#truly a sign from beyond the grave that his roses were to stay

[robindrake93]

Before he died, my grandpa was telling people that I was a ghost writer.

He knew that I wrote constantly, watched me do it for decades, and he knew that I was somehow making money online with my writing.

What I was actually doing most of the time was writing fan fiction; something he did not know existed and since most of my fics are explicit, I didn't think he'd want to know. (although considering most of the books he read were steamy historical romances, he might not have cared too much)

I had also set up a patreon for original fiction, which I think I explained poorly when telling him about. "People pay me money to read what I write per chapter" was probably how I explained it. Which is accurate but that's not a model of reading that he's familiar with.

Given the circumstances and his limited knowledge, I'd say his guess was pretty good.

[giorno-plays-piano]

Superstitions and Curses

Pairing: mummy!Bucky Barnes x archaeologist!Reader

Warnings: slight dubcon, obsessive and soft!dark!Bucky, mentions of torture and being buried alive.

Words: 2163.

Summary: It wasn't your first expedition, but pretty much the first time when you had helped to bring an ancient being back from the dead.

P.S. Huge thanks to dear @navegandoaciegas who helped me get inspired again <3

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"Please, let me in."

You clenched the amulet in your hands, nervously staring at the door of a hotel room and hoping he wouldn't enter. Despite the fact that you were an archeologist, a woman who believed in nothing but science, you were ready to pray to all the gods if it would help to keep this creature away.

"I mean no harm to you." His husky, dangerously low voice made you lick your lips as you thought of all the things he whispered in your ear the other night. "Didn't you like the way I treat you, love?"

"It was a spell you put on me!" You furrowed your brows, making a step away from the door and bumping into a nightstand with a loud thud - the bottle of water in top of it fell down to the floor.

"A spell?" The man behind the door chuckled, and you could hear him breathing out loudly as he peered through the crack in the door, his hands pressed against the dark wood. "You know I haven't done anything of this kind. What you felt was the chemistry between us, don't deny it."

It was true. That night when all you wanted was to forget the events of the last couple of days, forget all about the whole reason why you came to this ancient country, you rushed to a bar to get drunk like a fish, hoping the next morning once you'd wake up, it would all be a bad dream and nothing more. That's where you met him, the man who you had seen laying in his grave just a couple of hours before. Of course, you didn't know it was him - he looked like any other man, enough flesh on his bones not to cause any suspicion.

Oh, but it was him. He had followed you in that bar, pretending to be a stranger eager to know you; fooling you, he soon slipped into your room where he made love to you, completely drunk and fallen under his charms. How stupid you were, trusting a complete stranger after what had happened that day.

It was several hours after when you woke up in the night, and the moonlight coming from the window lit the room a little: as you stared at the man sleeping soundly next to you, you saw the ancient symbols on his chest.

The next minute you were out of your room, hoping he wouldn't wake up in the next hour. It would give you enough time to reach the railway station.

Why was he following you? You could understand his reasons since you had pretty much broken his tomb and opened his grave, but why on Earth did he sleep with you? Why didn't he kill you? Was it some kind of a ritual? Despite the fact that you were specializing on local customs and traditions, you have never heard of anything of that kind.

"You can't get rid of me." He murmured behind the door, and you sensed something wicked, resentful in his voice.

"Why can't I? What do you want from me?" You asked on the verge of tears, your arms trembling - you very much doubted the amulet you were holding was of any use to you.

"Shhhh." He cooed softly, feeling you fear and somewhat content with it. "I promise I won't hurt you. Let me in, love. Let me in."

For a couple of seconds you froze, listening to the man breathing softly behind the door. Strangely, you could almost hear his heart beating in his chest as if he really were human, not a rotten corpse you saw in the coffin a couple of days ago. The night you spent together you felt like he was the most tender and affectionate man you had ever met. Why did he do it? What was his purpose? Why were you opening the door for him when he ordered you to do it with that hypnotic voice of his?

You realized he had entered your room once he touched your cheek with his hand, rough fingers brushing against your wet skin. Oh, apparently, you were crying.

"I know it is beyond your comprehension, but please trust me, My Immortal Beloved." He made a step forward as you shriveled and slinked back, staring at his perfectly blue eyes adorned with black kohl. "Do not be scared. Even though it seems horrifyingly wrong to you, things are exactly as they were meant to be."

Despite the fact you had a thousand questions inside your head, the words were stuck in your throat. You couldn't even scream, asking for help. Besides, it would be pretty worthless, wouldn't it? No one could protect you from someone who rose from the dead.

"You were meant to open my tomb and set me free. You were meant to resurrect my body and let my soul return to it."

When you reached the wall, your back pressed to it as if you wanted to slip through the stone, the man had inched closer to you and lowered his hand on your chest, the other one right in front of your face as he moved his hand, drawing a circle in the air with his palm. I see you. You are important to me, a sign of both trust and affection - you had seen it so many times on ancient drawings it was imprinted on your brain.

What? Why was he doing it? Why it was you who set him free? You were just one of a whole team of archaeologists and wage earners. You did nothing special, nothing that differentiated you from others - you weren't the one who physically opened it nor did you read any ancient spells locals were so superstitious about. You were as much in shock as all others when the mummy had suddenly disappeared from the tomb.

At first, even though most of you were people of science, all of you thought of ancient curses and all those archaeologists who had supposedly died from it. Then, when you came to your senses, you thought of the thieves who might had taken the mummy. But then again, although it were the remains of someone very, very important, no treasures were buried with him - apparently, this person had done something terrible when he was alive, especially remembering the curses written on the walls. So why steal just the corpse, then? Without decent care, the bones would crack within minutes of carrying them. Why would thieves want the mummy?

"I want to come back home." You whispered, shivering and averting your eyes.

"I will bring you whenever you want once you swear loyalty to me, love."

You blinked as you stared at his tanned face, symbols painted with gold shining on his temples. It was getting more and more insane with every passing minute.

"Why would I swear loyalty to you?"

"Because I am your Sun, Moon and the Stars in between."

The silence felt heavy, suffocating as you kept looking at the man, not knowing what to say. He was right - you didn't understand a thing. You didn't even know who he was and why you swearing loyalty to him seemed so important so this stranger. The only thing you knew for sure was that he was dangerous, far more dangerous than any other human being - you felt it in your bones.

"Before I d-do that, may I know your name?" You wanted to add something like "Your Majesty", but you had no idea what kind of title the man once had - that is, if he had any at all.

He chuckled, "It would be hard for you to pronounce. But you can call me James, it is the closest you can get."

A part of you was offended - for heaven's sake, you were specializing on this exact area and surely knew how to pronounce ancient names - but the other part of you now wondered how come this being knew a real English name and could actually speak modern language. Surely, he was at least a thousand years old. How come?..

"Why were you buried so disrespectfully?" You started questioning him out loud, furrowing your brows. "This is not my first expedition, but I have never seen a tomb like yours before. No treasures, no name, nothing that could identify you at all."

"The Witch-king, that's how they called me." His handsome face darkened, and the man took a step away, turning his back to you. "The one who had surpassed his high priest and could read the Book of the Dead. Once my chancellors learnt about me practicing the magic of the ancient, they made my priests spread the word to my people, and I have been overthrown. They have tortured me, blinded me, cut off my limbs, and then sealed me away in the tomb when I was still alive. Because of their fear of me and my powers, they condemned me to the worst of fates, and broke the line of kings."

As he kept speaking, his dark long robe fell down to the floor, opening his half-naked tan body to you: you saw two deep scars on his shoulders that still looked raw, horrifying you - the man was telling you the truth. He had been dismembered.

"They have cursed me to stay neither truly dead nor alive till one day somebody would open my tomb and set me free. They have kept the location of my grave a secret, thinking no one would ever discover it in the sand, but they all were wrong. I will suffer no more in that place where not a single ray of light had shone over two thousands of years."

Your head was spinning from all this, and you quietly slid to the floor, your hands in your hair as you tugged on the roots in frustration and fear. For the love of God, was it all true? Did you help resurrect the ancient being that could use some scary black magic and probably kill lots of innocent people? Did he want to drag you along with him once you swear loyalty to him? If you didn't, would he actually murder you?

"But this is of no importance now." The man turned back to you and, suddenly seeing you on the floor, hurried to gently pick you up and place you on a spacious bed, watching you with worry. "I am sorry for I have frightened you, love. I swear this was not my intention."

You had troubles understanding what his intention was, but you kept silent, too scaried to say something to him. You had a dozen thoughts what a creature like him would want to do to people for all his suffering.

You should have left that damn tomb alone when your team found twice more death traps than in any other grave. You read the curses left on the walls, but they only fueled your interest. Of course, you had never been superstitious in your entire life, so you simply disregarded all the signs that now seemed so clear you were ready to slap yourself.

"Why am I important?" You asked in a shaky voice, your eyes trailing down his chest with ancient symbols tattooed on it. "Why spending a night with me? I am just a woman. I have opened the tomb, but I was one of many."

"No, you are special. You won't understand now, not yet, but think of it as your destiny. Your fate is bound to mine."

As he inched closer to you, you finally realized you were almost in bed with a half-naked handsome man resurrected from the dead. Immediately crawling back, your stared at him wide-eyed. No, no, no, whoever he was and whatever he thought your fate was, you didn't want him in your bed the second time! Well, almost. Maybe you wanted a little bit. Just a little.

"S-so, are you going to destroy the country and claim your kingdom again?"

Your words made him laugh as he bared his perfectly white teeth while touching the side of your face.

"Two thousand years were enough to change my priorities. Ruling the world of humans who know nothing of magic isn't interesting to me anymore."

"I see. That's a relief." You murmured, still very uncomfortable with him being so close to you. "Please, can I just leave? There are millions of women, I'm sure you'll find someone more attractive to be your... your concubine."

_____________

"Concubine? I did not have a concubine, and neither did my ancestors." The man tilted his head to the side, looking at you surprised as you were ready to bite yourself for your own stupidity: of course, the rulers of these lands only started having concubines in the fourth dynasty and onwards, James was definitely either from the first or second one. "I can't let you leave, love. You will have to come with me."

Part 2

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @abyssaint @heeeyitskay @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @iheartsebastianstan @ninefuckingoneone

[angelanimedesaray]

Wings in the Dark Chapter 6:  Stories From the Dark

AN:  I feel like this chapter should have been posted around Halloween, but there was NO WAY I was waiting that long XD  Also its a bit short, I think, to me, it goes a little quick, partially because I didn’t want to have to write Levi wandering around this little town this whole time having all this meaningless chit-chat meant to fish information, I decided summarizing was best with detail where it counted XD

Characters:  Levi, Fem!Vampire!Reader (Mentioned), Erwin, Various OCs and BG Characters

Pairing:  (Eventual)  Levi x Fem!Vampire!Reader

Warnings:  Descriptions of Violence, Descriptions of Murder Aftermath, Description of Fatal Injuries, Description of Buried Alive, Descriptions of Injuries, Language

Word Count:  5188

<----Previous Chapter    Masterlist    Next Chapter---->

*Levi's POV*

While taking such a sudden few days off might have caused a couple bumps in the way things were developing around HQ, but he knew Erwin would be able to handle it and smooth things over, so he stayed focused on the task at hand.

Stripped of any signia, symbol, or uniform resembling clothes that could suggest that he was part of the military, Levi was dressed in plainclothes, having taken a carriage out to L/N’s supposed hometown early in the morning.  He still arrived with plenty of time in the day to investigate the town and see what he could find on-site, taking in the small, easily overlooked town that was more of a loose collection of homes bordered by farms, with a central farmer’s market to keep some local trade and business going.  Any serious buying and selling probably consisted in a day’s trip to one of the larger towns within Wall Rose, but it seemed they had basic foodstuffs here.  He managed to find a blacksmith tucked away in a corner between a small grouping of houses, as well as an old, empty building that had a weathered carpentry sign in front of it.  So there had been more trade smiths around here, before the town gradually lost those businesses.

Talking casually with the blacksmith informed Levi that a ways past the farms, there was a home that was the reason for most of their outside visitors--people who could afford to would put their elderly loved ones in the care center, and there was a separate building for the mentally ill to live comfortably and get the care they needed as well.  Visitors to the town usually consisted of relatives visiting their loved ones in the homes, or they were descendants that had moved away but came back for the occasional hometown or family visit.

Which meant Levi, having no ties himself and not knowing about the homes, stuck out a bit despite his best efforts.  The communities of small towns were tightly knit and they knew their own, so it couldn’t be helped, and he would have to deal with the fact everyone was going to be curious why he was here.

While talking with the blacksmith, he also heard that the carpentry shop had been the family trade for the Frazier family--the family who lost the daughter sharing L/N’s first name.  With the murder of their only child, there was no one to take on the family business, and the building had fallen into disrepair after the parents had gone to the home outside town.

That had caught Levi’s interest.  They’d been in the home for years judging from the sign alone, and the impression he’d received was that only the well off could supply their own stay at the home, or their family members paid for it.  If there were no children to pay for them, and they’d only been a small carpentry business in a no-name town, how could they afford to be in the home?  He doubted it was by the grace of the community, though it was a possibility considering the tragedy that had happened here.

Moving on from the blacksmith so he didn’t ask too many questions in one place, Levi made a mental note to make his way up to the homes to investigate the still-living parents of the original Y/N.  Making his way to the farmer’s market, Levi perused for any small town hidden treasures and struck up conversations, looking for a town gossip to get talking about the town’s history so that he could eventually hear the more personal tale of the double homicide than the technical report Erwin had scrounged up for him.

While trying to get the man selling the baked goods to be a little more forthcoming, Levi overheard a small group of children, three or four gathered around each other as one of the older children attempted to scare the smallest of the group with a surprisingly gristly tale.

“...clawed at the wood of the coffin, screaming for someone to hear her, too afraid to realize her screams took up what little air she had.  Her fingernails broke and blood coated the coffin, her elbow busted open as she pounded and shrieked for help, but no one could hear her so far beneath the dirt.  Some say she did manage to break the wood, but halfway through the dirt falling on her she couldn’t breathe, and body’s still frozen in her silent scream, so close to freedom, no one above ground aware of the terror she felt before she truly died.  Now, so she doesn’t feel so alone, Screaming Sally’s ghost crawls out of her grave and drags children like you from their beds and drags them into her coffin below ground.”

The poor youngest was visibly trembling, tears of fright in their eyes before one of the other kids shouted and grabbed them, making the youngest shriek and cry as they laughed and continued to pick on them.

“Tch.”  Levi turned to them, a glare in his eyes that he pinned on the older kids who should have known better.  “Oi!  Cut it out.”

Spooked by the scary voice, and even more so by the scary man they saw glaring at them, the older kids bolted, with the youngest running away once they were free of the older kids, most likely to run home and find comfort from a parent.

Levi turned his attention back to the stall in front of him, a woman beside him buying a basket of rolls as he scowled over the childishly cruel display he’d just seen.

“That’s one messed up horror story for kids to be telling each other,” he muttered, paying for a loaf of bread and waiting for the man to finish wrapping it for him.  The woman beside him turned with a small shrug.

“All the children around here know about that stupid story about Screaming Sally.  It’s been around for decades, and at this point, it’s almost a rite of passage to hear it eventually.”

Levi looked at her, sensing he might have someone who would be willing to share if he asked the right questions.  “How did it start?”

The woman sighed, shaking her head.  “Some poor caretaker for the graveyard by the woods about forty years back snapped after that double homicide and started trying to tell people one of the girls crawled out of her grave.  Everyone knows it’s impossible, not to mention the grave was undisturbed when folks checked in the morning after seeing how sincere he was.  They had to put him in the home because he kept insisting he saw it, and eventually the story turned into the Screaming Sally legend the kids are always sharing to scare each other.”

Levi’s head tilted slightly to the side, eyes widening momentarily in surprise as the unsuspected connection jumped out at him.

For the briefest moment, he was looking back up at Kenny years ago as Kenny shared some outlandish story to try and scare him.  When Levi had called out it’s legitimacy and accused him of spewing a nonsense legend that wasn’t even possible, he’d suddenly appeared a little serious, a small frown appearing beneath the brim of that signature hat of his as he gave Levi the reply that now rang in his ears.

“There��s always a little truth to every legend.”

Pretending his surprise was over something else the woman had said, Levi took the chance to try and pry the local story from her.

“Double homicide?  Out here?” Levi asked, suggesting that kind of thing never happened in places like this.

In his opinion, they were more likely to happen out here, since it was so damn isolated.

As Levi took his wrapped loaf, the two started to walk together, just a little further down the path as she indulged his curiosity.

“I know--it’s the darkest stain on this town’s history.  Still unsolved, too--one of those locked room murders I think they call them.  Y/N Frazier and Victoria Schultz.  The Fraziers’ daughter had been out late the night before and came to her parent’s home to rest instead of going back to her own home.  She was sick the entire next day, and her best friend Victoria came to visit her.  Sometime between the moment Victoria and Y/N were in the room together to the time the Fraziers checked in on them a few hours later, some psychopath managed to find their way into the room, tore Victoria apart beyond recognition, and disappeared with the Frazier girl.  Without the Fraziers hearing anything amiss!  The police thought it might have been the Frazier girl, because it was the only possible explanation considering the bedroom door was locked and any attacker would have had to come in through the window, and neither girl made a sound, so perhaps Victoria knew her attacker--but Y/N’s body showed up on the edge of the woods a few days later, poor girl.  They never found out who did it, or what exactly happened.  It still haunts the people in the town who are old enough to remember it.”

As the woman spun the more personal version of the tale, Levi’s mind filled in the gristly details that had been in the report he’d read.  How there had been hardly any blood left in the mutilated girl left behind lying on the bed, but far less in the room than there should have been, how L/N’s namesake had been found lying just within the forest’s edge, neck bruised and broken, as well as several bones, covered in bruises and lacerations.  It was a closed-casket funeral for both.  They had no leads, no one with a motive, no mysterious footprint or shadowy figure seen leaving the crime scene.  They’d just been murdered out of nowhere, and nothing like it had happened anywhere near the town ever since.  It was a sudden, violent anomaly in their history, and one that was going to leave a mark that would never disappear.

Levi said goodbye to the woman with the bread roll basket, standing in the middle of the road with his gaze turned towards the homes he’d been told about, a thoughtful frown on his face.

It seemed he had two reasons to visit this place:  the Fraziers and the caretaker.

Once there, as curious as he was, Levi decided against visiting the Fraziers and asking about the events of forty years ago.  From what he’d been able to dig up, it was likely something that still haunted them to this day, and he wasn’t here to terrorize the elderly.

He did, however, pry into who was paying for their stay at the home.  Once at the front desk, he suggested that he wanted to pay for their stay, asking after the amount it would take and how often, before insisting whatever payments they were making themselves stop so they wouldn’t have to pay out of their own pockets.  At that point, he’d been politely turned down, the secretary informing him that the Fraziers already had an angel donor who was paying regularly for their stay at the home.

“Can I get a name so I can talk to them about splitting the payments?” Levi asked, leaning forward slightly in anticipation.

“I’m sorry, but...angel donors are what we call anonymous donors who don’t have any ties to the family but still pay for their care.  We don’t know who makes the payments, only that they’re made regularly and on time, so Mr. and Ms. Frazier can spend the rest of their days here.  I have no name to give you, not that I could, considering that would be sensitive information,” the secretary said politely, though there was a bit of a chill in her voice brought about by Levi’s questioning.  He ignored it, busy mulling over this new detail.

He had no evidence to support it, no reason to suspect it, but what if the angel donor was L/N?  He knew she was looking for ways to cut costs with how she spent her money, it was one of the reasons she had the tea garden at HQ--it would save her money in the future by cutting costs she spent on things like tea.  And her lack of personal belongings could also be from a lack of money to buy nice things for herself.  What if the money she saved from her salary was going towards the Fraziers’ well-being?

Again, he had no evidence.  It was just a thought, a far-fetched theory, but it was something to take note of and consider, just in case it wasn’t far off the mark.

Getting the hint from the secretary and knowing he was at a dead end as to who was taking care of the Fraziers, at least for what he would find here in town, Levi moved on to the next objective.

“All right, well, I also came to talk to someone in the psychiatric home.  He used to be a cemetery caretaker about forty years ago.”

Recognition immediately sparked in her eyes, as well as a bit of apprehension.  “We’ll need you to sign in, as well as put down a reason for visiting.”

“Fine,” Levi replied, taking the paper she slid over and writing Jacob, no last name--not that he’d have one to give even if he was using his actual name--and then wrote down social visit before handing it over.  Her eyebrows rose slightly and her gaze flickered up to him from the paper, and Levi gazed back at her calmly, waiting patiently for her to at least direct him the proper way.

“Room seventeen.  Follow me,” she said, leading them out the door--since they’d been in the home for the elderly--and a little ways away to the other building that acted as the psychiatric home.  Once inside she led Levi up two flights of stairs and down a fairly long hall to let Levi into the room marked seventeen in white paint.  “Mr. Briarton, you have a visitor,” she said after opening the door, allowing Levi to step into the room and take in a man in his late fifties, early sixties, suspicious pale green eyes narrowed at Levi as he stepped inside.

“I don’t knows you,” the man rasped.

“Jacob,” Levi said bluntly, stepping deeper into the room and staying conscious of the fact the secretary was temporarily lingering to make sure everything was going to be all right.  “I came to hear your story.”

“Hah?  Here to mock an old man?”  Briarton sneered.

“No.  Just to listen,” Levi responded simply.  Briarton sized Levi up for a moment, then looked at the secretary still standing in the doorway and gave a small wave.

“We’re fine, Janice, you can leave now.  I’s knows the rest of you’s is tired of hearin’ my tale.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Briarton.”

“Eh,” he grumbled, and Janice sighed and shut the door, leaving the two of them behind.  “Why exactly are you’s interested in hearin’ my story?  Everyone else says I’m’s crazy.  Locked me up for it, too!”

“I’ve heard the town legends.  Someone I knew used to say there’s always a bit of truth to the legends.  So I’m here looking for the truth,” Levi answered, leaning up against the wall with arms folded over his chest.

“Hmm…” Briarton hummed, contemplating Levi’s reason before he sighed.  “I’s guessin’ you’s already heard ‘bout the murders, if you’s here.”

At Levi’s nod, Briarton skipped over the events that came before, and went right to talking about the burial.  “Closed caskets they’s were.  Victoria had a pine box, Mr. Frazier insisteds on makin’ Y/N’s hisself, out of willow.  We’s buried them midday, six feets down in the grounds, six feets dried earth on those boxes.  I’s told they’s were both dead for sures, no comin’ back--specially poor Victoria.  Schultz’s weren’t allowed to sees hers it was so bad.  Course we’s all thoughts abouts it, we’s all hoped back then the killer’d get caught.  People kept comin’ by till it gots too dark and I’s closed the cemetery for the’s night.  My’s job was to make sure no ones messed with the graves, and I’s was patrollin’ like usual, and for the’s longest time, I didn’t hear nut-thin.  But sometime in the wee hours of the mornin’, as I’s was comin’ up on the girls’s graves, I saw somethin’ movin on the ground on tops of one.  I’s went to yells at them, to tell ‘em kids to scram, cause that’s what I’s thoughts they were.  But when I’s got close enough to see a bit better, I’s realized they’s was comin’ up from the ground--outta the ground.  I’s was frozen in place, watchin’ them’s drag themselves out of the dirt, clawin’ across the ground likes a wounded animal.  I’s was tryin’ to scream, but I’s couldn’t makes a sound.”

Briarton stopped, his wide eyes turned towards Levi.  “Do you’s know how heavy the dirts is on a coffin?  How hard it is to break open a coffin?  Impossible’s what it is!  My’s brother once locked me’s in one to scares me, and my’s mother lost it whens she found out.  I’s was kickin’ and screamin’ for what’s felt like hours tryin’ to break out, but all I’s got from it was bloody hands and elbows.  Ands that was without the dirts on tops of it.  But I’s swears this girl busted out and crawled outta hers grave.  Even if she’s managed to breaks the coffin, she’d’da been crushed bys the dirts.  But she’s still crawled outta hers grave.  She’s stood up, covered in fresh bloods and dirts, and she’s shoved dirt backs into the hole she’s crawled outta like a drunkard, gaspin’ and wheezin’ and wailin’ like a banshee, an’ then she’s disappears into the night.  An’ I’s ran for help, jus’ to get calleds crazy and locked up in here.”

Levi listened to Briarton’s tale in silence, studying the man’s face closely as he spoke to see if the man truly believed every word he was saying.  The terror in the man’s eyes was real, though, as he spoke of the impossibility of the haunting image, and there was no trace of insincerity in his face as he spoke.  He truly believed in the tale he was telling.  Considering the impossibility of it all, Levi also doubted, but he wasn’t going to call him out on in--enough people already believed this man crazy, Levi wasn’t going to add himself to the mix.

He only had one question.

“Who was the woman who crawled out of her grave?” Levi asked steadily, though the crawl of his skin as he said it told him he already knew the answer.  He just wanted to hear Briarton say it.

“Y/N Frazier.”

The day had cooled--in fact, it was starting to feel chillier, the sun frequently hidden by clouds that seemed to be gathering across the sky, hinting at fouler weather on the horizon.  After taking his leave of Briarton at the home, Levi went looking for the now infamous cemetery--infamous in his mind, at least--and had made his way to the grave of one Y/N Frazier, where he now stood in silent contemplation, staring intently at the headstone that had engraved upon its surface the girl’s name, a birthday and date of death that showed she had barely been in her twenties, and a brief, “Beloved Daughter.”

He wasn’t really seeing the grave anymore, though.  His mind was a flurry of thoughts, theories, memories, information...none of the connections he’d made here made any kind of sense to him, but there were far too many to be ignored.  There was something here, something that seemed to be staring him in the face, but he couldn’t see what it was, so he couldn’t use it.  Not yet, anyway.

Maybe Briarton really was crazy, maybe he hadn’t seen Y/N Frazier crawl out of that grave that night and he’d simply snapped like everyone suggested he had.  But there was nothing to have caused him to snap, no trigger.  Not to mention, the sheer coincidence was far too strong to be a coincidence.

So, he entertained the possibility that the bizarre and impossible happened, that Y/N Frazier somehow survived, a mistake had been made somewhere and she was buried alive, and managed to crawl out of this very grave.  Ignoring the impossibility of that scenario still didn’t give him many answers.  If Y/N Frazier was still alive, she would have been sixty, seventy years old by now.  L/N back at the Scout Headquarters was in her early twenties, and very clearly /not dead/.  So, L/N definitely wasn’t this Y/N Frazier.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be related somehow.  If the original girl did survive, it would be possible for L/N to be Frazier’s daughter, maybe even grand-daughter, though that was starting to push the theory beyond what he was willing to suspend believing as impossible.

One thing the Screaming Sally horror story had made him remember, and that Briarton’s recounting had brought to the front of his mind to offer him another connection, was the conversation the other day between the rest of his Squad and L/N.

He remembered the tremble in her hand, the stillness in her posture, the flash of soul-deep fear, trauma, and pain in her eyes as L/N had softly stated that her biggest fear was being buried alive.

He had something big here, but he wasn’t sure where it fit in this messed up puzzle he was trying to solve, and was missing some key piece that connected it to something else.  He needed more than ever to see what she was doing in the Underground when she snuck out at night--whatever it was, he was convinced at this point it was the missing piece he needed to make sense of all of this.

But first, he needed to do something that would give him a definitive answer amongst all these legends and tall tales.

It was a new low for him, he knew that.  The entire ordeal felt wrong and filthy on an entirely new level, but it was something he had to do.  No one else had thought to look, to disturb the grave of one of the murdered girls to see if there was any validity to Briarton’s claims, to the stories of Screaming Sally.  Everyone brushed it off as nonsense and went about their day, probably because it was so certain, and it was easier to believe the horror stories were nonsense.

Levi didn’t have that luxury.  He didn’t have the certainty, and the easier route was not the one he was going to take.  He needed answers.  So, he’d returned briefly to Headquarters in order to enlist Erwin’s help to give him the opportunity late that very same night to dig up the grave and settle once and for all whether Y/N Frazier had died.  It would help clear up some of the questions and theories when he found her body in the coffin, and it might put them back at square one in figuring out why this place and this name had been chosen by Y/N, but it would help bring them back to a world that made some sense, and it would help weed out a few questions that these legends and stories had brought up.

He didn’t want to think of the implications if the grave was empty.  He doubted it would be, but if it was...then this entire mess went far deeper than he could ever imagine.

Perhaps that was why Erwin agreed to help him, why he’d paid off the caretaker to make sure the grave was empty but leave the section Levi was going to be in undisturbed until Levi left.  Erwin clearly hadn’t approved of disturbing a gravesite, especially the gravesite of a murder victim, but Levi had strongly believed it was necessary despite his own misgivings, so Erwin had relented.

Now, Levi was in a hole that passed his head, digging the last few inches to the willow coffin Y/N Frazier had been buried in, filthy and tired but determined to get to the bottom.  Just a little further, and he would have his answer.  He would see the bones in an undisturbed grave, fill in the grave once more, go home, wash up, hate himself for a while for doing this to confirm what he already knew, and then go back to trying to figure out why L/N seemed so deeply connected to this place.

He hadn’t found any bodies frozen on its way to the surface, so he could already rule out the legitimacy of the children’s scary story about Screaming Sally, at least.

The shovel Levi was using scraped against something solid, and Levi paused.  Here it was.  He’d found it.

Kneeling down, Levi started brushing away at dirt so he could find the coffin lid, fingers brushing against wood, hand brushing a little harder to smooth away dirt--

He had to pull his hand back as he unexpectedly came into contact with splintered wood sticking up into the dirt, piercing his hand and drawing blood as he jerked in surprise, breath catching.

No…

A few more careful brushes with his hand, and he was staring at a coffin lid that had been busted open, shards of wood buried in dirt, but the hole clearly enough for a person to crawl out of.  He froze where he was as he stared at the sight before him, the odd, irrational fear that a hand was going to burst out of the hole and grasp his wrist strangely flashing through his mind before he pushed it aside.  He wasn’t breathing anymore, an admittedly trembling hand reaching out to pull back the lid, just to double check and confirm what he was seeing.

The grave was, in fact, empty.  The coffin was busted open with gouges that had old red stains upon them, as if it had been punched and clawed through from the inside.

His blood running cold and his breaths shallow, Levi had to fight not to think of the haunting image Briarton had described, the fear in L/N’s eyes, and the mental image of a woman trapped in this grave screaming and crying for help, having to tear apart her own body and defy all odds to crawl her way to the surface, tried not to imagine the terror of being buried alive like this.

Kenny had been right.  There was always a bit of truth to the legend.  He never imagined it would be this much truth, though.

When Levi returned to HQ, the first thing he did was clean himself up and get changed.  Then, he made himself some of the tea L/N had gifted him, choosing one of the blends meant to calm in the hopes that it would help settle his nerves after what he’d seen.

Outside, he might still appear stoic, but inside, he was shaken.

Once he was clean, he had his tea, and he felt he had a better grip on himself internally and he was ready for the conversation, he went to Erwin’s office and very solemnly relayed his findings to the man, who looked no less disturbed by this unexpected turn of events than Levi had been.  They’d expected some kind of secret while digging into the truth about L/N, they hadn’t been expecting a full blown conspiracy on this level.

Once Erwin was up to speed on Levi’s findings, they started to hash out some theories and details, both of them well aware that they were still missing something crucial as they attempted to make a broader picture with the pieces they were currently in possession of.

The running theory they were working with was that Y/N Frazier was L/N’s mother.  It was the most logical connection they could come up with, even though it dumped a whole new slew of questions into this mess.

Why did Frazier run after she crawled out of her grave?  Why not return to her home and family, alive and well?  Why leave the town behind and everyone in it believing she’d died so terribly?  Why never come back to tell who had attacked her and her friend Victoria?  What happened that night forty years ago?  How had she managed to crawl her way out of a grave?  Why had she instead disappeared somewhere inside the walls never to be discovered or heard from again, hiding her true identity remarkably well?  Or more importantly, how had she been alive?  How did she survive those injuries?  Had a mistake been made and she’d been assumed dead?  Was the report faked?

How was the Underground supposed to come into play in all of this, and what part did L/N have in it as well?  If Frazier was indeed L/N’s mother, was Frazier still alive and living in the Underground?  Was that why L/N went down there every now and then?  Why not bring her mother to the surface with her?  Why, when she came to the surface, did L/N take Frazier’s first name and not use her last name?  Why not use her real name?  How did the events of forty years ago play into now, and how had it had an affect on L/N?

As always, whenever they uncovered something about L/N, it always came with a thousand more questions.  They could theorize all they wanted, but it wouldn’t bring them closer to finding the answers that they craved at this point.

And still, despite the shock and the...unease he had felt to find the empty grave and realize the reality of what happened in that town--or at least part of it--Levi still felt like there was another reality altering twist in this dark tale that was unraveling in front of them that would be far worse.  He still felt like they were far off the mark, that the still failed to understand the reality of what they were stepping into.  More than ever, Levi felt there was something dark behind this, and he began to feel the first hints of malice surrounding these secrets.

Whatever L/N was hiding, at this point, Levi knew it had to be dangerous.

Erwin’s concerned eyes probed Levi’s expression as Levi gazed at the empty teacup in front of him, well aware that despite his feeble attempt to calm his nerves and thoughts, he wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight.

“Levi--” Erwin started to say in a grave tone of voice, but Levi cut him off.  He knew what Erwin was about to say, and he already knew what he had to do next.

“I know.  All I’m waiting for now is for her to make the next move.  This time, she won’t shake me.”

Next Chapter---->

Levi Tags:  @clary-quinn @humanitys-hottestsoldier@whalerus @sunny-flo @thirstyforsometea​

Wings in the Dark Tags:  @regalillegal @animeluver23 @theshylittleelfgirl @queenthorin1 @dilucs-thighs @sociallyanxiousmouse

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.29}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 3.7k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

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The very moment Robin was back inside the castle, every possible doubt about what she was about to do had vanished entirely if it had ever been existent in the first place. On her haste down into the dungeons, people jumped out of her path at the mere sight of the sinister expression on her face, and honestly, she was more grateful than ever that nobody dared to as much as look at her for too long. Sometimes a reputation was a curse, sometimes a saving grace. Right now the latter was the case.

She didn't say a single word when she opened the door to the potions classroom in one swift move. Still stayed silent when she made her way through the rows of desks and students, straight to the front where Snape was working at his desk like always during detention. She didn't need to say a thing, and yet all eyes were on her in an instant. The students' many ones in surprise and nigh intimidation at her mode of entrance, Snape's merely in instant concern. He knew that she wouldn't just show up here, bursting into detention if it wasn't for a matter of utmost importance. So she only looked at him in silent confirmation of what they both knew was happening right now.

"Detention is over. Get out. Now." Snape spoke up with a brief glimpse at his students, in a tone to match Robin's grave expression. Then however his eyes found and never left hers as he rose to his feet in an instant to round the table to come over to her side as if the rest of the world beyond them simply ceased to exist.

"But professor, it's still over an hour until dinner… Are you sure we're allowed to go already?" A young boy, probably a first year, remarked carefully, which earned him a few groans and curses from his peers, and an instantaneous but deathly glare from Snape.

"Question me again and you will spend the entire remainder of this term in detention." He snapped at the boy, then turned to everyone else who had stopped in their tracks or not yet started moving in the first place. "What on earth are you waiting for?! Is there a part of 'get out' you dunderheads failed to understand?"

It took exactly five seconds for the students to rush out the door while the echo of his words still ghosted through the masses of stone. Then, in the very instant the last people had left, the door to the classroom flew shut, was locked and warded in a now long practiced procedure that, to Robin's knowledge, was yet unbreakable. Ever since new year's, they had become more careful with their every step for a multitude of reasons. Morgan being one of them.

"What on earth-..." Snape didn't get further than that before Robin had dropped her backpack and winter robes on the ground and wrapped her arms around him so tightly that her muscles started quivering, urged into this impulsive need for closeness by the sudden and sheer overwhelming realization that she had come way too close to never seeing him again. In the end, it was a gift of fate that they were still here, still together. This thought as well as the hot rush of welling tears it brought along was only quenched when he held her tightly in return, and her composure collapsed once and for all.

Sure, there were more important things to be dealt with right now and Robin had promised herself not to let her emotions get in the way of that, but she couldn't help it anymore. Repression and putting on acts for her own mind only worked for so long. And thus she let herself dwell in his embrace for now, clawing onto him like a lifeline of reality, basking in the comfort and safety she needed now more than ever. The world could wait. It had to.

"Whatever it is, we will be fine." He said after a while of drawing soft patterns on her back, and Robin almost had to smile. She had never told him just how soothing she found that gesture, nor his voice and words of encouragement, but somehow he still had always known anyway. There was no measure for how much she loved him for that, for just knowing. "May I see for myself?"

"Please do. I couldn't logically explain what happened anyway, not even if I tried." She sighed in return without even having to ask what he meant, and then waited for his presence in her mind as she had felt it so often before. It was a truly pleasant procedure at this point, like a gentle caress, like the patterns on her back. And therefore sharing her memories of what had happened brought an immediate and breathtaking relief to her troubled mind as much as his presence did to her soul. The panic faded, the anxiety and sickness made way for reason and even a strong sense of safety. She might not need him to protect her… but she still was more than glad to know that he wouldn't let anything stop him from doing so anyway.

For a while longer neither of them spoke, even once he had seen all there was, all there had been. His hold on her only tightened, and moments later the scratch on her eyebrow started tingling with the warm echo of magic. Perhaps she should ask him to teach her some of those miraculous healing spells… If fights over life and death were to become a normal occurrence in her days now, it might yet prove useful to have some of his tricks up her own sleeves as well. But that would have to wait; for now, she had to get over herself and deal with the more pressing issues. With a deep breath, she pulled back when she finally felt ready to face the world and the worries it brought at last. They could do this. Together, like always.

In the following minutes it in return took Robin quite a bit of convincing to remind Snape that, one, she had won the fight and had come out more or less fine after all, only cold and bruised, and two, that they had agreed that killing Morgan was still not an option. No matter how very tempting the idea was under the current circumstances. Robin did agree with one point though, when Snape said that if it ever came to a moment where it was either Morgan's or Robin's life, he wouldn't waste a second of thought to save her no matter what might be the cost in return. She did agree, even though she knew that it had never been meant as a question in the first place.

Indeed, the thought made Robin smile. He would gladly set the world and skies on fire for her if the opportunity should come, without a single doubt or hesitation, and while that thought should have been at least somehow disconcerting, the unshakable fact only made Robin feel ineffably proud. There had never been such a thing as 'normal' when it came to him and her… They had always been living by extremes. Living through passion for life. And in that intensity, in the way they lived and were going to live, she found her fear replaced by determination.

"I believe to have a lead on Morgan's reasons, to find out what this is all about. A start." She said, and was met with the most attentive, intrigued gaze in return. "Or at least I finally have an idea where to look for one."

"Other than his sheer insanity being reason enough, you mean?"

"Actually, I'm rather sure that he is quite as sane as you and I." Robin sighed, while a half smile found its way onto her lips nonetheless. "But no matter what he is or isn't, we will find out what makes him do what he does and we will put an end to it. In a different way than by killing him. A better one."

"You're terribly rational. As always." Snape replied in a huff, and yet let his fingers trace the outside of her hand in a feathery touch to replace some of the past embrace's comfort. It was remarkable how much better he had gotten with such simple signs of affection over the last few months, even if still ever so subtle. "I wish I had your level of optimism."

"I'm not optimistic, but realistic." Her half smile turned into a full one as she took the opportunity to interlace their fingers in return. "This mess with Morgan has been going on for almost seven years now, and I need it to end on my terms before it ends on his. We have to see to it that it does, and we will."

"Tell me more about your lead then; I must say that neither his words nor your thoughts on the matter made much sense to me."

"They didn't make sense to me either, until I went shopping with Cas and Jorien."

"You almost died, and then you went shopping right after that instead of coming straight back here?"

"Yes?"

"You hate shopping. And you almost died."

"Yes…?"

"I am honestly not sure if I should be impressed or irritated. You really are perfectly impossible."

"Why, thank you!" Robin had to smirk upon his incredulous expression, but soon enough her thoughts and expression went back to business as she tried to put the mess of thoughts into a stringent sentence. "To be honest, I just went shopping because I didn't want to let the girls down, and I hoped it would bring me some diversion from the events I did not even nearly understand at that point. But it was Morgan's words that made me think, and even throughout the hour where I tried to focus on other matters, they never quite left me alone no matter what. To make it short, I have an idea what he could've meant with some of what he said. The part about looking at my being but not me, the earrings and also comparing me to some other person who is me and not me at the same time."

"And?"

"The painting in the room of hidden things." Robin finally got out the very core of her thoughts, of her suspicion, and it didn't take more than that for Snape's mind to visibly halt at her words. "We have to find it and see if the woman who looks like me has earrings or not. Because then Morgan's comments-..."

"Would suddenly make a disconcerting amount of sense." He finished the sentence for her with a deep frown as his thoughts finally caught up with hers. "It still doesn't explain why he does what he does, but it certainly is a starting point indeed."

"The best lead we've ever had. And the only one."

"Then we cannot wait any longer." His tone went from considering to beyond determined. "We should be able to get up to the seventh floor unseen even at the present time, if we make use of the hidden paths in the castle."

"Lead the way then." Robin said with a small but sincere smile, then gave Snape's hand a gentle squeeze and finally let go to take her robes and bag to his office for safekeeping. The classroom was a mere shed in comparison to the fortress of spells that surrounded the office these days, and if today had proven anything to her, it was that she couldn't be careful enough. Not even with her belongings. After all, objects could be cursed just the same, and do perhaps even more damage than a simple one-time spell. She wasn't keen on finding out just how much more.

… … …

They made their way up to the correct seventh floor hallway in a matter of minutes, unseen in the rising darkness of the castle, and it again took only a minute and an illusionment charm to summon the grand door to the room of hidden things. The extraordinary place didn't fail to fascinate Robin even now upon their entrance, and she inevitably had to think back to the last time she had been here. The only time, to be exact, because she hadn't dared returning alone. A lot of things had been easier back then… But she wouldn't want to go back for anything in the world. She couldn't even bear the thought of going back to the torture that was loving from afar.

"Do you remember where the portrait was located?" Snape asked once he had closed the heavy door behind them, and broke Robin out of her marveling and memories. Yes, this reality was far better, no matter what.

"I, uh… I was rather distracted the last time we were in here." She admitted with a small shrug, which made him raise an eyebrow at her. Robin rolled her eyes in return. "I was trying not to jump at you for how close you kept coming to me, if you have to know. So no, I don't remember the path to the portrait."

"Pity." He sighed in feigned disappointment, then merely took her hand again and started walking off in absolute certainty where to go while pulling her along. Of course he knew where the portrait was… Robin had to smile against her will as she couldn't help rolling her eyes again. Insufferable idiot. Her idiot.

In a matter of minutes they reached the mountain of objects Robin very much recognized as the place she had discovered the portrait in nonetheless. The flipped chairs, the pile of pink teacups, the bucket filled with yellowed scrolls. Yes, this was the right spot indeed. But there was no painting anywhere in sight.

"It's gone…" Robin wondered out loud, brows furrowed and the hairs in her neck standing on edge. She hadn't quite considered that people other than them had access to this place as well… other people who might not have her best interest in mind, with the portrait or not. Or who came in here not to hide something, but to hide something that already was in here. The thought made her shudder.

"I can see that." Snape replied flatly, with very much the same irritation colouring his features and occupying his mind. His concern was all the more reason for Robin to feel everything but at ease in this place, even now that their hands were still tightly interlaced. Perhaps they were both scared to part again any time soon. But still, bloody portrait… couldn't anything ever be easy at Hogwarts?! Perhaps this room wasn't such a great place after all. Then again, maybe it only was almost getting killed that had her on edge far more quickly than usual. That explanation for her unease was more likely. Gods, she couldn't even keep her thoughts in line properly.

"Perhaps someone moved it while in the search for something else?" She suggested in an attempt to keep her recently regained calm. This was not a setback, that they hadn't found the portrait where it was supposed to be. It was rather a mystery, a riddle, and those were supposed to have edges and corners. Yes, that made her feel better about the situation. "I know tracing spells don't work in here, but perhaps we could have a quick look around nonetheless?"

"I have a better idea." Snape said with a thoughtful gaze at the spot where the portrait had been. Then – much to Robin's dismay – he let go of her hand and instead made them both move to the side, almost leaning into the next mountain of objects behind them as he went on. "How likely is it that Morgan, the perhaps only professor who has a habit of being constantly short of time, would spend precious minutes every morning and every night, according to his own words, to come here to look at the painting?"

"Unlikely, I should say. Practically impossible."

"Yes. And what does that thereby mean?"

"You just love to make me guess, don't you?"

Snape rolled his eyes, partially at Robin and also partially at himself if she wasn't mistaken, but then answered his own question nonetheless. "It means that he must have taken the portrait elsewhere. Either to his office or his private chambers, I presume."

"Oh bloody hell no…" Robin groaned under her breath, then leaned her head back into her neck for a moment to place that very logical piece of information into her mental puzzle. "I'm afraid you're right, but I still very much hope you're not. The thought-..."

"I know. It concerns me no less."

"Can we do anything to find out for sure before I break into his office for nothing?"

"Before we break into his office. Don't even think that I would let you do any of this alone." He protested immediately in a reproachful scoff, but when his words only made Robin smile ever so slightly, his expression mellowed out in return. "There is no way to be entirely certain about the whereabouts of the painting, seeing as the room's magic to protect its contents is older than the castle itself. We cannot undo it, not even nearly."

"Pity." Robin sighed in a mirror of his own favoured expression, which earned her a not-smirk before he went on.

"What we can do however is to trace a person's movements. If Morgan ever was in here, we should be able to see where precisely he went, which in this case is the next best thing."

"That's bloody brilliant!"

"Don't look so surprised…" He scoffed again, but the not-smirk lingered on even as he worded the according spell. It wasn't an unfamiliar or difficult one, but what made Robin feel both in awe and proud beyond reason was the very idea in the first place. Tracing the person and not the object was such an out-of-the-box approach to the problem at hand that it might as well have come from her own mind. But coming from Snape now, it made Robin realize all over again how much they had grown into each other's ways of thinking over the years. She couldn't help feeling proud of that even in a situation like this.

A mere few seconds later, the ground before them lit up with a straight line of glowing footsteps that came from between the mountains of things from the direction of the door. It led straight to the point where Robin vaguely remembered the portrait to have been, then it took a sharp turn straight back to where it had come from. No detours, no looking around. A straight path here, a straight path back.

"The spell only shows the last time he was here, not possible times before that." Snape explained, and Robin found herself nodding on instinct as her eyes followed the footsteps between the mountains where they disappeared from her sight.

"Yeah, I know…" She mused, frowning to herself once more. Obviously she knew the spell and its specifics, but something entirely else was nagging at her mind again, something she should take notice of but hadn't as of yet. It was terribly irksome.

"Perhaps a summary of the state of affairs might help?" He suggested, and it didn't even come as a surprise to Robin anymore that he knew exactly what was going on in her mind. In more instances than she could count, he just knew indeed.

"Very well, let's see…" Robin mused with a sigh, while they started making their way back towards the exit in a slow saunter. "Morgan wants to kill me. He is not insane, he rather seems to have a reason for what he does. One he doesn't quite agree with, or at least is somewhat troubled by himself. The chance that he can win a duel against me at this point is near non-existent, so his only chance is to catch me by surprise or trickery, like he did today. He would find it easier to kill me if I fought back, but he still doesn't plan to stop trying either way. He cannot stop for some reason, or so he says at least. He wants to kill me, and yet he doesn't want to see me dead."

"He has a twisted obsession with you, whether that be for you as a person or you as a representation of something or someone else." Snape went on in the wake of her words. "He clearly adores you, while yet he has an ineffable hatred for you, which makes him both enjoy and dread seeing you suffer. The obsession with you led him to take the portrait out of this room, which he came to discover by yet unknown factors. He came in here at least once and took the portrait out with him to presumably either his office or his rooms. There he looks at it every morning and every night, as for his statement, because he rarely sees the real you outside of class. Through that or perhaps for other reasons, he has formed some sort of bond with the woman in the painting, which he recognizes to be you and not you at the same time. He wants you to be his, and yet he wants you dead."

"Exactly." Robin sighed again. "That makes so much sense and yet it doesn't make sense at all. It's as if he is two people at once, at war over one thing he is made to do and one thing he wants to do. If you would've asked me a year ago, I would've said it could be an Imperius curse. But after reading the book Dumbledore gave me for my birthday, and you'll know this because we both have read it a gazillion times by now, the curse just doesn't quite fit in with the facts of the case."

"I agree. He is far too aware of himself and his struggle on either end to be cursed. Especially unlikely for an Imperius curse."

"Good… But that also means that nothing fits in with the facts. We have a bunch of new questions, but no answers whatsoever."

"Yet."

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[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

Hello! So, I mean, this might be out of the blue, ambiguous and crazy to answer (but it's something I think about a lot, and you touched upon it in a previous ask and would love your further perspective on!) but let's say, at the end of The Return of The King, Grima lived! What do you personally think his journey and path would look like from there?

Grima asks are never out of the blue - I always want them <3 Thank you so much for asking!!

--

man ok - well Grima at the end of ROTK is in a really dark place. Frodo, Gandalf et al first run into Grima and Saruman on the road near the misty mountains as the make their slow return journey from Gondor. 

As they (Frodo, Merry, Pippin, Gandalf) came out again into the open country at sundown they overtook an old man leaning on a staff, and he was clothed in rags of grey or dirty white, and at his heels went another beggar, slouching and whining. 

[...]

‘Get up you idiot!’ he (Saruman) shouted to the other beggar, who had sat down on the ground; and he struck him with his staff. ‘Turn about! If these fine folk are going our way, then we will take another. Get on, or I’ll give you no crust for your supper!’ 

The beggar turned and slouched past whimpering: ‘Poor old Grima! Poor old Grima! Always beaten and cursed. How I hate him! I wish I could leave him!’ 

‘Then leave him!’ said Gandalf. 

a man who has never been in an abusive situation in his life, clearly. 

‘One thief deserves another,’ said Saruman (to Merry), and turned his back on Merry, and kicked Wormtongue, and went away towards the wood. 

Great guy, Saruman. 

And the famous scouring of the Shire bit that everyone on here misremembers when it comes to Grima’s whole situation: 

But Frodo said: (...) But I will not have him (Saruman) slain. It is useless to meet revenge with revenge: it will heal nothing. Go Saruman, by the speediest way!’ 

‘Worm! Worm!’ Saruman called; and out of a nearby hut came Wormtongue, crawling, almost like a dog. ‘To the road again, Worm!’ Said Saruman. ‘These fine fellows and lordlings are turning us adrift again. Come along!’ 

[Saruman tries to stab Frodo as he leaves and Sam gets ready to shank a bitch. Frodo stops him saying: ‘...He is fallen, and his cure is beyond us; but I would still spare him, in the hope that he may find it.’ ...]

He (Saruman) walked away, and the hobbits made a lane for him to pass; but their knuckles whitened as they gripped on their weapons. Wormtongue hesitated, and then followed his master. 

‘Wormtongue!’ called Frodo. ‘You need not follow him. I know of no evil you have done to me. You can rest and food here a while, until you are stronger and can go your own ways.’ 

Wormtongue halted and looked back at him, half prepared to stay. Saruman turned. ‘No evil?’ he cackled. ‘Oh no! Even when he sneaks out at night it is only to look at the stars. But did I hear someone ask where poor Lotho is hiding? You know, don’t you Worm? Will you tell them?’ 

Wormtongue cowered down and whimpered: ‘No, no!’

‘Then I will,’ said Saruman. ‘Worm killed your chief, poor little fellow, your nice little Boss. Didn’t you, Worm? Stabbed him in his sleep, I believe. Buried him, I hope; though Worm has been very hungry lately. No, Worm is not really nice. You had better leave him to me.’ 

A look of wild hate came into Wormtongue’s red eyes. ‘You told me to; you made me do it,’ he hissed. 

Saruman laughed. ‘You do what Sharkey says, always, don’t you, Worm? Well, now he says: follow!’ He kicked Wormtongue in the face as he grovelled, and turned and made off. But at that something snapped: suddenly Wormtongue rose up, drawing a hidden knife, and then with a snarl like a dog he sprang on Saruman’s back, jerked his head back, cut his throat, and with a yell ran off down the lane. Before Frodo could recover or speak a word, three hobbit-bows twanged and Wormtongue fell dead. 

A sad end to a very sad life. 

-

So that’s the canon ending, obviously. A very neat, pat ending where all the baddies are dead, everyone who is broken will disappear into an asylum and/or die take a boat to the grey havens and life will move on. 

How nice. 

-

Alright, now for the speculation! My favourite thing. 

Assuming Grima lived, god knows what his journey afterwards would look like. He’s mentally (and physically) in a bad way after having been physically (and emotionally) abused and starved by Saruman for the last year/two years. Saruman may have lost his powers, but he’s still terrifying force to be reckoned with. I don’t know how much Grima would be capable of on his own in terms of survival. 

That said, Grima’s made it this far. He’s clearly got something in him that’s keeping him alive. Something in him wants to live. It might not know how to go about doing that, but it’s there, and that’s important. 

So he’s stabbed Saruman, A+ work. The hobbits don’t shoot him. The question is then: does he take up Frodo’s offer or does his fuck off into the wilderness. 

I can see him going either direction, honestly. But I suspect, given that he’s starving and in a bad way physically, I suspect he’d stay for a time. Now, considering what’s happened to him in the general vicinity of Bagend, I’m not sure how long Grima will stay, but I do think he’d rest there for a short while. Get a proper meal or two in him. Take a bath. That sort of thing. 

From there he could go to somewhere like Bree or Dale, take up a new name/new life and try and move on, as much as a person can in a world that has absolutely no support networks for people who have gone through bad shit. 

If he stayed for a longer period with Frodo? I could see Sam putting him to work. 

‘I need someone to help me garden.’ 

‘...I know about horses?’

‘Plants are easier, trust me.’ 

‘....Are they though?’ 

Considering the fact that Grima has been dehumanized (Worm; like a dog; cur) and treated as worthless/unworthy by one of the more powerful beings in Middle Earth - and one who was once Great! Who was once wise and wonderful! I suspect he’s going to have a difficult time accepting kindness? 

Frodo, of course, would be generous and understanding, because it’s Frodo and that’s the measure of man he is. Truly one of the nicest and most forgiving and tender people in the series. 

Aragorn said of Grima that if he walked out of Orthanc alive it would be too good for him. 

(Everyone is a lot meaner in the books. Funnier, yes, but also meaner. Then there’s the weird Faramir moment where he’s all up on that “Numenorian Blood Quantum Is Important” nonsense (tell that to your brother who has no blood of the Westernese in him...) There’s a lot of Oooof moments). 

Frodo, though, Frodo is one of the genuinely kind and loving people who would never think such cruel things about anyone. 

But back to Grima, I think the line Gillian Flynn wrote about how when you’re weaned on poison, it makes kindness seem like a cruelty is very relevant here. The first step to healing is allowing yourself to admit that you deserve to be healed, that you deserve love. That’s a very hard thing to allow, to acknowledge is something you are worthy of having. 

And so it would be difficult, for him, to accept kindness and gentleness from Frodo, or anyone else. But if he was doing something to “earn” it, that might make it more palatable. 

Which is a shame, since if there is anyone who understands the power and allure of the dark lord/Saruman etc. and how that can mess you up and contort you into someone you don’t recognize anymore, it’s Frodo.

-

Would Grima go back to Rohan? I don’t think so. Unless there were some wild, unexpected circumstances that brought him there, I truly don’t see him returning home. He’s torched that bridge pretty successfully - at least, I’m sure that’s how he sees it. 

Now if he did. If something Bat Shit happened - and he went back. It would be wild and very emotional.  

A Rider of Rohan, lost in the shire: I’m looking for a Mr Baggins? I understand he might know where Gandalf is? We sort of need some magic help in Rohan. 

Hobbit: Turn left at the end of the lane, go past Grubby Harold’s llama farm, stop at the intersection with the red sign, take the third exit of the roundabout, turn right, turn left, turn left again, take the second switch back up the hill, at the crest of the hill, take the path that turns left at the big tree that someone carved Fuck Lobelia into and that should get you close. 

Rider: 

Rider: Right. 

Rider eventually shows up, Grima’s out front updating Sam on some shit that Pansy Fielding said to Fardulf Braceblower, an ongoing war that has existed since the Dawn of Time. Sam is like “Please never stop telling me all the gossip, I live for this shit.”

Frodo: How did you hear about this? 

Grima: I might have set up an informant’s network but it’s solely to trawl for entertaining gossip.  

Rider approaches: Oh dear gods. 

Grima: 

Grima: Go get fucked, Gundahar. 

Sam: Friend? 

Grima & Gundahar: No. 

Anyway. The rider tells Frodo that he’s after Gandalf because XYZ is happening in Rohan and Eomer-king is annoyed and “wants it dealt with, preferably yesterday”. Grima knows what’s up because you know, resident Spook Master also he was spending a lot of time around a lore-filled Wizard. Might as well get something for the years of mistreatment. 

Gundahar: He’s not coming back to Rohan. 

Frodo: We’re going on a road trip, Sam. Let’s get packed. 

Sam: I’m so ready for this. 

Grima: But I’m not going back to Rohan. 

Gundahar: He’s not coming back to Rohan. 

Frodo: Too late, he’s coming with us. Neither of us can be left alone for too long or we go weird in the head. 

Merry: Oh we’re going to Rohan? Well, as a member of the royal court I’m coming. 

Gundahar: .... How is this happening? 

Grima: Hobbits, they move in herds. 

Pippin: WAIT FOR ME! 

Gandalf is UPSET that he has to travel with Grima. Grima says it’s mutual. He doesn’t like wizards. Especially wizards in white. He gets weird about hoarding food when Gandalf is around. 

Grima then has to visit Theoden’s grave and have a lot of emotions about everything and it’s a Lot.

I don’t think he’d stay, though. Either he’d go back with Frodo or he might go on to Gondor or out east or something. Travel for a while. 

- 

I’ve gone off on some tangents here. Ahem. 

But in general, I see his journey going in one of two directions: one where he fucks off after murdering Saruman and takes up a life somewhere else like Bree, or wherever, probably drinks too much and is miserable until he dies. 

The other is where he accepts Frodo’s offer and either just chills in the Shire being the resident gossip-monger and mischief maker (Frodo: NO MISCHIEF. Grima: we can make a little mischief .., as a treat?) or he accepts the offer, stays for a while to get back on his feet and shake off some of the darkness, then goes off to travel around. Maybe he settles somewhere, maybe he doesn’t. Regardless if he stays or goes, it is a better ending to his life than he probably hoped for or expected. 

And it shows the power and importance of kindness and love. Healing only happens if there is love and gentleness. And it’s terrifying - of course it is - but it’s so necessary. 

-

Ok I am so sorry for my dissertation on Grima. I love talking about him so much.  

Thank you!! <3 <3 

[flutteringphalanges]

Summary:  “Am I in Hell?” Agatha’s voice was hoarse, a hint of fear in her tone. “That depends on your definition,” Dracula answered. “Perhaps.” His fingers felt cool against her burning skin, the fever raging through her body. “If you’re going to kill me, then do it,” she mumbled. The count chuckled, gazing into her eyes. “On the contrary,” he smirked. “I’m going to save you.”

((In which Dracula cares for a gravely ill Agatha))

Characters: Agatha Van Helsing/Dracula

Rating: M

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: Thank you all so much for your support! It means the world! Quick shout out to @rheabalaur! She is incredibly knowledgeable about the history of Dracula and Vlad Tepes and though I ended up not exploring human!Drac in this chapter, I wanted to thank her! She’s got some neat posts on the history and I learned a lot! Anywho, feedback is greatly loved and appreciated! Here is the next chapter! 

                                    Chapter Ten (Part Two)

Psychosomatic heart palpitations. The only diagnoses one can give to someone whose heart has stopped so long ago. Settled deep behind his rib cage, Count Dracula could almost swear he felt the dead organ pound against his ancient bones. Its rapid beating battering against his ear drums. Agatha Van Helsing was gone. Vanished without a trace except for a final message scribbled hastily on a scrap of paper. And it was all his fault.

"Fuck, Agatha!" He cursed, feeling the draft from the air outside. She'd neglected to close the doors properly, though that was beside the point. The cold temperature didn't bother him. No, he was immune. But she wasn't. "Dammit!"

Transformation. On foot. But there was the issue of his missing boots. The vampire's mind reeled a million miles a second. Usually he was so good thinking on his feet. Decisions coming easily to his mind. Yet there he was, standing hopelessly like a fool, trying to devise a plan. A way to find her. Agatha. His Agatha. In all of his centuries of life, never had he made such a fatal mistake.

He stared down at the corpse of the young man whose lifeless brown eyes gazed back at him. His skin was so pale, almost lily white after being completely drained of blood. Dracula let out a grunt, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Sloppy. Careless. His new existence as a vampire had yet to come easy to him. Despite being a learned man, he was well on his way of opening Pandora's box if he wasn't careful.

"Oh don't look so stoic." The vampire exhaled, glancing up to the dark sky. "You were far from valuable to begin with. Now what to do with you…"

Thunder rumbled overhead and small raindrops began to fall from above. Dracula frowned and glanced towards the direction of his castle. Experimentation. Understanding what he was didn't just fall on his shoulders. No. There was something interesting he witnessed with each new kill. From cradle to grave and from grave to coffin. Dying from one life into the next. A small smirk crossed his features as lightning crackled from above.

"Perhaps you will prove more use to me after all." He stated, lifting the body with ease. "So we shall see…"

By some stroke of sheer luck, Dracula managed to come across a pair of old boots tucked away in an old closet. Dusty, they gave off an unpleasant smell that even he found rather foul. But his own comfort was far from his concern. Slipping them forcefully on, he hurried out through the front doors and into the winter elements. Going bravely forth into the bitter snowstorm that had begun to stir from its sleep again.

His pace was brisk, each long stride with purpose as he walked away from the castle. Much to his misfortune, the fresh snow had completely covered the ground, burying with it any sign of Agatha's tracks. Not even transforming into a wolf would help at this stage. No. He couldn't sense her and that alone terrified him. If she was...no, no he couldn't think like that. So he pressed on, faster now.

Lovech Province, Bulgaria. At least, that's what he had learned from her blood. A pretty little thing, traveling alone to meet relatives in a nearby village. She'd been an easy target and quite an interesting one at that. Someone he had deemed worthy enough to keep.

"Please!" Dracula heard her wail from her box. "Please let me go! I'm so thirsty!"

"No." The vampire replied simply, so casually as if he was merely telling her the time of day. "No, I think it's best you stay put for now. Don't worry, I'll take good care of you. I always do with my brides."

Brides. He scoffed at his own term. It had been something he had come up with after holding captive several of his victims. Dracula needed to, after all, have some sort of name for them. In a sense, it seemed fitting. They were his after all. Property. Like cattle. Valuable, unusual stock that any bidder would desire and yet not know the horrors they were getting into.

"Let me go!" The woman pleaded. "Please, I promise I won't tell anyone! Just free me!"

"I shall return later." Dracula sighed as he ignored her screams of protest. "Perhaps with something to eat if I feel willing." He paused before looking over his shoulder. "And do try to keep the wailing to a minimum. I hate how it echoes throughout the halls."

Brides. Cattle. He grinned to himself as he exited the cellar. Disposable indeed.

"Agatha!"

He mentally cursed the howling wind that drowned out his voice each time he called out for her. Of all the times for her to disappear, of course it had to be in the middle of a blizzard. On many occasions she had threatened to leave, but the vampire had never thought she'd go through with it. If he had, if he had half the mind to, maybe he could've prevented this. All of this. If he had just been honest. Maybe she'd still be safe. Warm. Tucked away with him in the castle. But she wasn't and he was to blame.

"AGATHA!"

He hadn't quite expected his time with Jonathan Harker to turn the way that it had. It wasn't often that Dracula was left to deal with a slip up-if one would even call it that-but he found himself in a quite peculiar situation. An instance that led him to the steps of St. Mary's Convent in Budapest, Hungary. To her.

Agatha Van Helsing was a creature he'd never seen before. Such wit. Such spirit. She did not fear him like the others. She tested him like a fishman precariously dangling bait off the side of a boat where a shark was spotted. And that very moment when those few drops of her blood met his tongue it was a euphoria he couldn't explain. Seeing glimpses of her past. Of her history. Of who she was and of him. Of the infamous Abraham Van Helsing who had proven for a while to be a thorn in his side. Her grandfather. The product of a vampire slayer. And Dracula wanted...no, needed more.

The next course of action ended grizzly, not that he was quite surprised. But it wasn't until he came upon Agatha and that innocent, weakling Mina that his desire for the nun became curious. In any given dangerous situation, one must choose fight or flight. To defend yourself against your enemy and possibly die, or to out run them in the hopes of living. Agatha did neither. Instead, she offered herself in place of Mina. Seemingly cared nothing for her own life but only that of the woman's.

And so against what he thought at the time was his better judgement, he freed them both. Unknowing that soon enough fate would have them meet again under even stranger circumstances. How delectable and useful just a small amount of blood could be.

He couldn't smell her. No matter how far he walked, he still had yet to pick up any of her scent. That gave him some hope that maybe she hadn't injured herself. That perhaps she had found someone by some chance who had given her a ride somewhere. Unlikely as it was, it gave him a false sense of peace.

But due to the hindrance of his tracking abilities, a part of the Count began to wonder if Agatha's former Convent's beloved God was punishing him. That perhaps his version of Hell was not having her. Losing her. And who was he to deny that truth? Hell had frozen over and with it the former nun's mysterious disappearance. Dammit, Agatha, where could she have gone?

Dracula found himself staring at her for hours when he had first brought her to his castle. Watched as her chest rose and fell with each unstable breath. How her creamy skin was blotched by the red of the fever. At any point he could've killed her. Any second. With how ill she was, she wouldn't even see it coming. But she didn't. Instead, he observed. Quiet as his unaware guest rested.

When she did wake, truly became aware of her surroundings, it was a fond memory. How furious she was. How spiteful. After everything he'd done, Agatha showed no sign of gratitude and quite frankly, the vampire took no offense to that. She was merely an experiment after all. Someone he desired to learn more about. Except, he never expected it to go as far as it did.

"Fuck!"

Dracula's arms shielded him out of pure reflex as a tree fell just a yard away, spraying him with the wet snow that had clung to its branches. He wiped the substance away, his skin cool enough that it didn't immediately melt on impact. The way it clung to his clothes like some form of unwanted camouflage. For the first time in a long, long while, he was starting to despise the stuff.

"Agatha!" He tried again, this time louder. "Agatha, answer me! Where are you?!"

But only the storm returned his calling.

Emotions. Perhaps that's why he found it confusing at first. These feelings that no cold blooded person should experience. But the first real flicker struck him the moment he saw her wearing the dress he'd gotten her to replace that dreadful habit of hers.

Dracula thought of them. The hundreds-thousands of women he'd seen throughout his lifetime. Many whose beauty was beyond compare. But Agatha was different. Something about her, the way she stood there before him. There was so much he wanted to say. And at the same time, he wasn't sure what.

"Well," she said testily. "If it looks bad on me, you might as well-"

"No," he interjected. "No. You look...lovely."

Lovely. Out of everything he could've said, those were the words to spill past his lips. She blushed, but it wasn't the same color as her fever. No, this was different. So it truly began. The start of something he had very much yet to comprehend.

It was growing darker outside and Dracula knew it wasn't just because of the storm. He began to pick up his pace, fear beginning to rise even further than before. How long had he been asleep? A few hours at most? Could she really have gotten this far?

That's when he smelled it. The very faint, but familiar scent of blood. An aroma he was so familiar with that his stomach dropped at the realization. Agatha. It was Agatha. And the sweetness he associated with it only made him want to gag. His worries had been confirmed. Something had happened to his nun.

Maybe it was when they lost control over dinner and ended up having sex so rough, the aftermath of their heated lovemaking shouted to the heavens the next day. Or when she got so furious with him once, she broke her hand against his face. But perhaps the moment it really dawned on him that his feelings for Agatha Van Helsing were far from just a whim of passion was that night he truly tasted her.

The way she trembled against his touch. How he had to hold her as he ran his tongue across the inner thigh and to her very center. Sweet, like her blood, and he savored her like a fine wine. It hadn't been rough. Fueled by aggression. No, the way she melted into him was something far different. And when he was finally inside of her, that same sense of euphoria that he'd experienced those several, several months ago struck him. And he lost it. Completely gave way and pierced his teeth into Agatha's sensitive flesh. Blessed with her indulgence once more. That was his first mistake.

The smell of fresh blood was stronger now and Dracula followed it like a bloodhound. Though he knew he had to be drawing closer, how potent it was becoming only left his stomach twisting into knots. This wasn't a mere scratch. Not with how intense the smell was. There was a significant amount and the vampire dreaded what that could mean. What the outcome he was about to face was. How he wished Agatha had just gone ahead and staked him.

Cruel. That was the proper description for his next actions. Never mind triggering Agatha with old memories of Abraham-a man he knew well enough while, not evil, lacked any sort of endearment towards his granddaughter. He only furthered his stupidity when he abandoned her afterwards, leaving what should've been a good moment with a negative, abrupt ending.

In an almost sadistic, poetic way, the stake to his heart had been the final straw that broke the camel's back. The moment where Agatha's walls completely crumbled to the ground. Where she had, in her actions, admitted her true feelings when he had not. Metaphorically piercing her own heart when she should've done his. And he smiled. Grinned and waved away her affections. If only he realized the cost. The consequences. Those few words scrawled upon a strip of parchment.

Something caused him to stop in his tracks. Not the giant branch that blocked his path, but the feeling that there was something else. And so he hesitantly gazed over the edge, over a set of ragged rocks that dropped down several yards to the bottom. That's when he saw her. A figure lying motionless below wet by something other than snow. Dark. Even from where he stood, his excellent vision could make it out. Blood. Agatha.

"Agatha!"

Dracula leaped with such grace it made the long drop seem like a mere step. He hurried over to her side. Blood. There was so much blood. It stained the rock around her, caked locks of her hair together. And for a brief moment, for a fraction of a second, the vampire thought he was too late. It was only when he heard her pulse, the weak thrumming of her heart, that he knew she was alive. Barely. But still with him. As he exhaled in relief, her eyes opened.

Quickly he knelt beside her, the smell of her blood burning his nostrils. Thirst. Hunger. But he fought it. Battle the feral urge to feast within him. Dracula's hands were warm, sticky and red as he cradled her head ever so gently. She stared back at him unfocused.

The Count wanted to berate her. Scream at her for being so boneheaded. But not because he was furious with her. No, she had terrified him. So many questions. So much to say. Yet he couldn't. There wasn't any time to do so. He was losing her. Right there in his arms, the only person he'd truly ever cared about was withering away. He couldn't let that happen.

"You're dying." And the words held far more emotion than he'd ever had anticipated. "Agatha..."

"I know," she croaked.

The way she said it. Her tone. She wasn't afraid. Far worse. It was as if she was more than willing to accept this horrid fate. This end where one no longer exists. And he had planted the seed that made her okay with that.

"I can save you." There was a tremor in his voice. "This doesn't have to be the end. Let me..." He swallowed, damn how he hated to sound vulnerable. "Let me..."

There was a moment of pause as Agatha struggled to catch a breath. It ached deep within him to hear the pain as she did so. She was so strong. Even in death, she fought with bravery. What a soldier she would've made. What a companion in his human lifetime she would've been.

"Tell me..." Blood bubbled up in the corner of her mouth as she struggled to remain conscious. "Tell me..."

"Agatha!" He spoke to her loudly, trying desperately to keep her awake. "Tell you what?" But the Count already knew what she meant. "Tell you what?!"

"Just..." She was fading now. Fading so fast. "Tell me..."

Tell her. He looked deep within her blue eyes as the light began to fade in them. Tried to hold her stare so she knew he really meant it. Weeks. Months. It was so long overdue and this was far from how he wanted to ever admit it. Open up to her like she had him. But now he needed to. So he swallowed, swallowed so thick as if his very life was caught in his throat.

"I love you." A statement so foreign, and yet, felt so right. Something wet brushed against his cheek. A tear. Was he crying? "I love you, Agatha Van Helsing."

A weight lifted off his shoulders. The entire universe relieving him of the pressure he'd felt for so long. He gazed down at her so longingly it was as if everything had stopped around them. Waited for her final words. Praying she'd give into his demands.

Agatha smiled weakly and closed her eyes at his confession. "Okay," his lover murmured. "Okay…"

And Dracula's fangs plunged into her throat.

[eviesmyspiritanimal]

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

Summary: As one of Auradon’s last hopes for keeping the enemy at bay, Harry’s heading off with Uma to be stationed for one year to lead a military outpost in the war against the insurgency of villains. Evie’s not doing well at all. Hevie or Harry x Evie in an Auradon Civil War AU.

    “Take me with you!” Evie came to a screeching halt on the dock just by the ship an oddly desperate look on her face as she held out a hand in his direction. Only her head and shoulders were visible to any spectators upon the ship’s deck. Harry turned to look at her and his expression softened as he took a few steps so he could see her better over the edge of the ship. He bent over and placed his elbows on the railing.

  “Me love. Ye came,” he happily acknowledged as he regarded her with a subdued happiness. Harry didn’t really think she would after the massive blowout she had last night with the stress of the entire ordeal. After all, he wasn’t doing so well either with all of this.

  “Of course,” she quietly assured him before launching into a more desperate plea.

  “I can’t let you go! I can go to the outpost with you and help where I can. Provide medical care, something. I just can’t be without you!” Evie frantically cried out. He quietly watched her for several long moments before shaking his head.

  “I can’t. It’s dangerous, an’ besides, I can’t take ye away from yer family here. From yer duties,” Harry told her, taking her outstretched hand in his own and kissing it softly before staring at her with a very much saddened gaze.

  “And ye truly don’t wanna leave ‘em either. Yer not foolin’ anyone but yerself, me love,” he told her under his breath and a tear rolled down her cheek as he gazed upon her fair face. He knew she was going to fall apart before it was all over.

  “Don’t cry, Pretty Face. There’s not a thing to be done ‘bout it,” Harry attempted to comfort her, reaching out his other hand and cupping her cheek gently yet firmly.

  “Can’t you tell her no?” Evie pleaded with him as she placed her other hand on the strong wood surface of the boat.

  “It’s my duty, and I have to go where me cap’n goes.”

  “Screw duty! Quit, then,” Evie demanded feebly as she squeezed his hand that was in her own and Harry shook his head sadly.

  “I ‘ave to go with ‘er. Y’know our circumstances. You ‘ave duties ‘ere as royal advisor and I ‘ave duties as first mate to the cap’n of Auradon’s navy,” Harry softly explained and Evie’s shoulders shook as a sob wracked her frame. Harry ran his hand down her cheek and under her chin as he angled her head so that she was looking at him.

  “Hey, I’ll always come back to ye. I won’t be dyin’ in this skirmish or any other one.”

  “You don’t know that, Harry Hook, you don’t know that,” Evie hysterically explained to him and Harry stepped over the railing and hopped down so that he was at her level.

  Without hesitation, Evie crashed into his chest heavily and wrapped her arms around him tightly. He wholly enveloped her smaller frame in his own and ran his fingers through her flowing blue tresses that seemed to wave like a waterfall over her back and his arms.

  Evie breathed deeply between bouts of uncontrollable tears and he placed his lips on her forehead as he inhaled the sweet smell of her perfume and unique Evie scent. It was almost like honey and strawberries and he couldn’t help but immediately think of that bottle of shampoo that she had so proudly exhibited to him just a week or two ago that was supposed to be so beneficial for various parts of the hair. He wished now that he could remember just what she had said.

  The truth was, he was terrified of failing her and the kingdom. If Uma and he were sunk on the way to the battle-site or were killed during their long stay at the outpost, there was officially no force stopping the rising insurgency from invading Auradon and killing countless innocents.

  And what would stop them from possibly killing Evie? Sure, her sister could turn into a dragon, but if they managed to get through the defenses or catch them off-guard, Evie could be gravely endangered.

  His subtly shook his head, clinging to her ever tighter as he tried to get those thoughts out of his head. Evie buried her face in his shirt and grabbed his waist in a nigh suffocating hold.

  “Harry!” a voice came in and interrupted their little world where they could just stay there together forever.

  He looked up at the deck and saw Uma standing there with a solemn expression. Her expression was hard, but her eyes conveyed a softness that was oddly suiting of her as she looked at the both of them standing there so beautifully entangled together.

  “It’s… time to go,” Uma softly spoke, and he could barely hear her over the sounds of the crew’s noise as they prepared cannons and other forms of artillery. He glanced down at Evie’s crown of flowing hair and looked back at Uma, pleading for just one more moment with the love of his life.

  She regarded them for just a moment more before looking down at the deck. After a few beats she nodded to him and he could see the tears in her eyes before she determinedly blinked hard to send away the urge to fall apart. Uma turned and headed for the wheel of the ship to prepare for sailing for the high seas.

  Harry hesitantly pulled away from her just a bit and he pushed his forehead against hers, their noses squished firmly together as they looked into each other’s eyes.

  “It’s going to be a year… I don’t want to lose you. I love you,” she murmured, sounding as if she were about to launch into frantic sobs once again. Harry sighed deeply, using his logical brain to push away his desperate heart’s desire for her.

  “I love you, too,” Harry told her just as he heard the horn signifying takeoff. Harry glanced at the ship quickly before taking her cheeks in his hands and passionately locking her lips with his own. She scrambled to grab his coat lapels as she returned it with just as much vigor.

  Harry was determined to get what he could of her before he absolutely had to go. Evie meant more to him that absolutely anything besides his captain and their cause. Of course, his devotion to the cause was almost completely out of devotion to Evie and her safety.

  He finally pulled away from her softly and took in every last detail of her face, determined to remember everything about her in case something was to happen.

  Her gorgeous mocha eyes finally opened to look into his own and he took special notice of every little fleck of green swirled in the beauty of the brown pools. Harry forced himself to draw away from her just barely to gaze upon her face better.

  “Wait for me, my love. I will return,” Harry solemnly swore his oath, taking her hand and pressing it against his heart as the sealing of his promise. Evie closed her eyes for a moment more, mustering her strength, before opening them with a renewed determination.

  “I will,” she took his free hand and pressed it against her heart. He smiled softly at her, squeezing her hand that was against his chest and he stepped back slowly, his hold slipping away from her as he mentally readied himself to return to the ship. He offered her a bow, and with a longing look, he turned and swiftly climbed the side of the ship, vaulting over the railing easily.

  Evie watched him intently as he tipped his hat to her one last time. She curtsied in reply, offering him a vague hint of a smile as they made haste in sailing off.

  She watched them until they were almost imperceptible on the horizon before finally turning around to return to the castle. Evie couldn’t help but feel not empty but at the same time not quite full.

  That boat had a piece of her heart on it, and so help her, Uma had better deliver that part back home to her safely. She didn’t aim to live in this hollowed state for the rest of her life.

  Evie sighed, opening the great doors of the castle, and resolving to do all that she could to bring the enemy to their knees.

   ………………………………………………………………………………………………………

      Evie strolled through the gardens, enjoying the fleeting beauty of the hurried birds and the pure colors of the deep red roses. She had a bit more of a pep in her step today. There was a promise of something great happening today, and she could feel it in her bones.

  The war had been won, but communications were still cut with any ships or units at any distance beyond one-hundred miles as a result of the enemy’s success in eliminating signals sent from boat to boat. She had been waiting for days now in hopes that some sign of Uma’s ship would turn up, and Mal always reassured her, saying the same thing- there’s no telling where in Auradon that Uma will dock the great boat given that communications were eliminated and Mal will let Evie know if she sees or hears of anything from the ship.

  Evie sighed, reaching out and gently cutting a single rose from its place on the bush. She took in a breath of the sweet smell of the roses, unwillingly noting how they paled in comparison to the smell of the sea that seemed to be oddly wafting in the garden. Evie furrowed her brow, wondering where that smell was coming from considering the fact that Mal’s castle was nowhere near the ocean.

  “Tha’ wasn’t very nice. Ye beat me to it,” a voice suddenly came like music to her ears and she turned to face the source.

  Standing there before her was that achingly familiar boy with the hook that she loved so dearly with a rose in one hand and his signature hook on the other. She drank in his appearance thirstily as if it were the last look that she would ever have of him.

  He was wearing the usual deep mahogany leather clothing and his face was covered in a light coating of scruff that somehow made him even more attractive than he was when clean shaven. A small scar ran down his eyebrow and disrupted the growth of the hair, but other than that he appeared to be not worse for wear. Especially with those even larger muscles.

  “I wanted to give ye a rose first,” Harry told her with a slight smile before she suddenly and without hesitation practically jumped onto him. She pressed her lips against his with a nigh frenzied fervor, trying to show him just how much she had missed him as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Harry immediately dropped the rose and his hook to the grassy ground and reciprocated quickly, heatedly making out with her as he held her up.

  She drew away from him for a moment, running her lips and nose along the newfound roughness of his cheeks and chin. Evie couldn’t help but grin dopily at the feel of it. He started tracing kisses along her jawline and she barely resisted the moan that was sure to come.

  She willfully pulled away from him just enough so she could get a closer look at his face. His gaze locked onto hers and she found herself mesmerized and completely overwhelmed by the love and desire that she found there. Evie trailed soft kisses across his skin, lingering especially long on the eyebrow scar and the one that she had just noticed on his upper lip.

  Evie pressed her forehead against his and he slowly lowered her to the ground. Evie kept her gaze firmly on his own as she carefully guided his hand to her heart and smiled sweetly at him.

  “I waited for you.”

  Swallowing hard, Harry took her hand ever so gently in his own, pressing it to his chest as he had about a year ago.

  “And I’ve come home,” he whispered just barely.

  All was right.

A/N: I kind of want a Descendants Civil War AU now... I hope you all enjoyed it!

[ladyknightleyisundercover]

Harry/Ginny: "We're cursed! We're doomed!"

AO3

The summer after Ginny finished atschool, but before she started with the Harpies for the new season, she andHarry booked their first holiday together. They were to visit southern Spain,touring the muggle and magical coastline and generally having a delightful twoweeks. It would be Harry’s first ever trip abroad (the Dursleys hadn’t exactlybeen big on taking him away with them) and Ginny’s first holiday since theWeasleys went to Egypt when she was twelve. And it proved a disaster from startto finish.

Various Portkeys were missed; onehotel lost their booking altogether, forcing them into a very dodgy hostel forthe night where they shared a dormitory with fourteen drunk men on a stag do;and between them, they ended up in hospital four times. First Ginny gotsunstroke, then Harry fell down the side of a cliff on a hiking trip and brokehis ankle, then Ginny got a severely infected bug bite, then Harry finished offtheir stay with a nasty bout of food poisoning. All these things were easily dealtwith by the Healers, but all in all, it wasn’t the most successful of holidays.

They recounted the farce overdinner to Ron and Hermione when they got back, who laughed in the appropriateplaces, and made the appropriate noises of sympathy when required. “You’recursed,” Ron said, once they got to the food poisoning bit. “That extendingcamping trip we took put a curse on your holidaymaking forever!” A few drinkslater, this ‘curse’ turned into a silly in-joke which gave them all a fewlaughs, and was promptly forgotten about the next day.

Until, that is, the two of thembooked a second holiday together. This was in late autumn: their busy workschedules meant that they rarely were able to see each other, so they made aconscious effort to get away, just the two of them, and booked a cottage forthe weekend in Upper Fladgley. Getting there was, clearly, a breeze: they onlyhad to apparate up to Yorkshire, and they met in the Wand and Cauldron,enjoying a delicious meal before walking the short distance to thebeautifully-appointed cottage rented to them for Friday to Monday via a friendof a friend of a friend for surprisingly little. The weather was glorious forlate November: cold and crisp, but dry—autumn at its best. It was all set to bea glorious holiday, and an excuse for some much needed time together.

And then they discovered the ghoulin the attic.

This ghoul made the ghoul at theBurrow look tame, and explained why the rent had been so low. It consistentlymade noise—howling, banging on the pipes, doing Merlin only knew what untilabout four in the morning, whereupon it stopped for a couple of hours only toregroup at breakfast time twice as loud. They tried all the silencing charmsthey knew, but for some reason, they did not work. The ghoul was so loud thatat times talking was impossible: Harry and Ginny found themselves bellowing ateach other to be heard, which rather took the edge off whatever kind ofromantic weekend they’d planned. Sleeping was challenging enough; anything elsewas out of the question, especially after Ginny purchased two sets of ProfessorSprout style earmuffs which they both wore to bed.

They did, it was true, enjoy somenice autumnal walks around the sleepy little magical village in the Dales andthe Wand and Cauldron severed the best food either of them had had in months. Likethe Spain trip, it wasn’t as though they’d hated every moment. But as aromantic getaway, the holiday was a disaster from start to finish.

“I told you: cursed!” Ron said,when they’d told him, later. And, again, they’d laughed at their misfortune,then promptly forgotten all about it.

But then. In the spring, they’dorganised a trip to the Amalfi Coast. Early May, they’d been told, was the besttime to go, and so they headed for the wizarding beaches, sparing no expense ontheir hotel. They’d booked for a week, and the first three days were glorious.You could not have asked, they both agreed later, for a better holiday. Thehotel was incredible, the food divine, and the scenery beyond anything theycould have imagined. More than that, though they were finally able to spendsome time alone, just the two of them. It was amazing.

Then, the morning of their fourthday there, they’d gone down to breakfast only for another guest to approachthem. “Are you Ginny Weasley?” he’d asked. Ginny, who had had a spectular firstseason with the Harpies, was used to this by now, confirmed that she was,expecting to sign an autograph then be on her way, like at home. But the blokehad derailed their breakfast, giving her a play-by-play of nearly every matchshe’d been in like she herself hadn’t been there—with critiques!—and it hadrather spoilt breakfast.

Still, they were set up for a nicemorning by the pool afterwards…until it turned out that word had gotten outthat the Harpies’ new star Chaser was staying there, and nearly every touristin the surrounding area wanted her autograph, or a conversation, or the chanceto throw a Quaffle around with her. Throw in the fact that a fair few wereequally starstruck with Harry, too, and it meant that yet again, they didn’tget the relaxing couple’s holiday they planned. The remaining seven days werespent dodging autograph seekers and then, less charmingly, Rita Skeeter, who’dgot word of where they were staying and started popping up to ask ridiculousquestions, hoping for an exclusive.

Of course, they’d regaled Ron andHermione with the story when they’d got back. It wasn’t that they had had atruly awful time—and the two of them, with their respective upbringings, werewell aware of how lucky they were to be able to afford holidays at all, letalone such expensive ones in such lovely places. Still. The idea of a nicebreak, just the two of them, and no interruptions seemed to be unobtainable,much to their chagrin.

“It’s because you’re cursed,” Ronhad said solemnly. Once again, it was clear he meant it as a joke. And yet…

Busy work schedules, for both of them,meant that they didn’t plan another holiday for a good while. It wasn’t untilthe following summer that they planned to go away again, and this time, theydid extensive research, read every single review going, and booked under fakenames. Anything they could possibly do to ensure that things would goswimmingly, they did. All was looking very positive: they had rented into anextremely exclusive villa on one of the Greek Islands, on the recommendation ofone of Ginny’s teammates. Tamsyn swore that it was genuinely the best holidayshe had ever had, so the two of them started to relax.

This, finally, would be the holiday. The one to make up for allthe other rubbish ones; the one where everything would be perfect, and the onewhere no one would recognise them, as they had booked under the name of Danieland Bonnie Grint.

Three weeks before they were due toleave, a letter arrived at the breakfast table. The villa had burned down.

“…full refund…assure you thatno one was injured…regret we are unable to offer alternative accommodation atthis stage…” Ginny read aloud. She looked at Harry.

“Insurance job,” they agreed inunison.

*

“I’m not being funny,” Ron said,“but I think that you genuinely are cursed. You just cannot have a goodholiday. It was when we were on the run, see. The camping cursed you.” The fourof them had met for dinner, and Harry and Ginny had filled them in on theirlatest holiday shenanigans.

“Don’t be silly, Ron,” Hermionesaid, rolling her eyes affectionately. “Of course it didn’t. Have you been ableto find anything else?” She addressed this last to Harry and Ginny, who bothshook their heads.

“Sadly not,” sighed Ginny. “Wewanted to go somewhere hot, and also somewhere private after last time, and theonly places we’ve found now look a bit dodgy, really. Everywhere’s booked up,as you’d expect in July. It’s a bummer.”

“There’s worse things that couldhappen for sure,” Harry added, “but it’s still annoying.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Hermione saidsympathetically. “Maybe you could get something later in the summer?”

“That’s the plan,” Ginny said. “Wewere thinking—”

“It won’t work,” Ron interrupted,“because you’re cursed!”

“Oh, Ron!”

“I’m starting to think you’reright,” Ginny said, laughing. “We just can’t catch a break—literally!”

“The camping cursed you,” Ron said,looking at Harry with a grave expression on his face. “And you by association,”he added, nodding at his sister.

“That clearly isn’t true,”said Hermione in her logical voice. “You and I spent the entire time withHarry, and none of our holidays have been cursed.”

“Well now they will be!” Ron exclaimed. He picked up his beer glass andhalf rose from his seat. “Quick, look, there’s an empty table over there! Let’srun now, before the curse catches up with us, too!”

“We’re doomed,” Harry agreed. “We’recursed! Save yourselves while you still can!”

“Honestly, you two, that is nothow curses work! You should know this by now. You have to be cursed by someone,and—” Just then, their food arrived, cutting Hermione off. Distributing thedishes took a few moments, but once everything was settled, Ginny regarded theother three thoughtfully.

“D’you know, I think you’re right,”she said. “I think we could be cursed.”

“I can feel it in my waters,”agreed Ron, taking a big bite of burger. “Cursed.”

Hermione huffed in exasperation. “Thatreally isn’t possible, and—”

“The more you say it, the more trueI can feel it becoming,” said Harry, nodding at Ron. “I fear we are doomed toawful holidays for the rest of our lives! Whatever will we do?!”

“I don’t know if I can survive it,”Ginny said, pretending to wipe away a tear.

“You’re all being absolutely ridiculous—”

“There’s only one thing you cando,” Ron said. They all looked at him. He assumed the air of one who as reachedtrue enlightenment. “Break the curse.And also chuck us the ketchup, ta.”

“Now you’re talking,” Ginnysaid, waving her fork in his direction. “Wait. How do we do that?” Harryshrugged.

“I think it’s obvious,” Ron said. “To break the curse, you have tothink like the curse. Act like the curse. Becomeone with the curse.”

“Oh, honestly! How many years of magical education between you, and youpersist in indulging in these wild conspiracy theories which have no basis inthe reality of how cursing actually works!” Hermione looked like she was on theverge of the apoplexy.

“What you need to do,” Roncontinued, ignoring this, “is go camping again. The two of you, a tent, aweekend in the wilderness. Or, I dunno, some campsite somewhere. I guess itdoesn’t matter. But the point is, if you go camping together, and have a goodtime, I am convinced the curse will be lifted and you’ll have no more holiday problems.Boom. Sorted. Am I a genius or am I a genius?”

“I think it could work,” Harrysaid, playing along. “Gin? How about we dig those tents out again and go?”

“I’m up for it,” she agreed. “But Ithink we should consult an expert.”

“Bill?” asked Ron, confused.

Ginny shook her head. “Hermione?You are clearly the expert on all things curses at this table. What say you?”

Hermione looked like she might explodewith frustration, but just then the waiter came to ask how they were getting onwith their food. They all assured him it was lovely, then attention turned backto Hermione. Who was now not looking frustrated at all. Indeed, she had anexpression on her face which might best be described as ‘dangerous’.

“I think Ron’s idea could wellwork,” she said, taking a sip of wine to allow for a pointed pause. “If you doit properly.”

“…properly?” asked Ginny.

“You can’t just go camping andthink it’ll fix everything,” she said. “You have to go camping the muggle way.No magic.” She speared a carrot, looking satisfied.

“What’s muggle camping? How’s it different?”asked Ginny.

Hermione smiled. “Oh, you’ll see.”

to be continued…

[monstersandmaw]

Hello! Thank you for opening requests. If it's okay i'd like to request a lonesome male fae with a non binary chubby reader, sfw if it's possible thank you very much.

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Oh gosh, I’ve sat on this request for months. Like, months. But I knew I was going to do it for you, and had it all planned out (on paper and in writing and everything!) and then I discovered that it’s your birthday today, so I had to do it. Happy birthday, my beautiful demon-muse-friend!! 

The setting for this is the day of my orc girl, Bronwyn, and her female reader’s wedding, but they don’t feature. Instead, the fae who is officiating their marriage is the subject of this little tale. It’s sfw, and features a reader who’s gender isn’t mentioned. I hope you like it!!

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As you traipsed into the little town, exhausted, and utterlyfed up, you saw little triangular pennants hanging over the main street in awide loop, fluttering in kaleidoscope colours in the breeze. It drew a smilefrom your lips, despite your mood. You’d been walking for days, you had almostnothing left, and yet someone here was happy, and having a party.

The noise of merriment and song rose from the back garden ofone of the buildings, and as you neared it, you realised it was the villageinn. The sign of the White Lady inn swung in the breeze, showing you adelicately painted rendition of the waterfall that you’d passed a few milesback, which had the same name. Not wanting to enter the pub if the celebrationsfor someone else’s happy day were in full swing, you looked around and saw ahuge water trough with broad, stone edging, sitting just beside the inn. Takingyourself over there, you cupped your hands and drank deeply of the clear, freshwater. It was cold, but it felt so good. Your own waterskin was empty, and yourfood rations were running out.

As you sank gratefully down onto the edge of the fountainand took a moment to rest your feet and enjoy the strains of music floating upfrom the party going on just out of sight behind the building, a movementcaught your eye, and you saw a figure standing in the archway to the passagewhich led along the side of the inn. He was clearly coming from thecelebrations, but he looked somehow utterly lonely.

After a moment, he noticed you too, and began to approachyou slowly, giving you plenty of time to get up and leave if you didn’t wanthis company, his hands hanging loose at his sides in a non-threatening, gentlepose.

Gods, but he was beautiful. He was tall, and perhaps a bitsevere looking, with long dark hair, and bright eyes, and he wore a long, darkblue, almost ceremonial robe, trimmed with silver and embroidered with patternsof the summer constellations. As he drew nearer to you, he looked almostsurprised by his own actions, but he smiled at you, and asked you who you were.Unthinkingly, you simply told him your name, and said you’d come a long waythat day.

“So I see,” he said kindly in his quiet, rich baritone. Ithad a sad harmonic to it somehow, which you couldn’t quite identify, but whichyou seemed to feel in the very depths of your soul. “And what are you doing outhere alone?” he asked. “The inn may be full of wedding guests, but there’salways room for one more, I’m sure. Mama Gilla wouldn’t hear of someone goinghungry in her town…”

You had to smile at that, but it faded quickly. “No moneyfor food or a bed,” you shrugged. “I suppose I’ll sleep between the trees againtonight…” you said. “It’s not so bad at this time of year.”

He frowned, his strong, handsome brows knitting together inconsternation, and his slender hand went to his pocket. He drew out a glintinggold coin, and your eyes went wide with surprise. Before you could sayanything, he said, “I will offer you this coin in return for a single smile.”

“What?” you asked stupidly.

He chuckled, a lovely, whickering sound, like a contentedhorse. “I’ve seen plenty of smiles today, but they were all for someone else.None were truly for me.”

“That’s a heavy price to pay for just a smile,” youcountered, staring at the coin.

“It’s my demand. I’ll set the price.”

You looked at him a long time. “You’re fae, aren’t you?” youasked eventually, and he nodded once. “What are you doing here?”

“Officiating at a friend’s wedding, believe it or not,” hesaid. “There’s an ancient belief in these parts that to be married by a faebinds you to each other on a deeper level.”

You cocked your head to one side. “That’s not the case?” youasked curiously.

He laughed again, adjusting his weight slightly on hisslender legs. His long blue robe lifted in the breeze which whispered along theroad, and you felt your heart skip a beat as his long, dark hair was liftedfrom his slim shoulders to reveal his chiselled jawline and high cheekbones inthe shifting sunlight of the late afternoon. He seemed completely unaware ofhis good looks as he shook his head. “No, I don’t think my presence makes theirpromises any deeper,” he said.

Unthinkingly, you smiled broadly at his comment, and he heldout the coin to you. “There,” he said. “Perfect. Thank you.”

“That’s it?” you said, fingers faltering just beforeaccepting the gold coin. It would buy you bed and board from here to the nextkingdom, probably.

“I swear on my true name that the only price I ask in returnfor this gold coin is a smile from you, traveller,” he said formally.

“I feel bad accepting it though,” you murmured, and he setthe coin down on the edge of the fountain. As you reached to pick it up, yourfocus left the fae, and when you glanced back up, he was nowhere to be seen.Disappointment sank deeply into you, and you turned the coin over in yourfingers. It was still warm.

You stayed in the inn that night, and Mama Gilla, the goblinwho owned the inn, was only too happy to change it into coppers and silvers foryou, which would be more practical for the road anyway.

At dawn, you set off while all the wedding guests were stillasleep, and a chorus of chirruping forest birds filled your ears as you trampedalong the road, well rested and full of delicious food, heading away from thecity far behind you and out into the world beyond.

Then, as you rounded a corner, you saw another travellerwalking the road ahead of you.

His back was towards you, but the slope of his shoulders wassomewhat familiar, as was the long dark hair now tied back in a neat ponytail,and he walked with an easy grace in the same direction as you. In his righthand he carried a sturdy yet elegant walking staff, and on his back was a smallpack. As if sensing your approach, he halted, and turned back to look at you.

You smiled broadly as you approached, but it soon faded to aworried frown as you saw him shaking his head, looking serious. “What’s wrong?”you asked as you caught up with the fae from the day before.

“You give me another of your beautiful smiles, and I have nomore gold to offer you in payment,” he said.

“What’s your name?” you asked in return. “Or at least, whatcan I call you?”

“Kiridai,” he said immediately, and you knew instinctivelythat that was his true name. “Is that the price you ask for your smile?”

“No,” you laughed, “Of course not. I just wanted to knowyour name. There’s no price this time. My smile is my gift,” you said, but hedidn’t seem happy with that either. “Now what?” you asked.

“A gift should be met with another gift, else the onereceiving is in the giver’s power,” he said gravely.

You rolled your eyes playfully, sensing that he was a very serious fae, but not a dangerous one. “Only by fae rules,” you scoffed. “Besides, wouldit be so terrible to be in my power?” you asked playfully.

Kiridai actually snarled at that. “What can I give you?” hedemanded.

“You don’t deal with people very often, do you?” youlaughed, and he seemed taken aback at that, but not displeased. “I’m surprisedthey asked you to officiate a wedding!”

His shoulders slumped and his head bowed sadly.

“Fine,” you laughed, giving in. “If you insist, I would lovefor you to walk with me and show me your favourite thing about this forest,”you said.

Kiridai seemed pleased with that as your price, and youwalked with him along the road for perhaps a mile before he turned off the pathand took a narrow deer track through the beech trees. He paused briefly tocheck that he had set a good pace for you, and when he discovered that you hadkept up with him, he smiled bashfully over his shoulder, his eyes glittering,and he said, “Almost there.”

At the top of a short incline, he halted beside a littlerocky cliff. Water trickled from the rock into a natural pool, which, despitethe gentle flow of water, was still as glass. Sitting on the surface of themirrored pond were delicate, wild water-roses, the like of which you had neverseen in your whole life. Each one was as large as your hand, pale andbeautiful, and you soon found your feet faltering and your eyes widening at thesight of them.

Their delicate fragrance filled the glen, and he ushered youforwards toward them with a graceful wave of his arm. “This,” he said, “Is myfavourite place in the whole world.”

“I can see why,” you breathed, inhaling the scent of rosesand hearing the soft, glittering tinkle of water.

Glancing back at him, you saw him watching you with adelighted expression on his handsome face. “I’m glad you like it too,” he saidearnestly.

“Thank you,” you croaked. “It’s beautiful.”

“I could bring you nowhere else,” he said. “A beautiful soullike you is worthy of being in such a beautiful place.”

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Happy birthday, friend. Thank you for your endless support and ideas which keep me inspired on a nearly-daily basis. You deserve every happiness in the world. 

Just to add, requests are not currently open, this was a special one-off for a lovely friend. Sorry folks! Don’t send me requests after you see this…

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| Masterlist | Patreon | Ko-fi | Writing Commissions |

[sweetteaanddragons]

Seas and Shadows

I’m not dead! I’m sorry I haven’t been posting much . . . or at all . . . lately. RL caught up with me, I’m afraid. I’ll try to put a post up tomorrow letting you know what you can expect going forward, but in the meantime, have a fic!

“Ulmo, lord of waters, I gave you my father’s heart. If that has bought me any mercy, spare me my heart now. Uinen, I beg you, grant these waters peace, for the sake of those who have done you no wrong. Osse - please. Please just let me reach the shore, and then I will throw myself through your waters to the Everlasting Darkness if that is your wish, but please - Manwe, lord of winds, on I alone is your Doom left, do not touch these, I pray - Ulmo, for the love that you once bore my kin, please - “

The songs of appeasement from the first days of the voyage were long spent. By now even Maglor’s voice could not bear the strain, and his thoughts, so long left to wander, scattered with every crash of thunder. It was all he could do to keep their small boat afloat.

If either of his passengers had been at all capable of managing the boat themselves, he would have thrown himself into the sea as soon as the storm arose and prayed it would be enough to placate the Valar. As it was, he and the Valar’s mercy was the only thing between them and arriving at Aman not at the beaches, but at Mandos’s Halls.

One of them cried out in the grip of some nightmare or waking dream as the waves tossed the boat dangerously. 

“Steady,” Maglor sang to boat and passengers both and wished desperately that he could spare better comfort. 

He had felt the Shadow each time it had arisen anew. He had felt it in the air. He had felt it in the music of the world.

More prosaically, he had seen it in the increased number of orcs he had to fight to keep them off his stretch of the shore.

He had also felt it when Sauron passed. He had hoped - foolishly, he later admitted to himself - that his death would mean the end of it. That the long war was finally, truly over.

But now a pale Shadow was creeping in again.

It was not as strong. There were fewer orcs, now. Fewer monsters. And whatever the leader of this new evil might be, he was no Sauron, and certainly no Morgoth.

Of course, the armies left to face them were hardly the glorious hosts of the First Age either. The dwarves were hard pressed, and there were so few elves left to raise a sword, and none were as strong as they once were. The Men, at least, were numerous enough to fight, but the tide turned slowly, and while the war ground on, evil ran freely in the land.

Maglor made his camp in the ruins of his cousin’s fair city by the grave of his foster-son’s daughter and fought for his small corner of it.

He had watched unseen as Elrond sailed away, beyond where he dared follow. It was fitting, he knew, and he’d had no intention of inflicting his company on Elrond regardless of where he was, but -

But still. He had not been able to bear the sight of the sea after that.

Another voice joined his frantic chant. The boat began to slide more easily through the mountainous waves.

Elrohir’s eyes were closed, head not even strong enough to be lifted from the side of the boat, but his voice rang out all the same.

Ulmo had favored Turgon’s line once. Maglor prayed he still did.

The Galadhrim had long abandoned the woods, so the handful of woodland elves fleeing through the trees was not expected.

They were half-faded, eyes dull, lacking almost all of the Firstborn’s power. Their enemies chased them fearlessly, sure of victory.

Feanor’s son thought of the easiest skirmish of the First Age and rose, bitterly amused, to fight.

When it was over, they asked him to travel with them in a language he only half recognized.

They had problems enough. He would not burden them with his Doom.

Instead, he followed their directions to this new Enemy’s main camp. It was a direction to go in, at least, and that was more than he’d had in a very long time.

All he had to do, they’d told him, was follow the light of the brightest star.

Maglor had looked up at that cursed light and laughed until they thought him mad.

Knew him to be mad. One of the two.

It was a sign, perhaps. 

Perhaps this could finally be the end of it.

As Elrohir’s voice faded, Elladan’s picked up. Neither of them was strong enough to keep the song up for long, not in their current condition, but it helped. It was enough.

It had to be enough.

The camp was big, he supposed. It certainly had more people in it than he had seen together in a long time.

Still. He couldn’t help but fail to be overly impressed. He supposed after one had faced dragons and Balrogs and seen Morgoth himself, it was hard to be impressed by much of anyone you had to fight.

It was easy enough to remain unseen. He had, after all, thousands of years of practice.

He slipped around the edges of the camp looking for - something. Anything. Another sign. A goal. Something worthy to charge at. 

In the end, it was his ears that guided him, not his eyes.

He followed the sound of screams.

He thought, for a moment, when he saw the source, that he truly had gone mad. Mad past all functioning.

Because Elrond was safe, he was safe, and wherever Elros was, it certainly wasn’t here, and yet -

His eyes were playing tricks on him, he decided firmly. It was simply hard to see past all the blood. These were just two elves, two unknown elves who happened to have more power than any of the other scattered remnants he’d come across and yet who had been overwhelmed by treachery or too great a force. That was all. 

Earendil’s star burned directly overhead. He had his target, at least.

Although with this as his target, a change of plans might be in order. No glorious last charge for him; skulking in the dark like one of the Enemy’s servants it was.

Fitting, probably.

Blinding rain lashed the deck. To Maglor, it was nearly nothing. To his wounded, half-elven passengers, though, he feared it could bring far worse. The storm had to end.

He looked over the side at the churning water.

For the first time in days, he ceased his desperate song. “Do you think you could sail this?” he shouted over the storm to whichever twin was currently trying to stay alert.

“No,” both said instantly, and though he thought they had started to recover, perhaps even enough to sail this alone if the storm ceased, they sound too much like another set of twins in that instant for him to turn away from the desperation in their eyes.

“Patience,” he begged Osse when he thought the thunder was too loud for even an elf to overhear. “Just have enough patience for them to be spared, and I will surrender to whatever justice is demanded.”

Through the storm, he thought he saw a star.

There was a battle going on nearby that he was pretty sure their side was winning. He used the term “their side” loosely, of course. The orcs were dying, and that was the important part.

He paid only enough attention to keep them ahead of it. He soothed the horses he stole into running as smoothly as possible when he had to and kept his charges safely hidden in caves when he could. 

They were delirious with pain and fever, and he was painfully reminded of Maedhros when they’d first recovered him and of Celebirmbor’s last pain filled moments when his mind had reached for anyone at all.

He sang songs of healing and comfort and cursed his broken mind for making them look so much like his twins, even with the blood washed away.

When one finally woke enough to notice him and ask his name, he was so startled he gave it.

He expected panic, or, if he was very lucky and the elf was poorly educated, confusion.

He did not expect the quietly delighted, “Grandfather!” before the half-elf he later learned was Elrohir was reclaimed by the fever.

The storm ended gradually. He wasn’t sure if his pleas had finally placated the Valar or if the storm had begun interfere with other, more favored ships, or if, perhaps, his hubris had arisen and the storm had never had anything to do with them at all.

Regardless, the shore shone bright before them, not far at all now, and in these clear waters, he had no doubts they would make it.

For once, all had not turned to evil. And Elrond would be happy.

But for each deed done well, there must be a price in tragedy, and he had offered, after all. 

The water was calm, but it was still deep. He remembered when it had been red.

There was a Silmaril somewhere in those depths. This was almost like fulfilling his Oath, wasn’t it? Perhaps his father wouldn’t be too angry.

“Almost there,” he said quietly and took one last look at Elrond’s sons. “Your father will be pleased to see you.” He took a half-step towards the side of the boat.

The twins sang out in sudden, perfect unison, with all the power they had managed to hoard. There was more of it in them than he had realized.

Maglor swayed to the deck, overtaken by exhaustion, a suggestion that the song had not so much needed to implant as to give a light nudge.

Elladan was the closer, and he caught the falling elf and lowered him to the deck. “He’ll be pleased to see all of his,” he said firmly.

There was a problem with that argument, Maglor was sure, but he supposed it would have to wait.

[starcunning]

Day Three, The Reveal

When your OTP confessed their feelings. Or were their feelings originally a secret until someone else intervened? From the 30-Day OTP Challenge.

I actually wrote this from X’shasi’s perspective a while ago. (That version is NSFW; this version ends before anyone takes their clothes off.)

He might have ignored the linkpearl in favor of continuing to pack, but the truth was he didn’t have all that much to bring. And its insistent chime could not be long endured. Thancred tried to welcome the distraction, fitting it to his ear.

“What can I do for you?” Thancred asked, the same way he had a thousand times before. “Hi,” Shpoki said, laughter in her voice. “Can you come up to the roof?” He considered it, casting his gaze around his room at the Waking Sands. “I think I can spare a moment,” he said. “What’s going on?” “I’ll explain later. Just go ahead and head up there now.” “As you like,” he said, bemused.

Little point in putting it off; he misliked the way his footsteps echoed on the stone anyway. It was a reminder of how empty this place had become. True, they were headquartered elsewhere—and they had operated from somewhere else before—but the hollow sound reminded him of all those people that the Waking Sands, that the Scions, had come to lack. Soon he would be gone, too.

The thought sped his steps until Thancred emerged onto the roof. Though he looked, there was no sign of Shpoki—but he was not alone; X’shasi was there, turned to gaze out over the sea. The moonlight put silver in her hair and glittered on the waves beyond. She turned, just as his gaze settled on her, and seemed just as surprised by his presence as he was by her. She laughed, startled.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was expecting someone else.” “I don’t think she’s coming,” Shasi told him. She shifted her weight, clasping a hand beneath her throat. He noticed, then, that the white cloth draped about her shoulders was not a cape but a blanket, gathered around her. The black pourpoint she wore stood in sharp contrast, but at least it wasn’t her armor, black and dreadful. “Ah, well,” he said. He smiled, realizing he’d been had. “Shall I leave you to it?” “No,” she said, and the simple word seemed to hearten him. “Stay, if you like. Unless you’re busy,” she said, making of it almost a question. It was an escape he was determined not to make. “When are you leaving?” “When the team leads to Coerthas,” he said, crossing the rooftop to lean with her against the lip of the stone. “I’ll leave with them.” “To look into that aetherial disturbance?” He might have liked to. It would have been easier than what he truly intended. “Presumably,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He lifted a hand to his forehead, brushing back his hair, but the sea breeze tugged at his white locks again a moment later. “It’s not really my area of expertise,” Thancred admitted. “But it’s the sort of thing I might oversee. I just want to be seen leaving with them, so that if anyone is looking for me ...” “They’ll think they know where to find you,” X’shasi said. He nodded, turning his head to look at her. “It won’t hold up to any serious scrutiny, but I don’t think anyone’s that keen on chasing us down in the Darkhold. And if it only buys me a day or two, well … that might be the difference between my making contact with Alphinaud or not.” Or dying in some Garlean gaol. She seemed to be thinking it, too, for she had little to say, only hummed out a gloomy sigh, shoulders hunching beneath her blanket. “And you?” he asked. “What will you do?” What have you been doing? That was the real question. He knew half the answer; she had been treating with the Empire on behalf of Lord Hien, and it had gone as well as he might have feared. But the moons prior to that were a mystery to him, as they were to the other Scions. “You know me,” she said. “I always find something.” “I do know you.” Thancred didn’t think it was anything so benign as caving, this time. She might at least have invited him for that. “I know that the moment the dust settled in Ala Mhigo, you were off to do something else, and you came back in black iron with some great guillotine over your shoulder.” “Maybe it was just time for a change,” she said, softly. “Maybe,” he said.

She was standing on his right; she always did. Never in his blind spot. It meant that Thancred always had a clear view of that silver scar upon her cheek. Her service to the Scions had marked her at last. He would have spared her that, if he could have, but how could he? He had dealt her a dozen unseen wounds long before. He spoke her name, unworthy though he was to do so, and lifted his hand to her cheek. She turned her face toward him, leaning into his hand for just a moment, her eyes closing.

It didn’t last. She turned back toward the bay, the moon carving shadows into her face. Her expression was closed, but in her eyes he could see some terrible weight.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, pressing his hand to the stone instead. “I am,” she said, shaking her head as though to clear the pall of sorrow that had settled about her. She looked upon him with gladder eyes when she said “You too.” “Don’t worry about me,” he said. Before he could charm her with a smile, she said, “I will, though.” “I’ll be fine,” he said, not a dismissal but a promise. “I know,” she said. “I just wish I could be sure of that.” She pursed her lips. “We don’t work together as closely as we used to. I … miss it, sometimes.” That was news to him. “I do, too,” he admitted. A sigh gusted out of him: “Gods, all our problems seemed so simple then, didn’t they? And then I ...” The litany of things he’d done seemed to long to recite. “And then Lahabrea,” she said, tone soft but insistent. It was another of her courtesies, like standing on his good side. She had insisted always on holding him blameless for all that had happened when they had collared him with that inky crystal. But he had been the one responsible for its arrival there, no matter how she protested his innocence. “And now,” she sighed, “Minfilia is gone, and Elidibus is bending the Emperor of Garlemald’s ear.” Her expression ached with it, or perhaps simply from her recollection of how she’d come by that knowledge.

“You’ll muddle through somehow,” he assured her, trying to find a smile. “I’ve never seen a challenge you couldn’t ruse to. You’re strong.” She shivered beneath her blanket. “Never strong enough,” she said, “though I try to be. For everyone. For you.” It wasn’t just the cold that made him want to hold her close then, though Thancred was less than sure she’d allow it. “Everyone has placed such trust in me, and I don’t want to disappoint them.” It was more than she’d ever said on the matter, but the words continued to tumble from her lips. “I don’t want you to regret bringing me here. Making me part of this.” “Never,” he protested, and though he meant it with all his being his voice barely rose to a whisper. “How could you think that?”

Didn’t she know? She had saved Eorzea half a hundred times already, and him specifically a dozen more. She had done the impossible when they asked it of her—and even when they didn’t. It had not been a secret that nobody expected Thancred to survive. Lahabrea had said as much, with his own voice, and Thancred had resolved to die at X’shasi’s hand, if that was what it took to save the world. Only he had not. Nor had Estinien, nor the Warriors of the First. Nor …

“Because there was a part of me that didn’t want you to come to the Lochs with me,” X’shasi said, sounding ashamed. “When we went to check the grave, I wished that I had gone alone. But I knew that wasn’t possible.” He considered it, for a moment. It was not exactly public knowledge, the relationship between the Warrior of Light and the Crown Prince of Garlemald. But everyone there when they had slid aside the stone and found the tomb empty … all of them had known that it was her lover missing from the grave. How hard had she fought to keep her composure before them all? “You think your actions with the Viceroy made us lose faith in you? We’ve all—“ “Don’t you dare call it a mistake,” she interrupted. She was vehement, and if the memory of Zenos had not seemed to haunt her at the graveside, she seemed wraith-ridden enough now to make up the difference. “No,” he agreed. “We’ve all made judgment calls. Some of them have worked out well,” he said, with the breath in his lungs she had allowed him to have, “and some less so. Do you doubt Alphinaud because of the actions of the Crystal Braves?” “No,” she echoed. “There you have it. Whether or not I believe Zenos yae Galvus deserved a second chance, you gave him one. He saved Lyse’s life, and showed us there was another option to deal with the primals. For that alone, it would be worth it, but ...”

But he also made you happy, Thancred could not bring himself to say. He had seen it, under sunlight and glass. He had seen, too, the way it wrenched her soul to have to kill him. At least he had spared her the sight of all Ala Mhigo witnessing her unhappiness.

Her hand brushed his shoulder, bringing him from his thoughts. “I could never regret meeting you,” Thancred said. “Do you regret my bringing you here?” “No,” she said, quickly. Then she took a deep breath, squeezing at his shoulder as she sighed. “I’m tired, Thancred,” she said. He turned to smile at her. “Don’t let me keep you,” he apologized. “That isn’t what I mean,” X’shasi said, shaking her head. She lifted her hand from his shoulder, slipping it back beneath the drape of her blanket as she turned to face him. “If I don’t say this now, then maybe I never will. Gods know I’ve failed to thus far.”

He was too aware then of the glittering of the stars, the call of insects in the night. Of the intensity of her gaze. The moment became too immediate, too pressing, and he struggled to hear her over the sound of his own thundering pulse.

“You’re leaving,” she said. “Who knows for how long? So … everyone looks to me, even when I’m not sure I want them to. It’s hard, and I’m too tired.” “X’shasi,” he said, her name coming out of him hoarse and reverent. “I’m too tired not to be with you anymore, if that’s an option. If it isn’t, then—“ He took her face in his hands and he kissed her, heated and impulsive. Just long enough to obliterate any doubt as to his preference. The chance to be with her having at last presented itself, Thancred could not bear for even the moment to hear that they might remain apart. “It is,” he whispered. “It is?” she asked, with such wonder in her tone that one might forget it was she who had asked in the first place. “Yes,” Thancred said, wrapping his arms around her.

With his good eye, he saw a flicker of movement on the city walls above, and as X’shasi lifted her chin to kiss him once more, Thancred said a prayer of gratitude for meddling friends.

[queenofallcorgis]

A Beautiful Lie and a Painful Truth [Chapter One]

Summary: Frankenstein Inspired. All Phil wanted to do was help people. Instead he was the apprentice to an eccentric old doctor in smoggy old England. He didn’t expect the doctor to dig up a body. He certainly didn’t expect the body to wake up.

** **

Life asked death,

Why do people love me, But hate you? Death responded Because you are a beautiful lie And I’m a painful truth.

Ever since Phil was a little boy he dreamed of living in London.

He imagined living among the rich and cultured. He imagined all of the beauty that the largest city in the world would bring. He imagined the amazing people he would get to know and the spectacular things he could see.

In reality London was dirty, smelly and dark. A thick oily fog hung over everything and sludge covered the streets. Diseased beggars would stretch their skeleton hands out and grab at his clothes and the town was so, so, so crowded.

He had been lucky to find an apprenticeship with Doctor Leonard Thompson even the man was older and not the most esteemed member of his field. He was known to be a bit of an eccentric and his methods weren’t sought after except for those who were truly desperate.

Thankfully for their livelihood, there wasn’t a shortage of desperation in Jolly Ol’ London.

The rain itself felt oily as Phil hurried through the streets, pulling his black frock coat tighter around himself. His hat was pulled down low so he could shield his eyes from the wide eyed children starting at him from alleys. An older sign with flaky paint swayed in the faint wind and he walked towards it.

The Offices of Doctor Leonard Thompson.

Shaking the rain from his coat, Phil hung it up on a coat hanger and sighed. Dr. Thompson’s office was poorly lit and dingy. The couches along the waiting room walls were mismatched and had several fraying tears throughout.

He took a few steps in and froze. Why was there clumps of dirt and wet footprints along the floor? Annoyance spiked through him and Phil groaned, knowing that he would be the one to clean it up.

“Doctor?” He called out, side stepping the mud the old man had clearly trekked through the room.

“Philip!” The doctor shouted back and Phil opened the door to his main office.

On the office’s bed was a young man dressed in a suit. He was laying perfectly still and for a moment Phil thought he was sleeping before he realized the horrible truth.

There was a dead body in the office. A dead body still dressed in his funeral suit.

The body and the mud tracked through the office suddenly pieced together and everything made sense. A fresh body was in the office, a fresh body who seemed to have been recently dug up judging by the mud caking the doctor’s shoes and pants.

“What happened?” Phil breathed, unable to look away from Thompson’s overly bright eyes.

“They mocked me Philip,” the old man snarled, pacing around the body in front of him. “They mocked me and said that I was nothing. Well, see that I’m nothing now! They are all slaves to death and I’m about to become death’s master myself!”

The body was hooked up to various tubes and Phil saw the dark blood being pumped sluggishly in and out of the body, basically being an exterior heart. The young man was pale with death, his chest too still.

“Doctor,” Phil stepped forward, taking the doctor’s arm and getting shaken off violently. “Just…just take a seat please.”

Thompson shook his head wildly. “It’s brilliant. I just need to get all of the basic functions started and then with a jolt I can bring him back. Life just left the lad last night, it is still lingering on the outskirts. I can grab it Philip. I can grab it!”

Nausea climbed up Phil’s throat. This was madness. “We’ll just get to bed sir. Then we’ll return the body in the morning. Yes?”

“No, Philip…listen. His blood is being circulated by the pumps, air will be forced into his lungs. A cocktail of chemicals has been injected into the blood to jumpstart the life. That’s it! That is all it takes!” He took Phil’s arm and led him to the body.

The old man started hurrying around the body, placing a metal mask over the bottom of the body’s face and started pumping the attached pump. The body’s chest rose and fell with each false breath, giving him the eerie appearance of life.

“Doctor…stop…”

The doctor scowled at him and turned away. “I have installed a tall metal pole on the roof of this building. With a burst of electricity this will work!”

“You’ve wired the building to accept a burst of electricity?” Phil gaped. Not only was this now illegal and morally wrong, it was dangerous!

Thompson’s eyes practically glowed and suddenly there was a dull rumble of thunder. A bright light glowed brightly then everything exploded. The body jerked violently on the table and Phil jumped backwards, terrified out of his mind.

For a moment nothing happened. Everything just went dark and horribly still.

Then the body let out a rattling, shaky breath and Phil screamed.

It was breathing. The body continued to wheeze out breaths, mouth open slightly, and Phil couldn’t tear his eyes away. The mad old man had done it. He had actually done it.

Thompson scurried around the body, checking in on it with a wide grin. The breaths never stopped coming and Phil lost hope that this was a fluke. The minutes stretched by beyond slowly and Phil finally got enough courage to step forward.

The body on the table was actually breathing, its chest rising and falling under Phil’s trembling hand. He could feel a heartbeat and several muscles trembled with the remaining electricity.

“Oh my God,” Phil breathed.

With his words, deep brown eyes opened and locked onto his own. Then they started flicking around the room and the body’s breathing quickened, puffing out of his chapped lips.

“Calm down lad,” Thompson hurried to his side, clearly afraid that the panic would cause the  body’s heart to stop. “Just breathe.”

The breaths turned into drawn out whines and Phil did the only thing he could think of, he took the body’s hand. “It’ll be okay. I know this is a shock. Just…please breathe. You’re okay.”

Shakily, the body curled his fingers around Phil’s and that was when he realized that this wasn’t a body any longer. He was a man…maybe…what even was this creature on the table.

Those brown eyes rolled up and the man fell unconscious. After a moment of panic they realized that the man was just sleeping and Phil sagged backwards into a chair.

“Who is he?” He breathed and the doctor glanced up for a beat.

“He’s our ticket to fame,” Thompson’s voice was full of awe.

“No…he was a person. You took a person from his grave…from his resting spot. Who is he?” Phil felt his voice turn to ice.

Finally the doctor turned to him fully and narrowed his eyes. “It doesn’t matter who he was. He will be written in journals and throughout history, right behind my name. I’ve done the impossible. I’ve brought him back to life.”

But at what cost? Phil thought, staring at the man.

Hours passed and the sun started to peek through the dense smog that surrounded London. Thompson showed no sign of slowing down, just puttering around the man and checking on various vitals.

With a deep breath, Phil jumped up and hurried out of the office. He tugged his coat on as he walked down the street. His mind spun and his hands trembled as he crammed them in his pockets.

The cemetery wasn’t far down the road and his heart sank when he saw several police officers walking up and down the boarder of the cemetery. He kept his head down and entered.

“Excuse me,” Phil whispered as he walked past one officer who scowled.

“Sir, this is a crime scene. You’ll have to leave,” he said gruffly.

“I…my brother’s grave is further down. What happened? Should I be worried?” He tried to force his voice to sound concerned which wasn’t too hard with how freaked out he was.

The officer softened and sighed. “I’m afraid that there was a robbery last night. A body was taken from its grave.”

“Who? Can you tell me the name?” Phil stuttered out. “I mean…it might be my brother and my family would be so-“

“The name is…Daniel Howell,” the officer interrupted him and glanced down at his notebook. “Sad really, his funeral was just that day. The poor fellow was only nineteen and found strangled and then dumped in the river. His poor little fiance was beside herself.”

Phil nodded faintly, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. The man had a name. He had been a person with a family that loved him. He had been brutally taken away from them.

“Oh…thank you.”

The walk back to Thompson’s office felt longer than ever before. What was the plan with this man, Daniel Howell? Were they just going to keep him and march him around like a show dog?

Phil quietly opened the door to find the doctor still making notes and walking around the man in the bed. Daniel seemed awake now, turning his head lazily from side to side.

“It seems to have basic control over its breathing and heart rate,” the doctor said simply. “And some movement, mostly when guided. However, it appears to be an imbecile. I’m not sure if it is capable of thought.”

“He’s still-“

“If you are going to continue questioning my methods then you can find yourself a new apprenticeship! Maybe you could go back to that barn you used to live in.”

Phil’s mouth snapped shut. He could continue questioning the morality of this whole thing or he could stay here and help Daniel. Someone should treat him like a human being, if that was what he still was.

“All I’m saying is that he should be changed out of his funeral clothes and given a bath. He stinks of death,” Phil said softly and the doctor looked at him questionably. “You should rest. Get some sleep and I’ll take care of him.”

Thompson hesitated. “You’ll wake me if anything changes.”

“Of course,” Phil smiled shortly. He waited as the old man walked up the stairs to his apartment and turned to Daniel.

The young man was still looking around the room, unable to focus on anything. It was now that Phil was able to get a good look at him finally. Daniel was quite handsome with his high cheekbones and full lips. His hair was a dark brown and swept messily to the side but it looked soft. He looked kind, like someone who smiled easily and laughed loudly.

“Hello,” Phil said softly as he stepped towards him. “I’m sure you want to get out of those clothes right?”

The young man didn’t respond.

As quickly as he could Phil got several buckets of water heating on the fire. He dragged the beaten up copper tub into the main office and started filling them as soon as the water was warmed.

The water was steaming finally and Phil managed to get Daniel onto his feet. It was somewhat like a baby horse learning to walk as Phil got him to take a few steps away from the bed.

“Okay…let’s get you out of these clothes,” Phil struggled to keep the young man on his feet as he got him out of his too stiff clothes. Finally he lowered him into the water and sharp, high pitched noises tumbled from his lips.

“Hey, hey,” Phil rubbed his shoulder. “It’s alright. It’s just water.”

He smiled gently and dipped his hand in the water as an example. Bright eyes followed his handstand slowly he let his own hands drift below the water. There were clumps of dirt in Daniel’s hair and Phil tried not to shudder as he realized why that was. He grabbed a cup and filled it, tipping it onto Dan’s head.

The young man ducked and let out a distressed whine. It took a few more cups of water before Daniel relaxed. His eyes fluttered closed and he even let out a hum when Phil started to work soap into his hair.

For the first time since he took that first breath the young man actually looked relaxed. A faint smile lingered on Phil’s lips as he turned to grab a towel from a nearby table.

With a short whine, the young man reached out to grab Phil’s hand and tug him back. His eyes were wide and desperate, full of fear.

“It’s alright Daniel,” Phil whispered and a spark of recognition flickered in his eyes. “I’m not going far. It’ll be just fine.”

Slowly, he lessened his grip and allowed Phil to grab the towel. As soon as he started drying his hair Daniel reached over to take his hand again.

“You’re safe with me Daniel,” Phil whispered and Daniel nodded slightly.