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sergeantsporks · 3 years

Text

Swapped

Rating: Teen

Relationships: Changeling OC/Zoe (But it’s functionally Zouxie)

Ch 1/5

Tag warning for blood

"I didn’t ask for any of this! But when the Pale Lady says she’s picked you, and you’re living in the darklands where everything is a living nightmare and Gunmar has control over everything you don’t exactly get to say ‘no thank you! I’d rather not be a changeling if it’s all the same to you!’"

Changeling Douxie AU

Ao3

Or read under the cut

He’d been chosen.

A mission from the pale lady herself.

It was an honor.

It didn’t feel like an honor. It felt like being singled out, and not in a “oh, you did a good job” kind of way, but more like “a troll born in the darklands? You’ll die in a month” sort of way.

And when they’d told his parents, they’d smiled, and said “wonderful.” They’d said “oh, yes, what an honor.” They’d said that they were “so proud” of “their little son.”

Right. Proud. Honor. Chosen. All of it was pretty words, little lies to cover up a hard truth; that being a changeling wasn’t an honor. That it meant he couldn’t ever be completely part of any world, and that he, Dalmar, would be rejected by both sides. Changelings were called “impure” for a reason.

His parents had said goodbye to Dalmar.

And then he wasn’t Dalmar anymore.

He was Hisirdoux Casperan. “Douxie” for short. He was taken by Dictatious, kept in some part of the darklands he’d never been allowed before (because he wasn’t important, they didn’t care about him, they never WOULD have cared about him if they hadn’t gotten some message from some dead sorceress, he knew that, he knew all of the special treatment now was an ACT and they didn’t care if he lived or died), having his head crammed with random facts about some wizard kid that he didn’t know and didn’t WANT to know, some kid he’d never met with a cushy little life up on the surface world that now he had to pretend to be—no, not pretend, pretending wouldn’t be good enough, he had to be this kid, no pressure or anything. No one called him Dalmar anymore. They kept calling him “Douxie” until he’d gotten used to it—until it became his name.

It would be hard, they told him. Harder than any other changeling’s job, because before, changelings had replaced babies. They didn’t have to impersonate someone with memories, and a personality. They could be themselves, just turn into a blank-slate-baby. But Dalmar—no, Douxie, he was Douxie now—had to be someone he wasn’t.

And that was why he was on the surface now, lurking in the shadows and watching the real Hisirdoux Casperan. Noting how he interacted with others, especially with the wizard girl he’d recently taken up with and, of course, his familiar. Familiar. Da—Douxie held back a laugh. Little did Hisirdoux Casperan know, he was a familiar to TWO creatures.

Well. Not yet. Douxie wasn’t a changeling yet. But he would be. Whenever the elusive and vague “process” was complete.

So he watched Hisirdoux Casperan. Studied him. Learned everything about his behaviors, everything that made him Hisirdoux Casperan, apprentice to Merlin, one of the last remnants of a time long gone.

God, was this guy an idiot.

He bumbled around, making mistakes that didn’t lead to deadly consequences. He stumbled over his spells, doing things quickly and then yelping for his familiar when things went wrong and brooms went flying into his face.

Dalm—Douxie silently seethed. He’d been born in the darklands, with no recollection of the world that Gunmar was so eager to conquer. But now that he was here, here in air that didn’t seem to suffocate you when you breathed, here in a place awash with life instead of decay, a place of glittering lights and exciting noises and smells… he could see why the Gum-Gums were ready to break free of the darklands.

And Hisirdoux Casperan had been BORN here.

He didn’t know how lucky he was.

He took all of this for granted. All of the humans did. They didn’t know what it was like to live in a dying land, where if you weren’t SO careful, you could get eaten, and only the strongest survived.

He’d seen enough. It was time to get this show on the road.

He’d shrunk himself to fit through the fetch, a difficult spell, one that the real Hisirdoux Casperan could probably only dream of. He shrank himself again with a small, satisfied smile. That was something, at least, he held over Hisirdoux Casperan. He’d had no formal training from a great master wizard. But the harshness of magic in the darklands had been a better teacher than some crusty old relic could have ever been.

Dictatious was waiting for him. “Are you ready?”

“I’m ready,” Douxie agreed, “But—Dictatious. You said this mission was important?”

“Deadly so.”

Douxie crossed his arms. “Then I’m not doing it for free. I want a promise. I want you to make sure my parents are taken care of down here.”

“You don’t have parents. They died in a tragic fire where you met your familiar, Archie, leaving you orphaned.”

Douxie bit down a sour reply. “Dictatious. Promise me they’ll be alright.”

The troll rolled all of his eyes. “Very well. We shall look after your parents, as long as you forget they were ever your parents.”

“Deal.” Douxie let out a deep breath. “So. The, uh… process?”

Dictatious gave him a grin that looked just a bit too gleeful. “Hold on to your horns. This is going to hurt.”

Xxx

Hurt was an understatement.

Being ripped to shreds was probably closer to the truth.

Magic, but not his magic, pulsed through him, shattering his skin, splintering his horns, crushing his bones and it hurt like nothing he’d ever felt. No falling off of a ledge or getting hit by a Gum-Gum’s blade could compare to this. Everything squeezed, and pushed and pulled and tore, and it was like every part of him was being ripped up and stuck back together, but all wrong, and it hurt!

Dalmar screamed for his parents, but of course they wouldn’t come, and a cool voice reminded him that he didn’t have any parents.

Everything burned and froze and broke and mended and GOD, what was that oozing out, red and sticky and then it was gone, and he was crumbling into pieces, torn apart by wind and swirling back together into something new, then breaking again, and tearing like a hundred blades doused in poison.

An unearthly, echoing howling was everywhere, and it was him, but not him, and he didn’t even have ears to hear it, but he felt it in his bones, his bones that were being crushed to pulp and remolding and breaking and remolding and breaking and—

Something was oozing out of him again, but it wasn’t red. It was clear and salty. Douxie was on his hands and knees and it was over, thank the pale lady, it was over, and ugly, heaving sobs were tearing out of his new, human chest, and salty water was dripping from his eyes.

“The binding was a success,” Dictatious crowed triumphantly, “Congratulations, Douxie, you are officially a changeling.”

It was horrible. There was so much texture. Everything was so sensitive. The stone beneath his hands was rough and unyielding. The fabric of clothing rubbed against his new (light pink instead of blue—strange) skin, and Douxie winced at the sensation. Ow.

He staggered up to his feet, stumbling around on weird, straight legs, and long feet instead of delicate hooves. Douxie wobbled as he walked, nearly falling over. Dictatious just watched.

“Do you think you’re up to this?”

“I’ve got it,” Douxie snapped, rolling his weird new ankle joints experimentally and kicking his feet. Right. He could do this. He teetered a few more steps. “I’ve got it,” he repeated, walking across the room, “I can do it.”

“Congratulations,” Dictatious said dryly, “Now, there’s only one step—pardon the pun—left.”

Douxie turned towards the fetch, preparing the spell that would shrink him enough to get through. “Kidnap my familiar.”

Xxx

Douxie watched his familiar, waiting for him to be alone long enough to make his move. But Hisirdoux Casperan was rarely alone. He was always with Archie, or that new wizard girl. Was that going to be Douxie’s life, now? Never alone, not for a second?

And then, finally, the moment he was waiting for. Hisirdoux wandered off to go to the bathroom, and Douxie pounced, hitting him with a sleep spell before he knew the changeling was there. He couldn’t do the shrinking spell on anyone but himself—as a few disastrous attempts to shrink a Gum-Gum small enough to get through the fetch had proved. So he was just going to have to entrust his familiar to the Janus order, who claimed that they could yes definitely get the wizard through the fetch.

And sure enough, there were a few changelings and a pack of goblins waiting for him. Hisirdoux Casperan started to wake up as Douxie handed him off to the Order, and he blinked blearily at Douxie.

“Wha…?” Realization seemed to dawn in his eyes, and terror sparked. “No!” he shouted, just as the Order dragged him away.

Douxie shrugged off any uncertainty, turning to get back to Hisirdoux’s friends before they realized anything was off.

Sorry, Hisirdoux Casperan.

But this is my life now.

#toa #tales of arcadia #swapped #douxie #my fanfiction #my writing #original characters #my oc #dalmar #toa fanfiction

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eternalstrigoii · 4 years

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Hey there I finally thought of a request hopefully it's something you can enjoy writing. Can I please have a Borra x human reader being just generally fluffy and cute taking a bath together in a river it can be sfw mainly with maybe a hint of some nsfw moments if you want. Please and thank you! I just adore your writing and this blog is a treasure trove of good Borra fics! Much love friend

You didn’t ask for Peacemaker-canon, but you got Peacemaker-canon.

“Will you hold still?”

You had already lost three prongs off of one side of the fish-bone comb, and you hoped all this fussing wouldn’t actually break it – you thought it strong as metal until the once-ribs snapped at varying heights.

“Then stop pulling!”

Borra had already threatened to throw you into the stream on your back four separate times (not that you were keeping track); considering he’d joined you for your bath without being invited, you couldn’t help but feel like he was acting rather childish.

That was not to say you weren’t being rather childish yourself, pretending that you didn’t know why he had, or why he was willing to let you preen him until you were actually preening him.

“How in skies did you get it like this? Do you just never comb it at all?”

He whacked you with his wing. If you hadn’t been half-climbing his shoulders for leverage, it would’ve knocked you off your feet like it was meant to. “Ow!”

“Ow,” he mocked. “Serves you right, human wife. I told you to leave me alone.”

“You say plenty of things you don’t mean.” Or didn’t say them, depending on his mood. Sometimes he implied that the night you’d spent together meant very little, even though he still came back to you when he wanted to feel you against him; though you felt his warmth and his presence at your back even when you knew you weren’t supposed to.

He growled at you, low and falsely warning. Do not push the conversation there.

You paused your de-tangling instead. “Did that really hurt?”

He was pointedly silent. It didn’t matter if it had, it was the nature of the thing that upset him – mates preen each other, and you were not his mate. You were not supposed to be his mate, though he was welcome into your bed. Welcome inside of you. He had even drawn patterns on your belly with the mess he’d made of you, marked you with his scent like he belonged to you and you, to him.

He was still waiting for the earth to be swept out from under him when you revoked your permission. Or when Conall did, whichever of you came first. It was inevitable, he thought; only a matter of time. Best not to get too attached.

You stroked the pad of your finger over one of the cracks just below his horns, and that, too, gave you pause. “Do these hurt?”

He snorted, though he certainly enjoyed the brush of your finger in soothing little back-and-forths. “No.”

You might’ve been softening him up to be receptive to further preening, but the cracks that descended from his horns were deeper than all the rest; they were practically ridges in his flesh. They reminded you less of the creases formed naturally in the skin of your joints and more like the deep gash you’d gotten several years ago, when you hit your leg on the repurposed metal thing you’d used to hold together your old cart. (In retrospect, you were probably lucky that it had only been a gash.)

You set the comb aside, just like he wanted, and gave him the attention of both of your hands. You traced them lightly, first, the pads of your fingers following their definitions one by one like the interconnectedness of streams in an untouched land. His skin was tough as stone, in places, and you didn’t resist the impulse to gently press down – to rub his temples like you were kneading him.

He laid his head back against your chest. His bright, warm eyes fell shut.

He needed to be touched as badly as you did. Sometimes, he needed your softness so badly it frightened him. It was one thing to fuck you like a wild animal, need to bury himself as deep within you as he could be – your body was welcoming, and the sounds you made were sweeter than agave. You drove him wild with need, made an animal of him.

He wished it was all sexual, that need. That his only desire was your body and not this. Your fingers running through his hair, the way you pet his horns (and the little frown you made at their roughness). You wanted to take care of him, to love him the way you loved your Conall. More than anything, he wanted to let you in return.

Your fingers strayed down his face.

You were both already bare to the stream, but the heat of his skin kept the chill of the water from reaching you. You were nearly flush against his back, the downy softness of his upper wings occasionally brushing your skin. It could’ve been funny, how naturally soft parts of him were – his hair was like corn-silk, damn near satiny when well-groomed, and his wings – Conall’s wings, also – were the softest things you’d ever touched, softer than a calf’s new velvet. His skin was not stone, though some parts of it were firmer than elsewhere; it was always flesh. Some, just…rough like callouses. Yes, just like callouses. His calloused temples and your calloused fingers rubbing them.

You traced the severity of his cheekbones, studied the little cracks above his jaw. Your favorite, you decided right then, was on the bridge of his nose – there were several there, but one of them diverted upward sharply to join with others on the plain of his brow over his right eye. It was softer on the left side of his nose than the right, less pronounced, and you brushed your thumb over it gently.

“I’m sorry I pulled your hair.”

When you touched him like that, you could do whatever you wanted. You’d do it again, this awful preening with your awful comb, but, for the moment, your touch encouraged him to forgive you – whether you intended it or not. “No, you’re not.”

“I am.” You lowered behind him, kissed the top of his head between his horns. “I can brush out your wings instead, if you’d like?”

Oh, he would. His wings perked of their own instinctive volition; he would like that very much. The low sound he made – aggression, pleasure, or acknowledgement depending on the context; depending on his features and his posture, which you’d learned to account for when he did not speak to you with words – agreed.

“Or rub your shoulders?”

He would like that, also. He could be playfully dominant with you, tease you about knowing your place in a way he would never dream of speaking to another, and the flush of your skin always betrayed your witty retort – you liked being spoken to that way. You were a gentle creature, you offered care without the expectation of reciprocity, and some arrogant part of him really did think that he owed you nothing.

But when he went hunting, he did not leave you without. When he found safe, edible roots, he left you several – because he knew you grew crops of your own, and did not know how sensible you were when it came to foraging.

“Stand still,” he muttered, instead.

He did not move from his place against you, which you initially did not understand. He raised his hand to trace your face in return, only opening his eyes once he’d made contact with your skin.

You were such a strange creature to him, still. So beautiful, so foreign. Where his cheekbones were sharp, yours were soft; many of them had skin like yours, but there were worry-creases in your brow. He, too, brushed his thumb over the bridge of your nose, and then followed your hairline to your jaw. None of your features were sharp, not even the hint of squareness to your jaw. His thumb lingered at your lips, and you pressed them to it. Gently, sweetly, just the once, as though you’d kissed him on instinct.

He stared at you the way he did just before he claimed you, equal parts feral with need and scalded by love.

“Do you like what you see?” you baited.

“Very much.” He traced your lower lip again. His voice was rougher than usual, lower and more sultry. It gave you pleasant, creeping tingles that drew your body closer to his on instinct – which drew a fleeting, impish smile to his lips. How should I preen you in return?”

You hadn’t thought about that. “However you’d like, I suppose.”

He drew you down against him, helped you sink into the water up to your chest. You ran your fingers through his plumage, dampened the downy under-layer so you could help wash the loose feathers out.

The fish-bone comb appeared in your hair before you could protest. The swiftness of his hands caught a tangle hard, practically yanking your head back when he pulled.

“Ow!” you repeated, slapping your hand over his.

He splashed you with the edge of his wing. “Now you know how it feels.”

#Borra x Reader #mentions of:#Conall x Reader x Borra #Peacemaker #Fluff!There Is No Plot Only Zuul #Borra Maleficent

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carbrakes-and-stakes · 4 years

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Nightmara - Marley and Alain

TIMING: Wednesday, May 27th - Happens right after those two solos (x) & (x) LOCATION: Alain’s bedroom SUMMARY: Who hunts the hunter?

The prey entered his home unsuspecting of the demon that watched him from outside. With a blink, red eyes appeared in the shadows across the street, watching him. Marley slipped from the shadows hiding her and across the street, making her body phase through the front door. She stopped when she saw the bowls in the kitchen-- dogs. They weren’t in the room with him, were they? She crept along the house, determining where things were and where the closest exit was. Noted and noted. But tonight, she had focus, she had determination. She had reason. This would not be like Nadia or Dario. This was what she did, this was who she preyed upon. She found his room, eventually, still invisible hidden in his shadows, and waited for him to sleep. Hunters did not sleep as much as normal humans, but the exhaustion from the night hit him and he was out. In the next moment, Marley was hovering above his bed. Without hesitation, she put a hand to his forehead, and pressed into his nightmares. Tonight, she could feed well.

2:57. The numbers were bright in the darkness. 4 hours of sleep would do, he had to wake up early in the morning, and start to get things in order. Thank God he was not alone to take care of this, he thought to himself seconds before dozing off. He was woken up, or at least, he thought he was woken up, by the sound of a car crash, although, it was not his ceiling that he saw as he opened his eyes, but rather granite. White granite polished, cold, and way too close to him to be the ceiling. In fact, he had granite right on his left, on his right, and below his fingers. He was not in his bed. He was in a… in a mausoleum. Buried. This did not make any sense. He always said that he would be cremated, and, while his family had a mausoleum, and generations of Babineaux buried there, he certainly did not have a spot saved for him here. His heartbeat had started to hasten. Fear. He had been buried alive and his only way out would be by punching through stone. This was not something he had ever done. Punching through wood was doable, easily so, but stone? Granite, out of all sorts of stone? It had to be one of the most resistant types of stone on Earth, and when pushing the top proved to be useless, Alain had to try punching it instead. His joints started to scrape against the stone, and the sting was soon unbearable. Just as he thought that all hope was gone, the hunter heard a chuckle, coming from nearby. It was no relief, no, as he recognized immediately whose laughter it was.

Marley fell into his nightmare easily. The past two times, she’d pressed too hard, taken too much, so she sat back for this. She would not mess this one up. This hunter deserved what he was about to get, what he was about to see. He deserved to suffer under the thumb of his past, relived in endless nightmares. She would make sure of that. Buried alive, that was a good one. She could easily work with that one. His fear was abundant and all-consuming already and she drank it up, breathing it in, letting it roll through her. She watched him usually scrape and punch and kick against the granite case he’d woken himself up in. A torture chamber of his mind’s own design. It was almost too easy. She paced herself, then, listening to the laughter that rang out.

“And you wonder why I never was proud of you?” The voice spoke in French. Slower than someone would. Much slower than his father did. This was the voice of his old man, coming from beside him, resonating against the stone. Most people would have tried not to look, but Alain had to, and that’s exactly what he did. He could have sworn his heart skipped a beat as he turned his head and saw the partially decayed corpse of his father, the jaw moving with difficulty. What the fuck was going on. He had been drugged, hadn’t he? This. This was impossible, the hunter told himself. He wanted to respond but no sound was coming out of his mouth, and when he tried to move, he realized that he could no longer move his hands. If he was seemingly paralysed, his father’s hand reaching over, the bones showing where the joints used to be, felt very real as it wrapped itself around his arm, squeezing it hard. “You’re not going anywhere,” his father still spoke slowly, but he was now yelling, his voice cavernous and threatening. Alain looked at his arm, and that’s when he noticed the color returning to his father’s hand, while his own was getting paler, and his arm getting as cold as ice.

Daddy issues. Typical. Marley moved through the scene, resisting the urge to press it harder, further. She wanted to take her time with this one, and it would do her no good to pull him into a nightmarish hell of her making. Besides, using their own mind against them was the ultimate prison, wasn’t it? He’d done this to himself. He was his own nightmare. It was always the same with these types, using their past trauma to explain their current behavior. She’d seen it so many times. Hell, she even did it, not that she’d entirely admit that. But she was the monster other monsters were afraid of, and she thought that, she knew her face was shifting inside his illusion to match the old, rotten bones of the one on his father. Grimacing, she watched. What hell would he conjure up next?

This was not possible. Alain shut his eyes tightly. If he could have moved his hands, he would have pinched himself awake, but focusing seemed to work, because he woke up, startled, sitting on a bench of the cemetery. His mind could not remind him that he had gotten home tonight, that he was in his bed, and not here, or that this feeling in his guts was a fabrication of his mind, and not the sign of a vampire being nearby. The slayer got up on his feet. The ashes of the two higher vampires he had killed earlier were still piled up nearby. He walked through one of them as he followed his gut instinct, and moved through the cemetery, one hand on the handle of the sword, ready to draw it out. That’s when he saw a silhouette leave the lane and disappear behind a family vault. Found you, he thought to himself, and walked toward the other side of the vault, making sure not to make too much noise on the gravel.

Marley focus intensified on this next nightmare. He thought he was awake, he thought the nightmare had ended, but if she was lucky, it never would. It would bleed into his waking hours and then plague him every night until he couldn’t sleep anymore. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him follow the shadow, wondering just who it was. What had he done in his past to create this false memory? Who had he betrayed?

Walking past the vault, he was reminded of the nightmare he just had had, and he couldn’t help but reach for his arm, pulling up his sleeve to check how his arm looked. He did not hear the vampire approaching, and when she punched him in the face, his reflexes kicked in and he threw her away from him with a kick to the stomach. Or at least that’s what he thought he would do. She had grabbed his foot, and that’s when he looked at her face. Audrey. Impossible. She smiled at him and he felt his heart sink in his chest. This was impossible. She smiled at him. She smiled at him as she broke his tibia. Alain fell to the gravel. “You know, I thought you were letting me win back then, but I can really kick your ass, can’t I? ” she had taken a step back to taunt him. He had hopes, he used to have hopes that maybe she had not died, that she had gotten into trouble and had to leave without a warning, but a side of him always wondered : what if she left him behind because she knew that once he’d find out that she had been turned into a vampire, he would kill her.

Oh, now this was juicy. Marley could feel the excitement rushing in from the wave of fear and pain that came from this nightmare. She drank it up as if she’d been starving and reveled in the feel of it. The thought of someone finally getting their just dues, of the hunter becoming the hunted. This was enough for now, she thought, pulling her hand away gently from his forehead as she opened her eyes to reveal the dark bedroom around her. The clock next to the table read 6:37 AM in big, bold letters. She stepped back, turning invisible, lingering in her spot as she watched his face contort. Clawing at his own arm, leaving angry red marks on his skin, sweat pooling on his forehead. Turning, she found a piece of paper and a pen by his bedside and scribbled a quick note, setting it next to him on the bed. This was the start of something great, she thought, as she backed away from the bed and her prey. This was what she did.

The note next to him read, in scribbled writing: I know what you are.

7:00 AM. The hunter woke up feeling exhausted, like he had just spent his night watching each hour pass on the alarm clock as he could not get to sleep. This would have been a lot more pleasant than what he had just experienced. He had had nightmares before, but none that he remembered this well when he woke up. His mouth was dry, and the sheets underneath him were soaked with sweat. Alain frowned and breathed heavily. His head was hurting lightly, and he did not notice the piece of paper at first. It was after he had taken a shower -and noticed the marks on his arms- that he saw it. Someone had been in here, while he slept. How couldn’t he hear them? He had heard Nora when she got in, and Nora had the keys. His heart skipped a beat, and he rushed down the stairs, only to find his dogs well, and very much alive sleeping on the grass of the backyard. Who ? And why ?

#wickedswriting #para #para marley #nightmara

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aggresivelyfriendly · 5 years

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Summer’s Child- Chapter 6-Angel of the Morning Pt. 2

Morning Loves! Here is the second half of the last chapter. I hope it’s as good to you as it is to Harry....

Thanks to the tripod, @dirtystyles and @bleedinglove4h for being the best pocket friends a writer could bombard with ideas and all caps texts. And to @emulateharry for her 👀. I edited a while ago, so all mistakes belong to me!

Jillian was fussing with the radio in the truck, the static it put out matched the static in his head.

He was sure he would have focused more on the hamster spinning on its wheel in his brain, but her face caught his attention. It was blank, but the corners of her lips were turned down a touch.

"Alright?" He slid in, and redirected his attention from the gears when she slid right up next to him and slipped her arm between his body and bicep. Her head found his shoulder, the notch she'd claimed at 9.

"No."

Well, he knew that, but he was hoping drawing out why wouldn't be as much like pulling teeth as getting her to divulge things that hurt her.

"What happened?" God, this question could cover at least the last 10 years of her life. He meant tonight.

"If I tell you, promise you will never breathe a word of it again. I don't want to think about it." He knew this was why she didn't even want to say things out loud ever. He didn't think her method worked though, it always came out, her pain, it's truth.

"Did he," he swallowed. This was the question he had been avoiding asking for years, with her dad and her mom's boyfriends and now Will. "Did he hu— did something happen?"

"No," she shook her head. "I hurt him."

"What?"

Her self satisfied tone matched the grin he caught in the red shine of the one stop light in town. Should he be worried?

"Jillian!" Harry pulled over and stopped. He needed to look at her face. What did that mean? "Hurt him how? Why?"

She sighed. "Everything was fine, and he was his normal self at the dance. Like, more interested in his friends yet complimentary, but only on my hair and body and...anyway. But it was like our normal dates and he was sweet, like a candy coating, ya know." He wasn't sure he did, but he nodded. "But then we got to the hotel, and, well, I wanted to hang out, people were already in that first hotel room. They were smoking." They'd talked about that. She liked getting high. "And had a keg." Drunk less so, she had good reason for caution there. Though he never said that, just encouraged her avoidance.

"Okay. Trina and I were in there. I didn't see you."

"Yeah that's cuz he insisted we go to our room first. It took us a while because everybody stopped us to slap him skin." She rolled her big eyes and shook her head. He loved her annoyed face, but annoyed seemed mild for the build up. "I caught a hit or two," She stamped her shoes, like she did when her mom left grade school events early. She usually got on with it then. "We made it to the room, him maneuvering me like I was his truck. He gave a little push in. I barely got to ask if we were changing for the party. I had that little bag of jeans and a sweater, before he started kissing me. Which was nice. He's a good kisser." She shrugged and Harry tried to be as nonchalant as her. "And we've been fooling around a little, but he usually, it was like forceful," She shook her blonde head to cover her face. "anyway, he didn't ask anything and was yanking at the sleeves of my dress I was afraid it was gonna tear. But, he had me backed against the door, luckily."

"Why luckily?"

"It's harder to knee somebody in the jewels if they're on top of you." She smiled like she'd stolen some cream and Harry blinked.

"What happened then?"

"He whined a lot, doubled over like an omelet and called me a tease and said I was trash, and lucky he gave me the time of day." Another eye roll. She was surprisingly relaxed considering it sounded like the kissing was more of an attack to Harry. "And then he started on all the things I hoped he never thought about me, but I know other people think." She hugged him closer. "That he knew I lied about where I lived and that if I didn't sleep with him, he was gonna dump me. But when he started in on you I kicked him again and started out the door to him yelling about us being over."

"And?" Harry knew he was bug eyed, like when he wore coke bottle lenses as a toddler, "what did he say about me." He shook he's head. "Never mind that's not important." He knew she wouldn't tell him anyway. "What happen then."

"He grabbed my foot and told me he loved me, but couldn't wait anymore and he'd have to find 'it' elsewhere. I told him that wasn't a threat, because I was done and kicked him off my leg. I think I caught his face a little." Harry wasn't sure if he should be impressed or scared she was smiling about all this "i'm sure I looked messy, but I needed to get out of there like now. But when I came out, Steve cheered and rushed in to give Will a high five. He must have helped him up. But Will never came out. I heard Steve telling everybody that Will had finally got a piece from my hiding spot all night. So, school's gonna be hell for the next month too."

"That's awful." He held her hand for a moment and waited for her to continue. "Why didn't you come get me?"

"I tried." He cringed. "But when I came to find you, you and Trina looked like you were having fun. So I found somebody with a joint and a quiet place to wait." She shrugged and he felt like he'd eaten ground glass, thinking about her alone. She seemed ok, but Jillian always seemed ok.

"We could have left whenever you wanted."

"I didn't want to ruin your prom night."

"I wouldn't have had a prom night if not for you. And besides, you couldn't ruin my night, any night. I'd rather spend time with you than the twats from our soon to be alma mater."

"What's a twat?" She giggled.

"Well, it's actually," he shook his head. He never thought about what it meant, or having to explain it. "It's an English word for idiot." He pulled out into non existent traffic.

"That's not true, you're doing that thing with your eye you do when you lie."

"What thing with my eye?"

"Your right eye twitches a tiny bit."

He didn't know that. "Oh, well I'm not lying."

"I am asking the next Englishmen I see ya know."

"Not my da!" He responded quickly.

"See! I knew it didn't mean idiot."

A change of subject was needed. "Home?"

She shook her head like it was the needle on the Richter scale in that educational short about earthquakes. He'd shown her that when he'd been trying to talk her out of California. The change of her mood was as shocking as a tremor.

Now was the time to tell her.

"So—"

"Harry, do you like Trina?"

"What?"

"Did you like going with Trina? You gonna take her out again." He really hadn't even thought about it, honestly.

"She was nice. We're going bowling next week. But only if you want to come."

"That's not really what I asked."

"No, I, I don't like Trina, not like, like that." The truck came to a stop like their conversation. He didn't know what to say and she was in her head, again.

His house was dark. Harry was surprised. Really. He thought for sure his da would wait up. He did suppose it was 3 AM.

They snuck through the house, like how they used to try to get to and from the cut crystal candy bowl when they were young. He held her hand, and when he would stop, she would crash into his back and muffle her laughter in between his shoulder blades.

He'd quit the jacket. The ruffled shirt she loved was thin enough to feel the heat and moisture of her joy. He wished there was more reasons to stop or a longer distance to his room. He loved how she could laugh after a night when she could very well be crying.

"I'm surprised." His filter turned off as soon as they got to his room."

"About what?" She looked up at him. Jillian was still really close, she took a couple steps to stay in his space.

"That you aren't more upset. About Will and your, well your mom."

Her eyes hardened for a split second. Like she was measuring the distance to a finish line. They cleared them, and she looked at him in a way he couldn't quantify. It was the fraternal twin of her best friend eyes, maybe. "I'm with you. It's hard to feel down when I'm around you. You're my favorite person Harry." She smiled her honest smile then and the next words stole his breath before he thought too much about them. "I love you."

That was the second time she'd said that and not meant what he wanted. He closed his eyes, because he couldn't see the face he adored say the thing he wanted to hear most and not mean it how he needed.

They popped open when he felt her mouth press to his. Her bottom lip slipped just so between his and the pressure she exerted was very different from their mistletoe kiss. When she sucked a little, he heard himself groan.

"Harry," she whispered, all breath and bone. "Will you kiss me back? Don't you want to kiss me?" Just the words felt like a kiss, if he was honest. At least the way he thought kisses felt. He wasn't sure exactly what he was supposed to do.

But he said yes, meant yes, so he said yes. His voice was a rumble, his truck over the railroad tracks. His lips moving gave her all the opportunity to teach him what a kiss could feel like. All the slips and slides and sucks. When she slid her tongue over his bottom lip, his mouth fell open. Then, it slid inside, and if he wasn't sure he groaned earlier, he did now. Felt it in his stomach then reverb in his throat. Jillian moaned and pressed her self to him top to tail. He could feel all sweet, soft, strong parts of her, so he almost missed her hands undoing his top button. The one at his throat. Then her mouth was exploring the white under the frills.

"Jillian, what are you doing?"

"I'm making love to you." She said like she was offering him cup of tea. "Don't you want me to?"

The presence she pressed against in his pants said a very solid yes, but he was confused. She'd just kicked her boyfriend in the balls for the same suggestion hours before. "Yeah, obviously." She giggled and he was weaker for that sound than the fact she'd pulled his shirt off his shoulders and went for his pants. "But, why?" It seemed like a major question, and stupid as it may be to slow this down, he needed to know.

"Why?" She asked him like it was his question that came out of left field, not her advance. She furrowed her brow and tilted her head. She was the color pink.

"Because I love you, and you're the only person I love who loves me back." He wished he could argue that, but all evidence was to the contrary. "Because you've never tried one thing with me that I didn't ask for." She had his pants off his hips. Her hand went to his dick between them, stroked over him like he'd done himself the night before thinking of her in the dress she wore. "And because I want to, want you."

He groaned then and soiled his boxers like nobody had ever touched him. Because nobody ever had. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry." he was reeling, his mind as confused but engaged as when they taught chemical equations last year. "How embarrassing." He hid his head in her shoulder before he thought better of it and tried to turn away.

Jillian caught his shoulders. She laughed, but not at him. "No, it's ok. Now you can make love to me a little." She pressed a breathy kiss to his lips and licked into his mouth. He returned her motions and brought his tongue into play. She gasped a little into it when he tried to follow her lead, to play. "That feels good Harry. Will you kiss my neck?" He tried to do the things she'd done to him. He thought he might be a quick study at this too when the feline purrs she let out woke his dick up again. He was moving down to the boundary her dress created when she turned around abruptly.

"Oh, sorry. Did I do something wrong?" He thought he'd figured out how to do something right.

"No, no, it's good. Just, I love that. You just need to take off my dress. So you can, um, my nipples."

"Fuck." He said and laid his head on her shoulders while she giggled.

"Not yet, in a little while. Go on Harry. Take it off. Touch my neck like you did in the shop." She leaned her head over and he kissed the pretty pink tinged flesh there until it was red and undid her zipper.

He'd known she was beautiful, but the chrysalis shedding of the dress falling from her body, revealing all of her to him, transformed him too. Into a man.

He'd thought he was one, wanted the responsibilities of one, to take care of this woman, but he wasn't one, until she turned to him and the moonlight turned her skin silver and her nipples pewter. He felt like a golden band.

Out of curiousity, he ran a finger around the pink tip and pulled it back abruptly when she jolted and gasped. "Sorry!"

"Oh no, do it again. Please." Her head lolled back and he used one hand to draw the shrinking circle around her nipple again. He used the other to catch her neck where it was weakening and pulled her to him. He needed her mouth against him again. His hand found the overflowing flesh beyond her nipple and they both shivered. He caressed her until he was holding her up.

"Harry, sit on the bed." He'd sit on a cliff if she asked. He knew she didn't know everything, but she certainly seemed to have more hands on knowledge than him. Though he knew the mechanics, his dad had given him books, plural, at 10. He'd wanked to a few images at 12, then Jillian after long nights at 13, this was a wet dream come true. But still, "how do you know," he trailed off, "all this stuff?"

She sat astride him and smiled when she felt him hard against her again. "See, no problems," And they were kissing again and she was rubbing against him and he had her tits in his hands again, and oh god.

He'd said that out loud.

"Here." She climbed up him and rested her hands on his shoulders so her breast were at mouth level. He looked up after he'd gotten dizzy looking at her perfection so he wouldn't fall to the floor. "I, I don't know a lot. But I know you." She rubbed the soft yielding flesh over his face. His mouth watered. "And I know what I do. You can maybe do more. Kiss them, maybe suck too." She suggested and then the soft flesh ripened against his tongue, sweet like summer strawberries and he was sucking to try to get the sugar.

"Oh Harry!" And she was riding him and he was afraid he was gonna come again. He clutched her hips and stopped her.

"I can't." He shook his head. What the fuck? He'd never, god, this was. And she said she loved him. He could come thinking about it. He'd better not think about it. "It's too good."

"Ok, ok. Will you touch me?"

"I am." He didn't really follow.

"No, will you touch me.....there." She held his shoulders and leaned back.

"I don't, I don't know how."

"I'll tell you." She leaned back and drew his hand down the soft lines of her belly to her crux. She slide two of his fingers down to a well of wetness, her opening, wetting his fingers with her dew, and then up to the hard knot and inch or so above. "Rub there, like this." She moved his fingers in circles until he didn't need help anymore and he watched her face while her mouth fell open and she panted. She was squirming hard and he had to wrap an arm around her and clutch her other hip for fear she would fall. "Ah, ah, ah, Harry!" She shook out and he felt wetness trickle over his knuckles.

"Wow." His chest moved heavily up and down.

"Yeah, Wow." She slid his fingers through her wetness again and pressed one long digit into her opening. He slid it in and the thought of it around his dick. "Jilly!"

Uh oh- she hated that. Except, her moan said she didn't. She moved up and down his finger until his hand was sodden, asked for "two!" Breathlessly after a bit. He added the third without being told.

He was bewitched, bothered, and beholden when she got off his lap and his fingers. He would have followed her anywhere, to Gomorrah and beyond.

"Cmon Harry. She sat on the edge of the mattress, the little twin bed they'd shared many times, and pulled his boxers off. He stepped out of them and she wiped him off before throwing them somewhere behind him. She reclined on the bed and turned the hand she held up, so their fingers slotted together.

"I heard it's easier this way." Heard where? He would have asked, but the moonlight showed him parts of her he'd only just touched and Stole his tongue. She spread her thighs. There seemed to be nowhere else for him to go but between them.

He'd thought she felt hot through his boxers. He was burning up pressed against her wetness now. God, he might actually catch on fire.

"Um?" He asked and she shrugged before reaching down between them and pointing his tip down where his fingers had lately been. He pushed, but only felt resistance and none of the wetness from before.

He got a hand around himself and looked between them. "Fuck." He said again. He had no idea where his manners were. Maybe manners didn't belong in the bedroom. The problem seemed to be the fleshy lips around where he needed to be. "Um can you, can you open it up?"

"Yeah, I think so." She reached down and he said "oh my god" when he saw the dark pink within. Who knew that's how pretty She could be? He pressed forward. This time, there was resistance, but the warmth enveloped his tip and then gave over the ridge making a little popping sound. "Oh my god!" His vocabulary had also left him. He cried out and stopped.

Jillian squirmed beneath him, and the tips of her breast rubbed his chest, and could you close your eyes to sensation? "No, no, don't stop." She wrapped her legs around him and pushed with her heels until he came to a resting place.

"Fuck, holy fuck Jilly."

She squirmed again, smiled.

"You ok? Hurt?"

"No, not, not really, it's just a lot of pressure." She winced a bit. "Can you move."

He knew he could, but he wasn't sure what would happen if he did. "You're sure?" Though it seemed late to ask, already all the way interlocked with her. "I love you, Jillian." He swore.

"Me too, it shouldn't be anybody but you. I can only be me with you." She pushed on his hips with her heels a bit and moved her hips away. And he was sure this was everything. It couldn't be anybody but her. Ever.

He pulled back and thrust in, and then was overcome by the feeling and kept pushing and pulling until it was coming again.

"Oh god Jilly!" The feeling, god the feeling. Nothing had ever felt better in his life than this.

"Harry!" She sighed and wrapped her arms tighter, legs too. He knew he was being louder than he ought to be, but he couldn't stop. Then his vision whited out, way worse than the blur without his glasses. When he shuddered to a stop he simply collapsed on her, into her.

He lay there until he realized how heavy he must be and felt damp on his neck where her face was buried. He was so sweaty. Poor Jilly.

"Sorry, I'm so big." He lay on his side next to her and curled an arm around her midriff.

"Well, I don't have much to compare you to, but I'd say you're alright." And she made that sweet sound that was home to him.

He blushed, which was strange to happen now. His hand was moving lazily over her soft tummy skin and he was so happy. They were together. "Love you Jilly." He murmured as he drifted off without his own permission.

He vaguely remembered her kissing his forehead and her hair a halo in blue morning light.

"What time's it?" He mumbled.

"Early, still. I need the bathroom. Go back to sleep."

"Ok." He rolled into his pillow. The late night and dreams coming true made his eyes and body heavy.

He woke up to blazing sun, and thought he should be warm. But even his tiny bed was cold without her presence.

She wasn't making tea in the kitchen, or at the Dairy Barn that evening.

Sandra was pissed she'd missed her shift.

He wondered if he'd hurt her, or something. Maybe he'd said he loved her too many times. He'd not thought to keep a balance sheet. Did he say it more than her?

When he still hadn't seen her by Monday morning at school, and heard all the talk in gym about her going all the way with Will, he was worried. She known the rumor mill would be turning her to dust. Maybe she was just avoiding it. But they were so close to the end. A couple weeks was all. He was so worried.

For her, not just for the grief he'd feel as he got his heart's desire to lose it so soon. He finally did what had to be done and left school at lunch. He'd never ditched, but it didn't matter now.

He drove out to her house, and saw that semi familiar car again.

Dick answered the door.

"Um, is Jillian home?"

The man screwed up his grimy brow, and even at this time he reeked of beer, from last night or the hours since breakfast. "Nah, she took off. Took her mom's stash and suitcase. Little bitch." He scratched his rounded belly. "We figured she's with you."

"No, um no sir, she's not with me." Where was she?

"Too bad, must be that rich kid, Will then. Ain't that just like a woman?" His smile was sharp around the edges, and wide to his canine teeth.

The comment was meant to cut him. He was already aching too much to notice.

Harry knew she wasn't with Will.

He might have nodded, or mumbled on his way back to the truck.

It wasn't until he got home he let himself really think it.

Jillian was gone.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #summer’s child #angel of the morning pt 2 #chapter 6 #editted a week ago- hopefully still good!!

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kurtty-drabbles · 6 years

Text

Belasco au (everything is red)

@djinmer4

A big white mansion, in the L.A, opens its door to each solstice to celebrate a night with music, dance and a good times, and many are in the proverbial guest list if they find said place.

“So, this is a party that is that exclusive?” asked Kitty arching a brown to Kurt.

“Yes, an associate of mine, does this every solstice” replied Kurt not wanting to give many details either because it is too gory or because he likes to see Kitty mull over the smallest things.

Kitty is wearing a blue dress with a low cut on the back, her hair is tied up in an elegant bun(It was necessary Yana, Dani and Rhane to do it, well, not really, but it was fun nonetheless, and much better than having Emma Frost brushing your hair, Ororo is in Wakanda with her husband and Jean is not Jean) illustrating that Kitty Pryde is no longer a teenager.

Kurt Wagner looks like a typical Hollywood heartthrob, with his raven hair, cheekbones, deep blue eyes, good physic, and a killer smile(pun intended) many women look at him with lust, which, it affects nothing on him.

“You know, you do look in a white tuxedo, you always did” Kitty remember the times she saw Kurt with a white tuxedo, it was in his birth party.

“Thank you, You do look astonishing tonight” Kitty smile with confidence and accept the arm Kurt offers as they enter the mansion, there´s good quality jazz playing and a miscellaneous of people are dancing and having a good time.

“Shall we?” no words were needed after this, the music, the light, it was everything perfect. They dance all the music available. After a minute, someone decided to play Beauty and Beast´s song, it was rather fitting.

“You dance very well, Kurt” compliment Kitty as she rests her head on his shoulder, a replica exact of the famous scene of Disney´s Beauty and the Beast.

“Hey, I´m a Demon Lord, I have to know those things” jokes Kurt softly happy that Kitty is this close, this comfortable with him, “ I think I never danced with you before, what a shame”

She giggled and kissed him, maybe, it was the effect of such dance marathon, but right now, Kitty feels overjoy and happy like never before. Actually, this is a thought that did make her stop for a moment when was the last time she was this happy?

I don´t know. This type of happiness never happen before, I heard about but it was never with me.

“Do you want to rest?” Kurt suggested and Kitty nods. They go to a section reserved for the guest to rest “ Are you having fun?”

“Yes, I´m, thank you, Kurt, for taking me. I just realize that I never really dance with anyone” her words have hide meaning and Kurt didn´t pressure her to speak, it would be hypocritical of him otherwise.

“I´m glad, the night is rather beautiful, Be like a peacock and dance with all of your beauty,” said Kurt who is reward with Kitty laughing uncontrollably.

“True, hey, I wanna grab wine to us, for some reason I don´t the waitress will come to us” a waitress mile and miles away from them clung to his crucifix and going far away from Kurt and Kitty as humanly possible as the others are following the lead.

Kurt can´t help with a chuckle at this and make an innocent face, just like Kurt Wagner would do.

“Yeah, why is that?” Kitty only rolls her eyes and darted to grab something to Kurt and herself, the food table is filled with food that screams money.

“Should I eat or worry about the fees?” asked Kitty looking at a very well made salmon that seem something only a top chef could dream to make “yeah, YOLO, ”

As she starts to choose the eligible food, someone clear the throat to speak with Kitty, it was a fairly attractive man, with reddish-brown hair, blue eyes and is bulky.

“Hi, doll face” Kitty cringe at his voice, but, don´t want to make a scene. “ do you want to dance with me?”

“Oh, let me answer this in the simplest way possible: NO, NO, NO” then she whispered, “ did you get it?”

The man looks furious and out of the blue grab her arm, only to Kitty to have to phase quickly.

“Dollface, I want just want a dance, why you have to be such a bitch?”

“Well, jackass, why you have to be such jackass?” The guy tried to grab her again and Kitty slaps him, the food trail she did care was dropped and the woman takes this chance to get away from him.

“Jackass, why I´m not surprised?” asked Kitty returning with empty hands to the table where Kurt is. Furious, then upset and a bit let down, even in this new universe, people like that man still exist.

Kurt spends 15 minutes calming her down, Kitty starts to crying, not because of the man, per say, but what he represents, how many men tried to force Kitty in to do things she didn´t want? How many men tried to manipulate Kitty in some form?

“Sorry, I ruined our night”

“No, you didn´t, this isn´t your fault, Katzchen, ” Kurt sometimes worries about Kitty attitude ‘try to kill me, I like it’ as she labels it, it raises some concern “ we did have a great time, but most importantly, you have a good time”

“Yes, I did” she dried her tears “sorry”

“Don´t apologize, Katzchen, is alright, do you want to go home?”

“Our home?” Kurt feels his heart beat faster than normal to such statement “sure, we can watch Netflix, and only because I like you a lot, we can watch Paranormal activity” Kitty smile at this.

“ The let´s go home, Kurt, I think I dance enough for my shoes”

“Then let´s go home”

Kurt teleport them back to home, only Kitty would think Limbo as home, as she is in the room looking for her comfy clothes(Kurt allowed Kitty to let some clothier in his home, actually, he was over the moon with the idea) she noticed Kurt giving that smile. That dangerous smile.

“Kurt?”

“I have something to do, I´ll be back” and in a brimstone smoke, Kurt is gone.

Meanwhile, in the party, the reddish brown hair man seems to get lucky with a gorgeous red hair that has no time to waste, the man can´t believe the luck, a hot red hair wanting his attention, oh, Andy hit jackpot.

As the man and the astonishing woman are almost reaching to the parking lot, where his car is when a smoke of brimstone appear and the humor of the red hair change completely. She lay prostrate on the floor

“Lord Belasco, my Lord, what brings you here?” from horny red hair to coward red hair it all take a minute to Belasco.

“Rose from the ground Succubus, your kind did hear my words”

“Yes, no harm shall be inflicted on your human, no Succubus will dare to disobey, Lord Belasco”

“Good, now, run, my problem is with this man” the red hair did what was told leaving Andy behind. Andy is not the brightest tool in the stage, but, even him can notice when something is not right.

“Who are you?” snap the angry man that lost a great night.

“Nice question, I think your date called me Lord Belasco, but you seem very slow, so let me introduce” In a snap of his finger, the parking lot shape himself to a hellish vision of a nightmare.

Well, it was something that makes Andy fright, it just bored Lord Belasco.

A pair of hand, dead and putrified hand hold Andy to the ground, against his will, as another hand silent his mouth.

“Oh, you scream so loudly, how boring, now, do you get the gist of Who Am I?” asked Kurt smiling cruelly. Andy can only nod and muffed sounds escape his mouth.

“Do you know why Am I here? Well, men like you I see every day, the mindset no means yes, is not original, this disgusts me very much, however, what makes me angry is that you made her cry” Andy scream or tried to scream when Kurt reveal his true form.

Red skin, horns, red eyes and his tail. And to top off, his voice is no longer human. Andy is crying and screaming.

“I could do many things with you, uhm…Prometheus´s story does seem nice? How about having your organs being eating by birds, having they grown again just to see the endless cycle?”

Andy shakes his head. Trying to plead with Kurt.

“No, oh, so No to you means just no? what a novel idea, you should have considered this before” Kurt smirk nasty and remove the putrified hand from Andy´s mouth. Hellfire evolves Andy hurting his skin, his organs, bones, and soul.

“I promise, I´ll never bother any women ever again, I swear, please let me go, please” Andy pleads with Kurt. For his part, Kurt is just looking into his eyes. red and puffy as Kitty´s

“A man can not often know the intention of a woman until seen a demon from a very close distance.” said in a demonic voice “ however, I´m in great mood, so I´ll give you a chance to prove your words, but heed my word, Anders Green, if you do that again, your soul will be sent to Limbo to an endless torture, and with Several Demons”

“I promised, I promised” Andy is laying on the ground saying this word over and over again not realizing that Kurt is already gone and that the hellish dimension is gone as well. His body is well.

Pathetic human.

Kurt returns home, his departure last at most 4 minutes, and he put his old red cape and crackle his joints.Kitty spots him before he could change back to his ‘human’ form, somehow, she doesn´t seem afraid.

“Kurt, is everything alright?”

“Yeah, it is, I exchange words with that man, don´t worry, he is still alive, so which, Paranormal Activity, we will see tonight”

“Ok, how about the first one? If I manage to understand which is the first one”

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svartalfhild · 7 years

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62 Modern!Knight Stars

62. “Do you have a ride home?”

Cold. Mornath felt nothing but cold as she shuffled along the side of the road. The pouring rain had her soaked to the very bone, her heavily worn leather boots squelching unpleasantly with each step. A lance of pain continually shot up her left shin. She had probably fractured something when she had rolled out of the trunk of that moving car. Served her right for getting literally roped into that situation by some rando in a red hoodie at the bar asking the question “Do you have a ride home?”

She could barely see where she was going; her glasses were cracked and covered in rain droplets and though she could feel her case in her jacket pocket with the cleaning cloth inside, it would be fruitless for her to use it, a waste of energy. Hell, she was having trouble just staying vertical and conscious at this point.

Eventually, she couldn’t even do that. The pain and stiffness in her legs forced them to give out and she tumbled into the ditch between the road and the tree line with a muddy splash. She didn’t know how much time passed before she heard a car pull up nearby. Her awareness was fading in and out. Someone picked her up and she registered dark brown eyes, a square jaw, and a purple silk tie before she completely passed out.

- - -

Mornath came to in a hospital bed, a heart monitor beeping away beside her. The only other sound that wasn’t distant and muddled was two voices talking quietly in the corner. They seemed to be discussing the payment of her costs. She looked over to see a very tall man and a squat nurse, who were rather fuzzy to her without her glasses. They must have noticed her movement, because they both immediately turned to her.

“She’s awake,” the man commented, a big grin spreading across his face. Both he and the nurse quickly strode over to her and he handed her something off the end table of the bed. Her glasses. “They’re cracked, but I imagine it’s better than nothing.”

Mornath hastily put them on, though her joints were stiff and protested loudly. Everything came into focus. She could see now that the man was young, probably not much older than herself, and the nurse was middle-aged and a bit severe-looking.

“You’re very lucky, young lady. You came in with hypothermia, severe malnourishment, a broken wrist, and a badly sprained ankle,” the nurse told her. “But you’re going to be fine.”

“How…how long have I been out?” Mornath asked, her voice a quiet rasp from disuse.

“Three days.” Good lord. The young woman pursed her lips and glanced down at her arm, which was in a blue cast, resting heavily across her abdomen. Great. Something else on top of the pile of things she couldn’t pay for.

She caught the gaze of the strange man as she looked about the room and something seemed immediately familiar about his dark eyes. When she noticed the loosened purple tie around his neck, it clicked.

“It was you. You pulled me out of the ditch,” she observed and his smile seemed to grow even brighter.

“You remember,” he said, sounding pleasantly surprised. Mornath frowned at him.

“Why are you still here?” The question visibly shocked him, as if he could not conceive of any other choice, and that only confused her further.

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Most people would drop me off and be on their merry way, not stick around for three days without a change of clothes on behalf of a total stranger.” At this, the young man glanced down at his attire as if he hadn’t even realized he was still wearing the same clothes.

“I wouldn’t grill the poor man, if I were you, Ms. Sparrowswood. He’s the reason you’re alive and he refused to leave until you woke up,” the nurse put in, quirking an eyebrow at Mornath. How did she know her name? Ah, they must have found her driver’s license in her wallet.

“So I’m awake now. Why are you still here?”

“Has no one ever cared about you before or something?” the nurse interjected again with a critical scowl as the man opened his mouth to reply.

“No,” Mornath deadpanned and the other two stared with a mixture of horror and disbelief.

“Well, I guess that explains why no one came when the hospital contacted your parents.” The look the nurse gave Mornath as she said this left the distinct impression that she blamed the young woman’s demeanor.

“May I talk to her alone, please?” the man asked the nurse politely, though there was a hard glint in his eyes, as if he took personal offense at what she had said to Mornath. The nurse gave a curt nod and let them know she would be just outside if she was needed before walking briskly from the room. “Rude,” the man muttered upon the door’s closing.

“Who are you?” Mornath asked immediately when he turned back to her.

“My name’s Zvezda Eliander, although most people call me Heliodoro. I’m sorry if it’s creepy for me to be here, but I promise I really do just want to be sure you’re alright. I’m smart enough to realize that girls don’t end up in your situation unless someone hurt them. It…seemed wrong to leave you on your own. I was going to stay just until your family came, but now that I know they aren’t coming, I’m staying until you tell me to go,” he explained.

Mornath watched him carefully as he spoke, looking for any signs of insincerity in his expression or mannerisms, but she was shocked to find nothing. He…he really meant what he was saying. What kind of bizarro world had she woken up in?

“But…why do you care? I’m nothing, nobody,” she replied quietly. This question brought a sudden and entirely unexpected look of heartbreak to Heliodoro’s features.

“Everyone is somebody. Everyone has worth. Whoever told you otherwise can shove it,” he told her fervently and an inappropriate laugh bubbled out of her before she could stop herself.

“Oh my god, you’re a real bleeding heart. The genuine article.” What a weird fucking dream. Or maybe she had just gone crazy.

“That’s what my mother always said.” Heliodoro cracked a new smile that quickly fell again once he realized why her manner had suddenly changed. “You don’t think any of this is real, do you?” She shook her head, giggling some more.

“Why would it be?” The look of horror on Heliodoro’s face made Mornath’s laughs fade out and brought about an awkward silence that was only broken when he sat on the end of her bed and spoke again, his tone deeply serious.

“I don’t know what happened to you or who hurt you and I’m not going to ask, but I promise you that this is real and that I will do everything I can to help you.”

If this was real…it was too much for Mornath to process. Her mind raced with every hope and fear she’d pushed aside to deal with it all. They overflowed down her cheeks and blurred her vision. She put he left hand over her mouth to stifle the sobs that wracked her aching body.

“Oh god…” she choked out, muffled behind her palm.

Heliodoro didn’t say anything and simply held out his hand, offering it to her. It only made her cry harder, but he did not withdraw. He waited patiently for her to calm down a little and wipe her eyes, after which point she placed her hand in his and let his large fingers envelope hers with a reassuring squeeze.

“Thank you for caring,” she finally managed, her voice wobbling terribly.

“You don’t have to be on your own anymore,” he replied gently. “I’ve already paid your medical expenses, but I can also get you out of here, get you a job, a place to stay, have you ready to hit the ground running when you’re fully recovered. If you want any of that, of course. I don’t really know your whole situation.”

“How can you manage all that?” The question cam out more steady than Mornath had expected, which helped her calm down further.

“I’m an actor signed on with a major studio; I know people.” Heliodoro smirked as he said this and she couldn’t help but smile a little in return.

“They still won’t discharge me into your care. You’re not my next of kin.”

“I…may have told them I’m your fraternal twin brother.”

“And they believed you!?”

“I made my argument about our eyebrows both being strong enough to lift buses very convincing. It was a dramatic scene.” At this, a light, genuine laugh burst from Mornath and Heliodoro’s smirk became a huge, boyish grin.

“You’re a very strange man. I like you.”

#betweenrivers-betweenworlds #Mornath Sparrowswood #prompt #The Knight Stars

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