#only five books a day... when a bookshelf requires five...

[coolemmasulivan2]

Clumsy Woman

Pairing: Rúben Dias x Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend doesn't like how clumsy you are, afraid you might seriously injure yourself.

Word count: 1976

Can't pretend to understand I'll be here to hold your hand I will wait for you, I will wait for you

You had been clumsy from a young age. Falling from trees, falling off bicycles, or simply tripping over your own feet seemed to be your speciality. It was during one of these graceful performances that you met your boyfriend, Ruben. You were barreling toward a magnificent face-plant when his strong arms caught you, saving you from certain embarrassment.

"I want to paint that wall!" You announced over breakfast one morning, your eyes sparkling with determination. "A deep blue, maybe."

Ruben raised an eyebrow, glancing between you and the wall. "That bookshelf has to go first." He pointed out. "It's heavy. We can do it together this weekend." He kissed your forehead and grabbed his keys. "I have to go!"

"Bye." Your attention was still on the wall and Ruben knew what you were thinking.

"Don't do it!" He called out as he reached for his bag. "Wait for me."

"But it's my day off!" You protested, already picturing the transformed wall. "I can at least start." Ruben gave you a look. "Fine." He gave you one final kiss on the lips and then left for training.

You didn't like to stay still at home. There was always a compulsion to be busy, so when boredom crept in, your eyes fell on the wall, then the bookshelf. Maybe it wasn't that difficult. With a burst of energy, you dashed out the door to buy the paint and everything you needed to paint the wall.

At home, you slip into old clothes and turn up the music. The bookshelf was packed with your books and Ruben's trophies. He'd be furious if he saw you right now, but you would prove you could handle it alone.

The bookshelf, a dark wood monster that dominated the room, had been a custom order. You started by emptying it, a task that required more muscle than expected. Then came the acrobatics. With much effort, you managed to slide a rug under one end. But as you attempted to repeat the same on the other side, disaster hit. Your hands slipped and the bookshelf came crashing down on your bare foot. A scream ripped through you as pain exploded.

"Don't do it!" Ruben's words echoed in your head. He was so going to kill you.

With a grunt of effort, you lifted the bookshelf off your foot. Pain shot through you as you collapsed to the floor, cradling your injured limb. It looked horrific, swollen and red. Trying to stand was a mistake, as a fresh wave of agony crippled you. You couldn't walk.

"Oh God, oh God!" Panic set in. Your phone was fumbled out of your pocket. You needed help, and you needed it now. Ruben wouldn't be home for hours. Calling an ambulance was the only option.

Ruben stepped into the locker room, and he heard the insistent vibration of his phone. "That thing hasn't stopped ringing." Bernardo commented, a grin spreading across his face.

Ruben's brow furrowed as he glanced at the caller ID. It was Lily, your best friend. "Hey, Lily, everything okay?"

"Hi Ruben, sorry to bother you, but I was supposed to meet Y/N at your place, and she’s not there and a neighbour mentioned seeing an ambulance at your building." His blood ran cold. "Do you know what happened?"

"I can't believe her!" His voice rose in frustration. "She wanted to paint the wall, the one with the bookshelf. I told her not to touch it!" A wave of dread washed over him.

"She probably didn't listen. Oh God." Lily knew you better than anyone. Your stubborn independence was legendary. "I've tried calling her, but no answer."

"Let me take a shower really quick and then I'll call you back."

Bernardo and Walker exchanged concerned glances. "What's going on, man? Your girl in trouble again?" Walker asked, his tone laced with disbelief.

"Looks like it!" Ruben replied, his voice rough. "She can't stay out of trouble for five minutes. Fuck." He desperately searched for the contact of his friend Eric who worked at the hospital. He answered on the fourth ring.

"Hey, mate, what's up?"

"Eric, man, sorry to bother you, I know you're working, but I need a huge favour." Ruben rushed out, his voice was laced with urgency.

"Shoot!" Eric replied, his tone professional.

"Can you check if Y/N was admitted to the hospital? I think she might have had an accident. Again." He quickly explained the situation, his voice rising with each word. Eric promised to check and call back in a few minutes.

"I'm gonna be quick in the shower." Ruben said, turning to his friends. "If Eric calls, can you answer? Please." Walker and Bernardo nodded.

He'd never showered so fast in his life. Emerging a few minutes later, Bernardo was already on the phone.

"I'll tell him, thanks, Eric," Bernardo said, hanging up.

Ruben's heart pounded in his chest. "So?"

"She's there. Broken foot, but she's okay." Bernardo reported.

"For fuck's sake."

You rolled your eyes as Ruben burst into the hospital room. His face was a mask of irritation. Lily, who'd arrived earlier, squeezed your hand in silent support before stepping back.

"Seriously, Y/n?" Ruben’s voice was dripping with disbelief. "I told you to stay put."

"I'm fine, thanks for the concern." You replied, your tone dripping with sarcasm. You loved him and knew he was worried, but sometimes it felt suffocating.

"A broken foot means you’re not." He disagreed. "Can’t you just stay still for one day?"

You didn’t want to argue, especially as he seemed to have woken up on the wrong side of the bed. "I’m a grown woman, Ruben. I don’t need you to tell me to sit still."

"Well, you don’t act like one. Sometimes I feel like I’m dating a child." His response was harsh and unexpected.

Shock washed over you. Had he really just said that?

"Maybe you should break up with this child then. I wouldn’t want to keep the great Ruben Dias from the real women in the city." You retorted, your voice trembling with anger.

He ran his hand through his hair, frustration etched on his face. He knew his words had been cruel, but his worry often manifested in this way. But breaking up with you was the last thing he wanted.

"You know that’s not what I meant-- what are you doing?" He began, but you cut him off as you tried to stand, to reach for the crutches. He pushed you back down, but you quickly pushed his hand away.

"Lily, can you take me home, please?" You asked, ignoring Ruben completely.

Lily, who had been a silent observer, helped you up.

"I can take you home!" Ruben offered.

"I don’t want you to take me home." You replied coldly. "You don’t have a car seat for a child, remember?"

Using crutches was something familiar. This wasn’t your first rodeo. You had broken other body parts before.

In the car, Lily broke the tense silence. "You know he’s just worried about you."

"I know, but that doesn’t give him the right to treat me like a child. "He has known since the beginning how clumsy I am. If he can’t handle it, maybe we shouldn't be together."

"Don’t say that!" Lily replied, her voice firm. "You two can't live without the other." Through the rearview mirror, you saw Ruben’s car following you. "I know it’s hard, but try to understand his point of view."

You looked away, trying to focus on anything but the conversation. You knew Lily was right. Ruben loved you, and his overprotectiveness came from that love. But it was hard to accept when it felt like he was suffocating you.

As the car pulled up to your apartment building, you felt a pang of sadness hit you. Lily opened your door, and carefully you stepped out. "Thanks for everything, Lily. I really appreciate it."

She smiled. "Anytime, Babe! Call me if you need anything, okay?"

You nodded and the the help of the clutches you walked towards the building entrance. As you turned around, you saw Ruben's car waiting for the garage door of the building to open up. You hesitated, looking at his car for a long moment before turning and going inside.

When you entered the house, you realised that your books were scattered like confetti, Ruben's trophies were still on the dining table, and the monstrous bookshelf stood there, a mocking presence in the room. It was impossible to clean it up. Not with your foot like that.

A few minutes later, Ruben entered the house and he looked around it. You were nowhere to be seen, but by the sound of the water running, he knew you were taking a shower. Without his help.

What if you fell? He shocked the thought out of his head. You needed space and he was going to give it to you. Kind of.

Jumping from the shower with only one foot and the other in the air, you dried yourself and put on your pyjamas. You felt like everything was hurting, but you had to prove a point to Ruben. You could do things alone without needing his help.

As you opened the bedroom door, the smell of the food hit you and your belly made a noise, not realising how starving you were. However what surprised you the most was not Ruben cooking but the fact the bookshelf was no longer on the wall that you wanted to paint, but the wall in front of it, with all his trophies and your books. Everything was really clean and the small lamp you had on the corner where you sat reading was welcoming.

The table was set, and Ruben was busy tossing salad at the kitchen island. When he saw you emerge from the bedroom, he paused, his expression softening.

"How are you feeling?" His voice was gentle, laced with concern.

You met his gaze with a cold stare. "Fine."

You grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, walking around the kitchen with surprising ease on your crutches. Ruben watched your movements with a mixture of relief and worry.

He sighed, setting down the salad bowl. "Can we talk?"

You scoffed. "Are you sure you want to do that? You think talking to a child is easy?" Your voice was sharp, but a pang of hurt shot through you as the words left your lips.

Ruben rinsed his hands and pulled out two chairs. Gently, he guided you to one and sat down across from you. His hands rested lightly on your bare legs. "I'm so sorry for calling you a child. I didn't mean it like that, and you know it."

You looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "It still hurt." You mumbled.

"I know, I know. I've been overprotective." He admitted. "But every time you get hurt, it feels like my heart stops. I worry about you constantly. But calling you a child was wrong, and I'm truly sorry."

Your anger was slowly dissipating. You couldn't stay mad at him for long. He always knew how to break through your walls. "You're an idiot if you think this is the last time I'll hurt myself." You retorted, trying to sound tough.

He chuckled softly. "Let me be an idiot, then. I love you, you know that, right?"

Ruben's eyes held yours. Slowly, he leaned forward, his hand reaching out to gently cup your face. Your heart pounded in your chest as his gaze lowered to your lips.

With a hesitant touch, his lips met yours. It was a soft and passionate kiss. As the kiss deepened, you felt a surge of relief and happiness wash over you. In that moment, nothing else mattered.

A small smile crept onto your face. "I know. I love you too."

[thesinisterseventh]

Time traveling to make bookshelves is tedious as fuck.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Secrets // D.M.

Request: CONGRATS BOO!!! Could I get a Secret relationship with Fluff 4 for Draco Malfoy pretty please at Hogwarts??? Also I was wondering if it could be with a Hufflepuff reader? (I love Hufflepuff x Slytherin pairings) THANKS AGAIN FOR DOING THIS BOO AND CONGRATS 💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛 - @herstory-study

Fluff 4: “Is that my shirt?”

A/N: The first of my blurb celebrations!! Thank you, lovely!! I hope you enjoy!! It could be argued that I got carried away but there’s a large chance I could end up writing full fics for each request 😂 Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Fem!Reader

Warnings: secret relationships, some kissing, some feelings, a whole lotta fluff, a cheesy ending and an abuse of commas and semi-colons

Word count: 2.7k

There were some aspects to History of Magic that could be classed as interesting; the witch-hunts of Salem, for example or even the brief study dedicated to the founders of the very school you sit in. However, there was nothing remotely interesting about hearing the tale of the Goblin wars for the sixth year in a row.

You tap the feather of your quill to your cheek; jotting down a sentence every now and then to make it look as if you are paying the strictest attention to whatever Professor Binns happens to be mumbling about in that particular moment. You fade in and out of daydreams; letting your mind wander back to two nights ago when Draco had snuck you back into the Hufflepuff common room – stopping every few so often to draw you into another laughter-filled kiss.

You startle when a piece of parchment falls onto your desk. Folded like a paper crane, you only knew who this could be from. A sly glance over the blonde-haired teenager who’s attention is most definitely on the pacing of Binn’s ghost confirms your suspicions.

You delicately unfold the piece of parchment; smiling to yourself as begin to read Draco’s elegant scrawl: “Meet me at the Room of Requirement? 7:30pm?”

Anticipation curls in your gut like a ball.

A brief glance is all it takes for you to confirm. A brief glance in your direction from Draco; a subtle nod from you and your plans for the evening have been wiped clear and replaced entirely with Draco.

The bell rings. You stand, gathering your things together and placing them in your bag. A slight brush to your side is the only contact with the Slytherin you’ve found yourself head over heels for. A slight brush to your side and it feels like every inch of you is on fire; a reaction that only Draco has the power to elicit from you.  

The day passes by slowly now that you have something to look forward to. A day where short moments are stolen behind tapestries or on less traversed corridors. Five minutes each time between lessons where you can quickly whisper a hello before dragging him into a kiss by his green striped tie.

Keeping your relationship a secret was a mutual decision; the fallout on both sides being something neither of you could be bothered to deal with right now. Instead, you were happier hiding in empty classrooms where you could have your fill of the Slytherin Prince, and he could whisper sweet nothings in your ear without the risk of anyone overhearing.

There were times when it was stressful; when the week had been too long and there had been no time to see one another. It was only then that you questioned the secrecy of your relationship.

But when you came together after a long period apart; everything returned back to normal and a smile found its way back to both your faces.

Your excitement for the evening makes it almost impossible to eat; picking at the food on your plate as you think about finally seeing Draco tonight. From your position at the Hufflepuff table, you have an excellent view of him, and he knows it. All evening, Draco sends you subtle winks and smiles from his seat at the Slytherin table.

You clench your fist; your fingernails biting into the sensitive skin of your palm as you resist the urge to throw yourself across both tables to him. You resist the urge to simply kiss him in front of his housemates.

You resist it all; every single feeling and urge because you know that in a matter of hours, he would be yours for the entire night.

Instead, you send a flirty smile back to the blonde-haired teenager before returning your attention back to your meal.

-----

The Room of Requirement is located on left hand corridor of the Seventh Floor. You knew from how he rushed out of the Great Hall that Draco would beat you to it.

With a large grin on your face, you walk past the section of wall opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy three times. The entire time, thinking of Draco and how you’d like to see him.

On your third walk past, the large, ornate door appears. You don’t hesitate to pull it open and duck inside.

It’s never a different layout; always the same one that Draco imagines. A large, almost cavernous room with a grand fireplace that’s already lit and warming up the room. In front of the fire sits a couch big enough for an entire Quidditch squad but you know from experience that it’s perfect for the two of you to lie down on comfortably. A great bookshelf covers one of the walls; filled to the brim with ancient looking tomes and books, all there ready to read. You’ve taken advantage of such an offer in the past; reading to Draco after a particularly bad day.

Finally, pushed up against the furthest wall is a four poster bed covered in a thick, downy quilt and topped with blankets – both green and yellow to represent both houses. It was the cheesiest section of the room, and you had brought it up to Draco before – teasing him, but he simply shrugged and distracted you from further conversation.

You throw your outer robes on the bed, leaving you in your blouse, tie and skirt.

Draco remains seated on the large couch; his gaze focused on the flickering flames of the growing fire. Your arms snake their way around his shoulders; your hands trailing down his chest as you lean against the back of the couch. Pressing a small kiss just under his earlobe, you whisper, “I missed you today.”

Draco leans his head back, kissing the side of your jaw, “I missed you too.”

Letting go of him, you take a seat on the couch. In times like this, you never stray too far from the blonde-haired teenager, worried about how long it’ll be until you have a night like this again. An arm opens for you; you automatically press yourself into his side, inhaling the familiar scent of cashmere musk and roses. It was heavenly.

“How was your day?” He asks, voice quiet.

“It was boring until a note landed on my desk. Then it started to look up.”

Draco smirks, “How odd. Mine was taking the exact same route until someone responded to my note.”

You shift out of his hold; resting your head on your elbow that’s perched on the back of the couch. Your other hand pushes his hair back; pulling it out his eyes. He’s grown it longer over this year and stopped using so much product; it’s nice, more natural and a lot easier for you to run your hands through.

You open your mouth; trying to think of something to say but nothing comes to mind.

It doesn’t matter anyway.

Draco captures your lips in his. One of his hands settling on the back of your head whilst the other pulls you across his lap to straddle him. You smile into the kiss as your hands brace themselves on the back of the couch.

Breaking the kiss, you ask, “What was that for?”

He shrugs, “Nothing. I just missed you.”

“You’re missing me an awful lot.”

He kisses the underside of your jaw, “Can you blame me?”

You hum, “I don’t think I can. I’m missing you more too.”

“Then let’s not miss each other anymore,” Draco murmurs against your skin. Lifting his head just enough, he draws you in for another kiss effectively ending all conversation for the night.

-----------

You wake up tangled in the sheets of the four poster bed; Draco’s arm heavy across your waist.

As your eyes get used to the brightness of the room, they focus in on the clock on the beside table. Your eyes grow wide as you take in the time.

You’d slept through the lesson of the day already.

You launch yourself out of bed, shrugging off your pyjamas and rustling around to find your uniform.

“Draco!” You shout, pushing your arms through a shirt, “We need to get up, we’ve missed the first hour.”

Draco rolls over, groaning. Fastening your skirt, you kneel on the bed, “Love, we have to get up before the bell.”

He blinks his eyes open, grinning sleepily at you. Your resolve almost breaks then and there; happy to say to hell with it and get back into bed with him.

“I’m free second lesson,” Draco mutters.

You roll your eyes, kissing his lips briefly, “I’ll see you later?”

He nods, stretching his arms above his head, “I’ll see you later.”

Grabbing your outer robes and your bag, you rush from the Room of Requirement, fastening your tie as you bound down the stairs to Transfiguration.

“Where have you been?” is how you’re greeted by Miriam, your close friend and dorm mate.

You shrug, biting your lip knowing that there was no way you could lie yourself out of this.

Miriam narrows her eyes at you, “You never came back to the room after dinner and then you didn’t show up at breakfast. I was seriously worried. Where did you go?”

You look either side of you; checking that there’s no-one listening to your conversation, “Can you keep a secret?”

Miriam rolls her eyes, “Of course I can.”

“I was with Draco Malfoy,” You rush out in a single breath.

Miriam’s eyes widen and she pulls you to one side, “You were with Draco Malfoy? All night?”

You nod your head. Miriam puffs out a breath, “Well I didn’t expect that. How long have you been seeing each other? Tell me everything please!”

You laugh, “It’s almost ten months now, and I’ll tell you more at lunch, I promise.”

Miriam bites her bottom lip; glancing between you and the now open door to Transfiguration, deliberating whether it would be worth skiving the entire day to hear about your exploits with the Slytherin Prince.

She sighs heavily, deciding not to risk McGonagall’s wrath, “I want to hear everything at lunch – do not leave anything out, promise.”

Laughing once more, you cross your finger over your heart, “I promise.”

-----

Until lunch, Miriam sends you excited glances and knowing smiles. In between second and third period, she comments on the fact that she didn’t even think that you were seeing someone – not to insult you, but she just assumed that you holed yourself up in the library where you studied as late as you could.

Miriam practically bounces up to you when the bell rings announcing lunch. She keeps her questions to herself until you both take a seat at the Hufflepuff table, filling plates up with whatever took your fancy.

“So how did it start?”

You take a sip of pumpkin juice before beginning, “Over last summer, my family got invited to one of the many balls thrown by his parents. I don’t usually go to those things, but my parents asked me to join them this one time; I think they were worried because I’d spent too much time in the garden studying the plants. So I went with them and Draco’s father asked him to ask me to dance and it all stemmed from there.

“He sent me a letter the day after thanking me for an entertaining evening and wondered whether I would want to meet up again. I agreed and then from there it evolved into this.”

Miriam’s smile drops into a frown when she asks her next question, “Why keep it a secret? Was it his decision?”

You shake your head fiercely, “It was both ours. We were both equally as worried about the fallout from our families and our houses.”

“But surely if Lucius Malfoy asked Draco to dance with you, he wouldn’t mind?”

You tilt your head, thinking, “Perhaps not. He wouldn’t mind the blood status, but he might mind my being a Hufflepuff,” You shrug, “Anyway we haven’t gone public yet.”

“Ten months is a long time to keep this a secret.”

“It’s not like it hasn’t been hard and that there haven’t been times where I wanted to shout it to the entire wizarding world, but for now, it’s a secret.”

Miriam nods; the frown still expressed on her face. She reaches out her hand to yours, taking it tightly, “You’ve told me now though so that’s a shoulder to lean on should it get too much again.”

You beam at your friend, “Thank Merlin for you, Miriam.”

Miriam goes to reply but she’s distracted by someone approaching the Hufflepuff table. She lets go of your hand and nods her head to something behind you.

Turning in your seat, you find Draco patiently waiting. You smile at him, “Draco, how can I help?”

“I was hoping I could talk to you for a minute… about our last History of Magic lesson? You see, I didn’t take any notes and I was wondering if you had some.”

You smirk, “Why don’t we go outside? That way I’m not cluttering up the table for the others that are still eating.”

Draco grins, nodding at you understandingly, “Wonderful idea. Lead the way.”

Hoisting your bag on your shoulder, you send a wink in Miriam’s direction. She returns one with a laugh before beginning to eat once again.

Draco follows you from the Great Hall and to a less busy corridor. You lean against the wall with a smirk, “Now did you really want my notes, or did you already miss me?”

“More the latter than the former,” Draco admits with a small smile. He frowns though as he takes in your uniform, his eyes running up and down, “Is that my shirt?”

You look down at your clothing, only now realising that the shirt you had put on in a hurry this morning was indeed Draco’s. The arms being too long that you had to roll them twice before you could even start writing something.

You giggle, “I think it is.”

“I only wondered when I had to walk back to my common room shirtless.”

“No!” You shout, delighted at the thought of Draco running shirtless through the corridors.

Draco laughs, nodding, “I had my outer robes of course, but there was very little underneath.”

You clap your hands in sheer delight, “I’d give you back your shirt, but I’ve become awfully fond of it, you see.”

“Oh you have?”

Nodding, you say, “I have. It smells a lot like you which is great for when I miss you.”

Draco groans, throwing his head back, “If we weren’t in public, I’d be kissing you senseless right now. I didn’t realise how good you would look in my shirt.”

“Why don’t you?” You challenge.

Draco’s mouth drops open, “What?”

“Kiss me senseless.”

“Are you sure? We’ve kept this secret for so long,” Draco comments, a finger pointing between your two bodies.

You shuffle closer to him, “I’m sure. Ten months is long enough to keep you a secret, I’m happy to tell everyone now.”

Draco wraps you in his arms, not hesitating to kiss you. You gave yourself entirely to the kiss; pushing yourself off the wall and wrapping your arms around his neck. Your heart skips a beat when one of Draco’s hands starts to draw aimless patterns on the small of your back, sending heat rushing through your body. You sigh against his mouth before pulling away; repressing the urge to continue as the need for oxygen has become too great.

He presses one last gentle peck to your lips before grinning widely, “Are you really sure you want to go public?”

“Super sure. So sure in fact I’d make out with you again to prove my point.”

Draco raises an eyebrow, “Tempting but I say we go back to lunch. I think your friend had more questions.”

You grin at the thought of Miriam’s reaction to see you walking with Draco, “It sounds too good to pass up,” You hold your hand out to Draco, “Lead the way.”

It was all worth it when Miriam’s reaction to seeing you sit back down at the Hufflepuff table with Draco in tow was to spit out her pumpkin juice.

**************

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Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell​ @obx-beach​ @obxmxybxnk​ @sycathorn-slush​ @dracomalfoyswifey​

[kieraelieson]

Logic Still Needs Comfort

A fic for @im-a-creepy-cookie as a part of @sanderssidesgiftxchange! I did your touch-starved Logan prompt!

Warnings: detailed sensory issues, joking mention of death

Logan disliked being touched.

It had been known for years. They all knew it. Surprise hugs or claps on the shoulder startled him unpleasantly and even made him upset sometimes. Touching his hand to get his attention made him jump and frown. He himself had compared the experience to having a bug or an animal suddenly landing on him.

And so Roman and Patton learned not to touch him aside from the occasional celebratory high-five. Which was fine. Everyone was fine, and happy.

And then came Virgil. And accepting anxiety as a valuable part of Thomas. Which changed things.

••^*^••

“Hey, um… L?”

Logan turned to see Virgil fidgeting but staring at him with an intent look. “Yes?”

“So, um, well you know I told you how Remus is practically a leech, and there wasn’t any getting away from it, but I’m not saying Patton isn’t great! But just Roman is… Roman, and just, but Patton really is great but I kinda don’t want to get turned into a teddy bear, and you’re all calm, and I’m, well, I’m sort of missing the calm and….” Virgil looked down and huffed out an annoyed sigh. “Oh, this is gonna come out awkward any way I say it. Can I sit next to you? I just wanna play on my phone and maybe stick my legs over your lap or something.”

Logan cocked his head to the side just slightly. “You wish to stick your legs over my lap while sitting next to me? That seems like it would involve terrible posture.”

Virgil gave a little breath of a laugh. “Any way I sit involves bad posture.”

“Actually, occasionally when you sit you replicate what is sometimes called the ‘primal squat’ which is reported to be excellent for your posture.”

Virgil gave him a lopsided grin. “Ok, you got me there. Maybe. But anyway, would you mind? It’s totally fine if you don’t want to, I’ll head back to my room.”

Logan considered it carefully. It was true that he did not enjoy touch. But this seemed as if it would be relatively calm, and would not require much, if any, reciprocation on his part. “I do not ‘mind’,” he said, utilizing Virgil’s turn of phrase.

He was currently standing, reading a book he had taken from the bookshelf he was standing in front of, and had not yet decided whether to stay with this book or choose another. He quickly pulled out the other two he’d been considering, and tucked all three books under his arm before seating himself on a couch.

It was a pleasant place, the memory library. Calm and quiet, with almost a heaviness to the air that Logan found enjoyable in a way. It was also rather dim, however, at least in this area, where the memories were older, and Logan found it necessary to summon a side table with a lamp on it so that he would have suitable light for reading.

He’d momentarily forgotten about Virgil until the couch cushion dipped beside him. Virgil pulled off his shoes and glanced at Logan.

“You really don’t mind? I mean, I know it’s kind of invasive to your space. You don’t have to say yes.”

Logan nodded. “I am not opposed.”

Virgil very tentatively put one foot up on Logan’s lap, leaning back against the arm of the couch. Logan felt again that sudden unpleasant ‘something touching me’ feeling, but it passed surprisingly quickly, and by the time Virgil had fully settled himself, laying on his back with his knees up over Logan’s lap and his feet on the other side of Logan, the feeling was gone entirely.

Logan propped his book against Virgil’s knees and began to read.

He was a little surprised, when Patton called for dinner, to find that they had been there for close to two hours, and that the unpleasant feeling had never returned. Instead he was feeling warm, and comfortable, more than he had in quite a while. He attributed this to the couch. And perhaps the warmth was a slight raising of Thomas’s core temperature, due to stress at having Anxiety so close to the old memories. Perhaps they ought to have sat down somewhere a little further away.

Regardless, he was about to comment, as they got up, at how pleasant the experience had been. Except that as soon as they both stood up, he found he was suddenly and extremely unpleasantly cold. This alarmed him, and he left without discussing anything with Virgil, concerned that the warmth and sudden cold was a sign of sickness, perhaps only his own but perhaps a symptom that Thomas was sick as well.

He went straight to the miniature control center he’d set up in one corner of his room, pulling up all of Thomas’s vital signs as well as a recording of where he’d gone that day. But everything was normal.

The cold seemed to be fading somewhat, though it was leaving a concerning ache behind. And it seemed to be concentrated on his thighs and forearms, of all places.

Logan looked through his list of sicknesses, sensible and nonsensical, that he had somehow contracted over his life, and found nothing similar. Still, this must be a sickness of some kind. Most likely a nonsensical one, as he hadn’t noted similar symptoms before. Perhaps he would discover some absurd idiom Thomas had latched onto that was causing him to experience physical repercussions. Something similar to ‘brain freeze’ perhaps.

A soft knock at his door caught Logan’s attention.

“Yes?”

“Logan?” Patton’s voice asked. “Are you alright? Virgil told me what happened. He didn’t realize how much you don’t like being touched, and I think he’d like to apologize, but he’s really worried that you’re upset with him.”

“What—“ Logan had left rather abruptly, and without expressing to Virgil that he’d enjoyed their encounter. It was very possible, with Virgil’s anxiety, that he had misinterpreted Logan’s abrupt departure. “Ah. I see.” He waved a hand to open his door. “I am not in the least upset at Virgil. There seems to be a misunderstanding.”

“Oh, good.” Patton said, concern all over his face. “But you should probably tell Virgil that, and there’s some dinner saved for you yet.”

Logan nodded, the ache in his forearms and thighs rather distracting. “Thank you, Patton.” And then it hit him. If it really were an odd turn of phrase Thomas had attached to, Patton would certainly know it. “Have you happened to notice any interesting phrases recently?”

Patton frowned in confusion, indicating that Logan had changed the subject too rapidly for Patton to keep up. But then he grinned a little. “So today, I saw a baguette in a cage at the zoo!”

And then it was Logan’s turn to be confused for a moment, before he realized. “Ah, I didn’t mean a joke-“

“It was bread in captivity!” Patton smiled brightly, nearly laughing at his own joke.

“Yes, thank you, Patton,” Logan said, allowing the tiniest bit of an amused smile to show.

Even that slight encouragement made Patton beam. “Well, I told Roman that I would watch Disney with him tonight, so I’ll have to go, but don’t forget to talk with Virgil before you eat, and don’t forget to eat either!”

“I won’t forget,” Logan promised, a softer smile showing.

But as soon as Patton left he clapped a hand over his mouth. Why was he so… easily swayed? He prided himself on keeping a straight face, and yet now he’d smiled at Patton’s pun! What was wrong with him?

And now, with Patton leaving the room, it was as if the heat had been sapped. He was again very uncomfortable, aching and cold and he didn’t understand why. Was he perhaps experiencing some strange and extreme form of separation anxiety? It had set in both times as another side had left, though in different ways. But he didn’t feel anxious.

It was all incredibly strange.

But it seemed that Virgil was under a rather upsetting misconception. It could wait. He would speak with Virgil first and then look into this strange sickness further.

Logan crossed the hallway to knock on Virgil’s door.

The door opened almost immediately, Virgil looking as though he’d been waiting on someone to knock, and that Logan had not been the one he’d been expecting, based on the wide eyes and generally startled appearance.

“L, I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have asked if I’d known, I wouldn’t have wanted to make you uncomfortable—“

“Virgil, I assure you, I was perfectly comfortable. I would have expressed discomfort if I needed to.”

Virgil blinked, and the deep black of his eyeshadow faded somewhat. “You aren’t mad?”

“Not at all. I enjoyed the calm company you provided. I left abruptly upon discovering symptoms that indicate possible sickness.”

“Oh.” Virgil was silent a moment, gaze flickering away from Logan as he processed. “Wait, sick? Who’s sick?”

“I may be, though it is odd, and perhaps not a sickness at all.”

“Well, what is it? What’s going on? Are you ok? Is it contagious?”

“I do not know. I am experiencing a strange cold, and aching.”

Virgil’s eyebrows creased in concern. “That doesn’t sound good.”

Logan nodded seriously. “That is why I left, trying to discover what it could be.”

Virgil nodded in an encouraging, ‘go on’ kind of way.

“I haven’t found anything yet, but Patton informed me of the misunderstanding between us and reminded me to eat dinner. I intend to do more research afterwards.”

Virgil nodded. “I could rubber duck for you, if you want. Maybe I could help a bit.”

Logan stared, trying to remember what the phrase was meant to convey before revealing his confusion. He was certain he had it on a flash card somewhere, but he’d left them in his room.

Virgil rather obviously quashed an amused smile. “You tell me what happened, and then we see if we can figure it out together. Repeating the details can help you connect them better sometimes.”

“Ah. Yes. That does seem useful. Thank you.”

Virgil gave him a lopsided grin, pulling up his hood and closing his door behind himself. “So when did you first notice the symptoms?”

Logan explained his symptoms and research to Virgil as they went downstairs and sat down at the table.

“And I still have very little of an idea of why,” Logan admitted. “I believe it possible that it’s another of those idioms that we sometimes experience physically.”

Virgil nodded very slowly. “I actually… might have an idea. I have an experiment I’d like to try, but if I explain it fully it’ll bias you and it probably won’t work.”

“Go ahead,” Logan said, opening the Tupperware container of spaghetti. “What is your experiment?”

Virgil reached one hand across the table. “While you’re eating, give me one hand.”

Logan considered, reaching out to hold Virgil’s hand. “Does this have something to do with checking pulse? You would be able to do that more easily with my wrist than my hand.”

Virgil shook his head. “Just eat, and when you’re done we’ll see how it goes.”

Logan frowned slightly. “Do you believe this has something to do with how recently I’ve eaten? Or that it could be influenced by the focus needed to do something with only one hand?”

Virgil chuckled. “I’ll explain once you’ve eaten.”

Logan was far too curious to wait patiently, and ate quickly, pushing away a not-quite empty container. “What is it?”

“Are you feeling warm again?”

Logan took a moment to assess, and realized that yes. He was feeling warmer. The ache as well was completely gone. “I am. Is it the food?”

Virgil offered a rather sad smile. “Alright, now let go of my hand and tell me what you feel then.”

Logan let go, and almost immediately the cold rushed back. He frowned. “But why? Why do I suddenly seem to have my physical temperature tied to the proximity of you and the other sides?”

His hand ached, and he held Virgil’s again, relieved, but utterly confused when the unpleasant feelings faded.

“I’ve had something like this,” Virgil said. “But not quite the same as yours, based on what Patton was saying. I think you’re probably touch starved.”

Logan considered this silently.

“But I don’t like being touched.”

Virgil gave his hand a slight squeeze. “You don’t seem to mind this.”

Logan nodded, very slowly. “You’re right. I… I don’t mind this at all.”

“I think we should talk to the others,” Virgil suggested.

Logan nodded slowly. “I suppose so.”

••^*^••

“You’re what?!” Patton practically wailed, throwing himself at Logan in a hug.

Immediately Logan felt like he wanted to crawl out his skin. This was miserable. In no way what he wanted. It didn’t feel right at all. It was like a whole hive of insects were buzzing just below his skin.

He pushed Patton off of him, more roughly than he would have intended. “Get off!”

Patton stopped immediately, staring in confusion and hurt.

Logan couldn’t handle it. He was freezing, and his skin was crawling, and his mind seemed filled with static. It was terrible. He just couldn’t.

He barely understood the words directed at him from the other sides as he sank out.

He locked his door and shuddered, hands repeatedly making and releasing fists. He shuddered again, trying to dislodge the crawling feeling. It didn’t leave.

He’d been right, he didn’t like touch. Not at all.

He got into the shower, running the water hot and scrubbing the disgusting feeling away. It helped warm him up as well, which felt way better. He bundled into his bed, pulling the weighted blanket that had been a gift from Virgil over himself.

A while later, finally calm and comfortable, he conjured a note to stick on the door.

I am not upset, but please leave me alone.

••^*^••

Logan spent the next several days figuratively buried in research. He investigated touch starvation as well as touch aversion, and a host of other possible clues to his situation.

He also gradually became more uncomfortable, holed up in his room.

He came to the conclusion that he did, in fact, have a kind of touch starvation, awakened to a roaring hunger by that pleasant afternoon sitting with Virgil.

But he also certainly had an aversion to being touched in certain ways. And he suspected, looking into it more, that surprise was a large factor, as well as the amount of him that was being touched, and perhaps the way in which he was touched.

He was basing this largely on his own reactions to Virgil’s method of touching, as compared to Patton’s or Roman’s, since he highly doubted that it was something inherent in them that he was averse to.

Finally his findings were all put together into one detailed, though as of yet hypothetical, presentation. Armed with this, and a determination not to touch anyone until he’d presented his findings, he opened the door to his room.

As he’d suspected, there was something attached to his door that made a noise as it was opened, and he was soon nearly mobbed with the other sides. They didn’t touch, or come too near, or say anything, but all came very quickly to stare at him, worry in every gaze.

He raised his folder. “I have a presentation. Please gather in the living room.”

It didn’t take long. Not at all.

Logan opened the folder and set it on top of the tv, so that the images could be seen.

“I believe Virgil was correct in suggesting that I have a degree of touch starvation.” He flipped through a few pages, supporting this statement with both facts and personal experiences.

He paused. This was the part that was likely to hurt feelings. Even he knew it, and he wasn’t usually adept at understanding feelings. But it was necessary.

“However, in satisfying this hunger, I will need to be ‘picky’. I have boundaries outlined in this section, and I need to keep them rigidly. This will mean that I will not be open to surprise touch, and likely not to hugs either. I would like to have support from each of you, support in accordance with what I’m capable of handling.”

“Absolutely, Logan,” Patton said. “I’d really like to be able to help you in the right way.”

Both Roman and Virgil nodded very solemnly and enthusiastically.

Logan smiled, more moved by this expression of support than he’d expected to be. “Thank you, Patton. And thank you two as well. I will be very much in need of your assistance.”

He cleared his throat, more in an attempt to gather himself together than any really obstruction. “I’ve laid out a number of methods of touch that I believe would be helpful to me, and arranged them by likelihood of success, and also divided by which I believe each of you would be more inclined to enjoy yourselves.”

••^*^••

Logan was seated on his bed, organizing and updating his flashcards, when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

“Hey,” Roman said, peeking in rather shyly. “Um, can we try one of those things now? I brought something to do.”

Logan considered, a slight curl of worry in his stomach. “Yes. I believe now would be a good time.”

Roman fully entered the room. “So I can sit behind you, and do my thing, and I won’t bother you while you do yours.”

Logan smiled slightly. “That sounds pleasant.”

Roman grinned, a bit of pride evident in his expression. He sat behind Logan on the bed, facing away from him, and leaned back slightly, so that they were each leaning against the other.

For about thirty seconds, Logan was uncomfortable, but gradually, warmth spread out through his body, and his mind was able to return its focus to his flashcards, and soon he found he was quite comfortable.

“Hey, specs, what do you call a little tiny shovel? Like the ones for kids. Or I guess not for kids, or not all the time.”

“That would be called a trowel, though perhaps a more recognizable, less correct term would be a spade.”

“Thanks!”

Logan could hear the smile in Roman’s voice, and smiled himself. This was genuinely pleasant.

Even after he had finished with his flashcards, Logan didn’t move. He just soaked in the wonderful warmth, answering whatever questions Roman had, and occasionally listening as Roman gushed about a particular sentence or paragraph he was especially proud of writing.

••^*^••

Logan walked beside Patton, enjoying the false nature of the imagination. He was familiar with much of the flora and fauna, even a decent portion of those entirely invented within Thomas’s mind. And Patton seemed to enjoy Logan’s rambling as much as Logan enjoyed the rambling.

A hand bumped gently against his, and Logan hesitated a moment, before linking his pinky finger with Patton’s.

Patton’s smile grew even brighter. “And you were saying the seeds of that tree are special? What kind of special are they?”

Logan smiled proudly, launching into an explanation. Patton swung their hands back and forth gently as they walked, and Logan felt something within him fill up. He felt pleasantly full, as if there was a cup inside him that had been long empty, and was now trickling over the rim, full enough to even spill.

••^*^••

Logan and Virgil laid out on the roof, looking up at the night sky. They were side by side, with Logan’s left leg tangled up with Virgil’s right.

It was calm. And warm. And peaceful.

In a reverse of the usual pattern, Virgil was the one telling the myth, this time of people who had lifted up the sky.

Logan felt himself drifting off, more comfortable than he could remember being in a very long time. He was figuratively floating on soft, warm clouds. Drifting into a summer night. He was safe, and content. Comfortable.

••^*^••

“Patton,” Logan said slowly.

“Hmm?”

“I would like to attempt a hug.”

Patton turned all his attention to Logan. “You sure?”

Logan nodded. “Yes. Just— slowly. And gently.”

Patton nodded solemnly, reaching his arms out.

Logan slowly leaned into the embrace, and Patton gently wrapped his arms around him.

And it wasn’t bad.

Logan hugged Patton, squeezing lightly before letting go. “Thank you.”

Patton’s eyes were all shimmery, and his smile wobbled. “You’re welcome, Logan!”

••^*^••

The door burst open dramatically and Roman ran in, flopping over the arm of the couch and letting out an even more dramatic groan. Then he peeked his eyes open, and moved to just as dramatically flop onto Logan’s lap.

“I fought dragons.” He announced, his voice a whisper as if he were inches away from death.

Logan, for once, was hit with a burst of mischievousness, and patted Roman’s face in an intentionally awkward way. “I will be sure to mention it at your funeral. I’m sure you’ve written an extensive ballad, and I’ll force Virgil to sing it in your honor.”

Roman had a sudden grin before resuming his ‘dying of exhaustion and probably wounds’ act. “Make sure you do,” he croaked out. “And have Patton put flowers in my casket.”

“Of course.”

Roman went limp, closing his eyes and sticking his tongue out.

“Patton!” Logan called. “We’re going to have to put on a funeral.”

“A what?!”

••^*^••

Logan leaned against Virgil’s side, his empty cup of coffee set beside him, as the second movie began to wrap up.

“If they start another movie, you can lay in my lap and go to sleep,” Virgil offered quietly.

Logan, who despite the coffee was beginning to nod, hummed an affirmative.

He was woken up a good deal later by a lack of sound, and found that they’d just finished what might have been the third, but could’ve been the fourth or fifth movie of the night. He was laying on a pillow in Virgil’s lap, and his legs were up in Roman’s lap. And judging by Patton’s smile, pictures had been taken.

“We’re finishing up now,” Patton whispered. “And setting up to sleep out here. Do you want to stay in here or go to your own room?”

Logan yawned. “It will be far better for my posture to go to my own room… but if you were to turn on a sound machine… I would not be opposed to remaining here.”

Soon, something between white noise and rain lulled him back to sleep.

••^*^••

They all found a marked improvement, both in Logan’s mood and even in Thomas’s clarity of mind, as they continued experimenting with touch.

It was discovered that Roman, while not starved, was also touch-hungry, and was practically a giant dog in that he would accept any and all kinds of petting.

And as Logan regulated, he found he was even more ready to give touch than to receive it. Roman flopping onto him after ‘terrible and glorious battles’ became a regular occurrence, often ending with Roman falling asleep, Logan gently scritching at his scalp.

Walks with Patton became something they both greatly enjoyed and looked forward to. Sometimes they could only link pinkies, sometimes holding hands, sometimes even walking arm in arm.

And Virgil was always ready to do something of his own near Logan, a limb draped over him or pressed up against him.

Logan found himself repeatedly thinking back to that one afternoon in the memory library, incredibly grateful that Virgil had asked, and that he had said yes. He could see so much in his life that was better now.

And he was really, truly happy.

[dlanadhz]

Chapter 4 below cut. Word count: 3,559

Mhok leaned toward the wall-length fish tank, staring at one of a dozen goldfish swimming about. It was shiny and healthy and seemed to know it was being watched. When Mhok held up his hand near the glass, it swam eagerly toward him. He smiled and wiggled his fingers in a wave. The goldfish turned and swam quickly away with a flash of its brilliant tail.

“I’ve been thinking,” Day said from his seat at his computer. He was meant to be doing homework. “If sprites like you are meant to be messing with strings or whatever, isn’t it a problem if you’re not doing it?”

Mhok sighed and sauntered over to Day’s bookcase, about five feet from the computer. They’d known each other for a few weeks. It was bound to happen that Day would ask such a question.

“When two souls connect, it gives energy back to the gods and the earth. But there are, like, several thousand sprites in Thailand alone. One sprite not doing the job isn’t going to get noticed.”

The bookshelf was full to the brim with books, some of which looked very old and very used. Day must have read them before he went blind. Absently, Mhok ran his fingers over the spines as he read a few titles on a different shelf.

He was lying, of course. He knew he was, and yet he’d spent forty years convincing himself that this was the truth – that the Trimurti wouldn’t take notice if he stopped. Or maybe he wanted them to notice. He wanted them to see his act of defiance. Porjai was right. He was acting like a child, wasn’t he?

“You’re lying,” Day said. When Mhok looked back at him, Day was wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Do all sprites change scents like this?”

Mhok lifted his arm to try and smell his own shoulder, then his forearm. He didn’t notice any scent. “No?” He put his arm back down. “You’re the only person to ever tell me I smelled. Why? Do I smell like burnt incense again?”

Day shook his head and pursed his lips a bit. “More like… I’m not sure. It’s kind of… sour. It’s subtle. And it’s ruining the jasmine smell in the room.”

Mhok stepped over and flicked Day in the forehead, causing the other to shout and flinch away. Mhok crossed his arms. “Hey. Are you just letting me hang around to use me as an air freshener or what?”

Rubbing his forehead, Day pouted and grumbled something unintelligible under his breath. But then he sniffed and smirked. “See? That’s better. Now my room smells much more crisp.”

“Oi.” Mhok made a warning clicking noise with his mouth following his complaint, but he found that he wasn’t as annoyed as he probably should be. How could he be truly annoyed when Day looked so damn pleased with himself for the tease?

So instead of continuing the banter, Mhok found himself reaching forward. He caught himself just before he could actually begin touching Day’s hair. For a strong moment, he’d planned to push the other’s hair back from his face, to fix the stray strands. But even if he was nine hundred years old, Mhok knew he had no right to invade someone’s boundaries like that. He may be the senior in the relationship, but he wouldn’t be so rude. Playful flicks were nothing compared to brushing someone’s hair with your hand.

He pulled back and slipped his offending hand in his pocket. In the chair, Day tilted his head slightly, though there was no way he’d noticed Mhok’s movement.

“So about your lie,” Day said, returning to the topic. “Could you get in a lot of trouble?”

Sprites who failed in their duties could absolutely get in trouble. Mhok recalled a sprite some six hundred years ago who had not so much stopped pulling on strings as much as she… pulled on too many. Sprites were meant to feel the hum of the universe and sense where the strings were leading. They followed the path laid out by destiny. This sprite, however, started tying random strings together – just whomever she thought looked best together. It was a different sort of laziness, since it didn’t require her to feel out the true end of the strings.

A lot of messy relationships happened because of her. A lot of negative energy muddled the air in her wake. The Trimurti eventually turned her into a fish and dropped her into a river to live amongst a huge school of others like her. Once in awhile, Mhok caught sight of a shiny tail in a river here or there and he wondered if it was still her, doomed to swim forever with creatures who died even sooner than humans and would never remember her.

Another sprite, about three hundred years ago, stopped pulling strings altogether. Mhok didn’t know the reason, just that he convinced four others to stop as well. People still made connections, but not at the rate they should have. Mhok, Rung, Porjai, and Pae were some of the sprites who pulled double duty, hopping into the energy starved area to search for neglected strings. By the end of that disaster, the four sprites involved had all been turned into lion statues and still guarded a temple to this day.

But it had taken decades, a century really, for those sprites to be stopped. Mhok had only been on strike for forty years. He had time before he faced real danger. That’s what he told himself, at least.

“I’ll be fine,” Mhok said and realized he’d paused for too long, lost in thought. “What are you doing?”

Day frowned, but he saw the diversion for what it was and allowed Mhok to change the subject. “Classwork. I’m writing a paper about the different forms of love in a few pieces of classic literature. Familial love, which we see in many old folk tales and children’s stories with moral lessons, but also in some of the more adult literature. Platonic love between friends that allows groups to go on adventures and defeat great evils together. And of course, romantic love, which is most commonly used as a driving force behind the main character’s actions in classic literature.”

Mhok hummed with interest, though he didn’t like the topic. It reminded him too much of work. “Anything interesting that you’re trying to argue?”

Smiling, Day said, “Actually, it’s been really interesting connecting the dots and showing that there’s a blur between romantic love and what has historically been discussed only as platonic love. A lot of the great heroes can be viewed through a queer lens with very little effort. For example, in the Greek story of Achilles, there are tons of passages where it’s clear that he and his friend Patroclus are more than simple friends. And we have stories like that in Thai classics as well, though sometimes less overt.”

He continued to explain his thesis and its examples, drawing stories in from across the globe, though he always wandered back to Thai stories eventually. It sounded like a graduate level paper, for sure, which was impressive considering Day’s age. But perhaps he had more time for classes than the average student, since he was rich and also blind. If his mother didn’t let him go out to do much, it would certainly lend itself to completing more classes faster.

The energy in the room was palpable, and Mhok took a deep breath of it. It felt like it warmed his very core, infecting him with good vibes.

“Do you like to read?” Day asked eventually.

“Yeah. It’s a great way to pass the time,” Mhok said. He glanced over at Day’s bookshelf again, though he stayed close to Day. “Some of those authors were pretty cool too.”

“You say that like you knew them.” Day rolled his eyes.

With a shrug, Mhok said, “Well I’ve never really known humans before. We weren’t friends or anything, but I did keep an eye on some of them. Some of them had strings that just–” he paused to let out a pleased sigh. “--sang. You couldn’t ignore them. You wanted to stick around and see how that energy played out.” He closed his eyes, remembering one of the biggest bursts of energy he’d ever had a hand in creating. “You wanna talk about great love stories – I’ve seen a couple that would redefine the word for you.”

He opened his eyes, stared at the names on the spines, and debated trying to find their descendants. He wondered how they were doing and if any of that love had trickled down into the kids. It must have. It had to. Right?

After a moment, he realized Day had not responded. Not even with a grunt or a hum. Mhok turned back to the young man and found himself being watched with surprise written all over Day’s face.

“What?” Mhok asked, leaning away.

“Hm? Nothing.” Day shook his head. “I just didn’t expect that kind of speech out of you. You normally talk like love and those strings of fate don’t matter, and then you come out with something like that. I’m just trying to figure out where all that warmth came from.”

Mhok hunched his shoulders and frowned. “Hey, I’m really good at my job, alright? Or… I used to be. When I was doing it.” When he could do it.

“Well if you were so good at it, then maybe you should do it again.” Day turned back to his computer, a sign that he was ending the conversation. “Or at the very least, you could put all that old love knowledge to good use.”

“Oh yeah? How?” Mhok asked, although he was pretty sure he had an idea where Day was going with this.

Day motioned lazily at his screen. “You could help me write this essay. You gotta know more references I could use, or you could help me reword things to make it, you know, sing .”

Snorting, Mhok waved a hand in the air and conjured himself a temporary chair. He scooted up close to Day and was not embarrassed to be invading the young man’s personal space. Day jolted at the proximity before relaxing, but then his brow knit tight. He put his hand out and felt Mhok’s arm, then dropped to find his leg, then he leaned over to feel even lower and felt the chair.

“Mhok, where did you get a chair?”

“Don’t worry. It’ll disappear when I leave,” Mhok assured.

“That wasn’t what I was worried about,” the other said, but sat up straight and did not continue the line of questioning.

Then he returned to the top of his essay and asked Mhok to read over it. As Mhok scanned the lines, he paused here and there to offer a correction or suggestion. Sometimes Day accepted with a little nod, and sometimes he asked follow up questions before allowing Mhok to type in the change. It was faster for Mhok to change it than for Day to use his speech-to-text feature and figure out which parts to erase. They discussed the examples Day had already used in his paper, sometimes getting wildly off topic as they talked about their favorite parts of the stories.

Three hours went in a blur, and the sun’s rays turned burnt orange against the wall, then shadowed into dusk. Mhok had no problem seeing in the dark – he wasn’t human, after all – but he almost offered to turn the lights on for Day. Then he remembered Day didn’t need the light and instead spent his time admiring the way the computer glow made Day’s face stand out in sharp contrast.

“You wanna go somewhere with me tomorrow?” Mhok asked before realizing he’d interrupted Day on a rant about a Japanese author he’d had to read for class.

The human hesitated, then tilted his head toward Mhok. “Come on. I’m sure someone like you has better things to do than lead a blind guy around.” His smile was self-deprecating, and Mhok wanted to rub it off Day’s face.

He shook his head. “No way. I think you’ll find that I have amazing patience.” It came with being eternal and nearly sleepless. Lots of free time.

Day bit his bottom lip, then slowly let it go. Though his eyes were unfocused and he stared blankly off into the room, it was like watching the gears turn in his mind. True to his word, Mhok did not interrupt. He perched on his chair and waited.

Finally, Day nodded slowly.

“Yeah?” Mhok asked, grinning.

Day smiled too, in reaction to Mhok’s smiling voice, and nodded quicker. “Mm. I’m curious where someone like you wants to take me.”

Mhok opened his mouth to teasingly respond, but another voice interrupted and snatched both of their attentions. Day had already been mostly facing the doorway of the room, but Mhok had been turned to face Day and now swiveled around to check who was entering.

“Oh, you’re on the computer,” Night said, sounding strangely relieved.

“Y-yeah,” Day said, then reached forward to find the edge of the screen and click the off button. The room was plunged into darkness. Mhok stood and waved his hand. His chair vanished just as Night flicked on the lights. Then Mhok moved to stand just behind Day, within arms reach but not close enough to bump.

“I heard you talking and thought someone else was in the house,” Night explained. He had a tray of food with him, which he brought over and set on the desk beside Day’s computer. “Working on your essay? Need any help revising or typing?”

Day shook his head, then tilted it back slightly. Mhok watched him take a quick breath through his nose and frown. “No, I’m okay. I had a friend look it over already.”

“Oh cool.” Night placed his hands on his hips and nodded. “It’s good that your classmates are willing to help. Or did you mean Gee? Either way, I’m sure it’s gonna be a great essay.”

“Mm.” Day had managed to stop frowning, but he didn’t look particularly happy either. In fact, he seemed confused, judging by the pull of his brow. “Thanks.”

“Of course. Hey, I’m gonna be downstairs watching a movie. Let me know if you need anything, or come down if you wanna hang out, alright?” Night lightly smacked his brother’s shoulder, waited long enough for Day to grunt in agreement, and then headed back out of the room.

As he got to the door, though, Day called out to stop him and he turned back.

“Ey, Night? Are you sure no one else is in the house?” he asked.

Night smiled. “Come on. I didn’t mean to spook you. It’s just the two of us here. No one’s getting past the gate. Besides, you know Mom would kill me if anyone got in without me noticing.”

“Yeah. Fine, fine. Go watch your movie,” Day said and waved his brother off.

Night shrugged and sauntered out of the room, looking way too well-groomed for a guy who’d been home all day. Honestly, who put that much effort into hanging around the house with their blind brother as the only company? Oh well. Mhok stepped around the chair and turned his attention back to Day and frowned when he saw the look on the other’s face.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked. “Why do you look upset? Did you want to go watch the movie?”

Day shook his head and pursed his lips. With his brow drawn down like that, he looked like someone contemplating grim topics, which didn’t line up at all with the previous conversation.

“You were here the whole time my brother was in the room, right?” he asked.

“Yeah. Right behind you. Why?” Mhok knelt down beside Day and put a hand on his knee, wondering how he could erase that look from Day’s face.

“He didn’t notice you at all,” Day said, and his voice sounded a little pinched. “I know you said humans don’t normally pay attention to you, but he was two feet away from you.”

Ah. Mhok shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah. He could have bumped into me, and he probably still wouldn’t have really noticed. But it’s fine. People like me aren’t meant to be noticed by others. Being noticed can do more harm than good.”

“What do you mean?” Day placed his hand over Mhok’s on his knee, effectively keeping him in place. “Are you going to get hurt because I noticed you?”

Shaking his head, Mhok put his other hand over Day’s. “No, no. It’s just that most humans don’t like it when they find out someone near them isn’t human. Sprites die all the time from human interaction. Uh, not because they can’t interact but because the humans kill them, I mean.”

“I won’t,” Day said seriously. He gripped Mhok’s hand tight, and Mhok realized Day was shaking. “I wouldn’t.”

“Hey. Calm down. I know that,” Mhok assured. Although they’d only known each other for a short time, he could sense Day’s sincerity. In a way he couldn’t remember sensing with anyone else. No one but his sister, at least. He released Day’s hand and placed one of his own on Day’s cheek, trying to calm him down. “Why is this upsetting you so much?”

“It’s stupid.” Day bit his lip again. “When I first lost my sight, I felt like I’d lost everything. I didn’t want anyone to see me and pity me, so I hid away in my room. I felt… completely cut off. Completely alone. I know what it’s like to feel invisible because society avoids you when you have a disability like mine. I’ve come to terms with my disability. But you–.” Day gently, gently put his hand over Mhok’s. At least he didn’t seem to be trembling anymore, though his voice still did. “How– How old are you? How long have you been alone that it doesn’t bother you anymore?”

Mhok’s thumb caressed Day’s cheek while he frowned. “I’m–” He glanced down and took a steadying breath. Then he schooled his features and forced himself to smile. “I have someone who notices me, Day. I’ll be okay.”

Although it looked like Day didn’t believe him, the other eventually nodded. They sat like that, with Mhok’s hand on his cheek and Day holding onto him for several long minutes before either felt steady enough to pull away.

“Phi… I’ll notice you. So keep visiting me, okay?” Day asked.

“Sure.” Mhok smiled and pulled his hands back. “I’ll always be around.”

When Mhok stood up, he felt a strange energy in the air. He knew this feeling. It felt… He frowned and held his hand out, palm up. A red string appeared in his hand, tugging and twisting like a skittish rabbit. It was different from Day’s string that attached to his brother. This one was blood red and unblemished, though he could not see the end of it. This was the string that would attach to Day’s soul mate. It tugged and tugged itself in his hands, reaching for someone in the distance.

Mhok turned to look in the direction it reached and found himself looking out the window. If he concentrated just a little bit, he could see where the string led, where the other string was in the world that was reaching back for this one. He closed his eyes reflexively, to start feeling it out. His heart ached in his chest and he dropped the string from his hand.

A cold, terrible feeling spread out from his chest. He shook his head, took a few deep breaths, but the feeling did not leave him. He needed to get out of here. He needed space.

“Ah. I gotta go for the night, though,” Mhok said out loud, hiding his emotions. “I’ll come see you tomorrow afternoon. Okay?”

“Oh. Okay.” Day nodded. “Don’t be late.”

“Mm.”

Then Mhok didn’t bother running from the room or jumping out the window. He simply took a step forward and teleported to an empty beach. There, the cold feeling in his chest felt like it could stretch out, and he sank to his butt in the sand. Hand on his chest, he took deep breath after deep breath.

This was terrible. It was the worst possible outcome.

How was he so upset over the idea of Day having a soulmate? That was the job of a sprite – to connect people. The realization that Day had someone out there should be a blessing. He should be jumping at the chance to help Day find his true love. It should be a celebration for Mhok, the reintroduction of him into doing his goddamn job.

Instead, there was a bitter taste on his tongue and his chest was cold. This was… disappointment. This was jealousy. This was an ache he couldn’t rationalize.

“Shit,” he cursed and pushed his hand into his hair. “How could this happen?”

After everything he went through, after countless years of evidence that it was a bad idea, after losing his only family member – He must have been cursed by the Trimurti. How could he have let himself develop feelings for a human?

Love's Clumsy Guide

Title: Love's Clumsy Guide Fandom: Last Twilight Tags: Supernatural, Mhok is a Cupid, Alternate Universe, Red String of Fate, True Love, Soulmates, Happy Ending, Elements of Buddhism and Hinduism, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Canonical Character Death

Summary: Mhok is a sprite, maneuvering through the populace of Thailand. His duty as a sprite is to help souls find their matches. A sort of true love, soul mate deal. Mhok had no problem with this duty until the day his sister died. Now, coarse and adverse to the idea of true love, Mhok has slackened in his duties. Until a blind young man takes notice of him and reminds him that love is something worth fighting for. But while Mhok’s belief in love might still be salvaged, is it too late to save him from a god’s wrath? AO3 Chapter Link: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Tumblr Chapter Link: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Chapter 1 below the cut. Word count: 5,071

The sun was high, but the breeze was cool, brushing through the folds of clothes as it danced among the crowds. Mhok sat on a fence post and watched people passing, smiling at what he saw. Lines twisted from person to person, linking them together like ghostly ribbons, and Mhok could see where each thread led - even if it led miles away. As a woman walked within a breath of his seat, he reached out and touched the threads of fate that trailed off her soul.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the fluttering feeling of every connection and then easily finding the one he was looking for.

“Well, it’s your lucky day,” he mused, twisting his finger and curling a thread around it. It did not impede the woman’s movement, but Mhok hopped up to follow her anyway.

He knew from touching the strand exactly who this strand led to. Her soul’s best match – her soulmate, as some might say – was on the other end. Luckily for her, it was Mhok’s job to bring these two souls closer together. Without sprites like Mhok, these two people may never meet, and the energy of their love would be lost on the world. Bringing soulmates together, whether romantic or platonic, gave a burst of soul energy back to the world, allowing more positive energy to bring peace and goodness to people.

Mhok loved his job because he was a sucker for love himself. Though, being an invisible sprite, he had never known love for himself, he just relished watching the dance people did as they tiptoed closer to true love and happiness. Maybe it was corny, but he was a real romantic.

It was his sister’s fault. She was his twin spirit, the closest to a soulmate someone like him would ever get. She understood him and he understood her, and she taught him how to bring souls together faster and with more sweetness than he had figured out for himself. She had a knack for pulling together souls that seemed like they would never match, but once they did they gave a burst of energy so large that all the spirits felt an energy high for months.

Once Mhok finished getting this woman matched, he would go find his sister to brag. Undoubtedly, she would have gotten two or three pairs together in the time it took him to do one, but that was fine. He liked giving her a chance to show off. She always looked so proud and happy.

The woman was walking up to a temple now, and Mhok trailed behind her, eyes scanning the people around. He could feel her pair was nearby, like a tingling on his skin. After a few moments, the woman knelt to pray, and Mhok felt the thread around his finger go taught.

“Gotcha,” he whispered, quiet so no one would hear him.

He might be hard to detect, but humans weren’t completely dumb. If he was too loud or too obvious, people could still notice him, and that was not recommended. Humanity historically didn’t respond well to supernatural creatures in their midst. If he stayed quiet, he’d remain a flicker on the edge of their peripheral vision, a glimmer of light they quickly dismissed.

Sprites could make themselves visible, of course. Sometimes humans needed a more hands-on approach to get them headed in the right direction. But the sprites and gods Mhok knew always preferred to keep that as a final option, not a first one.

Well, some sprites let themselves be seen for other reasons. Rung, for example, claimed to be in love with a human, and she often let herself be visible to talk to him. He seemed nice enough, and he would die relatively soon – all humans did – so Mhok wasn’t too worried. His sister was smart and wouldn’t reveal her true nature to a human.

The string on Mhok’s hand pulled tight again, drawing Mhok’s eye away from the woman.

A man was entering the temple from another staircase. If Mhok did nothing, his woman would leave the way she’d come and they’d never meet on this day. But Mhok wasn’t going to sit idly by, not when their string of fate was so strong. So when the woman stood up, Mhok let out a slow breath and tugged on the string wrapped around his finger.

The woman gasped as she tripped and stumbled away from her own staircase. At the same time, the man stumbled in her direction. When they had both regained their footing, they glanced up and noticed each other. The woman smiled shyly, and though the man appeared confident, he was embarrassed too.

“Oh, pardon me,” the woman said, bowing her head slightly. “I’m not usually that clumsy.”

“Me neither,” the man said. “Ah, have you finished your visit?”

And just like that, they struck up a conversation. The string in Mhok’s fingers hummed with delight, and he gently pulled his hand free. Quietly, he slipped away and down the steps.

When strings were so obviously connected, it wasn’t hard to begin an attraction. These two had easily felt drawn together, and the man would end up walking her home. They would soon be together, and that alone would give energy back to the gods and the world. And since they were a romantic pair, when they exchanged a vow of promise to each other, that energy would grow exponentially.

It was the strings Rung toyed with that were impressive. She loved finding those hard to see strings, the ones that even they could barely see but which trembled when you noticed them and grew into the strongest bonds of all when nurtured.

Mhok had chosen an easy couple for the day, so undoubtedly Rung would have a better story.

Outside of the temple, Mhok walked down the river and to a bridge where he always met his sister. They would watch the sunset together and then head home, as they always did. But normally, Rung was already waiting on the bridge. Instead, Mhok was the only sprite visible when he reached the middle. Strange.

He raised his hand, prepared to call on his sister, when a young man crossed in front of him and Mhok had to abruptly stop moving so as not to run into him. Mhok watched the young man walk away, and it even seemed that the young man glanced back at Mhok for a moment. In that brief moment, Mhok’s heart rate sped up with anticipation. The urge to be seen, to be noticed, welled up inside him. Especially by a cutie like that guy. But then the man turned away, a confused expression on his face, and he continued on, unaware of the sprite he’d just nearly run into.

Frowning, Mhok rubbed at his chest. He needed to learn not to get his hopes up like that. He wasn’t human, and most humans didn’t give him a second glance. And if they did, he knew he was supposed to run away. There weren’t many good tales of humans and sprites mingling. Worst case scenario, that cute young man would try to kill him. Best case, he’d ask Mhok for some kind of supernatural favor. There was no friendship to be had with humans.

Laughing softly at his own foolishness, Mhok turned from the sight of the young man, ready to go find his sister, but something else stopped him again. Another person was standing right in front of him, but unlike the young man, they were looking right at him. It was another sprite – Porjai. Mhok had known her for a millenia, and normally he loved to see her. Except they rarely sought each other out while working.

“Porjai?” Mhok asked, confused. He glanced around. The walking path was clear of humans, since most of them had already headed for home. It would be dark soon. Humans didn’t like the dark. “What are you doing here?”

“P’Mhok,” she greeted, voice tight and squeaky.

She never called him P’Mhok. They had long since stopped using polite titles with each other. The title could only mean one thing – that whatever she had come to tell him was serious or hard to say.

Mhok pressed his lips together, glanced around again, and then faced his friend. “Porjai, why are you here? Is Rung with you?”

She was gorgeous in her pale sabai and sinh, her hair pulled back except for the swoop of bangs she let fall loose. Normally she stood tall and graceful and strong, but now she stood in front of him, shoulders hunched, face fighting against tears. She shook her head, opened her mouth to speak, couldn’t find the words, and covered her mouth with a pained sob.

“Porjai!” Mhok snatched up her wrist, not keeping his voice down. “Where is my sister?”

“I’m sorry,” Porjai said, weeping now. “She was– She’s gone.”

Gone? Gone like what? Like how humans are ‘gone’? Gone like dead? But that didn’t make any sense!

“What do you mean? How can she be gone? She’s a sprite. We don’t just– What do you mean? Where is she?” Mhok closed his eyes against the news, tapped into the spirit world and tried to sense his sister’s spirit.

He could always find her when he needed to. He could be at her side in an instant if he could just find her energy. They were connected like humans were, their soul bond clear and strong. So– So why couldn’t he sense her anywhere? His stomach dropped and it felt like someone was crushing his heart.

“Porjai–” His voice broke. His heart broke.

A sprite dying was not unheard of. If they weren’t careful, they could be killed by humans, and if they failed in their duties, they could face punishment from their god. Mhok had noticed several sprites disappear over the countless years of his life, but not his friends. Not his sister.

“No.” He dropped to his knees, his whole soul aching. “How?”

“… Theerapanyakul,” Porjai admitted reluctantly.

Ice filled in Mhok’s veins and he clenched his fists. Theerapanyakul. The human his sister claimed to be in love with. Rung must have done something stupid after all. She must have told her human that she was a sprite. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! How had she misjudged so thoroughly? How could someone be loved by Rung and be so ungrateful? How could love end so terribly in an unnatural death?

Mhok wanted to find the human and kick his ass, to do the same to him that the man did to Rung. Except sprites of the god of love weren’t meant to use violence. Except killing a human was against the rules. Except killing Theerapanyakul wouldn’t bring Rung back.

“Mhok?” Porjai’s sad, thick voice called to him. “Mhok, snap out of it.”

His sister was dead. She wasn’t coming back. He felt a hole opening in his chest, and he couldn’t stop it from growing. He pressed a hand hard against his sternum, trying to fend off the pain and the helplessness. Porjai was kneeling in front of him, grabbing him and shaking him by the shoulders.

He held his hand out and a thread appeared in the air, connected from Mhok’s chest and ending in the empty air. It was the one that used to be connected to his sister. In the air above his hand, he watched it blacken and turn to dust. And it hurt.

“Porjai,” he whispered, feeling broken. She pulled him into her chest and held him tight as he buried his face against her. “What am I gonna do?”

— — —

Forty years to a human is a lifetime. Forty years is enough time for a war to begin and end, for a species to die off, for technology to advance faster and farther than ever before. Forty years was enough time to heal most wounds.

To a god’s sprite, forty years was nothing.

Mhok sat on the wall that outlined a college campus and watched all the young adults coming and going, all on their phones in one way or another, and all of them trailing a few visible strings of fate. He could easily reach out and find one in the air without even leaving his perch. Yet he kept his hands securely in his pockets.

That young man could meet his soulmate in the campus library if Mhok simply tugged on the string to give him the idea of going there.

That professor could meet her new best friend if Mhok expended enough energy to make her spill her morning coffee and caused her to need to stop by the cafe across the street.

He could sense the strings of fate, sense the outcomes of his meddling. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he turned away from the crowds and ignored the call of the strings. He always felt a little colder after ignoring such easy targets, but he’d felt cold for forty years. He hardly noticed anymore.

Behind him, he heard a gasp and then an irritated groan. Glancing back, he saw the professor sighing at the sight of her morning coffee dropped on the concrete in front of her. She checked her watch, glanced up at the school, back down at her watch, then turned and hurried away toward the cafe to grab a quick cup of coffee before work. She would meet the cafe manager, and over time they would become the closest of friends.

The young man also stopped walking, looked curious, and then decided to turn and head for the library to study instead of heading into the food court to hang out with his friends. He’d make eye contact with a young woman through the stacks, and the rest would be beautiful history.

A loud sigh from beside him drew Mhok’s attention away, and he found Porjai sitting on the wall beside him.

“I told you not to follow me,” Mhok grumbled.

“Yeah, but if I did that, all these souls you’re meant to be connecting would go on being disconnected, and then where would the world be?” Porjai swung her legs carelessly. “You’re lucky you’ve even got me to come around once in a while to tidy up your mess.”

“You know I don’t like leading people to love anymore,” Mhok reminded her. After all, what was the point of love if that love could stab you in the back? If that love could leave you feeling hollow and broken?

“And you know that if you don’t lead enough people, Trimurti will not be pleased with you. You don’t get endless chances from a god, not even if you’re that god’s servant.” Porjai shoved gently at his shoulder. “Come on. I’ve lost enough friends in the last few decades. Don’t make me add you to the list just because you want to be stubborn.”

“I’m not stubborn.” Mhok turned to sit cross legged on the wall, only possible because he wasn’t human. “Listen to what you just said. We’ve lost four more of our numbers in the last four decades. And why? Because humans are greedy and selfish, and when they notice they’re being toyed with – even when it's for their own happiness – they lash out and kill love.”

Porjai sighed again and stood up on the wall. “You keep saying that, but I know you don’t believe it. Not deep down. Before Rung – … I never knew a love sprite who loved love more than you.”

“Well that was before,” he grumbled.

“No. One day, that ice in your soul will finally melt, and you’ll remember how warm you used to be.” Porjai crossed her arms. “I just need that to happen before the Trimurti turn you into a fish or a statue or something.”

Rolling his eyes, Mhok turned away from her. “Luckily, I’ve got you connecting souls for me so I go unnoticed. We’re golden.”

His friend hopped off the wall, landing effortlessly on the ground below him. Then she turned and glared up at him. “Don’t be an idiot, Mhok. You’re too old to act this naive. I miss her too, but we can’t give up on the world like that. Rung wouldn’t want us to, and you know it. Now pull your head out of your ass and get to work.” She frowned and then tried to look less annoyed as she softly added, “Tomorrow’s an anniversary. Maybe it can mark your new beginning too.”

Then she turned and walked away, fizzling into the air before he could argue the idea.

Forty years since the death of his sister. Mhok slipped off the wall and landed nearly soundless on the concrete sidewalk below. A nearby student glanced over at the soft sound, but didn’t even hesitate in their gait as they walked on by. Mhok didn’t see any reason why the forty year anniversary had to be any different than the years before. He was still invisible. His sister was still dead. He was still cold. He couldn’t just flip a switch and change these things.

“Trimurti, bless me,” he said, but it sounded more like a swear. “Guess I’ll head back to Bangkok tomorrow. For all the good that’ll do.” Then he started walking, not caring where he ended up.

— — —

Bangkok could change names, but it couldn’t change its soul. It was still a busy city, where people came to visit and experience Thailand. It was a hub. And with all the technological advances and the ever growing population, it was sometimes so crowded and so photogenic that it made staying out of people’s way and unnoticed very difficult.

Mhok had to concentrate to be intangible – it wasn’t his natural state of being – and if he was just walking around, he didn’t want to expend that kind of energy. So he stayed mostly on top of things – buses, fences, the occasional overhang – to stay out of people’s way. When it was less busy, though, he loved to just walk around and feel the ground beneath his feet. Or shoes. Depending on the day.

It was in Bangkok that his sister met her demise. Stabbed by the man she loved and who she thought loved her too. He’d caught her off guard, so she didn’t have time to run. He’d taken advantage of her love.

Mhok came to a stop on his journey just outside of a small temple’s columbarium. Rung was not interred there, of course. Upon death, her spirit faded and became part of the Earth. But this temple was where Mhok and Porjai had used some of their power to make a plaque for her. There was no urn behind her nameplate, but it gave them somewhere to mourn her, to visit her. And the temple was close enough to where she’d met her tragic end. So far, no monk or anyone else had noticed the nameplate that none of them had installed, and Mhok hoped they never would.

Most people who visited their loved ones brought offerings and said prayers or at least spoke to their family. Mhok did none of those things. He knelt before his sister’s plaque and just stared at her name - Rung Pankhamdi. Porjai had chosen the last name. It was a play on a name meaning “petals” or “delicate flower”. She said it fit Rung. She said it fit Mhok too.

He took a seat in front of the empty grave for a while, feeling empty and cold. After an hour, he leaned forward to clean away the grime the last year had brought to the letters. An hour after that felt like no time at all, but he was ready to leave the temple, and the memory of his sister, behind him for another year.

As he stood, someone bumped harshly into him from behind, and he complained on reflex before remembering he was supposed to be quiet around people.

“Excuse me,” the other person said, giving him a wai, and then stumbled on. It was a young man with distant eyes, and he reached out for the wall to steady himself as he moved through the temple. Was he drunk? He didn’t smell of alcohol.

Mhok put his hand on his upper arm, feeling where the other had run into him. It had been a long long time since any human had given a wai in his direction or spoken to him. Mhok blamed that for why he was a little curious about the situation. On light feet, he followed after the other man.

“Oi! Day!” someone shouted behind them. Mhok glanced back, but the young man merely stiffened and picked up his pace. Mhok closed his eyes and let his hand hover in the air. Effortlessly, he found the string that led from the young man to whomever was calling for him.

Ah. A brother. And what a tangled string they had. Mhok could spend the rest of the day untangling it, learning its secrets and possibly mending the bond a little, but he wasn’t quite that invested yet. He was just… a little curious.

The young man – was his name Day? – turned a corner and found himself in a small garden. He didn’t pause at the sight. He didn’t hesitate at all until he found himself accidentally boxed in by a small pagoda of trees and bushes. There were benches hidden inside this alcove of nature, meant to be a relaxing spot to rest during a visit to the temple. Day bumped his shin on one of the benches, then hopped to the side to sit down. From outside of the rest area, he was virtually invisible.

Mhok stepped into the entrance of the sitting area and watched the young man rub and nurse his newly bruised shin. It was vaguely cut and starting to slowly bleed. Nothing too bad, but he might want a bandage.

“It’s creepy to stand and stare at someone,” Day complained. “Sit down or go away.”

Mhok turned around, expecting to see another person nearby, but there was no one. Just Day and himself. Except Mhok should be almost impossible to notice. Day shouldn’t be able to look at him unless Mhok allowed himself to be seen. Only, Mhok realized that Day wasn’t looking at him at all. He was staring off in front of himself, not looking at Mhok, not looking at the leg he was carefully touching to discern the damage.

He was blind.

“Okay, if you keep being a creep, I’ll scream,” Day threatened. His fingers finally brushed his injury and he winced.

Mhok smirked. “No you won’t. You’re trying to stay hidden, aren’t you?”

Day frowned. “How do you know that?”

Shrugging, Mhok stepped into the alcove and stood in front of Day. “You bumped into me while running away. Remember?”

“Oh.” Day took a deep breath and hesitated. His eyes were unfocused, but his brow knit temporarily together in confusion. He took another slow breath, then shook his head minutely. “Okay. Whatever. I said I was sorry, didn’t I? Why did you follow me?”

“I thought you were drunk,” Mhok answered, partially telling the truth.

“Well, I’m not. You can go now.” Day waved him off, irritated but also nervous.

Talking. With another person. A person who wasn’t trying to convince him to forget his sister and move on and grow bonds of love. Mhok felt a tingle in his hands and couldn’t stop the small smile lifting his lips.

“Looks like you hurt yourself. Want a bandage?” he asked. With a flip of his hand, he easily produced one from thin air. Day didn’t even twitch, which was further proof he couldn’t see Mhok at all.

The younger man wrinkled his nose. “You’re a weirdo, you know that? And you smell like– like–”

Mhok crossed his arms, ready to be amused. “Like what?”

“Like old, burnt incense.” Day rubbed at his nose, as if that would rid him of the scent.

Mhok was no longer amused. He should have a pleasant aroma, if anything. He was a sprite of the god of love. Burnt incense? He frowned. Perhaps Porjai was right. He wasn’t doing his duty and it was affecting him. No. Mhok shook himself. This human was just bitter and defensive. There was no way Mhok smelled that strongly of something as unpleasant as something burning.

“Rude.” Sucking his teeth, Mhok leaned forward and set the bandage on Day’s uninjured thigh. “There. A bandage. Patch yourself up and get back to your family before you run into anything else.”

“What? You’re gonna leave a blind guy to put on his own bandage?” Day griped.

His attitude did not move Mhok to help. In fact, it made Mhok take a step back. That and the idea that maybe Day really could smell him, and that maybe Mhok really did smell like something burning. But no. No, he only backed away because he didn’t like Day’s attitude.

“You’re a big boy. You can figure it out yourself.” He was far enough back that he could see straight out the entryway and down the path they’d come. Another attractive young man was at the corner of the wall, looking around for someone. “Better hurry. I think your brother is about to find you.”

On the bench, Day ducked his head but then quickly grabbed the bandage to tear it open. It took him a moment, but he found the spot to peel it, and then he exposed one side of the adhesive. Haltingly, he felt his leg for the wound again, and winced again when he found it. Then he brought the bandage slowly toward the wound, clearly unsure if he was going to miss entirely despite his efforts.

His brother was getting closer, though he was mostly scanning the exposed areas of the garden and temple.

Day bumped the bandage against his leg, realized it was nowhere near its target, groaned and pulled it off. He was determined and trying, but he once again got the bandage stuck before it ever got close to the wound. He growled softly, frustrated, and Mhok couldn’t watch him struggle anymore.

Carefully, Mhok knelt in front of Day and stopped his hand with the bandage. At first, Day startled, but then he easily released his hold on the bandage as Mhok tugged it free. Mhok placed his hand on Day’s shin to let Day know what he was doing, and then he easily affixed the bandage over the scrape. When he was done, he looked up into Day’s face and thought he saw the other barely breathing. For a human, he was kind of cute. Kind of handsome, actually.

“Thanks,” Day said, voice quiet.

“You’re welcome.” Mhok replied, just as quiet. He stood up, watched Day swallow, and then took a step back into the far corner of the covering.

At that exact moment, the brother stepped into the entrance. “There you are!” he exclaimed. “Mom is losing her mind. Come on. You shouldn’t run off like that.”

“I’m not five,” Day said, his sour attitude returning in full force. “I don’t need a babysitter, and I should be allowed to visit a temple without someone holding my hand and watching my every move.”

The brother let out a long suffering sigh. “We just didn’t want you tripping down the stairs. Day, please. You know you need help, and that’s all we’re trying to do.”

The tension between the brothers was thick. Mhok opened his palm and summoned their string to his palm. The knots were frayed, like old shoelaces that had been tied and untied and picked at for years. If Mhok loosened even one of them, the situation might resolve peacefully… even if it didn’t fix their relationship. He looked between the two brothers, who were glaring and holding their bodies so rigid and tight.

Almost without thinking, Mhok ran two fingers over one of the knots. The fraying mended and the knot loosened. Color pulsed over the dull string, like blood returning to a vein. It was not a perfect fix, but then Mhok wasn’t looking for perfection. He just wanted to diffuse this one situation.

Both Day and the brother relaxed their shoulders, though Mhok doubted either of them really noticed. The brother sighed again, but this time it was tired sounding.

“Please just come back with me so we can try to end today on a happy note. Okay?” he asked, voice much gentler than before..

On the bench, Day ran his fingers over the edges of the bandage on his shin. After a long moment, he finally nodded and stood from the bench. His brother was over in an instant, trying to help guide Day from the area. As they stepped out into the light, Day paused and looked vaguely over his shoulder.

“Thank you, khun,” he said, and Mhok startled a little.

“Who are you talking to?” his brother asked, also glancing back into the sitting area. Unlike Day, he took no notice of Mhok in the corner.

“There was a man,” Day said, though now his brow knit in confusion again. He frowned. “Isn’t he still in there?”

His brother shook his head. “No. There’s no one else here.”

The brother let Day ponder for only a second more before ushering him away and back to their mother. In the shade of the trees, Mhok sat down on a bench and watched them leave. For the first time in forever, someone had talked to him. Sure the conversation had been mostly rude or sassy, but somehow it still felt monumental. More than that, Day had turned back to thank him again. He hadn’t forgotten Mhok existed as soon as their conversation was over.

Was it because he was blind and he had noticed Mhok by smell and not by sight? Most people’s minds were easily distracted by light and sound, and they quickly forgot if they saw something supernatural. They explained away whatever they saw or heard. But Day had not. Not yet, anyway. It had to be because of his eyes. He had noticed Mhok even when Mhok was trying to go unnoticed.

The sprite smiled. Well, then. That chance encounter had turned out to be the most interesting human interaction Mhok had experienced in over forty years. How was he meant to ignore that?

[metalbvcky]

what are a few of your favorite stucky headcanons?

Oooohhh I’m glad you added ‘a few’ because this is gonna be a long one. :) 

1) Steve’s a morning person. 

I mean are any of us surprised? Of course Steve’s the morning person in the relationship. But do you know what Bucky is? A CUDDLER.

Every morning starts out the same. It’s cold outside and it’s nice and warm in the warm confines of their bed with not two but three fleece blankets on top of their comforter. Steve wears nothing but maybe slash on occasion a pair of thin underwear to sleep because the serum turned him into a human furnace. 

Sure, it’s freezing as hell outside (”Get your butt back in the house, Steve,” Bucky would say back in nineteen-thirty something.) but nothing stops Steve from going out on his morning run. 

Except for Bucky. 

Bucky, who snakes his oh so cold metal arm around Steve’s waist and pulls him close. Like a cat, Bucky presses his cold nose into the crook of Steve’s neck between a long drawn out yawn. 

“Mmm, stay for a while,” Bucky says, both legs trapping Steve’s so he wouldn’t be able to escape even if he dared. 

So Steve caves and does abandons the idea of going out early. Yeah, he’d be a little late by time he does get ready but a half hour past his normal time would suffice. 

But then Bucky still persists when Steve tries to wiggle himself out of his arms, “Five more minutes,” Bucky whines as if he’d get his way. 

“Buck,” Steve chuckles but sighs out, “okay, fine.” 

Five minutes turned out to be an hour, and another half hour because by time Bucky got up, he dragged Steve into the shower with him to do other activities. 

Steve ended up skipping his morning run that day. 

2) Bucky takes up baking, and he really makes an effort by getting good at it too.  

This is inspired by my Bakery!AU WIP of course but honestly, who can’t resist Baker!Bucky? I feel like Bucky would be a stress baker too. What would he make? Probably...

Sourdough, because maybe his ma made it back in the day and it reminds him of home.  

Cupcakes. Full-fledged cakes might be intimating for Bucky so I imagine cupcakes would be easier for him. When he wakes up and pads out into the kitchen, he’d wonder where three of them went before his brain catches up with him: Stevie snuck in some before his morning run thinking I wouldn’t notice.   

Cookies galore. Sugar, gingerbread, gingersnaps, shortbread, raisin oatmeal because Steve’s an old man, snickerdoodles, peanut butter, but most of all: Chocolate chip. But no ordinary chocolate chip. Sam’s mother’s recipe. How does Bucky get it? Well, he somehow manages to persuade Sam for it.  

Again, my Bakery!AU is leaking onto this (lolol) but another thing he’d make: A Russian Honey Cake (Aka: Medovik) not for Steve, no, but for Natasha. Though Steve does compete with Natasha when it comes to requesting Bucky to make it more often. Because damn it if all the baking and assembling each layer takes hours of effort. 

Let’s just say Steve doesn’t complain about the massive amounts of baked goods that magically turn up in their kitchen overnight. 

3) Their apartment becomes overrun by plants, because every time they pass by the local nursery, Steve can’t resist pulling over when Bucky comments about what’s on display up front. 

Bucky becomes a plant Dad™ when it comes to caring for his plants. No, they’re not Steve’s plants because as Bucky puts it: “Every plant you touch, dies.” 

It’s a little harsh, but it’s true. That rose bouquet Bucky surprised Steve with on their date at their favorite restaurant? Wilted the very next day. So Steve doesn’t touch the plants, at all. Instead, he funds Bucky’s hobby by buying every goddamn plant and flower under the sun. All the tools required too. Fancy looking plant plots, anything on Bucky’s Pinterest/Instagram feed/etc. 

Oh and you know what else?? Bucky takes their spare room and turns it into a cozy reading room.  

Not only would it have plants (duh) between a small sofa and a couple of leather chairs, but also a real wooden bookshelf to keep all of their books they start to collect from a local bookstore down the road. Cool looking rugs, accent pieces, fuzzy blankets, and footstools too.

Steve also has his own spot by the window to draw to his heart’s content. Eventually, they’d buy an easel and somehow figure out where exactly to put it because the room’s overrun by furniture and plants. 

The room smells heavenly when Steve opens the door, only to find Bucky laying sideways on the couch with his head propped up with his flesh arm. 

“Care to join me?” Bucky asks as he lowers his book down. 

“Wouldn’t trade it for the world, Buck,” Steve replies, slipping in behind Bucky with his own book he’d chosen prior. 

Thank you for coming to my SteveBucky headcanon ted talk!! Next week: Bucky’s mad obsession with Steve’s holy grail of an ass. (that is true and you know it) 

[moonknightly]

oh so loved : santiago “pope” garcia x reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Excerpt: “You stared at the picturesque scene for a moment longer before you began to turn away, wanting to go to bed yourself when you felt a large hand wrap around your wrist.”

Warnings: Dad!Santi needs a warning alright it’s pure tooth rotting fluff up in this bitch today

It was a rare occurrence for Santi to make it home before you. He almost exclusively worked overtime while you always left work at five o’clock and not a second later. It wasn’t ideal, really, but it was the reality of your respective jobs. Santiago, the big shot DEA Agent, and you, a legal secretary for one of the best firms in the city. He was just bound to work longer hours while you had a pretty set schedule. It was routine.

But, you were the one stuck at work tonight. Another firm was hosting a huge corporate dinner, and your boss made sure you knew that attendance was required. You were hoping to be home before eight, but it was already close to nine and things didn’t seem to be slowing down for the evening. You hoped your babysitter didn’t mind staying too late — you couldn’t really give her an estimated time, as you didn’t know exactly when Santi would be home.  

But little did you know, he was already back at your place, and there was a little girl waiting for him by the door with a bright smile overtaking her small face. When Theo saw her daddy walking through the door before her mommy, she couldn’t help but be a little more excited than any other given day. She was very much a daddy’s girl, no doubt about it.

You couldn’t help but be a little jealous at times.  

Santi scooped his daughter, your daughter, up into his arms, giving her a quick kiss to the cheek. She clung to her father’s shoulders, refusing to be put down but Santi didn’t mind. He would take all of the snuggles and cuddles and kisses he could get. She had him wrapped tightly around that little finger of hers.

The babysitter was almost as surprised as Theo was to see Santi home before you, but really, she didn’t care who it was to relieve her — she just wanted to get the hell home. Teenagers. But she was polite enough, giving Santi a rundown of the afternoon to which he listened intently. He worked so often, and missing moments with his daughter never got any easier. He’d listen to your or her grandparents or that fucking babysitter talk about her for hours.

The second she was paid and out the door, Theo instantly started recounting everything she had done that day, from what she ate to what she played, and Santi listened as intently as he had the first time, maybe even a little more, nodding and smiling at his little girl and her enthusiasm. She showed him the picture she had drawn earlier that afternoon — her grandparent’s house, complete with the rose bushes in the front yard. He tucked it into his pocket gently, making a mental note to copy it the next morning and send it to his parents. She had them right in the palm of her hand almost as much as she had her father.

There wasn’t much else to be done for the night, really, and sometimes, Santi hated that. Theo had eaten dinner, taken a bath. All she had left to do was brush her teeth and she was good to go, and while it was her bedtime, Santi didn’t want to put her down just yet. She didn’t seem tired, and Santi wanted to take advantage of the rare opportunity to have some alone time with his favorite little girl.

“Sweet girl, why don’t you run upstairs and pick out a book? We can read it while we wait for mommy, sound good?”

The four year old quickly nodded before running to her room, quickly looking over her bookshelf for one of her favorites. After finding it, she pulled it from the shelf, grabbed her teddy bear from her bed, and ran back downstairs.

Santi had pulled a small throw from the back of the couch, settling himself upon the cushions while leaving a spot for Theo in his lap. She ran and joined him, leaning back into his arms as he took the book from her small hands.

“The Wonderful Wizard Of Oz. You know mi vida, this was mommy’s favorite when she was your age.”

“I know, it’s my favorite too! Mommy reads it to me a lot.”

Santi felt a small pang of guilt rise in his chest upon not knowing that his daughter’s favorite book, but he quickly pushed it down. This was supposed to be a happy moment for the both of them. He cleared his throat and began reading.

“Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies…”

It was ten when you finally pulled into your driveway, cutting the engine and letting you head thump against the headrest as you took a minute to just be. You groaned, rolling your shoulders as you tried to ease some of the tension from your aching muscles. It had been such a long day, and you wanted nothing more than to curl up in your bed for the next twenty or so years.

You walked up the stairs to your front door, hastily inserting the key into the lock and turning. You pushed the door open and quietly walked inside, trying not to wake Theo, hoping she was already asleep but at the same time, wishing you’d get to see her before bed. You missed your girl.

Creeping into the living room, you were just about to throw your bag down on the couch when you saw a sight that made you stop in your tracks, a smile instantly spreading across your face.

Your husband and your daughter, both curled up and sound asleep. Soft snores left Santi’s lips, while Theo hummed gently; neither of them were quiet sleepers, unfortunately for you, but seeing the two of them so content made you overlook, well, everything else that could have been going on around you.

You bent down to gently shake Santi’s shoulder, but stopped last second — they just looked so peaceful, wrapped up in each other’s arms, you just couldn’t bear to wake them. A night on the couch wouldn’t hurt Santiago’s neck too much.

You reached for the book Santi still had gripped in his hands, slowly taking it from him and placing it on the coffee table. He stirred only slightly before going still again while Theo didn’t so much as twitch. Leaning forward, you placed a light kiss to Theo’s head before doing the same to Santi. You stared at the picturesque scene for a moment longer before you began to turn away, wanting to go to bed yourself when you felt a large hand wrap around your wrist.

You looked down at your husband with a raised eyebrow, and he only smiled that damned crooked smile of his and gently pulled you towards him. You were just about to protest when he used his free hand to hold a finger up to his lips before looking down at Theo, still sound asleep. You stayed silent, and he tugged again, though this time, you didn’t resist.

Santi scooted himself forward, allowing you room to crawl behind him, between his body and the back of the couch. You situated yourself as best as you could and threw your arm over his body, snuggling close to your warm, handsome, amazing husband. Once you stopped moving, he turned his head as far as he could towards you, tipping his chin upwards, beckoning you closer. You sat up, placed your ear practically against his lips. You could feel him smile, his breath washing down your neck, causing goosebumps to rise across your skin.

“I love you,” he whispered, his grin only widening as the words left his mouth. “I love you and I love Theo so fucking much, my sweet girls.”

You could feel your own smile working its way onto your face, and you placed one more kiss to the side of his head before laying back down, even closer to him than you were before. No words were needed.

The Garcia family fell asleep in each other’s arms — safe and protected and oh so loved.

[iamakiller]

Where Babies Come From

“Dad?  I have a question.”

Our eyes meet over the top of Henry’s head, where he sits propped up by pillows between us on the bed.  You bite your lip to hide your smile.  My plan to bore my son to sleep has been a failure, it seems, since you are the only one who appears to be even slightly drowsy.  As always, Henry’s thirst for knowledge - and wish to delay bedtime for as long as possible - has overruled all else.

I fight the urge to vent my frustration with a sigh.  For all that his constant need to bombard me with questions can be rather tiresome, any negative feeling is vastly overruled by the gratitude I feel that we are all here together.  “Yes, Henry?”

On this occasion, his question is actually related to the topic at hand.  “Where’s Legolas?  They’re in Mirkwood, right?  So Legolas should be there.  Where was the part where he chases after them and jumps on all the barrels?  That was so awesome!”

This time, I allow myself a small sigh of displeasure. “Henry, what have I told you?”

“The book and the movies are very different,” he parrots, obediently.

“And?” I prompt, not quite as gently as I could, because he has somehow managed to omit the main point.

Henry scrunches up his face, trying to remember.  “The book is better?” he offers, with more reluctance than I would like.  

“The book is much better,” I affirm, with a satisfied nod.  “And certainly didn’t necessitate three feature-length movies.”

“I just think Legolas is really cool …” he mutters under his breath, always keen to have the last word.  Today I will allow it.  He is young, and doesn’t know any better.

From the other side of the bed, I hear a small cough.  You are undoubtedly concealing a laugh, because you do not understand how important this is.  I honestly cannot comprehend how you, whose entire career is focused around literature, have somehow managed to never read a single word of Tolkien up until this point.  But we are remedying this sad state of affairs week by week, as I introduce you and Henry - and Little b as well, if they are listening - to the prequel of one of my favorite series of books.

I set the book down on the bookshelf beside the bed, and ruffle Henry’s hair.  “Time to go to sleep, honey.”

Now, another popular stalling tactic comes into play.  Henry clutches at his throat like he is about to go into anaphylactic shock.  “I’m so thirsty,” he croaks.  “May I have a glass of water, please?”

“I’ll get it,” you offer, before I can query if he is actually as parched as he states.  You swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand up, almost immediately grabbing onto the top of the wooden headboard, and squeezing your eyes shut as you do so.

I spring to my feet immediately.  “Are you all right, my love?”

After a few seconds, you open your eyes, and offer a bright smile that is probably more for Henry’s benefit than mine, since he is also staring at you in concern.  “I’m fine.  I just stood up a little too quickly, that’s all.”

As soon as you leave the room, Henry turns to me, his brow furrowed with worry.  “Is Britt okay, Dad?”

“Of course,” I assure him, injecting a level of cheer and confidence into my voice that I do not particularly feel.  You probably are fine, but … what if you are not?  I very much feel that I should have offered to go in your stead, but given that you have refused my help multiple times this week on the grounds that I am fussing over you too much, I thought that perhaps it was best not to push the issue again.  Especially not in front of Henry, who has seen quite enough of the adults in his life bickering with each other ...

Henry doesn’t look convinced.  “Are you sure?”

“Britt is fine, honey.  Being pregnant is extremely hard work, so she has been experiencing a few unpleasant side-effects.  But she is absolutely fine, I promise.”

Henry nods thoughtfully, lapsing into silence for a rare few seconds to fidget with his dinosaur-bedecked duvet cover.  Then, as usual, there is something else.  “I actually had a question about that,” he says ominously.

Over the course of the day, he has already queried what size Little b is at the present time, when we will know if they are a boy or a girl, and if I think they will like dinosaurs as much as he does.  I do not know what else there is to ask.  “Go on …”

“Well, I bought a book about babies on Amazon, and -”

I can’t help but interrupt him, to question him on this point.  “Do you mean your mother bought you a book?”  That would be a pleasant development indeed, though it seems unlikely, since she has barely said two words to me since our dinner at Sandra’s house.

Henry stares at me like I am being very dense.  “Mom left one-touch ordering on.  I can buy whatever I want.  But anyway, I bought a book about babies.  It’s called “Where Babies Come From” and it cost ten dollars, and I’ve read it three times, but Dad … the title is a lie!  The book doesn’t actually tell you where babies come from-”

Mercifully, this alarming thread of conversation is interrupted by you returning with Henry’s water.  You pass the glass to him, and he takes the tiniest sip imaginable before handing it back to you to place it on the nightstand for him.  “Thanks, Britt,” he says.  “I’m sorry you’re having unpleasant side-effects because of the pregnancy.”

You give me a slightly strange look, but smile fondly at Henry.  “That’s very sweet of you.”

It is time, I think, for us to make a quick exit, while he is distracted ...

“Well, goodnight,” I say, beginning to stand up.  

Unfortunately, as is often the case, luck is not on my side.  Henry grabs my arm, preventing me from making my escape.

“I’m not done asking my question, Dad.  I think there might be pages missing from the book.  On page five, it says that the man and the woman have a very special cuddle.  And then on the next page, it says that the sperm fertilizes the egg.  But that doesn’t make sense.  Isn’t the egg inside the woman?  How does the sperm get in there?”

Oh lord ...

On the one hand, I am greatly impressed by my son’s curiosity and attention to detail.  On the other hand, I want to crawl under the bed and hide.

Looking around the room for inspiration or assistance, my gaze falls on you.  But it seems there will be no help to be found there.  You are fighting so hard not to laugh that there are tears in your eyes.  “Excuse me,” you splutter.  “I’m going to go get a glass of water for myself.  I’m having some side-effects, you know.”

I glare at your retreating back.  How dare you abandon me so callously in my time of need?  From the doorway, you turn and glance over your shoulder, giving me a small smile, before disappearing from sight.  I will remember this, I think.   

“Did you ask your mother?” I suggest, after a long pause in which Henry stares at me without blinking, waiting for me to impart my wisdom on this topic.  If only I had some ... but my mind has gone alarmingly blank!

He nods vigorously.  “Yeah.  She said she couldn’t remember because “it happened so fast”.  Then she said that you’re the one with the sperm, so I should ask you.”

Well, that is simply marvelous.  It seems I have been thrown under the bus by my current wife, and my treacherous ex.  Of course, I knew this question would come eventually, since Henry has been so interested in the topic.  But I was not anticipating it for quite some time, and certainly not out of the blue like this.  What am I supposed to tell him?  What on earth is appropriate knowledge for an eight year-old?  I try to mine my own childhood learning for inspiration, but save for Biology lessons in high school in which everyone sniggered at the diagrams in the textbook, I do not remember much of anything being said about reproduction during my time in the education system.  Certainly not in elementary school.

“Dad?”

This is ridiculous.  I am being ridiculous.  I will simply do what I have always done, and tell him the facts as best I can.  

“There are no pages missing from your book, Henry” I assure him.  “It is quite correct that the man and woman have ‘a special cuddle.’”  The wording of that euphemistic phrase is so vile that I almost gag on the words.  “And at the end of that cuddle, the man ... puts his sperm inside the woman.”

My little scholar is unsatisfied by my very slight elaboration on what this cursed book has taught him.  “Yes, but how?  I don’t understand …”

God have mercy on me ...

“Well, he puts a part of himself inside the woman for the duration of the, ah, ‘cuddle’.”

As Henry opens his mouth once more to ask for clarification, I think I actually feel a part of my soul leave my body.  “What part?  One time I saw a kissing scene in a movie Mom told me not to watch, and the boy put his tongue in the girl’s mouth.  Is that what you mean?”

Making a mental note to question Nicole on how closely she is supervising our son, I take a deep breath and answer his question, trying to ignore how ridiculously warm my face feels.  “Not quite.  Actually, the man puts his penis in the woman’s vagina.”

It was much less embarrassing to say it out loud than I had imagined it would be.  I feel a sense of relief - then amusement - wash over me as I take in Henry’s reaction to my words.  His eyes have gone as wide as saucers, and both of his hands are now covering his mouth.  “Oh my god!” he mumbles, through his fingers.  “That’s so gross!”

“I can assure you it isn’t gross at all,” I tell him.  That I am quite confident about, at least.

Henry peels his hands away from his face, not looking convinced at all, in spite of my certainty on the matter.  “I am never putting my penis in a vagina,” he declares.  I will undoubtedly remind him of this when he is older.  “I think I’m ready to go to sleep now,” he tells me, avoiding my gaze, and burrowing right under the lightweight duvet.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I run through the rest of his familiar bedtime routine. The most important point is that I must check under the bed for monsters.  As usual, I find none, though there is rather a lot of Lego which he will be required to clean up in the morning.  The pillows are arranged just right for him, the covers are pulled down slightly so that he can breathe, and I kiss his forehead and stroke his hair just as I used to when he was a baby.  

I bid him goodnight, and close his bedroom door gently behind me.  Although he still has a tendency to wander in and join us in the night, I have a strong suspicion that he will stay put tonight.  I can only hope that he will be feeling a little less awkward in the morning.

When I turn around, I find you standing right behind me, grinning from ear to ear.  “I enjoyed that better than the book,” you inform me.  It seems you have been standing here listening the entire time ...

“Do you think I’ve traumatized him?” I ask.  It is an extreme question, but a genuine one.  “What if he never has a relationship with another human being because of the dreadful way in which I handled that conversation?”

You grab my hand and squeeze it, still smiling.  “You did very well,” you reassure me.  “I’m sure he’s fine.  If he’s still interested, perhaps you could ask him to bring the book with him next week, and we can read it together?”

I cannot think of anything worse than reading the book together, but as always, you have managed to placate me with ease.  I raise your hand to my lips, and kiss the back of it in a silent thank you.  “This isn’t just a ploy to get out of reading the next chapter of The Hobbit, is it?” I ask, already quite sure of the answer.

When I glance up at your face, your eyes are sparkling with mischief.  “It’s getting late,” you say, the corners of your lips twitching as you evade my question entirely.  “Why don’t we go to bed?  I was hoping you could teach me all about those ‘special cuddles’ you seem to be such an expert on.”

I glare at you for your teasing, then snake one of my arms around your waist, pulling you towards me.  My hand settles on the swell of your stomach, the exact source of your unpleasant side-effects, and all of Henry’s awkward questions.  “Hmm.  It seems I already have.”

But I will be more than happy to remind you.  As many times as you require it.  

I am an expert on the subject, after all.

[cami-chats]

College Boyfriend

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy (TV)

Pairing: Five Hargreeves/Diego Hargreeves

Summary: Five was a condescending know-it-all, made all the worse to his project partners by the fact that he did know all of the material already. The university wifi crashing ends with them at Five's apartment, and they leave with more questions about his personal life than before.

Read below or on AO3

Five liked his life. It was strange to think after so many years of not being content let alone happy, but he was. All of his siblings were a phone call away. Allison was on the other side of the country, but she was still reachable. The Academy had gotten a makeover, so Vanya and Klaus had moved back in with Luther.

And then of course there was Diego, but Five saw Diego every single day in the apartment they shared. Convincing Diego to move out of his back room at the gym hadn't been as easy as Five had imagined, but in the end, he'd been triumphant. Diego still worked at the gym in the evenings, but now he stayed at their apartment in the day or visited the Academy instead of wasting away in that dank hole-- Five's words, not Diego's.

Five spent his days at college, attending classes and doing his homework, and he spent his nights kissing Diego. It was a nice little arrangement, if he did say so. He could've stood to look a little older, though. Diego looked the thirty-five years old that he was, but Five looked to be, at most, twenty-five. He'd like to be forty, maybe forty-five. Forty-five was a nice age. Comfortable in your own skin, but not so old that you were falling apart. He couldn't deny that there was still a bit of an itch under his skin from being so young, but it wasn't anywhere near as bad as being a teenager had been.

Looking like he was twenty let him do what he wanted, without any of the aches and pains that age brought. Still. He could've done without his professors talking down, like they knew more than him. Like Doctor Davis, who taught his Shakespeare class. She said that she'd been studying Shakespeare for ten years, and Five wanted to tell her that that wasn't shit because he'd spent a full fifteen years arguing with Delores about Lady Macbeth's motivation-- and they'd disagreed to the very end. But he couldn't say that, which meant he and Doctor Davis spent a lot of time glaring at each other when they talked. He was pretty sure he was the sole reason she'd decided to give them a fucking group project, but she wouldn't admit as much. Diego thought it was funny the way he thought everything was funny when it didn't concern him. What an ass.

*

Five was a pretty weird guy. He was condescending-- which wasn't that weird-- but he actually already knew all the material. There was no reason for him to be in the class other than the degree requirement. It was really easy to be condescending when you were right, they guessed. 'They' being Five's unfortunate partners for the group project that they had in Shakespeare. Five had protested loudly at a group project, but Doctor Davis had only shrugged and said it was part of the curriculum.

They met up at the campus library two times before, and this was the third time so they could finish. Things were going pretty well-- or at least, they started going well once they figured out that Five's insults weren't personal and he didn't really care. It was more like he had no brain to mouth filter, so that every little thought came out where most people would've stopped before saying it-- even with that being said, he was still annoying. They didn't like him, and he didn't like them. For the most part, they ignored that to get the work done.

They were so close to finishing. Another two hours, and they'd be set.

That was when the internet went out. For all of them. They were in the middle of restarting their laptops and reconnecting to the wifi when an announcement went over the PA. "Attention to all occupants. The campus internet is out, and we've been told that it won't be fixed until tomorrow morning at the earliest. We apologize for the inconvenience."

"Shit," Allen breathed. "Does anyone live off campus? I'm in the dorms."

"Me too," Aisha said with a worried frown.

"I live in the sorority house, but it's the same wifi as the campus," Judy said.

None of them really wanted to ask Five, but after clenching his jaw for a moment, he answered on his own. "I guess we can go to my apartment."

"Okay, cool," Allen said, trying not to sound as thrown as he was, and they all started packing up now that they knew what the plan was. "Thanks."

"How long does it take to get to your place on the bus?" Judy asked.

Then, looking even more uncomfortable than before, Five said, "I'll just drive us."

"You have a car?" Judy said, surprised. Five didn't bother to answer, but after seeing the car, it became clear that Five was loaded. What other college kid had a Rolls Royce? She half expected for him to pull up to a swanky condo, but he went to an ordinary looking apartment building and parked.

Every inch of his posture screamed that he didn't want to be inviting them to where he lived, but they were sort of out of options for other places to go. There were coffee shops and shit, but with the campus wifi out, every student that lived in the dorms would be filling those places and there wouldn’t be room for all of them.

Five unlocked the door, and they all filed in, not knowing what to expect from his place. Walls of books would've fit right in with his know-it-all aura, but an empty living room with no decoration also wouldn't have been out of place. The way his living room actually looked was almost too normal. There was a tv set up on a stand that probably hadn't been made for it. There was a small bookshelf stuffed more books than it could easily hold. One couch and a banged up coffee table in front of it with various items on it. There was a poster for an Allison Hargreeves movie on the wall, and what looked like an oil painting.

The thing that really got to them was that Five didn't live alone. It was obvious in the way the living room was built to accommodate two people-- the two hooks for coats and the indent of where two pairs of shoes usually sat at the door, not to mention the set of dishes by the sink that couldn't only be accounted for with only one person. His roommate was either as weird as him, or a normal person trying to ignore his eccentricities, and his project partners hoped that they'd never have the chance to figure it out.

Five grabbed an index card from the tv stand and put it on the coffee table while he worked on clearing the rest of it off. Aisha glanced at the card and realized it was the wifi network information. She pulled out her laptop and tapped impatiently as she waited for it to boot up. She got her internet set up, then passed the index card to Allen since he was next to her. She took a glance around but didn't see an outlet. Her laptop's battery was shit; she wouldn't be able to make it through the evening without plugging it in.

"Hey Five?" Aisha said, the end of her charger in one hand.

He glanced over at her, then nodded to the right of her. "It's at the edge of the couch."

"Thanks."

None of them made themselves comfortable, knowing that this wasn't a social visit. It was an awkward hour as they hurriedly worked, but they didn't get a chance to finish before they were interrupted. And when the interruption came, it came in a big way. Like a fucking superstar walking into the room, because that's exactly what happened. It was Allison Hargreeves! Allison fucking Hargreeves walked into the place holding a massive picture frame.

There was no way Allison Hargreeves was the one who lived here. Simply no way. She had a kid and shit, didn't she? And she wouldn't settle for living in a place like this-- it wasn't a dump or anything, but it wasn't where a famous movie star would live. What the hell was she doing here? Come to think of it, Five's last name was Hargreeves, wasn't it? Maybe they were related somehow. It would certainly explain the expensive car and the better-than-you attitude. Hell, if Aisha had Allison Hargreeves for a sister, she'd think that she was better than everyone else, too.

Another woman walked up behind her, looking like a housewife straight out of a fifties advertisement, from the smile on her face to her perfectly coiffed hair to the short heels on her feet that matched her skirt.

"Oh hey Five," Allison fucking Hargreeves said, like she saw him everyday.

He glanced over at her. "Did you seriously fly over from LA to go shopping with Grace?" Then his eyes flickered over to the other woman. "Hi Grace."

"Hello Five, darling," she said. It was kind of unimaginable that Five let anyone call him darling, but he didn't seem bothered by it.

"Actually," Allison Hargreeves said, "I came over to hang out with Diego, and he wanted to go shopping with Mom. I didn't have anything better to do, so I tagged along. He said you were busy tonight." She glanced over at them and smiled, then gave a little wave with her free hand.

They all waved back numbly. "We're working on a group project together," Judy managed to say.

"Are you going to introduce us?" Grace-- Mom??-- asked.

"No," Five said bluntly. "We're not friends."

"You really should make some friends," Grace said, her smile still in place. "They're important for your social development." All he had to do was look at her, and she said, "Sorry dear. It's instinct."

"I can be out of your hair soon, if you want," Allison Hargreeves said.

"Whose hair are we getting out of?" a man asked, kicking the door closed. You ever look at a guy and think 'I don't want to fuck with him'? Yeah, that was this guy. The paper bags he was holding from shopping weren't intimidating, but his clothes barely hid a strong physique, and the scar on his head only added to the badass factor he had going on. Allen was pretty sure the only people that owned boots like that were familiar with breaking people's bones, and he shrank in on himself slightly without thinking about it. Then he saw Five and said, "Hey babe." He said it to Five. Was... was he Five's boyfriend?! Was Five living here with his boyfriend?? "Something wrong with the library?"

"The internet decided to die," he said wryly. "We're almost done."

"Cool." Five's boyfriend (probably boyfriend??) walked towards the bedroom, and Allison Hargreeves and that Grace woman followed him. The door stayed open, but it was far enough away that when they spoke, the group could only hear the murmurs of their voices and not the words that were being said.

They were distracted for a little while by the fact that they'd just met Allison Hargreeves, the most famous and talented actress in Hollywood, but they managed to get the rest of the work done without wasting too much time.

If it were anyone other than Five, they probably would've been able to get an official introduction to her-- maybe a picture or two-- but they finished the project, gave it a quick read-through to make sure there was nothing obvious missing, and then they were being ushered out. Aisha got out her phone and ordered an Uber as they packed up.

Five turned his head and called, "We're done!" down the hallway.

As they left, Judy saw Five kiss the man that had walked in with Allison Hargreeves and Grace. Definitely his boyfriend, then, though personally, she thought that he was too old for Five. She knew better than to say that aloud, so she just said goodbye and that she'd see him in class.

They were all glad that they only had the one class with Five.

[gloves94]

To Be So Lonely [Draco Malfoy] 7

Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Draco Malfoy/OC Chapter warnings: Bullying!

Raised as an orphan, Nel Saintday, endured years of torture from the Slytherin House. The Dark Lord only allowed her existence for her to serve a very specific vile purpose for him. Her birthright dictates for her to choose a side in the Wizarding War… But what would happen if she dares defy the Dark Lord and his wishes? And what happens when she falls for her tormentor? Will Nel fulfill her life’s purpose? And what side will her tormentor, Draco Malfoy, choose? The light that calls to him or the darkness…

CHAPTER MASTERLIST MY MASTERLIST

1 9 9 2, Sep 1st

Families, friends and siblings bid goodbye to students who would be starting their term at Hogwarts.

The compartment was quiet, it was also darker than Nel remembered. She sat with her hands being kept busy knitting. A hobby she had picked up since she was seven to entertain herself back at Wool’s. It was fairly time consuming and gave her something to do since she wasn’t allowed to have any art supplies and the hours of watching TV were limited to all orphans.

She still couldn’t shake off the memory of what had happened during this painful holiday. The only redeeming quality about being at Wool’s was that Lucy, probably the person she cared for the most, was there.

“Where’s Lucy?” She had demanded from a girl that was in the girls’ dormitory. The seven-year-old shrugged. She snapped her head to the side and asked a slightly older girl. “Where’s Bonilla?” She asked again.

And again, the girl muttered a simple ‘dunno.’

Hearing a slight snicker, she turned around, eyes fixed into slits as they landed on Wool’s favorites. Aisha and Alf, two orphans that were always together, and did everything and anything just to be on the Matron’s good graces with complete and absolute disregard to others.

“Oh? Don’t you know?” Aisha asked complacently. Her thick hair braided over her shoulder. In that moment Nel wanted nothing more than to drag her out of the orphanage by it. She still wore pink just like Wool.

“Your dear friend didn’t tell you? Didn’t bother writing to you?” Alf added.

“Bonilla got adopted,” Aisha announced.

That was a lie if Nel had ever heard one. Adoption was rare. Even more if you were a teenager. Children amongst the ages of one, two and three are the lucky ones, they’ll be in and out of here in a flash. Parents like that you see, their easily moldable to their ideals and virtues, still not hardened by trauma or the ruthless punches of life. After you turn five and stop being cute, your chances decrease more and more with each year. Being twelve, almost thirteen and living here. Nel had no question that she would be stuck living in this hellhole until she turned eighteen.

When she was a child Nel was kept locked up in the laundry room and prevented from attending the adoption fairs. Wool didn’t want to risk her doing something “done by the devil,” and have her make a teacup accidentally levitate or make butterflies come out from under her sleeves. This trauma scarred her innocence.

“That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one,” she scoffed not buying their shit for a moment.

There was no way Lucy, as wonderful as she was, had been adopted. If anything, maybe Wool had gotten out of hand with one of the little ones one day, maybe she had gotten out of hand with her and ran away? It wasn’t uncommon, but why would she leave without telling her?

“You best believe it,” Alf said clicking his tongue. “Besides, why would she even want to stay here and put up with you?” “She couldn’t wait to get away,” his sidekick commented snidely arms crossing over her chest.

“I know you’re lying,” she scowled at him. “Tell me where she it. What did Wool do to her?” She marched forward towards them with threatening steps.

“Truth hurts, don’t it?” Alf sneered with a malicious scowl.

She stopped a couple of steps away from them. The expressions on their faces were enough to set the girl’s already boiling blood into a blur of madness.  Nel couldn’t remember the last time she had been this angry. She didn’t even realize how mad she was until several loud pops echoed the room and shards of glass began raining down as the ceiling’s lights popped. Several girls scrambled out of the room screaming fearfully with Aisha leading the way.

“Freakshow,” Alf added.

She could hear Wool’s steps stomping up the steps as her large body came wobbling thought the door and gaping at the scattered glass. She didn’t waste a moment in throwing Nel into her room without dinner and locking her in. The girl was glad she had brought some treats with her. Treats she was going to give to Lucy…

She snapped out of her thoughts when the compartment door opened. Theodore leaned against the entrance. “Nel!” He greeted with a smile joining her in the compartment. His curly hair had gotten longer, but his green eyes remained the same. Soulful, insightful, his clothes dark and crisply ironed.

Both had exchanged a handful of letters over the summer and despite the friendship the two had, neither ever crossed the line of inquiring about anything outside of their school lives. Prying into their familiar lives was out of bounds. Nel had only heard rumors that circled the school, but she knew that Nott’s parents had been loyal followers of You-Know-Who, just like had Malfoy’s, Parkinson’s, Crabbe, Goyle and others in the class. She figured some things were better left unsaid. “What you got there?” He commented dropping opposite of her, raising his feet so that he could comfortably sit across the seat.

“Just trying to keep busy,” she responded mindlessly as she continued to knit a pair of black winter gloves.

“I trust you’re more than halfway ahead of all of our classes already?”

When you’re locked up in a laundry room 24 hours of the day with not much to do you really don’t have much of an alternative to preserve your sanity. “I have a business to tun Nott,” she hid her anguish and smiled before whipping out a handful of hard-earned galleons most courtesy of Misters Crabbe and Goyle. “Pumpkin pastries on me today!” She beamed at him.

Again the compartment’s door opened and much to her distaste Draco Malfoy stepped in.

“Nott,” He acknowledged, and his silver eyes turned to seethe at Elowen who was staring back at him with contempt. Let’s just say things hadn’t gone well when the two had a recent tun in at Flourish and Blotts.

“"I'm sure you can find better company that Saintday," Malfoy coughed. Looking between the two aghast at the friendship.

The twelve-year-old dark-haired girl was wondering inside of the shop scanning over the countless of book covers, titles and authors. She didn’t want to get any more books than what was required of the curriculum. Her brain was already more than fried from all of those exhaustive readings. It seemed like she had picked the wrong day to come to Diagon Alley since the bookshop was overcrowded with a famous Wizard that was doing a book signing. Not that she paid much attention to that.

Presently she walked around with a stack of books in her arms. This time she was alone. Seeing as Professor Snape had already showed her the ropes and string of Diagon Alley she did not require to be escorted. Not that she minded, it was almost better like this.  

Another twelve-year-old also happened to be in Flourish and Blotts. The bitter blonde was a couple of steps away on a balcony watching the girl with his eyes narrowed. He saw how she was taking her sweet time browsing the large stack that was on the shelf.

He looked down at the book he was reading and ripped off a page simply because he felt like it and folded it away. He walked down the short steps of the balcony and approached the Slytherin girl he had been carefully observing. She didn’t seem to have noticed his presence yet and if she did, she chose not to acknowledge it. Her hair was longer than the year before now reaching her shoulders and there was a distant look in her dark eyes. Of course, not that, that would’ve stopped him from acting like a total dick.

He forcefully ran into her on purpose. The impact so strong the tower of books she had been holding came tumbling down to the wood floor. He grabbed her lower arm before she could fall holding her up.

“Watch where you’re going Saintday,” He greeted her with a terribly rude scoff.

“Maybe you should watch where you’re going Malfoy,” she snapped back irate quickly withdrawing her arm back to her person. She groaned at the unwelcome presence and bent down to reach for her books when she saw his brand designer shoe stomp on them.

“Get your foot off my books, because Merlin help you if you don’t, I will gladly sock you,” she threatened with an angry scowl.

He huffed a weak chuckle. ‘Physical threats. How typical of Saintday,’ he thought to himself humorously. Not that he was unaware that the orphan would deliver on her promise. Instead, he stood unbothered and leaned against the bookshelf next to him with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Hm.. No, I don’t think I will. You see, I don’t really feel like it,” he hummed calmly while pretending to look at some invisible dirt underneath his fingernails.

Nel seetehed in her anger. Great. Now her day had been ruined. “What do you want Malfoy? Don’t you have anything better to do like hold your moms hand or something?”

“Jealous?” He was quick to respond. “At least I have one,” he shot back sharply. “Oh, boo-hoo,” she cried out the words mockingly, dripping with sarcasm. “Thank you for stating the obvious. Insulting an orphan on not having a family? That only makes you an even bigger prick!” She exclaimed. “Now move, before I make you,” she raised her want at his nose.

“Watch it slugbreath,” he did not move an inch, yet there was some hesitation in his voice divulging he was intimidated.

Nel suddenly stopped. She froze when she felt what felt like a harsh tap come down on her shoulder. She was familiar with this sensation. She turned slightly to see the shimmering silver snake head from Lucius Malfoy’s cane. It felt just as bad even worse than Old Man Cowell’s down by the General Store. “Mind your manners Draco. That is not way to speak to a lady,” a slithering voice spoke from behind her. The voice cold and emotionless holding a scolding edge. Without any hesitation whatso ever Draco finally stepped back and off her books.

Nel turned in surprise to see Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father, standing behind her. The man stood tall and was a refined contrast to the other witches and wizards in the room. His snake cane once again reached for her face and he brushed the stray bangs out of her face to get a better glance at the beauty marks that dotted her face.

“We meet again Ms. Saintday,” he said darkly. "I trust your studies are going well?" He pulled out his wand from his cane and with a flick all of her books neatly arranged in a tower back into her hands. She remained silent eyeing the man with suspicious. Draco appeared to be just as confused as to why his father was being so damn polite and to a Muggle-born witch out of all people. Why was Lucius Malfoy, one of the biggest muggle haters of all time, the man that had probably taught Draco the filthy slur of Mudblood and all of his hating virtues, being so damn polite? After all, racism was a learned behaviour. So why be so kind?

“Thanks,” she responded curly in a dry tone and witch much unease looking down at the stack of books.

"Draco's told me all about you,” Malfoy Sr. began. “He says you're quite the accomplished witch."

What?

Her expression shifted into one of pure shock. Eyes quickly darting to pale boy who was presently scarlet in the face. A more than irritated expression on his eyes as he shot his father a silencing glare.

“Also heard you have a knack for mischief. Particularly for head swelling spells…”

Boy, wouldn’t she like to swell his head right now. “I have to do well in order to keep my scholarship." She answered dully, disregarding his praises or mention of the head swelling hex. No way she was apologizing to daddy dearest over that. "And may I ask what you intend on doing after finish your studies?"

Why was he asking her so many questions? Why was he so invested in this topic of conversation?

She was twelve, soon to be thirteen in November. How on Earth was she supposed to know what she wanted to do the rest of her life.

"For now, I just want to make my own living in the world."

Which was a normal ambition for anyone. Getting out of Wool’s. Being able to afford decent clothing that wasn’t washed away, eaten by moths or destroyed by former owners. Beautiful things. Being able to treat her friends and loved ones to lovely things like ice cream and pastries… It was not an impossible dream.

"Of course. How ambitious of you." He paused for a moment and looked at her. Simply starred at her face. His intense glare made Nel shrink slightly. She had never been so uncomfortable when interacting with an adult. "We best be moving on," He turned his eyes to his son instructing him to follow.

"Wait Mr. Malfoy," Nel paused seeing something on top of her pile of books. "This isn't mine," she said handing out the small black book to him. "I've got more than enough reading to do. Don't need any more books to sit gathering dust in my dormitory," she said sheepishly. Malfoy Sr. Looked at the black book and then back to her before taking it in his hand and turning away without another word.

"I never said that!" Malfoy growled out at her leaning in closer wearing a scowl. His face angry. Elowen smirked at him. "Sure Malfoy." She said haughtily.

"Hmm…" Nel hummed an evil smirk growing on her face. "You know some people would describe me as being a terribly charming witch, others might even say, accomplished." She dangled his father’s words in his face, subtley taunting him.  

Again, Malfoy's ears turned red with embarrassment.

"My father only said that out of pity! What else was he supposed to say to a pitiful, filthy,Muggle-born orphan!" He shouted angrily before storming out of the compartment.

She highly doubted that Lucius Malfoy was a man running a charity of compliments to give to strange second years at bookstores. There was an underlying motive to his words. A secret he was hiding. Something even Draco didn’t know.

Theodore let out a small chuckle and brought his watch up to his face taking note of the time. "And… it begins," he laughed. "Merlin, we're not even there yet and you and Malfoy are already at each other's throats."

"He started it," She shrugged. "You saw!" She said incredulously meeting his green judging gaze.

"It's weird, I feel like he has a strange fixation on you… Sometimes it's almost like he goes out of his way just to bug you." Nott shook his head.

"Of course, he's got some strange fixation. I'm the only Muggle-born Slytherin as far as I know." Nel rolled her eyes. "He'd be just as bad if Granger had been sorted into Slytherin."

"But you're not," Theodore interjected. She arched an eyebrow in confusion. "Muggle-born, I mean." He closed the book he had initially opened to read and lowered his feet, so he was sitting up straight. "You don't know that. You don't know who your parents were."

"Are," She corrected icily in a strained voice. This was crossing on the boundary the two had outspokenly agreed never to cross which meant family or life outside of Hogwarts was outside of the bounds of conversation. "I also don't know if they're with life or not. For all that I know they abandoned me at a Muggle orphanage. When they could've left me anywhere else in this bloody damn world. I would've preferred to be left at Gringotts for all I care!" She didn't realize that her voice pitch had raised into an upset tone. Her eyes darkening as she shed a ray of light into her life and harbored resentment due to her abandonment.

Her parents had abandoned her, like it or not. Whatever had or hadn't happened to them. And Lucy… Wool had insisted that she had gotten adopted and refused to give Nel her new address claiming it was confidential information; Wool said that if Lucy wanted, she would’ve returned for Nel, even written to her. Even Lucy had abandoned her... Which almost stung more than her own parent's going amiss. Perhaps Aisha and Alf really were right. Maybe Lucy didn't want to be stuck with a freak like her. A freak that set rooms on fire when upset, that made light fixtures explode and bathrooms pipes burst and floor. She felt her eyes water and turned away from Nott. The emotional wound still fresh. She didn't apologize for her outburst.

Nott looked at her upset expression. At the pain behind her eyes and in that moment he knew. He knew that no matter how many hits life threw at her. How many punches and jabs others threw at her. She wasn't made of steel, she was wounded, every jab digging deeper and deeper. He was about to speak when the compartment's door was thrown open.

"Well if it isn't Nelly and Teddy!" Tracey tossed it open and put her trunk away before jumping on the seat next to Nel. She gave her a side hug. The interruption seemed to be enough for her to snap out of her dark thoughts.

"Salazar," Theodore grimaced, "I beg you, please do not start calling us that."

"What should we call you then?" Nel grinned at her friend despite the great distaste for the nickname. It was refreshing being back with her little Hogwarts family. With people she actually cared about.

Xxxxx

Arriving at Hogwarts second years don't take the boats to cross the lake to the castle. Instead they ride in enchanted carriages that take them across the road and up to the school.

Nel almost fell back when she saw the creatures that were pulling the carriages. She made a sound. Animals generally did not like her, and mutually she did not like them.

"What is it?" Tracey asked confused trying to see what was making her friend so upset.

"What are those?" Nel asked fearfully not removing her eyes from the large winged horses. Their gaunt bodies seemed to be skeletal almost ghostly with reptilian features, their skin leathery and worn and with massive wings that resembled a bat's or some nocturnal monster straight from your nightmares. Their eyes resembling foggy crystal balls.

"Nel, what are you talking about?" Tracey squinted really trying to see what the big deal was yet saw nothing. Hesitantly they approached the carriage and the three of them took a seat. They were joined by three Hufflepuffs who seemed too absorbed discussing which Quidditch team was better if the Holyhead Harpies or the Appleby Arrows.

Of course, Tracey felt the need to weight in her two cents and defend that Puddlemere United was the best of the best.

"You can see them too?" She turned to see Theodore with surprise. Tracey was much too distracted to listen in their conversation.

"They can't see them, can they?" She noticed the blank looks on the students around them and in the other carriages.

"Am.. Am I going mad?"

"No," Theodore explained. "They're Therstals, I've read about them." He licked his lips, his eyes forward expression turned into a solemn one.

"Only people who've witnessed death can see them."

Her jaw went slack at the information.

"So…" She egg shelled on that topic they never spoke about, their home lives. "You've seen someone die?"

He nodded grimly, pondering deep in his painful memories. "My mom, when I was five," he said. A dull expression on his eyes. She didn’t want to pry further.

"But…” She paused taking in a deep frustrating breath. “How can that be? I've never seen anyone die."

xxxxx

AN: Hey you! Thank you for tunning in. So, any theories on why Nel can see the Therstals? On what happened to Lucy? It’s been a slow story so far, but I’ve written a couple of chapters ahead and I just wrote out first Draco x OC moment! (This year will be short I promise). (Also a new romantic protagonist will be introduced soon ;) )

[alecmagnuslwb]

Myths

Writer’s Month 2020 Day Eighteen

Read on AO3

Things with Jace fall apart almost immediately after the Through the Looking Glass party. Despite her insistence, and frankly her gaps in memory about the whole thing, he’s convinced she’s keeping something from him about what happened that night with Magnus.

The fact that Alec begins dating and is insanely infatuated with Magnus mere days after the party does nothing to deter his belief and eventually Clary gets fed up ending things for good. Though Clary’s not a big believer in taking sides in breakups she’s pleased when the Lightwoods and Simon shame their brother and best friend for his behavior effectively icing him out of group events for nearly two months until he owns up and apologizes.

By then Clary’s over it and has moved on, especially since by the time his apology makes it her way she’s already met Maia Roberts.

Witty, beautiful and with charm for days Maia sweeps Clary off her feet meeting at a bar one night through their mutual acquaintance in Magnus. Things move at lightning speed after that first meeting, Maia fits seamlessly into their little group, even getting along with Jace once he’s invited to things again. By month two she and Clary are carving out every bit of free time they have between art school and marine biology courses respectively that they can to spend together.

By month three Clary’s pretty sure she’s in love.

Of course that’s when things get weird and Clary starts to realize Maia’s keeping something from her. Every month like clockwork she disappears for three whole days, no calls, no texts, not so much as an emoji is received and by the fourth month that it happens Clary is suspicious.

And that doesn’t even cover the evenings where she cancels suddenly or when she leaves Clary hanging after a phone call always from the same number

She brings it up over dinner one night and Maia just brushes it off as cramming for tests. Clary doesn’t buy it, but lets it slide anyways.

That is until month five, she’s not pretty sure she’s in love anymore, she’s head over heels in love with Maia Roberts, but she’s also halfway convinced she might be a drug dealer or more likely with her smarts a drug cooker. Is that a thing, a drug cooker? It was a thing on Breaking Bad and that seemed pretty real.

They’re about one skirt away from both being half naked on Maia’s couch, her roommates Bat and Gretel gone for the night when her phone goes off. That same damn number that always calls and pulls her away.

“Ignore it,” Clary whines continuing her journey down Maia’s body.

Maia threads her fingers through Clary’s hair and for a second Clary thinks she’s going to keep guiding her head down but instead she does the opposite lifting her head up gently and sliding out from underneath her.

Clary groans and not the fun kind as Maia picks up the phone as it rings a second time. She stands leaving the room and closing her bedroom door tightly to take the call.

Clary falls back on the couch frustratedly picking her own skirt up from the floor and maneuvering to put it back on in a way she won’t have to stand. Maia returns a minute later jacket in hand.

“I’m sorry babe, I gotta go,” she says slipping on the jacket and placing a kiss on Clary’s head over the back of the couch. “Work emergency. Feel free to hang here if you want I shouldn’t be too late.”

And just like that before Clary can even respond she’s out the door. Maia’s had a lot of work emergencies lately and Clary is increasingly frustrated by the fact. There’s no way a bar has that many emergencies that require the help of a part time bartender who spends half her shifts reading textbooks.

Clary looks around for a few beats trying to find something to distract herself from thinking her girlfriend has a secret life of crime until she huffs in frustration.

“Fuck it, I’m following her,” she says to no one grabbing her jacket off the back of the couch and heading out the door.

She’s tried talking and gotten stonewalled at every turn so this seems the only option left even if it’s a little crazy girlfriend behavior. If she gets caught and it’s nothing she’ll blame it on her being a redhead and lean into the crazy redhead trope.

She reaches the street and spots Maia just crossing down at the corner. Clary flips up her hood to hide her fiery hair and follows from a distance weaving through the crowded New York streets on a Friday night with ease.

Eventually Maia ducks inside of a book store of all places. Clary assumes that’s a good as front as any for crime, no one would expect a bunch of librarians or something as a crime ring.

The store is closed but the lights are on and from inside Clary can see a lot of people standing around. She frowns walking around into the alley behind the shop. Much to her luck a backdoor is propped open with a brick.

“Not great security for criminals,” she whispers to herself as she carefully eases open the door and steps inside pushing the door back on the brick delicately.

She crouches down low, ducking into the store behind a row of bookshelves unseen. She finds a hole in the books she can look through.

A group of at least two dozen are gathered around in small clusters standing in every corner of the shop. Her eyes scan the room and land on Maia who’s off to the side with Bat and Gretel. Clary should have suspected they knew what was up and were involved, the three of them are so close.

A man with curly hair and tan skin walks around the room with a tray of shot glasses filled to the brim with a brown liquid, Clary would usually assume it’s a liquor of some sort but who knows what kind of weird stuff book criminals are into. Everyone in the room takes one and once the trays empty a tall handsome black man with blocky glasses stands on a pedestal at the front.

“Listen up,” he says his voice booming deep with bass. The room goes silent all eyes on the man up front. It’s probably weird given the circumstances, but she’s very impressed with the way he commands a room.

“I’m sorry to bring you all out on such short notice, but due the abruptness of his turning and the banishment of Rufus for reaching that third strike for the second time we didn’t get to properly celebrate,” he says. He gestures for a man near the front to step forward, he’s tall with a thick beard likely in his latter 30’s with a slightly nervous look on his face. The man who seems to be the leader of this, cult? She’s starting to think it’s a cult not a crime organization with how little crime seems to be occurring.

He reaches out and places a tight, but obviously comforting grip on the nervous man’s shoulder if the way he relaxes at the contact is anything to go by.

“So, raise your glasses and welcome officially and fully, a protected brother and member for the rest of his days, Alcide Hevereaux to the werewolf pack of New York City!” he beams lifting his drink in the air. Everyone in the room follows suit and begins to howl happily.

Clary’s eyes are she assumes as wide as the moon by now as she watches the scene gripping tightly on the bookshelf in front of her. They all throw back their drinks and then circle in around their new cult member happily patting him on the back, some of them still howling.

Clary’s grip on the bookshelf must tighten a little too hard then, the shelf suddenly tittering over as she steps back ready to make her escape from the shop before they spot her and try to convert her to the church of werewolfism or something.

“No, no, no,” she whispers trying and failing to stop the shelf from falling. She sidesteps it just in time as it goes crashing to the floor gaining the attention of everyone. Clary looks down at the shelf and then up at the room.

Bat is the first to react, “Clary?” he says as she runs off towards the door she came in. She rushes out accidentally kicking the brick holding open the door on her way out and hopping along as she attempts to hold her throbbing foot.

She takes a moment to chuckle at the fact that Simon has been right all these years about her being the first to die in a horror movie scenario if this abysmal attempt at escape is anything to go by.

“Clary, wait,” Maia shouts following her out the door. Clary lets go of her foot and sprints onto the street turning the corner quickly and running directly into a glass street art installment and falling on her back.

“Oh my god, Clary!” Maia yells as she watches the embarrassing moment happen.

Definitely the first to die in a horror movie she thinks as she lands rubbing her forehead. People walk past paying her no mind, stepping over her even.

Maia is at her side in a second as a grumpy man says a few not so delicate words about women as Maia pushes him out of her way. She crouches down about to reach out when Clary puts her arms up shielding herself like Wonder Woman in battle.

“Please don’t sacrifice me to your werewolf god!” she shouts one eye squinting closed.

Maia looks offended at thought; which Clary is a little offended by since she’s the one who should be offended right now since her girlfriends been hiding that she’s in a cult this whole time. Does Magnus know she wonders in that moment. Is Magnus also in a cult? Oh, god she doesn’t want to have to be the one to break it to Alec that Magnus is in a cult, he’d probably join just to spite her for trying to make him think Magnus is anything less than perfect.

“There is no werewolf god,” Maia says pulling Clary’s arms away from her face. “And we wouldn’t go around sacrificing people to them if there was.”

Clary opens her closed eye and warily looks at Maia.

“So, you’re not in a murder cult then, that’s good to know,” she says lifting herself up into a sitting position. Maia stays close but doesn’t touch her again. “Just a cult that believes in werewolves, totally normal.”

Maia sighs.

“Look, we’re not technically aloud to tell mundanes this, but seeing as you just saw what you saw,” Maia says pausing for moment seemingly for dramatic effect. “We don’t just believe in werewolves, we are werewolves.”

The street around them is clearer now only a few lingering people who aren’t paying a damn bit of attention to them walking by with headphones in oblivious to the fact that Clary’s going to have to have her girlfriend committed for thinking she’s a werewolf.

She doesn’t know what to say so she just starts laughing. Maybe she’s the one who needs to be committed.

Maia huffs a little annoyed, “I’m not joking Clary.”

Clary giggles again. “I know you think you’re not joking and this is probably a terrible reaction to have and maybe I hit my head a lot harder than I thought just know, but werewolves aren’t real Maia. Tyler Hoechlin and Seth Green play werewolves on TV because they’re not real, they’re fiction. They’re myths and I’m not myth-taken about it.”

She giggles at her own pun, but Maia keeps trudging on.

“Actually if you believe the rumors about the secret Hollywood pack, Hoechlin and Green actually are werewolves,” Maia says thoughtfully like it’s just a common fact everyone knows. “But that’s not important right now.”

She reaches into her pocket pulling out her phone and bringing up a video. She turns up the screen brightness and faces it towards Clary. Onscreen is Bat seemingly normal until he starts twisting in pain his normal human features slowly and excruciatingly replaced with wolf like features.

“Bat made me take a video after he got bit, he wanted to know in case he forgot. Not that you ever forget the agony of that first moon. We keep it now to show newbies so they’re not under any disillusions about how rough the first change is,” Maia says as the wolf that was Bat paces around on the screen back and forth.

“No way, that’s CGI or something,” Clary says in disbelief staring at the now black screen of Maia’s phone.

“You’ve worked on enough side projects with Simon over the years to know the difference between real, makeup, CGI and any other editing trick in the world,” Maia says turning off her phone and slipping it back in her pocket.

Clary looks up at Maia meeting her eyes and for a second they flash green. Maia smirks as Clary watches it happen.

“So, you’re a werewolf?” Clary says slowly really digesting the words.

Maia nods the affirmative.

“And Bat and Gretel?”

“Also werewolves,” Maia says. “Gretel and I were turned by the same wolf on the same night, he’s long been banished and dealt with for turning people without permission. Bat was strike one on Rufus’ card, Alcide in there was his last.”

“When you say dealt with, you mean like?” Clary stops doing a knife cutting throat motion with her hand.

Maia snorts. “No,” she says reaching out a hand to help Clary up from the ground finally. She accepts, a little hesitantly. “We kind of have our own wolf prison system, it’s a lot to explain.”

Clary nods feeling dazed. “Werewolf prison, werewolf bookstores.” She muses giggling again, she’s seriously concerned with how hard she hit her head.

“Well, not really a werewolf bookstore, it’s a normal bookstore that just happens to be owned by a werewolf. Our Alpha Luke, he was the one making the speech,” Maia explains gesturing over to a bench on the other side of the rude glass sculpture. Clary sits first putting her head between her knees.

“We’re not dangerous I promise, we mostly keep to ourselves, bad shit happens sometimes but we always put a stop to it before any mundanes start to really ask questions, I promise you’re not in any danger with me I would never put you in harms way,” Maia says confidently.

Clary shakes her head between her knees she believes that even if all the rest seems crazy right now.

“Is Magnus a werewolf?” she says shooting her head up and regretting it when the blood all rushes back, but she soldiers on. “Cause if he’s a werewolf, Alec-“

“No,” Maia cuts her off. “He’s not a werewolf he’s a-“ she pauses. “You know what that’s not my place to say and definitely an overload of information for night one, let’s just say Alec already knows and is more than fine with it all, like he’s on board in ways that are truly inspiring.”

Clary swivels her entire body towards. “Alec knows?! Like know this, knows?” she says gesturing wildly at Maia.

“Sort of,” she replies with a wince. Clary throws her head up at the sky. “I made him promise not to tell you, I knew that I had to be the one to tell you when the time came.”

Clary throws her hands up in frustration, “And when exactly was that going to be? Because I’ve been here thinking you were involved in a drug ring or owed a shady bookie a lot of money for months now holding off on saying that I’m in love with you in case it was true!”

“I don’t know. Soon! I guess, I just never knew how to say it and I was going to tell you next week before our anniversary, I really was, but then you followed me tonight which I get cause I’ve been squirrely about it lately, and-“ Maia freezes staring wide eyed at Clary. “Wait, did you just say you love me?”

“Yes!” Clary yells.

“Well I love you too!” Maia yells back.

“Great!” Clary says finally running out of steam. She puts both hands on the sides of Maia’s face and pulls her in for a kiss. It shocks Maia so much that she barely has the time to even lightly press back before Clary is pulling away.

“I might be concussed,” she says dropping her hands from Maia’s face.

“We should get you home, talk about everything tomorrow, I get this is a lot and you might not want to deal with it,” Maia says standing from the bench and holding out an arm to help Clary stand.

“No,” Clary says taking the offered arm. “I mean not no it’s not a lot because it’s definitely a lot, you being the Walter White of Brooklyn wouldn’t have been quite as world view shattering, but this isn’t a deal breaker like that would have been.”

Maia looks hopeful at the words a small smile on her face.

“Just, can you explain it all to me? Like really explain it, because if you can explain it and I can just understand it all then we’re okay, that’s all I need,” Clary says squeezing Maia’s arm tight.

Maia nods. “I can do that, but you should get some rest tonight.”

Clary shakes her head. “No tonight, get it all out there, I’m likely concussed and shouldn’t be sleeping anyways. At least cover all the werewolf stuff, clearly you’ve insinuated there’s more that’s going to explode my brain down the line, but I want to know about you, about your pack. Is it called a pack? That’s what the book werewolf in there said right?”

Maia chuckles. “Yeah, pack. Family really.”

“Okay,” Clary says gesturing for Maia to start talking as they walk home. “Tell me about your family then.”

[anistarrose]

Fear The Reaper A Lot, Actually - Chapter 4

AO3

Chapter Summary: An unlikely friendship springs from a book club, while secrecy becomes more important than ever for Tres Horny Boys. Kravitz receives a summons. Angus does a hit.

Characters: Kravitz, Taako, Barry Bluejeans, Angus McDonald, Magnus Burnsides, Merle Highchurch, Noelle | No-3113, The Raven Queen, The Director | Lucretia, misc. BoB cameos

Relationships: Taakitz, Angus McDonald & Taako, Barry Bluejeans & Kravitz, Kravitz & Angus McDonald

Don't let the Lunar Interlude-esque setting confuse you — this update's a long boi! If you can't already tell how much I love Angus McDonald, then the next few thousand words should make it pretty clear.

***

Some days, Kravitz found paperwork relaxing. Today was not such a day.

The Raven Queen was almost always receptive to his suggestions about how to restructure the forms, and happy to do what she could to minimize the bureaucracy and tedium inherent to almost any other office job. But today, Kravitz’s unbeating heart just wasn’t in his work — just like yesterday, after he’d returned from Wave Echo Cave.

So it was simultaneously a relief and a surprise when a blue glow flashed in his peripheral vision, and he felt the telltale tug of a summons from the Material Plane, specifically…

“The moon?” he muttered out loud. “What is with these people and ridiculous floating secret bases?”

The pull of the summoning spell was designedly weak, and easy for Kravitz to shrug off if needed — but he wasn’t going to pass up an excuse to get out of the office, and try to part ways with Taako on a better note this time. Maybe he could ask around, find out if anyone knew what Lucas and Noelle were up to…

In a cozy bedroom on the moon, a hissing plume of smoke emanated from a sapphire arrowhead, embedded in the soil of a potted plant. As the smoke solidified, Kravitz’s human form took shape, and instinctively scanned his new surroundings for dangers or necromantic abominations.

Two floor-two-ceiling bookshelves were stuffed with novels and encyclopedias, and glow-in-the-dark stars covered the ceiling. The bed was neatly made, but was so small it couldn’t have accommodated anyone larger than a gnome, or a halfling… or a human child.

“Hello again, Mister Grim Reaper,” said Angus. He sat on a tiny wooden chair, pen in hand and notebook open to a fresh page. “I’ve got a number of questions for you.”

Kravitz plucked the arrow from the potted plant, and the electric blue glow of the sapphire faded. “Does Taako know you have this?”

“Nope. But if he did, he’d probably endorse me breaking the spirit of the law, if not the letter — after all, you never said that only Taako could summon you this way.”

Kravitz holds up his hands. “I didn’t mean to sound accusatory. I was just… expecting to meet with Taako today, so this surprised me. But I’d be happy to answer your questions — provided they don’t take more than an hour or so.”

Angus narrowed his eyes. “Will you answer me honestly?”

Seeing no reason to lie to even the most precocious of ten-year-olds, Kravitz declared: “I swear to answer truthfully upon my oath to the Raven Queen.”

“Then tell me — why are you so nice?”

“Pardon?”

Angus glared at him. “You know exactly what I mean — why are you so helpful? You tried to reap my friends’ souls, and told them they that could only save themselves by accomplishing an impossible task! But then, you — you saved them yesterday, and even healed them! What are you playing at?!”

Immensely grateful that he’d set the terms on his own honesty oath, Kravitz told the truth with a few details omitted. “I helped them because they seemed like nicer people than most of the bounties I hunt — and in that strange sort of ‘begrudging respect’ way, I guess I’m growing fond of them.” Taako even moreso than the others.

“If you were really fond of them, you wouldn’t be trying to kill them in the first place,” Angus muttered, lowering his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” Kravitz told him, and that too was the truth. “It’s just what my job demands —”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have gotten into this line of business!” Angus screamed, wiping tears from his eyes. “In two months, I’m gonna lose three of the closest people I have to family, and it’ll all be because I’m just a kid detective who can’t track down a couple of liches — but it’ll also be because of you! I hate you, and I hate everything you stand for!”

Angus’s fist sunk harmlessly into Kravitz’s raven-feather cloak, but he staggered backwards like he’d punched a brick wall, falling to his knees and taking off his glasses to sob — but against his better judgement, Kravitz kneeled down at Angus’s side.

“Don’t count out Taako and the others just yet,” he whispered. “I’ve seen them do miraculous things — escaping from me in the laboratory, for one thing, and banishing Legion, for another. If they can defeat thousands of unruly undead souls in combat like that, then they might just be worthy opponents for even the most crafty and powerful of liches.”

“You’re sure they’ll be okay?” Angus sniffed.

“No,” Kravitz admitted. “I’m not sure. I wish I could be, because I really don’t want to send them to the Astral Plane. But they’ve got help — not just your smarts, but my scythe as well, because I don’t intend to just stand idly by without giving them a fighting chance. I… truthfully, Angus, when I offered them the deal, I wanted to bring an end to the headache they’d given me by any means necessary. But they’ve earned my respect since then, and though the deal can’t be undone, there’s no rule stopping me from aiding them. I don’t want to reap their souls if there’s any way I can avoid it, any excuse or loophole.”

Angus rubbed his nose. “Do you — do you normally like reaping people’s souls?”

Kravitz took a moment to think about his answer. “I was a human like you, once. Alive, and precocious, and always getting in over my head. When I died, and started serving the Raven Queen as a reaper, I felt like I had discovered my life’s purpose, even though it ironically required becoming undead as a prerequisite. My duty is to keep the balance of the universe — to save lives by stopping liches, necromancers, and their foul servants from upsetting that balance — but I remember what it felt like to be mortal, to have mortal loved ones. So… I don’t enjoy watching people grieve, because it feels all too familiar.”

He sat down, and crossed his legs. “I don’t tell a lot of people about this, but in a way, if I’d come to terms with death and grieved more quietly when I was alive… well, let’s just say I probably wouldn’t be a reaper today.”

Angus managed a smile. “You know, you’re nothing like the Grim Reaper in the Caleb Cleveland, Kid Cop books.”

“Oh? I know there are… a variety of misconceptions about me floating around in the world, but I haven’t read that series. Are they detective stories?”

“They’re the world’s greatest detective stories,” Angus declared, “and I own every installment!” For the first time since his ill-fated attempt to punch Kravitz, he stood up, and selected a book from his bookshelf. “This is the first one that you — well, not really you — show up in.”

Kravitz took a look at the cover illustration, which featured a child in a deerstalker hat standing back to back with a deathly pale man, dressed in tattered gray robes and wielding an iron scythe. The title read Caleb Cleveland and the Mask of Death.

“Not much of a resemblance, is there?” Kravitz mused. “I guess can’t fault them for the iron scythe, because that’s what everyone seems to expect, but iron and celestial magic don’t always get along — better than iron and fae magic for sure, but still not especially well.”

“His personality isn’t a whole lot like yours either, sir,” Angus sheepishly admitted. “This is the start of the five-book Grim Reaper arc, which starts off with the reaper helping Caleb solve murder mysteries until Caleb’s previously-struggling private detective agency — which he started after his schism with the corrupt police establishment in the last book — is renowned throughout the country. But then Caleb realizes that the reaper is just trying to bring about an era of prosperity and increased population density, so that he can kill the maximum number of people possible while poisoning the water supply! And of course Caleb disavows his partnership with Death, but the reaper spends the next four installments of the arc committing more murders as revenge — which initially felt like a little bit of a motivation downgrade, if I’m being honest, but it also led to some great continuity between books as well as some really well-written horror that unsettles without pulling on cheap shock value! So they turned out to be some of my favorite books in the series, and… I’m sorry if I judged you a little hastily because of them. You’re a whole lot nicer than the Grim Reaper I expected.”

“You don’t have to apologize. You’re hardly the first person to misjudge me for my line of work, and I don’t expect you to be the last.” Kravitz flipped through the book, which was full of underlined words and fan theories neatly written in the margins. “Actually, do you mind if I borrow this? I’ve always loved mystery novels.”

“You really want to read it?” Angus’s eyes lit up. “Uh, well, I should probably start by giving you the first book in the series, otherwise a lot of callbacks to previous adventures won’t make sense. But I guess I did kind of just spoil the whole plot of Books 21 through —”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kravitz assured him with a smile. “And I think I will take Book 1 to start out, please.”

“Alrighty, then!” Angus selected a well-worn book from his shelf and handed it to Kravitz. “Could you, um… let me know what you think of it when you finish reading?”

“I absolutely can. Oh, and Angus?”

“Yes?”

“You sound like a marvelous detective. If anyone can crack the case of these liches, I believe it’ll be you — but don’t beat yourself up if you can’t, alright? That’s a lot of pressure to put on someone, and you’re a growing kid — you need your rest.”

Angus nodded. “I’ll try to remember that, sir.”

***

Angus gave directions to the three Reclaimers’ shared dorm, but didn’t specify which individual room was Taako’s, so on a hunch, Kravitz knocked on the door of the room that smelled the most like baked goods. Sure enough, he heard Taako shout “It’s unlocked!” over the banging of bowls and cookie sheets.

“You need to look after your arrows better,” Kravitz warned him as he entered. “If someone with more malicious intentions than Angus were to steal one, then they could easily lure me into a trap.”

Taako blinked. “Whoa, what happened to your accent? I thought you were a stranger and almost chucked a bowl of gingersnap dough at your head!”

Kravitz narrowed his eyes. “Did you really? You look like you’ve got a pretty firm grip on it, there.”

“No, you called my bluff. I’m too good of a chef to just go chucking perfectly good food whenever someone spooks me — the point is, what is up with your voice, my dude?”

“It’s, um… a work accent,” Kravitz explained. “My normal voice isn’t that intimidating. As you can tell, heh.”

“Still wouldn’t want you to slice me up with a scythe, though. You gotta give yourself more credit.” Taako rolled a small handful of gingersnap dough into a ball, dusting it with sugar and placing it in the corner of a fresh cookie sheet. “And to answer your complaint earlier, Angus wasn’t as slick as he thought he was when he swiped that arrow, but I let him get away with it ‘cause I knew neither of you two dorks would try to fight each other or anything like that.”

“He actually did want to fight me for a minute or two,” Kravitz replied, “but we worked it out and now we’re apparently… book club buddies? I’m not sure, I’m no good with kids — or maybe I’m better with kids than I’m consciously aware of?”

Taako snorted. “I didn’t endear myself to little Ango at first either, but now I guess I’m his hero, and his teacher, and maybe even his emotionally adopted uncle or something? There’s just something magical about that kid.”

“Absolutely, but… he seemed stressed.” Kravitz sighed, and Taako’s expression softened. “I suppose this is partly my fault, but there’s an awful lot of pressure on him.”

“Yeah, he — he doesn’t find it so funny when me an’ the boys joke about death, I’ve been noticing. I’ll make sure he takes some time off the case to relax — you think that would help him?”

“I think that would be a good place to start.” Kravitz nodded, glancing over the sheets of oatmeal cookies cooling on the adjacent counter. “You look like you’ve been keeping busy yourself.”

“Yeah, the Director was so thrilled with my Candlenights macarons that she requested a couple batches of oatmeal-white chocolate and some gingersnaps. Guess she read my cookbook or something — ‘cause my whole cookie portfolio is choice, don’t get me wrong, but those are a couple of my top-tier baked goods after the macarons.”

“They smell heavenly — and I should know, working in the Astral Plane! Do you mind if I try one?”

“Wait!” Taako pushed Kravitz’s hand away from the tray. “I didn’t check them for — hang on, you’re already dead, right? You know what, go for it. Sorry about that.” Under his breath, he added: “It’ll be fine. Perfectly fine.”

Confused and a little concerned, but too polite to decline Taako’s offer, Kravitz took a bite of an oatmeal cookie. It was still slightly warm, and the white chocolate melted in his mouth, but he couldn’t imagine it being any less of a delight after having cooled, either.

“So, how many of these does your boss actually want,” asked Kravitz, “and how many can I take back home? They’re just as good as they smell!”

“Course they are,” Taako snickered. “Gimme a few minutes here, and I’ll make you a little gift baggie.”

“Speaking of gifts, that reminds me —” From an inside pocket of his cloak, Kravitz procured four new summoning arrows. “I spoke with the Raven Queen, and was able to arrange an exception to that… company policy, the one about summoning me for business only.”

Taako didn’t look away from his cookie sheet, but his ears immediately perked up.

“You can use them outside of emergency situations — within reason, of course,” Kravitz continued. “I don’t want to manifest in the middle of, I don’t know, a heated debate about moon bylaws, or whatever it is that you people vote on up here.”

“Actually, it turns out moon society is kinda authoritarian.” Taako finished filling the first sheet with gingersnap dough, and began work on a second. “But be honest — how much of this was actually premediated on your part, and how much is just a spur of the moment decision now that you know I’ll give you free baked goods?”

“It was premediated, but make no mistake, the baked goods are a bonus,” Kravitz chuckled. He neglected to mention that there had been no company policy in the first place, nor had there been a conversation with the Raven Queen. Part of him just wanted to give Taako his Stone of Farspeech number like he had with Angus, and bid farewell to the archaic summoning rituals altogether, but it would still be handing over personal information to an active bounty, and there were some lines even Kravitz didn’t dare cross — at least, not yet. “But as good as it is to be able to keep in touch with you, there’s something I should probably warn you about sooner rather than later.”

“Fire away.”

“I assume you were looking for Lup in Wave Echo Cave the other day. But that didn’t unveil many clues to you, did it?”

“Unveil? No matter you and Angus are starting a book club, you speak in the same detective mambo-jumbo. But you’re right, we found zilch.”

“Are you going to start looking for Barry Bluejeans next, by any chance?”

Taako made a funny expression. “Yeah, I guess that’s the plan. But, well, we also agreed that the plan should be to stay on the moon to rest and train for a couple days — ‘cause Magnus has been a bad influence, and we all rushed into the cave expedition just a day after we almost died averting the crystal apocalypse. You saw how that worked out for us.”

Kravitz nodded. “Today is the first day I’ve actually seen you without bags under your eyes. It suits you.” The last part slipped out without Kravitz thinking it through, but it prompted a wink from Taako, which Kravitz considered among the better possible outcomes of impromptu flirting.

“But getting back on topic,” he continued, “I wanted to warn you about Barry. I’ve encountered him a number of times, and he’s not exactly a normal lich.”

Taako sat down on a stool and crossed his legs. “Well, you dunno what my reference point is for liches. He could be a totally regular, run-of-the-mill lich by my standards — maybe a little spooky, but nothin’ to write home about, you know?”

“Then you’d be consorting with some pretty strange liches, because Barry is a very confusing one. Most liches are either antisocial or obsessed with grim monologues, but Barry has held a handful of coherent brief conversations with me — all of which started out weirdly normal, until he started rambling nonsense about the planar system with a genuinely unsettling amount of conviction.”

“Oh, those liches,” Taako muttered, nodding along. “Always saying the darndest things.”

“I feel like you’re not taking this as seriously as you could.” Kravitz narrowed his eyes. “To be fair, I’ve never seen Barry hurt innocent mortals, which is another way he differs from essentially all other liches — but that doesn’t mean that he’s not a threat, especially if you’re hunting him down. After all, there’s a reason I’ve spoken to him several times, but never successfully captured him.”

Kravitz thought back to one of his first and most troubling encounters with Barry, about a year after the end of the Relic Wars. They’d crossed paths by accident, in a seaside town recently demolished by a serpent of the Oculus’s creation, and Barry had exploited the shambles of the port to his advantage, hurling fishing nets and tattered sails at Kravitz as he made his escape.

“You can’t run from justice forever, Bluejeans!” Kravitz had shouted, slicing through a weighted net with his scythe. “Your kind all wind up in the Eternal Stockade eventually!”

“I’ve spent decades bracing myself for the end of apparent eternity and the exhaustion of apparent infinity,” Barry had replied matter-of-factly. “If your prison could really stay intact until the end of time, then I’d be happy to hunker down there with everyone I love and wait for this storm to blow over.”

With a flick of a spectral hand, he’d flung a half-dozen crates of rotten fish at Kravitz’s head. “But you don’t see me handing my soul over without a fight, so… I guess that should tell you everything I think about your so-called ‘eternal’ stockade.”

Kravitz had easily dodged the crates, but stepped right into the epicenter of the geyser that erupted from beneath the dock a moment later, launching him into the air. By the time he’d flown back down to sea level, Barry had been long gone.

“You know, if he still seems pretty chill for a lich,” Taako mused, dragging Kravitz back to the present, “and he’s harmless except for when you try to capture him, then… why are you still trying to capture him? Why not just let him do his thing?”

Kravitz sighed. “That’s a good question, and I’m honestly curious… why do you think I haven’t given up on him?”

“Well… ‘cause liches are illegal, right? Is this a trick question?”

“That’s the answer I was expecting, and you’re not wrong — but that’s not the entire story, either,” Kravitz told him. “I also don’t want to leave Barry to ‘do his thing,’ as you put it, because I don’t know what ‘his thing’ entails. I’ve heard him allude to needing something specific out of undeath, but I don’t know what that is — if it’s immortality, or power, or something else altogether. I don’t know if he’s just putting on a harmless facade while he waits for me to let my guard down.”

Taako nodded. “You think he’s planning something.”

“I know he’s planning something. Most liches, they’re unpredictable because the combination of undeath and their hunger for power has eroded their sense of logic and driven them insane. And at first, I thought this was the one thing Barry had in common with them — with his nonsensical grim warnings, and haphazard pattern of popping up in the last places I expect — but over the past decade of hunting him, I’ve gradually realized he isn’t insane at all. He just bases his decisions off of information that no one else in the universe seems to possess, and constructs plans that no one else in the world understands. He’s unpredictable, but not irrational — and coming from a spellcaster as powerful as he is, that honestly terrifies me.”

Taako whistled. “Guess we’ve really got our work cut out for us, then.”

“I’ll leave you with this: please, if you track Barry Bluejeans down but he seems civil, and reasonable, and harmless, you still cannot and should not trust him, no matter what he tells you. With liches, even abnormal ones, you can’t risk anything less than constant vigilance. Take it from someone who learned it the hard way centuries ago, and has been significantly better at his job ever since.”

“Aww, you’re worried about us,” Taako snickered as he placed the gingersnaps in the oven. “But I read you loud and clear — you don’t need to worry about me falling for a lich’s tricks, of course, but I’ll remind the other two goofuses to be careful.”

He frowned, closing the oven door. “Although, now that I think about it… what does Barry even look like as a lich? I don’t actually know what we should be searching for, but I’m assuming it’s not a normal-ass dude in jeans.”

“Oh, you can’t miss him. Most necromancers spring for black or gray robes, but his is bright red.”

Taako’s eyes went wide. “You know those grim warnings you mentioned him giving? Would they happen to be about, uh, the hunger of all living things?”

“You’ve met his lich form, too?” Kravitz slapped his forehead. “Were you also the best man at his wedding? Do you golf with him on Saturdays?”

“Man,” Taako muttered, “I am so glad we decided not to tell the Director about this.”

***

Angus found Noelle in the Bureau’s gym, dumping a cooler of water on her teammates as they finished an intense workout. On the other side of the room, Avi was thoroughly demolishing Brad Bradson at an impromptu game of half-court basketball, and a small but rowdy crowd had gathered to watch.

“Not gonna lie, I’d kill to be a tireless cyborg like you, Noelle,” Carey groaned, overdramatically collapsing into Killian’s arms. “I’m exhausted.”

“I dunno. If training didn’t make my arms ache, then I don’t think it would be half as satisfying,” Killian replied, wiping her brow. “Although some laser eyes to pair with my crossbow might be pretty kickass.”

“I’m enjoying the whole swappable body parts thing more than I thought I would,” Noelle said. “At first I was worried I’d accidentally fry a whole bunch of people with my arm cannon, but it turns out I can just take it off for non-violent occasions!”

“Hey, Angus!” Carey called out, waving to him. “Got any strong opinions about cyborgs and integrating technology into our bodies?”

“Um, I was actually just here to ask Noelle a few questions. Is this not a good time?”

Noelle shrugged. “Well, we just finished training for the day, so I don’t see why not.”

Angus beamed. “Great! But do you mind if we conduct the interview somewhere… a little quieter than this gym?”

Noelle raised an arm, shielding Angus from a stray basketball. “Sounds like a plan.”

Upon arriving in Noelle’s as-of-yet sparsely furnished dorm, Angus sat cross-legged on the floor and opened to a fresh page in his notebook.

“So, Magnus told me that you had a run-in with Barry Bluejeans shortly before his death in Phandalin. I’d never want to force you to think back to traumatic memories, but if there are any details you recall about him off the top of your head, that could be vital to our investigation.”

“I appreciate the concern, but it’ll be alright,” Noelle assured him. “I’ve already been thinkin’ back to that encounter a lot, ever since I learned Barry was a lich — ‘cause he really, really didn’t act like how I was always told liches would behave. See, he… he almost took a blast of fire to the chest while he was shepherding us into that stockroom, and even then, he told us to stay in there while he risked his life trying to lead the dwarf away. He was so brave, and he even got that dwarf out of the bar… but still not far enough away, I guess.”

“Was he using any spells? Magically redirecting fire? Did he try to teleport you to safety?”

“No, no spells that I saw. He threw a chair across the room to distract the dwarf at one point, but that was with his own two arms and I imagine a whole lot of adrenaline, not any sorta spectral mage hands or whatever it is that wizards use.”

“Hmm.” Angus clicked his pen. “I hate to say it, but if he didn’t cast a single spell, then it sounds like he really wasn’t trying that hard to save the town…”

“No, that’s not it. I’m sure of it. He told us not to be afraid, but he was… he was scared. Did a real good job of hiding it, but he was shaking as he closed that door to that stockroom and went back into the bar to face the fire. I sincerely believe he was doin’ everything he could to save us from the Phoenix Fire Gauntlet, and it just… wasn’t enough.”

“I wonder if Lich Barry has — or rather, had a kinder but more incompetent twin brother,” Angus mused, jotting down the thought in his notes. “It would make more sense than — wait. What did you just say about the gauntlet?”

“That Barry tried to save us from it? I guess I didn’t know what it was called back then, not until after I died and I remembered the Relic Wars —”

“Exactly! Noelle, you’re a genius!” Angus sprung to his feet. “We need to go talk to Johann!”

Noelle floated after him as he raced out of the room and towards the nearest elevator. “About what? The Voidfish?”

“Right! Maybe Barry didn’t cast any spells when he was alive because he didn’t remember that he could!”

“So when he died, the memories would’ve all rushed back to him, and he could go back to his lich-y business!” Noelle finished. “But why would the Bureau have erased information about Barry, of all people?”

“I don’t know,” Angus admitted as they stepped into the elevator and it began to descend. “Maybe he used to work with them, and went rogue? I’d ask the Director, but…”

“She’s not in on the lich-hunting secret, right. But you’ll probably have to tell her eventually, won’t you? Y’all can’t keep sneaking out forever.”

“Oh, I know. But the Reclaimers are going to be the ones to break the news to her, not me. They were the ones who lied about it in the first place, after all.” The elevator doors opened, and Angus sprinted out at full speed towards Johann’s office. “Johann, I have a question! Is there a way to check what people the Voidfish has erased?”

Johann gingerly set down his violin, and tapped his head. “You’re looking at it. I’ve been in charge of feeding info to the Voidfish basically since the Bureau got started, and lucky for you, I’ve got a pretty good memory for who and what gets erased from the rest of the world.”

He sighed. “I kinda… I feel like the least I can do is remember them when no one else will, you know? ‘Cause it’s what I hope someone will do for me when I’m gone, and… well, that got real depressing real fast. You probably don’t want to hear that, kid — so just tell me, who do you need to know about?”

“I realize now that I’m forming the question in my head that this might sound like a goof,” Angus admitted, “but have you ever erased information about someone named Barry Bluejeans?”

Johann laughed. “You’re right, that does sound like a goof! I can’t remember hearing about him before, never mind erasing him — and I’d definitely remember a name like that, trust me.”

“Oh.” Angus’s face fell. “I was so sure…”

Noelle drifted over to the Voidfish’s tank, watching the swirling galaxy patterns drift by. “Don’t give up, Angus. You might still be onto something — maybe the info could’ve gotten erased before Johann was in charge here, or maybe before the Bureau even found the Voidfish.”

Johann nodded. “Yeah, maybe. You want me to ask the Director about it?”

“No!” Angus and Noelle shouted in unison.

“Not yet,” Angus added hurriedly. “Maybe eventually. I’ll need to talk to Taako and the others about it first.”

“Okay, whatever,” Johann shrugged. “I don’t really understand what’s going on here, but you do you.”

As Noelle rode the elevator back to the roof with Angus, she asked: “So, what’s our next move?”

“I guess we should go tell the Reclaimers about the break in the case, or lack thereof. And maybe make an argument for coming clean to the Director, while we’re there.”

They made their way back to the Reclaimers’ dorm, but upon opening the door, every one of the room’s occupants jumped out of their seats in shock.

“Oh, it’s just you two,” Taako sighed, lowering his Umbra Staff. “Try and knock next time! I thought you were Lucretia coming to bust our secret meeting!”

The living room looked exactly how Angus would expect the site of an impromptu clandestine gathering to look, with dozens of papers scattered about and a corkboard lying on the coffee table. Red and blue strings connected dozens of thumbtacks, and the center of the board was occupied by a red crayon drawing of a disembodied robe.

Merle chuckled, elbowing Magnus. “You know, if you’d really wanted to keep our meeting secret, then we woulda made sure our ‘security guard’ actually locked the goddamn door —”

“That’s not important right now,” Magnus interrupted, closing the door and motioning for Noelle and Angus to join the circle around the coffee table. “What’s important is that you two haven’t let anything slip to Lucretia since the last time we talked!”

“Um, we haven’t, but…” Angus frowned. “We were actually thinking it might be better to let her in on the secret. I have a lot of questions that only she can help us answer —”

“Then they’ll just have to go unhelped!” Taako declared, magically silencing Angus’s Stone of Farspeech. “If you tell her our lives depend on arresting one of the Red Robes, she’ll go ballistic!”

Angus blinked. “I think I’m missing a lot of context here, sir.”

“I think I’m missing even more,” Noelle added.

Magnus pointed at the drawing of the Red Robe. “See this? This is Barry’s true form, according to Kravitz. And according to Lucretia, the Red Robes are all super duper evil, so she’s not too keen on us talking to them. Or interacting with them any more than we have to, really.”

“Well, what’s supposedly so evil about them?” Noelle asked. “Are they all liches?”

“No! Well, actually, they might be,” Merle admitted. “I dunno the states of all their souls, but we do know they made the Grand Relics!”

“What?” Noelle gasped.

“You know, like the Philosopher’s Stone?” Magnus added. “And the Phoenix Fire Gauntlet?”

“No, I know what the Grand Relics are, but there’s gotta be some mistake,” Noelle replied. “Barry was trying to stop the Phoenix Fire Gauntlet from going off and incinerating the whole town — and even if he was amnesiac when I met him, I just can’t imagine him ever creating something like that. It just doesn’t make sense —”

“Nothing about Barry Bluejeans makes sense,” Angus agreed. “There must be something we’re missing…”

“I’m sure there is, but one way or another, I’m pretty sure Barry did help make the Relics,” Magnus told them. “He’s popped up near almost every one of them, except for the Oculus —”

“Yeah, remember when you sensed a lich in the Cosmoscope, Noelle?” Taako chimed in. “That was Barry. He rooted through Lucas’s trash and said some ominous shit about billions of lives getting devoured. Doesn’t that sound like a guy who could be the evil mastermind behind the Relic Wars?”

“Well, why don’t we just ask him?” Merle spoke up. “I mean, it’s not like we have any trouble finding the guy even when we’re not looking for him, ha! — so next time we run into him, how about I cast Zone of Truth, and ask what he has to do with the Grand Relics?”

“That’s a great idea, sir!” Angus exclaimed, but his face fell after just a moment. “But if Barry usually just shows up around the Relics, and we have no idea where the last three are, then how will we know where to look for him? We don’t have the time to wait for another to surface randomly like the Philosopher’s Stone and Gaia Sash did.”

“Kid’s got a point, Merle,” Taako admitted, rubbing his chin. “But as long as we don’t have any other leads… I can think of at least once place it wouldn’t hurt to check, and maybe even grace with a séance!”

“Phandalin?” Noelle asked, and Taako nodded.

“Exactly! Sure, the last time we revisited an old stomping grounds didn’t go so well, but Phandalin’s just a flat circle where you can see danger coming from any direction. What could go wrong?”

***

End notes:

Some miscellaneous headcanons about the stuff in Angus’s room: Magnus made the bookshelves and chair, Lucretia provided the bed and helped Angus attach the stars to the ceiling, and the books are almost all Angus’s own. It took a while to bring them all up to the moon, but Lucretia was happy to help, and she and Taako both gave Angus a few more novels to add to his collection.

Next chapter has some exciting stuff happening, including an appearance from a certain lich that the boys may or may not be hunting, so stay tuned! I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to hold the every-other-Tuesday update schedule after Chapter 5, because long story short:

I got a part-time job that doesn’t take up that much time, but does occupy the part of the day when I’m usually in the mood to write.

I had mild insomnia for like a solid 4 nights, which I have since recovered from but not before it threw a wrench in my writing process, so that burnt through a “buffer” pre-written chapter or two.

I’m by no means abandoning this fic, but if updates slow down to more of a monthly pace after Chapter 5, this is why! Just wanted to give you all a heads-up.

[gojosatoruwifey]

Summary: Yugen, a Third Year student from Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College. After a year, the three Third Years, including her, finally went home to Japan and while the two are either resting and catching up with their parents. Yugen chose to stay in the College for a while to accompany Shoko Ieri and study under her. So, what's the other reason she came back?

Characters: Itadori Yuuji, Fushiguro Megumi, Kugisaki Nobara, Gojo Satoru, Shoko Ieri, Geto Suguru, Masamichi Yaga ,Zenin Maki, Panda, Inumaki Toge, Okkotsu Yuuta, Yugen Akihisa, Ishida Den, Mizuki Shina, Hakari ,Zenin Mai, Todo Aoi, Utahime Iori

Genre: Supernatural,Fantasy, Slice of Life, Crack, Fluff, Action

Warnings: Curse, Swearing, Grammar Errors, mention of torn limbs

The ringing of the phone indicating that someone is calling echoed on a room until the person on the other side picks up. “Hello, Yugen-san?”

“Good morning, Yamato-san!” Yugen cheerfully greeted.

Right now, they are back to the infirmary; Itadori laid on the bed tiredly, Kugisaki on the swivel chair as she spins around, Fushiguro reading a particular book that caught his interest from the bookshelf near him while Yugen leaned her back to the window, her phone on her ears as her eyes stared outside of the glass.

“What did you do again?”

Yugen gasps exaggeratedly as she offendedly says, “I didn’t do something bad!...well… maybe…”

Yamato sighed. “Should I contact the Principal?”

“Hehe. I think you should.” Yugen carefully agreed. “I used the highway railings two streets away from Jujutsu Tech in the heat of the moment. We were attacked by a Grade 3 Curse and it’s a slime type-”

“‘We’? You’re not alone?”

“Yeah. I’m with the First Years.”

“Yugen-san!” Yamato yelled. “You should not do things that might influence the kids!”

“Are you implying that I am a bad example for the First Years?” Yugen rested her free hand on her chest as if Yamato could see her. “Don’t you know that I don’t cuss, unlike Den? Or get stressed quickly like Shina? I’m a chill person and I don’t utter such obscenity.”

“We both know that you’re the carbon copy of Gojo-san - in behavior.” Yamato rubbed her temples. Oh, the headache she gets whenever a certain troublemaker strikes.

“I don’t. I’m not like Gojo-sensei. I’m a good girl.”

“What is this I’m hearing? Is Yu-chan saying that I’m also a bad example?”

The students turned their heads towards the white-haired Sorcerer entering the room as he placed small boxes on the table which made Kugisaki halt her antics as Itadori got up and peered at the object.

“Hm?” Kugisaki’s brown eyes scrutinized the text of the box as her eyes widened in glee. “It’s a fruit sando!”

“Woah, it really is!” Itadori opened one of the cartons gingerly.

“It’s a souvenir!” Gojo exclaimed. “Leave us a few. I need to talk to this midget here.” he tapped the Third Year’s head and urged her to walk as they left the infirmary, Yugen smiled at the First Years, her fingers smoothly ending the call with Yamato.

“What is it that you want to talk about?” Yugen leaned on the pillar on the side as she crossed her arms and looked at Gojo with a questioning gaze.

“Where are Den and Shina?” asked Gojo.

Yugen blinked confusedly. “On their home.”

“You sure?” Gojo fished out something to reveal a ripped picture of a construction site and obviously from a newspaper. Slowly, Yugen’s indigo eyes slightly widened at the sight of the photo on his hand as her heartbeat drummed nervously.

Internally, she is panicking. Why does he have that picture? Does he know? Did the ‘business’ earlier he was talking about is looking for Den or Shina? I made sure not to make suspicious moves so why does he have that? What should I do? Should I act inno-

“Relax, Yu-chan. Your face is giving away your thoughts.” Yugen exhaled the air she didn’t realize she was holding and glared at the teacher in front of her.

“You’re being nosy, Sensei.”

“And you’re being skeptical, Akihisa.”

Yugen narrowed her eyes at him. “What do you want?”

Gojo hummed for a few seconds. “Hmmmm~”

He opened his mouth to say something but got interrupted when Yugen’s phone rang as she took out her phone from her skirt’s pocket and pressed the answer button on the screen.

“Hello?...eh? Five humans since she settled there?.......okay, good. Take care and see you.”

“Was that Den?”

“Yeah. Let’s go back to the topic.” Yugen says as Gojo’s lips quirk up in amusement.

“My, my. Impatient, aren’t we?” he teased.

“Why do you have that picture, Sensei?” she asked.

“First of all, it’s not my fault that someone left this on the Shoko’s desk along with scrolls sprawled on the table.” Gojo started. Yugen felt her cheeks heat up in embarrassment as she remembered that she indeed left the ripped picture on the desk. “Second, your voice raised a bit higher than normal when you answered my question about exorcising the Special Grade and lastly...you.”

“What about me?” Yugen tilted her head.

“You’re acting shady!” Gojo blurted out. “You can lie to a stranger but you can’t lie in my face.”

Σ(‘◉⌓◉’) ‘I thought he was going to say something cooler like you can’t lie to someone who knows you.’ (一。一;;）’ but since this is Gojo-sensei we are talking about...I guess this is expected.’

“You really have an expressive face, Yu-chan.”

“I was just asking how did you get your hands to that thing, why did you end up talking like a detective from the movies?” Yugen says, “You are demanding answers since I arrived here.”

Yugen continued. “Your actions are saying that you are suspicious of me since the very beginning because if you’re not, you should have brought the First Years late but you’re early.”

Underneath the blindfold, Gojo furrowed his eyebrows.

“You being punctual means that you know something even though I haven’t said yet the truth why we came back home before the appointed time Principal Yaga thought,” Yugen stated. “Am I right, Gojo-sensei?”

“Not to mention, you eat the trap I baited,” Yugen smirked, seeing Gojo’s mouth agape in surprise. “I invited the First Years for lunch as soon as you left and in the meantime, you used that gap to survey the infirmary. When we got back to the room, I noticed that Megumi’s paper was moved to the side. As far as my memory says, the paper was placed near the lamp and I didn’t use the lamp to pin the paper either. It just means that someone interfered while I was not there.”

“Bingo.” Yugen grinned in victory as Gojo howled in laughter. “I didn’t think that you would pick up the picture. It’s a trap that tells whether someone touched the things without someone supervising.”

“HAHAHAHAHA!! I just can’t outwit you!”

“That picture was in between Megumi and Yuuji’s paper.” Yugen shook her head with a smile on her face. “I just use a simple trap.”

“You know that I’m willing to cover you up, right?” Gojo ruffled her mahogany hair. “You’re like my daughter.”

“I don’t see you as a father figure.” Yugen teased. Her gloved fingers fixing her messy strands. “Ready for a storytelling?”

“When I am not ready?”

One cautious step on the concrete while a juniper colored hair peeked behind the worn-out wall to peek at the two figures discussing what they are gonna do next as the womanly figure childishly threw a tantrum on the larger figure when her companion says something that upsets her.

“Why can’t I go outside?!” says the lass.

Believe it or not, Shina knows that these people are registered Special Grade Curses that her group has been hunting for a year since their Second Year and now they are the Third Year, the chase of these bloodthirst Curses are gonna end today. The female Curse was wearing a torn kimono, showing her smooth blue skin while her violet hair was tied up in a bun with a few strays falling on her forehead. The other one was a large Curse standing on 6’9 with only pants as his clothes and just like the female, he had blue skin and his violet hair was tied in a tight bun.

The plan is simple yet required for them to execute it in accurate precision. It was not the usual set up.

Have Shina sneak into the lion’s den to watch the Curse’s moves and report it, Den to summon weapons using her talismans to surround the vicinity if ever the Curse escaped, and Yugen to activate her Domain Expansion within 0.2 seconds and use it to trigger the Domain Repercussions to exorcise the Curses.

Right, it’s not the complex ploy they set before the day of exorcising.

Yet, the pair already notice her presence and they sharply turn to Shina’s hiding place, chasing her as she skips from side to side of the deformed, old hallway.

‘I followed Yugen’s instruction on how to conceal my existence and lowered my Cursed Energy, how did they know I was here?’ Shina shoveled the collapsed block of cement she passed by halting momentarily to kick the objects as it obscured the visions of the stunned two Curses; their eyes caught dust and foreign particles.

“Shina, can you hear me?!” the voice of Den reverberated around the place.

“The Curses are chasing me!” Shina answered as she felt dizzy from running in twists and turns. Behind her, the growling from one of the Curses can be heard. ‘Where does Den’s voice come from?’

“Which Curse!?”

“Special Grades!”

“Shit!” the navy haired girl cussed loudly. “Yugen is fighting a bunch of Grade 1 insects! She can’t use Domain Expansion!”

“Well, damn it!”

Shina can’t see Den but she swears she heard her laugh.

It made her lips quirk up in a soft smile. She, after all, doesn’t cuss when she is not frustrated-choosing to stay quiet until her stress level reached its limit.

The running is taking a toll on her.

“Where are you?”

A glance to the left as she answered, “Floor C, Emergency Exit.”

“Why are you so far away?!!” Den whined.

“I know I should not-” Shina dodged the Cursed Energy beam from the male Curse shot on her way as she leaped to the stairs. “..ask! But how are you able to communicate with me?”

“I put Talismans earlier on the building!”

“You think I’ll let you off the hook, brat!?” the female Curse exclaimed, her long nails scratching Shina’s back as she hissed in pain-the excruciating tingles making her gaze hazy.

“SHINA!!”

A flash of similar dark uniform slams the female Curse on the wall loudly. Shina felt her breathing hitch as her green eyes caught blood dripping on Den’s head who had her rose-pink eyes glaring at the struggling female Curse; hands gripping the Curse’s neck as she tried to free her limbs from the Talismans.

“Did you injure yourself on your way here?” Shina asked as her hand pulls out a Talisman from Den’s belt bag hanging on her back; sticking one Talisman on the female Curse’s mouth, completely shutting her shoutings.

Swinging the blade multiple times, on the sides, on her front and back. The insect Curses resembled grasshoppers charging at her in full speed as Yugen swiftly sliced them; purple substance on her dark uniform and the filthy stench invaded her nose. Yugen tightly held the hilt of the tanto sword on her right hand as she continued to swing in different directions.

“This is why I hate pests.”  exhaled and fastened up her jumping pace; creating a large distance to the Curses.

“Okay, okay.” Yugen steadied her footing on the ground as she bounced to feel her legs that started to numb from exhaustion. She inhaled and exhaled as Yugen focused the power on her right leg; pivoting her left leg to raise her other shin.

The rumbling noise of a large portion of air gathering in one place blared towards the insect Curses as the force crushed the earth and made the Curses retreat until the air entered their internals; bursting their bodies apart. Yugen blink at the nauseating view. The forest is also affected by the pressure as the land had a large and long dent on it.

“Ah, there’s another group. Geez,” she says as her body flashes mid-air behind the ongoing Curses; the blade of the tanto sword whistling with the wind as she swung it again.

The slapping sound of Talismans sticking to the walls loudly.

Den sprinted towards the female Curse’s torso as she smacks a Talisman different from the others; Shina is behind the male Curse, kicking him in the shins to take his balance off which the Curse quickly recovered as she dashed to the female Curse; She and Den crossed paths; their minds saying the same thing.

Talisman Technique: Synchronization.

Within those seconds, both of the Curses felt something creepier. The sensation of a boiling liquid slowly seeping through their muscles, taking its time to crawl in their body as their senses shout at them of the impending danger. The uncomfortable feeling of it made their mind distracted.

Shina rose her hand mimicking a marionettist manipulating her puppets with strings.

A tug of an invisible force.

“Wow, I just came at the right time.”

Yugen wields the tanto sword to the side as purple blood splatters in the process. Den threw a clean cloth to her. Meanwhile, the two Curses trembled upon hearing Yugen’s voice as she used the cloth to clean the purple liquid on the blade.

“The plan failed, idiot.” Den played the talismans on her hand.

“Sorry! hehe.” Yugen apologized sheepishly, still wiping the blade. “Take it easy! The theatre is starting.”

“So? You can’t move?” Den questioned the two Special Grades with mockery. The Curse pair stood frozen on their spot as they registered that they are not moving anymore.

“My Cursed Technique allows me to control living beings by touching them thrice as my Cursed Energy flows like a fluid,” Shina stated, her right index finger haul up as the male Curse’s arm moves; demonstrating her technique.

“Since Shina can’t touch you, I used my Cursed Technique,” Den said. “You see, my Curse Energy is made to create and they only manifest when I’m using these Talismans-” she waved the Talismans, “-and the papers plastered on the wall had her Cursed Energy on it and since it’s surrounding us-”

“-you Special Grades are going to die.” Yugen finished as she removed the dark glove of her right hand and throw it aside

“What a waste. I was hoping to use weapons to kill you guys to make me practice but you just have to crush that and see Shina.” Den brushed the dust on her skirt.

“Please let my sister go…” the male Curse pleaded as he struggled to move.

Yugen looked at him. “Do you know the story of Hansel & Gretel?”

The Curse didn’t answer.

“Hansel & Gretel are siblings like the two of you.” Yugen closed her eyes. “According to the story I read, there was a great famine struck their country and their family is starting to suffer from starvation, having no choice but to abandon the poor Hansel and Gretel. Their parent left them in the forest and suddenly, a sweet aroma filled their senses and followed the smell. As they reach a house made from different sweets, they met an old woman and she ushered them to enter her abode. The old woman turns out to be a witch! And she wanted to cook Hansel and eat him. However, Gretel is a smart girl and helped her brother to escape from the cage he was stuck and pushed the witch from the pot and she died.”

“W-What happened to Hansel and Gretel?” the female Curse timidly asked.

“Unfortunately…” Yugen opened her eyes to glance at them. “..they died in this life!”

Yugen slit the male Curse’s arms using the tanto sword on her left hand as the female Curse shrieked in fear; squirming on her spot as she thrashed around and called the male Curse in repeat.

“AAACKK!!!” the male Curse shouted in pain and Shina’s eyes widened when her ‘grip’ to the female Curse loosened; hands trembling from holding two Special Grades. For some reason, Shina can’t let the female Curse to sit still as the Curse erupt a high amount of Cursed Energy.

“Shit!” Den brings out a black talisman and sticks it towards the female Curse’s back; upon sensing her presence, the female Curse turns around and grabs her wrist then twists her body and fling Den towards Yugen and they both crash to the wall with a loud slam as the stones crumbled and fall into pieces..

“Nii-san!” the female Curse run to the male Curse and hoist him up but before she can carry the male Curse properly, a long black hand shot from the wall where Yugen and Den crashed into harshly grabbed the male Curse away from the female Curse as she yelped from the unexpected force.

Shina watched a figure stagger to her feet, swaying a little as she steadied her balance.  

“Let me tell you that I hate it when my head gets hit.”

Yugen glared at the female Curse. “It really pissed me off.”

Behind her, the long black hand is still clutching to the male Curse like a child holding her doll. Yugen raised a brow. “Oh? Not fighting back?”

“I already accepted the fact that I will die in our Creator’s hands…” he answered, defeat lacing his voice. “Our purpose is to fulfill our Creator-”

“You think I will let you die on her hands, Nii-san?!” the female Curse bawled as her Cursed Energy pressured Shina and Den to the ground, leaving Yugen standing-albeit not perfectly.

‘Shina can’t tend Den’s wounds…’ Yugen shifts her eyes to Shina and Den laying on the concrete. ‘I have to finish this woman.’ her tanto sword dangling on her gloved hand.

“For now, let’s kill that Curse.” Yugen’s indigo eyes followed another long tentacle-like hand appearing on her left back as its index and thumb passed to the male Curse’s center chest like a ghost going past to a wall as it dug out a small shiny dark orb and placed it onto Yugen’s palm.

The female Curse watched Yugen crush the dark orb in horror as the male Curse on the long black hand faded into specks of dust.

The Curse’s lips quivered as she screamed.

“And that's how the story ends.” Yugen lazily shifts her weight to her other leg. “The female Curse or let’s call her ‘Gretel’ escaped by releasing pressure again and almost made Shina a limp and Den had an amnesia.”

“Woah, what a terrible ending,” Gojo commented.

“It was a good thing that my little friend-” she caresses the left part of her hair as if touching a baby, “-protected the two yet ‘Gretel’ ran away before I got my hands on her. I just can’t let Shina and Den leave there in pain.”

“Spoken like a true older sister.” the white-haired Sorcerer patted her. “You did well.”

Yugen hummed, letting him stroke her hair like a child.

“That picture…” she paused. “..the construction site. That’s where ‘Gretel’ currently lives. Den might have sensed Gretel’s Cursed Energy in that place since she sticks a talisman on the Curse’s back before she flee and she could not get rid of it even if she tried to. Den’s Talisman can seal her but since Den is not near her, she can’t seal that Curse.”

Yugen cupped her chin with her gloved fingers. “Speaking of Den, we don’t know how many meters she should get near to chant the spell and seal Gretel until I exorcise her. Will one-meter good or she have to get closer? I think there’s a certain distance between the User and the Curse if it comes to sealing and not creating..”

“Yugen-senpai!” Itadori cries out as he rushes towards them. “I finally found you!”

“What happened, Yuuji?”

“Ku-Kugisaki is going to murder me!”

From afar, Kugisaki retorted. “I'm just putting your share! Senpai and Sensei are going to eat too!”

“Hah! For all I know, you secretly want an extra!”

“Just eat in peace,” Fushiguro muttered under his breath.

E X T R A :

“Huh?” Yugen looks around the old building. The aftermath of the exorcise had great damage and the residuals of the Curses are everywhere. She glances beside her to see Den surrounded by Medics provided by Jujutsu Tech and she approach the silent woman smoking on the side.

“Shoko-sensei!” the said woman puffs out the smoke and turns in her direction.

“Yugen, you seem fine.”

“Those Curses don’t affect me.” she rests her hands on her hips. “They belong to me, after all.”

“But still, you don’t feel dizzy?” Shoko asked.

“Not anymore.” Yugen let out a sigh. “How’s Den and Shina?”

Shoko dropped the cigarette on the land as she stomps on it. “Den is still light-headed and Shina is feeling weak. They should know that they should not have to use their Cursed Technique too much. Even though you are Grade 1 Sorcerers doesn’t mean that you have to use your skills for your full potential. Yugen, you already know this, right? The three of you are strong but handling two Special Grades especially coming from the unknown is dangerous.”

“I don’t know why the Principal insists that you exorcise these Special Grades.” the Doctor sighed. “He must be teaching you a lesson.”

Yugen only smiled wryly. “I feel responsible so I don’t mind if the higher-ups dump this work to us.”

“Higher-ups? Are they involved?”

“Of course, they are.” she scoffed. “They are expecting me to fail.”

Shoko laughed in amusement, “Cowards, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, they are.”

Then Shoko held out a familiar dark glove to Yugen as the Third Year’s face brightened up. “You’re looking for this?”

Yugen whispered a small ‘thank you’ and  wore the glove. “I thought it was missing.”

“Did you know that your other classmates made trouble?” Shoko says. “They receive suspension as punishment.”

“Eh??”

“All of the Third Years are suspended except the Three Espada,” she explained. “I’m saying this beforehand. Don’t be surprised if you can’t see a Third Year roaming on the school grounds.  Satoru will likely not explain it.”

Yugen chuckled. “Right.”

Domain Repercussions - A Domain Technique: details will be provided from the following next chapters.

*Yamato - a female Auxiliary Manager

i only posted my work here in tumblr (gojosatoruwifey) and in my ao3 account. please report immediately if someone reposted my works on other sites without my permission.

[louisapennyfeather2021]

Newsies Adopting Unique Animals AU!

For the sake of this AU, most of the more exotic pets are adopted after being in abusive homes/black markets and it was after they were rehabilitated.

The only characters I explicitly recognize as a couple are Spot and Race. Any others could be taken as romantic or platonic, you can decide!

Strap in folks, this is going to get interesting:

Jack: Bearded Dragon/Pogona. His name is Oliver. It was literally an impulse decision. Jack was painting a mural at a new pet store in town and he was just finishing as they were moving in some animals since they were about to open. Jack's jaw dropped when he saw a "spiky lizard with a big head", as he later told everyone else, and he couldn't leave without taking one home. So after careful negotiation and buying any and all supplies he'd need, he brought little Oliver home with him. It took some getting used to and many articles on google, but eventually Jack found his new best friend. He'll paint and draw pictures of Oliver and he even created the desert backdrop in Oliver's tank. And sense Jack mostly works from home as an artist, he can always keep an eye on Oliver. At the end of the day, Jack will sit on the floor and entertain Oliver. Over all, they both have a new friend in each other.

Davey: Hyacinth Macaw. His name is Apollo. Sort of an impulse decision, but Davey kind of thought it through. He read up on hyacinth macaws and he knows there are only 2,500-5,000 left in the wild. After a group was busted for illegally trading animals, Davey erratically offered to rehabilitate some one of the macaws said to have been in the traders homes. You can imagine how dumb he felt when the SPCA showed up at his house with everything he needed to get started. Still, he owned up to it and took in the macaw who he affectionately named Apollo. He was angry and upset when he realized Apollo's wings were clipped and that he couldn't fly, meaning Apollo would likely be adopted out to a home. It was rough for months, Apollo didn't trust Davey until the second month and hardly trusted anyone else besides Davey's sister, Sarah. Davey slowly earned Apollo's trust and trained him to the point where Apollo finally "spoke" to Davey about five months later. After that, they were inseparable. Apollo would nuzzle Davey with his head and Davey would stroke him while he read a book or worked on papers. Eventually Davey adopted Apollo and they both found a safe ace with each other

Crutchie: Bush Baby/Galago. Her name is Pip. Another animal rescued from the illegal traders. Crutchie also works from home and after hearing about the requirements of taking care of a bush baby, he volunteered. It was somewhat difficult and he had to ask Jack for help in the first two months because if his wheel chair, but he eventually got the bush baby, who he named Pip, to warm up to him. She would watch him curiously, but she never got too close. Over time, Crutchie earned her trust by offering little treats and playing little games with her. It got to the point where she would jump back and forth between his desk, his wheel chair, and his bookshelf. She would either cling to his shoulder and take a nap or sleep in a small cushion Crutchie keeps on his desk for her. No matter how difficult she can be and how energetic she is, Crutchie wouldn't change a thing.

Katherine: Baby Fennec Fox. His name is Archie. Sort of a random decision. She was watching a documentary on Africa on Animal Planet and for days after she couldn't get the Fennec Foxes out of her head. It got to the point where she did so much research before contacting the local SPCA and asking if they had any fennec Foxes in need of a home. She was excited to hear they surprisingly had one, but that he was just a baby and had been separated from his mom. Katherine knew she'd have to out in a lot of time, but she runs her own business so she could be home enough to take car of the fox that she, upon seeing him, named him Archie. He was finicky, no pun intended, but he was curious. Katherine noticed how he'd eat and sleep often like a cat, but that he could be energetic and lovey like a dog. She'd play with him and give him affection when he wanted it. They bonded and in the end Katherine had someone to curl up on her lap or right next to her while watching TV or reading a book.

Sarah: Serval. Her name is Carmen. Yet another poor animal that suffered going through life with the trader. It was her slight, good hearted sibling rivalry with Davey that made her do it. She offered to take care of a serval under the impression that it was just like any other cat. She wasn't completely wrong. The serval, which she named Carmen, was nervous and didn't like Sarah much at first. She'd run away and hide in a cage that Sarah always leaves open or under any object she could. It took months before Sarah could sit in front of Carmen and pet her. She slowly built up Carmen's trust and by the time she was considered rehabilitated and it was established that she had been in captivity too long to survive in the wild, Sarah adopted her. Carmen did act like lost cats, she'd sleep for an unreasonably long time and rub against Sarah's leg when she was hungry or just lovey, but she could also be energetic and chaotic. Sarah loved it though, it made her home feel alive.

Race: Baby skunk, well, skunks. Their names are Sugar, Spice, and Kyle because we all know Race would do something like that. Not exactly a happy story. Race was driving home one night and he didn't even notice something run under his car before he felt the tell tale thumps. As soon as he got our of his car, he gagged and tears welled up. The putrid smell of skunk met his nose and he turned on the flashlight on his phone. He gagged at the site, but his heart broke when he saw three black and white balls of fluff on the side of the road. He knew he couldn't leave them, they were so small and he was so guilty. So, he braved the skunk smell and sacrificed the inside of his car to bring the babies home with him. To say Spot was confused would be an understatement. Seeing and smelling his boyfriend walk inside with three baby skunks in hand isn't exactly common. He was on the verge of angry until he heard Race's story and saw the sadness in his face. So, despite his anger, Spot lets Race keep the skunks. Race gets everything he needs and does everything necessary. He takes the babies outside to run in the back yard and he loves them so much. His favorite game to play is "Which friend will we scare this week". He's had one too many shoes thrown at him for that game. Over all, he loves Sugar, Spice, and Kyle. Especially Kyle.

Spot: Hedgehog. Her name is Holly. Spot adopted Holly long before Race got his skunks. He adopted her from the pet store where Jack adopted Oliver. Holly is quiet for the most part and after nearly a year together, she finally let Spot rub her belly. He should her beyond reason. He bought her a pink blanket with hedgehogs printed on it and he even bought a floaty meant to hold drinks just so Holly could sit in it in the bath tub. Race used to always say Spot spoiled Holly too much, but Spot didn't care. Holly was his buddy and he wouldn't ever change that.

Elmer: Baby pot belly pig. Her name is Calli. Elmer doesn't even remember how he got Calli. Everyone tells him he won a vet with some kid who raises pot belly pigs and the kid gave it to Elmer on his birthday. Elmer isn't complaining, though. He loves his adorable black, white, and pink speckled piggie. She can be extremely greedy with food, but Elmer adores her nudging his leg or occasionally oinking at him. She's just a big cuddle bug in a small body and Elmer's thankful for whatever bet he made.

Albert: Baby otter. Her name is Poppy. Her story is similar to Sugar, Spice, and Kyle's. Albert was driving home when he watched a vehicle hit an otter. He stopped, knowing it's common courtesy to move the animal off the road despite how sad or frankly gross it is. He's thankful he did though, because he found a baby otter hiding in the grass. No matter how hard he tried to turn away, he couldn't. He eventually coaxed the baby closer and picked her up, giving her the name Poppy. He absolutely loves her. After taking her to the vet and getting all his paperwork done, Albert took her home and raised her. He helped her swim in his bathtub and eventually a small pond he installed in his backyard. He plays with her and he spoils her with warm blankets and even her own teddy bear which Albert named Fluffy. They're practically inseparable and Albert wouldn't trade anything for Poppy. She's his little girl and she's like a part of him.

Some of this might be inaccurate and might even be illegal in some places, but it's cute and that's what matters😂

If you want to see any other characters, just send me and ask! Don't be afraid, I promise I won't be upset about questions or suggestions.

[tazzytypes]

Apocalypse: Sanctuary - Chapter 14

Hey guys! Thank you so much for being patient with me as I work to keep this story going. Between work and school my schedule is completely booked so finding time to sit down and write can be hard. As always, thank you for all the likes and comments. They really make my day and I get super excited when I see those notifications on my phone. 

Read more on AO3 or see the Masterpost for more chapters!

Emily stood dutifully with her “sister witches” in the salon of the subterranean boy’s school, glancing here and there. She was desperately trying to read the room. Tension was high, but no one cared to explain why. Instead, she felt like a toddler watching her parents get a divorce without the needed schema to even understand marriage

God, she missed college. At least there, things were actually explained to her. All Cordelia said was they were here to perform a ritual of the Seven Wonders. The name sounded familiar, but other than that, she knew nothing.

What she did know was that the Hawthorne School for Exceptional Young Men was the counterpart to Robichaux. Why they separated the coven based upon gender alone was… perplexing. Emily imagined prestige had something to do with it, a concept that made her roll her eyes at the sheer absurdity of it all. 

Emily had never been to California. One of her friends had moved there after high school, but they weren’t particularly close and the contact between them was now non-existent. It wasn’t as if she could reach out to the girl — duty being what it was and the fact that they were now in the least hospitable place in the entire state. 

It was a pity, Emily hoped she would have at least seen the beach or LA. More to say she had than out of actual desire. 

She looked up as Myrtle shimmied beside them, keys in hand. Quietly, she bestowed them upon the group — first Zoe, then Queenie, and finally Madison and herself.

“We’ll be doubling up in the broom closets they call rooms,” Myrtle said, keeping her voice low. “Make sure you check the sheets before you lay down.”

She spared a pointed look at Madison, “and don’t go about wandering in the night. God knows what these little perverts will do.”

Madison stood with her arms across her chest, an unconvincing smile more a smirk than anything else. She leaned forward and flashed a grin. “Just because I get more than anyone else in this coven doesn’t mean I don’t have standards.”

Myrtle smiled in a way that made the blonde frown and turned back to the center of the room where Ariel and Cordelia were still talking logistics. The Seven Wonders required careful planning. With the stakes being life or death, there was no room for even the smallest of errors. They also had to assure that the greasy little weasels weren’t cheating them out of their throne. 

Madison leaned in towards Queenie, eyes flickering from the boy wonder.

“I have dibs,” she said.

A brow shot up Queenie’s forehead, “On what, bitch?”

“The bed.”

“Girl. I am not sharing a room with you.”

Madison turned to Zoe. The brunette’s eyes were trained ahead, purposefully not meeting Madison’s eyes. The ex-movie star rolled her eyes which came to settle on Emily. She shook the key with a painted “6” on the fob.

“Looks like we’re bunk buddies.”

Emily spoke before she could think, “Joy.”

“Whatever.”

Across the room, Michael watched Emily. He didn’t stare, but blue eyes frequently dashed to the girl. She stood stoically a few steps away from her sister witches with a stern expression on her face. As soon as she was brought into the light, however, it disappeared. Furrowed brows relaxed with the rest of her expression, only to return as it was but a moment before. 

Her companions seemed not to notice, treating her as a bumbling and anxious thing. No, this girl was but a cat waiting to pounce from the shadows.

Emily’s eyes dashed to his as she felt his stare. For a moment they locked eyes, but she quickly averted her gaze and focused on anything but him. He watched a moment longer.

Madison whispered something and she rolled her eyes, but a blush crawled up her neck. Her eyes flickered back to him, but he quickly turned his attention to the conversation at hand.

Days before, all Emily had been able to glean from her conversation with Cordelia was that this important ritual would determine who the next Supreme would be… whatever that meant. 

For all the useless information the others had given her, they did not explain what the Seven Wonders entailed. “You’ll see,” was the closest she had gotten to a response. 

Either way, Cordelia wanted her help. What she could help with, she wasn’t quite sure. The witches seemed to find pleasure in keeping things vague. 

Thus, long story short: Emily was in an underground all-boys boarding school doing occult shit straight out of a Steven King novel. 

Green eyes flickered to a nearby bookshelf, her eyes trailing over the titles instinctively. Most of them were old, books having that rough binding with wrinkled spines that only came from constant use and gold inlaid titles. There was one, however, with no name.

Looking about, she carefully made her way over to the shelf. It wasn’t far from where she was standing — a few feet at most. Gently, she eased the large weathered tome into her arms, balancing it upon her hip as if it were a child. 

It was a grimoire written in Latin. It was the one subject she had made traction in, reassuring her whenever she couldn’t conjure small objects to her hand or make butterflies out of roses. 

That being said, she was far from fluent. Some words and basic sentences popped out at her, but beyond that was incomprehensible. Emily wished she had her pile of references with her. It would at least give her something to do while the adults tackled the issues at hand.

“Finis venit,” she muttered under her breath, eyes narrowed as she read the handwritten note on the inside cover of the book, “ante initium.”

The end comes before the beginning?

A burning sensation in her hands nearly made her drop the tome with what would no doubt have been a very loud, attention-drawing thud. Biting her lip to keep from crying out, she eased the book back to its place. 

Her eyes darted around the room as she shuffled away from the bookcase. No one seemed to notice her faux pas, too engrossed in their own thoughts and tasks. Eventually, her gaze was drawn to the blonde boy who stood next to Ariel, Hawthorne’s headmaster. His hands were positioned behind his back, fist clenching as he continued to pay attention to the discussion before him.

Glancing back to her hands, she found a small circular burn mark around her right middle finger. Red irritation bloomed brightly upon her skin but quickly faded into nothing.

“God, I need a cigarette,” Madison whined beside her, crossing her arms and leaning back on the wall. Bored, her eyes trailed back to her new Sabrina. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“Cordelia asked me to come.”

Madison scoffed, “What does she want you to do? Throw up on them?”

“Who the fuck knows,” Emily said with a sigh. The reaction gained her a small, cheeky smile from the blonde. The amusement didn’t last long.

“If you know you’re not a witch, why the hell do you even stay here?”

“Cordelia thinks I have potential.”

“Ha!” Madison said, “What a load of crock.”

Queenie rolled her eyes as she stood beside the two, Madison sandwiched between the human voodoo doll and the powerless newbie. 

“Can you stop being a bitch for, like, five seconds?” Queenie snapped at the blonde.

“Whatcha’ gonna’ do? Kill me?” 

“Don’t tempt me.”

A small smirk crawled onto Emily’s lips at the banter, but quickly vanished the second she felt Madison glance towards her. From across the room, Michael couldn’t help but be amused at the scene. He did his best to hide a smirk of his own, covering it with a hand in an attempt to save face.

Madison rolled her eyes and scoffed before shuffling away from the pair to put as much distance between them. Emily glanced at Queenie and they both snickered.

“Like I said,” Queenie said, “I got you, girl.”

“I’d hate to be on your bad side.”

“Damn straight.”

Emily pushed off the wall and stood a little straighter as she noticed Cordelia turn. The warlocks retreated to their side of the room save for Ariel and the curly-haired angel. Green eyes met blue and the two simply stared at each other for a long moment before diverting their attention back to the reigning supreme.

There was something about that boy… something Emily couldn’t quite place. 

“Today we take part in an ancient ritual used by our coven for generations,” Cordelia spoke, “The new must be ushered in and the old ushered out to maintain the strength of our coven.”

Finally, she turned to the boy-wonder, “Are you ready to take on this momentous task.”

“I am.”

Emily jumped as a loud chorus of cheers erupted above them, boys stomping their feet and yelling as loud as they knew how. She forced her eyes back on her headmistress and tried to quiet her racing heart. 

Cordelia didn’t look pleased, everyone else too preoccupied with the noise to notice. It was a slight difference: the near imperceivable furrow of the brow and thinning of the lips.

Her eyes then trailed to the boy. He was smiling up at the crowd, basking in their adoration. It was a genuine smile — not the one he had shown when they first arrived.

The rowdy boys were quickly silenced with a well-aimed look of their headmaster. Emily could hear the shuffling of feet above her head as they skittered off into the halls, leaving the room feeling tense and lifeless.

“Like little roaches,” she heard Myrtle whisper to Zoe. The girl’s response was drowned out by the voice of their headmistress.

“Let the test of the Seven Wonders begin!”

***

The Seven Wonders was a test of seven magical talents… or at least that is what Emily observed. 

Telekinesis was the first wonder, an easy enough skill for those who could actually use their magic. She felt a surge of jealousy at that thought. It was easy for Cordelia to say magical talent didn’t matter when she had more than Emily could hope to possess. 

Michael held up his hand and a book crossed the room as if it had a mind of its own. The grimoire was a heavy tome in her arms, but the boy made it look as light as a feather. 

He opened it to the first page, brows furrowing as he read the hand-scribed dedication. Closing the book, he looked to Ariel. The man was grinning ear to ear, clapping the boy on the back and praising him for a job well done. 

“This is but the first test,” Cordelia reminded, voice stern, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

 The fair-haired woman turned to Michael, “The next test is Concilium. Control the minds of someone in this room.”

That wording did nothing to ease the tension in Emily’s body. She quite liked being in control of her own thoughts and actions. The thought of someone being able to override her autonomy at will made her palms sweat.

Emily didn’t know what to expect until Madison and Zoe started dancing at random. Their faces betrayed their true feelings, Michael’s powers not strong enough to make the pair like one other. A small smile flickered to Emily’s lips at the frowns carved into their faces, but it quickly vanished when she felt the boy’s eyes on her.

They danced and danced and danced some more in a silent room. If not for the circumstances it may have been poetic. The strings of the puppet-master were far too visible, their bodies too stiff. It made her skin crawl. 

Just as the dance ended, Emily felt a sudden presence behind her followed by a feather-light tap on her shoulder. Her hair stood on end and a shiver ran up her spine. Hands instinctively curled into fists which swung back towards the sudden presence. 

The problem with instinct was that your body moved before your mind could decide to. Her fist was mere inches from his face when she finally realized what she was doing. Michael’s hand swung out to block the blow, fingers curling around her hand as he caught the punch mid-air. Emily’s heart was racing in her chest and the boy-wonder could feel her heartbeat through her hand. 

Power flickered through the air. Michael feeling like he was on the other end of an electrical shock. Gently, he let her hand go and it pulled back to her side as if his touch was fire.

“Careful,” He warned, a crooked smile curling at his lips. Emily’s eyes narrowed ever slightly. “You’ll end up giving someone a black eye.”

Emily’s eyes narrowed ever slightly, biting back a retort. If someone didn’t want a black eye, they shouldn’t sneak up on others. She was tempted to throw the other fist… but she doubted her headmistress would approve.

“You have conquered transmutation,” Cordelia noted, the pair turning back to the current supreme. Michael stepped back from her charge with the expression of a content cat. The Supreme’s frown was more prominent now, her eyes filled with annoyance she could no longer hide. “Now it is time for you to conquer the next task.”

She spared a glance at Ariel who stood beside her. He beamed at his student, looking to the woman beside him with an air of smug contempt. He was comically shorter than the woman, but her own expression did nothing to squash his silent gloating.

“One of your mentors has hidden something in this room. Find it using divination.”

Michael stepped around Emily, the girl taking a step away from him as he made his way towards the blonde woman. Stopping before her, he held out a hand palm-up. After a moment, Cordelia placed a dozen or so runes and bones into his hand. 

Turning on his heel and taking a few deliberate steps, Michael crouched in front of the fire. He tossed the objects onto the floor. Emily stared at them, trying to sense their meaning. She had read tarot cards before — accurate readings, too… or so her friends had said. Runes and bones, however, were another beast entirely.

The bookshelf. Her own thought startled her as if she had heard another’s voice inside her head. She watched Michael’s eyes flicker up to one of the many bookshelves. 

Then he was gone, vanishing into thin air. Emily moved closer to the wall, hairs standing on end once more. The next thing she knew, the boy-wonder was standing next to his headmaster who jumped as a hand was placed on his shoulder.

“I believe this is yours,” Michael said to the man. Ariel grinned and laughed, patting the boy on the back as he took back his pocket watch.

With every task, Cordelia’s mood soured. Anyone outside of Robichaux wouldn’t have been able to tell the slight difference in her demeanor. Her posture straightened into a thin line, her eyes growing sharper and sharper until her gaze could cut stone.

Pyrokinesis and Vitalum Vitalis. Michael made them look easy. Flames roared when drops of his blood hit the wick of a candle. He made a mouse come back alive after snapping his neck.

The latter disturbed Emily more than the former. Emily realized she had never seen anything die before. She’d experienced death, naturally — old pets and family members passing to the other side. There was something about the sharp cracking of tiny bones accompanied by a shrill shriek that made all her hairs stand on end. Her body buzzed and she felt a momentary pressure on her forehead. 

Zoe turned at the sudden snap of power which echoed through the room. Emily stared at the sight before her, her eyes distant. It unnerved Zoe, the way the other girl stared. It felt like a black void had curled around Emily. 

The second the mouse was brought back to life, the spell which entranced the woman broke. Clarity came back to Emily’s eyes and she finally felt the presence of eyes upon her. Zoe averted her gaze, pretending she had seen nothing. 

“And so, we arrive at the final test,” Cordelia announced, “Descensum.”

Slowly, Michael’s hands came to rest behind his back. The more wonders he accomplished, the more contempt he held. Cordelia worried what his plans for the coven were. There was something about that boy that sat her on edge.

Her eyes flickered to Emily for but a moment, watching her whisper something to Queenie. Green eyes widened at the senior witch’s response.

Emily’s attention darted between the line of witches now standing before the fire. Queenie had chosen to stay with the younger witch to explain what was going on.  

“What’s Decensum?” Emily asked

“To prove you are the next supreme, you have to go to hell.”

“Hell?”

“I didn’t believe it at first, either.” Queenie said, “but, then again, I’m a human voodoo doll so anything is possible.”

Emily’s lips twisted as she took in the information, trying to decide how she felt about the concept of hell existing. She had never been a particularly religious person… agnostic at best. It was an existential conundrum — one existing thus implying the other did as well.

Closing off her thoughts, Emily forced herself to save the existentialism for after their little trip. Hopefully, by then she would forget about it entirely.

Cordelia’s voice pulled them from their whispered conversation. Their headmistress’s voice rang loud and clear throughout the room, demanding attention.

“But today I am not asking you to perform this wonder,” The Supreme continued, dragging her eyes back to Michael, “I am asking you to conquer it.”

Emily’s eyes flickered back to Queenie as she shifted to her other foot, eyes narrowed at her supreme and brows furrowed. 

“What is she doing?” Queenie muttered. Emily pulled her eyes away from her companion and looked to the scene before her. The wizards shifted uncomfortably, lips pressing into thin lines. Emily’s eyes then settled back on Cordelia.

“I’d like you to retrieve my dear friend, Misty Day,” the blonde woman continued, “who lost her own battle with this very task.”

“That’s impossible!” one of the warlock’s snapped, an African American man — Behold — dressed to impress in the same black color they all donned. “Those who don’t return from Decensum are gone forever; property of the underworld. 

“But even Orpheus was able to challenge Hades to bring back Eurydice,” Emily muttered. She felt eyes upon her, but when she looked to the boy-wonder his attention was solely on Cordelia.

Queenie spared the girl a glance, “What was that?” 

Emily slowly removed her eyes from Michael, “Nothing.”

““No other Supreme’s been made to do this, ever. This is not only unfair,” Another wizard — Baldwin — noted, angry eyes encased by thick-rimmed glasses, “this is suicide!”

Cordelia cut them off with ease, “Which is why I offer a compromise.”

The Supreme looked to Emily expectantly. The brunette glanced about the room, unsure of what was coming. Finally, after a good moment, she stepped out of the shadows. Cordelia offered her a reassuring smile as Emily came to stop by her side. She could feel the warlock’s eyes on her and she found herself focusing on the floor after meeting their gaze.

“Emily is a catalyst,” Cordelia explained to the warlocks. “One of the strongest I have ever seen. While she has yet to show any magical ability, we have found that others of our kind can tap into her magic and use it to power their own.”

“This is sabotage!” Baldwin said, his pose reminding Emily of a hungry wolf. What was Cordelia thinking? She wasn’t ready for this. She didn’t want this. She didn’t— 

“Michael will need all the help he can get,” Cordelia reminded. 

All this while, Ariel had been quietly fuming. He should have known the witches would try and undermine the alpha. Jaw clenched and expression sour, he did his best to keep his cool.

“Enough.” He said, head turning to his fellow warlocks before his gaze returned to the blonde witch, “Cordelia—”

Cordelia’s head cocked ever slightly to the side, waiting for him to speak.

“I need a word.” He finally concluded, words rushing past his lips. Cordelia simply nodded, and he led the way back into the shadow-filled halls of Hawthorne.

***

“You’re changing the rules!” Ariel exclaimed, voice rising and anger taking the forefront as soon as they were out of earshot. He paced back and forth in his office, trying to contain his rage. “Michael should only have to descend as you did!”

Cordelia stood calmly at the center of the room, poised with her hands resting in front of her. Her stillness was unsettling… more similar to a snake than a woman. It only served to anger Ariel more, waving his hands as he talked just to keep from imploding.

“You didn’t see what I saw,” the woman noted, voice stern and unwavering. Stubborn. Just like her mother. “Our world hangs in the balance. There is darkness coming and, if Michael is going to be the one who leads, us he needs to be able to withstand anything.”

Ariel stopped in his tracks.

“Bullshit.”

Cordelia’s gaze was as cutting as a knife, her hushed tone betraying her surprise, “excuse me?”

“I saw you drop. I know what’s really happening here.” Ariel said, satisfied as Cordelia’s face fell into a frown. “You’re fading, but you’re afraid to let go.”

“And you’ve hit a wall. Grand Chancellor is as far as you’re going to get,” Cordelia spat, “You and your powers have reached their limit. Your kingdom will only just be this hole in the ground.”

Ariel sputtered, unable to find a single retort. The woman was a scorpion and she was more than ready to sting him with her tail.

“Unless, of course,” She continued, “you use Michael to extend your influence.”

“This is pathetic — accusing me to cover your blatant attempt at his life. I won’t lose that kid over some sad, futile cling to power.”

“I’ll remind you that I am also risking one of my own girls in this venture.”

“An inexperienced whelp!”

“Who has more untapped potential than you can ever dream to have!” Cordelia snapped, “You may insult me, but I will not let you insult one of my girls.”

“But you would send her to her death… What a supreme you are.”

“You actually believe I am trying to get them killed?”

Ariel took a step towards the woman, then another, “What I think, Cordelia, is that you are your mother’s daughter, who I knew fairly well. You may come with a kinder facade, but deep down, you’re nothing more than a weak, frightened woman… just like Fiona.”

He watched as Cordelia’s eyes betrayed her fear, her insecurity. Ariel had hit the pressure point, the Achilles heel. Cordelia’s sad eyes hardened, her own rage boiling in her belly.

“With a flick of my finger, I could crush your larynx and tear it from your throat.” Cordelia warned, “Do not think for one second I am weak. I have humored you men, and coddled your fragile egos, but in no way does that mean you actually have a say.”

The woman took a step towards the man, forcing him to step back in turn. “I outrank you. I can destroy you. So, I suggest you fall in line because I am still your Supreme.”

A creaking interrupted them, their eyes trailing to the door which now stood open. Michael stood, doors moving without his touch. His hands sat behind his back with a solemn and resolute expression. 

He locked gazes with Cordelia. There was something about his eyes that made her hair stand on end. He looked human, but his eyes seemed off and his presence made her stomach churn.

“It’s okay,” he said, “I’ll get your friend back.”

***

The warlocks and witches had divided themselves in opposite corners of the room, leaving Emily to stand aimlessly in front of the fire. Their whispering was a roaring sea in her ears, an annoying buzz to a mosquito she couldn’t squash. She found her head quirking just to free her ears from the sound.

 Sparing a glance at the warlocks, she was met with narrowed and sharp glances. Baldwin spared a look in her direction before turning back to Behold to whisper something. They turned their backs so she wouldn’t read their lips. 

The gaze of her fellow witches was less than reassuring, themselves whispering about the circumstances just as the warlocks. Zoe looked up and the younger witch quickly averted her gaze. Cordelia’s announcement blind-sided them all. Emily had always said she was going to go to hell… she just never expected it to come this soon.

“Cordelia’s sending her to her death!” She heard Madison hiss.

“Keep your voice down, bitch!” Queenie responded, slapping the girl’s arm before they also turned to keep Emily from hearing their conversation. 

With a sigh, the brunette turned her gaze back to the fire. Curling her arms around herself, she stared into the flickering flames. Fire had always comforted her, its warmth and snapping flames. She could stare at it for hours, trying to make meaning out of the chaos. 

Higher, she commanded in her mind, watching a single flame sputter higher before returning to its place. When she was small, she’d amuse herself for hours with the instances of coincidence, commanding waves to rise or wind to howl and pretending she had any control over it. 

It was the silence Emily noticed first. It pulled her from her mulling like ice water poured over her head. Slowly she turned to find Michael standing behind her. He watched her eyes dilate at his sudden presence before returning back to normal, allowing him to watch the colors of her hazel eyes switch ever slightly. The girl practically vibrated with anxiety.

“Cordelia says you are a catalyst.”

“Try a charger hit with lightning,” Emily noted with a scoff. Michael’s head turned slightly to the side, analyzing her response. The gusto behind her words quickly faded, hand moving to fret with her bracelet. “Or… at least, I’ve been told.”

Holding out a hand, he watched it as she regarded it. Eyes once wide in doe-like fear narrowed into calculating pinpricks. Blue eyes stared at her, judging which piece in the puzzle she was. She didn’t look him in the eyes for very long. 

“Shall we?” Michael asked.

Hesitantly, her hand rose from her side and her eyes flickered to his face. She was searching for something. Neither of them knew what, but whatever she saw was satisfactory enough for her to place her hand in his own.

Emily had never been one for physical contact. Her high-school years had been spent perfecting the art of walking down a crowded hall without brushing a single arm. Michael’s hand was warm, somewhere between natural and unnatural. It was as if the boy had a fever. 

Her hand, in contrast, was unnaturally cold. Her fingers were like ice against his flesh and twitched slightly at the contact. 

“Tell me what I need to do.”

“Just focus on my words,” He told her, true meaning lingering in the air.

And don’t mess up.

*** 

Emily’s nose itched and her head buzzed, but she did her best to ignore it. It was as if there were a hundred bees in her body, all batting their wings at once. She had yet to get used to the infrequent thrumming of her bones.

The silence was oppressive, sounds of breathing and footsteps more akin to howling wing and roaring thunder. Cordelia knelt beside them, muttering spells as she slowly wound a ribbon to connect Emily’s hands with Michael’s. 

When she looked up to the warlocks, they were whispering one another. As before, they shielded their faces from view, glancing back at Cordelia every few seconds. 

Emily found herself speaking before she could think, the monotonous silence far too overwhelming, “So which underworld do you have to conquer?”

Michael’s voice was somewhere between bored and annoyed. 

“Does it really matter?”

“I mean… different religions have different tales — Greek, Christian, Egyptian — it changes based upon the culture.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that, dear,” Myrtle spoke with a small chuckle. She did not even try to mask her contempt of the boy. “it’s all semantics.”

“Until you have to have Anubis weigh your heart,” Emily muttered to herself. A smile flickered to Michael’s face and left just as quickly.

The boy-wonder laid on the floor, his head in Emily’s lap. Her hands were placed on his chest where his arms crossed like he was buried in a casket. His golden hair tickled her arm. She could feel his eyes on her, but she refused to look at him. 

What did Cordelia expect her to do? Even if she was a catalyst, she couldn’t control that power. Emily’s hands felt clammy in boy-wonder’s. Suddenly the ribbon felt itchy and his hands too warm.

Apparently, the binding was supposed to channel her magic into his own. Emily just thought it made her look stupid. Cordelia gave her a reassuring smile as she finished tying off the brunette’s right hand. Touching the girl’s cheek, the Supreme pretended Emily’s jaw wasn’t tense beneath her fingers.

The coven gathered, standing around the pair. They were like giants, looming over them. Emily was less than pleased about having someone at her back. Michael felt her fingers twitch against his own.

“Ready?” Michael asked the girl, forcing her to finally meet her gaze. Emily nodded and his eyes looked past her and towards the ceiling.

“Repeat after me,” He told her, “and focus on the words.”

“Got it,” Emily said, voice barely louder than a whisper. 

“Deduce me in tenebris vita ad extremum,” He began to chant, “ut salutaret inferi.”

“Dedice me in tenebris,” she repeated, doing her best to put weight behind every word, “vita ad extremum…”

“Decensum.” They spoke in unison. 

Myrtle stood by Cordelia, a hand on the woman’s shoulder as the blonde fretted at her necklace. Emily would alright, she reasoned. The transfer of power did not mean she would be lost to the underworld forever. 

The rest of the witches looked towards their fellow sisters. Eyes shifted between their companions and the girl on the floor, gaging their reaction to what was occurring before them.

“Deduce me in tenebris vita ad extremum,” Emily continued to mutter, Michael’s voice already falling silent as he descended. Her brows were furrowed in concentration, hands squeezing the boy’s. “ut salutaret—”

Her breath left her like a sigh. With a dull thump, Emily fell limp to the floor. Her body curled around Michael’s head; hands still outstretched towards his. The rope that bound them together burned until it was ash. Their hands were still connected, holding onto each other as if their lives depended upon it. 

Zoe lurched forward instinctively, a spell already on her lips. Cordelia’s hand shot out, her arm keeping the other woman from taking another step. 

“No,” she said, voice betraying her concern, “we must not interfere.”

“She’s not ready for this!” Madison said, rounding the group so Cordelia was forced to look her in the eye. The ex-movie star gestured towards the sleeping girl. “She can’t even make a flower change colors and you expect her to find her way out of hell?”

Cordelia was less than impressed with her student’s reaction.

“You underestimate her power.”

“And what would that be?” Ariel demanded, voice raised and hands clenched to fists at his sides. The Supreme could feel his eyes boring into the side of her face. 

Slowly, Cordelia turned to regard him.

“Emily’s power is entangled between this dimensions and the next,” she said, trying to convey her urgency with every word. It was getting hard to keep her anger from overflowing. “A rare gift. There is no one more suited to this task than her.”

Brown eyes flickered to the slumbering girl, her body lacking its previous tensions. It was the calmest Cordelia had ever seen her. A small, proud smile claiming her lips.

“When she is finally able to pull that power into the waking world,” Cordelia noted, eyes boring into Ariel’s like a knife, “she will be a force to be reckoned with.”

[damien-ward]

Libera Me Arc Synposis

Two years ago I started an arc, or short story, for Dardillien called Libera Me that was supposed to happen around October because of Halloween and spooky time. However due to IRL stuff I sort of lot interest in stuff and unfortunately that included writing for WoW. It has been too long for me to pick back up writing the story, however I have decided to write a short synopsis for it as I do consider the story canon. Here is some mood music / a general theme for the whole arc while you read:

Part One - A New Opportunity

Can be read here

Synopsis: Dardillien gets a letter asking to meet with a man named Lucius Cross in regards to potentially hiring him as an investigator.

Part Two - New Case: Lucius Cross

Can be read here

Synopsis: Dardillien follows up with the letter and goes to meet with Lucius Cross, the man is suspicious and mysterious, at first Dardillien is skeptical of agreeing to accept his job over. However, Lucius explains everything, how he is seeking information for his research that can be gleaned from a journal, but said journal was stolen by his old associate before he could read it. His associate was not a good man, a low-life mercenary, but was cheap which is why he hired him. Lucius wants Dardillien to get the journal back by any means necessary, find the location of the Vrykul village in the journal and go there to find the artifact he seeks, afterwards returning it to him.

After Lucius explains Dardillien eventually accepts the job and decides to get to work.

Part Three - Investigation Russell Blythe

Can be read here

Synopsis: Dardillien, along with his shadow familiar, go to the SI:7 headquarters to in hopes of finding info on Lucius’s old associate, Russell Blythe. Along the way he comes across a Kaldorei woman frantically talking a guard in Darnassian as he tries to walk her somewhere to get help. Once at the HQ he heads to his father’s office and breaks in while his shadow familiar stays as a lookout. Since Russell was a bad man Dardillien assumes he might have a criminal record which has info on him that the SI:7 would keep. He is correct. Only he finds out that Russell was not just a low-life mercenary, he was in fact a deranged serial killer.

Dardillien then discovers that he has been dead for over a year. He surmises that can’t be right given that Lucius made it sound as if the events with Russell were relatively recent.. After talking to himself, and his shadow familiar, Dardillien formulates that Lucius knew Russell was a serial killer and helped fake his death in Booty Bay so that no one would be after him anymore. Afterwards the two began working together, until Russell decided to betray Lucius and take the journal and go into hiding. As to where? His old farm home in Duskwood. With everyone believing him dead, and the undead and mindless worgen, no one would suspect anyone disappearing and being killed would be the work of a serial killer, and Lucius never knew that is where Russell was from. After deducing as much, Dardillien decides to test his theory by seeing if Russell is in fact hiding out at his old home in Duskwood.

Part Four - The Truth About Russell Blythe

Synopsis: Several days after finding Russell Blythe’s file in his father’s office Dardillien heads to Duskwood to find the Blythe farmstead. He stops in Darkshire to ask those still residing there to point him the right direction and after changing to his Worgen form he head off and eventually finds himself at the Blythe farm. It looks abandoned but as he makes his way across the land he encounters several traps that were clearly designed to kill anyone who tripped them.

Once he reaches the house the smell of blood begins to permeate the air from within, so carefully he sneaks inside concealed by his Shadow Familiar’s shadow magic. Following the scent of blood brings him upstairs to a large room where he finds a completely psychotic man holding knife, Russell Blythe, and torturing a Draenei in front of a Night Elf before gleefully killing the Draenei. Dardillien jumps into the action and stops Russell Blythe before he can harm the Night Elf, breaking his arm.

He then asks where the journals before stepping over to the window and smashing his head through it and threatening to drop him to his death if he didn’t reveal where the journals were. Blythe of which looks to a safe in the room but refuses to open it saying he cannot because it is magically sealed.

*Cue disembodied voice from behind Dardillien* Where he says that the man is telling the truth he can’t open the safe. Confused turns to look for the source of the voice only to see in the back corner of the room is a desk with a floating green eyeball of what looks like fel magic and a walkie talkie. 

Plot Twist! The voice reveals that he is the real Russell Blythe and that he knew it was only a matter of time before Lucius sent a lapdog to do his dirty work.  

Dardillien demands that Russell remove the magic seal and give him the combination to the safe or else he will kill the fake Russell Blythe, to which the real one tells him to go ahead and says that he had grown tired of his fake’s psychotic behavior and rashness. Russell Blythe then agrees to give Dardillien what he wants as he wants him to know the truth, he has grown tired of keeping this secret to himself.

The magic seal disappears and Russell gives Dardillien the combination before bidding him farewell, saying that for Dardillien’s sake hopefully they don’t cross paths again, with that the magical eye also dissipates. He then throws the fake Blythe through the window to fall to his death before opening the safe. Dardillien gathers the journal and then returns to the Kaldorei to help him, he unties him and gives him a potion to heal his wounds. Helping him walk the two of them leave the farmstead and head to safety.

Part Five - The Truth About Lucius Cross

Synopsis: A few days later Dardillien goes through the journal as Lucius instructed to go find the Vrykul village...Not only does he find the location of the village in it but also what looks to be pictures of the Vrykul shields that Lucius wanted him to retrieve as well as several notes. Russell Blythe had already gone to the village and gotten what Lucius wanted. 

The pictures and notes in the journal reveal what looks to be a story about a Vrykul that was killed and afflicted with a curse that requires them to consume the blood of the living, similar to that of the San’layn (like the one we see in Stormheim). Russell Blythe’s notes then suggest that he believes Lucius is looking to learn more about the curse, which he is afflicted with, so that he can spread it to others.

This revelation shocks Dardillien, but he is unsure if he can trust the words of Russell Blythe who he think is clearly demented, so he decides to contact Lucius and writes a letter to him saying he has completed the job. Lucius writes back overjoyed at the news and asks that Dardillien come to his manor in Elywnn Forest, giving him the location of where to find it, and when to come.

Dardillien agrees to the set time but with no intention of showing up at that time. He wants to arrive early as part of him doesn’t trust Lucius after everything that has unfolded, he wants to catch Lucius off guard in case he is planning a trap.

Arriving at the manor he sneaks in, the whole house is is silent until he hears what sounds like a muffled scream of pain. Following the sound Dardillien enters a room quietly to find himself in a giant study at the top of a set of stairs leading down into the main part of the room. As he approaches the stairs he sees what looks like a man embracing someone as they slide to the floor, the one embraced going limp.

Hearing Dardillien come in the man quickly turns around revealing it is Lucius. Blood dripping out of his mouth, his eyes a fiery red, skin pale as snow. Dardillien is shocked as he didn’t want to believe Russell Blythe and his theory that Lucius was a vampyr. 

Lucius is more surprised and panicked than angry to see Dardillien and asks why he is there, after Dardillien explains everything that Russell said and what was in the journal he begins to get angry, finding it insulting that Dardillien would listen to the words of a madman.

Dardillien draws his pistol and threatens to kill Lucius, thinking he is nothing more than monster no better than Russell Blythe. However, Lucius pleads that he be allowed to explain and tell the truth about what he is and why he needed the journal and information from the Vrykul village. He then asks if Dardillien has ever been in love and knows what it feels like to be willing to do anything for someone... Lucius then slowly moves toward his bookshelf where he pulls out one of the books revealing a secret room behind the bookshelf.

He gestures into the room, inside is what looks like a giant ice sculpture, but as Dardillien cautiously approaches with his gun still drawn he notices it isn’t a sculpture but instead a giant block of ice with a woman frozen inside. Lucius then explains that the woman is his wife who is also afflicted with the same curse, however she had him freeze her in ice because of her growing desire for blood and her not wanting to harm anyone as it goes against everything she stood for, she did not want to be unfrozen until he found a cure or way to break the curse. 

Lucius explains how he and his wife came to be afflicted with their curse and that the information he wanted from the Vrykul village was about the origin of the blood curse. He thought that knowing its origin would potentially help him find a cure, that has been his goal the whole time, to save his wife.

Eventually Dardillien believes Lucius, seeing him as a victim of circumstance and a person who is only doing what all he can to save the one he loves, something the Gilnean can understand and relate to. Dardillien then gives Lucius the journal and the two come to an agreement, Dardillien will not take action against Lucius and will even help him with his research as long as he keeps his condition under control and only hunts down “bad” people and not feed on innocents.  With their agreement set Dardillien leaves Lucius to look over the journal and continue this research.

Epilogue

Can be read here

That isn’t an epilogue exactly, it is just a quick short story that reflects Dardillien and Lucius’ relationship after the events of this arc. Dardillien helps him every now and then, bringing him supplies, names of people he can go hunt and feed, etc.