#my father on the other hand. wet beast of a man. he's genuinely so good hearted and supportive

[manaosdeuwu]

went from absent father to absent mother. not recommendable but it's funny as hell

[lubdubsworld]

Insatiable. ( Jungkook x OC)

Pairing : Jeon Jungkook x OC

Rating 18+

Genre : Vampire Au!!!! , DILF! Jungkook ! Bodyguard AU! Babysitter OC!   Age difference!!! [ bet you’ve never seen all of this in one fic before? ] 

[ Some notes : Born Vampires stop aging when they turn twenty five.  Turned vampires stop aging when they’re turned. ]

Summary : 

21 year old Hwang Sera is sick of being the only human in an entire clan of vampires. As an immortal human from one of the oldest bloodlines, she is a catch. The Vampire she marries would essentially be indestructible. 

Which makes her an easy target for greedy vampires everywhere. 

Determined to keep his precious daughter safe, her father hires an old friend , Jeon Jungkook as her full time bodyguard. 

Jungkook is 35 years old ( well technically 576 years old )  , father to an adorable five year old kid and he has zero tolerance for Sera and her teenage shenanigans. But , he needs the money and he knows his son would be safe in the  Hwang clan’s massive mansion.  

And suddenly, after years of despising vampires, all Sera can think about is getting into the gorgeous vampire’s bed and maybe into his heart. 

Chapter 1

“He’s so hot.” My sister sighed for the seventeenth time and I glared at her.

“He’s mine. Back the fuck off.” I bared my non existent fangs at her and she retaliated by showing off her own inch long fangs, eyes flashing ruby red in the confines of our huge sprawling bedroom. 

The man in question, my sparkling new bodyguard wasn’t here now. He was downstairs at the party, being introduced to the others as the latest addition to our clan.

My mouth watered when I remembered his gorgeous, handsome face. And that body , God. 

Sculpted by some higher being who wanted to show off, for sure. 

I had never given much thought to losing my virginity. It certainly wasn’t by design that I hadn’t had sex yet but looking at Jeon Jungkook in a fitted black suit, midnight black hair falling into his lovely red eyes and those delicious muscles.....

I kind of believed in fate now. 

This was why I’d always been repulsed by the vampires who courted me. 

Because Jeon Jungkook had been out there, waiting for me. 

And now fate had brought him here and he was going to be mine. 

I stumbled over a stray bra, nearly face planting onto the floor . 

 God, i hated how messy Somi was but I was also eternally grateful that she had skipped out on the party tonight, volunteering to help me with the kids. 

I ran a daycare in one of the larger cottages in the estate, keeping the little fanged devils in check while the parents went about their daily lives. On nights like this, when my father hosted guests from every clan in the country for one of his lavish parties, there was always a whole bunch of bite-happy toddlers in need of supervision. 

Enter me.

 I loved babies. I’d always loved them. They were adorable. And after three years of school , I was finally, officially qualified in caring for them. 

Oh and by the way did i tell you that Jungkook had a son? Jeon Joowon was possibly the cutest five year old I’d ever seen and yes I was a little biased but that was okay. I was going to be the kids step mom , after all. 

Listen, don’t look at me like that, I just really want to be with Jungkook okay?

I tripped over the same bra when turning back around and I swore.

Focus, Sera. You can day dream about hot vampire daddy later.

“ Why do you have to throw your shit all over the place like this? “ I whined, grabbing the offensive piece of fabric and tossing it at her. She caught is so fast I  went a little cross eyed. My sister never missed an opportunity to show off her super-saiyan, vampire powers. That made her a crowd favorite with the toddlers and younglings . 

“I still don’t think your choice of a career is smart. These fanged little beasts are impossible to control... ” She commented mildly, watching me stuff two whole cartons of baby wipes into the huge backpack I had propped against the bed. I’d forgotten to restock the day care with wet wipes and it was sheer luck that I had a pair of them lying around my room.

The very idea of entering a room full of babies and toddlers without baby wipes, made me shudder. 

“Listen, they’re absolute angels when you listen to what they’re saying. Just because babies can’t talk doesn’t mean they don’t have preferences. All you really need to do is find out what each kid likes and help them feel comfortable -”

“Please stop.” She rolled her eyes and I glared at her.

“I’m a little thirsty. Can i have a sip..” She said softly and I frowned.

“You haven’t drunk from me the entire day. Are you okay?” I held my wrist out.

She shrugged , grabbing my wrist and casually sinking her fangs into the vein . Pain bloomed, familiar and somehow comforting , replaced almost at once by the gentle numbing of her venom. She drank a little and pulled back soon after, linking the puncture wounds for good measure. I watched the skin knit itself together , whole and unmarred in no time. 

Perks of being immortal. 

The knock on the door made me jump. 

“Ms Hwang?” Jungkook’s soft, husky voice came floating through the door and I grinned, cheeks aching with how wide my smile was.

“You look like a maniac. Stop smiling.” My sister looked a little alarmed and I struggled to rearrange my features. Sticking my tongue out at her, I grabbed my sweatshirt, slipping it overhead quickly. I glanced at the mirror, grimacing a bit. 

Being with toddlers meant no make up or hair left free.... and so I had a messy top bun, and just lip gloss to look presentable. While the entire party teemed with gorgeous vampires in low cut gowns and blood red lips. 

Ugh. 

I grabbed the backpack and waved to Somi.

“Come as soon as you can alright?” I begged her and she waved me off.

I rushed to the door, throwing it open and smiling wide.

“Hi oppa.” I said cheerfully.

“I’m not your oppa.” Jungkook said automatically, barely glancing at me and instead reaching for the backpack. He directed me to the stairwell on the side, the one that led straight down to the ground floor and out into the gardens. He went in first and  I followed him,  climbing down carefully. 

I sighed, taking in the mouth watering width of his shoulders, encased in a perfectly fitted jacket. He looked so handsome I wanted to cry. And although he’d been here for a whole week month now, I hadn’t managed to get into his good graces. 

“What do I call you, then?” I made to hold his hand when we reached the end of the staircase  but he shook my arm off at once.

Did I tell you that he really can’t stand me for some reason? 

“As I’ve  mentioned a dozen times already, Mr. Jeon would suffice.” He said shortly. He held the door leading out into the gardens open and I walked through. 

“That makes you seem so old.” I grimaced, shaking my head and he gave me an amused look.

“I am 576 years old.” He deadpanned. The daycare cottage was just a five minute walk from the mansion and the pathway through the garden was absolutely beautiful, well lit and covered in the brightest flowers. 

I waved off his excuse about his age. 

“you don’t look a day over twenty five to me.” I said with a shrug. He shook his head, clearly too tired to carry the conversation on. We walked in silence and I felt incredibly content, just with him near.

 And he was going to be by my side for the rest of our lives, I thought softly. I would make sure of it. I’d never felt this way about anyone. Jungkook was a good man , evident in literally everything he did. He was kind, an amazing father and such a gentleman that he made me melt. 

Jungkook had been turned at the age of 35. And so he sailed through eternity with the gorgeous good looks of a mature , well kept man. His hair was thick, just a slight bit of grey peppering the edges and his features were sharp and well defined. 

“Is Joowon in the daycare already?” I asked with a smile and he nodded curtly. 

“He has Mr. Pepper with him. He refused to leave him behind. please just make sure he still has him with him when he leaves. He can’t fall asleep without the bunny “ He said softly and I felt my heart bloom ten sizes.

“Of course, I will -”

“Jungkook !!!” The shrill voice broke the stillness of the night like a hammer through a mirror. 

I turned around with a frown only to be greeted by the sight of a very pretty, very tall vampire in a blood red bodycon dress and a neckline that plunged all the way to her belly button. She had ruby red lips, and well made eyes. Eyes that now flashed red , dilating as they ran up and down his body. 

I felt myself clenching my fists. 

“I’m getting late....we need to go, I grabbed his arm trying to tug him along but he didn’t budge. i glanced at his face and felt my heart shatter at the small smile playing around his lips.

“Helena..... Surprise seeing you here....” He drawled, voice so much deeper than usual and I bit my lips. They knew each other? 

The vampire had reached us now and she gave me a disdainful smile.

“Who’s this?” She asked with a laugh, “ Are you babysitting now, Jeon?”

I bristled. To my utter chagrin, Jungkook laughed to.

“She’s the kid I’m watching. The Immortal human  of the Hwang clan.” He intoned dully. 

The lady’s brows went up in surprise.

“:The rumors are true, ....The Hwang clan’s hidden jewel.....with skin like the rarest pearl and eyes that steal souls. Fiercely guarded ...a beauty like no other.... I thought they were exaggerating, but I see they were not. . You’re exquisite.” She commented , seemingly genuine in the compliment as her eyes roved over my features. 

“ Um.. thanks?” I shrugged, not particularly flattered by the extravagant description.  

The poets in my clan tended to be a bit overdramatic at times. 

. She laughed.

“Are you unavailable for the night, then Jeon?” She turned her flashing eyes on him .

My jaw nearly dropped.

Did this bitch really just proposition-

“Afraid so.... Raincheck?” Jungkook smiled wide and he looked so beautiful that I had to bit my lips to stop from moaning. 

Helena waved softly, eyes shifting back to me.

“Be safe, little human. When the sun goes down, the ghouls come out to play.” She grinned wide, letting her fangs grow long, past her lower lip, eyes red and bloody. 

I stared right back. She laughed and waved before floating away into the night. 

Jungkook chuckled. 

“You’re not intimidated by us, then.” He said mildly as we began walking again.

“I spent the entirety of my childhood playing with vampires. Do you really think they didn’t spend every waking hour trying to scare me to death?” 

He gave me soft smile, and then went back to staring straight ahead. 

I relaxed when the familiar cottage came into view, the sound of laughing kids reaching me. 

I held my hand out for the backpack and Jungkook gave it to me.

“I’ll just check out the backyard and see if al the gates are secure and then I’ll be right outside the door, alright? Call out if you need me...” He said sharply 

“Will you come even if I call you oppa?” I bit my lips, grinning and he flicked my nose. 

“Behave.” He said shortly. I sighed.

“I’m not a kid, you know.” I said softly and he gave me a look.

“You are to me. Now get inside.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“There’s a monster behind the tree and I’m Hawkeye because I have the bow and arrow and Jieun is the princess.” Joowon said brightly, showing off the toy bow and arrow in his hand and I grinned, taking in his exquisite features. He looked strikingly like his father , except for the two adorable dimples that showed up everytime he smiled.

“That’s amazing... do you like fighting monsters?” I asked with a grin holding my arms out for him and he hugged me happily.

“Yes, I like fighting monsters and I like Mr. Pepper.” He waved the stuffed bunny in my face. 

“Make sure you keep him safe, alright? “ I stroked the soft skin of the 

“So what color does your daddy like?” I asked with a grin. I felt a sharp kick on my shin and I turned to my sister. 

“Don’t use the fucking kid for your sinful aims, you dingbat!” She hissed and I glared at her. 

“I did no such thing...I was just making conversation....” I hissed back.

“Dad likes black.” Joowon answered dutifully and I ruffled his hair. Jieun appeared then, having waited for her prince and gotten bored. She tugged on Joowon’s arm and I let him go, watching the two of them run off. 

“Its only been a month, Sera.... I think you should tone down the infatuation. You know dad would never approve.” My sister said gently and I frowned.

“No he won’t, Dad loves me , he wants me to be happy.” I said shortly. 

“Yes, but not with Jungkook. He’s a rogue vampire. He doesn’t have a clan. He has a kid ...”

“An angel of a kid...”

“he has a kid whose mother he had to kill because she was a bloodthirsty witch.” 

i stared at my sister feeling anger build inside me.

“What does any of that have to do with how I feel about him?” I demanded , moving to stop one of the littles from tripping over a stray rubik’s cube. 

“ You’re special. You’re being courted by some of the richest, most powerful  vampires in the country and you want to go after the rogue , broke vampire who’s only here because he needs the money and the safety of our clan?” 

“I’m not having this conversation with you.” I said firmly.

Somi sighed.

“I’m just saying. Don’t be so blatantly open about your feelings. You’ll be putting a target on Jungkook’s back.” 

I exhaled sharply. 

“If anyone tries to hurt him, they die.” I said softly.

Somi chuckled.

“I know.... but still, he’s not looking for trouble. Don’t bring it to his doorstep.” 

I didn’t reply, moving quickly to the other side of the room. 

the words left a bitter taste on my tongue.

Mostly because my sister was right. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i stared at the tall strapping vampire, trying to comprehend what I was hearing.

“What do you mean he isn’t here for the night?” I demanded. 

“He’s a little tired. He told me had a little too much to drink and he wants to sleep it off. I’ll be here instead ... Just for tonight.” He tried to smile reassuringly and I was momentarily distracted by very deep dimples  but I could feel myself fuming. 

“and he didn’t think of saying that to me himself? He had to run off while i was closing up the cottage?” I glared. 

The Vampire chuckled. 

“He told me you might protest.”

“Of course i protest, I feel safer with him...” I said sharply.

The Vampire gave me a deep sigh.

“I’ve been doing this for three centuries, Miss Hwang. You’re definitely safe with me.” He bowed his head.

“What’s your name?” I demanded. 

“Kim Namjoon.” 

“Fine , Kim Namjoon ssi.... Let’s go. “ 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Giving Namjoon the slip was a lot easier than I thought. I waited for him to greet my great uncle, and slipped between two waiters carrying blood cocktails and weaved into the crowd easily. 

Jungkook’s bedroom was next to mine and it took me less than a minute to race up the stairs and to his room.

i banged on the door , determined to see for myself just how drunk he’d gotten. 

The door opened and i took a deep breath.

“How dare you leave me-” 

I froze when I realized that he was shirtless, fresh out of the shower. Water dripped down his torso , like little starbursts of liquid light and my mouth went dry. I swallowed, staring at the tightly packed abs, the dip of his v line as it disappeared into a fluffy white towel.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He growled angrily.

My eyes flew to meet his and then my gaze caught something red on his bed and I peered over his shoulder.

Pain lanced through my heart so sharp that I felt like I’d taken a fucking brick to my chest. 

The sight of Helena, naked except for a red bra, stretched out on his bed got burned into my brain and I choked.

“You-” I began but he grabbed my arm, so hard that I knew I would bruise. He yanked me away from the threshold of his room, dragging me to the middle of the hallway as he slammed the door to his room shut.

“Where the fuck is Namjoon?”

“You ditched me to get laid? “ I hissed in disbelief.

“I can’t fucking believe you’re doing this-”

“Is she your girlfriend-”

“Sera-” he shook me again but I refused to back down. I had to know.

“Are you in love with her?!!!” I demanded, my heart breaking .

Jungkook growled.

“It’s none of your damned business!!” He snapped angrily .

“It is !!” I said shrilly.

“Why on earth-”

“Because I’m in love with you!!” I shouted and he froze. 

He let go of me like he’d been burned and stepped back, staring at me wide eyed,. 

“What did you just say?” He demanded.

“I want you. I want you to court me-”

“Sera stop.” He said sharply 

“I’m not joking...I like you and-”

“Shut up.” He growled, his voice shaking. 

I swallowed.

“If you say something as asinine as that to me , ever again... I  will  make you regret it. ” He warned softly.

I felt my heart jerk in panic.

“Jungkook-”

“It’s Mr. Jeon to you!!!” He growled. 

I bit my lips, staring at my feet.

“I’m going to pretend this never happened. You’re going to go to your room and wait for Namjoon. If anything like this ever happens again, I’m telling your father.” 

I laughed bitterly.

“I’m not fucking twelve years old you son of a bitch. Stop talking to me like I’m your toy or something !” I snarled.

“If you were my toy I would fucking spank you till you cry and lock you in a damn room!” He hissed. 

I flinched.

He took a deep shaky breath. 

“This never happened.” He said sharply. “ I’m not one of your boytoys. I have no interest in fledgling humans who know nothing about life. That's not the kind of woman I’m looking for. You’re not the kind of woman I’m looking for because you aren’t even a woman yet.” 

“ Jungkook !!!” Namjoon’s voice rang through the hallway and I stepped back. 

“Have a good night with your whore, Mr. Jeon.” I snapped, before turning on my heel and leaving. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note : Hot DILF! Vampire Jungkook is hot.  This brings back fond memories of me panting after my husband as a nineteen year old brat . I was a devilish teenager smitten with a twenty seven year old man. Anyways I hope you guys enjoyed :D

[lordabovehelpme]

Injured- Din Djarin x Reader

Request: Well, everyone sees Din as Grogu's father and they even tell him, but one day Reader tells him that too and Din says "Yes, he has a father but he doesn't have a mother... yet" and looks directly at Reader 👀*heart eyes, motherf* - @along-the-lines-of-space

A/n: Hon! This is such a cute idea!!! I kinda went a different direction with it, but if you want me to do it again, totally tell me! Love ya! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You can hear the hatch open, signifying the mandalorians return. Climbing down the ladder you watch as he drags the quarry to the carbonite freezer. But he moves slower than usual, almost as if he is stuck in his own world.

As soon as the quarry is frozen the mandalorian collapses onto the ground. The harsh clank of metal on unforgiving metal ringing through the hull. He groans and shifts to lay on his side. Gasping you rush to his side. “Mando?”

You pull his head onto your lap and look down into his visor. He grumbles and nuzzles into your thighs.

“Mando, what happened?” You gasp again when you notice a growing pool of blood below his knee. “What happened?” This time you say it louder, needing to hear his answer.

“Quarry… explosive… didn’t notice.” He turns his helmet further into your thighs and his breaths starts to even out.

“No no no, come on. Stay with me.” But, your pleads mean nothing to him. If it weren't for the fact that he is bleeding out, you would laugh at how funny his snores sound in the vocoder. Cursing, your mind starts to work out a plan. You take his head in your hands and wiggle from beneath him. Placing your elbows under his armpits you struggle to pull him over to the bunk.

Rushing to the fresher, you grab a bowl of water and a couple washcloths. You had already gave up on lifting the beast of a man up onto the bunk, so you’ve grabbed blankets and pillows and placed them around him.

Making sure he is still asleep, you start to take his leg armor off. Cringing, you realize that there is no way to treat his wound with his pants on. You sigh, “Forgive me, but you’ll die if I don’t.” Slowly you unbuckle his belt and undo his pants. Heat rises to your cheeks and you bite your lip, giving one last look at the mandalorians visor, you pull his pants down.

You curse at the length of his wound, it travels down from the middle of his thigh to below his knee. “Okay, prepared to be healed.” Dunking the washcloth in the bowl, you start to clean the wound as best as you can. You’re gentle yet firm as you scrub away the already dried blood.

As soon as you’re content with your cleaning job, you grab some bandages and start to wrap his leg. It’s now that you fully realize how exposed your mandalorian is. His pants pulled down to his ankles and his beautiful tan skin exposed for your gaze.

You would think he would be smaller without the bulky armor, but it’s almost as if he has become larger. The air no longer flows in and out of your lungs, it suffocates you with his natural spicy scent.

He groans and you shrink, afraid for when he wakes up. Thankfully, he stays asleep. Sighing, you shake your head and try to run from your improper thoughts. Grabbing a bacta shot, you tap the end, getting rid of air bubbles, and inject the medicine into his meaty thigh.

Taking his pants off all together you fold them and toss them into a corner. You grab another blanket and drape it across his form, giving him some much needed dignity. Trying to make him even more comfortable, you take the rest of his armor off, leaving him in his underclothes and helmet.

You tuck the blanket around him and make sure his head is supported by the pillow. However, when you go to walk away your heart tugs at you. You get a nasty feeling that as soon as you leave, he’ll wake up in a worse state. Weighing your options you eventually lay down next to him.

His soft snores are faint but they soothe your anxiety of him being dead. Slowly, you shimmy towards him. It’s cold in the ship and you can feel the goosebumps forming on your skin. Biting your lip, you lift the blanket and snuggle up against his side, mindful of his leg.

He should be okay for now; or you hope so. The warmth radiating off of his body is starting to make you sleepy. You look up at his chin, admiring the hair that has started to grow underneath his chin, obviously it's been a few days since he’s shaved. Snapping back down to look at his covered chest, you curse at yourself so being so plain with your ogling.

You close your eyes and nuzzle into his chest, succumbing to your slumber.

***

Thrashing limbs and groans wake you up. “Cyare.”

“Hey hey hey.” Your eyes beg to stay closed but you stay awake and sit up. His hands grab at you. “It’s okay, don’t move, you’ll exhaust yourself.”

“Cyare…” His head leans back down on the pillow.

“Hey big boy.” You rub small circles on the back of his hands. “Stay here, I am going to go get some water.” He grumbles something, but you’re already up and walking over to the kitchen area. Filling the bowl back up, you also grab a glass for him.

Sitting back down near him you peel the blanket back. In a panic, the mandalorian reaches down to cover himself.

“Sorry, I had to take your pants off to get to it.” He doesn’t say anything. “Alright… I um got you some water. Let me just rewrap this and then I’ll leave you.” He still stays silent. You frown as you realize that the bandages are already bloody again; must have been from him moving. “Mando, I’m gonna need you to not wake up in tizzy fits anymore, you’re just opening the wound back up.”

You unwrap the bloody bandages and wet a washcloth, then begin to clean it again. He hisses when you press it to his body.

“Sorry… sorry.”

“It’s okay.” One of those warm palms grabs your hip and rubs your skin.

“Okay, this is going to hurt, but you’ll feel much better in about ten minutes.” You grin as you hold up a bacta shot. As you poke it into his thigh, the hand squeezes your hip. “All done, now it’s time to wrap it up, okay?” The hand gives you a couple squeezes.

After you finish wrapping the wound, you pull the blanket back over his form and go to get up. “Cyare, stay.”

You cup his helmet. “I can’t, you need to drink some water.”

“Turn around.”

Giving him an apprehensive look, you follow his command and turn around. One hand stays tracing circles on your hip, while you can hear the other shuffle around. The glass clinks as he sets it back down and the hand on your hip tugs you back towards him.

“You can look now cyare.” You turn back around. “Come here, m’ tired.” He lifts the blanket and his arm, creating a perfect space for your body. Succumbing to his offer, you snuggle up into side. His arm settles down around your shoulders and his fingertips graze across your skin.

***

It’s become routine for the two of you. Every couple hours you’ll unwrap and redress his wound. Then you give him a bacta shot and within ten minutes the stoic mandalorian no longer has a filter. This time being no different. However, he was complaining about the pain so you gave him the shot before dressing the wound again.

“Cyare.”

“Mhm?”

“Am I going to die? I feel like I am going to die.”

Biting back your laughter, you play along. “You can’t die on me, you have a son to take care of. What would he do without his father?”

“Yes, he has a father, but no mother...yet.” His visor tilts to look at you, his voice lower than usual.

Raising your eyebrows, you continue to wrap his wound, “Mm, is that so?”

“Yeah.”

“Well where are you going to find this special lady?”

His hand reaches up and cups your face. “She’s right here. And she’s quite pretty too.”

Your eyes snap to meet his visor. No, that can’t be right, it’s the bacta that's talking. “Alright, hot shot.”

Under his helmet he frowns. “No cyare, I’m serious.” His hand drops from your face to grab at your hand. “Wanna have children with you. Want you to be the mother of my kids. Wanna wake up and be able to kiss you.”

Your mouth is opening and closing, you probably look like a fish out of water, but you don’t care about that right now. You can’t even start to gather your thoughts, they’re moving too fast for you to even process them.

After a few minutes of you just staring you finally start to form words. But his soft snores are the only thing he offers.

***

The spot next to you is cold when you wake up. Panic rips through your body as you shoot up and search for the mandalorian.

A deep chuckle sounds from behind you, “I’m right here cyare.” You turn around and spot him sitting on a chair, thighs spread wide as he keeps his injured leg straight. He has a pair old black shorts on, that are way too short for your mind to comprehend.

“Why… when did you get up?” Your rub at your eyes, trying to shake away your sleep.

“I felt better, and I was hungry. Did you sleep good?”

“Ummm… yeah.” Suddenly all of what he said earlier comes back to you, making heat flow to your cheeks.

Almost as if he understands what you were saying, he leans over and sets his elbows on his knees. “Listen, cyare… I’m sorry for what I said-”

“Did you mean it?” You interpret him before you can stop yourself. Cringing at your abruptness you peer down at the blanket and start to play with the edge.

“What?” He genuinely sounds confused.

“Did, did you mean it? Um, what you said?” The thread that you have been picking at has become even more interesting.

“Cyare, look at me.” He reaches out and his index finger lifts your chin. You let him and finally meet his visor, fighting back the part in you that begs for you to run away. “I am sorry for being so blunt, but I did.”

You nod, not totally processing what he said yet. “Oh.” His hand brushes away the stray hair that fell in your face. Then it finally hits you, “Oh!” Shuffling closer to him, he brushes your hair. “Well you know… I wouldn’t be opposed to that.” You grin up at him and he chuckles.

Standing up you wrap your arms around his neck and hug him. He pulls you close, slotting his helmet into the space between your shoulder and neck.

“But let’s take it slow, okay?”

“Of course cyare.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope you liked it! As always, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment! 

Love, Lordy :) 

Masterlist 

Taglist: @ficthots @along-the-lines-of-space @jedi-jesi @coldlilheart @remmysbounty​ 

[jade-parcels]

A classical music piece that reminds me of Ajax. Enjoy this unedited word vomit 💕

❄️Anne Akiko’s Estonian Lullaby❄️

This piece feels a bit sad to me, it’s beautiful, soft and overall genuinely nice to listen to. I heard it in the car the other day and I cannot get this image out of my mind.

Ajax has returned from a 4 month deployment out to Liyue, leaving you back in Snezhnaya with his family. Every day you wait for a letter that will never come, not with the new restrictions on contacting those outside of the Fatui ranks. And every night you sit by the windowsill after dinner, resting your forehead against the cold glass as you silently watch, hoping to see your fiancé’s silhouette emerge from the snow. Tonight is no different.

Downstairs, Tonia plays her violin and her mother sits at the piano, the two playing a piece from an old book from Fontaine. The sweet melody threatens to lull you to sleep, your eyes droop, your body wanting to rest after hours of work earlier but no, you force your eyes back open, wiping fog from the window so you can see properly. What you see now isn’t the usual landscape, the sun has set, the moon reflecting a blueish glow onto the snow outside. Though there is a new blue glow that is not provided by the moon- no, that is a vision. That…Is Ajax.

Your body moves on its own, tugging on your boots, sliding into a thick jacket and slipping out the back door undetected. He’s there, standing on the frozen lake, waiting for you to come to him. And you do

The snow crunches beneath your feet as they carry you to him, your arms extend to wrap around his warm body, your tears wetting the Fatui uniform you’d buried your face into

“Shhh…I’m here, it’s alright” Ajax whispers, swaying you side to side “Don’t cry, you’ll make me cry” he tries to laugh but you can hear the quiver in his voice

You join him in the gentle swaying, fumbling for his hand, placing your other on his shoulder. Ajax picks up on what you’re doing, wrapping his arm around your waist as he begins to lead you in a dance. He isn’t the best at it, neither are you, but no one is here to see. Tonia’s violin and her mother’s piano playing can be faintly heard from here so the two of you steal this moment for yourselves, silently swaying side to side, finally holding each other after months apart.

You look up at him, taking him all in. He’s paler than usual, his beautiful eyes have purple bags beneath them. He looks so tired, utterly drained. The way he moves is stiff, as if he’s sore. You don’t doubt that he is, he’s told you about what it takes to be a harbinger. Being injured isn’t even the worst that could happen.

Ajax rests his head on top of yours, breathing in your scent. The swaying becomes slower, his grip on you tighter “This…this isn’t me coming back” his voice sounds strained “I have to be back to the palace by dawn I just…I just had to come see you. I feel so empty when we aren’t together it- I don’t know how to describe it” he shakes his head, sighing into your hair

“I feel the same way” Your hand leaves his shoulder to trace comforting circles on his back “Why can’t you stay? Haven’t they worked you hard enough? You deserve to come home for awhile”

Ajax merely shakes his head “You know there’s no such thing as them working me ‘hard enough’. This is my job, I’m used to it” he looks out at the stars, his vision blurred with unshed tears “I know it’s childish to wish for things. Teucer likes to wish on stars, he says if he really believes then maybe they’ll come true. Well…I wish that you and I could run away”

His admission catches you off guard, you pull back in order to look at him and are surprised to see him crying. Ajax has shown a range of emotions. You’ve seen him jump for joy, grit his teeth in anger, but you’ve never seen him cry. You use your sleeve to wipe his tears away “Now why would you want to do that?” You ask “Your family would miss you”

Ajax takes a stuttering breath before talking again “Thats the hard part. I’d have to bring them with me. We’d live far away where the others won’t find us. My brothers and I can build us a house in the woods, we can all live happily without any responsibilities…wouldn’t that be nice? I could be there all the time, I wouldn’t have to worry, wouldn’t have to miss out on everything all the time…I could just…be a normal guy”

Your heart aches for him. Ajax is a complex man. In a way, he’s still a kid who grasps at fairytales and wishes they were true. On the other hand, he’s a beast. You don’t like to think about it, don’t want to think about that side of your husband. The way his abyssal form froths at the mouth at the sight of blood, the way he grins when striking enemies down. He turns into a different person out on the battlefield. If you two ran away, would he be able to tame that side of himself?

But overall, Ajax is a family man. He loves his mother, his big sisters and brothers. He’s a role model for his younger siblings. He looks up to his father, respects him more than any other male figure in his life. He strives to be like his father: a good husband, a reliable man who will do things out of the good of his heart. A man who will care for the sick and help out a neighbor without expecting a favor back.

Ajax chose a profession without thinking about the long term effects it would have. He never saw himself living long enough to get married, never saw himself able to settle down. Now he has a dilemma which cannot be solved. As much as he longs to run away he knows the other harbingers would track him down easily. They’d drag him back and dispose of his family to prevent future distractions.

So this is what he must do. His deployments are getting longer and longer. He doesn’t know when he’ll get to come back. All he knows is that he needed this time with you, he needed to hear your voice, feel your touch. Even it would only last an hour

The stars above flicker, the snow gently falling to land on your eyelashes. You know he has to go, he has to go back to being a killing machine for cruel, loveless archon. You want to be selfish, you want to drag him inside and curl up under some thick quilts together, to drink hot tea and listen to stories about Liyue. But it won’t happen.

Ajax composes himself, cupping your cheeks with his warm hands. His lips are chapped and cool when they meet yours, his kiss tastes like firewater and gingerbread cookies. He tells you he’ll be back, asks that you keep this meeting a secret…Then all too soon he pulls away, leaving you feeling cold and empty. You call out to him “I love you! I love you, I love you, please come back to me soon!” He says he will, promises to try and get some vacation time.

You stand there numbly as pretty snowflakes dance around you. Clouds roll in, blocking the moon’s glow. You watch as Ajax disappears into the darkness, the soft glow of his hydro vision getting further and further away until you could no longer see it.

Again, you hear the sweet melody from the house. It sounded much louder when the two of you danced, now it sounds so far away. You trudge back up to the house, kicking off your boots when you step inside. Teucer bounces over to you, toy ‘cyclops’ in hand

“Hey! Where did you go? You coulda froze out there!”

You ruffle his hair and force a smile “Ah, I didn’t mean to worry you. I was just…dancing” he looks confused but doesn’t question you further. Instead, he grabs your hand and takes you to the livingroom, where everyone else is now, in order to enjoy the music together

[colossal-fallout]

Why do I think about seducing pastor! Erwin in a church AJDJABDSJD my brain really be doing this to me all day long 😭

Girl, you're in for a treat...

Sin 🔥

Fem!body reader X Erwin Smith

Warning: 18+ smut NSFW. Gentle chokes. Oral sex.

Don't read this if you're religious and it'll offend.

Pastor Erwins deep voice rumbles throughout the echoing church hall - the room full of bowed heads and hands pressed together in a quiet prayer.

Yet to you, the only two people in the room were you and Pastor Smith.

The surrounding mutters of hopeful prayers melted away, only his voice the lead of the monotonous quior of the prayer. Your teeth graze your bottom lip, no doubt smudging your deep red lipstick. The colour mirroring your sinful lust as your eyes trail down his chest, his robes pressed neatly against his chest as he continues the prayer, his blue eyes suddenly snapping to yours.

Your heart skips a beat - surely he wasn't smirking at you while the entire room had their head bowed in prayer?

You swallow hard, lips parting and your temperature raising as his orbs ever so painfully tear themselves away from you as the prayer comes to an end; heads returning to there usual position after the "Amen" was uttered around the room.

You wondered if you'd imagined that. After all, you were just a quiet, shy little church girl. Maybe your untouched body was beginning to take control of your sanity? Your hands absentmindedly run down your thighs as you watch him, smiling and bringing the mass to an end.

Maybe he smiled because he noticed you weren't praying?

But how could you? How could you turn your face to your god while these wild, burning desires were smouldering inside of you? The devil truly had his claws in your flesh, trying to drag you into the flames of lust.

And it was working.

You lower your head in shame as the people around you all got their feet, about to leave the church, your daddy placing his hand on your shoulder and guiding you down and out of the lines of pews.

Your stomach drops as you get closer to the exit - pastor Smith wishing his flock well as they left.

You tried to shuffle by unnoticed behind your dad as you go to leave when;

"Ah Mr L/N." His stupid fuckin' sexy smile tears at your libido as he stops your dad for a quick chat. "Thank you for coming, as always"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world, Pastor." Your dad grins.

"I was wondering, if it were okay with you two, of course; if y/n could stay back and help me with the upcoming church event next week? She helped last year and her work was amazing."

Your dad chuckles, beaming with pride, placing his hand on your shoulder. "Well she ain't no little girl no more. She's twenty-three now. It's up to her what she does with her time. But I'm glad she did a mighty fine job."

"Well, y/n? Would you stay and help me for an hour or two?"

You nod.

This was most certainly a test. One you were intent on failing. Gladly.

---

Twenty minutes later, you were sitting at a table in the side room of the main hall; Erwin had sprawled out plans and blueprints for the upcoming annual church event. Your focus was absolutely destroyed when he leaves for a few minutes and returns - having removed his robes and was wearing a skin tight black, long sleeved shirt that hugged his solid muscles so so tightly. It was tucked into his black trousers and his white collar struggled to stay clasped around his large throat and neck.

Your breathing rate increases and the grip on your pen almost snapped the plastic - it was now or never. You had to have this man, to taint one another under the eyes of God in a beautiful sinful, swirling inferno.

"I must confess..." He sighs as he sits opposite you. "I have an ulterior motive asking you to stay behind."

You arch an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I've noticed you... Have been a lot more distracted during services. Is there something on your mind?"

There sure is.

You feign ignorance and shake your head with a frown. "No, pastor."

Your eyes widen and heart begins to bray against your chest as leans over and places his large hand around yours.

"Are you sure? Because you know... You can tell me anything."

Do it. Do it. Your brain screams at you. For added courage you imagine your friends behind you cheering you on. Which they absolutely would.

"Well Pastor..." You fake a sigh, getting to your feet and slowly circling around the table towards him. "Something has been bothering me. But I'm not sure if you're the person I should talk to about it."

He subconsciously pushes out his chair to greet you, your beautiful form in your black lacy dress slowly stalking towards him, your hem hitched to flash the top of your suspenders. You did it so well it seemed like a genuine accident as you notice his collar bob in a hard swallow.

You sit yourself on his lap, his hands glueing to your waist - clearly nervous.

"You can tell me anything." He croaks.

You place your lips close to his ear, making sure to breathe hot air into it and across his neck. "...But I'm shy, Pastor. I'm just an innocent, untainted, good little church girl. I couldn't possibly... Tell you."

You notice the grip on your waist tighten, and you're sure you heard the slightest ghost of a groan within him, setting your blaze even more higher.

"Well, y/n." He clears his throat. God how he'd thought about fucking you so many times. Your sweet, innocent smile. That body... Your angelic voice; all just begging to be ruined. "Would it help if we went into the confession booth?"

You let out a sensual moan, moving your ass against him. "What a great idea..."

You feel his hardening cock stir awake under your ass, holding in a groan from its sheer size.

You knew he'd be hung.

You couldn't get to your feet quick enough as you lead him into the main hall towards the confession box. Once you'd reached it, you'd noticed he'd removed his collar and had left it behind on the table.

Once inside, you couldn't contain your excitement as you hear him enter the other booth, his throat clearing once again.

"Forgive me, father for I have sinned..." You begin, glaring at the floor with a bite of your lip.

"Tell me all, my child." He mutters.

"I've been having urges. Unholy urges. My body remains untouched yet I crave the poison of a man."

He goes quiet. So you continue.

"I am on fire for this man. Even now, thinking about him devouring me is making me so... Wet."

"Ah~" he's stuck on his words. "Is it one man in particular?"

"Yes. I yearn for him. He's my pastor... Pastor Erwin."

Your eyes clasp closed. Awaiting the wrath of an angry man of God.

You suddenly press yourself back when the door slams open, your vicar towering over you with an expression so snarled he looked like a total stranger. His chest is. heaving - you noticed he had now undone his top two buttons, his tight black trousers stretching and strained with his huge, solid cock.

He grabs your face, eyes flicking up and down between your eyes and mouth. Your lips part, heart hammering.

"You have lipstick on your teeth." He snarls. "Probably from all that sexy lip biting you've been doing. Here. Allow me..."

He groans as his tongue slides into your mouth, hands planting nonnyour ass as you squeak, your legs wrapping around his waist while he pins you to the back of the confession booth; your hands gladly messing up that perfect hair of his as his mouth hungrily makes its way to your neck.

"y/n. Must you tease me so much." He breathes through kisses that are now on your chest after pulling down the front of your dress. "Every week. I can't hold back and longer..."

"Pastor!" You gasp, using his strength to push you up the wall and hooking your legs over his shoulders, the top of your head brushing against the ceiling of the box. He pushes your laced panties aside with his mouth before enclosing his warm cave around your entirety - your mouth falling open and gasping as his immense strength pins you still with such steady ease.

"Ah~!" You cry out, this man finally taking you better than you could have ever imagined as he eats you like it's his last meal. Tasting, lapping, slurping so deliciously with groans and hums.

"Taste. So. Sweet " He sighs into you, making out with your slit like it were your lips. He then focuses his tongue in your clit, your thighs tightening around his head as you yank his hair, calling out god's name within his own house.

His fingertips dig into your flesh above those sexy suspenders beneath your dress, his pace quickening as your insides curl, this huge beast of a man totally devouring you with such lust it would seem like a crime insert normal circumstances.

"Erwin~!" You cry, your yearning for him throwing you into your orgasm rather quickly.

He groans loudly as your juices splash against him, your thighs squeezing and your hands tugging as his hair as you call his name over and over again.

He lowers you when you descend back to earth.

"Good girl..." He moans in your ear, pulling your dress up and over your head, your knees still quaking.

He stands back and marvels at you, standing in only your knickers and suspenders, his tongue rolling over his lip. You notice the damp patch on his chest from your cum before he scoops you up again, moving you both from inside the booth, the two of you frantically kissing deeply as he moves you to his podium, bending you over so you had a view of the pews below that's usually full of people.

Unbuckling his belt, he frees himself; unleashing the long and deliciously thick beast he calls his cock.

You gasp as he loops his belt around your neck, pulling your head up to him where he snarls into your ear.

"We'll burn in hell together, baby."

He shoves his dick inside you with one long and hard thrust, a silent scream escaping you as your eyes roll and he begins to pound you, a long echoing groan with each thrust, your nails digging into the podium.

He keeps the belt loose, not wanting to hurt you but enough to keep you in line as his massive manhood slams against your cervix over and over again, the podium rocking slightly and clanking against the cold stone floor.

"yes, y/n... You take me so well." He praises, kissing your back lovingly.

You can't reply.

Your senses are over taken with ecstasy and your nose is full of the scent of the leather around your neck, his grunts becoming more urgent as he reaches down and circles your clit; your legs so ready to give way. The wet slopping sound of his balls hitting against you echo around the hall.

You both come undone - he with a loud grunt and you with a scream; your sins beautifully washing away as you swirl the heavens together; amidst your intense orgasms, you were sure you saw god himself and he was giving you full permission to enjoy this moment.

Erwins cum spilled out of you onto the floor, even though he was still pounding into you, your tunnels flooded with his large unloading of seed, the delicious smell of his mess overtaking the leather as he slows to a stop, kissing your back and neck desperately, releasing your neck from his belt.

"y/n..." He breathes.

You turn to face him as he supports you in his strong embrace, your tongues swirling once more.

"Same again next week, Pastor?" You breathe.

He nods. "Yes, my child. ...Same again next week."

[lixie-lovie]

{ Rogue princess | skz }

l.felix x f!reader

Genre: ??? fluff, angst ig, royalty au, princess!reader, star child!felix, idk u tell me

Warnings: a bit angsty, bad relationships at the beginning, issues with parents, vague mention of past death, mention of animals, mentions of running away

((If anything needs to be added to warnings, lmk! I’ll fix it asap))

Word Count: 5.2k

Note: did I write this literally to comfort myself today? Yes. Have fun reading this reallllyyy self indulgent fic lolz. Hope anyone reading this has a good day! Ily

——————

A throne made of gold and satin-like velvet, all tyrian purple. Too large this seat felt, as did the hall full of people standing under gilded light filtering through the large stained glass window. Here you sat, next to your father in an even more ornate throne, in front of a crowd of people who knew your name, your face, but nothing of your soul.

They couldn’t name that green was your favorite color because of the trees you would catch glimpses of through the windows of your tutors room, ever strong through the seasons never having to carry the weight of a kingdom. They would never be able to name why ships made you weary and claustrophobic or that your favorite flowers of springtime are those that bloom away from the castles gardens when eyes aren’t watching. They couldn’t guess your favorite piece of music, the one you never heard at those god forsaken balls. They never could place that instead your favorite would be the one that came ever so gracefully from under your mother’s fingertips at the piano that used to spark so much joy in the hearts of the people, but now sat lonely collecting dust. They didn’t know you longed to reach the stars someday, yearning for their delicate freedom in the inky black sky. They couldn’t tell that you wondered if they felt out of place too.

More so than anything else, they could never guess how much you hated staring at the men kneeling before you now, begging for a wife, a servant to their needs of pleasure, for the sake of “peace.” They would never know the disgust that sent a shiver down your spine at the twisted grin of these men that took your fingers in their too rough grasp and kissed that back of your hand, their sin tainted lips lingering moments too long. Their hands twitching at their sides with their sickening thoughts as they watched you stand from your throne, adjusting the circlet of silver adorning your perfectly crafted hair.

Your father, your king, grinned widely at the propositions made my these men, happy at the prospect of one of them taking your hand, winning your heart. Happy at the prospect of selling you away. A fair trade he’d call it. A duty.

He’d never understand, you came to realize. He was the man who had chosen your mother, the same way these creatures of lust in front of you are now. Readily ridding the world of her happiness and songs, harshly forcing her into a life of servitude, solitude, for the sake of duty.

“None of them would get it”

You’d say to yourself silently as you excused yourself to the washroom, wiping your disgraced palm clean of the suitors that you had been dancing with’s sweat, your nose scrunched in disgust. In the washroom you would stand, hands now pressed to the too warm mirror in that stuffy room, staring at your reflection. Your reflection stared back at you tauntingly, the flushed cheeks and too perfect hair, until your eyes got caught on the thin band gracing your head. The piece of metal that used to be the only thing tying you to your mother’s lineage, now was only an unwelcome reminder of your duties lined up in the other room, waiting for your hand in marriage. You sighed harshly, ripping the despicable band of silver off of your head, ruining the perfect waves your hair was lying in before. You laughed too hard, running your hands harshly over the layers of paint adorning your face. Your breaths became ragged as you tore the cloth sigil from the bodice of your dress, the only thing left showing your status in this deplorable kingdom and soon you realized, the only thing holding you back.

You stared at your own reflection, a haggard appearance of a forgotten princess staring back at you, and you smiled. Quickly, you rushed to the door, checking for footsteps, before finding your way to the nearest maids chambers. Stepping inside you grabbed a few essentials and a cloak as black as the night’s sky. Once you felt satisfied in what you had taken, you steeled your nerves before quickly and cautiously making your way to the stables, now abandoned with everyone attending the event.

Your eyes scanned the area quickly before settling on a horse with hair as white as snow and eyes the color of indigo. Your form slowed, your breaths coming out in soft pants as you made your way towards the creature in awe of its beauty. You reached your hand out slowly, to gain the trust of the majestic beauty. Suddenly and strikingly you heard a voice sounding from behind you.

“My lady! Where do you think you’re going?” A rough, calloused hand gripped your shoulder tightly, startling you. You turned around quickly, your arms raising defensively. As the offending party grabbed your wrists to gain your attention your excitement died down and your breaths came out easier when you took in the features of Changbin, your personal first knight assigned to you. Your expression became one of relief as you took in the worried, curious look resting on his angular features in the low light of the stables.

“I’m leaving, Changbin. I don’t know when I’ll be back, but I can’t go through with this. Please don’t try to stop me..” You said gripping his hands in yours, staring into his eyes hoping to portray the feelings pooling in the base of your throat, causing your words to come out choked. “I’ve already made up my mind.”

“I’m sure I couldn’t change your mind if I wanted to, princess. Here, take this.” He said, smiling softly. A gentle sigh left his lips as one hand reached into one of the many holsters on his person, while the other drifted to comfortingly rest on the crown of your head. His large, rough hands pressed a small holstered knife into your palm. “It’s a blade your mother used to use. I was supposed to give it to you tonight at the ball, but this felt like the right time.”

For the first time that night you smiled genuinely, staring into his eyes softly in thanks while turning to prepare the horse for your disappearance. Changbin’s hands found your waist, hoisting you up and onto the back of the horse before he quietly led you out of the stables, checking for prying eyes and quietly uttering you a safe trip. You made simple promises to return safely to him, unsure of how much truth they held, but sure of the comfort filling your chest with the smile gracing his face.

With that, you turned your head to the dark forest ahead and took a deep breath to steady yourself before going on this possibly dangerous adventure. Then, like lightning striking your nervous system, you heard a voice you had hoped to never hear again.

“Y/n!” Your father’s voice rang out over the courtyard causing you to gasp and whip your head in the direction of the sound. Changbin’s worried eyes stayed trained on your face as your indecision bubbled in your chest at your father’s commanding tone. Quickly muttering some words Changbin sent the horse off running in the direction of the forest, your confused mind allowing the actions to happen wordlessly as you watched Changbin draw his sword against his own king to protect you and allow you the freedom you had longed for. 

---------

It had been moments, maybe hours, you were unsure. The sky bared no stars as you stared hopelessly heaven bound with your eyes blurred. The chilly air hurt your cheeks now dry from the rivers of tears at your actions. Your steed came to a slow, wearily looking around the dangerous wood. All that was to be heard around you were the low grumbles of the predators and the soft snapping of twigs. In the haze of your misery you were lost and cold, unsure of even your own safety as you whipped your head uneasily in every direction of unknown noises. 

It was then that a loud howl sounded from somewhere nearby, a chorus of others following suit. You tried catching sight of the beasts making the horrid sound, but soon it seemed as though the guttural growls were surrounding you, closing in on their next meal. You yelped loudly as the horse became unsteady and afraid, dashing off towards the nearest escape. From your lips feeble shrieks of protest left, but to no avail. The creature’s of the hunt followed suit, a game of cat and mouse. Suddenly, one creature, the largest, leaped out from beyond a too dark clearing in front of your path, baring its fangs and lashing out with its dastardly claws. The horse came to an unsteady halt, rearing back and knocking your frail form harshly to the ground. You inhaled sharply, rolling away, your limbs tucked inward, as fast as possible from the now trampling hooves and paws. You held your breath, covering yourself with your arms and you cried. Tears poured down your face as you waited for the steps of the animals to recede. You heard their noises of primal instinct and found yourself counting the minutes down until they were long gone and satisfied with their hunt. 

When your arms went numb and the tip of your nose was sufficiently frozen, you turned over in the dirt, wet with dew, to stare at the empty sky. Your tears came until they could no longer, your breaths uneven with bitter air exhaling harshly from your lungs, and as your eyes stayed trained upwards, you allowed yourself one prayer to any god that would listen. 

Please. Just let me see one star. One being from above that would understand. 

Abruptly you were taken aback by an unusually chilling wind blowing through the branches of the tall oak trees, causing you to wrap your arms tightly against your grimy, shivering self. Slowly you allowed the exhaustion of the night to take over your features, your eyes closing allowing sleep to take over your dirt ridden form. Finally, you felt some semblance of peace come over you as you drifted off, a prayer still sitting heavy on your pale, chapped lips. 

“You’re one weird human.” Your ears suddenly perked as a deep voice suddenly sounded from somewhere nearby. You screamed, scurrying to cover yourself with some kind of protection. Your eyes scanned the surrounding area frantically searching for the source of the voice. 

“W-who’s there?” You said with as little confidence as you could muster. You cursed your voice for shaking silently as you continued your frantic search for this possible danger. Your eyes landed on a large branch nearby and your legs moved on their own accord, sliding you harshly against the hard, cold ground to scramble to grip the branch tightly, turning and holding it out in a manner you could only hoped looked more threatening than it felt. 

“So silly..” The deep voice chuckled out from somewhere behind you. You yelped, waving the stick in the opposite direction, hoping not to lose your footing against any loose rocks or sturdy tree roots. Your dress was torn and soaked and the gentle breeze now moving in random intervals was jarring and dancing around your cloaked form, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. A sudden snapping sound from a branch above your head caused you to scream, throwing the large branch with all of your feeble might towards the offending sound. A larger breeze blew by, obscuring your vision with your own hair and you scrambled to remove it from your vision. As your finally were able to get a glimpse of a male slinking towards you another breeze blew harshly by causing your to sigh sharply, your hands flying back up to your face to remove the hair blocking your vision yet again. “Your gonna hurt someone throwing those things.” The voice sounded again, humor twinkling off of his lips with smooth curls of laughter. 

“Who are you? What do you want with me??” You said, your feet backpedaling as you finally removed your hair from your face again to take in the sight before you. Your eyes scanned the clearing of trees in the dim light unable to find the man you had been questioning and just as you began to question what was even real, you heard him again, your head whipping in the direction of the sound. 

“I should be asking you that, considering you called for me..” He said, the humor never leaving his tone. You began to feel embarrassed at the thought of this man laughing at your pitiful state. Your cheeks grew red and your ears felt hot as you began wondering why you didn’t feel as in danger as you had earlier that night, deciding to deem it all on how wild the rest of your night had already been. Instead of answering you simply furrowed your brow, scanning and searching with your eyes still trying to find the source of the inquiry. Out of the blue in the still night, yet another breeze blew by roughly, chilling you to the bone. A branch suddenly creaked above you and you scrambled back to get a view of what could be perched there.

“Looking for me?” What you found, illuminated by the dim white moonlight, was a boy, seemingly about your age, swinging his legs softly to the gentle sway of the winds. His hair was strikingly white, pure as snow. His pale skin shone softly as if covered gingerly in new born stars. His eyes held mirth, much like his cheshire smile, and his whole body was lax with amusement as he stared down at you. In shock you stumbled backwards, falling over yourself and landing harshly on the ground, yet again tonight staring up at the sky. You felt the wind tousle your hair, but you didn’t seem to have the energy to care much as your mind grappled with its own questioning thoughts. 

“Uhm..lady? Are..haha..are you okay?” His question, broken with impish laughter, felt comforting in a way as he leaned over your form, searching your face with curious eyes and a interrogative furrowed brow. You turned your head softly, staring into the now shocked eyes of the boy with the angular features and moon like eyes before suddenly your lips twitched, the corners of them quirking before a laugh began to bubble out of your chest. The laugh itself with incredulous and loud, joyous like a little kid finally discovering how something works. The boy looked back at you, tilting his head like a confused puppy as he watched you sit up slightly, leaning on your elbows. He didn’t make a move to back up or give you any space, instead leaning closer to examine you further. 

“Did you hit your head or something, funny lady?” He said, his deep voice and boy-like expression of wonder and frustrating confusion only spurring your laughter on further as you grappled for breath. The events of tonight were catching up with your exhausted state and you found yourself wondering if this boy who shone so brightly on this gloomy night was even real. 

Once you could finally catch your breath you sat upright and really took in the sight of him. He may have seemed young on the outside, but somehow he held a powerful aura, like he knew more then he let on. His smile was dazzling as he stared up at you with eyes that twinkled with a silent knowledge. You felt as though he was looking past your filthy outward appearance, and instead he was reading through your soul, listening silently to the story you couldn’t find the words to tell. 

He stood suddenly, as if he found the answer to the question that had been dancing around like the winds, curling through each of your minds. His smile became softer and more genuine as he looked down at your still seated self and slowly outstretched his hand. It was a gesture you were unfamiliar with. It wasn’t a sudden, demanding grasp of your non-consenting hand. It wasn’t rough and calloused, with a predator-like grin gracing his features, but, instead, as you slid your hand over his palm in a silent proclamation of trust you found yourself reveling in how silky smooth his larger, more slender hand felt wrapping around yours in a protective gesture. He glanced at you, a playful smirk playing on his cherry red lips. 

“Do you trust me?” He said, his deep voice breathy and patient, allowing you whatever amount of time you felt like you needed before you nodded slowly, hesitantly. He tilted his head in a munificent gesture, encouraging you to verbalize your thoughts. You felt the minuscule inkling of a curl to your lips forming, your eyes catching on how he seemed to be emitting light in this dim forest. The wind blew softly, ruffling your hair and caressing your now heated cheeks. He watched your features carefully as you bowed your head and giggled to yourself at the sensation of the winds dancing around the both of you. The chilly night felt warm as you turned your head slowly and methodically towards him again, your eyes glistening with an unreadable emotion and you breathed in deeply in a more relaxed manner. 

“I do.” You said, beaming up at him now, your small, frail hand squeezing his a little tighter. He smiled fully now and to you it felt like sunshine. He watched your face, entranced in your beauty taking not of how grateful he was to have answered your call tonight, vowing to bring that smile back whenever he could. Your expression grew concerned as the look in his eye changed and he suddenly pulled you towards him, wrapping one arm around your shoulders before taking off in a sprint. 

You tried to match his pace with a yelp, the wind now pushing you around forcefully. Your cries of protest were drowned out with his hysterical giggling. He forced you forward for a few more minutes as you began to question his strange motives before suddenly he came to a stop. His landing was much more graceful then your sudden stumbling forward, but as you gained your footing your objections died in your throat as you took in the sights around you. The forest behind you now, you stood in a clearing with grasses tickling your ankles, but the most impressive thing about this sight was the flowers. In full bloom, covering the surrounding area as far as your eyes could see were twinkling white flowers. Some stayed small and subdued, while others were larger, demanding more attention, but all of them shown with outstanding luminescence. Your breath caught in your throat as you stood completely rigid, taking in the sight. 

You then felt a soft breeze, pulling your out of your shock with a shiver before you felt an unexpected heat radiating from behind you. You felt a soft hand trace your jaw from somewhere behind as you held your breath expectantly. His hand moved from your jaw to trace the outline of your neck, gathering your hair lying there and tying it tenderly away from your face. Your sudden inhale as his fingers tickled the nape of your neck caused him to chuckle, his close proximity allowing you to feel his warm breath fanning over your shoulders. You suddenly felt balmy as he leaned his face closer, his breaths coming out in an intoxicating manner, dancing around the area where your neck meets your shoulder. 

“Look up.” He said, his voice coming out in a heady whisper. You gasped as you complied, your head whipping up too quickly, causing the male to snicker behind you. You couldn’t seem to care as you took in the sight before you. The once empty sky was now covered in brilliant gleaming stars, all feeling as though they were staring right at the two of you, encouragingly. You weren’t sure what they were encouraging, but just the silly thought itself had you laughing softly, your eyes slowly trailing over everything in front of you yet again. If it weren’t for the questioning hum the man had released you may not have even noticed the sturdy arms wrapped loosely around your waist or the cool skin of his cheek now resting on your exposed shoulder. You may not have even taken note of the breath now fanning comfortingly over your own blushing cheek of the look in his eyes as you turned slightly in his arms to get a better view of this new expression. 

He took in your overwhelmed face as you tried to form words for the thoughts racing through your mind and he laughed, his head tilted back and chuckles racking his toned chest. You took in the movement behind his green tunic, complimenting his pale skin and you blushed again, turning your face away sharply. He gripped your shoulder with one hand softly, making sure not to startle you, while his other hand outstretched softly to point towards the cushiony grass beside of you. You took the hint and made a move to sit and take in the view before you.

He giggled as he helped move the layers of your dress away so you could sit comfortably before taking his seat beside you. You found yourself becoming encumbered with exhaustion and slowly with the gentle breeze swaying the twinkling lights, you let your head pull to the side to rest easily on his shoulder. He moved slowly as to not jostle you allowing more comfort for your tired form.

“You know, lady. I never caught your name..” He said, a hint of gentle humor lacing his deep baritone.

“I’m sorry..” You hummed out, “I’m y/n. Supposed princess of this kingdom.” You said, your tone sounding harsh even to your own ears. “I’m not sure I’d like to even ask who you are.” You said, laughing to help lighten the mood.

“Hmm.. I don’t think I was ever given a name where I am from.” Your brow furrowed at his response as you moved your head from its resting perch to look up at his questioningly. He laughed again, his body folding as he chuckled at your expression. “A story for another time, y/n.” You accepted his response begrudgingly, distracted by the way your name sounded on his lips.

“So what are you going to do when morning comes, little one?” He said, no malice in his tone. You sighed harshly flopping backwards to lay in the soft grass fully, surrounding yourself in the perfumed scent of the fluttering flowers. He took that as an answer in itself as he watched you, amused.

“You need to go back.” You groaned loudly as these words left his lips and he laughed as he shushed you, pushing you softly causing you to dramatically roll over laying your head on his thigh, a noise of protest leaving your bemused lips. “Let me finish would you!” He continued, annoyance playfully covering the syllables while he ran his fingers gently through your messy hair. You smiled, appeased for a moment while staring longingly towards the stars above. The sky was lightening and you felt your smile slipping at the realization that they would be gone again soon.

He frowned watching your face grow frantic with concern before softly resting his cools fingertips on the bottom of your chin, non-forcefully turning your face in his lap to look at his own passionate expression. He tilted his head to match the angle of your, his silliness making you giggle softly before continuing.

“You may have to go back, but you can always come back here, it’s all for you.” He let his eyes slowly trail over you, landing on your hand twisting anxiously tearing up small strands of the grass without realizing. He slid one of his hands comfortingly down your arm, trailing his fingertips lightly over the back of your hands. It felt as if getting a sunburn, getting too close to the beauty of something terrifying. “Look to the stars, I’ll always be there, watching and waiting.” He finished, his voice getting deeper with each second he stared at your animated expression staring up at him expectantly.

You felt your eyes welling up with tears at the peace being here brought to you, knowing it would be ending soon. You tried forming words, prayers, but your lips were too wobbly and my voice was too weak.

“When will I see you again? Wh-what should I even call you??” You finally managed to squeak out, the thick, hot tears you felt curling down your cheeks didn’t sting nearly as much as the thought of leaving him here, only to return to the torturous duties lined up for you at your home. He smiled sadly at you, blurring your senses with how ethereal he looked. His hands twitched against your wrist as he continued his comforting path, avoiding your eyes as he furrowed his brow in thought. Without thinking, out of desperation for an answer, you swiftly intertwined your own fingers with his, your palms slotting together as if fitting missing puzzle pieces together.

“You’ll see me when you need me.. but I’ll always be there.” You pursed your lips in a pout and he smiled again, taking his hand once tangled in your hair and running it slowly, methodically over your furrowed brow, smoothing the skin there and allowing your features to find solace again. “and why don’t you give me a name that you like, y/n.” He offered, his voice softer than you had heard it before, no amusement, only timid hope.

A name. Something so uniquely human. Something lovingly crafted for an individual. Something that holds meaning and myth. Something totally your own. You frowned in thought for a moment and he watched as your eyes glazed over patiently. Suddenly, you sat up rigidly, turning to face him, leaning closer then you had ever been previously. The sudden movement startled him, causing him to laugh awkwardly, his eyes blown wide while staring at your expectant and excited face.

“I’ve got it! I’m going to call you Felix!” You exclaimed. He furrowed his brow, tilting his head and repeating the syllables slowly, testing the way they tasted on his lips. Then he smiled at you teasingly, taking your breath away briefly. You rushed to find some way to explain yourself before the heat fighting it’s way up your neck found your cheeks. You stared into his eyes determined before explaining. “It means happiness. I found happiness tonight, here with you, when I couldn’t back there. They may not ever make me happy, but I have you. My happiness. My Felix.” You finished, grinning widely, appeased.

His grin couldn’t be contained as he laughed softly at how cute you could be. As he let his grin take over his features he let his eyes drift over your close proximity. His fingers began to unfold from between yours, drifting their way up your wrist, feeling your rushing heart beat. They slowly danced over your shoulder making you shiver slightly, as he noticed his teeth took purchase in his bottom lip, the movement catching your eye. His fingertips barely tickled the skin of your neck, causing goosebumps to break out over your skin. Once his hand pushed your hair back, tucking it behind your ear you could hear your own breathing, practically panting at his gentle actions. The longing in your eyes causing his eyes to become hooded with a guarded emotion.

Slowly, his hand found its place on your cheek, his cool palm was in great contrast to your too warm skin. You reveled in the feeling, yearning to remember the way this solace felt in this moment. He smiled softly, a flash of teeth all you could see before he was leaning in tenderly. He allowed you to make the moves on your own as well, only continuing forward when you would and only you were both nearly touching, so close you were breathing the same air, he allowed himself a glance at your pink lips. His tongue darted out to wet his own lips before he pulled back slightly a serious expression on his face.

“Can I?” His voice came out breathy, heavy with something you couldn’t name. You smiled softly, pleased with his ability to ask, always thinking of your feelings first. You couldn’t even resist long enough to answer before you were wrapping some of your fingers around his larger wrist, tangling the others in his too pretty hair, pulling his face towards yours and connecting your lips together passionately.

This kiss was unlike anything you had ever heard of, instead of sparks and passion it was butterflies and subtle hints of laughter you could feel bubbling in your chest. The kiss was lingering and slightly bittersweet. You could taste the saltiness on your lips from your tears mixing with the sweetness of his lips on yours. It was perfectly melancholy and grossly beautiful. Tragedy in the form of serendipity.

As you parted Felix’s hands soothed your cheeks and wiped your tears, a smile playing jokingly on his lips. He poked your nose and leaned forward to kiss your forehead lovingly. You smiled through the onslaught of tears and gasped at the dawning sky above you now. Your eyes frantically searched for stars you knew you wouldn’t be able to see anymore, until they fell on Felix’s sad expression. He tried to smile softly for your sake as he stroked your cheek gently.

He then removed himself from you, before standing and helping you up as well. Once you were both standing, staring at each other with eyes full of unspoken words he breathed in deeply before leaning in to plant another swift, stolen kiss on your lips. You smiled as he pulled away, staring at the way his handsome features curled in amusement at your shocked form. He then, without your noticing, had moved his hand to the back of your head and with a soft mutter of words he knew you wouldn’t understand, you were suddenly unconscious in his arms. He lifted you, bridal style, and began walking back towards the forest where you had first met.

——

Once you all were back to the castle, a gentle breeze swaying the curtains, he laid you tenderly on your bed, smoothing your hair out around you and covering you with your own cushion-like blankets.

“Forgive me, princess. I usually would have asked.” He laughed quietly as you stirred in your sleep, as stubborn as you would have been awake. “I won’t be here when you awaken, but I’ll be back for you. You never have to be alone.” He slowly leaned forward, delicately placing a feathery light kiss on your lips. He made his way back to the window, tiptoeing as to not wake you, before turning to get one final glance at you.

“I’ll stay for you, y/n. Always.” He said, the ghost of a smile gracing his lips as a singular tear, the color of moonlight fell from his eye before all that was left in the room was a lonely princess and a gentle, light air dancing through the window like laughter and stolen kisses on a night only two will remember.

——————

[queenofthefullmoon]

An exhaustive list of Bloodborne bosses I would or would not date

Father Gascoigne

We’re starting this list off with a strong yes. You may be like, but Blue, this is a married man with two daughters! To this I reply: I pretend not to hear it. Also, not to be horrible, but his wife is dead while I’m right there baby, with my blunderbuss and my axe, and I’m ready to risk it all. YES, I know he’s a very stinky man, but you gotta make compromises sometimes. What’s that smell? Ah, the sweet dilf, it sings to me.

Cleric Beast

Let me be clear, I’m not a furry, but the Cleric Beast has stated some facts and made some points! The only reason why I’m not to keen on dating it is that it can’t best me in battle, which is something I’m always looking for in a partner.

Blood Starved Beast

Our first no of the list, I’m not very into skin flaps and poison, which the Blood Starved Beast has plenty of. Moreover, I’d have to get Djura’s approval, and that scares me beyond anything else in Yharnam.

Vicar Amelia

Another Cleric Beast, this time with a bit more flair to it. First of all we just have to admire the way she transforms, very sexy and bloody, which is something you’re gonna want in your relationship if you’re someone who likes fun. (Thiccar) Amelia, cradle me like your golden pendant.

Hemwick witches

Another hard no here. No offense, but I like having eyes, and dating a pair of witches covered in eyes that they’ve been harvesting for years doesn’t seem like a good idea to me!

Shadows of Yharnam

Honestly yeah? You get 3 cool partners in black robes for the price of one. They all wield different weapons, which makes for two excellent things. First of all, you get a very efficient bodyguard team (useful at parties, when a hunter gets drunk on blood, or when you open your front door and a beast is there). Secondly, if you want to have a fun sparring match with your partners, which we all know is a fundamental activity in a couple, you have very varied options!

And a bonus for animal lovers: they can spawn snakes at will for you!! Never a boring day with your 3 hooded partners.

Rom, the vacuous spider

NO. Don’t date Rom. She’s baby! She doesn’t understand what’s going on. Instead, here’s a list of nice activities you can do with Rom:

- Read her stories

- Trims her back growths

- Clean her teeth

- Make her some cute little glasses

- Knit matching socks for her and her children

- Teach her new spells

- Not date her

Darkbeast Paarl

Paarl is a similar situation as Rom. He’s just a little puppy… He doesn’t know what dating is. He knows what going on a walk means, though! So go on, go on a happy little walk with Paarl. He’ll love it, you’ll have fun, everyone will be happy.

Amygdala

Yes. Evidence that it’s a good idea is: lots of arms (good hugs), can grab the shit out of me, CAN and WILL crush me, can sometimes shatter my consciousness with its eldritch powers (very sexy), can send me in other dimensions, will annihilate my enemies with a funky laser beam, and the most amazing feature: can pop it’s eyes out of its skull like a stress ball (fun trick to show your friends at parties). The ideal girlfriend.

The One Reborn

NO!!!!! There’s a lot of freaky stuff I’d date in Bloodborne but the One Reborn is NOT one of them. Firstly, it has 6 nannies. Do I look like the type of person who wants their dates consistently moderated by 6 Pthumerian elders? No!!! I’m a free bitch baby!! And in addition to that, Juan Reborn just has too many limbs. It’s not okay. If we ever got engaged I wouldn’t know where to slip the ring.

Micolash, Host of the Nightmare

Would I..? No, I wouldn’t… Unless? Haha, just kidding. Wait… Actually… Um.

I mean… If you’re into bastardous hysterical little men who howl while running around, sure. BUT beware… You might lose him in a mirror and never find him again, which I find very inconvenient. Imagine going shopping with a guy who compulsively disappears in mirrors. Imagine explaining to the store employees why your dumbass boyfriend broke all their mirrors.

Also, how will we kiss?  With the cage on the way?

Oh god, do I have to wear a cage too?

Celestial Emissaries

I’m not against having a multitude of partners but I’m afraid that might be too much for me. Also, they look like little tiny bebes. I know I’ve said before that I wasn’t ready to be a parent, but I might make an exception for the Celestial Emissaries — let them chill in my home, make them pb&j sandwiches, stuff like that.

Ebrietas, Daughter of the Cosmos

Dear Ebrietas… I have a lot of fondness for her but she looks way too much like mac’n’cheese for comfort. She’s invited for sleepovers and all, no doubt about that, but I see our future together as platonic.

Martyr Logarius

Now Listen… Logarius is an Enemy of women. The proof of his crimes still remains in Cainhurst castle. Do I want to date the genocidal Yharnam Santa? Are you really asking me that? Do you take me for Executioner Alfred? I am not crazy. I will not date Martyr Logarius and his red skulls spamming ass (however miss Annalise queen of the Vilebloods, call me).

Mergo’s Wet Nurse

Um yes of course? Tall dark eldritch wife? I feel like Mergo’s Wet Nurse is the Dancer of Bloodborne, where I’m in a situation where I’m presented with the ideal girlfriend and people expect me to say no because she’s an enormous eldritch entity who could kill me in one hit or whatever. Do you think me a coward? Do you believe that I am not willing to risk it all for invisible girls? Think again.

Gehrman, the First Hunter

Ew no! Gross! He’s gonna make a doll designed after me and I will have to call the police!

Moon Presence

On one hand yes (see Mergo’s Wet Nurse) but on the other hand… I feel like the Moon Presence would be too possessive and easily jealous. I just need some freedom, yknow? The liberty to go out and make friends with other Great Ones. And I know she would NOT like that. She’d ask me if I’m the only Great One I’m talking to and I’d have to nervously hide my phone and say Yes Babe Always Babe, lest she would shackle me to an unending dream. I’m not about that life.

Ludwig the Accursed/the Holy Blade

I genuinely don’t know what to say. The screaming horse man? Am I— the horse boy? Him? No. I… I’m not gonna. I love his sword. Lots of class. Very good theme song, could be cool to have him as a friend (maybe I could ride him around to different locations?) but to date? Kiss his horse mouth? KISS HIS EYE MOUTH? You could say that… Neigh.

Laurence, the First Vicar

NOW WE’RE TALKING BABEY… All the class of the Cleric Beast with FIRE included! Picture this: it’s the winter, it’s snowing, and you’re cold… NOT! You are dating a FLAMING BEAST, you are never cold. Laurence has one proper arm to hold you and one arm that’s a constant flaming inferno, which means he’s great for the summer and the winter, depending on which temperature you want to be at. Your enormous flaming boyfriend will always be at your side.

Living Failures

First of all mood, second of all, this is kind of a Celestial Emissaries situation where I’m not against having many partners but I don’t want a whole congregation of them. There’s just too many Living Failures. I also like dating people with faces? And that aren’t, like, blue. So it’s a no from me, but I’ll befriend them. I’ll go garden with them and all. We can have a girls’ night, it’s all good.                      

Lady Maria of the Astral Clocktower

I’m gonna have to be predictable and say yes here, but fair warning, Lady Maria isn’t for everyone! I know she looks like the perfect wife, but get this; this lady is a hunter. She’s only a lady because she’s related to royals. She has nothing ladylike in her. You think she takes baths? You think she knows what self-care IS????? I laugh at your ignorance, at how you misunderstand her. Maria is a stinky girl; but she is MY stinky girl.

Orphan of Kos

I don’t want to date the Orphan of Kos because he was literally just born and still has his placenta attached to him.  I don’t care for infants, and I don’t care for violent infants. I wouldn’t even want to invite him over to play with the Celestial Emissaries or something. He’s like that asshole child in kindergarten who hurts the other kids for fun. Am I being harsh to a literal baby and an orphan at that? Maybe. But Kos herself couldn’t tell me I’m wrong.

Bonus chalice boss: Yharnam, Pthumerian Queen

Now listen here… Yharnam is a queen, tall and kinda eldritch, absolutely rabid, which we’ve established is my type. Shall I step on the toes of Oedon and declare her mine? Perhaps. She has a very powerful scream, which worries me in case of a domestic fight, but overall I get to marry a kind of eldritch queen, which is alright in my book. I know she has an equally eldritch baby, but it’s formless, so it doesn’t bother me that much.   Dark Souls 1 ll Dark Souls 2 SOTFS ll Dark Souls 3

[spiltscribbles]

Prompt: Remus havung a bad day and being comforted by his Padfoot. Your writing is crazy good! Don’t let anyone (even yourself, think otherwise 🥰

~Notes: You are such a sweetheart Nonny<3<3 Thank you so much and I’m sorry i’m just a whiney lil bitch tbh.... But all the love<3<3<3

.-

227811209

remus has always been the analytical sort. The Marauder who could figure out every facet of success for an impending prank. Someone who always understands the other side of a story and tries to make everyone happy in any argument. The sort of person who prides himself in discerning life in shades of gray. He’s known since he was barely six years old that nothing was ever purely good nor purely evil. Life is a walking contradiction, himself being the epitome of that by simply existing as a sweater clad, vegetarian eating,, former prefect for twenty-eight days out of the month, before the final night where he tears himself limb by limb. That twenty-ninth day where he can barely stand even listening to his favorite Big Band records before the blood thirsty beast lurking just beneath his skin would shred himself to ribbons with vicious claws and wicked teeth and an unkempt fury as the wolf raged against the nearest escape route.

So yes, nothing is ever as daunting as one may believe at first sight. But even that doesn’t bring him any relief as he runs the pads of his fingers against the tattoo branded onto the soft flesh of his neck by a man with meaty hands that were none too gentle and a smarmy disposition that made Remus feel like both a dangerous predator and vulnerable prey.

227811209

“I’m glad you could cover up most of it with your shirt,” his father finally speaks once they’ve walked a block and a half away from the Ministry’s office, hands plunged into his jacket pockets as his eyes stray away from his only son— face a complicated reck of guilt and resentment and despair. And Remus supposes he appreciates his father’s frenzy on his behalf, but he can’t help but ache for his Mam right now. But she would’ve never been allowed to travel all the way to London and enter the headquarters of Wizarding Britain. No, not as a muggle without a lick of magic to be found.

“Maybe I’ll grow out my hair? Look like one of those rock and rollers,” Remus says, voice soaked with sarcasm to hide the hurt embedded into his words.

Lyall laughs with more breath than sound, his grin brittle in the way that looks like it could be blown to dust just by the wrong breeze. “I think you’d end up just looking like your mother even more drastically lad.”

Remus pulls a face, still smarting at a stoned Lily giggling about how much of a pretty boy he is. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

Lyall smiles more genuinely now, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and tugging him close. “This doesn’t change a thing, you know that Remus, don’t you?”

“I— I know Tad.” Remus replies, quiet and measured as he wills back the tears that are threatening to spill out, hugging his dad’s middle and pretending that his declaration rings true.

He eventually detangles himself and nods up at him, and Lyall graciously doesn’t pry, just quirks the corner of his mouth and starts strolling once more.

“You think we should maybe grab some take out before apparating back? I know your Mam has been craving some of those samosas from that Curry shop in Whitecastle.”

“I, erm. I actually promised Sirius I’d spend the rest of the break over at his flat. He wanted to see me afterwards— You know…”

Lyall’s shoulders stiffen for only a breath before relaxing once more, still weary over Sirius and Remus’s subsequent relationship with him. And Remus knows it has to do more with his surname than the fact that he’s another man, but it’s still a tender spot in their relationship. “Ah, I understand. You’ve told your Mam I suppose?”

“Yeah, she’s fine with it. Just wanted me to write her once I got there.”

“Righto, well stay safe won’t you?”

“Course Tad, I’ll be okay.” Remus tells him, as if he’s at all okay to begin with after the spectacle of today. But it seems to be enough for Lyall, because he only smiles that bit wider, and tousles Remus’s caramel colored curls before bidding farewell and leaving with a snap of apparation.

.-

Remus reckons its strange that the moment he wanders up the stairs of Sirius’s Camden Town flat, it’s the first time he’s able to inhale without choking on air all day. Like just the mere thought of being enveloped into Sirius’s strong embrace is enough for him to actually begin feeling better.

Gingerly, he taps his wand against the wards of the flat, the door opening up immediately after recognizing him— The first addition Sirius had incorporated after purchasing it with his Uncle’s vast inheritance to him back in November.

Remus expected that he’d have to floo James’s home once stepping indoors, after all he knows that Sirius is still living their until school ends in June under the behest of the steadfast and nearly smothering Potters who have adored and practically adopted Sirius ever since second year. Though, he admits that he’s crippled with relief when he steps inside only to be met by the great, hulking image of a bear like, black dog lounging by the fire, tale waggling in a sort of despair that makes Remus’s heart ache.

“Pads?” he greets quietly, toeing off his boots before he comes closer. But nearly immediately, Padfoot’s head pops up and his intelligent gray eyes pinpoint on him before he leaps forwards to lick across Remus’s face in hello.

“All right, all right. Down you mutt,” Remus laughs, suddenly so thankful for the horridly green breakfast table that Sirius had refused to get rid of considering that it’s the only reason he doesn’t fall flat on his back over Padfoot’s assault.

And in a sudden, magical haze, dog transforms into a beautiful man— All dark hair that falls artfully over his forehead, and cutting angles meant for Roman sculptures and a body toned after years of Beater swings and practice laps.

He’s so gorgeous that sometimes Remus can hardly even breathe when in close proximity.

“I’ve been waiting,” Sirius explains unnecessarily, arms wrapped around Remus’s narrow waste and his eyes boring into Remus’s own without a seconds hesitation.

“I’m sorry, there was a—“

“No Moony, don’t apologize,” Sirius interrupts, his stormy expression suddenly fading to something softer— something more apologetic. “I’m sorry— I just— I was just worried.”

Remus exhales from his nose, dry and the furthest thing from amused. “Well I’m fine.”

“Fine?” Sirius prods, face indignant.

“As can be I suppose.” Remus clarifies, relishing how Sirius ever so gently presses there bodies together, close enough that there’s no space left  between them, dropping his head to Remus’s shoulder as his lips mouth against his skin in languid kisses. “I feel like I’m cattle,” Remus admits, finally lets the tears that were threatening to spill out earlier, pour from his eyes, and can feel Sirius’s own tracing down his back.

“You’re better than the whole lot of them combined, and if anyone gives you any trouble I’ll kill’m with my bare hands.”

Remus should probably snort at just how full hearty he sounds, or he should probably chastise Sirius for having this incessant need to take on the world for Remus. He should at least thank him for sparing Remus the false platitudes his father tried speaking. But then he feels Sirius’s salty wet lips kissing softly against his skin, against the tattoo marring him. And suddenly it feels like even the ugliest part of him could be made beautiful under Sirius’s touch.

~Send ME A Prompt For A Flash FIC~

[yashimolala]

⎡ where are you now? ⎦fushiguro t. & m.

★ part two of ⎡ can you hear me now? ⎦ ☆  

❀ pairing: fushiguro megumi & fushiguro toji (familial)

❀ word count: 1,494 words

❀ genre: fluff/angst 

❀ author’s notes: this is not incestuous in any manner. 

❀ tags: character study, fushiguro toji-centric, introspection, purple prose, somewhat canon-compliant (?) 

❀ description: the moments that were left at the back of the father and son’s minds, and the places where they could’ve been.

。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆　　 。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆

Sunflowers.

Megumi’s eyes flutter to the sight of a delightful scar.

He knows this is a dream, but it was a real memory flashing in his eyes, one that he’s never been able to recall before.

The scar was graceful, stretching to its’ full beauty on a smile. It was straight,  adorning the left side of the person’s mouth.

Slightly-chapped lips, rosy hues on glowing cheeks, and large, rough hands reaching out for him. And his safety in a delicate body is entrusted to their palms as he’s wrapped in strong, built arms.

He could not see the upper half of their face. It was a rather blurry vision he had.

But he could tell… they were joyous. Delighted. Glad. Genuinely happy. They smiled like it was the most beautiful moment of their life. Like his very existence was a miracle.

Tenderly cradling his small, fragile body; gently rocking him to a soft tune. He doesn’t know the song itself, but he loves the comfort it brings. The small humming is imprinted in his memory, a precious memento to cross at his heart.

Megumi then closes his eyes, drifting to a deep slumber, all the while listening to the serene sound.

He lets the darkness wash him over to a new dream.

Interlude.

Your smile rivals the vibrance of a sunflower, Ever brilliant and happy, Blooming with a vivid yellow power, That I can never exude.

Shining brighter than the glaring star in a summer night. Fiery blooms of beauty captivating me in its splendor, Always facing the direction of its Creator Like a lost sailor in search for a ray of light.

- Yashi

Aloë.

Megumi remembers getting ice cream in the mall when he was a child.

He was observing the strange tubs of bizarre flavors illustrated in posters; he seemed like he wanted to try them out.

His father was watching him from afar, hands shoved into his pants’ pockets. The man then sighs, “Stay in the bench over there.”

Megumi nods, sitting himself on the vacant furniture, unknowing of what he was planning.

The older male disappears from Megumi’s sight into the flood of crowds, not even uttering another word before leaving.

Minutes of swinging his legs back and forth were spent as he waited. Person after person passed by him, never sparing a glance but he felt like the eyes lurking from the shadows are on him, but at the same time, he feels like he’s within a void of empty crowds.

Just as he was to hop off and set out to search for his father, the man was right before him, handing down a triangular-looking biscuit with a building swirl of soft white.

The child looked astonished, wrapping his small hands around the cone, green eyes sparkling with the smooth, glistening frozen treat.

Toji just sits beside him, seemingly uninterested with legs spread wide, in comparison to the kid’s knees that were almost closed in a timid manner.

Megumi blinks once, before glancing down the ice cream, bringing the pointed tip of coldness to his lips, taking a small bite.

Chilled velvety mush melted into sweetness as he savors the flavor.

It’s a classic vanilla that his father could only afford.

The father glances to his side at once, watching a small smile stretch on the kid’s usually stoic expression.

“Is it good?”

“Anything that father gets me is the best.”

Toji then closes his eyes with a contented smile, clearing out the chatter of the crowds in the mall and etched Megumi’s smiling face into the back of his head.

Aster.

Toji sees the color of the skies on Megumi.

He could never forget the beady gaze of his child, often glimmering with curiosity that he could never unravel.

They glow with a glint of excitement and interest, with every thing it explores, may it be the old bookstore down the street, the trashed alleyways in their neighborhood, or the stray puppy that he saw in the park.

Toji sees the only blessing in his life.

Toji sees Megumi making his own blessings out of the world.

A small smile pulls on his lips as the child’s hand holds onto his larger one for reassurance, relishing in the sound of his laughter.

Megumi has his mother’s eyes, but he also has his own soul in those pair of sapphires. It was somewhat funny because everyday when Toji looked into the mirror, all he can see are soulless orbs of dread.

But now that he can see the life in his blessing’s eyes, he’s more than satisfied.

Azalea.

The first time Toji went out with Megumi’s mother, they eloped to the beach, where the color of their eyes can be found, symbolic of their persona as well.

When he takes the boy to the ocean, his eyes gleamed with excitement as he starts talking about the sea creatures he’s read about, like the starfish, the crabs, the seahorse and more.

His blue gaze was a living memory of his mother, reminding him of the calm ocean waves that came crashing on the grains of gold and the clear skies that rolled across the earth.

He notices his mussed hair that was disheveled by the salt water that soaked into their skin and takes a photo of the footsteps they’ve left on the shore before it’s washed away by the sweep of shallow water.  

When he feels delicate fingers graze on his knuckles, his chest surges with euphoria upon seeing Megumi who held onto his hand with his small digits, lips stretching with a smile and wet lashes framing his face.

He wants to wake up every day to this shade of blue, the voice of his son filling his ears, to live in a moment that will last until the end of his time.

Interlude.

‘You look just like your mother.’

The man remarks as he glances at the shape of his hair — same black, same spike, same curl that framed over his features that was a tad softer than Toji’s.

‘I guess I do carry her tenderness well.’ Megumi brings up a hand to the expanse of his neck, averting his focus away, refusing to make eye contact with his father.

This does not go unnoticed by Toji, as his emerald gaze catches on Megumi’s ocean ones. They were a deep shade of blue, drowning in the abysmal depths of the sea, accompanied by the shadows.

He speaks again. You both have the same eyes.

‘Cause we are both exhausted.’ The younger male responds almost immediately, but it never came out in an exasperated manner. It escaped his lips as a gentle sigh.

Toji’s eyes travel down to explore more what he shared with his mother, halting by the slim phalanges that he wore.

‘And the hands.’ He adds.

‘We share the same wilting fingers.’ Megumi wearily says, demonstrating by shifting his digits into a hand gesture that he does not recognize, only familiar with the lines and curves that shaped his wrist.

‘But that rage, your mother doesn’t wear that anger.’

‘You’re right.’ His expression that was once serene contorts into one of madness, bathed in blood and the laughter that cascades from his lips is almost maniacal. ‘This rage is the one thing I get from my father.’

Sweet Pea.

Fushiguro Toji was not expecting to have the latter half of his plans ruined by the Gojo kid who went berserk after rising from death.

All he felt was unease, unease, utter unease.

Just when he thought he had thrown his feelings away, it all comes back to him with an excruciating ache to his chest, tugging painfully on his heartstrings.

All he remembers is clinging onto his wife’s back like a helpless beast, the joy he had when Megumi was born, raising him up until he was five and fuck, he wishes he could have seen him grow up more — deal with his teenage phase, watch him graduate, have a peaceful story of his own.

He longs for a life where he could hear about Megumi’s dreams, where they talk about what happens in his everyday life over dinner, where they could live as a small and happy family with Tsumiki.

But he can’t go back to that life, can’t return to where he left off, can’t have what he want anymore so what’s the point?

He looks into the long path that was stretched out on the other way, disappearing into forever. He’s afraid to say this is the end he’s reached, but deep inside, he knows that he’s already lost, deep in the restraint of his own pride, in the choice of path that he chose and in this battle.

So when he chooses his last words, he tells them to the white-haired teen in hopes that his child will at least be able to live a better life than he did.

He just hopes that his only blessing is okay.

。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆　　 。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆

The language of flowers: 

❀ Sunflower = “The sunshine in your smile”/Radiance ❀ Aloe = Affection and grief ❀ Aster = Love and daintiness/Remembrance ❀ Azalea = Family ❀ Sweet Pea = Goodbye

Oh and please do keep in mind that, in the second interlude, the dialogues that are in italics belong to Rupi Kaur’s ‘Milk and Honey’.

additional notes: i said i’d write more of this so i did. 

[cavalierious-whim]

Whelp (FE3H)

Sylvix | Pre-Game | Canon-Compliant AU | Teen

It’s long been said that a Gautier who graces the battlefield is Death incarnate. But Sylvain's not just a wolf, he's also a boy, and all he wants to do is enjoy his youth.

----

A/N: So let's consider this: Crests aren't a boon, they're a curse. What's it like to live with that? This is the first in a collection of stories called 'Of Crests and Curses'. The storyline is that of the game, which is why I've tagged it Canon-Compliant AU. Read here on AO3 for better quality! And follow mere here on Twitter.

----

It’s long been said that a Gautier who graces the battlefield is Death incarnate.

A boon, gifted to the bloodline by the Goddess. Nearly feral with rage and born to ravage the battlefield as beasts, the Gautier family see themselves as harbingers of death: if you meet one in battle, then you’ve met your end.

Time wears on and views change. The Gautier blessing is now a blessing only to their own. The rest of the world whispers of a curse instead, carefully concealed behind titles and lordship. Those who carry the burden are nothing but beasts, bred to bring death and destruction upon their foes, relishing it.

The Margrave Philippe Alexandre Gautier has a reputation to uphold. He’d done his duty for King Lambert, loping across enemy lines and battlefronts, and then later, he’d held the North against Sreng. He still holds the North against Sreng.

But, Philippe’s reign of terror is regrettably over; his bones ache a little bit more with every shift, and his nose isn’t good for much nowadays.

Miklan is a disaster. He’s got the bloodlust required of a Gautier but no crest to match it. Phillipe frowns at the mere thought. It’s a pity. Gautier men need that bloodlust, they thrive on it, but the beast is also required to temper it. When left alone, it’s more like gunpowder, prone to exploding when you least expect it. A careful balance is required.

There’s a scream from the other room and his head snaps up, fighting the instinctual urge to go be with his mate. Not quite a man and not quite a wolf, but that deep-seated connection thrums through his heart. The midwife won’t let him in and he does his best to maintain hope.

And so, Phillipe waits, pacing the long corridor of the Gautier fortress. Even in the summer months, Gautier can be frigid, the bitter cold seeping deep into the stones of his home.

Eventually, the screaming stops. The midwife opens the door and Philippe slips in quietly. There isn’t any crying, but his wife doesn’t look distressed. She holds a bundle close to her, her face tired and red and sweating.

When Philippe peeks into the folds of the blanket, he sees fur, wet and sticky, a deep auburn red.

“A crest,” says Philippe to his wife. “Our--” He pauses and waits, looking back to her, his tongue-tied.

“Son,” says his wife, her voice raspy from hours of crying out. “Our son has a crest.”

Pride swells within Philippe as he takes the bundle from her breast. Their son is a small thing, his eyes still closed. His maw is wide open, pink, and toothless gums on display. He’s the most beautiful thing that Philippe has ever seen.

But more importantly, he’s the most useful.

“There are big plans for you,” Philippe says, petting the downy fur at the crown of his son’s head. “Big plans indeed, my precious Sylvain.” Philippe pulls the boy closer so his son can learn his scent.

Yes, incredibly useful indeed.

#

If there’s one thing that Sylvain Jose Gautier can’t resist, it’s a good tail wag.

Well, that’s a lie. He also loves a really good smell, the kind that sticks in your nose all day. Or a really good cut of steak, tender and juicy and more on the raw side than not. Okay, so, there’s a lot of things that Sylvain loves and it’s too hard to pick just one, so he’ll try to enjoy them all, he thinks.

Fraldarius Manor isn’t as large as his home, but it’s busier. Servants bustle to and fro, guards stand here and there, and there’s a massive assortment of sights and smells and noises and--

Sylvain knows that he shouldn’t get ahead of himself, but his foot twitches, ready to explore. Small as the manor is when compared to the Gautier Fortress, there’s not a doubt in his mind that it holds more secrets than he could ever sniff out. He’s excited to try.

There’s just one problem.

Before Sylvain can even turn to him, his father reaches out and grabs the back of his neck firmly. He doesn’t have a scruff in his human form, so Sylvain winces. Not painful but it doesn’t feel great, and Sylvain resists the urge to wiggle out of his father’s grasp like a slippery little snake.

“Sylvain,” says his father in a hiss. “Quit your fidgeting.”

Sylvian whines in response, but it only causes his father to grip a little bit harder. He’s not angry, Sylvain thinks. It’s just a warning, Sylvain tells himself. Sylvain doesn’t get very many warnings.

“Duke Fraldarius is meeting us here at the entrance and he’s bringing his sons. Be on your best behavior.”

“I don’t want to meet his sons,” says Sylvain, lips pulling into a terse frown. He wants to sniff out things, to explore, to get stuck in tight little places. He’s got a sense of adventure that itches to be scratched, nearly as bad as that one time he’d gotten fleas as a toddler.

“You will,” says his father, his grip pinching. Sylvain doesn’t whine this time, his mouth snaps shut in a grimace. It’s better to not show pain, to just put on a brave face and bear it. Finally, his father lets go with a sigh. “There’s plenty of time to satisfy your curiosity later on. Until then, behave. We are Gautiers. Act like one.”

Act like one. Sylvain huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. Familiar words that he’s tired of hearing. Sometimes, Sylvain feels as though it’s the only thing that his father knows how to say. Gautier, this, Gautier that. Gautier boys are expected to hold the north and strike down their enemies.

Gautier boys are expected to do a lot of things that Sylvain has no interest in.

He doesn’t want to strike down any enemies, he wants to find that delicious grilled meat whose smell is stuck in his nose. Besides, there aren’t any enemies here at Fraldarius Manor. His father has spoken at length about the Duke and his kin. The Fraldarius family has long since been framed as something to both admire and admonish; their loyalty to the crown is unmatched, but also their downfall.

“Watch them carefully and learn,” said his father one night. “Learn from their drive and then their folly, and combine that with our strength. You will be unstoppable, pup.”

Servants of the Fraldarius household watch him and his father warily, skirting around them with a wide breadth. Their guards aren’t nearly so feared, but then again, they aren’t wolves. Sylvain had once asked his father about it.

“They know what we are, and so, they fear us,” said his Father. “As they should.”

Sylvain doesn’t want to be feared but he’s got little control over it, so he makes do. He’s ten and has other things to worry about, like the way that mud squishes between his paws.

Duke Fraldarius takes his time to greet them, but eventually, the double front doors open wide. The duke is a rat-like looking man, with thick and wavy hair, but a thinning goatee. A tall, slightly gangly teenager treks behind him, and their group is rounded out by a boy who looks younger than Sylvain.

They all have wild, wavy dark hair, but the boys have theirs tied back and out of their faces. The older boy looks tired but stands alert, and the youngest hides behind him, grabbing onto his thighs as he sneaks a peek.

“Philippe,” says the Duke with familiarity. He steps forward and they clasp hands, and for the first time in years, Sylvain sees his father smile the slightest bit. They must be actual friends. Amusing. Sylvain has always thought his father had none.

“Rodrigue,” says Sylvain’s father. “Thank you for having us.”

“Nonsense,” says the Duke. “There’s more than enough room and coming here is easier than traveling to the palace.”

Sylvain’s father nods. “When does his Royal Highness arrive?”

The Duke lets out an annoyed huff. “I have no idea. The King does as he wants, which includes showing up late.”

“So he’s late, then?” The Margrave laughs. “And Count Galatea?”

“Nearly here,” says the Duke. “The Count will be bringing Ingrid of course, to spend time with Glenn.”

Sylvain can’t help the face that he makes when he hears that. He’s never met Glenn or Ingrid, but his father has spoken of their betrothal before. Sylvain risks a glance at the older boy that stands before them. This must be Glenn. Sylvain’s not sure what he expected, but the somber-faced and weary teenager that stands there isn’t it.

He looks boring.

“How is the arrangement going?” asks the Margrave.

“Well, I would think.” There’s a pause as the Duke casts a glance in Sylvain’s direction. “I wish you luck in your efforts, of course.”

At his words, it’s as if his father finally remembers that Sylvain is there. He reaches out and presses his hand against Sylvain’s head, ruffling his hair. “I have no doubt,” says his father. “After all, Sylvain possesses a crest and good breeding.”

The Duke’s little smile twitches slightly at that, but then he nods in agreement. “Let’s lead you inside then and get you settled. We’ll talk about such things later. I’m sure you’d prefer some rest.”

“I’d prefer to explore,” says Sylvain before he can stop himself. His father’s smile slips and Sylvain can nearly smell the annoyance that radiates off of him.

The Duke, however, looks genuinely amused by this and before the Margrave can reprimand Sylvain, he says, “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

#

Glenn, as it turns out, isn’t boring at all.

The Duke had asked his sons to give Sylvain a proper tour of the place, but the moment that Rodrigue had turned his back, Glenn cocked his head to the side, gave Sylvain a wide smirk. “I bet that’s not what you want to do at all, is it?”

Sylvain likes to explore and Glenn likes to pull pranks and cause mischief. The two of them together are a hellish pair and they’ve barely begun their antics.

“So, what about your little brother?” asks Sylvain. They’re skirting around the eastern edge of the manner, Sylvain walking atop a parapet with Glenn following alongside below him.

“Felix?” asks Glenn. “What about him?”

“He’s not here?”

Glenn lets out a long and deep laugh straight from his belly. “Felix would never,” says Glenn. “Not unless Father made him. He’s too much of a crybaby.”

“A crybaby?” Sylvain then remembers how Felix had hidden behind Glenn’s legs. “How boring.”

“I pray to the Goddess every day that he’ll grow out of it,” says Glenn. “What’s the point of having a little brother if you can’t wreak havoc together?”

Sylvain can’t imagine. Glenn cares for Felix, something that Sylvain’s never seen in Miklan. Miklan only has curses and balled fists for Sylvain, and he’s learned the hard way that it’s easier to run and hide than try to play.

But then, Sylvain’s reminded of his father’s wish to befriend the boys. He opts to smile wide at Glenn and not think of Miklan. “I’m not your little brother, but I am younger than you.”

Glenn shoots him a smile back, but it’s a little more lopsided and a lot more conniving. “Want to go cause some mischief?”

“Not really,” says Sylvain, “I smelled some grilled meat earlier that I have to find.” He pauses, giving Glenn a knowing look. “But you know, if you want to cause some problems on the way there, I won’t say anything.”

Glenn reaches out to nudge his cheek affectionately. “I knew that I liked you the moment I saw you. Come on then; I’ll show you where Meryl’s stall is.”

“Meryl?” asks Sylvain.

“Meryl,” confirms Glenn. “Only the best cook in this entire complex. No doubt it’s her food that you caught a whiff of.”

Glenn leads him along the western side of the grounds. It’s not like the Gautier Fortress which is all cold stone and even colder weather. Fraldarius Manor is warmer and brighter, part stone and part wood, and bustling with activity. It’s like two different worlds, but Sylvain already loves it here because there’s too much to see in just one day.

And Miklan isn’t there, which is a bonus.

“You said that you’d smelled it,” says Glenn. They’re watching the stall from afar, leaning against a column. Trying to look inconspicuous. Glenn succeeds rather well, but Sylvain fails to capture his ease, looking awkward instead. The servants find it cute, giggling softly as they walk by.

“Smelled what?”

“The meat.” Glenn waves to the stand. “We’re not exactly near the entrance gate.”

Sylvain’s mouth parts slightly. “Oh, that.” He shrugs. “It’s part of being a wolf, I guess. I have a really good sense of smell.”

“Wait, the wolf thing is literal?”

“Haven’t you read the histories?” Sylvain frowns. His father’s made him practically memorize entire books; centuries of stories about Gautier men and women leveling the battlefield as Death incarnate.

You know, typical bedtime stories.

Glenn watches him for a moment, hand on his chin, thinking. Then he says, “I’ve always assumed that it was more of a metaphorical thing.”

“What’s metaphorical ?” asks Sylvain. Glenn laughs.

“Don’t worry about it, pup,” says Glenn in jest.

Sylvain makes a face. “Ew, no, don’t call me that. That’s what my father calls me.”

“All right, all right.” Then, Glenn gives him a mischievous grin. “Hey, I know how good your nose is, but how good are your stalking skills? You know, getting down low and sneaking up on prey?”

“As good as any wolf’s,” Sylvain says, sticking out his chest haughtily. It’s a lie. Sylvain hasn’t gotten a lot of practice in, but he wants to impress Glenn.

“I’ll distract Meryl while you sneak up and grab a couple of meat sticks grilling over the coals.”

“Wouldn’t she just give them to you, if you asked?” Glenn is the Duke’s son. There’s no way that the vendor wouldn’t just comply with his request.

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

Sylvain shoots Glenn a conspiratorial glance in return. He decides right then and there that he likes Glenn, and wishes he were his big brother instead. Maybe Felix will want to be his brother too.

#

Sylvain hasn’t met a lot of girls in his short life, but he’s fairly certain that most aren’t like Ingrid.

He’s read books, both fiction and non-fiction. Girls and women have their place within packs. Sylvain thinks of his mother, lovely and demure, always dressed nice and smelling like flowers. Quiet unless she’s spoken to, with kind eyes and an even kinder smile. The only person that his father genuinely loves, most like.

And then there’s Ingrid, a wild child covered in dirt and dust, smells like sweat, and whose eyes gleam with a challenge. She wears trousers like a boy, she wields a wooden lance, and she curses like a sailor when Glenn knocks it from her grip.

Sylvain’s mouth falls open in surprise. Ingrid’s only a year younger than him and at nine, she shouldn’t say such things. But Glenn doesn’t mind, shooting her a menacing little wink, and Sylvain is certain that he’s figured out who she learned such words from.

It’s not that women in the Gautier family don’t fight, only the wolves do. And there hasn’t been a female crest bearer in the Gautier line for decades. Ingrid isn’t a wolf, therefore seeing her in the training grounds with the rest of them is a bit of an adjustment.

Sylvain learns that he likes things that are a little different, though. His father drones on and on about propriety and the way that things are supposed to be, but Sylvain only finds expectations to be confining. He longs for the freedom to be himself and do what he wants.

He knows he won’t have long to enjoy it.

“What’s he staring at?” asks Ingrid rudely, and Sylvain realizes that she’s talking about him.

“You,” says Glenn, unapologetically. “And all those sticks in your hair.”

Ingrid gasps, running her hands through her blonde locks, but when there are no sticks, she lets out an annoyed shriek, throwing a rock at Glenn. Glenn throws his hands up and runs the length of the training yard, Ingrid chasing after him.

Not for the first time over the last few days, Sylvain wonders what it’d be like to have a brother like Glenn in his life.

And then, Sylvain thinks of Felix. Glenn had told him that Felix was a crybaby and scared of everything. Sylvian’s barely seen the boy-- once or twice, and the moment they lock eyes, Felix hides away again. Behind Glenn’s legs, behind their father, around a corner or even running from the room entirely.

Sylvain frowns. Crybaby indeed.

“Ridiculous, chasing each other around like that.” Sylvain turns to his father who stands beside him. The Duke is on his other side.

“Philippe, it’s harmless,” says the Duke. “They’re children.”

“It’s never too soon to learn manners.” Sylvain’s father gives him a pointed look. “Take Sylvain for instance. Always properly behaved. Always an example.”

Sylvain hides a smile behind a cleverly placed cough. The Duke smiles at him, just a little quirk of his mouth. So, maybe he hadn’t hidden his smile well enough. Rodrigue then gives Sylvain’s father a disappointed tut. “I’ll say it again: they’re children. Let them enjoy themselves. Eventually, they’ll answer the call of duty and they’ll never have time for fun again.”

Sylvain’s father huffs at that. “There’s no room for fun when you’re a lord.”

“There’s a little bit of room for it,” says the Duke, measuring a small gap between his fingers.

“You sound like his Royal Highness.” The Margrave sighs wearily. “That’s not surprising though.”

“His Royal Highness knows how to balance work and family.”

“Speaking of family, where is Felix?” asks the Margrave.

“Ah, Felix,” says the Duke. “Off hiding, no doubt.”

“Hiding--”

“It’s nothing, really,” says Rodrigue. “He’s young yet and he’s shy. It’s as simple as that.”

“Sylvain used to be shy.”

“Used to be?”

“We fixed it.”

Sylvain’s not smiling anymore. Instead, Sylvain’s thinking of kneeling on his knees for hours on end during his father’s meetings, listening to political talk. He’s thinking of reciting lines and missed meals when he’d cowered before another adult. Not really in fear, but overwhelmed by smells and sights and sounds.

He’s not overwhelmed anymore. Sylvain’s learned to tune things like that out.

Sylvain thinks about what his father likes to say.

“It’s not a matter of whether you want to, it’s that you will. Until then, it’s on your knees.”

Sylvain tells himself that his father isn’t cruel, that this is just the way of the wolf, but the older gets the less he believes. Just like Miklan. Sylvain knows that it’s not normal to throw fisticuffs at a boy half your size and age.

But if he tells himself that it is, it’s easier to pretend.

The Duke’s gaze slides from his father to him, and his lips tug downward slightly. Sylvain thinks that Rodrigue is good at reading people, and maybe he sees more of Sylvain than Sylvain wants him to.

“I’ve been thinking,” says the Duke, “What if Sylvain came to stay with us during the summer? He would be exposed to a different part of the court and different advisors. He could spar with Glenn, and perhaps even Dimitri. Spread his legs, as it were. And, it would give you and Amelie a break; I daresay you haven’t had one since your boy was born.”

The Margrave considers this for a moment so long, that the Duke continues.

“It might be good for Felix. He has no one else his age aside from the prince. And I know that you’re all about opportunities.”

“Perhaps Felix can come to the Fortress and spend winter with us, then. We’ll make it an exchange.”

The Duke considers and then nods. “I’m amenable to that.” They shake on it, a strange gesture that Sylvain’s come to learn as a show of good faith.

Except, anything that concerns his father is rarely in good faith.

“Sylvain,” says the Duke, snapping him back to attention. “Why don’t you go off with Glenn and Ingrid? I’m sure that you can learn something.”

Sylvain wrinkles his nose at the mention of Ingrid, mostly because girls are gross and Ingrid is the grossest of them all, but anywhere is better than being here. So, he scampers off.

#

Sometimes, Sylvain forgets how natural it feels to be a wolf. He spends so much time as a boy walking awkwardly on two feet, that he forgets the relief of sinking his paws into the soft earth.

And you know, claws are pretty neat too.

“Sylvain?” hisses Glenn when Sylvian pads around the corner. Glenn had told him to sneak out from his room half-past ten for some late-night fun. He hadn’t been expecting Sylvain to show up like this.

Sylvain runs a circle around Glenn’s legs. He’s the size of a large pup, not fully grown into his paws. Long and lanky legs, massive pads, and a head that’s just a little bit too large for the rest of his frame. He’s got growing left to do. His tongue lolls out the side of his mouth as he beams at Glenn.

“Are you smiling? I think you’re smiling. Oh, that’s a little weird.” Then Glenn pauses, pointing down the corridor. “I’ve already got Ingrid waiting around the corner.”

Ingrid doesn’t like dogs, Sylvain learns, but she’s not afraid of them. It’s just that she prefers horses. Ingrid relaxes a little when Glenn explains that he’s Sylvain, and then her eyes narrow as though she realizes how odd it is that he’s a shape-shifting werewolf.

She keeps a solid three feet between the two of them at all times.

Glenn doesn’t have much of a plan aside from wandering the manor grounds. “Even though it’s been nearly a week, there’s still a lot that I want to show you,” says Glenn as they round a corner.

“Glenn?” The three of them freeze at the sound of Felix’s voice, and Glenn shoots Sylvain a panicked look.

“Change!” hisses Glenn, shaking his hand at Sylvain. “Change back!”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Felix must be afraid of dogs. Or animals. Or anything, really. And, while his wolf form feels as natural as the moon high above them, he hasn’t quite mastered shifting back.

Sylvain had once asked his father if they were human or if they were a wolf, and his father had only laughed, citing that it was a ridiculous question. They were human, of course, gifted the boon of Death. Sylvain had told him that being a wolf had felt better, and his father had given him a weird look before a feral smile covered his face entirely.

Then, Sylvain’s father had quoted some archaic Gautier family motto and promised him the Lance of Ruin upon adulthood.

Sylvain snaps to attention, trying to pull his human side forward. He imagines standing on two feet, unbalanced and awkward. He thinks of blunted teeth and a shorter tongue, and a dull sense of smell. He blinks, pulling forth those feelings, urging his body to shift back into place. His bones creak and he pants.

It’s not a fun transition and it’s slow going.

“Sylvain,” warns Glenn, which spurs him into action.

Sylvain’s a boy again the moment that Felix rounds the corner. He’s wearing a loose shirt, half-tucked into a pair of trousers. His hair is tousled but his eyes are awake and alert.

“You’re playing without me,” accuses Felix, cheeks pink and eyes narrowed right at Glenn.

“Felix, it’s late,” says Glenn, rubbing at his neck sheepishly. He shoots Sylvain a look that’s half relief and half worry.

“Ingrid’s here. We’re the same age.” Felix pouts and Sylvain finds it adorable. Not that’d he’d ever tell him that; Felix might be a scaredy-cat, but being perceived as one is his biggest fear. He tries to bluff, playing it cool. Especially around Glenn.

“Ingrid is--” But Glenn doesn’t finish, because Ingrid kicks him in the shin.

“If you say that I’m special, I’ll kick you again.”

“But you are--”

Ingrid kicks Glenn again and Glenn lets out a groan of pain. Sylvain winces because he knows that she packs a punch, even with her tiny size. Not that Sylvain’s much bigger. Felix rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.

“A brute, isn’t she?” asks Sylvain in jest, leaning toward Felix.

Felix moves toward Glenn in response, half hiding behind his leg. Sylvain sighs. Felix knows Ingrid, he’s used to her because of her betrothal to Glenn. Sylvain’s still new to him and Felix is a boy that likes the well-familiar. He doesn’t like change.

Glenn sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “I wasn’t planning on babysitting tonight--”

“You said you wanted to play,” says Sylvain.

“And I do, but three against one? That’s a little unfair.”

“Then we’ll just explore,” says Sylvain. “That’s what I wanted to do anyway.”

Glenn thumbs his chin and then cracks a smile. He ruffles Felix’s hair, and then Sylvain’s, and then he presses a dainty little kiss against Ingrid’s knuckles. She makes a face and mimics vomiting in response.

“Exploring it is then,” says Glenn. Then he leans over slightly, his tone pitching soft. “It’s too late to be out of bed though, so we’ll need to keep quiet, alright?”

Ingrid’s eyes flash at that. “Beyond the gate then?”

Glenn shoots her an impish smile. “Beyond the gate,” he confirms. “Just a bit. Should be fine if we all stick together.”

Felix is the one that looks troubled. “Glenn, we’re not supposed too--”

“That’s the point, little brother.” Glenn gives Felix a steady look, brows raised. “Of course, you’re more than welcome to go back to bed.”

“No!” The three of them shoot Felix a look after his outburst, and Felix fidgets behind Glenn’s leg. “I’ll be fine,” he then says bravely, face held high and pert little nose in the air.

Glenn shuffles them to the front gate, a finger held to his lips. He’s on good terms with the gatekeeper, chatting a few friendly words and then slipping a few gold coins into his palm. Then the gatekeeper winks at the kids before turning a blind eye.

Ingrid and Sylvain bounce on their heels, but Felix walks rigidly beside Glenn.

“There’s nothing out here to be concerned about. We’re close to the manor,” says Glenn, ruffling Felix’s hair once more.

“It’s--”

“Spooky,” cuts in Ingrid, a delightful little grin spreading across her face.

“I was going to say that I wasn’t scared.”

“It’s alright, you know,” says Ingrid, matter-of-factly. “Glenn will protect us.”

Glenn does, not that it’s hard. The three of them are eager to enjoy their outing, so they play by the rules and keep close to his side. They don’t go far, barely dipping into the trees. They chase each other around, digging underneath rocks and even climb low-hanging limbs.

Even with his dulled senses, Sylvain follows the smells of the wild, his heart beating wildly. He’s entirely unused to the freedom of exploring. While his father actively encourages his wolf, he also keeps him on a tight leash. Ingrid inches closer to him, seemingly having forgotten that he’s more wolf than man, asking him what it is that’s caught his attention.

Felix still shies away when Sylvain tries to engage, albeit with a brave and determined face. He even meets Sylvain’s gaze head-on.

“Glenn’s read me the stories, you know,” Felix says. “I know all about your family.”

“Our fathers think we should be friends.” Sylvain nearly laughs at the way that Felix’s nose crinkles in response. “They are friends themselves.”

“Ugh. Who’d want to be friends with my father?”

Sylvain does laugh this time. “Who indeed?” Rodrigue seems nice at a glance, so different than his own. Sylvain can’t imagine the Margrave with a friend; he barely sees him with his mother. Felix doesn’t come closer or say anything else, but he doesn’t go to hide behind Glenn either.

When they slip back through the front gate, the Duke and the Margrave are waiting for them. Rodrigue stands with his hands clasped behind his back, but there’s a soft hint of a smile on his face, amused.

The Margrave isn’t amused. He stands there tall, arms crossed over his chest and his face hardened into a frown. Sylvain winces at the sight; his father had already been in a sour mood and this will only worsen it.

Glenn stands tall and says, “Father--”

Rodrigue holds up a hand. “Out late I see, and with the others in tow. I hope that your little adventure was fun?”

Glenn’s mouth snaps shut and he nods. “Yes.”

“Good. I’ve played my share of games when I was younger,” Rodrigue says, “but never the night before Royalty is due to visit. I usually waited until Lambert was here.” A pause. “Are you trying to get out of your duty tomorrow?”

“Of course not,” says Glenn.

Rodrigue watches him for a long moment and then sighs. “Phillippe,” says the Duke, turning towards Sylvain’s father. “What are we to do? Extra training? Perhaps a proper spar with Dimitri?”

Glenn turns a little pale at the suggestion and Sylvain doesn’t understand the hesitation. Training with the crown prince doesn’t seem like a too-terrible punishment. Sylvain thinks of worse ones, looking to his father.

He’d rather a bout with the prince.

“You can handle your sons,” the Margrave says, leveling Sylvain with a stern gaze. “I’ll handle mine.”

“They were only having fun. Nothing too egregious, surely.”

“Propriety is still expected,” says Sylvain’s father. “There’s much to be expected from the heir of the Gautier line.”

“Phillippe,” says the Duke quietly, “perhaps--”

“I will handle it,” repeats the Margrave.

Rodrigue drops the subject and nods. “Of course. I didn’t mean to impose.” There’s a pause before he continues with, “My boys will extra rounds in the field tomorrow with Dimitri. You should send Sylvain.”

“Rodrigue,” warns Sylvain’s father.

The Duke turns to Glenn. “Boys, off to bed. Ingrid, you too. I’ll speak to your father in the morning.” He turns to take his leave but then stops to give one last look at Sylvain. Hesitating. But, in the end, all he does is big them a good night.

The moment they’re alone, Sylvain’s father lashes out and grabs the back of his neck roughly, like he would his scruff. Then he tugs Sylvain along, back to the rooms where they’re staying.

His father loves him, Sylvain tells himself. He tries to think of those good moments; being taught how to shift. How to sift through scents and recognize a pack. How to track your prey.

The worse memories always weed their way in, though. Punishments that bend the will, but don’t entirely break it. Just enough to crack the slightest bit under pressure. Like Sylvain kneeling against raw grains of rice.

Or throwing him into the ring with Miklan and coming out with bruises instead. Miklan likes to hit and Sylvain isn’t quite fast enough to always avoid him.

Eventually, his father deems the lesson learned and Sylvain rises on tired limbs. He brushes the rice from his knees as his father calls a servant to come to sweep them up. Sylvain goes to bed, legs aching, but not nearly as busted as he feels.

Your father loves you, he thinks. Your father cares. This is how he teaches.

The older he gets though, the emptier the words feel.

#

Dimitri is a short little thing with blonde hair styled into the world’s worst square-cut bob. He stands there in the training grounds, feet shuffling awkwardly as he holds a wooden training lance in his hands. Glenn reaches out to ruffle his hair.

Sylvain shoots the crown prince a smile and a wave, and Dimitri returns the gesture, a small smile on his lips. He’s the same age as Felix and a few years younger than Sylvain, but unlike the youngest Fraldarius boy, Dimitri isn’t terrified of everything.

He’s just reticent about sparring.

“Glenn,” says the Prince, “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“I agree,” says Glenn bluntly. “The last time we sparred with each other, you broke my rib. I’d prefer the dummies just as much as you.”

Sylvain gapes at the idea that Dimitri could have landed such a hit on Glenn. Dimiri is smaller and slim when compared to the wiry muscle of Glenn. And it’s not that the elder Fraldarius boy is that much older or larger, but he’s more honed in his ability.

Not to mention it’s Glenn’s job to protect Dimitri, not the other way around.

Felix watches the lot of them, standing closer than usual. He and the prince seem to get along well. Ingrid, on the other hand, watches Dimitri through narrowly slitted eyes, arms crossed over her chest.

“You’re holding it wrong,” says Ingrid, pointing to the lance.

“Oh,” breathes Dimitri, changing his grip on the practice weapon, fingers tightening just the slightest bit. There’s a sudden crack as the wood splits between his palms, and Dimitri’s left holding to splintered pieces of teakwood in each hand.

Sylvain’s mouth drops open in surprise, but everyone else seems to have expected it.

Glenn sighs. “Well, better the lance than me this time around, right?”

“This is why I prefer the dummies,” says Dimitri, resigned. He motions for a new lance.

“Glenn, put him in the ground,” says Ingrid none-too-lightly. She’s always rooting for Glenn and Sylvain suspects that she doesn’t find their betrothal as gross as she likes to pretend.

“He’s the prince,” hisses Felix, leveling her with a disgusted look.

Ingrid sniffs. “Put him in the ground, please,” she amends. Then she rolls her eyes. “It’s your job to follow him loyally. I’ll talk about him however I like.”

“Ingrid,” says Glenn, hiding a smirk behind his hand.

“Your highness--” starts Sylvain.

“Dimitri, please,” says the prince. Then he looks at Glenn. “Glenn, do we have to?”

Glenn winces, looking off to the side where his father sits in the shadows. Sylvain’s father is there too, sharing a pot of tea, his dark gaze penetrating as he watches on. Waiting. Expecting. Sylvain swallows thickly.

“It’s a punishment,” sighs Glenn. He rubs at the back of his neck. “We snuck out last night.”

Dimitri looks a little put-out. “You couldn’t wait until I arrived?”

“Well, the plan was to sneak out again, but I think that’s been speared in the foot.” Glenn pauses, eyeing the new lance in Dimitri’s hands warily. “Just keep it below the neck and above the belt, okay?”

Sylvain snorts out a laugh, Felix turns bright red in the face, and Ingrid looks between them utterly confused. Girls, Sylvain thinks.

Sylvain and Felix stand off to the side, watching Glenn and Dimitri stand opposite each other in the center of the field. Glenn isn’t afraid, but he’s hesitant, and once the match is started Sylvain sees why.

Dimitri hits hard without meaning to, seemingly unable to hold back his strength. Sylvain’s watched Glenn spar with others over the last few days, but never quite like this. Glenn usually charges into the fight, blade raised and mind focused, calculating several moves ahead.

With the prince, however, he’s on the defensive, dodging to the side and trying to avoid a glancing blow. You broke my rib, Glenn had said earlier. There’s power behind Dimitri’s sloppy swings and now Sylvain can see just how he’d managed it the last time he and Glenn sparred.

Ingrid looks annoyed that Glenn is only blocking hits instead of giving them, her mouth tugged into a disapproving frown. Felix watches, enraptured. Sylvain knows that he wants to be a knight just like his father and brother. And, just like Felix who’s read about the Gautier family, Sylvain’s read about his in turn.

The Fraldarius’ are born and bred to protect the crown. Felix is no exception.

Finally, Glenn sees an opening and lashes out. Dimitri skids to the side, barely avoiding a glancing blow. He retaliates, sweeping his lance to the side in an arc-- and entirely misjudges his move.

Dimitri trips over his own feet, stumbling slightly. His lance swings wide, flinging towards Sylvain and Felix. He doesn’t see the two of them, preoccupied with finding his footing and narrowly avoiding Glenn.

Sylvain doesn’t think as he feels his bones shift and change, as instinctive as the rough howl he lets loose. One moment he’s a boy and the next he’s a wolf, his coarse fur ruddy under the midmorning sun. He darts forward and grabs Felix by the hem of his shirt and yanks him back with his teeth.

Felix tumbles overtop Sylvain. Everyone in the training yard freezes: Glenn’s eyes are glued to Sylvain. Dimitri stumbles in the opposite direction upon the sight of Sylvain as a wolf. Ingrid stands before Glenn, high-alert like she’s the one who’s going to protect him instead.

And then there’s Rodrigue and Sylvain’s father, the Duke pulled to the edge of his seat, mouth parted as his gaze flashes to Felix, worried. Because he knows that above all, Felix is a crybaby and scared of everything. A ticking bomb, really.

Sylvain’s father doesn’t seem angry, he seems proud, smug even, like the speed of Sylvain’s shift had pleased him. It’d been second nature, Sylvain acting entirely out of instinct.

He sits back on his haunches, heaving heavy breaths. Waiting for Felix’s inevitable yowling. But it never comes. Felix sits up and regards Sylvain with bright eyes and pinking cheeks. He looks at him with a strange mixture of awe and wonder.

Glenn is the first to seem confused.

Then, Felix stands and ambles over to Sylvain. Sylvain barks, tongue lolling out of his mouth, pleased that he’s at least prevented a terrible head wound. Or a fatal one, considering Dimitri’s apparent strength.

Felix rushes forward and wraps his arms around Sylvain’s neck. “Puppy,” he breathes, incredulously. “You’re a puppy.”

Sylvain wants to take offense to that, but he doesn’t. It’s the closest that Felix has gotten to him over the week and all it’d taken was for him to just be himself. Felix’s hands tighten in his fur, scritching over his skin and Sylvain just can’t help the way that his leg kicks at the touch.

Rodrigue looks utterly baffled. Sylvain’s father looks like he’s eaten a lemon and Sylvain can already hear the monotonous speech about how wolves are proud creatures, not pets. But, at that moment, Sylvain rather likes being like a pet, his lineage be damned. His father talks a lot about his future and legacy, but this is the first time that he’s felt like he means something.

“I’ve never been able to have a dog,” says Felix into his fur. “But I guess a wolf as a friend is even better.”

Sylvain licks the side of his face and instead of cringing, Felix laughs, a soft sound like a calm breeze on a warm summer morning.

That’s when Sylvain falls in love, even if he doesn’t yet realize it.

[queenmuzz]

Deep Blue Sea: Chapter IX

Lost in Translation

Read the full story on Ao3 HERE

You stood there, sweating half to death, as the priest droned on and on about “Mawage and Twoo Wuv” (he had a very noticeable lisp). You were stuffed into a corset that was much too tight, much too revealing, and your arms were itching from the taffeta. It was awkward and tedious, and you'd rather be anywhere else but here.

Fredrick stood in front of you, oblivious to your discomfort, beaming brightly, and for this reason alone you hadn't just picked up your floofy skirt and walked out.

“If anywon has any Owbjections to this union of man an wife, speak now, ow fowevew hold youw peace” The priest spoke out, and a moment of silence passed over the crowd.

In the distance, the sound of what seemed like barking dogs got louder, and louder..but they sounded odd.

arf! Arf! ARF! ARF!

And then the heavy oak church doors burst open, revealing two massive sea lions, their entrance causing the congregation to scatter. Seagulls followed, squawking noisily. It was complete chaos.

In the centre of the storm, being pulled by the two sea lions, was a wagon with a large fish aquarium. It looked as if Cinderella's fairy godmother had drunk a little too much gin and tonic when granting her wish.

There, seated up to his waist in sloshing water, was Vergil, as handsome as ever, lounging back as if he was King of the Ocean, and looking very dapper with his blue bow-tie that matched his scales. On his wrists were matching cuffs, which on any other man, would look like a knock off Chippendale's dancer, but just added to his good looks.

The pinnipeds made their way to the steps leading up to the altar and stopped. Vergil, calmly and with great conviction spoke loud enough for the priest and the wedding party to hear.

“I object”

“Now listen here,” Fredrick's father, red with fury attempted to say something, but Vergil shot him a glare that could have cut diamonds. The man turned pale, and stepped back, hiding behind his wife. (she was wearing a garish fox stole over a white dress)

Vergil's glare vanished when he saw your face, “Please, my love.... will you choose me instead?”

You needed no other persuasion, as you launched yourself at the man, for a passionate kiss. Vaguely, you could hear your mother shriek “THE DRESS!” but you couldn't care less as you leapt into the tank with him, and with a sound that reminded you of a dolphin click, Vergil commanded the lumbering beasts to turn around and pull the wagon out of the church, leaving the congregation flummoxed at what just happened.

You, on the other hand, were the happiest woman alive......

*****

You awoke, your eyes wide in the early morning darkness.  You could still feel the pressure/pain of the corset squeezing your ribs, despite the fact you were wearing dry, loose fluffy pj’s.  The sickening sweet smell of lilacs still lingered in your nose. It had been so realistic...but it had all been a dream.

So, why did you feel so disappointed?   That the wedding was still going ahead as planned? Or…

You looked over to the surface of the water, almost as smooth as glass, reflecting the dawn sky, purples, pinks and oranges giving the water the appearance of being made of flame.  And at the edge of the inferno, his head resting in crossed arms on the platform, was Vergil, softly dozing. He must have been asleep for some time, as his hair was dry and swept back, aside from a few unruly strands that fell over his face in defiance.  His face looked calm, almost peaceful, and you idly wondered if that was how he truly was in the wild. The more you admired this side of him, the more you…

Oh

Oh no…

You loved him.

The realization hit you like a tidal wave, threatening to pull you down into an endless vortex of emotions, both good and bad.

With Fredrick, you felt like you were separated emotionally by a pane of thick glass that could never be shattered.  He’d listen to your problems, but everything was just a credit card swipe, or a written check away from being solved in his mind.  He respected you as a person, but as a partner? Never.

Contrast this to Vergil, who while most of the time, was literally separated from you by a pane of glass, had gotten closer to you than anyone ever had.  You’d laughed with him, discussed human and merfolk culture, tried foods, and built up a closer bond with him, closer than only a few other people including Fredrick .  And now, you were growing feelings for him.

Which led to the turmoil.  You knew there were several roadblocks to your feelings.  First was the fact that you were human, and he was a merman.  Despite the fairy tails, something like him turning into a human was an impossibility (and the fact there was no way in hell Vergil would ever want to).

And you were certain that he would never reciprocate your feelings.  He might be cordial, even friendly with you, but the fact was: he was your prisoner.  Anything he would feel would be tainted by the fact that he could never escape, despite him denying your requests to free him every morning.  (You still didn’t know why he said no, but you remember Doctor Griffon had something called a ‘leash’, did it have anything to do with that?)

This wasn’t right.  You shouldn’t feel this way.  You were practically a married woman, only a month and a half to go.  Fredrick would be home soon, and the final preparations were already in progress.  You couldn’t hurt your fiance like this, you couldn’t hurt yourself, and you certainly couldn’t hurt Vergil.

So, you made up your mind, you needed to set him free.  But if he kept saying no…. Well, you’d find a way to convince him, or find a way to get him home.  That way, he’d be happy and free.

Even if it broke your heart….

A slight splash took you out of your morose thoughts to see the still sleepy, yet piercing grey eyes watching you curiously.  His head was cocked to the side, and for a brief moment you panicked, terrified that mind reading was another merfolk ability.  But you needn't have worried, as he gave you a small smile.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, and you faked a smile, masking everything you felt at the moment.

“Never better” It wasn’t a lie.   Even after the emotional rollercoaster you had been on yesterday, and the most awkward dream (you were pretty sure merfolk couldn’t command sea life), you felt more refreshed than you had in months.  You looked up at the skylight, still flooding the room with burnished bronze.

“I don’t usually wake up at the crack of dawn, it feels weird,” you stretched and yawned.  You got up to make some breakfast, (bacon did sound delish right now), but his hand gripped your forearm, causing you to freeze.  Oh god, merely his touch, which once had been easily brushed off, now had the ability to stop you dead in your tracks.

“I... “ he asked, attempting to put words into a sentence, “I haven’t seen the Dawnfather rise in a very long time, not since my capture,”  your chest caved in at that realization. He’d spent most likely a year or more trapped indoors, and the fact that he hadn’t gone insane was a miracle in itself.  A lightbulb went off in your head. Perhaps, even if he declined your offer of freedom, there might be a way.

“Hey Vergil,” you asked hesitatingly, unsure if he'd get offended, “I have an idea…. I, uh… how averse you are to be being carried?”

******

A few minutes later, you and him were sitting on your back patio, with him wrapped in a wet towel.  Surprisingly, despite his size he wasn’t too heavy to lift, and other than him being a bit slippery, you’d managed to carry him as if he was a fishy bride out of the house, and into the fresh air.  All nervousness you had about him being insulted at being carried around like a prized tuna vanished as he let the first rays of sun hit his face. His eyes closed, his breathing stopped to nearly nothing, and for a moment, you’d thought he’d fallen asleep, but then… he smiled. It was soft, gentle, and absolutely genuine.

“It has been far too long,” he murmured.  To himself, or you, you had no idea. It just made you feel so happy to see him look so content.  You let him sit in the late dawn light in silence for a few minutes, just soaking in the natural light and air, fearing that reminding him of your presence would shatter the moment of calm.  While he’d smiled at you before, this was unlike anything he’d done before. Was he like this in real life, out of captivity? Or was it just the reaction to being outside his little prison for once?  

“I… I can bring you out more often, now that the weather is much better,” you stammered, “Or if you’d like I could just let you go back home…” the sentence hung in the air, lingering for a moment, before being blown away.

“While I appreciate the offer, I must still decline,” his smile did not abate as he looked at you, but there was something different about it, some sort of sadness?  What was he hiding?

A robin chirped and landed a few metres away from the patio, pecking at the dewy soil, before breaking out into a song, as it’s mate came down to join it.  Vergil watched in fascination as the two of them hopped and sang to each other, in a cute ritual of courtship.  

“Do all birds do this?” he queried, “we do not see them very often on the open ocean, they’re usually either feeding or en route to a new location.  Their cries are not as musical, or perhaps they do not sing while on the wing.”

“Not all, some use their plumage to attract their mate, some do dances, some sing, and some do all three” you explained, watching as the birds flew off in tandem, before disappearing into the branches of a nearby spruce tree.  You closed your eyes, enjoying the first rays of sun, and listened to the distant chirping and song. For once, there was no wedding preparation, no business deals, just you, nature….and your feelings for the man beside you. You attempted to shove those intrusive thoughts back into the deep recesses of your mind, including the latter.  ESPECIALLY the latter.

A beautiful melodious sound seeped into your ears, one that confused you.  No bird that you knew of had that crystal clear tenor song. Perhaps you were just imagining it?  You slowly opened your eyes, worried that it would be carried away like a dream upon waking. In the clear sunlight you saw what it was coming from, and you were entranced.  Not a bird, nor the wind, nor a tune coming from your cell phone.

It was Vergil. Singing.

Isil shem’ore

Isil lin’ore

Mira pharar, mira ofar, mira kanar,

D’rashana karif’ore

Isil dilshonin sa oplalim

Sa kintal o sa polim

Sa racarto shipal o sa whelik

Nekalin parand’ore fa pishim

Ah, mira sifa, mira sifa

Winik fa pishim lin’more.

His eyes remained closed as he finished the haunting melody, leaving everything else seeming muted and drab in comparison.  You let the silence linger for a few moments, hoping against hope that perhaps he would go into another verse. And also because you had to take a minute to keep the tears from flowing.  You didn’t want to give him the wrong opinion of why you were crying.

“That was…. beautiful,” you slowly spoke, just above a whisper, as you quickly wiped your eyes.  Vergil smiled at you, just like he had when he had taken his first breath of fresh air, and you felt yourself heat up, and you hoped it was because of the intensifying sunbeams.  “That was Old Mer, right? Do you mind giving me a rough translation of it?”

He cocked his head and averted his eyes, and for a brief moment you thought you had overstepped your bounds.  “It’s… an ode to the rising of the Dawnfather, a celebratory song.” “You know,” you joked, “we have legends of the alluring sound of merfolk, whose entrancing songs would lure ships to their doom.  I guess there’s a kernel of truth in that.”

“Well, we never wished to draw attention to ourselves” he explained, “but when you humans are spending multiple cycles alone on your ships, I suppose any source of singing could be considered captivating”

You laughed of the mental image of some poor godforsaken sailors being lured in by a bunch of mermen singing the equivalent of a raunchy ballad. “Well, it’s absolutely gorgeous, would you mind singing it again?  I mean,” catching yourself, “if it isn’t against your customs or anything.”

He chuckled, and closed his eyes, and with that, began singing again, just as beautiful as before.  The only thing that worried you was that he was turning a bit red. You hoped that his stay indoors for such a long time wouldn’t cause him to sunburn.

******

So, for the next few weeks, you’d added a new habit to your morning routine.  You’d wake up earlier every morning, wrap him up in a wet towel and carry him to the back patio to soak up the sunshine.  Occasionally, you’d cook up some breakfast to bring out to him, sometimes you’d just sit out and enjoy the mid spring air.  And every so often, he’d start singing. Sometimes that song, sometimes others, but they were all beautiful. You really liked those times.  You tried to bottle those feelings you had for him, but you couldn’t help it, his smile and singing would reel you back into admiring him.

But not today.  You awoke to a deafening bang, and as you sluggishly panicked for a few moments, thinking an accident happened, before a flash of light from outside made you realize there was no issue, it was merely a thunderstorm.

You padded out, cheap instant coffee in a mug (despite your father’s insistence that you could afford better, your fellow college students had introduced you to your addiction) to the platform to see Vergil already primed and ready to go outside.  There was electricity in the air, and not from the storm.

“Sorry, looks like the weather’s not great for our usual get together.” you apologized, but his eyes seemed different, eager.

“I don’t mind storms, in fact, I enjoy them very much” he replied, “If you are not against the idea, I would like to experience it first hand.”

So, you sat there, soaked to the skin within a few minutes as the rain poured down.  You didn’t mind, especially when you saw the look on his face as the rain and wind hit him.  With the sun, he had seemed the very picture of contentment. But with the storm, he looked practically ecstatic.  There would be no singing today, especially with the howling of the wind and the roaring of the thunder drowning out everything, but you were willing to put your selfish desires away to watch him truly enjoy himself.

“It’s nice to have someone to enjoy the storm with,” you spoke, “my mother was always terrified of the things, father was always too busy, and my friends thought I was crazy to go outside during times like this.”

“I have always enjoyed storms, the sharp divide between the calm of the ocean, and the chaos when one breaks through the surface”  he responded, a nostalgic smile on his face, “my brother and I would enjoy these times as finlings, seeing who could stay above the surface the longest before being swamped by waves.”

“Your brother?”  you stiffened at the revelation.  In all the months you’d known Vergil, he’d never divulged anything about his family.  You’d never asked, letting him have as much privacy as you could give him, but you’d always wondered.  If there were family members, perhaps you could contact them, to find a way to free him safely.

“Yes,” his smile faded, “had you told me that I would miss his annoying presence, I would have said you had been playing with the pufferfish for far too long.  But now…”

“You had a falling out?” you probed gently.

“I suppose that would be putting it lightly,” he grimly explained, “you would have liked him, he was much more friendly with humanity than I ever was, even after….”

“Vergil, you don’t have to tell me anything, if you don’t feel comfortable,” you slowly told him, even though you were dying to know about this mysterious family member.

“No,” he replied firmly, his eyes going as hard as the driving rain, “you deserve to know this, after all this time,” and despite being soaked to the bone, and beginning to feel a chill, you focused intently on him.

“I resided with my brother, and my mother and father, most of the time to the north, where there were once innumerable fish.  A few seasons ago,” he paused, refusing to face you, “a ship with one of those infernal nets that scoured the bottom of the ocean passed through, and despite my parents best efforts to evade it, they both got caught up in it.” he took another deep breath, and you held yours. “By the time my brother and I were able to cut through the ropes, it was too late, both were suffocated by the mass of fish that crushed them.” His hand went out and began to draw on the sole dry part of the wood, sheltered by the awning.  “The ship had an unusual design on its hull, instead of the figure of the merfolk in better times, it was three marks…” he drew them out with his wet finger, three circles, one for each corner of a triangle, a jagged line connecting them. Your heart sank. The official logo of Mundus Inc.   “I was furious, I would have sworn to wipe out every damn ship off the surface of the ocean at that very moment.  But,” he pulled up his fins, hugging them close, “I knew that was impossible, so I decided to destroy every ship that carried that cursed mark.  My brother, Dante, soft hearted as he always was, told me that going on a rampage ‘wouldn’t bring mom and dad back’ as he said, but my anger clouded my judgement, so when he attempted to stop me, we fought.  It was a vicious battle, but in the end, I was victorious.”

“You didn’t...” you asked, horrified.

“No, I did not kill him, I’d already lost my parents, I was not going to destroy my last blood relation. We merely went our separate ways.  Although,” he sighed as the wind and rain began to wind down, “perhaps it would have been better had I lost to him, captivity can be rather humiliating,” he turned to you, his smile returning, “at least it hasn’t been as bad as I had feared.  I met you, after all.”

You flushed at his compliment, and you hoped he didn’t notice.  His disdain for your father, and humanity in general now made perfect sense.  Guilt by association flooded you. The fact he even tolerated you was more than you deserved for what the company you were about to take over had done.  And now to add insult to injury, he was being kept prisoner by the killer of his parents. How he had restrained himself from strangling you these past few months was nothing short of amazing.  The leash….. Perhaps that was the key to it all.  

You shivered, partially out of the thought of how he must have hated you, and partially at how chilly you felt, now that the storm was over.

“Are you cold, Sifa? ” his voice intruded into your despondent thoughts.  You looked up, to see him watching you in what seemed to be concern.

“A little…” you admitted, before the thought of what he said, “Sifa? What does that mean?”

Vergil was taken aback, as if he didn’t realize he spoke the word, before cautiously answering, “It’s an old mer term… it means, ‘human’.  Not in a derogatory term though,” he clarified as you picked him up to bring him back into the warmth of your home, “more of a nickname. You do not mind…?”

“I like it!  It sounds so beautiful!” you exclaimed.  Vergil’s reaction seemed to be one of relief, which was odd.

You came back, dressed in dry clothes, and with some time to think.  Perhaps, there was a way to get Vergil to the freedom that he so desperately craved.

Toweling your hair as Vergil scarfed down a plateful of sardines, you ventured, “Vergil, do you think your brother would want to know how you’re doing?”  

He froze, brows furrowed as he thought hard about it.  “He is fairly easy going, slow to anger, and quick to forgive,” he chuckled mirthlessly “a bit too quickly in my opinion.”

He seemed amenable to the idea of reconciling with his brother, so maybe… “If there was a way to contact him, to let him know you’re still okay, how would I be able to give him the message?”

There was an agonizing period of silence, before Vergil slowly reached for the amulet that was around his neck.  To your astonishment, he took it off and handed it to you, like it was the most precious thing to him.  

“This was a gift from our parents, I was given one, and Dante the other.  It was a way for us, being twins to ‘sense’ each other’s presence. Taking this to the ocean should alert him to me, and if he is amenable to a reconciliation, he will come.”  He looked at you, his gaze hard and fixed. “This information is not to be revealed to anyone aside from him.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Vergil, I’m honoured that you trust me enough with this”  and he softened, smiling at you, “I swear to you,” you firmly proclaimed “I’ll keep this secret safe.”

*****

It was the third day you had taken out your personal sailboat out into the bay. The fates could not have aligned better.  The weather was perfect for sailing, the last of the wedding preparations had been completed, and your father was still out on business, leaving you with days of free time.  And due to it being mid week, any nosy pleasurecraft were nowhere to be seen.  

Well, it would have been perfect, if the guest of honour had shown up.  Three days you’d been sailing, looking like Captain Ahab searching for your Moby Dick, except he hadn’t appeared.  You’d spend all morning, docking around noon for a quick lunch and a phone call to Fredrick (He was planning to come home with your father, but business would keep him in Japan until the very last moment, much to your dismay), before heading back out, sailing far enough from the shore to give you some privacy, but close enough to the shallows so that it was safe for your small vessel.

Each day ended the same, with you coming home, looking at Vergil despondantly, shaking your head and handing back the amulet for him to keep for the night.   Your failure seemed to affect him as well, and you could have sworn his tail was losing its newly regained lustre. But he would always seem to be hopeful when he handed it back to you the next morning.

So, this afternoon was no different as you fingered the precious gem around your neck.  It felt wrong to wear it like that, but he had assured you that he didn’t mind, and besides, it would be less likely to get lost.

The only difference was that instead of eating a sandwich, or a smoothie, you had treated yourself, and bought yourself a pizza.  So you sailed around the cove, humming the tune that Vergil had sung for you, attempting to take your mind off the fact that you’d seen neither fin nor gill of his brother.  Part of you worried that perhaps this Dante wasn’t as forgiving as Vergil had said he was, or worse, he’d been captured as well....

PHUNK!

You lurched forward, nearly face first into the wheel, as the boat lurched to a stop.  You picked yourself up, attempting to figure out what went wrong. You hadn’t hit anything, as the sudden stop didn’t feel like something blocking the boat, more like something pulling it.  You quickly checked your anchor, assuming that perhaps in your worry, you were unaware that you had set the anchor by accident. But nope, the metal contraption still lay on the stern deck, the chain only mildly disturbed from the sudden stop.

Perhaps kelp?  You closed the box of pizza, before grabbing your jackknife to cut whatever obstruction was holding your boat back.  Heading to the stern, you crouched down to see what the hell was going on. You’d passed this area before, and never had any issues, and yup, even in this shallow water, you couldn’t see much vegetation, let alone anything that could snag your boat.  Taking a deep breath, you plunged your head into the water to get a better look.

Of all the things you were expecting, a pair of eyes, white hair, and brilliant red scales wasn’t what that.  You stared shocked for a few seconds, a few dumbfounded bubbles blurping out of your mouth, before the man’s (who aside from fin colour, looked like a carbon copy of Vergil) hands reached out, and with a vise like grip on your shoulders, yanked you clear off the deck.

You panicked at the sudden submergment and began flailing wildly, but his hands never loosened.

All you could hear, over the stream of terrified bubbles that contained your screams, was a voice echoing through your skull.

Where the Hell is my brother?

[elizabethgoldlokidottir]

Something Precious: Act I, Ch. 3

ACT I, CHAPTER 3 ONE NIGHT IN THE STABLES “As the years passed, he fell into despair and lost all hope. For who could ever learn to love a beast?”-Walt Disney’s Beauty and the Beast 299 YEARS  AND TWO MONTHS LATER They were walking among the spring path in the dark castle gardens. These gardens, once neglected, had started to bloom and flourish again. Rose bushes lined the path that was strewn with beautiful pink delicate leaves that had fallen from the flowering trees. The light smell of flowering plants carried throughout the air, giving the environment nearly a sweet taste to the tongue. The dirt path, lined with stone walls coming up to a person’s midriff held the strange couple. The dark one was one of them, yet he had looked different today. For the first time in hundreds of years, there was a genuine smile upon his lips. Usually what came closest to a smile was the smirk he had before he was going to do something stupid. There was also that sarcastic smirk that he wore when he was dealing with clients, where he knew he had to smile to be pleasant but at the same time planned to do what he had to gain what he wanted. No..this smile was different. He had never felt such joy. He had come close to it when he was with Milah, his former wife but this was even a different feeling than such. He couldn’t explain it. He felt a strange warmth inside of what he thought was his cold dead heart. The reason for this hope, this light and this warmth was the woman who walked beside him. She had light skin, chestnut curls that touched her shoulders and a lithe build. Her soft white hand held the imp’s, her delicate fingers intertwining with his clawed digits. In her other hand she a light pink parasol that he had gotten her as a gift. As they walked along, her bright blue eyes looked into his, and the Avalonian princess spoke in an accent that he would never forget. “You know something, Rumplestiltskin?” she asked with a slight teasing smirk to her own beautiful smile. “You’ve never asked me to come on a stroll with you before.” “Well my dear…” he began in his high pitched voice as he looked to her with a toothy smile “...I think we needed some fresh air. The dusting can wait.” Belle couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her lips. For being the maid of the dark castle she very rarely did any cleaning if she did any of it at all. Mostly, she spent her days conversing with the lonely “monster” that lived within its walls. Yes, he may have been prickly at first, but it didn’t take long for her to break down his defenses. She found him to be a surprising person, for she had discovered early on that he was not what he had seemed. That smile that she saw now was his true self, shining through all of the darkness. She could see him through that cloak of darkness that he had wrapped around himself for his own protection. His skin that she expected to be cold and strange was in fact just like normal human skin...warm. As his own amber eyes met hers, he could see something within her that he had never seen before...the absence of fear and hatred. Most people had hated him, treated him as a different species even when he had done nothing to them. He never thought that anyone would see him as anything more than a monstrosity. He saw something else within her too, an intelligence that matched his own. Unlike most men of the era who wanted a woman who was seen and not heard, he desired the opposite. He had been so lonely all of these years that he yearned for someone to talk to..for human interaction. He began to engage in conversation with her just like he did with her every night. He smiled as their hands swung back and forth lightly, like two children holding hands upon the playground or two young lovers during the festivals. “Alright, here’s one.” he said with a quirk of the eyebrow. They often did this, coming up with hypothetical questions and situations to get to know each other and find out about the other. Neither one of them had ever been in love before, and those that they said to love had treated them so poorly. Both were a little scared and neither one of them prepared. “You had mentioned to me last night that you desired to have children one day. If you had a child...what would you name them?” Belle blushed softly, a pink shade forming on her cheeks as she smiled at him. “Well the only question that remains: is it a boy or a girl?” At that, he too had blushed, a rose gold hue coming to his cheeks, the light bronzing remaining as he spoke. “A girl.” It was a truth that if Milah had allowed for another child he would have desired a girl. He had always wanted a girl. Belle smiled “Well that’s an easy one. Gaston and I...I tried to talk to him about it but he was always too busy ranting about how he wanted male children and how unfortunate fathers who had all girls were. He was always too busy talking about himself. But I have one in the back of my mind. If I ever have a daughter...I would love to name her Elizabeth.” He thought about it, and smiled pleasantly. It was a beautiful, strong name. There was something about it too...as if it meant something. After all, Rumplestiltskin knew better than anyone else that names had meaning. “I like it. In fact I love it. Just out of curiosity...why?” She shrugged her shoulders. “It means hope.” They were so busy talking that they did not realize a change in the weather. The sun that had just been with them a moment ago had disappeared, covered by ever darkening clouds. A veil fell over them. The smell of flowers that had been there now mixed with the ionic smell of the gathering storm. He should have noticed, they both should have, but the couple were too engaged in conversation to care. Only when a sheet of rain came down from the heavens did they notice the change in the weather. They both squealed and then laughed, trying in vain to cover each other up, Belle holding her parasol over him and Rumplestiltskin holding his cloak over her head. As the rain came down harder, the water soaked through the materials in no time, soaking them both. “Well this isn’t doing any good…” he laughed impishly at himself and so did she as he grabbed her arm and began to run with her. “The stables aren’t far now, dearie!” “I expect fresh hay when I get there!” the beauty laughed along with them, the lovers hand in hand as they ran for cover. The horse stable was the closest building that the castle grounds had to offer shelter from the storm. They ran into the grand barn, for Rumplestiltskin did have several horses that pulled his carriages and a riding horse of his own, kept immortal, that he had since he was a young man. Once inside, the imp bolted the main door shut. The whinnying of the nervous horses from the storm carried all around them. Belle’s own horse, Phillipe, was looking at her expectantly, shifting judgemental eyes at the dark one. “I have the feeling that he still doesn’t like me.” the imp teased as he tried his best to wring the rainwater out of his long wet hair. “Give him time. I got used to you.” Belle winked as she tried her best to squeeze the water out of her hair. She walked over to a black horse with a white stripe running down his forehead and into his muzzle. “So...are you going to introduce us?” Belle patted the horse gently on the neck. The imp ran his fingers through the horse’s mane. “This is Black Beauty. I just call him Blackie.” He could feel her blue eyes on him as he blushed. “I know..but in my defense I was twenty years old when I got the colt.” “So how come he’s...still alive?” He shrugged. “Magic.” he said as if it was perfectly normal. They continued to stroke the horse, Belle moving so that she was right next to the dark one. Not even inches away from him, she remained right but his side, their arms touching. Both of them made eye contact and then blushed as they looked away from one another. Belle wrapped her arms around herself as she felt the cold from wet clothes. Rumplestiltskin immediately sprang into action. He tried to look for something dry to give her, but he had nothing of his own that was dry. “Wait eh...just a moment…” That bronzing came upon his cheeks again as he took off his cloak, tossing it to the side along with his outer vestments. His vest and his silk shirt were tossed aside, leaving him bare. With the magic that was within him, he made his body temperature rise. He took a light horse blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders once she removed her own cloak. Belle blushed as her eyes focused upon him, her gaze shifting so that she could take in the shirtless imp before her. Once ready, he pulled her in close. His cheeks had never looked so much like rose gold. Slowly yet surely, she placed her head upon it. She could feel his heartbeat, could hear it. He had a heart just as she did, one that she could tell was beating ever more rapidly within his scrawny chest. He looked down at her, his amber eyes darting towards the chestnut hair of his beauty. She had her head in the crook of his neck now, for he was not much taller than her. A few silent moments passed between them, both of their beating hearts ever so close to the other and their lips only inches away from each other. No words passed between them, only the sound of the horses quietly nuzzling their hay, the sound of the rain upon the roof of the barn, the rumble of thunder and each other’s breathing. He finally took up the courage to speak, for to make a sound in this situation was like trying to cut through the tension that charged the stalls. “Are you warming up?” He whispered softly, breathing quite heavily and out of uncertainty as he gazed down at her. Belle, her oceanic eyes gazing into his, breathed rapidly as well. “Y...yes..” They gazed into each other’s eyes, both breathing in and out as the tension grew. With every moment, they came closer and closer to the edge of the unknown. Their desire grew, for each yearned for their lips to touch and to be nearer to one another. Each of them tried to speak, but could not find the words. They only gave whimpers and unsure sighs of uncertainty as their lips drew closer. They were getting ready to leap into the unknown. They wound their arms more tightly around each other. Slowly but surely, their lips began to meet. Their eyes closed in bliss. The beauty’s soft lips met his as they held each other close, the beast kissing her lips softly, slowly, and with all of that warmth that he felt whenever they touched. The kiss went on for what seemed like an eternity..a beautiful eternity. They could no longer hear the thunder and the lightning raging outside of their wooden hideaway. When it was finally time for the kiss to part, they breathed heavily, gazing into each other’s eyes. Yet neither one of them could pull away. They had gone too far and now the current was pulling them in towards each other. “We shouldn’t…” the imp started, but then yielded to her kiss yet again. They kissed with more passion now, Rumplestiltskin’s tongue meeting hers as his hands encircled her sides. Her hands began to paw desperately at his back, clinging to him.  He could feel her warm touches, and he arched right into them. He arched his back, as his hands began to roam further down her sides. Their bodies arched against the other’s, a warmth growing around them. The heat within the stable began to rise. Their passion grew as his hands roamed, hers as well along the small of his back. He held his fingers lightly suspended above the back laces of her dress, as if waiting for her permission to go further. He didn’t even know if they should, but now was not the time for doubt. They were over the edge now, and there was no going back. She yielded into his touches, at which he immediately began to undo the laces on the back of her dress. Their clothes began to fall to the floor, the wet articles pushed to the side in the aisle of the barn. Without hesitation from either the beauty or the beast, their two outlined shadows in the light of the lamps moved across the wooden and stone walls and disappeared into an empty, clean freshly bedded stall. Outside the thunder boomed. They remained in the barn for the rest of the afternoon and the night. Nearby in the villages, some reported that they saw a ghostly vision of a nearly invisible foal, a spirit, who had galloped into the mountains towards the dark castle, towards the low yet warm light of the barn within the grounds.

[my-little-dumpster-fire]

‘Deed I Do

P A R T 1/3

After traversing the halls, John jiggling every ornate knob that hung proudly from heavy doors and ducking his head in before bouncing back out and leading you onward from one seemingly unsatisfactory room to the next, you were transported back in time. If it weren’t for the alcohol warming your face and belly, you’d feel like a young girl again, following John wherever he led, looking for mischief and enticing you with an irresistible smile long before he’d actually grown into it. Back when his teeth were too big and his knees were uncovered and playtime was still a requirement, not simply John’s subtle rebellion now that he was grown.

Just as you started to tease him about being lost in his own home, John found what he was looking for and pushed in the hidden door to his father’s barely used study. The walls were lined with books, including the door through which you’d crept, and the bar was loaded with untouched bottles of every vice you could imagine and some you couldn’t. There was a shiny silver record player tucked in the corner and you wondered why such a device didn’t have a more prominent place in the home. John moved toward it effortlessly, dropping your hand and gesturing toward the concealed bar at the same time, while he fiddled with the needle and pulled black discs from their yellowish paper sleeves to inspect them. He took his time as the words were obscured both by the comfortable darkness of the room which he’d made no moves to enlighten and his own inebriation. While you were crouched before the false door at the front of the mahogany desk, plucking another bottle to share from the secret cache, John had selected a tune for you two and it filled the enclosed space with raptious cacophony of brass and strings.

You stood quickly, too quickly, evidenced by the clear drops on the elder Whittaker’s desk from your attempts to pour two glasses. Once satisfied with your impaired barkeeping skills, you straightened and tugged at your blouse proudly. You turned to find your companion and immediately John’s hands were on yours again, ignoring the drinks you’d prepared in favor of swinging you around the room like he had before. His feet were surprisingly light, quick, and his apparent enjoyment contributed entirely to the fun you were having. Emboldened and liberated by the privacy, your laughter was almost as loud as the song, only matched by John’s own barking chuckle as you twirled and swayed and miraculously managed to keep from injuring each other with the frantic movements.

“I am amazed that you haven’t tired of me yet,” he smiled as he spun you out by one hand before yanking you back against his chest.

“Oh, John,” you said breathlessly as your bodies collided. “I love you and you know it!”

John laughed louder. “While the sentiment is returned, dear, in the interest of friendship, I must advise against it.” He spun you outward again, letting go our your hand to spin around himself. I am dreadful at love!”

You opened your mouth in protest, but John beat you to it.

“Haven’t you heard? I’m a divorcee,” he said clumsily emphasizing each syllable. His arms extended in the air as he spun on his heels, enjoying his drunken state almost as much as you were.

“Oh that’s old news, John,” you waved a hand carelessly in his direction. “I was surprised at the letter I received, sure that my mother would have run barefoot across the country just to inform me that she was right about you.” John shrugged in acceptance as he grabbed the bottle you produced and took a long drink. “But you have-” you started, but stopped at the sound of John’s lips popping loudly as his pulled them away from the wet rim of the bottle with force.

“-AND!” he interrupted as if his addition were a source of great pride, waving a finger high over his head in order to steal your attention. It worked, leaving you unsure what to look at, his strangely excited face or the emphatic flapping of his hand above him. “My most recent engagement has met an untimely and rather inconvenient end...” he said, lowering his voice to a ridiculous octave at the end of his sentence, eyes rolling back dramatically for effect. “Or so my mother tells me.”

“Oh John....Sarah?” You sighed sympathetically and reached for his hand. He passed you the bottle instead, moving toward the small array of furniture in the middle of the room, while you followed. You took a sip and settled into a high back chair, removing the tapestry pillow with the dogs woven in and held it comfortably in front of you.

John fell haplessly to the settee, allowing his shined brogues to float up to the overstuffed arm, rolled tighter than the cigarette that threatened to tumble from betwixt his straight white teeth.

“So you hadn’t heard.” He mumbled barely keeping control of the thin white cylinder as it wagged with his words. Only after his statement, certainly not a question, could John’s Lips halt their movement long enough for the tapered end to catch the flame he offered. John snapped the metal top of the lighter with gusto, locking eyes with you as he released that first puff with satisfaction.

“I’m so sorry,” you offered genuinely.

“I’m not,” he laughed. That laugh that made the skin around his nose crinkle in delight, but also had just enough force to make one question it’s sincerity. It had been some years, but you knew the laugh well and after the night you’d spent tossing rounded pebbles through the broken window of the Brixton family’s potting shed, shattering glass and juvenile expectations held for each other, you could vouch for its authenticity.

“Can you mean it, John?”

“I certainly can,” he smiled, exaggerating each word as he peeled his lanky body from the cushions. You held out your hand to him as he made his way across the room. He grinned and shook his head, but immediately pulled the cigarette from his lips, pursing them to blow smoke out the corner of his mouth, narrowly avoiding your face as he passed you by. Your fingers touched as the cigarette traded hands with practiced ease. “You always were a grubber,” he chuckled, tucking a long finger under your chin so his dark eyes could peruse your features from up close. You let him, the drink not entirely out of your system and the warmth of his hand not unwelcome in the chilled air, smiling as you brought his cigarette to your painted lips. His eyes lingered on your concave cheeks, sucking in the blend you remembered as his favorite, before he turned away, continuing his walk toward an open glass door that led to a small balcony overlooking the greenhouse.

“A trade then?” You offered teasingly. John stopped in his tracks, the heel of one shoe planted but the winged tip waggled in the air as he considered the offer. The dreamy look in his eye and the rising smile told you that he too was lost in memory, recounting a game from your youth. So many afternoon suns sunk, so many corners of both estates, so many greenhouse windows had collected the hushed sounds of childhood bartering that grew more valuable and reckless in adolescence. Mother of pearl buttons for silver coins. An antique ivory cameo on black ribbon for a pilfered pocket watch engraved with a stranger’s monogram. Little trinkets traded hands carelessly until you both matured beyond gifts, but not the game that connected you. John invoked a trade when your equestrian skills surpassed his. He knew that his father’s old motorcycle had caught your eye and later that week you both found yourself with the wind in your hair, beasts of very different breeds between your knees. Just after learning that your mother was planning to “introduce” you casually to a young man whose family came from good stock and old money and was all of the things she expected you to desire in a husband, but your fifteen-year-old mind had only one desire.

“A trade, John!” Your voice was high and pleading as the lanky boy from over the hill walked away from you. “I’m begging you. As a friend!”

John spun on his heel then, some unrecognizable in his eyes as he stalked back toward you. A bitter young boy had transformed into a man on a mission before your eyes. “As a friend then,” he sneered.

You would have gasped, but John Whittaker’s lips pressed against yours stole breath and logic and time, each grasping hopelessly at the hand of its compatriots as they tumbled from your mind.

The kiss, magical as it was, ended far too quickly.

“There,” he sighed, running a thumb over your wrist, more than likely feeling the inhuman pulse against his fingertips. “That cad gets nothing from you then. You got your first kiss.”

“It’s a trade, John,” you reminded him, unsure what you could possible offer in return for such a delight. “What will you take in return?”

“Mine,” he answered honestly. Your eyes widened as his dark ones darted away, seeking the comfortable visage of the grass between you instead. Without warning he leaned up again, snatching another kiss, quick, your second, his too, before releasing your hands and turning away again.

“A trade?” His lips curled around the question in amused curiosity, though it seemed whatever was going on in the world around him, John was able to find something with which to amuse himself. “Offer your best.”

You popped his cigarette back between your lips, holding it carefully between your teeth to free up your hands. With one, you slid your glass of gin across the Victorian side table next to you. Holding it in front of your eyes, for dramatic effect and to focus your hazy vision on the project, you spun the crystal gently. Finally the offending mark revealed itself after several passes and you dragged your thumb over the faint red mark to clear it for him. John chuckled and took the glass before you were finished, pulling it up until his bottom lip rested directly over the spot you’d tried to wipe clean. After draining the tumbler and snapping his teeth in satisfaction, John’s lips pouted out for your observation.

“How do I look?” he mumbled through overly pursed lips that were now the faintest shade of your rouge.

“You’re beautiful and you know it, John,” you teased.

“I do know it,” he nodded, straightening his shoulders as he did. John continued on his previous, but momentarily interrupted, path to the glass balcony doors, propping one open with his foot as he swiped a thumb across his bottom lip, successfully removing the tint. “Though it was hardly a fair trade,” he leaned back against the door, opening the room even more and letting the breeze ruffle his wide and pleated pant legs. “You gave me my own glass,” he smirked as your eyes flew to the side table. Only then did you notice another glass, one much closer to your chair than the one you’d handed him. “ You’ve been drinking out of mine,” he chuckled, turning to look out over the glass peaks to take in the vast estate grounds that rolled out beneath you and well beyond. His heritage and his legacy, past and future found common footing in the acreage and had become an intimidatingly green reminder of who he was meant to be from now on.

“Your generosity is always appreciated,” you sighed, twirling your fingers carefully to let a cluster of hot ashes fall into a Waterford dish that was never meant to hold waste, but seemed as good as any ashtray in the moment. You stood from your spot and joined John at the door, welcoming the fresh country air and his closeness again.

“And reserved only for you, my darling, tell no one of the philanthropist before you,” he smirked, leaning back against the doorframe and rolling his head to face you, accepting the cigarette you extended to him. He eyed the bright red ring against the otherwise clean white paper, a perfect imprint of your lips, before pulling the stained end to his own lips, taking another slow drag and blowing it back out into the night air.

Drunk and tired, the two of you eventually found your backs flat against the expensive rug of his father’s study. The air was filled with static as John had grumbled while he stood to flip the record in the shiny silver box the last two times the music ceased before finally giving up and letting the needle graze the empty rings of the black disc while scratches and pops filled the room and gave you the perfect soundtrack for deep thoughts. You scrutinized the ceiling, noticing the yellowing along the edges and the thin lines carved into the plaster where you and John had lodged your brother’s throwing knives as teenagers. Such a long time ago it seemed, since the two of you could get up to mischief freely. The world changed with the Great War. It seemed the world had scrubbed it hands until the stains of red and black, of dirt and mud, were distant memories like the faces of the wounded and dead. The rest were left to reinvent their lives as if nothing had occurred.

“I don’t believe you’ve told me,” Johns voice interrupted your thoughts and in an instant you were drawn back to the Turkish rug. Your fingers mindlessly drumming against the floor while John fiddled with a loose thread that had been previously hidden in the pleat of your skirt. Drawing your middle finger and your thumb together, you reached down and flicked the nail against John’s wrist bone. Caught unaware of his actions, Johns hand pulled away dutifully but only for a hairs length of time before he was back, wrapping the thread around the knuckle of his fore finger and delivering a sharp tug until it snapped. Your face fell in mock annoyance and John responded as only he would, dangling the thread in front of his lips and blowing it directly into your face.

“You’re a child,” you giggled, batting at your nose trying to remove the thread and failing to do so.

“No, darling,” John corrected, propping himself up on one elbow next to you and leaning over to offer his assistance. “I’ve been assured that I am too grown to be a child,” he grinned, but the corners of his eyes did not cinch in the endearing way you often observed. With surprisingly delicate fingers, John stilled your hand and pulled the thread from the crease of your nostril and presented it to you, the same way he’d let it dangle in front of his own lips. You shot him a tightly drawn smile, a willing participant in his games but not without your own teasing reproach, and blew the thread from between his fingers and it floated into oblivion. It’s final resting place was unknown to you as Johns dark eyes held your own as a captive audience. “So tell me,” he urged with surprising sobriety. “Why are you here and not with your own husband?”

Your loud groan would have been berated by anyone else, but John Whittaker had a unique gift. He saw you, oldest of your family’s name, with expectations so heavy they would ruin your posture if you should shoulder but half, yet he never held you accountable when chose to ignore that particular detail of your existence.

If your arms weren’t so heavy with inebriation, you’d be grasping for the now empty bottle once more. Tracing the inside of the glass with your tongue, chasing the final drops of oblivion sounded preferable to speaking on a topic that had been talked to death in your family over the last months. You weren’t at all surprised that John was unaware or that he’d ask if he was, so your head lolled to the side, ruffling the back of your once delicate updo. The strands had fallen loose by John’s fingers only minutes earlier. The grown child had been dancing recklessly, twirling you around the room with no regard for your heart or the way his spinning and smiling was sending you reeling like the song that poured from the broad brass mouth of the phonograph. He always preferred your hair down and never missed an opportunity to remind you, ignoring decorum as was expected of him.

Your name never sounded better than when it was slipping from the full lips of your pal Johnny. With a sigh and a smile, you reached out to touch his face, somehow the same one you’d held in your childish gaze yet maturing, the weight of his dramatic year tugging the corners of his eyes down in fatigue.

“He is free to be someone else’s husband,” you stated simply with a swipe of your thumb just under his eye. “Or wife...” you scoffed, releasing John’s warm cheek. “Whatever he prefers.” John’s eyebrows shot up at the same time his mouth dropped open with a slight uptick in the corners, in what appeared to be curiosity bordering on morbid excitement over your own failed marriage. “Stop that,” you laughed, gentle caresses gone as you smeared your hand across his face. He attempted to pull away, but like a potter with stubborn clay, your hand extended further cupping his forehead to push the skin of his brows back into some semblance of concern. Unable to fix the smirk on John’s face, you sighed and continued with your story, one your mother had implored you to keep private. She’d also imploded you not to do anything rash, which your recent divorce and return to the family estate were both considered.

Sparing no detail, you recounted to John the woes of a loveless, touch-less marriage to the man hand chosen by your mother to take you away from the countryside you loved. He hung on every word, face vacillating between excitement over the gossip he knew no one else would receive and genuine pity. Right up until you shared the final detail.

“The footman??” John shot straight up from his resting place where his head was cradled carelessly across your lap and out of the reach of your storytelling gestures. He spun, torso twisting to look back you and your confirming nod. “In your bed??”

You rolled your eyes and joined him in a seated position, crossing your legs and tugging your skirt hem down over your knees. “His bed,” you corrected. “I’d taken to sleeping in a spare room, but jewelry of all things brought me back to his suite and...” you gestured vaguely, letting your lips flap under the force of an emotionally exhausted exhale. It all sounded so ridiculous out loud. It was ridiculous in your head too. Marrying young, being carted away to a new home, where you were promptly forgotten and apparently replaced by someone more suited to your husband’s desires.

John’s laughter was inappropriate given the nature of the conversation, but as always it was the only balm for a restless mind or a clenching heart. “So, is it fair to assume that you two never...consummated...your relationship?” You hated the way the word fell from his lips. Of course he would ask such an indecent question.

“We tried,” you shrugged, hoping your honesty would discourage further questioning.

John’s laugh was proof that your plan had backfired. “What do you mean you tried???” A beaming face, unable to contain excitement or curiosity, and loud guffaws inspired your own giggling, no matter how inappropriate.

“Will you stop laughing!” You chided as your stomach started to ache. Talking of a failed marriage shouldn’t ever be such fun and yet it had been the truth of more than a decade that John Whittaker managed to bring tears to your eyes in the best ways no matter what topic you two stumbled upon.

“You were married for three years!” He shouted.

“Only nearly!” You corrected him.

“But how on Earth did you manage?”

“I lived quite comfortably without anything between my legs since birth and have faired just fine, thank you,” you shot back, tone dripping with vitriol.

“That’s because-“ he started, but you quickly jumped in.

“Because what, John? I’ve not been to your bed?”

“I-“ he stumbled and coughed. “Yes, actually,” he said, chest puffed out. “If you’re worried about remaining a virgin at your advanced age, I’d be happy to take that off your hands.”

Your fist flew of its own free will, colliding with John’s shoulder just before he caught your wrist. You were laughing and expected the same of him, but upon seeing John’s face your laughter died on your tongue. His expression had suddenly turned so serious.

“I’m glad that cad got nothing from you,” he said, voice low and surprisingly sober. “He wouldn’t give you what you deserve.”

You swallowed, certain it would be audible. Stupidity and bravery battled for your response and as the words fell from your lips, it proved to be a tie.

“And what do I deserve, John?”

“You deserve to be ravaged,” he said in a low voice, his smirk turning almost sinister right before your eyes. But it was still so undeniably John’s. Like a child with a wicked secret, his smile grew wider as he leaned in close. “You need a man who desires you, all of you,” you hadn’t even noticed how close John’s face had come until his lips hovered next to your nose, dark eyes fixed on yours as you leaned back, afraid that the most innocent touch would set the room ablaze. The air was already so thick and warm, sharp contrast to the chill that had shrouded the room upon your entry. John’s intimidating stare, the alcohol, and gravity all worked against you until your back was hitting the plush rug beneath you. John’s hands had found their place next to your head, one still wrapped around your wrist and pinning it to the floor, his legs were pulled up and his knees rested just next to your left hip. His body stretched out across yours, not touching, just hovering and holding you, his willingly entranced captive, against the floor. “You need to be devoured,” he said, slowly lowering himself. Your eyes closed, out of fear or anticipation you weren’t sure, and fluttered open at the feeling of John’s soft lips against your forehead. Before he spoke, he pushed up against the floor and rose slightly. “You need to be shown how good it can be,” his lips fell again, just below your eye and next to your nose. “You need to be loved well.”

“I thought you were dreadful at love, John,” you said without thinking. Instantly his face pulled away and you were kicking yourself for not knowing when to shut up. It clearly wasn’t the time for teasing, but John rolled away, flopping onto the floor next to you with a huff.

“I am, dear,” he sighed, chuckling slightly. “But the other bits, I am very good at.”

“You think rather highly of yourself, don’t you, John?” You laughed, feeling the tension in the air start to evaporate and the usual playful conversation returning as easily as it had slipped away.

“You think rather highly of me too, darling,” he teased and you rolled your eyes. He was right of course. And he knew it of course.

“Well, we should fix that,” you announced, adjusting yourself until you were comfortable against the floor and turning your head to look at his smiling face. “Shall we talk about what ended your marriage next, hmm?”

“Infidelity,” John sneered as best he could. His upper lip twitched, revealing bared teeth as every consonant hit the roof of his mouth in a harsh staccato. But you knew better. There wasn’t a cruel bone in John Whittaker’s body and he could spoil his face with as many foul expressions as he pleased, you knew that he’d be smiling, or at least smirking, in no time at all. It was his natural state of being, even when he shouldn’t. Especially when he shouldn’t.

“You can’t blame Larita,” Johns jaw fell open and his brow furrowed, comically, but prepared to argue. “You can’t blame your father either.”

“I most certainly can-“ he started, gesturing wildly with one arm, while lifting his neck, head, and shoulders off the ground slightly

“You can only blame yourself, John.”

He laid back down and turned his head to you, a grave look on his face. “Did everyone know that my marriage would fail?”

You couldn’t bare to see pain in his eyes, already so dark and so full of everything. “Yes,” you said honestly. Relief flooded you as John shook his head smiling, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours.

“And you didn’t think to tell me...” he clicked his tongue in feigned disappointment.

“I did tell you!” You pulled back, only briefly regretting the space you created. “Everyone told you!”

“So they did,” John admitted, rolling to his back and tucking one arm behind his head. The shimmying of his shoulders pulled his body closer to yours as he tried to get comfortable against the Byzantine rug. “Perhaps I should have listened and married-“ he paused and closed his eyes, inhaling through his nose. While he held the breath, chest puffed and risen, you took the opportunity to ask.

“What really happened with Sarah? She doesn’t strike me as someone who would be unfaithful.”

John exhaled with resignation. “I’m told It was I who was unfaithful.” You leaned back, to get a better look at him, but also to create more space between you two. It wasn’t you he’d been unfaithful to, yet you took deep pains in his admission. Sensing your withdrawal, John turned his head to face you again, letting his free hand drop from its place on his chest to yours, gripping your fingers as if to reassure you. “Not with other women,” he clarified. “Or men,” he added, rolling his eyes at your furrowed brow. “She wanted something I couldn’t give her....just like Larita, I suppose,” he chuckled. “Don’t tell her I said that. She is no longer my fiancée, but if she learned I compared her to the American....” he shook his head. “I’d have even less to offer a wife, if you know what I mean.”

You covered your face, embarrassed for him. “How can you joke like this? You’re a man in ruin,” you teased.

“Only financially,” he smirked, but you uncovered one eye to glare at him. “And relationally,” he shrugged. “It would appear as if I am far too boring for some women and far too restless for those that are left.”

“So what of those in the middle, dear?”

“Is there such a woman?” He sighed dramatically. Yes. “I should marry her before her wits return from holiday.” John rolled his head back to look at the ceiling. “I should marry you.”

“Ha!” You laughed loudly into the night. “Can you imagine? Two divorces-“

“And a half,” he added with another of his boyish winks.

“Two and a half divorces,” you began your tirade again, “two failing estates. I can see the look on Veronica’s face now, when he she receives word that I am to be her next daughter. John, she’d slip into death willingly, simply to haunt the Whittaker house for the rest of our life.”

“It does sound fun when you put it like that...alright, I accept,” John laughed and you swatted his arm. “What’s next? A date perhaps? June is a lovely month for weddings.”

“Well of course, my love, pick a day any day!” You laughed, pushing yourself onto your elbows, then rolling to your hands and knees, trying to rise to a standing position, miraculously without falling over.

“The first!” He shouted jovially from his place on the floor. “I won’t wait any longer than I absolutely must!”

“June the first,” you muttered, opening and closing the ornate, but squeaky drawers of James Whittaker’s barely used mahogany desk. “Ah ha!” You declared victory, producing a sheet of thick paper and an ink pen. “John Whittaker and-“

“What are you doing, my dear,” John rolled to his front, watching you with his chin propped in his hands as you bit your tongue and wrote out the details in your best hand. “Come back to bed,” he flopped onto his back once more, arms spread wide to welcome you.

“You are not in bed, John,” you reminded him, still completely focused on your task.

“Then come back to the floor,” he whined, rolling to his stomach again and pushing himself up when he realized you wouldn’t accept his invitation, no matter how tempting. “What is this?” You felt his breath against the shell of your ear and his chest against your shoulder blades. His leaning against you only served to remind you how intoxicated he still was and your willingness to let him reflected your own state. There was mumbling in your ear as he read over your shoulder, one hand slipping around your waist until it rested upon your stomach. After aggressively crossing your final T, you placed the pen down hard against the desk blotter. John quickly snatched the paper from the desk and tightened his grip on your middle as he held the paper up to read.

Squinting as he ignored the beating you rained down on his chest, John smiled broadly. “I love it. First thing tomorrow, we’ll send it to everyone we know.” He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, no more intimate than any other kiss you’d shared with him, because the invitation he held in his hand, the one that bore your names in your best script, was for your blurry and tired eyes only.

For one night, you could indulge your gin soaked fantasy and pretend that your wrecked lives were about to face much happier days. That soon and very soon, John would announce a marriage that would stick. That you’d soon be the next Mrs. John Whittaker and your stint as Mrs. Henry Crane would be nothing more than a distant memory. You two settled back against the floor, though it felt more like falling, giggling as if the words were true with no fear of the future. For in the morning, your jokes would be long forgotten, the invitation discarded, and in a couple of days you would be returning home.

@something-tofightfor @the-blind-assassin-12 @strugglingsemicolon @littlemermaidprobz @suchatinyinfinity @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @breanime @disengagefrmreality

[icedcappujaeno]

iv. unheralded salvation

Hebrew 13:6. “The Lord is my helper; I will not fear; what can man do to me?” - except that he was no man.

→ genre: medieval, angst, fluff, smut (on later chapters) → words: 1, 411 → pair: werewolf!jaehyun & postulant!reader

warnings (in this chapter): mentions of physical and emotional household abuse

✭ 🕊 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰 | 𝔬𝔫𝔢 | 𝔱𝔴𝔬 | 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔢 | 𝖋𝖔𝖚𝖗  🕊 ✭

( a/n: late upload. hehe. this chapter was intended to be uploaded last friday - i wasnt satisfied with some parts so lmao-- BUT i thought tumblr APP had saved the draft ALSO THE FONT IS HORRIBLE PLEASEEE )

“Are you okay?”

It was Fei who asked, another postulant in the monastery who you considered as a close friend. She entered the convent a month before you and she was the one who guided you in the beginning of your stay. You consoled to her in times of need which made you practically sisters by different mothers.

There was a look of concern written all over her face.

“Why are you asking?” you asked, genuinely curious regarding her inquiry.

She looked at you for a moment and shrugged, getting back on scrubbing the dirty sheets. “I don’t know…you’ve been out of it lately.”

It was your turn to look incredulously to her as your hands stopped the motion of back and forth. “What do you mean?”

She sighed, pausing the laundry for a moment and then she stretched her hands and leaned her aching back. “You’ve been spacing out.”

“Me? How so?”

“Sister Martha. She told me to keep an eye on you,” she shrugged, getting her hands back again on scrubbing the sheet through the wooden plank. “She told me that you broke 2 plates, a bowl, and Sister Margaret’s favorite teacup all in a span of a week. You know the first two weren’t remarkable – although Sister Margaret’s teacup, she was furiou –”

“Yes,” you interrupted, remembering all the broken shards you cleaned and scolding that you received after. “Yes, I know. I heard. I’ve been avoiding Sister Margaret and thankfully, we haven’t crossed paths yet.

There’s…There’s just a lot in mind.”

“A lot?” she asked. “You’re caged in high walls of praises and prayers and all we do is routine, what else is to think about aside from God?”

Fei bit her lip.

“Did your family contacted you?”

You shook your head immediately and looked at her direction. Telling these kinds of things to another postulant or novitiates or any other person in the convent was prohibited as it is regarded as a form of gossip.

But postulant Fei and you passed that stage for a long time on your friendship.

“No, they didn’t!” you shushed, brows furrowed as you looked around to see if anyone heard. “It’s…something else.”

Fei scooted closer to you, face painted with an interested look.

“Something else? What else could that be?”

You looked straight into her eyes, biting your lip in hesitation.

Though not fully guaranteed that she will tell, you wanted to tell Fei everything about Jaehyun. You wanted to tell her how suddenly, a man barged into your window and you witnessed how he healed quickly without medication nor help – furthermore transform into the hideous beast that Reverend Mother told you to be aware of, and then come back another day to ask friendship.

You wanted to tell Fei how his soft lips landed upon your cheeks – how it left a burning sensation that keeps you awake almost every night.

You wanted to tell Fei how your eyes were glued to your window every night, wondering if he’ll be back.

Keeping it to yourself was indeed a hard task to do, but the chances that your friend will report to the superiors was high enough to set the bar. You had to admit you were too much of a coward to let them know.

“Fei,” you bit your lip. “Do…do you believe in those beasts Reverend Mother was talking about last time?”

She blinked a few times, looking at you as if you asked the most ridiculous question in the world.

Then she burst into laughter, wet hands of hers hitting her knees which made squelching sounds as it wet her skirt. The side of her eyes were forming tears of joy, but you were not amused by any of her actions.

“Nonsense!” she breathed between her laughs. “Those are not true! I don’t even understand why Reverend Mother had to announce that. There’s no such thing as supernatural beasts!”

Her laughter stopped, and she wiped the tears from her eyes.

“Don’t tell me, you’re spacing out because of that matter?”

Yes, you wanted to answer. But instead you only bit your lower lip.

“Well I’m pretty sure it’s not true, and if it is, we’re safe here,” she shrugged. “We’re under a convent anyway.”

You didn’t pry anymore and imitated her actions – a simple question was all that came out of your lips and you were already looking ridiculous to her.

Maybe it was all for the better.

--

You stood by the Reverend Mother’s doorway, your heart loudly pounding against your chest as you tried to breathe to calm yourself down.

A few days after, she had called you in to discuss something, and you already had a clue on the issue that will be talked about.

Two knocks, and you heard a soft, motherly voice that gave you permission to come in, and you did.

Reverend Mother sat in her glorious wooden chair, intricate with complex baroque designs that made her look like a queen on a throne. She was writing a document, and when your presence was noticed she gestured for you to sit and wait for her. She continued writing, the bridge of her nose scrunching making her spectacles move a little upward.

When done, she placed her pen on its holder and took off her spectacles.

“I heard about Sister Margaret’s teacup.”

There was a scrutinizing gaze masking her features, and you can feel the disappointment in her tone. Your head lowered, gaze following the tip of your shoes.

“I apologize, Reverend Mother. I promise I won’t do it again.”

A soft hum escaped from the elder’s lips. “Look at me, my child.”

You did, slowly tearing your gaze from the floor to Reverend Mother’s eyes.

“Is something bothering you, dear lamb?”

Her calloused hands reached out to your head, the comforting touch reminded you of your grandmother’s. You leaned into her touch, yet you shook your head in respond to her question.

You wanted to tell her about Jaehyun. You wanted to tell her that beasts do exist, physically, but so far, this particular beast have done you no harm.

But if you do, there would be so much to suffer - the consequences would not be as good.

“No, nothing, Reverend Mother. I truly apologize.”

You lied, and it was as if you’re beginning to get used to it even though you know it was against the Almighty’s laws. 

It doesn’t feel good to lie, as there was guilt that was being a thorn to your heart.

Reverend Mother’s hand retreated back to her side, and there was a heavy sigh from her chapped lips. Her back leaned back to the wooden chair and she looked at you as if you’re a lost child - and you aren’t sure if that is genuine concern lingering on her eyes.

“Perhaps, you need to take a break. I will send you back home for a few days--”

“No!” Hearing the word home made your heart race, and images from the past inside the household replayed in your mind. It was not a very happy thought:

Your father’s scream as he threw the satchel to your mother’s direction.

Your mother’s agony as she cried helplessly on one corner.

You don’t want them again.

“No?”

The elder’s voice kept you out from your thoughts. All the remaining strength from your body seemed to have dissipated as you fell to your knees, hands reaching to hers with pleading eyes.

“Please, Reverend Mother. Don’t send me back.”

You look pathetic, you know. But you had to do anything but to go back.

Reverend Mother is a pitiful woman. You know that by heart.

But by the way her eyes landed upon yours, it seemed like she made a decision.

“You need to, my child. Perhaps back there, you could recollect your thoughts and come a new.”

Your mouth was about to open but the wave of her hand silently told you that you are dismissed, and it is the rule -- once the Reverend Mother waved her hand, the discussion was over.

You stood up. You were not having any of this. Be it rebellion, but you are not going back home. The older woman was surprised with your action, for before you leave you had to receive her blessing.

But instead, you glared to her, standing tall before your superior, and turning your heel and slammed the door shut as you leave.

cont.

[carrotcouple]

Those Who Have Fallen (AO3)

“Kan Taejun reporting,” he said loudly. All of the Generals turned to look at him and they all looked tired. None of them looked at him very kindly and that made Taejun feel even worse.

“Ah yes, Young Master Taejun,” Soowon offered him a thin smile. “I’m sorry to ask this of you all of a sudden, but I am currently appointing you as temporary Fire Tribe General.”

Warnings: Blood and Gore

Taejun stumbled into the clinic, his arm was freshly bandaged and he was battered up. Someone from his brother’s army was urging him to rest but he refused. Heukchi and his personal men followed him into the makeshift clinic where the war doctors were slaving away trying to save those that had been hurt on the battlefield. The entire clinic smelled of blood and medicine. It would have made Taejun want to throw up if he hadn’t gotten used to the smell of an overcrowded clinic a long time ago.

King Soowon had ordered for them to fall back momentarily. Not because they were losing the war, but so that everyone could rest up and they could go through strategies again. The other side had also pulled back for the night. Both side had seen several casualties and Taejun himself had only just managed to count his own men as Kilsung had tended to his wounds. Taejun thought it was a good thing that they all had come to learn how to treat others.  

“Taejun sama! Can I please help you and your men?” A tired doctor asked, looking like the last thing he needed was Taejun and his men asking him for help.

“No,” Taejun waved him off. The man blinked, surprised. Taejun turned to his own men. “As of now, these doctors are all your superiors. Work with them to help the other soldiers and do whatever you can. If you feel like there is something you cannot do, come to me. I am going with Heukchi to go see if there are any more men on the battlefield that we can bring in. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir!” His men all spread out through the clinic and Taejun, followed by Heukchi went back out to the scene of carnage. There were dying fires and fallen weapons. There was blood everywhere and dead horses. The smell of burning corpses was overwhelming and Taejun ended up struggling to not breathe through his nose. Taejun tried not to avert his eyes as he moved forward, calling out for anyone who might still be alive.

Death wasn’t a new concept to him. Before he had met Princess Yona, he had had his men hurt and kill people without a second thought. But a battlefield was something else entirely. Especially since he had grown to try and save as many people as he could. He was honestly surprised that Princess Yona’s group hadn’t shown up to the battlefield. Saving the fallen on the battlefield was gruesome work. He was covered in blood and gore up to his elbows and he had to ignore the bile threatening to rise in his throat.

“H...lp….e” Taejun froze and then rushed towards the voice he heard. There was a man laying there, a sword in his gut and the tip was buried in the ground. Taejun felt his stomach lurch as he could see some of the man’s organs. He was a Fire Tribe soldier, one that often stayed by his brother’s side. Taejun could do nothing to help this man. Taejun knelt down next to the man, ignoring the blood and the ugly squelch he heard as his knees sunk into the wet mud.

“Can you tell who I am? I am Kan Taejun,” Taejun said gently.

“Tae...n...sa...ma,” the man rasped and then choked out blood. “He...lp.” The man stretched out a shaking and bloody hand towards Taejun and Taejun didn’t even hesitate as he reached forward to grasp it.

“I cannot,” Taejun admitted. “I am sorry…”

“I...see…” The man turned his eyes towards the sky.

“I am truly sorry...if I had more power...if I knew more...I could try to help you. But I cannot.” Taejun bowed his head, pressing his forehead against the man’s hand. If he had been stronger physically and more skilled in fighting, he might have been capable of saving this man in the middle of the battle. If he had been more knowledgeable in medicine, he might have been able to at least keep this man alive. But sadly, Taejun was neither. He was horribly weak and mediocre.

“Tha...k...you…” The man said.

“I will stay with you till you pass. You have fought valiantly and surely the Gods will reward you in the next life…” Taejun whispered, just loud enough for the man to hear.

“Than…” The man never finished what he was going to say. Taejun felt his eyes burn but he shed no tears. He sat there, clutching the man’s hand for a couple more minutes, before he stood up slowly. He called for the retrieval team and they came to take the man’s corpse.

“Taejun sama,” Heukchi walked over to him with a Sky Tribe soldier. “You are being summoned to the King’s tent.”

Taejun turned, his eyes wide. He hadn’t done anything to be called. The only thing he could think of was that he had broke formation for a moment to save one of his men, but King Soowon usually allowed him small things like that. Was it because he had sent his men to help in the clinic? Did the King consider them to inexperienced? Or did he think that Taejun was wasting his men’s time or overworking them? Taking a shuddering breath, he wiped his blood stained hands on his armor.

All the Generals were in the King’s tent, standing around a table with strategic planning charts that King Soowon was explaining. All the Generals except for his brother.

Panic instantly flooded Taejun’s senses and his hands went to grip at the robes at his sides. His brother was considered a brilliant strategist that was outshined by only King Soowon. There was no way his brother wasn’t at a strategy meeting. Keeping that thought in mind, he forced himself to calm down, to kick all the worst case scenarios out of his mind, to ignore the nagging voice in his head that told him that his father’s betrayal had been a sudden surprise as well.

“Kan Taejun reporting,” he said loudly. All of the Generals turned to look at him and they all looked tired. None of them looked at him very kindly and that made Taejun feel even worse.

“Ah yes, Young Master Taejun,” Soowon offered him a thin smile. “I’m sorry to ask this of you all of a sudden, but I am currently appointing you as temporary Fire Tribe General.”

Taejun’s knees felt weak and he had to brace his hand against a table to his side to keep from falling to the ground. Regardless of how much he had been through, he was standing in front of the Generals of different tribes and...for some reason, he seemed to be representing his tribe.

What is he talking about?

“I don’t understand,” Taejun said, lifting his chin and trying not to show how weak he currently felt.

“General Kan Kyoga in missing in action. We have not found him among the fallen and I can only assume three things. One, he was forced away from the battle and has taken shelter somewhere else. Two, he was taken hostage by the other side. Three, he has betrayed Kouka-” Soowon said.

“That’s nonsense!” Taejun barked out before he could stop himself. Joodoh sent him a sharp look and Taejun tried to still his trembling limbs. “My brother...is devoted to the Fire Tribe…”

“And so was your father,” Joongi said curtly and Taejun finally tasted bile on his tongue and he willed it away desperately.

“My brother is not my father. My brother would give his life for King Soowon if he could.” Taejun sent an icy glare at Joongi. He felt small in front of all of these war seasoned generals, but he would protect his brother’s honor. And although he knew his father was a traitor, he would protect his father as well if he could.

“So I believe as well,” Soowon’s smile was still tired, but seemed genuine. Taejun didn’t know what to believe. He knew the other was a fantastic actor and had fooled the Princess and the Thunder Beast for a long time. For all Taejun knew, he could be lying to him. He could be thinking that Taejun and his brother were traitors. “However the fact remains that he is missing and as of now we don’t have anyone to lead the Fire Tribe into battle tomorrow.”

“I can’t,” Taejun said, feeling very insignificant. “I am not as skilled as my brother and I do not have his leadership qualities. I cannot abandon any of my men on the battlefield if they fall.”

“But you are also a fine fighter of the Fire Tribe. You grew with your father and your brother’s training. You are only a little behind your brother when it comes to skills. It is true that you don’t tend to use those skills, but they are there. We could see it on the battlefield today. Those of the Fire Tribe look up to you and are willing to follow you. I can choose no other person to lead the Fire Tribe in your brother’s stead tomorrow.” Soowon sounded kind and empathetic and Taejun wanted to give in and let the other comfort him by only speaking, but Taejun had become better than that.

“I canno-” Taejun began desperately. He was not his brother and he was definitely not his father.

“That’s an order,” Soowon said firmly, fixing burning eyes on Taejun. Taejun blinked, suddenly feeling like he was looking at Princes Yona.

“Understood, Your Majesty,” Taejun bowed his head.

“I understand that this is a lot to deal with. You are dismissed for two hours. Return to this tent when that time is up.” Soowon nodded at him. Taejun bent down further, his nails cutting into his palms. He walked out of the tent and then headed to his tent. Heukchi followed him quietly, asking nothing. He nodded at Heukchi and then unfolded his tent flap and it fluttered shut. He unbuckled his sword and was about to put it on the table when his legs finally gave way. His knees buckled and he fell to the floor. He clutched his sword to himself, trembling violently.

“Brother...brother...where are you?” Taejun whispered, his fingers shaking. “Help me...I don’t know what to do. Where are you?” Taejun cried. “I don’t want to take your place.”

“You seem distraught, Young Master Taejun.” Taejun’s head shot up and he saw a familiar head of blond and his heart rushed into his mouth. The Ouryuu, known as Zeno, stepped forward and planted himself in front of Taejun. “Zeno is here on behalf of the Princess. She wanted to know how things are going.” He gazed down at Taejun’s dirty face and sighed. “Things do not seem to be going well, though…”

“My brother…” Taejun croaked out. “My brother is missing. Taejun bowed his head till it touched the ground and he felt his eyes burn again. “Help me. Help me find my brother. If…” Taejun squeezed his eyes shut, the words heavy on his tongue. He didn’t want to think of such a scenario, but he had to be ready for anything. “If he has turned against Kouka...please...just return him to me. I will hide him and protect him.”

“Young Master Taejun, you do not bow to Zeno.” Taejun shakily raised his head to see Zeno frowning. “You are a friend of the little Miss. We would help you without a moment’s hesitation. Zeno will report this to the little Miss. We will contact you again.” Zeno nodded at him and then was gone before Taejun could even figure out how he had come to such a place.

Taejun continued to sit there on the ground, clutching his sword to himself. And he prayed to the Gods that his worst fears wouldn’t come to pass.

[sparkledeerfr]

A Hunt

Aka ‘Poor York is not built for this’

Warnings: A big monster gets dead, and some mentions of blood.

-------

Adeline is sitting on her heels, far north of the Cities in the wastes, staring at a set of tracks. She hasn’t laid eyes on what they’re hunting, but she can tell enough about it from the clear prints now that they’re off the spongier Plague soil and onto the sandier. It’s big- about the size of a pronghorn stomper if she had to guess- and slightly wolfish judging by the pad and claw placement. It also has a slight limp or injury on the back left leg by the way it drags it.

But these prints are older. They’re closing in on it, but it would likely be a bit longer before they caught up to it, especially if York kept lagging behind. She knew her and March were tough to keep up with, especially for someone who was unused to longer distances like he seemed to be, but it was a tiny bit annoying particularly as he’d insisted on not bringing too many people. Or as he put it ‘I don’t believe we’ll need an entire retinue’. There was also something about ‘not being able to afford it’, but she didn’t believe that the mention of payment had come up. Really the whole thing was a bit weird but he did look worn out as though he’d been chasing it himself for a long while, and if someone asked for help and genuinely seemed to need it she wasn’t the type to say no even if the person did seem a bit… Well. He was kinda dumb, if she was being honest. Sweet, slightly formal, pretty, and kinda dumb. Either the kind of person you’d feel bad about letting wander into the wastes on his own, or the exact kind of person you’d send in to bait someone else into a trap. If it was a trap they were taking their sweet time with it (and had staged it well), but she didn’t worry about it considering March had agreed to come with her. With March by you you didn’t really worry about much. “‘Bout another day I’d say,” Adeline said, standing back up and dusting off her hands. March was scanning the horizon, DeSoto sitting patiently by his side. “That long?” York asked, and the barest end of March’s tail twitched. York was annoying him, Adeline knew. He’d signed ‘King’ to her about him, which to her made very little sense as he was alone, but March did have some very strange definitions of words at times so perhaps he’d just meant ‘someone from a noble house’, which March was not particularly fond of. Actually quite a few in the clan seemed to have that- She paused and looked up at a noise, zeroing in on where it came from like a hunting cat and training her eyes on it. York for his part just saw her freeze, the strange glittery (Android? Robot? York didn’t really want to ask) guard that was next to him moving around and by her right shoulder, the red painted steelhound taking her left. He tried to see what she was searching for, but around them was just those gross slightly fungal and bulging Plague trees and the barest chirping of some insects. The sandy soil where Adeline had spotted the tracks led out into open space, but there was nothing there either. After a moment York became uncomfortable in the silence. “Excuse me-” he whispered when a man came stumbling out of the trees, spotted them and then froze as if he’d been caught doing something. York ducked behind Adeline.  Not the bravest reaction, in retrospect.

“Wait,” she said. “Hawk?”

“SHORTSTACK?” the man replied, a grin spreading across his scarred and dirty face. He looked like he’d been travelling for quite a while- his entire ensemble was stained, torn and mud splattered.

“HAAA!” Adeline said, opening her arms and making an excited keening noise, which the man (Hawk?) returned before running over and hugging her. From this distance York could now smell him quite clearly, and the scent was something along the lines of ‘fermented fruit and garbage left in the sun.’ Absolutely horrendous. Was this just how people in Plague lived?

Hawk pulled away and looked her over. York was slightly embarrassed for his home flight to see he had snow white Ice eyes. Perhaps he’d just taken going native a bit far. “So,” Hawk said, glancing over to March, who had those almond red eyes on him for just a moment before determining he wasn’t a danger and looking back to the horizon. “Guard duty or somethin’?”

“Nah,” Adeline said, smiling and putting a hand on his shoulder before reaching into her bag for a water skin. “Hunting. You?”

“Lookin’ for a gig, I suppose,” he said, taking the skin from her and swigging a drink. “Not real hard, though, obviously. What the hell you huntin’ with this bunch though? The grand daddy of all Wave Sweepers?” He looked from the steelhound to York, who had to resist the urge to duck back behind Adeline. She shrugged. “Ha! Didn’t ask, did you?”

“Guess it needs doing,” she replied, handing him some dried food, which he immediately stuffed into his mouth.

“And lemme guess...ain’t gettin paid?” he said, mouth half full of food. She shrugged again. “Ain’t changed a bit.”

“I’m...” York said, attempting to speak up. “I don’t mind paying.”

“Yeah sure,” Hawk said, turning around and facing the direction they were heading. “Let’s go find whatever stupid thing needs to get dead.”

----

“So, um,” York said as they walked, Adeline moving in looping circles around them collecting various items. He’d been annoyed at that at first, but it became clear she was scavenging more supplies, a thing he didn’t think they would need until they picked up Hawk. He supposed it was always good to be prepared, even if being prepared meant coming back holding a bloody skinning knife and smelling slightly of viscera. “How did you two meet?”

“Could ask both of you the same question,” Hawk said, lighting a dog eared hand rolled cigarette. He glanced to March who in answer flipped him off. “Ha! Arright.”

“Ah yes,” York said, sort of glad to have Hawk between him and March now that he thought on it. “He came with her. I suppose they travel together on occasion. He’s not very talkative and I’ve been told not to take offense.”

“Yeah well, whatcha gonna do even if you do take offense?” Hawk said with a grin, looking at York out of the sides of his eyes, the other man’s darting from him to March and back again before subconsciously making sure that as much of him was hidden from the android as possible.  “Exactly,” Hawk said. Man Shorty always could pick ‘em.

He of course included himself in that category.

---

“I would really rather not,” York said, looking at the small tent. He hadn't really minded sharing one with Adeline and March despite the indecency of it. They were both at least clean and there was a definite sense of safety from them keeping watch all night, but adding Hawk in…

Especially a Hawk that had again not bathed and in fact had spent the day on the road with them occasionally wandering off to pick various flora that York was somewhat certain was not safe to ingest.

“If someone comes up to us I don't want you far away,” Adeline replied, kicking dirt onto the embers of the fire to put them out.

“Yeah, come in here and get real close,” Hawk said, already laying belly down on a bedroll.

“Knock it it off.”

“I'll knock some-”

“Hawk.”

“Yes mom.”

----

“Should...should we help?” York asked, watching Adeline circle the beast that he knew had taken more than a few lives. It was a massive thing, what could be described as a lizard mashed together with a wolf with huge front talons and breathing out ice and frost. It was really a good thing she’d had the foresight to bring along that steelhound, as it was running around keeping the thing distracted and sending out jets of flame to counteract the worst of it.

But still as he watched her he couldn’t help but feel responsible. He started forward, but he felt hands on his shoulders, one from Hawk and one from March (and March’s was more than a tiny bit unsettling simply because he could feel him being as gentle as possible). “Nope,” Hawk said, pulling him back. “She’s got this. Wait for her to say somethin’.”

“But she’s-”

“Look kid you don’t ask a hunter for help and then tell ‘em how to do the job,” Hawk said, breathing out a plume of smoke even as he could hear DeSoto’s flame being set off again, the growl and snarl and pure rage of the beast increasing as they stood there.

“March!” Adeline yelled over the noise, and immediately he took his hand from York’s shoulder and began walking forward. “Right leg!”

There was a sickly wet crack and York winced. The beast turned to snap at March and Adeline took the opportunity, jamming her spear into the exposed neck. “See?” Hawk said, gesturing towards the scene as March straddled the beast’s neck and...what was he doing?

There was another wet crack, this one more turning and crunching, and the thing shuddered and laid still, York putting his hands to his mouth in shock. “You, uh,” Hawk said, noticing that this probably wasn’t how he should be reacting. “You never see anything die before?”

“I have, just…” York said from behind his hands. “That thing was my father at one point.”

“Your...” Hawk started, then looked back down at the scene unfolding from their safe vantage on a hill. He could already see Adeline taking out a skinning knife, and some new person in all black pointing at something on the dead beast. “Wait! Crap crap crap!”

----

“AAADDDEEEEEE!!” they could hear way, way before they saw.

Adeline stopped, looking slightly annoyed and defeated. “Are you freakin’ serious?” she asked, mostly to herself as Hawk started grinning.

“ADELIIINNNEEEE!” the voice yelled again, and whoever it was they could get some volume.

Adeline cupped her hands to her mouth and yelled, though obviously she didn’t have the lung capacity of whoever was screaming for her. “JACK YOU’RE GONNA ATTRACT EVERY DAMN RAIDER IN THE NORTH!”

“TELL THEM TO BRING IT I NEED A BODY ANYWAAAYYYYY!”

“Gods, let’s just find him and get home,” she muttered.

---

“So what the hell is it?” Santi asked Grenfell as they sat at a table in The Warehouse, looking over the two items sitting atop a blood splattered null cloth. Apparently Bryan had been the one to point out the egg-like object imbedded in the creature York had asked Adeline for help with, and she’d cut it out of the thing and wrapped it.

The other thing looked like a crown, but grimy with blood, hair, and muscle as though it’d grown onto the creature’s head and had been pulled off.

“Oh this is interesting…” Grenfell said, picking up the small stone egg, cracked in places with lines of gold showing as though it’d been repaired with it. He looked it over as though inspecting a rare jewel and Santi waited for an explanation. He could see the inscriptions hovering in the air just above the thing but he didn’t have Gren’s expertise. “Someone very much wanted to kill someone.”

“Didn’t seem like it worked then, if Ade and March had to put him down,” Santi replied, turning his head and trying to piece together the script and what it did on his own. Anything egg shaped was bad, anything Gren really liked doubly so.

“Oh no no no,” Grenfell said, his grin growing wider. “You see this is more of an area of effect curse. Set it somewhere and people will begin changing into twisted forms. It's rather like what used to happen to animals here in the City if they stayed too long, but much more concentrated,” and here Gren paused and looked into Santi’s gem eyes. “The best part is they change into monsters based on personality! A vain person may become a swan beast, wolf for viciousness-”

“Ah, yes, so…” Santi said, cutting him off. “Is it working right now?”

“Indeed! It isn’t really something you can turn off.”

Santi looked at the egg again. “...and you’re touching it with your bare hands?”

“Please,” Gren said, waving him off with one hand while still holding the thing in the other. “If cursed objects could kill me I’d be dead several times over. Do be rational.” Santi sat back, crossed his arms and gave him a look that could melt steel. “Besides this very much works off of intent. The maker poured everything they had into this little thing, and their hatred burned outwards. Since we are not the object of ire it would take much longer to work on us.”

“But it’ll still work?”

“Yes, of course.”

“So how do we destroy it?”

“No idea!” Grenfell said happily, still looking over the thing as though slightly fascinated. Santi buried his head into his hands. “What? I’ve never made one before. You literally have to die to power it.”

“Someone-” Santi started, then looked back to the egg. “Is someone’s soul in that??”

“Oh no, just their life essence, magic, and their last dying wish for revenge,” Grenfell said. “A real go-getter, whoever it was. Plus someone likely had to sneak it into the intended cursee’s residence. Shows some real planning that it worked out.”

“And the crown?”

“It’s just a stupid crown,” Grenfell replied, not even looking at it. “Clean it off and sell it. Who cares?”

Santi glanced back and forth between the objects. Something was still bothering him. “But why didn’t the curse affect York? It apparently affected the rest of his family.”

“Could be a few reasons,” Grenfell said. “Some sort of protection, or perhaps the curse maker just didn’t hate him as they did the rest.”

“Man,” Santi said, shaking his head. “How bad did they have to screw up for someone to make that?”

“All it really takes is angering one wrong person,” Grenfell said. “But why couldn’t I have had fun enemies like this?”