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koko-doodle · 1 year

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FNAF SB: A Christmas Date

Summary: Takes place in the Glitched Twilight storyline several chapters in. It’s Christmas Eve and you are forced to work a full shift even though the Pizzaplex closes an hour earlier that day. The DCA has been planning something for this special night. There’s Nutcracker costumes, gifts, playful banter, a surprise and… a kiss?

Word Count: 5664 (14 pages)

Merry (late) Christmas!

It had been a long week and you were exhausted, the holidays were always draining but it was even worse when you worked at the most popular pizzeria in town. One that families visited when their kids were off school the week before and after Christmas. Hectic and crazy was an understatement for the chaos you endured as the only engineer for the animatronics in the building. Things were constantly being thrown at the staff bots, of course, the amount of glitter from the seasonal toys and decorations that covered the place was insane. You could go home and shower 3 times and STILL find it in your hair or on your clothes. But it was Christmas Eve and the place had closed an hour early so you at least didn’t have to deal with people for the last little while of your shift. As per usual of Fazbear Entertainment management, you don’t get to end your shift early. You were still required to be on the clock until midnight, the management of human employees at Freddy’s is just great sometimes.

Everything was Christmas themed, from the tree and present decor down to the lead animatronics themselves. The service bots were dressed as elves, with dorky pointed hats, magnetic elf ears attached to the side of their heads, and arm coverings that were painted in various colors and patterns. Most of them were just one red and one green plate cover but a few had red and white stripes like a candy cane. Very festive but super annoying to put all of those on in one night the day before December 1st, all by yourself too. Freddy and the band were dressed in themed outfits as well which were a bit odd in your opinion, they were strangely themed as characters from the Nutcracker this year. Freddy was the Land of Snowflakes ruler, his outer casings had been swapped out for blue tinted ones that looked like ice. He even had some fake icicles hanging from his ears (which you had to repair daily from kids pulling on them). Chica was the Land of Sweets ruler named the Sugar Plum Fairy, she was dressed in a frilly pink and purple dress with fake wings attached to her back.

Roxy was Mother Ginger, the Land of Amusement’s ruler though they had changed the name to Madame Racer. Much to her protest and refusal to work with you when changing her casings, she was wearing a short dress that was designed to look like a circus tent. It had sections of fabric looping around her waist with a yellow and purple color palette. With the amount of ruffled fabric in the underskirt she looked almost like a cupcake, though you refrained from teasing her about that so she didn’t make your life miserable the whole month. Monty was even worse than Roxy however, getting him into costume was difficult enough and you were positive Monty was going to throw you against the wall. He was dressed as the Land of Flowers ruler, yes flowers… A very large and quite intimidating alligator was forced to wear a suit coat and vest with flower patterns all over it and a flower Mohawk. That’s right, a FLOWER MOHAWK made of fake lilies and poppies. You felt bad for the poor guy, being laughed at for an entire month had to be rough but you would tease him that ‘at least you’re not in a dress’ whenever he complained. You were surprised he hadn’t yelled at you yet but then again, you were his only human friend who wasn’t afraid of him so he treated you differently than the other staff.

Your ‘uniform’ for the season was just as ridiculous though so you got teased too. Your outfit consisted of a red suit coat with shoulder tassels, a cuff around your waist, black pants, a mini top hat and worst of all, a red frilly dress train that was open in the front and only covered your backside. It was like they wanted you to fit in with the cast but with it being a ballet, the costumes for the men and women were drastically different so they just combined the two. A man's suit that is also a dress, it would look fine on little kids but on an adult it looked stupid and you certainly felt that way too. You did everything you could to stay out of sight as much as possible but with all the repairs needing to be done on the working bots, you were out in the open more than you would have liked. Eyes stared at you and parents held back laughter whenever you walked by. By now you had succumbed to the humiliation, but hey, at least you weren’t a flower-gator.

You had finished checking the service bots in each area of the building, surprisingly there weren't many that required intensive repairs or cleaning tonight. It was a miracle, you thought for sure you would have to scrape off layers of grime and questionable substances from the bots on this crazy night but it was unusually calm today. You had even put an extra bottle of cleaner in your bucket in preparation. It was probably a result of family Christmas parties going on around town. Sweet, now you just needed to check on the main cast then you could hang out in the Daycare the rest of the night. It sounded like a solid plan so you started to make your way down to Rockstar Row.

Upon arrival you see each room closed up with the red curtain drawn behind the glass. You found it a bit odd they were all closed but then again, if the Glamrock’s had a week like you did you could understand their desire for just a moment of peace. The influx of of children wanting a photo with the Nutcracker crew was intense. Even lines at the local malls and stores to see Santa weren’t as long as the ones you saw here for Freddy and his band mates. Most likely because the costumes change every year, they are never the same as you’ve noticed.

You stopped by Monty’s room first and knocked on the door, robot’s don’t really need privacy but it was still a gesture you liked to make. No answer, odd. You knock again.

“Monty? I’m coming in!” You say as you open the door. The room was dimly lit with Christmas decor covering the room and a flower tree in the corner but no Monty. Weird, he’s usually in his room by now. You shrugged and moved to the next room, you knock on Roxy’s door but again there was no answer.

“Madame Racer? May I enter thy room my lady?” You tease through the door expecting a growl or snarky remark from the other side but were left in silence. You open the door and find the same thing as Monty’s room; dimly lit, Christmas decor, a circus themed tree, but no Roxy. “Okay… that’s 2 out of 4 missing…” You move on to Chica’s room, knocking first before you enter.

“Sweety fairy, I’m coming in! Better hide all your candy!” You chuckle entering her room. Nothing. It’s empty as well just like the others. “Chica? Not you too, where is everyone?!”

Last door. You breathe in a large breath and exhale loudly. You knock 3 times before entering the room. “Freddy you better be in here or I’m having MORT tag everyone’s location with an alarm.” You grumble.

Inside you were greeted with only a slightly dim room but at the center was a large Christmas tree all decorated with lights and icicles and all 4 band members standing in a semi circle facing you.

“Uh… what’s-“ you start but are cut off by Freddy and Chica.

“Merry Christmas!!!!” They shout in sync, Chica throws her arms up and wiggles her hands which makes you laugh.

“So this is where everyone is hiding. Are you having a Christmas party without me??? How rude!” You jest, entering the room and placing your supply bucket on the ground.

“No, never! You’re the honorary guest of this gathering.” Freddy remarks.

“Me? An honorary guest? You make me sound so important.” You chuckle. “So what’s going on? Why are you guys all hiding out in here?”

“To get away from you” Monty states without hesitation.

“Monty!!!” Freddy scolds.

“I’m just kiddin’ ice-bear! It’s a joke, they know I’m jus teasing ‘em.” Monty replies in defense to which you chuckle to yourself.

“WE wanted to wish you a merry Christmas. By ‘we’ I mean me. This was all my idea.” Roxy says and flips her hair with her hand.

“Aw come on Roxanne, we all came up with the idea!” Chica says, nudging her in the arm with her elbow. “We all worked hard on their gift.”

“Gift? You guys got me a gift?” You ask surprised.

“Well of course we did! We wanted to thank you for all your hard work, you take such good care of all of us when we need repairs.” Freddy commends.

“Pfft, that’s my job Freddy. You guys are the centerpieces of the pizzaplex after all, gotta make sure you’re in working order. It's no big deal.” You reply, waving your hand.

“It is a big deal, a big deal to us that is. We haven’t had an engineer like you before, you treat us like we are more than just metal and wires and it means a lot.” Freddy states.

“Soooo we got you something!~” Chica pulls out a small bag from behind her and lightly shakes it. The tissue paper ruffling at the object hidden within the contents of the bag.

“You guys…”

“Just open it dork.” Roxy teasingly urges.

You take the bag from Chica and pull out the tissue paper. Inside you find a frame and a small box. The frame was Fazbear themed of course with their cartoon faces around the border. At the bottom was a small metal plaque inscribed with the words ‘worlds best employee’, below that were the words ‘and friend’, scratched into the metal. The photo was a photo of you smiling while looking at something off camera.

“Aw, thanks you guys. This is really nice of you.” You pause. “Wait where did you get that photo from? I don’t remember anyone ever taking a photo of me.”

“We have our ways~” Chica snickers playfully. You snicker back at her while she giggles and open the smaller box. Inside was a colorful keychain with the same cartoon faces on it. It looked kind of like a charm bracelet but with more color added to it, the chain itself was a gold color.

“Isn’t this the limited edition keychain from the shop? These things are like 100 bucks!” You reply in shock.

“We thought your keys could use a bit more style to them.” Freddy winks.

“Now maybe you won’t loose them again either, spaghetti brain.” Roxy teases.

“That was one time!” You retort.

“Well now ya can take a piece of us with ya whenever you ain’t workin to remember how we care ‘bout cha.” Monty says. Everyone turns and looks directly at him, smiles creeping from the corners of their mouths. If animatronics could blush, you were sure Monty would be bright red. “A-and remember how much of a pain in the tail you are!” He grumbles, folding his arms.

“Nice save flower boy.” Roxy says to which Monty growls back at her. You couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Thanks you guys, this was really thoughtful of you.” You place the frame back in the bag and put it in your bucket. You pull out your keys and clip your new keychain on the ring, jiggling it up and down causing it to make a ‘clink’ sound with every movement. “It fits perfect.”

“Well, not to give you your gift and shoo you out but there is someone who has been dying to see you all day. Or rather, someones that is.” Chica winks.

“But I haven’t checked you guys out for damages yet.” You respond.

“Don’t worry, we have it covered. We were extra careful today so you didn’t have to spend any time on repairs. We wanted you to have an easy night.” Freddy says.

“But-“

“No buts pipsqueak, get goin. We promised those muppets we wouldn’t keep ya long.” Monty nods his head towards the door. Clearly trying to get rid of you to alleviate his embarrassment as well.

“Alright, alright. I‘m going.” You grab your bucket and head towards the door. Before exiting you look back at your coworkers. “Thanks you guys.”

“Merry Christmas friend.” Freddy says, waving you off.

You looped your way back to Kids Cove and headed towards the daycare. You make your way down the stairs and enter the play area through the big doors. The lights weren’t scheduled to turn off for another hour so the place was bright and colorful as always. Christmas lights lined the top of the glass barrier and there were snowflakes that children had made covering the glass itself.

“Sun buddy! Where are you?” You shout. You heard a loud bang from the other side of the daycare followed by stressed out exasperations about a mess. “Uh, Sun? You okay?” You ask, placing your bucket down on the security desk.

“Yep! Just dandy!” A stressed yet chipper voice responds. “Un momento por favor! Just wait there for a few seconds friend!” Another loud bang resonates across the daycare.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Do you need any help?”

“NO!” A loud bang. “We’re fine, just a few more minutes, we are almost done.” He responds.

“What are you up to back there?” You question.

“It’s a surprise! No spoiling the surprise til it’s ready!” He shouts back, you just smile and shake your head. Whenever they were determined to do something they sure got it done, no matter what.

You didn’t hear any more banging sounds but you did hear sun mumbling things to himself, or rather his other half Moon. You sat down at the security desk and leaned back in the chair while you waited. Several minutes go by, after tapping on the desk for a solid five minutes you start playing solitaire on the computer in front of you. You got through one game and a half before you heard Sun commend his and Moons work. You then hear the sound of bells approaching so you close your game and put the computer back on sleep mode.

“It's about time! I thought you were going to make me wait all night!” You tease, making your way around the desk.

“Sorry, sorry! We wanted everything to be perfect! We have been planning this all month!” Sun says as he bounds under the play bridge towards you. He was wearing a suit just like a nutcracker, a long red coat and white pants with a red stripe down the side. He had tall boots on that curled at the end with bells on them that made his typical jingle sound as he walked. He had a hat atop his head as well, his top sun ray was pushed in so the hat wouldn’t look weird just sitting on top of his sun ray. It was odd that Sun was chosen as the nutcracker but as Monty liked to tease, ‘it’s because they are a real nut case’.

“Oh? And what have you and Moon been plotting all month, hm? Is it a good surprise or bad surprise?” You ask.

“There’s no such thing as a bad surprise!” He retorts back. “Well, at least not in this case. We have had kids give us all kinds of… interesting surprises quite often.”

“Yeah, not sure dirty diapers and throw-up count as a surprise. More like bomb shells if you ask me.” You twist your face in disgust at the thought of some of the horror stories Sun has told you before. It sends shivers down your spine. You see the same thoughts run through Sun’s head as he stares at you blankly.

“Anyways!” He says, snapping out of it. “This is a good surprise, we promise! Well at least we hope it is a good surprise, we don’t have the ability to do much since we can’t leave the pizzaplex but we’ve worked hard on gathering all the needed supplies for tonight. We worked hard on putting it together and we are really excited about it. We hope you are excited too, it’s a special night after all! It’s Christmas Eve! If you aren’t excited though, that is A-Okay.” He pauses. “We hope you are at least a little excited though. Are you? Maybe you’re not. But how can you be excited if you don’t know what the surprise is! Aren’t all surprises exciting though? The good ones at least. Oh… but what if you think this is a bad surprise?! What if-“

“Sun!” You interrupt, grabbing his arms. “You’re rambling, relax dude. I’m going to love whatever it is you two have planned, don’t worry.” You smile, releasing your grip on him. “Besides, you guys only give the best kind of surprises. Except when Moon jump scares me out of nowhere. That’s not funny.”

His smile seems to brighten a bit. “Moon thinks it is quite entertaining. You do have the best expressions when you are scared.”

“Ouch. Betrayed my only ally, I’m heartbroken.” You hold your chest with one hand and put the other on your forehead dramatically. “I thought you of all people would be on my side!”

“We are on your side! We just want to make sure your heart stays healthy, and what better way to do cardio work than with a little jump scare every now and then. It keeps you on your toes and awake for the rest of your shift. You are just like a scared little mouse, it is quite adorable.” Sun says, he then covers his mouth like he had just spilled some deep secret. You decide to play along.

“So the truth comes out, shame on you both. My jumpy self takes offense to your pleasure in torturing me.” You fold your arms.

“Only a little.” He jests and you respond by sticking your tongue out at him. You laugh when he puts his hands up beside his head, wiggling them in a taunting motion. If he had a tongue, it would definitely be out.

After you stop laughing his posture changes and he stands up straight. He pretends to clear his throat to which you giggle.

“Ahem. Would you be so kind as to accompany us to our party for three? We are happy to be your escort for the trip.” He says with a bow.

“Oh, going all formal now huh? How noble of you Mr Nutcracker. And where might we be going?” You question.

“That is for us to know and you to find out~.” He snickers and you notice his hook coming down and attaching to his back. You begin to retreat backwards.

“Sun, no. We talked about this. No more flying lessons.” You panic as he strides towards you and snatches you by the waist, pulling you close.

“Don’t worry Daylight, it’s just a quick trip.” His grip tightens and he reaches his arm up to grab the wire.

“Sun! Don’t! Remember what happened last time!!! It’s not safe, it’s banned remember?!” Your hands grip onto the clothing of the bot in a frenzy, you knew there was no stopping him.

“Hang on tight little monkey~.” You begin to protest again but your jaw clenched shut the moment your feet left the ground. You dig your fingers deeper into the fabric and close your eyes. You feel the two of you lift up fast and zip away backwards. As fast as it happened was as fast as it ended. You felt your feet gently touch back down on the ground and you open your eyes. You were up on the balcony of their room overlooking the Daycare. You release your grasp and punch the bot in the side, he playfully puts his hands up.

“Don’t EVER do that again.” You scold.

“Sorry friend, no promises.” He says mischievously. He takes a few steps back and draws the curtain concealing their room. “After you~”

“You and Moon need to stop getting along, his evilness is rubbing off on you.” You grumble as you adjust your jacket and enter.

Inside was a sight you didn’t expect, you found yourself mumble an audible ‘woah’ under your breath. The small room was covered in Christmas lights strung across the wall and hanging from the ceiling. The crates that sat in the corners were covered with some wrapping paper and fake bows. The small playhouse had been moved to the corner and decorated with snowflakes. In the center of the room in front of you was a neatly arranged set of mats to look like a couch with a blanket laying over the top of it.

“Wow, you guys really went to town huh? You cleaned AND decorated. I’m impressed.” You nod.

“I’ll have you know it is Moon who is the messy one, not me.” He says entering, the scowl on his face indicated he was getting a nasty comment from Moon internally. You walk down the steps and take the hat off your head, placing it on a nearby crate as you make your way to the ‘couch’ and plop down.

“We know the ground isn’t the most sanitary thing to sit on, or the most comfortable for long periods of time but we hope this will do.” He says, making his way down the steps. You put your hands behind your head and lean back into the backrest.

“Seems pretty comfy to me. You got the extra soft mats from storage, I can tell.” You watch as he walks over to the wall and pulls a string attached to a white sheet which unrolls down the wall. “This is a good surprise, perfect place to relax for the rest of my shift. This is nice, thanks guys.”

“Oh that’s not all” he points at something just behind you and a small projector turns on projecting onto the white sheet he just unfurled. “Tada!!!!! Now we can watch a movie together without any unwanted guests.”

“A private screening? What’s playing tonight? A Christmas movie?” You ask.

“Mhm! We have been told that the movie How the Grinch Stole Christmas is quite good.” He pauses. “And it was the only one we could get to work.”

You chuckle, “Yeah, it’s a great movie. A true classic for Christmas time, and you know…” a smile creeps across your face at the sudden realization. “The Grinch actually reminds me a lot of you two.” Sun gasps dramatically.

“Are you implying we are mean and nasty?! That everyone is afraid of us?”

“Pfft no! He’s just effortlessly funny, like you guys. Oh and overly dramatic.” You tease.

“How rude.” He retorts back. “Oh! One moment please.” He bounds over to a table hidden to the side of the stairs and pulls out a box of caramel corn and a drink. “Treats for the movie!”

“Aw, you shouldn’t have!” He joyfully strides over and hands you the treats before plopping down right next to you. “We heard snacks are essential for optimal movie enjoyment.”

You pop a couple of pieces of caramel corn in your mouth. “Yep, they are must haves. What’s a movie without popcorn and a soda!” You place the popcorn down and open your drink to take a few sips. “Ah~ Nice and fizzy” you say.

“They do call it fizzy faz for a reason!” He chuckles to himself and leans over to place a blanket over your shoulders, he gives a small pat on one of your shoulders before leaning back into the backrest himself.

“Wow, a blanket too? Now you’re just spoiling me. If I didn’t know any better I’d say this is a dat-“ Sun puts a finger up to your lips and cuts you off.

“Shhhh~ the movies starting!” He watches eagerly as the intro plays and you sink into the blanket. This wasn’t a date, right? I mean you guys were friends, coworkers. The Daycare Attendant is programmed to care for everyone, adults too, there is no way that they could have feelings toward you…. Right? And it’s not like you had any feelings towards them either, you were strictly professional… Right?????

The movie played and you ate about half of the box of popcorn before setting it aside and curling into the blanket. You noticed Sun had begun to tap his fingers on his leg after you had done so. You knew him well enough to know that was a sign he was nervous or anxious about something. He looked down at you briefly before quickly averting his gaze back to the movie. You ignored it for a few minutes until you could feel him staring at you for a solid minute.

“You okay there Sun? Do I have something on my face?” You ask, he just freezes.

“N-no you’re fine. Nothings wrong, we’re fine! Just peachy~” He finally replies. He then lifts one arm up and does a fake stretch before slowly lowering it back down. It hovers over your shoulders before finally resting on you. You try to hold back a laugh.

“Did you just….” You trail off. His expression clearly showed he was nervous about your reaction, debating whether he takes his arm off or pulls you in closer to him. You decide to help him out and gently take his hand to draw it and him closer. The stiffness in his posture relaxes and he scoots closer to you, sliding you into his chest as he does so. He was holding you, gently, you could faintly hear mechanical fans within his chest regulate to a slower speed. You could feel your heart rate start to rise a bit, your face also started to heat up after the two of you got into a comfortable position. Were you… blushing?

At about the halfway point through the movie you heard the power begin to shut down and the lights turned off. The room went completely dark and it startled you. It was pitch black, you couldn’t see a single thing except for the faint glow of the attendants eyes. You heard mechanics whirl and turn as his head spun completely around. The soft white of his eyes was replaced with bright red, the grip around your shoulder tightened a bit.

“Moon?” You ask, checking his responsiveness. Sometimes the switch was quick and painless while other times… something else got in the way.

His grip then loosens and the red dims to a white, his right eye still had a slight red hue to it. His gaze shifts down to meet yours as a nightcap slides into place. “Starlight?” He says, his voice was soft with no hint of distress or anger in it.

“Hey. That was fast, not even a freeze or anything. Is it getting easier?” You question. After you found out about the virus placed inside the attendants programming you did everything you could to get rid of it but there were still residual bits that were embedded into their system that they would have to reprogram themselves. Moon no longer had the urge to harm others and act like a homicidal maniac but he still had to fight the virus whenever he and Sun switched places.

“Mm…. Still difficult but not as hard as before.” He adjusts the blanket around your shoulder where his grip was, smoothing out the wrinkles. “Virus not gone, yet.”

“It’s still a small step in the right direction. Whenever I find out who bugged you two I’m going straight to management to demand answers.” You hiss.

“Demand? You struggle asking for help on anything, too scared.” He teases.

“I am not! I just don’t like people okay, human interaction is hard. I’d figure it out.” You say in defense. “At least for you guys I would.”

“Hmm… don’t see it.” He replies. If it weren’t pitch black you were positive he would be sneering playfully at you.

“Yeah yeah, whatever. I would still have a FIRM conversation with whoever did that to you guys…”

“We know.” He pats your head gently. “Little mouse.”

You grumble under your breath to which he chuckles. After a minute or so the sound of the power turning back on hums throughout the daycare though all the lights still stay off, including the Christmas lights in Sun and Moon’s room. The projector turns back on however, and the movie was paused right where it had been left. It wasn’t bright enough for Moon to switch back to Sun so it was now his turn to watch the movie with you. You could tell they had timed that out on purpose.

“Back to movie, yes?” He asks. You nod and lean your head onto his chest.

The movie starts back up and there weren’t any interruptions the rest of the time. Throughout the movie, you realized that Moon had snuck his hand into yours without you noticing somehow. You didn’t mind, Moon was heavily programmed on comforting children so he was more ‘touchy’ than Sun. You had learned that holding hands was Moon’s form of comfort when he is anxious. When Sun is anxious you’ve found that just talking with him about anything usually calms him down. Moon… was the complete opposite of Sun.

When the credits began to play you sat up slowly and stretched your arms, yawning loudly in the process.

“So, what’d you think? You like that one?” You ask. Moon tilts his head from side to side, contemplating.

“Like it, Sun thinks Grinch is very mean though. I think Grinch is funny.”

“Oh yeah? You would.” You sneer. “He’s just like you, when you are in your ‘Moody Moon’ phase.” You laugh as he scowls at you.

“Not funny.”

“I think it’s very funny.” You chuckle. “You’re just bipolar sometimes, no big deal. I mean the phases of the moon is a real thing, it’s just ironic that you have them as well.” He grumbles and you laugh again. You check the time on your watch and realize it is 5 minutes to 11 which means it’s 5 minutes until the doors lock for the night. “CRAP!” You frantically start to get up but Moon grabs your arm.

“Won’t make it.” He says.

“I can if I run! Or-“ You get chills of dread at the thought. “-if you give me a ride to the door.” You grit your teeth. “Maybe if I just piggy back you on the front and close my eyes real tight I won’t get as motion sick.”

“No. Better idea.” He lets his hand slide down to yours and brings his other one up to hold it as well. He wraps his fingers around your hand, “Stay” he says.

Your heart skipped a beat. Looking back at him as you stood on your knees made him look like he was begging you to stay. Like a sad puppy not wanting to be left alone. Why was he being more clingy than usual? They were both always so pushy when it came to keeping you punctual at closing time.

“Moon… I’ll get in trouble. I could loose my job, you know that.” You try to remind him. “It’s against the rules, that’d make me a rule breaker.”

“We can let it slide… this time.” His gaze shifted down to your hand as he stroked it gently.

“Moon…”

“Stay. Please.” He continues stroking your hand. “Won’t tell.”

Your heart sank. He was stalling on purpose. Just like a little kid he was trying to persuade you by using the ‘puppy dog’ tactic. And it was working.

“Where would I sleep? I can’t exactly ask to sleep on Freddy’s couch again, I’ll get caught for sure. You know Vanessa patrols this place at night like a hawk, she’d find me and report me to management.” You tried to pull your hand away but only managed to move it a few inches.

The Christmas lights in the room turned on and the dark room became dimly lit. You watched as sun rays pushed their way out from the left side of his face plate, making his nightcap slide halfway off his head. Great. Now they were both going to start begging together. They got on their knees, hands traveling up your arm to your shoulder. Your heart began to pound and you could feel blood rushing to your cheeks. Their left hand came up under your chin and stroked the side of your face. Their cold fingers left a burning sensation as they moved to and fro. Your hear racing faster with every movement.

“Guys….” You mutter, barely able to get the words out. “Two against one isn’t fair.”

They lean in, lifting your chin up with their index finger. Their faceplate comes into contact with your lips, the cold burning sensation spread across your entire body like lightning. You knew what they were doing, this just confirmed what you’ve been thinking since you entered their room tonight. You weren’t leaving and they were going to make sure of that. Then again, you didn’t want to leave either. You stood there interlocked for what felt like minutes before they leaned back to let you breathe. You were bright red, you could feel it and you knew they could see it too.

But you didn’t care.

“Protect you…. Keep you safe here, together.” Their hand was still on your face, it had slid down to your jawline and their thumb was gently caressing your cheek. “Stay.”

Your hand moved on its own, it linked in theirs and you interlocked fingers. This was probably a bad idea, no, you knew it was a bad idea but you could care less. You had refrained from telling them you were going to spend Christmas alone, you didn’t want them to worry. But you had wished that you wouldn’t have to spend another Christmas by yourself this year, looks like that wish was actually going to happen.

“Okay… But only because it’s Christmas. And just this once.” You give in and are pulled into a hug. Their arms wrap around you, drawing you in close. They squeeze you gently and you feel a warmness fill your chest. This was their plan all along.

“You guys are such cheaters…” You whisper.

“We know.”

You let yourself sink back down to the floor and they lay you down, having you rest on their chest. They grab the blanket and wrap it around you to keep you warm. One arm was placed around your lower back and the other began rubbing your upper back in a soothing motion. You didn’t realize how tired you were until you felt yourself loosing consciousness.

“You are our gift… thank you.”

Those were the last words you heard before drifting off to sleep as you asked yourself, what had you just gotten yourself into?

#fnaf security breach #sun & moon #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #fnaf y/n #writing #glitched twilight #glamrock freddy #glamrock roxanne #montgomery gator #glamrock chica

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mermaidmafia-official · 4 years

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{PART III: THE BLOODMOTHER}

written by: @bebemoon

outfit ref: i can’t draw to save my life, but i tried ! so, here is ysa’s eros costume for the ball- metal armour chest strap, pearls and gold harness, four diaphanous trains/veils hemmed in white feathers to mimic eros’ wings, golden armlets and thigh band. bow and quiver of arrows for good measure. yoni-out, as promised.

tag list: @interluxetumbra @ayzrules @vampirkaninchen @blubbingbeautifully

[PESTILENCE IS A REDHEAD]

"Cyborée told me what you and Yinmei want to do."

Poppy's jaw was set. She never seemed more like a child, standing there barefoot and fuming after being informed that she was disallowed from attending Greggor's party.

The Bloodmother used her foot to kick aside the tantrum-made wreckage covering the floor of Poppy's bedroom. Splintered wood, ripped bed clothes, down feathers, shredded books, shattered and bloodied glass. Even the brand-new chandelier was hanging by a thread. The entire room was completely destroyed.

Poppy stood amid the chaos with her hands behind her back, an arist displaying her work in a gallery. She, not unlike her dwelling, was in disarray. Her hair was unbrushed, her eyes wild. Her clothes were ripped from being caught up in the swing of a firepoker- which was rested in what was left of the bed.

Ysabelle sighed, her eyes roving the walls now denuded of their golden Chinoise panels. The remnants lay curled and crumpled on the floor. "Do tell," she muttered, distracted.

Poppy tightened her teeth. "You're planning to put me to sleep. Just like Amare."

"Oh, I would never," replied Ysabelle. "If you were unconcious, who would be here to cause me endless inconveniences?"

Poppy died a child. Of course, she had existed well past her teen years, but she was frozen in the mindset of a fifteen year old. She still threw tantrums when she didn't get her way, and whatever she wanted, she took without a moment's thought. Years with the Coven, and Ysabelle felt it was for nothing. Nothing had settled her. Poppy didn't care any more for her sisters than she did Paulette Maminot.

And, with Ysabelle's agedness apparently catching up with her, she couldn't see herself tangling with Poppy any longer.

The girl shook her head. "No, you can't," she said, her voice cracking. "You can't."

Ysa said nothing. Her dark eyes were pinned to a dark red stain on the rug underfoot.

"You can't," Poppy repeated, low. "If you even try, I'll-"

"You'll what?" Ysabelle finally gave her gaze to the redhead, but she did not lift her voice. She turned her body slowly. "I am curious."

The girl looked away, her jaw clenched.

"Threaten me, Popelina?" said the Bloodmother, her voice soft yet unholy. In a blink, she was before the girl, taking her pallid face between her thumb and forefinger. Her nails dimpled the flesh of Poppy's cheeks. "My eyes have seen much and I have faced grotesqueries no one, certainly not you, could imagine."

Poppy remained still, her eyes downcast from the Bloodmother's.

Ysabelle could overlook certain things, but to be threatened by someone she had moved heaven and earth for on more than one occasion, had threatened the survival of her Coven-

It was like being spit at over and over.

"A spoiled brat with the cognitive capacity of a pond leech, I do not fear," said Ysa, and she released Poppy's face, leaving behind a pair of thin lacerations that healed over almost immediately. "Do not forget, I rescued you from under the Shiveleys. And all you have done since to repay me is routinely step out of line."

Poppy's face was pinched with distaste over being handled. She eyed Ysabelle but wisely kept silent.

Ysa turned away, her mind already made up. "You have your wish," she said. "Get dressed."

Though she was not looking at Poppy, she could feel the tension lessen. She said, "You mean, I can go to the ball?"

"Yes, you can go."

Poppy was baffled into a few beats of silence. Then: "Why-"

"Oh?" Ysabelle lilted. "Shall I explain myself to the likes of you?"

With the prospect of a little freedom looming near, all defiance had melted away. The response was quick. "No, Mother."

The Bloodmother went to the bedroom door and knocked to be let out by Zammurad who had been keeping a watchful eye on Poppy over the past few days.

Before Ysa left, she told the girl, "I will send someone to fetch you."

[A LITTLE PARTY]

The night deepened, and the Coven, in all their costumed finery, gathered in the garden to travel as one.

By flight, it would've taken some time to reach Lord Greggor's island. Therefore, the method of travel was a simple step through space and shadow, through a world known only to the half-dead. And, in a blink, where once the Coven of Bilitis House had been standing together in their own frost-ridden gardens, they now stood on a broken stone terrace that was being gently lapped by the night-black Adriatic.

Even over the din of the sea, the sounds of string music and lifted voices could be heard. Beneath the salty air, an unmistakable, redolent scent.

Ysabelle, in the (un)dress of the god Eros, gathered Lia to her side and led the group up a set of ancient steps to a loggia where shadows moved here and there, appearing and disappearing in pairs. Hushed voices tickled the ears of the undead.

Beyond the loggia, the moon lit a courtyard of spindly trees and a massive, ornate fountain where dozens had gathered in mirthy spirit. The smell of blood was strong there, and already much of the Coven was moving away from Ysabelle, drawn towards the fragrant scarlet waters spilling from the mouths of stone fish and the breasts of nymphs, staining the white stone tiers dark. Vampires were swimming in the fountain, splashing in it, screaming delirious in it, unaware of all else around them.

Even Lia, her butterfly wings shivering on her back, was being lured away, but Ysabelle held her close to her side. The blood fountain was nothing, she was certain, compared to whatever was to be found within Greggor's villa.

Once they passed through the courtyard, only Zhang, Poppy, and Pixie remained with Ysa and Lia. The five stepped through a stone archway and into another walkway with worn mosaic floors depicting bloody rituals and bacchic scenes of debauchery, most of which was so perverse as to not be suited for the eyes of...well, anyone. And the awful string music swelled in their ears as they neared a marble terrace with rows of Ionic columns, lit with warm light spilling out from within the villa.

In the light of the lavish villa entrance, a raving cacophony of raised voices and hellish strains met them first, followed by the overwhelming scent of blood. But that was to be expected.

Then the wide open spread of the banquet hall, brimming with warm-lit bodies in outlandish, ancient raiment and one or two wearing comically-costumey minotaur heads (and not much else along with it). Dancing, mostly, but there were quite a few...feasting, as mortals were present. Most of their young eyes were unfocused and wild. Drugged, Ysa guessed.

To the living present, the villa must've smelled terrible.

At the head of the only table was the host, Lord Greggor in the animal-skinned attire of Dionysos. He could not be missed for his girth was not something at which any mortal could survive. Nonethless, he was ivy-crowned and glittering in golden baubles, surrounded by his surviving brides (who were all dressed as nymphs in airy chitons). Two of the women were carrying around amphoras of blood to serve the guests, while another pair bore golden trays of what could only be desribed as "viscera" for their husband.

Ysabelle leaned into Lia so that she could hear her over the noise. "I need to speak with Greggor," she said into Lia's ear. "Stay close to Zhang."

Lia only nodded. Her bright eyes were all over the place, attempting to take the entire scene in.

Zhang, on the other hand, appeared as through she would've much rather plucked out her own eyes than spare a moment to watch over Lia. But she would do it if she had to, at the Bloodmother's behest.

Ysa mouthed a quick "thank you" to her friend before taking hold of Poppy's wrist. "Come," she told the redhead. The music was screeching insistantly now.

"We must greet our host."

[SEND IN THE WOLVES]

As Ysabelle led Poppy through the crowd of revelers, Poppy's head swiveled every which way- her senses pulling her in every direction.

"Why do I have to greet him?" Poppy asked, raising her voice as they slid through a tightly-packed group of Vampires.

Ysa pretended not to hear.

They reached the table, and Greggor spotted them immediately. He chortled, setting his belly into motion, and seemed to have an epiphany. He gave a small hand signal that apparently released his wives from his side for they all stepped away as Ysa and Poppy came forward. The brides left the hall together, tittering excitedly among themselves.

"My Lord," said Ysabelle pleasantly. "Eros greets you."

Lord Greggor regarded her costume and chuckled again. Then: "My Lady is daring as ever."

Ysabelle brought an openly beumused Poppy forward, ignoring Greggor's comment. "Lord, I heard of your recent loss," she said, pressing her hand over her chest to indicate her sympathy. "I wanted to offer mine and my Coven's condolences."

Greggor's grin slowly faded into an expression of profoud wistfulness. "Morbida, you mean," he said on a sigh. "She was...a disappointment. You must know how difficult it is to find true companionship at our age. I suppose we had little in common, but...she never gave me a proper chance. I had to do what I did."

"Anyone who would treat you so poorly deserves their fate," Ysa lied. "If there's anything I can do to help-?"

The corpulent Vampire brightened immediately. "I am searching for someone new, to take Morbida's place in my heart and mind," he said. His beady eyes did skip to Poppy but only for a moment. "If you know of anyone suitable...?"

Ysabelle feigned a little gasp. "It's fate, my Lord," she pronounced, indicating Poppy at her side. "Popelina would be perfect for you. What do you think?"

"Mother," Poppy uttered sharply, clearly panicked. She could not outright reject him. Greggor's ego would not stand for it, especially before all of his peers- there would likely be violent reprecussions if she spoke against him.

Lord Greggor beamed, ecstatic. "Eros indeed. Do you know, I was just thinking the same," he laughed. He beckoned Poppy with his swollen hand. "Come, come, my dear. Come stand next to me. Let us get to know one another."

Poppy hesitated, but helpless, she eventually did as she was told.

Ysabelle regarded the pair with false softness. "A match if I ever saw one," said she, spreading her hands.

She did not intend to give Poppy over to Greggor, she only wished to frighten the girl into better behaviour in the future. Before the night was out, she would perhaps see that some things were worse than being put to sleep for a few years.

Greggor motioned to one of the trays left behind by the brides, and Poppy, indignation colouring her aura, leaned over the table to take up a handful of gore to feed the Lord with her own hands. It was an upsetting scene for anyone to witness.

Ysa turned away as if to leave the table, but Greggor called her back.

He said, "You might want to stay put, my Lady. I have a surprise that I think you might enjoy. My brides are fetching them now."

Out of politeness, Ysabelle remained at the table while Poppy continued to feed Lord Greggor. Surprises, she did not care for.

Across the hall, she could see Lia who was being twirled by a mortal, and by the looks of it, it was not anything the mortal wished to be a part of. She twirled and twirled, her butterfly wings fluttering prettily behind her. Then, without warning, she snapped at his throat.

At the same time, a terrible stench was growing. And there was a sound that would set any Vampire on edge.

Ysa wasn’t the only one to hear and smell it. Almost everyone was craning in the same direction now- towards the back archway the brides had disappeared through earlier.

The music continued on.

And a moment later, the brides were back, but not alone. In a display so strange, Ysa could not have concieved of it in her most diabolical nightmares, the Lord’s cackling brides appeared holding thick silver chains at the ends of which were thickly muzzled Wolves. Five, all together. Restless and tugging at their restraints, but impressively, being tightly controlled by the brides, some of whom were at the reigns of more than one Wolf. The biggest, for instance, seemed to be limping, but was still being held by three women.

The Vampire and mortal crowd responded instantly by backing up, murmuring sharply and cursing among themselves.

“What is this?” Ysabelle demanded.

Greggor bellowed in laughter. “My friends!” he shouted jovially. The music stopped then. “A treat! You see my brides captured these fellows on a hunt- and I thought I might share their triumph with you all!”

A smattering of applause followed that, but for the most part, the Vampires were wary.

Sensing this, Greggor added, “Come, come, my friends. There is nothing to fear- these dogs are wrapped securely in silver! Pathetic, aren’t they?”

Some agreement went around the room.

“Tonight,” sang Greggor, lifting his arms with some doing, “we take the mutts’ heads!”

At that announcement, the Vampires roared with approval. The music and dancing started up again.

The brides went to chain the Wolves in the courtyard so that they could be observed by the guests.

“And how fortunate,” Greggor added to Ysabelle, “to have the fabled Mother of Wolves present for such an important event.”

Ysa watched the prisoner Wolves being paraded through the hall, being hissed and laughed at...

No good would come of this.

#C O M P L E T E #btr #btr: story #fanfan's writing #btr: the bloodmother #btr: ysabelle #please please please enjoy and PLEASE let me know if this messes with anyone's plans #i can change anything needed !

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years

Text

The Prince of the Sea and his Child of Fire - Chapter 12/15 (Rated NC17)

Summary: Blaine is a water sprite, prince of the undersea kingdom and sole heir to the throne. Five days away from turning seventeen and his big coronation, he decides to take a journey to the surface, to seek out a legendary flame said to be tended by an evil witch. Instead of a witch, he finds something else entirely ...

Kurt is a fire fairy, prince of a race of fire fairies and heir to the throne. Five days away from turning seventeen (on the night of a full solar eclipse when he will transform and become king), he sees for the first time in his life a water sprite - a member of a race that he's been raised to hate.

What will happen when these two mortal enemies fall in love? Is there any way for them to escape destiny and be together?

Read on AO3

Chapter 12

Kurt watches the guards gather twigs from around the meadow and quickly construct a second, slightly larger cage. When the structure is complete, they transfer the struggling sprite from one to the other. They lower the cage into the water of a hidden pool via several thick vines, securing it in the shadow of the briars. Blaine will be safe from the sunlight there, but he will have an unobstructed view of the meadow - and Kurt's coronation.

Blaine looks only at Kurt as they lower him into the water, begging silently with his eyes for the fairy prince to change his mind. Kurt mournfully shakes his head. He looks away from his love, his heart splintering like glass with the effort it takes to leave Blaine alone in yet another cold, dark prison.

"I'm so glad I raised such an intelligent son," Elizabeth says, tossing a handful of peonies into the flame and filling the cove with a soft, pink glow. "A son who can see reason, who knows his rightful place and owns up to his responsibilities. Oh, you may have strayed, but in the end, you understand your duty. You will be a virtue to the throne."

Kurt kneels in the grass, letting servants from the palace dress him in royal garb, put crowns of flowers in his hair and cover his face in powders and paints until he is nearly unrecognizable.

"There was a time when I would have done anything for you, Mother," he says, his voice devoid of all emotion. "Done anything to hear those words of praise from your lips. But now …"

"Now what, my son?" Elizabeth asks, barely regarding Kurt as she gathers more flowers for the flame.

"Now I do none of this for your empty praise, or for you." Kurt's eyes drift to the pool and the golden eyes staring at him. "I'll become king, but it's not for you or my kingdom. It's for him." He swallows back a sob, erases the grimace from his face, and tries his best to smile. "It's all for him."

"You are a fool," Elizabeth says of her son, gazing up at the darkening sky. "But soon it will not matter. You will be king. You will inherit my powers. And when the eclipse is over and everything is done, you will see things my way."

Within his cage beneath the water, Blaine tries to think logically, but he feels the eclipse draw near. It will change Kurt, turn him into a king, but it was meant to change Blaine, too. The moon inching close to cover the sun calls to him. Blaine feels his body growing stronger, though he is not strong enough yet to break free of his cage.

But if he can break free, what should be his next move?

If he comes up on land to appeal to the fairies during the eclipse, they will attack, with or without Kurt's command, and Blaine doesn't know if this new strength will be enough to defend himself from their fire. Most likely not, since he has never heard of an undersea creature with the power to withstand direct flame. Not even his father – at least, he thought not.

He knows nothing for certain anymore.

He could try to stop the army of sprites coming for the cove, but why would they listen to him? Blaine is no longer heir to the throne. He is nothing to them anymore. Trent won't be leading the assault. There would be no one for him to appeal to, and no doubt his father has given them instructions to kill him on sight if they encounter him. The only thing he can do is bide his time, keep an eye out for an opportunity to leap into the fray and do whatever he can to stop this battle.

Blaine hunkers down and lets the strength of the moon flourish within him, tugging the bindings on the cage every so often to see if he can wear them down. Otherwise, all he can do is wait.

And Blaine hates to wait.

The sky turns black as the water and Kurt feels his body call out for the sun. From what he remembers, once the moon covers the sun, the earth will be overrun by a dark radiance - a light only visible during the eclipse - which will give the royal heir to the throne their power. It's a form of rebirth – a metamorphosis from common fairy to king or queen.

But if it's going to turn him into the heartless, self-serving beast his mother has become, he doesn't want it – any of it.

Unfortunately, it's too late for him now.

Kurt had looked forward to inheriting a kingdom which had enjoyed centuries of peace. But here he stands, and his first command as king will be to annihilate an entire race – a race he had longed to call friend and bring under his protection. But fate and vanity had declared them eternal enemies, and no power on the planet could stop the rage of war.

Alas, no more words from a wise and cynical sea turtle will be able to save them now.

Kurt turns his gaze to the sun shining above his head as the shadow of the moon starts to blot it out. The world around him grows dim, and the dark light of the eclipse begins to glow. He feels it first in his wings as they start to lengthen. Then in his arms and legs as they tingle and fill with heat. Finally, his eyes burn silver with the full power of the Eternal Flame, fed by his mother as she fills it to the brim with flowers from the meadow – amaryllis for pride, iris for wisdom, callas for beauty, poppies for success, and roses for hope.

Kurt watches his mother and wishes for more roses – many more roses.

He can see his transformation reflect in his lover's eyes beneath the water. Kurt turns away, unable to stand their agony and wonder. He shifts his gaze to the horizon, to the ocean stretching out in all directions, and the rolling hills. Off in the distance, white flecks gather in great numbers, rising higher and higher into the sky. Kurt sees them – the pods of the flowers that the turtle told them about, bursting into the air and floating to the heavens. And as the strength of the flame flows within him, cementing his place on the throne, he feels his soul begin to break.

Hundreds of pods lift into the sky and not a one of them wait to carry him and Blaine along. When the last one disappears and the sun choked with darkness, Kurt looks back into the pool in search of Blaine.

But he sees only his own reflection.

No, he sees the reflection of a doomed king.

The fairy staring back at Kurt is not him, and never will be.

The fairies around Kurt fall to their knees, his many sins and transgressions suddenly forgotten now that he stands before them as their king.

"There!" Elizabeth raises her arms and bows low to her son in the presence of all so that they will know she gives him her blessing to rule. "I present to you all my son, Kurt, King of the Fire Fairies!"

"Long live the king!" the fairies chant as they toss their offerings of flowers at his feet and more offerings into the flame. "Long may he rule!"

Kurt feels a tremor in his spirit, the vibrations of hundreds of feet marching beneath his skin. Because of his new connection to the earth, he perceives what is yet unseen. He inhales deep and looks at the water. Ringlets form, the thinnest of disturbances impacting the water's surface as they start to arrive.

"There will be no peace," Kurt says to himself, opening his wings to rise high into the sky. Behind him, a regiment of fairies dressed in armor and carrying spears topped with flame fall in line, preparing for battle. "Today, the end begins."

Metal helmets poke through the water's surface like the fins of tiny sharks and head for land. Kurt searches the water for Blaine but his water sprite is gone, and Kurt doesn't blame him. Whether at the hands of the fire fairies or the water sprites, he surely would have become the first casualty of war with Kurt - focused on defending his kingdom - powerless to protect him.

Line after line of water sprites appears, crowding the shore, but only one sprite speaks.

"My name is Cassius," he says. "Supreme General of the Undersea Kingdom, under the command of King Malek the Great."

"And what have you to say to me, Supreme General?" Kurt asks, his voice a rumble over the earth and sky. "Why have you come to our shores on the eve of this sacred ceremony?"

"I have come to you," the sprite says in a stiff, commanding voice, but with more respect than Kurt would have expected, "with a declaration of war."

"And why does your king declare war on us?" Kurt asks, stalling as he tries, even now, to find a way out of this mess. If he can stall until the eclipse is over, the sun will force the sprites back into the water.

Not that that will stop the war, but it may delay it a little.

"Your realm has been charged with crimes against the crown," the Supreme General declares. "Specifically in the matter of His Royal Highness, Prince Blaine, exiled son of the king."

"I see. Then I will discuss this matter with King Malek himself," Kurt declares, "since it is because of me that your prince was exiled, and I would like the opportunity to defend my actions." Kurt looks down at the Supreme General, who stares back at him, unmoved. "Is your king with you?"

"He is not," the Supreme General replies, "but I have my orders …"

"Return to your ocean and tell your king I will speak with him on this and only him. I believe it is only fitting for a king to address a king on an issue as serious as declaring war. Do you not?"

"Be that as it may," the Supreme General says, conceited in his amusement at the young king's demands, "I carry the banner of King Malek, therefore I speak for him …"

"But you don't have his authority," Kurt cuts in, doing his best to draw this out a bit longer. "You carry his declaration of war, yes, and are given the authority to launch an attack. However, the burden of negotiation falls on the shoulders of the king and the king alone. And as I am not willing to endanger my kingdom, I demand negotiation, which I believe is my right. So go back to King Malek and tell him to come face me." Kurt waits, staring the general down with all the confidence he can muster to back his words. He anticipates another volley, a (hopefully) long-winded explanation of the Supreme General's position and his authority to represent the throne as granted by the king.

But the Supreme General does no such thing.

He calls out a command and the army advances. Kurt rises higher, spreading out his arms, his hands engulfed in flame.

"How far do you think you and your army will be able to come up onto my shores?" He reaches out an arm and calls for the flame. It leaps at his command, threading over the cove, lighting the grass and smoking wildly, forcing the sprites to retreat to the pool.

Kurt hears his wall of fire sizzle, a massive wave of smoke rising up from the grass as a tremendous line of sprites extinguish the fire at its base. Kurt reaches out to relight the grass, but it is soaked with water, and the flame doesn't catch.

"I think," the Supreme General says, a smug grin twisting his lips as he rises from the pool and marches his troops onto the shore, "that we can come up as far as we please."

Kurt feels his new power – his mother's power - luring him into battle, forcing his hand. He creates a wave of flame rising high into the sky, tall enough and wide enough to push every sprite into oblivion. The sprites see the fire coil like a viper, preparing to strike.

But the front line of sprites, ready to sacrifice their lives, is only a diversion. A regiment of soldiers armed with tridents and nets surround the cove, sneaking up into the grass behind the fairy king, preparing to strike once the whip of fire finds its mark. Their orders are to ambush the king and as many of his army as they can and drag them into the water.

And Kurt, who has never been confronted with the possibility of war in his life, has no idea such an attack is coming his way.

Completely engaged with his snake of flame, the sprites close in around him, waiting for their signal.

The fire lashes out.

The nets fly into the air.

And all at once, a belt of water dissolves the fire and carries the army of sprites back into the ocean, dragging them down into the deep.

Kurt spins around, fluttering high, startled for the moment that he was saved within an inch of losing his life, but he has no idea by whom. The smoke from the extinguished fire whip clears and Blaine is there – a transformed Blaine – an immense, imposing water sprite, as large as Kurt, the likes of which none have seen since the last time the Great Sea King Malek left the confines of his castle.

Before he became the vulgar blackened mass he is today.

The army of sprites rally behind him, preparing to press the advantage of this surprise, but Blaine glowers at them, golden eyes burning like molten rock.

"Enough!" he yells, waving a hand and washing the remaining sprites back into the water before they can release their nets again.

"Blaine?" Kurt hovers closer, looking Blaine up and down, relishing seeing him with his new eyes. "But, how …?"

"I became my father," Blaine says bleakly, "like you became your mother."

"But, you never said anything. Did you know …?"

"No," Blaine answers with a dry chuckle. "I can safely say no one ever warned me about this."

Startled cries rise up as the remaining sprites try to wage war around the two kings, but a potent wall of fire, and another ring of water manage to keep the warriors in their place. Kurt feels the mounting swell of black light fade. He knows the sun will soon return and bring forth the day.

"Blaine, you have to go! The sun will come out soon! Take your army back into the water and leave!"

"Not without you," Blaine says.

"But, I can't!" Kurt looks at his fairies attempting to breach the water and fire wall. "I have to stay here!"

"And wage your Mother's war?" Blaine asks. "Then the only choice for me is to stay with you, no matter what."

"But … you can't … and I … I have to …" Looking into Blaine's eyes, Kurt finds it hard to remember exactly why it is so important that he stay. What was going on around him that was more important than the water sprite in front of him?

"We can end this, my love," Blaine says with his hand outstretched. "Remember?"

"But the flowers!" Kurt sobs. "I saw them! They're gone! They've floated away and left us behind!"

"They don't matter. We'll find a way. We're strong enough to make it there together. On our own. Let's leave this all behind and start our new world, Kurt. What do you say? Will you come with me?"

Kurt looks at Blaine's hand beckoning him, fingers curled inward, inviting him to come along. There is his out. He still has a chance at peace.

Blaine is offering him the greatest gift in the world – a second chance.

And more than anything, Kurt wants to take it.

It's the singing of the sun in the sky that alerts Kurt to the trouble before he sees it.

Kurt could have saved him, could have rescued Blaine from the eclipse if he had only taken his hand, but as soon as a sliver of the sun shows its face, Elizabeth – standing aside, forgotten, hidden by the flame - sends out what is left of her power and strikes Blaine to the ground, sending him reeling into the single ray of daylight.

It strikes him in the eyes, its effect on the sprite instantaneous.

"No!" Kurt screams to bring down the stars in the heavens. "No! Blaine!"

The fairies disperse and the sprites run for cover, ducking into the water to avoid the daylight flooding the cove.

Kurt calls upon his power to pull every cloud above to the cove – every thunderhead, every cumulonimbus. He fills the sky over their heads with an infinity of clouds, but it's not enough to undo what has been done.

The wet earth cruelly holds Kurt's feet as he runs across it, his large, flowing wings slowing him down. Or maybe it's time slowing, since Kurt is sure it will stop if Blaine is actually dead. Kurt looks down at Blaine's limp body, his scorched eyelids, his face relaxed as if in sleep.

Peaceful in death.

"No," Kurt whispers, dropping to his knees. "No, no, no, no. Blaine?" He reaches for the water sprite, his hands gently touching his cold cheek. "Blaine, please … please, wake up."

Around the two lovers, the fairies gather. From the shore, sprites take tentative steps onto land.

"No," Kurt repeats, not knowing what to say. If he can't think of something that will bring him back, words are useless. "He had such a beautiful soul," he says, talking as if a multitude of eyes aren't watching him grieve, a multitude of ears not listening. He leans forward, kisses Blaine's lips one more time. Tears fall from his eyes, wetting Blaine's cheeks like a drizzle of rain, but they do not wake him.

"I did this," Kurt says softly. "I killed him."

"Kurt …" Elizabeth comes out of hiding and hovers over her son. Kurt's eyes snap up to meet hers - piercing blue eyes burning with hate.

"I killed him," he repeats, holding Blaine's body close to his chest, cradling the water sprite's head against his heart. "And you did, Mother!" he screams. His gaze sweeps the congregation around him, those turbulent eyes taking in the faces of fairy and sprite alike. "And you! And you! And you! All of you, with your hate! Your stupid, mindless hate! And for what? Who won!? Nobody! Nobody won!"

Kurt turns his back on his fairies, ignores the sprites creeping forward, attempting to claim the body of their fallen prince. With great reverence befitting a noble king, he lifts Blaine in his arms and walks away from his kingdom, heading with purposeful strides to the water.

Elizabeth follows behind him. "Kurt! What are you doing!?"

"I am returning Blaine to his home."

"But, you can't! If you go into the water, you'll die!"

"Then I die! And this debt of the fire fairies to the water kingdom will be repaid! And perhaps then this stupid war will be considered over!"

"Kurt!" Elizabeth screams after her son, but without her power, she can do nothing to stop him. He does not listen to her cries, and she does not follow him down to the water. He stops for a moment at the very edge, where gentle waves lap at the shore. His light reflects off it, a thousand dots shimmering over the surface, and for once, Kurt sees the beauty in it – not the reflection of the fire's glow, but the way the flame blends with the water. A shallow finger of water reaches out for him and wraps around his ankle, tugging at his leg. Each tug brings him closer, the cold whorling up his leg into his body, spreading icy hands toward his heart.

Kurt no longer fears the water. It rises up in search of its prince, but it will accept him as well, and they will be one.

"We'll be together," Kurt says, brushing a lock of hair from Blaine's face, "just like we planned. Just like we dreamed. You and me and our brand new world."

Kurt takes a step forward, and then another. The waves rise up to greet them, to fold the two children in its arms and take them under.

"I love you, Blaine," Kurt says, letting the final wave cover him and carry him into the dark.

The cove is hushed, the water motionless, the Eternal Flame dancing alone on its branch, burning lower and lower. The sprites, gathered at the water's edge, look on in shock, while the fairies have begun to cry out in mourning.

Neither notice the disturbance farther out, the deep water churning and bubbling from below, coming closer and closer. The pool swirls around and around. In its center, a crown of shimmering gray flesh rises. A face breaks through the surface, and then a hand – open flat, palm facing the sky. Two small figures rest in the center – Blaine and Kurt, still as if sleeping, wrapped in one another's arms.

"Malek," Elizabeth gasps, addressing her other half for the first time since Earth began.

"Elizabeth," he says, eyes focused solely on the bodies in his hand.

"We did this," Elizabeth says, looking at the body of her son.

"Yes," Malek says, gazing down at his own, "we did."

"He would have ruled in my stead," Elizabeth says.

"And he in mine," Malek says.

Elizabeth looks at the fairy and sprite lying side-by-side, fingers laced even in the gloom of death.

"So why don't we give them what is theirs?" she says, brushing the hair from her son's eyes with her fingertips, and then from Blaine's.

"How do you mean?" Malek asks, watching Elizabeth tend to his son.

"We'll exchange our fate for theirs. We will leave this world in their place. Then they can improve what's been made here, and we will create a new one." Elizabeth smiles. "We will watch them from above."

"They will rectify our mistakes …" Malek adds, taking the fairy queen's hand.

"… rebuild what we've torn apart …"

"… so that things may begin again, the way they were meant to be."

Malek raises Elizabeth's hand to his mouth - a mouth on a face that begins to look less like a putrid, indefinable mass and more like a sprite.

A handsome sprite with raven curls and glowing amber eyes.

Elizabeth smiles. "It's nice to see you again."

Malek returns her smile. "Likewise, my love."

Elizabeth turns to her children – the fairies taking to the air. She extends her hand and brushes through them with one final caress as she reaches past and takes hold of the Eternal Flame. She holds the fire in the palm of her hand and places it beneath the water. It sputters, dances. In a single burst, it shoots out in all directions, sinking to the ocean floor but does not extinguish.

"Your children will always be welcome here … in my son's kingdom," Elizabeth says, her body becoming translucent, shimmering like sparkles on the water.

"And your children will always be welcome beneath the water … in my son's kingdom," Malek says, placing the two bodies on the grass as his own form begins to fade.

Around the bodies of the two fallen princes a cone of light forms – one blue, twisting and spiraling in one direction, while another, soft and pink, spirals in another. They spin and twirl, faster and faster, fitting one another until they become one – a beacon that shoots to the heavens and lights the sky, filling the universe with its radiance. There's a moment when the light becomes so bright that everyone witnessing it must turn their eyes away or risk being blinded by it. It bounces off the ocean, reflects the stars, and makes the land around them hum with life. Soon the light disappears and the world becomes dark and quiet once more, except for one point of light that glows in the center of Kurt and Blaine's joined hands.

The silence that covers the cove is broken when two souls take their first breaths together as one.

#klaine #klaine fanfiction #klaine fiction

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futurewriter2000 · 5 years

Text

Changing titles ~ Pt. 6

*couldn’t find a good gif so imagine some cute James Potter gif*

A/N: You know I could have just left it alone and make it all happy and fluffy but you should that I just can’t and I really wanted to write this for such a long time. I know I haven’t been much active but I have a lot of school work and I’m dying from it. Honestly, everything has been so hard and stressful that all I did was school and sleep. But holidays are coming soon and I’ll try and write more :) Hope you like it <3<3

‘ “ James! Help your sister change into her dress!” Mrs. Potter shouted from the kitchen while James has been playing chess with his father.

“ But mum! She’s old enough to dress!” he protested but his mother quickly came into the living room, shooting him a glare to which James quickly responded with his leave to your room.

As soon as he was close to her room, he heard desperate sighs from his little sister, struggling to put on her pink tights. James walked into the room and leaned on the door frame, smirking. There was a little girl wearing only a pink top and struggling with her pink tights, huffing angrily and kicking her legs.

“ Need help, Tiny.” he grinned while she lifted her head in utter rage and glared at him.

“ No!” she spat out and blew the bangs on her forehead, which fell back immediately.

“ Well, mum sent me to help-”

“ I don’t need help.” she continued to struggle.

“ And because looking at you trying to put on a pair of tights is just torturing.” he beamed and walked over to her, sitting on her bed and lifting her from the ground. “ Come on.” he stretched a hand while she gave her foot on his palm. He pulled the tights down and started rolling them with his fingers. “ I thought you this. Just roll them up and put the foot through.”

“ Why? I can just put it in-”

“ And struggle?” he looked at her from the corner of his eyes when he finally rolled the tights. “ Leg.” he ordered and she obeyed, showing off her goofy smile.

After he finished putting on her tights, he turned to the wardrobe to get her dress but when he turned around, he stopped at the sight of her top. She was wearing her pink top with a golden snitch sewed on it. He smiled and shook his head. “ Why are you wearing that?”

She looked down at her top and beamed. “ Because you have the same one.” her eyes sparkled and James couldn’t help himself but let you wear the same top under your dress.

“ Okay. Just come here and let’s get dressed.” ‘

He loved calling you Tiny and he adored that pink top on you. It was not because the two of you had the same one but seeing you wear it made him truly happy. The fact that you wore it just because he, your older brother, had the same one in white color instead of pink, made him realize how much he actually loved you. He knew you always asked your mom to make it your age-appropriate, always growing its size, yet he never knew why you kept wearing it even after the two of you started to drift apart.

Though here he was, dreaming his favorite memory as he had fallen asleep next to you after staying with you since you arrived.

Your eyes, however, stayed close until you started to feel something moist and mucky on the back of your hand and making your eyelids lift.

The light was too bright for your eyes to adjust fast enough. It took you a moment or two to realize where you were, what happened and what was that on your hand?

You looked down on your hand with your vision still a little blurry but as you squinted your eyes you managed to see exactly what it was. A boy drooling on your hand.

You moved it away and started wiping your hand on the covers. “ Ewww.”

James jerked awake and quickly looked up at his sister, finding her grimace at the slime on her hand. “ (y/n)! You’re awake!” his eyes shot wide and he immediately moved closer to you, taking a hold of your hand.

But you moved it away, furrowing your eyebrows at him immediately. “ (y/n)? Who’s (y/n)?” you asked and kept staring at the boy.

James thought his world turned upside down all over again. “ No.” he mumbled under his breath, staring at you but not quite looking at you. “ It’s me, James. Your brother- yo-your older brother.” he stuttered.

“ I have a brother?” you tilted your head to the side and kept a puzzled look on your face.

“ Bu-but you have to remember me.” he felt his throat turn sore and his stomach twist. “ I-It’s me. J-James.”

For the first time in all your life, you have seen James stutter. For the first time, you saw him lost with words and he was making you feel so guilty that you couldn’t keep the act up anymore. So you changed your puzzlement into your perpetual mischievous look and smiled. “ I’m messing with you J.” you punched him in the arm and started laughing.

He stared at you, torn between whether to kill you or hug you. “ You-You’re messing with me?! You almost gave me a bloody heart attack!” he tried to stay angry but the smile on his lips gave it all away.

“ Well, you kind of deserved-” you tried to speak but was cut off by his arms wrapping around you and pulling you closer.

“ I don’t know what I would do if I’d lost you, Tiny.” he mumbled and you simpered at his nickname for you.

He hasn’t called you Tiny since your first year of Hogwarts. To be completely honest, it triggered some sort of deep emotion you tried to push down throughout the years and it resulted in tears falling on his robes.

“ I-I was so scared, J.” you now hugged him as well, your hands gripping his robes. “ So scared and alone.”

“ I know and I’m sorry.” he slowly moved away from you and kept holding your hands.” I should have been a better brother to you.”

“ Yeah, you should have.” you smiled through the tears, making him chuckle. “ It was a really shitty experience to lose a brother.” you wiped the tears with your sleeve and lightly pushed him away. “ Now stop making me cry. I don’t cry.”

He chuckled as well, wiping his tears as well. “ Merlin.” he kept brushing his cheeks but tears kept falling. “ You’re right. We’re the Potters for God’s sake.”

---

After the two of you calmed down, Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, as well as Madam Pomfrey, came walking towards you. James kept laughing as the two of you reminisced on your childhood but as soon as your eyes landed on them, you clawed the edges of your sleeves and tensed up.

“ Miss Potter.” Dumbledore spoke kindly. “ Mister Potter.” he nodded at your brother. “ May we speak to you privately?”

You looked at James whose eyes immediately narrowed. Before he can answer for you, you cut in first. “ Yes.”

“ What?” James looked at you but you only smiled.

“ It’s okay, James. I can handle myself.”

“ Yeah, I can-”

“ James, please.” you looked at him, differently this time.

Seeing your eyes begging him to listen to you, he nodded and got up. “ I’ll be just outside.”

After he left your bedside, you sat up and hugged your knees. Your eyes were stuck on the black-haired figure leaving the hospital wing and you didn’t look at no one of the professors until you were sure he was gone completely.

The door closed and you closed your eyes, tears falling down your cheeks. The shame, the guilt...everything was building inside of you and you felt a hand place itself on your shoulder. You looked up at her green eyes and just leaned on her shoulder, sobbing.

Professor’s McGonagall’s arms wrapped around you and she didn’t say a single word.

“ When I tried to examine her left arm I saw it and rather left it alone. I didn’t want to draw attention so I just covered it.” whispered Madam Pomfrey to Dumbledore.

“ Thank you, Poppy. I really appreciate it.” he smiled kindly at her while you moved away from McGonagall’s embrace and looked up at him. “ Can you roll up your sleeve, (y/n)?” he asked and you hesitated, the knot in your stomach pushing the tears to fall from your eyes. “ It’s just a look, Miss Potter.”

You looked down on your left arm and lift it up, prepared to roll up your sleeve. By now all eyes were on you and your fingers touched the edge of your sleeve. You hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath in and rolling up the sleeve.

Slowly as you rolled it up, dark ink started to show. The skull, the snake...the Dark Mark.

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writingwitchly · 6 years

Text

Sunrise

Hey! ;-) I have a request. could you write a oneshot with young sirius black where his gf like gets poisoned and then faints and sirius catches her but then her life is in danger and she might not survive and sirius worries like crazy. thanks!xx ~ an Anon who gave me some quite hard work

Pairing: Sirius Black x fem!reader Word count: 2,2k Warning: FREAKIN BLACK FAMILY / poisoning / bullying / dark thoughts / sadness / a much needed hApPiE eNdInG A/N: Ok, let’s be honest. At first, I didn’t know how to write this, I didn’t get ideas for the request, but then it just clicked in my mind and it’s such a relief to share with you the extremely odious and shallow creatures that the Blacks are in my head (Andy, Reg, and Pads deserved so much better, imma cry). Also shiiite, but this got me exhausted, wrote the final part listening to Halo, by Queen B, and it definitely gave me the feelzzz. ’m also kinda proud of how it turned out? Thanks for the request, Anon, feel free to send more in. Enjoy.

“I am sorry I brought you here.”

Yeah. He can be.

The cold air seeps through your pores, and tears have formed two little streams on your cheeks. You wipe them with one of the sleeves of your cardigan, the one you had bought especially for today.

“Y/N.”

Sirius grabs your elbow and forces you to a halt. His eyes are so full of regret that you almost feel ashamed for crying. Almost.

“I-” But the words die in his mouth.

They are replaced by anger, an ugly anger that hardens your boyfriend’s facial traits. What you just suffered in the house of Orion and Walburga Back bears no name, and deserves no justification.

Two weeks ago, when they heard about their elder son’s girlfriend, Sirius’ parents immediately wrote him a letter. Your boyfriend was quite happy: his family was showing a hint of interest in him for the first time in long years. He was diffident, of course, but even if they are the most horrible people on Earth, they still remain his family. He is proud of you, and thought they would be too.

Like the naive girl that you are, you let Sirius convince you. Maybe it would somehow calm Walburga to meet her future daughter-in-law, you thought. As if this woman was capable of motherly love, or feminine complicity.

When you arrived at the Black manor earlier this evening, a strange weight appeared in your belly at the sight of the abandoned garden and dusty entrance. You told yourself it would disappear soon, believing it was just hunger, but the sensation became heavier when an unhealthy-looking house-elf opened the door, bowing his sad, grayish head until it touched the floor.

Inside, the whole Black clan was waiting for you, superiority and derision already displayed on their faces. The women were sitting in their extravagant dresses, listening to the political discussion that the men were emphasizing by moving their richly jeweled hands in the air. The atmosphere, already full of untold reproaches and hypocrisy, was worsened by the undulating column of smoke that the expensive cigars released in the room.

Sirius was standing next to you as you observed his family members. Even if he looked disgusted by their behavior, you had to admit that, with his immaculate clothes, his perfect hair, and sophisticated features, he fitted well in the picture. A very unpleasant picture of extreme wealth. One to which you do not belong.

As soon as you stepped in, the humiliation started. ‘Her skin looks like a troll’s,’ ‘The load of rags she wears doesn’t even deserve to be called a dress,’ ‘What do you reckon happened to her hair?’ are some of the whispers that filled the place. Almost every present host criticized you blatantly, ignoring the fact that you were standing right in the middle of them all. You felt your boyfriend boiling with rage next to you, but calmed him down with looks of patience and resignation.

Everybody got more bearable when the news that you are pureblood sank in. ‘At least she’s not total garbage,’ laughed Walburga. She even offered you a drink.

Wanting to make a good impression, you lowered your guard, throwing shy smiles here and there, and placing some words in the conversations. You really wanted to help Sirius. You thought things could get better, but their masquerade didn’t last long.

The word ‘mother’ slipped from your tongue, addressing Walburga.

An icy veil fell on the house. All eyes were on you. Sirius’ mother raised from her armchair, and told you to leave. As you didn’t react, she screamed at you. She claimed that she would never allow somebody like you to call her ‘mother’.

Like an automate, you stood up, and your legs carried you toward the door. Behind you, screams and laughter echoed in the living room. You heard Sirius yell something, gasps, the muffled sound of a fist on a jaw, several more hits, and the door closed behind you.

Seconds later, the door slammed again, this time with such an intensity that it could have brought the whole house down. Sirius’ steps joined yours, and you exited the neglected garden in a mutual hurt silence, his nose dripping blood and the sinking feeling in your stomach a million times worse.

“Let’s- Let’s just move over this, okay?”

Your whisper costs you a big effort, because your tongue feels incredibly dry, but it softens the young man’s expression.

“It’s not your fault,” you try to comfort him, hating the thought that he is feeling guilty about the whole story. “It didn’t go that bad.”

Your eyes have a hard time focusing on him. The stress must have gotten to your nerves.

“Of course it didn’t.” His voice is as tense as a violin’s strings. “My whole family just showed how odious they are by being total jerks to the woman I love, my mother threw you out of the house, and I punched and got punched by my father. Funny, isn’t it?”

He furiously wipes his mouth, wet with blood.

With a flick of your wand, you attempt to fix his injury. Your mind is racing to find something to say, because Sirius just entered a vicious cycle of blaming himself for having the worst family ever.

“What I’m saying, love, is that it could have been worse,” you try to sound peaceful, but the pounding veins in your skull only allow you to frown. With a lame smile, you try to joke, “I mean, at least your mother didn’t poison me when she gave me that dri-”

A sharp pain in the ribs makes you buckle, but Sirius retains you before you can fall.

“Y/N? Are you okay? Y/N!”

He holds you to his chest, cupping your lolling head with one hand.

“Y/N! What’s happening?”

Suddenly, comprehension washes over his face.

“Y/N! What did she put in the drink? What color was it?”

Your legs are noodles. The world is spinning. Your mouth involuntarily forms a rictus.

“Y/N! For Merlin’s sake, answer!”

Why does he sound so desperate?

Don’t worry, Sirius, I’m fine here. Stop yelling. The world feels… cold… and empty. But… There are people. They say they are friends. Why can’t I see their faces? Oh, they are shadows.

Spare bits of sentences reach your brain in your semi unconsciousness.

“The drink-”

What drink?

They tell me to take their hands.

“Color-”

Oh yeah, that drink. I didn’t like it. It tasted sour.

But my friends, the shadows, they say I’ll be fine with them.

“Answer!”

Why is it so important? If it makes him happy, I can remember. It was… Like his hair. Like his family.

“B- black.”

As soon as the word leaves your mouth, the world becomes darkness.

Frantic pounding resonates in the hallway.

The very last thing that Filch expects to find as he opens the school’s doors on a calm Saturday night is one of his worst nightmares, covered in blood and bruises, holding in his arms an ill-looking body.

“You!” he shouts. “What are yo-”

But Sirius pushes him aside and hurriedly steps in, his face lightening as he recognizes the silhouette standing in a velvet red night robe behind the caretaker.

“Minnie!”

“Black,” the woman exclaims in return. “I’d rather have you to call me-”

Her eyes widen in shock as she notices you.

“For Godric’s sword, what happened to her?”

Without waiting for an answer, she levitates you from your boyfriend’s arms and they both stride toward the Hospital Wing.

“Black,” she shouts, not caring to wake up half the castle, “How did L/N-”

“Poisoned,” he bitterly admits.

No more words are said until they burst into the Hospital Wing.

“Poppy!” calls Professor McGonagall.

The next moments are of agitation and worry. Madam Pomfrey and her assistant examine thoroughly your skin, eyes, and mouth, while the Head of Gryffindor walks past the exit and runs toward the Headmaster’s office. Sirius is unable to do anything but staring at your inanimate face and biting his nails. With his free hand, he desperately grasps your hand as to keep you in this world.

“When did she take the poison?”

The healer’s voice is so high-pitched that she has to repeat her question before the young man can get the sense of it. As he answers, her expression becomes unreadable.

“Mr. Black, I must ask you to leave this room.” Her cold voice makes Sirius’ hair stand on end.

“What does it mean?” He presses her.

“It means that you need to leave, please. Now,” she answers.

But the boy doesn’t like the idea of it. He doesn’t like the fear in her eyes.

“I won’t! I’m staying with her!”

His voice is hurtful, but the nurse doesn’t change her mind.

Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore, who just arrived in the room, have to force him outside.

As the massive wooden doors lock in front of him, Sirius lets out a cry of pain and frustration and kneels on the floor. It’s all his fault.

If anything happens to you, he will never forgive himself.

Hey, Sirius, look! It’s the same shadows! But they don’t sound as friendly anymore. Why are they laughing?

Oh… It’s not them. It’s your family. It’s the Blacks.

They’re laughing at me. And at you. And at Andy. And at Reg.

Why? What did you do to deserve this?

I thought they would accept me. I thought that in their heart there was a place for you. I thought that they didn’t mind Andy’s silence and different interests. I thought that they loved Regulus, because he does what they want.

But they’ll never accept me. There was a place for you in their heart, except it’s buried under bigotry and pride obsession. They don’t like Andy because she’s not as loud and hypocrite as them. They mock Regulus because he believes in making things better.

They are not laughing anymore, Sirius. They are grabbing my arms. And yours. They want to tear us apart.

Their fingers are icy.

Why can’t I see anymore? I want to open my eyes! I want to scream! I don’t want to leave you!

Sirius?

Where are you?

I need you.

Please stay with me.

I love you.

“I love you…”

Sirius’ words are barely audible, but it’s not like there is anyone to hear them. You can’t hear them.

Madam Pomfrey finally let him in, and he took a seat by your side.

His eyes travel from your strangely colored skin to your grayish hair. The healer said that you’re out of danger and will recover soon, but there still is a ball of concern blocking his throat.

A ray of light caresses his cheek. It’s sunrise, the time of the day you prefer. You always say that it is the best moment to start over. If only you were awake to witness it, to see the glint of light on the glass panels, to observe the clouds’ movement in the sky, to hear your voice saying his na-

His head jerks to face you.

“Y/N?” he whispers, afraid that louder sounds would break you into a million pieces.

He sighs. Was it his imagination?

“Sirius…”

No, it was not! Your lips moved! It feels so good! He grabs your hand and presses it to his lips.

As you feel his touch, warmness travels through your body, and you force yourself to open your eyes, just a little bit. Through the thin crack, his perfect smudged face and perfect tangled hair come into focus. Also his smile. His perfect bright smile. The one that got you. That made you fall in love.

“Sirius,” you breathe again.

His smile widens.

Yes, this is how he looks better. You want to see him smiling for the rest of your life. You want to make him smile for the rest of your life.

“I love you, Sirius.”

Your mouth feels dry, but it costs you nothing to say it. It’s so natural.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he fondly answers. “But now you should rest.”

The sunlight comes from behind him, and it shines like an aura around his body. Is it sunrise? It’s the time you prefer, the best moment to start over.

“What are we going to do, Sirius?”

You let your words sink in.

Now that you understood that you can easily lose each other, what are you going to do?

He is aware of your anxiety, because he shares it.

“We are going to love each other forever, Y/N. We’ll buy ourselves a house wherever you want, grow our children there, and live the happiest life ever. I’ll keep you away from the bad things, I’ll never let anything happen to you. Never ever again. I love you too much.”

He tenderly squeezes your hand, making a mental note to kiss you as if his life depended on it as soon as you’d get better.

Your fingers intertwined, a smile on your lips, and your heart in peace, you allow the sleep to take over you.

Yes, it’s definitely sunrise.

Permanent tag list: @daytodayfun @miss-nerd0905 @funnymrspotter

Sirius tag list: @glitteryfreakslimeegg

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scifrey · 7 years

Text

The Untold Tale - Chapter One

I am upstairs when I catch sight of the approaching cart and its cargo through the thick glass of my window. I assume the body in the back is a corpse, brought to me for study and then burial. But no one handles a corpse with such care; the driver is directing the horse to travel slowly, avoiding each hole in the dirt road. They also do not stop to pick up a healer for a corpse. Yet Mother Mouth is in the back, hunched as best she is able over the blanket-wrapped body.

They also do not stop to pick up a healer for a corpse; but there is Mother Mouth in the back, hunched as best she is able over the blanket-wrapped body. By the time I make it down the grand staircase to the foyer, three of my Men are lifting the body from the cart with careful concern. I gesture to the threshold, and they lower it onto my front step. As soon as they set the body down, I can see that my assumption that it still alive was correct.

It is a young woman. She is as wrapped in rough blankets as she can be with such extensive injuries to her back. The blankets are filthy and crusted with blood and other bodily fluids, which means it was probably the only protection against the chill spring morning that her rescuers could find.

Between the folds I can see what has been done to her. I contain my shudder of revulsion, but only barely. Possibly only because I’ve seen this before.

Bootknife has flayed her very prettily.

Artistic tendrils of bloody ivy are torn into the vellum of the young woman's flesh. Bootknife has written spells and agony into the muscle he's carved, into the wounds left by the strips he filleted from her. It's as detailed as any woodcarving for a stamp — some deep, some wide and shallow, some the merest scrape, only a layer or two of skin absent. Disgustingly beautiful. But it is not art.

It is torture.

She is unconscious. It is a blessing. I can't imagine how much the young woman must have been screaming before my Men had forced poppy milk down her throat. Well, yes, I suppose I can imagine it, I have seen quite enough of Bootknife's handiwork to envision her pain. What I mean is that I do not want to imagine it; can't bear the thought of the sounds that must have ripped her throat bloody.

I clench my hands into fists and jam them into the pockets of my house robe to keep from rushing forward and helping; a Chipping Master does not dirty his hands in labor. I hear the invective in my father's hateful voice in my head, and I take great pleasure in telling it to go drown itself.

All the same, I stay back. I would only be in the way.

Mother Mouth assesses the young woman's injuries, and when she is done together we ensure that there are no Words of Tracing carved into the victim's skin.

It would not do to give our enemies such advantageous leverage as to lead them straight to the Shadow Hand's home base. No matter that it appears to be no more than the manor of silly, crumpled Forsyth Turn, younger brother to the great hero Kintyre and a man quite stodgily attached to his library. Even the slightest slip would bring the Viceroy down on my Chipping, and I will not have the people under my care endangered.

I do not bother to ask why my Men were bringing the woman to me and not to the King; if the King had the security and ability to protect himself and those in his charge from the Viceroy, then he would never have secretly employed me as his Shadow Hand.

There is nowhere safer for the injured visitor to be spared from the renewed attentions of the Viceroy or Bootknife than Turn Hall. Not even Kingskeep.

Assessment done, they take the woman inside and up to a wing of my home that I have not entered in years. I catch the attention of my butler and order it opened specifically for this use.

It has been a long time since there has been a need for Lady's Chambers in Turn Hall. They have remained shut since my mother's death, even though it is the area of the house that is the most protected: by wards, architectural design and now, by the presence of my household guard. It has been even longer still since the need for a Lady's maid. My staff are nearly all men. This is not out of preference, but because there are no women in my household that required women servants, and it made sense to leave the town's supply of employable young misses for houses where they were more needed.

I am going to have to find a woman. Blast.

We linger in the hallway outside the room long enough for some servants to strip the dusty bed linens and replace them with fresh. Then I dismiss my Men to write up their debriefing reports, and I help Mother Mouth lay the young lady on the bed myself. The only way we figure she will be comfortable is belly-down, with her face propped to the side with a feather pillow.

With the young lady installed on the bed, I step back into a corner in order to remain out of the way. Mother Mouth takes a short breather – she is no longer young, her skin papery thin and scored with laughter lines, but still glowing with vitality - and all this rushing and lifting has winded her. Then she ties her silver-streaked hair back off her face and begins the careful work of spreading tinctures and ointments, mixing potions meant to neutralize spells and remove pain, and the gentle knife work of cutting away the meat that has rotted from neglect.

My staff moves around them both in an orchestrated dance, fetching in lamps and candles, water in an ewer; bringing in, using and then removing brooms and cleaning supplies; opening windows and laying a fire in the hearth. I do as I always do, what I am best at doing: I observe.

When Mother Mouth finally sits back, a smear of blood on her forehead where she had pushed a stray tendril of hair out of her face, I offer her a handkerchief. It is russet, the color that is associated with House Turn, my family. She takes it graciously, though she wrinkles her nose a little at the fineness of the fabric.

"We've had this discussion before," she says. "Good silk should be saved for dressing wounds, and rough cotton for wiping faces and noses."

"I agree, Mother," I allow, a smile sitting in the corner of my mouth and trying so very hard to stretch into the rest of it. "However, there are expectations at court, and when one's work relies on creating a good impression, the silk must be used for snot."

"And that's why I've no use for court, I don't mind telling you, my boy."

Mother Mouth rises and goes to the bag of medicines she had left on the bedside table. She pulls out phials and jars, each neatly labeled in her spiky hand. She is leaving behind tinctures and syrups to add to my young visitor's wine when she wakes in pain, bandages and ointments enough to cover the whole of the vicious patterns on her back several times over. She then promises to return in the morning to assess her healing.

"And send for me at once should she turn feverish or her wounds begin to fester and reek," she finishes.

"No stitches?" My memories of hearing Mother Mouth's instructions for care many times before brings my thoughts around to them. Mother Mouth has sewn each of my Men up at one point or another, myself included. There are none among the Shadow's Men who do not bare the gratefully earned signature of her needle.

"No," Mother Mouth agrees. "The slices that remain open are shallow. Where they are also narrow, there is no need. Where they are wide..." She shrugs. "I could not make the skin meet over the exposed muscle without tearing it. The rest of the deep cuts have begun to scar already. Better to cover it over with the salve and with Words and leave it to nature."

I nod, well used to this particular healer woman's pointed and honest instructions — she is the best within an hour's ride from my keep, and thus my preferred go-to physic. My men and I call her Mother Mouth because of her bluntness, her willingness to bully us verbally into obeying her commands, and always do so with a smile and to her face. She has another name, but has long since gamely resigned herself to this one.

"I will reapply both salve and spells personally when it is t-t-time," I promise.

"Oh now," Mother Mouth scolds playfully. "None of that. No need to be nervous, my boy. It's just a woman and a bit of blood."

"I'm not ne-nervous of her," I say.

She pats my arm. "Of course not. You're a good boy, Master Turn."

I pretend to bristle at the juvenile endearment, but it secretly pleases me. Mother Mouth has literally known me my entire life. She pulled both my elder brother and I from our mother. She set my broken arm as a boy when Kintyre dared me to climb an orchard tree to the top. She has put her hands into my brother's guts after his first run in with a goblin brigade, and held them in place until the Words of Healing could take hold. She closed my mother's eyes after the fever took the Lady Turn away. She called my father's corpse a silly shit while she cleaned it the day he drank himself into a tumble down the foyer staircase and into his own grave. She has more than earned a right to call me her good boy, should she so choose. And I always do my best to live up to it.

Mother Mouth packs her small case and takes her leave. When my staff has finished ferrying ewers of both hot and cool water, wine, a modest bowl of broth, fresh candles, towels, my mother's newly cleaned dressing robe, my mother's slippers, and my portable writing desk into the room, I dismiss them to their suppers.

One last young lady lingers at the door, and she must be freshly arrived for she does not wear a russet livery. I do not know her, and she seems eager to be of help, which is extremely encouraging. She is slim, her hands rough and calloused, giving her the appearance of one who looks like she works hard, and her apron is very starched. She resembles Cook – same rigidly marshaled brown hair, same firm lines around her eyes, very competent and very discreet. She waits silently in the threshold, obviously waiting for me to speak first.

"Hello," I say. "Yes?"

"Sir," she says and bobs a courtesy. "My mother sent for me, when she heard you had a lady guest, sir. Figured you'd want a girl in, sir."

"Very good of her to take the initiative. Well come and well stayed." I take a moment to go to my portable desk and scribble upon a fresh piece of paper. When the ink is dry, I fold up the note. "Your name, miss?" I ask.

"Neris, sir."

"Neris, you can read?"

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

"Excellent. Here." I hold out my hand. In it are a letter and a small sack of gold coins. She takes both.

"I would like you to return to your usual household with this and give both to your mistress. The envelope contains an apology letter to your employer, and enough coin to replace the wages she's already paid you this week. I would have you here until you are no longer needed at Turn Hall. And I will pay double whatever your current employer offers. Is that acceptable?"

She smiles, and there must be her father, for Cook's face has no such fetching dimples. "Oh, yes sir!"

"And you will move your things into the Hall come morning, won't you Neris?" I ask. "Ask your mother for a Turn-russet livery when you return."

"Of course, Master Turn," she says, dropping a courtesy, and vanishing in that lovely discreet way of lady's maids the world over. It's a vastly under-prized skill.

And then my new guest and I are alone.

My skin prickles at the thought of being trapped in a room with a person I know so very little about—I am not used to being the one on poor footing—and I go to the window to try to relieve the pressing sense of claustrophobia. It is silly; she is unconscious, and thanks to the poppy milk, will remain so for a good long while. I have nothing to fear from her.

Still. She is an unknown factor and I do not like those in the least.

There is a reason I'm the King's Shadow Hand. Who better for a spy master than the man who becomes physically agitated when he feels ignorant?

The sky outside of the windows has turned an ashy blue. Rain is on the horizon and the breeze is picking up accordingly. I open the sash just enough to allow in the fresh wet air, but not enough for raindrops when they finally start to fall. The puff of breeze against my chest, fluttering my shirt and Turn-russet robe, gives me a false sense of safety — I have an exit if I need one.

The breeze also flutters the heavy velvet drapes. Dust puffs out of the folds and onto the wooden floor. My mother was of House Sheil, and so much of the décor in her chambers is a deep, dark purple – the throw rugs, the comfortable upholstered chairs by the hearth, the bedding, all of it is patterned with curling designs of lilac and lavender and deepest indigo. It has been years, perhaps a whole decade, since my father had mother's chambers shut up. I suddenly realize how much I have missed purple.

The cloud cover is blocking so much of the sun that the room has become gloomy, and the details of the woman hard to catch. I make a second circuit for candles, which I light with a twig from the small fire in the hearth. Then I set the kettle that Cook had left on the mantelpiece onto the hook attached to the flume and wait for it to boil. A hot drink on a grey day is always a comfort, and the air in my mother's chambers is dry from being shut up for so long, so the steam will do us both some good.

Now to take care of this silly fear; I will observe the woman and decipher what I can of her, so that the anxiousness can finally dissipate long enough for me to get some paperwork done. I pull one of the chairs that stand before the fireplace over to the bedside, and settle into lush padding.

Then I look.

The first thing that registers is that the woman is in pain, despite the sleep brought on by the poppy milk. It is obvious by the creases in her forehead and the set of her jaw. Her hair is matted with sweat and other fluids that I do not wish to consider too closely. Perhaps I had dismissed Neris too hastily — my guest could certainly do with a wash, if only for her own comfort. But I am uncertain that it would not have caused her more agony, so perhaps it is best to wait until the young woman is awake and aware and able to help the maid.

Beyond that, I have no concept of who she is or where she may be from. Any clues that might have come from her clothing were lost when Bootknife cut them off of her. Her ears are pierced but there are no jewels from which to read her origins or history, no rings, no signets, no torques. How galling!

Her features resemble those of no family I know, which is impressive, as I have a very good head for faces. Her mouth is a small moue of pain, neither generous of plumpness nor waspish or thin. She has lines around the corners that indicate that she laughs heartily and frequently. Her cheeks are higher than I am used to, and smooth, and sprinkled with sun spots. Her skin is dusky in tone; it is quite similar to the color outdoor laborers from the Flung Isles to the south after a season's work, but not so reddish. Her skin is closer to the hue of well-cared-for honey wood, made even more yellow in tone against the Sheil-purple of the blankets around her. Her nose is short, adorable in a way that many women curse for being too childish looking. Her lashes are dark, and her eyes sweep upwards at the outer edges.

I can tell by the curve of her exposed back, where it swells into her hips at the bottom and to the sides of her breasts that she's never starved before, never seen a rough harvest or overlong winter.

In summary, she must be a well-off merchant's daughter, and quite possibly yet another merchant's wife. I would say a nobleman's, but she cannot be the child of any nobleman I know from court, legitimate or not.

She could be from another, distant kingdom beyond the borders of Hain, but I have met much nobility from Urland and Gadot, thought fewer from Brystall, , and she does not bear the trademarks of other houses that I know; her skin is either too light or too dark, her eyes too round or not round enough, her nose too snubbed or too high, her chin too round.

In short, the collection of her features does not come together to spell out her parentage.

Infuriating.

And fantastic. I am intrigued, instantly. How long as it been since I have been gifted with such a mystery? And that she was imprisoned by the Viceroy for so long without my knowing that he had kidnapped anyone…was holding anyone at all. It was an accident of circumstance that she was rescued, that I even know she exists. The Viceroy had been raiding magical archives and libraries the world over, and when I had put together the picture that the sorts of tomes he was stealing painted, I had ordered my Men to raid and retrieve. That they had also found her was sheer coincidence.

At least, I believe it is an accident. I cannot imagine any person would allow such agony to befall them for the sake of gaining my pity and entrance to my Hall. Spies usually do not bleed.

I cannot recall the last time something like this happened accidentally in my work, and my heart flutters against my ribs.

The entire situation is completely astounding. Magnetic. Incredible. And so impotently frustrating that I cannot know more, cannot have my curiosity slaked immediately. I wish she were awake to answer my many questions.

It is especially exasperating to admit that the only thing I can know for sure is that the Viceroy wanted something from her, and she refused to give it to him. I cannot guess what it might have been, for he has the power to take anything he wants — even her, had he so chosen. Mother Mouth had not said anything about signs of a violation, but perhaps she wanted to be delicate while my staff was in the room and she means to discuss it with me in the morning. The woman in my mother's bed is pretty enough; the Viceroy likes the pretty ones. I recall he has a sickeningly obsessive fascination with Sir Bevel, who is plain but has eyes such a dark blue that they are an anomaly. The Viceroy often threatens to pluck them out and have them rosined for a cloak brooch.

To resist the Viceroy for as long as this woman did, to keep her secrets for so many days that the pattern on her back had the time to grow so complex, must have taken real strength of spirit. As much as she must have been screaming, she had never told him what it was that he sought to learn.

I admire her greatly all of a sudden. There are very few who can keep secrets behind their teeth when Bootknife's art is in their flesh.

That makes her beautiful to me.

It does not matter how her features are arranged; her will is strong. And as it was Bootknife she was resisting, then I can hope that her morals are also true. I allow myself to follow the soft curve of her pain-paled cheek with my eyes, the delicate protrusion of the tendons in her neck, the place where her breast presses into the blankets and is hidden under her body. I am struck with a sudden swelling of attraction and I stomp it back viciously.

No. A woman as remarkable as this, unexpectedly arriving at Turn Hall? There is only one explanation — she is for Kintyre. Women like this are always for Kintyre.

The kettle over-boils. Water foams into the fire with an indignant hiss, bringing me back to gloomy reality, and I make myself a pot of tea. Then I settle back into my chair, my portable desk on my lap and an afternoon's worth of tedious paperwork stacked on its surface.

The only sounds that break the silence are the sputtering of the candles arrayed around the room, the slow tap of the rain just beginning to fall against the roof of the manor, and the pained, almost inaudible whimpers that my guest exhales with each labored breath.

I dip my quill into my ink pot, and add the scratch of a nib on parchment to the quiet symphony of pain.

"Oh," the woman whispers, dry lips rasping against the silk pillow casing. "It's you."

I have fallen asleep in my chair, and the quiet murmur of her voice yanks me back to wakefulness so quickly that my portable desk clatters to the floor. Ink sprays across the wood and splashes over the Sheil-purple rug beside the bed, and I wince. Oh, mother's rug! It will take my staff a terrible amount of scrubbing to clean it.

There is nothing I can do about it at the moment, so I right the pot, step around the spreading puddle and toppled papers, and go to her side.

"Greetings," I say. "Water?" I'm not certain how I'll get the cup to her lips without spilling all over the pillow or forcing her to sit up, which will be a special new agony in and of itself.

She nods and presses upward on her hands, grimacing but holding herself there until I manage to tip the earthenware cup against her mouth. She sips slowly, grunting as her arms tremble. When the water is gone, she flops back down into the pillow and doesn't hold back the yelp that such an action causes. It makes the anger froth beneath the surface of my own skin, to realize that she has learnt how to move with such injuries in order to drink. That Bootknife must have made her learn.

And that I have been unable to spare her that pain in Turn Hall. I've failed my first task as her guardian already.

She shivers all over and my first instinct is to cover her snuggly with the blanket. But that would irritate her wounds, and allow fibers into the open ones, so instead I put the kettle back on the hook, stoke the fire back to life, and close the windows. Air that was fresh and crisp at sunset has become biting.

She watches it all with eyes that are a very normal, boring shade of muddy green, and yet which sparkle with keen observation. They are ever so slightly cat-like, turned up at the outside. I have never been on the receiving end of such an intent gaze before.

She watches the very same way that I watch.

I fidget until the kettle hisses, and then I pour the boiling water into the bowl my staff has left beside the ewer. I mix in the room temperature water until the heat is bearable and then sit on the side of the bed with the bowl and a cloth.

"May I?"

"Sure," she rasps. "This is so unreal."

"Your injuries are, in fact quite real, I'm a-afraid," I say.

She stares at me for a moment, and then turns her head back into the pillow, purposefully obscuring her expression. For a brief moment, it seems as if her eyes are wet.

"I know," she mutters into the muffling fabric. "It's insane, but I know."

I dip the cloth into the bowl and begin to bathe her back, careful to not over saturate it. It would not do for excess water to slip down her sides and soak into the bedding beneath her. It would make her very uncomfortable. The ointment has dried into a yellowish crust and must be wiped away carefully and reapplied. The warm water soothes her goose-pimpled skin, and she alternates between soft moans of gratitude and small hisses of pain caused by the wounds suddenly being exposed to the air or jarred.

"I've never seen you like this before," she grunts as I lean close to concentrate on cleaning around a fanciful curlicue carved into the sweet dimples right above where her back swells into her buttocks. The latter are covered with a blanket, to preserve her modesty, and I am careful not to jostle it.

"You've never met me before," I counter, without looking up, soaking in every syllable of her speech. Her words are queerly broad. "How can you say that you have never seen me like... Whatever it is that you mean by 'this'."

"That's also the longest sentence I've ever heard from you."

What a deliciously strange accent! So flat and lacking the jumps and dips that fill the speech of Hain Kingdom's people. I've never heard anything like it before, which both thrills and shocks me. Knowledge is my currency; so how can she hail from a place that I do not know? How can such a place exist, as every clue she gives up suggests?

I am careful to school my expression, to not appear too thrilled or eager.

"Of course," I agree. "As you've only heard six. Eight, if you count the last one, and this one."

She turns her face into the pillow and groans. "I can't believe this is happening."

"Again, 'this'," I say, because it's easier to look at her back and work on her wounds than look her in the face. I'm ashamed to be causing her pain. It feels like a stab in my own gut.

Useless old Forsyth, as usual. But Mother Mouth asked me to have her fetched in the morning, not in the middle of the night. So I will muddle through and try my best and hope that she does not chide me too much for the attempt at playing healer myself.

"Master Forsyth Turn, the King's Shadow Hand... boiling his own water and closing his own windows. Elgar Reed would be horrified."

I feel nauseous immediately.

Oh, no, no, how does she know? No one, save my Men and Mother Mouth are meant to know. The whole village thinks I am no more than the younger son left behind, the Master of Turnshire and the surroundings, and Lordling of the whole of the small but fertile Lysse Chipping; a man soft and slightly useless. That she knows, and speaks of it so casually...

A Shadow Hand must be secret above all else. The King will have me turned out — might even have me killed — for failing to maintain this secrecy. How can I function as Hain's spy-master if I am known?

"Oh," she says softly when my ministrations stop. "Oh, sorry. Shit. Sorry. I know, I know, it's not supposed to be talked about. I won't say anything else. I just meant, you know, you're the Master of Turn Hall. Shouldn't a maid be the one with the cloth? Shouldn't someone be here to open the windows and boil the kettle for you?"

"I am n-no lay-layabout. I am c-capable of do-do-doing it myself," I say, and I curse all the harder in my own head when hers cranes around on her neck, wincing as it stretches her wounds. She blinks at me like a stunned owl.

"Did you just stutter?"

"Of c-course n-n-n-not," I deny, but my words prove themselves liars. I bite my lower lip and scowl, fingers going so tight around the cloth that it creaks and water splashes down my arms, pooling uncomfortably into the bunches of fabric against the insides of my elbows. I hate that feeling.

"Oh my god, you stutter," she says, and her expression is a mixture of horror and amusement. "Reed never said anything about you stuttering."

"I do-do-do not stutter," I snap.

"Hey, no, it's cool," she says, rising up as if to turn to face me, but the motion makes everything in her back pull and she yelps again and flops back down to relieve the pain. "Fuck!" she screams into her pillow. She slams her fist against the mattress, clearly infuriated beyond coherence.

"S-stop," I say softly, setting aside the bowl and placing gentle hands on her right shoulder, the least cut up one.

She flinches away from my touch so dramatically that it looks more like a full body spasm.

"Don't touch me!" she screams.

I flinch myself, springing off the bed to give her the space she so clearly needs.

She goes still, save for her ragged breathing. One of the thin, deep cuts below her left shoulder blade seeps blood. A low coughing sound, muffled by the pillows, fills the air. I realize that she is sobbing.

Oh, Forsyth, you stupid man. You are useless at women.

"P-please s-stop crying." It sounds as stupid out loud as it did in my head, but I have no other way to convey my concern. Clearly my proximity is unwelcome.

I clench my fists and shove them into the pockets of my house robe, impotent in the face of her misery. Why is it that among spies and the dance of court politics I am assured and suave, but the moment I remove the mask of the Shadow Hand and become simple Forsyth Turn, I am such a useless, stuttering sack of skin? I hate it.

Eventually the tears wind down and she turns her face to me. Her muddy green eyes have become bright, even though the skin around them is red and swollen.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"Why are you ap-ap-apologizing?"

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable about the stutter. I was just surprised. You never stutter when you've got the mask on."

I only stutter when I am upset or caught off guard. As a child I stuttered all the time, worse when my older brother teased. But I learnt, through sheer force of will, to suppress it. To think about each phrase as I want to say them, to hear it in my head, clear and whole, before letting my tongue taste the words. The Shadow Hand does not stutter because he is a personality I wear, a costume I conceived and I did not conceive him as a stutterer.

I lean down and pick up the bowl. The water has mixed with the ink on the rug, spreading the stain further. My paperwork is also a sodden mess. I will have to begin that report anew. Resentment flares at the thought of having to waste another evening in correspondence, but I cannot blame my guest. It was my own clumsiness that caused them to be on the floor. I should have picked them up right away. Stupid.

"I'm sorry about scaring you, too," she said. "I just... Don't like to be touched. Anymore. Don't surprise me."

"I understand. No woman enjoys my touch. I will fetch Neris, your maid," I say, and turn toward the door to do just that.

"Whoa, no, wait," she says, and I pause. I take a hesitant step back toward her and her hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around mine. I look down at our twined grip with dumb surprise. I can see her frustration at her inability to move. Warmth blooms against my sternum at the thought that she appears to want to touch me, to physically prevent me from departing. "I didn't say that. Why would you think that? I just meant that it freaks me out when people touch me and I don't know it's going to happen. I never said you have cooties. Stay. Please." I do not know how to answer. She looks up at me and adds: "You're the only one I know. I trust you. Please."

This is enough. I do not know how she seems to know me well enough to trust me, but she does. And I cannot betray her that trust. Even though I fear that it might be misplaced. I must do my best not to disappoint her.

"I will stay. I'll put the kettle on again, and finish your back," I say. She lets go, fingers brushing against the insides of my knuckles, and I clench my tongue between my teeth and memorize the ghosting sensation, trying not to let it get too far under my skin.

I can hear her shifting, trying to find a comfortable position. "God, do you have any painkillers?"

"I can send for poppy milk, but it will make you sleep again."

"That's fine," she says. "Sounds perfect, actually. Fuck, this hurts."

"That word again." I turn to face her, leaning back against the mantle as we both wait for the water in the kettle to reheat.

It is a good thing it is such a large kettle, or I would have had to send someone to refill it by now, and I believe that the young lady's pain is something she would like as few people to witness as possible. She said she trusts only me. Knows only me, though how she can know me at all is a mystery. Clearly she knows enough to know my deepest secret, and now my deepest shame, but how?

"Fuck?" she says.

"Yes. What does it mean? 'Fuck'?"

She giggles suddenly. "Oh my god, I can't believe I just heard you swear."

"It's an expletive?"

She giggles harder and I take it for an affirmative.

"And what about the rest of it?" I ask. "The things that you say you know and simply should not. Cannot."

She sobers immediately. She turns her head away and goes silent, her shoulders becoming rigid. She looks like she is preparing for a blow.

"Ah," I say. "This was what the Viceroy wanted. And what you would not share." She stiffens further at his name, but otherwise does not move. I walk across the floor to her side, purposefully clicking the wooden heels of my embroidered house slippers against the boards so as to prevent startling her. "I am going to lay a hand on your shoulder."

She nods once, and I do it, carefully, palm cupped on her whole right shoulder blade, fingers curved along her neck. She sighs into the touch and her tension eases.

"He doesn't know," she mumbles. "I didn't tell him."

"That I am the Shadow Hand?"

She nods.

"Is that the only thing he wanted to know?"

"No." Her voice is scratchy and low, so quiet and ashamed that I can barely make out her words. "But I didn't say anything. Not a thing, after the first day. He never even knew my name."

"That is something of which to be proud," I say softly, and I mean it. "Bootknife is not an easy man to defy. I've never seen such an elaborate carving as yours. You must have made him very angry."

"I did."

"Good girl."

She snorts. "Loosey."

Another strange word. "What's a loosey?"

"I am. It's my name. Ell-you-see-why Lucy Piper."

"You gift me with your name when all of Bootknife's attention could not wring it from you?" I ask, and the weight of what she has just done nearly sends me to the floor with shock. My knees shake and I have to put my other hand on the bed stand to remain upright.

"You'll protect it."

"I will," I vow. "I will, Lucy Piper." I take a moment to clear my throat and try to keep the tears that have sprung into my eyes from falling. What a great thing she has done. This conversation, her bravery, has left me flayed. Then I find the promised poppy milk that Madam Mouth left for her and help drip some onto her tongue. Lucy Pipers drowses.

When the kettle has boiled again, I resume cleaning her back.

Her eyes slip closed just as I have finished. I rinse out the cloth and spread it across what is left of her skin to keep her warm until I can move on to the ointment, and stand.

"Try to rest," I say, when the feel of the cloth startles her back to wakefulness.

"Thanks. Hey," she mutters sleepily, worn out by the pain, both the physical and emotional excursions. "You're not stuttering anymore."

"No," I agree. "I am not."

You can read the rest of the sneak preview over at Wattpad by clicking here, or check out the entire series here, and the rest of my books here.

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