#that gets dashed almost the instant it is hiding alone somewhere

[athena-is-a-chaotic-lil-shit]

Let the Stars Witness

Okay okay holy— omg I did it! My first request and from an admired writer of mine no less!

From @kim-monsterlings : Hi and welcome!! Really looking forward to seeing your work! ~ If you would, could I request some form of friends to lovers with an orc? (Prompts maybe like, "you deserve better.") Thank you! <3

Since it wasn't specified on what their genders are, I hope your okay with what I went with! And I kinda trailed off from the prompt (or rather it's different but similar)

Anyways you'll know when you read!

•

Pairing: Male Orc (Duruk) x Human Fem!Reader

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: None.

•

"You know, I never thought I would be friends with anyone here, especially with someone other than my, well, species," you tell your companion, your eyes not leaving the cloudless night sky as you lied on your back on the roof of his house. The stars were out tonight.

If you told your younger self that you'd be having great escapades (if running away and getting into a series of trouble fall under that) with an orc, you would most definitely cry your eyes out because you thought were being teased, taking it as a hurtful comment. You were sensitive like that. Part of the reason why no one would even go near you, afraid they might hurt you with a pat on the shoulder or with one word alone. You became the prime target of bullies, finding twisted amusement at your pathetic reactions. A crybaby, they called you. But it wasn't your fault you didn't have much control over your emotions. You were weird, asocial, timid, maybe even depressed. Having a neglectful family didn't help either, it just worsened.

•

The morning you met Duruk was after the orientation. And it was not so good for a first impression.

Long story short, you cried.

But since you're perhaps curious as to what happened exactly, let's elaborate.

You had your headphones on, the melodic sound of gentle rain played in a 3-hour loop and blocked out other noises, your eyes glued to the path you were on. You took long and hurried steps, wishing you could teleport to your classroom and hide in the back, disappear or become invisible.

You were distracted, or should we say, focused on the ground and expecting everyone to step aside and let you through.

Well, except for the one who had his back on you.

You crashed—not an exaggeration— into something- someone massive. You stumbled back and landed on your bum, wincing from the impact. Luckily, your headphones were safe (ah yes, priorities), detaching from your ears and landing on your shoulders. When you looked up to see who it was, you thought your eyes were gonna fall off, grow little legs, and scamper away.

Before you stood an orc, halfway turned to glance at whoever it was that tried to push him, his sharp tusks jutting out from his maw. His brows were furrowed as he looked down on you. Sure, he wasn't as tall as the orcs you've seen around the city and campus but still was over 6 feet, with muscles thicker than your thighs, easily hulking you.

You tried to get out an apology and run as far as you could go, but you just sat there, frozen as you strained your neck to meet his gaze, you couldn't look away. Your heart was trying to claw its way out into the surface.

Then you felt the tears swell up.

They cascaded down your face before you even could stop them.

The orc's eyes widened at your reaction and crouched down to your level in an instant that he almost fell over. His hands hovered, not sure what to do.

"Hey, hey, please don't cry. Please don't—"

"I-I-I'm re..really s-sorry p-please don't hurt m-me..." You managed to choke out pathetically, hiccuping in every word.

"Shhh now hey, it's okay. It was an accident— what? No! Why would I do that?" he replied. The orc peeked over his shoulder and to the sides. "Let's get you to somewhere, uh, less crowded," he added. You turned your head and saw that you had an audience, whispers went around as they sent pitiful and disgusted glances in your direction, only making you cry even more.

He proceeded to unceremoniously lift you into his arms, bridal style, and dashed away. You gripped the front of his shirt and shut your eyes. You were trembling now, scared of what he might do to you. How could you even fight back with your small stature?

It wasn't long until you felt him slow down and placed you carefully on a bench. The orc knelt in front of you, brows scrunched up as he studied your face.

"You okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

You didn't reply, only staring at him through your glassy eyes as you heaved.

You flinched when his hand started rubbing your back, his other hand placed on the side of the bench to balance himself.

He continued to caress your back and murmured soothing words in hopes of calming you down.

Your tears didn't stop falling until moments later when you came down from your initial fear, the warmth of his palm leaving your back once you did. All the while the orc remained where he was, at a loss of what to do next.

You rubbed your sticky face with the collar of your pale and blotchy crimson sweater, sniffing and taking slow, deep breaths before you spoke.

"I... I'm sorry for causing you trouble. E-Even going as far as to take me somewhere quiet. I...appreciate that." You thought you'd pass out with the way people gathered around you, it was suffocating. "Thank you..."

"I panicked," he started, "Sorry—I mean, it's okay, you didn't do anything wrong. I get that a lot of people run away from the sight of me, but you didn't, and just froze there on the ground so..." he shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck.

You shook your head. He was such an imposing figure to many, their first thought was most likely to get away or scream at him.

"You looked angry... When I bumped into you." You slammed into him actually, but he didn't budge an inch. Guess it was one-sided.

"Oh, that? Well, my brother scolds me a lot for having such a grumpy face, scaring humans away. Like he was the one to talk when he's taller and bigger than me! People would faint on the spot when they see him, I bet!"

The image your mind conjured up tore a laugh out of your body, two orcs arguing about how not to terrify people at sight was damn hilarious. When was the last time someone made you laugh like this?

The orc grinned, your reaction a contrast to that of earlier.

You opened your mouth to say something but the ringing of the great bell resounded, cutting you off. The two of you stood up as you realized you were late for your first class of the school year.

"So, uh, what now?" you asked.

"How about we go to our class, then maybe meet up later? Oh, fu— my mother will gut me— I haven't introduced myself!" He blurted out, his voice making you yelp with the sudden outburst.

Clearing his throat, he reached out, "I'm Duruk."

In turn, you gave him your name, taking his hand and smiled. "Hello, Duruk."

•

True to his word, you met again later when lunch came. The cafeteria was packed so you settled on getting the convenience food they offered and eat somewhere quiet.

Your conversation that day spiraled when you found out the two of you had a lot in common. From your favorite rock band to your favorite flavor of ice cream.

You both strongly agreed that vanilla ice cream was superior.

You agreed to meet up during breaks, always having something to chat about.

Eventually, you became inseparable.

He even changed and transferred to your class just so the two of you could be together at the start of the day rather than walk half of the campus to see each other every time.

You became best friends, sharing each moment in school, may it be helping the other stay awake in a boring class, or copying homework when one of you forgot to do it. Soon enough, Duruk started inviting you to his house to hang out. He did mention he had four other siblings, but he lived alone. You came by almost every night and on whole weekends to escape from home, only a few miles in between. No one would notice you gone anyways, but you returned around midnight, not wanting to impose on Duruk no matter what he says, so he walks you back instead.

You basked in each other's company. The odd and scrutinizing glares didn't go unnoticed when you two were together, but you shrugged them all off.

It didn't take long before you started having feelings for the orc, a little wishful thinking that you could be more than friends. You noted lately that his touches would linger seconds longer than usual, hugs and even a hand on your shoulder and back seem to be warmer and —you dare say— affectionate. It weighed heavily on your heart, your simple crush turned into something else, and it only grew with each passing day, and every laugh you shared.

But of course, you swatted those away, buried them deep inside every damn time they climb back up. Who could even love you? Yes, you have Duruk, he likes you, you think. But that's the end of it. Just close buddies. You can't take the risk of ruining your friendship with him and make things awkward with the only one you had! What if he stops talking to you, weirded out by your confession? You don't want to go back to being alone again, your heart can't take the rejection that came with it.

So you endured.

•

A little over five months ever since the embarrassing accident, here you are now, stargazing with your best friend.

"Well, good thing you didn't watch where you were going that time then," he says, chuckling beside you. His hands cushioned his head against the hard surface. "I wouldn't have..." he trails off.

"Hm, what?" you ask. Duruk went silent and didn't answer you for a time. You were about to let it slide but then he breathes in audibly.

"I wouldn't have met an angel if you did. Should've caught you in my arms, but sadly I didn't move fast enough." He replies, his voice deep and mellow.

You straighten up and turn to face him, your brows shot up, incredulous to what he just implied.

"W-Wait. What?" you squeak, your heart thumping hard in your chest, your skin warming up even in the chilled night air.

Is he—

"You're so cute, y'know that? Fuck it, it's all or nothing," he whispers under his breath as he sits up to face you. His expression was unreadable, but you see in his mahogany eyes a familiar glint of determination. "I'm not good with long-ass speeches so I'll make this short," he breathes in before he continues, "I feel something for you, for a while now, more than a best friend does, like...in a romantic sense. I want to cherish you and hold you in my arms every time I see you, I- ah fuck- damn it I just—" he growls, "I love you, so much and if you don't love me back then please re—"

You shut him off with your lips against his, Duruk's tusks pressing against your cheeks as you held his face in your hands. He was stunned for two solid seconds before returning the kiss, his arms snaking around your waist and pulling you close and into his lap.

You feel something wet roll down your hand and you immediately jerked back to see his face. The orc was crying.

Did you do it wrong? Were you so terrible at it—

"I don't deserve you... A monster like me doesn't deserve an angel like you."

Where was this coming from??

"Say that again, I dare you."

"I don't de—"

This idiot!

You pecked his lips to cut him off.

"You big dummy," you begin, "I love you too, idiot. You may be a monster but not what everyone else defines you as. I love you as you are. You're my best friend, and dare I say my l-lover now. Is that right...?"

Duruk gives you a small, gentle smile, "If you'll have me, then yes, for as long as you want me to be." He says, sniffling a sob as a couple more tears tumbled down his rugged face.

You never thought you'd see him like this. He was the one who kept making you laugh with his stories and terrible jokes. Before you, in your hands was someone vulnerable, his eyes soft and fond as he gazed into yours.

It made your heart pound and it hurt.

You leaned in and he met you halfway, kissing once again, deeper and more intimate this time. Real. You brought your arms around his neck, your tears spilling out and he tightened his grip around you. It felt like a dream, too good to be true, but the way he hugged you like you were the only thing that anchored him in this world made you believe it wasn't. All of this was real and you couldn't be anymore happier.

From above, the glittering stars, the light gentle as they shone, bear witness to two freed hearts, bottled up feelings gushing out like a broken dam as you embraced one another and lost yourselves in the moment of bliss, cheeks stained and clothes lightly damp from the tiny rivulets of liquid that dropped down.

It's a lovely night, isn't it?

[hk-plus-you]

I suddenly remembered there’s that one dead husk (leaking void) that’s holding the Love Key when dreamnailed might be referring to the Collector and implying a relationship between them. What if void itself is also infectious? Maybe an angst scenario where Reader suddenly understands THK without having to communicate via sign and is happy about it but doesn’t realize she’s infected with the void and THK is despairing and tries to push her away? Ignore if it doesn’t make sense 🤦‍♀️

I uh... suck at endings so I hope it’s okay.

You had been with them for a while now, sharing a house in Dirtmouth and spending most of your time close with them. Relationships were still new to them, and they were still very much getting used to not having to hide their feelings or thoughts. Oftentimes they were still too afraid to talk about how they felt about something. That was okay though, you were patient with them, always reassuring them if you noticed something was off and took things slowly to give them plenty of time to adjust. They were your sweet darling knight and you’d do nearly anything to make sure they were happy and comfortable. You often reminisce about your old family, giving examples of your parents and siblings to try and explain something. You also learned decently quickly that Hollow's own family was a tricky subject. They were never able to get close to their mother and their relationship with their father was a complicated knot of emotions you wouldn't try to force them to untie all at once for you. Then their siblings were… somewhere else, a place they were incredibly hesitant to talk about. Hollow's signs were always shaky, often stopping and starting suddenly, movement smaller and much softer than usual when they were brought up. You just let the topic go their siblings all together, never really asking about them. When they approached you, asking if you could come while they visited the place of their birth to see their siblings again you knew it would be something messy. You would never have been able to imagine a place like The Abyss. Not in a thousand years in your worst nightmares would you have imagined someone having to be born in a place like this. You knew somewhat of the void, not quite by the right name, but you knew of the dark substance that seemed to only take form to hurt and kill things that weren’t also made of it. It was something that was inside Hollow, something they’d never be able to get rid of. Seeing the Abyss, seeing the piles of masks from what must be hundreds of thousands of children that practically made the walls and floor, having the bug you loved pointing at creatures practically made of shadow that attacked you two and them signing ‘sibling’? You did all you could to not gape at them in horror at what they had to endure. You came back out feeling cold and on the verge of tears. It was weird, you were more upset about it than they were. And with that came guilt. They tried to comfort you as you stood outside the entrance trying not to shake. Shouldn’t it have been the other way around? The next few days were practically spent recuperating from the visit. You went about your business as usual with them by your side but you just felt… Heavy and tired all the time. They could easily tell something was off, now doting on you at every turn. Making tea and breakfast in the morning to wake you up, helping clean up after dinner, even leaving little notes to try and brighten your day. “I’m really worried about you.” The thought shattered through your head, startling you out from your previous focus on washing a cup. Didn’t come from you, the voice was distant and quiet, spoken like a whisper that echoed in your mind. You looked around for a moment but nothing was amiss. You were just cleaning up after lunch. You would wash the dishes and Hollow would put them away. At your confusion though, they paused, eyes full of concern as they watched you. “What happened?” that same voice whispered. “Is something wrong?” Hollow signed. “I… I’m not sure. I don't know how to explain…” They leaned close, bumping their head against yours. “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have taken you to the abyss. You’ve been acting odd since then. I shouldn’t ha-” “Is that you?” You jumped back slightly, voice louder and higher pitched than you intended. They tilted their head, “Is what me?” “The-the voice! I can hear someone in my head. It… Do you feel guilty for taking me to see where you were born?” Their eyes were wide in an instant, “Can you hear my thoughts?” “I think so? Who or what else would it be?” They shook their head vigorously at that, stepping backward as they did so, “Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad!” They broke out in a run through the house and out the door. “Wait!” You tried to chase them, following them down out the door and through Dirtmouth. You barely saw the tip of their horns disappearing down the well as you passed the stage station. When you made your way down the chain they were just gone. There was no trail to follow, no way to find them again. You searched for them for several days. Was this so awful? Did you really lose them forever? The house felt empty without them there anymore. It had been the largest house in Dirtmouth, you even worked to modify it and raise the ceiling even higher so their horns wouldn’t graze it. The bed was huge to accommodate them. Each room built for larger bugs that just took up more space. Now the rooms felt empty, most of the furniture so big, something you had found almost adorable in how it made you feel small, now was intimidating and cold. You had to go back to your old house, even then it still felt lonely and miserable. Sly’s prying wasn’t helping, and Elderbug’s attempts to comfort you felt anything but helpful. Worst of all, no matter how hard you tried, how much you wanted to, you couldn’t cry. Not a single little tear, no matter how much you needed that release. You ventured down the well again. Part of you still trying to find them, the other part just wanting to get lost. You made it into the city of tears, the rain cold against your shell. The guards were long gone and dead, many of their bodies impaled against the spikes that were on every roof. Others simply fell over, weapons held in vice grip in cold hands. All of its inhabitants were dead, and with them, so was the city. Well… All of them except for one relic seeker. The little shop was surprisingly warm for being in the city. Each shelf stuffed with trinkets and artifacts you had never seen, thick stacks of papers were piled in boxes behind the counter. What really caught your attention was the large window that made the entire far wall. It had a beautiful view of the city’s heart. There was a statue of Hollow in the center, surrounded by three cloaked figures. In front of it stood Hollow, staring at the stone version of themself. You left the shop immediately, making a mad dash for that statue. The words ‘please don’t leave’ repeated through your head like a mantra. They turned to you before you even reached them. They were soaked through, leaning on their old nail for support. Their head hung low as they watch you approach. “Please-I-Why did you-” Your words jumbled together, thoughts coming out in an impossible to understand slurry. “Please…” They stared at you, signing nothing as you looked up at them. “What did I do? Please just talk to me! What happened?” You looked down, tears finally welling in your eyes. “You’re sick. Sick because of me,” their voice rang in your head again. “What?” “The void. It infects everything it touches. It’s in you now. You shouldn’t be able to hear me. You shouldn’t be able to hear this. It could get worse because of me,” They shifted, their mask coming into view as they kneel before you. “So? Isn’t that a good thing? We don't have to worry about things being lost in translation anymore.” They let out a small huff. “But it’ll get worse. It always starts with hearing the void it gets so much worse.” “How do you know it’ll get worse?” “People in the abyss always got sick. No longer able to resist the call they turned the light off. The void would get stronger and consume their mind.” “But we aren’t in the abyss!” You threw your arms out in frustration. Tears falling fast with the rain. “I only got ‘sick’ when we went there. I’ve been living with you for several years and nothing happened. If I just stay away from there it won’t get worse.” “But what if it does?” They looked away from you, back at the ground. “But what if it doesn’t?” “We don’t know if it won’t. I couldn’t do that to you.” You put your head at the side of their mask, lightly pulling their gaze back, “I’ve been miserable with you gone. Please, don’t leave me alone.” You pressed your head against theirs. Eyes closed as you sobbed, “I’ve missed you so much,” Their nail clattered to the ground as they wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close to their chest. “I’ve missed you too.”

[thebookwormfairy]

Captain The Retired Police Dog Part 6 (Final)

BookwormFairy: Sorry for taking so long, but I'm here with the final part of Captain the Retired Police Dog. I just wanted to thank everyone who've read, like, reblogged, commented, and wrote their own stuff with Captain. When I first started this I had no idea how big ot would get. I will be doing more stuff with Captain, but this is the end of this story. Thank y'all so much for accepting both me and Captain into the fandom.

-------------------------

The rest of the trip was like a dream for Marinette

Every chance they got Marinette and Damian would spend time with eachother

And after Ace met Captain she would come along on all of their outings as well

Damian would take Marinette every where in Gotham

From the fashion district to the zoo Damian made sure Marinette didn't miss out on anything

They couldn't explain it, but something just clicked with them

It was like they were meant to be

Damian even met Marinette's parents

Kinda

He video chatted with them and was actually invited over during the summer

Which he whole heartedly accepted but warned the bakers that his family might "unexpectedly" show up with him.

Only to be told that they would be more then happy to meet them as well

Basically Damian took up all of Marinette's free time

Though sometimes, much to Damian's annoyance, the other batboys would come and "kidnap" Marinette and Captain and take them back to the manor.

Marinette didn't mind it so much, except when they didn't even wait for her to get back to the hotel

When the class was done touring Luxcorp, Jason rode up on his motorcycle and took Marinette and Captain

Jason picking up Marinette and grabbing Captain's leash: Hey French people I'm taking her and her dog. Bye

Ms. Bustier: Are you okay with that Marinette?

Marinette: Yeah I know him

Ms. Bustier: Okay have fun

Jason was less then impressed with the teacher's response but took the duo anyway

Another time Tim hacked into the schedule and change the bus route to drop Marinette off at Wayne Tower

Then Dick feeling left out did the responsible (and legal) way and called Marinette's parents to get their permission to take Marinette back to the manor.

Damian was not impressed with his brothers

Neither was Bruce

On the outside at least

On the inside he was so happy to see Marinette and Captain again

Captain wasn't sure how to respond to these strange new people in his and his girl's lives

After a couple of days they did grow on him

But he still didn't let Jason pet him

Mostly because Captain found the older boy's attempts hilarious

And his girl seemed to blossom in this new pack

Captain could see that the spark that he brought back into his girl's eye turn into a whole galaxy

She was almost always smiling and laughing now

To top it all off Alix and Kim finally pulled up their big kid briches and tried to reconnect with Marinette

At first Marinette was very weary of them

And Captain out right growled at them

But slowly they were able to earn Marinette's trust back

Not enough to be able to come on Marinette's adventures with her, but enough so that Marinette would seek them out when stuck with the class

And they would seek her out

Not even Lila could bring her down

And she tried

On this trip alone Lila has stolen several of Marinette's projects, tried to get her sent home with no success, has tried to get Captain detained, and has even tried to lock Marinette in several closets throughout the city, but Marinette somehow always got out.

All in all Lila was harmless

Until the last night of the trip when Lila went too far

Damian had tagged along with the class on their finally outing in Gotham

They went to a teens club somewhere near crime alley

Which is why Damian was with them

They made sure to leave the dogs with Alfred so he could take them back to the manor.

The night was going great

Marinette spent the night dancing with Damian, Alix, and Kim

But mostly Damian

Everything was perfect

So of course Lila had to open her big fat mouth

Lila: Oh yeah I've helped super heroes all over the world. I've even helped Batman put away a few rogues.

Villian kid (Edwin) near by: Oh really who?

Lila: You know all the big guys the Riddler, the Penguin, Two-Face,

Edwin: Hm, the Riddler.....

Lila: Yeah he's not so tough.

Lila continue to bad mouth the Riddler as Edwin called his dad to tell him all about this little, french goody goody who helped but him in Jail.

Riddler over the phone: What an interesting development, I wonder if she would like to play a game? *evil laugh*

Marinette slow dancing with Damian: This has been a great night

Damian: I have to agree with you there Angel. *Damian nuzzles Marinette's hair* I don't know what I'm going to do when you leave.

Marinette: I don't either, but I know I never want this to end.

Damian: Even with my annoying brothers

Marinette: Partially because of your annoying brothers. You know I'm an only child, but I always wished I had siblings, so they're like the brothers I never had.

Damian chuckling: don't let them hear you say that. You'll never get rid of them.

Marinette: Who said I would want to. Especially with how close Captain, Ace, and Titus has become. We'll have to fly out to eachother just so they can see eachother again.

Damian smirking: oh most definitely we be terrible pet owners if we didn't

Marinette catching on: You are so right. You'll be coming to Paris during the summer so I guess I'll be coming back to Gotham during the winter.

Damian pulling Marinette closer even though it didn't seem possible: That's not soon enough.

Alix: Hey love birds you do realize that the slow song ended 2 songs ago right?

Damian glared at the pink hair girl as Marinette backed up slightly blushing

Kim: I don't think they did Alix. How cute?

Damian: Yeah yeah let's go get something to drink.

As the small group made their way towards the bar

But before they could reach it chaos erupted in the club

Teenagers were running towards the exit trying to get away from something the group couldn't see

Somehow in the made dash out Marinette was separated from Alix, Kim, and Damian as they got pushed out of the club, but Marinette was pushed further in the club and gets corralled by a group of minions dressed in green

She scanned around the group of teens that were left seeing that all her classmates made it out except for Lila who was standing in the front of the group, but was trying to get behind the frightened teens

Marinette ended up standing next to her facing on of the famous rogues of Gotham the Riddler

Riddler: Hello kitties so sorry to interrupt your night out, but I heard one of you tattletells are the reason I was thrown back in that hellhole we call a prison so I'll give the little pest a chance to step up and we'll play a little game if they win you will all be let go and the pest will die, if they lose, well you all die. Either way that person dies so come on speak up or should I just kill everybody right now.

Lila without a second thought: It was her Marinette!

Marinette: What?!?!

Lila: Yeah it is all her she was the one who was bad mouthing you.

Marinette whispering to Lila: I knew you were mean Lila, but this is just pure evil

Lila smirking at Marinette: Why so shocked Dupen-Cheng? I know you, you wouldn't put innocent lives in danger so there's no way you'll deny it and this way I can get rid of you for good.

Marinette continued to glare at the evil girl as she was pulled up towards the Riddler

Riddler: Well aren't you a little cutie. Is what the loud mouth said true are you to person who helped put me in jail?

Marinette through clenched teeth: Yes

Riddler: Well here's the game goody goody I'm going to tell you a riddle and if you answer correctly we're going to play a game of Russian rullet *Riddler holds up an old revolver* you might get killed, you might not, but if you get on wrong then you get shot with this *Riddler holds up a newer hand gun* instant death. Are you ready?

Marinette trying to hide her fear: Yes

Riddler: Oh what a brave little girl. What is full of holes. But still holds water?

Marinette a little surprised by how easy the riddle was: A spongue

Riddler holding the old gun to Marinette's forehead: Correct

Riddler pulls the trigger as Marinette flinches but only a click is heard

Riddler: Well you live for another riddle. What can you break without picking it up or touching it?

Marinette: A promise

Riddler : Correct again

Riddler repeated the process and got the same result

This process continued for another 10 minutes and both Marinette and the Riddler were starting to get annoyed

Marinette because the riddles were to easy and Riddler because she wasn't dead yet

It should be impossible for her to be still alive

The gun did not have this many rounds

Riddler growling: Okay, Jim and Kate go to the zoo and get eaten by the sea lions but nobody freaks out, why?

Marinette rolling her eyes: Now you just stealing riddles from TheOdd1sout. They're both fish.

As Marinette answers she hears a loud crashing sound

Riddler and his goons look up at the noice and Marinette takes the opportunity to escape

She swiftly pulls Riddler's belt off him causing his pants to fall

She then uses the belt to knock both the guns out of his hands the wrapping the belt around of one of his hands flips over his shoulder grabs his other arm and tie them behind his back using the belt

To add insult to injury she kicks him in the back of his knees bringing him completely down

As Marinette looks up she sees the goons being tied up by Batman and his sidekicks all with shocked looks on their faces

In fact everybody was completely shocked by what Marinette just did

Though unnoticed by her Robin's shocked faced soon turned into a lovesick smile

That's his girl

Batman walking up to Marinette: Good job civilian, we'll take it from here, there are some people waiting outside for you.

Marinette: Thank you Batman

Marinette and the rest of the captured teenagers ran out of the club as soon as possible

They were so busy trying to get away from the trauma they just experienced nobody notice Robin slipping away trying to meet his Angel up front

As Marinette made it out she was bombarded by police officers and camera flashes from reporters

Gordan: Okay boys break it up I'll take this one

Gordon wrapped his arm around the young girl who reminded him of his daughter

Gordon: I know you've been through a lot tonight but can you please tell me what happened?

Marinette nodded her head going over everything that happened including what Lila said to her

Gordon was shocked by what Marinette told him both about how she took down the Riddler and how Lila basically tried to kill her

Gordon: Okay thank you, you go over to your friends while me and my officers gather more information.

Gordon pointed her towards Alix and Kim

As she runs towards her friends she was engulfed in a group hug

Marinette pulling back from the hug: Are you guys okay? You're not hurt are you? Where's Damian? Is he okay?

Kim chuckling: Classic Marinette worrying about others instead of her self

Alix: We're fine Marinette. We got out pretty quickly but we got separated from Damian in the mad rush

Marinette got a worried look on her face as she started twisting around searching for the man she loved

Damian bursting through the crowd: ANGEL!

Marinette running towards Damian: DAMI!

The young lovers ran to eachother embracing eachother in a long hug

Marinette buried her head in his chest letting out a sob as everything caught up with her.

Damian burying his face in her hair: Shh Angel everything's okay now. I'm so sorry I couldn't be there for you. I should have never let go of you

Marinette sniffling into Damian's chest: It's not your fault Damian you had no control of our separation

Damian: I still should have tried harder to stay with you.

The two stayed together refusing to let eachother go afraid that if they did so the other would be lost

They stood there for 30 minutes just hugging eachother as Kim and Alix joined them trying to cheer Marinette up

Gordon walking up to the small group: Several other people collaborated with your story. Ms. Rossi will be takened to the French embassy to be held until your classes flight back to Paris tomorrow we just need to know if you want to press charges?

Damian angry: Of course she'll want to press charges! That girl tried to have her killed!

Marinette softly: I'll handle this Damian. *Marinette turns around to face Comissioner Gordon with Damian's arms still wrapped around her* I would like to press charges Mr. Gordon this has gone on too long, I would also like to look into getting a restraining order on her.

Gordon: of course, we'll make sure that Paris police force understand what happened and your request.

Marinette: Thank you

Ms. Bustier yelling: Okay everybody time to head back to the hotel.

Gordon: Wait one moment Miss but Ms. Rossi is going to be retained at the French embassy for attempted manslaughter of Ms. Dupen-Cheng

Alya: What? Is that what Marinette told you? You shouldn't listen to her she's nothing but a liar.

Gordon: Actually we're doing that not only on Ms. Dupen-Cheng's testimony of events but several other witnesses who heard and saw Ms. Rossi threaten and admit she was trying to get Marinette killed and we also have video from the security cameras showing the same thing. Boys take her away!

Lila most certainly did not go quietly she was yelling all the way to the police cruiser threatening that as soon as she was back in Paris she will be Akumatize and finish the job that Riddler couldn't

Marinette watched terrified as Lila was taken away knowing very well that she would keep her promise if given the chance

Damian tightened his hold on Marinette trying to comfort her: Dont worry Angel I won't let her do anything to you

Marinette pressed herself to Damian trying to get as much comfort from him as possible.

Ms. Bustier grabbing Marinette's arm: Come on Marinette it's time to go.

Marinette looked over at her classmates seeing the murderous glares directed towards her from some of Lila's more dedicated followers

Marinette: I don't want to go back to the hotel Ms. Bustier

Ms. Bustier sighing: Please don't be difficult Marinette. You've already caused enough trouble tonight just get on the bus before you ruin the night for everybody else

Damian: EXCUSE ME! ARE YOU-

Marinette: I'VE CAUSED ENOUGH PROBLEMS?!?!? ALL I'VE BEEN TRYING TO DO IS NOT CAUSE PROBLEMS!! AND IT'S NEVER ENOUGH! WELL I'M TIRED OF BEING YOUR PERFECT EXAMPLE! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH PRESSURE THAT PUTS ON MY SHOULDERS! IT'S YOUR JOB TO TEACH YOUR STUDENTS TO BE BETTER PEOPLE NOT MINE! AS SOON AS WE'RE BACK IN PARIS I'M DONE! I'M TRANSFERING FROM YOU CLASS HELL I'M GOING TO TRANSFER TO A DIFFERENT SCHOOL IF I CAN BECAUSE I AM SO DONE! I'M DONE WITH THE BULLYING, I'M DONE WITH THE PRESSURE, AND MOST OF ALL I'M DONE WITH YOUR PACIFIST BULLSHIT!

Marinette was huffing from her outburst finally letting everything out after such a long time.

Marinette could her some clapping throughout the crowd but ignored it turning her attention to Damian.

Marinette: Do you mind if I stay at the Manor tonight?

Damian: Of course Marinette let me call Alfred to come get us and I'll escort you to your hotel room so you can gather your stuff

Marinette: Thank you

After a couple of minutes not only did Alfred show up, but so does Tim, Jason, and Dick

All ready to to kick ass and take names of anybody who even dare look at her the wrong way.

When they got to the hotel they surrounded her like a wall blocking her from reporters and classmates

Marinette gathered her stuff as fast as she could thanking herself for being smart and packing ahead of time

Once they got back to the Manor Captain tackled Marinette

Licking and cuddling into her trying to comfort his girl

He couldn't believe he let her be put in so much danger

He should have never let her out of his sight while is such a dangerous city

Captain let out a whimper trying to convey how sorry he was

Marinette: It's okay Captain I'm fine, I'm safe and everything is going to be fine better than before even.

Captain still stayed close to her side

Titus and Ace did also sensing the distress rolling of the girl followed her

As Marinette slipped into the bathroom she was finally able to comfort and thank Tikki for saving her life by using her power to make sure the bullet never got shot

And also promised to slip some cookies to her as soon as she could

After getting a good hug from each of the Wayne's and Marinette grabbing some cookies for Tikki she made her way to her guest room just wanting this night to be over.

When the Batfam was sure Marinette was in for the night they made their way down to the batcave to discuss what happened

Damian: Father if you think I'm going to let Marinette out of my sight after what happened tonight you're crazy

Bruce: Think this through Damian smothering isn't going to make her any safer it's just going to make her resent you.

Jason: I dont like it anymore than you do Demon Spawn but he's right. You can't hover over Marinette her whole life, but we do need to look into what's going on in Paris more.

Dick: You're right Jason, Rossi was saying something about being Akumatized and killing Marinette that can't be good.

Bruce: Your right Dick. So when Damian goes to Paris in a couple of weeks we'll come along and assess the situation and see if we need to step in

Damian: If Marinette gets even a scratch on her I'm going to do more than just step in I'm going to find whoever responsible and dual them to the pain

Tim: Did you just quote Princess Bride

Damian: I watched it with Marinette a couple of days ago

The rest of the batfam: Awwww

Dick, Jason, and Tim giving Brice a weird look

Bruce: Don't judge me

Marinette tried her best to fall asleep that night cuddling up to Captain but she jus couldn't

When the clock showed it was 1am Marinette decided to seek out Damian

Marinette: Captain? *perked up and looked at his girl* Can you please help me find Damian?

Captain jumped off the bed and headed to the door

Before Marinette opened the door she turned towards Tikki

Marinette: Tikki I'm going to go see if I can sleep with Damian do you want to come with or stay here?

Tikki: I'll stay here Marinette. I don't want you stressing about keeping me hidden tonight

Marinette: Okay Tikki good night.

Marinette followed Captain down a couple of doors before they stopped in front of the door

Marinette knocked on the door and after a couple of minutes Damian opened the door looking a little ruffled from sleep

Marinette: Sorry to wake you Damian, but can I please sleep with you tonight

Damian: Of course Angel come on

Damian and Marinette settled into Damian's bed seeming to fit together perfectly as Marinette rested her head on Damian's chest and he wraps his arms around her keeping her close

Captain made himself comfortable next to Titus but also lays across the young couple's legs

The next day Lila was sent on a later flight back the Fance to a town outside of Paris so that she wouldn't be akumatized by Hawkmoth and she can face the consequences of her crimes

Marinette shared a long goodbye with the Wayne's in the airport

They were nice enough to upgrade Marinette's seat to first class and even got Captain a seat so he didn't have to stay in the cargo hold

And as Marinette said her goodbyes to the people who've became her second (or third is you count Jagged, Penny, and Clara) family Captain was saying goodbye to Titus and Ace

Captain: I'm going to miss you guys so much you have become my pack and I wish I could take you with me

Titus: And I wish you could stay, I love you

Titus gave Captain a big lick to the side of his face

Captain: Thanks Titus, I... love you too

Titus: I'm going to cry

Ace giggling: Thanks for that Titus

Ace nuzzling Captain's neck: I love you Captain I wish we can stay together.

Captain nuzzling her back: I wish I could to your my mate and I hate to be away from you for so long, but my girl needs me, but I heard our humans talking and they do plan to visit eachother again so we will be together again. One day permanently I can tell.

As the girl and her dog boarded the plane they may be leaving their loves behind today but it won't be forever

Thanks to this trip Marinette is a stronger person, and Captain learned to be a little softer

As Kim pass he tried to give Captain a pat on the head only for Captain to give him a little growl before he could

Like I said he learned to be a LITTLE softer

Bonus

2 weeks after returning from Paris Marinette recieved a very interesting call from Damian

Damian: Hey Angel weird question but is Captain fixed

Marinette: Oh no, after everything that happened to him it just seemed cruel to do that to him too. Why?

Damian: Because Ace is pregnant Captain is the only one who could be the father

Marinette shocked: What?

Marinette looking at Captain: You little hound dog.

Captain: What?

@felicityroth @northernbluetongue @mystery-5-5 @sidefrienda @tbehartoo @hypnosharkrebeldreamer @sonif50 @t-nikki10 @dawnwave16

[idyllicstarker]

i love your writing!! could you maybe do something with stalker!tony and victim!peter??❤️

Thank you so much, that means the world. 💖

I definitely tried. It turned into a little bit of dark!tony and it was very back and forth from trying to get both Peter’s and Tony’s side of the story in so I struggled a little. I hope you still like it!

I wanted to expand more, but I also knew If i did, it was going to have to be long, and I didn’t think I could write that. So I hoped everyone doesn’t mind I stopped it where I did

Warnings: Implicit references to sexual themes, dark!tony, stalking, kidnapping

Fear wasn’t a far good enough word to describe the way Peter felt. In fact, it barely skimmed the surface. He couldn’t shake the underlying truth - he was in danger.

Paranoia was no longer a plausible explanation. This wasn’t a joke, or a silly prank by someone from school. It had gone too far. He didn’t feel safe within the apartment, not when he thought, no.. he knew someone was watching.

It had started with simple uneasiness. The feeling that he was being followed wherever he walked. But this was New York. Everyone was bustling and rushing around to get to somewhere, no one stopped twice to look at Peter, let alone watch his every move. He thought nothing of it. He had no reason to. So he continued on with his everyday life as if it was nothing.

“May?”

As custom, he called out as he entered the apartment, only to, like every other day, be met with no reply. He liked to joke with himself that one day he’d call out and a low rumbling voice, very much unlike May’s, would call out back. At least it would give him time to bolt back out the door. That was just a giant hell no!

Yet today, he was closer to that joke then he’d ever thought he’d get. No voice called out, but they didn’t need to. Making his way to his room, he threw his key on his desk and set his backpack down before he blinked, his face scrunching up. “Why is it so cold in here?” he muttered, curious eyes flicking to the window before he paused. It was open? Peter never left the window open whilst he was at school. It was hardly ever open at all, and he distinctly remembered he didn’t leave it open last night. He was weighing up the probability of May having opened it when he looked towards the bed.

“What?”, he gasped out quietly.

He wasn’t notorious for being the best bed maker in the world. But he certainly hadn’t left his sheets all bunched up at the end of the bed like that. And was that the outline of where a body had lay? Surely… surely that still can’t be there from where Peter had woke up this morning. Taking a cautious step closer, he realised that something had been left. A note, a small piece of card, and a flower. Raising an eyebrow, he let out a deep breath. A sudden glance back to the window left a sunken feeling in his chest, he moved to slam it shut, leaning back against the wall as he tried to collect his breath. He didn’t even want to look, it couldn’t be true. Someone hadn’t been here, it had to be May. Right?

Swallowing the lump that had formed, he closed his eyes. He was a big boy. He could look at a damn note without getting spooked. He refused to sit on the bed. Instead, licking his lips he stooped down to grab the small white card. But the instant he did, his nose scrunched as he pulled back. There was no denying the stench of aftershave left in the dip in the bed. Some kind of masculine, musky, light aftershave. Peter didn’t know which one, but it smealy expensive if smells could have wealth. Like something a celebrity would wear. But this couldn’t be a celebrity. That would be a total weird reversal of roles. Surely Peter should be the one breaking into their house and leaving notes of.. he looked down to read over the impatient scrawl on the card. But any identification of whatever this was instantly flew from his mind as he gasped.

His cheeks drained of colour, as he stumbled back so sit in his desk chair, the offending message falling to the floor.

‘To my dearest Peter,

You don’t know who I am. But I know everything I need to know about you. You’re beautiful, amazing, and so perfect. I want you. And I won’t stop at anything to get you. Don’t bother asking for help, the authorities can’t do anything. And I will know. And trust me when I say, I’ll take everything you hold dear to your heart if you do.

Your loving,

TS

P.S. The sweater you’re wearing today, the pale blue one, the only blue sweater you own... it’s adorable. I think you should wear the cream one tomorrow one, the knitted one, you’d look so pretty, but then again, you’d look pretty in anything’

~

“He knows where I live, what part aren’t you understanding? He broke into my house. He knew exactly what I wore today. And apparently he knows my wardrobe. He must be watching me.”

“I still think it’s cute.”

At his best friend’s reply, Peter let out an aggravated huff. He didn’t need to look at the screen of the video call to see Ned had rolled his eyes.

“I’m just saying. He even left you a flower”

“HE BROKE INTO MY HOUSE!!”

“For once I agree with him. This isn’t good, it’s dangerous. And.. as much as having a secret admirer seems romantic... this seems borderline psychotic. He’s stalking you”, Mj of course chimed in with a voice of reason. Looking up from her sketchbook for the first time since the call started.

Peter sighed, evidently in distress, as he let out a shaky breath. “Well what do I do? Go to the police?”, he asked.

There was silence from both, which just meant that the answer was yes, no neither really wanted to say it. “Let me see the flower”, Mj eventually spoke, pushing away that idea for a second. They all knew that going to the police made this official. And Peter didn’t want that on his shoulders. The boy had already been shaking, terrified, on the verge of tears when he first phoned them.

He looked over to the bed, sighing as he moved to grab the flower before holding it up at the camera for her to see. She narrowed her eyes, squinting before she tilted her head. “It’s a camellia”, she said.

“That means he’s longing for you.”

They both looked towards Ned, surprised at his sudden words. He gave them a ‘duh’ sort of look.

“You know.. the language of flowers. It’s a white Camellia… that means the giver is longing for the person that they gave it too”

Despite the situation Peter couldn’t help his soft laugh. Even Mj covered her mouth with her hand to hide her amused smirk.

“I didn’t know that Ned. But thank you”, he said, before sighing, and biting down on his lip.

“I don’t get it, why would anyone want to stalk me?”, he huffed, biting down on his lip.

“He told you why Pete”, Ned said, he was delicate to Peter’s emotional state, in no way mean, just stating the truth. “You’re asking the wrong questions. Who is this man? Who’s T? Is what you should be asking.”

Peter watched as Mj nodded from the corner of his eye. “I know you said it’s a man because of the aftershave. But we have no concrete evidence it actually is a guy either. It could be a woman who just masked the smell with aftershave. But you go to the police, and he- they, actually did lie in your bed, I’m sure they’ll be able to get fingerprints or something.”

Peter whimpered, a small quiet sound, playing with his fingertips nervously. “I can’t”, he saw them both open their mouths to object but he held up his hand to silence them. “You saw what he wrote. I can’t risk it. If he hurt you guys, or May.. I don’t know what I’d do”, he muttered softly.

~

Tony looked up from the screen he'd been staring at intensely ever since Peter had returned home. Happy stood in the corner of the room, and Tony nodded his head. “I have to admit, the camera in his room was a good idea. Saves you having to sit outside his house”, he said, smiling at the man.

“I thought you’d enjoy being able to watch the boy, Mr. Stark”, Happy said. When he was dismissed, he left the room, and Tony settled back in his chair, gaze falling over the laptop once again.

He’d watched the whole scene unfold. Obsession? Maybe. He wasn’t guilty. He’d been watching the boy for a while now, or he’d gotten Happy too. He knew his routine better than he knew his own. He thought it was about time he swooped in to take his shot.

The apartment empty, he climbed up onto the fire escape. A simple tool was it took to unlock the window. And he was inside.

The temptation to sink into the bed was too much. He craved to feel the space where Peter’s body lay. To smell the remnants of his scent. The temptation was far too much, and far too great to miss. He didn’t even mind that he was messing up his suit to do it. He buried his nose into the pillow, groaning as he realised.. that’s what the beauty’s shampoo was like. His mind wandered to all the times Peter must have let go of himself in this very spot. Feeling himself hardening in his slacks Tony was so very close to relieving himself then and there. But he didn’t, he had more respect for himself than that. And with the camera he’d fitted, almost perfectly hidden in the room, he may as well wait until he can get a full HD video of the real thing.

Peter would never guess that a camera had been left. And it was fun for Tony to watch him phone his friends as they discuss what he’d done. It was only going to get better and better, and Tony couldn’t wait.

~

The second letter came the very next day much to Peter’s dismay. This time it had slipped underneath the door. Tony not wanting to risk breaking inside again and Peter going back on his word and actually going to the police. But still when Peter slipped inside and looked down at the small card, he groaned, his heart skipping a beat.

He was quick to dash to his room with it, making sure no more flowers were there. But this time it seemed exactly like he’d left it.

He turned to look over the letter, his face scrunching up slightly.

‘My beautiful angel,

I’m a bit sad you didn’t wear the sweater I told you to wear. But I loved the black hoodie nevertheless.

You’re a good boy for not going to the police. Well done.

T’

Tears filled Peter’s eyes as he threw it to the ground and crumpled to the floor. Peter was weak and Tony knew.

Tony hadn’t wanted that reaction. But he knew to expect it. Peter wouldn’t warm up to him fast. It would take time for that. Time when they finally meet. But for now, this was enough. He enjoyed following him to and from school. And he would continue to enjoy it.

~

The letters kept on coming. But soon enough, Peter stopped reading them. He was trying to block it out. As soon as he returned home and he noticed another, either at T coming into his room, or him slipping them under the front door, he’d moved to shred them instantly. He’d shout at that he was making him go crazy. And he’d cry. And then he’d repeat it the next day as if everything was okay.

Of course this only angered Tony. There was little he could do now. Peter had yet to realise that the camera was in his room. And god had he’d seen some beautiful shows through that little lense. It seemed even the threat of someone watching somewhere, wasn’t enough to stop Peter’s hormones from growing too much.

But that’s beside the point. Peter didn’t leave the house unless it was for school. Tony had nothing to do other than stare at the camera. It was starting to become tedious. He wasn’t even reading his letters anymore. And he didn’t like it. So, he decided he’d take it a step further.

For a while the letters stopped coming, and Peter held onto a tiny shred of hope that maybe, just maybe, Tony had given up. He smiled more, there was a lighter bounce in his step, no longer tense, or on-edge. On the days Tony didn’t watch him to and from school, Happy did, and the man was always happy to report to his boss that the boy was back to being his bubbly and cheerful self. An angel in disguise, as Tony liked to put it.

Yet his angel was rebellious. He didn’t like to cooperate. And the scowl on Tony’s face after he watched Peter scream, and break down and cry when he saw the gift he left for him one day, was murderous. Much like last time, he snuck in, but this time he left something much more elaborate. The room was full to the brim, with white and red roses.

Peter’s sob, although heartbreaking, was far from what Tony had wanted. He growled. Peter was going to have to deal with this. Tony was done with trying to gain his affections in this way.

Peter called Ned and Mj once again, crying out about how scared he was, but he couldn’t tell May because she’d want them to leave the apartment but they had nowhere to go, and they couldn’t afford to stay in a hotel. She’d only go to the police and Peter couldn’t risk that.

They eventually, thanks to Ned, came to the conclusion that the whie roses meant “I’m worthy of you” (Peter let out a scoff at that) and the red of course, “I love you!”

“How can he love someone he’s never met. This isn’t right, he’s stalking me, clearly. He’s sick in the head!!”

“Well I mean, we don’t know for sure that you don’t know him. We looked at anyone with the initials given but for all we know.. It could just be an alias”

Peter glared at the woman, but he knew she was right. He looked around his room, ankle deep in flowers, and the stench, although beautiful, only sickened Peter. He sighed and got to work in trying to hide them from his aunt.

~

The three of course came to the conclusion that Peter was most definitely being stalked. You could say they weren’t being observant enough but Tony was clever… and rich. The camera he used in Peter’s room blended into the wall almost perfectly. Unless you hunted for one, you’d never find it. Fortunately, after watching Peter for over a year before making a move, he realised the pretty boy was naive. Tony never used the same car to trail after him and his activities for more than two days in a row. The only detail you’d pick up on was that all the windows were tinted in every car.

But Tony realised hiding behind a mask was something he didn’t want to do anymore. He wanted Peter, he wanted him badly. And he was going to get him.

Five days after the flowers graced his room, Peter got something much better in Tony’s opinion. Tony himself.

As the boy pushed open his door, bracing himself for a note, or maybe more flowers, he never thought he’d see a random (although handsome) man sitting on his bed.

Peter’s jaw dropped, breath catching in his throat as he grabbed the nearest thing he could reach to protect himself. “Who the fudge are you?”, he shouted, arms shaking as his mouth went dry.

Tony smirked, laughing softly before he shook his head. “Now princess, there’s no need to yell. I doubt your physics textbook will do much damage to me so I figure you should just put it down.  I think you know who I am. Although I’m a bite offended you never seemed to like my gifts, trust me, I saw everything.” He pointed towards the camera on the wall.

Peter’s gaze locked on it, a heartbroken gasp leaving his throat as he dropped the book, arms curling around his body. He felt… dirty. “It was you… you… you’ve saw everything… m-my body…”

Peter was slowly becoming more distraught, and Tony shook his head. “It’s okay hun, you’ll soon know soon enough that I mean no harm..”

“You’re disgusting”, he spat out, letting out a choked sob.

Tony’s jaw locked as he let out a huff of a breath and calmed himself. “You’re just as stubborn in person”, he muttered, before sighing and shaking his head. “Well, It’s all fine, I guess we’re just going to have to do this the hard way”, he said.

Fear flashed through Peter’s eyes, taking a step back cautiously. There was a moment where they stared, before he turned and ran. But Tony, despite him seeming much older (again attractive but it didn’t change the fact that this man was still a physco) Tony was much too fast for Peter. Barely seconds later, he was tackled down the couch. Tony’ warm strong body holding him flush against it, the man’s head so close to his neck that he could feel the scratch of his beard against his skin.

“Wow I have to say I do quite like this position”, Tony smirked, ignoring Peter’s whimpers and screams as he tried to break away. “I’ll see you in a few hours pet”, he whispered casually against his ear, before Peter felt a cloth against his nose and mouth. He held his breath, shaking as he tried not to breath it in. Begging, hoping, that May would make it back early from work today, But eventually it was too much. Letting out a broken sob into the rag, his tears soaked the material.

His eyes closed, as he fell into a sleep, feeling Tony’s wet lips pressing kisses to the back of his head.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny ― Chapter 1: The Job

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny ⥽

Nadya Al Jamil (MC) has been struggling from the day she moved to Manhattan, but her new job as assistant to the mysterious CEO of Raines Corp was supposed to turn her luck around. Until she finds herself caught in the middle of a war involving the Council of Vampires who secretly run the city. An evil from the birth of Vampire-kind stirs beneath, feeding on the conflict, and finds Nadya bound to a destiny she never asked for.

Bound by Destiny and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

She’s never thought about doing clerical work before, but that’s not going to stop her. Nadya begins her new job as secretary for the mysterious Adrian Raines.

[READ IT ON AO3]

As soon as Lily yanks the lipstick from her hand the cab screeches to a jerking halt on the curb. The kind of stop that has the potential to ruin an entire twenty minutes-worth of hasty makeup application.

“Here.” grunts the Cabby, already flicking on his ‘VACANT’ sign and punching the buttons on his dash panel.

“Think you could chill out a little next time on the landing, Speed Racer? Here hon, hold this.” She returns the lipstick to its rightful owner to dig around in her bag for the cab fare.

Nadya sits in a daze; stares at her lipstick like she’s forgotten how to use it until Lily is grabbing hold of her wrist and pulling her out onto the bustling Manhattan sidewalk.

“You okay?” Lily’s hands are warm in the sunlight. They manage to bring her out of her spell. With a one-two-three swipe of her lipstick she brings a beaming smile her roommate’s way.

“Never better. Thanks for the save back there.”

“Thank me with a paycheck. And pizza — you can never go wrong with pizza.”

The main entrance of Raines Corp. faces north, follows the path of the sun so as not to shine in. A strange thing to notice, Nadya thinks, but she can’t help but hope that means she won’t constantly have the sunset glaring in her eyes every evening.

“Final checks!” Lily announces, loud enough to gain the attention of several Wall Street schlubs on their blue-teeth or air-phones or whatever else they use to distract from the tedium.

God, I hope I don’t end up like that at the end of this job… The thought flits through Nadya’s mind briefly before it’s lost in Lily’s vibrancy.

“Phone-wallet-keys?”

“Check.”

“Emergency Listerine strips?”

“Check.”

“Emergency deodorant?”

“Check.”

“Disdain for the bourgeoisie bullshit that allows people to treat secretaries like servants?”

Nadya laughs. “Check!”

“Then my dear,” she squeezes their hands together before letting go with a flourish of wide arms, “there’s nothing more I can do for you. You’re ready to walk into the belly of the Capitalist beast.”

But ‘ready’ though she may be Nadya doesn’t move; just stares at Lily’s encouraging smile like it’ll give her the power to take on the whole world or bring every skyscraper on the block crumbling to their foundations.

Her roommate pushes her ropes of neon-purple dreads over her shoulder and goes in for the hug Nadya didn’t know she even needed; let alone ask for. It’s one she returns warmly — it brings back distant memories of clinging to her mother on the first day of school.

“Seriously, Nadi’, you’ve got this.” whispers Lily into her ear, and Nadya very much has this.

She turns and steels herself—a final mental check to ensure all is secure and well and oh god did I forget my emergency tampon at home no Lily put it in the side pocket thank god so yes, it’s all well—before she strides in through the revolving doors.

“Don’t worry about dinner, honey-bunch! You just earn Momma that cheddar!” She can hear Lily’s faint laughter before the roar of industrialized air conditioning drowns out everything else.

Everything that had happened on the day of her interview had led Nadya to believe he might be a decent boss to work for; one of those kinds of CEOs who had wealth but didn’t flaunt it, or who gave out really epic bonuses come Christmas or the New Year. She figured she’d be seeing a lot of him around — not that he’d be asking her to accompany him to important client dinners or doing that thing in movies where he asks her to order him midnight sushi and it turns out to be enough for two — because what CEO goes out of their way to personally attend the hiring of someone who only has top-tier security clearance because that’s where her desk is?

Boy, was she wrong.

Adrian Raines communicates almost solely by email (or in the more urgent requests, the Raines Corp. interdepartmental instant message app). When he leaves his office he never needs to be accompanied. If not for the heaps of digital filing she’s asked to organize she’d almost forget who she was working for. He’s always polite; signs his emails with ‘thank yous’ and things like ‘I really appreciate all your hard work!’ but the distance takes some getting used to.

“Maybe he’s just antisocial,” Lily suggests over their now-standard lunch break phone call. Nadya can hear the distant tinny noise of digital zombies having their heads blown off on Lil’s livestream. “You know, like one of those reclusive ba-jillionaires in the movies. Or he thinks you smell.”

“I don’t smell!” Nadya argues back — and definitely doesn’t do a smell-check of her armpits sheepishly.

But Lily intends to find the silver lining in everything; one of the things that makes them get along so fabulously. “Think of it this way; sooo many people in your position have to see way too much of their bosses, right? And that burns them out! So you have more time to rake in the dough before you gotta high-tail it from Armaniville.”

“I guess,” she stabs a cold lump of orange chicken absentmindedly, “it’d just be a lot easier if he weren’t so darn nice.”

The next day Adrian sends her a list of things to get from the sub-basement archives; gifts for some client meeting he has in an hour. Nadya takes it on as a DEFCON 5 because each item is a separate ping on the IM server. If it can’t all be in one email it’s gotta be important, right?

All it takes is a requisition form sent below and the whole two dozen paces between her desk, the elevator, and the building delivery desk on the ground floor. She’d go into the conference room and deliver the package herself but while Adrian might appreciate the gesture the same might not be said for other head-honchos. So she leaves it on the corner of her desk for Adrian to grab on his way down.

Just before the lift doors open Adrian turns on his glossy heel. For the first time since her interview he addresses Nadya face-to-face.

“Nadya?”

“Yes, Mister Raines?” They both chuckle. Even with the impersonal disposition of digital communication they’ve found a way to share inside jokes; it took half a dozen messages for Nadya to learn how very serious Adrian was about being addressed by his first name even via email.

She glances up from Nicole’s daily ‘list of chores’ (Lily’s words, not hers, but she doesn’t deny the accuracy) to find Adrian staring at her. Even from across the room there’s a clarity to him. Adrian Raines is attractive; Nadya knows it, the numerous reporters from the tech, business, and gossip magazines Nadya has had to politely turn away all know it, hell even Adrian himself probably knows it — and not in the vain way pretty rich men know they’re pretty, but in a more humble sense.

So yeah, having someone like him stare with that movie-star smolder at someone like her makes it impossible for Nadya not to blush. But he’s her boss, and this gig is too good for all the months of “We promise we’ll have the rent next month please don’t evict us!” back-pay they owe their landlord to risk. And she’s pretty sure trying to romance the boss is a big risk.

She tries again, “Yes, Mister Raines?” because Adrian seems to be in his own little world. One he finally snaps out of.

“I just wanted to make sure you know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me since you came on. You’ve definitely been one of my more successful assistants.” That’s Adrian; making sure everyone feels appreciated.

Nadya simply shrugs it off; wouldn’t do her well to get too airheaded so early in the game. “Just doing my job, Mister Raines.”

“Nadya…”

“Just doing my job,” she winks, “Adrian.”

It’s the longest meeting he’s ever had; the text she gets somewhere near dawn thanking her for staying but releasing her fills Nadya with nothing short of relief. Gathering her things, clocking out, swiping her card for the lift; everything is routine now. Even strolling passed the conference room on her way to the front desk.

“Are you sure he’s being truthful about his numbers?”

“We can’t be sure of anything when it comes to Cecil, Adrian. That is why I insisted I go myself. He knows better than to lie to my face.”

“Yet he may still have.”

Stopping in front of the frosted glass isn’t one of her smarter ideas. Not like it stops her. Mostly she’s caught off guard by the seriousness of Adrian’s tone even through the doors. Can’t think of a time when she ever heard him sound like that; almost dark, or angry.

But where Adrian is filled with passion whoever he’s speaking to keeps her cool. Her voice a velvet purr so low Nadya finds herself straining to hear, leaning closer to the door and closer to the danger of discovery.

“I have my associates scouring the city for where they might be originating. You’d think someone might report seeing a corpse or two suddenly going grey and—”

A gruff Indian drawl interrupts her. Even from a distance Nadya feels like that’s a bad move.

“This is New York, Kamilah. Bodies are as rare as pigeons!”

“Then what have you contributed, Lester?” asks Adrian.

Lester grumbles something she doesn’t quite catch, then: “Don’t flash those at me, pup. I’ll speak to my men on the PD and see if they’ve been keeping anything hiding under their little blue belts.”

None of it makes sense. There’s walking in on half a conversation and then there’s whatever Adrian and his associates are discussing. The one thing Nadya is sure of is how much she dislikes the knot forming in her gut while her mind races to try and put some of what she’s hearing together.

There’s a long silence. For a moment she fears she’s been found out and her heart drops out through her stomach. Then she hears Adrian again — this time he sounds tired.

“We have to get this under control. Until we do every victim is our fault; their blood is on our hands.”

If there’s more to his speech she doesn’t stick around to hear it. Finds herself out on the cold Manhattan sidewalk just as the sun starts to haul itself up over the horizon. She doesn’t even remember if she said goodbye to the night guard. Her blood pounds in her ears.

Lily made a valiant effort to stay awake and greet her as evidenced by a full cup of tea gone cold on the island counter. But her roommate is passed out on the couch — Nadya envies that ability to sleep anywhere. The words victim and blood and hands echo in Adrian’s voice around her skull like bouncy-balls while she gets ready for bed.

Adrian acts like nothing is different — and to him it isn’t. But whenever she gets the chance Nadya tries to find some inkling, some shadow hidden behind his megawatt smile and usual charm. If ever given the chance to wander her mind starts coming up with fantastical ideas and scenarios: like seeing him as Christian Bale in American Psycho or getting a late-night text for her to come into work and finding him in the process of wrapping a body up in construction plastic.

Nadya only imagines being the victim of the cruel-yet-classy alter ego of Adrian once. Somehow discovering his secret life as a hitman or deranged killer is more believable than the thought that he would ever harm her.

But it doesn’t stop the hairs on the back of her neck from standing up when the rarity arrives of Adrian leaving at the same time as her. Lots of people are murdered in elevators in the movies.

“So… everything alright?”

Nadya looks to find Adrian’s gaze level and calm and right at her. Oh god, she thinks, he knows!

She fumbles for an answer instead — tries, and fails, to play it cool.

“Peachy keen.”

“Are you sure?” He’s not gonna press the matter if she doesn’t want to talk about it; just another one of the things that makes Adrian Raines possibly the ideal man. But he needs to stop looking like a kicked puppy in order to make it easier for her to lie to him.

So she decides to pick a different truth instead. “Yeah, I’m just not looking forward to the long trip home.”

Adrian’s nose scrunches. “I was under the impression your apartment was one train away.”

“Normally it is. But they shut down the station at my stop a couple nights ago. Some accident on the weekend or something.”

It’s exactly the Adrian thing for him to do when he offers her a ride home in the company car. And it’s the Nadya thing for her to decline, but rather than playfully letting it slide Adrian actually insists. Pipes up what could have been the speech her mom gave her about moving to ‘the Big City’ verbatim; with strangers lurking the streets and the subway never really being as safe as they claim.

“And forgive my selfishness,” he finishes while opening the sleek black Buick door, “but I’d have a pretty hard time finding another secretary with hours as flexible as yours. So let’s get you home safe and sound.”

One complimentary ride home is a favor. Then one turns into two, turns into the whole week, turns into “I know your station opened back up yesterday, Nadya, but if I’m being honest I enjoy the detour and the company,” and by the time Adrian’s car is pulling onto the curb outside her building at sunset—the usual time she sets off—there’s really no opportunity to refuse.

“I went to make you a cup, too, but then I realized I have no idea how you take your coffee — secretaries everywhere have shunned me.” Nadya greets him by way of apology, sliding into the now-familiar front seat with her travel mug in hand. Adrian laughs.

“I appreciate the gesture, but I’m more of a tea person.”

If Adrian is surprised when, same time next day, Nadya slides in with her usual mug and a second with a teabag string dangling over the side, he hides it well.

But while their routine has become more personable and casually affectionate it hasn’t entirely cleared her boss of suspicion. There’s three more meetings he releases her early for. She doesn’t snoop like the first time but definitely catches the same voices in her passing haste to the exit.

Then one ordinary night she spots an error on Adrian’s agenda.

“Did you want me to call the Gallery about getting a refund?” She doesn’t knock before entering — doesn’t really need to at this point. There’s something weirdly intimate about sitting in his car flicking radio stations while he pumps gas and returns with her favorite chocolate peanut-butter cookies. Intimate in that it makes knocking seem unnecessary.

Used to it, Adrian doesn’t look away from his screen. “Refund for what?”

“You bought two tickets to this thing, the ‘Manhattan Gallery’s Dedication to National Geographic Auction’ on Friday next.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And—Jesus—they’re five hundred bucks a piece?”

“Uh-huh.”

“So did you want a refund?”

“Why? I asked yesterday if you had plans then. You said no.”

It takes her a moment before Nadya’s doing her best impression of a fish.

“That second ticket’s mine?”

Now out of his chair Adrian leans against his desk with a smirk that could almost be called cheeky. If she didn’t know him better, that is.

“Well who else would I take?” he asks genuinely.

“I—I mean—well Nicole, for one.”

He waves off his assistant’s name. Odd, Nadya can’t help but think, since they seemed have a close relationship — close enough for her to berate him in front of a stranger on the day they met. Maybe less so in the last months… but still.

“She’s been to dozens of these. I wanted to take someone who might actually appreciate something new.” His falter is only slight. “I mean, of course, if you want to come. I probably shouldn’t have assumed.”

And she does, oh she does, but a nagging voice in the back of her head that sounds not-so-suspiciously like Anne-Marie from HR — who probably didn’t think Nadya could hear her over the gurgle of the downstairs coffee cart when she leaned over to her coworker and whispered a nasty rumor about “Mister Raines and his Secretary of the Night” — has her hesitant to say the least.

She’s taken too long to respond when Adrian’s hands fall on her shoulders. He cranks up the AC so high she had to pull her winter sweaters out of storage in the middle of summer. Even through the wool though she can feel the chill of his palms.

“Nadya? Talk to me.” Kind Adrian; Kind, empathetic, stupidly perceptive Adrian.

It makes her step back; gain some personal—and professional—space between them.

“Mister Raines,” and when did this become her life exactly, “I appreciate the gesture; all the gestures, actually, but…” already she’s hoping Lily kept yesterday’s newspaper with the classifieds, “I’m not… well, I’m not exactly interested in you in that… way.”

Adrian Master-of-the-Unexpected Raines goes bright red. Has Nadya wondering if she should take a picture to sell to the same tabloids that claim to see equally nonexistent things like Bigfoot.

Then he takes a deep breath. “Nadya — er, Miss Al Jamil — if I ever gave you the impression I… what I mean to say is that if you’ve found any of my actions untoward — erm — or, possibly, salacious in nature, I assure you, I—wait no, let me—”

He’s actually fumbling, which is how Nadya realizes he’s taken aback by her statement; how she realizes he was a million miles away from that dangerous place. And did he just say salacious?

To her surprise Adrian actually stops when she holds up a finger.

“Before you, uh, choke on your own tongue,” probably not the best idea to bring up his tongue but you know what they say about hindsight, “just… answer one question, okay?”

He nods.

“Is this an invitation as your date, or as your coworker?”

“Good heav — as my coworker, Nadya!” He practically chokes on his relief. It takes an exhale for Nadya to realize she is, too. Then they’re laughing, separately and awkwardly, and the next thing Nadya knows Adrian is pouring two tumblers of expensive scotch from the little trolley to the side of his desk that she’s never seen him use before. He’s her boss and he’s the one offering it, so he can’t get on her case when she accepts the liquor like the peace offering it is.

Friday night comes around and, as expected, the world ends.

“How can one person own this many dresses and none of them be for freakin’ formal events?!”

“Hey! That Sailor Mars dress was made specifically for a ball!”

“Lily, I’m only gonna say this one more time—” Nadya pokes her head out of her roommate’s tiny closet with what she hopes is a glare that thoroughly conveys her frustration; though the way her large glasses are dangerously ready to fall off the tip of her nose negates that completely, “—I can’t wear Sailor Moon cosplay to the Manhattan Art Gallery!”

Lily huffs and nibbles another spicy cheese puff. “Show me where it says that on the damn dress code…”

In a flurry of barely-clothed despair Nadya rushes back across the hall to her own room. Lily follows — cradles her snack bowl in her arms like one would a precious infant.

“I don’t get why the dress you bought doesn’t work.” Lily plops down next to the last-minute ordered dress and is careful to keep her cheesy mitts off the fabric. “It’s nice! And pink looks good on you, girl.”

Nadya looks the dress over with barely-contained spite. “It’s just… more skin than I thought it would be.” She mimes the shape of the dress’ lack of shoulder-cloth and Lily nods with an understanding “Oooh.”

“It just feels weird to wear something, like, kinda sexy after last week’s weirdness, you know? It’s weird! I think it’s weird, he’ll think it’s weird. It’ll just be…”

“Weird?” supplies Lily, who barely has time to duck the ball of socks thrown her way.

“And I don’t have time to go shopping. Adrian’ll be here in…” she looks to her bedside clock and groans, “an hour… I need more than an hour to fix my life!”

“Don’t we all.” Lily falls down beside the distraught form of her room mate and finger-feeds her a puff as per their agreement on dealing with messy snacks in mess-free zones. She wipes her hands diligently on her junk tee and caresses the apple of Nadya’s cheek with her thumb.

“Hon, just wear it. It’s your first time doing the ‘ritzy rich person’ thing and Adrian’ll totally get that. And if he tries to make it weird just laugh it off in that totally un-sexy way you do and boom—instant boner-killer.”

It’s not the pep-talk that would get the Cordonian Princess Caoimhe through her wedding day jitters, but it’s enough for Nadya; and that’s all that matters. With exaggerated grunts and huffs she hauls herself off the bed and starts to wrangle on the dress.

“I told you what he said, right?”

“You tell me a lot of things, sweetie.”

Nadya turns for Lily to dutifully zip her up. “He said I was ‘too young for him anyway,’ like, what does that even mean?”

“Do you want the Valyrian translation or something?”

“He’s thirty-one. I’m twenty-five! My parents had a bigger age gap than that!”

Lily pats the finished zipper, pulls Nadya to turn around so she can do her other, unsung duty by helping Nadya show off what she was born with.

“I mean maybe — stop fidgeting you have boobs so show them off, Christ — maybe he’s into cougars. Pretty boys usually have some form of Oedipus complex.”

“Mm… I don’t think so. Adrian’s different.”

“How?”

“He just — OW who the heck gives purple nurples these days?! — He just is, okay?! Now take your hands out of my bra Lily Spencer!”

The play-fighting gets put aside for the good of maintaining the integrity of the dress. The hour drags on, half of it spent waiting around for her (suddenly too-long, too-unruly, too-resistant) hair to dry. Nadya is always more likely to throw her hair up in a bun and go no matter the occasion, but this isn’t just any occasion. I’ll be representing Raines Corp, and Adrian by proxy, she reminds herself through every stubborn tug of her brush.

Lily is fiddling with her purse as Nadya finally exits the bathroom in a cloud of hairspray and second thoughts.

“So I packed you two granola bars in case they don’t have anything lactose-intolerant. And there’s some spare cash if you wanna dip out and grab a cab home. Did you grab your flats?”

“I can’t switch shoes in the middle of a thing like this.”

“Pretty sure I read something about it being totally acceptable.”

“Where, in a fanfiction?”

“I mean, it was The Royal Romance so… does that count?”

She turns around as she asks and sucks in audibly. The silence is self-conscious; immediately makes Nadya smooth down her hair with a nervous hand.

“What? Oh no, what’s wrong? Speak, Lily, words!”

She finds herself enveloped in a tight hug instead of an actual response, which is both a comfort and jostles her nerves slightly. “Lil’…”

Her roommate’s words are choked with embellished emotion. “You look like a real adult. I couldn’t be more proud.”

“Oh—bull!” Nadya pushes her off with a laugh — but the compliment does bring a flush to her cheeks. “I look good, though? I’ve still got a bit to change up—”

The sudden, high-pitched buzz of the complex bell interrupts as argument. One, long noise before it goes deathly silent.

Lily’s beaming. “Well that was an awfully adult ring. The kind of ring fancy professionals use!”

“No, no no!” Nadya fumbles for her phone to check the time. “He’s early! He’s here! Why is he here why is he ringing the bell why is — Lily don’t you dare!”

But she’s too late to stop the bouncing, bubbly roommate from rushing to the comm.

“Buzzing you in! Come on u—ah!”

Her greeting turns into a cry of protest as Nadya yanks her backwards.

“What are you doing?!”

“I wanna meet him!”

Nadya gestures wildly around the apartment; she doesn’t need to explain herself. The place isn’t exactly in the best state. But who could blame them — the last thing anyone wants to do when they finish a night shift is clean and Lily… well, it was in a worse state before Nadya moved in. At least now there’s a small garbage can beside the couch for all the empty chip bags.

In the time it takes Adrian to knock on their door, the pair manage to gather up empty snacks into the trash and hide everything else inside the ottoman. Lily’s hair whips at her face as she tries to pin down Nadya for the door.

“Girl—what are you doing?” She uses a little too much force in turning off the running sink and they battle clumsily over a soapy plate before Lily successfully replaces it with a towel. “He’s not staying. You don’t need to wash the plates.”

“I—” She has to right herself, but Lily’s correct, as usual. “I panicked.”

“Uh-huh. Door.”

“What?”

“Door.”

A second knock startles Nadya to action. “C-Coming!”

The doorways of Raines Corp. must be specially-designed to make Adrian look like the average man, Nadya realizes, because there’s a towering, statuesque beauty to the way her boss stands before her. He even manages to make the chipped old paint job from the ‘70s look glamorous.

“Ready to get going?” Adrian asks by way of greeting; slides one of his hands out of his pockets and offers a crooked elbow like he’s escorting her to some fancy ball.

She almost manages to take it without incident. Almost. While she regains her balance from being unceremoniously shoved aside Lily busies herself with shaking Adrian’s hand with firm vigor.

“You must be the boss-man! Lily Spencer — roommate, confidante, and Nadya’s personal Bryan Mills.” The way her smile falters isn’t unfamiliar — Adrian’s furrowed brow has already lost him points in Lily’s book.

“I’m sorry — who?” he asks; only just manages to steal his hand back.

Lily scoffs, yet Nadya can’t remember an instance where someone did understand her right off the bat.

“Bryan Mills?” As though repeating his name will somehow jog Adrian’s nonexistent memory. “You know… ‘I have a very particular set of skills that make me a nightmare for people like you?’”

Before he can flounder too long, though, Nadya mouths the movie title over Lily’s shoulder.

“Oh, right, from Taken.”

Lily brightens considerably. “Oh, good! You’ve seen it!”

“Once, I think. I remember it playing on the plane…”

“So you know what I’ll do to you if my girl doesn’t come ho—”

“And we’re leaving!” Her voice raised and pitched high with panic, Nadya manages to hip-check her way into the hall. “When I get home I’m gonna kick your butt!” she hisses — and punctuates her threat by closing the door harder than necessary.

She really hopes she still has a job by the time she and Adrian make it to the stairwell. There are five, possibly six different apologies ready on the tip of her tongue but they die off with a quick glance. Adrian’s smiling — no — beaming in a way she’s not seen before. It makes him look years younger — less like there’s a burden on his chest. She allows herself a moment of relief, and strains herself not to ruin it.

They could be heading out for another evening at the office with the casual ease between them. How Adrian opens the door and only starts the car when she’s buckled in properly, and the light conversation about a meeting he has next week with the CFO of a recently-acquired company. Nadya fidgets in what she hopes is a subtle way the entire drive downtown — it would be a shame to ruin such polite conversation with questions about which forks to use and who to not make herself look like a fool in front of.

Then (all too soon in Nadya’s opinion) Adrian pulls out of evening traffic to park on the Gallery curb. While he steps out to flag down a valet she allows herself a moment of pure, unrestrained panic while looking out the tinted windows.

A red carpet has been draped out for the occasion; down the Gallery steps to stop on the sidewalk where one couldn’t get through the mob of onlookers, reporters, and photographers if they tried. It looks less like a Gallery exhibition than a Hollywood movie premiere. Makes Nadya aware of every stark flaw — from the slightly loose fit on her dress to the few flyaway hairs she couldn’t wrangle in.

“You absolutely cannot do this,” she scolds — an insult aimed to quiet her racing heart, “this is way beyond you. You’re gonna make a fool out of yourself. Nothing in life has prepared you for a night like this… just like your interview. Got that, huh? So… don’t fall on your face or murder somebody and you’ll be fine. Just fine.”

The passenger door opens and a gust of cool night air sends goosebumps racing through every exposed part of her. Adrian extends his hand.

In a stupor, Nadya blinks and it takes a moment for her to register what he’s doing. “Huh?”

He laughs, takes the initiative, and tucks her clutch in his armpit before pulling her from the car.

“Come on. Wouldn’t want to miss the hors d’oeuvres. You haven’t lived until you’ve had beluga caviar.”

Nadya follows — and readies herself to live.

[arigatouiris]

red right hand // t.h — [02]

pairing: 1920s mob!tom holland x f!reader

warnings: swearing, violence, sexual references, mafia au!, mentions of ptsd, trauma, anxiety attacks, a dash of sexism, angst, slow burn, alcohol and smoking mentioned

word count: 2520

a/n: heavily inspired from this show i’ve been watching, the peaky blinders. the story won’t follow the plotline of the peaky blinders, but a fair amount will intersect. I find the interactions between tom and y/n to be so interesting because it reminds me so much of grace and thomas and ugh they are just the cutest

if you want to be on the taglist, just send an ask or drop a reply~

Two. A Song

▾

Tom only met (y/n) a few nights after that night. 

He didn’t think about her the whole time, instead, he was trying to figure out where to hide the guns. On finding a safe spot, one of the storehouses whose keys only Tom had, his mind was currently at ease. However, building a plan to bring down London’s biggest bookkeeper, Charles Brown. His brother’s bar was empty that night, and as he sat in front of the bar, he ushered the new barmaid to hand him a drink.

    “What drink would you like?” She asked, her voice smooth.

Tom looked up at her and blinked, his eyes callous and his mouth a straight line.

    “You need to learn that yourself, love, if you haven’t already.” Tom snarled, not pleased with how hairbrained she was as a barmaid.

She stared at his face before pulling out a bottle from under the racks, and making him his drink. He watched her, her movements were graceful as if she had done this before, and a soft grin plastered on his face.

    “You’re not from around here.”

    “That much was already obvious,” (y/n) said, looking into his eyes, and then refocusing on the drink she was making. She slid it to him and he grabbed it, “I’m not from London.”

He took a sip before feeling the burn dance with his tongue. It wasn’t Tom’s regular drink but whatever it was that she gave him right then, he liked. The burn was cautious but dangerous, sending a slight shiver up his spine. It reminded him of a worry he knew he had long forgotten. A worry that perhaps didn’t exist anymore.

    “So, where are you from?”

She hummed before saying, “Ireland. My father passed away a while ago, and I couldn’t stay there. Reminded me too much of him.”

Tom nodded once, before taking another sip of his drink.

    “You didn’t poison this, did you?”

She grinned before replying, “If I had, you wouldn’t have been able to ask me that.”

Tom chuckled, before looking at her features. Her hair was long, her (e/c) eyes were sharp as if she had seen blood and gore before. She didn’t look even the slightest bit intimidated by Tom’s presence, perhaps it came from the fact that she did not know him or if she did, then she was not afraid.

He found it endearing, almost. She had this amazing aura around her which caught him off-guard. A girl’s innocence combined with a woman’s sensitivity. A charm that is alluring and attractive at the same time. Tom almost couldn’t look away.

However, the thoughts running in her mind were nothing on par with how Tom denied his attraction to the barmaid’s headstrongness. She was thinking over how she had been utterly and devastatingly honest with Tom just then, having not used the story she had spun in her head repeatedly. She was supposed to have come from a small town away from London, she was supposed to be the eldest of four daughters, she was supposed to have moved away after an abused marriage. Yet, the brown in Tom’s eyes had warded her off a path she had practiced to take—the brown in his eyes left her rooted, and she had no choice but to speak the truth.

She was afraid then, if the brown in those eyes would be the death of her.

She stole a couple of glances on how he looked at things. Tom had this strange wistful glance at everyday things—a sadness his eyes carried with him because his mind never could. She had never really seen such sad eyes before, and she had seen war-struck men, men returning to nothing waiting for them; she had seen the light go off in her father’s own eyes and nothing came close to how devastatingly sad Tom’s brown eyes were.

The pain in those brown eyes caused her to sway. And if there was only one thing she wasn’t allowed to do, it was to sway.

    “Are you done staring at my face, barmaid?” Tom asked, amused.

She coughed once before turning her back on him, suddenly finding something to clean. She heard him chuckling behind her, the redness in her cheek gradually increasing in intensity. Even when he wasn’t saying anything, she felt his presence as strongly as she felt a crowd coming her way. Tom was, in hindsight, a very strong presence to be around. He was too much and too little, all at the same time.

    “You were doing it the other day, too,” He said, taking another sip. “Staring at me.”

It was hard not to, considering he was her prime focus for the mission. Yet, perhaps, some part of her told herself it was the mission as she continued watching him. Tom’s movements were not aggressive, they were fluidic. Almost as if everything he touched was made of glass. It was a strange trait to have for a gangster, a strange trait to have for the leader of the Londoners.

    “How could you notice?” She asked, her back still turned to him.

    “What do you mean?” Tom finished his drink and tapped the glass twice on the table, indicating he wanted another one.

(y/n) turned around, begrudgingly, not willing to let Tom see her red face. However, once he did see it, no matter how silent smiles are, (y/n) could hear it ring in her ears.

    “I’m very quiet.” She said, whispering. “I’m barely noticed—”

    “I believe that’s bullshit,” Tom said, rolling his eyes, watching her make his second drink. “I don’t think just because you’re quiet you won’t be noticed.”

She paused, took a breath and licked her lips. She turned to look him right in the eye, red-faced and everything, and stole some of his breath away.

    “Why do you say that?”

Tom looked straight in her eye before leaning closer to the counter. Their faces were closer than they were before but nowhere close enough to be called intimate.

    “Just because you don't say much doesn't mean people don't notice you. It's actually the quiet ones who often draw the most attention. There's this constant whirlwind of motion and sound all around, and then there's the quiet one, the eye of the storm.”

(y/n)’s eyes were stuck in his brown ones, she was scared all of a sudden. She could see death in his eyes, and she could see the beginning of life. She saw sadness, which often masked everything he did—move, walk, talk, and even breathe, for that matter. She made his drink a second later, still not breaking eye contact, and let out a sigh before being the first one to look away.

    “It’s amusing,” Tom said, taking another sip of his drink. “I can’t tell if you don’t know who I am or if you really aren’t afraid of me.”

    “Oh, I’m afraid of you.” She said, a bit too fast, stunning Tom.

    “Is that so?”

    “...Not in the way you think. You scare me the same way a child is scared of something it’s not seen.”

Tom chuckled, before looking away and taking another sip of his drink.

    “I wouldn’t call that fear—”

    “Your eyes,” Tom paused at her sudden reply. “—your eyes scare me, Thomas Holland. Your eyes seem like they are friends with shadows, not with light. It says a lot more than just—”

In an instant, Tom grabbed her wrist before bringing it down to the counter. (y/n) winced before frowning, turning to look at him. His eyes were now angry, but it could barely mask the sadness in them. She wanted to laugh, but she knew the situation wasn’t appropriate.

    “Do they look sad now?” He asked, his voice low and dangerous.

She smiled softly at him before reaching forward and touching his hand that was holding her.

    “I can’t lie to you, Tommy.” She whispered a lie.

Shocked, Tom pulled away, frowning at her. Quickly downing his drink, he walked away from the bar, leaving her alone.

•

When Nikki was alone that Sunday morning, she didn’t think someone would come to her when she was sitting in the comfort of her home. 

She knew her boys were off working, and it was the one day she would get to be by herself. However, she knew that when there was a knock on the door, it was not her boys but someone else who chose to disturb her peace.

Hamilton didn’t even greet her before walking in after she opened the door.

    “I take it you’re a copper?” Nikki asked, laughing.

    “Spare me your graciousness, Holland.” Hamilton spat, before turning around to face her.

Nikki gave him a cold look accompanied by a sweet smile. She often met death in the eye with a smile on her face.

    “I know your son has the guns,” Hamilton spat. Nikki’s eyes didn’t widen. She didn’t give any sign that she knew what he was talking about. “I know your son has them hidden away somewhere.”

Scoffing, “Should I even play along with your nonsense?”

    “I need to meet with your son, Thomas. I know he’s the ringleader in this circus of yours.”

    “What for?” Her tone suddenly changed, and Hamilton noticed.

He walked over to her and glared at her, however, something about the aura she put off stopped him from taking a step further.

    “I want to speak to Tom or I’ll simply learn more on my own regarding this gun matter.”

Nikki ushered him to leave with her hands, chuckling as he walked out. Her eyes hardened the second she knew she was alone, a curse coming out of her mouth. Grabbing her coat, she quickly walked out of her house and rushed to where Tom was—the official Holland bookkeeping office, and she didn’t bother to knock.

Tom stared at her furious presence, before knowing something was wrong. He watched as she closed the door, locking themselves inside.

    “What’s—”

    “The head of the coppers knows about the guns.”

Tom frowned. He knew the coppers would notice, but not this soon. And how were they so sure that it was the Hollands? It didn’t make sense.

    “I told you, Tom. I told you there may be a rat. I told you that it’s a dangerous game. You never listen. You think listening is beneath you, but look at what’s happened. If something happens to this family, I—”

    “Mother, shh,” Tom rushed to her and held her face in his hands. He cupped her cheeks and smiled sweetly at her, “I have a plan.”

    “And what is this goddamn plan?” Nikki snapped.

    “Charles Brown,” Nikki blinked. “Head of the bookkeeping here in London. If he’s out of the game, we can march in. I know we can’t budge him the way we are right now, but we can slowly expand our control into the inner city. We need this, mum. I’ve got this.”

Somehow, the lull that Tom brought about with his voice seemed to calm her down. She placed a hand on his, which was on her face, and patted it twice.

    “I’ve been invited to the race held at his track next week,” Tom said, smoothly. “If everything goes smoothly, and we get close to him, we can get our papers signed. And once that’s done—”

    “We’ll be legal. But, Brown won’t like that we’re using him.”

Tom nodded, “He won’t. Which is why he won’t be in the picture anymore. That’s what the guns are for.”

Stepping away from her son, she watched him. Nikki had no idea Tom could be this cunning, but somehow, a strange pride filled her heart upon his sudden growth.

    “I’m going to let the coppers have them. In exchange for dirt on Brown. I know four of his tracks are not legal, and he smuggles contraband from Ireland and Wales into London through those tracks. Giving the guns and this piece of information to the coppers would leave Brown out of the race.”

Nikki’s eyes widened. There was no way the police could ever refuse an offer so irresistible. This was the offer Tom was talking about all along.

•

It was another slow day at the bar. 

Tom walked in right after telling his brother Sam he needed a drink. Apparently, Sam had to meet with someone (he knew it was a woman), and Tom left him to his own devices. The second he stepped inside the bar, he thought of the barmaid.

It was strange. He found himself thinking of her at random times—when he was about to pour himself a drink at his chambers or when he was looking at a flickering light, or when he was alone and no one around him. The thought of her could especially not be avoided when he entered the bar. There she was, upon seeing him she shot him a shy smile, and Tom remained stoic.

    “The same drink?”

Tom wanted to scoff at her question. He realized one thing was certain, if she wasn’t afraid of him then he can use her. He looked up at her and nodded once.

    “There’s a race next week,” His voice was smooth. “I want you to come with me.”

Her eyes widened. This was nearly not enough time to even be asked such a thing. What did Tom even know about her that he wanted her, a simple barmaid, to tag along? It made no sense. She was afraid that he had some ulterior motive since it was Tom Holland after all, but she was still tempted to go.

    “I don’t have a dress.”

Tom chuckled, “How many do you want?”

She turned to look at him cautiously. “I’ll come,” Tom eased into a comfortable position, “Only if you allow me to sing.”

His eyes turned cold. No one bargains with Thomas Holland, and yet, here she was, not backing down. He had grabbed her wrist the last time and threatened her, yet, he couldn’t understand what she was trying to do. She was smiling softly at him now, a playful look in her eye. He scoffed before rolling his eyes, but just then, he heard her start singing and his eyes widened.

    “T’was early one morning a fair maid arose, and dressed herself up in the finest of clothes,” Tom wanted to stop her. He wanted to. He almost reached out just to stop her, but he couldn’t find the strength in his heart to do it.

So he watched her. Paled and disarrayed, the sound of music in his ears, the sound of her voice singing just for him gave him a rush he never knew he needed till then.

    “And off to the shoemaker’s shop sure she goes, for the kiss in the morning early…”

    “I don’t know if it’s innocence that you don’t know who I am, or if you’re really that brave…” His voice was low, but not intending to be.

She smiled bitterly, “It isn’t either, Tommy,” He liked it when she called him that, “I’ve just got nothing left to lose.”

▾

series taglist:

@cyrusandhiscollaredahirts​ @plaidamoosette​ @rachaeldonnaspiteri1​ @tanya-diggory​ @myheartonthemove​ @watson-emma​ @souldancerr​ @tomsirishgirl​ @averyfosterthoughts​​ @yourwonderbelle​​

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Date of Death || Morgan and Deirdre

True romance is fighting spawn side-by-side and digging up bodies in search of a death-vision for your girlfriend’s curse.

@deathduty

They grinned like syrup-drunk children all through dinner and left the restaurant hand in hand. Morgan kissed her girlfriend’s cheek as they walked, casually, back to the car. The world hadn't stopped turning for them since their night in the woods, if anything it pressed in closer on them, daring them to buckle under its weight. But alone together, with their bodies linked, and the stars bright above them, they slipped just beyond the hold of worry, and into something else. A world of their own, as Deirdre had put it. Morgan smiled brightly at her as she fished out her duffel bag from the backseat and reclined to change her shoes. “Does coming with me to help dig up the bones of my dead ancestor’s enemy also count as part of our date?” She asked, emphasizing the word, enjoying the novelty of it. It was only their second, after a lazy picnic on the beach to watch the first sunrise in White Crest in weeks, but it felt more salacious for being so traditional. Wine. Dinner. White tablecloths with flowers on them. Morgan swallowed the urge to look behind them, just in case someone had realized those ordinary pleasures weren’t allowed for them. “Just curious,” she said coyly, “I’m not up on all the supernatural girlfriend rules.” 

It was strange to say it felt different. This was hardly their first time having dinner together or sharing casual conversation laced with intimacy. But it had felt different. Deirdre didn’t have to bite the inside of her cheek to stop from smiling too much or to stop her looks from lingering or her touches from wanting. Everything was that much better, a feat she never thought possible. The world spun kinder, the stars shone brighter and despite a slow, gnawing fear, she was happy. They were happy. “I thought the gravedigging was the date,” Deirdre hummed thoughtfully. Her grin turned lopsided, though no less brilliant and wide. “Don’t tell me it was dinner. What horror. I suppose we’ll have to have another, one day.” Ever her tone, mockingly naive, was dripping with unrestrained fondness. “I will, though,” she softened her cat-like grin, “take any reason to spend a moment with you, my love.” The endearment, though rarely said, left her naturally every time. Deirdre reached across, searching for Morgan’s hand to hold. “Funny; I don’t know all my witch girlfriend rules. The graveyard isn’t a euphemism, is it? I know this will shock you, but I love graveyards.”  

Morgan kissed her banshee sweetly and slipped her hand readily into hers. Some part of her knew this was just a bubble, that something would reach them and winter would come and she’d have to wait again, or they would have to cling to each other for something besides easy comfort. But that piece of her was submerged in a dark, quiet room far within her, and Morgan was more than happy to dwell on other thoughts. “What? You and graveyards? Oh earth, what a weird coincidence! You wouldn’t also happen to like bones, though, would you? You know some people think they’re gross, so you don’t have to look at them if you don’t want to. Or touch them, or anything. In fact, I could just hide them, as soon as I’m done. You’ll never even know they were there!” She began to laugh, giving up the game too soon. “Really, though, I appreciate your doing this. Even if it was such a ‘you’ thing I would’ve been too cruel not to ask.” She held open the gate of Eluria cemetery, and chivalrously beckoned Deirdre inside. 

Winston had mapped the way for her perfectly in their diagram, up they walked, passing tombs and slabs that grew older, moldier. Some were bent at mournful angles, half toppled from wind and rains. “How do they feel to you?” She asked as they went, soft and sincere now. “I’ve never been afraid of cemeteries or anything, but you get this look when you talk about them. I’ve just wondered.”

Deirdre rolled her eyes, chuckling eventually when she was done pouting at Morgan’s joke. “Deny me my bones, Morgan, and I can show you a different kind of cruelty.” It was as flimsy a threat as they came, further dashed by the roguish smirk that accompanied. “We can talk about how much you appreciate me later. Unless...is this all a plot to get me alone in a cemetery? Morgan, why--” Distance between them was closed effortlessly as Deirdre pressed in, using her height to tower over as she lingered, gaze turned down; ravenous. “---we wouldn’t want Constance to think your priorities are somewhere else, would we?” She leaned in only to twist and stride through the newly opened gate. Her excitement for the familiar warmth and the beckoning stories below was poorly contained, and she was forced to grip the wooden body of the shovel she held to center herself. She was happy enough to follow Morgan’s lead, knowing she’d lose herself in the gravestones and gravel if she didn’t. “The graves?” She tilted her head, watching Morgan’s face for any hint of a joke now. The sincerity of her voice assured her easily though, that Morgan’s curiosity was genuine, and Deirdre turned her gaze around to the dark cemetery surrounding them. “It’s comforting, warm. I can tell there’s something sitting under the earth and my body feels drawn to each one--but rather than being pulled apart in different directions, there’s a thousand threads surrounding me and I know if I followed any one of them I’d reach home. This place begs me to hear it.” She closed her eyes, roaming off their path as her body desired. “I imagine...you could think of this as stepping into a library, all filled with the kind of books you know you’ll like. A new story is here for my picking, a gentle place for me to fall. I could crawl into a grave of my own, let the dirt take me. I could think of it like a garden, overgrown with the most vivid flowers. I could pluck each one and there would still be another in its place. Beauty so unrestrained, so--” she snapped her eyes open, realizing she’d strayed and laughed softly as she followed a different desire easily back to Morgan’s side. “Or something like that.”

Morgan melted under Deirdre’s attention at the gate. Her breath caught in a gasp and she looked up at her, lips parted, eyes wide with anticipation. For an instant she lost the finer points of language, too thrilled to tease back and-- Deirdre slipped away, teasing still. Morgan sighed ruefully and trotted to catch up.

She caught Deirdre searching her and squeezed her arm gently in response. She meant it, truly. She wanted to know. And as Deirdre explained, Morgan’s vision went double. She could, from her study, appreciate the calm of graveyards for the living, the need to make peace mortality, the need to make something beautiful for those that had gone, to give all the love that had no place left go a shape, a purpose. But what Deirdre explained was different. When she spoke, Morgan imagined the grass turning greener, the earth richer and softer. She saw the threads, frail as spider’s silk on human fingers, spreading out, glowing white as the moon on Deirdre’s face. “You don’t have to stop,” she said, giving her a sidelong look. “It makes sense to me when you talk about it.” She looked back over at the spot Deirdre had just been. It was only earth, only special because she had been there. “We’re almost there, but, what is ‘home’? The way you say it, it’s bigger than a place. Is it…” her brow furrowed as she searched for the words. “Do you think about dying? Or is it something different, something to do with your soul? Or something else?” She turned her attention back to the map to check their progress, flushing. “You can also say, if I’m asking too many questions at once.”

It was strange to have someone be so interested, so understanding. Deirdre assumed she might get used to that strangeness after their night in the forest, after their feelings were clear. She was happy to be wrong, of course, happy to know she was a fool to think this was something she even wanted to get used to. She stabbed the shovel into the ground, using both hands gripping Morgan’s waist to reel her into her. Awe shone brilliantly across her eyes and tender appreciation softened her smile. Deirdre leaned in to kiss Morgan briefly, unwilling to side-track them with something longer.“Are you sure,” she asked gently, “that this really wasn’t your devious plan to get us alone by the graves? I don’t think old Elliot Roberts over there will mind if we use his gravestone as a seat for something else.” But there was an old bitch to dig up, as she was told. And even as her words teased, she knew this trip was important to Morgan, as she did want nothing more than to set her heart at ease. She pulled the shovel out of the earth and continued. “I mean it like a feeling, of going to a place where you are known, welcomed, where things make sense and there is just you and this place. I’m sure you’ve felt it in other things. Home isn’t always one thing, but in this feeling, there’s a home I can come back to.” Her eyes trailed across the cemetery once more. “Death for me is the same as it is for everyone here. Death is equal, always. I just know it better than these people did. I always think about dying, I wouldn’t know how not to.” Deirdre turned back, chuckling. With her free hand, she brushed Morgan’s fluffy curls out of her face--as she imagined it might be easier to read her make-shift map that way. “I like your questions. They are never ‘too many’. But I won’t distract you from getting the bones we came here for.”

Morgan sighed, safe and content in Deirdre’s arms. “No devious plan,” she said, looking earnestly at her. “I just want to know you.” She kissed her back, rising up on her toes to rest against her more as she spoke. “Just don’t think about it so much that it happens,” she said. “If you don’t make it to two hundred, I’m coming back to haunt you.” Morgan struggled to wrap her head around how many years she had left herself. How many years could she hope for with the curse? How many could she hope for without it? It might be a relief, if the time was right, to rest and never have to worry again. To lay in a place where there was no more running, no more fear. It was only when she thought about losing others that her heart clammed up and went away, she was so sick of it, so exhausted, she couldn’t bear to imagine Deirdre like that. She stuffed the thought away and looked back up at her, let herself be petted and loved. “I like the sound of the rest though. And after this, maybe we can have a date that really is just some time in a cemetery. I’d like to hear you talk about it more. And I do know that feeling. Libraries, at least the ones where you can tell someone loves them, even if they’re not very big. And some special books. And my magic. I wish you could feel it sometimes. Actually, if you’ll come with me--” She kissed her again and lead her by the hand up to the grave in question. 

The original marker, if there had been much of one, was long gone, replaced by a generic replacement the cemetery put out for those unfortunate enough to need them. Morgan stuck her shovel in the ground and lifted as much earth as she could manage. She knelt down, urging Deirdre with her, and weighed it carefully, working through what she might make of it most easily. “Energy connects everything in the universe, all the tissue, all the elements, not just the big arcane four, but everything. The compounds that--ooh, that make growth flourish after decay, that change the colors in the body, or that feed the earth, that tarnish, or strengthen, and--” She cradled the earth in her lap, touching her cuff to it. “To tap into that, you have to know it’s a part of you, you have to...I, anyway, have to trust that we already know each other, me and the thing before me. And you have to see what it could be, inside and out. And if I’m going to ask this thing to change, to become brighter, or softer, I just...it makes sense, opening myself, and meeting it in the middle and trusting it to listen. “Hold it with me,” she said, placing Deirdre’s hand on the bunched up soil. She looked at her a moment, opened herself, and pushed, willing the soil to listen. It was old hat to her by now, though she hadn’t had reason to work this particular pathway before. Still, it was waiting for her at the top of her memory, and suddenly in their hands was a dense, rough, stone of garnet.

“I was hoping to make it to three hundred, personally.” Deirdre laughed. She thought to explain that it was important to think of it, to ready oneself for it. That her family did it often, and that she had her own will already worked out despite the years before her. But she knew how much death had taken from Morgan, and as much as it anchored Deirdre, she couldn’t explain that all of this was woven into her nature before birth. But magic, as Morgan said it, might have been similar. It might just have been enough to say that death to Deirdre was magic to Morgan. But they were too different. Magic had never taken anything from her. It was far more personal and giving than death could ever be. And she was fae, Morgan was human. “I’d go with you anywhere, Morgan.” She said simply, before she was kissed and led along. 

She sat with Morgan. Watched, mesmerized mostly, as she explained. She imagined it too, being connected to life in something other than death, in this special energy and the magic that could harness it. The glowing warm white threads that connected her to the thousands of pieces of death turned multicolor, they attached to the ends of dirt, trees, grass and even the stars, trillions of miles away. And she trusted these new threads too, just as Morgan mentioned it. Her hand was placed upon the dirt and she knew there wasn’t an ounce of magic in her, not the human kind and barely the fae kind. But she did it anyway, just like Morgan said. All of the opening and trusting--even beyond the kind she did already for Morgan. She glanced down at their hands and the gem she didn’t recognize. Revealed to them so wondrously was a piece of the world. And it was Morgan who willed that. Deirdre looked up, lacking words that could explain how thankful she was, how special it felt, how much awe Morgan left her in. In lieu of trying to find language, she leaned in and kissed Morgan, giving and opening in the way she imagined the magic did. “Can I keep it?” She pointed at the garnet, “I don’t know the world the way you do. But I like hearing it, I like knowing, seeing and getting to feel it. And I want to keep that stone. And--thank you. I know I don’t feel it exactly, but if you’re with me, it must be close.” As her imagined threads turned back into the ones that pulled her to death, she found herself missing the new ones. She had never known color, not like it was revealed to her then. But it was just a piece, and she wanted to know more--she wanted to know her too. The differences between them weren’t bad, just the dirt that covered the bright stones and old skeletons underneath. She could know both, they could know both. Know each other. Deirdre glanced at the grave, “if we can get a bone out. I can show you what a vision is like.”  

Morgan watched as Deirdre took in the transmutation, the wonder in her face mirroring Morgan’s own. She felt it, as surely as if the energy between them had turned to thread and touched them, that Deirdre held the same fascination for magic as she did for her strange and gentle death. Morgan closed Deirdre’s fingers around the stone and pressed it into her grasp. And in the dark, with their hands layered and the life and death around them, she wondered if their worlds might come together somehow, not dissolved into one, but layered over one another, touching just as their hands did. And just as their interlocked hands made Morgan feel expansive enough to carry anything she was asked, the touch of Deirdre’s underworld would make Morgan’s above so much wider and more beautiful for being interlinked.

“Now you know how I feel when you talk about cemeteries,” She said against Deirdre’s lips. “At least that much is definitely the same. Close is good. Close is worth everything.” She brought Deirdre’s hand to her lips, still cradling the garnet in her palm where it belonged, and kissed her fingers with care, her gaze never leaving her banshee’s. “I made it for you, Deirdre,” she said. “You can’t tell because it’s dark, and I’ll put it through a little alchemical refinement so it shines for you, but it’s your favorite color. In popular crystal lore, garnets are an icon of devotion and love, sometimes passion. The myth goes that you keep it close to balance the energy with yourself, and to place it near the bed, to harmonize yours with your beloved’s. But mostly, I just was thinking of you when I was settling on what to make,” she beamed and unfurled her grip from Deirdre’s hand. “It was already yours,” she said, their lips nearly touching again. “Keep it safe for me until I can make it into something you can wear with you, okay?” She kissed the corner of her mouth where it dimpled and got to her feet. They had some digging to do. “And thank you. I was...I was thinking of asking you already. You did say it doesn’t hurt, didn’t you?--I’m just hoping that the more I know about her, the better chance I’m going to have at summoning her. I’m bringing in the experts, but if I know her going in, maybe I can get her to talk to me. Get her to tell me how to fix it so I’m not looking over my shoulder the rest of my life.” 

Simple as it seemed, Deirdre hadn’t once considered that the way she thought of Morgan and her magic, might have been the way she thought of her connection to death. All of her family’s words of humans that would never understand or care quieted, and she smiled, breathless and awed again. Struck, purely, by the light of Morgan. How was it that the word could seem so much wider, brighter, warmer and new in such a simple way? It was the same world, the one she’d always known so well. Suddenly, she was knowing it better, seeing it clearer. “I’ll keep it safe,” she assured, lost on what else to say. “Thank you,” she stood with her, slipping the stone into the inner chest pocket of her jacket. It didn’t feel like it was enough, but Deirdre had already said her share about words failing so spectacularly at conveying what she wanted them too. And she’d have Morgan right there, show her with more than words what it all meant, but there was digging to do. Even as desire flickered across her eyes, she pushed it aside and turned back to the task at hand. “It doesn’t hurt.” She pulled her shovel up, and started on the dirt. There was a lot, and Deirdre--though decidedly against--was used to this kind of manual labor. She’d dug up graves before, she’d made a couple too. The task was effortless for her. “It really doesn’t. It’s like...watching a movie.” A loud, overlapping, screeching or choppy movie. Sometimes one horrific, sometimes one more personal, but a movie nonetheless. “I’m happy to do this for you. It--well,” she paused her digging. “Maybe I’ve been a little...sad...knowing I can’t really help you with this. I wasn’t there at the house, and there’s no reason for me to come to the summoning so this is...something I can do for you. And I do--want to do things for you, I mean. I do.” 

Morgan dug much slower. Her arms were strong after years of lifting mannequins and balancing trays of food, but she was unaccustomed to this kind of work. She gripped her shovel stubbornly, pushing through the ache, and smiling over her shoulder at Deirdre, angling for approval. “Does it help if you know I’m not sad? My curse goes after people who are family or practically family. People who matter more than anyone else. And if the last few field trips have been any indicator, the stuff I’m tapping into to make this go away are many kinds of unfriendly and dangerous. I can’t do anything about you being close to me, or I’ve decided to risk it with you anyway, but at least with the other stuff--I just don’t want to be reckless with you, with your life. I want to protect you from the cosmic blast, as much as--” There was a sound nearby, somewhere behind them, like nails on a chalkboard. Morgan went still, her shovel mid-air. She looked at Deirdre, now wary. “Hey, did you hear--” The stone door over a nearby tomb split and shattered in a wave of powder. Death white noses snarled and sniffed the air, growling and snapping. Their eyes scanned the dark, and before Morgan could think of anything like ‘hide’ or ‘run’ they had settled on the pair of them in the dark and bounded in a charge. 

Deirdre’s digging turned mindless as a chill crawled up her spine. She knew the feeling, but placing it was harder when she was surrounded by the sensations of death. She hadn’t really been listening to Morgan, a fact she was sorry for, when one of her invisible threads tugged her harder. Her head snapped up in time to watch spawns bound towards them, hissing and hungry. Deirdre darted in front of Morgan without thought, mouth open to will a scream when her throat fought her back. A wheeze left her instead, then a sharp cough. She hadn’t healed fully, it seemed, not enough to scream under pressure. “Behind me!” Deirdre called out, swinging her shovel out to crush against the skull of a spawn, tossing it to the floor in a momentary daze. As quick as she could, she brought the shovel under the force of her heel and snapped it. The new point sunk happily into the chest of another spawn, melting it to dust around her. She flipped the shovel and stuck the point into the spawn she’d left wriggling on the floor. But two down didn’t stop a hungry group of them. She tried to scream again, then coughed. The sharp, metallic taste at the back of her mouth told her all she needed to know about how well that plan was going to work. 

Morgan jumped behind Deirdre as she was told, clutching her shovel for dear life as she thought. They couldn’t stay here. They were trapped, they had dug themselves too deep and they were trapped now. Anything could jump in, could drag them out. “We have to get out,” she whispered, pulling on her arm. Maybe if they hurried, maybe if they-- 

Two spawn leapt for them on either side of the hole. Morgan only saw the first: its claw-like hands aimed straight for Deirdre’s throat, its teeth bared to the moon. 

“No!” Her hand shot out, and with it, the certainty and force of her desperation. The creature bounced back as if it had been struck by an invisible hand and collapsed, growling, onto its back. 

The second, Morgan felt: its cold, earth-crusted hand wrapped around her neck, lifting her off the ground. Morgan flailed. Once, just once, this wasn’t the time to breathe. She had to hold herself, focus. “Run. The others,” She gulped, and pulled on the arm clutching her, pressing on its skin with her cuff. The wish wasn’t a hard one to make. This time, when the dead blood and melted flesh splattered on her hands and clothes, Morgan didn’t stop to scream. She caught herself on the edge of their hole and gave another push with her magic and screamed after she saw it vanish under the end of her shovel.

Deirdre hissed, feeling the weight of her uselessness as she scrambled up out of the grave after Morgan. A few spawns had fallen in, unaware of how to crawl themselves out. The others snarled at them, their slow brains unable to fathom how to traverse a hole for the moment. Only for the moment. “Morgan. Morgan!” Deirdre reached for her girlfriend, trying to grab her hand but unable to under the dark and the increasing threat of the spawns. “Can you distract them?” She said, calming, working through a plan. “Anything you can think of for now; they’re dumb. A bright light, a loud noise, a mirror--” she coughed, “I just need--I just need time. So, if you can--” her voice cracked and the rest of her explanation fell silent as the spawns leapt across the hole, charging for them again. Deirdre sunk knives cleanly into some, an action that only served to slow them. They were undeterred. 

Morgan nodded and ran for the nearest tree. She snapped off the nearest branch. Not much of a stake, but wood was flammable, maybe--- Morgan sparked it into flaming kindling. It wasn’t her best work, the flames surged up, crackling, and withered in the air without more to sustain itself.

The spawn turned their attention on her, stalking and snarling. She had to do more, do better. She ran further afield, circling back to dart behind a stone angel for cover. She touched the sculpture near its base. The stone cracked like thunder as it fell, drawing them towards her, away from Deirdre. 

Morgan broke her shovel against the stone rubble and braced herself for the charge. She waited. They needed to be close, so close they’d be close enough to bite. She peeked her head out from her hiding place and searched for Deirdre, then she put her power into the earth around her and willed it to turn soft and heavy, to sink with sludge as she had in the woods before. Her muscles trembled, aching to run, to hide, but she climbed onto what was left of the stone ledge and held her ground. She lifted the jagged end of the shovel. She could do this. She could last long enough for whatever Deirdre had planned.

Her only wish had been to keep Morgan safe, to protect her. She had failed, so horribly, at just that. Deirdre’s throat burned in protest at her attempts at screaming. She watched Morgan move instead, watched the fire--she’d explain later that spawns didn’t like fire--then her show with the statue. The spawns around her sunk blindly into the mud, snarling their desperation as they pulled up mud trying to crawl to her. Unable to bear the sight any longer, Deirdre forced her plan into action despite her protesting throat. “Hey!” She called out, running around the far side of the statue. Whatever spawns hadn’t yet found themselves pulled into Morgan’s mud trap turned to Deirdre, charging hungrily at her. She pulled in as much cold, spring night-air into her lungs as she could, and wailed the moment she was sure they were far enough away from Morgan that her scream could be aimed safely away from her. The spawns trembled, struck into fear by the magnitude of the strange, unfathomably loud sound. Whatever few hadn’t run off were quivering, hands clutched hopelessly to their pointed ears. Deirdre introduced them to the pointy end of her shovel quickly before she ran up to the edge of the mud-trap. Some spawns had finally reached the ledge, others were slowly but stubbornly making their way to the witch. Luckily enough, they had unknowingly organized themselves into a neat little line. In one moment they were snarling, desperate and hopeful for food, the next they were still, sinking back slowly into the mud. Deirdre had screamed again, twisting the effects of this one and aiming it down the line of spawns. Now unmoving and no longer a threat, Deirdre took the time to call out to Morgan, “get rid of the mud!” 

Of course the sound that came from Deirdre’s mouth wasn’t human. How many times had she told her she was anything but human? And yet Morgan flinched back, trembling with fear, with wonder. It was like something from an old nightmare, not one of hers but the ones that were passed down through collective imagination, that kept people up at night, frozen in their beds, through the centuries. She understood all at once how banshees had become a monster to run from, and a force of power to be reckoned with. 

She stopped in her burning efforts to stake the spawn herself without earning too many scratches and bites when Deirdre came to join her and dropped to the ground, turning it into plain, solid dirt. She looked over at the creatures, waiting to see what they would do, but they remained immobile. She stayed on her knees, suddenly recognizing her exhaustion and looked up at her girlfriend with relief. “Oh, babe,” she panted.

The screaming was horribly painful; like a dried wound splitting open over and over again. Deirdre knew blood coated the inside of her mouth before she even looked to check what she was coughing into her handkerchief. But as it were, the silky white fabric was stained with hot red blood. She stuffed the cloth away, sparing one last glance at the incapacitated spawns now sunk far enough into the mud that even if they woke, they’d have bigger problems than the two of them. Deirdre met Morgan on the ground, uncaring about the dirt that would come to coat her knees. “Are you okay?” She fussed, inspecting the human for injuries. Under the moonlight, she could only see superficial scratches, but she wasn’t sure what she’d find once they were home. “Hey,” she cupped her face, smiling in a transparent attempt not to show worry, “you did amazing, Morgan. I almost feel like waking a spawn up and bragging about my very badass girlfriend.” She turned her face slightly to the left; not hurt. Then to the right; not hurt. “Hey,” she cooed again, “how are your ears?”

Morgan sagged with relief and pulled her arms around her girlfriend. She stung in several places, ached in several more, but Deirdre was with her, unscathed, almost unshaken. “I’m okay,” she said, leaning into her touch. “It’s nothing bad, I’m okay.” Her smile came easily. “And we did amazing. You were--I’ve never even heard you before like that.” She brushed her hair back and thumbed the fullness of her cheek to reassure her. She couldn’t be hurt too bad if she could smile and touch her like this. “They’re ringing, a litte,” she admitted, lifting a hand to touch them, testing. “But just a bit. I can hear you okay.” She kissed her gently and pulled back with concern when she tasted something strange on her lips. She touched her fingers to the wet stain in her mouth. Blood. “Deirdre your throat. How hurt are you? How do you feel?”

Deirdre’s smile thinned under the praise, she had no sense of how her scream sounded. She’d heard it described as monstrous, like the pained shriek of some inhuman creature. To her, it sounded natural, almost like a song. “Okay,” she softened, then tensed again under the kiss and ensuing questions. She also had no sense of hurt, not to her. She wasn’t allowed pain, or to wallow in injury. If a wound wasn’t life-altering, it wasn’t worth note. Her voice might turn hoarse if she strained it but it didn’t matter. Her throat would heal. She could scream in peace again. “Can you stand?” She asked, ignoring Morgan’s questions. “If you can’t, I’ll carry you back to Constance’s grave. I’ll finish the digging and you can enjoy the wonderful sight of me. How’s that sound?”

Morgan’s face wrinkled with concern. “Hey, no. Answer me, babe,” she said softly, bringing their heads carefully together. “How you’re doing matters. To me it matters.” She pulled them up to their feet and ran her hands down her body, inspecting for more damage than she could see, but it was all in the strained muscles of her neck, which she pressed upon with the gentlest touch, lest she hurt her more.”I’m good to walk. For once, it’s not my leg this time,” she said wryly. “Now tell me how you are so we can finish this up.”

Deirdre winced, a reaction she buried quickly by cutting her pained expression with stoicism. She would be fine. Nothing else mattered. Deirdre pressed her lips to Morgan’s forehead. Her throat throbbed more in rest, a pain nearly worse than when she harmed it first. But she was used to this pain, her childhood was marked by it. “Okay,” she pulled Morgan close to her, wrapping her arm around her waist as she urged them to walk. “Let’s move then.” For a moment, she ignored Morgan’s question again, then realized an answer would end this sooner. “I’m okay,” she answered, sure it was a lie only in how it settled poorly in her stomach. “I’ll take more tea when we get back, but I’m fine. You seem a lot worse than me, Morgan. Now come on, let’s walk.” 

Morgan went along reluctantly. She pressed a firm kiss to her shoulder, hoping it would leave something of the care she wanted to give her behind with it. “Okay. Lots more tea, and a good brush, maybe.” She squeezed her again. They really wouldn’t have come out half as well without each other. Did it count as trouble for her curse if being together was what had kept them alive? Was this a warning shot from the universe, or just White Crest? “I guess we really do help each other, huh?” she said. 

When they reached the hole in the earth they had dug, Morgan eased herself carefully to the ground and dangled her legs over the side. The soreness was coming alive in her arm, making it feel heavy and stiff, but she wanted to do her share nonetheless. Lifting the remains of her shovel again, however, was evidence enough against the idea. Morgan winced and punched her shovel into the dirt with her foot. It thumped, striking something solid. “Can you--?” She asked, embarrassed to not be of more help.

“We do, Morgan.” And Deirdre pressed a kiss to the side of her head as they walked, thankfully, in silence. When they reached the grave, Deirdre was remiss to find she couldn’t voice more of an argument to Morgan digging. She was sore, Deirdre wasn’t. It was simple enough to her that the witch should rest. In the end though, her attempt to rest her voice resulted in working twice as hard to make sure Morgan could happily do less. Morgan struck the casket first as Deirdre pushed the dirt out around it so it could open. “Hey,” she moved behind her, her voice took on an unintentional rasp, “why don’t you crawl out and I’ll get a bone? What are you thinking? Skull? Rib? Clavicle?” Her laugh was shaky, wheezy at best. 

Morgan sighed, knowing there was nothing more for her to do. She turned around in Deirdre’s arms, touched a finger to her lip and kissed her cheek. “I think a skull for me and a few ribs for you will do the trick. They’ll make a nice memento of how you helped me break my curse,” she said sweetly. She pulled herself onto the ledge, grunting as she felt the burn from her wounds intensify and sat, waiting intently. “What do you see?” She asked.

Deirdre waited until Morgan was out before she pushed open the casket, her muscles burned under all the work, but she was happy to do it. And there, in all its glory, was Constance’s skeletal remains. 

The bones before her were clearly old, nearly dust. Deirdre decided then that they were lucky there was still something to hold, even brittle as it was. The banshee knelt down, picking the delicate skull gently in her hands. Without warning, her eyes rolled back into an impossible blackness. She opened her mouth to explain this process to Morgan but was struck suddenly into silence instead, jabbed with the demands of a dead woman’s body. Constance begged to be heard and the will of her tugged Deirdre into a vision burning and possessive. 

She sees first the full moon above, then she feels the night’s cold rush around her. Wind rustles through thick branches. There is anger unimaginable, pain indescribable. Constance stands in front of a cauldron. The wind picks up around her. Deirdre hears the wood snapping in the fire behind the witch, the runic circle she has drawn is forgein to Deirdre’s knowledge. But the heartbreak is not and Constance carries with her an unconquerable sort. The pain and venom in her voice is clear but the words are jumbled together. Deirdre tries to tug on them but her will is swallowed by Constance’s and her vision snaps to the woman’s face. She is too young to know this kind of anger. To know this blotchiness of face, to know how tears can dry and renew against her cheek. Deirdre tugs on the words again; Constance demands she bear witness to the magnitude of her anger. The fire behind her cracks again and again but the splintering wood is only a start. She wants everything to snap that way too, the intention written clearly across her face. She holds a knife. She grips the knife tighter. The fire cracks. She speaks in tongues. Then she speaks clear; she speaks with anger thick and toxic. The fire cracks. She plunges the knife into her chest. Her ribs crack to her pressure. Her body slumps instead of fighting her. This is not death, not like it should be. Before life drains from her eyes, they spare one last burning look into the depths of her cauldron: the family portrait, the locket with the dark hair. Life does not fade from her, it is taken. The fire cracks. 

Deirdre gasped, thrust back into the present. Her eyes bore into Constance’s cracked skull, wondering if her rage willed each mark there. She had never seen anger like that. Never known a voice to sound so broken and resolved in the same breath. Never known a body to slump so unnaturally. There was death…and then there was what Constance had done. Deirdre swallowed thickly and repeated Constance’s last words, “for so long as the Bachman family hearts beat blood, they will know true suffering every third year in my name. And so long as my soul exists, my curse will persist.” Deirdre glanced up at Morgan, unable to describe the torture she’d seen across Constance’s face. Her gaze dropped back to the skull. “What do you have to do to make a woman that angry?” She asked in a whisper, then directed her words to Constance, “what did they do to you?” Knowing her intimately through one tumultuous vision, she expected an answer for it. Her remains, unsurprisingly, did not speak.  

Morgan flinched back with horror as something in Constance’s bones seemed to consume Deirdre. She was there, hers and bright and solemn and ready to explain; the next she was rigid, unreal and unseeing. Her eyes rolled back, swallowed with a cold, black darkness Morgan had never seen before. She stammered her name, hoping for reassurance. But Deirdre held still, her mouth half open and stiff, as if frozen from within. Morgan waited, forcing herself to breathe slowly. How long did it take? What if something had gone wrong?

 She called her name again and pushed herself back into the hole, arms protesting. She stepped tentatively towards her. With her eyes strange and vanished into dark it was like a stranger had taken her body from within. But she must be in there. She was strong. Maybe this was even how it was supposed to work. “Deirdre…?” Her fingers trembled as she stretched out her hand. 

Deirdre was back, just as suddenly, and Morgan withdrew her floating touch. And then she spoke. Not her words, but the sealing of a generations-old curse. Morgan’s own breath hitched as she put it together. “She leveraged her life,” Morgan said, starting to feel stiff herself. “Her life. That’s what she paid. She really—” Gave up her existence to seal Morgan’s suffering. Seal Agnes’ and Ruth’s, all of them. No wonder nothing ever felt like enough. They were fighting against someone cruel enough to seal magic with her life. Morgan stiffened with chills, the more she thought, the more she dreaded. How did you balance something like that? What kind of backdoor would be waiting for her when she knew the rest? 

At last, she looked back to meet Deirdre’s face. It seemed pointless to ask if she was okay, and yet it was all she wanted to hear, the only thing she could imagine to push away her fear. She reached out to her again. “Please,” she said softly. “Set it aside and come here, please, Deirdre?”

Deirdre’s eyes traced each crack, following the arches and indents of the skull in front of her. For the first time in her life, she was holding bones she wasn’t excited about. She remembered Morgan’s offer for a memento and winced at the thought of keeping any part of Constance. Deirdre nodded and stood up, skull in her hands. “I think there might have been some kind of spell. She…” Deirdre trailed off with a sigh, remembering the searing anger etched into Constance’s face, tinged with cavernous sadness. Lost in the cracks and curves, it took her a moment to process Morgan’s words. Once they had settled into her mind, her daze lifted and she set the skull back down gingerly and pulled Morgan into her arms. She turned her head and took in her scent; lavender and honey cut now with sweat and dirt. It was grounding enough. “I’m sorry,” she said with clarity a moment later. “I’m so sorry, Morgan. I’m not---I don’t think that’s a vision I should share with you in detail.” While less gruesome than most of Deirdre’s vision, that anger was nothing but disheartening. A woman with anger like that wouldn’t be struck down so easily. She was vindictive, in every sense. Deirdre wanted Morgan to keep hope. Constance didn’t provide any. 

Morgan latched onto her girlfriend, squeezing tight. She was soft again, familiar and loving. Whatever Constance had done, it wouldn’t keep its hold over them for long. This was stronger, better, even if she couldn’t bottle it into magic, it still powered her. Deirdre had come back from the old witch’s grasp and was hers again, just as Morgan’s life would be when she prised the curse out of that ghost’s hands. Morgan clung to that thought as hard as she had clung to Deirdre. She had almost convinced herself to breathe easy again when Deirdre spoke. 

“Deirdre, please,” she said, shifting to look up at her. “You don’t have to tell me right right now if it’s too much, but please. I need this. If I’m going to bring her back here and win, I need to know her.” And yet her breath rattled in her chest. What could her banshee have seen to leave her rattled? What other details could she have seen? “Whatever you need too, whatever I can give you to make this fair, it’s yours. You can write it, if that’s better. I—just tell me how to help you.”

Deirdre frowned, her brows furrowed with obvious concern. Morgan’s recklessness could be good, she needed it--it kept her brave. But all Deirdre could see now was the horrible place it might lead her right to. Constance hated her. She didn’t even know her, but she hated her. And hated her so strong, so pure and indescribable. “You don’t have to make this fair, Morgan.” She lifted a hand up to cup Morgan’s cheek. “What I’d want, you can’t---you can’t give me now.” Would she make her promise not to summon her? Promise to stay safe? Promise to come back safe? Promise not to die? Promise that something else could be done? “Do you remember how Miriam looked at you? All that hate?” Deirdre swallowed, “she’s going to---she might be a little more than mad about seeing you.” Worry coursed through her, it seized her thoughts and coiled around her sore throat. “I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you what I can. Let’s take some bones home. There was this circle she had, I didn’t recognize it, but I can draw it from my vision. I can map it all out for you if you think it’ll help, just…” she didn’t dare finish that sentence. Having to look again into Constance’s final moments would tear her apart, but she was more than willing to do. And what she wanted in return, Morgan’s safety and happiness, she knew she couldn’t ask for. She knew, with a strange chilling certainty, that it wasn’t possible. Not the way she wanted it to be. But she loved her, and she was willing to bear whatever pain she needed to. She would stay, regardless. 

Morgan’s soul dug its heels into her. So Constance had something awful, bitter and personal under all her hatred. So she would fight them, maybe lie to them. So she was no better than Miriam’s blind vendetta. Morgan didn’t have the luxury of being daunted. She had her suffering on one end of the road, marked with grief and hospital bills and wounds that wouldn’t be left along long enough to heal properly. And then she had her life, the life that had been cursed away from her, on the other. She met Deirdre’s look with determination. “I won’t do it by myself,” she said. “And I’ll be stronger than her. I’ll find a way to win, whatever it takes. I’ll do it, and we’ll never have to worry about this again.” She squeezed the hand on her cheek and turned her face to kiss her palm. “And I will make it fair someday,” she added, more softly. “I don’t know how, but I will. Because this could give me everything, Deirdre. My whole life.” She slipped back into her arms again. “Thank you, for all of this. I can collect the bones. I need some for the spell anyway. You can help me up when I’m done. And then we’ll go home and I’ll make you some tea. You can show me what you found in the morning.  Will that be okay?”

Deirdre laughed bitterly in response, though the perverse humor only she understood softened in time. This was the determination she admired, the spark that she liked. The one she didn’t want to see die. “And if it doesn’t, Morgan? If this just gets you hurt?” She asked, her concern had begun to work itself permanently into her features. “Yes. Yes, it’ll be okay,” Deirdre said. It wouldn’t. None of it would. Morgan didn’t see it, or she did and chose to ignore it. But what else was there? What else could Morgan do but try? Deirdre swallowed, scared as she was, she was more determined to help Morgan. “I love you,” she smiled softly, “you don’t have to make it fair. Just...keep yourself safe.” She wouldn’t, Deirdre knew that. It wouldn’t be okay. Not with a woman who held that much hate. 

“I won’t stop until it works,” Morgan said. “And I love you too, Deirdre. For all the reasons I’ve had before, it’s the best one yet not to give up.” She rose on her tiptoes and kissed her, gentle and lingering. She had never seen Deirdre this worried, this anxious before, but it reminded her so much of her own when she had first started to uncover the truth: when she was up parsing out every choice she’d made in her day, weighing them against the shadow over her, when had at first been too afraid to even touch a book on curse-craft just in case something in the universe would see her and twist its subtle knife deeper in punishment. But Morgan had been wrestling with this long enough to become brave. She had told Deirdre as much in their earliest days. This job might kill me. It’s a long shot. But I have to try. If I don’t try I don’t know what I’ll do. It was true now as it was true then. “It’ll be okay,” she said, willing it to be no longer a question, but truth. “And I’ll be careful. There’s no way I’m leaving this world before I at least catch your first gray hair,” Morgan added. She squeezed her gently and laughed in a way she hoped would make Deirdre forget the grip of her worry. Morgan could stomach enough of the hard stuff for both of them and keep the darkest thoughts away, never to breathe the air. She would finish this. For life she dreamed of, for the life soft and banshee-cold in her arms, for the lives she never got to have, she would finish this. 

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

The Siren & The Healer (7)

Natasha Romanoff arc

Chapter 7: The Secret

Platonic Natasha x fem!Reader, Loki x fem!Reader (soulmates?)

Theme: With cracks between the most powerful superheroes of the earth, Natasha Romanoff does not find rest when she is assigned on a mission to find the missing pieces of a puzzling power that once nearly got into the hands- rather, tentacles- of Hydra. In order to unearth the pieces, she must dig through her own past and make a decision that might decide the fate of the earth in the coming wars.

Series: Will contain violence, death, destruction, softness, fluff, smut, friendship, and whatnot

Chapter warnings: Blood, death, gunshots, wounds, danger

A/N: This was written a few years ago with an OC in mind so reader has a name but it is a reader insert.

Word Count: Psychology is fun to learn. But oh God I still can’t belive I actually mentioned in passing about fanfiction in my resume

MASTERLIST in bio, love

Time: 1400 hrs

Location: Vienna

The prep siesta had partially done its job. You were snoring rhythms like a professional, your body splayed on that soft mattress that was going to make your back regret to ever have thought this expensive luxury could take your problems away for a day. Your lips parted, eyes moving under those heavy lids. Natasha couldn't help but smile on watching you like that- with no line of concern or some hidden worry. Though it didn't help the calculative part of her brain to wonder what had gone wrong and where to have you on your feet even when there was no threat. She had seen it- in your eyes; the perfect veil shrouding the fidgeting, your eyes darting towards the exit, the entrance and your own hands, those fluttering seconds when you would take a deep breath and blink multiple times to 'shake away' the moisture building at the edge of your eyes. Is she okay?

It was one thing to be worried about her family, her team, but to be feeling the need to wrap you in a blanket, kiss your forehead, hug you and make you something warm while watching your favourite shows- all this time keeping her gun close to point at anyone who dared hurt you- was overwhelming. It wasn't like she hadn't mentored little Black Widows back in the day. Her instincts to teach the right and wrong had been polished since she could remember how to hold a gun. With you, though, it was a different emotion entirely. Whenever she saw you- including the first time you ran away- she would see this little girl with dense brown hair standing amid rubble, her brown eyes looking straight at her, her dusky features marred with dust and dirt, the tears making a muddy passage over her cheeks. Her image seared into the Black Widow's skull whenever she would watch you. And just as the image had come, it would be burned into nothingness.

Noon was slow. Brunn was stretching while keeping his eyes on the monitors, making a five-minute ‘dash’ to the kitchen for a bowl of fruits. Keiko stretched her legs in the lounge, never bothering to suppress her yawn as she let her head hit the cushion and get a quick shut-eye.

Natasha urged Brunn to go get some rest, but the man was too stubborn to leave. "I downed four cups of black coffee for this, chief. Don't worry about me. You should go rest for a while. I'll let you know when it's time for your shift."

.

The last room to the corridor waited for her. The turn and click of the knob were easy. The view of the beige coloured bedroom emanating warmth was nostalgic. All the memories of her and Bruce talking through the night on their last mission in Vienna seemed to come back in one heavy downpour. Banner's giggles, his gentle stroke of fingers on her cheeks, him moving her hair strands away and her not feeling the need to crack his bones because it felt nice. It had never felt nice before with anyone else. That window from where the noon was being reflected in its full intensity was where they first kissed. The only time they kissed. And then Ultron happened. Wistful memories.

Her finger ran on the edge, surging up every piece of that memory till it stopped at the part of the frame where the polish was scratched. Natasha ran her finger on the roughness of the surface, her fingertips finding powdered roughness sticking to them despite knowing full well that the house is cleaned every Wednesday in the morning. Today was Wednesday.

It did not take more than two seconds to figure it out.

Keosha.

"WE'VE GOT COMPANY!"

No sooner did she blurt out those words than a figure all clad in black jumped out of the closet towards her, missing her as she bent away blocking his arm and aiming for his face with her elbow. The gun initially aimed at her was already falling on the floor with the man with a punch to his nuts. Before the man could clear the stars from his eyes, Natasha was running out of the room, hearing gunshots and furniture being broken- her mind only focusing the room at the opposite end.

.

It was a dream. But it seemed too real to be one. Flashes came and went. The smell of rocks just broken, the dust not settled yet. The odour of blood all around you. You could even taste it at one point. You looked down and saw your hands covered in them, not surprised. But beyond them, you focused on the familiar face lying still, dead eyes frozen unto you. That old face coloured in smoke and dust.

You wanted to call out to her, but everything crumbled in an instant, making you fall endlessly till you could feel your hands and knees over a floor glowing with the intensity of white sun with pulses in all colours of the rainbow, leading straight and far and...up? Your eyes widened at the ginormous tree with veins carrying the same sun till the tips of the endings branched out into infinity- into the galactic sky with a million stars and space clouds; out of which a pair of purple cloud and dust stood out.

You had to blink multiple times to witness those clouds transforming into the shape of purple irises looking right at you, growing in intensity by every second before everything went dark and you were left alone with your anxious breaths and a brain that was not thinking straight.

"Keosha!" A faint voice called out to you from somewhere. A whimper left your throat when you tried to walk towards the voice but could not see anything in the darkness.

"Keosha, you have to fight this!"

How?! You wanted to cry back. I can't even figure out where to look!

"Look inside you. You are here. You know who you are!"

...

What kind of stupid advice is that?

"Keosha!"

Your being tried to force itself out of this pitch-black existence, trying to find an opening; any opening. There was a glimmer of light, feeling like looking at something through the haze of a freshly awake pair of eyes or those which needed some sleep stat. Nonetheless, the outline of that pale face was hard to miss; especially when it stood out against the black hair falling from that head. There was a low and soothing, almost angelic voice saying something that you could not make out, but just as the haze started to clear, you caught a glimpse of eyes pure oceans of green looking at you with abundant surprise before everything faded into reality and you were being dragged off the bed while a man hovered over you.

"Hide!" Natasha hissed through her teeth as her hold left your feet and she sent a gun flying at the man with an injection in his hand, knocking him out there and then. You barely registered anything except your body rushing into the closet and closing it while Natasha fought off the bad guys with guns and knives. The grunts and growls coming from outside made every second a dreadful nightmare.

"Oh God oh God oh God oh God oh God oh God oh-" you found yourself whispering as your knees touched your chest, your arms wrapping around your shivering legs and your eyes on the verge of squeezing shut tight right when the closet door opened.

You and the man watching you exchanged a glance for one silent second before you were trying to crawl further back in the closet. He was faster. You felt his hand wrap around your neck- forcing all the warning alarms to go off- and throw you out.

Had your motor response been even a smidge better, you were pretty sure you would have avoided your forehead bumping into the bed frame. But for now, curses and stars in red and the strangest ringing was all that you felt as you dragged yourself under the bed, trying to get to the other side.

The man did get to you again. Grabbing your leg to pull you out. "What the fuck do you want?!" You cried out your lungs while smacking your foot into his face, putting him off balance for a second; enough for the Black Widow to pivot around the leg of the bed, wrap his head in her thighs and smacking the living daylights out of him.

At first, the silence was a bubble of relief where you tried to breathe as much as you could, trying to find a footing as your disoriented brain swerved. But the low rumble made you realise it wasn't you causing you to go mad but the house shivering before it was to collapse.

"What's happening?" You questioned your sanity with wide eyes before your eyes followed the dust raining down from the cracks forming in the ceiling.

"Keosha," Natasha announced, her eyes stuck on the ceiling, her arms extending to grab you, her chest heaving with all the intended workout she'd just got, "get out. Come on, get ou-"

Her words were dissolved by the concrete coming crashing down, her instincts forcing her to throw you away from the point of impact but getting trapped under it herself.

What she did not expect was finding herself still breathing, her limbs intact, no pain except for whatever bruises had started forming in the fight. Her sweaty shivering body tried to regain the hold to reality, finding herself bent in a ball as the concrete that was supposed to kill her five seconds ago floated above her. Her eyes- for the very first time in front of a witness- showed true horror at the sight before they went away from the concrete to look at you lying at the other side with your back on the floor, your knees up, your elbows planted while your hands were up in the air as you grunted.

It took some time for the Black Widow to realise you were the one who had just saved her. Somehow you were keeping all of that killer rock in place right before it could hit her. How?

"Get...out!" you hissed through your teeth, the scrunch of your nose giving it away, "c-can't hold-"

You didn't have to say it twice. Natasha crawled from under there and dragged you to her side, letting the concrete slide off and destroy the west wing.

"Natasha, can you hear me," a voice crackled in her ears, "We're here. Get to the roof. We'll take care of the rest."

"Keiko. Brunn."

"Right behind you!" Brunn answered.

You and Natasha ran for the roof with the Black Widow taking down whatever she could find, this time not holding back and using guns when she had to. You two almost made it to the roof till one of the men caught you at the entrance, holding you by the throat with a gun pointed to your head. "The girl goes with us or she dies," the man threatened.

You looked at all the worry on Natasha's brows vanish without a trace, the bloodied pale face surrounded by fire suddenly very calm, her gun not rising above the waist in her hand.

"Let her go or you die."

Scratch the previous statement. It was Natasha Romanoff who threatened to make a negotiation with the calmest face that could scare you for years to come. Her eyes met yours before flickering to look to her left in a blink-and-you-miss motion.

"No?" she asked with a colour of innocence appearing for a mere second before her gun- right where it had been frozen- shot a hole through the man's leg, making you dash to your right to give her a clear shot at the head, painting the wall red.

The stench of murder was all around you and all you could do was keep your mouth shut to not cry, take deep breaths to not puke and hold on to something as not to pass out. You didn't even remember when you got into that plane. Neither did you remember a plasmic blast taking down all the soldiers outside at once. Or register Keiko and Brunn make one soldier hold hostage for future.

All you remembered was falling on the cold floor of the Quinnjet to pass out and dream of strange green eyes you had never seen before.

.

You were in and out for the next few hours, watching everything through a daze. One fleeting moment was of Natasha talking to someone on a glass plate. "Needs...safety...I'm worried...her." You thought you saw her looking at you before passing out again. Next, you felt yourself being carried in some pretty strong arms. Through the blur, it seemed like Brunn was the one holding you. A little turn of your head and you could see Nakia upside down, walking beside you- beside Brunn. "You okay, Keosha?" Nakia's voice sang inside your head and you felt yourself cuddling to the blanket of darkness again. Next time it was neon lights covering two figures by the window in some deep conversation.

"I have my doubts."

"We need time. There are a lot of other lives at stake."

"We cannot just let them come for her."

"But we need to protect her. We have no idea what they're going to do to her if they get their hands on her."

You wanted to shout in their direction but the pain and tiredness made everything go blank again.

.

This time you finally woke up. The smell of something cooking did it for your hunger pangs, forcing your feet out of this soft bed. You stood up to feel the after-effects of that hit on your head, feeling yourself swirl a little in the head before walking straight for wherever the kitchen was.

Somehow it pissed you to have gotten out of an expensive estate to land into another expensive apartment in some city somewhere with the tall buildings blocking the view to the sunset. Warm yellow lights welcomed you to the kitchen where Keiko and Natasha sat with their devices. You could hear voices coming from the other room. One of them was Aneka and the other one Nakia. And the former did not sound happy being alive as you.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Natasha greeted you with a smile. Brunn popped his head out of the fridge to hand you a bottle of water. "How ya feeling?"

You sat down to gulp the bottle, feeling the desert in your stomach getting some much-needed rain, earning a raised brow from Natasha and a giggle from Keiko.

"I'm good," you sighed, satisfied.

"Good," Natasha declared, shutting her computer down and shifting in your direction over the barstool, "because we have lots to talk..."

...shit.

"...healer."

[pyroandtheprincess]

Chapter 2 of My “Alternative” Fairy Tail Ending

Alright, alright. I’m continuing my “alternative ending” story for Fairy Tail. It’s something I put a lot of thought into years ago when I had written that first chapter. Everyone was wondering how Fairy Tail might come to an end at that time, and this plot still creeps into my thoughts ever so often, so I’m gonna put it in writing.

I’m beyond flattered that people already like the story! If you are a fan, help me out... do I title it? What are the next steps, lmao I’m new at this. For those of you who take the time, thank you so very much for reading, and I hope you continue to enjoy this story. Peace and blessings my dudes, here is chapter two.

—————————-

Chapter 2:

An hour earlier....

Lucy sits on her knees, choking out sobs in the middle of an abandoned street in the once lively Magnolia. Happy is clutching her chest, crying his eyes out. The poor Exceed is shaking like a leaf and Lucy’s hand is laid on top of his head holding him tight.

She is in agony. Sure, she is physically spent, aching from having been exposed to Zeref’s magic, but trying to grasp that she wasn’t able to protect her best friend, that she couldn’t save him from his fate, is beyond devastating. It’s excruciatingly painful. Natsu Dragneel, the man who brought her to Fairy Tail, her home, was gone.

And it was all her fault.

“He was just here.” Lucy murmurs almost silently as she puts her head in her hands. He was just right there in front of her, looking worse for wear, but he was there. And he was smiling, Mavis, his smile made her so warm and so, so relieved. She actually had the audacity to let herself feel proud. She’d thought she made a difference. She really believed she had been able to rewrite the book and keep him safe. And then in an instant, he was just ripped away, gone like he had never been here in the first place.

This doesn’t make sense, none of it. The more she thinks about it the more confusing it becomes.

How could this be? She knows she wrote down every single memory she had of him correctly and she knows for damn sure she changed the books ending... how could it not have worked?

Maybe she’s just in denial, she is grieving after all, and that is the first step, but she wasn’t buying it. Nope, nuh-uh, no way. Natsu had left her once, there was no way he was leaving her alone again, at least not without another stupid excuse for a “good-bye” note. She just has this gut feeling she can’t explain. He’s alive somewhere, she can feel it, and she’s choosing to believe that instinct. Plus, the refusal to accept he is gone forever is going to keep her from spiraling right now. She needs the truth, she wants the evidence he is really gone… or any sort of clue that might lead her to him again. And, to do that, she needs to get to the guild. That’s where Zeref and him had fought, there was bound to be something there.

However, there is a glaring problem, literally. To her right sits Gray Fullbuster with the sternest face she has ever seen him dawn. It’s as if he has skipped denial and gone straight into the anger stage of grief. His eyes are so sad and yet so livid. They are clouded with hurt, and with the amount of people he has lost in his life, who can blame him. Especially, when all of these deaths could be tally’s under Zeref’s name, Natsu’s disappearance being yet another.

There is no way Gray is going to let her go to the guild, not now. He’d say it was crazy for her to do so, that they have other things to focus on. The dark wizard was gone, but there was still Achnologia. They couldn’t waste anytime. And just as she is thinking this, he speaks up.

“I know it’s hard, but we have to keep moving. We have to find the others.” He is slowly moving to stand as he continues, “We need to stay focused. Acnologia is still alive and we need to defeat him.”

He looks at Lucy, but he can’t meet her eyes fully as he clenches his fists, “Natsu… Natsu would want us to keep fighting, for Fairy Tail’s sake.”

At the mention of Natsu’s name the blue exceed slowly looks to Gray, and then to Lucy. His little nose is running and his eyes are still leaking, but he finds his voice, “He is right, Lucy.” Happy sniffles,“W-we n-need… w-we need to save everyone!” His voice cracks and he buries his face in Lucy’s chest again, and she squeezes him to her, “For Natsu!”

She knows. She knows that they need to stay focused. She knows that taking down Acnologia is their main priority right now. But, she just can’t do it. She just can’t focus until she knows exactly what has happened to her best friend. She just needs to know the truth, and her gut is saying he is alive. And if he’s alive, getting to him is her main priority.

A plan is slowly formulating in Lucy’s head, it’s not great, but she thinks it could work. Wasting no more time, she starts putting it in action.

“Happy,” Lucy gurgles out, trying to sound as sick as possible. She starts to peel Happy off of her and he looks up with concern.

“L-Lucy, you don’t look so good.” He says, helping himself off her lap.

“I just- I just need…” She pauses for effect as she moves to stand, “Some air.”

Wobbling in place for a second, Lucy clutches her stomach and holds one hand over her mouth.

“Lucy are you okay-“ she puts up one hand to stop Gray from continuing and holds the other over her mouth as she quickly hobbles behind the nearest of the buildings surrounding them. As soon as she is out of sight, she is scrambling for her keys.

“Open the gate of the twins, Gemini!” Lucy frantically whispers, she knows she doesn’t have a lot of time before Happy and Gray come to check on her. This is her only chance.

“Piri-piri!” Gemini exclaims as the smoke clears and another version of Lucy appears.

“Shhhhh!” Lucy chides, “Please, we need to stay quiet.”

“Lucy,” Gemini reply in a hushed tone, “We in the spirit world we’re getting worried. We could sense you were very upset about something and we were about to send someone to check on you.”

“I’m grateful for all of your concerns, but I really need to you to do me this favor.” She holds on to the copy of herself' shoulders, “Please, I need you to pretend to be me. Copy my outfit, my entire appearance, and join Gray and Happy. Natsu is… missing. I need to go to the guild and see if I can find any clues on how to find him. Can you do that? Just while I figure things out. We- I need to know what happened to him.”

“Of course Lucy!” A bright light engulfs Gemini and when it subsides, the replication of herself is complete, tear stained cheeks and all.

“Thank you,” Lucy sighs, relieved, “I owe you big time. Just stay quiet and nod along, Gray and Happy-“

“Lucy...”

“Lucy are you okay?!”

“Are closing in, I need to get moving.” Lucy quickly stands and scans around where she can hide. She spots a few barrels further down the alley, perfect. “Again, thank you.” She dashes, and quickly ducks down just in time for Gray and Happy to turn the corner.

“Lucy,” Gray crouches down to be eye level with Gemini Lucy, “we need to get going. I know it’s hard, but he have to.” Gray extends his hand.

Happy climbs into Gemini Lucy’s lap and hugs her tightly around her midsection, “We need to s-stay strong, l-like Natsu would want.” He sniffles, voice wavering.

From behind the barrels, Lucy sucks in a breath as a twinge of guilt pulls on Lucy’s heart strings. As much as it hurts to leave Happy behind, she can’t drag him through the search and get his hopes up... not with the potential for a negative outcome. The blue cat would never recover.

Gemini Lucy holds Happy tightly to herself and then takes Gray’s hand. She nods at him and he helps her off the ground.

After they have sauntered far enough away, Lucy stands from her hideout and immediately starts sprinting toward the guild.

“Open the gate of the Lion! Loke!” She pants out.

The gate opens and Loke is there running alongside her.

“Lucy, you’ve had us worried sick!”

“Natsu vanished.”

“What?!”

“No time to explain!” They turn the corner and there stands Fairy Tail, or what’s left of Fairy Tail, “We need to get to the guild. I need you to help me search for clues.”

They sprint through the entrance of the guild, which is now just a massive hole, and Lucy is immediately scanning the room. Her eyes are everywhere, looking for anything substantial.

Loke whistles in disbelief, “Wow, this place took a beating. ”

“Well, this is where Natsu and Zeref battled after all.”

It’s silent for a few beats, only the sounds of Lucy rustling through the wreckage can be heard until Loke speaks up.

“Natsu fought Zeref? And he is…missing?” The gears in Loke’s head start turning, “Wait… is Natsu… is he-“

“Hey!” Lucy snaps, her bangs casting a shadow across her face. She halts her movements for a moment to collect herself. She feels badly for her tone, but she doesn’t want to hear the end of Loke’s thought.

“Enough with the questions we need to-“ she struggles turning over a heavy boulder, “focus.”

“Lucy,” Loke starts again slowly, “what are we doing here?”

“I already told you, we are looking for clues.”

“Lucy, we can’t… we shouldn’t be here-“

“Loke…”

“He wouldn’t want this-“

“LOKE!” Lucy yells stand up and turning to face him, fresh tears springing from her eyes. “Please…” a sob racks through her, “just help me... help me look for clues.”

Loke steps forward and takes her shoulders in his hands, “But, what about the war! Lucy, he wouldn’t want this. He would want us to keep fighting... for Fairy Tail.” His grip tightens at the mention of the guild.

Lucy can’t meet his gaze, “Please, stop talking about him in the past tense. He is still here, he is still alive. He wouldn’t leave again…”

Loke looks down at her sympathetically, “Oh Lucy…”

Lucy looks up at him with pleading eyes, “I tried! I tried so hard to save him… he was right in front of me! I saw him! He was there!”

She pushes away from him, “I love him! He can’t just leave me again, he wouldn’t-“

Lucy gasps covering her mouth. Oh Mavis. That feeling she has repressed for so long, that’s been eating away at her heart and mind, is now out in the world. She’s never said it out loud. She, Lucy Heartfilia, is in love with Natsu Dragneel. Her best friend. It’s a fact that she has tried to convince herself is fiction for years. Too afraid of her overwhelming feelings for him to take action at risk of losing their bond.

Just as she gains the courage to glance up at the very shocked celestial spirit’s face, she sees something glistening brightly out of the corner of her eye. Loke seems to see it too because they both simultaneously turn and look at the object.

A feeling, a dark, familiar feeling, begins to bubble in Lucy’s stomach and she slowly starts to move toward the object. It’s like it’s calling out to her. She almost hears it saying her name. The closer she gets the more urgency she feels to hold it. She can vaguely hear Loke calling out worriedly to her, but it’s like this thing has her in a trance.

‘An amulet?’ She thinks to herself briefly as she bends to pick it up.

“Lucy…” she vividly hears the voice coming from the shining necklace now, “I can help you. I know where he is. I’ll take you there, but you must trust me and stay calm.”

She is about to question the mysterious voice’s integrity, but as soon as she is standing with it in her palm, magic power surges through her. It’s like a massive wave washing her out to sea. It’s so overwhelming, she lets out a shriek as the glistening light starts to consume her.

“LUCY!” Loke screams, sprinting toward Lucy trying to take hold of her only to have his hand pass right through her left arm.

She turns back to look at him in horror as she feels herself being absorbed by the light. She closes her eyes attempting to calm herself. This is her only lead and her gut is telling her to listen, “Loke... Go find the others. Tell them I'll get Natsu home.”

“What?! No! Lucy!” All he can do is watch as his contractor slowly fades away, leaving nothing but an ancient looking amulet rattling on the ground in her place.

[arthurmorganismycowdad]

A/N: ok hi I wrote this listening to my Arthur playlist so like. It gets emotional. I decided to give my idea of what the whole, Arthur returning to Isaac and Eliza to find two crosses in their place thing. Details to keep in mind: I imagine Arthur to have been around 21 when he and Eliza had Isaac, which would make him 25 in this. I also included a tiny tiny part of an oc called Annie, but she’s literally just a memory so she’s really not that significant. Just a heads up for any confusion! Enjoy!

It was muscle memory at this point. The ride to the house just in the corner of the woods. The trail between trimmed shrubs and branches that created an arch above it, almost like it was welcoming him into its grasp. It was a pretty house, too, no doubt. Folk wondered how Eliza Holliday, the sweet, quiet barmaid could afford something like it. She had been living with her parents in their tiny little shack in town, when all of a sudden word spread that the house in question was bought by her. It was strange enough that she could afford it, a girl her age, and even stranger that she’d occupy it alone. Folk couldn’t make sense of it. 

No one linked it to the heist. The answer to their question was right in front of them, clear as day, but no one could think sweet little Eliza could be responsible for the robbery at the mayor’s house, during a party at that. It didn’t even enter their mind.

It wasn’t her. Arthur, however, the same can’t be said for. No amount of persuasion could have made Dutch and Hosea part with such funds, so he reckoned he’d get it himself. With the help of Annie, Eliza’s strange friend, the possibilities were endless. She was a brave girl, Annie. Did more for Eliza than Arthur even knew. Made her smile when she felt down. Planned the Mayor Heist. Died for her. Arthur was forever indebted to Annie. A brave, strong girl. Braver than he could ever be, he imagined. To think, she ran with a gang he was supposed to hate. Their leader was out for Dutch’s blood. Annie may be gone, but the leader she turned on wasn’t. She won that fight.

Her name was Willy, which is odd. She wasn’t a fan of Wilhelmina, according to Annie. She was a good leader at some point. Raised Annie from when she was a little girl. Willy found her wandering around, Annie only 8 years old, looking for Dutch. They both had the same mission even then, only with very different reasons. Willy wanted Dutch dead. Annie was looking for her uncle, at the wishes of her dead mother. Willy worked her magic and did so for 10 more years, turning Annie away from her old idea of Dutch. Her mother’s idea of him. Manipulating her into thinking she was the best parent for her. Annie’s story was a wild one, but she had a kind heart. Right to the end.

Arthur still thought about her. It was impossible not to. Eliza loved her, he knew that much. And Annie loved her right back. The last thing she said to him before she faced Willy one last time was to keep Eliza and the baby safe. He hadn’t even been born yet, and Annie was already looking out for him.

Eliza wasn’t the same after Arthur returned to the house with Annie on the back of it, wrapped up in cloth from head to toe. He understood full well how she felt about her. It was fair, too. He knew he wasn’t in love with Eliza. And she wasn’t in love with him. Both had different people on their mind, and both needed each other to hide that pain.

He didn’t want to think about Mary. Eliza and Arthur weren’t romantic anymore, if they ever really were. They were close, though, and she always encouraged him to talk. She was good at that. And it sure was refreshing to have someone listen. Dutch and Hosea meant the world to him, as did Bessie and Annabelle, but he never felt he could mention Mary around them. He didn’t want them to think he was a fool. He already thought it about himself.

He always got lost in thought on this ride. It was a nice area, full of birds singing and wind rustling the trees. He was glad Isaac was going to grow up somewhere as nice as this. His own childhood wasn’t something he wanted to throw on his own son. It was one of the reasons he didn’t want him constantly moving with the gang, and why he and Annie bought the house for Eliza. He deserved a settled childhood, away from the life of an outlaw. A normal life. If Arthur couldn’t have it himself, he’d make sure his son could.

He didn’t like being away from them. He promised to visit for Isaac’s fourth birthday, which would mean 2 visits that month. That promise couldn’t be kept, which broke Arthur up inside. Trelawny messed up information he had on a job, and it led to the gang hiding out in a barn for a week. So now, a week late, Arthur was surprising them.

His favourite part was hearing the cheer Isaac let out when Eliza would call for him. He was growing so fast, it was like he defied the laws of time. He was a curious kid, too, always running around the garden and getting intrigued by the smallest things. Eliza told him the boy had stared at a blade of grass for 20 minutes, totally amazed. She reckoned he’d be a drawer some day, just like his Pa. it was probably the only trait Arthur wanted to pass down.

He was nearing it now, just about to turn the corner towards the final trail to the house. He imagined the smile on Isaac’s face as he hopped off the horse and ran to hug him. His little boy. God. He never thought he’d get to say that. And Eliza. He was lucky to have her in his life. So damn lucky. There was a love there, even if it wasn’t romantic. They cared for each other very much. Their little family of three.

The horse slowed as the house came into sight, and Arthur prepared his big announcement of his presence. Unconsciously, a smile was forming on his face. He missed them more than he knew. He was finally here. The beautiful house that meant so much to him. The trees that surrounded it making it look like something out of a fairytale. The crisp white paint that was still as bright as the day he painted it. The porch he sat at with his little family and watched the stars on.

A wooden cross. A second cross, right beside it.

The smile dissolved, and was replaced with confusion. He urged the horse to stop, pulling the rains and hopping off. A name was carved into each cross.

In an instant, he was back on the horse, riding back through the trail, that once seemed like something out of a dream. Now it was a nightmare, as branches reached for him and leaves begged him to stay. The wind howled instead of lightly whistling, and the shrubs seemed to close in on each other. He had to go. He had to find them.

The town wasn’t far from the house. Passers-by jumped as he dashed through it, towards the saloon where it all began. She would be in there, standing at the bar like she was that night, a smile on her face. Isaac would be there too this time, running around the saloon or playing on the counter. There would be an explanation. They’d be ok.

The music came to an abrupt halt as he burst into the room, throwing the wooden flaps open and stopping where he stood. Mickey stood at the bar, drying a glass. The second he saw Arthur, his face paled. The boy was red in the face and tears were already streaming down his face. His breath was hitching as he stood there, waiting for the saloon-owner to tell

him.

‘Arthur...’ he began.

‘Where are they?’ he said, his words shaking as they left his mouth.

Mickey stared at him, unable to form the next sentence. He was an older man, late fifties. Not only an employer but a friend to Eliza. He was kind to Arthur, too. Didn’t even complain when his presence prompted a shootout in the bar. Mickey was a good man, and knew what he said next would break the boy’s heart.

‘I went to the house and... and...’ began Arthur.

‘I’m sorry,’ was all he could respond.

‘Where are they, Mickey?’

‘I’m so sorry, Arthur.’

Arthur stood for another moment, breathing heavily, unable to control it. The moment he raised the gun, Mickey threw his hands up. As frightened as he was, he knew the boy was just processing. To hear your world has been taken away isn’t easy.

‘Stop lying to me!’ said Arthur, though it sounded like a whimper now. He wanted so desperately for it to be a lie.

‘Son,’ came a voice behind him. ‘Lower the gun.’

Hosea. Arthur turned to see him, standing with a newspaper in his hand and a look full of sorrow on his face.

‘News got to camp after you left,’ he said. Arthur stared at him, the gun already fallen to his side. The tears had stopped. Now it was just shock. Hosea held the newspaper towards him. He read the words, which barely sunk in, and could only stare. ‘Young mother and child shot dead in Home Robbery’. The saloon matched his silence. His feet slowly moved out the door, stopping when the air from outside hit him. Hosea followed closely behind him. The boy practically fell into his arms, hiding his face in Hosea’s shoulder.

He hadn’t cried like that since he was a child. Hosea only remembered one time, when Arthur was around 15, that he sobbed talking about his mother. It was the first time he really opened up to Hosea. He was a broken person when they first found him. They healed that somewhat, then Mary came along and broke his heart. And he was right back to the broken child they’d found years before. Eliza and Isaac healed that again, only for that to be torn away from him too. Hosea wished it could be different. He wished the life they lived could be better. He wished Arthur could be happy and keep the things that made him that way.

But it just wasn’t like that. And it never would be.

[poeticandvaguelysweet]

Prompt #247 - Run

No prompt. Just my mind running wild with @all--the--dancers when we saw that ride image of Owen and Claire running from the I-Rex as it was breaking out of the paddock ... which somehow turned into smut. Enjoy! 

(I’m still working on LNH, I just need a mental break sometimes and like hearing from you guys!) 

AO3

RUN

The ground trembled. It rumbled beneath her, rattling her bones as Claire felt her hip ache from the fall. She couldn’t breathe, a weight constricting her chest as her heart hammered in its cage. Her eyes were squeezed closed, she didn’t want to see what was happening, the carnage in her mind enough. Then suddenly, she was damp, fluid seeping through her clothes as a rough and hurried touch helped distribute it. It smelt disgusting; fragrant gasoline mixing with the lotion on her skin.

She snapped her eyes open, startled, breath heaving out of her chest the best it could in cramped quarters. They were underneath a maintenance truck and Owen Grady’s heavy body was lying right on top of hers. I’m going to die. I can’t breathe. I’m going to die. She couldn’t clear her head long enough to think about anything else let alone remember how they got there.

‘Stop.’ She managed to squeak, the sound pushing past her ragged breaths. Claire fidgeted, trying to find the feeling in her hands as she pushed his touch away from her, stopping Owen’s large paw from soaking her any further.

‘We have to disguise our scent.’ He had puffed back, just as out of breath. Claire stilled. The Indominous. She could feel Owen’s heart thudding, his chest pressed to hers, one arm bracing himself beside her head while his other hand rubbed gasoline everywhere, he could reach.

He had gone into the paddock thinking the dinosaur had escaped. Claire’s call to Command was delayed. She should have dialled for Lowery the second they failed to find a heat signature amongst the foliage. They never should have left the viewing platform or entered the paddock until they had a location confirmed. And yet, she was standing there, right outside the paddock gates when the door slid open, one employee running out and flinging himself to safety. Owen was too far behind; the door was closing and right on his heels was the white beast she had authorised.

Claire couldn’t move. He wasn’t going to make it and if he did … the Indominous Rex would too. The ground trembled under her feet with every thundering step the Indominous took.

Slipping free of the closing gate, Owen yelled. ‘RUN!’ But she couldn’t move; she could only stare with her heart in her throat as the Indominous got through by a hair on its nose, snout pushing against the gate. The sound of metal crumbling filled her ears, high pitched and whining as it bent with incredible force. ‘Claire, run!’ Owen was only a few feet away from, still urging her to move. She barely noticed him until his hand locked around her wrist, another pushing at her waist.

It was a blur from there as the two of them fell, Owen dragging her down into the gravel as the sound erupted in her ears. That was how they ended up under the truck, the both of them panting and petrified, Owen holding her down, one hand moving to cover her mouth as his eyes locked with hers.

They were going to die there. She was sure of it. There was no way they were getting out of there in one piece. They had an asset out of containment, an aggressive one at that. Owen had just been lecturing her about how isolated the creature was and it set a whole new tremor of fear through her body. She was going to die, eaten by a dinosaur after it managed to tip the truck they were lying under. She was going to die with Owen Grady, insolent, cocky, Owen Grady who had turned up to a date with her in boardshorts.

Maybe it was time to let that go. Considering she didn’t have much more left.

She felt her bones move, shifting under her skin separate from the muscle as a deafening thud landed only feet away from them. She turned her head, eyes meeting the scaled foot of the dinosaur they had just released.

Claire managed to keep it together; even found the strength to control her breathing, but when the Indominous rounded the truck across from them and flipped it; she screamed. The vehicle disappeared before it came crashing down, sending glass and gravel flying towards them. Owen was quick to cover her, one hand clamping over her mouth while he positioned himself to take the bulk of the debris against his side. Her heart slipped into overdrive, practically preparing itself to shoot right out of her chest or work so hard it flatlined on its own. She couldn’t breathe, her single prickled with pain, her vision blurred and her thoughts shifted to how much she did not want to die. Where were her nephews? Suddenly, Claire wished they were together, strolling around some other part of the park, telling the boys all the things Karen used to get up to when they were girls.

She wanted to go home.

Beside them, where he had been hiding behind the now upturned truck, an employee braced himself for the creature that was standing behind him. Claire’s mouth opened beneath Owen’s hand and her body tensed. She couldn’t bring herself to look away and yet every part of her was screaming for it to be over.

As if reading her mind, Owen turned her face away. He pulled his hand from her mouth, making Claire miss the pressure as an odd sort of comfort. She tried to distract herself, direct her thoughts to the pulse of his heart against her chest or the weight of his body on hers. She was still there. He was there. They were alive. Tears burned her eyes and Claire squeezed them closed so Owen couldn’t see. She was trying to focus on the sound of his breathing, the ragged pant that almost neared her own as his chest expanded against hers. Despite being terrified for her life, Claire revelled in the pressure of him against her, there and then releasing as he breathed. In an instant, it disappeared, everything melted away as it was replaced by the pressure of soft lips against her own. She could feel the scratch of his stubble magnified against her cheek and the slight tingle of his tongue tracing the part of her lips.

Everything else disappeared.

Claire felt herself relax, tension slipping from her as her hand raised to slide over his shoulder; her fingers took hold of his vest, hard fist sitting against his neck as she pulled her body into his out of a need to bury herself in the moment.

Jurassic World was not happening, the Indominous had not escaped, they weren’t lying under a truck trembling for their lives. He hadn’t just been lucky to get out of that paddock and make it to safety. She wasn’t left standing there watching the carnage unfold. They were somewhere else. Just the two of them, drinking tequila and getting merry.

Fantasies only last so long before they dissolve. Owen’s mouth detached from hers, breaking the spell with a pained ‘sorry’ as he lay his head against her shoulder before pulling himself away.

Claire mourned his touch as reality crashed back down against her chest. They were there. This was happening.

‘Where did it go?’ She whispered, her head turning against the gravel, eyes searching for the large foot of the beast. The world had stopped shaking and although Claire still felt a little wobbly it had nothing to do with the heavy body of a dinosaur.

Owen grunted, doing a cursory head check he had no more answers than she did. The creature was seemingly gone and although that provided temporary relief, it was only the beginning of their problems. He shuffled out from underneath the vehicle, warm pressure of his body leaving Claire’s.

‘Coast is clear.’ Owen announced, kneeling in the gravel beside the truck as he reached a hand back under for Claire to grab a hold of. Her fingers locked around his wrist; grip tight as she let him help her, crawling with one hand as Owen helped pull her out.

He wouldn’t meet her eyes once Claire came to a shaky stand. Her blouse was soaked with gasoline, turning the fabric sheer to reveal the lavender singlet she wore underneath. Her skirt was no longer a pristine white, but greying and dirty from they dash under the car. In another moment he would have been proud of himself for dishevelling her appearance.

‘We need to get to Command.’ Her words came out like an order as her hands tried their best to smooth out the front of her shirt without it sticking to her skin too much. She felt dizzy from the adrenaline, the stench of gasoline in her nose and the lingering sensation of Owen’s kiss.

Without waiting for him Claire waltzed towards the paddock and her car that lay untouched around the corner. He followed without hesitation; Command was exactly where he wanted to be. Some people had explaining to do on that the hell just happened.

[…]

He was buzzing once they stepped into the elevator, seconds away from breaking onto the Command floor where he could seek out his answers. Claire was quiet beside him, her hands trembling despite the fact that she was trying to hide it. It was a miracle she managed to get them there in one piece although Owen wasn’t sure he could have done much better.

He had to resist holding her hand as they drove. Owen wanted nothing more than to peel one of her white-knuckled hands from the steering wheel just so he could stroke his thumb over her bones. He didn’t know how this worked, how things progressed with Claire. They got it wrong once before. Still feeling wounded, Owen didn’t want to grace the presence of rejection once again.

The elevator doors slid open to a quiet command room; employees embraced, their faces solemn, some crying while others just stared lifelessly at the large electronic board.

‘Claire––’ Masrani recognised her first, relief flooding through his words as he took a step towards them. ‘­­––What happened?’ It was Owen who grunted, one hand hovering behind Claire’s back as he led them both into the room.

‘Funny, I was just about to ask you the same thing.’ He kept some distance between the billionaire and the Senior Assets Manager, feeling like he was holding her to ransom as Simon Masrani gaped for an answer. ‘How in the hell did your computers not know that thing was in its cage?’

Nothing. No one had an answer. They all stared as Owen’s anger rose. He thought he heard malfunction somewhere in the group but if that was the only answer they had they weren’t going to like his response to it. This park had been open long enough to iron out any and all malfunctions. This didn’t just happen.

‘I can assure you, Owen. The situation is being handled.’ Masrani gave him a large business-like smile. ‘Perhaps the two of you would like to go clean up before we continue to discuss this?’ He hummed; hands open with his suggestion.

‘No, I––’

‘Owen.’ Claire’s voice was quiet behind him, barely there as she stopped him in his tracks. ‘I don’t want to go alone.’ She was impossibly quiet, words barely out there in the world but Owen heard them anyway. They hit him like tiny daggers to his heart, each word of her confession breaking him down. She was still shaking, he could see it in the ends of her skirt, fabric trembling. What he hadn’t noticed before was the blood that had run down her leg and was now drying on her skin.

Fuck.

‘Ah, yeah. Sure.’ He stopped, torn between his anger and this side of Claire he didn’t know existed. ‘Yeah. Let’s go.’ He stepped in line with her, this time brave enough to place his palm on the small of her back, his fingers almost swallowing her whole.

They hadn’t taken one step towards the elevator before Claire stopped. ‘Vivian?’ A woman turned her chair to face them, hands pulling a headset from her ear. She looked calm but startled. Owen wasn’t sure if this was new for them. ‘Can you please organise someone to get my second set of clothes … and something for Owen, too? Can we also assign someone to track down my nephews, please? They’re with Zara it should only take a minute.’ For a second there, Claire sounded like her usual self; all business like nothing had happened. But he was close enough to hear the shake in her breath and catch the twitch on her cheek. Claire was still shit scared.

There were employee change rooms in the basement for those who pulled long shifts, didn’t live on the island or worked in hazardous paddocks. The space was standard, lockers on one wall, benches in the middle, showers along the other. Owen had followed Claire into the assigned women’s room more than willing to argue with the first person who so much as a thought to ask him to leave. They were alone.

With no one in sight, Owen started to strip his gasoline-soaked clothes off, leaving them in a pile on the bench before he turned his back to Claire and headed for the showers.

The water was a pleasant relief. Owen actually found himself grateful for Claire’s decision to step away. He still wanted to tear into every idiot on that island but there was something about hot water rushing over him that always found Owen’s calm.

He took a deep breath in, holding it until his lungs burned as he pressed his head against the cold tile. What the fuck was happening today? First Hoskins out at the Raptor paddock, then Claire seeking him out for his advice––The Indominous Rex­––they nearly died. He kissed her. He kissed Claire Dearing. She didn’t push him away, but then again, she probably couldn’t considering that all of his weight was on top of her. Fuck. Did he assault her? Did she kiss him back because she felt she had to?

Owen turned away from the wall, leaving the shower running as he pushed open the ajar cubical door. ‘Hey, Claire, about––’ She was standing exactly where he left her, fully clothed and still shaking. Except, now Claire was crying. ‘Fuck. Hey. What’s wrong?’ Owen was kneeling on the bench in grey marle boxer briefs, wet hands bracketing her elbows as he tried to catch her eyes. ‘Claire.’ Her name was low, a rumble barely more than a hum as Owen squeezed her forearms just to draw her attention.

Wide green eyes, rimmed red with fear latched onto his. Still, she didn’t say anything, only stared. It took a minute, but a whimper wobbled from her lips, mouth pulling down in a frown as her eyes watered with tears.

‘Hey.’ He jumped soothed, hands rubbing up and down her arms. ‘It’s okay. We’re okay.’ She shook, trembling in front of him with shivers that left goosebumps on her skin. ‘C’mon, hop in the shower, you’ll feel better for it.’ He tugged at the lapel of her now discoloured blouse fondly; the damp fabric surely wasn’t helping with the cold.

Claire toed off her shoes but didn’t move to take anything else off. Instead, she sat on the bench for a minute before pulling her legs up and pivoting herself to the other side, her hip against Owen’s.

He stood up; hand extended towards her with a quiet smile. Claire took his hand, letting Owen pull her up once again before he tugged her towards his shower cubicle, steam rising from the water he left running. ‘I really want to take a look at this.’ He said eyes on the bloody graze down her left leg. At least, that had seemed like his excuse for pulling her into the same cubicle. Once inside, he stepped her towards the water not close enough to be drenched by it but enough that he could splash water on the graze. Owen kneeled at her feet, hands gentle at her calf and ankle. ‘I think there’s still some gravel in this. We should get a first aid kit later.’ His fingers were light, touching over her open wound, searching for foreign objects as the blood slowly started to wash away. ‘Does it hurt?’

Claire shook her head. ‘I’m not feeling much of anything.’ She uttered, void of anything but fear as she looked to Owen with the kind of trust no one had bestowed upon him in years.

‘I’m going to take your stockings off now, is that okay?’ He wasn’t sure if it was a wise move, but it would certainly help her skin if she wasn’t constricted in sheer material. Claire gave him a little nod, instead of remaining still, she unzipped the side of her skirt, letting the fabric fall to the wet floor before Owen pushed it away. He tucked large fingers around the waistband of her stockings, pulling them down gently as Owen tried not to focus on Claire standing in her underwear, fingers now unfastening her blouse. He tried not to think about the blush coloured panties that almost matched her skin beautifully and how he wished it was a more unexpected colour. Instead, he focused on peeling her stockings past the graze on her leg. His fingers tapped at the back of her thigh when he needed her to lift her leg; Claire complied left leg and then right leg before her skin was free and Owen was tossing her stockings out the cubicle door.

Her blouse followed as soon as he turned around, leaving Claire in her lilac singlet and blush panties. He tried not to look. He tried to focus on the bar of soap Claire procured from a supply closet, lathering it in his hands before he set to scrubbing himself.

He let Claire have the majority of the shower’s spray, stepping back while he stared at the grout in the tiles until she started lifting her singlet over her head. Her back was to him which was how Owen managed to spot the newly forming bruise across the back of her hip and around her side.

‘Fuck, Claire.’ He reached for her, one hand on her arm, stopping her singlet from rising any further while his fingers gently touched at her skin. ‘Does that hurt?’ She half turned, trying to peer at it from over her shoulder. Her skin was blue and lavender, almost unnoticeable but too large to miss. The patch marking her skin was bigger than Owen’s palm. ‘Did I do that?’ His fingers trembled, barely touching her as his voice shook. He never wanted to hurt her.

Claire gave him a small nod. It wasn’t blame but acknowledgement. It hurt like sin, so bad she didn’t want to take more than a few small breaths in.  He watched the bottom of her ribs expand with a forced inhale, muscle shifting as the bruise moved with her breathing. ‘I think there’s more.’ She told him quietly, hands returning to the edges of her singlet to reveal the rest of her pain. Claire looked at him over her shoulder, shy and patient as she sought out his answer. Owen nodded, he could see the bruise disappeared under the lilac fabric and he was more than willing to continue cursing himself for his negligence towards her. In a swift move (not without a hiss of pain) Claire pulled her singlet over her head and flicked it away from her. The fabric hit the floor with a splat, landing just outside of their cubicle. Owen watched it, distracting himself before he turned back to her bare skin, basking in the pale perfection of it and how well her underwear matched.

The bruise moved further up, connecting with her ribs just under her arm. It sat so innocently, like watercolour, beautiful on the surface. He knew underneath that, once it began to age and heal it would only get ugly and aggressive. Claire’s hands went behind her back, fingers gracing the skin at her sides.

She didn’t say anything and from what Owen could see, the removal of her bra had nothing to do with the bruises he was inspecting.

He wasn’t sure she couldn’t hear his heart thudding over the sound of the running shower. She was standing there, her back to him, in nothing but a pair of nude coloured panties. He felt something in his gut churn as Owen squeezed his eyes closed and tried to think of worse things. Like the smell of the Indominous’ breath as they lay there waiting to see if it could sniff them out or not.

‘Shit … fuck … I’m so sorry.’ He didn’t know what he was apologising for more, the fact that he had hurt her or that he was only minutes away from explaining why he was half hard at the sight of her bare back. Claire shook her head. ‘Does it look okay?’

Clearing his throat, Owen responded. ‘Yeah. Fuck, it looks like it hurt.’ His hands were back, barely brave enough to touch her as he followed the length of the bruise up her side. It broke off in one place, before continuing a little higher up. Two bruises. God, he hated himself. How hard had he pulled her?

He felt a little light-headed, something about the steam and close proximity, also his own adrenaline finally starting to wear away. He was still concerned about her, despite how he was feeling, her silence worried him. Her willingness to do as he instructed was more than concerning. Claire lived life by her own rules, this was her world and everyone else was lucky to be living in it. The quiet, withdrawn behaviour was out of character. He was scared of how easily this could manifest. She needed it off her chest, needed to talk it through before it stalked her dreams and kept her up all night. Would she call him? If the nightmares woke her, would she think she could reach for him?

‘Hey?’ He ran a hand down her arm, fingers gentle and light, barely gracing her skin in their downward motion. He had miscalculated along the way, something in his touch not adding up to a friendly encounter as his knuckles, on the upward stroke, grazed the side of her bare breast.

Claire shivered visibly as the hairs on her arms stood on end and a small, lively gasp fell from her lips. They were still for a second that seemed to pause for hours, Owen unsure of how to proceed, apology formed at the tip of his tongue. He really shouldn’t be there, not with her, half-naked in the employee locker room.

She turned just as he managed to find his words, her eyes dark and full of lust, no longer hollow as her body slid easily into his. Claire pressed herself against him, chest to bare chest as she pressed herself up onto her toes to catch his mouth in a crushing kiss.  

She whimpered against his mouth, hands holding tight to his upper arms as she let herself melt against him. She was everywhere, the hard press of her breasts against his chest, the sway of her hips against his, her toes bumping against his feet as she tried to keep herself at the right height, and her nails digging into his flesh. He didn’t know what to focus on, where to send his thoughts or how to react. A minute ago she was near comatose and now she was fidgeting against him, her lips pressed to his as her tongue sought entrance against his mouth.

Owen gave into pleasure, arms wrapping around her waist as he bent, allowing Claire to settle back on the heels of her feet as he opened his mouth and met her with a crushing kiss. They collided, two energies thrown at the other, exploding in a mess of tongue and teeth. He couldn’t find his breath or his head, mind and body gone from his being as he melted into the warmth of Claire pressing herself against him.

He moved without direction or thought, stepping her back against the wall before his hand slid under her thigh and lifted her with ease. Claire’s legs were tight around his waist, tugging the building bulge in his briefs closer to her hot centre. He moaned when their hips touched, bodies aligned and deliciously warm. She was soft, butter smooth and malleable under his touch, easy to craft and create as his hands wandered up to her sides and down her thighs, squeezing her flesh where he could. Owen couldn’t get enough of her. Part of him wanted to commit Claire to memory, cursing himself for letting this moment happen to them in the shower. He wanted to know what she smelled like, her skin clean and untainted by gasoline. The water was washing away all the good, but it was also taking the nightmare with it.

She nibbled on his bottom lip with what felt like a frown, disgruntled as she kissed him but making small panting sounds. He wanted to live there forever in that moment, tongue and teeth and lips, hands wandering as they fought a war, he neither wanted to win nor lose.

She whimpered, the sound lighter than her fear from earlier, hips shifting against his as she tugged on his bottom lip once again. Owen stopped, he held her, peeling his eyes open as he finally felt the push of her hand against the wet fabric of his briefs. ‘Off.’ She gave him a pout, grinding herself over him once again in a move that almost made him paralysed with lust. He thrust forward, just once, testing the waters as he watched her eyes close and her mouth open in a quiet moan.

Claire wound an arm around his neck, allowing herself a little extra leverage as the other wormed its way between their bodies. Owen hissed, his own eyes pinching closed for a second when Claire’s fingers found their way inside of his briefs, her soft touch wrapping itself around the base of his cock.

‘Claire,’ he managed to breathe, half panting her name against her neck. He needed to know now that this was what she wanted. There was no going back. He couldn’t tell where it would lead them or how it would change them. It needed to be acknowledged.

She gave him a prepared nod, eyes dark with lust as she bit her lip in waiting. He kissed her, softly, sweetly, promising her something he couldn’t find the words for. Claire shoved at the fabric of his boxer briefs, trying to push them down his legs until his cock sprang free. He caught Claire lick her lips, eyes darkening as she stared at him. Owen ducked his head, stealing a kiss from her reaction before he carefully tried to remove his underwear from his legs.

Claire’s hands were tight but gentle on him, fingers wrapped around the width of his cock as she squeezed with a firm hand. She stroked him, almost pulling all the air right out of his lungs as Owen felt dizzy, suddenly unsteady on his feet. He had to brace himself against the shower wall, one heavy hand holding him up as he dropped his head to her chest.

Owen tried to inhale what he could sense of her smell, her skin right under his nose as he sought out that heavenly vanilla lotion hiding under warm water and gasoline. He opened his mouth, hoping to taste it, tongue skating across her skin. It wasn’t as satisfying as he hoped it would be. He frowned, peppering kisses across her chest until his lips nudged a pert nipple. His tongue swirled around the pink nub, teasing her as Claire rocked her hips and picked up her strokes. He did it again, a full two circles around her nipple, tongue sliding across smooth skin. She whined above him, the sounds she was making needy and impatient as she pushed her chest into his face. He only complied, taking her breast into his mouth as he playfully bit down before laving at her hard nipple, grinning when she keened with pleasure.

A hand in his hair tugged a little too tightly, the need sharp and urgent enough to pull his attention. He knew what she wanted without even thinking like he could read her body and needs like a book.

For a moment he wished they were somewhere else but here. Considering how their day was going, Owen wasn’t sure he was lucky enough to even think about another chance beyond the one he was already given. Claire was panting, chest rising and falling, her pupils blown wide with lust. He kissed her, hard, crashing his teeth against hers as he balanced her body between his and the wall, using a hand to shove her drenched panties aside before he shoved himself inside of her.

The sound that warbled from her was louder than either of them expected, breaking from her throat and bouncing around the room as her nails dug into his back, likely breaking the skin. She bit down on his lip, rocking her hips into his as he stretched her with a delicious sort of pain. Owen grunted, hands full of her porcelain skin, realising just now how close he was to seeing her die.

He thrust into her harder, pulling another sound from Claire’s throat as he tries to scrub away what had happened to them. He needed this to feel real, Claire withering on his cock, her hands tight in his hair and sliding down her chest. She panted next to his ear and he felt undone, completed in the absurdity of it. He never wants to see her endangered again. Hell, he never wants to be away from her. He also knows that this first has a high chance of being their last. He kisses a line down her neck, lingering at the gold necklace she wears and the cool touch it presents against his lips.

Something in her breath catches, a new note, higher than her breathy pants, almost catching Claire by surprise as the hand on his chest drops until she’s touching herself. He hears her breath catch again and realises she must be close.

He rocks into her, trying to find an even rhythm while he’s slowly becoming unravelled, coil building in his belly and tearing away all sensible thought. He just wants to remember her after this, the feel of her skin, the look in her eyes with all fear gone from her face. He wants to know that despite it all he has something better to hold onto. Maybe even a second chance once they get through the rest of this day.

She cums with a sound that bounces off the walls again, loud and blissful, broken through from the pits of her soul. Claire grins at him, her lips biting as she kisses at his jaw and nips at his ear, her body flush against his as she aided with his release. He grunted against her, the sound doing as her cries had done, hitting tiles as it moved around the room, his mouth buried against her neck.

They were still for a moment, neither willing to move as their chests rose and fell, breathing.

‘Miss Dearing?’ A voice called for them, staining Claire’s cheeks redder than they had been. She stilled against him, hands firm on his chest as they held their breath. ‘I have your clothes. Mr Masrani requested your presence upstairs immediately … there’s been a situation.’ Her eyes met Owen’s briefly, dread shifting the colour from vibrant green to grey.

‘Th––’ She stopped to clear her throat. ’––Thank you, tell him I’ll be right up.’ They hesitated, listening for the sound of a closing door before Claire carefully pulled herself from Owen, with his help.

Nothing was said as she slipped from the shower cubicle and covered herself in a towel. The shake was back in her hands, Claire unable to meet his eyes as they dressed quietly and headed back to Command.

[spongeguyandlelouchvibridankia]

The Milo Murphy’s Law Wiki Guy AU: Balthazar Cavendish Vs The World: Chapter 5: Act 1: The Circles That You Find

SPACE (THAT’S IN SPACE!)

  Cavendish’s scream continued, and he suddenly noticed his surroundings.

 Gasping, he shook his fists in the air, eyes darting around in hysteria. “WEIRD CHILDREN! TAKE ME BACK THIS INSTANT!”

 But there was no answer. Clearly, they would keep him here until he figured things out.

 Or died. Whichever came first.

 “Knowing my luck…”, Cavendish muttered, frustrated with his day so far.

 He just wanted to eat a freakin’ donut!

 Talk about upsetting the natural order or something!

 Cavendish blinked, trying to adjust to the light, but there was no light…

 Except from within.

 …Literally. Apparently someone had installed a bug zapper inside of his chest.

 “Odd.”, Cavendish thought, but at the same time, this was somehow one of the less weird things to happen so far.

 Almost mechanically, as if he somehow knew how to do it before, Cavendish fetched a key that was hanging by a necklace from his throat and he opened his chest to remove the zapper.

 A simple task, really.

 But only Balthazar Cavendish would accidentally take out his heart instead of a zapper.

 Panicking, Cavendish tried to put it back in but his chest was suddenly locked, and the key was floating in space.

 “Been a while, Balthy.”, The heart greeted, and Cavendish yelped again.

 “HEARTS CAN’T TALK!”, he screamed at it.

 …

 “Then again, this has been one of those days…”, he observed thoughtfully.

 “The key, dude.”, His heart pointed out, and Cavendish began swimming after it, though not without scolding it for reminding him.

 “I know it’s floating away! I have a brain!”

 “But not a heart.”

 Cavendish rolled his eyes and swam after the key, not noticing the beautiful and awe inspiring constellations that flew past, not noticing the majestic planets and mysterious, mystical moons.

 How could he notice them?

 He had far more important things to do.

 He always did.

 After what felt like an eternity but was really just 2 minutes, Cavendish finally caught the key.

 “Ha ha!”, he laughed jubilantly, twirling it in the air, before grasping it tight.

 Eyes closed in pride, he boasted to his cardiac muscle. “Take that, heart!”

 But his heart was gone.

 Panicking again, Cavendish began pounding the inexistent walls.

 “Can anyone answer me? Do I need a heart in this… Whatever this is or not?”

 A door shaped door (writing! It be easy!) opened in one of the areas of space before him, and a new face with a familiar voice (Casey, if Cavendish’s brain was right, which it always was. Take that Mr. Tonsilitis of 2nd grade advanced napping!) popped out.

 This face, round, clearly belonging to a heavy set built boy, smiled cheerfully as he delivered the news.

 “You always need a heart, Cavendish. But to make this example work, you don’t need it with you.”

 Cavendish nodded, pleased with the explanation. “All right! Thank you, Casey!”

 “You’re welcome!”, Casey replied, and he shut the door.

 Cavendish, then, realizing he’d just wasted his chance to escape this mad place, screamed and frantically swam to where the door had been, slamming his fists on nothing.

 “Wait! Let me out! Please! I’d rather not find out! This place is cold and scary and lifeless!”

 The door opened again suddenly, this time by Chelsea, another old voice with a strange face. Light was emanating from where she was standing, light so bright that it nearly blinded Cavendish now that he was up close.

 “Well, considering you’re Cavendish, this should be very familiar for you!”

 As the door began to shut, Cavendish protested this injustice. “You naughty child! Let me in!”

 Trying to stop the door, Cavendish inserted his hand to block its path, but all that did was let the door smash his hand, making him squeal with pain.

 “JESUS CHRIST!”, he yelled, sucking his entire hand to relieve the hurt appendage.

 “…How did I do that?”, he wondered, as he kept floating in space, completely and utterly alone.

 For a moment,, Cavendish wondered if he really was alone.

 If he had been tricked and was now spending eternity in an endless cavern of darkness and solitude.

 And rather that was any different than the last 45 years.

 But Cavendish wasn’t alone.

 “Balthazar Cavendish…”, a voice echoed and echoed from everywhere and nowhere.

 Cavendish’s ears perked and he tried his best to hear the message.

 Was someone trying to save him?

 “Yes, it is I! Balthazar T. Cavendish! Are you here to resc…”

 But his hopes were dashed by the invisible voice.

 “You say you want to know how it all went wrong.”

 Cavendish pouted and scoffed. “What I want is my terrible life back! Why can’t I suffer in silence like a normal adult?”

 Hearing his words, he sighed, resigned to his fate. “Yes. Yes I do want to know.”

 “Excellent!”, the voice rang out loud, and suddenly, just as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared, replaced with…

 “…A butterfly?”, Cavendish questioned out loud, not that anyone was there to…

 “Yes, a butterfly.”, the voice replied.

 Oh, right, never mind. I forgot about them.

And as sure as the two people present said, a butterfly was there, flapping its tiny wings in slow motion, not a care in the world.

 Cavendish observed the insect with a curious glance. It was definitely odd for a butterfly: On its antennae were indendtical green top hats with goggles strapped on, just like his.

 Its wings flapped incredibly slowly, almost at a standstill in the vaccum of space.

 And most perculiar of all, was its color: Half the butterfly was painted grey as grey can be, but its other half was rainbow colored, so bright the colors were that they nearly illuminated Cavendish’s face.

 It was definitely a sight to behold.

 And for a while, it was all Cavendish did; he beheld the sight for a few minutes, or hours, or days, or years. He wasn’t sure. Time moved in a very funny way here.

 After what must have been an eternity, the voice returned.

 “If you want to find out… You must go back to the beginning. You must go through the passage of time… And find out who are you, deep down.”

 Cavendish was so distracted he didn’t really listen.

 An urge had been building up now for a while, and, carefully, he edged a finger towards the butterfly.

 You see, there was suddenly a new feature on the butterfly, one that as soon as it had appeared, had caught Cavendish’s eye: A button.

 Two, to be precise.

 The first stated one word: “Emotional.”

 The second also went for short and sweet and to the point: “Emotionless.”

 “Well, if the test is to help the butterfly, I clearly need to press the second button.”, Cavendish thought, relieved that all he had to do was press a button.

 This was almost too easy!

 “Just a push of a button and I’ll be back in no time!”, he thought, and as he finished that thought, he pressed the button in front of him.

 Of course, this set up a butterfly effect and he got blasted backwards onto Earth.

 “AAAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHH!”, he let out a blood curdling scream as he began to set on fire, the atmosphere cooking him like he was a meal to be had, a Balthazar Cavendish goulash.

 “…Why does that sound sort of delicious?”, Cavendish wondered as he crashed down onto…

 “…Snow?!”

 Yes, snow!

 The white fluffy powder that so often covered the world with an oddly comforting blanket was now all over the place, getting into Cavendish’s clothes and inside his nose.

 Sneezing, he stood up and shook it off his fingers, confused and annoyed by this new location.

 “Why the hell am I here?”, he thought, an odd case of déjà vu suddenly striking him.

 “…And why do I feel like I’ve been here before?”, he noted, looking left to right, but seeing only snow.

 Suddenly, he was struck by two snowballs right in the kisser, and he fell onto the ground, hurting himself.

 “Ow! Who threw that?”, Cavendish yelled out in frustration, and wanting vengeance, he scooped up two balls of his own, searching for the culprit.

 But before he could exact his revenge, the two balls sang.

 Cherlyn:

Like A Snowball…

Cheryl:

Down A Mountain…

 “Of course…”, Cavendish muttered, more tired than angry, and he looked around, trying to understand why he had been brought here.

 The explanation came soon enough: High up above him, there was a mountain top.

 And on that top were Cavendish and Dakota.

 Er, well, Dakota and him, he guessed.

 And if their winter coats and ski equipment were anything to go by, then they were clearly skiing.

 “Redundant, much?”, he told himself, and he leaned on a tree, observing the event that was to befall, wondering why he was whisked here of all places.

 “Here I go! Wheeeeeee…”, Skiing Cavendish exclaimed with glee, only to suddenly crash down the mountain, shattering every bone in his body.

 Our Cavendish was horrified from the carnage, and scared for himself: The falling Cavendish was nearing him!

 Looking for somewhere to hide, Cavendish went behind the tree, and cowered in fright, his eyes shut tight.

 After a few moments the screaming stopped, and Cavendish started feeling a little safer. “I guess it’s over now…”, he thought, but when he opened his eyes.

 “IN THE NAME OF ALL WHICH IS MARK RUFFALO!”

 Sitting silently in Cavendish’s hands, the color already draining from its cheeks, was Cavendish’s head, which had been decapitated by one of the passing branches.

 Cavendish’s heart stopped and he bated his breath as he slowly touched the hair on top of the head.

 “…Oh my god…”, he whispered, shocked at what he had just seen…

 Only for an odd feeling to pass through him.

 He couldn’t put his finger on it at first, but he could definitely put his legs on it, as he found himself…

 Moving backwards!

 [Biteszadusto!]

 Cavendish kept reliving the past few moments until he found himself leaning on the tree again, the fresh trauma of seeing himself die still in the forefront of his mind.

 “What happened?”, he asked, but the answer came from an unexpected source: Himself.

 “Here I go!”, Skiing Cavendish exclaimed again, but this time, Skiing Dakota made sure that Cavendish took the amateur lane.

 Our Cavendish, however, was not amused. “What nonsense! Of course I could take the expert course! What would happen, would I die?”

 Suddenly realizing that that was exactly what happened, Cavendish found himself asking another question: “Why the heck am I being shown this? I know that Dakota saved my life multiple times! What is the point of all of this?”

 As if to answer him, the tree he was leaning on suddenly pushed him, making Cavendish roll down the mountain in breathtaking speed.

 “I… SHOULDN’T… HAVE… ASKED!”, Cavendish screamed between breaths as he smashed against rocks and trees and snow.

 Finally, he began to sail off the mountain, and his destination was the ground.

 “AAAAGHHHHHH!”, he shrieked in terror, grasping in the air, looking for something to hoist him up from his sure doom.

 Suddenly, his hand grasped something: A string.

 “A ha!”, he exclaimed, and his eyes spotted the balloon that belonged to the string.

 Clinging on tight, he began to float away from the abyss, sighing in relief.

 “Well, glad that’s over…”, he said, looking at the balloon.

 Of course, it had two faces. Why wouldn’t it?

 “Let me guess, you sing too.”, he said, and, as to be expected…

 Dave Wong:

Or A Carnival…

Ed:

Balloon…

 Cavendish looked down with a dry expression, and sure enough, Lard World was beneath him.

 As he looked up, though, the wrong thing was at the center of his mind, as per usual.

“…Carnival Balloon and Lard World is sort of a stretch, no? It’s an amusement park.”

 The Balloon then, of course, dropped him for being such a pedant, and Cavendish found himself crashing down to the ground.

 “I CAN’T SHATTER MY LEGS! THEY’RE VERY USEFUL!”, Cavendish cried, hoping some random diety he didn’t believe in would rescue him from certain doom.

 And, apparently, someone was listening, since instead of crashing down Cavendish suddenly started floating softly to the bottom, where he landed daintly.

 After breathing a huge sigh of relief, he immediately began to complain about Dave Wong and Ed.

 “The nerve of those children! Can’t they take some constructive criticism? We could all use some… Except for me, of course.”, Cavendish declared, ignoring the intense irony in the sentence.

 Having finished his mini-rant, Cavendish began to observe his surroundings, his eyes searching for the next “pleasant” surprise.

 “I wonder what I even did here. I honestly can’t remember dying here.”

 He sighed. “Well, that was a dark thought.”

 Finally, he spotted himself and Dakota working on protecting a Pistachio stand, Dakota fooling around with a thermon (“Typical Dakota”, Cavendish noted with a frustrated sniff) and he doing all the work, of course.

 Dave Wong and Ed suddenly appeared as Cavendish turned to them to complain.

 “Just a moment!”, Cavendish began to complain, looking indignant and insulted. “I see no wrongdoing on my part! Dakota’s messing around as ever and I’m doing all the work!”

 He laughed mockingly, literally and figureatively looking down at them. “The boys back in HQ got the wrong tape, huh?”

 Ignoring Cavendish’s smug and haughty look, Dave Wong pointed back at the scene, which had turned into Cavendish criticizing and ordering Dakota around. “Uh, dude, like, you treat him like trash, don’t you see?”

 Cavendish began to look down in shame, wondering if it was true, as Dave Wong continued to give examples. “Just today, you ended up blaming it all on him, you refused to let him cheer you or himself up AND you ordered him around all the time.”

 “Well, he was messing about with random musical instruments!”, Cavendish interjected, desperately trying to defend himself.

 He had to be right! He had to! Just once could someone say that?!

 “But you’re partners. Partners don’t order each other around, dude.”, Dave Wong retorted.

 “Well, listen to me, dude!”, Cavendish responded, prodding Dave’s nose. “Adult relationships are complex! Besides, I was more experienced than him! He’s supposed to listen to me at all times!”

 Ed, who had been standing silently and listening the entire time, suddenly removed a dictionary from thin air, pointing at the definition for partners.

 Cavendish, who read it in super speed, scoffed, knowing he was defeated but still frantically trying to escape the hole he had dug for himself. “Well, you see… It’s just… It’s not exactly… Er… Uh… Um… Dur…”

 Stuttering and stumbling over his words, he finally began to concede defeat to a now victorious Dave Wong and Ed. “Well… You’re not…”

 He mumbled the words. “100% wrong…”

 And for a moment, Cavendish really did feel bad for what he had done.

 The look of judgment and unwarranted anger on his face while he vented to Dakota really felt just…

 Wrong.

 But of course, Cavendish immediately reverted to type. “Well, whatever! Just give me a different example!”

 And he crossed his arms, pouting like a child who had been told he can’t have a pacifier AND tickets to The Human Centipede.

 “Sure thing, dude.”, Dave Wong aquieced and he pointed up to the sky.

 “Look up.”

 Cavendish did as he was told, but not before sticking his tongue out in defiance.

 Dave sighed. This was one of the harder cases he had had to solve in his short life as a delusion in Cavendish’s mind.

 “Now, do please turn your back to me.”

 “Easy peasey.”, Cavendish remarked and he did so, his coat tails blowing in the wind for a moment before settling down.

 Cavendish twitched his moustache and tapped his foot impatiently. “Well? Where to next in my trail of miserable character defects? I have a life to fuck up, you know.”

 “Almost. Just move over to the left.”, Dave Wong directed, and Cavendish took two steps.

 “No, wait, a little to the right.”

 “Here?”, Cavendish asked after shimming a bit.

 “Almost. Half a step forwards.”

 Cavendish complied with the instruction.

 “Here’s good?”, Cavendish asked, genuinely hoping it was.

 “Excellent! Now stand still!”, Dave said, and he readied his foot.

 “Well, whatever you say! What’s supposed to hap…”

 THWACK!

 Dave Wong let his foot fly and Cavendish got kicked in the behind all the way up to space, screaming in pain as his lips flapped and his eyes bulged.

 “…PEN!!!!!!!!!!!!”, Cavendish screamed, as he once again returned to the inky black backdrop of space.

 As he flew upwards, he could see the Moon approaching, its white crater filled surface shining bright, a beacon in the darkness.

 But not for Cavendish, who flew so fast he actually flew past it.

 “…Whoops! Sorry!”, a voice cried, and Cavendish was pulled back into the Moon’s gravitational pull.

 Orbiting the orbiter of the Earth, Cavendish huffed, tired of this day, this life, this reality.

 Tapping his foot (…Somehow), Cavendish looked at his wrist, despite it not having a watch and he tutted impatiently.

 “Well? No song lyrics that make no sense? No terrible memories to illicit feelings of guilt in me? No physical violence imparted on my being? It’s almost like you’re giving me a break.”, Cavendish complained.

 “Ask and ye shall receive!”, Emery and Erika, the new voices, chirped cheerfully, and BOOM! Cavendish was now seated inside a carousel ride that was…

 Well, I’ll let the singers say it.

 Emery:

Like A Carousel…

Erika:

That’s Turning…

Geoffrey:

Running Rings…

Gevork:

Around The Moon…

 “When did those two show up? I was just getting used to Emery and Erika!”, Cavendish protested, only to be belted in tight, his waist getting squeezed so tight he could barely wheeze.

 Suddenly realizing what the lyrics might mean, Cavendish looked up in fright at his conductors, Geoffrey and Gevork, who smiled a little too brightly as they leaned on a lever.

 “…What was that part about running rings around the moon?”, Cavendish asked worriedly, crouching in his seat, his index finger shaking in fright up in the air.

 Geoffrey and Gevork didn’t answer.

 They didn’t really need to, to be honest.

 The lever was pulled and Cavendish’s lips flapped again as he ran rings around the…

 “WE GET IT!”, Cavendish screamed as he ran around and around and around, like a record baby, round and round.

 Finally, after 777 spins, Cavendish, whose face was even greener than his hat and waistcoat, grasped at his mouth, feeling a puke coming up.

 Swallowing the vomit with much effort, Cavendish let out a yelp of terror. “Am I really going to go down as the first person to throw up on the moon?”

 “Nope, but you are the first person to die on the moon!”, Geoffrey pointed out.

 Gevork nodded, a little too enthusiastically, which Cavendish noticed.

 “Is he… Is he supposed to smile like that about my death?”, Cavendish asked, alarmed.

 Geoffrey stopped smiling and leaned in to whisper in Cavendish’s ear. “We’re all worried about him, but right now, let’s focus on you, ok?”

 While Gevork chuckled menacingly, Cavendish looked down to see himself on the moon, from a few years back.

 For some reason, he had forgotten his helmet (“A rare mistake on my part”, thought Cavendish), and sure enough…

 POP!

 Moon Cavendish’s head burst like a balloon, and a bit of the skin stuck itself onto Cavendish, who shrieked in fright and disgust.

 “GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!”

 Suddenly, realizing that he was being watched, he cleared his throat and removed it from his person. “Ahem. I mean, oh no. A problem that is so easily solvable by the fact that I am a man who can easily tackle any challenge.”

 He smiled smugly, and Geoffrey and Gevork face palmed.

 “Man, that is not the point! Look down, please!”, they ordered, pointing down at the moon’s surface.

 “Oh, fine, fine, I’ll look!”, Cavendish begrudgingly obliged, and he resumed his attention at the rescue of his life by Dakota.

 He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “What was the point of this flashback? Sure, he saved me, but I know that already.”

 Geoffrey and Gevork were stunned into silence, barely able to muster a sentence for a few moments.

 Finally, Gevork spat it out. “Cavendish, are you serious? He saved your life!”

 “And that is amazing, but it was only a few times! The way you talk about it, you make it sound like he did it every day or something!”, Cavendish complained.

 Geoffrey and Gevork suddenly turned into a microwave that beeped and booped, until the number 2220 flashed on its screen in neon purple.

 “Oh, you have got to be kidding!”, Cavendish complained, rolling his eyes. “There is no way in hell that I died that many times!”

 As if to answer his question, the microwave’s screen suddenly began to enlarge and expand, quickly turning into a widescreen movie theatre screen.

 Cavendish’s eyes widened, allowing him to notice the other changes: The space around him had turned into a dark auditorium, the sticky floor of the carousel replaced with an even sticker cinema floor, and the wooden horses before and after him now replaced with a plethora of cheap seats that weren’t comfortable, yet somehow also were.

 Suddenly, in an instant, he was moved to the front seats, finding two young girls, Grace and Haley, seated to his right.

 “Oh, greetings!”, he said, with a tip of his hat, and suddenly he found a tub of buttery popcorn on his lap, its alluring scent wafting up to his nose, tickling it.

 He let out a warm chuckle. “Well, I must admit, this is more like it!”

 He popped in a modest portion into his mouth and chewed it down as a commercial played.

 “Oh, no! My love life is an absolute nightmare! If only my boyfriend was more attentive!”, a brown haired 1950’s housewife type with a black and white face and soul greeted the screen.

 “If only I had…”, she began to wish, when a puff of smoke rose in the air!

 Suddenly, teleporting in her spotless kitchen, it’s…

 “NORM!”, Norm, the famous Doofenshmirtz robot greeted the viewers with a wave and a monotone smile that never wavered.

 “Oh, yes! My ex! He’s much better!”

 “Norm, the robot that replaced your current beau! Comes when you least expect it!”, the announcer said.

 Cavendish scowled, as did Grace and Haley.

 “They always put the worst commercials before movies these days…”, Cavendish remarked, earning nods from the girls next to him.

 “Start the movie already!”, Cavendish shouted, throwing some popcorn at the screen.

 Finally, the projector began to transmit a picture.

 “Huzzah! The show is about to begin!”, Cavendish announced in glee, and he scarfed down some more popcorn.

 However, he soon wished he’d be back with the commercials.

 Playing in front of him, in gruesome and intense detail, was every single death he had ever gone through.

 All 2220 played in eye popping 3-D (which was weird, seeing as Cavendish didn’t have 3-D glasses), and each one made Cavendish jump or flinch or instinctively place a hand on the damaged body part displayed on the screen.

 And of course, every single time, Dakota had saved him.

 For Cavendish, it was eye opening, and not just because of the quantity (that really was 2220 times).

 Through every decapitation, through every explosion, through every bone shattering, organ combusting brain splitting cow milk induced death, two constants were present:

 “I am really accident prone.”, a confession that Cavendish would never have made before, so that was a step forwards!

 And…

 “…Dakota really saved me every time…”

 One could hear the mixture of shock and awe in his voice as he uttered the words, the projector screen light reflecting off of his single tear in the dark.

 For a moment, it was just him and Dakota, as the man he adored said “It’s Cavendish: What are you gonna do?”

 Cavendish let the words echo in his mind as he stared down at his hands: Weak, clammy, pathetic.

 “Not a man’s hands…”, his Father broadcast in his mind.

 “Dakota… Dakota really did save me every time.”

 It wasn’t that he didn’t believe that Dakota could: It was just so…

 Enlightening.

 “Dakota always wanted to save people. This job was his only way.”

 By now, Grace and Hailey were listening attentively, looking encouraged, as the credits rolled.

 Cavendish let out a sigh, his sights still set on his hands.

 “And he was willing to lose that, to lose the one thing that made him feel like a somebody…”

 He whispered the final two words, feeling a pang of pain in his chest.

 “…For me…”

 The thousands of deaths crossed his mind, each one painful, but not as much as Dakota risking it all, sacrificing it all for him.

 And what did he give him in return?

 One measly thank you.

 Just one.

 Dakota had given him life…

 And all Cavendish had done was steal his.

 Suddenly, he felt very cold.

 He felt…

 Ungrateful.

 It felt…

 Unearned.

 He looked hard at his hands, as they shook and clenched, his nails digging into his palms, scratching the weak flesh.

 What had once seemed so perfect, now felt…

 Lacking.

 “…Could I ever do that? Could I ever do that for him?”, he asked no one, his voice empty and lonely.

 A moment of realization passed him, a moment of self awareness.

 He wouldn’t be here now, having a mental breakdown in the middle of nowhere with two stranger pre-teens, if it wasn’t for Dakota.

 He sighed morosely, honesty for once appearing on his face.

 “Am I really such a jerk?”

 Suddenly, as the final credits rolled, a post credits scene began playing.

 Cavendish looked up, but with not much interest, his concionsce still plaguing him.

 How could he have taken something like that for granted?

 Was he right or wrong in his conduct with his partner?

 With life?

 For a moment…

 Cavendish wasn’t sure.

 Meanwhile, numbers flashed on the screen, grabbing his attention away from his self loathing.

 3…

 2…

 1…

 “A countdown? I must say, that’s a little…”, Cavendish started complaining, but Cavendish couldn’t finish his criticism: His seat ejected him and he was bombarded towards the Earth.

 “TRIIIIPPPEEEEE!”, he yelled out, but his nitpick was drowned out by Grace and Hailey singing the next two lyrics.

 Grace:

Like A Clock…

Hailey:

Whose Hands Are Sweeping…

 And as he continued to fall, two skydivers joined him: Harrison and Jamal.

 Harrison:

Past The Minutes…

Jamal:

Of Its Face…

 As he kept cascading down and down towards his home planet, Cavendish, despite his moment of clarity, couldn’t help but grumble.

 “Am I just going to be flung from place to place all day?”

 Finishing the sentence, he got to be flung to something that wasn’t a place: A giant wall clock.

 As he collided with the humongous clock’s face, Cavendish averted his face and eyes, bracing for impact.

 Instead, something altogether different happened: The clock didn’t break.

 And after a moment’s inspection, Cavendish saw that he didn’t break either!

 “A ha! In your face, physics! Even your rigid laws can’t face up to the mighty Balthazar Caven…”

 But Cavendish would not finish his boasting.

 In fact, he’d once again scream the end of a sentence whilst flying in space, because Cavendish didn’t break the clock…

 He just stretched it.

 Yes, Cavendish was so busy elevating himself to a pedestal that he hadn’t bothered to notice that he was slowly stretching the clock and its face, as if it was a slingshot, with him as the projectile.

 And by now, he’d have stretched it enough to be sent soaring once more.

 Realizing this, Cavendish took one dry glance at the screen.

 “Mama mia…”, he uttered, and “HERE WE GO AGAIN!” was harmonized as Cavendish was shot back in super speed, breaking through a long row of floating wall clocks, each shatter making a tick or tock sound, each break changing the time around him until…

 FLASH!

 Opening his eyes from the brightness, Cavendish could just about see a black and white photograph with smudged corners, slowly enveloping his line of sight.

 All he could see was the photograph, which depicted him and Dakota once again.

 But this time, it wasn’t just Dakota being mistreated.

 It was also Milo.

 Jemma:

And The World…

Jim (Student):

Is Like An Apple…

Karo:

Whirling Silently…

Kris (Not Ours):

In Space…

 FLASH! After FLASH! Occurred as Cavendish was forced to relive some of his worst moments, as he was forced to see himself deduce that a 13 year old boy was an enemy spy preventing him from being happy, to see himself try and arrest said boy who was busy doing kinds acts, to see himself go after aliens with no experience or hope of success, leave Dakota to suffer alone and end up being frozen in space for who knows how long, almost dying and making his closest ones lives worse by every mean…

 And all that, all that pain and suffering and poor decision making…

 Because his stupid little ego was hurt.

 Cavendish could barely stand to see and he averted his gaze, choosing instead to fixate his attention at a constellation that looked like a pro wrestler bear named Ursa Major Pain.

 Had he really done all that just because he needed to feel important?

 Had he really done all that because he couldn’t stand the thought of being…

 Not good enough?

 Was he really that selfish?

 Cavendish had nearly lost it all, and had nearly ruined Dakota’s life, all because he wanted to feel important.

 Well, one thing was for sure: He didn’t feel very important now.

 Suddenly, Cavendish stopped flying, and he was caught by a colossal baseball glove, the catcher on the 1st base being Logan.

 The rest of the bases were filled with Mabel (now with a drum), Maddie and Malee Muns, who all held humungous gloves of their own.

 A bead of sweat trickled down Cavendish’s brow as these four continued the song:

 Logan:

Like The Circles…

Mabel:

That You Find…

Maddie:

In The Windmills…

Malee Muns:

Of Your Mind…

 “Well, Cavendish? Do you get it now?”, Logan asked hopefully, and 3 voices harmonized in a very creepy and monotone way.

 “Yes, Cavendish… Do you get it now?...”

 Cavendish looked down in shame at first.

 Had he really been so selfish, so stuck up, so obsessed with being perfect, that he had done all that?

 Had he really never thanked Dakota properly?

 Had he really treated him like trash?

 Had he really been so egotistical that he would go as far as to blame a 13 year old boy for his own mistakes?

 All these things felt like too much, the potential failure scared Cavendish. It was like a weight to bare that Cavendish just couldn’t muster the strength for.

 So instead, he didn’t muster the strength…

 And he went for the route that saved his face.

 Unfortunately, he was still all too concerned with looking good.

 Unfortunately, Cavendish still couldn’t face the facts and see that he was wrong.

 “No!”, he shouted suddenly, startling the four kids on the celestial Baseball diamond.

 Cavendish glared with fierce intensity, trying his hardest to defend himself, to make himself feel less crap.

 “I did nothing wrong! Dakota is a screw up and the aliens had to be stopped! Milo could have been a spy! And I did thank Dakota! One thank you is enough!”

 Cavendish didn’t really believe any of that…

 But he just had to!

 He had to be better than this!

 …Right?

 “Cavendish, you know that that’s not…”

 But Cavendish would not heed Logan’s words.

 “I AM GOOD ENOUGH! MORE THAN THAT, I AM PERFECT! IT’S THE WORLD THAT IS WRONG, NOT ME!”

 The screams may have been intended to be “masculine”, but the hot tears that streamed down his face were definitely not part of the intended model, his red cheeks and puffy eyes betraying an all together different picture than intended.

 “I… I am not wrong! I… I can’t be!”, Cavendish cried, and Logan and the girls shook their heads at each other.

 “He’s still in too deep.”, Logan declared.

 “…Then maybe it’s time for a different approach. A more personal one.”, Mable offered thoughtfully, and she grabbed Cavendish from Logan’s hand, letting the grown man squirm in her palm.

 “Let me go! You can’t convince me! You never will!”

 “Oh, that’s ok, Cavendish!”, Mabel reassured. “We won’t convince you!”

 Cavendish took a moment to digest this new information, surprised by the speediness of that surrender, and a satisfied grin appeared on his face.

 “Well, now! Finally, some common sense!”

 Mabel smiled too, before lifting a pair of cymbals, their glint catching Cavendish’s eyes, as he began to float in open space again.

 “You’ll convince yourself!”

 And with those words said, a resounding CRASH! Could be heard as Cavendish began to literally fold into himself, body parts twisted and turned and shaped until he was…

 “An Origami Swan! YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!”, the enthusiastic cries of children could be heard echoing in the distance.

 Cavendish got refolded, now resembling…

 “Stewart Lee Udall, the 37th Secretary of The Interior, serving between 1961-1969! YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”, the children cried in manic joy.

 “…I don’t get it…”, Cavendish commented, sort of. His voice was muffled thanks to all the folds.

 And then his voice disappeared completely, since he got folded into himself so much that he disappeared into himself.

 “Metaphorical symbolism for self introspection through literal presentation! YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”, the kids roared in approval.

 Meanwhile, in the morally grey depths of his soul, sinking into himself, Cavendish found himself in a pool of time, swirling down the drain into his beginnings.

 As the murky waters slurped him up like a red white striped straw, Cavendish could just catch faint chanting with his ears.

 Somewhere, far away in the distance, the monotone voices of children exclaimed over and over “!euglorp sit sap s’tahW” “!euglorp sit sap s’tahW” “!euglorp sit sap s’tahW”, over and over, echoing in Cavendish’s mind like a thundercrash.

 And then he found himself underneath the earth’s surface.

[keeroo92]

Savior, Bloodstain, Hellfire, Shadow Ch10 (V x Reader)

Chapter 10 - The Taste of Despair Part 1

_________________________________________

May 31st, 2:12 pm

V

V looks up at the root that is the target of your group, its visage dark and leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

 I hope the demon it’s bound to isn’t too difficult to destroy. We cannot afford to fail.

Nero is standing nearby, his mechanical arm crossed against his remaining flesh and blood arm. The look on the young warriors face is thoughtful as he gazes at V for a long moment.

“What is it?” V finally asks as Nero stares at him for an uncomfortably long moment.

Nero uncrosses his arms and lets out a sigh.

“I don’t know what happened between you and Y/N, and I don’t wanna know. But if you hurt her, I will make you pay. Got it?” Nero states emphatically, a stern glare in his expressive eyes.

V’s eyes widen in surprise at the man’s protective tone. He knew you and Nero were close after he trained you, but this was unexpected. The thought of causing you pain made his stomach twist uncomfortably - causing you pain was the last thing he wanted to do.

“It is not my aim to cause her any pain. You may do with me what you will if I do,” V replies honestly, then continues after a pause, “Love seeketh not Itself to please, Nor for itself hath any care, But for another gives its ease, And builds a Heaven in Hell’s despair.”

Nero stares blankly at him, trying to figure out what he means. He struggles for a moment before V sees his face return to its previous expression of protective concern.

“Look, just… she’s like a sister to me, man. What are your intentions?”

V almost laughs. First Nico, now Y/N… The man collects sisters.

“I don’t yet know,” he replies earnestly.

“Well, just remember what I said,” Nero says and turns away, wandering off to ready himself for the battle ahead. For a few moments, V is left in peace and he takes the chance to consider Nero’s words.

 What are my intentions? All I know is this is more than Vergil ever felt for someone. And it’s inevitable that I hurt her, when I die. That is, assuming she cares for me.

His heart clenches painfully in his chest at the thought. He desperately wants you to care about him, to give him the chance to feel loved. But if it hurts you in the end… He doesn’t want that. The internal conflict rages within him and he almost doesn’t hear it when Griffon’s talons click against metal as he lands on top of the van, having returned from his scouting mission.

V shakes himself, refocusing on the present. “What did you see?”

“Uhhhh… well…it’s a Glutton,” the demonic bird states hesitantly.

V groans internally as he reflects on what he knows of the beasts. They are huge, often the size of a city bus. Known for their insatiable hunger, a Glutton can open its jaws like a snake and devour its foes whole. Their size makes them slow, but a single blow from one of its massive arms would easily kill most men. Due to their absurd mass and density, they could withstand a ridiculous amount of damage before being brought down.

“Ah. Well, that should be interesting,” V articulates calmly, and Nero cracks his knuckles nearby, already itching to fight.  Before the excitable warrior can say anything, his stomach rumbles noisily.

“We should eat first, Nero. We will need all our strength,” V tells him and steps to the van to see if lunch is almost ready or if you need help with it. A wonderful smell greets him as he opens the door and climbs the two steps into the vehicle, making his mouth flood. He spots Nico hard at work on some… contraption behind her counter, you standing at the stove and stirring a pot of the aromatic meal.

“Almost ready, V. Maybe another two or three minutes,” you tell him as he walks up behind you. He waits until Nico turns toward the wall, now unable to see the pair of you. He steps closer to wrap his arms around you to plant a soft kiss on the crown of your head, eliciting a soft squeak of surprise from your beautiful mouth. He steps back with his signature smirk as Nico turns back toward you two, his hand lingering on your stomach until the last possible moment. He spots a tint on your cheeks as you determinedly keep your eyes on the pot of chili and his heart warms.

“I’ll get some bowls for you,” he says simply and goes to do just that.

Within a few minutes, the four of you are all sitting down to eat, Nico and Nero at the small red table and you with V on the couch. As the group chows down, grunts of enjoyment periodically filling the air, V explains what you’ll be facing at the nearby root.

“This will not be a quick battle. The longer it takes, the greater the risk of injury. Because of that I think Y/N should stay nearby, close enough to help us if something should go wrong,” he concludes.

“Sounds like a good idea to me, but what do you think, Y/N? You up for it?” Nero asks you, leaving the final decision to you alone.

V watches your face, expression shifting from wide-eyed fear to grim resolve as you make the choice he knew you would.

“I’ll be there,” you state simply, voice firm.

_________________________________________

May 31st, 4:07 pm

You walk beside Nero and V, one hand gripping your metal bat with a white-knuckled grip, the other holding a strap of your backpack as if to reaffirm its presence. Periodically, V reaches out and touches your arm or shoulder, his touch a warm comfort in your state of cold fear.

The three of you walk two blocks, passing a Mexican restaurant and a few shops on your approach. The closer you get to the root and the Glutton, the worse it smells. The aroma of rotten eggs and hot garbage mixed with feces creates a perfume of filth and you try not to gag, breathing through your mouth when the awful scent gets too strong.

 What on Earth could that be from? I’ve never smelled anything so foul!

It gets stronger and stronger as you enter a courtyard, so strong you can taste it, and your eyes shoot open as you spot the source; a monstrously huge humanoid form, its flesh distended and sickeningly bulging around thin straps of cloth wrapped around its limbs. There’s a splash of blood under its chin, evidence of its most recent meal. Its right arm ends in a cruel blade, massive screws holding it in place on its forearm. Another blade sticks out from its hunched back, going through its disgusting flesh and reemerging near where you imagined a tailbone would lie somewhere under the layers of muscle and fat.

But the worst aspect of its horrifying visage was the fact that it looked so human, if you ignored its size. Its skin a normal shade of peach, facial structure resembling one of the cashiers at the grocery store you used to frequent before the city fell into insanity. You find yourself unsure if it even is a demon; then it opens its mouth, letting out an unearthly howl and you see its jaws open impossibly wide as it uses its one hand to lift what looks like the corpse of an old man to its lips, somehow able to fit the whole thing in its maw. Its cheeks bulge as it swallows viscerally, and you shudder.

Definitely a demon.

“Right, Y/N find somewhere to hide where you can see us in case we need your help. V, let’s go kick some ass,” Nero orders as he steps forward, cracking his neck and stretching his arms in preparation. You turn and see a coffee shop on the corner, ducking inside right as Nero speaks. You crouch behind the counter and peek your eyes over to watch the battle unfold, hoping you won’t be needed.

“Hey, ugly! You know, you could really use a bath,” Nero says, waving one hand under his nose mockingly. The beast growls as it turns to face him and V, its face distorting into an expression of rage and hunger as it spots the two men.

“The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom, but I think you may have missed the turn,” V chimes in with a twirl of his cane, and you can hear the smirk in his voice even as he faces away from you.

The Glutton snarls and charges, its massive weight making the ground shake with every step as it dashes at Nero. The white-haired warrior performs a flawless hands-free cartwheel to the side, and the creature skids to a stop where he was just standing. Nero draws his sword and brings it down for a harsh slash, opening the beast’s flesh from its hip to its upper back. It howls again, turning to face the threat.

V flicks his cane out to the side and Shadow springs forth, Griffon following a fraction of a second behind in a burst of black shards. Shadow shifts instantly into her spinning blade form, dashing forward to land a slice on the creature’s chest. Griffon hovers in midair and his form flashes purple for an instant before he releases a spherical cloud of electric energy, scorching the Glutton.

The creature bellows, swatting Griffon and Shadow away and they both shift into small spheres as they hit the harsh pavement, pulsing with light as they float a few feet off the ground. Your heart lurches at the sight of your two summoned friends being hit so hard and you see V’s face go even paler than its normal shade as bile rises in your throat. 

Nero unleashes a flurry of strikes, keeping the Glutton’s attention as V limps to the glowing spheres. You hold your breath, unsure if Griffon and Shadow are dead as V holds a hand over the first sphere. You gasp in relief as a moment later, Shadow bursts back out of the small orb and roars. V rushes to the other sphere, panting already, and repeats the process to revive Griffon as Shadow darts forward, a blur of black fury as her body shoots out numerous appendages to strike the Glutton as it focuses on Nero.

Nero somersaults away as the beast brings both its blade and its fist to strike the spot he had been standing, cracking the asphalt instead of Nero’s skull. He taunts it as it turns to face him again.

“Ha, you’ll have to do better than that!”

The Glutton prepares another charge, bellowing its fury as it runs at Nero again. He hops onto its head as it reaches him, carefully avoiding the blade embedded in the creatures back. He simultaneously presses the small button on his mechanical arm to deploy Bladestorm, slashing through the beast’s meaty shoulder as he drops down to the ground behind it. Griffon dives, cawing curse words as he leaves a deep scratch on the demon’s leg. Shadow follows up, swiping the same spot with her brutal claws, and the creature staggers as its leg almost collapses beneath it. Your eyes flick to watch V, as always staying on the edge of the battle and reading his book of poetry. He snaps the book closed as you watch, his other arm rising high above his head and snapping as he speaks, voice harsh in battle.

“Enjoy the taste of despair…”

V's hair sheds its layer of black, the shards dissipating into thin air to reveal his snow-white locks as Nightmare bursts through the wall behind him. The Glutton takes notice of this new threat, bellowing again and charging right at V and Nightmare. To your horror, V doesn’t move out of the way; instead, he leans over and claps his hands tauntingly. You feel like you’re watching a deadly game of chicken as the beast gets ever closer to V and he still doesn’t get out of the way. You can’t take it and close your eyes, holding your breath and listening for the moment the beast strikes the poet.

You hear an impact, but it’s not what you expected. It sounds almost like gravel shifting and you open your eyes again to see V on Nightmare’s back, its massive fists locked in a stalemate of strength against the Glutton’s arms. You can see V panting and gritting his teeth from the effort to hold the damn thing in place as Nero surges forward with a yell, slashing the legs of the Glutton repeatedly. You think he may just get the massive demon onto its knees when it suddenly kicks back blindly at Nero, its foot hitting him in the chest and sending him flying across the courtyard to hit a lamppost. Even from your distance, you can hear bones crunching as Nero’s spine breaks and he falls to the ground without making a sound.

Your breath leaves you, your stomach and heart clenching painfully tight as you see your friend lying on the ground, body broken beyond your skill to repair. Tears fall freely from your eyes and you curl into yourself, already mourning both Nero and…

 V... God, no… He’s going to die and there’s nothing I can do. I’m useless, always so fucking useless. It should have been me that died, not them. It’s never enough, I’m never enough, I’m never enough, never enough, never enough, neverenoughneverenoughneverenough…

You start pounding your head against the counter, sobbing and hating yourself for your utter failure.

(Link to art used as inspiration for the Glutton - https://www.austenmengler.com/store/gluttonator-print NOT MY ART!!!)

[missevilwritingblog]

Musician Shouto early draft pt 1

Hey.  I’m supposed to be studying and developing my TDBB idea but instead I wrote this. It’s unfinished, this is like... the first half. It’ll eventually be Tododeku, though. Figured I’d put it up for now. It’ll go on A03 when it’s finished... probably Warning for: Endeawhore being abusive towards shouto, his mom, and his instruments.  Enjoy

The first time he touched a guitar, he was very small.

He can’t remember it himself, but he has a picture of himself as a baby. He’s sitting back on his knees, one arm in front to stabilize him, the other reaching out. His tiny fingers are splayed against the neck, two fingers curled around the E string.

The focus of the image isn’t him, however, but his mother. She sits in front of him, kneeling on a red pillow, watching him. There’s love in her eyes and a smile on her face, she looks to be caught right before laughter. The lines that Shouto remembers from his childhood are barely present, save the crinkles around her eyes and the soft smile lines that frame her mouth.

It's odd.

She never had smile lines in his memories.

…

He can kind of recall the early years before his quirk came in. Before his father took the forefront of his attention, he was his mother’s child through and through. They went everywhere together, did everything together.

There are fuzzy memories of him baking with her and Fumi, coloring with her while Natsuo did school work besides them. He can even kind of remember Touya, spending their mornings together during breakfast, before he would disappear somewhere for the day.

But what he remembers the most is the music.

Rei’s music followed her everywhere and snuck into every bit of her life. She hummed while she cooked. She played musicals for their movie days. She danced with him and with Touya at night, before singing them both to sleep with her lullaby, her melody. There were bells in her hair, and her ears too. Whenever she moved, they made the soft sounds that defined his childhood.

She played the guitar.

She taught him, sometimes. She’d bring him to her room and let him undo the clasps on the case, show him chords and songs and let him pluck out simple melodies while she handled the frets. And even when he couldn’t get it right, she’d tell him, “It’s okay. One day when you’re big and strong, you’ll be playing the guitar for me.”

…

The day after his quirk showed itself, he’d clung to her shirt and sobbed.

She soothed hi. She uses soft words and hums her soft melody. Her bells tell him it’s okay and her hands tell him he’s safe, but she what she says specifically is, “It’s okay for you to be a hero, Shouto.”

He doesn’t think he wants to be a hero. He doesn’t think he ever wanted to be a hero. But the way she framed it, and the way that he was treated… did he have to?

“My sweet Shouto…” She’d said softly, soon after that. “Why don’t we do something to forget all of this?”

“Can we play guitar?” He mumbled out. He didn’t see her pained look then. He never did. So when she settles him down and plays an All Might special, he’s still left with no understanding the gravity of her music.

…

Things become quieter, after that. It became quieter each time Endeavor’s darkness blotted out his mother’s sunshine songs.

His mother hummed more and more infrequently. Her soft bells didn’t chime anymore- she didn’t wear them nearly as often when he was around. She hadn’t danced with him, not since the day of flashing lights, the last time he saw Touya.

So the guitar was his last ditch effort to bring it back. It was all he could do to try.

He’d been very careful with it, as careful as he could. He’d unlatched the case and pulled the guitar out, dragging it across the floor to his Mother. She’d taken it very lightly, with that small expression that was nearly a smile.

“Shouto,” she’d said. “Did you want to learn some more?”

“No, mama.” He settled himself in front of her, hands folded in her lap. “But can you play for me?”

Her features seemed to relax, all at once. It still wasn’t a smile, but it was closer, closer than anything else had been by far.

She plucked a simple melody first before falling into the easy rhythm of her lullaby, her melody.

Later, he regrets not committing the exact moment to memory, because for a second- a single, solitary second- it was like the light had returned to the house. His good memories of playing with Touya and Fumi and Natsuo were all returned in an instant. He could hear her bells softly chiming on the wind with ever nod of her head and it all felt right once again.

Until it didn’t.

It happened just as the song was ending. The last few notes were yet to be played, Shouto was waiting breathlessly in anticipation, and Endeavor slammed the door open.

A big, oppressive heat that filled the room, drying and cracking his lips, and he couldn’t move.

He can’t remember everything. He doesn’t want to remember anything after his mother’s song, becusse he does have glimpses. A slap here, and push there. Crystalline tears on his mother’s face. Endeavor reaching for the guitar.

He can’t remember everything, but he could never forget the sound of his happiness dashed against hardwood floors.

His quirk activated on accident- an anger response, he’d realize later. He lit up in a blaze for moments before he realized what was going on, but by then it was too late.

His mother was sat stock still. Charred pieces of wood scattered around her. She did nothing as Endeavor dragged him screaming from the room.

…

One week later, the two-tone whistle of the kettle marked the end of her music for good.

Through the filter of pain, it almost sounded like her bells.

…

Fuyumi saved his life. He would never thrive, not in that household, but she made him survive, and for a long time that’s all he needed.

He vaguely remembered what his life was like before that day, his eigth birthday. He’d locked himself in his room, sleeping most of the day off. Come to think, Endeavor didn’t bother him much those darker days. Fumi must have vouched for him having the flu. It would have been easier if it were just the flu.

He was trapped. Stuck in an endless darkness, silent and oppressive and marring. He couldn’t get himself to move anymore. He couldn’t get himself to shower. Or eat. They were his blackest days, when he was just a shell of a human, praying for an end.

She’d come on his second week of isolation, she told him later. It was three days before his birthday. Gracious and graceful, she snuck in with soft footsteps, no noise in his barren landscape. He hadn’t even realized she was there until there was a big rectangular box in his face.

“You need to be very careful with it,” She’d warned him first. “Father can’t know about it. Hide it away and only take it out when you’re certain you’re alone.”

‘It’ had turned out to be a sophrano Ukulele.

A beautiful thing, sleek and pristine, brand new. White, mostly, expect for a few red roses. Fitting. He’d ran his hands over the strings, bumped his fingers on every fret, breath caught in his throat. He could bring back the music. He could stave off the silence.

Fuyumi had cried, as she’d explained later. She’d said the expression on his face was so heartbreaking and so hopeful. She’d told him he was smiling. He hadn’t even noticed.

…

They’d hidden it in Touya’s room.

No one had stepped foot in it since the day of flashing lights. (He knew by that point they were ambulances, but he could never shake the title) After everything that’d happened to his big brother, Endeavor barely even glanced that way, never even walked down that wing. So it seemed like the most obvious choice.

It was uncomfortable walking in. Fuyumi seemed especially distraught entering the barren room. She agreed that it was the perfect spot, though, even if her hands quaked as she’d said it.

There wasn’t much there. No personal effects, no posters on the walls. Nothing really to suggest that a kid had lived there. It was very similar to Shouto’s room at the time, if he were honest, four blank walls that covered just the basics. But there was enough, enough that they could hide the ukulele under the bed or in the closet or the desk, for the extra just in case.

He got Endeavor’s schedule, asking under the guise of understanding the details of a hero’s life. The praise Endeavor gave him made him feel sick inside, but he bore it in his everlasting silence, and came out of the conversation with a neat laminated paper. It hung above the desk in his room, a victory laurel, and he couldn’t help but grin when he looked at it. For the most part, Endeavor designed Shouto’s schedule around his own in those days, so when Endeavor was out on business Shouto would still be monitored, but..

Tuesdays and Thursdays from twelve to two. Mondays and Fridays from five to eight. Sundays at nine.

The house wouldn’t be silent much longer.

…

Months later, he handed Fumi a note. A private concert, for her- a collection of songs that he remembered she likes, that he learned for her. It’s meant to be a thank you for the instrument, and an apology for not keeping up with her.

She’d brought Natsou with her, a strange decision, but Shouto had welcomed him with as much of a smile as he could muster anyway. They both knew better than to go against Endeavor. They’d both understand what was at stake for Shouto. So he’d invited them both into the room, and set out an extra chair.

The concert was fun. Playing and singing for his family, it reminded him of his childhood, as short as it was. Natsuo sat still at first, but the further into the music Shouto went, the more he’d seemed to loosen up, the more he began to smile. Halfway through his set list, he was clapping and singing right alongside Fuyumi.

Shouto, of course, plays it up even more once that’s clear. He grows somber at the sad moments, lights up for every happy song. He changes strumming patterns and does hand gestures and expressions that he’s not too familiar with, but musicians online did them and they made his siblings laugh, so it didn’t matter.

The music beats back the silence and reign over the room in it’s place, and in thse moments, playing his ukulele… he wins.

He finishes the concert with a soft, half- finished version of his mothers lullaby- the hardest song to learn by far, entirely from memory- and lets the notes peter off as gently as he can, hoping to keep his hold on the music as long as possible. The silence creeps back in, making him tense before Fuyumi is cheering and he’s pulled into a tight hug.

“That was incredible,” Fumi told him. “You’re amazing.”

Natsuo agrees, pulling him into a hug as well once she releases him. “You’re a real natural at this, kiddo,” he says.

Shouto was never proud to hear that word before.

…

They sneak him out after that. Not directly after, but in a few days when they know his schedule will allow it again.

Shouto’s enamored by the world around him. Homeschooled and cut off from the world in nearly every way, he’s understandably excited to see the sights around him. He gawks at every shop, fountain, and person they cross.

(Of course, he doesn’t catch Fumi and Natsuo’s looks over his head, or their silent understanding to raise Shouto better- he doesn’t catch any of that for years)

They get him lots of treats, that day. Ice creams and shaved ice and visits to stores, musical and not. He leaves with pins and stickers, carefully tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket, ready to be transferred to a safe drawer in his room.

They’re about to leave when he catches sight of a sparkly pink sign in the window of a shop.

“One more thing?” he asks.

…

The silver stars that sparkled in his ears almost made him not want the small silver bells that lay in waiting on his desk.

They both make up for any beat down Endeavor gives him when he finally catches their shine.

…

They get him other instruments, when they can, when Endeavor loosens his reigns a bit.

He ends up with an assortment, all scattered around the room now dubbed his studio, the days of Touya’s presence long fade from their minds. Natsuo gifts him an old electric piano, and he dedicates himself to learning sheet music with it. Fumi gives him her old school violin, and he practices perfect pitch.

He brandishes clefs and staffsheets like swords, uses his voice and his fingers as shields, and slowly he fights back the oppressive silence that is Endeavor’s reign. And he loves it, truly- each time he lets the instruments fall into his calloused fingers, it feels just a bit like coming home.

That’s why it’s all the more exciting when he finally has the chance to get his own guitar.

Natsuo and Fuyumi never bought one for him. He’d asked them not to. Watching his mother’s fall to pieces against the hardwood floor had always stopped him. But as his hands warmed to his other instruments, as the songs thrummed through his ears and the music returned to the house, he decided it was time.

After all, hadn’t she said he needed to play for her one day?

Getting one was proving to be an impossible feat, though.

They’d picked the day very carefully, one Saturday on a weekend they knew Endeavor wouldn’t be home. He’d dressed his best, let Fumi cover his scar with makeup and laughed at the ridiculous hats that Natsuo had picked out for him to wear. Standing between them both, they’d made their way out into the real world again.

The local music shops were the first places he’d gone, fingers trailing over the strings, experimentally plucking out tunes. He was looking for a specific one, one that called out to him.

Natsuo immediately guided him to the big electric guitars, with their amps and cables and shrieking noises. Fuyumi had hesitantly pointed out the kid sized ones. Neither were quite right.

He naturally gravitated towards the acoustics himself, but none of them were the one. After the third shop, he was starting to get discouraged-

Then he found it.

It wasn’t in a shop, no, it was in the hands of a rather frail looking old woman, cradled with love and affection. He could already tell, even across the road, that it was old too. The green-tinged paint seemed almost faded in places, and the few bits of metal looked worse for wear- but maybe it was something about the way the strings sparkled. Or maybe just the few notes that drifted across the road. Soft. Haunted.

It was meant for him, he was sure of it.

He ignored the pleas of his older siblings, crossing the street swiftly. He did not want to go back into the store. He didn’t want a brand new ‘better’ guitar. He wanted that one, and he’d be damned if he didn’t get it. They’d follow him anyway.

He’d asked her if he could see it (politely asked, after Fumi caught up to him and nudged him) smiling when she stopped plucking at the strings and gently held it out to him.

The faded paint around the edges that he’d seen- It was thorns, green and prickly, with soft white flowers nestled in between them. They traveled the perimeter before climbing the side of the neck, ending with a large white flower at the headstock. It was beautiful. He reached a hand out, carefully, in a silent question. When the woman nodded, he picked it up as carefully as he could, plucking at some of the strings with a small smile.

“You know,” the woman spoke then, leaning in as if about to impart a great secret upon him. “I can speak with guitars.” He must have shown his incredulity, because suddenly she was laughing, head thrown back and eyes crinkled at the edges.

“It’s true!” She’d insisted. “It’s my quirk. I can speak with the instruments- with their music.” Her eyes were crinkled still, smiling at him. “This one… well, she’s been waiting for you for a very long time.”

He’d looked down at the guitar with renewed interest, tracing the green vines with his thumb. “I think I’ve been waiting a long time too,” he whispered with just as much levity.

The woman chuckled. “Then you shouldn’t wait any longer, dear.”

He looked up sharply, holding the guitar closer to him now, letting the wood bite into his palms. “How much is it,” he asked, then looked to Fuyumi. “How much do we have?”

“Oh, no, deary. Please, no money- I couldn’t create any obstacle between such a fated pair.”

“I insist,” he’d said, looking back. “Look, old lady, I don’t wanna take your guitar with no reimbursement.”

He steadfastly ignored Fuyumi’s scandalized “Shouto!” in favor of watching the woman mouth ‘reimbursement’ with a laugh.

“How about this,” she had said at last. “Help me name her. She’s the only one I know without a name, dear. And names are power- her name could define her purpose.”

A name? He wracked his brain, shifting his hands when the strings bit into his fingers just a bit too much and listening to the soft sound it made.

“Kine,” he said softly. “I want to name her Kine.”

“Kine,” The old woman repeated. “What a wonderful name. Now you take good care of Kine, okay dear?”

He’d pursed his lips and nodded, gathering all of his strength when he told her “I will.”

…

Kine took up permanent residence in his room.

It felt wrong to put her in his studio. And, yeah, he continues to call her “her”- mostly because it creeps out Natsuo (who always ends up leaving his room with some variation of “witchcraft” on his lips) but also because he can never seem to shake the old lady’s words. They stick with him somehow.

He takes care to hide her away- Endeavor doesn’t enter his room that much, but he’ll occasionally wake up him up or come barging in to announce a tutor, or just to get him up for the day, so he can’t leave her out. He won’t let her get destroyed the way his mother’s was. He doesn’t care how he has to go about protecting her.

He makes the right choice.

…

He didn’t understand why it happened, or even how it happened. He couldn’t understand it, to this day. He’d been so careful, so cautious, but still, Endeavor found out.  He never understood.

But he remembered.

He was holding the ukulele, his favorite ukulele, not playing it or singing, simply holding in in thought. He’d wanted to do more than covered, he’d wanted to do a song. A song for Fuyumi, maybe. A song for something, and he was on the verge of something good when it- when he, happened.

Endeavour.

He’d bust in, electric blue eyes immediately drawing the life out of Shouto’s own. His hellfire was burning, hot and bright and sucking out the moisture it the room. Shouto’s lips dried and cracked and he was staring because the heat, the heat. Just like last time.

But he couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t think anything. The fear had seized him, and there was white hot static coursing through his veins, buzzing in his ears. He could do nothing, expect force himself listen to the creak.

Sizzle.

Creak.

The floorboard protested under the agony of Endeavor’s steps, bending and blackening themselves over his iron rule.

Endeavor’s footsteps, in the one room they thought he’d never step foot into.

Charred black voids, marring the perfect room, standing out and mocking him. Blackened footprints, stopping right in front of his music stand.

And silence.

There was no yelling. No talking. Just the heavy, oppressive silence.

He knew this silence, and it knew him too. He could feel it, whispering to him, telling him, There are no staffsheet swords now. There is no violin bow to beat us back now. It settled itself around his ribs and squeezed him, a terrible facsimile of a hug, heavy and hot and absolute. Try us, little Shouto. Let’s see your little fingers fight us now. Let’s see you spin your songs into webs once more. But you can’t, can you?

There was movement. Shouto’s eyes snapped up to see it, and was struck with such a clarity he almost laughed, because- because-

Because Endeavor held the music stand the same exact way he held his children. With a strong grip around it’s neck.

And the sound came back all at once.

The music screamed. It screamed and begged and yelled for him. He could hear ever dying pitch in the shriveled black pages, in every final note of the violin strings as they snapped back and curled away from Endeavor’s hands. The horrible, grating sounds of wood on wood on plastic on fire, every last note of his freedom burning to ash. It screamed, it screamed, it screamed at him until he couldn’t stand it anymore.

Or maybe the thing screaming was him.

He’d fallen to the ground at somepoint, or- no, Endeavor had hit him, must have because there was a sting in his face, across his cheek bone, because he remembered thinking he’d just been clobbered by a cinderblock bag. Endeavor had pushed him… kicked him with his feet, until he’d felt something taken from him and the all-consuming sounds of pulverized wood echoed.

The screaming had stopped then, in all but spirit, and the echoes of the noise still rang heavy in his head. Endeavor had picked him up off the floor, and held him by the front of his shirt, and forced him to meet his eyes.

He’d told him, “You will never be a hero if you cling to such frivolous activities.” He’d spat it at him.

And on any other occasion, maybe his words would have been knives, would have been driven into his heart and left to collect rust.  

But here he was, flayed,  left to bleed out in this contaminated airand there was no purchase for them.  With the black haze closing in on his sight ad the taste of blood in his mouth, he’d simply managed to smile, delirious.

“You’re right,” He’s responded. “You’re absolutely right. I will never be a hero.”

The cinderblock bag put him to sleep.

…

He sinks back into the darkness too easily.

Endeavor takes time off of hero work for ‘family matters’, rendering his carefully memorized schedule irrelevant even before he has the chance to storm into Shouto’s room and rip the laminated victory off of his walls. He hires more tutors to give Shouto more work.  He’s there when Shouto wakes up, shaking him awake (or worse) and often times he’s the one shoving Shouto into his bed after a ‘training’ session.

When the agency calls him back, he forces Shouto to dress and follow him on patrols, to listen in on reports and learn how to handle a villain.

He isolates him.

The only people Shouto talks to for a year are him, the tutors, and occasionally a police officer, although that never lasts long.

In fact, Shouto sees Fuyumi exactly one in the following year, and it’s only to ask her to take Kine and hide her somewhere far far away from his former studio. He doesn’t stay long enough to listen to her questions, he doesn’t let her see just how many bruises he’s acquired.

He doesn’t stay long enough for Endeavor to take her away from him next.

The dark and the quiet invade his body and mind, wrapping him in their grip and taunting him, reshaping him into the emotionless, silent killer that they want.

And it works.

He knows he’s closing off. He knows he’s not himself anymore. The tiny tiny flames of the person that once existed and locked in a box in the back of his mind, getting dimmer and dimmer with each passing day. He can’t hate it, because he can’t hate anything but his father. He can’t reflect on it because he can’t feel anything but that hate.

Until he looses the ability to feel that, too.

His thoughts circle and chase themselves, and his world pinpoints down until he’s a sullen and cold, and can only focus on one thing.

If he’s to be a hero, it’s to be on his terms.

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Becoming the Villain Wrangler

So . . . that thing I said earlier I might try? Posting new stuff that’s not pictures? Well, here’s this. It’s a flashbacky sort of scene about characters from my current WIP, Average, Ohio, about superheroes and supervillains in suburban Ohio. It’s about 2.5k, and most of it is hiding behind a cut so it doesn’t clog your dash. Here goes nothing, I guess. Enjoy.

--

She started with Sonos.

She was fourteen, and she knew that Sonos didn’t “do kids.” She knew that 84% of Sonos’s premeditated hostage situations took place in establishments where either coffee, baked goods, or both were available, and she knew that the baked goods and coffee combo hostage situations tended to be safest. So far, at least, no one had died in a Panera or a Starbucks.

She also knew that, despite popular and professional opinion, Sonos’s bakery hostage situations did actually follow something like a pattern. She spent hours and hours in her bedroom surrounded by police reports transcribed and translated into color-coded index cards carefully taped to her blue walls. Nobody ever tried to head off Sonos’s hostage situations because they seemed completely random, the whims of a flighty, unpredictable super with a penchant for drama and chocolate pastries.

But the color-coded, meticulously-arranged index cards on her wall whispered that maybe the whims weren’t so random after all. There was definitely a cycle, even if it wasn’t quite regular—almost every twenty-one to twenty-seven days, except when it was more like forty-five, Average could count on a hostage situation somewhere. And Sonos had four favorite spots to hit: the Panera at the Plaza, the Starbucks off 42, the Bagel Brothers by the schools, or Servatii’s downtown. Sonos very rarely hit the same spot twice in a row, except when she did, and she almost always timed it to the tail end of a weekday rush, except when she didn’t, and she never ever hit a Starbucks in the same month that jewelry stores got robbed.

There was a break-in at Jared’s on Sunday, Bagel Brothers was still being renovated from last month’s super battle, and twenty-two days ago the hostage situation was at Servatii’s.

Maddy Cox had spent every waking moment at the Plaza’s Panera.

It was the second week of her summer vacation, but she’d been preparing for this since April. Every morning at 10:02, she locked up her bike outside the Panera, ordered a smoothie, and parked at the smallest table she could find to do summer work until lunchtime. She was going to be a sophomore, so on top of her reading and essay for English, she had APUSH work to do, too. So far, it had been an uneventful week at Panera, so Maddy was almost done reading Rebecca, which she didn’t think was as bad as all her older friends complained it was.

She was finishing her third panini of the week when Sonos and a small squad of henchpeople stormed the dining room.

“No screaming today, please,” Sonos announced. Her voice came from nowhere and everywhere all at once, even though Maddy watched her lips move. “If you have to panic, use your inside voices and get it out of the way now. Everyone knows how this next bit works, right?”

A woman somewhere to Maddy’s left started to shriek. Behind her mask, Sonos’s eyes narrowed. She was cradling her hostage situation shotgun—the one Maddy tracked to every hold up incident since Amp suppressed her powers years ago at a Graeter’s and left her undermatched—in her left arm, but with her right she reached out and snatched the woman’s attempt at a scream. All the sound in a three-foot radius died, and the woman’s hands flew to her throat.

“Maybe I asked too nicely,” Sonos said quietly. The hairs on Maddy’s arms stood straight up, and a hush only Sonos could have intensified fell over the dining room. “Don’t. Scream.”

The woman gulped a few breaths of air silently and nodded. Sonos released her hold on the sound, which died away like it had never existed. By that point, the henchpeople had taken up their posts around the dining room, and a few were herding employees out of the kitchen. The henchpeople were armed—they were always armed—and Maddy forced herself to take a few calming breaths. She would be okay. Sonos didn’t do kids, after all. Maddy would be fine. She just needed her window of opportunity.

“Better,” Sonos said with a nod. “Now, who’s the manager, here?”

The next few minutes passed like déjà vu. Maddy had read so many reports about it that she knew the script: The manager emptied the safe, got Sonos however many pastries she asked for, and resumed being hostaged with her employees; the henchpeople made their rounds through the dining room gathering cash and other valuables that were easy to turn into cash; all phones except for one were confiscated, and guests were told to pack up their things. As Maddy packed up her APUSH homework, an odd sense of calm washed over her. She had, after all, been planning this for months. She’d even purchased a brand-new two-pocket folder with brads for the occasion.

Now her backpack was full and zipped on the floor beside her chair, the yellow folder was next to her empty plate, and Sonos was making her dining room rounds to dismiss unsuitable hostages, namely those under eighteen and their parents or guardians. Maddy watched her send two young families, a set of grandparents with a gaggle of ten-year-olds, three girls Maddy recognized from school, and two very pregnant people to the booth Maddy thought of as the escape hatch by the side door.

Then Sonos approached Maddy’s table, without the shotgun because she always left it on the counter when she dealt with minors and their responsible adults, and gestured. “You too, kid. Up.”

Maddy took another deep breath and stood, pulling both straps of her backpack over her shoulders and scooping the folder off the table. “Um, actually, Ms. Sonos, if you have a minute I was wondering if we could talk.”

Her voice came out squeakier than she wanted it to, which she remembers even years later, and even though she’d spent hours rehearsing in front of the mirror she still hadn’t been able to keep the vocal pause from slipping out, but every time she hears Sonos tell the story the villain kindly skips over that part. Instead, Sonos makes her sound brave. She likes when Sonos tells it.

Sonos hesitated, her mask deforming at her forehead in what Maddy later understands as a double eyebrow raise, and said, “You realize this is a hostage situation, right?”

Maddy nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been waiting all week.” She offered the yellow folder, where she had written SONOS in the top right corner in her neatest handwriting in black Sharpie. “I have some ideas.”

Sonos’s mask deformed further, and a tinkling laugh like wind chimes escaped her lips and breezed through the dining room. For a moment, Maddy became very aware that they had a wide-eyed, terrified audience, and she forced herself to focus on Sonos again. This was probably her only shot to make this work.

“You a super? Cuz I don’t do sidekicks. Or kids,” Sonos said.

Maddy shook her head. “No, I’m just ordinary. I don’t want to be a sidekick. I want to handle your public relations.”

“I’m a supervillain, kid. PR is a thing that happens to heroes.”

“And I don’t think it’s fair that they get all the good press,” Maddy says. “Supervillains are people, too, not just monsters.”

“But monsters sometimes?” Sonos asked.

Maddy held her gaze. “Everyone is a monster sometimes.”

Sonos studied her face for a few nerve-wrackingly long seconds. Maddy didn’t look away, but became aware of one of the henchpeople moving. It was so quiet in the dining room that even Maddy could hear the number pad on the one unconfiscated cellphone as the henchperson started to dial.

“Wait,” Sonos said, still looking at Maddy but rerouting her voice so it was very clearly directed at the lead henchperson. “There’s been a change in plans, Larry. No hostages today.”

Larry ended the call before it connected and said, “Sure thing, boss. What do you need?”

Sonos considered for a moment or two and said, “A couple smoothies and an empty building.”

“You got it,” Larry said with a nod. He separated the store manager from the rest of the employees to have her make the smoothies before reorganizing his crew to herd the hostages quietly outside.

By the time the manager had finished the smoothies and brought them to the booth Sonos had seated Maddy at, the Panera had emptied. Only Sonos, Maddy, Larry, and the manager were left, and Larry handed the bag of confiscated cellphones to the manager before hurrying her out the door and issuing instructions too quiet for Maddy to hear. Sonos called, “I’ll be in touch, Larry,” after him, and Larry nodded and vanished. Sonos and Maddy were alone.

Sonos pushed one of the strawberry banana smoothies across the table toward Maddy before taking a sip of her own. “All right, kid, I’m officially curious. What’ve you got?”

Maddy cleared her throat, hoping she wouldn’t squeak again, and opened the yellow folder. It wasn’t quite a perfect match to Sonos’s suit, but it was close, and it made Sonos smile. “I’ve been volunteering at the children’s hospital for a while, specifically with community involvement.”

Sonos was still slurping her smoothie, but she nodded. “Ah. Wound up with the Be-a-Hero Foundation?”

Maddy nodded. “Sort of. Just the logistics side—figuring out which kids wanted to talk to which super.”

“Cute.”

“It was pretty cool,” Maddy admitted, “to see their faces light up when their hero walked into their room. Every kid, every time.”

“Do-gooders have that effect, I’ve been told.”

“Supers in general have that effect,” Maddy said. Sonos’s eyebrow arched, and for an instant Maddy wondered if she should scale it back, if she was being too forward, but the instant passed and Sonos didn’t seem angry. Just curious. Maddy pulled a patient profile—one she technically wasn’t supposed to have, but she’d gotten approval from Kyoko’s parents so she thought it would be okay—out of the right-hand pocket and pushed it toward Sonos. Sonos set aside her smoothie to study the sheet, which had a color photo of Kyoko at the park and some basic information.

“Cute kid,” Sonos said after a couple seconds.

“Her name is Kyoko,” Maddy said. “She loves swimming and horseback riding, and her favorite band is One Direction. She has stage three brain cancer and maybe three months left to live.”

Sonos’s lips set into a thin line, and Maddy realized that the super probably wasn’t that much older than her. She’d only been villaining in Average for a couple of years, and most supers started fairly young. Now that Maddy was seated across from her, she saw how smooth Sonos’s brown skin was, except for a concealed zit on her chin. She was probably early twenties, if even that, which was still old but not, like, parents old. That was weird.

“Because she’s terminal, she’s eligible for the Be-a-Hero Foundation,” Maddy continued. “And when I asked her who she wanted to meet, she said you.”

Sonos frowned. “Come again?”

“She wants to meet you, Ms. Sonos. She says you have the coolest costume and the coolest power and she wants to be able to break things with sound when she grows up.”

Sonos silently laid the profile flat on the table again. For a few seconds, the dining room seemed unnaturally silent. Maddy counted time to keep her nerves under control and let Sonos think.

After two full minutes, Sonos exhaled a, “Huh,” and sound resumed. “That’s sweet and all, but there’s no way her parents would go for it.”

Maddy shook her head. “No, I checked explicitly with her parents, and they think it’s a long shot that you’d do it but they’d be cool with it if you were. They just want Kyoko to be happy.”

Sonos lifted an eyebrow. “And the hospital? And the Foundation?”

“If you were willing to see Kyoko, I would deal with them.”

“And law enforcement?”

Maddy nodded. “There’d be something horrible about arresting a super who was visiting sick kids in the hospital, right? My dad is on the force, and he said that was true. I could deal with that part, too.”

“Why?”

Maddy frowned. “I don’t understand. Why what?”

“Why are you doing this? What do you get out of it?”

“Oh. Well, I think it’s important for the kids. Plus, if I want to get into good colleges, I need to have a long-term community service project.”

“And you picked wrangling supervillains? You’re what, fifteen? Sixteen?”

“Fourteen,” Maddy said, and Sonos laughed her wind chime laugh.

“Ambitious, for sure. Seriously: Why supervillains?”

Maddy hesitated. She’d known that Sonos would ask—Sonos always asked—and she’d known what her response would be. It was just that the whole situation was more intense than she’d anticipated. Even volunteering at the hospital, she hadn’t been this close to a super for this long, and she’d certainly never held a conversation like this one.

“Because you’re people, too,” she finally said. “We’re all in this together, and everyone should get a chance to do good.”

“I’ve got chances to do good all day every day. I choose not to.”

“But you’ve never gotten a chance to choose Kyoko before.”

After another moment, Sonos sighed. Maddy continued laying out her ideas and rationales about why, in the long run, having some positive PR on the villainy front would benefit Sonos. She left Kyoko’s profile on the table as she walked Sonos through the rest of the folder’s contents.

At the third repetition of “Ms. Sonos,” Sonos said, “Just call me Sonos, kid,” and ten minutes later, when Maddy had done all her explaining and Sonos had taken it all in, she asked, “What’s your name?”

“Maddy. Maddy Cox.”

Sonos smiled and finished her smoothie. “Well, Maddy. I’ll think on it. Give me a couple days and I’ll get back to you.”

Maddy beamed. “Great! My number and email are in here—you can call or text or email or whatever. This is for you.”

Sonos smiled when Maddy offered her the folder. “Came prepared, huh?”

Maddy nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! I, um, sort of figured out your pattern—don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone or anything, your secret’s safe with me—so I’ve been waiting all week.”

“I’m impressed, kid. Maddy.”

Maddy felt a blush creep up her neck, and she stood when Sonos did. Sonos offered a hand, which Maddy shook, and then Sonos asked her to stay in the booth for two more minutes while Sonos cleared the scene. Maddy did, Sonos left, and two minutes later she walked out of the Panera for a very weird encounter with the police. When her parents showed up, they weren’t thrilled, but they agreed to see where things went because it was important to Maddy and everyone knew Sonos didn’t do kids.

Four days later, Maddy got a call from a restricted number, and Sonos said she’d give it a whirl. It took Maddy two weeks to get everything squared away with the hospital, and the Foundation, and law enforcement, but on the third Thursday in June, Maddy and Sonos and a very skittish guard detail walked into Mercy Children’s.

It made Kyoko’s whole year.

The visit was so successful that it was easy to persuade Sonos to come again for Ben, and for Jake, and Rachel, and Maya. Once Maddy was comfortable with Sonos, she asked the super if maybe Ratman or Firebrand would be interested, and Sonos passed along her proposition. Soon Maddy was the liaison for the villains, much like how Shanu Adebayo was the hero herder.

It was Sonos who eventually affectionately dubbed her the Villain Wrangler.

--

[cynergy-laughter]

Dream Daddy Fanfic #1

The Long Haul

By: Brendon Cetinkaya (Cynergy-Laughter)

Word Count: 1713

You sat at home on the couch doing your word jumbles as usual, the Long Haul Paranormal Ice Road Ghost Truckers playing in the background. You were about to call for Amanda, but you realized that she’s away at college working on her art degree, and you are totally alone tonight. You put your jumbles down onto their usual spot, to be unjumbled another day, and pull up Dadbook. You look at the long line up of the seven dads that you’re close to. After deliberation, you click to give Robert a buzz, pulling up the instant messaging. You haven’t talked to Robert three weeks after you sat under the cherry tree at Amanda’s Mac-and-Cheesy good graduation party, and after him saying that he wanted to work on himself before going into a relationship with you, it made you really hopeful. So, three weeks seems like a good time to check in on your favorite bad-ass. But then you realize, Amanda isn’t here to help you out with this IMing anymore. Okay, just calm yourself down, there’s no need to panic… How hard can it be?

You begin typing on the chat room:

Hey man, how’s it hangin’?

Okay, so far so good… You stare at the message board for a good 5 minutes before you start questioning your very existence and life choices. “How’s it hangin’?!” More like how are you not hanging right now?! Okay, just calm down, this is what Robert does, he doesn’t message back until night time, it will be fine. In the meantime, you go to make yourself a snack in the kitchen. After 6 minutes of battling the stovetop to make a ramen packet, you walk to the living room and hear a *ping!* and quickly sit down to check your Dadbook messages. You gasp to see that Robert actually messaged you back. You almost drop your ramen as you read the message:

Hey… to be honest, I was thinkin’ about you.

You blush and squeak, jumping up in your seat and scooted away. This was so unlike Robert to talk relatively immediately. You put your ramen bowl down and clickety-clack on the keyboard to reply:

Really? Is everything alright?

You were actually getting a bit concerned, he wasn’t usually this straightforward about… anything. You press the enter button and not even a minute in and he replies back.

Yeah, you need somethin’?

And he’s back to his old mannerisms? It’s just like he didn’t remember what he texted. You blink and begin to type back to him, you brush it off, and chose to not push it yet.

I wanna know if you were up to hang sometime.

How about right now?

You wish you hadn’t taken a big slurp of the ramen, because now you’re choking on it. You pant at your close call, and you begin to type, but not before Robert replied again

I’m outside right now

Knock Knock, kid.

Just then, you heard a knock at your door. You feel like this is the Matrix in a nutshell, you even half expect the chat to be completely empty when you look back. Then as you get up to go answer the door, and you realize you’re not wearing pants. Would Robert even care? He decided to forget pants, this is a hang out with Robert, not Damien or Hugo. You open the door and see the rugged leather jacket leaning on your doorframe with a dashing, devilish grin and a sharp squint. He glances down at your boxer briefs.

“Heh, dig the show, and the package isn’t bad either.” Robert said as he walks in and plops down onto the couch. You blush as you realized he meant LHPIRGT and your underwear respectfully, or was it not respectfully, clever.

“Thanks, make yourself at home… And take your boots off, I kinda like keeping it clean in here.” You close the door and notice a plopping sound next to your feet, showing that it was indeed Robert’s boots both of them on their sides, pretty scuffed up.

“Usually I don’t really care for house rules, but you’re a special case.” He leaned back in his seat on the couch. “You got any Whiskey? Or… Whiskey?”

“I think I might have a bottle somewhere in the kitchen.” You go into the kitchen and rummaged trying to find the booze. All the while, you try to figure out what’s wrong. Mary made you promise to look out for him, so right now, you feel a bit guilty for checking up on him after three weeks. You find the whiskey bottle and make your way back into the living room, and you find Robert on the couch with no pants, just his shirt, and boxers. And he sees you with skin as red as Brian’s beard.

“Heh, sorry, I just figured it would be one of those days, plus you make myself at home.” Robert snickered and held out his hand as you absentmindedly poured him and yourself some whiskey and toasted to the night. You both begin to watch all 4 seasons of LHPIRGT, downing the entire bottle after 2 episodes, but then Robert pulls out a bigger bottle from his jacket, seriously, how spacious is his jacket?!

You both proceed to keep on drinking and watching Flynt and Callum in their Paranormal Ice Road Ghost Truck shenanigans. Later, after you both finish the second season, both of you are pretty smashed, even after you guys also downed that entire extra-large meat lovers pizza. It’s pretty dark outside, you didn’t even remember how long each episode was until you look at your phone clock, it’s 9:38! Where the hell did the time go?

“Next season.” Robert said as he sipped his whiskey. Okay, now it’s getting serious at this point, it’s clear that something’s up.

“Robert, I know you don’t like hearing your name, but I know something is wrong, tell me what’s up.” You say, leaning up and looking at Robert, who slightly straightens up.

“Heh, you’re cute when you worry about nothing…” Was all he said as he staggered a bit to lean toward you.

You blush as Robert gets closer, he even put his glass down. His breath is nearing your neck, you were just about to let your lips make contact, when your inner dad screams, “Don’t let him seduce you! Fight love with love, and get to the bottom of this!” You don’t know what the heck was with that last part, but you suddenly try a stupid idea. You reach out and squeeze Robert’s hips. You weren’t expecting the reaction he made, Robert gasps and grunts, pulling away fast, holding his hips. You both sit there making intense eye contact for a good minute before your face twists deviously into a grin of your own. Robert’s eyes widen as he blushes and tries to make a break for the kitchen, or any escape route. But it’s too late.

You pounce on Robert and tickle his armpits, holding his wrist, and straddling his waist. Robert was doing his best to fight it, but you have the best tickling method, go for one spot, then got for another when they open a spot up, you had him on the ropes.

“Gack! H-H-Hey! G-Get offa mehehe, you… yohohou, AH! I’m gonna kihihihihll yohohohou!” Robert did not sound any kind of threatening while he was laughing, especially with your expert tickling technique. He really started freaking out when you lowered your straddle and began to tickle his waist. You had him right where you want him: in no position to run or charm his way out.

“Robert, I know something is wrong, so don’t try to change the subject. Tell me what is really going on right now, or I won’t be afraid to get your feet or your ribs.” You brought up the ultimatum, and you just wait for him to respond. “And right now, I’m not your best friend, I’m your arch nemesis, the Tickle Monster.”

“Screhehew yohohou!” Robert laughed out, well, you warned him. You then began to wiggle your free fingers in between his rib cage, which made him roar with laughter, heck, he starts flailing when you reach behind yourself to tickle his feet.

“GAHAHAHAHA! Nohohot TheheHEHEHERE! Okay okay! Just Stahahahp!” Robert tries to get away, but thanks to your workouts with Craig, you have great muscle mass to combat his strength. You stop but still hold his wrists up.

“Now tell me what’s really going on.”

“I… I…” He began, but starts to turn his head away, hiding tears. “I… I’m scared… I’m scared about failing again, but this time… I…” He tries to sit up after you got off of his waist. “I’m scared of failing you…”

You were taken aback by this, was this what he meant by his first chat reply?

“Robert… You could never fail me…You are doing your best to work on yourself, and that’s-”

“You don’t get it! I was contemplating about just saying fuck it, and just shut myself away from the cul-de-sac again… Maybe worse… But then you sent me a message, and I realized that I have people who are counting on me… you… and Val…” He wipes his eyes and turns some more.

“... Robert, Val loves you. I love you. We want what is best for you because you’re family now. We know you can’t do this alone, which is why you have to tell us what is wrong. You have to tell us and we’ll help you the best we can. That’s what family’s here for.” You scoot over closer to Robert and massage his shoulders.

“... I don’t deserve a family like you or Val…”

“Now you stop that, you deserve to be happy, damn it!” You turn Robert around and give him a kiss on the lips and a big hug. Both of you are blushing as you embrace Robert, Robert also begins to put his arms around you and bury his head in your shoulder.

“... Thank you…” Robert muffled into the sleeve of your shirt.

You smile as stroke his back and you both slowly end up laying and cuddling each other on the plush carpet on your floor.

“You’re welcome… babe.”

~~~

Let me know what you guys think, I hope this entertains you guys, it was wonderful to get back into writing again.