his chamber doors that he looked away, taking you over the threshold into his room. It was so long ago when you came in here with the intent of fulfilling passions, an action you didn’t believe you’d be partaking in again. But, as he carried you across his chambers towards the large bed, you remembered how much you treasured those intimate meetings.

Balem set you down gently, your feet touching the ground delicately before he began removing his cape from around you. His eyes fixated on your face, one hand coming to tilt your chin up, the other sliding the cape effortlessly off your nude body. It fell in a damp heap on the floor, leaving you to tremble gently in the air of the room. He carefully walked you back, the heels of your feet hitting the edge of his bed, making you look behind to ensure you wouldn’t just fall. But, he held you close, his body heat already rolling off in waves around you. If only you could get him out of his wet clothes, you’d be even more welcoming to his touch.

“Here.” You trailed your hands up his chest, admiring the well made attire of his shirt. You couldn’t even imagine what all that gold and gems cost, but it worked well for the Primary. “Let me.” You traced the intricate patterns of his gold collar, running your fingertip over the bright glow of the red orange half moon. You never realized how detailed the contraption was, but it suited him for some reason. You unlatched the lock on it, opening it up and removing it from his neck. In some odd way, it felt deeply personal, as if he was allowing you the privilege of being this close. It was unlikely that anyone had ever touched, or cared for him in such a way. But, when you pulled that collar off and dropped it casually onto the cape, it was like a new appreciation for one another had developed.

Balem never faltered in his gaze, his expressive eyes now mapping the beauty before him. He pulled his shirt off, your hands quickly coming to explore his body without breaking eye contact. He cherished the lightness of your caress, muscles contracting beneath his smooth skin as you inched your fingers lower. His skin was cold to the touch, the water having clung to his clothing and chilled him to the bone. It increased the sensitivity of his body, a fact he wasn’t complaining over. Not when he had you splaying your hands over his chest and lower abdomen, your arousal clear in his eyes when you bit your lip.

There was an excitement in your actions, both of you journeying your hands and fingers along the other’s body with renewed vigor. It was like exploring something new all over again, the emotions behind your teasing touches and affectionate glances multiplied by the confessions in each of your minds.

“Kiss me.” You couldn’t take the lack of contact much longer, not with him towering over you in all his arousing splendor. As much as you would enjoy the foreplay of undressing the rest of him, your body was eager to be entwined with his.

Balem’s lips curled into a smirk, the love in his eyes now mixing with pure lust at your demand. You had rarely asked anything of him in bed, and when you did it was said in those moments of your rapture, when all else failed you and a simple ‘Don’t stop’ could be heard. How he enjoyed those loose lips of yours, often giving him what he wanted to hear even when you tried to fight it. So your demand would go answered, because he could not deny himself the pleasure of that pretty pout.

He cupped your face, thumb sweeping over your cheekbone as he tilted your head and leaned down. His nose pushed into yours, lovingly bumping together before he gave you what you asked for. His lips barely covered yours, allowing your breaths to mingle together, creating a wave of ecstasy for you both. You wanted to close the distance, but the part of you that enjoyed the sweet torment allowed him the slow dance of his kiss. So you worked at his pants, undoing the clasp that hung just below that V of his abdominal muscles. It only furthered your temptation, heart racing now as you lowered his pants and freed his swollen need for you.

He groaned into your mouth when the tip of his manhood brushed your stomach, leaving a slight trail of precum along your skin. It made you both breakaway from the kiss, cheeks now flushed with desire as you stared at each other. He made quick work of his boots, shoving off his pants the rest of the way before coming back up to admire you. The want was so palpable in the air of the room, and he wasted no more time in lifting you into his arms. He hugged you to him, just enough to get you onto the bed where he gently laid you down beneath him.

It was the chill of his lips that made you sigh out, lower back arching from the bed. Your fingers already tangled into the silk sheets, head tilting to the side in a passionate state.

“Balem…” you whispered sweetly, eyes shutting as he dragged his mouth over your breasts and kissed each one. He paid particular attention to your nipples, delighting in the way they hardened under his administrations.

“I’ve missed you.” He groaned in his pleasure, nuzzling your ribs and smiling when he heard that melodic giggle of yours. “You make me weak, little bird…” he said with such desired acceptance, closing his eyes as he nipped just below your breast. The ticklish sensation made you giggle and moan, body thriving on the attention he offered. His words weren’t lost on you, and though some may have found trouble in them, you just found love. For a man of his stature in the world, knowing you were the only thing he considered a weakness…it made your heart flutter.

“How?” You questioned, fingers running through his hair as he continued his path down your body. You could feel his fiery gaze upon you, knowing he was delivering a warning not to push him too far into this new territory. It only made you smile, a sigh moving passed your lips as he catered to your need.

Balem’s tongue lazily drew a pattern over your navel, licking over the now heated skin and coming to stop at your spread legs. He eyed you from his position, an amused smile on his face when he heard you question his statement. He could explain a number of reasons why you tormented his every thought, but he wasn’t well acquainted with the complexities of love. Some secrets were meant to stay that way, and he could tell how badly you wished to gain them from him.

“Nothing you need be made privy to…” he teased, kissing over your thigh and watching as you writhed around.

You would’ve argued his point, wanting to know why someone like him came to find his weakness in you. Call it arrogance on your part, but what woman wouldn’t like to know every detail about the man she adored. But, your argument fell into a string of moans, his tongue now lapping languidly at your folds and paying particular attention to your clit. He had ached for you, his needs having gone ignored for far too long now. He often dreamt of you being in his arms again, enticing screams of passion falling upon his ears and making him wake up impossibly aroused and angry. Having you here again, moving happily around on his bed and whimpering his name, there wasn’t anything like it.

“Balem!” You pushed at his head, the pleasure rising too high and nearly causing tears to form in your eyes. His tongue and lips had you thrashing around, the only thing keeping you grounded was his hand on your breast, the other holding one thigh away so you wouldn’t completely trap his face between your lovely legs. He heeded your silent request to stop, pulling away with a soft smack of his lips, a string of your cum sticking to them. It was a heavenly sight, especially when he smirked and kissed just above your pubic bone, making you shift in his hold and beg him to come back up.

“No more,” but, your words trailed off into incoherent purrs of bliss. His breath and lips tickling over your stomach and up your chest until he stopped them above your own. He knew what you wanted, what he wanted, and as much as he lived on the foreplay of sex, he couldn’t deny you both any longer.

“Whatever you desire, my beauty.” He cooed, burying his face in the juncture of your neck and shoulder. He meant every word, his entire being now devoted to the endless comforts and affections he could spoil you with. You were his, and he would do anything in his power to keep it that way. He could not afford to lose you again, because life seemed too painful now without you.

He settled himself at your entrance, groaning when his tip pushed into your warmth. Every primal element of his personality begged to take you hard, but he wanted to savor these moments. Just witnessing and perceiving every fine detail until he could map every inch of your body into his mind. From what made that sensual voice of yours moan, to the touches that caused your body to contort in ecstasy within his embrace.

“Ahh…” You held one hand back against the headboard of his bed, bracing yourself as he slowly buried his length within you. Your walls stretched and gave way to him, contracting around his cock and craving for more movement. “Balem, oh god…”

He was fighting his own pleasure, one arm wrapped around you and the other forcefully tangling into the pillow near your head. His breathing had grown ragged, teeth grinding down so he could control the needs he felt. With you moaning away beneath him, nails clawing at his back, he wasn’t sure it was possible to continue this slow ascent into your passions.

“You drive me mad, my little dove.” He chuckled, kissing your neck and moving you to look at him now. Both your eyes were glazed over in lust, each of you wanting to cave into the more wild nature of your relations. But, he took it slow, rolling his hips down and growling out his pleasure.

You held onto him, gliding your palm up his back and lacing your fingers through his hair. He kept his leisurely pace, sliding in and out of you, only heightening the response of your bodies to the thrill of your coupling.

“Faster,” you moaned pleadingly, throwing your head back into the black and gold pillows. He kept brushing over that sensitive spot within you, the slow rhythm of his thrusts only denying you the peak of your bliss. It was frustrating and perfect, his movements only making that pleasure build until you couldn’t fathom the idea of taking anymore. “Don’t stop…”

Balem kissed you eagerly, a grin on his lips when he heard those two pleading words that he was so very fond of. You uttered them against his kiss swollen lips, crying out between his kisses as he increased his speed. He was rocking into you at this point, your body giving into the sinful pleasures of the Primary. Your inner walls clenched down around his length, feeling the pulse of his own arousal with each needy thrust. The both of you drowned in the heat of your passions, your own orgasm approaching at a frenzied beat. The tightening in your abdomen gave way, back snapping off the bed and pressing you flush against Balem. He was groaning heavily into your kiss, trying to keep his climax steady until you were completely satisfied beneath him.

He slowly came down from his high, hips still bucking gently forward to ride out his orgasm. You were writhing weakly under him, body exhausted from his lovemaking. You moaned softly when he pulled out, missing the feeling of his proximity already. But, you took joy in his embrace, wiggling around as he began to pepper kisses across your collarbones, neck, and cheeks. Each one more tender than the last.

“I love you…” you confessed to him, already knowing he had an inkling of your emotions. But, you spoke them anyway, wanting him to be fully aware of just how much he meant to you. It was a dangerous thing, most would say, but you felt it so fiercely in this moment the words could no longer be contained. “I love you.”

Balem paused his trail of kisses, lips barely caressing the skin of your neck when he took in your heartfelt sentiment. He felt your body tense when he said nothing, your fingers restlessly tapping along his back, trying to control your nerves. He wasn’t at a loss for words, he knew exactly what he felt, but your confession was the only thing he wished to focus on, if only for a minute. He had stopped you the very first time you tried, an action he now felt foolish for. Because, nothing in life would ever bring him this sliver of happiness like hearing you give yourself completely to him.

He closed the distance between him and your neck, kissing your pulse gently as he nuzzled just below your jawline. If there was ever a reason to want more time at his disposal, it was to share it with you by his side.

“I am yours.” He whispered so sincerely, moving up to gaze down into your beautiful eyes. He brushed the fallen strands of hair from your face, admiring your features before repeating himself. “I am yours.”

***Midian***

“Lord Titus…?” Famulus cautiously stepped towards him, her ears twitching in vigilance as she awaited his command. Titus merely stared out the windows of his clipper, eyes filled with a fiery resolve to tear Balem apart. His entire fleet, meager as it was, destroyed right in front of his eyes, metal scraps floating in the abyss of space. The shine of the explosions glinted across his pupils, lip twitching at the corner as he attempted to quell the rage building within him. He could have heeded Kalique’s warning, perhaps even let this rivalry between brothers go. Now he could not fathom leaving Balem to rule over everything while he only fell further into nothing.

“Lord Titus, are you-”

“My army, how many left?” He clasped his hands tightly behind his back, gritting away at the anger boiling inside. He could stand and watch his livelihood be taken from him, or he could fight back, and what better way to greet Lord Balem First Primary, than with an army of his own.

“I’m afraid there isn’t much left, my lord. You have two ships left, each well equipped with soldiers and sims, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t do much against-”

“And Kalique? What of hers?”

“I’m not sure she wishes to be involved, Lord Titus. Our communications have gone ignored…” Famulus bowed her head in apology, lifting her eyes only to survey the amount of frustration Titus felt.

Titus sighed, never taking his sights off the ship currently being attacked. He should’ve guessed Kalique would shy away from full on war, it wasn’t her style to get involved in the overall politics of it. Such a shame really, she could’ve proven a great help to him. But, if she wished to abandon him now, then he could forget their original deal.

“Very well. I want you to contact Cygnus-”

“My lord…” His assistant looked down in worry, moving away to hold her arm out towards a container, currently being held in the arms of a soldier. “Cygnus is no longer able to help…your brother…”

The Third Primary glared towards the container, seeing stains of dried blood clinging to the edges. It was no doubt the grisly work of Balem, always wanting to send a message in the most heinous of ways. He didn’t need to peek inside to know the head, quite literally, of Balem’s council was in there.

“I see. Well,” he smiled at Famulus, trying to regain his calm demeanor. “No matter. We will do this without him. He sent me some interesting feedback on this last meeting. Perhaps Balem would like to speak about it. If it is war he wants, then I will give it to him.”

***

A/N: Hope y'all liked! Please give feedback if possible ❤️ I can’t say how many parts are left, but I’m getting towards the end-ish lol. Based off my outline :) so, we shall see! I’m super stoked!

[sethnakht]

étude #5 (luke + vader)

insp. by this post.

Those robes weren’t meant for running, Luke thought as three of them stumbled past, red and shining and clearly not used to moving.

He waited, two, three, half-expecting another one - for symmetry, he supposed. None of this actually made sense, the guards in red visors and robes, the actual lava, the palace that looked like a cross between a sorcerer’s tower and a prison. None of it was anything he’d ever imagine wanting.

The sound of stumble-running had become fainter.

Luke closed his eyes, and suddenly trusted himself - he was jogging past the corner, towards his reflection in gleaming steel.

No guards, as far as he could see. But what about behind the door? - he closed his eyes and bit his lip and decided that no, his first assessment stood.

Only one person waited there.

Father, he tried again.

The lack of acknowledgement was hard to process. It was like, Luke thought, his father was asleep.

Yeah right. Darth Vader caught unawares - sleeping? That would never happen.

This plan was going to get him killed. Luke sucked in a breath and tasted sulphur.

Then he was in the room, eyes opening to complete and utter darkness. Not even the sound of -

The lights sprang on, making him jump. Great, he thought as acid lapped past his throat. Definitely going to die today.

It only took his eyes a few blink-cycles to adjust to the lighting. Not as bright as he’d initially feared. Already the room was retreating away into shadow. What few reflective surfaces he could make out quivered in the green light of a steadily blinking machine.

Next to the machine was a bed. Luke winced at it, expecting - he wasn’t sure what. The respirator, playing in his head right now - broken inhale, mechanical release, but that was in his head and not here.

I guess he is asleep, Luke thought, and found himself moving closer to the bed. There was a blanket, he realized, glittering hard in the light like it had been poured from the lava outside, then cracked into shards and piled into a burial mound.

A blanket with a distinct absence of limb-like structures underneath.

Luke sucked in a breath, but either his father was truly asleep or didn’t care if he was seen this way, listless and laid out like a patient in a medcenter. The more Luke allowed himself to think the possibility, the more he was reminded of such a place.

It even smelled of bacta.

Sometimes, when not even bacta could really help -

Luke made a decision. He’d shoot one good look at his father, take away from that what he could, and then leave.

Looking had been a mistake, Luke realized in the same moment he recognized a feeling from Bespin.

(monster - run - )

And yet he couldn’t look away. Scars had eaten into his father’s face, sunken mouths like Sarlaacs, rotten pits of black flesh. Surrounding them was skin so colorless it seemed to have no other purpose than to announce the strain of staying alive. A black respirator had been fitted over the nose and mouth, and there was a pipe coming out the bottom that looked like a severed spine.

A sound, out of place. Luke glanced to the door, then waved a hand at the locking mechanism.

Still, he felt nervous grappling for his comlink. “Artoo,” he hissed. “What’s going on out there?”

Luke couldn’t actually understand most of what Artoo was saying, but the melody was comforting.

“Sounds like you’ve got everything under control,” he said, and felt himself smile at the trilling response. “Yes, I’ll be right there.”

When he turned back for a last look, his father’s eyes had opened.

Little cracks, but the Force was suddenly alive in a way Luke hadn’t realized it wasn’t before. Shadows leapt from corners like dragons from their nests.

Around the bed, they gathered and gathered until Luke thought he could almost see claws and eyes.

“Father,” Luke said with all the dread he felt.

He couldn’t look. “Please, I know this was immensely stupid and you weren’t expecting me and you’re probably really mad but I had to come, I had to see …” Luke no longer knew what he was saying, only that he was afraid to say it even to the dark. “I had no idea. I’m sorry.”

The room was so still, and his senses so desperate for feedback, Luke finally heard the respirator. Quieter than his (constantly crinkling) outer flight suit (idiot - should have taken it off), he’d missed it over the hum of its operating machine. The inhale sounded like a shifting dune.

Pressing his eyes more tightly shut, he realized he couldn’t take it anymore and opened them.

What he saw was quite bizarre.

Instead of lashing out, instead of summoning a saber and dismembering him, instead of setting dragons upon him - the monster laid in bed and watched him and breathed. Breathed and smiled with nothing but the folded corners of his eyes, lashes fluttering closer and closer to sleep.

Luke felt his insides twist. How - how someone so ugly could still feel - feel -

His hand was hovering over the bed before he realized he couldn’t bring himself to touch that.

“Father,” he said, uncomfortable with his own disgust.

Flutter, and then a sound from the respirator, something more than sand and metal. But not yet human.

Luke wondered if he should probe or just let it go.

“It’s alright,” he said, drawing on experience with Artoo to keep his voice light. “We can talk some other time.”

He really should go, he thought, and yet there was movement under the hideous blanket, almost like his father was trying to a roll a shoulder, and that made it hard to look away, because - Luke knew that feeling of missing a limb and expecting it anyway -

“I like haa- having you in my dreams,” said the respirator.

This was shock, hitting Luke in the stomach like a first punch. This was shock, stealing the breath from his longs, and not because of the oddly phrased confession or the vulnerability it implied.

This was -

the cadence of a stranger

- his father’s voice.

“This isn’t a dream,” Luke said.

Instantly he hated the sound of his own confusion. This wasn’t the time to fall apart! Artoo was waiting for him, and - he was no longer that starstruck boy, looking to the desert sky for answers. “Father, I’m here because I wanted to talk to you —”

Vader’s eyes twitched and were suddenly wide with color, a bloody blue like milk from a sick cow.

As Luke’s thoughts derailed, he found himself the object of scrutiny. That calm gaze made something under his skin itch. It felt … a little mad, more than a little precarious.

“You should take a sss - a schower.”

“What?” Luke heard himself say.

Troubling as he found Vader’s reactions - his lack of them - Luke couldn’t help but feel more insulted by his words.

“Smell like a swamp.”

That was him, sputtering, because -

Because he hadn’t been this offended since he’d first met Han. “Well, excuse me for not meeting your …”

He’d trailed off in alarm.

The respirator was making a horrible grunting sound, like physical overexertion combining with the static hiss of malfunction. Worse, Vader was lifting his chin like a Bantha smelling danger from dozens of clicks away, eyes growing wider and shinier with increasing desperation.

Luke looked at those animal eyes and thought: I’m not up for this.

Only to suddenly remember Dagobah.

“Hey,” he said with a gentleness modeled from Leia, “I’m right here.” And he leaned forward just close enough that the respirator might pick up engine grease and cockpit leather and the sweat gathering in the armpits of unwashed flight suit.

“See?” he heard himself say. “No swamp.”

“Smell-ed,” Vader said, his absent tone telling Luke he’d already moved past the thought.

A thought about Bespin, apparently.

“Right,” Luke said, straightening back and away. “Well, I guess you’ll be glad to hear that I don’t live in a swamp any longer.”

The words echoed hollow.

Flexing his new hand in its glove, he glanced at the door and resolved to leave.

He would get no answers here. Looking back to his father, he saw eyes that were darting back and forth like a droid beyond repair. There was no way human eyes could possibly register anything at that speed.

Some kind of sedative, Luke thought. That would explain it.

Everyone needed medical attention from time to time. There was nothing he could do about it, and nothing his father could give him, not today.

Not like this.

“I hate this place.”

Milky eyes rolled back into his skull as though Vader wanted nothing more than to never again see his surroundings, becoming more yellow and grey as they turned.

Luke felt his forehead wrinkle. “Yeah, me too,” he said, and heard his own relief.

Well, at least they could agree about something. He was speaking before he could stop himself. “Gives me the creeps, if I’m being honest.”

“Mustafar …”

Suddenly Vader’s forehead rumpled, the white ridges that once must have carried eyebrows springing out at Luke like swords crossing.

Finally, Luke thought, and was surprised by his own eagerness. But then again, why not? His father was finally coming to his senses. Maybe this hadn’t been a total waste after —

“I killed you,” said Vader.

He spoke with force, with a thick and stilted and horribly familiar desert accent. Yellow glazed his eyes, suddenly focused on Luke’s. “I have no compunctions about ending you again.”

Luke thought about the blaster at his hip.

“I can sense your fear,” said Vader with a cruel smile in his voice.

Then the respirator echoed the grunt-hiss from earlier. Focus still on his blaster, it was with detached absorption that Luke saw it. A vein - twitching, insistent, single-minded in its awfulness - emerging on the plane of a hideously bald forehead.

“It has always made you weak.”

Meaning set in only fuzzily, etched in the form of a bulging vein. Then the picture before him began to evoke pity.

And with pity came clarity.

This was his father, struggling to free himself from the heavy blanket and obviously not realizing he could sit up and let it fall - confused, disoriented, flapping for arms that weren’t there …

“You never killed me,” Luke said, shock and pity together evening his voice into something almost compassionate. “I don’t think you even knew I was alive until recently.”

“No!” shouted the monster.

Run, said the feeling from Bespin.

Help him, said the longing, as yet uncrushed part of him, captivated by a bulging vein.

“Many times,” seethed his father, “have you survived, and each time, I have killed you.”

He made it sound very convincing. For the first time, Luke noticed the hypos and stims in metal cases next to the breathing machine, the examining table with monstrously sized restraints, the unbreakable chain between the bed and the wall.

It was all rattling.

Even the blanket seemed no longer a blanket but a straitjacket, fixing his father in place despite - because of injuries and violence.

“Don’t think you can run!” Vader shouted with all the rawness of a man made impotent. “My hatred for you is stronger than you can imagine, Skywalker.”

(not a bedroom a psychiatric ward)

“Father,” he managed beyond the hysterical thought. The door was so so close, mere steps behind him -

Except that the monster had gone still at the word, losing its interest in overthrowing the blanket. Wide eyes roamed the room, warily searching.

Compassion felt almost like surrender. I can help him, Luke thought in the rush of it.

He reached out, ready to this time to touch.

(stupid stupid)

Vader had flinched, and Luke dropping his hand like it was on fire seemed only to worsen matters. It took no time for his father to go from vulnerable to volatile, for his color to purple with outrage.

Like slavering dogs awaiting a signal, the shadows responded. They rippled in black, vicious with anticipation.

“You have no father,” said the monster with teeth. “I would know. Obi-Wan … would have been wiser to cut off your head!”

Obi-Wan?

Somehow Luke had ended up looking to Vader’s eyes for answers. But they were near-blank to him, bright and brimming only with loathing.

“You’re sick!” he heard himself say, hand on the hilt of his blaster.

A flash of irritation, then Vader’s expression settled into something lofty. If he knew he was limbless in a medbay bed and restrained like the insane, he didn’t seem to think it mattered.

“Indeed,” he said in a voice strengthened by malice. “But if it is too late for me, then it is far too late for you.”

This was clearly a threat, a reason to finally get out of this loony asylum - and yet something about the words caught in Luke’s mind like fabric distorted in a snag, like Aunt Beru’s thin blouses when he hadn’t been careful. It was like - there was something here he should be able to figure out.

He took in a breath.

Trusted a whim. “I think you’ve confused me with someone else,” he said, and closed his eyes to Vader’s simmering expression of dismissal.

Remembering the effect one word could have, he decided to try it again. “Father, it’s Luke. I’m your son.”

When he opened his eyes, he saw that Vader’s forehead was a storm of confusion.

As he watched, his father’s eyes grew blue-red, translucent and runny. “My son …”

His voice was soft.

“Yes,” said Luke, and remembered to lift his hand from his blaster.

He tried to smile, but it only came out pained in his voice. “I came to see you.”

Vader was blinking too rapidly to see anything, but Luke took a brave step forward anyway.

It felt strange not to extend a hand, but the risks of triggering some new episode seemed too high. His hands ended up as fists at his sides. “Father, I’m right here.”

A shake of that bald head, and then Vader was looking to Luke with emotions too contradictory to define. Terror, perhaps, filtered through overwhelming disdain.

“Where is my son?” he asked, demanding but also subdued. “Is he safe?”

The incredulity Luke felt was quickly becoming anger.

“I’m right here!” he shouted, all the pent-up frustration about his abandonment, his dismemberment, his disillusionment breaking into his voice. “Here, you dimwit!”

And not even the surge of guilt was enough to stop his next words. “You know what? This is pointless.”

Artoo must be worried sick. Pressing the scowl on his face into something resigned, avoiding his father’s widened eyes, Luke turned from the bed and fished for his comlink.

“Don’t go.”

“Come in, Artoo,” said Luke, and if that pang was a sense of betrayal, he wasn’t going to feel bad about it. “Yeah, yeah, I’m ready. Just make sure none of those guards catch sight of me on my way.”

He wasn’t going to look back. Shoulders straightened, he made for the door.

“Don’t go,” Vader said with plaintive desperation.

Bitterness felt warm in his center. “You won’t remember this anyway,” Luke heard himself mutter.

“Come back!”

He almost did.

[mazurah]

Lost in Time Ch. 1: Madhouse - An Elder Scrolls Fanfic

Story Summary: Fayrl Indoril, a Dunmer assassin from the second era, and Ma’zurah, a Khajiiti mage from the third era make an unlikely team, but when they find themselves thrown together in fourth era Skyrim, it’s all they can do to survive and figure out what in Oblivion is going on.

This is a fanfic adaptation of a roleplay between myself and @talldarkandroguesome. It is an attempt to expand upon the physical world of The Elder Scrolls, portray NPCs with three dimensional personalities, provide alternative and common-sense solutions to the problems of Skyrim, depict real-life consequences to trivial bits of Elder Scrolls lore, and create an emotionally authentic, character driven narrative all at once.

Will eventually contain mature content, including graphic depictions of sexual and violent acts–sometimes at the same time. Sorry, the Mephala worshipper insisted.

Chapter Summary: Fayrl Indoril is just taking care of business as usual when he finds a fork that changes his life and sends him on a journey he’s not sure he’s prepared for.

Cross posted from Ao3. Chapter Rating: G for general audiences.

Next Chapter

Lost in Time Chapter 1: Madhouse

Fayrl Indoril, scion of House Indoril, and unfortunate disappointment to most of his family, wiped his brow. It was unseasonably hot in Stonefalls, despite the usual Midyear weather, and Fayrl was eager to get his task over with. He heaved the burden he carried higher, and headed down the short path to the decrepit Daedric shrine.

Not quite six feet tall, the mer’s fine, but relatively unassuming clothing was compensated for by his elaborate makeup and overly complex hairstyle. Bard, devotee of Mephala, kinsmer of House Indoril, father, lover, husband twice over, spy and assassin, and sometimes working-mer-of-the-night; Fayrl was a complicated mer of many qualities, as many faults, and few scruples. He was currently in the process of disposing of the inevitable results of his own devotion to the Daedric Prince of Sex and Murder. He opened the door of the Daedric shrine, and heaved the body he carried within, closing the door afterwards and dusting off his hands.

He turned back to the road where his guar waited for him. He paused as something caught his eye. Why there would be a fork lying on the ground just outside a ruined Daedric shrine Fayrl did not know, but he was intrigued. The midday sunlight glinted off the iron metal. On a whim, Fayrl bent to pick the thing up.

Fayrl suddenly felt as though the ground had dropped out from under him. He flailed as he found himself hurtled through a seemingly bottomless abyss devoid of stars.

Just as quickly as the sensation began, it stopped again. Fayrl gasped as though he had just surfaced from a sudden dunk in a pool of freezing water. He glanced around himself, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword. He was no longer in Stonefalls.

He was, apparently, atop a small stone platform with a flight of stairs leading down to a path lined with brightly colored mushrooms. Fayrl stood very still, watching and listening to discover if he was in any immediate danger. He relaxed slightly as the moments ticked by and no danger made itself known.

He glanced down at the fork in his hand. He was not sure what had brought him to this place, but the fork seemed to be the catalyst. He tucked it into the satchel at his hip, and took a more thorough stock of his surroundings.

The place seemed peaceful enough. The sides of the path were overgrown with enormous yellow mushrooms that reminded him of the Emperor Parasol mushrooms of Morrowind. The mushroom thicket was interspersed with huge vines and smaller mushrooms of bright purple and teal in every shape and size imaginable. He glanced at the sky and his eyes widened. The midday sun filtered through a fantastic array of yellow clouds that might have been at home in a whimsical painting by the more famous of the impressionistic artists of Tamriel. He had never seen the like before. The clouds seemed to sparkle at him crazily. He shook his head in bewilderment and cautiously started down the stone steps.

The path wound down, around, over, and under, according to the whims of nothing that Fayrl could discern. The brightly colored mushrooms towered over the path like trees. The air made the walk oddly pleasant, but Fayrl remained tense and watchful. He followed the path up a steep hill where the vegetation thinned, and paused to get his bearings. In the distance to his right, buried in the midst of the mushroom thicket, Fayrl could see a crumbling ruin overgrown with vines and moss. Ahead, down the path, he thought he could see wood and stone structures in somewhat better repair. He faded into the shadows and made his way towards them.

Approaching the structures, he saw that they were actually part of a small village comprised of about four or five buildings. There were people moving between the buildings, but they didn’t seem to be moving quickly. Fayrl made his way towards the nearest wall, keeping himself out of the line of sight of anyone observing. He wanted to see if he could overhear any information before he made himself known. He wasn’t even sure if these people spoke any of the languages he knew.

A Redguard with an affable face and a massive head of frizzy hair strolled between the buildings near Fayrl. He was dressed in bright purple finery that seems to be made of leather, and was studded all over with flat, round metal buttons. It looked, well, frankly, ridiculous.

Fayrl cloaked himself in shadow and followed the Redguard. He didn’t know enough about his new location to want to speak to anyone just yet. He had to learn more.

A door in the wall of the building closest to Fayrl opened, and a dour looking Dunmer emerged, dressed in what appeared to be an exact replica of the Redguard’s outfit, except in a hideous brownish-green color that did not complement the Dunmer’s skintone at all. Upon spotting the Dunmer, the Redguard sprinted to catch up to him and put an arm around his shoulders. The Dunmer recoiled.

“Felas! My friend!” the Redguard boomed in a loud, friendly voice. “I have an excellent idea for improvements to Passwall! What do you think of the idea of putting up a grand welcoming sign for new visitors!” The Redguard swept an arm out in front of him as though to illustrate his new idea. The Dunmer’s face became impossibly more sour than before.

That answered at least one of Fayrl’s questions. Cyrodiilic common was a language he was fluent in, so that much was good. He slipped around the building, to gather more information.

Around the corner Fayrl heard the unamused tones of the dour Dunmer arguing with the obliviously cheerful voice of the Redguard. Suddenly, another door opened, this time a doorway on the second floor of the building across the street from Fayrl with a wooden set of stairs winding around the building. A human woman with bright orange hair poked her head out and calls “Somebody stop that awful racket! Doesn’t that noise bother anybody else?”

Glancing around, Fayrl couldn’t see what she could possibly be referring to. It was sunny and calm, and other than the two conversing around the corner it was otherwise quiet. The door slammed closed, and the red haired woman came stomping down the creaky wooden stairs in a purple dress with absolutely ridiculous bustled skirts, apparently made of the same leather material as the Redguard’s outfit.

Something was definitely wrong about this place, although Fayrl couldn’t quite put his finger on what it might be.

The woman stopped at the foot of the stairs, and, before Fayrl could completely duck out of the way, she pinned him with an inquisitive stare. “What was that? Did you hear that?” Fayrl couldn’t quite tell if she was addressing him, invisible as he was.

Suddenly the Dunmer from before came barreling around the building in a tremendous hurry, shouting. “No! No! Absolutely not! Nobody move! I need a bath immediately!” The Dunmer tripped over Fayrl’s retreating form and landed in the dirt.

Fayrl froze, still invisible, watching the scene as it unfolded around him.

Yes, something was truly wrong with these people and this place. It made his skin prickle and the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. The people had a strange aura about them that made him question their sanity. He needed to get himself out of here as quickly as possible.

The red-haired woman rushed forward to help the Dunmer to his feet making noises of sympathy. The Dunmer appeared completely horrified to find himself on the ground and started flailing in a frantic attempt to get up. He knocked the woman backwards into Fayrl. Fayrl steadied her out of reflex, then slowly began to back away from the pair. Things were escalating quickly and he had a bad feeling about it.

Suddenly finding herself next to a strange mer, the woman turned to Fayrl with a broad smile. “Oh! Hello! I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there! Are you new? I’m Nanette Don!” She paused and cocked her head. “Do you hear that sound? It’s like a horse dying…” The Dunmer finally succeeded in scrambling to his feet.

Fayrl nodded to the woman. He grappled with the urge to bolt. His nerves, which he usually had under strict control, were fraying. He took a deep breath and decided to be cordial.

He gave the woman a polite smile.

The Dunmer caught his breath and began shrieking and trying to brush off his outfit, then ran into the house across the street and slammed the door. The Redguard man, upon hearing the racket began strolling around the corner, and, catching sight of Fayrl, he sprinted toward him and shook his hand heartily. “Hello! Hello! Greetings! Goodness it has been awhile since we had our last newcomer! I’m Shelden! I’ve been here the longest, that’s why I’m the Mayor!”

Fayrl cleared his throat nervously. “Hello,” he said politely. “Nice to meet you, Mayor.”

The woman leaned forward and looked Fayrl in the face. “My, are you feeling okay? Would you like a drink?”

The self-proclaimed Mayor immediately seized upon this idea and looped his arm through Fayrl’s, happily exclaiming “That’s a wonderful idea! You simply must! Come I’ll show you to the Wastrel’s Purse! They have the most wonderful local brew there! I’ll buy you one! I insist!”

Fayrl nodded again, and swallowed. “That would be very kind of you, thank you.”

Every part of him was screaming that something was wrong. He needed to find a way out of here. Now. This was clearly some sort of prison. He had to get out soon, or he might end up like them!

He didn’t know how they would react if he tried to make a break for it though.

The two strolled on either side of Fayrl, chatting amiably about the lovely weather they’d been having lately, and how that was definitely a good sign, until they reached a tall stone structure on the other side of the small village. A sign over the door read “The Wastrel’s Purse” in Cyrodiilic lettering. The woman smiled and opened the door for Fayrl, and the Mayor tugged him forward.

Fayrl looked inside. He could see a bar across from the door and a couple of tables. A depressed looking Altmer lady stood hunched behind the bar, wearing a lovely pale blue and white dress with lace on it.

Fayrl stepped into the room, looking for exit points, and counting the number of people present. Already, he was trying to formulate the best plan of escape. Just where was he, and what was wrong with these people? It set his teeth on edge.

The Mayor released Fayrl and ambled up to the bar. The woman, Nanette, sat down at a table and looked at Fayrl, smiling expectantly. Fayrl sat down next to her automatically. In his survey of the room, Fayrl noticed that the windows all seemed to be too small for him to squeeze through. The only exits were the front door behind him, and a set of stairs leading upward from the corner. Movement from another corner of the room previously not visible caught Fayrl’s attention. A black and white tiger-striped Khajiit sat in the corner sipping a drink with her feet propped up on the table. She waved at him.

Fayrl examined the Khajiit. Her mer-like ears, still softly covered in striped fur, protruded from the sides of her head of wavy, silver hair. Thick though it was, her hair reminded him far more of the hair of other mer than it did most Khajiit he had met. Certainly, it was far finer than that of his own Khajiiti husband.

Her face was less feline than he had ever seen on a Khajiit that was not Ohmes before as well; it contained a mix of the features he associated with her kin and those of his own, though the stripes and short fur marked her as distinctively Khajiit. The pink of the tip of her nose and the blue of her eyes stood out from the white and black of her face vibrantly. She had a certain striking beauty to her.

She wore a set of pale earth-toned trousers and a vested shirt, with a scarf and an open robe over the top. Her feet–paws actually–were wrapped in thick canvas. Her clothing reminded him far more of that of the Ashlander tribes he had visited many times with his mother than it did of the usual budi garments of the Khajiit he had observed in the past, whether merchant, servant, or visitor. It was all a most unusual puzzle. Was she a Khajiit raised by mer? Or was it simply that she was some other type of Khajiit he had never encountered before, with traditions different from those he was used to seeing? The possibilities were too numerous to spend any longer contemplating. He would have to learn more by speaking to her. At the very least, she was in a more defensible position, and she did not seem to have the same bizarre aura about her that the others did.

Fayrl smiled at Nanette and politely rose. “Excuse me a moment, I need to speak with my friend.” Nanette waved him away distractedly, apparently listening to some sound Fayrl could not hear.

Fayrl shook his head and approached the Khajiit cautiously. He gave her a polite nod of greeting. “Hello. Might I sit with you?”

“Certainly!” she chirped in a pleasant, but heavily accented voice. “This one is named Ma'zurah.” She flashed him a cheerful grin, and removed her feet from the table to pull out a chair for him.

“Thank you,” he said, taking the seat beside her. “I’m Fayrl.”

He leaned closer to her, his voice hardly above a whisper. “What is this place? You don’t seem like the others here. They are… off.”

The Khajiit gave Fayrl a sharp look and leaned back in her chair, studying him. “You do not know? This is the Fringe of the Shivering Isles. How did Fayrl come to be here?”

Fayrl stiffened in his seat. He had heard rumors of this place and knowing where he was only made him more uncomfortable.

“I was in Stonefalls, I had just broken camp when I saw… this piece of cutlery.” He fished the fork out of his satchel and held it lightly out before him.

Clearly it had something to do with his predicament, but he had no idea of how it might have caused it. Not that he was well versed in the inner-workings of most magical items. He had watched his brother Avon enchant items, but that was not the same as understanding the mechanics behind it.

The Khajiit did a double take upon seeing the fork, and then rested her forehead in one hand. “Oh sweet Mother Mara, Ma'zurah thought she had returned that to Big Head… She has no idea how it could have ended up in Stonefalls…”

“I am willing to let you have it if you can help me to return back to Nirn. I have little else of value on me right now, but my guar has many treasures in the saddle bags with which I can easily pay you for guiding me back,” pleaded Fayrl, looking earnestly into her eyes.

Of course, that was an exaggeration. But he was willing to do whatever it took to get himself out of this particular pocket of Oblivion

The Khajiit’s whiskers twitched. “Ma'zurah might consider it. Then again, she might consider it anyway. Ma'zurah can get you to Tel Fyr, but the method requires Ma'zurah to trust Fayrl first.” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Why should Ma'zurah trust Fayrl?”

Just then Shelden the Mayor sauntered over. “I see you’ve met our esteemed visitor! I personally showed her around the Fringe when she first arrived!” The Khajiit gave Fayrl a wry nod, confirming that she had, in fact, had this dubious honor. Shelden plunked down a bottle of an unlabeled brew in front of Fayrl, and proceeded to drink from a bottle of his own.

“Yes, thank you, Mayor,” Fayrl told him. “And thank you for the drink. I actually came here to meet my friend, Ma'zurah. She has told me of your lovely town. I was just thanking her for her recommendation.”

Fayrl turned away from the Mayor as though to take a sip of his drink, though he did not let any of the liquid touch his lips. Instead, he smeared a bit of his lipstick onto his hand and let a drop of the liquid fall onto it. If the smear changed from blue to purple, it was poisoned.

He set the bottle back onto the table and slid a hand under it to find the Khajiit’s hand. He drew with his finger upon her palm the question, “Is it safe to eat and drink here?” She clearly knew far more than he did about this place.

Ma'zurah raised her eyebrow at the unexpected touch, and nearly pulled away, but stopped and allowed Fayrl to finish his question. “Shelden, if you would not mind…”

“Oh! Certainly!” Shelden looked startled, but regained his composure quickly. “I’ll just be out of your way then!” He flashed them a huge grin, and escorted Nanette out of the tavern. The Altmer barkeep hung listlessly behind the bar, not even looking at them.

“Alright.” Ma'zurah turned to Fayrl, her manner businesslike. “That’s probably safe to drink, since they drink it too. Ma'zurah will take a sip if you do not believe her.”

Fayrl glanced down at the smudge on his hand. It hadn’t changed color. But he had nothing to test against magical effects right now; all that stuff was back at his camp in Stonefalls.

"Thank you,” Fayrl said, relieved. He eyed the bottle.

He still didn’t trust it. It would be rude to ask her to drink when he was already asking so much from her. And even if she did show no ill effects, there was always the chance she was immune to whatever it was. Or perhaps she was the reason behind everyone’s strange behavior, they were being deferential towards her, after all.

No no, he couldn’t be paranoid forever, even here, and she seemed like the best chance he had of escape. “I would certainly breathe a little easier if you had the first sip,” he admitted with a small, self deprecating smile. He didn’t want to give a bad impression so soon.

The Khajiit laughed and grabbed the bottle. “Whatever you like, sera.” She took a drink and handed the bottle back. Fayrl took it and eyed her for signs of poison. The drink was very tempting. After the day he’d been having, he could use a good, stiff drink.

“Now,” the Khajiit continued, “you obviously do not belong here. Ma'zurah wonders why…” Fayrl laughed softly to himself. She wasn’t wrong. He took a deep breath and took a long drink from the bottle. It wasn’t a great beverage, but the alcohol burned on its way down his throat, and that was enough to calm his anxiety a bit.

He looked up, and caught the Khajiit looking at him. Her eyes glowed briefly and he held his breath, waiting to see if she was casting a spell on him. He let his fingers lightly brush the hilt of his blades.

“Ah. Mafala.” The Khajiit appeared perplexed. “Well that is not precisely helpful, and it is certainly nothing to connect Fayrl to Sheggorath…”

Hearing the name of his patron god did not help to relax Fayrl. Worship of the True Tribunal was still technically illegal. “I don’t like to meddle with the House of Troubles,” he told her testily. “I can get myself into enough trouble without their help.”

The Khajiit gave an easy laugh and offered him a seated bow. “Ma'zurah understands. This one does not trouble the House of Troubles either if she can help it. But Fayrl can relax. Ma'zurah is sworn to Azurah, if the name was not clear.”

Fayrl gave a relieved smile, suddenly drawing the connection between Ma’zurah’s name and the goddess. “My mother and brother are sworn the same,” he told her. “It is nice to meet someone else enlightened, though I do wish it were under slightly better circumstances, of course. Please forgive me for my hesitation thus far. It was rather a shock to go from finishing my day’s work to being thrown into another plane of existence. Please forgive me if I’ve offered any offence. Such a beautiful lady as yourself should hardly have to put up with such behavior.” He gave a seated approximation of a Dunmeri formal bow.

Ma'zurah snorted and waved a hand in Fayrl’s direction. “Hardly. Ma'zurah has had to put up with too much simpering behavior recently.”

“In that case, it is my pleasure to be of service.” Fayrl paused in thought. “I am not sure what I can do to earn your trust in so short a time, but I will do my best to assure you that I will do you no harm, nor will I try to take advantage of one so kind as to help me. Besides, I should not wish to suffer Azura’s wrath for doing anything harmful to one of her precious children.”

Ma’zurah smiled. “Very well. Ma'zurah has a ring that should return the wearer to Tel Fyr. It is a valuable ring to Ma'zurah, and she hesitates to part with it, even for a moment. How would Fayrl suggest we solve this conundrum?”

“Is there no other way? Can I not return to where I left?” He couldn’t say he felt great about ending up so far from where he had been. His poor guar would probably be panicking as it was. Hopefully it wouldn’t get attacked or stolen before he could make his way back there.

He was also not pleased at the prospect of being sent somewhere else without the company of the one sending him. He had no idea what to expect. And he didn’t expect that he, an Indoril, would get the most favorable reaction upon suddenly appearing in a Telvanni tower.

“Ma'zurah knows of no other way unless Fayrl has a recall spell close to the point of entry. Ma'zurah’s closest recall is set to Balmora, which is hardly close to Tel Fyr either.”

“I must admit,” said Fayrl reluctantly, “despite my heritage, I am disappointingly lacking in magical abilities.”

He tried to think of anything he could do that might be of use to their current predicament.

“Could we not travel together somehow? There must be a way.”

“Of course. If Fayrl wishes to take the gamble, Ma'zurah should be able to transport him with the ring. She has never tried it before. Fayrl will have to hold tight.”

Fayrl flashed her a wicked grin. “What’s life without a risk or two? Everything in our dangerous world is a gamble, if you think about it, wouldn’t you say?”

He let his eyes go to her hands then her waist. “Where exactly shall I be holding on tightly? I don’t want to make my generous host uncomfortable.”

She grinned back, flashing sharp teeth. “Ma'zurah expects a Dunmer such as yourself would hardly be the type to make this one uncomfortable. Come.” She stood, grabbed up a pack behind her chair, and held out an arm to him.

Fayrl laughed. “Twas mostly a joke,” he replied. He took the offered arm in his own, firmly, but not so much as to hurt her. “Is there anything else I should do or be prepared for?”

“Probably not.” Ma'zurah wrapped her arm around Fayrl’s waist and fished a thick chain from under her collar. The chain held several rings and amulets. She slipped her finger through one of the rings, and the world became a whirling abyss.

End Notes: 

Screenshot of Fayrl Screenshot of Ma’zurah Check out my art tag for more pictures of Fayrl and Ma’zurah.

This story already has forty chapters and almost 200k words written that just need to be edited as of this first chapter’s posting. It’s not going to stop updating anytime soon, and roleplay is still ongoing. It will be long. You’ve been warned.

The Ring of Tel Fyr is taken from an amazing Morrowind mod that allows the player to visit every single realm of Oblivion. You can find it here.

For the sake of clarity, it should be specified that Fayrl is not a vestige in this story. He gets teleported away just before the events of Elder Scrolls Online begin. You can read his ongoing travel journal (from an alternate timeline in which he does not get lost in time) at @talldarkandroguesome. Send him asks. He loves it.

Lore and characterization for Ma'zurah significantly inspired by the White Senches race mod. 

Constructive criticism is welcome. We also really like it if you leave comments on Ao3.

[steel-box]

Steelfedorashipping au. Rainy day (reposted)

Seconds went by. Nothing changed. The clock still read the same numbers as the last time he checked. Riley always left the house for his walk a exactly a quarter past seven am. No sooner, no later. He had done this everyday for over five years. At the beginning there was no reason for it. He had thought it important to exercise to ease off the stress of paperwork. Riley enjoyed his walks. He always did no matter how many times he walked the trail, he found himself eager to walk down the path, beside the river to the mine than back.

Iron island was a desolate place with few people and even few fewer facilities. That was the way Riley liked it. The island had always reminded him of his hometown. Birds still chirped, grass still grew. Only here, there was nobody to bother him. Riley had spent days interacting with almost nobody. Papers that needed his signature came in the post. Daily essentials were delivered to his doorstep. Riley occasionally chatted with miners over the state of Iron island only industry.

There was only one person that Riley saw everyday without fail. Each day, as he walked by the shallow river that ran out from the mines he encountered a man strolling in the opposite direction. He had hair the colour of steel, not unlike the ore retrieved from the mines, and soft yet piecing eyes. Every morning they walked by each other on the way to their respective destinations, Riley always smiled to the man and the man always returned the action. These actions were repeated once more on the way home.

Riley was initially bothered by Steven’s presence. Riley had never encountered a single person on his path to the mines. He didn’t think anyone knew of it. Riley had been doing it for years, alone, but all that changed a year ago. At first the everything about the man bothered him. His pristine suit, his hideous yellow umbrella, his dainty smile. Over time Riley had warmed up to these previously annoying characteristics.

He had one some digging. Riley had found out the man was a geologist in the mines, that he lived next to them and that he his name was Steven. Riley had pushed for a last name but was told that it wouldn’t be possible to divulge anymore personal information. He was informed that while Steven worked in the mines, he did not work in any of Riley’s shares and instead worked for the Devon corporation. A company that often fought with Riley’s over shares on the island.

Despite the fact that he interrupted Riley’s quiet time and was an employee for his biggest rival in  the mining business, he couldn’t help but be enthralled. He had no basis for his affections yet they somehow managed to develop them. Riley knew his small crush was both pointless and was going to go nowhere. Despite this, he found himself looking forward to seeing Steven everyday.

Riley lazily glances out the window. Grey clouds covered the sky. Riley pondered if he should bring a umbrella. Those thoughts were thrown out the window as he turned his eyes to clock. It now read twenty-five past seven. He should have left ten minutes ago. Riley rushes out of the house and down the lane, kicking open his gate in the process.

Riley ran. The sound of his dress shoes hitting the stoney road took over the usual environmental sounds as he raced towards the river. Riley was not one for being late. He never was but for a reason he couldn’t describe he felt like he had to be on time to his brief interaction with the devon worker. Riley slowed down as he reached the corner. He had made it on time but had grown tired in the process.

Riley was once quite a fit man. His muscles were evidence of this but due to years of sitting in office chairs and signing contracts had left him worse for wear. Even after he had moved to Iron island and began walking he still wasn’t the same as he was in his late teens. Riley did walk everyday but it is a stroll not a sprint. He wasn’t used to running anymore and judging by how tired he was. He didn’t think he would ever be.

Seconds after taking a short time to breath, he heard faint footsteps coming from around the corner. Riley straightened his back and began walking. Riley was tense as he walked. His neck was stiff and his movements slightly robotic. His heart was still pounding from running. A red tint had taken over his face and spread to his ears. He was both surprised and disgusted in himself. He had let a simple crush affect him so strongly. It was the first time he had felt so strongly over somebody he had never even talked to.  

The source of the light footsteps was revealed to be Steven turned the corner as Riley expected. Steven was now in full view of Riley’s gaze. Steven wore a suit of faint purples and a deep grey tie. Steven’s mind appeared to be in another place. His eyes were glazed over as he stared off into nothingness. Riley turned his head and let out a polite smile. A small smile passed Steven’s face but he still stayed within his thoughts. His hands fidgeting with the handle of his closed umbrella.

An indescribable feeling came over Riley, he wasn’t sure what or why but he suddenly began to mumble. “Um.uh.” stammered Riley. Riley knew the minute that he spoken that he had messed up, his attempt at a greeting had turned into a series of indecipherable noises. Riley felt his face heat up once more. He had made a mistake.

Riley’s embarrassment worsened when Steven jumped, his umbrella slipped out of his hands and hit the ground making an unsavoury noise. Riley had snapped him out of his trance like state and back to reality. “Oh, you.” said Steven serenely. Steven’s eyes were widened. He had hardly realised Riley was even there. The geologist bent down to retrieve his fallen item before it rolled into the river.

Steven placed the umbrella once more under his arm and stood up to talk to Riley. He did not have a chance before Riley spoke “I um have to go.” Riley ran around the corner. His footsteps grew more frantic the further he moved away from Steven. He ran until he was met with a dead end in the form pillars of black stone. He had reached the mine.

Riley perched himself against a wall. He had really messed up. With a groan Riley slide down the glossy, black rock. He was ashamed. He had one chance and he ruined it spectacularly. Riley was not sure what came over him. He wanted to finally talk to Steven, he had for a while yet he could only spew nonsensical mutterings. He reminded himself that he hardly knew the man, he would never have to talk to him. Though Riley would have to see him twice a morning. Riley shakes his head at himself. He was getting so uncharacteristically worked up over practically nothing.

No Sooner had Riley finished that thought when rain started to fall. Riley felt it drip onto his hat. He looked at the sky. It was definitely raining. The black clouds told Riley that it was only going to get worse. He lifted himself off the ground. The rain was getting heavier by the second. Riley regrets not bringing an umbrella with him. Riley had ran out of the house once he realised the time.

Riley, for the third time that day, began to run. The glossy rock of the island proved difficult to run on while wet. Riley continued to run. He ran around the corner and onto the riverside. Suddenly the world became blurred as Riley fell backwards. Riley lifts his head up, he had slipped on a piece of metal that was protruding from the ground.

A hand reached out through the thick rain. Riley examined it. The heavy droplets veiled the man’s face but Riley knew who it was. The only person it could be. “Come on, I don’t bite.” said the man. His voice was serene yet filled with humor.

Riley grasped the hand and was helped to his feet. Riley was pulled under the umbrella. It clearly wasn’t made for two people as Riley’s backside was still fully exposed to the rain. That didn’t go unnoticed by the smaller man. Steven pulled him in closer. Steven’s face was now practically in Riley’s chest. “Is that better? We couldn’t have you getting any wetter, you are already soaked.” Said Steven.  His voice was almost obscured by the crashing sound of the rain.

Steven was looking at Riley eagerly. Riley realised he had yet to say anything. “Oh, Thank you.” said Riley. “For sharing your umbrella.” continued Riley after a brief pause. Riley smiled at Steven. Riley could feel his heart beating in his chest. Riley reckoned Steven could too due to their close proximity.

“It is no problem at all. Luckily I brought an umbrella with me today. I contemplated leaving it at home this morning, thankfully I didn’t.” said Steven. His tone was light and airy. He had an obvious Hoenn accent. It sounded almost musical. Riley guessed by the man’s speaking that he was from a wealthy area as his wording was ever so slightly posh.

The man beamed once more as he said “I’m Steven.” Any attempt at a handshake had to be forgone. Steven couldn’t extend a hand without hitting Riley’s chest. Steven had to settle for turning his gaze up at the taller man. His gaze met with Riley’s. Steven’s piercing eyes cut through Riley’s developing daydreams.

Riley came back to reality long enough to reply. “My name is Riley.” Riley noticed the tenseness in his own voice. No doubt Steven did as well. Riley let in a breath and relaxed. The two men lapsed into silence. It wasn’t particularly awkward but Riley would struggle to call it comfortable. Riley stood there, with Steven close to chest for awhile before they both drifted back into their thoughts.

The soothing sound of rain was eventually interrupted by Steven. “It’s strange.” said Steven. The geologist seemed to be deep in thought as spoke.

Riley glanced at him. “What is?” said Riley.

“We see each other so often, yet this is the first time we have spoken.” replied Steven. It was strange. They both knew that but Riley never had the nerve to start up a conversation.

“I suppose you are right. We never have conversed,” said Riley. He was fully aware of this fact, He had to play it cool. “We are talking now though.” he continued.

A light breathy laugh filled the air. “I guess we are Riley, I guess we are.�� said Steven with a smile. The way Steven said Riley’s name sent shivers up his spine. Steven took notice of this. “You cold?” he asked.

“Yes I am. Your umbrella does wonders for blocking out rain, cold? Not so much.” spoke Riley. A thin grin grew onto his face as Steven laughed once more.

“I guess not. This umbrella is many things. Waterproof, visible, aesthetically pleasing but it doesn’t really help temperature-wise.” spoke Steven with a sigh.

Riley’s mind hit a wall at the geologists last statement. “Aesthetically pleasing? To whom? This thing is lemon yellow.” asked Riley in shock. He could describe the colourful cloth with many words, “pleasing” wouldn’t be one of them.

A flush of pink developed on Steven’s face.. He angled his face away from Riley. “I like it,” he grumbled. “It is bright…and I bought it in slateport market,” continued the man. The pinkness spread further across his face with each word. Iit finally engulfed his ears when Riley begun to chuckle.

Just as Steven was about to retort, Riley noticed the rain had cleared up. He placed a palm outside the safe circumference of the umbrella. A few drops hit his hand. It was less than a drizzle. “It looks like it cleared up,” Observed Steven. He stepped back from Riley reluctantly. They were had just started…

Riley nodded in agreement. He waved goodbye to Steven, the man returned the gesture. Riley turned around, he started to walk away. He was going to leave. Leave the man he had spent the last year wanting to talk to. Go back to briefly exchanging smiles as they crossed each other. Riley couldn’t go back to that. Not after talking to him.

Riley turned around and spoke. “Ugh hey.” Steven whipped around with surprising speed. He looked intently at Riley as he spoke. “Would you like to, I don’t know. Go get coffee or something?” Asked Riley. The words left his mouth stilted and awkward but they got they got his point across.

“Yes!” replied Steven almost instantly before calming down and following with “I would love to. How about tomorrow?” Steven’s smile was now from ear to ear. His flush had returned but was now gathered at his cheeks. Riley could only nod in agreement as he gazed at Steven. Drinking in the man with his eyes.

Steven turned and began to walk down the path and to the mine. Riley had finally talked to him, or rather he talked to Riley. Riley was happy either way.

Something occurred to Riley. He called after Steven. “Wait, how am I supposed to contact you?” Asked Riley. He needed to make sure he could meet up with Steven again, even if it was just for coffee.

Steven turned his head so that Riley was in view before speaking. “We see each other everyday.” It was brief but it answered Riley’s question. A chuckle drifted through the morning air. It slowly escalated into laughter. It was Steven, his laughter permeated his mind. Riley was enthralled by it.

RIley could only stand there, rooted the ground as the laughing Steven rounded the corner.

OH BOY! Fluff is so hard! It was my first attempt but still. Also you can thank my horrible, partying neighbours for this fics completion at 6 am……woow….

I would greatly appreciate any form of criticism so that I can continue to improve my writing abilities.

-Thank you!

[saturatethe-written-whitewa-blog]

oikawa week 2017, day 7.

oikawa week 2017, day 7: pride/humility

pairing: oikawa tooru & iwaizumi hajime

both prompts were used for the very last day of oikawa week (aah this was a blast!) because i'm decidedly indecisive :P also this was just an excuse for me to write about demon king oikawa because i've always wanted to

❝Welcome to the end of eras, Ice has melted back to life, Done my time and served my sentence, Dress me up and watch me die.❞ —Emperor's New Clothes, Panic! At the Disco.

Oikawa Tooru has cultivated his patience, as endless as the somber dark that never fails to not catch his eye. He waits only for the things that entertain him, like a face that dare challenges him, or a succubus that leave their wings behind them and their advantages by a pillar somewhere, for it was Oikawa who could reduce them to their knees with a simple 'pop' of his lips.

After all, existing- existing, not living, for a time long enough the advances of humankind have no term for the times he's curled and flavored, allowed him practice that he could sit and lose himself in his own head for days at a time until an air that brings only crispy heat reminds him he's got no better things to do. Humans were particular with the things they involve themselves in, and finely-aged things of wither and nonexistence were shoved away rather harshly, like the time Oikawa came to existence from nothing but soot and the first dirt; he had driven the earth to its first falling, its first division, seeded the first concepts of anger and spite so deeply into the creation of God that no caress of His holy hand could dare uproot something that has grown into viciousness.

Oikawa decides he's proud of the things he's ruined.

He has seen the first bloodshed that began and ended from creatures that aren't the haughty gods that make an empire out of the sky and beat the heavenly stars so cruelly the earth is only left remnants of its true brilliance. Now, Oikawa is in a place where he can neither see the stars or the products of human imperfections, but he can imagine that the stars blink, still as weakly as he had first seen them when he tries mortal living. He can imagine that there is still blood that paints in poetic lines and vivid horrors, though he never yearns for the day he sees the invading light of the surface ever again.

What Oikawa can see are faces. Faces of people that would have been the crème de la crème if the seed of spite had really been a vulnerable seed left nothing but a shell and soft, wet dirt. He would have harvested them, pulled out another universe of purposes, of possibilities from where the sleeve of his robes fall under his wrist. Their ages change, their clothes change, but the way they turn their lips at the slightest tip of a rock is all the same: a brash scowl- the heaviest guilt left out only for the criminals that do not follow the golden rule, 'Do not do unto others as you would not have them do unto you.'

Oikawa thinks he would have liked these people, if he had met them alive. Alas, they are in Oikawa's own special place in the Underworld, where mercy is brought to extinction and the dead run rampant and even the most unrecognizable: headless, heartless, mindless, have the common sense to thieve what they don't have themselves. A crueler duplication of themselves, without the penetrable skin, the multicolored vision and poetic mouths never put to better use but to lock and tighten and utter falseness under pressures of zeniths.

Oikawa Tooru counts his days, they are plenty, and often, he does not know what to do with them. The times he remembers actually enjoying himself are sparse enough he could keep them awkward and unfolded and still fit them into the pockets at his sides.

Oikawa Tooru does not count the faces that come to pass, for he forgets them rather easily; the faces that do matter smile as infrequently as Oikawa does, and he only gets to remember them in the mythical event that Oikawa can see moonlight between the foul decay and the haze cast upon haze by the sin.

Oikawa does not recall the last time a human has ever come to see him in person, for the ones who did have gone insane from denial or far too wrongly attached to the materials left so curtly behind to ever possibly let go. They are far too silent entering his kingdom to ever match his gaze in a battle of condescending judgment and Oikawa lassos a thought that maybe he's far too alike the monarchs up above that he would have been assumed as one if not for the strange way he dresses, the even stranger tongue he speaks in, and the animalistic brown of horns that curl forth the same direction as the ends of his hair.

The humans never shriek, never falter, never stutter at the sight of Oikawa's majesty, nor at the sound of his robes fluttering somewhere behind him, less dignified and less noticed, as if the smoke of death grounded them to the same level as a bashful seedling. There truly is nothing that measures up to death everyone is granted; Oikawa agrees, but does not sympathize.

This one is a man with a face as if he's seen all the worst the world can birth, as expressionless as the dead that blend so well Oikawa only spots them if they twitch a limb or curse their eternities. He has his hands behind his back, Oikawa holds his head high; one of the leaders of death, unkillable. Any imagination with blood gushing like heaven was incorrect, as impossible as a moon tinted blue. The man looks like he doesn't know whether to bow his head or take a knee, Oikawa's next breath is one that exudes amusement.

Oikawa stands prouder, taller, and all the grimness of the Underworld gather behind him in patterns that resemble embroidery; Oikawa liked a show, something fitting for him. The man recognizes he's the lesser in the windowless throne room.

The man doesn't speak even when Oikawa urges him to with a change of expression that reverses when he realizes he isn't even looking at him, only at the floor Oikawa doesn't have to imagine to know that the grey wobble that peers back at you reminds you of where you are; the only beauty in the Underworld was the kind only the truly sinister could admire, the kind of sinister Oikawa kept as friends or pets.

Oikawa picks himself back up with a breath the man doesn't hear. He's made himself known, and the man's demeanor: hiding behind a shell he doesn't realize isn't there gives Oikawa one more reason to fill his empty grin with smugness.

"You seem rather put-together, more intact," Oikawa says, and his voice echoes in the emptiness of the chamber, all plain pillars that glorify nothing but the heights they can grasp at their highest and an unrefined floor that reflects nothing but the colorlessness that Oikawa's hours feel like; "do you know your purpose?"

Oikawa sweeps the ends of his robe behind him as he turns around, looking as if he'd just fluttered. He takes his footsteps to get to his throne, that echo too, feeling more unusual now that he isn't alone. The very throne looked like petrified plants and sharp points Oikawa likes to poke and imagine what pain would feel like, stone and yet so ironically fragile, that all of a hellhound's reckless charge could drive the often-spoke-about throne apart and scattered for Oikawa to suddenly feel more disinterested about. The Underworld was a melting pot of all the things the gods decided they didn't like, Oikawa called it home, never in his eternity felt any sticky fondness for it, but he stares at the rock formations outside his palace and realize he'd rather stare at this, the groaning dead, the officials torpid whether the hellblazes trumpet or slumber, rather than evergreens and pinkish skies.

"Yes," the man- Oikawa's checked enough times, it's a man and not a banshee that's lived many nights tearing out hair in its lament- standing far away enough that if Oikawa wanted to intimidate him now, he'd have to maintain his stare for four seconds, four seconds too plenty.

Oikawa rests his chin on his palm. The man was unafraid of him, even when the passing event of his curly smile peeks a glimpse of his tongue, with something unreadable branded on it. Oikawa himself doesn't know what it says. Convulated? Probably. Derogatory? Definitely. He was unwilling to thrash his body about and dirty his robes just to read it, his tongue could only stretch so far, enough to arouse a she-demon and disgust Kuroo Tetsurou with an unscripted flick.

"Name it," Oikawa demands. Oikawa hopes his eyes remain the brown of tamarinds, that they do not flare nor color in the excitement he believed he'd forgotten in the evolving ages.

"I'd like to make a deal with you, arrange something, Demon King, if you may allow me to address you that way," the man says, dipping his head humbly, voice low enough that it does not echo in the vacancy of the room.

"Yes, yes," Oikawa murmurs to himself, "I would like for you to continue addressing me as such. Tell me your name, and how exactly you've managed to sneak right past the three unsurpassed noses of my Cerberus."

"My name is Iwaizumi Hajime," he says with a flat tone and a flat line drawn across his lips, "and if there was a Cerberus I was supposed to meet, then I am certain I have not encountered it."

The man does not lie, does not appear that he has ever told a lie in his life unless there was a blade to his throat and a promise death to his bones. A hellhound bellows in the distance, neither of them turn to the noise, but the man flinches at the hideous sound. Oikawa's chosen to snicker at him.

Oikawa's mouth twitches at the right end of it, and Iwaizumi notices, winces fearfully, as if he'd been bitten.

"I really do need to reevaluate the usefulness of that lazy hound," Oikawa continues to say to himself, before adding: "perhaps that was why that sly Kuroo seemed so eager to gift me his pet."

"Anyway," Oikawa amends, voice booming, Hajime startling himself on a tiny crack on the floor. "Put forth your demands, Iwaizumi, and I shall mine."

Iwaizumi seems to recognize that the kindness of the Demon King is something supposed to be well-spent. It shows in the way his eyes open a fragment wider, like the words clamber through his throat and stop in the middle of it for a second.

"I would like to serve you, for the remainder of eternity, even, o Demon King." And Iwaizumi says no more, bowing his head once again, as if honored to be receiving the judging, contemplative glance Oikawa rests on the back of his hair. (Iwaizumi truly is honored, for any other member of the dead would have been sent away with a burst of flame and a clap of Oikawa's hands. A singular demonstration of the bite force of a starving hellhound, if Oikawa was impatient and the dead were rude and stubborn.)

"I will consider your offer, Iwaizumi," Oikawa says without much thought, because the years are growing boring and yawning to himself was not how he would have liked to choose to spend the rest of eternity doing. "If," he adds, boldly, "sincerely, you will decide, at this very moment, to solemnly pledge yourself to servicing me- to risk your life, lay it down, sacrifice it, all of this done willingly, for the sake of my well-being. Do so, and become my valiant knight."

And so, without much thought either, Iwaizumi does.

(Perhaps this fairytale should end in the mentions of a happily ever after, although that would birth a great irony for the fact remains that their eternities are embedded deep in the Underworld. Though, Iwaizumi does well to make merry the slow moving of their days, and Oikawa could not have dreamed of a more fitting companion. Gently, carefully, gradually, the Underworld becomes more bearable, even if only to the pompous king and his meek knight, who forever bows his head like the humble creature he often denies to be- which, too, is done out of a modesty that Oikawa sometimes thinks earns not a spot in the Underworld, and by the side of the Demon King himself, no less.)

[ruin19-approfonde]

Goatgravy Soup

As much as I would hate to admit it, we were drunk. It was late into the night and the three of us decided to head down to the soup kitchen. We were greeted by a stale, but warm air. It smelled of watered-down ram broth. The fat was lazily trimmed from the meat in the soup, leading to a foul smell lingering in the air. Even a grey smoke could be spotted from the kitchen itself, the few workers there coughing. Danlead, the tallest of our group, recoiled from the mixing of smells, already displeased with where we found ourselves. I was right along with him, seeing the signs of tale-tell amateur work. Utensils left lying about, imprecise measuring, and god knows how many bubbling messes left splattered across the cold, stone walls and floor. All the workers there seemed to stand far distances from each other, backs turned in an unholy lack of friendship and teamwork. I even caught a few muttering beneath their breath. However, Geseul, a rather thick fellow, stated that we should reserve judgement. After all, it was the taste that would truly matter. I mostly agree, but shouldn’t a great soup be judged on all aspects?

We stepped forth, the tapping of our cloth boots announcing our presence. A few of the workers looked towards us, false smiles hiding grimaces. Yet another customer, they likely thought, when will the night end? We found ourselves at the counter soon. Danlead seemed more and more weary of this whole event, the smells rotting inside his mind. Musky, filthy lamb pounded against the sides of his nose. They were aided by the weak, steamy, and watered-down butter smell into the royal chambers of his head. There, Danlead’s mind threw out his most powerful guards, the Holy Knights of Absolute Disgust and Repulsion. The echo of their blades clashing could be heard for miles out of the palace as a meek moan.

Taking charge, Geseul stopped looking at the bizarre reactions of his companion. He turned towards the cooks, asking in his slurred voice, “Hey, we’re here for soup. Give us three of your finest bowls, alright?”

The kitchen mumbled collectively. Their gears switched to those of cooking instead of idle cleaning. It was a mess, the workers not only tripping on others, but stumbling on themselves. The lack of grace and efficiency would make a business-owner’s stomach turn. Orange-toned splatters quickly lined the floors and counters, a fresh coat of foul paint. Yelps from burns were quite common, and so was the violent recoil into yet another accident. As they finally managed to get ahold of themselves, a single man brought out all three bowls on a tray. He lined them up in front of us, saying, “Alright, enjoy. Gotta pay up first.”

Oh, how I didn’t want to. I prayed that the food might look better than the people behind them, but that was certainly not the case. It was dull, first and foremost. A shiny layer of buttery film partially held back a bizarre, grey liquid. It looked mostly like flour and water, but the greyish lamb pieces stuck inside promised there would be a much worse flavor. The most proper way to describe it was grey, ashoddy stone bowl, a pasty looking liquid, and a most unappetizing meat. Even the spoons were bent, crude things. Geseul somehow managed to look past this, however, sampling some as soon as we forked over our iron trusts. I know I’m just bickering at this point, but such a shoddy soup should not have costed as much as it did.

Geseul brushed back his hair out of his face, that near-nonexistent ponytail hardly doing him any good. He let the substance slide down into his maw, where it remained for a second. His brow quickly rose, fortifications breaking first to the bizarre, grainy and slop-like consistency. It was almost as if every time one moved their tongue with it, either a pocket of pure grease or musky water would erupt. The goat got to him next. It was tough, quite a few bites being needed in the process of slaying the beastly chunks. Even when sliced into, the mouth was met with a denser grain, along with a new, cold temperature. It was likely that they had cooked the meat long beforehand. The aftertaste was a dreadful moment too. A buttery film lined all parts of the mouth, trapping a damp smell and taste within the mouth for a ridiculous amount of time.

We sat there for around five seconds after we all took a bite. Danlead took a deep breath in, allowing himself to better analyse what he just tasted. I spaced out, looking off into soup with fear. Geseul coughed a few times, clearing his throat. We shared a moment of silence before announcing our thoughts.

“Foul,” Danlead started.

“Hideous,” I continued.

“And just plain terrible,” Geseul finished. He turned his attention away from the rest of the kitchen, saying, “There’s no good soup in this town.”

“Agreed,” I spoke, a drunken fist slamming against the counter to further demonstrate my support, “Maybe there’s a soup that’ll please all three of us, but we damn sure won’t find it here.”

Danlead, in a moment of ‘drunken brilliance,’ said, “Why don’t we go and find it then?”

Our faces lit up with excitement, surprise, and eagerness. It would be a terrific idea to grab a ticket across the land on the finest train tracks, spending all our savings. It would be wonderful if we neglected packing much anything either, likely leading to us working briefly at wherever we found ourselves. Nothing terrible could possibly come from this idea. And so it began. Around a day later, that’s why I’m here on this train, hungover and bitter.

I still have a terrible taste in my mouth too. Damn the lamb.

I wanted to start a thing I could potentially continue writing with. I believe a grand adventure over soup would be a great beginning. It might seem mundane, but I think it might be better that way. Such normalcy makes things more believable. Along with that, do we really need another group of adventurers saving the world? Most things I’ve read, watched, and so on that I’ve enjoyed were just a simple, selfish mission. It wasn’t for the world, but it might have been more important to them anyways.

[thoughthemorrhage]

Finally (oneshot)

SPOILER ALERT! If you have not finished or played Chris/Piers's campaign yet, I suggest getting back to this as soon as you are done with it! (But it's 2017, so hell I'm pretty sure you guys are already HAHA) DISCLAIMER: There are a few words in their encounter that do not belong to me, but to lanimalu. It was actually based on her artwork, so if you've come across that one before, then here's my dedication! Hehe. I own the plot, by the way.

--

“What? Piers is alive?”

A soldier asked in surprise, his eyes focused on his fellow comrade before him. They were in the locker room who both just happened to finish showering after one heckuva training and were now putting on their clothes.

“Hard to believe, right? Well, I haven’t seen him yet, but they say he’s got those huge scars sticking out on his face. Thought he’d be getting an artificial robotic kind of arm to replace his mutated one, but it happened that some med he took healed him. Pretty cool, huh?”

The soldier who was listening rolled his dirty clothes into a ball and threw it in the laundry basket. “Wow. That’s great, I guess. Has captain heard of this yet?” The other soldier tied the shoelaces of his combat boots, tightening them as he did so. “Most probably. No idea. All I know is that Piers Nivans is still breathing, so we still got our second-in-command to boss us around. Fun, fun.”

He took his foot off of the bench and started for the door when it opened in one swift motion, hitting his face hard and sending him stumbling backwards upon impact. He held his nose in pain and glowered at the man who just entered.

“What the— you dipshit, why don’t you—“ He suddenly froze while his companion went up beside him, stunned as well.

“…Sir Nivans?”

The man in the BSAA jacket gasped softly and looked away, covering half of his face with his hand. He quickly made his way to the locker on the end. The two soldiers exchanged glances with each other when the injured one gulped anxiously. “Shit, you think he heard me?” “Let’s hope not.” They carried their conversation out the door, leaving Piers alone in the corner of the locker room.

Chris looked out the window of his office and sighed deeply. He wasn’t prepared to face Piers yet. To be honest, it sounded too unreal. _How was he still alive? _Not that he wanted him dead… it just didn’t seem possible for him to survive such an incident back then… HQ called to inform him on Piers’ return, and he was taken aback at the sudden news. It seemed legit enough for HQ to tell him about it… plus, it has already spread like wildfire among the BSAA soldiers.

Piers is alive. Piers is back. Piers has returned.

A wave of uneasiness hit him. He didn’t know what to do if he came face-to-face with Piers again… He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Dammit, Chris… you’re overthinking this whole situation.” His train of thought was interrupted by a knock on his door, making him turn around.

“Come in.” One of his soldiers stood by the doorway and saluted at him with respect. Chris did the same. “What is it?” “Sir Nivans has arrived. I came across him with Paul on the way out of the locker room. I’m not sure if he’s still there though. Thought I should inform you, captain.”

Chris’s heart skipped a beat upon hearing the first sentence already. He tried to hide his anxiety by merely nodding his head once.

“Thanks. I’ll see him then.”

Piers caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the mirror staring back at him. He traced the scars that ran down the right side of his face to his neck and gently patted the small pad of cotton that covered his eye. As the best sniper in the team, he was going to have a difficult time to live as a one-eyed freak, but he had to deal with it. He didn’t have a choice now, did he?

The door of the locker room opened. Piers hurriedly put on his hood before anyone could see his hideous face. With his head down, he closed his locker quietly and passed through a different aisle. Praying that he wouldn’t be seen, he didn’t notice that the person who had entered was already right in front of him when he unknowingly bumped into that certain someone.

“Piers?” Chris? Ohh, no.

Piers’s breathing hitched and his heart beat at an abnormally fast pace now. He didn’t want Chris to see him like this. Not now, not ever. Damn HQ. Why did they have to bring me back anyway?

“Piers, is that… really you? Say something, please.” Demanding, as always. “…captain…”

Chris was relieved to hear that same tone of voice, though he wanted to see Piers’s face just to be sure it was really him… that he could be just lying to himself…

“Are you alright? Let me see your—“ Piers pulled his hood down indignantly, fear and panic getting the best of him. If Chris saw him like this…

“Don’t look! I still look like one of those things with all these scars.” Chris felt pity, but there was an emotion he felt that was stronger than pity itself. He wanted to see Piers. He wanted to feel him, to be able to touch him again…

Without warning, he threw Piers’s hood back, earning a “Hey!” from the younger. He moved in for a kiss, taking the soldier by surprise. Piers stiffened but eventually gave in, relishing the sensation of Chris’s warm lips on his. Upon letting go, he blushed and turned his back to Chris to hide his crimson red face.

“I bet you’re infected too now…” Chris folded his arms across his chest and stared at Piers’s hunched back, amused. “No, you’re not infected anymore, idiot.” Piers glanced at Chris and pouted, feeling a bit embarrassed. “You could have at least warned me before pulling that one on me…” Chris chuckled and took a step closer to Piers. He held his shoulders and spun him around to take a better look at him. “It’s really you, isn’t it? How did you manage?” Piers looked down.

“I can’t quite remember everything that happened exactly, but what I do know is that HQ took me in, nursed me back to health, and here I am. I look terrible, and I can’t even see with my right eye.” Piers noticed that Chris was holding back a laugh and was about to question him when Chris spoke.

“…Jake?” Piers rolled his eyes. “Apparently. I had to deal with the blood transfusion, and he obviously didn’t look eager about it, but HQ probably paid him some big bucks. I wasn’t in favor, but then… I thought of you, and I really wanted to see you again, so… ugh, I sound selfish, sorry…”

Chris shook his head. “No, there’s no need to apologize. Did you get into a heated argument with the kid?” Piers laughed softly. “I wish. He was awfully quiet, which was kinda weird. But I did have to thank him though. He just sort of nodded and left.”

Chris’s hand went to caress Piers’s face where his scares were obvious, causing him to shiver under his touch. “You know, I still don’t think I was worth spending a lot on just for HQ to restore me back to normal… if this,” he pointed to his face, “is considered normal.”

Silently, Chris brought his hand to his neck then to his chin which he lifted, forcing Piers to look straight into his eyes. “You know, I think HQ made a wise decision. They did a real good job fixing you, too… It was…”

They both leaned in for another kiss, this time longer and full of passion.

Finally, they have reconnected. Finally, their hearts are complete once again. Finally, they are back together, inseparable and closer than ever.

“…pretty worth it,” Chris breathed after they let go, earning a light punch from Piers. “Chris…” He could feel his face heat up again. “These scars don’t matter. The fact that you’re alive matters, Piers, and as long as you’re by my side, everything will be fine.”

Piers smiled, happy and content.

“I’m not going anywhere without you, captain.”

--

[downeystarkjr]

The Swan and The Ghost Chapter 4

Emma Swan was never one to believe in ghosts or in any superstitions of the kind. However, her beliefs are soon to be tested when she moves into the beautiful yet mysterious Jewel Cottage. The manor known to be the home haunted by Captain Killian Jones.

The story can also be read on AO3 here

(This is one of the two stories I was working on for the Captain Swan Big Bang - it’s still a WIP but I have quite a few chapters complete that I really wanted to share)

Other chapters found here: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Chapter 4

Emma was in awe of everything she saw during the car ride on the way to Jewel Cottage. Storybrooke really was quite different to what she was used to in New York and Emma was already inspired by the town for her writing and could imagine herself going down to the docks on a peaceful day, with the sound of the ocean waves keeping her company while she wrote. While Mr Gold drove to the property, Emma made sure to keep in mind to visit some of the things the car passed, including the library beneath the clock tower and Granny’s café. Mr Gold thought he should be of some use to the newcomer if she was going to be living in Storybrooke, by telling Emma more about the town and what other sights she should pay a visit to.

“But I want to see the inside,” Emma complained with a frown in response to Gold showing her the exterior of Jewel Cottage from the safety of his car. If this was his attempt at being stubborn to throw her off moving in, it was not going to work.

“The inside?” Mr Gold asked back as if Emma had asked something of him that even the most reasonable man would find bizarre. She swore she could hear a sense of fear in the vendor’s tone.

“Of course, you know, the inside of the house?” Emma retorted with a raised eyebrow, her impression of Mr Gold seeming peculiar still hadn’t altered. “What the hell’s the matter?” she questioned while acting on her own accord as she got out of the car to approach the house.

Mr Gold couldn’t exactly argue with Emma who was more than adamant to see the interior of the property. Sure, if she didn’t move into the house, he would lose out on making money on it, however, Mr Gold would never wish the house on his worst enemy. ” Very well dearie,” he conceded, following Emma to the front door of Jewel Cottage. “If you insist.”

Emma gave the vendor a grin at his co-operation, not that she was going to take no for an answer. However, when Gold opened the door, letting the young American woman enter first, she couldn’t help but cough at the amount of dust that welcomed her. “It’s terribly dusty.”

“Well Dearie, the house has been empty for many years. Office is back there,” Gold seemed on edge and quite eager to spend as little time in the manor as possible. With the rumours about the house, and witness accounts from previous prospective buyers, Mr Gold tried to stay clear from the infamous Jewel Cottage. As did the majority of Storybrooke. “One of the living rooms is on the right and the dining room is off the living,” he explained to Emma nervously, not straying too far from the front door.

Emma on the other hand couldn’t have been experiencing more different feelings about the house than the man in her company. She was completely taken by Jewel Cottage and went to explore every room that wasn’t locked. Why on earth would Mr Gold be so adamant to keep her from such an amazing property? It truly was a jewel in Storybrooke. The author was curious about a door left slightly ajar, not noticing the fear in Mr Gold’s eyes at her actions. The last few times anyone had looked inside that room they ran out of the house in fright, never to step inside it nor lay eyes on the property ever again.

“Miss Swan I wouldn’t do that…” the vendor warned, feeling a cold wind send a shiver down his spine. Anyone not knowing the history of the house would think it was just due to the door being open but Mr Gold knew better.

And of course, Emma ignored Mr Gold’s advice. However, when she stepped into the room, her heart was made to skip a beat. She could have sworn she saw someone standing as clear as day in the room. Smirking at her. “Oh!” Emma exclaimed with a light-hearted roll of her eyes when she opened the curtains to see into the room better. Mentally scolding herself at how she had gotten startled by nothing more than a portrait. Although, wasn’t his expression different to what she had seen before allowing light to flow in the room? “Don’t be ridiculous Emma…it was just your imagination…” Emma rationalised to herself while Mr Gold hurried to her aid after hearing her exclamation.

“Is everything alright? You called out?” he asked, panicked himself.

“Oh. Of course I am,” Emma was quick to reassure the man and went forward to study the interesting portrait that seemed old but like the rest of the house was in better condition than to be expected. “It's a painting, for a moment there I thought I... Who is it?”

“That man Dearie, uh, is whose estate this house is a part of, Captain Jones of the Royal Navy,” Mr Gold clarified, making sure to give respect to the man in question. In case he might have been listening to the conversation. “Which is an excuse for the frightful scheme of decoration if you ask me,” he added as a side remark, looking around with disapproval.

Emma shook her head, moving a white dust-covered sheet covering one of the arm chairs. “I’m sorry Mr Gold but I have to disagree with you, it may be old, but I’m rather fond of vintage furniture, it’s really a lovely room...and most of the furniture will do as it is. Some of them I’ll have to get restored of course,” she mused aloud.

“Miss Swan, I implore you to think over this rather risky endeavour you have decided upon,” Mr Gold still felt like it was his responsibility to protect anyone from choosing to live in Jewel Cottage. To keep them from the man who claimed it as his own.

“Oh please, other than the house being old and a little dusty, I don’t think it can be described as dangerous,” Emma laughed softly, easily shrugging off Mr Gold’s words of caution. “And you were wrong about what you said before, this house suits me perfectly,” she confirmed, already in her heart perceiving the property as her new home. “Except for one thing,” Emma hastened to add, a grimace appearing on her expression to what she saw had grown outside the window of one of the other rooms. “What a hideous tree. What kind of a tree is it?”

Mr Gold stepped closer to have a look at the tree that had made its roots outside the window. It was the sort of tree that couldn’t be ignored once noticed. “I believe it is called a monkey puzzle tree.”

“Interesting name…but regardless, it’ll need to be cut, it’s ghastly,” Emma didn’t want to look out the window to see that particular growth from ruining the view of the ocean.

“I’m sorry love but I can’t let you do that,” a voice echoed throughout the room, one Mr Gold didn’t seem to acknowledge or hear. “You aren’t touching my bloody tree.”

It hadn’t sounded like the vendor’s voice, and perhaps decades younger too. Maybe she was still tired and recovering from her journey from New York. Emma and Ruby did arrive in England rather late after all the day before.

After what took Mr Gold much convincing, Emma finally got her wish to explore the upstairs of the house. In particular, the main bedroom. The room in question most certainly did not disappoint. It was gorgeous, featuring original features on the walls and other features such as the lights by the four poster bed, a candelabra and a perfectly intact – albeit dusty and underused – fireplace, all of which had been covered by the same white sheets as most of the other furniture around the house. What caught Emma’s attention also was the pristine and surprisingly immaculate telescope positioned by the glorious array of windows that were large enough to cover one of the walls, lighting up the bedroom gloriously with the perfect view of the ocean. The telescope didn’t have even the slightest speck of dust on it. “The captain must have enjoyed looking out onto the ocean and the ships that passed,” she spoke out her thoughts to her reluctant companion. “But that’s odd… you’re clean.”

“Excuse me?” Mr Gold asked, sounding insulted at the surprise Emma used.

“Oh, I didn’t mean you, Mr Gold,” Emma corrected while still inspecting her new find. “I was referring to the telescope.” She insisted before ghostly, amused laughter sounded near to where she was standing. Emma could only assume it to be Mr Gold. “Did you just laugh Mr Gold?”

However, before Mr Gold could respond – if the fright would have allowed him to that is – another, louder laugh echoed through the room putting the vendor on edge. Without a second’s hesitation, having no intention of staying in Jewel Cottage any longer, Mr Gold left the house as quickly as his feet could carry him. “You just had to come to the house didn’t you. I tried warning you about it several times...but, oh, no, no, you had to see it the haunted Storybrooke Manor,” he muttered to Emma who was following behind.

“The individual in charge of Captain Jones’ estate lives out of the country and I have contacted him on countless occasions, begging him to release me of the burden of selling the property... but he insists on only relying on me to complete the task. Well, I don't want to be relied on. I never want to see this house again.” Mr Gold didn’t hold back expressing his hate and fear of Jewel Cottage, not seeing any reason to do so now that Emma had witnessed first hand that the house was indeed haunted. “Well, at least you know now why Jewel Cottage just won't suit you. The ghost of Captain Jones is the reason for you to pay rent for the property for the first year, so that people won’t feel trapped to deal with the ghost that haunts those walls.”

“Yes, that does sound reasonable,” Emma decided to humour Mr Gold. She saw how shaken up the old man was but still didn’t allow herself to be fooled by the notion of there being a ghost haunting the manor. “Why does he haunt? Was he murdered?”

“The event causing his death is not fully known, although there are rumours that the captain killed himself,” Mr Gold answered, heading over to his car. “Now come on, let me show you a house that will be more to your liking Miss Swan.”

“Woah, wait a minute, who said I didn’t want Jewel Cottage? It’s a wonderful house, and all due respect Mr Gold, but I don’t have the slightest interest in anything else you show me has an incredible view of the ocean like the one here,” Emma corrected, folding her arms in argument. “Just because people rush off at the slightest sound doesn’t make the place haunted. If it’s all the same to you Mr Gold I would like to sign the paperwork so that I can move in. It’s the twenty first century for crying out loud, do you really expect me to believe in ghosts or any superstitious nonsense?”

“But dearie, you heard him laugh.” Mr Gold frowned, he couldn’t believe what Emma was saying. Was she crazy? Who in their right mind would choose to live in a house inhabited by an apparition?

“It’s Miss Swan,” the young woman was slowly getting frustrated at being called ‘dearie’. “And I heard what might have been a laugh. It might have been the wind roaring down the chimney.” The house was situated close enough to the coast after all. “I want Jewel Cottage, Mr Gold.”

“But…” The vendor began before sighing heavily in surrender. If Emma was going to continue to persist and if she still had her heart set on the house, he couldn’t exactly deny her. He did his job about warning her and Emma heard the ghost herself, so if she really wanted the house, then decision will be on her own head. He took no responsibility for what may happen as a result. “If you insist Miss Swan, we can set about signing the paperwork,” he said, giving Emma the necessary before he could give the woman the house keys. “In my opinion, you are the most obstinate young woman I have ever met.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gold,” Emma chuckled with an overly sweet smile and proceeded to sign the documents. “I've always wanted to be considered obstinate.” She added sarcastically, rolling her eyes. Finally, she had the rights and keys to Jewel Cottage, all that was left was for Emma to move in.