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talesofstyles · 3 years

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Reconcile II

Ok so I know that I wrote the first part with reader insert, but after many, many attempts to keep it that way, it just didn’t work with this one. So I’d like for you to meet Emma. This is my first time writing with OC and wow game changer. I love her and I hope you do too!

Also, I honestly can’t thank my beta queens enough @oh-honey-styles @for-fucks-sake-h 🥺💛 thanks for allll the comments and suggestions and nice words!!! ily both xx

Read part I here

Harry

“So… are we okay now?”

We’re sitting here on the sofa, finally having that very much needed father-daughter date. Granted, a movie night in was not what I had in mind. I wasn’t too thrilled when she said she wanted to just go back home after we dropped George at his classmate’s house for a birthday sleepover. I thought she would hole up in her room instead and ignore me. But she didn’t. I got us pizza for tea, and we’ve got Shrek 2 on the telly. Her animosity towards me disappeared just like that after she asked for a puppy the other day. Of course, I’m glad to have my happy-go-lucky daughter back, but deep down I know that we need to have a proper chat. The change in her behaviour is so abrupt that I know there’s a chance that my daughter is still bitter with me deep down. And that won’t do. I can take a lot of things, but my daughter’s resentment is not one of them.

“Yeah, we’re okay,” she nods as she takes a bite of her pizza. “You’re still getting me a puppy right?”

“I still need to talk to your mum about it, poppet,” I tell her. “Puppies need a lot of attention. It’s going to be hard work and that puppy is going to be a permanent member of our family. We’ve really got to think about it before we decide.”

I expect a little excitement knowing that her mum and I are really considering getting a puppy. But what I get is quite the opposite. My little girl’s gaze drops, her face slackening. Her voice cracks a little when she mumbles, “except… we’re not a family.”

I wince, realising how serious the effect our split has on my daughter. Despite Emma and I putting on a friendly, united front for our children, Minnie is still sad that her parents are not together.

“Of course we’re still a family,” I assure her, pulling her to me for a comforting side hug. “I’m still your dad, mummy is still your mum, and you and George are still the lights of our lives.”

“But you and mummy aren’t together anymore,” she points out bitterly. “And you live so far away from us now. I miss having you at home.”

“I know, my love,” I murmur gently, and turn sideways so she can see my face. “It’s killing me too. But you never know what the future holds, right?”

“I guess,” she says glumly.

I wish I can tell her that I’m trying to win her mum back so we can be together again, but I know I can’t do that. This is far too early. I don’t want to get her hopes up in case I’m not successful in convincing my wife to give me another shot. That’ll only break her heart all over again.

Thinking back, I realised that this is the first time we have a proper chat about our split. I fled to LA the next morning after my wife asked me to leave our marital home back in London, leaving her to sit down with our children to tell them that I was not going to live there anymore. I was shocked and angry because I had no idea what I’d done. I thought we were fine. There were no fights leading up to that. I still remember exactly what I told her. ‘You’re the one who wanted to end it, you tell them.’ And then I left.

Just like that. Without a fight.

I swear to God, it’s something that I would never be able to forgive myself.

“How’s your mum?”

“She’s sad,” Minnie sighs. “She cries a lot. She thinks we can’t hear her in the shower, but we can.”

Knowing I caused that physically hurts. I rub at the throb of pain behind my breastbone and I think about all those private tears I shed through it. The ones you hope are hidden and silent.

“Can I ask you something, daddy?”

“Anything, poppet.”

“Do you still get sad too?”

I’m not sure how much to divulge here. Does my daughter need to hear that I stopped eating? That I once cried in the loo at Cafe Habana, and once had to be fished out of a bath by Jeff after I turned into a human prune? I was sad. I still wear that hat.

“I do. It’s the end of something, that’s always sad.”

“I think mum is dating someone,” she says and my eyes widen. “She told us Luke is her friend, but I think he’s her boyfriend. They’re on a date now, aren’t they?”

I can try and deny it, but I know my daughter is smart and won’t buy anything I tell her.

“What do you know about boyfriends?” I tease, my attempt to lighten up the mood.

“I’ve just turned nine, I’m not stupid,” Minnie rolls her eyes. “‘Sides I’m thinking about getting one of those boyfriend thingies.”

I sit there slack-jawed, and my daughter roars with laughter.

“Minnie Alexandra, you’re going to drive me to an early grave, you know that?”

“Hey, what are you middle naming me for? I was joking!” She says, still laughing as she picks a piece of pepperoni off her pizza.

“How do you feel about your mum dating again?” I ask her.

She pauses. “I don’t know yet. As long as he’s nice and doesn’t put me under the stairs…”

“I’m sure he won’t. In the attic maybe,” I joke.

She laughs again. I’m thinking about keeping that bloke in the attic so my wife won’t date him anymore. Or even better, six feet under my patio. That’ll do.

“It’s gonna be okay, right, dad?”

Honestly, I’m not sure. But I don’t have the heart to tell her that.

“Yeah, Min. It’s gonna be okay.”

***

I see the headlight shining into the front windows as I walk down the stairs from tucking my daughter into her bed. That must be Emma and her date. I pull back the curtain a little to peek outside, and I’m right as I see that bollockface’s car in front of the house.

You know that saying; curiosity killed the cat? Well, in my case, curiosity fucked me with a chainsaw.

I’m a bloody idiot. I should have just closed the curtain back as soon as I recognised the car. I mean… it’s the end of a date. What did I expect to see? A high five? I knew I was so sure when they left that he would not be getting anything more than a friendly kiss, but that date must have gone really well, because right now, my eyes may as well fall out of their sockets as I see that bastard’s tongue down my wife’s throat.

I’m frozen. I’m gripping the curtain so tight that my knuckles are turning white. I stand there—stunned. Watching. I’m not even sure for how long. It does feel like forever. Like an eternity.

In hell.

And then Emma pulls back, and everything seems like a blur. I have to remind myself that my daughter is sleeping upstairs so I won’t go apeshit and knock that wanker square on his arse.

I’m still glued to the floor by the door. I’m too shocked to move. I hear the sound of keys rattling before the door swings open, and she looks surprised when she sees me.

And all hell breaks loose.

“What the fuck, Emma?!” She jolts at hearing me shout. I rarely did it. In fact, I’m not even sure if I’d ever yell at my wife before throughout our marriage. “You told me last night you’d never even kissed him. You told me you weren’t ready.”

“I- I don’t know. He caught me off guard. That was-”

“I told you I wanted to make this work,” I remind her, trying to lower my voice so I won’t wake my daughter up. She doesn’t need to see this. “Us. Our marriage. I told you I wanted to fight for you. But I can’t do that with someone shoving their tongue down my wife’s throat, can I?”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I see her tear up and I immediately feel regret. That was harsh. But before I can apologise, I can see her lip curls up and I know she’s about to get nasty. It’s a rarity with her when we’ve fought in the past, but I feel it coming.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” She sneers. “You think that if you put a toy down, it’ll still be sitting there when you want to play with it again.”

“That’s-”

“You have no right to be upset at me. We’ve split up for nearly a year now. What I do and what I don’t do on my dates is none of your business.”

“I want us to give our marriage another shot,” I say in exasperation. “I want to try to win you back, but fuck’s sake you’re not even giving me the time of day.”

“Oh, look how the tables turned,” she taunts. “Sucks, innit? Being the one struggling to find the time when it seems like the other doesn’t give a crap?”

“Cheap shot, Ems,” I retort.

“Truth hurts, doesn’t it, H?”

Emma averts her eyes, her lower lip quivering. I can’t tell if she regrets her harsh words or not, but she doesn’t look back my way, and she seems to have said her piece.

I knew sooner or later this was bound to happen. We never had our big fight, not even that night when she decided that enough was enough.

“I cannot possibly go through that again. It physically hurts,” she says softly. “I know I was the one who ended it, but when you just left like that the next morning without so much of a fight as if ten years means nothing to you… that really did hurt. You left me alone to talk to the kids about what happened. And sure, you did call every day. But it took you nearly nine months to finally come and see your children?”

“I needed some time. Some space,” I tell her. “Do you think it’s easy for me being there? Away from my wife and kids?”

“You chose to be there.”

“You know I couldn’t stay in London,” I murmur. “It’s too hard. At least in LA sometimes I can just pretend that everything’s okay. That we’re okay. That my wife and kids will be there waiting for me when I get home. I can’t do that in London.”

“That’s a shit excuse and you know it,” she mutters.

“I still love you, Em,” I say with a sigh. I know trying to defend myself further for what I did will get me nowhere. “We can fix this. We can be a family again.”

“Harry, it’s too late.”

“Is it him?” I can’t help but go there, because that’s a possibility. “Do you love him already?”

“Luke is a fresh start for me, H. I may not love him now but at least it doesn’t hurt looking at him. It took me months to be able to get back up again, to get to where I am right now. To finally find a little bit of peace.”

Emma’s head hangs low, and she rubs at her temple with her fingers. I want nothing more than to pull her into my arms. But by how stiff her spine is, I can tell she wouldn’t come willingly.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” I whisper, resigned. Tears well up in our eyes. There’s nothing I can say that will change her mind because we’re not seeing eye to eye. She’s still focused on the past, not that I blame her because I did hurt her badly, but I know that there is no way we can go anywhere if she can’t see past the harms I’ve caused in the past. “I hope one day you’ll be able to forgive me.”

“I’ve forgiven you a long time ago,” she says, her expression softens. Her thumb runs at a part of her finger where a ring used to be. “Now, I just want us to try and make this separation work. Focus on the kids. Let’s do the right thing by them.”

I nod.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“When did it all start?” I ask, my voice cracks a little. “When did you start feeling like you’re invisible to me?”

“I’m not sure I can point down to one exact moment,” she takes a shaky breath and pauses. “The change was gradual that by the time I realised it, I didn’t even recognise us anymore. I spent days and nights wondering what happened to us. That wasn’t us.”

I wipe that one tear running halfway down her cheek, and as soon as my thumb touches her skin, I lose it. I can’t help it by this point. Tears flow as much as I try to hold them back. She’s crying too. This is painful.

“And it’d be too easy to say that I felt invisible,” she continues. “Because the truth is, I felt painfully visible. You ignored me on purpose. I wasn’t even sure what I was to you anymore, because the only chance for me to get your attention was by getting you in bed. And that was wrong. It hurts, because it felt like you only needed me to warm your bed.”

I want to deny that statement. I want to yell it’s not true. That I never intended to take her for granted. That she still makes my heart skip a beat like a bloody teenager seeing his first crush.

But I don’t.

Because she’s right. I’m not sure what happened either, but we’d changed. Maybe it’s our jobs, maybe it’s the endless responsibilities. Domesticity, children, they wore us down. Kisses became perfunctory. Hugs became less frequent. Hell, I couldn’t even remember the last time I took my wife for a date night other than for social obligations.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her again. I’ll spend the rest of my life apologising to her if I have to, she deserves it. “I hurt you badly. I really am sorry, Emma.”

“It wasn’t all you though,” she mumbles. “I never called you out on it.”

“You didn’t,” I reply. “I never worked out why?”

“I swept it under the carpet because it was embarrassing. It felt silly having to ask for your attention. And I don’t know… pride, maybe? And the kids. I didn’t want them to know something was wrong. So I played along and carried on like nothing was happening.”

“When really…”

“It was like a punch to the guts each time. You were an excellent father. You still are, the kids adore you. This may sound insane and it’s embarrassing and painful for me to admit this, but there were times when I saw you with the kids and I couldn’t help but feel jealous. When you couldn’t even be bothered to look at me… it felt like you took a dump over all my love for you.”

“Emma…”

“I wish I could get past that. I wish I could just forget what happened and trust you again.”

I bring her in for a hug and say nothing. She needs to get this all out. This is part of the process, and I’m here to listen.

But where do we go from there?

Reconciling a broken marriage is tricky. I am not a violent person but I have never wanted to strangle people as much as I want to strangle those who wrote articles with countless advice regarding this subject, making it seem like it’s easy. Talk it out, get your point across, and you’re out of the dog house. Well, you know what, bollockface? It turns out that listening is not enough. Sod you and your dumb articles.

All I know is that I can’t rush this. She’s not ready, and that’s okay. Right now, we both have things to work on. She needs to learn to let go of her resentment, and I have to learn not to take anything and anyone for granted ever again. This is killing me, but there is no one to blame but myself. I take solace in knowing the fact that I don’t know what’s going to happen in the future. Maybe one day we’ll be back together. Maybe we won’t.

“Thank you for telling me all that,” I mumble against her hair.

“Thank you for listening,” she looks up and gives me a sad smile.

***

Emma comes from a big family.

There’s Jamie, her eldest brother and the only guy. I think the fact that he grew up surrounded by sisters was what made us the closest in the first place. He hates wine, even though he makes a career out of managing his own vineyard. I know, the irony. The next is Suze, sister number one who lives in Sheffield with her husband and three girls. Suze and her husband are both orthopaedic surgeons. Then my wife, the middle child. Then Meg, sister number two who just had a baby. It’s another girl so my George is still the only grandson in the family. And then Lucy, the youngest of the clan who’s still in university.

They all live nearby, and I knew that all my in-laws hated me a tiny bit for taking their daughter and sister away. They were a hard outfit to infiltrate. You don’t enter into a relationship with one of them, you get a whole gaggle of them. It was hard to get in, but once you’re in, you’re in for life.

After we’d split, I called my parents-in-law the next morning just before my flight to LA. I wasn’t sure whether or not Emma had told them about what happened, but I felt like it was the right thing to do. After all, they’d become my parents too for a decade. So I explained and apologised. Of course, I didn’t tell them the details because I knew they were between Emma and me, and they respected us enough not to ask. They were upset, but they also understood that these things happen in life. All they wanted was just for their grandbabies to come out of this unscathed.

Now here I am, walking behind Emma and our children as we step over the threshold into her parents’ home for their monthly roast. Her parents invited me and I accepted. I don’t want to turn down any extra time I have with my kids as I’ve decided to leave today and head back to London. I was prepared to stay longer, take some time off work and fight for my marriage, but since it all has gone to pot, I figured I should leave. The world doesn’t stop even when you’re struggling with marital woes. I’ve got work to do, and I also know that it is best to give Emma space.

I hear voices as we walk inside.

“If littl’uns are going in highchairs then what’s that extra space for?” I hear Meg’s husband say.

Meg tells him. “Count again, addition was never your strong point.”

“Oh.”

The house is suddenly quiet when they see me. This is my first time seeing the whole family again after we split, and even though my parents-in-law and I are on good terms, and Jamie too, I know the sisters would be a different story. All four of them are beyond close and they’re now looking at me as if they should’ve chucked me in the oven instead of the chicken.

You don’t do that to our sister. You hurt one, you hurt all of us.

“Uncle Harry!” Freya shouts in excitement. She is one of Suze’s daughters. She and her twin sister Tessa are only a few months older than my George.

Suze, who is sitting on the sofa, looks a bit sullen, not knowing what the right call is to make. Meg and her husband freeze.

“Alright there, mate?” Jamie greets me, trying to ease the tension. Suze glares at him.

“Are you here to do magic then, Uncle Harry?” Tessa asks.

I bend down to her level. “Not sure I know any magic, Tessie.”

“Yeah you do!” Freya pipes up. “Because when we were driving here, daddy said you did a disappearing act on Aunty Ems. Show us what you did!”

“FREYA!” Her dad barks.

Meg can barely contain her giggles.

“But we like magic. You’re rubbish at magic,” she says to her dad. He widens his eyes.

The sisters are now all smiling smugly, knowing a couple of six-year-olds just shamed me on their behalf. Extra roast potatoes for those two.

Lucy, the littlest sister, suddenly enters. That’s definitely not a happy face. “Oh, it’s you. Is that why everyone went so quiet? What are you doing here?”

“Luce,” Emma mutters.

“Because I invited him,” says a voice emerging from the kitchen. My father-in-law. “Harry, glad you could make it.”

“Of course,” I reply. “Thanks for the invitation.”

Lucy stares daggers at her dad, knowing she can’t unleash her trademark rapier wit as she’s surrounded by her little nieces and nephews. That one may be the youngest but she’s the scariest out of all the sisters, my wife included.

“Look, if it’s weird, I can just leave?” I offer.

“Nonsense, you must stay for supper,” Emma’s mum replies.

“Yeah, Harry, stay,” says Emma’s dad, staring at his daughters. “I want you lot to be nice. Otherwise, I’m putting you on the kids table. You hear me?”

The three of them nod in unison.

“You two look well,” I say, my attempt to make small talk.

“You know, dad’s been singing this morning,” Emma’s mum chirps, tilting her head towards her husband. “He joined a male choir. They think they’re Westlife.”

We all can’t help but laugh. This is classic mum. The tension seems to ease away.

Let’s just hope it stays that way.

***

There’s a strange feeling of déjà vu as I take a seat on the steps in front of the cottage.

I’m all packed up and ready to go. My weekender bag is in the boot of my car. Nothing left to do but say goodbye to my wife and kids, but I don’t go straight inside.

Not yet. I need a moment.

These steps witnessed a lot of our marriage even though we’d never stayed here for longer than a couple of weeks at a time. We loved to sit out here in the summer. I remember when I first brought my stuff here shortly after we got married, we sat out here with beers, sleeves rolled up, boxes stacked into Jenga-style columns.

I also remember sitting here last year on Christmas morning. Emma and I were both in our pyjamas and slippers, sipping coffees out of our matching Christmas mugs. We watched the kids ride their new scooters up and down the street. Everything was perfect. I had no idea that my marriage would end in just two months after that.

“Harry?”

I look over my shoulder and I urge her to sit beside me. She comes over and does just that. There is silence. We don’t say a word to each other. A quiet hum of traffic in the distance, puffs of breath cloud the air making me think we should both be wearing coats. Christmas is nearly here again. My heart aches at the thought of this being our first Christmas since everything fell apart.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly.

“I should be the one apologising, Em.”

“I know you wanted to work things out,” I hear the sadness in her voice. “I really loved you, you know that, right?”

“I do,” I nod. “Our marriage, all those years… it wasn’t all bad, though, right?”

“Of course,” she quickly replies. “We had our moments. We have Minnie and George.”

We pause, letting that sink in. In all this mess, those two were and remain everything, some symbol of our marriage not being a complete disaster.

“There were also times when you were a good husband,” she adds.

“Why do I feel like you’re going to pat me on the head?”

Emma laughs under her breath.

“Your new bloke seemed a nice sort,” I tell her, because it’s true. I may hate the guy with a burning passion, but that’s only because he’s dating my wife.

“He is.”

“That got legs?” I ask her.

“Possibly.”

“I want you to be happy, Ems,” I tell her. “With or without me.”

“Harry…”

“But I also want you to know that I’ll be waiting for you. No rush, no timeline. I’ll wait for as long as it takes. Because for me, it’s either you or no one else.”

The front door opens and two little faces pop out from behind it.

“What are you doing out here? It’s freezing!” Shouts Minnie.

“Well then come here and give me cuddles to warm me up,” I tell her.

Emma and I take a kid each. She takes George and lets him entangle his legs in hers, cradling himself into the hook of his mummy’s arm. Minnie uses me like a climbing frame. I bop her on the nose as I’ve done since she was a baby, and I like that it never stops being hilarious to her. The sky starts to dim, trees casting shadows onto the pavement. A house down the road has some festive lights that switch on and flicker on and off in strange syncopated patterns.

“This is nice,” Minnie mumbles. “I miss the awesome foursome.”

“The awesome foursome, huh?” I ask.

“That’s what you used to call us,” I hear the sadness in her voice and my heart aches. I know she feels this all a lot more than her little brother. “I still remember.”

“Do you really have to go again, daddy?” George looks at me with sad puppy dog eyes.

“Yeah, do you?” Minnie asks. “I love having you here.”

“I do, my loves,” I reply sadly. “Be good for mummy, alright? I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

“I don’t like seeing you go,” George mumbles.

The emotion is a little unbearable and I see a tear trail down my wife’s cheek. George looks petrified seeing his mum cry.

“Don’t be sad, mummy.”

“I’m not sad,” she shakes her head, quickly wiping the tear off her cheek. “I’m just sorry daddy and I couldn’t make it work.”

“Did we do something wrong?” George asks, looking at his mum and then me.

“Oh, mate,” I reach out to cup his face, Emma pulls him into a hug. “Of course not. You didn’t do anything wrong. You two are perfect, you hear me?”

“Do you still love each other?” Minnie asks.

Emma looks at me in the eye as she answers our daughter. “I’ll always love your dad, because he gave me both of you.”

“And I’ll always love your mum,” I say, my eyes pinned on my wife. “No matter what.”

Emma

“So… tell me, he a good lay? He looks the sort to have some girth.”

I probably should have warned you beforehand about this sister of mine.

Lucy is my entertainer sister who has done every job going alongside studying. She went to dance school, spent six months on a cruise ship, has been an extra and once did a two-month stint in Les Misérables. On weekends she dresses up as Disney characters and does kids’ parties which means she owns a lot of wigs and always has glitter in her bra. She’s the fun one. I keep her close because as much as I love my other siblings, this one has been a good entertainment through my separation. Mum suggested for her to live with me for a couple of weeks when I first moved back to the Peak, and I’m so glad she did. It was around the time I lost a stone and would spend most of the time napping, crying and staring at the wall, surviving on cups of tea and Rich Tea fingers. She couldn’t cook or clean and she used all my shampoo but she brought some light into the house when grey clouds threatened to consume it. She was also a great distraction because I could live vicariously through her tales of going to gigs and clubs and hear how she’s not slept and got her boobs out for reasons of fun and frivolity.

However, when you talk to her, she always goes there. She’s brash and has no conversational limit. She thinks her purpose is to not only feed me but also revive a pretty dead sex life too. Actually, it’s not just her. After my husband and I split, my sisters think it’s their job to pique my interest in men again. Luke happened after a boozy Chinese takeaway about two months ago when I joked that a spring roll was the most phallic thing I’d had in my mouth for over half a year. I remember a dumpling rolled out of Meg’s mouth in shock, so Suze decided to play the matchmaker and introduced me to Luke who worked at the same hospital with her.

Tonight, we’re having another takeaway night since my parents have all the grandchildren for the weekend. Bless them for entertaining that crew of children we seem to have acquired over the past nine years. We have seven between Suze, myself and Meg, and I just hope that my parents are well stocked with wine. They will need it.

We all sit around my dining room table with the remnants of a KFC bargain bucket, a selection of Thai food, a giant bag of chips and some battered sausages. I’d admit that we were already a little drunk to buy food sanely. Luke is also here, I thought it’d be nice to give my sisters the chance to get to know him. And it doesn’t take Lucy more than thirty seconds after Luke gets up to take a phone call before asking such questions.

“I don’t know? I haven’t slept with him yet.”

Lucy looks at me in confusion. “But you’ve been on dates and stuff?”

“We did have a cheeky snog last week but we’re taking it slow.”

“What are you waiting for? Just go shag him. Erase the memory of that wanker?”

“Hey, he’s your niece and nephew’s father,” I chastise her for calling Harry names. “Don’t call him that.”

“Why don’t you want to sleep with Luke?” Meg, my other sister asks me. “Lucy is right though. He’s really tall, I bet he’s VWE.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Very well-endowed.”

I chuckle. “Honestly, I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

Meg giggles and places her head on my shoulder.

“Last time I had sex was on Valentine’s Day, girls. Do your maths. The next day, my marriage collapsed.”

Both of them huddle into me like penguins.

“Which is why you just need to get over yourself,” Lucy remarks. “You need to remember what sex is like. It’ll be fun and make you feel good. If you don’t want to do it with Luke, you can have some taster session? I’ve got a uni mate who’d shag you.”

“Lovely. No.”

Lucy huffs. “You’re so boring.”

“Honestly, Em, Luke is fit. Seems like a nice fella, and he genuinely likes you. I’d have a go on him if I weren’t married. You should just do it,” says Meg.

“Yeah, you could shag him tonight,” Lucy adds. “Meg and I can piss off out and then…”

Then she does a strange rave-style dance as she thinks of her plan coming together. Luke returns from his phone call and Lucy jiggles in her seat. Don’t you bloody dare.

“Luke, we need more wine,” says Lucy. “There is not enough and we thought you could walk down to the shop and get some?”

Meg and I look at each other for a second, wondering what our sister is up to.

“Sure, yeah, I could get wine,” Luke replies. “Any other requests?”

If she tells him to get condoms in then I will skewer her with a chopstick.

“Anything you might fancy or need?”

She’s walking an incredibly thin, thin line.

Luke gets up to retrieve his coat and grazes my hand as he does. This move doesn’t go unnoticed by Meg and she gives me a sly wink. I hand him my keys and he heads for the front door. Meg stares Lucy out.

“Seriously?” She says.

“We need to prepare you if you’re going to sleep with him.”

“Like mentally?” I ask.

“Like have you had a tidy? This will be your first time. You’ll need to at least tidy up the flaps and do a bit of topiary.”

“LUCY!” I gasp and laugh at the same time, holding my hand to my face. Who is this woman? How can you raise five children in the same house and come up with such a random entity?

She stands up and heads for my kitchen drawers, rifling around until she pulls out a pair of scissors.

“Show me your bush,” she orders.

“Lucy! I prepare food with those scissors.”

“And we’ll wash them?”

Meg is in hysterics as she sees this scene unfolding in front of us.

“I’m not getting my bush out in my kitchen.”

“You’re so dull,” Lucy complains. “I’m trying to help here. What are your pits like? Shame there’s no time to tackle your upper lip.”

I put my hand over it instinctively. “I’ve got a moustache?”

“Well, you’re not Tom Selleck but it could do with a bleach.”

“You’re being cruel now, Luce,” Meg giggles. “But I think we do need the comedy of seeing Lucy trimming your bush in the kitchen.”

I stand up reluctantly and unbutton my jeans.

“Ha!” Exclaims Lucy. “You’re wearing nice knickers, you knew this was going to happen. Just peel them back a little and let me have a look.”

“Be quick for fuck’s sake. This is something that no one needs to see.”

“Do you want a shape?”

“What?”

“Yeah, like a heart? It’d be cute.”

“No!”

Meg roars with laughter.

“I’ll just trim the length then,” says Lucy. “Meg, put your hand out.”

“Do I have to?”

“Don’t you love your sister enough to at least hold her pubes?”

I’m not even sure what’s happening here. One sister is very close to my private regions with a sharp object and I hear the creak of metal as she shears away. The other collects the trimmings in a napkin in her palm. This feels like an opportune moment to ring Suze, our other sister, and start a FaceTime chat. That time we all took one for the team so Emma could reclaim her sex life.

“Thanks, Luce.”

“You don’t say this enough I feel.”

“We really don’t,” says Meg.

“Want me to look at yours, Meg?”

“I’m good.”

“What if he’s into weird stuff?” I ask.

“Like?”

“I don’t know… maybe like choking? Stuff like that.”

“Well, no one breaks out all the moves on their first time,” says Meg but Lucy gives us a look like she begs to differ.

“And I’m not on anything. I stopped the pills months ago. What if I get pregnant?”

“That’s what condoms are for?”

They both give me a look that says I am not fourteen and that I should have an inkling about how reproduction works and the preventative measures that I can put in place to stop myself from getting pregnant.

“How do I initiate it?”

“Maybe you could dance for him?” says Luce mockingly. “You’ve both had a drink, let it just happen. Planned sex is the worst kind of sex.”

“I planned nothing. You’re the one who’s got the kitchen scissors.”

“I’m done, anyway. Not my finest work but then at least he’ll be able to find it?”

Meg laughs again as she goes to the bin with her napkin of pubes. I do my jeans up and sit at the table, downing what’s left in my glass. What if he can’t get it up? Or worse, what if he doesn’t like my boobs? I have modest boobs. They wouldn’t win any competitions. What if he wants better boobs?

“You’re overthinking,” says Meg.

“I haven’t got any condoms.”

Lucy reaches inside her handbag, pulls out two packets of johnnies and hands them to me. How far ahead has she planned this?

“Any other excuse?” Lucy asks.

“Look, tonight, just get naked with the fella, have some bloody fun. Enjoy yourself.”

I hear the key go in the latch of the front door. That was quick. Crap. Luke enters the kitchen with two bottles of red that I immediately feel guilty about as I’ve got a rack of it in the utility room. He also carries a few packs of crisps and takes the kitchen scissors that were on my table.

“No!” I stop him. “Those need to be washed.”

He looks at me in confusion and I love that he puts them in the sink without any further questions asked. He rips opens the packet of crisps with his hands instead.

“Crisps?”

Lucy grabs a handful of crisps before she grabs her phone, pretending to read some texts. “Bollocks! Meg, we forgot about the party.”

Meg quickly plays along. “Oh yeah, crap. It’s that birthday party, innit?”

I feel awful. I’m sending the sisters back out into the cold so Luke and I can have the house to ourselves. They both keep winking at me which is more down to the fact that they’ve had at least a bottle of wine each for themselves tonight. Luke stands at the kitchen door while I wave everyone off. This feels weird.

“Have fun, kids!” Chants Lucy as she shepherds Meg away from the house. I shut the door.

And then there were two. I turn around and Luke is no longer at the doorway. I tiptoe into the kitchen to find him stacking plates.

“Shall we tidy up now?” He asks.

“It can wait.”

My phone on the table lights up with an incoming text. It’s Lucy. Don’t forget to adjust your tits. Make sure they’re facing forwards. Show a bit of bra.

Does this mean my boobs are not always facing forward? Where are they looking? This isn’t helping at all. I ignore it.

“Alright,” Luke says with a smile that makes me feel relaxed but also on the faint side of nauseated. It’s probably first time nerves. Is it weird that I’m thinking about the cleanliness of my bedroom? Did I pick up yesterday’s bra from the corner of my room? Do I remember how to go down on a man? What if he doesn’t fancy me?

Sometimes I can’t help but wonder whether my marriage ended with Harry because I was terrible in bed. Maybe I wasn’t attractive enough. I’ve had kids, parts of me are stretched and doughy. Maybe I didn’t provide what he needed.

In the last year of our marriage, I think it’s safe to say that I was mainly the one to initiate things between us and my success rate wasn’t 100%. There’s this nagging thought in my head that maybe even on those nights I succeeded, those were just pity shags.

You know what, sod it.

I grab him by the collar and kiss him. He stumbles a little but then lets his body fold into mine. I can do this. Crap. He’s lifting me up. He sits me on the counter and I’d like to say the moment overtakes but there’s red wine inches from my arse so I move the glass with my hand whilst still kissing him. We’re kissing. This is weird. It’s different. It’s not my husband’s lips. Why am I thinking about my husband’s lips?

I shake my head, banishing that image. Harry doesn’t belong in this room with me right now.

I feel his hands in the small of my back and then he lifts my jumper over my head. I’m in my bra. Don’t overthink it. Oh, the bra is off. My nipples are out in the kitchen. I run my fingers through his hair as he trails kisses down my neck. Is it weird that right now, at this very moment, all I can think about is that his blond, floppy hair looks like a golden retriever?

I gasp and push him away involuntarily when his mouth wraps on my nipple. This is wrong. This feels wrong. I thought it was just first time jitters but now I think this is deeper than that.

“Are you alright?” He asks, looking concerned.

I grab my jumper and quickly put it back on. “I… I’m sorry, Luke. I can’t. I have to go.”

“Emma, I’m sorry,” his face reads panic. “Did I read the signals wrong? I thought you wanted this. I feel terrible. I’m so sorry.”

“No, please don’t apologise,” I say hastily. “You didn’t. I did want this. Or so I thought. It’s just… I’m not ready. I don’t think I’ll be ready any time soon. Or ever.”

“What do you mean? Are you breaking up with me?”

I have to be straight with him. I take a deep breath. “I want to give you the opportunity to walk away. You’re a good guy, Luke. I just don’t think it’s fair for me to string you along if we can never progress.”

“Is it your ex-husband?”

He’s still my husband. But I don’t say this out loud.

“He told me that he wanted to give our marriage another shot about two weeks ago when he was here,” I tell him. “I did say no right away. I didn’t think it was a good idea. But…”

“Is it really?” He asks. “You two have a lot of history. Two kids. Why wouldn’t you give him a chance?”

“I’m worried.”

“And what are you worried about?”

“My heart?” I say quietly. “I don’t want to go through that again.”

Luke smiles at me through sympathetic eyes. “Listen to me, Emma. I’m not a cardiologist, but I know that the hearts are the strongest organs in the human body. They can go through anything.”

What happens next feels like a blur. All I know is that by midnight, I’m already halfway down the M1, on my way to London.

Harry

It was a knock on the door that woke me up.

When I first open my eyes, I’m disoriented. I don’t know what time it is, or how long I’ve been asleep. Then I realise I’m on the sofa, and it’s still dark outside. It’s also raining. I walk towards the door and open it, just in time to catch a figure going down the steps, which doesn’t take me more than a second to recognise. I am in complete shock. Is this real? Is that really my wife, standing in front of my door in the middle of the night? Or are my eyes deceiving me?

“Emma?”

She stops on the pavement and slowly turns to face me. She’s spooked through—her jeans moulded to the curves of her legs, the sleeves of her jumper dripping, her hair flat, lips slightly tinged with blue.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” she says. “Don’t know what I was thinking.”

I open the door wider, and my voice is drowsy and deep when I say, “Come on, let’s talk inside.”

She takes a step back instead.

“I just… I wasn’t thinking. I’m here. I don’t know why,” she sounds genuinely bewildered—even a little panicked.

“Are the kids in the car?” I ask her and she shakes her head. The wind blows, spraying ice-cold drops across my bare skin where my shirt hangs open. “You’re shivering, honey, come inside.”

She stares at me, so many emotions swirling in her expression. She’s like a skittish kitten who can’t decide if she should let the stranger pat her head or haul up the nearest tree. It breaks my heart.

“I don’t think I can.”

So I go to her.

The rain is cold and hard, soaking my shirt. Her eyes dart from the pavement, to my chest, up to my eyes and back again, like she’s ready to bolt—but her feet stay glued.

I lean in so she can hear me through the rain. “Do you remember the first time we went to Paris together? When we were young and crazy enough to only rent one electric scooter for both of us, and we rode around the city at night?”

The corners of her mouth tug up a little. “I remember.”

“But then I was going way too fast and we hit a rock, and both of us went flying. I didn’t want to ride anymore the next day, because I was afraid you’d get hurt. Do you remember what you told me?”

“I said…” she begins, her eyes meet mine. “I said we had to keep riding. Because it’s the only thing that made falling worth it.”

I nod tenderly and hold out my hand. “I’m not going to let us fall this time, Emma.”

Her eyes are back on the pavement. “I’m not sure-”

I know she still doesn’t trust me. I know that sadness on her face and how it penetrates so deeply. I know she’s probably better off without me, the bastard who crushed her heart and soul and took her for granted for years.

We shy away from the things that hurt us. But that’s what scars are for. They protect the wounds. They cover them with thick, numb tissue so we’ll never have to feel that same pain again. The scars that my wife has inside? They’re tough.

I beg when she continues to stare at my hand, “Please, just come inside.”

Slowly, tentatively, her hand slides into mine.

And we go in out of the rain.

I take her upstairs to the bedroom that used to be ours. Her teeth chatter as she sits on the edge of the bed. I throw a blanket over her shoulders, rubbing her arms, sliding down to cup her hands.

“Shit, you’re freezing. How long were you out there?”

“A while. I was walking… thinking.”

“Just some friendly advice. Next time you go a-wandering, stop and buy an umbrella.”

Emma shivers as she laughs. I pull the blanket closer around her and rub her back.

“So… you gonna tell me what’s this midnight adventure about?”

Her voice comes out soft and wavering in the dark room. “I was with Luke.”

“Did he do something to you? I’ve watched enough crime documentaries to pull a perfect murder.”

She shakes her head and chuckles. “We were having a takeaway night. Meg and Lucy were there too, but then they left and there were just the two of us and-”

“Please spare me the details,” I beg.

“Nothing happened. I just… I couldn’t get through it. Your face kept popping out in my head and I knew that if I went all the way through, we’d lose our chance. And I didn’t want us to lose our chance. I know this is completely the opposite of what I said to you two weeks ago but it’s true. I wasn’t ready then and maybe I’m still not ready now, but I don’t know about the future and you said you’d wait for me and…”

Her words trail off and my chest clenches with that sublime mix of excitement and trepidation. Of wanting something so much it’s like every cell in your body is stretching, reaching for it, yet there’s a grey shadow of worry that you might never get to touch it.

“Oh, Ems…”

I cup my hands around hers and blow into them. Another shiver vibrates through her.

For a moment we sit there in silence. Memories of us in this bed come flooding back. Of the kids piling in here bright and early, and us having cuddles and catch ups over the week just gone. Of the two of us and that sacred half an hour we had together before we go to sleep. Where we could have a proper chat without little voices interrupting us every few seconds. Sometimes we’d read together too, and other times when we just couldn’t be arsed, we’d simply spend that half an hour scrolling through memes and having a laugh together.

“You’ve got to get out of these wet clothes,” I say gently, with absolutely no teasing suggestion. We’re right on the precipice. I can feel it. And I have to tread so carefully, because one wrong move could send her away, truly lost to me.

I peel my soaked shirt off and let it drop to the floor. Her eyes move, trailing over my shoulders. I stand and slowly unbutton my jeans, leaving me in black boxer briefs.

Her eyes follow my every move, looking at me.

I push the blanket off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. I grasp her jumper at the bottom and lift slowly. I wait for her to push me away but she doesn’t. She raises her arms instead. I pull the jumper over her head and it lands with a plop on the floor. I remind myself not to enjoy the view. I’m trying hard not to look.

My chest rises and falls as rapidly as hers. I sink to my knees in front of her and reach out for the button of her jeans. She lifts her hips and my fingertips graze her skin as I slide them down her thighs, leaving the white lace knickers in place.

“Get under the sheets,” I whisper and she does just that.

She scoots to her side of the bed, and I slide beside her. Without a word, she snuggles into my side. The cool feel of her flesh is a shock at first, but in just a few moments, my heat chases away her chill. Except for her feet. I practically jump when she runs one up my calf.

“Yer a bloody ice cube!”

She laughs kind of evilly.

We face each other, almost nose to nose. Her hair still drips at the ends and a drop trickles over her collarbone, down her chest, and I’ve got to take a deep breath—because I want to lick it off her so badly.

“Talk to me,” she says softly.

“I’m taking time off work.”

“But you never take time off work?”

“I’ve got a lot to make up to the kids,” I tell her. “So I told Jeff to bugger off for at least until after New Year.”

I see her smile in the dim light.

“I’m gonna stay up with my mum,” I add. “I’ll only be an hour away from you lot.”

This is something that I’ve been mulling about. If I really do want a chance with Emma, I need to move up there because absence does not make the heart grow fonder. That may be true in secondary school when you went away for the summer. But in marriage, especially in a broken marriage, absence separates people. It creates distance. That’s the opposite of what you’re trying to achieve. You want the closeness back.

My wife’s palm runs over my bicep—tentatively at first—then with a surer touch. “They’d love that.”

“Also, you remember my old mate Stu?” She nods. “We got in touch just earlier today. He’s got a litter of puppies and he offered one for us. I told him I need to talk to you first. So what do you think?”

“A puppy, huh?”

“A puppy.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” she says. “But I’ve never had a dog though.”

“I can train it first at my mum’s?” I offer. “I’ll get it all settled. Then when it starts sleeping through the night, I’ll bring it over.”

“Does it make me a terrible mum for wishing we had that kind of service when the kids were newborns?”

“We had that service. It’s called sending them to the grandparents.”

We both laugh, and when the laughter dies down, we’re silent for a few minutes. The thrum of my heartbeat jacks up as her hand continues to stroke my arm.

“Harry?” Her voice is the barest whisper, like she’s checking to see if I’m asleep.

“Hmm?”

“I… I’ve missed you. So much.”

And I’m done.

The need to kiss her, to touch her, has been pulling at me like a raging current ever since I saw her on the front step, and with those few words, I let the current take me.

***

Numerous studies have shown that having sex extends the human life span. At this rate, Emma and I are going to live forever. We probably slept twenty minutes max throughout the night and I’ve lost count of the number of times we’ve done it. I’m pretty sure the last time we did something like that was ten years ago on our honeymoon.

We’re sitting at the breakfast nook. Her hair mussy and she’s wearing one of my T-shirts. She looks freshly fucked, which I know to be true, and I reckon she’d be ready to crawl back into bed with me if I just crook my finger. But I don’t do that. Because this, us, sitting here in the morning sunlight, playing footsies under the table while we talk over coffee is all I’ve been dreaming about every morning.

“What are you thinking about?” She asks when she catches me looking.

“You,” I smile. “You look perfect.”

“No, no more,” she shakes her head frantically. “I won’t be able to walk.”

“You dirty lass, I was trying to be romantic and all that,” I can’t help but snort in laughter. “And you always do that… rebuff any type of compliment I try to give you.”

It’s true. If I tell her she looks beautiful, she waves a dismissive hand at me. If I compliment her mind, she blushes. Even an appreciative look from me has her turning shy like a schoolgirl.

When she doesn’t respond to me, I continue to poke at her. “Why is that? Why does it embarrass you when I tell you that you’re smokin’ hot?”

She wrinkles her nose at me. “Because it’s weird. I feel like you just have to say that.”

She pretends to go through one of her old magazines from when she still lived here. I reach across the table and bat at it, causing one side to pull out of her hands and reveal her entire face to me. Now she’s glaring. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”

And I grin when I see red stain her cheeks.

“And you’ve got the most gorgeous body. I take one look at you naked and I can’t help but get rock hard.”

“Stop it,” she blusters, now blushing all the way down her neck.

I change tactics, but I know this will embarrass her just as much. “You are the most amazing woman. Kindest, genuine and grounded. Funniest too. And you’re the best mother for our babies.”

“Okay,” she snaps at me as she closes the magazine and slams it down onto the table. “You’ve made your point.”

Chuckling, I stretch back in my chair and nudge her foot with mine under the table. “You’re adorable.”

She rolls her eyes, which I find to be beyond adorable.

Standing up from my chair, I walk around the table and hold my hand out to her. She willingly takes it and stands when I give her a tug. It’s a natural move for her, to walk straight into my embrace and press herself against me. I tilt my head and kiss her on her jaw. “It’s something you need to get used to… compliments from me. It’s never going to stop.”

She moans softly in my ear.

“Want to know what else you’re going to have to get used to?” I whisper as I kiss my way down her neck.

Her fingers come up, tangle in my hair, and fist tightly. “What’s that?”

“My face between your legs.”

***

Some people might not put Quaglino’s into the romantic restaurant bracket, but they’d be wrong, very wrong. In actual fact, it’s quite hard to top. The interior has this 1930’s romance charm with candlelit tables, dark-panelled walls and an adjoining room for dancing to the soft tunes of the piano man singing bluesy versions of classic songs.

Tonight, I managed to convince Emma to go out to dinner with me before she goes back to our babies. I insist on driving her since I don’t want her to drive alone at night again, which she initially refused but finally agreed.

We finish our dinner and split a slice of cheesecake for dessert. Probably not my brightest idea since I keep having to readjust myself because seeing her slowly swallow a mouthful of white, creamy concoction is a pure kind of torture. But I try to kick those dirty thoughts out of my mind and focus.

Since last night, we’ve successfully managed to avoid the talk. It feels like we’re in a bubble where everything is perfect and we’re just scared to burst it, but I know this can’t go on. Emma and I need to have a proper chat if we want this to work.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

“You and I need to talk, don’t you think?” I begin.

“You’re right,” she nods. “So…”

“What is this?” I gesture between us. “Are you ready to give us another shot?”

“I think so,” she nods. “But I want us to take it slow.”

“You set the pace,” I assure her. “I want this to work more than I want anything else in my life. So I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

“We’ll see this as a new dalliance,” she adds.

I know this is supposed to be serious so I try hard not to break into laughter. “Okay. I will court you but I won’t ask you to move to an estate in the country. Not right away at least.”

“I’m serious.”

“You sound like Austen.”

She rolls her eyes. “And we can’t tell anyone either.”

“I agree,” I tell her. “And from now on, we talk to each other, alright? I’ll try to make you happy the best way I know how. But if it’s not enough for you, then you need to tell me.”

She nods, but then her graze drops before she asks. “You really do want this right?”

“I told you I want this to work more than anything else in my life.”

“It’s just… when you first told me you wanted to fight for our marriage, I was overwhelmed because it was all so sudden. You told me everything I wanted to hear. Even at that moment, everything in me screamed for us to just fall back into it all the way. But there was also a part of me that thought you were just lonely, and maybe you thought that us getting back together was the answer to it.”

“Not true-”

Emma holds up her hand. “Maybe not true, but it’s my fear. That’s why I kissed Luke that night, because I was desperate. I wanted to push things with him because I knew I’d never love him the way I love you. I knew that if things went to pot, I wouldn’t be half as devastated. But with you? I don’t think I can survive that type of heartbreak again, H. You don’t know how much it killed me to end our marriage. I can’t afford to fall back into something that’s not going to last.”

“Emma,” I reach across the table to take her hand. “I can’t even imagine how hard it was for you. I know for sure it was not a decision you made lightly, nor on a whim. I wish I had fought you on it then… had fought for you then. There was a time when I thought our marriage was over, and I was going to let you go. But I’m not going to do that now. If it takes you weeks, months, hell, Emma… if it takes you years to fully trust my devotion to you, I’m in this for however long it takes.”

Emma nods, biting into her lower lip. I can see her eyes starting to water because every bit of this is overwhelming. She turns her head towards the music floating in from the other room. It’s a Van Morrison cover, Crazy Love.

“Wanna dance?”

The request takes me by surprise since this isn’t like her. But I toss my napkin on the table and move to stand next to her, holding out my hand. The simple delight on her face when her hand slides into mine is everything.

We step out onto the edge of the dance floor. I wrap my arm around her lower back, holding her tight and flush against me. One of her hands rests on my shoulder, playing with the hair at the nape of my neck. The other is clasped in mine just over my heart. We sway, eyes pinned at each other for a few moments.

“Thought you hate dancing?” I smirk.

“Still hate it,” she answers. “I’m just using it as an excuse to be closer to you.”

She sighs, practically sinks into my arms. Emma’s head fits against my chest like she was made to be there. My chin rests against her hair.

“Emma?”

She lifts her head from my chest. “Yeah?”

“You don’t need an excuse.”

She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love…

***

“What the-”

“Oi!” I yell, quickly pulling the duvet over my wife and I. “Heard of knocking?”

“Heard of a bedroom lock?” Lucy challenges.

Last night, we drove up the M1 straight from the restaurant. We took breaks in deserted services with shiny floors and bad lighting where we had coffees and wandered around WHSmith bulk buying sweets even though it’s really not that far. But you can never have too many travel sweets, can you?

And now, here we are, back at the cottage. The kids are still at their grandparents until this afternoon so Emma and I are enjoying the benefit of having the house all to ourselves by having a morning shag. That is until one of her sisters walks in on us. I’m very aware that I’m still inside Emma.

I pull out, roll over to lay down next to my wife, and we both stare at Lucy who is dressed from head to toe like Princess Jasmine from Aladdin.

“Party?” Emma asks her sister. We both try not to giggle as she sashays in to look at herself in the mirror then perches on the bed in her harem pants. Today, she’s gone heavy on the winged eyeliner and shows off a flat midriff. I quite like the pointy silver shoes though.

“No, Tesco,” she says dryly. “Obviously a party.”

“What are you doing here?” I ask her.

Lucy glares at me. “What are you doing here? Besides rearranging my sister’s guts, of course.”

I don’t even flinch. I’ve been married to Emma for ten years, I’m used to this sister of hers.

“I’m trying to win your sister back,” I say earnestly. I know that Emma and I talked about keeping this a secret, but she literally walked on us shagging. There’s no point in denying it. It’s best that she knows my true intention rather than thinking we’re divorced with benefits.

“Eh, about time,” she replies nonchalantly.

“Luce, please keep this to yourself for now,” Emma begs her. “This is still new.”

“I will,” she nods. “Just a friendly reminder, though, Styles. If you hurt my sister again, I won’t even think twice before starting a business selling voodoo dolls of you. Bet I could make a fortune of that.”

In their girl gang, Lucy is the wildcard, the likeliest to carry a shank. I don’t even laugh because she could be serious.

“Duly noted.”

“What are you doing here this early?” Emma asks her sister.

“I wanted to ask if I can borrow that giant tiger in George’s room?”

“Feel free to borrow the rug in the front room as well,” I cackle.

“Ooh yeah,” Emma chirps. “Are you going to find a whole new world?”

“Have you got your Aladdin?”

She pulls a face at our mocking. “My mate who’s supposed to be Aladdin is sick so I asked Jamie to fill in and he agreed because he owed me a big favour. But this lot changed their mind and wanted a genie so now I have to go to Jamie’s and convince him to let me do a full blue body paint on him.”

Emma and I roar with laughter. “Please, please, please, take some piccies.”

***

A month later…

I can only imagine the joy on my children’s faces when they open the door. I’ll be standing there with the pup in hand, but I know I’m practically vibrating with excitement myself. I glance over at the little dog crate that we’d prepared to transport him in. It’s a sweet, nine-week-old Bernese mountain dog. He’s pretty chill, curled into a round ball, but he’s not sleeping. His eyes are open and alert, as if he’s just waiting to find out what’s around the next corner.

The back of my Range Rover is loaded with two boxes of food, dog toys, bowls, a leash, and appropriate treats. Since I’m still crashing at my mum’s, that will go to her place for when the kids and this puppy come to stay. Emma has an identical list at her home, already purchased and hiding until we hand the puppy off to the kids.

I’ve got a feeling that today is going to be a good day. All morning, Emma and I texted back and forth. Some of it was practical, like making sure we agreed on all the dog rules we’d lay down with the kids tonight. Some of it was lighthearted teasing. Some of it was dirty.

I can’t remember the last time I texted my wife throughout the day just for the hell of it. I had fun with it, and I know without a doubt she had fun with it too. Which made me realise what a twat I’d been for never doing something as simple as letting her know she was on my mind in just such a way.

Pulling into the drive, I cut my headlights so the kids wouldn’t see me approach. I shut the engine off, quietly get out of my side, and press the door closed quietly. On the other side, I open the passenger door, then spring the latch on the dog crate, and this tiny little puppy totters straight at me with tail wagging.

I lift him in my arms. I shut the door and then move over to the patch of grass. I put the puppy down so he will go potty before I bring him in. When I was a kid, we had a dog called Max, but I sort of grew up with him so I didn’t remember when he was a puppy. And Emma never had a dog before, so we’re sort of winging it with this puppy training thing. But I don’t fret about it. I mean, we’ve had babies, they’re harder than this, surely?

I patiently wait for this little fella to do his business, which includes a few minutes where he attacks my shoelaces and tugs. Shite, he’s cute.

Eventually, he sniffs around, tail high and then abruptly squats to pee. I thought boy dogs lift their legs when they pee but maybe not at this age. I immediately bend and give him praise with an upbeat, positive tone that makes him excited. Who’s daddy’s clever little fella? You are! Yes, you are! You did well, mate. That was brilliant! He puts his paws up on my shin, accepting my stretches with tail wagging and tongue lolling out the side of his head. My kids are going to fall in love with this little guy.

I scoop him up in my arms when he’s done and make my way inside. But instead of entering from the front door, I circle the house so I can enter from the back, knowing they must be all in the kitchen as this is usually the time when the kids would do their homework for next week. Walking past the window, I see that I’m right. Emma is at the kitchen island with George next to her and Minnie on the opposite side. My heart starts beating faster at the thought of spending the day with my family—and apparently our new third child in my arms—and I find it almost shameful I have such excitement over it. Shouldn’t I have always been this excited? Or is it normal for things to just settle, and we take them for granted?

I shake that thought off of my mind. I had this important talk with my wife a couple of weeks ago about how we shouldn’t focus on the past. We’re both committed to repairing our marriage, and for it to work, we both know we must commit to living in the present. Because at the end of the day, the present is all we have.

I knock on the door and as planned, Emma will tell the kids to answer it.

In moments, it’s swinging open. I get a flash of Emma walking up behind our kids, but my eyes are pinned on them. They’re both in complete shock, eyes wide open staring at the puppy squirming in my arms.

Both stare at me mutely, frozen, as if they can’t believe that this is real.

Finally, I say, “surprise!”

Minnie’s gaze rises up to meet mine. “Is that ours?”

“This is ours,” I nod, laughing. But still, neither of them move forwards, so I goad them. “Come and get him?”

That’s all it takes for Minnie to scoop this little fella into her arms, pressing her nose into his head and murmuring little endearments. George scratches him and he reacts to their greetings by wiggling frantically and trying to lick both of my kids’ faces. They both laugh in a delighted way I’ve never quite heard before.

I look at my wife and see her tender smile as she watches our littles. I can tell she’s as charmed by it as I am.

I walk inside because it’s colder than a witch’s tit outside and shut the door. “He just peed outside, but we need to keep a close eye on him. If he starts sniffing around or circling, that probably means he needs a wee. Scoop him up and take him out to the back. After he’s done with his thing, give him lots of praise and affirmation.”

“Got it,” Minnie says as she plops down on the living room floor with the pup. The puppy jumps around, and all three of them start to play.

“Now, what should we name him?” Emma asks.

“Droolius Caesar?” I joke.

Emma laughs. “Jimmy Chew?”

“Sarah Jessica Barker?” I continue. “Wait, no, it’s a boy. Franz Fur-dinand?”

“Sir Barks-a-Lot?”

“Deputy Dawg?”

“Bark Twain?”

We both laugh. We’re shite at this. The kids are too busy with the puppy to comment on our suggestions.

SpongeBob SquarePants is on the telly playing in the background. None of them are watching, but I see SpongeBob scratching his snail pet under the chin before he picks up said pet and says, “I love you Gary. Gary, Gary, Gary, Gary…”

“Gary,” I say. The kids look at me and I point at the telly.

“That’s a ridiculous name for a dog,” Emma cackles. “But I like it.”

“That’s a human name?” Minnie’s brows knit slightly.

“I like it!” George exclaims, then proceeds to baby talk the pup who’s chewing on the end of Minnie’s braid. “I love you Gary. Gary, Gary, Gary, Gary…”

We laugh.

“H,” Emma calls, and my gaze moves to her. She jerks her chin to the kitchen. “Help me set up the table? I’ve got a cold beer for you.”

Minnie and George still completely ignore us as we move into the kitchen.

It would be natural for me to sit at the kitchen island while Emma gets the beer and checks on the supper, but the kids can see me from where they sit in the living room. So I follow my wife behind the island instead.

Before she can make it two steps, I move right into the back of her. Hands at her hips, I push her all the way forward until the counter catches her hips, then I dip to put my lips to her neck.

Emma’s head falls back and she utters the tiniest of sighs, one arm looping back to go around the side of my head so she can thread her fingers in my hair. It’s an intimate embrace, but not one to provoke lust. Just a message that I missed her even though I saw her two days ago, and I love touching her in this gentle, loving way.

“The kids,” she murmurs. “They might see us.”

“Oh, the tragedy,” I whisper dryly. “Our children seeing their parents hugging.”

Emma snickers and pulls away, glancing over her shoulder. “It would be shocking to them. And until we know for sure what we are and where we’re going, we need to keep them in the dark, remember? I don’t want them to get their hopes up.”

“You’re right,” I mumble in a low voice before moving to the island. I glance back at the living room and see the puppy on George’s back, trying to climb up. “No touching around the kids.”

She smiles and hands me a beer. She’s got one in her hand, and we tap bottles. She then moves to the oven, where she bends to take a peek through the window. Obviously, I stare at her arse as she does.

“It’s done,” she announces, opening the oven to pull the pan of shepherd’s pie.

“Need help with that?’ I ask, noting it looks like it probably weighs fifty pounds.

Twisting, she grins. “Sure. I made a double batch to send you home with some leftovers.”

That gets me. Not only she made one of my favourite meals, but she’s also sending me home with leftovers. I pop off the stool, round the island and take the two potholders she’s holding out to me.

After I carefully lift the pan from the oven, she shuts the oven door. I set it down on the two trivets she’s placed on the counter.

Bending over, I inhale the scent deeply. “Smells fantastic.”

Emma bumps her hip against me. “Well… you’ve been pretty amazing these last few weeks, so…”

I bump her hip back before sliding my hand around her waist. Bending my head, I murmur. “Admit it… it’s for the orgasms I gave you after the school run the other day.”

She chuckles with a sly smile. “Possibly.”

Leaning in closer, I touch my temple on the top of her head, lowering to a complete whisper. “You do know that I can give you that any day you want, right, Em? All you’ve got to do is ask.”

“Oh, I will,” she teases.

“What’s going on here?” Minnie says from behind us.

Emma and I jump apart as if we’d been electrocuted by each other. We spin to see Minnie standing there, with George next to her holding Gary in his arms. These two must have worn that pup out as he is still, watching us curiously.

Minnie’s expression, on the other hand, is condemning and suspicious.

“Nothing’s going on, poppet,” Emma says, her voice a little squeaky in panic. It’s adorable.

“Your mum and I were just talking,” I calmly explain.

“With your arm around her waist and whispering,” Minnie challenges. “Looks more like flirting to me.”

“Are you upset about it?” I challenge back. I knew she was upset when we separated and she struggled with it for a long time.

Her brows knit together. “I’m just confused.”

Emma’s expression indicates she has no clue what to say. I can’t say I’m any more well equipped, but I’m going to take this one. I give my wife a subtle chin tilt, silently telling her I’ll handle this and relief evident in her eyes.

“Come on, you lot. Help me sort Gary’s stuff,” I say, herding them towards the garage.

All three of them follow me into the garage, Gary still cosy in George’s arms.

I immediately spot the stack of supplies, which includes a dog crate similar to mine, as well as bowls, a soft dog bed, food and toys. I pick up the soft bed towards the door that leads back into the house. Minnie turns to precede me, but I stop her. “Hang on there a second, poppet.”

When she pivots to face me her expression is guarded. “You asked about your mum and me. What do you want to know?”

“Were you two flirting with each other just now?” She demands. Crap. She’s nine. She’s not supposed to know that stuff.

I can’t believe I get a little warm in the face at such a question, but I nod. I know it’s probably too soon to tell them but there’s no point in denying this. Both of my children are smart, and they deserve to know what’s going on.

Her eyes narrow. “So are you… what… getting back together?”

“Does it mean you’re gonna live with us again, daddy?” George chirps.

“Not yet, nuggets. It’s not that simple.”

“It kind of is,” she replies. “You left for months. You didn’t even come during the summer. Then once she started dating Luke-”

“What’s dating?” George turns to his sister.

“It’s when you like someone and they like you back and you become boyfriend and girlfriend then you go out to eat together and do other stuff,” Minnie explains, then she continues. “Then once she started dating Luke, you’re suddenly coming around more often. And then she told me that Luke wouldn’t come over anymore and now you two are making googly eyes at each other.”

We lapse into silence for a moment. I need to think carefully about what to say next. George beats me. “I think I’m dating someone.”

“You what?” My eyes widen.

“Yeah. I asked Poppy in the playground to be my girlfriend the other day and she said yes. Then after we were done playing on the slides we got hungry so she shared her raisins with me. I also let her take a sip of my Ribena.”

I try hard not to break into laughter but Minnie doesn’t even crack a smile.

“Okay… so here’s the thing. I was very upset. I know that was wrong of me to just leave without saying goodbye, and it was wrong of me for not visiting sooner. I needed time to let it go, and to accept what your mum wanted. But not once during that time did I not want to come back home. I’ve always wanted my family back.”

“Then what changed?” Minnie asks.

“Your mum and I spent some time apart because we both thought that was the best decision. But we were wrong. Because we realised that we didn’t want to be without each other. So now I’m trying to prove that I’ve changed. That I’m a better man, and I’m ready to be a better husband. The one your mum deserves.”

“See,” Minnie murmurs, her expression filled with confusion. George dips his head and rubs his cheek against Gary’s head, who seems to be on the verge of falling asleep. “I don’t get it. You and mum always seemed to get along great. You never argued. I never understood why you left.”

I move in close to my daughter and brush a lock of hair behind her ear. “A lot of that stuff is private between your mum and I, poppet.”

George asks. “But why can’t you just move in now, daddy?”

“It takes time, mate. Your mum and I need more time to sort ourselves out. But I promise you two that we’re trying our hardest here, okay? We need you both to be patient. Can you do that for us?”

They both nod in unison. Gary blinks twice.

“I can’t wait for us to be family again,” says Minnie.

Grinning, I bend to kiss her head. “Me too, poppet…”

***

Emma

“Gary! This way, Gary!”

Harry and I look at each other across this rather windy hilltop. The kids and Gary are exploring the neighbouring bushes and pathways as we perch ourselves on a rock nearby. We take in the view, the breeze biting at my cheeks.

My husband turns to me. “Tea? I put some whisky in it.”

“Hell, why not.”

Harry pours the tea out and we clink mugs. He brushes his thumb across my nose for no absolute reason. I was born and raised here, but this is something I’ll never tire of: these swooping hills and valleys, infinite skies and bracing breezes. As much as I loved London, I’m glad we’ve traded that life with this simpler one. There is no taxi nor Tube in sight but our kids are somehow a little bouncier and carefree. They’re happy here, and that’s all that matters.

“Ey up,” greets Harry at a group of people walking past us. They are obviously tourists as they have no way to respond and one of them is wearing bog standard Reebok Classics.

We hear the kids squeal in the distance and we both smile at each other. Getting that pup was probably one of our best decisions.

“Do you remember when we first dated?” Asks my husband. “You brought me up here.”

I nod. “I do.”

“The view was decent,” he grins.

“I know you’re not thinking about the view.”

“I was thinking about what happened when we got to the top of the meadow…”

“That was some decent shag,” I chuckle. “Nowadays, I’d worry about getting ticks on my unmentionables.”

We laugh.

I stare over at my husband taking in the view and sipping tea noisily. He always pauses for a moment on any walk to drink it all in. He rustles in his bag and gets a packet of biscuit out, opening the packaging awkwardly and offering it to me.

“Did you know that you’re supposed to call it ‘niece’ and not ‘nice’? Apparently, they’re named after the French town.”

“That’s proper pub quiz trivia knowledge right there, Styles,” I tease.

We stay up here for a little while, but since it’ll get dark soon, we start our walk back to the car. The one thing you forget about taking kids up mountains (small hills) is that for all that experience of green space and fresh air, eventually, you will have to bring them down. Despite having an entire packet of biscuit (with a whole lot of why did you bring this one? This is rubbish. You could’ve brought hobnobs), we failed to remember to pack enough snacks and a fine drizzle is now scratching at our faces. It takes George much persuading to keep walking and by the time we return to the car, the sun is dipping behind the clouds and the twilight sits in the air.

Harry decided it was fine to park in a deserted car park in the middle of nowhere to escape the throngs of regular walkers and tourists but strangely enough, when we get back there, we are one of six parked up.

“Come on, mate. Literally, just to the car. Like twenty more steps,” Harry begs our son to keep on walking.

“You lied!” He complains. “You said that twenty steps ago.”

“I’ve got Haribo in the car.”

He progresses to a light canter.

“Where did all these cars come from?” Harry asks as he approaches our motor cautiously.

“Maybe you’re not the only smart one here and people are following your lead.”

A car flashes us.

I look around at all the cars. People are sat in them. What are they waiting for? You see this sometimes when waiting for the rain to pass or when people decide to eat their lunch in the car.

Suddenly, I hear a car door open and a gentleman approaches us. His footsteps are low.

I know him. It’s Patrick. He’s our postman, so, yes, we have our very own Postman Pat. It was the first thing that tickled Harry when he found out years ago. And even better, the joke is not lost on Pat. His wife even got him a stuffed black and white cat for his cherry-red van window. I smile at recognising him, as do all of the occupants in our car.

“Emma, Harry, kids. Fancy seeing you here, of all places.”

“We’ve got a new dog and we were just taking him for a walk,” I inform him.

“Oh, lovely. What’s his name?”

“Gary,” the kids say in unison.

“Have you got a dog, Pat?” George asks him.

“No, my wife’s a cat lady. But funny you should mention dogs. This place here, people like to come here for that reason.”

“Gary seemed to like it,” pipes in Harry. “I think it’ll be his favourite.”

“That it is. People come here all the time for walking and with their dogs and other such endeavours.” His face looks slightly ashen at this point, his eyes darting towards the other cars. “And the other sense of the word… I just thought I would mention it as you have the littl’uns and it’s getting darker. I think someone just flashed his lights to warn you.”

Harry and I realise what he means exactly at the same time. “OH!” we say at the same gobsmacked volume.

“Dogg…ing…” Harry mumbles. “We should-”

“Leave, like definitely leave, like now,” I say finishing his sentence.

The kids appear confused. I look around and shield my eyes. I should shield the children’s eyes. Pat’s wife waves from the passenger seat.

“Give our regards to June,” I say.

“Will do.”

He salutes us and returns to his car. The kids have all the questions. “People come here to look at dogs?” George asks. “Where are the dogs?”

“Get. In. The. Car.” Harry mouths very deliberately.

I slink into the passenger seat. Our eyes dart in different directions trying to divert focus from any of the cars ahead. We’ll be good if Harry doesn’t drive us off a cliff face. He turns on the wipers, the engine roars to a start and he pulls away slowly.

“We could have stayed and seen the dogs,” says George, a little despondently. “Gary would’ve loved to see his mates. Wouldn’t you, Gary?”

I throw a packet of Haribo at him. Harry and I are silent. We’ve just strolled our children and our very young dog into an outdoor sex hotspot. We are terrible parents.

“Who fancies chips?” Harry says as he changes gear. He finds our littles in the rear-view mirror and studies their faces. “There’s a decent chippy down road.”

There’s a chorus of approval from the back seat. My husband smiles. He then moves his hand over from the gearstick to find mine, fingers interlocked, the sky glowing a thousand different colours.

***

“Are you calling my turkey dry?”

I look over at my older sister Suze in the corner of our family kitchen wondering where on earth she had the courage to come out with a comment like that. Even her husband stops washing up to absorb what his wife just said to our mother. I mean, you think it, but you just douse it in gravy and make do. Such is the joy of white chalky meat like turkey. Why do this now? Now she’ll harp on about the bacon she puts on the breasts and all the goose fat. But it’s Suze. She likes the challenge. I secretly think the only way she believes she can have a relationship with our mother is to spar with her regularly so they at least have one line of communication.

“It was a lovely dinner, Mum. Did you make the mince pies?” Suze winks at me.

I shake my head at her and bring the plate of mince pies through to the living room. Amidst my mother’s wreaths and tinsel wrapped around the lampshades, it’s a familiar tableau: Pop, my grandfather, asleep in the armchair in the corner, a holy green paper hat covering his eyes. Small children crawl on the floor and make angel shapes with their bodies amidst remnants of old glittery wrapping paper. I hope Mum’s made a trifle. My other sister Meg and her husband snooze on a neighbouring sofa, catching on much needed sleep since they just had a baby four months ago and I still remember four months sleep regression is hell. I like this part of Christmas where bits of old crackers litter the floor and twilight takes over.

I take a mince pie and escape to the last vacant spot on the sofa. George rests his head on my knees. “What are you eating, mummy?” I look down at his bright green eyes and wonder how he can still be hungry as he must be ninety per cent roast potato at this point.

“A mince pie.”

“With cow mince?”

“No, like fruity bits,” I pick out said fruity bits and drop them into his mouth like a baby bird. He pulls a face, tasting it, and then walks away.

Harry smiles at me from the bottom of the Christmas tree. He’s laying down on the floor with one of my nieces. He’s always been great with kids, long even before we have our own. My niece has her palm out, and Harry runs circles in it as he sings, “round and round the garden, like a teddy bear…”

She smiles and laughs, poising her fingers, ready to bounce.

“One step, two-step, tickle me under there,” he pretends to collapse into giggles and my niece’s little face broadens into laughter before she rolls over and walks away to play with her cousins.

Finishing my last bite of the tiny pie, I roll under the tree to join my husband. He looks at me as I cosy up next to him, the lights reflect off his eyes.

My mother likes a real tree for Christmas. It’s the smell, you can’t beat the smell. I like to think you can get that real pine smell from a good supermarket brand toilet cleaner but I don’t say that out loud for fear of incurring her festive wrath. And so there’s always a real tree and like we endured when my siblings and I were teens, there’s still a daily rota of vacuuming up the needles as we watch that bastard go crusty and brown as it’s shoved up against the radiator.

We lay there in silence, looking up at the branches and my mother’s multicoloured lights twinkling in some erratic fashion that my eyes can’t quite handle. I’ve been to raves that were less of an assault on the senses. It’s an overwhelming memory of our childhood, lying in silence wigging out on mum’s trippy disco lights, absorbing the magic of the season.

“You’re drunk aren’t you, tipsy-tits?”

“You were the one who poured double shots of Baileys in our coffees this morning,” I cackle.

“That’s called Christmas milk.”

“What are you doing here?” Minnie asks, her head nestling into my shoulder. I rake pine needles from her head.

“Nothing…” Harry replies. “Where’s yer brother?”

“Here,” George suddenly appears, rolling under the tree next to his dad to join us.

“Looks like the awesome foursome is back, huh?” Harry grins.

Minnie and George hum in agreement. I can see my babies smiling.

It’s time.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

I take a deep breath. “Will you come back home with us?”

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redinkrain · 3 years

Text

Beautiful madness.

Waverly left the Vera-Vaughn-Greenwood manor moments later, promising Abby to reach out as soon as her daughter was in safety and that she gathered some more information on the artifact Abigael was looking for.

It let an odd feeling in the Demon Overlord mind, like a blur she couldn’t quite figured out. After a lifetime of loneliness, hatred and resentment, here she was, making plan with her long lost sister to burglarize the only antique allowing her to restore Macy’s fire power. A step closer to her long journey to redemption.

Will she even get there someday?

Lost in her own torturous thoughts, the British Lady didn’t hear the witch that changed her whole perspective, talking to her.

“Abby?” Mel repeated, a concerned frown marking her face.

No answer. So the witch held out her hand and took one of Abigael’s in her own trying again “Abby, are you okay?”

It worked. The Demon Overlord seemed to get out of her hypnotic state, looking at their joined hands. Eyes fascinated; like it was the most precious thing in the world. Suddenly something must have clicked in her because in a movement of panic she brutally let go of Mel’s hand and took two steps back.

“Have this unannounced pregnancy made you lost your mind as well as your memory? What about theallergy, Mel?” Abby asked in an irritated tone but the concern was crystal clear for the Vera sister.

Mel voice was soft when she simply replied “Shush it, demon spawn!”.She then closed the distance between them and took both of Abigael’s hands in hers. “See? Baby and I are good! Don’t worry.” Her smile grew some more at Abby’s awe.

“But- How?” it was so quiet that Mel almost missed it.

“I’m not really sure, but it must be the baby.”

Abigael said nothing. Eyes glued to their hands as their fingers intertwined. They stayed silent for some times. Abby didn’t dare to move an inch, a bit scared that the moment might end. For her part, Mel attentively observed The Demon Overlord’s expression the entire time. She would be lying if she said that nothing in her was liking the way Abby was looking so adoringly at their joined hands. But then, their eyes locked and Abigael had that same look on her face than the one she had when Mel asked her if she was doing this just to make amends with Macy. They were telling more than what Abby was actually able or willing to say. In that instant, everything around them ceased to exist. They were so close that Mel’s round belly touched the half-demon half-witch front. Abby wouldn’t do anything unless she was certain of Mel’s consent and for now she wouldn’t ask…

Minutes passed by and still, they were looking at each, like it was the first time they actually saw one another. Without fuss. Without judgment. Mel’s heartbeat went crazy, she couldn’t clearly figured out what it was that made her breathless, but she let herself be lost in those hazel eyes that she learned to appreciate more than she should have.

Stuck, neither of the two women knew how to act around each other in this private moment, so Abby decided to crack a snarky remark to ease whatever was going on.

“Careful there Potion Princess, one might think that you want to steal a kiss from The Demon Overlord!” Abigael said on that tone that drove Mel mad. So she rolled her eyes in exasperation, but kept her hands firmly in the British Lady ones. Then a smirk appeared on her lips when she just retorted to that flirty comment with a sultry tone.

“What if it’s exactly what I want to do?”

She then started to caress Abby’s knuckles softly while The Demon Overlord lost her voice once again. She just kept those eyes on Mel’s, more piercing than ever. And Mel finally get what Abigael meant by “I care deeply about her” when the truth serum kicked in at her trial… Just like that, her heart stopped beating at the realization. Abigael didn’t care about her in a weird frenemy way. No. It was deeper. She cared about her in a romantic way. Everything kind of fell in place. “Our child”resonated in her head. How could she missed it? The change in the woman behavior before her, how she just stopped having one night stands and orgy with Susans. Yes, plural. How didn’t she saw it sooner? How her relationship with Abigael Jameson-Caine had grown and how close they had become.

After all, a few hours back, she confessed to the woman how scared of failing her baby she was. And in all of her softness Abigael find the right words to wipe away her doubts. She didn’t laugh, didn’t used this knowledge to make a sarcastic comment. She just comforted her.

And now Mel’s mind went crazy. Loaded with questions she didn’t wanted to acknowledge till now. What did she felt for the half-witch half-demon herself?

She cared about her, a lot. A lot more than she thought she actually did. But Ruby. Mel loved Ruby. They had been through so much and still, they were together. Stronger than ever. That was what the witch was thinking. What she was feeling. And yet, she couldn’t stopped herself to wonder who was the baby’s other mother?

Abigael kept her lips sealed at first, but after some times she titled her head slightly to the side a bit worried about Mel’s own thoughts.

“Are you alright Angry Spice?” gently tightening the hands in hers.

Mel took one last look in The Demon Overlord’s eyes and give her a small smile before letting go of her grip on Abigael, who already missed the contact she craved.

“Yeah. I’m a bit tired I guess with, you know, the baby, the demon, meeting your sister.” It wasn’t a lie, she was kind of exhausted of the day, but it wasn’t the entire truth.

“If I had known about your impromptu pregnancy Mel, I would not have come bothering you asking for your assistance when danger was involved. I swear.” The hybrid stated embarrassed.

“I know Abby. As you said at the door earlier, my sisters and I are usually the ones running to you for help. I’m glad you came and trusted me enough to introduce me to your sister and let me help you.” The Latina responded. “And, for what it worth, I’m proud of you Abby.”

“It worth more than you know.” Abigael smiled with her eyes. “I should go and let you rest then. You are, after all, bearing a tiny human in that belly of yours. Thank you again, for you help. I’ll see you Potion Princess”.

The Demon Overlord started phase-shifting when Mel gently wrapped her fingers around Abigael’s left wrist. She blocked her power and waited patiently for Mel to pursue what she had on her mind.

“Thank you for the crib and for those things you said about me having what it takes to be a good mom.” Mel really appreciated this reassurance the hybrid provided her.

“Well, you have nothing to thank me for. It’s all you Melanie.” She winked at the Vera witch and disappeared in a dark smoke.

Mel stayed in the middle of the room, closed her eyes, and let out a breath she didn’t remember holding back.

*****************

That night, Mel hadn’t slept a minute. Sure, when her sisters came home and told her all about The Whispering Evil, her freak out level went high. But if she was being honest with herself (which she usually is) her mind was preoccupied by all the questions she had about a certain brunette. “Ugh! Damn you Abigael Jameson-Caine!” she muffled in her pillow. She decided to go to the kitchen and for a drink, maybe that Valerian tea Waverly highly recommended her.

Then cup in hands, the witch sat on the couch in the living room. The one Abby slept on, when her demonic form tried to get rid of her. Sighing for thinking yet again of The Demon Overlord, the Vera witch took her phone and looked at the time. 3:00 AM. “How fitting!” she exhaled. She quickly taped a text to her girlfriend. Thirty minutes later, Ruby still hadn’t responded. “I guess some have less troubles to find sleep than others” Mel spoke a bit bored. Before she could changed her mind and against her better judgment, the witch decided to text Abigael.

3:33 AM – Potion Princess : Are you awake?

A minute later, dots appeared on Mel’s screen indicating that the hybrid was typing.

3:34 AM – Demon Spawn : No. I am actually asleep.

Mel rolled her eyes and cracked a smile at this response.

3:35 AM – Potion Princess : So… How are you able to answer my text if you’re asleep?

3:35 AM – Demon Spawn : My subconscious is especially productive at this time of night.

3:35 AM – Demon Spawn : I had some business to attend actually. Why are you awake?

3:36 AM – Potion Princess : Business? In the middle of the night? I can’t sleep.

3:36 AM – Demon Spawn : The perks of being The Demon Overlord if I may say. Is everything alright? Is our baby keeping you up that late?

The witch scrutinized her screen for a good minute, particularly those two words “our baby”. Again, Mel’s heart just stopped beating in her chest and she felt her cheeks burning. She debated with herself on how to answer properly.

3:38 AM – Potion Princess : Well, you’re the one that claimed the title… So, suck it up and deal with it! ;). Our baby uh? How did you come by this conclusion? But no, it’s not the baby that keeps me from sleeping. I just got a lot on my mind I guess.

Abby’s text was nothing but fast.

3:38 AM – Demon Spawn : You’re so sarcastic at this hour of the night. It’s quite delightful. Is there something you want to talk about? Maybe I can be of some sorts of assistance?

Mel didn’t missed how Abigael just eluded a part of her text.

3:40 AM – Potion Princess : You should go to bed. It’s late and your day was longer than mine apparently...

3:40 AM – Demon Spawn : Nonsense.

And just like that, Abigael appeared in the middle of the Vera-Vaughn-Greenwood living room, wearing a black trousers and a garnet satin shirt with a cleavage that left not much to imagination. Her hair were impeccable (as usual), and she wear those discrete gold hearings. She was still wearing her make-up. Mel glanced at her guest a little too long to go unnoticed by Abigael who just smirked at her when sitting next to the witch.

“So Velma Dinkley, what in that little head of yours prevents you to fall asleep?” Abby asked softly.

Melanie Vera rarely panicked at the thought of talking about feelings. Not with her sisters. Not with Harry. Not with Ruby. Ruby her girlfriend if she hadn’t mentioned it. But now, in front of one Abigael Jameson-Caine, she would gladly take off in a heartbeat. Also, she knew that if she wasn’t having this conversation, she’ll be self-deprived of sleep for the rest of her life. So, here she was…

“You, actually.” She confessed when meeting the half-demon half-witch eyes.

Abigael’s smirk was so infuriating, Mel already knew what was coming for her next.

“Having naughty thoughts about us?” Abby couldn’t bring herself to not take the bait on this one which just made her host rolled her eyes even more exasperatedly.

“Abby! Can you stop please. I’m trying to have a serious conversation here.” the Latina said. Because having this particular talk at almost 4 in the morning was the responsible thing to do. Good job, Mel.

The British Lady took one look into the Vera sister eyes to know that this conversation was important to her. So, she clenched her jaw, and silently promised herself to do her best.

“I apologize. What about me, Potion Princess?” She asked curiously facing the Charmed One.

“We never spoke about what you said during the trial…” Damn it! She completely sucked at starting this topic.

“Oh, you mean when Perky Peanut gave me truth serum against my will and so forced me to answer truthfully at questions I would have rather lied about?” A hint of resentment was obvious in her tone.

Mel put a hand on Abigael’s forearm to soothe her. It seemed to work, because the hybrid closed her eyes for a second before pursuing.

“I imagine you want to have a conversation about what I said about you, isn’t it?” She didn’t dare to look at Mel.

“Yes.” the witch whispered. “Did you meant what you said?”

Abby laughed at that. It wasn’t a full laugh, but still, the Latina hadn’t heard her guest laughed a lot.

“Mel, you do know how truth serum works, right?” The British Lady furrowed her brow in question.

“Yeah I do, but you know what I meant.” Melanie replied as if the question was crystal clear.

“So, what you truly asked was if I still mean it right now?” Really, she guessed her best.

The witch only nodded in approval.

“Well, in all honesty, it is a question that is hard to answer to.” The Demon Overlord observed Mel’s reaction.

“How come?” Mel simply asked, when she could heard the frantic beating of her heart in her chest.

Abigael gave her a small smile, one that would be imperceptible for a stranger.

“I do not know any words that would reflect what you mean to me, Melanie.” Again, the witch heart skipped a beat at the use of her first name. “I do not know when neither do I know how you became such an important part of my life but every chance I get to spend time with you I learn to know why.” She paused to gather her thoughts. “So yes, Melanie Vera, I care deeply about you. More than I ever cared about anyone to this day. Really, I just want you to be healthy, to be happy.” Mel sat still, incapable of breathing, too struck by Abby’s confession, by the vulnerability that she was showing to her. Speechless. “And, don’t be mistaken, I expect nothing from you. I would not dream of it. I know my place and how unworthy I am to ever be a part of your happiness. I woul-”.

The half-demon half-witch was cut off by a pair of lips on her own. Surprised, she closed her eyes and kissed Mel back. It was gentle, like caressing velour for the first time. They were both afraid that the moment was in fact a dream. Then the witch place a final peck on Abby’s lips before retreating.

“Sorry, I didn’t asked for you consent.” Mel whispered.

“For this? You always have it.” Abby replied softly. “Will my answer be of any help?”

“I’m sure it will. Thank you for being honest.” The Vera sister replied, even though she wanted to say more.

“Alright, I leave you to it then. Have a good night, Melanie.” The British Lady focused on Mel’s eyes.

“Goodnight, Abigael. And again, thank you.” The which said just before a cloud of dark smoke made her guest disappeared.

Mel didn’t slept better after that. Her lips haunted by Abby’s and the taste of her tongue against hers.

It’s 8 AM sharp when she got a text from Ruby. And then, a storm was raging within the witch heart.

#abimel #abigael x mel #abigael jameson caine #abigael caine #mel vera #charmed #charmed cw #cw charmed #charmed 2018 #2018 charmed #reboot charmed #charmed reboot #fanfic #fanfiction #that was stuck in my head for days #finally got time to write it

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findingjoynweirdstuff · 3 years

Text

Dream SMP Recap (February 9/2021) - New Lands, Sapnap’s Visit

It wouldn’t be the Dream SMP without emotional whiplash, now would it?

As tensions between Puffy and Ponk have escalated, Karl takes Sapnap and George with him on a journey to a new land to live in, starting a brand new country to house his library.

What was at first a fun time building the library quickly turned serious, as Sapnap decided that now was the time to pay Dream a visit.

---

VOD LINKS:

Ponk

Tubbo

Jack Manifold

Ranboo

Captain Puffy

Foolish Gamers

Karl Jacobs

Sapnap

Badboyhalo

---

- Ponk is angry at Puffy’s arson from yesterday. He asks Niki for advice on what to do. She says she would burn a house down in revenge.

- He also speaks with Foolish.

- Ponk destroy’s Puffy’s mushroom house, leaving her homeless again.

- Ponk also gets a tour from Warden Sam of the prison. Not to visit, just to be shown the mechanics.

- He tries to run up the guards’ spiral staircase but when Sam attacks him, he backs down. Sam is irritated at this.

- Ponk and Sam have an argument about tridents.

- Later, Sam tells Ponk that every friendship goes through fights occasionally, and he forgives Ponk.

- Ponk continues on his Valentines’ Day plans.

- Ranboo accidentally kills Jjjjjjjjeffrey with sweeping edge. Mr. Krabs adds insult to injury.

- Tubbo does an abstract bit.

- Ranboo kills several more pets. He is not having a good day.

- Puffy finds out about the destruction. She’s upset.

- Realistically, she should get retaliation, but she doesn’t know if she should even bother.

- Foolish comes over to where her house used to be, and Puffy says she knows about Foolish’s involvement earlier. She thanks her son for trying to save her house.

Foolish says he was too late, but Puffy replies that it only mattered that he tried.

- Karl comes online with plans to move his library. Sapnap arrives as well and Karl tells him that he has nothing to his name on the server except the library.

The llamas in Party Park have begun to unionize, and though cleaning up L’manhole would be the responsible thing to do, they are definitely not going to do that.

- George comes online as Karl dismantles the library.

- They start walking down the path to look for an area to build their new country.

Sapnap: “We lost our best friend recently. He’s in prison.”

Sapnap also notices that the Community House has been rebuilt, but...it’s not the same.

- George performs a special ceremony at Spawn.

- They set off, heading out past Spawn in that direction.

- Sapnap gets concerned that they’re heading out so far. He doesn’t want to get too far from the prison.

- They make it to the flower forest biome past Alyssa’s Barn.

- Karl decides on a nice little cliffside to build the library in. He sets down a rule for the other two: a flower that is picked up must be placed down again.

- Sapnap is the protector, as resident tough guy.

- Captain Puffy visits the Temple of Undying to admire Foolish’s building. Foolish helps cheer her up.

- Sapnap reveals that he’s brought Beckerson and Mars with him. They can be the country’s most prized possessions. The oldest pets on the server.

- They plant and grow the first red-spotted mushroom. Karl deems it sacred and unbreakable.

- They repurpose Alyssa’s Barn for mushroom growing.

- They shelter from the rain under the sacred mushroom.

- They start building.

- Bad magics his way over to help with the building. Karl explains that the mushroom is sacred. Bad compares their country to a fungal growth.

- As they’re building, Karl tells Bad that in a perfect world, everyone on the SMP would join this country. There’s no duel citizenship. Everyone can join (barring Skeppy)

Bad is appreciative of the invitation.

- They continue building. Foolish arrives to assist!

- A pillager raid comes through and Sapnap kills them. As he does so, a white horse wanders by. Sapnap declares it their special horse. It can be their Horsecretary.

- The building continues!

- Dream joins VC and viewer wars break out between Sapnap and Foolish as Dream encourages everyone to try and get their viewer counts to be equal.

- Foolish heads back to his beautiful, stunning, gorgeous summer house to show on his stream.

- Sapnap gets a bright idea to go to the prison and visit Dream.

- Sam joins the call and Sapnap tells him he’s trying to get through the prison portal.

- Sam asks if Sapnap actually wants to visit Dream, and Sapnap says yes...

--- SAPNAP’S PRISON VISIT ---

- Sapnap tries to get into the prison and asks Awesam to let him visit Dream.

- Awesam agrees. Sapnap isn’t sure if he was ready, or if this is the optimal time, but he ends up going through.

- Sam asks the questions.

This is Sapnap’s first time visiting.

His residence is in a new place that he and Karl are creating.

He believes Dream is deserving of being locked up.

Sapnap: “We used to be best friends...”

Sam: “’Used to be?’”

Sapnap: “Yeah, I dunno...where we stand anymore, it’s kinda...yeah.”

Sam: “What does that mean?”

Sapnap: “Well, I dunno...I don’t know if he’s the same anymore. I don’t know if he’s the Dream -- my Dream anymore. My best friend.”

- Sapnap reviews the waivers

- They start making their way through the prison. Sapnap is nervous.

- Sapnap signs the other two waivers.

- They reach the lava wall.

Sam: “Good luck getting him to talk.”

Sapnap: “What do you mean? ...Is he not talkative”

Sam: “Something like that.”

- Dream’s cell walls are spotted in crying obsidian.

Sam: “And Sapnap?”

Sapnap: “Yeah?”

Sam: “I hope that you’re the one.”

- Sapnap enters the cell.

“...Hello? Dream? ....You okay?”

- Dream is silent, holding the clock. He hands Sapnap a book that says: “I am not talking.”

- His clock is now labelled “DO NOT BURN”

Dream: “you took so long.”

Sapnap: “You hurt a lot of people, but...you hurt specifically me...took me a little bit to decide to come and see you...”

Sapnap: “You’re better than this.”

- Dream looks at his clock, turning away from Sapnap.

Sapnap: “Once upon a time, we were best friends. If you’re gonna talk to anyone, you can talk to me.”

- Dream turns back to Sapnap, now holding the clock in his offhand while he writes in the book.

Dream: “im on strike”

- Sapnap asks what for, then if Dream is okay.

- Sapnap asks why the cell looks so run-down, with the crying obsidian dripping everywhere.

“it was a security measure.” [The crying obsidian]

“ill get out one day.”

- Sapnap insists that Dream has to stay locked up.

Sapnap: “I love you man, but you gotta stay here...this is where you belong for now.”

- Dream hands him the book.

“i spend days i broke the lectern i was making a portal and he did this.”

- Sapnap says that he can’t try and escape. He misses Dream, Sapnap says that they can be friends, that he can come and visit, that George can come and visit, but he has to stay here.

“Please don’t try and escape.”

- Dream runs over and throws the clock in the lava. Sapnap is worried that he’ll make Awesam mad and make things worse for himself.

“eventually.”

- Sapnap repeatedly tells him no.

Sapnap: “If you try and break out early...you know, you only have one life left, okay? And...I don’t think it’s gonna be Tommy. It’s not gonna be Techno, Dream...If you break out of this prison, it’s gonna be me who takes your final life. And it’s not because I have any resentment towards you or anything --”

Dream moves towards the lava but stops.

“-- But it’s because this is where you need to be, Dream.”

Dream’s head turns towards Sapnap and he takes another step towards the lava.

“You have to stay here, okay? We can still be friends, I can come and visit you, but you need to stay here.”

Dream moves back to the back of the cell.

“can you pass a message”

“he stopped visiting”

- Sapnap asks who

“ranboo”

- Sapnap asks what message

“:)”

- Sapnap says he’ll pass along the message.

“thank you”

- Sapnap asks if, if he passes along the message, Dream will behave. If he’ll stop acting up and throwing his clocks away.

Dream finally speaks, though it’s barely a whisper.

"Yes.”

- Sapnap says he’ll visit Dream more, and asks if he wants George to visit as well. Dream hands him the book again.

“yes and tell the warden i need a new clock”

- Dream signs the book.

“thank you for visiting me” is the final message.

- Sapnap says he’s ready to leave. Sam tells him to stand in the water.

Sapnap and Dream stand in the water together and they die by the potion together.

- Sapnap tells Sam that he spoke, and that he said he’d be better. That he needs a new clock. Sam is exasperated.

- Sapnap asks how long it’s been since he spoke to someone else. Sam says it’s been quite a while.

- When’s the last time he saw someone?

- The last person to visit him was Ranboo.

- Sam asks if he told Sapnap anything else. Sapnap says no.

- Sam kills Sapnap with Warden’s Will, sending him to Spawn.

- Sapnap comes back to the prison. Sam lets him through the portal.

- Sam explains that he just thought it was strange that Dream would talk to Sapnap, and had to “make sure.” Sapnap says it’s fine and leaves the prison with his things.

- Ranboo joined the game.

- Sapnap whispers to Ranboo that he wants to talk. They meet at the Community House.

Sapnap tells him about the prison visit, saying that Dream doesn’t seem the same. He doesn’t even talk now. He tells Ranboo that he was told that Ranboo was the last person to visit. He asks if Ranboo remembers anything about his visit, anything off.

Ranboo, of course, doesn’t remember much.

- Sapnap gives Ranboo the message:

- Ranboo freezes and goes silent, then runs away into the Nether. Sapnap is confused.

- Just as Sapnap is ending stream, Ranboo sends a message in game chat written in Enderman.

Doomed are those who try to run, for it always catches up eventually :)

---

Upcoming events remain the same.

Bad also mentioned that he has an upcoming lore stream that he’s scheduling, though it involves a particular person whose schedule makes them difficult to get a hold of for it.

#dream smp #dream smp recaps #long posts #prison arc

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midautumnnightdream · 3 years

Text

Family

For Cosette Appreciation Week

Cosette doesn’t remember much of the day her father died.

She has no idea how long she spent kneeling on the bare floor, her cheek pressed against the rough fabric, her hands clasping a larger one, that only recently had been stroking her head. She vaguely recalls Marius speaking to the portress. The doctor had been called back, though for what purpose, she couldn’t say. When Marius helped her to her feet, she could hardly stand without support.

Upon re-entering No. 6 Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire, she had gone straight to her chambers, leaving Marius to explain matters to his aunt and grandfather. He had followed her soon, in a state of great agitation: Cosette had watched him marching back and forth, filling the air with rambling, disjointed explanations that she barely listened to, and understood even less. The flood of broken self-recriminations surrounded her like an ocean, and she knew that she should care, but her papa was gone, and she felt cold and helpless and so very alone.

At some point, Marius had turned to her, and whatever he had seen in her face had stopped him short. There was something indescribable in his expression, an odd mix of realisation and dismay. He had reached out his hand, as if to touch her, and glanced at the door, as if to flee. In the end he had done neither, instead perching on the edge of the bed, several feet away from her. They sat together in silence for a long time.

Grandfather Gillenormand had been full of effusive sympathy and condolences. He had offered to take care of the funeral arrangements, but Marius had corralled him with great care, and had cited the wishes of the deceased, that a minimal fuss should be made. In the end, the funeral party had consisted only of the four members of the household, joined by Toussaint, whom Marius had invited on Cosette's behalf. It had also been Marius, who encouraged the rest of their party to say their farewells after the church service, leaving the young couple in their privacy at the graveside; and it was Marius, who had penned the odd little verse on the otherwise unmarked gravestone. Cosette had stood silent and numb, all the words she wished she could say threatened to choke her. Only tears flowed.

The morning after the funeral, Marius had finally explained it all; slow and hesitant in a way that carried nothing of his earlier agitation. In brief words he had explained the nature of her papa’s best kept secret, the confession he had made and the facts he had left out. Without sparing a single detail, he had described Jean Valjean's actions in saving his life, and his own actions in driving him away. At times, the familiar tone of self-recrimination would seep into his voice again, but then he would break off mid-sentence, seeming more ashamed of that bitter flood of guilt than the actions themselves. Cosette couldn’t say she wasn’t relieved: she was quite sure she didn’t have it in her to reassure him.

She should be angry, she knew. At Marius, certainly, probably even at papa. Marius certainly seemed to expect it from her, but she didn’t have it in her to conform to his expectations either. Perhaps she was angry, but her heart was heavy with exhaustion and grief, and she desperately didn’t want to be alone. When Marius placed a tentative hand on her wrist, she turned, wrapped her arms around him and wept.

Marius walks on eggshells around her after that day. Where before he would declaim expansively on any and all topics with an air of authority, he now seems to hesitate on every word, his eyes searching hers for approval. He’s attentive to her every mood, fidgeting around her like a great dark guardian, and yet disappearing instantly when she gives the slightest indication of wanting to be alone. She has no idea where he goes when he leaves her. He seems lost. It is both a relief and a concern.

Right at this moment, he’s doing a poor job of pretending to read a newspaper, his gaze flickering over to Cosette in her window seat and to the long forgotten needlework in her lap. Cosette can feel the weight of his eyes on her, distracting her from her reverie.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks eventually, his voice painfully hesitant. Cosette sighs and tears her gaze away from the window.

“My mother,” she answers honestly.

“Oh?” Cautious, encouraging.

“Papa used to talk to me about her when I was little. Then he stopped. I suppose he thought once I was older, I might start asking questions he couldn’t answer.”

“Do you remember her at all?” Marius asks.

Cosette shakes her head. “I don’t remember much of my childhood. I think I remember being held and I know it must have been my mother, who sang to me and rocked me to sleep. After...” She hesitates. “I was fostered, I think, or maybe just left behind. I was terribly unhappy there. Then papa came and took me away.” It was so strange and dark and confusing, that part of her life, filled with bizarre recollections, many of which must have surely been just nightmares of her childish mind. She had never liked thinking about it and papa hadn’t liked talking about it. Now, she supposes she will never know.

“I don’t remember my mother either,” Marius says suddenly. “At least not well. I remember what she looked like, but that might be just her picture on grandfather’s mantelpiece.” He’s lost in thought for several moments, before continuing. “I remember her illness, and being taken to her bedchamber to say goodbye. We were staying with grandfather then; my father was away in the war. Afterwards, grandfather wouldn’t let him see me, and told me he had abandoned me. And then he died. My father died alone, because my grandfather lied to me and kept me away. I hated him for this. I walked out of his house, left him behind and hated him for many years. And now I’ve done the same –” His jaw snaps shut. “But this isn’t about me.”

Cosette would like nothing more than to close the subject, to turn away and let their wounds heal in peace, until such time would come when she is ready to soothe them away. She had done the same with her papa, countless times – and look how that had turned out. Every instinct tells her they are on the cusp of something that may yet define the rest of their life together. She suppresses her fear.

“Marius. What are you saying?”

The look in Marius’ eyes is full of anguish and uncertainty. “This isn’t about me,” he repeats, his voice holding a cadence of a mantra. “Your grief for your father, the relationship the two of you shared, the memories you still hold dear – none of this has anything to do with me at all, does it? My guilt and my fervent regret for how things turned out are superfluous to the issue at hand.” He hesitates, as if trying to explain some great revelation he doesn’t quite have the words for. “Your grief matters more than my experience of it. I’ve been in your place, but now I’m not. What matters is how you feel.”

Cosette doesn’t reply, unsure of what to say. She’s never heard Marius speak like that, isn’t quite sure she understands all that he’s trying to communicate.

He does that sometimes, thinking and brooding about an issue for so long that when he resurfaces, he’s bringing with him conclusions that are so profoundly simple as to be self-evident at the first glance, despite the layers of meaning visible only to him. Yet his usual ruminations tend towards the greater social questions and his own views on them. This? This feels different.

Something of her thoughts must have reflected on her face, for Marius expression grows rueful. “I suppose what I am trying to say is that I've never been very good at listening, at paying attention. I see what I expect to see, hear what I expect to hear and discard the rest. But bemoaning my foibles doesn’t help – the important thing is to do better. I will do better, for you.”

Cosette takes a deep breath. “Do you promise not to lie to me any more?”

“I promise!” Marius answers instantly, then hesitates. “I gave him my word to keep his secret before I even knew what it was.”

“You also promised he could visit,” Cosette replies quietly. “Why keep one promise and not the other?”

Marius has no reply to that.

“I swear I will not lie to you again,” is all he says.

“And you will not keep from me anything that has to do with me?”

“I swear,” Marius says. After a moment he adds. “I know it is a paltry excuse, but hurting you was the last thing that either of us wished to do. We were trying to protect you from suffering, and in doing that, we made the wrong choices. I made the wrong choices, because I failed to keep your feelings in mind, and that is something I can never make up for.”

For a long moment, the young couple sits in silence.

“Perhaps,” Cosette says eventually. “There was no good choice you could have made, because the choice wasn’t yours to make in the first place.”

“I’m your husband,” Marius says, grieved. “If I cannot do right by you, what’s the use of me?”

“Marius,” says Cosette. “Do we not, in this house, live in a republic?”

Marius huffs out a laugh. “I believe Monsieur Louis-Philippe would have something to say about that.”

“Do we not agree that it is no good, one person making all the decisions?” Cosette continues, unperturbed. “Your grandfather has made some terrible choices, both for you and for your aunt. My papa chose badly, in leaving me. I do not wish for any children of ours to live like we did, alone in their grief and helpless in their ignorance.”

“Never,” Marius assures vehemently. Cosette doesn’t meet his gaze, but she can see his expression growing horrified. “You do not believe me.”

“Marius,” Cosette answers, equal parts fond and exasperated, and perhaps just a bit resentful. “I think I need you to know, that before anything else, you are my family. The only family I have left. Do you know what that means to me, an orphan several times over, registered in my marriage documents under the surname given to me through kindness of strangers? I love you.”

“You say that you love me and I believe you,” Marius replies quietly. “But you won’t say that you trust me.”

“Marius,” Cosette says. “Do you trust me?”

“Always,” Marius replies instantly, the grows quiet under the weight of the promise.

Cosette takes his hand in hers. “Then, as long as you keep trusting me, I endeavour to trust you. How does that sound?”

Marius remains quiet and pensive for a long minute. Then, for the first time in weeks, he smiles.

“That, I believe, is what my friend Bahorel would have called a treaty.”

#Les Miserables #Les Mis #Les Mis fanfiction #Cosette Week #Cosette #Marius Pontmercy #Jean Valjean #(is not really there)#character death #post canon #The One In Which Marius Considers Someone Else's Perspective For The First Time Ever #(he's terribly unnerved by the experience)#Cosette deals

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flyingkiki · 3 years

Text

A Very Merry Christmas (3/4)

A little bit more excitement and a whole lot of steamy escapades for our favorite bbs. As promised, 2021 is a year of smut and steam for our favorite birbs.

Check out chapter 2 of A Very Merry Christmas to refresh your steam tank. We know Tim a little dirty boi behind closed doors -- or in abandoned tree houses.

In today's episode, that bathtub looks perfect for some luxurious steamy action.

~~~

Titus, much to Raven’s surprise had taken a great liking in her. Over the course of her stay, the Great Dane was practically glued to her side, following her everywhere. While endearing, it proved to be quite a challenge during movie nights once Raven quickly realized that despite his size, Titus believed he was a lap dog.

“Titus!” Tim whined when the dog’s tail smacked him across the cheek one evening while the whole family settled down to watch The Nightmare before Christmas. As Raven settled down next to Tim on the couch, Titus climbed up on Tim’s other side and clumsily clambered over his lap to get to Raven, who stifled a giggle.

“Oh,” Raven breathed as the huge dog settled on her lap, knocking the wind out of her. She felt Titus snout settle into the crook of her neck and his paw dig painfully into her thigh. The dog practically leaned against her and she shot Tim a quick look over Titus’ hulking form. The dog wiggled in her lap, trying to get comfortable. “You’re a big boy,” she breathed.

Tim frowned and tried to nudge the dog off his girlfriend. “You’re suffocating her, Titus.”

Unfazed, Titus yawned and clumsily knocked his face against Raven’s cheek. With a little huff, he licked her left cheek and dropped his chin onto her shoulder.

Raven squeaked softly at the lick and wiggled under Titus, trying to get comfortable. Titus paw dug painfully into her thigh. She leaned into Tim’s shoulder and grabbed his forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze signaling her discomfort. “Tim,” she whispered. He had to do something or her illustrious career as a superhero might just end due to suffocating under a 160-pound dog.

Tim sighed and reached around the massive dog to gently nudge Titus off his girlfriend. When the dog whined and sneezed into Raven’s shoulder, Tim rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Dami,” he called the younger boy sitting on the floor next to Dick’s loveseat. “Call Titus, he’s suffocating Raven,”

Damian looked over his shoulder, frowning at the sight of his dog taking more interest in Tim’s girlfriend. “Titus,” he called over the noise of Jack Skellington discovering Christmas. The dog di not even budge and Tim shot him an annoyed glance.

“Looks like Titus has a new favorite human,” Jason commented slily, enjoying getting rise out of his younger brother.

Damian huffed and glared at Jason for even insinuating Titus had a new favorite. Shaking his popcorn bowl, Damian called Titus again. The sound of popcorn in a bowl seemed to have caught his attention. “Titus, come here.” Damian called again just as Dick ‘shhed’ him.

Titus seemed to finally get the message and with a huff into Raven’s neck, he jumped off Raven’s lap (and successfully kneeing her in the process) and trotted towards Damian. With a low whine, he curled up right next to the boy and deposited his head into Damian’s lap.

Titus continued to follow Raven that evening. Tim flat-out refused to have the dog in their bedroom because sex with a dog watching was a terrible idea. Titus was following them the entire morning as they helped Alfred with a new batch of Christmas cookies.

“Titus, time for your walk,” Damian appeared at the entrance of the massive kitchen, already wrapped up in his winter jacket. He jiggled the leash to catch Titus’ attention, which was solely focused on Raven as she bent over the kitchen island pipping lopsided smiles on gingerbread men with Tim and Bruce.

The dog whined and gave Damian a brief glance before turning back to Raven.

“That much sugar cannot be good for you,” commented Tim in amusement after Bruce ate half of a gingerbread man. Their small group remained oblivious to Damian and Titus. It was Bruce’s second cookie that morning and Alfred was not pleased at the depleting cookie count.

“It was missing an arm,” Bruce brushed off the accusation of being a cookie thief. He broke off one of the legs of the cookie. “Here, have the leg.”

Tim looked scandalized. “And be an accessory to your crime, Batman?” he said with wide eyes but still accepted the amputated sugar treat. It was a delicious leg.

“Who knew Bruce Wayne was such a sugar junkie?” Raven commented after drawing yet another lopsided smile (frown?) on a gingerbread man. She stuck a bright purple candy onto her gingerbread man’s neck. That kind of looked better.

“His sugar panel is terrible, Miss Raven,” Alfred appeared next to them sounding totally unimpressed at Bruce’s sugar habit. He glanced at the pile of cookies they had been working on, noting a few that had gone missing. He sighed softly. “Perhaps I may suggest refraining from eating any more cookies, Sir? We’d like to keep the rest for Christmas tomorrow and some for everyone to take home as well,”

“Might not fit into the Batsuit after Christmas, Old Man,” Jason commented from where he was mixing chocolate chip cookies. Cass giggled next to him.

Bruce looked a bit sheepish has he polished off the last of the gingerbread man he stole from the pile. “Right, Alfred.” Raven watched as the man looked amused and she shared a small smile with Tim, who looked happy to spend a little downtime with his adoptive father. Moments like these were rare for Tim. “I shall have a little bit more self-restraint,”

“I’d appreciate that, Sir,” Of course, Alfred did not sound very convinced. Leaving the fresh batch of cookies, he went back to working with Jason on the cookie batter. Raven and Tim chuckled softly in amusement.

“Titus!” Damian called again, this time gaining the attention of everyone in the kitchen. The dog in question raised his head in acknowledgement before lying down again and staring up at Raven.

Bruce looked over the counter and watched the dog in surprise. He looked up at Raven with a hint of amusement. “Looks like Titus has taken a liking in you,” he commented.

“More like a huge dog crush,” Jason added, smirking over this shoulder.

Damian huffed and crossed his arms, frowning at the group. “It’s likely that he senses her demon heritage and keeps watch to protect us,” he said, annoyance laced in his voice.

“Damian!”

“Hey!”

“Rude, you brat!”

Bruce was clearly disappointed and angry while Tim looked furious. Bruce frowned at his son and placed his piping bag on the counter. He crossed his arms in disapproval, an action Damian immediately mimicked. Reindeer apron or not, an angry Bruce Wayne is a scary Bruce Wayne. “Apologize, Damian,”

“Why? She is half-demon,” Damian sniffed and frowned, frustration bubbling low underneath his skin. “I’m sure Titus senses this. And I honestly do not understand how you can allow Drake to –”

“Finish that sentence and I swear I will smack you into next week,” Tim scowled, fist tightening on top of the marbled kitchen island. Raven could feel old emotions surface as the boys glared at each other and she frowned.

“I could help take Titus on a walk with you?” Raven said suddenly, knowing well that Damian was not going to apologize anytime soon. His frustration and resentment were coming off him in waves. She placed her hand on top of Tim’s arm, trying to calm him down.

“I don’t need your help,” Damian bristled.

Raven rolled her eyes at the haughty attitude. Ignoring Damian, she handed Tim her pipping bag and shot him an assuring smile. She removed her apron and placed it on the table, before turning to Damian. She tilted her head and raised her eyebrow in challenge. “Really? Not unless you want to clean up Titus’ pee later, I think you’re stuck with my offer,” she said.

“Raven,” there was a hint of worry and confusion in Tim’s voice. Raven shrugged and leaned up to kiss him on his cheek. “It’s alright,” she whispered and squeezed his forearm reassuringly. She waved off Bruce as he glanced at her.

Turning on her heel, she looked at a fuming Damian, displeased at the idea of being bossed around. “Wait for me at the door, I’ll go get changed,” she said. Ignoring Damian’s protest, she walked out of the kitchen with an eager Titus hot at her heels. Damian stopped out soon thereafter.

Jason blinked; astonishment written all over his face. “Well shit, that took a weird turn,”

Raven met up with Damian at the large front door. The boy was still frowning into his dark blue fluffy scarf when she approached and made no acknowledgement when she stood by him. Titus appeared by her feet, oblivious to the jealousy he had caused. “Ready?” she asked.

Damian sniffed again and silently hooked Titus to his leash and the trio stepped out into the cold. The leash wasn’t really necessary and as they would step further out into the forest, Damian would release Titus from the leash. The dog was trained enough to follow commands.

They were walking silently towards the large frozen lake, keeping close to the edge of the woods for Titus to sniff along and do his business. The silence between them was palpable, Raven could feel Damian’s storm of emotions. She watched as Damian released Titus from his leash and they followed him through the snow as he happily sniffed at snowy bushes and tree trunks.

“There is no need for you to accompany us,” Damian said, voice laced with a frown as he walked ahead of Raven.

Raven stuffed her hands deeper into her winter jacket as a cold breeze passed them. She hurried to keep up with Damian and walked next to him. She shrugged her shoulder dismissively and offered him a small smile. “It’s alright, I don’t mind the company,” she said.

“I do,” Damian frowned. Of course, ever the brusque one.

They stopped as Titus stopped by a bush a little up ahead. They were close to the completely frozen lake, they could see old dock and the outline of a few people walking by the lake from the distance. A few snowflakes started to fall as winter continued with is below zero temperatures. They watched Titus do his business in the snow.

“I’m sorry about this whole ordeal with Titus,” Raven said, glancing at the scowling boy.

Damian spared her glance; eyebrows draw into a perpetual scowl. “He senses the demon in you,” he said.

The corner of her lips quirked just a little bit and there was a bemused look on her face. “Well, I think you’re right about that,” she said. Damian continued to stare at her with a mixture of mild surprise and anger. They heard Titus make snuffling sounds as he buried his nose into the snow. “Some animals are quick to catch on meta-physical psyche,”

“To sense a threat,” Damian supplied.

“Sometimes,” said Raven. She glanced at Damian, sensing a mix of emotions. “They also get attached or curious. I’m pretty sure Titus is just curious after sensing a new presence in the house. He seems to be very loyal to you,”

She could see Damian move and some of the tension leave his face. She offered a small smile at the frowning boy. “I’m hardly a threat,” she added finally, her voice soft in the cold wind.

Damian swallowed and briefly glanced at Titus, who scampered towards him for pets. Looking up at Raven, his frown softened ever so lightly. “I apologize if it sounded like I was implying that,” he mumbled, his voice sounding just a little strained as if apologizing was not something he commonly did.

Raven hummed. “It’s alright. We always try to be protective over the ones we care for,” she said.

Damian cleared his throat. Looking away, he turned his attention back to Titus. It seemed like that conversation was now over. Raven would settle with whatever she could get from the boy.

They continued to watch as Titus enjoyed the snow, sniffing at the bushes and barking at stones. The silence was soon pierced with the sound of a loud crash and something heavy hitting ice and water. Louds screams filled the air.

Raven and Damian straightened, alert. They watched as the wooden docks gave way and parts of it disappeared into the lake. A name rang through the air, and they watched the outlines of two people wave frantically by the shore. Someone had fallen in.

Raven shoved her phone into Damian’s hands as they started with a run towards the lake. “Call Tim and the others. We need to help now,”

Damian scowled. “You’re not going in there. I can –”

Raven stopped and glared at Damian, halting the boy. Her Titan authority suddenly taking over, and she frowned. “They need help. That water is below zero, do as I say, now.”

She barely heard Damian make the call as she sprinted towards the couple, adding a little bit more force into her run. She couldn’t teleport, that would have been a risk to her identity and the rest of the family. She could do this rescue manually.

“My name is Rachel. What happened?” Raven breathed, reaching the couple by the docks. It was a middle-aged man and woman, both looking frantically at the remains of the docks. There were shrill cries coming from the middle of the lake, just past the remaining wooden beams of the docks.

“Maggie!” breathed woman, frantic. “The whole docks gave way and she fell in!”

The man, who looked like he was in a middle of a phone call with the fire department shot her a frantic look. “She’s five!”

Raven pulled off her bonnet, gloves, and scarf and thrust them to the frantic woman. “Here, she’ll need these when we get back,” she said. Not sparing another glance at the frantic couple, Raven took a running start towards the remaining wooden beams and jumped, easily landing on the standing wooden beam. It creaked under her weight, and she ignored the sounds of water and ice hitting the beams. The beam lurched as she shifted her weight to jump to the next support beam, nearly slipping on its frozen mossy surface.

She heard water splashing and weak cries for help up head. Raven knew she had to pull out the girl soon before hypothermia would set in. Jumping onto the last few support beams that stood out at odd angles in the freezing water, Raven stopped at the last one that leaned heavily to the right, barely above water. There was still about three meters of a distance between Raven and the little girl with some wood floating in between them. There was no way to pull her in from where she stood. She had to swim towards the girl. Well, fuck.

“Help!”

“Maggie!” Raven called, heart pounding in her chest in anticipation of the freezing water. She hated cold showers. This was going to be terrible. “I’m coming for you. Don’t worry!”

“Help,” Raven heard the little girl whimper. With a sharp intake of breath, Raven carefully slid down the upturned support beam and plunged into the icy water. She gasped as her muscles initially froze at the icy sensation. Her chest seized at the freezing temperatures and the wind momentarily knocked out of her. Holy fucking shit. Raven screwed her eyes shut and willed her muscles to move as cold water slapped her face. Hearing the soft whimpers up ahead, Raven pushed forward and quickly swam towards the girl.

“Maggie, hold on,” Raven called, she swore she felt her teeth clatter in the cold. Using a bit of her powers, she swam faster through the water, knocking away the large planks in her way. Raven panicked as the whimpers seemed the grow softer as she approached and Maggie seemed to slowly sag against the large wooden plank she had been holding on to.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey!” Raven surged forward and watched as the little girl seemed to have fallen asleep and slip into the water. Gasping, Raven lurched forward and dove straight into the water. Spotting the small pink body in the murky lake water, Raven quickly grabbed the little girl and broke through the surface gasping for air.

“Maggie, hey, Maggie,” Ignoring the biting cold and how her winter clothes weighed her down, Raven wrapped the little girl closer to her body and patted the girl’s bright rosy cheeks as she spluttered and gasped against her shoulder. Raven allowed the little girl to gasp and recollect herself against her shoulder and she listened to Maggie whimper and wheeze loudly.

“I got you,” Raven whispered and wrapped her arms tightly around the little girl. Craning her neck, she faced Maggie and pushed wild red curls away from the girl’s face. “Hey, I’m Rachel. Let’s go back to shore, okay?”

“It’s so cold,” the little girl whimpered, and Maggie’s arms tightened around Raven. She began to sniffle and cry softly. “I want mommy,”

Raven continued to thread in the freezing water, keeping herself and the little girl afloat. Rubbing her hand soothingly across the girl’s back, she nodded. “Your mommy’s back on shore, we’ll get you there in no time,” she assured. Looking over the girl��s shoulder, she caught sight of the frantic parents back on shore. Damian was with them talking on the phone with an alert Titus at his feet. She waved her hand in the air. “Got her!”

It was a bit of distance from where they were to the shore with a thin sheet of ice covering the lake water. She would have to break through the ice as she’d swim towards the shore. It should be easy enough, Raven thought. The little girl shivered into her neck as Raven started to swim to shore, pressing the little girl into her.

“It shouldn’t take us too long,” assured Raven, as she used her right hand to push them through the water. The little girl pressed into her chest, whimpering in response. Using her fist and forearm, Raven punched into the thin layer of ice as she pressed through the ice. “You’ll get lots of hot chocolate after this,” Raven assured. “That sounds good, right?” her voice strained slightly at the cold. Her body groaned in protest as the icy water continued to stab her muscles. The little girl nodded into her neck and whimpered. Good, at least she was still pretty responsive.

“Rachel!”

Raven looked up from pressing through ice to watch Tim, Dick, Bruce, Cass, and Jason rush towards where Damian and the parents were. Cass and Tim were carrying heavy blankets while Jason was carrying a rescue buoy.

“Hold on!” Jason called from shore. Raven stopped swimming and watched as he twisted his body and forcefully threw the rescue buoy across the lake. The red ring was attached to a rope and Raven watched as it flew through the air before dropping onto the ice and skidding towards her. Using her powers discreetly underwater, she helped the buoy slide towards them. “Got it!” she called as her cold fingers wrapped around the red ring.

“Here, Maggie,” she shifted the little girl and slipped the ring securely around Maggie’s shivering form. “I need you to wrap your arms the ring, okay?” Raven watched as the little girl whimpered and she swam closer to the buoy and wrapped her arm around the girl’s shivering form. “You got this. I’m right here, I’ll push us through. My friends are going to pull us back to shore, okay? I’ll break through the ice so it’ll be easier for us, okay?” Raven pushed some red curls from the girl’s face. “Ready?”

“Okay,” Maggie whimpered. Not really wanting to waste any more time, Raven nodded and turned back to Jason and the rest. She tugged the rope. “Go!”

Raven felt Jason tug the rope and they lurched forward easily. Keeping her hand firmly pressed into Maggie’s back, Raven swam next to her and used her arm to press through the thin layer of ice to avoid any hard ice hitting the little girl. Her muscles groaned in protest and the felt the ice bite her skin.

“Maggie, baby!”

Raven groaned and pushed the buoy with a little bit more force as they closed in on shore and her feet started to feel the ground. Maggie started crying again at the sight of her parents and with a low grunt, Raven pushed the ring forward to shore. She heard Bruce bark out orders to grab the girl and Raven’s legs slipped under her as she pushed the girl towards the shore and within reach to a waiting Jason and Dick.

“Oh my god, my baby. Thank you so much, thank you. Oh Maggie!” Arms were flying around as everyone made a grab for the little girl and the mother continued to sob in the rush. Raven slipped in the water as she lost her footing and her knees hit the ground. Weighed down by her clothes and her frozen limbs, Raven clambered back to her feet and gasping for breath as the cold seemed to finally register.

“Rae,”

She felt gloved hands wrap around her wrist and pull her out of the water. She gasped as the cold air seemed to bite into her body. She tumbled into a warm solid body and her arms instinctively wrapped around Tim, immediately recognizing his warm press of emotions and his scent. She shivered as arms wrapped around her and a heavy blanket was pressed around her. She felt hands rub up and down her back as she continued to shiver into Tim. “Maggie,” she whispered, trying to look over Tim’s shoulder to where Bruce was assisting the parents. She heard muffled crying and the distant sound of an approaching ambulance.

“Maggie okay,” said Cass, hands pressed into Raven’s back to keep the blanket from sliding off her shoulders as she and Tim tried to rub some warmth into Raven.

Tim’s fingers dug into her body and he pressed her closer. “They’ll be okay, you did great, Rae.” He whispered and pressed a kiss into her cold temple. “Let’s get you back home for a hot bath,”

The trek back to the house was a blur to Raven as Tim and Cass practically pushed her back to the house with Damian and Titus on their heels while Dick, Jason, and Bruce remained by the docks to help the family and talk to the lake management regarding the docks. Cocooned in the warmth of the thick heavy blankets, Tim gently steered her into their large bathroom, warm already from the hot bath that Alfred may have already drawn for her.

“Strip,” Tim said after closing the door behind him and gently peeling off the blanket from her body and unzipping her drenched jacket. Raven hummed in protest at the cold, but lethargically complied as her healing powers slowly worked on healing her from the cold that seemed to have seeped into her bones. She shivered when warm hands pressed into her bare shoulders and hip, directing her into the excessively large bathtub.

“I’m fine,” she grumbled but allowed herself to be gently pushed into the tub. Tim snorted, sounding very unimpressed and helped her climb into the tub. Raven sighed loudly as the comfortably hot water wrapped around her freezing body and she instinctively closed her eyes and allowed herself to sink lower into lavender scented bubbles. Her tense muscles eased, and she slowly felt the cold leave her as she leaned comfortably against the tub and allowed bubbles to tickle her nose and chin.

“I’ll go get you some tea,” Tim said, and Raven heard him stand up from where he sat momentarily on the tub ledge, just watching her. She cracked open her eyes lazily, muscles more relaxed and significantly less cold as she watched him stand and make his way to the door.

“Aren’t you going to join me?” she asked, her gaze drifting over the bubbles and watching Tim curiously.

Tim blinked as his hand settled at the doorknob. He raised an eyebrow at her, lips curling up lightly, and the worry that settled around his shoulders lifted a fraction of an inch. “My entire family is downstairs, Raven,” he said, tone light. “I’ll get you some tea,”

Raven rolled her eyes and raised her right hand out of the water, lazily draping it over the ceramic tub and beckoning him to come closer. Lavender scented bubbles slid down her hand and onto the floor as she waved her hand in a beckoning motion. “I’m not asking you to have sex, Tim,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Though, it’d be a nice reward,” her eyes danced in amusement as Tim snorted.

“Come sit with me,” her hand slipped back into the warm water, and she slid a little deeper into the tub as her muscles groaned in protest. “Please?”

Caving at her request, Tim smiled and made quick work to lock the bathroom door. Raven lazily watched him take off his clothes, silently appreciating the way his muscles moved at every movement. Tim caught her triumphant smile behind the bubbles and he playfully rolled his eyes as he approached the tub. “Shut up, you,” he murmured playfully and gently nudged her forward to slip into the tub behind her. Water sloshed around in the tub dangerously as they settled in together and Tim leaned against the tub wall, gathering Raven in his arms. They both released content sighs.

“What a morning,” Tim breathed into her hair while gently running his fingers along her arm.

Raven hummed in agreement. She shifted in his arms, her fingers curling into his biceps. “I hope the little girl will be alright,” she whispered.

“I’m sure she’s fine. B was there to take care of everything.” Tim said. He leaned forward and kissed her temple, pleased to find that she had significantly warmed up. “You did great,”

She hummed again, silently glad that she decided to go on that walk with Damian and Titus. Who knew what might have happened to Maggie? Allowing the warmth of the bathwater and Tim’s presence to wrap around her, Raven felt herself slowly relax and settle comfortably against Tim’s chest as the last of her adrenaline left her body.

“I think I deserve a reward,” Raven hummed, fingers curling into Tim’s biceps as she leaned into him. Her emotions purred lowly, still coming off the adrenalin and looking for a little release. Arching into him just the right way, she felt his body respond immediately and his thighs pressed into her hips.

“Raven,” Tim said warningly, knowing full well where this was going. He felt her shift against him, soft curves brushing against his thighs and chest. A soft warmth immediately pressed low in his abdomen, and he sighed softly into her hair and squeezed her shoulders.

“What?” Tim could hear her smile in her voice. Digging his fingers into her shoulders as he kept her wrapped close to him, he pressed a kiss to her temple. “My family is downstairs,”

Raven hummed and titled her head up, a languid smile stretched across her lips as she knew she already won. She felt his erection press into her lower back, and she eagerly pushed her ass into him. “The silencing spell is still up,” she whispered and pressed a soft kiss underneath his chin.

“Raven,” Tim sighed as his resolve broke when he felt her move against him and press another tantalizing kiss into his neck. He groaned as Raven stretched across his chest, placing her head onto his left shoulder, and her breasts teasingly peaking out of the water. Releasing his hold around her shoulders, his hands slid down her chest and gently cupped her breast, fingers sliding over hard buds. He heard Raven sigh in pleasure, head tipping back in delight.

“I’m not sure if sex in a bathtub is safe,” mumbled Tim and watched Raven close her eyes, relishing the soft ministration across her breasts. Nimble fingers slid over her nipples, stroking and tweaking the hard buds. He listened to her sigh in pleasure and he eagerly watched the emotions on her face – he always enjoyed watching her openly show her emotions, it was a thrill to watch knowing only he could milk these ripples of emotions from her.

Raven released a soft sigh and looked up at Tim with hooded eyes. Shifting in his arms, she spread her legs underwater and draped them over his toned legs. The tub was wide enough for enough movement for both of them. Arching into him and relishing the tantalizing feeling of being spread out in front of him to do as he pleased, she felt heat pool low in her abdomen. “I’m sure we can do enough,” she mumbled. She sighed as one of his hands slid down her stomach and teasingly trekked towards her center. She released a soft keen as his hand cupped her fully, fingers pressing into her and she jerked into his hand. As fingers began to softly stroke her, she gave him a languid smile. “And if we’re not yet done, you can bend me over the sink and fuck my brains out,” she said teasingly.

Tim groaned, his last strands of restraint breaking at her teasing. Feeling his blood roar, Tim slid his hand up her neck and tilted her head for a greedy kiss. It was sloppy and hot as tongues slid against each other at the strained angle and Tim eagerly drank every whimper and groan that he milked from her. His fingers underwater worked their magic, slipping into her hot center and stoking a hot fire within her.

Raven bucked into his hand, eagerly chasing the pleasure and release and teasingly brushing against his own hard erection. Raven released a soft keen, as she felt Tim’s fingers dance all over her body, stroking her heat and pushing her gently towards the edge. Being so openly splayed in front of him – legs spread wide over his strong legs and her back pressed into his chest – and allowing him to stroke, probe, nip and twist as he pleased simply burned her heightened emotions. It was a sin how well he knew how to draw out every last bit of desire from her.

“Ah, Tim,” she whispered, as teeth scraped hungrily against her pulse point and two fingers eagerly stoked a burning fire within her. His nimble fingers were magic.

She tittered so closely to the edge, her adrenaline and emotions sizzling under her skin, as Tim expertly drove her towards oblivion. “Please,” she whispered and screwed her eyes shut as her sensations went into overdrive – warm water lapping against her heated skin, fingers pushing her over the edge, and teeth scraping over her skin.

Tim released a soft groan, unable to hold back as his own desires seemed to sizzle dangerously underneath his skin. With low growl and curse, he pulled out his fingers from her and ignored the whimper of protest. Sitting up, he pulled her up with him and wrapped his arms around her waist and hoisted her up his chest and with a few quick movements – water sloshing over the tub – he took his throbbing member and slipped into her, reverse cowgirl style.

“Fuck,” Tim growled into her hair and listened to Raven’s soft keen of pleasure as his grip around her waist tightened and he pumped into her, stroking her hungrily and catching her own erratic thrusts. Their thrusts were hurried, each roll of their hips hungrier than the last, as they tittered so dangerously close to the edge of no return.

Raven released a strangled cry as fingers danced over her clit and her movements melted into erratic thrusts. She felt her whole body erupt into an inferno as her adrenaline stoked her desires and continued to feed of Tim’s own pleasure. She felt her whole world disappear as she tumbled over the cliff and her whole body seemed to erupt in inexplicable pleasure as Tim expertly steered her through the inferno.

Tim came quickly with her as his world exploded and he released loud moan into her neck, Raven’s name a soft mantra against her skin as he continued to pump into her and extended their high. Their movements were frantic and sloppy, as they milked every last inch of pleasure.

The world seemed to slowly come back to her as Raven slumped against Tim in exhaustion, her emotions purring and the heat in her abdomen so pleasantly warm and sated. She gasped, catching her breath and listened to Tim’s own labored breathing.

Tim wrapped his arms around her and carefully slipped out of her, shuddering at the sensation of loss. He carefully wrapped her in his arms, they settled comfortably against the tub, both trying to catch their breath and allowing their heartbeat to come to normal.

“Told you we could do enough,” Raven whispered teasingly, fingers wrapping around his forearms that settled across her chest and she gave him soft squeeze.

Tim chuckled and pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “My knees are on fire,” he commented breathlessly. He kissed her cheek at her amused chuckle. “Totally worth it though,”

“Let’s see if we can try the bathroom sink tonight,” he added playfully as an afterthought.

#Tim Drake #Raven #Teen Titans #TimRae #TimRae 2021 Year of Smut and Steam #TimRae Fanfiction #Fanfiction #Teen Titans Fanfiction #Young Justice #Batman

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ikeromantic · 3 years

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Reunion

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfiction - this scene occurs toward the end of Ch. 10. Approx. 2000 words.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Peace

Waking to the feel of his little one in his arms was, Mitsuhide reflected, the single best way to wake. His body still hurt from a myriad of wounds and he still felt a tiredness that was bone deep. But her warmth and the steady sound of her sleeping breath made any discomfort less.

He intended to lay there and just enjoy their closeness, but his hands could not help stroking her. Light touches on her belly and sides. Stroking her arms down to her hands. She was all softness and beauty as she made little sounds of pleasure in her sleep. Smiling, Mitsuhide pressed light kisses to the back of her neck and shoulders.

His little mouse took a sharp breath as his lips found an especially sensitive spot under her ear. Her eyes fluttered open, heavy lidded with desire. She turned to face him, pulling herself close.

Mitsuhide started to say good morning, but she caught his lips in a kiss. It was sweet and slow. Full of yearning and the promise of satisfaction. It would have been so easy to give himself up to it. To her.

Instead, he broke the kiss and took a breath to steady himself. “It is late morning. We need to get up.”

She made an adorable hiss of frustration and then nodded. “Fine. But I’m continuing this discussion with you later.” Then she scooted out from the covers to get dressed.

They were both mostly ready when the door to the room slammed open to reveal a red-faced Hideyoshi. While Mitsuhide had been expecting his arrival, he hadn’t imagined it would begin quite like this.

“I’m coming in,” Hideyoshi shouted, already stepping into the room.

“We can see that. Could you not shout it?” Mitsuhide quirked an eyebrow.

Hideyoshi’s eyes traveled around the room, clearly trying to determine what he had - and hadn’t - walked in on. Satisfied, he approached Mitsuhide. “Hold out your hand, you slippery-tongued devil.”

“May I hear what i’m being admonished for first?” Mitsuhide wondered what crime it was that Hideyoshi sought to punish today. And what he intended to do. Slap his hand? Break his fingers? Neither seemed quite . . . mother-hennish enough.

“No.” Hideyoshi put a fist to his hip. “Now put out your hand.”

The chatelaine watched from the other side of the room. She looked a bit worried.

Mitsuhide was more curious that afraid. Hideyoshi wasn’t often able to confound him but he’d managed this morning. Mitsuhide stuck his hand out. “Very we-” His words caught in his throat as a loop of rope tightened over his wrist. “Ahem. Hideyoshi?”

The other end of the rope was attached to a similar loop around Hideyoshi’s wrist. With a tug, he brought their hands together and then looked at Mitsuhide with a grim smile.

The kitsune warlord had been bound many times in his life. With rope. With iron shackles. In a cage. By need and desperation. But he’d never been tied hand to hand with someone quite like this. “And the purpose of this would be . . .”

“It’s so you don’t run off again.” Hideyoshi brought their bound hands up, gesturing with them. “And in case you’re wondering, we will stay tied like this until we reach Azuchi.”

The chatelaine’s eyes went wide. Not with surprise, but with a sudden frustration. Mitsuhide didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what went through her thoughts right then. Afterall, he dearly wanted to finish their ‘conversation’ too, and preferably without Hideyoshi’s participation.

“Spare me this emotional nonsense, Hideyoshi. I swear to every god in existence that I have no intention of running again. Now. Untie me.”

Hideyoshi chuckled. “Nice try. But I know you don’t believe in any of those gods. And even if you didn’t, I wouldn’t believe you. You’re just going to have to put up with it, just like me.”

“Are you saying you don’t like being tied to me?” Mitsuhide couldn’t help but tease. “You’ll hurt my feelings.”

“Pffft. After the suffering you’ve put us all through, you should feel bad.” Hideyoshi tugged Mitsuhide forward.

“Hey!” The chatelaine approached the two men as one might come close to growling dogs. Cautiously, but with the intent of getting in the middle of the conflict.

Hideyoshi ignored her protest, glowering at Mitsuhide. “Lord Nobunaga told me everything you were up to.”

“Did he?” Mitsuhide’s smile widened. He doubted even Nobunaga knew the full scope or even guessed at some of his machinations.

“Yeah. And what I want to know is why you think you have to do everything on your own?” Hideyoshi pressed his face close enough to kiss.

It was, Mitsuhide decided, significantly less pleasant than his little mouse. “I do what is efficient.”

“That - exactly that - is what makes me crazy.” Hideyoshi’s hands darted forward and grabbed Mitsuhide’s collar, lifting him off his feet.

Mitsuhide wanted to ask him why this sort of thing had to be repeated so often. It was unpleasant and mussed his clothes. He refused to be shaken by it though. “You may hit me now. Not only will it soothe your temper, I expect it to be very amusing when I fall and you fall with me.”

“Like punching you would make up for anything!” Though Hideyoshi did look tempted by the offer. “I’m going to do something even worse. I’m going to keep you living - and make sure you spend your whole life making this up to the Oda forces.”

Mitsuhide had to admit, that was a pretty good threat, on balance. Better than the usual from him, anyway. And it was impossible to miss the subtext there - that Hideyoshi wanted him around. Wanted to work with him again, and resented this distance between them. Mitsuhide smiled with a certain gentleness. “You know that if I return, I’ll cause you no end of trouble.”

“I’m used to it.” Hideyoshi’s gruff voice also held a note of tenderness.

They both chuckled and Hideyoshi finally set Mitsuhide back on his feet. He looked almost bashful. “It’s not like I expect you to share all your secrets with me. Just . . . send me a letter or something when you plan to disappear. Alright?”

Mitsuhide knew he couldn’t swear to that, not with any honesty. “I make you no promises.”

“You should! Especially after this mess.” Hideyoshi gave him an exasperated look. He was clearly still angry, but his temper had cooled.

Thankfully there was no reason to respond. Masamune intervened, coming through the open door as if this was his room. He gave the chatelaine a wink and spoke loudly. “You two arguing again? Knock it off and come eat breakfast!”

Though the interruption was appreciated, Mitsuhide didn’t appreciate that little . . . flirtatious gesture. And now his little one was practically beaming at Masamune. Hmph.

The one-eyed dragon ducked out of the room only to come back moments later, arms laden with trays of food. He knelt and set them down. “It’s nothing fancy but it’ll put something in our bellies before we leave for Azuchi.” He sat himself down and looked at them expectantly. “Well, come on. Nobunaga has already eaten so we don’t want to keep him waiting. But don’t rush either.”

The chatelaine didn’t need a second invitation. She sat down, eager.

Hideyoshi looked from the food back to Mitsuhide. “Alright. I’m postponing this discussion for Masamune, but only until we finish eating.”

“If that’s what I have to look forward to, then I’d rather starve.” Mitsuhide tugged his arm closer to him, but the gesture stopped short.

“We’ll eat and then we’ll talk,” Hideyoshi frowned. He sounded like a frustrated mother, scolding her teenage child.

Mitsuhide took a breath to calm himself. This wasn’t the time to become frustrated. He gave Hideyoshi a thin-lipped smile and sat with him. Thanks to the rope, that put his little one across from him, beside Masamune. Unacceptable.

Masamune watched them, his one eyebrow rising. “Are you two . . . are you bound together at the wrist?”

Perhaps another chance to lose the rope. Mitsuhide put on a pitiful expression. “It was horrible, Masamune! I pleaded with Hideyoshi to stop, but he forced me!”

Hideyoshi’s cheeks took on a scarlet hue and for a moment, he seemed tongue-tied. “Never- never describe it like that again.” He coughed. “Masamune, this is to keep track of him on the journey back to Azuchi. He won’t be able to sneak off this time.”

Masamune grinned widely. “Oh? I thought it was just the two of you taking the next step. Glad to hear it’s working out for you!”

The chatelaine nearly spat her rice ball out as she held in a laugh.

The crimson spread down Hideyoshi’s face to his neck. “I - did you hear anything I just said?”

Ignoring the outburst, Mitsuhide tugged on the rope at his wrist. “I just realized, I can’t use my chopsticks like this.”

“I’m not taking it off of you,” Hideyoshi said flatly. “No matter what.”

Exactly the response Mitsuhide hoped for. He gave the other warlord a heavy lidded gaze. “Oh, I know that, Hide. I wasn’t asking you to remove it. I was asking you to feed me.”

“No. I’d rather punch you.”

Mitsuhide held in a chuckle. Hideyoshi was too easy to spin up. Now if he could mold that into a need to untie the rope . . . but this path hadn’t yielded fruit so far and Hide’s temper was starting to show. “Ah, I was only kidding.” He turned to look at his little one. “Would you feed me?” He opened his mouth, waiting.

She blushed, her eyes dropping to her plate. It made Mitsuhide want to kiss her.

“Just ignore him and eat your food,” Hideyoshi snapped.

“If you ignore me, I might cry,” Mitsuhide teased.

The chatelaine took a deep breath. “Alright, look. I’ll feed you - but just because you can’t feed yourself right now, ok?”

“Thank you.” Mitsuhide had only decided to ask her because he thought it would be cute to get her to feed him - and because the gambit had run its course with Hideyoshi. But this new tactic seemed to get under the other warlord’s skin just as well.

His little mouse held out a bite of pickled beet.

Mitsuhide ate it delicately from her outstretched chopsticks. There was something sensual about being fed by a lover. Or, there would have been without an audience.

“Hmm,” Masamune grunted. “That’s gonna be time consuming. How ‘bout I feed you while you feed him, lass? Here - open up.” And he put a bit of carrot between her lips.

Mitsuhide’s eyes went wide and the words came out, instantaneous and uncalculated. “No! If anyone is going to feed her, it will be me.” He snagged a bit of daikon and held it out to her. “Say ahh . . .”

Her surprised look made him want to kiss her again. The way her lips closed over the chopsticks . . . Mitsuhide dearly wished for another few hours alone with her. No, more than a few.

“Hey! Wait a minute! You’re using those chopsticks just fine.” Hideyoshi shouted it, as if he made a surprising discovery.

“Oh am I? It’s a miracle.” Mitsuhide smiled across the table at his little mouse and then clacked his chopsticks at Hide.

Hideyoshi grimaced, and was clearly coming up with a retort but whatever he thought of never made it out. The chatelaine derailed his train of thought by laughing.

A sound of pure happiness that seemed almost out of place after the night’s battle. And yet, it was joy that healed wounds and laughter that proved you were still alive. Masamune joined her and Mitsuhide could not hold back a chuckle. Even Hideyoshi gave an embarrassed chortle.

When she could speak again, she smiled at the three brightly. “It just feels so good to be together again. Reunited with my family from Azuchi.”

Next: Interlude - Before the Hunt

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen mitsuhide #ikemen mitsuhide #Mitsuhide Akechi #otome guys #otome #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff

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merakiaes · 4 years

Text

Truth Will Set You Free - Oscar “Spooky” Diaz

Pairing: Oscar “Spooky” Diaz x reader

Requested: Yes.

Prompts: None.

Warnings/notes: This is not proofread so I apologize in advance for any mistakes, and I also apologize if it’s a mess😂 Let me know what you think xx

Wordcount: 2253

Summary: Oscar finds out you’ve been keeping it a secret from him that you come from a rich background and naturally, a conflict ensues.

Oscar was fuming where you stood in front of each other in the living room of the Diaz residence, his hands balled into fists at his sides, constantly clenching and unclenching.

You took in his rigid posture and met his murderous glare with no fear, throwing your arms out in exasperation.

“This is exactly why I didn’t tell you.” You told him, shaking your head. “I knew you would react like this.”

He was up in your face in no time, poking a harsh finger into your shoulder as he glowered down at you. “Don’t even try to put the blame on me.” He seethed through his teeth, his lips pulled into a tight line. “You think I’m mad because you’re the daughter of some presuntuosa arrogante?” He questioned.

You swallowed as he shook his head and let out a dry laugh.

“Nah, chica.” He continued, his face getting hard again. “I’m mad that you give me all this shit for not telling you every little detail of what’s going on in my life and then you go and pull something like this.”

You swallowed again, guilt bubbling up in your stomach at his words, that you quickly tried covering up with a glare of your own. You weren’t scared of him, not by a long shot, but when he was angry at you he made you feel so small. So vulnerable.

“It’s always something with you. Do rules not apply to you, ¿es eso? What happened to honesty is the best policy?” He continued, challenging you. “I had to find out find out from Sad Eyes that he saw you strutting around with some pedante in a suit in Brentwood. How do you think that made me feel?”

When his right hand had brought him the news, a regretful look on his face, Oscar had almost blown up from anger right then and there.

He’d been self-conscious and scared of you walking out on him for someone better ever since you first started seeing each other and his first thought when hearing this was that you were cheating on him.

Naturally, he had confronted you, and you had been forced to spill your entire life story, that you had been working so hard to hide the past few years. Reluctantly, you told him that the man Sad Eyes had seen you with was your father and that you had grown up in Temecula.

The first feeling he had felt was relief, knowing you weren’t seeing someone behind his back. But the relief had only lasted a few seconds, quickly being replaced by anger. Because even though the possibility of you cheating was now completely out of question, the betrayal still ran deep.

Cholos held no respect or acceptance for the rich bastards that lived effortlessly on the less fortunate’s hard labor. If it made the streets that he was dating one of them, things could get really bad. Not only for him, but for you, too, and even though he was basically fuming and absolutely resented you at this moment, he would rather die than see you get harmed.

You couldn’t find the right words to say once he had gone off on you because even though it was hard for you to drop your pride and admit your fault in the situation, you knew he was right.

Wealth was a big thing to lie about in these parts. Privileged people weren’t welcome and you knew it. It was because of that you hadn’t told him.

Partly, anyway. The rest of it was just you being a complete asshole; something you realized now that you stood in front of him and saw the angry hurt behind his eyes. It made your heart ache with regret.

“That’s what this is, huh? You’re with me because you want to act up? Get your father to notice you and give you attention? No más.” As you were momentarily stunned, fighting with yourself in your own head, he kept talking, breaking you out of your trance and pulling you back to reality.

And when those words left his lips you finally found your ability to speak, a glare settling on your face at his accusations.

“Do you hear yourself right now?” You asked. “Don’t you think our relationship would have ended a long fucking time ago if this was just some rebellious phase?”

You could understand why he didn’t trust you anymore, but this was just absurd, even in these circumstances. You had been with each other for over five years. Anyone would have been able to see that you were in it for the long run.

But Oscar only shook his head, taking a step away from you. “I don’t know what to think about you anymore.” He spat out, and you rolled your eyes.

“Now you’re just being dramatic.”

His eyes narrowed into slits and before you knew it, he had marched over to the front door with two long strides and flung it open, the loud bang cutting through the room as the door hit the wall behind it causing you to jump.

“Leave.”

As that one little word reached your ears and processed in your brain, you felt all of the anger you had previously been feeling melt right off. “What?” You questioned, voice small and stomach dropping.

It was only then you realized the severity of the situation, the panic settling in that he was truly about to cut you off.

He didn’t even seem to notice the fear now evident in your eyes, and even if he did, he didn’t seem to care. He simply threw a head-motion to the door, urging you once more.

“You heard me.” He confirmed. “We’re through. Go run away with some blanco, make your daddy proud.”

“I only live to make myself proud. Fuck everyone else.” You fought back, tears now starting to build up in your eyes.

When seeing your eyes turn glassy, he finally seemed to react, turning his head to look to the side in order to avoid your gaze. But he was persistent, nostrils flaring and chest heaving up and down as he breathed heavily. “I don’t give a shit. Go.”

You couldn’t hold back the small sniffle as the first tear fell, but you didn’t move. You couldn’t move.

“You’re calling it quits after all this time, after everything we’ve been through together, because I was born into money?” You questioned, your question making him turn his head back in your direction.

“I got a rep to uphold around here.” He spat. His face remained stoic but as his eyes met your tearful ones, they turned slightly softer, a strain forming in his voice as if it was physically paining him to say. “I can’t be fooling around with no freza. Keeping you around will make Cuchillos and the boys doubt my loyalty. I gotta remember what I come from and stand by it.”

“I’m not asking you not to!” You exclaimed, walking over to him.

He watched your every move as you reached out for his hand on the handle of the door. You expected him to back away from your touch, but he didn’t, letting you grab a hold of the hand and remove it from the door.

“We’ve been together for five years, have I ever asked you to change something about yourself?” You asked sadly, staring up at him. “Have I not been here every day and every night, patched you up without judgment every time you’ve gotten beat up and covered for you when the cops have been on your ass? Did I not visit you every week when you were in the hole and take care of your brother like he was my own during that entire time?”

His body remained tense and his face was still as stern and you could practically feel the anger of betrayal radiating off of him, but he let you speak, eyes not once leaving yours.

“My father cares more about his brand than he does about me.” You confessed, running your thumb over the back of his hand. “We don’t have a good relationship, we never have, and if it’s what it takes to get you to stop being a stubborn asshole and drop it, I’ll gladly cut him out of my life for good because you’re the one I want to live every moment of my life beside, even the moments like this when you’re acting like a complete cabrón.”

His eyes narrowed and his fist tensed in your hand. “Watch your mouth.” He scolded, staring down at you with a warning look.

But the corner of his lip still twitched at the sound of the Spanish word leaving your lips. No matter the situation he would always get proud when hearing you pick up his language.

You gave him an apologetic look and waited, allowing him to process your words in his own time. A few seconds later, his body relaxed and he stepped away from the door, shoving it shut as he took a step closer to you.

“You’d really do that for me?” He questioned with a raise of his head and you nodded in return, squeezing his hand.

“Yes.” You let go of his hand and brought your hands up to his neck, pulling him down to your height. “I don’t need my father’s money or status to be happy, Oscar. I only need you.”

You smiled as you felt his hands make contact with your waist, pressing your forehead against his.

“You could marry rich. Get a stable life with a happy marriage, a family, a nice house in a nice neighborhood. I can’t give you what they can. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to.”

His face was guarded as he spoke but you could see right through him. You would have been able to identify the self-doubt from miles away, without a second thought.

“I don’t care. I don’t care about all that stuff.” You frowned, shaking your head.

“And that’s the problem.” He fought back. “Those things should matter. You deserve better than this shit. Being with me is not good for you, it never has been.”

His eyes narrowed and his body tensed up again, but he still made no move to let you go.

Out of pure instinct, a glare settled on your face. “That’s not your decision to make.” You told him. “And you know damn well I would slap the living shit out of you if you ever tried to make it for me so don’t even think about breaking up with me because you think that’s what’s best for me. I’m the only one who gets to decide what’s good enough for me. Not you, and certainly not my dad.”

“I’m not good for you.” He kept persisting, glaring back, causing you to shake your head, your foreheads rubbing together.

“No, you’re not good.” You agreed, and you saw his jaw tense for the slightest second. “You’re the best for me. You been treating me real good, papi. Better than anyone else.”

Before he could even think of a response, he felt your lips tilt up and make contact with his. His hands automatically squeezed down harder on your waist and his feet moved closer until you stood pressed together by your chests.

You smiled into the kiss, hands placed on either side of his face. When you broke apart, his eyes remained closed, allowing you to admire his features.

“You’re too good for me, mamita.” He spoke, hands now caressing circles on your waist. “I don’t deserve you.”

You caressed his cheeks right back, nodding your head. “Yeah, you do. Ride or die, for better or for worse, remember?”

You touched your nose against his. “No marriage will be happy if it’s not with you and you’d catch me dead before I get pregnant with a temecula. I only want you. And I know that you want me to, no matter how tough you try to make yourself.”

His eyes opened at that, and your heart swelled when your eyes made contact with his deep browns. “I want you more than anything, mi amor.” He confessed, and you pouted slightly.

“Then give me a chance to let me prove to you that you’re worth more to me than my family’s money.” You begged. “Let me show you how much I really love you.”

His eyes fell shut once more, his hands squeezing your hips as he battled with himself and you bit the inside of your cheek, anxious that he was still going to want you to go your separate ways.

After a good few seconds of standing in silence, he released a heavy breath through his nose and his eyes opened once again.

He stared at you, jaw tense and eyes warning. “If I find out you’ve been lying about some other shit-“

“You won’t.” You hurried to cut him off, your eyes widening as you shook your head frantically. “I’m really sorry I lied to you, Oscar. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

He nodded his head, “Te perdono.” He muttered.

Before you could say anything back he pulled you into an embrace and you happily obliged, wrapping your arms around his torso and resting your head on his chest, closing your eyes as you listened to his heartbeat.

It was clear by the look of his hard stare and the feel of his still tensed up body that he was still very angry, but you were forgiven and at the end of the day, that anger would be as good as gone because he knew you would follow through with your promise and chose him undoubtedly. Just like you had for the past five years.

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

THE TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT

James took the book with a happy enough smile. He wanted to believe they were all being paranoid, that this was the year nothing bad was going to happen to his son and they'd get to have a rousing time laughing about whatever was to come, rather then going for more calming draughts.

Hogwarts loomed above them as magnificent as ever, not that they had time to appreciate much of anything as they went sprinting inside out of the rain. Ron was only just shaking some water out of his face as he said how the lake was likely to overflow, before roaring in shock.

Lily startled as James screamed like that, then scowled as all four boys started laughing at her expense. "I'm so glad you find people screaming funny," she told them pleasantly. "I'll make sure to remember that later, dear," she finished with flashing eyes at her husband.

He gulped, tried and failed for a smile, then went back to the book.

A water balloon had crashed onto his head, somehow managing to make him even more wet.

Sirius still couldn't wipe the smirk off his face as he stated, "well that's just lovely. A very welcome back to school present."

"I'm sure it gives students a chance to miss the rain outside," Remus agreed.

More were coming down as well, one landing at Harry's feet and drowning his socks in the icy liquid, another being lobbed at a group of girls who quickly dived into the Great Hall for cover. Above, Peeves was cackling in triumph

"Good to see the weather doesn't affect his mood," James snickered.

as he took aim for another. McGonagall came storming onto the scene, shouting his name, but hardly made it a few steps without sliding in the deluge and having to catch herself on Hermione's neck before they both crashed.

"Ouch," Lily winced in sympathy.

"For McGonagall and Hermione," Harry agreed with a sad frown for both women.

Hermione grimaced in pain and McGonagall apologized, Hermione quickly waved her off while massaging at her throat.

"Great, now we know who we can use to catch our falls from now on," Sirius snorted.

McGonagall turned her attention back on Peeves and demanded he stop, who paid her no mind as he tossed another set and exclaimed he wasn't doing anything!

"While technically he is doing something," Remus' smirk kept widening.

After all, they were already wet!

"He's not wrong," Sirius finished for him, causing all four boys to crack up laughing again. Lily sighed, wishing she could teleport someone sensible into the house at least.

McGonagall threatened she'd go and get the headmaster, and Peeves retaliated by dumping the rest of his load on them before zooming away. McGonagall sighed at all the dripping students, but instructed them all to get into the Hall.

"She couldn't have at least offered to dry them off?" James asked, a wicked grin still in place at his poor sons expense.

"Guess she was still too distracted glaring after Peeves to think about it," Harry chuckled, knowing he'd been no worse for wear of the extra cold.

The group went into the much warmer Great Hall where the set up was the same as last year with all the floating candles and golden plates on top of each of the four houses. Harry and his two friends took seats by Nearly Headless Nick, who wore his usual attire.

"Of course it's his usual," Sirius snorted, "he can't hardly change clothes."

He beamed at all of them and stated 'good evening', though Harry replied according to who, while draining the water from his shoes.

"Ah cheer up Harry," James said bracingly, "a little water never hurt anyone."

"Even when it's chucked at you from a balloon?" Harry asked simply, not bothering to keep the smirk off his face.

"Especially then," Remus pointed out, finally getting Lily to laugh at that one.

Then he muttered he hoped the sorting was fast, he was starving, while his internal dialogue noted this would be the first he'd be attending since his own.

"Thank you for that lovely reminder," Lily snorted.

Slightly down the row, a boy called down a greeting to Harry, Colin Creevey.

"Blimey, nearly forgot about this one," Sirius raised a brow in surprise.

"Be thankful it's only a hello," Harry sighed. "He didn't lose a drop of his enthusiasm for me, but at least he didn't memorize my schedule again."

"Well darn," Sirius snapped his fingers, his face giving a slight twitch as his tongue seemed to register he'd said the wrong thing, but quickly pushing past that. "I kind of liked your stalker. Did he and Ginny ever start up that fan club?"

Harry twitched like he wanted to mimic what he'd seen the others do and chuck a pillow at his godfather, but repressed the urge in the end, while James ignored the two and kept going.

He was a year below Harry and had always been deep in awe with him. Harry gave an exasperated hello back, and Colin quickly kept the conversation going by telling Harry that his little brother Dennis would be starting this year!

"Oh joy, we don't need Ginny anymore," Remus jumped in on this. "We've got our own club right there!"

"So glad you two are enjoying this," Harry sighed, which didn't help the fact that he was trying to ignore them both.

Harry faked some enthusiasm for this, while Colin eagerly hoped that his brother was in Gryffindor with them! Then Harry turned back to his friends and asked curiously if it was normal for siblings to get put into the same house, his mind on the Weasley's, all of whom were Gryffindors.

"Not necessarily," Sirius said at once with a happy smile. "I'm a Gryffindor, but my brother was a Slytherin."

"None of us have siblings, so we can't mark it," Remus shrugged, "but no, it's not standard," he finished agreeably.

Hermione said no, pointing out that a set of twins, one of whom had gone to Ravenclaw, the other in Gryffindor.

"Identical twins doesn't mean identical personalities," Lily shrugged. "I can just as easily picture Fred or George having wound up in Slytherin."

"You take that back!" Sirius said instantly, looking as affronted as if she'd cursed at him. "Those two are proud Gryffindors after me own heart."

"Oh hush Sirius," she waved him off, still addressing Harry, "they're both ambitious and clearly very cunning, it's not too hard to picture."

Harry nodded but decided against arguing the point, as he couldn't picture any of the Weasleys in such a house.

Harry was now looking up at the staff table where there were some empty chairs, Hagrid's as he was still out with the first years, McGonagall's who must have gone back out to dry up the Entrance Hall, but one extra seat Harry couldn't place.

"New teacher," the other four said as one.

"Can we please get someone normal this year," James sighed.

"Should I resent that?" Remus asked with a wane smile.

"You are far from normal Moony, but that's not what he meant and you know it," Sirius grumbled. They all wanted just one bloody year of peace, and so far every one of Harry's DADA teachers had somehow had a hand in spoiling it. Admittedly Remus was still the best by far, so hearing the position was open again stung more than they would have expected it to as they knew who they wanted there.

Hermione noticed as well, asking where the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher could be? Harry's internal dialogue kicked in as he remembered they'd yet to have one two years in a row, his personal favorite being Professor Lupin,

Remus couldn't help beaming, still somehow doubting that he'd done any real good in the position, but when no one else looked remotely surprised but instead just happy to hear it, Remus decided against bringing up the argument it was best he had left, he'd only cause more trouble.

who'd left last year. One quick look at all the staff again confirmed there were no new faces though to mark who it could be this year. Hermione was getting worried as she asked what if they hadn't gotten anyone this year?

Lily let out a surprised snort of laughter, saying, "that would honestly be kind of interesting. Wonder what they'd do?"

"With any luck, call it a permanent free study period," Sirius sighed wistfully.

"I imagine Dumbledore did appoint someone," Remus shrugged, "there must be someone out there who's still willing to try."

"I know someone who quit too soon," James grumbled under his breath, still giving his friend the stank eye before continuing.

Harry was still watching all of the other teachers, his least favorite sticking out being Snape.

"The feeling is mutual," Sirius hissed, to no one's protest. They all wished they were more surprised that he was even still there. It didn't seem fair, that he could do that to Remus and he hadn't suffered his own job as payment.

The feeling was mutual, and had somehow grown since last year when Harry helped Sirius to escape under his overly large nose.

James only got a moment to laugh before saying on reflex, "Harry thought that, I swear!"

Lily wasn't paying him any attention, her eyes were vacant and still managed to look more angry than sad at everything Severus had done last year, so James quickly hurried on and managed to ignore Harry grumbling, "thanks for the bus dad."

As Sirius and Snape had been old school enemies, the animosity could only have grown.

The ceiling above still showed the storm outside, while on his other side Ron groaned he was so hungry he could eat a hippogriff.

"Buckbeak resents that," Sirius smirked.

"You're speaking for a hippogriff that hasn't even been born yet," Remus laughed.

"I'm sure many hippogriffs resent that," Sirius' smirk widened, "he's just the first by name I thought of. I'm sure-"

"Oh bloody hell you two," Lily cut them off with a pointed look. "It's just an expression as you well know, let James finish this before midnight will you."

"She's in a bad mood," Sirius mumbled into Harry's ear, low enough that he was sure she hadn't heard.

Not moments later, the doors opened and the new set of first years came filing in, who were so wet they looked more like they swam here, and were all shaking from either cold or nerves.

"Those poor dears," Lily crooned, switching back to motherly anxious at once. "I wish someone had at least taken to drying them."

One in particular stood out to Harry, a tiny little mousey haired boy who was wearing Hagrid's coat, which was ten times as large as him. Despite his half terrified expression, he caught Colin's eye and gave him a thumbs-up, mouthing that he'd fallen in the lake.

Causing a burst of laughter in the room. They really hoped he got sorted into Gryffindor now just to hear that!

He looked positively delighted about it.

"I love this kid," Sirius said at once.

"Considering at least once a week you begged us to go take a swim in that lake with you, I'm not surprised," James chuckled.

McGonagall escorted them to the staff table and then set out the stool with the Sorting Hat on top of that. The Hall went silent, and they all waited as the song began:

James looked deliriously happy, not quite being able to believe his luck! He'd been dying to sing along with the hat!

A thousand years or more ago, when I was newly sewn, there lived four wizards of renown, whose names are still well known:

Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor, Fair Ravenclaw, from glen, Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad, Shrewd Slytherin, from fin.

They shared a wish, a hope, a dream, they hatched a daring plan, to educate young sorcerers thus Hogwarts School began.

Now each of these four founders formed their own house, for each did value different virtues in the ones they had to teach.

By Gryffindor, the bravest were prized far beyond the rest; For Ravenclaw, the cleverest would always be the best; For Hufflepuff, hard workers were most worthy of admission; And power-hungry Slytherin Loved those of great ambition.

While still alive they did divide their favorites from the throng, yet how to pick the worthy ones when they were dead and gone?

'Twas Gryffindor who found the way, he whipped me off his head. The founders put some brains in me so I could choose instead!

Now slip me snug about your ears, I've never yet been wrong, I'll have a look inside your mind and tell where you belong!

James finished with gusto, then looked around expectantly like he was awaiting his applause. What he instead received was laughter from three of them for what they considered far too much enthusiasm, and one actual person clapping which was Sirius with a straight face.

"Lovely performance," his best friend nodded with a critical smirk. "Could have used a bit more volume, but you are out of practice so I'll let it slide."

"Thank you," James nodded seriously, only giving the others another reason to laugh. He ignored them and turned proudly back to this book without a trace of remorse.

Every person present applauded the performance, as Harry leaned over and mentioned that hadn't been the song the Hat had sang to them.

"Sad that it took you till your fourth year to know that," Sirius sighed.

Ron told that it sang a new one every year, then guessed that it must need something to do with all its free time.

Lily snickered in appreciation and agreement.

Professor McGonagall was now undoing a large sheaf of parchment, and began calling out the new students by their last name in alphabetical order, who would come up and put on the Hat, then go to their new table.

"It's a good thing they applaud," Remus snorted, "because it's not as if they have them labeled."

She began with Ackerley Stewart, who joined Ravenclaw. Harry spotted Cho clapping along with the rest of her house,

"Now why would you notice a thing like that?" James asked with too wide eyes.

"Can't be because of her Quidditch ability, Harry did beat her last game," Sirius nodded along with an undeserved smile in Harry's opinion.

He tried desperately to ignore them both, but his growing redder by the second face wasn't leaving much room for that farce.

Lily wanted just as much to hear more about Harry's first crush, but she pitied her son too much in that moment and instead said, "get on with it James, no need to pick on him when it took you three years to even admit you had a crush on me."

James flushed and quickly turned away.

and for a moment Harry had the want of getting up to join that house as well.

"A moment I'd have liked to see him act on," Remus murmured, causing Lily to at least giggle at that. James and Sirius pouted at them, as they'd just been told off for this, but James decided against arguing the point.

Then Baddock, Malcolm joined the Slytherin's, and Harry watched that boy join his new house, wondering if he knew that Slytherin was known for turning out the most Dark wizards.

Lily sighed, her earlier amusement soured. She wished Harry would stop thinking of that particular stereotype.

After a few more students were called, it was Creevey, Dennis' turn, and after stumbling over Hagrid's too large jacket he made his way to the Hat and was quickly announced as a Gryffindor.

"Yes," Sirius cheered, "I wanted to hear about his experience in the lake!"

"Not so good for Harry," Remus chuckled, "as we might have another Collin this year."

Harry sighed without comment, dearly hoping against that.

Dennis quickly replaced the hat and ran over to his brother.

"Did he keep the jacket?" James asked.

"No, he gave it back to Hagrid," Harry chuckled.

Squealing about how he'd fallen in the lake, but something had grabbed him and put him back in the boat.

"The giant squid I presume," Lily smiled.

"I love this kid," Sirius cackled, anyone who had this brilliant reaction was okay with him.

Colin was just as excited as his brother as he exclaimed how cool that was!

"The concern for his brother is touching," James snickered.

Explaining for him it was probably the giant squid who had done him the favor. Dennis' expression somehow grew more delighted, as if no one could ask for more from life.

"Well when you put it like that it sounds like a bad thing," Lily giggled.

Then Colin drew attention to Harry sitting not too far away,

"As if you don't have a million pictures of him hanging up in your room," Sirius said with a pointed look at Harry.

Harry was still trying his very best to ignore all of this teasing, hoping they could change topics soon!

Harry quickly turned his attention back to the sorting, where they'd only made it to the L's and Ron was complaining about his stomach. Nick reprimanded him, saying the sorting was more important than food, and Ron snapped back it sure was if you were dead.

"Should have eaten more on the train instead of ruining your snacks," Sirius shrugged.

Nick ignored the snap, saying he hoped this new crop of Gryffindors helped to keep up their running streak, their house had won the past three years now.

"All three thanks to my boy," James added on with undisguised pride.

Harry flushed again, though this time for a different embarrassment. Only his last year would he actually claim some credibility for, and his whole team deserved the praise. His first two years had really been more of a fluke in his opinion, he hadn't asked or earned those points just for doing the right thing.

Finally the sorting was completed, and Dumbledore stood up to welcome them all, before offering the simple advice to 'tuck in.' Food magically appeared onto the plates, and they all dug in as Nick watched.

"Why does he attend the start of term feasts if he's just going to watch us like that?" Sirius asked with a roll of his eyes.

"I thought they greeted the first years in the antechamber," Harry asked in surprise as he first realized this. "Nick and the others were with us the whole time this year."

"Your first year seemed to have been some kind of occurrence," Lily shrugged, "where they were having a meeting about Peeves and were running late. They usually wait in the Great Hall with everyone else."

Ron sighed with his mouth still full of food how much better he already felt. Nick was watching him with mild disgust as he told that they were lucky to have a feast this year, as there had been a problem in the kitchen earlier. Harry tried to ask what had happened around a mouth full of steak.

Lily had to fight back the impulse to scold him for talking with his mouth full, she found no sense in doing it for how many years ago.

Nick said it was Peeves obviously,

"Of course," Sirius began laughing at once. He always enjoyed hearing what that Poltergeist got up to.

he'd had his usual argument of wanting to attend the feast, but of course everyone said no. The Poltergeist couldn't look at a plate of food without throwing it.

"I'm glad Nick mentioned that instance in particular," Remus gave a fond smile. "I was worried someone would forget about it."

"Let me guess," Harry began with a happy smile.

"Right in one," Sirius nodded without remorse. "We caused a distraction and let him into the Great Hall, where he started the most epic food fight in Hogwarts history between all of the houses."

"I had to attend potions with mash still in my hair," Lily sniffed, but her shoulders were shaking with repressed laughter as she finished, "but it was worth it when I nailed you with that whole bowl of pudding." She finished with a loving smile at her then boyfriend.

"I knew you did that on purpose," James said, swinging his finger wildly in her face.

Lily had an unrepentant smirk on her face, and still grumbling a bit with a fond smile of his own, James turned back to the book for now.

Ron agreed Peeves had seemed in a particularly bad mood today, asking what he'd done to the kitchens in particular?

"Cause mayhem," Remus said at once with a casual shrug.

"That is a good idea though," Sirius nodded along. "How come we never thought of getting him into the kitchens."

"Because you valued your meals more than your life," Lily snorted. "You never would have jeopardized such a thing after McGonagall threatened to ban you from the Great Hall after you let Peeves in there."

Sirius nodded in agreement with that.

Nick shrugged as he said the usual, making everything fly around and breaking whatever he could, giving the house-elves quite a fright- clang!

"Timing," James said with mild disappointment, he'd wanted Nick to keep going.

Hermione had knocked over her drink, staining the tablecloth below orange for several feet, but clearly paying that no mind.

"What's with her?" Remus asked in surprise.

"Oh that's right, she wouldn't know anymore then Harry that there were house-elves at Hogwarts," Sirius shrugged.

"And judging by the way she was acting about it over the summer, this might not go down well," Lily sighed solemnly. She now felt bad for her earlier outburst at Sirius, and she'd already seen evidence that Ron and Hermione might rehash the argument they'd just had.

She demanded that there were house-elves in this castle?

"Where did she think all that food came from?" James snorted in surprise. "She knows the only staff there are the teachers."

"Guess it just never occurred to her to question it," Lily shrugged, she'd been the same way for the longest time.

Nick agreed of course there were, one of the largest dwellings of them in Britain. Hermione gasped that she'd never seen one, and Nick laughed of course not, it was a good mark to never see them. Hermione was still half gaping in shock as she demanded that they got paid, and were treated as proper employees, yes? Nick laughed so hard his head fell off as much as it could.

"I just love that you and your friends don't even try what we strived for," Sirius sighed. "It took me ages to get him to laugh so hard his head fell off."

He fixed it before telling her that elf's didn't want such things. Hermione set down her silverware and pushed her plate away. Ron began laughing at her, but she shot back that slave labor had made this meal, and refused to take anything more.

All five of them looked worriedly surprised at that, was she going to refuse to eat her whole stay there? Only Lily felt sympathy for the girl rather than wanting to laugh at the display like clearly the Marauders wanted to, at least she understood why Hermione was behaving like this.

Ron kept trying, offering up her favorite foods, but then Hermione gave him such a severe look McGonagall would have been proud, and he let it go.

"You know she's really making a point when she ignores the desserts," Remus said solemnly.

Once the feast was over for everyone else, Dumbledore took to his feet again. First he praised the good food, to which Hermione huffed at,

"Is she going to be like that every meal now?" James sighed.

"It'll be a miracle if she even attends another meal," Sirius shrugged.

but no one noticed as Dumbledore began speaking of other things, such as the list of forbidden items at this school which had been updated to including Screaming Yo-yos,

"Killjoy," Remus pouted.

Fanged Frisbees,

"Can't believe it took him that long to add those," Sirius snickered.

and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs.

"My personal favorite," James cackled.

The full list of four hundred and thirty-seven items

"And he's memorized every one of them," Lily said with chipper.

could be found on Filch's door.

"There'll be a line out the door for that," Harry muttered under his breath, which James and Sirius still heard, and exchanged indulgent smiles, more than happy Harry was playing along.

The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched.

"Cannot imagine why," Remus said with an almost straight face.

He still continued with the warnings, stating that the Forbidden forest was also out-of-bounds,

"At least I didn't have to deal with that last year," Harry sighed, that was one thing he could be grateful for at least.

as well as the Hogsmeade village to all below third year. He added on something extra this year, which was that there would be no Quidditch tournament.

James had been happily reading for so long, that this bombshell didn't quite register until he heard Sirius gasp so wildly you'd think he'd been stabbed in the chest.

"You must be bleeding joking!" Remus demanded, watching James like he wasn't sure who he was staring at anymore. "Tell me that was a terrible joke."

"I'd never joke about something like this!" James yelped, staring down at the print like it had just whacked him over the head with his own broom.

"I, I don't understand," Sirius' lower lip was starting to wobble, like he was going to start crying any second. "He can't, Dumbledore can't-"

"Oh come on you lot," Lily sighed, finally cutting in, "read on now, and let the man give an explanation as to why, you know he will."

Harry gasped in outrage,

"A completely appropriate reaction," Remus nodded, ignoring Lily rolling her eyes at him, though Harry still looked as stunned at the news as the rest of the boys.

and glanced around to see Fred and George mouthing wordlessly at the headmaster, to appalled to yell out yet.

"They weren't the only ones," Harry sighed, somehow getting the feeling he would have preferred Quidditch to whatever was going on this year.

"It's a good thing Wood hadn't come back this year, or he would have had heart failure," Lily couldn't help but point out with a light giggle.

Dumbledore had to speak over a growing protest to state that instead, starting in October,

"Unless you plan on cancelling all classes this year and giving everyone a free year, I cannot see in what way taking out Quidditch is alright," Sirius huffed.

but was cut off by the doors opening.

"Oh bloody hell!" James groused.

"The timing of whoever interrupted this should get an award," Lily snorted.

"So the reason they canceled Quidditch has something to do with this big secret," Remus' eyes glowed with curiosity now.

"Must be really big," Sirius ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

The man who came in was one that made the whole hall fall silent. His features were striking, and not in a pleasant way. As he walked towards the staff table, you could distinctly hear a clunk every other step. Then a strike of lightning threw his face into sharp relief, and Hermione gasped.

Harry let out a strangled noise as well, his eyes going wide as he got his first remembered look.

"Who on earth-" Lily began with confusion, but James shrugged, clearly indicating none of them had any idea so kept going.

Harry couldn't blame her, as this stranger's face was like nothing he'd seen before. Every inch of the lined face seemed to bear a scar, half of his nose was missing, and his mouth looked more like a wound as well, then there was the eye.

James couldn't help a little shiver for this man, wondering what on earth he'd been through to get like this.

One was normal sized, but the other was wide as a pound, the iris of which was bright blue. It seemed to have a life of its own as it roved over every inch of the place, never settling, and at one point rolling right into the back of the man's head. It never blinked.

Sirius' mouth was stretching wide, the idea of that thing a combination of creepy and kind of cool leaving him unsure how he was supposed to be reacting.

He reached Dumbledore, who shook his hand and offered him the seat beside him.

"No way," Remus demanded, his eyes narrowed shrewdly at the book. "That's your new DADA teacher?"

"Unless he's there for some other reason, which I can't think of," Lily agreed.

"Why can't you just have one normal teacher?" James sighed.

"Hey," Remus yelped, giving a halfhearted glare at him. "You saying I'm not normal?"

"Moony, I know you're not," Sirius snorted, waving James on amidst the others giggling.

As the man took his seat, his coat rose up enough you could make out his legs, one of which was simply a peg.

Dumbledore gave him the introduction of the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Moody.

"What!?"

Harry just nodded absently though, like the news didn't surprise him. What he was thinking on though was this odd little feeling, like he shouldn't trust this man one little bit. It was so at odds with his first impression of him though, a trustworthy man, why would he have such conflicting feelings about this?

"That's, that's not-" Sirius shook his head wildly as he tried to line up the Auror in his prime now with this misshapen thing.

"No way that's Alastor Moody," James was going nearly green in shock as he reread that almost terrifying description. "Sure he's been pretty badly marked, but the eye, leg and nose? Who on Earth managed to get him?!" His head was reeling as he tried to wrap his mind around that. Moody was like his idol, he couldn't imagine a more fearsome and undefeated Auror, and to hear something like this had happened to him was crushing!

Lily felt terrible for him of course, but suddenly she was looking at her husband with a whole new fear as well. She had never argued with him when he said he wanted to be an Auror, in the type of life they lead fighting a war it almost made sense this was where he'd been leading, but for the first time she truly reflected what it would feel like if her husband didn't come home one day because he hadn't lived through one of those injuries. She was already facing a terrifying future where her and James were set to die, but what if they somehow managed to fix it, and James only got a few more years left of life but still died because of this? Her heart felt like it was shriveling up in her as she so desperately wanted to throw this at James, for the first time try and convince him of something else, but wondering if she even should. Was it right to try and force him to change careers just because she was getting a little spooked?

Still stuttering slightly from 'this future sucks' overload, James had to blink hard a few times before forcing himself to go on. He hated sitting here thinking about this happening, but glancing over at Harry was a good reminder it wasn't the most important thing in his life right now.

He and the rest of the staff began applauding the new appointment, but no one else moved.

"I'd be too shocked to as well," Lily murmured, still shifting her weight around with unease.

The noise died quickly, and Harry hissed into Ron's ear if this was the same Mad-Eye Moody?

"Guess now we get the name," Remus grumbled to himself, his brow still furrowed up in worry for this future. It was honestly beginning to feel like no one in their future from the Order lived a decent life, which wasn't exactly encouraging.

The same Arthur had gone out to help this morning?

"Just, Alastor Moody, as a teacher," Sirius' eyes still hadn't gone back down to their normal size. "I can't decide what's blowing me more, the thought of him doing that, or him with half his nose missing! Or that eye, or-"

James reached around Harry and gave his best friend a pat on the shoulder in commiseration, he was still fairly in shock himself.

Ron agreed it had to be the same guy, and Hermione asked what had happened to him. Ron said he wasn't sure,

"Wish Ron did know when that happened to him," Sirius shivered, wondering if there was an ambush somewhere in their future, or if this happened after Voldemort's downfall?

Moody didn't seem to notice the attention on him, now eating some sausages and drinking from a hip flask from his coat. When he lifted his arm to drink, Harry got a better view of the wood, which was carved to be shaped like a foot.

The four of them couldn't help another shiver. It's not as if they'd never met someone with a prosthetic, but the idea of it happening to the head of the Auror department like that still wouldn't sit right in their mind, not the man who seemed thicker than stone.

Dumbledore had to clear his throat to reclaim attention, and then continued as if he hadn't been interrupted, going back to say that this year Hogwarts would be hosting the Triwizard Tournament.

James had still been reading on autopilot from the shock of Moody's appearance in this timeline, that he'd almost read right past this without realizing it. Then his brain caught up with his tongue, and he nearly bit the muscle off as he shouted, "what?"

"You did not just say that!" Sirius demanded, reaching over and yanking the book away, though the second his eyes landed on the words they still managed to double in size.

"That's what all this fuss has been about?" Lily snorted. "I think I'd have preferred to hear about the Quidditch matches."

"Well that's a little harsh," Remus laughed. "I've heard all about these things, and they sound like a blast."

"Clearly we haven't heard about the same thing," Lily snorted, several events that ended in deaths first coming to her mind.

Harry did not join in the celebration of whatever this meant, but instead felt a cold chill break out over him. This was going to be terrible, of that he had no doubts. Yet his fourteen year old mind was just sort of confused on the topic, and as trying to think on reasons why he wouldn't like this for any time gave him a headache, he instead inserted, "what's that?"

"Oh you're going to love this pup," Sirius smirked. "It's this event where they take students from different schools and pin them against each other in these crazy matches. One year they had hippoi athanatoi-"

Harry interrupted like Sirius had just spoken Greek.

"Fire breathing horses," he waved off, "and they raced them around this swamp filled with-"

"Please stop," Lily moaned, pressing her hands to her ears.

Sirius rolled his eyes at her but said, "anyways, the point is, it's like this huge game to prove your school's the best."

"Sounds like fun honestly," Harry laughed, he couldn't help it with all the enthusiasm Sirius was showing, and his attitude had successfully pushed away any negative feelings Harry originally had.

"Well, it was canceled a long time ago," Remus added on with a smirk. "They seemed to have problems controlling, ah, certain aspects of it, and well-"

"Almost every year a contestant died," Lily finished bluntly.

"You're a worry wart," James scoffed. "That was years ago, and you think the same thing about Quidditch."

"Rogue bludger," she said bluntly, causing all four boys to sigh, and Harry to try and defend:

"But Dobby-"

"Bucking broom, dementors, do I need to keep going?" she threatened, causing him to wince and admit defeat.

"What are you being such a baby for?" James groaned at her. "Didn't Molly say something about an age limit? I'd think she'd have told her kids about this ages ago, so that she could tell them not to join, if they were old enough."

"Yeah, you probably have to be of age or something," Remus agreed. "Honestly, that makes sense anyways, you'd think they'd have thought of that in the first place."

Lily at least looked mildly appeased, but his dad's offhand comment brought something back to almost the forefront of Harry's brain. Like his mother should stay worried about this...

James didn't notice Harry's lingering worry though, as he'd admit that this almost did make up for the no Quidditch this year. Harry was going to have a blast watching whatever the schools had cooked up! He quickly snatched the book back from Sirius now so he could keep going.

Fred shouted in shock that Dumbledore must be joking!

"I cannot imagine Dumbledore joking about something like this," Remus laughed.

The tension upon Moody's arrival broke as the whole hall burst into excited muttering, and Dumbledore let it continue for a moment before chuckling and saying he was not joking, though he had heard a funny one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who had gone into a bar- McGonagall cleared her throat loudly to cut him off.

"Ah, why'd she interrupt?" James snickered. "That was a good one."

"I've never heard it," Harry said in surprise.

Even Lily couldn't find it in herself to groan this time as Sirius lit up like a kid with a new toy as he said, "alright, then listen good. A leprechaun, a troll, and a hag all went into a bar."

Sirius put on a false voice as he cried out:

"Benny!" said the bartender to the leprechaun, "I warned you three not to come back here after the last time. Took me weeks to clean up after all the mischief you caused."

He changed voices again to that of his best impression of an Irish man:

"Oh but it's Floss's birthday," said Benny pointing to the hag. Who smiled and showed off her one good tooth. "Give us a quick pint and let Troll and me sing to her. Then we'll be on our way. Cross me heart an' hope ta die."

Sirius then switched back to his normal, though slightly louder then was called for, voice as he continued:

The bartender was a soft-hearted, and rather soft-headed man, and so he did as Benny asked.

No sooner had they finished their drinks when a fight broke out over who should be allowed to give Floss a birthday kiss.

The troll and the leprechaun wrestled like they were caught in Devil's Snare and broke a remarkable amount of glassware. The bartender tried every spell he knew to stop them, but nothing worked. Truth to tell, he was not a very good wizard.

Meanwhile Floss the Hag stood by, grinning and looking quite pleased with the celebration in her honor.

After a lengthy brawl, the troll had the advantage. He towered over the quaking leprechaun, ready to smash an enormous beer barrel over the poor fellow's head."

Then Sirius switched to his best feminine voice, his impression of Lily though he'd never admit that aloud, and said:

"Oh for pity's sake," said Floss who was also an accomplished witch. "Alohomora!"

Sirius continued the pattern of switching between each voice as he finished off the joke.

"With a wave her wand, Floss opened the sealed barrel, dumping a lovely, golden brew over the troll, and quite possibly saving the leprechaun's life.

"Floss!" cried the leprechaun. "Let me thank ye with a wee kiss." But the hag shook her tangled tresses of hair and refused him.

"Yeh see! I'm the one she likes!" shouted Troll. He somersaulted to his lady love and tried to gather her in his great arms, but in a blink of a Cyclops' eye, the hag disapparated and her companions fled.

Once again, the bartender was left with a dreadful mess to clean up. His wife, who had witnessed the whole affair, heaved a sighed and began to mop up the ale."

In this voice he actually tried at Madam Rosmerta, to which he would admit to if anyone had bothered to ask.

"Well, my dear," she said. "At least we've learned two important lessons."

"What's that?" said her grumpy husband. He was in no mood for philosophical musing.

"Obviously," the wise and alarmingly cheerful woman continued, "A Benny saved is a Benny spurned. And a rolling troll gathers no Floss."*

Harry let out a surprised burst of laughter, even the others joined in though they'd heard the joke before. Sirius just had this magical way about him of being able to retell any joke and still making it funny, the one and only exception being his serious/ Sirius joke, but he was still working on that.

Dumbledore agreed now wasn't the time for that joke, and went back to speaking of the Tournament. He knew that some students already knew what this was, so he encouraged them to let their minds wander while he informed the others.

"The only ones who wouldn't know about it are the Muggleborns," Lily snorted, "and even then you're likely to hear about it at least once before you leave school. The stories about this thing still get thrown around some nights."

"How many times has Hogwarts hosted it?" Harry asked in surprise.

"Well the first one was held sometime during the 12th or 13th century," Remus shrugged, "but it officially ended in 1792."

"It was held every five years by each school in turn," James shrugged.

"So Merlin knows how many times exactly," Sirius snorted, not up for doing the math at the moment, but Harry seemed to get the gist of it and nodded.

He began by saying that the Triwizard Tournament was founded over seven hundred years ago, as a competition between the three largest European schools, Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A student was selected from each school and set to compete in three tasks. Each school took turns hosting it every five years, but the event ended when the death toll became too high.

Hermione repeated the word death toll in shock, but she was of a minority. Everyone else seemed to be muttering excitedly to their friends about this, not much of a care for people who had died hundreds of years ago.

"You see Lily, you and Hermione worry too much," Remus nodded along.

Lily just sighed, recognizing she was outvoted and it wasn't worth the argument.

When Dumbledore continued, everyone quickly fell silent to listen as he comforted that they'd taken great measures this year to ensure no one would die.

"I'm sure that's what they said last time," Lily muttered to herself, her eye still lingering a moment too long on her son with worry, so she was the only one who noticed him flinch at that statement. She frowned, but didn't call him out on it as he quickly tried to smooth out his face and pretend otherwise.

The heads of the other two schools would be arriving in October, and the selection process would begin on Halloween night.

"Uroh," James couldn't help but mutter, considering nothing good had ever happened on that date!

"I'll agree with you on that one," Harry sighed, rubbing in high agitation at his temple now. He just knew the more he heard about this, the less he was liking it, no matter how persistent his fourteen year old mind was trying to butt in and say this sounded like a blast.

There would be an impartial judge who decided the champions, and the reward was the Triwizard Cup, the glory for their school, and a thousand Galleons prize money.

"Impartial judge?" Harry asked with only the vaguest of interest now, though he tried to hide it for the sake of the men who still looked enthralled by the idea.

"Not happening pup," Sirius said at once, "this is going to be a surprise."

Harry gave him a good natured pout, but didn't argue the point, almost relieved to let it go and hoping Dumbledore would soon as well.

Fred at once said he was going to try.

"Cannot blame him," James cackled, knowing he'd be first in line if this had happened while he'd been there.

He was not the only one, as all around the hall people were nodding along with deep interest at all of this. Dumbledore quickly nipped that in the butt, as he said that there would be an age restriction,

They may have already worked this out, but none of them could honestly bring themselves to groan about it too much. Harry had enough life and death situations the past three years to last them a lifetime. Despite how much of a riot it would be for them to hear about this going on, none of them could even pretend they weren't a little happy Harry wouldn't even get an opportunity.

you had to be of age, seventeen, to enter. There was an uproar at once, the Weasley twins in particular looked murderous.

"I can see why they'd be a little ticked," Remus winced in sympathy. "They are turning seventeen soon enough, it's so close they must feel personally affronted."

"Can't wait to see what they do about it," James said with an old mischievous smirk, which Sirius happily adopted moments later.

Lily chuckled lightly at them, but wasn't going to hold out any real hope either of them got away with anything.

Dumbledore didn't seem to notice as he explained this tournament was dangerous no matter how many safety measures were in place, and anyone underage wouldn't be up for the task.

"Well he's just being a right ol' killjoy," Sirius shook his head in mock scolding.

He looked almost stern now as he asked the students who could not compete, not to waste their time trying.

"Right," James drew the word out in disbelief, "as if half the students in that school aren't going to try anyways."

"It'll be a hoot to hear," Remus snickered.

He rounded the discussion up by saying it was getting late, and they all had to get to class in the morning, and to chop chop off to bed.

"You cannot announce something like that, and actually expect them to chop chop anywhere, let alone bed," Lily said deadpan.

"Least we're in agreement on that," James chuckled.

Dumbledore retook his seat and began speaking quietly to Moody, while the rest of the students began filing out. Fred and George kept their places in mutiny, grumbling to each other how they'd be seventeen in April, they should get their shot.

"And if they'd bumped it down to sixteen, every fifteen year old close enough would be complaining," Remus rolled his eyes. "There really is no happy median."

Fred was saying they couldn't stop him, that the champions would get to have all kinds of fun!

"Right, fun," Lily rolled her eyes, thinking the twins needed to hear some of the stories she had, maybe they'd change that word.

"Can't deny the glory of that," Sirius nodded simply, like his best friend unable to bat away his own desire to see his name tossed into this.

With a thousand Galleons for prize money.

"A lure to any," Remus laughed, not particularly wanting himself to go out and do this, but knowing he'd back either of his friends if they wanted their go.

Ron gave a dreamy agreement to that, but Hermione convinced them all to start heading upstairs. Harry asked who this impartial judge could be?

The others were fighting hard to keep a straight face as Harry eyed them all critically for a clue. It probably wasn't fair of them, but they wanted to see the surprise on his face when he came to realize that answer.

They didn't have any idea, but Fred was certain that a few drops of Aging Potion would get them in.

"Not a bad idea actually," James nodded at once.

"Much more subtle then I would have given them credit for," Remus agreed.

"Sometimes the subtlest things make the biggest impacts," Sirius said with one to many crinkles around his eyes, giving Harry the strong impression he spoke from experience.

Ron reminded that the school knew they weren't of age.

"Well there's that," Harry said, still watching those around him and looking for a crack. "Couldn't Dumbledore saying something to this judge, get them out of it?"

"Nuhu," James wagged his finger, "you're not getting it out of us, you'll just have to wait."

Harry grumbled at them, but had no way to argue the point.

Fred shot back that wouldn't matter, it's this judge who decided, and once he did that was that. Hermione voiced her concern though that people had died in this before. Fred waved that off, saying that was years ago, and what was life without risk?

"And here I used to agree with them," Remus sighed, his smile slipping slightly as he remembered one to many times of the risks of Harry's life.

James and Sirius exchanged put out looks, knowing they would have agreed with the twins before they started these books, but now wishing for nothing more exciting to happen to Harry this year than watching some older students do something stupid and maybe a paper cut from his homework.

Then he turned his attention on his brother, asking if they figured this out would he want in? Ron tried to play it off, saying they hadn't learned enough,

"It's not always what you learned," Sirius shrugged, "it's the ingenuity it takes to win the game."

"I'm glad you're not encouraging him or anything," Lily snorted.

then Neville's voice came from behind them saying that he knew he couldn't do it, but his gran would probably have told him to try anyways and actually bring some honor to the family for once.

"That woman is agitating me the more I hear about her," Lily's scowl deepened, hating to hear about Neville speaking of her the more this carried on. "What woman would say that to a child? It's not his job!"

"Agreed, I've heard Frank go on about her," Remus sighed with pity. "He's about as lovely on the discussion as you are about Petunia."

Lily pursed her lips so tight they went almost white, but all they could really do was feel pity for the poor boy. It was so sad that Neville's life hadn't seemed to turn out much better then Harry's, but sitting here griping about it wasn't going to fix anything.

He was cut off from saying anything else by falling into a trip step.

Sirius went an ugly gray color, remembering his and someone's old gag of trying to push each other into these. It was a terrible blow to the gut at such a random reminder, and he'd already been in such a down mood at the thought of Neville's life he looked pretty bad in that moment.

The others hadn't really noticed though as they all avoided each other's eye in that moment because they'd all thought on the exact same person, and James quickly read past the sticky moment.

Most of the older students knew by now which of these to jump, but Neville had a notorious bad memory and sank up to his knee in the step. Harry and Ron quickly stepped back to pull him out, and as they passed a piece of armor that was laughing at the display, Ron told it to shut it while slamming its helmet shut for it.

"Ron's such a sweet friend, even to someone who's not a best friend," Lily said with a little too much pitch, but it at least made the boys smile again.

They made it up to Gryffindor tower where George gave the password of Balderdash to the Fat Lady, saying a prefect had told him already.

"He's literally been with you the whole time," Remus snorted, "when did this happen?"

"Before they sat down to eat," Harry shrugged.

The common room was as cozy and warm as ever, but Hermione took one look at the glowing fireplace and muttered something about slave labor,

"Glory, in all the fuss I've nearly forgotten about her little problem," James snorted in surprise.

Lily gave him a sharp look, mostly for referring to it as a 'little problem' but wasn't going to have a go at her husband for something she'd already had out with Sirius.

before marching up the stairs. Harry, Ron, and Neville went up to their own dorm, where their other two roommates were already getting ready for bed. Seamus had pinned up his Ireland rosette to his headboard, while Dean had a poster of Viktor Krum above his.

Sirius let out a surprised bark of laughter, thinking that those two who were clearly best friends doing that to each other was pretty hilarious.

They all settled into bed not long after, and Ron whispered sleepily to Harry that if the twins did pull it off, well that tournament you know? He might just go for it.

"I don't think I could stand listening to Ron go through that anymore then Harry," Lily sighed, running her hand through her hair at the thought.

"Thankfully the age rule applies to him to," Remus said peacefully.

Harry half agreed as he rolled over in his sleep, a dream already forming in his mind's eye as he pictured convincing this judge he was seventeen,

"Sorry pup," Sirius smirked, "you could be seventeen and still not pass for it, you're too scrawny."

"Oi," Harry yelped, giving him the stank eye, but the others were too busy laughing to think he meant it.

He'd been picked for Hogwarts champion, and being risen above the crowd with the Triwizard Tournament Cup in hand.

"So not only would you go for it," Remus chuckled, "you have no doubts you'd win eh?"

"Every person in that school is having a similar dream at that moment," James laughed.

"And Harry's actually got some experience to back up the delusion he could," Sirius smirked.

"Delusion?" Harry pouted, choosing to stay in this conversation and ignore the terrible ache he was getting from this daydream...it's not as if it had any meaning at all...right?

"You sure sound confident Harry could win," Lily shot back at Sirius.

"Hey, I'm happy he can't," Sirius threw his hands up in surrender, "I'm just saying, he's lived through some stuff that would give him an edge."

"You should stop talking now," James butted in with a snicker, knowing Sirius didn't mean it, but Lily was giving him the stank eye meaning she was thinking otherwise.

Cho's face in particular stood out, glowing with admiration.

Causing all four of them to smile at Harry's expense, who rather wished his mum and Sirius would start going at it again to save him from this.

Harry grinned into his pillow, exceptionally glad that Ron couldn't see what he could.

"As if Ron wasn't thinking the exact same thing," James snorted as he passed Sirius the book.

"Except possibly with some other girl then Cho," Sirius nodded in agreement.

HPHPHPHPHP

Two big reveals this chapter back to back, hope I did them justice...

* At least, that's Mugglenets version of the joke, the whole of it was taken from there and I claim no originality in that. My personal favorite punchline is something else, but I'm saving that for another book, so just consider this a warning this joke may crop up again.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #Marauders #GoF #James Potter #Lily Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black

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hellyeahtrickster · 3 years

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It occurs to me that I have friends here that I don't have contact with in other spheres, so ... life update: my mother passed away unexpectedly last Friday. I'm doing as well as one would expect. Been going through her things as both a walk down memory lane and a goodbye. I keep coming across things she never got around to using, and it hits hard that now, she'll never have the chance. And I can't stop thinking of the stories we watched together that now she won't know the ending to, or shows I wanted to try with her. And then there's all the things we used to do together on the regular -- all the places I can never go with her to again. And all the places we wanted to go to "someday", but now she never will.

We were two weeks out from our second COVID shots, and 4 weeks from being totally vaccinated. We were finally going to get back to EPCOT, to see the Flower and Garden show. Finally going to get back to the Florida Mall. Going out to lunch. That I won't be doing this things with her anymore ... it's unfathomable. I can't wrap my head around it.

Thanks, anti-mask / anti-vaccine Covidiots, for prolonging the presence of this pandemic -- basically stealing the last year of my mother's life. She was anxious to see her elderly mother again, because we don't know how long *she* has left ... and now she never go to see her mother again. I knew losing my mom would happen someday, but my mother was relatively young yet, so I thought it would be a while ....

It doesn't help that she died after the second night on a new bed. See, she slept on her side all the time, what with the couch being narrow, but with a twin mattress, the bed was much wider. She snored a lot -- I highly suspect she had sleep apnea. When I found her the next morning, she was on her BACK. The doctor agreed that her cardiac arrest could have been caused by sleep apnea. In trying to make my mom more comfortable .... Yeah, I know, it's not my fault, but I cannot shake that thought away, that she's not here anymore because we tried to do something nice for her. How cruel the humour of the universe can be.

(I'd put the rest of this behind a cut, but I don't see that option anymore? Sorry!!)

And it REALLY doesn't help that, not only have I lost the person I was closest to, but now I am stuck alone with the person I least want to be with: my dad. I'm pretty liberal, and he's pretty conservative. We fight a LOT. We haven't really since mom died (things got a little tense here and there, but not like we usually are) ... but I know it won't last. It can't -- not when he believes BLM are terrorists, or that gays have an agenda. And now he keeps wanting to do things with me, like watch my shows, and a petulant part of me is like, no, this is mom's territory -- stay out. I don't want to do anything with him. (Especially since I know he'll start ranting once the shows start talking about racism and homophobia.)

My parents always had a volatile relationship. Mom didn't know you could get pregnant the first time, and when she found out she was pregnant, her Catholic family bullied her into marrying him.* And he cheated on her at LEAST once (with a girl who was only a few years older than me at the time -- I was 15, she was 19, he was 33). My mother was far from perfect, so I don't blame all the marital problems on him. But my point is they were married "in name only" for about the last 25 years, so it's ... offensive to me now that he would dare to act bereaved.

I know he can be hella manipulative, make himself seem generous so as to be loved, and then turn on you like a viper, getting irrationally angry. I can't drive, we live in a very rural area with no public trans, there are no friends or fam less than an hour away, I've had next to no job for the last 17 years, I barely feel like a functional human being (am coming to seriously suspect I have ADHD and Dyscalculia; I have diabetes and suspect have PCOS and a thyroid problem; all these things having strong interconnections; and I have no insurance, nor do I qualify for aid, thanks to living in Florida), and I feel utterly trapped. There's a reason Rapunzel is my fave princess. I've had bad experiences with cabs, so using Uber / Lyft kind of terrifies me. Plus, he'd want to know where I'm going, and likely either insist on coming too, or insist I can't go, because his house, his money, his rules. The ONLY time each year I get away is when I go to Dragon Con (and I'm worried he might forbid that in the future -- he has once before).

And then there's the problem of ... he has no one. As much as I can't stand him, he lost his job because of COVID, he's lost his wife, he has no real friends (total homebody), and like it or not, he has supported me financially for so long. Even if someone else were to take me in, or I can get a job and save to leave ... how can I leave him (a person with severe rheumatoid arthritis / in not-great health)? I owe him too damn much, and I feel like it would be entirely callous of me. Yes, I realise that that's the abuse talking, but ... it's also true?

Anyway, I feel like I'm on Sliders, and keep stepping into progressively worse timelines.

* Let me mention that I have long suspected my mother is -- was -- on the autism spectrum, but when I mentioned it to one of her sisters, the sister seemed skeptical, saying that if anything, mom had a penchant for reading out loud, so they thought maybe she had a reading disability, and took her to a specialist, but "that's it". (Mom was in "remedial" classes through high school, so it doesn't sound like they did enough -- and maybe couldn't because the science just wasn't there.) I explained that mom frequently seemed to have trouble grasping concepts, especially humour. Like when a radio ad featured someone reciting a love-letter to a tomato, she was all, "That's stupid -- tomatoes can't read!" Try as I might, I could not get her to understand that the love letter was a playful way to tell US about what makes the tomato so good.)

Anyway, when I talked to my grandmother recently, she said that my mom "always had a special way of looking at things," and that she guessed mom was "what do they call it -- neuro-something? 'Aspie'? High-functioning, but still." And I told my cousin about it, and he said, "Wait, I thought it was common knowledge in our family that your mom was autistic?" (Note: we have other, officially diagnosed family members who are on different areas of the spectrum.) People always commented when I was growing up that it was like my mom's role and mine was reversed -- like I was the parent, and she was the child.

But to think my family had *recognised* that something was up, and left me, a child, to deal with it on my own?? To think they *pressured* someone who was "special" into having a child?

I know my mom loved me, but my whole life, she said she wished I'd never been born, and so she'd never have married my dad -- I know both can be true, that she loved me but wished she'd never had me (she'd have never known what she was missing). She only survived her marriage because I was there; I've always felt she'd have had a better life if she hadn't married him. When she tried to leave him, her mother would not take her in, because divorce was against her mother's Catholic beliefs (never mind that my uncle divorced twice)

I loved my mother, but were fought a lot, and she frequently exasperated me as we struggled to communicate. She frequently left words out, but did not believe that she did; when we met her last PCP the first time, he looked at me and said, "Is she always like this, or is she having a stroke?" And she would always angrily proclaim that I wasn't listening, when most of the time, it's that I couldn't get her to understand that she was working from a misconception or misunderstanding in the first place, because she would focus on ONE THING, to the exclusion of all else.

An example of an exchange (copied from a letter I wrote to a friend): We got into a weird argument yesterday. She had asked me for pain reliever, a glass of tap water (you're supposed to drink a full glass of water with the pills), and a "cold water" from the fridge (it's too cold to drink it all at once, but we both prefer ice water in general). Later, I was picking stuff up from her table-tray, including a bottle of pain reliever, and put a bunch of stuff away. When I passed by again, she asked for more cold water. I happened to look as see that she had the tap water glass still full, even though she had asked tor it half an hour before. I asked if I needed to bring the pain pill bottle back, because she hadn't drunk the tap water yet -- had I taken the pill bottle too soon, or had she forgotten to drink the water? She was all, "no, I said I need COLD water!" I said I knew that, and I would bring it; I was just asking of she had taken her pills already, or if I needed to bring the pill bottle back too. Her (again): "I said I need COLD WATER!" Me: "I know, and I will bring that -- I just want to know why you haven't drunk the tap water yet? Did you take your pills?" Her: "No, I'll take them at bed!" Me: "So I should bring back the pill bottle? Did I put it away too early?" Her: "YOU DON'T LISTEN! I SAID I NEED COLD WATER!" Me: "And I said I will bring that -- I'm just asking if you also need your pain pills?" Her: "You already took the bottle!! Did you forget that already?"

And then I finally spotted the white pain pills on the napkin under the tap-water glass, so I knew that no, I didn't need to bring it. But it's a frequent struggle to figure out how to phrase questions so I get the answer I need -- nearly every time, I get her screaming at me that I don't listen.

She loved me, but she was never mothering. She hated to be touched, so never hugged me; I was pretty touch-starved. I learned to read because she was a very slow reader when reading me stories; I got impatient and learned to do it for myself. She couldn't help me with my homework. She resented having to take me to school recitals and science fairs. She wasn't someone I could get advice from. I admit I was often envious of characters who had physically-loving, compassionate, wise mother-figures (who weren't so binary about morality -- and so weren't always screaming that this or that character should die, no matter how small the transgression).

But I wish she were still here to frustrate me -- that's so much better than not having her at all. And I wish I had been better at keeping my temper.

She was an atheist, and firm in that belief. Maybe she's right, or maybe her firm belief is affecting me, because I would dream frequently about others I have loved and lost, and swear I feel them, but with her ... nothing. Just a gaping hole in the fabric of my waking life, threatening to suck all the light and hope into it.

#mine #rant #personal #tw: death #cw: death #the death of my mom #my mom

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littlemisslol-fic · 3 years

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Summary: Two years after the events of Barviel Keep, Varian has tried to adapt to the expectations brought by being a King’s Ward, with mixed results. Haunted by ghosts, Varian is forced to face the demons he tried to leave behind in Bayangor when his abdication is forcibly stopped by a third party, out for revenge against the Bayan Royal bloodline. On the run, with few allies left to turn to, Varian finds himself chasing a ghost through a series of tests that only a true heir of Demanitus could ever hope to pass.But the shadows are ever present, looming and dark, and not everything is as simple as it might seem.

Notes: An innocent side trip ends with repercussions. Merrick makes another move.

Today marks the one year birthday of the first story in this series, Like a Rowboat, so what better time to kick it out of hiatus than now? Time to get the ball rolling again.

The road to Pincosta was a lesson in patience.

The group kept off the main roads for the most part, sticking to the backroads just as they had while making their way to Old Corona. They’d been walking for almost two days already, and Varian was starting to get tired. The backroads were quiet, the kinds of roads someone would walk if they didn’t want to be discovered- but that also meant that they weren’t exactly well maintained, nor were they the quickest option available.

Varian scowled as he tripped over a stone that had been half-embedded in the dirt path, grunting and shaking out his foot as he followed Eugene and Rapunzel through the quiet woods. He knew the logic behind not taking the main road- hell if anything it was the obvious choice- but that didn’t make sloughing through endless muddy, messy, footpaths was fun.

Eugene seemed unaffected as he led them along, idly swatting at a few large bugs that were buzzing around his head. With an exaggerated grin he slung an arm over Varian’s shoulder, gently nudging a half-asleep Ruddiger.

“Smell that, kid?” he said, taking a dramatic sniff. Varian rolled his eyes, but played along. It was nice of Eugene to try and distract him, and he was grateful to be distracted.

“What,” Varian asked, “The smell of damp forest and skunk? Cause if so, yeah, I smell it.”

“Not that, my vertically-challenged friend!” Eugene said, shaking Varian a little at the sass. Ruddiger chittered his disagreement with that, but Eugene held strong in the face of the raccoon’s ire. “That, my dear boy, is the smell of adventure!”

“Exhilarating.” Varian deadpanned, catching sight of Rapunzel smothering a laugh with her hand. “I am… just so excited. Truly, my feeble heart can’t take it-”

“I know!” Eugene cut him off, “Think of this as your chance to finally travel! That’s what you wanted, right?”

Varian looked skywards- Sun give him strength- before fixing Eugene with an exasperated look.

“You know,” Varian said, “I think the circumstances kind of changed some things.”

Eugene paused, but shrugged.

“Never happy, these kids!” he said to Rapunzel, who snorted into her hand. Even Varian couldn’t help but snicker, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter as he tried to keep a straight face. Eugene wasn’t done, however. “I’m just saying, give them an inch and they’ll take a mile, no gratefulness at all-”

“I resent that.” Varian finally broke, playfully shoving at Eugene, “Keep going on about the youths and I’ll sick Angry and Red on you-”

“You wouldn’t dare-”

“Try me.”

Eugene’s eyebrow raised, the main appraising Varian to try and find the lie. Unable to find it, he huffed out a put-upon sigh, removing his arm and instead ruffling Varian’s hair. The alchemist scowled, swatting at him, but Eugene merely took the hits with grace.

“You win this round, goggles, but I swear when we get to Pincosta-”

“Which I still don’t think is a good idea-”

“You shush. When we get you to Pincosta, you’ll be grateful for this life experience we’ve given you. Someday, we’re all gunna look back on this and laugh!”

“Like the time with the Saporians?”

“Well, no, okay-”

“Or the time with Cassandra?”

“Now that was extenuating circumstances-”

“And the time with Zhan Tiri?”

Eugene finally gave up, shaking his head with a good-natured sigh. Rapunzel seemed to dislike the direction the conversation was headed, stepping up and putting a hand on both their shoulders.

“How about we break for lunch?” she asked, “I don’t know about you two, but I’m starving!”

Varian sank down into a slouch, backing off. Eugene had just been trying to lighten the mood, it wasn’t fair for Varian to get snippy with him. When they stopped on the side of the road, he nudged Eugene in a quiet apology, which the man returned. Varian shot him a grateful smile, taking the subsequent hair ruffle with grace. All of them were on edge, it was true, but at least Eugene was the forgiving type.

Rapunzel sighed as she flopped down onto the grass on the side of the path, stretching her arms a bit and rustling around the duffle bag. The sun beat down on them, hotter out from under the canopy of the trees, and she seemed to perk up with the brighter light.

“Okay!” she said, “Let’s see what we’ve got.” The clinking of glassware echoed around her, the princess moving empty bottles and supplies around. Varian sighed and sat next to her, leaning into her side with a tired whine. Rapunzel shouldered the motion with grace, taking the brunt of her brother’s weight as he complained.

They’d been walking for days- Varian’s feet felt like they were going to fall off. It wasn’t like this was the longest trip he’d ever been on but with the horrible terrain, combined by the swift pace Rapunzel was leading them on, Varian was ready to drop. Eugene looked a little better, flopping down with a huff onto his own patch of grass. He fell flat on his back, letting out a long breath and closing his eyes. Varian snickered quietly, watching the dramatics. Rapunzel paused for a second, arching a brow.

“Okay,” she said, “Who ate the last of the apples?”

Ruddiger took the opportunity to slide off of Varian’s shoulders- hitting the grass with a thump and frantically scurrying off into the woods. The three humans watched him go, before sighing in tandem.

“You know, I think I might have a theory.” Eugene said, not opening his eyes.

“Right.” Rapunzel sighed, sorting through the bag again. “In that case, I guess it’s good we’re near a city; this is the last of our food.” She pulled out a small jar of pickled eggs, scrunching her nose at the sight of the green liquid. Varian did the same, leaning away as she undid the lid. The strong smell of vinegar and egg wafted from the jar; Varian cringed.

Eugene popped an eye open at the stench, sitting up with a sudden excitement.

“Oh, gimme!” he crowed, “I love these things!”

Rapunzel passed him the jar without question, looking away as Eugene began to shove eggs in his mouth. Varian felt himself almost gag- while healthy, pickled eggs had never really been his go to snack, per se. Eugene didn’t seem to care, shoveling them like it was his final meal. With a small muffled mrph noise he offered the jar to Rapunzel who smiled but shook her head. Eugene shrugged and went back to eating.

The princess turned away, smiling conspiratorially and shifting a little so that Eugene couldn’t see what she had. With a small grin, she held up a small bag of… something. Varian arched a brow, leaning closer as she held out her hand and poured a small cluster of hard candies into it, each wrapped in a golden foil that caught the light and glittered.

Varian’s face lit up, and Rapunzel shushed him quickly. She nudged his hand gently, tipping her own so that half the candy fell into his palm. Varian smiled, leaning against her as they unwrapped the treat. Rapunzel’s smile was warm, leaning her head on his; Varian could feel her smile on the crown of his head. The taste of maple sugar was a welcome one, something sweet and simple that was oddly grounding after the week he’d had. Something about being able to sit and enjoy a small luxury settled Varian, made him feel a little more at ease.

So, of course, that’s when the universe had to intervene.

Eugene suddenly made a noise, something that was distinguishable as distressed, but through the eggs there wasn’t much in the way of words. Varian and Rapunzel both straightened up as the man hastily gestured down the road before screwing the lid onto his jar and shoving it into their bag. The man grabbed the bag’s strap, frantically gesturing for them to move towards the thick treeline. Varian was up first, cautiously getting to his feet and watching as Eugene frantically gestured towards the road. The man finally seemed to get sick of being a mime, huffing and firmly pushing Varian towards the brush, Rapunzel hot on his heels. The three of them skid into the woods, hunkering down among the thick leaves and branches at Eugene’s insistence. The man swallowed thickly, gasping, before sinking lower in his hiding place.

“Horses,” he whispered, “A lot of horses.”

Sure enough, not a minute later, the thundering of hooves was audible over the noises of the forest. The three Coronians huddled closer to the ground, watching with tense anticipation as a large group of men- all of them wearing dark coats and a blood red sash- thundered by on horseback. Varian felt Rapunzel’s hand reach for his wrist, grabbing it tightly. He slipped his wrist up, so they were holding hands, the two siblings cringing into each other as the group of Merrick’s men passed them by.

Varian could hear his own panicked heartbeat thud in time with the horses’ hooves, scrunching his eyes closed in fear. Rapunzel was shaking next to him, her hand gripping tightly onto his. Varian was sure if she gripped any tighter his bones would snap. Eugene was the only one of them who seemed even a little composed, but Varian could feel the tenseness in the man’s shoulders next to him, speaking of experience. It set Varian on edge, to know Eugene was anxious about their situation.

The alchemist shuddered, cringing closer to Rapunzel as one of the men called something to the group in a language he didn’t understand; all three Coronians flinched when the group laughed loudly.

After what seemed like hours the patrol finally passed them, the crew of nearly twenty men finally thundering away as quickly as they’d come. Once they were out of sight Rapunzel made to stand, but stopped when Eugene held up a hand. She sank back down into the dirt, not questioning Eugene’s strange behaviour. There was a tense beat of silence between them all, the forest slowly reawakening around them. The only thing Varian could hear was birdsong and the rustling of leaves, but even he waited for Eugene’s say-so before moving. Rapunzel did the same, both she and Varian watching with interest as the man put his ear to the ground.

He held the position for a tense couple of seconds, ear touching the dirt, before looking to them and nodding, pushing up and onto his feet.

“We’re clear,” he said, “They’ve moved on.”

The three slowly crept back onto the road, still tense after the close call. Varian’s rabbit heartbeat slowly began to calm, the thud-thud in his ears abating now that the danger seemed to have passed. He stared down the trail, towards where the warriors had gone, his face sinking into a frown.

“That isn’t… great.” Varian said, looking with wide eyes down the path where the men had vanished. “If they’re already out here, then-”

“Then we’ll just have to be really careful.” Rapunzel said with her hands on her hips. “They’ll be going for Vardaros, but so long as we don’t draw too much attention to ourselves, it’ll be okay.”

“Sunshine’s right.” Eugene agreed, trying to seem positive in the light of Varian’s concern. “Just gotta make sure to stick to the side roads, and keep an ear to the ground. Like hide-and-seek!”

“We still have to go to Vardaros, though.” Varian said grimly, “Unless we want to eat pickled eggs for the whole trip.”

Eugene’s eyes lit up at that, but Rapunzel looked downright squeamish at the thought.

“Good point,” she said, tapping at her chin with her frying pan. “Maybe Eugene and I will go, Varian, and you can stay behind and-”

“And what, get attacked?” Varian argued, “Splitting up is literally the worst thing we could do right now.”

Rapunzel paused, thinking it over. Varian picked at his glove, still looking down the road. He knew that logically it wouldn’t be smart to split up, leaving him alone would inevitably end with Varian having to fend off any attacks on his own, which with his track record could only end badly. There was also the niggling feeling of patronization, that Rapunzel thought he was so useless he needed to be left in the woods while she and Eugene did all the work. It made him almost want to take back what he’d said, to be left alone just to show he could, but tactically it was a horrible plan. Rapunzel didn’t seem enthused by the idea either, tapping her chin once more.

“Well, we’ll have to see how it looks when we get there,” she finally said, tugging at her hair nervously. “Maybe they won’t even stop in Vardaros, they could just move on if they think we’re farther ahead.”

“With our luck?” Eugene laughed, shouldering their bag with a grunt. “I bet they’ve already set up shop.”

Rapunzel deflated, her shoulders slumping. Varian looked at her closely, saw the exhaustion in her spine and the despondence in her face. Something sick filtered through his gut, a tense collection of fear and anxiety and stress- but he shoved it down. Rapunzel had been shouldering his bad mood for the last two days, and had tried to be nothing but positive- but even she couldn’t deny the severity of their situation. Varian grit his teeth, standing a little straighter. The sick feeling in his stomach solidified into a determination, and he stepped closer to her, catching her eye.

“We’ll deal with it when we get there,” he said, “But we’ll deal with it like we deal with everything else- together.”

That seemed to do the trick; Rapunzel perked right back up again, nodding.

“And we’ll win together too,” she declared. “Just like we always do.” She smiled, the first real one Varian had seen from her in days. It scrunched her face in the same way it always had, full and bright and open in a way that was just so Rapunzel. For the first time since Corona burned, Varian saw his sister again. She smiled, glorious and full, and it shined lighter than the sun.

“To Vardaros, then,” she said.

Varian smiled, letting her link their arms at the elbow.

“To Vardaros.”

>>><<<

Rapunzel found that something in her refused to relax.

It had been hours since they’d last seen the patrol- nearly half a day, to be exact- but she still felt the same tenseness in her muscles that she had when they’d been right in front of her and her family. The princess shuddered- that had been too close for comfort, even if nothing had come from it. They were looking for Varian; Merrick had probably sent men in each cardinal direction in an attempt to find her brother, like dogs after a downed bird.

The thought made her sick to her stomach.

Rapunzel startled a little as Varian- fast asleep to her left, his head propped up on her leg- snuffled in his sleep, and curled tighter around Ruddiger unconsciously. Rapunzel smiled softly, something frail and affectionate; she lifted a hand up to run it through his messy hair, gently untangling some of the larger knots with the sort of unconscious ease she had from years of practice. Varian leaned into the touch, snuggling closer into her warmth. Eugene snored nearby, flung half over a log as he twitched in his sleep.

Rapunzel snickered at her husband, the man idly kicking a foot into the dirt. Varian shifted a bit at the noise- Rapunzel kept detangling his hair as he settled again. The clearing around them was well off the beaten path- Rapunzel was grateful, as they were finally able to light a fire for the first time in days. It cracked merrily in the middle of their small camp, tucked out of sight in the massive, winding roots of an ancient elm. The forest around them was calm and quiet, relaxed in a way that suggested safety.

But Rapunzel refused to let herself be caught off guard.

She idly thumbed at the handle of her frying pan. She was sitting with her back to one of the large roots, propped up against it in something almost like a slouch. It was late in the evening, the moon full and bright in the cloudless sky. Rapunzel caught herself scanning the forest in the moonlight, unable to trust her surroundings.

Not while she had her family to protect.

Ruddiger purred in his sleep, snuggling close to Varian. The boy hugged his pet close to his chest, curling into a ball around the raccoon. Rapunzel cooed under her breath- for all Varian liked to insist he was an adult, he would always be her little brother. And that was the crux of it all, wasn’t it? It was up to her to protect him from things that would do him harm; she would gladly step between him and danger no matter the cost. Rapunzel sighed, gently taking her hand from his hair. He didn’t register the change, huddling close with a sigh and relaxing a little more into her leg. Rapunzel smiled, idly slipping a hand into her dress pocket to ward off the cold. Despite the fire, it was still early spring; the evening chill was nothing if not persistent.

Rapunzel’s fingers touched parchment, and her heart sank.

She had nearly forgotten about the letter. Varian’s letter, if she were brutally honest with herself, the one she had been hiding from him. Rapunzel bit her lip, slowly drawing the wrinkled envelope out. She’d completely forgotten she’d kept it in her dress, worried that someone would find it and deliver it to its rightful owner- and by the Sun didn’t that train of thought make her feel cruel. Varian had a right to know that Aisha- his mother- was alive, that she was waiting for him to come find her. Her throat felt tight, like it was being squeezed at the thought.

Did the events of the past few days not prove that Varian was better off without any sort of connection to his bloodline? All Bayangor had ever brought him was fire and blood, chaos and death and pain- it broke Rapunzel’s heart to see her brother put through so much in such a brief amount of time. Bayangor had brought them Aldred, it had brought them Merrick, it had brought them yet another attack on Corona. Quirin had died to keep Varian away from these people, away from his history. Bayangor had given them a kidnapped child and a crown made to rip the free will away from its wearer- it had given them nothing but suffering and misery, and Rapunzel wouldn’t stand by and let Varian get sucked back into the absolute hellfire that was that bloodline. Not again.

The note was still folded in its open envelope- Rapunzel had kept it as intact as she could to keep it as inconspicuous as possible. She reached in with dainty fingers and drew the letter from the envelope. In the silence of the forest the soft crinkle of parchment sounded near damning, but she persisted. The words were identical to the last time she’d read it, the same pleas from a woman who only wanted to see her son, word for word. Rapunzel had poured over the note countless times by now, reading and rereading as if it would change the contents the more she willed them to be different. It never changed, though, remaining as damning as ever.

Rapunzel tensed as she read it again, seeing the words your mother scrawled on the bottom like a branding flame, large and obvious and nigh unmissable-

Eugene let out a particularly large snort, shattering the silence and startling Rapunzel. She felt her heart leap in her throat at the sudden loud noise, clutching the letter close and holding it tightly. Varian shifted, rolling over. Rapunzel shoved the letter into her pocket, frantically trying to calm her racing heart as Varian’s eyes groggily blinked open.

“Punzie?” he asked, his voice slurred with sleep, “Wha-happun?”

Rapunzel couldn’t help but smile- with the note safely tucked away in her pocket she had both hands to gently begin to fuss with his hair again. As much as he whined, she knew that he enjoyed the contact. Case and point, Varian leaned into the touch with a smile, his eyes slipping closed a little.

“Nothing happened,” Rapunzel assured him, “Just Eugene snoring.”

“Not again…” Varian whined, pressing his face into her knee. Rapunzel laughed quietly, biting her lip as the boy snuggled a complacent Ruddiger close.

“Go back to sleep,” she prompted him, sighing with relief when he took the advice. Within another minute he’d fallen back asleep, his breaths evening out. Rapunzel kept playing with his hair, looking around the campsite again. The dark was an inky blanket around them, thick and cloying.

Suspicious.

“You’re okay.” she whispered to him. He didn’t respond, of course, but she kept mumbling to him in the quiet of the night. “You’re okay. Nothing’s going to hurt you, not again.”

She felt her teeth grit, thinking of fire and wind and pink tourmaline, of grey stone and a burning library. She looked down to her brother, so young, so innocent, and with a history filled with so much pain. Rapunzel was through sitting on the sidelines, chasing after the evils of the night instead of meeting them head on before they could do any damage. Her gaze hardened, the women shifting to look into the fire with a newfound sense of determination. When she spoke next, her voice echoed with conviction.

“Not while I’m here. I promise.”

>>><<<

Varian had never been to Vardaros before- hell, before this disastrous week he’d never been outside of Corona save for his forced vacation to Bayangor- but from the stories Rapunzel and Eugene had told him he didn’t exactly have high expectations.

And even then, Vardaros still managed to be disappointing.

Varian huffed a little as he pulled the hood of his dad’s cloak a little higher on his head, his hair covered by the large hood. He shrank into the feeling of it, the swatch of blue-grey fabric warm and soft and feeling almost safe as he quietly followed Rapunzel and Eugene through the packed streets. Rapunzel stuck close to him, constantly looking back as if to confirm that Varian was still following them; the alchemist couldn’t help but feel a little put-upon… did she think he was going to wander off like a little kid? Get lost like a toddler in the crowd?

Varian bit the inside of his cheek, trying to push down the indignation. Rapunzel was probably just as stressed, tired, and generally shaken as Varian was. He had to cut her a little slack, right? It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him, it was probably that she was just worried.

Right?

The alchemist shook himself; he was being paranoid, and this was not the time for infighting. He sank a little deeper into the cloak, pulling it closer. It was a warmer day today, thankfully, but not so warm that Varian’s cloak looked suspicious; a small stroke of luck that was blissfully received. The market was relatively quiet; Eugene had taken them to one of the shadier market centers in the city in order to keep a lower profile- and thus it was basically abandoned in the light of the midafternoon.

The stone walls that made up the canyon Vardaros sat in reached high into the sky, so high that Varian had to crane his neck to see the top. The market, being crammed into one of the smaller canyon offshoots, had multiple stories of buildings, reaching up by at least three to four stories. The higher levels were connected by a series of wooden footpaths and rope bridges, the complex network nearly blotting out the sun by the time it hit ground level. Varian was rather appreciative of it, sticking to the shadows and generally trying to stay out of the way; it wouldn’t end well if he were recognized, especially considering the search party they’d seen earlier the previous day.

Eugene led them through the market, a series of stalls and small shops manned by the kind of people who, had Quirin been around to see them, Varian would have been told to stay away from. Though Vardaros had been cleaned up in the past few years- at least according to Rapunzel and Eugene- it was obvious that a reputation as a hive of scum and villainy was harder to wash away than most would hope. Here, in the underbelly of the underbelly, it seemed that Vardaros’ use as a crime hub was still going strong.

And now, it was decidedly working to their advantage.

“We’ve almost got everything.” Eugene was saying, “But I want to see if we can get some science stuff for the kid-” Varian perked up at that, “Just in case.”

Rapunzel bit her lip, searching through the pocket of her dress. She pulled out the gold that Frederic had left in their bag, idly counting it. It was a fair handful, at least to Varian, but he’d also been raised smart enough to know how to budget. Rapunzel pursed her lips, tilting her head.

“We could probably swing for some alchemy supplies,” she finally agreed, “So long as we keep it to the essentials.”

The last bit was directed to Varian, who snapped to attention. He nodded quickly, looking between the two of them.

“I don’t need much.” he said, “Just a couple compounds for the goo-bombs, maybe some for higher caliber explosives-”

“Maybe we won’t do the explosives, bud.” Eugene cut him off, “No offence but they’re not exactly… subtle, and we need to be at least a little sneaky if we’re going to get where we need to go in one piece.”

Varian paused, thinking about what Eugene had said, before nodding.

“Fair enough,” the boy said, “I’ll just make extra goo-bombs then.”

“Deal!” Rapunzel chirped. A few people looked at her with odd expressions, seeing someone so peppy in the middle of such an… interesting group of people was probably a little strange. One of the larger men looked from Rapunzel to Varian; the boy shrank back under his gaze, shifting closer to Eugene as he did so. The man’s eyes narrowed, but he moved on, disappearing into the crowd. Varian shuddered- he didn’t look like one of Merrick’s men, but one could never be certain.

Eugene paused when Varian drifted close. The brunette followed the boy’s eyeline, just catching the strange man vanishing into the crowd. Eugene pursed his lips, looping an arm around Varian’s shoulders. Varian felt his nerves settle at the touch, breathing easier. Eugene patted at his back, comforting.

“C’mon kid,” he said, “Sooner we got the alchemy shop, sooner we’re out of here and on the road again, right?”

Varian leaned into Eugene’s side, sinking deeper into the feeble, protective half-hug. He tried to calm his racing thoughts, with limited success.

“Yeah,” the boy said, trying to sound enthused. “Yeah, of course.”

They moved on together, sticking to side streets and alleyways, keeping well out of the public eye. Vardaros had a certain feeling to it- it gave Varian the constant urge to check over his shoulder. Like the city itself might swallow him up if he wasn’t careful. Varian felt guilty by association just by walking around. Something about Vardaros made him nervous- be it the patrons or the looming, constricting walls of the canyon surrounding the city- and Varian couldn’t wait to be back on the road.

The side street they were on opened up into another large courtyard, surrounded on all sides by shoddy looking buildings. In the very center was a large fountain, long since died up and left to crumble. The cracked cobblestones shifted slightly under Varian’s boots, crumbling as he walked. Eugene’s arm was solid on his shoulders, tugging him along and keeping him away from prying eyes. Varian’s gaze drifted along the wall of a nearby building, where a large board was put up. Bounties, he realized, looking at nearly fifty different pictures all tacked up haphazardly. The board was nearly caked with wanted posters, some official from different kingdoms, some very obviously from different gangs and organizations. Varian slipped out from under Eugene’s arm, and looked closer.

He caught sight of some familiar faces, Andrew, the Stabbingtons, a few others he recognized from prison, but one bounty was painted with damning perfection and put right smack in the middle of the board.

Varian’s eyes widened when he saw his own face staring back at him.

He stumbled over a cracked cobblestone, jerking to a halt. Varian heard, more than felt, his breath hitch. How had they already- so quickly-

Shit.

“Uh. Guys?” he called softly. Both adults turned to see what he was looking at. The poster of Varian’s face was blatantly obvious, as was the ludicrously high price of eighteen-hundred gold for a live capture. Varian’s bounty hadn’t even been that high when he’d been accused of attacking the princess- and if the large stamp of bright red ink in the bottom corner was any indication, Merrick wanted Varian very badly.

“Oh. Uh.” Eugene said, shifting closer to the wall. “That is a… very high number.”

Varian nodded, stunned, biting his lip. How long had the poster been up? It couldn’t have been awfully long, the parchment hadn’t even started to degrade from being outside yet. The anxiety began to creep back in, a sick, cloying feeling. Varian bit a little harder into his lip- who had seen the wanted poster yet? He knew they had been careful, but even Eugene had mentioned that they probably had a few more days before a bounty would go out. They thought they��d have more time before word would get out, before they’d have to be overly cautious. Varian looked back to the poster, his heart sinking.

It seems their time had run out.

“What are we looking at- oh.” Rapunzel's voice cut off as she got a look at the poster. Varian’s terrified little face stared back, immortalized in ink and parchment. Varian couldn’t help but feel a little offended, at least his Coronian wanted posters had made him look scary, not like a frightened baby bunny. Eugene patted him on the back, sympathetic, before reaching forward and tearing the poster off the wall.

“Hey, at least they got your nose right,” the man grumbled, looking once at the paper before shoving it into his pocket. Rapunzel looked nervous, scanning the crowd. Varian did the same, not arguing as she reached a hand for him. The boy took her hand without question, following as Rapunzel tugged him away from the board. The three Coronians dipped into the shadow of a stall, huddling in a circle and looking at each other for a plan. Rapunzel dropped her grip once Varian was turned away, grabbing up their bag of supplies, but she shifted so that she was shoulder to shoulder with him, as if assuring herself that he was still there with physical contact.

“Forget the alchemy,” she said quickly, “We’ve got to get out of the city.”

“Agreed,” both Eugene and Varian said at the same time. Rapunzel was already moving back into the street, the boys following her lead-

A rough hand closed around Varian’s wrist.

The alchemist winced as he was forced to stop, looking over to see the man who had been looking at him oddly before. The man held up another copy of the wanted poster, gruffly shoving it in Varian’s face.

“This you?” the man asked, shaking the parchment.

The boy backed up as much as he could, nose wrinkling at the smell of the man’s foul breath.

“Nope!” he said, trying for a peppy smile, “Can’t say it is, sorry sir-”

The man reached a calloused, filthy hand up and tore Varian’s hood down, his eyes immediately going to the stripe in the boy’s hair. His gnarled, pockmarked face split into a wide grin, and the grip on Varian’s wrist got tighter.

“I think it is,” the man said. His greasy, black hair fell forwards into his face as he leaned forward into Varian’s space. “And that means I am about to be very rich.”

The boy tugged a little harder on his wrist, his other hand reaching for one of his bombs on his belt- this was exactly why they shouldn’t have come to the city, they should have just foraged for something to eat. Ruddiger hissed at the man from his place on Varian’s shoulder, growling like a little motor-

A familiar figure loomed up behind Varian, and the alchemist caught sight of a silver knife before Eugene Fitzherbert’s voice drifted between the boy and the man holding him.

“Problem, sir?” Eugene asked, the silver of his knife glinting in the weak sunlight of Vardaros’ underbelly. The man went pale, quickly letting go of Varian’s wrist. The boy clutched his hand close, rubbing at the spot where he knew a bruise was beginning to form and backing into Eugene’s chest. The man scowled, looking at Eugene with a murderous expression.

“No trouble,” he hissed, stormy grey eyes flicking from Eugene to the knife, to Varian, then back to the knife.

“Good.” Eugene said. “If that’s all, my brother and I will be going. You have yourself a nice, quiet day.”

The man’s expression darkened, but he still backed away from the Coronians. Eugene set a hand on Varian’s elbow, pushing the boy back towards Rapunzel and behind him. Varian had seen the expression on Eugene’s face a few times, the grim set of teeth and furrowed brows that only showed up when the man was furious with whatever was in front of him. Even when they’d been enemies, Varian had never seen it directed towards him- but he had seen it directed towards others before… Zhan Tiri, the Stabbingtons, Merrick.

And to Aldred.

The grey eyed thug vanished from sight. Varian saw Eugene’s shoulders slump with relief, the man’s posture sagging.

“Let’s get out of here,” Eugene said, shuffling his family forward nervously. “I don’t think we have a lot of time before nosey over there tries his hand at something else.”

Rapunzel nodded in agreement, and together the three of them hurried to gather their supplies and move on. Varian followed in her shadow, meekly hiding behind her. As they scurried off, leaving the market in the dust, none of the Coronians noticed a set of grey eyes following them, nor the scraggly, malicious smile splitting a pockmarked face.

The man turned, disappearing into the crowds like smoke in the air.

>>><<<

When Arianna met Merrick for the second time, he seemed smug. Something in the way he smiled at her and her husband put the queen on the defensive. It had been days locked away in isolation in the cold, damp, inky depths of the dungeon- and to see her jailer return in such high spirits made Arianna’s hackles raise. Her first thought was for Varian- if Merrick had found her boy, harmed a hair on his head-

“So, I’ve been thinking,” Merrick said, leaning up against the wall across from Arianna’s cell. “We kinda got started on the wrong foot.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” she asked, crossing her arms. Merrick’s grin only widened.

“It’s what I’m calling it, sure.”

“And that’s the only thing that matters?”

Merrick paused, pretending to think before nodding with a grin.

“Yep,” he said, popping the p. “Now. Okay. So I know it’s been rough, and I do so apologize for the way you’ve been treated- our fight isn’t with Corona, it’s with the crow, after all. But since he’s got the both of you convinced that he’s innocent, or whatever, I’m afraid we’re going to have to resort to… drastic measures.”

His flesh hand waved in a complex motion, and Arianna saw toxic green eyes twitch. Sparks leapt from Merrick’s outstretched hand, flying forwards unnaturally and moving directly into Frederic’s face. The man stumbled back, coughing roughly before suddenly jerking to a stop. Arianna watched in horror as her husband’s eyes glazed over and nearly unfocused- the man almost slumped over from his own weight.

“What did you do?!” she demanded, glaring at the teenager in front of her. Merrick grinned, flexing his natural hand.

“Told her I didn’t screw it up,” the man muttered to himself before turning to Arianna. “And don’t worry, queenie-bee,” his grin went sharp, “I merely… convinced him to see things my way. Freddy, darling?”

Frederic snapped to attention, glazed eyes focusing on Merrick through the bars. Merrick stood a little taller- Arianna tensed at the look of absolute malice on his face.

“Tell me, where would your daughter take the crow?” Merrick asked, crossing his arms and looking expectant.

“I don’t know.” Frederic mumbled- Arianna felt herself slump in relief. They may not have known for sure where Rapunzel would have taken Varian, but they did have a few ideas between the two of them. Merrick’s face darkened, but he still pulled a key from his pocket nonetheless and opened Frederic’s cell.

“So, you were telling the truth then. That… isn’t ideal.” Merrick muttered. “But I guess that’s why we improvise.”

He turned to Arianna, who slowly backed away from the iron bars of her own cell. Fear pulsed through her, but she forced herself into a straight back and a stiff lip. She glared at her jailer, even as he pulled a face at her.

“Ah, well.” Merrick shrugged, shaking out both hands as if the metal one could get as sore as his original. “Guess I’ll be needing both of you. Pain in the ass, but c’est la vie!”

He did the same motion again- Arianna felt a rise of panic as she pressed herself into the stones at her back. The man scoffed as the sparks grew from his hand once more, looking her dead in the eye.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “It’s just like falling asleep… and when you wake up there’ll be one less evil in the world.”

The sparks hit her dead in the face- Arianna coughed roughly as she breathed them in. A sudden urge to sleep overtook her, clouding her thoughts like smoke in a closed room. She clenched her fists against the stone wall at her back, shaking her head. She had to fight it, if not for herself than for her children- Varian and Rapunzel would need all the help they could get…

Arianna grit her teeth, shaking her head once more. The spell pushed at her consciousness once more, the most aggressive attack yet, but then… silence. The smoke in the crevices between her thoughts dissipated- Arianna stood a little straighter as the feeling of drowsy claws trying to drag her under let go. The spell… hadn’t took? Arianna panicked a little, her mind reeling; the spell hadn’t worked, but what to do about that fact?

Thinking quickly, Arianna tried to mimic Frederic’s stance, slumping a little and unfocusing her eyes. If Merrick couldn’t tell the difference, then maybe she could escape? Or find help, at least. Arianna stared blankly at the floor, trying to school her face into a lax expression- she shoved the panic down deep into her chest and waited with hitching breath.

There was the sound of jingling keys, and a lock being flicked.

“See? Easy.” Merrick muttered to himself, “Just gotta force two innocent people into giving me information, like that’s morally justifiable.”

Arianna’s cell popped open just like Frederic’s had, and the Queen let out a small sigh of relief. Merrick grumbled to himself as he turned around, walking from the room. His whole demeanour had changed, the false pep long gone. The act, it seemed, had been dropped. His shoulders slouched, face flipping into a small frown as he waved at them to leave their cells.

“Follow me, then,” he sighed. Frederic began a lumbering gait forwards- if Arianna didn’t know any better, she would think he was sleepwalking. She mimicked his posture, silently following the two men up the stairs. Her thoughts were flying a mile a minute- why hadn’t the spell worked? It hadn’t worked on Varian either… what connected them that didn’t also connect Frederic? The halls of her home, charred but still standing at least, flew by as Arianna’s thoughts grew more and more wild.

She could see ash and burned lumber being cleared away by maids and guards alike, the entirety of Corona brought to their knees by the band led by the man in front of her. Countless members of Merrick’s group kept watch over the castle staff, keeping them in line. She felt her teeth grit, hoping that her people had at least been treated with respect during their time since the takeover… no one seemed worse for wear, but she could see the shock and fear in their eyes as their monarchy went walking past. A large part of her wanted to call out to them, to tell them it was going to be alright, but she couldn’t. She needed to be smart about this- and the opportunity she’d been given was worth too much to pass up.

Merrick led them to one of the council rooms, one that Arianna had never really used in her time as queen. It was a smaller space, only twenty by twenty meters, with a large table set in the very center. Cerise was there as well, slouching in an ornate chair with her boots kicked up on the oak surface. She looked smug, rocking her chair on the back two legs. When Merrick entered the room, she let her chair hit the polished wooden floor with a thunk- and her grin turned into a smile with too many teeth.

“So it worked this time?” she asked, her voice echoing in the chamber. Merrick scowled, shoving at her as he drew close.

“You shut it,” he said, “I don’t know what happened with the crow- but I didn’t screw it up.”

“Sounds like denial to me, but whatever helps you sleep at night.” The younger woman grinned, “And we have news.”

Arianna tensed, but followed Frederic as Merrick gestured for them to sit. She did so, holding her head down so they couldn’t see the fright in her eyes. Had they found Varian?

“Did one of the patrols catch them?” Merrick asked, decidedly more excited than Arianna would think he could sound.

“Not quite.” Cerise grunted. She pulled out a map of the nearby territories, laying it out and setting it on the table. Arianna could see countless notes and lines drawn over its old, brittle surface. Cerise pointed with a thin finger, gesturing to a large city.

“They were spotted in Vardaros,” she said, and Arianna’s heart dropped. Cerise kept going, ignoring how Merrick shoved into her space to stand so they were side by side. “About a day ago.”

“All the way out there?” Merrick mumbled, “Damn, they’ve made good time.”

“They must be walking in basically a straight line.” Cerise agreed, “But I think I know where they’re headed.”

“You just said they were in Vardaros,” Merrick said, confused.

“Yeah, were in Vardaros- they would’ve moved on by now.”

“But why would they do that? The place is perfect to hide the crow.”

“Exactly, it’s too perfect. I’m willing to bet they stopped for supplies and kept going.”

“But where? They could be anywhere by now-”

“Not exactly.” Cerise cut her brother off, gesturing with her finger. “Look, they started in Corona-” Her finger jabbed at the map. “-And made a beeline towards Vardaros, but didn’t stay.” Her hand moved in a perfect line across the map to land on a tiny, painted version of the city. “So, then what?”

“Then they ran to wherever they were actually headed.” Merrick said, scratching at the back of his neck. “C’mon, ‘Rise, I’m not good at this tactical shit.”

Cerise rolled her eyes, but began to elaborate. She moved her hand along the same line that it had been travelling before, moving past Vardaros and off into the outer countryside. Merrick followed her finger with interest, as did Arianna.

“If Vardaros was a stop,” Cerise explained as she did so, “Then they weren’t making a beeline for the city- they were aiming directly at their final destination and Vardaros just happened to be in the way.”

“Oh.” Merrick said, drawing it out. “Duh.”

“Yeah, duh.”

“Shut up.”

Cerise only snorted, her finger trailing to a stop on what looked like a coffee stain on the parchment. She cocked her head, raising a brow. Her eyes focused on the spot, and she leaned forward for a closer look.

“Looks like the only place nearby is a place called… Pincosta,” she mused, and Arianna could hear the confusion in her voice. The queen tried to keep her breath from hitching- Rapunzel had told them about her adventures once the Saporian memory wipe was over, she knew her daughter had been to Pincosta. The panic in her chest came back with a vengeance, loud and screaming-

“Never heard of it.” Merrick grunted, pushing his sister’s hand out of the way to get a better look. Cerise seemed unaffected, slapping him on the shoulder in offense. “What the hell is it?”

“Me neither.” Cerise said, “I think they have a diamond or something that’s important. I dunno.”

“Why the hell would they go there? It’s out in the middle of nowhere, no fortifications. It’s just some shithole-”

“Makes it the perfect place to hide a crow from a pair of foreigners, then, doesn’t it?” Cerise murmured, something toxic entering her voice. Merrick’s confusion slowly morphed into something smug, the two siblings looking at each other with barely contained glee.

“Think you can beat them there?” Merrick’s voice was halfway to a laugh, his teeth flashing in the sunlight.

“Oh, I know I can.” Cerise said, “And if he’s that close to the border, then he’s close to-”

“Yep.”

“How convenient for us.”

“Yep.”

Cerise laughed, something nearly exasperated. “Bless the Highers, finally something goes our way.”

“It’s about time.” Merrick said in the same tone. “What will you need?”

“Just my horse.” Cerise said quickly. “I don’t want to spook them- small and discrete is the name of the game here.”

Merrick turned to Frederic, grinning. “Freddy, darling,” The man said, “If you could order your men to saddle the horse for my dear elder sister, that would be amazing.”

Frederic nodded at the command, standing from his chair and lumbering away.

“Gods, that’s so creepy.” Merrick said, watching the man go. “Like, really creepy.”

“Yeah, but useful.” Cerise shrugged. Merrick pursed his lips but nodded, conceding the point. Cerise smiled, turning to her brother with something feral in her eyes.

“I trust you’ll be able to take care of things while I’m gone?” she asked, and Merrick nodded. He looked down to the map, and then back up to his sister.

“Oh course,” the man assured, “We’ll be waiting for you here.”

Cerise firmly clapped Merrick on the shoulder, passing him and heading for the door. She had nearly made it out of the room when Merrick cleared his throat; she paused, looking back to him with an expectant look. Merrick seemed to want to say something, but he closed his mouth with a click, smiling instead. His next words sent shivers down Arianna’s spine.

“Happy hunting.”

#varian #tts #tangled the series #fic

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zoya-nazyalantsov · 4 years

Text

fighting with a true love is boxing with no gloves

i have a thing for angry love confessions so heres some zoyalai. sorry if the formatting is weird this is the first fan fiction ive ever posted lmao. enjoy some angst luvs <3. i’ll post the ao3 link when i get an account :)

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26349064

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Zoya avoided Nikolai’s gaze from across the war room table. It wasn’t like her to be non confrontational but the Shu ring that glittered on his left hand said otherwise. It’d been a month since the wedding. She still remembered the way he looked at her from the aisle. His usually bright eyes looked sad and lost. She simply stared back, forcing ice into her gaze. She meant for it to be comforting, to encourage him to carry on. If he didn’t feel strong, she would be strong for him. He must have misread her expression because she barely saw him the rest of the night, save for one pitiful dance.

“We’re facing pressure on the Fjerdan border.” said Genya. “The First Army’s troops are having trouble holding the soldiers back.” Zoya was pulled out of her thoughts. She gathered the reports in front of her.

“We must fight them off. Nina says the Fjerdans are likely to use the weaponized Grisha soon.” she said, unable to keep the hatred out of her voice. It was disgusting how the Fjerdans were manipulating the small science. But she felt a sense of pride towards Nina, who’d risked her life for the safety of her country.

“We’ll reinforce our troops with some from Keramzin and the Shu Han border,” said Nikolai. “I don’t plan on pulling all soldiers from there but with our new alliance, we can refocus efforts to where they’re needed most.” His warm hazel eyes flashed to Zoya’s. Was he looking for a reaction? She turned her head. She would not give him one.

“We should think about putting some Grisha soldiers to help the First Army.” said David. Zoya saw the uncertain looks from around the room. “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “It was just a thought.” Nikolai nodded.

“It's a possibility,” he said. “If worst comes to worst, I’m sure the First Army will welcome the Grisha with open arms. Let’s wait for further information from Nina before we decide what to do.” With that declaration, the meeting was over. Nikolai caught Zoya’s eye as he stood, indicating he wanted to talk. It was clear that he didn’t want to talk about strategy or anything relating to her job. She turned her head away, as she’d done every other time. Now that he was married, they had to at least maintain some semblance of professionalism. As officers and officials cleared out, he cleared his throat.

“General Nazyalensky, I’d like to speak with you for a moment.” It was a request as much as it was a command. There was a certain edge in his voice, she heard. It was void of the usual Nikolai cheerieness and much more cold. Zoya stood from her chair, face a blank slate as it screeched against the floor. She saw Genya and David exchange a worried glance as she made her way over to the king.

“I’ll speak with you later, Genya.” she said. The couple made their way out the door, leaving Zoya and Nikolai alone. He motioned for her to walk with him. They exited the room, taking several turns along different twisting halls before they arrived in the gardens. He was uncharacteristically silent, which caused worry to seep in, though she tried not to show it.

“Zoya,” he said. Annoyance. Hurt.

“Yes Your Majesty?” she asked. Frustration contorted his handsome face as he ran a hand through his hair.

“Stop.”

“Stop what?” She knew what he was referring to of course. She had no intention of stopping, however. It was for their own good.

“You won’t speak to me, you won’t listen to me, you go out of your way to even avoid looking at me. You’ve put up a wall between us-” He didn’t understand.

“Don’t you get it, Nikolai?” she snapped. “There is no us.” Pain. “At least, not like we were before.”

“That’s what this is about?” he exclaimed. “I’ve been sitting here for a month, begging you to spare a glance at me. Nothing had to change.” he said.

“It did.” she said firmly. “I couldn’t let myself pretend that we could remain the same after…” she trailed off. She had to choose her words carefully. “That’s the difference between me and you. You wanted to pretend that everything was going to be okay, that it would work out in the end.” The resentment in her voice was as clear as the night sky above them. She hated it. “It wouldn’t have been. Not for me.”

“Do you think this is any better?” he asked, gesturing between them. “Saints Zoya, I’m your friend, at the very least. You can’t just cut me out of your life.” She knew he was right but it wouldn’t stop her from trying.

“I don’t want to. I’m just doing what I know you won’t because it's best for the both of us.” she said.

“How do you know if avoiding me is best when we’re both getting hurt in the process? Neither of us want this.” he said.

“Can’t you just accept when something is over?” Secretly, she felt as if she was being torn to shreds inside. It started as a small feeling, insignificant yet searing. Then it burned like a flame, spreading pricks to the corners of her eyes.

“No.” The defiance in his voice sparked a dangerous ember of hope that she’d tried so hard to smother.

“We have bigger problems, Nikolai. The Darkling. Fjerda. We’re too old for this ‘will they-won’t they’ game.” she said, shoving past him to leave. He blocked the exit, catching up with her.

“You can’t just outgrow feelings. And it’s not a game. This is our life, yours and mine.” he argued back. She’d never resented his persistence as much as in that moment. “Is that how you feel, Nazyalensky?” They lingered by a rose bush, dew drops illuminating their petals in the pale moonlight. “Like everything between us is just a game? I can assure you, it’s not, but if your stubbornness refuses to allow you to believe that, I can’t force you.” He was upset with her, obviously. His words cut deep, like a jagged knife thrust into her flesh. Good, she thought. Maybe it would push him away. He suddenly took a step closer, catching her off guard, though she stood her ground.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” she gritted out. He glowered down at her, golden hair tousled from running his hands through it.

“Well, you said it,” Zoya sighed, frustrated at the situation.

“Nikolai Lantsov, you mean more to me than you could possibly know. Not only as my king, but also as my friend. Believe me when I tell you that what I am doing is best for both of us.” she said, hoping it would satisfy him. Judging by the look on his face, however, it didn’t.

“Stop pushing me away.”

“Have you been listening to a word I said?” she exclaimed.

“I’m not giving up on this. You can’t make me.” he said.

“Is that a challenge?” she asked. Arguing with him really drained her sometimes.

“Yes it is.” he said, exasperated. “Saints!” he yelled. “Haven’t you figured out I’m in love with you?” He stormed out of the garden, leaving Zoya alone. His words rung in her ears. He was in love with her. And deep down, no matter how hard she tried, she knew she was in love with him too.

“Saints,” she murmured. “What did I do?”

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pippki-writes · 3 years

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An Ill-Fitting Name: Snippet 4

NOTES:

Snippet 1

Snippets 2 & 3

Features lyrics from Danny Schmidt’s “This Too Shall Pass”

Faoust belongs to @thebiggestnerd - she writes him, the healer (whose contribution I summarized in this snippet, I don’t think she comes up again much for our murderboy here so I didn’t go too in depth with her) - everyone else is mine.

Longer post, 8,066 words folks! Buckle up.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The name is like an ill-fitting coat, but it’s either wear it, or go naked in the cold, metaphorically speaking. He knows Faoust will kill him, but he’s not dead yet.

The officer sitting outside the room tilts her chair back on its legs, in one ear her radio turned low and largely ignored, holding her phone out playing music and keeping her other ear tilted to the room and its occupant for signs of life. He listens to the music coming from her phone:

We think too big

We think our self is one whole thing

And we claim that this collection

Has a name and is a being

But deep inside

When every cell divides

Well, it sets upon the rule that states

Self-interest is divine

He scrapes out an involuntary cough, and the officer lets her chair fall forward as she twists to check on him.

She tries to interrogate him, but he can’t talk, and only whispers “no.” He writes on her notepad, “I’m expecting a visitor,” and refuses to communicate further. His intuition is that Faoust will come here for him eventually, though he doesn’t know how long Faoust will let him live. Maybe Faoust won’t come while he’s in the hospital. But hovering over the edge of the pain, death feels certain and he knows where it will come from.

Finally, a visitor arrives. He hears the footsteps approaching, certainly heavier than any of the nurses that have tended to him, and the sound of a respectful shuffling in place, acknowledging the officer guarding his hospital room.

A familiar voice speaks. “Hey. I’m here to see my friend Asmodai, officer…?”

He can hear the sound of the officer crossing her arms, but she neither gets up nor offers her name. “Don’t suppose you might be able to tell me what the hell happened to him and how he ended up here?”

“Nah, wish I could. Is he ok?”

“He’s not in great shape. I’m not a doctor but he’s bad off. And not the kind of bad off that happens accidentally.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Almost as crazy as whoever did this. You don’t have any ideas?”

“Nah. I’m not really an ideas guy. Just a guy who worries about my friends. Can I go see him or...?”

The officer gives a defeated little grunt. “Yeah, sure. Go ahead. We can talk later.”

Dorien walks into the room as though he belongs there. Machines. IVs. In the middle of the room, bed propped up, staring at him, there’s that bastard Asmodai. Dorien takes a moment to breathe, staring back, looking angry. Dorien reminds himself why he is here. Not to kill him. Not to bring retribution. Just information to help Faoust. He clenches and unclenches his hands.

It takes Dorien a moment to realize what Asmodai is doing. The slight, strange sound, chest heaving—he is, very quietly, laughing.

He hasn’t come to terms with how to refer to himself—he is no more Isaiah than he was Asmodai, but he supposes, out of respect for the wish of a self who once knew what it wanted, he will call himself Isaiah until it fits. Or until he’s dead.

Isaiah laughs until the sound breaks into a cough. For starters, this was not the visitor he was expecting. And he can see why he would have been drawn to Dorien. Tall, dark-haired, handsome, and vulnerable. So many of his favorite things. The wizard Asmodai, before he stole his name, had been much the same.

Dorien keeps himself in check, and comes closer to the bedside. He doesn’t want the officer to hear him.

“What’s so fucking funny?” Dorien growls quietly.

Isaiah frowns. Talking will be an effort. He can’t even breathe too deeply, thanks to Dorien’s best attempts to slowly crush his ribs the other night after what he tried to do to Faoust. This is merely a fact—he doesn’t feel particular malice over it. He tries to choose his words carefully, so as not to waste them. There’s no volume, only whispering, but even the whispers are so resolute, so final. The playfulness of Asmodai is gone.

“Too much...to explain. What ...do you want...to know?”

Dorien folds his arms, lest he be tempted to do anything. “C’mon, what do you think I’d be here wanting to know. The magic-blocking cuffs. How do we take them off? Where’s the key?”

Isaiah shakes his head. “Didn’t get...a key. Wouldn’t...have wanted it.”

Dorien glares down at the bastard who nearly succeeded at killing the love of his life, and proceeds to try to get information out of him while texting Faoust. The conversation is slow going. The answers Dorien gets are halting and unsatisfying.

Faoust texts Dorien: "I want to know what he thinks should happen next."

Dorien looks down at Asmodai. “So what do you think should happen next?”

Isaiah sighs, unfazed. “Talking...not exactly....easy. Paper? Pen? Your phone?”

Dorien looks around for paper. He’s dumb, but not dumb enough to hand over his phone. He finds a notepad and a cheap pen in the desk drawer, and throws them on Asmodai’s lap.

Isaiah scribbles, handwriting messy and difficult on the flimsy pad, “He kills me for what” a scribble then, crossing out an “As,” and the writing resumes, “I’ve done. Why wouldn’t he? It’s inevitable.”

Dorien tears the paper off the notepad and holds it up, taking a picture to send to Faoust. “You’ve really fucked up, Asmodai.”

Isaiah’s mouth twitches a little at the name.

Above the top of the note, in the picture, Faoust can see Asmodai staring at the camera. There is no fear, nothing pathetic in the way he looks. Resolute. Certain. Final.

Faoust frowns. He had hoped for a bit more fight. But this is sort of like putting down a rabid dog at this point. It's not enjoyable for anyone involved.

Faoust: "tell him I'm disappointed that it came to this"

Faoust: "tell him I'll be there soon. As soon as my magic is back"

Dorien reads his phone, and before he can speak another note is being waved at him that reads “tell him come talk to me himself. This is fucking ridiculous.” Dorien sighs and snatches the note, snapping a picture for Faoust. There is a touch of defiance in Isaiah’s eye.

Faoust's lip curls in irritation and a tiny bit of embarrassment. Fine.

Faoust makes his way to the hospital, to the third floor, to the charge nurse.

“Looking for my friend,” says Faoust, “A John Doe?”

The charge nurse points with a pen. “The room with the officer. There’s already a visitor and technically I shouldn’t let too many people visit at once, but you know what? The world is hell. This hospital is hell. Go nuts.”

“Amen,” Faoust replies, heading over to the officer. “Hi, I'm here for my friend. I guess I have to answer questions first?”

The officer squints up at him suspiciously. “Damn, did the city call a prettyboy convention and I missed the memo?” She lets the chair rest back on all four legs. “I dunno, what do you know about what happened to your friend?”

“Not much. We were out partying, I know pandemic and all, but spare me the lecture. I told him goodbye and to call me when he got home but he never did.” Faoust pauses. “I heard he's bad. Maybe a hit and run?”

“Sure. Sure. Right.” The officer eyes him for a moment. “You’re a better liar than your friend. Go on in.”

“Liar? I- ugh. Fine.” He gives up on the officer and goes in the room.

“Alright you piece of shit. I'm here. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Isaiah looks at Faoust appreciatively. Yeah, he can see why he did all that shit. He sighs, wishing he could just fucking talk, and settles for hurriedly writing on the notepad.

Dorien mutters softly to Faoust. “He can’t talk..apparently.”

Faoust chuckles a little. “I should expect so.”

Isaiah rips off the note and holds it out. It begins with “A” scratched out and then “I resented the power you had over me. Wanted you to suffer. Wanted to kill you, and Dorien, and take your name, take your power. And didn’t want to kill you. Wanted to fuck and kill with you. Poorer judgment won out. Tried to make you suffer.” He sighs, frustrated at the time it takes to write, already writing on a new note.

Faoust reads the note and sighs. It was just as he thought.

“I wanted to just keep it fun and casual.” Faoust grits out through his teeth, “Why did you have to complicate things?”

Isaiah tosses Faoust a finished note: “No point in apologies. Won’t change what was done. No actions to right it” and starts writing a response to the question, tapping the pen on his chin, thinking.

“Wasn’t as fun fucking and killing without you. Didn’t like that.”

“That's called friendship, you absolute dolt.”

Isaiah pauses, and writes “Asmodai didn’t do well with having friends.”

Faoust runs his hands through his hair in exasperation. “Wait-Asmodai? Third person? Who the fuck are we talking to then?”

Isaiah makes a face. It’s difficult to explain. He writes. “I am. Was. Asmodai. For too long I think.”

He pauses, rolls his eye. He doesn’t feel like Isaiah either.

“I did what he did. But don’t feel what he felt, anymore. Memories, yes. Feeling? No.”

Faoust pauses. “So is..is Asmodai gone?”

“Depends on what you mean. The me that felt what he—I felt?”

Isaiah makes a quiet frustrated noise and slams the pen down. He is so tired of writing. He jots another note, mindful of trying to do magic around either of them. “Can I try magic on my voice? You mind?”

Faoust shrugs. “Go for it.”

Isaiah holds his right hand around his throat, eye closed. Healing has never been his strong suit, but he knows enough to get by. He just needs to be able to talk. His hand glows faintly.

When he speaks, his voice is rough, not much volume to it but it’s more than a whisper.

“If I don’t feel the things I felt when I called myself Asmodai, am I Asmodai?”

Faoust thinks. This complicates matters. “I'll be frank. If I were to leave you be, what would you do? Don't lie to me.”

“I would leave you alone.” Isaiah shrugs. “The things I ...Asmodai...I felt, I know them. Factually. I don’t feel them anymore.” He looks at Faoust sharply. “But I am responsible for what I did.”

Faoust thinks for a moment. “This is complicated. I'll need some time with this. What do you think you'll do when you're out of the hospital?”

“What do you mean, when I’m out of the hospital? You’re going to kill me. No further planning needed.”

“Well, I was thinking about waiting when you got out of the hospital regardless.”

Isaiah sighs. “Wish I’d known that sooner. Might’ve kept this magical existential crisis at bay.” He shakes his head. “No. Probably not. Asmodai—I. Fucked up too much. There was no way he...I...would win. It’s certain. You will kill me.” He shakes his head again.

“Look. I don't want to kill you. Asmodai. At all. At this point it's about putting down an animal. That's all. And now there's this whole thing that you're not even who I knew anymore? This complicates things. Shit, if I were to kill you, it wouldn't even feel right.”

Isaiah makes a frustrated noise. “Fuck. The only reason I’m like this is because you’re going to kill me.”

“Do you want me to kill you?”

Isaiah dodges the question. “Back when I started killing to take power and names, I bound my own name away, far beyond my memory, and it would only come back if I was certain I was going to die. So I could die not as whatever fucking asshole whose name I stole. But as myself. Or at least. In the name I was born with, right?

“I was Asmodai. I was happy being Asmodai. But now?

“I’m no more Asmodai than I am this damn name my shit mother gave me.”

Faoust thinks. “Well, look. Fine. I'll kill you. Put you down. But I have to wait. I can't do anything until I have my magic back.”

Isaiah twists his lips a little. “Hm. Can’t help there. Told your boy here, I don’t have a key for the cuffs.”

This whole time, Dorien has just been watching, arms crossed and not believing this bullshit.

“Yeah,” Faoust says, “I heard. I've just got to wait. So you've got to wait.”

Isaiah sighs again. “Isaiah. Isaiah James. My name.” He shrugs. “Me. Not me.”

Isaiah twists his lips briefly in disgust at the taste of his own name on his tongue. “If you’re going to kill me, you ought to have my name.”

Faoust nods and rubs his face. “Look, I'll put you down. I will. But it's going to take like at least a week for me to get my magic back.”

Isaiah gives another shrug. “You know where to find me. I know what I’ve done. It’s only right.”

“Alright. You're not going anywhere?”

Isaiah gives him a flat look. “Where and how the hell would I manage to do that?”

“I mean, you've got magic. I don't. You could pull out some magic to take yourself somewhere.”

Isaiah rubs his fingers together on his right hand, little sparks arcing between them as he stares vacantly at his hand. “Where would I go? For what purpose? I know my fate.”

Faoust nods, satisfied. “Alright. Well then, we'll be on our way. You've got my number.”

Isaiah nods, dismissing the sparks. “I’ll be waiting.”

Isaiah wonders if it’s worth healing himself--physically, at any rate. He closes his eye and takes stock of all his pain. So many choices. And what else is he supposed to do with his time? The burns, he thinks, he will work on those. He hovers his right hand over his burned forearm, wrapped loosely in the day’s fresh gauze, and slowly works a healing spell, distracted by memories of the fight. Remembering the moment it all turned on him, when help came for Faoust while he had no one. He shakes his head, his thoughts wandering around. So many emotions that ruled him that he’s no longer bound by. Though perhaps he should be. He ought to be more angry. But he is mostly hollowed out. He does not even notice when his thoughts slip over the witch and his magic doesn’t so much as flicker, the healing steadily and slowly knitting in his skin.

Those were Asmodai’s problems.

The worst part is the waiting. Or perhaps the worst part, right now, is the burns on his arm—his healing magic is slow, the process tedious, and his head is empty of any warming memory to draw upon to make the healing go faster. There are memories, so many memories, but as he turns his mind to each of them in turn he feels nothing he can pull from. Perhaps it would have been better not to restore the nerve endings that had been burnt away—as they return, so too returns the opportunity for fresh pain to scream through his senses. And the drugs have trouble working their wonders as his magic interferes with the natural order of his body. Too late now, he’s already started this project. When the nurses aren’t looking in on him, he hovers his hand over the burned arm and continues the laborious process of working healing magic. Healing was never his forte. It still isn’t. Good to know, though it still seems like all he knows is a catalogue of things he was, and now isn’t.

Though perhaps, Isaiah thinks, it’s pointless to dwell on. Does he need that badly to know who he is now, if he’s only going to die? Not that he wants to die. Though, he can tell, Asmodai didn’t want to die in a particularly crazed and desperate way that Isaiah no longer feels. He doesn’t want to die, but then, he doesn’t feel a clear sense that he wants much of anything right now. From the moment the spell he placed upon himself fell away, he has simply accepted the fact of his death. Imminent. Inevitable. Deserved.

Asmodai was awful—not in a way that Isaiah feels, merely as a summary of fact considering the things that he’d done. The drives that motivated him. But to be fair, Isaiah had not been a good person either. No. He had been awful too. Killed people. Tortured them. Enjoyed it. Sought power beyond his measure, and took it.

Killed the dark wizard who taught him everything.

Sealed himself away.

What had he thought would happen, if this spell had ever had cause to come undone? He can’t remember, but he is pretty sure he would not have guessed it would leave him like this. So...uncertain.

Regret implies a level of sadness Isaiah doesn’t feel. He...wishes he had been someone different though. He wishes he had acted differently. Had recognized his limits. Recognized battles he wouldn’t win, and had the sense not to fight them.

The nurse surely notices when Isaiah’s arm does not look as bad off today as it did yesterday, putting fresh gauze on, but says nothing. Discreetly checks the patient chart—yes, third degree burns. It definitely said the patient had third degree burns. But you don’t last long in this town by asking inconvenient questions. Since the patient is conscious now, staring out the window, the nurse offers him his phone from his belongings and plugs it in for him. There’s a crack across the screen, but the phone works.

Isaiah has been working on healing his arm. It is such a slow, deliberate process. He isn’t sure why he’s doing it, but now that he’s started he’s committed to continuing. After all, what else has he got to do? His arm is still a mess of burnt tissue and pain, fresh nerve endings and the testament to his limitations.

Later, he looks through his phone, deleting pictures that bring him no particular joy to look at. Eventually he texts Faoust, “Have you decided how you’ll do it?” and nothing else.

Faoust: “something quick. Could stab you right in the heart.”

The heart had been Asmodai’s favorite, ripped from his victims—sometimes raw, other times he’d toast them before devouring them whole.

Isaiah: “poetic. fitting.”

Faoust: "look man. I really don't want to do this. You could go about your business. I don't care"

Isaiah sighs, and leaves the message on read for a few minutes. He thinks.

Isaiah: “I did wrong by you. I accept responsibility for it.”

Faoust: "and I'm telling you it's fine."

Isaiah waits again before responding.

Isaiah: “now I’m the one that needs to think on that”

Faoust: "Asmodai tried to kill me. He failed. You're here now. Not the same as Asmodai. It's not the same kill for me. Look, I beat the shit out of you. That should cover it. Do you really want to die?"

Isaiah sighs to himself.

Isaiah: “no, I don’t”

Faoust: "then I'm giving you your fucking out. Take it."

Isaiah pauses. Again, Faoust giving him the opportunity not to die, after everything he...Asmodai...he did. After so many times he honestly deserved to die. He was a warped and twisted thing, not right, and surely not to be trusted. But fuck. He didn’t really want to die.

Isaiah: “...ok.”

Isaiah: “fine”

Faoust: "want me to call a healer for you?"

Isaiah: “...seriously?”

Faoust: "otherwise you're going to be stuck at the hospital forever. No offense but I want you out of here."

Isaiah: “sure, sure. If I’m healing myself it’ll take forever”

Faoust: "you can't kill her"

Isaiah: “of course”

Isaiah thinks about the warning, which is fair, considering his history. He doesn’t even feel like killing anyone right now. Which is strange to him. He wonders to himself as he waits if this is the right thing to do, not insisting Faoust kill him. If he’s just avoiding fate and what he deserves. But when Faoust arrives in his hospital room with a healer, and she uses magic to transport the three of them out of his hospital room, he just watches quietly, making no protest. The empty alley she takes them to is cold, and Isaiah’s broken body falls to the ground painfully without a bed beneath him anymore.

He sucks it up, grits his teeth, and withstands the pain and the cold. Not out of any sense of pride, but because he feels he deserves it. He lists out for the healer the procedures the doctors had done, along with his own meager attempts at healing, and in turn, she tells him what she’ll be able to do. The metal they used to set his bones will always bring him some pain and discomfort, and there’s nothing she can do for his eye, the curse--

“The eye,” says Isaiah, touching his cheek lightly, “has been there a long time now. It’s fine.”

The magic of healing is painful, and there is a lot of it to be done. Isaiah doesn’t scream, not the way he did when Faoust beat him in the first place. He endures, and tries to focus on the fact that he deserves this pain. This doesn’t stop a few strangled screams and growls from bubbling up. Faoust watches impassively, satisfied.

When it’s finished, Isaiah breathes heavily for a moment, feeling every nerve on fire, taking stock of how he feels. He sits up, slowly, impressed and in awe. He gives thanks to the healer, to Faoust, and stands up shakily on knees that are no longer shattered. He summons up the illusion of clothes over his hospital gown, with no idea where he ought to go, what he ought to do. When Faoust tells him to get the fuck out of here, he readily agrees. Not the first town he’s been kicked out of. Always violent. Always deserved.

He could teleport himself, but where the hell would he go? There’s nowhere he belongs. There’s a dull ache in his bones, and he picks a cardinal direction and starts walking toward it. The speed doesn’t matter. Isaiah doesn’t strictly need actual clothes. He could use magic to keep himself warm. But the first window shop he passes, he swaps his hospital gown for the outfit on display, and keeps walking. He walks until he’s passed by a sign indicating leaving/entering, the liminal space of one town bleeding into another, goes to the first clean motel he can find, uses his magic to procure a room, and passes out after having walked for hours.

At the hospital, a call is placed to 911. A patient is missing.

The officer assigned to take the report is the same one who had been guarding the room when Dorien and Faoust visited. With the most deadpan expression, she questions the charge nurse on duty, intoning dully, “wow, just fucking vanished, huh?”

She files a missing persons report for “Asmodai / Isaiah James,” because in spite of trying not to hear things she doesn’t want to have to question, she hears them anyway. She makes note of possible contacts / persons of interest, “Dorien” and “Faoust,” and submits her report to see if she can get away with not following up on anything further.

She doesn’t even bother running any checks on any of the names. She doesn’t find anything out about a decades-old missing persons report for a runaway boy of the name Isaiah James out of Ohio. If anyone bothered to fingerprint the victim at all to try to ID him while he was unconscious, the prints have been lost.

After all, a lot of people go missing in this town.

It’s just one more.

Her supervisor literally flips a coin to decide if such absolute bullshit shoddy work will be accepted. Tails. That’s a nope. He rejects the report, and sends her a CAD message: “hit the streets and try again sweetie.”

Officer Dannic “Dani” Voros swears, loudly, in her patrol car in the hospital parking lot, and slams her computer shut. Growls, and opens it again to search for any information she can find about Dorien and Faoust. If she can find anything, she’ll talk to them at least.

Here’s what she finds: no drivers licenses. No arrest records. No voter records. Nothing in any database she has access to. No hospital records, which no, her friend in the hospital records should NOT have looked up for her probably but dammit, this was important. Well, not important to her, but it’s what she was supposed to be doing and she was getting very annoyed with the lack of any hints of paper trail for those two.

She starts angrily and haphazardly googling search terms, and some combination of tall, mysterious, handsome, and Dorien does bring back a tabloid article about the enigmatic artist, which brings up several printed interviews and connections to a particular pre-teen punk rock band apparently bankrolled by Mr. Dorien Godforbidhehavealastname, and the names of its musicians. Actual names. First and last names, unlike those recordless bastards Dorien and Faoust. She searches the names. Property tax records. Bingo. A lead. And an address. She puts the patrol car in drive and heads out. One conversation largely conducted through the few-inch gap of a chained door later, Officer Voros has both probably offended another citizen with an inappropriate joke, and obtained an address for the two handsome strangers that called on her missing person.

The cold rain makes all this work extra annoying. She debates putting off the follow up until more clement weather. Or just never. Reluctantly she puts the patrol car in drive and heads to the address.

She looks at the apartment building as she pulls up. No, correction. She looks at the giant skeleton covered in Valentine’s decorations outside the apartment building as she pulls up. The apartment building itself is an afterthought. As she arrives, the weather around the apartment changes. Suddenly it is clear and 59 degrees.

Officer Voros just stares at the atmosphere and blinks at it like it has personally offended her. She twists in her seat to look back down the street at the weather there, then stares at the apartment again, and sinks back in her seat for a moment, closing her eyes, and thinks to herself, “thiiiiiiis. iiiiiis. some buuuuuuuullshiiiiiiiiit.”

She sighs a very angry sigh, gets out of the patrol car, and goes up to the appropriate door. She raps on the door with her very best authoritative knock.

Faoust opens the door and clocks the cop. “Hm.”

Officer Voros puts her hands on her hips and brightens comically. “And they said I’d never find the secret prettyboy convention! Those bastards once again were wrong.” She smiles, and doesn’t offer her name. “Evening citizen. I’m hoping you might help me with this absolute crazy missing persons case I’ve been cursed with.”

“Oh yeah? Who?”

“Why, your dear friend or whatever bullshit you said at the time. Asmodai? Isaiah? You know, the guy SOMEBODY in this cursed plane of existence beat all to hell and put in the hospital.”

“Wait, wait, wait. How did he go missing? He couldn't stand, let alone walk? How did you lose him?”

“Yeah! That’s the crazy part, he just. Fucking. Vanished. Shattered kneecaps, pelvis, and all. Gone. Between you and me, that’s on the hospital. We weren’t watching him anymore at that point, but now it IS my problem to, you know. Figure out what the fuck happened and make sure there’s not a homicide investigation that should be happening here.”

Faoust shakes his head in disbelief as he tries to come up with a plan. “I could give you his motel room and location if you want? I mean, I haven't heard from him since I went to go see him?”

“Sure, sure. And it’s not like it’s illegal for him to leave the hospital. If he’s fine, I just need to lay eyes on him. It just seems real fucking suspiciously inconceivable how he’d have managed that in the state he was in, ya know?”

“Yeah, no, for sure. Let me go get some paper.”

Faoust leaves her at the front door and digs around in drawers looking for paper and pen. She stands at the front door, looking inside, pondering Faoust the whole while. He hands her a note with the address of the motel Asmodai had been staying at.

“Let me know if you find anything, yeah?”

Officer Voros takes the paper. “Of course.” She takes a blank card out of her pocket, a generic business card for the police department that doesn’t have her name on it. She writes down a phone number and offers the card to Faoust. “You think of anything else helpful, call or text me. Or if your prettyboy friend Dorien knows anything either.”

“Dorien doesn't know anything. At all. Not a braincell up there. But I'll keep it in mind.” Faoust takes the card and pockets it.

“Thanks. Stay safe citizen.” She heads down the steps and back to her patrol car, looking at the address. She knows the motel.

Officer Voros looks back toward Faoust from her patrol car for a long minute before she pulls out. She doesn’t have any sort of proof necessarily, just a feeling that Faoust was lying quite smoothly out of every side of his head right to her face. She types up a field contact for alias Faoust along with the address before she leaves.

Asmodai’s motel room ends up being a dead end. There’s nothing obviously off about the room, but she gets a weird vibe. Still a suitcase here. Some knives. Nothing much else. She does not discover that the room is under a stolen credit card in another name. She doesn’t look up any other purchases that stolen card might have made to connect it to an abandoned rental car that was impounded on Faoust’s street. She types up her report and deletes “went on a wild fucking goose chase because my corporal is a dickhead” from the report.

Officer Voros swears loudly, because she realizes she didn’t ask Faoust if the mysteriously vanished bastard had. a fucking. cell phone number. She groans. She decides she’ll pretend to have thought of that tomorrow, because she doesn’t want to follow up now.

The weak and cloudy light of morning is scattered further by the cheap, hazy curtains pulled loosely across the window. Isaiah wakes up, still dressed in his stolen clothes where he passed out on top of the covers. There it is—a dull ache in his bones, a twinge in his hips and knees as he pushes himself up to sit. He looks down at his palms, and they are smooth and untroubled, marked by nothing but the simple creases of where his hand folds. He flexes his left hand. The countless scars that had made a tangled nest there in his palm, the countless times he’d cut and called upon blood magic and done only a just-good-enough job of closing the wounds, when he remembered to heal himself at all, they’re all gone.

Isaiah doesn’t even have a knife, he realizes. His...Asmodai’s favored knives were either in the clothes left in the hospital, in the rental car, or in the motel room he has no intention of returning to. But it feels like he should have a knife. He has no money, but money isn’t too necessary when you’re flush with magic and short on moral qualms against stealing.

He heads out for the day to get a knife, zipping up his stolen coat. Something simple. New. He goes to the nearest outdoors store and sees a nice Benchmade folding knife with a black-coated blade and white handle and feels drawn to it. With an effortless bit of magic, the knife disappears from the case and appears in his pocket as he leaves the parking lot.

Isaiah flips the knife open experimentally, admires it, turning his wrist this way and that to see the sides of the blade. He unlocks the blade and closes it again, clipping the knife in his pocket. He doesn’t have a plan for it, but it felt appropriate in his hand.

Isaiah has been somewhat skirting around thinking about this fact, but taking the knife in his hand he has to confront it. He’s not someone who can go work a 9 to 5 job, take a little paycheck home, find someone sweet to love him and love in turn. Whatever he does next isn’t going to be some contented kind of life. That wasn’t the lot he was born to.

What he is good at...all he has ever been good at, is violence.

He walks slowly back to the current motel. He takes the knife out of his pocket, opening and closing it as he goes, thinking to himself. Magic, and violence. Magic and violence. This is all he’s ever known. Even if he wanted to do something else, how could he, at this point? He’s not a good person. And surely nothing he is capable of can be used for good ends. He hasn’t killed anyone in so many days now, and strangest of all, doesn’t feel particularly compelled to. Not averse to it either. But the stirring in his blood that craved to see the icy glint of fear through tears before an untimely death doesn’t move him, for now.

Officer Voros follows up with Faoust the next night, gets a phone number for her missing person, and puts in a request for a ping before taking a nap in her patrol car. She’ll follow up further in daylight hours. Before ending her night shift, Officer Voros tries to call the phone number Faoust provided for the missing person. It’s almost 6am, of course he doesn’t answer. She leaves a voicemail indicating for him to call the communications center so they can speak.

The next day, Officer Voros, as soon as assembly is done, goes to her patrol car and puts herself on a follow up before any calls can be assigned to her. She tries calling the number again. Isaiah looks at his phone. A blocked number. He silences the phone without answering, because who would be calling him? He hasn’t bothered checking his voicemail either, since he didn’t recognize the number that called. He’ll check it eventually. He sits in his motel room, opening and closing his stolen knife.

Officer Voros checks the latitude and longitude of the ping. Another motel. It’s within a mile of what technically counts as her jurisdiction, so technically she CAN go investigate her own damn self, OR she can call her counterparts in the next town over to check for her. She debates which sounds like more work. With an agonized groan that can surely be heard two counties over, Officer Voros puts her patrol car in drive and heads for the motel.

Officer Voros checks with the front desk, but thanks to his use of magic there’s no one checked in by the names of Asmodai or Isaiah James. She pulls up the coordinates on her phone to get as close as possible to the ping, and starts knocking on doors fruitlessly, starting with the ground floor. She has an idea, and dials the number again, and faintly hears a ring from a couple doors down. A little excited in spite of herself, she hustles down to the door and knocks.

Asmodai would’ve checked through the peephole before opening the door, if he opened it at all. Isaiah does not care, and opens the door as he silences his phone again, looking up from the phone at the officer.

“There you are, you mysterious bastard! Alive and unmurdered, and my hatred of paperwork thanks you for that.”

Isaiah feels a slight needle of panic, if only because he has done a lot of things that would not put him on the good side of the police. His eye darts briefly to her neck and back to meet her eyes.

“Here I am. Alive. Unmurdered, as you say.”

Officer Voros looks him up and down, frowning. This is definitely the same guy, that’s not a common scar after all, but he’s clearly not just unmurdered, but very significantly undamaged. “Didn’t you have a hell of a lot of shattered bones?”

Isaiah shrugs. “Modern medicine is a miracle.”

Officer Voros just blinks at him. She doesn’t believe him for a moment. “And I don’t suppose you might be able to tell me how you managed to make your way so secretly out of the hospital that they felt compelled to report you as a missing person?”

“Sorry, no. Not sure what the miscommunication was there. Quite obviously, I left the hospital.”

“Quite. Obviously. Of course.”

Isaiah smiles wanly. “Am I in trouble?”

Officer Voros continues looking him over suspiciously. “I suppose not. You left your paperwork from the hospital.” She hands him a stack of paperwork and billing statements. “Somehow.”

Isaiah takes the papers. “Oh, thanks.”

“And the belongings you came in with. Are still at the hospital.”

“Oops.”

“And a bunch of shit I’m guessing belongs to you is all left at another cheap motel.”

“You think?”

“No,” Officer Voros snaps. “I try to avoid thinking whenever I can. But I do think some weird ass shit is involved here with you.”

Isaiah’s hand twitches slightly, and he presses his lips together. “Hm.”

“But shit being weird isn’t my problem. Not my jurisdiction. So I suppose I don’t give a fuck. Glad you’re not murdered. Take care. Call your friends, they’re pretending to be worried about you.” She heads back to her patrol car.

Isaiah slowly lets out a tensely held breath.

Officer Voros sits in the parking lot, wrapping up her report. She tries calling Faoust from her blocked number. He answers, not knowing any better.

“Solid citizen! Faoust right? Your favorite friend-finding officer here. Found your friend.”

“Oh my god! Where was he? Is he ok?”

“He’s better than ok, considering the state I last saw him in. Damn near miraculous recovery. He’s just outside of town, another motel not far off the highway.”

“Oh man, thanks so much for finding him. I'll have to go see him. Are you able to give me the address?”

“That depends, are you going there to murder him?”

“Why the hell would Igo there to murder him?”

“Aaaa I’m just fucking with you. I’ve got a nice neat solved missing persons case here and if you went and murdered him it would just be an assfuck of paperwork that I don’t want to have to deal with is all.”

“Fucked up joke, officer.”

“Yeah, file a complaint on me if you’d like. Oh, right, address,” she says, and gives him the address and room of the Quality Inn where Isaiah is staying.

“Thank you. Despite the fucked up joke, I'm glad you found him.”

“Just doing my sworn duty and all that. Stay safe citizen,” she says and hangs up.

Without fully realizing it, Officer Voros has solved the first missing persons case in the department in nearly a year.

Officer Voros always keeps a spare portable radio among her belongings. She managed to get it more or less off the record, so that when she inevitably loses track of her actual radio again, she can make do with the backup until the original eventually resurfaces, and not get all manner of shit from her corporal for losing her radio AGAIN. She doesn’t think hard on the fact that her radio is once again MIA. It will turn up in time.

In his motel room, Isaiah switches the radio on, and fiddles between channels.

Isaiah lays on the bed, one hand manipulating the knife—open, closed, open, closed, each motion with a satisfying little sound—the other hand resting on the radio on his chest, occasionally following the chatter of traffic to a side channel. An officer keys up, her voice annoyed and muttering over sounds of entitlement in the background—“6676 to 200, switch to 2”—and Isaiah flips the radio to channel 2, partly because he is curious and partly because it sounds like the officer from the other night.

The officer keys up, he’s quite sure it’s her, and a voice that sounds like it expects the world laid compliantly at its feet cuts through the backdrop of everything the officer says

6676: 200 you on?

—this is AMERICA, I have RIGHTS, I demand to speak to your SUPERVISOR, I—

200: go’on whatcha got

—what is your NAME, no WHAT is your NAME—

6676: *you can hear the eye roll in her voice* can you just come over here and deal with this.

There’s a final indignant “do you even KNOW” in the background before the supervisor cuts over the traffic to advise he’s en route. Isaiah’s thumb closes the knife again with a sense of finality. He doesn’t care about the officers, but the woman in the background had the sort of voice you’d love to cut right out of her throat.

Isaiah sits up, goes to put the radio aside but pulls it back in front of him again. He focuses on the radio, whatever traces of grit and grime and little skin cells from the officer still stick to the plasticky radio, and does a tracking spell. He switches the radio off, puts it on the bedside table, and grabs his jacket on the way out the door.

Isaiah returns to his motel room. Hands clean. Knife clean.

He did not appear with an ear-splitting bang, as the witch does. He knows ways to move through shadows and though it isn’t instantaneous, it’s a hell of a lot quieter. Isaiah remained in the shadows, waiting. There, yes, the officer from the other night, and there, that must be 200, the human embodiment of an industrial refrigerator crossed with a boulder, and there. Jabbing her finger, practically frothing at the mouth, hair crisply cut, every line in her body set in the conviction of her own righteousness and that she should get what she wants. Isaiah didn’t even try to listen to what she was saying. It didn’t matter. He waited.

When the officers left, the woman turned to her minivan to get in. Or, that was what she intended to do. But she found as she walked, it was like her body was being pushed and pulled, and the sound had left her voice, and she walked into the shadows across the parking lot.

Without saying a word, Isaiah came up quickly behind her and slit her throat, and before a drop could hit the concrete sent her body and all its rapidly spilling blood deep, deep into the earth below.

Magic cleaned the knife. Magic cleaned his hands. He slipped back into the shadows and hurried to get the hell back out of Faoust’s town.

Isaiah returned to his motel room, everything clean. Feeling a certain ...satisfaction? Correctness? A bit of lost unease dissolved away within him.

Of course, Isaiah reflects on how different this murder was. He flicks the knife, open and closed. When he thinks of himself as he was, he has gotten in the habit of thinking of himself as an entirely separate person now. Asmodai was. Asmodai would have. So on. Asmodai would have taken far more enjoyment from the killing. Asmodai would have tasted the blood on the knife. Asmodai would have savored the delicious fear in her eyes, for as long as possible. Asmodai would have had the possibility of someone to share the experience with, though he resented so much about that fact. Asmodai was an idiot.

Isaiah switches the radio back on, quietly, to have something to listen to, since that’s all he has.

When Officer Voros was handling the latest missing person case early this morning, part of her was perversely satisfied—maybe that bitch descended back to hell where she belonged—and that other part of her, the part made of intuitions that guessed too correctly, that had long ago tried to bring up things that had since gone ignored, the part that she did her best to keep buried, that part felt a sharp jolt of unease. She was, officially, the last person to have seen the missing person. There was a security camera on the other side of the parking lot, and the footage made no sense. The victim—victim? Why was she already thinking victim?—missing bitch, then, started walking to her car, and then turned, and walked off to the far side of the parking lot, into grainy shadow. It didn’t look like someone had called out to her, she just...decided to go on some random bitch walk. In the dark of early morning hours, Officer Voros walked around the spot she went off to, clicking on her flashlight, looking for clues. Nothing.

It seemed appropriate for Isaiah to return to murder on his own...it’s all he knows. He’s not suddenly a good person. He’s not full of remorse for everything he did. It’s all just facts. Things that happened that can’t be changed.

He listens to the radio again today, and thinks with a sort of mirthless chuckle how hypocritical it would be for him to kill some of the people he’s hearing about. “If I were cutting throats for that, have to start with myself,” he thinks, over and over and over. Asmodai craved victims, sought them out. Isaiah is content to see what serendipity will bring.

Isaiah struck out into town yesterday to find a charger for his stolen radio. Listening gives him something to do besides think. He could have just gotten a commercial police scanner, or used an app on his phone to listen in, but that didn’t have the same appeal. He listens carefully, mentally keeping track of the addresses and where the officers are, when it’s announced anyway. The officer from the other night he can find easily enough, but without addresses and nothing to trace them with, magically speaking, finding any of these other officers would be incredibly difficult. Well, to do in a timely fashion anyway.

So he listens, and waits, hoping to feel that same jolt of dead certainty, knowing a voice spoke that would be his to kill.

Isaiah knows. An officer keys up “put me out with an animal problem at” and gives an address, and just before the radio cuts out he hears a man in the background, derisive, say “I don’t understand, it’s just a stupid—“ before being cut off by the end of the transmission. That voice. He felt it, like a nail being slashed at high speed across a chalkboard, a string plucked so hard it snaps, THAT is a man he needs to kill. He is equal parts thrilled and yet feels the calm certainty slipping over him. His knife is ready. He knows where to go. He slips out into the cold rain.

Sliding through shadows. Waiting. The man goes inside, alone. Isaiah slips inside, without a word, the only sound made is his knife blade locking into place. The man finds his voice is gone. The man walks toward Isaiah, against his own will, and kneels before him, fear shining in his eyes. Isaiah looks down, cold, comes around from behind, threads his fingers in the man’s hair and pulls back, hard, exposing his neck. He draws the blade firm and fast across the neck, and like the woman before Isaiah sends the body hundreds of feet into the ground below before a drop of blood can hit the floor.

He looks at the blood on the knife, for a moment, imagines the taste on his tongue like a mouth full of pennies. It doesn’t appeal to him, not right now. Magic cleans the blade, cleans the bit of blood on his hands, cleans the scene of any trace evidence, and Isaiah slips away.

- NEXT SNIPPET -

#an ill-fitting name #My writing #original story #collaborative fiction #Original work #original writing #original fiction #magic fiction #Magic murderer #Snippets #fictional murder #fictional murderer #Fictional incompetent police

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