#thinking about how maybe it's not too late to fling herself into the shadow curse

[invinciblerodent]

oh you know you're fucked when you see a screenshot of a fictional man, and your first reaction is to fucking smile like you're looking at a picture of your long-lost sweetheart in a goddamn heart-shaped locket

[miraculous-trinity-leo]

Tᕼᗴ ᑕᕼᗩOTIᑕ ᗩᑎᘜᗴᒪ

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6)

Chapter 5: Don't Jinx It!

·•·—–·•†•·–—·•·

Chloé Bourgeois... A girl that can be described in many words

"She's absolutely ridiculous! I can't believe you have to do an art project with her of all people!" - Alix sprawled out on Marinette's balcony

"She can't be that bad, besides we might become friends." - Marinette sketching some designs

"Believe me, even I think she's a bit much... She's snobby, annoying, rude, immature, spoiled, she basically has the “I'm better than thow” attitude to a T."- Kagami sitting next to the flowerbed while reading a literature book

"See? Even Kagami agrees... Just don't talk to her, actually don't even move if you're in her sights. She's like a T-Rex, she can't see you if you don't move." - Alix

… … … … …

"Hello, I'm Marinette, it's nice to meet you." - Marinette reached out her hand as she smiled

*Que Alix facepalming herself while Kagami lets out a sigh*

"Whatever, I'm Chloé, but I'm sure you already knew that." - Chloé

They started their project and most interactions went the same way, Chloé would sit in a chair near the window and paint her nails while Marinette did all the work. The next day Marinette and Chloé were the only ones in the art room.

"Okay, let's get started." - Marinette skipping her way over to the art supplies

"You do that, I'll just sit over here." - Chloé walking to her chair

"... Say, is it fun painting your nails?" - Marinette looking over to Chloé

"Of course, what girl doesn't like nail art?" - Chloé

"Well, painting on a canvas is kind of like nail art, here try painting something." - Marinette handing Chloé a paint brush

"Please, I don't do art." - Chloé refusing the paint brush

"But you ‘Paint’ your nails." - Marinette

"It's different!" - Chloé

"Okay, how about this, if I can do a magic trick for you, will you try painting just a little bit?" - Marinette

"...Fine, impress me." - Chloé giving Marinette her full attention

Marinette pulled a seed she got earlier that day out of her pocket and showed it to Chloé

"A seed?" - Chloé giving an unimpressed look

"I'll turn it into a flower, as you can see I only have this seed, and there's nothing up my sleeves. When I turn back around this seed will be a flower, are you ready?" - Marinette still holding the seed for Chloé to see

"Just do it already." - Chloé

So, Marinette turned around putting her free hand over the seed, and imagined it growing. When Marinette turned back around, all Chloé saw was a fully bloomed Common Rockrose flower, leaving her stunned.

"How did you do that?!" - Chloé walking up to Marinette to get a better look at the flower

"Family secret." - Marinette with a small smirk - "So, you want to try painting now?"

"... Fine." - Chloé pouted her lips and sat down at an empty canvas while Marinette walked to the table beside it, and Marinette may or may not have seen a small smile on Chloé's face while she grabbed some more paint.

After about 30 minutes Alix and Kagami came in and found Chloé and Marinette flinging water paint at the canvas

"Ha!" - Marinette whiped her arm out, watching as the wet paint from the brush splattered onto the canvas

"Ha HA!" - Chloé doing the exact same motion, but with a little more flare

Kagami and Alix just stared in amazed silence... they had created a master piece... It was a magnificent painting showing a meadow with many flowers in an almost hazy dream kind of look,  it had a blue sky and a faint rainbow in the background behind some clouds on the horizon

"It's *sniff* Ridiculously beautiful..." - Chloé

"And you thought painting was boring." - Marinette teasing Chloé

"... Isley-Quinzel, look me in the face and say that again." - Chloé

"And you- ("Boop" - Chloé) -Hey!" - Marinette got booped on her nose by Chloé's paint covered finger

"I admit it was fun... to some extent. Now lets act like this never happened." - Chloé getting ready to leave

"How the hell did you get Chloé to paint?!" - Alix snapping out of her surprise, which caused Chloé to get startled and trip, knocking the paint onto Marinette and herself in the process

"Well... that was a colorful entrance." - Marinette now covered in blue, pink, green and red paint

"Utterly Ridiculous!" - Chloé now covered in yellow, dark green, and blue paint

"Ooops?" - Alix shrugging her shoulders

*facepalms* - Kagami

… … …

Marinette and Chloé had to walk around school covered in paint, definitely getting a few awkward stares from the other kids. About an hour later, each pair of students presented their shared work of art. When Marinette and Chloé went up, both holding their masterpiece while still covered in paint, stunned the other students.(Not because Chloé was 1. covered in paint, 2. actually carrying the painting, and 3. had a smile on her face) Needless to say they got an A+, and for the rest of the day Marinette, Chloé, Alix and Kagami hung out laughing and having fun. Not long after that the other kids started making bets on who Marinette would befriend next, and how long it would take for that someone to be an instant friend.

Chloé ended up spending a lot more time with the GPS and eventually...

The girls sat around in a circle within Marinette's room with all the lights off, only having a single lamp in the center of the room to add an ominous glow

"Are you ready to take the oath?" - Alix

"Yes, but why do we have to make it look like some utterly ridiculous ritual summoning?" - Chloe

"I agree with Chloé, I'm not allowed to summon the unnatural or paranormal." - Kagami

"Well, let's forget the paranormal stuff for now, ehem. Chloé Bourgeois, do you promise to always have our backs..." - Marinette

"Through the good and the bad..." - Alix

"To say the truth and nothing but the truth." - Kagami

"Wrong oath Kagami." - Marinette whispering to Kagami

"...... To always stay on the path that is straight and true..." - Kagami

"To uphold the justice in this crazy world..." - Alix

"And to guide those who have abandoned the light... Are you ready to join the GPS?" - Marinette

"Yes." - Chloé

"Girls, time to eat- ... Marinette, please tell me you aren't summoning the unnatural like Harley did that one time." - Selina just opening the door and seeing basically a ritual gathering

"In mom's defense, she was trying to get rid of the spooky spirit." - Marinette

"That was from a story Ed made up that one time, you wouldn't stop seeing the shadows ‘moving’, and then Harley thought she saw them move, and she ended up doing a ritual to get rid of it, but we ended up with the cursed toaster ghost. And now all bread we toast is burnt back home." - Selina

"... But burnt toast is the best!" - Marinette

"Ivy told you that it would make you grow quicker, which then tricked you into liking burnt toast, which isn't tasty at all." - Selina

"*dramatic gasp* You Take That Back!" - Marinette

"Nope, now come down in 3 so we can eat." - Selina closed the door and walked away

"You girls agree with me right?" - Marinette turning to her friends

"... Marinette, how can you think burnt toast is good?!" - Alix

"It's... burnt." - Kagami

"Ehhh, it's okay." - Chloé

"Thank You!" - Marinette hugging Chloé

"... un-second thought, I retract my ‘yes’ to that oath." - Chloé

"Too late." - Kagami

"You're stuck with us..." - Alix then leaned over and whispered in Chloé's ear - "Foreverrrrr."

……… ……… ………

After they had their food they went back up to Marinette's (ritual free) room and started playing Ultimate Mecha Strike 2.

After a few rounds of Marinette dominating Ultimate Mecha Slaughter Strike 2, they moved on to watching some Jurassic Park

"So... your mom cursed your toaster?" - Chloé

"... maybe." - Marinette

"Honestly though, who in their right mind likes burnt toast?" - Alix

"Apparently Marinette." - Kagami

"It's kinda like thin burnt rice crispy treats, just minus the sugar." - Marinette

"*dramatic gasp* You Take That Back Right Now." - Alix

"You don't even know what rice crispy treats are, do you." - Marinette now looking away from the TV and directly at Alix

"Not a clue." - Alix

"It's an American treat, it's actually really good, not to sweet, and not to crunchy." - Chloé

"This is why you are part of the GPS." - Marinette hugging Chloé - "You understand most red blooded American treats, and for that I give you my thanks." - Marinette now starting to tear up

"What are we, chop liver?" - Kagami pointing to Alix and herself

"Well unlike you two, I have seen the other side... I swear, they're all hillbillies, and they live in the worst weather ever! Sunshine state my ass, more like out door saunas 24/7." - Chloé ended up mumbling her last few words

"... That's Florida, and it's not that bad, it never gets hotter than 115°F, and that's during summer." - Marinette

"... No wonder you like burnt toast... your brains were burnt with it." - Alix

"I didn't live in Florida, I lived in New Jersey, and the weather is better there." - Marinette

"That's what she said." - Kagami stuffing her face with popcorn

……… ……… ………

Over the course of the next few months Marinette taught the GPS all she knew about parkour and self-defense, at first they wondered why she knew so many different techniques of self-defense, until she explained where she grew up had a few unpleasant people. They still think she's meta.

When Winter rolled around she was to head back to Gotham for the next month and a half. She was packed and ready when the GPS burst into her room.

"Don't leave! I need an Ice skating buddie!" - Alix clinging to Marinette

"You have Chloé and Kagami, besides, I'm pretty sure Kagami is better on the ice than I am." - Marinette accepting the fact she won't be getting Alix off her anytime soon

"It's Not The Same!" - Alix becoming a human koala on Marinette's back

"She's going to see her family, show some restraint!" - Chloé detaching Alix from Marinette

"No!" - Alix getting out of Chloé's grip and reattaching herself to Marinette

"There's a new attraction with a big ramp jump for the ice skating rink." - Kagami on her phone

"Really?! Let me see!" - Alix detaching herself to look at Kagami's phone, only to see the normal boring ice skating rink - "You tricked me." - Alix gave Kagami the stink eye

"It got you off of Marinette at least." - Kagami putting her phone away

"I'm gonna miss you girls." - Marinette gave them a big hug

"You better not do anything stupid while you're back home." - Chloé

"I would never." - Marinette thinking of the time she ran from the Bat-Birds

"What city in New Jersey do you live in again?" - Alix

"That's-" - Marinette

"Kitten you all set for Gotham?" - Selina opened the door and saw Marinette in a big hug with the girls - "Oh, you girls are here, hope you said your goodbyes because we're leaving in 10 minutes." - She then closed the door to make sure everything was ready downstairs

"... ... ..." - Chloé/Alix/Kagami - "You live where?"

"Gotham...?" - Marinette slowly backing up to grab her luggage and make her way to the door

"Oh hell No!" - Kagami standing between Marinette and the door

"You're staying!" - Alix clinging to Marinette again

"Gotham's a death trap!!!" - Chloé joining Alix and clinging to Marinette

... ... ...

After some convincing the girls let Marinette go, and she was now on the plane that would take her back home.

"... They really think Gotham's a death trap?" - Selina relaxing in the first class seats she got them.

"It's not that bad is it? I had asked them what they thought could even go wrong." - Marinette

"... Well literally everything can go wrong in Gotham... It's not to late to get off actually." - Selina getting up

"Not you too!" - Marinette grabbing her Aunt's hand

"I'm joking Kitten... you are wearing the bullet proof vest under that coat right?" - Selina

"Of course." - Marinette

"Then we should be fine..." - Selina now sitting back down and looking 10 times more nervous than before

"..." - Marinette put her hands together and mumbled under her breath - "Please don't jinx it. Please don't jinx it. Please don't jinx it. Pleeeeease don't jinx it."

……………… They had an hour delay, had to switch flights and couldn't eat anything because it looked like it would give them food poisoning, and they didn't get a wink of sleep......... but they made it to Gotham in one piece... at 2 in the morning.

"You jinxed it." - Marinette dragging her luggage sleepily

"It can't get any worse now-" - Selina

"No!-" - As Marinette tried to stop her Aunt from finishing her sentence, a truck past by the curb and sent a blanket of powdered snow flying into them - "-say it..."

"...Okay, now it-" - Selina was cut off by Marinette stuffing her mouth with the last secret cookie she had

"Don't anger the jinx gods, please." - Marinette pleading to her Aunt

After Selina finished the secret cookie she called Ivy to pick them up. They waited about 15 minutes before Ivy, along with a sleeping Harley in the back seat, picked them up. As they got in the car Harley jolted awake

"Are we dere yet?" - Harley rubbing her eyes

"Yes, and in our snow covered glory we entered the car." - Marinette giving her mom a hug

"I missed yuh so much, it just hasn't been de same wit'outcha cupcake." - Harley returning the hug

"And what about me, did you miss me?" - Selina getting comfortable in the passenger seat

"Ehhh." - Harley tilted here hand from side to side as she continued to side hug Marinette

"... Have I ever told you how great you are at warm welcomes?" - Selina giving Harley the stink eye

"She didn't mean it, you know she has no filter at this hour." - Ivy pulling up to the stoplight

"In other words her honest opinion of me being back is ‘ehhh’, I'm glad she thinks so highly of me." - Selina resting her head on the window

The ride to their base was peaceful, they arrived and went to their rooms after Marinette gave her moms and aunt a goodnight hug. As Marinette went to sleep in her bed, Bud and Lou jumped onto the bed and curled up next to her, as she stroked their fur, she couldn't help but feel excited to spend time with her family and friends. She soon fell asleep in the calm silence of her room, the last thought she had before drifting off, was that she was happy to be back home.

·•·—–·•★•·–—·•·

Chapter 5 complete, hope you're all having a magnificent day, rockin' all the positive vibes and staying safe !BUG-OUT! 🐞💮🐞

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[barricadebops]

Miserables Month Day 3: "Language"

Written for the Miserables Month @themiserablesmonth

Her Marius Pontmercy could easily be labeled sometimes as being somewhat an odd fellow.

Do not misunderstand her; for all his oddities, Cosette was still very much in love with him, but it could be quite confusing trying to parce through his rapid speeches and lines, many times only just being able to catch phrases such as "I love you" as Marius Pontmercy rushed on an on about his speech.

At the present, however, she believed her Marius was being unbearably rude. The last night they had seen each other in the garden, he had been coughing a great deal, which certainly would not do. How dare he worry her like so?

That annoyance at his rudeness, however, turned to fear as she awaited his presence in the garden, her Papa and Toussaint having already fallen deep into their sleep on account of the late hours of the night.

Why hadn't he shown up yet? She huffed and adjusted her bonnet, annoyance quickly growing once more. How very inconsiderate to keep her waiting like this! She would be having words with him later on, remind him of how important it was to be on time to receive a lady.

A snap of a twig outside the garden gates caught her attention, and already having recognized the familiar weight of the footsteps, she rushed forwards towards the great gates, and whispered out, "Monsieur, is that you?" When no response came, she crossed her arms and raised her voice just the slightest bit, "Look, monsieur, I am already cross with you, do not aggravate me any further. Honestly, is this any to treat a lady? Making her wait so long?" She turned around and refused to look at him; when no answer came, she turned back, confused. In the gleaming moonlight she could make out the lovely coiffed curls so prominent on Marius, but when she moved forward, the rest of the figure enshrouded by the night's dark jolted, slipping something between the grilled gates, and rushing away.

Curse her foolish lover and the late hour in which they meet. She could not even call out for him, lest she wake her Papa and Toussaint. Instead, she had to huff and watch as Marius Pontmercy hurried away, having avoided her on this night.

Just as she was about to head back into the manor, already planning out exactly what she would be writing in her notebook, the clouds around the moon shifted and spilled a sliver of light over what Cosette could now see was a folded slip of paper. A note.

She remembered, now, her Marius' penchant for sending notes and love letters, and as she unfolded the paper and caught sight of the scrawled lines, she could see that it was indeed the latter:

My dearest Cosette,

Oh that it is my woe that I should be separated from you on this night! I never wish to be parted from you, and yet it seems destiny seems to have other plans for my fate.

As has been the source of your consternation over these last few days, I have taken ill. The cough I had been so hoping would fade to nothing has unfortunately only grown harsher and worse. My friend, Courfeyrac—you don't know him—has taken notice to this, and has expressly forbid that I should journey outside our flat.

He is aware I have been seeing you, and yet he was still unrelenting in nt allowing me come meet when we usually do. He doesn't quite understand the workings of the heart—the most he's had have been quick flings. I beg you do not think of him poorly, however. At heart he is truly a good man.

The only way I was able to sneak out and give you this letter you now hold in your hands was when Courfeyrac had not yet returned from his meeting at the Musain—you won't know of those either. You know, he almost didn't go, was quite willing to stay by my side, but I forced him to go. He musn't miss out on his politics because of me.

My heart aches to be with you, my dearest. It is as they say—love is the best kind of medicine. I beg you hold me in your heart so that your Marius may return to you sooner than what may be too late.

Your beloved,

Marius Pontmercy

Sick? Oh how fretful! So she was justified, then, in her worry about that cough! If only she could have brough him into the manor, she would have had him in bed, at his side, ready should he need anything, and gently scolding his sleeping form for causing her such worry.

She made to fold up the letter and trudge gloomily back to her room, when a few more lines after the signature at the bottom appeared:

Je t'aime.

I love you.

Ich liebe dich

Je t'aime was all fine, and warmed her heart as she still stood, remaining in the garden. But these last two lines confused her—what on earth was this gibberish? Why did Marius believe she would know what it meant?

She hummed to herself as she stole back into the manor quietly so as not to wake Toussaint.

Perhaps her Marius had written it in a state of delirium. It was quite possible. Still, she kept the note safe on her little table.

_________________________________________

The next night was much the same. Cosette waited once more in the garden, a mix of anticipation and worry ebbing within her. If he did not return today, she thought she might faint of devastation—it was quite improper to worry a lady like this!

Again, as she spotted what she thought was Marius' curls, she hurried towards the gates, disappointed as that familiar figure rushed away once more.

She unfolded the note he had dropped with fear.

My dearest Cosette,

It seems as if this illness is a stubborn one. Courfeyrac, the friend I mentioned in my previous letter, brought over one of his friends today; he's training to become a doctor. He declared that it was nothing too serious and that I should be fine, however he was a little concerned with the way I had gone pale and started trembling. I purposefully neglected to inform him the reason for such a thing occurring was likely due more to his visit. I have not had many joyful memories of him from the first time we met.

I shall hope and pray sincerely that we meet tomorrow. I am sure God will grant me this one request. He does have much to make up for to me, anyways.

I beg you continue to think of me as I know you were doing yesterday. I could hear your whispers in the wind, calling for my name.

Your beloved,

Marius Pontmercy

And again, those three lines at the bottom, the last two still remaining a sequence of gibberish:

Je t'aime

I love you

Ich liebe dich

Her heart sunk. Her love was still ill, and so she would have to worry even more. She knew she shouldn't be concerned over whether her Marius was being well taken care of in his sick bed—the way he had spoken of this Courfeyrac made it seek as if he truly was in good hands—but she simply could not help it. She worried for her Marius. Oh curse this rainy season!

_________________________________________

That next night, Marius finally appeared back in her full sight.

The moon cast a glow over his face. His curls seemed a bit greasier, his face perhaps paler, and there were shadows that were rimmed beneath his eyes; all in all, however, Cosette still saw the handsome man who had caught her attention at the Luxembourg Gardens.

"Oh monsieur!" she cried, though in a quiet whisper as best as she could. She ran up to him, stopping short of embracing him and instead cupping her hands to his cheks. "How pale you've turned!" She drew back to glare at him. "It was very rude, you know, to have caught an illness like so; have you any idea the worry you caused me?"

It seemed as if Marius Pontmercy who was in the seventh heaven, could not muster words, only call out "Cosette!" in joy.

She crossed her arms and sat back down on her bench. "No, monsieur, I will not be having this at all! First with your illness worrying me and then your gibberish letters confusing me.".

At this, Marius Pontmercychimself turned confused. "Gibberish?" he repeated. "But I thought they were rather clear?"

Cosette waved a hand in dismissal. "Yes, yes, it was all fine and good, but then you wrote these three lines underneath, and I only know what the first one means." She drew out both the letters she had made sure to bring this time around. "See!"

She pointed to where he had written these lines, I love you and Ich liebe dich. "This is gibberish."

Marius Pontmercy glanced at the paper before softly chuckling. Cosette frowned.

"You only continue your rudeness," she said, annoyed. "I call out this serious problem, and you laugh."

When her Marius finally stops laughing and catches his breath, he further softens his eyes and said, "Cosette, I was telling you I love you."

Cosette raised an eyebrow. Yes, I know what that sounds like, but neither of them match je t'aime.

Marius knelt in front of her and took her hands in his own. A bold move. "That might be because they're in two different languages."

She furrowed her eyebrows. "Different languages?"

"Yes—you remember me telling you I'm a translator? I know English and German, those are the languages on the letters."

Cosette huffed once more and shifted her eyes to just to the right and far off from where Marius Pontmercy would sit. "Well how was I supposed to know this? And why write 'I love you' in three different languages when one is enough?"

Marius Pontmercy rubbed his thumbs on the soft skin of her palm. He tugged gently to bring her attention back to him. "It's because," he whispered softly, "I wanted you to know that in whatever language—French, English, or German—nothing will ever change this constant: that I love you."

Well, alright. Okay. So maybe Marius Pontmercy's thought of gibberish then wasn't so bad.

She smiled to herself. She would be keeping these letters safe. Especially as her Marius said, "In case it wasn't clear enough, however, let me express this in a language you understand," and he lifted the tip of her foot encased within its shoe and pressed his lips gently to it.

[kirkwallgremlin]

30. Kiss under a full moon - for Esther/Isabela, please <3

Thank you for the prompt <3 <3

It was late, the night getting dangerously close to morning as Esther and Isabela stumbled through the streets of Kirkwall. The full moon still shone bright above them, highlighting the empty streets, casting shadows even in the dead of night. The noises they made echoed off the walls, their small sounds seeming loud in the silence.

“Who built all these bloody stairs in this cursed city?” Esther grumbled as they reached the bottom of another staircase. “Think how many I’m going to have to climb just to get home.”

“Come back to my room,” Isabela said with a hiccup, stumbling off the last stair as they officially reached the Kirkwall Docks. “It’s closer. Less stairs. And I’ll keep you warm.”

“I knew it,” Esther giggled. “You didn’t really want to see the docks, you just wanted to make it too hard for me to make it home so I’d have no choice but to fall back into your arms.”

It wouldn’t be the first time she’d spent the night with Isabela, in a platonic sense or otherwise, but it definitely wasn’t something either of them had planned for tonight. Or at least, Esther hadn’t.

“If you fall on me,” Isabela said, “I’m leaving you on the ground. And I’m not the one who challenged half the tavern to a drinking contest. Your condition is entirely your fault.”

“You dared me to do it.”

“You did it,” Isabela pointed out, flopping herself down onto the steps nearest the water. Esther couldn’t argue with that logic and with the drinks from said contest still fogging her brain, she wasn’t sure she’d do a very good job arguing anyway. So instead she joined Isabela on the steps, watching the light from the moon dance over the rolling sea before them.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” Isabela sighed, gazing out at the water. “Look at the craftsmanship on that one. Although I’m not sure who decided that figurehead was a good idea.”

Esther’s eyes followed where she pointed, trying to work out which of the ships Isabela was specifically talking about.

“They just all look like ships to me,” she said. “Wooden, sails… floating on the water with their big… mast-y things up in the air.”

“Well, I guess only one of us has to have taste,” Isabela said with a sigh, shaking her head. “If it has to be me, then so be it.”

“I have plenty of taste,” Esther objected, hoping Isabela wouldn’t bring up the fact that she’d deliberately consumed the absolute worst ale Corff could find in the Hanged Man not even hours earlier.

“There’s nothing like the feel of a beautiful boat under your hands,” Isabela said dreamily, leaning against Esther. “The waves moving underneath you, wind in your hair, the ocean as far as the eye can see.”

She sighed.

“The only time I’ve ever been on the ocean, Carver nearly threw up on me,” Esther said, knowing her experiences on the sea had been quite different to those of her pirate friend. Given the timing and circumstances of that trip, it wasn’t exactly something she enjoyed remembering.

She chose not to mention that she had also thrown up on that journey across the Waking Sea.

“Look at the moon on the water,” Isabela said, her arm flung around Esther’s shoulder as she leaned against her shoulder. “Imagine that, the full moon above you, shining on the water with nothing between you and the horizon in all directions, no matter where you look. Nothing like it in the world.”

“It is beautiful,” Esther admitted, trying to keep a yawn away. Her eyes were starting to feel heavy as she watched the reflected moonlight shift with the water in front of them.

“One day I’ll get a ship again,” Isabela said softly. “I might finally make it out of here. I can take you with me, to see the ocean properly.”

“I’d like that,” Esther said, turning her head towards her friend. “It’s still beautiful here though. Even in Kirkwall with the walls around us.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Isabela said wistfully.

“It’s not the only beautiful thing though,” Esther added and Isabela laughed.

“Flirt,” she said, but she didn’t have a chance to say anything else before Esther’s lips were against hers, her hand rising to cup Isabela’s cheek.

The kiss was slow, sleepy, Esther taking in the feel of Isabela against her, the faint smell of ale and the subtle perfume the pirate always wore, the gentle sound of waves lapping against the stone walls in the background.

It definitely wasn’t the first time they’d kissed, not by a long shot. Over the years there had been those handful of nights spent together, casual flings they both knew were never intended to go anywhere further. But as they sat there together, under the light of the moon, Esther couldn’t help but think that maybe she wouldn’t mind if this did go further.

It was too late for such thoughts though and she was too tired, too drunk to deal with that now. She pushed them aside as she pulled away, resting her head on Isabela’s shoulder instead.

“Is that offer of your bed still there?” Esther yawned, her eyes doing their best to flutter closed. “M’too sleepy to climb all the way home.”

“Absolutely,” Isabela said, slipping her shoulder out from under Esther’s cheek as she stood. “Let’s go, Hawke, I don’t think Aveline will be impressed if her guards find you asleep on the street again.”

“Don’t make it sound so tempting,” Esther laughed, taking the hand Isabela offered to help her to her feet.

As they started the climb back to Lowtown together, Esther held onto that hand slightly longer than was probably necessary.

[refinedbuffoonery]

Flawless (5)

masterlist.

Content Warning: swearing, violence, sex, PTSD, background drug use

*****

Riley waited a full week before talking to Nikki again. Probably not her best move, but Nikki didn’t need to be such a baby either. 

Hey we need to book flights, Riley typed. 

The three dots appeared and disappeared several times before Nikki sent back, Come over. Let’s do it together. 

Ok.

An hour later, Riley hesitated before knocking on Nikki’s apartment door. She didn’t know why. She hadn’t done anything wrong. And yet here she was, standing outside like a timid guest instead of letting herself in like she always did. 

Deep breath. “This is ridiculous,” Riley muttered to herself. Her knuckles collided with the wood in three sharp knocks. 

Muffled footsteps approached the door, and then Riley was met with Nikki’s soft smile. “Hey,” the blonde said. 

“Hey.” Crossing the threshold, Riley didn’t know what to do with her hands. She tried to put them in her front pockets before realizing her jeans didn’t have pockets. Nikki would take crossed arms the wrong way, so Riley clasped her hands in front of her. That felt wrong too. She settled on clasping her hands behind her back, slightly widening her stance like a soldier. 

She’d learned that from an Army guy her mom dated once. 

Nikki grabbed her laptop and set it on the kitchen counter. Looking at the screen, she said, “I started looking at flights before you got here. They’re all pretty expensive because it’s Fashion Week, but I think I’ve found some good options.” 

Riley kept her distance, but she said, “Whatever you think is best.” 

Nikki’s eyes slid to her, disbelieving. “Are you sure?”

Riley tensed. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“You always have opinions on flights. Always.” That was true. When it came to running a job, Riley never let someone make a decision without her input. 

But her apology had to start somewhere. If Desi, of all people, thought she needed to apologize, then she couldn’t just sweep this under the rug. And giving Nikki back some control after refusing to do so before seemed like a good place to start. 

“You can pick. I trust you.” Riley shoved down the burning need to look over Nikki’s shoulder as her gut churned, unsteady and anxious without having complete control. She quickly wiped the grimace off her face, but it was too late. Nikki saw it. 

“Riles, are you okay? You look like you’re going to puke.” Nikki studied her with a concerned frown. 

Riley squeaked, “Yep. I’m good.” 

Her friend wasn’t convinced. “You hate this, don’t you?” 

“Just book the fucking flights, Nik.” She fought not to squirm the entire time Nikki worked, only relaxing after the deed was done and Nikki closed her laptop with a soft click. 

“Need anything else?” Riley didn’t miss the clear dismissal in Nikki’s tone. 

“Uh, yeah.” Riley awkwardly rubbed the back of her neck, just to give her hands something to do. “Jill told me about that jewelry designer who rented out the Louvre,” she said. “That wasn’t just a casual conversation you two had, was it?” 

Nikki glanced down. “No, it wasn’t. But you already knew that.” 

“Why not just tell me yourself?” 

“Because you wouldn’t have listened to me!” Nikki tried and failed to speak calmly, her normally calm exterior crumbling with each word. “When I questioned you in the kitchen, you pulled rank and basically told me to shut up. If I had suggested an alternative target, you would’ve blown up in my face right in front of everyone!” A pause. “You’ve changed. The Riley I know doesn’t do things like that.” 

Her words stung, but Riley kept her expression neutral, the way she’d learned to do in prison. “Desi thinks I still hold a grudge against you.” 

“Do you?” Nikki asked softly. So, so softly, almost like she was afraid of the answer. 

Nikki’s change in tone and the apprehension lining her eyes was enough to make Riley lower her guard. Not all the way, but just enough to say, “I don’t know. Maybe.” Nikki swallowed. “It’s complicated,” Riley backtracked, desperately trying not to make things worse than they already were. 

“So how do we fix this?” Nikki asked. “Fix us.” 

Talk to her, Jill had said. 

“Talk about it, I guess. Not all today,” Riley quickly added, “but over time.” 

“Okay.” Nikki chewed her bottom lip, and Riley waited, knowing her best friend had something more to say. Nikki’s voice was thick when she finally said, “It’s okay that you’ve changed. Of course you have. It’s not fair of me to hold that against you. And I’m sorry that it’s my fault you had to change to survive in there.” 

Neither of them could say the word aloud. Prison. Riley could barely imagine a future where she could easily say it. 

“Do you really blame yourself?” 

“It’s hard not to.” 

“That’s why you visited me so much, isn’t it? Because you felt guilty.” 

Nikki looked down. “It should’ve been me in there, not you.” 

“Bullshit. I made a choice, and I’d do it again if I had to.” Riley wasn’t entirely sure the last part was true, but it seemed like the right thing to say. Clearly it was, because Nikki met her gaze, eyes brimmed with tears and a sad smile just barely curving her lips. 

“Thank you, Riley.” 

The moment hung heavy in the air between them. Riley felt it then, the gravity pulling her toward Nikki—the same force that drew them together outside that art gallery all those years ago, like the universe was telling her they needed each other. Riley spent much of the last two years cursing the universe, but this...this was the one thing the universe did right. 

Riley closed the distance between them in two long steps, flinging her arms around Nikki and holding her best friend tight, letting the hug convey the last thing she needed to say. 

I’m sorry. 

Nikki clutched her just as tightly, like she was afraid Riley would disappear again if she didn’t hold on tight enough. 

Breaking the silence, Riley asked, “Do you want to go shopping with me?” 

“Like Target and the grocery store shopping? Or maxing-out our credit cards on Rodeo Drive shopping?” Riley snorted. This was normal. Like it was before. 

“I, uhh, tried on all my party clothes the other day, and none of them fit anymore.” Riley tucked her face into Nikki’s neck, not wanting to see the pitying look on her friend’s face. She expected another comment, or for Nikki’s hand to feel her ribs, but neither happened. Instead, Nikki simply pressed a kiss to her temple and continued to hold her, with no sign of letting go any time soon. 

Almost as if she were an anchor, refusing to let Riley get swept out to sea. 

*****

Riley studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The metallic red mini dress she’d bought earlier clung to her curves like she’d been wrapped in plastic. She’d expected pity as she pulled it off the rack, but Nikki had been nothing but reassuring. Even after Riley had sent her from the dressing room again and again to grab a smaller size. 

She’d left with a pile of clothes small enough to fit a wraith-like body like Cage’s. 

Now the team was at an exclusive party at a mansion in the Hills—courtesy of Cage’s endless social connections—for a little fun. And by fun that meant stealing stuff from a notoriously overbearing, sexist, and overall obnoxious director. He had it coming, to say the least. 

Desi had to work— “Drunk assholes won’t bounce themselves out of the club,” she’d snarked—but Jill agreed to tag along. That way she could get her feet wet in a real heist and show the rest of the team what she could do. 

The four of them—Riley, Nikki, Cage, and Jill—huddled off to the side of the spacious living room as Cage explained the plan. “Get a load of this,” she said, a feral grin lighting her face. It was one of the things Riley admired most about Cage, her passion for the job. “Six months ago, this guy paid millions at auction for a miniature painting. But because of the crowd that attends his parties, he hides it in his personal safe in his office so nothing happens to it.” 

Considering the utter debauchery all around her, Riley didn’t blame him. Every guest had either a drink or pills in hand, often both, and she vaguely recognized the actor snorting cocaine off the kitchen counter. In the darker, more private nooks of the mansion, people slunk to the shadows to devour each other in semi-private. Riley made a point not to look too long in those directions. 

Jill clearly hadn’t yet learned to do the same. She asked, wide-eyed, “Whose house is this?”

Nikki gripped her chin and turned Jill’s attention back to the group. “It’s better that you don’t know.” 

Frowning, Jill questioned, “Why?” Always so many questions with her. 

“Because you’ll chicken out.” 

“I will not!” she shrieked. Nikki just smirked. “Okay,” Jill amended in a much quieter tone, “maybe a little.” 

“Anyway,” Cage redirected. “I’ll go into the office first and make sure it’s empty.” And remove anyone who is there, she didn’t have to say. “Riley and Nikki will hack the safe—” they both nodded— “and Jill will make sure you two don’t leave any evidence behind.” 

Riley itched to get her hands on that safe. Stealing that random man’s wallet a week ago had only made her more hungry to get back out there, doing what she did best. She eyed her team. “Don’t get caught.” 

“Don’t get caught,” Nikki and Cage parroted, just like old times, and then Cage melted into the crowd, making her way to the office. 

The remaining trio followed at a much slower pace, pretending to admire the eclectic collection of artwork hanging from the walls. Riley’s cursory glance snagged on a cartoonish painting of a pug driving a Porsche on some tropical highway. The director had bizarre taste. Knowing Nikki was doing the same, Riley kept the office door in her peripheral vision, waiting for Cage to reemerge. 

Meanwhile, Riley pulled her phone from her clutch. To any onlookers, she was merely responding to a text message, but in reality she was hacking into the director’s home security system. It was easy enough, since the whole thing was connected to his WIFI, and the director was dumb enough to leave his network accessible without a password. 

Although, it wasn’t like bypassing a WIFI password would’ve slowed Riley Davis down. 

Riley didn’t understand this guy. He hosted drug-fueled ragers in his mansion, yet also cared enough about security to have interior cameras. Why would he want proof of what happens within these walls? 

Unless…

Gagging, Riley refused to finish that thought.

Cage emerged a few minutes later with a wasted middle-aged woman in tow. She met Riley’s gaze just long enough for two slow blinks. Coast is clear. 

Riley looped the office camera feed so it only showed the empty office, giving them plausible deniability of ever going inside. “Let’s go,” Riley murmured. She slipped into the now-empty office, trusting Nikki and Jill to follow. 

The director’s office, like the rest of the mansion, was ultra-modern, all sharp angles and sleek, black and white furniture. A distorted statue of a giraffe was the only exception, standing beside the door like a sentry. It’s glassy black eyes made it seem like it was watching them. Freezing, Riley checked the angle of the camera she’d looped. It matched the giraffe’s eye-level perfectly. 

Sneaky bastard. The camera was in the giraffe’s eye. Clever, but creepy. 

Embedded in the far wall, behind the director’s messy desk, the safe was relatively new and very high-tech. And while the fancier ones were always harder to crack, user-friendliness came at the cost of security. In the case of this particular safe, the battery compartment for the keypad was part of the keypad itself, so the batteries could be changed easily. But that also meant that by taking out the batteries, someone like Riley would then have direct access to the wires inside the keypad, and thus, an easily hackable way in. 

Nikki slid on a pair of cotton gloves before taking out the batteries and wiring the keypad to Riley’s phone. Riley reached back to brush her curls out of her face, but Jill stopped her with a firm hand on her forearm. 

“Don’t touch your hair. You don’t want any loose strands to fall on the floor.” Riley raised her brows but did as she was told. “You should’ve worn your hair up.” Jill gestured to her own meticulously pinned bun. No stray hairs would be escaping that thing. 

“Good to know.” Riley turned her attention back to cracking the safe. 

It took just under a minute. 

“Losing your touch?” Nikki teased. “That took forever.” 

Riley rolled her eyes. “Shut up.” 

Once the safe was open, they didn’t waste time poking around. All they cared about was the painting, no matter what other valuable things the safe contained. The painting was even smaller than Riley had pictured. The canvas itself could’ve fit in the palm of her hand, and the frame made the whole thing about the size of a birthday card. 

Nikki shoved the painting down the back of her dress, the frame’s sharp angles hidden beneath her ridiculous fringed suede jacket. Considering how well it hid the painting, maybe Riley shouldn’t have made fun of it. But only maybe. It was still ugly. 

Riley and Nikki locked the safe, and the trio slipped out of the office undetected. 

In short, the heist was flawless. 

Nikki immediately peeled off, joining Cage in flitting around the room and saying hi to all sorts of people. Nikki seemed to actually know several of the guests, although not nearly as many as Cage did. Cage was acquainted with everyone worth knowing in LA, plus quite a few who weren’t. 

Riley much preferred to be a fly on the wall, watching but not interacting. 

Jill stayed back with her, mouth agape at all the blatant drug use. “I’ve lived in LA for a long time, so I know that happens here,” she said, “but, like, it’s different actually seeing it, you know?” 

A young couple knocked back a handful of pills with shots of something clear, and Riley grimaced. “You can join in if you want, although I don’t recommend it.” 

“Absolutely not!” Jill squeaked. 

“Good choice.” 

Nikki made her way back to them, slinging her arms around Riley and Jill’s shoulders. “Ready to go?” 

Riley had been ready to go the moment they’d locked the safe. If Jill’s overwhelmed expression was any indicator, she was ready too. 

All that was left to do was collect Cage. 

The blonde stood across the room, batting her eyelashes at an attractive, dark-haired man. Her airy giggle floated above the pulsing music at something the man said. Jill coughed. “Umm…”

Riley quickly put her out of her misery. “It’s fine. Cage flirts with everyone. It doesn’t mean anything.” 

“She’s just like that,” Nikki added. “Stick with us long enough, and she’ll flirt with you too.” 

“Doesn’t that upset Desi?” Riley and Nikki exchanged a knowing look. “Wait, what am I missing?” Jill hissed. 

“So many questions,” Riley teased, linking arms with both blondes. Nikki laughed, and together they dodged wasted partiers on their way to grab Cage and go home.

~ Tag List ~ (let me know if you’d like to be added!)

@macrileyedits​ / @hellishrose​ / @incorret-macgyver-quotes​ / @mylifequotesshowallofthem​ / @thecarrieonokay​

[lloydskywalkers]

it’s ironic that you should ask this now, because one) that’s the firST thing my mind went to during my rewatch so far, and two) i now have a whole bunch of lovely little oneshots like this guess which episode i watched recently

Nya should’ve listened to her gut the moment she started feeling something was wrong.

Kai calls her impulsive (which is rich, coming from him), but Nya’s instincts haven’t been wrong before. They weren’t when the Fire Nation came for them the first time, they weren’t when things went sour in the Earth Kingdom, and they weren’t when she found Lloyd frozen in the ice. While her method of action might not always the best, Nya’s instincts have rarely led her wrong.

She curses herself between gasps for breath for ignoring them this time, sprinting as fast as she can through the darkened forest. It looks so different in the dark than it had when she’d gone out with Harumi earlier. Bright and sunny as it’d been then, Harumi had been nothing more than a unassuming nonbender and a potential friend — perhaps more, for Lloyd, with how his cheeks had flushed every time she’d talked to him.

Now, with the trees silhouetted black and the echoes of Kai’s angered shouts through the forest, Nya can’t believe she ever let her get within five feet of them.

The long months of trekking from nation to nation serves her well, and Nya bursts from the thick trees full-force — only to immediately skid to a stop, the cursed red skirt she’s stuck in swishing around her legs as she sucks in a breath of horror.

Harumi stands in the middle of the clearing they were in earlier, but the scene is drastically different. The serene look Harumi once wore is gone as if it never existed, replaced by a twisted expression of malice. She got one hand raised in the air, sharp nails curved inwards as she holds Kai steady where he’s frozen across the clearing, by what Nya can only guess is the witchcraft the villagers had whispered about. Kai’s face is pale and furious, but he seems unharmed, if unable to move.

It’s Harumi’s other hand, the one that’s locked around Lloyd’s pale hair as she holds him in place, that has Nya rooted to the spot.

“Nya,” Lloyd gasps, his eyes wide and frightened. “Watch out, she’s—”

Harumi’s fingers clench around his hair, and Lloyd’s expressions spasms in pain as he twists unnaturally, his arms folding in on themselves. Hot anger sparks in Nya’s gut, and she snarls at Harumi.

“Let them go,” she says, her voice low.

Harumi tilts her head at her, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Her hand shifts around Lloyd’s hair, and he twitches again, shooting Nya a look of terror.

“No,” Harumi says, her voice silky. “I don’t think I will.”

Nya swallows. The look on Harumi’s face is deranged, makeup streaking down her cheeks like twin streams of blood, and Nya can’t believe she ever thought to trust her. She knows they’ve been getting careless lately, but this is the nail in the coffin. Lloyd’s already too trusting as it is, but they’d gotten so lucky with Jay, then Cole and Zane, that Kai and Nya had begun to let their guard down as well.

Right in the middle of the Fire Nation. Nya stomach twists. She, of all people, should know how unbelievably stupid they’ve been.

But there’s nothing for it now. Nya’s almost lost Lloyd to the Fire Nation twice, and she won’t let Harumi be the third.

“That wasn’t a request,” she says, louder this time. “Let them go."

Harumi eyes her, and her hands jerk. Kai’s expression contorts, as if straining against some incredible force, before his hand drifts toward his belt. He gives a sharp warning of “Nya!” before he abruptly sends one of his knives flying toward her head. Nya dodges easily — the throw is sloppy, without any of Kai’s usual accuracy or grace, but the force behind is enough to give her pause.

“I don’t know what kind of witchcraft you’re using, but I doubt it can match three benders at once,” she threatens. She’d tout the fact that Lloyd’s the Avatar, except not only is it something Nya’s supposed to be keeping secret, but it would probably fall flat with how Harumi’s got him easily pinned right now.

Nya hopes it’s just Lloyd being soft-hearted again, but that wouldn’t explain Kai staying so still as well.  

“Oh, it’s not witchcraft,” Harumi answers, rolling her eyes. “It’s a…unique, bending technique.”

Nya pauses, her eyebrows furrowing, but Lloyd’s the one that speaks up. “You said you weren’t a bender.” His voice is painfully small.

“Oh Lloyd,” Harumi laughs, rattling him again. “I lied, you stupid boy. Haven’t you figured it out? I’m just like you, Nya.”

Shiny droplets of water weave between her fingertips as she speaks, and Nya’s eyes widen.

“You’re a waterbender,” she breathes. Harumi nods, her teeth glinting as she smiles. Nya glances from her hands to Kai and Lloyd, watching the way their limbs twist, expressions tight with pain.

“Their blood,” Nya whispers, her mouth dry. “You’re — you’re bloodbending.”

“Oh, you are smart,” Harumi’s grin widens. “Much smarter than them.”

Lloyd grimaces as she shakes him, and Kai jerks against her hold, his eyes hot. “Leave him alone, you twisted—”

Harumi moves her hand and Kai’s entire body wrenches, flinging himself into the nearby tree with an ugly crack. Lloyd gives a panicked cry of concern, and Nya darts forward, fury giving her purpose.

“Don’t touch him!” she roars, her arms sweeping as she blasts her element at Harumi, just as Kai manages to launch an attack of his own in a bright burst of fire.

Neither hit lands. Panic lances through Nya as Harumi deflects her water effortlessly, sending it splashing into Kai’s burst of fire and extinguishing it. Harumi gives a shrieking laugh at their attempts, and Nya feels sweat bead up at the edges of her forehead. She desperately wishes the others were here — Cole or Jay would be able to handle this, even Zane could at least freeze the water effectively. But they’re deeper into the Fire Nation right now, scouting out the inner cities, and the only person to combat Harumi is Nya and her stupid raindrops.

Blinking back tears of frustration, Nya wishes, not for the first time, that she’d been born a firebender like Kai. Water is useless with her anger.

But if she used it like Harumi—

No, Nya scolds herself hotly. She’s no monster. She’s nothing like Harumi, and she’s not about to stoop to her level.

“Harumi,” Lloyd says, his voice pleading. “Harumi please, if you’d just explain why you’re doing this, then maybe—”

He cuts off in a cry as Harumi curls her fingers, and Lloyd’s arm twists unnaturally, bending like the limbs of a marionette. He whimpers as she stretches his right arm too far, dangling him like he’s caught in a deranged spider’s web, and Nya sees red.

“Stop, stop, let him go!” Her voice threatens to crack in anger, and water leeches from the grass around her, pouring between her fingers. “Do you even know who he is?”

“I know exactly who he is,” Harumi hisses, her eyes wild. “The Avatar. The one who was supposed to save my family.”

Lloyd stares up at her with wide eyes. “W…what?”

Harumi’s eyes finally leave Nya, and she glares at Lloyd in fury, her fingers practically tearing his hair out as she shakes him.

“Don’t play dumb, where were you?” she howls, as Lloyd flinches in pain. “Where were you when the Fire Nation destroyed my people? When they murdered my family? You were supposed to save them, where were you?!”

Lloyd goes as silent as he had when they’d brought him to the ruined Air Temple, his eyes glassy in that same kind of horror. Kai writhes against Harumi’s hold, and Nya’s stomach twists. It’s killing her to stay still, but with Lloyd in Harumi’s grasp and Kai still frozen near the tree, she can’t risk it.

“My family died because you weren’t there,” Harumi continues, the shadows catching on her manic expression and turning her visage monstrous in the moonlight. “Now it’s your turn, when I hand you over to the Fire Lord.”

Kai makes a noise of panic, and Nya finally wrenches herself from her stupor. “The Fire Nation killed your family,” she starts, trying to reason with her. “They killed ours too, and Lloyd’s! We’re trying to stop them. Why are you helping them?”

Harumi’s lip curls, her eyes snapping back to Nya. “Because water is weak,” she sneers. “Our tribe was stupid and arrogant to think we deserved the kind of respect fire does. With the power of the Fire Nation behind me, I can turn waterbending into something deadly. Something to be feared. Every last one of us will be bloodbenders, and with the Fire Nation, no one will ever attack us again!”

Kai stares at her, incredulous. “The Fire Nation was the one who attacked you in the first place!” he exclaims. “Are you ser—agh!”

Harumi’s wrist snaps downward, and Kai’s knees buckle, sending him plummeting to the ground with a pained cry. Nya’s heart jumps, her fingernails biting into her palms. She forces herself to calm instead, gritting her teeth. Harumi’s logic is twisted beyond belief. It’s clear there won’t be any reasoning with her.

“You’re not the only one in the world with a tragic past,” Nya snarls, and she can feel the humidity in the air itself vibrating with the intensity of her anger. “I don’t care about your reasoning. This is your last chance. Let them go, and you can walk away from this.”

Harumi’s teeth bare. “I had hopes for you, you know. You could be great. You could be powerful, like me. Instead you chain yourself to these two. How disappointing.”

She raises both hands, releasing Lloyd’s hair from her grasp as her fingers clench together. Kai and Lloyd both shout in pain as they’re dragged forward, and Kai’s suddenly pulling his sword from where its strapped to his back, his fingers shaking as they grasp the hilt.

Nya’s mouth goes bone dry. Harumi smiles. “I’ll make you a deal, waterbender,” she says. “If you can stop them, you can have your brother back. If you, can’t, though…”

Her hand twists again, and Kai’s eyes go wide in terror as he surges forward, forced into a dead sprint toward Lloyd.

“Then maybe I’ll just kill the Avatar myself,” Harumi finishes, her eyes dark.

“Kai!”

“Stop, Nya, stop me—!”

Nya’s running before she can think, barreling toward Harumi at full force. Kai is moving across the clearing faster than she can blink, his sword leveled at Lloyd’s unprotected head where he’s stuck frozen in place. Nya moves to attack Harumi with her element, but it’s immediately redirected just as before, splashing back into Nya’s own face.

“Stop it, stop it, Nya stop me now—”

Panic swelling to a crescendo in her head, Nya freezes. Harumi’s going to kill them both. She’s going to kill Nya’s family without a second’s thought, and Nya and her water will have done nothing. The tears of frustration welling up in her eyes begin to hiss, steaming up in her vision. Her hands shake with fury, white-knuckled and trembling, and the thin threads of Nya’s restraint snap.

She stretches her hand out toward Harumi, feels for her element, and reaches.

It’s almost laughably easy. Nya’s hold on her element is already razor-sharp in her anger, and the blood that thrums through Harumi’s veins is loud and pulsing. Nya feels the viscosity of it, the heavy traces of water flowing through it as easily as she does the icy streams of water at home, and for a second it’s terrifying — the sound of Harumi’s heartbeat pulsing through her ears, the watery flow of blood.

Then her rage burns hot, and Nya feels control.

Harumi screams as her arms wrench forward, and Kai and Lloyd drop with startled shouts, like puppets with their strings cut as Harumi looses her hold. Lloyd slumps to the ground below Harumi, and Kai rolls across the grass before coming to a stop, panting harshly as he flings his sword away.

Nya barely glances at them. Her eyes are locked on Harumi’s, savoring the growing terror she sees in them as she tightens her control, filtering through the very veins beneath Harumi’s skin.

“You said I’m weak?” Nya hisses, a dull roaring in her ears. “I’ll show you weak.”

Harumi strains against her hold, trying to make a last-ditch attack, but Nya has her in the palm of her hand now. She makes a choking noise before cutting off, collapsing to the dirt as Nya forces her to her knees.

Where she belongs.

A dizzying kind of elation sweeps through Nya’s veins as she realizes that she can make Harumi do whatever she wants her to. As she realizes the power she’s wielding. She can do this to anyone — anyone who raises a hand against her, or any of her family again — she can control them. The Fire Lord himself, in all his purpose to destroy Lloyd, she can tear him apart piece by piece before he even sets eyes on him.

Nya can turn anyone on earth against themselves. With her waterbending — with her bloodbending — she’ll be so powerful no one will ever challenge her again, no one will ever underestimate her again, no one will ever come close—

“Nya,” Kai whispers.

Her control shatters like glass. Nya drops to her knees, shaking uncontrollably as she gasps raggedly for air. Her vision swims, turning Harumi’s crumpled form on the grass into dozens of blurring figures, and terror shoots through Nya like lightning.

She’s a monster. She’s just like Harumi, she’s worse, she’s a monster. The thoughts that just ran through her mind — that taste of power—

Nya wants to throw up, and dissolves into tears instead.

Familiar warm arms wrap around her, pulling her close. After a moment, there’s a gentle touch as she feels Lloyd join in the embrace as well. His hold isn’t as firm as Kai — he’s trembling as badly as Nya is.

“Harumi?” Nya finally croaks, half-fearing the answer.

Kai makes an angry sound in the back of his throat, like an infuriated dragon.

“She’s alive,” Lloyd murmurs. “Just unconscious.”

Nya finally wipes at her eyes, glancing at him, and her heart sinks. Lloyd’s eyes, normally so bright and cheery, are dull and downcast. There’s heartbreak written all across his face, and Nya wants to throttle Harumi for wiping his smile away like that.

“I’m so sorry, Lloyd,” she whispers.

Lloyd shakes his head, wiping surreptitiously at his own eyes. “I guess you were right. You can’t make peace with everyone,” he says, his voice wavering.

“Harumi is not everyone,��� Kai says, firmly. He turns his eyes on Nya, and she shrinks under his gaze. “And she’s not you, either.”

Nya shakes her head. “Kai, you saw what I — Kai, I just—”

“You wiped the floor with her,” Kai cuts across. “That’s all that matters.”

“Kai—”

“Look, we’ll — can we figure it out in the morning?” Kai finally shudders, his composure faltering. “We can — we can work it out then, when everything’s not…not so…”

Nya stares at him, watching as he refuses to meet her gaze. His scarred hands are wrapped tightly around both her and Lloyd now, holding them close. She remembers the terror in his eyes as he’d launched the knife at her head, and the drowning horror as he’d charged at Lloyd.

“Alright,” she finally says, quietly. “Tomorrow."

[sophi-s]

Cost of Kindness

Chapter I: Chance encounter

By: sophi-s

Fandom: Darksiders video games

Words: 6,471

Characters: Original female character (OC), Raphael

Warnings: Graphic description of corpses, blood and injuries, disturbing imagery, swearing

Summary:

Life of a human after the apocalypse is difficult. The world seems to always be against them. Still, they keep on living. But one day something unexpected happens to one of the inhabitants of Haven. A woman named Nicola discovered something... or rather someone... who seemed to be in equally as sorry state as her entire race put together. Nothing was the same ever since. It's curious how one seemingly random event can change everything...

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Nicola got lost again. All the promises she made to both Ulthane and Jones have gone into trash when with a pang of worry she's suddenly realised she does not know where Haven is. It was supposed to be a short supply run, a little trip to some ruined store in search of food and maybe some medicine if luck wished to be on her side and it turned into a whole day long journey. She hadn't been careful enough and ended up getting spotted. She was too fast for that Trauma to get to her before she disappeared into a narrow alley but she successfully lost her orientation.

Navigating through the city used to be so easy before all this apocalypse nonsense. Nicola knew her way around better than anyone honestly. Now everything looked different. What once was her home now seemed sinister and the animosity could be felt in every, even the tiniest speck of dust. All streets, previously so familiar to her, looked exactly the same, often cut in half by obsidian spikes and pits of boiling magma which made moving around even more troubling. In short words, the entire place was a wreckage. With each moment of aimless wandering, her panic was growing. Inwardly cursing, thinking about all the reprimanding she would get after she somehow finds her way back and the fact that she's most likely going to get grounded forever, she tried to move through the street as quietly as possible, without causing any unnecessary noises. Becoming an evening snack for a pack of Goreclaws or a Trauma wasn't a very attractive fate. The latter could still be around here somewhere and the blood spilling from a cut on her forehead she got when she accidentally ran into a wooden beam protruding from a wall wasn't going to make it harder for it to eventually find her again.. It was very unlikely that the Trauma could've gotten stuck in that alley after it tried to get to her. They are dumb. But not that dumb. Though the mental image alone was quite hilarious now that she thinks about it.. To some extent imagining a Trauma helplessly shuffling to try and unstuck itself from a narrow pathway made her feel a tad better, even crack a little smile. Still, she had to think of something. She'd already lived through too much to just die at this point.

Evening? Clutching a shotgun in her shaking hands, Nicola looks out at the amber sky and her heart hastens when she realises that it really is getting late. The last rays of sun were slowly sinking behind the horizon, slowly turning the sky from warm orange to indigo as the tall buildings bathed the city in deep shadows stretching over the ground like dark omens. Just perfect. There was no other choice for her than to hide somewhere and wait until dawn and resume her search tomorrow, hoping someone will start looking for her. Going anywhere after the dusk was an equivalent of a  suicide. Demons and the Wicked tend to be especially active after the nightfall.. Nicola would rather not bump into one of the Suffering either, those things are especially nasty. Hulking, four-armed abominations melded with bodies of the dead, bringing back all those poor souls who weren't lucky enough to get away… she shudders at the thought and hastens her pace.

Most of the houses were already destroyed and usually infested with all kinds of detestable creatures she'd rather avoid - from Wicked, through all kinds of demons and Duskwings, to enormous spiders ready to cocoon any unfortunate passerby for a snack - unfit to be a shelter. But honestly, what wasn't crawling with Hellspawn these days? They were everywhere, as far as the sight can reach. Heaving out a long suffering sigh, Nicola decided to hide underneath the city, hoping she won't find any monsters there.

That was not one of her most brilliant ideas but in truth whatever she chose, it would be just as bad and she hardly cared at this point. Her legs felt as though they went a couple of inches up her arse from all day of walking and running and her empty stomach growled hungrily as she didn't get a chance to stop and eat a sandwich hidden in her backpack. It didn't take long to find a lid of a well leading to the sewers below. Just in case, Nicola dug some new shells out from her backpack and shoved them into her pocket to have easy access to them before pulling the lid out and uncovering a stinking hole in the pavement. The strong "aroma" that drifted out hit her like a brick to the face.

"Ugh.."

Nicola groaned, pinching her nose. Even after the literal armageddon, she still found sewers to be one of the grossest things ever. Like, come on, that's where all the piss and shit goes and a person who enters the sewers for even a minute comes out coated in this stench. Oh well.. It can't be worse than getting torn to shreds by a Goreclaw, can it? Up here was definitely worse than below. Everything she'd met so far - except for Ulthane, Yarin and Elanya - was trying to kill her lately. At least there was no sign of the Big Bad anywhere… Nicola had seen the so-called Destroyer only once and it was enough to last her a lifetime, considering how close she'd been back then. The fact that he didn't spot her, she probably owed the fact that she was somewhere to his right and from what she'd seen his right eye wasn't exactly in good condition. Though, she couldn't deny that the dragon did look sick as Hell - she cringed inwardly at the bad joke her mind produced - and if she wasn't scared shittless and in danger of getting eaten or burned alive, she probably would've taken out her notebook and tried to sketch him. Not often does one see a dragon up this close and Nicola had a habit of drawing anything even remotely interesting she sees. And the more challenging the thing is, the better. In her sketchbook, she already had Ulthane and his younger companions, Vulgrim, some other demons and a Fallen. The last thing she did see pretty damn close. Too close for her liking.

Pulling her stained, dark-blue neckerchief up to her nose as a mostly useless mask against the foul smell, she crouches down and with a loose piece of a brick scratches out a message on the ground, hoping either Jones or some other survivor will find it.

I'M IN THE SEWER

NIKA <3

Just to make it clear, she tears a piece of her already ragged sleeve off and places it under the aforementioned brick next to the message. It's not much but it has to be enough… Without further ado, Nicola slid inside the dark hole and closed the lid above her head. Utter blackness immediately closed around her like a thick coverlet. A quiet sound of dripping, echoing through the tunnel was all that she could hear.

Plip. Plop. Plip. Plop.

Should've thought about taking out a flashlight before cutting off the only source of light.

Grumbling under her breath, Nicola jumped down from a small ladder. But instead of landing on the hard and straight ground, her feet connected with something soft and uneven. With a small yelp, she lost her balance and fell flat onto the actual floor with a wet "Thwack!". Please just be regular water… She begged the puddle underneath her as she scrambled to her feet and pulled the backpack from her shoulders. For a few minutes, she blindly searched through her things, probing for the light source. When her fingers found the flashlight and she turned it on however, she nearly screamed.

That thing she landed on wasn't a mound of garbage like she previously assumed but a body. Body of a dead Phantom General. Its skin was in an unhealthy pallid shade, misty eyes were bulging out of their sockets. And the squishy bit she landed on was its face. Nicola nervously laughs to herself

"Maybe the stench killed him?"

The thought of a large demon dying in a sewer just because it smells bad was kind of amusing and a little comforting. But then she realised that if that was the case, then there's nothing to laugh at. What if there are some poisonous gases in here? Hydrogen sulfide, for example? If it killed a demon, undoubtedly much more hearty, then why shouldn't it do so with a human?

"Shit.. I hope not…"

Nicola curses and immediately presses the neckerchief closer to her face like it would do her any good. Well, no point in wondering about it now. If she were to get poisoned then she probably already was so… Father would be so disappointed if he found out she died in a sewer by inhaling toxic gas. I should've paid more attention to chemistry lessons…  Anyway.. Standing here will not make it any better. She might as well find herself a place to rest for a while or forever. Unless healing shards work on that stuff, she had nothing on her to help should she get poisoned. Flinging her backpack over her shoulder, Nicola turns away from the corpse and peers into the dark pathway which opened before her like a gullet of a gargantuan monster waiting to swallow her whole. Having absolutely no idea that this choice would change her miserable life forever, she takes a breath and bravely moves onward.

The Phantom General wasn't the only one. As Nicola walked deeper into the dark, stinking corridor, she noticed more bodies. Goreclaws, Wicked, Phantom Guards, even a couple of Duskwings and - this was the most unsettling discovery - the serpentine Shadowcaster… all of them pale and wizened. An unnerving feeling grew in her stomach. Nicola had seen much death as of late but this… this was horrifying. It was like walking through a tomb or a mass grave. Up close she could see something she hadn't noticed before. Something that made her mouth turn sandpaper. All of the bodies seemed… dried for the lack of a better word. As though something had drained them of their blood, leaving only shriveled husks behind. But there were no wounds, no markings. Nicola gulps at the thought that whatever killed them might still be down here with her.

Backing away, she takes a turn into another section and curls up in a corner by a metal grate blocking the way ahead. Nicola turns the flashlight off and hugs her knees to her chest, trying to control her fearful breathing. Climbing down into the sewers wasn't such a good idea after all. What if… what if there are things far worse down here than the demons she'd already seen? Her parents often scared her with stories of monsters lurking in the dark pipes and winding tunnels when she was a child but those were only supposed to keep her away from the sewers. The true reason was always the toxic miasma drifting through them. Or so she thought as she grew older. Now it seems that the former turned out to be true… And if it murdered a Shadowcaster just like that, then it was a creature to be reckoned with, no doubt.

Whatever it is that hides in here, Nicola didn't want to meet it. Whether it was a classic sewer monster, grotesque, with teeth and tentacles, or something else it didn't matter. Looking down at her left wrist, where her blessedly still working electrical watch with sun batteries was, she squinted at the numbers it showed.

7:48 P.M.

This was going to be a long night… If she survives this, she would get out and return to the Tree, and tell Ulthane she will never leave again. Essentially, she'd ground herself for him. If she could find her way back, that is.. And this might prove rather tricky. Maybe if she could find a Serpent Hole and bribe Vulgrim to take her to Haven, it would be much easier. But then again, she will have to give him something. Aside from her soul, she had nothing he would be interested in and that she could still make use of. Damn it, why is it so cold in here? Pulling the zip of her vest up to her chin, she curls up even more and hides her hands in her pockets to seek any warmth she could find. The stench wasn't even phasing her anymore. Nicola got used to it after the first few minutes. Besides, her fear was what she was mostly focused on. At least she didn't feel anything that would hint at being poisoned.. Whatever deadly stuff was down here before must've dispersed some time after the apocalypse after the disuse of the sewers. And thank God for that..

Meow…

Her head snapped up at the echo coming from the tunnel she backed out from. It was very weak and quiet but she definitely heard something that sounded vaguely like a cat. A very small and very scared cat.

Meow…

There it was again. This time accompanied by a barely visible flash of light coming from the tunnel further down. Cursing her innate curiosity, she pulled herself up to her feet and snuck towards the entrance to her little hidey-hole. The light appeared again before slowly fading. It looked a little like… like someone was coming here with a broken flashlight. Could it… could it be someone from the Tree? Maybe another survivor lost their way in the sewers? Picking up her shotgun, she decides to check it out, the thoughts of a monster not forgotten per se, but definitely pushed to the back of her mind. Wary of every step she makes, she follows the light and the sounds of a distressed animal. Sleep was never an option anyway..

As she walked onwards, the lights were getting brighter, the meowing louder and the pounding of her heart faster. There were more corpses in various states of decay and skeletons strewn about the further she headed but she decided to stay brave. Should anything attack her, she has the shotgun at the ready. Something in her head laughed at her hysterically. How can she be so naive to think that if there's a monster down here her pathetic shotgun can do it much harm? It didn't have a problem with killing all those things. Why would it have a problem with Nicola and her weak human weapon? Besides, even if she did manage to defend herself, one shot from that thing would bring half of the city down on her head. And that was something she definitely wanted to avoid.

Meow!

Another flash. Her surroundings were slowly starting to change. The bodies were left behind and she started to notice wooden crates lying here and there as though someone meant to hide the passage further down. Was this a hide out if some sort? Flash again.

Meow!

And then…

"Hush, little one… I won't let them hurt you again…"

Nicola's heart hastened when a shaky voice reached her. There really was someone down here! However, she doesn't let her ecstasy control her. They don't necessarily have to be friendly. Everyone is permanently scared and paranoid since the apocalypse and if she jumped out from a dark sewer without a warning she's more likely to receive a bullet to the face than a warm welcome. A flash, very bright this time. Before, she didn't notice it but the light was actually… green? Soft, soothing shade of green. Who uses a green flashlight? Someone who didn't have any other. We're in an apocalypse, for God's sake. Shrugging, she sneaks up towards the turn and carefully peeks into the new corridor, unable to take the anticipation any longer. And she freezes.

There were many things Nicola expected to find. Even the sewer monster was higher on her list of possibilities. But not this. Before her, approximately fifteen feet or so, in a makeshift shelter made out of ratty curtains and wooden boxes sat a humanoid figure. They were wearing some sort of metal shoulder pads on their ragged, dark green clothing, worn and stained, once undoubtedly fine knee-high boots, and a tattered and dirty hood. The gilded edges of their pauldrons were smudged and tarnished, as were the clips of the belts on their hips and across their chest. A pair of disheveled, dusted grey, feathery wings was closed around them like two shields protecting their sides and keeping the warmth in the resulting heat cave. Through a gap between the feathers, she noticed strands of long, white hair in the similar state as the wings spilling from under the hood.

This was one of those… those angels who came as the apocalypse began. Only… This one didn't seem like the rest. They didn't look like one of the warriors. And were unarmed at that, she realises once she doesn't catch a sight of any sort of weapon nearby. 

Meow!

Nicola heard it clearly now, and trying to track down the source of the sound, her eyes wandered to a hand of the angel, one which they held close to their chest. And there, on their large palm rested a tiny ball of fluff with its fur clogged with blood. The angel was hunched over a wounded kitten, and from time to time they brought up the other hand and gently ran their trembling fingers wrapped in stained bandages over the jagged claw mark along its spine. The green light flared up from angel's fingertips as gradually the wound was stitching itself. A sorcerer then. If meeting Shadowcasters was any indicator, then it would be better not to mess with this one.

Meow!

The kitten cried again and the angel, now she was pretty sure it was a male, spoke with a soft and calming, but shaking voice that reached to the depth of her soul.

"Fret not… it will be over. Soon enough."

In honesty, Nicola really had to stop herself from making a loud "awww" noise as she watched this angel treat a tiny injured kitten. How did he get here in the first place? Shouldn't he be with the rest of his buddies? She honestly never thought one of them would ever fall so low as to hide in a sewer of all places. Unless there was no other option. He must've gotten lost or something.. She thinks, almost snickering at how similar to hers this situation was.

To make no mistake, she didn't want to approach the angel, especially after what she'd seen during the apocalypse - most of them didn't give two shits about what happen to her race - and so Nicola decided, even if slightly disappointed that it wasn't another human survivor or someone looking for her like she previously assumed, to go away and leave him be with his kitten. The angels the apocalypse has shown to her were hardly the kind and thoroughly good creatures the image of she grew up with.. But then, nature decided to play a cruel prank on her and a horrifyingly loud sound of her stomach rumbling was carried over the immediate vicinity.

Nicola cursed inwardly at her stupid stomach - really, she would've eaten that sandwich but the smell of the server was very unappetizing - when the angel quickly looked up before gently placing the cat down on a piece of folded cloth and snapping his fingers to produce a small wisp of normal, white light. Now, his face wasn't obscured by the shadow of his hood. It was just like a face of a human, especially with all the grime smeared over it, just more… how to describe it? Features were more apparent, simultaneously sharp and smooth. Like those of a sculpture. Almost overly perfect. However, he looked ill, emaciated with his cheeks collapsed like this and sunken eyes, seemingly too large for his head. His eyes… brilliant white with faint silvery pupils, glowing like two wisps, opened wide in an absolutely blank, emotionless stare, not unlike that of a man in feverish delirium. How long had he been down here?

"Who.. who's there..?"

His lips barely moved as he spoke, his wide eyes darted around in panic as he searched for intruders. Not that she could blame him. Her stomach sounded like a starving demon and as far as she's concerned, his kind isn't really fond of those.. The angel looked a little like a terrified, wounded animal that had been cornered by predators with no apparent way out. It was… sad somehow. Since she'd already been heard, Nicola carefully stepped out of her hiding spot. The reaction she got however, was far different from what she's been expecting. The angel gasped, his wings shot up like two enormous flags as he lifted his hands. Green magic crackled along his slender fingers with most of the nails broken and bloodied as she froze where she stood.

"G- get away! Back off, foul creature!"

He stuttered but didn't attack just yet. Swallowing a lump of fear Nicola forced herself to very, very slowly and carefully take a few steps closer to enter the illuminated area around the scared angel to make him realise this is a misunderstanding and she means no harm. She even left her gun on the floor not to make him feel threatened and kept her hands up, palms forward where he could see them. He squinted but this hollow look in his eyes remained. Disturbing… Even more so when he started to mutter nervously to himself, rubbing his eyebrows with his thumb.

"No… not a demon, nor an angel, a human perhaps…? Yes, yes… has to be… But that's not possible.. They're… they're all gone. Dead, killed, stone dead… Who is this and what do you want? Your tricks won't work on me.."

"I- I'm not trying to trick you, I swear! I am a human. I'm Nicola.."

She assures the angel, hoping that giving him her name will make him feel a little less threatened. A quiet sigh of relief slipped past Nicola's lips when the magic in his hands faded as he curiously - a little like a small, inquisitive puppy - tilted his head to the left.

"Nic… ola…"

He breathed, mulling over her name, testing it on his tongue but his wings still remained aggressively flared above his head. The kitten meowed again, too weak to stand up from the bedding the angel made for it. He seemed to calm down a bit as he glanced down at it and with a flick of his finger made the animal lazily blink before it curled into a ball and immediately fell asleep. The wound on its back wasn't so large anymore and it wasn't bleeding so the black fluff with white feet and collar wasn't in any immediate danger. Angel's attention shifted back to her. But Nicola was the first one to speak.

"Who are you? How'd you get down here?

"Don't know… Human… a human. How did you get in my study? You really shouldn't be here. What is it you want from me? I'm working on improving my shards…"

"I-... Wait, your what ?"

Nicola's face scrunched up in confusion. Get in where? Working on improving his what??

"No, this isn't right… they need more energy…"

At this point she had absolutely no idea what the angel was rambling on about but she could clearly see he was completely out of his mind. Frankly speaking, she wasn't actually sure if he knows what he's babbling either.. There was only one thing that came to her mind when he spoke of shards and so she dug into her pocket, trying to find the one she'd been carrying with her just in case as he clutched at his head, tangling his fingers into his hair under his hood…

"It worked… I did it, I can… but it hurts… Creator, how it hurts… Cold.. so cold…"

His voice was starting to break as his unsteady breathing turned into something akin to sobbing but no tears were shed and he started to rock back and forth, still muttering something unintelligible. Something in Nicola's gut squirmed - or maybe it was the hunger again - as she looked at the scrawny angel mercifully. Whatever happened to him, it must've been horrible. It takes a very traumatic experience to bring a human to such a state but an angel is a different story. Seeing anyone like this saddened her. Finally, her fingers found what they were searching for and she extracted a small healing shard from her vest.

"You mean like…"

At the gentle, green glow the shard was emitting, the angel looked up astonished and let his mouth fall open. He stopped shaking and grasping his head.

"Yes… yes, my shard. I need… My blade. Where's my blade? Who…? My name? My name… I remember, I swear."

This talk of a blade was mildly unsettling to say the least but something in her chest twisted with pity and all fear left her. A little more bravely, Nicola approached the murmuring angel who attempted to scratch something out on the floor beside his knee but only successfully broke one of his nails again and hissed quietly. What happened to you, you poor thing? When she crouched next to him, he stared at her as though he'd seen a ghost when she realised he isn't looking into her eyes anymore. But at her forehead.

"You're… injured…"

He stated as matter of factly. Oh. Right. That was true. It barely hurt anymore though… and wasn't even bleeding. She's certainly had much worse. It will heal on its own in no time.

"Let me just-"

Suddenly he leaned forward to grab at her, making her heart leap up to her throat as she cried out in fear and jumped away from him. Instinctively, Nicola booked it for the tunnel she came from when she heard a heavy thud and a pained groan behind her.. It was her good hearted nature what ultimately made her stop in her tracks and look over her shoulder. To see the angel on the floor, weakly propping himself on his elbows and breathing heavily. He was very weakened. It's unclear how long he'd been down here but it certainly has taken its toll. Nicola looked out into the dark tunnel. Whatever awaited her in this darkness and out in the city surely isn't nicer than this poor sod behind her. She wasn't even sure if he actually meant to hurt her or not. It was a reflex. Then she turned to look back at the angel shivering on the wet floor.. Her throat tightened. God, she couldn't just leave it like this, could she?

"H- hey… are- are you okay?"

Nicola approaches the angel warily and squats before him as he lifts his head to look at her. And in his eyes she sees pain. Horrible, unimaginable pain, somewhere deep within, that made his crusted lips tremble. Such a sight would be enough to break even the coldest hearts. And definitely more than enough to break hers. He eyes her hands when she hesitantly takes him by the arm - careful when she notices a rag stained with fresh blood above his left elbow - and tries to pull him up to his feet or at least to a sitting position but he doesn't recoil. He simply kept staring at her hands in bewilderment. To her surprise, he was much lighter than he looked, probably because of how thin he was, and she managed to do what she intended but she could see that his legs won't uphold his weight as meager as it is. The angel glanced at the cut on her head and once again, albeit far more cautiously, reached out towards it.

"I can… I can heal it. Just hold still.. It will take a second.."

And in spite of herself, Nicola gives him a chance this time. He extended two fingers and as their tips started to glow with green, he gently tapped against her damaged skin. It felt… odd. It wasn't painful but still strange. The edges of the wound grew numb and prickly as the patch of comforting warmth fell over her forehead. And what was even odder, the angel smiled slightly, whispering

"There… It is done.. I.. remember. Was it…? It was, wasn't it… Raphael?"

"Wh- what? What are you talking about, who's Raphael?"

Nicola asks, probing the new, thin scar that was now formed in place of the cut. He really did heal her. Curious. And it did take a second.. For a moment, his face scrunched up in confusion but only for this second before he brightened and some of the strange mist fell from his white eyes as he brought both of his hands up and repeatedly poked his chest with all of his fingers.

"Me.. Raphael is… it's me! And you…"

He extended one finger and aimed it at her head.

"You are Nicola. "

"Y- yeah. Nice to meet you, I guess…"

She hesitantly replies as the circumstances of this meeting weren't exactly "nice". In a dark, damp sewer filled with stench and corpses with a possible monster lurking nearby? Far from nice if someone would ask her.

"What.. huh. What is this place?"

Raphael unexpectedly asked, looking around with his large, white eyes, blinking in confusion. Nicola pulls a face, unsure how to tackle the odd angel.

"You… don't know? You've been living here."

"Have I? Hmmm.. Strange…"

He murmured thoughtfully, scratching at his white goatee also painted with blood that surely spilled from the cut on his lower lip. Then his face shifted into concern as he tried to pull himself up with a strained grunt, clutching at an old, but not healed yet, gash over his ribs.

"I… I have to get back.. they need me in the White City…"

As she was expecting, he collapsed back onto the floor with a tired sigh not even a second later. Where and what was the "White City" he spoke of, she had no idea. What she did know however, was that in his condition Raphael isn't going anywhere. Even if he managed to get up, she could bet her right hand that he would make ten steps at most before collapsing again. Nicola winces and tilts her head to the side.

"Pal, I don't think you're in shape for walking or flying right now.."

"No, I suppose not… they cannot see me like this. I cannot return.."

At this point she wasn't surprised that Raphael kept muttering to himself about things her human brain couldn't hope to comprehend. Nicola got long used to this however. Ever since the armageddon there were very few things she could understand. It wasn't a normal day if something new and weird didn't happen to her or one of her remaining friends. Any hostility the angel showed before has faded now, his wings folded back around him as he leaned over the sleeping kitten to continue treating it. The gentleness he did it with, the uncertain smile on his face were making Nicola's heart melt. Raphael didn't seem like his friends indeed. He was different somehow. Kinder, softer. Less aggressive. More fitting the image of a stereotypical angel. But also definitely not quite… right. Up in the head.

Oh, well. Who is totally normal these days, honestly?

She wants to chuckle to herself when something gives her a pause. A horrifyingly familiar sound coming from the tunnel behind her. Panting, scraping and growling. Inevitably getting closer and closer. Her heart plummets to her heels. This sound… she would recognise it everywhere. The sound that haunted her dreams ever since the demon tore her twin brother, Nicholas, to shreds. This demon.. a Goreclaw, as Ulthane called it. Whipping around, she just managed to spot the quadrupedal monster - the size of your average Caucasian Shepherd (which was still awfully large for its kind), with long, lashing tail and sharp fangs constantly bared in a disturbing grin - appear in the entrance, cutting off the only escape route.

It must've heard Nicola's startled scream and followed it all the way here, hoping for an easy prey. Her breath caught in her throat as she stands paralyzed by the blood-hungry glare of multiple red eyes. This ugly mug, covered in blood of her sibling was still fresh in her mind, keeping her absolutely petrified. Unable to do anything, she kicks herself for leaving her shotgun behind. Now it was resting between the clawed paws of the demon who screeched in excitement as it prepared to pounce at her. Though honestly, with how rigid her body turned, she doubts she'd be able to aim, not to mention pulling the trigger.

This is it. She thinks, feeling blood leave her face. I'm gonna die. After all she's been through.. Killed by a single Goreclaw, ripped apart in a stinking sewer like an ungrateful little shite. Ulthane did so much to rescue her from the claws of that Fallen and now all his efforts are going to go to waste.. Crying out in dismay, she shields herself from the oncoming attack with her arms and shuts her eyes.

Something shifted behind her as the demon jumped at her and… nothing happened. Opening her eyes, horrified and shocked, Nicola almost gags when she sees the Goreclaw standing before her and just… gawking with its jaw slack as though it got hit on the head with something heavy. Faint golden light running around its body like tiny veins didn't escape her attention. That's when she noticed that the demon was trying to move, straining with its own stiff muscles and growling. But couldn't. It was completely paralyzed. A quiet, barely audible thrumming filled the air around Nicola and she began to feel something strange. Something she could only describe as magic. The arcane static began to nip and the bite at her skin like miniscule locusts when a green haze enveloped the Goreclaw before her. The same light fell onto her back, laying her quivering shadow out at her feet. A realisation hit her.

Raphael. He's still there.

After the apocalypse, Nicola had no delusions that angels, even the kindest ones, are ever defenseless. Before she could turn to face the angel, her would-be killer suddenly let out a soul-rending shriek that yet again almost made her drop dead or simply puke out of pure fear. Freed from the paralysis, it fell to the floor, writhing, clawing at its own chest and screeching the most ungodly noise Nicola had ever heard. What's happening?! Absolutely petrified, she watched as the demon's skin seemed to dry and wrinkle as its eyes were nearly popping out of its skull. Life - and color - was frighteningly quickly seeping out of the demon as it squirmed in agony, wailing, unable to fight the power that got a hold of it.

All this looked like taken straight out of a horror movie. And Nicola, on the contrary to Nicholas, was never a fan of those… It all took merely a few seconds of unimaginable torment before the unfortunate Goreclaw wheezed and eventually fell still with its jaws opened and tongue lolled out, wide eyes dull and unblinking, and didn't move ever again. Dead. The memory of all those corpses she has found passed through her head. The Goreclaw looked just like them… Afraid to move a muscle, she stared at the light that moved away from the dead demon, following its movement to the sight that made her back up aghast.

Raphael. The same seemingly gentle angel who healed a small, hurt animal - who healed her - was suspended in midair, tattered robes and disheveled hair billowing, with his wings flared and bristled. This soft smile was replaced by an absolute lack of any expression whatsoever as his wide eyes burned with the whitest white of unbridled anger she'd ever seen. Green streaks of magic - the same green she found so soothing before, now ominous and frightening - bathing the surroundings in brightness, were swirling around his arms, hands with fingers curled into vicious claws. For this moment he looked much stronger, a little younger… and far more dangerous than he seemed before.

"As long as I live.. I shall not stand suffering !"

Raphael bellowed at the corpse at her feet even though it was long dead and already turning cold, caring very little about how horrified she was. He didn't even seem to care how much suffering the demon had experienced before it blessedly lost its hold on life. Not that Nicola thought it didn't deserve that but still it was… pretty gruesome.. Raphael's wounded and weakened body absorbed the life-force drained from the demon and only then did he slowly descend onto the floor and landed on his feet, breathing out with relief. The magic gradually dissipated along with the sharp prickling sensation until only the tiny golden wisp hovering next to Raphael's head remained. His wings fell into their place against his back, this furious light faded out of his bright eyes before he turned to Nicola to shoot her a disarming, awkward smile as though nothing had happened at all. This tiny smile was hardly comforting.. Quite the opposite in fact. It chilled her to the bone like the coldest winter wind.

Oh fuck.

Swallowing thickly, Nicola looked up at Raphael, now standing on his own legs, clearly revitalized by the stolen energy, and felt a little fearful tear roll down her face. Then she shifted her gaze to the demon. Then back to Raphael, who seemed so small and weak before but stood at least two, maybe three feet taller than Nicola - her head reached the bottom of his sternum. I was wrong. She realises with a pang of panic, feeling a little sick in the stomach at the mere thought that this kind healer was as capable of killing her where she stood as any demon up above her head. All he had to do was flick his wrist and look at her and she wouldn't have been able to do a thing to defend herself. It suddenly made sense. There was no sewer monster down here. No beast that would threaten her. No foul creature that could suck the blood from her body and leave ber as a mummified corpse. All this death, all these bodies… The horrifying monster Nicola was expecting to find...

It was him.

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

So yeah. That was the chapter I. I'll try to make more but I don't promise anything XD

The moral of this story? Don't piss off/spook angel sorcerers. Especially the crazy ones.

Also, the art at the end was once again inspired by @coloredgravity 's rendition of Raphael (I drew this mostly out of memory 😂). In addition I gave him a symbol of virtue from Darkest Dungeon over his head. He's mad, true. But he still tries to hold it together :3

[justcallmehitgirl]

Good Woman Part 1 (Peter Parker x Female Reader Smut)

Summary: Peter Parker can be a bit of a peeping Tom.

Warnings: voyeurism, exhibitionism, smut, suit!porn, and language

Word Count: 3200

A/N: I’ve been on a roll lately, and this just happened. Point of view switches between Peter to Y/N so hopefully it’s not too confusing. I don’t condone spying on people, but suspend some reality for this fic please. 

(5/7/20): I fixed some typos, grammar mistakes, character inconsistencies, etc. from my original posting. I also made some stylistic changes.

PART TWO / PART THREE / PART FOUR / PART FIVE / PART SIX / PART SEVEN / PART EIGHT / PART NINE / PART TEN / STORY PAGE 

He knows he shouldn’t. He feels downright sleazy. He’s the friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man. He’s someone that people admire and look up to. He’s an Avenger. But he’s also a seventeen-year-old hot-blooded male who can’t keep a boner down when a PG-13 sex scene pops up on screen.

It’s a dilemma Peter faces on a cool September night, the crisp air sending a shiver down his spine, as he peers inside your bedroom window. His eyes are fixed on you—lounging on your bed in nothing but an oversized shirt with your smooth legs stretched out in full display. The glow emanating from the TV screen illuminates your face, highlighting your features.

Peter is well-aware of your reputation at Midtown. You’re smart, pretty, and a tease—barely giving any attention to the boys at Midtown. You didn’t date (save for that one short-lived summer fling that became school-wide gossip), you rarely went to parties, and you never stayed out past curfew. You are, and have always been, way out of Peter’s league.

He’s known you since elementary school, silently observing you throughout the years even though you were in the grade above him. You've always been nice and polite to him, though. You always said “excuse me” when you brushed past him in the hallways, and you always gave him a small wave or smile whenever he accidentally made eye contact with you.

Peter has no idea if you even know his name, but he likes to think that you do.

He swears it’s a coincidence that he found your window. He had randomly swung by and landed on your fire escape to take a quick breather after stopping a petty theft down the street. He was about to leave when he spotted you from the corner of his eye, your presence taking him by surprise.

And as usual, Peter couldn’t stop himself from staring.

—

His heart beats rapidly as he stares at you sprawled across your bed—eyes glued to your TV, head propped up by a mountain of pillows. You let out a yawn, face contorting, with your arms stretched out above your head. Your shirt rides up, revealing a pair of black, polkadot panties.

Peter gulps, imagining his hands pushing your shirt up higher to expose more of you.

He swallows hard, knowing that this is an absolute abuse of power. He knows he should leave, but he stays rooted in his spot. 

He continues gazing at you until your eyelids begin to droop, body relaxing against your mattress. Your mouth parts slightly while your chest rises and falls evenly.

Peter thinks you look like a princess in a fairy-tale. 

He imagines running his fingers through your hair and tracing patterns over your soft, bare skin. He imagines the feel of your plush lips pressed against his while his hands roam over your body.

He frowns and glances away. He knows that it will never happen— girls like you didn’t give guys like him the time of day.

He hangs his head and exhales, quietly cursing himself under his breath. He starts to stand, but he senses movement from inside your bedroom. He crouches back down and cocks his head, eyes flickering with curiosity.

He takes in a sharp breath while his jaw practically drops to the ground. He gapes at you, pupils dilated, as your hand moves down your stomach and grazes the waistband of your underwear. He leans forward, feeling his cock instantly harden underneath his suit. He bites back a groan as he watches with building intensity as your hand disappears beneath the thin, cotton fabric. 

Your back arches off the bed—fingers frantically moving over your clit, knuckles straining your underwear. Your body writhes, and you let out a soft whimper. You roll your head to the side, facing him. 

He watches your face scrunch up in ecstasy. You bite your bottom lip, and your eyes flutter open. 

Peter’s breath catches in his throat; he knows he’s fucked.

—

You blink, eyes adjusting. You immediately pale, eyes widening at the shadowy figure pressed against your window. Your heart lurches in your chest. You quickly rip your hand from your underwear and scramble off the bed. You stand on wobbly legs, bottom lip trembling as fear grips throat.

You step backwards until your body hits the wall, eyes frozen on his form. You cower against the wall and try to will your body to make a run for it. You size him up, taking in every detail even though he was bathed in shadows. 

The figure holds his hands up and frantically shakes his head, his movements almost pleading.    

You blink once, then twice—just before your eyes go wide with recognition, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s Spider-Man.

You want to feel relieved. You’re well-aware of his superhero reputation—saving the Academic Decathlon team in D.C. and taking down Liz’s dad. But despite his prior good deeds, you continue to eye him warily. You had no idea who was underneath that mask, and your mind races through the possibilities—from a 30-something-year-old pervert to a deranged psychopath preying on high school girls.

You start to move towards your door—back still pressed up against the wall for support. He presses a hand on the window, almost begging for you to open it. You tilt your head as you start to wonder how long he’s been out there—and how much he saw. You shiver at the thought of him watching you, skin tingling. 

You pause at your reaction, and your curiosity begins to gnaw at you.

You know you should run out of the room; maybe call the police or the national news while you’re at it—expose Spider-Man as being a total creep. 

But another thought pops into your mind—one that sends a tingle down your spine.

You nibble on your bottom lip. You're known as being such a good girl—always coloring within the lines and following the rules. Your life has been dictated by your professional aspirations. You’ve spent your life carving out a respectable reputation as the responsible daughter, dependable friend, and exemplary student. 

But at seventeen, you already felt weighted down by the pressure and expectations.

You seldom take any risks—always choosing the same ice-cream flavor, shopping at the same stores, and sticking to the same hairstyle. You even broke up with your first—and only boyfriend—because he tried to inch you too much out of your comfort-zone.

You suddenly feel a wave of exhaustion. You’re tired of feeling like you’ve been merely ambling through life and not actually living it; tired of being safe—of being just the good girl.

You slowly push yourself off the wall and step forward.

—

Peter knows he should leave, but he feels frozen in place. He watches you slowly pad across the carpet towards him, an unreadable expression on your face. You carefully push the window open, and he braces himself for your wrath—expecting you to yell at him or shoo him away.

But instead, you simply press a finger to your lips. He gawks at you, feeling dumbstruck. You wave your hand, motioning for him to come inside. He gulps and tentatively crawls through your window.

Once he enters, his senses are immediately assaulted by your scent. His eyes dart around the room, quickly taking in his surroundings—from the pink and purple hues covering the walls to your frilly bedsheets.

He looks over at you as you quietly shut the window close behind him. You turn to face him, eyes flickering with and nod towards your bed. He silently obeys, his body stiff as he takes a seat on the soft mattress. 

He eyes you warily, almost afraid of what you’ll do next. You sit beside him, your body facing his side with your legs folded underneath you. He turns his head, and watches you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and lick your lips. You scoot closer until your knees are lightly brushing against him, causing him to blush.

You slowly reach over, your fingers lightly grazing his gloved hand before taking it into your own. You splay your hand over his, your eyes fixed on his hand engulfing yours. He merely stares at you as you quietly play with his fabric-covered fingers.

“This is a strange material,” you murmur, eyes cast downward at your entwined hands.

He hesitates before clearing his throat. “It’s durable. . . and tear-resistant. It’s waterproof too.”

You look up, eyes sparkling. “You sound younger than I imagined,” you muse.

“You aren’t scared of me?”

You give him a half-shrug. “No, not really. I just. . . didn’t really think this far ahead.”

“I’m sorry for being a creep,” he blurts.

You shake your head. “Only a little creepy. . . d—do you do this this with a lot of girls?”

He immediately straightens. “I don’t! I—I’ve never done this before.”

“You’ve never been a peeping Tom or you’ve never seen a girl touch herself?” you tease. 

He hesitantly mutters, “Both.”

You purse your lips and pause, cheeks turning pink. You tilt your head. “Are you a virgin?” 

Peter bites the inside of his cheek and looks away. He quickly ponders whether he should tell you the truth. As Spider-Man, he can say anything he wants—be whoever he wants.

He looks back up and opens his mouth, but your doe-eyed look gives him pause. He merely nods in response.

“Me too,” you breathe. “It’s not a religious thing or anything like that. I just haven’t found the right person to do it with.”

You look down and continue playing with his fingers, twisting and entwining them with yours. 

“I feel pretty silly right now,” you whisper. “You probably thought I was some experienced sex goddess or something when I invited you inside. Instead I’m just pathetic and lonely.”

He frowns. “Hey, don’t say that. You’re amazing.”

You look up, brows raised. “How would you know that? You don’t even know my name.”

Peter flinches, inwardly scolding himself. “I mean, you seem very. . . put together,” he mumbles.

Your mouth twitches before you let out a soft giggle. “Inviting a stranger into my bedroom is the exact opposite of being put together, don’t you think?”

“Fair enough,” he chuckles lightly.

Your eyes roam over his covered face, smile fading as your eyes burn with curiosity. “Do we know each other?”

Peter stiffens, jaw tight. You look at him inquisitively, waiting for an answer. He knows he should tell you the truth—ripe it off like a band-aid. But instead he just frowns and shakes his head.

Silence fills the room again.

“I wish I could kiss you,” you blurt.

He tenses. 

“Oh my god,” you groan. “I’m sorry. . . just forget I said that.”

Peter quickly breathes, “Okay.”

Your eyes widen. “R—really?”

He lets go of your hand and clutches the bottom of his mask. He hesitates slightly before lifting it up right underneath his nose, revealing his jaw and lips. 

You gulp. “You have very nice lips.”

He gives you a crooked smile. “No girl has ever said that to me before.”

“Well I guess tonight is a bunch of firsts for both of us.”

He nods in agreement.

“I—I’m going to kiss you now,” you announce. It sounds more for yourself than for him, he muses.

“Okay,” he murmurs.

Your hand cups his cheek, your breath softly caressing his exposed skin. You lean towards him and tilt your head. His heart pounds as your mouth hovers over his.

Peter feels a surge of confidence and closes the space between you, pressing his lips to yours. He closes his eyes, feeling electricity move through his veins as he kisses you. He’s never felt more alive. 

Your soft lips kiss him back, and you slide your hand to his neck to tug him closer. He pours everything he has been feeling for so many years into the kiss. He wishes he could tell you how long he’s been wanting to do this. 

He pulls back and smiles brightly. “Wow,” he breathes.

Your eyes flutter open, pupils flared. Without hesitation, you surge forward and kiss him with so much fervor and passion that that he thinks he’s going to pass out. Your tongue traces the seam of his mouth, and he parts his lips to welcome your probing tongue. 

Peter pulls back and trails wet kisses down your chin to your neck. You tip your head back and moan. He grips your waist and swiftly lifts you up onto his lap. You settle on him.

“Oh,” you cry.

Your face flushes, and you take your bottom lip between your teeth, his hard bulge pressing against you—separated by his suit and your panties. You grab his shoulders, anchoring yourself as you begin to move over him, movements slow and tentative. 

He splays a hand on your back while his other hand tentatively plays with the edge of your shirt. He pushes it up, and you gasp as his gloved hand touches your bare stomach. 

“Is this okay?” he breathes against your neck. “Should I stop?”

You place your hands on his chest, and he lifts his head up. You grab the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head in one fluid motion. He leans back, mouth falling open while his eyes hungrily drink in the sight of your bare chest.

“You’re so beautiful,” he blurts.

You bite at your bottom lip and blush. He reaches to brush a knuckle just under the swell of your breast. Your body trembles slightly as your lashes flutter. He licks his lips, sliding his hand over your skin and smoothing his thumb over your nipple. He cups your breast and squeezes softly while an airy gasp tumbles out of your mouth.

He leans forward and swipes his tongue over your other breast, lips closing around your nipple. You whimper as he sucks it softly into his mouth while he tweaks the other between his fingers. He licks at your skin, and you let out a breathy whine. 

“P-please touch me,” you beg, sliding his hand down towards your pussy.

He eagerly pushes your soaked underwear, dragging his fingers over your damp folds. He lets out a strangled groan, his mouth watering as your slick coats his fingers.

“I didn’t know it could be this wet,” he says in awe. 

He slides his fingers up and down your slit until his thumb finds your clit. He presses on it, and you let out a soft sigh.

“There?” he asks, and you fervently nod. 

He starts rubbing your clit in steady strokes, eyes glued on your face as he studies your reactions—making adjustments to the pressure and direction depending on your expression. Soft moans fill the air as you continue grinding on his covered cock, your movements increasing with need. You claw at his shoulders, your breathing growing more and more restless.

“I—I’m almost there,” you pant. 

He circles his thumb faster over your clit, and you start to tremble. You bury your face in the crook of his neck to muffle your cries as you tip over the edge. Your body spasms relentlessly, legs quaking.

You shudder in his arms and breathe heavily. He presses kisses on your naked shoulders and pulls his hand away from your clit. He holds you close as you come down, wilting in his arms. 

“Was that good?” he whispers.

You lift your head up and look at him, eyes half-lidded. “You did amazing.”

His mouth curves in a wide smile. He reaches gently caresses your cheek. “I can’t believe you’re even real.”

You rub his jaw affectionately. “I feel like I know you from somewhere,” you murmur.

Peter swallows, smile faltering for a moment. He quickly forces a small chuckle. “Of course you do. I’m your friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man.”

You roll your eyes and snort, “Right."

He presses his lips against yours, the kiss soft and slow. He pulls away and glances at the clock on your nightstand. “Shit,” he frowns. “I have to go.”

You draw your lower lip between your teeth and nod. You lift yourself up off his lap, taking a step back to bend down and grab your discarded shirt. You slip it over your head and toss your hair over the collar. He rises from the bed and tugs his mask down over the rest of his face. You fiddle with the hem of your shirt as you follow him to your window. 

“Will you come back?” you blurt, pursing your lips.

He faces you, cocking his head. “Y—you want me to?”

You bat your lashes and nod enthusiastically in response. 

“Then I will,” he says softly. He crawls out the window, feet landing on the fire escape. 

“Hey Spidey!” you call out, and he whirls around. “Knock next time, okay?” you wink, eyes sparkling.

He chuckles softly and nods before turning to disappear into the night. 

—

Back in his bedroom, Peter lies in his bed, his arm folded underneath his head as he stares up at the ceiling. He smiles to himself, body buzzing with excitement, thinking about the next time he’ll see you. He lifts his hand up and eyes it closely. He chews on his bottom lip, basking in the memory of all the things that his hands did with you—to you. 

He may be Spider-Man, but he knows tonight was all Peter Parker. He thinks that maybe, just maybe, he might not be totally out of your league after all.

[kajsa-writes-sometimes]

Chp. II: Miss Amanda Pailey

The door closes behind her. A dejected sigh left her lips as she pulled the cloak closer around her shoulders. Apparently not a single soul in the entire city hadn't read about her recent fiasco. Mrs. Milligan had caught her up just as she was about to leave the house and told her that she shouldn't fear losing her job. They had always been very fond of her and what the critics wrote about her book wouldn't sway their opinion of her, but - here Mrs. Milligan made a point out of giving her hand a tight squeeze - Mr. Milligan didn't want his children to get any ideas so if she could avoid bringing her personal views into the tutoring of the siblings, they would appreciate it.

Angelina shook her head and brushed an imaginary dust pellet off her dress. She had promised not to bring up the content of her writings while under the Milligan's roof, and then Mrs. Milligan had sent her off with a big smile and a small purse containing her fee.

The Milligan siblings had been under her tutoring since the previous summer, and she had had the pleasure of teaching the little scoundrels the basics of the written language, algebra, and sewing (although the latter of the three was restricted to the sister).

The Milligans moved to the city less than a generation ago, and both the parents still bore a gruff air about them. Mr. Milligan's hands were still large and ruff from numerous hours of hard labor, and Mrs. Milligan lacked the refinement of someone who had been born into old money. For Angelina (and probably the rest of the world too) it was painfully clear that the Milligans were nothing but a good impersonation of a well-off family.

For Angelina it made little difference. In actuality, she had little opinion of her employer as long as they paid her fee on time, and didn't fire her out of fear for what being associated with her name might mean for the family's good name.

As she turned down a narrow street, the clocks struck six o'clock and she could have cursed herself had she had the breath to do so. When the first chime sounded, she spread up in the hopes that she might beat the nature of time. The fifth stroke resonated between the yellow brick houses as she turned into the stairway of her friend's pensionate.

"I'm terribly sorry I'm late," she gasped as soon as the door opened. "Mrs. Milligan insisted we talk just as I was about to leave!"

"Don't fret about it, Angie. If I didn't know you by now, I think we should reevaluate our friendship. We have, after all, known each other for eight years."

Miss Amanda Pailey pulled her into the tiny, but cozy rooms and helped her friend get out of the cape.

"I know, I know- you are right as always, my dear," Angelina said as she straightened her back.

As Amanda ordered her friend to take a seat on a light red shasilong, she pulled together a tray of sandwiches and hot pies she had bought just that afternoon. It had been almost half a month since the friends had seen eachother last and much had happened for them both.

As the two young ladies nibbled away on their dinner, they both took the opportunity to look over the other. Angelina thought her friend looked as if she was glowing: her hair looked healthier and there was only the shadow of sleeplessness in her face. Amanda on the other hand couldn't help but notice how her friend's dress seemed almost half a size too big for her frame, and how her cheekbones stood out even clearer than they should.

"Please tell me you are eating probably," Amanda said as she lifted another pie onto her friend's plate.

"Always so worried about me. I'm eating all I can."

"Don't forget I know you well, and eating all you can is definitely not the same as eating enough."

Angelina avoided her friend's gaze as she took another bite of the pie. A sweet taste filled her mouth, and a soft moan escaped her against her will.

"Is it honey glazed pork with mashed potatoes?" she asked her friend.

"Well, at that price I wouldn't trust it being pork, but yes. I got an extra in the bag, and you are taking it home."

"I couldn't possibly-" Angelina started, but she was cut off.

"And I won't take no for an answer. I'm getting married in three months and I wouldn't want my bridesmaid to look like a walking corpse now, would I?"

Happy for the easy escape, Angelina grabbed the mention of her friend's wedding to guide the attention away from herself.

"So how is it going with your Mr. Harrington?"

"We've found a church with a kind, young priest who is willing to wed us. It's just down Almond Street. You must have seen it when you go round that way. I admit it looks rather dull from the outside, but the vicar has set a date and promised that the organist will play what we ask of him as long as it's nothing unseemly."

"Have you thought about where you are going to live after the ceremony? I doubt Mr. Harrington would be welcome here," Angelina asked.

"We haven't yet, but Pete is looking for pensinates that we can afford that will let us live together." Amanda sent her friend a small smile laden with all the sadness that her friend newingered just beneath the surface.

"You'll find something, I promise," she said, but both women were well aware that she was in no position to uphold her promise.

"Now we are on the topic of the future, how is your novel coming along?"

Amanda rose from her place and took the tray out. Angelina turned her head and rested an arm on the back of the chaiselong so she could watch her friend prepare a pot of tea.

They were a few years apart, but in the eight years their friendship had lasted, it had never been a problem. In all honesty there really wasn't that much of a difference between being twenty one and twenty three years old.

The greatest difference was the fact that Amanda had been engaged to Mr. Pete Harrington for the last three and a half year, and that Angelina had only ever had the irregular fling and known the fleeting butterflies of a summer's love. Angelina knew that if Amanda had had any say in the matter, they would have been happily married a long time ago, but her aunt had insisted the young man who had claimed the heart of her niece prove that he would be able to provide for his wife before they entered wedlock.

Three years later Mr. Pete Harrington had a job that had in prestige what it lacked in excitement. After having worked at an office in town for half a year and a half, Mr. Harrington had been hired by the University. A year later he had gotten a permanent position as the head secretary of the University Enrollment Office, and although Hemwick University wasn't as well known as Oxford, it attracted students from all across Europe. With the job secured Amanda and Mr. Harrington had once more approached Amanda's aunt and she had finally given the young couple her blessing. Now it was a matter of months before the wedding, and Amanda would be known as Mrs. Harrington by the age of twenty three.

"Well, you've got nothing to say? That doesn't seem like you," Amanda said as she returned to her seat.

"I'm terribly sorry, but my mind seems to be all over the place these days," Angelina shrugged as she thought about the Duke's letter that still lay on the table next to her typewriter. "It appears that there is no one who hasn't heard about my recent flob, and half the world seems keen to remind me that I have chosen a path not suited for young women."

"I'm truly sorry to hear so, but we both know that is not what is bothering you," Amanda said and fixed a curl that had escaped her intricate hairdo.

Angelina rose to her feet and started walking in circles on the floor. Writhing her hands in front of her, she considered if she should tell her friend about her correspondence with the Duke. None of them lived under the assumption that they told each other everything, but the length of their relationship meant that they shared most things.

Maybe a light version of the truth would do? She stopped in the middle of the floor and met her friend's warm, brown eyes.

"I received a letter, you see, from a reader who wanted to tell me how much he enjoyed my work."

Amanda lifted the cup to her lips wondering where this story would lead. She couldn't see what her friend found so upsetting about a from an admirer of her work.

"And I'm somewhat afraid that I might have offended him with my reply to his letter."

"Would it be so bad if you have offended this man?"

"I fear so. He has a good reputation and if he decided to smear my book, it could end my career faster than you would need to make a cup of tea!"

Angelina made something that resembled but wasn't quite a pirouette on the spot.

"Oh, wouldn't the critics love it if I should put down my pen and return to the quiet life of an upstanding woman!"

"They probably would, but I doubt you have anything to fear. I am sure you fret for nothing, and that he will be so awestruck by the reply you send him that he'll have no time to be offended." Amanda rose and placed a hand on her friend's upper arm. "Now let's sit down and I'll tell you how the wedding planning is going. That is sure to take your mind off things."

And so the two young women once more took a seat, and for an evening some of the tension left Angelina's shoulders. As she walked home later that night, she almost succeeded at convincing herself that she would soon return to her daily life with no more interruptions in the form of handwritten letters on cream coloured paper.

The entire story can be found on Wattpad as I slowly update or by following the links in this master post

[ao3bronte]

Unseen Scars by @ao3bronte Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

This is my fourth prompt for @badthingshappenbingo ! Please reblog and enjoy!

Cradling Someone in Their Arms (4/8)

She’s slinking around the Agreste’s industrial kitchen, her blood still pounding far too loudly in her ears for her to even attempt an air of covertness. Thankfully, the staff has long vacated this part of the mansion and Ladybug doesn’t hesitate to fling open the fridge and snatch a container of bouillon de poulet from the top shelf as well as a slice of camembert cheese wrapped in cling film from the lower drawers. Clutching both items to her chest, she manoeuvres back through the maze of reception rooms and foyers before making her way back upstairs, slinking into Adrien’s room as easily as she escaped. 

Releasing a sigh of relief once the door is firmly closed behind her, Ladybug pries the plastic lid from the broth and sets it in the microwave sitting atop his minifridge, setting the timer for two minutes before fetching a bottle of water. She twists off the top and strides carefully back towards the bed, eyeing the familiar little ball of black and green suspiciously. Plagg had buried himself in the haphazard splay of Adrien’s hair while she was away, tucked up just behind his cheek and ear. Taking a wary breath, she unwraps the cheese and sets it on the bedside table, watching as the little kwami responds.

“Oooooh…”

Plagg’s nostrils begin to twitch and Ladybug watches the little slits of his eyes widen, following the unpleasantly strong scent of the cheese. He floats sluggishly towards the table and collapses on top of the crumpled cling film, burrowing his face and teeth into the creamy slice. 

The microwave beeps and Ladybug turns back around, still keeping an eye on the lethargic kwami behind her. He had demanded cheese and soup almost immediately, leaving no room for explanation or negotiation. Then he’d given her directions to the kitchen, promised he would explain once he had eaten, and promptly fell back asleep.  

Breathing out, she plucks a plastic spoon from the ceramic mug sitting on top of the microwave and returns once again to Adrien’s bedside, carefully setting the hot broth down on the mattress platform, “Are you his—”

“Kwami? Yes.”

Ladybug tries to keep her facial expression neutral as Plagg turns his attention to her, the ring of gooey cheese splattered all over his face both endearing and disgusting. It reminds her of Tikki after a long battle and judging by the impish stare he seems to be giving her in return, she doubts she’s been successful.

“Plagg—”

“Feed him first. Then I’ll explain.”

“Feed him?” Ladybug turns her head and stares at Adrien, glancing apprehensively between the container of broth and the profile of his face, the shadows of his silhouette illuminated by the irradiant light of the Parisian twilight. She places a hand on his shoulder and gently tries to rouse him, watching his face for a sign or reaction that he might be coming to.

“He hasn’t eaten properly in a couple days. Hasn’t remembered to feed me either,” Plagg explains around a mouthful of cheese, “But I wasn’t going to let him out of my sight, not when he’s been…”

The knot in Ladybug’s stomach tightens as the kwami trails off, “Why hasn’t he been eating?”

“Says he’s too nauseous,” Plagg shrugs, gnawing on the cheese’s rind.

“Oh,” Ladybug replies, not knowing what else to say. What would make you so nauseous that you wouldn’t want to eat? The stomach flu? Or food poisoning? “What should I do?”

“Feed him. He’s not going to wake up if he doesn’t get his strength back.”

“Okay,” she murmurs and her voice sounds more determined than she feels, “I have to sit him up so...pillows. Let’s find some pillows.”

She scours the bedroom quickly and, considering the massive size of it, comes up empty handed, “Not a single pillow?” Ladybug sighs and frustration begins to leach into the jumbled cocktail of her emotions, “Okay. Plan B.”

She doesn’t notice the kwami’s eyeballs nearly bulge out of his skull as she crawls into bed with his wielder, sliding her palms in beneath his pillow and scooting her left leg underneath. She shimmies as smoothly as she can possibly manage, arranging herself to sit upright against the headboard and with one hand propping his neck up, she pulls the pillow out and places it on his lap, setting him back down against her front as carefully as possible.

She pauses and tries not to blush at the intimate position she’s found herself in.

Eyebrows furrowed in determination, she sets her feelings aside for the moment and puts her hands in the divot between his arms and chest and hauls him upwards, bracing his back and upper body on her chest. He slumps against her, still blissfully unaware, and Ladybug heaves a sigh of relief and embarrassment; she’s been close to him before but never quite like this, his body completely slack in her embrace as she tries to keep him comfortable and warm at the same time. He takes slow and shallow breaths, still lost in the midst of sleep, and she takes pride in the colour that’s returned to his lips and cheeks now that he’s spent some time under the covers.

“Alright, let’s do this.”

Feeling far more determined than she did a few minutes ago, Ladybug brackets Adrien with her left leg and stretches out her right, reaching for the container of broth sitting just out of reach. Using her foot, Ladybug nudges the tupperware close enough to grab it only for the spoon to fall onto the floor with a clatter and Ladybug glares up at the heavens reproachfully, cursing her bad luck.

There’s the slightest pressure on her knee a moment later and Ladybug swivels her head around to see Plagg setting the spoon against her leg. He’s watching her curiously, his green eyes shining brighter than they were only minutes ago and she thanks him, gathering her wits as he sits himself down on the pillow in Adrien’s lap to observe.

“Oookay,” Ladybug swallows and peels the lid from the plastic container, setting it out of the way. She arranges Adrien’s head backwards so it rests against her left shoulder and delicately spoons the first of the broth passed his lips, carefully examining his throat to make sure he swallows. She repeats the motion several times and, confident that she’s not drowning him, turns her attention back to the kwarmi of destruction before her.

“Talk.”

The kwami blinks slowly, “What do you want to know?”

“How did Adrien find you?”

“Same way you found Tikki, I guess.”

Ladybug thinks back to the little box hiding in one of the drawers of her boudoir, “So he’s…”

Plagg cocks his head to the side and nods.

Gasping, Ladybug tries to crush the swell of her heartbeat pounding in her ears at the realisation of it being spoken aloud. How did she not see it before? How long had she spent watching him move across her computer screen in his perfume adverts and not compared their gaits, their eye colour, their smiles? 

She glances down at his disheveled blond hair and feels nothing but shame; why didn’t she put the pieces together before?

“Is he going to be okay?”

“Maybe.”

Ladybug’s eyes swing back sharply to the kwami in alarm, “What do you mean, maybe?”

He shrugs.

“You’re not being honest.”

“Not exactly.”

Ladybug purses her lips, “Chat Noir doesn’t lie to me.”

Plagg meets her gaze, “I’m not Chat Noir.”

“But I am Ladybug,” she growls, “And you will answer me.”

She and Plagg stare pointedly at each other for a long moment before he eventually slumps in defeat, his little body thumping against the pillow, “Fine.”

“Good. Now tell me what’s wrong so I can try and help.”

Plagg whines, “He…hasn’t been himself lately.”

Ladybug turns her attention to the dark circles beneath his eyes and nods, urging him on.

“He’s been stretching himself and spending more time in our form than he has in his own. This isn’t exactly supposed to be a permanent transformation, but one of necessity. It’s exhausting,” Plagg pulls a face, “He can’t always sleep and stays out all night, running over rooftops and draining both of us. By the time he makes it back into bed, it’s usually only a few hours before he has to wake up for school.”

“I should have noticed,” Ladybug fights the tears beading at the corners of her eyes, “I should have seen the signs!”

Plagg slumps, “He hides it well. He doesn’t want anyone to worry about him.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“No, but it’s obvious once he knows he’s alone,” Plagg continues, wringing his paws together, “He’s always been…sad I guess, when he thinks no one is looking, but it’s only gotten worse after last week’s akuma attack.”

“Which one? We practically have one a day.”

Plagg’s whiskers twitch, “The one with the fireman.”

“Oh,” she whispers, bending the elbow of the arm supporting his head to check his temperature, “That was a tough one.”

“Yup.”

Her brows begin to furrow, “Didn’t he get hurt? He tried playing it off but…”

“We got caught when the house fell on us.”

“Oh god,” Ladybug’s hand covers her face in shock, “Did he get hurt? Did he hit his head?”

“I think so,” Plagg says, rubbing at the back of his head, “I can’t really remember. Everything was a bit of a blur after that.”

Concern burns deep in her chest, “Why didn’t my cure heal him?”

“I took the brunt of it,” Plagg murmurs, “And I’m not sure but...I haven’t felt like myself much since either.”

Ladybug’s thoughts begin to run rampant, “I need to get you to Master Fu. If you’ve been hurt, he can heal you too.”

“I’m not going anywhere without him,” Plagg kneads his paws against his wielder’s blankets, “You can take me after once he’s feeling better.”

“But what if…” Ladybug trails off, tipping another spoonful of broth passed Adrien’s lips, “Oh god, this is bad. Please tell me someone took him to the hospital.”

“He’s been playing it off as a headache, not that anyone asked. His father is never around and his assistant rarely interacts with him beyond what’s strictly necessary.”

Her arms tighten around him, “How could they not have noticed?”

“Like I said, he hides it well.”

Ladybug tries to keep the myriad of emotions threatening to well up behind her eyes at bay, “What are we going to do?”

“He has you.”

She looks up and Plagg stares back, his eyes burning with intensity, “Of course he does. We’re partners.”

“Just partners?”

Ladybug looks away from Plagg’s arched eyebrow and goes for the last few spoonfuls of soup, “He has Nino too, and Alya. And Marinette.”

Plagg’s eyebrow rises even higher, “You can’t fool me, Spots. You think I wouldn’t notice Tikki hiding in your handbag after all this time?”

Ladybug stiffens at the accusation, “Does he know?”

“Know what?”

“That I’m…Marinette.”

Plagg rolls his eyes in response, “No, not that’s it’s not completely obvious.”

She blushes at the sarcasm, watching as Adrien’s eyelashes flutter briefly before going slack again, “I don’t think I’m ready for him to know.”

“Then help him as Ladybug. Please.”

Ladybug holds back tears as Plagg’s nonchalance fails him for a moment, the panic and worry of the past week overwhelming him before he can manage to get his mask back into place. She reaches out to cup the kwami in her hand and nods resolutely, “I’ll do everything I can.”

Plagg presses his forehead into her palm, “Thank you.”

[axelsagewrites]

Stiles Stilinski*Followed Pt1

Ship(s): Stiles x Fem!Reader

Requested (?): By anonymous 

Can I get a Stiles x reader where the reader is this grunge/punk girl and is kinda intimidating and to everyone (even Derek?) and she finally gets a chance to be alone with Stiles (detention, study hall, etc. your choice) and they realize they have A LOT more in common than they thought?

Warnings?: couple swears, the norm.

Masterlist HERE

Wattpad HERE

 (Y/N)  pov

I swear if one more person says I’m scary I’m going to flip out! Okay, maybe that won’t convince them but still. Apparently, I look intimidating. My face is just naturally aggressive for some reason. It's like a curse really.

This was one of the reasons, I think, that my friendship group is only small. Very small, at least in school. while I had friends from middle school and even a couple from freshman year, I hadn’t made any recently in school.

According to my friends, it might have something to do with the dyed hair, sarcastic comments and, resting bitch face. I come from a very sarcastic family and you have to be witty to survive.

While I’m not exactly bullied words like ‘goth’ ‘emo’ and ‘freak’ seem to be used more when I walk in a room. While there isn’t anything wrong with being goth, I’m just sick of being called it. For a time, I just stopped wearing anything with black on it but after coming to school in a white and yellow outfit and still getting called goth I gave up.

So, I’m the grunge kid. The one your parents tell you to cross the street from and that your grandma reminds you how sweet you used to be. And I don’t give a fuck.

But I kinda do. Like while I don’t deal with the awkwardness of introductions and meeting new people it’s because people don’t talk to me. And I wanna talk! I want to make new friends and get out of my shell. Partly because I don’t want to be alone forever and partly because I don’t wanna die alone!

For a while now this school has felt…strange. It started with a dead body being found in the woods and for some reason, my stomach is still in knots. Not to mention the guy they suspected of the murder keeps randomly showing up at school and dragging Scott and Stiles away. While I’m not friends with either I can’t help but be a little worried for them.

As I walk out of school, I prepare for the walk home. Headphones, jacket zipped, and dead face. I might as well live up to expectations. Honesty I’m used to the silent walk home. I live just close enough that I can walk but far enough that it’s a pain in the ass. Occasionally I get lucky and get a ride home, but it’s been a while.

I pass by a car far too nice to be in our parking lot and the man in the car sends chills down my spine. Derek Hale. Why is he here and why does he creep me out? The black Camaro feels like a shadow over the school, a constant reminder that Beacon Hills isn’t that safe after all.

Unlike in a room com when our eyes locked, and I didn’t look away it was because I was scared. But I couldn’t show that. Never.

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

  3rd pov

Derek’s eyes stayed on the unnamed girl as she walked away until he heard his car door open. “Who is she?” he asked as Scott slid into the front seat.

Stiles clambered into the back seat, making Derek internally wince at the mud on his shoes, “Who?” He said loudly as if he was in some TV show.

Derek rolled his eyes and looked at Scott, just hoping someone would be normal. “Um, I’m not sure. She’s from a different middle school. kinda keeps to herself,”

“Is this the scary chick from chemistry?” Stiles's head popped between the two front seats.

“Yup, What’s her name again?” Scott said, flinging his head back. “(Y/N)?”

“Yeah (Y/N) (Y/L/N). Really sarcastic, kinda scary, and would probably start a fight. Remind you of anyone?” Stiles looked at Derek.

Derek raised an eyebrow at the boy, “You’re scared of me?” Stiles mumbled something under his breath, “Put your belts on. I don’t need more problems,”

As Derek backed out his parking spot Scott piped up, “Why do you wanna know anyway?”

“Hm? Just wondered. Something about her doesn’t seem quite…right,”

“Like supernatural?” Stiles asked, popping his head through again. “Can’t you use your werewolf smell to tell?” Derek rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything. In truth she didn’t have a smell, unlike Stiles where Derek could smell his emotions, she didn’t have anything. Or maybe he just couldn’t tell. Derek didn’t like not knowing.

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

 (Y/N) pov

Another day, same old school stuff. My mum, who used to resent some of the clothes I’d wear, said nothing as I walked out in grey skinny jeans, Star Wars tee, and dark green shirt.

It was winter now and the walks home and to school were getting darker. Last night it felt like someone lingered around every corner, but I was alone. The walk to school was only made better as I knew the sun was rising.

My mum didn’t finish work till 5 but something was telling me I shouldn’t walk home tonight. Instead, I told her I was going to study support and would be finished around 5. Luckily, she offered to swing by after to pick me up meaning I wouldn’t be leaving school till about 5:15.

All the hope of my friends staying with me went out the window. One was sick, one had to leave early for a dentist appointment, and the last didn’t want to stay back that long because she had an online tournament that night. So, I was going to be alone.

Chemistry study support lasted from the end of school, 3:30, till 4:30. What I was going to do after, I don’t know. But alas I took the walk to chemistry after school and figured the school, at least, was safe.

Kinda.

While Mr. Harrison hatted everyone in his class equally, he was still required to do at least one after school study support class. No one ever went. I’d even emailed him the night before to make sure it was still on. He said it was though and even double-checked in chemistry first thing that I was still going, probably wanted to see if he could not go himself. He didn’t linger long though as after asking me Stiles station started smoking and he quickly went to yell at the boy.

both tragically and thankfully I walked to his class after the bell. As expected when I stepped in his class it was empty. Well apart from the man sat at his desk, moodily grading papers. He looked up as I entered, “You came,” his voice was as motioned as always.

“Yup,” I gave an awkward smile. Quickly I went to my sent, pulling out my chemistry stuff. I figured if I was going to be here I might as well study, “Sir can you how I went wrong on this question?”

The eye-roll he barely tried to hide spoke volumes. Alas, he did saunter over to my desk to brutally tell me where I had gone wrong. Just as he finished his spiel the door opened. “You’re late Stiles,” he said, not looking away from my paper.

“Sorry, Sir. Coach- “

“Sit down,” Mr. Harrison sauntered away from my desk over to his. He pulled out two poly pockets filled with sheets and handed Stiles and me a packet. “Study this. I need to go to the photocopier and if a single thing is out of place when I come back, I’ll know who did it,” his stormy gaze was met with two pairs of uncaring teenage eyes before he all but stormed out the class.

As I glanced over the papers, I realised I would rather wait in the parking lot. I couldn’t help chuckling a little before I packed up. Stiles shifted in his seat, “Where are you going?” he stuttered a little.

I looked up from my desk to see him looking at me, but he looked straight down. “Anywhere but here. I came for study support not to proofread a book,”

“You chose to be here?”

“Yeah,” I said with a fake preppy smile, “apparently I really do hate myself,” I walked to the front of the class. “Detention?” he nodded with an awkward smile before sulking in his chair, tapping his pencil. He had the same habit each time he got embarrassed in class which was too often. “What’d you do?”

“Scott put too much of the enzyme in and then there was smoke, but it was only a little. And I got the blame! Because apparently coach wouldn’t miss me at practice,”

“Well that’s bull,” I said. Stiles just kinda nodded and somehow sulked further. “How longs your detention?”

“Till 4 or something. I mean you’ve probably had worse but still,”

I had to try hold in a laugh as I moved to sit on the desk across from Stiles. “Nope.” I chuckled. His eyebrows scrunched and damn his eyes, “I’ve never had detention,”

“Really? I mean no offence but like I just assumed because well you know- “

My sigh cut him off, “I’m what? Scary? Yeah, I get it but I’m not actually a bad person,”

“I never meant that. It's just you are a bit…” he seemed to think, “Intimidating. Like you look important and as if you’ve got somewhere to be and I don’t want to get in your way,”

“The only place I want to be is home,” I said, “At home, alone, watching some geeky movie with popcorn. But alas, here I am,”

Stiles paused, even stopping from tapping his pencil, “Sweet, salted, or butter popcorn?”

I paused for dramatic effect, “microwave popcorn, from the corner shop, butter – but! With sweet popcorn topping from a shaker,”

He groaned, “That sounds amazing,”

“It is,”

We fell back into silence. “If you could movie marathon any series,” Stiles started “What one would you chose?”

“Star Wars. Easy,”

“Really?” he asked, his jaw seemingly hanging off.

“Yeah,” I grinned, moving my plaid shirt out of the way to show the death star on my tee. Though I had worn it so often the print had faded, “what did you expect?”

“Some horror film or something. I didn’t expect you to be- “

“A massive geek?” Stiles laughed and a bubble formed in my chest, “Same question. What movie series? And what snacks?”

Somehow this turned into a 20-minute convo on movies before Harrison came back. “You’re still here?” he asked. “You know what just go. I’ve got better things to do than babysit two teenagers,” he didn’t have to tell us twice and we bolted for the door before he could change his mind.

“I can’t believe I chose to go there,” I laughed as we walked through the corridor.

“I know,” Stiles laugh was becoming a favourite sound of mine, “I mean maybe it’s a good thing. Now I know you’re not scary. And someone who finally loves Star Wars,”

“If you ever want to geek out?” I said, opening my arms as he opened the door to the outside “I’m down to talk Star Wars,”

The parking lot was desolate apart from 3 cars; Stiles, Mr. Harrisons, and some other car in the back corner of the lot. Stiles nodded to the car “Is that yours?”

“I don’t have a car,” I said, my eyes stuck on the car for some reason. I didn’t want to look away.

Stiles brought me back to reality “How are you getting home?”

I forced my eyes away and back towards the boy in front of me, “Um my mum said she'd pick me up after work,”

“When is she coming?” he asked, checking the time on his phone.

“like…5:20?” I said.

His eyes went wide, “So you’re just gonna sit here for over an hour?” I shrugged. He glanced at the blue truck, “Do you want a lift?”

“Um, are you sure? I wouldn’t want to- “

“It's fine yeah. I mean unless you don’t want to then I get it but um… I don’t mind.”

Silence. The blush on his checks made mine flare-up. “Hum, that would be great. I’ll text my mum then,”

“Its no problem. Where about do you stay?” when I told him something seemed to dawn on him, “you only live like 5 minutes from me,”

“Yeah you pass me in your truck every morning,” I said as I clambered into the passenger seat. “Nice car,”

“Thanks,” a goofy smile stretched his face, proud of himself. I couldn’t help smiling a little.

While the conversation was awkward and clunky it was honestly better than I had had with my friends at lunch. As we were driving, I got the same feeling I got last night. I kept glancing in the wing mirror. “Are you okay?” Stiles asked.

“That car,” I said, “in the wing mirror,” I saw him glance at it in the rear-view mirror. His eyes went back to the road but jumped back to the car almost instantly, “Is that from school?”

“Maybe they're going the same way?” he said.

“Why didn’t we notice them leave though?”

Stiles's eyes went back to the road, “I’ve got an idea,” he said as he put on his indicator. One left turn, then a right, then a left. the car was still there, “It following us,”

“But- “

“One's an incident, twos a coincidence, threes a pattern,” he reached into his pocket and handed me his phone, “text Scott,”

“Why Scott? Isn’t your dad the sheriff?” Stiles said nothing. Glancing at him, then the car, then the phone. I opened the phone and went to contacts, “Do you want him on speaker?”

“Don’t call!” Stiles looked at me quickly before putting his eyes on the road, “You need to trust me on this one. Text him. Tell him I’m going to Derek’s and to meet me there,”

“Like Derek hale? The murder?”

Stiles glanced at me, “I may not like the guy but believe it or not he’s one of the good guys. Kind of. Just trust me. Please?”

I nodded and opened Scott’s contact as I saw the car follow us around another corner.

[hungline]

love like you

pairing: jinkook  genre: angst, fantasy au, rated m  warnings: heavy angst, major character death, implied self-harm  a/n: written for the @btsbound‘s june 2017 exchange  words: 3385 

summary: Prince Seokjin has been cursed to be unable to love and it’s all Jeongguk’s fault. 

For as long as any young person in the Vale can remember, the prince, Kim Seokjin, has always been unable to love.

The tale is known far and wide, used as an old boogie man story to keep misbehaving children in check, but the tale is unfortunately true. The tale keeps Jeon Jeongguk up at night.

When Seokjin was a teenager, the young prince was cursed by a jealous sorcerer.

Kim Seokjin seemed to have it all. Servants at his beck and whim, his choice of food and drink, the best tutors the Vale had to offer, busy parents who still took some time out of their day to spend it with their son, and a close-knit group of friends who would do anything for the prince. And in that group of friends, was Jeon Jeongguk.

Jeongguk had been living in Seokjin’s shadow ever since he was born. As the son of a witch, he was expected to develop magical properties and he did, but it always paled in comparison to his best friend.

One day, Jeongguk had had enough.

He vowed that as long as there was one person who loved the prince, then the prince himself would not be able to love in return.

So he stayed true to his word and cursed his own friend.

As soon as the deed had been done, Jeongguk erased his memory, too distraught and in denial of the person he had become by forcing such a horrible fate onto someone who’d held him dear to their heart.

And so, that was how Jeongguk lived, with no memory of what he had done, but with no idea how to reverse it. With his memory wiped, Jeongguk had no recollection of how Seokjin had been cursed, he only knew of what he’d been cursed with.

That didn't stop the bone-crushing guilt from engulfing him whole, but the jealousy he once felt was gone. In its place was pity and an affection for the prince that was not there beforehand.

Jeon Jeongguk cursed Prince Kim Seokjin to never be able to love, not knowing that once he did, the sorcerer himself would fall in love with the prince.

That is where the true tale begins.

   If I could begin to be half of what you think of me, I could do about anything. I could even learn how to love.

   “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

The air is thick around them, mud and dirt surrounding the two, but all Jeongguk cares about is how much trouble they’ll be in when the King finally notices that the Prince is not in his studies and is instead prancing around high on the mountain with a feeble sorcerer. Something the King has made his opinion about known far and wide and Jeongguk would be lying if he said he wasn’t slightly terrified by what the King would do to him if his patience wore thin.

Seokjin laughs, a high reedy sound that used to annoy Jeongguk when they were children, but they’re adults now and Seokjin’s laugh is music to Jeongguk’s ears. The prince bends down to pick up clumps of mud in his hands, flinging them at Jeongguk to strike him on the side of his temple. “You worry too much.”

Jeongguk unamusedly wipes the mud off his face, sending daggers in the Prince’s direction. “Your father could have me killed, Your Highness. The only trouble you’d get into is a slap on the wrist.”

“Those slaps hurt!” Seokjin whines, pushing his bottom lip out to pout at the younger man. “My wrists are dainty, and besides, I thought I told you not to call me that when we're out and about. Out here, you and I are equals and my father would never do such a thing. You're like a son to him, Jeongguk.”

The sorcerer tries to not let on how his heart sinks when Seokjin says those words because he wants so much more than brotherly affection from the elder, but he holds his tongue and instead says, “That doesn't keep him from using me as your whipping boy. You say we're equals, but back there in those walls, I'm the lowest of the low.”

Seokjin laughs again and Jeongguk is too late to catch the smile that blooms across his lips before Seokjin can notice it. "We are equals. You volunteered for that position anyways and every time I've tried to get you out of getting punished, you don't let me. So how is it really my fault?"

Jeongguk shakes his head and sighs. "It's not your fault. I never said it was your fault. Don't make everything about you."

"How can it not be about me?"

"You are so full of it."

Seokjin only laughs, most of the lighthearted humor in him now gone. "You know I'm not."

And he's right. Ever since Seokjin was cursed, he'd quickly figured out that he couldn't love, not even himself. Jeongguk had had to hide sharp, blunt objects away from Seokjin when he'd realized why the prince no longer wore tops with short sleeves. Luckily, Seokjin's parents never caught onto what had been happening, but Jeongguk thought that maybe it was better that way. At least, that stage of Seokjin's life had been short lived and Jeongguk didn't have to lie as often anymore.

He's still sure that Namjoon, Seokjin's favorite tutor, had an idea at least.

"Why don't we head back? We have to wash off all this mud before dinner time," Jeongguk says, desperate to lighten the mood.

Seokjin nods and stands, stretching his arms out above his head, reaching for the sky as if he's only inches away from touching it instead of miles. Jeongguk gulps when he notices the prince's tunic rising with the action to reveal a stripe of bare skin, the prince's bare abdomen on full display for the sorcerer to see. He knows that it's hopeless, the prince can't love anything or anyone, but Jeongguk can't help it. He's fallen so foolishly for Seokjin that he just can't think straight anymore. His thoughts become mush whenever the prince is around and Jeongguk doesn't know how at one point he used to hate the man before him.

The prince lets his arms fall back to his sides then and smirks over at Jeongguk who's still eyeing the place where he'd caught a glimpse of Seokjin's skin. "You're not subtle."

Jeongguk startles, almost losing his already precarious foothold on the unstable ground beneath them and recovers hastily, face flushed as he says, "Let's go."

Seokjin says nothing in response and instead begins to walk in the direction that they came from. Jeongguk follows dutifully behind him, keeping up a continuous string of words in order to invoke a simple charm that wipes the muddy footsteps they make with each step they take back towards the looming castle in the distance. The castle walls stand high, impenetrable and inescapable with only one way to go out and in and Jeongguk feels like he’s being locked up when he and Seokjin finally pass through the castle gates.

Jeongguk has taken precautions so as to go unnoticed by the guards, casting a simple charm of disguise to make sure Seokjin’s unbearably handsome face won’t stand out so much. The guards don’t spare them a glance as they walk pass and Seokjin takes it upon himself to lead them towards the servants’ entrance where they would be led to the castle’s kitchen. Bora tsks at them as they enter, shoving some food towards the men after she’s made them wash their muddy hands.

“If you hurry now, you can slip up to your rooms and wash up just in time for dinner,” Bora says, dusting her hands off on her apron before turning back to the oven where the main dish of their supper is cooking. “Just make sure to take the back corridors and Gukkie, don’t drop the disguises until you know that you’re in the clear, got it?”

Bora, as a witch herself, has always been able to see past Jeongguk’s charms and spells and she always makes sure to look out for the two men whenever she can. Jeongguk nods and thanks her, complimenting her cooking skills to ease the tension that follows after. Seokjin sits quietly as he eats, watching the two interact with more attention than usual. Jeongguk doesn’t know what’s on the Prince’s mind, but he doesn’t like the gleam in Seokjin’s eyes when they finish eating and head back to their rooms.

Jeongguk feels a nervous sweat begin to form on his nape that still has streaks of mud dried to it and he’s trying his best not to feel offended by the way Seokjin is blatantly staring at him. It’s as if Jeongguk is an animal that Seokjin’s studying, his piercing eyes raking over everything, determined to not miss a single thing about Jeongguk and what makes the sorcerer tick. Jeongguk doesn’t like it and keeping eye contact with the prince is difficult enough without the staring.

Whenever their eyes meet, Jeongguk feels butterflies in his stomach and crushing guilt in his chest. He’s always left breathless and confused and this time is no different than any other, except that Seokjin is closing in on him.

The sorcerer has barely noticed that they now stand in front of his room, one floor below Seokjin’s own chamber because all of his attention is focused on how Seokjin’s trapping him against the wall. His arms encompass Jeongguk’s head and the sorcerer knows that his muddy clothes are staining the tapestry behind him, but he can’t force himself to care about that right now. He cares more about the way Seokjin is leaning into him, as if contemplating how far he wants to take things.

Jeongguk somehow finds the will to speak coherently, asking what his own mind has been screaming about for the past few torturous seconds. “Are you going to kiss me?”

The prince tilts his head to the side, gaze lowering to linger on Jeongguk’s lips before meeting the sorcerer’s gaze again. “I don’t know yet.”

“Why not?” Jeongguk is definitely whining and he does not care one bit if he is because Seokjin is so close and his brain is just screaming the prince’s name on loop.

Seokjin laughs and presses himself against the younger, firm chest against firm chest. Jeongguk wants to put his hands on the elder’s waist to steady himself, but he restrains himself and keeps his hands balled into fists at his sides. The prince stares at Jeongguk, taking in every detail he can find: the mole under his bottom lip, the gross looking crust of mud that covers a half of his face, the way Jeongguk’s top teeth jut out slightly to give his face a rabbit-like look, and how shallow his breaths have become. Seokjin leans in closer, a thoughtful look on his face as he thinks about what may or may not happen.

The prince has a theory about true love’s first kiss being the cure to breaking his curse, but seeing as he can’t love, he’s deduced who may have been his true love if he could love. All his musings and pondering and reluctant writings all point back to Jeongguk. He remembered the gigantic crush he used to have on the sorcerer when they were pre-adolescents, and his crush had remained up until he’d woken up one day, not able to love anymore. Seokjin had known something was wrong with him when he saw Jeongguk and didn’t feel like his heart had jumped into his throat. So here Seokjin is, about to fulfill all the fantasies he’d had as a thirteen year old with the man he’s positive he would’ve ended up having a happily ever after with had he not been cursed.

Jeongguk opens his mouth to say something then and any reason Seokjin may have had beforehand goes flying out the window when he shuts the sorcerer up with his own mouth.

Hands clamber up to grip the prince’s narrow waist and Seokjin takes this as a sign to let his own hands wander, fingers trailing up Jeongguk’s spine before twisting into his mostly clean hair. Their lips slot together almost naturally, like tectonic plates clicking into place before waiting for the earthquake to hit. And when it does hit, Jeongguk’s whole body shakes, his mind going blank before hidden memories begin to play in the very depths of his consciousness. Jeongguk goes still then, but Seokjin continues to kiss him, not paying attention to the sorcerer's body language.

Jeongguk is too busy remembering to really notice that the man he's been crushing on is kissing him, the same man he cursed to such a miserable existence.

He's unworthy of this attention from the prince. Jeongguk is unworthy of Seokjin and so he pushes the prince away and runs to his quarters, a panicked look on his face. Seokjin stares at him, something akin to hurt on his features, but Jeongguk doesn't look back once so he wouldn't really know.

The door to his small chamber shuts with a loud bang and Jeongguk slumps against it, all the energy being knocked out of him. He knows that there's mud on the door now, but all he really cares about is what he did to the prince.

He cursed him. Jeongguk cursed Seokjin to never be able to love and wiped his own memory to forget about what he'd done. It hadn't worked though because as soon as Seokjin had kissed him, Jeongguk had remembered everything.

He remembers the jealousy that had driven him to such extremes and compared to how he feels for the prince now, Jeongguk doesn't know how he made such a huge mistake. He's fallen so hard for the prince, but he was the one who'd cursed him. It was Jeongguk's fault why Seokjin couldn't even love himself.

Jeongguk needs to fix this.

   When I see the way you act, wondering when I’m coming back, I could do about anything. I could even learn how to love like you.

I always thought I might be bad, now I’m sure that it’s true! ‘Cause I think you’re so good and I’m nothing like you.

   Seokjin misses Jeongguk, and the sorcerer only knows because Bora told him so.

Once Jeongguk had reclaimed his memories, he left the castle. The only person able to contact him now is Bora. He wonders if she knew what he had done and let him get close to the prince on purpose. He doesn't know what Bora may know, but he does know that Seokjin's attention is not something he deserves in the slightest.

So he left. Packed what few possessions he had and showed up on Yoongi's doorstep, asking if he could stay with him for awhile. Yoongi had only sighed and stepped away from the door, letting Jeongguk pass without a single complaint.

It's been two weeks and Jeongguk still has no idea how he's supposed to fix what he did. He has some ideas, but once he tried a few, he became discouraged after each one failed.

He doesn’t deserve Seokjin and the prince shouldn’t be missing him. Jeongguk is unworthy. He could never accept attention or kindness from Seokjin now that he remembers, not after what he’s done. The sorcerer’s heart beat runs wild when Bora tells him of how Seokjin is doing, but Jeongguk knows that he doesn’t deserve these updates and he doesn’t deserve kindness from anybody.

He’s a monster for what he’s done.

Maybe if he didn't exist, then the source of magic that keeps the curse alive on the prince would run out and the curse would finally be lifted.

It's a scary idea to think about, but Jeongguk has already done enough damage that he feels he has no right to be scared.

He ruined his best friend's life because he was petty and jealous and too immature to think about the consequences of his actions. He'd been at fault for Seokjin's self-hatred and he’s at fault for Seokjin not ever being able to find happiness with another person or within himself.

Everything is Jeongguk’s fault and he needs to set things right, no matter the cost.

   Look at you go! I just adore you. I wish that I knew what makes you think I’m so special.

If I could begin to do something that does right by you, I would do about anything.

I would even learn how to love.

   Seokjin knows that the curse is broken when he erupts into tears after hearing the news.

He didn’t cry over his mother’s death. He didn’t cry when one of his many dogs died. He didn’t cry when his grandmother passed away.

With not being able to love, Seokjin wasn’t able to care deeply about any of these people or animals enough to be distraught when they left this world. He couldn’t love and therefore, he couldn’t be sad over them. He couldn’t cry.

But he is crying over Jeongguk’s death.

Bora told him, tears in her eyes, her short bob a spiky mess and face blotchy as she did. Seokjin stood still and then blinked when wetness met his cheek.

He’d raised his hand and was met with tears. Real actual tears streaming down his face.

“Oh no,” Bora whispers, her suspicions now confirmed, but Seokjin doesn’t pay attention.

He’s too occupied with the fact that it feels like his heart is trying to rip its way out of his chest and he can’t breathe, breaths turning into wheezing pants. His hands claw at his throat, trying to loosen the tunic he wears, but to no avail. Bora takes his hands into hers and pulls him close to her chest.

They sink to the floor in each other’s arms and mourn.

The curse has been lifted, but Seokjin doesn’t want to know how or why. All he knows is that Jeongguk is gone for good.

   When I see the way you look, shaken by how long it took, I could do about anything.

   The funeral is a quiet event.

It’s also small.

Seokjin watches as they lower the tiny canoe that bears Jeongguk’s body into the river. He’s surrounded by flowers, flowers that Seokjin spent over an hour arranging all by himself.

White chrysanthemums for grief. White gladioli for sincerity and strength of character. White lilies for majesty and purity. Pink carnations for remembrance, white for innocence and pure love. One single crimson rose for grief, sorrow, and enduring love.

In Jeongguk’s hands is a sole pink orchid to convey the feelings that Seokjin can feel now: “I will always love you.”

Seokjin, Namjoon and Yoongi hold yellow roses and step forward to lay them atop the sorcerer. They are for their strong ties of friendship.

The two younger men step back, but the prince remains where he is watching as the bearers undo the ropes that hold Jeongguk’s canoe still. When they’re undone, Seokjin cries silently as Jeongguk drifts away, following the flow of the river and leaving the prince for good.

Jeon Jeongguk, Kim Seokjin’s best friend, sole confidante, childhood crush, and true love. Jeon Jeongguk, the jealous, misguided sorcerer who cursed Kim Seokjin to never be able to love and died to undo what he had done.

Seokjin vows to never love again.

But that doesn’t stop him from doing what his father wants and marrying Kim Namjoon.

Namjoon is kind and understanding and he understands how Seokjin feels about Jeongguk’s death, but he’s also aromantic and he doesn’t love the prince. They make a good pair and Seokjin is content with the marriage, though they never have other partners out of respect for each other and their own feelings as well.

It’s a good match and Seokjin always imagines it’s Jeongguk he shares a bed with every night.

Seokjin, however, is adamant about the fact that he will absolutely not rule the kingdom as King and so his cousin Taehyung steps in and takes over for him.

He doesn’t care, the kingdom is nothing to what Seokjin already lost.

   I could even learn how to love like you.

Love like you.

Love me, like you.

[paleandmoonstruck]

Half-Sick of Shadows CH 2

The next chapter is up! You can go read it on AO3 here. I’ll be properly updating/keeping you guys posted on this blog from now on, so stay on the look out for snippets and the like. As well, if it would so please you, you can leave little prompts in my ask box and I’ll write you a drabble from the universe of this fic! See you soon! <3

“I just think that maybe working in the Peaky Blinders’ pub is a bit too much for you,” Alice fretted, wringing her hands as Lucy slipped into her shoes.

Rolling her eyes, Lucy turned to face her. “And what do you mean by that?”

“You’re a bloody trouble magnet!” Alice said, “I swear you can’t walk two feet down the road without bumping into something you shouldn’t.”

“I’m a big girl,” Lucy said, tugging on her hat. “I can take care of myself around these kinds of people. You know that. And need I remind you who suggested I apply there?”

“You know full well I meant Kelly’s,” Alice hissed. This was true. What Lucy wouldn’t give for someone to have snapped a photograph at the exact moment when she informed Alice that she had been employed at the Garrison. Her face had lost all colour, jaw practically hitting the floor. “How was I supposed to know that the Blinders were looking for staff as well?”

“What’s done is done. I’ll be fine, provided I’m not late like I will be if we continue this conversation. Then they might cut my fingers off.”

Alice lifted her hand to her forehead, sighing rather dramatically as she went to flop down in the armchair. “You’ll be the death of me, Lucy Frasier, you will.”

“See you tonight,” Lucy trilled, stepping out onto the street. The walk was long enough to be pleasant, but short enough not to feel like a trip. She wore her same blue coat, but earned fewer stares. Something warm settled in her chest; a nice familiarity. It made her strides more purposeful, lifted her chin.

The Garrison was empty when she entered, despite the door being open. She locked it behind her according to Arthur’s instructions. Making for the back room, she shrugged off her coat. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a sharp “shh!”

“Hello?” Lucy whispered, whipping her head around the back room. A flicker of movement in the corner of her eye. A small girl crawled out from beneath the desk, face and hands streaked with dust and dirt.

Unsure how to respond, Lucy stared down at the girl. She looked to be around ten, and was staring up at Lucy with an equal amount of bafflement. She, however, was not at a loss for words, “Miss Charity?”

Blinking, Lucy snapped out of it. “No, my name is Lucy Frasier. Is that who’s watching you?”

“I wish,” the little girl said. “I’ll I’ve got is Katie, who’s a right pain. That’s fine, though. I’m playing hide-and-seek with her, and she’ll never find me.”

“Right,” Lucy said slowly, “and who might you be?”

Sticking her hand out like a prim and proper young lady, she ducked her head in greeting. “Georgina Shelby, Miss Frasier. Pleasure to meet your acquaintance.”

She mispronounced ‘acquaintance’, and Lucy felt a small bubble of affection rise in her chest. Shaking her hand, she offered Georgina a bright grin. “And I yours, Miss Shelby.”

Then she realized exactly what the girl had said. “Shelby? Like the Shelbys who own this pub?”

“Yep. It’s my Uncle Arthur’s pub, but everyone knows that Uncle Tommy is the one who really owns everything,” she said matter-of-factly. A shadow passed over her face, and she narrowed her little eyes, “if everyone knows, then why don’t you?"

Despite herself, Lucy couldn’t help the relief blooming in her gut at the words ‘Uncle Tommy’. “I’m not from Birmingham,” she said. “I’ve just arrived to live with a friend. I’m working here as a barmaid and a singer.”

Georgina nodded, understanding glowing in her eyes. “So you’re here to replace Miss Burgess?”

“I suppose so,” Lucy said, utterly confused but not unhappy. Setting her hat on the coat rack, she offered Georgina a hand, “why don’t we get you cleaned up, and you can help me set up in here if you want to hide from Katie?”

Tommy Shelby had never felt uncomfortable entering the Garrison before.

This is ridiculous, he thought, standing outside the door of his own bloody pub like an idiot. He reached into his jacket pocket, thumb tracing the worn gilded letters of the book that lay there. He was loath to part with it, but it had never been his.

Pulling off his cap as he walked through the front door, he sped up as he took in the sight of Georgina talking Lucy’s ear off. He had no idea how she had snuck in here; Esme was going to have a heart attack.

“What are you doing here, Georgie?” he said by way of greeting.

Spinning around in her seat, Georgina’s face lit up, “Uncle Tom!”

He allowed her to fling herself at him, meeting Lucy’s gaze over her head. A soft grin was tugging at the corner of her mouth, her eyes warm.

He had the random urge to crack a joke, just to broaden her smile, and force her dimple to appear.

Instead, he pulled away from Georgina, leaning against the polished wood of the bar. “I see you’ve met our Georgie. I hope she hasn’t been too much trouble.”

“She’s a delight,” Lucy said, voice utterly sincere. God, did he love her accent.

Georgina peeked up from where she had burrowed into his chest, “isn’t she wonderful? And so beautiful? I thought she was Miss Charity at first!”

He regarded her suspiciously. Georgina never acted so stereotypically childlike unless she had an ulterior motive. “Very wonderful, Georgie. Now where’s Arthur? Tell him I’ll watch the pub for a bit so he can bring you home.”

The soft puppy-dog look in Georgina’s eyes died immediately. “I don’t want to go home.”

He sighed, bracing himself for a negotiation session. A true Shelby, Georgina never did something for nothing.

“Say,” Lucy said, just a little too pointedly to be off-hand, “you remember that princess you were telling me about? With the flowers in her braid?”

Flipping to face Lucy, Georgina narrowed her eyes at her. “Princess Lyra?”

Shrugging, Lucy leaned over the bar to get closer to the eight-year-old. “If you go home with your uncle, I’ll drop by on my next day off and teach you how to braid your hair the same way.”

For a moment, Georgina looked as though she was considering getting that in writing. Instead, she held out a small hand for Lucy to shake, “sounds like a deal.”

There was the grin. As Lucy curled her fingers around Georgina’s, her lips curved into a dazzling crooked smile, revealing the dimple in the hollow of her left cheek. For the briefest of moments, Tommy’s breath caught in his chest.

You’re an idiot, he thought, tapping Georgina on the shoulders. “Alright, deal struck. Go get Arthur.”

As soon as Georgina scampered off towards the back room, Lucy arched an eyebrow at him, “who is Miss Charity?”

“One of those newspaper cartoons,” he said. “She’s a debutante, supposed to teach young girls lessons in etiquette. Georgie’s obsessed with her. She wants to be the next queen.”

Her smile grew mischievous, “I am exceedingly well-mannered.”

He couldn’t help shooting her a disbelieving look, “from what I remember of you, you’re far from a lady.”

For the briefest of moments, the air in the room seemed to still. He cursed himself. The memory of her flashed across his mind: their fingers interlaced, the soft curve of her waist, the faint taste of champagne that had clung to her mouth.

Her eyes narrowed, then she rearranged her posture. Spine straightening as though she wore a corset, her limbs gained a fluid, airy quality. She composed her face into a perfect mask of neutrality, settling on one of the bar stools with all the grace of a duchess. “My grandmother was very big on etiquette,” she murmured, offering him the small smile permitted to proper ladies. He preferred her grin.

He grabbed a cigarette, striking a match as he lifted it to his lips. This was interesting information, it could be of use. “Full of surprises, I see,” he said, turning his attention to the burning in his lungs.

She dropped the charade, propping her head up on her fist. “I’ve got plenty of hidden talents.”

Was she really looking at him like that, or was he imagining it? Either way, he needed to change the subject before he did something inadvisable. He reached into his pocket, pulling out her book of Tennyson and laying it on the bar.

He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. She paused, lifting up her head and flicking her gaze back and forth between the book and his face. Her hands shook as she reached for it, picking it up off the bar like it was something holy. He watched her fingers trace the letters of the title, and when she looked back up at him he could’ve sworn there were tears in her eyes. “You kept it?”

“It brought me comfort,” he said, coming to stand rather abruptly. Picking up a glass and a bottle of gin, he gestured towards the snug. “I’ll be in there, if you need me. Pleasure to see you again.”

So he left, cigarette still trailing smoke in his hand. She would have asked for explanations he didn’t have. This was for the best.

“You motherfucker!”

Lucy’s head snapped up, already coming around the corner of the bar to break up whatever was about to happen. Two men stood in the half of the room closest to the door, barely two fists apart.

One was slightly taller, with slicked-back blond hair and a wicked scar across his cheek. His bone structure was both fine and sharp, like someone had decided to fashion a knife into a man. He was exactly the kind of person she’d cross the street to avoid.

The other was no more comforting. His dark hair was cut short on the sides in the modern fashion, a peaked flat-cap clutched in one hand. He was a Blinder, and he was currently punching the blond man in the face.

She winced. The Blinder looked strong, built broad and muscular. By the time she made it three paces they were exchanging blows, and the door to the snug was billowing open.

Something about the idea of Tommy watching made her a little braver. She stomped across the shining floors of the pub — floors she had just scrubbed this morning — and wedged herself between the men, planting a hand on each of their chests. “Hey — Hey! Stop it!”

The men came to a pause, panting heavily. The blond glared down at her. “I’d move, if you don’t want that face of yours to get a lot less pretty.”

“Shut the fuck up and save it for someone who cares,” she spat. Something warm and wet splashed against her neck, and she realized the Blinder behind her was bleeding. Turning to examine his face, she found bright green eyes trained on her. He was somewhere between fury and curiosity, and she couldn’t help but shiver beneath the intensity of it. His eyebrow was split, dripping blood down his cheek.

“This fucking cunt just stuck his hand up my friend’s skirt,” he said, nodding towards a young woman who was cringing away from them both.

“I don’t care if he tried to kiss the fucking queen,” Lucy said. “If you have something you’d like to sort out with fists, by all means take it outside. But keep it out of my pub.”

Before she knew what was happening, the blond had reached out and wrapped his hands around her neck. For a heartbeat she was frozen, brought back to a different day, a different set of fingers curled around her throat.

She slammed her fist into his nose.

He reared back, bellowing as his hands flew up to his face. Blood hit the polished wood, and he stumbled away from her, reaching for his coat. “You fucking bitch!”

The Blinder called out to him, “this isn’t fucking over, McCreedy!”

Lucy stepped away, desperate to shake off the claustrophobic feeling that surrounded her. She looked at the young woman ‘McCreedy’ had grabbed. “Are you okay?”

Lifting her timid gaze, she spoke with a strong French accent, “quite alright, thank you.”

“Are you sure?” Lucy asked, switching to French, “I’ll get you a drink for your nerves, on the house.”

The girl’s face softened, relief blooming across her features. “Merci beaucoup.”

Turning back to the Blinder, she tugged on his wrist, picking up his half-glass of whiskey. “Come with me, you idiot.”

He followed her obediently to the bar, and she pretended not to notice Tommy making his own way over. She tugged the handkerchief out of the Blinder’s pocket, dumping his whiskey on it. “Stay still,” she instructed, reaching up to clean out the cut on his eyebrow.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said dryly. “The name’s Gideon, by the way.”

“Lucienne,” she murmured, focused on the split. “But English folk call me Lucy.”

“We’ve heard of you,” he said, trying his best to gesture back to his table without moving. “Arthur Shelby’s been telling everyone who’ll listen about the pretty new face he’s hired.”

She hummed noncommittally, trying to ignore the burning feeling of Tommy’s gaze on her neck. The skin there still throbbed, and she redoubled her focus on Gideon’s cut. Snapping open the first-aid kit she had made up, she used a clean pair of scissors to cut a butterfly bandage. She lined up the layers of skin with careful precision, sticking the bandage solidly in the middle of the wound.

“There,” she murmured, “shouldn’t even scar.”

He grinned, “much obliged. Now, I’ve heard you’re a singer. How true is that?”

“Depends on the day,” she said, turning to her first-aid supplies to avoid eye-contact.

“We’re musicians, my friends and I,” he said, grabbing her hand. She stiffened at the sudden contact, but he didn’t seem to notice. “You should perform with us, we come in here with our instruments sometimes.”

Sighing, she turned to look at him. His eyes were bright, face like a kid on Christmas day. She offered him a small smile. “We’ll see.”

“Let me walk you home.”

Tommy’s voice floated across the empty bar. The cleaning was finished for the night, and Lucy was about ready to lock up.

She tossed the idea around in her head. Did she want to prolong her time in Tommy’s presence? Undeniably. Despite herself, every moment where they were in the same room felt important and precious. She couldn’t go longer than a few minutes without flicking her gaze over to him.

But this was a different time; a different place. Whatever had been between them in France had disappeared, and there was no use trying to fool themselves into thinking otherwise.

“It’s fine,” she assured him, shrugging on her coat.

His eyes caught on the bright blue of it. She watched him swallow, eyes flicking over her with a look she couldn’t quite place. “After this evening? Please, for my own peace of mind.”

“Okay,” she murmured, something wondrous and strange unfurling in her gut as he offered her his arm.

The walk was quiet. She supposed neither of them knew what to say. It was like one of Alice’s terrible romance novels come to life in the most terrible way. Their steps were aligned, every thump of their feet beating in perfect time with one another. She wanted to bottle the sound for later and write a song.

A cry of pain tore through the night buzz, shaking her from her thoughts. They stopped dead, and Lucy cast her gaze up at Tommy. He was already reaching for the gun at his waist, shifting to curl himself closer to her. Another loud cry echoed from the alley they had just passed, followed by a whimper of pain.

Without thinking, she peeled herself out of Tommy’s arms and sprinted towards the shadows. Someone was hurt. Her mind raced, fingers already reaching for the first-aid kit in her bag. She heard Tommy curse behind her; the sound of his feet following hers.

A girl leaned against the alley wall, head tipped back in pain. She clutched her abdomen. Blood stained the gray concrete.

Lucy approached slowly, speaking soft, “what’s happened?”

The girl turned, and Lucy saw that she wasn’t bleeding from anywhere on her torso. She was young, maybe sixteen. “I got pregnant,” the girl whimpered, eyes wide and wild with pain.

“And then what?” Lucy coaxed, crossing the alley to come to her side.

“My man went and left me. I had to go and get the baby handled.”

“Tabarnak,” Lucy cursed. She turned to Tommy, who had his gun pulled out and a strange look on his face. “She’s dying. I need to help her.”

“You can bring her to Watery Lane,” he said. “It’s closer than the Garrison at this point.”

She nodded, turning back to the girl. “Can you walk? I can help you, but I need to get you somewhere safe and clean first.”

The girl nodded, and as Tommy rushed them along, Lucy asked for her name.

“Angeline.”

“Very French,” Lucy mused.

“My mum read it in a book once. It means ‘angel’. Guess I’m not an angel anymore though, am I?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Thou shalt not kill. One of the imp —” Angeline cut herself off with a cry of pain, and Lucy shifted to take more of her weight. By the time they reached the front door of Watery Lane, she was practically dragging her across the sidewalk.

Tommy nearly flung open the door, sidestepping out of the way to allow Lucy some room. She placed Angeline on the floor with little grace, already scrambling for her bag. She heard a cacaphony of voices from a nearby room, but her entire world had narrowed to what was in front of her.

She worked methodically, cleaning her hands with Dakin solution and snapping on a pair of gloves. “Angeline, what did the abortionist use?”

“A knitting needle.”

Lifting up Angeline’s skirts, Lucy gently removed her bloody undergarments. “Jésus et tous ses saints.” It was likely an internal bleed; something she was not authorized to — or capable of — fixing.

Swishing black fabric entered her line of sight, and Lucy looked up to see an imposing older woman standing above her. “Who are you?”

Lucy took off her hat, laying it to the side.“Miss Lucienne Frasier. A pleasure. Do you have any red raspberry leaf tea, perchance?”

The woman blinked at her. “You’d like some tea?"

“Not for me. For Angeline. It’ll slow her bleeding, hopefully.”

“Right,” the woman said, nodding and turning on heel.

Lucy refocused. Angeline was crying, body shaking against the hardwood. Shushing her, Lucy rubbed gentle circles on the back of her hand. “It’ll be alright, ma chouette. I need to know, how far along were you?”

“Six weeks, I reckon,” Angeline choked out. “I wanted to keep it, at first. Had names picked out and everything.”

Lucy kept talking even as her mind raced, “what were the names?”

She was bleeding somewhere Lucy couldn’t stitch without cutting her open. She needed to clean the wound and stop the bleeding. Angeline hadn’t been far along enough to need anything removed. Any embryo or the bare beginnings of a fetus would have been swept out before Lucy had stumbled upon her.

“If it was a girl, I would’ve named her Elizabeth Jane, after my mum and my aunt. She could’ve been Eliza, for short. If it was a boy, it would’ve been James Henry, after my brothers. They died in the War, over in France.”

“Those are beautiful names,” Lucy murmured, racking her brain. She needed to stop the bleeding, but not by closing the wound. The next best thing would be pressure, she supposed, but how could she apply pressure to an internal wound?

“You’re a nurse, are ye?” Angelina asked, “were you in France?”

An idea struck Lucy. Slapping on a pair of gloves, she tore open her bag for her roll of bandages, beginning to wrap it into a ball. She answered Angeline’s question absentmindedly, “I was.”

“Was it horrible? The dying and all?”

“A moment,” Lucy said, pouring Dakin solution on a smaller wad of cotton gauze. “I”m going to use this to clean the wound. It will feel very, very strange, but you have to trust me. Keep talking to me, alright?”

For a brief moment, Lucy came back to where she was. Tommy was on the other side of the room, standing with the older woman from before. They were next to one another, but both staring at her. She was still in her coat and shoes, kneeled before a stranger’s gentials on the floor of a near-stranger’s entryway.

“Right,” she said, turning back to Angeline. “France was horrible, I suppose, but not in the way you’re imagining. You get used to everything eventually.” She tied her soaked gauze to a thin metal rod she’d typically use to set a broken bone. Inserting it as smoothly and quickly as possible, she focused on cleaning where her approximation of the wound was.

“The first few times a man dies underneath your hands, it’s awful. There’s a moment, you know, where you can feel it. It’s like when the string of a kite snaps. There’s so much movement, and energy, and then suddenly there’s nothing; you’re left holding a bit of loose thread. And you want to snatch at the kite — get it back, somehow — but it’s already so far away. But the first time I had a patient die on me, and I felt nothing? Nothing worse. I felt like a monster. That’s what was horrible about France. It did something to people; took away their humanity. We were packs of beasts hurling lead at each other and crawling back a few kilometres to lick at our wounds.”

The rod came out soaked in blood, but it sizzled against the Dakin solution. This was working.

“What was the worst thing you ever saw?” Angeline asked.

Balling up more clean gauze, Lucy had to stop and think about that one. “I once held a toddler as he died,” she whispered, her voice nearly echoing in the dead-silent room. She kept cleaning the wound. There was resistance at the cervix, but whatever the abortionist had done to enlarge it originally was still holding true. Voice shaky, Lucy kept going with her story.

“He was a civilian casualty. Covered in massive burns. The skin was peeling off of him, almost down to the bone. I couldn’t do anything but ease the pain.” She tried to keep her movements smooth and slow, her fingers flexing jerkily. “He was so tiny. Malnourished, probably. I took him out of the tents, away from the noise and stink. And I held a globe of ether to his face, and sang until he died.”

The older woman spoke from behind her, “what did you sing to him?”

Lucy turned to peer over her shoulder, the woman standing there with a pot of tea and tin mug. “An old Jacobite song,” she answered. “Something my grandmother would sing as a lullaby. I suppose to me, it’s a promise.”

“Of what?” the woman asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Protection. The song was written about Bonny Prince Charlie. For me, it means ‘I will keep you safe, even at my own peril.’”

Angeline closed her eyes. “Will you sing it?”

Lucy stiffened. She had sung the same song for Tommy. He would remember that. What would he think of it? How could she explain the strange sense of connection she had felt for him since the beginning?

But Angeline looked so small. So tired. And Tommy wasn’t dumb. She had already tipped her hand by describing the song. Might as well thoroughly fuck herself over. So as she tended to Angeline, she began to sing:

Speed, bonny boat

Like a bird on the wing.

’Onward’, the sailors cry.

Carry the lad, that’s born to be king

Over the sea to Skye.

Loud the winds howl,

Loud the waves roar,

Thunderclaps rend the air.

Baffled, our foes stand by the shore;

Follow, they will not dare.

Tommy had drawn in a sharp breath behind her, but she just kept working. The cotton was coming back less and less red.

Speed, bonny boat

Like a bird on the wing.

‘Onward’, the sailors cry.

Carry the lad, that’s born to be king

Over the sea to Skye.

Though the waves leap,

Soft shall ye sleep;

Ocean’s a royal bed.

Rocked in the deep, Flora will keep

Watch by your weary head.

She gestured for the older woman to approach, still singing. Angeline looked as though she might fall asleep, and though she hated to disturb her, she needed to drink her tea. Flipping around, she lifted Angeline’s head into her lap, lowering the mug to her lips.

Speed, bonny boat

Like a bird on the wing.

‘Onward’, the sailors cry.

Carry the lad, that’s born to be king

Over the sea to Skye.

Many’s the lad, fought on that day

Well the Claymore could wield.

When the night came, silently lay

Death, on Culloden’s field.

Angeline drained the cup, and Lucy gently shifted out from beneath her head. Balling up yet more gauze, she tied it with medical string, measuring it against her fist. Hopefully it was small enough to fit, but large enough to actually apply pressure. Cutting the song off for a moment, she forewarned Angeline, “this is going to be very, very painful.”

Angling the rod, she wished for the umpteenth time that she had proper equipment. With careful hands, she began to stuff Angeline with the gauze.

Speed, bonny boat

Like a bird on the wing.

‘Onward’, the sailors cry.

Carry the lad, that’s born to be king

Over the sea to Skye.

Burnt are our homes;

Exile and death.

Scatter the loyal men.

Yet ‘ere the sword, cool in its sheath,

Charlie will come again.

Speed, bonny boat

Like a bird on the wing.

‘Onward’, the sailors cry.

Carry the lad, that’s born to be king

Over the sea to Skye.

Over the sea to Skye.

Through it all, Angeline cried and bit her palm. Lucy desperately wanted to cry too. Her chest was too tight, her head light. Instead, she kept at it, reaching up to hold Angeline’s free hand. By the time the song was over, the gauze had gone where it needed to. The string still hung out, leaving the ability to remove and replace it.

“Shhh, mon gentil ange,” Lucy murmured, drawing Angeline back into her lap. “It’s over now. You did such a good job.”

Crying into her legs, Angeline choked out a response, “do you think I’ll go to Hell?”

“What, for getting an abortion?”

Angeline nodded, her small frame shaking.

“I don’t know if you’ll go to Hell or not. Though — and I’m not much for church anymore, but —if I remember correctly, that’s what repenting’s for? God knows that we are but weak mortals, prone to sin, and all that. And I have to say, if you've decided you're going to Hell, ma chérie, it should be over something a little more exciting than making sure your eventual child doesn't grow up in poverty, shame, and suffering.”

After a beat of silence, the older woman spoke up, “do you have anyone you can call for, sweetheart? Someone should stay with you.”

“Me mum. She lives on the other side of the cut.”

“Right,” the woman said. “I’ll take her address, and I’ll get one of the boys to take you there in the car. Miss Frasier, would you like to take a seat? Tommy will you get you something to drink, I’m sure you’re in need of it.”

Stripping off her gloves, Lucy reached for her notebook. “I’ll take your address too, mon ange. I’ll come visit you in the morning and redo your gauze. You should stay in bed until I give you the clear to move about.”

Copying down the street and number of her apartment, Lucy supposed she would need Alice’s help to find it. She made to stand, but found that her legs gave out beneath her. She nearly fell, a strong arm wrapping around her waist to steady her.

Looking up, she saw Tommy standing there with a glass of whiskey. “Careful,” he murmured, leading her to a small couch.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the glass and knocking it back greedily. The burn centred her, brought her back to where she was. Warmth bloomed in her chest, though whether it was procured by the alcohol or the way Tommy was looking at her was up for debate.

He leaned towards her, and despite herself she rested her head on his shoulder. He was solid beneath her, unwavering. It brought her an indescribable comfort. His voice was soft, “you just can’t help yourself when you see someone in need, can you?”

“You should be grateful for it,” she said, “it’s what kept you alive in France.”

“And here I thought I was just that charming,” he said, smiling into her hair.

She snorted, “you wish.”

“You mean you weren’t overcome with the desire to save me after glancing at my beautiful, sleeping face?”

“Oh, of course.”

Someone cleared their throat, and they tore themselves away from each other to see that same older woman. “I thought I’d introduce myself,” she said dryly, “my name is Elizabeth Gray, but you may call me Polly. Lucienne, is it?”

“Please, call me Lucy.”

“Right. So, how exactly did you come into the acquaintance of my nephew?”

Suddenly, Lucy realized that this was the ‘Aunt Pol’ she’d heard so much of. “I met him in France,” she said softly, scrambled brain desperately trying to gauge how she should be acting in order to win the woman’s approval. “I was a nurse. He was dying. I fought to be allowed to try and save his life. He stayed with me for a time, in recovery.”

Polly seemed to weigh this, dark eyes glinting in the low light. “So we owe you a debt.”

“No,” Lucy said, shaking her head. “It was my job, and my pleasure. I’m in Arthur’s employ now, too, so consider any perceived debt repaid.”

“Then you have my gratitude,” Polly said. “Feel free to stay here for the night, we’ll send a message along to your home.”

Lucy accepted the offer, giving Polly Alice’s address. She was swept upstairs, given an old dressing gown, and settled into a guest room. Lying in the dark, she stared up at the ceiling for what felt like hours. Her mind raced, with thoughts of Angeline, thoughts of France, thoughts of Tommy.

Like the act of thinking his name somehow summoned him, she heard a gentle knock on the door and a slow creak as the man himself slipped into her room. “Are you alright?”

Sitting up, she gathered the blankets around her bare shoulders. “I suppose so.”

“I couldn’t be sure, and I knew you wouldn’t say anything in front of Aunt Pol,” he said, settling on the foot of the bed.

“She was so young,” Lucy murmured, “and she was bleeding so much, and it’s not like I could just stitch it up, you know? God, I was so terrified. She came so, so close to dying.” She laughed bitterly, “there’s still no guaranteeing anything. Maybe I just prolonged her agony.”

Something was making a pattering sound, and she realized that she was crying, tears falling onto the quilt. Tommy hovered for a moment, tension seemingly corded into his every muscle. Then he came forward, wrapping his arms around her.

She felt something snap in her chest, the tears coming in sharp bursts. Burrowing her head into the crook of his neck, she finally let herself sob the way she had wanted to for hours. He held her quietly, thumb tracing soft circles into her shoulder until her crying lessened. “What do you need from me?”

“Just this,” she managed, curling closer. He smelled like leather and fresh cigarettes, and all she wanted was to stay there forever.

“Alright,” he murmured, “however long you’d like.”

Chapters: I, II ...

Ao3

[thirdstreetthunderbirds]

Shit. Shit shit shit! What the fuck was she doing? The cacophonous sounds of heavy, steel caps thundered behind her as she took off down the alleyway. It was dark, the greasy, dirt caked floors giving her little grip on her worn down runners. Barely illuminated, the moon was currently hidden behind a thick curtain of grey, angry clouds that caused a stifling humidity to hang in the air. 

It was hot. And was going to storm. Soon. 

Actually, that might be her best chance. Maybe her only chance?

She didn’t know what would happen when the men chasing her would catch her. No. Not would. She could get away from this. She’d survived worse. Come on!

Her legs were burning, as was her chest. Her lungs heaved in and out as she struggled to catch her breath as she pelted through the alleyway. This was a shortcut. She knew these streets like the back of her hand. About a hundred meters, a right turn, a jump over the steel, chain linked fence with barbed wire on the top (which only she knew how to circumvent; she’d come through here before. Not for a while, granted, but still. She was desperate.) Even so, it seemed like the pack behind her weren’t lessening up. Their pace was steady, relentless. She could run - sprint, even - for a long time, but when the men had tried to drag her into their waiting, inconspicuous looking sedan (which, now she thought about it, had seemed odd; who parked a nice sedan in this neighbourhood? It’d be looted before sunrise,) she’d bolted. She’d panicked. And now she was going to die because of it.

She was at the corner. Lashing out with her right hand, she hooked a curled fist around a convenient pole that allowed her to fling her weight around the corner without any regards for her speed. She wasn’t slowing down. She couldn’t.

Another couple of meters. More burning in her legs. She was going to collapse soon. Jump! Come on! Hooking the soft tip of her shoe into the brick wall, she latched onto the fence with her right hand, her left scrabbling for purchase on the grotty wall. A brick sticking out, missing, anything - or else she’d slip. Digging her nails into the wall, she felt the mortar give slightly under her weight, made weaker by the hanging moisture in the air. Hey, whatever worked, right? It gave her enough grip to kick up and off the wall, vaulting high enough to clear the low part of the rusty, barbed wire that lined the top of the fence. The alley was backed up onto private land, and if she could get some distance between her and her late night companions, she might be able to escape. She didn’t know what they’d do to her when - no, if! - they caught her. She’d seen their badges, their tattoos. Not cops, no. 

The Saints were one of the most notorious gangs in the city, and now they were coming after her. She wasn’t sure why. 

No, that wasn’t correct. She had a feeling she knew why. She’d had dealings with the underground crime world before; nothing too bad, just helping a couple of people that had been shot up on the street. Maybe two, three weeks ago? She worked shift, so everything tended to blur together after a while. They’d been wearing blue. Another gang, perhaps? She honestly didn’t care much for crime, not when she’d seen three people gunned down in broad daylight in a driveby that had left two people dead and the last one in a critical condition in the local hospital. She’d managed to save his life, but his injuries hadn’t been as severe. A call had to be made. The one most likely to survive, chosen. And she’d saved his life. But she’d been stupid to assume that helping a rival gang on the edge of disputed territory wouldn’t have gotten back to the Saints. And now she was paying for it, having to run for her life. 

But. Did they want to kill her? They could’ve just shot her down like those other men. But they hadn’t. So... maybe they wanted her alive?

She wasn’t sure what was more terrifying. 

A flash of lightning, so severe that it seemed to carve the sky in half, struck somewhere in the distance. Not too far, because - BOOM -

Holy shit, that thunder was loud! 

And had followed almost instantaneously after the lightning strike. Which meant that the storm was almost on top of them. 

She was streaking across the abandoned parking lot now, some fancy private parking lot for the big wigs that worked at the company that owned this land. It didn’t matter - CRACK!

A gunshot split the heavy air like a whip, and she threw herself forward instinctively, attempting to protect her head and torso. It also meant that she collided heavily with the pavement, scraping her arms painfully. She was up again within a second, arms and legs protesting, but the adrenaline pushing her on. Had that been a warning shot? Or had they missed because of the darkness, which coiled around them like a veil, hiding both them and her in its’ embrace? She was wearing all black; it was certainly possible. Or maybe it was because the storm had finally decided to release its downpour to the earth, soaking everyone in the vicinity. Anyone could miss a shot in this weather. 

The lightning turned the sky purple as it struck again, causing the area to smell vaguely of ozone and burning. Shit. She needed to go. It was the distraction she needed though, as she came across an embankment that formed a natural - or maybe manmade, she really didn’t give a shit at the moment - barrier on the edge of the car park. It was getting treacherous, the dirt beneath her shoes turning slippery and dangerous beneath her. One wrong move and she’d break her ankle. Or snap her neck. Either one. She wasn’t sure which she preferred.

Death now, or death later? So many choices.

She gave a jagged, frantic laugh as she slid down in the mud, arms outstretched for balance. It wasn’t too deep, and if she made it to the bottom, she might be able to hide in a storm drain, or conceal herself within the thick, congealing mud at the bottom of the ditch. 

She got to the bottom with a slight splash, fingers digging into the soft earth for balance as she cast her gaze around frantically. The shadows were looming, tall and obscuring her sight. It was so dark that she could only make out vague shapes in the darkness that seemed to reach out to touch; to consume. But then she shook her head. That was the fear, the adrenaline. And she still needed to run.

Easier said than done. The mud was thick, viscous; threatening to take her shoes with every step. She was tempted to just ditch them and to try climb up the other side of the embankment - it wasn’t too tall, but with the rain currently lashing at her face and arms, the area was quickly turning into a muddy, dangerous quagmire. She’d never be able to climb out of here. She’d fall back down before she could manage. 

Another bolt of lightning lit up the sky, and she glanced up quickly, frantically. Thankfully, no figures appeared at the top of her current cover, (cover being used only in the widest terms - she currently felt like she was drowning with the amount of rain she was being hit by and she was now standing in nearly twenty centimetres of muddy, brown sludge. Still, she couldn’t see them, and they couldn’t see her, so it counted.) and the brief flash of light illuminated, just for a second, a dark, metal structure sticking out of the side of the muddy wall. A storm drain! She scrambled forwards, using her hands, her aching legs, anything to get her closer to her goal. She was tired, she was wet, she was scared. She also didn’t want to get eaten by a killer, shape-shifting clown. No. Bad brain! She really needed to stop reading Steven King books. Or maybe she just needed to get her brain in fucking gear and to not think of weird shit when she was currently running for her life. 

The storm drain was tiny. Also rusty. But she could worry about that later - hadn’t she had her shots already? Her scraped palm grazed against one of the rusty walls; yay, tetanus - and what the fuck was she going on about? This was crazy! Or maybe she was. Certainly possible. 

Regardless of her current train of thought, she folded her body into the hollow opening. It was a tight fit- she was fairly lanky, all legs and arms - but she made it work. Somehow. Probably the adrenaline. She was out of the rain, thank fuck. She was still soaking, still terrified - she couldn’t hear a thing over the pounding rain, bloody cacophony, holy shit - so who knew where those men were. Maybe ladies too? She hadn’t really gotten a good look at her attackers. 

Settling down against the corrugated iron wall, she banged her head against the metal wall with a curse. What the honest to god fuck was her life? Running for her life through an abandoned car park at some fucking hour of the night, hiding in a (hopefully hidden) storm drain, abrasions and bruises all over her arms and a dried, bloody nose from where she’d been punched?

She’d saved one life. Just one! And apparently, it meant an attempt on hers! Groaning, she winced, pawing at her face. Swollen. Hot. Probably broken. Fucking great.

But it meant she was alive. And not dead. Well. That was the same thing, she supposed.  But she wasn’t going to wax philosophical while hiding in a storm drain. 

The rain outside was a constant roar against her temporary shelter. It was both comforting, as well as a pain in the ass. It meant that she was (hopefully!) well hidden from the men (or women) chasing her, but she was also trapped. She could always try to move, keep going, but she was so tired. Her legs hurt from running, her arms hurt from the abrasions that were currently scabbing up, and her nose hurt from the possible break. This was so shit. She wanted to cry. And scream. Honestly, with the rain, she probably could. But she also wanted to sleep and wake up in her bed, alarm clock blaring up for work. She wanted to be warm, not cold and muddy, stuck in a cramped storm drain with her clothes starting to stick and chafe. 

She did cry then, just small, tiny sobs that came of their own volition. Maybe if she fell asleep, she’d wake up somewhere else. Hah. What a cliche. 

It didn’t stop her from hoping. 

[veiledflattery]

Hi! I saw you opened for requests and I love Lockwood & Co., so I was wondering if you could write a Locklyle story? Thank you! ♡

Here you go, good old Locklyle ghost-fighting plus some kissing. I haven’t come up with a name for this fic yet, so I’d love any suggestions if you have them. 

Lucy’s first kiss went exactly how she’d have expected it to – rushed,fumbling, and in the dark. Well, maybe the strands of ectoplasm steaming all around them were never reallypart of the picture she’d imagined. But really, with her luck and her line ofwork, it wasn’t such a surprise. Oh, who was she kidding? 

It had started with a particularly mysterious case, as so many of thesedisasters did. A haunted hotel room, two guests badly ghost-touched postrenovation work. “Why were they so spread out, though? According to these records, MrSullivan died almost four months after Mr Donovan did." "Yes, and apparently other guests stayed there between the cases andreported no ill effects. A Mr and Mrs Fulbright, these two collegestudents…” Lockwood ran his long fingers over the list, considering.“Maybe the Visitor has trouble materialising?”Lucy shook her head. “It’d have to be a weak type one then, and couldn’thave such a nasty ghost-touch.”Lockwood nodded, leaning back in his armchair. The lantern they’d lit in themiddle of the landing sent shadows flickering across his features. He had thatcalm, focused look he only had when they were on a case – brow uncreased, lipsupturned. It was rare sight these days, and if Lucy had left the skull at homejust so that she could admire that look in peace… no one had to know.Lockwood tilted his head towards her grinning. “We’ll figure it out, Luce.We always do.”“Let’s get on it then, the night’s as dark as it’s going to get,”Lucy replied, smiling back. She checked the chains around the lantern one last time while Lockwood ruffledthrough the kitbags. She loved these moments, when they worked in tandemwithout having to say a word. It was like the old days, before Holly or Flo orany of the crazy things that had been happening lately.Lockwood passed along her bag before leading the way down the narrow corridor.They went slowly, letting their eyes adjust to the darkness. As they neared theroom Lucy opened her Senses, inner and outer. There was the creaking of thefloorboards, the dim howling of the wind outside. But on a psychic level…silence. They secured the door open using George’s stopper (Lucy refused to call it aDFD) and started doing their regular assessments. “Just two death glows, as expected…”“Temperature eighteen degrees, point five lower in this corner…”Nothing alarming, really. They set out chains in the middle of the room andsettled in to wait. “So, why couldn’t Holly make it today? I know George stayed back to doresearch, but we’re pretty caught up on all the filing work." "Oh, I gave her the night off. Figured you and I could handle this.”Lockwood said, flashing her that smile.“Ah,” not for the first time, Lucy thanked the darkness for hidingher slight flush. “Well, yeah, I just thought you liked having her as abackup.”Lockwood examined her expression for a moment, then sighed. “Luce… youknow Holly could never change your place with me, right? You and I used to dothis all the time. It doesn’t change now just because Holly’s part of thecompany.”Lucy puzzled over the words for a few minutes. What did that wording mean? Thatstrange tone?But before she could figure it out, Lockwood’s tone changed again. This one wasdecidedly warning. “Luce,” he said, breath pluming in the air infront of him. Lucy cursed internally. How had she missed the sudden temperaturedrop? Blasted Lockwood and his tones and his shiny flop of hair.They both got to their feet, Senses on full alert. Lucy cautiously stepped outof the chains and ran her fingers over the green wallpaper. Still nothing. Sheclosed her eyes, Listening and feeling along the wall. No traces of death orpsychic activity.Then she bumped into the vanity. 

The onslaught of sensation was instant, and devastating. Loss, suchterrible loss. A gravestone and screams of bereavement, echoing and echoing,never leaving, so empty and alone… so alone…Lucy yanked her hand away, whirling across the room to put as much distance aspossible between her and that terrible feeling. “The vanity,” shegasped, “it belonged to someone. A woman. She lost someone, she used tocry there. I think it might also be the place where she poisoned herself.”Lockwood put a warm, steadying hand on her shoulder. “That’s probably theSource then, a straightforward Cold Maiden haunting. Well done, Luce. We’lljust seal it up and – oh.”Lucy turned to see what he was looking at. Frost had crept over the mirror of the vanity. Whatever Type this was, it wasmanifesting fast. Tendrils of ectoplasm swirled through the forming ghost fog,curling into a vaguely humanoid shape. A figure with her head in her hands. Sheraised her featureless face towards them. Lucy caught snippets: alone… so sad,lost… no one…It was strange. Tendrils of ectoplasm were jabbing towards the chains where sheand Lockwood stood, but they weren’t menacing, somehow. The feeling she gotfrom them was almost… benevolent. Like they were doing them a favour bytrying to kill them.She was snapped out of her thoughts by the snick of Lockwood drawing hisrapier. “Plan C. You know the drill. I’ll engage, you seal.”He leapt into action, criss-crossing his rapier through the ectoplasm andpushing the ghost back and away from the Source. Shaking off her daze, Lucypulled a large silver net from her bag and made her way towards thevanity. And then, another humanoid shape started forming in front of the mirror. Lucyreeled back, brandishing the net in front of her. “Lockwood! There’s twoof them!”She felt backwards with her foot, trying to find the chains, but her leg hitsomething else instead. Something tall, and solid – “Luce, stop kicking me.”Oh. They’d backed into each other. The ghosts approached from both sides,cutting off their path to the chains. Lucy failed with the net for a second,then dropped it and drew her rapier.She could make out the second ghost more clearly now. A man, lean and probablyyoung. He wore rider’s slacks and a worn jacket. A bloodstain bloomed over hischest. She knew, instinctively, that this was the lover that woman had lost. Hemoved towards her – again with that strange feeling, as if the ectoplasmstriking at her was just him trying to help. But help with what? Lucy shook her head to clear it. The attacks were getting stronger, and the ghostsbrighter. Even Lockwood was tiring; she could hear his labored breathing behindher. “Iron filings on three,” he muttered, “one, two, three!”Lucy lobbed the largest canister from her belt and shielded her eyes asectoplasm fizzled everywhere. Then they rushed towards the vanity. “We need to find the second source,” Lockwood said, pulling out hisown silver net.But before he could use it, ectoplasm was swirling towards them again. Lockwoodwhipped out his rapier again. “How are they reforming so quickly?”“They’re determined,” Lucy said, flinging a salt bomb. But theectoplasm reformed almost as quickly as she destroyed it. “They think theycan… help us, somehow.”“What?”“I don’t know!” Lucy was fighting to stay calm. She’d backed intoLockwood again, trapped in a cocoon of ectoplasm. Words drifted through hermind in a jumble, both the ghosts’ voices melding together. So lonely… alone… death better…together… only together…“And in a flash, Lucy understood."Mr and Mrs Fulbright,” she said out loud, “that college couple.They weren’t attacked.”Lockwood’s voice was tense. “Lucy, maybe we should wonder over those later.”She ignored him, yelling at the ghosts, “we’re not alone! We’re together,look, there’s two of us.”The ectoplasm continued to press closer… but was it swirling a little slower,jabbing a little less aggressively? The voices floated through her mind again. Deathbetter… alone… no one… no one alone…

Lucy thought back to the vanity. She’d felt the depth of that woman’slove, the all-consuming pain of her heartbreak. Now that she and herhusband were reunited, in death, the purpose coming off the reanimated spirits wasclear – their need to make sure that no one ever faced that kind of lonelinessagain. Even if that meant killing to spare them the misery.Really, I’d rather have the misery, Lucy thought to herself as she cutward-knots through the air. The ghosts had renewed their attack.

On and on, she and Lockwood thrust and parried and flung canister aftercanister. Lucy’s mind whirled. How could they convince the ghosts they weren’tlonely? They’d lost the whole concept of self-sufficiency, believed you neededsomeone else to be happy.

“I’m out of iron.”

Lucy reached to her belt and found it empty as well. “I don’t supposeyou brought any flares?”

“We already have a burned house on our resumes. Figured we don’t need ahotel too.”

The ectoplasm was still closing in from all directions. Lucy’s arm feltleaden, and despite his incredible stamina Lockwood couldn’t be doing a lotbetter. “We’re not alone!” she tried again, but she could almost sense thedisbelief coming off the Cold Maidens. She needed to be more convincing.

Refusing to think about what she was doing, Lucy sheathed her rapier andspun to face Lockwood. He was still fighting. Taking a deep breath, she grippedhis shoulders and whirled him around to face her.

She took a millisecond to process the confusion on his face, thesurprise in his dark eyes, before grabbing his face and pressing her lips tohis.

For a moment he was rigid, rapier still clutched in one outstretchedhand. Lucy brushed her thumbs over his cheekbones and pressed against him moreinsistently. The rapier clattered to the floor, his mouth opened against hers,and his hands grasped her waist above her belt.

Everything melted away – the ghosts, the weight of her sword, the factthat she was his employee – and shekissed him deeper, losing herself in the softness of his lips and the subtle,familiar scent of his cologne.

She lost track of how long they stood there intertwined, but eventuallythey pulled apart for breath. For a moment they gazed into each other’s eyes –dark brown and hazel, open and raw and asking – and then Lucy came to hersenses, stumbling back and whipping her hands to herself. Suddenly it wasimpossible to look at him.

The Visitors had disappeared, except for a few scattered flecks ofectoplasm shimmering here and there. Lucy pointedly went through all themotions, retrieving her net and sealing the vanity. Lockwood went through the drawersand found an old, monogrammed pen, the Source of the second ghost. Lucy wascareful not to touch his fingers as she passed him a silverglass case for it.The silence and awkwardness weighed on them throughout their packing and thetaxi ride home. It was only as they walked up Portland Row that theexplanations came tumbling out of Lucy.

“Those ghosts, they were killing all the single people staying in thehotel and leaving all the couples alone. To them, a life alone seemed basicallyworse than death. They thought they were helping, but they were going to killus.” She still couldn’t meet his eyes, even as they walked up the front stairs.“I- well, I had to convince them that we were a couple, so they’d leave usalone. I’m sorry.”

Lockwood shut the door behind them, and then deftly stepped in front ofher. She was forced to meet his gaze. He was smiling, but it wasn’t thegigawatt. Just the automated imitation he used in awkward conversations. “Don’tworry about it, Luce. You did what had to be done, and just in the nick oftime, as always. It quieted the ghosts, we sealed the sources, and the case isclosed.”

Lucy nodded, her throat feeling oddly tight. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s it.”

Lockwood hung up his coat, elegant and composed as always. Beforewalking down the hall, he turned to her again. “All the same, let’s avoidmentioning this to George, shall we?”

“What are we not mentioning to me?”

On the table beside the door, the skull cackled in amusement.

I’d love your feedback, reactions, and thoughts, positive or negative. Don’t hesitate to let me know – it really makes my day :)

[xxbyimm]

Enya’s Unexpected Journey - Chapter 12

For all other chapters, click the number: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

Chapter 12

Summary:  Enya saves Thorins' tight ass. Twice. Meanwhile, the tension between Dolvira and Enya slowly builds up.

Well, this was fucking fantastic.

Enya paced a few feet away and sat down on a tree root. Thorin and Dolvira. Dolvira and Thorin. Ugh, their names were an odd match that made her cringe every time she heard it. Enya didn't know if she wanted to laugh hysterically or cry her eyes out. She had been stupid, putting aside all her dignity because she was terribly in love with a guy. Dwarf. Who had a girl. God, this made her no better than Abbie. She honestly tried to seduce him! Enya blushed when she remembered that particular night in Rivendell. The gasp he made when she dropped her jacket... and the kiss they shared afterwards... She believed they both felt something that night. If it wasn't for his self-control, she would not have let go. She would... The thought made her abdomen tighten with desire. Enya sighed. Not that any of it mattered, though. He found his love again. Dolvira was a real bad-ass dwarf woman, a warrior. Once a commander of armies. She was not the prettiest of women, but she had a fair smile. Enya frowned. Looking at herself, she felt like she was nothing compared to Dolvira. She could say that she was less scary and more feminine. And that she possessed those dreamy blue eyes that would make a man do anything. At least, that was what others told her. Enya´s friends at home always were extremely jealous of her.

‘Just a wink, En.’ they used to say. ‘Just a flick from those eyes and the boys lie at your feet.’ Enya did not believe those claims. She was so insecure back then. So in love with the waaay out of her league Jason. She smiled sadly when all the memories she pushed away appeared in her mind again. She used to stare at Jason at the bar and pretend in her head that he was hers. Stupid girl. She had a tendency to fall for those who didn’t want her. So when Jason finally approached her after months of ignoring, she kissed him and took him home. Enya bit her lip. She should not have done that. She should have waited to discover his character before giving him her body. Her dignity. Most importantly: her heart. But she didn’t, because by the time they kissed she was too far down the road to stop. He clearly didn’t give any shit about her heart (or true love), because he crushed her. Twice. Enya stared at her fingernails. And now, her so much envied eyes weren´t helping her either. Maybe she was destined to stay alone. To not know love. Real love. She rolled her eyes when she thought about the things Gandalf had said to her. It seemed that even wizards sometimes were not prepared for the evil plot twists life decided to throw at you. If there even had existed a fling between her and Thorin, it was now gone. Dolvira had entered the game.

Dolvira. Dolvira the bad-ass chick with fiery red hair who couldn´t care less about the opinion of others. Who wasn’t unsure about herself. A woman who knew how to get what she wanted, even with force. Not by seduction. Enya sighed. How could she expect Thorin not to choose such a woman? Even if she put the shared history aside, she could see why he fell for her. It wasn’t for her looks, but the woman possessed an powerful aura. There was something about her… Enya groaned and wanted to evaporate right on the spot. At this stage, she would happily walk into a portal. Or create one. Being a (half?) dwarf in a human world suddenly seemed a lot easier than facing the royal commander duo again. Even the thought of running into asshole Jason seemed less painful. God, she had sunk low. Enya peered at the group from her hiding spot and swallowed hard. Thorin and Dolvira were apart from the rest and her hand was on his shoulder. Dolvira laughed about something Thorin said. She could not see his face. No doubt they had a lot of catching up to do. Why weren't they tangled up in the bushes somewhere? Enya rolled her eyes. Her mind never understood when it was time to stop thinking dirty. SHE did not even want to go near the thought of Thorin and Dolvira making... Enya closed her eyes. No, she should not venture there. She got up and wondered if the pair had really been together all this time. Had they fought side by side when Smaug entered Erebor? When they tried to reclaim the kingdom of Moria? She glanced at the two and was relieved when she saw Thorins' expression (at least for that moment) was dead serious. 'No panties shredding look for our lovable Dolvira!' Her mind stated happily. Enya held back a giggle. If she even wore panties. Probably not. Ew. Enya slowly walked back to the group, praying no one would notice she had been gone for a few minutes. 'Where were you?' Dori asked when he saw her appearing from the bushes. Enya put a smile on her face and cursed herself for not being able to come up with a witty answer. 'Who is that Dolvira woman, miss Enya?' Ori whispered. 'She looks scary.' 'I have no clue.' Enya confessed. 'You should ask Thorin how they met.' ‘But he is supposed to be with you…’ Ori said. ‘What do you mean, Ori? I cannot-’ Her answer was interrupted by a sharp howl that was very close to her. 'RUN!' Gandalf screamed. Boy, that word seemed his go to expression lately. Enya stayed where she was and turned around. A large warg eyed her from the spot where she stood only a few minutes ago, and he was ready to devour her. Enya scoffed and held her sai close to her body. 'Not today, my friend.' The beast lunged forward and Enya screamed as she wanted to release her anger on it, but the warg dropped dead on the mountain slope before it reached her. A knife and a few arrows had hit its head. Enya frowned when Fíli and Kíli dragged her away. They had killed it before she had a fair chance. It made her more mad than it should. 'Come on, miss. Run!' Fíli urged. Enya did what she was told. 'What were you thinking, anyway?' Kíli asked while they ran after the rest of the company. 'Wargs are too large to take on alone!' Enya shrugged. 'Uncle told us to keep a watchful eye over you.' Fíli mused. 'HE DID WHAT?' She roared. Fíli and Kíli shot each other a knowing glance and chuckled. 'He said you are always getting yourself into trouble.' Fíli said. 'And that witches are rare, so we should protect you from harm.' Kíli added. 'Or you doing anything stupid.' Fíli said with a smile. 'I am going to kill him.' Enya muttered and she meant it. The arrogance! How could he even order such a thing? She never did anything stupid! Did he really thing she wanted to be shadowed by two young dwarf princes who always seemed to be up to some mischief? As much as she loved the two rascals, she knew it was best to sometimes keep some distance. Kíli gave Enya a quick push when he saw more wargs running in their direction. They all climbed into the same tree and were just out of reach when the fastest warg snapped off the lowest branches with its sharp teeth. ‘We are in trouble’ Kíli whispered. Well, that was an understatement. Enya groaned as they watched a pack of at least twenty wargs gathered under the trees. Some had riders on them. The ones that didn’t, jumped against the tree in an attempt to tip it over. Enya held on tight to the branch she sat on. ‘They are going to bring down the tree!’ Fíli said, horrified. Enya did not want to look down again, but yet she did. The tree protested and squeaked as its roots were roughly torn away by the wargs. ‘We have to jump, or we will be warg dinner.’ Enya stated. They waited until the poor tree gave in and tipped over. With a loud yell, Enya jumped and hoped for the best. She grabbed the first sturdy branch she saw and clung onto it. Kíli landed right next to her. ‘We need a way to kill them.’ Fíli said anxiously. He was just beneath them. ‘I AM NOT GOING TO WAIT FOR THEM TO KILL US!’ Dolvira yelled from above. Enya turned and watched her. She was near Thorin. The sight made Enya’s envy burn bright. ‘ANY BRIGHT IDEAS THEN, HUN?’ She screamed at Dolvira. She knew this was no moment to start an argument, but she hated that bitch with an intense passion. And it was mutual. Dolvira looked back in a way that… well, if looks could kill, Enya would lie dead under the tree now. Enya watched as Dolvira got her knife and threw it at one of the wargs beneath her. She hit it, but her move did not kill the creature. ‘Really?’ Enya rolled her eyes. ‘SMART MOVE, DOLLY. NOW YOU LOST YOUR WEAPON.’ ‘OH YOU LITTLE- I WILL GUT YOU!’ Enya laughed. ‘Come and get me then, BABE.’ She turned and suddenly got an idea. ‘Give me that pineapple.’ She demanded Kíli. Kíli frowned. ‘You want to throw pineapples at their heads? I doubt it will kill them.’ ‘No, it won’t.’ Enya smiled as she received the pineapple from him and held it in her hand. ‘But we will give them an extra twist.’ She said and with those words it set ablaze. Fíli and Kíli smiled mischievously and quickly got a few more. Enya held her burning pineapple up high so they could light their own. ‘How do you hold them?’ Fíli asked as he juggled the burning weapon in his hands. Enya shrugged. ‘I’m not affect by the fire. I guess because it’s part of me.’ ‘Let’s bombard some wargs with them.’ Kíli laughed. The trio yelled and threw the pineapples at the wargs. Some of them were immediately set ablaze and yelped in panic as they hurried away. ‘Yeaaaaah!’ Kíli cheered. ‘Kill those bastards!’ Fíli encouraged the others. ‘Use Enya’s fire!’ Their little victorious moment was ruined by an enormous pale white orc, striding a white warg that appeared behind the trees. Shit. This had to be Azog the defiler. But didn’t Thorin tell her that filth died of his wounds long ago? Well, he seemed much alive and kicking to her… ‘No. It cannot be.’ Thorin said as he pushed one of a smaller branches aside to get a better look. Azog and Thorin stared at each other and the hatred between them made Enya shiver. Tension hung in the air. Enya prayed in silence that Thorin wasn’t stupid enough to face the orc. Surely he would know he couldn’t go on a suicide mission? She glanced at him and realized that he probably wouldn’t even care if he died. His face said it all. He wanted to take his hated enemy down. No matter the costs. ‘Change of tactic.’ She muttered at Fíli and Kíli and concentrated on the palms of her hand. An icicle appeared and with a straight jerk from her arm Enya launched it into an orcs’ head. The orc dropped dead from his warg. ‘Whooohoo!’ Enya’s mind did a little victory dance. ‘Give me one!’ Fíli pressed. Enya nodded and was about to hand an icicle over, when- ‘KRRRRRRRRRRRRR’ The roots of the tree decided to give up and the whole thing tipped over. Luckily, one root was strong enough to hold on and prevented the tree from falling into the abyss. Nonetheless, it hung very dangerously over the edge and therefore brought the whole company in danger. Everyone tried to hold on the branches, but the one poor Dori and Ori held onto, broke off. Gandalf caught Dori with his staff, and Ori was able to grab Dori, but Enya knew it was matters of minutes before Dori would let go. Dori sobbed. ‘Gandalf! I cannot hold much longer!’ ‘You have to!’ the wizard urged. Enya turned to Thorin and discovered that he wasn’t where he should be. Oh no. For a split second Enya believed that Thorin fell into the darkness, but when she heard the pale orc calling Thorins’ name, she instantly knew where he was. He went to face the pale orc. Enya was unsure what she should do. She whimpered as she saw Thorin charging Azog. ‘THORIN!’ Dwalin yelled and he wanted to go after his leader, but his branch broke off and left him swinging on a dangerously thin thread. Thorin reached Azog, ready to chop off his head, but was brought down by the white warg that jumped upon him. The pale orc laughed as his warg lunged forward and took the dwarf prince in his mouth. Oh no. Thorin screamed in pain, but was able to wound the warg with his sword. The warg tossed him aside, and Thorin landed with his head on a large rock. He didn’t move and seemed unconscious. Enya didn’t think, but reacted instinctively. With all her strength she lifted herself on the tree trunk and ran towards the place where Thorin was lying. She saw the pale orc ordering a minion to cut off Thorins’ head and gripped her knife.

Heck no, this was not happening.

Not on her watch.

Within matters of seconds she reached Thorin and lunged at the orc that already was holding his sword high in the sky, seconds away from severing the head of the dwarf she loved. With a loud yell she took the orc down and landed on top of him. She was all fired up and the poor minion had to pay the price for that. ‘DON’T YOU TOUCH HIM!’ She bellowed and pushed her knife in his chest. The orc screamed in surprise and Enya didn’t stop stabbing him until he laid lifeless beneath her. Orc blood was dripping from her hands, but she had no time to think about that. She quickly got up, grabbed her sai and faced the pale orc. ‘Do not dare to touch him, you filth.’ She growled. ‘You shall have to kill me first.’ The pale orc laughed and said something to her in black speech. Enya didn’t know what he was saying, but the sound of the words made her shiver. ‘I don’t speak such a vile language.’ She said. ‘And I don’t want to know what those dreadful words mean.’ She swung her sai in the air. ‘But know this.’ She whispered and she refused to avoid the pale orcs’ gaze. ‘If you ever touch him again, you’ll wish you’ve never been born.’ Enya vaguely heard battle cries behind her and knew the other dwarves had found their guts again. She smiled as she saw surprise in Azogs’ eyes. ‘Didn’t expect that, huh?’ she said and set her sai on fire. ‘Now. Where were we?’ she purred as she paced closer. Azog growled at her and showed his teeth. Enya raised one eyebrow. ‘Too scared to fight yourself? You really going to let your warg do the dirty job?’ There were interrupted again, but this time by the sound of a dozen eagles that happened to fly above them. Enya glanced at the sky and smiled. They were majestic, beautiful creatures. Much larger than at home. They appeared to be at their side, because Azog quickly retreated as he saw his comrades being thrown in the abyss by sharp eagle claws. Enya watched the spectacle and therefore was not prepared for the enormous claw that grabbed her from the ground. ‘NO! LET ME DOWN! I AM FINE!’ she screamed, but the eagles didn’t seem to hear her pleas. When the claw finally released her, she fell into the abyss. So this was it then, she would die. Enya screamed and saw the trees in the valley growing bigger and bigger. The sky was terribly cold. She could not imagine that some people enjoyed doing this in their spare time. Even with a bungee jump cord or parachute. Enya grunted in surprise when she landed on another eagle’s back. She could not stop shivering and tears ran over her face. ‘I hate heights, I am so sorry!’ she said to the eagle. She had no idea if the majestic bird had any idea what she was saying, but it did turn its’ head a little and made eye contact. Enya grasped the birds’ feathers and held on tight. The feathers were incredibly soft and comforted her a bit. She sat still and was even able to enjoy the beautiful view. ‘It’s magnificent’ she told the bird. She knew it would agree. Enya tried to distract herself from her worries about Thorin with scouting the area for the lonely mountain. It didn’t help much. She sighed and peered at the eagles that were flying ahead of her. Thorin was carried by the one in the front. Enya whimpered. He laid lifeless the eagle’s claws. Enya clenched her teeth. She could only hope for the best and wait…

As soon as her eagle put her down on a platform high in the sky, Enya thanked it for its’ help. After that, she ran towards the spot where one of the other eagles had dropped Thorin. Gandalf was already there, leaning over him. Enya sat next to Gandalf and could not hide the horror that was displayed on her face. ‘Thorin!’ Gandalf urged. Thorin did not move. Gandalf put his hand over Thorins’ face and muttered words in an ancient language Enya could not understand. They waited in silence, but the beautiful blue eyes of the dwarf she loved stayed shut. The other dwarves arrived at the platform as well and hurried to their leader. ‘Thorin!’ Balin shouted. Enya swallowed hard and tried not to cry. Oh god. No. Oh no. ‘What should we do?’ she asked the wizard. ‘I can try one more time’ he answered and he repeated the words. They waited again. ‘He is not waking up!’ Her voice reached an high pitch and did not sound like her usual tone. She didn’t care that everyone now knew she cared deeply for Thorin. That she loved him, even. If it would save his life… Enya felt the tears burning behind her eyes. He was not waking up. This was not happening. Not on her watch. She could live with the fact that he didn’t want to be with her, but she could not let him die. She wanted him to be alive and well, even if it meant she had to accept his love for Dolvira. Her instinct told her what to do. She turned to Gandalf and offered him her hand. ‘Take me.’ She said. ‘Take the energy that is required.’ She meant it. ‘Enya, I don’t know how that works. If I take such a risk, you could die.’ Gandalf said. Like she cared about that. She loved Thorin more than anything in the world. Enya held down a sob when she realized she loved him even more than she valued her own life. It had to be done, and there was no time to argue. ‘I DON’T CARE ABOUT THE COSTS, TAKE IT!’ she screamed at Gandalf. The wizard looked at her, horrified. ‘I cannot just take-’ he began, but Enya didn’t let him finish and took matters in her own hands. She placed one hand on Thorins’ heart and the other on her own. She didn’t know if there was a spell to chant or a special message to make it work, so she just whispered the first thing that came into her mind. ‘Save the one I love.’ The wind took her whisper and it tickled her face. Enya felt her energy slipping away from her. Her mind became hazy and her vision blurred. Her own voice whispered to herself. ‘Save the one I love…’

‘Save his life!’

‘Save him…’

‘I love him…’

She cried when a sudden force blew her away from Thorin. She got smacked down on her back and groaned in pain. Her hands burned, but her mind was too misty to see what was going on. She heard Dolvira screaming Thorins’ name in the distance. Enya wanted to focus, but her eyelids were too heavy. She felt weak, abandoned by both her mind and her body. She wanted to yell, but she had no energy. Every fiber in her body was exhausted. Maybe she gave too much. Maybe she was dying. But if she had saved Thorin in the process… Enya’s mouth curved into a little smile. Then it was all worth it. She let it go and slid into the darkness.

The first thing that pulled her back from the endless darkness she was floating in, were two hands that gripped firmly around her shoulders. Someone was shaking her anxiously and called her name. ‘Miss Enya!’ ‘I told her not to, but she didn’t listen’ Gandalf said softly. ‘You should have stopped her.’ A familiar low, husky voice groaned. ‘She always is too reckless.’ Reckless? Said who? Enya wanted to giggle, but no sound came from her mouth. She did manage to open her eyes for a bit and slowly blinked. Her breath was taken away by a pair of blue eyes, inches away from hers. Thorin hung over her and his hands were on her shoulders. When he saw she was regaining her consciousness, his expression changed. Did she detect some fear in those gorgeous eyes? Enya couldn’t tell, because at the moment, they told her a different story. He was furious. She always seemed to be able to make him angry. ‘Damn it, miss Enya! What were you thinking?’ Thorin yelled. Enya closed her eyes again. ‘Don’t you dare to leave me!’ he hissed. Enya moaned as Thorin got her up and held her in his arms. ‘Please don’t die.’ He whispered softly in her ear. He was very close and Enya breathed in his scent. If she had to leave this world, she had to do it now. This was the right way to go. In his arms. Her peaceful moment was roughly disturbed as her least favorite dwarf of all time entered the scene. ‘Cut the crap and stop acting so dramatic, Enya.’ Dolvira brawled. If Enya hadn’t felt so weak, she would have strangled the bitch. But right now, she had a hard time opening her eyes. ‘Thorin, we have to leave.’ Dwalin pressed. ‘The eagles gave us a head start, but we have to move. Fast.’ Thorin sighed. ‘Give her five minutes. Get yourselves ready.’ Enya heard the dwarves shuffle around her. She forced herself to open her eyes. Thorin stared into her face and treated her with a smile. It was a worried one, but she was happy he decided to let the intentioned speech about her ‘recklessness’ wait for a moment. ‘We have to move on. Can you walk?’ he whispered. ‘Yeah.’ She answered. ‘I should be the one to feel like this.’ Thorin muttered, clearly feeling very guilty about her sudden diminished well-being. Enya smiled. ‘I am fine.’ He narrowed his eyes, and she knew he knew she wasn’t. Luckily, he said nothing. Enya wanted to get up, but Thorin wasn’t letting go of her that easy. ‘Slow down.’ He growled. ‘God, I feel like a train wreck. I would kill for a cup of coffee right now. Or redbull.’ She complained as she slowly got up on her feet again. ‘Coffee?’ Thorin asked. ‘It is a drink. With caffeine, to revive your spirits.’ Enya frowned. ‘In the human world it is especially used in the morning.’ Thorin frowned. ‘I always find that humans are weird living beings.’ Enya giggled. ‘They’ll grow on you, eventually. And trust me, I know.’ ‘We need to move.’ Dolvira said impatiently. ‘I don’t fancy running into that orc pack again, especially not because our lovely lunatic here is too weak to move. We should leave her behind.’ ‘We are not leaving anyone behind.’ Thorin said in an authoritarian tone. Both girls ignored him and paced around each other. Enya tilted her head and smiled. ‘No worries, love. Your lunatic is perfectly fine.’ Dolvira rolled her eyes. ‘You don’t look perfectly fine if you ask me. To me you look like a little harlot.’ Enya burst into laughter. It hurt, but she couldn’t help herself. ‘Harlot? Well good thing nobody asks your opinion, then.’ She faced Dolvira and looked right into her eyes. ‘You know, sometimes it’s wise to say nothing’ she said. ‘I too wasn’t about to share with you that the brow situation you got going on over there is very, very-’ She did not finish her sentence but shook her head dismissively. ‘There is nothing wrong with my brows!’ Dolvira shouted. ‘Oh dear, Dolly…’ Enya whispered. ‘Your brows are a classic tragedy.’ ‘Stop calling me Dolly! You’re the one who looks like a filthy elf.’ Dolvira hissed. ‘You are vain.’ ‘Not really, but I do know the value of a good set of tweezers.’ Enya smiled as she realized that Dolvira had obviously no clue what tweezers were. Her brows were witnesses of that. Poor things. Enya bit her lip and continued. ‘They perform miracles, although I think you are an hopeless case. I think we might need loads of make-up to correct that face!’ ‘I don’t know what these things are and I don’t need them.’ Dolvira said, confidently. ‘My kin doesn’t value looks as much as your kind does. What are you anyway?’ ‘I am a fire witch from the fire beard clan.’ She hissed and two little flames appeared in her hands. ‘Do not dare to insult me, because I will make you suffer.’ ‘I can’t wait.’ Dolvira smirked. ‘Because it will be me who crushes your little pretty face.’ ‘Really?’ Enya scoffed. ‘I wouldn’t trust on that.’ ‘Ladies.’ They both looked up. Thorin eyed the two and he was visibly annoyed by them. Enya cursed herself. He was right. There was no time for drama. ‘Let’s move.’ He then ordered.

Enya bit her tongue when she walked behind the others. The little argument with Dolvira revived her spirits (who needs Redbull now?) but her whole body still was aching. She had to push herself to keep up. She had to continue on this journey. If it wasn’t for her love of Thorin, she had to honor the promise she made to grandma Gigi. She imagined what Gigi would say about this awkward situation. Gigi wouldn’t have reacted the way Enya did. Gigi would not engage in everyday verbal fights. She would smile politely and wait. Until she could strike her opponent with a deadly blow. Enya smiled. Her grandma would press her not to forget about her manners. And from now on, that would be exactly what she was going to do.

That bitch would have to learn not to fool around with the Blueheart family. Because they were a force to be reckoned with.