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fallenflowersfromgrace · 4 years

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LUZ APPRECIATION WEEK DAY 3 (Something Adorable)

Alright so this one came a little late. @zarieslayer helped me a lot with this fic. Like y'all don't understand how much of a blessing she was for me. (Ilysm Zarie! Thank you for helping me!) Anways, y'all are gonna have to bear with me because fluff is not one of my strong suits and this is my first time doing a prompt like this. So here is the sequel to day two and I present to you, my word vomit of fluff.

“Oh, no.” Luz let out a squeak of a gasp and leaned into her mentor’s shoulder who had yet to put her down. “Nononononononono, Eda!” The girl's breathing was beginning to get too fast for comfort.

“It’s going to be okay, kid, alright? I promise ya, we’re going to fix this, okay?” Eda reassured as she brought her free hand to gently rake at her student’s scalp in an effort to calm her down. Luz, in response, had nustled her head into the crook of Eda’s neck.

“Okay,” the girl mumbled in agreement as her tiny arms circled around Eda’s neck and the witch froze. At least Luz's breathing had gone back to normal.

“Wow,” King stared at the sight of a small Luz clinging onto Eda like her life depended on it. “Is it just me or is she a lot clingier than normal?”

“I just wanna give hugs,” Luz huffed and her higher voice made her pout mirror that of a disappointed child. “No one, besides my mom, really liked me giving them hugs when I was seven....eight?” The girl moved her head from Eda to glance over her smaller frame. “Seven.”

“Seven,” Lilith deadpanned and Luz had nearly forgotten she was there. “You’re telling us that right now you are in the form of yourself when you were seven.”

“I think so,” Luz placed her head in it’s previous spot. “I have a fresh scar I got when one of my classmates had pushed me into a tree because I couldn’t stop talking.”

“If I ever see that kid, I’m feeding them to Hooty,” Eda growled and if Luz felt her mentor’s hold tighten slightly, she said nothing. It never failed to amaze her of how much the witch cared for her, considering they’ve only known each other for a little over a month.

“So question,” King drew the attention back to him and Luz shifted herself slightly so she could glance at her fluffy friend. “How are we fixing Luz?”

“Umm,” Eda glanced down at the literal child in her arms and sighed. “Kid, I need you to hang out in the living room while Lily and I try and fix this mess.”

“No!” Luz protested as if the thought of being separated from Eda physically pained her. She tightened her grip and Eda had to question if Luz had always been this strong.

Of course, it could be that Luz’s naturally clingy nature was to blame, but the wide-eyed look of pure panic said otherwise. Luz had gone through a transformation that her body wasn’t prepared for and was racing to play catch up. Sure, her mind was the one of fourteen-year-old Luz, but not her body. To say she was terrified was an understatement.

“Kid, I promised you I was going to fix this, but I can’t do that if you’re latched onto me like this.” Eda had resumed her previous motion of stroking Luz’s hair and the girl sighed in agreement.

“Fine,” Luz mumbled out.

“Alright, since I don’t trust you to be by yourself in a house full of things that could potentially kill you at your size...” Eda looked at King and the two shared a silent agreement. “King is going to watch over you.”

“Yes!” The demon cheered as he pointed at his now slightly taller companion, “Another chance to teach her about demons!”

“Just don’t break anything or kill her, ya hear?” Eda asked as she put Luz back on the floor.

“We survived the Bat Queen’s babies, and it’s Luz.” King huffed as the girl patted his head, “I’ll survive.”

“To the living room!” Luz declared as she took off running, “I’m totally going to beat you, King.”

“Weh?!” The demon exclaimed before following. “Come back here! If anyone is winning anything it’s me!”

“Are you sure leaving the two of them alone is a good idea?” Lilith asked as a crash sounded from the other room and Luz’s laughter directly followed.

“Nope.” Eda sighed as she rubbed her temples, “Just help me fix this before she hurts herself.”

////

In King’s defense, it was Luz’s fault. He was attempting to give her another history lesson, but she decided the best way to tell him to shut up was to throw a pillow at him. Where she got it was beyond his understanding, but all that mattered was that his friend had insulted his honor and of course, he had to defend it.

“Face the wrath of the Demon King!” The demon shouted as he launched himself off the couch and tackled the girl to the floor before mercilessly whacking her with the pillow she had thrown at him.

“K-King, stop!” The girl giggled, “I’m sorry!”

“That’s what I thought,” King huffed as she hopped off the girl and turned to drop the pillow on the couch only for something to hit him in the back of his head.

“I challenge you to a duel!” Luz cackled as she held...another pillow? Where was she getting these things?

“I accept your challenge,” King narrowed his eyes and squealed when Luz swung her pillow and King hopped onto the couch. “Cheater!” He shouted as he jumped onto the armrest.

“Nope!” Luz giggled as she attempted to attack once again. “You’re just bad at this.”

“You take that back!” The demon let out an offended gasp and he swung his pillow at the girl, to which she blocked with her pillow.

The two continued their epic battle with feathers flying, a few objects getting knocked over, screams that could rival Hooty, and multiple face shots, but it was all in the name of fun...well at least it was until Eda’s wanted poster was knocked from its place on the wall.

“I won’t tell Eda if you won’t,” Luz giggled in between heavy breaths.

“Sounds good to me,” King nodded his head as he plopped onto the floor and curled up into a ball. Who knew a small Luz could cause so much destruction?

“Yay,” The girl sighed in relief and took note of her fluffy friend on the floor.

“Luz?” The demon cracked an eye open when he felt a soft weight on his small form. “What are you doing?”

“You’re warm.” Luz mumbled as she herself curled into her own ball. “And fluffy.”

“No.” King perked his head up to get a full glimpse of the girl laying her head on him. “The King of Demons is no one’s pillow!” He sighed and plopped his head down once he noticed Luz showed no signs of moving.

Of course, he could simply crawl out and leave her on the floor, but that would result in making her sad. He hated seeing her sad. That specific moment of Luz’s breakdown when she came home without Eda was an image he could never shake from his mind. He’d do anything and everything in his power to keep her happy...even if that meant being used as a pillow.

“I leave you two alone for an hour,” he heard Eda scoff from the doorway.

“Hi, Eda!” Luz waved but didn’t move from her spot.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who has gone soft around here,” the witch snickered.

“She’s comfy.” The demon argued as he huffed, “My services were required.”

“Hm, did those services include trashing the living room?” The witch smirked as she surveyed the damage. That smirk fell when she noticed a blank space on the wall behind the couch. “What happened to my wanted poster?”

“Wanted poster?” Luz questioned and King winced. Oh right, that.

“You two knocked it off the wall?” Eda growled before rubbing her temples.

“Not on purpose!” Luz protested as she attempted to make herself as small as possible.

“It was in the line of fire!” King nodded his head in agreement and the witch sighed.

“After we fix the kid, you two are cleaning this up and Luz, you’re grounded for a week,” Eda rubbed her temples. “We clear on that?”

“But Eda,” Luz protested as she sat up, “it was-”

“Are we clear on that?” The witch repeated with no room left for argument.

“Yes, Mom,” Luz groaned and flopped back down onto the demon.

Eda and King shared a wide eyed look of pure surprise as a crash came from the kitchen which meant Lilith had probably heard the interaction. Luz, still blissfully unaware of the words that had left her mouth, was currently on her side and running a hand through King’s fur with a content sigh. If not for the whole outlaw thing looming over her head, she would most definitely be reaching for the adoption papers and slamming them down in front of the girl.

“Not a word,” Eda mouthed to the gobsmacked demon whose tail was wagging with excitement.

“Suuree,” King responded with a large smile.

“Edalyn!” Lilith shouted from the kitchen and the witch in question had never been so grateful for her sister’s presence in the house.

“Hey Lily, I need you for a second!” Eda shouted as she took off running to the kitchen and she ignored the knowing smirk King was burning into the back of her head.

///

“You want me to what?” Lilith blinked in surprise as she looked from the small form of Luz in her arms to her sister.

“Because I can’t trust King and Luz alone, the living room is proof of that, I need you to watch her,” Eda narrowed her eyes as if daring her sister to protest.

“Edalyn,” Lilith inhaled sharply, “I am in no way qualified to-”

“Look,” Eda sighed as gestured to her student and Lilith, “I am well aware of the history between the two of you. I hate this as much as you do but you don’t remember how to make this potion let alone reverse it and I can’t watch my kid, so please, for the love of Titan, keep her alive for another two hours. That is all I ask.”

“Fine.”

"What?" Luz questioned before groaning. Lilith was not a fun person to hang out with.

“Hu-Luz,” Lilith winced as if this simple request was the hardest thing she's ever done in her life. “Let’s leave Edalyn to her work."

"You know, you can put me down."

"Apologies, I'm not that good with children."

"I noticed."

///

“NO!” Lilith shouted as she chased after Luz who was now running down the hallway and rushing to the staircase all while laughing like a physcopath. “HUMAN, PUT THAT DOWN OR SO HELP ME, TITAN!”

“Too slow, Lilith!” Luz cackled as she almost literally flew down the stairs.

“Luz?” Eda poked her head out of the kitchen, “What do you have?”

“A sword!” The girl responded before sprinting down the hallway and into the messy living room.

“NO!” Lilith shrieked and Eda blinked in surprise as she saw her sister run past her.

“YOU GAVE HER A SWORD?!” Eda’s frantic voice followed them into the living room.

“I stole it from her!” Luz shouted back and before she could reach the door, she felt something push her from behind and she stumbled forward. However, her fall was cushioned by the surprising reflex of the witch in pursuit of her.

Lilith, with a speed no one knew she possessed, had more or less tackled the girl from behind, but instead of having Luz face plant onto the floor, she had used their momentum to carry them forward and roll so the girl would not end up with a scratch.

“Got you!” Lilith cheered as she moved the stay strands of her dark hair back into their spot. The witch was breathing heavily and the child in her arms was laughing like a maniac in between her tired breaths.

“Not fair!” Luz giggled as she attempted to squirm out of the witch’s grip.

“You were the one who snuck into the closet and grabbed the sword," the witch scoffed in amusement.

"I didn't expect you to chase after me!" Luz exclaimed as Lilith sat her down on the floor.

"In my defense, if you had gotten hurt, Edalyn would've killed me," the witch waved a dismissive hand as she moved to stand up from the floor.

"Can we do it again?" The girl asked and Lilith was staring at the biggest pleading eyes that could rival those of her younger sister.

"What?" Luz wanted her to chase her?

"It was actually kinda fun," the girl explained and knew damn well she was close to breaking Lilith's defenses.

"...sure…" Lilith answered slowly, still slightly surprised but recovered quickly to add a single condition. "But no sword."

"Yes!" Luz smiled brightly and Lilith swore the child staring back at her was smirking.

She would rather be petrified before admitting it, but the girl was quite charming. No wonder why Eda had taken to her so quickly. There was a certain light that seemed to brighten the lives of those around her.

///

"You know, I'm kinda sad to see small Luz go," King huffed as he picked up a book from the floor.

"We did her a favor," Lilith responded as she swept the floor of the living room. "No one wants to go through puberty twice."

"True that," Eda huffed as she examined the non-existent damage to her wanted poster that had yet to be put back in its spot.

"You know, Edalyn, as cute as it was to see Luz clinging to you," Lilith smiled innocently, "I still can't believe she called you Mom." The pillow thrown at her head was worth it.

"Not a word of that," Eda hissed but the redness in the witch's ears made her seem less threatening. "Besides, I'm not the one she used as a pillow."

"Excuse you," King huffed, "I was an amazing pillow." The demon pointed a paw in the direction of Lilith. "At least we know the wicked witch has a heart."

"I haven't a clue what you mean," Lilith huffed as she focused on her dirt pile.

"Are you guys done arguing?" Luz groaned and the attention drifted to the teenager on the couch with an arm draped over her eyes. No one told her transforming back would make her feel like death. There would be a time to be embarrassed later.

"Yeah, kid, just get some rest." Eda chuckled as she bent down to ruffle the girl's hair.

"Does that mean I'm not grounded?" The teen questioned.

"Oh, no, you're grounded."

"Worth a shot."

"Hey, Luz?" King poked her arm, "You feel okay enough to go upstairs?"

"Yeah," the teen responded and she moved to get off the couch. She could totally make it to her room, even if the room was still slightly spinning.

She made it past the couch and closer to the hallway when she tripped on air due to ground swaying beneath her.

"Careful now," Lilith offered her a small smile before letting go and Luz smiled back.

"Thanks," the teen groggily mumbled. She was unaware of her mentor walking up from behind her

"I'll make sure she makes it up the stairs and doesn't pass out in the hallway," Eda huffed fondly and threw an arm around her student.

"Yay…" Luz smiled but exhaustion drowned out the cheer. "I can show you my owl onesie."

"...your what?"

"My owl pajamas."

If Eda picked up her kid and carried her to get her out of the ear shot of Lilith and King's teasing, no one said anything. And if Luz, despite being back to her usual self, had locked her arms around her mentor’s neck before falling asleep...then that was no one’s business besides their own.

I owe the lines "What do you have", "A sword," "No!" and the idea of Luz and King knocking the wanted poster off the wall to @zarieslayer srsly she inspired so much of this fic and I am forever grateful to my keeper of fanfic secrets.

#luz appreciation week #day 3 #the owl house luz #luz the owl house #luz noceda #toh luz #the owl house eda #toh eda #edalyn clawthorne #lilith the owl house #toh lilith #king the owl house #toh king #ZARIE THANK YOU SO MUCH #my post #my writing

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

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Runaway: Daniel Michaelson’s Story

CW: Threats involving guns stuck in bad places (NOT THERE), dehumanizing language, pet whump, conditioning, brainwashing, POV of heavily conditioned, hopeless whumpee/caretaker, muzzling, noncon touching, referenced noncon

Tagging Danny’s people: @slytherynjolras, @whump-it, @bleeding-demon-teeth, @finder-of-rings, @spiffythespook, @burtlederp, @whumpywhumper, @18-toe-beans, @pumpkinthefangirl, @special-spicy-chicken, @whale-whumps, @swordkallya,

NOTE: This takes place approximately four months after Danny is abducted.

Nate loved Casablanca the best out of all the movies the body had left behind when Bram brought them here to stay. Not because of the actors, really, or even the filmmaking.

He loved it because of Danny.

Danny knew all the lines by now, and he would say them along with the actors, mimicking their old-fashioned accents as he sat next to him on the couch after midnight, the two of them brushing against each other, trying to laugh in whispers at the same jokes over and over, and sometimes Nate put an arm around him and he leaned into it, and it almost felt normal.

Normal except for the deep red scars that dipped across the bridge of Danny’s nose and notched into the sides of his jaw from the metal thing that Bram had fixed onto him after Danny called him a rapist to his face. Normal except for the bandages, the bruising, the bleeding that went on day by day, every time Danny failed to answer to Red or didn’t beg the right way or on his strongest days, refused to beg at all.

Nate, Bram loved - but there was no love with Danny. Only a cold, implacable, unpredictable violence. The only affection Bram showed the redhead was laced with reminders that he was less than, with the simple fact that Danny was, in Bram’s eyes, just the puppy - a glorified walking corpse. Danny maybe hadn’t understood that until the thing went on his face and he didn’t talk for two weeks, because he couldn’t, because Bram would not let him until he learned to behave.

Nate understood it. Bram was building a family, sort of, for as long as he allowed Danny to live. And Nate could only sit to the side, drowning in Bram’s eyes, and let the pain and degradation happen and pray that he could do enough to keep Danny together in the spaces between.

Life was normal - as much as living like this could be - except for the misery and anger that haunted Danny, dogged his every move, burned in his long silences and the way he froze up or spat bitterness every time Bram touched him, not smart enough to learn to lean into it, to fake it, to just go along to make it easier on himself. Not smart enough, or just not willing to watch himself turn into what Nate already was.

Danny was a ball of anger and unhappiness. All of that, and Danny’s righteous sense that there was supposed to be a better place, a better life, than this for the both of them… they were all feelings that Nate simply couldn’t access any longer.

Not since Bram had thrown Danny into the trunk of his own car. Not since he’d covered the backseat of that car with blood and left it in a ditch on the side of a highway. Not since… not since Bram had decided to keep Danny rather than kill him.

What Danny didn’t understand, no matter how many times Nate tried to explain it, was that there was life before he had been chosen, and life after, and there was nothing else.

There is no life but Abraham.

Danny didn’t know that yet, but… he would. He was already learning the rules, rules Nate already knew and other rules, too. He didn’t believe them, yet, but he would. Once the rules had crowded out all the room he had to believe anything else.

Nate was cracked inside his head, now, and he knew it. He’d tried to pretend he wasn’t, when he was on the run, but life with Bram and Ashley had ruined him before he’d ever found the courage, just that once, to escape. He was even worse now. He flinched at loud noises and stuttered until he could barely be understood. He was everything Bram wanted in bed and never said no (he’d had never listened anyway), and who else could love someone who had let himself be rewritten so thoroughly?

In the life before Bram, he’d been stoic and dry-witted and a parade of one-liners, someone whose coworkers were never sure whether or not he was making a joke. Here, four and a half years since they had found him in a bar and decided to destroy his life, he was quiet, and if he looked into Bram’s eyes enough he was happy, and who could ever love someone like that?

Sometimes Danny looked at him with empty eyes, spent whole days curled up on his mat staring at nothing or worked hard on Bram's project of the day in total silence... or just looked down and nodded when Bram called him a good boy… and he wondered how much of Danny was even left. Enough to fight, sure, but even the fighting was a little bit less each day.

It was okay. This was just Danny’s life now, and if he learned to accept it, he could start to feel better after that, to be happy again. He just had to know that this was his life now.

One morning, Nate woke up beside Bram with the sun shining brightly through the window, the air cool and crisp inside the cabin, chillier outside. Mid-morning, but that was normal. Bram slept late and Nate usually did, too, unless Bram had a project that would take long enough that an early wake up was needed.

Danny was always up before everyone else - at sunrise or even earlier, no matter how late they were up the night before. Especially as the weather had gotten colder - the leaves were brightly colored and falling off the trees in droves, making any trip into the woods to check on traps an exercise in crunching through underbrush. As it got colder outside, it was colder inside, and Nate watched Danny begin to shiver, day by day, the thin clothing Bram allowed him never, ever enough.

Nate woke up thinking of Danny, nearly every morning, and today was no exception. He stretched lazily, let a still-half-asleep Bram kiss him without complaint, and pulled on a loose pair of flannel pajama pants. He wandered out into the living room to find he didn't smell the usual fresh pot of coffee.

Coffee was one of Danny's jobs, and it was the only one he didn't resent, that he liked doing. They’d moved the coffeemaker into the living room so Danny could reach it on his chain, filling the coffeepot with water from the bathroom sink and measuring out the grounds in there, brewing it strong, the way Bram liked it.

Today, though… nothing.

"Dan-… Red?" Damn. If he forgot to use the right name, Bram would get angry. He had to get better at it, but he always stumbled, because he was trying so hard to remember he was Danny inside his head.

The mat next to the couch was empty, the blankets were gone, and Danny's chain was lying across the floor with no Danny at the end of it. Nate stared down at a single broken link on the end. He'd found a weak spot, Nate thought, an actual honest-to-God weak link in the chain. His heart dropped to his knees and then jumped back into his throat as he looked over to the kitchen and saw the inside door was still standing open, the screen door cracked.

No. No no no no.

Don't leave me, he thought helplessly. I need someone with me, don't make me love him alone. God damn it, Danny, don't leave me here without you, I need you here with me, I need you here. You’re supposed to be with us now.

Something in the back of his mind tried to tell him this wasn’t the right way to respond, but he had buried the part of himself that thought things like that, and it wasn’t a very loud voice any longer.

"B-Bram, come out! C-c-c… c-c-cuh… damn it! Fuck! B-B-B-… Bram!”

Bram came stumbling out, and as Nate spun around he could see the genuine worry for him in his eyes, worry that he might be hurt, that Nate needed help - whatever Bram would consider ‘help’, at least. “What is it, Nate?”

Bram’s eyes lit on the mat, and the chain, and the total lack of a Danny where a Danny was supposed to be. “Ah.”

Bram stilled suddenly, and Nate took a step away from him as all the humanity and gentle affection and love he wore like a mask simply dropped off of him, like he’d shaken off snow. He stood like a predator.

I’m just the luckiest kind of prey, Nate thought, and his vision was growing pale and foggy around the edges as he breathed in shallow, gasping pants.

Bram continued to stare down at the empty mat. “Puppy’s gone.”

“Y-y-yes, he’s g-g-gone, he r-ran away. He’s g-g-gone, he’s gone, he-” Nate’s hands went up to his hair, digging fingers into the black until it hurt, trying to calm his racing heart. Don’t leave me I can’t live without you. I can’t do this by myself all alone again, I can’t be his alone again. “He weh-... went into the w-w-woods, the woods, there are things in the woods, Bram-”

“Ssshhhhh,” Bram soothed, stepping over to him, putting his hands on either side of Nate’s face, leaning forward to kiss his forehead, gently. “Put your hands down.”

“B-Bram-” He dug his fingers in tighter. “Bram, h-he’ll die-”

“I said put your fucking hands down.”

Nate’s hands dropped immediately out of his hair and down to his sides.

“Breathe. In and out, Nate. In and out.” He followed Bram’s orders, he always followed the orders now, and felt his breath slowing down, getting deeper, almer. “Sssshhhh, calm down, baby,” Bram continued, his voice gentle and sweet. None of the predator here, none of the inhuman calculation behind blue eyes. “Calm down. It’s okay. I'm worse than anything out there, I've got you. You belong to me, nothing out there would dare touch anything that’s mine." One cold hand slid around behind his neck, rubbing gently, and Nate felt his heart start to slow under the touch, leaning forward until his head dropped onto Bram’s shoulder.

“He d-doesn’t kn-... know how to l-l-live in the w-woods,” He said softly, lips barely moving. Bram’s shoulder was cold, but he was always cold, more like a reptile than a man. "He'll d-die out there."

The cold felt good against skin heated with fear.

No one’s going to hear him. No one’s going to hear him screaming for help. No one. Not even us.

“I know he doesn’t,” Bram replied, still rubbing at the back of his neck with his knuckles in a gentle motion, back and forth, up and down. “I know that, I don’t want him to know. Don’t worry, okay? I’ve been tracking game since I was eight years old, and he’s going to leave a trail as wide as an elephant’s. He won’t go far.”

“So you’ll g-g-go… go find him?” He could feel his throat finally relaxing, the stammer starting to settle. “You’ll b-bring him back? Back to me?"

“We’ll find him, baby,” Bram said softly. “Don't you worry about him. I don’t let dogs run away from me.”

“He’s not a d-d-d-duh… a dog, Bram.” He never stood up for himself any longer, only rarely stood up for Danny, but this… he had to try. He lifted his head, briefly meeting Bram’s eyes, trying to steel himself against the possibility that Bram would be angry. “He’s not a dog,” He said as firmly as he could, proud of himself when his voice was deep and solid and strong. “He’s m-my friend, h-he-... he’s part of us.”

“Okay,” Bram said softly, barely flickering an eyelid. Letting it go, for now, if not forever. “But he’s a very bad Red, isn’t he? He’s misbehaved, hasn’t he? He tried to leave you, baby, how dare he leave you.” Nate just let his head drop back down, unwilling to say the words, to play along with this game. “We’ll find him,” Bram repeated. “We’ll find him and we’ll bring him back home where he belongs.”

Nate nodded, letting his fingers curl into Bram’s shirt, because he liked when he did that, he had always liked when Nate initiated affection. Some of the old disgust threatened to rise in him, the old loathing of them that he had tried so hard to hold onto. These days, though, most of that disgust and loathing he turned on himself, because if he didn’t love Bram, why even stay alive?

“Th-thank you,” He said quietly. “I love you. I-I want him back.”

Please, I just don’t want him to die.

“I know,” Bram said, and kissed into his hair at the top of his head. “I’ll get him back for you, Nate. Don’t worry.”

It was the wrong thing to think, the wrong way to look at it, but he had been with Bram a very long time, and he was tired and lonely and his mind was a constant nonstop loop of muffled screaming, and Danny was the only thing that ever made him feel anything else.

“Th-thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Bram murmured. He pulled back and away then, and there was a cold smile on his face that Nate knew very well. “Let’s give him three days.”

“Th-three days? We’re n-n-not going im-im-im, im… right away?”

“Oh, no, that’s no fun. Three days is perfect. There's a cold front coming in tonight. He’ll be freezing and fucking starving by then. You and I will go find him, we'll split up and I’ll give you a good head start. If you find him first, I’ll let him live, okay, baby? Just for you. If I find him, I’ll fucking choke him to death and let him rot and grow mushrooms if he wants to be in the woods so badly."

Nate’s heart pounded again and he stared at the glacial eyes in the pale face and watched the movements of the darker things that lived behind them. He nodded, slowly. Bram had taught him how to track, how to find the trail of game and keep going until he found what he was looking for. It’d been a while, but… but he didn’t have a choice.

“Th-thank you,” He said again, and the words dropped like stones.

Bram looked at him, all but glowing with excitement. “Let’s have some coffee, Nate. I want to go over all the basics with you so this is at least a fair competition. I haven’t done this in so long, a competition for hunting someone. Not since…” Bram’s words trailed off, and a flicker of pain and grief was in his face. “Not since Ashley.”

Nate remembered. Ashley had games she liked to play, and one of them had been to bring a body conscious and kicking to a spot in the woods just outside the town in Tennessee, close to the mountains. They would set the body free, make a bet on who would catch them first, and hunt them down, the two of them cackling like demons while Nate stayed trapped in the house, waiting for them to come back arguing over who had truly won.

Bram was nearly crackling, like lightning brought to life, and Nate found it hard to look away. It had been so long, and Danny had given him the opportunity to go on a hunt, and Bram had always looked so good before a hunt - Nate had only seen him go out with Ashly a few times, but all the restless energy in him that turned to anger or the itch was smoothed out when he did, because it was only a matter of time before he walked the woods and ran the injured animal down.

Nate understood his own pain was a pale shadow of the ecstasy Bram and Ashley could take from those final moments of miserable fear.

But Bram loved him, anyway.

Nate moved over to the coffeemaker, staring blankly as his hands went through the automatic motion of adding coffee grounds to the filter, pouring in the water, and pressing the button to brew.

I have to find him first.

---

In the end, he did.

He'd glanced back at Bram before he left, in heavy jeans and a flannel over his shirt, a hat pulled down low to cover his ears against the cold. Abraham Denner was just visible through the kitchen window, watching him while he sipped his coffee. The other man smiled at him, and he shivered.

I hate you, you fucking monster, you stole my life - and his. I hate you so fucking much.

He could still hate him. Not for long, but it was still in there. It just got swallowed up by the voice in his ear and the flat ice in his eyes.

Who would even love Red but us now, baby?

Those were Bram’s thoughts, the things he said sometimes when they were in bed and Danny was out on his mat sleeping in the living room, and Bram would murmur, I’ve fucked him up too much for anyone else, just the way we did to you. Remade him. Who would want him with muzzle scars on his face?

I think they won't know what they are. It was a struggle to fight the disgust and the cold, clean hatred that tried to well up when Bram said the word, the name of the thing, the thing he never ever named.

He'd have to tell them eventually. I'd pay good money to see the face of whatever body he tries to bring home when he has to explain where they came from.

He wouldn't tell them. He'd lie. He could still-

Could he? Bram chuckled, rolling into his side, letting fingers trail along Nate's shoulder and down his ribcage, over one hip. Could you still, after me, with anyone else?

He wanted to say yes. Instead, he thought of how even with Danny he hadn’t been entirely sure he was going to be able to do much that night he’d invited him over, and shook his head.

That's right. He's ours now. Now he knows that I’m in his head and marked on his body. Who would want him when he doesn’t know any other way to be but ours, the way he is now?

How is h-he, right n-n-now, to you? Nate closed his eyes, shifting in the bed as Bram's hand found its way across his abdomen, and slowly moved down.

Half-broken and nearly feral for it, Bram said thoughtfully. If they found him tomorrow, those bodies he belonged to before, they would still know him. But not for long.

Nate had thought of the difference between the angry, hilarious, fucking funny man he’d started flirting with, and the quiet, withdrawn redhead that sat on the mat staring off into space.

He’d been a little shy before, although he had been eager enough when Nate had suggested he come over that night. Now he flinched every single time Bram touched him… but had learned to let his chin be tilted up for the kiss, to open his mouth when ordered, and he knew better than to try and stop it, any of it, no matter how violent Bram was.

He’d been shoved into the trunk still spitting curses, but after weeks in the thing - after months in the woods - he kept them mostly locked behind his teeth now.

He’d grown up with staff and a cook - Mrs. Verona or something, which seemed like a weird Shakespeare reference more than a name to Nate - who did everything for him. Now he forced his hands into scalding water when cleaning without a word until they were so red he couldn’t stand to touch anything for hours afterward. He scrubbed the bathroom until it was cleaner than it had been when they’d moved in, he moved unconsciously around the kitchen picking up their dishes to wash after dinner. He’d burned himself on the oven once when he was still learning how to cook and hadn’t said anything until Bram had noticed the infected spot on his arm days later, and even then he’d tried to refuse the bandage and antiseptic.

No, Nate had said, quietly. N-no, I don’t think they w-w-w-would recognize him now.

Good. Bram had smiled, nearly asleep. I don’t want them to. I want him to be with us, a part of our family, our little Red. Yours and mine both - just like you were mine and Ashley’s.

Yours and mine, Nate echoed, and was frightened when he didn’t stammer or even feel anything but a vague relief at the idea that at least he got to have someone, too.

He was losing his fucking mind.

As soon as he stepped into the woods at the edge of the clearing, he had a two-hour head start. If Bram found Danny, he was dead. If Nate found Danny, he would be brought back here, chained back up, back in captivity and back in hell.

But he'd be here, with Nate, where he belonged.

For just a minute, he had hesitated, torn between what was probably the right thing - to refuse to chase Danny down like a runaway dog, even though Bram was probably right that he wouldn't last long by himself - and what he wanted - Danny here on the couch to watch movies with and cook dinner and, when he forgot he was miserable, to laugh with him.

No. There was no life before Bram. There was no life after. There was only now.

Finally, Nate had started walking, looking for the telltale scuffs, broken twigs, and disturbed underbrush Danny had left behind. Three days of placid windless sun and increasingly chill nights hadn't wiped any of it clean. He felt like he was an hour behind Danny, not three days.

He even found a wavy red hair caught at Danny's height in a tree. When he went up on his toes to tug it out, he heard a strange sound and looked up - to see a white raven sitting on a tree branch twenty feet ahead.

It watched him with strange pinkish eyes, and Nate shuddered at the feel of something crawling up and down his skin. Then he caught sight of a bit of torn cloth further away, and when he looked back the white raven was gone.

He crouched down to look at the bit of soft fleece caught in the bush. Red and black plaid - one of Danny’s blankets, his favorite, the one he always kept pulled the furthest up so it brushed his chin while he slept. It’d been Danny’s present for the first month he’d spent with them - Bram always knew the days, tracked the time, long after Nate had stopped knowing anything beyond whether or not the sun was up. He’d given Danny the blanket, and when he hadn’t said thank you, there had been-

No. He wasn’t going to think about what had happened every time Danny didn’t say ‘thank you’ for a gift. He wasn’t going to think about it, because he loved Bram, and he loved Danny, and he had to love them both or everything would collapse here into the reality that he was standing by doing nothing while Danny was slowly destroyed.

It would collapse under the weight of having to admit he loved Daniel Michaelson and even with that, could not save him.

Nate looked up.

He saw the raven again, further away, watching him. He had a wild, irrational thought that it was trying to lead him to Danny. It made no sense, it was just a fucking bird, but… he stood and walked after it, anyway.

It took hours. Morning turned to day turned to afternoon and Nate's neck began to prickle with nervousness. He ate a granola bar, drank some water from the metal bottle in his backpack. He'd be out here after dark at this rate, even if he did find him first. They'd be alone, in the dark, in the woods.

It was evening by the time he caught up with his trail - a trail that he thought had been moving slower and slower as time went by. Danny had no sense of direction and had even begun to circle back towards the cabin without realizing it. It was dark enough that he had his flashlight in one hand, not on yet but ready to use. The white raven was still just ahead, and he was starting to hurt, from having been on the move all day.

He would never leave Bram Denner again; he was tired of losing things whenever he tried.

In the dark, with his legs burning and the trees around him like silent gods, it felt strange here, almost like he’d gone back in time or space to something much darker. His heart pounded, half-convinced he'd turn a corner and see something his eyes could not explain.

"Fuck!" He heard from somewhere ahead of him, a hoarse half-whisper that carried through the twilight-silent woods. "Get off me!"

He looked around, realizing the white raven was gone, and stumbled forward, using the trunks of trees around him for balance, heart pounding. Where was he? What was real? Bram was real. The cabin was real. Danny was real.

He came around a stand of trees to a small clearing, hardly even worth calling that, with a fairy ring of mushrooms off to one side and… Danny.

Danny was very real, and he'd stepped right into one of Bram's goddamn animal traps, and the white raven was currently yanking on his hair as hard as it could with its beak while Danny swatted at it ineffectually. “Get the fuck off me! Where the fuck did you come from, you piece of shit?!”

“H-how did you even m-m-manage…” Nate said, and Danny jumped nearly a foot in the air from surprise - or he would have, if he didn’t have one leg still stuck in the trap. The raven fluttered back up into a nearby branch and sat, watching them. Pink eyes seemed almost to glow in the dark. “You couldn’t s-see the tr-... trap?”

There were sticks stuck in his red hair and smudges of dirt on his pale face, and that was a familiar sight. Danny didn’t look frightened, though. He looked furious.

Nate flicked the flashlight on and Danny winced away from the bright light. He was wrapped in the black-and-red plaid fleece blanket over a blue T-shirt that said be nice to me, I’m still learning.

Bram had thought that was hilarious, bringing it back from a supply run after special-ordering it, forcing Danny to thank him for the gift while he kept one hand in his hair, running slowly through as Danny shook with anger and stared down at the floor.

Nate had had to leave the room, pretending he needed a nap, when Bram began to graze his knuckles across the back of Danny's neck, murmuring “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Nate had barely been able to hold the scream back behind his teeth and Bram had looked up to smile at him and he knew-

“I-I think I b-broke my leg,” Danny said in a thin, strained voice, pulling his mind back to the present. Nate moved over to look, head tilted.

“Probably not,” Nate said, noticing his own lack of stammer in a distant kind of way. He always had stammered less or not at all when he was truly alone with Danny, just the two of them. He tried to crouch, but his left knee protested at any attempt to bend it, and so finally he just shrugged and bent himself over as best he could, using the flashlight to take a better look. “Bear traps are m-made for bear legs, not people, and I th-th-think it’s just got you held, not b-broken. Bram wanted to see if he could make b-b-bear oil but he hasn’t c-c-caught one yet… Probably it broke the skin and you h-have one hell of a bone bruise.”

“Bone bruise? Is that a thing? H-how do you kn-know all that?” Danny asked. Nate gently pushed some of the torn cloth from Danny’s pants away, and noticed his skin was damp and frigid to the touch as he hissed at the slightest brush of Nate’s fingertips against the bruising skin. Danny was shivering so hard the chain attached to the trap rattled a little.

“Ashley and B-Bram taught me about traps,” Nate said simply. “Danny, you’re freezing. Wh-when did you step into this?”

“Yesterday? Last night? It was already dark, I couldn’t see it, he’d put leaves on it.” Danny looked down, frowning, teeth chattering. His lips were a little blue-gray in his very pale face, and there was an odd glitter to his warm blue eyes. As the sun went down the warmth fled the forest, and the chill air prickled along his skin. “I think yesterday. I ran out of water yesterday, too.”

“Dumbass. You’re s-s-such a f-fucking dumbass,” Nate said, voice laced with affection, and he was smiling as he pulled a bottle of water out of his backpack and handed it over. Danny drank half of it in one go, and his stomach growled audibly. “Did you even bring any f-food?”

“A little. Not enough.”

“What was y-your fucking plan, R-... Danny?”

“I thought he was l-lying about his neighbors. I thought maybe if I got far enough-”

“This is C-Canada, Danny. Northern Al, Alberta or s-s-something. There’s n-n-no one around us for fifteen m-miles at least.” Bram had wanted to come here for the wilderness, the isolation. Space and time to make him perfect for you, Nate.

“You have to g-go back,” Nate said softly, and let himself thump into the dirt with one knee pulled up to his chest and the bad knee straight out, frowning down at the trap. He carefully placed his hands on either side, gritting his teeth as his right hand protested at the pressure grinding all the wrongly-healed bones against each other. He slowly began to push the jaws of the trap apart, groaning at the pain, but finally it moved enough that Danny could grab onto his leg with both hands and pull it out, hissing as Nate let go and the trap clamped shut - this time on thin air. “You know th-that, right? You won’t g-g-get far, and you h-have to go back home.”

“It’s not my fucking home. It’s a cage. But… I know,” Danny said, and finally something other than anger was in his face. He whispered the words, and there was a moment where they both just sat still, neither one looking at the other, and Danny showed nothing but despair and a dawning resignation. “I just saw that the chain could break, and… and I-I didn’t think it through-”

“No,” said a cheerfully smug voice just behind Nate. Both of them froze immediately, eyes meeting in a flicker of panic they shared. “You sure as fuck didn’t, Red.”

Bram.

Nate swallowed hard, terrified of what might happen now but deeply relieved that he wouldn’t have to recreate the horrifying walk back through the forest with just Danny. Bram was right - he was far more terrifying than anything that could find them here. “I-I f-f-found him first, Bram,” Nate said softly, not quite defensively. “You s-said-”

“So you did,” Bram said, pride ringing in his voice. “I knew you could do it. Although to be honest, I never tried to track Red. I’ve been tracking you.”

“Y-you have?” Nate turned to look back over his shoulder, and Bram at night in the woods looked more like a spirit than a person. Deceptively slim, with that strange, unearthly beautiful pale face that had been nearly identical to his sister’s. The very slightly upturned blue eyes glowed in the light from Nate’s flashlight, reflected it almost like a cat. He’d let his hair grow a little since they came here, and Nate sometimes caught himself reaching out to touch the slight wave in the white-blonde hair. He was holding a gun in one hand. “You were f-f-following… me?”

“Yeah, baby. I was never going to hunt him. I just wanted to see if you passed the test. You did. I’m so proud of you.” Those pale eyes, warm when they looked at him, went colder as they slid over to look down at Danny. “You, on the other hand… I'm very disappointed in you."

“B-Bram-” Nate said, eyes on the dark metal in the last of the remaining light, Bram holding the gun loosely and casually, as though he walked around like this every day. “D-don’t sh-sh-shoot-”

“You found him first,” Bram said, turning that sweetness on him. Nate felt himself relax, almost automatically - Bram wanted to see him relax, to see the effect of his mood. To see that they were so controlled by him. “What was our deal?”

“I-If I found him f-f-fuh… first, he gets to l-live,” Nate said, and hated himself for the knowledge that he once would have said it strongly, but now it was mostly tremulous hope. Because he didn't know - Bram without Ashley was an Bram with only Nate for an anchor, a rudder, and he could never be to him what Ashley had been.

“That’s right,” Bram said amiably. “And you did. So I guess, you bad dog," He said to Danny, "this is your lucky day.”

“H-he’s not a-”

“Shut up, Nate.”

Nate's mouth snapped shut and he looked down, letting Bram run fingers over the top of his hair, shivering a little at his touch, not unpleasantly.

"That's what I thought," Bram said quietly. "The problem here is that the two of you forget, sometimes, that we belong together. Red stays, he stays forever. We belong together forever. All three of us. Until we die. Well. Until Red does, anyway.”

Danny had gone very still, as he usually did when Bram looked directly at him or said things like that, sitting on the ground with his injured leg pulled up to his chest, still shaking in the cold air. Probably too tired from not sleeping and weak from not eating to even try to run, Nate thought, not that he would have gotten far. Bram had told him once that he learned to run by wearing down injured deer following them for hours without stopping until they bled enough to collapse. Danny was a skinny city puppy who'd spent four months chained to walls. He couldn't go any further than a hunter wanted him to go.

Bram moved over to him, going right past Nate to slowly lower himself to Danny’s level, head tilted, as though he were looking at a particularly troublesome rodent.

“You ran away from me,” Bram said, thoughtfully. Danny didn’t look at him, his eyes fixed down and off to the side. “Why would you go and do a thing like that, hm? I’ve been good to you, little Red.” He reached out, laying his hand against Danny’s face.

"Fuck you," Danny spat. When the younger man tried to jerk his head away, the hand with the gun twitched, a little.

Bram takes, softly. “Language, Red. You don’t pull away from me. I’ve been nice to you and I’m not going to be nice again. So you’re going to hold still for me, and shut your fucking whore mouth.”

“Bram,” Nate said, reaching out a hand. "Please-"

“Quiet."

Danny went still again, and Bram let the hand slide back and around, burying his fingers into the dirty red hair, jerking Danny’s head back to look at him. "What made you think you get to run off, puppy, eh?"

"I'm not your goddamn-"

"P-please don't s-s-say it," Nate said, stomach flipping with nausea and fear. "He doesn’t l-l-like it when you say y-you're not…"

“Yes you are," Bram said as if Nate hadn't spoken. "You’re part of our family. You and I have a good time, don't we?"

Danny shook his head rapidly, swallowing disgust.

"Hm. Maybe not from your perspective. You just need a reminder that there are three of us here, and you’re never leaving me. Nate got lots of reminders before I fixed him, Red. What was your favorite, baby?"

"My wh-what?" His head was pounding, so loud he could barely hear Bram at all. The rush of his own blood in his ears was too loud. Danny still didn't look up, frozen under Bram's stare, his hand.

"Your favorite reminder of what you are."

"Oh. I, uh- um… th-the, the, uh, the t-time with my, my r-ribs…" It was the only thing he could think of. Bram’s blade slipping into his skin.

"Mmmn, I liked that one, too. Good choice. So what should we give you, Red?"

"I… I don't know," Danny mumbled. "Do whatever you want, you fucking psycho."

"Oh, I will. What’s your name?” Bram asked, in a low, soft lover’s voice. “What’s your name, puppy? Tell me your name.”

“Danny M-Michaelson,” Danny said, but he made the mistake of looking up into Bram’s eyes and got caught there, the way Nate sometimes did when he was angry, when you got to see the animal that sat behind the man’s face. His warmer blue eyes widened, lost in the fury and hate and distance in Bram.

“I’ll give you one more shot,” Bram murmured, circling his fingers along Danny’s scalp, gentle, soothing. Danny’s shaking was getting worse, but Nate didn’t think it was from the cold this time. “What. Is. Your. Name.”

Danny swallowed, and when Bram leaned in closer to his face, he flinched, breaking eye contact, curling in on himself. “My n-name is Red,” He said quietly, forcing the words out.

“Say it.” Bram leaned in even more, just a little closer, slowly pushing the barrel of the gun into the bloody, bruising wound on Danny's leg.

The redhead hissed through his teeth, whimpering in pain, but he didn't pull away. Smart, smart. Nate stared at the two of them, afraid to move, afraid if he broke the moment Bram might change his mind and decide Danny didn’t get to live, after all.

“Introduce yourself to me, like we’re just meeting on the street. ‘Hi, my name is Red, and I belong to Abraham Denner.’”

“N-no,” Danny shook his head, but the hand gripped back into his hair and he went still again, swallowing hard. “I-I don’t w-w-want to-”

The gun pushed harder into his leg and the whimpering became a cry, bouncing around the trees, swallowed up by them like Bram had swallowed up Danny’s entire life.

“I don’t care about what you want. Ask Nate, he can tell you that what you want doesn’t mean anything to me. I will make you what I want, and I don’t care how long it takes. I will fix you and when you’re done you will die like the rest. So. Introduce yourself to me, or I will cut off every single finger on your right hand and make you toss them in the fireplace yourself. Do you like your right hand, Red? Are you… attached to it?”

He paused and glanced over his shoulder, smiling like a little boy who had done a trick. "Good pun, right?"

Nate nodded quickly. "G-good," He said weakly.

Bram turned back to Danny. "So?"

“Just do it,” Nate whispered. “Just d-d-do what he w-w-wuh-... wants.”

“Everything I do is what he wants, now.” Danny had tears standing in his eyes, and he curled his right hand against his chest. “Everything I do is what he wants.”

Welcome to my life, Danny.

“Not true,” Bram said, in the tone of two men having a reasonable, rational disagreement. “You do what Nate wants, too. Would that be easier for you? ‘Hi, my name is Red, and I belong to Nathaniel Vandrum.’ That’s easy enough, isn’t it?" He let go of the younger man's hair, let his hand drift down to grab Danny's, forcing him to open it back up, running his fingertips over Danny's knuckles, fingernails, palm.

"Don't touch me," Danny said, voice wavering, but he didn't pull his hand back.

"I’m going to count to five, and if I get to five and you haven’t said it, you lose five fingers." He smiled, playfully tapping each of Danny's fingers in turn. "One-two-three-four-five, little body. Then I’ll count to ten, and take a hand. Then I’ll count to-”

“I-I’ll do it.” Danny spat the words, and there was still defiance in his voice, in his eyes. There was still fight there. He buried it under submission but Nate still saw it - and if he did, so did Bram. "I will, just, just give me a fucking second… I will."

Nate closed his eyes, curling his left hand into a fist. Come home with us. There was a moment of awful silence.

“H-Hi,” Danny stammered, and Bram held onto his hand, the three of them sitting in the final dregs of twilight. He didn't move the gun, not yet. “Hi, m-m-my name is… is… fuck-”

“No, that’s what you’re going to do for us, not who you are,” Bram teased, and Danny let out a broken half-choked sob, nodding as much as Bram would let him, gathering himself back together. “Take a moment, puppy. Take a few deep breaths. Easy, Red. Easy. It's okay, we've got you. In… hold for five… out… in… hold for five… out…”

Danny breathed as ordered, and when he nodded again, it was slower. “I-I’m ready, Abraham.”

“Good, good, there's a good boy. Now try again."

“Hi,” He started again, voice breathy but calmer, his hands in fists and Nate could tell even with just the light of the flashlight that his face was flushed red. There were tear tracks marking through the dirt smudges on his angry, desperate face and the forest loomed around them.

I love him, Nate thought. I love them both. He has rewritten me. We're the only people who could love each other now. I’m a fucking monster, too.

“Hi,” Danny repeated, a little hopelessly. “My name is R-Red, and I b… I belong to Nate…”

“To Nate…?” Bram prodded.

“I belong to Nate Vandrum,” Danny finished in a whisper. Nate’s body burned with shame. “My name is Red. It's Red."

“Good boy. That’s better. Now say your first rule, it’ll be easier now, won’t it?”

Danny’s voice trembled, submission written in every line of his body. “My name is Red,” He whispered. “I belong to Abraham Denner.”

“Guess you get to keep your fingers tonight, hm? Aren’t you glad?” He lifted Danny's hand and kissed each finger. Then he stood up, and when Danny said nothing, Bram kicked him hard in the side. Danny winced, nodding frantically. “That’s what I thought. Get the fuck on your feet. Where are we going, little Red?”

Danny looked up, forcing himself to stand even as his injured leg clearly protested. Nate hurried to his feet as well, looking back and forth between them. Was this it? Was this the worst Bram would do tonight?

“I asked you where you think we’re going,” Bram repeated, a promise and a threat in his deep voice.

“Home,” Danny said quietly. Whatever fight had spurred him on out here was gone now that he had already given in, aware that he stood on a tightrope between surviving the night and being left here to bleed out and rot. “We’re going h-home, Abraham.”

"Good boy," Bram said, and smiled, and both of the other men cringed away from the way it didn't seem like a human smile at all.

He held a hand out to Nate, who took it without hesitation.

It took them nearly the whole night to get back. Nate mostly leaned on Bram by the end, letting his strength and his arm around his back help him along when his protesting legs didn’t want to go any further. Bram murmured to him, supportive things, reassuring things, and despite all his fear and worry for Danny, it was… nice, that Bram cared enough to help him.

And he’d made sure Nate found Danny first - he hadn’t wanted him to die, either. That was something, too. He doesn’t care about him, but he cares about me, and… and maybe Bram can learn. Maybe I can teach him to care about Danny, too.

Jesus Christ Almighty, please keep me from losing myself out here. Please let me stay myself long enough to find a way to save him.

Danny stumbled and limped ahead of them, prodded along by Bram kicking him whenever he slowed down too much, and if his own leg was an agony, he never said a word. He kept his eyes on the ground ahead of him, wrapped in the damp, dewy blanket, and shivered the whole way.

His hair was a shock of bright and bloody red in the dark, his shadowy form just outside the flashlight’s beam of light.

When they got back they were all exhausted, even Bram who was flushed with the thrill of recapture. They took a shower, cleaned themselves off, and Bram let Nate dress Danny’s wound as best he could.

He'd been right, the skin was broken from the bear trap's teeth on either side, but the bone was fine, and mostly he'd come away with a bruise that took over his entire lower calf and ankle, just above the metal shackle still welded on.

Danny limped to the kitchen and cooked them breakfast while they let their hair dry, the three of them sitting in silence at the table over plates of eggs and venison steak - Danny kneeling on the floor and allowed to eat with his fingers, but at least allowed to feed himself, and it was normal.

Nate was relieved, and he hated himself for it. Danny was back, and the wilderness would not get him, and Bram would not kill him. He was relieved at the small, slim bit of mercy, he was grateful for it, and he was a monster just as much as Bram for being relieved that Danny had been forced back here to suffer all over again.

After breakfast, the thing came back out of the closet. "No," Danny said when he saw it, backing away until he backed right into a wall, but they all knew his no meant nothing and he wasn't going anywhere.

Bram laughed at him, a deep and rumbling laugh. “Yes.”

Danny’s eyes flickered to Nate’s, some wordless plea there, and Nate had to swallow back his protest and look carefully, firmly away. He couldn’t help, and he didn’t want to watch.

Danny let Bram slide it on over his face, the tiny sharpened bits cutting into his skin all over skin, and Nate knew if he looked he’d see Danny slipping away, sliding back into his mind, going loose-limbed and distant. Bram buckled it tighter than he had the last two times Danny had had to wear it, until Danny - or whatever worked his muscles and kept him breathing - winced at the pain. The muzzle right back in place as though it had never left.

Nate didn’t say anything at all. What good did it do to fight? Bram had won, over and over and over again, and they had nothing to fight him with except the thoughts he couldn't read inside their heads.

But he hated the thing, hated seeing Danny muzzled, and some of his helpless love for Bram withered when he saw it again.

Nate swallowed and thought, I can't make him live like this just for me.

"Until you learn to behave," Bram said, gently, patting at the metal along his jawline. "How long you wear it this time is up to you, Red. Got it?"

Danny nodded, and when Bram pointed to the mat on the floor, he went.

“The problem,” Bram said firmly, “is that you don’t understand that you’re our family, now. So we’re going to fix that No matter how long it takes.”

Danny stared at nothing, empty eyes above the metal already beginning to rub raw that same scarred spot on the bridge of his nose, as Bram unhooked the broken chain from the wall and went outside to get a new one. He didn’t move, only stared ahead with empty eyes, as Bram put the new chain on the ankle cuff, running a hand up and down his leg, pressing into his new wound through the bandages, until he whimpered again.

Nate’s eyes closed, slowly. I can't be the reason he breaks. I'm breaking him, too. I'm an accomplice. I'm as bad as Bram because I don't want him to leave.

Bram pushed Danny gently to lying down, then stood and sighed. “I’m going to get some sleep. You can stay with him for a while, if you want, on the couch.”

“Y-Yes, Bram. Thank you, Bram, for letting me stay with him,” Nate said, with sincere gratitude and so much self-loathing he could barely stand it. Once Bram was gone, Nate pulled the thin blankets Danny was allowed up over Danny’s shoulder for him, nearly to his chin the way he liked, showing only his eyes and hair.

Nate waited until the sound of Bram’s breathing in the bedroom had gone slow, deep, and heavy, and then let one hand rest over the metal that held Danny’s jaw shut and locked away his voice, palm resting just over the spot where it was already bleeding.

Danny opened his eyes, watching him, and Nate leaned forward, resting his forehead on Danny’s temple.

They stayed there like that, Danny lying down and Nate kneeling, for a while. Nate started rubbing his thumbs in slow circles against the metal, first at either side of his jaw and then the bridge of his nose, knowing the slight pressure would help soothe the ache that had to already be starting. Danny closed his eyes at the feeling of relief, letting out a slow sigh through his nose, since he couldn't open his mouth any longer.

Once he was absolutely sure Bram was asleep, he leaned forward to kiss Danny's forehead and whispered, "I’m so, so sorry.”

Danny pushed himself up all at once and dipped his head, burying it into Nate's shoulder. Nate felt his shirt dampen with tears that leaked out, Danny making low 'hnnnnh, hnnnnnh' sounds in the back of his throat.

Bram rolled over in the bedroom, murmuring something pleased and happy. Sweet dreams, Nate thought, bitterly.

Nate slid an arm over Danny, to pull him a little closer, and hummed, in a gentle tuneless sort of way, until Danny stopped crying and gradually laid back down on the mat, let Nate cover him up, and fell asleep.

Nate looked over his shoulder at the bedroom, open door giving him a perfect view to Bram’s peaceful sleeping face.

I hate you so much, you son of a bitch, you fucking bastard, for what you've done to him, for wanting to make him just like me.

I love you I can't live without you. I love you so much, you made me love you so much.

I have to figure out how to love him more than you.

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maevefiction · 6 years

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Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 23

When we arrived at Estelle J Wilson, there wasn’t a parking spot to be had. Even those earmarked for funeral attendees were taken, and as we drove past the main entrance to head around the block in search of one for ourselves, there they were…news vans from local affiliate stations WWL, WDSU and WGNO. A few feet down I spotted the paparazzi, four or so as best I could tell, lurking and waiting.

I turned to Tom, smirking. “Weh-hel, THIS is going to be a lot more interesting that I anticipated. Apparently.”

He pulled into an open space two blocks down from the funeral home and put the car in park. His right arm rose, then settled on my shoulder, hand grasping the back of my neck, massaging gently. “You okay to do this?”

I shrugged, enjoying the way the fabric of my dress seemed to float around my arms. His massaging continued in spite of my movement. “I’d like to tell you to turn around and go back to the hotel, but somehow I don’t think me not showing up for my mother’s funeral would improve upon the situation. And I know I’ll have to talk, because, hey-o, I can’t even run past them. But, on the bright side, at least I had the sense to wear my yoga shorts underneath the dress so there’s no chance of a wardrobe malfunction during any of this.”

Tom laughed, lines appearing around his eyes, relaying the story of a man who enjoyed doing so and had for his entire life. “Thank god for small favors. If I happened to get a look under there at this point they’d all be in for far more of a show than they’re equipped to handle.”

“Dude. Was that supposed to help? Because…not helping.” I leaned over and planted a sloppy kiss on his lips, then opened my door. The ibuprofen I’d taken had helped immensely, and I was fully capable of walking without crutches, albeit slowly. Chances were that using them, though, might garner some sympathy from the press. Tom watched me pull them out of the car, eyebrows raised. “One, I can move faster if I use them. Two, I want everyone to feel sorry for me. Sorrier. Don’t ruin my moment, Hiddleston.”

“Perhaps I should carry you instead if it’s attention you’re seeking.”

“Not attention. SYMPATHY. If you carry me, people will feel LESS sorry for me. Not part of the plan. Plus, it’s like, two blocks and you’d fucking keel over. Also not part of the plan.”

He got out of the vehicle and came round to the passenger side, my messenger bag slung over his shoulder. “Thomas, you are a god among men, unashamedly carrying your woman’s purse.”

His eyes lit up, and he pointed at it. “This? This is NOT a purse, darling. THIS is a EUROPEAN CARRYALL.”

I raised my forearm up as far as the crutch would allow. “Nice. Second Seinfeld reference of the day. High-five.”

The palm of his hand connected with mine, tenderly, and our fingers twined together. “Remember, I’m going to be right there with you. And if you don’t wish to say anything, simply don’t say anything.”

“Um, I’m sorry…I’m supposed to be the one telling YOU that, yes?”

He grinned impishly. “Tables, Maude. Oh how they turn.”

As we reached the news vans, the noise began, seven people shouting out questions all at once, cameras and mics pointed in my direction. The cacophony caused my brain to shift into crisis management mode, and I stopped dead in my tracks. Tom stood at my side, transferring his weight from one foot to the other. My gaze moved from one reporter to the next, looking them straight in the eye. The noise died down, then out. I took a deep breath and began to speak.

“Hello there. How’s everyone doing today?” They turned to one another, shoulders shrugging, faces contorting into expressions of puzzlement, unsure as how to proceed. “Under normal circumstances, I’d be happy to give you all the time you need, but I’m running behind as it is and have in inkling that it would be just a wee bit disrespectful if I were to be late for my mother’s funeral service. That being said, I think I DO have enough time for one question from each of you.” I pointed to the young, dark-haired woman in the floral print dress holding a WWL microphone.

She cleared her throat, then motioned to her cameraman to begin recording. The other two crews followed suit, and I assumed the paps were recording as well. “Ms. Gallagher, do you have anything to say regarding your ex-husband’s arrest?”

I had plenty to say. So, so much to say…ninety-nine percent of it unsuitable for television. “First, allow me to mention that the Winchester family has been in my thoughts ever since I heard the news. I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like to have someone invade the sanctity of your home, where you’re supposed to feel safest. And someone armed…it must be terrifying. Mr. Bonaventura’s actions were deplorable, and I trust that the Louisiana justice system will dole out the appropriate punishment when the time comes. Next question, the gentleman from WDSU. And please, call me Maude.”

He was short, chubby and dressed in a tweed jacket that I was certain made him feel like he was in the ninth circle of hell. “Maude, is it true that he intended to break into your mother’s home but chose the wrong house in error?”

Suppressing the smile that fought to spread across my face was a daunting task. “That’s my understanding, yes.”

The reporter from WGNO didn’t wait his turn, and exceeded his inquiry limit within seconds. “Why would he need to break into her home? I’ve seen a copy of the will…it was to go to him, without question. Are you contesting it? Have you taken possession illegally? Did you lock him out? Is that why he did it?”

What a total douche canoe. I wanted to slap him, but stared him down instead as I prepared my reply. “Gosh, I think that was five questions, not one. I know, I know…math is hard, right? Anyway. My mother died intestate, which means the entire contents of her estate passes to me according to Louisiana law. The will that was in Mr. Bonaventura’s possession was revoked, and another was not created. You can contact her attorney, Bartholomew Stevens, if you have additional questions regarding the matter. As to why he did it, my guess is he came back to New Orleans expecting something, and when it turned out that something was actually nothing, he grew rather malcontented. Next question, you in the red T-shirt.”

He held out his phone to better capture our exchange, sun creating a halo around his blonde, curly hair. “Maude, is it true that Mr. Bonaventura cheated on you with your own mother, and that your father killed himself because of it?”

Tom muttered something under his breath, and I hoped I was the only one who’d heard. The inner calm I felt in the face of a question that would have caused a breakdown just days earlier made me feel damn near invincible. “Absolutely correct.” I pointed at the young Asian woman dressed in a bright purple track suit and pink Converse Hi-Tops. “You’re next, please.”

Her face was an expressionless mask. “According to Passages Hospice, you never visited your mother there prior to her death. Is that accurate, and if so, why?”

“Yes. That’s correct. As to why…my mother suffered from alcoholism and Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Though, in actuality, it was everyone close to her who did the majority of the suffering. Her cause of death was alcoholic cirrhosis of the liver. The last time I saw her was in 1998, when I walked in on her and Mr. Bonaventura during an intimate encounter. No-contact is a widely accepted method for dealing with toxic people in order to facilitate recovery. I was contacted by the hospice when she passed as I’m the only next of kin. Gal in the tank top…your turn.”

The tank top was an old-school wife beater, paired with khaki shorts that reached her knees. Her white- blond hair was short on one side, long on the other, with pink tips. “My sources tell me that you’re an alcoholic too. True or false?”

My jaw tightened. They’d obviously been speaking with ‘mourners’ in spades, and it was no surprise that a good number of people here still thought of me as drunkard Mary’s drunkard daughter. “In September of 1996, my boyfriend was killed in a car accident. Shortly after his funeral, I discovered I was pregnant. Soon after THAT, I miscarried. I found myself unable to cope with such profound loss and used alcohol to self-medicate. Since I honestly can’t say whether I wasn’t capable of stopping or just chose not to during the time I was drinking, alcoholic is probably an applicable term. I’ve been sober for seventeen years, though. Last question, gentleman with the man bun.”

He laughed briefly, then frowned slightly, as if he was reconsidering asking what he’d planned to. “Hello, Maude. I spoke with Mr. Bonaventura’s current wife, Anna Beth, this morning via phone. When I asked her how she felt regarding his arrest, she expressed relief and indicated that he abused her verbally and physically. Is that something you experienced during your marriage to him?”

I gave a curt nod. “Yes. It was. Unfortunately, it was something I’d endured for years in my own home prior to marrying Mr. Bonaventura, so it didn’t seem abnormal to me until after I removed myself from the situation. If my sources are correct, Anna Beth was very young when she met and married him, as was I. It is my hope that this incident will allow her to move on with her life, heal and find the peace she deserves. Okay, folks. Apologies, but that’s all I have time for. Thanks so very much for your cooperation.”

Man bun raised his hand, then pointed to my walking boot. “Maude, I’m pretty sure we’re all wondering how that happened. Would you mind…”

My eyes rolled skyward. “Damn, and here I thought you wouldn’t notice.” Laughter rang out. “I wore heels to dinner last night, and they got the best of me. Right down on my ass in the middle of the Palm Court Café. It’s just a sprain, two weeks and I should be good. Seriously, though…gotta go. You all enjoy the rest of the day.”

They stepped back and to the side, allowing us to pass. Four crutch swings later Tom appeared in front of me, the admiration in his eyes flooring me completely and freezing me in place. Two steps brought him close enough to lean in to kiss me, admiration replaced by ardor and fire, grasping the back of my neck with one hand, sucking my bottom lip into his mouth so forcefully that I came. It was a tiny orgasm, over and done in two seconds, but an orgasm nevertheless. His grip on my neck tightened, and I knew he must have felt me shudder. He deepened the kiss, and as our tongues met I heard camera clicks, faint, as if they were down at the end of a tunnel, far away. A distant repetition of ‘Excuse me, Ms. Gallagher?’ grew ever louder, finally snapping me back to reality. I pulled back, looked past Tom to discern the source, and was mildly humiliated upon seeing Reverend Thompson standing there. His face was as red as a cherry tomato, the flush extending down his neck and, I assumed, beneath his clerical collar.

He cleared his throat, hands clasped behind his back. “Ms. Gallagher, we’re about to begin. Follow me, please.”

Tom remained in front of me, a look of astonishment on his face as he mouthed the words ‘Did you…?’ I plastered a polite smile on my countenance, nodding at him as I addressed the reverend.

“Apologies, Reverend Thompson. Thank you for your patience. Lead the way.”

As we walked toward the entrance Tom fell into step beside me, whispering in my ear. “An orgasm. From a kiss. MY kiss. Man alive, I feel like a fucking rock star right now.”

My head spun in his direction, ponytail swishing back and forth across my neck in its wake, eyes narrowed. His mouth dropped open, then closed again as he reached out to touch my bare shoulder.

“Maude, I’m sorry, that was a dreadfully self-centered thing to…”

I grinned and shook my head, speaking softly as he removed his hand. “I’m just screwing with you, Thomas. That lip thing…it…DID something to me. Anyway. Allow me to assure you that you are a fucking rock star. MY rock star. And as an added bonus, it would have REALLY pissed my mother off to know that I was making out with the sexiest man alive at her funeral.”

“That’s not a title People magazine has bestowed upon me as yet, Maude.”

“I’m well aware of their prior woefully inadequate choices. But I just did.”

“And that’s infinitely more meaningful, of course.”

“Nice save, Hiddleston. If they don’t put you on the cover soon, though, they’re going to be getting some…calls.”

We’d reached the front door, and Reverend Thompson held it open for us. The service was being held in the same room as the viewing, and as we approached I could see it was packed well beyond its limit. After pausing for a moment to prepare myself to walk the gauntlet, I opted to do so without the crutches, resting them against the wall to the right of the doorway. Reverend Thompson motioned for us to enter before him, and Tom offered his arm. I gratefully accepted, and as we crossed the threshold all heads turned, row by row, gazes fixed upon us. Tom’s face was expressionless, the dark blue of his button down shirt reflecting in his eyes, black trousers sitting low on his hips, black leather tie perfectly knotted at his neck. Even less graceful than normal due to the height difference of my walking boot and my black Birki, I kept myself in check by counting the number of steps it took to reach the front of the room where the closed casket rested, covered in a blanket of pink roses. Two seats were vacant in the front row, on the aisle and next to Anne. The whispers began when we were halfway there, fifteen steps in. My head remained high, jaw firmly set, as I passed by the throng of people who’d decided attending the funeral of someone they hadn’t given the remotest shit about in order to obtain a firsthand account of the event so they could later spread any juicy gossip they managed to gather was an ideal way to spend a summer afternoon.

Tom continued to hold my arm until I was comfortably seated next to Anne, then took his place at my side. Anne patted my knee as Reverend Thompson half-jogged to the front and began. I put my right hand over hers and squeezed, and Tom reached out to take my left one in his. After the introductory portion of the service, I zoned out, Reverend Thompson’s voice becoming very similar to that of the adults in a Charlie Brown cartoon. All I heard was ‘wah wah, wah wah wah wah wah, wah wah’, and eventually even that faded away into nothing. Man bun’s words haunted me, and my thoughts turned to Anna Beth. I’d been strong enough to get away from Will on my own, but I’d actually had somewhere to get away TO, the funds to get there, AND enough to start over with. Those were luxuries she did not possess, and there were three children she’d need to support on her own going forward as well, another hurdle I hadn’t had to clear. Marrying at such a young age had more than likely put her in a position wherein she had little to no employment experience, and few marketable job skills…or none whatsoever. Though I’d intended to donate the proceeds of the estate sale to the Metropolitan Center for Women and Children, I found myself seriously considering sending them her way instead. It would have to be done anonymously, of course, and Barty already had a way to contact her. Part of me felt as if I’d be slighting the many to help the few, but in this instance it was personal. We had an ill-fated kinship, Anna Beth and I, born of lies emanating from a man who’d used us for his own nefarious purposes, violence and mental abuse his means of controlling us so we’d never dare to question a single blessed thing as he fulfilled his unscrupulous objectives.

The sound of the crowd around me rising to their feet derailed my train of thought, and I left my seat as fast as I possibly could, not wanting anyone to have the slightest indication that I hadn’t been paying any attention to the service. At all. Tom’s arm slipped around my waist, and we remained where we were until the rest of the room cleared. Anne offered to join us at the cemetery, asking to hitch a ride in our rental car as she’d taken a cab to the funeral. I was pleased to discover that the news trucks had departed, but the paps remained, photographing and filming Anne and I as we waited for Tom to bring the car round for us. At Greenwood it was just the three of us, the hearse driver, and the folks responsible for the interment procedures. I remained back at least fifteen feet from the crypt, silent the entire time, having already said my final goodbyes to the people who’d brought me into this world. We left for as soon as they began the closing process, and I looked back over my shoulder one last time as we made our way out of the garden, wanting this moment to be my last memory of my mother. Dead. Gone. Sealed inside a coffin, inside a mausoleum, never to speak new words that could hurt me ever again. And that was enough to shift the specter of the past from translucent to transparent…what used to only allow light to pass through while masking the details was now completely clear, entirely visible. The thing about the past is this…it’s always present. There’s no escape from it. You can run, you can hide, but it will inevitably find you. There is, of course, a better solution, one I’d finally been brave enough to attempt. Face it. Embrace it. Remember it. Learn from it. And, most importantly, try your best to not let it fuck your life up too badly along the way as you moved further and further beyond it.

Tom and I bid Anne adieu as we dropped her off at Café du Monde, then hurried back to the hotel so we’d have enough time to change, pack, check out, and arrive at the airport by four. Our flight was scheduled to leave Louis Armstrong International at five-thirty and arrive in New York at nine-thirty, and if the gods were feeling generous we’d be settled into my apartment an hour or so later. Or, I should say, our apartment. A foreign concept as far as I was concerned, but one that made me deliriously happy. And that was something I could totally get used to.

**************************************** The duration of our first-class flight was primarily spent sending each other naughty text messages, each one filthier than the last. Afterward there was much debate as to who started it, but I refused to confess even though I was guilty as sin. He was just sitting there, in his cargo shorts and white V-neck T-shirt, up against the window with the sun reflecting on his pretty fucking face, driving me insane.

The hollow at the base of your neck, right above your collarbones. My tongue needs to be there. Like, now. – M

Go ahead. No one will notice. We’re in the last row. – T

Hmm…is it me or did that make your nipples hard, Thomas? I can see them right through your shirt. Guess they’ll be the next stop for my tongue. – M

The first stop for MY tongue is going to be your mouth, Maude. Running it over your lips, your teeth, then thrusting it in and out over and over until your moaning alerts the passengers in front of us. –T

Back and forth we went, until the final exchange.

I’m going to work my cock into your ass, inch by inch, until I’m buried inside you. Then I’m going to slip three fingers into your pussy and fuck you with them as well, so I can feel my cock from the INSIDE through the oh-so-thin wall that gives both of us so much pleasure as I pound your ass relentlessly, my thumb massaging your clit until you want to scream…but since you can’t, I’ll be forced to cover your mouth with my hand in order to keep you quiet. – T

And just as you’re about to come, I’ll invite you to fuck my mouth. As soon as you pull out of me, I’m going to drop to my knees and suck your cock so hard you’ll see stars. I’ll sneak my index finger in my beside it at some point, get it nice and wet, then run it between your ass cheeks until I find that glorious pucker. My finger will keep moving round and round the rim as I keep licking at and sucking on your cock, loosening you up, stretching, until you’re ready…then in it goes. Then out, then in. Again and again. I’ll wait until I feel your rhythm start to falter, then I’ll press my finger down on that magical spot inside you and swallow you whole as your come shoots down my throat, hot and sticky. You’ll have bruises on your knuckles for a week from biting down on them so hard. – M

That broke him. He stood, put his hands in his pockets to hide his raging hard on as best he could, pushed past me and locked himself in the bathroom. When he returned he was smirking, and I’d thought I wouldn’t need to, but he kissed me, long and slow, and I found myself in the loo a few moments later, pants around my ankles as I attempted to rub one out so I could make it home without fucking him in the back of the car that would be waiting for us. Or on the plane. In front of everyone. My phone dinged, and I bent to pull it out of my pants pocket. He’d sent me a video he’d made during his turn, hand on his cock, jerking himself off, standing right in the same spot I was in now. That was all the inspiration I required, and then some. I deleted it as soon as I finished, then texted him to remind him to do the same. Even though his face wasn’t visible, it still wasn’t something that should be kept around. Despite the fact that I wanted to watch it a thousand more times.

As we circled LaGuardia, I began singing Frank Sinatra’s ‘New York, New York’. Quietly, I might add, until Tom joined in, then a good number of the other passengers in first class, turning it into an impromptu sing-along that grew loud enough as we reached the final chorus to warrant a shushing from the flight attendant. We disembarked, picked up our luggage, and found the driver holding a sign with GALLAGHER written on it. Tom had given the company my name in an attempt to avoid any unnecessary scrutiny, but it turned out to not make a difference as this was New York, where no one gave much of a fuck about how famous you were. I’d seen Madonna try to cut line at a bagel shop once, only to be rebuked none too gently by everyone already waiting, resulting in her taking her place at the back of the queue, laughing and saying she should have known better than to do such a thing on her home turf. There was not a single soul standing still as we followed the driver to the curb, everyone looking down and walking quickly as they sought to fulfill their own personal missions.

Forty-five minutes later we arrived at 250 Mercer Street in Greenwich Village/NoHo, a wide smile spreading across my face at the prospect of being home, growing ever wider when I turned to Tom and it hit me that for the first time since college, someone I loved was coming home with me.

He leaned over me, peering out my open window, craning his neck to see how high it went despite the fact that it was dark.

My hand found his thigh and settled there. “It’s 16 floors in some spots. Building was erected in 1888, renovated in 1979 and remained rental apartments until 1986 when it went co-op. My dad bought it in 1995, for exactly how much I don’t know. He signed it over to me for a dollar a few months later, and I didn’t pay any attention at all to the paperwork. Surprising, right? I’d have to pull the deed to find out the amount. Now it’s worth around eight hundred thousand or so, but I don’t care, because I am NEVER selling it. I’m on the 5th floor. And yes, there are elevators. Thank god.” I opened the door, stepping on my right foot gingerly. The pain was back, mainly because I was a fucking moron and not only forgot to take my ibuprofen but had packed it away in my suitcase instead of my carry on. The crutches were in the trunk, and the driver brought them around first for me, the followed with our luggage.

Tom came out on the curb side as well, stretching, arms up over his head, T-shirt riding up just enough to reveal his belly button and the start of his happy trail as he glanced around at the street signs and location. “The Village, yes?”

“Technically it’s right on the border of Greenwich Village and NoHo. Best of both worlds and all that. Washington Square Park is right over that way…” I pointed in the correct direction, but it looked like I was pointing at air since it wasn’t visible. “You can totally see it from my window.”

Tom tipped the driver, who’d brought the luggage right to the door for us when he realized it was way too much for one person to carry. The glass door opened towards us, and out stepped Murray Goldberg, my favorite doorman. His uniform was black, with gold trim and buttons, exactly the same as it had been when I’d moved in, and, according to him, as it was when he started back in 1987. He was in his mid-sixties, not much taller than I was, with thinning white hair and gold-framed John Lennon glasses.

“Well, well, well…look what the cat dragged in. If it’s isn’t Miss Maude Gallagher. You were supposed to be back for the July 4th weekend…how I worried and worried!” He chuckled as I half-embraced him, crutches tucked to my side with my elbows.

“Oh please. You are so full of shit, old man. You didn’t even notice I was gone. And besides, look what I brought back with me!” I released him and gestured to Tom. “Murray, this is Tom Hiddleston. Tom, Murray Goldberg.”

Murray glanced at Tom, then rolled his eyes at me. “So THIS is why you went AWOL.” He held his hand out to Tom, who shook it vigorously. “Nice to meet you, Tom. Welcome to 250 Mercer.”

Tom grinned. “Thank you, Murray. Pleasure to meet you as well.”

Murray looked puzzled for a moment, and I knew it had dawned on him that Tom was an actor, but he shrugged it off and poked my arm, suddenly switching to a thick Brooklyn accent. “Englishman, eh? Whatsamatta, New York guys not good enough for ya anymore?”

I snorted. “Nice. Offend him before he even has a chance to see the place.” We all laughed, and I pointed to my walking boot. “I’m injured. I don’t suppose you can dig us up a luggage dolly from somewhere?”

He shook his head at Tom. “Been back less than five minutes and she’s already a giant pain in my ass. Wait here.”

They loaded the cart while I watched, and Murray wished us a good night as we headed for the elevator. Tom wheeled it inside and I punched the 5 button quickly, hoping to avoid company. My strategy was successful, and less than a minute later the stainless steel sliders opened, my white apartment door visible from where we stood. It turned out that crutches were useful for holding elevators, but I felt completely useless as I watched Tom struggling to drag the cart up over the lip and onto the grey carpet.

I pointed to the left. “C503. That’s us, right over there.” Grabbing my messenger bag off the pile of luggage, I fished out my keys, put the correct one in the deadbolt, then pushed down on the handle. The door swung inward, and I reached in and flipped the light switch. I turned around to see Tom, his eyes wide and slightly misty. I grinned, leaned my crutches against the sideboard and threw myself at him, arms wrapping around his waist. “Welcome home, Thomas.”

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

To the right of the door, behind the bathroom, was a metal staircase that led to the loft. Tom unloaded all the luggage there, then brought the cart back downstairs to Murray. I fumbled around in the sideboard drawers, looking for my spare apartment key. It was way in the back, buried under entirely too many takeout menus…all of which reminded me that I was starving. The stove clock said it was 10:55. Most of the Thai and Chinese places would be closing soon, but The Bagel Café/Ray’s Pizza was open, and they had a huge menu to choose from.

“New York, I have missed you so very much. Where else can I get breakfast delivered to my door in the middle of the night if I want? And cannolis. And cake. And…”

My musings were interrupted by a knock on the door. I opened it just a crack, peeking out and pretending to be wary. “Yes?”

Tom raised a brow and grinned.

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

He feigned exasperation, arms crossed, frowning and tapping his foot.

“Oh, right. You’re that totally hot guy who followed me home from Hawaii.” I opened the door fully. “Well, come on in, I guess.”

Tom grabbed my waist, bending down to kiss my neck. “Totally hot guy wants to drag his totally hot woman to bed, but he’s suffering the effects of food deprivation and fears his performance will suffer unless calories are consumed forthwith.”

I passed him the extensive Ray’s menu, pulled my phone from my pocket and hefted myself onto one of the kitchen bar chairs, mentally noting that finding the ibuprofen should be next on my to do list. “Let me know what you want. I’m going to add my stuff to the order while you’re deciding.”

I ordered a Meat Lover’s Omelet with bacon, home fries and toast, an everything bagel with scallion cream cheese, a slice of strawberry cheesecake, a large orange juice and a large black tea with cream and sugar. Tom was still perusing the menu. I managed to be patient for a bit, but then leaned forward, putting my face between him and the paper.

He laughed. “Someone’s nearing hangry level orange.”

“Mmm, not quite yet but if you don’t make up your mind soon things may get ugly before the delivery guy gets here.”

“Well, no one wants that, do they? I’d like a large Irish Crème coffee, a cranberry scone, a Gone Bananas smoothie, a Greek salad and a deluxe cheeseburger with bacon, please.”

“Dude, your order is even weirder than mine. I’m impressed.” I entered his items and my credit card info, then pressed the submit order button. Forty minutes according to the website, which was unusually fast. I slid off the chair and stood on my left foot as I reached for the crutches. “It’ll probably be an hour before it gets here. There should be some water and soda in the fridge, though, in case you’re thirsty. I’m going to go scare up some ibuprofen so I can maybe walk upstairs at some point this evening.”

Tom shook his head. “No, stay. I’ll get it for you. Where is it?”

“In one of my suitcases. I think. All I really know is that I packed it.”

“Do you keep any here in the house?”

My mouth dropped open. “Well, shit. Yeah. The bathroom, cabinet under the sink. Wonder how long it would have taken me to come up with that? Oy. It’s the door behind you, on the right.”

He came back, shaking the bottle, then went around the corner into the kitchen, opening the stainless-steel refrigerator door and letting out a low whistle. “Soda, water, basic condiments and some whipped butter. Toss in some ancient moldy leftovers and a few bottles of beer and it would be identical to mine. Though mine’s just white. Not fancy and shiny like this one.”

He passed me a bottle of water across the counter, and I quickly swallowed two tiny red pills and stuck my tongue out at him. “It used to be much shittier, trust me. Back in 2011 everything was in such bad shape I said fuck it and decided to put the money into renovating it. Plus, I needed more storage options. For books. Want the official downstairs tour?”

“Indeed I do.”

I pointed at the kitchen. “Where you’re at…that’s the kitchen.” He smacked my hand gently and rolled his eyes. “Countertops are concrete, back splash is glass tile. Gas stove over yonder, mainly used for boiling water and reheating takeout food. Next to the fridge is a Fisher & Paykel DishDrawer. It’s a dishwasher, but it pulls out like a drawer and takes up a lot less space. We won’t talk about how much it cost. It’s embarrassing, and I didn’t really NEED it but damn, it’s really fucking cool. Don’t open it, though. I think I may have forgotten to do them before I left. After seeing my mother’s house I don’t like the cabinets as much as I used to, but at least they have stainless pulls instead of gold. Bathroom next.”

Tom rounded the corner and followed me the seven steps to the washroom. “You’ve already seen this. And you’ve looked in the cabinet under the sink. Hopefully there’s nothing too embarrassing in there, though I tend to keep most of that stuff in the loft. Floor is teeny tiny marble tiles, walls are subway tile, because, New York, and the shower is black glass tile. I love glass tile. I have no idea why, but I do. The overhead light in there is awesome…I abhor showering in low light. Can’t see shit. The fixture is a Grohe, and it’s got a rain head AND a massager. In retrospect, I would have gone with just the massager because the rain head gets water in my eyes constantly. And here we have a sink, and the excrement receptacle. Very exciting, no?”

He chuckled. “Excrement receptacle. I’m stealing that one, if you don’t mind.”

I waved my hand. “Sure, fine, why not. Now, let’s adjourn to the living area. To your left is the sideboard, where I keep all the crap I don’t have another place for. The mirror above is handy for making sure there are no boogers hanging from my nose before I leave the house AND for watching myself burn things in the kitchen. Up next are these very cool metal lockers that function as my coatroom and general storage. They all have a different combinations and I don’t know the two on the far end so please don’t turn the dials. To your right is a dining set that is not anywhere within the scope of my usual taste, but it was a gift from Anne when I first moved in and part of her parent’s estate so it remains. Recovering the seats in black leather made them more palatable. There’s a matching hutch on the wall behind it, which I use for books instead of dishes. The rug is from her, too. Sorry, am I rambling? Just let me know if you want me to shut up.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m enjoying this immensely. This…this is the place you call home. I want to know every detail, the how, the why, the significance of each and every thing and what it means to you.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Yeah, well, we’re only going to be here for three days and I did plan on leaving the house to do stuff so…anyway.” I gestured to the windows. “Those are eight feet high, the ceilings are twelve. There’s a remote on the coffee table that opens and closes the shades. Some people don’t mind parading around in the buff in front of the entire city, but I try to avoid it. Emphasis on TRY.” He laughed. “The bookshelves are custom…I designed them myself. Underneath are storage cabinets, which hold more books, my speakers, and some DVDs and CDs. The rug under the coffee table is also from Anne, and the white sofa…I have no explanation for it other than it had clean lines and metal feet. How it’s remained unscathed in light of my clumsiness is a mystery. The chaise part is pretty cool, though, and the TV’s on a swivel so I can turn it in that direction. Both pieces of art are things I found while traveling. The one by the windows was at an estate sale in Boston, and the big one is from a gallery in San Francisco.” I held my hands out to the side at shoulder level. “So, that’s it, I guess. If you turn around you’ll see the loft, and as soon as my meds kick in we can go up and unpack. Oh, wait. One more thing. Here’s your key.” I reached into my pocket, then held it out to him, allowing it to lay flat on my palm.

He lifted it slowly, the pads of his fingers brushing delicately against my hand, the connection creating a current of what felt like a thousand volts. It surged through me, and when I met his gaze he burst into tears. I wound my arms around him, crutches falling to the floor with a metallic whump, kissing each wet cheek in turn as my own eyes began streaming.

Wiping at his eyes with the back of one hand, his other arm around my waist, he smiled softly. “Wow. Sorry about that…I just…I…not even seven days ago I was certain I’d lost you forever and here we are, actually, finally in New York and you’ve welcomed me into your home…into your LIFE…and I’m just…I’m…so…so…GRATEFUL, Maude. And thankful. All that we’ve learned about each other, how much closer we’ve grown…which, honestly, I wouldn’t have believed to be possible, given how close we already were…I feel…unburdened. Lighter. Freer. I feel…ALIVE. So very much alive.”

His mouth was on mine before I had a chance to speak, and when he did the lip thing again I lost my mind completely. One hand was up my shirt, caressing my breasts first over then under my bra, the other down my shorts, inside my underwear, two fingers abruptly thrust inside me, pumping in and out. I glanced at the stove clock as I undid his zipper and wrapped my hand around his throbbing cock. It read 11:25. At least fifteen more minutes before dinner arrived. Plenty of time.

He whimpered pitifully as I began stroking him, voice breaking when he managed to speak. “Oh…Maude…I wanted to wait and take my time but…ohhhhh, GOD…I’m afraid I’m more than a little desperate for you, my love. May I have you, please? Now?”

I walked him backward toward the coffee table, fumbled for the remote and hit the button to close the shades, then grabbed waist of his shorts and pushed them down over his hips until they fell unceremoniously to the floor. He did the same with mine, dragging my panties with them, pausing to allow me to lean on him as he lifted my right leg to pull them over the boot. Our mouths met again, mine open and waiting for his tongue. His kiss was at first gruff, then yielding, gasping as I sought to imitate the forcefulness he’d displayed when sucking on my lip, pulling his into my mouth with a ferocity I hadn’t known I possessed. I felt myself being lowered onto a surface, which I assumed was the chaise portion of the couch, but wouldn’t have cared if it was a bed of nails.

Suddenly his weight was upon me, cock hard and leaking against my entrance. He broke the kiss to hold my head in his hands, our foreheads almost touching, gazes locked. “I love you, Maude. I will love you all of this life, and in each and every one that follows. I will love you as the world turns to ash around us. I will love you as the universe collapses into itself, and in the blackness of the eternity that awaits, I will remain, with you, at your side, holding your hand, never to let go. This love…it knows no bounds. It is forever. Two souls made one, together unto infinity. I love you. I love you.”

He shifted his hips, pushing himself inside me, slowly, stilling when he hit bottom, and I wept against his shoulder, hands at his waist under his shirt and grasping his hips. He wrapped his arms around me, hands in my hair, his lips on my neck, kissing every spot over and over.

“I love you, Thomas. Never let me go. Please. Never let me go.”

We began moving together, all gentleness cast aside as we raced at breakneck speed to feel the completeness that resulted only when the physical and the spiritual combined. His hips slammed against mine so savagely I knew I’d wake tomorrow to bruises, and my hands moved further up and under his shirt, fingernails digging in, then raking down his back as the head of his cock nudged my cervix and I came, pleasure and pain intermingling, a chasm opening and suspending us in a single instance of time and space as I felt his cock pulsing in tempo with my walls, then erupting its liquid fire inside me, like a volcano buried deep in the ocean floor.

The only sound in the apartment was our breathing, both of us panting and gasping. Tom rose up on his elbows, conducting a visual inspection to determine if I’d incurred any damage.

“Fuck, Maude…I’m so sorry…that was positively barbarous of me…are you all right? And your ankle…I forgot about THAT altogether…”

I placed my palms on his chest. “Barbarous is a bit harsh, don’t you think? I’d go with delightfully uncivilized. Either way, it was electrifying. And I’m fine. How’s your back, though? Let me see.”

“My back? Why?” He whipped his shirt off and slipped it under me as he pulled out and turned around. Eight welts stretched from his shoulders to his waist, four of them bleeding in spots.

My hand flew to my mouth, dampening a loud gasp. “Now that there, THAT’S barbarous. You. Are. Bleeding.”

He craned his neck to see behind him, then got up and went to look in the sideboard mirror. I got up, and hobbled over to stand next to him, clad only in my T-shirt.

“Tom…shit…I’m like…SO sorry. Yikes. I’ll go get some peroxide…”

He started at his reflection, head tilted, puzzled. “I didn’t feel that. At all.” As he turned around to face me, his hands reached for mine, grasping them. “What I DID feel was you. Us. I want you to know, Maude, I meant every word of what I said. Every word.”

“I know. Thank you. I…I…I’m not sure if I can formulate a reply that would convey my own feelings adequately…”

A kiss cut me off, his tongue forcing its way past my lips and teeth to reach mine, and when he pulled away he pointed at the couch. “You already did, my love.”

The blush began in my already flushed cheeks and spread all the way down to my breasts. My gaze shifted from his face to the floor. “Oh.”

Tom chuckled. “Suddenly modest, are we?”

I let go of his hands in order to cover my face. “Oh. My. GOD. Shut. UP.”

He roared with laughter, the sound echoing in the open space that surrounded us. I turned on my heel as quickly as my injury would allow and opened the bathroom door, looking back at him over my shoulder.

“I’m still going to get you some peroxide, in spite of the fact that you’re a complete and total asshole.”

The laughter continued as I searched the drawer, then abruptly ceased as someone knocked on the door and loudly announced ‘delivery for Gallagher’.

I took off my T-shirt and tossed it to Tom. “Here, put this on. And don’t forget your shorts. I’ll hide in here. There’s tip money in the dish on top of the sideboard.”

Figuring I might as well pee while I was in there, I giggled as I sat down on the seat. “Excrement receptacle. Damn, I’m fucking hilarious.” I could hear Tom thanking the delivery guy as I finished up and washed my hands, followed by the sound of the door closing. He was in the kitchen when I came out, removing the food from the bags and placing it on the counter, sorting it into two piles. I put my underwear back on and dug a T-shirt out of my luggage. There was no way to be sure whether it was clean or dirty, but it passed the sniff test so I deemed it wearable.

We ate at the dining table, him snatching half my bagel and a good sized chunk of my omelet. The cheesecake and the scone went in the fridge so we’d have something on hand that passed for breakfast, and as he loaded the silverware into the dishdrawer (which had been empty, thankfully) a yawn escaped him, so powerful he dropped the fork he’d been holding.

I bent to pick it up, remembering he’d been up hours before I had. It seemed a physical impossibility that the press encounter and funeral had occurred earlier that same day, and suddenly all I wanted to do was lie down with him snuggled against me. He closed the drawer and pushed the start button, and I reached for his hand.

“Come on, you. Time for sleep.”

He let go, shaking his head. “We haven’t unpacked, nor have we texted Luke and Simon to let them know we arrived safely and to find out if they have as well, and we still have to call Norman…”

I grabbed my phone from my shorts, which were still on the floor where he’d dropped them. “There. Luke and Simon texted. Where’s your phone? Let’s text Norman, too.” He passed it to me. I typed quickly.

Hey – just wanted to say thank you for reaching out, and no worries. The internet, as they say, is forever. Appreciate you noticing and providing clarity as to the source. Hope filming the rest of the season is going well. Best, Gallagher & Hiddleston

I turned the screen so Tom could read what I’d written.

He nodded. “That’s perfect. Thank you.”

I hit send, set my phone on the sideboard and turned off the downstairs lights. “Let’s go. Move that ass.”

He snorted and followed me up the stairs. It felt like it took forever with the stupid boot, and I dreaded having to pee during the night. I turned back the covers, then stood by the dresser at the bottom of the bed and removed my shirt and panties, Tom’s arms winding around my waist from behind, holding me in place so I didn’t fall over as I wrangled the underwear over the boot.

His voice rumbled in my ear. “So, this is where the magic happens…”

“Ummm…if you’re referring to solo magic, yes. Lots of it. But other than that, no. Not in a long, long time, anyway.”

His grip loosened and he stepped back, silent until I turned around.

“Maude, I’d forgotten he lived here with you…I’m…”

I raised my hand to stop him. “Shush. There’s no longer room in my heart, or my head, for anything other than what’s right in front of me. What happened can’t be changed, nor would I want it to be. Life is meant to be experienced in the moment. If you dwell on the past or focus on the future, you miss everything in between. Trust me. I know. And I’m so very, very done with missing out. Now get those clothes off.” I held out my right arm, palm up, towards the platform that held a queen size mattress. “This way to my bed, sir.”

#your light in the mist #chapter 23

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fymbmangaboys · 2 years

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FYMB Updates: February love

hello, beautiful people! I have so much to say and so please click in to some juicy news... or something.

New year and all

I always take the January off from my socials to recharge myself - but i think it always make me procrastinate and pressured more. Last time I logged into to tumblr, all are free and shit. Now? We doing like Patreon now? Seriously? Sadly, same goes to so many people who loves to post their pop culture love, I couldn't bill you for membership and shit because, hello, all of my posts are not mine. Even the screenshots I do, i doubt it won't tell tumblr otherwise that my posts are my own. All are from manga and anime shit. It is sad, but I wasn't aiming to make my page monetized because years ago I made this page for myself. But If I were to post some of my business and linked it here, please bear with me and check it out. Helps me a lot if you do.

I am still happy for the creative individuals here in tumblr, those artists who posts their art here. I hope the monetization and all is enough to provide for their happiness. Even if I have a fare amount of followers, I feel like you guys are so subtle about tumblr now, you old souls. I feel like you like Tiktok more than tumblr, or IG. Honestly, Tumblr making subscription service now available is too fucking late.

New anime ecchis

I have a hate and love relationship with ecchi anime. all ecchi does is to tease me.lol. if i need some hot visuals, ill go watch hentai. I was reading some new anime this first quarter last year and there're few ecchi caught my eyes. i feel like i miss a good ecchi so much. all i watch last year was shounen, all i read was webtoon and yaoi and shounen, and all i see outside my window is snow. and all i wish is to visit Japan. going off a tangent here, but if you got the money, i think this is the best time to go visit japan. people are at home, spring is near, and few tourists. just pack some masks.

World's end harem

At long last! I don't know why it is only now that we are watching the manga in our screens but at least it happened. 2022 is a good year for this animation. no joke. i know there's a virus right now but i feel like this anime can make people happy seeing all the gorgeous boobs in the uncensored version. also, it deserves the animation. WEH is always listed number one in all those manga reading sites. plus, it's a good story. i read the manga years ago, sadly, i am not happy being teased so i stopped reading years ago. i hope to pick it up again soon. go watch the uncensored, for the love of mira. winks. also, come on, reito. reito is not my favorite character right now for obvious reasons.

Skip Beat

I was reading the chapter updates few days ago and ren and kyoko is so sweet and cute together. you guys. u have to read it. until now, i still cant believe it that they are fuckin dating and cooking for each other. spoilers* lol

Sono Bisque Doll wa Koi wo Suru

I love the manga and so i am really happy it got animated so fast. the manga is so gorgeous. characters are so adorable. watch it. read it.

Naruto Shippuden

Guys, i spent my holidays watching naruto. i feel like i can flashback and flashback to a flashback. hahahahahahahahaha. a waste of time most of the time. 100 eps more to go.

Boku no Hero Academia

As i've said, shounen was my jam last year. i was busy reading the manga updates and i had some disappointments. *spoilers ahead.

1. the traitor wasn't impactful. i don't care about the traitor to begin with. what made the mangaka think he's the right person to reveal as one? because, that was a total disappointment. i may rant in a special post - i may as well with me not allowed to bill you my thoughts. lol. it ain't it. it wasnt good. a waste. i feel like if a major important character was as a traitor, it could've made me feel something.

2. i just love Hawks.

3. that scene with All Might in his statue was so good.

4. i love midoriya's development from a student to a wasteland vigilante slash prodigal son back to school. i love his costume change too.

Kimetsu no yaiba s2

This one, i havent read the manga yet. So, i am that blind anime watcher who is enjoying her time watching every scene. one thing i dont like that may be disagreeable to some: I dont like the "outline" style of the anime. the outlines of their arms, their hair, it almost like it's 2D papery feel. a nostalgic feel from an earlier manga/anime style years back. i get the hype and i love the hype. season one was a bit dramatic, the train arc was short and sad, this one is action packed, and i love the setting.

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i hope u guys are enjoying my queued posts from boku no hero.

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that's it for now. didnt proofread this post. might do it later. i just like to get this post out there and say hi. missed u. missed tumblr. don't worry, i wont leave.

-fymb

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the-voice-of-hell · 3 years

Text

Rent is Theft, part 19

Read from the beginning here, read the previous chapter here. Note: My MC is a Filipina trans woman and I am not. If you have notes on that or anything else, hit me up.

***

In retrospect, it was a pretty big leap from my success with the allergy medicine to assuming I could make sorcery happen, but I did not hesitate or doubt what I was attempting to do. My worry of it not working was less about a lack of faith in magic than a lack of confidence in my choices of method.

But whatever those doubts, once I had my plan, I committed to it.

I moved all the remaining furniture out of the living room except one tiny end table that would serve as my “wooden altar.” I used bulk white chalk to create the magic circle, ladled with a little dustpan. The prescribed seven foot diameter was just about the entire width of my little living room. Inside that I used the bulk chalk to make an equilateral triangle about five feet per side. I had put on a face mask and sprayed the surface of that geometry with a fixative I’d brewed up with a combination of research and guesswork. It didn’t have to be permanent, just last long enough for some use, and I figured the high school technique of using hairspray to fix pastels on construction paper wasn’t going to work here.

I leaned against my kitchenette to rest, observing the work. Sloppy, but could be worse. I went back at it, writing three symbols of Mercury inside the triangle in yellow chalk. That had to be sidewalk chalk, so it was much more slow going. The triangle called for “various symbols of Mercury” and the most I could find that seemed legit was the three - the caduceus, of course, with snakes entwining a winged rod; an astrological symbol that looked like Venus with horns; and the periodic table abbreviation Hg. At the end I used my fixative again.

That was the hard stuff, and took more than an hour to complete. After that my room had a chemical smell, but I needed to eat, so I grabbed some string cheese, peanuts, and a bottle of wine to the bedroom. Rest. It had been a long morning and would be very easy to fall asleep, but I resisted. I rolled the glass on my face, cool with condensation.

I finished the whole bottle, just in case the drunkenness was an important ingredient. Although when should I be doing that drinking? Should I have done it before the chalk? Later, right before midnight? The bottle had me feeling chill, but not really drunk. My tolerance was getting high. Bad shit.

There were two brushed steel racks holding spot lights for the walls, one on each side of the room. I ran a string between them as taut as I could get it, and from that hung my St. Hubert bottle of mercury. Along the rest of the line I used clothespins to hang rumpled blue-violet wolfsbane flowers. At regular intervals around the outer circle, I placed glass olive oil bottles with their contents drained and replaced with candles - for the time remaining unlit. On the island counter of the kitchenette, I reserved two places for my blood mixture and for the sulfur-beaverbutt-camphor mixture. On the opposite side of the circle, out by the window, one of the olive oil candle bottles sat on the little side table with my three wands.

Were they wands or switches? They were meant for violence, at least per the book. The previous night I’d tried to soften the business ends by sanding them and covering them with frayed twine. I didn’t know how important it was for Knobby to get hit with the very specific woods involved, so it wasn’t perfect coverage. It was surely going to sting.

Not drunk enough. I opened a box of wine in the fridge and poured a glass, then walked out to the living room. “Evil spirits, your time is nigh! I am a highly magical bitch!” I drank the glass to the bottom, then threw it into the far corner of the room, where it broke against the window and lay in sparkling chunks. I let my head dip, my eyes close. “I am a highly magical b--”

There was a knock at the door. I answered, opening a comfortable crack for my floories. “Hello guys.”

Marcie asked, “Eh, are you drunk, honey?”

“Whu-? Oh. Listen, I’m only a lil’ tipsy, and it’s for magical reasons. I’m serious now.”

Marcie and Mike had teamed up, and were at the door together. Mike said, “So, we haven’t found Knobby. Getting pretty bushed, gotta take a break.”

“Want to come into my humble witch’s den? There is no furniture in the living room now.”

“That’s OK, Courtney. We’ll go to my place, charge up my cellphone for a bit.”

“Right on. You know where Momi is lookin’?”

“Last time we passed her she was on some floors downstairs.”

“He won’t be down there,” I thought aloud. “Thanks, guys. I’m about ready in here. I’ll see you later.”

They left, I drank a bit of water and took a bathroom break, then went out to find Momi. I still didn’t expect to find Knobby while I was at it, just wanted to be close to her again. Out in the hall I heard the elevator. I glanced that way to see Perry coming back from who knows where. He didn’t acknowledge me, but gave the untended eyeballs in the hall corners a sad look. I went into the stairwell. I’ll clean up that crap for you when I get back, buddy.

I found Momi walking around the eighth floor and smiled as I stumbled toward her. She gave me a concerned look. “Are you OK? You’re drunk.”

“I’m only a little drunk, and it’s not because I’m losing my nerve. It’s for magical reasons. Magical, I swear!”

“Mmm, OK, I guess.” She had clamped a strong hand on my shoulder to arrest my sloppy affection, so no hugging was to be had. That said, her touch made me happy. Her strength made me feel weak, in a good way.

“So I was thinking, there’s nobody living on these floors right now, so we should just look upstairs. Where the biddies are.”

“Biddies?”

“The old ladies that are complaining about our dogboy.”

“Heheh. I guess a werewolf is just a dogboy, expecially if he’s a teenager.”

“Shit, you’re so cute. That’s why I act funny, so I can see you smile.” I tried to get my paws on her, but she still held me back. “Weh. What can I do, baby?” I gave up and clasped my hands together in a prayer to my goddess, probably giving off Peter Lorre Mad Love vibes.

“We should go. You aren’t wearing your allergy medicine.” She pointed at the carpet.

I looked down. She had the pill amulet on and the floor around her sneakers was fine. The carpet under my feet was puffing and pinkish, starting to glisten. “Oh Christ.”

***

We got my amulet and took the elevator to the top floor, which again had a different layout from our floor. There were still a few small apartments available, but the spacing of the doors suggested large penthouse suites. I remembered how much those cost from the listings when I moved in. It made me wanna knock the top off the fucking building. The hall there was designed to admit a maximum of sunlight and had much more powerful indoor lighting as well, keeping it bathed in an overwhelming glow. Having never seen that hall before, I felt like an escapee from Plato’s cave, about to get shot by the guards and chucked back into the underground.

But from the brief visit I knew the day was rapidly diminishing. If we couldn’t turn up Knobby, this full moon might be a bust. Still, if we couldn’t turn up Knobby, it also meant I could just spend my night loving my girlfriend, which was much more pressing in my mind just then.

We entered the stairwell, ready to go floor to floor again. A few steps in and I tripped, about to fall hard and break apart like dry kindling. Momi grabbed me and held me still on the stairs. One of my ankles was slightly twisted, my feet were on different steps, my hips twisted in place. I untangled them and set my feet carefully in place on the closer step.

When she spoke her lips were right by my ear. I could feel her breath on me. “Courtney! Be careful! Holy Jesus.”

“You better hold me just a little longer, I’m not... quite...” No, I was totally set. I just loved the feeling, squished against her soft body in her big arms, though my head wrap was probably whacking her in the eyes. “OK, I’m good.” I held the rail this time. I moved slow to trick her into going down side by side with me, then I matched her pace.

“You ready to wrestle a dogboy?,” I asked.

“You think he will fight me?”

“I guess he might come if we ask nice. If we say we have doggy biscuits.”

“Good. I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Yeah... So if this works, maybe we can do exorcisms on our heads, y’know? Unsquirrel your hair. What would you do with your hair, if you could control it again?”

We opened the door and looked into the hall of the next floor down. No Knobby.

“Ooh, I don’t know. What would look pretty?”

“Anything on you, baby. Maybe just to show your hair who’s boss you could do some crazy punk rock ’do. Like a big bright red and pink mohawk with leopard spotted buzz on one side and green and purple liberty spikes on the other.”

“Oh my god, that would be so weird.”

“Braided pigtails.”

“I tried that before. It takes too long, and it hurts.”

“Trim the sides and back, do a big pompadour.”

“Like Janelle Monáe? She can only do that because she’s skinny and pretty.”

I opened the door to the next floor down and peeked in. Nothing. “Uggh, come on, babe. You can do whatever you want. And we’re just daydreaming here, right? Wildest dreams, silly time. What would you do?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m gonna bleach your ends white and dye them bright fuchsia. How you like that?”

“I guess I don’t mind.”

“Oh you don’t mind, huh? What else could I do to you, that you’d just sit there and tolerate?”

“Courtney, do you really wanna know how far you can push, before I put you in a dumpster?”

“Augh! Oh no, baby, I sure don’t!”

“It’s OK. I wouldn’t put you in a dumpster.”

“So can I paint your face like a clown?”

“What? Why would you wanna do that?”

“Not a scary clown, Momi.” I looked in on another empty floor. “Like a cute clown.”

“Do you wanna have sex with a clown?”

“Never thought about it. Might be fun.”

“I would sit and tolerate that.”

“Whoa. Kinky. But it wouldn’t be fun if you were a total pillow princess about it. You’d have to do something clowny. Like, uh, slap me with a toy fish or something.”

“I could tolerate that.”

“That’s just... fucking amazing. What should I do with this newfound sex power I have? To get you to do weird stuff.”

“Hehehe.”

“That sounds like carte blanche to me. I’m gonna go mad with power.”

We looked in on another floor. Some young dude was walking into his apartment and stopped a moment when he noticed us. We acknowledged each other with little nods and he went on. We continued our descent.

***

Marcie reached Richie on her cell, Richie was getting sporadic texts from Olivia, and supposedly the kids were going to come back home before midnight. Word was that they had found Knobby’s deformity pretty useful for garnering sympathy while panhandling, were trying to make the most of it.

I had my doubts but through the phone game we found out there were too many possible spots they were using, and they changed spots several times per day, so hunting them down would be a huge pain. We settled in to wait for them.

When Graeme came home at eight, he said he’d met Patrick in the hall, and Patrick told him the biddies were at it again - claiming that very afternoon someone had seen a large dog in the hall, urinating this time. I went floor to floor, looking for the spot, and found it on the fourteenth floor. When had he slipped by us?

Marcie got worn out, while Mike seemed more energetic as the night went on, so we let him do some searching by himself - on the condition that he keep his green ass out of sight. Around ten, Patrick reported back that he’d seen the werewolf, but it got away. He had barely seen it, only had another deuce it had left in the hall to confirm his suspicions of what the hustling figure had been.

In response to that, we had Richie text Olivia again. She got back to say she and Knobby were almost home. I found that too vexing to really consider. I shushed Richie when he started following that train of thought to its obvious conclusion.

Olivia and Knobby took the elevator up and were immediately grabbed up by Patrick and swept into my apartment. That can’t have been very comforting, but they seemed genially clueless when brought before their queen.

“Hello kids,” I said. “This is a bit of a surprise party for you, Knobby.”

He beamed nervously. His smile was huge and white for a homeless kid. I think at some point he had said his dad was a dentist. “Wha-a-a-at? Really? Look like...” He lost his train of thought as his eyes took in the whole scene - the chalk circle, the single chair in the center of the room over the hermetic symbols.

Olivia asked, “What the fuck is this shit?”

By now we had Momi, Richie, Deandre, Graeme, and Patrick in the room. Graeme looked ready to step in and be politic, but it was my show. I answered, “It’s nothing bad. Olivia, how hard are you holding your neck down right now? You notice we’re all having problems like that?”

“What’s it got to do with-”

“What’s it got to do with me?,” Knobby said.

“This seems like it’s the building’s way of trying to get us caught. Somebody in particular has been turning into a dog and causing a scene around our neighbors. We have to stop it.”

“Oh no,” Olivia said, “They’re gonna kill you!”

I rolled my eyes and showed them both palms. “No sacrificial dagger here, kids. Come on.”

Knobby went back on his haunches in a truly dog-like fashion, cringing in fear. “Oh no!”

“We’re not even going to hurt you, seriously! I came up with this magic spell. We have to spank you with those wands and pour some gross magic sauce on you, but you’ll be fine! Not even a bruise.”

He clung to her thigh pathetically. Suddenly her head turned completely upside down, her neck escaping the collar of her unseasonably heavy jacket. She scrambled to sort herself out, push the neck back in. “Ugh!”

“We have to do it guys. I’ll let you use my shower to clean up after, OK? Just, please, cooperate?”

“I don’t wanna,” he whimpered.

Richie said, “When has she ever hurt us guys? If Courtney says you’re going to be OK, you’re going to be OK. Chill, bro.”

“If this works,” Graeme said, “We’re all going to do it, to cure our problems. My red hands, Olivia’s neck, Mike’s green skin...”

Olivia settled her head down, buttoned the jacket collar to hold her neck in again. “Mmm, I dunno...”

Knobby finally let go of her leg, tried to prop himself up to a standing position - still a deep crouch. “I guess if everyone is gonna do it, I don’t like having to creep around like this. You swear it won’t hurt?”

“It might hurt a tiny bit.” I pointed to the table with the wands. “We’re going to smack you with those sticks a few times, but just a few times, right? Then I’m going to pour this gross stuff on you - some reheated pig blood and a magic potion. Both have to be pretty hot, but they won’t be boiling, OK?”

“Oh God, that’s gross,” he muttered, but he wasn’t trying to get away anymore.

“I’m glad you’re helping out, because the ritual says we’re supposed to tie you up, and I don’t wanna hafta do that. We care about you guys.”

“Speak for your damn selfs,” Perry said, as Marcie brought him into the room.

“Be nice, Perry,” Marcie said.

“I don’t know you,” he groaned.

Patrick took him by the arm off to the far side of the circle.

I looked to Marcie. “Only missing Mike now.”

“He was so rambunctious, wanted to keep looking. I haven’t had a chance to let him know we found Knobby already, and he doesn’t have a cellphone.”

“We’ll do this without him if we have to, but I really want everybody to be here. One, just so everybody knows what we’re all doing - so nobody gets any wrong ideas or loses trust. And two, I feel like the spell is more likely to work if we’re all in attendance.”

Grime said, “I sit on my ass all day at work. I could use the workout. Anybody else feel rested enough to go bring Mike back?”

Deandre said, “My feet are tore up.”

Almost everybody had done a ton of walking around town, or at work, or upstairs and down.

Richie said, “I’m kinda beat, but it’s important. I’ll help out.”

“Alright,” said Grime. “If we do this logically, there’s no way he can get past us. I say we have one of us in each stairwell, right..?” He kept splaining as they went out the door.

I addressed the rest of the floories. “OK, you’re all guests here! It’s a while before midnight, so head on into my bedroom. I have a selection of comfy seats, I’ll bring in beverages - just watch out for the chalk. Thanks Patrick, just step over... OK, there you go.”

They all went in to relax. I had some bowls of chex mix for the occasion, the kind with bugles and cheez-its. Hopefully nobody had food allergies or was vegan. I came back with a box of wine, a sleeve of red disposable cups, and a big jug of cheap fruit punch.

“Alright, here’s the stuff. Anybody want anything else? I can slice some cheese, got some donuts but they might be a bit stale.”

A few people availed themselves of that hospitality, others started chatting, and a few minutes later I was able to settle in beside Leimomi. She smiled weakly at me, then we both did the same to Olivia and Knobby, who were sitting across from us. I realized too late that was probably in creepy unison, and had a dark chuckle. Knobby laughed nervously, Olivia did not.

“I’m really hoping this works, guys, and if it doesn’t, the worst that happened is we wasted our time and Knobby had to take a shower. OK?”

“I got ya, I got ya,” he said.

“It’ll be great to get out of these stupid head wraps. Momi and I are looking like fake Erykah Badus.”

“Who’s that?,” Olivia asked.

***