#yes i know it's an old bone to chew that this man is beyond touch-starved but what can i say

[invinciblerodent]

going slightly feral today for characters who don't think of themselves as being "~into~" touch and physical intimacy suddenly discovering that they actually are, in like an embarrassingly huge way

"oh fine, I'll indulge you, but I'll have you know that I'm not exactly cuddly, darling. 🙄" (proceeds to wrap themselves around their partner in their sleep like a boa constrictor) (yes this becomes a regular occurrence)

"no dear, I don't like hugs" (does, in fact, melt into each embrace with a soft sigh and eyes sliding shut, all gooey inside like a person-shaped fudge brownie)

"how juvenile. I'm not ticklish, I'm not a child. 😒" (starts convulsing with stifled laughter if their partner as much as wiggles their fingers in their general direction) (no they are very cool I promise)

"don't touch me 😒" (secretly pouts when their explicit wish is respected. no wait come back i didn't mean don't as in don't, i meant it as try harder. yes i know that's counterintuitive. no you should read my mind exactly. how is that even hard--)

"*makes a longing 🥺 face every time their partner is doing something just out of their reach, wanting to touch them but not wanting to come off as ~needy~*" (scoffs and turns away when asked if they want a hug) ((that means "yes please"))

"ugh, fine, but if you ruin my hair--" (all but tears up at having their scalp gently scratched. finds that they do not give a solitary shit about their hair now, actually.) (yes, they will now regularly plop their head in their partner's lap as a silent request for scritches. they're not cuddly, though.)

will not hold hands. will, however, knock shoulders while walking. (it means try again. it means please never stop trying.)

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Promises Not Kept  *Tommy Shelby*

Summary: Tommy Shelby made a promise to Jonah Ward while in the war. A promise he didn't keep. But it comes to haunt him when he tries to drown out his sorrows with a young woman.

Fic warnings: Prostitution, violence, swearing, pretty much everything to do with Peaky Blinders

      The youngest girl, Bessie, a petite redhead was the first with the news. She came scampering into the shared room where the girls would freshen up between clients. Late, as usual, she had a wild look in her eyes.

           “Tha’s Thomas Shelby in the lobby.” She gasped out and clutched at her coat. Stray snowflakes melted in her fiery hair. “He’s back.”

           The rest of the girls were stirred up into a frenzy at the news.

           “Again?”

           “He’s already had me ‘fore, might be comin’ back for me.”

           “Fuckin’ pays well don’t he?”

           Bea, the eldest and most experienced out of the bunch blew out a drag of smoke. “’Course he does. The Shelbys own Birmingham and that means they’re fuckin’ dangerous.’ She glared at the hopeful eyed girls. “None of you should be makin’ ties with that lot. Best to stay unseen.”

           “Still, he’ll be wantin’ a fuck.” Teresa shrugged and eyed herself in the mirror as she applied lipstick. "I ain't gonna turn him or his money down."

           “Don’t you worry,” Bea turned to the young woman on her left. “He doesn’t pick blonde girls.”

           Leah chewed on her lower lip and glanced at the vanity mirror next to her. Indeed, she had honey-colored hair, which usually did her well in her line of business.

           Leah was twenty-five, a prime age for a London prostitute. Not too green but not worn out either. She found herself prostituting after a long drawn out mess of increasingly worse luck. Since 1918, she had been stuck in a downward spiral.

           It could always be worse, that’s what she reminded herself every time she woke up. She wasn’t starving on the streets but she did feel like a piece of her died every single time she closed her eyes.

           “Leah?” Billy stuck his head into the room. He was a good man, a hotel employee who was paid extra to introduce clients to the girls. The madam handled the rest of the transactions. But it was a classier transaction up front. The hotel provided a luxurious setting for the wealthy clientele who sought out the harem of girls. Women who were touted as much more than those of seedy whorehouses, although that’s where they all originated. The illusion that the ten women were hand-picked goddesses, submissive in nature (unless a man preferred the roles reversed).

           Respectful. Discreet. Beautiful. Expensive.

           For Leah, the titillating façade wore off fast. She was still a whore. Men faked their love and affection or they didn’t even bother. Despite the money, Leah always felt used. Yet she blamed herself. The naïve daughter of a chemist. Now just a whore.

           “Mr. Shelby’s requested someone new,” Billy informed her.

           The other girls went quiet for a moment. Teresa looked irked. “She’s the only one he hasn’t fucked yet?”

           Billy, a quiet man, who looked out for the girls well being, nodded in confirmation.

           “He doesn’t like blondes.” Bea retorted protectively. “He hardly even looked at Rose. Send Teresa out.”

           Leah’s face went ashen. The Shelbys were not people she wanted to be involved with.

           “He insisted.”

           She swallowed and stood. “S’okay, Bea.” She faked a smile and touched the older woman’s arm. “How’d I look?”

           “Perfect.” Bea nodded but looked visibly worried.

           The other girls watched as Leah stood, tightening the ties around her peach-colored dressing gown. She followed Billy down the hall to one of the nicer suites.

           “He’s inside.”

           She nodded. “Thank you, Billy.” Her voice was quiet as she stepped inside, shutting the door behind her. Nerves rattled her bones. The Shelby name was not one to be taken lightly. Leah remembered hearing about them when she worked in a brothel a couple of years back.

           Crazy gypsy bastards.

           Fucking animals.

           Bloodthirsty.

           Harsh words that she’d never heard when describing an entire family. But perhaps they weren’t wrong because the Shelbys only became more and more powerful. They were a force to be reckoned with, especially if you resided in Britain’s underworld. Leah did and had for some time. But she had her limits.

           “Right, f’ya got heels on, you can take ‘em off.” Tommy was standing by the window, his back to Leah. A half-finished cigarette clenched between his lips. A thin haze of smoke already hung over the room.

           Swallowing, Leah reached down to remove the heels from her feet. She was so focused on the straps she didn’t notice he’d turned around. When she set the shoes aside, she straightened up and came face-to-face with the most dangerous man in Birmingham.

           His eyes were like the coldest winter, much worse than the blustery December evening outside the hotel. He was thin, average height, and sculpted with sharp edges. Everything from his dark hair to his clean-shaven face was pristine. His three-piece-suit wasn’t an uncommon sight for clients but he just seemed more refined. It masked his deeds but intimidation remained.

           He was beautiful there was no denying that. But he had several, if not dozens, of ghosts haunting him. Hanging over his shoulder. Never letting him forget. His hardened stare was hypnotizing but fear-inducing all the while.

           “You’re blonde.” His voice was quiet, deep, like thunder in the far distance.

           Leah didn’t know how to respond. She only nodded. “Yes, Mr. Shelby.”

           He stared at her for a moment. It was nearly unbearable being under the scrutiny of the calculating man. He drew the cigarette from his mouth and parted his lips slightly to release thin wisps of smoke. “Right,” It appeared he’d made up his mind. He shrugged his coat off and tossed it to the side. He averted his gaze from her and began removing the small bits and trappings of a wealthy man. Cufflinks, arm garter, pocket-watch, and finally his glasses.

           Leah was frozen in her spot. Typically, she was outgoing when it came to clients. The more special she made them feel, the more they would pay. But Tommy’s presence was terrifying.

           His eyes flicked up to her in slight annoyance when she didn’t move a muscle. He cleared his throat and made a curt gesture towards the bed, prompting her to move.

           As if a spell had been lifted, Leah began to untie the dressing gown and let it slip off her shoulders to the floor. The reaction she got confirmed what Tommy was there for. A good prostitute could get a sense of why the man was there. Despite his cold manner, he was easy to read. He hardly even glanced up when she cast her robe to the side and walked to the bed clad in lingerie. His indifference said a lot. Tommy was there to deal with an itch, perhaps to further drown out some sorrows. What he was grieving was unknown.

           He put out his cigarette and removed his waistcoat and shirt, still avoiding looking at the woman he was paying for.

           Leah reclined back against the plush pillows. Her eyes kept catching glances of him as he undressed. She knew she needed to keep her head down, not attract any attention from him. But he had such a presence it was hard to look away.

           Tommy handled the situation like anything else in his life. It was a business transaction, nothing more. He moved with such grace and certainty. His thin frame was a far cry from the brutal gangster that people labeled him as. But Leah could see the muscles flexing in his arms and chest when he got on top of her.

           “You’re a quiet one, eh?” He broke the silence again. One hand braced himself against the bed, the other slipped between them. His long fingers grazed down her stomach, catching the bits of lace of her lingerie.

           Leah looked up at him, studying his face once he was closer. He certainly looked years younger without his glasses, but there was exhaustion to his features. It seemed like he’d gone days without more than a few hours of sleep. A small nick of a scar marked his cheek. His eyes were, even more, alarming the closer he was. But his touch was surprisingly gentle at the onset.

           “Do you like having conversations with girls like me?” Leah asked quietly, wondering if she should speak more to him. She’d been a little too busy taking in his form.

           He shook his head and a hint of amusement crossed his eyes. “Try to have some decency, don’t I? M’not a monster.”

           She was quick to correct herself. “'Course not, Mr. Shelby.”

           “Call me Tommy.”

           Something struck Leah like a brick to the head. Tommy. Tommy Shelby. She could see the name written in her husband’s handwriting.

           Tommy Shelby, and his brothers, they act as though death is an old friend of theirs. None of them are scared to go to hell. Nice blokes but there’s something about them.

           Leah’s sudden realization was cut short when she felt Tommy’s finger brush over her sex. Startled out of her thoughts, she let out a hitched moan and let her eyes slide closed. He was no stranger to a woman’s body that was clear just after half a second of him touching her. It wasn’t often she was really turned on by a client. Most were inexperienced, too worried about their own pleasure, or downright awful at pleasure.

           But not Tommy Shelby. He had her breathless before he even entered her. When he did, Leah had to ground herself before she became too intoxicated off him. Her arms looped around his neck, her fingers clutching for purchase in his hair.

           He grunted softly when she knotted her fingers in his dark locks. His head dipped down as his hips snapped forward. He moved with ferocity, chasing something beyond release. There was something he needed but it was something a whore could give him. Yet he pressed on.

           Leah was unraveling at the seam. His vigor was pushing away the thoughts that had clouded her brain before. He brought her somewhere she’d long missed. An electric and primal connection.

           “Tommy…” She breathed out.

           And when he opened his eyes, Tommy felt the spark too. He didn’t see Grace, despite Leah’s blonde hair and vague likeness. There was something about the woman beneath him that rendered him breathless and devoid of all other thoughts. His grief. His anxiety. His anger. It was numbed. He could only feel her body and the warmth of her figure.

           Overwhelmed with the sensation, his thrusts stuttered and he stared at her. Disbelief and lust made his pupils blow, thinning out the icy blue.

           Leah let her hand slip to his cheek. Her lips parted like she wanted to say something but had lost all ability of speech. To solve the problem, he ducked down and kissed her. He pressed so hard into it that her lips were certain to bruise.

           Seldom did she allow a client to kiss her. And if she did, it was for more money or to maybe make a young eighteen-year-old feel special on his birthday. But Tommy wiped her brain, made her forget who she truly was, and made her long for the days she had a man to kiss her. Grateful and drunk on the feeling, she kissed him back.

           Nothing at that moment could pull them apart. Tommy only released her lips to hear her as she climaxed. Hearing her gasp out his name pushed him over the edge.

           He groaned and let the feeling wash over him like a deadly cocktail of drugs and alcohol. He felt alive but cured of all the aches and pain held in his bones. He shuddered out a breath and the ringing in his ears faded. Awareness of the room returned.

           Leah was clinging to him, still riding the waves of a release she had yet to find in years. Tommy let her hold onto him until her arms relaxed and her body unlocked.

           Her hazel eyes met his face but both were too stunned to speak. Finally, Tommy sat up and reached for a cigarette. He offered one to Leah who took one out of courtesy.

           They sat in silence for a moment. Smoke rising to the ceiling. Neither expected to find such a strong emotion in that room. It was scary for both of them and they didn’t know what to make of it.

           “Should I leave you?” Leah finally spoke.

           He swallowed hard and shook his head. “No. Not yet.” He replied quietly. There was a danger lurking. The danger of blindly falling for lust. Doing anything to fill the hole where his heart used to be. But he wasn’t about to release the feeling quite yet. He had a meeting in two hours. He was going to make use of that time. Fuck it, he’d be late.

           Tommy flicked his cigarette into the ashtray on the nightstand. He reached over and Leah let him take hers as well. Replacing the cigarette with his hand. His slender fingers lacing in with hers as he kissed her deeply. His eyes closed and he welcomed the feeling. Taking the drug and following the high blindly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Tommy had her for hours. Leah returned to the room in quite a state. Her hair was undone and tangled. Her lipstick was smudged to hell and Tommy had ripped her lingerie in the passion.

           When she returned, the girls all stared at her like she’d been gone for weeks. Bea stood and hurried over to her. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” She asked in a hushed voice.

           Still in a daze, Leah shook her head. “No.” She sat down and started to freshen up. Her movements were slow and delayed. She was still too caught up in the overwhelming sensations. Three hours was not enough, she craved more.

           “Leah?” Bea sat next to her.

           “Hm?”

           “I asked if you were okay.” The older woman looked concerned. “You seem…off.”

           “I’m fine, Bea.” Leah smiled. “Perfectly fine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           That night, Tommy and Leah coped with the chance interaction. Leah returned to her rented room early in the morning and knelt by her bed. Beneath, in an old shoebox, she kept her husband’s letters. His shirt and those letters were the only things she had left of him. Losing him to the war sparked her downward spiral. She lost her best friend and the love of her life.

           It was always difficult to read his letters. She intentionally tried to put it from her mind. When she read his words and saw his name signed, she was reminded of what she once had.

           She thumbed through the parchment and finally found one of the several mentions of the Shelbys.

           Tommy Shelby, he and his family live in Birmingham. If anything were to happen to me, I think they would be able to take care of you. They’re rough around the edges but they care for their own. I’m just afraid of leaving you alone.

           Leah sat on the hardwood floor for a long while. She held the paper tightly. Her husband had known Tommy. The man she had just slept with. Overrun with guilt and confusion, the young woman curled up on the floor. She held the letter close to her chest and let herself cry. What kind of person was she? When had the world become too much to bear? Would she ever find the happiness she once had?

~~~~~~~~~

           Tommy stood in the foyer long past midnight. Drunk on gin and then whiskey, he’d stumbled out of his office. Arrow House was silent in the dead of night. The large rooms offered no comfort.

           Moonlight filtered in through the large windows and settled on the portrait of himself, Grace, and Charlie.

           “Fuck…” He cursed under his breath as he singed the tips of his fingers on his cigarette. He dropped it and clumsily stubbed it out with his heel into the carpet.

           His eyes looked up to Grace’s painted face. His heart wrenched and he found himself back where he’d begun that morning. Hindsight told him he was a fool for thinking something with a whore would be real. The only real thing he had was gone. He didn’t have her anymore and he never would again.

           Tommy’s face scrunched up, the pain still seeping in despite the copious amounts of alcohol. He’d have to poison himself with gin to be fully numb. It was times like that night when he wondered if he should embrace the devil.

           “Daddy?”

           Probably the only reason he ignored the demons telling him to give up, called out to him.

           Tommy raised his head and saw Charlie on the stairs landing. He clutched a teddy, concern on his small face. “Charlie, s’late.” He walked up the steps to his son.

           “Bad dreams.” The little boy pouted and reached up.

           “Alright, dad’s gotcha.” Tommy picked him up and did his best to walk a straight line back to Charlie’s bedroom. “Everything’s okay, yeah?” He tucked Charlie back into bed but the boy wouldn’t let go of him.

           “Daddy, stay.” He begged.

           Tommy sighed but gave in. “Okay.” He lay down next to his son, letting him cuddle close. “Dad’s not going anywhere. M’right here. You can go back to sleep, eh?” He murmured.

           Charlie obliged and soon fell asleep in the crook of his father’s arm. But Tommy stayed awake, staring up at the ceiling. A hollow feeling settled into him. It wasn’t unfamiliar but it wasn’t exactly welcome either. He tried to fill it with anything he possibly could. So he decided to go back to her. If Leah could fill that space even for a few hours, he’d have it. An addict through and through, Tommy just wanted to feel something other than hurt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

         Friday night and men were filtering in and out of the hotel. Leah was not herself and everyone around her could tell. She was inattentive, too caught up in her own thoughts to fully interact with the world.

           “Leah? Mr. Shelby’s requested your presence.” Billy’s voice pulled her out of the haze.        

           She didn’t even acknowledge the hushed whispers of the other girls as she stood up and walked out of the room. It was like a siren’s song was luring her down the hallway, back to the room, back to Tommy’s embrace.

           He was standing near the window again. This time his eyes were on her as she entered. He crossed the room quickly with his long strides and immediately enveloped her in a searing kiss. He pressed her against the door and hooked his arms under her thighs to scoop her up.

           Everything fell to pieces. The worry and confusing guilt shattered against the floor. He didn’t offer her time to ruminate. There was no space to hold such feelings. There was no space between them. Leah locked her ankles against his back and moaned against his lips when he tugged on her lip with his teeth.

           Tommy didn’t hold back. He fucked her like the world was about to end. The itch for filling that space was unbearable. But she gave him solace. Her breathy whimpers and gasps spurred him on. Her fingernails left marks that he hoped would remain. He wanted it to last, the feeling that she elicited.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Leah watched the end of his cigarette burn. She was in quite a compromising position. Limbs intertwined under the hotel sheets, she rested against his chest, her fingers idly tracing the tattoo on his chest. He was holding her. It was dangerous and they both knew it.

           Swallowing the silence in her throat, Leah spoke. “I think you knew my husband.”

           Tommy lowered his cigarette, tapping the ash off in the ashtray beside him. “Is that so?” A hint of trepidation filled him. Had he killed her husband? Was she still married and he was fucking her? Both were very plausible scenarios.

           “He was a tunneler in the war.” She spoke steadily. She never spoke about her husband in the hotel. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she actually spoke to someone else about him. She was lonely, had been for years. There was no time for friends outside of the hotel and she had no family. So she had no one to talk to.

           Relief passed over Tommy. So he wasn’t crossing anyone. “In France?”

           She nodded, her hair brushing over his bare skin. “Jonah Ward. He wrote about you, at least I think it was you. Could be someone with the same name.”

           Tommy couldn’t stop the sudden reverse back into time. Emerging from the tunnel hauling the man out into the open air.

           “Tommy!” Jonah gasped out. His eyes blinked rapidly in the sunlight. “Tom…”

           “Right here. You’ll be all right. Arthur!”

           The man touched his face. Blood covered his palm. “Fucking finally got me…” He choked out a laugh. “Those tunnels. Thought I’d be done in by a German when I came here.”

           Tommy lifted the man’s shirt to find the source of the bleeding. A sickeningly large wound covered his chest. He tried to apply pressure but there didn’t seem to be any hope left for the poor man.

           “Tom, y’need to take care of my girl. My Leah. Back home…London.” Jonah grimaced and threw his head back against the muddy ground.

           “You’re going to be okay.” Tommy’s hands shook. It wasn’t the first man he saw die and it wouldn’t be the last. But he was still fairly new to watching someone die.

           “Promise me. Promise me you’ll look after her when you get back home.”

           “I-”

           “She don’t got anyone. No family. Please, Tommy.” A few tears slipped down the man’s bloodied face. “I can’t leave her alone.”

           “Y-yeah, I’ll take care of her.”

           “She’s beautiful…blonde hair. Looks like an angel.” Jonah opened his eyes and stared up at the sky. His eyes glazed over. “Oh…fucking hell…there she is now.” His voice weakened.

           Tommy glanced up at the sky but there was nothing there. It was only the hallucination of a dying man.

           “Lee…you’ve come to bring me home? I’ve missed you, love.” Jonah smiled before he coughed up blood and forced one more inhale. He twitched twice before going limp.

           Cold realization flooded over Tommy. He’d promised. He said he would take care of the woman that was curled up next to him. Was this taking care of her? Paying her for sex? He suddenly felt sick to his stomach.

           “Tommy?” Leah furrowed her eyebrows. “Are you okay?”

           He swallowed and nodded. “Yeah.” He dropped his cigarette in the ashtray and took a deep breath. “Yeah, I knew him. I knew Jonah.”

           Leah propped herself up, looking at him with renewed interest. “You did?” Maybe there was something more left of her husband. Memories from another person. Details she didn’t know.

           Tommy scratched absent-mindedly at his cheek. “I was there. I was there when he passed.”

           Leah’s chest deflated and her eyes stung with the obligatory tears she had when she thought of her husband. “W-was he in pain?” Her lower lip quivered.

           “Think he was in shock, he went peacefully.” He would lie to the widow as long as it meant shielding her from the painful truth. She didn’t need to know the gruesome details of the explosion that caused her husband’s demise.

           “Did he say anything?” A tear slipped from her brown eyes and landed on Tommy’s shoulder.

           “He spoke of you. He clearly loved you.”

           She couldn’t help but quietly cry at the news. “He was such a good man. I w-was so heartbroken.”

           Tommy bit the inside of his cheek. He felt the same grief she did. They’d both lost someone they loved so deeply it hurt. “I’m sorry…”

           “No, you don’t have to apologize.” Leah wiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get emotional.” She was well aware of how mourning her late husband was a major turn off.

           But Tommy didn’t mind one bit. “I lost my wife last year.” He said quietly.

           “Oh, Tommy, I’m sorry.” She swallowed and bit her lip. “I didn’t know. M’fraid I don’t much about you.” She admitted.

           He nodded slightly and inhaled shakily. “Most people don’t. S’pose you’ve heard rumors.”

           “I didn’t want to make assumptions about you.”

           Those who didn’t make assumptions about the Shelbys would soon learn it was a mistake. It was better to be overly cautious of fire; a fool tested their luck with it.

           Tommy absent-mindedly lifted the cigarette to his lips but paused. His blue-eyes stared across the room in a daze. “I think I owe you an apology, Leah.” He cleared his throat and discarded the rest of his cigarette. Smoke still curled around him as he met her eyes.

           “For what?” She sat up next to him, letting the sheets pool around her waist. There was no point covering up for a man who tore into her only moments earlier.

           But for Tommy, seeing her bare beside him only drove home the guilt. “When your husband was dying, he asked if I would take care of you.” He wearily ran a hand over his face. “And I promised I would. There’s no excuse for breaking my promise. But now I can offer you a job or-”

           Leah went stiff and subtly pulled away from him. “Oh, Tommy, I appreciate it. But that isn’t your responsibility.” She chewed on her lip and averted her eyes. “My Jonah took care of me but he’s gone now. Don’t think I’ll ever remarry so my well-being is my responsibility, not anyone else’s.”          

           Tommy could see the sadness in her light brown eyes. “But I promised.” He insisted. “I have the means and I can give you a better-”

           Leah turned and placed her feet on the floor. “Tommy, please.” She shook her head and turned her back to him. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”

           “This can’t be what you want from life.” He insisted and reached out to touch her shoulder. But he hesitated and withdrew.

           She stood and gathered her things, wrapping herself back up in the robe. “Have a good night, Mr. Shelby.” Her voice was detached and quiet. Her dignity trailed behind her. A whore who refused aid from the king of Birmingham. Jonah only wanted the best for her, but Leah would never be in debt to someone. She was raised to pay her dues and hold her own. So she did. Tommy Shelby wouldn’t carry her through life.

           “Leah,” Tommy called after her but she left and shut the door behind her. Retreating into her grief.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Jonah Ward was a good man. Raised by a jeweler, he was educated and respectful. His father’s shop was right across from the Robinsons’ chemist shop. That’s where he met Leah Robinson. The teenagers fell hard for each other and were married when they turned eighteen. He was her best friend and never thought she would ever be apart from him.

           Then the world fell into war in and he was ripped from her arms. In 1916, Leah received a letter that told her the news. An explosion had permanently taken him. Heartache consumed her and the world seemed to darken. Leah could only guess what Jonah would say if he knew what she did to survive. After her first client, Leah got physically ill and cried. She begged Jonah for forgiveness and sentenced herself to a life of hurt.

           Tommy Shelby couldn’t pardon her for her sins. No one could.

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Masterpost

Masterlist

[beauregardance]

Ballad of the Sun Prince / Solangelo / PJO x BotW (Zelda) crossover / ao3

i.

The Great Plateau

Shrine of Resurrection, Present Day

  -

He thought he heard a voice.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, wincing when light flood his vision. He closed his eyes again, the glowing blue light illuminating behind his eyelids persistently until he gave in and blinked his eyes open.

And that was when he realized that the strange glow was coming from the bed he was lying on. No, he thought, it wasn’t a bed. It was water. He was slowly being lifted from watery bed by a solid platform underneath him, pushing him up to the surface. It was only when he sat up that he noticed the water had been ice cold, and he found himself shivering.

He looked around for something to help keep him warm and found an open chest to the left with a pair of neatly folded clothes inside along with a waist pouch. He pulled the clothes on quickly, relieved to have something against his skin even if it was a little too small and tight with drab colours. Then he scouted his surroundings, noticing the smooth dark walls that were etched with what looked like glowing constellations. There was a door in front of him, but it was closed off by cement. To the left of the door, there was a podium emitting a gentle light in the dimness. Cautious but curious, he approached the podium, eyes falling on a strange looking rectangular item with a symbol of an eye and a single teardrop pointing downwards. He reached forward and then paused, looking around in case there was someone waiting to intercept him. Though it seemed that he really was the only one in this room besides the glowing blue contraption that was his bed. He reached out again, grabbing the tablet and lifting it out of its slot.

To his surprise, the tablet let out a beeping noise, and the machine flared to life, the eye disappearing showing a screen full of…static.

There it was again – a sound like a voice in his head. But it was indecipherable – a tiny murmur that had tried to worm its way into his ear. He shook his head, and the gentle vibration disappeared.

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw something glowing. Turning around, he spotted a flat pedestal with the same symbol of the eye carved into the smooth rock. The pupil was the only part glowing, like it was watching him. He looked at the tablet he was holding and back at the pedestal, knowing that there was something to be had here. On whim, he held the tablet up to the eye, placing the screen downwards.

He knew he did something right because the pedestal lit up in a halo of blue, and a gentle rumble shook the floor beneath him. He tensed up and stepped back, eyes darting around the ceiling and hoping that the room wouldn’t collapse on him.

And all at once, the stone wall in front of him began to move. It groaned, rumbling upwards to reveal a straight path out into the sunlight. He flinched, shielding his eyes with his hand against the sudden glare of the sunlight that greeted him.

He took a step down the hallway but then looked back into the cave – or room? – he had been sleeping in. He was confused, unsure of what awaited him outside, and he got a prickling sense down his neck at the thought of going outside unarmed. He frowned at his thought process, unable to understand why arming himself would be the first thing on his mind.

He shook off the feeling and strode down the hallway. He stepped across the lifeless pools of rainwater on the ground, wincing when he felt the half-heard murmur in his ear start up and then disappear. He reached the end, climbing up a stone ledge that was just a couple inches shorter than him led out of the cave-room into the sunlight.

Birds were singing cheerfully, fluttering about in their nests overhead, and he almost scoffed himself for wanting to walk out armed to the teeth. He walked forward past the semi circle of pine trees and tall grass that kept the cave carefully hidden. It appeared that his cave was on a ledge of a grassy cliff, and he stood at the far edge and looked outwards into the distance, soaking in the sunlight and warmth that felt tender on his skin after his swimming excursion in the cave.

Though when he looked below and beyond him, he immediately felt sick to his stomach.

It wasn’t that there was something terribly wrong with everything. The grassy fields were lush and spread past the cliff into the forest below him and the meadows beyond, ending at the mountains that grew taller into shelters of snow to the left. In the far distance to his right, a mountain surrounded by jagged cliffs dared to touch the sky, rivulets of red – lava, he told himself – running down in streaks. But the volcano wasn’t what disturbed him.

In the very centre of the lush green fields, there was a castle. Or what remained of a castle, he thought, because it was surrounded by swirling dark streams of clouds. And the darkness, he thought with a bit of queasiness. It moved.

But there was also something deeply wrong about the sight of it. There was a sickening feeling pooling in his stomach at the sight of the broken castle. It felt like he had failed in every single way, though he wasn’t sure why.

He tore his eyes away from the sorry sight. He wasn’t sure where the feeling had come from, but he needed to do some re-orienting himself first. He needed to find out where he was – and why he had just woken up from a sleeping in a bed filled to the brim with icy water. Turning to his right, he followed the only narrow dirt path down the gentle slope of a cliff.

Even from here, he could see that a solitary figure had set up a small campsite, and he instantly felt relief. He had an irrational fear that he was a sole survivor to whatever events happened at the castle, and to see the presence of someone else – well, it was relieving to say the least. He could only hope that they were friendly.

When he got closer to the figure, he could see that it was a blond hair man with a hood over his head, roasting something over the campfire. The man looked up at him, but otherwise didn’t say a single word.

He cleared his throat and tried to say hello, only to have it come out like a croak. He tried again. “Hello.”

The man looked up at him. “Hey there,” he greeted casually, not at all surprised by his presence. “Nice clothes,” he snickered.

He glanced down at his threadbare clothes and then back at the man, who looked like he was dressed quite comfortably in his clean, well fitting clothes. He decided not to take it to the heart, as his pants didn’t even reach down past his ankles.

“Who are you?” he found himself asking the man.

The man grinned a bit. “That’s a question I should be asking of you. Is that a Sheikah Slate you have there?” He motioned to the tablet that he had strapped on his waist pouch. “I heard that only champions of the old had those. How did you get your hands on that?”

He frowned. Champions of the old? He had no idea what the man was talking about, and yet something about that line sounded so familiar…

The man waved his hand. “Anyway,” he said, waving the matter away. “What’s your name?”

He froze for a moment.

And then it came back to him. “Nico,” he said slowly, testing the name out on his lips. Yes, Nico, that was his name. He forgot it for a moment. How could he have forgotten his own name?

As a matter of fact, now that he was thinking about it, what did he remember?

Before he could start panicking, the man held out his hand. Nico stared blankly until he realized that he was holding a baked apple. “Have one,” he urged. “You look like you’ve been starving. You’re like sticks of bones all over.”

He reached out for the apple hesitantly and nearly dropped it when the man let go too fast. The man grabbed another baked apple and bit into with a groan of satisfaction. “Simple but savoury,” he complimented himself. “I usually prefer fancier meals myself, but an apple always satisfies a craving.”

Nico watched him, unsure of what to say.

“Anyways,” the man said after he was done chewing, “you should be on your way. Big quest and all?” When Nico continued to stare at him, the man pointed at the tablet at his waist. “Come on, you have a Sheikah Slate. Clearly you’re on some sort of mission from Chiron maybe?” He shrugged.

Right on cue, the tablet – Sheikah Slate, Nico reminded himself – started to beep. He turned on the screen and it immediately went to a page labelled Map. There was no map however. Only a black abyss and a flashing yellow dot and red dot. He assumed one was supposed to represent his location and the other to the location he was supposed to go to. He looked out across the vast landscape and wondered if he would run into more people who would make fun of his clothes and offer him a baked apple.

“Well, that’s your sign, isn’t it?” the man said, biting into another apple. “Don’t let me hold you back on your fancy quest!”

He stood there for a second and then muttered a curt, “Thanks.” With an apple in his pouch and his Sheikah slate in his hand, he roughly located the direction he was supposed to walk in. It would probably take about twenty or so minutes to get there, he calculated. When he put the Sheikah Slate away, he noticed something glimmering in the sunlight on an unlit campfire further down the slope. Jogging down, he laid his eyes on a woodcutter’s axe lying in the open for anyone’s hands.

Well, Nico thought, his prayers for a weapon had been answered.

And better sooner than later too, because moments later, he discovered that there were more than just other people nearby.

[1989dreamer]

Chapter 8 of Looking for a Place to Call Home

Warning: In the first paragraph, Derek mentions an associate of Kate attacking him with the intention of raping him. Derek killed him to protect himself.

                                                                                                                        ~ * ~

Derek barely notices anyone else in the room because all he sees is her. She’s here. She’s going to kill him and nobody can stop her. He knows his eyes are still shifted. He can’t help it because he’s terrified, too scared to shake. He’s can’t even open his mouth again to tell Stiles that he’d ripped out the throat of a man who was trying to fuck him.

“It means he’s spilled the blood of an innocent, yes, killed a human.”

Stiles keeps his eyes on Derek’s, but Derek isn’t looking at him—he’s still watching her. At her feet, a young wolf-shifter whines. The alpha growls lowly, and Derek feels a tug in his chest, a piece of home slotting into an ever-present hole. The alpha is too small to be Mom, so that means…“Laura?”

The alpha barks sharply, an affirmation. Derek finally tears his gaze from her and looks to his sister, his alpha.

What happened to Mom to make Laura the alpha? Why does she have his sister?

What about the other wolf-shifter? A young beta, younger than him he’d bet. Cora?

Laura has been fed well, and so has Cora, while he’s been starved. And he knows, in his bones, that they were stolen to be used as breeding stock.

Intelligent dogs that can understand human commands with minimal training and conditioning. Werewolves at the mercy and whim of hunters.

If Laura and Cora are prisoners like him, and Laura is the alpha now, what happened to the rest of his family? The hole in his chest makes a lot more sense now.

The rustle of John’s clothing is the only warning he gets before Derek is wrapped in another hug. Derek wasn’t aware that he was whimpering, trying to understand that just because he made it back doesn’t mean his family has been okay this whole time.

“I’m so sorry,” John murmurs into Derek’s hair. “We found so many bodies, everyone’s body except yours, Derek.” Derek smells the bitter salt of the man’s tears before they fall in his hair. “I lost jurisdiction quickly and then I lost the election. I never stopped looking for you, never stopped trying to bring you home.”

“My sisters?” Derek asks, looking at the alpha. The beta pads forward, nosing under the alpha’s throat. Both wolves are as dark as Derek when he’s shifted. Their scents are hard to pin down. The hunters must have used magic to shield them. Derek has had experience with that. She likes to mask her scent and then hunt him down, give him a brief taste of freedom before she punishes him for daring to think he could escape.

“We found corresponding bodies, but they were burned beyond recognition. And their teeth had been pulled. DNA was sent to the San Francisco lab but without a familial match, it returned no results.”

Lydia and Allison’s horrified gasps come close to vocalizing the sheer terror and sadness Derek feels knowing that she killed his family, likely shortly after she took him.

“I always knew there was something wrong with you,” Allison says, aiming a venomous glare at her. “I always wondered why my dad kept moving us around after my mom died, but just before we moved the last time, you approached me. The aunt I barely remembered and your first thought was not to gain my trust but to drive a wedge between my father and me. I found you despicable, especially after you tried to have my wife killed.” Allison points at Derek. “It would not surprise me one bit if we find out just how horribly you abused that boy. You can call him a murderer all you like, but I think we’re looking at a victim, at a survivor. If Sheriff Lahey doesn’t uphold your arrest, I’ll find someone who will.”

“My dad is still an the FBI agent,” Scott says. “I’ll call him. I’m sure they will be interested to hear all about how you transported minors, kidnapped minors, across state lines.”

“Did you forget that I have a gun and none of you, not even your deputy, have any weapons?” She raises her big gun and points it at Stiles’ chest. Despite the rabbit-fast beat of his heart, Stiles exudes calmness.

“Do you really think you can get away with killing all of us?” he asks. “Do you think you can pull that trigger before your throat is ripped out?” He steps closer to her, to her gun, and his smile is frightening. “Go ahead,” he says, “shoot me.”

“Fine by me.”

The report of the gun is loud, echoing inside the room and in Derek’s ears.

                                                                                                                        ~ * ~

Stiles flinches, but he already knows Kate didn’t shoot him. He nods his thanks to Parrish, wondering how he knew to show up here. Doesn’t matter. Ask later. Secure the suspect.

Stiles strides forward and flips Kate onto her belly so that he can slip some flexi-cuffs onto her wrists. She remains surprisingly quiet, since Stiles gathered she liked hearing her own voice earlier. Her leg is bleeding from the flesh wound Parrish inflicted. She grunts in pain as Scott wraps it with gauze and medical tape.

“I thought for sure she’d take our cellphones,” Scott says quietly. “I saw her come in and texted Parrish.”

Scott’s hands twisted in his shirt, Stiles remembers. “Thanks, man. That was a good call.” Stiles grabs both of Kate’s weapons and then turns to Deaton. The former vet surrenders Stiles’ taser meekly. Stiles puts a pair of flexi-cuffs on him too.

Parrish is standing in front of Derek, staring at him, holding a familiar piece of paper. “It’s you,” he says in awe.

Derek looks sullenly at him. Stiles thinks it might be because the boy hasn’t recovered from the sound of the shot. He’d actually looked to be in pain when it discharged. In fact, Derek and the girls all are still acting like their ears still hurt.

More than human means more senses than humans, right?

Kate hisses as she’s hauled up by another deputy and marched out to the waiting sheriff’s car.

The alpha-wolf growls, pulling Stiles’ attention back to Derek and Parrish.

Parrish has his hand on Derek’s shoulder, a comforting gesture usually, but Derek’s face is stony. It is obvious that he does not want to be touched. Stiles thinks that the alpha is reacting to the boy’s anger.

“Hey, Jordan, step back, would you?” Parrish obeys, taking two small steps back. He keeps his hand on Derek, and Stiles feels his own irritation surging at the stupidity being showcased here. “Step away.” Stiles shoves between them, but unlike Parrish, he doesn’t touch Derek at all.

“Stiles, we need to report this,” Parrish says, excited.

“And you need to listen when I tell you to do something. You were about to have your face chewed off.”

Parrish glances nervously at the alpha. “I thought that was just a large dog.”

Stiles stifles his snort. In what world is a dog that large?

“That’s my sister,” Derek says quietly. “Her name is Laura.”

“Sister?” Parrish squawks. “Derek, buddy.”

Derek glares at him. “No. Don’t tell me they died with the rest of my family.”

The alpha whines, pawing at his leg. It reminds Stiles of how Derek acted when he was all-wolf. It also gives him an idea.

“Hey, Dad, is there any way to keep a werewolf in its full-shift?”

“Delta,” Derek corrects. “The full-shift into a wolf is called the delta shift.”

“Any number of things could be keeping either of them from shifting,” John says before Stiles can reword his question. “Usually, it’s something administered, like poison or electricity.” He stoops next to the unattended beta and digs his fingers into her collar. He tears away a thin strip of leather and tosses it toward a corner, Stiles notes the splatter of blood and yellow petals.

The alpha, Laura, Stiles sees, has a similar band around her throat. Derek removes it for her, grunting in pain as the flowers make contact with his hands.

Almost as soon as the band is gone, the alpha curls in on itself and Stiles stares mesmerized as ebony fur changes into pink and dirty skin. A woman stands where once a wolf was, naked. Her stomach is smooth and her breasts large and Stiles snaps his gaze away sharply, aware that this is a person not an object to examine, no matter how amazing her transformation had been.

“Laura!” Derek embraces the woman tightly, nuzzling at her throat. He pulls back and says, “Cora,” to the beta that is no longer a mid-sized wolf but instead another naked young woman.

“I have spare clothes,” Scott offers, ducking into his office before anyone does anything.

The beta joins the alpha and Derek in their hug. Stiles can see the familial resemblance between them, and it makes him mad all over again that these children had their home burned down around them and were stolen away when they survived. Derek had been abducted earlier according to his missing flyer but if anything he looks worse off than his sisters.

“Here you go.” Scott returns and thrusts folded scrubs at the women (although, Stiles wonders, just how old are they if Derek is only fifteen). “You can use my office or the bathroom to change.”

The alpha heads for the office, the beta and Derek on her heels.

Stiles waits until the door is closed before he marches over to Deaton, who has been seated in a chair dragged away from the row by one of the others.

“What the hell?” Stiles demands. Deaton shrugs, indifferent.

“My sister was killed by a monster like them. I did what I had to. If your father had been killed, you’d understand.”

“No I wouldn’t,” Stiles says coldly. “Even if my father had been murdered by a werewolf, I still know that the actions of one do not indicate the actions of all.”

“How many?” Scott asks quietly, a dawning sense of terrified understanding on his face. “Alan, how many packs did you sentence to death?”

“At least five packs used to be in this area,” John says. “The Hales, the Smits, the Dauers, the Amoses, and the Tellers. Of those packs, the only survivors are these three Hale children.” John sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “I was personally called out by each and every one of those packs’ emissaries to investigate. What I found in each case was that a particular hunter clan had targeted each pack.”

“How many people died because of you, Alan?” Scott asks again. “How many innocents killed because you wanted revenge for your sister?”

Deaton doesn’t say anything. Stiles has had enough. Yes the man’s sister was probably killed by a werewolf (he’ll have to investigate that later) but that doesn’t mean all werewolves killed her. In fact, if the other packs were like the Hales, then a majority of them would have been families with children.

Jesus. Three years ago there was a mass extinction and the cause of it is refusing to see his error.

“Stand up,” Stiles commands Deaton.

Unsurprisingly, the man doesn’t obey.

“Stand up now. You are under arrest for facilitating the murders of the Hales, Smits, Dauers, Amoses, and Tellers.”

“And what of the beasts who murdered my sister?” Deaton sneers. “Are you going to arrest them as well?”

“Who? The Hales?” Deaton nods. “No. I’m not arresting them. They didn’t have anything to do with your sister’s death.”

“How do you know?”

“Because they are children, victims of your agenda. Now, stand up. If you don’t cooperate, I’m going to add resisting arrest to your charges.”

Finally, Deaton does stand, if a bit awkwardly from the way his hands are still restrained. Stiles shoves him into Parrish’s waiting arms.

This day just cannot get any worse.

                                                                                                                        ~ * ~

MP, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14