#but then she decided it would be a fantastic idea to leap on the sofa where i’d (stupidly) left my very intricate colourwork project

[fingertipsmp3]

Gotta love having a dog. Where else am I going to find someone who’ll sit on my knitting and try to (playfully) bite my hand when I attempt to rescue it

[smileygoth]

The Outlaw Torn - Part 3 (Stranger Things)

Yes I know I owe you other stories but this one just popped into my head and I had to write it! So here's some more Evil (?) Vampire Eddie shenanigans - slightly longer than expected, so I hope you like it!

Find Parts 1 and 2 here!

CW: All the usual vampire stuff, plus some bullying, violence, police brutality.

Word Count: 5,214 words.

Image by Saturn on Pinterest. Isn't it fantastic?! I love the eyes!!!

The last few weeks had been … weird. With all the destruction in Hawkins and the school temporarily out of commission, all the kids had been kind of left to their own devices. Naturally, some of them were treating it like an extra vacation, which meant house parties. But, with so many families deciding to just pack up and leave Hawkins, the parties felt a little empty. Which meant that even the outcasts and weirdos like Debbie Morris were getting dragged along, just to make them feel more full. Tonight, sitting in Andy Johnson’s house watching him, Chance and the rest of what was left of the basketball team getting drunk and mourning Jason and Patrick, while the other guests hovered in the kitchen or at the edges of the lounge, Debbie didn’t feel like it was working. The music was loud, the drinks were plenty and everyone was smiling, but it didn’t feel right. It felt … forced. Like they were all waiting for something to happen.

Nicky – the only person there who Debbie could call a friend – bumped her with her shoulder. “Cheer up, spooky bitch,” she said affectionately. “It’s supposed to be a party, remember?”

Debbie gave her a weak smile. “I know,” she replied. “And I appreciate you inviting me, but you really didn’t have to, you know.” She looked around at the other girls. The room was a sea of teased blonde hair, pastel and neon colours and candy-coloured lip gloss. Debbie, with her dark hair and clothes, was like none of them. Only her friendship with Nicky saved her from bullying, though it didn’t stop the chilly distance that all the popular kids greeted her with. She wasn’t one of them, and they all knew it. Not did she want to be … but Nicky did, so she had to play nice for her sake.

She glanced longingly out of the front windows. Normally she’d just go sit outside for a bit when she was feeling like this, but the storm that had broken about half an hour ago showed no signs of stopping. The rain ran in thick rivulets down the windowpanes, and now and then a bright flash of lightning would sear her eyes. She could barely hear or feel the thunder behind the music pumping from the stereo speakers, though. It gave the impression of the storm outside the windows being somehow in another world.

She shook her head, chiding herself gently. Ideas like that are why everyone thinks you’re weird. Looking up, she turned back to the party, trying to pay attention and feel involved.

The basketball players were still clustered together on one of the sofas. One of them – Chase – was staring out of the front windows. As she watched, he leaned forward, squinting, and pointed. The music dipped for a moment, and she heard him say: “Holy shit. Is that Eddie Munson?”

Immediately the other boys all looked round, some of them jumping up to go up to the window. Chase was nodding. “Yeah, it is. Son of a bitch, I thought he was dead!”

Andy’s face drained of colour, except for two hectic spots of red high on his cheeks. “He will be,” he said darkly. “Murdering son of a bitch. Come on guys, let’s get the asshole. For Jason!”

The team leaped up as one, hooting and echoing “For Jason!” Andy – apparently taking on the role of leader in Jason’s absence - ripped open the front door, letting in a gust of cold wind and rain, and they all piled out, one or two holding beer bottles in their hands.

Debbie felt a chill run down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold. Eddie Munson, well known in school as one of the freaks – possibly the freak, according to some – was rumoured to be dangerous, crazy, a junkie and, more recently, a satanist and murderer. But all she’d ever seen of him was an enthusiastic goofball when he was with his friends, and a quiet, reserved but polite guy when he was alone. He’d never spoken more than two words to her, but he always gave her a little smile when they passed in the halls – nothing more than a passing greeting, but enough to make Debbie’s heart warm to him. His softly genial smiles had more warmth in them than any of the fake, reluctant smiles that Nicky’s friends ever gave her. Maybe that was a dumb reason to not believe that he was a killer, but nonetheless, she just couldn’t find it in her to believe the rumours. In her heart she just felt he wasn’t what they all said he was. So now, seeing the team run out to presumably lynch him, she felt a stab of panic. She didn’t want to see this happen. But what could she do to stop it?

Nicky leaned over to her, shouting over the music. “Did they say Eddie Munson? He’s alive?”

Debbie nodded and stood up. “We have to stop them. They’re gonna kill him.”

Nicky frowned. “So?”

“For fuck’s sake, Nicky, just … call the cops!” Sparing a scornful glance at her friend, Debbie ran out the still open door after the boys. Outside the music was muffled by the walls and the rain, but the wind, blowing into her face, carried the words from the group ahead of her clearly.

The boys in their sports jackets were stood in a tight circle around the leather-clad figure who stood in their midst. The boys were getting wetter by the second in the pouring rain, but Eddie was already soaked. His long curly hair clung to his cheeks and forehead. The streetlights painted his face with harsh shadows, making him look gaunt and haggard, and somehow fierce. His dark eyes seemed to glow. And for some reason, his Hellfire t-shirt was ripped and stained with something dark.

“You’ve got some nerve showing up again, freak,” Andy was shouting. “You think you can just wander around Hawkins after what you did? You think we’ve forgotten? You should have stayed dead!”

Eddie gave a strange smile at that. “Is that so?” he replied, stepping forward to square up to Andy. “And what are you douchebags gonna do about it?”

Despite Andy being much bigger and taller than Eddie, the ferocity in Eddie’s gaze made him take a step back. Quickly recovering himself, he stepped forward again, right into Eddie’s face. “We’re gonna do what’s right,” he said. “We’re gonna take you in, Munson. Unless you want to try to stop us? Please …” He grinned savagely. “Please, try and stop us.”

Eddie gave a languid shrug. “Seems like I don’t have much of a choice,” he replied, then suddenly swung his arm and punched Andy in the face.

Debbie let out a squeak of surprise as Andy dropped like a stone. The other boys let out a yell in unison and piled on top of Eddie, who disappeared under a flurry of fists and kicking feet. Recovering quickly, Andy wiped blood from his nose as he climbed to his feet and dived in with them, screaming curses and insults.

Debbie’s feet moved her without thinking. She ran forward and started dragging the boys away from Eddie, yelling and screaming at them to stop, to leave him alone. It did no good. Time and time again they shook her off, shoved her away, and went right back to beating on the prone form beneath them. Eddie had curled up in a foetal position, taking the kicks and punches on his back, arms and legs. Debbie only caught glimpses of him as she kept pulling and punching at the backs and arms of the boys attacking him. It was like they were in a frenzy, unable and unwilling to stop, slipping on the wet grass and mud, slick with rain, wild-eyed and keyed up on booze and pent-up anger. Debbie slipped and stumbled with them, trying in vain to make them stop.

A crowd had gathered in the doorway of the house, more faces peering out through the front windows. Debbie was vaguely aware of Nicky calling her, telling her come back inside. She ignored her. Mixed in with her fear for Eddie was a seething resentment at Nicky for even suggesting that they just let Andy and his cronies go out and kill Eddie. Like that was okay, no matter what they thought he’d done. She’d never considered Nicky to really be like all the vapid, thoughtless girls she chose as her friends, but after that she wondered. She was disappointed. Nicky used to be smart, interesting, brave. She used to be Nicola. Now she was just like everyone else.

However tonight ends, Debbie thought as she yanked ineffectually on Chase’s arm, I’m done with Nicky.

Then there was a shrill wail of a siren, the night lit up in flashes of blue light, and the faces at the windows and door disappeared. The team kept pummelling Eddie, though, as if they hadn’t even noticed. Frantically, Debbie turned and ran to the police car as it pulled to a stop at the kerb, coming face to face with Officer Callahan as he jumped out of the passenger side of the car. “Stop them, please!” she cried. “They’re gonna kill him!”

Without a word, Callahan pushed her aside and ran into the fray. Officer Daniels climbed out of the driver’s seat a moment later and ran over, and Debbie followed right behind him. Between them they managed to drag the boys off of Eddie and get them to stop. They grouped up, huddled together to one side as Callahan yanked Eddie to his feet.

“Look who it is,” Callahan said with a smirk. “Hawkins’ most wanted! Oh, we’ve all been wondering where you got to, son!”

Eddie shot him a scornful look, making a half-hearted attempt to pull free. Debbie’s heart sank as she saw the blood running from his broken nose. Evidently some of the blows had gotten past his arms. Callahan’s grip tightened, and with a wide grin on his face he marched the battered boy down to the car to roughly slam him against the hood and cuff his hands behind his back.

“Hey!” Debbie ran after him. “What are you doing? Look at the state of him! You don’t have to be so rough!”

Callahan turned to face her. “I’ll be as rough as I damn well please,” he retorted. “This little piece of shit murdered at least three people, and there’s some say he had something to do with the destruction in Hawkins too. So who knows how many deaths he’s responsible for? So if I want to be rough with him -” He lifted Eddie up and slammed him down again, making Eddie grunt with pain – “Then I will. And one more word on the matter and I’ll have you in cuffs too, understand?”

Debbie’s face twisted. “You can’t do that!” she complained.

Callahan rolled his eyes. “Suit yourself.” Grabbing her roughly by her arms, he pushed her down onto the hood of the car next to Eddie, pulling her wrists behind her back. Debbie found herself face to face with Eddie as cold steel encircled her wrists. Eddie raised his eyebrows at her questioningly. Debbie gave him an apologetic smile in response – as well as she could with one cheek mashed against the cold metal of the car hood.

Callahan yanked them up from the hood and marched them round to the passenger seats, shoving them into the car one-handed. Eddie smashed his head on the top of the door as he went in and swore loudly, prompting another hard shove from Callahan. Debbie tumbled in after Eddie, Callahan’s shove almost landing her in his lap. He slammed the door after them and strode back to where Daniels was talking to the basketball team. She righted herself awkwardly and looked out of the window, back toward the house. Nicky had disappeared along with all the others. So much for that friendship, she thought bitterly. She watched as Daniels and Callahan argued with Andy and Chase, the others all standing back looking sullen. Then Daniels pointed at the house, and the boys all trudged back inside. Callahan caught Andy by his shoulder and turned him back round briefly, and to Debbie’s astonishment, actually shook his hand before letting him go inside.

“What the fuck?” Debbie exclaimed. “They’re not going to arrest any of them?”

“What for?” Eddie asked. His voice sounded rusty and dry, despite how soaked they both were. “They caught the town’s boogeyman.”

“But they could have killed you!”

Eddie smirked. “Doubt it. But what’s your story, anyway?”

Debbie turned to see him staring at her. Suddenly she felt nervous, her stomach fluttering. She’d never considered herself as having a crush on Eddie, just a sort of fellow-freak affection. But now, sitting alone with him in the back of this car, looking into his big brown eyes, she was suddenly aware that he had a sort of magnetism about him that drew her in. Her mouth went dry and she licked her lips nervously. His eyes followed the movement of her tongue, then flicked back to meet her gaze. Her stomach flipped. “Wh-what do you mean?” she asked, tearing her gaze away.

“Why’d you get involved?” Eddie asked. “Why’d you help me?”

Debbie shrugged. “Because it was the right thing to do.”

“Is that all?”

She could hear the smile in Eddie’s voice. “Well … maybe because … us freaks should stick together,” she muttered.

Eddie chuckled. “Aw, you’re no freak. Just a little different, that’s all. Nothing wrong with that.”

Debbie risked a glance at him. He was still looking at her, but his soft smile made her feel more at ease and she found she could keep his gaze. “I don’t really think you’re a freak either,” she said.

“Oh, I am,” Eddie replied, his eyes skittering away. He stared out the front windshield vacantly. “I’m a real monster.”

Debbie swallowed a lump in her throat. “Did … did you do it? Did you kill those kids?”

Eddie shook his head. “No.”

“Then why are you a monster?”

Eddie opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it with a snap, nodding toward the front of the car. Debbie looked up to see Callahan and Daniel striding back. They pulled the front doors open and climbed in, muttering about being soaked and something about stupid kids. Then Callahan turned and grinned at them through the mesh that separated the front and back seats. “But we hit the jackpot here, didn’t we?”

Eddie glared at him silently. Callahan’s grin faltered slightly before he turned and faced forward again. “Yep, we hit the jackpot. We’re gonna get promotions off of bagging you, Munson.”

Eddie snorted. “In this town? It’s just you and the chief. What are you gonna get promoted to, chief donut taster?”

Callahan turned and slammed a fist against the mesh. “Shut up, you little punk!”

Eddie smirked as he turned away again. Debbie tried not to laugh. It hadn’t been that funny a joke, but she hated Callahan, with his weedy little moustache and his self-important swagger. Anything that took his smirk off his face was fine with her.

They sat in silence as they were driven to the police station, listening to the rain drumming against the roof. Occasional flashes of lightning illuminated the world in bright white, followed by low rumbles of thunder. When they reached the station, Daniels pulled Debbie out of the car, and Callahan took hold of Eddie. They were marched inside past the eager eyes of the secretary, who was already reaching for the phone as they passed her.

Daniels took Debbie to one of the desks and sat her down. She expected Callahan to do the same with Eddie, but instead he marched him straight through to the cells. “Hey,” Debbie said. “Shouldn’t he -”

Daniels cut her off. “Munson is staying in a cell until the Chief gets here,” he said. “You are going to answer a few questions about tonight, and then you can go.”

Debbie watched the door to the cells while Officer Daniels rummaged around in his desk drawers for a pad and a pen. She heard muffled voices, then the unmistakeable sound of a fist hitting flesh, followed by a low groan from Eddie. “Hey!” she said again. “You can’t let him -”

“Why don’t you just worry about yourself?” Daniels advised her.

Debbie fell silent as Callahan appeared, massaging the knuckles of one hand. He gave her a smug look before sitting at another desk and pulling out a pad of his own. Daniels, locating his own pad, cleared his throat. “Okay,” he said. “So let’s start with what you saw.”

Debbie turned back to him. “I saw Andy and his asshole friends run outside and start beating on Eddie,” she replied.

“And why was Eddie there?” Daniels asked.

Debbie shrugged. “He was just walking by. He wasn’t at the party or anything.” She paused, then added, “Before he walked by, everyone thought he was dead.”

“Presumed dead,” Daniels corrected her. “Okay, why don’t you just tell me what happened from your perspective.”

Debbie took a deep breath, then launched into her side of the story. When she was finished, Daniels nodded in satisfaction and put his pen down. “That pretty much tallies with what Andy Johnson and his friends said,” he remarked.

“So are you going to arrest them?” Debbie demanded.

Daniels gave her a wary look. “Again,” he said, “You should just worry about yourself. You’re free to go, but you should think about the company you keep.”

Debbie snorted a laugh. “I will definitely do that,” she replied. After a moment, when Daniels didn’t move, she added, “So are you going to uncuff me?”

Daniels started. “Oh – right. Sorry.” He came round to the front of the desk and bent down behind her to take off the handcuffs. When her hands were free she massaged her wrists for a moment, then said “Can I see Eddie before I go?”

Daniels uttered a heavy sigh. “You just don’t listen, do you?” he said, shaking his head. “Fine. Go ahead. Don’t be long.”

Callahan scowled as Debbie passed him, but said nothing. Debbie went through the door to the cells and peered inside. There were only a couple of cells, and Eddie was in the second one, the one not visible through the doorway. Debbie went to the door of his cell and peered in, resting her hands on the bars. “Hey,” she said.

Eddie looked up at her from where he sat on the narrow bench at the back of the cell. His face was still smeared with blood, and there was a still-bleeding cut on his lip that she was pretty sure wasn’t there before. At least Callahan had taken off the cuffs. “Hey,” he said. “You’re still here.”

“Wanted to say sorry before I left.”

“What for?”

“Getting you arrested.”

Eddie snorted. “Not your fault.”

“It kind of is,” Debbie admitted. “I told my friend to call the cops. But it was supposed to be on Andy and his friends, not you.”

“Ohh,” Eddie replied, staring at her. “I see.” Slowly, he got to his feet and crossed the small cell to stand in front of her. Debbie felt another nervous flutter in her stomach. She both liked and hated having the cell bars between them. Part of her wanted to get closer to Eddie, but another part of her found the idea terrifying.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, and absurdly she suddenly felt on the verge of tears.

Eddie’s gaze softened. “Hey,” he said. “It’s okay. You did what you thought was right.” He paused. “But maybe you could make it up to me?”

“Yeah,” Debbie said, nodding. “How?”

Eddie stepped closer, lifting one hand to cover hers where it rested on the bars. She saw ugly scrapes on his knuckles and dirt caked under his fingernails and in the grooves of his heavy rings. Then his palm closed on the back of her hand and she felt an electric shiver pass through her. She looked up, her eyes locking with his. In the dim light of the cells, they seemed to glow almost red.

Eddie’s expression grew stern. “You’re gonna get me out of here,” he said.

“How?” Debbie asked again.

“Any way you can,” Eddie replied. “But you have to do it tonight. Before sunrise. Do you understand?”

Debbie nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I understand.” And she did. She was going to get Eddie out of there. Nothing else was important. She had to figure out how. Eddie needed her to.

“Good girl,” Eddie said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. His hand felt cold and dry. “Go on, then.”

Turning away, Debbie walked back to the office. She felt strangely dazed, but at the same time everything was clear. She paused in the doorway to look at the two officers. Daniels was talking to the receptionist in the entrance; she could hear their voices through the door on the other side of the room. Callahan was still at his desk, leaning back in his chair, reading what he’d written on his notepad. His free hand was fiddling with his pen. A half-full cup of coffee stood on the desk by his hand. A heavy ring of keys hung from his belt on the side facing Debbie. On his other side, she figured, was his gun.

Her eyes went back to the coffee cup. Glancing across the room, she saw a table with a coffee machine and a stack of cardboard cups. “Can I have some coffee?” she asked.

Callahan looked up at her as if he’d forgotten she was here. “Uh … sure, I guess,” he replied.

Debbie smiled. “Thanks. You want me to get you a refill?”

Callahan’s expression immediately brightened. “Yeah, sure. Black, two sugars.”

Still smiling, Debbie plucked his cup from his desk and crossed over to the coffee machine. Taking two new cups, she filled them both from the jug in the machine. The liquid was steaming hot. She emptied two sachets of sugar into one and gave it a brief stir with one of the plastic spoons. Then she took a cup in each hand and walked back to Callahan’s desk. As she reached the corner of his desk, she dragged her foot and feigned a stumble. “Oh – crap!” she cried, tripping forward and propelling the two cups of steaming hot coffee directly into Callahan’s lap.

Callahan yelled in surprise and pain and shot to his feet, slapping at the hot liquid. “Jesus Christ, kid!”

“Sorry, sorry! Here, let me -” Debbie grabbed a box of tissues from his desk and yanked out a large fistful of them, swiping and dabbing at his legs and crotch, pushing him back into the chair. Callahan spluttered a protest. She kept swiping, her strikes hard enough and fast enough to distract him from her free hand as it unhooked the keyring from his belt and slipped it into the pocket of her jeans.

“Stop, stop!” Callahan cried eventually, grabbing the tissues from her. “I’ll do it, Christ! Get out of here, will you?”

Debbie stepped back, leaving him to mutter in annoyance as he scrubbed at his uniform. He paid her no attention as she headed back to the cells instead of going to the exit.

Eddie looked up at her as she approached his cell. “That sounded fun,” he remarked.

Debbie just smiled and pulled the keys out of her pocket. Eddie grinned. “Good job,” he said. “Get this door open and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Nodding, Debbie fingered through the keys, trying a few until she found the right one. The cell door opened with a loud click and swung open. Eddie stepped through and took the keys from her with a smile, his fingers lingering on hers. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, and her heart swelled in her chest. “Now come with me.”

They went back into the office. As Callahan glanced up and saw Eddie, he swore loudly and fumbled for his gun. Before he could even undo the clasp, Eddie was at his side, one hand on his shoulder. Callahan looked up into his face and froze.

“You’re going to let me go,” he said.

Callahan’s face went oddly slack. “I am?” he murmured. “But you’re a murderer.”

“You talked to me and you don’t think I did it any more,” Eddie replied. “Remember?”

“Oh …” Callahan said faintly. “That’s right. I did.”

“And that’s what you’re going to tell the chief when he gets here,” Eddie added.

“Okay,” Callahan said.

“So I’m free to go,” Eddie said.

Callahan nodded. “Yeah. You’re free to go.”

Eddie patted his shoulder and smiled. “Good man. Come on, Deb.”

Debbie blinked. “You know my name?”

“Sure I do!” Eddie winked at her. “Cute little thing like you. Of course I know your name.”

Debbie smiled back, bursting with delight. He thinks I’m cute!

Taking her hand, Eddie led her out of the station. As they passed Daniels and the receptionist, Eddie smiled at their expressions of amazement and jerked his thumb back toward the office. “Talk to your partner,” he said as he pushed open the doors to the police station and led Debbie out into the night.

In the hour or so that they’d been in the station, the storm had passed. Debbie followed Eddie in a daze, the feeling of her hand in his all she could concentrate on. His hand was cold, but soft. She wanted to warm it. She tightened her hold, and Eddie looked over his shoulder at her and smiled.

“Where are we going?” she asked eventually.

“Just away,” Eddie replied.

Debbie looked around and realised that they’d come off the streets and were walking down a narrow dirt track in the woods somewhere. Eventually a large, solid shape loomed up above them, and they stopped. In the darkness it took her a moment to figure out that it was a rock formation.

“You know where we are?” Eddie asked. When Debbie shook her head, Eddie went on: “Skull Rock. You know what that is?”

Debbie had heard of it. “It’s a place where kids go to make out,” she replied. Her cheeks flushed hot, and she was glad it was dark. “Are … are we, uh …”

Eddie turned to face her, and she could see his eyes shining in the darkness, appearing almost red. “Would you like that?” he asked, his voice low and somehow dangerous.

He took a step toward her, and she stepped back instinctively. “Uh … N-n … I mean …”

He stepped forward again, slowly urging her backward, his eyes shining like a hungry cat. Her back hit the rock, and her heart sped up. He had her trapped. “No?” he asked, teasing.

Something had changed. She didn’t feel excited or embarrassed any more; she didn’t want to look into his eyes or feel his hand in hers. Her heart was pounding, her breath was speeding up and she was trembling as adrenaline surged through her, but she wasn’t aroused: she was afraid. Terribly afraid. Looking at Eddie was like looking at a hungry lion. For the first time, she could believe that he was a killer. That he had done the terrible things they had accused him of.

She tried to swallow the lump that had risen in her throat. “E-Eddie?” she croaked.

“Yes, darling?” he murmured. He rested his hands on the rock behind her, one on each side of her, keeping her in place. He leaned closer. Debbie strained backward, pressing her back against the rock.

“Y-you’re not going to … hurt me, are you?”

She heard the smile in his voice. “Why would I do that? Us freaks have to stick together, right?”

She let out a shaky sigh of relief. “Right.”

“The thing is …” Eddie said with a sigh of his own, “I can’t let you go either.” One of his hands moved to her cheek, his fingers stroking along the line of her jaw. She fought the urge to cringe away from his touch. “My little trick on Callahan won’t last forever, and I can’t have you telling people where I am. And I really do think you’re cute, and maybe it’ll be fun.”

A cold shock of fear flooded through Debbie as she realised that his eyes weren’t shining, they were glowing. The hand on her cheek felt like the hand of a corpse. She felt sharp fingernails rasping gently against the sensitive skin beneath her jaw.

“Still think you’re a freak like me?” Eddie asked softly.

Debbie shook her head. Her hands reached behind her, grasping for something – anything – that would help her situation, but all she felt was bare rock.

“Would you like to be?” Eddie asked.

“I … N-no, I …” Debbie stammered, unable to stop herself from cringing away. “I-I don’t understand, Eddie …”

Eddie grinned, displaying white teeth and long, sharp fangs. Debbie’s eyes widened in fear and understanding, and his grin widened too. “Still want to make out, sweetheart?” he growled. His hand tilted her head up, exposing her throat. He leaned closer, grin stretching as he opened his mouth wide.

“No, n-no wait -” Debbie raised her arms, trying to push Eddie away, but it was like pushing against the rock behind her. “No, no no no please please don’t – Eddie, Eddie!”

Pain bloomed in her throat, and she shrieked. His hand moved to muffle her, and she whimpered against his palm as the pain subsided. A strange, sweet sensation flooded through her – something like drowning, she thought, as she sank down into a darkness that felt warm and comforting. Cocooned in darkness, she floated in it for what seemed an eternity.

Then the pain returned. She was doused in an icy cold. Her eyes snapped open and she gasped, shivering. She felt weak, sick. Her vision greyed at the edges like she was on the verge of losing consciousness.

She was lying on the ground at the base of Skull Rock. Eddie was looming over her, straddling her. She tried to reach up to push him away, but she couldn’t move her arms or legs.

“Am I dying?” she whispered.

Eddie shrugged. “Yeah. You’ll get over it.” He paused. “I think. I haven’t actually tried this before, so I’m kinda just relying on the movies for this. But let’s see.”

He lifted his wrist to his mouth and bit into it. Cool blood splattered down onto Debbie’s face. She wanted to turn her head away, but she couldn’t. He lowered his bleeding wrist to her lips.

“Drink,” he said.

She had no choice. She couldn’t move. The blood ran into her mouth and down her throat and instinctively she coughed and swallowed. It tasted like pennies and static.

Eddie smiled and chuckled, as if something had just occurred to him. “Welcome to the new Hellfire Club,” he said. His expression darkened. “And this time,” he added, “It’ll be exactly what they all say it is.”

[imjeralee]

Comfort in Despair: Chapter 24 - Haunted

Leon x F!Reader

Disclaimer: Do not own Pokemon

Summary:

Galar is rich in folklore and tales of the supernatural.

As a Pokemon Researcher who specialises in ghost types, this is a great opportunity for you to investigate and learn more about the paranormal.

Along the way, you meet Leon (in the most awkward way possible) who becomes embroiled in your adventures.

^ Basically this story is about ghosts :/

NOTE: I’m updating early! hope you enjoy. This chapter is quite disturbing (in a different kind of way). 

Rating: General/Teen

@marydragneell​ here is the latest update

Haunted

…

…

[“Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone.”

- Solitude, Ella Wheeler Wilcox]

…

…

Leon sits at the table, wondering what to expect.

He isn’t really sure and he watches the rustling red curtain worriedly as Jace presses a button on his remote and the spotlight moves to shine on the drapes and the same music from the pageant’s opening ceremony begins playing.

He spares Volkner a quick glance; the gym leader is immobile, sitting in his seat with pen in hand over the paper, watching.

Leon passes a glance to Sonia and Jace next.

They look a little perturbed.

Frankie looks nervous too, sitting with Sylveon and Yamper squashed in her arms.

Meanwhile, Ezra snores on the sofa, the music drowning him out.

The curtains rustle again and are promptly pulled apart and you step out.

Leon stares, eyes wide. His hand goes limp, the pen almost falling out of his grip; you look….different.

He’s not the only one. Sonia is also gaping in shock, astounded by the difference in persona which is so glaringly obvious. Jace too, is severely spooked, gawking with eyes as large as saucers.

You’ve turned into a completely different person.

With a wide smile that reaches your ears, you have emerged in a swimsuit and high heels.

He hasn’t seen you wear so little clothing before. In fact, he’s used to seeing you in your long coat, oversized sweaters, cardigans or something…anything that was baggy and casual. He’s used to seeing you in bland, neutral colours with little or no makeup. He’s never seen you so dolled up, dressed up in such bold and bright colours and so exposed before.

He inwardly gulps as you begin to stroll down the aisle with the confidence and grace of a catwalk model, taking long strides in your heels, rehearsing the routine in tune to the music.

Except it’s not really you.

Keeping to her schedule, Sonia begins the introduction, clearing her throat and with script in hands, holding the microphone close to her mouth, “And give it up for the lovely Flora Warren who is here today to represent Motostoke!!!” she exclaims as enthusiastically as possible, but when she’s finished, she lowers the microphone, her lip wobbling with worry.

You parade over the red carpet, waving and smiling, oblivious.

Reading from the script, Sonia says, “Miss Motostoke is twenty years old this year. She is currently a full-time arts student at Hammerlocke University and her hobbies include dressmaking, flower arranging and volunteering at the local pokemon shelter! Her mother is an ex-beauty pageant queen with a five-year win streak and she’s hoping to carry on their legacy if she wins tonight. Good luck to you, Miss Motostoke.”

Following Sonia’s introduction, you wave to the dark audience, blowing kisses and still wearing that rehearsed smile on your face. You’re smiling so widely your cheeks are bunched together so high, your eyes creasing until they have turned into slits. It’s time to head to the left so with a hand on your hip, you head over – it's Leon’s side – and he stiffens as you look at him but your gaze is empty and not belonging to you.

You blow him a kiss and wave, a little flirtatiously, waggling your fingers.

Sonia laughs awkwardly, trying to masquerade it as much as possible. “Oh! What a bold gesture! I wonder what our judge Leon is thinking of?” she outlines, as you leave his side and head to the right where Volkner is.

The gym leader stares at you impassively and writes down his score, unaffected by your demeanour.

Leon glances at Volkner, inwardly wishing he did not get the opportunity to see you so scantily clad like this. Not just Volkner, but Jace too. This pageant is a bad idea and he is uncomfortable with this, as you had predicted. He tries not to let this revelation eat at him, though his chest clenches tightly with discomfort.

When the music is almost over, you return to the middle of the catwalk to perform one last twirl before returning to the curtain, standing in front of it. This should be the part where all the contestants did a synchronised dance and Leon watches as you perform the moves.

The music ends and after giving the miniscule crowd one last wave, you smile and vanish behind the curtain.

Leon’s gut comes undone and he pens in his score for the opening act, not that he really has an idea on how to grade you for this.

Jace blinks blankly the entire time, wondering to himself what in the name of Arceus he had just witnessed.

Frankie clutches the pokemon to herself, the colour drained from her face.

Sonia also appears disturbed, exhaling shakily before moving on to the next act.

It’s question time and you reappear in the swimsuit; Leon is certainly not used to seeing you wearing so little clothing and when you stride over to Sonia, he sees the smooth curve of your ass as you twirl and shift your weight onto one foot for a pose and he harrumphs into his fist, realising it is about to get worse.

Sonia stands at the catwalk with the microphone whilst you join her side, standing with your hand on your hip. In heels, you are taller than her an inch or so.

“Good evening, Flora,” Sonia says, a little reservedly.

“Good evening, Miss Sonia,” you reply, with that never-ending smile plastered on your face.

She hesitates: your voice has changed to a high-pitched, flirty, girlish tone.

“W-well…” she eyeballs the script briefly. “H-how does it feel to be on stage tonight?”

“Simply wonderful! It’s a dream come true!” you gush, uncharacteristically so.

Sonia is struggling to keep a straight face and to minimize her stammering. “Great, let’s move onto the questions then! Our first question for tonight is: Please do tell us something about yourself.”

“Yes, of course, I’d love to,” you speak clearly and confidently; Leon and Sonia cannot help but stare. Oblivious to them, you smile sweetly and say, “I am an embodiment of a new meaning of life. My purpose here is to find the meaning and to fulfill it. This platform is one of my steps towards reaching my goal for this destiny, which I will decide.”

“What an excellent, well-thought answer!” Sonia replies as the crowd claps in response.

You giggle and do a little curtsy, knocking one leg against the other.

She moves onto the next question. “And what would you say is the biggest problem facing our educational system, and why?”

“That is a fantastic question, Miss Sonia, and my reply is this: the biggest problem our educational system faces is that it believes it’s a system. A system is a set arrangement of things. However, education means to impart knowledge by giving and taking to empower the uneducated. This has been forgotten in the process of being a system, which needs to be learned once more.”

“Miss Motostoke, here is our final question: what do you expect to gain by participating in pageants and why?”

“By being a part of these pageants, I expect to gain an opportunity to discover my strengths and perfect them, realise my weaknesses and transform them into strengths and take home the crown.”

“Thank you, Flora. That’s all the questions for tonight.”

“Thank you.”

Sonia returns to face the audience as Leon, Volkner, Jace and Frankie erupts into applause once again and Leon writes down his score.

The night wears on until finally, it’s time for the crowning.

Frankie steps in and gathers the scoresheets off Leon and Volkner, handing them to Sonia. She checks it briefly before returning to the script; Flora is supposed to win anyway and as Sonia head to the stage. The music shifts to a drumroll, courtesy of Jace.

You emerge in the ruby red dress which glimmers brightly under the spotlight and stand behind her a short distance away.

Sonia reads out the scores, where an imaginary third and second runner up are announced.

“And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” she announces, “who will be this year’s Miss Galar???”

You stand in the back, clutching your hands together with your eyes squeezed shut, holding your breath.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this year's Miss Galar Beauty Pageant is.........." Sonia leaves her sentence trailing for dramatic effect, “Miss Motostoke!”

You shriek with joy, leaping up and down on the spot.

“Give it up for Miss Motostoke!!! Congratulations!!!”

Slapping a hand over your mouth, you’re beginning to cry, thick tears oozing from the corner of your eyes.

Jace switches the sound effect to a fanfare then abandons the remote control to sprint over to the stage. He climbs up a ladder he has propped up where a basket full of confetti has been set up neatly on the top step. He promptly grabs a fistful and promptly tosses it over you as per your guidance.

As you squeal happily, a chair adorned with fancy red cushions is your ‘throne’ and it’s your final destination, a meaningful end to the night; you stride over, seating yourself with the precision and grace of a queen. You wave blindly to the crowd in the dark, smiling.

Next, Jace climbs down the ladder and abruptly tears off his sweater, revealing that he’s wearing a white shirt, suit jacket and tie underneath which he hastily adjusts before Frankie hands him the tiara and sash on a velvet cushion.

He tidies his hair and clothes before he strides over with the awards, presenting them to you.

You gasp with delight, pressing a hand to your chest, yet as you shift your glance, gazing at the pink jewel of the tiara sparkles and shimmers brilliantly under the light…

…your smile instantly evaporates.

In one fell swoop, your body abruptly lurches backwards against the chair as though you are host to an invisible force, before you’re thrown to the floor.

Sonia gasps and Leon stands up, chair legs scraping harshly across the floor as he rushes over and helps you up, snaking an arm around your shoulder and holding your hand tightly.

Your eyes are closed as he shakes you gently, calling your name, and you slowly open your eyes. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees your pupils are no longer blank and devoid of life. You have returned.

Your head’s throbbing and you emit an uncomfortable groan under your breath. “….Leon?”

“I’m here, it’s me. Are you alright?”

“…I think so.…” you glance around, spotting Volkner, Jace and Sonia who have gathered round.

"What happened to you?" Volkner asks.

“Chuck, are you okay?”

“Thank goodness!” Sonia cries as she envelopes you into a hug whilst Frankie is gawping at the chair you had previously occupied.

“….Flora?” she squeaks out.

A transparent, shadowy silhouette has suddenly appeared from out of nowhere, lingering on the seat, capturing everyone's attention.

“Flora??” Frankie tries to reach out to her but her fingers only come into contact with nothingness, grappling into thin air, “Flora, say something…what’s wrong? Flora?? Flo-

-ra?”

“Flora?”

“Flora, get back here this instant!”

“Leave me alone, mum!”

They’re fighting.

She can’t remember what the reason was. It’s probably her mum who started the argument as usual, for she has been ruthlessly training her day in and day out.

She's exhausted and she wants to leave.

Locking the door behind her, she marches to her closet and throws open the door, pulling out an empty suitcase and tossing it over the bed. She begins to pack her essentials as the doorknob is wrestled for a few moments or so, before a loud thud resonates from the door.

"Open this door!" mother yells, slamming a clenched fist against the surface.

"No!"

"Open this door right now!"

"No, go away!"

When she's finished packing, she zips the case up and lifts it off the bed; she unlocks the door, coming face to face with her irate mother who had been waiting impatiently outside.

“What do you think you are doing?”

“I’m leaving, mum.”

“But the pageant-“  

“That's your dream, not mine. I never wanted to participate in any pageants, you’ve just been forcing it onto me,” Flora snaps, brushing past her mother and towards the direction of the stairs.

“Flora, you can’t!” mum follows and grabs the suitcase, causing Flora to stop. “No, how could you? I’ve sacrificed too much for you to throw it all away! Don’t go."

"I'm sorry, mum, but I've had enough."

"Don’t, please don't.”

She pulls the case as hard as she can. “Mum, let go!”  

“Don’t leave me!”

“Let go!”

The two women struggle, pulling and tugging the case in various directions, grappling with it back and forth.

Flora’s mother cannot fathom this betrayal and treachery, by her own daughter nonetheless. She had spent all those years training and grooming her daughter to win, to be the best and most beautiful of all.

And now her daughter was going to leave?  

She knew about her boyfriend.

She had eavesdropped on the plans they had discussed, the dreams they shared.

They were planning to elope.

A vile taste rises in her mouth. She wanted to vomit from the treachery, the betrayal….from her own daughter, nonetheless.

If friends and the neighbours found out…how could she still show her face? Who knows how long she will be the talk of the town, the laughing stock? Hadn’t she been humiliated enough?

She had driven her own daughter away, just like she had driven her husband into the arms of another all those years ago!  The husband who left her with two children. One born when they were in love, and the other who caused the separation in the first place. That's when she lost the crown. She was too old. It was time to move on.

Never, she thinks to herself and at that moment in time, she knew she had to stop her daughter from leaving at any cost.

She grabs an object. Everything happened too quickly, she couldn't remember, but it was large and weighty and with strength she did not realise she could even possess, perhaps it was the spur of the moment and the adrenaline and anger rushing in her veins, she brings it down over her daughter's head.

And everything goes still.

Flora stumbles, dropping the case as she shakily lifts a hand to where she had struck.

Her trembling hand is soaked with blood.

Suddenly aware of what she had done, mother drops the object in shock. "FLORA!!! Oh my god, I'm so sorry-"

Disoriented, Flora winces and stumbles away clumsily, backing closer towards the stairs.

"Flora!"

"Don't....come...near me-"

She’s too late to stop Flora from falling; the heel of her foot completely misses the step; it happened so fast. Flora disappears down the staircase.  

The sounds of her body tumbling down the steps resonates throughout the entire house, accompanied with a curt scream which abruptly comes to an end as her body slams over the ground.

Her mother is still, eyes laden with sheer terror.

“…Flora?”

She rushes to the railing, peering over and promptly gasps at the sight, covering her mouth with her hands.

Flora's body lies on the ground, limbs splayed out, resembling some twisted puppet on strings. Her head twisted to one side, Flora’s eyes remain open yet robbed of life. A puddle of red begins to leak from her head.

She creeps down the steps, noticing that Flora hasn’t reacted, hasn’t moved when she calls her name, and she begins to weep as she crouches beside her daughter. Her face is ruined. How can she participate in the pageant now?

Before the light disappeared from her eyes and the darkness overtook, Flora was facing the living room of the house she had grew up in, where she had so many fond memories.

A pink glint reflected off her eyes; it was last thing she saw and it was her mother’s tiara, which was proudly displayed on the mantelpiece.

…

“Flora, what’s wrong?? Oh god, what’s wrong??”

Frankie cries out for her sister again and again, but she cannot elicit a successful response from the spirit as it hovers listlessly in the air.

“Frankie, stay back. Something’s wrong,” you utter as a dark miasma begins to emit from the spirit in shadowy wisps.

It gazes where her hands should be though they are transparent, and her fingertips are slowly dissolving into nothing.

That’s right. I’m dead.

It’s then she realizes she’s hurting all over and she’s seeing everything in a lopsided angle. Is it her neck?

It hurts.

A profound sense of dejection spreads throughout her chest, though it is comforting in many ways.

“Flora!” you yell, as the dark waves and wisps increase steadily around the spirit and begin to cocoon her; she is beginning to lose form. “Stop! Don’t give in!”

“What’s going on?!” Frankie cries out in confusion.

Flora closes her eyes as the darkness laps at her. A soothing voice beckons to her, telling her this is real. Her death was real and to embrace the truth.

My own mother.

Throwing her head back, the spirit's jaw enlarges as she proceeds to emits a pained scream as sharp and grating as nails on a chalkboard, and you and Frankie wince uncontrollably; her eyes sink in, her hair grows wild, elongating until they resemble tendrils which grow darker, more fierce, and Frankie flings her panicked glance back and forth between you and her sister; a cloud of darkness has swamped her entirely, coiling and twisting under the lights of the lab. The light does not penetrate this formless, sprawling mass.

“It’s too late,” says a quiet but gruff voice, and everyone glances to the source.

Ezra has risen from the sofa with Absol by his side.

He’s heading towards your group, his glazed eyes focused on the coiling shadow as he pulls out a thin, bronze dagger from the inner pocket of his coat.

“Wait!!!” Frankie yelps.

She runs up to him but he shoves her aside.

Ezra's wrist darts out and he tosses his dagger towards Flora’s direction.

The dagger hurtles seamlessly through the air and pierces the shadow. A strangled, ethereal shriek fills the lab before the spirit promptly explodes in a burst of black, its existence reduced to nothing but dark ashes that slowly float gently in the air before disintegrating into nothingness. The scream persists in its wake, echoing thoroughly before it fades away.

The dagger, having destroyed its target, lingers in mid-air for a second or so before it drops to the ground with a loud clatter.

The lab is bathed in silence as Jace and Sonia blink with wide disbelief whilst Volkner watches on impassively. Leon gives you a gentle squeeze on the arm as you hold him close. Frankie averts her limp gaze to you and Ezra.

“….What have you done?”

…

In Motostoke, Frankie’s mother is led out of her house in cuffs.

She’s escorted by two policemen and her expression is blank, empty of emotion. Is she remorseful that her daughter died, or resentful that she was caught? You cannot tell.

You stand a safe distance away, watching Frankie in the open doorway; she’s sobbing and shaking her head with disbelief. The sirens blare and wail and neighbours peer over the garden fence to get a closer look. Then she spots you and your mentor across the street under the streetlight, and her expression turns stormy.

She marches up to you and when she’s an arm length’s away, her eyes are ablaze with anger and hatred, reserved just for you.

“I hate you!” she hisses, “I wish I never met you!!! You ruined everything!! You’ve taken EVERYTHING away from me!!! I never want to see you again!!!”

Without another word, she spins on her heel and dashes towards the direction of her house, slamming the door shut in her wake.

Stricken with a numbness you’re all-too familiar with, you stand, immobile.

Some of the neighbours throw glances at you, wondering what had happened between you two to have warranted such a hostile encounter.

Footsteps approach you, and Ezra joins your side.

“…You okay, kid?” he mutters, breaking the monotony.

It takes a while for you to regain your composure, and you manage a meek shake your head.

“You did your best.”

“…But it’s never really enough, is it?”

“You tried...that’s what’s most important.”

Your body shudders as you exhale loudly, wiping the corner of your eyes which are growing wet. “Oh god. What the hell was I thinking? I-I couldn’t do anything after all.”

“Stop beating yourself up. You did everything you could.”

“Do you think she’ll be okay?”

“She’ll be fine, her anger will subside and she'll move on. Not sure about her mother though.” Ezra mutters; without further ado, he grabs his cane and begins tapping at the ground, disappearing from the lamplight and onto the path. “Come on, kid, let’s call it a day.”

You nod weakly, joining his side; you throw the house one last look from over your shoulder before you follow your mentor into the darkness.

…

Later, you receive a message from Graves; one of his subordinates saw and recognised you at the scene. He asks you what you were doing there and you tell him you were working on a case. He doesn't bother to berate you over text.

Though you're aware the police were investigating at the same time since you had met Frankie and when you had held the pageant, you ask for more information regarding the arrest and to your surprise, Graves informs you the autopsy revealed Flora had died in a different location (and not the Watchtower Ruins). She had suffered head trauma and was left to bleed. The injuries on her body were also post-mortem, designed to confuse and mislead but lo and behold, nothing can escape Lady Justice. Frankie's mother and her alibi didn't quite check out, and she had become the prime suspect.

It would only be a matter of time.

The truth has been revealed though your mood does not improve and when you return to the lab, you quietly clean up the whiteboard and stow away the remnants of the case into your files. Earlier, you had wiped off the makeup and gotten changed into your normal clothes.

Jace and Volkner assist with dismantling the setup; they silently take down the curtains, the lights and tidy away the carpet. They also help you return the tables and desks and chairs to their respective places before they take their leave for the remainder of the night.

Everything was a blur, but you briefly remember thanking them and they did ask if you were fine, and you assured them you were and that you wanted to be alone.

Sonia packs away her utensils but you don’t go home with her just yet. You thank her for her help tonight and she exits the lab with Yamper though she’s reluctant to leave you on your own.

That leaves Leon, and he enters the lab quietly, spotting you at the whiteboard and quickly taking down all the pins, strings and magnets.

“Hey…” he murmurs as he makes his way over and you turn round.

His arms are full; he's holding a massive bouquet of flowers, a lilac box tied all over with a white ribbon and a Sobble doll.

"Um, I got you these because I wanted to cheer you up...they ran out of Ghost pokemon dolls so I had to make do with Sobble," he utters as you gasp. "And the bouquet I got you last time was ruined so I got you a new one."

You're stunned he managed to curate all these in such a short span of time and an image of him running around from shop to shop flashes in your mind; it's enough to bring a smile to your lips and you chuckle. "Thank you, they're wonderful."

He grins bashfully as he presents you with the gifts which you carefully settle on the desk. The bouquet is far more extravagant than the previous one, filled with a multitude of brightly coloured flowers of all shapes and sizes and also looking very expensive and exotic. You quickly lean down and take a whiff; they smell wonderful as expected, and you lift up the box next for a good look. It's fancy chocolate.

Next, you pick up the Sobble doll. It is so cute and squishy, and you let it sit on the desk beside your books. Leon watches as you smile to yourself; just seeing you happy makes him happy.

"Thanks Leon," you murmur, stepping over to his side to swiftly kiss him on the cheek.

His face grows red, but he grins and before you can wander away, he takes your hand in his and gently squeezes your fingers. "...You're welcome."

"I'll take better care of the flowers this time," you reassure him and he nods; you return to the board, picking up where you left off and determined to finish up before the end of the night.

"Let me give you a hand."

"Thanks."

He grabs Flora’s photograph and pulls it off the board. You watch as he silently assists you, before you peel off Frankie’s photo and Hank’s mugshot. He continues to help you with the cleanup and when the board is clear, you grab your journal and the box of chocolates before heading for the last step of the staircase, plopping yourself down with the items balancing over your knees.

Leon joins you as expected, being mindful of his cape as he settles himself down. You have always enjoyed being close to Leon no matter what the occasion and this evening is no exception.

"Let's have a look," you say with a smile as you untie the ribbon as carefully as you can, lifting up the lid to reveal the chocolates are moulded into adorable shapes of ghost-pokemon ranging from Ghastly, Phantump, Pumpkaboo and Drifloon.

Leon watches your reaction; your eyes light up before you gesture him to take one. He chooses a Drifloon fudge and you pluck a Ghastly truffle before you both pop them into your mouths at the same time.

"Oh, it's good."

"I’m glad you like it. What should we try next?"

"Phantump caramel?"

"Yeah."

As you munch your way through your next chosen chocolate, you sigh.

"Are you okay?" Leon asks.

You shake your head.

"Come here," he replies, and you put the chocolates down to scoot closer to him; he invites you into his embrace, wrapping an arm around your shoulder whilst scooping your other hand with his. The warmth from his hands is comforting as he affectionately weaves your fingers together.

“I just wanted to help,” you murmur.

“I know.”

“Was that so wrong?”

“Of course not.”

“I wish I could be like you, Leon. I wish I could help people the way you do.”

“But you already do.”

“No, I don’t. You inspire people and actually make a difference to the world.”

“So do you,” he replies, chuckling. “I’m serious. You do make a difference, and in so many ways. You save people’s lives.”

You look up at him silently and he glances down, your eyes meeting.

“You saved me, remember? You saved the Champion of Galar. And you saved that guy called Tanner. Your heart was in the right place, and it always has been. Someone needed help and you answered their pleas; you wanted to help them in the way you knew how, which you did.”

Your cheeks go pink and he grins at you.

He lets go of your shoulder so he can gently clasp both hands over yours, bringing your entwined hands close to his chest before he leans down and brushes his lips over your knuckles. This display of affection makes you smile, and he presses another kiss over your hand.

“…She reminded me of myself when I was younger,” you utter, “and she also reminded me of Rosie. I even asked her if she wanted to learn. For a long time, it felt like I was swimming in a dark ocean all by myself where I couldn’t see anything or anyone but then she came along, and I wasn’t alone anymore. Someone else was swimming beside me the entire time.”

“You’re not alone,” Leon replies, “you have me. You have your pokemon, you have Ezra, Jace, Sonia, Inspector Graves, the professor. My mother and Hop, too.”

When he releases you, albeit slowly, his hands settle on your waist and you encircle your arms around his neck, resting your cheek against his shoulder. Leon emits a quiet sigh under his breath as he gathers you up in his sturdy arms and pulls you further into his embrace, holding you close to him.

As your mind begins to ease, your body relaxing, the journal finally slips off your knees and topples to the ground, your family photo sliding out in progress.

“I got it,” Leon murmurs, sliding his arm around your back as he bends down so he can scoop the items up quickly, and you chuckle as you cling onto him.

“Thanks,” you say with a grin as he hands you the journal and photo; you study your family’s smiling faces and your smile disappears. “…Leon?”

“Yes?”

“...I never told you what really happened to my family. I should have told you earlier. I’m sorry,” you say quietly, taking a deep breath. “I’ll tell you now.”

He nods.

“I’m from Kalos. We lived in Laverre Town. My family were haunted by an entity. In particular, Rosie.”

As you recount your past, explaining to Leon about Dusknoir, the incident in the basement, your mother’s disappearance and your time spent in hospital after your mental breakdown, you see Leon’s smile slowly vanishing from his face, his expression turning solemn.

And now you’re rather afraid yourself, for deep inside, you knew very well you cannot hide the truth from him and you were always terrified of what he will think of you once all the skeleton in the closet was dug out.

You cannot fathom what he might be thinking of. Maybe this will be it, this will be the final straw for him. He will decide you are a kook, once and for all and like many others, he will cease being around you. Maybe it’s too much emotional baggage to deal with and he will not want anything to do with you after all.

When you finish, Leon is very silent.

You ensured no detail was left out and now all you can do is wait for his response, albeit with incredible unease.

"So that's why you asked if I could help you find a Dusknoir," he murmurs, and you're surprised he remembered that considering it was such a long time ago.

Regardless, you nod. "I want to find out what happened to them, if they're still out there. I need to know what happened. Why Rosie, why them? Why me? Who did it...or, what did it...and why?"

Leon clamps his hand tightly over yours. "What happened isn't your fault. Don't blame yourself."

"But if I'd been stronger, if I'd paid more attention-"

"It's not your fault," he mutters, "I'll help you. Should we find a Dusknoir to get some answers? I know there are wild ones in Galar. Would that help?"

"...It might be dangerous."

He says, with a wide grin, "The Champion of Galar will do everything he can to protect you."

A huge smile worms its way over your face and you squeeze his hand tightly, "I appreciate it, Leon, but Ezra said it's nothing to do with the pokemon."

"Do you agree?"

You nod. "When Dusknoir took my family away, it was either possessed by the entity or it was receiving orders via the antenna on its head. And whatever that something is, it's from the spirit world, using Dusknoir to do its bidding. If I'm to stop it, I'll need to go in myself but even till now, I still have no clue what it might be or how to get there. I might get answers if I go into the spirit world myself but that would mean....well, I'd need to go through a Near Death Experience, or...I'll find a way to open a portal but that's completely unheard of, if not, impossible."

"You can't, that's too dangerous. Everything you've just told me is too dangerous."

"Yeah, I know. Too dangerous." you echo, nodding.

There's your dilemma, you realise.

"Any other plans?"

"....Well, Ezra said it will come for me one day. There's that."

As Leon speaks, it's then you recall that shadowy silhouette behind Charizard and Vulpix when you had watched the sunrise together.

“Hey, you okay?"

"Huh?" you snap out of your thoughts, blinking at him. "What? Sorry, did you say something?"

"Yeah, I was just asking what happened next? What happened after you moved to Galar?”

"Oh, right," you murmur, “Well….”

…

[ginnyweatherby]

This is a longer one, because once I get started writing Lefou, I can’t stop.  It’s a bit of a problem... but you didn’t really think I could do a writing challenge without Lefou, did you?

I don’t know if anyone is familiar with my Charlotte verse (x x x x x), but I took the characters from that and wrote this as a canon-era piece.

Lefou has a daughter, and lives with her mother for co-parenting purposes, although they aren’t romantically involved... for what I hope are obvious reasons.  She’s four years old in this story, and her parents want her to have a new skill they never learned themselves.  One only Belle can help with.

Day 4:  Novels

“I want her to learn how to read.”

Lefou looked at the woman in front of him, his dear friend Madeline.  She held their daughter in her arms, and had a serious expression on her face - quite different from her seemingly ever-present smile.

“What?”

“I know it’s unconventional,”  Madeline said, shifting the toddler on her hip.  “But with Belle now in the monarchy, it won’t be so unusual for a girl to know how read, and I think Charlotte should learn.  Sometimes I wish I could have learned as a child, and I don’t want her to miss out on anything.”

“Right,”  Lefou took the little girl into his own arms, cooing as she laid her head in the crook of his neck.  “I think that’s a fantastic idea.”

“Oh, good!”  Madeline’s smile was back again, radiating a beam of sunshine through the small cottage they shared.  “When do you think you could begin teaching her?  Is she too young yet?”

“Wait, me?”  A cold chill dropped in Lefou’s stomach.  “I can’t… I mean, you don’t expect me to teach her, do you?”

“Of course I do!”  Madeline said.  “You attended school as a child, I never had the chance.  You have to be the one to do it.”

Lefou licked his lips, unsure how to break the news to her.  He had attended school, yes, but dropped out early to help his father on the farm when his mother fell ill.  He had always intended to go back when his mother was well, but that had taken nearly a year, and by the time he returned the class was leaps and bounds ahead of where he should be.  He was mocked by the students and teacher alike for being so slow to learn.  He knew the alphabet, but it wasn’t enough.  He left for the army soon afterwards, and reading wasn’t ever a necessity.  Gaston could read (though not exceptionally well), and he just left it up to him.

“I can’t,”  Lefou said, rocking Charlotte gently in his arms, the little girl half asleep against his shoulder.

“Why not?”  Madeline’s smile wavered.  “There’s no one better to tutor her than her own father.”

“I really wish I could, Madeline,”  He kissed his daughter’s dark, curly hair.  She looked so much like him.  He wanted her to have things easier than he did.  He wanted her to be able to travel to all those wonderful storybook places Belle spoke so fondly of.  He wanted her to be able to be self-sufficient and not rely on her own Gaston.  He wanted her to be educated and knowledgeable and everything he was never able to be.

“I can’t teach her, because I... I don’t know how to read,”  He finally admitted.  His voice was soft and he felt that familiar pang of embarrassment in his belly.  “I can write my name, and only just remember the alphabet.”

Madeline’s face softened.  She touched his shoulder, before stroking the hair from Charlotte’s eyes, which were now hidden behind closed eyelids.  “Well then, maybe someday she’ll be able to teach you.”

Lefou kissed Charlotte’s head again, smiling at the thought.

Lefou adjusted his bow, before wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers.  He always felt so nervous coming to the castle, despite Belle’s insistence that he was always welcome.  He didn’t know how she could be so kind and forgiving, but he was certainly glad she was.

Especially since he was knocking on her door with a favor on his lips.

Chapeau opened the large double doors, peering down at him over his long nose.  He rarely said much in the way of greeting, but was never rude.

Lefou offered his pleasantries, and asked if the princess was busy, or if he should come back another time.

“Enough of that ‘princess’ nonsense,”  Chapeau’s mouth opened, but Belle’s voice came out.

After a quick startle, Lefou realized Belle was standing nearby, and joined them at the entrance.

“It has always been, and will always be, simply ‘Belle,”  She said, shaking her head in that way she often did when referred to as “princess”.  She stood aside, gently prodding Chapeau’s shoulder to do the same.  “Come in, Lefou, what brings you here?  Would you like some tea?”

Lefou removed his hat, wringing it in his hands for a brief moment, before hanging it on the stand by the door.  It resembled Chapeau in a funny sort of way.  “No thank you... I’m here because I actually had a um, a request.”

“Anything I can help you with, I will do so gladly,”  Belle may have gained a royal title along with her marriage to the prince, but she seemed no different than she did while frequenting the streets of Villeneuve, albeit much happier.  Her dresses were still simple and practical, unlike the frivolous gowns he often saw flitting around the castle grounds.  She was still always seen with a novel in her hands, and with that kind smile on her face.  Despite his former affiliation with Gaston, she appeared to hold no ill will against him.

“It’s not for me, really,”  Lefou said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.  “But for my daughter.”

“Ah, yes, how is little Charlotte doing these days?”  Belle asked.

“Very well, hitting every milestone a four year old should be,”  Lefou said, instantly more relaxed when talking about his special little girl.  “Always chatting away.  Takes after me, I suppose.”

“So, what can I help her with?”  Belle asked, leading them to the living area, where they sat on overstuffed sofas.

“Madeline has decided - and I can’t help but agree - that our Charlotte should learn how to read,”  Lefou explained.

“That’s wonderful!”  Belle clapped her hands together.

“Yes, it is,”  Lefou nodded.  “I’m sure she’ll be great at it, too.  The only problem is, neither her mother nor I… truth be told, neither of us ever properly learned.”

“Oh, I would be honored to teach you two!”  Belle said, excitement evident in her voice.

“Not us,”  Lefou said.  “Charlotte.”

“I see,”  Belle nodded, slowly.  “Of course.  Why don’t you all come over for dinner tomorrow evening?  Afterwards we can start her lessons.”

“That would be perfect, thank you,”  Lefou said, honestly, standing from the sofa, not wanting to over-stay his welcome.  We’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Belle nodded, and waved goodbye.

“Let’s see now,”  Belle said, pointing to a sheet of parchment on the table.  Quills left ink splotches on the grain of the wood, but she didn’t seem to mind, her attention focused on the child next to her.  “What does this spell?”

Charlotte’s eyes were narrowed in concentration as she held a quill steady in her tiny hand.  “C… H… A… R… L… O… T… T… E…”

“That’s right!”  Belle said, nodded encouragingly.  “Fantastic job!  Let’s sound it out, then.”  She slowly dragged a finger across every inky letter, allowing time for each one to roll of the younger girl’s tongue.

“Charrrrrlllllooootte… Charlotte!”

“Excellent work!”  Belle said, mirroring Charlotte’s beaming grin.  “You did so well today, you’ll be reading as well as I do in no time at all!”

Charlotte cheered, before she let out a yawn, covering her mouth with her hand.

“I believe that’s our cue to stop for now,”  Belle chuckled, clearing away bits of used parchment, but handing her the one with her name.  “I think you should keep this one.”

Charlotte took the paper, waving it excitedly in the air to show her parents, who were watching nearby.

“Mama, Papa, look what I did!”  She shoved the paper in Lefou’s face.  He took it from her and looked at it.  It was only the one word, and though he knew what it said, he was embarrassed to say he wouldn’t have known how to spell his daughter’s name if he was asked… was there really an “H” in it?

“I’m so proud of you, darling!”  Madeline said, offering the girl a hug.  “Thank you so much, Belle.”

“It’s no problem at all,”  Belle said.  “She’s a bright girl, she’s catching on so quickly.  She’ll be reading full-length novels like this soon enough.”  She patted the thick leather-bound book she held under her arm.  “This is a very good story, Charlotte.  A fairytale.  Far-off places, daring sword fights, magic spells, a prince in disguise!  I think you’ll like it.”

Lefou wondered what it would be like to read a book like that.  Would he be taken away to those places he heard so much about?  Would he feel like he were in a far-off place, like Belle so fondly spoke of?  Was it really possible for books to take you somewhere else, without truly leaving at all?

“I can’t wait!”  Charlotte exclaimed, looking proudly at her paper.

“You’re so good with children, too,”  Madeline commented, ruffling Charlotte’s hair a bit.

“I’m glad you think so,”  Belle said, rubbing her hand over the front of her dress, which was only just beginning to protrude.  “Charlotte will good practice for me.”

“When can we do this again, Mama?”  Charlotte asked, looking from her mother, to Belle, and back again.  She looked so proud and excited, Lefou couldn’t help but feel the same.

“I’m free the same time next week,”  Belle offered.

“We’ll be here,”  Lefou said, lifting Charlotte into his arms.

“Well, we should be off, then, I suppose,”  Madeline said.  “Thank you again, we’ll see you soon.”

They began to walk out the library, but Lefou turned around just before the exit.

“... Belle?”

“What is it?”

“I want to learn to read.”

[steeleogden14-blog]

free live web sex cams

https://www.webcamsexchat.xxx/cams/ The most critical attain of on the web courting assist is its convenience. You can do almost everything you want, each and each and every time you want to. No far more dressing up just to go to malls or golfing equipment to flirt and fulfill up with up with dates. You can now sit back again and chill out in your comfy sofa, have a cup of espresso, and look for through profiles to locate a one particular you are intrigued to. You also have whole management of your courting technique, which indicates you can modify your personal courting rhythm or tempo. This is a incredibly important aspect of on-line courting and it can be utilized to your positive aspects. It is critical to just consider online courting 1 stage at a time, just like courting in the true entire complete planet. There is no want to have to leap correct in and fulfill offline. You now have the option to lay but once more and consider it gradual. Convention some stranger from an on the net romantic relationship internet site right away will not be a wonderful idea adhering to all. Just take your time and allow the two of you know every one other genuinely properly. On the net relationship goes exterior of genuine actual physical details of curiosity individuals, notion of humor, and other character traits are regarded as to be much far far more crucial. Getting to know your attainable date prospect forward of in truth assembly him or her offline will be the fairly greatest assortment. You can comprehend your working day applicant by way of conversations and messages, and faster or later on build an graphic about how he or she genuinely is. It is also determined that truths are typically stretched in on the web courting so the only way you can be certain about who your working day applicant is will be by implies of situations expended with every solitary other exchanging messages or chatting. It is fantastic to think about out hard to make amazing impressions, but it would be very ideal to just be truthful and let other folks decide you for who you are. Bear in mind, bodily particulars of want are not the important beneath. It is your individuality that would attraction to men and women, and what would be superb than just be by oneself, appropriate? In addition to, you are connected in on the planet wide net romantic relationship to uncover interactions. No romantic connection need to be constructed on lies and stretched truths it will not prior for confident. Imagine that you are outstanding satisfactory, assemble your self-esteem and you will uncover significantly far more dates than you can feel of in no time at all. Very last, you should to get deal with of your courting technique specially if you are feminine. It is only organic that males want to satisfy you appropriate absent, but you are the 1 specific particular maintaining the important to the full strategy. Nevertheless once again, get it gradual. Just allow your self to get to know your on-line courting associate nicely sufficient prior to making any choice about conference him, or her. Now that you know about why it is crucial to just just just take on the net courting a 1 phase at a time, it truly is time for you to get incorporated and begin off assembly attainable dates. On the web relationship is totally entirely cost-free, and you can start convention new men and women from the ease and comfort of your residence or even workplace, anytime you want. Just sit again once again after once again, chill out, and take into account satisfaction in the experience.

[raendown]

Obligatory Christmas fic! Merry Christmas everyone!

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 4004 Summary: Madara has detested Christmas since he was fairly young, just not for any reason that he cares to broadcast. This year something special happens that just might endear him to the season a little more.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

We Wish You A Happy Something

From the very second he had stepped inside the well-lit Senju household his mood had plummeted even lower than it had been for the entire week leading up to this. Everything in here was covered in disgustingly festive red and green patterns, tacky fake snow, and seizure inducing flickering lights. Madara held his arms close to his body as he carefully picked his way down the hall, trying not to touch anything lest the fabled ‘spirit of Christmas’ rub off on him.

This was, without a doubt, his least favorite time of year. Usually he got away with holing up inside his rather spacious midtown apartment, reading books and staying snuggled up in bed until evening had come again, pretending it was just any other day off work. Not this year, though. This year Hashirama had told him in no uncertain terms that he was expected to arrive at this house the night before so he could wake up with the Senju family for Christmas morning. Apparently his friend had even contacted Izuna and his brother would be arriving with Touka in the morning as well. Terrible. If this got any more cloying and Christmas-y Madara was likely to set fire to whatever was closest to him.

Stepping in to the den, he sneered at the perfectly made up tree in the corner. It could have been plucked straight out of a catalogue; a sure sign, if any, that Hashirama had had no part in the decorating process. Presents filled the space beneath the lower branches of the large spruce and he cast a critical eye over them all. Hashirama knew damn well how he felt about this particular holiday so he truly hoped that his friend wasn’t expecting him to bring any presents. He hadn’t bought a single Christmas present since he was about fifteen years old and he had no intention of breaking that streak now just because he’d been dragged unwillingly out of his annual seclusion.

“You made it!” a familiar voice crowed from the top of the staircase to his right. Madara scowled as he tilted his head back. Hashirama was thundering down to greet him, Tobirama trailing behind at a much statelier pace.

“Did you think I’d get lost or something?” he growled, stomping by without meeting his friend at the bottom of the stairs. “I’ve only been here a few hundred times.”

“Hey, wait! Wait for me Madara!”

Instead of listening he made his way further down the hall to where he knew he could find what the Senju called their leisure room. The actual living room was mostly for show and for holiday gatherings. The leisure room was where the big TV was mounted on one wall, an antique pool table placed close to another, and it was here that they spent most of their time when Madara came to visit.

Without waiting for permission – they’d been friends so long he was practically family, he hadn’t needed permission in years – Madara turned the television on and began surfing channels until he landed on the first movie he found that wasn’t Christmas themed. Pay-per-view, of course, before he was just grouchy enough to make Hashirama pay for this indignity in any way he could. He heard the two Senju brothers banging around in the kitchen until Mito’s voice chased them both out and they joined him on the enormous sofa to watch his movie.

He didn’t take much special notice when Tobirama got up and started rummaging around in the liquor cabinet beneath the window. They were all adults here and it wasn’t all that out of the ordinary for the younger man to indulge in one or two drinks on occasion. When he hauled out an entire bottle of what appeared to be flavored vodka, however, he suddenly had Madara’s undivided attention. Something else was pulled out of the cabinet as well but it stayed hidden within his hand as he wandered over to the television and began to fiddle with the pointless artsy wall decoration hung just over top. Disturbingly, Hashirama began to clap his hands like a child.

“Yay! Starting early!”

“I feel as though I’m going to regret asking this,” Madara said slowly, “but what is starting early and what exactly does he intend to do with that much alcohol?”

“Christmas tradition!” Hashirama scrambled off the couch and nearly dove headfirst inside his own cabinetry, coming out with a tall bottle of whiskey that he toted back with him to the spot he’d just vacated.

“The movie hat game,” Tobirama clarified as he resettled himself farther down the couch. “Happens every year at Christmas. You hang a small hat above the television so that it dangles just within the screen. Every time it lines up so that one of the characters on screen look like they’re wearing it, you take a drink.”

“We usually play with Christmas movies but this one works too!” Hashirama was unscrewing the top of his whiskey already, pouring it in to a glass that Madara hadn’t even noticed him procuring.

“Care to join in, Uchiha?”

Tobirama sat forward again just far enough to raise one thin eyebrow down the way at him mockingly. Madara scowled and crossed his arms.

“No, I believe I would rather keep my dignity intact, thank you.”

“Suit yourself.”

Four hours and partway in to the third movie, Madara was extraordinarily grateful that he had decided to abstain. Just observing the two idiots next to him was more entertainment than the movies, distracting him well enough so he didn’t even mind that the third film was actually a Christmas-themed one. Mito had brought dinner in to them all, resigned look on her face when she spotted the open bottles, but it seemed even having food in their bellies wasn’t enough to combat the incredible rate at which the two brothers were consuming their drinks.

Watching Tobirama slide farther and farther down in his seat like his body was slowly liquefying without him noticing was quite the experience. The younger man was typically a fairly stiff and proper person, or at least he seemed so whenever Madara was around, and seeing him so loose and uninhibited was a big change. By halfway through the second movie he’d begun to cheer obnoxiously along with his sibling every time one of them spotted that stupid hat he had hung up aligning perfectly with a character’s head. Then the two of them would pour themselves another shot, both of them tossing it back like old pros. Madara had never even seen Hashirama take a shot before, let alone his stiff-necked baby brother.

He had seen Hashirama drunk by other methods, however, so it was no surprise to him when the only thing which changed about his friend’s behavior was that he lost all control of his volume and by the end of the night he was communicating only in slurred shouts. Tobirama’s transformation was more fantastic – as well as more unexpected. After the first few shots he never seemed to stop smiling and he appeared to have been attacked by a case of the giggles.

As typical of drunk people, neither of them were very aware of their own limbs after a while and Madara was dodging wild gestures long before Hashirama finally gave in and allowed Mito to lead him to bed. He was left alone with Tobirama, who couldn’t seem to stay upright in his seat, wondering for the hundredth time why he had let himself get bullied in to coming here tonight. He hated Christmas, wanted absolutely nothing to do with it, and for the past few months he had hated coming over to his friend’s house for any other reason as well. Here was where he would run in to Tobirama and find himself in awkward situations like this one.

It wasn’t as though he hated the younger man, just that he had no idea how to communicate with him now that his heart had developed the habit of trying to leap in to his throat every time they were within ten feet of each other.

“What…what time’s’it?” Tobirama slurred. Madara shook off his stupor and glanced over at the fancy clock hung up across the room.

“Just passed midnight,” he grumbled. It had officially been Christmas day for a whole nine minutes so far. Whoop-dee-fucking-doo. To his surprise, Tobirama slumped down a little further and looked dejected.

“Aw, I missed it then. Oops.”

“Missed what?”

Tobirama squirmed around but never managed to sit up properly so he gave in, look up at his house guest with a sheepish smile as he said, “I didn’t get a chance to say happy birthday. M’sorry.”

Madara gaped at him, jaw nearly coming unhinged in his shock. If he’d had to guess he wouldn’t have thought Tobirama was even aware that his birthday was the twenty-fourth of December and he certainly wouldn’t have expected him to care enough to give him well wishes for the day. No one had so much as wished him a happy birthday in years, getting caught up in the holiday spirit instead, and over time it had fostered a hatred  for the season in him as he felt more and more ignored, unappreciated, and unimportant.

“Thank you.” It was all he managed to choke out, although he wanted to ask how the hell Tobirama had even known. The younger man smiled goofily.

“D’you want your present?”

“You got me a present? A…a birthday present? Not a Christmas one that’s just been repurposed at the last minute?”

“Mhm.” Nodding enthusiastically, Tobirama began the struggle to sit up again. Madara watched him in shock for a moment before realizing that maybe he should help a bit. Once his companion was upright he bolted off the couch with more energy than Madara had seen him do anything that wasn’t related to his beloved science. “C’mon!”

Curious and still reeling a little from the shock, Madara followed as he was bidden. He flicked the television off as he passed and trailed behind with his hands at the ready to catch his stumbling guide while they made their way down the hall, up the stairs, and in to a bedroom he’d never had occasion to go in to before. He’d certainly spent some time wondering about it though. Tobirama’s room was as obsessively neat as he would have expected it to be, although there were less books than he would have thought. Actually it was a bit sparse inside, almost giving him the impression of a guest bedroom but for the very few personal touches here and there.

Tobirama led him to a closet and opened it to reveal the top shelf that had been largely taken over by a good sized heap of gifts all wrapped in different papers and boxes.

“D’you just want this year’s present?” the younger man asked him in a confused slur. “Or do you want…like…all of them?”

“All of them?” Madara breathed. Tobirama smiled widely at him over one shoulder.

“I buy you birthday presents every year but you never come over so I can’t give them to you. Going over to your house to deliver them would be weird; I don’t want you to think I’m weird. Well…you already do but I mean, you know, more than that.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled faintly, feeling like he might fall over from the shock. “Can I open all of them?”

“Sure!”

He had to stop Tobirama from just sweeping them all on to the floor with his arms, unsure if there was anything delicate or breakable in any of the packages. Instead they brought them down one or two at a time and piled them on the floor so they could both sit down as well. Looking them over, Madara noted that all of the wrapping paper was distinctly birthday themed, covered with balloons and cakes with not a single holiday pattern to be found, and it touched a place inside him that he had tried so hard to close away from himself.

Something else he noted was the tags. Flipping them all over with care, one by one, he could easily tell which present had been for which year by the little messages written on them. Happy 23rd Birthday, Madara read the one by his foot. By his knee there was one which read Happy 26th Birthday, Madara. Nothing wild or personal of course, that wasn’t Tobirama’s style, but it was more care than anyone had shown for Madara’s special day since he was a child and his family had collectively decided that he would be getting combo presents meant to celebrate both Christmas and his birthday at the same time.

Which he’d always found incredibly unfair. Everyone else got separate presents for the two different occasions. Why should he get treated any different just because of an accident of birth?  

Fingers gently ran over each and every package as Madara looked over his tiny hoard. He felt like if he spoke right at that moment he might crack open and spill some embarrassing parts of himself out over the carpet so he simply kept quiet and poked around until he found the gift meant for this year. Multicolored party hats adorned the midsized box and even though the pattern was cheesy he found he didn’t want to rip something so obscurely precious. He did want the present, though, so he did it anyway.

Inside there was a leather case with no outward clue as to what it contained. Undoing the clasps, he lifted the lid and nearly started to cry. Since when did Tobirama, of all people, know him so well? He wasn’t even sure even Hashirama would remember his obsession with ancient weaponry enough to buy him such an amazing gift. The old style blade – a kunai, his mind supplied automatically – was perfectly preserved and intricately carved. It was crafted all out of one solid piece of metal with strips of cloth around the handle to make the grip more comfortable and from just a single glance he could tell how expensive this must have been. He’d been looking for a kunai to add to his collection for a long time and never come across a piece he could afford.

Glancing up, he saw the casual way Tobirama was sprawled out next to him. He looked utterly relaxed, as though his gift wasn’t the single most meaningful one Madara had ever received, probably too drunk to realize what this revealed about him. A gift like this meant that he paid attention to Madara enough to know just what to get him that would be appreciated; it meant that he knew Madara much better than their slightly distant way of tip toeing around each other would have made one assume.

“It’s incredible.” Madara traced the edges of the setting the blade was held in, not touching it with his bare fingers. He never touched any of his collection with bare skin. “Where did you find this?”

“Kirigakure.” His head snapped around to stare at the younger man with both eyebrows shooting upwards, but Tobirama only shrugged. “I know, right? That particular style of blade wouldn’t have been used by their early civilizations so it must have been brought over by some explorers or traded in a war or something. Cool right? I saw it and I remembered you telling Hashi about the one you’d wanted to buy that you found in Suna and I thought…why not?”

“This must have cost you a fortune,” Madara said quietly. Since when did anyone other than him know anything about the history of weaponry? Everyone else always seemed so bored when he tried to talk about his collection. Tobirama shrugged and said nothing. “No don’t shrug. It’s not – this isn’t – this means something.”

“Okay fiiiine.” With a groan Tobirama rolled his eyes and crawled over to resettle himself at Madara’s side, throwing one arm around his shoulders and placed one finger against his own lips. “Just don’t tell yourself okay? You can’t know The Secret.”

“Secret? What secret?”

“No! You’re not supposed to know!”

Madara took a deep breath, looked towards the ceiling for patience, and assumed a very serious expression. “I promise I won’t tell myself.”

Tobirama looked at him for a moment, then beamed sloppily. “Good! ‘Cause you’re pretty smart so you’d probably figure out that me buying you presents all the time is a pretty big clue that I’m in love with you.”

Freezing in place, Madara blinked twice and surreptitiously pinched himself just to make sure he was actually still awake. When it became clear that he wasn’t dreaming and that Tobirama had indeed just drunkenly mumbled what Madara thought he had, time seemed to pause for just a few moments as the entire universe shifted on its axis. He looked around at all the presents piled in front of him and wondered how the hell he could have missed something like that for as long as he did. He himself had only started to notice the man at his side in that way over the last few months. If the presents were supposed to be his clue, it was clear that Tobirama had looked at him in this manner for quite a long time.

“Can I open the rest of them?” he asked faintly for lack of anything else to say, not ready to deal with the feelings crashing around inside his chest. Tobirama nodded and dropped the arm from around his shoulders so he could crawl forward to grab one for the birthday boy.

Just as this year’s had been, each present turned out to be incredibly thoughtful. With them all conveniently labeled to show the year they had been meant for, he was able to match them all up with interests he had indulged in in the past that would have made them excellent gifts at the time. His twenty-fourth birthday present was a model of the main character from his favorite new TV show that year. His twenty-fifth was a watch with a simple congratulatory message engraved on the back which would have celebrated him getting hired at his dream job.

As he unwrapped more and more gifts, Madara actually felt himself getting a little misty-eyed to his own mortification. Not wanting the other to see such a blatant display of emotion, he kept his head down and his eyes on whatever he was opening or admiring at the time. Because of that he failed to see how tired his companion was getting, the alcohol and the late hour both taking their toll until at last he dropped his head on to Madara’s shoulder with a content little sigh of exhaustion.

“Are…you okay?” Madara asked.

“Tired,” the other mumbled shortly in to his collar. Madara smiled.

“Let’s get you in to bed then. You should change first, though. Where’s your pajamas? Lots of presents in your closet but I don’t see many clothes.”

“Course not, they’re in my suitcase.” Tobirama waved a vague hand over at the corner of the room and when Madara looked he did indeed spot a suitcase laying there with the top flipped open.

“Why do you have a suitcase? Don’t you live here?”

“No. Haven’t lived here since I was nineteen.”

Deciding that he couldn’t concentrate on all these revelations and convince the sleepy drunk to change at the same time, Madara said a mental ‘oh fuck it’ and hauled Tobirama over towards the bed in the clothes he was wearing. Every time he was here Tobirama was as well, lounging around, sometimes joining the conversation and sometimes not. It was only natural to assume he lived here since he never seemed to leave.

Once the younger man had been plunked down on top of the covers and he was weakly wriggling around, trying to pull them over himself, Madara looked at him with a curious expression.

“If you live on your own how come you’re always over here, then?” he asked. Giving a quiet huff of triumph as he finally managed to sausage himself in the top cover on the bed, Tobirama closed his eyes and nuzzled the pillow.

“My apartment’s lonely,” he mumbled sleepily. “There’s no one there. I don’t like it.”

Madara swallowed thickly. “Ah. I see.” And he really could, in a way. His own apartment seemed to echo some days in a way that really brought home how lonely his life was. Hashirama was practically his only friend and on the days neither he nor Izuna was available, there wasn’t much for Madara to do but sit at home and entertain himself.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, pitching his voice low. Tobirama hummed and didn’t answer. Madara made a quick trip to the bathroom to grab a cup of water and a couple of aspirin then returned to lay them on the small table next to Tobirama’s bed. The pale man wasn’t quite asleep yet but it looked like he was ready to drop off any moment. After observing him for a few seconds, Madara made a spur of the moment decision and crawled on to the bed next to him, slipping under the sheets and laying his arm around the other’s waist.

“Hng?” The sound his bedmate made wasn’t really a word but it had a questioning note so Madara answered it anyway in a low whisper.

“Can I sleep in here tonight?”

“You wanna trade beds?” Tobirama asked in a sleepy murmur. It was a surprisingly innocent assumption, delivered in a more adorable voice than many would assume him capable of.

“No, I’d like to stay here with you if you don’t mind.”

“Like a sleepover?”

“Sure. Yeah. Like a sleepover.”

“That sounds nice.” Tobirama yawned and squirmed back to rest more closely against him. “You’re warm.”

Madara didn’t say anything to that but he didn’t need to. A moment later his companion had fallen asleep and he was left shaking his head in wonder. It was amazing what a little (or a lot of) alcohol could do to change the way someone acted, revealing secrets that had evidently been well-hidden for years.

Although he was almost unable to believe he was doing so, Madara found himself for the first time in his life blessing the existence of Christmas traditions. If Tobirama hadn’t been drinking, who knew if he would have revealed the secret stash of presents he’d apparently never had the courage to deliver to their recipient? All week he’d been dreading tonight and tomorrow morning when he would be surrounded by Christmas cheerfulness as his birthday was ignored for yet another year. Instead he’d gotten the best birthday gift he could have possibly imagined – and he wasn’t referring to the actual presents themselves.

Despite not having consumed any drinks himself, Madara was also fairly ready to sleep. Getting to do so with his arms around the man he had a massive crush on was an extra bonus he hadn’t anticipated but he certainly wasn’t going to complain about it. No reason to look a gift horse in the mouth.

In the morning both of the Senju brothers would probably regret drinking so much. Opening all those gifts under the tree was probably going to be a quieter affair than he’d would have expected considering how hungover they were both likely to be. Likely he and Mito would spend most of the morning shaking their heads and looking smug – though he thought he probably had more reason to be smug than her, all things considered.

Before he dropped off to sleep Madara wondered if Tobirama would remember any of this when he woke up or if he would awaken on Christmas morning to find the man he was in love with ‘somehow’ in his bed. A holiday miracle indeed. Either way the morning promised to be surprisingly fun.

Maybe – maybe – Madara could be talked around to getting in to the Christmas spirit after all.

[dani-ellie03]

Fic: Wednesday’s Child (18/?)

Title: Wednesday’s Child Summary: The next time Emma Swan wanted magical help, she was on her own. Because now they were stuck with a pint-sized savior who clearly had an attitude problem and a terrified but pretending not to be pre-pirate. Spoilers: If you’re current, we’re good. Rating/Warning: PG-13, mostly for safety. Family angst/fluff, as per usual. Disclaimer: Once Upon a Time and its characters were created by Eddy Kitsis and Adam Horowitz and are owned by ABC. I’m just borrowing them but I’ll put them back when I’m finished!

—–

{1} {2} {3} {4} {5} {6} {7} {8} {9} {10} {11} {12} {13} {14} {15} {16} {17}

At ff.net and below.

Tagging @shealivedarnit (If anyone else wants to be tagged, let me know!)

-----

Cleaning the kitchen was now the furthest thing from Snow's mind. How could she possibly spend even ten minutes washing dishes and wiping down the table and counter when the time she had with the children was running out? Somehow gleaming sauce pots and perfectly dried glasses seemed wholly unimportant.

Unfortunately, it was against her nature to let a mess sit so the kitchen had to be cleaned. Charming clearly felt the same pull to be with the children as she did, however, because between the two of them, the kitchen was sparkling in less than five minutes. After Snow set the last glass back in the cabinet and Charming tossed the now damp dish towel in the washer, they both headed to the living room.

They drew to a stop in the doorway and took in the sight of the children simply playing together. The boys had taken over the Super Nintendo – and, from what Snow could tell, Killian had improved greatly from the day before – while Emma sat on the floor in front of little Neal and engaged him in a game of peekaboo.

Tears leaped into Snow's eyes at her baby boy's wild laughter and her baby girl's soft giggles. The sights and sounds of her babies playing together, loving each other, and having fun with each other were beyond comforting, beyond heartwarming. These were the sounds she should have been able to hear from the day Emma was born. These were the sounds that should have echoed through the walls of the castle and filled their home and their hearts.

The past couple of days with Emma and Killian being little had been absolutely wonderful and oh, how she wished she could hold onto them just a little bit longer. This glimpse into the life they could have had – with a bonus tiny pirate, of course – had only just begun. The meals and games and hugs and snuggles were everything Snow had ever dreamed of and more. How could she face giving up all those moments she should have had with her baby?

The hardest thing Snow had ever done in her life was send her precious Emma, only minutes old, through the wardrobe to safety. To live a life without her parents but free from the Curse. The second hardest thing Snow had ever done was face the reality that her baby's life in this world had been brutal and cruel and filled with hardship.

This was not the life Snow wanted for her. This was not the life she should have had. Emma should have grown up with the love of her parents, the love of friends, the love of an entire kingdom. Instead, she'd grown up with nothing. No love, no support, no comfort. Nothing.

Looking at her now, though, seeing her sitting cross-legged on the floor while hiding her face behind her hands to make her baby brother laugh … this was what Snow had wanted for her. This little girl deserved to be surrounded by family and friends and love and comfort. And somehow, Snow had a funny feeling that giving her little Emma the potion to return her to her adult state was going to be the third hardest thing she'd ever have to do.

That wasn't to say that she didn't miss adult Emma. Gods, she missed her adult baby girl more than words could ever express. She missed Emma's sarcasm and her teasing. She missed her warm hugs. She missed trading text messages back and forth, Emma's way of procrastinating when she was faced with an afternoon of paperwork. She missed Emma and Killian coming over for dinner and catching up with them before settling at the table for the meal. Hell, she just missed Emma and Killian, her Emma and Killian.

It was all so very confusing.

A comforting hand slid onto Snow's shoulder and she complied with the silent request, resting her head on her wonderful husband's shoulder. "It's going to be all right, Snow," he murmured into her ear.

Afraid that if she opened her mouth, she'd start crying, Snow simply nodded.

"Emma, look!" Killian cried, his excited little voice drawing Snow from her morose reverie. "I won three races in a row!"

The girl's eyebrows shot to the ceiling, as did Snow's. Although Killian had clearly gotten the hang of the controls, beating Henry three times in a row was not an easy feat. Emma's surprised gaze shot to Henry, who answered her incredulous look with a surreptitious wink.

The smile that lit Emma's face was priceless. She was at the same time grateful to Henry for letting Killian win three times in a row and touched by the pride lacing her new friend's exclamation. "That's awesome, Killian! Henry's really hard to beat, too."

Killian beamed so proudly that Snow sent her wonderful grandson a grateful smile of her own.

Deciding now was as good a time as any to join his family for a relaxing evening, Charming finally edged into the living room proper and eased down onto the sofa. Snow followed suit after a beat, settling on the opposite end as her husband. The big surprise came a moment or two later when Emma, having clearly tired of peekaboo, lifted Neal off the floor and plopped down on the middle cushion between her parents and settled the baby on her lap.

Snow felt her heart skip a beat. It seemed like such a small thing, Emma choosing to sit in between them rather than anywhere else in the room, but it wasn't a small thing at all. It spoke to how far she'd come in less than forty-eight hours, how well she'd responded to their love and attention, and how comfortable she felt in this house with them. Snow glanced up at Charming, who only had eyes for his little girl.

Gods, how could they let her go in the morning? But at the same time, how could they not?

Nobody said a word but both Snow and Charming remained floating on cloud nine. When Neal started to squirm, Emma shifted him around so he was sitting on her knees, facing her. With a smile on her face, she bounced her legs on the balls of her feet while reciting, "Trot, trot to Boston. Trot, trot to Lynn. Watch out, little baby, that you don't fall in."

Neal's giggles echoed through the room when Emma dipped him backwards just enough that his head tipped back. She repeated the rhyme a couple more times, Neal's laughter growing louder each time he "fell in." Soon enough, Snow and Charming were laughing along with him. "You're very good with him, Emma," Snow said softly.

The girl shrugged almost shyly. "Whenever I was in a group home with babies, I played with them. They need a lot of attention."

Left unsaid, of course, was that said babies probably weren't getting enough attention, just as Emma herself hadn't. The sheer amount of empathy Emma possessed even at this young an age sent tears to Snow's eyes. "I'm sure you've helped those babies a lot, sweetheart."

"I hope so," the girl admitted softly.

A teary-eyed Charming slung a comforting arm around her shoulders. "If the other babies reacted at all like he is, I can guarantee you did."

To the surprise of both of her parents, Emma shifted closer to him, allowing the snuggle in earnest.

For a long moment, the three of them just watched the boys play video games with Wilby curled up on the floor at their feet. Confident in his abilities now, Killian had begged Henry to let him try the Grand Prix mode. They were currently in the third race of the cup and Killian held a respectable third place standing. Considering that Killian hadn't even known what a video game was the day before, his score was nothing to sneeze at.

Perhaps it was due to all her years as a teacher but Snow adored watching children concentrate. Watching them learn how to play and learn how the world around them worked. As such, she loved watching Killian come along in his video game lessons. The movements of his hands on the controller weren't as swift or as automatic as Henry's. Every so often, he had to look away from the screen and down at the controller as if he were confused why the button he pressed didn't do what he had expected it to do. Pressing buttons with his right hand to stop and go while pressing buttons with his left hand to turn still seemed to trip him up every so often. Still, the boy was determined and, most importantly of all, having a lot of fun. Whenever he fell behind in the race, he'd simply shore up his concentration and regain his place, grinning in triumph each time.

"Do you know what I think we should do tonight?" Emma spoke up, breaking the comfortable silence on the couch.

Unable to resist the motherly urge any longer, Snow tucked a lock of her baby girl's hair behind her ear. "What's that?"

"We should have a movie night."

A movie night was a fantastic idea except for one little problem: the only VCR in the farmhouse resided in the master bedroom. Due to her little girl's inquisitive and stubborn nature, attempting to show Emma movies on DVD would cause far too many questions.

Then again, Snow, thought, we could bring the VCR downstairs. She'd have to occupy the children while Charming swapped the electronics but it could work.

"I think that sounds like a marvelous idea," Charming was saying, oblivious to Snow's inner panic, "and I think I can make it better. Do you know where we would all be really comfortable?"

The girl shook her head.

"Upstairs in our room! We have a really big bed. You and Killian and Henry could all stretch out at the foot of the bed and Snow and I could relax up by the pillows. Wilby could even come, if he wanted!"

So he wasn't oblivious to her panic, then; her wonderful husband had, in fact, already thought of a solution. Snow sent him a grateful smile over their little girl's head, which he acknowledged with a smile of his own.

"Are you sure it's okay?" a suddenly nervous Emma asked.

The hesitance in her baby's voice tore at Snow's heart. How many times had a master bedroom been declared off limits to her, a place she was never to enter even if she was afraid and wanted someone to comfort her? Oh, her poor, poor little girl.

"Of course it's okay, kiddo," Charming assured her. "I wouldn't have suggested it if it wasn't."

Emma smiled in relief. "Then I like that idea a lot."

"It's settled, then," Snow said with a smile of her own. "We can decide on the movies when we get upstairs." Mostly because Snow didn't remember which movies she still had on VHS.

"Can we make popcorn?"

At that, they both chuckled. They'd barely had a chance to digest their dinner and their little girl was already asking about snacks. "What kind of movie night would it be without popcorn?" Charming asked by way of a response, which made Emma laugh.

"Do you have the stove-top kind? With the loose kernels and stuff?"

"I'll tell you a secret," Snow murmured stage-whispered conspiratorially. "David makes the best stove-top popcorn of anyone I've ever met."

Emma raised her eyebrows. "Oh, now we have to have stove-top popcorn!"

"I'm pretty sure I can make that happen," Charming laughed.

After another beat or two of watching the boys play video games in silence, Emma spoke up again. "You know, I don't have a real family but if I did, I'd want it to be just like this one."

Tears of touched joy welled in both parents' eyes at their little girl's lovely admission. This has to be what heaven felt like.

Both Snow and Charming wrapped their baby girl in a hug at the same time, blinking the tears from their eyes. "Oh, sweetheart, if we had a daughter," Snow murmured into her ear, cringing slightly at having to qualify that statement with an if in order to keep up appearances, "we'd want her to be just like you."

-----

Chapter Nineteen

[imagine-darksiders]

Can you do a single scenario with all the Horsemen in it where the reader's father coming back to the reader after leaving them when they were young. I am in a mood for angst and fluff and a terrible person for wanting such a scenario. :)

‘Family’ isn’t defined only by last names or by blood; it’s defined by commitment and by love. It means showing up when they need it most. It means having each other’s backs. It means choosing to love each other even on those days where you struggle to like each other. It means never giving up on each other.’

                                                  - Dave Willis.

“What are you doing here!?” 

The timid squeak came from you as you opened your front door and almost choked at the sight of familiar stranger standing on the step. 

Your father. 

The same one who’d abandoned you and your mother at an unforgivably early age. The same one who’d never even written. He never called. Your mother had one cheque from him when he left. And then…..

Nothing. 

Now, here he is, standing before you, greyer and older than you remember but unmistakably him. God, where were the horsemen when you actually need them. You can’t deal with this. Not alone. 

“Y/n,” the man before you steps forward, arms outstretched, as though he actually expected an embrace. You shake your head and stumble backwards away from him. You’d half a mind to shut the door in his face had a small part of you not wanted some sort of reconciliation. An explanation, Hell, even if all he had was an apology. You wanted something. 

Your father lowered his arms and coughed into his hand awkwardly whilst you still stood there, gawking. “Mind if I come in?” he mutters, all the same brushing his way past you and into your house uninvited. Blinking, you come to your senses and follow him into your sitting room where he’s standing and gazing around. He turns to you and offers a tiny smile. “God, you’ve grown up so much…” he breathes. 

You can only stare, unsure what you should say or do. Your mouth does a fantastic impression of a goldfish’s for a moment or two until there’s a loud thump from somewhere upstairs. You and your father both look up to the ceiling and he raises a suspicious eyebrow. 

“You still living with your mother?” he asks, the hint of a threat lingering behind his low voice. Opening your mouth to answer, you’re suddenly interrupted by a masculine voice exclaiming “Son of a bitch!”

And you almost collapse with relief. 

“Strife,” you whisper. You make a silent promise not scold the rascal for breaking in ever again. 

“Who the Hell is that? Are you living with some guy? Is my kid living with a random stranger?!?” your father raises his voice and all of a sudden, you balk at his accusatory tone. Filled with the courage of one of the horsemen behind you, you jab a finger at him. 

“I don’t understand why you suddenly think you get a say in anything I do with my life,” you seethe, chest heaving as you try not to cry.

“I quite agree,” came a dark, dangerous voice from behind your father. He whips around and there, emerging from the shadows of your sitting room, is Death. 

Your father almost keels over backwards at the sudden materialisation of the reaper himself. But he’s left little time to recover before there’s the sound of feet thundering down your stairs before a volatile Strife bursts his way into the room, fixing his sharp eyes on your father and whipping Redemption in his direction. “What’s going on!?” your frightened guest screams, his eyes flying between an advancing Death and the barrel of Strife’s gun. 

You raise your hands in a placating gesture and ask the pair to lower their weapons. It takes a moment, but eventually, there’s the sound of reluctant metal hitting leather, and all implements of destruction are properly sheathed. 

“Y/n,” Death nods to you, which you return shakily and wipe at your watering eyes, “I’m sorry, but War will be here soon. Perhaps we ought to-” 

“WAR?!” your father bellows, “Y/n, what the fu-” He may have been allowed to finish his sentence, had an enormous, bloodthirsty bulwark of a horseman not suddenly crashed through your front door and came hurtling towards the stranger. War’s lips are pulled back in a ferocious snarl as he shoulders his way past Strife and in between you and the potential threat. 

“War, don’t!” you cry, leaping up to grab the arm that had raised Chaoseater threateningly. War snaps his head over his shoulder to glare down at you, blinking when he realises who you are. Slowly, the red horseman lowers his sword, pushing you backwards with an enormous hand and into Strife’s waiting arms. Death had since moved to stand beside his littlest brother, arms folded over his chest and nails digging tightly into the skin of his own arms. It’s clear to you the eldest horseman is just as tense as the youngest. 

Your father picks himself up from where he’d been cowering on the carpet, cautiously standing straight and nervously flicking his eyes over everyone in the room. “Any-Anyone else going to be j-joining us?” he stammers, uncomfortably shifting backwards away from the two protective horseman blocking you and Strife from sight. 

No sooner had he finished his sentence however, a polite knock sounds from the remaining pieces of your front door and Fury appears elegantly around the corner, taking in the destruction and tutting. She freezes though when she catches sight of your father standing in the centre of the room. Instantly, her eyes fly to where you’re leant, shaking in Strife’s arms. Fury takes in your dishevelled state before she sneers, lips curling nastily at the man. 

“And who might you be?” she asks, tone sweet but her eyes betraying the quiet threat she isn’t saying aloud. 

“I was just about to ask him the same thing,” Death mutters as he unfolds his arms and adjusting his wraps.  But your father ignores the line of questioning, instead focusing his attention on you once more, “What are these freaks doing here, Y/n?” he hisses at you, causing War to growl menacingly and Fury to glower. 

The world had slowly gotten used to the reoccurring presence of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. So your father knew who they were, but he’d no idea of your affiliation with the whole event. Why would he know? He’d probably never even seen you on the news with them. You doubted he’d even read your story of how you’d survived a century with these ethereal beings. 

“They’re…they’re my friends….” you huff out, “Look, maybe we should all sit down and explain ourselves…” At your suggestion, there’s a murmur of agreement from the horsemen in the room and a whimper of consent from your father. 

—

“Okay, first thing’s first…”

You sit on a sofa, hemmed in by all four of the apocalyptic beings opposite your father, who balances on the edge of a wooden chair you’d brought from the kitchen. To your left sits Death, who is as silent and still as a corpse, eyes of fire burning into the man in front of him. Strife is sat on your right and has one hand clenched on your thigh reassuringly. Fury stands behind you, both of her hands placed on your shoulders. As for War, he’s opted to stand just to the side of Strife, his fists clenched and eyes stony whilst he waits for someone to speak. 

“What are you guys doing here?” you finish your sentence and turn to regard the eldest horseman next to you. As if on cue, something small, black and squawking flutters through the open door and into the room, settling on the coffee table between the furniture and pecking at the half eaten sandwich you’d been eating before everything went down. 

“Well,” Death rumbles, “I suppose there’s your answer.” He motions to the crows on your table, but at everyone’s confused gaze, he rolls his eyes. “Oh, come now. You didn’t honestly expect me to leave Y/n here on Earth with no way of making sure all is well?” Death heaves a sigh, “When I don’t have time to make a personal call, I send Dust here to keep an eye on things every now and then. It just so happens that Dust was here at the same time that he,” here Death shoots your father a dirty look, “arrived.”

“Speaking of whom,” Fury pipes up, “Who exactly are we dealing with Y/n?” The rest of the horseman turn their gazes onto you expectantly. 

“He’s…” you swallow nervously, “My, uh…He’s my father.” 

One could easily have heard a pin drop in that room, it got so quiet.  

“Your father?” Death breathes, his eyes glancing between you and the man as though trying to find a resemblance. Whatever he finds, it doesn’t seem to settle him. 

“That’s funny,” Strife raised his brow, “You never mentioned him?” 

At that, the other human in the room scowled at you, although why he’d be angry when he’s been out of your life for years now is beyond comprehension. You sigh and run your hands over your face tiredly. Behind you, Fury squeezes your shoulders a little tighter. 

“What I would like to know,” she begins, “is why you looked so out of sorts when we arrived.” 

You furrow your brow, deciding that not telling the horseman about your father’s abandoning isn’t an option, they’d probably wrestle it out of you sooner or later. You are, however, extremely aware of how much mortal peril he’s in right now. You look up at him and meet his cold gaze, but before you can open your mouth, he interrupts. 

“That’s not any of your business,” he hisses, “I’m here because I need Y/n’s help.” His voice turns frail and fragile, almost to the point where he’s vastly overselling it. “Y/n,” he pleads, “Listen, my girlfriend, she…Well, she kicked me out. I’m effectively homeless,” he pauses to see if you’re reacting. You aren’t, so he continues, “I already asked your mother, as you can imagine, she said no. I’m asking you, please, to open your heart to me and let me stay.” 

His words hit you like a knife to the gut. 

All this time. It’s been all this time. No contact. Nothing. Now he’s approaching asking you to put him up. Your eyes water with fresh tears as you stare at him, hurt beyond imagining. Some tiny part of you had hoped, had really hoped that he’d come back to make amends. You can hardly speak. You didn’t even know he had a girlfriend, you didn’t know anything about this man save for a few memories of a barely there father who never tucked you in or kissed you goodnight. Hell, he may as well be a stranger for all you care.

War seems to sense your growing frustration because he shifts on his feet and bares his teeth intimidatingly down at the man who calls himself ‘father’. 

“This is a joke, right?” you laugh, “you show up, not to say, ‘OH! Sorry Y/n for running out on you and your mum when you were like 4,’” had it been any other situation, Death would have been downright proud of the amount of sarcasm you threw into that sentence. 

“No,” you carry on, “You came, because you want me to go out of my way and let you live with me, I suppose you’ll expect to live here rent free next?” 

“W-well,” he stutters, “My girl did take everything..”  You throw yourself from the sofa, “I haven’t heard one word from you in years!” At your side, Death and Strife follow you up as Fury vaults the back of the sofa to stand at War’s side, both of them are growling. Your father stands as well.

“Not one word!” your eyes are streaming now, hurt, confused, furious and heartbroken. Children are not supposed to grow up without a father. A good father. “So no I will not let you live with me. My spare rooms are reserved for these guys alone.” You gesture wildly to the four horsemen, three of whom are barely restraining themselves from launching straight at the object of your frustration. Even Dust is hissing vehemently at the unfamiliar human. 

Your father, struck by the implication that these four horsemen wouldn’t hurt him because he’s in your presence, snarls suddenly. The switch from desperate and pleading to angry and selfish is utterly jarring. “You’re choosing them over your own father?” he spits, “You’d invite these creatures into your home above your own family?!”

“THEY ARE MY FAMILY!” 

Your cacophonous scream thunders throughout the entire house. Each being in the room instantly stills at the power behind your voice and the emotion it’s laced with. You stand there, shaking and breathing heavily as your father stares at you in shock. 

“I believe,” Death hisses at him, “it is time you were leaving.” The horseman’s voice left no room for debate, but still your father hesitates. 

“I would do as my brother says,” warns Fury, her hand resting subtly on her whip’s handle. War glances over to you and his harsh gaze softens immediately, he ambles over to you and rests an enormous hand on your back. 

“Y/n?” he asks. 

Too exhausted for words, you choke out another sob and collapse against him. War catches you gently in his arms and lays you back down on the sofa. Fury sits by your feet and rubs your leg comfortingly. 

“Strife,” the eldest of them barks, nodding to your father, who still hasn’t moved.

“I’m on it,” replies an all too eager Strife, stomping over to the man and grasping him by the collar. 

“D-don’t hurt him,” you whimper weakly from where you lay. War narrows his eyes at your decision but doesn’t contend it. 

“Oh, I promise I won’t do anything too rash,” Strife growls, pulling your father’s face close to his threateningly. The man kicks and thrashes as he’s forcibly dragged outside by the horseman and tossed onto the street. Death follows his brother and brushes past him to kneel before the man on the ground. Your father attempts to scramble backwards but Death grabs his leg and yanks him closer once again. 

“Do you know my name, human?” he says calmly. Your father shakes his head frantically. “I am Death. And I can promise that should you ever try to visit Y/n again, I will come for you, make no mistake.” Harvester suddenly appears at the human’s throat, Death allows the man to get a good look at the scythe and realise the gravity of his threat. “Am I clear?” the horseman hums. 

“Y-you don’t understand,” your father begs, “I got nowhere else to go!” 

Strife lets out a bark of laughter, “That sure as Hell ain’t Y/n’s problem, or ours.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you for once Strife,” Death says before turning back to the quivering shape in front of him, “Perhaps, had you been a little kinder to Y/n, you may have been allowed to stay. As it is,” he releases your father’s leg and stands to his full, imposing height, “you chose to abandon your own child, I am as unsympathetic as I am disgusted. Begone, human. And don’t let me catch you here again.” 

The two of them watch as your father scurries away, Strife spitting on the ground where he’d been sat moments ago. “Lets go check on the kid,” he grunts. Death nods and the two reenter your house. 

��

“Family, are we?” Fury grins down at you, her hand still on your leg. Then, “Oh War, do stop pacing, you’re putting poor Y/n here on edge!” she scolds. Her younger brother abruptly draws to a halt, looking down at you apologetically. 

“He’s okay, Fury,” you smile. 

“Yeah, but are you?” Strife asks as he and Death enter the sitting room again and stand over you. You send a nervous look out the door.

“Is he….?”

“Gone,” Death assures you as he places a hand on your hair and ruffles it softly.

“Thank you,” you sigh, “I’m sorry guys. I’m sorry you had to witness all that…” You shake you head, “Why do you do all of this for me?” you cry, “Why do you always help me, keep me safe? What did I do to deserve any of you?” The horsemen all raise an eyebrow at you curiously. It’s War who eventually answers. 

“You said it yourself, we’re family,” he states. Blinking, you stare at him.

“I did say that didn’t I?” you whisper, sitting up and allowing Strife to fall onto the cushion beside you. He grabs your side and squeezes you against him with a bright laugh.

“That’s right, guess you’re stuck with us now huh?” the horseman messes up your hair with one hand as you struggle to escape to Fury’s side of the sofa. 

“Oh, just what I need,” Death sighs dramatically, “Another family member to watch over.” 

“Don’t act so vindictive brother, you were the first to say it, after all,” War rumbles from behind you. 

“I said no such thing,” Death hisses. 

“What?” you ask, turning your curious eyes up to the elder horseman. 

“Oh, yes!” Fury exclaims, “I recall you saying ‘We have family to rescue’, when you told us Y/n was in trouble.” 

You listen to the horsemen argue, still caged against Strife’s side and feeling War’s ever watchful gaze on your back. Death argues a losing battle against Fury and you just can’t help but to feel yourself swell with love. Sure they have their own differences, but here they are when you need them to be. Like they always are. Like you would always be for them if they needed you. 

“If we’re not a family,” you beam, drawing everyone’s attention down to you, “then I don’t know what is.” 

Strife pats your back and War rumbles proudly as Fury nods down at you with a pleased hum. 

Death looks down at you and catches your eyes before he flashes you a wink.

“Well said, Y/n.”