#longest chapter so far

[kg-clark-inthedark]

Chapter 12 is out! Preview below the cut:

I don’t know what I expected.

Dunwall Tower’s cavernous halls echo my footsteps with a poignant loneliness as I create distance between myself and the infirmary in which Corvo lies. The sound of my slow retreat reverberates through the night, each connection of the heel of my boot to the floor the strike of a hammer to a nail. Pounding, pounding, pounding. It’s a personal funeral march that plays me all the way back up to the Royal Protector’s chambers.

Forgiveness? Acceptance? Is that what I thought I would receive? How pitifully naive of me. I’m far too old for hopes such as that.

When I reenter the room, it’s no longer the prison Emily kept me confined to for the last two days. It’s a haven, a private sanctuary in which I no longer have to pretend I wasn’t just hollowed out entirely by Corvo’s words. The intricately mahogany-adorned walls greet me with a familiarity that stings. The instant the door swings closed, whatever strength was left gives out and I sink down to my knees.

Now I understand what the Stone Ones truly meant when they said my time was up. It wasn’t just Salvadair’s blade that brought everything crashing down, but his words as well. They were what cut the last thread holding up the sword that’s been hovering above my head for months. All of mine and Corvo’s secrets poured out just as liberally as our blood. There will be no regaining of my place here, not after this.

The way he looked at me, with so much betrayal and malice and almost…  disgust.

I can barely breathe at the thought, but I must acknowledge the truth. Whatever we had is over. That much was made crystal clear.

Pulling myself back to my feet, I rummage through my half of the wardrobe until I find an item that’s gone so unused that it’s made its way to the back, covered in loosely piled items. My suitcase.

Void-stained. That’s what the Stone Ones called me. For a while I didn’t quite know what it meant. I even repeated it to Corvo at one point without fully understanding it, because it simply felt correct. Now, as I meander around his chambers and gather up my belongings in a haze, I finally come to terms with the phrase’s deeper meaning.

It means I will never truly be human.

Continue reading on Archive of Our Own...

[moonshine-nightlight]

Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Twenty-Three

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41189829/chapters/118476739

Warnings: Violence and Death (nothing too graphic, but its prevalent enough I wanted to mention it)

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight] [Part Nine][Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve]  [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two] Part Twenty-Three [Part Twenty-Four] [Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

But time is slipping through your fingers. You make your decision and pray it’s the right choice. 

“Dale!”

There’s a second of silence before muffled confusion is evident from the hallway on the other side of the door followed quickly by pounding footsteps. Vi spares you a glare, but Clen seems unconcerned, merely readying his crossbow.

The door bursts open before anything else can happen and you can’t help but flinch as it hits the wall.

Framed in the doorway is an alert and worried Dale, his mouth in a hard frown and his hand already on the hilt of his sword. You watch as his eyes land on the four strangers arrayed in front of him. He draws his sword before he unerringly finds you and the unconscious Grandmother. That’s when fury ignites in his eyes.

“What is happening here?” Dale asks, his voice outraged as he takes stock of the situation. 

“Northridges simply enjoy asking after the obvious, do they not?” Clen asks Lasky before looking back to Dale. He lifts his crossbow and aims directly at you. Instantly you tense, ready to drop to your knees and out of range behind the heavy wooden desk. You freeze where you are because that would leave Grandmother a free target. “This is a kidnapping, your lordship. If you don’t cooperate with us, your fiance and grandmother are forfeit. Surrender now. Prove yourself more intelligent than the rest of your ilk.” 

Keeping your dagger in your strong hand, you grope blindly on the desk for something to use as a shield, cursing yourself for not thinking of grabbing such a thing earlier. As your fingers close around the ink mat, a sturdy leather mat to absorb any ink that might seep through when writing, your eyes meet Dale’s. You can almost see a cold certainty enter them before they slide back to Clen.

“No. You may surrender or run,” Dale retorts. “I’ll not go with you nor will I allow you to continue to threaten my kin.”

“Oh, lordling,” Lasky coos, “You’ve barely begun to hear threats. Wait until you learn of my plans for your spouse-to-be. Not that you will continue to live for much longer, but I doubt you’d still wish to marry after I’m through.” 

You swallow down bile and hope Dale hurts him.

Dale growls, a dark, rolling sound that fills the room. You shiver, feeling it resonate through you, and quickly check to see that Grandmother has not yet awoken. The mixture of concern and relief that fills you at that fact doesn’t help any of your nerves settle, not that you expect them to for several days—provided you live that long.

“Do not—” Clen warns before cutting himself off with a curse as Dale charges. He manages a single shot in your direction before he’s forced to meet Dale’s sword with his own. The shot is still good enough that it hits your makeshift shield of an ink mat. The arrowhead pierces through the leather to scrape your arm and knock it back, but it doesn’t make it any further than that through the mat.

The clatter of the crossbow hitting the floor is nearly masked by the shouts and grunts as Clen, Vi, and Lasky begin fighting with Dale. Your eyes find Two, but he’s watching the fight, not you. Dale has managed to get his back to a wall, limiting his opponents ability to surround him. They’re appearing to have trouble ganging up on him without hitting each other, limiting their approach. 

With no better opportunity, you place your dagger down on the desk and open the closet door. You grasp the back of the chair Grandmother is on and begin tugging it is in towards the closet. You choose to keep your eyes forward towards the fight instead of putting yourself between Grandmother and the action. Hopefully if you see anything coming your way, you can intercept it before she gets further hurt. 

The chair is heavy, but you’re terrified, especially since you no longer have even your thin dagger in hand. The adrenaline seems to help as you drag the chair across the rug, grateful at least there’s no sound to alert the others to what you’re doing. The three assassins currently trying to fight Dale seem to have fallen into a pattern, with Clen engaging Dale’s sword and Vi trying to get at him with her spear from the side, herding him towards the opening in the wall to another side room. Lasky waits in that room, a seemingly endless supply of knives in his hands.

True to your suspicions, both Clen and Lasky seem to have some sort of  demonic enhancement to themselves or their weapons, although they remain clearly unpossessed. Clen has a strength to his movements that matches Dale’s own while Lasky’s daggers seem to come back to his sheaths when they miss. You eye the knife lodged in Dale’s leg and wonder if it's a good thing they don’t pull out to return when stuck.

You cross the threshold into the closet and have to focus on maneuvering in the much tighter space. It seems to primarily hold cabinets for files which you realize once you back into an ornate handle. It’s at a perfect height to jab painfully into your neck and prevent you from pulling the chair the final few inches into the closet.

You side-shuffle out from between the cabinet and the chair, mind racing as you check if the chair even will fit. The top of it is just under the height of the handle so you think you can manage it. You scoot around in front of the chair, a nervous glance over your shoulder to see the fight still raging, a confusing knot of bodies and weapons that you can’t make heads or tails of except that Dale is still holding his own. 

Kneeling down, you lift the front legs of the chair off the ground so they can get over the higher board marking the entrance to the closet and heave. After a few seconds of straining which feel like an eternity,  the chair finally moves those last few inches, thudding into the back cabinet and fully crossing over the threshold into the closet. You set the chair down, trying not to dwell on how it’s likely a bad sign that Grandmother hasn’t woken up for any of this movement.

You get to your feet, glad you’d pushed the chair towards the middle of the closet even before you’d realized how shallow it is. That leaves room on either side for you to fit in. Unfortunately it means that it’ll take too long to turn the chair around and try to wedge it against the door. Or maybe that’s a good thing because your hands are shaking and your palms sting where the wood of the back and legs had dug into your palms. You half close the closet door as you turn around. You're even more nervous now, after having your eyes off the fight for so long. You need to see if there’s anything nearby that might work as a wedge instead and check on the fight.

Dale seems to have gotten more room to breathe, the others all pushed back, but he’s in that doorway, with little at his back to guard it. Lasky takes advantage of that space before Dale can, sending a series of knives flying at him. Dale deflects two and dodges the other two. Unfortunately, with Lasky on the other side of Dale from you, you realize with a jolt of terror that sends the dodged knives in your direction.

One lodges into the desk, but the other flies just over it. You try to move out of the way and you manage—mostly. The knife lodges solidly in the closet door and through your skirts, pinning them in place. 

“Darkest damn—” You can’t help but let a minced oath out as you frantically begin pulling on your skirts, trying to get free. How the knife was sharp enough to pierce the fabric of your skirts but not enough to rip them now is proving nearly as frustrating as it is terrifying. 

You glance back at the fight and your eyes meet Lasky’s. Desperately, you reach for the knife hilt instead while your other hand fumbles to pick your own dagger up again. You swallow when you notice Lasky is indeed circling the fight, heading for you. You grip the hilts of both daggers so hard the little imperfections on then dig into your palms.

You point your own in the direction of Lasky’s approach while continuing to tug futilely on the dagger pinning you in place. Nothing you do seems to budge it and your hand keeps slipping off given how much you're sweating. You give up on pulling and start to simply shove at the hilt with the palm of your hand. 

“Did I pin a pretty little butterfly?” Lasky asks. He’s got another dagger in his hand, but he comes to a stop a few feet from you.

You keep your eyes on him, but don’t answer, giving the hilt of the dagger another strike with your palm. You feel it wiggle and wrap your fingers around it. If you can move, you don’t want him to know in case the element of surprise will help. 

At the same time, where can you go? Or rather, can you afford to leave grandmother? She’s hidden now, but if one of these assassins decides they need her or just wants revenge when the inevitable becomes clear. Dale is the only one here who you know will walk away from this fight. Whether everyone else, including yourself and Grandmother, will is still to be determined. 

“Did I nick your tongue too?” he taunts. “Do not pretend to misunderstand what your role is. Your little lord is proving more of a challenge than we expected, especially since Two isn’t helping.” 

You think he grimaces at that, but it’s hard to tell with his mouth covered. Still, for all his taunts, he’s clearly strung a lot tighter than he had been before. Good. 

“So you are going to help bring him to heel, as intended.” He flips the dagger in his hand in a deliberate move to show off. You chance a glance behind him to see Dale finally pushed into the side room and out of your line of sight. You’re certain the idea that you did manage to make eye contact with him is just false hope. You have to figure out how to get out of this yourself. And right now, running isn’t an option.

“You are not going to win this,” you reply, your voice a little rough, but still intelligible and not obviously full of fear, hopefully. “You should leave.”

He takes a step closer instead. “Just because he didn’t immediately fold, doesn’t mean he will triumph,” Lasky corrects, some anger coloring his voice. “He’s outnumbered and once Two remembers why they’re here, he’ll be outclassed.”

“Then should you not be aiding your companions?” you ask, trying to tug on the dagger with as little obvious movement of your arm as possible. Anything to keep from drawing Lasky’s attention to what you’re doing.

The lines by his eyes crinkle, he must be smiling under that mask. You feel more dread pool in your stomach. “Do you not see? That is what I’m doing. For all your threats, you’re no real match for me and while I still do not have any rope, I’m just as capable as taking out an eye as you are, if not more so. You need to remember who you are dealing with and surrender.”

A noise from behind—something heavy crashing into the wall and possibly a bookcase given the cacophony that follows—draws both your attention. Unfortunately, Lasky refocuses just as quickly as you do and so you’re still in a stalemate, both holding daggers, but truly, there isn’t a contest here. There is no question who will this fight, just what the collateral damage could be.

You hate this. You hate everything about this situation, from the fighting and Grandmother’s condition, to Dale in a fight against multiple opponents. Most of all you hate this man in front of you.  But what can you do?

Another smash and thud sounds from behind Lasky, but he doesn’t bother turning to look this time, just takes another step closer. He steps to the side, blocking your sight-line to the rest of the fight although not before you see a figure thrown across the room. You can’t even hope to identify who.

With another step, you give up on the pretense and give a final pull. This time the dagger is freed from the wall and you take a stumbling step down along it, away from Lasky. You hastily bring that knife up to bare as well, holding one in each hand. You’ve had no training in the use of two daggers or even much training at all with your non-dominant hand. 

It’s clear Lasky knows that too, his confidence is obvious. The secondary reason for that becomes evident when the knife in your hand that belongs to him starts to tug. You’d thought if you were holding it, it wouldn’t try to return to him, like when it had been stuck in the wall, but apparently that’s not true. It fights your grip, attempting to go to Lasky and into its sheath on his arm like the others had.

You hold on tight, not wanting him to be further armed even if you don’t know how to wield it well yourself. He takes another step forward and you take another to the side. You notice that he’s steering you away from the relative safety the desk might have afforded you. The only good thing is that he seems to have completely forgotten about the fight going on behind him. Unfortunately, whenever you move to compensate, he blocks your own view. 

Finally he breaks the stalemate you’ve been locked in and rushes forward. You hastily stumble backwards along the wall, unwilling to give up the, perhaps false, feeling of safety it gives you. He slashes at you with his greater reach and you try to dodge, but you can feel his strike connected. Luckily, between the fabric of your dress and the manner in which the corset is boned you’re not pierced or cut by the blade. However, on his pull back, he catches your arm, slicing it and leaving a hot line of pain on your underarm that makes you cry out.

Your mind spins as the attack throws off your balance. You try to ignore the drip of blood down your arm, the sting of the cut, and the satisfaction in his eyes. Your palms are sweatier than ever and you have to focus on not trembling. The pull from his own dagger has only gotten stronger. With half an idea in your head about that, you kick out, slashing with your dagger more in the hopes of gaining back even a foot of space. 

It works, you catch some part of him, and he curses as he takes a step backward. “Would you simply stay—”

You lower your center mass and just as he raises his arm for a stab from above, attempting to use his height to get at your throat or chest, you release your grip on his dagger. In such close quarters, it doesn’t have time to turn or aim effectively. Given the strength it had been pulling at, it’s out of your hand like it was shot from a slingshot. Between your attempt at aiming and Lasky’s own speed, it misses its sheath entirely. The blade sinks into his armpit instead and he screams in pain.

Lasky’s fingers release the dagger held in that arm as his other hand clutches at the knife now embedded in him. You don’t waste any time standing there, immediately retreating, trying to find somewhere else to go, somewhere else to hide—anything to keep him away from you.

Should you go for the courtyard? Two’s no longer guarding that door—at least as far as you can tell, who knows if he needs to be near it to stop you from leaving. You feel a pang of guilt and regret for no longer staying to guard Grandmother, but with Lasky specifically focused on you and no real way to hold him off, you’re no use to her except to distract from her. The closet door was slammed shut so hopefully these assassins will just forget she’s even there. 

You head back towards where you came from originally, where Lasky’s been herding you. Hopefully you can find some of the Governor’s guards—or anyone, really. You sloppily knock over any chairs, ottomans, side tables you come across—anything to slow down your pursuer as you go. A wild, likely foolish part of you wants to run towards Dale. For all the fight still raging, and him already dealing with multiple opponents, you know he’d try to protect you. But your presence would just make his fight harder. Right?

“You bitch,” Lasky’s voice is ragged with pain and you hear his heavy footfalls getting closer as you round a short couch. “Get—” Whatever words he was going to say next are cut off by a thump and a wet gurgle. Unable to help it, you turn around.

Lasky’s already much closer than you expected, his eyes wide with surprise as he looks down at the raw spike of iron protruding from his chest. You identify it as a fireplace iron and look beyond him to see Dale’s back disappearing from the doorway.

A gasping cough brings your focus back to Lasky in time to see him collapse over the back of the couch and stop moving. You pant where you stand, feeling staggered by the sudden absence of an immediate threat. You can’t dwell on Lasky’s death, you can barely process your gratitude to Dale—there's only relief that Lasky’s not capable of hurting you anymore. 

Should you return to Grandmother? You hadn’t actually gotten that far with how messy the room is. Hide in that closet to defend her if need be? Hadn’t you just proved how ineffective you’d be at such a task? You got in one good blow that was more accident than anything and still needed Dale to—. 

You hesitate and absently use your dagger to finish a cut made to the fabric of your dress. You take the strip of cloth and wrap it around your bleeding arm. The sudden pressure on the wound makes you flinch and grit your teeth against the renewed pain. 

Just as you secure that makeshift bandage in place and resolve to leave to find help, Vi comes running full speed out of the side room. You know the moment she spots you because she changes direction, heading for you. Immediately, you try to run for the door, but she anticipates your movement. She runs around wide, blocking that as a viable exit. 

Without thought, you turn, heading back the way you came and for the courtyard. She’s fast though, faster than you with her sturdy boots and training while your skirts and soft shoes only slow you down. She catches you just before the desk and closet you’d started this mad dash from.

A side hit from the spear bruises your side and you cry out as you are spun around. There’s desperation in her eyes as Vi lunges to cover that last few feet between you. She slams you back against the wall, her spear shaft across your throat. Your wrists too are pinned up in the skilled maneuver. Her wide, terrified eyes bore into yours. “What the fuck is he? You’re going to—”

The clash of metal on metal followed by a wet cough and a triumphant growl from the other room cuts her off. You only try to wrestle her for control briefly. You’re no match for her strength. Instead, you try desperately to wriggle your hands free, trying only to get more room to breathe. Your head is tilted back, your throat throbbing as she fixes her gaze back on yours. You try to say something, you don’t even know what, but she doesn’t give you a chance.

“They lied, he’s not human,” she spits. “He’s a skinwere.” It’s clear Dale’s revealed enough of himself that she knows he’s possessed, not enhanced. Another word for a possessed human is a demon wearing human skin or skinwere for short. It’s a very negative term and you think she might be local—you’ve heard that term used more in Northridge than even at school. No wonder she’s scared out of her mind. 

She must be able to tell you’re not surprised by the news because her eyes narrow, “You knew.” It’s not a question, but you can’t speak or even move your head to answer anyway. She doesn’t seem to need you to. 

She pushes against you with her spear, completely cutting off your air before she pulls back enough to let you speak. You cough, gulping in air as she orders, “Tell me how to kill it. Tell me—”

Before she can make any more demands, you drop your whole body down heavily. There was enough space now between the spear and the wall to let you, although it still wrenches your wrists and hands painfully. Your head hits the wall as you tilt it back to allow the movement.

Wrists and head hurting from the spear, backside throbbing from smacking into the ground as a dead weight, you’re moving before you can think about it. Crawling around her legs on your hands and knees. You scurry towards anything that can be perceived as safe. The sound of something heavy being flung into the wall makes you flinch.

A heavy blow to your back makes you yelp, collapsing onto your stomach. “You’re not going anywhere,” Vi snarls, the butt of her spear, pressing down with insistent force. “Not until—”

The pressure abates abruptly and you turn on your side to see something long and black around her wrist, pulling her weapon off of you. Your vantage point, combined with your throbbing head, makes it hard to follow all the action, but it looks like a black snake that Vi tries to tug off with a yell. 

She draws a knife with her free hand to strike the black thing, but the crack of bone breaking causes her to scream as her spear drops from her limp hand. It falls harmless to the floor. You manage to pick it and throw it far away. You know she’d be more capable of taking it from you than you would be at wielding it.

Vi finally looks behind her, following where the solid shadow stretches from and screams at whatever she sees. You only see another long dark ribbon of tangible blackness wrap around her neck before she’s pulled backwards with a strangled sound. She disappears out of your sight. 

Another thwack and gasping whimper make you wince, paralyzed on the floor, mind unable to decide what to do next. 

You hear footsteps heading for you accompanied by a tap of wood on wood. Then you hear a worried, “Sana?” 

Relief floods your body and you desperately need to see Dale, to reassure yourself that despite the horrible clashes and yells, the violence and the destruction, he’s whole. No matter what he must look like given what you’ve seen and how his voice still has an echoing, deep quality to it. You brace yourself on your palms to push yourself up. Opening your mouth to answer him, you’re interrupted by a crack before you can.

“I knew it,” an unfamiliar voice meets your ears. It has a strange, otherworldly grit to it and you freeze instantly. “How all these other humans are so blind, I’ve no notion.”

Dale hisses, “Hide,” before you hear him move away from you and towards the voice. You follow his suggestion, too cowed by the return of the threat to want to do anything else. Half crawling and half dragging your tired body, you tuck yourself under the heavy wooden desk.

“As though you are a paragon of subtlety,” Dale snaps back. He’s clearly nearly in that other side room once more, but his voice carries more than perhaps he’s even aware. 

“Ah,” the voice concedes, the sound carrying just as easily. Is that a demon power? you wonder with only slight delirium, projecting your voice? “ But I am not trying to be. Neither of us are.”

“Us?”

“Yes,” a far more human voice replies this time. “Us.” The two voices overlay on that word before the more inhuman voice continues, “We are not all so rude as to kick out the original owner. Some of us know what it is to share.”

You realize it’s Two, who has apparently decided to finally enter the fight and who’s strange nickname suddenly makes a lot more sense.

“I care not how many of you are fitted in that body,” Dale replies. “You’ll do no more harm here. You’ll not fulfill your mission.”

“Perhaps,” the casual menace of this voice is not intimidated by Dale’s confidence or orders. “Or perhaps there is simply more to be gained and less to be shared.”

Dale must see no more reason in talking because there is only the sound of movement and metal after that. Grunts sound from all three voices, perhaps more distinct given your inability to see and only to hear. They’re not enough to tell you who’s winning and you’ve no notion of how Dale stands in contest with another actual demon. Neither are likely attempting to hide their natures, but is that an advantage to one or the other? Or a wash?y

Does the Two being both help or hinder them? They had also implied that Dale was not sharing his own form, which meant the human who had been Dale was gone, didn’t it? Neither of them are mentioning Clen, so is he dead too? What sort of creature was the demon in Two? You know demons vary wildly, even the intelligent ones, in a manner far greater than humans did, what if this one was more powerful than Dale? 

It feels like ages of simply listening, though in reality is likely only a minute or two. You can’t take knowing so little about what is happening. You hesitantly move forward and cautiously kneel up to see just over the surface of the desk. 

They’re indeed still in the other room, moving so fast you can hardly tell who’s who. Front he glimpses you catch, neither of them are in forms that are entirely human anymore. Part of the fight seems almost mundane, the swords meeting and breaking apart as they circle, engaging and dodging stabs and slashes. The shadows in the room move unnaturally and at least two seem to be even more independent than that. They whip around Dale to meet and deflect animate stonework, colored grayish-green with a rusty red shot through it. The rock seems both to come from the columns and walls of the room beyond, despite looking nothing like ones in this room, and from nothing at all.

Your heart is nearly in your throat as Dale’s shadows seem as if they would be far weaker than something so sturdy. A big chunk of stone falls from the ceiling causing Dale to need to dodge to the side. He catches Two’s sword stroke awkwardly as a result. A clatter reveals that he’s been disarmed. His sword sent flying from his hand to land behind Two. 

Dale retaliates with a riot of shadows which erupt between them and forces Two back. It also nearly leaves them out of sight of the doorway and you straining to follow what’s happening. Dale’s back is to you and only half his body visible, while Two’s nearly on the other side of that room. From what you can tell he’s beginning to resemble a statue more than a person, if a moving one.

“I believe you’re unarmed now,” Two says with a smirk.

“I do not need a weapon to be armed,” Dale snarls, the shadows of the room flickering dizzyingly. His entire body seems more amorphous than ever before. You think he looks taller than he typically is, but thinner too. The arm you can see is oddly shaped, as if it is bare but also, more like a medical mannequin from class—bone and muscle with no fat to be seen. He brandishes his hand to better display the black claws he now has. In fact, you’re certain he’d been wearing a green suit earlier, but it’s black now too. Even his dark hair is even darker, untied and wild, longer than it should be. 

You keenly appreciate Dale’s rebuttal, but you still hate that his sword is gone from his hand while one remains in Two’s. They shift their stance and you automatically try to compensate with your position to keep your view. You bump into a lamp that’s been knocked to the floor.

As you push it to the side, something on the ground catches your attention. You peek around the edge of the desk to get a better look and very deliberately don’t look too closely at Vi’s body, only a few yards away. Instead you focus on the long, thin piece of polished wood instead. Dale’s cane. 

Instantly, you know you need to get this to Dale and more than that, you want to do something, anything to help him. Carefully, you put your hands down on the cold stone floor to steady yourself. Then you move just far enough out from behind the desk to grasp the foot of the cane and pull it towards you. 

You grasp it firmly in your hands and peer back over the top of the desk, checking to make sure that Dale’s still the one closest to the doorway. 

Once you see that he is, you call out, “Dale!” Then you lean up high on your knees and throw the cane like you’ve seen others throw a javelin. It soars through the air and into the further room where Dale and Two are tangled in a confusing knot of shadow and stone. 

They break apart at the sound of your voice and Dale leaps backwards as if propelled by some of the shadows under him. A hand, black, like he’s wearing gloves or dunked his arm in ink, and clawed, snatches the cane out of the air with careful precision. You think you see the glint of a blue eye on the back of his hand, practically the only color standing out against his form now.

“Will that do you any good?” Two asks, seemingly curious more than anything as he watches Dale hold the cane. You can’t tell if his lack of anger over this fight, the way he keeps treating it like a tournament fight for entertainment, is a good thing or not.

Dale says nothing, merely twists the handle. He carefully pulls off the wood to reveal a long green rapier.

“Jade,” Two hisses, taking a full step back. “A dangerous weapon for one such as ourselves to wield.”

“All weapons are dangerous,” Dales replies brusquely. “Humans regularly use weapons as deadly to themselves as they are to their enemies.”

“How adaptable. All the shade in your nature, I presume,” Two says, a mocking edge to his tone.

“You are not the only one who can use stone to their advantage,” Dale bats back as easily. 

Two lets out a bark of laughter and the sound seems to come from far more than two mouths, let alone one. You would give nearly anything for him to never do that again. “It has been so long since I spoke with one of us with intelligence still left to them up here. The sunlight seems to drive too many insane. Almost a shame to kill you.”

“A good thing then,” Dale says as he charges, “that you will not.”

The visibility of the fight becomes impossible after that. There’s too much movement from shadows and they move further into the room. You’re back to primarily trying to gauge the fight based on sound alone: thuds and crashes and ripping that you can’t identify.

“So close. But perhaps you are correct,” it’s the human voice this time, panting but not demoralized. Some of the sight line clears and you see Two hunched over, a hand on their chest. “I shall not be able to kill you nor collect the bounty so generously placed on your head.” They pick up their head, “However, the knight had the correct idea.” 

“Yes,” the grating demonic voice picks up and they slowly straighten. “I’m certain you must have supplies or books worth perusing. I can tell your form is impeccable underneath, despite your essence spilling out. This body, with him intact, still gets a bit stiff if I’m not careful. I shall be intrigued to ascertain how you accomplished such a thing.”

“You think I will allow you to leave?” Dale hisses. “After all you’ve done.” He throws a hand out to emphasize the general state of destruction around them.

Two laughs and it's one of the most unsettling things you’ve ever heard. It has a screech to it that makes your skin crawl. You are resisting the urge to cover your ears or yell yourself in order to drown him out when he looks over and meets your eyes. His dirty red eyes, the color of dried blood, bore into yours across the distance and he rushes for you.

He crosses the distance faster than he should be able to you and there’s a ripple in the walls that seems to respond to him. Panic seizes your heart and mind as you instinctively dive back down and under the desk. Your hands desperately latch onto and drag a broken ottoman to cover the open part of the desk.

Curling up behind it, you feel something slam into the makeshift shield, pushing you and the desk back, the wood squealing against the floor as it moves. A wordless roar comes from further away and another crash echoes through the room. The sound of what you think are books falling to the floor and a heavy grunt follow.

Then, silence.

You cough a few seconds later, unable to help it due to all the dust the stone moving has kicked up. You think you hear a smothered groan while you attempt to stop, but you stay rooted in your hiding spot, waiting.

After another dull thump, Dale calls your name. His voice is still strange and yet you can hear the confusion and worry in it. You can hear a lot more than that actually. Your eyelids flutter despite being unable to see anything other than dust and dingy wood. 

Your name sounds different than when he’s said it in the past. There is a depth to it, meaning below the surface that you can hear when he’s like this. Like emotion and inflection and neither of those. 

There’s a layer of softness, of imagery that it conjures up, that you can almost feel through his voice. Of gentle sunlight through the window on a clear day. Your favorite chair and the taste of fresh, sweet honey melting on your tongue, soothing and comforting. Its respect and harmony and the potential to be more than you are alone, of joining and of belonging. Tension leeches from you in waves, like taking off so many heavy coats to stand unburdened. You want to drown in the sensation, you want to hear him say nothing, but your name for the rest of your life.

You want to come out, to go to him, regardless of what you might see. Hesitantly, you push the ottoman away and start to crawl out from beneath the desk. Shakily, you stand up and turn to face Dale.

To your surprise, he looks far more human than the glimpses you’d gotten of him during the fight. His eyes still glow unnaturally and his hair is too long and wild. He’s roughly the correct height again with no too tangible shadows or extra eyes, though you’re not looking at his hands on purpose. His skin for the most part is a shade of human coloring once more. He doesn’t seem to be bleeding either, no obvious large wounds or injuries. 

You can’t handle a direct conversation about his nature now, not after all of this, and so you look beyond him to assess the rest of the situation, although you can tell by a feeling in the air that Two is gone.

The room beyond him does look as though the bookcase closest to you had been tipped over or thrown towards the desk, but Dale is standing in such a way as to suggest he’d caught it before it fell. His free hand is also held open in a gesture towards the wall behind you, where you can see large bricks of rock have come loose, though not enough to threaten the integrity of the wall itself.

You meet his eyes once again and he finally relaxes, shoulders drooping as you both stand in the aftermath. Then he’s striding forward and the cool fingers of his free hand grip your chin as he examines you.

“I am fine,” you say, which would probably be more convincing if you couldn’t feel tears dripping down your cheeks. His eyes rake up and down your form, obviously trying to assess that for himself before finally settling back on your face once he’s done. 

Something that might be relief starts to spread over his face until he freezes. He withdraws his hand abruptly from your face, tucking it behind him with a speed you don’t bother to try to match. Instead you resist the urge to sway towards, wanting his touch once more as it had felt grounding.

Then he blinks, his eyes darting around the room with renewed concern. “Where?” Dale asks.

After a second of confusion, you realize who he’s asking after. Your hand closes around the door handle for the closet and you pull the door open to reveal a still unconscious Grandmother hidden away safely.

You grab one arm of the chair and Dale the other as you pull it out from the closet. You don’t even care that he’s clearly doing the majority of the work. It takes a second before you can see her chest moving with her breathing. 

“Grandmother will be too,” you say, not sure who you’re trying to convince more.

“Good,” Dale says. He carefully brings a human thumb to wipe away your tears with a tenderness that does not match the danger that lingers in the way he still holds himself. You can’t help but lean into his touch, the safety he offers, if only to you. “It would only be worse for them if you were not.” His eyes slide to Grandmother’s unconscious form and menace seems to drip from his voice. “It shall be bad enough for them as it is.” 

You jump at the sound of a door opening, looking past Dale to see two of the governor’s guards walk in. They stop, gaping in the doorway.

Dale straightens, ignoring the reinforcements that have finally shown up. He doesn’t respond to Grandfather’s concerned voice calling his name and Grandmother’s and even your own. His head swivels to the direction of the courtyard, where Two went.

Fear grips your heart and your hand lands on his forearm, “No.” He doesn’t look back at you either. He gently, but inexorably pulls out of your grasp. You can’t stop him, you know that you can’t, but you can’t stand the thought of him leaving, of him pursuing this threat. “No. Dale. Don’t go after him!”

He ignores you, jade rapier in hand, and runs out into the courtyard.

“Damn you,” you say, voice tight as you try to stop more tears from welling up. What if he’s found out? What if Two can do more to hurt him? What if there are others in wait and he’s outnumbered? What if—? You wipe your eyes more harshly than perhaps you need to as you force yourself to focus on what you can do, who you can help.

While the other guards race to follow Dale, Grandfather hurries across the room to be on the other side of the chair, calling Grandmother’s name. You can feel her breathing, but you need to see if her heart is in trouble. You check her pulse as you tell him, “We need a doctor. Now.”

[Part Twenty-Four]

[imvenusasaboy]

PUPARIA

Chapter 6 - two reverse

prev - chapter 1

"You sure this is the movie you want to see?" Teddy anxiously fidgeted with the scarf Hosah was hiding in so they could avoid being charged for two tickets.

"Why not? I mean, 't just came out, everyone seems excited for it," The tiny man beneath the fabric was right, the queue they were standing in had gotten exponentially longer since they'd joined, and it wasn't like they were anywhere near the front either. "It's too late to turn back now, Teddy, you've reached... Your final destination." Although Hosah's corny pun was funny, in an ironic way of course, his assistant was not laughing.

"It's- it's not that I have an issue with it, I just don't wanna waste my money on a bad movie, you know?" Maybe it was just the fact that is was too hot to be wearing so many layers that made Teddy sweat. There was no way a man, who's dealt with death head on, would be so scared of some movie.

Hosah didn't have to say anything in response, his snickering was enough.

The line moved fast, and before they knew it, the two detectives were in their singular seat, having paid for a singular ticket. To say it was nine o' clock on a Tuesday, the theatre was packed. Hosah had never been particularly interested in the horror genre, but The Final Destination was the only recent release that would be playing shortly after they'd both arrived, aside from reruns of The Notebook, which he'd already seen more times than his parents in the last five years.

Once the lights had dimmed and everyone seemed to be seated, the shrunken man wriggled out from under the layers of fabric until he had a good view of the screen. Teddy's height was a real plus, as even from his shoulder, no heads were obstructing the view of the screen.

With the amount of medication he was on, Hosah found it hard to keep his eyes open, being wrapped up so cozily in Teddy's scarf by the crook of his neck. Any sort of warmth and that was it, the shifter was out like a light. Although he was definitely more of a dog person, Hosah could understand the common comparison between him and a cat, as he found himself getting drowsy in even the most chaotic of situations, much like this one. Despite the ear-splitting loudness of the surrounding speakers, and Teddy's constant flinches at the movie jumpscares, Hosah had to fight his body's urge to drift off into a deep slumber.

The screams from the surrounding movie goers regularly jolted the tiny man back to reality, but even then, he struggled to stay fully aware of his surroundings for more than five minutes or so. Realising he wasn't particularly built for this sort of thing, Hosah wondered why he didn't just invite his assistant to watch movies in the comfort of his apartment instead. Oh well, this was probably fun for Teddy, at least.

In a room so filled with people, there was no way Hosah was going to be able to keep his attention on the movie. The best part of the theatre was watching the people around you react anyway, at least in his opinion. The shifter had never really though twice about any movie he'd ever seen, even in the moments, the awareness of the fact everything was a work of fiction was enough to take Hosah completely out of the horror enjoyment experience, so seeing other people getting scared was his main source of enjoyment from the media.

Fortunately for him, Teddy was most definitely getting scared. The concept itself wasn't even remotely disturbing, some curse or whatever, avoiding death once means it'll come back to get you, a situation Hosah couldn't picture himself being in, but it seemed terrifying enough to the people around him. Maybe he was just too critical, or maybe he just had bad taste.

As Hosah felt the giant's shoulders tense up beneath him once more, his eyes began to droop against his will, falling into his own subconscious. Lately, he'd been having weirder and weirder dreams. Sure, the reoccurring nightmare of his own metamorphosis was weird, but these were all next level. Hosah didn't think his brain had the ability to create such scenarios, but every night he would live through them, and awake with the vivid memory of them all. Recently, they'd mostly been about Teddy. He couldn't really make sense of them, with no rhyme or reason behind any of the events, not that Hosah would know how to describe or even comprehend them, and no consistency amongst them all, besides the fact they were all about his assistant, of course.

It was weird, Hosah didn't usually dream of people he knew, especially so soon after meeting them. Maybe he really would have to get into spirituality some time soon, as the spirits lurking around in his mind were clearly trying to send some kind of message, the thing was, the shifter just couldn't understand what it all meant. Hosah didn't remember the event's specifically, just the feelings he experienced. Over the past few days, he'd woken up with his heart beating out of his chest, face flushed and body shivering. At first, he considered the possibility just being sick, but that didn't explain why the feeling went away once he'd gained full consciousness and awareness of his surroundings.

-~-

"You fell asleep? How? I could barely hear myself think," Teddy laughed in astonishment, at this point he shouldn't have been surprised by this fact at all.

Despite knowing the giant couldn't see him from his own shoulder, Hosah shrugged, "That just happens when it's dark and I'm all warm and cozy."

It was true, even now, with Teddy squatted down on the side of the busy street waiting for their cab, the tiny man was painfully aware of his heavy eyelids and weakened muscles.

His assistant didn't respond, only chuckling to himself, probably thinking of something Hosah definitely didn't want to know about for his own dignity.

"So, was it bad?" The shifter pulled himself up from under the layers, now stood on the collar of his assistant's dress shirt, fighting the urge to grab hold of his auburn hair for balance.

"I mean," Teddy turned his face in the opposite direction, pretending to look out for the taxi, "It wasn't good,".

As the giant shifted his view as far away from the detective as possible, Hosah craned his neck to get a better view of his assistant's, very red, face. "Aww, glad I slept through it then. I'm not really a huge horror fan anyway. Never really got to me."

Despite not being able to properly see pocket-sized man, Teddy turned his face back the way it came from. Although he really wanted to say 'Why'd you make me sit through that then?' , instead he asked, "What movies do you like, then?"

Teddy already knew the answer to his question, as he'd nosied around the shifter's TV stand whilst he was busy doing whatever it was he did instead of just asking for help. He didn't have many DVDs in his collection, but the ones he did have seemed mismatched at best, ones he'd never thought he'd see all together in one place. Out of the five all together, Twilight seemed to be the one Hosah watched the most, as it sat by the TV, case opened, and with its disc nowhere to be seen.

Hosah took a second to think before giving an answer, "Oh, you know, the classics. Pulp Fiction, The Godfather." Teddy felt the tiny man brush back and forth past his neck. That was one thing he'd noticed Hosah did a lot, he swayed back and forth whenever he told stupid lies.

"Really?" Despite wanting to call him out on the falsehoods, the assistant played along, seeing how far he could push before Hosah broke and admitted the truth.

He scoffed, although it was obvious he was more nervous than smug, "Of course. I mean, who doesn't love, I don't fuckin' know, Taxi Driver."

"What's that about? Never heard of it."

".. A taxi driver??" Hosah stumbled on his words a little, if the giant could see him as he stood perched on his shoulder, his face would probably be as equally red as his own was earlier.

On the topic of taxi drivers, a familiar face could be seen in the window of the bright yellow car pulling up by the side of the pavement where the two detectives off duty were waiting. Despite having a weird at best first meeting, Teddy called the number on the business card he'd been given two days prior and asked for Felix. There was something about the familiar European accent and his uncomfortable nicknames that were so endearing to him, there was no way he couldn't form a relationship with the guy.

Felix waved the two, who were already approaching, over with large gestures out the window, calling out a few words neither of the detectives could really hear or understand.

As Teddy climbed into the backseat, hand holding his scarf, which the tiny man had found himself wrapped up in once again, the driver gave a comment which could actually be heard this time, "Just you today? Where's Pupa?"

Hosah shuffled his top half out from under the polyester in response, face still flushed, partially from the sudden movements in which he was pushed and pulled every which way by the debilitating force of gravity, and partially because he had no idea of the meaning what he'd just been referred to as had.

He only became more confused as his assistant seemed to find the term to be extremely humorous. Hosah wanted to ask what it meant, but there was an invisible force that took away his ability to speak whenever he was tiny in front of multiple people all at once, especially when that included strangers. The taxi driver turned around, leaning as far as he could into the back seat whilst still sitting down,

"Where to?" if he were anyone else, this would've been a perfectly normal and socially acceptable question for him to ask, but the fact Felix sat staring directly at the shifter instead of Teddy deeply unsettled the tiny figure. He'd actually never felt so, perceived in his life.

Such a simple question, so simple that Hosah zoned out when his assistant gave the response and Felix had long since turned around and started driving, but he couldn't stop replaying the look in his head, a thousand times over. It wasn't like being stared at when he was tiny was out of the ordinary, in fact, he'd grown accustomed to being a spectacle, but that's what made the interaction so unsettling, the fact Felix didn't look at him as if he were a strange trinket or some kind of car crash that, despite knowing they shouldn't, people can't seem to take their eyes away from.

It was the first time someone had looked at Hosah, when he was such a way, as an equal human being. The same way Felix looked at Teddy in the same sentence. For once, he felt as though he was on equal grounds to just about anyone in the city, which was probably what scared him so much, as he realised it wasn't just the taxi driver that gave him such a kind of look.

Things like this always meant the most to him. Maybe it was just because he was so small, he could see the details so much clearer, that even a shift in the glint of someone's eyes meant a lot. Or he just had a bad habit of overthinking all the minute things in his life. Probably the latter, but Hosah preferred the first standpoint. Being three inches tall sucked most of the time, but being able to enjoy the smallest parts of life was pretty cool. Pillows being huge, empty plains of fluffy bliss, food always being in abundance, being able to count the freckles on a certain someone's cheeks, all the things he wouldn't be able to appreciate if not fulfilling his hereditary curse that was being a shifter.

Right now especially, Hosah could appreciate how warm and soft the flesh of his assistant's neck was, blended with the polyester of his scarf. If he couldn't keep his eyes open an hour and a half ago, he definitely couldn't right now. The giant voices mindlessly chatting were loud, but his lack of sleep over the past couple of days was louder.

As he rested his eyes, Hosah couldn't help but think back to the current case. If a random taxi driver he'd met once before could see him as an equal human being, why couldn't this sick monster see the fifteen people he'd taken the lives of as sentient beings at the very least? Even at his most lethargic of states, the detective's job kept him awake. If he'd had gotten there sooner, maybe they'd have had a better shot at saving the final body, or even identifying the man that had run away from the scene of the crime.

Hosah knew far too well not to get his head stuck on this topic, as he'd been repeatedly told by the two people currently closest to him, but it was something he couldn't help. Getting into a state of debilitating self hatred was his default, the one constant he could rely on for any sense of comfort when he had no control over anything going on in his life.

He wondered why Jules would ever seek him of all people to join the team five years ago. She knew him better than anyone, she knew the kinds of things he'd do to cope, it was a known fact to everyone in his life, that being a detective would be no good for Hosah, but being a stupid twenty one year old with no other prospects in life, Jules also knew he was a people pleaser, one that would do anything she requested of him.

Which is why, later in the evening, long since he and Teddy had ordered and eaten their takeout, both falling asleep together with the TV still playing, Hosah rushed to answer her call.

The ringing of the phone jolted the shifter awake so suddenly. He couldn't really think about the position he found himself in, still by the crook of his assistants neck, somebody was calling, and he needed to answer.

Carefully, in an attempt not to wake Teddy, he climbed down the creases in the unbuttoned dress shirt, using the wrinkles of the cotton as supports for under his feet. Hosah rushed over to the buzzing mobile on the coffee table, taking a risky leap from couch to the surface despite being unable to see where one things started and the other ended in the depths of the night's darkness.

He half expected it to be his dad calling drunk, or maybe Jeanne with more depressing news, but Hosah definitely didn't expect the name on the small screen to be Jules'. He hopped onto the other side of the phone, pressing whatever buttons he could under his heel until it picked up the call.

At first, he could only hear static and wind, but after a second or so, a familiar voice could be deciphered from the background noise, "Thank god you're up, aha. Sorry to disturb you in your down time, but, you know that guy I hired on the night shifts to watch all those cameras we got installed like, last year?" Surely when she called out of the blue at two in the morning, context was important. "Well, turns out he caught someone hand delivering a package, around twenty minutes ago."

Hosah couldn't quite understand what he was hearing for a second, due to both the fact he'd just woken up and also the absurdity of the scenario, "A.. A package? What, is it a pipe bomb or something? Call the police, not me, Juliette."

"That's the thing, it's addressed to you." She laughed down the phone, even though the situation was not funny at all.

As he stumbled on all the questions flowing from his head and out of his mouth, the shuffling from beside him took Hosah completely out of any coherent trains of thoughts he could form.

Usually by now, Jules would've hung up, but despite the terrible quality of the device, she could probably hear the fact Hosah wasn't alone through the speaker.

"Hosah?" Teddy sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, "Who are you talking to?"

Before he was able to explain himself, their boss chimed in, "What are you doing with Edward at two in the morning?"

"Ah, what are you doing calling me at two in the morning? Just get the police over tomorrow and have them take the package to forensics or something. I don't care if it's for me, I don't online shop." If he were more conscious, he'd probably be a lot more disturbed.

In fact, Hosah was annoyed if anything, all he really wanted was to curl back up in the space between Teddy’s shoulder and neck, but he gathered that probably wasn’t an option anymore.

The static picked back up again as Jules spoke up once more with a sigh, “Well, if you want to come take a look, a couple of us are already here. You don’t even have to bother calling Edward, ‘t seems.”

The tiny man frantically shuffled across the keys of the phone, hanging up as quickly as he could to avoid any sort of further teasing he knew his boss loved to indulge in, especially regarding Hosah and any relationship he forms with the men around him. She knew too much, and he didn’t trust her not to share what he wished he’d just kept to himself all those years ago.

The shifter gathered his breath in one exasperated sigh, turning his attention back to Teddy, who’s structure was complimented by the glow of the single table-side lamp the pair had forgotten to turn off before falling asleep. The yellow bulb’s luminosity clung to the giant’s face, wrapping perfectly around his prominent square jaw and high cheekbones. If he didn’t already know better, Hosah would’ve just assumed he was some kind of model.

“So..” Teddy fidgeted, his eyes shifting over to the humming TV infront of him, “What was that about?”

Hosah shrugged as he often did when he knew all too well what the answers to the giant’s questions were, “Someone’s hand delivered a package to the office. Got my name on it. Probably a threat, these fucking..” the tiny man waved his hands around in a similar fashion to how Teddy would, “Anti-shifter lunatics. Hah, it’s not the first time they’ve put some kind of bounty over my head. They don’t think we’re deserving of any sort of place in society. Never mind in the criminal justice system.”

His assistant hummed in melancholic agreement, “If they knew you, they’d understand. What you said earlier, it was powerful, you know you should go do speeches or something, got a way with words.”

“I don’t remember what I said,” The shrunken man could only laugh at the thought of himself up on a podium, “I say a lot of things, you throw a hundred things at a wall, at least one of thems gonna stick,”

“It was about you all being one. All shifters, I mean, that you need to look out for each other.” Teddy was looking right at him now; the same way he would look at any other person of his same size, except this time with a remarkably warm smile, “I think you say a lot of, fucking.. cool stuff. I don’t know. I’m sorry.” The giant wiped the sleep from his eyes once more as an excuse to cover his flustered face.

“.. Yeah, I guess that was cool of me.” The shifter was well and truly flattered, wanting to cover his own blushing face too.

“Well, anyway, we’re up now, how about breakfast?”

Food did sound good, Hosah had intentionally spoken more than he’d eaten earlier, meaning he’d gone almost the whole previous day without any sort of substance. When in front of others, he’d always resorted to shifting things around his plate so it looks like he’d had more than the reality of the situation, he didn’t know why, it’s not like he was embarrassed, it had just become a bad habit.

The giant stood to his full height, with the coffee table Hosah lounging on barely being at knee height. Teddy paused for a moment, realising he’d almost forgotten something.

“You coming?” He knelt down, hand open on the edge of the table. The man, just the right size to fit in the palm being offered to him, froze. He weighed up his options, he could experience the touch of which he hadn’t felt in years since moving to the city, or he could do his usual climbing act back onto Teddy’s shoulder.

Ah, whatever, it’s not that big of a deal. Hosah cautiously made his way over to the hand which waited patiently for him, suddenly hit with a wave of shyness that couldn’t be shaken. Despite having done this a hundred times before, he found himself nervously planning out his footing as he observed the palm in-front of him.

Honestly, he half expected Teddy to take the piss and poke a little fun at him, but he didn’t. The giant waited without a word. No kinds of encouragement or teasing, no talking down to him, just silent patience. Hosah liked that about him, he knew his place even when he clearly had the upper hand in these situations.

Just as he was about to take the first step, something came to Hosah’s memory, “Teddy, what does Pupa mean?”

“Oh, um,” his assistant laughed to himself with surprise at the sudden question, “In Latin, it means doll.”

“Eugh, god. How come you get the cool name like Sancho?” Hosah thought himself to be very smart as he used to conversation to distract himself from all of his nerves surrounding the hand in front of him, crawling into the palm with the grace of a fish out of water.

Without thinking too much about it, Teddy stood to his full height now that the shrunken figure sat comfortably, “No, no, Sancho is so much worse. That’s like, the male equivalent to English’s ‘mistress’.”

This fact made Hosah feel quite a lot better about his own nickname.

Almost as soon as he’d stepped onto the palm, it was time to be lowered back down onto his familiar kitchen counters. Curse Teddy his stupidly long legs, the shifter was just starting to enjoy the warmth radiating from underneath him.

The view from the counter was quite nice, though, he could always appreciate a good forearm. Hosah watched with a little shame brewing in his stomach as his assistant checked through his cupboards, revealing nothing but half a loaf of bread, an unopened can of chopped tomatoes, and a small glass bottle of vanilla extract.

The fridge was equally barren, only barely having the ingredients Teddy needed to prepare whatever he was thinking about.

“You know how you said you always carry ground cinnamon with you?” He asked, leaning forward against the countertop, his shadow cast over Hosah’s tiny form.

Embarrassed by both the position he’d found himself in and the fact Teddy had remembered the fact, Hosah hummed as if to say ‘go on,’.

“Where do you keep that?” The giant elaborated,

If he wasn’t shy before, Hosah was most definitely shy now, “In my- coat pocket. On the inside. It’s .. hung up by the door,” Despite being small enough, the shifter shrunk back into himself, pointing out back into the living room.

As if he didn’t do anything at all, Teddy casually went over and collected what little he had left in the spice shaker. Returning with all of the ingredients laid out in front of him, he explained himself,

“I’m making French Toast.” Teddy said, going through the under-the-counter cupboards to retrieve both a small skillet and a shallow bowl that Hosah didn’t recall ever owning. “Out of everything you had, it’s lucky you seemed to stock all the ingredients. Do you make it yourself often?”

In all honesty, Hosah didn’t even know how one made french toast. “Nah. I don’t really

cook all that much. Unless you count adding hot water to noodle cups.”

“I see,” Teddy laughed, “My dad’s a chef so, I always spent a lot of time with him learning recipes and such. Plus my grandparents were sort of incapable by the time I got old enough to use the kitchen, so I ended up helping them out a lot in that way.”

The shifter looked up curiously with those familiar big brown eyes, Teddy’s voice was very sweet, honey to the ears as his slight accent slipped into some of the words he said. Hosah wondered if he’d mind being asked to read him bedtime stories any time soon.

“Anyway, do your parents do anything cool?” Hosah taken out of the moment as the conversation was shifted onto himself,

“Ah, not really. You ever heard of Etsy? Kind of new, my dad’s a warrior on there. Always doing some kind of order. He’s a woodworking teacher at my hometown’s highschool, but lately he’s been focusing on his own online shop. It’s cool. He can make just about anything.” Hosah could go on for days in praise of his dad.

As he whisked the mixture of egg, cinnamon, and vanilla extract, the giant replied, “What do you mean not really? That is cool.”

The shifter looked down to his feet with a flustered smile, “Yeah, it is, I guess.”

“What about your mom?”

“Oh, she’s a nurse. Always pretty busy when we were kids. My parents had kind of an unconventional relationship, stay-at-home dad with my mom bringing home the bacon. Or, bread, we can’t eat bacon. I don’t know.”

“Hmm, you don’t like pork?” The clicking of the gas being lit on the stove sort of muffled what Teddy had asked, placing the soaked bread slices onto the lightly greased skillet.

“ Nah, ‘ts not kosher. I don’t even know, I don’t even really believe in religion all that strongly, but I’ve been doing it my whole life so, what’s the point in stopping now?” Hosah rambled on, unsure if what he was saying could be heard by whatever higher being he’d dedicated his life to pleasing, and if it’d come up in purification.

“Oh god I get that. I still find myself thinking back to some of the shit I learnt in school, ‘You shall not lie with a male as one lies with a woman’ , man tell that to all of your priests then, you know?” The shifter was kind of taken aback with how much passion Teddy seemed to have on the topic, and also with what he may or may not have just told him. His heart beat out of his chest, realising he might actually have a shot at what he’d been trying to scrub from his mind whenever he looked at the giant.

“Y-yeah, totally. It’s still nice though, I guess. Hope of something after life, reaping your rewards, finding out you were right the whole time and every one else was getting it all wrong.” Hosah turned, hiding his red face despite the fact his assistant was far too distracted with the task in front of him to notice.

Teddy exhaled a contemptuous ‘Pshh’ , “That’s the thing though, what if everyone else was right? I don’t even really believe in an afterlife, to be honest. I always just thought you were put back on earth at square one, with past lives and all that.” he shrugged, “I don’t know, I’m a Libra, I’m indecisive. I might tell you the opposite tomorrow.”

“I don’t even know what my zodiac sign is, not the most spiritual guy out there.”

“Well,” Teddy turned his head away from the sizzling pan and down onto the shrunken figure, “When’s your birthday?”

“June first.”

The giant squinted with a familiar coy smile that meant he was definitely up to no good,

“Gemini. Yeah. That makes so much sense.”

“Why, what does that mean, how does that make sense?” Hosah needed an explanation to why the giant seemed to be so understanding of the answer.

Teddy’s eyes adverted back in that annoying nonchalant way, “Well, they say you guys are clever, impulsive, communicative, and you contradict yourselves a lot.” That same smile curled up onto his face as he remembered one more thing, “And you’re bad at sex. But then again, these are just loose traits, they can apply to just about anyone. It’s fun to think about though.”

The statement completely flustered Hosah into a stunned silence, with no idea what to say or how to respond, so instead, Teddy added more to his side of the conversation,

“They do say that Libras and Geminis are really strong matches though, so we have that going for us. I’d like to think there’s some truth in it all. It’s just interesting, I like it.”

Hosah coughed out his words in embarrassment, “When’s your birthday, then?”

“October nineteenth. My sister’s birthday is only two days before mine.”

“Eugh, I’d hate that. Are you the youngest or the oldest?” Hosah acted as if he knew all too well about the middle child syndrome of being forgotten, despite being fully aware of his dad’s blatant favouritism in his favour.

Teddy reached over to the dried dish pile by the sink, the smell of the cooked toast wafting throughout the whole apartment, “Youngest. There’s only eighteen months between me and my sister though, so we’ve always been more like twins if anything.” Turning the heat off of the stove, he continued, “What about you? You have siblings also, right?”

“Mm, two brothers. One older, one younger. It was always kind of awkward, because me and my older brother are so close in age, but then my little brother and I have a ten year age gap. Felt like he missed out on a lot of older brother growing up experiences, made me feel bad and stuff.”

Teddy gave a sympathetic ‘Mmm’ in response, too distracted dishing out breakfast to really think of any sort of heartfelt reply.

“Aaand breakfast is served,” The giant turned his body to face the tiny figure to his left, although he had a sort of disappointed pout on his face. “Wish we had some syrup or something. Ah, oh well, maybe next time?”

The way his face shifted so quickly and with such ease was fascinating to Hosah, Teddy could go from upset to overjoyed in about half a second, or so, that’s how it looked on the outside.

He offered the palm once more after washing them thoroughly, and this time, Hosah had no trouble diving straight onto it, quickly becoming accustomed to the familiar feeling he thought he’d long forgotten.

In these mundane moments of making breakfast together, it was almost like Hosah could forget there was someone going around killing off shifters like flies being trapped in a cobweb. As if there wasn’t something waiting for him back at the office, hand delivered with his name inked on the front. What it was, he had no idea, and he was enjoying his blissful ignorance too much to dwell. After all, his brain didn’t really work normally at such early hours in the morning, and he was in no rush to reach full conscious stability.

[concreteburialplot]

VIRALITY // 08

08 - Play Along

pairing: noah sebastian x fem!oc / nicholas ruffilo x fem!oc

word count: 5.3k

masterlist/intro: here | crossposted: ao3

warnings; irritating moody noah lol, angry/jealous nicholas, alcohol, noah teaching how to play pool, creepy guy at bar, implied past SA experiences, physical fight, blood, love triangle a brewin', 18+ ONLY MDNI

a/n: don’t be mean for no reason & let others enjoy things thnx :)

VALLIE

Noah somehow convinced me to drive us to a bar down the street from the warehouse where we were brainstorming with Bryan.

“So, remind me why you couldn’t have just driven here yourself?” I asked, looking over at him in the passenger seat of my rental car.

“I don’t have a car.” He replies flatly.

“You’re a world famous rockstar, and you don’t have a car?”

I hadn’t notice just how tattooed his hands are until I catch them moving up and down his thighs. The small action reminds me of ways I soothe my anxiety, especially in stressful work meetings.

“Not ‘world famous’, nobody even knew who we were til last month.” He’s quick to correct me and his grumpy tone makes it transparent that he’s still annoyed about getting kicked out by Bryan.

“Right.” I reply shortly.

I pull up to the small seedy bar Noah directed me to. It’s nestled within a larger strip of restaurants and shops. The random tiny city we’re in is not nearly as busy as LA and the buildings are all rustic and brick.

I’m not even parked a whole minute before Noah has already slammed his door behind him and headed towards the front door. At this point I should just expect to have to babysit every single grown man in this fucking band.

When I walk into the establishment, I’m smacked in the face by thick cigarette smoke and my face twists in disgust. It’s packed for 2pm on a Tuesday and almost every single patron is accompanied by a lit cigarette. I spot Noah at the bar already, just receiving his first full beer.

“A cosmopolitan please.” The words can’t come out fast enough, I need alcohol more than air itself right now. The bartender nods and starts curating my order.

Noah scoffs, “A cosmopolitan really? Could you get any more pretentious?”

“Oh my god.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Could you just shut up for literally like 5 minutes?” Right on cue the bartender places down a stemless martini glass with transparent red liquid. “At least it’s better that some basic ass beer.” I take a long sip of my ice-cold drink and alleviation begins the moment the alcohol meets my tongue.

He finishes the last of his beer and lands it hard on the wooden tabletop. “Fine. Whiskey and Coke please.”

“What is your deal huh, why are we here? What exactly are we doing?” I ask the obvious, finishing my own drink already and gesturing to the bartender for another.

He lifts his new glass, “You’re looking at it, Thornhill.”

My brows immediately scrunch together, “How do you know my last name?”

“You think you’re the only one who does their homework?” He asks ironically. “You do work with us after all.”

Both of our new drinks are halfway gone already with replacements on the way. Getting plastered midday on a Tuesday with my most infuriating client in some hole in the wall California bar was not on my bingo card for the week. But these boys keep surprising me, it’s almost refreshing. Almost.

Noah is quick to get started on the fresh drink in front of him, maybe too fast. The glass hadn’t even hit the table before it was half gone.

The numbing already growing in my fingers reminds me that all I had for breakfast was a green juice. Noah’s eyes travel over the bar and land on something across the room then back on me. His eyes are mischievous and playful, “You know how to play pool?” His lips spread into a competitive smirk.

I raise my brows at him. The man that was just 30 minutes ago arguing with me about music video lighting now wants to play pool?

“You want to play pool… right now?”

He laughs, which makes me realize I’d never heard him laugh. It’s nice. If I wasn’t already so exhausted by his bullshit already, it might’ve even made me smile.

“So, you don’t know how to play is what you’re telling me.” He slips off the stool and grabs my arm dragging me off my own.

“Hey, hey!” I smack his hand off my burgundy blazer, “This is designer, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t get your bourbon-y fingers all over it.”

His eyes roll so hard I think they might fall out. “Oh, so sorry princess.” He raised his hands up in defense. “Wouldn’t want to get your Prada dirty.”

While derogatory, the nickname makes my cheeks heat up but I’m not quite sure why. “It’s YSL actually.” I correct him, not that it matters but I guess when you pay almost $4000 for a jacket, it seems like it matters.

“See? Pretentious.” He points at me before going over to the table to set up the game.

I brought our drinks and my bag over to a wooden chair just behind the tables so I could keep a close eye on them. I decide that between the weak airflow in the bar and the sticky surfaces that it would be best to shed the jacket. I slip it off my arms and immediately remember that the blazer was essential to the look, since I only have a black lace corset underneath. But with the 4? 5? drinks I’ve had, I don’t care right now.

“Okay so since you don’t know how to-” Noah turns to look at me and seems to forget his words, he just blinks at me with a deer-in-headlights look.

I step closer to him, “Ya know, it’s not polite to stare.” I say in a hushed tone and poke his pointy nose. Whether or not he is actually looking at me like that, doesn’t matter, my confidence is boosted regardless. Surviving in an industry like the one we’re means walking a fine line between power and control. Men are easy to control when you know how to use assets correctly. And right now, he’s looking at the assets on my lace-covered chest.

“What were you saying again?” I ask, putting my weight on my palms at the edge of the table and leaning forward.

He clears his throat and diverts his eyes away from my cleavage. He directs me to a triangle filled with variously colored balls, some solid, some striped and all with numbers on them. “So basically, you want to get all your designated balls into the holes.” He hands me a long stick, “This is a cue, this is what you’ll use.”

“Got it.”

He perks up a brow above an eye, “You’ve really never played before?”

“Nope.” I take a sip of my potent drink without breaking eye contact with him. “Never thought I’d like it. I’ve watched exes play though. Seemed lame.” I say, sounding more apathetic than I actually am.

“Alright well,” He tugs at the hem of his long band shirt, “You might like it.” He knocks back the last of his drink and holds out a hand to me, “You want a refill?”

I drink the last bit of my own, letting the ice slide down the glass and sit on my numbing lips for just a second before handing it to him. “Please, thank you.”

The minute he leaves me, I become very aware that I’m the only female in the dark bar and every set of eyes is on me. I cross my arms over my chest and retract into myself.

Not long after Noah returns, we start playing. He explained how he “broke” the triangle and he ended up being solids which meant that I’m stripes. After a very bad attempt at hitting a ball, he decided I wasn’t doing well.

“No, no, no.” He waves me off before my stick touches the white cue ball. “Here, I can help.” He rounds the table and stands behind me. I obviously knew he was taller than me, but it isn’t until just now that I realize just how much taller he is than me – the top of my head barely meets his shoulders. And the boots I’m wearing have heels, making me even taller than normal. His sizeable hand runs down my spine and hooks it around my hip to readjust my position. His other arm goes to help adjust my arm that’s holding the stick. I can’t tell if it’s the alcohol, but my skin is burning anywhere he’s touching me and the way his hand engulfs my hip completely sends a buzzing between my legs. His fingertips are mere centimeters away from my core and I am extremely aware of it.

“See, not so bad.” He smiles, pulling away from me and it’s only then that I notice he actually helped me hit the ball.

My eyes linger on him longer than they should’ve. It must be this dim bar lighting and the copious alcohol I’ve had that is making see him through a new filter. His smile meets his eyes and he’s just so…bright. His chocolate eyes are so welcoming and kind, a stark contrast to how harsh and cold they are normally. He’s so much more attractive when he’s not scowling at everything I say.

“What?” He wipes off his mouth with the back of his hand. “Do I have something on my face or something?”

“No, no.” I shake the thoughts from my head. “I just don’t think I’ve ever really seen you smile.” I blurt out stupidly. “It’s pretty.”

He rolls his eyes walking over to the other edge, “Shut up.”

“What?” I ask walking over to where he’s lining up his cue to the ball. His tongue his tightly held in thought between his lips.

The cue ball clashes into a grouping and sends balls flying across the table, some landing in holes. “You’re still on your boyband bullshit.” His voice gained his usual attitude once again with a bit of drunken slur.

“What?” I shake my head, “No, no. I’m not talking about that.” I chase after him around the table. “I mean it.”

Though I should’ve taken the excuse he provided himself as to why I was even paying attention to his smile in the first place.

The long-haired boy holds his cue stick like staff looking at me with an unconvinced look. “Don’t say things you don’t mean, Vallie.” He says in a deep gravelly voice that almost sounds like a threat.

My eyes widen slightly when I look up at him. “I meant it.” I repeat softly, this time with a somewhat intimidated undertone.

He eyes me beneath a skeptical propped brow like I just told him something completely out of the realm of possibility. “Let’s just get back to playing.” He grumbles and walks over to finish off drink.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Similar to Nicholas, Noah also has a sort of whiplash duality, just different. I see tiny peeks of a sunshine-y Noah hidden beneath his grouchy storm-cloud persona. It makes me wonder what it would take to see more of the Noah that was just joking and smiling with me.

After another round or two and various refills later, I’m winning. Again.

“How are you winning when you just learned how to play?” Noah asks, pushing himself off the pool table. “Are you conning me or something?” His voice now has a thick, noticeable slur to it, but I don’t think much of it.

I giggle, “No. I just like to win.”

He scoffs playfully and grabs his own glass with my empty one. “You sure you don’t want another?”

I bite down on my thumbnail thinking, but ultimately refuse. “Nah I’m good for now.” I’ve hit the fine line of if I have another, I could get sloppy. Sloppy mixed with what I felt earlier with his hand on my hip could get me in trouble.

He nods and heads to the bar. I pull my phone from where I tucked it in the waistband of skirt and rest against the table as I scroll through emails I’d missed. Suddenly, I feel a presence that definitely isn’t Noah’s. It’s larger, meaner, and darker.

“That your boyfriend with you darlin?” Speaks a low southern accent. His words seem harmless, but I can tell by his tone that he’s not.

My eyes rise to meet him, he towers over me about as tall as Noah maybe an inch or two more. He might be as tall as Noah, but he’s about double his size, wide and muscular. His face is angular and sharp, adorned with middle-aged wrinkles. My gaze glances down to notice that he’s holding two drinks, one that looks like the one I’ve been drinking all day.

I keep an arm around my waist, my phone open facing me and prop a brow at him. “Maybe. What’s it to you?” I neither confirm nor deny out of caution.

“Well, I was thinkin’ you could have a drink with me.” He holds out the similar-looking drink. “The bartender told me you’ve been drinking cosmopolitans.”

I analyze the martini glass within a quarter of a second – the red liquid is dull, murky and the ice is bobbing at the bottom. I’ve lived alone in big cities long enough to know not to take drinks from strange men, especially when they look suspicious. I’ve dated enough men to know what this familiar uneasy feeling in my stomach means. My thumb maneuvers slowly and discreetly to my camera app and hit record. I would send my location to someone, if I had someone to send it to.

I smile politely, “I’m okay but thank you.”

As I predicted his energy shifts and he steps towards me, “Oh c’mon pretty girl, it’s not very nice to refuse a free drink.”

The fear coiling around my spine forces me to fake a laugh, “I’ve really had enough, but thank you.”

He steps even closer backing me into the pool table, the curved wooden corner digs into my lower back. The bar is so busy that nobody is taking notice of what he’s doing.

“I don’t think you heard me, it’s not nice to refuse a free drink.” He says lowly within the small space between us. “We could just play a round of pool and have a good time.”

The walls begin to cave in on me and air is vacating my lungs. I’m paralyzed, panicking and my heart is racing so fast I fear it may tear through my ribcage.

From the moment he was just near me I knew, I just knew.

I always know.

“I’m just not interested, I’m sorry.” The words slip from me quickly and I brace for verbal impact.

He bridges the little gap that’s left between us and sets each drink at each side of my hips, caging me in with my arms wrapped around my body and my phone still recording. “You think you’re better off with that toothpick of a date you have?” He hisses.

Right on cue Noah returns, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

I must’ve really been working off survival muscle memory because I had completely forgotten Noah was with me until just now.

The mystery man pulls back from me with the biggest bullshit smile on his harsh face. “Oh, I was just offerin’ your friend here a drink.” He raises the drink to him.

I chuckle nervously and wave him away, “It’s alright Noah, it’s fine, he was just being nice.” I scratch my arm anxiously. I want the interaction to be over and I’m not expecting Noah to defend me, he barely likes me as a person.

“No Vallie, I saw him.” He sets down his beer and points a finger at him. “You were being fucking creepy.” His drunken voice is rising, and I’m scared that it’s only going to make the situation worse.

The man chuckles at Noah like he’s a puppy barking at mountain lion. “What is this your girlfriend or something?” He asks as though that it’s something he hadn’t already suspected.

Noah briefly glances at me then back at him, “Yes, as a matter a fact she is.” He states assertively but his poker face isn’t that good. I’m surprised that he’s even gone this far to defend me but I’m appreciative.

He laughs even harder, “Oh you really expect me to think a girly twig like you can pull a girl like her?”

Noah doesn’t skip a beat, “You think a meathead asshole like you could pull a woman like her?”

While Noah is scrawny compared to this traditionally “macho man”, I think that was the manliest thing I’ve ever seen a man do for me.

However, it is painfully clear how drunk Noah is by the way he chooses to get in this huge man’s face.

“You’d better fucking watch it, Toothpick.” He growls in his face, then breaks eye contact with Noah to look over at me. “This pathetic joke of a man is your boyfriend?”

Noah doesn’t waver, doesn’t back down with tight fists at his sides but I can’t take it anymore. I may not get along with him, but he doesn’t deserve to be insulted like this on my behalf.

“Yes.” I say confidently with a straightened back, even though it couldn’t be farther from the truth. “Yes, actually, he is. And I’ll prove it.”

I instantly realize that I have no idea how exactly to prove it. So, I go with the first thing I think of within a split second.

I give Noah a brief look that says play along – though, I’m not sure he had enough time to understand the message because when I stand on my tippy toes, take his face in my hands, and land my lips into his, he freezes.

It feels like time freezes too as my eyes flutter closed and I melt into the kiss. Drunk in this shady bar, in this shitty scary situation, right now, it feels like it’s just me and Noah. In this moment, with our lips locked, the bar is quiet, everything is calm, and it feels really fucking good to win at pool. I can’t tell if the swirling in my tummy is from the panic or from something else entirely.

When I finally pull from him, my brows can’t help but furrow together in confusion. He looks back at me with a similar expression – though it’s hard to really decipher any real reactions in his glazed over eyes.

What the fuck was that?

The asshole is visibly over the charade. “What the fuck ever. Maybe next time you shouldn’t let your slut of a girlfriend leave the house looking like a whore.”

Before I even have time to process what he just said, Noah’s fist swings and crashes into Mystery Man’s face.

“Oh my god.” I gasp and bring a hand over to cover my mouth in shock.

It takes a second for the muscular man to react, his hand immediately going to his now bleeding nose. He doesn’t fully realize his condition until he holds out his fingers covered in blood.

His mean eyes then land on Noah like he’s a bullseye target. “You little fucking shit.” The man charges at him and in the blink of an eye, he’s on top of Noah on the ground just pummeling into his face.

“Noah!” I run over to him, not really knowing exactly what I could do.

Luckily, we’d already garnered the attention of the whole bar, so other similar sized patrons were able to pull the man off Noah before he had time to do worse damage. They drag him to the opposite corner of the bar and they fade into the background with my focus now being on Noah.

“Fuck Noah.” I mutter as I land on my knees near his head. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I stammer frantically looking around at what I could use to help him. The workers near us must’ve read my mind because they brought over a huge stack of napkins. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

He says nothing and flutters his glossy eyes closed when I start to clean him up. He winces when I dab the blood gushing from his nose. “I’m sorry.” I repeat breathlessly, trying my hardest to keep a panic attack away. He flinches a bit when I try to gently wipe his busted lip. “Sorry.” I repeat again, because what else am I supposed to say to someone who just got beaten up because of me. I don’t dare go near his already swollen eye until I get access to some ice… or maybe some frozen peas.

“Should I call Nicholas? Or Jolly?” I ask meekly, folding the napkin within my hands.

Noah groans. “Nicholas.” He brings his hand to his forehead. “Don’t call Jolly. He’ll kill us.”

Us

There’s something about that word in that statement. I can’t explain it, but it seems so much bigger than just Noah and I.

Before he finishes his statement, I’ve already texted Nicholas. I’m surprised at how quickly he responded and even more surprised when he says that he’s not even 5 minutes away.

“Nicholas is here? He said he’s visiting a friend at a tattoo shop in this strip.”

“How convenient.” He grumbles sarcastically and uses his hand to cover his eyes.

When I return my gaze to him, I notice his bloody and bruising knuckles. “Oh my god your hand!” I gasp and take his hand in mine. I urgently steal the condensation off a nearby beer glass to wet a clean napkin and use it to delicately clean each knuckle. An overwhelming sense of guilt fills my chest, and another even worse feeling wraps itself around my throat with thorns. My heartbeat begins thumping so hard I can hear it in my ears and I’m trying my hardest to steady my now trembling hands.

He peeks an eye at me while keeping the other scrunched closed. “Are you okay?” His voice is soft with an inflection reminiscent of concern.

My eyes begin to burn the minute he acknowledges my panic and only makes everything worse. I focus intently on where the napkin is meeting his skin. “Mhm.” I know the moment I open my mouth to speak any semblance of emotional control would disappear. I discreetly attempt to stabilize my breathing so that it might tether me back to earth.

“Hey,” His brows knit together and lifts himself up onto his elbows. I never let go of his hand. His other hand finds my chin and gently redirects my gaze to him. “What’s wrong?”

My eyes fill with tears but immediately screw shut in a last-ditch effort to keep my composure. I rarely cry and even more seldom do I cry in front of others. And here am I, about to cry in front of the person I least want to.

The lump in my throat is painful and I try to swallow it down in an attempt to keep my tears at bay. “I’m fine, just let me keep cleaning you up.” My cracking voice gives away just how close I am to unraveling. A tear escapes me and I’m quick to wipe it off with the back of my hand.

He sternly but gently grasps my wrist to stop me from continuing. “I’m not letting you keep going until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t know… a panic attack maybe?” A couple more tears escape, and I swiftly wipe them away. “You don’t deserve this, this is all my fault.” My eyes fall back down to his bloody hand in my own. “You look like this, because of me.”

He sits up more, analyzing. I can feel him dissecting me – even though we’re both drunk, it feels like he can see right through me. “I think it’s more than that Val. What’s up?”

That’s the first time I’ve heard my name come out of his mouth without some sort of insult attached to it. It sounds nice. I wouldn’t mind hearing it that way again.

My breathing is slowing down marginally, and I choose to ignore that his touch might have something to do with it. Surely it couldn’t have anything to do with it, right?

I take a deep inhale in preparation to speak without crying. I hold his bruised hand carefully with both of mine. I keep my attention on my thumb that is grazing across the black ink on his fingers. “Um.” I press my lips together and take another breath through my nose. He gives me my time, doesn’t rush or interrupt. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I hear my own voice crack and it feels like I’m somehow betraying myself by crying. “But, it’s not the first time something like…that has happened.” I blink some tears from my eyes and still focus on his hand. My voice is small and quiet, not the way I ever like to hear it. “It’s not even the second or third. And they’ve all been so much worse.” I let out a sad, sobby chuckle. “Which is why me crying about this is so fucking stupid because this was nothing. Worse things happen to people all the time and this was just some guy being a creep and–“

“Hey,” He rests his free hand on top of my own that were fidgeting more than I’d realized. “It wasn’t nothing. It was something. Something worth getting in a fight for. Okay?”

“It just shouldn’t be this upset over something so small.” My voice is not even a whisper. “It’s my fault.”

Weak

Is the only thing that is repeating in my head over and over.

I could’ve gotten myself out of the situation sooner.

I shouldn’t have frozen up.

I should’ve just taken the drink.

It didn’t have to escalate to that point.

I could’ve handled it on my own.

I shouldn’t be crying.

I was weak.

I am weak.

Weak.

Weak.

Weak.

He sits up and takes my chin into his fingers, titling my face up to meet his. The growing swelling all over his face only makes me feel worse. “You’re not stupid and it’s not your fault.” I know he’s trying to keep it together for me, but I can tell he’s struggling to form and deliver coherent sentences. “I don’t need to know any of the other instances to know that you were never stupid or that anything was your fault. Okay?”

I nod but it’s not enough for him. “I need to hear it.” The look in his chocolate eyes is one I haven’t seen in him before. Even behind his drunken daze and black eye, his eyes are genuine, kind, and concerned. A warmth blooms in my chest – it reminds me of when you’re running from the rain, and you rush into the safety of your car. That feeling of reaching a warm, safe place, that’s what I feel.

“Okay.” I reply quietly. “Thank you.”

While Noah is mere inches away from my face with his hand on my cheek, I hear a familiar voice. “What the fuck.” States an already irritated Nicholas.

Our eyes snap up at him and Noah instantly pulls away as if he has something to hide. Nicholas’ eyes shift between us, seemingly trying to decide which to address first.

“What the fuck did you do Noah.” His tone is immediately defensive.

Noah sloppily falls back onto the floor. His eyes go back to focusing on the ceiling. With Nicholas here, he looks unimpressed, maybe aggravated – definitely aggravated. For the person he told me to call, he seems quite unhappy that he’s here.

“No, no, it’s my fault.” I stop him before he continues to blame Noah. “He was protecting me.” I lower my voice into a whisper for the second half, “He helped me.”

“Bull fucking shit.” He sighs then the crouches down to inspect Noah further. He carefully pushes some bloody hairs away from his face, Nicholas’ touch on him is gentler than even mine. He gets a clear view of Noah’s face, it’s adorned with a black eye, a bruised nose covered in dried blood and a gashed open bottom lip.

“Do you think he’ll have to get that stitched up?” I bring up my thumb and chew on a freshly manicured nail.

He tugs at the injured boy’s lip looking at it closer, “No he’s fucking fine.”

While Nicholas is visibly angry, he seems oddly calm, at least calmer that I expected. I suppose it makes sense though, I’m sure this isn’t his first rodeo with a drunken Noah in a bar fight.

He lets go of his lip letting it harshly snap back into place earning a whine from Noah. “Hey!”

Nicholas stands up straight and offers me a hand to get myself up. Once I’m up in front of him, he gives me a once over, probably questioning my outfit of a lace corset and a skirt. “What were you guys doing here?” He questions angrily and closes a bit of the space between us.

“It’s a long story.” Between the alcohol, the fight, and my fading panic attack, I don’t have the energy to go through it all. He goes to argue with me, and I shut him down, mirroring his low grumbly voice. “I’ll explain later.”

His thick brows fall straight, evidently not liking my answer. He takes a moment, as if he’s trying to decide on the next thing to say without pissing me off. “He could’ve gotten you hurt. He could’ve hurt you.”

I scrunch my brows up at him. Sure, I’ve seen Noah storm out of numerous doors, and I saw him get a little abrasive with Bryan earlier, but would he actually hurt someone? Would he have hurt me?

“He didn’t, Nicholas.” I place my hand softly on his chest in an effort to calm him down. “Believe it or not… he saved me.” The sentence surprises even me as I say it.

Skepticism plasters itself across his face. “Saved you from what exactly?”

My eyes flutter to the ground and the same panicky feeling from before spins behind my ribcage. “It doesn’t matter.” I wave away the technicalities. “Point is, he didn’t do anything wrong. You should let up on him.”

He gives me a you’ve-gotta-be-shitting-me look.

The man from before – which I learned from the guys that pulled him away earlier, that his name was Mike – is being escorted out of the bar by two men who look like security guards.

“Oh, so you didn’t just need one scrawny bitch you needed two?” He practically spits at me while wiggling beneath the guard’s grip.

“Excuse me?” Nicholas snaps immediately turning to narrow his eyes at the man.

He laughs, “This one’s even more pathetic.”

I’m not sure why that, out of everything, fills me with the most rage of all. Anger spreads through me like electricity and every cell in my body propels me towards him.

An arm hooks around my waist and recoils me backwards before my fists can reach his body. Even though Nicholas is shorter than Noah, he still towers over me, and I must look tiny in his arms.

Mike mocks me while the guards try to urge him towards the door.

“Shut the fuck up! Don’t fucking talk about them like that!” I struggle trying to escape from Nick’s surprisingly strong arms.

“Hey, hey calm down,” Nicholas hushes me with a little chuckle. “I got you.” His hand gives my side a reassuring little squeeze. “It’s okay.”

Once Mike is completely out of the bar a heavy weight is lifted from my chest and I can finally breathe again. Whether on purpose or by chance, Nicholas’ arm is still wrapped around me, but I don’t mind it. His warmth is comfortable against the frigid air of the bar. It feels nice, like a shelter.

Only then does it occur to me that any sort of panic or fear I was feeling before was soothed by him. In his arms I feel safe, and it reminds me of the way I felt with Noah earlier.

“C’mon asshole,” Nicholas snaps at Noah who’s looking half dead, still laying on the ground.

Noah covers his mouth and squeezes his eyes closed, “I’m gonna need a fucking trashcan.”

“Enough with the dramatics.” Nicholas rolls his eyes, and I can practically feel the impatience and aggravation radiating from his body. “Get the fuck up so I can get us home.”

There is that word again: us.

Us.

It’s a just small detail of wording but for whatever reason, I cling onto it like it means something.

Maybe my time with them won’t be as fleeting as I thought it would be.

next chapter -> 09 - Lavender Haze

tag list; @ladyveronikawrites @kingdomof-omens @persuasivus @strawberryruffilo [comment if you'd like to be tagged?]

A/N: The love for this story has honestly been so overwhelming (in a good way obv) and I couldn't be more grateful. I really thought this would flop lol so, thank you so much for every like, reblog, ask, or comment. It means the world to me truly. Thank you.

i love hearing your thoughts so feel free to share! (i'm really bad at responding to asks but i still love them 😅 i'm so sorry)

ALSO! Thank you so much for the love on my new series, Intertwined 💗 New chapter coming soon! 💗

[raayllum]

Chapter length: 10.5k Summary: Ezran's Summit meeting has a few hiccups. Both Janai and Karim reach decisions regarding their sibling. And Callum and Rayla navigate the aftermath of leaving Katolis. a/n: featuring Grark, Aanya's adoptive older brother, and I love him

CHAPTER 5: Heavy is the Head

Queen Aanya had long been a friend of Katolis.

King Harrow had delivered her mother’s ring to her regent personally when she was too young to do much more than blink at it, and cry in confusion as the days turned into weeks and her mothers still did not return. She’d attended her first ball in Katolis, and the king had always kindly inquired after her without making comments about how much she’d grown or how tall she was getting like all the other monarchs. He’d treated her like a child while simultaneously treating her like a queen, a delicate balance she’d appreciated and was sure he’d passed down onto his sons.

Admittedly, Aanya didn’t know Prince Callum that well considering she’d saved his life. He’d been energetic if overly eager on the way back to the Pentarchy with their armies, and then moody and flighty once the boys’... friend had disappeared. The rest of the Pentarchy had been told that the Moonshadow elf, Rayla, had gone off on a personal mission of sorts for the boys, but Aanya knew the truth was far more worrying, and that she was far more akin to missing.

Ezran had been bereaved, too, but in a different way. Still always able to look ahead, still always able to force some cheer, still always able to wear his crown and a smile and chip away at the other monarchs’ egos and reservations until he got what he was advocating for. Most of the time. 

Grark had encouraged her to make friends with him. “It might do you well,” her older brother said, dark hair falling over his eyes, “to have someone your own age around. He’s a monarch, too.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that,” she’d replied dryly, but much to Grark’s fond smugness, they had become friends—sending letters across their borders of daily matters and complaints rather solely diplomatic relations, weathering Neolandia and Del Bar’s ire together over their fallen forces, seeing one another a bright spot at otherwise stuffy or droll meetings and galas.

Read from the beginning here

[chameleon8]

legit tech week took 2 weeks

[i-write-hurt-not-comfort]

the basketball diaries (dialovers fic) - chapter 10

Summary: When he returns home for the summer, having finished one year of university, everything comes crashing down and Ayato hits his newest rock bottom. But maybe, just maybe, it comes with a chance to make things right again.

[familyofpaladins]

Me: I have this idea for a fic! I think it will be about 9-10k words! A good amount! Not too little not too much!

*10k words later*

Me: .... I'm only half done. Haha... ha O_O

[odyssean-flower]

Omg i think this chapter is hitting 10k words

[sunshinebingo]

Even Lovers Drown -

Chapter 10

Synopsis: Sirens are known to be merciless creatures who lure their prey with their ethereal voices.

But what happens when Gwyneth, a half Fae half siren, meets someone who is immune to her song? Maybe she doesn’t need it for him to want her.

Read on Ao3

Warning: This chapter contains mention of blood, violence and torture

Snippet:

He had tried shaking the thoughts of Gwyn away. He could not allow himself to be distracted by the mere glimpse of freckles or red hair.

Yet he found that each time he dragged his dagger across the Fae's skin when waiting for an answer to his questions, his hand felt heavier and the blade cut less deep. When her cries had echoed against the obsidian walls of the cell and his twisted mind had replaced the female’s voice with Gwyn’s, Azriel had asked the shadows to block out the sound. Nothing had ever managed to distract him as much as Gwyn. But he still had to finish what he started.

Tag list (let me of you want to be added/removed): @shadowsxgwynriel @iambutmortal @trashforazriel @hlizr50 @headcanonheadcase @hiimheresworld @freyjas-musings @starfall-spirit @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @sv0430 @wrotethestars

[gaysforbyler]

Guys I REALLY don’t want to post this next chapter. I TRIED SOMETHING and I kinda sorta maybe like it, but I’m so scared of other people seeing it. Can’t this one just be for me? I’ll post the next one with no context and it’ll be really confusing

[sergeantsporks]

Oh good lord this gilded chapter is LONG

[thebiggestfuckgiven]

How I DIDN’T Become a Villain Official Update!

#1

Chap 1 word count: 5,198

one-sentence summary: This one guy has the absolute worst vibe.

Chap 2 word count: 5,243

one-sentence summary: Out of towner has an ongoing life crisis and gets stuck with local flaker.

Chap 3 word count: ????

one-sentence summary: Beloved Crime Lord gets his sights on out of towner, who gets an unexpected nighttime visitor~

Edit—

Estimated fic length: 110k words

[lynzylu]

@tangledinink I just wanted you to know that as I’m writing the chapter that has the boys’ human forms, this is what my main monitor looks like lmao

[elliesbelle]

chapter 11 of ncty is gonna start out with a lot of exposition, i’m so sorry!!!!!!!

[gayanimebitches]

proofing and editing my own work is so weird bc its so hard for me to actually start it bc it feels like such a Task. but then i start and im like god this is the best thing ive ever experienced i love this im such a genius my writing is so good im having the best time ive ever had in my entire life. and then the next time i have another chapter complete and ready to be edited it takes me weeks to start again