#if you ever call an animal useless I’m hitting you with my stick

[lexosaurus]

The Illusionist

Dannymay2021 prompt: Illusion

My Hero Academia x Danny Phantom crossover  Word Count: 5262 Read on: [ao3]

---

“A kid?” Shouta asked. 

The muffled sound of an explosion echoed from the other side of the phone line.

“He can’t be older than sixteen.” Kamui Woods' voice crackled through the receiver. “Eraserhead, this is going to sound crazy, but the kid has multiple quirks. We can’t get near him. He keeps...shit, he just flew through another wall!”

Shouta shifted his cell between his shoulder and ear, launching himself up a wall and onto the roof of a low building. He surveyed the distance and saw a bright green light flash from across the city.

That must have been them.

“We need you to nullify the quirks so we can contain him till the Illusionment wears off.”

“Alright,” Shouta said, jumping off the roof. “Send me your location. I’m on my way.”

It was a new villain, one that the public had dubbed ‘the Illusionist.’ His quirk was simple, yet effective. If he touched someone, he could make them hallucinate their worst fear. 

So far, the heroes and detectives on the case hadn’t been able to figure out much about the Illusionist himself. He never struck the same victim twice, and he didn’t seem to stick around long enough for pro heroes to find him. Not to mention, the majority of his attacks happened in dark alleyways to the local homeless population, far from any cameras that would have been able to pick up his face.

And that fact made Aizawa’s blood boil. Because these weren’t attacks of revenge. No, they were attacks from someone who thought it was fun to mess with the disenfranchised. Someone who enjoyed exerting their powers over those they perceived to be less than, like some kid on a playground squishing ants beneath their sneakers.

The Illusionist’s influence was powerful, and each victim reacted differently. For some, they just froze up, lying motionless until they were found. For others, they lashed out at anyone who dared get close. 

And in a society filled with countless unknown quirks, those of his targets who did lash out—though victims themselves—still needed to be dealt with.

The good news was, the quirk’s effects weren’t permanent, and he seemed to require a fairly long recharge time in between each attack. So the pro heroes never had to deal with more than one victim at a time.

So far, the heroes and police force had figured out two ways of dealing with the Illusionists’ victims. Either the victims were knocked out or put to sleep in some way, which seemed to instantly nullify the hallucination, or the victims were captured and taken to the police station to allow the quirk’s effects to naturally run their course.

Considering the heroes really wanted the victims brought in as peacefully as possible, it had been no surprise to Shouta when the other heroes started calling him in for assistance. Especially when the victims’ hallucinations caused them to fight back.

Such as, apparently, this one.

Shouta sprinted around a corner, panting. The cool night air brushed against his face, chilling his skin. He glanced down at his phone, only to see that Wood’s location had moved once again.

Which meant that the unstable, overpowered victim was on the move. 

Wonderful.

Just then, his phone lit up.

Shouta didn’t wait to see who it was. “What is it?”

“Eraserhead,” Kamui Woods said. “We’re going to lead him to you. Meet us over by the abandoned antique warehouse. And keep your phone on you, he’s a flight risk. Literally.”

“Understood. Any injuries?”

“A few civilians, but medics are already on it. Nothing serious.”

“Good.”

Shouta hung up and changed his course. He weaved between buildings, kicking up water as puddles splashed at his feet. 

If the heroes needed to lure the kid so far away from people, then things weren’t looking good. 

Which meant that he needed to end this. Now. 

But he didn’t make it to the warehouse. Not before a flying, glowing figure appeared through the wall, crashing into him first.

On instinct, Shouta activated his quirk and sent his capture weapon to the glowing figure, but his quirk had no effect. As soon as the scarf landed on the boy, he jerked away, phasing the scarf through his body.

Shouta blinked, deactivating and reactivating the quirk again. But just like the before, nothing happened. The figure—the boy—just continued to float in the air, his glowing green eyes staring wildly into the hero as if Shouta were the most terrifying human on Earth. He raised his hand, and a neon green swirling ball began to form around his fist.

“Watch out!” a voice behind him yelled.

Aizawa ducked just in time. The green blast hit the wall just above him, burning into the bricks like acid.

“Eraserhead, hurry!” Best Jeanist yelled.

Shouta tried again to activate his quirk, but it was no use.

The boy screamed, powering up an even bigger blast than last time.

“Eraserhead!”

Tree roots shot out in front of Shouta just in time. The blast hit Kamui Woods’ shield, splintering the roots and sending pieces flying through the air.

“Shit!” Shouta deactivated his quirk and jumped back, falling in line with the heros. “He’s resistant to my quirk!” 

“We need to get him away from the residential area,” Best Jeanist said. “Force him to the industrial complex.”

“You’re not forcing me anywhere,” the teen roared back in a thick accent. His white glow ebbed and flowed around him as if he were drunk. “I won’t let you get me!”

“What is he seeing?” Shouta asked the three heroes behind him.

“A kidnapping of some sort,” Hound Dog replied.

“He keeps referring to us as ‘Operatives’. We’re unsure what that means.”

Apparently their talking only angered the glowing teen further. He raised a fist and his eyes brightened, changing from green to blue. “You’re not taking me!”

“Go!” Best Jeanist shouted.

The heroes jumped out of the alley just as the teen released the glowing blue energy ball, coating the pavement in a shockwave of jagged ice.

“How many quirks does this kid have?” Kumai Woods exclaimed.

Aizawa landed on the roof and released his capture weapon. “Doesn’t matter. Get him to the warehouse. I have a plan, but I have to make a call first.”

“Got it!”

The heroes jumped off the roof, chasing the kid out the alley and through another building.

“Don’t lose him!” Hound Dog yelled, running around the corner after him.

Shouta stayed back, pulling out his phone and pressing one of his emergency contacts. He watched as another blue beam glowed from a few blocks over, followed by a burst of green.

What the hell is that kid? 

He couldn’t believe what he’d witnessed. The kid could talk, could communicate, and yet he had multiple quirks? In the ten seconds Shouta had seen him, he was witness to flight, phase-shifting, glowing, cryokinesis, a green energy beam, and immunity to Shouta’s quirk. 

And yet, the kid wasn’t a nomu. He had intelligence. He seemed like he could have been a regular teen. A glowing one, sure, but a regular teen nonetheless.

So how did he end up with multiple quirks? And how did he become the Illusionist’s latest target? The Illusionist had only ever targeted homeless adults before. How did this teen get caught up in the mix?

Unless he was homeless himself.

The ringing stopped, and a tentative voice picked up from the other line. “Sensei?” 

Shouta breathed a sigh of relief. “Shinso, I need you to come to the field. I’ll send you a location. We need your quirk.”

“My quirk?” Shinso asked, disbelief evident in his voice.

One day Shouta would crack through that massive layer of insecurity Shinso still clung onto about his quirk.

“Illusionist hit a kid with multiple quirks. We can’t get near him and he’s resistant to my quirk. We need you to subdue him. Put him to sleep.”

“Okay. I’ll be there soon.”

“Sending a location now.”

Shouta hung up and forwarded his location before darting over to the scene, using the sound of the kid’s frantic attacks as his GPS. 

His feet pounded on the concrete. His quirk and capture weapon may have been useless against the kid, but that was fine. All he had to do was stall for time before Shinso could subdue him.

There was a loud bang, followed by a crash. Shouta skidded around the block and, using his weapon, launched himself onto a nearby roof.

There was a large hole in the side of a building that thankfully appeared to be empty. Dust clouded the air, but through it Shouta could see the kid backing into the building like a cornered animal, his arms raised and glowing a threatening acid green.

Kumai woods stepped forward slowly, his arms raised above his head. “We don’t want to hurt you!

“Don’t—don’t come another step!” The teen growled, stumbling to the side. His voice had an odd, echoing quality to it. “I’ve escaped your stupid compound once, and I’ll do it again!”

Shouta jumped down from the roof, landing in front of the heroes. He crouched down, trying to appear as non threatening as possible. “What compound?” 

The kid let out a bitter laugh. “Don’t act stupid! You were gloating enough last time!”

“We’re not going to take you to a compound,” Kumai Woods tried.

But reasoning with someone under the Illusionist’s influence was futile. Heroes and police officers had attempted it before, and it never worked.

“I’m not an idiot! I know what you do to people like me!”

Shouta froze, alarm bells going off in his head. Something was just... wrong. On a fundamental level, something wrong had happened to this kid. And based on the way his eyes darted around the empty room, he looked about a second away from making an escape.

Okay, Shouta had to stall. If the kid thought that the heroes were kidnappers, then maybe he could draw this out.

He tilted his head questioningly. “Sorry, I’m new here.” He felt his coworkers’ eyes burning against the back of his skull. “I wasn’t here for the last time.”

The kid’s distorted eyes locked onto him. “I’m sure you’ve read the reports.”

“Haven’t had time, actually. This is my first day.”

“You’re still wearing the suit. You’re still with them.”

Shouta stared at him for a moment. The kid’s stark white hair floated as if defying gravity, and the glow around him had almost an ethereal presence. But what stood out the most to him was his clothing. He was dressed like something out of a laboratory. His suit was thin and rubbery, with rubber gloves and boots to match.

He was definitely the product of a science experiment. There was no doubt about it. Likely a trafficked kid taken from another country and transported here for human experimentation.

Aizawa felt sick.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“You know where.”

“I told you, this is my first day. I just moved here. I don’t know you yet.”

Apparently, that wasn’t good enough for the teen. “I’m not saying anything. You can ask Operative K over there.” He nodded towards Best Jeanist.

“What sorts of things did they do to you? Last time?” 

“I—I don’t—” the teen stuttered, the green glow flickering out from his fists. He clamped his hands over his ears. “Shut up!”

“I don’t want to do those things,” Shouta continued. “I don’t want to...use you like that.”

“It doesn’t matter. If you’re with them, you’re here to take me. And I can’t, I can’t do that again. I’ll never let you take me. I’m smarter than your whole organization and you know it.” His eyes brightened with a frantic energy, warping until one eye was green and the other blue. “I’ve escaped from your stupid white compound once, and I’ll do it again.”

Aizawa rose slowly. 

This wasn’t looking good.

Hurry up, Shinsho. 

The kid raised his arms, and a swirling mass of green and blue encased his fist, traveling up his forearms and swallowing his elbows. It pulsated and grew, casting a shadow over the teen’s face.

“Eraserhead!” Hound Dog warned.

“I’m not going quietly.”

Shouta readied himself to dodge when a flash of purple caught his eye.

“Hey kid!” Shinso called out.

Glowing green and blue snapped over to the source of the new voice. “What?” he hissed.

Shouta could almost see the satisfied smirk under Shinso’s mask. 

“Go to sleep.”

The effect was immediate. The mass of energy faded from the kid’s hands, leaving only his natural white glow. He lowered himself to the ground until his toes were touching the cement, then his knees, and finally his head. Then, just when his eyes fluttered close, a white ring appeared at his waist, traveling up his body replacing the glowing, ethereal teen with a small European looking boy. 

“Whoa,” Shinso breathed.

Despite the protests behind him, Shouta slowly made his way over to the teen. His white hair had changed to black, and his skin had lost its glow completely. His laboratory clothes had been replaced with ripped jeans and a dirty white and red shirt. 

He looked...plain. Boring and scrawny. If Shouta hadn’t witnessed the terrifying figure just moments ago, he could have passed the boy off as just a quirkless kid.

Whatever he was, he was asleep.

“Good job, Hitoshi,” he said, turning back around to face the heroes. Not to his surprise, his husband and other child were among the group. “Present Mic, Todoroki,” he greeted.

Hizashi—ever the optimist—gave Shouta a cheerful wave along with a chipper, “Hello!” while Shouto stood quietly behind the heroes.

“Who is he?” Shinso asked, eyeing the sleeping teen warily. 

Best Jeanist made his way over to the group. “Some kid with multiple quirks. Likely from experimentation. With his amount of quirks, we have no idea what he’s like mentally. We need to get him to the police.”

“We sent them your location already. They should be here soon,” Hizashi said.

“Good.” 

Shouta gave the kid one last glance. 

What happened to him?

---

It didn’t take long before the police, led by Detective Tsukauchi, arrived at the scene. They were able to get the kid into quirk inhibitors, load him into the back of a car, and bring him into the station before he woke up.

Yamada brought the boys back home before meeting him at the station. Shouta made a mental note to grab Shinsho his favorite take-out meal tomorrow for his immaculate quirk usage.

When they arrived at the station, they brought a couch into one of the interrogation rooms, put the kid on it, and waited.

Shouta almost felt bad for him. It would have been scary for anyone to wake up after a traumatic hallucination wearing quirk inhibitors in a cold, unfeeling room. But unfortunately, nobody had known the extent of his quirks. Victim or not, he was still unstable.

Aside from sitting upright, the kid hadn’t moved an inch, and he couldn’t seem to be able to pass the inhibitors through his body like he had with Shouta’s capture weapon.

Which was good. That meant that the quirk inhibitors were doing their job.

Shouta stared at him through the one-way mirror. He’d been half expecting the same frantic energy from the teen boy as before, but the teen just sat there quietly. His slumped body language screamed resigned, while his eyes were slowly shifting around the room as if to memorize every speck of dust in the air.

“You would never suspect that kid would have multiple quirks,” Yamada said next to him. “He just looks so...tiny.”

Aizawa took a large gulp of his much-needed coffee. “And yet, he does.”

The door behind them opened, and a woman stepped through. She stopped in front of Detective Tsukauchi. “He’s not registered. We scanned the database and found no record of anyone with multiple quirks that fit his description. In addition, we ran the sample of the green substance from his projection quirk and couldn’t find any matches to any known compounds on record. We’ve sent the samples out for further testing.”

“No matches?” Shouta asked. 

“Interesting.” Detective Tsukauchi said. He turned towards the interrogation room’s door. “I believe it’s time to talk to our victim. Suzuki, I want you to stay outside. I think having more than one adult in the room may scare him off. Use your quirk, though. I have a feeling our victim may be a bit wary.”

The woman nodded and stationed herself next to Shouta. She stared at the boy, blinked, and then her eyes began to glow.

“It’s showtime.”

The moment the doorknob moved, the black haired teen’s body language shifted to something more alert, more guarded. His blue eyes tracked Tsukauchi’s movements until the detective had sat down in his metal chair.

“Hello,” he said. “I’m Detective Tsukauchi. Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble today. Would you like some water?”

The teen didn’t respond.

“Do you remember what happened?”

Based on previous victims’ responses, they had always been able to remember the hallucinations, but they couldn’t recall their actions or where they were during those times.

“It’s okay if you don’t. Again, you’re not in trouble.”

But the kid wasn’t relaxing. If anything, he looked more guarded than before. “If I’m not in trouble, then why am I here?”

“You were hit by a quirk,” he explained. “Have you heard of the Illusionist?”

The teen shifted. “Maybe.”

“He’s a villain who makes people experience their worst fears.”

A spark of recognition hit the boy’s eyes, but it was quickly masked by the previous reserved expression. “So I got hit.”

“Yes. So far his targets have all been random attacks.” Tsukauchi opened his manila folder, pulling out photographs and handing them to the teen. “This was from earlier tonight. Do you remember any of this?”

He scanned the photographs, and Aizawa watched as the color drained from the teen’s face. He stared at the folder in silence for a moment before his shaky voice said, “If I’m not in trouble, I’d like to leave.”

“We just have a few questions we’d like to ask in order to help us catch him.”

“I want to leave.”

Detective Tsukauchi seemed unphased by the kid’s request. “Alright, can I get your name? We can call your parents to come pick you up.”

As expected, the teen didn’t like this. He shoved the photographs back into Tsukauchi’s hands, leaned back against the couch, and crossed his arms. “I’m eighteen. Can I go now?”

“He’s lying,” Detective Suzuki whispered next to them.

Recognition sparked in Shouta’s brain. He remembered her, she had a Lie Detection quirk. It was quite useful for police work.

“In that case, we were unable to obtain any record of any adult with your quirk combinations. Japanese law dictates that every citizen must be registered in our quirk database. So if you are unregistered, then we’d need to go through the registration process before we can release you.”

“I’m not a Japanese citizen.”

“You here on vacation?”

The kid glared to the wall. “Something like that.”

“American?”

“Yeah.”

“How long have you been visiting?”

The teen shrugged.

Tsukauchi jotted something down in his notebook. “Then I’d need to see your passport and visitor’s documentation for the official record, since you are now a victim in an ongoing investigation.”

The teen’s eyes narrowed, and he slumped down further into the cushion. “I don’t have any.”

“What happened to it?”

The teen shrugged.

Yamada leaned into Shouta’s ear. “He’s backed into a corner.”

“Yup,” Shouta took another swig at his coffee. “He can’t get out of this one.”

The teen huffed, frustration and a tint of fear strewn across his features. He ran a hand through his messy black hair. “Listen, can I just go? I don’t remember anything, okay? I was just sleeping and then all of the sudden I...I...he got me. But I swear I wasn’t doing anything, and I didn’t see his face.”

Detective Tsukauchi nodded compassionately. “I’m very sorry that this happened to you. It’s a very vivid and traumatic experience to go through. Unfortunately, we’re in a bit of a bind currently seeing as you are either an unregistered quirk user, or you have no proof that you’re in this country legally. Now if it’s true that you’re eighteen, we can’t let you leave without contacting the US embassy to get your identification.”

Any color left in the teen’s face vanished. “What if...what if they can’t identify me?”

“Can’t identify you? For what reason?”

The teen stood suddenly and walked over to the wall. His hands trembled, and he looked downright terrified.

Who was he scared of?

He picked at the ragged hem of his shirt. “I don’t—I’m not exactly…they—they just don’t know I exist.”

Shouta glanced at Suzuki, who seemed perplexed. 

“Is he telling the truth?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Suzuki said. “I don’t know how it’s possible, but he at least believes that he doesn’t have citizenship in Japan or the United States.”

“Even though he’s American.”

“Exactly.”

Aizawa’s brows furrowed, and he looked back at the teen, who was pressed up against the wall wringing his wrists with his fingers.

“Can you give me your name?” Detective Tsukauchi asked.

The teen bit his lip. “Uh it’s—it’s…” His voice was strangled. “It’s Danny Fenton.”

“He’s telling the truth.”

Detective Tsukauchi gave him a comforting smile. “Okay, Danny. And do you know where you were born?”

“Uh…The United States.”

“But, and correct me if I’m wrong, you have no birth certificate? And no documentation to show legal entry to Japan?”

“I—yeah.”

“And you’re here in Japan now. Where have you been staying exactly?”

Danny’s eyes darted around the room. “I don’t know...around?”

“Okay,” Detective Tsukauchi shut his manila folder and stood. “Again, you’re not in trouble. You were a victim of a very serious crime, and we’re here to help you. I’m going to make a quick call, and I’ll be right back. The door’s unlocked if you need anything.”

If anything, that only made Danny look more anxious than before. He nodded, his face sheet white, and he tugged at the inhibitors on his wrists.

“What’s gonna happen to him?” Yamada asked quietly. He was dressed in his civilian clothes, and his hair was thrown up into a messy low bun. Without his uniform, his compassion towards the child shined out like a beacon. 

It was one of the many qualities that Shouta loved about him. His strong sense to protect the innocent, his caring nature to kids and those who were vulnerable in society, and the kindness he radiating from his being were qualities that were rare even among heroes. 

“We’ll contact the US embassy, but if the boy’s telling the truth and he doesn’t have a social security number or birth certificate, then he’ll get picked up by Musutafu’s social services and he’ll be put into the system.”

Yamada stared sadly at the child through the mirror. “He’ll just run away again.”

“He will,” Shouta agreed.

“I wish we could help him.”

Shouta sighed. “We can’t save everyone.”

“But you see it, don’t you?” Yamada asked. “There’s something going on that the kid’s not telling us. How else could he have gotten multiple quirks? Do you think it has anything to do with the League?”

Shouta glanced back at Danny, who was currently crouched against the wall with his head in his hands. He looked so small, so fragile. Aizawa could only wonder what events had led him here.

Just who was Danny Fenton? 

“Shouta, we can’t let him out on his own. We just can’t.”

Shouta sighed, running his thumb along the side of his coffee cup. “I know,” he said.

And he meant it.

---

“So…” Shouta started. 

Danny just looked tired. 

It had been a long night. Detective Tsukauchi got a hold of the US embassy’s emergency line, but they didn’t have any records of a Danny Fenton that had left the United States, nor did they have a single missing children’s report of a Danny Fenton, nor could they supposedly dig up any information of a Danny Fenton based on the information that Danny himself supplied, specifically that he was born in Illinois in a city called Amity Park.

It was as if he didn’t exist.

Detective Suzuki’s quirk was powerful, and it didn’t seem like Danny was able to fool it. After he met her and she explained her quirk to him, he finally admitted he was only fifteen. So then who was this kid? If he was from Amity Park, why did the United States have no record of him?

The heroes knew he had parents, but apparently—and Suzuki confirmed this—they’d disowned him, giving him to some shady organization. Danny wouldn’t say to who ended up with custody of him, but from what they’d been able to piece together, it hadn’t been good.

And any further digging just resulted in Danny clamming up.

So Danny was a runaway, one that apparently didn’t exist in either country he had lived in. And there was something out there that had terrified him into escaping to Musutafu and hiding here.

But he wouldn’t say what.

Regardless, the Musutafu police department now had a case of a minor in Japan who didn’t have any parents, guardians, or any known relatives in the country, nor did he have any record of housing at any point.

It was as if this kid were a ghost or something.

“What’s gonna happen to me?” Danny asked, hugging himself in his chair.

He seemed smaller up close. Too small.

“Well, social services will take you and place you in foster care,” Shouta responded.

“Oh…” Danny looked down. “You know...you’ve seen my powers. I’ll just disappear the moment we leave this building.”

Shouta raised his brows.

Of course, they all knew it. But the kid certainly had guts for admitting it out loud.

“Who are you running from?” Shouta asked.

Danny blinked at his bluntness. “No one.”

Shouta leaned in. “Is it the League of Villains? Are you connected with them?”

Danny’s arms shot out from his sides, waving frantically in front of his face. “No! No, I swear! I’m not a villain!”

“I didn’t say that.” 

“I…” Danny looked lost. 

“You have multiple quirks. That’s something the league’s been experimenting with. And they’re not shy about using real people to do so.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say. I’ve never met them.”

“But you weren’t born with multiple quirks,” Shouta said. “Something happened that made you this way.”

He could see as all the pieces slowly crumbled inside Danny. The kid went from looking confused, to downright terrified. 

Bingo.

Aizawa’s instincts never failed him.

“Please, just let me go,” Danny begged. “I promise I won’t do anything. Please don’t hurt me.”

Shouta’s eyes widened. “Kid, slow down. I’m not here to hurt you. Okay? I’m on your side.”

That didn’t seem to help Danny at all.

Shouta set his arms on the table where Danny could see them. “You know, one of my foster kids has multiple quirks.” It was a half lie, but he didn’t think that Shouto would mind.

Sure enough, that seemed to pique Danny’s interests. “Really?”

“Yeah. Great kid, about your age. His father was experimenting with creating children who could house multiple quirks to offset his own quirk’s disadvantages, and my foster son came out of it. Just like you, he spent a lot of his life hiding too. He was alone, and scared. He didn’t know what to do or who he could trust, so he just hid.”

“What changed?” Danny asked.

“He asked for help,” Shouta said. “And we were able to bring him into a stable home.”

Danny’s eyes clouded over, and his face transformed into one of longing. As if he were visiting a memory that had long since abandoned him.

“We can get you that help too if you ask for it.”

“I...I can’t…”

Shouta sighed. “How long are you going to keep hiding? Running? Are you really okay with spending the rest of your life out on the streets?”

Danny ducked his head down. “It’s not so bad,” he muttered.

“But kid, you deserve so much more than that.”

The teen’s shoulders shuddered. He sniffed, and his hand shot up to wipe his eye.

Shouta refused to look away from him. “I don’t know how you got here, I have no idea what you’ve been through, but I know that you didn’t deserve it, and that regardless of what you think, you deserve a safe place to go home to.”

“I...I…” he croaked, curling into himself. Tears splashed onto his cheeks. 

“You’re strong, you’ve done so much alone. Now we can help you.”

“I can’t…”

“You can, Danny.”

At that, Danny broke. He squeezed his eyes shut, twisting his hoodie in his hands. Shouta watched as he tried to muffle his sobs, but he couldn’t. His body shook as his emotions poured into the open.

Shouta didn’t know how long this kid had been holding it all in. Just how many days, weeks, months had he been shoving everything down, too focused on surviving each day to be able to stop and feel?

Pain stabbed Shouta’s heart. He remembered that torment all too well, one of homelessness, of abuse, of not knowing where his next meal was coming from and fighting for the bare necessities. Although he wasn’t so much of a soft, touchy-feely guy himself, right now he wanted nothing more than to reach over and hug the crying teen.

When it seemed like Danny was finally able to pull himself together, Shouta leaned in and asked, “Will you let me help you, Danny?”

Danny scrubbed at his eyes and nodded.

“If you want,” he said, making sure to articulate each word clearly. “I can assist you in getting placed in a good home. There’s another option too.”

“Yeah?”

“The other option is you can stay with me.”

Danny stilled, his eyes shooting open and his lips dropping to form a small ‘o’.

“My husband and I have a city approved foster home, and we also happen to have an open bed at the moment. Given your unique situation, I have the option of housing you if you’ll let me.”

Danny didn’t respond. He just continued to stare at Shouta in shock.

“Of course,” Shouta said quickly. “If you are uncomfortable with that, and it’s okay if you are, there are other good foster homes out there that I personally know and can get you placed in. It’s whatever you prefer.”

The teen closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he finally looked back at Shouta, he had that same longing expression as before. “If it’s alright...could I stay with you? At least for a little while?”

The corners of his lips tugged up. He remembered all too well when Yamada turned to him just before Shouta was about to age out of the foster system and asked him if he wanted to move in together. He remembered the shock, the surprise that anyone could possibly care that much about him, that anyone would want to live with him.

And now, he had a family. One that was about to become a little bigger.

“Of course. I’d love to have you.”

---

Thanks for reading!

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[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 11

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary:  “When we get out of here, Din will fly us far, far away,” you murmur, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the baby's resumed chewing. “I promise you we’ll be happy together.”

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,511

Warnings: captured reader, angst, bonding with Grogu, plot plot plot

Author Note: To anyone and everyone sticking with this series, I love you so much! I know the plot is more than a little thick right now, but answers are slowly but surely being revealed. 

Links to Part 1 and Part 10 and Part 12

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

You pace the length of the cell, brow furrowed as you try to organize your racing thoughts. Between the chilly atmosphere and the severed bond wailing for its other half, you imagine you outwardly resemble the jittery and unbalanced mess you feel internally. You refuse to feel humiliated by your appearance, not when the witnesses are Gideon and his minions. They can think what they want about you, believe they have broken your spirit, because that just means they won’t expect it when you free yourself until it’s too late.

However, part two of your plan of escape is proving to be more challenging to conceptualize than you initially thought. The collar is tightly wound around your neck to the point of chafing. Apparently the rule of being able to slip two fingers under a collar is only applicable to animals in Gideon’s eyes because your attempt of slipping your finger between skin and metal is dissuaded by another electric shock zipping through your body.

However, as you lightly trail your fingertips over the cold metal, you’re surprised to feel a noticeable dip in the back. It’s not a design flaw, you think as you try to visualize it in your mind. Your heartbeat quickens as realization strikes: it’s a keyhole.

Any excitement you might feel at your discovery is spoiled by the fact a keyhole is useless without a key. You look at the laser gate, further disappointed as you contemplate the complexity of the tunnel system. There could be dozens of cells down here, potentially thousands of hiding places for Gideon to keep the key to the collar secure. Not to mention, you don’t even know what the key looks like. It could be hanging right outside the cell and you’d have no idea.

Lost in the sea of disparaging thoughts, you don’t notice the return of the baby crawling through the hole in the wall until he latches onto your foot. Startled, you barely manage to refrain from shouting a curse as you stare down at him. He giggles, clearly amused by your wide-eyed expression, and then slaps a silver plastic bag against your shin using the hand that isn’t gripping his favorite black cloth.

“Did you bring me a present?” you ask, taking a seat on the pallet and lifting him up onto your lap. This time when you reach forward, he willingly lets you take the item from him instead of trying to take a chunk out of your hand.

You tear open the plastic, revealing its contents to be five teal-colored cookies.

“Wow, bud,” you murmur, holding one up between pinched fingers. The treat smells distinctively like vanilla. From what you’ve witnessed, you doubt Gideon is the type to offer his prisoners dessert with their meals which means these were probably stolen from somewhere. “Where did you find these?”

The baby only babbles unintelligibly in response, gesturing with his free hand in the direction of somewhere beyond the laser gate. You nod along, feigning understanding, but your eyes can’t help but drift to his collar when he turns his head. The keyhole for his collar is smaller than you expect to see which has you quickly theorizing there is not one universal key for all of the collars. If that theory is true, then it raises the difficulty of escaping yet another level.

With a sigh you cram the cookie into your mouth, finding the tiniest smidge of joy in its crunchiness.

“When we get out of here I’ll buy you a dozen boxes of these,” you tell him once you’ve swallowed, offering him one of the cookies. He coos excitedly and takes a large bite, uncaring of the blue crumbs that rain down upon his coat. “And once Din sees you, I bet he’ll want to spoil you rotten, too. He has a not-so-secret soft spot for kids.”

The baby’s head tilts, reacting to the name-drop by making a confused gurgling sound around his mouthful.

“Don’t talk with food in your mouth,” you scold gently, tapping his nose with your finger and laughing under your breath when it proceeds to scrunch up in an adorable manner. Leaning your head back against the wall, you’re unable to keep the note of wistful longing out of your voice as you explain, “Din is my soulmate. To the rest of the world, he’s known as Death. They’ll have you believe he’s someone to be feared and avoided at all cost. But luckily I’m here to tell you the truth.”

He stares up at you, snack seemingly forgotten in favor of listening intently to every word coming out of your mouth. Distantly you think you should be a little scared by how intense his gaze is, as if he’s attempting to look past your skin to the soul beneath, but you remind yourself all babies are innately curious and don’t know it’s rude to stare.

“He’ll never admit to it himself, but underneath all that beskar armor, he is the most socially inept being in the galaxy. I swear, bud, the first time I met him I thought it was impossible for him to say more than two words or else he’d hurt himself.” Your lips twitch at the memory, the smallest of smiles you can make without it feeling forced. “Still, despite his horrible first impression, I couldn’t get him off my mind. I wouldn’t call it love at first sight, but—look, I know how crazy this sounds, okay? But I felt like I had to get to know him better. There was this voice in my head insisting we couldn’t just remain strangers. It took about ten thousand questions and three more meetings for me to earn his trust enough for him to take off his helmet and let me see his face.”

You take a deep breath and stroke your finger over the baby’s ears, needing to feel something other than the flaring pulse of pain from the bond. “One look at those beautiful brown eyes and I was done for.”

Saying Din’s eyes are brown feels sinful. It’s like saying the ocean is blue—accurate, but not detailed enough to describe its depth and volatility. There are days when his eyes are the shade of brown reminding you of leather bound journals—ancient and full of profound wisdom, meant to be admired and cherished for an entire lifetime. Other times, they are the kind of brown that matches your favorite chocolate pastry from the bakery down the street from your apartment—decadent and warm with the slightest hint of temptation.

“When we get out of here, Din will fly us far, far away,” you murmur, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the baby's resumed chewing. “I promise you we’ll all be happy together.”

And I’ll never get tired of seeing those brown eyes everyday.

~~

The hours start to bleed into one another. The baby snoozes in your lap, head pillowed on your thigh, but you have no idea if it’s night or day. Gideon had said he’d let you talk to Din ‘tomorrow’, but that doesn’t tell you how many days you’ve been here in total.

Your legs have started to feel numb from sitting in the same position so long, but the last thing you want is to wake him up by moving. The importance of him feeling safe enough to be vulnerable and sleep is not lost on you. His desire for attention and physical contact is so painfully obvious you hate thinking about how often he must have been ignored before your arrival.

As he sleeps, you’re unable to resist your curiosity any longer and carefully maneuver the piece of cloth out of his grip. Despite its aged and dirty appearance, it is still surprisingly soft to touch. Whatever article of clothing this was torn from must have been well-tailored, you think, imagining a hooded cloak or perhaps a long coat. Your nose twitches when you hold the cloth close to your face to better study it, reacting to the variety of odors embedded in the wool fibers. Maker knows how long the kid’s been dragging the fabric around with him without it being washed regularly, so you shouldn’t be surprised it has absorbed a couple dozen scents.

Still, the faint essence of smoke you detect swirls around in your brain even long after you’ve laid the cloth back over him like a makeshift blanket. Memories of your death start to resurface again despite your best mental efforts to push them away, causing your stomach to clench with nausea as you recall the horrific stench of charred remains.

It isn’t the same, you tell yourself, squeezing your eyes shut and forcing your head to clear itself. It can’t be because that day was fifty years ago and he’s only just a baby.

You repeat these thoughts like a mantra until, without meaning to, you fall into a dreamless sleep.

~~

You’re startled awake by hands seizing hold of your arms and pulling you up onto your feet without warning. You yelp at the sudden rush back to consciousness, brain scrambling to make sense of everything. Your eyes sweep the ground, panic washing over you like a bucket of cold water when you fail to see a tiny green body.

“It’s time, pet,” the twi’lek’s voice hits your ears and you turn to see her standing near the cell’s entrance, a lantern in one hand and a shiny blade in the other. “The Moff is expecting you.”

It takes you a minute to process in your frazzled state, but you realize it must be time to talk to Din. You’re shoved forward by whoever has your arms twisted behind your back, but you manage another quick survey of the cell. There is no sign the baby was ever here and you send a quick prayer to the Maker he had snuck back through the hole without anyone seeing him.

You have mixed feelings about not being blindfolded as you’re led through the underground labyrinth. On one hand, you get to observe everything and everyone you come across, making as many mental notes to flip through later when you’re alone. On the other, you think this must be an intimidation tactic. Gideon wants you to see everything so you know with absolute certainty how high the odds are stacked against you.

There are cells identical in appearance to yours on either side of you, carved into the tunnel rock and blocked from entry by laser gates. Except not one of them contains a prisoner. Either you have severely overestimated the size of Gideon’s collection, or he is purposefully keeping you separate from the rest for reasons known only to him.

Another surprising and unsettling observation you make is how many different types of species Gideon has employed as minions—human, rodian, trandoshan, you even spot a devaronian in the mix. Except for the Cupid twi’lek in front of you, everyone you come across is mortal. It does not make much sense to you why a seraph as powerful as Gideon is relying on mortal henchmen to help maintain control of his secret prison. Your gut instinct is insisting you’re missing a vital piece of information and you don’t like being in the dark about it.

The tunnel you’re being marched down eventually opens up into a larger cavernous space with several dozen lanterns hanging along the walls providing ample lighting. There are several crates spread about the area, and some have been pried open to reveal they are packed full of blasters and ammunition. You rack your brain trying to determine the purpose of the weapons. Yes, clearly, they are meant to cause havoc and destruction, but why are they here? Who or what is the target they will be aimed at?

Gideon stands in the middle of the room next to an empty chair. On his other side is a mortal human male, bald-headed with ginger facial scruff, who has two blaster pistols holstered around his chest and yet another one held by a droid arm attached to his backpack. Overkill much?

You’re shoved in the direction of the chair and gruffly told to sit. Huffing, you wordlessly obey and try not to squirm as all eyes lock onto you as if you’re going to perform a trick for their entertainment.

“You have a minute to record your message,” Gideon says, holding out a piece of paper towards you. “These words I have prepared must be included in those precious sixty seconds or you might find me reluctant to allow you to send a second recording.”

Is he serious? This isn’t the arrangement you previously discussed with him.

“Record?” you repeat, reluctantly taking the paper.

“I never said you would have the opportunity of speaking to Death face-to-face.” You want more than anything to tear the condescending smirk off his face with your fingernails. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, isn’t that the mortal saying? You would know better than me, living amongst them in that quaint little apartment on Umbriel.”

Of course he knows about your home. Of kriffing course he does.

Heartbeat quickening, you avoid eye contact by scanning the few lines of words he’s written, eyebrows slowly inching up your forehead the more you read. “I don’t understand. This isn’t a demand to kill anyone. What does it mean?”

“Now is not the time for you to know,” he answers cryptically.

You shake your head, insisting, “Well maybe it should be. He knows me better than anyone. He’ll be able to tell I’m confused and—“

Gideon’s heavy sigh interrupts you. Then, quicker than you anticipate, he steps to the side of you and unsheathes his sword, its black blade positioned at your throat. It happens in one fluid movement, and the danger of your current predicament doesn’t sink in until the frightening humming notes of the weapon register in your eardrums seconds later. Your expressionless mask wavers, facial muscles tightening as you fail to refrain from flinching.

“All that is required from you, Cupid 1-1-7, is for you to speak from the heart and convince him to follow this one instruction. Do you think you can accomplish that?” he asks the question as if you have an actual choice. Like you can walk away now and there will be no hurt feelings.

But that is ridiculous. Everyone knows Cupids don’t get to have choices. Not when they are only given orders to obey.

You give him the tiniest of nods, careful not to let your skin make contact with the blade. “Yes, sir.”

“Then let’s begin.”

~~

The nav computer on the Razor Crest contains the coordinates of every moon and planet within each region of the galaxy. There is not one inch of space unknown to Din and yet his search for his angel continues to remain unsuccessful. He doesn’t consider the possibility of her being deceased for even half a second. As her soulmate he would have felt her passing the moment it happened. The bond he shares with his angel might be young and fragile still, but he doesn’t doubt her loss would eviscerate him in the same merciless manner he had done to Hess.

His inability to find her can only mean a powerful immortal is involved in her capture. As Death he roams the universe as a neutral entity. The only enemies he encountered—and he uses that term loosely—were foolish mortals thinking they could outlive their destined time by fighting him, only to ultimately meet their fated ends in the process. Prior to Hess’ demise, he had upheld his sworn creed to the universe and never once was tempted to defy the natural order or break a sacred rule.

Although admittedly strange to consider, the thought that maybe his angel’s capture isn’t meant to deliberately hurt him or her is one that keeps crossing his mind. Perhaps they are merely pieces in a game neither of them recognize nor want to willingly participate in.

As Din sits in the pilot’s seat, staring at the screen dispassionately through the visor of his helmet still coated with Hess’ blood, he is well-aware of Bo-Katan standing behind him, attempting to freeze him solid with her iciest glare.

She is the bravest of his reapers, unafraid to piss him off and counteract his opinions with her own. Yet ever since they left Hess’ body hanging in the warehouse and returned to the Crest, she’s not said one word to him, seemingly content to suffer in silence as a background presence while he contemplates whether he should be the one to track down the twi’lek Hess referenced or if he should have his reapers engage in the hunt.

“We’re going to talk about what happened,” Bo-Katan says coolly.

He grinds his teeth. “We will talk if and when I want to.”

“No.” She forcefully pulls at his chair, turning it around to face her. A snarl escapes him, animalistic and furious, but her green eyes don’t even blink, not the least bit intimidated. “You reaped a soul before it’s destined time. The universe isn’t going to easily forgive you for that. There will be consequences.”

“The only thing that matters is getting her back,” he answers. It’s the truth too. The second his angel was taken he knew there was not one rule he wouldn’t break to have her back in his arms—consequences be damned.

“Do you even hear yourself right now?” Bo-Katan asks, looking him over as if she no longer recognizes him. Her eyes linger just a second too long on his bloodstained gloves. “You’re losing your mind over a soulmate you’ve barely known a year.”

“Have you ever had someone you loved taken from you?” Din counters.

She scowls, eyes narrowing with loathing. “How dare you compare—”

“Answer the question!” he shouts, slamming his fist down on the armrest hard enough the metal creaks ominously.

“Yes.” Her chin dips briefly towards her chest as she takes a second to compose herself. “You know I have.”

Din does know. Hours prior to every major catastrophic event in the galaxy’s history he’s felt an invisible leash wrap around him, pulling him in the direction of the tragedy and demanding he be there to personally reap the souls of the victims in the aftermath. He had witnessed the destruction of Bo-Katan’s homeworld when it was ravaged by a series of bombings orchestrated by an unknown enemy. Thousands had been killed, including Bo-Katan’s sister.

He doesn’t let the silence stretch too long, voice unwavering as he says, “And if you had the chance, would you not kill the one responsible for your pain?”

“It wouldn’t bring her back. Not any of them.”

Din sighs, glancing away, but Bo-Katan surprises him not even ten seconds later, apparently unfinished.

“I’d still do it though,” she says, not sounding the least bit guilty for admitting to hypothetical murder. “I’d carve the heart out of whoever set off those bombs and force-feed it to them.”

“We’re more alike than you may think,” Din says. “Think about that before you question my actions again.”

Any potential response from his reaper is interrupted by the beeping of an incoming transmission. He turns his chair at once, noticing the recorded message’s origin source is a random scrambling of letters and numbers. Every instinct is telling him he won’t like what he sees, but his hand reaches forward anyways, as if possessed by an unseen force, and presses the button to view the recording.

His angel appears as a holographic figure and immediately his eyes zero in on the collar around her neck. Anger threatens to course through his veins again, but Din forces his lungs to draw in a deep breath. Now is not the time to unleash his temper. Now is the time to listen and commit every word she says to memory, to study her every feature for any sign she’s been hurt.

“Death,” she begins, and his entire body tenses at the use of his title and not his name. It’s been so long since she’s addressed him as such, he knows it can’t be accidental. “I hope this message reaches you wherever you are. More than anything I wish I could be with you right now. I’m so sorry I broke my pinky promise to you, sweetheart. The way our bond is...I hate to think you’re feeling as much pain as I do.”

Din’s heart shatters when she starts to anxiously rub at her soulmate marking, sniffling quietly. His fingers itch with the overwhelming longing to hold her hand.

“I’m not safe here. What they’ve threatened to do to me...it scares me. I-I need to ask you a favor, a very important one.” A few teardrops escape the corners of her eyes and drip down her cheeks. Din bites the inside of his mouth so harshly he tastes blood. “If you want to protect me, then you must let go.”

The transmission goes dead.

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[rpmemesbyarat]

RP meme from Reddit 4/20/22

“ I grew this crystal from scrap copper and vinegar. It's called copper acetate, and it took 7 months to grow.” “Still makes more sense than religion.” “Wow, it even grew a hair!” “Why the gloves?“ “I don’t think you’re lying. But I still don’t believe you.” “So you specifically took the peanut butter, that got confiscated on the plane, just to use as a dip for the airplane cookies they serve?” “Don't expect perfection from yourself. Just always do better.“ “One manslaughter is another man's laughter.” “How many hours of sleep have you lost to this one?“ “I’m going to be thinking about your missed opportunity while trying to sleep tonight.” “When you get older, a tactical wank is waiting a really long time between wanks so you can save that dick energy for your partner.“ "The way I raised my eyebrows slightly after asking them their favourite type of cheese might have been a little too much. What a useless, stupid motherfucker I actually am. I deserve to die alone." “A girl whistled at me when I had my shirt off during summer when I was 17. I'm still riding that high and I turn 30 this year.“ “Why you feeding the wildlife?“ “That’s a big ass chicken.” “Looks like a big, angry warrior chicken.” “That’s a really well-drawn cat for a kindergartner.” “Who wants a co-worker’s leftover meat anyway?” “This is the future! The apex of sandwich making! Your grand kids will be eating this futuristic Mother of a sandwich!!!” “What is the best strategy for eating this?” “Yeah the bread needs to be convex not concave, give me a Christmas ham covered a layer of bread 1 slice deep, just a fucking sphere.” “I make a sandwich I like to call the triple bacon deluxe where I push a bacon bit into the middle of an unsliced loaf of whole wheat.” “ Must the sapling bear fruit the moment it rises from the earth?” “ I want to fight that fucking asshole that did this.” “ I’m writing this down for my therapist.” “ For a long time now I've had the sense that I just don't belong on this world any more.” “This douchebag knocked up all of my cats.” “ Yeah, if I was a cat I would follow him around.” “ Someone traveled back in time to create this I swear!” "Dude, that's not a dog. I don't even know what the fuck that is." “ The first things our ancestors did was breed the human faces out of dogs to make them more palatable.” “ Yeah, I couldn't eat something with a human face on it either.” “ No such thing as an ugly animal!” “ So that's what Japanese people's private parts are made of!” “ Whatever that is, you’re not supposed to see it!” “ I'll give you two carrots for that.” “A handful of seeds, take it or leave it.” “Is this the future?” “ Potato politics are universal.” “You can't tell where green ends and blue begins - therefore colours don't exist.” “ What a color blind IDIOT” “ Yeah why don't you just see colors, STUPID” “ If I ever need to quit somewhere  I hate, I'm going to microwave butter lovers popcorn and salmon for 50 minutes before i walk out the door.” “ I never liked eating paper towels, but you're saying that if I microwave them, they'll get salty and tasty?” “ Take sex at face value: sticking a slim organ used for urination into a flesh pocket permanently covered in some (varying) amount of bodily fluids between the only 2 waste disposal “openings”.” “ Feel sorry for any innocent bystanders!” “ Not the fluids you expect to get hit by when you see someone laying on train tracks.” “Could someone tell me what breed this kitten is?” "Just shoot it and burn the corpse." “The worry is child kidnapping.” “ A signal is received from space. Scientists spend the whole thing panicking about it and the military goes on alert and there's panic and chaos and then someone deciphers it and it's a recipe for potato salad. Then the potato salad becomes self-aware and a renegade soldier thrown out of his top grade position of chief tough guy is forced to fight the mayonnaise covered menace.”

[honeypirate]

You’re Lucky

Soulmate AU where they share a birthmark that is in the same shape and place. 

Bokuto Koutarou x Fem!Reader

I’ve read through this a few times but I’m sure there are things I have missed while editing.

4k+ words

You stared at the mark in the reflection in the bathroom mirror. Steam filled the room from your particularly hot shower, your skin red and the mirror foggy except from the stripe down the middle you made with your hand which just had stripes of water beads on it. You sigh as you watch your reflection touch the owl shaped mark and trace it’s outlines. “A soulmate mark on my ribs, useless” you whisper as you leave your bathroom, steam shooting out the door when you open it. 

“Hey y/n!” Yukie says as you come into morning practice, you wave at her as you pick up your shoes from the door “sorry i'm late!” you say and make your way over to her around the boys practicing, sending a glance in Bokuto’s direction and blushing when you find him already looking at you. You wave with your fingers and he grins before waving back “Up front!” Akaashi else yells, successfully getting Bo’s attention. 

You were their third manager who was also a third year, you helped where you could but honestly you just loved volleyball. Your passion for the game was why the coach allowed another manager the same year as the other two when you joined your second year. The energy was intoxicating and you loved to watch the growth of the players. Plus it didn’t hurt that they were all so cute, especially Bokuto who has become your close friend. Your energies just matched perfectly and you always knew what to say to get him out of his depressive funks. 

You were talking to the other managers about the training camp coming up the following week while the boys were cleaning up, the whole time Bo was watching, fire in his eyes and excitement when he heard your words about being able to come to the camp too. “HEy! You're going to come to the summer training camp right?!” he shouts when you exit the gym and you giggle “of course Bo! It’s so intoxicating to see your energy playing! AH I mean all your guys energy.. Everyone's energy. It’s really fun is all I mean!”   this boy is so damn clueless it hurts but at the same time you were grateful he just kept on talking even after your rambling and flusters.

After practice and meetings you walk to the bus stop with Bokuto, Akaashi, Konoha, Yukie, and Kaori. After a very animated conversation about which soulmate mark was superior, you all agreed that a name on the wrist is so much better than thoughts in your head and tied with thoughts being written on your arm because that could be entertaining. The one you had, an hidden mark, was 8 on the list, and no one asked to know what yours was so you never told them. From this conversation you realized that no one cares about Bo’s either. The rest of them have very obvious ones, a birthmark on the face, words on arms, ones that told you that you weren’t theirs so you never brought any attention to it. 

You’re on the bus sitting next to Yukie, with Bokuto and Akaashi behind you. You get a call from your mom and answer just in case it was an emergency  “hey darling!” he voice was so loud that Bokuto behind you could hear the conversation “my friend from work said her son has a rib birth mark!” Bo’s ears perked up at that. “She did? Did she say what shape it was in?” he hears you mom squeal “she said it was in the shape of a lion! That’s yours, right honey?” you pinch the bridge of your nose and Bokuto can feel the sadness creeping in until you say “No mom. Mine is shaped like an owl” Bokuto’s face turns red as he stares at the back of your head as you get up to get off the bus at your stop, waving at the guys and mouthing “see you tomorrow” behind you as you continue your phone call. 

An owl. Your soulmate had a matching rib mark that looks like an owl. He knows exactly who your soulmate is because that mark is very familiar to him,  he’s been looking at the same mark every time he’s shirtless. 

After that he talked to Akaashi about it and they came up with an idea to breach the subject without it being weird like he was creepily listening to your phone call. Since you were all going to the training camp in a few days he’ll just take off his shirt while you’re around, during a game he’ll pretend he’s too hot, then you’ll know too and he won’t be creepy. Perfect. Perfect except now he doesn’t know how to be around you, he already wants to run to you, hold you and never let you go. Now he has to keep this secret. He had Akaashi promise to keep him on track with the plan. 

The next day was Friday and then the summer training camp on Monday. You showed up to practice in the morning and the moment you walk through the door Bokuto is right by you “good morning y/n!” He practically sings and you laugh “good morning Bo!” You say and pat his shoulder, he has way more energy than you have ever seen this early. He was smiling at you with a glint in his eye like he knew something you didn’t, which he did and he was dying to yell it from the rooftops but Akaashi comes up to him and drags him away whispering something you couldn’t hear. 

All practice his eyes were on you, a smile on his lips, every time you would make eye contact he would beam at you so brightly your heart would skip as you smiled back and waved. The other managers asked if something was up but you just shrugged “there’s always something up with Bo. I just go with the flow” 

At the end of practice the coach announced that because there is the training camp you could have the weekend off, you were so excited to be able to sleep in for once. “Hey do you wanna hang out tomorrow since we have the day free?” Bo whispers from behind you and Akaashi smacks his arm “hush it’ll be fine” Bo says to him and he rolls his eyes. You laugh “of course Bo! Wanna get lunch?” He nods enthusiastically and you chuckle “come over to my house at noon and we can go to that place you keep talking about” he beams “the new noodles place?! YES!” He shouts and the Coach glares at him, making you and him chuckle as you turn your attention back to the meeting. 

The next morning you wake up naturally without an alarm which is something you haven’t done since you started school. You stretch out your arms and smile as you reach for your phone, opening it you see a few texts from Bo, opening them you start to chuckle. “Good morning beautiful!” Your heart flutters as you read the word beautiful, then you notice the time stamp of 7 am. He was up for two hours already. The following text said NOODLES!!!! In all caps and with four exclamations, you could feel his excitement through the letters. The last text that was received just thirty minutes ago said “wake up please I miss you!” Your heart skips again, he was always saying exactly what he meant and you loved it, but you knew it couldn’t be like this forever, he most likely had his own soulmate out there and when he finds them he won’t be like this anymore. You text him “good morning Bo! If you want to come over early feel free! I’m going to make some breakfast!” His text back is immediate “oh thank god! I’m already here” you laugh as you hear the doorbell and throw off your covers, excitedly running down to answer it. 

“Bo bo bo b-bo-ku-to “ you sang as you made your way to the front door, you open it and grin up at the grey haired boy, before you could say anything he’s pulled you into a hug, his arms under yours and wrapped around your waist, his head buried into your neck. Your heart rate skips and your stomach flops like crazy, this was so much more intimate than any hug you’ve ever shared with him “H-hello Bokuto!” you say and he chuckles, his breath hitting your neck and giving you goosebumps “hello Y/N!” he basically whispers into your ear. You feel your face warm and you quickly pull yourself from his grasp, hiding your face as you turn to quickly walk into the kitchen “What do you feel like eating? I think we have ingredients for almost anything ha ha “ you say awkwardly as you retreat away from him, trying to calm your heart rate and breathing

After breakfast you head up to your room to get ready, it wasn’t new to have him hang out while you do your makeup, you would get dressed in the bathroom and then sit in front of the mirror on the floor while he connected to your speakers and played music or read a book you had on your bedside table. What made it different this time was the way he was watching you from his spot laying on your bed, a small smile on his lips as he played music and watched as you expertly lined your eyes, admiring how effortless you made it look. You feel his eyes on you and you quickly swipe blush across your cheeks and nose so it wasn’t obvious that you were blushing before making eye contact with him in your mirror, he winks with a grin and you chuckle and stick your tongue out at him. 

“Noodles noodles noodles tasty tasty noodles” you were singing under your breath as you walked down the street to the restaurant, Bokuto was watching you from the corner of his eye, a smile on his lips from how adorable you are. He always thought you were special, always jealous of who your soulmate would turn out to be, had a crush on you since the very first day he met you when he yelled his signature heys and you returned them to him with the same energy. He adored you and he never would have admitted how hard he fell for you if he didnt know  he was your soulmate. 

“This was an amazing idea Bokuto!” you said as you take your first bite, he chuckles and nods enthusiastically, swallowing before saying “we are definitely becoming regulars here” you nod “oh yeah!” when you finished eating you just pushed your bowls aside and talked, talked about loads of things you never have before. Your families, your future plans, your favorite sleeping position. Just anything that came up, never running out of subjects. “Ice cream?” he asks and you nod “you are brilliant Bo this is why we are friends!” he laughs, his cheeks flushing as he stands quickly and takes your hand, pulling you up and not letting your hand go even as he starts walking. 

After a few blocks, your conversion still flowing even as you focus on on the fact that his strong large hand was still holding yours in his, fingers laced together. “Hey Bokuto” you say as you get to the ice cream truck “yeah whats up? Do you want to share? I wouldn't mind it but feel free to get whatever you want, my treat” you chuckle “thanks bo, I will keep that in mind but uh.. I was wondering if you meant to be holding my hand still” his face flushes and he looks down at your hands together, to be honest he didn't do it on purpose, it just felt right and he didn't want to let go of your hand. 

“I can let go if you want” he says, trying to fight the feeling of sadness he can feel coming on, he couldn't get sad at this because you wouldnt understand that he was sad that his soulmate didn't want to hold his hand. He wanted to stick to the plan he made with Akaashi. You chuckle softly and squeeze his hand “i'd rather you didn’t, actually” you say, stomach flipping as he beams at you after you say that, you squeeze his hand and he feels his heart rate skip. 

You eat your ice cream as you walk around the city, your hands stay laced together, if you let go for any reason, you reach out for each other the moment you can hold hands again. Both drawn together. When the sun goes down you shiver, instinctually moving closer to him as you walked through the park “are you cold? Do you want my hoodie?” you shake your head “it’s okay, i'll be fine until we make it back to my house” he drops your hand and grabs his hood, pulling it from his body swiftly and then handing it to you, the look in his eyes saying”no, i will absolutely not be taking no as an answer” you chuckle and put it on, saying thanks from beneath the fabric as you slide your arms and head through the holes. You push the hood from your face and bury your face in the comfort of the neck, “you always smell so good Bokuto” his face blushes and he scratches his neck, reaching out for your hand and lacing your fingers together. “K-koutarou, you can call me Kou” he says and you smile, giving his hand a squeeze. “Then you can call me y/f/n as well. Do you wanna watch a movie in my room?” he nods “yes please! Wanna watch Ant Man? It’s so funny!” you laugh “of course! Then we might as well watch both, and if we’re going to do that then we should watch every marvel movie that has Ant Man in it!” he starts to jump on his toes “hey hey hey! We must be cut from the same cloth! You are a woman after my own heart!” you chuckle, trying to hide how flustered you feel, at some point this relationship will end when you both meet your soulmates, didn’t mean you couldn't have this one day though “makes sense that we get along then!”  you say and he nods “yes, it really does” he says wistfully, like he was thinking of something he was longing for.

You watch Ant Man, then make some popcorn and watch Ant Man and the Wasp, then you watch Civil War, but before Ant Man even makes an appearance in that one you are falling asleep on his shoulder, hand still in his and your breath hitting his neck as you listen to the actors talk, your ears coming in and out of the sound as you fall deeper, your body pulsing with drowsiness and the last thing you remember is his soft chuckle and kiss to the side of your head. 

Your alarm wakes you up at 6 and you groan “turn it off turn it off turn it off” a sleepy voice says besides you and you nod with your eyes closed before reaching over and hitting the button “sorry” you whisper, still half asleep as you roll over, burying your face into Bokuto’s chest and drifting back to sleep in the warmth of him. 

When you wake up again he’s running his fingers across the back of your neck and arm, you are pressed into his chest and when you open your eyes you are greeted by his smiling face. Your cheeks flush bright red and you quickly roll off him and sit up “what happened?” you ask and he laughs  “you fell asleep and I tried to leave after the movie but you had a death grip on my shirt and hand, i didn't want to wake you because you looked so cute” he laughs and you force a laugh out, feeling so awkward by the fact that it felt so good to be with him, and your cheeks flushing even darker at him calling you cute. “What time is it?” you ask and he sits up “uhh it’s 11:43” you laugh and feel a little of your awkward feelings disperse “i slept so good” he chuckles and stands, stretching his arms above his head and you pause, staring at the skin of his back that showed, toned muscles and dimples above his shorts waistband. “me too actually. I heard your parents leave for work so good thing we won't be getting in trouble today” he turns around, sending you a knowing look for catching you ogle him and you roll your eyes making him laugh. 

You hide in the bathroom as you pull yourself together, this isn’t the first time he’s slept over but usually he sleeps on the floor from crashing out after a sugar high and movie marathons. Not cuddling you. Not making your goddamn heart beat out of your chest. Jeez what are you going to do? If this keeps up you don’t think you can continue being his friend, if you fall for him and he finds his soulmate it’ll rip your heart out. And if you find yours first you don’t want to hurt him. You’ll have to just keep your distance. You wash your face and brush your teeth and then exit the bathroom, your mood bland as you head back to talk to Bokuto. 

“Hey Kou” his face brightens as you walk back in the room and you look down at the floor, your heart tensing and your stomach heavy like a brick as you finish your sentence  “I uh I have to do some things today alone so uh I don’t think we can hang out too much today” the mood in the room shifts as he gets sad “ah that’s okay y/n. Don’t worry about it.” He clears his throat and comes over to you “see you tomorrow yeah? Yay training camp!” He fakes being happy but you see right through it, he feels like you do, sad to be without him and sad at your obvious terrible lie. He wraps his arms around you and you decide to make it a good one, a good last hug. You wrap your arms tight around his neck and press your face into his chest as he holds you tight. 

You make it to the bus in the morning early and alone, usually you would have walked with Bokuto but today you sent him a lousy excuse as to why you wanted to walk alone. You sit in the middle row by Yukie, pulling up your hood over your face and putting in headphones so you could pretend to sleep and not have to talk to anyone, successfully ignoring Bokuto and putting a little more distance between you both. 

“I don’t know what’s going on” Bokuto said to Akaashi as they were putting their stuff in their room for the week “we hung out Saturday and it was amazing and now she’s avoiding me and lying and it’s so obvious and sad because she doesn’t look in my eyes” Akaashi shakes his head “Bokuto just ask her” his eyes brighten at the idea and he takes off running through the door and out towards where he knew the girls room was. 

“Hey guys!” He was breathing heavy and smiling as he appeared in your doorway, your back to him facing Yukie, you didn’t turn around or say anything you just retreated into yourself more. “Hey Bokuto what’s up?” Yukie says and chuckles “can I speak with y/n alone for a moment?” He says and the other girls nod and stand to leave. You feel your heart drop and your stomach rises to your throat. 

You stand up and turn when Yukie leaves, closing the door behind her. You don't say anything, you just nervously play with your fingers as you look at the ground instead of at him. “Why are you avoiding me?” he asks, straight to the point. You clear your throat “Bokuto I.. . I don’t want to catch more feelings for you because I know when we find our soulmates it will be hard to let you go. So i think it will be best for us to spend time apart” the gears turn in his head, his heart hurt at you calling him Bokuto again but he’s happy too. You are distancing yourself because you have feelings for him already. Little did you know you were soulmates. He pulls you into a hug and sighs into your hair “as you wish” he whispers and then kisses the top of your head before quickly leaving your room without another word. 

Bokuto realized he had to do it today, he couldn't wait any longer, he would wait until a few games go by then during lunch he would take off his shirt around you and you would know. Easy peasy. The first game goes by, then the second, you leave during the third for a managers meeting and to help make lunch and then finally, finally the third game is over and it’s time for lunch. 

He whips off his shirt and colored vest and pants as he catches his breath, placing them over his neck as he places his hands on his knees as he breathes. You bring him over his water bottle “thank you Y/N” he winks and you blush and look away. He brings the bottle to his lips, exposing his birthmark as he drains it. You go to walk away from him but the mark catches your eye. You freeze and he notices, a smirk on his lips as he watches you. “Yo-your soulmate mark, is an owl?” you ask, your voice quiet and he nods “sure is! Do you like it?” he asks and runs his fingers across the mark. You clear your throat “uh.. Uh yeah. It’s cute. Real cool Kou” you are in mid panic, you just told him to stay away from you and now you think he’s your soulmate. How are you supposed to tell him now?! “Yn..?” he asks and before he can reach for you, you have turned to walk away fast “sorry Koutarou i gotta..” you don't finish your sentence you just run. 

You run down the hallway to the very end and stop, the doors in front of you locked or you would have gone father. You place your palms against the door and lean down, trying to steady your breathing, and then whip up to look behind you as you hear feet running up. He has his hands outstretched, a look of concern on his face “what’s wrong?” he asks and you feel yourself start to hyperventilate “I.. I “ you can’t speak as you look into his eyes, your breaths uneven and panick. he comes up to you, taking your hand and placing it on his chest “hey hey hey, it’s okay. Breathe with me” you nod as overwhelmed tears fall from the corner of your eyes, his other free hand runs through your hair slowly, your other hand going up to rest beside your other as you look deep into his golden eyes. After a few minutes your breathing has matched with his, he reaches up and wipes away the stray tears on your cheeks “I’m sorry Kou I just got really overwhelmed. I just told you I wanted space but now you’re my soulmate. I didn’t know what to do” his cheeks flush “It’s okay love, I’m here with you” your eyes widen a little “did you know?” you whisper and he blushes and looks down sheepishly “I eavesdropped on your conversation with your mom on friday. I didn’t know how to bring it up so i thought i would wait until i could show you” you slap his shoulder “Koutarou! You should have told me immediately. God we could have had such an amazing weekend! But no! You let me kick you out!” he chuckles and falls to a knee “i’m sorry darling! Please forgive me” he kisses your knuckles and you blush “you’re lucky you’re cute” you say and he stands, pulling you into a hug as he laughs “I’m lucky you’re mine” you lean back and cup his cheek “you got that right” you grin before he dips down,  pressing his lips to yours. 

[mother-shipper]

I Could Not Ask You Where You Came From

I Could Not Ask You Where You Came From:(AO3) Tired of being such a disappointment to his father, six year old Steve decides maybe it would be better for everyone if he just...disappeared. When a human appears in his forest, Billy wants him gone. But what should have been a quick ridding of a pest, soon turns into something longer, better, lovelier.

Steve ran as fast as his little legs could carry him. He didn’t care anymore. It was dark and the brush was high, the twigs and saplings cutting against his skin. The light of the moon barely broke through the canopy, and Steve could only just make out the trees around him. It was dangerous. He knew that. But… why did it even matter anymore? He wouldn’t be leaving the forest. That was the point. His feet hit the dirt, loud in the silence. All the creatures of the night had gone quiet as they always did when predators came near. Steve didn’t know how long he’d been running or how far from home he was when his foot caught on a tree root. He was sent flying forward, hitting the ground hard. He whimpered as pain rolled through him, sniffling and finally letting the tears flow. He couldn’t even run away right. He couldn’t even get kidnapped. His father was right. Steve was a disgrace and that was all he would ever be. He sat up and wiped at his nose with his sleeve. Who was he kidding? Even the fae wouldn’t take a child as useless and stupid as him. He moved to lean against the trunk of the nearest tree, pulling his knees up to his chest. His own father didn’t even want him. Steve buried his head in his folded arms and wept, the pain in his heart winning out.

When the sun went down, the forest came to life. Flowers started to glow, pinks and purples dotting the forest floor and shedding their light on everything around them. The stags wandered the tall grasses, their racks taking on the same ethereal glow. Small birds, the color of glittering jewels, flitted about. Everything came to life in a way no man had ever laid eyes upon and as the forest woke, so did her guardian. 

Billy rose from his nest, stretching his arms high above his head and his wings out so wide the feathers quivered. He rubbed at one eye and looked down from the heights of the tallest tree in the forest. Moths came to flutter about his head, playing under and around his horns. They spoke in whispers, telling him the news of the land. He laid his head on the edge of the nest and listened, eyes still heavy as he fought sleep. But there was something that snapped him awake instantly. A human. There was a human in his forest. Billy's bright blue eyes snapped open and he growled. 

"Where?"

The moths whispered to him and flitted away, winding around and down the trunk of the tree. Billy spread his wings wide, flapping them once, twice, then dropping out of the canopy. He spread his wings and let them catch him. They carried him on the wind, gliding through the trees. Mushrooms and frogs scuttled along beneath him as he flew but he wasn't looking to play. Not right now. Not with a threat in their midst. 

Billy was fast and silent. His feet touched the ground and he spotted it. It was so… puny. Billy crept closer, inspecting. It was all curled up, sniffling and crying pathetically. Billy tilted his head curiously, eyes narrowing. It could be a trap. Humans were vile, sneaky creatures. They couldn’t be trusted. But… he’d never seen such a tiny one. This didn’t look like any man he’d ever seen. Billy leaned in carefully, sniffing at it. It smelled human. Billy’s nose wrinkled in disgust. The human’s head lifted suddenly, brown eyes big and wet and startled where they fixed on him. 

“You’re a human,” he said, eyes narrowing. “But you’re so small.”

The human sniffled and wiped at its eyes. “So are you.”

Billy growled at that, puffing himself up as big as he could get, feathers fluffing up indignantly. “I’m big enough!”

The human stared at him, transfixed on his wings and his horns when it seemed to dawn on him. His face turned nervous. 

“Are you here to steal me?”

Billy snorted. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re a fairy.”

“Oh.” Billy didn’t know what he was talking about but this human said it so confidently that Billy didn’t want to seem stupid for not understanding. He paused. “No. Are you here to kill me?”

“No!” The human shouted. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re a human,” Billy sneered. 

“I… no.” The human stared at him for a moment. “I’m Steve,” he finally said. Billy didn’t answer. “If you don’t want to steal me then why are you here?” Billy folded his arms over his chest, leaning over Steve. “Do I come to your house and ask you why you’re there? No. This is my forest. You don’t belong here, so get out!”

Steve looked wounded by that and it gave Billy pause. He thought the boy might start to cry again. 

“Why are you here anyway? All the animals your kind like to murder are sleeping. You won’t find anything to hunt.” “I didn’t come to hunt,” Steve said softly. “Then why. Are. You. Here?!” Billy asked, punctuating each word with a stomp of his bare feet. “Go. Home.”

“I can’t,” Steve answered quietly. “I… they don’t want me there.”

That caught Billy off guard. Didn’t want him? “But… surely you have a mother,” he spat, “a father. A family.”

“He hates me,” Steve said, his voice small and thick with coming tears. “I make him mad all the time. And that makes my mom sad. Then they fight and it’s all my fault. So I left.”

That made Billy’s chest ache. The smell of gunpowder and burning flesh filled his nose and the angry screaming of men ringing in his ears threatened to take over and he had to shake it away. 

“Well, you can’t stay here. No humans are allowed in my forest. Not ever.” Steve sighed sadly. What was he going to do if even the fae didn’t want him? He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t even know where he was now. Billy planted his hands on his hips, shaking his head.

“You wouldn’t make it out here anyway. You should be happy I found you before the bears or the wolves.” He held out a hand for Steve. “Come on. I’ll take you back to your village.”

Steve took Billy’s hand reluctantly and let himself be pulled up. Billy’s strength surprised him as he found himself on his feet in a split second. It was as if he weighed nothing. The fairy let go of his hand and turned to survey the area. After taking stock of their situation, Billy nodded to himself. 

“Alright. This way.”

Billy took the lead and Steve followed close behind. Right before his eyes, Steve saw the forest start to transform. Reacting to the presence of its guardian, it all came alive. He stared in awe as the world around them shifted. The darkness was chased away as bluebells bloomed and cast a blue glow at their feet, lighting a path through the trees. The moss gave off a bright, fluorescent green light in speckled patterns. Fireflies started to float through the air, circling around them.

“Wow,” Steve breathed. He stopped, turning to take it all in. One of the fireflies lighted on his nose and Steve giggled. He crossed his eyes, trying to get a better look at it. “What?” Billy asked. 

“It’s so pretty,” Steve answered. “Is this what it usually looks like?”

“No.” Billy leaned down, touching one of the bluebells gently with his fingertips. It sparkled at the contact and made the softest, sweetest ringing sound Steve had ever heard. “The humans still rip the flowers up this far in. There’s way more closer to the heart.” “I wish I could see it.” 

Billy turned to Steve, looking him up and down. He took in the awed look on Steve’s face, the gentle way he scooped the firefly from his nose to cradle it carefully in his hands. 

“Come on,” he told Steve, turning off the lit path. “If you think you can keep up, that is.” 

Steve watched as the fairy took off at a run, dumbfounded for just a moment before his brain caught up.

“Hey, wait!” He followed after the winged boy, running as fast as his feet would carry him. He never took his eyes off the glistening, black plumage and yet he was suddenly gone. Steve skidded to a halt. He looked around at the darkened forest again searching for any sign of his guide. 

“Where’d you go?” He called. Steve turned in a circle and looked up into the treetops. Curling his hands around his mouth, he shouted. “Hello?”

“Shhh!”

Steve reeled around. Blue eyes stared into his, so close they nearly touched noses and Steve shrieked. He stumbled backwards, arms wheeling to try and keep balance and Billy hooked a finger in his shirt, tugging him back into balance again.

“Are you all this easily startled? And loud.”

Steve didn’t answer, just tried to catch his breath from all the running and the scare on top of that. Billy smirked. 

“Alright. I guess I’ll take it easy on you.” He turned away again and laid his palm against the bark of the nearest tree. Everything began to glow again. This time there were more colors. Pinks and purples mixed in with the blues of the bluebells. The trees glittered with their speckles of green and even the mushrooms started to give off soft light. A new pathway was lit, showing them the way to wherever this fairy boy was leading Steve. 

Steve didn’t ask questions. He followed after the other boy again, sticking closer this time. The shining eyes of owls and lizards and other night time creatures looked out at them from the trees and Steve wanted to stop. He wanted to look at them all up close. To touch them. Instead, he stayed with his guide as they moved ever forward. Billy slowed to a stop on the path, turning to face Steve. 

“Close your eyes,” he demanded. 

Steve covered his eyes obediently. Satisfied, Billy pushed Steve through the opening in the trees and out into a clearing. 

“This,” he said smugly, “is my forest.”

Steve peeked through his fingers carefully at first. He gasped and dropped his hands at once in awe of what was before him. The whole place sparkled with light. There was a pond, the fish beneath the water lighting it with their scales all glowing in different colors. The cattails waved back and forth, bathed in the light of both the water and the dragonflies that clung to them, looking like they were made of glass. Fireflies and moths floated around in the tall grass. It was the most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen. 

“Pretty,” he breathed. Billy smiled proudly.

He walked past Steve out into the lush, tall grass and flopped down into it. Fireflies clustered where the grass had curled out around him, almost like a cradle. He stretched his wings out beneath himself and sighed.

“How come it never looked like this before?” Steve asked, crouching down at the edge of the pool to look more closely at the gemstone fish gliding along beneath the surface. “The grown ups all say it’s so dark and scary out here.”

“Because,” Billy frowned. “The forest doesn’t like them. It hides from monsters.”

“But… Mr. Hopper says the monsters are in the woods. He says they eat kids like me up.”

“Well, he’s a liar,” Billy snapped, sitting up. “Humans are the monsters. They come into the forest and just take things that aren’t theirs. They cut down the trees and kill the animals and pick the flowers without even asking.” Billy curled up into a ball then, arms wrapping around his knees. “Humans ruin everything.”

Steve stared at the fairy boy, eyes wide in surprise. He had never done that. Ms. Joyce and his mom and his dad had never done that. But… Steve thought of his father. He thought of the screaming, the anger, the disappointment. His eyes turned sad and he looked down into the water, swirling his fingertip in the coolness of it as the fish circled. 

“I think my daddy’s a monster,” he nearly whispered. 

There was a silence that hung in the air between them, both lost in their thoughts which were more similar than they knew. Steve could feel the other boy next to him though he never heard him move. It was still, quiet, comfortable. Then a hand just barely nudged Steve and he tipped forward.

“Hey!” He shouted indignantly just before he fell forward and splashed into the water. It was just barely deep enough for Steve to go completely under and he surfaced, spluttering. 

“What was that fo-!” The fairy wasn’t on the bank where Steve had last seen him. 

He brushed his sopping wet hair back out of his eyes and scanned the shore, turning to find Billy only inches from him again. Only his eyes peeked above the water and they sparkled with mischief. Billy came up, cheeks big and he spit a fountain of water at Steve.

“Hey!” 

Billy laughed and Steve felt the annoyance bleed out of him. Instead, he looked at Billy, the water dripping from his blonde curls and glistening droplets clinging to his freckled face. He looked happy. Steve liked to see the boy happy. He splashed Billy back and the boy sputtered in surprise. He hadn’t expected retaliation but he took it in stride and splashed back at Steve. It turned into a water war, the two of them bobbing around the pond on their toes and aiming swipes at each other. 

They were having fun but it was still the middle of the night. The water was cold and only getting colder and Steve, being human, could only handle so much. His lips started to lose color and his teeth chattered but he still kept going, not wanting to give in to Billy. The fairy noticed though. He stopped splashing and grabbed Steve instead, pulling him onto the shore. They were both breathless but giggled happily. Billy shook himself off, water flying everywhere and making the dragonflies scatter. 

Steve curled into a ball, shivering and teeth chattering through his grin. He had never been allowed to play like this before. His father didn’t like him to associate with the commoners. He told Steve it “made them think too much of themselves.” Now that he had the chance, he didn’t want it to end. But Billy seemed to have other ideas. He sat behind Steve, not caring that he was getting all wet again and wrapped his arms around the shivering, human boy. He pulled Steve in close and curled his miraculously dry wings around them both. 

“Why didn’t you say you were cold, stupid?”

“I’m f-f-fine,” Steve tried to argue as though his chattering wouldn’t give him away. “Y-you’re j-just m-m-mad I was w-w-winning.”

“Were not,” Billy huffed.

“W-were t-t-too.”

Billy rolled his eyes. “You can’t get too cold. When things get too cold, they die.”

Steve just shrugged. “W-wouldn’t have to g-go home then.”

Billy frowned but didn’t answer, just curled tighter around Steve to warm him up. They sat together like that for a while, Steve asking questions about the forest. 

How did the plants and bugs glow like that? Could everything in the forest do it? Which tree was the tallest? Which thing was his favorite? Steve’s favorite were rabbits. Did he have any rabbit friends?

Billy listened and answered as best he could. Magic. Not everything but a lot of them. His tree was the tallest in the whole forest. He liked the luna moths the most and he was friends with everything that lived in his forest. 

“Everything?”

“Of course. It’s mine. I take care of it and I take care of them.”

Steve huddled closer. “It must be nice to have so many friends. I wish I had some.”

“You don’t have any friends?” Billy asked. Steve shook his head.

“Daddy says I’m not s’posta mingle with the commoners. He says I need kids of status to play with. But we’re the only blue bloods in the village so I’m not allowed to play with anyone else.”

“What’s a blue blood?” Billy asked, his nose wrinkling.

“I dunno,” Steve shrugged. “But dad says we’re the only ones.”

Billy huffed. Humans were so strange. 

Birds started to chirp in the trees, waking with the first lightening of the sky. It wasn’t yet sunrise but the inky darkness was starting to lift and go gray with the first signs of morning. 

“Come on,” Billy said, standing them up. “I’ll take you back now. I know a shortcut.”

A now dry and warm Steve followed after Billy reluctantly. He didn’t want to go back. He had planned on disappearing. But the forest wasn’t his home. It was Billy’s. They moved through the trees, flowers blooming up to guide them just as they had before and it wasn’t long until they reached the treeline. Just beyond the brush, Steve could see his house, still and quiet as his family and the servants slept. 

“I’m Billy,” the fairy told Steve, breaking his train of thought. He looked over but the boy was looking straight at the dirt, hands behind his back. “And… you can come and visit the forest again. If you want to.”

“Really?” Steve smiled wide.

“Yeah,” Billy told him. “You’re okay. For a human anyway. So you can come back.”

Billy brought a hand out, revealing one of the bluebells. He offered it to Steve. “Just ask the flowers. They’ll show you where to go.” 

Steve took the bluebell with a smile, holding the flower in his hands gently. 

“And make sure you give it water, okay?”

Steve nodded. “I’ll take good care of it. I promise.” 

Billy watched Steve cradle the flower he’d given him as if it was the most precious thing in the world and it made his heart flutter in his chest. 

“You better,” he answered. “And I’ll know if you don’t.”

Steve just smiled wider. “I’ll come play again soon. Promise. Bye, Billy!”

Billy watched Steve go, feeling an emptiness settle in his heart. Steve would come back. He promised. And Steve wasn’t like other humans. Billy trusted him. With a flutter of wings, Billy was gone, returning to his forest as Steve settled down in his bed.

“Are you the only thing from the story books?”

Billy tilted his head curiously at Steve. The two of them walked along the forest path, Steve doing his best to keep up with the forest guardian. 

“What are those?”

“You know,” Steve insisted, climbing over a tree root that Billy floated over with ease. “Storybooks. Once upon a time and happily ever after? Princes saving princesses, knights, all that stuff.”

Billy shook his head. “You’re so weird.”

Steve paused there, astride the root of the tree, and looked at Billy in surprise. 

“You’ve really never read a story before?”

“Reading is a human thing,” Billy sneered. “We don’t need your symbols. We tell our stories.”

Steve rolled his eyes, used to Billy’s distaste for things he deemed too human by now. He’d been coming to the forest for a few years by this point and he was still learning new things every time he wandered there.

“But are you the only one?”

“The only what?” Billy asked.

“The only magic thing. There’s fairies in the books but there’s different kinds. Big ones and small ones and mean ones and nice ones. And there’s magic animals too.” 

Billy smiled. While it was decidedly human, he couldn’t help but love Steve’s curiosity. The wonder he found in the mundane, as if every day was his first. Billy led Steve further along. He took him deeper into the forest than ever before. They pulled to a stop at the foot of the most magnificent sight to behold in such a magical place. The tree was huge. Hundreds of years undisturbed had allowed it to tower above all the others. It was so thick around it would take ten men at full arm’s length to wrap around it. Steve stood and stared up at it, awestruck.

The heart of the forest.

Billy made a gesture with his hand and one of the roots beneath Steve shuddered. Steve yelped in surprise and clung to it as it started to rise. It pulled itself up and out of the dirt, stretching higher and higher toward the canopy until it paused at the top. Cradled at the apex of the branches, safely hidden in the thick leaves, was a large bird’s nest. It was big enough to fit two adults and Steve gaped at it. 

Billy landed inside it, plopping down cross-legged in the center. 

“Come on.”

Steve hesitated. He looked over the edge of the tree root, seeing just how long the way down was which made him cling tighter. 

“Don’t be a baby,” Billy told him, rolling his eyes. “You won’t fall if you’re in the nest.”

Steve took a deep breath, closing his eyes and letting himself slide down the root until his feet hit the edge of the nest.

“There you go,” Billy told him. He reached out and tugged Steve gently backward. Once he was safely on the floor, the root began its descent back to its home in the dirt. 

“What lives here?” Steve asked, marveling at the structure that surrounded them. 

“It’s something very dangerous,” Billy said. He narrowed his eyes, curling his hands into menacing looking talons. “A beast with claws and horns.”

Steve swallowed hard, holding onto Billy. His eyes flicked around, looking for any sign of the creature.

“It’s really strong and fast,” Billy continued. “And it’s the handsomest thing in the whole forest.”

Steve snorted and shoved at Billy’s chest, laughing as he realized what Billy was doing.

“You doofus.”

“What?” Billy grinned. “You asked.”

Steve looked out over the forest from above, seeing just how far it reached. He could see for miles. Even Steve’s village was visible from their perch, the tower of the manor jutting up among the distant, simple cottages.

“You can see everything from here.” “Yeah,” Billy told him. “That’s kinda the point.”

Steve ran a hand over the lip of the construct. “It's softer than it looks. Did you build it yourself?” Billy grimaced and looked away. Steve had noticed that every so often, one of his questions would strike a nerve. Whatever it was that was upsetting him, Billy never said and Steve didn’t push. 

“Hey,” Billy said, recomposing himself with a plastered-on smile. “You wanna see something cool?”

“Yeah!”

Billy rose to his feet and moved gracefully along the ridge of the nest. He circled around to one of the thick arms of the tree. Laying his palm against the bark, he whispered something under his breath that Steve couldn’t make out but that tickled his senses. As he spoke, vines began to materialize and weave themselves along the branch. They made their way down to the nest and began to ensnare it with long, green tendrils, weaving around until the outer walls were covered in an intricate pattern. Steve watched with wide eyes as the vines settled before bursting with pink blooms. 

“Pretty!” Steve ran a finger gently over one of the velvety petals. “How do you do that?”

“Magic,” Billy answered, plopping down beside Steve again. 

Drawn by the flowers, butterflies came to surround them. They fluttered around the nest, landing on the blooms to drink their fill of nectar. Steve was completely enraptured by it all. A butterfly landed on his shoulder and Steve marveled as he heard a tiny voice in his ear. 

“The forest is the town of trees

Where they live quite at their ease,

With their neighbors at their side

Just as we in cities wide.”

 “They can talk?” Steve asked, turning to Billy.

“Sort of,” Billy answered. He leaned back on one arm. He raised the other up, held out a finger and one of them landed there, lazily flapping its wings.  “They can only repeat things they’ve heard and usually only in those funny patterns.” 

“The world is so full

of a number of things,

I’m sure we should all

be as happy as kings.”

Billy smiled softly at it. “I think it makes it easier for them to remember.”

As though the flowers were an invitation, all sorts of things began to gather around and join them in the tree top. There were lizards that glimmered like jewels darting around and clinging fast to the rough tree bark. Birds flitted around the branches above them with feathers that seemed to glow under the sun as they chirped to each other in harmonies. Mushrooms scuttled around on tiny legs, laughing and chasing each other around at their feet.

“Is it what you expected?” Billy asked.

“Better,” Steve said, cradling one of the little mushrooms in his palms where it bounced happily. "What about unicorns?" Steve asked, eyes wide and bright. 

Billy's face fell again.

“No,” he answered solemnly. "They left… when she left."

"Who?"

Billy didn't answer. He went quiet, fists clenching at his sides.

"Are you okay?"

Instead of answering, Billy stood. He took two steps back to the edge of the nest and, without a word, dropped backward and fell head first from the tree. 

“Billy!”

Steve rushed to the side and leaned out, looking for any sign of the other boy but… there was nothing. It was as if he just vanished. 

“Billy,” he said, softer this time.

There was a sudden tap on his shoulder and Steve startled, reeling quickly around. Billy was there, standing behind him as if nothing had happened and cradling something to his chest. 

“What are you-” Steve started.

Billy cautiously opened his cupped hands and a little reptilian head poked out. Its scales were a fiery orange color, its belly a bright yellow and pale, tiny horns sprouted from its head. Its blue eyes raked over Steve suspiciously before crawling out of Billy's hands. Its long, slinky body scaled Billy's arm to perch on his shoulder. A lengthy tail curled around it, leathery little wings flapping.

Steve stared at the creature, open mouthed and starry eyed.

"Is that a dragon?!"

"Her name's Max," Billy said softly. "She's the only one left so I have to keep her extra safe. Even if she's a pain sometimes."

Max snorted indignantly and nipped at his ear. Billy flicked her nose in retaliation. "Most of the time!"

Steve smiled. "I think she's pretty."

Max turned her attention to the human in their midst and tilted her head curiously at him. She was hesitant and didn’t seem to trust him, much like Billy when they first met. Seeming to decide he wasn’t worth her time, she made her way down Billy’s body again. The mushrooms surrounded her immediately and began climbing all over her in delight. They bounced and circled her, trying to coax her to play with them much to Max’s clear displeasure. She squeaked her offense and tried to nip at them but they were fast. Steve knelt down and gently shooed them away and Max took the available escape by slithering up Steve’s arm instead. From her higher perch, she gave another indignant squeak at the little creatures below. 

Steve laughed and Billy felt his heart flutter in his chest.

Steve stepped carefully through the house, mindful of the creaking boards and the rickety third stair. He didn’t need anyone waking up. It was hard enough to get time to himself these days. Father insisted he had to learn to be a gentleman and that meant more tutors than ever before. That meant sitting at a table for hours getting rapped on the knuckles for picking up the wrong fork, people constantly pushing and pulling him upright to keep his posture perfect. It meant falling asleep when he was meant to be studying the great poets and his father being even more demanding of him. Steve didn’t have a free moment during the day and he presumed that was intentional. 

He donned the dark cloak he kept tucked in the cupboard beneath the staircase, pulling the hood over his head as he carefully crept through the kitchens to the servants’ entrance. It was small and hidden and much quieter than the ornate, front entrance. It also led directly to the gardens which was the fastest route to his goal, the reason for his father’s hawklike focus on his whereabouts. Steve slipped into the darkness of the forest. 

Navigating the high brush and dense undergrowth was second nature by now. Steve didn’t deviate from his original path, heading steadily deeper until he was certain he was no longer visible to the sleeping houses of the village. When he was sure it was safe, he paused and reached into his breast pocket. From it, he pulled the beautiful, clustered bluebell. It had survived through eight whole winters, never faltering. It was Steve’s most treasured possession. Cradling it in his hands, he whispered to it.

“Take me to him.”

He watched as the flower began to glow just as it had every time before. It wasn’t long before the rest of the forest followed suit. Dormant flowers opened and luminesced and the fireflies Steve so loved came to swarm around him in a flurry of light. He smiled as they rose around him, letting them guide him along the path. Steve loved this place so desperately. He felt wanted here. He felt whole in its wild embrace. Flowers and fireflies and so many other animals came out to greet him and followed along closely. He was no longer a predator here. He was a guest. A friend. But the most important creature was still missing from the scene. 

Steve kept going, deeper and deeper until he reached the heart. Dropping his hood, Steve smiled and approached the trunk. He laid his palm against the bark reverently. The energy pulsing beneath his touch was comforting and it never failed to inspire awe in him. There was so much life here. It was home to so many things. It was the epicenter of the magic that protected this forest and all that called it home. Steve laid his forehead against it and smiled. 

“May I go up?” he asked politely. There was a rush of warmth through him. Permission. Carefully, Steve found a familiar foothold and started to climb. Hand over hand, picking around for each safe place to put his weight, Steve made his ascent. He knew this tree better than his own home by this point and the creatures of the forest surrounded him in welcome.

He was just over halfway up when his confidence betrayed him. He got careless and missed his footing. Steve slipped, his eyes wide with fear as he realized he was plummeting back to the forest floor. His stomach was in his shoes and his heart raced as branches and leaves blew past him, none of them strong enough to catch himself on. His brain finally caught up with what was happening and Steve closed his eyes and let out a terrified scream. Then everything just… stopped. There was no rushing wind, no sensation of falling. Hesitantly, Steve peeked one eye open. 

Billy smirked down at him, his eyes shining with mirth and his arms supporting all of Steve’s weight where he cradled him against his chest. He held Steve as though he weighed nothing, his otherworldly strength making the task look laughably easy. 

“That’s five,” he teased, setting Steve back on his feet on the forest floor. “You’re such a clutz.”

“That is not five,” Steve argued, his cheeks flushing pink as he pouted at Billy. “I would have been fine if I hadn’t been distracted.”

“But you were,” Billy argued smugly, “and you fell and I saved your life. For the fifth time.” “You could have just helped me up in the first place,” Steve complained.

“Where’s the fun in that?” 

Steve sighed, rolling his eyes at the fairy. Billy was taller now, Steve only just surpassing him. His blonde curls were longer, thicker and wild looking. His appearance was starting to shift as Steve’s was. Baby fat still clung to his freckled face but the rest of him was getting steadily leaner. Steve had become more lanky than lean but his body was still plump and rounded in places, belying his tender age of fourteen. 

“Well, if you’re going to be that way, maybe I’ll just keep my gift to myself,” Steve huffed.

Billy’s eyes went wide and his smug face fell.

“Wha- I-” Billy spluttered. “You can’t do that! I saved your life!”

“And then you made fun of me.”

“That’s not how presents work,” Billy pouted. “You can’t just change your mind.”

Steve gave an exaggerated sigh, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. 

“Fine. I guess you can still have it,” he teased.

Though he tried to seem disinterested, Steve was too good at reading Billy by now to miss the undercurrent of excitement and anticipation. He reached into his pockets, finding the cool, leather binding he was searching for. Steve pulled out one of the small poetry books his tutor had given him, offering it up for Billy. He wasn’t a big fan. Most of the time, he didn’t understand the appeal of the pretty language and imagery. Why not just say what you meant? But Billy loved it. Steve had taught him how to read long ago and the other boy could never get enough despite his initial dismissal of reading and writing as “human stuff”. Steve wondered just how excited Billy would get if he knew about libraries. 

Billy took the book in his hands, turning it over with starry eyes.

“It’s a poetry book,” Steve told him. “I know you like them and I thought maybe you could teach the butterflies some new ones.”

Billy ran his palm over the cover, feeling the dips in the leather where the letters were painted in a glittering gold. 

“Aren’t they going to notice when you come to class without it?” Billy asked.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Probably. I’ll just tell them I lost it. It’ll take at least another month to get a new copy from the bookseller so I won’t have to sit through any more poetry lessons in the meantime.”

“No,” Billy said, rolling his eyes. “Just lessons on how to eat and stand and dress and ugh! I don’t know how your kind has survived this long if you’re still learning all that.”

Steve laughed. “It’s not really learning how to do those things as much as it is learning the proper way. I have to learn how to be a gentleman.”

“That’s dumb,” Billy said, nose wrinkling. “Why can’t you just be a Steve?”

Steve felt his heart twinge at the question he’d asked himself so many times. Why couldn’t he just be him? Why wasn’t that enough? But those arguments with his father were fruitless and only widened the rift between them and left his mother upset. 

“It’s not all bad,” Steve told him instead. “Some of it I actually like. I’ve had a few dance lessons now and they’re actually enjoyable.”

Billy rolled his eyes harder, letting his head drop back and groaning dramatically.

"Why do humans have to put rules on everything?” He protested. “You don't learn dancing. You feel it."

"But sometimes the learning is the fun of it,” Steve told him. “Here. Let me show you." 

Steve stepped up to stand toe to toe with Billy, gently taking the book from his hands. Max glided over next to them, coming up to about Billy’s hip now and finally able to support her own weight with stronger, more practiced wings. She took the book from Steve and headed up the tree with it without being asked. It would go with all the other things Steve had gifted Billy, tucked away in a little hollow where it would be safe.

Billy looked flustered as Steve turned his attention back to him and took his right hand. 

“This hand goes here,” he said, guiding Billy’s hand to rest on his shoulder. 

“And this hand goes here.” He clasped Billy’s waist with his left hand, the palm fitting there like it was made to. “And…” He clasped Billy’s free hand in his, holding them up to shoulder height. 

“There,” Steve said, smiling at Billy. The boy’s whole face burned red, his blue eyes staring pointedly at Steve’s collarbone, refusing to meet his eyes. “This is stupid,” he grumbled but Steve didn’t pay it any mind. 

“It starts like this.” Steve took a careful step forward with his left foot, giving Billy time to move his own foot back. 

“Then this.” He moved his right foot forward and to the right, waiting for Billy to follow. Billy stared down, trying to keep up with Steve’s movements and pick up on the pattern.

"Don't look at your feet. Just follow my lead." 

"Why do you get to lead?" Billy protested. 

"Are you teaching me then?" 

"Alright, alright."

His feet came together, right foot back, left foot back and left, feet together and back where they started.

“See? It’s easy.” 

“I don’t know,” Billy said. “This is weird. And there’s not even any music.” “Sure there is,” Steve told him. “Just listen.”

Billy paused, straining his ears to hear but there wasn’t anything coming from the town he could pick up. 

“I think you’re hearing things.”

“Nope. It’s all right here,” Steve insisted. He started to move, counting out loud to himself in threes. 

One. The croak of a frog. Two, three. Crickets chirping. One. An owl hooted. Two, three. Doves cooed to each other in the trees. 

Billy stared at Steve in awe. He was listening to the forest. The sounds Billy knew so well he all but tuned them out by now started to jump out one by one, coming together into a beautiful symphony. Steve listened to the forest and heard it singing to them.

Billy moved with Steve, letting the human that had bonded so deeply with his forest guide him. Steve smiled encouragingly as they moved just a bit faster. “See,” he told Billy. “You’re getting it.”

Yes, Billy thought, he was. He let his wings spread out behind him, broad and strong and, with one powerful stroke, lifted them both off the ground. The rush of air swirled around them, picking up the leaves and flower petals in its pull. The fireflies followed in a brilliant display and they were surrounded by a glowing cyclone. Steve laughed brightly as he watched them but Billy’s eyes were only for Steve. When the human’s chestnut eyes met his, shining and happy, soft, he couldn’t have stopped if he wanted to. Billy pulled Steve in closer to him. Their bodies pressed together and Billy hesitantly moved in. 

His eyes slid shut and his lips pressed against Steve’s. Steve breathed in sharply, unprepared for the sudden gesture and even less prepared for the spark it sent through him but that didn’t stop him from kissing Billy right back. It was awkward and chaste, neither of them knowing what they were doing, only that it felt… right. Like Steve’s hand on Billy’s waist, it fit. 

They separated and Billy pressed his forehead to Steve’s. 

“I… that was-”

“Good,” Steve finished, hearing the uncertainty in Billy’s voice and stopping it in its tracks. “It was good.”

“Yeah?” Billy asked softly. 

“Yeah,” Steve breathed back. He smiled wide and leaned in to kiss Billy all over again.

Steve laid in the tall grass, staring up at the stars and tracing the constellations with his finger. 

“That one’s Ursa Major. The bear,” he explained. Billy snorted a laugh and pushed the hair back off Steve’s forehead, the human’s head pillowed in his lap. 

“I think you’re seeing things.”

“No, really. Look,” Steve told him, tracing the lines again. “There’s the head and the body and there’s the legs.”

“They all just look like stars to me,” Billy said, shrugging. “What took you so long today? I thought you were done with your human lessons.”

Steve rolled his eyes affectionately. “They’re fancy human lessons, thank you very much. And yes, I’m done with my lessons.” Steve paused, staring up at the sky again. “I had to help with preparations. Apparently we have guests coming. Some nobleman and his wife and daughter are coming to stay with us.”

“Don’t they have their own home,” Billy scoffed. “Why do they need yours?”

“I think dad just wants to show me off,” Steve said. “He’s always so worried about appearances. I guess now that I’m eighteen, he figures I know enough to not embarrass him and he wants to compare me to the other nobles.”

Billy frowned at that. Why should Steve be measured against other humans? As if any of them could compare to his Steve anyway. Steve was so special no other human could ever hope to measure up. More important than that was how much Steve seemed to hate so much of this high society stuff he was forced into. 

“Why don’t you just leave?”

Steve laughed. “And go where?”

“Here.”

Steve looked up at Billy in surprise and Billy stared back, cradling Steve’s cheek in his palm. 

“You could stay. Live here with me. You never have to go back to that house or those people again.” He stroked his thumb back and forth over Steve’s soft skin. “We could be together all the time. Just like this.”

Steve looked at Billy longingly. To live here and leave all of the trappings of his life behind, all the expectations, to be with Billy, sounded like a dream. But…

“My mother,” Steve said softly, his face falling. “She always tells me I’ll disappear in here. She begs me not to come because she’s afraid of losing me. I couldn’t do that to her.”

Billy frowned, turning his head away.

“I want to,” Steve told him. “You know I do. Being with you is what I look forward to every day. It’s what’s kept me going this long. But I have a responsibility to my family too.”

“They have a responsibility to you, Steve. They’re supposed to love you. The real you. Not turn you into some performing pet to entertain their friends.”

Steve’s chest ached. He knew Billy was only angry on his behalf but hearing it so bluntly from the other boy’s lips made it hit so much harder. 

“They’re humans, Steve. They won’t stop until they’ve destroyed you just like they do everything else.”

“I’m human too, y’know,” Steve said softly, stopping Billy short. “Aren’t you worried I’ll ruin this place? Ruin you?”

Billy’s brow furrowed, his lips pressing together in a thin line. “That’s not… It's different,” Billy told him. “You’re different. You’re not just a human. You’re Steve.” Billy leaned down, folding himself almost in half to touch his forehead against Steve’s. “You’re my Steve.”

Steve reached up, tangling his fingers in the wild mane of Billy’s curls. “And you’re my Billy,” Steve said softly. “That’s never going to change.” 

They stayed that way for a moment, the two of them just soaking each other in. They didn’t have much longer before Steve would have to make his way out of the forest again. He would have to return home to his family and his duties and Billy would be left to wait for his return. 

As the sky turned from black to grey, Steve and Billy said their goodbyes and Steve took the familiar path through the forest, crept through the gardens and into the stillness of his home. He came through the kitchens, tucked his cloak back into the cupboard and rounded the stairs, ready for bed.

“Did you think you got away with it?”

Steve froze, ice flowing through his veins and chilling him to the bone. James Harrington was perched at the top of the stairs, his face stony, rage simmering beneath the surface and burning behind his eyes.

“Father, I-”

“Do you think this is a game, Steven? Do you enjoy getting the whole town talking about the Harrington boy making deals with the fae?”

“I haven’t-” Steve pleaded but his father cut him off harshly once again.

“I’ve given you everything, boy, and this is your idea of gratitude? Have you any idea how much your education cost?”

Steve glared at his father, his jaw set. “I never asked for that.”

“No. Of course not. You just expect everything handed to you. You have no regard for this family or how hard I worked to make the Harrington name mean something!”

“I don’t care about titles,” Steve snapped. “I don’t care about classes or all these made up rules! Why do humans have to put rules on everything?!” 

The second it left his mouth, Steve knew he’d made a big mistake. The silence was deafening between them. His father’s face went pale, his expression horrified.

“I-I… I didn’t-”

“So it’s true,” James hissed. “You’ve seen the devil, boy.”

That made Steve angry. No one would speak about Billy that way in his presence.

“The only devils I’ve seen, father,” he spat, “are among men.”

It was quiet again, the rage in his father visibly building. He went purple with it before his arm flew out and he grabbed hold of Steve’s upper arm with a bruising grip. 

“Clearly you can’t be trusted with your own safety,” he growled. “So I’ll have to save you from yourself.”

James dragged Steve along by the arm, pulling him so forcefully Steve struggled to keep up. He tried to fight his father’s grip but the man’s hand was like iron around him. He hauled Steve up and up and up, dragging him up the stairs to the tower. At the top of the staircase, he threw Steve forcefully through the open door. Steve hit the floor and slid, his back colliding with the opposite wall.

He cradled his arm, staring at his father in anger and fear.

“The lady Buckley will be arriving in three days time,” James roared. “And when that happens, you will be wed.”

“What? You can’t-!”

“I can and I will! And until that happens, you will remain here. Perhaps you’ll come to your senses by then.” 

His father slammed the door shut and Steve’s stomach dropped when he heard the lock click. 

“No.” Steve scrambled to his feet and threw himself at the door. “No!” 

The handle wouldn’t turn no matter how much he tried. In blind fear and rage, he pounded against the heavy, wooden door over and over, screaming to be let out. They couldn’t do this to him. They couldn’t lock him in here like some prisoner. He screamed himself hoarse, desperate for his freedom, wishing he’d never left the forest and stayed with Billy like he wanted. He wished he’d stayed home.

Billy was sick with worry, pacing circles around the heart of the forest. Something was wrong. Steve hadn’t come back yesterday. Not in the light of day nor the dead of night. Steve had never just not shown up before and Billy was at a loss. He couldn’t exactly go looking. What was he meant to do? Walk the streets of the village asking if any of them had seen Steve? Billy could never bring himself to set foot on the desecrated land, the stolen forests of men. And if he was seen… It was sickening to even think about.

No. Billy could never go to Steve. But he wasn’t alone in his concern. The whole of the forest was restless. He needed answers. They all needed to know if he was safe. Billy stopped pacing and reached out a hand. A mocking bird flew down from the trees and settled on the offered perch, watching Billy intently. 

“I need you to go to the village. Listen to everything. If anything happened to Steve, they’ll be talking about it, right?”

“Listen to everything,” the bird repeated, mimicking Billy’s voice perfectly. 

“Good. Go.” 

The bird flew off, leaving Billy behind. It flitted from tree to tree, lighting on branches and making its way through the forest to the village. It was a lot of ground to cover for a little bird but she would do her best. Everywhere she saw humans together, she would land and listen. 

“That Jim is so handsome, isn’t he?” 

“I heard he used to be a knight before he came back here. Such a shame about his daughter though.”

Nothing about Steve at the laundry pool then. She took flight again. The window of the bakery was her next perch.

“I don’t know how they expect us to finish such a big cake in such a short time.”

“They’re paying us well enough to rush it. Don’t complain.”

“Still, it’s not going to be nearly as pretty as it could have been.”

Nothing here either. She took off again, this time to the town square. There were many humans gathered here, all setting up for some sort of gathering. The ladies weaving flowers into an archway were where she found what she needed.

“I hear the Buckley girl got caught in bed with her handmaiden,” one woman half whispered. “Everyone’s talking about it. They say it’s why she hasn’t been able to find a suitor back home.”

The other woman clicked her tongue and shook her head. “How unfortunate. She’s such a pretty girl too.”

“Still,” the first woman said again. “I don’t think it’s quite on the same level as our lordling. I wonder if they know what they’re signing up for. Disappearing into the woods like that and coming back ever since he was a child? It just doesn’t make sense unless he…”

“Oh yes,” the other agreed. “I heard from one of the servants that he confirmed it himself. Confessed it right to his father’s face that he made a deal with them.”

“Oh dear. I think someone ought to warn the Buckley’s, don’t you? That’s nothing to muck about with. Imagine the effect such a thing might have on their children.”

“You’d better not,” the second woman hissed. “If it gets out we blabbed to the Buckley’s and ruined this arrangement, Lord Harrington will make our lives a living hell and then throw us to the wolves.” She fastened on the last flower, wiping her hands on her apron. “Young Lord Steven will be wed tomorrow and that’s that.”

There it was. That was what she needed. 

“And that’s that,” she repeated to herself, startling the women below. 

“Oh, you nasty thing,” the first woman scolded. “Shoo! Off with you.”

She swung a rag at the mocking bird, chasing her off the archway. That was okay. She had to get back anyway. She had to report back to Billy. She made her way back through the forest just before the sun began to set. Billy was waiting, curled up in the hollow of the tree with his treasures. He had the book of poetry open, the binding of it cracking in places and worn smooth in others. Max was curled up around the rest of the trinkets from their human to protect it. Only Billy was allowed to touch the hoard. The mockingbird landed on Billy’s knee, shaking out her feathers and looking up at him.

“Well,” Billy asked, setting the book in his lap. “Did you find anything out? Is he okay?”

The mockingbird lowered her head, hesitating. 

“Young Lord Steven will be wed tomorrow and that’s that.”

Billy’s heart sank. No. That couldn’t be right. Steve wouldn’t marry someone else. He loved Billy. He said so.

“I have a responsibility to my family too.”

His stomach sank and he felt like he would be sick. His chest tightened and his vision blurred with tears. 

“I’m human too, y’know. Aren’t you worried I’ll ruin this place? Ruin you?”

Billy gasped for breath around a sob. He should have known better. You couldn’t trust humans. They take everything and leave you bleeding. He looked down at the book in his lap and the overwhelming grief was replaced with anger. How could Steve do this? How could his Steve, the one who gave him everything, who chased the loneliness away, be so heartless? How could he abandon him to loneliness all over again?

Billy roared, slamming the book shut and throwing it as hard as he could. It spiraled away through the trees, crashing somewhere out of sight. He moved to the pile of things Steve had given him. The stuffed animal, the flower crowns they made together, the toys and all the pretty rocks he found but refused to take because they belonged to the forest, every last thing was thrown from the tree. One by one, they flew from view, landing wherever they may. Billy never wanted to see them again. He never wanted to see Steve again. He never even wanted to hear his name. 

Never again would a human be allowed in his forest. Never again would anyone be allowed in his heart. 

When it was all gone, Billy stood there panting. His chest and shoulders heaved with every breath. He threw his head back, letting out a roar that echoed through the trees and rattled the ground. Everything fell silent. So painfully, deafeningly silent. He was so angry. He wanted to fight, to hurt, to take. But there was nothing left to throw. Every sign Steve had been here was gone… Steve was gone. And just like that, the anger leached out of him. It dissipated like the morning fog and all that was left was the hurt. All he had left was an empty sadness. There was a hole in his heart. Billy dropped to his knees and wept. 

He wept for what felt like an eternity. He wept until he had no tears left to give. Max curled around him, laying her big head over his shoulder to pull him close to her scaled chest. She had never seen Billy hurt like this. Nothing here did save for the trees, the last living witnesses to his first earth shattering heartbreak. Only they and Billy remembered the forest that was and the wound of losing their matriarch, Billy’s mother. Only they could see the scars it left behind.

When he was exhausted, Max carried him out of the hollow and up into the nest. He laid there in silence, draping himself over the edge and playing idly with one of the pink flowers that still decorated his home. The sun had sunk down, giving way to darkness. Billy just felt… numb. He glanced up, his eyes landing on the village and sending another spike of pain through his heart. But something gave him pause. 

The tower. There was a light in the window. Billy had never seen it lit before. He was filled with anger again. Perhaps that was Steve’s bride. She must be up late, glowing in the excitement of tomorrow and knowing she would have Steve all to herself. Billy growled. He needed to see her. He needed to know just who would presume to steal Steve away from him.

Billy got to his feet, brow furrowed and jaw set. He dropped from the tree, free falling until he came close to the canopy of the smaller trees. His wings snapped open and he pulled up sharply into a glide. He let himself coast on the air currents as he made his way silently over the woods instead of through them. Let the humans see him and heaven help any of them that had something to say about it. He approached the tower, pulling up to land on the outer sill. The gust from his wings blew the windows inward, extinguishing the lamp that had led him here so the glow of the moon was the only light pouring into the room. 

A gasp drew Billy’s attention to the corner of the room where a figure was huddled. There. This had to be her. But something didn’t feel quite right. It was no woman, he realized. He sniffed the air and picked up the familiar scent of Steve. Steve and tears. Billy stepped down off the sill, bare feet hitting the floor soundlessly. He could see Steve better now, bathed in pale blue light. He was curled in a ball, his eyes puffy and cheeks tearstained. He looked so small. So lost. In an instant, Billy was brought back to that first night in the forest and he could see clear as day the lonely little boy who’d come into his forest looking to disappear. 

Steve half laughed and half sobbed as he realized Billy was really here. He sniffed and wiped furiously at his eyes, turning to Billy with a watery smile.

“Are you here to steal me?” he asked, his voice unsteady. Billy’s heart skipped a beat.

“Are you here to steal me?”

“Why would I do that?”

Billy dropped to one knee in front of Steve, cradling his face in his hands so gently. He leaned in and kissed Steve for all he was worth, searing his claim into Steve’s very soul. Steve returned it with all the need and fear and relief that had ruled his world for the last two days. Fresh tears spilled over and as they pulled apart, Billy brushed them away.

“Forever and ever.”

Steve choked out a sob and threw himself into Billy’s arms. Billy held him tight, burying his face in Steve’s shoulder. He didn’t dare let go, lest Steve disappear all over again but he soothed him just the same. 

“I’m here,” he told him. “I’ve got you now. You’re mine. My Steve.”

“And you’re my Billy,” Steve cried. 

The sound of footsteps thudding up the stairs pulled them from the moment, reminding them they weren’t out of danger just yet. Billy growled, standing to his full height and facing the door with his wings spread wide. He dared any of them to try and lay a finger on Steve. He would kill every last one of them. 

“Billy,” Steve pleaded. “No. Please. Just get me out of here.”

Everything in him wanted to stay. He wanted to make an example of them for anyone who would ever dream to take Steve from him again. But…

“Please,” Steve breathed, leaning against Billy’s back. “I want to go home. Take me home.”

It was a plea Billy couldn’t ignore. They were nearly here. If they were going to run, they would have to act fast. Billy grabbed Steve and ran for the window. The wooden door burst open behind them, men screaming at them to halt. But Billy paid them no heed. He gripped Steve to his chest and dove through the open window, ascending steeply. 

“Steven!” a voice boomed. “Don’t you dare!”

Billy paused, turning to look at the arrogant old man that leaned out the window. The man that dared to spew threats. Billy clasped Steve to him and breathed in deep, letting out a roar that shook the very ground. All the glass in the house shattered, the sharp tones ringing through the air in resonance with the frightening sound that poured from deep in Billy’s chest. The look of fear in the man’s eyes gave Billy more satisfaction than it probably should but he couldn’t be bothered to care. He turned away, back toward the forest. Back toward home. 

“I’ve got you,” he told Steve gently. “We’ve got you.” Below them, the forest began to light up, welcoming them both in. 

“You belong to the forest now.”

Steve clung to him. “Part of the forest,” he said, his voice soft and reverent.

“That’s right. And it will always protect you. I will always protect you.”

[nagia-pronounced-neijia]

w(h)ip wednesday

It's a surprisingly quaint little farm, the kind of thing some traveller from the far-away west might paint into his little journal and tell all the Belgians and Austrians and French about.  Green hills rise up in a gentle roll, with occasional stones that must have tumbled down from God-knows-where, looking pushed up through the grass and the barley like crooked teeth.  Sheep meander among the gray rocks, bleating occasionally to each other and munching on the plants.

As they step past the low wooden fence, Trevor spots a goat chewing cud in a pen.  It stares disinterestedly at them, eyes gleaming with that peculiar mix of cunning and stupidity native to goats.  If it was ever a person, their mind seems long gone, he thinks, replaced by a goat's determination to be the biggest pain in the arse it possibly can.

They keep going and find a yard full of chickens.  Here chickens, there chickens, everywhere fucking chickens.  Mostly roosters, judging by the wattles, which he finds odd, and when Sypha steps too close to a hen, one of the stupid cockerels jumps at her.  His wings flutter, feathers flying further than he can, and he seems determined to murder her with talon, beak, or both.  He makes the most insane noises as he does it, like metal screaming.

It's instinct to try and put himself between her and something trying to hurt her.  Even something as small and stupid and surprisingly vicious as a pissed-off chicken.  He raises his arms to block the pecks and scratches, glad of the fur-and-leather vambraces, thick enough that he feels nothing.

"Calm the hell down," Trevor says, and puts a boot to the bird, which doesn't improve his disposition, exactly, but does manage to make him reconsider attacking.  "I'll do it again," Trevor warns him, and immediately feels like an idiot.

But the rooster subsides, sulky, glaring at them both with beady eyes.

And the cabin door swings open.  The woman who steps outside isn't quite pretty, but she's striking.  He thinks her nose might have been broken, once, and her hair falls loose around her shoulders in a riot of deep red that catches in the sun.

But it's her hands he's most interested in, and, just like every family book always said, they tell the real story to him immediately.

Her face may look youngish -- certainly only of middle years -- but her hands, too pale, have wrinkles and liver spots, a sure sign of a witch.  The deep, nearly black bruising that extends from the nail to the second knuckle of her littlest fingers, however, is the mark of a witch who has embraced questionable magic, if not outright reveled in the foulest and blackest of workings.

Beside him, Sypha moves to wave one arm.  "You must be Sârșe," she says, and he can hear that she's smiling.

The woman inclines her head.  "I am.  And who might you be?"

"I"m Sypha, and this is Trevor."  She jabs at him with an elbow.  He doesn't jab back, but mostly because he's trying to figure Sârșe out.

"Hello," he says, about a second after Sypha's pointy elbow makes contact a second time.

Sârșe watches them both.  Absolutely no emotion colors her face.  Even her eyes look flat and lifeless, no more interested in them as people than the goat had been.  "What have you come to find?"

He sighs.  "Oh, we found it already."

"Trevor," Sypha hisses.

But Trevor ignores her.  "Look, we know you're a witch.  Well, Sypha suspects.  But I know.  And I don't care about the whole," here, he makes a sort of quotation mark with the fingers of both hands, "'demons into chickens' thing.  Not sure anybody should be eating those, but it's not my business."

The very furthest corner of Sârșe's mouth curls up for about a second before smoothing back down.  Her gaze remains flat.  "And what is your business?"

"I'm not saying I expect you to turn them all back, mind, because I know that's not how it works.  But how many of your sheep used to be people?"

He's a little relieved when, rather than hotly deny it, Sârșe licks her lips.  "All of them," she says, calmly, like she doesn't care at all.

Well, that explains at least one of her fingers.  Hell, he's a little surprised it hasn't spread further.

Sypha's the one to step forward and ask, "Do you have any plans to stop?"

Sârșe stares between them for what feels like several minutes.  It's probably not even a whole minute of its own, but it sinks its teeth into him and drags.  Her eyes look like empty wells, endless and awful.

"No," she says, still very calm.

"Told you," he mutters to Sypha.  "When they're this far gone, they don't really listen to reason."

That draws Sârșe's attention.  She snaps her head to look at him.  Something even darker stirs in her dark eyes, moving and shifting, and they bite into him.  He doesn't look away, but he wants to, because eyes like those see, and the brain behind them judges, and men are always found wanting in a gaze like that.

Found wanting and then turned into farm animals.  And then potentially sold at fucking market day, to be slaughtered and eaten. Christ.

"Do you think yourself such a hero, Trevor Belmont?"`

He lets out a short bark of a laugh.  "I helped kill fucking Dracula, sure.  But what I was really doing was helping a man kill his own father.  What kind of hero is that?"

She repeats the question back at him, emphasizing it.  "What kind of hero is that, Trevor Belmont?"

"No kind at all," he replies.

And, for the first time, she smiles.  It's terrible and pitying.  "Will you kill fucking Sârșe?  And if you do, what will you really have done?"

Sypha fields this one.  "We'll have stopped animals that used to be people being sold and eaten by those who once knew them.  You have to admit that's grotesque."

"I admit no such thing.  They know who I am.  They know the consequence of crossing me.  They know what I bring to market day.  They choose to buy from me regardless.  Their business is no business of mine."

God, witch logic.  It's all perfectly factual, but frustratingly circular in a way he can't put words to.  A sort of pure, unfeeling truth that leaves no room for honesty or humanity.  Infuriating.

"Yeah, done with you, now," Trevor says, and draws the Vampire Killer.  Consecration is little good against witches except in their hands, but the Morningstar would be worse than useless.

Where's a rowan branch when you need one?  Not that there would be a single rowan tree on this property; they would have all died the first time she took a piss here.  Hell, if he were half the Belmont that Sypha thinks he is, he'd have a fucking pouch of salt on him, and he doesn't.  Their salt is in the wagon with their goddamned cooking supplies.

Sypha conjures a ring of fire, driving away all the chickens and other animals from the farm, and Sârșe's eyes widen for a moment.  She looks between them again, gaze darting from Sypha to Trevor, trying to determine if the Belmont or the fellow magician is the bigger threat.

She apparently decides on him, because she flings an arm out and tries to drag him toward her.

Trevor, more used to this sort of thing by now than he likes, drops forward.  He lets himself fall, and feels the grip of the spell break as his weight pulls him away from it.  His hands hit the ground first, and he pulls himself into a roll, coming up on one knee.

He lashes out with the whip, half-turning to improve its force as he lets his arm flow then jerks his wrist.  The line sings out, tip whistling, and the metal end bites into her hand.

Her finger flies away, landing with a sort of wet, useless noise in the dirt.

Sârșe doesn't even scream.  She just looks between her now maimed hand and the finger on the ground.

"That was very stupid," she says, somehow wholly unbothered by the fact that he just tore off part of her hand, a part she probably uses pretty often.  She raises the same hand, even as it bleeds, and makes a curling gesture with her remaining fingers.

Once again something grips him, trying to pull him closer.

When she raises her other hand, Sypha slides sideways, colliding with one of the wooden fences.  It cracks with the force she hits it at, splintering.

He's not thinking when he sends the whip out again.  It's anger that drives him to it, and this time, he gets her in one of those tainted, blackened littlest fingers, and Sârșe screams.  At first it's just a gurgling sound of pain, thin and high, like any woman might make when a man reached out and hurt her because he could.

But then it turns to something else.  Something thick and strange sounding, that scratches at his ears and the air around him.

"I name you worm, that crawls in the dust," Sârșe says.  "I name you dog, that licks his master's hand.  I name you cock, that lords himself over nothing.  I name you buck-goat, that ruts and farts, and I name you pig, that wallows in shit."

Absolutely no imagination on the woman.  He supposes whatever demon she serves, or made a deal with, or whatever, has probably long eaten it.  "People have really got to find worse things to call me."

Sârșe laughs.  "What a strange worry," she says casually.  "But needless.  You'll call yourself all those things, in the end, and worse."  And she raises both hands, and this time, she really does manage to pull him in, mostly because he lets her.

Once he's close, she smears her blood on his cheek and smiles that terrible, pitying, dark-eyed smile, and the empty wells of her eyes stare at him, judgmental, even as he sinks one of his knives into her throat.

He pays no attention to the witch's body after that.  Instead, he runs for Sypha.  She'd fallen among the splinters, and he doesn't even think about kneeling, about passing his hands over her to feel for blood, for anything sticking out or misplaced.

"Are you alright?  That was some hit."  And fuck him, his job is to be the one taking the hits.  He still hasn't forgiven himself for the scars on her upper arm from their fight with Dracula.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she grumbles.  "Help me up."

He does, splaying one hand under her back and supporting her under the elbow with his other hand.  He hefts her up, taking most of her weight, and she stumbles a little as she rises.  She leans heavily against him, and he lets her, wrapping one arm loosely around her shoulders.  "You're sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine," she snaps, predictably irritated, and waves a hand at him.  "Leave it be."

"Alright, alright, if you say so.  And, well, she's dead.  If we're lucky, some of these people might start turning back.  Do we want to be here for that?"  They probably should.  He thinks his uncle would have.  His father certainly would have.

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

gently rings a little bell in your ear My fic updated with two new chapters when you weren't paying attention! but now i am tilting your chin up with the point of my sword, forcing you to look. its very villainous and cool. this is part three of an increasingly convoluted story, part one can be found all the way over here but if you just want the high school romance stuff and don't care about found family, that's fine, i guess, but like, what's your deal

The weekend is a welcome relief from everything at school. He’s tired of feeling like shit, so Saturday, annoyingly bright and early, he startles Lydia awake by flopping on her bed. It causes her to bounce, and she groans, pulling the dark purple blanket further over her head. “Beetlejuice…” “I was thinkin’, today we should spend th’ whole day outdoors, in th’ park or somethin’,” he grins, and she lifts the blanket just barely, to glare at him. “You only want to play outside because all your stuff was taken away,” comes her accusation, and she’s not exactly wrong, but he just wiggles a hand under her blanket and gives her nose a poke. “Let’s go get lost, somewhere. Come on, Lyds, please?” She tries to hit him with a pillow but her grip is tired from sleep, and all she manages to do is shove the thing at him.

Twenty minutes later, she’s dressed and ready, bouncing on the balls of her feet, as he mulls over which button up to wear, the highlighter yellow with purple bugs, or the dark green with orange bones. They’re two equally ugly shirts that kind of give him a headache to look at, and both are favorites. “I can’t believe you woke me up at eight so I could stand around watching you go through your wardrobe.” “This is important.” He settles on the bugs, finally, and pulls it on before turning to Lydia, but she’s gone. He blinks, and sticks his head out his door, in time to headbutt her as she comes back in. Both siblings reel back and hold their heads. “Beetlejuice…” she groans. “Lyd-eee-uhhh,” he mimics her. She huffs and throws what she’d gone to her room to retrieve at him. He catches it, then stares. It’s his hoodie, his ruined one from that disastrous Halloween. He can still see that faded dark copper stain in some places, but it's better than it was. Also, the holes slashed in the arms have been very sloppily stitched with a thick, black embroidery thread. He looks back at his sister. “You seemed like you were having a hard week,” Lydia says, shuffling her feet. “I never sewed anything before, I’m sorry it looks kind of messy, and I tried really hard to get the bloodstains out...” He slips his familiar stripes back on and feels much more at ease. “It’s cool,” he tells her. “I like messy.” He holds open his arms and she falls into them, pressing her face against his stomach. It's a nice moment, and for once, he doesn’t feel inclined to ruin it, just pats his little sister’s head. “Love you.” “Love you too.”

``````````````````````````````````````````````````````` Charles, ever an early riser, is surprised to see his children in the kitchen this bright eyed and bushy tailed on a Saturday. He’s pouring two coffees, one for himself and one for Emily, who is sitting at the table, head propped up on her hand, and still functionally asleep, when Betelgeuse and Lydia come bounding in to raid the fridge. “And what are you two getting up to today?” he asks, and the siblings pause to look at him. “Goin’ to th’ park.” “You think so?” Betelgeuse’s shoulder slump. “Seriously? You take all my stuff away an’ now I can’t even go out?” “You’re still in trouble. Why should you be allowed to go out and have fun?” “Cause that wasn’t specified!” Betelgeuse tries, and then turns to Emily. “Ma, tell him!” Emily mutters in her sleep, and Charles wordlessly sets the coffee down in front of her. The smell hits her nose, and robotically, she lifts the drink to her lips, eyes never opening. “Let BJ go do stuff,” she manages, maybe not as eloquent as she normally speaks, her voice gruff from sleep. Betelgeuse grins up at Charles. His father sips his own coffee, and then pats his son’s head. “Home before dark. No fire, no demon nonsense, no taking drugs from strangers.” “Home at midnight, commit arson, summon Satan, enjoy stranger candy. I gotcha.” Both his children receive a kiss on the head before stuffing Lydia’s little black coffin bag with snacks, and heading out.

``````````````````````````````````````````````````````

It’s a big city, and there’s not a loss of things to do, especially with his powers, and there’s no adult supervision today. They find a café and enjoy a big breakfast, then he turns them invisible and they sneak away before the check comes, only reappearing a block later, Lydia grinning wildly. “Food tastes better stolen!” she says, and he pats her head. “There’s my little criminal.” They sneak into a movie, next, some horror thing Lydia had wanted to see that even Emily, the fun parent, had said she was too little for. It’s absolutely a gore fest, but not especially good, and they throw popcorn at the screen and cheer whenever the killer scores another victim.

“I think you’d die early in a slasher,” she says after, scattering their uneaten popcorn on the pavement in front of the theatre. She gets the attention of a whole flock of pigeons, which land and begin pecking at the kernels. “What’s your logic, there?” “You die on screen early and then the twist is you faked your death and were the killer.” “Ohh, classic. I love it.” “I’m a total final girl,” Lydia turns the half empty bucket upside down, much to the joy of the starving sky rats. “And then at the end, it’s like, I knew you were the killer the whole time, and I was just acting. Cause we’re in it together. You know, partners in crime.” He picks her up, slings her over his shoulder. “Always.”

He takes them to Central Park, next, holding her hand behind the theatre and apparating, accidentally, up a tree. She gasps and clings to him, and he digs his claws into the bark of the tree to steady them. “No worries, no worries. I just gotta..” They appear on the ground below, and Lydia looks dizzy. “Feels weird when you do that,” she tells him. “Like riding a rollercoaster, except your limbs are all asleep. But.. Kinda not that, at the same time.” It feels normal to him, but he regularly eats tin cans, so what does he know about normal to begin with?

Lydia takes her camera from her coffin bag, and readies it. It’s a little instamatic she got for her birthday, a few months ago, and she’s going through film like crazy, taking some pretty shitty pictures. He’s not that blunt to her face, though. It’s not like he was a rockstar on the ukulele when he first started, and she’s got a lot of enthusiasm for taking photos. He’s not going to be the one to squash that for her.

Also, he’ll bite off the hand of whoever tries.

“You think this can take pictures underwater?” she asks, aiming her camera at a random woman jogging by. The jogger makes a face, which seems to be what Lydia expects, because she snaps the picture as the woman continues on her way, and the little photo pops out the bottom. Lydia gives it an aggressive shake.

“I’m gonna guess no. Besides, it’s too cold for you to take a swim.” “So let’s go somewhere warmer. I’m thinking Hawaii.” “Good idea, genius, an’ how do you think we’re getting there?” “You can teleport us.”

He actually has to stop and think about that. “I don’t think I could do it in one straight shot,” he says at last. Lydia has moved to a different kind of voyeurism, because she’s on her stomach on the grass, following the movement of a trail of ants with her lens. “I’d probably have to do little distances, an’ get tired and need a nap in th’ middle.”

“Maybe through a mirror? Like Sam?” She adjusts the optic, an entirely useless motion, because this camera doesn’t have any kind of zoom feature. But she’s seen people do it in nature documentaries. “Never done mirror travel before.” He mulls that over. “I’ll practice when I get home, an’ see if I can even pull you through.” “You’re not allowed to go to Hawaii without me,” she gets what she considers her perfect shot, and then stands, brushing off her dark red dress. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

They go bone hunting next, Lydia’s camera still at the ready, his keen nose leading the way. It’s easy to find owl pellets, and she breaks one open with her bare hands, as he teases her.

“Ew ew ew, Lydia gross, you’re touching it!” he pitches up his gruff voice to sound like a tweenage girl, and she rolls her eyes. “No skull in this one,” she frowns, wiping her hands on his hoodie.

“Maybe there’s a bodiless mouse head around here, livin’ it’s best life.” She looks doubtful.

Another, different smell hits his sensitive nose, just then. It’s death, new and fresh. His pupils dilate, and he follows it, her trailing after him, assuming he’s on the scent of more animal bones. What they find instead is an old man propped against a tree. He’s still warm, but the color is draining from his face, and rapidly. He doesn’t look hurt, he’s not bleeding. It’s like he sat down for a rest and died.

Lydia doesn’t get it, not right away. Death is a funny punchline in an overly gorey movie. She’s never seen the real thing, before. “Should we wake him up? It’s cold to be sleeping here.” He lifts the man’s arm, and it flops bonelessly back down. Her eyes go wide. “I doubt he’s gettin’ back up, kiddo.” She lifts her camera and takes a picture.

“Hello?” He hears a voice, and turns. The old man is standing next to himself. He looks back at Lydia, but she’s staring in fascination at the corpse, so he leaves her to it. “Hey,” he nods to the man, who looks relieved. “Can you call my grandson? My phone battery died,” he says, not seeming to understand the position he’s in. Betelgeuse tilts his head to the side. “You’re dead,” he says, a bit unkindly, and Lydia, who has been kneeling by the body, poking it, looks up at him. “I am?” “Wh- No, not you, Lyds, th’ stiff.” He gestures to the ghost, who has seemed to notice “himself” laying there. Lydia looks at her brother, confused. “There’s no one there.” “Sure there is. You just can’t see ghosts.”

“That’s me,” the old man says, not that anyone’s listening to him. “Should we tell someone about this?” Lydia asks him, and Betelgeuse shrugs. “Why? Someone will find th’ body eventually. You know. When it starts smellin’ like shit.” “I don’t want to leave him out here.” “Please, don’t leave me out here!” “I wouldn’t want to be left out here.” “Lucky for you, you’re never gonna die. You even try it an’ I’ll shove your soul back down your throat, if I have to.”

He smells the netherworld, and grabs Lydia, pulling her back, in time for another ghost to appear. A guide. The guide doesn’t even take a moment to look around, just instantly busies herself with getting the newly dead situated, and Betelgeuse picks Lydia up and carries her away. “That’s so sad,” she says, taking one last picture of the body from atop his shoulder. “I guess.”

They find the next official looking person they see, someone cleaning up trash, who doesn’t believe them, clearly, until he sees one of the photos Lydia took. The deathly pallor of the old man convinces him to go looking. Thirty minutes later, that part of the park is crawling with breathers, and the two of them are stuck on a bench, being talked to by cops. It’s a whole, boring process, and it’s drawing a big crowd. “Told ya, we shoulda minded our business,” Betelgeuse nudges his sister. Lydia is looking overwhelmed. Neither sibling ever gets this much attention. There’s even a news crew, though he can’t imagine what for. It’s just one old dead guy, and it’s not even a murder. Someone with a microphone tries to approach them, and he turns their mic into a black and white striped snake, forcing them to fling it away from themselves in a panic, and then he grabs Lydia.

They blink from existence and appear a ways away, and Lydia’s clutching his hand harder than she needs to. “Hey, come on.” His grating voice is soft, for her, as he kneels to her level, and she throws her arms around his neck. “How are you so calm? Doesn’t it make you sad?” she asks, softly, and he gives her an extra squeeze. “Happens to all breathers, Lyds. But it’s not somethin’ I gotta worry about, ever. So… no, not really.”

“Will you be sad when I die?”

He scoops her up, holding his little sister in his arms, and stands, her still clinging around his neck. “When you die at a hundred and twenty,” he tells her, carrying her along the path. “Wherever in the netherworld you end up, I’ll go too. Won’t even have time to be sad, me an’ you’ll be too busy causin’ trouble, even then.” She seems satisfied with that answer, and he doesn’t mind carrying her, so they enjoy the autumn leaves like that, her in his arms, as he follows the winding pathways of the park.

They don’t tell Charles and Emily, when they finally do get home, the sun just barely still peaking over the horizon. It doesn’t seem like a good idea, and Lydia doesn’t especially want to talk about it anymore. She pins her new photos up on the twine strung between the tall bedposts in her room. There’s a couple nice ones, and she lets him eat the ones she decides she hates. “Does it count as part of being grounded if you watch my tv?” she asks, and he grins. “Let’s find out.” She pops in Coraline, which he has to assume she’s got fucking memorized at this point, but they also talk through most of it. By the time the tasty looking bug furniture is on screen, her eyelids are drooping. “I dunno why they make her eatin’ bugs so evil. I wanna try beetles from Zanzibar,” he complains, and she just snorts in response “I’ll get you some fancy beetles, for your birthday.” “Kay. Sounds good.” She falls asleep on him a minute later, and he waives a hand, snuffing the lights, but lets the movie finish playing as he settles next to her, and sleeps.

``````````````````````````````````````````````````````` That next week is boring, but normal. Adam’s in the library every day, despite his earlier insistence that he had better things to do. Betelgeuse honestly just wheels the cart along and lets Adam shelf the books, now, which the nerd seems to unironically enjoy. He’s all smiles as he gets to put things away neatly. It’s embarrassing how endearing and cute Betelgeuse finds that. It’s Tuesday, Barbara isn’t there that day, at least, not right at that moment, so Adam is babbling about her. “Barbara and I aren’t really performers,” he’s telling Betelgeuse, returning a stack of history books to their proper places on the shelves. “But we thought it would be fun to try theatre together, and then we really enjoyed it, so we’ve been in the last two productions. She can really sing, she does this high note, and it’s-” “Angelic, I bet.” Both boys give a stupid, love sick sigh. Adam pauses, and nods, and then studies the other teen. “So.. You.. You like her?” “Yeah,” he says easily. “But that doesn’t mean anythin’.” “What do you mean?” “I mean,” he clarifies, flopping across the cart, stomach first, and laying on it, staring down at Adam, who is crouching to reshelf some more books. “That despite me being a hot piece of ass, I’m probably not her type. I imagine she goes more for…” he studies Adam, trying to think of a nice word for boring, plain and vanilla. “More stable guys,” he lands on. “Like you. I bet she even likes how cute your butt looks in your khakis. I know I do.” Adam flushes. “You think so?” “It’s a good butt.” He nods, and Adam goes redder. “I meant, you think Barbara.. Might like me?” “Well, don’t push your luck, or nothin’, but you probably got a better chance with her.”

“You’re not entirely unlikable,” Adam offers. Betelgeuse lets out a guffaw that’s too loud, because someone in the next aisle over shushes him. “You already forget what I told you Friday?” he rests his head on his hand, tone condescending. “I know no one wants me around.”

“You’re setting yourself up for failure, with that attitude.”

“You think so, huh? Think I just need to hold hands round th’ campfire and sing kumbaya with all you breathers? I don’t think anyone would even take my hand. Probably couldn't get away from me fast enough.” There’s a pause. He doesn’t realize what he’s said until Adam is repeating it. “Breathers?”

He doesn’t get a chance to reply, because he feels a push on the cart, and turns to see Barbara, hands on the handle. “You’ve completely given up even trying, haven’t you?” she says, and he thinks she means about the books, and smiles. “No point. Adam’ll just do it for me.” “I mean with talking to people. With making friends.” His smile falls quickly into a scowl, and he runs a hand through his wild mess of green hair. “Lay off me, Babs. I’m bein’ friendly right now, aren’t I?”

“Sure, it’s plenty friendly, letting Adam do your work. But you don’t try, and then you get your feelings hurt when no one does it for you.” That’s not laying off, and it’s irritating him. “You can’t imagine anyone being nice to you, so you’re rude and push everyone away the first chance you get, in case what? In case you make a friend? Kevin probably needs you, right now,” she presses, physically too, making the cart he’s still lying across lurch forward. “I told you what happened to his dad, and you just said he wasn’t even your friend, when everyone knows you spent the last few months holding hands and making googoo eyes at him, and only talking to each other.”

“S’none of your business,” he tugs at his hair, pulling a tuft down to watch the color. Still green. He’s okay, but he keeps it there, in front of his eyes, focusing on it and not having to look at Barbara. “I’m making it my business. What are you so afraid of? What’s with the barrier? I saw you with your sister, you’re normal and nice, to her. So it’s other people you’re afraid of?” “M’not,” he growls out, standing up off the cart. “Afraid of anythin’.”

“You are,” she says, letting go of the cart and stomping to stand in front of him. She’s got him cornered, his back pressed to the bookshelf behind him. He keeps his eyes on that green tuft, biting his bottom lip. “You’re afraid of rejection, so you don’t talk, or you’re a jerk to people. You’re so afraid of other people, you make yourself sit alone every day, even when there’s an empty seat next to someone else.”

“No one wants me around!”

God, that hurts. He can see purple forming in the tip of his hair.

“You think I haven’t tried?” he rasps at her, letting his hair go, and finally looking directly at her. “You think I like sittin’ alone, bein’ the weird kid in every class, not havin’ anyone to talk to? It sucks!” he hears himself being shushed again, and he expends a burst of power in that direction, knocking books off the shelves to hit the person who can’t mind their own business. The sudden noise makes both Adam and Barbara jump. “You ever noticed that anytime I’ve tried, people can’t get th’ hell away from me fast enough? I’m tired of bein’ alone, but every time I try, somethin’ goes to shit, or I'm ignored! So maybe it is easier to just be a jerk an’ not worry about gettin’ hurt, than to keep tryin’ and ache all th’ time.”

It’s the most honest he’s ever been, out loud. Barbara clenches her fists, but doesn’t say anything. He sees Adam push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

Lunch isn’t even close to over, and he’s just made more work for himself by knocking those books off the shelf, but he doesn’t care. He grabs his backpack from the cart and pushes past the two of them, and he storms out, forcing the library door to slam, even though it’s a soft close door. It feels more final, that way.

He spends the rest of lunch invisible, to avoid any more trouble with adults, and slumps into his customary seat in the back of every class, for the rest of the day. No one talks to him. He doesn’t try to talk to anyone. It’s a system, it works. Stupid Barbara. What does she even know? Like she can somehow understand anything he’s going through. She’s pretty, and cool, and has a ton of friends, he thinks, absolutely bitter. She doesn’t get it.

He trudges to the drama room after school, and pushes open the door with his shoulder. The seats are in a circle, again, and he chooses a random one, pointedly, away from Adam and Barbara, between two other people. He sits there, silent, and after a moment, the two kids both move seats. How miserably predictable. Come on, he wills himself. No purple, no red. Just stay green. You can go home and freak the fuck out, but just stay green, he begs his hair.

He wipes his nose hard with his hoodie sleeve, and focuses on that, on the texture of the fabric and the way he rubs hard enough for it to hurt. Pain is as close to relief as he can get. Then the chairs next to him are scooted closer, and he blinks, and realizes that Adam and Barbara have settled on either side of him. He doesn’t.. Get it. He can’t understand, but then both of them reach a hand out, and take one of his, and give it a squeeze. It’s grounding. He takes a breath he doesn’t need, and then a couple more, shaky and painful, and he gives their hands a squeeze back, like he’s making sure they’re real. They are.

When the club starts, he tries, very sincerely, to focus on what’s being said, and not the bright hot feeling blooming like a flower in his chest. Read the rest here!!

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

It’s The Avengers (03x11)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Season 3 Episode 11: Exotic Medicines

Series Summary: Living in the Avengers facility post-apocalypse in a better timeline   Tony Stark has decided to capture every moment by pulling The Office on the Avengers. All of housemates are pretty used to the idea except for you, who had just come here to finish her degree, and the newest member- Loki.

Warnings: high and...slutty moments?

Word Count: My heart feels so light today. And Tari is one of the reasons for this. In the sense that she is amazing and gives me hope about myself.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

A creature with the head of an unhinged raccoon and the body of a dragon lizard scuttled on the dry patch of land, looking at its surrounding with those crazy eyes and panting with the sounds that usually came out of an out of breath pug whose nose was too small to take in the precious air for that chonky body. This guy, however, was more interested in chewing on the first piece of leather it bonked against, those huffing noises making any witness feel for this miserable looking animal. The leather boot shoved the raccoozard away only to have that stubborn bastard come back for the seemingly delicious leather that was now drowned in its spit. The boot kicked it casually- and lightly- once again to move away from the ground and instead rest on the barrel. The camera focused out of the boot to show Loki having no feelings look to the little 'zard. The other camera flying low over the creature was more interested in Lulu's raised hair looking at the abomination with caution before coming to smell the poor thing that laid upside down, thanks to Loki's amazing boot skills. Lulu raised its fluffy paw in the air, taking his sweet time to tilt his head and smack the animal in its face. And much to the little fluff's surprise, the 'zard growled and hissed at him, making the fluff ball take a step back. "Hey," Loki called out for Javier, who turned the galactic go-pro in his hand towards the God, "send one of your peekers inside to see how's it going." Javier moved the camera toward him to record himself giving Loki a look of confusion.

"The cameras are not 'peekers'," he signed before shrugging, "and peeking is not ethical." "Oh," Loki raised his brows while the camera quite tactfully panned in on the tension in those exposed biceps of his arms under the black shirt. He raised his hands to sign back. "So you go ahead be 'ethical' when those witches sacrifice her for her blood. Okay?" Javier's muted gasp had more emotion than Natasha on her bloody days- pun fully intended. "You were the one who suggested the witches!!!" The hand movements got more intense by the passing minute. "I suggested them for her bloody cramps," Loki signs back, still perched on the barrel, "I don't know what happens after?!" The camera was called to zoom upon Javier's face before he facepalmed himself harder than he should have. "Most cunning God MY ASS!!" "If the two of you are going to make a ruckus here then I would suggest you leave." Both boys stood in attention while the cameras focused on the woman in her wise years standing right outside the tent. Her authoritative features on that beautiful wrinkled green skin showed no sign of remorse or acceptance for the apologies. When she turned to go inside Javier turned to Loki to sign, "But we were not even talk-" "Because I can hear your thoughts, you useless meat suits," she shouted from the inside. Loki looked down at a fluffed up Lulu and shrugged. "Witches."

The Lounge "Okay, so the trick is for you to go-" Scott raised his leg and gracefully brought it back to bend over to let his beautiful booty naturally display the trademarked 'thicc'ness - "and then jerk it back like-" he continued by giving it a pop. Once. Twice. Thrice. The camera turned away to look at Peter and Vision stare in a mixture of shock as well as delight with a synced tilt of their heads. "How did you do that?" Pretending to flick away the hair from his face as he came back up- quite seductively- he sighed. "I've had practice." The audience waited and was met with no further commentary. "Oh, okay. So, we are not discussing the...uh...practice," Peter breathed before letting his brows furrow in deep curiosity, "but how the eff do you do the-" he bent over and tried to twerk. That twerk came out more like Peter trying to force his diaphragm to push up a seed stuck in his windpipe.  Scott blinked at the effort before helplessly looking at the camera.

Scott: *clicks his tongue* White people problems. We either shake that thang like Beyonce was our mama or we bend over as if begging someone to do the Heimlich on us. *camera zooms in* There is no in-between.

"You need a lot of practice," Scott pointed at the spider boy before moving over to Vision. "And show me what you learned." Vision looked at Scott's phone and WAP started right from the build-up to the verse. The camera never went below Scott and Peter's torsos but the unprecedented shock in their popping eyeballs left a lot to the imagination. When Vision finally came back in the frame, he smiled at the two. "I feel like I could have popped my behind more." Scott and Peter blinked and felt themselves jolt at his statement. "More?!" Peter gasped. "How?!!" Scott shouted at the same time. Vision, unphased, let the music start from the top. "Like this," he added innocently and went out of the frame, leaving both the boys to find a God in their prayers to answer their questions.

Planet of the Witches Javier took the shade of the lone bush under the sweltering sun by squatting under it, all the while watching Loki's leg impatiently tap on the barrel it was resting on. And when their eyes met, the former smiled and signed something. "I'm not worried about her. I'm worried about my ears falling off from listening to Stark's babbling of 'not taking care of her daughter'. I am not her bodyguard. He should know that by now." Javier scoffed. 'Are you sure you know that by now?' Loki narrowed his eyes at him.  "You have been getting cheeky by the day, boy." "And you cannot control your grumbling clouds for a fraction of the 'kula, can you?" The eldest of the witches, a humped grandma with a river of wrinkles over her face and hands and feet, came out to glare at Loki, who got off the barrel to stand in front of her in just a pinch of guilt before his eyes were distracted by your figure coming out of the tent. Before Loki's veiled relief could say anything, grandma took her crooked walking stick and slapped Loki's shin. The tiniest whine filled with confusion to the brim escaped the raven-haired boy. "OW!" the God growled at the old woman before raising his leg to hop around in pain while you tried your best to contain the laughter bubbling inside you. "Do not come to me for help if you cannot handle a few 'kulaeg, you impatient bog!" Loki's jaw unhinged while he hopped about and you gave the camera the more delightful look.

You: *gasp and beam* never in my life I thought I would see Loki stagger like that. That too by a five hundred-year-old alien lady!! *screeches* I love space! *shimmy your shoulders*

"I didn't even do anything this time?!!" Loki thundered, finally putting his foot on the ground. "Wait," you raised a finger in anticipation and confusion, "this time?" Grandma tapped her stick hard into the rocky ground. "Be thankful it's not a yank in your nethers for kidnapping my Logo last time." Your muted gasp grew wider, and the camera panned in when you stood in the middle of the two. "You kidnapped her Logo?" You whispered with elation. "Your Logo did not want to be kidnapped?" You tried hard to restrain the chortle in your voice before trying to come back to a straight face. The camera panned in on your face to catch you whisper, "I don't even know what a Logo is!" right into the lens. "I feel like there's a lot to unpack here. Grandmama, tell me everything this stupid ass has ever done!" Loki didn't seem to like the idea. "What is your problem, Se'tiri? You hit me even when I don't do anything wrong?! Every! Single! Time!" Se'tiri narrowed her eyes at the God, not letting her little body be intimidated by the six-foot tall creature. "You have one those faces, boy. Ones that are asking to be hit because they do not know what manners are." "Oh, dang," you whisper to the camera and secretly praise this alien grandma's spirit. "Fine, I'll never come here, ever again," Loki huffs, grabbing your hand to leave in a two-second surprise state, "come on, Y/N, let's go." "That's what you said last time you blue seaweed," Se'tiri shouted in her raspy voice, "make sure to remember this time! And take those damned bao-bao I made you and your friends, you giant slug!" Leaving your hand for a moment- that seemed to bring a microsecond of mellow sadness over your face- Loki smoothly turned a one-eighty to go inside the tent and bring with him a bento wrapped in blue fabric, grabbed your hand again and gave a stink eye to the woman. "I am taking these bao-bao with me, you rotten hag! And I will come whenever I please!" "You better come with some fucking bao-bao material or I'll not make more for you!" she yelled. Loki was already walking away with you by his side. "You will make me more because I am the only one who eats these stinky buns!!! Come on Lulu!" he yelled back, making the camera focus on Lulu standing upright, both excited and confused with something thin and long hanging from his mouth before he sucked it in and ran behind you two. The raccoon thing was nowhere to be seen.

The Lounge "You guys are the f***ing nuts!" Sam announced as the camera panned out to show Scott, Vision and Peter sitting on the sofa. Two of them had pouty faces while one was enchanted by the Falcon. A good moment of silence passed with Sam's firm expression before he finally spoke again. "You have to move your hips in a way to not hurt your lower back. And you have to split without hurting your nuts!" Both Scott and Peter winced at the memory and brought their ice packs closer to their crotch. "Now, watch...and learn." Sam gave one quick look to Vision and the AI automatically turned on the music for Sam to manoeuvre his body to the beats with the rigidity of water. And before anyone knew it, he was making a one-eighty with his leg to open it into a perfect split before popping that booty thrice for a perfect finish. The camera panned out to zoom in at the faces of equally bewildered and impressed Steve and Bucky standing at the entrance of the Lounge holding hands. "Should we...ask?" Steve wondered to his partner, his eyes still glued to the man of many talents. "Do we have to?" Bucky added.

Bucky: *in all his seriousness* We have to. I need to learn how to do that perfect split but I will cut my own veins before asking Sam for tutoring me.

Away From the Witches "All the weirdness aside because I know it comes from the insecurity in your past relationships of being not loved enough to trust another person, I have to say you and Grandmama Se'tiri really care about each other." The camera was stuck in one frame- on your head resting on your hand while your gaze was stuck on the God pretending to brood while eating the purple coloured buns the old witch had made for him. A quick glance from him at you from the corner of his eye and he was already turning his eyes towards you to question that softness stuck in your eyes while you looked at him. Not to mention your smile. "Stop looking at me like that," he muttered with his mouth half full. "Fuck you, I won't," you giggled lightly, getting a raised brow from Loki. "How the fuck can someone look so cute while eating? Why are you looking so good while eating?" Loki had to stop chewing and look at you for a few moments in keen observation. Or judgment. Or both. "What did they do to you in there?" It was your turn to sit straight in this weird open buggy floating between two alien rhinos as they languidly strolled over the deserted part of the planet. "They squeezed all that painful shit out of me," you inhaled. "Like I could feel my uterus squeeze and let the walls out from inside me, the blood, the gooey stuff, all of it. It hurt a bit at the beginning like every other time but once Grandamama and her sisters started chanting, it was all gone," you concluded with a smile. "Even though the goo was still coming out of my vagina." Lulu's camera caught the reasonable blankness on Javier and Loki's face before both of them put the buns down and tried their best to blink away the pictures you had so patiently put inside their heads. You, still perched with your head on your palm, smiled at the boys. "Should've left the bun for after the icky bloody part. Is it weird I can still smell the blood? Just like that bloody stench you get when you dump your menstrual cup down the drain during a shower and watch all that blood go down imagining you just murdered someone and are reminiscing the entire thing." Loki looked at the camera with newfound confused horror in his eyes.

Loki: Remind me to never piss her off during her bloody days. *inhales* Also remind me to make Clint and Steve piss her off on her bloody days *smirks and raises his brows suggestively at the camera*

"Oh! And she even gave me candy!" You nearly shout, going for the little backpack and unzipping it take out a blue plastic looking bag which looked like something straight out of your younger sister's newly opened business with much effort given to the packaging and the brand. An outline of a herb adorned the logo while a few imprints of languages unknown to you were written below it. "And I am not sharing it with anyone." Loki scoffed, looking at you while slowly putting the delicious-looking bao-bao in his mouth, making you wrinkle your nose before opening your own collection of fluffy marshmallow-like collection and putting one in your mouth. "Oh dang! It's cheesy!" You babbled through your full mouth, gasping with a sudden revelation. "Ooooh!! And spicy!" Loki chuckled and turned his whole body towards you. "Oh come on now, Y/N. You don't have to pretend to give your little trinkets flavours to tease..." His voice drowned when his sight apparently fell on the packet you were holding while gobbling down your second treat. "This one's minty," you added with a wiggle of your brows and a huge smile on your face. "...me," he barely whispered, his attention only on the packet with his eyes narrowing on the foreign words written over it. The bun resting in Loki's hand dropped into his lap for Lulu to make it disappear within less than a second. Loki's hand came for the packet but your reflexes were too good today to let him lay his claws on it. "Oh you aren't getting any," you gasped at his audacity. "I don't want to ea-" Loki snapped himself and moved his hand towards the packet- "let me see the packet." Silence. "Y/N." Your hand went inside the packet for another snack. "Y/N," he called out sweetly with a hint of caution. You popped the little ball of crunch in your mouth. He leapt halfway towards the packet, his hand reaching and almost grabbing your newfound treasure. "Stay. Away," you command with your eyes. "I just want to see the pack-" he leapt again and this time grabbed your back instead while the snacks were raised away from him. "Really?" "You're not getting any!" Loki was lying over your now. Both of you were grunting and squirming; Loki trying to lock his arms around your waist to push you down while you anchored your free hand on the edge of the floating buggy. "Give me the packet!" He roared. "No!" You growled back and hissed at him without turning around to look at his frustration lines. The God locked his legs around yours, using his one arm to restrain your waist and the other to tickle your armpit long enough to make you howl in a burst of laughter that ended with a blood-curdling sigh when he finally got the packet in his hand. "Aha!" He exclaimed, still not letting you go. "I hate you!" You wiggled inside his hold that didn't seem to work him much. "Why do you have to be so FUCKING strong!!" But Loki had all his attention on the package by now. His glow of victory faded as fast as it came when his eyes went over the print, the shades turning from a subtle shade of confusion to a much denser stroke of fear. "Wha-no...no!" Loki looked at your scowling face cursing him left and right. "How many have you eaten?" "Oh screw you!" "Y/N! How many have you eaten?!!!" All the rage in your pupils melted into full-blown innocent kitten eyes. "A few," you whispered. Loki- his lips parted in question with the nearest star hitting his pale face from the side to let his green eyes glow with the reflection coming from your white tank top- tilted his head to judge you with a raised brow. Your lips parted just like his but in heavy bewilderment of the sorts that one does not usually let out before turning to share a look with a camera.

You: *tilt head* was he always this...poetically beautiful?

You mumbled something under your breath with your eyes darting away from his face. "Y/N." "I said I had some at grandmama's place." A muted yet sophisticated gasp came out of Loki's mouth. "How many exactly?" "....Six or seve-" "We can still fix this-" "-teen?" Any hope bubbling in the God's eyes suddenly evaporated when he looked into a camera with a newfound fear.

Loki: This candy *raises the packet to show to the camera* is a sort of soother. It releases the tension in your muscles and helps in better blood circulation along with improving focus, increasing the stamina and...making everything quite...brighter? *sucks on his teeth* *looks at his feet while still holding the packet in frame* All of this happens when you consume two candies. *camera pans in on the artificial smile on Loki's face as he looks back at the lens* *whispers with a strain in his voice* she's had seventeen.

WAP Boys The flatscreen showed Loki gasping in sheer horror while the mute icon activated right over his disparate shade of horror as compared to your confused one. The same camera shifted from the huge screen towards the group gathered in the lounge, trying to figure out who did it. Scott, Peter and Sam were busy teaching Bucky and Steve while Vision made everyone some fizzy lemonade. Wanda searched for the WAP dance videos online while Natasha sat on the sofa- closest to the screen- making videos of the boys. For a second she revered her eyes from the screen to look at the camera sideways. A fleeting second, a straight face and the single silent entity in the chaos was all it took for the Black Widow to blink at the camera before going back to her phone. "There is no way I can do tha-" Steve was trying his best with his hands raised up to his chest in defeat. "Oh, come on, Cap," Scott begged, "you don't even have to do much. You just wiggle a little and your beautiful bouncy ass will do the rest of the work." Steve started to speak but stopped to give a hyperexcited Scott an expression filled with so many questions. "Word," Sam chimed in from behind Steve before gulping down his share of lemonade as he walked towards the sofa, getting a frown from Steve as a response. "Amen," Bucky announced whilst looking at the camera with a nascent smirk as he sipped his lemonade, at the same time trying to push his hair back. The 'really, Bucky?' look on Steve's face was a sweet bonus to already blushing owner of America's ass. "What the hell is happening?!" The unprecedented surprise in the familiar voice put everyone's metaphorical tails into one collective bushy goosebump. All the cameras shifted to a stunned yet stoic Tony Stark standing by the entrance of the lounge while everyone else tried to calm their heartbeats and look for an explanation.

Scott: I actually thought I was gonna get kicked out and so *shrugs*

"He did that!" Scott blurted out while pointing at the empty loveseat. Tony narrowed his eyes at him and the poor Antman found himself at a loss of words. "We were-" Steve paused for a second to give a quick look at everyone's faces before scratching an itch behind his ear- "learning a...a new dance?" "..." "It's the WAP!" Peter acknowledged with quite the enthusiasm till the wide cautious eyes of three people standing around him made him realise what he had just said.

Scott: *breathing into a paper bag* Oh crap! I am definitely dead today. Stark's gonna kill me for ruining his precious baby!!

"You all-" Tony at everyone in the room- "are learning the WAP while I get the news about a deadly virus taking over the world." "What?" There are muffled gasps and confused looks shared before everyone gets serious.

"It's a flu. The scientists are calling it Covid. Dr Cho, Bruce and Shuri are working on the cure," "Who's behind this?" Steve's persona did a complete one-eighty. "Hydra?" "The Neo-Nazis?" "Oh! Illuminati?" "Apparently, it has originated from 'bats'. The Wakandans have a lead on the 'bats'." "Okay, everyone," Steve announced, "let's suit up!" "Woah! Woah-ho-hooo!" The camera panned in on Tony's posture that clearly said 'nobody's going anywhere'. "Where do you think you're going?" Silence. Everyone looked at Steve for an answer. "To find the root of this virus." Tony took a step forward, his head already held high as usual. "Not before I win the WAP." Scott's jaw dropped to the floor, him and the camera looking at each other at the same instant. On the other side, Natasha- lying on the sofa- scrolled through her phone. "Okoye has already taken care of the 'root cause', hasn't she?" she nudged Tony. He didn't answer that. For a few seconds. "Doesn't matter. I can still wipe the floor with his ass. With all your asses." "Okay okay okay okay okay-" Sam nodded, enjoying the playful tension between the boys. "It's on. It is on!" The camera shifted to Natasha, who was still sprawled upon the sofa, smirking at her phone. "Perfect timing," she commented with a wink before opening her phone's camera to start recording.

In the alien Buggy "IIIII Loooove you BABAYYYYY. And if it's quite ALRIGHT!! I neeeed you BABAYYYY to warm these lonely NIGHTS!!!! OH PRETTY BA-" The singing continued in the background while Loki sat defeated on the floating vehicle, focusing on anything but that singing. His lips ran in a thin line, really telling the spectator the limit of his patience. The tension was boiling in his muscles and yet he did not move an inch, just waiting patiently. "Oh my God Loki?" You sat up in a daze behind him, your mouth agape with disappointed horror. "We have been together all this time but you got your hair conditioned! And not mine?!!" Loki's palm tried its best to rub some of his own disappointment off his face. "I thought we were best friends," you whimpered with betrayal in your already watering eyes. The camera focused on Loki shifting as he went for his bag to take out a bottle of water and a small green sachet. His eyes were on the camera when he asserted ever so sweetly, "of course, we are friends, Y/N. And I'll tell you where I got my hair conditioned-" he opened the sachet and mixed the herb-like contents in the water- "but first you need to drink some water." The camera panned out to show you running on the rough terrain away from the alien buggy- while Loki kept talking to himself- hopping in excitement at intervals.  "It will hydrate you and flush out those undesirable dru-" The d-word hung in the air when Loki found the space behind him empty. "Y/N?" He questioned in a tender tone, quite probably wondering you were hiding somewhere. The second time your name came out in urgency when he looked at Javier and Lulu sitting there in confusion. The third time he hopped down the moving vehicle- which, to be fair, moved at a turtle's pace- and looked underneath the levitating body. There was no fourth time. He just looked at Javier and Lulu, who turned to look in the direction you had dashed in. "Why didn't you stop her?!" Loki was restraining the anger so hard. "Oh, what do you mean neither of you can speak!!" By this time, Loki's heart was in his mouth, he was sweating and his breaths were shallow. Javier whistled at the rhino-like aliens pulling their buddy to stop. Getting down, he set his camera to Loki's side profile, conscious to maintain a safe distance from an untethered God. Licking his lips, he shut his mouth and took one deep breath with his eyes closed. The nearest star helped with its bright rays to let the audience know the clench of his jaw was an intense one. Opening his eyes, there was only one emotion that was visible on his entire being. "Fuck."

[bakubabes-tatakae]

The Demon’s Keeper

Author’s Note: If anyone wants to be added to the taglist for this feel free to let me know! Happy to add anyone!

(Rin Okumara x Reader)

Summary: Rin Okumura is a hot headed demon who is hard to keep under control, only one person seems to be able to do it better than anyone, Y/N. For that, she’ll be known as the Demon’s Keeper, but what exactly does that entail for them?

A03 Link

Part One:

Word Count: 2169

Our nightly ritual of sitting on the swings at the nearest park was rudely interrupted when a certain black haired hot head caught sight of some kids preying on some birds. His eyes filled with anger and I grabbed onto his hand, trying to get him to stay back. “Rin, come on, don’t do this. Can we just have one night where we don’t have to pick a fight with someone? Please?”

Rin pulled his hand from mine. “Do what you want, but I have to help those animals. Look at them, they’re helpless.” 

One of the boys, the one who looked like the leader, was pointing an arrow straight at the group of what seemed like pigeons by the jungle gym. The boy pulled the trigger and an arrow shot straight through the bird. I turned my head and hid my face. How could someone do that to a helpless little animal?

Rin looked from me to the bird, growing more angry at the situation as he saw my discomfort. Another arrow was put into the bow and that’s when he took action. Rin hollered to them. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?!”

The boy turned to face us and aimed the bow and arrow toward us instead. Before we could move he shot the arrow. I gasped loudly as the arrow landed an inch from Rin’s face, sticking into the tree that the swings hung on. Rin growled and the boy provoked him. “Get out of my face. I’m just getting rid of these useless pests that just swarm, eat, and crap everywhere. So just shut the hell up.” The boy next to him loaded another arrow for him. 

I never had a chance to grab the sleeve of his jacket before Rin was barreling toward the kid, fist in the air. I tried to snap him out of it before something went wrong. “Rin, stop! Don’t do it!” His fist connected with the kid's face and he hit the ground. 

The kid backed away from Rin and I ran toward them. I grabbed onto Rin’s arm and hid slightly behind him. The two boys beside the leader grabbed his arms and helped him to his feet. The boy looked at Rin both in terror and in anger. “What kind of demon are you?”

They started to walk away and Rin looked at them. “Who are you calling a demon? You assholes are way more demonic than me.”

Rin wiped his nose on his sleeve of his free arm and looked down. Blood tinged the end of his jacket and there was some drying on his nose. He looked toward me. “Oh crap, I did it again.”

I grabbed his face in my hand and took a tissue out of my pocket with the other, wiping his nose and kissing the end of it. 

“What am I doing Y/N? ...Damnit.” He sighed and looked up as the birds he saved flew away. 

“You’re speaking up for what you believe in… even though I tried to stop you.” I smiled at him and giggled. 

He put his hands on my waist, turned me around, and started walking forward. “Let’s head back to the Monastery before the old man wonders where we are.”

* * * * * * 

When we got back to the Monastery we were greeted at the front doors by none other than Shiro Fujimoto. When he spotted the cut on Rin’s face he didn’t look pleased. “What happened to you?” He pulled his glasses down his nose some to take a closer look. 

Rin turned his head so he couldn’t see it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Shiro looked at him with intent. “Into the chapel, now.” I started to turn to walk to our bedroom when he spoke again. “Both of you.” I sighed and the both of us followed him in, sitting in the pews near the front. Shiro looked over at Rin. “Into the confessions booth, no if, ands, or buts.”

Rin groaned and went into one side of it, Shiro sitting in the other. I watched from the pew across from the booth. Rin looked more annoyed than I had seen him in a long time. Rin rested his face on his chin and stared at me as shiro spoke to him. “Oh straying lamb, confess thy sins with true sorrow and pray for forgiveness.”

Rin blew out a breath. “Yeah? Why should I? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Where did you get that cut on your face?”

And this is the point where the stories started. “I tripped going down stairs.”

“Your clothes are a mess.”

“It was a mother of a fall.”

“And that trace of a nose bleed?”

“Yeah, well, when I fell, I bumped smack into this super hot chick, and I-”

Rin didn’t even get to finish his sentence before Shiro came running out of the booth, standing in front of me, frantic. He turned back to his son. “What? Let’s go after her! Show me where she is, Rin!

Rin gulped. “Crap.” 

Shiro reached into the booth and dragged Rin out in a headlock. “You moron!” Rin wiggled in his arms. “You got into another fight. Admit it.”

I stood up from the pew and started toward them. “Shiro, you’re choking him.” I bit my lip nervously. It wouldn’t be the first time that Shiro had done this and Rin had passed out.

“Why must you always brawl?” Shiro squeezed a little harder. 

Rin fought back. “Let go of me you old fart!”

Shiro let go and turned around. “I just received a disturbing phone call from you employers. They told me they have no need for a delivery boy who doesn’t bother to return”

Rin stood up and stepped next to me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. “So what? Big deal. There was no way I could cut it anyway. As if a guy like me could ever hold down a job.”

I looked over at him and smacked him in the back of the head. “Don’t be a baby Rin!”

Shiro chuckled at me. “I knew I liked this girl for a reason.” He got serious again as he spoke to Rin. “Y/N is right. A day will soon come when you must leave this monastery and strike out on your own. And as your guardian it’s my duty to see that you do so. You can’t rely on Y/N for everything when you leave here. Or do you just want to become a priest and run this monastery?”

Rin looked offended. “Take over this crappy church. Dream on.”

We all jumped when Yukio, Rin’s twin brother, walked into the room and spoke. “Dad? I’m all done getting myself ready to move out. All that’s left for me to do is carry out my luggage.”

Shiro smiled at him. “Well done, son.”

Yukio smiled at us. “Welcome home you guys!” He looked over at Rin. “Get into another fight.”

Rin looked away from him in anger. “Shut the hell up.” I smacked him in the back of the head again. He shot a glare at me. “Ow! Would you quit doing that?!”

“Would you be nice to your brother for once?”

Rin said nothing and the monks behind us spoke as they cleaned the windows. “I swear, for a couple of twins, those guys couldn’t be more different.”

They struck up a conversation without realizing we were listening. “Yukio might be the younger one, but he doesn’t act like it. He’s great at sports, always gets straight A’s, and he’s about to start his freshman year at True Cross Academy.”

“Meanwhile his big brother’s only accomplishment is causing trouble.” They looked over at us. “Rin,” Rin tried his best to ignore them. “You should really try being a little bit more like Yukio and start straightening out your life.”

My eyes grew wide as the other one spoke again. “And you should probably start taking better care of that girl you have on your arm, if you don’t, a good guy like Yukio is going to take her away.”

Rin shot around to stare at him. “I said just shut up!” The furnace next to the two cleaning the windows shot out blue flames, almost like it had been activated by Rin’s anger. 

I jumped and looked at Shiro and Yukio. Shiro ran toward the furnace, spouting things about it being junk and needing to be replaced, but I was skeptical. I looked up at Rin who was still staring at the two men and then looked toward Yukio.

Shiro left the room a second later when another monk came in to tell him that someone was here to see him. He turned before exiting the door. “Yukio, Y/N, please tend to Rin’s wounds.”

We both looked over at him and spoke together. “Yes sir.”

* * * * * * 

As Yukio put rubbing alcohol on Rin’s cuts on his hand he whined like a baby. I chuckled at him. “That stings!” 

Yukio continued without faltering. “I’m almost finished. Suck it up Rin.”

Rin looked toward Yukio’s boxes that were packed near the dining room table. “So you’re moving into the dorm, huh?”

“Yeah, well, since school starts next week and all. I’ll be saying goodbye to sixteen years in this place.” 

I looked over at him. “We’re gonna miss you Yuki.” 

“Don’t make me sound like a baby Y/N.” Rin spat.

“Don’t try to sound so tough you big baby.”

Yukio chuckled at us. “I’ll miss you guys too.”

Rin changed the subject some. “So I guess that makes this the last time you’ll be treating my injuries”

Yukio laughed. “What I become a doctor I’ll give you all the treatment you want… for a fee of course.”

Yuiko amazed me. He had everything together, he knew exactly what he wanted in life. I loved Rin, but he didn’t know what he wanted in life and tended to just go with the flow. “Being a doctor’s always been your dream, hasn’t it Yuki?”

“It has.” He smiled at me. 

Rin held up his bandaged hand and showed it to me, praising his brother. “Then go for it, I’m sure you’re gonna make it.”

“Listen, you guys are gonna be alright without me, aren’t you?” He looked concerned. “You’re going to be able to keep this guy in line right Y/N.”

I gave him a weak smile. Goodbyes sucked. “Probably about as well as I do now. But we’ll be okay Yuki, don’t worry about us.”

Rin didn’t take it the same way as I. “What’s up with that? Are you gonna lecture me too?”

“I’m just worried, that’s all, and not just me. Dad’s worried too, and so is everyone else here. I mean, you’re getting into fights every day. And you can’t seem to hold down a part time job for very long. You can’t even see how worried your own girlfriend is about you, Rin.”

Rin looked over at me with an apologetic look. “I’m really stressed about all that too. I know I’ve got to pull it together, and fast, but I…”

Yukio sensed the tension as Rin fell silent. “I’m sure you’re just being tested in a way, Rin.”

“By who?”

“God, of course.”

Rin’s face dropped some. “You know, you’re starting to sound just like the old man.” 

A couple of apprentices came into the room and spoke. “There you are Rin, we heard that the Southern Cross Shopping Mall is hiring part timers!”

“Yea?” Rin seemed confused. 

“We called and they want you there right now for an interview!” 

“What?” Rin was getting angry again. “How dare you call them without telling me!”

“You better hurry, you can borrow one of my old suits for the interview!” The monk threw a box at him. 

Rin caught the box over his head. “I need a suit to interview for a part time job?”

Yukio cheered up some. “What do you say?”

Rin scratched his head. “Looks like there’s no way out. 

* * * * * * 

As we sat in our bedroom Rin struggled with the tie on the suit. I stood up and walked toward him as he squirmed with anxiety and annoyance. “Rin, let me see it.” I reached for him. 

“No. I can do it. I’ll figure it out. I don’t need your help with everything. I have to be someone you can rely on as well. I have to take care of you.”

I sighed. “Don’t let what that guy said in the chapel get to you. I’m not going anywhere Rin. As unorganized as you are in your life I couldn’t see us any other way. I wouldn’t want you any other way Rin Okumara.” I smiled at him and kissed his cheek.

He smiled back at me and put his hand under my chin, lifting my head up to him. He put his lips on mine and spoke. “I love you too Y/N L/N.”

Part Two: *NSFW Ahead!*, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

Updated: 5/12/2020

[whentommymetalfie]

Breathe Again -Chapter eighteen 

-Move on-

prologue//one//two//three//four//five//six//seven//eight//nine//ten//eleven/twelve/thirteen/fourteen/fifteen//sixteen//seventeen

Chapter Summary: Some news reach Margate. Alfie is less than pleased. 

Wordcount: 4700

Warnings: hallucinations, disordered eating, panic attacks 

Other: a tiny bit of nsfw content in this 

As per his new routine, because Lord forbid anything is ever easy, Alfie wakes up in the middle of the night, shirt sticking to his back and with a groan caught in his throat. Tommy is plastered against him, one arm wrapped tightly around his chest and face buried in the crook of his neck. Warm little puffs of air blow against his skin as he breathes and one of his legs is slung over Alfie’s hip. That definitely weren’t there when they went to sleep. But he’s migrated even closer during the night, craving the warmth. And yeah that leg? That’s definitely a fucking problem.

Alfie finds himself breathing too harshly, heart beating loudly in his ears, can almost feel the blood pulsating through his entire body.

Carefully, he inches Tommy away from him until he can safely climb out of bed. To hide in the bathroom. Doesn’t even dare fucking breathing until he’s locked the door. Then he lets the water from the faucet run cold and splashes it over his flushed face.

He doesn’t remember the dreams. Rarely does. Only in those dazed moments right when he opens his eyes, when he’s not entirely aware it was a dream at all and Tommy’s warm body is pressed up against him, further blurring the lines. But the hard cock pulsing between his legs is all the reminder he needs.

Fuck.

He leans heavily against the sink. Closes his eyes and thinks of that list he made -sour milk, wet socks, thorny bushes- but it doesn’t really work tonight, he’s too far gone already.

When he wraps his fingers around his cock, he tries to at least picture someone else, some other pretty thing, with… green eyes perhaps. Lighter hair.

It’s useless of course, trying to be logical about it. His body knows what it wants. And with the arousal clouding his mind like warm, heavy fog, all he can think of is Tommy.

He comes so hard he doubles over, hanging onto the sink as his hips move into it.

The return to the real, logical world afterwards is as brutal as always. What fucking business does he have indulging in behaviour like this? He’s not an animal, bound to give in to his baser instincts. And now he’s fucking stuck in here, because it’s too much to handle, the thought of opening that door and getting back into bed next to Tommy, or worse yet, finding him awake and terrified because he’s been left alone. Looking at him with those big eyes of his, trusting Alfie to hold him until the nightmares fade again without any ulterior motives or indecent thoughts.

Then again just leaving him alone out there for the rest of the night isn’t an option either.

He unlocks the door and stands there with a hand on the doorknob, stuck between a rock and a hard place. He closes his eyes and thinks of black mould- Tommy’s face, lips parted, long lashes resting on pale cheeks.

Alfie draws himself bath.

Lying there in the hot water at least wrings the tension from his muscles, always something. And his thoughts clear slightly. He’s skilled at compartmentalizing. No use in lingering on mistakes past, right? He just needs some time to breathe and then he can go back out there and focus his energy on nursing his poor bird back to health. Can even pretend it was all a fucking dream. Maybe he sleep walked and just ended up here in the bathroom and decided to have a soak while he was at it? Entirely possible.

But this was the last time. Last fucking time-

There’s a knock on the door.

“Alfie?”

He clears his throat before answering, “Yeah? I’m here. Just having a bath.”

Which makes him reflect upon the fact that it’s indeed a strange fucking thing, taking a bath in the middle of the night.

Tommy, predictably, says nothing.

“Needed it to help with… back pain,” he calls then. Which isn’t a complete lie. Silence. He thinks of Tommy standing out there, wrapped in his blanket and staring at the door, terrified of some otherworldly spectre Alfie’s left him alone with. He pinches the bridge of his nose, silently congratulates God on having a wonderful fucking sense of humour, and calls, “You can come in. Door’s not locked. And I’m all decent. Or at least covered in suds.”

The door opens and in steps Tommy, unruly locks sticking up at odd angles and with the trusty blanket firmly clasped against his chest. Alfie checks again to make sure the water is adequately soapy in the right places.

“You need something, eh?”

Tommy’s eyes are a bit too wide. Darts in various direction. Alfie doesn’t much care for the idea that he might be sharing this room with a ghost right at this very moment. He motions towards the chair where he usually sits to make sure Tommy doesn’t drown while he’s bathing.

“You can sit over there. If you don’t want to be alone. Just got to warm up my joints for a bit and then we’ll go back to bed, alright?”

Tommy closes the door before seating himself on the chair, back turned against him. Alfie sinks a bit deeper into the bath. The room is laden with strange tension. Because even though they’ve been in plenty of strange situations together, this new one beats all of them.

“Baths truly are one of the very good things in life, eh?” he mutters, to break the silence. “Good for many things, aren’t they? Aching joints and bones. Warding off sickness. Or just be a nice, completely useless and unproductive activity one can indulge in.”

Tommy has pulled both feet off the floor, always needs to make himself as small as possible.

He glances quickly over his shoulder at Alfie.

“Yeah, yeah, still here. Promise I’m not vanishing into thin air.”

Tommy is fidgeting with the blanket.

The strange mood in the room lingers. Alfie listens to the droplets from the faucet as they hit the water. Tries to come up with something to say, any useless story, true or not, will do, but his brain seems to have shut down. On his chair, Tommy is so laden with tension that he vibrates with it.

“Fine, fucking hell, come here,” he says and waves Tommy over as he glances over his shoulder, puzzled. “Not into the fucking tub obviously. But you can sit here if you’d like.” He motions towards the general area right next to the tub. It’ll all around make for an even more awkward situation but he doesn’t fancy having to climb out of the bath and help Tommy down from a full on panic attack. This is the better option.

Tommy obeys, doesn’t even bring the chair, just pads over on bare feet and curls up on the floor next to the tub. And fuck it, he likes what he likes. Seems to help, too. Being closer. He stops his incessant fidgeting, some of the tension drains from his shoulders. Things are even somewhat… nice. For a while.

But eventually, Alfie has to get out of the bath. Can’t stay here until he dissolves. Even if that might be preferable. He puts both hands on the edge and braces himself.

“Right, I’m getting out. If you don’t want an eyeful you’ll have to close them. Your eyes, that is,” he tells Tommy. “Yeah? I mean you’re of course free to leave the room but I’m assuming you don’t want that?”

Tommy nods and obediently squeezes his eyes shut. Puts his hands in front of them too, a gesture which is far more adorable than it should be.

Alfie takes yet another moment to gather himself. This might be a new record as for strange and mildly humiliating situations he’s put himself in. Never been that bothered about modesty before, it’s just that it’s… Tommy. He first heaves himself upright and then carefully steps out of the bath, holding onto the sink for support just to be on the safe side. Thankfully all of his body, even the parts that don’t always function that well in situations like these, decides to cooperate and there are no falling incidents. He grabs a towel and dries himself off before wrapping it around his waist. Putting on the sweat drenched clothes doesn’t seem very tempting, so he just leaves those where they lie.

“Right, all clear. Somewhat. Think we can end this little midnight escapade and go back to bed.”

Tommy opens his eyes and stares up at him. Blinks slowly and looks utterly exhausted.

“Go on,” Alfie says and nods towards the door. When Tommy still doesn’t move, he grabs his arm with one hand, the other firmly holding onto the towel, and pulls him to his feet.

Suddenly Tommy is very close. Alfie finds himself holding onto him. Some learned instinct, perhaps, knowing Tommy is so often unsteady on his feet, prone to fainting even now when his food intake has increased ever so slightly.

Tommy’s eyes are trained on his chest.

Alfie can feel his pulse pattering under his fingers, hidden away under the soft skin on his thin wrist. Or perhaps it’s his own?

Fucking hell.

This close, he can count every freckle on Tommy’s cheeks. There are a few of those now, the meagre hours of sunlight eventually adding up to bring them out. A smattering of pale spots over his cheeks and nose. He wonders if Tommy thinks about them. If he likes them or not. Some people are so particular about freckles, aren’t they?

He flinches when a cold hand suddenly ghosts over his chest. Tommy flinches too, stares up at him with wide eyes, but doesn’t have the sense to take the hand away.

What the hell do you think you’re up to? is what he should ask.

“Yeah, ‘s from the war, innit? Shrapnel,” he says instead. Tommy is watching the scarring on the left side of his chest. Nods. Trails his finger along one of the scars.

“Your hands always this cold?” Alfie asks and catches the hand before Tommy can move it away. Holds it against his chest, over his heart.

“You’re warm,” Tommy whispers. Inches a bit closer. Eyes still on his chest, trailing lower in a way that should make him feel uncomfortable or at the very least… scrutinized but doesn’t. Instead it lights a stack of hot coals in the pit of his stomach. Tommy’s lips are parted ever so slightly, he’s so close Alfie can feel his breath on his skin. “You’re always warm.”

“Yeah, blood runs that way,” he says. Rubs his thumb over his bony knuckles. Along the fingers, each and every one of them. “Could just be you that’s very cold.”

Tommy inches a bit closer yet, gravitates towards him. As if he does feel cold and wants to warm himself. So close that if Alfie just bowed his head a little, put a finger under Tommy’s chin to make him look up-

His eyes catch on the jagged scar, barely visible under the hair now, but still there.

He releases Tommy’s hand and brushes past him, setting for the door.

“Right, should probably get some more sleep, yeah?”

Tommy lingers in the bathroom, doesn’t come out until Alfie’s already pulled on a clean set of underwear and gotten himself back under the covers. He quietly climbs into bed and curls up as closely as he can without touching him.

Eventually, Alfie gives in and wraps an arm around his back.

….

Thank fuck, things are quite normal the next morning. Normal as in: they’re as strange they usually are. Tommy is already out of bed when Alfie wakes up, sitting on the windowsill and smoking. Which seems to be his new routine. Alfie’s rather grateful, even if he pretends to be mad every morning, telling Tommy about the dangers of smoking before breakfast from the comfort of his bed while Tommy finishes the cigarette. Eventually Alfie climbs out of bed and puts an ashtray in front of him, it gets put out, and they go and have breakfast. And despite what that cigarette may do to his already lacking appetite, Alfie is quite happy with this development. Because it means he gets the pleasure of watching Tommy sit in that window with the morning light catching in his hair and lashes. Which, objectively, is something no sane man would be able to resist.

With that part of the morning done, they as always embark on the ever exciting breakfast mission. Tommy is currently eating porridge with a teaspoon (which shouldn’t look as endearing as it does and is a testament to how strange their ‘normal’ is, but if it works it works, right?) Meanwhile Alfie is occupied with the misery that is today’s news. Nothing much has happened in the world. Business as usual; people killing each other, buying things they don’t need, the concept of weather and consequently weather reports and related news continuing to exist…

He’s caught off guard when he suddenly finds himself staring into a pair of familiar eyes, drained of their blue colour by the black and white photo, but just as recognizable. They look up at him from under a bold headline and his heart seems to drop into the pit of his stomach as he reads it, and sinks if possible even further as he scans the text below.

After months of speculations, Thomas Shelby has been confirmed dead. There have been rumours that Shelby’s long absence from politics and the public eye is indeed not due to a holiday, as has been previously proclaimed by the family, but a health related issue. Now the family come forth to reveal that Shelby has passed after a prolonged illness, the nature of which they chose not to divulge at this time.

“We hope the public will respect our wish for privacy in these difficult times,” Michael Gray says.

He makes quick work of the lengthy piece. Like trying to set a disjointed shoulder or remove a bullet -quick and painful is better than dragging it out. It’s not a pleasant read. Fuck’s sake one might think a paper would have some kind of decency when speaking of a dead man. Or at the very least hoped the fuckers Tommy’s family would’ve paid someone off to spin the narrative and tone down the fucking triumphant tone of the piece. The reporter seems more pleased to have been right than anything and spares no details in the speculations and analysis of Tommy’s behaviour before his disappearance. Delving into all the controversies and the divide his decision to associate with Oswald Mosley has caused. Even go as far as to dig into the unsavoury beginnings of Shelby Company limited. Which, as Michael fucking Gray proclaims in the interview, were ‘the old days’. Things are done differently now, and with him at the helm… Alfie thinks his molars might crack as he reads his statement. And despite the nauseating smugness Michael’s every word exudes, the by far worst part is where the article expands on the hushed rumours of Tommy’s increasingly unstable psyche. Does the fucking paper have no standards anymore?

Alfie skips a few lines. Ends up where Michael is speaking about Tommy’s death instead.

“It was of course terrible, watching him suffer the way he did, but he died peacefully in his home, and perhaps sometimes, that’s more merciful.”

Michael is the only one in the family who’s bothered to answer the reporter’s calls. Alfie’s not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.

The whole thing leaves him with his jaw clenched and his pulse throbbing dully in his temple.

Fucking tasteless, is what it is.

Tommy’s eyes look sad even in the picture. He wonders if there is a single picture where they don’t.

Suddenly aware of his company by the table, he flips to the next page. Tommy seems oblivious. Which is lucky -it feels like it’s visible on his face, the distaste. But beneath the immediate surge of anger, there’s a tiny flicker of relief. This means they won’t come looking. This means Tommy is safe here, with him. No one is coming to take him away. And as Alfie watches him sit there with the morning light playing over his sharp cheekbones and the soft curve of his nose, fully focused on braving the portion of porridge, he’s overwhelmed by such a wave of tenderness that he’s certain he’ll use is bare fucking hands to end anyone who dared try.

He closes the paper and puts his hands together, making Tommy jump slightly in his seat.

“Right! Weather’s beautiful, how about that walk? You eaten all of your food? Yeah, there��s a good lad. Let’s get some sun on that face…”

And as he gently ushers Tommy out of the kitchen, he forgets about the paper.

…

Later that day he’s alone in the kitchen, graciously making tea for Tommy as Esther is occupied with the wash for the week. He cuts up Tommy’s regularly scheduled afternoon meal (which has now increased to a whole apple and a canned pear cut into the normal tiny pieces and mixed together in a bowl. A slight but important improvement). Puts that, along with the pot and two cups, on a tray and balances it back to the living room.

He finds Tommy in his usual chair. Holding today’s paper in his hands, staring down at it with wide eyes, white in the face.

‘Why don’t you find the crossword, hm? I’ll be back in a second’. That’s what he fucking told him, right before going to the kitchen. Which his brain decides to remind him of now, far too late. Had been an attempt to practice this whole ‘being alone’ thing, rather than following Alfie in his heels. For his own good. The realisation flushes through him like an icy wave.

“Tommy? What do you got there?” His question goes entirely unnoticed and he shoves the tray onto a nearby table, sending a paperweight crashing to the floor with a heavy thud. Walks up to him in two long strides and kneels in front of the chair, doesn’t even feel his knees complaining at the sudden motion.

Tommy’s eyes are flickering over the page covering his supposed passing, breaths coming in harsh puffs as he chews his bottom lip. Every single spiteful word in the article rushes all at once through Alfie’s head

“Tommy, let’s put this away, alright?” He grabs the paper and it slips out of Tommy’s hands despite his white knuckled grasp, as if his hands have lost all strength. “Let’s put this away and forget about it. They don’t know shit, you hear me?”

With the paper gone from his hands, Tommy grasps at his head instead. Fingers clenching tightly into his hair as he looks straight past Alfie, to those unknown corners of the room. Places he couldn’t see even if he tried.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. A hoarse, broken sound. “I’m sorry.”

Alfie clutches at his wrists, tries in vain to catch his gaze as he begins to quiver. “Tommy, hey, look at me. You’re alright. Just you and me here, eh?”

“I was just trying to- to-” Tommy gasps. Looks so utterly fucking distraught. “Didn’t mean for it to turn out this way.” Then he can’t get any more words out, they all turn into this awful, choking sounds as his breath catches in his throat. Lips turning pale and cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.

“Fuck, Tommy, you’re going to fucking pass out unless you start breathing.” Alfie inches his hands in under Tommy’s, forcing them away from his head, covering the scar and holding his head still. Tommy grasps his wrists in response, clings to them as if they’re the sole thing keeping him from drowning. Continues to gasp frantically for air that doesn’t reach his lungs, choking out barely audible words in between. I’m sorry, he keeps saying, eyes distant.

Alfie holds him a bit too tightly. Maybe the fragile skull will shatter underneath his hands, all the cracks finally giving in…

“Shh, shh, Tommy, just let it pass,” he whispers “Remember what we talked about, hm? Right now all you have to do is breathe, and it’ll be okay.”

He fights the impulse to tear him out of the panic, wants to shake him viciously, wring a hand into his hair and fucking force him to come back. Instead he just sits there. Let’s Tommy hold onto his wrists. The helplessness is fucking maddening.

Finally, Tommy deflates. Sags in his grip, fingers growing weak around his wrists. Alfie allows him to fall forward, rest his forehead on his shoulder. He cards his fingers through his hair and listens to the steady slowing of his breath. Both of his legs are asleep and there’s a distinct twinge somewhere around his left knee, he really should get off the floor. But moving even an inch is out of the question.

“Oh dear, did something happen?” Esther’s voice comes from the doorway, barely above a whisper as she comes into the room.

Alfie simply nods towards the paper where it lays crumpled a few feet away.

Esther sets down her basket of linens and her eyes go dark when she scans the page, mouth drawing into a tight line. She folds the paper up tightly and puts it into the pocket of her apron.

“I’ll throw that out, if you don’t mind, Sir?”

Alfie just nods before turning his attention back to Tommy.  

“Right, Tommy, how about you lay down for a while? Relax a little?” he asks and manages to stand up, despite the complaints from all his joints. Tommy won’t let go of his wrists. Grasps onto them tighter now when Alfie’s shoulder is gone, head bowed. Alfie makes a half hearted attempt at making him lean back in the armchair but looks around the room for other options when Tommy whines quietly in protest. “Okay, what about the sofa, then? Hm? We can both fit on that.”

He motions Esther over with a jerk of his head, just to be on the safe side, and together they pull Tommy to his feet. It’s wobbly and precarious but he stays upright, albeit by plastering himself against Alfie’s chest and with Esther’s arm around his back. Alfie walks him over to the sofa and slumps down, Tommy nestled closely against his side.  

Esther brings the blanket over to them to tuck him in and Tommy finally releases Alfie’s wrists, burying his fingers in that instead.

“There we go,” Alfie mutters and brushes the hair out of his eyes. “All better. Now we just sit here for a little while, yeah? Nice and easy. Can even close your eyes if you fancy it”

Moments later, Tommy has fallen into an exhausted sleep.

And Alfie is left alone with his thoughts.

Every time one of these things happens he’s reminded of how much he’s in over his fucking head.

There’ll be those brief moments of calm, something akin to normalcy. Even if it’s a new normal, one very far from the common definition of the word. Even if Tommy is… different now. Broken beyond repair perhaps, eyes catching on invisible spectres in the corners and all those cleverly spun words stolen from his lips. But Alfie might be slowly learning to fucking handle it, is the thing. That new normal. Because of those short moments where Tommy will emerge from the fog. Stubbornly smoke too many cigarettes. Ask when they can go outside with something almost resembling eagerness tinting his voice. Point at something in the crossword and have the answer all figured out. Quietly eat one of his small meals without breaking out in cold sweat. Good days will consist of many of those moments, lighting a reluctant but persistent little flicker of something in Alfie’s chest.

And then something like this happens. Or like the incident the other night, in the living room. When he disappears completely.

And it still happens far too fucking often.

He’s not sure what caused the panic this time. Guilt welling up perhaps, over things he’s done. Things he hasn’t done. Or the finality of it all; seeing all the ties to his previous life so ruthlessly severed. By his own fucking family, too.

A sudden swell of rage rises in his chest. Take and take, don’t they, and once he’s got nothing left to give this is what they fucking do? Ungrateful vultures, the lot of them, picking at the last scraps of meat until there’s nothing but bones left-

He needs to move. Do something with his hands.

Tommy is so out of it he doesn’t even stir when Alfie lays him down on the sofa to amble out in the hallway and stretch his legs.

He wants to shoot something. Wants to put a gun to each and every member of that ungrateful fucking family’s head and watch the skull burst into a million fractured pieces. In lieu of any members of the Shelby clan showing up at his doorstep to allow for this, a seagull would have to do for now.

But he just continues pacing up and down the corridor.

When he’s on his fourth lap, Esther comes towards him with another basket of freshly washed clothing. She peers into the living room as she passes.

“Still asleep?” she whispers and he they meet halfway down the corridor, still in view of the living room. To be on the safe side.

“Yeah, yeah they always drain him completely, these things,” he says quietly, scratching his chin as he watches Tommy’s sleeping form on the sofa. “Wrings his poor brain out like a dishrag.”

Esther has a sharp wrinkle between her eyebrows as she sets her laundry basket down. Alfie waits for the thought she’s clearly forming while she pulls the paper from her apron and unfolds it.

“Is this something we need to be worried about?” she thumbs the page where Tommy’s sad eyes are looking up at them. Glances down as the wrinkle is joined by a few more, just as sharp, just as concerned. “These… people.”

The way she says it tugs a mirthless laugh from his throat.  

“His family?”

Esther huffs as she eyes the paper again.

“It’s not right,” she mutters, shaking her head. “Why would the lie? And then let the paper write something like this.”

Alfie sighs as if the weight on his chest could be pushed off through sheer force. “No fucking idea. An attempt to keep up the neat façade I suppose. A hell of a lot easier to say someone’s died after an illness, I reckon. Rather than admitting they’ve gone fucking mad in the head and run off somewhere. And even after months, you still have no idea to where. They’re not very fond of that, the Shelbys. Losing control.”

“But wouldn’t they’ve made them leave out these bits then?” Esther taps the paper, even if the text is illegible at this distance. “There are clearly assumptions being made about his- well, his mental state.”

“Because they’re fucking morons, I assume. Don’t know if they’ve bothered demanding to approve the article before it went to print. Or if they did and just didn’t give a damn.”

“Wish he hadn’t had to see this. Poor thing.”

“Don’t let him know you read it. I don’t think he could fucking survive it if you- if you held those things against him. Not now.”

“There seems to be plenty of people who do that already,” Esther says firmly. “I hardly think I need to add to that list.” She turns towards the living room and her eyes grow soft as they land on Tommy. “I just want him to feel safe. That there’s… room for him here.”

Alfie’s throat grows uncomfortably tight at her words, much to his annoyance.

He grunts something barely intelligible at Esther involving air and keeping an eye on Tommy for a second, and goes outside to find a seagull to shoot.

[creepy-spooghetti]

A Hapless Endearment [Creepypasta x F. Reader]

Chapter 7 - I’m On My Way

With fatigue, she leans on the wall for support and stands, weakly stumbling to the sink, refusing to look at her reflection in the mirror as she bends over and turns the faucet on. She gets soap from the dispenser on her palm and rubs both of her hands together before holding them under the water to rinse them, and immediately after that, sticks her face underneath, hoping to rid herself of the foul taste still very present in her mouth. 

She spits minuscule pieces of undigested food into the sink, letting the cool water run over and wash them down the drain without another thought. The sickening stench of bile sitting in the porcelain bowl almost has her gagging once more, so she reaches over, pushes on the little silver lever, and flushes it down into the sewer pipes, never to be seen again. 

Only then does she look at herself in the reflecting glass hung over the sink, not surprised when she sees dark bags under her eyes and unnaturally pale skin, no doubt results from lack of sleep and getting hit by an extreme wave of nausea so suddenly. Her lip trembles from the exertion, her eyes distant, stressed wrinkles creasing her forehead. What is happening? Why is it happening? Why are such terrifying thoughts invading her subconscious each time she goes to sleep?

Perhaps she can blame this one on the news she received yesterday, but that doesn’t explain the strange symbol. Why would she draw such a thing? What does it even mean? And what about the buzzing noise? It’s accompanied each dream she’s had down here thus far, and it made itself apparent before and during she was heaving her lungs out yesterday. It also started when she saw that figure in the woods earlier. Is it connected to something?

She rubs at her eyes listlessly and pushes herself away from the sink at once, switching the light to the bathroom off and wandering back into the living room at a pace much slower than normal. Her eyes trail up from the floor to Marshmallow, who sits on the arm of the couch, eyes narrowed as he stares at her with dilated pupils. Maybe this should worry her; after all, animals can sense things that humans can’t. But she can’t bring herself to care very much. She just wants it all to stop. She doesn’t want to be sick 24\7, or have nightmares far worse than what’s considered healthy, or be on the look-out constantly for something that’s possibly hunting her down. 

She flops onto the couch rather sluggishly and runs her hands through her messy hair, gaining sight of the large symbol that she seemingly sketched onto the paper for unknown reasons. Come to think of it, her hand is beginning to cramp due to how tightly she had been holding that pencil after she woke up, and who-knows-how-long before then. Does she have an illness? Is there medication to cure it? Should she go to a doctor and explain her symptoms? She’d prefer to wait and get medical attention, if it is necessary, once she returns home, so she won’t burden her grandparents with her problems and cause them to worry. 

She knows for a fact that her parents wouldn’t give it much thought if she told them she needed to go to the doctor, nor would they be very concerned. If she told them the reason, having hallucinations, nightmares, irrational and paranoid thoughts, insomnia, they’d probably call her behavior ridiculous and refuse to allow her to make an appointment. Or would they? She is still their daughter— surely they couldn’t just brush aside something like that, right? 

Then again, her father did it with the murder of his sister and the disappearance of his nephew, so she can’t ever be sure. But what about her mother? Isn’t the whole maternal instinct thing still there with her? If her child was hurt or scared, isn’t it natural to be worried? 

She glances over at her phone, still sat on the coffee table charging, unable to rid herself of the sudden thought that creeps into her mind. Somebody to talk to would be nice. But would she actually listen?

Sure, her grandparents are just upstairs, but not only does she not feel like making that trek all the way to the second floor, but both her Nana and Pops are likely fast asleep. They've done more than enough for her already, and they have enough stress on their shoulders as it is. She wants to avoid troubling them with anything else and make them unnecessarily frantic about her health, both physical and mental.

Reaching out a hesitant, mildly trembling hand, she unplugs her phone and unlocks it, scrolling to contacts and swiping her thumb along the screen until she sees 'Mom'. Should she really? What if she disturbs her? Or wakes her up? Even if she did, that shouldn't be an issue once she hears about her daughter possibly having some mental illness that needs to be fixed.

Mental illness is a strong way to word it. She shakes her head, continuing to stare at the call icon that pops up once she clicks her mother's contact. It's just... stressed hallucinations. Or... or strange coincidences. Yeah, that's all.

Letting out a soft sigh, she presses the green button and brings the small device to her ear, hearing it ring several times as the anticipation in her heart grows. Is this a mistake? Should she back out? Maybe she's making a big deal over nothing.

"Hello?" She sucks in a sudden breath, heart rate increasing as the familiar voice meets her ear. How should she start this?

"Um... hi, Mom." Clear anxiety is present in her tone, though she hopes that it isn't as noticeable as she thinks. 

"Y\n? What is it?" There's a hint of irritation hidden in that sentence, but the girl tries to ignore it and instead focuses on the reason she called her in the first place.

"Y-yeah, uh... I need to talk to you."

"About what? You know I'm busy. If it's more questions about your father, you know I—"

"No, Mom, it isn't about Dad." She's silent a moment as she hears her mother's soft breaths over the line, trying to collect her thoughts and put them into words. "It's... it's about me."

"...Well? Did you make another painting or something?"

She shakes her head, though she knows it can't be seen. "It's... weird things that have been happening to me. I-I don't know what's going on but it's really getting to me, and I feel sick and tired and stressed out. I don't know what to do."

"What exactly has been 'happening' to you, Y\n?" Her hand tightens slightly around her phone and she lets out an inaudible sigh. 

"It started out with bad dreams... really bad dreams. Of people being dead, or freaky voices, or strange markings in a tree. A-and I've been seeing things in the middle of the night, or even in the day. I can't sleep because it's so scary and I'm afraid that when I go to sleep I'll have another nightmare..."

"Y\n," An exasperated sigh erupts from the other end. "aren't you a little too old to be scared of bad dreams or the boogeyman?" It's as if a knife is shoved into her chest from the harsh words of her mother, and she fights the tears stinging her eyes, attempting to keep her voice steady. 

"Mom, it... i-it isn't like that."

"You used to complain to me all the time about bad dreams when you were a kid. You aren't a kid anymore, Y\n. You're almost seventeen."

"It's more serious than just dreams, Mom—"

"Grow up. You're a teenager, Y\n. Act like it." The girl swallows hard and lands her hard gaze on the floor, unable to stop the tears from slowly rolling down her cheeks. 

"You're not even listening to me!" She keeps her voice in a whisper but raises it slightly to make sure she gets the older woman's attention. "This isn't some stupid childhood fear. It's something bad, and it's really affecting me..."

"I don't have time for this. I have about a weeks' worth of papers stacked up on my desk and I have to do them. You'll get over yourself eventually and stop being so childish. Goodbye, Y\n." Before she can say anything else, a beep is heard before the line goes dead, signifying that her mother hung up. What else was she expecting? Sympathy? Concern? Reassurance? She should've known better. 

"Fine," she snaps, slamming her phone down on the couch beside her and releasing a huff, "who needs you anyway?" She plants her face into the palms of her hands to stifle the quiet whimpers emanating from between her lips. "I have myself and that's all I need. You're just a... a useless, irresponsible, incompetent piece of crap for a mom." Her fingers run through her h\c locks and she shakes her head, trying to compose herself. "Why are you even a mom..."

Of course her mother would blow her off. Her very own flesh and blood, brush her aside as if she means nothing to her. It's what she's been doing for years now, so why would she expect any different? I'm stupid. I'm stupid for assuming she would be worried. She doesn't care about me. She just doesn't care. She never does.

Soon, her shoulders are shaking as sobs wrack her body. She has to go through this alone, doesn't she? Her parents won't help her, her grandparents don't need that kind of pressure. None of her friends, if she can even call them that anymore, can help her. And they wouldn't. She's the one that left them behind, and they owe her nothing.

She shakily stands to her feet, wiping away the tears with the back of her hands in order to clear up her vision so she doesn't trip over anything, and begins her ascent up the stairs, not caring to bring her phone and instead only turns off the lamp as she passes it by. She walks warily up the staircase, doing her best to avoid looking anywhere but the ground for fear of seeing something lurking in the darkness until she reaches her bedroom, thankful that the light was left on previously.

She's unsure if Marshmallow will even follow her this time and bring her some kind of company, though, considering the aggressive way he was acting just minutes ago, she highly doubts it. Her gaze falls onto her bed, then onto the window that it's attached to, unable to quell the rush of anxiety that goes through her chest. The last time she was in here, she saw... something. What was it? A trick of the light? No, surely not. It was too... strange to be a trick of the light. Not to even mention the droning that formed in her mind while she looked at it. The same kind of droning that was present in her dreams, and at the river with Jack.

Is this normal? If it was, you'd think there would be more talk about it. In blogs, on the news, in books. But she's seen no such thing. Shaking her head in dismay, she steps farther inside, edging her way toward the window and anticipating what may be standing on the other side of the glass. She takes in a deep breath, hoping to calm her nerves a bit and brace herself before peering around the corner, over past her bed, and straight through to the dark woods across from the cottage. 

She scans the treeline, her heart rate slowing down when she doesn't find anything out-of-the-ordinary and releases a puff of air she didn't know she was holding in, her muscles relaxing slightly. Nothing. There's nothing, so maybe, she can actually go to sleep without having to worry about anything creeping around. She doesn't want to sleep, but she doesn't want to get sick, again, either. Although that may happen anyway if she has another unexplainably terrifying dream. She can only hope that she'll get lucky and her mind will give her a break, at least for the rest of the night.

She doesn't know what time it is, and she can't gather up the energy to check. It doesn't even matter, does it? She glances over at her lamp, silently debating on whether she should turn it off to both save electricity and hopefully hide her position to anything that may be waiting outside, or if she should leave it on to give her peace of mind. She hasn't really liked sleeping with the light on, not since she was a small child, but recently it's sounded a lot more comforting than being surrounded by pitch blackness, save for the moonbeams shining in through the window and spilling out onto the floor. 

What's better, hiding or feeling safer? Maybe there's a way she can compromise and do both. Her eyes avert around the room, eventually landing on the closet across from where she's facing. Could she do that...? Wouldn't that corner her? But it would be safer than sleeping in front of a window where some cryptic being can plainly see me. She remembers seeing a couple of spare blankets folded up on a shelf, and she could use her pillows as both a headrest and a weak attempt at a barrier. As unappealing as it sounds, staying in clear view of whatever is currently trying to get into her head sounds even less so. Closet it is.

She steps over and opens the door, switching on the light and glimpsing around for a good, somewhat comfortable spot to take shelter in. Under the clothes? No, too tight. In the little cabinet of old, stored things belonging to her aunt? Again, too tight. She decides on the opposite end of the closet, in-between a shelf and the wall, not too cramped but not too open either. And she'd be able to see the door clearly. That'll work. 

She grabs the two pillows from off of her bed, plus an oversized teddy bear that had been originally sitting in the corner of the room, untouched, and goes back into the walk-in storage room, placing all three items in her self-proclaimed area of safety, before also taking a folded-up blanket from the small stack and tossing it onto the pillows. She releases a yawn, blinking slowly afterward and shutting the door behind her prior to double-checking the room for anything else she may need, only finding her water bottle, and switches off the lamp. 

She sets it on the floor and shifts around everything until it meets her intentions, dimming the overhead light on the lowest setting, then walks back over and sits down, wrapping the blanket around her b\t frame, leaning against the wall, and tucking the large stuffed bear into her side. This is good. She feels secure here. There is nothing that can get in here without her knowing about it first... unless it's a hallucination. Then she can't escape. "I guess that's where you come in, Fuzzy," she mutters, hugging the bear half her size to earn some type of reassurance and consolation she had failed to get from her mother.

She stares ahead of her, at the closed door, waiting to hear something. Waiting to hear the creak of floorboards or the stamp of footsteps, or see the knob to the door slowly twist as it swings open. But one minute passes, then two, then five, then eight. Nothing of the sort happens. She just stays there, her breathing leveling out the more time passes, and she finds herself becoming relaxed. Maybe she should sleep in a closet more often...

She snuggles into the soft, though mildly dusty, coat of the bear, inhaling its old, washed-out scent of vanilla and allowing her eyes to droop. "Protect me if the 'boogeyman' comes in here, alright?" Her voice comes out as no more than a whisper, indirectly mocking her mother's previous choice of words to describe her state before fluttering her eyes closed and drifting off into a surprising, though thankfully peaceful, sleep.

___

His footsteps are almost inaudible as he walks through the darkened forest, his senses heightened due to the gloom around him. He's always more active at night, and it's been that way since... well, since the incident took place, all that long ago. Or was it even that long ago? He supposes it feels longer than what it actually is, probably because off of everything that's happened the past few years. But in reality, it's only been, what... eight, nine years ago? He was only seventeen at the time, and physically, he always will be. If he had been able to fulfill his career choice and live a normal life without meeting her, then he would be around twenty-six. 

Maybe he'd have a girlfriend, heck, maybe he'd have a wife, although becoming a doctor takes years of dedication so he doubts that he would have the time to put that much commitment into a relationship. Either way, he would be happy. He wouldn't have to worry about being hunted by some otherworldly entity, or stocking up on the less-than-desirable diet his body has unfortunately given him. He wishes he could have something normal for a change... like pizza. He would just about kill for some pizza, preferably supreme, but pepperoni would work, too. 

He shakes his head in disregard at his own thoughts, knowing more than anyone that pizza wouldn't ever happen, just like enchiladas wouldn't happen, or cheese sticks, or even something simple like cereal. It isn't possible, and though he accepted that long ago, he still gets certain cravings for things he used to enjoy. If he even tried eating them, now, he'd be sick for a week. One of the many disadvantages of being him. If only, right?

He checks the map on his phone that Ben had sent him about two hours prior, the direction he was supposed to go marked with bright red ink and making it pretty hard to miss. Let's see, he already passed the river, and he knows she took a certain trail to get to it. Just which trail did she take? He would follow footsteps but there's too much grass obscuring the actual dirt beneath, and even though he can see to a point, his vision has still been drastically altered, so he can't make out any pristine details. 

He makes a turn and comes across an overgrown area of the trail he's been sticking with, though it looks like it's already been walked through several times. Up ahead a few feet is what looks to be a dirt road and past that sits a quaint property with a white picket fence, a garden, and a gate. This is the place he's been searching for, right? Guess there's only one way to find out.

Will great stealth, he slinks out from behind the trees, creeping across the natural driveway and up to the house, where he hopes his target is currently resting inside. If she's awake, it would make his job quite a bit harder, and he doesn't want to take any lives if it's unnecessary. Once he's directly in front, he scans possible entry points that wouldn't draw attention. A window? Sure, if the front door isn't locked. He quietly jiggles the knob after opening the screen, only to find that yes, the door is locked. Just his luck, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't expecting it. 

He peers in through the first window he sees on the bottom floor, quickly realizing that it leads to the living room. All of the lights are off, and it doesn't look like anybody is currently active. Releasing a silent breath from his nose, though instantly being hit with a familiar bout of hot air thanks to his mask, he slips his fingers beneath the rim, briefly tugging upward and being grateful when the window slides up without much struggle. 

There's a table placed in front of it, but he can easily maneuver over that. Conquering obstacles is something that he's mastered over the years of breaking and entering other peoples' households, so one measly table shouldn't halt his process too much. With one hand, he holds the strap of his satchel that's been thrown over his shoulder in order to anchor it to his side to make sure it doesn't make any noise, and with the other, he grips the side of the wall, skillfully propping himself up and slipping through the now-open space lacking so much as a thud. 

Once his feet hit the carpet beneath them, he does a quick one-eighty of the room, wanting to make sure he isn't disturbing anything by making his appearance, and closing the window when he deems the coast clear. She never mentioned anything about having a dog, or any other kind of pet when he talked to her, then again he didn't exactly ask her about it, either. Maybe he got lucky this time.

Thought too soon, Jack, he thinks as he finally notices the fluffy white feline perching on the back of the couch, ears folded back as it quietly growls at him. Of course it's a cat. It couldn't have been a bunny, a gerbil, or even a ferret, no. It had to be a freaking cat. When he was still human, he was never particularly fond of them, but now he hates them with a passion. They get under his feet when he's trying to work and trips him, they scratch and bite him, they latch on and it takes a lot of force to get them off. Granted, he can and does get rid of them pretty easily, but they're still obnoxious little creatures.

But he has to admit, as bad as cats are, dogs are even worse in these types of situations. At least cats stay quiet. Dogs, however, he can't get dogs to shut up. Especially little ones, like Chihuahuas and Pomeranians. God, those things love barking. How could anyone want to put up with something that isn't even cute barking constantly? He isn't Smile's biggest fan, but he puts his barking to use. And he never gets in his way. At least he can respect bigger dogs for that very reason because they actually protect rather than just yap all the time.

He huffs, brushing the insignificant thoughts aside and walking farther into the living room, ignoring the growls of protest from the cat attempting to defend its territory and making it very clear to Jack who this place belongs to. Not that he cares, he just wants to get in and back out without much trouble. As he passes the couch, something catches his attention. Not only is there a phone lying discarded on the cushion, but there also seems to be a pencil, and beside it is a sketchbook. 

He leans down a bit to get a better look, seeing and instantly recognizing the large symbol drawn—or more like scribbled— on the piece of paper, completely overriding the original picture beneath it. Not much care seems to have been taken while it was being created, which is normal if it was made during the frantic state that he imagines it to have been made in. It's been apparent to him that Y\n was being greatly affected by him, but now she's to the point of drawing his symbol, his mark? That isn't good. His stomach does an uncomfortable flip, and he spins around, going up the staircase of the house after making sure there are no bedrooms down here with him. 

The hallway on the second floor likely leads to various rooms, his only problem is looking discreetly into each one and identifying his target. He chooses to check the first door on the left, the door inexplicably wide open, only to find a nicer than average girly room. He assumes this to be where Y\n is sleeping, but to his slight surprise, he doesn't see her in the bed. Well... maybe she's staying elsewhere? But why would there be bags on the floor if there was nobody staying inside? Is this someone else's room?

He peeks back out into the hallway, seeing what he recognizes as a bathroom unoccupied right beside a closed door, likely one leading to another bedroom. And at the very end of the corridor is a door also closed. Which one of these rooms leads to her grandparents? Is he even in the right house? He has to be. Unless he's just conveniently landed himself in the home of another individual that's being mentally tormented by the ominous creature, which is highly doubtful. They would know about it.

He hears the sudden squeak of a door as it opens, and just barely catches a glimpse of a masculine figure stepping out into the hallway before he darts back into the previous bedroom, ducking for cover inside of what he assumes is a closet. He closes the door softly behind him, being careful not to make any sound whatsoever, and takes a step back, only just starting to notice the dim lighting around him. He tilts his head up, seeing a light bulb attached to the ceiling, and confirming that it's the source of the light. The question is, why would the closet light be on when virtually every other light in the house is turned off?

Looking back and into the small walk-in closet, he sees a figure curled up in the corner, bundled up in a blanket and hidden behind the clothes hanging in front of her. She's holding tightly onto what looks like a large teddy bear, her eyes are closed, and her breathing is mellow and steady. She's asleep. Good. 

He's been getting to her. She must've thought the closet was safer than anywhere else. He eases closer to her, squatting down in front and making sure to not wake her up. Getting a better look at her face, he can tell that she most certainly is the girl he's been trying to find, and quietly opens his satchel, sticking his hand inside and pulling out a needle and a small, clear bottle of a powerful anesthetic. It isn't his go-to method, usually, he would use Midazolam or even Chloroform, but then again, he isn't currently trying to sedate one of his victims, he just wants to knock her out long enough to bring her back, all without harming her in the process.

He sticks the end of the needle into the lid of the glass container after properly sanitizing it, draws the correct amount needed for the injection, and puts the bottle back into the bag. He snaps his fingers in front of her face in order to test how deep of a sleep she's in. It would be hazardous if she woke up as the mediation was being given to her, it would also be mildly frustrating and make his job even more strenuous. Thankfully, her eyes don't even flutter, giving him the leeway he needs to lightly take her arm, twist it around, stretch it, and stick the end of the needle through her skin. 

He notices when she flinches, but only slightly, and he begins to inject the sedative into her system. He had no trouble locating a blood vein, as he could hear the blood coursing through her arm from several feet away; yet another ability he possesses that makes people fear him. Most could compare him to a vampire, what, with his unnaturally sharp teeth and his constant craving for human blood. It isn't his fault, it never has been. But he's learned to accept it, no matter how disgusting it may be to others.

His intention is that it will keep her knocked out for around two hours, preferably four or five, in case he runs into any delays. This particular bottle of medicine is the only one he has that causes longer-lasting unconsciousness without any life-threatening symptoms, and he got it by mixing Propofol with another mild, over-the-counter drug with lengthy repercussions. Perhaps not the best thing to use, but oh well, it's all he has at his grasp. He isn't actually a doctor, no matter how much he may be treated like one. 

He slides the needle out of her arm, places it into a Ziplock bag, and puts the bag into his satchel, looking down at her when he senses movement. She rubs the area that the drug was injected through, eyes only half-way open as she brings her arm up to her chest, likely wondering where the small twinge of pain came from so abruptly. He stays still, waiting to see if she'll notice his presence or just go back to sleep. It won't be too much of an inconvenience, either way, considering the medicine should be taking effect in the next couple of minutes.

She blinks slowly, shifting around in her position to get more comfortable, and landing her bleary gaze on the startling figure squatting directly in front of her. Letting out a strangled gasp, she tries to crawl backward, though the wall pressed up against her back prevents that and gives him the opportunity to reach out and force his hand against her mouth, muffling her yelps of protest. He can almost swear that her skin gets pale as she takes in his unusual features; a reaction he isn't phased by at all. He's a monster, right? It's only natural to fear him. 

She grabs at his wrists, attempting to push him away and twisting her legs out of the blanket covering her body to try and get a good kick in. Only when she frees her legs does he lunge forward and straddle her, stopping any attempts she may have made to harm him, and looks directly into her wide, panicked eyes with his black, tar-dripping sockets. 

"Calm down," he instructs in a quiet, yet authoritative voice, putting more of his weight on top of her as her striving to escape gradually increases. She thrashes, pulls at his arms, punches his chest, though he makes sure to keep his neck craned back to avoid getting hit in the face. Even with his mask on, offering a layer of protection, it wouldn't exactly feel good. He knows this from experience.

She tries screaming and yanking her head out of his strong grip, though fails, and can't stop her eyes from watering from the utter terror that rushes through her.

"You're okay, just calm down." He keeps his tone gentle, knowing the thoughts that must be racing through her mind at lightening speed and wanting to make this easier on himself. The faster the drug works, the quicker he can get out of here and go back to the base. She doesn't listen to him, either that, or she's physically incapable of listening with the erratic beating of her heart thumping in her ears and briefly deafening her. 

They both sit there for another couple of minutes, her struggling getting weaker the groggier she gets until eventually, her eyes hesitantly close and her body goes limp. Before he does anything, he needs to make sure that one guy—probably her grandfather— went back to bed after using the restroom. Jack knows he was, indeed, in the bathroom because he heard the toilet flush from the other side of the wall, though he didn't hear any footsteps. 

Stealthily, he stands to his feet, walks out of the closet, and looks out into the hall just in time to see the bedroom door close softly. Perfect. Now hopefully it will all continue going as smoothly as it has been so far. He returns to the closet, taking her hands and pulling her motionless body up, and wrapping his arms around her torso before she can fall back down. Making sure he has a firm hold on her waist, he bends down, allows her body to drop over his shoulder and across his back, before standing back up, tightening his grip around her and quickly adjusting to the extra body weight as he turns and steps out of the closet. 

Hoody never told him to grab any of her things, so he assumes that he'll take care of that himself, even though he's not sure how. Is he going to sneak into her house to take them, or just get one of the girls to pick up a whole new wardrobe? Those questions are meaningless right now, he supposes, and he doesn't let it take up too much of his time before dismissing them altogether and making his way cautiously down the staircase, the girl slung over his shoulder making it a little more difficult than it normally would be. 

His hand slides down to her thighs as he comes up in front of the door, and he uses his other one to soundlessly unlock it, not willing to go back through the window with the unconscious girl and take a chance on alerting the other members residing in the household of his presence, drop her, or both, so he opts to go harmlessly through the door. Twisting the knob, he eases the door open, then the screen, inwardly wincing when it lets out a rather loud and obnoxious squeak. 

Not wanting to stick around and take any chances on being heard, he hurries out onto the porch, softly shutting the door and screen behind him, and quickens his pace once he's out of the yard and through the gate. He scans the treeline, making sure there's nothing insidious waiting for him inside, before taking his original path and pulling out his phone. He clicks on Hoody's contact and presses the phone to his ear, waiting for the ringing to stop.

"Did you do it?"

"Yeah, I got her. I'm coming back now."

[midas-or-khaos]

The Ones Above Us. Chapter 1

Date:- September 30th, 2008, 14 days after initial discovery.

Time:- 18:42 pm

Flicking a cheap Poundland lighter, sparks spat in the morbid matt of a pure black atmosphere out on location in the back arse of nowhere (somewhere far off Ireland’s version of the M6 he’d been told). Winter winds were of the worst kind: didn’t matter how far inland you made it, or how thick the walls on your house were, they traversed the land with albatross wings wide and undaunted by what they came into contact with, smacking into any surface with no regards to slowing down. They didn’t seem to have any regard for detective Arthur Fleming‘s Malboro either, a stiff left hand shaking at the switch, and the right vainly trying to create shelter for the cigarette.

“For FUCK sake.” Singed fingertips for his troubles.

“Serves you right. No smoking on the job detective, you know better.”

Head Forensic Pathologist Fatima Alvi. A 4’9 willowy thing with a short, plump bob, damn near bobblehead proportions and a tendency to get right under his fucking skin like the irritating shit she was. She’d succeeded young and now all that arrogance she hadn’t quite worked out her system from (what should be mandatory in his opinion) the hard labour of working up the social ladder had only boosted her tendency to tighten her favourite black brogues far too tight, straighten her back like a bloody ballerina and fix that rod she’d shoved up her arse however many years ago a little bit deeper.

“I’m ten yards from the sodding site and wrapped in a white, walkable body bag, I think we can both agree me being over here isn’t going to tamper with shit. And not to challenge ur dictatorship, luv, but you’ve got winged lashes big enough to take off under those goggles o’ yours. Now you go back under those useless gazebos, and I’ll happily freeze my arse off out here.” Turning back round to face the empty, Arthur cursed himself for getting a 4 buzz cut rather than a short back and sides a week ago.

Fatima despised this part of the job. Working with middle-aged, greying twats like this one that clearly hated their jobs, but seemed to have this vendetta against the mere mention of career change. Yes, she was aware as you age, getting a new job gets harder. Surprise though, so did being fresh out of uni. Life sends these little tests to fuck us all over, not just you mate. Must be the bitter taste of Thatcher’s rule that’s left him slow to change. Scarred from the days when not having a job meant not eating, full stop. Doesn’t give the trout-mouthed, once-upon-a-time aryan flag pole a reason to snap like Chihuahua.

“Why don’t you stop trying to get your next sad excuse for a hit from nicotine, and come over here and do your actual fucking job?”

“No respect.” Muttered Arthur to himself, giving up on his lost cause and unzipping the top half of his polymer suit to shove the cigarette into his oversized shirt pocket.

Finally the standing misery addressed the stout woman face to face, a shaking clinging to each syllable, “What the hell d’you need me for? It’s obvious this isn’t a normal murder case, IF we’re even call it a murder case. I mean for god sake, Fatima, the grave is over 50 feet long! Whatever we’re uncovering obviously isn’t a human, it’s a fucking dinosaur! Why am I here in the back-arse of all points nowhere, rather than a load of archaeologists?”

“Because what we’ve found so far isn’t making sense, and last time anyone checked, dinosaurs were fossilised. BONES, detective, not skin. This body is so fresh, there’s absolutely no decay at all! That’s impossible. Then there’s the skin, it hasn’t even been stained by acid or mud, like the skin is coated in some hydrophobic matter. None of this should be possible.” A sigh slipped the last of Fatima’s adrenaline-fuelled spitting out, she was tired. Tired of him, tired of working, tired of being in the cold. “Look, personally I think this is probably an elaborate hoax some twat on YouTube with a fringe or whatever has decided to plant in a well known historic location for views. The arseholes will probably be waiting for the news report on TV so they can have a laugh at our expense. None of this is natural, and frankly it’s starting to look ridiculous. However, so long as our shitty superiors believe this to be a murder case we stick to finding out how this thing died, understood?”

Scathing way of saying it, But a hoax was something Arthur was desperate to cling to. Of course, this was nothing but staged and faked beyond belief! None of this could be real. Give credit where credit’s due though, the bell-ends that did this were thorough. Tutting, Arthur knew he couldn’t argue his case anymore, and started to strut off on those stilts for legs back to the beams of spotlights, Fatima trotting along after him just to keep up.

“Glad to see you’re helping.”

“Just talk to me about what’s going on so we’ll be able to document this and go back to the hostel.” Spat Arthur in retaliation. He hated this job. These people. But most importantly, that thing.

Entering through the only available entrance, the two nearly ran into another detective. Useless idiot. Despite this temporary flimsy building being the size of a football field, there was barely enough space among the number of personnel of all ranks and professions, technology, storage facilities and dig sights to separate the wood from the leaves. To add to the misery, despite being as frosty inside as it was outside, the scent of dank earth and petrol from the excavation diggers still managed to permeate the trapped air. God it stunk.

Taking on a note of interest as she got into her element, Fatima called out as she moved out the way, “Right, so we are at the feet end, and up there at the other end of the canopy is our head. We’re going there first because that’s what the two witnesses found during their initial dig.”

Taking off briskly, the forensic pathologist seemed unfazed by the sheer size of the foot sticking out like a meteorite fallen to earth just a couple of meters from the entrance, not even gracing the thing a glance. Arthur had no such laissez-faire-attitude, frozen in tunnel vision. This is why he didn’t wanna come back in. The damn toes had the familiar, unique swirling pattern of calloused skin seen on humans, and blotches of brown that must’ve been freckles, as they lacked the blotchy, wet texture of mud. Veins passing like eels under ice became exposed near the epidermis, shining icy blue. On an intellectual level, the aged detective knew a foot his height in length couldn’t possibly exist in the real world. If they did, someone would’ve surely reported such a sighting.

On a primal level, instinct was sending adrenaline shooting to his heart, and his lungs could scarcely fill themselves in time to keep up with the demand of oxygenated blood. Those feet looked too alive. The raw power those hands must posses, accompanying such ginormous feet! All of it reminded him of his honeymoon with his wife on Safari, watching a pack of saltwater crocodiles descend in a snapping furry upon shared prey, crushing a zebra’s skull in its death roll, red and bloodied teeth and palate facing the animal’s terror-struck gaze whilst it still vainly screamed for its herd to come to its aid. The vocal cords snapped, eventually silencing under the sheer force of those jaws collectively ripping the head off n one piece. Two crocodiles sent the thing flying twelve feet in the air in pure territorial aggression, neither caring that they’d just murdered another being, before the Wiley victory went after the splattering mess to claim its prize. None of the herd even dared approach the brutality. Would these others do the same if he were captured? Would they leave him to the beast?

“Arthur, c’mon.”

Back to reality. “Sorry.”

Just focusing on Fatima’s back seemed to do the trick, heart rate levelling out below 100bpm. Don’t look round and it won’t be there. Arthur didn’t have it in himself to self scold for such a ridiculous reaction; he knew he should’ve stayed outside.

Still set on her headlong track, Fatima chose to not bother with looking back and risk painfully smacking into some poor soul, so delegated talking to the air in front of herself, hoping he heard her through the ruckus around them. “The head hasn’t decayed, following suit to rest of the currently exposed limbs, though there does appear to be damage. Face appears to be male, middle-aged 35 to 50’s. Noticeable marks being three precise third degree burns across the face resembling a striped pattern. No sign of healing or breakdown within the exposed areas either, which would suggest the burns were created after death.”

“Has anyone tested a sample of skin to see why there’s no breakdown?”

“We tried, but every single time someone has come in with a scalpel to remove a piece, once removed from the body the entire piece seems to crumble instantly to a fine blue dust and disappear.”

“What, Like Indiana Jones style? We found the crusader knight?”

“Please try and take this seriously Arthur, I wouldn’t mention our findings if they were false.” Tutted Fatima.

Arthur knew he was deflecting to shield himself. “I am. Can we at least try collecting the dust?”

“No use, I meant it when I said everything disappears.”

“So anything we test or observe must be on the body at all times or it’s essentially worthless?”

“Correct.”

Well that made everything just that little bit harder. JUST! They’d been reduced to the detective abilities of the bloody Edwardian period. No testing beyond what could be extracted from the soil (and judging by the lack of messy bodily fluids, the thing probably didn’t have any), and they had yet to uncover the rest of the body to see if there were any signs of obvious trauma that would account the reason behind the death. This was going to take forever. Every waking moment in this shithole was a second wasted. Whoever made this thing was one sick fuck.

“If I ever find the shitheads responsible for this prank, I’m gonna hand em a fucking life sentence. The law be damned.”

Just missing a collision with another photographer, the head finally came into full view. Even from this vantage point above ground, the thing didn’t seem small in any way. If he’d thought the foot was massive, the head was a new beast entirely upon its own pedestal. Surprisingly peaceful for a dead person, no expressions of pain or strain, just a suspiciously perfect sullen face (aside the burns of course). Knotted, greying-blond hair splayed out in dregs from the skull like old depictions of the sun’s rays, haloing the face and drawing you to the pair of closed lids. He wasn’t pretty by any standard, Arthur vainly self-noted. Weak chin jutting thin lips out from the round face, a high hairline accentuating the large forehead and a heavy brow ridge. If he weren’t the size of a four story building and significantly burnt, he’d have been extraordinary ordinary. Forgettable even. The detective knew he shouldn’t be saying that. It was a ‘victim’ after all.

“If we can’t remove any body parts, can we perhaps open the body up instead and take samples of anything inside the stomach, lungs, chest cavity etcetera?”

A grimace pulled at the woman’s lips, marring her usually stoic face, “Already done it, we had Liam go inside with a contamination dry suit whist you were outside. It’s the kind of stuff sewage divers wear at human waste plants.”

Arthur couldn’t help turning his own nose up at the prospect as well, shuffling unconsciously just a little further away. “And?”

“There were important pieces missing. A full, undisturbed respiratory system: lungs, trachea, the works. Oddly, absolutely no digestive or reproductive organs what so ever. Weirder yet, there were no signs of sabotage or surgical removal, it was like they were never there in the first place. What really caught my eye on the camera feed was that he had, what we think, are a series of air sacks integrated along the connection between the lungs and the diaphragm.”

“Meaning?”

Poor Fatima was looking at Arthur like she was trying to explain how to use the toilet to a three year old, a strong side eye from her place parallel to him

“MEANING this thing had an incredibly resourceful breathing mechanism.”

“So no basic necessary functions like the need to eat and reproduce, but a top quality breathing system. And you wonder why I’m not taking any of this seriously? Why couldn’t we just send a report saying it was a hoax and save time? It technically doesn't even come under the scientific detention of alive.”

“Well certainly not now it doesn’t.” Arthur gave his own stink eye back.

“... Look, why don’t we try and get the body transferred over to London? Our proper, large-scale testing equipment will be at our fingertips, and we’d be able to at least stick this problem on some stupid lab rats and be done with it, what d’you say?”

Fatima finally stopped half-hearting her disgust to focus on Arthur face to face. “Arthur, where d’you think that kind of space and discreetness would be possible in the middle of London city? This body is over fifty feet all, we wouldn’t even be able to keep it cool enough to stop potential decay-“

Arthur butted in, “- This thing has been out the ground for two weeks, Fatima, and hasn’t so much as lost a hair naturally. We don’t need to worry about decay. Yes, transferring the body would disturb the ‘crime scene’, but if we get this thing sent off as archeological dig remains, the disturbance won’t matter, and we’d be off the case. I don’t wanna be stuck with this shit anymore, do you?” Was he sounding too desperate?

She knew she shouldn’t mention it, not to herself and DEFINITELY not Arthur, but within her selfish consciousness, Fatima couldn’t agree with that. This may be a hoax to Arthur, but all these findings were starting to settle saplings in the garden of her imagination. These Findings weren’t Styrofoam cut outs painted with acrylic, nor were they polymer clay held together over a skeleton. whatever material this was, it was unlike anything she’d seen before. Maybe all this was a hoax, maybe all this was a waste of time.

But secretly, she wished it wasn’t.

“...I’ll see what I can do.”

[darkelfshadow]

Session Summary - 109

AKA “The Honour Of Phlan”

Adventures in Taggriell

Session 109  (Date: 14th May 2021)

Players Present:

- Rob (Known as “Varis”) Elf Male.

- Bob (Known as “Sir Krondor) Dwarf Male.

- Paul (Known as “Labarett”) Elf Male.

- Travis (Known as “Trenchant”) Human Male.

- Arthur (Known as “Gim”) Dwarf Male.

- John (Known as “Ragnar”) Dwarf Male. 

Absent Players

Nil

NPC

- (Known as “Naillae”) Elf Female. <Controlled by Travis>

Summary

- Moonday, 8th Sarenith in the year 815 (Second Era). Late Summer.

- The party begin this session, still in the besieged and broken city of Phlan, under the control of Vorgansharax and the Dragon Cult.

- Having just returned to the underground ancient Escape Tunnels, filled to the brim with refugees, the party discover that Sir Zern has been missing since they left. Before they can mount a search and find operation, the tall Half-Orc comes striding into view, now dressed in proper full plate and wielding a shield and a morningstar.

- Sir Zern has recovered backup gear hidden in the grounds of the Gauntlet Estate. Sir Zern moves to the party and kneels in front of Sir Krondor, a fellow Knight of the Gauntlet. The Half-orc Knight speaks:

“I Sir Zern Xerstil of Phlan, Knight Of The Gauntlet, Knight Of Helm, do hear-by pledge myself to you Sir Krondor Bannerett. You are now may Banner Lord, and I shall serve you as your Banner Knight. My shield, my weapon, my heart, my honour and my oath, do I now pledge to you. From this day forth, I shall follow you as your Knight and obey all your orders, my Banner Lord.”

- Wasting no time the party, now one member larger, walks through the long bending Escape Tunnel until they reach a wide dead end, except for a narrow passageway that runs forward for another roughly 120 feet before it appears to stop at a dead end. 

- The party search the dead end and easily find a small, worn indentation when once pressed reveals a secret stone door, which opens into a small larder, with one single door.

- On the other side of this door is an entry guard room, filled with a group of Cult Enforcers and lead by one Cult Officer. The party manage to lure one Enforcer into the room, and quickly dispatch him, but when they try a second attempt they are discovered. 

- Battle starts but thanks to Trenchant summoning into the entry guard room an arcane stinking, obscuring cloud, the Cult forces are rendered almost useless. The party pick them off one by one until they all are dealt with.

- Using a set of located cell keys, the party proceed into a corridor with multiple cells, where they encounter four large Torturers guarding the cells. The party dispatch the foes, but not without some of the party getting badly injured. 

- Trenchant uses a Detect Thoughts spell to locate which cell Captain Greycastle is held in and the party free her. She is in a very bad state, with obvious signs of torture and abuse. At first she does not believe the party are here to rescue, her mind in turmoil from the Red Wizards using illusions to torment her, but eventually she is convinced.

- Whilst Captain Greycastle is being spoken to, Varis opens one of the cells when he learns that a Drow is imprisoned there. Varis will not listen to reason or be dissuaded and in a blind fury opens the cell door to reveal a single Drow male. The Drow has only a loin cloth on but holds a metal bar that it appears he has forcibly removed from a now broken bed frame nearby.

- Varis and his animal companion, Shadow, immediately move in, with Varis firing an arrow into the unarmoured prisoner. As the Drow reels back in pain from the arrow sticking in his chest, Shadow leaps in and tears out the throat of the Drow with his jaws.

- Sir Krondor looks on in disgust, “Was that necessary. Do you feel better now, killing a helpless prisoner like that? I don’t like the Drow either, but what you did was murder, not justice.”

- Varis, a dark look in his eyes, moves past Sir Krondor, “There will be justice when every last Drow is dead.”

- Captain Greycastle, her mind still affected by her recent treatment, begins to move towards an occupied room, where she tells the party the two other secret doors are: one leads to the Palace and one leads to the graveyards. She intends to confront Vorgansharax and kill the Dragon, even though she is badly injured, wearing no armour and wielding no weapon. It is obvious that she is not yet thinking straight, a look of madness in her eyes.

- Before the party can stop her, they her screaming coming from the occupied room. The door to room bursts open and a tall figure in plate armour that has been painted black, and is dirty from multiple splatters of blood, strides out kicking Captain Greycastle to ground and knocking her unconscious as her head hits the stone wall.

- Removing their helmet, the figure is revealed to be a human female with an attractive face, covered in dirt and blood, and long dirty blond hair.

- Sir Zern gasps, “The Black Knight is Lady Aleyd Burral! She was a high ranking officer in Knights Of The Black Fists.”

- Trenchant yells out, “My lady, don’t kill Greycastle!”

- “Kill her?” replies Aleyd slowly. “Why would I kill her? She was the best of us, Ector always respected her, as did I. No, the two I want to kill are inside the Palace. I’m just passing through.”

- Trenchant moves slowly forward, seeing Greycastle start to slowly stir as blood runs down from the back of her head, and asks “Are you here to help us and the people of Phlan? You’ve been killing Cult Officers and Knight Captains, we need your help now to save the people of the city.”

- Aleyd is momentary taken aback and then bursts out laughing loud, “Help the people of Phlan? I don’t care about the scum that live here or this wretched city. I only loved one thing, the Knight Commander Ector Brahams and I were secret lovers. He was a brilliant man, passionate and unyielding. He sort power and used it! And that traitorous piece of filth, Lieutenant Cron Bolver killed him! Bolver and all the other Knights turned traitor, taking orders from a purple robed Senior Cult Officer called Aseth and that dam dragon Vorgansharax.”

- Aleyd takes a step back towards the door behind her, “I can’t kill a dragon but I can kill a man, two in fact. I have been trying to lure those cowards out but they have remained hidden in the Palace. I got stuck outside when the city was besieged by the magic thicket but then I remembered something Ector told me once, about the ancient escape tunnels. I snuck through graveyard, not a problem if you know what to do, followed the tunnel to this room, killed some sleeping Red Wizards and now, I have work to do …”

- She steps back into the room and begins to close the door. Trenchant yells out, “Wait! How did you get past the undead?”

- “It wouldn’t work for you. But you do need to get out of the city before Vorgansharax destroys this city and levels it to the ground once he learns that his two precious underlings have been killed. And take her …” Aleyd says with resolve in her voice as she looks at Greycastle who is now sitting up. “If any one deserves to live it’s her, she was the honour of the Knights and of Phlan.” She lifts her sword to Captain Greycastle in a salute, as the Captain looks towards Aleyd.

- Then Aleyd disappears from sight, slamming the door shut, and the sound of a sword sliding into a bar lock on the other side can be heard. As the party ran up to the now barred door, they can hear the sound of a heavy stone door closing.

- The injured Captain Greycastle looks around the party, rubbing the back of her head where it slammed into the wall, and looks at the party. Her eyes are no longer showing signs of madness, “I’ve pulled myself together. You heard her, we have little time. If the people of Phlan are to be saved, we act now! You go clear the way through the graveyard, do what ever it takes, and I’ll go back to the escape tunnel to warn and gather the others that they need to leave now!”

<And as the party realise they have to make a clear path for two thousand refugees, through an undead infested cursed graveyard, that is the end of the session.>

XP Allocation

Group - Combined (This is equally divided by the number of players who were involved)

Quests (Only quests that are completed or rendered undoable, during this session, are shown here)

- “The Honour Of Phlan” - Rescue Captain Greycastle = 1000 XP

Creatures Overcome

> XP Allocated (Note: Sir Zern now as a Follower does not count towards XP)

- Dragoncult Human Officer = 1100 XP

- Dragonfang Cult Enforcers = 14400 XP

- Brute Torturers = 2800 XP

> XP Allocated 1 Combatant (Varis Only)

- Drow Prisoner = 600 XP

Individual (This is only given to that person and is not divided amongst all players)

Special Bonus (Outstanding Role Playing)

Nil

XP Levels and Player Allocations

Player : Start +  Received = Total  (Notes)

Rob : 152526 + 3357 = 155883

Arthur : 123089 + 2757 = 125846

John : 117329 + 2757 = 120086 (Level 13)

Travis : 139932 + 2757 = 142689 (Level 14)

Paul : 129415 + 2757 = 132172

Bob : 142950 + 2757 = 145707

NPC (Naillae) : + (1379)

[purplesurveys]

1194

survey by n0b0dysp3rf3ct

What’s your favourite song to sing to? These days it’s Sweet Night by V, but it always changes tbh. I don’t really have an all-time favorite song to sing along to.

What’s your relationship like with your exes? Nonexistent. I’m good at blocking off people and memories like that, no matter how special the relationship had been or how much time we spent together. I don’t feel guilty about it; I actually feel more at peace this way.

What mistake do you find yourself making over and over again? Procrastinating and putting off things I could literally finish in 10 minutes or less. I’ve been better about it, to be fair to myself; but the habit comes out every once in a while and I always end up kicking myself in the ass for not already knowing any better.

What are you afraid to lose? Hmm...probably people, especially my friends. I’ve been starting to think more about this these days. My two best friends are in very good, committed relationships, and I know that one day they’ll have lives and families of their own, maybe even move out of the country. I’m finally acknowledging the fact that maybe I am afraid of getting left behind and ending up alone. Those thoughts make me sad, though, and I hate being stuck in feeling sad, so I try to shake them off and focus on my happiness in the present.

What’s one of the hardest decisions you’ve had to make? Agreeing to break up with Gabie. I never liked admitting defeat, so that was a particularly brutal afternoon.

Have you ever gave up on a love interest as they acted differently around other people? I’ve never been in this situation.

Do you think you’re ready for love? What does love even mean to you? I’m taking a break from it, actually. I was in a relationship that I put a lot of effort in for a long time, and I don’t mind focusing on myself for now especially considering I put myself in the backseat for the entirety of said relationship. I feel no need to jump into another relationship any time soon.

What was the last thing you turned down doing? Angela was showing me some shops that were starting to put up offers for the new BTS Hybe Insight photocards. Those photocards are only being given away to visitors who go to the new Hybe museum, and we didn’t want to technically pirate them, so we both chose not to buy. We can wait till we can travel to South Korea together and get the photocards for ourselves :)

Have you ever fell for someone who was clearly bad for you? Technically...yeah? She eventually ended up being bad for me, but I didn’t know it at the time.

Are you a party animal? No. I like attending parties, but I never want to be the center of attention.

Who are you the biggest fan of? My best friends.

When was the last time someone really let you down? I haven’t felt that disappointed in anyone in a while. 

What song can you not help but dance to? Mic Drop.

You’re DJ for the night - first track to get everyone going? ...Now that I mentioned it, Mic Drop. The Steve Aoki remix in particular. Sorry folks, y’all are getting K-Pop tonight.

Have you ever been too scared to tell someone how you felt about them? Yes.

Where do you feel the most inspired and creative? Erm, never? I never feel creative. But when it comes to being inspired, I usually feel it when I have one-on-one talks with Bea. She schedules a brief talk with me once every few months just to catch up and ask me how I’m doing, work-wise and growth-wise. I find that it really helps and I always exit the call wanting to perform better at work.

Have you ever been hit on by a pushy person? No.

When’s the last time you met someone for a coffee? I’ve never done that.

Describe the ideal man or woman for you: Kim Taehyung. That man is doing a stupid great job ruining everyone else for me.

What place in nature would you love to visit one day? Somewhere with auroras.

What accent do you find attractive? Like I’ve said on previous answers, I like Florence Pugh’s accent, whatever it is. I could listen to it all day.

What do you think you’re really good at? I’ve always loved writing and I’m pretty confident in my skills.

Do you have something you’d like to tell someone right now? I know Jo is going through a breakup and I want to reach out and share a few reassuring words, but I’m not very good at that kind of stuff. And since she isn’t initiating, it might mean she wants her own space for now too.

Have you ever had feelings for a friends partner? Never.

What career would you love to pursue: I’m more than okay with my current field. But had things turned out differently, I’d most likely be taking up law.

What was the biggest lies you’ve told? I never like lying so I try to make the ones I make as trivial as possible.

How can you tell if someone loves you? Idk for the most part I believe people have different love languages, so expression is always different for everyone. I don’t wait for people to act a certain way for me to deduce that they love me.

What’s one of your fondest memories? Front row at a Paramore concert, 2017. I went alone and danced without a care in the world and sang along to every song, and it was one of the nicest couple hours of my life.

What’s your favourite thing to do that doesn’t cost much? Taking surveys is literally free.

What do you feel unnecessarily judged for? I feel like I would be judged for having an entire blog just for surveys, which is exactly why I don’t share about this hobby with anyone. Not even my ex knew about it until much later on in our relationship.

What are you proud of yourself for? Still being here is a big thing.

What relaxes you after a busy day? As is pretty obvious already at this point, BTS. I like looking for funny compilations or interviews of theirs to watch to de-stress.

Have you ever known someone who suffered from drug addiction? Nope. Not that I know of, at least.

Why did your last relationship end? She wasn’t in it anymore.

Who do you have a crush on? Taehyung :/

When was the last time you stayed up all night? I was up until 4 AM earlier, if that counts. I don’t really do entire all-nighters anymore; latest I can do is either 4 or 5 AM.

Have you ever been someone’s rebound? No.

What would you fight LTR for the right to do? I don’t know what that is or who they are.

When did you last apologise? What was it for and was it accepted? Some work stuff came up today and it was something I needed to ask my manager about, so I had to message her. I apologized profusely before and after my main message since it’s a weekend and I HATE making my co-workers think about work on weekends, but the matter was a little urgent and it couldn’t wait. But eventually the thing got sorted out, so I followed up with a message asking her to disregard my question, and I sent her a heart GIF as well.

Have you ever been to Cuba? I haven’t, but I’d like to visit.

What do you feel positive about? That I am most likely ordering Frankie’s tonight because I’m having a serious craving for spicy Korean wings that I can’t ignore anymore.

Do you know any Spanish? I’ve retained the words, sentences, and verb tenses I was able to learn when I was still training on Duolingo; and Filipino has a lot of Spanish influences, so I wouldn’t say I’m completely unfamiliar with Spanish. I wouldn’t be able to last a conversation, though.

If you could go on a road trip now, where’s you go? Continued from this morning. I’d probably just go back to Tagaytay. La Union could be a great road trip spot as well.

When in danger are you more fight or flight? Flight. What makes you irrationally angry? When people speak excessive Taglish, especially in a work setting. Most Filipinos are fluent in both, so I’d wish they’d pick one and stick to it. I find code-switching pretty unprofessional for the most part.

Do you feel self conscious about a certain body part? Sure.

Is there someone you’ll always be there for? If so, who? My best friends.

Have you been accused of being manipulative? Gab probably did a few times, but I barely remember those memories anymore.

What’s the most romantic thing someone has done for you? I literally can’t remember anymore.

What or who do you miss from your childhood? The ability to be carefree and the greater space to make mistakes.

Do you miss late night calls with a certain somrone? No, I hate calls.

What would you like to do again some time? Be able to go back to coffee shops.

What’s your least favourite season? Summer.

Do you know someone who’s ridiculously arrogant and entitled? A lot of boomers and older Gen X-ers.

Have you ever considered violence to solve your problem? No.

Who’s the best dancer you know? That I know in real life? Aubrey. Overall, Park Jimin.

What’s the best bit of advice you’ve received? I can’t seem to remember the exact same quote they gave me, but it was Andi telling me a few months ago not to rush my healing so I can avoid potentially harming myself in the process.

How good a swimmer are you? Not very good. I just like swimming leisurely.

What’s your favourite baby animal? Puppies and baby elephants.

What’s the best compliment you have received? It’s always nice to be told I’m strong.

What’s your favourite gemstone? Don’t have one.

Do you bounce back well when things go wrong or does it take a while? It takes a while, but I always get there eventually.

What’s an underrated colour/shade you really like? Not sure; the colors I tend to lean towards I think are pretty popular choices.

What insult or label would hurt you the most to recieve? Being told I’m useless or a burden.

How often do you notice the attractiveness of strangers? I rarely find strangers attractive.

Are you good at hiding your emotions? No, I practically wear them on my face.

Are you romantic? More than I’d like to admit.

[captainjimothycarter]

Be interesting to see your take on medieval Steggy or steggy at any point in history

Ahh you said steggy and medieval and that’s what my mind latched onto. I have no idea if this is what you wanted, OP but this is what i came out with.

--

This was the end, wasn’t it?

This isn’t how Steve ever saw his life ending. Sure, he didn’t think he’d ever get to live a grand and lavished life with riches piled around him and silk draped over his thin shoulders, but he thought he’d get to live a modest life. A well-deserved one with heart work and the respect of people around him.

Instead, it was coming to an end from someone else’s actions he was forced to follow. It wasn’t like he chose this life. To be this skinny, to be this frail and sick, and in almost constant need of some healer. Yet, this is the life that the Goddess had chosen for him. 

To become a page to a man that is known as a hero in the lands, but behind the chamber doors, he is ruthless and cruel as the rest of the knights that Steve has serviced while growing up. He bellows and hits him around the ears if he’s even a second late with his dinner or if he can’t get his hunting dogs to hush at night. He mocks Steve when he can’t breathe or even worst, mocks Bucky when the guy is giving commands around the table.

Bucky is the only reason he’s here, the only reason he stayed because he had made a promise a long time ago that they were together till the end of the line.

And that line ended today, with Bucky’s death fresh on his mind, at the end of a blade coming down onto him. 

Steve couldn’t even do justice to meet his maker in the eyes, raising his arm instinctively to try to block the sharp blade with just the thin chainmail he’s granted to wear.

He tenses, he waits. The blood is pounding in his ears. Yet, the blade never comes.

He never feels it slice through the chainmail like butter, never feels the sting of the metal as it slices through his skin and muscle and pierces his heart. 

Instead, what he hears is the sound of metal-hitting-metal, the clashing ranging in his ears. He opens his eyes to see a figure dressed in a full suit of armor, their helm hiding their face. Their armor is tarnished and battle-worn with knicks and dents all throughout it. The shaft of a bolt sticks out from the side, still lodged into place, but still, the figure fights on as if it’s nothing. 

Maybe they weren’t hurt and the armor had saved them. 

Shoving the figure above him back, his savior takes advantage and swings their weapon, an ancient claymore that is controlled with ease. The blade whistled through the air and strikes his attacker in the side, their mud-coated boot raising from the ground to strike them in the chest and send them tumbling back.

“Get up!” The savior growls at the scrawny blonde. “Take my horse and go. She’ll know where to take you. I’ll meet you there.”

“But…”

Why is he trying to protest? He’s being saved. An annoying voice, the voice that has been conditioned for so long after serving under Sir Rumlow as his page, tells him he should stay, search for his Lord and apologize for being useless and not being able to help them in battle. 

Instead, the figure’s horse, a large beast with the kindest, most-human eyes he’s ever seen nips him by the back of the shirt like he’s nothing but a scrawny kitten. Steve grumbles and tries to fight but gives up when his strength is sapped from him as he is practically thrown onto the horse’s backside by the horse itself.

Since when do these things get so strong?

He’s forced to do nothing but wrap his arms around their soft, velvet main and tuck his face into the crook of his arm as they gallop away. From a battle that should’ve never been, a raid that had not been fair, and the blood that coats Steve’s hands will forever remain.

He’s not sure how long they ride, but by the time they’ve come to a stop, he’s cried himself out of tears. The horse knickers and stomps its hooves, indicating for Steve to get off. He slides to his feet and crumbles to the ground in front of a warm fire. It’s his only saving grace, this fire amongst the inky-black darkness around them.

They’re in the middle of a forest, thick trees are lined around them like fortress walls. He feels closed in and yet safe in the same manner. 

Steve watches as the black horse walks disappears into the forest and comes back out a wolf. He should be afraid if it’s not for both the guilt building up like an erupting volcano in his chest and the human hazel eyes the wolf wears. He walks around Steve twice before plopping behind him to offer comfort and warmth.

Steve isn’t sure if he nods off or if he just blacks out, but when he slowly comes to when the dawn is breaking, he’s not alone. The wolf is still behind him, but his savior is sitting beside him. The smell of meat over the fire is what gets his attention first, his stomach growling to remind him of his hunger.

It takes him a second, a long second to become aware that his savior has removed their armor until they sit in nothing but their tunic and pants. She smiles when Steve’s head rises from the wolf’s chest, offering the leg of an animal she’s killed for them to share.

“Eat,” she says in a soft tone, the wolf nudging Steve from behind to get him to sit up. “How do you feel?”

There’s a hesitation before Steve takes it, hunger winning over as he bites into the flesh. He watches her for a moment, watches the way she tears off a slice and hand feeds what should be a wild beast behind him. She’s beautiful. Battle-worn with bags under her eyes. Her hair is elegantly braided into a knot. Her eyes are the same as the wolf, brighter but more human and life in them. Her weapon rests by her side, within grasp. 

“I…” Steve opens and closes his mouth, dropping his eyes back to the fire. The leg is lowered and while he’s hungry he should eat, but the guilt is too much. “I killed them.”

“No,” she says in an accent he hasn’t heard before. There’s a firmness to her tone that makes him look up. “You did not, Steven. You did not give that order or swing that blade and if my memory serves me correctly, you tried to argue. You were punished, am I correct?”

He did. He tried to fight Rumlow on this but he ended up tied up back at camp. He witnessed Bucky’s death before his very eyes. The blade had come straight down onto his shoulder. It had been a painful death, he’d done all he could to try to escape, to comfort his dying friend. The tears burn his eyes and he buries his face into his hands. The wolf sniffs at his ears and comfortingly licks at his cheeks. 

She moves to sit beside him and he finds her arms around him, hiding his face in the crook of her elbow. The sobs take over him, hysterically sobbing until nothing is left in him. He can’t move, he doesn’t want to move or breathe. He wants to die.

Picking his head, she’s looking down at him with kindness he doesn’t deserve in her eyes. Her cheekbones are sharp, there’s a faint scar running from the side of her full lips. Her eyes, in the fire, look like pools of warm honey. Her fingertips stroke through his hair, pushing it off of his forehead.

“You did all you could,” she hums, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You fought with every last bit of your strength. I am sorry that I could not save your friend, but it does not mean he’s gone.”

“If you...if you tell me some bullshit about the Goddess and how she works in mysterious ways and we should praise her, I will…”

The bitterness is met with a fond chuckle, the woman shaking her head. “No, my fair Steve, I am not talking about the Goddess. While she does work in ways we do not understand, I am talking of something beyond most understanding. Do you know why Rumlow ordered a siege on that village? Why your friend fought so hard?”

At the shake of his head, she sighed and her arms only tightened around him. “Rumlow is cruel and vicious and follows by his own rules. If he follows another order, it would be Alexander Peirce given them.” The very name made him shudder, her hand resting on the side of his neck to bring him closer to her chest. Steve hated to admit it, but it was warm and comfortable here. “He ordered them dead for the simplicity that they had defied him, that they hoasted a traitor amongst their people. If anyone has blood on their hands, it is me.”

Pulling away, Steve frowned as he looked up at her, trying to read her passive expression. Her eyes dropped down to her lap, her arms pulling away from around him. “They were protecting me. I had begged them not to. I didn’t want it to be in vain. I told them I would leave - they didn’t let me. I told them to leave but they refused to leave their home. They died protecting me and that blood will always be on my heads, young Steven.”

Steve swallowed, his throat tightening. Alexander Peirce was their Lord, the man he served under Rumlow. Their King, their ruler, whatever title he wished to be called that day. He ruled over them with an iron fist, believing fear over love. Believing any who defied him were to die.

“And...Bucky?”

He almost didn’t want to hear the reasoning, but he had to. He needed to.

“Protecting me. I had ordered him not to, but he’s never good at following orders.” A small smirk was on her lips, but it died the second she met Steve’s baby blue eyes. “My name is Peggy Carter, I-”

“...am part of a secret organization hell-bent on trying to bring Peirce down. You’re their leader.” This time she did smile, even if the tears shined in her eyes.

“Yes. I am. I was injured and the town took me in. Someone betrayed me - we do not know who quite yet, by giving my whereabouts to Peirce. Bucky was our double spy within the group, he was able to warn me ahead of time. I admit I am still not quite healed, and that battle took everything from me.”

For the first time, Steve could see how exhausted she was. The pain resonated in her features. She sagged and the wolf made a sound, nudging Peggy. She rubbed at his snout and kissed him between the eyes. “I’m fine, Michael.” At the name, she shrugged in Steve’s direction. “This is my brother - he was cursed by Schmidt to live his life as an animal. Howard and I attempted to reverse the spell but the only thing it’s managed to do is give him the ability to change form into any animal he’s seen.” 

Looking at the wolf, now he understood the human eyes. Why they were so kind and held such remorse for the loss of great life. He nuzzled Steve’s side and the warm tongue licked at his cheek again. Steve gently touched his side and gave a soft smile. 

“And Bucky?” He hated to press, to ask questions, but he had to know. “You said...he’s not gone? Is he...alive? Did he survive?”

“In a manner, yes. His soul lives on, he will be...reincarnated, as to when and where we just have to be patient and wait and see. If he’s smart, he will let Peirce continue to believe he’s dead. Any element we can get in surprise is a good mark in our book.”

Shifting Steve, Peggy laid back near the fire, Michael quickly laying underneath her head. She sighed and tried to sit up but found a shaken hand on her chest preventing her from doing so. “You protected me, so let me protect you while you rest. You’ve done enough, Peggy. Thank you.”

Her hand rested on his cheek, giving a warm smile. “I’ve heard great things about you, Steven. Your size does not define you, but you are right, I do need to rest. So do you. We are safe within these walls, the forest only listens to me. Come morning, we will continue our trek home. Lay with me. It will get cold.”

There was little hesitation as Steve lowered himself to her frame, resting in her arms with his head on his chest. The guilt that had weighed on him so heavily still resonated there. It would remain there for a long time to come, in the same manner, he knew it would remain on Peggy. 

There was still work to be done, lots of damage to undo, but it was a starting place to know whose company he was in.

“Rest,” Peggy breathed, a hand buried into Steve’s hair. “You’re safe with me.”

Who was he to argue? This is the safest he’s felt in a long time, even if the mystery of the world and what was at play still surrounded him.