#three times i got to feel every bit of a needle going into my spine because local anaesthetic doesnt work on me

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

so the other day, i had to deal with transphobia at a hospital i was at and tbh it didnt really bother me that much apart from the way i had to react to it. and i cant stop thinking about that.

for context, i dont pass. im a trans dude, but i dont look like a dude so im used to being misgendered and i dont normally correct people.

so when the receptionist was confused, it was like routine bullshit. i was happy to deal with it, but my mom ended up having to because if i had stood up for much longer, id have collapsed because I'm ✨disabled✨.

and while my mom was trying to calmly explain it, the receptionist very loudly outed me to the entire waiting room. which you know, not fun. she was also not subtle about her finding me weird and a freak which you know, not fun.

but then she made the active choice to fuck up my name in the system. she could have just deadnamed me, but instead she decided to put my dead middle name (which is a feminine name) into my current name instead.

so thanks to that, i was then misgendered the whole time and deadnamed and it confused literally every member of staff. pretty sure it also confused the system which led to me having to wait longer which you know, not fun.

that wouldnt have bothered me if i hadnt been sent to the hospital as emergency because i have a condition that can lead to total vision loss, and also can be caused by or lead to a stroke. like death was on the table.

and then after that fiasco, my mom headed to the car to get a drink as we (me and my brother) waited to be called. and when we were, i got to interact with another transphobic receptionist which you know, not fun.

she called my name and when i went up, she made it very clear that she did not believe me that my name was kai. she was condescending to me and was clearly trying to catch me in a lie . it was incredibly uncomfortable and honestly it was scary.

and what i hate the most about it is that i couldnt react.

the minute i react negatively, im suddenly the crazed trans person who will call the police on you if you use the wrong pronouns.

i cant get angry; i cant firmly correct them; i cant show any excessive emotion. i had to stand there and calmly react to their microaggressions.

my mom and brother got angry on my behalf. they corrected people, they complained, they made it clear that they were not going to tolerate transphobia aimed toward me. and i love them for doing that for me, but i hate the fact that i cant do it.

they can be angry about it because theyre cis.

no one is going to look at them and say oh see all cis people are crazed and unstable.

but me? if I react negatively, i risk making the situation worse and confirming their bias and hence causing problems for other trans folks.

im the one being hate crimed, im the one being discriminated against, and im the one who has to be calm and diplomatic about it.

its such an insidious form of transphobia. i felt so powerless, it was terrifying. and i felt like my only choice was diplomacy because at the end of the day, im at a hospital for something that can kill me. i cant risk being kicked out or accused of faking it or anything like that. i was fucking trapped.

and i just cant stop thinking about it now.

[lux-et-astra]

The Sink Session Two Transcript

Session Two: Kevin Boots

#INTRO

[MUSIC]

VOICE OVER: Welcome to Sink Systems. If you are new to the service, make sure you start at the beginning. This is not the beginning. A warning. This session contains swearing, sex, and violent bodies.

[MUSIC]

NARRATOR: Welcome back to The Sink. It’s been a long week, hasn’t it? You’re more tired around your face. Your eyes are soiled, and your tongue’s gone hard. But that’s okay, that’s part of it. Last time was the first time. We went in quick, digging around, washing out all your dreams. The first time’s always going to bruise, get a bit tender, purple, little bit green on the top. But it'll be worth it, when your brain’s all clean. There are plenty more dreams to wash off as we start to figure out why you’re full of this mud. Soon, no more sludge, no more mud, no more muddle. Just clean and cold, sliding in your skin like a needle. 

[SFX: HORRIBLE NOISE]

NARRATOR: All you need to do is trust the advances in nanomesh sleep technology, and let us dive in. Breathe in, breathe out. Feel it coming, that’s okay. Arms outstretched, feel how long they are.

[SFX: CREAKING]

NARRATOR: Feel the breath, like wind into your mouth, isn’t it. Lovely bit of windy business. Breathe in, lovely, breathe out, windy business. I’ll count down. Three, two, one.

[SFX: SOMETHING DROPPING INTO WATER]

NARRATOR: Go.

[MUSIC]

VOICE OVER: The Sink, by Natasha Hodgson. Session Two.

[MUSIC]

#SCENE ONE - BEARINGS

MAN: (FAINT) Are you gonna give me a hand here, or what? What are you here for? Now, help your dad out, will you?

WOMAN: Dad, you really look like you’ve got it.

MAN: Come on! What’s Instas-gram got that the great outdoors hasn’t?

WOMAN: (UNDER HER BREATH) Oh, my God…

MAN: You’re not a robot, you know? You’re not plugged.

WOMAN: I know.

MAN: Right. Get our bearings.

WOMAN: Again?

MAN: So we’re two fields off from the scarecrow, one away from the bog, ravine on the left.

WOMAN: Yes.

MAN: Say it!

WOMAN: Two fields from the scarecrow.

MAN: Right. Tube, please. Bend your tube.

WOMAN: Which tube?

MAN: The – tent tube, the s– structural tube! It’s the spine of your tent, that tube.

WOMAN: We’re not staying here!

MAN: These are the skills you’ll need! Tents, edible brambles, medicinal bark… it’s the only way you’ll survive in the wild.

WOMAN: It’s a festival, Dad.

MAN: Oh yes, that’s how it starts…

WOMAN: Dan’s taking me, and he has the van!

MAN: Oh yes, here they come, these boys, creeping in closer every day –

WOMAN: Oh, my God, they’re just friends!

MAN: The second my back’s turned, here they come, creepy crawlies, well my daughter will not die on a patch of marsh with funk in her ear. Now time to play, bend that tube! Doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo, bend.

WOMAN: Oh my God, Dad, chill.

MAN: Oh, cheer up. Medi kit in the hamper, Flazer in your tin. Right, bearings!

WOMAN: (HUFFS) One field from the scarecrow, one field from the bog, ravine on the left.

MAN: Two fields!

WOMAN: What?

MAN: Scarecrow, two fields away.

WOMAN: No it’s not.

MAN: Yes it is.

WOMAN: Dad, look.

MAN: That’s –? It wasn’t – was it? WOMAN: What?

MAN: Was it one away, just now?

WOMAN: What? Yeah. Of course, it’s not moved, has it?

[SFX: SYNTH]

MAN: And creepy Dan’s got a licence, has he?

WOMAN: Stop calling him that! He doesn’t like it! Yes, he’s got a licence, obviously!

MAN: So he says. Right, we need some wood.

WOMAN: I’ll stay. Watch things.

MAN: You’ll be alright?

WOMAN: I’ll be in the tent, I promise.

MAN: Bearings.

WOMAN: Again?

MAN: (STRAINED) Just humour an old man for me, will you? So he doesn’t worry?

WOMAN: Fine! We’re in the field with the scarecrow, one field away from the bog, ravine on the left.

MAN: (STRAINED) Very good! Put me teeth back in, haha… You know I’m only like this, because…

WOMAN: I know.

MAN: I wanna protect you! You’re just –

WOMAN: Growing up too fast.

MAN: You are! Feel like the moment I close my eyes, someone’s gonna grab you away.

WOMAN: Stop being a weirdo. Go and get some wood, or whatever. I’m here, I’m fine.

MAN: Alright, alright, okay then. Bearings! You’re in the tent with the scarecrow, one field away from the bog, and I’ll see you in a second.

WOMAN: Bye Dad.

MAN: Alright sweetheart. Sorry for being… you know.

WOMAN: It’s okay.

MAN: It’s just… those creepy boys!

WOMAN: Dad!

MAN: Should I zip you both in?

WOMAN: Yeah. So we don’t get a gust.

MAN: Exactly. You don’t want a gust, do you.

[SFX: ZIPPING AND HIGH RINGING]

[SFX: BREATHING, RINGING STOPS]

[SFX: RUSTLING, BREATHING]

NARRATOR: You don’t have to stay here. You don’t want that, do you? Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

[MUSIC]

#SCENE TWO - BEAUTIFUL NECK

[SFX: BREATHING]

MAN: I’m sorry.

WOMAN: No, that’s alright, don’t worry!

MAN: No, I thought I’d be more…

WOMAN: No, it’s fine, honestly.

MAN: (OVERLAPPING) I just…

WOMAN: Why don’t you…

MAN: I was going to say, I’ve never done anything like this before, which is, uh… which is true, but uh, I bet you get that all the time.

WOMAN: Look, it doesn’t matter about that, honestly, just…

MAN: I don’t… I don’t even know why I’m here, I really don’t.

WOMAN: Shh shh shh.

MAN: I’m a nice man!

WOMAN: Yeah.

MAN: I just – sometimes feel like –

WOMAN: I know. You – you want to relax.

MAN: Yeah.

WOMAN: You wanna relax with me.

MAN: Yeah. (LAUGHING) How do we, uh… how do we start?

WOMAN: Well, how do you want it to start?

MAN: You have a beautiful… neck.

WOMAN: (SULTRY) Thank you.

MAN: Your neck is beautiful.

WOMAN: (LAUGHING) Thank you.

MAN: (LAUGHING) You’re welcome.

WOMAN: Do you want some straw?

MAN: What?

WOMAN: Do you want some of this straw?

MAN: Uh – no.

WOMAN: Alright. Why don’t you – why don’t you just come a bit closer?

MAN: My – my wife, my wife is –

WOMAN: I – shh shh shh.

MAN: (STRAINED) Oh, God, and my boy –

WOMAN: Hey, you love them.

MAN: So much.

WOMAN: I know! I know that, and that’s okay!

MAN: Yeah.

WOMAN: You just – you need a break.

MAN: Yeah. They’re in the crocodile kingdom.

WOMAN: Okay. Good.

MAN: He wanted to see the crocodiles.

WOMAN: Of course he did. Crocodiles, yeah, they’re great.

MAN: I just… we walked past you.

WOMAN: (LAUGHING) Yes.

MAN: A– and I told them I was getting another tango drink and some wedges.

(LAUGHING)

MAN: Your neck is… fucking beautiful.

WOMAN: Thank you.

MAN: (SIGHING) It, uh… it must… is it weird for you, being here?

WOMAN: What?

MAN: Being so close to the lions, I mean.

WOMAN: What?

MAN: Just… the lions are next door, does that never bother you?

WOMAN: (BREATHING HEAVILY) Uh, no.

MAN: No, oh, sorry, I’m…

WOMAN: (OVERLAPPING) No, it’s fine.

MAN: I’m prattling, and my boy, he’s only –

WOMAN: (OVERLAPPING) Look, the point – lions don’t bother us, and we don’t bother them. So.

MAN: Oh. Right.

WOMAN: We’re powerful, and our legs are strong, and we run, very fast.

MAN: Yes.

WOMAN: (SULTRY) We fight.

MAN: Yes.

WOMAN: With our necks.

MAN: Oh, God.

[SFX: RUSTLING]

WOMAN: We’re warriors.

MAN: Can I – touch you?

WOMAN: Of course.

[SFX: RUSTLING]

MAN: Oh, God. You’re –

WOMAN: Mmm –

MAN: You’re – you’re so – tall.

WOMAN: (BREATHING HEAVILY) Yes.

MAN: I like your little… hooves.

WOMAN: Yes.

MAN: Oh, Jesus –

WOMAN: Oh, how did you find me?

MAN: The door, was swinging open, all the straw was spilling out –

WOMAN: Oh God –

MAN: One of the cleaning staff had left a broom –

WOMAN: Yes?

MAN: A broom in the –

WOMAN: Uh, the broom?

MAN: The –

WOMAN: Yes?

MAN: The hinge –

WOMAN: (BREATHING HEAVILY) Ah, they’ll be here soon…

MAN: Oh God…

WOMAN: Don’t, don’t think…

MAN: I’m a good man!

WOMAN: (STRAINING) I know!

MAN: My wife is so short, she just doesn’t –

WOMAN: I know, I know, shh shh –

MAN: (STRAINING) I’ll go straight – to the crocodile kingdom –

WOMAN: Of course –

MAN: (ORGASMIC) Just – as – soon – as – we’re – finished – I’ll get a fizzy tango drink and go to crocodile kingdom!

WOMAN: (ORGASMIC) Ahh!

[MUSIC]

NARRATOR: Funny, isn’t it… what you really want. What’s underneath… Nothing to be ashamed of, it’s just what’s inside you. Quite nice, really, when you admit what it is. It’s better when what’s chasing you starts to catch up.

#SCENE THREE - FEATHERS

[SFX: KNOCKING, WATER SPLASHING]

MUM: Love?

WOMAN: What?

MUM: You going out then, are you?

WOMAN: Mum, what?

MUM: I just – I just, uh…

WOMAN: I’m using the bathroom!

MUM: That’s absolutely natural.

WOMAN: Uh, yep.

MUM: Uh, I’ve put some tampons – for you. Behind the bubble bath!

WOMAN: (UNDER HER BREATH) Oh my God.

MUM: It’s behind the Matey.

WOMAN: Yep, okay, that’s fine, thank you Mum, you can get –

MUM: (OVERLAPPING) The bottle of Matey –

WOMAN: Thank you!

MUM: Cause – you – cause you’re not still using pads, are you?

WOMAN: Mum.

MUM: You’re not flushing them?

WOMAN: Oh my God. No!

MUM: Because they get stuck in the pipes? Love? Like, your dad said about the pipes – they run the water all red.

WOMAN: Oh my God.

MUM: Dad tried to hose down the garden last week and it came out brown, like a wet rope.

WOMAN: What do you want, Mum?

MUM: Love – 

WOMAN: What?

MUM: I found your razor!

[SFX: WATER SPLASHING]

MUM: Now, it’s absolutely your decision –

WOMAN: Mhm.

MUM: And I know about legs, for lacrosse, and – shorts and things – all the girls wanna be smooth girls now…

WOMAN: Mum.

MUM: But the thing is, once you’ve started shaving them, it grows back thicker.

WOMAN: Okay!

MUM: And darker. And –

WOMAN: Mum, I don’t –

MUM: And it’s very hard, plucking them out by hand, cause they’ll get so thick –

WOMAN: Okay, thanks Mum, my friend’s here in a sec –

MUM: (OVERLAPPING) Pulling them out, one by one, just to keep up with the growth, you know… like a brambly hedge!

WOMAN: Mum!

MUM: Just – pulling out, like feathers from a cushion –

WOMAN: (SURPRISED) Oh!

[SFX: SOMETHING PULLED OUT WITH A POP]

WOMAN: (UNDER HER BREATH) Shit, ow!

MUM: You alright?

WOMAN: Yeah, yeah – yeah, um… what?

MUM: You alright, love?

WOMAN: Yeah!

[SFX: SOMETHING PULLED OUT WITH A POP]

MUM: Did it snag on one?

WOMAN: (WHISPERED) What, I – what is this? What?

MUM: Alright.

WOMAN: (PANICKED) Mum?

MUM: It’s alright, oh dear.

WOMAN: (PANICKED) Oh, what’s happened – Mum? MUM: (OVERLAPPING) You’ll need to pull it out now, love.

WOMAN: But – but what – I don’t underst – why is it, why is it just so dark?

MUM: You can’t keep them inside you love, now you’ve started.

WOMAN: Oh my God, oh my God –

MUM: Just – find the sharpest one, the biggest darkest one, and just pull it out, if you can.

WOMAN: Okay. Wait, wait, okay.

[SFX: WET TUGGING, CRIES]

WOMAN: (PANICKED) Why – is it… why is it wet?

MUM: Yes, well – they’ve been growing inside, haven’t they? No good for feathers, really, that, they want to be on the outside.

WOMAN: But – but they’re the wrong way! Why are the feathers –? Why are the feathers the wrong way?

MUM: You’ll need to keep pulling them, now, love! Cause you’ve started, you’ve got to get them all out.

WOMAN: Oh my God! Oh my God – ah – ow!

[SFX: WET TUGGING, WHIMPERS]

MUM: Love? Love, are you alright, do you want me in there?

WOMAN: Ah – no!

MUM: You can use the Matey, sweetheart!

WOMAN: (CRYING) I don’t want this!

MUM: I know, love, I know, I – I wanted – a couple more years, but…

WOMAN: (OVERLAPPING) Mum, I’m sorry, there’s… there’s feathers, they’ve gone everywhere!

MUM: It’s alright, my love, it’s okay, it’s okay. You’re not a bird, are you, love?

WOMAN: (CRYING) I don’t know! I don’t know! What’s – what’s wrong with me?

MUM: It’s alright, sweetheart – you know, some boys, they don’t mind, these days, you know! Just – just make sure that you don’t –

[SFX: WATER DRAINING]

MUM: Oh, dear. The poor pipes. Your dad did say…

WOMAN: (PANICKED) Oh God… the feathers aren’t going… Mum! The fea– they’re not flushing down! Mum, what’s wrong with me?

MUM: I’ll get your dad. Oh, he won’t be happy about those pipes…

WOMAN: Mum, Mum, Mum! Mum? Mum!

[SFX: WATER SPLASHING]

NARRATOR: (ECHOING) It’s better when what’s chasing you starts to catch up.

#SCENE FOUR - DOG IN ILLNESS

[SFX: BELL RINGING]

MAN: Hello again.

CLAIRE: I’m so sorry.

MAN: No, no. We’re happy to handle complaints.

SAM: We haven’t – we – we don’t wanna do complaints.

CLAIRE: Sam.

SAM: It’s lovely here, it’s a lovely hotel, we’ve – just done the local area, the hat museum –

CLAIRE: Your colleague, uh, recommended we–

MAN: Mm, it’s popular.

SAM: Yeah, we learned about their, uh, shapes, and how you wear them…

CLAIRE: Sam, if you’re doing this –

SAM: Just on your head, really, don’t second guess it, that’s the…

CLAIRE: If you’re doing this, can you just do it, please?

SAM: Yes! Yes.

MAN: I assume it’s your room?

SAM: Uh, yes.

MAN: The fourth room.

CLAIRE: Yes.

SAM: Yes.

MAN: In four nights.

SAM: I am – I am really sorry.

MAN: What’s the problem now?

CLAIRE: There isn’t one.

MAN: Fantastic. The entertainment tonight will be local jazz, provided by Kevin Boots.

SAM: Oh, yeah, yeah. There – there’s just –

MAN: He’s on trumpet, with his wife, Mary-Anne, accompanying on the bells.

SAM: Right. We need – we need to change rooms, please.

MAN: Can I ask why?

SAM: Uh, yep, okay, um, the thing is – hah, is that it’s, um, it’s getting – closer.

CLAIRE: She’s – she’s being fussy. It’s – we’ve not had, um, any time off, in a while, so it’s, it’s just one of those…

MAN: If I remember, room number one was –

CLAIRE: Too close to the hedge.

SAM: Yeah, the plants, are quite – near.

MAN: Right. Room two, the taps weren’t parallel.

CLAIRE: Not quite! Not quite parallel.

SAM: (QUIETLY) Parallel, yeah.

MAN: Room three, there was a noise, it says here, like “a dog in illness”.

SAM: Illness, yeah.

CLAIRE: She’s a light sleeper.

MAN: And you don’t think you can stick out the sense of a dog in illness for one more night, seeing as you check out tomorrow.

SAM: Uh, I, uh, I… I can’t.

CLAIRE: Sam.

SAM: I’m not mad, Claire, you’re making me sound mad.

CLAIRE: No one’s mad. We’ve had a lovely day, all those hats, shapes –

SAM: I don’t care about the – hats, or the plants, or the taps, or the – the dog in illness…

MAN: To clarify, there is no “dog in illness” in this hotel.

SAM: I know that! I know, I’m not insane.

CLAIRE: Sam.

SAM: Just let me tell him, Claire! Alright, just… okay, so in the night, the problem is, is, it gets closer.

CLAIRE: Sam.

SAM: And it only backs off if –

CLAIRE: I’m, I’m so sorry.

SAM: (DETERMINED) If you’re looking at him from a different window!

MAN: Looking at who?

SAM: The scarecrow. It’s so dark, it’s just… it’s just, I mean it’s just straw, well, you know, like a heap –

MAN: Straw like a heap?

SAM: It resets as soon as we change rooms, it starts again, so it starts far back again, if it’s a different window.

MAN: What starts again?

CLAIRE: So, local jazz –

SAM: At midnight, it’s in the furthest field.

CLAIRE: And bells, I mean that’s a real lost art, isn’t it –

SAM: D’you see? D’you see, d’you see the tent?

CLAIRE: I can’t believe you managed to book Kevin Boots! I mean –

SAM: And at 2 AM, if you’re awake, if you check, it’s a field closer, it’s moved, to the wheat.

MAN: There’s nothing to fear from a scarecrow.

SAM: But – but, but, by 3 AM, you know, there’s nothing you can do, it, it doesn’t move when you’re looking at it, but it, but you have to keep – and your eyes, get so tired, and if you close them, it – you know, it’s moved, and then by the morning, I could feel it, it’s by the window, and it’s getting straw in all the glazing!

CLAIRE: Sam, there are hay bales.

SAM: It’s trying to get in!

[SFX: SYNTH]

MAN: This is working farmland, madam, the farmers are well within their rights to put up cloth-based deterrents or bundle up the hay in a tidy heap.

SAM: He doesn’t want to bundle up hay in a tidy heap, he wants to scare me!

[SFX: SYNTH]

MAN: Scarecrows aren’t for scaring people, madam.

SAM: I know.

MAN: They’re for scaring birds.

[SFX: BIRDS CAWING]

SAM: (SCARED) I know.

MAN: Are you a bird, madam?

SAM: I don’t – I don’t – 

CLAIRE: Sam.

SAM: I don’t know.

[SFX: PLUGHOLE]

SAM: I don’t – I don’t know.

JOHN: (ECHOING) Jim, did a Birdman come to your school?

JOHN: (ECHOING) Jim, did a Birdman come to your school?

[MUSIC]

MAN: And now, it’s my pleasure to introduce local jazz, from Kevin Boots, accompanied as ever, by his wife Mary-Anne on the bells.

[SFX: APPLAUSE]

[MUSIC: BELLS]

MAN: (DISTORTED) Are you a bird, madam?

[MUSIC: TRUMPET]

WOMAN: Stop!

[MUSIC STOPS]

WOMAN: I hate Kevin Boots.

NARRATOR: You’ve done so well. That’s enough for now. You need to build up those muscles before we go again. The things that come back, it all means something. Underneath your dreams, swimming into focus, is the truth. Like a lovely bit of hair, at the bottom of the canal. And we’ll find it. Whatever it is that’s keeping you from sleeping. Whatever it was that you did.

[MUSIC STOPS]

NARRATOR: Sleep.

#POST SESSION

VOICE OVER: On Session Three of The Sink.

NARRATOR: Let the dreams flood in.

WOMAN 1: Well, yes. That’s a problem, isn’t it.

NARRATOR: Have a little drown.

WOMAN 1: They don’t remember. You don’t remember.

NARRATOR: We’ll figure out what’s keeping you down.

WOMAN 2: Uh oh, where’s she gone?

NARRATOR: Down at the bottom of the tank.

WOMAN 1: Jingly jangly beads.

MAN 1: I’m wet, I’m angry!

MAN 2: You’re wet on the chair.

MAN 1: I’m soaking wet!

NARRATOR: I’ll count down.

MAN 3: There were children in there.

NARRATOR: Three…

MAN 3: I thought.

NARRATOR: Two…

MAN 3: Children…

NARRATOR: One…

MAN 3: In there.

NARRATOR: Go.

VOICE OVER: The Sink is written by Natasha Hodgson, and produced by Andy Goddard. It stars Alice Lowe as the Narrator, with Jason Forbes, Celeste Dring, David Elms, and Natasha Hodgson. The music was written by David Cumming. The executive producer was Victoria Lloyd. It was a BBC Studios production for BBC Sounds.

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Headlights Girl

Genre: Urban fantasy + wlw romance

Words: approx. 8k

Summary: The story of a girl with headlamps for eyes and the moth-girl she meets along the way.

My book 🌸 Ko-fi  🌸 Patreon

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

Most humans carry the night with them. Even during daylight hours, they can shut out the sun, turn off the light, recede into themselves and into that soft secret place behind their eyes.

Did you know certain animals don’t have eyelids? Gecko’s have nothing between them and the violent sun which wishes to cook the colors of their world. They have to use their tongue. Dust and sand and rain, can you imagine? I was obsessed with lizards as a kid.

I stacked up books on snakes and lizards and skinks. I traced the way that sand snakes crested across the dunes, sideways and wrong. I put glue on the pads of my hand and tried to climb the walls of my room— I didn’t even get one handhold up. I went to the zoo and peered into their cages, up on my tiptoes, trying not to smudge the glass or breath too hard. I tried make out their triangle heads and slow tongue-flicks, but they each shrank away deep into nooks and crannies of their cages. Most things do when I look at them.

Most humans carry the night with them, right there behind their eyelids is an entire world of darkness. I have something else inside me, not quite, not soft, not secret. They called me “headlights girl” in the newspapers.

There were even stranger kids born in the Age of Spirits. I checked. Every morning of fifth grade, I scanned the papers for mentions of “oddities” growing into anomalies.

A boy who could breath fire. A girl with leaves sprouting from her head. A kid with antennae that could taste the wind. There are stranger things than me in the age of beasts and magic. My father called it the “Epoch of Bastards,” sons and daughters of flickering fire elementals and wind ghosts who seduced half-asleep ladies from their beds.

He didn’t look at me much growing up. And I knew what he meant. I knew what he was getting at by calling it the Epoch of Bastards. Growing up, I played in my little puddle of carpet on the floor as he blustered in and out of rooms like gale force winds. He’d be looking for his keys or a left shoe or wallet since he was going out, out, out. I think I missed him at first, in the way you miss strangers you’ve never met.

Later, still on my puddle of carpet, still on my island, I would glare at him with that sour, acid taste in the back of my throat. Acrid, smoky, I would barely blink as he passed; he’d jump when he turned too quickly and accidentally fell into my path. Later still, I would begin to wish they were both like that—blustery and calling people names, gone more often than not.

It sometimes felt better than hearing my mom weep to herself on the couch. I wish she’d do it in her room or outside or anywhere else than that theatrical sobbing in the middle of the house, a naked heartbeat to the place. She spoke to her friends on the phone in that same watery voice, handkerchief in hand and sniffling, she spoke to them more than me.

What else am I supposed to do? This isn’t how it was supposed to be. She’d wail, just a bit, and then find a new thing to wail over. They could barely afford to send me to That School. They could barely afford the special doctor’s appointments for my eyes. They barely knew what to do with me.

Sometimes, I wanted to shout right back: It’s not like I didn’t want to be here either!

But she wasn’t talking to me. 

School wasn’t much better. We weren’t the same, not really. None of us were the same age or had the same affliction. Plus, most everyone else stayed in dorms where they bonded with secrets and whispers and hiding from matrons. It wasn’t the same.

They called me The Lighthouse and Car Face and Nightlight. Sometimes they’d give me a few bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face. I did it. They’d laugh and reassure me I was as ugly as you’d think. Or beautiful. Or perfectly average-looking or I had a pig-nose or unibrow. I’d never seen anything but the blinding light of my own eyes in the mirror so I could never contradict them.

A boy with antlers handed me a twenty for a kiss in the 6th grade. I closed my eyes for that too. It was chapped and dry and he ran away with a screaming laugh afterward. There are stranger kids than me, I reminded myself. So why do I feel so much stranger than the rest of them?

I was 16 when I heel-toed my way down the stairs toward the front door. A duffel bag slung over my shoulder stuffed with loose clothes, change, a bath towel, three books with broken spines, all the tampons in the house, and a Swiss-army knife.

I hoped to stuff as many cheddar-cheese sandwiches in my sack as possible before the midnight bus came, but he was at the kitchen table. I don’t think either of us expected it, like running into your teacher at the mart and you’re both buying the same brand of toilet cleaner. There was a beer in front of his idle hands and he still wore his rumpled work shirt. He glanced at the bag on my shoulder for a long minute.

Finally, he sighed like I cut him off in traffic.

“Gimme a moment.”

My father leafed through a wad of cash he kept in a safe. He handed me almost three hundred bucks and we nodded at each other. At the time, I thought there was a kind of satisfaction to that nod, an endnote.

I was out the door before the midnight bus arrived.

Only three people were at the terminal. None of them looked at me with my pack and my knife stuffed in one hand and my eyes glowing. They did look at the glow, but not for long.

Remote and empty like maybe the world had ended and the last bits of if were nothing but strangers not making eye contact.

Finally, I watched the headlights of the midnight bus approach through dense summer night. I was struck by the thought that it was like looking at like, the glow of my eyes against its eyes. Can a bus be your father? Can your father be a man after all this time? Will your mother come looking for you?

I got on the bus and kicked my feet up against the seat in front of me. Scrunched into a ball, crossed my arms over my chest, and watched the trees turn into flickering bodies of shadow with each passing mile. ------------- My feet moved like tides. They tossed me against nameless city streets and toward empty forested slices of land. I stumbled into the painted deserts toward the west. I dipped my toes into the neon districts of the east with lights brighter than my own. I slept on benches and in kid’s treehouses and hunched my shoulders against brick walls of back alleys.

No one touched me. Maybe they’d approach now and then, but I’d open my eyes and they’d see nothing but heaven or devils or an absent lightning-God father that would smite them. I was the daughter of spirits after all.

I found my way to the ocean; beaches where other stragglers gathered and it was easy to stretch out on empty pieces of warm sand. I didn’t talk much by then, I didn’t like to; people stared whether I was speaking or screaming and clamping down on my jaw so hard it ached. Sometimes I get yelled at: Turn that off! No phone lights in here. You’re blinding me, bitch!

I’d never seen a movie in any theatres, but I could imagine what it’s like.

It was crowded, but I liked that ocean city, despite myself. It had pale buildings built into cliffs, narrow winding sidewalks where cars couldn’t fit, reckless bikers, and crushed seashell parking lots. I liked the tang of salt in the air and the way my hair crinkled from the ocean water as it sun-dried. I camp out on beaches and bummed cigarettes and hotdogs off strangers. I was good at taking care of myself once I got into a rhythm.

I had a tent by then and even an enormous sun umbrella to keep any prying eyes away. I still liked to sleep under the stars most nights though.

I often dreamed of sinking to the bottom of the ocean. I dreamed of descending on pointed ballerina-feet to the silted black bottom. I’d be weighted down through the cold and the silence to where no human being had ever been. I’d open my eyes there, open them all the way, lightning-bright, and unflinching. In my dreams, the salt didn’t even sting. I lit up the world, the whole untouched world of whales and fish and terror and maybe I’d do something good then. Maybe I’d do something good and bring the sun to places that had forgotten it. 

I hated those dreams.

I met Mags on the beach after one of those dreams. Mags had one eye and twelve teeth and carried around nothing but string and scissors everywhere. She smelled like seawater and burning kelp, dank and crusted over. Her clothes were neat despite her leather-cracked skin and arms and neck covered in tattoos of shipwrecks. We ran into each other at some bum gathering and she cackled and pulled me aside.

“What’s your name?” Her voice was old creaking wood. I didn’t answer. “I could give you one.” She offered with a grin that was more empty space than anything.

“Nana.” I gritted out. “You want something?”

“Not sure. What do you want, kid?”

I glared openly, my beam of light slanting. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come here.”

I didn’t know why I was chosen.

Mags liked me more than I deserved. I pocketed her last pair of socks when she wasn’t looking. She never mentioned it and dragged me down to the community showers to get clean with soap and shampoo. She took me to the soup and salad restaurant for something that wasn’t burnt or freeze-dried or from a convenience store. She cackled, she spat when she talked, people shot her looks as well.

I thought she was normal, not touched by the spirits, but she liked me more than most people and I didn’t know why.

“You like art, kid?”

I snorted. “No.”

“Why not? You broken?” Yeah. Probably.

“How am I supposed to know?” I snapped back.

“Lippy squirt. Come on, I’ll show you something worth your forked tongue.”

She heated the needle before she used it, red hot and untouchable. She dipped it into deep black inks, only black and sometimes red, she called them the only colors that matter. She shows me how to prick the skin and clean it. She showed me how to slowly, painstakingly etch images. I wasn’t sure I liked it, there was something so permanent and intentional about the act.

I watched her lessons though: stick and poke to her right foot, all over those fine little bones that must hurt, in and out, a little bloody.

It took her six hours to make a tiny shipwreck right above her big toe. It was a narrow schooner going under and I was the only witness. She made the waves come to life and crash against its sides and sometimes I forgot to blink. She didn’t seem to mind.

She washed another needle. She heated it red-hot. She dipped it in ink and handed it to me.

I still wasn’t sure I liked the permanence of it, but I told myself I was bored and it was something to do. I decided quickly I did like the bite of it, I liked the focus it took, and the ability to pull something from nothing.

I practiced all over my thighs first, there was enough meat there and it was easy enough to reach: a lizard design that looked like nothing but squiggles, a TV set playing static, a tiny smudged skink with its tongue out. I practiced designs in the sand and then on paper when Mags splurged on pen and paper.

Mags took me to the museum on Sundays. They were always free on Sundays.

Something stirred in my chest, even as the guards yelled at us about how flash photography wasn’t allowed in the museum. Even as I was shooed out of exhibits for ruining the paint. Still, an ache so old it rotted roared to life in my chest.

I stabbed in and out, gentle, a collection of stars right above my right knee. A winding sand snake on my wrist, and then finally, something good, something that gave people pause and reason to stare. I made it in the mirror: a ghost on my collarbone. Shadowed and intricate and yet simple, I put a ghost right above my collarbone and it bleeds more than any of the others.

That was a good year or so; one of the best I could remember.

I didn’t want to leave the ocean city though and Mags said she had to keep moving. She had places to be. She gave me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“You're a gem, kid. You’ll knock ‘em all to the pavement.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You’ll be back?”

She cackled. “Wouldn’t miss it. You know me.” She winked as she turns to the bus, my second father. “You think I’ll miss your great becoming, kid? I’ll be back.”

I wanted to make her pinky-promise like I was a kid again begging one of the others to tell me if I’m beautiful when I close my eyes. I couldn’t do that; I waved as she tottered up the steps of the bus and was taken away with the tides of her own feet.

A had a moment of thinking it was the end then; I was ready to get back to my real normal. I was ready to disappear again. But even shipwrecks with no witnesses leave things left to be found.

------------ I got an apprenticeship. Technically, Mags talked them into it and I just followed up when I had nothing better to do.

I didn’t think I’d like it much, but couch surfing and camping out was the pastime of the especially young. And I’d lost my giant umbrella.

It was a small shop that smelled like bleach and dried flowers. A tattoo parlor in one of the steep arts districts neighbored by food trucks and beaded necklace shops.

Penguin Davies and Bitch-Annie ran it together. Davies walked like he’d never encountered land before, and Bitch-Annie had a throw-pillow embroidered with “If you don’t have anything nice to say then come sit next to me.”

Davies was covered in nothing but birds and dizzying M. C. Escher house-designs up and down his chest and arms. Bitch-Annie had topless mermaids and pinup girls across her shoulders and legs. She’d been asked to leave a number of stores before the children started staring or thinking thoughts.

Neither of them had ever met someone like me. It was not that type of town. I rankled at most their questions, a cat meeting a steel brush. Where are you from? What’s your family name? What kind of school did you go to? Is your sight better than other people you think?

I brushed off anything more personal than my favorite type of soda. Bitch-Annie called me “Shadow” probably as a joke, probably. Davies said I must be possessed by the ghost of some dead star: a blackhole that takes everything in and lets nothing out.

Neither of them let me touch a needle in those first six months. They had me practice on pig skin and trace designs and stand by their shoulders as they worked. I felt like a dental assistant except I was the hanging light shining into open mouths instead of anything with a pulse. I stood at their shoulder as they drew thick lines and thin dots and made hearts and wolves and names of dead lovers come to life.

They asked me to stand still and stop wiggling the light. I almost walked out several to find a new cliff to crash against, almost. 

No one had ever expected anything of me before. They never expected me to show up somewhere or do something well. No one really cared if I went to school or if I did my homework, if I dressed well or went to bed on time. And no one kept any tabs on me at all after I took that first bus. That’s how I liked it.

I should’ve left, tattooing didn’t mean anything to me, not really. But Bitch-Annie stomped up to my attic-apartment one morning and threw pants at me.

“Get up, Shadow,” she barked. She was sterner than Mags, no hint of humor in her eyes. “I told you 9am so I expect 9am.”

“The fuck!?” I was eloquent in the mornings.

“Pants, shirt, shoes, and bra if you don’t want that desk idiot staring at something other than your eyes all day.”

“Are you serious?”

“Serious as a root canal. Mags swore up and down about what you. Let’s see some of that, up, up!”

I grumbled. I put on everything but the bra. No one ever expected me to be anywhere before and 9am shouldn’t have even been a concept much less a real thing. I told myself I hated it. I’d leave the next week. Or maybe the week after that or in just one more month. I kept a bus ticket under my pillow but every time the date arrived I shrugged and made myself busy.

There’d be no harm in having a savings too and seeing what all the fuss was about with having a dishwasher and a kitchen.

I wasn’t an artist of course. I didn’t understand what everyone else was seeing when they looked at the “old masters” paintings of water or war or lovers pulled apart. I didn’t feel anything in front of stain-glass windows in churches or mosaics on walls. Maybe there really was something wrong with me, my eyes. I didn’t let up though. I put on pants for it after all.

Penguin Davies hovered by my shoulder when I made my first real design.

“Mm.” He rumbled deep in his chest. He’d gone grey at an early age, had tired eyes and quick hands. The desk kid said he’d been in medical school once, a surgeon. It was hard to tell. Davies muttered a lot, stared off into space too much, and laughed like it was always a painful surprise

“Perfectionist,” he muttered at me as I start over on a crappy unicorn design. “That line was barely off. You’re being a perfectionist, Nana.”

I scowled over my shoulder and let the full weight of my light hit him across the face. “Got a problem with it?” I challenged. He chuckled darkly. His grin was crooked like a broken door handle. I tried to hide my work from him with my shoulder. “It’s not done yet.”

“It’s late.” The rest of the street was dark. I knew that.

“I said I’m not done yet! You can go home.”

“Hmm.” He scratched his grey beard.

“What?”

“Look at you. You know who makes the best artists, Nana?” He was always a bit of a philosopher. Maybe he used to study that before medicine.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up. I’m working on it.”

He gave my shoulder a light push. “The ones that don’t quit.”

They let me touch a needle gun after that. I told myself I’d only sign my new apartment lease as an experiment. I didn’t have to actually stay. I’d just run from the ink on paper and hope no one chased after girls with eyes that glow.

I didn’t break my lease. I drew suns and moons, trees and fireflies, hunks in speedos on tipsy college girls who swore they were sober and erotic vampires on the chests of men getting their first divorce. I had to give two refunds for a duck that turned out lopsided and a tattoo of someone’s dog which I swore really was that ugly to begin with.

There was one at the end of that next year though, another college girl with perfectly white piano-key teeth. She asked for a stick and poke, that was what I was best at anyway, she asked for a butterfly. Butterflies were easy, I could do the little ones in my sleep. She wanted one all across her back, she said I could make it look however I wanted. So I did. Wings like fringed shawls and straight heavy lines combined with wispy swirling ones. It was dark, black ink with red highlights and gray shadows under each wing to give it movement and flight.

I hid my smile when I finished and showed her the results in the mirror. She went to my bosses and jumped up and down. She pointed and babbled, ohmyspirits, the best thing I’ve ever seen! Fuck. I should pay you double! Where did you get this girl? 

I held myself perfectly still and studied the ceiling until my eyes dried out.

I took the long way home that night. I stopped once, at the corner where the midnight bus arrived, and watched the the passengers trudge off. I didn’t expect to see Mags again so soon, not really, but sometimes I wanted to show her: Hey, maybe your work wasn’t all wasted. Maybe I did start to become.

---------------- “I’m getting you chocolate.” Annie spat, her thick arms flexing as she cleaned off the spotless counter. “I’m getting you fucking chocolate, Shadow, ‘less you tell me what flavor you actually like.”

I hung at the back of the shop next to the narrow window that faced the road. I let the sun warm my face in thick strips and watched the bicycles pass. “It’s not my birthday.”

“Tell us what your actual birthday is then, you sugar-toasted tart.”

I shrugged. “Not today.”

“Well happy fucking birthday. You’re turning two. You came to work for us two years ago today, washed up from the beach like a deranged feral cat, so this is your birthday now.”

I rolled my eyes which served to look like a flashlight given a shake. Annie spent another minute splashing disinfectant on anything that might have had even a passing conversation with a germ.

“You talk to Birdie?” She asked, but mischievously this time. I responded by setting my mouth in a hard line. “You’re turning twenty-something and you’re not even talking to Birdie, are ya?”

“I’m not telling you what I’m turning. It’s still not my birthday.” I dodged inelegantly.

“Birdie will give you a proper go-around. Even shadows like you must need a little rub now and then.”

“Go dunk your head, Annie.” I huffed.

“Afraid you’ll blind her in bed?”

I turned with a snarl. “I’ll start with you.”

“I’ve seen you flipping through those poetry books, every word about hands or mouths or rosebuds.” She gave me flat a once-over. “You’ve got a sweet tooth in you.”

I dragged myself over to the desk to snarl at her some more, but Annie was already putting her hand up and going toward the backroom.

“I’m getting you a chocolate cake either way.”

There must have been a proper way to get her to never look at my little leather poetry books again, the ones with watermarked pages, the spines broken-in, and words that oozed. No one had to know that I could read, much less that I read that.

The door dinged instead.

“Excuse me.” She walked in. Her. “Is someone, um, named Nana here?” I turned before I could stop myself. That was still my name. And it was still my work.

Twenty-something, curtains of straight black hair falling in her face, pinched nose, thin energetic lips, shorts that gave way to milk-dipped legs that never seemed to end. A slight girl in a university t-shirt. College kids came in often during their breaks, but this one was a bit different. My eyes dragged up and fish-hooked there.

Feathered tendrils sprouted from her head and reached toward the ceiling. Long and searching, a pearly green color that reminded you of leaves or plumage.

I knew within a moment where I’d heard of this: Antennae Girl. The newspapers ran our stories close together along with the boy that breathed fire and the girl with roots growing from her head. We were all born in the same year during the epoch of monsters and bastards.

I think she recognized me too.

We stopped like heartbeats seizing up before the ambulance could make it. A confused, unnatural silence. I glanced at the door and considered making a run for it.

She cleared her throat first.

“Someone said that Misty’s butterfly tattoo came from here?” She blinked once and I noticed how her feathered antennae seemed to twitch. I averted my eyes so I wouldn’t blind her. She took a step forward. “So are you . . . Nana?”

The door was right there.

“What do you want?” I had been spending too much time with Bitch-Annie.

“A tattoo?”

“What kind?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Then why are you here?” I grunted. Footsteps came in from the back room. I was examining the smudged off-white tiles of the floor one by one.

“I wanted to . . . hey, you can look up if you want.” She said, curiously, softly. I didn’t look up. “I’m still figuring out the design.” She trudged on ahead.

“Fine.” I pivoted away. “But we’re busy. Come back later.”

A hand slapped across my shoulder. “This is Nana.” Annie stopped me from leaving. “Don’t let her eyes fool ya, it’s her personality that’s actually the problem. You saw her butterfly you said?”

“Yes!” She gushed. “It was gorgeous.”

“It was fine,” I corrected.

“It’s her birthday today.” Annie shared because she could and because she was a failed evil villain still trying to get her kicks in.

“Oh cool, happy Birthday.” A deep pause followed that could fill oceans. “You can look up. I don’t mind.” She repeated.

I opened my eyes wide and lifted my chin in one jerky motion. A beam of fluorescent headlights hit her across the face. “Is this what you want?” Venom dripped from my lips. This was why I tried not to talk too much.

The young woman squinted for a moment before covering her eyes and nodding. “I read about you,” she stated as if it was nothing. “I’m turning twenty-two this year . . . so I guess, you are too?”

“What?!” Delight filled Annie’s entire expression. “Hot damn! Twenty-two?” I groaned deeply. “Hey, you, girlie,” she addressed antennae-girl, “you want to come out for drinks tonight?”

I tried to protest as quickly as possible, but somehow didn’t summon the words quickly enough.

“Sure.” She agreed. ----------------------

The night was humid and clung to us like a second skin. I wandered through the hilly streets with Penguin Davies wobbling beside me. The desk kid—Daft Jeff, said Davies had some inner-ear problem that made it hard for him to keep his balance. Annie said he just didn’t belong on land— he couldn’t walk straight unless something was tilting and rolling under his feet.

Davies made his way up the hill, faltering and missing the musical beats of it. He refused to let me steady him and I refused to have him sing to me. It was apparently my birthday.

“Someone saw your design.” He noted on the downhill.

“Yeah. Some college girl.” I grumbled.

“What’d you think?” He asked in his usual mysterious way.

“She just wants a good look.” I returned in a neutral tone. “She read about me in the paper. All she wants to do is look.”

“She saw your design.” He paused. “And Jeff said she was like you.”

I blinked hard so the path ahead was eaten by shadow and Davies stumbled. “Not all of us have to be friends . . .” I said sourly and didn’t fill in the rest. “I’ve met kids with antlers and frog-hands before. I doesn’t mean anything.”

“Any of them come visit?”

“They’re smart enough not to.” I snark. “But the ones who manage to be pretty don’t have the brains to stay away.”

“Mm.” He made a soft sound. “What kind of tattoo do you think she’ll get?”

“How should I know? A heart or anchor or something dumb like that.” I walked on ahead. “Maybe I’ll give her a quote from some dead poet.”

“You like poetry.”

I huff dramatically, “Not what I mean. Girls like her don’t like my type of poetry, you know I’m saying.”

“What kind of girls?” Davies was patient. I hated that about him.

I stopped at the corner to let him catch up. “Don’t play dumb. Hot ones, college ones, getting a degree in money or music. They don’t watch over their shoulders enough or know when to stay away.” I scuffed my shoe on the ground. “Whatever.”

Davies was still thinking. I considered pushing him over. He finally spoke up again as we approach the bar, “That sea witch ever show up again?”

“Mags?” I snorted. “No. Why?”

“Cause I’m sure she’d like to see this.”

I didn’t say anything else as we reached the doorway. -------------------- The bar was loud. More people than I liked came to my “party.” I should have seen it coming. If the cliff city liked one thing it was an excuse to drink.

I crammed myself up against the bar and ordered a gin and tonic before the rest of the night crowd could arrive. Birdy was holding court at a corner table and waving at me. “There she is! Someone put a blanket over Nana, lights out, party up!”

Her puns usually left something to be desired. She sang “Blinded by the Light” every time she saw me for half a year.

I drank half my gin and tonic in the first gulp as a new stream of townies burst in. They arrived to buy me birthday beers and shout their opinions on the shitty new chain restaurant on 3rd street. I was almost tasting the bottom of my second glass when someone tapped on my shoulder.

I barely looked over.

The girl with sheets of black hair and a practiced-appearance stood before me—like she was at dress rehearsal and expected everyone else to know the lines as well. She carried a baby-blue bike helmet in one hand, and I noted there were two hand-drilled holes in the top.

“You.” I was tempted to shake her hand like I might make this a transactional hello and goodbye in short order.

“Hey.” She smiled, hesitant, like maybe the food on the fork might be too hot. “Nana, right?”

“Yep.” I sighed the word real long and heavy. “Listen, I really can’t give you a tattoo if you don’t know what you want.”

“No, no, I get it. But I want you to know . . . I didn’t know it was you.”

“Uh, okay. Though I’m pretty hard to miss over here.” I was looking at the dirty wine bottles stacked near the ceiling. Her antennae hang over both of us like fern fronds.

“No. I mean, when I saw the butterfly. That’s when I wanted to come here. Not after.”

“After what?” I was gonna make her say it.

“After I found that it was, well, you know, Headlights Girl.”

“Mm.” I was spending too much time with Davies. “You want something to drink?”

She sighed as well, real long and heavy. “Sure.” She took the seat next to me. “I’m Park by the way.”

“Park.” I rolled the name around in my mouth. “And you already know me.”

“I don’t think I do.” She laughed, sharp and bristly like something you can get cut on. “And I’ll have a beer. . . but only once you look up. Come on, I’m not like that.” I looked up. Her face was bright, round like the moon, her grin was sneaky and unearned. “There we go.”

She waved over the bartender Kipp and ordered her dark beer.

“It’s not really my birthday.” I informed her, dumbly. Every word felt dumb and clumsy all at once.

“Why not?” She was teasing. I knew that.

“That’s not how birthdays work.” I informed and wished I could backtrack into hostility again.

“Oh darn,” she winked. “And here I was about to make it my birthday too.”

“Uh, well,” I really should have left when I had the chance. “It’s not too late?”

“That’s the spirit!” She laughed, fuller this time and rounded. I looked her straight in the face and then quickly looked away again. Her grin was aimed at me, somehow, and seemed to reach high cupboards inside me you usually needed a stool for.

“Park,” I repeated the name and shifted in place. “So did you go to Haveryards or Simmons?” There were only two schools in the country for spirit bastards like us. Haveryards was close enough for me to get bussed to—an hour one way and then an hour home.

“Neither. I went to public and then Bakerville Uni.” She rapped on the counter. “Hey, you want another gin and tonic? Or I’ll mix you up something.” Her eyes flickered over everything. “I bartended my way through college so I can make a mean margarita.”

“Oh, Bakerville U., yeah. That ones close.” I stuttered a bit. She was leaning across the counter and trying to get Kipp’s attention a second time. My words were feeling dumber and dumber by the moment, perhaps losing all shape and meaning altogether. “That’s where you went?”

“How’d you guess?” She said playfully and pointed to her t-shirt. She finally got the bartender over. “Right, you want something hard? Vodka maybe? A mule?”

I scratched my chin. “ . . . I don’t care. I’m easy.”

She rolled her eyes and I knew she must feel me staring. “I can’t imagine shopping for you for today then.” She snickered and climbed over the counter. “Happy birthday, how about one chocolate mule for a free tattoo?”

“You wish.” I made a face. “You don’t even know what you want.”

“And you do?” She was still grinning, somehow. “I’ve decided I’m making you the equivalent of all the soda flavors mixed together at once. Close your eyes.”

I closed my eyes and I tried to turn off my thoughts. It was bright as knives inside my skull; I carry the daytime with me. Panic threatened to rise up (for no reason of course), but a soft hand brushed against mine, soft like sheets in fancy hotels and flower petals. I peaked and Park slid a full murky glass toward me.

“Drink up.”

It was sweet. It wasn’t even my birthday. I didn’t care. She called it a chocolate-mule-Park Special and maybe chocolate really was my favorite flavor. -------------- Park started coming around. She rode a sky-blue bike with a white basket and rusting hinges. I couldn’t imagine doing all the hills in the city without any gears, but she managed. She said she was figuring things out after graduating. She said she liked it here.

I grumbled when she came by. I complained like Annie when Wicker the cat visited: Get that thing away from me. I hate that. Smells awful. I’ve got allergies. Put that away, it’ll kill me.

I never said anything when Annie left fish heads out and bowls of milk of course.

Park smelled like sunscreen and breath mints. She had strong opinions on everything from street paving techniques to which sun hats went with which dresses. She invited me on walks. She invited me to help her change a flat tire. She invited me to the corner shop to help her pick out bottle can openers.

I said no. Sometimes I said no. I started to say yes.

“Look at this,” she liked to show me things. She liked to show me pictures of squirrels on her phone and weird pieces of glass she found. She liked to point out new restaurants (that I’d already been to) and play videos of funny traffic jams.

This time she held up a seashell. It was rounded and flat with a swirl in the center.

“I’m looking.” I said carefully.

“Watch how it catches light.” I shun my eyes on it and she moved it back and forth. There were bits of silver veins caught in the cracks of it.

“There’s tons of those.” At this point, I had valiantly refused to be impressed by even her cutest squirrel pictures.

“Ugh.” She pouted. “Are you kidding? I spent all morning looking for this.”

“They're right by the surf. I could find you five bigger ones than this before sunset.”

“Alright, hot-shot.” She jut her chin out and jabbed my shoulder. “Prove it.”

I said yes to that one. I left right after my shift ended with the sun setting in the waters like a stabbed orange bleeding out. I met Park by the parking lot with drooping palms trees lining the sides and lost flipflops everywhere.

“This is where you went wrong.” I announced. I couldn’t help it. “This is the tourist beach. You have to go somewhere real.”

“Alright, alright. You’ve already established you’re the hot-shot here. Lead the way.”

She followed me. I ignored how she lingered by my side. I ignored how her hand wrapped around my arm as she stopped us to look at a tiny horseshoe crab. Her hand was soft, like velvet, soft enough to smother something in my chest.

I found two seashells with streaks of silver and rainbow through them, both bigger than my palm. The sun was a flat line on the horizon before I could find a third and Park hooted.

“You said before sunset! It’s sunset, baby, pay up.” She called. “And you were so sure you were a better seashell hunter than me.” She tsked.

I scanned the ground more quickly. “It’s barely nighttime.” I pointed to the sky. “And I can keep looking. I have the built-in equipment for it.”

“Oh I know.” She planted herself on the soggy crusted sand and sat down in a heap. “But can you find why kids love the taste of not doing that? Take it easy. Take a seat.”

“So pushy.”

“You know me.” It was fond. It had only been a few months, but there was something fond there.

I ran a hand through my short choppy curls. “Fine.” I sat next to her, not too close. “It’s your loss.” We both looked out at the gently lapping waves, foaming and anemic. She let a long breath of air and for a moment I considered brushing her hair back. It was always in her face.

It was a quiet moment, bottled, and pitching toward something. Like the the moment where you miss a step on the stairs and the certainty of the fall was right there.

I was the one that scooted a little closer.

“I’m considering getting a storm cloud,” she commented off-handedly. “Can you do storm clouds?”

I made a sound of consideration. “Sure.” I glanced toward the opposite corner of the night sky. “I think I’ve seen one of those before. Big puffy wet things?”

“Kinda fluffy? You’re getting there.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” I’m smiling, which is alright since there’s no way she could see it. She’s silent for another moment longer.

“Or would you make fun of me if I got something like a butterfly? Like your other one.”

“A storm cloud butterfly?”

“No. The cloud would it’s own thing.” She chewed on her bottom lip, ragged and chapped. “I mean, I’ve been doodling some ideas. And tattoos should be personal, right? So I thought a storm cloud might be fitting. Kids used to pay me a couple dollars to predict the weather. It could be a memorial to childhood entrepreneurial spirit.”

I watched her speak and something beat inside my chest like a second animal. I wanted to be closer. I wanted to feel velvet again.

“Why?” I rasped after a moment.

“Uh, why did they pay me? It’s just something I can do. Whenever it's going to rain or storm or be sunny out. I dunno, I don’t know why the rest of you can’t sense it.”

“And you didn’t become a meteorologist?” I smiled a bit bitterly.

She made an indignant noise. “And you didn’t become a professional lighthouse?”

I choked on a laugh. “Not yet.” A quiet consumed us from both sides, I made sure my light didn’t crash into her. I made sure to look at anything but her. She’d have to squint if I did and cover her eyes and I’d be there, ready to run her over.

“Kids in my class paid me too.” I barely realized I started speaking. “They slipped me a couple bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face.”

“You got money for that?”

“There wasn’t always much to do. Teachers were quitting all the time and sometimes it was just the TV. I dunno, they paid me. Then they’d giggle and run away afterward.” My voice sounded automated like the announcer at an airport, informing travelers their flight was canceled. “They always said I had a pig nose or a unibrow or looked like the lead singer of that Minx girl band-- super hot, but you know, it didn’t matter.” The laugh that escaped was high, girlish in a grotesque way. “Since, you know, no one would ever see it.”

“Kids are fucked up.” Park contributed simply.

“Adults are too.” I sniffed. “Everyone wants a light show.”

“Oh.” She said slowly. “Is it . . . is it bad I wanted to meet you then? I mean, I wanted to see the art first, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a factor.”

“No.” I said quickly. I lit up my own lap and empty hands. “Does it matter?”

“I never went to those schools,” she said hesitantly. “My parents fought them, said the schools were unfit. They shouldn’t be able to force us there. And that I wasn’t even dangerous since,” she gestured helplessly upward, “I just have these. So then, well, I never really met anyone else like me.”

“I mean, everyone’s different. It’s not . . . a big deal.”

“You’d think so,” she commented sardonically.

I folded up into myself like a complex origami piece. “Yeah, well, sometimes I wish I was dangerous. Actually dangerous.”

She giggled. “Didn’t you just say everyone’s different? I’d say everyone’s dangerous too. Just gotta find the niche.”

“Oh yeah,” I dared to turn toward her. “What’s yours then?”

“My danger niche? Hmm.” She was leaning now, pitching forward like a wave come to drown me. “I do have a few tricks up my sleeve I’ll admit.”

“You have a pair of wings hidden away?” I stopped breathing as her hand lifted up, strange and all at once. I wasn’t ready.

“Here.” Her skin was against mine. She cupped my cheek with one velvet-hand. It was heated cashmere, tiny feather-light hairs on her palm. “Feelers.” She whispered with a hesitancy there.

“Ah,” I was indulgent. I closed my eyes. I leaned in. “And you want to put a needle over these?” I put my hand over hers, loosely, so she could pull away if she wanted to. Tiny hairs pulsed there with some kind of life all their own. 

“I wanted . . .” She paused and I peaked open my eyes. I could see every detail of her face, illuminated. “I dunno.” She finished. “I guess I just wanted whatever I saw there, before.”

“In the butterfly?”

“In the butterfly.” I turned toward the ocean, but my hand remained over hers. “I’m not sure how good it will be a second time. It’s not like I’m really an artist. . .”

“What did you want to be?” Soft.

“Who knows. I mean, I’m glad my parents didn’t try to fight the schools. Being there during the day was better than being home, listening to my mom crying all the time and my father exploding . . . They wouldn’t have wanted me home.”

Before the sunset, when I was walking over, I thought maybe we’d kiss that night. I thought I’d feel that first electric pulse and maybe we’d climb into the ocean and swim in circles, laugh until the moon rose. I thought maybe I’d get something out of my system and there wouldn’t be anything left to say or do.

I’d kiss Park, once, and she’d be satisfied. She’d understand. She’d go on her college path and I’d go on on mine.

But the words spilled out, unbidden. Park stayed in place, steady and unflinching. That made it worse, so much worse.

“My parents weren’t like yours.” There was an accusatory edge to it. Don’t you know? I wanted to shout. Don’t you know? Even without the eyes or the school bills or the bus.

“Hey,” she cradled my cheeks with both hands now and smeared the tears away from one eye. “Hey, listen, I know. Alright? I know.”

I scowled back at her feathered little feelers.

“It’s not about the damn antenna or head beams or anything else.” I tried to pull away. “Even the kid with the antler’s kissed me and I didn’t stop him. I ran away from home and my mom never came looking. It didn’t matter. It doesn’t matter! You wouldn’t even get it. You wouldn’t get it!” I squeeze my eyes closed. “You were wanted.”

Slowly, like an awkward animal burrowing into soft earth, she pressed her forehead to the crook of my neck. I could feel us both breathing in, strong and steady. She was lean and silky, and I swore I can feel her heartbeat hammering through my throat.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered. I inhaled her sunscreen scent. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know. But I could.”

“Why are you here?” It was miserable and wet, I hated that my eyes were so different and yet still the same. Could still spill over like theirs. She took a long breath but didn’t move away.

“My last girlfriend broke up with me for being . . . sensitive and I thought maybe if I got a tattoo, I’d stop feeling so much. I’d prove something. I’d feel everything less, you know? It would hurt and then it wouldn’t.”

I took that in a parsec at time. “Are you,” I sniffed. “Are you alright?” Her legs and arms were plastered over mine. “You’re so soft, but, but I don’t want to,” I wipe at my face like it didn’t matter. “Hurt you.”

“I know.” Her face was still pressed to my neck and her lips fluttered across the hallow of my skin. “I didn’t want to hurt you either.”

A stillness settled into my bones. I glanced toward the moon, and it was like looking at like, a terrible moon to another moon. I gathered myself. I took a deep breath. I flattened.

“I shouldn’t have said all that.” My voice had dried up. “We led different lives.” It wasn’t her fault if she was wanted.

“No.”

“I wasn’t thinking . . .”

Her hand wrapped around my wrist. “I talk to Annie sometimes when you aren’t there.”

“Okay?”

“And Davies. And that front desk guy.”

“Daft Jeff. Yes.”

“They all say the same thing . . .” I blinked a couple times. “That I really should wait for you to give me the tattoo. You have a steady hand and an eye for detail.”

“Alright . . .”

“That someone taught you tattooing the right way. They wanted to show you the right way to do it.”

I snorted despite myself. “It’s not that hard. Mags was batty. Who knows why she showed me how to pick up a needle.”

“Don’t you see? They say they wouldn’t know what to do without you.” She was still there. She wasn’t moving, almost in my lap now. “You were wanted.”

“Park?” My voice cracked like a question.

“And you come with me to restaurants and help me buy bottle openers. You find shells for me and help me fix tires.” Her breath was hot and dragged across my cheek. “You are wanted.”

I blocked out her face, her voice, I turned on the sharp white sun inside and for a moment I imagine never opening my eyes back up again. Maybe I could make it night forever inside myself as well. Wouldn’t you rather have something quiet inside?

She wrapped herself around me, fully, one long arm at a time until it was cocoon. Soft. “Listen, sometimes the first people aren’t the right people. Sometimes your first relationship isn’t the right relationship. Sometimes you’re sure the world is one way, and like, always one way . . . and then it rains and the whole world is different again. You know? People pass.”

“My parents aren’t the weather.”

“But they’ll pass.” I should have pushed her off. But even against that, even those words— I liked being held, indulgent as chocolate and twice as guilty. “People sometimes feel forever, especially those kinds of people.” I was off again. “But it rains. And hey, I always know when it’s going to rain.”

I hiccupped; a smile found its way uninvited onto my face, unsure and just wobbly on its feet as Davies. I glanced down after a deep breath. Park grinned back at me and it reached the highest shelves of me all over again.

“So what happens when it rains again? Do you people like you pass?”

“Nah, not me. I don’t know how.” She winked. I didn’t notice that we’re lying flat now, stars and carpet of black above. “You can’t get rid of me. You haven’t given me that tattoo yet.”

The sound of shushing waves filled the midnight air and the moon looked down like that very first bus arriving to get me all those years ago. I wrapped my arms right back around her. She didn’t seem to mind that I was sticky or strange or sometimes kept tearing up all over again even after we’d stop saying anything worth tearing up over. ------------------

It happened. I felt like I should have been more prepared, brought flowers or poetry or earned it through honored warfare. But it happened. I was wearing ripped jeans, a spotty t-shirt and my breath smelled like coffee. We were looking for Park’s lost earring along an overgrown hill she usually biked along.

I found it, one shiny red dewdrop in all that green. Park pointed at some clouds that looked like my last “abstract” tattoo. We lay back in the grass and let the sky pass overhead. She giggled and touched my wrist, side by side. I let her.

“Summer’s almost over.” I mumbled it first.

“Yeah?”

“You find your next step then, college girl?” I tried to keep my tone light. She turned to be on her side.

“Maybe.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Oh, you know. This and that.”

“That does not sound like a college-girl plan.”

“Maybe I’ve got other plans. Maybe I’ve got other priorities, huh?”

“Ridiculous.” A playfully push her shoulder. “A lousy seaside town really isn’t priority material. There’s only one bookshop you know.”

“Two thank you very much. And that’s not my priority either.” Her voice wavered.

“Are you going to share with the class?”

“Is the class ready?” She whispered and I turned toward her as well now, taking in her perfect round face and question-mark mouth.

“I have been.” I matched her whisper. I tremor from my center outward and hopes she can’t tell.

“Do you know what they say about moths?”

“What?” I gave a breathy laugh. It wasn’t what I was expecting. “I’ve heard of them.”

“They tell your fortune.” She was grinning in that way that put out a stool and reached up. “I used to cry a lot growing up, because some kids said that moths are just evil butterflies. I was sensitive and ran all the way home. I threw myself at my mom’s feet and threw a fit about how moths were just evil butterflies. They were just ugly, wicked versions of a good thing.”

“Evil? Well, I suppose you are rather sinister when you haven’t eaten.”

“Shut up. I’m telling you something.” She put a hand on my shoulder. I inhaled deeply and turned over in place to face her. Only the shallow breeze kept us apart.

“I’m all ears . . . though maybe not as many as you.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“What can I say? The sun is adorable. I take after him.”

A finger ghosted over my cheek, tracing the arc of my cheekbone. “Well, you’re not so bad behind those headlights too. Some of us have good day vision you know. And good taste.”

I wished those words didn’t make my chest do funny things. “Thanks.”

“Do you want to hear what my mom said or not?”

“That you shouldn’t worry about evil butterflies?” I wiggled closer. “Because you’ll be really hot and funny and smart one day. So who cares if you’re evil?”

“Yeah, those were her exact words.”

“So?”

“So,” a firm hand took my chin. “Look at me.” I looked at her. I was glad she couldn’t see the flush in my cheeks in any way. “Moths show good fortunes she said.”

“Right. Lots and lots of good fortune.” I breathed, dumbly, of course. She was close and sweet and there was hair in her face. The fronds of her antennae tickle right past my ear.

“They can help you find good fortune. They’re good omens. You know why?” Park’s lips were barely moving as she spoke, hypnotic and unhurried.

“Why?”

“Because they follow the light.”

It happened all at once. Like every cheesy love poem or bad lyrics I wrote in my journals at night. It was every cracked-spine of a book using words like “rosebud lips” and every overdone song about people who find their way to each other.

I kissed her, leaning in with no life vest on or readied crash-landing position. She kissed me and my chest filled with her, breathless, drowning, soft as dreams and stranger than hope. I cradled her and she dragged me closer and closer until it was nothing but floods and brimming.

I’d been nothing before I think, I’d been an island that waits, a bus that leaves, a shadow that hides. And then I had been hers. ----------------- I was strolling home from work along the main road. The thin strip of sidewalk was streaked with bleached sunlight and the salt air was thick enough to burn throats. It was the long way home, but I was in the habit of going back to this corner.

The bus pulled up with little ceremony. It was an interstate one that crisscrossed over empty bellies of land. I stopped in place to watch, just in case, as I had many times before.

A silver head bobbed down the steps and planted herself on the concrete, unbelieving. She took an enormous noisy sniff of the air. “Not so bad!” She bellowed.

“Are you?” That wasn’t meant to be my first word. She was more stooped now and wearing shiny things on her wrist that clanked. She’d lost another tooth. “Mags.”

“Eh!” She yelled and waved frantically as if I hadn’t shot up another inch since I last saw her and started wearing clothes without holes in them. Her eyes sparkled as she tottered over. “So how’d you do, kid?”

“See for yourself.” I smiled. It was nice when the tides came back in. Mags gave me a thorough appraising. “Like this I guess.” I held up my hand. I wiggled my ring finger at her, heavy with a silver band and glittering opal.

“That’s my girl! Always knew you’d find your feet.” She cackled. “Am I too late to give you away, kid?”

I shook my head. She waddled over to me so I could take her hand. I took her home to show her my art and new tattoos, I showed her our terrible one-eyed kitten, Basket (Wicker’s son), and the little house we styled ourselves. I showed her our shoe closet and our queen bed, our messy kitchen and busted screen door. I showed her the moth tattoo over my heart, and Park showed her the matching lighthouse one over hers.

I tried to thank her, of course, I tried to say I owed her more than she knew for picking up an angry, dirty kid and seeing something in her. I owed her everything. But she just patted my hand and said that it’s not about our debts in life, kid. It’s about the becoming.

-----------

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[bump1nthen1ght]

I’m Still Hurting (Orc x Reader) Part 2

Pairings: Fem!Reader/Male!Orc

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Angst

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2107 words

Summary: You and your boyfriend establish a new normal

A/N: At long last, the highly requested part two! I had a bit of struggle coming up with a proper followup to the first part (which was part of why I left it with an open-ended ending in the first place lol). Little less angst this time, I felt these two deserved a little sweetness after the last chapter. Hope y'all enjoy!

Part 1

The first thing that caught your eye when you walked by the music store was the Grand Piano. It was gorgeous: Polished mahogany, a nice velvet seat, and keys that looked like they had never seen the sticky fingers of a curious 8 year old.

“Wow, is that new?”

You nod, admiring the old-fashioned air of the instrument. You knew jack shit about music, but even you could tell that this piano was an antique, one probably worth a good chunk of change.

“Must be. I’ve never seen it before and this place is on my way to work.”

Waruck hmms, pressing his hands up against the glass. His eyes sparkle when he sees the “Free to Play” sign right next to the piano. It probably reminds him of his Grandpa’s, the one he played when you guys visited his family for Christmas.

That was a long time ago.

“Want to go in?”

Waruck pulls away from the glass, eyebrows raised. He rubs the back of his neck and steps a couple feet back, trying to curb his enthusiasm.

“Uh, we don’t have to-”

“I don’t mind. It's been a while-” You pause, the slight-anxiety in the air making every casual word difficult, “It’s been a while since I’ve heard you play.”

Waruck smiles, small and polite, and opens the door of the shop for you. Before, he might have done a little bow and said “Ladies First” in a British accent.

But that was before, and this is now. Now, every comment is walking on eggshells, whispered tentatively and under your breath. Testing the waters for how comfortable you two could get around each other.

Still, it was exponential growth from two months ago.

--------

After your meeting at the coffee shop, you had asked Waruck for a month; A month of privacy, for you to collect your thoughts and feelings, to be alone for a bit. He had agreed immediately, shuffling out of the cafe with a hunched back and a melancholy air, but he had kept his promise. You took the time to focus on other things, shifting your relationship to the back of your mind and enjoying the day-to-day.

But a part of you felt a little bad, like maybe you were stringing Waruck along for an inevitable breakup. Getting his hopes up for an extra tortuous punishment that left a sour taste in your mouth. So on one brave Saturday night, you sent him a meme you saw on Instagram, one that reminded you of him.

That second month saw the two of you texting more and more frequently, sending little jokes, asking how your day was, so and so. Each week rebuilt a little bit more of that familiarity, that comfortableness. It finally got to the point where Waruck asked if you were free one weekend. He just wanted to get some lunch and stroll around the neighborhood for a bit. For the first time in a while, that idea didn’t seem too bad.

--------

The air is considerably cooler inside the store, a tiny bell ringing as a rush of air-conditioned air hits both of you. Waruck makes a beeline for the piano, his footsteps short and quick. You feel a smile crawl on your face; He always acted like an excited kid when it came to music.

Waruck plops down in the center of the stool, fingers lightly brushing over the keys in awe. You walk up the piano’s side, laying your hand on the wood and admiring the lack of smudge marks on the polished wood. Waruck tests out a G note and although the sound is short, it’s extremely pleasant. Waruck’s smile grows even larger.

“When I was a young boy…”

You mutter under your breath. Waruck chuckles, quickly continuing onto a G flat.

“My father took me into the city,” Waruck hums

“To see a marching band.” The two of you sing together, laughing a little bit too loudly and gaining a sharp look from the tired sales clerk. Waruck waves a little apology, but that playful grin stays on his face.

“Wow, that brings back some repressed Hot Topic memories.”

“Seriously. I can almost feel the book my band teacher used to thwack me with. Me and my buddies would sneak into the choir room and play that all the time.” Waruck’s fingers dance over a couple more notes, aimless.

You’ve always liked watching Waruck play. His fingers were so dextrous and controlled,  not to mention long and nicely articulated. He’d probably make good money from a hand-model side-gig.

“Want to take a seat?”

You shift your focus away from Waruck’s hands. He’s made space on the bench and pats the open space next to him.

“Yeah, sure.” You say, despite the fast pace your heart is now beating.

You keep a solid two inches of distance between your bodies, keeping your thighs together as to not brush your legs with his. It felt like a middle school dance, keeping a bible length away from your partner to avoid the disapproving stare of the chaperones.

Waruck nods, absentmindedly running his fingers up the scale. “Any requests?”

Immediately, all non-love songs depart from your brain. One of your favorite pieces sits on the tip of your tongue and your brain refuses to let it go. You shake your head.

“Nope. It’s all yours, music man.”

Waruck chuckles, a little louder and a lot more comfortable, as he sits deeper in his seat.

“Prepare,” Waruck cracks his knuckles, “to be amazed.”

You bite back a laugh. He’s still such a dork.

He starts to play, his hands easily finding the right keys, moving like a well-oiled machine. Your heart nearly skips a beat before it melts into a puddle of sentiment.

It’s your favorite.

The song brings back memories of your childhood, a rainy day in, and delicious food. It’s like chicken soup for the soul and you can feel any of the left over tension leave your body.

Waruck’s eyebrows furrow with concentration, but he has a large smile on his face, his large tusks peeking out from his lips. His arm stretches across the piano as the song hits its most fast-paced part. His biceps and shoulders lean more into your space, but the feeling isn’t unwelcome. It feels natural, as if his presence and yours is part of the piece itself.

Waruck’s thigh brushes against yours, but his pace doesn’t falter and neither does yours. You stay enraptured, watching how easily he slips into the music. You barely even notice how you have begun to lean closer to his side; Your mind says it’s to give his arms plenty of space to play, but it’s still far more comfortable than you are willing to admit.

How easy it feels, in the moment, to fall back into routine.

The song begins slowing to a stop, only a couple seconds left, when the sounds of the music shop return to you. A giggle from not too far rings discordant with Waruck’s piano.

Three girls stand not too far from you, watching with fascination as Waruck plays.

“Wow, he is so good!” One whispers to her friends.

There is nothing even remotely lascivious in their eyes or in their words, but a knife still twists in your gut. Your throat constricts as flashes of your bedroom, of unanswered texts, and a picture of a bar corner booth send needles down your spine and into your heart.

Is this wrong? Is this giddy feeling you have only distracting you from reality? Is it like this song, Waruck’s playing, beautiful but temporary?

“Ugh, I want what they have.”

“I know, right? How romantic.”

They’re wrong, you’re wrong, this is wrong; It’s fake, fake, fa-

Your eyes dart to and fro, trying to desperately avoid Waruck’s quickly overwhelming body heat and your audience, before it catches on the distorted shape of your reflection in the window.

The glass is old, slightly drooping, even the golden lettering of the music shop’s name looks dusty and sun-bleached.

But what is unmistakable is you and Waruck. Waruck, playing piano, and looking at you. Looking at you with the love in his eyes you thought had died, or had never been there at all. The group of girls stands in the background, small and out of focus.

And Waruck is staring at you.

“Are you okay?” Waruck asks, his warm hand on your shoulder.

You whip your neck around, almost getting whiplash.

You’re here, in the music store, with your boyfriend. He looks at you, brow slightly puzzled from your wild eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I,” You suck in a deep breath, “Sorry, I guess I got lost in my own head. That song gets me kind of nostalgic.”

Waruck pats your shoulder and you miss it’s heat when he pulls it back to his side. He smiles, but you can tell he is still slightly worried.

“No problem, I get it.”

You notice now how much closer Waruck is to you. His chest has shifted towards yours, the fabric of his shirt sleeve pressing against the skin of your bicep. Waruck’s knee absentmindedly knocks into yours, but the contact doesn’t sting or jolt you. Not even the continuing silence makes the situation awkward.

It’s nice.

“Do you want to check out the record aisle? They might actually have that piece on vinyl.”

Waruck gestures with his thumb to the piles of CD’s and records not too far from you two. You nod

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

--------

The two of you spend about an hour in the music store, pointing out hilarious cover art and admiring some vintage finds. Waruck even gets you to chuckle a couple of times, slowly bringing out his old cheesy puns.

Waruck’s missed this.

You two walk out of the music store at the tail end of one of Waruck’s jokes, you playfully punching his shoulder.

The two of you wander, in the opposite direction of your cars, for a little while. But Waruck hasn’t lost track of time; No, he’s soaking in every moment he can, every smile and lingering look you give him. Every reminder that this is real.

He spent a week agonizing over what he did. Stuck in silence as he gave you your space. His friends (His real friends, not those assholes from the bar) had offered to come by and keep him company, but he turned it down.

When Waruck got back into routine, it was slow-rolling. It was difficult to fight the instinct to check his phone for a good-morning text, or check your Instagram for any ‘post-breakup’ partying.

No, he had already broken your trust once. The least he could do was give you some time. Spend some hour not wallowing in self-pity, but actively make a change.

Waruck began to accept those invites to a chill hang out, playing some poker and sipping on beer with the gang. He played his keyboard when the thoughts got too loud and went jogging when the music wasn’t loud enough. He called his mom a couple of times, even sent his sister a  couple of texts to catch up. They hadn’t spoken outside of holidays for almost three years.

Maybe he was the one that needed time.

God, why did you have to be so smart?

“Oh shit, how long have we been walking?” You mutter, checking your watch for the time. Waruck turns around you, already knowing the answer was 27 minutes, exactly. The both of you were nearing the edge of the neighborhood, cafes and shops turning into residential suburbs. “Dang, time really flies, huh?”

Waruck smiles.

“With you? It always does.”

You give him a half smile, patting his bicep. “Oh my god, you’re such a cheeseball.”

Waruck winks and shoots you some finger guns.

“You know it babe.”

You giggle, checking your watch once more, face turning just a little bit.

“I should probably head back, I’m getting dinner with some friends tonight.”

A small part of Waruck yearns for more time, but he lets it go.

Space, this was about establishing space.

“I had a lot of fun today, Waruck.” You step a little closer, Waruck’s heart skips a beat.

“Me too.” He whispers, his breath catching as your fingers brush against his.

It’s a simple gesture, one you’ve down a million times. But when your palm slips into his, your finger’s interlocking, it’s like fireworks have gone off.

“Same time, next week?”

Waruck nods, not trusting himself to speak without a voice crack.

That’s all he needed, all you wanted; The promise of the future.

“Yes, I would love that.”

[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 29

Pairings: Sirius B, F!Reader, Remus L Warnings: Language, angst, insecurities, blood, darkish thoughts (self-hatred), fighting, violence Author's Note: heavy chap. if you’re having a bad day, take a moment, be kind to yourself and put off reading this until you feel better 💜

【 Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Playlist 】

Chapter 29: That Pet You Just Couldn't Keep

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Remus woke up to a bright, white light. He squinted, head lolling to the side of his lumpy pillow. The chair near his bedside was empty, saved from a pitcher of water along with a few potions Madam Pomfrey must’ve left for him, were placed on the stand beside his bed.

Something wasn’t right. Peter or one of the other Marauders were always there waiting for him after his transformations.

Too hot for a blanket in June, he ripped off his covers and noticed the bumpy, large material hiding beneath his nightgown. He licked his lips, letting air whistle down his dry throat while a sharp, burning sensation flooded his abdomen. Remus winched, groaning out while stretching to drink the potions and water. Although, as he brought the glass vials to his lips, he noticed that his arm was littered with scratches and bruises. Curious, he lifted the slit of the gown to see a large wrapping across his lower stomach and bruises in the shape of lopsided circles and rectangles travelling across his body.

Remus felt his face scrunch. Ever since the Marauders had become animaguses, he hardly sustained any injuries aside from the occasional limp or flimsy scratch. There was usually an absence of pain nowadays, not an overload of it.

What caught his attention was the scent of human blood. His senses were always heightened the week leading up to the full moon and the week following, so it was particularly strong. It caused his head to spin like planets performing a celestial dance.

Preoccupied with the scent, Remus didn’t notice someone slipping into the room.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” A fuzzy Peter came into view. He went to sit on the edge of his bed sporting a nervous look.

“Was wondering where you were.” Remus relaxed at his appearance.

“Yeah… Erm — been busy.”

Soon enough, another sharp pain stabbed at his abdomen again. “Fuck — what happened last night?”

Wormtail sucked in sharply as he wiggled in his seat uncomfortably. “I… something terrible happened. Bollocks, Moons — I’m sorry...”

Remus felt his spine prickle with needles. “What?”

“We should wait until Dumbledore or James comes back.”

“Dumbledore?!”

Ghostly pale, Peter was on the verge of fainting. Remus took another deep inhale. This time, he smelt blood, but it was coming off of Peter and a few other foreign scents lingered on him. Was that… Y/N? And… Snape? Remus scanned Peter, noticing the droplet of red on his shoes.

“Pete,” his voice dropped to an icy whisper, “Whose blood is that?”

He remained quiet.

Remus moved to prop himself up on the bed. “What happened?”

As Peter spoke, every word made Remus recline into himself and he was left unsure of how to feel. The overload of information put him into a state of complete shock. His vision faded in and out, suddenly feeling very cold and dizzy compared to the hot weather.

He distantly heard Peter trying to gain his attention but stared blankly at the metal bed frame.

“Say something,” his friend tried, sounding desperate. He didn’t even know how long he’d been quiet for.

Remus worked through the betrayal in nine steps. It helped make sense of his emotions. To categorize them — making it easier to file away.

1. Shock & denial

“No,” he said, barely moving a muscle in his face. “That's impossible! Padfoot would never…”

Peter watched him pitifully. Remus’ eyes blinked rapidly, heart pounding. “I’m sorry.”

2. Process what happened (or try to)

“He… told… Snape?” He asked despite Peter repeating the story multiple times.

“Sirius was mad at Sniv — Snape, and he was provoked by —”

“I didn’t hurt him, did I? I didn’t hurt anyone?”

“He’s fine.”

“Then why won’t you tell me what happened to me? Why was I bleeding?”

He refused to look him in the eyes and Remus felt terror ebb it's way through his skin. “Answer me!”

“As I said, L/N and Snape got into a row… she heard Sirius tell him and she went to save him…”

“Don’t you dare lie to me.”

Wormtail took a deep breath. “You… nicked her a bit and James’ antler broke off in you because… he was trying to get you off of her…”

Remus was rooted in place. What Peter just said was unreal. His stomach twisted painfully. He blinked. “Y/N’s hurt? I hurt her?”

“Yes — no! That was Snape —” “Is she here? Did I bite her?”

“You didn’t and yeah but —” “Move out of my way.” He pushed himself up wobbly.

“You lot a lot of blood, sit —”

“Get out of my way!” He threatened. Remus pushed Peter to the side, clambered to his feet. Remus gripped the bed tightly and felt a few seams rip open and blood began to faintly seep through his white bandages.

He staggered around, ripping back the curtains until he saw Y/N. Limping up to her bed, Remus almost burst into tears when he saw her. She looked so tiny, curled up and engulfed in blankets and pillows. Her ankle was propped up, head bandage and skin dull.

It felt like Peter had poured a bucket of freezing cold water on him.

He hurt her. Almost got her and Snape killed or infected. Could have hurt Prongs and Wormtail…

He was a fucking monster.

He should be put down.

From how loud he was, running around the wing, Y/N’s eyes fluttered open. She attempted to stretch, groaning out in pain. But then, her eyes flickered up to him and she froze. Her hand shot up protectively to her chest and face as instinctively went for her wand but stopped. Genuine fear flashed through her, making Remus instantly want to cry. It felt like an eternity passed as she gripped her sheets and opened her mouth.

She was going to scream — to take him away — call him a monster — to cry or yell for Madam Pomfrey or —

But Y/N’s body relaxed. A tried smile twisted and gaze dissipated with fear, replaced with nothing but understanding and softness; she even went as far to touch his hand but Remus wrenched it back.

“Ta-da!” She croaked. “I lived.”

Remus didn’t smile, only staring horrified.

“Yeah, that was a hit or miss...” Peter interjected. He stood behind him, ensuring that if he fell, he’d be there to catch Remus. He continued to stare like she grew another set of eyes.

“What?” Her grin deflated. “Am I that irresistible?”

That pulled a breathy laugh from Remus as he shook his head. Why wasn’t she disgusted with him?

“Thank Merlin, you’re both awake.” All their heads turned to James’s floating head before he pulled off the invisibility cloak.

James moved to pull Remus into a large hug, whispering an ‘I’m sorry’ into his ear. He held him for a while before breaking off, going to embrace Y/N who wheezed.

“Ouch.”

“My bad, my bad!” He pulled back and slipped into bed with her. Peter forced Remus to sit on the edge of her bed while he stood.

A million thoughts ran through his head. He wanted to get away, to run — not even be in the same room as her. Remus wanted to think, to make any sense of what happened.

What the fuck happened? He couldn’t even process it.

She remembered everything, right? Surely she wouldn’t be this calm had she.

“Oh, wait — Lupin, are you alright? I swear a deer came at you last night.”

James chuckled out loud, breaking Remus out of his thoughts as he looked at him and Peter. “I guess there’s no point for secrets anymore.”

Y/N looked at them questioningly, her eyes squinting from the bright light before Peter went to close the blinds shut. James got off the bed, smiling widely at Remus and Peter got onto the bed instead.

“Ugh — Pete? James? What —”

A loud gasp ripped from her mouth as she jerked away from James who turned into a very large stag and Peter into a fat brown rat.

Remus could almost cry at how comical her face looked.

James was so large that he had to take a few steps back to prevent his antlers from poking one of their eyes out and Remus noticed that one was gone.

He felt sick again. A hand drifted to his stomach.

“Holy shit! Oh my god!” Y/N went to graze a finger on Peter’s fur before turning to James with shaky hands to touch one of his antlers and patting him on the head. She was speechless as her mouth open several times before forcing out, “You're really Bambi!”

James turned back, taking his glasses off to clean. “I wanted to be a lion — for Gryffindor, y’know.”

“You can’t choose, I wouldn’t be a rat.” Peter grimaced.

“They’re highly intelligent. Nothing to worry about.” James reassured and ruffled his hair.

“When did you guys learn to do this?”

“We’ve been at it for three years now. We finally were able to do it in August before school started.”

She shook her head, staring in awe.

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Dumbledore came to speak to everyone later that day.

Remus had been dreading it once he came into the wing and began speaking to Y/N, a buzzing sound filling his ear. All Remus was left to do was twiddle his thumbs, waiting and completely disoriented.

When he finally approached him, Dumbledore lost his usual twinkle in his eyes. He made sure to close the long vertical blinds and again, the room filled with a low buzzing sound.

“How are you doing?” He asked. Remus, had he been in the right mindset, would have prevented the scoff escaping him. Dumbledore didn’t react but continued. “Miss L/N is recovering well and Mr. Snape didn’t receive any injuries. Just a fright.”

Remus nodded, that was good, but he remained quiet.

“Snape’s been persuaded to act accordingly for the best interest of his fellow pupils and L/N gave her word.”

Remus choked back a laugh. Snape was going to, no matter what, let his secret slip somehow.

“You’re also exempt from the Transfiguration exams, both you and Miss L/N. You’ve both sustained a degree of varying head injuries and you’ll be graded on a cumulative from McGonagall.”

Dumbledore was forcing Remus to the edge as he bit down on his inner cheek. It was useless to listen to him. “Are you expelling me?”

“No. You should not bear any blame.”

“Dumbledore, no offence, but are you mental?” Remus sputtered adding, “I endangered four students last night.”

“Yes but —” “The next time we won’t be so lucky. I’m a monster, sir. I should be.”

The headmaster sighed. “Remus, give yourself a bit of credit. Think highly of yourself.”

Remus gave a dry laugh, almost baffled at how Dumbledore was acting. Did he just gloss over the fact he could have gotten students infected? He wouldn’t be able to live with himself had he. “How can I?”

“Well Y/N seemed to think very highly of you. She made you a very compelling case along with your friends, Potter, Pettigrew and Black.”

“Black’s not my friend,” Remus countered. He didn’t care about how rude he was being.

“Remus —”

“Is he expelled?”

“No.” The answer had Remus wheeling, anger spiking. “He’s not.”

“Why not? If it isn’t my fault, that I’m not to blame then why isn’t he? He told them how to find me.”

“I understand that this is a very difficult situation and rest assured, Sirius will be punished. I can promise you. But expulsion isn’t the answer.”

Remus refused to look at Dumbledore and he must've realized he was getting nowhere with him. He stood but before leaving, he gave a pitiful look.

“I have done terrible deeds, indulged in foolish pranks that I have lived to regret, but each has been a valuable learning experience. It’s a pity that it came to this. Learn in your heart to forgive, Remus. The world is already filled with too much hate.”

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June 16th, 1976

3. Sadness & pain

Remus had been avoiding the Marauder’s dorm. He’d gone as far as begging Madam Pomfrey (who’d taken pity because she knew what happened) to let him stay another two nights before getting kicked out. Remus always healed physically faster and his wounds were already healed by the third day. Pathetically, he’d been sleeping in dingy passageways or the prefects’ bathroom before relocating after being harassed by the ghosts.

Remus had a plan, avoid them; skip classes, get longer prefect duties, never staying in one spot for too long. He wouldn’t know what would happen if Snape saw him. Although, whatever Dumbledore told him, it kept Snape quite so far. But tonight, he got tired of Moaning Myrtle sobbing.

Before curfew, Remus made it a habit of visiting Y/N, who was still stuck in the wing; both out of guilt and because she was his friend, but he couldn't stay for long — seeing her like that made him wallow in guilt.

Similar to him, Lily had visited, along with the other girls, every day. Today, Lily stayed a little longer, bleeding into the time Remus usually dropped by. He watched as Lily whisper into her ear, causing Y/N to laugh and Lily blush madly as she sat snug by her side. Not wanting to ruin their moment, Remus went to leave before they had the chance to see him.

Remus had another pressing matter anyway.

He entered one of the nearest bathrooms to give himself some sort of pep talk and stared at the mirror.

You can do this. A voice echoed in his head.

Typically, memories from the full moon came back to Remus a few days or even weeks later, his brain usually too foggy a couple of hours after and even then, he would never fully remember everything. He vaguely remembered seeing a flash of Snape’s face and Prongs but Y/N’s screams were one of the clearer memories from that night.

“REMUS! PLEASE REMUS! STOP!”

Remus looked to stare at himself in the mirror. He observed the scar on the bridge of his nose, feeling bile rush up his throat at the sight.

He was a freak, littered with scars covering himself.

He was disgusting.

Ugly.

Pathetic.

Dangerous.

A monster!

4. Anger

Sirius Black had always been loyal, so what changed that night?

He needed to leave. It was no good staying here anymore.

Remus was shaking with rage, twinged with hurt. He paced outside of the common room door and had a few options running through him. Either start a huge fight with Sirius or just… ignore it.

Avoidance.

Maybe he could ignore Sirius forever? Impossible, surely. Sirius would get bored, anxious within a couple of weeks — that was too generous — a few days sounded right.

With his mind made up, Remus crept up to his room. He could hear the faint shouts of James and pondered about just sleeping in the common room or prefects’ bathroom. Even if he did have to listen to Moaning Myrtle.

Maybe because his senses were still coming down from its peak or James was just brash, but Remus didn’t even have to press his ear on the door.

“— done ENOUGH! — hear me? You better — why are YOU crying? You bloody — understand? Understand?! You will not talk — him — best friends my —”

The only person he's told he was coming back was Wormtail and it sounded like he told Prongs.

Remus didn’t care to listen anymore as he pushed open the door. Pete was sitting on his bed, eyes wide at Remus’ presence surrounded by unwrapped wrappers. He always tended to eat while stressed.

Sirius was looking down at the floor as James stood in front of him, scolding him like a child. But, his head shot up once he walked through the door. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see his eyes bloodshot, puffy and circles dark. He didn’t dare look at him.

Remus didn’t acknowledge them, instead moving robotically to the bathroom, changing into his holey yet comfortable clothes before scurrying off to bed, swinging his curtains shut before casting a silencing spell around.

He’d plan to adhere to his avoidance strategy. It worked so far.

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June 18th, 1976 | 1:29 am

“Psst… Moony.”

Remus turned over to face him. “What do you want Peter?”

“Just wanted to check up. You okay?”

“What do you think? Please, leave me alone.” And then closed his bed drapes.

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June 19th, 1976 | 11:37 pm

Peter had crept up to his bed again as Remus laid there awake, thoughts swarming him.

“I’m not in the mood. I’m tired.” He moved to turn over and forced his eyes closed.

Peter had been nothing but amazing. Always thinking about him and his needs but what Remus wanted most was to be alone and Peter's pity and worried features did nothing but make Remus feel like shit.

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June 21st, 1976

In life, there are few things that are certain. Getting older, death, taxes… No matter how hard we try, no matter how good our morals are or our intentions, we all will eventually make mistakes. It’s either as small as burning your food or writing the wrong answer down on a test, but you’re also going to fuck up pretty bad and hurt people. Say something — do something you don’t mean and it’ll end up with both sides hurt. If you want forgiveness, there’s multiple solutions to gain that back, but the two words — obvious, there, waving in front of your face — can be the hardest words to say.

“I’m sorry.” Black muttered for the hundredth time that night. His voice was pushing Remus to the edge as he kept his face straight. Dead. Not once taking Sirius’ shitty apology baits. He continued to stare down at his book, reading silently in his dorm. His teeth hurt from how hard he was clenching his jaw.

Remus was right, of course, he was fucking right. Black had grown anxious as he ignored him.

“I’m sorry.”

Remus never really considered himself violent. Sure, he’s gotten into rows that ended with a punch or hex here or there, but Remus didn’t have violent thoughts. If anything, he prided himself on not being a bonehead like Black and Prongs. But, it took every ounce not to beat the shit out of Black right there and then.

Bastard. Scumbag. You mother fucking betrayer.

Remus never liked not being in control. Not having it scared him too much, feeling more animal than man. He did everything to avoid being violent, the wolf was already violent enough and had too much control and Remus refused to let it dictate human him. There was already too much violence, he never wanted to contribute more.

He did everything not to be a monster. But it's like the wolf roared from deep within, scratching and begging to let him pounce.

Remus wasn’t violent — anyone who met him would vouch for that. Fuck, if he saw a spider, he would open a nearby window and release it. But now, he wanted to slam Sirius against a wall and wrap his hands around his neck and squeeze.

You piece of shit. Wanker. Twat. I want you to feel as much pain as I do.

“Moony, please let me explain —”

All the words suddenly blurred before Remus slammed his book shut, causing to become still and quiet.

Sirius trying to explain — excuse his actions — pushed him over the edge. Remus sent a venomous glare at Sirius, waiting for him to talk. His quietness made everyone uneasy.

Selfish bastard.

Any sympathy Remus held for him this past year, along with any logic, evaporated to the point where he felt a rabid thump spread through him. There was a desperation to relieve himself of it — lash out, scream, cry —

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” the rest of the Marauders watched the scene, knowing not to get involved. “It was a mistake and —“

“A mistake?”

Sirius perked up at this. That was the only word he’d spoken to him since the incident. “Honest. I did it because —” “Shut the fuck up.” Remus stood, tall and loomed over Sirius. He could almost smell the fear off him.

He had never been so mad before.

“I — I… I,” stutters Remus. But instead of it being out of shyness or nerves, it was out of pure wrath that he wasn’t able to articulate his emotions properly. He took a deep breath in, attempting to regain control over his emotions but failed as he burned with deep, seething hatred. “I am the monster that mothers tell their children to keep them in at night.”

“Moony —”

“Don’t call me that!” His voice boomed so loud that everyone in the room had to take a step back and shrink down. Remus was always so reserved, only ever lashing out in annoyance close to the full moon but nothing more.

“Living up to your name, aren’t you?” There’s a sarcastic, bitter humour lilt to his voice.

Someone so in control of his emotions, someone with an unbreakable exterior, the only glimpses they’d ever seen of Remus losing control was him snapping at someone close to the full moon but would later apologize within mere seconds. But to see him like that… it was an intrusion, something the Marauders hadn’t ever seen or wanted to before.

“Please, just calm down so we can talk.”

Remus paces around the room. “You — y’know I’ve never understood why everyone lets you get around treating others like shit. First, it was Marlene, James, me, Peter, Lily and Y/N — we all let you get away with it. Outburst after outburst, we all sat back because you were going through shit. But I can’t? I’m not allowed to get angry?!”

Sirius wouldn’t look at him.

“Look at me.” Remus kept his voice low throughout the ordeal, only ever raising if Black interjected. “You coward, look at me!”

5. A lot of anger

He couldn’t meet his eyes so he settled to stare at the scar across his nose. It only angered him more as Remus picked Sirius up and pushed him against the wall as he fisted his shirt.

“I’m sorry.”

Sorry is nothing but a word to you. I gave you my most trusted secrets. I confided in you. I was there for you when you needed it. I loved and cared for you like my own brother but I was nothing more than a pet that you discarded when you got bored. You’re only guilty because of the repercussions you’re facing. Your guilt isn’t nearly enough. Bastard. I trusted you. You’re a Marauder. My best friend. I would’ve done anything for you. You fucking ruined it.

“You did this! You did!”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

He laughs, mocking and loud, void of any emotion. “No, you aren’t. You’re never fucking sorry!”

Stupid fucking selfish arsehole.

“For years you’ve told me that you accepted me — cared for me — loved me like your own brother! That what I am — a-a monster — that it didn’t matter!”

“It didn’t mean anything, I promise! It was a shitty, fucked up prank —”

“A prank?! You used me as a weapon! A toy because how could anyone ever love a werewolf?” Remus’ voice was so low. “You’ve never respected me. If you had any, you wouldn’t have — you - wouldn’t....”

Everything came crashing on Remus at once.

6. The realization settles in

And after nine days, Remus Lupin had finally realized what Sirius Black had done. Before, everything he felt had been true but he hadn’t fully realized the gravity of what happened, as silly as it sounds.

Sirius turned his worst fear into a living nightmare.

In the background, one of James’ Quidditch posters, encased in glass exploded, shattering into millions of pieces from the amount of pure magic radiating off Remus. He didn’t even flinch at the sound.

James finally interjected, placing a hand on Remus’ shoulder. “Lay off him… He isn’t worth it.”

Remus eased off Black instantly. “You had no right… no right…” He pointed. Remus turned his face down as he felt tears build up.

“I trusted you,” he whispers. “Every bit.”

Remus stormed out of the dorm, going to sleep in the common room.

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June 22nd, 1976

7. Depression

When Remus finally let himself cry, he didn’t make a move to leave his bed. Even skipping meal times, leaving James or Pete to bring him food.

Everything felt suffocating, a gnawing feeling that made every part of him ache. Remus couldn’t handle anymore pain or emotions from ‘the prank’ as he felt himself slip into a temporary void.

He hugged his pillow tighter and closed his eyes once more.

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June 23rd, 1976 | 11: 37 pm

Remus had gone straight to bed again, effectively shutting up the rest of the dorm. James was ignoring Black, leaving Remus surprised that he hadn’t made a move to defend his actions. Nonetheless, he was appreciative still. Peter had been trying to appease everyone, not taking sides but still must’ve thought Sirius was in the wrong because he hadn’t talked to him much.

He didn’t ask James to choose between him or Black. Remus was never one for ultimatums but even then, it seemed like James picked him. He was beyond furious, seemingly more than Remus at this point who pathetically wallowed in his depression. He wouldn’t spare Black a second glance, wouldn’t talk to him, shut him down if he tried to speak to him. Hell, he’d even gone as far as to make it very clear to the entirety of Hogwarts that they were no longer friends, making sure to not sit with him, ever. Always choosing to sit by Remus.

They chose his side and a part of Remus felt elated to know they had his back.

This left Black alone, looking at them through tearful gazes. Remus had been ignoring all of them and they seemed to be understanding, avoiding crossing the wordless boundary Remus set in stone.

But, both James and Peter had been checking up on him nightly, always there and he could tell they were getting impatient.

When the lights went out, he heard James crept out of bed. Usually, Remus would find some sort of comfort in knowing who was approaching him, but now, it only left him feeling uneasy.

And then he felt the bed dip and James muttered out a spell.

“Hey, Moony.”

Remus didn’t face him. “Prongs?”

“Hey,” there was a loud sigh, “Do you need anything?”

What was he supposed to say? A hug? To talk? He’d much rather use his avoidance strategy, although he realized it left him alone with too many thoughts and nobody to confide in.

“M’good.” He felt James place a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll always be there for you. That’s what Marau - that’s what friends are for, no?”

Remus didn’t answer and felt James move to leave. But before he had the chance to slip out, Remus peeked his head from the drapes, announcing just loud enough for Sirius to hear.

“Thanks for saving all of us, James. You’re a true friend.”

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June 24th, 1976

People had their poisons.

Alcohol can make you forget. It blocks out everything and makes the rest of the world fade away until you can’t remember. People gambled to feel a rush, only to realize they dug themself into irreversible debt. Shopping, food, the high from risky behaviour…

But how we manage our poisons is up to the person.

People love to deny that they have addictions. They deny they’re hooked, they deny that they can’t put it down, they deny that they’re scared or want to stop. People only see what they want to see, believe what they want to believe.

And then the truth becomes muddled with lies that it’s hard to recognize the poisons sitting right in front of us. And all we want is more.

For Remus, his poison, his bright red self-destruction button, was smoking.

Granted, he never was a big smoker, typically only smoking when stressed or bored. But he still did it, filling his lungs with poison. But maybe he was wired like that. Besides, what werewolf lives past thirty? Might as well die revelling in the poison that brought him ease…

Remus conjured a ball of bright fire from his hand; fishing out a pack of cigarettes, slipped it past his lips and lit it. He inhaled, feeling the familiar, comforting feeling before dragging it from his lips, blowing out the thick cloud of smoke that left him wanting more.

He’d been sticking to his avoidance tactic strictly now. The Marauders were hovering over him, worry evident on their faces. A few times, Lily and James both invited him to sit. They never fought anymore, or at least in front of him, and it probably was his doing — a group effort into getting him to talk.

So even Lily knew something was wrong… Snape probably told her…

The door clicked open and Remus didn’t have to turn around to know how it was.

“Leave me alone. I’m not ready to talk.”

“Wasn’t gonna make you.”

He spun around, that wasn’t James or Peter. His face softened.

“Well… I’m not,” Y/N said simply, “But the others are about to.”

Remus groaned at that but Y/N smiled and turned around, ushering him over with a little wave. In one hand, she raised the Marauder’s map. “C’mon, I know a place and that they won’t be able to find.”

Remus was intrigued. He stepped out the butt of the cigarette, flicked it into the trash and followed her. Surely he’d already been there but being with Y/N seemed ten folds better than being around the other Marauders.

He followed wordlessly, passageways flying through his head but she never stopped by them. Instead, she climbed onto a ledge, slipping into an area under a large curtain. He followed, eyes lighting up in awe. He’s definitely never been there before.

“Get comfortable,” she said, flinging him a pillow and lighting a few candles.

They sat opposed to each other in complete silence. Y/N flicked back and forth, watching James and Peter scrabble around the castle looking for him. A few times, they passed by, each time leaving Y/N amused.

Remus tapped his leg anxiously. The question remained: Why wasn’t she disgusted with him? Why was she helping him? Why wasn’t she afraid?

Now alone together, those questions dangled on his tongue.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

She looked up at him, finally putting down the map. “Because you’re Remus.” She said, like it was the most obvious answer. “You’re not scary.”

8. Hold onto doubt

The answer irritated him. Another memory unfolded then and he blurted it out. “Why didn’t you cast any spells at me?”

Her brows rose, “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m dangerous.” His voice was bleak and cold. “Why can't you grasp that?”

She stays quiet for a long time, her head turning to look out the large window. Y/N watched the owls and labyrinth of ancient trees of the forbidden forest and Remus was painfully aware of time slipping by.

“Do you remember that night on the astronomy tower on Halloween? I said that there’s bound to be someone looking at the moon at the same time?”

It takes Remus a moment to remember, but he does. “Yeah. You said that it’s like you’re not alone.”

Y/N turns around to face him. “Exactly. You don’t have to be alone in this.”

He looked away, deliberating. “It’s one thing for me to be alone but then drag you and others down with me.”

“Remus, I’m not going to lie and say I wasn’t scared. I was terrified. I thought that was it.” He gulped. “But I could never be scared of you. The real you - the you right now. I don’t care about what you are. You are more than just a werewolf. I feel safe with you.”

The dark shadows surrounded them as she reiterated herself. “You don’t have to be alone in this.”

He soaks in her words for a while. This time, peering out the window as he breathes in deeply.

Okay. He decided.

“Do you want to know how I got —” he pointed at a scar on his upper forearm. “— this?”

She nodded her head.

“When James turned into his animagus form to show me for the first time, his antlers pierced my skin. I had to lie to Pomfrey and say I fell while playing Quidditch.”

Any invisible barrier between them crashed instantly as she smiled brightly and laughed. So infectious, Remus couldn't help but flash a real grin.

He never realized how beautiful her smile was.

“Oh, and if you ever tell anyone about this place, I’ll skin you.”

“I would never.”

Remus scouted over to her, pressing his back against the cool stone as they sat together in a comfortable stillness. But then she shifted, opening her arms wide. He lent in without hesitation and her arms flung around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace.

He felt salty tears stinging in the corners of his eyes and let himself soak in her warm.

He really needed that.

Over her shoulder, he returned to watch the stars.

9. Acceptance

Remus learned from a young age that it was better to keep people at an arm's length. Get too close, they’ll dig, find out his condition, fear him and run.

He hates to say it, but he’s not surprised that his secret slipped out. He got too comfortable, got too close... It’s just that the Sirius component was surprising.

But maybe it wasn’t surprising. Ever since the beginning of the year, especially since winter break, Sirius had been reckless more and more lately, and he probably should have seen it coming. He was wild as a result of being freed from the confines of his rigid upbringing.

Sirius Black was unpredictable.

Sirius Black was dangerous when it came to secrets.

Sirius Black was one of his best friends.

Sometimes betrayal is so profound that there’s no way to fix what was lost. The damage is done, irreplaceable, unfixable.

If Remus was sure of anything by the end of that week was that,

a) James Potter and Peter Pettigrew were still his best friends,

b) He almost killed Severus Snape and Y/N L/N,

c) Y/N knew his secret and despite everything, continued to talk to him, support him, be there for him — she accepted him,

d) His walls went up a higher, became stronger and insecurities ran deeper,

e) Lastly, Remus Lupin would never, ever forgive Sirius Black for what he did. Never.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

【 Next Chapter 】

© gotkindabored 2021. Do not repost or modify

[chaoticpuff17]

When the Chips are Down

part 14

masterlist

Happy Mother’s Day, my darlings!--- Chaotic puff

It had been an incredibly bad day for Namjoon. Taehyung had been stabbed. Iyla had run away, and he had an increasingly irritable, very pregnant wife at home that was going to crucify him if anything happened to her little sister. Taehyung would be fine, and Iyla would be apprehended and brought back home, but neither of those things were going to mollify his wife. Y/N was nothing if not protective when it came to her little sister. 

All in all, he was very close to snapping and shooting someone out of sheer spite when his phone rang again, the caller ID informing him it was Jungkook. His blood ran cold. Jungkook was the one keeping an eye on Y/N, and he knew better than to call when Namjoon was busy with something as important as this unless it was something of equal or greater importance. 

“What happened?” he demanded, answering his phone earning himself a concerned look from Hoseok. There was a jumbled and panicked stream of words from Jungkook, but Namjoon picked out the important bits, Y/N and baby. Y/N was having the baby. “I’ll be right there.” he promised, cursing under his breath. “Call Jin and have him get everything together. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

“What’s wrong?” Hoseok asked, eyeing the other man warily. It was unusual to see Namjoon looking so shocked. 

“Y/N’s in labor.” 

---

Jungkook was in a frenzy. He knew nothing about babies let alone birthing babies, and seeing Y/N in pain was making him nauseous. Luckily, Miss In and the maids seemed to know exactly what to do. They’d lept into action as soon as he’d told them what was happening. Miss In made a phone call to Jin who apparently would assemble the medical staff, and the maid, Miran or at least that’s what he thought Y/N had called her, ushered both him and Y/N to the back of the house where a birthing suite had been prepared for just this occasion.

He’d been swiftly kicked out of the room so that Miran could get Y/N into the delivery gown which gave him time to call his hyung and tell him what was happening. Namjoon had already had a stressful day, but there was no way he would want to be away from Y/N while she was in labor. 

“It’s going to be okay, noona.” he smiled shakily, watching her pace back and forth with her hands braced against her lower back. “Hyung is going to be home soon.” 

“Did they find Iyla?” she asked, looking at him briefly as she turned in her pacing. 

The younger man flushed knowing full well he didn’t have an answer for her let alone the answer she wanted. “I don’t know.” 

“I’m going to kill him.” she hissed bracing herself against the bed as she was hit with a contraction. 

“He’ll be here soon.” 

“I’m going to kill him.” she repeated with a groan as she began pacing again. 

Jungkook smiled. At least her fighting spirit was still burning brightly, and soon enough he’d have a little niece to play with, one who was hopefully less grumpy than Yoongi’s baby. Yoonho tended to get fussy when anyone other than his parents held him which was a huge deterrent when trying to be an uncle especially to a bunch of men who didn’t have a whole lot of experience with kids. But if this little girl was anything like her mother, they were going to get along famously. 

“Do you know what you’re going to call her?” he asked as she turned to cross the room again. 

“I have a few ideas, but I’m waiting to see her before I pick one.” she smiled softly. “I could take one look at her and decide I don’t like any of the names I picked out.” 

“I’m going to be her favorite uncle!” 

“Probably.” she nodded. There were five other options, but Jungkook was like her little brother. It felt natural to think of Jungkook being the favorite uncle. “Just don’t get her into too much trouble okay?” 

“No promises.” his nose scrunched up in a mischievous grin just as Namjoon came barreling into the room looking every bit the frazzled father to be. 

---

Namjoon had never been more exhausted or excited in his life. It had already been a long stressful day between Taehyung’s stabbing and Iyla’s attempt to escape, but their baby was finally on the way. But even with all the excitement, there was lingering worry as well. Even with all the medical personnel wandering about and Jin’s reassurances that everything was fine, he couldn’t stop the panic that shot through him every time Y/N hissed in pain. Logically, he knew that child birth was painful, but he hated to see her in pain, and it only seemed to get worse the longer her labor progressed.

It had been a long labor, nearly twenty hours and still going. Jin assured him that since it was her first time, a prolonged labor wasn’t unusual, but that didn’t make it any less worrying. Ever since he’d brought her home, she’d shied away from his touch as much as possible, but twenty hours in and she was exhausted and slumped against his chest, her hair mussed and a little sweaty.

“How many centimeters?” She whimpered looking up at him pleadingly.

“Still five, jagiya.” He whispered pressing a kiss to her forehead and bracing them both as she was hit with another contraction. They weren’t regular yet, and the nurses said they weren’t very strong yet either, but to Y/N and Namjoon they seemed horrible. He was sure that both of his hands were going to be bruised by the end of this, but his pain was nothing compared to hers.

He had thought that the baby would be here by now, but she’d progressed slowly and had been stalled at five centimeters for what seemed like ages.

“It can’t still be five.” She groaned leaning further back into his chest. “It was five an hour ago, and the hour before that.”

“I know, jagi. I’m sorry. Just a little longer.” He promised shifting them back so that they were a little more reclined on the hospital bed. “Try to get some rest, jagi.”

“This is your fault.” She hissed.

“I know, jagi.” He cooed soothingly. This wasn’t the first time she’d said it. “Get some rest.”

“I can’t.” She groaned, burying her face into his shoulder.

“I know you’re not feeling great now, but just think, we’ll have our baby soon.”

She groaned again, rubbing a hand across her belly. “No. She’s never coming out. She hates me.”

“Our baby doesn’t hate you.” He chuckled, pressing another kiss to her forehead. “She’s just taking her time.”

“Tell her to hurry up.” She grumbled shifting again as she couldn’t get comfortable.

“I’ll try.”

Rest had been a rarity throughout the ordeal. Y/N was in constant discomfort, and Namjoon was at a loss of how to help.

Namjoon didn’t move an inch until Y/N had drifted into a fitful slumber. He eased her back onto the pillows and got up to stretch and to get himself some coffee. This was going to go on for a while yet if her earlier progress was anything to go by.

“Jin,” He sighed walking over to where his friend was also grabbing some caffeine. “Is it supposed to take this long?”

“She’s stalled. First time labor can take a while, but it’s going to be a long one even for a first time mother.” He sighed giving his friend a tired smile. “I should have known your kid would be difficult.” Jin teased lightly bumping Namjoon’s shoulder.

“Is there anything we can do?”

“Not for the moment.” Jin shook his head tiredly. “She and the baby are fine, just tired, and she’s still in latent labor. The best we can do is keep her comfortable and hope things get moving soon. If she or the baby is in distress, we’ll intervene. Is she sleeping?”

“For now.” Namjoon sighed flopping down into a chair exhausted. It had been a long day.

“You should get some rest too.” Namjoon was going to argue, but Jin cut him off. “You’re no good to her if you’re dead on your feet. I’ll have them set up a cot for you in her room.” Jin cut him off again as he was about to open his mouth. “Don’t you dare interrupt her rest. She needs every minute she can get. You’ll take the cot.”

“But…”

“She’ll be three feet away. Take the cot, or I’ll send you up to your room.” he threatened.

Y/N had never been more exhausted in her entire life. She was tired. She was cranky, and she didn’t have the one person she actually wanted with her. It didn’t help that the labor seemed to stretch on for eons. The gynecologist, a kind if not stern woman that she wanted nothing more than to rip the throat out of, assured her that things would start moving again soon, but she said that every time she came to check in. The labor and delivery nurses that had been summoned were far more honest. They explained that first time moms could be in labor for sixteen to twenty hours, but it had been twenty hours, and she still wasn’t even close to having her baby in her arms.

The epidural helped, but contractions still hurt. Everything ached really, and she had to grudgingly admit that even if he wasn’t who she wanted with her, Namjoon was a fairly good birth partner. He put up with her whining and crushing his hands. He fetched ice chips and rubbed her shoulders. Namjoon had held her hand and kept her calm when they’d given her the partial epidural. She was fine with needles usually, but there was something about a needle that large being inserted into her spine that made her extremely nervous.

Miss In had been more than ready to usher her away to a birth suite that had been prepared in the depths of the mansion that she hadn’t even known about. Namjoon had been summoned home in a panic and immediately brought to her side in the suite. It had to be the nicest hospital type room she had ever been in, and she had been studying to be a nurse before Namjoon had thrown her life off course. She did clinicals though, and they never brought her to the VIP wing of the hospital. The hospital she did clinicals at wasn’t even fancy enough to have a VIP wing.

Namjoon’s position had its advantages. It was nice to have such a comfortable room when she was in so much discomfort. There were even real pillows instead of the thin pathetic ones that normally occupied hospital rooms, and normal pillows were so much more comfortable. Even the hospital gown she’d been forced into was more comfortable than the normal ones. It was made of a soft material that didn’t irritate her skin and allowed her to keep her modesty even though there were monitors hooked up to her belly. Every comfort was appreciated when labor stretched on so long.

It took another thirteen horrible hours for Y/N to be fully dilated, and as much as both she and Namjoon hoped that it would all be over after thirty-three hours of labor, but their baby was a stubborn one who was refusing to drop so that Y/N could finally start pushing. If Namjoon had thought the last thirty-three hours were bad, he had another thing coming.

By the time the baby was crowning, another three long painful hours had passed, and both parents were exhausted.

There had been screaming, crying, cursing. Y/N had threatened his life at more than one point. He couldn’t blame her for that after the labor she’d been through. No one could blame her.

“You have to push, jagi.” Namjoon encouraged holding his poor exhausted wife up as the doctors waited for the next contraction to come.

“I want Mark.” she sobbed, exhausted and sweaty against his chest. 

“I know, jagi.” he whispered, soothingly even though the words cut him like a knife. 

“Where is he?” she whimpered. “He promised.”

He hated seeing her in so much distress, and he knew he couldn’t blame her for anything she said right now. She was in so much pain and exhausted, but he hated hearing her call out for another man. He hated it with every fiber of his being.  

“You’re alright, jagi. I’m right here.” he winced slightly as she squeezed his hands. “You’re doing so well.”

“I’m so tired.” She slurred, her head lolled back against his shoulder.

“I know, jagi, but the baby’s almost here.” He cooed feeling her tense up again as the next contraction hit.

Namjoon did his part keeping her braced as she did the real work hunching forward with a scream as the next contraction ripped through her. There was nothing else he could do for her at the moment.

“And we have the head.” The OB, Dr. Yang if Namjoon remembered correctly but there were a lot of doctors milling around, announced cheerily seemingly unaffected by his wife’s pain.

“Almost done.” He hushed as Y/N flopped back against him again. “Just a little more.” He promised even though he didn’t know if he should be relieved or worried that she was no longer screaming profanities at him. There had been a solid two hours of that once the contractions had gotten bad. Even with the partial epidural, she’d been in a great amount of pain.

A few more pushes and their baby was born. A strong little warbling cry filled the room much to the relief of both parents.

“Congratulations!” The doctor beamed showing them the red scrunched up face of their baby. “You have a healthy little girl.”

“She’s beautiful.” She sighed smiling through her exhaustion as she stared at the face of her little girl.

“What should we call her?” Namjoon asked, running a gentle hand up and down her arms.

“Nara. Her name is Nara.” Y/N smiled tiredly.

“We need to check her over, and we still have the placenta to deliver. We’ll bring her right back though. Okay, mom?” The doctor smiled, looking incredibly relieved that the ordeal that had been this delivery was almost over. 

Y/N whined reaching out shakily for the baby as she was whisked away from her, but one of the nurses urged her to stay in bed. Even Namjoon knew she was too weak to get up quite yet. She looked like she was going to pass out from exhaustion at any moment. 

“Don’t worry, jagi.” Namjoon shushed, gently shifting out from behind her settling her gently against the pillows. “I’ll go with her. I’ll make sure she’s alright.”

Namjoon was more than a little curious to take a better look at his daughter. He had hoped for a boy, an heir, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be disappointed. He had a little princess. After thirty-seven hours of waiting, he had Nara. His Nara.

The doctor checked her over and cleaned her up before handing him the little girl. He was amazed as he stared down at her. She stared up at him with dark eyes, and the tiniest bit of hair stuck out from under the little hat the doctor had put her in, and she was the most perfect thing that Namjoon had ever seen, tiny and perfect and his. Namjoon was half convinced that he was going to break her if he moved to quickly or shifted the wrong way, but there was something indescribable about having this tiny perfect being in his arms and knowing she was his that he had helped make her even if it came with the crippling fear of dropping her.

Namjoon knew immediately that he would do anything for her. She’d have nothing but the best, and nothing would ever harm her. She’d be the most spoiled little girl there ever was just as it should be for his little princess.

“Y/N?” He heard Jin’s panicked voice from across the room. “Y/N!”

Namjoon immediately whipped around searching for Y/N among the doctors and nurses that were now buzzing around her bed.

“Jagi?” He asked, approaching her bed and seeing a concerning amount of red on the sheets before Jin ushered him away. “Y/N?” He called again more frantically as he struggled as much as he could against Jin while he had Nara in his arms. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong with her?” he demanded as Jin pushed him further back.

“She’s bleeding... a lot.” Jin explained in a rush. “She tore, and it looks like she might be hemorrhaging.”

“Hemorrhaging?” Namjoon panicked once more trying to move forward to get back to her side.  

“We’re going to do all we can, but we can’t work with you hovering over us. Besides, you have the baby to think of.”

“But…”

“I will tell you as soon as I have something to tell you, but you need to let us work.” Jin urged casting a concerned glance back at the bed.  “Take Nara outside. I’ll tell you more when I know more.”

“Jin...”

“We’re prepared. We have blood ready to transfuse, and the equipment we need. If things get bad we’ll move her to the clinic.” he promised.

“She can’t die, hyung. I just got her back.” Namjoon growled, staring at the doctors buzzing around her. “She can’t. I need her. The baby needs her.”

“She won’t.” Jin assured even though there was a grim set to his mouth that told Namjoon that the situation wasn’t good despite his assurances.

“I can’t… I can’t lose her.”

“Go. Take care of your daughter. We’ll take care of Y/N.” Jin pushed him out the door only for them both to freeze as the sound of one long drawn out ‘beeeeeep’ filled the room. 

part 15

[theladyismyshepard]

37 kill for Daniela the red head, She kills one of the servents because of jealousy but the maiden is into it?? Maybe kinda nsfw

Sorry for the wait, my friend

I Always Feel Like Somebody’s Watching Me (NSFW)

TW: Violence

The sun was beating down on your back as you tended to the garden that you grew in the back courtyard. You had appealed to the Dimitrescus the benefits of planting your own vegetables and fruits and possibly the occasional pretty flower here or there. The Lady seemed uninterested in the thought altogether, making it clear that her mind was reserved for more stimulating subjects. Bela seemed halfhearted with her thoughtfulness, quickly zoning out. Cassandra had rolled her eyes and walked away after the word “garden”. Daniela was smiling though, her eyes glittery before she nodded along almost vehemently.

“I agree,” she said unabashed, ignoring her mother’s arched brow and Bela’s scoff. “Think of the ingredients we could grow ourselves instead of sending for delivery every other week.”

“Daniela, dear,” started Alcina, sighing almost exasperatedly, “Do you plan on going out and tending to this “garden”, hmm?”

You wanted to interject, it was the perfect moment to take responsibility for the care of the garden, and possibly even the grounds just to improve your worth around the castle. Yet, it required a lack in manners to interrupt a Lady when she’s speaking, and Alcina had a severe standard when it came to manners. And so you were forced to go with the smart move and bite your tongue as Daniela’s face dropped. That didn’t stop you from attempting to gain eye contact to give her a beseeching look.

“I’m sure we can find someone.” insisted Daniela, her eyes cutting to you before snapping back to her mother. “Someone very dependable,”

“I can do it,” you piped up, taking the opportunity, eyes dropping to the floor once Alcina’s gaze fell onto you.

“The question is will you,” drawled Alcina, eyes narrow as they looked you up and down. “As in, will I allow a human thing as yourself to control anything that is mine?”

You would have fell to your knees beneath the weight of the Lady’s attention had it not been for a certain redhead to stepped closer to you. You wanted to grab her hand, pull her close, wrap yourself around her for comfort, but you don’t. You never act on it, and she never dragged you to her bedroom cackling and giggling wildly as she did with other maids when she needed to get off. Though you were also the only one who didn’t emerge scarred and torn up.

“Of course, my Lady,” you conceded, bowing your head to show a sign of submission.

“Mother,” said Bela quietly, calmly interjecting, and waited until Alcina turned to address her. “I also think that a garden would be beneficial.”

Daniela had clapped happily when she realized her sister was aiding her in swaying their mother. Your eyes couldn’t settle between the three of the Dimitrescus. Alcina cocked her head to the side, adopting a fake look of thoughtfulness to cover how unimpressed she was.

“Oh, you do, darling?”

“Yes,” pressed Bela before her mother could continue on. “Imagine the access to ingredients for remedies to give the livestock. We could even grow foreign plants required for different potions!”

Fuck the fruits and vegetables, I guess.

And that was how the Lady was worn down and forced to give into her daughters desires. The garden didn’t necessarily consist of the produces that you originally planned for, but it got you out of the castle for extended points of time, and you weren’t complaining one bit. Castle Dimitrescu was a rather large estate, so there was plenty of room for the several varieties of roots, plants, and flowers that the Dimitrescus requested you take care of.

The heat of the sun had you pulling at the hem of your shirt to bring it up and wipe the sweat from your brow. The warm breeze hit you squarely on your exposed midsection, and you felt the dripping sweat drying grossly against your flesh. It felt as though eyes were upon you and when you let go of your shirt, ready to turn to check the windows of the castle, a person standing next to you nearly had you jumping out of your skin.

“Oh!” gasped the woman — a maid, “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“It’s alright,” you assured, breathless and attempting to return your heart rate back to normal. “What’re you doing out here?”

Being outside was a luxury that none of the other maids could afford, so you were confused as to how this maid, Elle, had managed to avoid the lingering eyes that were everywhere. Her eyes averted as a slight blush came to her cheeks, and that’s when you saw the glass of water in her hand and your brain put two and two together. Oh.

“It’s hot today,” said Elle nonchalantly, even shrugging. “I figured you might need this.”

“Thank you,” you replied earnestly, grabbing the glass and taking greedy sips before you handed it back. “I appreciate it.”

“Well, I can’t have you fainting and bringing attention to yourself, now can I?” joked Elle, smiling bashfully.

You could’ve sworn that eyes were upon you, and you even went as far as to turn and check the windows, and while you thought you saw one of the curtains shifting, it also could’ve been a trick on your eyes. You furrowed your brow but turned back to Elle, who was looking at you expectantly, and for what, you weren’t sure. You smiled warmly.

“Thank you again, Elle, but I don’t want to hold you up any longer than I have.” You warned, making a face to emphasize, and she nodded in disappointment but reached forward to squeeze your hand.

“Stay safe,” she said, the maids’ usual words of departure.

“Stay safe,”

Eyes were watching you, but you couldn’t see from where, and that was the most dangerous predator: the one who hides before striking, and there was one predator who always had her watchful eye on you. Daniela. You gulped at the thought of Daniela catching another maid outside just to talk to you... no one, not even you were allowed to bend any of the rules, not even once... not when you were so easily replaced. Hopefully if you just went back to attending to the garden (rather stiffly), you could pretend that nothing would be amiss when you went back inside.

***

There was tension hanging in the air, thick enough to choke, and it had your spine as straight as a rod as you trudged through the pristine castle with your overall dirtiness, your shoes abandoned at the door. It was oddly quiet, and when the maids spotted you, they turned away quick, eyes wide with fright. Every step you took towards any of them, the maids took about six or seven steps away from you. Castle Dimitrescu might’ve been weird, but that was a new one...

You gave up on making conversation and instead wandered off to find a clean uniform to change out of the more comfortable wear you wore to tend to the ingredients. There was the nagging feeling that something was off in the air... Where were the Lady’s daughters? Their signature cackles failed to echo off the walls, and it left an uneasy silence in its wake. Now that you thought about it, you weren’t running into Elle either as you wandered deeper into the castle and found the maids’ quarters.

You quickly changed and made yourself presentable for your next task, and then you were again walking through the silent halls as you made your way to the kitchen. There was no real warmth to the kitchen, not when the stove had gone untouched for as long as you had been there. It wasn’t your place to question things around there, but you couldn’t help but to ask questions when you stepped inside and there was a silver platter with the cover still hiding what was underneath. What had you puzzled was the note that simply read your name propped right up against the cover.

You craned your neck when you felt eyes upon you yet again, but nobody was there... you knew better though and that’s what had needles prickling your skin and a cold sweat to break out. All that was missing was the giggling, but this really seemed like one of Daniela’s games she enjoyed playing. You turned back to the platter, and reached for the handle of the lid. After a shaky moment of building yourself up, you ripped the cover off like a bandaid, and froze, arm still raised.

Placed neatly upon the silver platter was Elle’s severed head. Her eyes were closed, and for that, you were grateful... you were too ashamed to look her in the eye seeing as this was all your fault. As your breathing hollowed out, that was when you finally heard a deep chuckle, one that had you going rigid... this wasn’t the Daniela that you had gotten used to, but it was one you were aware she could possess. Was she directing it towards you? You dropped the lid with a clatter.

“I didn’t like her very much.” said Daniela simply, and you gulped. “She liked you too much.”

You couldn’t miss the edge in her voice on the word. You finally blinked (your eyes suddenly burned) and looked away from the platter to connect eyes with the redhead. She wasn’t smiling and that was never a good sign. You forced a smile, one that you were scared was too obviously false.

“I didn’t like her either.” You choked out, fully turning your body away.

“You didn’t?” asked Daniela, her voice suddenly small and seeking reassurance, and you were struggling to keep up with her complete 180.

“Daniela...” You couldn’t say what you really wanted to... She was just bringing me water! “Why does it really matter to you so much?”

“Because you are mine!” She snapped, and you frowned.

“Doesn’t every maid here belong to you?” You countered, though you had to admit, you have more leeway than others did.

“They belong to the family, but you, you are mine, darling.” purred Daniela, stalking forward very slowly until she was before you. “No one else can even look at you the way I do.”

“But the other maids that you’ve...” You cringed, unwilling to finish, but Daniela picked up on what you were trying to say.

“I feed from them and that is all... Getting them a little scared makes the blood just a bit sweeter.” chuckled Daniela, and you frowned yet again.

“I thought you-”

“Slept with them?” Daniela drawled, now it was her turn to frown at you. “As tempting as it was, I think there’s one delicacy that I’m saving my pallet for.”

Her eyes roamed over your body with no holds barred, and you weren’t sure how you felt about the shiver that tingled down your spine. The fact that there was a severed head behind you was kinda throwing you for a loop. Daniela had her index finger and her middle finger tiptoeing up your arm until she was gingerly holding the side of your neck with obvious care. You gazed into her eyes and you were thoroughly entranced by the red headed beauty that would kill for you.

“Do you love me?” You whispered, almost afraid that what you were asking was a stupid question. Daniela’s face softened.

“I absolutely adore you, my love,” cooed Daniela, pulling you into a searing kiss that had your heart stuttering in your chest, and when the need for air had you pulling back, she already had her eyes open and watching you. “No one can take you away from me.”

Any sane person would hear the threat for what it really was, but there was nothing sane about the feelings she evoked from you just by being near you, even with Elle’s head served up right beside you. There was something about her possessiveness that could make you either feel very secured, or somewhat aroused, and you could hardly think of anything else but the fingers scratching at the hair at the base of your neck.

“I doubt anyone would be capable of taking me away from you.” You mused, and it was true. Bless the soul who tried to free you from the clutches of Daniela.

“Hm,” she hummed, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully as her eyes cut over every inch of your face. “Perhaps I should leave my mark for all to see?”

What surprised you the most was it seemed as though she was genuinely asking you. Her hand was still scratching the back of your neck, and her free hand reached up to rub soothing circles along your jugular with the pad of her thumb. Daniela’s compulsive attitude can lead her to doing whatever the hell she wanted without fear, but here she was, asking for your permission to drink from you. This redhead never failed to be full of surprises, and you found that you kinda liked that Daniela was so crazy for you.

��I belong to you,” You said quietly, unwilling to break the atmosphere that was enveloping the two of you, and you knew you said the right thing when her eyes shone with nothing but adoration and if you looked closer, love.

Daniela continued to cup the back of your neck with one hand, and used the other to hold you carefully by your shoulder, and she gently guided you to expose your throat just a bit more before she slowly bit into your throat. You gasped at the initial sting of your flesh giving way beneath the power of her teeth, but you allowed her to continue what she needed to do and permitted the subtle pull at your bloodstream. You felt the vibration of her own moan against your skin and it had you lightheaded.

“Daniela,” you groaned, feeling her teeth still inside of your skin with every syllable, and it also felt good when the hand on your shoulder rubbed down your arm and up your back.

“Does that feel good, darling?” pressed Daniela, unlatching just long enough to pull back and bat her eyelashes at you. “Do you love this as much as I do?”

Her tongue flattened against your bite mark, cleaning you of any trickling blood before she moved to the opposite side. She placed an open mouthed kiss there before she latched on once more, prompting your whole body to flinch within her grasp, but trust Daniela to hold on tight. It felt as though there would be a couple bruises by the time the next morning rolled around, but something told you that was a good thing to have within Castle Dimitrescu. It was like your own charm to ward off the evil that could lurk around the many hidden corridors.

You felt her pushing you back up against the table, and your foot brushed against the lid, causing it to scratch against the floor with an unflattering sound. The small of your back connected with the table, leaving you no more room to go backwards. Your hands flew to the edge as you used the table as support as Daniela basically leaned her full weight into you as she fed and marked you.

Your eyes flew open when she abruptly pulled away, her chin smeared with your blood and her eyes crazed with desire, but also soft with emotion and it was directed right at you. She never broke eye contact as she slowly dropped to her knees before you, and your breathing became irregular as she reached forward to push the end of your uniform up higher and higher until you had to shiver at how exposed you felt.

“Do you love me?” asked Daniela suddenly, bringing your wandering mind to a complete halt, and you looked down into her wide, almost innocent eyes as she stared earnestly up at you. “I never heard you say it to me.”

“I love you more than life itself,” You responded and you were surprised at just how honest it felt... You could die tomorrow and you’d have felt content enough to just allow it.

Daniela’s megawatt grin was so wide that you knew there was no way of it coming off anytime soon, not with the pure happiness radiating from it, and certainly not with the way it reached itself to her eyes. She giggled madly and soon it was the only indication of her because she disappeared beneath the skirt of your uniform and you jumped at the warm tongue that was persistent in searching your body. Your knuckles turned white as your grip on the table tightened and you lost yourself to the wetness of Daniela’s tongue on you, and you found that it was true...

No one could ever steal you away from the perfection that was Daniela. Not when she was the only one that could turn you on with a familiar severed head just inches away..

[terriblequalitymovie]

His Kitten

Pairing: Niragi x Reader

Rating: (M) for language and explicit sex

Summary: Niragi catches you with Arisu and Chishiya too many times for his liking and thinks you’re getting a bit too comfortable

Warning: orgasm denial, cursing, degradation, no aftercare

A/N: I don’t even know yall, what type of shackles does this (fictional) man have on me.

***

It started as a normal day at the beach. The loud music echoing through the resort, the smell of alcohol and weed mixing in with chlorine, sweat and sunscreen. You laid back on the reclining chair, soaking up some much needed sun. Two newcomers passed by you, reminding you of yourself. It had been maybe two weeks since you found yourself in Borderland, and about a week and a half since you came to the beach. You tried not to think too much about how you ended up here, it was a bit hectic and made your head spin. You were visiting Tokyo with a couple of friends, and had gotten separated from them while sightseeing. You headed into a cafe and the next thing you knew you were the only one around, being forced to survive by playing games.

Since then however, you’d come to slightly accept your new found reality. You chuckled, your friends were probably back at work and you were catching a tan. Just as that thought brought a small smile to your face, you felt someone’s shadow fall over. You frowned, sitting up. Glasses being pushed atop your braids, you locked eyes with Usagi.

“In five minutes, get up and come to the rooftop.” She said, and then disappeared back into the crowd. You looked around, and then laid back against the seat, wondering what that was about. But five minutes later, you found yourself navigating towards the rooftop, making sure there were no militants in sight. You wouldn’t mind seeing Niragi, although if he caught you that would end in a number of ways that seemingly all ended in you being bruised. That thought both excited you and frightened you and you picked up your pace.

Up on the rooftop, you were hardly surprised to find Chishiya, Kuina, Usagi and Arisu. They all turned to you as the door slammed shut behind you. You looked between the four of them, a bout of confusion in your mind.

“You’re probably wondering why you’re here” Arisu said.

“Yeah probably.” You joked.

“The Hatter’s system is flawed, so we’re stealing the cards and figuring it out for ourselves.” Chishiya announced. Again, you looked at the four of them, your brow furrowed.

“Where do I come in? And how do I know you won’t throw me to the militants if we get caught?”

“That’s just a risk you have to take.”

You bit your lip, you agreed. The whole idea of collecting the cards solely for only the Hatter to return to the normal world was selfish and for lack of better word unfair. But would you be willing to die over playing cards? (Granted you could die at any given time in Borderland).

“Fine. I’m in.” You sighed.

After going over the plan, the five of you headed back inside. While Kuina and Usagi headed in one direction, you followed Arisu and Chishiya.

You were engaged in small talk, telling them where you were from and how you got there, when the Aguni, Niragi and a few of the other militants passed by. Niragi turned, sneering at the two men in front of you. His eyes met yours with a dark look, and another round of excitement and fear shot through you.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You said, puckering your lips. Talking to Niragi like that, especially in front of Aguni was brave, even for you. He stepped towards you, the grip of his gun tightening, but the smirk on your face didn’t falter.

“Careful y/n, don’t want me to lose my temper.”

But you did, you wanted to push his buttons and see what would happen. However, in front of Aguni and the militants, along with the two new friends (or allies you weren’t exactly sure what to call it) wasn’t the right place. You stepped back and looked away but the smirk didn’t fade completely. He huffed. Brat.

The three of you went your separate ways, your mind still reeling with Chishiya’s plan at the forefront. That was until the music stopped. The eerie silence meant one thing, games night. You sighed, and found your way to the entrance. Arisu, Chishiya, Usagi and Kuina were already there, and you found yourself climbing into the same car that they were.

6 of diamonds. That’s what had you chained to each other by the ankles. A mound of keys laid before you. Simple you thought, it’s like finding a needle in a haystack, but with metal keys and there’s a two hour time limit that ends in death. There were ten players in total, and each person could grab a key. They could only pass the keys to the person directly on either side of them, and once a key was out of rotation it couldn’t be used again. Of course, there were newcomers who were panicked about how they ended up in Borderland and the significance of the game. And a few players who weren’t thinking of the bigger picture. However with Chishiya and Arisu’s quick thinking, you weren’t too worried. With that confidence in mind, you grabbed a key.

One and a half painstaking hours later, you were free of your shackles. And rubbing at your ankles. Your fingers reeked of metal and you’d much rather be in your room.

Upon returning to the hotel, you and the others were in a surprisingly jovial mood. You had your arms wrapped around Chishiya and Arisu’s shoulders. Kuina made a comment about Arisu being a ladies man, which caused his cheeks to turn a rosy color and had you in a fit of laughter.

You were still chuckling, when the militants passed by again. Niragi shot a menacing glare in your direction, mean to scare you and the company, but you only felt heat pooling in your core. However, you stood up straight, letting your arms fall by your side.

It took a while to get back to your room, but your shoulders instantly relaxed just seeing the numbers. The room was dark, and you were sure you’d left the light on. The curtain was open, letting in the moonlight. The door closed behind you with a thud and you stepped forward slowly. Something was off in the room, but you weren’t sure what. That’s when you felt it, warm and wet against your neck.

“Niragi.” You breathed.

“Y/n” he answered.

“How did you get in here?”

“The door.” He answered simply, and you could tell he was smirking.

“But tell me y/n, did you have fun today?”

“Fun? Sure I guess.”

“Make a lot of friends?”

Your eyebrows knit together, it was unlike Niragi to care about something like that. You were about to answer, when you realized why he asked. He was jealous.

“Oh yes. Chishiya and Arisu are great company.” You gushed. Niragi finally stepped into the light, pushing you backwards onto the bed.

“But can they make you scream like I can?” He asked, licking another stripe across your neck. You let out a shuddering breath. All the plans for a bratty reply left your head, as he lifted your shirt, turning it into a makeshift restraint. His tongue continued down to your stomach and both of your legs. Effortlessly, he pulled off your shorts and bikini bottoms.

Niragi bites your thighs, pulling a gasp from your lips. His mouth finds your entrance, already soaked. Niragi eats you out like a man starved, his fingers gripping your thighs. His tongue lapped at your folds roughly, the piercing cold against your core. You wanted to touch him, to run your fingers through his hair. That’s exactly what you did, freeing yourself from the hold of your shirt, and rooting your hands in his hair. Abruptly, Niragi pulled away from you, the night air sending a shiver down your spine.

“Hands off pet.” He warned, pinning your hands above your head. You pouted, but it melted away as he returned to his ministrations. You whimpered, as your high crept up on you.

Niragi could feel your legs beginning to shake and he knew you were close. He stayed a few seconds more and then pulled away, with a devilish grin.

“Something wrong kitten?” He asked licking his lips. You frowned.

“I was so close.”

“I know kitten, but do you deserve to cum?”

You pouted, but it only made him chuckle. He runs his fingers along your thigh, the skin still sensitive from his bites. He gets closer to your core but pulls away at the last second.

You heave a sigh of frustration, and Niragi slaps your thighs. You were buzzing now, the tension of a denied orgasm tingling through you. He wanted you to beg, to hear your neediness, your submission.

“Beg.” Niragi slid his fingers slowly back into your dripping heat.

“Please.” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

“Can’t hear you y/n.”

“Please!”

“Manners kitten, please who?”

“Please Niragi.” Niragi’s fingers were right where you needed them, his thumb rubbing circles into your clit. It didn’t take long for you to feel that tightening sensation again. He teased pushing his fingers in deeper, before pulling them out. You could practically taste it, the release that never came.

Niragi sucked his fingers, your eyes trained on the slender digits covered in your essence. He hummed, a popping sound could be heard as he pulled them out of his mouth. He was driving you crazy, and he loved every minute of it. You were practically trembling now, but you were at Niragi’s mercy.

The sound of his belt being unbuckled sends a shiver down your body. He pushed your thighs apart with his legs, dragging the tip of his dick against your clit. Niragi bent over you his hair falling into your face. His hand wrapped around your throat, and your back arched as he thrust into you all at once. He pulled back slowly, and before you know it he was fucking into you like his life depended on it. You couldn’t hold back your moans any longer, sure that everyone that lived in your hall could hear you. Niragi’s grip tightened around your throat his fingernails digging into your skin. The pain only pushed you further into pleasure. As you felt your orgasm approach a third time you wrapped your legs around Niragi’s waist, holding him in place. His name fell off your lips, the only coherent thing you could say, as your orgasm washed over you. You were breathless and tears streamed down your cheeks but that didn’t stop Niragi. He kept going, chasing after his own high. His teeth sunk into your skin, replacing his fingers.

“Fuck.” You hissed. His long tongue brushed over the broken skin, another hiss leaving your lips. Niragi’s thrusts grew sloppy and he pulled out, releasing onto your stomach. He wiped your tears, and squeezed your cheeks with his hand.

“So pretty like this pet, and all mine.”

[lepusrufus]

To bargain for immortality pt.3

As it turns out, poison did not kill her. Not by a long shot. Not if the numerous tests with different kinds of poisons were to be believed.

Nicole was currently bent over the sink placed in the corner of Miranda's lab, her assistant hovering behind her with a timer in hand. What was it this time? Hemlock? Belladonna?

She stopped caring when a new wave of blood carrying the replaced tissue from internal damage came rising in her esophagus. With a disgusting gag, it came splashing onto the white porcelain, now stained and coated in crimson multiple times over. She coughed, trying not to let any of the burning mixture remain stagnant in her throat, and focused on the feeling of her body healing itself. It felt, for lack of a better word, like static coursing through her nerves and organs. After that too was gone, and the only thing that remained was the nauseating coppery taste in her mouth, she raised a shaky hand, too tired to speak up.

"Seven minutes, thirty four seconds," Emma announced.

Mother Miranda noted it down, fingers typing quickly over the keyboard.

It was a miracle that Nicole was still able to stand, although leaning a good part of her body weight on the sink thankfully secured to the wall did help. She took a few deep breaths, doing her best to not sound too croaky when she spoke.

"Can I see the results once we're done?"

She could keep track of everything herself of course, but it got difficult when her body was fighting toxins meant to shut it down. And she'd be lying if she said that she wasn't dying of curiosity.

"It's none of your concern," Miranda replied coldly.

That got a scowl to appear on thin blood stained lips, partially hidden by her hunched position. "I stood here quietly while you shoved pill after pill made from every poisonous plant you could get your hands on down my throat. At least grant me the grace of knowing my own body's limitations."

Her reply was little more than a tongue click. She couldn't help a scoff when Miranda simply ignored her request and told her assistant to continue with the next test on their list. Emma picked up one of the numerous pill bottles lined on her employer's desk and came over to Nicole, who unceremoniously grabbed one pill and swallowed it before looking at the label. Cyanide.

Oh for fuck's sake.

Her body's reaction was immediate, heart starting to beat painfully quick while her head started to spin. It was nauseating, the ache seeming to flood her chest and going up her spine in a searing migraine. Not to mention the deep breaths that didn't seem deep enough, as air itself seemed choking, the oxygen not quite reaching where it should. Mild panic started to settle in when black splotches began to cloud her vision and the tingling sensation seemed to battle with the pain for dominance. Before she knew it, her shaky legs gave out under her and the white ceiling of the lab blurred out of focus.

---

She woke up with a start, the bluish lights a painful glare to her eyes. The sound of ticking stopped and Nicole realized it was Emma's timer. She looked down at herself, haphazardly placed on a bed and then at Miranda, typing down a result the ringing in her ears hadn't allowed her to hear. With a few shakes of her head to try and chase the fog in her brain, Nicole finally croaked out: "What the hell happened?"

"The cyanide was damaging cells and keeping them from taking in any oxygen at a slightly faster rate than those cells were getting replaced. Which caused you to lose consciousness."

Miranda's tone was just as cold and clinical as ever, but a slight smirk tugged at her lips when she continued, the excited scientists buried under the mask of a goddess showing a crumb of itself.

"Although I'm quite certain we solved the mystery behind the accelerated heart rate. All previous tests show that it takes no longer than a few minutes to recover, while this took over twenty five."

Nicole was still fighting some mild dizziness, but she put all the focus on Miranda's words.

"We'll have to rerun the tests under anesthesia, but for now it's safe to assume the healing slows down while unconscious."

She acknowledged the theory with an oh. She wasn't really capable of much conversation at the moment, but she let the thought be metaphorically chewed in her brain. That made sense. If healing was slower after passing out, then her body had a damn good reason to keep her awake, hence the unnaturally high heart rate.

A slow shuddring sigh was let out when Miranda asked her assistant to prepare the anesthetic, laying back down. At least she wouldn't be awake for this one.

It took around double the normal dose to finally get her unconscious. She kept her eyes glued to the needle embedded in her arm until her vision was starting to fail her, the surrounding room becoming nothing more than dark blurs and vague beeping sounds.

People do not dream under anesthesia.

Nicole knew that of course. But as the lab blurred into odd shapes and more or less familiar places, there wasn't really a better word to describe it. Perhaps a result, she would later muse, of her overactive brain, fighting for consciousness at any given moment as it now had an instinctual need to stay awake.

That need manifested itself in the vague image of one of the castle's hallways. It was in an old wing, not frequently used by many other than the cleaning staff. She was walking along the wall, using it to compensate for her wobbly legs, and looked around for something. What exactly, was beyond her comprehension at the moment, but that didn't stop her from stumbling inside each room on her path, looking around the bright and beautifully decorated space, only to exit and continue down the hallway.

Something. Something ugh.

Nicole tried not to lean on the wall too much when she got to the golden frame of a painting, not wanting to risk damaging it. Slowly walking around, she threw a glance at the canvas when she was fully in front of it. She frowned.

It was the familiar portrait of all three sisters, dressed in period appropriate clothing and hair up into small curls. Their eyes, painted in such a way that they seemed to follow any onlookers around, greeted her with soft expressions. Some details seemed different though. They were small, and it took a bit of effort to notice how the brushstrokes seemed to have shifted ever so slightly in places. A familiar rose tattoo was present, albeit quite faint, on each of their foreheads, and their features seemed a little less soft and more akin to how Alcina would paint them. Nicole stopped to look at Cassandra's hand for a little longer, as if something was supposed to have changed there too. But before she had time to dwell on that, the realization that the painting should not be there dawned on her. Why would Alcina move it? And to a near abandoned wing of the castle no less. If she remembered correctly, that portrait had been at the main entrance for decades.

Nevermind that, she could just ask Alcina herself if they crossed paths. She kept walking down the hallway, trying to ignore the nagging feeling at the back of her mind that something was off. Off, like the slightly misplaced furniture, or the lack of certain decorations, or antique objects that she knew for a fact were on display on a completely different wing. No, Nicole kept looking through every room she came across, in search of something her foggy mind couldn't quite grasp the memory of.

She finally reached one of the more populated areas, and although still not fully able to grasp her surroundings and walk around without any support, a shiver still ran down her spine. The off-putting feeling turned to dread with the realization that she was completely alone. No maid or other staff member has crossed paths with her in what felt like an eternity. No sound could be heard aside from her own breathing and a faint beeping coming from outside. At that moment, Nicole longed for the sound of giggling or the shuffling of a broom, hell even the sound of lycans howling outside. Anything.

By that point, shuffling against the wall felt more of a psychological need than a physical one. There was a fear that accompanied anyone when you found yourself in a place that seemed so unlike its normal self, and Nicole tried to make herself smaller than she already was in the eventuality that something would pounce out from the silence and tear her to shreds.

She found herself traversing another corridor littered with numerous doors to guest bedrooms or simply storage rooms. Each was opened one by one, whatever laid behind it inspected, and then shut again. Rinse and repeat. Repeat until Nicole found herself in front of an oddly familiar door. It had nothing special, the crest and color exactly the same as the ones she had left behind, but its position seemed to tug at her memories.

The door was pushed open, a slight creak accompanying the movement, and Nicole found herself in a well lit office. It was obviously a rarely used one, the shelves only holding a small number of oddly organized files and boxes, while the chair was tucked under a large desk. The plush carpet underfoot caught her attention, beautiful black, white and golden motifs waved around each other in an intricate pattern. She walked across it, up to the desk and crouched down to run her fingers on the old worn wood of small drawers. The iron handles used to open them seemed to be gone from all but the topmost one, which she opened slowly.

Oh.

The drawer was empty save for two familiar objects, a pair of matching rings with minuscule branches in flower engraved on them. She picked them both up but almost dropped them back when a set of hurried footsteps sliced through the dead silence just outside the room.

There was no time to scramble for a hiding spot, especially not with how her head started to spin the moment she stood up again. All she could do was put the hand that wasn't holding the rings on the desk to support herself and watch as the door swung open.

A sigh of relief flew past cracked lips at the sight of confused golden eyes framed by dark locks of hair. Cassandra was standing at the entrance, head cocked slightly to the side.

"Did you lose it again?"

There was a hint of annoyance in her tone, but it was mostly drowned out by an amused chuckle as she walked up to her.

"No, I-..." Did I? "I'm sorry."

Cassandra simply took one of the bands and wordlessly slid it on Nicole's ring finger, gesture that was imitated in turn.

"Why are they here?" Nicole's question was barely a whisper, either due to the dizziness she felt or the cemetery-like silence that almost demanded not to be disturbed. "I know I instructed the staff to bring mine to my room if they find it."

"Oh it wasn't any of the staff members," Cassandra replied matter of factly, even waving a hand to dismiss the apparently absurd idea.

"Then who?"

"I don't know."

Nicole frowned. She pinched the bridge of her nose trying to chase away the eerie feeling that seemed to have made its roots deep inside her mind. Cassandra's voice seemed off, and that beeping from earlier seemed to close in ever so slightly.

"Why here?" She repeated.

Her wife only shrugged and looked around the room, taking her time with the reply.

"Isn't this where we first saw each other?"

Right. That's why the office was so familiar. The memory of Lady Dimitrescu, so beyond intimidating at the time, sitting in the chair and interviewing her for a maid's position came flooding her foggy brain. Then the giggles and the rather dramatic entry and the small bickering.

"Are you waking up?"

If Cassandra wasn't so close to her, she would've thought a third person had spoken. Her wife's voice seemed off before, but now it didn't even sound like her own. Familiar, yes, but the regal icy tone belonged to someone else.

Nicole tried to instinctively put some space between them, only for Cassandra's expression to twist with concern, furrowed brows over soft golden, always so uncharacteristically soft when pointed at her. Cassandra opened her mouth to speak again, but the beeping came in louder, almost as if making its way from her throat with the sole purpose of attempting to bust her eardrums.

The room seemed to rapidly bleed out of focus, details replaced by black dots and blurry lines. Cassandra's shape slowly morphed, her beautiful black dress leaving way to a plain lab coat and golden eyes turning into icy green, ever calculating and scrutinizing. Incessant beeps from the cardiac monitor brought her back to consciousness more rudely than she would've liked.

Nicole shook her head slightly, trying to chase away the last effects of anesthesia. Her body seemed eager to oblige, quickly trying to wake up and be back on her feet. Not that she had any intention of actually getting up, but soon enough, she was looking around the space and all the pristine equipment held within. Emma was busy arranging vials and pill bottles inside a cabinet while Miranda was by the bed typing away, nails annoyingly loud on the keyboard. She shook her head once again, and looked to the opposite wall, where a clock was ticking. It was almost 11 p.m. and Nicole let out a soft groan thinking about how she'd been under anesthesia for about three hours and how her family was probably waiting for her to get back.

She laid her head on the uncomfortable pillow while waiting for the goddess wannabe to be done with her observations on her current lab rat, which meant Nicole, and finally dismiss her.

It took a moment to realize that Miranda had turned towards her and pushed her laptop close to the side of the desk, screen facing Nicole. After receiving a confused look, the woman rolled her eyes as if she were a teacher explaining basic maths for the hundredth time.

"You wanted to see the results."

Nicole's confused expression did not change, though now it was more directed towards the suspicious willingness to give what she asked for. Nonetheless she scooted to the side of the bed, letting her legs dangle over the edge, and she narrowed her eyes at the file on the screen.

---

Date: 23rd April 2012

Subject: Nicole [REDACTED] Dimitrescu

Mutation experiments - 2 (Regeneration - 2)

Resistance and healing time to various poisonous plants (in the form of highly concentrated pills or injectable) and other toxins. First number refers to the healing time while conscious and the second while unconscious.

Belladonna (Atropa belladonna) - 2'13" // 6'30"

Rosary pea (Abrus precatorius) - 2'20" // 7'02"

Crowbane (Cicuta virosa) - 2'40" // 7'12"

Wolfsbane (Aconitum lycoctonum) - 3'30" // 8'11"

Hemlock (Conium maculatum) - 3'18" // 8'28"

Oleander (Nerium oleander) - 3'55" // 10'17"

Ricin (Ricinus communis) - 5'58" // 16'19"

Arsenic, 100mg - 7'34" // 21'38"

Cyanide, 50mg - / // 26'53"

[falling-pages]

A bird? A bird: Hikaru x Haruhi

in which drunk Hikaru is a mood.

-

Hikaru Hitachiin x Haruhi Fujioka

-

Enemies to lovers, non-host club au, aged up au.

-

TW: Drinking

-

The disgust lingered in the back of his throat like iron, like a bad pill you swallow but not fast enough. He fumbled the chaser to his liquor, and now he was stuck with the gross aftertaste. The refuge of his office, where he gulped down air like water, could only last so long. He couldn’t even go out in the common area, break room or restroom without having to see her--and for that, for taking away his freedom and social butterfly antics, he hated her.

Every time he saw her cute little snarl and tight little bun and stiff black skirts enraged him, filling his blood with a heat he didn’t know how to deal with. Despite her short height, she held her nose in the air as she worked, the only way she could look down on everyone like she so desperately craved. Always propping up her law degree, well this and actually that, ruining any jokes he made with a deadpan stare. She messed with his head, distracted him from his work, and for that she must go.

As much as he had tried to get her fired--and he had tried--nothing made the boss budge. He tried pulling rank, as the head of the software department; he tried using his parents’ names; nothing worked.

She’s doing a stellar job, the bossman had said. And, she’s our lawyer. If we did fire her for no reason, she would sue us into the ground.

I do have a reason, Hikaru retorted. She annoys me.

It wouldn’t hold up in court, but it seemed good enough for him.

Hikaru inhaled deeply through his nose, grounding himself by gripping his desk. Surrounded by all his trophies and achievements, he still could only think of her. He had to handle this, or else he’d go insane, but he had no idea where to start.

Kaoru. Kaoru would know what to do.

He rose from his chair, taking one last look behind him at the stained glass city through his clear glass window. Despite it only being mid-afternoon, the city was pulsing and alive with color, birds dive-bombing for food, vendors hawking at passersby, tourists mixing and bumping into natives. Tokyo was loud, and crazy, and alive, where he knew he belonged and longed to be. Even nature was straining at its leash for the workday to end, eager to celebrate the Friday night.

He turned back and shut the lights off in his office, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he walked. His department was rather quiet, having given his employees the afternoon off. If Haruhi knew, she would chide him, but they were so far ahead of schedule that he couldn’t risk them burning out.

Once up the stairs and around the corner, he heard his brother’s voice laughing and chatting and speak of the devil, she’s here.

It shouldn’t have surprised him. Karou and Haruhi were surprisingly great friends; he tended to mellow her out, help her unwind from the stick up her ass. He just had that calming effect on people.

As soon as he saw her, Hikaru spun a 180 and turned right back around the corner, and Haruhi would have let him, but Karou intervened.

“Hika! Come over here!” he waved, a bright smile splitting his face. “Haruhi was just telling me how much she liked you!”

Haruhi seethed, switching to a guarded pose as soon as she saw him. “I certainly was not.”

“Oh, right, my bad, she was telling me how much she liked your latest game patch,” Kaoru apologized, but it was the furthest thing from sincere. “Tell us about how you came up with it. Haruhi would love to pick your brain.”

Hikaru smirked, testing the waters as he approached. “Is that true, Fujioka?”

She frowns, pushing her bridge up her glasses up her nose. God, those glasses. She looked so dumb in them, making her eyes seem so wide, so innocent, so...pretty. All he wanted to do was pluck them off her face and laugh as she jumped for them, reaching and whining.

“I mean, it’s original, for sure,” she said. His cheeks warmed at the praise, even as she squirmed. “And it should market well, and you didn’t infringe on anyone’s copyright this time.”

That wasn’t my fault. He took the compliment with a grain of salt, biting back, “Still in the whole get-up, I see. Not much for casual Fridays?”

As amber eyes raked down her body, Haruhi concealed the shiver that ran down her spine. “No, actually, because I didn’t go to law school to wear jeans every day at work.”

“You didn’t go to law school to become a smartass, either, but here we are.”

“OKAY!” Kaoru exclaimed, jumping up between them. “Friday afternoon, yeah? Any big plans for the weekend?”

Both instigators ignored him. “That’s the uniform, you know. We tend to be pretty laid back around here.”

“Lawyers can’t be laid back. Laziness and a laissez-faire attitude is how we get sued.”

Hikaru stretched, rolling his eyes. “Woah, woah, pardon your French.”

Haruhi shook her head, and a few mismanaged strands of hair fell from her bun to brush against her neck. Her pink lips perched in contempt, and she looked so fragile, squinting behind her thick-framed glasses, that he couldn’t help but notice how tight her shirt was, tucked into a pencil skirt that hugged so tastefully over her--

“Hika!” Kaoru suddenly exclaimed. “Honey wants to know if we’re still down for drinks tonight.”

His saving grace. “Oh, my God, yes,” he moaned, salivating already at the thought of tequila burning down his throat. Washing the week away was just what he needed, especially with the way this conversation was going.

And then Kaoru did the unthinkable: With his award-winning smile, he turned to Haruhi and asked, “Would you like to come?”

Hikaru could have strangled him.

But God heard his prayers, and the resident buzzkill shook her head. “Thank you, but sorry. I don’t drink.”

“No surprise there,” Hikaru murmured.

Kaoru definitely heard that, but if Haruhi did, she didn’t react. He shot his twin a look, a be polite etched into the lines of his brow.

“Sad,” Kaoru said. He bent over to pick up his work bag, stuffing his bento within and waving to Haruhi. “Maybe next time? We can go out for boba or something.”

Haruhi smiled--Hikaru didn’t think he had ever seen that before. It did something to him; suddenly, he felt as if his body was shaking, like his throat was full of needles, like he had taken one too many to the head.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” she said, and the smile disappeared when she looked at him. She gave them both a quick nod. “Have a great weekend.”

“Thanks.”

“See you Monday!”

Hikaru waited until they were out the door before punching his twin in the arm, hard enough to make him yelp.

“Dude, watch it,” Kaoru snapped, brushing over the mussed fabric of his cardigan sleeve. “It’s cashmere.”

“Stop flirting with her.”

Kaoru stopped in his tracks. A cloudy sky obscured the smirk on his face. “Woah, what’s got you so worked up?”

Hikaru kept stomping towards their subway stop, too lost in his own anger to notice who he had left behind. “‘M not worked up,” he retorted. “But you’re dating Kyoya. You shouldn’t be flirting with a girl.”

Kaoru skipped to catch up, joining him as they descended the stairs. “Kyoya said it’s fine if I flirt, as long as I come home to him every night.”

It took everything in Hikaru to keep him from shoving his brother into the sad, drab gray stone walls. He couldn’t put a finger on the irritation nettling just below his skin, or why the first layer of his heart seemed to simmer whenever he caught them talking to each other. All he could figure out was that it burned, and it made him hate her even more.

When he stayed silent, Kaoru knew he was right. He preened as he dug around for his subway card. “Boba isn’t a date.”

“Of course it is.”

“Then maybe you should ask her out on one.”

By then they were at the platform, waiting for their train. As the whistle signaled its approach, Hikaru very seriously considered pushing Kaoru onto the tracks.

“Tch. Over my dead body.”

“Then you can’t be jealous.”

“I’m not--”

Hikaru threw a punch when the train approached, distracting him and allowing Kaoru to live to see another day. As they hurried on, Hikaru couldn’t get his mind out of the gutter--or off her.

Jealous. Pshhh.

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

“I dunno, senpai, she just….she makes me feel something. Whenever she talks to me it’s like my hands are on fire, and my head hurts, and I feel like….like she’s stabbing me. There’s something going on in my chest, like a, like a--a bird. There’s a bird or a butterfly or something with wings in my stomach, and I don’t like it.”

Hikaru knocked back a shot and signaled for another one, eyes bleary as he tried to find the bartender. There were three of them, or maybe that was just how blurry his vision was, but he didn’t care; as long as one of them saw him and passed him another round, he’d tip them the moon.

Mitsukuni watched his friend wave to no one, the effect of one too many fireballs in the span of just two hours. He hadn’t seen Hikaru this hammered since college--and now, at 27, it just looked more like a cry for help than an occasion to let loose. And without Kaoru, who had already gone home with Kyoya and the rest of their friend group, on babysitting duty, Mitsukuni was the one left to make sure he got into a cab.

“A bird?” he asked, watching as Hikaru swung his head in confirmation.

“A bird.” A bartender came back with another shot, handing it to the redhead and giving Mitsukuni a questioning look. He waved at him, confirming he was the babysitter, and the waiter turned back around.

“Tell me about that.”

Hikaru gripped his cup, tonguing at the rim like a sippy cup. “It’s fluttering around, Honey. It’s--hiccup--like, moving. Whenever I see her or talk to her my heart just begins to pound.”

Mitsukuni bit back a smile. His vodka cran lay forgotten on the bar, but this experience was just too amusing to violate with alcohol. “And what do you think that means?”

“Means she’s gonna kill me.”

“Kill you?” His eyebrows shot up. “Why is that?”

Hikaru slurped the shot, spilling some down his chin, and Mitsukuni was fairly sure it was just plain water. “Because. She’s mean, senpai. She looks at me like she’s studying, like she’s gonna slice me in half. Like...I dunno. Like I mean something to her.”

Mistukuni twisted his wedding ring, inching closer to the discovery. He’s almost there, almost recognizing what the rest of the friend group has known for months. “And if you mean something to her, why does your heart flutter?”

“Acid reflux.”

“No, Hikaru.” He gently swatted the other man’s hand down before he could ask for another drink. “It sounds like the beginnings of love, to me.”

Hikaru gaped, not a thought behind those eyes, until it hit him like a wrecking ball. His fist fell to the bar, thudding, but he felt no pain. Only existential dread and a rocketing realization.

“Oh.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Oh, fuck.”

-

If you like what I write, please considering buying a coffee :)

[chicksung]

Can’t You See Me? || Choi Chanhee

part of @ficscafe fic exchange event!

Genre: angst, little bit of fluff, ghost!au

Pairing: ghost!chanhee x reader (ft. younghoon)

Word Count: 2.4k

Warning/s: death, depictions of depression, dealing with death, mentions of a car accident

Synopsis: You loved Chanhee, with your whole being. You didn’t what you would do without him. However, it seems like life intended for you to be without him for the rest of your days

A/N: this fic is for rani @letteredwings please enjoy lovely. sorry that it’s a little late :/ this is unedited. please ignore any mistakes

any and all feedback is appreciated

Choi Chanhee promised you that he would love you until the day he would inevitably stop breathing and cease to exist. You always laughed off the comment, thinking it was just a stupid saying he would be saying into old age. You wished you had taken it as a sign, maybe you would’ve been more cautious, maybe this whole situation could’ve been avoided. What you didn’t know is that he had died a liar when he said those ridiculous words. He loved you after he passed too.

Chanhee stood helplessly in the kitchen, watching you stand there with an aching heart. You were wide eyed, shocked and frozen from the news.

“I’m…sorry?” You stammered, hoping, praying, that your ears were deceiving you with mean elementary school tricks.

“Is your partner Choi Chanhee?” The man’s voice seemed down, like he was scared to tell you again.

“Yes, he is. We’ve been together since high school,” You informed him, trying to push down the sickening churning in your stomach.

“I regret to inform you that your partner has passed away. We received a call this morning of an accident. A truck had collided with a car. The truck driver seemed to be okay, but your partner’s injuries seemed to be more serious.” Every word pricked your heart, which was as fragile as a balloon being poked with a needle, “We tried everything, but he eventually passed away. I’m very sorry for your loss.” You nodded, your chest tightened painfully, your vision blurry from the tears in your eyes. 

“Alright, thank you for letting me know. Have a good afternoon, sir,” You signed off, trying to keep your voice from cracking.

“You too, and again, I’m sorry for your loss,” The line went dead and you placed the phone on the kitchen counter. Chanhee? Dead? No, he can’t be. He had specifically said he would be careful on the road. Tears slipped down your cheeks like sweet raindrops, your knees pathetically giving out as you wailed, yelling out obscenities and curses. Chanhee ran behind you.

“No, I’m right here! Can’t you see-” He went to place his hand on your shoulder when he realised how pale, almost transparent, he was. He sat beside you on the floor, a million thoughts passing through his mind. He couldn’t comfort you, only able to listen to you cry his name in a desperate plea to bring him back to you. Chanhee’s heartstrings tugged harshly, but he was helpless. He was nothing but a memory now, a missing part of your shared apartment, a ghost. 

You stood amongst crowds of familiar faces, his friends, family, distant relatives, colleagues, the list goes on. Who they were didn’t really matter to you, what mattered was the casket being carried away from the church doors and out into the miserable weather. Fitting, you supposed, that it was pouring with rain on the day of his funeral. Attendees moved outside, umbrellas creating a dismal cloud of sorrow above them. It had been two weeks since Chanhee had passed away now, but for some reason you could not bring yourself to cry. No matter how many times you felt his absence, not even after looking in his open casket, no tear stung your eye. You watched emotionlessly as his coffin was slowly dropped into the rectangular hole just beneath his headstone. 

                    Here lies Choi Chanhee

                Loving son, brother and friend

                 April 26 1998 - August 17 2021

                   Until we meet again, my love

You felt a hand slide across your shoulder comfortingly, Chanhee’s best friend, Younghoon’s. You didn’t react, didn’t flinch, didn’t move. You remained stone cold and kept your face void of expression. A different feeling settled in the pit of your stomach. Irritation? Anxiety? Frustration? It was hard to describe, which typically meant it was complicated, and you didn’t really like complicated feelings. You could sense a storm coming, and judging from the storm clouds of emotion in your mind, it didn’t look like it would be clearing up any time soon.

A distance away from the gathering of mourners, a pale figure stood solemnly. Sure, watching his own funeral felt weird, but Chanhee could only think of you, and how you stood there, in a similar way to him, unable to display your emotions. He wished for one second, just one, that he could understand what you were thinking, feeling, praying. Maybe there would be a way to ease the pain you felt in your heart? He was technically responsible for said pain, so shouldn’t he try and fix it?

Younghoon had been coming over more, Chanhee would notice when he would be sitting on the foot of your bed, which you had not made the effort to get out of. Everyday, the time you would eventually get up would be pushed back. Before, it was only an hour later, then it was two, then three, then four, until one day, he noticed that you only got up to go to the toilet. He would listen to you cry, sniffle, send the occasional text to someone. Younghoon had seemed to notice, so had made it routine that he would come over at exactly 1:09pm every day to help you get out of bed and try to create a productive day together. Chanhee had memorised the sound of Younghoon’s footsteps, the sound of his keys jingling in the door’s lock, the way he would hum as he made his way to the bedroom. Younghoon had become the life inside of the dead quiet house. Chanhee noticed the way that his best friend would look at you, the sad sigh that would escape his lips when he saw you, sprawled out and weeping. 

“Come on. You can’t keep moping in here,” Younghoon sauntered over to your bedside, crouching down to get a better view of your face.

“I can do whatever the fuck I want. Go away,” you hissed, pulling the covers over your head, childishly pretending that if you couldn’t see him, he would simply fade from existence. 

“Bubba,” he called out sweetly, tugging the covers out of your grasps, “you’re running low on food. I don’t want you going hungry, and besides, it’s a nice day outside. Whaddya say?” With a low groan, you slowly rose from the safety of your sheets, loose hairs sticking up in wild directions. Chanhee rushed to your side, his cold touch to your cheek sending a cold shiver down your spine. He sighed somewhat sadly as he watched Younghoon help you out of bed. It should be him helping you out of bed every morning, it should be him trying to motivate you with small activities. However, deep down he knew that if it were him, you wouldn’t even be struggling to get out of bed in the morning. He was the cause of your lack of motivation, he was the cause of your pain, your suffering. Every emotion you were feeling right now was because of him, and somehow, in some way, he wished he was still there. He wished he was Younghoon.

“Where’s Uncle Chanhee?” Your young nephew looked up at you with big eyes, confusedly looking around to find his favourite uncle. You sighed softly. You knew you would have to have this discussion with him sooner or later. 

“Uncle Chanhee...isn’t going to be coming today,” you explained, kneeling down to the four year old’s level. Chanwoo’s bottom lip quivered slightly, “Why not?” He asked with glossy eyes. He had been really looking forward to playing with Uncle Chanhee, and couldn’t understand why he didn’t wanna play with him. You knew Chanwoo was too young to understand death, but he had seemingly noticed Chanhee’s absence. You chewed the inside of your cheek, trying to think of some sort of acceptable lie to tell a child. 

“He’s not well today. He says he really wish he could play today, but he had to stay home,” You pet the boy’s head softly, hoping he would understand. The little boy nodded, seeming to understand.

“Can I make Uncle Chanhee a get well soon card?” He asked with wonder in his eyes, and you would have to be a monster to have said no.

“Of course, Woo. Go get your craft things.”

You helped your nephew decorate his ‘card’ which was really just a folded sheet of printer paper, but you weren’t about to rain on his innocent parade. 

“I’m still sad that I can’t play with Uncle Chanhee. I wish he was here,” Chanwoo admitted, writing a sweet message in lopsided messy handwriting. 

“Just because he’s not here in person, doesn’t mean he’s not here in spirit,” you explained, drawing a sun in the corner of the card for the youngster to colour in. 

“What do you mean?”

“It's kind of like magic,” you pondered aloud, “like a hug you can feel from someone who is not there.” The child nodded.

“Yeah! Like it still feels like mommy is hugging me even when she’s not there,” it was your turn to nod. 

“Exactly, Woo! You’re such a clever boy,” you ruffled his soft hair, making him giggle uncontrollably.

You were right, in a way. Chanhee was there, as a literal spirit. He felt a warm surge crash over his pale body, knowing that Chanwoo wanted to make him a card without fully understanding what was going on. A child too sweet for this world. However, it wasn’t Chanwoo he was focusing on. It was you. You weren’t crying, you weren’t wailing his name in agony. You seemed peaceful, collected, like you were watching the sunset over the sea. You were starting to come to terms with no longer having your boyfriend there. Sure, it pained you every morning to roll over and say good morning to someone who never even got into bed that night, but it didn’t hurt as much as it used to. He was unsure how long you would stay in this peaceful mindframe, but only the best storyteller will tell, time.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Younghoon asked softly, eyes just as gentle as his words. You nodded, confident in your decision. You were a little unsure when you first brought up the idea to him, but it had to be done. The both of you walked up the hill in the cemetery, hands intertwined. You two had been dating for some time now, but you always had this lingering feeling that Chanhee wouldn’t like what you were doing. You loved Chanhee dearly, but you felt the same about Younghoon. It had been almost seven months since you received that phone call, but slowly everything in your life was piecing itself back together, formerly shattered after the tsunami of emotions that wiped out everything that made you feel human. You stood at the face of his gravestone, his name etched prettily into the cool rock. 

“Hey,” you greeted, your hand slipping out of your boyfriend’s. Chanhee displayed an invisible smile.

Hey.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” The sentence felt awkward and heavy on your tongue. 

It has. How have you been?

“I’ve been doing well. Just trying to get by, you get it.”

Yeah, I get it. Is that Younghoon?

“I was getting to that. I’m not sure how it happened, but it did. He helped me a lot after you passed. I owe him a lot. Mainly ice cream,” You laughed at yourself, partially because of your bad joke, and partially because of how ridiculous you must sound to anyone passing by.

You’re dating now?

“Yeah. I just...I wanted to say thank you,” you blurted, playing with the tips of your fingers.

Why are you thanking me?

“You taught me a lot, Chanhee. How to cook ramen properly, how to make the best oven baked pizza anyone has ever had, but most of all, you taught me how to love. And while I love you so much, my god, you can’t even believe to comprehend it, I’ve found someone else that I love,” You felt tears spring to your eyes. You were the only one talking, so why did it sound like you were saying goodbye? You glanced at Younghoon, who only smiled weakly. 

“Can I say a few words?” Younghoon stepped forward, placing his hand on your shoulder, the same way he had done the dismal day of Chanhee’s funeral. You nodded wordlessly, watching your boyfriend stride towards the grave of his best friend. Younghoon traced the etched marks of his friend’s name before giving a small smile.

“You’ve been gone too long,” he started, giving a sad chuckle, “and a lot has happened during that time.” Chanhee laughed silently at his friend’s words, slumping against the cold headboard of his resting place.

“But I will promise you this. I will look after them for you. I will care for, and nurture and love them for you. It’s what best friends are for, right?”

Chanhee nodded, a friendly smile finally adorning his features. He felt something new, something he hadn’t felt in a long time, peace. His body felt as light as a feather, as if it was drifting through the breeze. He dropped his gaze to his hands, only to see that the aforementioned body part wasn’t there. He was fading, an experience he had thought about many times before, but somehow, it wasn’t as scary as he thought it would be. Chanhee looked to you, and he could’ve sworn that for a moment, just one moment, you could see him, slowly dematerialising out of existence. He wasn’t scared anymore, scared of how you would cope without him. You had Younghoon, the only person other than you that he trusted his life with. 

“Until we meet again, my love,” Chanhee bade his final farewell to this world, taking a small bow and with a slight change in the wind’s direction, he was gone. 

You felt light, like the weight of an entire urbanised city had been lifted off your shoulders. Younghoon took his place by your side once more.

“Should we go home?” He suggested, earning a relaxed smile from you.

“Yeah. Besides, it’ll be dark soon,” you squeezed his hand, your eyes glowing in the reddened flare of the sunset. Hand in hand, you walked down the stone path and out of the overly large rusted gate. It was never easy letting go, not by any stretch of the imagination. You would always carry a piece of Chanhee with you, and even without him by your side, you felt closer to him than ever.

[whump-a-la-mode]

Gilded Cage - Part 5

I really need to get better at writing the choices, as once again a single choice got every vote. I suppose we all want the same thing for our poor whumpee ^^. Based on the votes, Villain will trust Sidekick.

Thanks to everyone so much for reading, once again!

CW// Imprisonment, collars, shock collars, villain whumpee, (fantasy) steroids, pills, syringes, medical talk, extensive discussion of fire, not caring if one lives or dies, public events, restraints, comparing oneself to a doll/dog, endangerment of the public

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Villain felt their mouth grow horribly dry as they stared at the offered hand.

It would have been terribly simple to raise their hand. To accept. To go along. That warmth in their veins, it was begging them to do so.

But... It wasn’t what the Heroes would want.

They’d spent so long placidly following their will like a dog. Yet no matter how long their leash became, the very idea of going against the Heroes’ will felt utterly alien.

They weren’t stupid. This was a life or death decision, certainly. The question being, which choice would lead to which outcome. To that, they did not know the answer.

But it had been so long since they had said no, they were unsure if their lips could still produce the word.

And, somewhere, in a part of them long since beaten into submission, they knew they wanted to fight back. Even if they were going to die, they didn’t want to go quietly. It was a petty move, a pathetic death throe, but it did not matter.

Villain shook Sidekick’s hand. Yet, at the end of the gesture, they did not release their grip. Their gaze lifted, meeting that of their visitor.

“I trust you. But... But I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

Villain flinched.

“Uh, sorry. It means go ahead.”

“O-ok. I just wanted to know... who hurt me?” Their lips shook even as they spoke.

Sidekick frowned, hesitating a moment. Villain felt their palm grow clammy.

“I don’t know.” They finally shook their head. “We don’t know who hurt you.”

“It wasn’t Journalist?”

“I don’t... I don’t have any way to know that for sure.”

“Okay.”

“We can try to find that out but, there’s bigger problems, right now. We don’t have a lot of time. Do you remember the signal? What you need to look for?”

“When the sun disappears.”

“Exactly. Before you go on stage, also, um, take these.”

Sidekick moved their arm so quickly that Villain nearly startled. They dug in their pocket for a moment, removing a tiny plastic box, smaller than a thumbnail. They held it forth, offering it to Villain, who took it. It was awfully difficult to hold in trembling fingers.

“Can I open it?”

“Mhm.”

They did so, though it took considerable effort. Contained within were two small pills, each circular and vaguely peach in color.

“Pills.”

“Yeah. Don’t tell anyone, okay? They’re going to help.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. They’ll help.”

“Okay.”

“I need to get going now, okay? I am really not supposed to be in here in the first place. Don’t tell anyone I was here. This conversation didn’t happen, got it?”

“Got it.”

Sidekick nodded in approval, getting up from the bed as Villain tucked the pillbox below their pillow. The former reached the door, grasping the knob, before frowning again and turning back to the bed.

“Villain?”

“Yeah?”

“I know you don’t like Hero. And I know they’ve done some... not great things. To you and to others. But they’re not a bad person. They just want to do what’s best for everyone. I promise that they’re not as bad as you think.”

The next words were quiet, muttered so lowly that they could have been mistaken as a breath. But Villain heard them. They know they did, as they shivered upon hearing them.

“At least, I don’t want them to be.”

Sidekick shook their head, raising it and their voice in equal turn.

“So, just, please try not to hurt them. Please?”

“I- I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Okay.” Their shoulders slumped. “Don’t try to contact me. Everything will be okay.”

With that, the door opened and closed, and again, Villain was alone.

In the absence of pain, doubt welled in, filling the pit in their stomach where a personality once resided.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

The syringe did not hurt going in.

That was the most worrying part about it. It wasn’t that Villain was unused to the presence of needles-- every other week, they saw the in-house physicians at the base. Ensuring that they were strong enough. It was excessive, certainly, but Hero did not allow for surprises, especially not in any form that would show on-camera.

Thus, they had long since learned to stop their instinctive flinching away from the sharp prick. It wasn’t that. They felt the prick, yes, but it did not hurt. It was simply an emotionless report. Something had breached their flesh-- there was nothing more to it than that.

Maybe that was the whole point of the thing, they supposed.

Doctor, who seemed to have unofficially taken up the case, turned away to fuss over tools on a countertop. There was an awfully sorrowful air about them. They didn’t want to meet Villain’s eyes.

“How have you been feeling?” They muttered, seemingly paying only a cursory amount of attention.

“Fine.”

“Any pain?”

“No.”

“Numbness?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“That’s good.”

The physician turned, placing the buds of a stethoscope in their ears.

“Can you breathe?”

“I hope so.”

“Don’t joke.”

They kneeled down, in front of the uncomfortable plastic chair on which Villain was seated. The chill of the stethoscope’s bell could be felt even through their clothes; a soothing cold against an overwhelming warmth.

Villain hated the silence. The observations, the readings, all of it. People looking at them, examining every inch of them, yet not finding it important to tell them so much as what they were looking for.

They wondered, for a single humorous moment, in the Heroes had assigned a veterinarian to take care of them. One final joke.

Doctor stood back to their full height, removing the buds from their ears. Their lips pursed into a fine line.

“You’re terribly lucky, you know.”

“I know.”

“Your breathing sounds okay. It’s a miracle, by all accounts.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah...”

Villain placed their hands upon their knees, letting themself slump forward in the rigid seat. They cast their gaze downwards.

The warmth had been fading over the past few hours, if only slightly, but now, it had been refreshed to its full strength. Just another thing to fill in the spaces left behind by all the things they had lost. They hated the thought, and though it made them bite their tongue, they could not help but sometimes feel that the only things they had left were their name and their body. Both things that could so easily be taken.

“Doctor?”

Again, the physician had turned, determined not to gaze upon their patient.

“Yes?”

“Who hurt me?”

“That’s a very vague question.”

“Who shattered all my ribs? Who broke my leg? Who-”

“Okay. I get your point.”

“Do you know?”

“I-” Doctor bit their lip. “Yes.”

“Please. I want to know.”

“That’s classified. I’m sorry. I can’t tell you.”

“I can’t even know who’s killing me?”

An exasperated sigh, followed by the clicking of metal as Doctor put down their instruments, one by one. They turned, countenance downcast in despair. Villain sat up, leaning back, ready for all the world to be screamed at and shook. But the only noise was that of Doctor’s quiet tone:

“Hold out your hand, please.”

Villain did so. Doctor gripped it, interlacing their fingers in a way that sent a dulled shiver along their spine. It was a firm grasp, but not in a hostile sense.

“Warm it now, please.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Your hand. Make it warm.”

For a moment, they were struck by the absurdity of the request. No one could simply will a body part to heat or cool. When they realized that that assumption was wrong, they felt suddenly nauseous.

Their powers. They still had them, somewhere. Buried and long forgotten. A warmth not produced by syringes and injections, but by will itself.

“I don’t- I don’t have permission to do that. My powers are not to be used. I don’t even know if I can-”

“I have all the permissions. All the papers and whatever, I have authorization. It’s for medical reasons. For your health.”

“Are you sure?”

“Certain.”

Villain nodded hesitantly.

Digging for their powers felt like searching for the name of a childhood friend. A fact once comically simple rendered obscure. It was not where they had left it, not in the place that had once housed a fiery personality and sharp tongue. Instead, they found it buried, among memories and tears and pains long repressed. Among the images of what their face had once looked like, neck unmarred.

From the depths, they retrieved them. The flame struggled to find itself, at first. Flickering and sputtering. But, at last, it steadied itself, and its warmth crept outwards. Flowing into Villain’s palm, to the ends of their fingers.

Though slight, Doctor smiled.

“You make fire. That was all you were, once. Before they knew your name. The pyrokinetic. The arsonist. But you have not been that for a long time. And you are afraid of becoming it, ever again.

You are afraid of destruction. Of burning the foundations of the world until its roof collapses upon you. I know you are. Do not forget that I know you as well as they do.

Flame, it requires three things to be produced. Fuel, heat, and oxygen. You only supply the heat. Do you truly think warmth to be evil? Is goodness epitomized by living in frigid cold?”

It took Villain a moment to realize that they were being asked a question. They blinked, replying:

“I- No. It isn’t.”

“So, if warmth is not evil, then why are you?”

“I make fire-”

“You make warmth. Heat. The mother of all life.”

The grip on Villain’s hand grew stronger, firmer.

“I do not think that you are evil. Even if my opinion means nothing, I thought that you deserved to understand that. Do you understand?”

“I don’t know.”

“You will, I think. When it’s time.”

With that, whatever smile Doctor had managed to produce fell back to its frown. They turned, again.

“Doctor?”

“Yes, Villain?”

They hesitated a moment, their next words catching on the scales of their desert-dry tongue.

“Am I going to die?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I... I don’t know. Hero hasn’t told me yet.”

Doctor stiffened, but did not say anything. For a few moments, they sat once more in silence as the doctor shifted among their equipment. It was Villain who at last spoke up, tone quieter than the buzzing machines around.

“What was the reason, for holding my hand? What were you checking for?”

A chuckle.

“Nothing at all, Villain. Nothing at all.”

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If it was possible, Villain somehow managed to feel lonelier the three days after the incident than usual.

Out of all the things they had gotten used to, they wished desperately that the loneliness was one of them. It was a horrible, overwhelming thing. The only pain that still truly hurt.

Their life was simple, and by many accounts, comfortable. Certainly, the room in which they spent their life was comfortable. Plush blankets and soft mattresses, ivory bookshelves and televisions. Their choice of video entertainment was practically limitless, and their well-organized collection of books ranged from Stephen King to Jane Austin and back again.

It was nice. Comfortable.

Every day, they would wake up, shower, get dressed, and... sit. Just sit. Staring at the television sometimes. Staring at a book at others. But always, they sat. Waiting.

They had long since stopped watching much in the way of TV. Watching the conversations, the love stories, the friendships... it all made them feel sick to their stomach.

At some point, they would be called to lunch. Their time to eat was limited, after which they would be returned to their room until dinner, when the same procedure was repeated. Such a rhythm was only accented by their press appearances, as well as frequent visits to doctors and hair stylists. Maintaining their appearance, or updating it if the current trends so desired.

They were lonely. Horribly, painfully lonely. They couldn’t remember the last time they had talked to a human being. A real one. Or, at least, someone who saw them as a human being, rather than a prop or a canvas. Even their interactions outside of their cage were stilted. Impersonal.

Impersonal, for as far as anyone was anymore concerned, they were no longer a person.

Those three days, however, had somehow managed to be worse. They felt with painful presence that they were no longer being contained, but hidden. Intentionally kept from view.

Their meals were eaten in their cell, now, and their media appearance the day after the attack had been short and nerve-wracking.

Now, on the fourth day, even being dragged from their room and taken to a car felt like a cause for celebration. The guards did not speak to them as much as they spoke orders, but that was okay. It was still speech, still words. That was enough.

The car was the usual one that they were transported in, shoved into the back seat and blocked from the outside by a wall of tinted windows.

At one point in time, in a time that now felt to be ancient history, there had been more security to the vehicle. A system of chains, on their wrists and ankles, securing them firmly to the seat. Once they were out of the base, the Heroes seemed to consider them more dangerous.

Of course, at that point, they were well aware that melting metal was well within Villain’s capabilities.

The metallic substance that Hero created, however, was an exception to that rule. They were unaware if the material had ever been given a name. It was a simple thing, appearing from air itself and being molded into any shape Hero so desired. That shape, from then after, could only be altered by its creator.

It was the only reason they had not simply melted off their collar and fled into the night. The device could not be removed except by those brutish hands.

The same material was used in those shackles that secured them to the seat. They were still there, hanging, useless. Their physical purpose was now secured by a psychological one.

Villain buckled themself in.

The driver was a nobody, one of the many employees that the Heroes maintained on their payroll. Villain wished nothing more than to lean back in their seat, to relax. But they knew that that wasn’t going to happen.

As soon as they had heard the guards’ footsteps outside their door, they had shoved Sidekick’s pillbox into the very bottom of their pocket. Now, they felt it digging into their leg. A tiny, horrible reminder.

Today, they could not relax.

They had spent so long pondering. They were under no obligation to go along with Sidekick’s plan. They had given their word, yes, but their words meant nothing. Their voice was a vector for scripts, and their agreement had not been scripted.

It would be so simple. To get up on stage, perform their tricks, and get off. Keep on the straight and narrow path that they walked so religiously.

In the pit of their stomach, it was what they wanted to do. But the very thought of going back to that cell, of living like a good, well trained mutt, made them feel even sicker than the thought of punishment.

The drive to the event center was not a long one, though it was made considerably more difficult by the throngs of vehicles belonging to both civilians and the press, filling the streets with the smell of gasoline. Originally, the conference had been meant to take place in a local auditorium, but overwhelming demand had switched the venue to a full-on stadium.

Instead of moving to the front parking lot, when the car made it to the building, it instead maneuvered around a small, blocked-off side street, to a lot where only a few vehicles were parked, all marked with the logo of the Organization of Heroes.

Villain’s door was not locked, and they opened it on their own, moving unsupervised and unfettered to the performers’ entrance. The Heroes got out of their own vehicles in turn, moving at their own paces towards the entrance. Watching them, but not exactly closely.

Inside the back entrance was a throng of activity. Cameramen and organizers and makeup artists. A few of the latter began drifting towards Villain, but they did not think that they could stand that overwhelming touch. Not today.

Behind them, the Heroes entered, though they did not speak. They would issue their orders when they were needed.

The minuscule pillbox in their pocket made its presence known by shifting against their leg, sending a dulled shiver through Villain’s spine. Half to escape the approaching artists and half to comfort their own nerves, they quickly ducked into the nearest bathroom.

The cool air and the sound of their feet on tile at least did something to help the warm numbness flooding their fingertips.

Again, Villain could not stop themself from looking in the mirror.

They recognized their face even less. The makeup work to restore their appearance had been extensive, and even now, they felt almost to be staring at a doll.

That’s what they were, wasn’t it?

They wanted to scream.

Instead, they turned on the water, as cold as they could make it, running their hands under the faucet. The second the liquid struck their skin, it fizzled and turned to steam, quickly obscuring the image in the mirror.

Villain breathed as deeply as they could with numb lungs. They willed the heat to retreat from their palms, for the flame to calm itself, but the steam only billowed hotter.

A knock sounded on the door. The steam turned to flame.

“Villain?” A voice called. One of the Heroes. “Are you in there?”

“I’ll be out in a second.” They replied, moving quickly to flush the toilet before returning to the sink. That seemed to satisfy the hero enough, their footsteps heading away.

Their face could no longer be seen in the mirror on account of the fog.

Villain felt their own shaky hand move to their pocket, removing the pillbox and prying it open. Those little round things stared back at them.

They had a choice to make, and for the first time, they made it for themself.

The pills tasted like nothing, dryly sliding down their throat.

Starting from their chest and flooding outwards, they felt the warmth of numbness transform into something hotter, something sour that tore at the edges of their veins. They moved to the toilet, attempting to flush the pillbox, but found that the plastic had already melted in their hand. They washed it down the sink drain, even as the handles warped beneath their fingers.

Villain trembled.

They hadn’t used power enhancers before, had never had access, but the feeling...

Even without looking in the mirror, they knew they were smiling.

It felt like being a villain again.

The doorknob flinched away from them as they turned it, heading back out into the fray. They hardly look at the Heroes who whisked them away, hurriedly instructing them as they hurried towards the stage.

“Just let Hero do the talking.”

“We don’t need your input, this time.”

“Just smile.”

With that, they opened the backstage entrance, and headed up. The stage was relatively makeshift, the kind used when bands performed in the stadium. Despite its lack of permanent nature, the stage lights were sweltering, their heat overwhelming as soon as the door was opened.

Villain loved it.

Wait- What were they thinking?

As the Heroes moved onto the stage, an overwhelming cheer erupted from all sides. When Villain did the same, they were met with concerned muttering.

They gave the widest smile they could.

The stage was open to the air, the fresh air making them feel as though they could finally breathe. They moved to be at Hero’s side, beside a podium.

Of course they were nervous. Performing always made them nervous. Perhaps it wasn’t stage fright, but they always remained terrified that they would make a mistake.

It helped, somewhat, that the bright sun overhead prevented them from seeing the stadium seats that surrounded them. The glare was simply that strong.

The sound of microphones turning on pierced Villain’s ears as they stood at Hero’s side and smiled.

“Thank you, everyone, for being here today.” Hero’s voice was so charming that Villain almost thought, for a moment, that they were kind. “We are so grateful for your concern regarding recent events. I would like to begin by pointing out that, as you can see, Villain is just fine.”

They laid a hand upon their shoulder.

“We are well aware of the rumors of their death. They are completely unfounded. Their recovery is advancing quickly. But that does not mean that they were not harmed, and that does not mean that a criminal is not on the loose.”

A grumbling, groaning noise filled the air-- the breathing of an ancient beast. It took Villain a moment to realize that the noise was coming from above, though looking upwards made them flinch against the sunlight.

The stadium roof, with horrible slowness, ground inwards.

Hero looked up, smile still well on their face. With a joking tone, they stated:

“Looks like we’re expecting some rain. No worries, folks.”

No worries.

Villain felt their weak heart skip a beat in their chest.

They were waiting for the sun to disappear. The throbbing of blood in their veins quickened.

Still with agonizing slowness, the roof, bit by bit, cut out the sunlight-- and more importantly, its glare.

Row by row, person by person, Villain watched as the stadium seats were revealed, along with their occupants. Some were reporters, newspeople, but the majority were civilians. Dressed in casual clothes. Young and old, smiling and frowning, and all innocent.

The roof got louder as it reached its half point.

Heat pumped in their veins with such a force that they worried it would break through their flesh.

They understood, now, what Sidekick wanted. They had asked for chaos, and had given Villain these pills...

They wanted a scene, certainly, but more than that, they wanted a show.

Sidekick wanted Villain to destroy this place. To light the stadium ablaze. They were sure of it.

The roof continued to close, only a hint of sunlight peeking through.

More people. Almost every seat was filled.

Villain felt heat gather in their fingertips.

They swallowed.

Were they a hero, or a villain?

What was the real difference?

The roof closed, and the sun disappeared.

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What should our Whumpee do? It’s up to you to decide!

There are two options, each one leading to a separate story branch. To vote, feel free to use any means you would like to contact me. Replying or reblogging this post works just fine, as does PMing me directly or sending me an ask. I am unsure when I will be writing the next part, so as long as the next part hasn’t been posted yet, voting is still open!

I will choose the story path based on which option has more votes. This time, I do not have any questions to go along with the options (mostly just cause I couldn’t think of any oops,) but feel free to add any ideas you would like! The choices and questions for this part are as follows:

A) You are a villain, go through with the plan and burn the stadium B) You are a hero, continue the press conference as normal

@whumpilicious has recommended a third option for this choice:

C) You are an antihero, attack Hero specifically

If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to contact me. This is my first time doing anything like this, so I apologize if it’s odd or confusing ^^

[random-tinies]

Crowza - 2

Hey, I’m on AO3 too! It’ll be the first thing updated when I finish a chapter from now on, but only by like, a few hours. :P I’ll be updating this fic on the first of every month so you guys know when to expect it next. This was sitting in my Docs almost done for weeks and I finally sat down and went “I’m writing the rest of this.” and did it, so here’s chapter two!

Previous | Next 

AO3 Link 

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Sunlight filters through the branches and leaves of the old oak. Phil lifts a wing over his face, grumbling about how the sun is always at the perfect angle to blind him every morning. Of course, he does this song and dance every spring. He’s not exactly an early bird, which is why he never blocks it. It helps him get up in the morning.

The tiny bird hybrid resigns to his fate and sits up, blinking blearily at his old home. A torn picture of his boys hangs on the far end of the hollow. He grins, happy to be greeted by their faces. The photo had been yoinked last year when it fell out of Tommy’s jacket during one of his more daring excursions. Always so chaotic, that one, Philza chuckles to himself as the thought crosses his mind. Good memories.

He walks to his stash of nuts and jerky and various other bits of food he collected and preserved the autumn before migration. He crafts a quick granola bar, thanking his lucky stars that chocolate is so easily preserved, and enjoys a sweet homemade breakfast. Pleased chirps escape him as he basks in the perfect simplicity of it all.

Today is full of plans. A lot can happen in a few months and Phil needs to make sure there’s no new predators in the area that might get the jump on him, so he’s going to patrol the area. His territory needs to be safe. He’s always very careful about going about this. It’s rare, but if humans decide to start building near him, he’d need to know.

That and he needs somewhere to get coffee. He’d think that centuries of drinking the stuff would convince him to invent a tiny coffee machine, but why create something that will break eventually when he can just sneak into a human’s house and borrow enough to last him a month of two? Of course, he won’t be borrowing that much today, but the next time all three boys leave the house, he’s certainly going to stock up. Today, he just needs a little pick-me-up.

Phil walks to the edge of his home and ducks under the branches protecting it from outsiders, then hops up them like a staircase to get the best vantage point to take off flying. A low mist hovers over the pine forest, the sun’s rays burning away at it and painting the morning in brilliant hues of gold. Phil launches himself into the air, powerful flaps disturbing the mist and sending him high above the trees. The sky above is void of clouds as he spreads his wings and coasts. The air he breathes chills his lungs but the morning sun provides a warm contrast to the feeling. Appreciation for the peace fills his chest as if it were something physical.

Spring truly is his favorite season. The crisp scent of pines and melting snow permeates the air. A few shy birds send their song up, declaring their presence to the world. This is home, this is where he loves to be, where he longs to be every winter when he has to migrate south. Occasionally, a crow joins him in the air, lazily flapping in the soft breeze.

Phil casts his eyes towards the ground, watching for any stray movements. He’d heard of mountain lions moving into the area from Kristin. They’re fleeing the forest fires west of them, she’d said. She thought maybe they were the cause of the odd feeling she has and Phil was inclined to agree, but you can never be too careful. Eventually, after finding nothing, he flies to the humble house his boys call home.

When the birdman reaches the cabin that houses his boys and nothing is amiss, he decides to land in a nearby tree and rest. The sun had climbed to about midday and he has yet to find anything that would tip him off. He fluffs his feathers as a chill sets in, the branches and needles of the tree warding off the sunlight, and takes out some squirrel jerky he packed for lunch. Perhaps it simply isn’t time to find this ominous omen Kristin gave him and he’s jumping the gun.

The door to the home opens and two people step out. It’s the blonde and brunette from the previous day. Philza watches them as they talk about something with low voices. It’s a bit odd to hear the youngest one talking so softly. Tommy’s usually boisterous and loud, throwing banter back and forth with Wilbur and giving the occasional sibling shove.

Philza hums as he takes another bite of jerky. When he goes on his coffee run inside the house, perhaps he’ll look for any clues. The thought that something could be wrong with them twists a knot of worry in his stomach. A chill goes down his spine as he realizes he hasn’t seen Techno out and about these last few days. He forgets any plans to raid the house later and throws all caution to the wind. Oh Ender, please let him be okay and not deathly ill or something.

Tommy and Wilbur climb into the red pickup next to their house and drive away. Phil immediately swoops down out of his tree and soars the short distance to the old cabin, flapping to slow himself so he can land quietly. It was his saving grace that they like to decorate the windows so he doesn’t crash into them all the time. He flap-hops around the house until he finds a window cracked open and slowly opens it further so he can crawl inside. It’s harder to find open windows further into the season since so many bugs come out.

He listens hard and looks around for any movement, staying stock still.

Nothing, the house is silent, save for the crackle of the fireplace.

He carefully steps in further, wings poised to take off at any given moment. The inside is just as cozy as the outside. The walls are decorated with photos of the trio, of a family Philza has watched grow up over the years. It’s surprisingly clean, the hand-knitted rainbow blanket folded over the back of the old leather couch. It smells like pine smoke and coffee, and bacon. Phil would find it funny if he wasn’t so worried for Techno at that moment. He hops about the living room, making his way towards the kitchen. If he can’t find anything here, he may as well get some coffee.

There’s nothing amiss on the coffee table. Phil’s claws leave tiny indentations on the softwood as he walks across it. The lamp next to him offers a little bit of light but he can see fine with the natural light coming through the windows. There’s an ad for an animal shelter in the newspaper, a comic making fun of teenagers with phones, news of the new president, and an article about a pipeline being built sometime next year. The birdman frowns at that, making a mental note. He’ll need to put an end to that before it ruins his home. He shakes his head. Right now is not the time! He needs to see if there’s anything wrong! His gaze gets caught by the fashion magazine open to a page on robes and turns a few pages, admiring the modern clothes that differ so much from his own- Oh right! Techno!

He flaps into the kitchen and trots across the counter towards the calendar hanging on the fridge. Today is circled in red with the word “ADOPTION” in messy, bold lettering. Adoption? Techno and Wilbur aren’t married, right? They can’t adopt children, right? Confusion replaces the worry in his mind but he shrugs. As far as Phil can tell by all the clues, Techno isn’t in any danger and it’s safe to get some coffee from the pot on the counter opposite of him. He hops over and crouches on the edge, dipping his rabbit-skin waterskin in and filling it full of the delicious drug.

There’s a cough from upstairs in the attic and Philza nearly jumps out of his skin. His feet slip on the edge of the pot and his wings flare out to make up for the sudden loss of balance. The mug next to him falls off the counter and shatters on the linoleum flooring with a loud crash. Oh god, oh fuck. There’s no way Techno didn’t hear that. The bird hybrid quickly reaches into the pot and retrieves his waterskin and swiftly flies back to the window, heart pounding.

He knows he’s leaving a few feathers behind, but it doesn’t matter as long as he himself doesn’t get caught. He can hear the telltale creaks of a ladder as he takes off into the open air again, inhaling deeply and landing back in his tree. What was he thinking?! Going to check on one of the beans?! He put himself in unnecessary danger just for some person he got way too attached to!

From the safety of his branch, Phil watches Techno shut the window he’d made his escape from. The piglin hybrid seems fine, no hint of any severe illnesses. The cough didn’t even sound that bad, like he was just clearing his throat. That was too close. He can’t let it happen again. Phil takes a swig of his coffee and flies off to keep scouting out his territory. I’m going to give myself a nice preen tonight, he thinks as he coasts over the trees. That nearly gave me a heart attack.

He goes back to doing his routine check-ups and patrolling around his territory, promising himself he would do better to keep himself safe. Surely he’s not losing his edge, right? Surely not…

[sweetprettygeek]

Whumptober Prompt 5

I’VE GOT RED IN MY LEDGER

betrayal | misunderstanding | broken nose

 Fandom: Harry Potter

Whumpee: Sirius Black

Sirius slowly turns the key until his bike’s engine sounds like a simmering potion. He looks up at Peter’s flat. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. There’s candlelight spilling from the windows and clumps of windswept leaves around the doorstep. He can hear the excited squeals of children on the next street over as they run from house to house chanting trick or treat!

The war has made him paranoid. That’s why the flickering shadows make his stomach feel cold. That’s why the rustling wind feels thick and sickly around him. That’s why the happy, innocent shrieks sound too much like screams for his liking.

It’s the war. The darkness. It’s been a poison to minds much wiser and more experienced than his, warping and distorting their fears until they saw peril lurking behind every corner. But there’s no danger here. It’s Halloween and he’s visiting a friend. There’s absolutely no reason to be ill at ease. He’s just being foolish and jumpy.

That’s what Sirius decides as he pulls the key out completely. His bike stutters to a stop and he slips the key into his coat pocket. He dismounts and heads up the walkway to Peter’s door, ignoring the needling sensation that crawls up his spine and prickles his neck. He does shift his arm against his hip to make sure his wand is there—just a precaution. It’s highly unlikely that Death Eaters would bother with someone like Peter, but they are getting more brazen lately. It doesn’t hurt to be cautious. Constant vigilance and all that.

It’s a good thing he’s here, really. He could protect Peter if things did go sideways.

He taps his pattern against the door—they all have a secret knock—and waits. It only takes a moment for the door to open. Sirius sees one round cheek, one dark eye, and half of a pointed nose through the crack. “Sirius?” a high voice squeaks.

“Were you expecting someone else?”

Peter doesn’t laugh at his lame quip, just shakes his head and opens the door wider. “Come in, come in,” he emphasizes with a beckoning hand. Sirius does just that, squeezing through the narrow opening between Peter and the doorframe. Peter quickly shuts the door behind them and clicks no less than three locks into place. It’s almost a relief to know he’s not the most anxious one in the room.

“No offense Pete, but I don’t think those locks will keep a Death Eater out,” Sirius snorts. It’s another terrible joke, but teasing Peter is relaxing him. His nose fills with the gentle, wafting aroma of warm vanilla and he breathes it in deeply, releasing tension on the exhale.

“They’re reinforced,” Peter replies softly. “Runic magic.”

Sirius’s nods absently. “I see. Slow them down and keep the element of surprise for yourself. Nice.” He plops himself onto a wooden chair in Peter’s cozy little kitchen and leans back. “It’s a quiet Halloween this year, huh?”

“Yes.” Peter remains by the kitchen door, fidgeting with his hands.

“Not like when we were at Hogwarts, eh?” Sirius continues, trying to distract them both with memories of better times. “Remember the year we charmed all the sinks to run red water? I think MacDonald almost died of fright.”

Peter nods. It’s not the reaction Sirius hoped for, so he tries again. “What about the year we swapped all the Slytherin’s candy apples for candy onions?”

Peter’s lips twitch into a small smile. “Or the army of cursed dolls,” he adds.

Sirius tosses back his head and laughs. “They were popping out of cabinets for weeks!” He shakes his head fondly. “We’ll have a proper Halloween next year, with plenty of tricks and treats. Harry should be old enough to remember by then, so we’ll have to go all out.”

Peter stops smiling. His face pales.

“Are you feeling all right, Pete?” Sirius cocks his head. “You seem a bit off tonight.”

“I’m fine. It’s just—” Peter presses a hand to his belly and groans. “Stomach ache.”

“Pete! The candy is for the kids!” Sirius hops off his chair. “For the sake of health and welfare, I’ll have to confiscate all sweets on these premises.” He takes another whiff of the delicious air and purrs. “I’ll start with whatever you have brewing on the stove over there!”

That perks Peter right up. “You want to try some? It’s very good. Warm milk with vanilla and pumpkin spice.”

“You had me at ‘you want to try some,’” Sirius grins. “Pour us both a mug.”

“I think…” Peter presses a hand over his mouth. “I think I should wait awhile before drinking more.”

“You already had some? Pete, you’re such a child sometimes.” He rolls his eyes affectionately and accepts the steaming cup Peter serves him. “Oh well. You could have worse habits.”

The mug is warm in Sirius’s hands. He closes his eyes and slowly inhales the fragrant spices that waft up to embrace him. His favorite is the scent of vanilla. It’s the warm blanket, the cozy fireplace, the snuggle-hug of smells. Back in fifth year, he’d almost failed an assignment to make Amortentia because the soothing aroma had lulled him to sleep. His potion would have burned had Lily not chosen that moment to scold him for dozing in class.

Sirius raises the cup to his lips and takes a sip. It tastes as delicious as it smells—the blend of cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and ginger perfectly complementing the vanilla and spreading a pleasant toasty sensation through his insides. He sighs, content and comfortable. “All right, Pete. I can see how you drank enough of this to get sick. It’s one of the best things I’ve ever tasted.”

“Drink as much as you want,” Peter coaxes him. “There’s plenty more.”

Sirius is happy to oblige. He takes longer sips, draining half of the mug. It’s still delicious, but he begins picking up the undercurrent of something bitter in his drink. It doesn’t ruin the flavor, but the sour note becomes noticeable the longer he drinks. Peter probably got distracted and let the milk curdle. Sirius decides to finish this cup, then politely decline any offers for a refill.

“Would you like some more?” Peter asks when he places the empty mug on the table.

Sirius’s tongue feels heavy, like it’s covered in paste. “No. Thanks.”

“Something else, then?” Peter’s voice grows reedy. “Maybe some shortbread?”

“Sure. That sounds—”

“Incarcerous!”

Black cords appear from somewhere behind Sirius. They wrap tightly around his wrists and ankles, binding him to the kitchen chair. More cords secure him around the shoulders and upper torso, cutting off any attempts to struggle. Sirius’s body reflexively fights against the unexpected threat. His mind, however…

There’s an immense pressure in his head. The crushing heaviness closes around his brain, strangling every rational thought. Sirius’s heart beats rapidly, urging him to remember the counter-charm to release his bonds. He knows he knows it. But his brain is being wrung out like a sponge, everything but his vital functions ruthlessly squeezed away.

He can’t shake the thick fog in his head away. He’ll have to follow his body’s lead and act on instinct. He diverts energy from wrestling with his mind to working open his tight jaw. “Eman—”

“Orisobtruo. Boy, how many times have I told you? When you use the Binding Spell, you can’t wait to muzzle them until the end.” A familiar, wicked voice fills the air and chills Sirius’s blood. His neck whips back and forth and he shouts wildly into the gag that wraps around his mouth. “A more ruthless opponent will turn you to ashes, with the time you take.”

“Go easy on the kid, Bella.” Sirius also knows this deeper voice. He tries to kick, to rock the chair, to get any kind of leverage. Knuckles press into his back when he leans; there must be a hand on the chair keeping it upright. “Even if Black got loose, he couldn’t put up a fight in this state.”

“Fools who underestimate their opponents wind up dead.” A figure circles around Sirius and forces his chin up at wandpoint. Bellatrix sneers down at him, her dark eyes glittering with fiendish delight. “I won’t make that mistake, cousin. Believe me.”

He glares at her, attempting to ignite her curly hair with his mind, but his attention catches on something else. Just behind his cousin’s shoulder is the plump form of Peter Pettigrew, frozen in shock. Sirius yells muffled warnings at him, tries to communicate with his eyes that Peter needs to Run! Get out of here! Peter doesn’t budge. His eyes meet Sirius’s.

Dread weighs heavy in Sirius’s stomach. Peter looks fearful, but he doesn’t look frightened. Sirius has known him long enough to understand the distinction.

Fearful is going into final exams without properly studying. It’s sitting in McGonagall’s office as she interrogates them about their latest prank. It’s listening to Dumbledore speak during Order meetings, his sheer power commanding the room and reminding them that he is the greatest wizard alive

Frightened was watching Remus transform for the first time. Frightened was finding the mutilated body of their Muggle-born Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Frightened was facing down a pack of hooded, masked figures with green light perched at the end of their wands.

Peter is neither surprised nor threatened by the group of Death Eaters in his flat. His shoulders sag. His expression settles into quiet acceptance.

There’s a traitor in the Order.

Sirius’s eyes widen. The pounding in his chest stops short.

It can’t be.

“Ah,” A smirk curls Bellatrix’s lips into a bow. “Did you finally figure it out? I hoped you would. I wanted to see the look on your face.”

If Sirius’s face looks anything like his heart feels, he must be a pitiful sight. A torrent of emotions bombards him, pulling him under relentless waves of shock…disbelief…anger…hurt.

Peter is a Death Eater.

Peter Pettigrew. Wormtail. Their friend. Their friend of nine years.

A traitor. A spy. A follower of Voldemort.

How? When? Why? How long?

The bands around his mouth are tied too tightly. He tastes blood where his teeth dig into his lips. He can’t ask any of the questions swirling around his muddled mind.

Peter’s face and Bellatrix’s gleeful one merge in his vision. The composite points a wand at him and mouths something he can’t make out.

A searing agony burns through Sirius’s bones and then darkness takes him.

---

He wakes screaming.

His torso is impaled on a dozen serrated spikes which move back and forth, sawing away at his insides. His hands are nailed together at the palm and wrist, his feet at the ankles and arch. An invisible force has his arms and legs in a vice grip that crushes each of his bones one at a time, increasing the pain exponentially. If he tries to pull his limbs free, the nails tear jagged through muscles and flesh. His fingers are smashed, the fingernails torn out one-by-one; the process repeats with his toes, toenails ripped individually from bloody beds. A garotte screws tighter and tighter around his neck, causing his lungs to spasm and throb. A dowel has been shoved in through one ear and out the other, cutting off all sounds except his anguished wailing. There’s a fire in his eye sockets that burns viciously, boiling his eyeballs in their own fluid.

He thrashes desperately against the pain, which intensifies the very suffering he wants to escape. He’s being crushed, mangled, torn apart. He can’t get away from the pain. It’s inside him. It is him. He has no name, no memories, no identity. Where he is or who he is doesn’t matter. He’s been consumed by the never-ending agony that invades his every pore and rewrites who he is down to the cellular level. He’s nothing—just a slave to a merciless master. A lowly being who exists only to be tortured. It hurts so unimaginably. He wants it to end. He wants to die.

Then suddenly, without warning, the torment stops.

Sirius comes to himself, gasping and spluttering for air. His hearing returns with a loud pop, like he’s surfaced from deep underwater. He’s exhausted and cold. Every bit of him aches. He looks down. There are no spikes or nails—no torture implements of any kind. His bare feet are chained together and suspended a few inches off the floor. He’s lost his coat and shirt. His arms are secured above his head, presumably by more chains. Aside from a few bruises and scrapes, he has no visible injuries.

He knows he was hurt, but there’s not a mark on him.

“Ease up, Bellatrix,” a velvety voice slithers into his ears. “I will be very angry if you break his mind before I get the information I need.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

His head snaps up. His vision sharpens. The damp, dimly-lit room is filled with black-clad specters. On the right he sees Bellatrix and the Lestranges with a younger boy—all four grinning nastily. On the left are two more figures, their faces obscured by shadow. And in the middle of the room, eye-to-eye and just feet away from Sirius, is the ringleader himself.

The haze in Sirius’s mind clears and he remembers what happened. He realizes how he got here and why he has no wounds. He also knows what it is they want from him.

He presses his lips together in a thin line. He’s not telling them anything.

“So happy you could join us, Sirius Black.” Voldemort smiles coldly at him. It makes Sirius’s stomach churn. “You are comfortable, I hope?”

Sirius glares at him silently.

“I see you’re not one for small talk,” Voldemort chuckles. “Very well. Let’s skip these pleasantries and get down to business, shall we?” He turns and motions one of the shadowy figures forward with a bony white finger. “Come here, Wormtail.”

A hot prickle runs up Sirius’s spine. That’s their nickname. Voldemort has no right to use it. And Peter—shuffling cowardly out of the corner where he’d hidden—had no right to put it in the mouths of Death Eater scum.

When Peter is within arm’s reach, Voldemort places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. Peter tenses and his Adam’s apple jumps. “Wormtail here had something very interesting to tell me the other day.” Voldemort’s casual tone is undermined by the smug cruelty in his eyes. “He says you’re the Potter’s Secret-Keeper.”

Sirius turns his angry expression on Peter. His old friend has the decency to drop his eyes and stare at the floor.

Sirius’s chest hurts like someone thrust their hand in and ripped something out. How could Peter do this to him? To James and Lily? To Harry? How long has he been planning to betray them? Since before Harry’s birth? James and Lily’s wedding? Their Hogwarts graduation?

Peter knew he’d been lonely and stir-crazy since becoming Secret-Keeper. Peter knew how to get him to relax and lower his defenses. Peter knew that he hated Bellatrix Lestrange and the perverse pleasure she took in causing him misery.

He remembers Peter fastening the runic locks on his door.  He remembers the bitter taste in his drink.

Sirius feels sick. He feels violated and used. His childhood friend sold him to a deranged murderer. And for what? Nothing he could have gained from this seems worth it.

“If you would be so kind, Sirius,” —he hates the way his name drips off Voldemort’s tongue like poison— “you would save everyone in this room a great deal of time and trouble by telling us where the Potters are.”

“I don’t care about your time or your trouble,” Sirius snaps with a hoarse voice. “In fact, you and everyone else in this room can go to hell for all I care.”

Voldemort’s eyes glint. He makes a slashing motion with his wind. A sharp, stinging pain blooms across Sirius’s chest, from his collarbone to below his ribs. He bites his swollen bottom lip to cut off the reflexive hiss that follows.

“Now, now. That isn’t very polite,” Voldemort shakes his head, feigning disappointment. “I know you were raised to have better manners than that. Your brother was always so well-behaved.”

Sirius inhales sharply as the old wound that was Regulus flares up. Their relationship had broken irreparably, but he still has a few memories from before his brother had been corrupted by their parents. Those memories are enough to make the loss of Regulus ache within him. They are enough to make him furious with Voldemort for mentioning him, for reminding Sirius that Regulus had been nothing but a disposable pawn to a monster.

“Why do you resist?” Voldemort asks, breaking Sirius’s tense and angry silence. He glides closer and presses a clammy hand to Sirius’s cheek. Sirius fights the urge to squirm. The Lestrange faction would find that hilarious. “Why choose to suffer? No matter what you do, we will find the Potters eventually.”

“You’ll find sod all unless I tell you where to go. So I guess you’re out of luck.”

He expects Voldemort to be angry, to hit him with another spell. He doesn’t expect the dark wizard to look amused. “How long do you think you can last?” The hand on his cheek slips up into his hair. Sirius growls, but they both know it’s a bark with no bite to back it up. “Everyone has a breaking point. It’s just a matter of finding yours, Padfoot.”

Sirius’s gut twists with rage.

The nerve. The sheer bloody nerve.

That’s what James calls him. It was never meant for this creature to have.  

He spits in Voldemort’s face.

He gets no satisfaction seeing his own fury reflected back at him. “Confractus!” Voldemort snarls, pointing his wand at Sirius’s arm.

There’s a loud crunch and Sirius cries out—doesn’t get to breathe before his first scream is interrupted by another.

His entire body weight is suspended from his arms. Pulling himself up shreds his wrists and has his muscles howling with strain and exhaustion. If he lets go and hangs, the fetters pop his shoulders, threatening to wrench them from their sockets. His lungs compress painfully, unable to expand when his stretched arms squeeze his chest cavity. Wounded little gasps punch out of his chest as he struggles to draw breath. And none of this is helped by one of his arms being weak and injured.

“I see you still don’t understand your position.” Voldemort takes a step back, vanishing the spittle from his face with a wrist flick. “Let me explain it to you. You will be kept here and tortured day and night until you are willing to give me the secret. Should that fail to produce results, I will turn to other methods. Perhaps we can coax the Potters out of hiding if we send you back to them one piece at a time. Or maybe we’ll invite one of your Order friends to come and visit you. Wormtail,” he casts a glance at Peter over his shoulder, “what is the werewolf’s name?”

“Remus Lupin,” he answers without hesitation.

“You no-good lying, scheming, dirty rotten, pathetic coward!” Sirius shrieks at him. “You are a dead man, you hear me? Dead!”

The thought of gentle, troubled Remus in the hands of these savages is unthinkable. Sirius is horrified that Peter could out their innocent friend so easily. The very reason Sirius became Secret-Keeper was to keep his friends away from this mess. Now, thanks to Peter, they were all in danger.

Remus will never let Sirius break the Fidelius to save him. And Sirius cannot sacrifice three lives to save one. He will have to watch as Remus is tortured and killed and be powerless to stop it.

“We need not resort to that,” Voldemort offers, false reassurance poorly cloaking calculating manipulation. “Tell me where the Potters are and no one else will come to harm.”

It’s an outright lie, and it knocks Sirius out of his tormented mental spiral. Betraying the Potters will not guarantee safety for Remus or anyone else he loves. He could give Voldemort the secret right now and Remus could still be taken by Snatchers or murdered by enemy werewolves or blown up in a terrorist attack or killed by an overzealous Auror. His family is at risk as long as the war continues and giving up the secret won’t change that. All Sirius can do is protect James and Lily and hope Remus will be protected in turn.

“Hang your threats,” Sirius pants. “Hang your cult and your war. Hang your rubbish beliefs. And hang you, maggot-meal.”

Voldemort’s eyes turn blood-red and he swishes his wand upward. An explosive pain tears through one side of Sirius’s chest, reducing him to choked tears.

“You fool. I suppose you fancy yourself very brave, but you will beg for death in the end. I assure you.” His dark robes billow as he turns his back on Sirius. “Severus, see if you can loosen his tongue.”

Sirius is appalled and disgusted, but ultimately unsurprised, when his old enemy steps from the shadows. Snape’s face is impassive, but his eyes blaze with a festered hatred. Sirius wonders if he’s been waiting, ever since he became a Death Eater, for this very moment. The tables have turned, and now he has all the power. Sirius is completely at his mercy.

Maybe Snape will go overboard and kill him. Unlikely—Sirius’s luck has never been that good. But he can hope.

“My lord, please give the blood traitor to me!” Bellatrix begs. “I know how to break him better than anyone!”

“I don’t doubt it,” Voldemort replies with a glance in her direction. “In fact, I fear you would do the job too well, Bellatrix. Extracting a secret from an unwilling Secret Keeper is a delicate business, better suited to Severus. I have need of your service elsewhere.”

Bellatrix’s expression changes from disappointed to gleeful. “I am yours to command, my lord.”

“Come,” he motions to his followers. “We must work quickly, before word reaches Dumbledore’s fools that Black has been captured.” Sirius is all too ready to see Bellatrix leave; her constant groveling is making him nauseous. But then Voldemort turns his head just enough to catch Sirius’s eye. Just far enough that Sirius can see the end of his lips draw into a smirk. Sirius knows he is going to hate whatever comes out of that foul mouth next.

“Wormtail.”

“Yes, my lord!” Peter squeaks. It’s such a little thing to dwell on, but Voldemort’s continued use of Peter’s nickname makes Sirius grind his teeth together. It’s salt in an open wound. And he would rather listen to nails on a blackboard than hear Peter sycophantically respond to it.

“Send word to your friend Lupin that Black was supposed to meet you and never showed. Ask him to meet you somewhere in private. Tell him…yes, tell him that you suspect the Potters to be in danger.”

Sirius’s blood boils. They likely planned his capture in the same fashion. He’d waltzed right into it, blissfully unaware. They’re going to use Remus’s loyalty and protective nature to lure him into the same trap. And—

“Yes.” Peter’s head bobs. “Yes, my lord.”

—Peter, their friend and brother, is going to help them do it.

Why? Why? Sirius still doesn’t understand. What happened, to make Peter turn against them this way? What offense had they committed that would justify this betrayal?

When Voldemort dismisses Peter with a wave of his hand, his dark eyes meet Sirius’s for a moment. In the dim light, Sirius scrutinizes his face, looking for some kind of sign or answer. There’s none of Bellatrix’s sadistic pleasure in his expression. None of Snape’s anger. None of the Lestranges’ disgust.

He looks…regretful, perhaps. But not frantic. There’s that pained acceptance in his face again, like he’s already resigned himself to everything that will result from his actions. He doesn’t look like he wants to do it, but there’s resolve that says he definitely will do it.

Sirius realizes that Peter isn’t doing this out of spite or anger. He isn’t motivated by revenge or by cruelty. He’s doing it for one simple reason: their lives are not worth saving at the cost of his own. Fear and cowardice are the roots of his treachery, and ones Sirius should have noticed long before.

Because Peter has always hidden behind the strength, intelligence, or bravery of his friends. None of them minded because there was a tradeoff. Peter was protected and James got attention. Remus got to be needed. And Sirius finally had someone in his life who was completely nonthreatening.

He’s ashamed. He’s ashamed to be afraid.

Maybe that’s something he and Peter have in common.

“Don’t…don’t do this…” he rasps, desperately trying to reach that remorseful part of his former friend. “If I have to die, fine…but please. They’re…our family, Peter. You can’t.”

Peter swallows hard. His expression twitches uneasily. He takes a deep breath, then shakes his head. He turns away from Sirius, ignoring the pleas that turn into screams and not turning around once. Not even when the door slams shut behind him with the finality of a coffin lid.

[kaimelia]

Heartbeats (Ch 5)

a/n: hi! sorry for the delay with this...but it’s back!

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

Amelia grimaced as she tied the back of her husband's hospital gown, wincing at the sight of his pale skin. He'd definitely lost weight, even if it had only been a few weeks since he started chemo. She sighed and dropped her hand from his back, lightly tracing down his spine as she did so. "You're feeling okay?" Link turned to face her.

"Not really." He sat down on the bed, running his hand over the neatly made sheets on the bed. Amelia crossed her arms as she watched him.

"So, we haven't really talked since our fight."

"Do we have time for this right now?" She cringed and looked down into her lap, where her hands were neatly folded over each other, her thumb absentmindedly running over the back of her hand. "Teddy said she would be coming in soon to examine me before surgery." Amelia nodded, grabbing her phone from her purse. She'd spent the past week sleeping in the guest room, avoiding any time where the two of them might be alone in fear of the fight that would break out between them.

"I'll bring Scout to come and visit after surgery. Once you're cleared, of course." Link smirked at his wife.

"As long as I don't look too scary," he muttered, pulling the thin blanket over his legs. "If there are too many wires, he might freak out and think I'm a robot now."

"I think he'll be fine. He kept asking me what parts of your body they're going to cut open; he's a pretty gruesome kid." They both laughed momentarily, freezing like statues when the door was pushed open.

"Hey, we just need to take some blood before surgery and examine you again," Teddy spoke, walking towards Link. He sat up and held his arm out. "Hopefully, the poking and prodding will stop soon," she joked, inserting a needle into his arm.

"I'm surprised I've got any left; it feels like someone comes in here to take blood every hour."

"Well, you're a pretty good sport." Teddy pulled off her gloves, closing the vial of blood and placing it down on her cart. "I'll send an intern to check on you in about an hour, and then I'll be here to take you up to surgery at noon." She rubbed Link's shoulder lightly in support before exiting the room, leaving Amelia to pull a stool over to the bed.

"I told my parents," he confessed, taking her hand in his. "They were really freaked out, my mom cried, and my dad went silent, so you've gotta keep them updated during surgery." Her free hand moved to the side of Link's face, and she kissed him slowly, pulling back and resting her forehead against his.

"Thank you. For telling them," she whispered. Link could feel the smile that was playing across her lips as he leaned up to kiss her again, his hand wrapping around her head to pull her down to him. "Mm," she moaned at the familiar feeling of her husband's lips on hers.

"I missed you." His voice was low as he pulled her closer to him, Amelia throwing one of her legs over his body on the hospital bed so she was straddling him.

"Oh, crap, I'll come back," a voice spoke from the doorway. The couple broke apart quickly, Amelia almost falling off the bed as she pulled back just for Link's hand to wrap around her back and catch her.

"Nico, I didn't realize you were coming," Link muttered, steadying his wife as she stood up. "Sorry, now is fine." The other orthopedic surgeon shook his head in amusement and approached Link, pulling his stethoscope from his neck.

"Your heart rate is elevated; any explanation for that?" Nico teased, pulling up the chart on the tablet. "But, everything looks fine. Surgery should only take about 4 hours, and I'll have Levi make sure to text you updates," he motioned towards Amelia. "And again. We're not looking for complete margins today; we're just hoping to remove enough of the cancer to stop it from spreading further around your body while you continue chemo."

"You say that like I haven't done this surgery myself," Link mused, grabbing Amelia's hand.

"It's different when you're the patient. I'm still required to explain everything in simple terms and make sure that you both understand." Nico entered the man's blood pressure into the tablet and shut it off. "Any questions?"

"Can I sign a DNR before surgery?" Amelia's jaw dropped, and her eyebrows rose up to the ceiling as she released her husband's hand.

"What?"

"I'll have a nurse bring that in for you," Nico muttered, quickly excusing himself from the room. The door locked shut, and Amelia made eye contact with Link.

"What is this about a DNR?" He sighed, scooching over in the bed to create space for her.

"Look, I've been doing a lot of thinking, and if anything happens, I don't want you to have to hold onto some tiny strand of hope that I might one day get better." Link watched a tear roll down her face. "Amelia, please don't cry. This surgery is just to remove some of the cancer; I'm not going to die during it. I just want to start making sure that everything will be taken care of if something does happen in the future."

"I just wish you had told me before. I need to know what's going on with everything, especially what you're thinking about."

"I called our lawyer and got my will in order. Mine hadn't been updated since the pandemic." He placed a hand under her chin, tilting her face to look at him. "Amelia, what you said the other week made me feel terrible. I haven't been checking in on you as much as I should be, and I know this is insanely difficult for you, too." She glanced down at his arm, her lips forming a pout. "So, I want to make sure that if everything goes to shit and something happens to me, you'll both be okay. Everything will be taken care of, and all you'll have to do is take care of each other."

"Link, please don't talk like that," Amelia nearly cried out, whimpering as she placed her hand on his chest. "I don't want to think about that, okay?" He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and brought her closer to his body.

"Okay, let's just lay here for a little while, okay? I'm not going anywhere, Amelia."

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

"Schmitt says they'll be closing up soon," Meredith rubbed her hand up and down her sister's back. "He's alright, Amelia." The brunette pursed her lips, running her hands through her hair.

"Am I gonna freak out every time he has surgery? Cause they've got, like, three more planned as of now, and if this happens every time, I think I might have a heart attack."

"I was almost convinced you were going to have a panic attack for a minute there. We'll find some distractions or do some fancy breathing techniques." Amelia grinned and pulled her phone out of her pocket. "When are you heading home?"

"Uh, I'll wait for Link to wake up and stay with him a bit. Scout's a little terrified, though, so I'm gonna bring him tomorrow when Link looks less like a zombie." She dragged her fingers over the seams of the couch in the attendings' lounge, glancing up at her sister. "Thank you for staying with me."

"Of course."

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

"Hey, look who's awake," Amelia whispered, cupping her husband's face with her hand. He smiled tiredly and brought his hand up to cover hers.

"Hey," his voice was hoarse as he spoke. "How did it go?"

"As planned, they got decent margins, and now you're sentenced back to chemo for the next few weeks." She sat down on the side of the bed. "How do you feel?"

"Like I just woke up from surgery, and I'm super high on painkillers," he muttered, a wider grin showing on his face. "How long until I can go home?"

"You've got a day or two here. I'm heading home in a bit to go comfort Scout; he's still not convinced that you're not dead, even though Maggie got him pizza and spent the afternoon with him explaining that surgery went fine." He nodded, holding an arm open.

"Come cuddle," he moaned tiredly, shoving his face back down into the pillow.

"I have to leave soon. You're not the only one I have to take care of here, just one of many men in my life," she teased, slowly easing herself down into his embrace. "Just for a little bit."

"Mm. I love you, Amelia."

"You are on so many painkillers," she joked, kissing his hand. "But, I love you too."

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

"Mommy!" Amelia grinned and kneeled down to greet her son, her arms spread widely before she embraced him tightly, kissing the side of his head.

"Hey, Scout," she picked him up, balancing the boy on her hip. "How was your day with Aunt Maggie?" Amelia made eye contact with Maggie and grinned widely, mouthing a quick 'Thank you' before Maggie excused herself, brushing her hand over her sister's shoulder as a goodbye.

"We went to the park, and Aunt Maggie got ice cream for us!" She smiled and walked into the living room, her mouth dropping at the sight in front of her.

"And what is this?"

"We made a pillow fort!" She set Scout down and got onto her hands and knees, crawling into the entrance of the fort. Scout followed her in and grabbed the stuffed giraffe past the opening, clinging it to his chest and laying onto the floor that had been covered in pillows and blankets. "Is Daddy okay?"

"Yeah, didn't Aunt Maggie tell you? They cut into his chest," she reached over to tickle her son's chest, "and took out some of the cancer so that Daddy can feel better." He giggled as she continued to tickle him, rolling over in the small area. Once she stopped, Scout moved to cuddle into her side, tucking his giraffe in between them.

"When do I see Daddy?"

"Tomorrow, once he's recovered a bit from surgery." She glanced down at him to see him sucking on his thumb, a nervous habit he'd developed, and they'd tried hard to get rid of. "Hey, Daddy's okay," her voice fell to a whisper, and she pulled Scout closer to her body.

"It's scary when Daddy has surgery. I don't like it." Amelia sighed and looked up at the thin sheet creating a make-shift ceiling over them, letting in a bit of light from the kitchen.

"I know, it's scary for all of us, even for Daddy. But, no more surgery for a little while, now he's going to get more medicine." A quiet sniffle filled the space, and Amelia quickly moved her hand to brush through his hair. "Hey, you're feeling really scared?" He nodded his head with tears in his eyes, grabbing his giraffe again.

"I don't want Daddy to die." The mother pouted her lip out, her eyebrows furrowing as her son looked up at her.

"I promise that he's okay right now." She pulled up a blanket from near a wall of the fort and pulled it over them. "How about we sleep in here tonight? Just you and me, and tomorrow we'll go to visit Daddy." He nodded. "I'll be right here when you wake up, don't worry." Amelia stayed awake until she felt her son's breathing settle into a pattern and the familiar light snores coming from his mouth. "Goodnight," she whispered, closing her own eyes and allowing herself to finally relax for the first time that day.

[fanfiction-funtime]

Spritefather and Selene Interaction

A fan drabble for @clouds-rambles, I hope I characterized Selene right

Without much prompting it's a tad hard to write like this, but I hope it works.

Also I hope you don't mind me mentioning Cael amnesia anon.

(Selene was hanging out with Cael when Venti makes trouble, bringing the night to a close)

(Selene pov)

Yet again, I had to drag Cael's boyfriend out of the bar. This time because he thought someone was insulting his father and punched them, but he was just talking about some mythological person called 'Spritefather'.

I haven't thought about that story in a long time, not since I was a kid. Something about him being able to "use all elements" or something and how he "taught Barbados about freedom", maybe I'll ask Lisa about it.

"Excuse me madam, my father needs to speak to that man you're carrying. Please, hand him to me." I heard a voice from behind me say, the accent was a thick Schneznayan one.

I turned around to meet the person, a woman in an outfit that wouldn't look out of place in a family portrait of old Schneznayan nobility, they also held a vision.

A cryo vision.

I three Venti into a hay pile and summoned my spear, "your a pretty bad liar, LA SIGNORA!"

"No wait! You've got it all w-" I jabbed at her with my spear, using conduct to increase it's power, "I said wait!-"

"I don't bargain with people who hurt my friends!" Hehe, that was a cool line, nice one Selene.

"W-WHAT!? HOW DARE YOU INSINUATE THAT I WOULD HURT MY OWN BROTHER!" The woman gasped and pointed behind me.

I looked back and saw an abyss mage sneaking away with Venti.

"HEY! THAT'S MY BROTHER/BEST FRIEND'S BOYFRIEND!"

The mage noticed and bolted away. We chased it all the way to star conch cliff, where it threw Venti over the edge.

"Haha! Do your worst human! I have already completed my mission! Now without your precious archon, mondstadt will-!"

A tornado of water sprouted up from the sea, then froze in place. From the newly formed spiral of ice rose a cloaked man, and around him were 6 wisps of every element but cryo.

The mage turned around, and were it not for the dendro tendril crushing it's windpipe they would have screamed in horror.

"First you threaten to kill my son," the cloaked man stepped off the spire, the air polarizing itself with electro to form a step, "then you kidnap him while my daughter is trying to retrieve him," another step, this time the air simply pushes him up to form a step, "and now you have followed through on that threat. It tried to," the man took one last, powerful step, to which a geo platform met his feet and lifted him to the hanging abyss mage, "how truly foolish must you be."

He man then lit the tendril on fire, burning the mage like a furby in a campfire.

The man lowered himself down, Venti in his arms, and said, "I'm sorry Barbados, I should have gone to get you myself. Viktoria, what happened?"

Then he noticed me.

"EEEEP!" He shouted as he dropped Venti with a thud.

_____________________

(3rd person limited, Spritefather pov)

'Oh celestia, a person! No no, keep it together. You love interacting with humans in a controlled manner. This is just as controlled, just...a suprise.' Spritefather thought.

"By Barbados' hairy nostrils! You're the Spritefather!" The human Selene shouted.

Spritefather straightened himself out and cleared his throat, "y-yes, I am. But I am not 'the' Spritefather, I'm just Spritefather. Saying 'the Spritefather' is like calling you 'the Selene'. But now isn't the time for such trivial bickerings," Spritefather gave a gentlemanly bow, "thank you for attempting to rescue my eldest child, and for taking him home everytime he indulges a bit to much on vices."

Viktoria facepalmed, "dad! They aren't supposed to know that!"

"Well why not? They're friends with him, and best friends with his boyfriend. Which by the way I STILL need to meet-" he noticed Selene was seeming kind if pale, "you ok?"

*thud*

"Oh dear."

_____________________

(3rd person omniscient pov)

(There's no good point to explain this, but they're in a serenitea pot)

Selene woke up in a very confused state, and on a cloaked woman's lap.

"Please do not be alarmed, neither me nor my daughter did anything to you." The woman said.

Selene, in response, punched the woman and scrambled away, "who the abyss are you!?"

"Well I'm not particularly loved by celestia but I'd hardly say I'm abyssal.."

"Father, people here are not as accustomed to the divine as Liyue or Inazuma." The woman from before, who Selene thought was La Signora, said as she approached them with some tea.

"Wait, fa-no, no. Don't do that Selene, it's rude."

The cloaked woman shook her hands to dismiss Selene's concern, "it's fine, however I thank you for your accepting nature. Though it is to be excepted given your personal identity."

"How do you know me?"

"Heh, have you forgotten already? Though I suppose the change in form is not common among you humans. And nonexistent in the way me and the wisps can do."

The woman got up and started twirling, then surrounded themself in elemental power, and when it cleared stood the cloaked man Selene saw in her dream...

*wait*

"That wasn't a dream...holy shit that wasn't a dream! You're the Spritefather-I mean-you're Spritefather! Your real!"

"Indeed I am. I would think everyone in mondstadt believes I'm real, but atleast that leaves less for that misconception."

"What misconception?"

"Ask Barbados, shouldn't be too hard since you two are close."

"Barba-wait Venti is actually Barbados!?

"Oh dear I'm making this worse."

The still unnamed woman sighed and shook her head, "how about we focus on why my dad decided to be a woman? Surely that would be a far more easy thing to understand."

"It's because she likes women, and I don't blame her. World cold and hard, titty warm and soft."

"Dad who taught you that!?"

"You do realize I can hear the lives of all in my home yes?"

"I guess I'm at fault." Selene laughed.

"I will have my revenge upon you for this." The woman responded.

Spritefather chuckled, "oh? And how about you get your revenge over a date. Anastasia."

"F-FATHER!"

"What? She's single, friends to someone who can teach her proper tea ceremonies, and uh....they have....hmmm..." Spritefather was trying to think if what he could say to convince his daughter, "look I just want to see grand kids!"

"FATHER"

"K-KIDS!?"

"Look I'm pushing fifty million! If one of you doesn't get me kids in the next ten million years I'm going to grow grey hair!"

Anastasia starts forming an ice throwing knife, "REBEL'S-"

"Papa, what happen?" Came a childish voice.

Selene gasped, they were looking at probably the cutest thing EVER!

"Oh my ARCHONS! IS THAT A PYROSPRITE!?"

"Yes that's my child Flameo-"

Selene, already having picked up the the baby, "they're so CUTE!"

They hugged the little flame close to their face and nuzzled them, to which Flameo quickly responded to with their own.

"Smell like..." they thought for a moment, "big Bro Bardos!" They flew around Selene excitedly, "friend!"

Spritefather sighed, "Oh dear, now the rest will be coming out. And I just got them to sleep aswell."

It wasn't long before Selene was surrounded by six Sprites.

The Electrosprite landed on her vision and started vibrating happily.

The Geosprite asked, "are you strong!? I think I could be you!"

"Oh I'm sure you could." Selene said to appease the little Sprite as she chuckled chuckled.

The Anemosprite and Pyrosprite flew around her head like children.

The Hydrosprite was inspecting her clothes, "how utterly bourgeois, has my Brother and father been teaching you how to dress? Honestly, the people of mondstadt should learn from the reconnaissance captain of the knights. Now there's a woman who knows how to dress."

"Oh you mean Eula?"

"You know her?"

"Oh yeah, she's invites me to tea every now and then."

"SHE...invites....YOU...out for TEA!?-"

Anastasia puts her hand over the Hydrosprite and tries to hold her back

"Sorry about that," the woman replied, "kids and their crushes."

(Agua, muffled: I'M SIXTEENTH HUNDRED YEARS OLD!)

"Ha-haaa...."

Selene couldn't respond to that as they felt a prick in her spine, causing them to yelp.

A Dendrodsprite slinkied up her back and put it's head on her shoulder, "just sampling...never seen blood like yours...so intertwined with the...divine....yet so distan-"

Spritefather picked up his child, "please forgive Leafy, they're in their...adventurous stage. And their adventure is to learn things. Often things that involve pins and needles."

This was going to be a looong night

_____________________

The next day, Vanessa's tree

Selene yawns and falls on the statue, Venti doing the same. The difference between them is one is hungover and waiting for his boyfriend to take him home after the fifth assassination attempt this week, the other has to deal with the consequences of being loved by children and being there to try and stop the most recent assassination

"Holy shit....this hang over....I thought Decrabain's hailstorms were bad..."

"You shouldn't try watching after Leafy.....but I think half the pains are from Agua's jealousy bites......"

"You think that's bad?.....you should have seen them when they realized Cael and I....were dating....."

"...archons I hope I was never like that as a kid...."

"Oh cherry up you two!" Spritefather said, a bit too loud for the two, "it's a new day and-"

Venti hit his father with a clump of grass using anemo

"YOUNG MAN!-

"Ohheythere'sCaelgottagobye!" The archon said as he ran off.

Spritefather sighed, "he's always like that, running from responsibilities. But he always means up when it counts, so I can only say I'm proud of the man he's become," he thought for a moment, "except for when he turns into a woman for whatever reason, then I'm proud of the woman she's become...you know, after being around single form life for so long stuff like that feels so strange. I mean you humans are born with one form and cant naturally change it. But if you feel it's wrong you'll go through so much trouble just to get close to what us shape changers can get. While to humans it is inspiring purely because of the person's determination to take the form they so deserve, that they were truly meant to have. But for me it's so much more! The human spirit and will is oh so inspiring, but the amount humans go through! So much money, so much time, and in many places simply enduring life! Why even I couldn't get the...uh...transphobia is it?...out of Inazuma!Terribly sorry human language changes so much. Oh and on language! To think that I was there when the first cave man was trying to mimic the grunts of the gods, only to make something so much superior to them to the point that the gods copied THEM! And speaking of copies have you ever heard of the time Dainsleif-" he paused as he saw Selene's bored face, "sorry. One little thing and I start ranting and rave...no, it's info dumping. And I should thank you humans for making that term, and all the other wonder words you've made, and the medical advances. They've helped me understand myself....ah but look at me, rambling on again. You know what? For entertaining my kids the whole night, and listening to an old man's ramblings, I'll give you a boon. Anything you want, if I can get it you shall have it."

Selene thought for a moment. She thought about asking him to bring back her father, but they knew he couldn't raise the dead. She even thought...of her mother, to see her again, but they knew that it wouldn't help. A selfish part of her even wanted someway to reignite her's and Rosaria's relationship, after all that part of her life was, but she knew it would be wrong and that they both agree they just didn't work.

Perhaps just ask for mora? She did need some for a good night's rest, but that felt wasteful. What was one night's rest for what could be a lifetime of amazing power. But maybe it would be wrong to ask for something like power. Ah! She's got it!

"How about a spear? A really powerful one that compliments my powers perfectly! Oh! And make it look really cool!"

Spritefather blinked, then laughed, "well, that's rather simple isn't it? So amazing you humans. You expect them to make something big and/or selfish, like taking control of a country, or killing someone. Yet never once has one of my boons been used for anything bad. Even when they're selfish. Like one time I met a very selfish person who I granted a boon, and all he did with it was ask me to make sure the kids of Inazuma were never hungry. Ah, now that. That was ranting, sorry." Spritefather walked over to the statue's base and knocked three times, "hello Vanessa. It's been a while since I last called you, but I was hoping you could give me a hand? And perhaps a very sturdy branch off your tree?"

"Uhhh-"

A light shown down from the heavens and the ground shook, causing a skeletal hand to rise from the depths.

Selene would have screeched if she weren't so tired, "I'd prefer my weapon to be less...body part-sy."

"Nonsense! Everyone knows that bones make the best weapons! You know why it's called a prototype rancor?! BECAUSE NOONE WANTS TO ACCEPT THAT THE PERFECTED VERSION I, THE INVENTOR, MADE INCLUDES THE SHINBONES OF MITSCHURLS! YOU EVER SEEN A-*ahem*-sorry, rambling."

As he was ranting, a branch handed Spritefather a sturdy branch from the tree.

"Perfect, now a bit of magic and-" the two items blew up in Spritefather's face before reforming into a purple and black spear that ended in a feathery sleeve like pattern that was attached to a sharp blade that looked very much like a hand made into a spear blade. Mainly because it was.

A brilliant light shone down on the Spritefather as he floated up and presented the spear to Selene(mumbled: thanks Venessa)

"SELENE OF MONDSTADT!"

His voice became that of s god's, filled with power and compassion, booming across windrise.

"YOU HAVE SPOKEN YOUR WISH, AND BY MY HONOR AS THE ENTERNAL FATHER, I AM DUTY BOUND TO GRANT IT!"

He leans imup to Selene and whispered to her, "do you like the eternal father moniker? I thought it up myself."

"Oh yeah, 10/10, really keeping with the Inazuman background."

"Thanks."

"TAKE YOUR GRAND BLADE, AND GO FORTH TO CARVE THROWS DESTINY AND TILL YOUR OWN FUTURE!"

Selene took the spear, "uh...thanks?"

"Oh your very welcome. By the way how was that delivery? I've been working on the whole 'I am a powerful being' delivery for a few centuries."

"A bit hard to understand, but overall gets the vibe across. Maybe 8/10? Low seven probably."

"Yeah, I kind of expected that. Wonder how else I could get that effect, you know without the whole can't understand thing."

"Well, I've got teo other immortals to meet. Ones I need to question."

"Ah yes, I'm sure Cael and Barbados have much to answer for to you."

"Yes they do. I don't suppose 'see you around' would be appropriate here?"

"On a sense? It's appropriate. After all I'm your friend now aswell, and I prefer a life without isolation. So...see you round?"

"Sure, see you around."

_____________________

Admittedly didn't know how to end this. I like it but I'm a tad worried I made it to focused on my character and didn't give Selene enough attention.

Regardless I hope you enjoyed it cloud! I really tried to get Selene right. And sorry it took so long, sleep kept getting messed up, and then covid shot+forgetting to hydrate kicked my ass.

(Tagging: @storytravelled, @golden-wingseos, and @clouds-rambles)