#never cross a highlander

[traeumenvonbuechern]

Historical Romances by Black Authors

Aphrodite wishes to escape the marriage mart but will a second chance with the elusive Duke of Everely change her mind? Aphrodite Du Bell is a diamond of the first water and a favourite of the queen. But her renowned loveliness didn't stop the love of her life, Evander Eagleman, from jilting her and marrying another woman four years ago. Aphrodite has been in self-imposed exile ever since. However, when her formidable mother summons her back to London Aphrodite has no choice but to acquiesce. Upon her return, Aphrodite learns that the newly widowed Evander is in town and, despite her best efforts, the grand society events of the season repeatedly push them together. With each encounter, Aphrodite's traitorous feelings make it perfectly clear that the Duke still holds court over her heart. Why did Evander cast Aphrodite aside all those years ago, and now that they have a second chance, can the couple make strides to mend past hurts?

Ailsa Connery has waited three long years to finally escape her enslavement at Stirling Castle and reunite with her clan. But her carefully laid plans are completely destroyed by the arrival of the infamous Highland warrior known as Dubh Mahoun, the Black Devil…who has plans of his own. Kallum MacNeill's fearsome reputation has long allowed him to keep hidden his secret double life of freeing enslaved captives across the land. It's only when he kidnaps a servant lass—quite by accident—that he finds himself facing a wee predicament. He must accompany the lass home or risk her exposing his true identity. It'd be easy enough…if the feisty hellion didn't fight him at every turn. As they make their way to the Highlands, the perils the two must face are surpassed only by their constant sparring. Soon, their heated sniping sparks heat of a totally different kind. The kind that ignites a hunger that could consume them both. Yet the difficult journey is no match for the dangerous secrets they're about to uncover.

The first novel in USA Today Bestselling Author Beverly Jenkins’s compelling new series follows a Northern woman south in the chaotic aftermath of the Civil War . . . Valinda Lacy’s mission in the steamy heart of New Orleans is to help the newly emancipated community survive and flourish. But soon she discovers that here, freedom can also mean danger. When thugs destroy the school she has set up and then target her, Valinda runs for her life—and straight into the arms of Captain Drake LeVeq. As an architect from an old New Orleans family, Drake has a deeply personal interest in rebuilding the city. Raised by strong women, he recognizes Valinda’s determination. And he can’t stop admiring—or wanting—her. But when Valinda’s father demands she return home to marry a man she doesn’t love, her daring rebellion draws Drake into an irresistible intrigue.

A fun and feminist Regency romp from a master of the genre hailed as "a delight" by Bridgerton author Julia Quinn. Nothing happens in London without Graham Wynchester knowing. His massive collection of intelligence is invaluable to his family’s mission of aiding those most in need. So when he deciphers a series of coded messages in the scandal sheets, Graham’s convinced he must come to a royal’s rescue. But his quarry turns out not to be a princess at all… The captivating Kunigunde de Heusch is anything but a damsel in distress, and the last thing she wants is Graham’s help. All her life, Kuni trained alongside the fiercest Royal Guardsmen in her family, secretly planning to become her country’s first Royal Guardswoman. This mission in London is a chance to prove herself worthy without help from a man, not even one as devilishly handsome as Graham. To her surprise, Graham believes in her dream as much as she does, which makes it harder to resist kissing him…and falling in love. But how can she risk her heart if her future lies an ocean away? 

Jane Austen meets The Princess and the Frog For as long as Prairie can remember, living in paradise has been boring. Her days are filled with helping at her family's resort, sewing, daydreaming, and observing fashionable guests from the sidelines. But when a fairytale-Esque opportunity arises, she does something out of character and agrees to marry a man she's never met. Suddenly, she's navigating a new life that is a world and an ocean away from everything she's ever known. Her new husband, Wright, is decidedly Mr. Wrong. If there's a schedule, he'll ignore it. If there is a rule, he'll break it. If there's a risk, he'll take it. Has the girl who has always had a plan finally met her match? If you're a fan of TV shows like 'Vanity Fair', 'Bridgerton' and 'The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina' or enjoy reading comedies of manners, you'll love 'That, My Dear, Is Love.' This is a full-length, standalone novel featuring a diverse ensemble cast, whimsical magic, and hilarious misadventures. This is a clean romance with a HEA. Featuring some of your favorite tropes: Marriage of Convenience Opposites Attract Reformed Rake

The Davenports delivers a totally escapist, swoon-worthy romance while offering a glimpse into a period of African American history often overlooked. The Davenports are one of the few Black families of immense wealth and status in a changing United States, their fortune made through the entrepreneurship of William Davenport, a formerly enslaved man who founded the Davenport Carriage Company years ago. Now it's 1910, and the Davenports live surrounded by servants, crystal chandeliers, and endless parties, finding their way and finding love—even where they’re not supposed to. There is Olivia, the beautiful elder Davenport daughter, ready to do her duty by getting married . . . until she meets the charismatic civil rights leader Washington DeWight and sparks fly. The younger daughter, Helen, is more interested in fixing cars than falling in love—unless it’s with her sister’s suitor. Amy-Rose, the childhood friend turned maid to the Davenport sisters, dreams of opening her own business—and marrying the one man she could never be with, Olivia and Helen’s brother, John. But Olivia’s best friend, Ruby, also has her sights set on John Davenport, though she can’t seem to keep his interest . . . until family pressure has her scheming to win his heart, just as someone else wins hers. Inspired by the real-life story of the Patterson family, The Davenports is the tale of four determined and passionate young Black women discovering the courage to steer their own path in life—and love.

[thereadingcafe]

[docholligay]

Trying not to murder my darling sister who, I remind myself, I love very much, as I attempt to help her plan a trip to the UK.

[thespookywoods]

There is an indescribable kind of gender I found hidden in a kilt when I was 12 but also. I want a goth jig dress

[ghouljams]

Pre(tt)y [Chapter 4] Tags: Viking au, Viking!Soap, highlander!reader, Soap x f!reader, grief, mistranslations, Soap is doing his best Summary: You haven't been offered a job, but you also haven't been killed yet. You meet two more vikings, and try to get some rest while you grapple with the loss of everything you've ever known.

Mactavish leads you through camp, the men around the fire glance at you and you step closer to his side. They don’t touch you, just as he promised, but that doesn’t stop them from looking. You’re led towards a tent that seems too small for the man that greets you inside. The man has to duck his head not to scrape the ceiling, his brown hair shorn short but his beard full. You keep your chin held high when he meets your eyes. There’s something commanding in his stare, something in his glare that reminds you of your father. Appraising, you think. He looks at Mactavish.

“What’s this?” He asks, the northern tongue rolls nicely with the rough timber of his voice. A viking made to be a viking. 

“The healer,” Mactavish responds easily. The other viking huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, his weight shifting to look down on the both of you.

“Believe we were looking for more than just the one,” He raises a brow.

“Aye, and you’ll never guess who found ‘em first.” Mactavish runs a hand through his hair, tugs at one of the braids to inspect. As if this is nothing. Same as the other some of the harsh lines in this viking’s face soften. He finds his anger again and spits on the floor with a word you don’t recognize. You can’t help but flinch away from his fury. The movement draws his attention again, and his eyes fix on you. 

“They any good?”

“Better than any of you,” You grumble. You may have been little more than an apprentice but you’d bet that’s more medical experience than any of these men have. Like Mactavish said, it’s better to just call yourself a healer than beat around the bush. At your side Mactavish’s fist clenches so tight you can see his knuckles turn white. If you’d hoped your gaelic was only understood by the Scot at your side you’re sorely mistaken.

The older viking grabs your face, and just as quickly Mactavish grabs his wrist. The viking seems to ignore his subordinate’s grip, studying you with cold eyes. You sniff, stand a little taller. You’re not sure why, it’s not smart staring down a viking. Some part of you hopes it’s a bad idea, hopes it’s your last idea.

“Let go,” Mactavish warns, “they’re my watch, Captain, my catch.”

You narrow your eyes at the captain. You should have known, the air of authority he carries should have tipped you off. None of these men are friend to you, not one of them. Even Mactavish calls you a catch, owns you like a carcass. You should spit in their faces, join your family in the afterlife and be done with this whole affair. 

The captain releases you and Mactavish releases him. Something wordless passes between them, some silent agreement that makes Mactavish nod. Whatever it is you don’t think it bodes well for you, like the closing of a door darkening the room you feel these men’s agreement like a chill over your skin.

“Get something to eat,” The captain advises him, “and see if any of the men need a healer. They can bunk with you tonight.”

Some of the puff seems to leave Mactavish’s shoulders, his breath releasing the tension from his form. You don’t feel the same relief. Bunking with one man is almost as bad as bunking with the rest. His joke about courting you rushes to the front of your mind, you wonder what that means for tonight. How courteous it would be for him to leave you alone. You doubt that will happen.

Mactavish’s hand touches the small of your back, and directs you out of the tent as you glare at his captain. You swat at his touch when you leave the tent, walking an extra half step ahead of him. You can feel his eyes on you, it makes your skin crawl. Is he sizing you up? Trying to gauge your next move? If you’ll run again? You doubt you’d make it with so many vikings after you. You’re about to try your luck, walking past the fire.

No luck. His fingers touch your back again, warm even through your heavy clothes. Mactavish directs you where to walk with a firm hand before he grabs your shoulder and pushes you down onto a log with a gentle, “Sit.”

It’s a command you’re loath to follow, except that the scent of food makes your stomach rumble. There’s a large pot over the fire, with some sort of stew in it. It smells rich and meaty. When’s the last time you ate? You almost thank Mactavish when he ladles a bowl for you, your hands reaching eagerly for the warm meal before stopping short. Your fingers tremble.

Just before you left home. Your mother had given you some bread and cheese, a snack to take while you were foraging. The smoke from the campfire fills your nose, a choking memory of your home. Just before the viking you’d had bread from your mother’s hand.

Your throat hurts, your chest clenching tight as tears roll softly down your face. You take the offered bowl quickly, you don’t look at Mactavish’s face. It’s a crack that splinters your heart, a weakness you can’t afford. You curl in on yourself, sip at the hot soup between your cold hands, and try to ignore the plip of your tears into the broth.

Mactavish takes a seat next to you, his hand hovers. You scoot away, towards the end of the log. The large man corner to you stiffens. You try to keep quiet in the silence that lapses, it doesn’t work well. As hard as you try to push it down you choke on a heavy sob and your hiccup is answered by a shift in the unfamiliar viking’s posture.

“Grey sky doesn’t bode well,” He says, his voice is rich and rough at the edges. You don’t think he’s talking to you, Mactavish maybe with how loud he is. You still glance at him, his eyes unreadable behind the bone mask he wears. You avert your gaze quickly.

“So you’re a Völva now?” Mactavish asks, “You know the weather?”

“Know it well enough.” The viking sniffs, leaning back with a roll of his shoulders.

“You’re full of it,” Mactavish laughs, his voice raising to meet the volume of his fellow viking. You tune out their voices as you sniffle, try to at least. They’re loud, their bickering covering your tears. Ignoring you. Of course they’re ignoring you. Why wouldn’t they? You’re a stranger, an outsider, a prisoner in their camp. You’re only here because there was no one else to steal.

You stare, fuzzy eyed, at the fire. You hiccup through your tears, trying not to dwell too much on your family, or the loneliness that settles in your bones. The vikings talk past you, over you, like you don’t exist. You might not. Not to them.

It’s strange that the thought is almost freeing. At least they aren’t watching you cry, jeering at your misfortune. Small miracles, you suppose, small kindnesses.

It’s dark by the time you finish your slow tearful dinner. The season’s chill aided by the sea breeze cuts through the wool of your earasaid. You’re almost thankful for the fur Mactavish gave you, your arms outstretched to warm you frigid fingers by the fire. The man beside you tugs his gloves off his belt and holds them out to you. You glance at the offering before turning your eyes back to the fire.

“You’re gonna lose your fingers, Vaenn.” Mactavish tells you. You tip your head, strange he’d use a nordic word alongside his Gaelic. That’s a verb isn’t it? To catch: vaen. He’s using it as a noun, or an adjective? Catch, catch, catch. Prey as its noun form, maybe. An unkind but fitting nickname you suppose. 

“Prey, huh,” The skull faced viking hums, almost teasing.

“Shut it,” Mactavish snaps, his cheeks pink from the wind’s chill. He grabs your hand and presses the gloves into it. “Healers are only as good as their hands,” He insists, “please.”

You curl your fingers around the well worn leather, soft and carefully maintained, they’re warm from his body when you tug them on.

You stop yourself from asking what he’ll do for gloves. You shouldn’t care, the less fingers he has the better. Still you can’t help looking at his hands, thick fingers and neat nails. He picks at the dirt under them, and you catch the flash of scars over his knuckles. Marks of a man at war.

Mactavish stares at the fire, the flickering light cutting shadows across his face. You wonder what he’s thinking, what he sees when he looks into the pyre. Is it the shadows that darken his eyes, or his thoughts? He doesn’t look at you, which feels- you don’t know. Desperate. Although you don’t know if it’s your desperation or his.

The skull viking stands with a creak of black leather. He pats Mactavish’s cheek when he passes him, something fond in the gesture. Casual affection that the Scott brushes off in favor of standing. All the darkness leaves his eyes when he looks at you. Like a mask, you think, when he smiles. There’s something hollow about it, something he’s pulled out of himself without any weight to it. You blink at the expression. It doesn’t inspire confidence.

“Lemme show you the tent,” He offers. You glance around the dim camp. Again you feel the need to say something, remind him that you were told to check if anyone needed medical, before you chastise yourself for even the thought. These men deserve nothing more than you’re made to give them. It’s your training that makes you think to ask, but you’re hardly employed.

“As long as you keep your hands to yourself,” You grumble.

“Of course,” Mactavish tells you with a confused look, “I wouldn’t touch you if you didn’t want it.”

You bite your tongue before you tell him he’s already touched you plenty. His hands seem so keen to brush against you, to direct you, his warmth attempting to seep into you unbidden. You keep your words to yourself, though you yearn to snap at him. There’s bitterness on your tongue, your grief finding a new name for itself with anger.

Mactavish holds the tent flap for you, and you duck under his arm. He’s quick to slip in behind you, taking up the small space as easily as his captain had. There’s a bed roll, and not much else. 

Mactavish pushes against your side in the small space, turning to drop to the ground. He crosses his legs, leaning back against the sturdy post in the center of the tent. His ax is unhooked from his belt and laid over his thick thigh. He heaves a sigh, and you feel weariness settle over his shoulders. Cold as the rolling sea and heavy as her waves. You watch him thread his fingers through his hair, scratching the back of his head as he drops it forward. 

Good. You hope his choices weigh on him. You hope they crush him.

[lenaeclipse777]

chemtrails over the country club ☆ sebastian sallow x f!reader

summary: you and sebastian have always understood each other better than anyone else.

a/n: based on chemtrails over the country club by lana del rey!

warnings: none i think, just a lot of fluff + you and seb have lots of unresolved trauma, mc is a flirt

i’m on the run, with you my sweet love, there’s nothing wrong contemplating god, under the chemtrails over the country club

running through the highlands to fight goblins with sebastian shouldn’t have you feeling this exhilarated. fighting ranrok’s loyalists fills you both with a sense of purpose. yours being the final end goal of saving the wizarding world from another war, and sebastian’s being to get his revenge for anne.

no, fighting loyalists or poachers with anyone else didn’t excite you as much as it did with sebastian, because there was so much more to it for both of you. sebastian had introduced you to the world of duelling, and had practiced with you in the undercroft, poring over books and different wand movements.

“you coming y/n?” sebastian was standing a few feet ahead of you, and pulled you out of your thoughts as he questioned you.

his brown hair was tousled from the wind and the running, and his freckled cheeks were slightly pink. he looked like an angel, and you never wanted to look away.

“right behind you seb, you know your legs are longer than mine.” you smiled at him and jogged to catch up with him.

“race you to the next encampment love!”

you laughed as he started running ahead of you, shaking your head at his childish antics. yes, running with sebastian was definitely better than with anyone else.

meet you for coffee, at the elementary school, we laugh about nothing as the summer gets cool

the summer after you defeated ranrok, sebastian had disappeared to his (now empty) cottage in feldcroft. only you and ominis knew he was there, and that he had been doing yard work around the village all summer to make some money. ominis was still wary of being his friend, but you couldn’t just stay away. his sad face hadn’t left your mind since you had left hogwarts on the last day of term, and it was getting impossible to not run to him.

you had exchanged a few letters throughout july, just checking up on each other, making sure the other was staying out of trouble and getting enough to eat. you were staying in a room at the three broomsticks, courtesy of sirona ryan, and working a few days a week.

as august approached, it was getting harder and harder to stay away from him, so one day you told sirona that you were taking a week off to go stay with him. she was more than okay with it, and insisted you bring along some butterbeer to share.

sending him a short letter via owl, you packed your bag and took the nearest floo flame to feldcroft.

when you arrived in feldcroft, it didn’t take you long to spot him, as he was outside of his house chopping fire wood. your breath hitched as you looked at him, slightly sweaty, and definitely more muscular. his freckles were painted across his skin even more prominent with a summer tan.

“sebastian!” you called out to him, lugging your trunk with you as you crossed the path to his house.

his head shot up when he heard your voice, and the most genuine smile you had seen since the catacombs spread across his face.

he dropped his axe and ran to you, wrapping his arms around you and burying his head in your neck.

“i missed you so much.” his voice was thick, and you pulled away from him to cup his face in your hands.

“i missed you too sebastian, more than you know.” his arms didn’t leave your waist as he smiled down at you. after staring at each other for a few more seconds, he snapped out of his gaze and came to his senses.

“here let me get your trunk for you. i’ll bring it into the house and we can catch up.” he lifted your heavy trunk onto his shoulder with ease, and you had to restrain yourself from drooling at his display of strength.

once you had unpacked your things, you and sebastian sat down with your butterbeer from sirona.

“tell me everything you’ve been doing this past month seb, i’ve been so busy working at the three broomsticks i barely have time to write to anybody!”

so the night went on as you both talked and shared quiet laughs in the orange light of the sallow cottage, happy to be back in each others presence again.

i’m not bored or unhappy, i’m still so strange and wild, you’re in the wind, i’m in the water, nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter, watching the chemtrails over the country club

4 days had passed since you had arrived at the sallow cottage, and with each passing day, it was getting harder and harder to ignore the amount of feelings you had for the boy. you both had thrown around a fair few compliments and flirtatious remarks at each other throughout the week, and you decided that you could do this with him for the rest of your life. making breakfast together in the kitchen, walks around the trails near the village, and rolling around in the flowery meadows, pointing out different clouds and what they looked like.

it was all getting very domestic, and you were going to go crazy if by the end of the week you were still just friends.

today is the day you decided. the shameless flirting was already at an all time high, and you decided that today you were going to kick it up a notch.

sitting at a small table in the front yard of the house, you were watching him pull weeds out of the garden, his white shirt sleeves rolled up showing off his strong forearms.

“hey sebastian?”

he turned to look at you, wiping a few beads of sweat of his forehead. “yes love?”

“nothing, i just think you look very handsome today.” it was bold- you knew that, but you were past the point of caring. you knew no one else could ever make you feel how he made you feel.

he was blushing when you looked at him, a small smile on his face. he brushed his hands on his trousers and came to sit down beside you at the small table.

“you think so? because i think i’m covered in dirt and sweat and desperately need a bath.” he chuckled and his thigh brushed yours under the table.

“need any help with that?” you flirted, as you rested your hand on your cheek and leaned up to look at him through your lashes.

the flush on his face deepens, and he has to look away from your gaze or he just might explode.

“you are a terrible flirt, do you know that?” his voice is low but his eyes are swimming with a softness he saved only for you. “this whole week, i don’t think i’ve ever been more flustered.”

before you can open your mouth to retort, sebastian leans down and captures your lips with his. it’s soft and hesitant, and your shocked at first, but quickly throw your arms around his neck and kiss him back deeply. the kiss is needy and desperate, something that you both know should have happened a long time ago.

when you both pulled away for a breath, sebastian’s hand stayed in your hair at the back of your neck, and his forehead was pressed against yours.

“i’ve wanted to do that for so long, you have no idea.” he breathed.

“how long?” you asked him breathlessly, as you fought the urge to just kiss him again as much as you could.

“honestly? since you bested me in that duel at the beginning of the year. and pretty much any other time we were alone after that.”

“so you’re telling me we could’ve been doing that this whole time!?” you joked and he laughed heartily.

“we have all the time in the world to make up for it now love, don’t you worry.”

you gave him a loving smile, and leaned up to give him a soft peck on the lips. he smiled at you as your hand came up to rest on his muscular chest.

“why don’t we go run you a bath, and you can show me just how much you’ve wanted to do to me since that duel..”

sebastian didn’t need to be told twice as he grabbed your hand and all but dragged you into the house, shutting the door behind him quickly as possible.

the sound of your laughter filled the house as you both ran to get the bathing supplies.

yes, you both may have some unresolved issues, but as long as you were together, you knew you could get through it.

it’s never too late, baby, so don’t give up… under the chemtrails over the country club

[onlyfezco]

Obvious - Fezco

Summary: You insist on meeting your cousin Rue's drug dealer and an interesting friendship develops in the process.

Fezco x Reader

Word Count: 4,840

Author's Note: Started this in March of 2022 and it's finally getting posted lol. This is my first Fezco fic since Angus' passing which is so hard to type I'm crying at that. I still miss him. A lot. Dividers from @firefly-graphics

Rue was your closest cousin. Not that you had many, and the few you did have lived somewhere outside of East Highland, but that was beside the point. She was a year younger than you, so the two of you spent most of your childhood glued to one another. When her dad died, you saw the toll it took on her. You realized then that she started using but she played it off like she had it all under control. That’s what an addict does. Eventually you did confront her about it. She said it was mostly weed, so you let it slide. One day she had you drive her to restock her supply. That’s when you met Fezco for the first time.

“So you’re the guy selling my baby cousin drugs,” you blurted out after Rue did a quick introduction then started making her way to Ashtray behind the refrigerated drinks.

“Y/N, what the fuck,” Rue shouted at you annoyed. “You’re only a year older than me.”

“A year and three months,” you corrected. You only got specific with the three months to annoy Rue. You crossed your arms over your chest as you eyed the ginger sitting on the counter in front of you. “And how old are you?”

Fez observed you carefully. It’s not everyday some random person immediately brings up him selling drugs directly to his face. Especially a cute random person. “You always talk to new people like this?”

“Only when my cousin’s health is at stake.” You sighed and shook your head. “Look, I don’t have beef with you. I realized a while ago that Rue’s gonna do what she wants. I just want to make sure she’s being safe about it... well, as safe as you can get with drugs.”

Fez nodded along as you spoke understanding your concern for your cousin. He knew Rue wasn’t going around promoting that she was doing drugs or that he sold. You were just looking out for her. “I get it.”

“I’ve heard too many stories about people overdosing on Fentanyl or something they didn’t know was laced with Fentanyl. I don’t want to find out that happened to my cousin.”

“You don’t have to worry, ma. I don’t mess with that shit. All my stuff is good.”

You squinted at him taking in his words. “Better be. Otherwise I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Fez chuckled. He didn’t doubt for a second you wouldn’t fight behind Rue. “Understood.”

“You go to school with Rue? I ain’t never seen you ‘round before.” Fez went to most of the East Highland High School parties to deal. Since he’s never seen you there, either you didn’t go to that school, or you didn’t go to parties. Either way, he was missing out on you. 

“Oh God, no,” you said. “I go to Centenary.”

“Oh, so you smart smart.” You smiled and rolled your eyes at Fezco’s statement, and he decided right then and there that was something he wanted to see more of.

“Something like that,” you replied giggling.

“You ready to go, Y/N,” Rue popped up practically out of no where and asked. Damn, why did Rue have to be so quick.

“Uhh, yeah,” you said to your cousin. Rue shoved her hands into her dad’s old maroon jacket and started to walk out the store. You turned to Fezco and said, “I’m gonna be watching you, sir.”

Fez smiled at the thought. “I look forward to it, ma.”

After that, you made a few impromptu trips to Fez’s store without Rue. You told him your grandma lived in the neighborhood, which she did, so it wasn’t a lie. But Fez did point out that before Rue, you had never came to the store before. 

“I mean I could always go somewhere else for my carbonated beverages if you want,” you said as you turned on your heel to leave the store without making your usual purchase.

“Nah,” Fez replied grabbing your wrist stopping you, “I ain’t say all that.”

When your mom told you that Rue overdosed, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. Maybe if you had told your Aunt Leslie what Rue was doing, she could have got some help. But you knew Rue. Ever since her dad’s death she had been struggling. She would have to finally deal with that grief if she was going to stop, and you knew that was the last thing she wanted to do.

A few days after Rue’s overdose, you went to visit Fezco. You weren’t sure if he knew or not. Even though he was her dealer, he was close to Rue, so you thought he should know. And it would be better coming from you than to hear it on the street.

“Well if it isn’t Y/N Y/L/N,” Fezco greeted you with a smile on his face. 

You tried to smile at the red head, but it was weak. “Hey Fezco.”

“What’s wrong,” Fez asked, immediately knowing something was up.

You walked to him fiddling with your fingers nervous to tell him about your cousin. “Uh... it’s Rue,” you said looking up at him with somber eyes. “She overdosed.”

Fez’s face became tense. He didn’t question it. He wasn’t shocked, just sad.

You couldn’t take looking into his piercing blue eyes any longer and set your eyes on the candy on the counter. “She’s still at the hospital going through withdrawals. Aunt Leslie’s going to put her in rehab when she gets out.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Fez said as he placed his hand on your arm to comfort you. Your eyes met his again and you could tell he genuinely felt bad.

“Its..,” you paused and laughed. “I was going to say it’s okay, but its not. She didn’t die, so that’s great but... I didn’t know it was this bad with her.”

Fez dropped his hand and leaned against the counter behind him. “Why’d you come here, ma?”

You looked at him confused. “What are you talking about? Rue’s your friend, I thought you should know.”

“She is but... you ain’t come here to blame me?”

You were taken aback. “No, Fez. It’s not your fault. Rue made a choice. And if she didn’t get her drugs from you, it would be someone else.”

Fez was quiet as he took in what you said. You wanted to, no, needed him to understand this wasn’t his fault. 

“Listen to me Fezco. Rue’s got a lot of problems that she has to deal with. She was using drugs to cope with her grief. I know you wouldn’t want her to OD. I’d rather know she was going to you for her fix, than some random guy who didn’t give two shits about whether or not she lived or died. So I don’t want you putting any of this on yourself, okay?”

Fez gave a small nod to let you knew he understood. You don’t know if he actually believed what you said, but you were glad it was out there. 

Over the summer, you visited the store more frequently. You did see him outside the store once at a pool party. Of course you pointed out that you’d never seen him at a party before. Your crowd was a little different than the East Highland High School bunch. Fez played it off though, but you knew he was only there for you. 

An unexpected hangout occurred one evening when you stopped by the store on a cloudy day. The flow of customers was already crazy slow, then it started raining and store had been empty besides you, Fez, and Ash for the last hour.  

“Aye, bro, can we go home? I’m bored as shit,” Ash said coming from behind the refrigerators. 

Fez looked to you sitting on top of the freezer that held the popsicles and ice-cream before he spoke. “Uh, yeah. Go head and pack up.”

You hopped off your self designated spot in store. “Welp, I guess that’s my queue to head home.” 

“Nah,” Fez said and stopped you in your tracks. “You ain’t gotta go home.”

“But I gotta get outta here,” you interrupted giggling. 

“Nah, ma. I was finna say you could come to my place and hang... if you want.”

Your eyebrows shot up. Fez’s and your relationship mostly consisted of you just hanging out at his store while he worked. The two of you texted every now and then, but that was about it. 

“Oh... Uh, sure,” you managed to stammer out. Then you realized that didn’t sound very enthusiastic so you added, “Yeah, I’d love to come over.”

You followed Fez and Ashtray home in your car since you drove yourself to the store. You were anxious the whole way there and the rain definitely wasn’t helping. 

Fez’s place looked homey. The living room felt familiar; the couches reminding you of your grandma’s house. 

“You want anythin’ to drank,” Fez asked making his way to the kitchen.

“Uh, no, I’m good. Thanks though,” you replied slowly making your way to where he went. It was always awkward the first time you went over to a friend’s house. 

Fez reappeared from the kitchen with a beer in his hand. He eyed you for a second before speaking. “You want to watch a movie or somethin’?”

The rest of the evening was spent on Fez’s couch, watching old 90′s movies. Even Ashtray joined you for one. It was nice. It felt normal, not like you somehow became friends with you cousin’s drug dealer.

“Oh my God, Fezzy,” you shouted excitedly. “You won’t believe- Rue,” you paused when you saw your cousin coming from the back door that led to Ashtray. You glanced at Fez, then back to Rue. “What are you doing here?”

“Just popped in for a visit,” Rue answered. Her hands fidgeted in her pockets of her dad’s jacket. 

“Unhuh...,” you hummed knowing she didn’t just stop by to see the boys.

“What are you doing here,” Rue asked curious.

“I came by to see Fez,” you stated quickly. “You just got out of rehab, Rue.”

Rue rolled her eyes at you. “Yeah, and I had no plans on staying clean. I learned my lesson cuz. I know my limits now.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “You only know your limits cause you overdosed Rue! You almost died!”

“Key word being almost.”

“Oh my God,” you shook your head again turning away from the conversation. “I’ll talk to you later, Fez,” you said then turned to walk out of the store.

“Hey, Y/N,” Rue said and you stopped in your tracks. “You’re not gonna tell my mom are you?”

You huffed exhausted by your cousin. You telling her mom should be the least of her concerns. You still faced the door but turned your head to look at Rue. Your eyes glossed over with frustrated tears. “I wish you cared about yourself like the rest of us do.” 

Two weeks went by before you saw Fez again. The ginger was starting to think you blamed him for Rue’s relapse. Even though you had told him Rue made a choice to do drugs so it wasn’t his fault, your silence made him think you thought otherwise now. 

It was Sunday afternoon when Fez heard someone at his door. He looked through the peephole and saw you, then quickly opened the door.

“What’s up, ma?”

“Hey... I went by the store first but you weren’t there. I know I should have called or something, but I just wanted to see you.”

“Nah, you good. I’m just surprised is all.”

“Is this a bad time?”

“Nah, come in,” Fez said then stepped to the side to let you in. 

“Thanks,” you replied as you walked past him. You had only been in Fez’s place once, but it felt familiar. You just stood in the entry way while Fez closed the door. “Um, can we talk?”

“Yeah, come on,” Fez said nodding towards the living room. 

Fez took his usual place on the couch and you followed suit sitting beside him.

“I’m sorry about ghosting you these last two weeks,” you said, not being able to make eye contact with him. You felt guilty for ignoring him even though your issues were with Rue. Fez just sat there quiet. He wasn’t a man of many words, but you needed him to say something. “Not to sound cliché, but it was me not you.”

“It sure felt like it was because of me,” Fez said.

You turned on the couch to face him more. “It wasn’t, Fez. I promise. I’m mad at Rue, and I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

“Yeah, but she got her drugs from me and Ash. I could have told her no.”

“And then she would have thrown a fit and went somewhere else. Probably somewhere dangerous.” 

“Why you keep makin’ excuses for me? You shouldn’t be anywhere near me.”

“What,” you asked, your eyebrows pinched together in confusion. “Fez, no, I don’t want to be anywhere else but near you.” You spoke before you could realize what you were saying but it was true. Fez finally looked towards you and you averted his eyes. The silence was too loud. You were careful with your next words. “If I have to tell you every day, then I will,” you said slowly then looked back up at him. “Rue’s choice to do drugs, and keep doing them after her OD, is hers and hers alone. It’s not your fault.” 

Fez took in what you said and how it made him feel then began to shake his head. “Nah, y/n. You tryin’ to justify it still don’t make it right.”

“Fine,” you said exhausted, throwing your hands up in the air. “It’s not right! Rue coping with drugs. You selling her drugs. None of it is right, okay! But Rue is family and you’re my friend. So I’m not going anywhere,” you shouted then just fell back into the couch crossing your arms over your chest. 

Fez just watched you from his place on the couch. Anger and annoyance evident on your face. The situation sucked, but Fez didn’t want to lose you. He was worried if Rue overdosed again, not only would he lose a sister, but you would never forgive him. Regardless of how much you told him it wasn’t his fault she was on drugs, he was the supplier. But, if you wanted to keep being friends with him, who was he to tell you no. 

“Aight, ma,” Fez drawled out in his usual tone. 

“Aight what,” you asked for clarification. 

“You’re right... and stubborn,” Fez said, trying to stifle a laugh. 

You eyed him cautiously. “Elaborate.” 

Fez stayed sitting forward, but turned his head turned towards you and let it fall back on the couch. “Rue’s gonna find a way to do drugs whether or not I give them to her. She was on them before she met me.”

You uncrossed your arms resting them in your lap as you sighed feeling sorry about your cousin. You hated the mess she got in and wished for nothing more than her sobriety. While you were thinking about Rue, Fez’s hand grabbed your forearm then slid down to your hand, pulling it so it was on the empty cushion space between you two, so he could hold it.

“And you’re right about us being friends,” Fez continued. You bit your lip trying to stop your grin from getting too big, and Fez returned a small smile. 

After that day, you had seen less of Fez than you usually had in the summer. It was your senior year, so you were busy trying to keep your grades up while staying active in your clubs. You explained your schedule to Fez so he didn’t trip at the fact that he was seeing less of you. 

Things between you and Rue were strained. After you talked to Fez, you talked to your cousin and told her if she kept doing drugs you weren’t going to stick around and watch her kill herself. You were no longer holding any sympathy for what she was going through. Your Aunt Leslie and Gia managed to keep living without having their grief hold them back, why couldn’t Rue at least try? But Rue became spiteful, not caring that you were cutting yourself off from her. 

You missed how things were in the summer. No stress. Rue was in rehab so you knew she was safe. Spending afternoons at Fez’s store. Missing Fez was how you found yourself at an East Highland party. One of your friends brought it up and you were quick to agree to the outing. You knew he would be dealing at the party, and that was more than enough of a reason to go.

“Hey,” Rue said plopping down on the couch by Fez.

“What’s up, kid?”

“What’s going on with you and my cousin,” Rue asked, cutting straight to the chase. She was never one to beat around the bush.

“Whatchu mean,” Fez asked.

“Y/N doesn’t do parties. Especially not East Highland parties. And I know she’s not here for me.”

“Shit, she might be here for you,” Fez replied nonchalantly but he was hoping you were here for him. He missed seeing you on a regular basis. 

“Nah, she’s not even talking to me right now. Cut me off cause I won’t stop using. Trying to teach me a lesson or some shit,” Rue said while she rolled her eyes. “So much for family.”

“Don’t say that shit, Rue.” Fez was getting agitated, because he knew how much you cared for her. “That girl loves you. She just wants you to do better.”

“If she loved me, she wouldn’t leave,” Rue argued, her shoulders tensing up. 

“Nah, kid. That’s not how love works. She just doesn’t want to sit around and watch you kill yo’self.”

Rue sat there stunned, your words replaying in her head. “That’s exactly what Y/N told me... how much have you two been hanging out?”

Fez just shook his head as he took his blunt from behind his ear and lit it. “She misses you. Talk to her, Rue.”

You had been at the party for about an hour now. Attempting to play it cool as if Fez wasn’t the sole reason for you being there, you were trying to wait before you went and actually spoke to him. You noticed him a few minutes after you arrived. The two of you made eye contact and waved, but that was it.

Finally managing to leave your friends, you were making your way to Fezco when Rue stepped in front of you.

“Oh sor- hey Rue.”

“Hey, cuz,” Rue said. She looked... nervous. She was fidgeting with her jacket’s hood strings. Her eyes looking practically everywhere else but at you. “Um, can we talk for a sec?”

You looked past her to see Fez still sitting on the couch. Some guy coming up to him to make a deal. “Uh, yeah. Of course. Let’s step outside.”

Rue nodded, then you both made your way to the front door. There was too much going on in the backyard to have a private conversation there. You opened the door and let Rue step out into the cool night air first. 

You leaned against one of the front porch beams while Rue just stood there awkwardly and shoved her hands into her jacket pockets. 

The silence between you two was awkward which was a first. You tried to wait for Rue to speak, but she struggled to find the words.

“What’s up, Rue?”

“Umm, I just- I,” Rue stammered out while she fidgeted in her spot. “Shit, I’m sorry, Y/N. We’ve never not talked to each other like this and I hate it. I miss you.”

You sighed, sorrow filling your eyes. “I miss you, too, cousin.”

Rue’s eyes glossed over as she started to smile. “Uh, I haven’t been using as much anymore.”

You reached out and placed your hand on her wrist for a moment. “That’s great.”

Rue nodded, her eyes dogging around. “Yeah... I met someone.”

“Oh,” you replied, your eyebrows rising up in surprise. You were thrilled Rue was using less, but you knew if her sobriety was because of a person, it wouldn’t last long. “Do I know them?”

“No, she’s new. Her name is Jules.”

“Jules,” you repeated, making sure you pronounced it right.

Rue nodded, her smile growing bigger. “Yeah, she’s here tonight. Pretty blonde in the bright pink mini skirt.”

“You look happy.”

She ran her fingers through her curls, pushing her hair back. “I’m working on it.”

It was quiet for a moment as you looked down at your cousin. “Hey, Rue.”

“Yeah?”

“I know we haven’t been talking, but... you know I’m here if you need me.” You placed your hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

“I know,” Rue said nodding. Then you placed your other hand on her shoulder and pulled her in for a hug. Since you were on the step above her, you towered over her in the hug so you sat your chin on her head.

“Okay... you can let go now, Y/N,” Rue said after you were holding onto her a little too long.

“No, gotta make up for lost time,” you said, hugging her tighter.

“It wasn’t that much time.”

“It felt like forever,” you said dragging out the r then placing a bunch of kisses on Rue’s head.

“Ew, okay okay, I get it,” Rue said squirming in your arms. “Why don’t you go and kiss Fez?”

You stopped abruptly, pulling back slightly to look down at Rue. “Why would you say that? Did he... did he say something to you?”

Rue gently pushed herself out of your arms. “No, but it’s obvious something is happening between you two.”

“What,” you asked shaking your head, nervously running your hand over your hair. “Nothing’s happening. We’re just friends.”

“Yeah, friends who wanna fuck,” Rue replied. She was always the blunt one in the family. 

“Rue!”

“Am I wrong,” she asked, her eyes on you.

“Uhh-I mean...”

“Un huh. Just tell him how you feel,” Rue said as she started to make her way back into the party.

“You say that like it’s so easy.”

Rue turned around so she was walking backwards now. “It is when the other person likes you back.” Then she turned back around and you lost sight of her in the sea of people.

“But...,” you shouted then began to whisper since you no longer saw her, “how do you know he likes me?”

Now you were nervous. You weren’t really one to flirt, at least not on purpose anyway. It was one thing to act normal around Fez and pretend you didn’t have a huge crush on him, it was another for someone to tell you he liked you and pretend to be normal. What if Rue was wrong? What if whatever sign she was getting from Fezco, was just him being a good friend, and not him being interested in you?

You made your way back into the party, but completely passed by the living room and went straight for the bathroom. Surprisingly, there wasn’t a line so you went right in. You locked the door then went to the mirror to look at yourself. Everything was still in place. Your lipstick was perfect. Your hair styled the way you liked it. Now, if only you could get that look of fear off your face. 

“Breath, Y/N,” you said to yourself. You took a long exhale then inhaled. “Rue wouldn’t lie to you... well, maybe about drugs but not about this. And it’s Fez. Just put out some feelers to see where his head is at.” You nodded at yourself then turned the faucet on to splash a little water on yourself. Then your eyes grew wide as you thought, looking at yourself in the mirror again. “But what if he’s just being nice? IT’S FEZ! He’d never intentionally be mean to me. So how will I know if he’s only being polite and not actually flirting with me. Ughh!”

You dried your hand on a nearby towel then turned away from the mirror. You took some deep breaths to try and shake off the nervous feeling growing in the pit of your stomach. “Okay. It’s fine. You’re fine.” You thought about every time you hung out with Fez over the summer. Going to his house for the first time. Him giving you candy for free at the store. Him holding your hand on his couch. Fez was a good friend and you didn’t want to lose that, but you couldn’t keep holding your feelings for the ginger in. 

“Hey Y/N,” Fezco said once you stopped in front of him. A small smile growing on his lips. Somehow his eyes managed to shimmer in the crappy living room lighting. 

“Uh can you give me a ride home? I don’t feel so hot and I can’t find my friends.”

Technically it wasn’t a lie. You didn’t feel great. Your anxiety about asking Fez how he felt about you made you sick to your stomach.

“Sure thing, ma,” Fez replied, getting up from the couch without a second thought. Add that to the list of reasons you liked Fez. He would drop everything for you. The party wasn’t done so there was still money to be made, yet here he was, walking you out the party to his car.

The ride was quiet and awkward which was unusual. You only felt awkward around Fez when you had to bring up Rue’s drug addiction. Glancing over at Fez, he was oblivious to the worry that was going on in your head. His eyes focused on the dark road ahead as he nodded along to the music. The streetlights highlighting his freckles as you drove through the neighborhood. 

“Do you like me,” you asked, interrupting Fez.

Fez’s eyes left the road for a moment confused at your sudden change in the conversation. He readjusted himself in his spot before he spoke. “Yeah, course I like you. Wouldn’t be giving you a ride home if I didn’t.”

You shook your head annoyed. “No, Fez. I mean do you like like me? Like if we were in middle school and you found a note in your locker that said ‘do you like me? Yes or no.’ Which one would you circle?”

“Oh.”

Oh. OH! What did he mean by oh. Your brain was running a mile a minute now. Fez better say something else and quick. 

After what felt like forever, but was only about 5 seconds. “Yeah... thought it was obvious I was feelin’ you.” 

You let out a breathy laugh in disbelief. “Obvious?”

“Yeah, I mean I thought you was real cute that first day you came in the store grillin’ me about what I was sellin’ Rue.” Fez chuckled to himself remembering that day.

“You thought I was cute,” you asked baffled. This was all so confusing for you. 

Fez shook his head, eyes still focused on the road. “You gonna just keep repeating everything I’m sayin?”

“Uhh, yeah,” you replied, your eyes wide trying to prosses what he was saying to you. “It doesn’t make sense and you’re being so nonchalant about this.”

“How am I supposed to be?”

“I don’t know,” you answered, your hands flailing around. “Not like this! Just a minute ago I was freaking out wondering if I would ruin our friendship, or if there was even the slightest chance you liked me back... and you do. My brain can’t comprehend.” 

Fezco put his car in park and you realized you were in front of you house. “Well, comprehend, ma.”

You slouched back in your seat staring out at the road ahead of you taking it all in. Rue was right. “What do we do now?”

Fez reached over the center console and grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers. “Well, we could start with a date?”

You turned at looked at Fez, biting your lip to stop your smile from getting too big. “I’d like that,” you said, nodding your head.

“Cool,” Fez said smiling. 

“Cool,” you repeated grinning right back. 

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, just staring at one another. 

“You know what. I’m feeling way better now.”

“Really?”

“Yeah... don’t think I’m quite ready to go inside yet.”

“You got something in mind?”

“Not really,” you said, pausing to think for a second. “Just not ready to leave you yet,” you replied, squeezing his hand a little while rubbing your thumb back and forth on the back of his hand.

Fezco’s checks got incredibly hotter as he looked away from you avoiding your eyes. He let go of your hand and put his car back in drive beginning to drive off then said, "I think I know a place."

[killedbythehuntress]

Stockholm Syndrome

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Also on: AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

I want to apologise for the delay in this chapter, seasonal depression sorta kicked my ass. But hopefully this makes up for it.

★·.·´¯`·.·★ .:**:.☆*.:｡.✿ ★·.·´¯`·.·★ 

Chapter Seven.

"Sebastian." She calls with a huffed laugh, pushing herself up from where she'd fallen. No matter how many times she walked this path, she always seemed to trip over the same tree root. She supposed that was down to the denseness of the trees, the light filtering in through separate areas, and shadows being created where they shouldn't be. "Are you sure the cave you're looking for is around here?" 

"I'm sure." He told her, although even he was sounding a little unsure of himself. That alone was enough to put her on edge, making her stop dead in her tracks as her hands found their way to her hips. 

"You're not, are you? Tell me the truth." She glowered at him, annoyed. They'd been traipsing around the forest now for two hours. 

"Okay, fine. We may have been a bit lost, but I'm starting to recognize things now." Her arms moved to cross over her chest, her eyebrows farrowing at him. "Look, I promise. I recognize that swirly thing." Her eyes followed where he pointed and she couldn't help but roll her eyes.

"It's a Merlin trial, and there's like a 100 of them, identical - scattered in the Scottish Highlands." She watched him deflate slightly and felt bad. "We're out here anyway though. Let's go." 

Dropping her arms, she pushed forward towards the trial, digging into her bag for some Mallowsweet instinctively. 

Why she felt compelled to do every one of these she found, she didn't know. 

Sprinkling the herbs, she watched as the vines shifted off some pillars. "You look around here, give me a second." She told him, pulling herself atop the shortest before using the height vantage to plan her movements. 

It took her less than five minutes - and one tumble and a restart - for her to complete it. Dropping down to sit on the edge of the tallest, and last pillar she'd landed on. She felt something wrapping around her ankle, shaking her leg, and looking down to find nothing. Frowning, her brows furrowed, perhaps it was one of the vines.

“It’s this way!” Her head whipped up, looking in the direction that Sebastian was, her frown deepening. 

“Are you sure? There’s an Acromantula lair in there.” She offered, jumping from her perch and making her way to him while remembering her fight with The Absconder. They might be dead, but it wasn’t unlikely that another had taken its place. 

She came to stand next to him, looking into the cavernous path, and shuddered. She felt another tug at her leg and looked in that direction, seeing nothing but feeling the need to brush something imaginary off her school robes. “Let's get this done, Sebastian. If I never see another spider, it'll be too soon.” 

Shaking her head, she stepped over the threshold between freedom and spider lair, pulling the robes closer around her to stop them snagging against some webbing. She heard Sebastian following behind her as they made their way through, stepping over empty egg nests and web-covered remains. 

After a while, Sebastian took the lead and she felt her stomach drop as they moved closer to where she'd fought the Absconder. “Seb!” She hissed quietly, hoping to not pull attention from anything lurking around. “Are you sure? Like really sure?” 

She watched him turn to her, clearly a little annoyed at being questioned, before his eyes widened. She heard him call her name, a clear warning, but too late as she felt something wrap around her ankles and pull. 

Feeling dazed, she rolled over onto her back, barely registering herself being pulled across the ground as she struggled to catch the breath that had been knocked from her, it didn't take long before she realized what had happened though. The large Thornback Matriarch towered over her form, webbing wrapped around her lower legs and torso as she was dragged towards it. “Sebastian, help!” She yelled, scrambling for the pocket she kept her wand inside, only to have another coat of the silky web trap he'd hand against her body. 

Her free hand dug into the ground around her as Sebastian flung spells at the beast, her attempts at stopping the pull in vain - the spells seemingly having no effect on the thornback. It was only as she was pulled close enough to see the spider's fangs, glistening slightly in the low light that her panic increased. “Sebastian, please!” She cried, her voice cracking slightly. 

“Avada Kedavra!” The flash of green was almost blinding, the tension that had been pulling at the webbing wrapped around her finally abating and she felt relieved, her head falling back onto the ground to look up at the sky - instead of the thornback curling up dead near her. A choked sob left her, her not trapped hand coming up to cover her lower face. 

“Diffindo.” The word was quiet, but it worked, the web slicing down the center and allowing it to slide off of her. “Hey, Shh,” Sebastian murmured, falling to his knees next to her. “It's okay, I've got you. I've got you.” He continued to say, holding her against his chest with a faint rocking motion as she cried. 

— — — — — —

“Shh, it's okay. I've got you.” The words were quiet but repeated over and over. The feeling of being rocked almost soothed her back to sleep. “I'm sorry, I'm here. I've got you, please wake up.” The feeling of someone pressing their face against the top of her head caused a wince, she must have hit her head at some point, and it hurt.

In fact, everything did. She was sure she was aching in places she didn't know could ache. Groaning softly, she tried to wiggle from the tight grip around her. “Seb?” She asked, voice weak. 

Her eyelids felt so heavy as she tried to open them, almost as if trying to lull her back to sleep. The small slither of light broke through the tiny gap in her eyelids enough to send a sharp ache through her already throbbing skull with another groan. 

“Shh, I'm here, I've got you!” The words were said against her hair as he pulled her tighter, a frantic edge to his voice. “I'm sorry.” She heard him murmur, almost as if he was hiding something. 

Before she could ask though, she lost the fight with unconsciousness. 

— — — — — —

Waking the second time, she could almost believe that the last couple of days had been some sort of nightmare, dreamt up as some stress-induced imagining of her situation.

Almost. That is. 

Because when she tried to move to get up from the bed, her body screamed out in pain. Crying out, she instead turned onto her side and curled into the tightest fetal position possible.

As she lay in her own self-pity, she couldn't ignore the sounds of footsteps almost running across the main floor, the small tinkling sound of what was likely potion bottles pairing with them. It wasn't long before the mattress next to her dipped, ripping a whimper from her as it jostled her aching body. 

“Shh, it's only me.” She heard, and that alone was enough for her to pull from her position if only to look up at him. 

“Sebastian?” Even tinged with pain, her voice couldn't hide the awe she felt at seeing him again. She was sure he had been killed - or worse, captured. Lifting her hand and ignoring the pain, she trailed her fingers over his stubble-covered cheek. 

Only once she believed this wasn't some elaborate dream or hallucination did she pull away.

And slap him. 

“Where the hell have you been?” She demanded, her pain momentarily forgotten. “I've been so sc…” She cut herself off, instead watching as the look of regret - and perhaps pity? But she ignored that - passed over his face. 

“I'm sorry,” Sebastian said quietly, holding up a small bottle, filled with bright green liquid. “Drink this first, and when we get you comfortable, I'll tell you everything.” 

She watched as he uncorked the bottle with his teeth, using his other hand to hold himself up over her before he brought the rim to her lips. She couldn't help the skeptical look - or the feeling - of what was happening, but a part of her - a part that was growing more and more recently - told her he was only trying to help, she needed him after all. 

Finally, she parted her lips enough for the Wiggenweld Potion to slip down her throat, many of the aches and pains lifting immediately. 

Sighing in relief, she pushed back on the mattress with a little more ease, lifting her hand and watching as her nails grew back. She still felt several aches and pains - some areas burning and stinging depending on the wound - things that would take time and not just a simple Wiggenweld potion. 

The most prominent pain came from her left arm - thankfully not her dominant arm - which she held cradled against her chest. Looking at it, the angle was off just enough to be noticeable. 

The sight of it made her feel sick, her head pushing back into the pillow in an attempt to not see it from the corner of her eye as she swallowed back the lump in her throat. 

“I need a doctor.” She said finally, her voice warbling and raspy - clearly she'd be crying if she wasn't so dehydrated. 

“No, you don't.” He told her firmly, stopping her attempt to sink into the mattress and pulling her into a seated position before bringing a glass of cold water to her lips. 

His arm wrapped around her, pulling her against his chest as she drank greedily, a kiss being pressed against her hairline. “I'm so sorry I was away for so long.” He murmured, his face pressing against her hair with a deep inhale. 

He refilled the glass for her twice before she'd drank enough to feel sated, her body and mind still tired as she slumped further into his hold, her heavy eyes falling shut. “Hey, hey.” He nudged her softly, “Let me fix your arm first, and then you can go back to sleep.” 

She felt herself nod, her eyes drooping slowly. Had she been this tired a few minutes ago? Her brow crinkled as she tried to think, she was sure she hadn’t, so why was she? She struggled to think back to the glasses of water he’d given her, cursing internally that she’d ignored the slight purple hue of the second one. “Sleeping draught.” She slurred, attempting to sound angry that he’d essentially drugged her. 

“I know, I’m sorry.” She heard him say, gently resting her down on the bed with a peck to her forehead. “But I figured it’d make this easier.” Had she not been so sluggish, she'd have realized what he was about to do sooner. The manipulation of the bones in her wrist, as he tried to get them back in position, wrenched a blood-curdling scream from her, even while half asleep. 

The last thing she heard before the draught took her under was Sebastian uttering a spell.

— — — — — —

She was so thirsty… 

Why was she so thirsty?

She wasn't sure what was happening, but the need to escape was strong. 

Where was she?

She could see the Undercroft. 

Is that where she was meant to go? 

She was feeling a serious sense of deja vu.

The banging stopped and that made her stop, a loud bang echoing behind her before the doors slammed open, the entire cavern shaking and dust falling around her. 

No, that wasn't right. 

She scrambled forward, surely she just had to get to the Undercroft and her desire to escape would be satiated 

Of course.

She was free.

She wasn't.

She watched as the path to the Undercroft was blocked by more stone - had this happened before? 

The sound of scuttling rushing towards her. 

No, not scuttling. Footsteps. In her desperate haze, had she heard wrong?

A screech.

No, it was her name. Someone was calling her name.

"No!" She screamed, watching as the rock collided with her wrist, the appendage being forced out of shape as she screamed.

— — — — — —

The memory of the pain pushed her back into consciousness. Her body jolted slightly before she took a moment to scan her surroundings. 

She was still in the cavern. Still alive. Still in the bed and still aching. 

She brought her hands up to her face, rubbing at her bleary eyes with a groan. It was then she noticed the pain in her wrist was gone, completely. 

Pulling her hands away from her face, she elevated her arm to inspect her wrist properly. 

No bruising, no weird shaping, no broken bones. Sebastian had repaired it somehow. 

Considering he'd taught himself the unforgivables from books, it was no surprise he'd managed to master healing spells - even if he'd gone to Azkaban before healing classes had been an option able to be taken. 

Sebastian…

Pushing herself into a seated position, she couldn't see him, but she could hear him downstairs. “Seb?” She murmured, feeling as though, if she spoke too loud the illusion she had brought of him would disappear. 

The shuffling sound stopped for a moment and her heart sank, before she heard the sound of a chair scraping against stone and footsteps. 

Her brain still felt hazy and she couldn't help the feeling of still dreaming, so she pinched herself once.

Twice. 

Only on the third pinch was she satisfied that she was awake. She watched as Sebastian reached the top of the stairs, walking towards her and the bed. 

“Think you’re up for a bath and some food?” He asked quietly, stopping a few steps away from her. Was he trying to avoid giving her the explanation he promised? Looking down at herself, she had to admit she was pretty filthy, the once white chemise was now an almost dark gray - and that thought was how she found herself nodding at him. 

It didn’t take more than a few minutes before she was downstairs and in the tub, the layer of grime and stone shedding from her body and turning the water a murky color. She watched Sebastian wave her wand, the water clearing before he picked up a bar of soap. “How’re you feeling, any pain still?” He asked softly, rubbing the bar over her back and shoulders, digging his fingers in lightly to loosen any tension. 

“Just some aches…” She mentions, not really looking up from the water. “Where were you?” 

“I went back to your cottage, get you some more things.” That made her look up, her gaze immediately falling onto Sebastian. “I’m serious, I figured you could use more than one chemise.” 

“Sebastian, you were gone days.” 

“I know, I thought I’d left enough time for any Aurors sniffing about would have given up.” He began, scooping up a small jug of water and using it to rinse her hair, tipping her head back gently with his other hand. “I was wrong though, I almost got caught.” 

She’d had a feeling, but hearing it and thinking it felt different. Her heart dropped, her brows furrowed and her fists clenched under the water. She had been so close to dying here alone. 

“I had to run, even apparated a few times but they still caught up.” She wasn’t sure if the water was getting cold or if the story was chilling her, but she felt herself shivering slightly. Another wave of her wand from Sebastian heated the water a little more for her. “It took a well-timed Disillusionment charm and for a group of poachers for me to give them the slip. I had to hide out in a cave for a little while to be sure it was safe to come back. Make sure no one was following me.” 

A few days ago, the thought of Sebastian not being followed and no one finding her would’ve caused her stomach to drop in distress. This time though, she was sure she was feeling some sort of relief from the news. “Please don’t ever do that again.” 

“You were gone for days, I was so scared.” She offered, her hand coming up and resting against his cheek. “I don’t know what I’d do here without you.” She bit her lower lip, pushing the tears that wanted to slip down her cheeks back. 

Sebastian leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers. “I promise, I have no plans to leave for so long again. I’m so sorry.” He whispered, but being so close it was easy for her to hear. 

They stayed like that for a few minutes, until the water started to cool again and she began to shiver. He then pulled her from the water gently, wrapping a towel around her. 

“Go get dressed, the clothes I managed to get are in your suitcase in the sleeping area.” Nodding, she took over holding the towel around her, wondering what he would’ve picked up for her. “I’ll make up a bowl of stew for you.”

Turning, she began to make her way to the stairs, her gaze falling over the now completely covered wall that used to hold the passageway to the Undercroft. The sight of it took her back, the fear, her eagerness, the stress - the worry of dying all hit her in one fell swoop. 

“Sebastian?” She called, turning quickly back to the returned man. 

“Yeah?” He stopped stirring the stew he’d been checking, putting the bowl down on the counter to turn to her. She made quick work of the space she’d made between them, reaching him quickly. 

Her hand came up, grasping the back of his neck and pulling him down into a desperate kiss. The first kiss she’d initiated between them since this whole ordeal began. She attempted to convey her feelings to him silently, feeling his hands hesitantly grab at her waist. 

“I don’t want to be alone again.” She told him quietly, barely pulling away from his lips as she spoke, her eyes downcast as she showed some vulnerability to him, her grip on the towel loosening slightly. 

[hussyknee]

hi, i hope i am not crossing a line, please ignore if this is bad question. i am just curious

in one of your posts u said your caste is karava. this is the first time i am hearing a sinhalese talk about caste (i speak tamil and never really felt confident in my sinhala to make sinhalese friends)

can you explain about the castes or tell me where find information about it

Caste is a fucked up concept across the board, obviously, but Sinhalese castes are different from Tamil Hindu in that they involve the cultural and socio-political organisation of the Sinhalese community, and has no connection to religious scripture.

There are thirteen castes that still exist today. We used to be a chiefly agrarian society, so the majority of Sinhalese are Govigama ("Govi" means farming) and they're the kind of "bourgeoisie" of the social order in that few are above them and anyone else is below them. Those that rank below them are castes like Bathgama and Kinnara (who are meant to be agricultural labourers) Vahampura (something to do with making cinnamon or treacle) Navadanna (artisans, especially makers of jewelry) and Rada (launderers). Radala is the caste of the nobility, and afaik the only one above Govigama. They're all from highlands of Kandy, the last Sinhalese holdout against the Europeans for about 200 years. There's no nobility among the lowlanders (between the Portuguese, Dutch and British, they were either killed, assimilated or fled to Kandy) so the Govigama caste is the highest one everywhere else. This means Govigama used to be the only one that was qualified to join the Theravada Buddhist priesthood* and also receive education and job opportunities as government servants—right up until the mid-20th century, when the karava gentry turned into robber barons under the British Empire's demand for cash crops.

Karava people are the majority inhabitants in the Southern coastal lands, which are predominantly Sinhalese Buddhist, as opposed to the Tamil lands of the Northern coast (Eelam really) and the proliferation of sparsely-populated Muslim communities in the rest of the coastal belt. Karava is called the fisherfolk caste by the rest of country, despite their own strong objections. Caste is reckoned patrilineally. I'm Karava through my Dad and I married into a Karava family. Nearly every Karava person I know insists that we're actually the warrior caste and were given the coastal lands as reward for our service to the king. I'm sure there's a legitimate case to be made for this, (this site keeps being referred to me) but I don't care enough to find out because the Karava insistence that being called fisherfolk is a Govigama conspiracy is incredibly funny. I mean, it could be true, what do I know, but so much of the cope and seethe stem from our lingering inferiority complex and resentment at having been treated as inferior until a few decades ago. After being ground under the Radala and Govigama feet along with the rest for ages beyond record, suddenly us lowlanders were rolling in money from our toddy, coconut and rubber plantations, matching or surpassing the wealth of the nobility. We were chasing off Tamil and Muslim minorities to establish our own lost cultural capitals in Anuradhapura and Pollonnaruwa that predated the Kandyan kingdom and making our own sect of the Buddhist priesthood (Amarapura Nikaya) that would ordain Karava people. The robber baron types also got very chummy with the British colonial administration and were awarded cushy jobs in government over the Govigama, who still disdained industrialization and commerce. (To this day my mother's family looks down on business people no matter how rich. Merchants are considered grasping and untrustworthy.) By the time of Sri Lanka's independence from the British in 1948, we had two varieties of equally rich, snooty, virulently ethnonationalist Sinhalese elites who had gotten ahead by selling us out to the British, but with the highland Radala still believing they were too pure-blooded to mix with the hoi polloi and the lowland Karava resentful at being considered the polloi no matter how hoi they'd become. Post-independence, Sri Lanka's adoption of free education and free state universities saw masses of lowlanders, Karava, Durava and Salagama all, sending their kids to university to attain upwardly mobile careers in engineering, medicine and teaching. "If the boy is Karava he's probably in engineering" is a common joke. It's a clear shift away from our rural agrarian roots into urban sprawl and high socio-economic competition in place of social stratification.

We also have a caste of Untouchables called the Rodiya. In ancient times, you and all your family being stripped of their lands and titles and banished into the Rodi Rahaya was one of the punishments reserved for the noble houses that ran afoul of the monarchy. It condemned your entire lineage forever. This was such a dire fate that some would have favoured execution.

Rodiyas were not permitted to cross a ferry, to draw water at a well, to enter a village, to till land, or learn a trade, as no recognised caste could deal or hold intercourse with a Rodiya [...] They were forced to subsist on alms or such gifts as they might receive for protecting the fields from wild beasts or burying the carcasses of dead cattle; but they were not allowed to come within a fenced field even to beg [...] They were prohibited from wearing a cloth on their heads, and neither men nor women were allowed to cover their bodies above the waist or below the knee. If benighted they dare not lie down in a shed appropriated to other travellers, but hid themselves in caves or deserted watch-huts. Though nominally Buddhists, they were not allowed to go into a temple, and could only pray "standing afar off"

(Source)

Allegations of witchcraft and cannibalism aside, the Rodiyas themselves were known to be a proud folk that considered themselves the pure-blooded descendants of the royalty that were punished this way. Here's a Reddit post that expounds on them more, along with photographs. It seems that the strictures against covering up had fallen away between the turn of the 20th century and the '70s. Not much is known about their current living conditions, but I believe that, like India's own Untouchables and the low caste of Eelam's Tamil Hindus, they must have converted to Christianity to escape the stigma.

Casteism is still somewhat of a problem in the Sinhalese community, but it's lessening every generation. My maternal grandparents weren't entirely happy about my mother marrying my Karava father but conceded because he was an engineer with a stable career. My older cousin had to fight his Karava family to marry his school sweetheart because she was both poor and Bathgama caste (I think "Padu" might be a derogatory name for it). The fact that he succeeded is noteworthy because it would have been a huge scandal in my parents' time. The Radalas are still a bunch of insular dipshits who try to keel over and die if one of them tries to marry out. But many of them are also migrating abroad so Idk if it's too much to hope that they leave the caste shit behind when they assimilate into Western society. It certainly hasn't worked for the Brahmin Indians. But the outlook is better for the rest of us.

*There is no caste system in Buddhism. The Buddha in fact was an egalitarian social reformer who advocated against the Vedic caste system and ordained Untouchables as well as women. So obviously the Theravadin priesthood of Sri Lanka, that bastion of the Buddha's Word, would make sure that only high caste men could ever be ordained. Love the fact that the Karava social revolution just made sure they had their own sect instead of, y'know, pushing for anything more equitable. I always say that if we really want to protect Buddhism we have to abolish the Sinhalese.

[scotianostra]

On 17th August 2010 Bill Millin, piper to Lord Lovat at D Day, died, aged 88.

Born on 14th July 1922 Saskatchewan, Canada to a father of Scottish origin who moved the family to Canada but returned to Glasgow as a policeman when William was three. He grew up and went to school in the Shettleston are of the city. He joined the Territorial Army in Fort William, where his family had moved, and played in the pipe bands of the Highland Light Infantry and the Queen's Own Cameron Highlanders before volunteering as a commando and training with Lovat at Achnacarry along with French, Dutch, Belgian, Polish, Norwegian, and Czechoslovakian troops.

Lord Lovat had appointed his personal piper during commando training at Achnacarry, and was the only man during the D Day landing who wore a kilt – it was the same Cameron tartan kilt his father had worn in Flanders during World War I – and he was armed only with his pipes and the sgian-dubh sheathed inside his kilt-hose on the right side.

Taken from accounts of 6th June 1944 on Sword Beach Normandy.

Bill began his apparently suicidal serenade immediately upon jumping from the ramp of the landing craft into the icy water on D Day. As the Cameron tartan of his kilt floated to the surface he struck up with Hieland Laddie. He continued even as the man behind him was hit, dropped into the sea and sank.Once ashore Millin did not run, but walked up and down the beach, blasting out a series of tunes. After Hieland Laddie, Lovat, the commander of 1st Special Service Brigade (1 SSB), raised his voice above the crackle of gunfire and the crump of mortar, and asked for another. Millin strode up and down the water’s edge playing The Road to the Isles.

Bodies of the fallen were drifting to and fro in the surf. Soldiers were trying to dig in and, when they heard the pipes, many of them waved and cheered — although one came up to Millin and called him a “mad bastard”.His worst moments were when he was among the wounded. They wanted medical help and were shocked to see this figure strolling up and down playing the bagpipes. To feel so helpless, Millin said afterwards, was horrifying. For many other soldiers, however, the piper provided a unique boost to morale. “I shall never forget hearing the skirl of Bill Millin’s pipes,” said one, Tom Duncan, many years later. “It is hard to describe the impact it had. It gave us a great lift and increased our determination. As well as the pride we felt, it reminded us of home and why we were there fighting for our lives and those of our loved ones.”

When the brigade moved off, Millin was with the group that attacked the rear of Ouistreham. After the capture of the town, he went with Lovat towards Bénouville, piping along the road.

They were very exposed, and were shot at by snipers from across the canal. Millin stopped playing. Everyone threw themselves flat on the ground — apart from Lovat, who went down on one knee. When one of the snipers scrambled down a tree and dived into a cornfield, Lovat stalked him and shot him. He then sent two men into the corn to look for him and they came back with the corpse. “Right, Piper,” said Lovat, “start the pipes again.”

At Bénouville, where they again came under fire, the CO of 6 Commando asked Millin to play them down the main street. He suggested that Millin should run, but the piper insisted on walking and, as he played Blue Bonnets Over the Border, the commandos followed.

When they came to the crossing which later became known as Pegasus Bridge, troops on the other side signalled frantically that it was under sniper fire. Lovat ordered Millin to shoulder his bagpipes and play the commandos over. “It seemed like a very long bridge,” Millin said afterwards.

The pipes were damaged by shrapnel later that day, but remained playable. Millin was surprised not to have been shot, and he mentioned this to some Germans who had been taken prisoner.They said that they had not shot at him because they thought he had gone off his head.

The pictures shows Millin playing at Edinburgh Castle in 2001, on Sword beach, 1994 and his statue there which was unveiled in 2013.

[halfadoginatank]

Simon and his father take a trip to the Scottish highlands for the summer, he knows only one of them will leave.

Johnny is a boy obsessed with filming explosions from fireworks he's not supposed to have.

Los Vaqueros are a group of Mexican teens derailed from their field trip waiting for teachers that might not come back.

Huge lore and plot dump below.

Mild tw for Simons father

Simons father has always taken him on hunting trips, sometimes he hated them, some times he liked them. But he'd never taken him this far from manchester. There are weapons in the cabin they rent, his father is eerily sober, one of them is going to die out here. Simon can only hope that Tommy won't be next.

Johnny meets him when he strays too far from his father. Part of it on purpose, he would never be on equal footing, more so when his father had the rifle and not him. He's in the tree's, at first simon thinks its prey, but there's a camera lense staring right at his scope.

Los Vaqueros come later, the leader arguing with a girl with choppy hair, Valeria and Alejandro trade glares while Rodolfo tries to mediate. Their bus broke down, leaving them stuck in town desperately renting a cabin near but far from the one simon is in.

It's the most interesting thing thats happened to johnny, and in the makeshift bonfire Valeria corners him and Simon. Her gaze is snakelike and a ring clinks on the bottle she's holding

"You say that he's an asshole yes? Your padre. Mine was the same, en mi opinión? It is kill or be killed."

Valeria nods at Alejandro, she tells them of a faceless force where she's from. The person sponsoring the trip for them, 'good will'. The five of them band together, the rest of the Vaqueros utterly ignorant.

Simon will save his family, Alejandro will get them home, and johnny? He's going to make the best home video.

-

Yeah so thats the whole plot, originally it was just going to be ghoap but somehow the Vaqueros fell into place. It kind of made more sense to have Valeria give them the idea? She doesnt have a whole bunch of canon lore so I figured she'd have an in with the cartel via her father, who was awful. And when Valeria killed him the nameless helped her cover it up and she got her own little spot.

Alejandro broke off their relationship after that, it's why they're on bad terms. He formed the Vaqueros as a funny joke that he started to take seriously when kids around Las Almas genuinely needed help that wasnt someway connected to the cartel, adults had that with rudys mother, so Ale and his childhood friend Rudy decided to help people their age in a way that doesn't rely on adults too much.

Everyone here is about 16-18. Soap is 17, ghost is as well but a few months older. Rudy Alejandro and Valeria are 18. And the youngest cowboy is 16.

Im trying to fit Gaz and Alex in? Im thinking that they both live in Texas, Gazs parents had a falling out since mum was from Texas hes there. Their school is on the same trip in the same bus a sort of cross trip to help the shitty american public school get a better name, as well as the cartels big PR move with having a class from one of Las Almas' schools.

Johnny is a bit weird here, but his motivation is he's suffering from extreme middle kid issues. Loves his family but since he's almost invisible is able to just kinda run off as long as hes back home eventually. He has a camera he uses to film any of his mishaps with, its essentially just jackass. As well as a video diary. Dont be fooled, its also an excuse for me to write some of it in script like format.

Simon is almost exactly the same as he is in the 09 comics, obviously a bit different. But childhood is the same.

I wanted farah to be here so bad but her childhood is literally a warzone and theres no way I can get her and her brother in Scotland. Because im trying so hard to make this somewhat believable, like yes its is a summer mystery horror au. But god I just really need things to make a little sense otherwise I cant do it. Same with Price Nik and Laswell. Like I could group Laswell in with Alex and gaz, and maybe I could pair her with Valeria for funsies. However Nikolai is in russia so... oopsie, and price? Like... how do you turn price into a teenager, he'd be what 19 or 20? Theres no reason he'd be in school, I dont think he'd be held back.

Also you may wonder, why is graves not here? Uh.... because I dont care, he wouldn't have a place here. The antagonist is Simons father, and honestly man? I just dont care that much for his character.

Man theres... theres so much I have here dude, I want to throw roach in there, and I THINK I could squeeze him in as one of ghosts school mates but the point is the first act has Simon completely isolated.

Anyway thats it. Bye.

[nuancedeaths]

CROSSROADS

GLASGOW, SCOTLAND

March 29, 2019

In a gentler reimagining of his life, John MacTavish might have had better prospects at the age of twenty-five.

If life had seen it fit, he would have stayed true to his faith, married a good woman and settled down somewhere in the Scottish highlands, not far from his parents. Not far from his roots.

He had the desire for it, really. He tried everything in his power to fit that mould. Before he’d even properly grown, he’d looked himself over and painstakingly cut away the parts of him that did not belong to that good catholic boy his mother raised, stitched on parts artificially outsourced that fit better.

He spent years curating the idea of John MacTavish. Close cropped hair, bright smile, perfect teeth. Always faithful, never curses, the good boy his mother raised him to be.

He’s not stupid, though. The body can be edited. Things cut off, sloppily sewn on, perfect teeth painted in place of those crooked ones he’d needed braces for, but the mind can’t be fooled into forgetting its own reflection.

He can paint himself in whichever light he wants, but he’s learned that some men are born with an intrinsic deficiency in their bones, a sickness.

So he honours that sickness, instead of plugging the rotting holes in his bones with cigarette butts and folded receipts, he lined his ribs with dynamite.

He rigged himself to blow the day he signed his name away, fresh faced, sixteen, already much too cocky for his own good. A bit spry, too much of a livewire for his COs.

Exactly the way they want a boy to be before they train him into obedience like a dog.

He didn’t mind that training. He’s gone through enough sculpting as a teenager to make him into the perfect blank slate to impose a soldier’s death wish onto, and once he’d managed to get into basic, he knew it was time to cut and carve those undefined muscles into the sculpted body of a strong man. A man who would make more of a difference in life than poster boy, skew teeth, watered down Scots MacTavish.

He’d always been a half assed, bastardised version of the boy he was raised to be, so maybe he could excel at being something else of his own choosing, if he willingly let himself over to the system and handed them the knife to take and stitch on as they pleased.

He abandoned all measure of value he used to have to his old life, but there’s still a lingering bit of that Catholic wisdom there, he still counts his blessings, he still prays for fallen friends.

On his mother’s insistence, he carries a small metal cross on a ball chain necklace, similar to the one of his dog tags, though this one had been around longer than the latter. He’d worn it since the day he signed those papers at sixteen, a small consolation to his distraught mother that could do nothing but watch as he turned himself into a pawn in a much larger, scarier game than she would ever be able to comprehend.

At first, he hated the way it itched against his skin, odd angles pressing in and leaving sunken reliefs in his chest when he slept at night, waking to a warning red mark pressed into his skin in that familiar cross shape. He hated the way it felt under his shirt, but he learned to love it as time went on, learned to stop seeing it as a tether to a past life after a while, and more of a reminder that there was something more than warfare out there for him, that there was something somewhere to come home to, for all it was worth.

He’d lost his religion as a teenager, but those first few years, all the lives he’d taken and the friends he’d lost on the way pushed him to find solace somewhere.

It's funny, really, how easy it is to hate something that once was a staple food of your childhood, how easy it is to shy away from what had seen you through your formative years. He’d abandoned it that day, with paper and cheap ballpoint pen and determination in hand, used the abandonment of it to draw a clear line in the sand to mark off where his youth ended and his adulthood began.

But then the dramatic irony lies in the journey back to the table, when the body has dissolved the muscle and destroyed itself in that fasting period. Because no matter how far you stray from your roots, the mouth is forever bound to the sweetness of that meal served in childhood, no matter how nauseating it had been in those days.

It finds comfort in the familiarity, and the taste once despised becomes closure, in famine, through hardship.

So even when he’s no longer willing to go on, he keeps that chain on, letting that cross sit next to his dog tags because he’s become accustomed to the comfort it brings him. His old life cast in metal, and his new life beside it, pressed into it in name, in rank, in blood type.

It is like this, with the weight those two chains carried leaning as a palpable feeling over his heart, that he has to make a decision.

He and a man he thought he might never see again, were seated in a booth at a small, packed coffee shop in the heart of Glasgow.

There are more papers on the table now and he scans them through once more, a second time, a third and waits for the waitress to serve them their coffee before he asks the man across from him a question that might have seemed redundant, but served a very specific purpose in his mind.

He made somewhat of a promise to his mother the last time he’d seen her, that he would avoid playing hero and running into fire when it could be avoided, and Captain John Price, the man that had arranged for them to meet here after years of not speaking, was asking him to do exactly that.

“This Makarov guy, he’s dangerous?”

Price chuckled a bit as he stirred sugar into his coffee.

“He’s dangerous, alright.”

“And no one else can do this?”

Price shook his head with a solemn no, but there must have been someone up for the challenge, someone that didn’t chain themselves too much to a past that no longer suited their lifestyle.

“There’s a few that might be up for the challenge, but it's been years and I haven’t seen a single soul be able to do what you do. They don’t call you Soap for nothing.”

That was perhaps only a partial truth, because Soap is sure he’s not the only sorry soul Price has ever had the privilege to see go to hell and back without crumbling under the pressure. But there was a reason for it, though, the name. That might be exactly why Price had come to him and not anyone else, though.

He knows how he is, he trusts Soap, and the fact that he needs someone reliable, that he knows will be able to do the job, tells him all he needs to know.

Price was eliminating margins of error and he needed someone he knows for certain won’t screw it up.

He’s not going to pretend that the implication doesn’t knock his ego up a notch, but he won’t say it out loud.

Still, he’s hesitant. If the man’s actually as dangerous as Price is insinuating, he’ll be breaking that promise, and if there was one thing he valued well over government orders, it was loyalty to his family, no matter how distant they were from each other.

“I’ll need a bit to think about it.”

“Well, you better make that decision fast, because the situation’s much more time sensitive than it looks on paper. If Makarov manages to achieve what we suspect he’s planning, we could be looking at a world scale disaster.”

“Shit,” Soap murmured, looking down at the dark swirl of his coffee and finding his own clueless reflection looking back at him. He needs to do this job, just this once, and then he can go back to honouring his mother’s wishes by trying not to get himself killed too eagerly.

As if that’ll hold up that long in this line of work anyway, but he supposes agreeing to it and sticking with it for as long as possible puts her mind to rest more than leaving it in fate’s hands.

Instead of looking at his unsure expression longer than he needs to, he dumps milk and sugar in and begins to drink it, despite how hot it is. He just needs an excuse not to make that decision this very second.

“Do you have anyone else in mind for the job that would be going in with us?”

It's a filler question, he knows this and he’s sure Price does too, but Price humours him with a proper answer.

“I have. Now, the information about this situation’s controlled to a tight circle, one that you are now a part of,” Price begins, he checks over his shoulder and around the space of the coffee shop to see if anyone might be listening in, but the mingling of the voices and the retro eighties track they’ve got playing on the speaker puts his mind at ease that no one is listening in at this hour of the morning.

Soap looked out the steamed window and onto the windswept street outside, raised his coffee to his mouth again.

“So far I’ve got two people on this. Unless you agree to this, I can’t divulge any names, but I’ve got someone overseeing the operation and another guy that goes way back with me, a lieutenant I trust with my life,” he goes on to explain in somewhat of a hushed tone.

Soap felt something in his chest tighten. Something about this felt off. Call it intuition or his sixth sense, or even divine intervention, something about this situation made it seem like this choice would have far more impact on the rest of his life than Price was making it sound like.

He owed his life to Price and in a past that wasn't quite as distant as he wanted it to be, he'd have jumped at this opportunity in a heartbeat, but he's stuck between two worlds now.

What he says here now would carry just as much weight and be just as legally binding as those papers he signed at sixteen.

But as the thought occurs to him, Price adds in a dire tone, “listen here, Soap. This guy, Makarov, he’s a snake.”

Soap looked down at the file again, the photo pinned to it. There’s a recognisable darkness in the man’s eyes, like he’s hollowed himself out to be a vessel for violence and it seems to seep from every pore in his body in a metaphysical way. On a surface level, he was underwhelming, but he knows that look when he sees it.

It's the same look he worries he’ll find one day in the mirror and it sends a chill down his back.

“He keeps himself hidden, but if you do enough digging you’ll find him tangled up with almost every single international shitshow that I’ve been working on over the past five years, some of them you've been a part of. He gets other people to do his dirty work for him, finances, executions, minor scale attacks on things that seem inconsequential, but there’s a pattern. He calculates everything to the fucking T. So I need you to know I wouldn’t be asking this of you unless I really needed to, and I am not sure I know anyone else who would be able to pull this off.”

Soap gritted his teeth and locked eyes with Makarov on the paper, looking up at Price.

"You're not giving me much of a choice here, sir."

"Course I am. You can choose to do this and save the life of countless innocent people, or, you can decide not to, and run the risk of this very moment being responsible for a child's entry into the foster system, the choice is yours."

Soap gritted his teeth, hand coming unconsciously to clutch at one of the two chains around his neck at a terrible attempt at grounding himself. He doesn't know which one it is when he says, "fine. I'm in."

Price gives a self assured little smile, tips his head in Soap's direction before taking a sip of his coffee like he's just landed himself a good deal. Soap doesn't know whether to be offended or impressed with himself at the idea that Price considered his compliance a win.

One again, he looks down at the papers on the table, frowning at the text, though his mind is reeling too much to really take any of it in.

"Just for the record, how off the books is this little charade really?"

"What made that idea come to mind?" Price asks, intonation flat, but still as though he expects what Soap is about to say.

Soap swept a hand to gesture at the space around them, all the way from the olive green back wall their booth was propped up against, across where the kitchen was behind a closed wooden door, the counter with the pastries in the glass cases and the empty tables by the windows. Even now, they're seated in a position where the security cameras wouldn't be able to properly pick out what they're looking at and they're far enough from the barista that she wouldn't be able to hear them either.

"Just have a feeling that discussing a high stakes op at the asscrack of dawn in a coffee shop with a man who's supposed to be on leave isn't exactly the proper way to go about things."

Price grimaced with a little bit of a shrug.

"Wouldn't say it's off the script, but if we're talking about records, I'd say half the things we discussed here won't end up in the mission report. So we're playing by all the rules, but we keep it off the table for anyone else to see. Never know if Makarov's got a songbird among our men."

This piqued Soap's interest. "You're worried about a spy?"

"He's Russian."

"Aye, that's a stereotype, sir." Soap raised an eyebrow as he down the rest of his coffee like an espresso shot. It doesn't have the kick he needs from it in order to settle the nerves in his stomach.

"Stereotypes are somewhat rooted in truth, sergeant."

"So when is this thing actually happening?"

"The 6th."

Soap's eyes widened. "That's almost a week from now. I'm still on leave until the fifteenth."

"Well you better make a plan to explain to your mother why you're heading back so soon."

Damn it. The chain itches against his neck.

"Alright then. Now that I'm on this, who else is in on it?"

Price lowered his voice. "As you expect, I'm not the top of the food chain here. If I'm going to be really honest with you, I'm only here to speak to you specifically because General Shepherd trusts my judgement."

"Shepherd?" Soap raised an eyebrow. "And your other man?"

Price looked a bit uneasy. "We go way back, I'm sure you've heard of him. Simon Riley?"

Soap shook his head. "Doesn't ring a bell, sir."

"Well then, perhaps you'll know him as Ghost."

You can find it on ao3 here:

[slytherizz]

Whatever it Takes - Sebastian Sallow x Female!MC/Reader

Summary: Sebastian and new fifth year girl embark down a dark path together. Both have to carry a burden far bigger than themselves. To save his sister and the wizarding world as they know it. They know what needs to be done, as they descend into a world of dark magic and it's consequences.

Kindred spirits, ready to risk it all no matter the cost to their own souls. But they may get a little more than they bargained for as their growing feelings for each other threaten their mission at every turn.

Together, they'll do whatever it takes to save the ones they hold dear. No price is too high.

You can find the entire fic on Ao3

Tags: Character Study, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Sebastian Sallow POV

Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, explicit language, angst, mostly angst, no beta

A/N I realised I never actually posted my first fic here as I wasn't on tumblr when I began posting on Ao3. Literally just a 58k character study I did for Seb when the game first came out. There are of course, lots of chapters and scenes peppered throughout that aren't canon compliant as I fiddled with the timeline (Extended to 3 year time span). Reading this fic isn't necessary to skip to Part 2 'In the Shadow of Us' but may add ✨seasoning✨

Chapter 1

September, 1890

Prewitt was always insufferable, and the summer had only made the Gryffindor more arrogant. He’d come into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom bragging about some ludicrous adventure he’d had with his Aunt. Something about hitting a troll over the head with its own club whilst visiting family in the South of France. True or not it had rubbed Sebastian the wrong way. He would have loved nothing more than to have spent the summer duelling up in the hills around Feldcroft with Ominis and Anne, generally getting up to no good. Since the pains that plagued his sister, only grew worse he’d had little time to adventure across the Scottish Highlands under his uncle's strict leash.

Prewitt had raised his wand across from him, “Scared of being knocked off the top spot in the crossed wands, Sallow?”

A taunt that would have hit his mark if delivered by a better duellist. He stepped to meet the boy's challenge, he couldn’t pass up an opportunity to knock him down a few pegs. He launched three quick spells but Prewitt was on the defensive, his Protego firmly in place. Maybe he had gotten better, but not good enough. Despite trying to keep Sebastian under lock and key all summer, Solomon couldn’t be around at all times. Sebastian had been practicing too.

The fact was, Prewitt was predictable. Sebastian saw the telltale shake of his arm, his balance was off and his feet were so close together he knew he could sweep him off them. But mostly the Gryffindor didn’t commit. His spells fell short as most did when duelling and too afraid of getting the incantation wrong to really follow through with a cast. Stopping his onslaught, Sebastian let the magic thrum in his fingers. The feeling always comforted him, the hum in his blood as it pumped around his body. He paused for one second to savor it and waited biding his time. As expected, Prewitt took the bait. Dropping his Protego he threw out a shaky leg locker jinx which Sebastian quickly brushed to the side with a wave of his wand.

“Is that all you’ve got?” he crooned. Then he struck. 

Prewitt's footing wavered, losing his balance he wasn’t fast enough to protect against the spell. Just in time, the Gryffindor managed to redirect the spell up onto the great skull that loomed above their heads. The skeleton groaned as the head came loose of its moorings directly above the redhead. All the colour seemed to leech from Prewitt’s face as the enormous mass of bones quickly impressed upon him.

“Levioso!”

As quickly as it had come loose, Hecat suspended the skull just in time to save his opponent from a rather painful visit to the hospital wing. Pity. So much for the Troll Slayer. Couldn’t even defend himself against a beast that was already dead.

Hecat looked them both over, before leveling him with an exasperated look. He liked the professor, a skilled witch he admired. She understood the value of knowledge, that anything no matter how small may make all the difference in a fight. Hecat was an older woman with greying hair and a slight hunch to her shoulders one might assume her frail. Never underestimating your opponent, was a lesson learned the hard way. Not anyone can take down a dragon poacher ring, you had to be resourceful, and cunning.

The professor had launched into a speech he knew well. He’d heard it on his first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, every ear in the room had pricked up, they were silent, and he remembered feeling the coil of excitement. Anne’s eyes had shone that day as she looked at the professor as if a heroine from one of her adventure books had leapt off the page. He’d groaned at it in his 3rd year when she’d caught him sneaking behind the Quidditch stands with that pretty Ravenclaw girl he’d liked instead of writing 16 inches on werewolf and nocturnal beast identification. Last year he’d cursed it. Where were the brave witches and wizards to protect Feldcroft, his hamlet to save his sister when she needed them? Why couldn’t they teach him the knowledge he needed to do it himself?

“…Knowledge. To the wise age matters very little.”

But this time it felt different. He didn’t resent hearing this tale, in fact, deep inside something stirred. That little fire inside he guarded so fiercely, quivered to attention sending a little shiver down his spine. Hecat began their lecture.

“Levioso? A levitation charm?” cried an exasperated Prewitt, Sebastian shot him a glare. But too quickly Professor had turned her attention to the Gryffindor.

“Levioso!”

Prewitt shot up all eyes to where he was now suspended in mid-air squirming. His cheeks and ears burned almost as bright as his hair. Sebastian smirked slightly, not being able to resist the curl of his lips at the boy's gangly limbs flailing in the air like the squid in the lake. He heard a small snigger from an unfamiliar voice behind him. He turned slightly. To his right trying to disguise her laughter was the new fifth-year girl that had come charging with Professor Fig at last night’s Sorting Ceremony looking a bit moon-eyed and breathless. Just as he’d once looked when he’d first walked into the great hall all those years ago. Strange to have someone wind up at Hogwarts in their fifth year, stranger still was the conspiratorial look Professor Fig had given her as he ushered her over to the lumpy old hat on the chair. Sebastian liked a mystery and someone who liked to see Prewitt made a fool of gets points in his book. She met his gaze, and he quirked an eyebrow.

Hecat then releasing the charm Prewitt fell ungracefully to the floor in a heap of limbs. He clambered up awkwardly dusting himself off before slinking to one of the desks in the darker far corner of the room. No doubt to blend in to quell the embarrassment as the rest of the class took to their seats. Sebastian settled in his favourite seat by the window.

***

Chin resting on his hand, wand in the other he lazily flicked at the Fwooper feather on his desk suspending it and letting it fall back down. The classroom buzzed around him, the clang of the practice dummy and the grumbles of a Ravenclaw boy who just couldn’t seem to grasp he was meant to be casting a spell not stirring a bloody soup with his wand movements. The sounds slowly drifted away, and he found his mind started to wander as the September sun warmed his face. He’d spent months practicing Levioso in his second year in the Undercroft whilst preparing for his first duel with the Crossed Wands. Anne had been here to help him then. Any free moment they had had been spent holed up in that secret back room adjusting their wrist movements by tiny degrees. More than once they’d caught the other a bit too hard and sent them careening a bit too high whacking their heads on the ceiling or in one instance Anne had dropped him right on top of a broken cauldron breaking his wrist in two places. The matron in the hospital wing had been suspicious but they certainly weren’t the first to wind up there due to unsanctioned duelling. So with all their limbs still attached, she didn’t pry.

Those memories had an edge to them now. What good did all their practicing do when Anne couldn’t protect herself when it really mattered? Why couldn’t he protect her when it really mattered? Since that day in the summer before their fourth year, Sebastian was more determined than before. Age didn’t matter to the wise, as Hecat always said. Now he spent hours poring over seventh-year advanced spell books and banned books on curses he’d pilfered from the restricted section. Winning at the Cross Wands had once made him gleam with pride, and his boasting probably made him an insufferable prat to be around. Now the winning didn’t taste as sweet. In his search for anything to help Anne his knowledge of spells and duelling skills had progressed far beyond what he needed for matches. He only used it as a way to sharpen his skills, he was being reckless in the duels. In some instances, three on one, pushing himself to his limit with every new spell he learnt. Some fights tougher than others, he’d been caught by a couple of stray jinxes from some of the more formidable 7th years but he’d beaten them too, all the same.

He cast his eyes across the room, Hecat was encouraging the new fifth-year girl who was striking the practice dummy suspended in mid-air. She was good.  U nrefined but quite natural in her movements so unlike the overeager predictability of Prewitt’s spellcasting. Sebastian pushed off the table to stand in the middle of the classroom to examine her closer. Her movements were rather erratic as you’d expect from someone untrained, but there was a certain fluidity to how she held herself and moved her wand as if not a tool in which to cast but a very extension of her arm. The magic that thrummed from her wasn’t something she controlled, it was a wild and untethered thing she redirected like water. The static from her magic made her stray hairs stand on end as she pulled back from her attack and let the dummy fall to the floor with a clang

Hecat smiled at the girl before catching his eye “Very good. But the best way to practice is by duelling. We’ll start with you two.” She said gesturing to Sebastian who was watching from the side. "Duellists take your marks”.

She may be new and rather capable, but Sebastian was sure it would be the same thing with every duel these days.

“Time for a proper Hogwarts welcome” he smirked, striding across the room and into position.

***

Never say Sebastian Sallow was a bad loser. As he lay flat on his arse, breathing hard his heart still thundering quickly as he shook off the remnants of the spell that struck him. She stood above him wand still raised slightly. Their eyes met.

Her eyes shone with that look of triumph a feeling he knew well. He lived that feeling. It was that look he usually gave opponents. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been the one on his back, but he couldn’t say he minded the view. Her hair was wild around her face, her lips slightly parted, panting lightly. A delicious sound. A conquering heroine. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. Finally, someone interesting.

He hadn’t duelled like that in a long time. He’d let her strike first casting a protego when they’d begun their game. He was a gentleman after all. Not gentleman enough to let her win but she was new and letting her get a couple of shots in early was only polite. Then he’d countered quickly, no point in going easy and wearing her out on her first day but to his delight she’d deflected with a protection of her own. Their dance began, as expected from her work with the dummy, she duelled more reactively and unrefined. Her wand lashing out from her fast like a whip, she seemed to cast with her whole body. She’d leave her left side fully exposed only to pivot so quickly the vulnerability was lost in a flurry of robes and long hair. He cracked a smile, finally someone interesting to compete with. He parried and struck with his wand missing his mark again as she moved like a knife through butter. She looked up and their eyes met. Sweat glistened faintly on her brow, a wide grin spread across her face and a feral tenacious glint in her eye. She looked like a woman who’d been lost in the desert, the magic thrumming through her was the water she’d been denied that she desperately gulped it down until she was sick with it. That’s when he’d hesitated. At that familiar look in her eyes. Her blow struck him square in the chest and that’s when he’d landed with a thud.

She held out her hand for Sebastian, her lips quirked slightly at one side. He took her outstretched hand as she hauled him up off the ground.

“Not bad for a beginner. You give as good as you get” he said with a grin, dusting himself off.

***

He was lurking by the door to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom waiting for her to finish with Hecat. As expected, Prewitt and Imelda hadn’t hesitated with a few snide remarks and jeer at his expense. Sebastian’s own defeat had clearly helped mend Prewitt’s bruised ego from earlier. Even ‘Puffskein Dunkein’ had shot him a mocking smile. The audacity of a man afraid of a Puffskein to think he’d be embarrassed. Sebastian cocked an eyebrow as if to say, ‘Do you want a turn?’, had the Ravenclaw boy averting his gaze and quickly shuffling out.

They all thought he was embarrassed. But the fact of the matter was, he wasn’t. Far from it. In fact, he was ecstatic. He’d not had a chance to duel like that in a long time not with someone like him. The look he caught in her eye he knew then they shared something. She wasn’t afraid of it. Not of that power that thrummed and ebbed in her veins. His teachers, his peers, and especially his uncle Solomon were afraid of that innate power they all had. The fear, that had professors restricting the spells they taught. The fear, that kept them from driving the loyalists out of the hills around Feldcroft. The fear, that kept them from doing whatever it takes to find a cure for Anne. He didn’t see a shred of that fear when he looked at her in that duel.

She was walking then toward the back of the room, heading for the door, fumbling with some odd book in her bag. He moved swiftly to fall into step beside her.

“That duel was quite something,” he said nudging her arm slightly drawing her attention.

“It was good practice.”

“Practice? It felt more like I was duelling an expert” he wasn’t lying, that kind of trust in one’s abilities was something it took most people years to forge. “Didn’t expect a new student to be so deft with a wand…but perhaps this wasn’t your first due?” A leading question he knew, this girl was unusual, to say the least, and wherever she’d come from, maybe they had more kindred spirits.

“It was in fact. Maybe I just have a knack for it” She didn’t meet his eyes, trying a little too hard to sound aloof.

“Be coy if you like, but I know better. Magic requires intention and talent” he smirked. He liked this game, someone who kept their cards close to their chest, but he wanted to duel with her again and Sallow’s always get their man. So, he dangled the carrot “In fact, you might be a perfect fit for a certain exclusive, unsanctioned duelling organisation.”

She gave him a sideways glance up through her eyelashes though he could feel the spark of interest, her eyebrows raised “Exclusive and unsanctioned?” she mused “Count me in.”

A rulebreaker too. Merlin have mercy. He could work with this one.

“I knew I was right about you. If you want to get the most out of your time at Hogwarts. You’re going to need to break the rules now and then. Whether it’s joining a secret duelling club or sneaking into the restricted section of the library. You just have to be clever enough not to get caught.”

“And what? you’re offering to be my clever guide around this place?”

“Of course, I would never leave a lady to fend for herself. Especially not one that flipped me in a duel so easily.”

“Hmm, it may not be the last time I get you on your back.”

He spluttered, was she implying…surely not. That was just about duelling. Either way, his face flushed slightly. 

"If you fancy a partner send me Owl, despite my performance today, I am the reigning Champion. We could make quick work of this year's competition if we work together." Spotting Ominis on the floor below ducking around the Defence Against the Dark Art staircase he slowed his stride to cast one last look at the girl before he took off after his friend “I’ll see you soon. Perhaps somewhere…unsanctioned”.

A conspiratorial smile was shared, and he was off following his fellow Slytherin into the Undercroft.

[velvet-paradox]

Heartstrings (Part One)

Fandom: Sleep Token (Band) Pairing: eventual Vessel x Female reader Length: Medium Summary: Memories haunt our beloved frontman, some he'd like to forget and some he's been hiding. Warnings: eventual NSFW, 18 + ONLY, strong language, tobacco use, alcohol consumption, supernatural (no, not the show) element, a twisted little game. Tagging: @synnersaint as always, @megangovier20 

NOTES: I’ll be reposting to @roman-is-a-horse as well as that’s my little hole in the wall for all things masked men and Sleep Token

ENJOY!!!

He's exhausted. He's all sweat and grit, dirt beneath his fingernails, mud on his boots. 

He could care less. 

What he needed was sleep. Glorious, pillow soft sleep. And the deity let him. 

He dreamt of monkey bars, chipped green paint, orange creme popsicles, a dizzy tire swing blurring in the distance, a familiar face hanging upside down from a wound up swing set. The air is light and the sun is high. He learned why ancient Egyptians rimmed their eyes with kohl. Learned the proper pronunciation for Persephone. Had his first kiss. Got into his first of many, fist fights and tasted blood and why you don't pick at knuckle scabs. The taste of woodchips. 

And then he met you.

Vessel woke with a jolt, restless leg syndrome, jerking him at the worst of times but helpful on the stage. 

"You're pretty when you cry." That silky voice that lulled him to the dreamworld sang down to him. Above his head, resting oh so carefully upon his pillow was Sleep, taking the form of a smoky red cat with six black slits for eyes. The deity grinned sharp, bone white fangs before leaping into the air at Vessel's recognition that he was indeed crying, his cheeks and lips streaked with salt. Sleep hung in the air above him, wagging its tail.

"Bad dream?" Sleep asked, resting its face on its paws like some teenager, coiling the phone cord, awaiting the latest hallway gossip.

"I'm fine," Vessel sniffled and turned on his side, an attempt to ignore his maker.

Sleep rolled onto its' back, little red paws pointing up to the ceiling before floating in front of his face and purred. "That's not what I asked."

Vessel blamed it on his uncomfortableness, the bed was cold and the sheets icy against his bare legs. Sleep wasn't buying it, squinting all six eyes at him as he tossed and turned for the rest of the night. ....

"That's not fair!"

"Life isn't fair, brother, get used to it."

"You big troll, that's the last can!"

"Watch it you little gremlin or I'll step on you and put you out like a light."

Brotherly threats floated up stairs along with the smell of someone cooking breakfast. Cinnamon butter, scrambled eggs, no doubt since his heathen brothers refused to eat them any other way. Roasted earthy mushrooms, peppered bacon.

Vessel clung to the staircase watching three others maneuver around someone's rented home in the highlands. Through a large bay window he could make out the silky green grass and sparkling yellow daffodils dancing in the wind.

SpaghettiOs. 

III and IV were giving II shit in between grabbing plates, poor thing was jumping up and missing terribly the can of the tomato sauced rings. Vessel shook his head and jumped down the last two steps before they all stuttered to a stop, III hid the can behind his back as if he were about to be scolded.

"Never gets old, huh?" He asked and snagged a piece of less burnt bacon.

"Not a chance." III resumed his taunts until II gave up, growling low in his throat and angrily shut off the stovetop, marching outside into the daylight.

"Package came for you this morning." IV mumbled through a mouthful of eggs as he found him out on the porch swing. Vessel took the box with more questions than answers.

"Who knows we're here?"

IV shrugged and joined him on the bench, crossing his legs as the wooden slats swayed.

Vessel looked it over. Just a standard brown box, wrapped in a weeks worth of clear packing tape. Just several stamps -international corners, a beating or two in a mail office dented one of the boxes sides. He took the switchblade IV handed him, scoring the edged until it came loose.

He shook whatever was hidden, another box came tumbling out into his lap along with a folded piece of cardstock. He handed it over. Though as he dug around inside, he should've looked at the note first because IV's eyes, already on the large spectrum, had bloomed into bright blue saucers.

"What? What is it?"

"Look and see."

Vessel dropped the note to the ground as it were on fire. Explosive. A grenade of nostalgia and pain, if not sudden death.

ARE YOU GAME?

No.

No no no no no.

He could feel IV's eyes on him as he fumbled with the spare box, careful with the folds, peeling back the layers on carefully placed and wrapped tissue paper. His fingers ghosted over the jewelry or what was left of it before holding it up in the afternoon sun.

Vessel began to panic, anxiety was never far from him as he thumbed over one of the personally laid coins like a treasured rosary and if he were totally honest; it was just that. ....

Vessel had recently gotten into a band called Immortal the previous summer, expressing himself in a similar manner of covering his face (still experimenting with paint on his hands, he was always on the look out for the best greasepaint his first high school job could afford), in black and white paint, cut off jackets and ripped denim. Had attempted to look as cool as possible with a cigarette behind his ear. He never smoked it, just toyed with his mothers' addiction. The girls dug it so there was always that.

His friends chased squirrels until the popular girls noticed them, could've been a dare, could've been a prank but that didn't stop them from turning and chasing them instead. Their shrills squeals of laughter sang through the halls, tickled pink for attention in the back of classrooms.

The boys had ditched him once again as they left him at the playground, holding on to his bullet belt as he made his way, by foot, across town towards his job. He was going to be late, but the owner of the coffee shop couldn't care less; he was probably a few beers in as it was only three that Saturday afternoon. 

Louie could really pound them down.

He was almost there when he stopped short. There on a park bench were a pair of shapely legs. Just sitting there in the air. Torn fishnets with shin high striped socks and boots, scuffed and beat up, much like his own when he looked down.

He crept by slowly, curious if they were a mannequin's legs or if they were real or, God forbid they were just that. No body attached! How scandalous! 

A murderer on the loose and Vessel would be the first witness to the crime. His stomach had flipped at that.

But still, the young man proceeded forward, cautiously now as he left his usual path and got closer, squinting when he saw one of the ankles twitch. 

Vessel made calculated steps around he bench and saw- gratefully of course, that the legs were indeed attached to a body, the body of a girl his age that he'd never seen before. She was laying upside down with her eyes closed, arms bent and on the ground beneath her head so she wouldn't roll off and crack her skull. An opened can of SpaghettiOs sat next to her, along with a sad looking purse.

"What are you doing?" 

"What's it look like I'm doing, smart guy? 'm thinkin'." Was her response. She didn't even bother to open her eyes and acknowledged him. Foreigner for sure, he thought.

"Upside down?"

"I get all the cobwebs out better this way," then she cracked one eyes open, searching for him in this state and she smiled, the brightest smile he'd ever seen on a person. Stunning. Absolutely fucking stellar. "You should try it."

"Doesn't all the blood rush to your head like that?" Vessel turned his head to see her face better.

"That's the point, silly! When my brain talks to much the best way to shut her up is to rush her out, let her out. Come on, try it. There's plenty of room." She quipped and wiggled over in the bench, using her hands for leverage.

Vessel looked at his watch; twenty minutes until his shift started and he'd need to be there and get his apron on and punch in his timecard and Louie might not be drunk and waiting for him patently at the doors with a pained expression and angry, uncaffeinated patron waiting to get their fix.

He had trouble moving his body and wincing when one of the bullets jabbed his hip bone, but all in all he managed her similar position. Fucking wild. His jacket creaked when he moved his hands to the earth below, mimicking her position.

"Good job. Now watch me. Just breathe in and out like this, don't think about anything other than that and you'll be clear as a Koi fish pond."

He frowned but went along with it, looking at her as instructed he slowly shut his eyes, long legs growing tired he let them hang over the back of the bench instead and controlled his breathing.

He wasn't thinking about school or work, his thesis he had yet to start that was due in two weeks time. Not what he was going to have for dinner or which skirt II was trying to get under this week. Probably Jessica. II was always after Jessica.

"See. How do you feel now?" She asked. 

Vessel couldn't even answer her at first, too caught up in the sensations, more aware of her perfume when his senses kicked into overdrive with his heartbeat pounding in his ears like this.

"Weightless. Clear." He mumbled.

"Exactly."

Then her hand was on his, carefully he opened his eyes and his world felt like his house of cards were about to tumble down if he breathed too loudly. 

"I'm Y/N." ....

He thought about you as he ran the rest of the way to coffee shop, the little blue and white striped awning coming into view as his boots pounded pavement. He was just seconds away from being late, clocking in just in time and wrapping a brown apron around his jacket in the backroom.

He thought about as he rang up a pretty dark skinned girl, fresh faced and smiling at him.

He thought about you when a crotchety old woman barked her order and waited too close to the counter until he could brew it, which she made him do it twice. He thought about you when a regular by the name of Johnny Two-Step came in, grooving to the beat of whatever song which was playing softly in the background. 

He thought about you on the walk home, every park bench he passed by, with his hands in his pockets were shockingly empty.

Would he ever see you again?

Where you from? What were you doing here in this small seaside town? And why were you eating cold SpaghettiOs right from the can like a cat with a tin of tuna? ....

"Straight from the can?!" III asked the following day, sitting on his roof with an open notebook, ready for some action along with a stolen can of his father's beer. It would go unnoticed. They always went unnoticed.

III's dad would give a shrug and mumble about needing to slow down though he never did, he just went out and bought more, stocking the fridge in the garage for the next day.

"Never seen anything like it."

"I would hope not! Sounds like she's a screw or two loose."

"Maybe."

Maybe you did. Maybe you were what his mother would call 'quirky' or carefree, the possibility of being a hellion might be written in the stars for you too. Either way Vessel was into it.

"No no no, that's not how you do it. Here, you're just gonna' make a mess of it. Now look, you take the can like this..."

Vessel couldn't help be drawn into the kitchen of a house party a few weeks later, he'd toyed with the cigarette again, holding between his two front teeth as some girl in an obscenely short dress chatted him up outside. He told her to hold that thought and maneuvered through the bodies. Sweat and beer lingered on the air, music pulsed and couples and a possible throuple but Vessel's standards were making out in a dim corner.

The snap of a beer can had him joining the little circle around the sink. A few guys cheered. A few girls made noises, he couldn't decipher whether it was a good or a bad thing at the moment.

Vessel towered over the group, watching II wipe his mouth over the sink before slipping his trusty balaclava back up over his nose. He saw someone and when he looked, his eyebrows shot up to his hairline in an instant.

It was you.

It was really you!

You cheered in delight, gave him a high five and grinned.

"Whose next? How about you pretty lady?" You waved Jessica over, who was shy at first but followed your lead in her pink and yellow bellbottoms and halter top.

After your next shotgun you hugged Jessica who looked worse for wear and slumped against II who was more than happy to help her stand and move out out of the kitchen. II passed him in the doorway, giving him a fist bump to the shoulder, talking to his love interest, lost in the haze of beer and clouds of weed smoke.

"You! There you are you big tall drink of water."

Vessel turned just in time to see you, focused and barreling straight towards him, a look of drunken excitement on your face. You weren't stopping and then you were lunging at him, embracing him in a hug that should feel all sorts of foreign and wrong but... was welcomed and warm and you smell like floral perfume and beer foam.

You looked up at him with silly grin. "Hi."

"Hi yourself. Having a bit of fun I see."

"Wanna' shotgun a beer with me?"

"Maybe later. How many have you had already?"

You made a goofy sound in your throat, released his waist and took his wrist in your hands, dragging him outside. Something made of glass shattered somewhere inside the house as you two ducked out and sat down in a little gazebo on the property. Vines and little white flowers coiled up and around the lattice.

"You gonna' smoke that?" You asked, digging those same weathered boots into the dirt.

"You want it?"

"Can I share it with you?"

"You can have it. I actually don't smoke."

Your expressions ranged and rivaled those of a comic strip as you looked at him. "What the what?! You don't smoke, yet you just casually have a cigarette behind your ear?"

Vessel shrugged. "It's just an accessory at this point."

"Next thing you'll be telling me is you're not a real jester!"

"A jester?"

"The makeup! You're not a clown either? Some practicing mime? Although if you were a mime you wouldn't be talking, would you?" You drunkenly mused and Vessel wondered how many beers you’d already rushed into your bloodstream.

Vessel snorted and shook his head. "Afraid not. I'm just a guy."

"A handsome guy." You huffed and lit up the cigarette, leaning back on your elbows as you smoked.

Vessel snorted, unaffected by the tobacco hanging around your heads as you both looked up at the moon. Tethered to it's soft glow over the treetops. "I've been called a lot of things, but handsome ain't one of them."

You bolted upright, cigarette renting space between your teeth and burning his eyes as you grabbed his face like you were old friends. 

"That's a damn shame. I'm going to make it my mission to tell you everyday I see you how good you look. Even if you are talking mime!"

Part Two Part Three

[femalefemur]

Wolf In Sheep's Clothing

warnings: manipulation, dub-con, please let me know if i missed anything!

synopsis: Johnny lives and Simon lies to him.

Need Soap who survived the gunshot but once he wakes up has memory loss and Ghost who stays by his side until he wakes up and watches Soap struggle to remember who he is.

Tells him he's his boyfriend that they've been dating for a while, that they live together and gets everything ready for when Soap is discharged. Makes sure the house is perfect, brings Soap home to a secluded home in the highlands and watches him frown as he struggles to try and remember but its' all blank. Watches Soap explore the house from room to room, watches him stop in front of the room that's dedicated to his art supplies and sees the flicker of familiarity cross Soap's face as he picks up a paintbrush.

Ghost smiling slightly from the doorway before quietly ushering him into the bedroom and watches as Soap's eyes drift across the large bed and a faint blush crosses his cheeks before he walks into the bathroom, running his fingers across all his belongings as Ghost draws him a bath.

Ghost watching him as he undresses and assures him it's fine, that it's nothing he hasn't seen countless times before as he presses a fleeting kiss to Soap's shoulder and watches as Soap's mind works to assure itself that it's alright before he fully undresses and sinks into the water, relaxing finally.

Ghost spending the following months glued to Soap's side, helping him try to remember their friends through photographs, watching Soap light up each time he slowly remembers another piece of of information and peppering him with kisses each time. Watches Soap stare at a picture of his family and light up as he remembers them, pointing at each one in the framed picture in his hands as he tells Ghost their names before watching his eyes fill with tears that spill over and down his cheeks as Ghost tells him that they're dead. Comforts him as he cries and cries until he's worn out and Ghost is carrying him to their bed, whispering sweet nothings as he holds Soap until they both asleep.

Ghost watching like he's a wolf hunting its prey while Soap slowly wanders around the surrounding forest of the property and stares as Soap turns to smile at him and tease him about how diligently he watches over him. Tells the other man he's just worried and doesn't want lose him again, that he's just being careful and presses a kiss to his mouth before Soap can say anymore.

Ghost brushing Soap off each time he asks why their friends haven't been in contact, telling him that they're busy with work, that they're on missions and still hunting Makarov, which placates the man's curiosity for the time being. Watches as Soap happily paints and draws for hours on end before they cook dinner together, making one of Soap's favourite meals and later watches Soap writhing under him at night as he begs Ghost for more, to be filled with him.

Watches as Soap's memories start to fill out more and his eyes light up every time he tells Ghost a new piece of information. Ghost smiling and telling Soap how wonderful it is that he's remembering again, how amazing he is and praising him as he pushes his tongue into the man's mouth in a dizzying kiss which makes Soap giddy each time.

Ghost sprawled across the chaise lounge in Soap's art room as he holds an open book in his hand that he had been reading over the week but is now instead watching Soap paint. Watching the way he holds the brush in his hand and smiles to himself as his artwork comes to life.

Ghost whose eyes are searing into Soap as he prays that Soap never fully recovers, that he never fully remembers. That they can stay like this forever secluded away from everyone and that Soap will never know that they hadn't ever been together and that they never lived together. That he would never know that Ghost had bought this house as soon as Soap had asked who he was and the doctors had confirmed he had memory loss and filled it with all of Soap's belongings that he had moved from his actual apartment. That yes their friends were busy and working but that Ghost had essentially cut all contact with them after they'd left the hospital and that no, Soap's family weren't in fact dead and that Ghost had lied to him, lied to him about everything and everyone.