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sp00kworm · 3 years

Text

Clove Cigarettes

Pairing: Male Vampire (Clarence Marston) x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Violence, Blood Drinking, Lewd Content mention.

Part of The Black Dahlia Series

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The room smelled like overpowering lavender. Next to the burning sticks of incense there was a number of long, black candles, the ends burning with small flames. Black wax dripped over the sides of the vanity, and Cal swept back into the room with a soft rumble. He couldn’t remember how long he had been coming and going.

“Mmm.” the woman on the bed moaned, “Cal.” she stirred from her sleep, exposing her pale neck, littered with fangs marks, two puncture holes were bruised and sore, barely scabbed over from his indulgences.

“I’m here.” he rumbled as her hand flopped into his own, “Shh.” he cooed as he spread his leathery wings and crawled over the silk sheets. It was her home. Her room was dark from where he’d closed the blinds and curtains, leaving them in darkness. Cal leaned over her body and touched her skin. She was growing cold. Soon she would die from blood loss.

“Was it worth it?” Cal asked her as his skin slid over her legs, his curls dripping over his shoulders to tickle at her skin. He pressed his pointed, upturned nose to her stomach, grazing his fangs over the skin there, “Was it worth leaving him, for this?”

“Mmmm.” she hummed again as she reached for his face. Cal felt his skin ripple with glamour, pale skin and soft human flesh replacing the cold grey, stony cold feel of his chest, “I like you more.” she purred into the cold skin, “And your bite.”

“You’re addicted to the saliva.” he commented as he pushed her hands to her sides, “It’ll help.” Cal reached for her face and stroked her jawbone, “You haven’t got that long left.” His fangs touched her neck, and she purred as he reopened the wounds. His stomach clenched happily as the taste of iron flooded his mouth. Crimson dripped from the corner of his mouth as he grew excited, leaning into her neck, his teeth tearing the wounds deeper before the rest of his sharp teeth followed them, piercing the flesh so he could grapple her by the throat like a wolf.

“Cal…” she uttered as her manicured nails fell from his hair, stroking the fur over his back as he drew away, blood covering his lips and chin, “C…” the kick of the consonant fell from her lips. The sound gurgled with the blood in her trachea. Blood bubbled on her lips as his wing claws reached to curl around the bedposts, holding his chest up over her dying body. Air crackled in her throat. Cal reached to touch her face as her eyes went glossy, the pupils expanding into their relaxed state as she died. Carefully, the vampire reached towards her face, his claws drawing bloodied lines over her skin.

“Loving me was your first mistake.” Cal whispered against her lips before he kissed them and closed her jaw. He closed her eyelids before kissing each of them and leaning back, shuddering as he looked at her throat. Torn pieces of her neck hung over the sides of the wound and down over her clavicle. With a purr, Cal shoved his bloodied fingers into his mouth, licking himself clean with his black, pointed tongue. There was silence. The candles swayed as he batted his wings once and hissed, fangs slipping past his lips as he threw his wings out in upset.

“Again… Again...” he whimpered to himself as he licked the blood from his mouth, “He told me! He warned me, and I’ve done it again!”

With a wail, he smashed his claws into the altar, throwing the candles onto the carpet.

Roaring, the vampire reared back, pressing himself flat against the wall as he crawled to the ceiling and watched from the corner. The body didn’t move. She laid, her arms pressed up against her cushions and her face turned to the heavens. Maybe she would make it there? Cal whispered to himself as he crushed himself into the corner, his black wing claws hooked into the plaster, and softly uttered his prayers for the deceased. He reached for the cross looped around his neck, clutching the rosary close, for once in his life, as the carpet began to smoke with flames. A fire started by the legs of the vanity, burning orange light quickly moving to consume the cheap fabric flooring. It rippled across the plastic underlayers before it caught the side of the soft cotton bedding and burned its way upwards, consuming the carpet underneath the bed before it caught onto the slats of the bed frame. The fire startled Cal, and he clutched at the walls before panicking and rushing for the window. His claws scrapped at the glass, leaving scratches in the pane as he fumbled with the latches. With a hiss, he smashed his hands against the wood and broke the latches free, the wood splintering against his fingers. Great curls of hair fell over his face before he screamed, the flames catching hold of his hair and burning up the right side of his back, licking the soft, leathery membrane of his wing. Pain burned in his back as he tore open the window and burst out into the sunlight. With another hiss, he covered his eyes, his wings stuttering and flapping wildly as the light burned at his monstrous retinas.

The sunlight wasn’t a death sentence anymore, but Cal regretted his decision to fly out as the sunlight seared at his open wounds, burning the flesh deeper. The star like pattern up his back ran red with boiling blood, dripping onto the tarmac below as he clumsily flapped through the air, heading towards the shaded back streets of the taller city buildings. With another howl of pain, he flung himself down into a shaded alley, clutching at his burnt wing before he dared to shift back into his glamour, naked and in agony, his eyes burning red with fury as he pressed his back against the cold metal of a dumpster. He screamed again at the pain, his blood boiling and fizzing against the metal. Cal looked up at the brick, trying to ground himself before he peeled his healing skin away from the metal again. He hissed violently and his mouth opened wide as spit and blood dripped from his jaw. He gagged and spat curses, his earlier reverence to the Lord forgotten, damning himself again as he gouged at the wall. He could barely hold himself up. A man wandered over to the dumpster with his bag of rubbish.

“Are you alright?” He asked as he caught sight of the shivering vampire, hunched over by the dumpster, “Oh fuck….” he saw the blood and flinched at the sight of the mouth full of fangs, “Fuck no. No way. You need the…” The elf said no more as he was grappled, fangs slicing his neck open. Cal drank from the wound hurriedly, burning with anger, guilt and pain as he gulped greedily, his back stinging but healing over from the burns. He dropped the elf a moment later and marvelled at the male as his eyes rolled up and looked him dead in the eyes, fingers clawing at the dirt as he attempted to gasp for help.

He left the elf in the alley and dragged himself along the alleyways until he found the sewers, slipping into the stinking manhole to hide from the sunlight and to try and figure out how he was going to avoid being institutionalized for the slip up. They found him in the evening, clutching his rosary, praying against his bed, the right side of his back covered in burns scars, and his face and neck still covered in blood.

“It’s been a long time since any of us have seen the owner, he tends to keep to himself.” Flix commented as the male fae handed you a black apron before he shook his head and fished you out a deep, crimson red colour, “It matches you better.” he explained, “But the only rule is that his rooms upstairs are off limits. No one sees him come and go, but Cal likes his privacy, and he’s…”

You took the apron and slipped it over your head, “He’s?” You asked, prompting the fae to continue, “He’s not a serial killer or something, is he?” You joked.

Flix turned his lilac eyes on you as he tied his long, purple tinted silver hair back in a high ponytail, “He’s a recovering vampire. He was institutionalized for three years. They had to get him off the blood.” Flix explained awkwardly, “Ever since he’s been reserved. He likes his space, you understand?”

You nodded, swallowing thickly, “Yeah. I understand.” awkwardly you shrugged your shoulders, “Sorry about…”

“It’s a joke, just don’t let him hear you say stuff like that okay, baby?” Flix purred, “We all know what he is but, just to be safe.” The fae tilted your face up by the chin, two of his fingers pressed under your chin.

Flix leaned close before he pressed the fingers of his other hand to your forehead, the ends glowing with a soft blue light before the light spread over your eyes for a moment, blinding you to the dim bar. You reared back but Flix laughed softly and held you upright as the bright dancing light faded, leaving you dazed and bleary eyed.

“That’s a little spell to stop the unruly sort from coercing you into giving them free drinks or offering them your neck. It’ll stop fae from being able to trick you too.” Flix’s wings fluttered before he grinned with dangerous teeth, “You don’t have to thank me, sweet thing. Your gaze is enough.”

After a moment blinking you scoffed, “You wish you could have a piece of this, Flix.” You flicked his hands away from you and laughed at him.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t fall for mine.” he sang as he pulled on his own apron, “Lets see what you’ve got newbie. Weldrick gave me the ‘all clear’ to grill you on the hardest things I know.”

“You’re not even trying and you still sound desperate for a lay.” You joked as Flix placed the shaker in front of you, “Pick your poison.”

Flix grinned, his black eyes glinting like an insect, shining with rainbows in the strobes before he pointed up at the menus, “A Bloody Mary.”

“Coming right up.” You grinned as you turned to grab the ingredients from the shelves.

It was a difficult cocktail to make without a mix, but you worked in bars from being barely eighteen. You had enough years in you to know how to make it, but whether it was to Flix’s taste was another question. You poured the cocktail into the glass and took a step back. Flix’s gossamer wings dragging over your arms as he took the drink, smelling it before he took a sip.

“Pretty good, for a human.” he joked as the strength of the drink hit him, “Though maybe for the human customers you might want to tone down the booze.”

“If they can’t handle it, why are they drinking?” You laughed as he knocked back the rest of the drink.

“Vampires might appreciate a real bloody to go along with it.” Flix flicked his hair away with a scoff, “There’s blood bags in the fridge, and fresh frozen in the back. Don’t let them fool you into thinking they need warm living stuff, they’re all just con artists.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice.” You took the glass and placed it in the boxes for cleaning, “So, do you want to test me on anything else, or am I good to go?”

Flix grinned as he leaned over the bar, “You’re good to go, sweet thing.” He batted his long, circular tipped eyelashes, and left you to the end of the bar, “Get those liquors in order, we open in twenty!”

The bar opened to a few guys, larger orcs who were older than the usual bruisers who came through. They were shaved bald in a traditional manner, their heads covered with tattoos and their ears pierced with numerous rings. They snorted in orcish to one another before thanking you for the drinks and leaving to sit in the corner, sighing in relief after their days work. The rest of the customers trickled in later on. The Black Dahlia attracted numerous clienteles and you were witness to all of them. The group of orcs that came in later were younger, headstrong, and brash as they swaggered between the bar and their put together tables. A faun at the end of the bar scoffed and talked to her friend as two of them ordered drinks. Flix served the men with a flirtatious wink, fluttering his eyelashes and you made sure to bump his backside purposely hard as you went past, smacking his hips into the bar roughly as the two orcs turned to the faun and human sat on the end.

“Do you ever give it up, Flix?” You asked with a snort as you placed some glasses into the tubs for washing.

“Not while I’m awake, no.” Flix grinned as he walked towards the next customer. You shook your head and carried on with your shift as the human and taller, older orc headed to the balcony to watch the show.

You had a break at about ten o’clock. It was much busier now that the band were on stage, in full swing of their show. You’d served humans, fae, werewolves and centaurs alike this evening, and you’d not had to deal with anyone who was unruly. You waved to Flix as you left him flirting with a group of Orcs, heading to the balcony to catch a bit of the show as you ate your food from the kitchen and drank the soft drink that you’d stolen from Flix’s personal favourites. The band chugged along before the female brought out a whip and bared her sharp elven teeth, her ice white eyes shining as she ran it along the audience. You laughed as you stabbed another fry, lathering it in sauce before you shoved it into your mouth, and washed it all down with a few glugs of the fizzy juice. Happily, you sat on the stool, watching the clock every now and then as you finished off your food.

As you took another drink, a cold shadow passed over you. You shuddered in your seat and peered behind you to see a slouching man take three long strides towards a table where the handsome orc and his entertainment for the night were sat. The man was a giant, clad in a soft turtleneck and black jeans covered in chains and small crosses. Around his neck sat a long, drooping rosary, and it bounced against his chest as he stopped, tossing black curls of hair from his eyes to peer at the couple over his sunglasses. His eyes burned red in the light but as fast as the colour appeared, it disappeared back into the steel blue. He shook the human’s hand before looking in his pockets for his cigarettes. The orc returned and the situation turned hostile and cold. The male reached for his gum packet instead and shakily unfolded the wrapper and slinked into the shadows, his hair rippling into the walls as he disappeared again from view. You sat with your mouth open before a hand appeared on your table, black nails thumping against the wood before a cold breath blew against you ear.

“Get back to work, newbie.” the gravelly voice growled, and you were quick to oblige, hopping up from your seat and escaping with your plates down the stairs to the bar front.

Your shifts at the Black Dahlia were regular. You even picked up extra hours when the female werewolf, Jude, went off on maternity for her second litter. You hoped to god she made enough money to support that many children, but you didn’t dare to question it as Flix talked about the process of werewolf childbirth.

“I don’t need to know, Flix!” You groaned at him, “One child is gross enough! Never mind a litter!” You smacked at him with your towel, “So hush!”

Flix cackled, “I didn’t think children would freak you out so much!” he prodded your arm, “You enjoy all those blood spurting bands on stage! I was sure you’d love seeing blood and mucus come out….”

You thumped the fae in the arm, “Seriously! Enough!” You scowled as you turned back to drying the pint glasses, “Sometimes you are way too much…” You muttered.

“Hey, come on. I’m sorry sweat pea!” Flix cooed, “I won’t mention it again, promise.” he crossed his finger over his heart.

“Fine.” You reached to pinch his cheek, “But next time I’m going to tell Weldrick!” You threatened.

“Ugh. You’re just a little minotaur’s pet.” he hissed at you playfully before turning back to his own job. Flix exited into the kitchen to load some final plates and glasses for washing.

“You’re fitting in well.” a low voice grumbled from the end of the bar. You jumped out of your skin at the noise, too focused on washing the pots to be paying attention to who was hanging around. You looked up to see the same, dark clad man from the other week. This time his black hair was tied back, revealing the hanging silver cross earrings in his ears. His steel eyes and low brows accentuated a thin face with high cheekbones, making him seem thinner than he was really. Tonight, he was dressed in a set of tight trousers and a tight, long sleeved red shirt, the sleeves long with soft ruffled ends, matched with a tied neck scarf under the collar. His sunglasses were pushed into his hair.

“Cal?” You asked lamely as you placed down the glass you were cleaning.

“Yes. I am he.” he droned as he picked at a beer towel with black painted nails, “Are you enjoying your time here?” Cal asked with a cool stare, his mouth twitching with a sneer, revealing the sharp set of fangs that filled his mouth. It was unlike any vampire you had met before.

“Uh…” Your heart did a flipflop before you could reply, “Yeah. I am. It’s nice to have such a stable job for once.” You confessed quickly, praying he wouldn’t bring up how nervous you were.

“I can hear you on the verge of a panic attack. Calm down. I know they’ve all told you how I was addicted to fresh blood. Bleeding blood, or whatever they call it now. I’m off it. I have been for years.” He snarled, “So stop panicking.”

You nodded, “Sorry.”

“Don’t. I don’t need it. I know what people think.” Cal pointed to the freezer under the counter, “Get me an O negative, please.” It seemed as though he had to squeeze the manners onto the end.

You walked closer and unlocked the freezer before fishing him a pack out and throwing it into the microwave to thaw after clicking the anticoagulant vacuole to avoid it from clotting. As you turned around, Cal grabbed your wrist, dragging you over the bar so he could sniff at you. The vampire’s eyes burned red for a moment.

“Or would you rather give me your blood?” he purred, the gravelly tone suddenly much more appealing, “It won’t hurt.” he comforted you as he opened his mouth full of monstrous teeth.

It was then you looked into his eyes, seeing the cold steel, and blinked.

“Flix put an anti-glamour spell on me. That doesn’t work.” You frowned before dragging your wrist out of his freezing cold grip, “Do you do that to all new starters?”

Cal sat back on the stool as he pushed his glasses back down onto his nose, “Not all. Just the ones I know will be snacks if Flix fucked up the spell.”

“What do you mean ‘know will be a snacks’?” You quoted back at him before throwing his warm blood bag onto the bar.

Cal snatched the bag and looked at the contents curiously before he stole a glass from your clean side on the bar and piped the contents into it. The red blood made you feel a little queasy, and you looked away as he greedily drank it, still ignoring your question.

“I meant…” he swallowed the last of the blood, “Vampires like to prey on new things like you. I might be scary, but they’ll do what they want if no one is watching. Keep your wits about you, or you’ll end up as a blood bag, or better yet, a brood barer for a drider.” he tossed the glass and packet on the bar and sneered as he turned. “Happy Halloween, newbie. Stay away from witches tonight.” His hair flowed into a shadowy smoke again before he disappeared up the shadowed walls and disappeared.

A slim hand fell on your shoulder, shocking you out of your annoyance and making you jump with a small gasp.

“Hey, calm down sweet thing, it’s just me.” Flix’s black eyes appeared next to you before he turned you around to look you in the eyes, “By the look on your face, I’m going to assume you met Cal?” He tilted his head.

“Yep.” You took a steadying breath, “He’s something…” You couldn’t really articulate what you thought in a kind way.

“He’s a bastard. I know.” Flix laughed as he flung his towel onto his shoulder, looking towards the shadows which Cal had disappeared into, “I’ll say sorry on his behalf. He’s…socially awkward.” Flix’s gaze eventually looked away from the shadows, and when you looked back, Flix was quick to wrap his hand around your shoulder and turn you towards the doorway, dragging you down to the other end of the bar.

“Forget about him anyway. Let’s get ready for the costume aspect!” Flix declared as he pushed you into the back room, “I’ve got just the thing for you!”

You shook off the odd feeling and smiled, “It better not be underwear!”

The feeling of being watched followed you all night as you wandered up and down the bar serving various costumed customers. You were in a cape and a set of polymer fitted fangs. Most of the vampires of the evening had taken to laughing at your fangs and white face. A pretty, tall vampire lady had scoffed before asking you if you’d prefer some real ones. Thankfully, Flix’s glamour worked its magic, preventing you from falling under any of their hypnotic spells. You thanked them, laughed, and served them their heated blood drinks. Flix enjoyed the evening more than you, fluttering around with his great wings dipping and curving as he delivered drinks by air. Halloween was the night monsters could let their hair down.

“Hey, Flix.” You looked up above the bar, “I’m just going for a quick toilet break!” You shouted up to him. The fae gave you an ‘okay’ sign from the air and fluttered with a graceful dip down to deposit a set of drinks with some gruff looking werewolves. You hung your apron up behind the bar before you headed to the toilets a little way from the bar. You hopped down the steps and opened the door before freezing in your tracks. A monster made of tentacles and thick slime oozed in a cubicle, and you backed away as a woman’s moans came from the where the toilet wall was. A tentacle appeared from around the door, the eyeball on the end rotated and blinked before the woman paused.

“Why have you stopped?” She whined, and you took that as the exact time to bolt with a rush of apologies spewing from your mouth. You slammed the door to the toilets closed and rubbed at your face, embarrassed and feeling hot as you escaped back to the bar.

A cold shadow lingered over your shoulder before a hand touched you by the bottom of the stairs, icy fingers pressing into the cheap fabric cape.

“A vampire?” Cal’s deep, gravelly voice asked before the rest of his cold body appeared at your right side, “Well, maybe a poor imitation of one.” He chuckled once, twice, and then stepped around your front.

“Cal…” You uttered before composing yourself, “It was Flix’s idea, not mine.”

“Ah. Yes, he does like to do things to get under my skin.” Cal commented before he noticed your squirming, “Is Rendax causing problems in the toilets again?” He asked, “That damn tentacle pest doesn’t know when he’s not welcome.”

“Yeah…well he’s doing a lot more than just causing a problem, I think.” You made a hole with your right thumb and index finger before pushing your left index finger through it, “If you catch my drift.”

“I’ll have Weldrick deal with him.” Cal snapped open his phone with a soft hiss and a scowl as he listened to the phone ring, “Weldrick? Yes… We have an unwanted visitor in the toilets, again.” He snapped the phone closed and you felt yourself smile as you looked at the old flip-phone.

“You know those have been out of fashion for about fifteen years, right?” You tried not to laugh as the vampire held the phone by its small antenna. A soft giggled escaped you.

Cal stepped from one foot to the other, awkwardly looking at his aloft phone, “It is what I was bought before we toured in two thousand and three.” He muttered to himself, “What do you humans use now?” He asked.

You looked him in the eyes, seeing the sad steel colour of them for a moment before you reached for your pocket and produced a smart phone, “Touch screen, colour, internet access.” You clicked it on, and the vampire jumped slightly at the colours in front of him, “Wait…”

Cal recoiled as you push the phone to him, “What?” He grumbled.

“I don’t think it would work, you know, since you’re dead and all that.” You confessed as you typed on the device.

“Probably not.” He confirmed before taking a step backwards, brushing his ponytail away before he cringed and stepped back towards the shadows, “You…” He looked from you to the bar again, “You are welcome to use the toilet near my office while Weldrick deals with our unwanted guest.”

As you nodded, the white minotaur came down the stairs. Your mouth opened at the size of the white bison looking minotaur. Weldrick’s fur was printed with black patterning, like tattoos, and he rolled his sleeves as he came to the bottom of the stairs, preparing to deal with the tentacle monster. The sheer amount of metal rings in his ears made him clink as he walked, and you took note of the nose hoop and eyebrow rings as he stopped short of you and Cal.

“Can Rendax not keep it in his fuckin’ pants for one sodding night?!” Weldrick shouted, and the crowd behind you parted as the minotaur gave Cal’s shoulder a clap. He thumped on the toilet door and opened it with a clatter, “You better be fuckin’ decent, Rendax, or I’m dragging both you and your girl toy out of here fuckin’ naked!” He hollered as he ducked his horned head to grab for the monster inside.

Cal turned on his heels, “Come on.” He led the way up the stairs, melting between the bodies as though he wasn’t even really there. No one paid him any attention and you followed quickly, still desperate for the toilet.

The stairs led to the second-floor balcony before there was another set of doors with a code on the handle. Cal punched in the numbers and opened it to the second set of stairs, letting you go through first before he followed you, closing the door behind him. The locking system re-engaged with a soft click and you turned back to see Cal eye the handle, his hand lingering around the metal before he gave an awkward half smile.

“Carry on up the stairs. It’s the first right door.” He shooed you up the stairs, and you nodded before heading up in front of him. A moment later, he followed in your footsteps, quiet as he made sure to stay a few steps behind you. You quickly found the door and opened it to see a large bathroom. It was perhaps Cal’s personal one, but it was bare, having just a few bottles in the shower basket. You locked the door and listened as Cal stopped outside. The shadow of his shoes remained for a moment before he walked on down the hall and entered a different room. The door closed with a soft click and you let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

A cold shiver ran down your spine as you pushed off the door and headed towards the toilet. It was then you wondered if vampires even had to relieve themselves. They were technically dead, after all. You pondered the thought for a moment as you finished your business and washed your hands. You looked at the slate tiles for a moment, admiring the décor, before unlocking the door and sticking your head out into the hall. There was no sign of Cal. You stepped out and turned quickly to rush back down to the bar.

A claw grazed at your head, tugging a piece of hair, running through it quickly. You squeaked and looked up to see black hair hanging from Cal’s head. He was hung just over the door, hunched, with his claws in the ceiling and his head near your own.

“I’d like for you to work next Friday. Is that agreeable?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

You got over your fright with a deep breath, “Yes. That’s fine, but you could have just, uh, asked.”

Cal scowled.

“Without being hung from the ceiling?” You added on before moving out of his way, towards the stairs, “Thank you for letting me use your toilet.” You smiled and disappeared back down to the bar as quick as your feet would carry you.

Cal watched you leave before he slid from the ceiling and snatched your novelty cape from where it was stuck in the door.

“Are you okay?” Flix asked as he fluttered down from the ceiling, his wings brushing at your cheeks before he landed softly.

“Huh?” You asked before realising you probably looked rushed off your feet, “Uh, yeah. I’m fine.” You lied with a smile. You rushed back behind the bar before reaching for your shoulders and realising your cape had come free during your escape. You didn’t have the courage to go and fetch it, so you turned back to the people waiting and got started making drinks and taking cash.

Halloween was forever burned into your mind and your retinas after seeing what you did that night. More importantly, however, you remembered the dark look of hunger in Cal’s eyes as he hung from the ceiling, seemingly with nothing but the soles of his shoes and one hand’s fingertips. He liked to lurk around the left wall of the club, his back pressed to it as he scanned the crowds of people. You had no idea what he was looking for, or if he knew you could see him, but he gave you no inclination that he could see you staring. There was always the sad, lonely coldness to his eyes. It burned to hunger whenever an exposed neck went past, and you saw him fidget and reach for a piece of gum often, like he was kicking a habit other than the cigarettes. You watched him again tonight, his tall frame pushed back into the shadow of the balcony, slouched against the wall in a pair of dark sunglasses, his curls of dark hair dripping over his shoulders where they melted back into the shadows around him. He was shirtless, covered only in a leather jacket and black jeans, the studded belt wrapped around his hips. As he turned, you caught a glimpse of the tattoos on his chest with a centre cross between his pecs. It was flanked by three pairs of shaded wings. You looked at the ink intensely before you looked back at your cocktail mixer and wondered what it meant.

As you finished serving the masses, you felt out a breath and sat back on the stool behind the bar, taking a moment to rest your feet before people started to queue with orders again. As you relaxed against the wooden shelving you peered back to the left wall, where you had last seen Cal lurking. He was gone, replaced by a couple cuddled together watching the band who were playing. A soft melody rang out from a synth, not unlike a church organ. It petered into some soft vocals and you dared to close your eyes and let out a breath as your body relaxed a little.

“Enjoying a break?” Cal’s gravelly voice carried over the top of the lilt of a guitar.

“Ah!” You jumped a little, smacking your head against the wooden shelf. You clutched at the spot and rubbed furiously to try and push the pain aside, “Sorry.” You winced at you pulled your hand away, seeing a dot of blood from a little scrape on your scalp.

Steel eyes locked onto your fingers, but Cal didn’t move. The vampire swallowed and tore his gaze away from the blood.

“Here.” Cal reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a small handkerchief, “To stop the blood.”

“Thank you.” You took the piece of soft cloth from him and pushed it to the little cut. You avoided his eyes for a moment before slowly looking up and realising that his neck was bare of the rosary, “You don’t have your rosary on.” You commented, off-handed.

Cal looked down at his chest before nodding and pushing his glasses down his nose, “I don’t. You’re more observant than I thought…But that doesn’t answer my original question, does it?” he reached for his back pocket and slid free a packet of cigarettes.

“Smoking will kill you, you know?” You joked before taking the handkerchief away from the scratch on your scalp. “I was. It’s been madness serving tonight. Flix is off so its just me manning the bar.”

“Oi!” Weldrick ducked his head out of the kitchen door, “I’ve been helping you all night, cheeky little fucker.” the minotaur snorted at you before seeing Cal. His blue eyes widened in shock, “I didn’t expect to see you out and about, Cal.”

The vampire snorted as he turned the packet of empty cigarettes with a sneer, “Well, it is also my bar.” He flicked his painted nails at the minotaur.

“Oh, is it?!” Weldrick grumbled, “Well, maybe you can come help serve fuckin’ drinks in it then!”

You looked back at Weldrick and then to Cal. The vampire’s teeth poked out from beneath his top lip before he snarled with a hiss.

“Fuck you, Weldrick. You know I can’t!” Cal curled back in on himself suddenly, all his bite lost as though he had been kicked.

“Yeah. I know why. You’d eat the clients.” Weldrick gruffly stated before he dragged you away by the arm, turning your head before you were deposited in the kitchen out of sight of Cal, “So is that what you’re sweetening this one up for?”

Cal looked at Weldrick over the top of his sunglasses again, “No.” he slammed the cheap vampire costume cape on the bar top, “I came to give this back.” His nails were claws as he dragged his hand away and he grabbed his forgotten handkerchief from the bar.

Weldrick saw the blood on the cloth, “Cal. You know you can’t do this again.”

“I’m not doing anything.” He insisted, “I’m not relapsing, so stop. Just stop. I’m not an animal and I’m over it. I was trying to…”

“Be a bit more human.” Weldrick finished for him with a thump to the vampire’s shoulder, “Well. Don’t let me stop you, but I’m warning you, I’ll intervene again if I find out that…”

Cal sighed, “I know.” before he walked away from the bar.

You peered back around the door with a sheepish smile. Weldrick watched the vampire weave his way back up the stairs before he turned around, his giant tattooed arms crossed over his chest.

“What’s the rule, newbie?” he grumbled at you, his nostrils flared and his pierced ears flicking back and forth.

You ducked your head and fiddled with your apron, “No flirting with vampires?” You looked up, “But I was…”

Weldrick grumbled again, “No. You don’t get close with Cal. Flix warned you about him, and about glamouring!” he insisted, “Watch yourself, that’s all I’m saying.” Weldrick sighed and scrubbed at his messy white fur, “Cal’s a good lad. He’s just…got a lot of issues and things going on in that old head of his. You get me?”

You nodded, “I was just being polite and…he seems nice, just a little eccentric.”

Weldrick laughed at you, “Eccentric is one word.” he clapped your back harshly, winding you, “Look after your neck, newbie. Any vamp would like a piece of you, I’m sure. That girlie in the corner had been eyeing you for an hour before Cal showed up to strong arm his claim. He’s taken a liking to you, whether you like it or not!” Weldrick said before he disappeared into the back again and you sat back on your stool. You looked at the young female vampire, decked in dreads and deadly red lip gloss. She avoided looking back at you and disappeared into the crowd.

You plucked your novelty cape from the bar top and looked up the stairs, where Cal had disappeared into the crowd and up to his rooms. You took a breath and turned back to the kitchen.

“Weldrick? I’m just going to thank him for bringing my cape back.” You said around the door frame, peeking inside to see Weldrick carrying two new kegs of beer.

“Fine. Watch yourself heading up there, okay? Do you know the code?” he asked as he stepped around you and ducked underneath the bar.

“No, but I figured that Cal would be able to hear me knock?”

Weldrick nodded and gave you a thumbs up from underneath the bar, “Bat ears come in handy sometimes.” he snorted as he undid the old keg.

You left the minotaur tucked underneath the bar and headed towards the stairs; your hands tucked into your apron pocket.

A few patrons gave you smiles and greetings as you passed them by, and you smiled and rushed along towards the door, marked by a large ‘private’ sign. You felt silly as you stood in front of the door, awkwardly playing with the frill on the cape collar. One deep breath, you told yourself, as you sucked in air, and held it, calming yourself with a long exhale before you knocked timidly. It didn’t take Cal long to unlatch the lock and open the door inwards, his face painted with a frown and his glasses pushed into the top of his hair. His intense eyes met your own before he looked at the cape in your hands.

“Thank you.” You said, “For returning my cape I mean. I didn’t have the balls to come back and ask for it…and now I realise that I was a bit stupid.”

Cal’s eyebrow quirked, “Its not a problem. I realised you’d left it in the bathroom, but I only just now remembered you were on shift.” he reasoned quietly before he hummed, “Would you like to…”

“Sorry but I’m still on shift, and Weldrick will hang me if I leave him to work alone. But really,” you reached out and laid your hand over his, squeezing it slightly as you smiled, “Thank you. Most people wouldn’t have washed it either.”

You left him stood at the door and rushed back through the customers to help Weldrick pull pints for a rowdy group of elves.

The vampire watched you head back down the stairs with a small grimace before he snatched his hand back to his side and shut the door with a small bang, his other hand clutching the bloodied handkerchief you had given him. He looked at it before heading up the stairs and throwing it into the washing machine in his small flat.

Cal seemed to warm slightly after that night, and he would linger a little closer to the bar during the nights you were on shift, ignoring your stares as he leaned by the wall in whatever black attire took his fancy, always with a pair of sunglasses over his eyes, and a piece of gum in his fang filled mouth. This night was no different, but Cal weaved his way towards the stage, the chains attached to his jeans swinging as he tugged the band’s lead singer down to tell him something. You looked over, wiping a glass as he pulled himself up on the stage and threw off his jacket and shirt. Your eyes were drawn to the wings and cross on his chest, and then to the upside-down crucifix on his back, seared on his right side with creeping burn scars. The bar fell silent before the screaming started, and people flooded towards the front, pushing and grinning as Cal pushed his sunglasses into his hair and took hold of the microphone stand. He didn’t say anything but the band on stage grinned and nodded to each other as they started the slow chug of a song.

“Oh, newbie, are you in for a treat tonight.” Flix chuckled behind you as his insect like wings fluttered over the top of your head, “Cal on stage. He’s not sang a song in nearly a year. You better get the mop bucket for the girlies at the front.”

“He can sing?” You asked, confused.

“Don’t you know?” Flix asked back, with a wide-eyed look, “Oh my sun and moon!” he exclaimed, “Cal was part of Black Blood!”

Your mouth fell open, “No fucking way! You’re fucking with me?”

Flix laughed, a gentle tinkering noise next to your ear, “No way, sweetie. He was part of the band until, well…You know the rest.”

“He was a musical god and now he runs a bar?” You stated, “This is surreal.”

“You tend to lose a lot of reputation when you eat fans.” Flix stated before he squealed as he was hit over the head.

Weldrick snorted from above the two of you, looming like an all-white shadow, “Better believe he was a god.” he hummed before sighing, “Too bad the addiction killed his career, and the band. Durzub never did forgive him. Poor sod.”

“What exactly happened?” You asked but before Weldrick could answer you, Cal opened his mouth. You watched in awe as he formed the words, and the crowd leaned a little closer. He caressed the microphone stand as he started to sing about a night in a dark palace and you swore the crowd swayed with each syllable, as though they were under some kind of spell.

“Is that a glamour spell?” You whispered to Flix.

The fae only grinned, his black eyes sparkling as he turned your face back to the stage, “Just watch.”

So, you did, you watched him sway and sing, his hands slipping across faces and himself as he weaved something like a story. One night of passion before the sunrise split the lovers apart and the dawn burned his skin away. Everything was enchanting, his deep voice like a drug you couldn’t get enough, but each time you leaned closer you shook your head and took a step back. The audience was entranced, and you watched the men and women at the front swoon. An organ melody marked the end of the song, trailing into the soft plucking of a guitar and Cal’s eyes stared across the audience, finding your own. He held the stare for a moment before he pushed his sunglasses back over his eyes and took his shirt and jacket. No one followed him as he weaved through the swaying bodies and disappeared back into the shadows of the bar.

“What the fuck was that?” You asked as the audience finally came to and started to cheer, “Were they hypnotised?”

Weldrick huffed, “Not quite. His singing has always had that effect, unfortunately. People are just enamoured. He swears there’s not a trick to it, but something about his singing is plain magical.”

“Magical is one word for it.” Flix snorted as he bumped your hip, “I would say sexy.”

“Watch yourself, Flix.” Weldrick laughed as he turned to head back into the cellar.

“It was amazing.” You stated with a sheepish smile, “I wonder if he’ll sing more?”

Flix nipped your cheek with his finger and thumb, “Once a year, sweet thing, once a year.” he punctuated the statement by poking you in the ribs.

“It’s a shame. He sings so beautifully.” You complimented as you took hold of another glass and dried the water off it.

“I bet you would sing really lovely in bed.” A brash vampire leaned over the bar, flashing his fangs as his blond hair dripped over his eyes. He pushed it back into its styled quiff with a wide, charming smile. He reached for your hand and you took a quick step back, smiling politely.

“Oi. Vampire.” Flix hissed, “You know what’s allowed and what isn’t here.” The fae took you by the shoulders, “No fresh blood. You get the pack stuff, or you find somewhere else to haunt.”

The vampire scoffed, “Why don’t you let them speak for themselves, huh, sparkly boy.” He took your hand again.

“Sir, thank you, but I’m really not interested.” You carefully tried to slide your hand back, but it was caught in the vampire’s iron grip, “If you would like a drink, I can make you one?”

“Get off, fang bag.” Flix snarled.

You didn’t get to defuse the situation, because as you tugged your hand again, a moment later, the vampire was slammed against the bar, pinned in place by Cal. The older vampire hissed, fangs dripping by the youngster’s ear as he pressed his claws into his neck, cutting the skin underneath his ears.

“Cal!” Weldrick shouted but he was silenced as Cal drew his head away, eyes pulsing red and his mouth open, his nose upturned. His face was the picture of a monstrous bat, feral and unhinged, his skin bleeding to a soft grey.

Cal held up a finger to you all before he leaned back over the vampire pinned to the countertop, “What is the one rule I have here?” He asked, his face contorted like a feral animal.

The youngster hissed pathetically and thrashed.

“I’ll gladly gut you and hang you from a church spire.” Cal threatened, “Or I’ll take this to your maker?”

The youngster pressed himself flat, “We don’t touch the humans.” he said, finally, as he deflated in defeat.

“That’s right.” Cal growled, “So, I suggest you find a new bar to fuck about in.”

As he finished the sentence, he threw the youngster towards the door, sending him sprawling against the wall with a slam that shook the bar. The male rushed to his feet before escaping out of the entrance, his hair dishevelled and flying around his head. You closed your mouth as Flix placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Thanks, boss.” Flix uttered as he looked over your hand, “You’re gonna have some mean bruises, newbie.” he commented as he turned your hand palm up.

You couldn’t really focus on Flix as you looked Cal in the eyes. His face morphed back to a human looking guise behind a thin curtain of his hair. He moved his black curls back over his shoulder and nodded at you.

“Thank you.” You flinched as Flix prodded at your fingers.

“You’re welcome.” Cal whispered before he turned and walked away, fiddling with his jacket where it was torn by the youngster’s claws.

“Hey!” You pushed Flix’s fretting hands away and ducked through the bar door, rushing to catch up with Cal. He turned just outside the door to the upstairs flat and looked at you as he reached for a piece of spearmint gum, popping the rectangle piece into his mouth as you floundered, “Can…Can I take you out somewhere? To pay you back for everything you’ve done?”

Cal stopped chewing, his jaw going stiff before he reached for the empty cigarette packet in his jeans pocket and cursed again. He ducked his head, appearing small despite his towering height, standing at well over six feet tall.

“It won’t be, uh, a date or anything, unless you know, you want that. I just want to say thank you, I guess.” You babbled until he reached out his hand.

“Let me see your hand.”

It wasn’t a question; it was a demand.

You held up your bruised hand, “Its nothing.” You deflated, thinking you had been rejected.

Cal looked at your hand for a moment before letting you cradle it again, “Meet me outside. Friday lunchtime. There’s an old diner a few blocks away.” He grumbled quietly.

You smiled and nodded, “Sure. Dinners on me!” You gushed before catching yourself, “Well, not me. I don’t think I have very good blood and…”

Cal let out a low, deep chuckle, before he pushed his sunglasses back up into his hair. His breath smelled like mint as he took your hand and kissed the sore fingers, “See you then.” he rumbled before he unlocked the door and disappeared up the stairs.

Deciding what to wear seemed like the end of the world until your finally settled on something not too flashy, but a little dressy. You fiddled with the bottom of your shirt as you waited close to the entrance to The Black Dahlia. It was a little past midday and you wondered if you had come a little too early. Your fears were shot when the door opened, and Cal stepped out into the sunlight. He was in his sunglasses, the collar of his duster turned up to hide his cheeks with a black, red trimmed fedora on his head to shield his face from the sun.

“Hey, sorry if I’m a little early.” You smiled as you reached him.

Cal shrugged his shoulders, “Its not a problem. I don’t tend to sleep much… And I heard you arrive.” he tapped his ear underneath his collar, “A vampire thing.”

“Oh…You know I never thought of that.” You confessed before pointing to his hat, “You’re not going to uh, burst into flames, are you?”

Cal’s lips twisted up in a half smile, “No. I’m a little sensitive to sun, but I’m old enough that it isn’t lethal anymore. I wouldn’t have said daytime if I knew I would burst into flames.” he nodded his head, “Come on. The diner isn’t far.”

You followed him happily, not straying too far from his side as you made a bit of idle conversation to fill the silence.

The diner was three blocks away. Cal opened the door and let you inside first. It was a cosy place, with wooden interiors and metal accents. It was quiet, with no customers milling around just yet, except for a dwarf, who was asleep in one of the booths furthest away from the door. A female elf looked up from her notebook and smiled brightly as Cal entered behind you.

“Clarence!” she tittered, “By the sun! It’s been so long since we’ve seen you! You know we only live four streets away!” she exclaimed before smacking his shoulder with her towel.

“Sorry, Graeliel.” Cal muttered, “Its…”

“Don’t. I know, sweetheart. I know.” Graeliel reached up and took hold of his cheeks between her palms. She patted his face before tossing her brown braids over her shoulders and dashing behind the counter, “Pam! Pamela!” she screeched, “Clarence is here!”

An older orc woman appeared from the kitchen, her chef’s apron splattered with sauce and her mohawk flattened with the heat of the kitchen, “Boy you best hope I don’t get hold of you!” she shouted as she crossed her arms over her chest, “Three years, and not a word! Not a word!”

Cal shrivelled in on himself a little, “I’m sorry, Pam, Graeliel. I know I should have called or something…”

Pam held up her hand, “Don’t give me that.” she looked down at him and scrubbed at her silver-streaked hair, pulling it back before sighing, “I know, sweetheart. We’ve been worried, is all.”

“Pamela has been beside herself.” Graeliel added before she patted her wife’s shoulder, “But it’s all right. You’re here now…and with company?” She added as she peered around Cal, spotting you stood by the door.

Awkwardly, you gave them both a wave and stepped forwards.

“Ah,” Cal introduced you before adding, “We’re here for lunch if you have the space?”

“Oh but of course!” Graeliel grinned, exposing her slightly sharp, elven teeth, “I didn’t think you would ever find a partner, Cal!”

“You owe me thirty, Graeliel.” Pamela chuckled as she walked back towards the kitchen, “And no, I won’t accept back massages this time!” she shouted out of the door before disappearing again.

Graeliel took your arms and rolled her eyes at her wife before she led you both over to a booth in the other corner of the restaurant. She grabbed a napkin holder and two sets of cutleries for you both and laid them on the table carefully before she laid two laminated menus down too.

“I’ll go and get you some drinks to let you decide what to have. How does two lemonades sound?” Graeliel smiled as she tucked her notebook in the front pocket of her apron.

“That sounds great.” You answered before you looked to Cal, “Wait. Is that okay?”

The vampire nodded his head, “Its fine. I can still have human food and drink, in moderation. It holds no nutritional value, and a lot makes me feel sick, but its nice sometimes.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that. I don’t think I’ve ever asked a vampire before though.” You smiled. Graeliel nodded and headed off to go and grab you both a drink, leaving you both with the menu and silence, which was occasionally broken by the snoring dwarf at the other side of the diner.

“What are you going to get?” You asked Cal as you flopped the menu back on the table, “Are the club sandwiches any good?”

Cal shifted and pulled his coat off before reaching up to the top of the window and pulling down a window shade, which kept the sun off him. When he was comfortable, he carefully pulled his glasses and hat off, revealing his steel-coloured eyes. He was dressed in a shirt and a dark pair of jeans with his rosary sat on top of his chest. His black hair fell down his back and he reached to tie it back quickly before he picked up the menu and crossed a leg over his knee, resting the ankle on his knee.

“The steak is actually decent.” he commented, “But if you want something light the chicken Caesar wrap is great. They source meat from an organic place…I think. It’s been a while since I was last here.”

“The falafel sounds better.” You grinned, having decided on your meal, “What about you?”

Cal peaked at you over the top of his menu, “The usual.” He shrugged his shoulders and leaned back, leaving the menu on top of your own.

“What’s your usual then?” You prodded his hand on the table.

“A pint of blood and a rare steak.” Cal muttered, looking up at you to check for your reaction.

You were shocked for a moment, before you started laughing, creasing yourself against the table as you saw his eyes widen and his hands fidget with the edge of the table.

“Sorry.” You wheezed, “I just didn’t think you’d say it like that.”

A ghost of a smile turned his lips up at the corners, “People don’t like vampires. I wanted to see what you thought but,” he gestured to your wheezing, “it obviously doesn’t phase you.”

Once you finally caught your breath you looked him in the eye, “No, it doesn’t bother me. You’re just different to me, and that’s not a big deal. I’ve seen some scary vampires, and you’re not one of them.”

“Like the one that tried to snack on you?” Cal added scathingly.

“Yeah. He was…Well if you hadn’t shown up, I might not have gotten out of that one.” You smiled, “So, thank you, again.”

“Stop thanking me.” Cal sighed, “I didn’t do anything special.”

“But to me, you did! So, hush, and let me buy you lunch!” You jeered at him, pointing a fork at his face like a dangerous weapon. Cal smiled again and let it drop as Graeliel came back with your lemonade.

“Alrighty then.” she pulled out her notepad out and poised her pen for your orders, “What will you lovebirds be having?”

“Graeliel, we’re just here for lunch.” Cal droned as he rubbed at his temples and reached back to pull the other blind down.

“Hush. I know a date when I see one!” Graeliel tapped the top of his head with her pen, “What do you want sweetie?” she asked. Cal opened his mouth again, but she silenced him with a scathing look, like an insistent mother.

“I’ll have the falafel wrap, please.” You ordered and she nodded before looking at Cal.

“The usual, please.” Cal grumbled before taking hold of his icy glass of lemonade and taking a sip. He didn’t make a face at the sourness but turned to look out of the window, before realising he had the blind down, and staring down at his drink, stirring the straw around idly. Graeliel left you both alone to go and give your orders to Pamela. Cal watched her leave before looking back at you with his ghostly smile again.

“I’m sure you have lots of questions.” he stated before he took another sip of lemonade, “I know I would if I was in your situation.”

You nodded and played with your own straw, “Lots of questions. I saw your face morph into something like I’ve never seen before. You looked like…well, something out of a kids story book.” You took a sip of your drink from your lemonade.

Cal turned his head, avoiding your gaze as a cringe took over his features, “I figured that would be the first thing you asked me about.” he avoided your eyes as he seemed to think about what to say next, “I’m a vampire, yes, but I’m of an old bloodline. Night Terrors. That’s what we were called by the rest of our own race. I suppose we are like bats. Up turned noses, wings and the ability to hang onto any surface.” He droned quietly as the ice in his drink clinked, “Terachi. That’s what we are called now.”

You listened quietly before interjecting gently, “So why don’t you always look like that?”

“Glamouring. Intense glamouring.” Cal mumbled, “Enough that even Flix’s spell doesn’t enable you to see my real face.”

The words sat heavy in your stomach. Cal refused to look at you for a while, his eyes trained on his lemonade.

“I can hear your brain churning. Its an ugly face. Its something humans would run. I’ve hidden my face behind my human appearance from the day I was turned.” he whispered as he pushed his hair over his shoulder again.

Gently, you took his hand from around the glass, stroking his fingers before you squeezed them and let him have his hand back, “How long have you been in music?” You asked, eager to stop Cal from scowling. He looked at the window again before meeting your eyes again and smiling awkwardly, the corners of his lips twitching.

“I’ve played the violin since I was around eight years old.” Cal turned his straw in his drink, “I learned to play the piano, but also the organ.” He saw your look, “My family was very religious. My mother was a faithful catholic. She married and dragged my father into it. I’ve said my hail Mary’s since I could speak.”

“Is that why you still wear your rosary?” You asked, pointing at the black beads hung around his neck and the cross which rested over his chest. His shirt hid the tattoo he had over his pectorals from view.

Cal picked at the cross and regarded the wooden jewellery for a moment before he dropped it back against his chest, “My relationship with the lord is a little complicated.”

“Isn’t everyone’s?” You joked as he shifted in his seat, “I think its nice you still believe. How long have you been, well, like this?” You trailed off at his grimace.

“A vampire?” he asked, “Since I was twenty-six.” He gestured to himself, “It was a service, in 1784. My maker was amazed by my skill with instruments, and I sang for him after. I’ve been like this ever since.” Cal gave himself a disgusted once over, before he looked back down at the wooden table, his nails scratching at the waxy surface, gouging at a name someone had already cut into the top.

“Did you leave anyone behind?” You asked.

“A fiancé. I don’t think I ever loved her like she deserved.” Cal said, “I disappeared after the service. My maker held me like a child as I changed and stopped breathing. I’ve not seen him since...” he trailed off, “I’ve not seen him since I joined Black Blood. That was over twenty-five years ago now.”

“Wow. That’s a long time. Did you fall out over it all?” You asked.

Cal shrugged his shoulders in response, “He didn’t want me out of his clutches I suppose. Either way, its history.” he dismissed any further questions with a wave of his hand.

As though she had seen the tense situation, Graeliel came tootling over with your meals. The elf laid the two plates down in front of each of you and smiled warmly as she pointed to the lemonade.

“Is the lemonade sweet enough? I let Pam make it this time, and she’s a bit sour, so she skimps on the sugar.” she teased as she leaned back and tucked her towel against her hip.

“Its perfect.” You assured her as you took another drink of it, “Its just sweet enough. Anymore and I think my teeth would rot.” You joked.

She nodded and quickly scuttled to a microwave as it pinged. You watched curiously as Graeliel snipped open a back of blood and poured the contents into a blacked-out pint glass. She returned with the glass and placed it in front of Cal.

“Make sure you don’t eat too much this time, hm?” She patted his hand before she smiled at you brightly and left to go and dispose of some rubbish.

You looked at the black glass on the table and wondered just if Cal was going to drink it in front of you or not. He met your gaze and shifted back before he took hold of the glass.

“You don’t have to look, if it makes you uncomfortable.” he reasoned, quietly, holding your gaze for a moment before he peered at the deep red contents.

“No.” You swallowed, “Its fine. Go ahead.” You smiled and reached for your cutlery as he nodded and tipped his head back a little. He pressed the glass to his mouth and quickly downed the blood, his throat working as he guzzled at it like a hungry animal. Cal grumbled softly as he finished and licked at the red blood clinging to his top lip before pressing his finger to it and licking that too. He closed his eyes and swallowed the last of it, his nose curled, before he calmed himself down, and looked back at you. His eyes were wide, as though he had thoroughly enjoyed himself, and you smiled at him.

Cal’s lips curled a little at one corner before he stood to give the glass back to Graeliel. You appreciated the iron smelling glass being moved and carefully started picking at your salad. He returned and you picked up your wrap.

“Well, lets see if you recommended me something decent!” You took a bite and Cal chuckled quietly as your eyes widened at the taste, “Is this home made or something? The sauce is so good.” You said around your mouthful.

Cal nodded with a smile, “They make everything here in house.” he picked up his steak knife and sliced into the very rare steak before feeding himself a small piece, “Still tastes as good as ever.” He leaned to the kitchen and chuckled again.

“Too right it does!” Pamela hollered from the kitchen. You both laughed at her before digging back into your food.

“Are you two finished?” Graeliel asked as you leaned back and grumbled about being too full. Cal chuckled again as he pushed his sunglasses into his hair, and you nodded with a content sigh.

“Pamela’s cooking has that effect.” Cal added quietly as you patted your stomach and laughed.

Graeliel laughed as well, “I’ll get you both the bill.” she walked happily to the kitchen to deliver your dishes and glasses before going to the cash register and bringing you the total on her notepad, scribbled underneath your orders.

You took the piece of paper, but Cal had already pulled out the cash, placing it on the table for Graeliel before he grabbed his hat and tucked his hair out of the way. He noticed you gawking and tilted his head, “Are you okay with me paying?” he asked curiously.

You nodded before huffing, “Yeah, but next time I get the food.”

Cal paused as he shrugged one arm of his coat on, “Next time?” he asked quietly.

“If you want a next time?” You asked with an embarrassed smile.

He nodded, completely silent as he turned his face away from you. He was incapable of blushing much more than a faint pink tone after a meal, but you caught the slight pink colour to the apples of his cheeks before he flicked his collar up.

You followed suit and thanked Graeliel and Pamela as Cal rushed for the door, his long, graceful strides carrying him faster than you could ever hope to be.

Graeliel reached to give you a gentle hug which smelled of jasmine, “Look after him for us, hm? He’s such a sweet boy, just a little wounded.”

“I’ll try.” You felt hot and embarrassed, and your cheeks burned as you looked at Pamela’s smirk. You said your goodbyes and rushed after Cal. He held you open the door and silently offered you his arm. You took the arm and linked your own through it. Cal looked at you through the side of his black sunglasses before he smiled a little wider, revealing his sharp, fang like teeth. It was the only part he consistently couldn’t glamour, you had come to realise. You returned his smile and Cal looked down at you. Your eyes followed a piece of hair as it escaped his hair tie and slipped out over his shoulder.

“I’ll walk you home, if you want?” he asked with a small shake to his voice.

You realised then, that you were smitten with him, and smiled brightly, “Sure. Its not too far. I live near the rose garden park.” Cal nodded and ran his cold fingers over your hand before he slipped your hand down and into his own.

You reached your small flat just as the roads started to get busy with traffic from people going home from work. You reached into your small bag as you neared the door, and quickly rummaged around for your keys. They jingled in your hand as Cal slipped his hand from yours and let you step up to the door alone.

“Thank you.” He uttered, “For taking a chance with me. No one has…been so kind to me in a while. Certainly not someone as gorgeous as you.” Cal whispered the words, as though you weren’t supposed to hear them. He turned his face away from you, his eyes still hidden behind his glasses. The sun was lower in the sky and the beginnings of the sunset were starting, casting an orange glow over his pale skin and the pieces of his black curls which had escaped his ponytail.

“I didn’t take a chance.” You said as you stepped back down in front of him, “I think you’re…You’re much more than just a monstrous vampire. You’re kind, sweet and considerate and…”

“Handsome?” He asked with a quirk to his lips before he licked them and reached out to take your hand again, running his fingers against your own as he digested your words.

“You make me feel…You make me feel grounded. Whole. Like I’m not…” Cal huffed at himself, “Like I’m not some fucking killer freak. I just… I feel like you understand, and I find myself thinking of you, often. I…”

Gently, you reached up and pressed a warm finger to his lips, quietening his rambling, “I like you too, Cal. I think you’re…”

Cal silenced you as he pushed his sunglasses up into his hair again, revealing his steel-coloured eyes. He stared at you with such intensity, and you were drawn to the soft curve of his lips all too easily. He smelt like peppermint again, but you forgot that as he pressed his lips to yours. They were soft but icy cold. The temperature made you jump, but you quickly pressed to him. Cal grumbled something before you were backed against the door, his fangs grazing your bottom lip as his cold tongue brushed against your lips. You opened your mouth and moaned quietly as he kissed you deeply, his fangs grazing your lips again. He drew away, as though shot, and you smiled at the blackness to his eyes and the grey sheen to his skin. His nose curled and you touched the pointed tip of his upturned nose before pushing your hands over his shoulders and feelings the musclar tops of his wings. They flexed beneath his coat, the clawed tips scrapping against the concrete before he dived in to nip your lips again.

“I adore you.” He purred as you felt the tips of his ears and fumbled for the handle. The door opened with a soft click and you pulled on his hands. He caught himself at the door, letting you hold his hands before he was drawn into you and found your lips again, “You complete me.” He moaned against your cheek before you closed the door.

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candied-peach · 4 years

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ao3: “rainbow ink” rating: T warnings: soulmate au, sympathetic deceit, sympathetic remus, DRLAMP, creativitwins genre: angst with a happy ending description: Roman just wants his twin to be happy. That’s all he wants. (for anon prompt: "Romantic DRLAMP soulmates? (Platonic creativetwins ofc) and usually when I see that ships it's Virgil or Deciet who doesn't write to his soulmates but how about Roman? He pretends not to have them because Remus already has them as his soulmates and he doesn't want to steal that from him? Angst with a happy ending?")

The first time Roman sees familiar purple ink flowing across his arm, he thinks it's a mistake. It has to be. He's seen that particular shade of purple on Remus's skin too often for it to be a coincidence. It's only further confirmed when, as he hastily yanks his sleeve down, Remus bursts into his room to tell him that he's going to the coffee shop to people watch and be weird. Just like his soulmate- Virgil- said.

Roman swallows hard, the lump in his throat only intensifying at the unabashed happiness shining in his twin's eyes. He doesn't say a word about the damning purple words drizzled across his skin- doesn't even think about writing back- just wishes Remus a safe trip and tries to pretend that the pain in his lungs is from a developing asthma attack.

The second time he sees dark and light blue ink scrawling across his wrist, he thinks someone must be playing a sick joke on him. It's not fair. Logan and Patton are also Remus's soulmates. Is Roman so cursed that he can't have anything to himself?

But the jealousy, teeming just beneath the surface, makes his throat tighten. He holes himself up in his room, pretending to be asleep when Remus bursts in.

"I'm going to wreak havoc at the library," Remus announces, like Roman hasn't already seen their plans scribbled in round letters and blocky script.

"Cool," Roman mumbles into his pillow, trying to sound foggy with sleep, not heartbroken. "Have fun."

"I will," Remus assures him. "And Janus might come, too! Virgil said he's gotta study, though." As if on cue, Roman can almost feel the spiky gold script etch itself into his forearm.

"Just try not to be arrested," Roman says, turning his face so Remus can't see the tears that have started to prick the corners of his eyes.

"No promises!" Remus says cheerfully. As soon as the front door of their shared apartment closes, Roman buries his face in his pillow and cries, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. This goes beyond even the cruelties of fate he could have ever dreamed up. He shares all of Remus's soulmates.

And he refuses to say a word. He's never seen his twin so happy as when he's with them. Logan, Patton, Virgil, and Janus, the latest. Janus is shy, perpetually wearing a hat around them, tugging the brim down as if it can hide the psoriasis that plagues one side of his face. The way his face lights up when he debates philosophy with a ruffled Logan. Patton's sunniness and platters of heart-shaped pancakes. Virgil's purple hair and anxiety and constantly playing emo music. Remus fits like the final piece of the puzzle, discussing the finer points of arson with Janus, listening to cephalopod facts and true crime podcasts with Logan, splattering paint on a canvas with Virgil and splattering cupcake batter with Patton.

Roman would be an outcast puzzle piece, the occasional broken one that comes from another puzzle entirely and can never find a place to fit in, not even along the edges.

Weeks pass. He starts to wear long sleeves and high necks, trying to hide the rainbow-hued proof from his sharp-eyed twin. He withdraws into himself, no matter how much he tries to stop it. What else is he to do? He's an actor, but he's not that good. He doesn't know if anyone could be that good, to know they can never, ever have what they've longed for their entire life, to watch it happening right in front of their eyes to someone who deserves it so, so much, but-

That's it, isn't it? Roman reflects, huddled on his bed and watching Avatar the Last Airbender through for the third time. 'But.' He feels the tingle of more writing on his wrist, but ignores it. It's not for him, after all. It will never be for him. There will be no gentle affirmations written in Patton's light blue script, no blocky exhortations to do his classwork or go to bed earlier from Logan. Virgil won't offer a mix tape and Janus won't cheer him up with snake-themed puns. They think they're friends and they are, but they have no idea they're more than that, and Roman refuses to tell them anything else.

His door bangs back on its hinges, bouncing off the wall, and Roman looks up in irritated alarm, ready to chastise his twin-

When he realizes that not only has Remus come in, he's brought reinforcements. Virgil, Janus, Logan, and Patton stand there next to Remus, and any annoyed words Roman might have said dry up in his throat.

"Something's wrong with you," Remus says, without preamble. "And I wanna know what."

"Nothing," Roman tries to deny, but he knows that no one will believe it. He looks a dilapidated mess, a far cry from his usual put-together self. He doesn't know when he slid down so fast.

"You and I both know that's a lie," Janus murmurs. He's not wearing a hat for once, and his hair is an unruly mass of curls Roman wishes he could run his fingers through. "You've been avoiding Remus-"

"You've been avoiding all of us," Virgil speaks up next. His shoulders are hunched, his fingers occupied with a purple fidget cube. "Did- did we do something wrong?"

"No!" Roman blurts out, before he even knows what he's saying. "No," he repeats. "You- you haven't done anything at all, it's- it's just me." He swallows, painfully aware all of a sudden that his sleeve has slipped down and dark blue writing is now visible.

Dark blue could be anyone, don't draw attention to it-

"Is it your soulmate?" Logan, because of course it's Logan, asks.

"Um," Roman hedges, inelegant. Remus bounds over to the bed, yanking Roman's sleeve up before he can stop him.

"I will be right up," Remus reads, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion. "But that's-" He looks at his own arm, at Logan's neat handwriting.

"Roman?" Patton asks hesitantly. "Is- is Logan your soulmate, too? Is that why you've been avoiding us?" An easy out, and yet one that will fall apart at the slightest touch. Roman trembles, feeling like a leaf in a vigorous breeze.

"I-" He croaks. "Um- not exactly."

"What do you mean, not exactly?" Janus asks. Roman flinches, although he knows it's a perfectly reasonable question. If only there was a perfectly reasonable answer.

"Not just Logan," he whispers, staring down into his lap. "It- I'm so sorry, Remus, it's everyone-" The tears that have prickled the corners of his eyes since Remus touched his sleeve spill over, tracing down familiar tracks.

"But why is that a bad thing?" Remus asks, still looking utterly perplexed. "Ro, what's wrong?"

"They're your soulmates," Roman repeats. "And you've been so happy- I don't belong with that-"

"Who says?" Logan questions. "Shouldn't that be up to us to determine?"

"I- I don't know," Roman stammers. "Maybe?"

"I don't have a problem with another soulmate," Patton says, giving Roman an encouraging smile. "I want to get to know you better, Roman. As more than just your friend. Is that okay?"

Roman's eyes dart to Remus's face, suddenly brimming with unconcealed panic. Remus plops down on the bed next to him, wrapping him up in a tight, slightly odd-smelling hug.

"You dumbass," Remus hisses in his ear. "You deserve to be happy, too, you know. I want you to be happy. You being unhappy has made me really unhappy."

"It has?" Roman asks in a tiny voice.

"Of course it has," Remus says, giving him a shove. "You're my twin, asshole, I care about you. I don't care if we share soulmates."

Roman takes a deep breath, then shoves up both sleeves, up to the elbow, revealing a rainbow cacophony littering his lower arms.

"We talk a lot," Virgil observes. Roman lets out a shaky laugh.

"You do," he says. "But I- I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world."

tag list: @k9cat @paravigilant-virgil @croftergamer @airiervessel @reverendliu @matthindavick @ambersky0319 @yalltookmyurlideas @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @ihateitwhenyourejustvague @bexxbeauty @killjoy-3000 @the-sunshine-dims @sneaky-slytherin @reesiereads @rabbitsartcorner @quackerz-creations @psodtqueer @awkward-child-of-satan @snek-boii @im-fine-24

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good-rwbyaus · 3 years

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Uncle Crow AU [first] [prev]

Description: A month after Summer’s death, Yang is determined to look for her mother and takes a curious Ruby with her through the reputably safe forests of Patch. Meanwhile, Qrow chooses to check in first with Ozpin instead of visiting the girls first. As a result, a near miss turns into a true disaster.

But he can make this right.

He failed to save his teammate. He won’t fail her family.

Characters: Qrow, Ruby Rose, Yang Xiao Long, Ozpin, Taiyang

//A/N: Not sure what direction to give this now. Should I put Qrow in Vale - though Atlas would be interesting too. Hrmmmm.

Intermezzo:

A harsh winter blankets the city in frost. Not a single person could be seen outside. A young crow collapses onto the ground having found nothing to eat and closes its eyes, finally succumbing to the harsh cold and hunger.

-----

“For there was no man more loyal to his friends and family than Qrow Branwen, “ Ozpin spoke solemnly, lips chapped from the cold. He stared quietly at his small audience. Taiyang. Glynda. James. The girls he sacrificed his life for weren’t present - didn’t even know their savior those six months ago. Still didn’t even know they had an uncle.

His eyes caught a flicker of motion from the treeline.

A black raven sat quietly, watching the proceedings.

----

Something’s wrong.

Ozpin felt a tug against his being like the draw of one magnet attracting another. It was all the warning he received before his vision filled with red and black, the glint of metal heading straight for his head.

Clang!

His cane parried the deadly blow from above, the deflected blade landing squarely into his desk and smoldering everything that was on it. Amid the smoke and flying paperwork, he struck back with an elbow, forcing his airborne assailant back. Even without seeing her face, he already knew who it was, for who else used Dust-laden katanas.

“Miss Branwen,” he said quietly. He kept his voice level, though a tinge of annoyance - anger - crept into it. He couldn’t help it; he might’ve been a major component of Qrow’s death, but - this person - the person in front of him was the root cause.

“You’re a piece of shit, Ozpin,” the dark-haired woman growled, as though affronted that he was angry with her. She charged and sliced once more, “How did my brother die?!”

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Despite the Huntress’s speed, he was faster. His cane was but a blur as he deflected each slash away from him. Still, he couldn’t help the pained grimace as guilt assailed him.

Qrow’s peaceful smile as he held the shotgun underneath his own chin. How he apologized about leaving another mess for him. How the man bet on a longshot just for the chance to save his niece and teammate’s family.

If he didn’t say anything that day.... if he just kept his mouth shut about the magic...

“I can see a coverup when I see one, Ozpin! Qrow didn’t die in that bullshit story of yours at the hands of Grimm,” she struck with an overhead slash, “he died in the hospital with you in the same room. You think I wouldn’t find the hallway videos?!”

Perhaps he could’ve told the truth...but if Taiyang knew that Qrow sacrificed himself to save his daughter...

He covered everything up. Made up a story about how another Hunter went crazy in the hospital. Bribed and threatened the security detail that arrived to the commotion to secrecy. Donated a fortune to the hospital so they’d keep everything hush-hush. Told Taiyang that Qrow left the hospital to maximize Ruby’s chances...

The tip of his cane went straight through Raven’s guard, nailing her straight in the gut. The momentary stun allowed him to follow it up with a strike across her face that repelled her back.

Before he received Qrow’s portion of magic back, he would’ve still been able to beat her. Maybe only after a decade or so, she would have a chance. As he was now...

Even Salem would not face him or his reincarnations while they were still at their prime. Not without good reason.

“Urgh,” the woman spat blood, the battle momentarily paused.

“You’re right. There’s a cover-up,” Ozpin admitted coolly.

“Did Qrow finally realize you’re a liar, Ozpin? And you couldn’t handle it?” Raven ranted as she charged forward, slicing at his neck. “You think I’ll let no one find out about what you did?!”

He gave the attack the consideration it deserved, which is to say none. He simply allowed that strike to hit its mark, green and yellow sparks flying as the magic underneath his skin met steel. Meanwhile, his arms grabbed onto her sword arm, and with an act of brute strength, he swung her straight into his broken desk resulting in a loud crash.

Ozpin leveled his cane right at her throat as he stood above her.

“Do you hate Taiyang that much?” Ozpin scathingly replied, “You first abandoned him without a word. Now you’re going to tell him that his best friend died to save his daughter. Do you have no shame?”

Raven paused before angrily lashing back verbally.

“What are you-”

He pressed the cane right against her throat, choking off her next words.

“No. I am going to talk. And you are going to listen.”

“Do you want to know why Qrow died? Because he chose to save what remained of your broken family, a family that was put into that position because of your selfishness - because your daughter wanted to find you to help her daddy heal,” Ozpin steadily spoke.

“That magic that now runs through your veins. That magic that you just used to ambush me? Qrow chose to kill himself because I made the mistake of suggesting the possibility that if I had just a little more magic, I could save his niece.”

“And he took it,” Ozpin trembled as he recalled Qrow’s smile and apology, “Didn’t even know if it would work, and he still took it. And at the very end, all he asked in return was to not tell your husband.”

“So you’re right. I am a liar. I’ve made more mistakes than every man, woman, and child combined,” he continued, unable to help the self-loathing in his tone, “I’ve walked on a road paved with my good intentions, and I have to live with those decisions every day.”

“But at least I accept the consequences of my decisions. When will you stop running away Raven?”

“That-”

He pressed his cane against her throat once again.

“Where were you when Summer died? When your daughters were in danger? When Taiyang spoke about ending his own life just for the chance to find a good family for his children? When your brother sacrificed himself?”

He gritted his teeth as he shot a gaze at the floor beneath him. He could hear the approaching footsteps and chatter. Seems like the commotion they caused finally alerted security.

Ozpin sent a kick into the woman’s side, sending her away like a piece of trash. The woman landed on her feet, a multitude of emotions showing in her face but most of all fear and guilt.

“You, most of all, have no right to speak about Qrow. Or Taiyang. Or your daughters,” he continued coolly.

“I’m done. This is the last lesson you’ll get from me. I can’t stop you from telling the truth - denying your brother’s last wishes and breaking your husband’s heart...” Ozpin quietly said.

He placed his cane down, the space around him distorting as he released the grip on his newly-acquired magic. Rainbow-colored light crackled around him.

“But once you do, I’ll Hunt you. There will be nowhere on Remnant where you can hide. And you’ll learn why I was once known as the King of Vale,” he continued with an icy glare.

“Now get out of my office.”

------

Ozpin ignored the unwanted visitor and continued on his speech as snow gently fell around them.

He watched as Taiyang lowered his head trembling, muttering something inaudibly. How Glynda and James had their heads down in sorrow - despite their differences, they were still friends and comrades-in-arms.

The lies that keep us safe. The lies that keep us going.

He’ll bear it all.

So don’t worry, Qrow. He’ll keep an eye out on Taiyang and his family.

Rest easy.

------

As a funeral finishes, a once dead crow opens its eyes.

#uncle crow au #raven branwen #rwby ozpin #rwby au #rwby fic #qrow branwen #i'm surprised i had inspiration for this one #mod lilac

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ilguna · 3 years

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Malefic - Metanoia (f.o)

Summary: you will be crowned victor of the 75th hunger games.

warnings; swearing, BLOOD MENTION, angst.

wc; 500-ish?

NOTES; i give reader a last name to fit the world.

I WROTE THIS AT 3AM. IT’S NOT FANTASTIC. IT’S A BLURB. DON’T TAKE IT TOO SERIOUSLY. THANKS.

–

“(Y/n), just stop.” Finnick says, his entire face is twisted in anger, he motions for you to leave.

“Stop what?” You ask, stalking towards him, “I thought you knew what you were getting into. You said so yourself, you knew me.”

“No, that’s not what I said—“

“Really? Because I have a pretty good recollection of it.” You tilt your head, “You were the one saying that you’d be here through thick and thin. That you could handle whatever I dished out.”

“This is not what I meant.” He hisses, eyes snapping to you.

For a moment, you want to be angry. But you don’t even get a chance, because a smug sneer is crossing your face, “You thought I would be sunshine and rainbows?”

“Stop!” He says lowly.

“You thought that just because I’m dating you, is suddenly change like that—?” You snap your fingers, shaking your head.

“Shut—“

“You are by far the dumbest person I’ve ever fucking met. I even came with warning labels and you still managed to fuck it up.”

“Quit it.” Finnick’s face is straight and angry. You’ve briefly seen him angry, but not like this. This is different.

“Or what? You’re going to go crying to Johanna? Call me a fucking bitch and have her rub your shoulders and tell you that you deserve better?” You mock a sad face, “Have her tuck you in and read you a bedtime—“

Finnick shoves your shoulders hard, too hard. You stumble, arms reaching out behind you to catch yourself on the wall before it’s too late. It doesn’t work, your head slams into the cement wall, a white hot pain straight out of hell collided with your head.

You slide down the wall with no choice, fingers fumbling to the warm feeling that’s creeping down the back of your neck. At the sight of rich red blood, you’re looking back at Finnick.

You open your mouth, prepared to send him a snarky remark; a congratulations on him finally being able to hurt you in some way, since he can’t do it emotionally or mentally.

His voice overlaps yours, loud and roaring, “Don’t you fucking get it?! You’re so fucking manipulative!” He stands over you, seething rage, “You do this—all the fucking time and then wonder and pout about how no one wants you—

“This is why! You’re so fucking unbearably unloveable because of your stupid superiority complex!” Finnick’s lip curls, snarling, “You think you’re so much better than the rest of us, but the truth is, you’re worse. At least we figured out healthy coping mechanisms, you just sought out abuse.”

He doesn’t stay, he leaves immediately after. The back of your head is throbbing, gushing blood. You sit on the floor for a while, carefully leaning your head back against the wall while you try not to be bothered about the heat on your back.

At some point, the slightest head movement is enough to make you dizzy. You gently get off the floor, carefully placing a hand on the back of your head. There’s a good puddle of blood where you had sat before, and you find that you’re coated in it when you look in the mirror.

Smeared down the side of your face, around your ears and down your neck. You aren’t too focused on your expression in the mirror until you go to leave and catch how pale you’ve grown. You need to get help.

You’d take care of it yourself, be self-sufficient as usual. But they don’t keep medical stuff in the room. And if they do, you don’t know where to find it. So, you wander out of your room and down the hall until you find the elevator.

Its not empty when it reaches your floor. In fact, you’re face to face with Haymitch and Katniss. At first, they glance past you, until a voice that you hardly recognize as yours is leaving your lips.

“I need help.” You whisper, blinking to keep yourself awake, “Please.”

Haymitch sees you first, and snaps awake. Once the door is pulled up, he’s grabbing you to keep you upright, “What happened?”

“I fell. I blacked out and hit my head and when I woke up, I was covered in blood.” You look between Haymitch, and Katniss. Katniss looks less than thrilled to see you. You can’t blame her, “I’ll make it by myself, I think.”

“We should walk you—“

“No, you’re doing something important.” You pull away from him, “I’m not important. I’m nothing.” You make it inside of the elevator, pressing yourself to the corner to keep upright, “I’m sorry for asking. Don’t worry about me.”

You push the button to the medical floor, which has an asterisk next to the number. Haymitch looks like he still wants to offer help, and you think you see something different in Katniss’ eyes, that you easily play off as nothing, you’re just dizzy.

The elevator moved, leaving them where they are. You have to keep to the corner, away from the door since you didn’t pull it down like you should’ve. You go down for what feels like forever.

You’re motion sick at the bottom, but drag your feet long enough to make it. Black spots eat away at the corners of your eyes, white static taking over spaces where it shouldn’t be. You feel hands on your arms, and slump.

Whoever it is, follows you all the way to the floor, cradling you in their arms. You keep your eyes shut, hoping that the spinning motion will die out if you see nothing but darkness, but it doesn’t go anywhere. It feels worse.

“Hey,” the voice is gentle, and warm and too familiar, “(Y/n)? Please open your eyes for me, just real quick.”

There’s a pressure beneath your eyes suddenly, making you flinch.

“Look at me.” There’s a certain softness to it, too delicate, on the verge of breaking.

Your eyelids feel heavy, words barely forming in your brain long enough to form a lazy string of thoughts. Whoever it is, cares about you deeply.

What a waste, you think, you’d have a better chance at striking gold.

Your eyebrows draw together, and you struggle to open your eyes for a second to see who would be stupid enough to help you, much less care about you.

Oh. Of course.

Brown hair that looks golden in white light. Sea green eyes that used to catch the hearts of everyone in the Capitol, now filled to the brink with clear, wobbly tears. The lightest blink could send them over the edge.

Finnick, back so soon? What a surprise, you never learn.

“I’m sorry.” He says, slowly scooping you up, “I’m so sorry. I thought that you’d come down here sooner. I didn’t think...”

Taking the blame all on himself, as if you’re not the one that sat there knowing the consequences.

You blink, and struggle to open your eyes again. You think it would be better if you died here. If only you’d stayed in the dorm and let yourself wither away there. At least then you’d get what you deserve.

“This is a mistake.” The words are slurred, making no sense. Finnick looks down at you, worried.

“What?”

“Just let me go.” You turn your head, at the end of the hall stands bald Johanna. You think you can see the scar from when you slammed her head against the rock.

Now we’ll be matching.

“Shut up, don’t do this now.”

“Do you know the definition of insanity?” You murmur, eyes locking with his, “It’s when you do the same thing over and over and over and expect a different outcome every single time.”

You press your lips together, willingly closing your eyes now. Finnick’s saying something, you purposely drown him out, hoping that the usual coldness of the darkness, now replaced by warmth, is going to be enough to show Finnick just how good he’ll have it without you.

After all, you’re unbearingly unlovable. He shouldn’t be wasting his time on you.

#ilguna #metanoia #malefic #metanoia short story

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thesolitarystripe · 3 years

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Writing Prompt # 8: A 96-year-old woman’s phone number is one digit away from that of the suicide hotline. She could have changed it long ago, but she does not mind.

Here's your TW: Talk of familial loss, mention of suicide.

I found this writing prompt on tumblr from writing-prompts-re and for whatever reason it spoke to me. I just thought, what an endearing prompt for a subject that could potentially be so dark. It is dark, it's sad, and what a rainbow a little old woman painted over it. At least, in my head. I've been slumping back into that habit of losing my motivation. I'm not sure why. I'm giving myself the grace to do what I can and not beat myself up over it. Finding this writing prompt sparked it up all over again for me. It made me really miss my grandma. While I don't think she ever had this problem, I know she would have been just as comforting as Myrtie. In a way, I think I wrote this for her. I love you Nonni! Thank you for always being a soft spot to land. Enjoy.

Another Friday evening, another Jeopardy re-run. Myrtle, or as all her friends used to call her—Myrtie sat within the comfort of her reddish, brown recliner that was much too big for her. Always a petite woman, she looked like a twelve-year-old with the way the cushions swallowed her thin limbs, but she also appeared immeasurably comfortable. Myrtie pulled up the purple knitted blanket over her knees, gently tugged up the arms of her robe over both wrists as her hands lifted, poised with knitting needles and she began to bring yet another blanket into existence. This was how Myrtie spent most of her evenings, swaddled in a plush terry cloth robe, a pair of thick socks pulled up to the calf, and her hair resting beneath a bonnet, wrapped in curlers. Beside her was a cup of decaffeinated tea and a plate of cookies. Myrtie’s hands, while weathered by 96 years of life, worked the needles flawlessly as if they were an extension of a machine designed exactly for the purpose of knitting large lounging blankets. Every so often, she would giggle over something Alex Trebek would say to the participants on the show but save from the singsong chuckle, the room was silent. Myrtie had lost her husband twenty years ago. After marrying at the age of eighteen, it had been a difficult transition into this life alone. A life without his stories, hugs and forgetfulness. Myrtie often smiled sadly, wishing now for a sock to be left out of place or for the trash to be forgotten on the side of the house on garbage day. All those little things that would always make her so furious with her spouse, they were the details she missed most. Myrtie survived much longer than most of her friends, save for one that had gone to live inside a facility. They never spoke much, Myrtie assumed that either her friend had limited access to her phone or was too busy hustling the other residents in Bingo to bother calling. Myrtie was grateful for her loving and supportive family, but they could do nothing during the lonely nights when they went home to their families. She could not blame them. So, when her phone rang every so often late at night, Myrtie would answer. When the calls first began, she thought it odd that telemarketers would call so late but she soon realized her mistake.

This night, when her landline phone rang, she picked up the corded antique beside her and spoke.

“Hello?” Her voice held that raspy quiver that all good grandmothers had.

“I think I’m done.” The voice was new to her.

“Done? Done with what sweetheart?” There was a pause, as if the other voice sensed something was off but the draw of Myrtie’s kind voice urged them on.

“With living. With the world. I’m done here.”

“Oh, surely there’s things to stick around for,” Myrtie said, fluffing out her half-knitted blanket as she tucked the phone against her shoulder and ear to better use both hands.

“I don’t have anyone.”

“You have yourself. Isn’t he worth living for?” Another beat of silence. “You sound like you’re being too hard on yourself, your importance in the world does not hang on teeter-tottering validation of other people, honey. To be loved by others is a wonderful thing but loving yourself is just as important. Why don’t you stick around for yourself?”

“I’m lonely! Why would I want to be alone?”

“That is a good question, baby. Loneliness is so hard.” Myrtie’s hands paused, her heart gave one of those familiar throbs as it related to the young soul on the other end of the phone. Loneliness was something she was well acquainted with. “Before you go, have you got time for a story?”

“Well…yeah, I guess…”

Myrtie straightened up in her recliner, stretched out her back, and sighed. “I was married at eighteen years old to the love of my life. Albert. Goodness was he handsome! Now, we spent the first few years of our marriage apart—he went off to serve our beloved country. I was so desperately lonely without him. It didn’t matter that I had friends who called me up every day, parents to have supper with at night, I even watched the neighbor’s kids next door for a little spending money, and as busy as they kept me, I could never shake that feeling. When he came back, oh, it was the best day of my life! We spent the next fifty-six years together, every day! We had five beautiful children, a handful of pets that came and went, we lived in two different states and bought over four different cars.” Myrtie sat there smiling, her knuckles buried in the thick knots of her craft. “I miss him every day, it’s been twenty years and I still roll over in bed and miss the sight of him lying there, snoring.” Myrtie laughed. “Oh Lord how he snored! It was like someone was chopping down logs all night. I hated him for it,” her laugh tapered off in that pensive way, as her heart remembered fondly the memory then internalized the pain of it. “I would give anything to hear it now.”

There was silence. Sixty seconds of silence.

“Someone’s going to miss you like that, honey.”

A soft sob rustled against the receiver of the phone.

“I don’t know who you all have in your life, but I know you have a mama and a daddy. Even if things aren’t good between you now, they’ll miss you like that. Even if you haven’t spoken in years, they’ll miss the way you laughed, the way you hugged, the way you smelled even when you were nothing but a stinky young thing! Sometimes loneliness clouds our vision of all the people we do have. It is so easy to want for something, to be lonely because what we have doesn’t live up to what we think we should have. A girlfriend, boyfriend, spouse, best friend of forever, doting parents—we all have some sort of expectation. We are human and that is perfectly all right. I’ll tell you what though, there are no shoulds. Don’t let those insidious little shoulds run your life. I should this, I should that—toss that notion away, baby. There is just what is, what you want and what you don’t want. You got someone that loves you? Even one person that you’re not quite thinking of?”

“Yes…” a soft sniffle followed the confession.

“Good, all you really need is you baby but, I’m glad you have someone looking out for you. They’ll be missing you something fierce if you decide to be done. Even if they’re all you got, remember it’s about quality. Albert was my only friend for as long as I can remember. Sure, I met some ladies over the years and we gabbed and baked and knitted together but—the quality of those relationships were different. Don’t cheapen the idea of the one you have just because you think you need a lot! It’s better to have one person at your funeral to speak on what a wonderful person you were than be lying dead in a room full of people with nothing to say. What do you think about calling them right now and telling them what’s on your heart? You think that might help? If not, I’m happy to keep chatting with you, sweetheart. I ain’t got nothing to do but finish up this blanket I’m knitting. My kids already have ten of them in each of their houses so maybe I’ll just give this one to you. You like purple?”

There was a soft laugh that responded. “It’s a good color,” he said with a deep breath, one that sounded like it cleansed years of his life.

“Yeah, it is, baby. I’ll finish it for you and when you come to get it, I’ll make sure to have some cookies on for you. We’ll sit and chat and make sure you’re doing all right, hm?”

“That sounds nice,” he was chuckling again, the remnants of his tears still dripping off his face. “I think—I think I’m going to call my friend Greg.”

“All right, well tell Greg I said hello. He’s welcome to come with you now, sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.” Another silence followed. It was only broken by another slow breath. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Thanks for calling honey. You have my number now so don’t be leaving grandma Myrtie without saying goodbye! Promise me.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“Good. Go call Greg now, I’ll talk to you soon.”

“I will, bye Myrtie.”

The phone clicked and Myrtie hung up her landline with a soft clack of its plastic body. Myrtie knew there would be no visitation from her new friend. It was what she offered to all of them, a place to escape their loneliness. A reminder that while life’s peaks and valleys were relentless, there was always something to look forward to. Even if it was just a warm plate of cookies and a handmade blanket. Myrtie knew her phone number was one digit away from the suicide hotline. She pieced that together after receiving a dozen calls from hurting hearts. At first, she thought to hang up but, something about the way the broken words of other human beings dipped into her soul—she knew she could not let them go. Myrtie had no idea if anything she ever said actually helped someone, if they stayed. What she did know is that it helped her. In her own loneliness, it was like a salve on her own heart to know that others shared the same feelings but soldiered on despite the pain. Myrtie had lived within the dark recesses of her own mind and found light only in those around her once she willed herself to be open to seeing the love she did have, even if it wasn’t Albert’s. Myrtie reached over and grabbed her teacup, put it to her lips, rocked in her recliner, and looked at the phone. She hoped it would always ring when it needed to.

#creativewriting #writingprompts #writing #me writing #thesolitarystripe #author #tw #tw sui mention #tw loss

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

Best Part of Me -Chapter 63

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @ocfairygodmother

With a late afternoon rain came a break in the oppressive humidity; a much cooler breeze appearing as the sun began to set. The four oldest are already tucked into bed; satisfied and content after daddy obliged every request for ‘just one more story’ and they were spoiled with seemingly endless cuddles, hugs, and kisses. So relaxed and secure knowing that he’s under the same room that sleep came easily to all of them; worn out from not only the excitement of him showing up unexpectedly, but then spending every waking moment of the rest of the day vying for his attention. Constantly talking over one another, fighting over who go to sit on his shoulders when they showed him the animals, squabbling over who got to be beside him at dinner. It’s only been four days since they’d seen him at the airport, but it may as well have been a lifetime to them; ten minutes not nearly enough to erase the ache in their little hearts or the feeling of loneliness inside of them.

While not exactly a constant fixture in their lives at times because of the job and its unpredictability, he’d always been a hands-on father; starting right from the moment they found out there was a baby -or babies, in this twins’ case- on the way. Attentive and loving and even more protective than usual; determined to keep both her and the life inside of her as safe, secure, and healthy as possible. Feeling pride and wonder that he’d even been given the chance to be a father again; able to create life and nurture it when in all aspects, he should have died that day on the Sultana Kamal Bridge. Every one of the pregnancies...everyone of the kids...serving as reminders of not only just how lucky he’d gotten that day, but that someone who’d made the mistakes and the bad decisions he’d had could still be worthy enough to be a dad once more. And he’s always been determined to be the best one he can possibly be; wanting to not only right all previous wrongs, but to prove that he could be a better man -and husband and father- than his old man had tried to teach him to be. Loving his children with every shred of his being and devoting himself to every aspect of their care and upbringing; even things as simple and mundane as changing diapers or giving them bottles or at the very least bringing to her for a feed.

As the first three got older, he took on new challenges and changes to guide them and help shape them for their futures. Whether it be something as profound as encouraging them to be compassionate and accepting and loving, or something as ‘normal’ as teaching them to surf and play soccer or even learning how to braid his little girl’s hair. No task too big or too small. Never complaining about being woken up in the middle of the night or hesitating when it comes to both showing affection and receiving it. And as corny and as sappy as it sounds, Esme realizes just how fortunate she really is; having someone that is willing to do it all without having to even be asked. She’s heard plenty of horror stories from the moms at school; tales of lazy and useless husbands that complain about even a half an hour spent for their children. Always able to brag about him and then able to go home knowing how she ‘lucked out’. Somehow, even during the craziest and possibly scariest time of her, managing to find the best possible person -and partner- to have a family with.

She stands by the open door of the balcony that leads off the bedroom she’d been ‘assigned to’. Both watching and listening to him as he lays flat on his back on a two person lounge chair with Addie on his chest; her tiny fists curled tightly around his index fingers as she alternates between raising her head and resting her chin against him. Those enormous dark eyes never leaving his face and a happy -and completely genuine- smile taking over her face every time he talks to her; the corners of her eyes and the bridge of her nose crinkling. He changes when he’s with her. In the same way he had with all the others when they were babies. This big, tough, strong man suddenly so gentle; his voice softer and calmer. Deeper, even. Enamored with her in the same way she is with him; his own eyes sparkling and crinkling and his own smile both testament to the fact that he finds her a complete wonder. Not quite believing that she really exists; questioning what he could have possibly done to deserve her.

He’s a wonder himself. So brave and fearless and capable of inflicting so much pain and suffering, yet possessing so much tenderness and love. It would be so easy for him to be jaded and broken; to fall back into old habits and to become dependent on old, dangerous vices. But no matter how bad things get, no matter how difficult or impossible they seem, he puts all his time and effort into being a good man. Into loving his wife and children with everything he has.

“What are you guys doing?” she asks, as she steps out onto the balcony, drawing her hoodie tight across her body.

Tyler tilts his head back and smiles up at her. “Nothing. Just hanging out. Talking.”

“I hope you’re not telling her gruesome stories.”

“I would never do that to my little peanut,” he declares, and runs a palm over Addie’s hair, hand settling on the back of her head. “Daddy would never do that to you. He saves that stuff for mommy.”

“Because mommy so wants to hear your tales of killing people with garden tools. Look at the way she looks at you…” Esme leans over the back of the lounger and presses a kiss to his lips. “...like you’re got rainbows and glitter coming out of your ass or something. Already a daddy’s girl.”

“Nothing wrong with that. She knows who loves her the most. Who used to bring mommy tacos and ice cream and pop tarts at three in the morning when she was still in mommy’s tummy.”

“She definitely likes your voice. Not that I blame her; it’s a very nice voice.”

“She’s strong as hell already. Already holding her up on her own. None of the other ones did it that early. And she’s got a grip on her. Small and mighty. Like her momma. And you look just like your mom.” he addresses Addie now, as he removes his fingers from her grip and lifts her higher onto his chest; lips resting briefly against her forehead. “Beautiful just like her. Daddy’s not going to complain that you didn’t get his genes.”

“How do you think I feel? The first four look just like you. It’s about time one of them took after me. She does have your smile, though. Even her eyes and her nose wrinkle like yours do.”

“Yeah, but she’s all you. And that’s good,” he smiles up at her once more, as her hands slide over his shoulder and down his chest and she pecks the corner of his mouth. “It’s very good. She’s incredible. Just like you.”

“Are you hopped up on pain meds?” She teases.

“Not yet. Why? I’m not allowed to be all sappy and shit with my wife?”

“You’re allowed,” she says, then sinks down beside him, accepting a short, sweet kiss before stretching out on her side. Chin resting on his good shoulder, one hand on his stomach and the other just above his head; fingers gently combing through his hair. “She’s putting on weight. She’s going to graduate out of preemie clothes and diapers. Only took two and a half months.”

“She’s tiny. Like you.”

“I don’t understand how something that small can come from someone the size of you. None of the other kids were that small. Not even Tanner and he was sick. And Declan? Don’t even get me started on that kid. That was like giving birth to a toddler.”

“She’s always going to be tiny. I mean, you hit twelve and never grew again.”

“You know what, Tyler? Fuck you and your short jokes.”

“Don’t be bitter because you can’t get on the rides at the amusement park or reach things at the bottom of the washer.”

“You’re not very funny,” she grumbles, and presses a kiss to his chin. “Just because you’re absurdly tall and absurdly good looking. What a burden you have to live with every day. How do you manage? How do you carry such a heavy load all the time?”

“Heavy load? We’re talking about my dick?”

“You’re a pig,” she declares. “Don’t talk like that in front of my child. She doesn’t need to hear these things. Look at the way she smiles at you. You’re her favourite already. Not that I blame her; you’re my favourite too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. No one else comes close.”

He smiles, then turns his face into hers and kisses her. “We did good, yeah? With her?”

“We did. With all five of them. And at the risk of sounding conceited, we make some pretty damn good looking kids.”

“Some pretty amazing kids.”

“Well, they have an amazing dad, so…” she raises her head from his shoulder, regarding him intensely as she runs her fingers through his hair. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Tyler admits. “I really don’t.”

“Are you going to tell me about it, or…”

“I don’t really want to.”

“I think you should. I think you NEED to talk about it. And I think deep down, you want to. You don’t have to shelter me, Tyler. I married a mercenary; I went into things understanding the life and knowing the risks. You don’t have to hide stuff from me. You think you’d realize that by now.”

“I do. But YOU should realize that I do it to protect you.”

“Protect me from what? You? Because that’s bullshit and you know it. I’ve never once been afraid of you. Not in the slightest. And despite what you think, you’re not a burden. We went into this...marriage, having a family...expecting to help shoulder each other’s problems. So stop trying to do it all on your own. You’re strong, but you’re not THAT strong.”

He sighs heavily, then drops a kiss on the top of Addie’s head

“What happened, Tyler? Because I know this goes way beyond someone just jumping you. What the hell went wrong?”

“I don’t know. It was fucked up right from the beginning. As soon as I got there. It was this old factory turned into student housing or some shit. I had these four guys to take out; four shots, that’s all I needed. They were across the street at some bar or restaurant or whatever. I was waiting for them to come out. It should have been so fucking simple.”

Esme rolls over onto her stomach, chin resting on his chest as she regards him; patiently waiting for him to continue. She doesn’t push; that will only cause him to shut down completely. Instead she bides her time. Watching his face as her fingers fidget with the chain around his neck.

“Things started going to shit. The street lights kept going on and off; just the two right in front of us. Then they went out completely. So I went to get the scope out of my bag, so I could see what the fuck I was doing.” His eyes narrow and his brow furrows as he attempts to recall the details. “And I don’t know I saw him or heard him but all of a sudden he was just there?”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. Just some guy. Big bastard. Wearing a black ski mask. It happened so fucking fast. I didn’t even get a chance to react. Nailed me right in the shoulder; like he knew where to get me. Where one of my weak spots is.”

“How would he know that?”

Tyler shrugs. “Nik there’s a mole. She said she’s looking into it, but I don’t know. She hasn’t said anything since.”

“What do you think”

“I think something’s fucked. He knew where to get me; knee, back, shoulder. He knew it and he took advantage of it. I stand a fucking chance. That’s how quick he was. He was so fast, babe. He wasn’t fucking around.”

“And where did these come from?” She runs a hand along the enormous, painful to the touch bruises on his biceps; arm now out of the sling. At least for the evening. “Both arms? And that’s NOT from someone grabbing you.”

“It was his knees. He wanted to keep me still; so I couldn’t get to my holster or the rifle. Fucking kept grabbing me by the throat; trying to choke me out. Kept asking me if I give up. I basically told him to go fuck himself. I wasn’t giving up. No way in hell. All I kept thinking about was you…” his voice cracks with emotion and tears well in his eyes. “...all I kept thinking about was you. About me getting a second chance and that I wasn’t done with it; I wasn’t ready to let that end. That I didn’t want to leave you or my kids. That I needed to survive. That YOU needed me to survive.”

“Tyler…” she presses a kiss to his cheek, then nestles her nose against his temple; eyes closed and her forehead against him, fingers still moving through his hair. “...it’s okay. Just breathe. That’s all you have to do. Just breathe.”

“I wasn’t going out like that. I wasn’t letting it end like that. I wasn’t letting US end. So I fought back. But I couldn’t get away. No matter what I did, it wasn’t good enough. He was so fucking strong, babe. Tall and big and heavy as fuck.”

“How did you get away?”

“I don’t know. There’s A LOT I don’t know. That I don’t remember. It’s all a big blur. It’s all there there and I know it’s all there but I can’t piece it together and none of it makes sense.”

“Well tell me what you do remember,” Esme encourages. “It doesn’t have to make sense. Just tell me whatever comes to you.”

“I know he drugged me. I remember that part.”

“Drugged you? What…?”

“He had a needle. I remember seeing it. I remember feeling it. Right there…” he lays a finger against the right side of his neck. “...just jammed it in. It was cold; whatever was in it. It was cold and it burned.”

She heaves a long, shaky sigh; her own tears threatening. “If he wanted to kill you, why would he do that? Why…?”

“He didn’t want to kill me. He wanted to knock my ass out. He probably had a few buddies waiting to help get me out of there. I know that sounds crazy. It sounds fucked up even to me. But I know that’s what was going to happen; what Mahajan told them to do. And I don't know where they were going to take me. Somewhere in the city, out of it, I don’t know. But it wouldn’t have been good once they got me there.”

“I don’t even want what to think about it,” her voice trembles.

“They would’ve let you know. That I was still alive. And they would have made you sure you knew what they were doing to me. They would have sent you pictures or made me call you or mailed you pieces of me.”

“I don’t want to think about it,” she repeats, then promptly bursts into tears; one hand clutching the front of his shirt and the other at his hair, face buried in his neck. “Please don’t. Don’t talk about it. Just stop.”

****

His shoulder throbs just with the simple act of laying his hand on Addie’s back to keep her secure. And he wraps his left arm around his wife’s trembling body, drawing her tightly into his side. Eyes closed and his chin resting on the top of her head; hand sliding up the back of her simple cotton t-shirt, knuckles repeatedly brushing up and down her spine. Not even attempting to hold his own tears back; feeling the moisture from hers settling on the side of his throat and his shoulder.

“I can’t think about it,” she whimpers. “I can’t. I can’t think about what they would have done to you.”

“It’s okay, baby. It doesn’t matter now. I’m here. It didn’t work. Whatever they had planned, I fucked it up. And I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

“They’re sick and twisted fucks!” she cries. “And they would have made sure I knew what they were doing to do you and I wouldn’t have been able to do a goddamn thing about it. I wouldn’t have been to help or get you out of there. I wouldn’t have been able to do a fucking thing for you.”

“It’s alright, Esme. You don’t have to worry about it. It didn’t work. I fucked up everything for them and now I’m here with you and the kids. Where I should have been all along.”

“I don’t understand,” she raises her head to look at him. “How did they know where you were?”

Tyler shrugs.

“How did they get that close to you? Close enough to do all of this? How…?”

“I must have slipped up somehow. Maybe my brain is worse than we thought. Maybe I’m slowing down. Making mistakes Maybe…”

“You don’t make mistakes,” she argues. “I know you. I know how you work. I’ve SEEN you work, You don’t slip. You don’t fuck up. And you are as hell aren’t slowing down. You’re even better now than you were back in Dhaka. And that’s saying a lot because you were pretty fucking amazing even then.”

“Something happened. I made a mistake somewhere.”

“YOU didn’t do shit. This isn’t on you, Tyler. This is not your fault. Someone fucked up, but it wasn’t you. Who was watching you? Where were they?”

“Across the street. Keeping an eye on shit.”

“Across the street?! How the hell were they keeping an eye on you from across the goddamn street?! Whose idea was that? Yours?”

“I didn’t want anyone breathing down my neck. I can’t work like that. I’ve NEVER been able to work like that. And it’s not like I knew was going to happen. I didn’t want in there expecting some fuck not come in and choke me out and stab me with a fucking needle.”

“Okay...okay...calm down…” Her tone is gentle, his face in her hands. “...it’s alright. I’m not attacking you. Just take a break; everything’s fine. Addie’s asleep. And so she’s tiny and she’s so warm and I know you don’t want to scare her. Calm down, okay?” She presses a kiss to his lips. “Just stay calm.”

“I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

“Who was supposed to be watching you?”

“Nathan. He had to take the four guys out when that fucking asshole came after me,”

“Calm…” she encourages, thumbs brushing over his lips. “...just stay calm. It’s okay. It's just you and me talking. No one else. No one’s judging you, Tyler.”

His eyes close, and he inhales deeply and exhales slowly. “Nathan,” he says, eyes opening and focusing on her. “Nathan was there; across the street. He took care of things. I don’t know what happened after that. Cops showed up, he took off. No one has seen or heard from him since.”

She frowns. “Nathan’s missing?”

“Missing. AWOL. I don’t fucking know. He’s gone. Cell and his SAT just go right to voicemail.”

“Could someone have gotten a hold of him? Could there have been someone else?”

“Why would they want him? What does holding him do? He’s a nobody to them. He means nothing to Mahajan. It’s me he wants. Taking Nathan does shit.”

“Well where could he be? Why would he just take off? That makes no sense.”

“Who the fuck knows. Maybe he’s dead. I have no idea. I just know he’s gone and no one knows where he is.”

“This is fucked up. Way more than we thought it was. We knew it wasn’t going to be easy. That Mahajan plays dirty and that he’d just step it up as time went on. Now people are going missing? YOU almost went missing. What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know, babe. I really don’t know.”

“You need to walk away. This ends here. Your part is this. It ends right here, right now. Walk away, Tyler.”

“I can’t. The job isn’t even close to being finished.”

“Fuck the job. It’s finished for you. Look at you! Look what they did to you! They knew where you were, they knew what spots to target. They fucking drugged you! That alone could have killed you. Do you even know what he gave you?”

“Ketamine. I guess it’s a sedative of some kind.”

“Yeah, for horses! What the fuck? What’s next? If they get that close again, what happens?”

“They won’t get another chance.”

“You don’t know that. They’re not going to stop, Tyler. Do you really think they’re just going to walk away? They’re not going to give up. Not until they get you. He knows you’re here. Mahajan. He knows you’re in Mumbai. And soon your name and your picture are going to be everywhere and every goddamn gun in this city is going to be pointed at you. Is that what you want? You WANT there to be?”

“No,” he scowls. “That’s NOT what I want.”

“Then why are you doing this? Why won’t you just walk away? Why can’t you just let Anil and his people and Nik and hers handle this? Why are you doing this?”

“Because it’s MY family. Not theirs. Mine.”

“And your family wants you alive!” Esme retorts. “We don’t want you out there dying for us. We need you here. With us. So just tell Anil you’re walking away . That you HAVE to walk away. That you need to be with your family. Tell him.”

Tyler shakes his head. “I can’t, baby. I can’t do that.”

“You don’t need to do this. There’s other people who are more than capable of handling things. Walk away, Tyler. Before you can’t. Before it’s too late. Because if they go that close to you once, they’ll do it again. And this time it won’t be just one guy. It’ll be two. Or three. Or four. Or half a fucking dozen. Why aren’t you listening to me?”

“I am listening. You’re not listening to me.”

“This is a suicide mission. This is the kind shit you used to pull before we met. Don’t go back to that. Don’t go back to being him. He died a long time ago. You said it yourself; that he was long gone. You’re not the same person you were back then. You have me and you have five little beings you helped make. That love you and need you in their lives.”

“I’m doing this for them. For he,” he nods down at Addie as she sleeps peacefully. “So she can grow up. So she can have a life.”

“A life without you. That’s what you’re saying, right? That you’re going to sacrifice yourself for her. For us.”

“We knew that going into this. That it would happen.”

“No. We thought it MIGHT happen. There’s a difference. And I’m asking you...NO...I’m telling you...walk away so you don’t have to make that choice. So it doesn’t come to that.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I am so sorry.”

“So what’s it? You’ve just decided that this is what’s going to happen? You just decided for yourself that you’re going to give up. You’re telling me that you’re okay with that. Dying for us.”

“I’ve already taken bullets for you. Trying to get you the fuck out of Dhaka. And I would take all of those bullets again. And then some. I would die for you in a heartbeat. For you, for my kids. No hesitation.”

“But you shouldn’t have to!” Esme argues. “And you don’t have to. Just walk away. Let other people handle this. Please. You have two choices and you’re making the wrong one. Why can’t you see that?”

“If I give myself up, he’ll leave you alone.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you? That that’s going to solve everything? Because it won’t. You offering yourself up like some kid of sacrificial fucking lamb is not the answer.”

“Hey...calm…” He reaches up and pushes a hand through her hair, tightly gripping the back of her head. “...you told me to stay calm for Addie. Now I need you to stay calm for her. She doesn’t need this. She's a baby. Just a baby.”

“Yeah, she is. She’s OUR baby. As in me and you. And she needs you. She needs her dad. They all do. And you’re sitting here telling me that you’re willing to offer yourself up. It’s bullshit and it’s insane and I want you to knock it the fuck off.”

“I said calm down!” He orders, then aggressively pulls her into him. Pressing a kiss to her forehead. “...just calm down. Please. Take it easy.”

“You are NOT doing this. I won’t let you. This is not what we talked about, This is not what we agreed on.”

“There’s no other choice.”

She shoves him away. “There’s always another choice! It doesn’t have to come down to this. You for us. It doesn’t need to be this way and you know it.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do. I can’t just walk away. I can’t.”

“Promise me when you walk out that door two days from now that won’t just go and offer yourself up. You don’t need to do that. There’s other ways. There’s still fight left in you. I know right now you feel like there isn’t. I know you're doubting yourself. But I have faith in you and I know you can handle this. WITHOUT giving yourself up. Promise me you’ll fight back. That you’re not just quitting. That THAT will be the last resort.”

“If I have no other choice, I’ll do it.”

“But right now you HAVE other choices. You know that, right? You see that?”

Tyler nods.

“Because you don’t give up. You NEVER give up. You’re alive today because you didn’t. So don’t fucking start now. I mean we’re supposed to be having another baby. And I don’t know if you realize how these things work, but I kind of need you for that.”

“I could always just jerk off into a cup and you save it.”

“Okay, you know what? No. I’d rather the old fashion way, thank you. I kind of like having sex with you. It’s kinda fun.”

He smirks. “Kinda?”

“Okay, it’s a lot of fun, actually. I didn’t think I had to say that. I thought the results spoke for themselves. We don’t have kids for nothing. And I’d say go for the sixth one right now, but you jumped the gun and you decided we were done and go the old…” she holds her hand up, mimicking a pair of scissors with her index and middle finger.

“Not my best decision, I admit.”

“You have this uncanny ability of changing your mind about this whole having another baby thing. How many times have we decided that we’re stopping only for you to turn around and want another one the second the baby came home?”

“It’s never been THAT soon.”

“Excuse me? How old were the twins when you decided that three wasn’t enough after all?”

“Yeah…” he gives a small, almost sad smile. “...but that one didn’t work out, did it.”

“No.” She presses a kiss to his temple. “It didn’t. And I know it was hard on you. That you didn’t really get to grieve like I did. I’m sorry for that. That I wasn’t there for you in the way you were for me. I’m pretty fucking selfish, aren’t I.”

“No, you’re not. You needed me a lot more than I needed you. Just hard sometimes still. Thinking about it. It was a shitty fucking time. I didn’t think anything could hurt THAT bad.”

“Do you ever wonder? What it would have been?”

“Sometimes,” he admits, running a palm over Addie’s hair and then laying it gently on the top of her head; thumb repeatedly brushing against her ear. “Sometimes I’ll think about it; if it would have been a boy or a girl and what they would have looked like. Then I think maybe things really do happen to reason, no matter how bad they are. If we had had that baby. Declan wouldn’t be here. And maybe we would have stopped after and Addie wouldn’t be here. And I wouldn’t trade either of them for anything.”

“You’re beautiful,” she says, feeling him grin when she kisses the corner of his mouth. “You have the most beautiful mind and this most beautiful heart. And I know you hate me using that word when it comes to describing you. But it’s true; I can’t help it.”

“I’ll let it slide. I’ll let you have it.”

“I have to say, despite my initial reservations about having another one, you do do the whole ‘big, strong man with a tiny baby’ thing very well.”

“You find it sexy don’t you.”

“Very. I find you very sexy. But this…” she trails her fingertips over the myriad of bruises that take up nearly every inch of his neck. “...this is scary. I’ve seen you with a lot of injuries. I’ve even seen you in the worst possible shape. But this? This bothers me the most for some reason. And what’s going on here…” she turns his face away from her and tender fingers investigate the scar left behind from Farhad. “...what were they trying to do? That’s the worst spot. I don’t think it would take much to fuck things up in there.”

“They knew exactly what to target.”

“Any idea who it was?”

“One of the guys off the list. Number 18. Weird part about it? He worked for Asif during the whole Dhaka thing. Guess he was his right hand man. Moved on to Mahajan when Nik put a couple bullets into Asif.”

“Now that’s fucked, Go from drug lord to the other? So much for loyalty. How’d you kill him?”

“Shot him. Under the chin. I don’t know how I managed. Last thing I remember was that fucking needle. That’s it. Everything else is a blur. Came to and there was a dead body on top of me. I don’t even know how long I was out for.”

“You called me. Some time before you passed you. You don’t remember that, either?”

Tyler shakes his head.

“It freaked me out. I could hear you breathing and it sounded like you were trying to say something. That wasn't a random pocket dial, was it.”

“No. It wasn’t. I don’t even know why I called. I don’t know if I was calling you for help or if I thought I was dying and I wanted to tell you that I loved you…” his voice wavers once again and tears return to his eyes. “...if I wanted your voice to be the last thing I heard. And I wish I did remember it. That I called.”

“It’s okay.” She places a series of kisses across his forehead, then down the bridge of his nose. “...it’s okay now. You’re here and that’s what matters. You made it out of there. You found a way. You always do.”

“What if I don’t next time? What if it is two guys? Or three or four? Half a dozen? A dozen?”

“I shouldn’t have put that in your head. I’m sorry.” She brushes the tip of her nose against his temple. “That is the last thing you needed to hear. I should have kept my mouth shut.”

“I was thinking it long before you said it.”

“I know you want to stay on this. And I get it. I do…” she runs her knuckles along his jaw, beard scraping her skin. “...I know you want to protect us. And I love you so much for that and I love that part of you so fiercely. You ALWAYS protect us. Everything you do, every decision you make, it’s always for us. But you can protect us without being out there. You know you can. I know you can.”

“How? If I don’t stop them, they’ll get to you. And the kids.”

“But if you’re here, you can stop them. And look at all the people that are here to help. Nik, all of Anil’s people. That’s a lot of fire power. And before you hand me that bullshit about how it’s up to you and only you to protect us, don’t even go there. Because you’re good, but not even you can stop them by yourself. You need help. So swallow your fucking pride and admit that. That you can’t do it alone.”

“I’m not alone. I’be some my guys and Nik’s people and…”

“You were alone the other night,” Esme points out. “What was Nathan going to do from across the street? That is not helping. That’s YOUR version of helping. If you’re here, under the same room as all these people, Mahajan and his cronies won’t stand a chance. We’re safer if you’re here. And I think you realize that.”

“It’s putting a bigger target on you and the kids,” he argues. “If they figure out I’m here, they’ll show up.”

“Isn’t that what we want? Them out in the open? Let them come here. With all these people? With you? They won’t get very far, will they At least tell me you’re listening and not blocking me out. Usually I can read your face, but right now I’m not so sure.”

“I’m not blocking you, babe. I’m listening.”

“It makes more sense for you to be here than it does for you to be out on the street where every goddamn gun will be pointed at you. If you’re here, there’s more control over the situation, right? You’d have the upper hand because you’d be familiar with the place and they wouldn’t. And you can’t tell me you wouldn’t feel better being with us. That you don’t WANT to be here.”

“I do,” Tyler assures her. “It’s the only place I do want to be.”

“Then just do it. Just tell Anil that’s how it’s going to be. Explain to him why it makes the most sense. Deep down, you know this is the right thing to do. You know it’s better for us...especially the kids...if you’re here. And I know you can’ deny that it would be better for you, too. Mentally speaking.”

“Yeah,” he admits with a nod. “You’re right.”

“Stop being so stubborn,” Esme implores. “This is not the time for that. You know this is the best way to handle things. I know you do. But I also know you hate taking advice from other people and that everything you do has to be your idea.”

He smirks. “You really DO know me well.”

“I so do. I also know I’m the only one who can talk like this to you and not have you get defensive. It’s too dangerous, Tyler. Especially now that Mahajan knows you’re in Mumbai and he’s stepping things up. You can’t be out on the street and you know it. I know that makes you feel useless. And weak. That you’re second guessing and doubting yourself. And you need to knock that shit off. Because you are the stronger, bravest person I know. And you’re the only one I trust with my life. With our kids’ lives. And I need you here. And you need to be here.”

He sighs, then pushes her fingers through her hair, moving it away from her face and off her shoulder. “Why are you like this?”

“Like what? Insanely beautiful and phenomenally intelligent?”

“I was going to say a huge pain in my ass, but okay, I’ll give you those.”

“What are you so worried about? Mahajan’s people showing up?”

“I don’t exactly what them on the doorstep. I don’t want them where you are. Where the kids are.”

“How far could they get with all these people here? I practically can’t take a pee without someone with an AK following me to the bathroom. What do you think can happen when there’s that much firepower here?”

“That’s exactly it. Firepower. With my kids here.”

“I’m not worried about that. Half of Anil’s basement is a panic room. The kids and I will be fine.”

Tyler frowns.

“What?”

“Why the hell didn’t you mention that right off the hop? Why didn’t you tell me that an hour ago when we started talking about this?”

“I didn’t think it was important.”

He stares at her pointedly.

“I forgot,” Esme admits. “I’m sorry. I should have told you about the panic basement.”

“I swear to God, for the last seven years, this is how our conversations have gone. We talk about something for an hour when it could have been solved in five minutes. You always leave out that one piece of information that could have saved us a lot fucking time.”

“I’m sorry…” she pouts dramatically, then places a line of kisses along his jaw, over his ear, and up onto his head. “...I know that annoys you. Do you still love me?”

“I do. But fuck, you’re a pain in my ass. No wonder I have gray hair and an ulcer.”

“You don’t have an ulcer.”

“Not yet. But when I get one, it’ll have your name on it.”

“I have a confession.”

He sighs. “Of course you do. What is it?”

“I annoy you on purpose. Because you’re so cute when you’re annoyed. You get the cutest look on your face. It’s adorable. I can’t help myself. I’m sorry. I like your face and all your expressions. You have a really nice face.”

He grins. “I’m starting to really question your taste in men.”

“Please! You know you’re ridiculously good looking. It’s okay to be a bit conceited. I can forgive you for that if you can forgive me for being annoying.”

“I don’t know. You’re pretty fucking annoying.”

She scowls, then bites down on his earlobe.

“Ow! Fuck sakes! What is wrong with you? I’m not hurt enough for you? Why you do me like that?”

“Because I know you like it. MY particular brand of pain. What are you going to do? Spank me?”

“You’d like that too much.”

“I would actually,” she says, and then shivers against him when his fingertips graze down her spine. Giggling and squirming against him when he grabs her ass and roughly squeezes “That hurts! What’s your issue?”

“You really want to know?”

Esme nods.

He removes his hand from her ass, then takes one of hers and places it on his crotch.

“Oh…” her eyes widen. “...that’s the only part of you that’s not hurt and IS working properly.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I am definitely not. Because I missed you. And I’m not talking the sappy and corny shit about missing you and your quirks and all the stupid shit you do. Right now, I really miss having sex with you.”

“If you had just admitted that an hour ago, we could have skipped over a whole lot of drama.”

“We said things that needed to be said and talked about things we needed to talk about. And now, I think you need to use your mouth for something else. IF you’re up to it.”

“Oh, I’m up to it. THAT anyways. Anything else, you might have to do the work. Or the majority of it anyway.”

“You mean I get to be in charge?”

He frowns. “I never said that.”

“You’re such a control freak,” she says, then pecks his lips before sling off the lounge chair and carefully removing a sleeping Addie from his chest. “I’m going to go and put her in her bed. And when I get back, you better be in mind. Naked. Ready to go. I’m not fucking around. Well, I AM. Fucking that is, You know what I mean.”

He’s grinning as he watches her ass move as she walks away. “How much DID you miss me?”

“Not THAT much, Tyler. Forget about it. It’s not our anniversary yet.”

“Early anniversary present?” He suggests hopefully.

“You wish!” She scoffs, then disappears into the house.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #extraction #extraction 2020 #best part of me #chris hemsworth character

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mishamccarthy · 4 years

Text

Who Wants To Live Forever

What do you get when Dean decides to stay at the ripe age of 14 to avoid dealing with the Mark? Sam’s brotherly care, patience, and lots and lots of bickering. Set just after 10x12. One-shot.

Sam is still shocked sometimes when he glances to the right, and remembers there's a reason Dean's not driving. It was pitch black on an empty dirt road when he did it again. The only sound was the radio turned low enough to match the purr of the Impala, and Sam realized he'd gotten used to a more quiet vehicle. Less random radio blasts. Less jokes. Less glances. It used to be that Dean would pointedly ignore a bitchface from Sam, or meet it with his own grin. But now when Sam found himself looking over for a reassuring gaze, his heart shrank a tad. Dean wasn't just an inch or two downward—when he made the mistake of looking that high, it was just the window. Dean was more like a foot down. Leaning against the door, eyes drawn to the passing brush.

He felt inclined to say something. Anything. They'd left the last abandoned house an hour ago, and the older of the Winchesters—the younger?—had hardly said a word since. It wasn't like him. Dean kept insisting he was fine, and Sam knew better. There hadn't really been a difference attitude-wise at the start, however, so he said little on the subject. It was weird for him. It was definitely weird for Dean. Usually, ignoring these kinds of things let them both get past it. They’d had plenty of time to adjust, and neither of them had done anything to each other. There shouldn't have been such a distance between them.

An inquiry about why Dean seemed so solemn was on the tip of his tongue when he noticed Dean was cradling his right arm, and almost nonchalantly hiding it from view. "Dean," he said, turning the music off subconsciously.

"Yeah?" came the high pitched voice, still directed towards the window. It wasn't incredibly high pitched, but it was too high for Sam's liking. It wasn't Dean.

"What the hell happened to your arm?"

"You saw me thrown into that wall," he answered defensively. What little Sam could see of his brother's face made it seem like Dean had caught himself acting defensively. Abnormal. Normal, now. "It's nothing. I'll pop a Tylenol and be good for tomorrow."

He sighed. That could be a lie, but he really didn't know. It might be better for Dean if he ignored it, or there may truly be a problem Dean wanted to keep hidden—which would inevitably backfire at some point.

-------

When Dean heard a second sigh within the minute, he knew Sam wasn't impressed. Since when had that changed? His younger brother was always griping about something. The question had merit this time, though. His wrist hurt like hell to move and he was pretty sure it was swelling, neither of which could be any good. The funny thing was that Sam managed to complain less than before. Or at least, he seemed to be letting a lot more things go. Dean knew why. He didn't like the rationale, but it would be pretty unreasonable to get angry that someone was agreeing with you all the time, even if they were doing so out of pity.

"Dude, what's up with the arm?" Sam repeated three songs and an ad break later. The fidgeting to his right was almost distracting.

"If you're using this as a break-in to mullet rock discussion, I ain't interested."

"No, Dean—really. Do you want me to pull over?"

"Hell no. Why?"

Sam felt himself sighing again before he could prevent it. He didn't feel like getting into an argument, so his reply took a moment. "You know, bones don't stop growing until you're out of puberty—"

"Sam. C'mon, man, can't I not hear about stunted growth for one day?"

The brothers' eyes met for the first time in a while. Neither said anything for a minute. "... Is it broken?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean directed his gaze back to the outside world, which was moving by slightly slower. "I don't think so. I'm fine."

"You're fourteen, and y—"

"No, I'm not." The words came out decisively, as if a lot of time had been reserved for thinking about it. Yet Sam heard it no differently from a typical it's-not-a-faze tone.

"Yes, you are, Dean. You chose to stay young so that you'd lose the Mark of Cain. Your memory might be perfect, but you're more like a two-thousands' kid than an eighties. And you know what? Sometimes, you might not notice, but people think I'm your dad. They give me a hassle about why you're not in school, and all women in a hundred miles ask if I'm single. You—you see waitresses giving you free scoops of ice cream, and all I see is the vamp we're supposed to be tracking eyeing you like candy. I don't know how the hell you think this is a solution, but you're not you. Everything's not just—"

"Rainbows." Dean shifted in his seat so that he was faced towards the front of the Impala. "I know that, but now I'm not half demonic. I'm not about to cause some new apocalypse if I destroy the Mark. It wouldn't be perfect, but everything would be fine if you could just accept that."

"Accept that my brother is too young to go on hunts, drink, or hell, even drive? Accept that if anything—and I mean anything—gets its hands on you, you could be toast in an instant? I can't. I can't do that, Dean."

"I'm not a porcelain doll, Sammy."

"You're damn close. Hell, I know you know this. I… I see you grab beers every other minute. I held off telling you about this case because I didn't want you throwing up the booze before we were out the door. I can't even bring myself to remind you of how bad that is for your health because I need twice as many myself. It's… this will never work."

Dean refused to meet his eye. "I know you don't like it. You didn't like going to hell either, right?"

Hell. The Cage. "What about it?"

"You went there to stop Lucifer. Granted, my reason was far less noble, but I went to Hell so you’d be safe. And this…"

"They're all sacrifices. Always sacrifices." His knuckles on the steering wheel had turned white.

-------

Dusting off and bandaging up was still more awkward than before. Dean had cut his hands many a time, requiring his younger—older, at this point—brother's stitching, but now his hands were fresh and soft. They were also smaller and harder to work with. "Can't you hold still?" he mumbled.

When he looked up from where he knelt, Sam noticed tears on the edge of escape. Dean gave him a glare of confusion and then figured it out and turned his head away.

"You okay?" Scissors, snap, wrap. Everything was piled into a kit on the floor and thrown into a heap with Sam's other stuff.

" 'Course." His tear-filled voice claimed otherwise.

"Dean…"

He snatched his hand away and jumped onto the bed, his back to Sam. The less hormonal Winchester was feeling like an idiot more and more in recent weeks. On one hand, Dean didn't want, nor would he accept, being treated as anything less than the most capable man you've ever seen. On the other hand... all of his knowledge was basically useless if he couldn't put it to use. And he certainly could NOT make use of it in the body of a slim 14-year-old. But Dean didn't see things that way, and Sam was scared he never would. Almost every time they came back from a quick hunt he was hurt, and each time he noticed Dean mentally kicking himself. He didn't want to see that. He didn't want to piss off his brother either—not with the power he could hold over Dean now, physically. It didn’t feel right to get into a fight anymore. But despite his best efforts to make the most reasonable calls, Dean grew more distant every day.

OOOOO

Sam looked up from his laptop the next morning, only to see Dean taking more pills with his coffee. His eyes were slow to move away, and his older—younger?—brother finally caught him staring.

He wondered if Dean would start screaming or something. He had no idea at this point.

Boom. There he was in the opposing chair, at the other end of the cheap wooden table. Dean looked way more worn and sleep-deprived than even a stressed high schooler, but Sam kept his eyes locked on a police report. Anything he said at this point served to make things worse.

"Everything hurts so much more."

Alright, police report be damned. Dean doesn't whine. He certainly doesn't sit down to the table and softly explain what's bothering him.

"I know, I know." His younger—older? Sam's brother raised a hand. "But you're giving me weird looks. I do notice when I'm drawing the chicks' attention for you, dude. Just thought I'd tell you about... this, so you know I'm not trying to overdose or something stupid."

Sam couldn't stop a small chuckle. "Are you sure it's just badly bruised?"

"Yeah. Guess I just felt less pain as I got older."

He flipped his long hair back a bit in relief. "Honestly, I was worried you were going to go emo-teen on me."

"Give it two more years."

#my writing #supernatural fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #supernatural one shot #flash fanfic #one shot #sam winchester #dean winchester #the mark of cain #angst #sam and dean #supernatural #spn fanfiction #spn

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ladyxgilex · 5 years

Text

Chicken Problem.

Heeeeeey everyone! it is me! your favorite, slowest writer ever it is still alive! anyway, today writting it is a bit special, since @cartooniste2z it is always making amazing stuffs and art, i decided to return the favor and take some of him, hope you all enjoy it!

Btw, like i said @cartooniste2z make some amazing art, so i truly recomment you to see it and give it your opinion (he is a bit shy, so try an soft approach!) anyway, here it is!

Lix Le-Shade, also known as the Rainbow Dragon or the Rainbow Mercenary, gifted with a perseverance and persistence that borderline pure insanity, wieldier of magic, powers, weapons and knowledge beyond the dreams of many, a ferocious girl that would even punch gods in the face just because she feels like it, always ready to fight even the more powerful of the enemies without hesitation.

So, in the name of all that, why was she hugging a tree while hiding on it leafs?

Lix was trembling slightly, hugging the tree like her life depended on it, and it probably was. Her heart was running wild, each beat so loud that filled her ears, and thought an atheist, Lix was almost praying that her heart was not loud enough to tell her position, every hair and scale on her body was either raised or about to raise, chill after chill going across her body each time she listened the sound of giant steps around the tree.

Lix gulped loudly, every inch of mental power inside her was being used to either figure out how to get out of there or how did she get in that spot in the first place.

A few hours earlier, Lix was just minding her own business across one of the many, many, maaaany towns existing across the dimensions, trying to find a good way to pass the time or until someone tried to kill her for some reason she did not cared to remember.

That was the idea until she spotted someone dressed like a farmer in front of a mercenary group, or better said, spot the mercenary group rejecting the man offer even after this started to beg, taking that in count, the course of action was rather obvious.

Lix turned around and started to walk the same way she came from.

On her experience, that was a classic scenario of a dangerous underpaid job that none sane person would take, and Lix knew she was stupid enough to accept it even taking that in count, so the best course of action was walk away of it before she make anything stupid.

Unfortunately to Lix, that showed to be her mistake.

As Lix turned around, a young girl, curiously similar to the farmer was standing in front of her, holding an old piece of paper and rough colors on both hands.

Lix red eyes meet the dark brown eyes of the girl for a solid 10 seconds on complete silence.

Lix was the first to break the moment, taking a deep breath while looking at the sky, saying something on a forbidden long forgotten language, before turn around once more and walk towards the now lonely farmer.

- Please, help me to…..-

- Where?- Lix did not let the farmer end his sentence, instead she asked directions without delay.

- Excuse me?- asked the farmer, confused.

- Where am I supposed to go?- questioned Lix once again, an obvious annoying tone on her voice

- Y… you are not going to ask what the job is about? I mean….-

- I do not care- answered Lix, cutting the farmer sentence.

- The payment is….

- I care even less- once again, Lix cut the words of the farmer sharply.

- The background is….

- I.DO.NOT.CARE.- an heavily annoyed tone came out of Lix lips.

For a moment, the farmer honestly considered not giving her the job, however he did not had the luxury to actually turn down someone willing to help him.

-…… ok, but first, I must tell you the emotional value that….- even so, stubbornly, the farmer tried to tell his story once again, however...

- UUUUUUUGGGGHHH!!!!- Lix looked to the sky, groaning on frustration before turn around, looking at the young girl that was now drawing on a nearby table with her colors- where?

The young girl pointed to the west with one finger, while using the other hand to keep drawing.

Lix then made her way, leaving the farmer daughter drawing, while the farmer himself keep talking, so invested on his story that he did not noticed nobody looking at him.

Not long after that, she managed to see a farm in the distance, along with a shadow resting behind the barn. Just by looking at it, Lix could already feel a chill on the back of her neck, however she did not pay it attention, she had face giant monster before.

However, as Lix approached, a smell make her stop her movement, a smell she recognized perfectly. Misfortune strike her on that moment, the monster got up, and turn to look at her.

Lix entire body froze up at the look of the monster, her legs shivered as she could feel the blood going away of her face, every hair on her body raised up with a chill so powerful that Lix truly thought she was going to be freeze up in the spot, cold sweat started to form on the back of her neck while her mind tried to process her next move, that was, ultimately, very obvious.

She ran away.

However the monster was not one to show mercy, and pursued Lix on her escape attempt.

And that was how Lix end up on her actual spot.

Driven by curiosity, followed by a prolonged silence, Lix moved as slowly and quietly as she could to the protective border that the leafs offered, trying to peak on the outside perimeter.

What she found, however, make her entire body become as stiff like the iron.

One of the Yellow-Redish eyes of the Monster was just in front of her, the blackness of the center of its eye was so deep that Lix could swear that the darkness of the universe would look bright on contrast. The form of the monster make Lix stomach roar in disagreement, like wanting to vomit whatever food was inside itself.

The Monster, a creature so fearsome it rivaled a dragon's viciousness, was standing on 2 yellow limbs, 3 fingers in front and one on the back, each one with claws so sharp that could reap the strongest iron, most of the monster was covered on white, perfectly keep feathers that protected it from the most extreme cold, with no evidence of the blood of the thousand and more the Monster had surely ate already, two wings stood on what would be the Monster back, covered in fur like the rest of it is body, and while it was not capable of flying, Lix was sure that each flip of those wings would surely elevate storms and stop hurricanes, finally, it is long neck end up of a head shaped like that of an herbivorous, one eye at each side of the head, surely to spot it is prey better and faster, instead of a mouth, it had a peak that ended so sharp that could surely destroy any defense, and most horrifying, there was no teeth, so it is victims had to either be swallowed like a whole or in parts, prolonging their suffering. Lastly, on top of it is head, was a deep, bright red appendices, like a kind of a crown, to ensure it is dominance and power to it is rivals. The Descendant of an ancient Rival to the Dragons, the T-Rex.

To Lix, this was probably the most terrifying enemy she could ever face…… Chickens….

Lix stood there completely motionless, hoping, since the deepest of her heart, that this descendant had the old weakness of it is ancestors and was not capable of notice her if she did not move.

However, Lix hopes crumbled when the giant chicken turned it is head towards her, and even more when smaller, lesser chickens started to “fly” and rest on the nearby branches around her, surrounding her slowly, yet surely.

Although her heart was running crazy, Lix could feel her blood going colder with each new chicken, for a solid second, Lix truly thought that her blood was going to freeze on her veins. Without allowing herself to blink, Lix stood on the edge of the branch, holding her breath even when her lungs demanded air, using every last of her willpower to control her body of trembling, of showing weakness to such predator.

Even with that, when Lix felt the sharp claws of one of the lesser chickens on her forehead, as well like an extra weight over her head, she could not make anything aside of scream internally at the idea of a chicken seating over her head, ironically, the crippling fear going across her body was the only thing keeping her conscious.

To Lix, each second was an eternity on itself, her mind was fully concentrated on allow her to keep in silence and motionless, so maybe, just maybe, she could walk out of the situation alive….

……Or that was the plan until one fateful, curious chicken decided to use it is bill to bite on what it was under itself.

-auch!- an involuntary small scream of pain escaped of Lix lips, sealing her destiny.

At once, all the lesser chickens, along with the giant chicken, turn their eyes towards the source of the noise, cold drops of sweat started to form on Lix forehead and the back of her next, brain cell not paralyzed by the fear gave a simple, yet understandable order.

“Run.”

Unfortunately, Lix was not fast enough.

Like meteorites covered on white feathers, the lesser chickens jumped in perfect synchrony over Lix, and without a second though, unleashed their fury towards the invaders, in the form of bites and claws against her skin.

-auch! Ahy! Ohuch! Aah!- attacked by a white storm of feather, claws and peaks, Lix lose her balance, hitting the branch that was just under her, and then the next one, one by one until her back hit the floor with a heavy sound-….. auch…..-

That did not meant the Chickens were done, however, since these gazed down onto Lix since the branches she just hit on her fall.

-….. oh come on- whispered Lix to herself, just a moment before the Chicken started to fall once again over her- auch! No! ahy! Stop! Auch acuh! That hurts! AUCH!- picking herself up, Lix barely managed to avoid the bite of the Giant Chicken, that made a hole in the ground of the size of Lix head.

-…. Nope, nope nope nope nope nope nope nope- repeating those words over and over, Lix turned around and started to run without looking back, she did not need it anyway, the sounds of several angry chickens, along with a giant angry chicken, that were now pursuing her was more than enough signal to Lix, along with material to fill her nightmares for a time.

Lix mind was fully and completely concentrated on move her legs as fast and strong like she could, every other thought was cast aside like unnecessary on her quest to leave the farm territory, and with luck, the Chickens territory. She could find that farmer and his daughter another farm, it was not worth fighting those chickens anyway.

Once again, her future plans did turn out like expected, as several dozens of chickens started to descend in front of her, materializing almost out of nowhere.

Lix almost broke her ankle taking a sudden change of direction, as the new horde of hellish animals joined the previous one on her pursuit. This repeated around 6 times before Lix started to wonder if her life had just become some kind of bad joke to some god or the like, but again, her life was already like that.

If anything, Lix was honesty grateful of the fact that the fear within her body was pushing her beyond the normal limit or her ankle would have break 5 minutes ago, infusing her body with magic….

Magic….

Suddenly remembering the fact that she was a MAGICAL Dragon, that could use MAGIC.AT.WILL, was such a revelation that Lix honestly planned to go back in time and slap herself on the face.

Turning around on a quick movement, Lix raised her arm towards the horde of chickens, which by now had thousands of the animals, aiming to the obvious leader, which looked back at Lix with eyes empty of any emotion. Of the hand covered on blue gloves, a purple thunder eructed into existence and made it is way towards the Giant Chicken itself, ready to extinguish such creature of the realm of the living.

The Purple Thunder was almost as fast like the light, not allowing the Giant Chicken to cover, hide or avoid the attack of the Dragon Girl, a smile appeared on Lix lips as she already dreamed of cook such opponent.

That same smile froze on her face as the Purple Thunder take a completely different direction, avoiding the Giant Chicken, the Lesser ones, all the trees on it is way, and came to hit a completely innocent barn, making it exploit and catch green magic fire.

Lix left eye twitched as the Giant Chicken stared at her like it was expecting something more impressive.

-…… but of course the Giant Chicken it is immune to Magic, why would not it? My luck it is just like That!- Lix complained to nobody in particular, seriously planning on just drop on the floor and wait for her destiny to finally arrive. Yet the part of her brain that still wanted to live gave another idea.

Instead of turning around, Lix started to run following the same path that the Purple Thunder did, avoiding the Giant Chicken, of course, and before long the pursuit started again, but with a slightly different approach.

Lix was not trying to run outside the farm territory, instead she was running to the barn that was burning down, casually near the center of the territory. Avoiding the trees and the lesser chickens, Lix started to run around the fire, and subsequently, the horde of chickens followed her example and run on circles around the flames.

The seconds turn onto minutes, and minutes turn on hours as the pursuit continued on circles, Lix felt each step being slightly more painful than the last, but slowly, her plans started to show results.

It started with the lower ranks, the weakest of course, one by one, then two, and without warning three at once, the middle ranks hold a bit better, but in the end they could not stand a chance, and finally, the leader and bigger problem hold it is ground with such ferocity that Lix almost felt respect, almost, he was the last one still holding but the signs were obvious already, it was going to fall like all the others.

Lix turned her head slowly, running at a seemingly slower rate, just to see the state of what once was the Leader of a Horde she could not imagine to win against. A evil smile cracked on her face unconsciously.

Fast breathings, the Giant Chicken was breathing quickly and loudly, it pace was not like before, it was moving slowly, each of it is steps was probably an hell of agony on it is own right, it eyes, usually with no emotions on them, were now filled on equal parts with determination and a tired feeling, the last becoming the dominant when, while taking another step, the Giant Chicken tripped, causing a loud noise accompanied by a small cloud of dirt, around it and all over of what remained of the barn skeleton was the entire horde of chickens.

With a wide smile of pure arrogance, Lix laughed loudly, mocking the animals, since they failed to realize their own weaknesses.

-HAHA! You dumb thing! Those feathers may protect you of the cold and my magic! But you will obviously overheat if you stay too much time around a fire!- each of Lix words was charged with pride and arrogance, mocking the enemy that once made her blood freeze without a second thought

The Giant Chicken seemed to want to tell something, yet the forces left on it is body did not allowed it to.

-caw…….-

Yet, Lix laugh and arrogant speech was cut completely by a simple sound, a sound that made a freezing chill pass across her back, making her not want to turn around, but again, she needed to, if death was coming for her, then she wanted to greet her properly.

What she found out did not disappoint her, or rather to say, it make her curse internally.

Thousands upon thousands of lesser chicken had gathered around the burned barn skeleton, forming almost a perfect circle around the horde last stand.

Taking a deep breath, Lix invoked a blue current of fire, setting the skeleton of the barn once again on arcane fire, and stepped inside it without a second thought, curling in the middle of the barn and watching the lesser chickens throwing themselves and falling to the ground on an effort to reach her, obviously without result.

-This is fine….-said Lix, with empty eyes while “enjoying” the view in front of her.

-The next day-

- What in the name of…..?- the farmer said, looking around with eyes of confusion and curiosity.

Around the few remaining pieces of a barn, were thousands upon thousands of chickens in the floor, still breathing, yet motionless and completely dizzies, and next to the barn skeleton, was a single giant chicken that could very well stop over a cow.

-ah….- to the Farmer, that was far from what he was expecting to see, even more when a humanoid figure raised of the ashes inside the structure, and walked to meet him and his daughter-… oh! It is you!-

The Farmer tried to make a smile, yet he had a difficult time doing that in front of the figure in front of him.

-yeah…- Lix tired voice escaped of her lips more like a groan than anything else, her clothes were covered in ashes and slightly burn, her face was dirty and had ashes as well, along some bags under her eyes, either of tiredness or anything else- problem solved-

To Lix, that had to stay up completely vigilant the entire night and half of a day without blinking to ensure none chicken entering on her perimeter, the view of the farmer and his daughter was the sign of a job well done.

-ah… well, actually no, our farm it is more over there- answered the Farmer, pointing to the west- I am actually a Fish Farmer, but recently there have been a black cat eating my fishes, so could you please push him away? I do not want the bad luck, but he is kind of cute, so I just want to move him elsewhere-

After the explanation, Lix and the Farmer looked each other in complete silence, until Lix placed her hand on the Farmer shoulder.

-You are a Chicken Farmer now- said Lix, on a clear voice.

-wa-wait what? No… I am a fish farmer and- the Farmer started to argue thought.

-You are a Chicken Farmer now- repeated Lix, adding some force to the hand on his shoulder.

-no… no I am not, I do not even know what Chickens eat and…. Uh, sorry that it is hurting me- once again, the Farmer tried to explain himself.

-You are a Chicken Farmer now- without changing her tone in the slightest, Lix repeated those words, her other hand catching the free shoulder of the Farmer.

-Bu- but my family…. My family have been fish farmers for generations and….- before the Farmer could continue his argument, he felt the hands of Lix adding more and more force to the grip on his shoulders, and while her smile showed a kind and noble smile, the Farmer was pretty sure Lix was not having thought anywhere near none of those thing.

-YOU.ARE.A.CHICKEN.FARMER.NOW- Lix voice was deep and commanding this time, leaving out of question if was a request or not.

-Ye… yes ma´am, I am- the Farmer accepted his new occupation reluctantly, besides, ¿how different could chickens be of fishes?

After settling the minor details, Lix turned to see the daughter of the Farmer, which without wasting a second gave her a paper that had a simple drawing of Lix. Lix take it and save it on her cloak.

-a pleasure doing business with you- said Lix.

-The pleasure was all mine- answered the girl, on a sweet soft tone.

Finally free of the chains of her job, Lix started to walk around without looking back, setting course to the next town in which take a job.

-meow?-

Lix sensitive ears allowed her to follow the source of the sudden sound, finding a black cat making it is way towards the now officially chicken farm. Lix gazed at the black cat for a couple of second before deciding her next movement.

Lix started to run towards the opposite direction.

#my art #request #Z Request #Gift #AU #Lix Le-Shade #Chickens #Mini-Fic

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boyslaughplus · 5 years

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Brassica Valentine's Day Special

Hello Tumblr! What a day to start this off! <3

Because it's Valentine's Day, we decided to release a little short story set in the Brassica universe. It takes place a few months before the game but aside from some recurring characters it's independent of the main story (though maybe not insignificant...)

If you haven't played the game, don't worry, this story doesn't need any knowledge of its plot. If you have played the game, you might appreciate some of the details and hopefully enjoy this story that is a little more Ode-centric than the currently released acts.

But without further ado, here's the Brassica Valentine's Special:

Walking into the room, it felt like entering another world. The festive decoration stretching through the entirety of the castle foyer, the exquisite looking food stacked on the tables in the main hall, and of course the colorful crowd of royals, dressed in extravagant suits, robes, and dresses—everything seemed to shimmer and gleam in the light of the chandeliers. Ode certainly wasn’t new to these kinds of events but he still experienced a mild culture shock whenever he attended.

His cousin, Lord Valentine of Barah, had once again invited him to one of his famous birthday parties, or Valentine’s Day as many people called them. It was an event that was famed for the bonds it created, both interpersonal and political, due to the gathering of many young royals and the chance to confess to a crush or to court someone you fancy. Valentine himself chose among about half of his guests a select few who were given a rose. This rose should then be given to someone else who caught your interest and it was looked down on people who left the event not having given away their rose. Similarly, not receiving one marked you as being socially inept, undesirable even as some harsh voices would put it.

Ode did not care much about this custom. Especially this time his mind was set on other matters because more than just attendance, gifts, and well wishes were expected of him: he had been asked to perform for all the guests.

His parents, the king and queen of Barah, liked to boast about Ode’s musical talents since he rarely concerned himself with politics and state affairs. Ode didn’t like to play the role of a musician, less so that of a performer. He liked music and singing, but his audience was usually just the local wildlife and his best friend Friedrich. And that was it. He had never meant to make music a defining part of his public persona.

Even so, Ode didn’t mind the request. If his cousin wanted to hear him sing, he would gladly rise to the occasion. Or so the prince thought before he arrived. Now that he was amidst the cheerful crowd that was basking in the joy and the glory of attending an event as high-class as this one, Ode couldn’t help but nervously eye the stage he would soon be on, under the piercing gazes of everyone in the room.

Searching for his cousin to give his regards and discuss the details of his performance, the young prince of Barah looked around the hall. But with little success. It surely didn’t help that this was a masquerade ball!

In his search for Valentine, Ode passed many eccentric figures. Among them, a dashing royal in a dark suit embroidered with gold and complemented by his long turquoise hair and the rainbow of colors that was his crystal covered mask. A large group of what seemed to be avid admirers, flocked to the man and Ode made sure to steer clear of them as he rarely fared well with such people. He could still hear them laugh as he passed the vegetarian side of the buffet where a lone, lean, golden figure stood. Between most other outfits his wide pants almost seemed exotic though they were still overshadowed by his lack of shoes.

“What a bold choice for a ball in February,” Ode thought to himself.

Taking another look at the dainty royal’s outfit and his mask full of triangular ornaments, Ode wondered where he might have come from to be dressed this way. But there were more pressing matters at hand!

His search continued for a while and subdued the nervousness regarding his performance. When he finally found Valentine, the festivities were already well underway, and it didn’t take long until Ode found himself behind the stage, talking to the string quartet that had already been playing for most of the evening. Now too they would provide the backdrop for his song. A ballad that had resonated deeply with Ode and so he wanted to recite it this evening. Clutching his flute to his chest and with a pounding heart, Ode walked onto the stage to Valentine’s excited announcement.

For a moment he looked at the audience that was quieting down, their expectant gazes locked onto the tall prince who was more than glad to be wearing a mask himself right now.

His nervousness spiked briefly before disappearing completely once the sound of a cello resonated through the hall, indicating the start of the song.

It was the first time they performed it together, but the string quartet was well practiced and it didn’t take long before Ode went along with their rhythm. Unsteady as his flute play was sometimes, Ode had also been told it had character. He stopped to think and just played without worry; A melody a little solemn, if hopeful, he thought, to preface the first verse.

O friends, now I see, the morning draws near The moon looks upon us and all we hold dear

How we will part ways, nobody could say, How long we have left, no one could explain

The end though ’tis sure, is nothing to fear.

We sing and we dance despite illness and death Make most of the time until our last breath

When lost and in pain, we shall not lose hope, Stay resolute still at the end of our rope

’Cause as long as we breathe, there’s still some time left.

The deep voice of Barah’s youngest prince carried well throughout the room and by the time the next verse came around, Ode had nearly forgotten there were other people present, simply getting lost in the song.

But before too long it came to an end and for what felt like forever, the audience stayed quiet. Whispers began to spread among the guests and Ode could feel a wave of tension sweep through the entire hall.

Just then a thought entered the prince’s mind. Had this song really been suitable for such a celebration? What if he just embarrassed himself… his cousin… his kingdom? Lord Valentine initiated a polite if quiet applause as he took the stage.

“My dear cousin, the fledgling prince of Barah, everyone! Now after such a… unique performance, how about we welcome tonight’s main act? I’m sure you have all heard the tales of the bard who single-handedly—”

Ode felt his fears confirmed as he was led off the stage. He really didn’t like gatherings where people valued tact above genuineness. Where a single misstep could mean one’s social death. Had he cared more about the opinions of others, he might have been glum, but seeing Valentine trying intently to salvage the mood of his guests still made him feel like a disappointment.

The prince walked down the room, hearing the whispers and quiet sneers of other Royals behind him as he passed their tables.

Ode needed fresh air.

He left the hall just as the bard began to play and immediately felt relief as he stepped into the cold evening air. This wouldn’t have happened had he sung for the animals. At least they didn’t judge him and appreciated whatever he sang as long as it had heart!

Once he returned home, his parents would surely berate him for tonight’s events. If he could, Ode would just let go of all etiquette and responsibilities and leave the royal world. But whenever he came close to actually doing so, Friedrich told him to reconsider. Told him he was being rash.

Now was another of those moments. Anger rose within Ode that nobody seemed to have cared about his intentions. That nobody seemed to have seen what Ode saw in the song and instead focused only on its melancholic exterior. Without his friend to talk to him, the prince took off his mask, sat down on a bench in the gardens, trying his best to calm down on his own.

Though he would only stay alone for a short moment.

Soon Ode could hear the footsteps of someone else approaching in the distance. They came ever closer before abruptly stopping just behind him.

“Oh… hello. You are Prince Ode, correct?”

The mellow voice enchanted Ode immediately. He turned around and saw a slender, red-haired woman in an elegant dress decorated all over with pearls and flowers.

“Y-yes. That is correct lady, uh—” he hesitantly replied, wondering why she would want to talk to him.

“Sappho. Though you might know me as Seraphina of Radix.”

Indeed, he had heard of her, the crown princess of Barah’s most powerful neighbor land. Although he had never imagined that the heiress of such a mighty kingdom would look so delicate and sweet.

“Don’t you want to listen to the bard, Princess Sappho?”

She snickered and sat down next to Ode.

“Oh no. I needed to go outside for a bit. I have little patience for such mindless racket.”

Ode’s heart jumped at hearing this. Was he maybe not alone in this after all?

“I see. I feel much the same way! Although this wasn’t the main reason I left…”

He stayed silent for a moment, trying his best not to think about the political consequences this conversation could have should he mess up again.

It wasn’t by any means an uncomfortable silence, but to his relief Princess Sappho broke it soon, anyway.

“Well, I have to say I enjoyed your little performance earlier. Genuinely, I mean.” The princess took off her shimmering, cat-like mask before continuing as Ode got lost in the gaze of her bright eyes.

“Few people would have had the courage to perform it here, let alone do so from the bottom of their heart.”

The last thing Ode had expected to be met with this evening was kindness, and he smiled enthusiastically at Sappho, feeling the confidence to openly speak his mind.

“Thank you, Princess Sappho! I was worried that I made a mistake, but your words reaffirm me that the others’ reaction was not my fault! Although… Maybe I am nonetheless unfit for such festivities.”

The princess laughed.

“So what? I have talked with many a royal tonight, but this is the first enjoyable conversation I had. Just because you are not like the rest, you are not any less valid! Contrary so. You should be proud of yourself, Prince Ode!”

Never before had Ode experienced anything like ‘love’. Not in the way it was always sung about. But this very moment he thought he had gotten a glimpse of what it was like. As this realization set in, he took a deep breath to respond to the princess just to be cut short when she continued once more.

“But anyway, I’d happily go on with this conversation but I’m afraid I have to go. There is someone who is waiting for me right now and I cannot spare much more time.”

She stood up, turned to the prince and held out a rose towards him. The one she was supposed to give to someone special. Prince Ode could hardly believe it.

“Farewell Ode. I’m sure we will meet again some day.”

Hastily, Ode straightened his back and gratefully accepted the rose, looking at the princess with a multitude of feelings he could not yet fathom entirely. One of them disappointment that she was already about to leave.

“Farewell Princess Sappho! And thank you!”

A smile flashed on the Princess’s face just long enough that Ode could feel her grasp on his heart tighten. She turned around and walked away further down the path she had come from.

Ode watched her disappear in the shadows of the garden and just now noticed the quickened tempo of his heartbeat.

Long after she had left, Princess Sappho was still ever present in the prince’s mind. For a while he stayed outside, lost in his thoughts and the stars shining brightly above him.

It truly was the most special Valentine’s Day he had ever experienced. Full of determination, Ode made a silent vow. He would see her again.

And he would act upon the feelings that stirred up inside of him that day. For they were far too precious to leave alone.

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ambivalentangst · 6 years

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Face the Gods on Your Knees

First of all I’d like to say for basically all of May I was dead and now that it's summer I feel productive and rejuvenated and lovely. With that in mind I came back to a WIP I let breathe for awhile, and here we are. This is based on the idea that an Altean can’t live without their scales, and on that note, this is pretty dark. If that’s alright with you, I hope you enjoy!

tw: kidnapping, blood, graphic descriptions of violence, mild gore, torture

Prince Lance had long known, as all of his people did, that when an Altean died their souls ascended to be one with the gods, and their scales fell from their cheeks as a token to their loved ones of what once was. Still, never had he been more acutely reminded than with the bite of the rope on his wrists, staring up at wooden walls that bore cases upon cases full of the markings that had once adorned the cheeks of Lance’s people and the people of his forefathers.

It was a morbid rainbow and had what Lance suspected to be a drug not already forced him to expel the contents of his stomach, he would’ve retched. Lance swallowed, his throat dry and sore. The tutors from Olkari had often told Lance about different poisons an assassin might try to slip into his food, so he might know how to treat himself in turn. As obstinate as Allura claimed he could be, he truly didn’t wish to inconvenience anyone. He tried to pay attention, but a pulsing ache was developing in the empty space between his brows, splitting his head open and robbing him of any chance to calculate just how quiznacked he was.

Lance tried to recall what had happened.

They were with visiting dignitaries, at a feast. Shiro was doting on Allura as always in his own way, cutting an imposing figure at her shoulder. Pidge and Hunk had been (against his parents’ better judgment) seated next to him while Keith tried to remain stoic despite the way the corners of his lips twitched up whenever the three of them said something particularly stupid or clever. Typically, it could be both. They were gifted that way.

Lance couldn’t remember thinking anything was amiss. The dignitaries were delightful, and his food and drink were both served as normal. Lance had gone to sleep in his own bed, and when he had woken up his entire body ached from, apparently, sleeping on the floor.

What recollection he had of past events didn’t do him any good, and Lance was quick to move on. He didn’t need to know what had occurred to get him where he was, he just needed to leave as soon as he could. One of the first things he’d noted since waking up was the absence of weight dangling from his ears, and Lance cursed his luck. If he’d at least had his earrings he could communicate his location, but they must’ve fallen off somewhere during the journey from the palace to wherever he was. He pushed past his annoyance and shut his eyes, concentrating on the slide and crackle of bone and flesh that he’d grown accustomed to when he shifted.

He’d always been quite good with the Altean skill set, he’d always been told, and Lance expected no problems with his actions. However, as he tried to shift, he found something like a wall in his mind, brutally blocking him when he tried to access his abilities. Lance yelped, panting as his will to change evaporated into thin air.

“Quiznack,” he hissed under his breath. Why had that hurt, like scraping his fingers raw on some rock? Not being able to use his own abilities made his skin crawl, and Lance swallowed back the bile that had risen in his throat. Fine. If he couldn’t accommodate to make the ropes smaller for him, or even to break them from the sheer size of a transformation, he’d just use plain old grit. He began to flex, trying to use the strength that had never come to him naturally in the first place. Where he outpaced Allura in shapeshifting, she was by far physically stronger, and Lance—as usual—thought about how she would’ve already been free and on her merry way in the same situation. Instructors had also told Lance, for as long as he could remember, that Allura, the eldest and the heir, was an honorable fighter. Lance, with his slight form and how sickly he’d always been as a child, would have to kick dirt into eyes and use every dirty trick in the book to give himself the upper hand.

Lance spent quite a long stretch of time fighting with the ropes brutishly, and when that failed, collapsed over his knees, chest heaving as he blinked back tears. All he’d succeeded in doing was rubbing the skin off his wrists from twisting around so much. It made his bonds a little slicker with his blood, but not enough so to actually be helpful.

Lance cast a fearful look up towards the cases of scales, most lined with a rusty color that made Lance’s stomach turn. Scales fell off naturally in death, yes. Tales differed based on region, but the scales were universally agreed to be the mortal connection Alteans had to the gods. When the soul moved on they were no longer needed and detached naturally. Lance wondered how much pain the scales’ owners had been in as they were forcibly severed from their cheeks, and shuddered at the thought. There was no Altean without their scales. Even losing one brought on madness, and Lance touched his own shining turquoise pair to his shoulder for the sole purpose of remembering that they were still in place.

As his eyes darted from pair to pair—largely against Lance’s will, but he observed the macabre trophies with a horrified fascination—he saw a pink pair that looked far too similar to his sister’s, and managed to heave onto the ground beside him, wriggling away from the spreading waste once the deed was done.

Allura was okay, right? Lance felt awful for not thinking of it sooner. He hoped to the gods that she hadn’t been taken too. How long had he been out, anyway? What if they really—

Lance shook his head and firmly cut himself off. He was not going to finish that thought. Nobody would touch Allura. She was strong and beautiful and someday she would be queen. Shiro would keep her safe. There was no way—or at least, not any way Lance would allow himself to entertain—she could be in this situation with him. Lance’s continuous reinforcements had just begun to calm his racing heart when he heard footsteps coming from somewhere beyond the door, drawing closer and closer.

Lance shuffled forward, closer to the door. If he could just get the drop on whoever was coming, he could escape. His knees were already plenty bruised from his previous attempts at freeing himself, but Lance shuffled forward, throwing his back against the wall to pull himself to his feet despite the faint whimper the action pulled from his lips. However he’d gotten where he currently was being kept, he had not been transported with care, and his entire body ached. Lance’s heart pounded while he listened to the door slide open. He rushed forward, fully prepared to give whoever was there a good head to their chin and to maneuver himself past them towards freedom. Lance was instead greeted with a scaly hand locking on his wrist, and slamming him back onto the floor with a crack of, presumably, Lance’s skull.

Lance only barely saw two faltering versions of the same door close behind the hulking mass of muscle that had come in. White sparks exploded behind Lance’s closed eyelids—a precautionary measure, because if Lance dissolved into hysterics now, he would lose any shred of dignity he still maintained. A voice permeated the fermenting silence, darkly pleased and fruitful in the blackness that seemed to follow its presence.

“Not the king, no, but maybe a suitable substitute. Certainly with the potential to become so, and the matching scales don’t hurt,” the creature mused, and Lance shivered, wiping the blood trailing from his mouth on the ground. It was not the only place he was bleeding, the back of his head felt plenty wet and he cringed to think of the red muddying his pearly locks, but there was nothing he could do about that.

“Who are you?” Lance growled, thinking again of Allura. She was a force to be reckoned with, and their father always described her as a viper presented like a ribbon. Still, Lance wasn’t sure even she could escape someone so overwhelmingly, for lack of a better descriptor, large. His captor laughed, and Lance got his first good look at him as he crouched before him.

His eyes were gaping sockets in his face with what looked like coals smoldering in their depths, his cheeks harshly cut and glinting in the lighting from the scales covering his skin.

“You don’t recognize me as one of my people, princeling?” Lance felt an oily fear wash over him, adding to the mounting sickness he felt as he watched the creature’s lips move. Massive teeth—almost unnoticeable at first, they so blended in with the darkness of his skin—hanging down to his jaw moved with them, and it was rightly, highly unnerving to Lance.

“No,” Lance admitted after a moment, despite it instinctively feeling like it was not something he should’ve done. The alien’s features contorted wrathfully, and Lance jerked violently to the side as a strong arm, just as solid as the rest of him, landed with violent gravity to crack the floor where his head had been a moment previous.

“Of course you don’t,” the alien hissed, standing to pace around the room with footfalls that were heavy enough to shake the ground he trodded over. “When do Alteans ever own up to their mistakes, let alone teach their young about them, and how not to repeat them?” Lance’s shoulders scrunched up to his chin as a bitter, humorless chuckle passed through the air, suddenly sounding hair raisingly close as the sound bounced ominously in the shell of Lance’s ear. He yelped, turning and slamming his head back onto the ground with enough momentum to make the world blur yet again for a few long seconds, during which the alien strode back over and hefted him by his hair.

The sharp nails just barely avoiding his scalp tore out tufts of silky locks that Lance meticulously maintained, and he yelped. “Oh, is there a problem, princeling?” the alien hissed, his voice that Lance might’ve found beautiful in a different setting sending chills up his spine. “Is there something wrong with my voice?” Lance didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of an answer and didn’t respond.

“My people, in their dying moments, had screams that could shatter eardrums and burst heads. I was never very good at that, but I was resistant to it.” Lance didn’t understand why there was so much vitriol in the alien’s tone. Why was he doing this? “The conquerors who came to our formerly peaceful planet stuffed rags down our throats and cut off heads to save themselves from it.” Despite the situation, Lance had it in himself to be horrified. What an awful fate, and he gritted out, despite his anger and confusion,

“I’m sorry for your loss.” That was apparently the wrong thing to say. The fire needling away in the core of the stranger’s eyes blazed to life, and Lance gasped for breath as the hand dropped him onto the floor, pinning him in place as it latched brutally around his throat.

“You’re sorry, princeling? Sorry for what exactly? That when my planet sent distress signals to Altea—the mighty, peaceful Altea that was advanced beyond any other world in the quadrant—your father turned us away in the name of remaining pacifist? Sorry that my planet burned at the hands of an empire defeated mere quintants after attempting to seize Altea? Tell me, princeling, just what your apologies mean.” The force the words were uttered with was overwhelming, acid and hatred seething from the abyss of gouging teeth and flaming expression. Lance gagged for breath desperately, drool spilling from the corners of his mouth while his face purpled. He’d always said that it wasn’t his color, much to Keith’s chagrin. He wasn’t as entertained with his snide comments now, and the moment the alien seemed to calm and unlocked his grip, Lance gasped for breath desperately, coughing over the floor. He was sure if he’d had anything else left in his stomach, that would’ve come up too.

Lance didn’t know what to say. He was entirely unaware of everything his captor had told him, but admitting that would just get him killed, probably even faster than the fate already barreling at him if the circlet of rapidly bruising marks on his neck meant anything. Lance bit his lip, only to draw blood as his teeth sunk in faster than he wanted when his captor twisted his bound arms brutally in his overpowering grip. Lance felt him lean in close, the same ricochet and all too loud effect occurring as the creature hissed into his ear.

“Answer me, princeling, or you can rot here with one scale before I come back to finish the job.”

Lance was not a creature accustomed to begging. Not for his life, not for a break from his tutoring, not even for an extra pastry or two from the palace kitchens, but the thought of going insane while surrounding by the trophies of his lost kinsmen lit an insatiable fear at his very core that had him croaking out between pained gasps, “I’m sorry for not knowing.”

He heaved in relief as his arms were released, throbbing as the blood returned to the limbs.

“That’s what I like to hear,” the creature told him, and Lance reminded himself that if he ever got out alive, he was going to have to research species with the ability to send their voices rattling through his skull. He never wanted to encounter anything like it again. The creature and it’s scaled body skulked along the walls, fingertips tracing over the displays with an anger Lance could see was barely kept in check.

“I realize that, unless I get truly lucky, I will never see the Alteans burn,” the alien mused, a long tail that Lance hadn’t taken note of before thrashing wickedly. His claws scraped along the glass with a horrific shriek, but Lance was grateful that the sound, for the most part, was benign. Lance shivered, sprawled stomach down on the floor, cheek pressed against the ground for so long it had gone numb. “Still, I must try and do something, and though I was aiming for the king, I think it’s suitable to see the beloved, charming prince who has been known to love his people so, be torn apart.” Lance shook his head, working up spit on his tongue to fling when the alien next decided to get too close for comfort.

“You won’t,” Lance swore, and though his voice was hoarse and reflective of his pain, he was proud of the flinty pride still within. “Allura or Shiro or Keith will find you, and then you’re a dead man walking. You can run, but Keith’s got ears like satellites, Shiro has his arm, and Allura can bench press them both without knocking her crown out of place.” The creature stiffened, the scales covering its body lifting reflexively before settling again.

“Big words from a prince who can’t even shapeshift.” Lance tasted something bitter in the back of his mouth. His magic had always been a sore spot. His father had scolded him for banishing tutors that had been particularly harsh about it, but Lance’s ears were too hot and the scornful looks they cast his way too fresh in his mind to care.

“What did you do to me?” he demanded to know. Another settling of scales.

“A simple block, as provided by the tonic slipped into your drink.” Lance’s mind—always hyperactive, as father often said—worked furiously to jejune what servant despised him enough to betray him to a serial killer. Lance had always thought they were kind masters, but things were not as Lance had once believed if the alien’s rage meant anything.

“In one way or another, I’ll escape.”

“I doubt that, princeling,” the alien snapped, striding over with his fiery eyes flared up again, so hot the core of them was tinged blue. “That’s what the others said, every single one. You Alteans are an arrogant breed, you know? Always so keen on your gods and magic, and then when they desert you it is a matter of two little hooks on your cheeks to undo you entirely. Like pulling a thread from an unknotted seam, you will unravel, just as they all have.”

Lance gulped. His head pounded, but he recognized that the more he persisted and the less fear he showed, the angrier his captor got. That was no good. He needed to stall. Lance would not survive if he insulted the man too much. He would simply lose his cool and flash those wicked claws or the barbs on his tail—they glinted unnaturally—to slaughter him where he laid. It pained Lance, who could not deny the claims that he and his people were perhaps a bit too confident in themselves. Submissiveness did not come easily to Lance, but he was running out of options. His captor had the son of his most hated foe, and if Lance had learned anything from the history lessons he endured, it was that a moment of revenge often required nothing but a strong enough emotion to seize the mind.

“Please,” he groveled. “I’m just the prince, not my father. I’m sorry for what happened—may the gods bless their souls—but doing this won’t solve anything. Let me go, and I will make amends.” It pained Lance, truly.

“Oh, shut up,” the creature snarled. “I had plans to kill your father, yes, but Alfor is not the true prize. You are not a daughter, but you serve the same purpose as mine did, lovely as she was. A placeholder, though beloved. I don’t want your father. To kill you and send your scaleless body back to the palace would be the sweetest prize of all.” He forced Lance against the wall and knelt down in front of him. His breath was hot and sour in Lance’s nose, who gagged and subsequently lost the saliva he’d been working up.

Lance’s entire body hurt, but the claws tipping the stranger’s hands were drawing close to his face. They caressed his jaw in a manner that did not cut, but let Lance know that was only because he was didn’t want them to yet. The alien growled, again in that voice that chorused its discords within Lance’s pointed ears.

“I’ll enjoy this, princeling. I already have a pair just like your sister’s, but now I’ll have the real thing.” Lance felt panic really and truly hit, as he snapped his teeth at the hand coming to rest on his cheek, grazing the skin and pushing the alien to yank his head hard enough to rip out a chunk of white hair.

“Stop it!” Lance kicked, hissing as he felt the first prick of pain blossoming from the gouge being slowly made on his cheek. The alien grinned, showing off a full set of black teeth.

“I am owed my justice, princeling.” Lance hated the word from his lips. Nobody called him that, not even Lotor when he was in a mood. Even so, as much as Lance wanted to live and return home to dance with an unwilling Keith, run through the palace halls with Pidge and taste test Hunk’s cooking, hug his father, sister, he wondered if the alien was wrong. Lance was not so vain to deny what he said. If Altea had defeated the people who had destroyed his home so quickly, he couldn’t say the creature, angry and full of hate as he was, was wrong in desiring his revenge. Lance kicked harder.

“Stop! Please, just let me to talk to you for a tick.” The creature snorted.

“You cannot spare your life with your silver tongue.” Lance nodded.

“I don’t know what happened to your people and your planet, your family. I’m sorry for that, but please, this has nothing to do with the common Alteans. Once you kill me, stop, please. Leave them out of it. You’ll have everything you were ever deserved. They shouldn’t die for what my family did.” The creature hissed.

“A sacrifice for your people? How noble.” Lance tried to hold his head high, chin jutting out proudly.

“I’ll even go quietly if that’s what you want. Just please, stop going after Altean civilians.” Lance trembled from where he was pressed into the wall, biting back a scream as a nail hooked under one scale. Altea was not free of crime, murder, serial killers, but very few chose to kill as the alien did. It was not a simple process, tearing off a scale.

“I’ll take you up on your offer, with one modification. Just like every other filthy one of you I’ve killed, severing your people from their gods, I want to hear you scream.”

Lance wished he had his earrings, and braced himself for the pain. It was worse than he could’ve ever imagined.

His back arched unnaturally, cracking bones in places Lance didn’t have the presence of mind to think about as he screamed to the heavens, to whatever deity was out there to listen. His body tried desperately to shift, but he kept running into the block that lit a fire behind his eyes and electrified his entire body anytime he tried to fight it. The pain was blinding, leaving him to focus on nothing but it and the claws severing nerves and muscle and power that was integral to the very core of Lance’s being.

He howled, eyes rolling back into his head while his hands raked down the wall, splitting nails and scraping his fingers with absolutely pathetic pain in comparison to the agony engulfing Lance whole.

At the beginning Lance had said he would’ve gone quietly if that was what the creature wanted, but when the world was crashing down around him in galvanizing agony that had his head cracking back against the wall while tears streamed down his sob twisted face there was nothing to be done but scream, an unrelenting cry to just let it end.

Words were unthinkable, an impossible concept Lance couldn’t imagine utilizing in his current state, and they’d only just begun.

Lance could faintly hear the dark laughter of his torturer ringing horrifically in his ears, but that was quickly overpowered by his own shrieks, almost animalistic in nature. The pain was all there was, all there ever had been, all there ever could be, and Lance did not stop screaming even when he became aware of the sound of heavy blows landing on the door, nor when the creature hissed and withdrew his talons that left Lance a sobbing mess on the ground.

He heard someone gagging, likely at the sight around them as Lance had, but Lance couldn’t be bothered with caring. There were strong, furred arms around him, a furious hiss that made the hair on Lance’s arms stand up as it rattled his brain in his skull, and then nothing at all.

Lance’s eyes opened slowly, and with no small amount of effort. His eyelids felt like they’d been cemented together, and his cheek burned painfully. Why did it hurt?

Lance gasped and sat up quickly, hands flying to touch his face. Oh god, did he still have his scales? What would the people think if their already defective prince, told so many times by so many different people that he’d never be as strong as Allura, was lacking a scale. They’d never take him seriously, he’d be banned from the council that already hated him, and—

Allura’s voice, urgent and worried cut into Lance’s spiraling thoughts, her dark hand landing on his arm.

“Lance?” His tear stained face turned to meet her eyes.

Frankly, she looked horrible.

Dark smears of color hung like the most depressing set of drapes Lance had ever seen under eyes, and those—Lance had always thought her eyes were beautiful, and no artist ever got them right in portraits—were shot through with red. Lance could be quiznacked if he cared. He threw his arms around her and didn’t mind in the slightest that her grip was all but crushing the breath from his lungs.

“I’m so sorry we didn’t get there sooner, you started screaming and I thought we were going to be too late.” It would’ve been hard for anybody who hadn’t known her for their entire lives to make out what she was saying through her sobs, but Lance was just as much of a mess and shushed her apologies with an easy smile.

“You made it, I’m fine, ‘Lura. How did you guys even find me?” She sniffed and even though Lance was getting snot on her dress, didn’t let go.

“Your earring must’ve fallen on the ground when that thing,” she said the word with unexpected venom, “Dropped you originally. We started getting transmissions of your location immediately,” Lance praised the gods for emergency protocol, “But the signal was absolutely awful and kept copping out.” She drew back for a fraction of a second to unfurl a palm, the little purple gem lying in the center of it. “We found it off in the corner.” She shoved it onto the nearby nightstand and embraced him again.

“I was so scared,” Lance murmured into her hair, which was another part of her that he was speculating to be actively trying to strangle him. Allura rubbed his back and kept him close as she nodded.

“I know, but you’re here now, and we’re never going to let anything like that happen again.” Lance gave pause for a second.

“We’re?” Allura didn’t remove her head from over his shoulder to yell,

“Keith, Shiro, you can come in now, I’ve hugged him enough.” The door slid open almost immediately, and with previously unprecedented speed Lance had two very concerned Galra soldiers at his side. Keith’s ears were swiveling frantically like they tended to do when he got nervous, and Lance was surprised to see a very relieved smile on Shiro’s part.

“It’s good to see you alive and well, your highness. You had us all worried.” Lance grinned, waving him off.

“You know me, Shiro. I’m hard to keep down. Anyway, drop the formalities. You know nobody cares when we’re alone.” Allura socked him on the arm, and Lance winced for effect.

“Ouch, hitting a man while he’s down, I see how it is.” She rolled her eyes, and Keith bent down to give him a very uncharacteristic but not at all unwelcome hug, brief though it was. When Lance raised a brow, he shrugged and looked at the ground.

“I’m glad you’re safe, is all.” Lance hummed knowingly but didn’t argue with him, which he found to be something of an accomplishment, personally. He flopped back on his bed, able to relax with the strongest people he knew safely stationed around him.

“So am I, lemme’ tell you,” Lance replied, and upon seeing the somewhat nervous laughter that followed, was quick to change the subject. “Anyway, I feel sane and all, but am I, like, okay?” He kept his eyes up and a mischievous upturn to his lips, but the concern he felt for the subject was real. Allura nodded.

“The palace physicians were able to reattach the part of your scale that had been—ah, shall we say, upended?” She smiled, but Lance didn’t miss the worried furrow of her brow. He’d have to talk with her later. “The only difference is, well,” she sighed, and waved a hand. As per usual, the lights in the room switched off, and Lance was made acutely aware of the turquoise glow being emitted from just under his left eye.

“Ah,” Lance managed after a moment, but wasn’t exactly displeased. It was unusual, but privately Lance remembered the stories of the truly gifted alchemists that endured the same effect and wondered what that made him. He pushed the thought to the side. That was something to be saved for later, probably reckless, experimentation. Lance sighed dramatically, a hand flying over his forehead as Allura turned the lights back on.

“I’m never going to be able to turn the lights out during a ball and slip away again,” he groaned. It was then Keith’s turn to roll his eyes—to be fair, he was usually the one tasked with tracking Lance down again—and Allura’s to look sympathetic. Meanwhile, Shiro took a glance at the holographic update coming from his wrist.

“King Alfor, Pidge, and Hunk are on their way,” he announced. Lance grinned.

“Great! More people to dazzle with my new glow.” Collective groans ensued, and Lance found that as long as nobody was truly hurt, he was just fine with that.

#lance #langst #lance whump #altean lance #lance mcclain #ambivalentlangst #trigger warning #graphic descriptions of violence #blood #kidnapping #gore #idk I wouldn't say gore but better safe than sorry #torture

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eye-raq · 6 years

Text

Pandora’s Box Chapter Five

Erik x Black Original Character

Raven pushed herself backwards on the bed watching Erik take off his shirt. He rested on his knees in front of her on the bed removing her boy shorts. Raven pulled her top over her head exposing her titties with hard nipples. She yanked her srunchie out of her hair as well trying to smooth her hair out. Erik took notice and reached forward pulling softly at her curls. Raven smiled at the gesture noting that she would definitely want scalp massages from him. Erik leaned back on his knees playfully swinging Raven’s legs open and closed staring into Raven’s hazel eyes.

“I just gave you some head and watched you go limp on me now you got some stamina to fuck me?” Teased Raven. Erick only chuckled with his deep dimples peeking through.

“You got any condoms?”

“No worries, I’m on birth control we can go raw.”

Erik bit his lip with a smile playfully smacking the side of her ass before spreading her legs wider resting in between them. He lowered his hand between Raven’s legs making circular motions with his fingers all up and through her pussy coating his fingers. He licked at Raven’s neck placing a sharp bite on her neck. She winced and then shuddered when Erik kissed slow and longing.

“Rest your legs on my shoulders.” Raven shifted under Erik lifting her thick legs to rest over Erik’s toned shoulders, curling her toes. Erik jerked his dick a couple times before placing himself at her entrance. Raven looked up at Erik anxiously before taking a lick of his lip drawing him closer

“Come on Erik I’m so anxious.” whispered Raven.

“I gotchu baby, trust me I need it just as much as your ass do.”

Raven could feel Erik push himself inside of her and she felt so stretched out. Raven threw her head back pressing it further into the mattress as Erik slowly pushed out then back in in slow deliberate strokes. It was mind blowing and she was moaning like a like crazy. Erik began to pick up the pace pumping hard with each thrust causing Raven’s body to jerk and he left behind a soreness that felt oh so good. Raven wrapped her arms around Erik’s neck locking her fingers as his thrust began going deeper. She could feel it all the way in her guts.

“Daddy its so fucking big.” Raven felt so stretched she could feel every bit of him and she was greedy for more. Her walls began to quiver like they were trying to cave in.

“Yeah? Its too much for this tight fucking pussy? I know it gotta be too much.” replied Erik breathlessly. Erik leaned forward on the palms of his hands to get a deeper thrust, plus a better stroke because he needed to be deeper.

“ahhhh yeah oh fuck” Moaned Raven in a husky tone causing Erik to go impossibly fast. Raven stared down between them as she watched Eriks dripping dick disappear then reappear. It was too fucking good and she felt herself grip him every time he entered her.

“Fuck baby girl I’m tryna kill your shit.” Erik had sweat glistening his forehead down to his defined core as he pounded away watching his dick torture her tight pussy. “I’m fucking wrecking your shit, I’m fucking-” He couldn't even finish lost in the feeling. Raven was spread so wide and Erik just wouldn't let up. Raven tapped on Erik’s chest shaking her head from side to side as she arched her back cumming on his dick.

“mmmm this is so fucking good, your pussy is loving this.”

Erik watched in amazement at the faces she made placing soft nurturing kisses on her knees. He pumped into her tight pussy with a grinding motion grinding his hips into her like he was digging for gold. He lifted himself a little biting his lip, gold caps showing as he stared down at the way he fucked her pussy up.

“Fuck it up daddy fuck it up mmm” Raven could feel herself slipping again. “Damn that dick! Imma cum on this thick dick again fuck!!!” she rubbed at her clit roughly as her cream seeped out of her entrance giving Erik more lubrication.

“You a nasty little bitch with a nasty little pussy.” (well damn Erik)

The only sounds that could be heard was rough slapping flesh and the slushing sounds of their sex. Erik could feel his self getting closer again so he lifted Raven the bed off the bed and stood up to thrust into her fast and that meant impossibly fast. Raven through her head back chest bouncing, gripping on Erik’s shoulders for leverage.

“oo im gonna cum all in yo shit oh yeah its cumming.” Erik threw his head back pressing his body into hers roughly. He squeezed with all his might, abs flexing as she felt his cum release inside of her. It was perfect. Great sex wasn’t even a proper description for how good this sex was. He was surely someone to remember in the bed room.

Erik released his body from Raven’s, cum oosing out and layed next to her on his belly, head facing towards the floor mirror. His eyes were closed with his lips parted as Raven stared at him longingly.

“Man Erik that was- damn that was good.” Erik only hummed in approval too tired to speak.

Raven leaned her body into his kissing his back. She drew back running a long slow stripe up his spine causing him to shudder. He reached back to grip her hand causing her to stop.

“So your ticklish huh?” Raven said teasingly. Erik lifted his head looking at her through the mirror.

“Don t worry about it girl.” Erik was smirking turning towards Raven laying on the side of his face. His eyes were beautiful pools of brown and Raven was completely lost in them. His hand reached up to brush her away so she wouldn't try anything.

“Ohhhh so you are ticklish? Okay I’ll keep that in mind then.” Erik pinched her booty.

“Don’t make me spank you girl I promise I will.” Raven made herself comfortable in the middle of the bed ushering for Erik to come closer. Erik crawled over placing himself in between her legs resting his head on her belly. He playfully nibbled on Raven’s belly causing her to giggle. It sounded so innocent and soft in his ear causing him to smile.

Raven was deep in thought about the situation she got herself into. She just got out of a breakup with her longtime boyfriend, only to have casual sex with a guy she only knew for a week, not to mention having growing feelings for. Raven felt Erik go heavy on her and she looked down to see him sleeping. The cool air from his nose felt soothing on her skin. Raven turned off her side lamp and closed her eyes, drifting off into sleep as well

The Sun beamed through Raven’s bed room causing her to open her eyes. She scanned the room then down to her naked body. She looked over to see Erik missing wondering where he could be. She heard someone clear their throat from the bathroom and the sink being turned off. Raven sat up, rising from the bed stretching her aching body. She walked up to her mirror that had a rainbow gleaming off of it. She rubbed at her neck noticing purple bruises and a bit mark. She fluffed her hair turning to the side and seeing some bruises on her hips. Was Erik really that rough with her? She rubbed at her temples feeling a slight headache from the drinking she did last night.

Erik exited the bathroom fully naked scratching at his dreads that were all over the place.

“Damn good morning” Spoke Erik with sleep still in his voice. He approached Raven from behind palming her ass and squeezing in a vice grip. Raven swatted his hand away pouting her lip in slight pain.

“Stop Erik my body is aching.”

“So? What you thought was gonna happen when we decided to fuck? I leave my mark on everything.”

Raven motioned for him to look at her body through the mirror pointing at all the marks that he made last night. She couldn't feel much last night except for the bite, because she had mellowed out off of that 1800. She noticed Erik growling with a dark look in his eyes.

“That shit looks good on your brown skin.” Said Erik circling his toned arms around her waist. He rested his chin on her shoulder, “My skin.”

Raven turned to face Erik quirking an eyebrow at him with amusement.

“So, you claiming me now? We just met like a week ago Mr Erik.”

Erik grabbed at Raven’s curvy hips running circles, “Um, yeah? I thought I made that clear last night in the kitchen. I feel drawn to you, I wanna know more and feel more is that a problem?”

Raven bit her lip, finally shaking her head, “No it’s just… I just got out of a rocky relationship with a guy that I knew for so long. To tell you the truth it was over a while ago I just couldn't bring myself to realize that.. and he couldn't be the bigger person to tell me straight up that it wasn’t the same.”

Erik studied Raven’s eyes finally reaching up to cup her face.

“I don't plan on hurting you like that. I’m not perfect, I can promise you that. There is some shit with me that I rather not share but if you let me, we can grow from being new found fuck buddies and trust me you wont be disappointed.”

Raven wanted to know what he meant about his imperfections and mistakes but she decided against it, thinking it too soon to ask.

Erik placed a reassuring kiss on her forehead before switching back to his demanding ass ways

“Now a nigga hungry go whip something up for me.”

Raven drew back with a surprised look, “I’m not your personal fucking chef you go whip something up!”

Erik raised his hands in surrender as he backed away and out of the bedroom.

Raven followed him into the kitchen, watching him search around. He pulled out a few pans then some eggs, texas toast, and some turkey sausage.

“It’s time for me to show your lil ass how I throw down.” teased Erik with a smug look.

Raven crossed her arms placing herself on one of the stools. She turned on her Pandora and Post Malone drew out of the speakers. Erik ran back to the room returning with his shorts hanging low on his waist. He reached into his pocket and with drew a blunt. Raven squinted her eyes giving him a “mmmhmmm” look

“I knew your ass was a weed smoker too”, Raven rolled her eyes.

“Thanks I’ll take that so called L as a compliment.” He reached into his shorts again drawing out a bick lighter with African colors. He leaned against the stove, lighting his blunt for a few seconds before taking a long drag from the blunt between his thumb and pointer finger. He drew back staring down at the blunt in approval before turning back to cooking.

“Look nigga I don't wanna look down at my food and see ashes in my shit.” Protested Raven.

“You don't like me smoking weed?” replied Erik

“No, its not that at all. I used to smoke but ever since I graduated and became a part time nurse, I don't take that risk anymore. They could ask for an unexpected drug test at anytime and I wanna be prepared.”

Erik turned around eye brows raised with a smirk showing those killer dimples.

“Damn you a nurse? that's wassup. You pretty and smart that shit is a turn on.” Erik took another drag from his blunt before he went back to whisking the french toast mixer.

“What do you do for a living?” Asked Raven. Erik didn't reply instantly and Raven didn't let that go un noticed.

“I graduated from MIT with a degree in engineering at the top of my class. The military paid for my education so I took that shit seriously. I needed it, it was something I needed to accomplish.”

Raven nodded in approval, but that still didn't answer her question about what he did.

“So your an engineer then I mean with an engineering degree you would be right? That engineering shit is complicated I dont how you did it Erik-��Pushed Raven.

“If you want something REALLY bad, and I mean BAD, then you go for it at all cost. I didn't have much else to loose at that point so I put my all into it.” replied Erik quickly and bluntly giving Raven a stern look out the corner of his eye. His gaze was sort of dangerous so she quickly changed the subject sensing that he really didn't want to get into it.

“Let me take a hit, I’m sure a few hits wont hurt.”

Erik raised an eyebrow at Raven questioningly, “You sure? cuz you seemed pretty stern about not smoking ever again.”

Raven shrugged her shoulders motioning for him to pass the blunt. He leaned forward and handed it to her watching intently. Raven met his eyes and took a drag, taking in the smoke then releasing it through her lips slowly. Erik smirked at her as he watched her do it again, a smile forming on her lips.

“I’m not gonna lie, I do miss this shit. It was a stress relief two years ago in nursing school.”

“I can relate. Hittin’ the books without weed was a no brainer I needed that shit to ease my mind.”

For the rest of the time Raven mellowed out to the music that played watching Erik make breakfast in the kitchen. The way his messy dreads stuck up in different places on his head, and the way his shorts hung loose on his hips put Raven in a trance. By the time it was done, Erik pulled out some silverware and plates.

“Aiight take that ass in the dining room. Prepare to be amazed.” Raven let out a full blown laugh as she walked to the dining room sitting at the head of the table. Erik entered with two plates and some syrup in the crook of his arm. Raven smiled up at him folding her hands patiently on the table. He placed her plate in front of her and she already loved the smell, hearing her stomach growl.

“Okay, you can eat now I heard that stomach.” Erik laughed and it sounded so hearty and it made her stomach do a summer salt. Raven waited for him to seat his self and she watched him take his fork and knife in hand cutting a big piece of french toast and stuffing it in his mouth. He hummed in approval being extra clapping his hands loud with a smirk.

“This shit.” was all he said as he swallowed the rest. Erik pointed his knife at Ravens plate.

“You gonna eat or waist my fucking food.” Raven picked up her fork and knife rolling her eyes as she cut into her french toast as well. She placed the piece in her mouth chewing, and lets just say the saliva formulated some more. Man it was good she hummed in approval closing her eyes.

“Erik wow its really good yum.” Raven continued to eat and so did Erik. He finished first and sat back watching her finish her plate. Raven was just about to start on her scrambled eggs when she noticed Erik slide back from the table and crawl under. Raven put the fork down covering her mouth to talk so she wouldn't spit food on the table.

“Erik what the hell?!”

Raven felt Erik’s dreads tickle her knees and she peered down meeting his eyes and his smug grin.

“Erik, what are you even up to now?”

“Finish your food I told you not to waste it.”

That was all he said before Raven felt Erik lifting her legs over his shoulders. She somehow forgot the fact that she was completely naked and soon after she felt Erik take a long lick on her cunt. Raven squeezed the fork in her hand jerking forward a little from the contact. Erik took his hands and pried her pussy lips apart licking with a swirl of his skillful tongue up and down, side to side.

“mmmmmmmm”

Raven responded with approval. and this drove Erik even more over the edge. Raven couldn't finish her eggs because it was too much. Raven scooted back from the table, slouching in the chair wrapping her fingers in Erik’s dreads. Erik had his eyes closed moaning into her pussy as his tongue lapped at her entrance. Raven grind into his mouth putting more pressure on his head pulling him closer. Erik gripped her waist for balance as he alternated between sucking and licking. Raven rested her head on the back of the chair scratching at Erik’s scalp with her tips. Erik removed his right hand and placed two fingers inside of her Raven bit down on her lip hard eyes watching as Erik sucked her clit and fingered her at the same time.

“Ooo daddy im so close I can feel it it’s coming.” whispered Raven as her stomach began to twist in a knot. Erik picked up the pace, causing Raven to grind harder into him. She felt the knot in her stomach snap and before she knew it, she squirted on the edge of the chair and on Erik’s mouth and chin. Erik released Raven’s legs crawling from under the table stretching out his limbs before picking up his empty plate. He turned to Raven watching her come down from her high rubbing at her glistening body. Raven was lifting up from the chair wobbling. Erik stopped her in her tracks, causing Raven to stare at him confused.

“Where you think you going?”

“I’m a mess Erik and so is your face.” Replied Raven with humor.

“Nah, finish those eggs girl.” It was more of a command he wasn't asking.

Raven laughed loudly walking pass Erik. Erik reached out pulling her over his shoulder causing Raven to gasp. She didn't like being lifted up like this, scared that she was going to fall face down.

“Erik!! chill I can fall and buss my face open.”

Erik smacked both of Ravens ass cheeks rough causing her to squeeze them in response.

“When I tell you to do something, I mean that shit.”

“Over eggs though.” snapped Raven.

Erik smacked her ass again, “I don't give a fuck. I slaved over that stove your gonna enjoy my fucking meal.”

Raven went still sighing in defeat. This nigga was so damn demanding! But Raven couldn’t lie and say she didn’t like it. She loved a man to take charge over her body.

“We need a shower.” was Erik’s final word as he walked towards the bathroom with Raven still thrown over his shoulder.

@thehonorablekingerik @bartierbakarimobisson @killmongurl

#black panther #killmongrer #blackgirlmagic

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rum-and-shattered-dreams · 7 years

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Chapter Summary: The rift torn into the sky sends Fiddleford into a panic attack brought on by a flashback to being pulled into the portal in his youth. Ford frantically tries to help him. Candy gets stuck in a knot. Dipper figures out a plan. Mabel and Grenda are his last hope of saving the entire crew from being pulled into the abyss. Ford begins to realize that his home dimension is rejecting him. Chapter Warnings: Angst Overall Warnings: Major character death Notes: Thanks again to @themadcapmathematician for co-writing this with me! When Ford rolled a 4, botching his attack and accidentally opening a gaping vortex in the sky, we... um... had to figure out how to handle that. We decided to roll for evasive maneuvers for any character who had a chance of helping the DDRD3000 escape its pull. I'll write up how the rolls played out in the end notes to avoid spoilers but for now, all you need to know is that Fiddleford... Well... Fiddleford rolled a 1... As a side note, I know Stan hasn't appeared much yet but I promise there's good content for him coming up in the next few chapters. Also, there’s a joke that nods to TAZ at the end just because... See under the cut for other chapters and end notes.

Chapter 1 - Prelude. Thirty years in the future, Dipper, Mabel, and their entire families meet up at the Mystery Shack for the holidays and reminisce with Grunkle Stan. Chapter 2 - Weirdmageddon. Ford finds himself held captive by Bill. Chapter 3 - Dipper and Mabel to the rescue! Chapter 4 - Fiddleford shows off his newest creation. Chapter 5 - Our heroes fight an onslaught of enemies and Ford makes a potentially detrimental, panic-driven mistake. Fiddleford stared blankly into the void above them. Some little voice was saying he had to do something... Something important... But it was suffocating under the images flooding his mind. Sounds and voices around him stretched and distorted into an unintelligible din. The massive vortex seemed to usurp all his senses; he lost himself in it. He didn’t quite know where he was but there was a monolithic triangle, seemingly defying gravity, standing on one of its points, and in its center was a spinning circle of rainbow light and a gaping abyss but it was shimmering instead of black and featureless, glowing like some bright future just out of his reach, like some light flickering at the end of a tunnel. It was tempting him, it was calling him... His chest filled with dread because he knew it was false and he shouldn’t touch it... He mustn’t touch it... But it was drawing him in and he couldn’t fight it. He was flying. Or was he floating? His feet were off the ground. All the air was being pulled right from his lungs. His brain was muddled, light and images dancing by but he couldn’t make sense of them (and oh wouldn’t it be nice just to sleep? Wouldn’t it be nice just to stay here where the pain was so far away? Nothing can hurt you when you’re weightless and nothing makes any sense)... Someone was yelling at him in the distance somewhere. His skin hit the light and it burned. Not a single thought passed his mind, there was nothing but blank, and he was drifting somewhere, struggling to breathe. One image stood out in his mind, and he shuddered, trying to will it away, trying to brush it aside, outrun it in his head. It was an eye. A horrible yellow eye that glowed like moonlight and peeled your skin and froze your blood and turned your bones to lead. And it was all he could see. He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t know how to breathe. And then it was gone. Everything was just… gone. **** Ford growled in frustration, ripping off his headset and slamming it onto the console. “No… No… No no no no no! That was a simple incantation! It’s worked hundreds of times before! What have I…? I-I’m so sorry, this shouldn’t have-” the words caught in his throat as he glanced at the chair beside his. “Fiddleford!” his voice cracked airily, wrung with panic. His friend had hunched forward in his chair, motionless, as if he wasn’t even breathing. He stumbled out from the space between his console and chair, reaching for Fiddleford, momentarily deaf to Dipper’s calls for help through his abandoned headset. “Fiddleford! Grunkle Ford! Do you read me? I repeat, evasive action! We’re being pulled in!” Static crackled between Dipper’s pleas. Ford scrambled for the headset, haphazardly holding the mouthpiece close enough to spit out the best reply he could muster, “Something’s wrong with Fiddleford! I don’t know how to pilot this! Tate? Tate can you hear me?” No answer. **** Tate had nearly made it up the stairs to the gunners control room situated in the center of the dragon’s mouth when the sky tore open and jolted the dragon’s body tail-end-up. He fell to his hands and knees, his head spinning. Even so, he crawled toward the steps, reaching the handrail just as the dragon’s head began to turn. Slipping and stumbling, he climbed the three stairs but as he reached for the door latch, the head tipped forward and he lost his grip, tumbling into the makeshift airbags between the dragon’s teeth. **** “Can you get back up here?” Ford pleaded over the headset, “Tate?!” Still no answer. Through the sting of sweat dripping into his eyes and the weakness threatening to buckle his knees, Ford relayed the only plan of action he could take to the crew, “I’m going to try to help Fiddleford! Just… Just give me a minute.” “We don’t have a minute! Oh man! Alright. Hold on. Oh man oh man… Um. Okay. We can do this. Grenda, Candy, Mabel, we’re going to have to try to do this on our own.” Ford could barely hear Dipper’s reply as the headset slipped out of his hands. “Candy! Fire the foot cannons!” Dipper commanded. “Dipper, I’m sorry! I can’t!” Candy replied, her voice strained and panicked. “Candy?” Dipper clasped the railing around him, the iron grating against his palms as glanced behind him for a split second, his heart dropping to his toes at the sight. The dragon’s lurching had sent her tumbling from her seat, tangling her in a rainbow-colored nest of wires leading to the left leg. The DDRD3000's body tipped further, leaving the gnomes clinging to their seats, a chorus of their throaty yells swelling through the command center as they lost their grips and tumbled forward. Wendy and Dan struggled to climb the near 45 degree angle of the control room’s floor, reaching to help Candy only to slide back down, spinning and tumbling until Dan caught the leg of an old bus seat, bolted to the floor and Wendy caught a hold of his boot, nearly pulling it off. Stan clung to his chair, looking rather green as his thoroughly exhausted muscles strained to hang on, wanting to ask what was going on but certain he didn’t want to know what would come out if he opened his mouth. Soos slid toward the opening into the dragon’s neck, His legs scrambling to alter his path enough to avoid a collision with Celestabellbethabell and a group of gnomes huddled around her. He reached out one arm just in time to catch Gideon before he spun into them like a bowling ball on course for a strike. “Grenda! Mabel!” Dipper shouted, peeling the sweat-drenched hair away from his forehead and tucking it under his hat, “It’s up to us. Mabel, see if you can swish the tail up and down! That sheet of metal that Teeth tore up might just act like a flipper. Grenda! Swim toward the ground and grab… something!” “I’m on it!” Grenda clutched both control sticks, her teeth gritted as she pushed and pulled them in a swimming motion, fighting to swing the idle flapping of the dragon’s wings and the backwards lull of its neck in a downward direction. The robotic arms screeched, smoke puffing from the joints but, despite their protesting, they obeyed her command. Sweat beaded across her brow as she struggled against the pull of the air itself, moving against the deadly current, inching closer and closer to the ground. Mabel’s heart pounded as she whipped the tail around again, trying to guide the dragon forward and away from the portal. The tail flailed wildly in the portal’s vacuum, and Mabel struggled to shift the control stick back and forth. She managed to get it under control, it’s mighty flaps steering the Dragon away from the shrieking inter-dimensional gateway. With the added boost from the tail’s flipping, Grenda shifted her hands to the buttons situated near the base of the control sticks, mashing them under her fingers to stretch out the dragon’s massive metal claws. She dug them into the parched ground below an released the buttons, the claws gripping ash and roots. In a puff of dust and the grinding of metal against dirt and rock they tore deep gashes into the ground and finally gained a hold. She locked the brakes and let out a sigh of relief when the claws maintained their grip and pried her hands free from the control sticks. With a puff of breath, she wiped her brow and allowed herself a triumphant smile. Though the robot’s tail end still struggled in the updraft, they were at least somewhat anchored against its pull. With a prolonged grunt, Mabel pulled back on her control stick one last time, throwing all of her strength into fighting against the current. The gears shrieked in protest but obeyed, slamming the tail down, its broken paneling digging into the earth. The DDRD3000 creaked and groaned, but it was safe, its claws and tail acting as anchors, preventing the crew from being torn from their resident dimension. **** Ford reached forward, his legs straining to keep him steady against the robot’s jerking and jolting. He carefully tilted Fiddleford back into in upright position, calling his name helplessly. Panic gripped him at the sight of his friend’s eyes glazed over, his breaths coming in shallow pants. “Fiddleford! Fiddleford, please! Please wake up!” An image flashed through Ford’s mind, his friend lying in his arms, unresponsive, his eyes wide but seemingly empty, devoid of any light or life after witnessing the horrors beyond the portal. Panic attack! His mind screamed. He’s shut down, just like before! Oh what have I done?! It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Idiot! OK stop, breathe. You’re no good to anyone if you panic now... He patted down his pockets, searching for something, anything that might bring Fiddleford back to him. “Yes! Yes, of course. Where is it?!” he mumbled to himself, searching the inner pockets. “There!” He pulled out a dark brown vial with a blindingly yellow label containing an alien concoction which proved most valuable during the sporadic anxiety and panic attacks which leapt upon him from time to time in his travels. “This helped me more than once, hopefully it does the same for you, buddy,” he muttered as he unscrewed the cap. He squeezed the eyedropper and released his grip until it was half-filled with a briny green solution. Muttering hopes and prayers under his breath, he lifted it to Fiddleford’s open mouth, his hand attempting to match the trembling of his friend's body. Three drops made it into his mouth, the watery liquid shifting to a viscous texture on contact. Fiddleford felt sensations distantly, but they were filtered through some sort of veil. He simply didn’t have enough information to interpret them properly. All he could do was tremble and draw shallow breaths. Something touched his lips and a tangy, sharp flavor snipped through the veil like garden shears. Something that was somehow the consistency of both a smoothie and lukewarm pudding slid down his throat. It was like lime but too sweet, like pie but too sour. It was similar to drinking glue that was trying too hard to be dessert, but Fiddleford found himself craving more. He blinked slowly, taking in a greedy uneven breath. He didn’t recognize the room he was in, but that felt like a fairly familiar sensation, somehow. There was a howling sound outside, and a lot of crashing and screeching. He looked around the little metal room, attempting to gauge what kind of a situation he was in, and found some strange person standing beside him. He tried to speak and found his words a bit strained. He cleared his throat and gave the stranger a broad smile. “Why hello there! And who might you be?” Ford chewed his bottom lip in concern during the moment before Fiddleford spoke. The question hit him hard and he struggled to restrain an expression of open-mouthed horror. Everything Dipper and Mabel had told him was true. His best friend had wiped out most of his mind and was still suffering from the blow. He hadn’t seen before, or perhaps, he’d chosen to block out just how many lines etched Fiddleford’s face, crinkling around his eyes as he smiled blankly at him, or how few teeth remained within that wide grin or how bony his limbs had been when he’d hugged him just minutes ago. As much as he’d wished it, as much as he’d hoped it, this was not the same man he knew thirty years ago. Or rather, it was but he was tangled among years worth of knots. What had he been through? The kids mentioned he was living in a shack in the dump and that the townspeople mocked or ignored him. He deserved better. Choking back the sob threatening to wrack his throat, he forced a smile back at Fiddleford and stammered the only words he could think of in response, “I-I’m Ford... S-Stanford Pines. Do… do you know… I mean… Hi. Nice to um… meet you, Mr….?” Ford prompted, hoping there were still some shred of memory left. The DDRD3000's head whipped to one side, bouncing with the force of it’s claws digging into the ground below them. Ford grabbed a hold of the control panel with one hand, his legs threatening to buckle below him. Fiddleford’s entire body lifted nearly six inches above his chair before slamming back into the seat. A cube with worn and tattered stickers marking nine squares of each side with distinctive colors tumbled out of his pocket, clattering across the floor; his decades old Cubic’s Cube. He still has that?- Ford's snapped out of his momentary musing at a jostling of the dragon's head as it's claws dragged along the ground, bringing them to a halt. He reached forward to steady Fiddleford, allowing some small amount of relief into his clutter of thoughts. Someone had saved them. Someone had stopped them from being drawn into the portal he’d inadvertently created. He made a mental note to thank them as soon as possible before turning his attention back to his friend. Fiddleford jumped at the contact, brief images of angry hands and the bristles of brooms passing through his mind, but the hand was warm and the touch was soft and he quickly settled into it. He glanced at the hand, noting it had six fingers instead of five, but he didn’t stare; It would be impolite after all. Something about the fact that this hand had six fingers made him feel much safer, filled him with great happiness and equally great sorrow from some distant memory just out of his reach. “Stanford Pines you say?” He reached out and patted the stranger’s arm in return, giving a crooked grin. “That’s an awful nice name.” Something about it amused him but he didn’t remember quite what. He tried to recall his own name and could think of nothing but a jumble of indecipherable letters and just as indecipherable feelings attached to them… “Stanford...Stanford...hey whaddya know, my name has ‘Ford’ in it too!” He didn’t remember what part of it but some part of it matched. “What a mighty fine serendipity!” Yes! Yes it does. We used to joke about it in college! Ford thought, hope welling up inside him. “It does, does it?” He asked aloud, wincing as the dragon’s head crashed to the ground, his knees and ankles screaming beneath him and his hand clutching Fiddleford’s shoulder tighter, preventing him from whipping forward in his seat, his body conveniently placed between him and the sight of the swirling vortex of doom splitting the apocalyptic sky. He ducked as the Cubic’s Cube bounced off of the eye-shaped windshield one of its perfectly solved sides nearly smashing into his forehead. He looked up to Fiddleford, scrambling to get to his feet again. “Are you alright?!” the question blurted out past the tension and fear and fumbling, past his confusion over what to say or ask next. Fiddleford braced himself with shaking arms. His hat flopped forward over his face and he adjusted it, trying to sit up straight. “I’m fine! Absolutely fine heh, why i’m fit as a-” He looked out the window, up at the sky and gave a shriek. “Sweet sally! It’s the...It’s the end of the word!” He stared in wide-eyed horror at the fiery, technicolored hellscape before him. The swirling vortex of death tugged at his memory, and so too did the enormous floating pyramid... But he had a feeling some things were just best left buried. He shook off the dream-like vision and asked, “Where...where are we, Stanford? What’s happenin’ out there?” The dragon lurched again, a thunderous thud accompanied by the shriek of metal against earth shaking its entire body as the tail anchored them in place. Exhaustion defeated Ford and he fell back into his chair, his hand raked into his curls, the Cubic’s Cube rolling corner over corner and end over end across the floor until it settled against his boot. He lifted it, and sighed, holding it between both hands, his fingers drumming against it as he attempted to explain, “You’re not wrong. This is the end of the world. And it’s my fault. You tried to stop me years ago and I didn’t listen…” as he spoke, his hands absently twisted the cube mixing blue squares with red and white with yellow, “And now you’ve built this incredible machine to save this town and myself and all I did was make things worse.” He shook his head, annoyed at his outburst of self-pity and condemnation at such an inopportune time. Focus. Focus on helping him. The cube clicked between his hands as he rotated it, turning its ends and rotating it again, the colors scrambling into a rainbow sprinkled mess on each side. “I know you can remember,” he said more to the cube twisting between his hands than to the man sitting beside him, “You’re a genius. You’re a hero. It’s thanks to you that most of the people in this town are safe right now. But… more importantly…” he looked up, his concerned eyes meeting Fiddleford's nervous ones, “Fiddleford, you’re a kind-hearted man who I’m proud to call a friend, who Tate is proud to call his father, and who Dipper and Mabel are thrilled to have met.” Fiddleford. Was that his name? He shook his head, running his fingers through the few strands left of his hair. “I...I…” he looked up at Stanford. The man was so earnest in what he was saying, so convicted. It made explaining the truth that much harder. “Listen, Stanford...I don’t know who you think I am, but you’ve...you’ve got the wrong person. I ain’t never done anything worthwhile in my entire life.” he smiled wryly. “I probably woulda remembered if I did.” He looked down at his shaking knees, grabbing his beard and wringing it between his hands. “I’m just...I’m just the town kook who lives in the dump...people don’t wanna have nothin’ to do with me, and it’s probably for the best because I’d hate to ruin everything for ‘em…So uh, whoever you’re talkin’ about, you might wanna keep searchin’, ‘cause uh...I ain’t him…” Fiddleford couldn’t look at the man. He didn’t want to see the crushed expression on his face when he realized he hadn’t found his friend. “Woulda been awful nice, though, bein’ that fella...” he said, although he wasn’t entirely sure why. “He uh...he sounds pretty swell…” And you seem to like him an awful lot… Which seems pretty swell too…” Ford’s hand flew to his face, pushing his glasses up into his curls as he pressed his fingers and thumb against his eyes, against the dampness welling in their corners as if trying to patch a leak. His limbs ached, everything ached from the shattering pain radiating from his chest. The Cubic’s Cube dug into his palm as he squeezed it, feeling utterly broken, knowing, seeing and hearing how far Fiddleford’s confidence in himself had fallen. “I’m sorry,” the words started as barely a whisper. He lowered his hand revealing bloodshot eyes and a reddened nose. “I’m so sorry!” He choked, his words growing louder and more desperate. “You’re not the failure, I am. You had a bright future ahead of you but you came here to help me and I ruined both of our lives! Whatever they said about you wasn’t true. And even if you don’t believe that you’re a genius, you are still my friend. You’re still the one who pulled consecutive all-nighters with me to finish our projects. You’re still the elvish wizard who showed up to every Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons meet-up. You’re still the father who stared up at the night sky with me telling me about how you’d give your son the stars if you could. You’re still Fiddleford Hadron McGucket and you’re right. He is a pretty swell guy.” Ford’s expression sagged as he saw his words causing Fiddleford to shrink down into his chair, his fingers curling in his beard and his legs bouncing faster than ever. He cursed at himself inwardly, frustrated at his inability to simply talk to the person he’d regarded as his best friend. He doesn’t believe any of that. It’s all true but it’s making him feel worse! Believable… He needs something believable. Ford stared down at the thoroughly jumbled cube in his hands, twirling it slowly between his fingers. He needs to know he’s the genius who could solve things like this in mere seconds! That’s it! He reached forward and pressed the cube into Fiddleford’s hands. Fiddleford stared down at the colorful little object, running his fingers across the dirty, sun-stained stickers and the bare squares that had been filled in with some sort of marker. It looked familiar...not just what it was, but the very object itself...every scratch and dent, every imperfection. He turned it over in his hands. Every single square was out of order and some overwhelming part of him itched to fix it... “You…” Ford began, stretching to remember the everyday things, as he watched his friend examining the cube, “You’re still the guy who drank ten cups of coffee every morning and one time you drank twenty and tried to jump off the roof because you thought you could reach the moon. You’re still the guy who built a revenge-a-tron shaped like a possum because professor Banks said personal computers were impossible. You’re still the guy that wrote a two-hundred thousand word fanfiction on a duct taped laptop prototype after we went to see Star Wars. And you’re still the guy who called his little Tater-tot every day to talk to him even when all he could say back was ‘kitty’ because that’s what he thought your pet raccoons were.” Fiddleford turned the sections of the cube slowly, at random, mostly getting a feel for the little puzzle and how it operated. It was frustrating, like something he was supposed to be familiar with, something that was supposed to come easy to him, something just a little beyond his reach… But quietly, gradually, as Ford talked, as he turned the sections of the cube piece by piece, the memories began to materialize. The first was of him trotting home from school, his family accompanying him, a robotic contraption in one hand and a blue ribbon in the other. He’d almost thought he’d lost that one, it was so old and worn and distant. He turned the cube over and over and soon had a line of blue squares staring back at him. The memory shifted and he was lying on that ratty cushion in his van, staring up at the stars. The man who called himself Stanford was beside him, decades younger and wearing a pastel sweater vest, pointing out his favorite constellations. Fiddleford brushed his hair out of his face and stole a glance at his companion. He said something, he had no idea what it could have been, but it made Ford laugh and his heart swell. Fiddleford soon had completed one side, a little wall of black squares all neatly put in order, and had started on two more. The scene changed again. He was in the hospital, sleep-deprived and a bit of a mess, but all he could feel was a glowing warmth in his chest, like a gentle summer day. His wife was there, dressed in a hospital gown, a tired smile on her face. He looked down at her arms to find a freshly born babe wrapped in a mint green blanket. She reached out and handed his son to him, and he took him up on his arms, his eyes clouding with tears. Another turn of the cube and he had all the white squares in place. The memory shifted one more time. His hands were old and gnarled like they are now (they are now aren’t they?) but they were dancing with nimble dexterity as he turned the blocks of a Cubic’s Cube. There was a tiny triumphant click as he turned the very last section, and just like that the puzzle was complete, like he’d never forgotten how to solve it at all. Fiddleford looked down at the cube, and smiled to himself as he clicked the very last red square into place. He rubbed his eyes, wiping away the blurriness, sniffling a little. His head still buzzing with faint static, but clarity was spreading quickly. It took a few seconds for him to remember where he was, who he was, that he had a body and it was a little tired and still shaking a bit. He looked up to see a person standing over him... Someone he knew... Ford, it was Ford, of course, of course... The familiarity made some of the tension in his body ease, made his breath intake slower and fuller. “...Stanford?” he muttered, shifting in his chair and being greeted with a wave of dizziness. “Oh my…” “Fiddleford? Fiddleford! I’m so sorry, please be alright, please…” Ford muttered as Fiddleford seemed to relax, the haze in his eyes clearing until the pristine blue returned to them. He teetered in his chair and Ford’s hand rushed to catch his shoulder. “Easy now. Breathe with me,” Ford said, reaching out to catch the Cubic’s Cube as it slipped from Fiddleford’s hands and setting it on the control panel. “Inhale one two three four five six. And Exhale one two three four five six seven eight.” Fiddleford nodded, trying to adjust to the pattern. He reached out clumsily for Ford as he wobbled, his hand settling over his friend’s. He gripped it, perhaps a bit too tightly, as he kept up the breathing regiment. Soon enough he was breathing normally and his head had cleared a bit. Though it wasn’t as clear as it could have been because he opened his mouth to say something and the first sentence he managed to utter was, “...Stanford... What was that stuff you gave me” He smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, a tart sweetness lingering on his taste buds. “Was that...key lime gogurt?” Ford blinked, uncertain of how to respond yet certain that the inter-dimensional concoction did have a strong sweet but limy flavor. What started as a fizzle suppressed between his teeth clutching his lower lip erupted into a hearty laugh. “What the devil is gogurt?” he asked, “Wait… is that the stuff in a tube that Mabel likes?” Fiddleford nodded, chuckling himself. “Might be. It does come in a little tube… It’s sorta like... A yogurt-y substance? ‘Cept ya drink it.” “That sounds…” Ford pondered for a moment, trying to decide if the idea of drinkable yogurt sounded revolting or… “convenient!” he chimed. “Guys!” Dipper’s voice fizzed and crackled over the headset. Ford bent to pick his up and situated it back on his head just in time to hear, “We’re anchored away from that… whatever that was and Bill can’t reach us because of its pull! We should try to get back to the Mystery Shack while we can! Grunkle Ford, how is Fiddleford? What happened?” “Right, yes,” Ford answered, lifting the headset up to speak into the mic, barely holding it between trembling fingers. “F-Fiddleford is.. With us again. It appears to have been a panic attack.” He shifted in his seat, stifling the tremor surging through his body as the fleeting moment of humor abruptly ended and the severity of the situation buzzed through every nerve. “Oh wow. Yikes,” Dipper responded with the empathy of personal experience. “Alright um, Do you think you could you lower the wings? We’re going to have to crawl until we get out of the pull of whatever that swirling vortex of death is. If you do that, I think we can handle things for a bit from there if you still need a minute.” It took a moment for Fiddleford to respond, but finally he muttered,“S-sure thing,” into the mic. He turned a knob and flipped some switches. The wings creaked and shuddered before finally folding neatly against the beast’s metal frame. “Great! Thanks. We can take care of things as long as Bill can't get to us so you can take a break, McGucket,” Dipper responded, worry tinting his tone. “Soos, can you get Candy untangled from those wires? We’re going to need all the help we can get.” “I'm on it!” Soos answered in a fuzz-muffled click. It suddenly grew very silent in the control room despite the whirs and beeps of the control panel operating and the turmoil raging outside as the dragon crawled away from the portal, it's claws crashing to the ground in intermittent thunderous thuds. Fiddleford quietly, slowly pulled off his headset and laid it on the control panel. His leg bounced softly against his chair. “So…” He avoided Ford’s gaze, twisting his beard in his hands. “What in ungodly tarnation was... is... That?” he asked, nodding toward the looming void in the sky. Ford rested one elbow on the console his hand raking through his hair, headset dangling slackly from his fingers as he tried to explain. “I- I panicked. I didn’t know what else to do. I’m… I’m sorry. Fiddleford, I’m so sorry. I owe everyone an apology… That was not the intended outcome.” Fiddleford nodded absently, still trying to wrap his head around all of this. “Ah...well I figured as much….but...well...what was it supposed to do?” “I-I... ” Ford stammered, stumbling over his thoughts, trying to explain a concept which, in regards to his whereabouts in the multiverse, suddenly sounded rather ludicrous, “It was supposed to be a well... a spell. I’ve cast it successfully hundreds of times! Children cast it for fun! It’s nothing more than a prank, really. It should have simply shrunk that monster for a few moments.” Fiddleford began tugging at his beard. He shook his head, still unable to look Ford in the eye. “You...you cast spells? You...you wield magic?” “I… have, yes. But… apparently not in this dimension or...?” Ford’s response emerged as more of a troubled, hopeless question, his eyes fixed downward, staring blankly at the headset swinging from his forefinger, thoughts fluttering through his head, colliding with each other and shattering. Maybe it was hypocritical of Fiddleford. They’d pretended in college in the games they used to play...they’d talked about it all the time. They had even come across magic, used it in some cases, heck, he and the townsfolk had used it to make the barrier that was containing Bill... Just... Never like this. Unicorn hair, amulets... They were small and contained and had a purity to them (even if unicorns were an uptight sort of creature). This was raw, unwieldy, unholy... Otherworldly. They couldn’t hope to contain it any more than the portal they had build so many decades ago. Fiddleford finally managed to settle his gaze on his friend. He stared at him for as long as he could stand, studying him. It hit him, suddenly, that the world Ford has known for the past several decades was wildly different than his own, that who Stanford was now would forever be marked by what he’d found out there, through some gateway into the beyond. Fiddleford looked at him and saw a stranger, and it frightened him more than almost anything else in the world. ...But perhaps what scared him more were the faded, choppy images flashing through his mind... Hoards of golden triangles with demonic eyes all staring at him; him knowing they were watching him and Ford sitting in the middle of them meditating, as if things couldn’t be more right… “Stanford Pines, what have you gotten yourself into all these years?” “There were… dimensions where magic was commonplace. So common, that my pathetic grasp of it was laughable to true sorcerers. But what little I learned proved invaluable over the years,” as Ford spoke the world around them rumbled. His headset tumbled to the floor as he grasped the arms of his chair, craning his neck to look to the sky. The swirling void inched open further. “That… This world… I mean… I can’t use it here. At least… not such a raw form of it. Amulets and scrolls channel it, store and transport it, make it accessible to mortals in this world… I’m not a viable conduit for it. That’s why even in worlds where magic is abundant and available, I still had difficulties wielding it… Creatures from our world were never meant to tap into the source, were they?” The rumbling intensified with his every word. He stared in awe as the edges seemed to deteriorate, chipping away more and more of the unnaturally neon sky. “It’s because of me…” he muttered. He lowered his head, eyes meeting Fiddleford’s as the color drained from his face. “I… I don’t belong in this world anymore… do I?” An ache overtook Fiddleford’s chest. It was accompanied by a quiet, bitter anger, but it wasn’t directed at Ford. Fiddleford reached out and laid his hand over Ford’s arm. “Now, don’t go around sayin’ things like that…whatever happened…” His voice caught in his throat. “We’re awful glad to have you back.” He gave Ford’s arm a squeeze. “I’m awful glad you’re back.” “It’s not that…” he whispered with a shake of his head. “I’m the reason there was a rift in the first place,” he explained as the realizations crashed down upon him like frozen waves, his volume increasing with each word, “I can’t exist here anymore, the things I’ve seen, the things I’ve learned… They’re a threat to this world and its timeline… I… I don’t belong in any mortal world anymore!” The void pulsed and grew as the word ‘mortal’ spilled past his lips. Guilt, regret, and shame slammed into him, gripping every muscle with physical pain until he felt completely numb, slouched over in his chair, one arm barely propping him up on the console. Fiddleford blinked, speechless for a moment. Then he stood in his chair, his hand on his hip, giving Ford a stern look. “If you really think you don’t belong here, you and whatever higher powers are conspiring to keep you from staying here with your loved ones where you rightly belong is gonna hafta take it up with me first!” “But this makes things… more certain,” Ford mumbled in response, “I’ve tried to avoid it… Searched for other ways and continually failed but now I see there is no question about it…” Fiddleford’s mind stopped in it’s tracks. He didn’t like Ford’s tone of voice, or the look on his face as he spoke. “W-what are you talking about…?” Ford clutched his aching chest, sweater scrunching between his fingers and nausea rising in his throat from the churning of tumultuous thoughts. Of the times in his life when he needed a friend to listen, this ranked in the top five, possibly taking the lead. And perhaps, this time, he might honestly listen to the reply. He drew in a deep breath and risked the question, “Fiddleford, can I talk to you about something…?” Fiddleford sank back down into his chair. He laid his hand on Ford’s, looking him in the eyes. “‘Course you can. Anything you ever need to talk about, I’ll listen.” He gave Ford a reassuring smile, but there was a quiet sort of dread growing in the pit of his stomach. “I… Do know how to defeat Bill,” he began, looking straight at Fiddleford, at first, as if trying to assure him that he was speaking the truth, but, as his thoughts raced ahead of his words, his gaze fell to his feet. “It is the only hope we have left,” he continued, fumbling over a concept he’d once wholeheartedly accepted but had come to resent over the past few weeks, “But,” he released his breath, visibly stalling, at a momentary loss over how to tell the friend he’d finally reunited with, the man who was his best and only friend in a dark time, that there wasn’t going to be time for catching up. “It will…” he began, shaking his head in frustration at himself and rephrasing his words, “I mean… I… I will… not survive it. And… it appears… that may be for the best.” End notes: So, here's how the rolls played out. We decided that Ford, Fiddleford, Tate, Dipper, Candy, Mabel, and Grenda were all in positions where they could potentially do something useful to help. Then Fidds rolled a 1 and... we love angst so we decided that meant he forgets... everything. Ford, having not much else he could do at that point, rolled for the power of friendship and got a 15, enough to help Fidds out. I can't find what Tate actually rolled in our notes at the moment but it was like an 8 or 9, I think? Just under being enough to help. (It was the roll that made us decide that he is just not having any luck in getting to his post...) Candy... rolled a 3 and fell out of her chair XD. (Damn it, Candy, this is why Mickey tells us to wear our seat belts!) Dipper got a 17 in leadership. Then Mabel and Grenda both rolled 18 to save the day. (Go Mabel and Grenda!) So, we figured that since 4 out of 7 rolled pretty high, it would be enough to save the crew. TBH we were making plans for what would happen if they did get pulled in... But now... Now Ford has to deal with the implications of his dimension rejecting his existence in it.

#stanford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #grunkle ford #ford pines #mabel pines #candy and grenda #dipper pines #heroism is subjective fic #heroism is subjective au #mo's writing and such #fic warnings:#major character death #gravity falls au #alternate ending

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cardsagainstanme · 7 years

Text

Attack on Titan Version

Black Cards

v What’s Grisha Jäger doing?

v So, what’s in the basement?

v Hello, I am Jean and I like ______.

v Levi’s catchphrase is ______.

v What is worse than Marco’s death?

v The new plan to take back Wall Maria involves ______ and ______.

v Levi’s secret is ______.

v Beyond the walls, other than the Ocean is _______.

v The Military has discovered that titans have another weakness: ____.

v Armin’s latest idea to defeat the titans involves ____, ____, and ____.

v Sie sind das essen und wir sind die _____.

v Sasha’s love of potatoes has been eclipsed by her desire for ( ).

v When the titans broke through the wall, I had to leave behind everything except ( ).

v Why did Hannes save Mikasa and Eren?

v In the scouting legion, ____ and ____ are now standard issue.

v What do the wall worshipers use for sacrifices?

v Why are the Beast Titan’s arms so long?

v What are the soldiers’ titan-killing swords made of?

v What were the makers of a Slap on Titan on when creating their abridged series?

v What do the Titans dream about?

v What 2 things does Erwin use to get ready in the morning?

v Erwin's hobbies include ( ) and ( ).

v The true reason the Asians are almost extinct is ( ).

v How does Connie shave his head?

v Who created the 3DMG?

v Who is the true saviour of humanity?

v Why didn’t the Santa Claus Titan devour Armin?

v Jean hasn’t died yet because of ( ).

v As they don’t do any titan killing, what do the Military Police use their 3DMG for?

v Eren’s true goal is ( ).

v When Eren first transformed he went on a rampage because of ( ).

v The true reason Mike likes to sniff people is ( ).

v Why do the Titans in the walls stay inside of the walls instead of devouring all nearby humans?

v Why is Levi so bad at drawing?

v Why is Armin so cute?

v After his unfortunate demise, what will Erwin’s eyebrows colonise next?

v Why is everyone in the series going to die?

v Why does Mikasa really wear her scarf everywhere?

v Hanji’s next experiment will use ( ), and ( ).

v The Scouting Legion rises to the sound of ( ).

v Hanji’s greatest strength is ( ).

v Why will Mikasa survive?

v ( ) & ( ), the hottest new ship in Snk.

v Why does Moblit drink?

v The new name of Attack on Titan is ( ).

v What does the carving on Mikasa’s wrist mean?

v The best way to describe Attack on Titan is ( ).

v What brings all the Titans to the yard?

v Erwin created a new encouraging slogan for the Scouting Legion. What is it?

v What’s the true reason that the humans won the Battle for Trost?

White Cards

v The precise number of zero people who were surprised by the Female Titan’s identity.

v People who mistake Thomas Wagner for Reiner.

v Nile and Erwin’s hideous bolo ties.

v Petra and Auruo pissing themselves on their first mission.

v Ereri becoming canon.

v Armin’s creepy face.

v Stabbing a titan with a pitchfork to save your delusional boyfriend.

v Defeating a titan with nothing but a bow and arrow.

v A screencap of every time Bertholdt makes his “sweats nervously” face in the manga.

v Hanji and Armin plotting your demise.

v Fans who still make Bertholdt FUBAR jokes.

v Connie’s pending genius status.

v The correct way to spell Jean Kirschtein’s last name.

v The inevitable deathmatch between Mikasa and Annie.

v JÄGER!!!!!

v Jean’s trying to flirt unsuccessfully with Mikasa.

v A complete list of things Guren no Yumiya doesn’t go with.

v Ymir and Christa’s not-so-secret love affair.

v Using blood like other animes use cherry blossoms.

v Erwin’s eyebrows.

v All these big-ass trees.

v Putting your 3DMG on backwards and blasting ass-first into a wall.

v Annie’s nose.

v Marco’s other half.

v A titan’s lack of genitals.

v Stabbing a man when you’re nine years old.

v TITANS ARE MY TRIGGER!

v Dead Anime Mom syndrome.

v 3DMG.

v Levi’s resting bitchface.

v Mikasa’s tragic backstory.

v Titan shifters.

v Cooking on the evaporating corpse of a titan.

v Titan puke.

v Human meat.

v Jean’s suit vest.

v The coordinate.

v Inside of a titans stomach.

v I don’t what Shingeki no Kyojin is, but I like Attack on Titan.

v Levi’s cravat.

v Mikasa’s abs.

v SIE SIND DAS ESSEN UND WIR SIND DIE JÄGER!

v The titans inside of the walls.

v The titan-serum.

v Lot and lots of death.

v A scarf from Eren.

v Losing a leg and losing an arm, before being swallowed by the Santa Claus titan.

v The fall of Wall Maria.

v Potatoes.

v Hanji’s indestructible and unending love for titans.

v Titan, titan, titan, titan, titan, titan, titan, TITAN!

v Isayama’s love of body hair.

v Marco’s holy freckles.

v The amazing, indescribable walls.

v Running out of Gas.

v Moustached Titans.

v The train wreck that is Junior High.

v The power of science.

v Petra being smashed against a tree.

v The pregnant titan.

v Historia, the true Queen.

v Eren’s 8 pack.

v The Colossal Titan’s Houdini manoeuvre.

v Getting high on the gas from the 3DMG.

v Death, pain, and suffering.

v Piloting a titan like a mech.

v Killing anyone who makes any progress.

v The Santa Claus titan.

v The armoured Titan spouting flames from its mouth.

v Making a deal with the devil to create the Titans.

v The Garrison’s drinking problem.

v The characters whose eyes have sunken in.

v The meat shield division.

v Armin’s eyebrow evolution.

v Armin’s Titan eating Bertholdt while Erwin dies elsewhere.

v Dinosaurs in the Season 2 opening.

v Connie’s village becoming Titans.

v Eren’s unquenchable rage against the Titans.

v Commander Pixis’s unorthodox obsession with a giant, naked, lady titan who has large breasts.

v Levi’s tragic backstory.

v Isabel’s and Eren’s uncanny resemblance.

v The fact that Titans were once oppressed humans who tried to plot a revolution and were then punished by being thrown off a wall while turning into a titan.

v The fact that Junior High has bigger volumes than the actual manga.

v Eren being turned into a Titan by his Dad, then he proceeds to eat his Dad and Keith Shadis is confused and traumatised for the rest of his life.

v Mikes amazing, Titan-smelling nose.

v Levi’s special way of holding a teacup.

v The chapters only come out once a MONTH!

v The conspiracy of the walls and the Reiss family.

v The Beast Titan’s weird eyes.

v The way that Isayama draws hands.

v Mikasa’s hair strip that comes in front of her face.

v The fact that Levi is shorter than nearly all his subordinates even though they are teens, while he himself is surprisingly old.

v The creepiness and deformities of the Titans in general.

v Eren’s Titan form’s Nictitating Membranes (Third Eyelids.)

v Farlan’s left over torso.

v The many screams of Armin.

v 3DMG performances in Bollywood costumes.

v The fact that Eren means Saint.

v The fact that any textbook showing human muscles has pictures that looks like the Colossal Titan.

v The cuteness of a taco on titan.

v The Shingeki no Kyojin Tumblr fandom. (The embarrassment of Tumblr.)

v Badass Windex.

v The fact that Mikasa’s name means 3 bamboo hats

v The fact that Grisha’s first wife, Diana, ate his second wife, Carla, as the smiling Titan, and was then killed by other Titan’s under the command of his son. (Talk about family issues. )

v Giant naked cannibals that your parents certainly do not approve of.

v “BITCHES BOW YOUR HEADS AND PRAISE THESE WALLS!!!!” –A Slap on Titan.

v Mikasa having to save Eren every other weekend.

v The fact that Levi’s horses back is taller than he is.

v Hanji Motherfucking Zoe, the psychopath of the Scouting Legion.

v The key to the basement.

v Jean, a regular guy going through Hell.

v The Avatar of the 104th training squad.

v The McDonald's parody of Attack on Titan.

v Saluting with the wrong hand in front of Keith Shadis.

v Ackerman magic.

v Guren no Yumiya’s intro.

v Moblit, the Scouting Legion’s resident drunkard.

v The white pants of the soldier’s uniform’s magic abilities to deflect dirt and blood.

v “Your name is ErWIN, not ErLOSE”. –Erwin at some point in his life.

v Darius Zackly, the man who let a 15-year-old be beaten brutally in front of him in a court room.

v Nile Dok, the asshole leader of the Military Police.

v Levi’s height of 160cm.

v Hanji’s goggles.

v Farlan telling Levi to be sociable.

v The ‘I don’t give a fuck’ squad.

v “I’ll sacrifice your baby for humanity, I don’t give a FUCK!”. -drinkyourfuckingmilk

v Hazing new recruits by chopping off Eren’s hand and pretending to freak out.

v Krista Lenz, the Goddess of the 104th training squad.

v Eren’s sexy Titan form with his chiselled chest and his rebellious face.

v Horseface.

v Bertolt's confidence issues.

v Rainbow 3DMG straps.

v Commander Erwin’s speeches.

v 3DMG with guns.

v A titan’s butt-crack.

v Shoot everyone, kill everything and then declare peace atop a pile of bodies.

v Being squished into a blob by a titan.

v Just ram your blade up their assholes.

v The correct way to pronounce character’s names. (Gene or John)

v Jean’s hallucinations of Marco after his death.

v The outside of the walls.

v Shipping wars in the fandom.

v Eremika shippers Vs Ereri shippers.

v A church of wallists crushed by Annie.

v Jean’s obvious crush on Mikasa.

v The wall that is on the edge of the ocean.

v Coconut head.

v Mikasa force-feeding Eren bread.

v A Slap on Titan in general.

v Abridge on Titan in general.

AN: Just to be clear I don’t own Attack on Titan, but me and my friends created our own version of Cards Against Humanity and I wanted to share them. They take awhile to make and coming up with the ideas was a process.I encourage you to enjoy and if you wish to make your own, you are totally allowed to use these or simply take ideas. It is a long post as it has 50 Black and 150 White cards.

Have a good one.

-Claire Bear & Friends

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idornaseminary · 7 years

Text

Chapter One-Hundred Twenty-Five: Beatrice/Calix

“I don’t understand, dad. Why are you angry with him? He’s done nothing wrong.”

Little Calix had wrung his small hands raw, nervously staring at the rug where his father paced. The heavy boots, caked in dry mud and dragon scales, sounded like thunder every time they hammered the floorboards beneath the worn mesh of woven fabric.

The singing of ice and crystal rang above Admon Galen’s cursing and muttering, dense cigar smoke swirling in threatening clouds above their heads as Calix’s father smoked and drank to drown his sorrow in whatever he could.

Calix resisted the persistent urge to cough and splutter - his father was angry and he did not want to draw that rage closer. But, he couldn’t understand what Ryker had done to upset his parents.

“There is something wrong, Calix. Alright?” Admon sneered, unable to keep the searing anger from his bile-coated voice. “There is something wrong with him. I know it. Your mother, bless her, knows it. Everyone knows it! And, you… you’re just too young to understand it.”

“But…”

“But, nothing!” Admon roared, turning on his heels to point the burning cigar at his eldest son, “Do you hear me, Calix! Do you! He’s a squib, a mistake, an utter mistake! We, Galens, have a squib as a son! A fucking squib!”

Admon let a guttural beast-roar from his chest, flinging his amber whiskey violently to the floor. The glass shattered, coppery shards of crystal erupting into the air and littering the sitting room with innocuous, skin-splitting spikes. Calix cowered backwards, abruptly catching himself as the jingling Christmas decorations rocked cradle-like on the tree behind him. His bare toes curled, a fear of being cut spreading through his body.

He slowly looked up, finding it hard to breathe. Admon was pinching the bridge of his nose, cussing louder.

“Dad?”

“No, Cal, no,” Admon said, roughly, “I need time to think.” He grabbed his coat from the armchair, and without looking back at his terrified son, left the Galen house for the last time.

As the early morning light filtered into Calix’s bedroom, Beatrice stifled a yawn, not wanting to wake him where he lay beside her, curled up under a well-loved quilt that had faded and worn in some places, though still provided plenty of warmth on cold Irish nights. She smiled softly in the dazzling light that radiated off the glittering snow outside, little rainbows cast all over his room from icicles hanging on the tree outside his window, and admired the peaceful, angelic look he had about him as he slept. Being home with him was something out of a dream. She loved his family, though the tension between his mother and his brother sometimes filled the whole house with an awkward atmosphere which made her feel helpless. But the land was stunning and she couldn’t help but stand enchanted under the fairy lights strung up over the roads running through the town, awestruck in the tranquil silence that settled in at night, making the holiday season more magical for the newcomer. Beatrice shivered as a chill grazed her uncovered tan skin, forcing her back under the warm blankets. She smiled and sidled up to Calix, glad for an excuse to snuggle up as she draped one of her short, bare legs around his, her cold hands sliding under his shirt for added heat.

A cold dagger pierced Calix’s blood-filled heart, like the Christmas he’d cut his feet on whiskey-glass. It was a sharp, freezing pain, a dulling sensation that woke Calix from his restless slumber.

His eyes slowly peeled open, cracking at the edges as the sand shifted and the nightmare faded to a tight feeling of breathlessness. He glanced down at his chest, wondering why he could feel gooseflesh rising when he was warmly wrapped up in his bed.

He chuckled softly, the sound groggy and masqueraded behind closed teeth, as he saw Beatrice’s small hand sneak beneath his pajama top.

“Christ, your hands are freezing.”

“Sorry, Cal,” she giggled, batting her long eyelashes at him. “You know it’s always freezing in here when we wake up?” She pressed closer to his warm body, waves of heat radiating off his lean form, drawing her closer like a moth to a flame until her chest was flush with his.

“That’s just you,” Calix mumbled sleepily, wrapping a strong arm around Beatrice’s slender shoulders. “You Samoans simply aren’t built for the Irish weather.”

“Why do you think my Welsh grandmother purchased all my winter clothes for me?” she asked, nestling her face into his freckled neck, his skin finally returning to its natural paleness after nearly three weeks back home. “How the heck am I supposed to warm up when it’s this cold in here?” she asked somewhat innocently.

“It’s not that cold, it’s barely chilly,” Calix whispered in sultry tones, bundling his girlfriend close to his chest. He pulled the worn blanket around them tight, enveloping their intertwined bodies in a cocoon of softness. “But, if you’re really that cold, my love, I have a few ideas to warm you up.”

“Oh really?” she purred, waggling her eyebrows back and forth playfully, drumming her fingers on his chest. “What did you have in mind?” she asked. Beatrice smiled up at her boyfriend and peppered a string of kisses up from his neck to his earlobe, nibbling softly at the tender skin, the tips of her fingers sliding into the waistband of his trousers.

A small gasp brushed Calix’s lips, turning to a low, growling rumble as the last fragments of sleep were driven from his mind by the tongue across his earlobe and the southern rummage: “Oh, I think you’re on the right track there, babe.”

Calix rolled over, pressing down against Beatrice as his fingertips glided along the sides of her neck and knotted in her dark curls. He took his time admiring his girlfriend’s beauty, visible even in the morning shadows: the arch of her cheekbones, the pout of her lips, her gorgeous eyes and the sweet smell of cinnamon that clung to her sallow skin. Calix lifted her chin and moved their lips together. Soft and sweet turned to fast and frenzied, the featherlight touch transforming into an ardent lover’s desire, communicating with their mouths what they physically craved.

“Warming up?” Calix teased, catching Beatrice’s ruby lip between his teeth and pulling it towards him.

She moaned softly, and ran her fingers through his long brown hair, chuckling as it fell into his face. His bright grey eyes shining like starlight down at her, she grinned and flipped them over, straddling his waist. “Maybe a little bit,” she whispered, pushing his shirt up his toned chest, tugging it off with a small flourish. “I don’t know though, I’m still kinda cold,” she breathed, flipping her bouncy curls over her shoulder.

“Then why are you so far away?” Calix asked, sliding his hands beneath the light top she wore and around the small of her back, her hips dancing against his. He pulled her down, slipping his tongue past her lips again with ravenous intent. She had mocked him about tiring out the first night she had arrived: so far, neither had been successful in breaking the other’s stamina.

“That’s better,” Calix groaned, remembering the loud and feral sound that vibrated through their lips as their breath was shared. “I can’t have my little starlight cold, now can I?”

Beatrice laughed and shook her head, cupping his cheeks in her hands, the short hair growing along his chiseled jaw rough beneath her soft fingertips. “Oh, no, we wouldn’t want that,” she purred, grinding her narrow hips against his in a slow, languid movement mimicking the tide rolling in.

A provocative mewl slipped from her bruised lips, spilling over Calix’s mouth as she kissed him again, her fingers hitching in the elastic waistband of his pajama pants, starting to tug them down when the door opened up, an amused Ryker standing in the doorway. Quickly tossing the blanket over her half-naked body, Beatrice squeaked and rolled off of Calix, burying her face in the pillows.

As the door opened, Calix flicked his wrist quickly. A shimmering screen formed in front of the bed, momentarily blocking the lovers from the rest of the world, as Calix pulled a blushing Beatrice under the covers and towards his firm chest.

“Knock next time, you git,” Calix hollered, sticking his tongue out and giving his younger brother the finger, the barrier of light twinkling out of existence.

Ryker, despite a huge grin, had the good grace to look away, mumbling an apology: “Sorry. I just thought you two might like some breakfast?” He raised the little, wooden tray in his hands, the smell of a traditional Irish fry wafting across the room.

Calix looked down at Beatrice, his stomach murmuring quietly, and wandlessly transfigured her clothing into something less revealing: “Thanks, buddy, that’s really sweet of you. Just next time…”

“Knock,” Ryker muttered, scratching the back of his head, “Yeah, sorry.”

Beatrice, a bright shade of red, previously only seen on Calix without sunscreen in Samoa, smiled politely at his brother and stood up to go get the tray. “I make one hell of an impression don’t I?” she joked weakly, unable to meet his gaze.

“Yeah, y-y-you do,” Ryker blushed, his skin turning cherry-red as Beatrice climbed over Calix, cheekily putting subtle pressure on her boyfriend’s stomach and waist. He stole a piece of toast from the tray as Beatrice took it, tactlessly plopping down on the end of Calix’s bed. “So, eh, do you guys have any plans for the day? Ones I haven’t fucked up.”

Calix scoffed, sitting up on the bed and throwing one of the pillows at him: “We do actually. We said we’d go into town today, didn’t we Bea?”

“Yeah. Get some last minute Christmas shopping out of the way,” she said, draping her legs elegantly across Calix’s lap, blowing the tendrils of steam off her coffee before taking a sip of it.

“Can I come with! Please!” Ryker begged, throwing puppy eyes at Calix and Beatrice. “I promise, I swear, I won’t bother you. Please?”

Beatrice looked over at her boyfriend with a small shrug, taking a bite of some oatmeal. “I don’t mind, if your brother doesn’t. But I was hoping to get you a gift, and I don’t want to ruin the surprise,” she said with a genuine smile.

“A gift?” Ryker asked shakily, his pleading glance recasting as a shocked look of confusion. “You’re getting me one? Why… No one other than Cal or Cass ever gets me gifts…”

“Of course you can join us,” Calix said quickly, attempting to lighten the mood, stabbing one of the rashers of bacon with a fork. “We’ll just have to charm you blind or something, so you can’t see what Bea’s buying, yeah?”

Ryker nodded timidly, throwing a grateful glance at Beatrice: “But, you’ll have to go blind when I go to get yours. Deal?”

She held her hand out and beamed at the younger wizard. “Absolutely,” she said, tugging the quilt up over her bare legs, tucking into a plate of poached eggs. “Would you terribly mind if we finish breakfast and meet you downstairs in like half an hour?” she asked, washing the delicious food down with her coffee. “I just need to eat and get changed.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. I’ll see you downstairs, okay?” Ryker said, smiling happily to himself. Calix could almost see the gears turning inside his head, thinking of a present for the witch. It hurt Calix to see his brother so moved by simple gestures.

When Ryker left the room, Calix turned towards Beatrice and softly kissed her on the cheek: “You’re amazing, you know that? Thanks for letting him tag along. You’re after making his day.”

“You know you don’t need to thank me for being a decent person,” she said, resting her head against his shoulder, wiping the crumbs off her upper lip. After watching his mother dismiss Ryker for the past few weeks, ignoring his existence in the household entirely. Though he was a pureblood squib, he didn’t deserve to be treated like a waste of space, and if all that she could do to help was to treat him like a human being, she would happily do so. “I just want him to be happy.”

“Decent people who want others to be happy are hard to come by, sometimes,” Calix mumbled, happily laying his head against Beatrice’s black curls. He wonder how he’d gotten so lucky, what strange astronomical event brought his starlight into his arms. He stretched out his hand for his wand, his fingers gripping the smooth wood. He raised his wand and silently cast colloportus on the bedroom door. If his girlfriend was getting changed, he wanted no more intrusion.

But, before that.

“By the by, just so you know, we’re finishing what we started.”

“Oh, are we?” she teased, wetting her lips down as she carefully set the tray of empty plates down on the floor beside the bed. It wasn’t like she was opposed to the idea, but Ryker walking in could have ruined the mood, though she was glad he didn’t.

“Oh, we most certainly are,” Calix smiled, shuffling lower in the bed. He softly placed his lips on Beatrice’s neck, nibbling gently on the skin above her collarbones, a trail of sweet, loving kisses tracing the curvature of the bones and the beating pulse. “Unless you want to do something else?”

She shook her head and smiled, knitting her fingers into his thick mane of hair, gently scraping her nails over his scalp. “I mean we do have half an hour to spare,” she breathed, arching her back off the bed. Closing her eyes, she chewed on her bottom lip and cast a quick silencing charm on the room before she got too involved. “There’s nothing else I’d rather do right now.:

“Let’s say three-quarters of an hour,” Calix growled, reversing his transfigurative magic and kissing downwards, “Ryker can wait a little.”

Calix pulled the soot-black coat over his shoulders, devilishly missing Beatrice’s warmth against his skin. Thoughts of an early night poked at his mind as he childishly came down the stairs, all smiles, and stepped into the sitting room. He looked around, the house eerily quiet the days Cassandra took his mother to St. Sorenson’s, spotting Ryker by the Christmas tree, staring blankly at the space beneath the bottom branches.

“Hey, buddy,” Calix said cheerfully, clapping his brother on the shoulder, “All set?”

Ryker flinched, a weak smile-twist to the corners of his mouth. He rubbed his hands together, unable to meet Calix’s eye and shrugged. “Yeah, I’m ready to go. Is Beatrice ready?”

“She’s just getting changed,” Calix chuckled, thinking their lateness was partly his fault and partly hers. “She shouldn’t be long, though.”

“Cal?”

“Yeah?”

“I am really, really sorry about this morning,” his brother sighed, “I really should’ve knocked.”

“Yeah, you really should have fucking knocked,” Calix laughed, his arm wrapping around Ryker’s thin neck and pulling him into a headlock, his knuckles tousling through the boy’s hair. “But, stop beating yourself up about it. It happened - move on, okay?”

Ryker struggling against his brother, a traitorous smile taking hold despite the embarrassed rigor: “It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s her.”

“Alright, alright, look, it happened, it’s not like it’s a big deal. It could’ve been a lot worse!”

“Cal, I flung the fucking door open and…”

Calix silenced his brother with a stern glare and a stern word: “And now, we’re all going to town. The three of us. Ry, you need to stop freaking out over it, okay? It was only a mistake.”

“I’ll try,” he mumbled, running his fingers through his mop of brown curls, “I know I fucked up and I’m sorry, I really am. But, can I ask you just one question?”

“Sure, Ry, anything. What’s on your mind?”

“What do I get her for Christmas?” Ryker queried pleadingly, his eyes falling back to the barren space awaiting the arrival of brightly coloured presents, “What do you get someone like Beatrice? Cal, I’m worried I’ll get it wrong! I can’t think of anything! She’s getting me something and I don’t want to disappoint her.”

“Woah, take a chill pill. What did we just say about freaking out?” Calix smiled, “We’ll think of something. I actually think I know exactly what you could get her.”

“Do you?” Ryker asked excitedly, before taking a deep breath, “It’s not expensive, is it? You know I don’t have a lot of money to spend.” “I’ll go halves with you, yeah? Just pick something small up as well, something that you thought of yourself. She likes you, buddy. And she’ll be thrilled no matter you get her.”

Ryker kicked his feet off the carpet, burying his hands in his pockets. “You think so? I’ve just been a thorn in your side since you came with her. She probably thinks I’m an annoying idiot like mom does.”

Knocking on the wooden white washed door frame leading into the living room, Beatrice smiled as she poked her head around the corner, having missed the discussion between the brothers while she got ready for the day. After things got off to a rather interesting start, she was excited to go out and finally get the last of the Christmas presents, having already sent her family’s out a week in advance so they would arrive in time.

“Everybody ready?” she asked, picking one of her long, black hairs off her creamy white knit turtleneck jumper, sequins sewn in the pattern of a reindeer with fairy lights bedecking its antlers glittering under the warm lights of the chandelier hanging overhead. She tugged at the collar of her jumper, pulling it up until it sat still under her chin, carefully covering up a few love bites she wasn’t able to charm away and that her makeup did a poor job of masking, a demure blush coating her cheeks.

“We’re good to go,” Calix smiled, looking down at his brother, who was blushing scarlet and nodding his head quickly up and down. He placed a strong hand reassuring on Ryker’s back, pushing him forward. “Go get your coat, Ry. You’ll need it in this cold.”

His brother didn’t move at first, his heels firmly rooted into the floorboards. The gentle insistence severed his connection though and Ryker stepped quickly past Beatrice, politely complimenting her jumper. Calix, protectively watching him slink away into the hall, beckoned Beatrice to his chest, her obvious attempts at subtle discretion not lost on him.

“I can make those go away if you’d like,” Calix chuckled, gently stroking her cheek and slipping his fingers inside the collar. “Then again, they are cute on you.”

She swatted his hand away playfully and smiled bashfully. “Then leave ‘em. At least for today. Tomorrow it’d probably be nice not to have to worry about Cass or your mom seeing anything,” she whispered, pressing a tender kiss to the end of his nose before pulling away, lacing their fingers together as she stepped towards the front door. “Now, c’mon. We should get going before all the shops close today,” she teased, following after Ryker.

Calix held Beatrice’s small hand tight, his fingers eclipsing hers and his thumb rolling over the knuckles. He placed a warm kiss on her cheek, a cheeky nibble of agreement. “Might leave them till we get to school.”

Ryker was zipping up his jacket when they joined him, a woolen hat devouring the top of his head and gloves covering his slender fingers.

“So, do you want to walk there? Or apparate to McCarthy's?” Calix asked, looking between Beatrice and Ryker. “It’s completely up to you two.”

The Samoan witch smiled kindly at Ryker as she took her cloak down off the coat rack, wrapping the warm fur around her shoulders as she looked at the two Galen men. “I don’t mind either way. Up to you, Ry,” she said, hoisting her purse onto her shoulder beneath the black fabric.

“I suppose we can apparate,” he shrugged, “It’ll give us more time to shop around.”

“Alrighty,” Calix said, stretching out his hand for his brother to hold. Ryker took Calix’s free hand, his slender fingers clasped around his brother’s like a vice in fear of slipping loose during apparition and being splinched en route. Calix would never allow something like that to happen, but it’s hard to keep those thoughts at bay.

Holding hands, Calix closed his eyes and imagined McCarthy’s Magical Mysteries, a small shop tucked away in the back of a long alley, hidden from the Muggle world by charms and shields, a point of apparition for most wizards and witches. He imagined the vanilla-like smell of the old books, the leaves of paper yellow and spotted with age, imagined the ringing of the silver doorbell and the high, mahogany shelves filled with oddities and marvels from the four corners of the globe.

The air popped and fizzed as he concentrated, Calix’s ears ringing loudly as they landed softly in the shop. Calix slowly opened his eyes, checking Ryker first, then Beatrice, both looking comfortable by his sides.

“Let’s go!”

Grinning madly, Beatrice slipped away as soon as they were all clear. “I’ll meet you back here in 45 minutes,” she said, blowing a kiss at the handsome brothers before skipping away, her wild black curls bouncing with each jolly hop. She wandered close to the door and glanced back over her shoulder, checking to see if either of the mischievous and nosy men followed her as she chewed on her lip and debated whether or not to quickly duck out and try her luck shopping elsewhere. Though when looking outside at the arctic tundra the street had become, gales of freezing snow carrying a light snowdrift into the town, Beatrice swallowed tightly and looked up at the upper floors of the shop, thinking she might have some luck up there as she tip toed up the creaky wooden staircase.

“We’ve forty-five minutes, buddy,” Calix said, leading his brother out of the shop and into the blizzard of numbing wind. “That’ll be just enough time to get what we need for Beatrice and get back, then we go for lunch or something.”

“Sure,” Ryker nodded, pulling his hat down further as the biting wind snapped at his ears.

After a solid ten minutes browsing around the magical shop, Beatrice decided she might fare better elsewhere, having a good idea of what she’d like to buy Ryker, which she realized couldn’t be found there in town. I’ll only be a few minutes. Closing her eyes, she quietly blocked out the dusty shop she stood in and focused on the loud cacophony of noises, smells, and enchanted toys from her favorite store in Diagon Alley. With a loud pop, she disapparated across the pond to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes in search of the perfect Christmas gift.

“Where is she?”

Calix looked around McCarthy’s worryingly, his grey eyes scanning the quiet rows between the shelves for the sight of his girlfriend’s black curls.

Nothing. No one.

“I’ve no idea, Ry,” Calix said, “She should be here. We did say forty-five minutes?”

“Yeah, we did,” Ryker nodded, clutching a small bag in his hands, his fingers agitatedly drumming on the brown paper and rattling the two gifts within. “What if she’s lost?”

“It’s Beatrice, Ry, she’s just apparate here or maybe home.”

I would hope.

Where are you, Bea?

Suddenly, a voice broke the silence, the silver doorbell proclaiming two arrivals:

“Well, my, my, look who it is!”

Calix’s breath hitched in his throat, his blood running colder than the blustery wind laying frozen webs on the shop’s windows as the colour drained from his face. The voice, sickeningly sweet, called to him like siren-song. A song he wanted to ignore so badly.

He glanced over his shoulder towards the entrance. Ad, there she was. Standing in the doorway, her arm linking a young man Calix thought vaguely familiar, was Athena Millions, smiling like she always did.

“What are you doing here, handsome?” She asked, her blood-red heels clicking against the solid wooden floor with every pretentious stride, as she crossed the room, dragging her partner to her side. “It’s been so long. Last I heard, you’d gone away. Been away a lot recently, haven’t you, Calix? And Ryker! How’s the little squib?”

Ryker blanched, cowering behind Calix as his brother pulled him close, a fiery defense consuming his chest. Ryker feared her, for good reason and past experience; it was people like her, like his father, that branded him different.

“We’re all fine, Athena. We’re just waiting for someone,” Calix said through clenched teeth.

Beatrice reappeared with a loud pop, a wide grin on her winter kissed face, the chill bringing a lovely rosy color to her cheeks in the warm store. She smiled thoughtfully at Calix and slung an arm over his shoulders, pulling him close for a kiss, blissfully unaware of the bothersome couple stood in front of them. She grinned and shifted the weight of her numerous bags on her forearm, trying to redistribute the weight more evenly as she stood beside the Galen brothers, sneakily hiding the bag from Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes at the back of the bunch far away from Ryker’s prying, curious eyes.

“Hey, honey, I’m sorry I’m late! I kinda lost track of time. I ran into Lysander and Lorcan Scamander out with their parents and I had to stop and say hi,” she babbled, her thick, dark eyebrows knitting together in concern when she saw the harsh glare in his eyes and felt the tenseness of his muscles beneath his jumper.

“What’s wrong, pele?” she asked, turning to look at the handsome blonde duo in front of her, her blood running cold when she set eyes on Athena’s companion who smirked playfully as he took his time looking her over. “Thought that was my name, luv,” Cedwyn purred, winking playfully at the Samoan witch. “Or, at least it was until about a month ago.” The chiseled Welsh wizard narrowed his eyes at Calix, a cruel smirk playing on his lips as he pulled his new girlfriend closer, his leather jacket strewn with white flurries melting in the warm shop glistening in the low lights.

Beatrice’s tight grip on Calix’s shoulders, and Ryker’s soft tug at the back of his coat, a small plea falling on deaf ears, stopped him from doing something he would regret. Cedwyn’s face incredibly looked punchable.

“Your name? A month ago?” Calix demanded, his sharp eyes fixating on the blonde wizard like an owl locking onto prey. The cruel smirk on his lips and the grating annoyance of Athena’s laughter, her red lips leaving a mark on the man’s cheek, brought the dark bile from the depths of his chest to the back of his throat, dragging with it an anger suppressed since Idorna.

“Are you saying this is what’s his face? You called him that a month ago?”

“‘What’s his face?’ Isn’t that a little harsh, Teuila?” Cedwyn asked, poking his tongue against the inner wall of his cheek in a highly suggestive manner that made Beatrice’s blood boil over, blue sparks of electricity crackling in her loosely wound coils of hair. She ground her teeth together and whipped out her wand, pointing it viciously at the man in front of her.

“You have no fucking right to ever call me that again, Cedwyn,” she hissed, a cloud of hexes swirling around inside her head, each one demanding attention as the opportunity presented itself to her. “And no, Calix, Mahana said that. My mother said that. Keise said that,” she listed off, her nose wrinkling with fury as she kept her eyes trained on the man who instinctively took a step back, having first-hand experience of her full wrath. “I do not dain to speak of somebody I’m more than happy to say is no longer a part of my life,” Beatrice said calmly, taking in a deep breath of air as she slid her wand back into the sleeve of her jumper when she heard the shopkeeper clear his throat.

“That’s a good girl, why don’t you put that little wand away before someone gets hurt,” Athena purred, snaking her arms around Cedwyn’s waist, “I mean, you did already hurt my little Ceddie so much. That letter of yours was nasty, wasn’t it, pet? You could’ve at least had the common decency to break up with him in person. But, no, you got your father to give him a letter - that’s sadistic isn’t it, Cal?”

“Cal, can we go, please? Please?” Ryker begged, pulling harder on the tail of his brother’s coat.

“I’m really not in the mood for your games, Athena,” Calix spat, taking Ryker’s hand reassuringly in his and mollifying Beatrice with a gentle glance, a cautionary look. He looked at Cedwyn, finally recognising the blond wizard from his year in Hogwarts. You’re the one I’m being compared to? Huh, if they could only see you now. “We were just leaving. And, I doubt Ceddie knows what you’re capable of yet. Almost feel sorry for him.”

“I just feel sorry for you, Cal,” Athena smiled, “If things go south here, you and I, Ceddie and Beatrice, we can take care of ourselves, but, poor little Ryker - would the squib be able to do anything? I mean, what if he got hurt in the crossfire. Not that we’d ever do something like that, would we?”

Beatrice swallowed a guttural growl and put on a sickly sweet smile, her common sense taking a back seat to watch though it tried to chime in with the voice of reason. Can’t we just leave? Do you really have to get the last word?

“And you’re calling me a sadist? I’m cruel for doing the right thing and breaking it off with a man I cared for so he could go be happy elsewhere and I could truly be with another whom I love with all my heart and soul? I’m a masochist for showing kindness to those who are weaker than I am?” Beatrice asked, taking a menacing step forward, the heel of her thick leather boots clicking against the wooden floor, watching with a sort of sickening glee as Cedwyn tried to pull Athena back. “Out of the two of us, you’d have me believe I’m the evil one?”

“Oh, honey,” Athena mewled, licking her red lips and winking at the Samoan witch who’d risen all too easily to her ministrations. “You did him a favour. He got away just in the nick of time.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Calix spat, catching Alistar McCarthy’s eye, the shopkeep raising his wand from behind the counter. “We’re leaving. Now. It’s an utter displeasure seeing you again, Athena. I hope you and this little jumped-up scarecrow will be happy. Watch your back, Ceddie, she likes to stab people.”

“Ceddie’s doing all the stabbing, if you catch my drift, Cal,” Athena laughed, a wicked sound that Calix remembered as once being blood-music in his ear. He wondered how he ever found her attractive, how he ever found a single redeeming quality in Athena Million’s corrupted soul. “Give my best to your parents. Oh, sorry, I meant just your mother.”

Beatrice cleared her throat and gently gestured for Ryker to leave the store after his brother, staying behind a second to gawk at the devilishly attractive couple. Running her tongue over her teeth, she nodded slowly and offered a small smile to her former lover. “It’s really wonderful to see you again, Cedwyn. And, Athena?” she took in a small sigh, the winter air fortifying her nerves as she drew back her hand and slapped the bottle blonde demon parading around in a pseudo-Greek goddess’s body. “It’s been truly terrible.” She smiled and stepped outside into the winter wonderland, listening to the high pitched screeches as Cedwyn attempted to restrain the harpy with the imprint of a bright red hand seared onto her cheek, watching with a small twinge of sadness as Beatrice waltzed away after the two brothers.

Calix, biting down hard on his tongue, snapped his fingers as they walked away, a glittering barricade forming in the doorway to McCarthy’s Magical Mysteries. He firmly guided Ryker away from the shop, stopping after a short distance to wait for Beatrice to catch up.

“Did you really just hit her?” Ryker asked, staring up at Beatrice.

The Samoan witch nodded and smiled simply as she caught up, walking at a leisurely albeit brisk pace. “After everything, I’ve heard about her, and my own experience back there, I can honestly say she had it coming,” she said, shaking out her stinging palm.

Ryker bounced on the balls of his feet, rushing across the snow-covered cobblestones and throwing his arms around Beatrice: “Thank you! She’s had that coming for years, didn’t she Cal? But, who was the other guy?”

Calix watched Athena pound at the shimmering shield, Cedwyn trying to restrain her fury. He had no idea what he was getting himself into, Calix thought. And, Beatrice, wonderful Beatrice, had just drawn the fury of his ex-girlfriend kicking and screaming back into the light of day, for not only her but Calix and their families. “She might have,” Calix mumbled, “But, let’s just get home, okay?”

Beatrice nodded and patted Ryker on the back, smiling up at the cheery, gangly boy beside her, joining up with Calix across the street, wrapping her arm around him as well as they strolled back towards Appletower Row. “Well, you see, Ry, once upon a time, I used to date that arsehole, but much like Athena, he wasn’t a great person who didn’t really deserve me or my time. So, when I met your brother, I knew he was a good man who was more than worthy of spending his life being cared for and loved by somebody who could actually do so,” she said, wistfully recounting the early days of their friendship and eventual romance like a Christmas tale befitting of the season. “And we will all live happily ever after.”

#script #Beatrice #Calix

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