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ericsonclan · 2 years

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You’ll Always Be My Sweetpea

Summary: Clementine comes out to Lee.

Word Count: 1541

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Clementine kept picking at her nails. She felt sick to her stomach, the knots kept getting tighter and tighter as her mind spun. She had known that she was bi for a long time. A few years before she even met Lee. She had never really felt any shame about that fact or discomfort. Instead when she had discovered that about herself everything seemed to click. She was comfortable in her own skin and who she was. That would never change. But no matter how comfortable she felt, it was always nerve-wracking, the idea that someone Clementine trusted deeply would reject her for a part of who she was.

That thought terrified her to her core. But she had waited for this day. Waited until she was eighteen just in case everything went to shit. That way if Lee rejected her and didn’t want her as a part of his life at the very least she wouldn’t be put back into the system. Those days were gone now and that would be a guaranteed positive no matter the outcome of this situation.

She had no reason to not come out. No reason except fear. Well, fuck it. Clementine wasn’t the type to live by fear’s decree and she wasn’t going to start now.

Slowly getting up from her bed, Clementine made her way down the stairs towards the kitchen. The smell of pulled pork wafted through the air but she couldn’t focus on that. Her nerves made her feet feel like they were filled with lead and her gut pricked with the sensation of needles with each breath.

Sharp and anxiety-inducing.

Clementine wouldn’t back out though, no matter what.

Lee hummed a happy tune as he shook his hips. The movement caused his apron to sway as he snapped his lobster claw oven mitts together. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited for dinner. Pulled pork and mild barbeque sauce, tucked away safely in toasted buns and served with a heaping side of coleslaw. It was a great dinner to have and Lee for one couldn’t wait to dig in. He was about to work some more on the coleslaw when suddenly his phone rang. After an awkward moment of spinning around and trying to answer with oven mitts on, Lee conceded and lobbed off his mitts. “Hello?”

Lee was greeted by his brother’s warm laughter. “What’s got you all in a huff?”

“Trying to answer the phone while wearing lobster claws. I don’t recommend it.” Lee replied as he turned on the light to see how the buns were doing.

“Noted. Guess that's one wish I won’t be using if I ever come across a genie.”

“Lobsters seem to have a harder life than we give them credit for. So, what’s up, Baylor?”

“Mmm, nothing much. Just checking in, seeing how life with your kids is going.” Baylor’s calm voice put Lee at ease like it usually did.

“Things are going well. Both Clem and AJ are doing fine. How are Mom and Dad? How’s the pharmacy?” Lee pressed the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he worked to cut up some cabbage.

“Mom and Dad are doing well. The store too.”

“Is Dad still zipping around on his cane?”

Baylor’s laughter lit up the other line again. “Yeah, even whooped a shoplifter with it.”

“Damn, guess that cane still protects that place better than any guard dog,” Lee haphazardly plopped the cabbage into a bowl and kept working on the coleslaw.

“Yeah. So life is good in Macon. In fact, I met-”

“Shit! My buns are burning!” Lee exclaimed as he worked to turn off the oven.

“Wait, like your actual ass or-”

“Listen, I’ll call you back later. Tell Mom and Dad I say hi,” Lee hung up the phone before his brother could say anything else. Tossing his phone on the counter he got the oven mitts back on and pulled the buns out. Luckily they weren’t that burnt at all and after some last-minute touches dinner was set.

“Dinner smells good,” Clementine mumbled as she sat down at the table. AJ’s footsteps appeared a second later on the staircase before his scampering form skidded to a halt by the table. Plopping onto his seat he excitedly got ready to chow down.

“Did both of you wash your hands?’ Lee asked as he brought over the different parts of the meal.

“Yep,” AJ smiled, his legs kicking under the table. Clementine silently nodded then started to fidget with her hat.

“Something wrong, Sweetpea?” Lee watched his daughter, his eyes softening.

“Nothing, just anxious about life, I guess,” Clementine mumbled, then worked to grab some food. All of her focus was on acting like things were normal. This was just a normal dinner. She could enjoy the meal without worrying about her decision.

But she couldn’t. Food made her nauseous and after taking a few bites to make sure Lee wasn’t worrying, she didn't touch it.

AJ, on the other hand, was inhaling the food. Bits of pulled pork fell from his overstuffed sandwich before he picked them up and munched animatedly, mixing the pork bits with the coleslaw. Quickly he stuffed some potato chips in his mouth and sipped loudly from his juice box.

“Hey, slow down there, buddy. How do we show our table manners?” Lee looked at his son who immediately slowed down. After swallowing the food in his mouth, AJ settled down and acted better. That didn’t stop him from inhaling the food though. Lee didn’t mind that his son had a hearty appetite but he was more concerned about the fact that Clementine wasn’t eating much at all. “Sweetpea,”

Lee watched as Clementine tensed at the sound of his voice. Her hand curled around the fork and she began to shovel the coleslaw into her mouth. All that stayed in her eyes was nervousness but she soon hid them underneath her hat. She was reverting back to some of her old habits. Her walls were going up once more and Lee had no idea why. He waited for some time, making sure he finished up his dinner and that AJ did the same before letting his son run off to rewatch an episode or two of Disco Broccoli n Pals .

Once AJ was gone and the faint sounds of the Disco Broccoli n Pals theme song started to play Lee decided it was time to speak up.

“I can tell something’s been bothering you. It always helps to talk about it and you know I’m always willing to listen.”

Clementine felt her throat tighten as she kept messing with her hat, a keepsake from her bio dad. “I know,”

“Then what’s wrong, Sweetpea?”

“Just-” Clementine took a deep breath. “Give me a minute.”

“Okay, take your time,” Lee leaned back in his chair and tried not to pressure his daughter in any sort of way.

Clementine bit the inside of her lip. This was it. Lee had picked up that something was making her anxious. She couldn't bullshit her way out of this, nor did she really want to. “There’s something that I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time,” Clementine shielded her eyes from Lee with her baseball cap.

“You know you can tell me anything. You know that no matter what you’ll always be my Sweetpea.”

“Yeah,” Clementine took a shaky breath. Throwing away all her fear and the past memories she held of rejection from previous homes she took the dive. “I’m bi.”

Lee blinked at that. Not saying a word at first.

“That’s all I wanted to tell you.” Clementine stared at her plate filled with food. She was ready to get defensive if she needed to but she had to hear Lee’s answer first. Every second that passed though was brutal. Her heart sank to her gut and it felt like she couldn’t breathe. She had been tossed out of homes for less. There was no guarantee this would go well. In fact, as seconds passed one by one Clementine felt her nails dig deeper into her knees. She watched as Lee’s lips parted, ready for rejection. Prepared for everything to go wrong.

“That’s great. Glad you felt like you could share that with me,”

Clementine’s eyes wandered up and saw Lee’s gentle smile. “That’s it? You’re not gonna question it?” Her shoulders were still tense and she studied Lee’s face with doubt.

“Nope, why should I? Who knows you better than yourself.”

Clementine couldn’t believe it. This was the opposite of what she had prepared herself for. “So…” She ventured forward with her questioning “You’re not mad or anything?”

“It would be weird to be mad at you and feel hypocritical considering I’m bi too.”

Clementine pushed her hat up, making sure that her eyes weren’t blocked at all as she stared at Lee. “Really?”

“Yep,” Lee could see the wheels turning in his daughter’s mind. “I’ll put on a pot of decaf coffee,”

He was sure they were going to talk for hours. Not that he minded at all. He was just glad that Clementine felt comfortable enough to open up to him. He was proud of his daughter.

#twdg #twdg clementine #twdg lee #twdg baylor #twdg aj #fanfic #ericson's diner au

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craftygal65 · 2 years

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Dog waste bag holder https://www.crazypatterns.net/en/blog/2369/dog-waste-bag-holder via @Crazy_Patterns "https://www.crazypatterns.net/en/blog/2369/dog-waste-bag-holder" if you pit a lobster claw hook on the top you can attach the bag holder to the leash.

#crochet #free crochet patterns #crochet free pattern #freepattern #yegdogs #crochetersofinstagram #crochetaddict #crochetpattern #crocheters of tumblr

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diary-of-an-onliner · 3 years

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feet on the ground [f.w.]

word count: 3381

warnings: none

a/n: this is based on, and a counterpart/continuation of @ickle-ronniekins 's head in the clouds — thanks for the inspo babe, this one is for you

Fred Weasley was not happy. Sure, he had made a lot of questionable, or as other people like to say 'bad', decisions in his life, but taking Care of Magical Creatures was one of the worst. Yes, it made Hagrid ecstatic, and that's always a good thing to see; yes, it's useful for his future business. However a hellfire-cracken the size of a shoebox was making him rethink his choices.

For the lack of a better distraction, he focused on digging a hole in the grass with his trainer as Hagrid’s rumbled instructiones flew over his head, missing both ears and zooming away into an indifferent oblivion. George is taking this already, he looked to George, who was quite enchanted with his partner, and thoroughly enjoying it, couldn't we have split up? He kicked the dirt lightly, startling the girl next to him.

Neither Fred nor his Slytherin partner were thrilled with each other,but misery loves company, so it might be for the best.

"How's the weather up there?" said his partner, who was crouching eye — er, shell-level, with the creature, but keeping her distance nonetheless. Her hair waved and flickered on her shoulder as she bounced on her heels.

"Immaculate, thanks for asking." he said, not wanting to get closer to the scorpion-lobster lovechild from the asshole of hell. "Y'know Hagrid said those things burn, bite, and sting, right?"

"So do I.” she said sarcastically, still keeping her gaze tied to the monster. “I'm not going to touch it, I'm just looking. You're aware we need to sketch it, label its parts and write an essay about it later?" Fred shifted his weight from foot to foot restlessly.

"Yes." his nostrils flared.

She pursed her lips and, after a moment of silence, said: "I dare you to touch it."

He crossed his arms. "I am not taking dares from you. We met three minutes ago and I haven't enjoyed a second of it."

"What's up your ass?" she turned to him, still crouching. "Actually, I don't care. Just don't take it out on me." The creature clicked their — tail? — pincers? — their something.

"I wasn't—" she raised an eyebrow and he fell silent, and looked away.

"'m not very thrilled to be here." he mumbled. "And that ugly death trap isn't making it better. Can we start over?" he asked, sighing and tiredly sweeping his left hand through his hair, and offering his right to her.

She took it and pulled herself up, then promptly smoothed out her skirt, shook his still proffered hand, and introduced herself.

Unlike his messy untucked shirt, her uniform was pressed down to the socks and her shoes held no traces of mud. It gave her a calculating, and slightly cold aura, as if she was drawn with a set of rulers and a compass. She was probably more geometrical than anyone who had ever taken Care of Magical Creatures.

"Fred." he said, even though she knew.

"Well Fred, we will be working together on this Blast-Ended Skrewt for the next few weeks, so that 'ugly death trap’ is our son you're talking about." she chided with a smile that better belonged on a sly fox rather than a girl.

"You sound very attached to it." he shot back. An idea, a thought, a silver of a notion that this might be fun slithered along the floor of his skull.

"Him.” She corrected with her pointer finger in the air. “And it's called being a good parent." she lightly jabbed him in the chest.

"Okay then. Go pet your son." Fred smirked.

They turned toward the beast which was playing in the grass like a puppy. It seemed to be wiggling its tails.

Her eyes narrowed: "Which part is the head?"

"I don't know. We should probably figure it out, since the other side shoots flames." he said in an amused tone.

"It's supposed to be a sucker, so it might be the penis-looking side." he chuckled, but when she turned to stare at him expectantly, his red eyebrow jumped in question. A breeze ruffled their hair.

"Go on then, don't be shy, we need to compare." she said flatly.

He burst out laughing so hard, a few people around them turned to stare - quite a dangerous thing to do at the moment seeing as some of the beasts started snipping. A yelp sounded from afar, and Fred laughed even harder.

At least his partner is funny.

"Seriously though, this thing is going to fire-fart on us soon and we need to figure it out."

“You don’t feel better in nature?” her tone piqued as she turned the pages of a book. Their desk was covered with them, during the first of their many study meetings.

“No.” Fred played with his quill, spinning it through his fingers. “You do?”

“I feel clearer, especially near water.”, thump, she shut her book and discarded it.

“How come?” he balanced on the back legs of his chair, eyes darting around.

“I don’t know. It’s not a thing I question.”, flip, flip, flip, “It just lures me out of my head, and makes me feel a little more real, like I’m aware of my own existence. Sharper, yknow?”

Fred shook his head.

“I don’t have a need to get out of my head, it’s great in there.” he joked. She snorted and passed him a book with a piece of paper sticking out.

“Don’t you? You seem to be in there a lot though. I think you think too much.” Fred chukled, “That’s something I've never been told.”

“Then it’s about time.” she threw his way, but she had yet to look at him, Fred noted. The idea of her as geometrical played around in his head. “Try it next time. People exist a little sharper sometimes. It stops you from feeling like you’re going to float away.” her eyes finally flickered to him like two needles of her compasses, and shot him down. His chair hit the ground.

Before Fred had a chance to say something else or roll her idea around in his brain, she passed him a piece of parchment with a soft order to, “Write.”

His diagram of their unnamed child was much neater than hers, but his illegible handwriting distracted from it perfectly.

"That is not a t."she said, her hair almost electrified from stress-combing it with her hands.

"It's obviously a g." he chirped, but his tone sounded worn down all the same. She squinted at the paper with her mouth open for a moment, then gave up.

"How are you still this peppy?" she asked as her gaze lazily rolled itself away from the books. His tie was completely undone and being used as a bookmark, his shirt unbuttoned and ruffled like his hair, ha, carrot head!, but he took no note of it as he balanced on the back legs of his chair again. Every so often, a clank would sound amid their conversation when the chair struck against the stone floor and his feet hit the ground, before he leaned back again.

"What are you talking about? I'm knackered." he yawned.

She looked up, and her thoughts leaked out of her head. The scenery through the window behind him was gorgeous, lit on fire by the dusk— oversaturated reds and pinks which lined the dark purple clouds.

With a loud tap on the library floor, the front legs of Fred's chair touched the ground and his head covered the sun perfectly, giving him a golden lining and making his orange hair melt into the background. The clear lines of his face looked almost chiseled in contrast to the haziness behind him.

A weight settled in the center of her torso, an iron bowling ball rolling between her stomach and her heart. He was handsome. She knew this. But she used to know it the way one knows they should drink water when they’re thirsty. Knowing you needed it after you drink him in, swallow, and sign, is another story.

She felt a warm metal line grow out of her chest, like a vine towards the sunlight, enter his chest and settle.

For a few moments she imagined it. She tried to note the dragging sensation of warm iron and let herself be pulled to him. She imagined the ball rolling in his center, and all his squirming being in an attempt to adjust it instead of just staying awake.

Then she blinked. Took in the real scene. Despite being exhausted, she felt tranquil in their little corner filled with books and a few very ugly sketches. She picked one up.

“Are we allowed to call his head a dick?” She questioned, but Fred just yawned and shrugged. His chair tipped back again.

“You’ll hurt yourself.” She said flatly, words moving from line to line like trains with the shittiest track designs ever.

“The thrill keeps me awake.” he closed his eyes, hair still a burning red. She didn’t dare look at the Sun for too long. Her eyes tried to follow the words. The ball rolled.

He slid another sketch towards her. “I think we should use this one.”

She put the first one aside, their hands brushing as she took the new parchment. She heard the scraping of his chair on the floor as he moved closer until his collarbone pressed against her shoulder as he leaned over to point. The body heat he was emitting only reminded her of the weariness her body carried. It also refashioned her bowling ball into an anchor slowly sinking through her stomach, tickling her insides on the way down.

The sketch was neater and much simpler than others, no more than a handful of black lines on a yellowing parchment.

“This part is the head.” Fred pointed out. “I think. It looks weird and there isn’t exactly a good reference for a randomly cross-bred demon.” He seemed so focused on his drawing that she got the feeling he was avoiding her eyes intentionally. Stupid, really. They’re both just tired and have a lot of work.

Look at me.

He didn’t.

She banished all her stupid silly thoughts, and tried to turn to the books for the next few hours.

Fred stayed circling warmly on the edge of her orbit, moving around her but never looking, never acknowledging her as anything other than a voice and a pair of friendly working hands. The silly stupid thread she felt earlier vibrated. She didn't bring it up for fear they wouldn't finish all their work if she were to derail the conversation, so she waited until the end of their study session.

However, when the anticipated end neared, his chair hit the stone the last time and when she turned to him, Fred was lying on his arms on the table, asleep. His outline was as bright and as sharp as ever, but his face was soft and smooth from relaxation, like a marble statue melting. The anchor in her stomach lurch up at the sight, but she swallowed it down, smiled, and laid her head on the table too.

Another sunny afternoon had George almost skipping to his quirky partner. And Fred was glad, he liked to see his brother happy and loved teasing him for being in love even more — but he still hated the bloody beasts. He was thankful for George's efforts to cheer him up, but Fred refused to move out from under his personal gloomy cloud, choosing to carry it alone instead, the way one would an umbrella.

As soon as George mentions his partner, he knows it's time to leave him to his beloved, as he does, with minimal mocking involved (—but come on!).

As Fred approached her, he saw her roll her eyes. Funny. Something about knowing she's as un-excited as he is made his chest swell up with what can only be described as the sudden understanding of the real depth of companionship between you and a stranger, an acquaintance, a friend. I might not like this, but I am not alone.

"They're four feet long already. Your future sister-in-law," said his partner, gesturing to George's love with her head, at which Fred smiled warmly, "said we only get to work with them for another class. I think she might cry." His clouds stopped thundering.

"Don't be rude." he replied but did not sound angry in the least.

"I'm not. She's a nice girl and God bless her for being passionate about this. We need people like her, otherwise the rest of us would have to care as well." she reasoned.

"There's that warm and welcoming Slytherin care I've heard all about." he said sarcastically.

"Rude. Gingers truly are soulless." Fred got nudged in the ribs.

"Oi!"

"Oi yourself!" she flipped her hair and flashed her foxy smile. No, it's fox-like. "Don't start things you can't finish."

"Well, I'm ready to be done with this thing." he looked pointedly at the snapping creature reaching out to them like a baby in a cot.

They received their instructions from Hagrid to feed, entertain, and check the health of the creature and set off to work. After a few minutes of silence, Fred spoke.

"I think there's something wrong with this thing." he squinted.

"Him." She corrected, "He's our son."

"Well I think our son is pregnant." Fred’s face soured.

“No way." she replied, kneeling closer to the beast than she'd ever dared before. "How do you know?"

"A hunch?" Fred shrugged his very nicely shaped shoulders. No! "I'm not sure. It did eat three times as much as the others. It should be a lot fatter."

"He." She absent-mindedly corrected, trying to get a good enough look.

"He doesn't look sick but he's being weird." he squatted next to her, bouncing on his heels.

"Maybe he's lonely. We both ditched a few times." She bumped her knee into his. "I dare you to touch him."

Fred laughed as he turned to her. "I'm not that commited of a father. You do it."

"Why me? You need to do something too!" she whined as their son approached in a rather puppy-like gait, as if he was going to rub against their legs, and Fred's gaze slipped off her, like that day in the library.

"I'll do whatever you want.” he paused "Within reason, of course."

"Touch him."

"Within reason."

"Fine." their dark-shelled son stood before them now, but they were not as hesitant this time. The beast looked at Fred with either his head or his stinger (how is it still not clear?).

Slowly and shakily, her hand reached out. She almost withdrew it, but it already made contact with their son's back and he made a sound similar to purring, which was both surprising and unsettling. Her face bent in disgust as her entire palm pressed against his black shell, gleaming maroon in the sunlight.

"Ew. He's slimy." she detached her hand to see a catran-like substance coating it. "How is he slimy?"

Fred's nose was scrunched as well but an amused gleam flickered on his face nonetheless. “Disgusting.”

"Well, I did it." she complained, trying to wipe her hand on his arm, but he rose to his feet quickly, laughing.

“Keep that to yourself.” Fred warned, trying to avoid her swift attempts to use him as a rag.

“Come on!” She whined. “We’re in this together. If I have to be gross then so do you.” she jumped up after Fred.

He felt weightless as he maneuvered around her and the clawing beast that still purred by their feet, and he realized how warm the sunlight was. His little cloud was gone. In that distracted second of their impromptu three-creature quickstep, she wrapped her clean hand around his hand and pulled herself closer to him.

She grinned from ear to ear, and Fred felt her wet, cold hand sliding down his shoulder. She wiped a few times down his arm and chest with a wickedly satisfied look in her face as he wondered why he didn’t mind it so much. His eyes danced over her face the way his trainers had over the grass mere seconds ago.

“What?” she asked. Wait, she was speaking.

“Um, nothing.” his face rearranged itself from a goofy smile (What?) and he looked at his stained shirt. Before he even had time to comment, her voice made the center of his stomach tighten.

“Do you think he'd lick one if she asked?” Fred followed her gaze to George, looking as dreamy as his partner who was purring back at their Blast-Ended Skrewt. Sunlight covered them too.

Her hand still held onto him.

Fred sighed, both amused and lightheaded from a new discovery threatening to unveil its face in his mind. George laughed so loudly it reached Fred’s ears, and he responded, “Yes.”

“Would you lick one for me?” she batted her eyelashes.

“Absolutely not.” he said without missing a beat.

“What kind of a father won't even lick his own son?” she put a hand on her chest, faux-horrified.

“I still think our son is pregnant.” he said, grinning at her.

“What kind of a father won't lick his own pregnant son?” she humored.

“You're making this worse than it has to be.”

Her eyebrow rose as she offered: “You can always do this alone?”

“No.” something ugly and covered in spikes spun in Fred's stomach.

“Well then,” she said smugly, as if she knew, “you need to start cooperating.” She tugged on his arm with her hand that was there the whole time. Her arm slid around his as she pulled him along, and Fred adjusted his collar with his fingers. When did they get so far away from the group?

“You don’t pet him, you don’t groom him with your tongue like a cat, what do you do? I haven’t seen you change a single diaper!” she over-exaggerated. “I’m basically a single mother!”

He laughed and apologized, feeling lighter and sharper than he had all day.

His future sister-in-law was wrong. They worked on their loving, puppy-like hell scorpions for three more classes, and had another one in a classroom, correcting their essays. During that class, they found out that their son really was pregnant, at which they laughed all the way to the Great Hall.

Fred felt something heavy rolling over his intestines when he thought of the end. It wound itself around his organs until his lips dropped. Nevertheless, he grinned at George (who definitely saw through him), and, with his chin up like a proud lion, departed from him to sit next to his partner, one last time.

He thought about her more often than he expected to, and he feared he might have to stop soon.

As he slid next to her, his metaphorical tail curled closer to him. She beamed brightly at him, and offered her closed fist.

“You ready, partner?”

No, he curled his fingers with a smile, I don’t think I am, and bumped their hands together.

“Doesn’t have to end? Didn't you listen?” she asked him incredulously as he caught up with her. He couldn’t say he has, as his ears buzzed deafeningly loudly since they received their O.

Maybe she had a point when she said there were moments when people felt more defined as he was more sure than ever that he existed in the corridor leading to the Care of Magical Creatures classroom, as his limbs filled with lead at the way she spoke.

“I just thought if you—” his mouth shit on its own. “You know—”

“Holy shit, you really didn’t listen?” but this time she laughed. “Hagrid said we can pick our own partners for the next project.” Her arm curled around his own, “So unless you want to dump me, we march on.”

Whatever heavy thing has been making his stomach a winter home the past week flew off to their summer residence.

She definitely had a point about grounded moments, because when her hand squeezed his arm, the lead leaked out and the awareness of every part of his body slammed into focus.

And Fred smiled back.

She smiled promisingly at him, his heart stuttered, and his sneakers sunk into the stone beneath him.

#fred weasley #fanfic #fred weasley x reader #hp fanfic

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snowflakeforestfelting · 2 years

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youtube

NEEDLE FELTING Lobster Tutorial

#NEEDLE FELTING Lobster Tutorial #SnowflakeForest #SnowflakeForest Felting #Felting #Needle Felting #Needle Felted #Lobster #Felt #Felted #Needle Felt Lobster #Needle Felted Lobster #DIY Felt Lobster #Felt Lobster #Needle Felting Lobster

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enigma-im · 4 years

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Like a Virgin Pt.2

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Incubus x F!Human Warning: Insecurities, fluff, Silas is a fuckboy, date night, first time, bonding

Word Count: 8261

Part 1 -----------------------------------

I pace around my room like an anxious chicken. I look down at my three dresses, not knowing which one to pick. Each having their pros and cons but still not making the choice easier. Silas never bothered telling me where we were going. All week I kept trying to get answers from him but he would just give me a kiss then a smile. I can't complain because it worked every time.

"just pick the red one," I mumble to myself. I reach down for the dress but hesitate when I look at the purple one. I stand straight and groan. Just pick one.

"The Yellow one will make you look bright but I'm a bit bias to the red one, the color of love and lust," a voice behind me says. I jump, turning to see Silas at my door. I tighten my towel around my chest making him laugh.

"You are early," I look him up and down. He is wearing a dark blue 2-piece suit. White dress shirt, the last two buttons undone. His blazer is also undone showing how tight the shirt is to his stomach. I can't take my eyes off him. I've seen him in dress clothes, that is his thing, but this is a lot. He looks damn sexy. Even though he still has bags under his eyes and currently his cheeks are beginning to sink.

He snaps his fingers," up here love." I look up at his cocky smirk.

I roll my eyes," shut up. Why you early?"

He gives me a once over," what, and miss this view?"

"seriously," I chide.

"Alright, I knew you would be freaking out about now. I guess I was right if you are still pacing your room looking for an outfit," he gestures to the clothes.

"As right as you are, how did you know," I don’t bother denying. He doesn’t answer but walks over to me. Grabbing my waist and looking down at me.

"I've known you for a long while. I think I can figure out if you are going to be a nervous wreck or not," he leans down and pecks my forehead," go with the red one. I'll be in the living room." with that he lets me go and walks out. I shake my head, smiling to myself.

I put on the red dress then walk to my bathroom to fix my hair. I get cleaned up and walk out into the living room. I find Silas lounging on the sofa. His arms stretched out on the back and his legs crossed at the ankle. He looks handsome here. I never bothered looking at him before this week. It felt wrong to ogle a friend but now it's different.

He finally notices me and he drops his arms off the sofa," Fuck." he rests his elbow on his knee. Looking me up and down grinning like a dork. Its almost unfitting on his sexy face. It's so dopey that I can't help but smile back.

"I'll take it you like it," I fidget with the fabric of my dress.

"Like it? I love it, you look holy. Like a goddess really. I'm not worthy of your time but I will cherish it because I'm a greedy man," he lays it on thick.

"Alright, alright. You could have just said you like it," I turn with a blush. I hear him stand from the sofa.

"And miss those rosy cheeks? never," he laughs.

"biggest flirt I have ever met," I mumble as I cup my cheek, fighting off the smile curling my lips. As I fail I turn my face into my palm, grinning like an idiot.

"aw," he coos as he holds my arms," don't hide that beautiful smile." he pries my hand away from my face. I look anywhere but him, not use to this sort of attention. He replaces my hand with his own, turning me towards him. His eyes gleam with admiration and the edges of his lips curls slightly making his cheeks crease. We say nothing to break the silence, too lost in each other's eyes. His smile grows wider before he curls his bottom lip in between his teeth.

"Too damn beautiful," he whispers as he drops his head to mine. My heart swells with the gesture, my insides turning to jelly as he nuzzles my forehead. With a sigh, he turns and pecks me on the cheek before righting himself. "Sorry, lost myself there for a moment. Shall we head to dinner," he tilts his head. I take in a heavy breath, calming the fluttering butterflies in my torso. The warm fuzzy feeling flowing from his hand down into my body. I nod.

We walk out of my apartment to his car waiting out front. It's not hard to spot as it's likely the most expensive car in the lot. He helps me in, like a gentleman I didn't think he could be, and we are on our way.

The ride is exciting but nerve-wracking. The tension sits in my stomach, though it's easy to push away with our simple conversation about our days. When he puts his hand on my knee I can't decide on an emotion. His thumb petting my skin is pleasing but it gets me thinking how the night is expected to end.

Before thoughts can spiral into stomach twisting anxiety we stop in front of a building. I look up at the faintly glowing blue sign saying something in French. Silas startles me when he hops out the car. I watch him come around to my side, opening the door with an awaiting helping hand.

"We have arrived my lady," he purrs as I grab his hand. I get out the car confused, looking around at the array of valets driving cars. I have never been to place fancy enough to have valets. Can hardly think Olive Garden doing something so bouche.

"Looks expensive," I mumble as I watch a young man hop into the expensive car. Silas pulls me along into the building.

"I spare no expense for my night of apologizing and wooing," he jokes. I just hums in answer as we enter the luxurious waiting room. The area is dim, having blue edge lights under ledges and baseboards. The fish tank feels like icing on the cake. The only fish tank I've seen in a restaurant have been lobster tanks. This one has actual fish that you aren't supposed to eat.

I don't notice when we make it to the host stand, too focused on the decked-out surroundings.

"D'Amore," Silas answers without prompt. The older lad at the host stand doesn't even look up as he searches his tablet. No warning he walks away. Silas tugs me along after the man.

We walk further into the dimly lit room. I can't stop my eyes from wandering around, feeling oh so out of place. The looks of the food at people's tables screams that we shouldn’t be able to afford this. Silas and I work for decent pay but even my penny-pinching self can't fathom having enough to dine here.

A few people cast glances at us as we walk by, most lingering on Silas. When eyes go to me it's like being drowned in judgment. I definitely don't belong here.

The host introduces us to our seats before parting. Silas pushes out my chair, pushing it back in once I sit. I can't focus on him as the anxiety stacks. I feel so out of place, so wrong. I shouldn't be here, dining like I have a right to such a sophisticated place. I shouldn't be pretending as I could ever. When I look at Silas I feel about that same, I shouldn't even be with him.

As I fuel my own fire Silas reaches out and grabs my hand," Babe, are you alright?" I startle at his question. I snap my unfocused gaze to him.

"Yea, I'm alright. I just-I've never been in a place like this," I nibble on my cheek. Silas watches me, lingering on every twitch. He squeezes my hand, trying to catch my attention but it's too undirected.

"I have a question for you," he starts cryptically. I finally keep my focus on him, dread boiling to my chest.

"yea," I ask. His eyes look between mine, his face stern.

"If an android has a kid with a person and their man milk is technically from their creator, is the baby his," he says while biting back a grin.

I furrow my brow," What?"

"an android, the organic robots, if one had a kid with it's manufactured spunk that technically was a real human's nut, would he be the dad or the human who made it first," he clarifies.

I can't bring myself to answer as I'm too confused about the question. As his words linger a smile cracks onto my lips as the background fades away.

"Well," I start," it would-I mean it could be. Alright, you got me there." we both chuckle.

"Yea, it's kind of stumped me all day. I heard it from a friend and I don't know what the right answer would be. Ideally, the android is the dad but in a DNA test the human would be the dad, though he didn't shoot it," he rambles.

As we discuss this 'important' topic I feel more welcome. It's easy to see Silas as a handsome egotistical playboy who doesn't have an awkward bone in his body. I forget how completely ridiculous he is. The main reason I ever fell for him.

Dinner goes well as the conversation flows freely. Some topics are risqué and others childish. We do get a few looks from the other patrons but I could hardly care. It's hilarious to be eating such high-class food while debating what is the best 90's cartoon is.

It's clearly the Animaniacs.

It seems too soon when the check comes. The friendly rivalry over the superiority of Dc vs Marvel is put on pause when he takes out his wallet. The moment is long enough for reality to settle back in. our next activity of the night pops into my head with a startling realization.

Next, we head home.

The thought is pleasant but my stomach still twists. I like Silas and the idea of giving myself to him isn't completely off-putting, it's actually nice. Either way the chance of something going wrong bounces around in my head with no escape.

We walk out to the valet, Silas' hand on my lower back, I dwell on fears. I'm so nervous and admitting it doesn't help. We get into his car and head on out. Silas tries to keep the conversation going, which succeeds enough for the time being. It's when we turn towards my home does it fail to keep me relaxed.

I fidget in my seat, fiddling with my dress as I nibble on my cheek. I keep reminding myself of his devotion so far and how it should be impossible for sex with an Incubus to be bad. Which is true, it can-will- be amazing. Yet, the devotion part wrinkles my brain.

I tense when we near my home, the sight of the apartment pushing needles in my legs. I watch it come closer and closer, my anxiety mounting higher and higher. As my turn comes up for the parking lot I'm surprised when we pass it. I watch it go back, twisting in my seat to watch some more.

"What," I mumble as I twist in my seat. I look over to Silas who has a fighting smile on his face. I know we aren't heading to his place as it's the complete other direction, so where are we going?

"Something wrong," Silas asks, his smile widening.

"Nothing wrong, I just thought we were going to my place next," I bait.

He shrugs, looking at the clock on the dash. 8:34.

"Seems a bit early to be ending the night so fast," he answers.

"I guess," I watch him," though I can't possibly think what else you have planned besides…uhh." I drop off at the end. Silas passes me a glance, that smirk resting so peacefully.

"What other plans," he teases," are you talking about the finale of the night? The part where I lay you down and give you the best orgasms of your life?" I blush, turning towards the window, feeling like an innocent child. Silas chuckles, reaching over to rest his hand on my leg again. "No need to be so flustered, love, we have time before that," he squeezes my leg," we are heading somewhere special. Somewhere I have rarely taken a date before."

He piques my interest," Oh yeah? I'm not going to some abandoned house to be ditched, right?"

He scoffs," what kind of man do you think I am? Also, I've taken someone to an abandoned house before. Though it was his idea, not mine. Not an experience I will repeat, don't fuck with goth dudes."

"You had sex with a goth dude in an abandoned house," I laugh.

"I don't kiss and tell," he purses his lips. I bark out in laughter.

"Yes you do, that's actually how we got to here," I snicker.

"Yea, yea," he waves a hand," doesn't matter now, I'm only with you." I fluster again at his declaration. It's still hard to believe he would choose me over everyone he has been with.

"So where are we going," I change the subject.

"It's a surprise," he smiles, pleased with himself.

"a surprise? I can't remember that last time a boyfriend tried to surprise me," I answer. Out the corner of my eye, I see Silas pass me a cocky glance.

"a boyfriend? Are you calling me your boyfriend now," he teases the edge of my dress," I like it."

I blush," shut up."

"awe, don't be so mean to your boyfriend," he stops at a light. He takes the time to lean over, cornering me with an arm on my seat. "Your boyfriend's feelings are hurt, can you give me a little kiss to make it better," he pouts.

I scoff at him," you sound like such a fuckboy right now."

He shrugs," if it works."

"shut up," I smile as I grab his cheeks and press a chaste kiss to his lips. He doesn't allow me to get away with that, pulling me in for a better kiss.

His warm lips mold expertly over mine, stealing my breath so easily. His fingers crawl up my thigh, bunching up the hem of my dress. My fingers trail into his hair to grab a handful, pulling him closer as I rest against the seat. He fills the space quickly, pressing as close as he can. I feel his palm smooth under my dress till his finger timidly presses against my underwear. The tip wiggles under the band, barely touching my crotch.

A car horn makes us jump apart, starling us back into our respected seats. As I catch my breath Silas drives onward

My first clue is lights in the distance and a large line of cars following in the same direction. It finally clicks when a familiar amusement ride is revealed.

"The fair," I ask.

"Yep," he grins," perfect, right?"

"yea but aren't we both a little overdressed for a fair," I pluck at his sleeve.

"Hardly matters, we both look stunning and we are going to win the games in style," he smooths back his hair. I snicker at him.

"Whatever you say," I smile to myself as I look at the oncoming fair. It really is a good idea, though I won't pat him on the shoulder just yet.

He parks and we head in.

The fairgrounds are crowded and full of color. The lively conversation and dull lull of obnoxious music is jovial. It's such a contrast to the fine dining restaurant we ate at. This place has deep-fried everything and games rigged to make you lose. It's lovely and downright perfect.

Silas wraps his arm over my shoulder, pulling me close, and we are off.

Everything is so eye-catching, pulling my attention back and forth. The games flash colorful lights, people gathered around each booth screaming out in triumph or frustration. The food stands engulf the air with its high calories snacks. Further down the way, more lights shine as lines of people wait for their turn on some typical carnival ride. So many activities and such little time.

Silas throws an arm over my shoulder and tugs me towards a booth that doesn't have all the glamor and glam as the others. A ticket booth with a few people standing in a line before it. A family leaves the front of the line holding a rope of tickets. We slowly make it to the front to meet a smiling woman.

"Hello, sweetie," Silas grins widely," twenty tickets please, and thank you." for the added flair he throws in a wink. His arm drops from around my shoulder to my waist, pulling me closer to his side. Despite this the woman blushes to herself, smiling as she counts out our tickets.

"Here you are, sugar, twenty tickets," she smiles," I hope you have a grand ole time."

Silas takes the tickets," Will do, dear."

With that Silas tugs me away again towards the rows of well-decorated stalls. I try to not let the flirty interaction get in my head too much. It's Silas, he has always been that way. It's not like I expected him to change because of me. Still, the wink irks me just a little.

"So, what do you want to do first," Silas squeezes my hip," you are in charge from this point on."

I quirk a cheeky brow at him," That’s a bold thing to say." he smiles down at me with that spine chilling smirk.

"What can I say, sometimes it's hot to have your woman in charge," he teases. The insinuation should be alarming but the fun to be had is too tempting.

"And what if I like my man to be in charge instead," I turn away, hiding the blush blooming along my cheeks. I feel him lean down closer, his breath fanning down my dress.

"Keep calling me your man and I'll be whatever you like," he purrs. I feel outmatched now, slowly working my way towards the deep end. My cheeks hurt as I fight back a dorky smile and a silly giggle. Silas still finds out, cooing as he presses a kiss to my cheek.

"Alright, alright, stop," I push him away," let's see what games they have here." he chuckles as he straightens, pulling me to his side once more as we walk down the large path.

We see games varying from strength to skills, puzzles to sporty. Everyone jokes around each game, laughing and teasing one another as they all attempt to win the stuffed prizes. One game catches my eye, a milk jug and baseball skill test.

"how's your pitching," I ask him. He raises a brow in question before he too spots the game.

"I mean, I don't wanna brag," he jokes as we walk over.

I scoff," you don't wanna brag, hell must have frozen over." he snorts, tearing off a few tickets as he stops in front of the carnival worker.

"one ticket for one throw, three tickets for four," the tall teen says. Silas exchanges three tickets for four balls. He passes me two and we arrange ourselves to our own lane.

"Alright," Silas tosses the ball around in his hands," Watch a pro at work." I watch him reel back and launch the softball across the lane. The ball tings the top of the pyramid, flicking the milk jug off. As the jug rolls around on the floor I look to Silas.

"I think I'm watching the wrong guy if I'm supposed to be witnessing a pro," I shrug. He scowls at me, fiddling with the other ball in his hand.

"Yea, yea, shut up. Tis but a warmup," he shakes out his shoulders before squaring his stance. He launches the ball again completely missing the tower all together. I snort, biting back a snicker as he deflates.

"I think we have different definitions of pro," I chuckle. He snaps towards me, playfully sneering as he walks over.

"Alright, your turn, princess," he crosses his arms in a challenge. I smile at him, accepting his challenge with open arms. I walk up to the bar, setting one of the balls down. I toss the solo one around in my hands before tossing a look over my shoulder.

"You know in high school I use to be in sports," I look back to the restacked jugs," I did a few here and there but only one really stuck with me. I played softball for two years before I had to quit, and do you know what position I played?" before he could answer I launch the ball towards the tips of the bottom row. They explode outward, all tipping over. Two stay on the barrel while the rest tumble to the floor. With a cocky smile I turn to Silas, "I was the pitcher."

Silas looks between me and the milk jugs. He huffs in amusement, walking over towards me.

"Who knew confidence would look so sexy on you," he grabs at my hips," but not to rain on your parade or anything, but you are supposed to knock them all off the barrel." I scoff at him, hitting him in the chest.

"Yea, but I still get a small prize," I twist away from him," no need to be sour, I'll let you pick the toy."

We walk to the booth operator, Silas standing behind me. He grabs at me once more, leaning his chest against my back. He rests his chin on my shoulder, speaking near my ear.

"I'm not sour, just defeated. Also, I want the purple whale," he nuzzles against my head. I grin, feeling warm as I pet his head. The teenager grabs the small whale from the hooks, passing it to me before attending to the other players.

I hand the whale to Silas," Here you go, babe, I won it just for you." he grabs the whale, hugging it close.

"Thanks, baby. You spoil me too much," he nuzzles the toy with a teasing smile. My heart flutters with an unknown feeling as I watch him. It's nice seeing him be so human, to act like a typical person and not some unapproachable man slut. He catches me staring, turning on his charm once more.

"I’d say take a picture but I like having you look at me like that," he teases, cocky as ever. I roll my eyes, walking past him with no direction in mind.

We walk around the grounds playing all sorts of games. Neither of us wins many games, coming very close in a few of them. It helps our egos that the games are rigged, the fact fueling us to continue on. There is teasing and jokes, all in good fun. The night is going better than I expected, I didn't think a date night with Silas would be so juvenile. This is more of a date for teens or parents with their kids. I appreciate it more than he could ever know.

Our tickets dwindle quickly till we only have enough for one more game. We study the area, picking our final activity wisely. Silas taps my shoulder, pointing towards one across the way. He guides me towards it, holding my hand as we walk through the traffic of people. As we near I see a large pool of water covered in floating toy ducks.

"Lucky ducks," I ask him," it's not much of game, don't you think?"

He smiles to himself as he hands the tickets to the older woman," I think you will find that I'm quite skilled in games of luck."

"Confident as ever, but sure," I shrug. I watch him look at the spinning pool of ducks, thinking way too hard on this. He leans forward, ready to pluck the plastic duck out of the water. He pauses halfway, retreating in favor of looking to me.

"How about a wager," he offers. I watch him skeptically, feeling like his inner fuckboy is going to come out.

"I don't know, I've been warned about making deals with devils," I joke. He rolls his eyes.

"har, har. For real, a bet for if I find the lucky duck. You up for that kind of deal," he asks. I cross my arms, standing firm as I give him a once over.

"What's the wager," I ask in turn. I fully expect some sleazy demand that will make a mother blush. You can take the playboy out of the game but you can't take the game out of the playboy.

"If I find the duck, you owe me a favor," he smiles, looking away towards the pool," I want to ride the Ferris wheel with you before we leave." I startle at his request, not expecting something so simple. It almost feels like a waste of a bet.

"That's it," I ask. He looks to me almost offended.

"Yea, I never got to do that. All my old dates wanted to get home really quick so they don't bother with cutesy things like that. Listen, if you don't want to that fine, we can leave right after. I was just curious," he folds into himself, turning away. The insecurities shine brightly from him. It's really eye-opening.

It's hard to remember that Silas was missing a lot from his short-lived relationships. They were never intimate, getting down to business quickly. It's cute to see how much Silas wants that kind of thing. To cuddle up on some sketchy carnival ride and watch the lights below with a loved one. My heart flutters at the genuine sadness he is showing at my supposed rejection.

As he fiddles with his pockets I walk over. I grab at his face, turning him towards me, and kissing him as best as I can. He jumps at the action, pausing as he figures out what's happening. Then as quick as any incubus could be, he reacts. He holds me close as he expertly molds his lips to mine. I want to pull back and continue with whatever I was going to say but his tongue is teasing at my lips. Who am I to deny such a tempting request.

We split as we hear a pair of teenagers giggling to themselves. I pull away, chuckling as he keeps me close. His eyes remain closed as his jaw clenches. He seethes silently before he slowly peels his lids open. His black eyes slowly fade away as he stares down at me so stern. I can't help but cup his cheeks, petting him with my thumb.

"You know I want everything with you, right? Not just the sex or carnal pleasure you can give but the sweet stuff too," I smile kindly," I'm not like the others, I want to ride the Ferris wheel with you and laugh at how tiny everyone looks from so high up."

A loving smile spreads across his face," They look like ants from so high up."

"Yea, they do," I chuckle," now I need you to pick that lucky duck and win me a prize because so far I'm a far more talented date than you are." he snorts, loosening his hold on my waist. We split away, him turning to the pool and quickly pulling a duck from the water. Without turning it over he looks to me.

"What stuffed animal do you want," he asks. I look from him to the duck then back again. He seems so confident. I open my mouth to retort with some teasing comment but he stops me with a smirk. I squint at him, understanding the challenge. He knows he won. Instead, I look to the large toys lining the front of the booth.

"The Domo doll," I smile back at him. He nods, walking over to the booth worker. He tosses the duck to the man who turns it over and sighs.

"Any toy from the top row," the man grunts out. I scoff, shaking my head in disbelief.

We stand in line for the Ferris wheel, him holding his little whale and I hugging a large stuffed cartoon character. I catch his eyes, smiling widely at him as I hug the toy closer. We near the ride, a worker opening the swinging door to the carriage. I stuff my prize in before myself, Silas following behind. The worker closes the door along with the latch as Silas throws his arm over me.

The ride slowly takes us to the top, stopping as people below get on and off. "Did you have fun tonight," Silas asks. I look up to him, enjoying the sight of his hair ruffling in the breeze.

"yea," I snuggle into his chest," I did." he gives me a squeeze, kissing the top of my head.

"Good," he answers," I had fun too."

The ride stops at the very top, the view taking both of our attentions. The lights and people below make me feel whimsical. The cold air cools my heated cheeks and Silas warms me from the breeze. I find my attention shifting from the colorful sights below to the sweet man beside me. I stare up at him, watching him look out in the distance. A small smile tugs at the edge of his lips, a content sigh leaving his nose.

"I know I'm better than the view but you can look at me anytime compared to this," he turns to me. As our eyes meet everything stops. It feels so cliché but right as we lean towards each other till our noses brush against the other's.

"Silas," I mumble. Before I can say anymore he jumps to capture my lips. I choke on my breath, meeting him with as much eagerness as he gives. He slowly crowds me against the corner of the carriage, pressing his chest against mine as he attacks my lips. His tongue delves in, swirling with mine as a groan leaves my lips. Everything feels so amplified with him. The way his body heats my own, the way his hands pull my hips against his. I feel so hot despite being so cold. I want him, I want him bad.

"Come on guys, people are waiting," someone calls from behind us. Silas slowly pries his lips away from mine, sighing as his eyes open. His pitch-black eyes stare down into my own, promising so much with crotch throbbing appeal.

"My place," he asks with a cocky grin. I can't answer besides a nod.

The next few minutes feel like a blur as we race to the car and to his apartment. Traffic laws are ignored as all I can feel is his heated palm on my thigh. I don't know when we get to his place but all I know is his hard cock grinding against my clothed crotch. At some point we end up in his room, the soft blankets shock me out of a stupor. The seriousness of the situation clears my head.

Silas notices me stiffen, his lips against my neck leave as he looks down at me. He pets along my arms," Shh, it's alright. You want to go slower?"

"Y-yea," I answer, petting on his arms.

"I can do that," he kisses my forehead," we can go a little slower. Just let me tell you how tonight will go down." his tone is teasing. I find myself smiling, amused by his waiter sounding tone. Speaking like he is going to read the specials off the menu.

"Well, you’re a virgin, correct?" I nod," then you get the trifecta."

I scoff," The trifecta?"

"yea," he smirks," fingers, tongue, and cock." his tongue clicks on the final word, adding to the teasing. I fluster, turning away as I picture all this. In answer he brushes his nose against my neck, growling with interest. "now let's start with taking these clothes off."

The motion of removing another person's clothes feels just as intimate as anything I've ever experienced. He bares his chest before me, allowing me time to be distracted by such a sculpted torso. As I pet along his chest he lifts my dress up. His fingers touch at my underwear, I stiffen at the contact. The burning in my belly wars with the anxiety dwelling in my chest.

"It's ok, I got you," he purrs near my ear," keep touching me, I like having your delicate touch on my chest." I follow his demand, petting nervously up his chest as his fingers dive under my clothes. I buck into his hand, embarrassed immediately for doing so. He calms me by kissing my cheek. His fingers quickly delve between my folds, pressing where I need him most.

The sudden attention to my swollen clit brings my back to an arch. I press my clothed chest to his bare one. The rolling growl coming from him makes me whimper. His fingers swiftly glide over my nub, building me quicker than I ever have alone. He kisses and licks my neck, lathering me in attention. Before I can get used to the quick slides of his fingers he presses them down and inside me. His middle fingers squelch as they swiftly go in.

"Silas," I clench as his shoulders. His fingers begin to thrust in and out, petting along my walls with a strange filling feeling.

"Does it feel good," he asks, I nod," no, kitten, you need to use your words."

I open my mouth to answer but his thumb presses to my clit, massaging in short fast circles. I choke on my words, throwing my head back with a broken cry. His fingers cease their thrusting in favor of bouncing against a sweet spot.

"Does it feel good, I won't ask again," he scolds with a smirk.

"Y-yes," I whimper. He rewards me with quicker motions, basically throwing me to my peak. I claw at his shoulder as my body racks with shudders till I'm suspended over my end.

"Cum for me," he purrs near my ear," I want to see you cum for me." I cry out, arching away from him as he forces my body to its end. I clamp around his fingers, fluttering as I grind in his hand. I barely notice him watching me, too focused on my climax.

"So beautiful," I faintly hear him say.

I soon fall slack to the bed, dropping my arms from around his shoulders. His fingers squelch as they are removed from inside me. The wetness on his fingers trails over my thighs before he is removed from my underwear. I watch him lift his fingers to his mouth, his tongue flicking out to clean them.

"Fuck," I whisper as he licks his palm. He smirks down at me as he twines his tongue around his ring finger.

"You taste divine, kitten. I can't wait to get a direct taste," he purrs. Those black eyes are all I can look at as he slides his hands under my dress.

He is tender as he removes my clothes, kissing up my stomach as he lifts my dress. As my bra is tossed to the side he tilts his head in admiration as he cups my breast. He fondles them for a moment, getting distracted by taking off my underwear.

I soon lay bare before him, feeling like a feast with the way he looks at me. He falls over me, framing me with his arms as he fists the blanket. I watch him lean forward, my lips part in preparation. I close my eyes, ready for his lips upon mine. Yet, instead of getting a kiss, I have the blanket below me ripped out from under me. I open my eyes in time to see him removing his pants. The blanket rests on his shoulder, splaying out behind him like a cape.

I watch him confused, momentarily looking at his crotch. I don't have enough time to admire his standing cock as he falls on his stomach. His hands grab at my thighs, spreading me as he scoots up.

"It's time for me to get a taste," he smirks. I sit back ready to watch him bring me to a swift orgasm like before. He surprises me by throwing the blanket over his head, blocking my view of him.

"what are you doing," I ask as I fist the sheets. I can feel his hands petting on my thighs, see the blanket shifting.

"I want you to close your eyes and feel me," he answers. His nose bumps my crotch, startling me. I clench at the sheets, conflicted on how this will play out.

His tongue flicks at the seams, only partially delving between my lips. He is slow in his explorations, teasing with simple touches. The feeling is completely new, completely different from any of my solo sessions. With the added benefit of not knowing what's going to happen. He works his way from the bottom to the top, drinking any and all I have to offer from the previous orgasm. The sensitive skin gives way to new, wonderful sensations. It's not overstimulated like I would assume but its…perfect. Hardly expect anything less from a sex demon I guess.

I relax, not climbing to unbearable levels of pleasure but sitting in a state of comforting arousal. His fingers brought me swiftly to an end, satisfying the craving while calming my nerves. I hum with a grin, carding my finger through my hair as my leg pets along his back. I feel his lazing lapping, delving inside with his own groans of enjoyment.

He startles me with a quick flat lick to my clit. My back arches as I hiss, not prepared for the shock to run up my stomach. He does it again, circling the tip of his tongue around then over it. The electric and warm feeling is brain-melting. I find myself grinding into his mouth to feel more, surprising myself with my eagerness. He delivers in full, bringing me to a swifter climax than his fingers did. I feel like a porn star with my cries as I clamp my thighs around his head. I barely hear his own cries of pleasure as I do.

As I come into my own he throws the blanket off his head, looking way too happy to have gone down on me. "ya feeling alright," he hugs my hips," not too tired yet right?" his smug grin would have made me angry any other time. To be fair, those other times he never earned it.

I reach down and run my fingers through his hair. I smile tiredly down at him and hum in answer. He rests his chin on my pelvis, tilting into my hand with closed eyes. This isn't what I expected at all. I imagined wild coupling with animalistic cries into the night. This is… strangely better. I can't imagine he has ever done this before. All his conquest have been weird kinky sex that- I wouldn't say bragged- he talked about at work. Over divulging in every detail to the point you could paint a solid picture of sweaty bodies and soaked sheets. But this is better, not what I expected, but what I needed.

"you are too skilled at this for your own good, your ego needs a break sometimes," I joke as I pap his cheek.

"well, since this 'skill' is being used to please my lady, I hardly think it could be that bad. Though hearing you cry out for only me may make my head swell. Actually, it has," he gets up on his hands and crawls up my body. My eyes fall directly on his hard cock. It takes me a moment to get his joke, by the time I do he is pressing kisses my neck.

I grab a fistful of his hair and pull him back," that was an awful joke." he laughs as I bring him down for a kiss.

"They can't all be award-winning, besides I heard you like my stupid jokes," he grins against my lips.

"I never said I was a smart woman," I chuckle.

"But you are," he kisses my cheek," you are smart," kisses my nose," funny," my brow," sexy," my eyelid," and best of all," corner of my mouth," you like me." I pull him into his next kiss, meeting his lips with mine. But damn he is right, I do like him.

"now are you ready for the main course," he gropes my hips. At the question, I feel his cock resting against my thigh. The nerves he worked hard to rest are cranking up again. I think on every story and video I have seen on losing your virginity. Thinking about the pain or the countless unsatisfied women. What if I don't like it? What if it hurts too bad? Too many questions float by.

As I get lost in my train of thought Silas cups my cheek. He turns me so all I can see is him. He looks between my eyes, his face focused and concerned. It’s a strange look for him, having never considered him to ever be concerned for anyone, let alone me.

"You know I won't hurt you, I don't think I could if I tried. I promised you this would all work out, I will make this good for you. Just talk with me, ok? Can you do that for me, love," he raises his brow in question. I look up at him, noticing every detail of his blue eyes.

"yea, I can do that," I answer. He smiles down at me, the feeling almost similar to when a child gets a cookie after being good. He leans down and kisses the tip of my nose, resting his head against mine with a content hum.

"Do you, Chloe, wish to be bounded to me from this point forward? To be my mate and lover till the day we expire," he asks with all seriousness," no pressure." he tries to smirk, to add humor to this but I can see the worry. It's almost humbling in a weird way. I reach up and cup his cheek, tilting my head with a smile.

"Make love to me, Silas, and be the first person I see tomorrow," I pet under his eye. His smile is blinding, his eyes light up with too much joy to be anything but heartwarming. He turns his head and kisses my palm before resting himself on his hand.

He adjusts himself so he rests at my entrance. The weight shooting anxiety up to my head. With a well-timed glance and encouraging smile from him, the small seed of anxiety is gone. He won't hurt me. He frames my head with his arms as he presses his tip in. my stomach clenches at the odd intrusion. Silas lowers his head and presses wet kisses to my cheek. I try to relax, focusing on his lips more than his cock. He shoves forward slowly. I can't think for a moment, only feeling this very new stuffing feeling. The smooth glide of his cock is surprisingly a welcome feeling. I expected sharp pains accompanied by a hard snap of his hips. Then again it's kind of dumb of me to assume he wouldn't be considerate and take his time. He has been nothing but patient with me.

"We doing alright," he asks without a strain to his voice. I open my mouth to answer but he takes the moment to slide the rest of the way in. I choke on my words and take to nodding instead. He chuckles, still peppering my face with gentle kisses. "you feel perfect my love," he praises," it's like I was made for this, for you. You fit around me so welcomingly." he pulls back before grinding himself back in. The build-up made this moment all the sweeter. He pulls out again then glides forward. He kept true to his word, he didn't hurt me. Very much the opposite, I think as my eyelids flutter.

His pace is slow, his kisses wet and warm. I could get used to this. I pet up his back, holding him close as I find myself meeting his unhurried thrust. An urge for him to do more is overwhelming but as I buck into him, he keeps his pace. I grow frustrated at this.

"faster," I sigh into his ear.

"there you go," he praises as he ups his tempo," I will do anything for you, just ask." our thighs clap lightly as we meet. I undulate my hips with each downfall, grinding myself into him. He grunts to my surprise, thrusting a tad faster as I buck. I like that sound, I need him to do it again. I let go and scratch at the nape of his neck, moaning and crying into his ear.

"Silas, oh fuck," I whine as I arch my back into him. He bites down onto my neck, growling as he does. I can't help but smirk to myself, loving the sound of him. "Silas, please. Your coc-," I stop myself, feeling embarrassed to even say the word. His thrust slow, I groan in disagreement.

"say it," he hisses near my ear.

"Please," I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him closer. Begging him to go back to fucking me.

"Say it," he repeats. I whimper below him, not giving a damn at the moment how wonton I look. He lifts his head from my shoulder, looking down at me. The look on his face is my new favorite view. He looks as wrecked as I feel. Sweet Jesus.

"your co-cock," I spit out," I love it." he grins, picking up the pace again. Slamming into my hips with great vigor. I cry out, writhing beneath him.

"What do you like," he asks. I can't figure out how he can speak when I'm nearly at the peak of brain failure.

"so, hard. Just for me," I choke out," fucking, love your cock, want you- need you to cum in me. Please."

He hums," I will. Fill you to the brim, then when I do I'll fill you some more. Your cunt is mine, my beautiful mate. This cock is yours to ride whenever, cause only I can do this to you." he snaps his hips harder on the next thrust," only I get to see you this way. Only you get to bring me to this level of want. By god, I wanted to fuck you during dinner. Rip your panties down and take you in front of everyone," he rests his head against my head, watching me fall apart at his words. I whimper and moan without a care. My insides feel like they are on fire, nearly burning me as I near my end.

He watches me with rapt attention," Cum for me, Chloe. Let me feel you squeeze my cock, please, love, I need it." I cry out, stuttering as my body stiffens. He watches with a grin, fucking me through my climax. He grunts and groans as I flutter around him, begging him to reach his own end. I pant against the pillow as I watch him try to maintain his cool. Trying to prolong the experience for a second longer.

I tug on his hair," Cum for me, Silas. Please, I need to feel it, need to feel you." he gasps with a startled yelp. His eyes clenching close as he finally peaks. His hips buck wildly, clapping my thighs with his own. Silas shouts and whimpers as he falls apart. I feel his hot load shoot inside me, the sensation startling but welcomed.

"Chloe," he whines," fuck!" his body falls slack onto mine, his weight making it hard to breathe. I don't say anything, just pet his hair and listen to his labored breathing.

"Damn, I need a minute," he grunts as he shifts to the side. I move to sit up but he quickly grips my arms," hold on, I don't want to leave you just yet" the words send a warm feeling through my chest. It's oddly satisfying to hear that. I hum as I settle back against the bed.

"thank you," I find myself saying.

"don't thank me. In all honesty, I should be thanking you. I have been less than savory with you and it took me way too long to get my head out of my ass. You have been way too patient and forgiving with me. Thank you," he says into my shoulder, finishing it off with a kiss.

"I love you, Silas," I mumble against his cheek. I nuzzle my head against his, really feeling the effects of three orgasms.

He hums, pulling me closer," I love you too, Chloe." he finally pulls out and adjusts me in his arms. We both fall asleep in no time.

I wake the next morning to his beautiful face. We both smile, share a kiss, then go make breakfast together.

--------------------------

Sweet jesus, this was my white whale. i don’t know why it was so hard for me to finish this. i would write like 5 paragraphs and not touch it for weeks. it took me strapping down and forbidding myself from touching any other stories besides incomplete ones, even then i would skip this one. so i really hope y’all liked it.

Check out my Archive | Masterlist | Main Blog

#exophilia #monster boyfriend #Enigma-IM #fluff #carnival #bonding

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thedevildomdaily · 3 years

Text

Demonic Possessions Ch5: Diners Demons & Disasters

Note: Here's the Master List for the full story. I recommend reading my stuff on my actual Blog if you enjoy OM! official music! Thank you so much for the support. Please let me hear from you in the comment section. I wanna talk OM!

Warnings: Language...for now.

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When they arrived at Hell’s kitchen, folks cleared out of the Avatar of Gluttony’s way. Lena barely caught on to the many eyes drawn their way. She was famished and excited for her first dining-out experience in the Devildom.

“Your usual table is read-” Beel whizzed past the waiter, “-y.”

“Uhm, thank you…” Lena awkwardly nodded and quickly followed after the giant. She was afraid of not getting to eat anything on the account that he would clean them out of everything. That’s what Leviathan and Satan had warned them about earlier when they were shopping for room decor.

Speaking of the dev….you know, Satan and Mammon entered the place, causing the rest of the customers to flinch and stare with panic at their state. The blonde had caught a hold of his older brother’s jacket collar and was leading him, in his disheveled glory, to the waiter. There were many words exchanged. And soon, the owner of the establishment arrived with the check they were both after.

The rest of the group had managed to meet up with the more excited ones, filing in quietly, like normal customers. “There you are…” Simeon said, being the first to spot Lena and Beel. She was peeking over at his menu, asking questions about the ingredients.

“Was it really necessary to make a mad dash like that Lena? You’re making us look bad…” Zak looked embarrassed.

Lilly chuckled as she took her usual seat across from Lena. “If you’re worried about images that way, you picked the wrong crowd to hang with.”

“She’s right! These demon brothers are always causing scenes. Usually it’s over being selfish!” Luke added. The little pup took a liking to Zak after some demon started teasing him in the hallway, on the way to their next class. Simeon was busy talking with Solomon and Satan about their homework, so Zak was the only one around to aid him.

When everyone was seated, drinks were served. The group's banter filled the establishment and it felt like a cozy pub in an RPG, as Lena described to Leviathan sitting to her right. The group ordered so much, the owner had to start turning away other patrons.Then walked in the trio. You know, only the most intimidating demons in all of the Devildom.

“Wow! Fancy meeting all of you here!” Lord Diavolo boasted.

Lucifer gave a long sigh and glared at him with the response, “You knew they were all going to be here didn’t you? That’s why you were so insistent on it.”

Both Diavolo and Barbatos deflected Lucifer’s words and began to take a seat at the adjacent table from the large group. Grumpy joined them and the waiter rushed promptly to get their orders. The poor young demon looked so nervous, and who could blame him?

The saying “Time flies by when you’re having fun” was no joke. This band of misfits: demons, humans, angels, and nephilim were having a blast! There were many jokes at one another’s expense, slight bickering, questions about each others’ worlds. It was the exact thing that the exchange program was about. Then came the food.

One waiter brought an actual pyramid of burgers to Beelzebub; his personal platter. Another waiter was in charge of drink refills. It was quite a mess with everyone together; Save for Luke, Lilly, and Lena the rest were freaking giants. It was hard getting food passed around to the 14 people and 1 Beel.

The previously mentioned nervous waiter was now carrying a serving tray towards the Big Three’s table. Just as he made it in front of him, Mammon quickly scooted back without looking as he yelled at Satan about his check again.

The back of the chair smacked right into the poor, unfortunate waiter. It caused him to lose balance and the tray to teeter out of his hands. It was a scene shot in slow-mo like many movies: The plates left the tray, Lucifer’s eyes were so wide, and Diavolo was caught totally off guard.

Before the food could splatter all over the prince, Lena rushed to catch everything. Her secret ability was revealed in an instant: She was fast like a comic hero. But unlike them, she wasn’t the most agile. She did manage to get the tray and get the plates back on, but she stumbled backwards, slipping on Mammon’s dropped napkin.

Her eyes were squinted shut as she braced for impact. It felt...odd. She definitely landed, but there was no hard, cold floor. No broken glass sounds. In fact she knew she still had the tray of food in her head.

When she opened her eyes, Lena saw Diavolo towering over her at an odd angle. The whole place was silent enough to hear a pin needle drop. What the fu…

“Are you okay Lena?” The prince asked.

“I don’t know if I’m being honest with you…” she looked around to see her whole table just gawking at her dumbfoundedly.

Next she took in Lucifer’s bewildered expression, followed by Barbatos. Though, he of course remained the most neutral. What’s the deal?

Then it hit her. Diavolo’s angle. He was over her. No, he was embracing her! The giant of a man had caught her just as quickly as she had caught the food from falling on him. Their current position was probably the reason why everyone was quiet. Well that, and the fact everything happened in a nanosecond.

No, Lena and Diavolo looked like they had just danced one wild tango number and ended on a dramatic dip. It was hot. Or would have been without the fucking tray of burgers and fries. Sorry, DEMON burgers and fries. For someone as stark white as she was, Lena turned red like a lobster. Diavolo even had a tiny blush that only she could see from her proximity.

“MAAAMMMOOOOOOOONNN!!!” Lucifer closed the silence with his deep, booming voice. Everyone either laughed, took pictures, or hid their faces in embarrassment as the eldest brothers made a wild game of “TAG! You’re Fucking Dead!!!”

It was a good thing too. Well, not for Mammon of course. In that moment, Barbatos assisted Lena, by taking the tray. Diavolo raised her carefully to stand back onto her feet.

“Thank you, for saving dinner and my uniform.” Diavolo chuckled.

Lena gave a sheepish smile, “And thank you for saving my uniform, and the bill for the table I would have broken.”

The rest of dinner went off without a hitch. They laughed at the pictures they managed to capture. Lilly questioned Lena about what happened and she explained to everyone that nephilim are extremely fast. They also each had an ability unique to themselves. Though she and her brothers teased the rest of the group by not telling them what those abilities were.

“Well, it looks like both Lucifer and Mammon aren’t coming back,” Azri said, taking Lucifer’s seat. He was tired of having a sleeping Belphegor trying to use his shoulder as a pillow to drool on. “I’ll box his up for one of them to take back.”

“That’s generous of you.” Barbatos replied, giving a small hint of a smile.

Azri chuckled, “It is, especially after hearing that he put my darling sister in a filthy attic with no amenities…” That didn’t go past big brother Azri. “If I may, can I skip class tomorrow in order to fix things up for her?”

Barbatos and Diavolo exchanged looks before glancing over at Lena, who had moved seats to take funny pictures with and of the sleeping Belphegor.

“I know you’re wondering why I don’t just let her do it.” Azri continued, “Something happened with her not long before she finally agreed to come here. Obviously we’re a year late to the program. I don’t want to dish out her personal stuff, but I want to do something nice for her.” He finished packing Lucifer’s dinner and added, “I also can’t stand the thought of her sleeping in a room filled with cobwebs! And I know she will do a half-ass job at cleaning it herself!”

That made Diavolo chuckle and he compared the eldest nephilim to Barbatos.

“I am not that bad, Lord Diavolo. It’s my job to ensure you're catered to and well taken care of. A prince can’t live in dirty quarters…” Barbatos responded. Although he held a smile, Azriel could see the fury in his eyes. It made him chuckle.

*****

“Le, stop that! You’ll get in trouble….again!” Zak scolded, though unable to keep from laughing. Lena was holding her phone so it looked like she was petting Belphegor’s head like a puppy while he slept.

“He looks so cute though!!!” she stuck her tongue out at her brother.

Luke sighed, “It seems that you’re as bad as Asmo…”

“I wonder…” Asmo replied teasingly, before winking and giving Lena a kissy face from across the table. She chuckled and playfully returned the kiss.

“What does that even mean?” Luke asked innocently. It caught Zak off guard. He wasn’t used to being around innocent kiddos like him. Simeon intervened, however, much to the nephilim’s relief. He wasn’t sure why the kid followed him around so much.

*****

When the group was finished with their meal, Diavolo picked up the check. He and Barbatos headed out first because they had a busy schedule ahead of them the next day. “Good night everyone!” he chuckled and waved.Several of them returned the wave and thanked him. Lena couldn’t help but blush a little when their eyes met briefly.

“Mmmh-hmmm, I saw that.” Lilly whispered, giving a mischievous grin at the nephilim.

Lena shot the human a look, “What are you even talking about?”

“Oh I saw it too Lilly. I feel a little jealous now.” Asmodeus joined in. He puffed out his bottom lip, fake pouting at Lena.

“Oh fuck off. The both of you…” she grumbled, still blushing.

The group eventually had to split off into those who would go to Purgatory Hall and those that resided in The House of Lamentation. Before they did, Zak hugged Lena and told her good night. Azriel did the same, but revealed something that annoyed her.

“Lilly, let me crash on your sofa tonight please.” She gritted as they entered the house.

Asmo pouted, “But why Darling? I thought you liked snuggling with me…”

Lena sighed and nodded, “I actually do, Asmo. It’s just that I don’t want your pretty room to be engulfed in flames in the morning…”

The group stared at the nephilim with shock and worry. Well, Belphegor didn’t because he was passed-out and being carried off to bed by a sulking Beel, who wasn’t full.

“Azri got permission to skip school tomorrow in order to remodel my bedroom.” Lena sighed, “It is absolutely sweet of him, but anything design-related...well you saw him shopping today. He goes fucking nuts. I bet he will rush in before sunrise to start.”

Lilly scratched her head. “And what about the flames?”

“Well, we’ve not known each other long enough for him to feel it appropriate that I share a bed with someone in this house...even though it’s clearly none of his fucking business. I’m a grown ass woman.”

“Yeah you are!” Lilly chimed.

“If it’s none of his business, then why the concern?” It was Satan who asked this time.

“He’s already going to be in his weird-ass mood, so the shock and insinuation would cause him to snap. It’s happened more times than I can count.” Lena sulked and shook her head.

“OOOH! So then maybe Azriel’s unique ability is pyrokinetics then?” Leviathan asked with excitement, “Like El Lumino from the Revengers comic! He gets mad and accidentally burns things like Mrs. Magnificent hover jet in The New Revengers Vol 13, issue 42: El Lumino’s Ultra Bad Day!”

Lena hesitated, but eventually nodded. “Yeah. That’s like him alright. Now, don’t get me wrong. He is progressive. He’s a chill brother, who is the most responsible one of us. It’s just when “Crazy Azri” comes out, he is too unpredictable to take any chances. If ‘overprotective brother mode’ is activated, all bets are off.” It was really embarrassing.

“He did look pretty intense back at Majolish.” Lilly nodded, remembering his trance. “But then again, I recall someone else acting like a total zombie…” She and the brothers laughed at Lena.

“Ha ha. Very funny...oh wait! The clothes!!!!” Lena zoomed up the stairs. To the others, she simply blinked out of existence.

“She’s...gone?” Satan pondered.

“Don’t underestimate the power of fashion, Satan.” Asmo chuckled, “She’s probably swimming through all of those bags in her room…”

The brothers decided to all split up for the night, returning to their own rooms. Each one of them had a small bag from Majolish hanging on their door knobs; a gift from Lena for “putting up with her during the exchange program”. They each had a tie that matched their aesthetic. Of course Satan’s was a bow tie and Asmo had a pretty Lolita-style cravat.

Lilly took both Lucifer’s and Mammon’s dinners to their rooms. Neither one had made it back, which meant it might be a couple of days before they’d get to see Mammon again. Ouch!

When she went to her room, she found Lena sitting on her couch in her pajamas with a new pillow and Hell-o Kitty blanket she’d bought on that landmark shopping trip. She had a slightly revealing tank with a skull made out of flowers and booty shorts on. Lilly bit her lip and marched straight to her bed. Why?! She asked herself. Well, they were in hell and this had to be her personal torture lingering around her room in sexy nightwear. Well anything would look sexy on Lena.

((Heatha here with smexy news. Next week’s chapter will have our first bit-o-smut ☜(ﾟヮﾟ☜)))

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imjustthemechanic · 3 years

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The Price of a Soul

Part 1/? - Agent Russel Part 2/? - The Letter Part 3/? - Miss Lake Part 4/? - The Stewardess Part 5/? - An Assassination Part 6/? - Fallout

In the real world pepper spray wasn’t invented until the 70′s, if anyone wanted to know, so it would be a very strange weapon to the SSR.

As it turned out, Thompson did not get the chance to visit Peggy in the hospital. After washing her face with soap and water over and over again, the doctors declared that while they didn’t know what had been done to her, it appeared unlikely to have any long-term effects, and released her. By this time the burning had gone down significantly, although her eyes were still swollen and watery and the back of her throat felt as if she’d drunk straight vinegar and immediately vomited it up again. In addition, she had developed a pounding headache. It felt as if her skin were too tight for her skull and her eyes too big for their sockets, with everything pulsing in time with her heartbeat.

She took a taxi back to her hotel and found the button for her floor by feel. Even the dim late-night lighting felt like needles in her eyes. She had to ask a maid to direct her to her room, and when she got inside she made sure all the lights were off and felt her way to the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face.

This was a cause for immediate regret, as everything started burning all over again.

In the end she simply dropped herself into bed, face-up, and hoped to feel better in the morning.

She did not, particularly.

It was nearly noon when Peggy woke, thanks in part to the time difference between the coasts and in part to the very late night before. Her head still ached, and the sunlight through the crack in the hotel room curtains seemed to slice into her eyes like one of HYDRA’s beam weapons. It was incredibly tempting to just stay in bed all day, and the next day, and the day after that, and Peggy would have given in were it not for the fact that when she rolled over she realized she needed to use the toilet. With a theatrical groan, she tossed the covers back, stood up, and staggered into the washroom.

Peggy had not, the previous evening, bothered to take in what she looked like in the aftermath of Miss Lake’s attack. It was not quite as bad as she’d feared, but still not a pretty picture – her eyes were nearly swollen shut and the skin around them, along with her nose, lips, and cheeks, was ferociously red and puffy. It looked superficially like a severe sunburn.

She reached to rub one eye, then thought better of it.

Now that she was upright, Peggy no longer felt quite so much like staying in bed the entire day. She should at least have some breakfast, and then let Daniel know she was all right. He would most likely have heard about last night and would want to be kept informed. With that in mind, she called downstairs for room service, combed her hair, and then carefully held the telephone receiver an inch away from her skin as she asked the operator for Los Angeles.

Daniel was relieved to hear from her. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said. “Thompson said you’d been burned by some kind of chemical?”

“I have,” said Peggy, “and there seems to be nothing I can do for it except wait for it to get better. It’s already improved from last night.” The headache, at the very least, was no more than a mild annoyance together, rather than an all-consuming agony.

“Let me know if they figure out what it was,” Daniel said. “Could be useful.”

“Whatever it is, I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy,” Peggy told him, then re-evaluated this statement. Who did she consider her worst enemy? Some of those Nazis who were still being tried for their crimes could do with a dose of that substance. At her most obnoxious, so could Dottie Underwood. She would keep that in mind. “I don’t know how Miss Lake is doing yet,” Peggy went on. “She was still in the hospital when I was released.”

“Oh, she’s out now,” said Daniel. “Thompson called me this morning. They’ve got her in custody at the police station down the street, the same one we kept Dottie at, but she’s not talking.”

Peggy sat up a little straighter. “Well, at least we know she won’t be able to escape without help,” she quipped. “Nobody told me.”

“They probably didn’t want to disturb you,” Daniel suggested. “You’re convalescing, after all.”

Peggy considered how she would have felt if the phone had rung at eight am while she was still trying to sleep off whatever this was, and had to concede the point. “I suppose I’d better head down there and see what they’re up to. Thank you for telling me.”

“Don’t work too hard,” said Daniel.

“I’ll try not to, but I can make no promises,” Peggy told him.

After breakfast, she washed her face – carefully, and with almost more soap than water – and brushed her hair, then got dressed. Makeup seemed like a terrible idea so she wore none, choosing instead a pair of large sunglasses and a hat she could tilt down to make her face harder to see. She couldn’t see well enough to tell if people were staring at her as she hailed another taxi. If she’d tried to walk, they probably would have thought she was a blind woman, blundering down the street with only the barest idea where she was going.

“Telephone company headquarters, please,” she told the cab driver.

Fortunately, once she reached the New York office, Peggy really could have found her way around the building with her eyes closed. She took the elevator up to the SSR, and immediately encountered Thompson.

“Marge?” she heard him ask. “You look terrible.”

“Your honesty is refreshing, Mr. Thompson,” Peggy replied, and even she didn’t know if she were being sarcastic or not. “Has anyone figured out what she sprayed me with yet?”

“Actually, Dr. Mroczek was just giving me the results of that now,” said Thompson.

Frank Mroczek was the East Coast SSR’s head of the science department. Peggy couldn’t see his face well enough to tell what he thought of her appearance, and he tactfully declined to say anything about it. “Well,” he said, “yes, we analyzed the substance in the perfume jar. The active ingredient appears to be capsaicin.”

“What is that?” asked Peggy.

“It’s the chemical that makes curries spicy” he explained. “She seems to have isolated it, put it in an emulsion with what I think is propylene glycol, and used it as a weapon. It’s not soluble in water, so trying to rinse it away won’t work.”

“I’d noticed,” Peggy sighed. “Thank you, Dr. Mroczek.” The idea that it was a substance people ate on purpose was reassuring. Hopefully it meant that Peggy wouldn’t suffer any lasting damage. “Have we learned anything else?” she asked Thompson.

“We found your gun in the car,” he said. “Along with hers. It’s another Colt thirty-eight, with a home-made suppressor.”

That was why all Peggy had heard was a popping sound. “How did she break the window glass?”

“She didn’t. She drilled through it with a hand auger.” Thompson shook his head. “She must’ve been at it all night. No idea how she did it without being seen.”

“All that effort only to shoot the wrong man,” Peggy observed. “Who did she get?”

“Armin Zola,” said Thompson.

Peggy’s eyes were too swollen to open wide, but she could feel them trying. “What, really?” As political prisoners went, Zola was if anything more important than Fenhoff! He was one of the men the United States Government was pumping for information on the Nazi and HYDRA science projects and methods, though unlike some others he was considered too dangerous to be allowed his freedom. The CIA was going to be furious.

Just what they needed, she thought. Another acronym involved in this mess.

“Is he dead?” she asked.

“Very,” Thompson said. “The bullet entered his left cheek, went straight through his brain, and hit the wall. Good riddance, if you ask me.”

“I’m inclined to agree but there are people who will not be,” Peggy observed.

Peggy heard the elevator open and turned to see what it was, but from this distance could make out no more than a vague blue man-like shape. She stood no chance of recognizing the individual until he spoke.

“Chief Thompson?” he asked. “I’m Ned Russel, from the California FBI.”

“Agent Russel?” Peggy asked. “What are you doing here?”

“Agent Carter?” Russel was as surprised as she was. He came closer, and she was able, by squinting, to make out his familiar face and plaid blazer. “I didn’t recognize you!” he said. “Bees?”

She blinked. “Bees?”

“One of the secretaries at the Sacramento office got stung by a bee in her garden last summer,” he said. “Her hand turned purple and swelled up like it would burst. Some of the men still call her the Lobster Lady.”

“I’m sure she appreciated their sympathy,” said Peggy.

“I see you two have met,” Thompson observed.

“Briefly,” Peggy agreed. “Agent Russel, I thought you were being taken off this case?”

“I’m here as a witness. They need me to identify Miss Lake as the woman who drugged and robbed me. After that… yes, I’m being reassigned,” he admitted.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “How is your wife?”

Russel sighed. “She’s gone to stay with her brother in Houston.”

“Well, that I’m afraid serves you right,” Peggy said with a nod. “No, incidentally, I was not stung by a bee – I was stung by Miss Lake.”

“I see. Guess I got off easy.”

Thompson escorted his two guests up the street to the station where Miss Lake was being kept. She was, indeed, not only in the same building but in the same cell as they’d kept Dottie, sitting on the bed with shackles on her wrists and ankles. Peggy still couldn’t see very well, but she made out that they’d washed the charcoal off Lake’s face and hands and put her in a gray women’s prison uniform, and she’d been allowed to comb her hair. Her accident had taken the skin off her knees and the back of her right arm, and her right cheek was scraped and bruised, but she still looked considerably better than Peggy did.

The dim illumination in the cell didn’t exactly count as the full light of day, but it was enough to tell that this was definitely the same person who’d come to the Los Angeles office claiming to be Agent Nadine Russel.

The prisoner looked up as they entered, and smiled, wiggling her fingers at them in a parody of a wave. Her expression was downright smug, Peggy thought. Miss Lake knew she had secrets the SSR wanted badly, and she also knew that she alone had control over when and whether she would reveal them.

“That’s her,” Russel told Thompson.

“All right.” He nodded. “We’ve got one positive ID. How about you, Carter? Is that the woman you met?”

“Yes, it is,” said Peggy. “I would know her anywhere.”

Thompson approached the bars, and Peggy very nearly decided to grab him and pull him back. She could just imagine Lake darting into action the moment a potential victim came within reach. Fortunately, Thompson was smart enough to stay about an arm’s length away to speak to her.

“You’re going to jail either way, sweetheart,” he said. “Assault, robbery, impersonating a federal agent, unauthorized access to classified information, breaking and entering, and now murder. We know you can talk, so there’s no point in sitting there all stony-faced. If you give us information, we might go easy on you.”

Lake raised a hand, and pointed at Peggy. “I want to talk to Agent Carter,” she said.

Thompson’s eyebrows rose. He looked over his shoulder at Peggy.

“Is that the first time she’s spoken?” she asked.

“First time,” he agreed. Thompson looked at the prisoner levelly. “Why do you want to talk to Carter?” he asked.

Lake said nothing.

Peggy tried. “Why do you want to talk to me?”

“Because I think you want to talk to me,” said Lake.

She was certainly right about that. Peggy’s purse, with that mysterious letter still in it, suddenly felt very heavy. Ironic how the thing she most wanted to talk to Lake about was the one she could not bring up in anybody else’s presence.

But she could definitely learn something. “That I do,” she said. “If one of you gentlemen could bring me a chair,” she asked Thompson and the police, “I’m sure I could talk to our guest all day.”

#fanfic #captain america #agent carter #peggy carter #steve rogers #steggy #fix it fic

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penaltybox14 · 3 years

Text

Decofiremen: The leaving, and a return

Or: feelings are hard. In which Josiah travels to the city to see Silky, ill with pneumonia, for the first time since [redacted].

@zeitheist @darknight-brightstar @squad51goals

The leaving aches more than the journey, even as every jolt of the train coach mule-kicks his leg, even as there are hours yet to go. It scours him to think on it, how he had promised Davey, how Davey had hovered as he packed a change or two of clothes, his shaving kit, spare bolts and straps to his brace. Davey had seemed to be holding his breath, there in the doorway - blinking and wary, as he had back in autumn at the County. Questions caught up in his teeth like a slow, warm wind across dried leaves. If he were a better man, perhaps, a more tender man like Eddy or a wiser man as Lufty, he might have known the things to say.

A pad of paper and a half-book of stamps, into the case, then. As the boy watched.

He'd looked for Davey that morning, early, when the youngest of them should still have been rousting himself with the rest, splashing water on his face and shining his boots (as he did) for morning bell. Jules said he didn't know where the boy was, and Bertram said he was down by the pond, and Jules had given Bertram a look for that.

But the pond - cupped gently in a curve of the land, and down a narrow, winding path - was where the boy went when he wanted to be alone, wanted his thoughts to float out serenely on the calm face of the water (still dense with ice) and not out into the sear-shot of others. Josiah could've gone down. He could've - but there was a train to catch. And he wouldn't have known what to said except his helpless promise that he'd come back.

At a stop in a little town called Selkirk, he'd gotten up to try and stretch his legs. He was not used to travel, now, and no longer curled up like a beetle in his quarters while the rest of Wynantskill went about its day, and he did ache. Standing up in the train compartment, he'd nearly fallen from the sand in one leg and the charley horse in the other, and he'd knocked his case off the rack shouting and clutching for balance. The case had popped a latch, and, catching his breath and biting his curses, he paused to snap it shut again. It was heavier than he had recollected packing, and when he looked again, there in the middle of his things was a small book and a blue pocketknife, tied up in twine.

That was Davey's knife, deep blue bakelite with stainless trim, a gift from Antoine before he'd graduated. A pride of a knife, well-oiled, a keen balance, two blades, an awl, and a can opener. The book is Whitman - Leaves of Grass. Davey had dredged up recitations in him long left over from Hudson Classical, pushed him to read choice stanzas over and over. A page was dog-eared: a bad habit of his that Davey had clumsily scolded him over, playing at being grown. It didn't need to be - the book fell open, loose from many readings. Josiah paused over the poem there, thoughtful. Shut the book and returned it to the case.

Many hours yet to the city, where he had arranged a room near the hospital. From Selkirk south to Ravena, to Coxsackie, Catskill and Saguerties, down through the Hudson Valley, until the very edges of the city unraveled themselves toward the oncoming train, and he saw bridges and skylines and viaducts and things he remembered, stout five-story walkups like blunt teeth, the dull rust of railyards, at last into the belly of Manhattan.

He is so pale.

Silks was always fair, even in summer, when his skin would tighten and brighten like a lobster fresh from the pot, and the sun splashed copper on his auburn hair. Fair, and strong-boned, his Jesuit manners a soft varnish over his city-boy laugh.

But now he seems to disappear almost into the linens, nothing but soft twilight shadows, his veins trailing over his thin body like spidery blue cataracts. Shadow, and breath, ragged breath that slows, then catches, into a dry cough that mule-kicks him half off the bed.

There are only a hand of men in the long white ward. A police officer sits murmuring softly by another man's bedside. A fellow with a busted arm reads a colorful magazine. A few are asleep. One, like Silks, has a needle in his arm and a bottle hung up by the bedside. Josiah remembers that dreadful morphine sleep, the way it dragged him as if it had teeth or hooks, how his dreams caught on the secrets and the spirits of the city. The days cracked like the spine of a dusty tome, and the centuries split like soft, fine vellum, breathless and translucent. His breath and his blood blood flowed into the streets and her smoke and iron filled up his bones and every time a fellow came to see him he tumbled headlong into his shy or sorrowed heart.

He would take the pain any rank and reeking day, over the poppy fields and the black smoke.

Silks, four beds in, across from a window where the evening light is just cresting the white-enameled iron of his bedstead, coughs again, and hard. Struggles to catch his wind.

(They were young men. Smoke-eaters, the Times called them. Silks caught him against his shoulder while he coughed up ash that tasted like beef-gristle and blood, and vomited in the street. Silks caught him, and steadied him, away from the clamoring press.)

He can't do this. He can't, not even lurking in the safety of his long coat, his hat low over his eyes, he can't. Silks won't even recognize him, probably. It's been so long. Been too long. They had not even spoken at the promotion, when he had stood stiff and sweating with the pain of his leg - how it sang, still, the nerves sheared like feathers from a buck-shot wing. He had stood the whole long ceremony, for the higher your rank, the nearer to the end, and he was there to get his captain's coat and brass for all the good it did. Right to the cab from there, to Grand Central and up to Troy, his neck still alight with misgiving eyes.

Josiah had felt him there, Silks, like the tumult of a fire's breath, a sudden draft, the snorting of a horse all lathered from its run up the grand boulevard. Felt him there at his side, across the room, as surely as he'd been there every off-day he had right here in the casualty ward. Birchy, he would say. Birchy, wake up. Have some water, Birch. Gotta eat, Birchy, your leg'll never patch up with you starved.

(and as he drove, gasping, through the poppy fields and the dark morphine sea, Silks bowed his head and prayed, and said that he was sorry.)

He can't do this.

(The first steps he took out of bed, he fell, and cussed the nurses and the nuns.)

He cannot.

(When they fitted him for the brace, he felt its sheen and its click and its creak like laughter.)

He cannot do this.

(It held him upright, but it would never hold him on the boards.)

He is walking, as steady as he can, down the aisle between the beds. He thinks, it's not at all unlike the men's ward at the county, the empty beds, the empty eyes, the soft weeping that might just be the sear at the back of his mind. He is walking with a limp, he is walking toward the last door, he is walking down a dark hallway, he is in the smoke, he is under the give of the ceiling and he doesn't know it.

Each bed has to it one hard, high-backed chair, and he collapses down and bows his head, taking his hat off, smoothing his hair, looking everywhere but the bed.

Silks is coughing again. He sounds like the roar of a train in a tunnel just beyond the light's reach, the way the hot, rank air drafts back toward the engine.

He lays his hand on Silky's shoulder.

"Silks - "

Just that cough. That godawful cough.

"Deep breath, Silks. Hold on to it."

Like they were back in the smoke. Back on the cobbles.

He feels Silky looking in his sear before he feels the eyes, and he can't bring himself to look.

"I'm dead, aren't I." Silky wheezes. "I'm dead, you can't be here."

The fever is palpable on him. The sweat. He is so, so pale.

"God would send me you, I do suppose." Quick gasps between each word, he struggles, and his eyes are glassier than Josiah remembers.

"Your god would send you better."

"No," Silks whispers, and Josiah catches his flailing hand. "No, it is you, isn't it."

"Hastings sent a wire. Eddy told me."

"Oh." Silks breathes deeply - a struggle deep in his chest. "Oh." Looks sharply at once: "Where's the young fella?"

Josiah balks. "At home."

"What a fool you are, my Birchy." Silks pats his arm, weakly, softly. The fever has cracked his lips, and Josiah brushes the damp hair off his brow.

"I've heard that."

"You gone thinking I'd die?"

"I came to be sure you didn't."

"Fool, Birchy."

"I know, Silks. I know. And I'm sorry."

Silks shakes his head wearily. "Don't. Don't be sorry. Nothing - " that gasp again. " - nothing sorry. Just here. You're here."

"Yeah, pal, I'm here."

"That's good, Birchy. That's good."

It aches to watch him breathe. Josiah finds his body, unwitting, matching each struggling inhale, each slow and rattling exhale. He sees the pulse beat rapidly in Silky's long, pale neck. Feels it matched in his wrist. "Take a rest, Silks," he says. "I'm here."

Silky nods, distantly, his eyes soft and glassy. Turns his face against the pillow, and shuts his eyes.

#decofire #decofiremen #found family #feelings are complicated

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

Skin, Bone, and Scales

(Read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

This is just 75% fire figurative language

Word count: 6098

TW: Blood and pus, minor body horror (as in: sunburns and peeling skin)

———————

“Oh my god, you’re like a tomato with hair!”

The peculiar call caught Anne’s attention as she was changing into better shoes for rehearsals. She furrowed her eyebrows in both complexity and amusement, recognizing the voice as her little cousin. A smile formed on her lips, shaking her head at what could have possibly elicited such a strange comment.

When she walked out to the room they rehearsed in, she quickly realized what the context was and that it made perfect sense.

—

Joan had never been so hot before.

Her skin was baking, studded with blisters and boils along her shoulders and forearms and back like scales, as if she were a reptile and not a fleshy mammal. Her limbs were sacks of hot stones and smoldering embers that she had to drag around with her, and her ears simply felt as if they were lit on fire. Her cheeks, however, were by far the worst. It was like someone was holding hot iron to the sides of her face and wouldn’t let go, no matter how loud she screamed.

To put it simply, Joan felt like a roasted lamb on a spit, rotating slowly above hungry flames. Sometimes, she had fallen into their orange-gold mouths. She could almost feel the flaming tongues licking at her skin.

So, yeah. Joan wasn’t all that comfortable at the moment. And Kitty’s loud, obnoxious comments about it certainly didn’t help at all.

“It’s, like—peeling,” Kitty felt the need to declare openly. She reaches for Joan’s shoulder, but her knuckles get swatted, and she pulls away. “Oh, gross!” She laughed. “Did you put anything on it?”

“That’s not your business,” Joan hissed. The fire that has lit in her stomach flashes higher, and she could almost feel whorls of smoke wreathing out of her nose and ears. “Stop trying to touch me!” She hit Kitty’s hand away again. “And stop looking at me like that!”

As much as she hated it, she didn’t blame Kitty or anyone else for staring- she would have, too, if it were one of them that came into work glowing neon red from head to toe.

“Sorry, I don’t speak lobster!” Kitty laughed loudly and then finally backed down. She spread her hands in front of her in a peace offering. “It's just funny!”

“It really isn’t.” Joan grumbled more to herself than to the girl in front of her.

“I told you to put on sunscreen,” Jane helpfully spoke up from where she was doing some warmup stretches. Joan dared to shoot her a distasteful look.

“I did!” Joan cried woefully.

“Not enough.” Kitty giggled. ”Make sure you do next time! We don't want you animorphing into a lobster!”

Joan scowled at her grinning face and imagined what it would be like to blow hot embers in her eyes. She erased the thought quickly- not because it made her feel bad for thinking something so morbid, but because she didn’t want to give the pink queen that much of her attention.

“Moving on,” She rumbled. Her throat and nose ached in a fierce, raw way as if they had been scraped out with a jagged branding tool. She lumbered sluggishly over to the piano in the far corner and delicately touched one of the cold, smooth keys, almost expecting it to melt beneath her fingertips. When it didn't, she sat down at the bench and considered it safe for her to play. “Let’s begin.”

—

The scaly blisters that are bristled across Joan’s back prickle painfully against her shirt. She wanted to scratch them so badly, but she knew her nails would sink in like a heated knife in butter the second she barely brushed the bumpy skin. It would be a mess of pus and blood that she wouldn’t be able to hide since she was wearing a simple white tank top (she couldn’t bear to have anything touching her shoulders, and white did reflect sunlight, so she thought it would be fine). So, she just had to grin and bear it.

But she couldn’t even fucking grin! Smiling pulled the dry skin around her mouth taut, to the point where it felt like it was cracking and flaking off. She was constantly licking her lips because of this, which set off tiny flames in them each time she did so (and didn’t help at all, mind you).

What’s worse- she felt something welling up within her. It was an uncomfortable sort of sensation like someone had released thousands of fire ants inside of her. It took her so long to realize that this was how she usually felt with a fever because of how hot she already was.

Joan blinked her eyes quickly, suddenly feeling very dizzy. She stared down at her hands resting on the piano keys and thought she saw light grey smoke hissing from underneath her fingertips. She gingerly raised her fingers and saw no damage- she must have just imagined it.

She sighed and scratched her itchy knuckles. A new stinging pain shivered through her tendons at this stupid decision, like thick, globby fire leeches were suckered on her skin and dissolving it into a soupy, gory mess. She squirmed awkwardly in her seat at its oppressive tingling and tried to keep her eyes open, but it felt as if a talon of fire was pressing into the socket, so she had no choice but to squeeze them shut. Sweat beads on her brow from the exertion of her simply trying to ward off the unwanted sensation and right as she thought she started to feel a little better...

Blinding pain.

“Hey, are we gonna get to my song or what?” Cleves had been saying loudly. “I’ve wanted to try out this new move-” And then she slapped Joan’s shoulder in a friendly way.

But it came off as a lot less friendly to Joan.

Flames burst through that shoulder, sprinting fast across her rash and setting the scales ablaze with fresh agony. It welled up in her throat like she was about to vomit molten lava and clouded her eyes with smoky hazes that usually came with near-unconsciousness. Her teeth dug into her chapped lips, cracking them with the pressure, but she wasn’t able to hold back a yelp.

“What the FUCK?!” She cried. She was half expecting fire to come out when she spoke, but no trace of flames appeared in her mouth. They remained deep inside the furnace that was her scorched body.

Cleves grimaced, although there was still amusement glinting in her eyes. She lifted her hand, and a comically pale print was momentarily left on Joan’s bright red shoulder before being devoured by the sunburn. It securely plated its blisters and scales back over the mark, spreading like a crimson wildfire until it was inflamed and itchy once again.

“Whoops- sorry!” Cleves said. She was genuinely apologetic, but it seemed worthless because she was still laughing about what she did.

“Are you- mmmmm.” Joan gave up on arguing, instead of turning to a much better option- grumbling like a teenage fire dragon that just got part of its hoard confiscated by its parent fire dragons for accidentally eating one of the sheep that was supposed to be saved for the fire dragon dinner.

(She didn’t like being a fire dragon. If she were ever to draw Killer Frost as a fire dragon, she knew it would throw a fit or come out of the sketchbook and strangle her with its bare claws.)

“It’s—fine. It’s fine!” Joan finally snapped. She glared down at the piano, not wanting to see everyone else’s expressions. She knew that would be finding this funny, and that made her want to shove hot coals up all of their noses until it turned their faces into a charred, tarry goop and they couldn’t smile or smirk or laugh anymore. “Let’s just move on!”

Her voice was coming out too loud. It was biting, but not in a cold way. It came out in a smooth, warm, sunny way that nobody could take seriously. They saw her as a baby sheep that was trying to bleat at a butterfly in its flower patch.

But she just saw herself as a sheep with its wool on fire.

Smothering, encompassing, suffocating, asphyxiating- the white-gold flames press in on her. She’s a ball of fire, fleece ablaze, hooves smoldered, horns like pillars of pyre. She opens her mouth to scream, and flames come pouring out. Her insides are bloated with smoke and ash, charred and singed, and she can taste their tarry remains on the sediments of her shriveled, black tongue. When she hooked her nails in her neck and tore open holes, thick streams of smog so grey they looked black come floating out.

Joan was screaming, clawing, burning two inches away from everyone’s faces, and yet they were blind to the golden inferno embracing her body.

( “They think it’s funny,” Killer Frost would probably say if it weren’t hidden beneath the hellfire consuming Joan’s entire being. “They think it’s just a little sunburn. Nothing more. But if it were Kitty that was as red as a fresh apple in spring...”)

Her subconscious’ distant words are drowned out by the overwhelming sound of the incendiary. Torches are sent flaring through her nerves like pinpricks of hot needles before extinguishing enough for her to realize she had been playing the piano throughout that entire conflagration.

Somehow.

Joan breathed out a soft, shaky breath. That feverish feeling reignited itself once again- or maybe it’s always been there, and she just hadn’t noticed. At this point, as her brain was melting inside of her skull, she didn’t know much anymore. She was working purely on muscle memory, but that would soon go, too, as her tendons and nerves and muscles would dry up from the heat and become stiff, fragile, prettified remnants of what they used to be.

She gulped dryly, as there was barely any saliva left in her mouth, and it felt as if she had just swallowed igneous rocks. They landed heavily in her stomach and set the bile into an uncomfortable simmer. She began to worry if the lining would catch fire and burn her from the inside out or melt open holes and douse all her other organs in the boiling acid.

Joan swallowed again, and whatever flaming creature had been trying to crawl its way up her esophagus and out through her mouth raked its claws down her throat on its way back down. Then, she coughed and was surprised to not see a plume of ash come out.

God, she needed water. She needed to get out of these clothes, too. Her legs were nowhere near as bad as her back and shoulders, but her pants were rubbing the scarred flesh uncomfortably raw and she would just prefer to have them off.

Joan bounced her knee, feeling miserable. Her skin was melting off of her bones, her stomach was boiling, she was running a fucking fever, she was somehow shivering, and, good lord, was the heater on or something?!

She couldn’t take it anymore.

Joan stood up, wincing as she felt crackles and flickers and pops go off in her legs. She walked on eggshells on the way to the bathroom after calling a break- if those eggshells were on fire and actually pointy lava rocks.

Right about now, Joan would really prefer actual eggshells because, what the fuck, were the soles of her feet sunburnt, too?!

She careened into the bathroom, clipping her shoulder on the corner wall in the process and sending that smoky haze from before momentarily hissing across her vision. She braced herself up against one of the sinks, pressing her palms down on the smooth, cold granite as hard as she could to soak up the coolness, and glared at her puffy, inflamed, red face in the mirror.

God, no wonder everyone was laughing at her.

She was like a poor immolation to the overpowering pyrolatry. A lamb to the slaughter, a ram to the flames, a ewe to the end of a burning knife-

A piece of charred meat in the mouth of hungry flames.

Joan slowly eased herself back, removing all the weight she had been putting on her hands. It felt as if she were rubbing bituminous coals against her palms, so she turned on the sink and let it run over her hands and fingers and wrists. She carefully dabs some of the cold water on her hot cheeks and sighed softly in content. For just a brief, fleeting moment, the stinging seized and was snuffed out by a torrent of coolness.

That lasted for only a few seconds, though. The water ran warm when it dribbled down the sides of her face, much to her dismay. It was stupid of her to think she could even get a moment of comfort.

As if to prove that, Joan’s back tingles again and, this time, she didn’t care about ignoring it. She reached her arm around and under her tank top and scratched fervently at one of her shoulder blades, hoping to relieve some discomfort.

Her efforts, of course, did the exact opposite.

Joan couldn’t help the startled cry that escaped her lips. She ripped her hand away, and it came back wet and sticky and absolutely dripping with pus and blood.

It was as if her touch was heated- the minute her nails came in contact with her shoulder blade, the flesh peeled back, blisters popped, and fluids came angrily billowing out of the abscess like hundreds of wasps from a destroyed hive.

Joan dissolved into pathetic whimpers as tears came streaming free. They were gasoline on her flaming cheeks- increasing the stinging until it felt like holes were being melted open in the sides of her face, and she frantically squabbled to wipe her eyes. The rough brush against her cheeks agitated the inflamed flesh, and it punishes her foolishness by breaking open and spilling its red tears down her face.

Joan would scream if she could, but the hellfire had her by the throat. So she just wheezed like the scorched furnace she had become and let the liquid fire drool out of gaping, fleshy ventilation systems.

What else could you do when in the mouth of an inferno?

———

Anne will admit that it had been her idea to go to the beach, but in her defense, Kitty made it happen. That’s exactly why she had consulted the girl about her idea because she knew nobody in their house could say no to her. Besides, it was going to be alarmingly hot for a spring day in England, so why stay in a house with no AC when you could go swimming? It was a brilliant plan! And it worked out perfectly! Except for the part where Joan fried like an egg in the sun, of course.

But still, in her defense, Anne had no idea the girl was so sensitive to sunlight! She had seen her put on at least ten layers of sunscreen every thirty minutes! How was she supposed to know she would shrivel up and die?!

Oh, who was she kidding? Not even her internal yelling debate could ease the guilt gnawing away at her.

Joan tagging along with them wasn’t her fault- that blame was shifted onto Kitty and Maggie, who were never a good duo when they got together, when they insisted that the “gang had to stick together”- but she still felt bad when she saw the girl’s awful sunburn. It was funny at first, but then she noticed the permanent grimace plastered on her face and the way she stiffly played the piano like she had lit matches dug into her skin, and the situation became a lot more worrying.

It was clear Joan was on edge and uncomfortable- they all noticed that. They just didn’t think of doing anything. A sunburn wasn’t exactly something you could just pop some pain pills for- it took time to go away and let the skin heal itself of the blemish. So, the others just didn’t pay it any mind (even if it was tough not to gawk at Joan’s firetruck red complexion).

Anne tried to do the same. She told herself there was nothing she could do and she should just laugh about it with everyone else, and she was so close to settling fully into that state of mind.

But then Joan called a sudden break and left the room without a word, and Anne was yanked right out of that belief.

Something was very, very wrong.

Now, believe it or not, despite her (slightly aggravating) stage persona, she knew what boundaries and personal space were. And she knew when to not bother a female. There’s several cases of when you shouldn’t bother a woman: when she’s breastfeeding, when she’s on their period, when she’s pregnant, when she’s being cheated on- but especially when she’s in pain and it was making her aggressive.

It’s, in a weird sort of way, like the time she found a stray cat on her family’s property when she was younger. She had cornered the frightened little thing and it arched its spine and hissed at her to stay back, but she was desperate for a pet, so she grabbed for it anyway. Naturally, she got scratched and that night, as her mother was cleaning the cuts, she was told to never approach a scared, cornered animal. It made them more likely to lash out, but if you wait and let them know you weren’t a threat, then they may calm down. And Anne has used this advice since then, and she still uses it with the queens and ladies in waiting when something is wrong with one of them.

Except right now, though. Because Joan has been in the bathroom for half an hour, now, and absolutely no one was batting an eye. Anne knew the girl was more likely to die and turn into a skeleton before anyone decided they wanted to check on her, so she excused herself from the game of Statues that Maria had started and walked out.

Now, Anne has seen a lot of shocking things in her life: the actual proof of Aragon’s divorce, her first miscarried baby’s withered corpse, Henry’s penis....but the musical’s bright red music director hunched in the bathroom with blood on her shirt and face and hands might take the cake.

In the bright bathroom lights, Joan looked a lot worse than she did in the rehearsal room. She wasn’t just red- she was raw.

The easiest way to explain it is to imagine a human being that just got all its skin peeled off and then was stung by at least two hundred bees in very specific areas. Scarlet stained almost every inch of her body, aside from underneath her jaw, amazingly. The burn was lighter in some places and darker in others, but her shoulders and upper back were by far the worst. There, scarlet faded into rings of dark crimson and blotches of maroon, both of which are spotted with tiny red dots, as if someone had crushed up rubies and sprinkled the shards over her to make the menagerie of sunburnt flesh look less like an eyesore. Paper-thin, translucent strips of varying sizes are frayed around the edges of the bigger blemishes, revealing raw pink hiding underneath.

To put it simply, Joan looked like a scorpion without its exoskeleton.

“Joan!” Anne cried in shock and worry. She leaped towards the girl and immediately picked up on the heat coming off of her. It was like standing too close to an active volcano. “Are you alright?”

Joan looked up in surprise. She had just been swaying there with her hands running under the sink when Anne came in. Anne guessed she was cleaning the angry red patch on her cheek, which was still crusted with blood around the edges.

“I’m— I’m, uhh—”

Anne couldn’t even tell if she was blushing in embarrassment or not, but it didn’t matter. Flustered or not, Joan needed some help.

“Honey, you don’t look so good,” Anne said gently. She reached out to grab Joan’s forearms so she could steady her, but the natural warmth from her hands seemed to set fire to Joan’s arms and she jerked away with a soft hiss. “Sorry! I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s fine,” Joan whispered. She didn’t snap at Anne as she had done to Kitty and Cleves. Perhaps she liked Anne more than them, or perhaps she was just in too much pain to be angry- Anne couldn’t really tell. “I’m sorry— Everyone is waiting for me, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Anne said. “But forget that right now, alright? You look like you’re about to keel over from heatstroke.”

Joan actually managed to laugh weakly, but it quickly broke off into a keen-like noise as pain flitted across her burnt facial features.

“What’s wrong?” Anne asked. “Aside from, you know,” She gestured vaguely.

“I— I don’t know.” Joan whispered. “I-I think I have a fever...”

“Are you sure you’re not just hot from-” She gestured vaguely once more, but this time with a lot more enunciation in her movements.

“N-no, Anne, I’m—” She’s starting to shiver. Joan was fucking shivering. She reached out a hand to lean against the sink counter. “I— I just-” She pressed a hand to her forehead, breathing shallowly.

Anne frowned in worry at the girl’s inability to explain how she felt to her. Whether it was from embarrassment or deliriousness thanks to the pain, she didn’t know, but she had to do something, so she stepped forward and carefully placed her hand on the back of Joan’s forehead.

As expected, it was burning hot. She wished she could have said that it felt a little warmer than a normal sunburn, confirming that Joan did have a fever, but she honestly couldn’t tell. So, she convinced Joan to help her find the thermometer kept in the theater first aid kit so she could take her temperature.

38.8. That was the temperature displayed on the thermometer and Anne worriedly glanced over it to the weary-looking girl sitting in front of her. When she was caught staring, Joan looked up at her with grey eyes and red sockets.

“38.8.” Anne said, showing her. “I think you may have sun poisoning, love.” Joan tensed and Anne quickly went on, “No, no! It’s okay! That means we know how to treat it!”

“W-we do?” Joan stammered nervously.

“Well. I do.” Anne said. “The things I need aren’t here, but I know we have aloe gel at the house. So we’ll get you fixed up in no time!”

Joan didn’t look too happy to have to go over to the queen’s house in her current state, but Anne managed to convince her to ditch rehearsals early so they would at least be alone for the majority of the treatment.

When they arrived, Anne had to point out the elephant in the room- the stained mess on Joan’s back. She had been putting off calling it out, but now they had to do something about it. And she knew Joan was going to hate every second of it.

“Alright, how much do you like this tank top?” Anne asked Joan, who was sitting on the toilet seat in the master bathroom (Jane’s bathroom. It was technically Jane’s bathroom, but Joan didn’t need to know that. They needed space, and it was big, so Anne could take the fit Jane would surely throw when she found out later). “Because if you can’t move your arms, I can cut it off.”

“I think I can get it off myself...” Joan said although she didn’t exactly trust herself to do that.

Still, she grabbed the hem of the tank top, pulled it over her head, and Anne watched in concern as the skin upon her upper back cracked, contracted, and split open in a way that made it seem like the girl was about to sprout wings. It made her own shoulder blades tingle in discomfort.

“Ow.” Joan whispered. She shoulders shudder, flesh-scales bristling and flaking.

“Okay,” Anne started, looking at the gooey scratch fanned open on Joan’s left shoulder blade. It looked like a tiny pool of creamy pus, which was just barely managing to not spill over the edges. “Yeah... You’re not gonna like this part, sweetheart. In fact, you may hate me after it’s over.”

“Why?” Joan squeaked fearfully, but then she watched as Anne pulled a bottle of disinfectant out from under the sink cabinet. Her face went as pale as it possibly could with the sunburn coating it like a second skin. “O-oh.”

“Yeah,” Anne smiled pitifully. She wets a small rag that she hopes Jane doesn’t use to clean her body with (mainly for Joan’s sake). “Ready?”

Joan white knuckles a towel she had grabbed for grounding and nodded shakily. She couldn’t even be embarrassed over being shirtless in front of Anne, as she was too worried over the pain she was about to face.

The cry Joan makes is heartbreaking. It felt as if burning claws were stabbing and stabbing and stabbing Anne’s heart the longer she had to hear it and the longer she had to be the cause of it. But it had to be done and, after a few moments of flushing out the scratch with disinfectant, she pulled the rag back. It’s now covered in a thin film of yellow-white pus and brown blood.

“Now your cheek,” Anne said. She wets the clean side of the rag and gently lifts Joan’s chin. The claws return to her heart when she stares into the girl’s glossy grey eyes. “Take a deep breath, honey.”

She gave Joan a moment, then pressed the rag to the blemish on her cheek. Joan keened sharply and instinctively shook her head, but Anne managed to hold it still enough to clean her face. She could feel hot tears slip down against her fingers and she finished as quickly as she could.

“There,” Anne said. “All done, sweetheart. I’m all done.” She delicately brushed away Joan’s tears. “Shh, shh... You’re okay. You’re okay, Joan...”

“Fuck you,” Joan hissed weakly.

“I deserve that.” Anne laughed slightly. “I’m going to go grab the aloe vera, alright? And a change of clothes for you. I’m sure Kitty’s will fit you.”

She’s gone for maybe five minutes and by the time she returns, the little blonde fireball she left sitting obediently on the toilet seat seemed to look even more miserable: she was hunched slightly, sunburnt flesh-scales bristling in a painful way along her shoulder blades and upper back. Her eyes are slightly glazed over, reminding Anne of the fever she had, and she was starting to shiver again. Anne just hoped it was because she was shirtless in a cold house.

“Hey, sweet girl,” Anne’s hand hovered comically over Joan’s sunburnt knee, then her sunburnt shoulder, then her sunburnt back, and then she decides to just pat her head. It makes Joan look up at her with a weak smile. It reminds Anne of a picture Cathy once sent her of a lamb grinning. “I brought some water if you’re thirsty.” She frowned when Joan shook her head. She watches the girl lean over to the sink counter and bury her head against her folded arms resting there. “Joan? What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” Joan whispered weakly. “Just a little nauseous.”

Oh dear.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Anne said, worry evident in her voice. “I also brought some ice. You gotta stay dehydrated, so do you think you could at least suck on a piece?”

Joan agrees and slips a chip of ice into her mouth. Before she can return her head to its burrow in her arms, Anne asks her to change into the shorts she brought in, so she sheds her itchy pants and gratefully swaps them for the airier bottoms.

“I’m going to put the gel on your back now, alright?” Anne said. “Then you can lay down in my room. How does that sound?”

Joan just nods weakly.

Anne gives her a warm smile, then dips her fingers into the bottle of aloe vera she had with her and gingerly smears it on Joan’s shoulders.

As gentle as she was, it seemed she just about poked Joan with a hot rod.

Joan yanked away with a yelp, nearly falling off of the toilet seat. Anne pulled back, meeting her eyes with a worried glance.

“Sorry. It hurts that much?”

“N-no, it—” It definitely hurt that much. Joan just didn’t want to admit it. “J-just warn me next time.”

“Okay.” Anne nodded. “Here goes.”

She put her hand to Joan’s shoulder again, much slower this time. Her fingers barely touch the girl before she’s curling in on herself like a distressed armadillo.

“Hey, sit still,” Anne said.

“I’m trying!” Joan takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, steeling herself best as she can. “Okay, okay. I’m- I’m ready.”

Still, she can’t help but flinch when the next stroke sears a prickling line across her back.

“I’m sorry,” Joan squeaked when Anne pulled back. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” She scrambled up to her feet. “I-I should just go. I didn’t mean to cause you so much trouble-”

“Hey, hey,” Anne tried to grab her forearms, but stopped herself from making contact. “You aren’t doing anything wrong. You’re in pain, Joan. You’re going to flinch.”

“B-but I’m annoying you,” Joan whispered. She lowered her gaze, but Anne slips a finger under her chin and lifts her chin.

“You’re not annoying me, honey.” Anne assured her. “I promise. I want to help you. So can you please sit back down?”

Joan nodded and sat back down. Anne didn’t miss the fresh glimmer in her eyes and she couldn’t help but feel so bad about how insecure and nervous the poor girl was.

“Ready, sweetheart? I’m going to start now.”

Joan’s muscles tensed up as soon as the touch came. The balm stings on her skin and in her nose- a sharp, airy scent of aloe. She bites down on her shredded, raw lip, trying hard to stop herself from whining, but a few pathetic sounds still escape her.

“One part done,” Anne said, her voice as soft as her fingers.

Joan just makes a noise through clenched teeth, pressing her face back into her folded arms. Anne’s touch is light, barely there over the biting of the salve. Every now and then, she stops to take more from the bottle, always muttering a quick warning before she continues. She’s going slow, steadily rubbing small circles all over Joan’s shoulder blades. The weird minty chill numbs the skin wherever her hands glide, to and fro, covering every inch.

“I’m almost done with this part, sweet girl,” Anne cooed. “You’re doing so good.”

Beneath her hands, Joan’s flesh was rough and bumpy. It was like rubbing lotion on the back of a horny toad lizard. It was so hot, too, like a piece of the sun was permanently burning inside of the poor girl. Luckily, the aloe vera seemed to soothe the cinders billowing about Joan’s body. The flames licking through her would flicker their way over to the cold, wet barrier and slow down, prodding the goop in a disgruntled manner. And then, they’re smothered by a glob of sharp-scented aloe, wisps and embers flying out in shock before they, too, are put out.

Anne moves to Joan’s legs next, then her arms, and then her neck and ears. Finally, she began to smear the gel onto Joan’s face, hearing her sigh softly in relief as she did so.

“All done,” Anne smiled. “I’m proud of you, sweetheart.”

Joan was definitely blushing- Anne could tell just by the way she hunched her shoulders around her neck and looked away shyly.

“Come on. Put this tank top on and then you can lay down. Or you can stay up. Wanna watch a movie?”

Joan nodded. She stood up and her nose wrinkled. She was basically wearing a full body suit of aloe vera.

“I feel slimy.” She said. “Like a snail.”

Anne laughed. Her heart melted at how adorable the girl before her was.

“You are too cute,” She said. “Come on. Put the shirt on.” She tossed a basic pink tank top to Joan, who quickly pulled it on. She saw the fabric cling to the aloe vera almost instantly and Joan’s nose wrinkled once again. “Yeah, it’s gonna do that.”

After quickly cleaning up, Anne led Joan to her bedroom. Joan was hesitant to get into the bed, but Anne assured her that a little aloe rubbing off on the sheets wasn’t going to bother her, so she clambered in after the queen. They end up deciding to watch The Princess and The Frog right as the front door opened and closed from downstairs and several voices filled the house.

Anne expected Joan to get nervous or say she should leave, but, instead, the girl just scoots a little closer to Anne, who leans away in fear of hurting her burns. Joan seems offended.

“It’s gonna hurt if I touch you.” Anne reminded her.

“I don’t care,” Joan grumbled. Her fever and exhaustion was making her adorably grumpy. “Please just hold me...”

Anne’s heart fluttered- she couldn’t say no to those eyes!

As expected, Joan hissed when Anne put her arms around her and pulled her close to her, but then she sighed softly and rested her head against the queen’s chest.

“Thank you,” Joan whispered. “For helping me. I didn’t think anyone...”

“It’s no problem, Joan.” Anne quickly cut off her nervous comment. “I care about you.”

“...I like being cared for.”

Anne glanced worriedly down at the top of the frizzy blonde head resting on her chest. She pulled Joan even closer and pressed a kiss to her hair.

“You deserve it, Joan.” She said. “You deserve care and so much more. Never forget that.”

“Stop it,” Joan whined weakly. “You’re gonna make me cry on you...”

“Cry, sweetheart. It’s alright.” Anne said. “It’s not going to change what I think.”

“Thank you,” Joan choked out through whimpers. “Thank you so much...”

“No need to thank me,” Anne said. “Besides. You have my robe. It’s official. You’re, like, mine, now.”

“Your what?” Joan looked up at Anne timidly.

Anne shrugged. “Niece? Goddaughter? Granddaughter? Robe stealer?” She kissed Joan’s forehead, making her smile shyly. “We’ll figure it out.”

“I like all of those options,” Joan whispered, tucking her head back under Anne’s chin. “But I...I want to be your-”

“Annie!!”

Anne’s bedroom door swung open and Joan lurched away from Anne. She sat up straight, still, staring at the TV as young Tiana goes running out of her bedroom after a frog croaks at her. She doesn’t want to see whatever expression Kitty has on her face.

“What’s up, Kit?” Anne said cooly.

“Oh, I was just wondering where you were,” Kitty said, then glanced at Joan skeptically. Her nose twitched a little, but she quickly turned back to her cousin. “Cathy is cooking tonight. She wants to know if you still want to learn how to make that really good soup she made?”

Anne saw Joan’s shoulders droop just slightly. She quickly makes up her mind.

“Maybe some other time,” She said. “Call me when it’s ready, alright?”

Kitty blinked. She glanced at Joan one more time.

“Alright.”

Then, she’s gone. Joan still doesn’t move, so Anne has to ease her back into her arms, now stroking her hair soothingly.

“I could have left,” Joan whispered.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Anne reprimanded. “I want you to stay right here with me.”

Where you belong.

Joan swallowed a lump of emotion rising in her throat and nodded. She nuzzled closer to Anne, not caring about how it agitated the burnt skin on her nose.

“Thank you,” She mumbled. “I-I...”

“Shh...” Anne soothed her. “It’s okay, sweet girl. No need to thank me or anything. Just relax, okay? If you’re tired, sleep. I’ll be right here.”

Joan felt heat bubble up inside of her, but this time she knew it wasn’t from the sunburn or the fever, rather the heat came from the giddy blush that glows a refreshing pink along her flesh-scales.

“I’m... I’m glad.”

#six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six fanfic #six fic #six fanfiction #anne boleyn #katherine howard #joan on the keys #anna of cleves #jane seymour #tw: blood #tw: pus #tw: body horror #nana boleyn #skin bone and scales

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slightlyrebelliouswriter23 · 4 years

Text

Ace of Spades

This beautiful cover art was drawn by the talented @corpsecro !

AN: I am so sorry.

Chapter 4- Cloak of Lies

The Van Eck manor, tucked between the cobbled streets of Ketterdam’s Financial District, stood tall in all its four-story residential glory.

Amongst the other identical alabaster homes, Jesper Fahey thought it looked like part of a set. Like how porcelain teacups came in sets of six; or how eight white pawns lined up neatly in front of the noble pieces before a game of chess.

Each house on the street was trimmed with white Corinthian columns and black iron gates. The hedges always even, the gardens always pristine. Houses in this part of Ketterdam lined the well-kept streets like dolls on a shelf.

Dolls on a shelf, he thought again with a snort, kicking a loose pebble in front of him.

Even at this young hour of the night, the street was quiet and bore no signs of trouble. Jesper found the lack of trouble troubling, the silence suffocating.

Or maybe it was the humidity that had turned his lungs to cotton—better still, his unabating guilt.

Regardless, it all hung in the sea air like swathes of held breath as he wended his way back from the Crow Club.

This cosy residential neighbourhood was a stark contrast from the Barrel, which seemed to always burst at the seams with life, a veritable kaleidoscope of colour and sound and motion.

Jesper’s ears rang from the nothingness of the street he now strode. A high, metallic sound needling at his head as he walked home. As if his body rejected such serenity.

He felt like he'd been coated in sugary syrup from a stack of stroopwafels. All the night's events sticky and clinging to him. As did the smell of gin and cigar smoke from the club. He couldn't seem to get the viscid feeling off his skin, and that smell off his red velvet jacket.

The tables had sung to Jesper again tonight. A sweet sound he hadn't heard in months. He’d found it irresistible. He did so love music.

It was a shame. He’d been doing well there for a while. He had been in control. Riding the high of the heist, he didn't feel the itch as much.

Of course, it never went away, this itch—not really. But with the heady balm of danger, the intoxicating thrill of taunting death with his pearl-handled revolvers, raging through a hellfire of bullets, the itch had been quietened.

Jesper always could drown out the siren song of the tables with a good old-fashioned threat to his life. It was when things settled, however, that was always where the trouble began.

And things had been settling for a while now.

Jesper had tried to keep busy. He had the Dregs. He’d even taken up a few hobbies. But life for the Dregs became easy, his hobbies became plagued with the aftertaste of monotony, and all that control had slipped through his fingers like velvet plumes of smoke.

Just like that, he was back to square one. Jesper knew it was bad and wrong and the whole reason he felt like he now needed to scrub his skin raw. But he couldn't help it.

Three nights ago he'd gone into the Crow Club with a pocket full of kruge, and one split-second decision to sit at the green felted tables had left him drunk and penniless and riddled with shame by the end of the night.

He hadn't told anyone. Not a soul.

Not Kaz, who hadn't been around at the Club for the past five nights--gods only knew where he'd been slinking off to so secret-like. Probably somewhere shadier than a forest at twilight so he could marinate in plots of revenge and murder against any poor sod who might’ve done so much as accidentally bump his elbow the night before. Having said that, Jesper wasn’t entirely sure Kaz even had a soul to begin with, so perhaps even if he’d had the spine to tell him, Kaz would not count.

He hadn’t told Joh, the manor’s grumpy live-in chef, who made the most delectable pies and pastries, and with whom Jesper hung around when he wasn’t at work. Mainly for the pastries, of course—but also for someone to talk to. Even if that someone only tolerated him because he was romantically entangled with the person who paid his paycheck.

He hadn’t told Majda, the old Ravkan Grisha healer they’d hired as their live-in maid at Nina’s request. Jesper often confided in Majda. But he could not bring himself to confess to her this. Seeing the disappointment in her grandmother eyes would be too much for him.

Jesper had not even told Wylan, his beautiful, kind, brilliant love—who was, in no uncertain terms, too good for someone as broken as Jesper.

Wylan had been busy taking over his father's business. They'd swindled everything out of Jan Van Eck, that bastard. Including his lovely home.

Jesper had moved in as soon as Wylan had asked. The boy had been shy and blushing when he’d finally worked up the nerve. Jesper had just grinned broadly and, taking his partner’s face in his hands, planted a kiss on Wylan’s carnation-pink lips. He swore Wylan had turned the colour of an embarrassed lobster.

They’d spruced up the place over the following weeks. Despite the manor’s impressive size, they’d managed to turn it into their own cosy corner of the world. Then, Wylan had forged into the world of business, full steam ahead, building upon the foundations of his father’s empire. Unsurprisingly to Jesper, he’d turned it into something shining and marvellous, as only Wylan could.

And Jesper had only gone and ruined things, as only Jesper could.

For the third night in a row, Jesper climbed the rain-slick steps of the manor's front porch with a pounding headache and absolutely no kruge in his pockets.

He took a deep breath before opening the door. It creaked on its old hinges as he padded over the threshold. Many more nights like this and Jesper would have to remember to oil those down.

Jesper kicked himself internally. There wouldn’t be any more nights like this. This would be the last. He swore it on his own grave. Although, at this rate, he might be penniless enough not to have one of those either.

The house was as dark and quiet as the rest of the street outside, save for the creak of the hinges, the click of the door as he shut it behind him, the snick of the lock. It was only ten and a half bells, but Jesper hoped against all hope that Wylan was already fast asleep.

Then Jesper made his way to the kitchen.

As if in anticipation of the four slices of bread he planned on scarfing down before his head hit the pillows, Jesper’s stomach growled. Loudly.

In that moment, Jesper also heard papers shuffling. He noticed one solitary light glowing in the kitchen. And Wylan—glasses on, wrapped snugly in his dressing robes, sitting at their kitchen table, which was covered in a tablecloth of sketches and blueprints.

Wylan looked up from the papers, lifting a disapproving brow.

Jesper, frozen in a moment of icy trepidation, was suddenly very unsure of what to do with his hands.

In that small window of time, Jesper knew Wylan saw right through him. Saw the state he was in, the events of the night playing out before them both like a moving picture they could not tear their eyes away from. He could probably even feel Jesper’s guilt, the very same molasses that coated his skin now seeping onto the sandalwood floors.

Jesper said nothing as he approached the bread box on the counter with caution.

“Where were you?” Wylan’s voice was eerily calm. It made every cell in Jesper’s body cringe. But with his back turned, perhaps he could hide his remorse a moment longer. He heard the gentle scrape of Wylan’s chair against the floor.

“The Club,” Jesper simply said, putting forth great effort to keep his voice even—casual. He reached for a knife and rolled it across his knuckles before taking out a loaf of sourdough. The portrait of ease, though he was indeed far from it. “Egan called in sick again. Had to cover his shift.”

The lie felt like ash on Jesper’s tongue. He sliced into the bread, trying to ignore the heavy weight of Wylan’s eyes on the back of his neck.

“You didn’t tell me,” Wylan said. “I was worried.”

Jesper cut three slices. His appetite, it seemed, had decided four was too many. Too even. Too much like a set of teacups.

“Sorry, I forgot to send word.” He turned, holding a piece of bread in his hands, facing Wylan at last. Wylan had deserted his seat at the table. Now leaning against it, arms crossed, he examined Jesper with the kind of scrupulousness that made the sharpshooter fidget.

Two could play at that game, Jesper decided. As he took a bite of bread, he studied Wylan’s face.

Drawn and haggard, like he hadn’t seen a day of sun in weeks—this made all the more discernible by the yellow wash of light staining the kitchen gloom. Jesper had half a mind to pump Wylan with every citrus juice they had in their fridge at that very moment.

The boy’s hair was a violent sea of ruddy curls, standing on end and every which way, as if he’d been dragging a ceaseless hand through it. No doubt evidence of all the long hours spent cooped up in that horrible, stuffy office.

His partner’s eyes were wide and blooming cornflowers.

Beautiful, Jesper thought on a whim. Though Wylan’s eyes were always beautiful. The thought made it that much harder to lie.

“I’ll be better next time,” Jesper told him. “Promise.” Lies. His skin crawled with them now, but this did not surprise Jesper. He’d been wearing his lies like a second skin for weeks. He only wished they’d keep him warm. Perhaps he’d fashion himself a cloak.

Wylan shifted, crossing his arms over his chest. “It wouldn’t bother me so much,” he said, “If I believed that’s really what you were doing.”

Instead of defending himself, Jesper tore off another big bite of sourdough. To buy himself more time, yes, but also because he needed to be more sober for this discussion.

Or perhaps he needed to be more drunk. There must be a bottle of brandy or a vat of cough syrup somewhere in their kitchen…

He needed to say something.

Jesper swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”

Wylan speared him a look. “You know what I mean, Jes.”

“No, Wy.” Jesper’s tone was more acidic than he intended. He tried to hide his wince by reaching for another slice of bread on the counter behind him. “I think you’re going to have to be more specific.”

“You come home much later than the end of your shift. You smell like smoke and liquor. What am I supposed to assume?”

“I dunno.” Jesper lifted a shoulder, an unbothered gesture. “That I’ve been working? I can’t help that you don’t like the way my place of employment smells. Would you prefer I get a job at the local candle shop instead?” He tried to sound teasing, tried to make light of the situation. But all he sounded like right now was cruel.

Jesper found he couldn’t meet the other boy’s piercing glare. So he took another bite of bread. Chewed. Swallowed. It tasted like nothing and felt like gravel scraping down his throat.

“You think this is funny?” Wylan’s jaw clenched. “You think this is some kind of joke?”

“I think giving up the well-paying job I have now to sell scented candles down at the market would be a joke,” Jesper said. “But if that’s what you want me to—”

“I know Egan isn’t sick.”

Silence dropped heavy like a stone in water, and rippled for a few beats across the room. Jesper risked a glance at Wylan. The boy’s forehead was creased with concerned crags; he chewed the inside of his cheek like it was a wad of jurda blossoms and he needed to pull an all-nighter.

“You’ve been at the tables, haven’t you?” It wasn’t harsh, this accusation. It was quiet, understanding.

Nonetheless, Jesper’s heart raced, as one’s does when they’ve been caught doing something they’re not meant to be doing. It wasn’t the good kind of adrenaline rush. He felt sick. Jesper opened his mouth, then closed it, fumbling for a response. Any response.

Finally, Jesper sputtered, “So what—you’re spying on me now?”

“No,” Wylan huffed. “Egan showed up at the office today, keen on working the docks when he’s not at the Club for a bit of extra cash. He was a touch confused when I asked him how he was feeling.”

Jesper’s smile was tight. “Must’ve been Agar’s shift I was covering for, then. Can never keep those two straight.”

“Don’t lie to me, Jesper.”

“Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, Wylan.”

Wylan flinched. Recoiled like Jesper had slapped him. Wylan stared and stared at Jesper, those eyes no longer fields of cornflowers, but deep, yawning trenches—wounds in the ocean floor.

“Where exactly is it you reckon I belong, then?” Wylan asked.

Jesper scoffed. “Not in my business, that’s for sure.”

Wylan’s bottom lip trembled. “You are my business, Jesper.”

Really, this should be an incredibly romantic confession. For the people of Kerch worshipped Ghezen, the god of trade and commerce. They revered all affairs of business.

And since Wylan was Kerch, saying Jesper was his business was, for all intents and purposes, rather like saying Jesper was his religion.

The joke was on the tip of Jesper’s tongue, but he stopped himself. Wylan looked neither amorous nor in the mood for witticisms. He looked rather ready to nail Jesper’s balls to the wall.

Understandable, Jesper thought. For all the shame he felt, Jesper might let Wylan do just that without so much as a complaint. But it was much easier to be angry than to accept the sympathy he didn’t think he deserved.

“Really?” Jesper railed instead. “I’d rather thought I was your side hustle. Since you’re only ever around when you need something from me.”

Horrible. That’s what Jesper was. Horrible, stinking, rotten—

“You’re not my side anything!” Wylan’s voice broke on that last word, and Jesper’s heart followed suit at the sound.“Look,” his partner said, “I know I’ve been busy, but I can change that. I’ll take time off work. I’ll work from home. I’ll— let me help you, Jesper.”

The former demolitionist took a step forward, reaching out an arm as if to comfort him, then retracting it, as if touching Jesper right now would be just as disappointing as seeing him this way. Jesper could not say he blamed him.

Wylan sighed, his arm dropping to his side. He raked his hand through his hair for probably the umpteenth time that night. His voice came out barely above a whisper when he said, “I want to help. I deserve to be able to help you when you need it.”

He was right. Jesper knew he was right.

Say it, something in his mind begged. Tell him he’s right and you’re sorry.

But Jesper only frowned, shoving the thought aside.

Because Jesper wasn’t just sorry. He was wrong. In every way—wrong and broken and no good. And very morose, apparently.

All Jesper could think was that Wylan deserved everything, and Jesper could hardly offer him anything.

“Well?” Wylan interrupted his spiralling train of thought. “Say something.”

Jesper threw his hands in the air. “What do you want me to say, Wylan?” he strained. “That I love coming home to this big, empty house on this big, empty street? That I love our ten-minute inane conversations at the start and end of every day? ‘How was your day, honey?’ ‘Oh, mine was swell. How was yours, sweetheart?’ ‘Mine was swell too, thank you for asking’. The same thing, over and over again. It’s all so… so—”

“So what?”

“So boring!”

The look that crossed Wylan’s face was somewhere between devastation and bewilderment. Jesper wanted to gobble the words back up quicker than a trough of waffles.

“You’re... bored? I thought you liked it here.”

He did. Jesper more than liked it. He loved being wherever Wylan was, really. But here in this cookie-cutter neighbourhood, with all its soft pastels and even numbers, Jesper was always the seventh teacup in the set of six.

No, scratch that. He wasn’t even a teacup. He was a godsdamned gilded tankard with a ruby-encrusted handle, debauching the dainty tea party with his gaudiness, staining the lace doilies with his red wine.

Not that he minded this, of course. He hardly noticed how not-very-much-at-all he blended in. If it made him happy to do so, Jesper would wear lime green and tangerine through these streets of beige and white without apology.

Drunk and full of shame and feeling the full weight of the other boy’s disappointment heavy on his shoulders, though, it was very easy for Jesper to pin the blame on this new life they’d been living.

An easy explanation for something that was so very hard to explain. It was the reason people would expect. And people always expected a reason for failure. It would be easier this way.

The easy thing to say and the true thing were often not the same, however. Admitting you did not know the reason for something was always harder than spinning a fabric of truth with threads of white lies to explain it away.

Jesper did not know what his reason was. He did not know why he’d gone back to the tables, why he’d failed so miserably. He hadn’t been able to confront it these past three nights.

But he knew the reason wasn’t Wylan. He knew it hadn’t anything to do with him or their life together.

Say it.

Jesper hated that he snorted. He hated that he said, “That’s like asking if I enjoy endlessly banging my head against a wall.”

He could feel Wylan’s hurt like a punch to his own stomach from across the room. It left him winded. And because Jesper was the worst kind of coward, he didn’t meet Wylan’s eyes.

Instead, he focused on the lapels of Wylan’s dressing gown, which Jesper had once compared to dirty meringues because they were grey and poofy. The comparison, when he’d first made it, had made Wylan laugh, and he’d told Jesper to go get something to eat before he started gnawing on his very expensive robe.

Jesper had scoffed and told him he would never stoop so low as to eat dirty meringues, or ruin a good cashmere garment for that matter. But the boy had merely laughed harder, then reminded Jesper of the time he’d dropped a whole plate of lasagna and shamelessly licked the floor clean all the same.

It had taken Jesper a moment to respond because he’d been beguiled when he looked at Wylan--all pink in the cheeks and giggling at the memory.

And when Wylan had asked what Jesper was staring at, Jesper had responded, “Your stupid face.”

Wylan had snatched a pillow from the pile on their bed and chucked it at him, probably to keep Jesper from seeing his raging blush. But Jesper saw, and he’d known then. That he was in love with Wylan.

Jesper shook his head of the reverie.

Wylan was looking down at his perpetually ink-stained hands now. After a moment, he said, “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Yeah, well.” Nausea curdled Jesper’s stomach. “What did you expect?”

“Do you want to move out?”

Jesper’s eyes snapped up.

Wylan’s jaw set, his spine steeled, and he looked down his nose at Jesper the same way every pompous prick in this neighbourhood looked at him. Usually, Jesper relished the way they sniffled. Laughed at it, even. Except Jesper didn’t feel much like laughing now. He didn’t relish the way Wylan looked at him like this.

“Do you want me to move out?” Jesper asked, a pit sinking in his stomach.

“Well, you don’t like it here,” Wylan reasoned. “You don’t like this house or this neighbourhood. You said you’re bored by it and by me. You won’t let me help you, and personally, I don’t want to watch you destroy yourself.” Wylan crossed his arms. “So I don’t see why you should stay.”

“You’re kicking me out.” It was almost a question, but it came out like a challenge. Like a dare Jesper nearly wished he would take. “Because of one night at the tables?”

“Three nights, Jesper,” Wylan said. “And that’s not the point. I don’t care how many nights it’s been. I offered you help. I want to help, and you—”

“I don’t need your help,” Jesper growled. “I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.” Wylan was nearly shouting now. “You’re lying to me and you’re lying to yourself and you know it.”

“I can handle myself, thanks.”

“Clearly,” Wylan scoffed, his tone drenched in sarcasm. “How much money did you lose tonight, Jesper?”

“Why does it matter? We’ve got loads of money.”

“We’ve got loads now. What happens after that runs out? You suppose I’ll support your spending habits with my business? Because I won’t. And then what? We might have Barrel Bosses kicking our doors in and breaking our legs for the money you owe.”

“I’ve only been at the Crow Club,” Jesper groused. “Kaz would never do that.”

At this, Wylan Van Sunshine barked a sardonic laugh. “Kaz Brekker? You don’t think Kaz Brekker, otherwise known as Dirtyhands, would break our legs for your debts? You do remember he once ripped out a man’s eyeball with his bare hands, don’t you?”

“Pretty sure he had his gloves on when he did that,” Jesper mumbled.

Wylan ignored him. “I suppose you think you could take him, then?”

“I’d be willing to bet on myself.” Jesper shrugged. Lies, so many lies. He might as well be licking the hearth for the way his mouth tasted.

“You sure about that?” Wylan sneered. “Because you don’t exactly have the best track record for betting on the winning horse.”

Jesper blinked. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or feel offended by the jab. He was tempted to let the boy continue. He’d never gotten this much lip from Wylan, and he was curious to see what else he could stir up.

There was definitely something not right with Jesper.

Wylan barreled on, “In fact, I’d be willing to bet Kaz would break your legs just for going back to the tables. He’d break mine, too, for letting you.”

Then, a look of realisation struck Wylan’s face, and he gasped. “He doesn’t know.”

“No one knows,” Jesper said with a scowl. “Apart from meddling meddlers like yourself.”

“Fine,” Wylan said, gathering the papers still spread out on the table into an organized stack. “I won’t meddle. I won’t even tell Kaz if you don’t want me to. Just don’t burden me with your inevitable slew of debt collectors.”

Jesper felt like he’d been kicked in the chest. By an ox or a very strong mule. He could barely muster the breath to say, “So that’s it then? You’re kicking me out because I’m a burden.”

Wylan tapped the stack of parchment against the table twice to even the edges, then pocketed his glasses in his dressing gown. “Do what you want Jesper. I’m going to bed.”

“And I supposed I’m not welcome there anymore, am I? Because I’m kicked out. Because I’m a burden.”

Wylan fixed him with a look. “Spare me, Jesper,” he said, and promptly quit the room.

Jesper stalked after him into the foyer. But as Wylan turned to take the stairs up to their room, Jesper ripped the front door open.

“Fine,” he threw over his shoulder at the other boy. “I’m going to find something more interesting to do.”

The last thing Jesper saw before he slammed the door behind him was Wylan’s figure, back turned and shoulders slumped, paused halfway up the stairs.

♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎

There was no longer a sticky, syrupy feeling on Jesper’s skin as he stomped back down the deserted residential street towards the Barrel. Now, the feeling was more like he’d rolled around in an ant pile whilst covered in syrup.

Which was decidedly the worse of the two, if he had to choose.

There was also a roaring in Jesper’s ears, and he couldn’t decide if this was better than the tinny ringing, or so so much worse. He would have much preferred both the ringing and the roaring, however, over what now rattled through his head.

You’ve been at the tables, haven’t you?

Let me help you, Jesper.

Don’t lie to me, Jesper.

I thought you liked it here.

I don’t see why you should stay.

You’re lying.

Fine. Do what you want.

Just don’t burden me.

Wylan’s voice clanged through him, a cacophony of his worst nightmares come to life, manifested in a vicious wheel of jagged teeth circling his head like a drain.

Jesper had no one to blame but himself. Wylan had merely said what Jesper had pushed him to say, the things Jesper already knew to be true.

All the same, it didn’t hurt any less hearing them.

Jesper should bang his head against the wall to quiet his thoughts. Jesper should go back to the Crow Club and show Wylan just how much of a burden he could truly be. But that had to be his most stupid idea yet.

You know who isn’t stupid? Jesper thought. Kaz.

He hadn’t seen Kaz in a while. He’d been too busy trying not to fail, trying to be good enough for Wylan. But Kaz was not good, so Jesper needn’t pretend to be around him.

Kaz was also always scheming. He’d give Jesper a job. Maybe then, with a job and danger and two pistols under his belt, Jesper could be better. For Wylan.

♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎

AN: I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry! The angst is real and it hurts and all will be righted soon I promise (unless it is very very wronged, in which case I will have a lot more apologising to do). But how bout Wylan laughing sardonically, tho? Because honestly, I think it’s a look.

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed. More chapters to come soon- if you want to be tagged in future chapter updates, feel free to shoot me a message/ask and I’ll add you to the tag list 🖤💫

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zoffra · 4 years

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Chapter 2 - Wedy

'You're angry?' Sharnalk asked in a soft voice. He leaned over Kortopi's shoulder as this once watched clouds from the window of their hotel room.

The latter nodded timidly, 'I wanted to go with Shizu and Franky.'

The young blond pated his head, 'They left to join Bono at the play circle. You're too young at the moment, but when you're older we'll go together and rob the slot machines! '

In front of Kortopi's pout who woudn't open one's mouth, he sighed and knelt front of him 'Listen, if you stop sulking I take you out to dinner and then we'll go to the cinema, what do you say that?'

This time Shalnark's words had hit the mark and Kortopi cheerfully looked up.

Of all the members, Shalnark was the one who best knew Kortopi. Sharnalk took care of him when Chrollo wasn't available. Brigade leader had taken the child under his wing by bringing him into the spider, and when the troupe wasn't on mission, they lived together. He had taught him the four main Nen principles, but it was with Sharnalk that he'd developed his Hatsu.

* BZZZ BZZZZ BZZZ *

Sharnalk was interrupted by his phone ringing, he locked himself in the bathroom to take the call. 'I listening to you Shizuku... I see... He gave you an address?.. What, so far?!... I'm not screaming! I'm just surprised that...'

Behind the door, Kortopi who listened attentively to the conversation, watched helpless his evening with his friend soar.

The young manipulator came out of the bathroom, scratching his head uncomfortably 'Topi, I'm sorry but we'll have to postpone our evening until later.' He rummaged in his pocket and handed him his wallet, 'Take my card and make deliver you what you want.'

Before slamming the door, he gave him a last wave, 'Be a good boy until I get back, okay? I don't be long.'

Over three hours had passed and Kortopi was fuming.

'I dOn'T bE LoNg', shitty liar

At this thought, a new motivation spread in Kortopi who felt even more frustrated and upset. In answer, he looked for bars, clubs, and other places not recommended for a child his age, when he came across an advert that caught his attention.

Thrilled, he quickly folded down PC screen, put on the brand new trench coat that Shizuku'd bought him the day before and took care to create a copy of himself which he placed under his duvet.

---------------------------------------------

After taking wrong bus route and making the wrong path twice, Kortopi finally arrived across from what should have been a bar. He approached storefront and tiptoed, sticking his little hands against the glass to inspect interior. He took the piece of paper from his pocket, on which he'd scribbled address. Apprehensively, he decided to push the door open when a young woman about to go out pushed him.

She was tall, her blond hair down to her shoulders. She wore a pencil skirt split on the side and an elegant black suit which let glimpse her generous chest. A fur cap finalized her outfit which suited her wonderfully.

Pretty

'It's not a place for brats. Clear out.' She closed the door behind her, spitting that stinging reply Kortopi's face.

As the mortified child walked away from the bar, he heard the young woman shout to him, an amusement's hint in her voice, 'Materialization?'

The fact that she guessed his aura's type at one glance put him on guard. He quickly turned around, activated his Ren and positioned himself in front of her. She roared with laughter and activated her Nen in turn, 'Come on kid, stop it'.

At her aura's sight, Kortopi'd immediately knew that she'd have upper hand if she attacked him. He was several tens of meters away, but he could feel her aura's pressure, it was as if thousands of needles hit his face.

She walked slowly towards him, two hands raised to the sky showing she'd no evil intentions, and took out a cigarette from her package with her teeth. She stopped at his height and scanned the child from head to toe, 'There are bouncers in the basement. I suggest you a deal. You give me a hand and I'll get you in. '

Kortopi still listened her suspiciously.

The young woman lit her cigarette, 'I need this key's copy, you can do it, don't you?'

it's not just intuition, it's bad...

In front of a more powerful adversary who knew his abilities, Kortopi's victory chances just gone up in smoke. Having one's back to the wall, he choosed the wisest decision and complied.

'Up to fifty no problem. My copies aren't forever but I guess you already know that.' He replied bitterly.

Young woman noded, notifiying him he'd made the right decision, and blew smoke into his face. Kortopi wanted to make eat her cig.

'I only need one copy.' She handed him the key, and the child sat cross-legged out of sight.

Left hand of God, right hand of Devil

A small key appeared in his right hand, he returned the original to the young woman and put the copy in his pocket, 'Let me get in first.'

'A promise is a promise,' she smiled to him, 'by the way, I'm Wedy.'

Wedy had kept her promise. They'd discreetly entered through a small emergency door, leading them to the room's back, close to the stage.

'I held my promise. The key.' Wedy held out her hand, palm in the air towards Kortopi. She observed the key from all angles with meticulousness and invited him to dinner as a thank you, 'Good job, the copy is perfect'.

Kortopi ordered a plate of homemade fries and Wedy a lobster bisque as a starter. The waiter put down the dishes, served in a magnificent fine porcelain with gold leaf patterns.

The young woman devoured her dish with appetite, 'I'm looking for a book which contains a special power. When a person's name is written inside, that person dies.'

Kortopi smirked before bust of laughing, 'Don't make fun of me, it's impossible. Even a Nen Master could'nt obtain such an ability.'

'That's right, it's something else. This book contains a visibly less restrictive power than Nen, the user doesn't seem to need oaths and conditions to use it.'

The waiter came back with Wedy's truffle veal, she brought her nose to few inches to smell the scent, 'A few years ago, a Treasure-hunter brought this notebook from the dark continent. Three months later, this asshole got caught. I'll pass details but during his interrogation he admitted writing nearly 50 names a day. Only women, regardless of age. '

Her eyes flashed, 'He committed suicide just before his judgment.' She grabbed her glass and took a big sip, 'Unfortunately, the notebook wasn't found, he apparently would have given it to someone else, just before his arrest.'

'So you're looking for the new owner, do you have any leads? '

'Not on his identity, but his motivations are clearer. More than 10,000 criminals have been killed in Jappon since the notebook changed hands. Apparently, the new owner doesn't really like villains,' she pours herself a glass of wine, 'He has a lot of fans among the population, to the point that the Jappanese have given him the Kira's nickname.'

Wedy smiles mischievously, 'Class A bandits would have reason to worry, for example.' She rummaged through her bag and handed him a piece of paper, 'Look.'

Kortopi felt himself melt in his chair when he saw the photo, 'Ah, it's the phantom troupe. I heard a little about it, they got killed by the York-Shin Mafia, I saw it on TV.'

Wedy laughed loudly, 'Bullshits. Corpses were false. York-Shin Mafia has a good intelligence service but they can't work miracles,' She paused, probing the child's gaze, 'For example, if in administration eyes people doesn't exist, they'll not be able to find data concerning them.'

Korutopi felt a sweat drop bead on his forehead.

'I'm 99% sure they're alive. And I know names of 7 of them.' Wedy soaking up sauce from her plate. 'I plan to sell their identity to the press. If they're dead as everyone thinks, they'll just stay in the ground.' Her lips curved in a carnivorous smile. 'But, if they're living somewhere in this world, it will only be a matter of time before Kira writes their names in his little notebook.'

On the verge of faint, Kortopi asked in a weak voice, 'Why haven't you done it already?'

Wedy's eyes shone like sapphires, 'I figured maybe we could do another deal.'

Korutopi didn't reply. Tears began to bead in his eyes corner uncontrollably, he knew she wasn't bluffing.

Front of the child crestfallen looks, Wedy felt a little remorse, 'Listen, little brat. If you'll do what I tell you, we'll leave you alone.

#hxh #geneiryodan #kortopi #shalnark #wedy #phantom troupe

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danetobelieve · 4 years

Text

One Shell Of A Dinner Party, pt. 3 || Skylar, Ricky and Winston

Skylar held the karkinoid steady as Winston was able to ignite the lobster monster in flames, but watched as the deoderant can sputtered and went out. The crab at the end of her poker stopped twitching and for a moment, she relaxed. But, the brief respite was interrupted by Ricky’s cries for help as he tried to fight off the monster that was attacking him. She watched as there was a flash of white teeth-- no, fangs-- as Ricky bit into the lobster with ease. What the fuck. Those were fangs. Fangs. Like hers. What the fuck? Before she could react, she jolted backwards out of the way of a new torrent of flame, emerging from the end of the zippo lighter. The karkinoids were dead, all of them were dead. And Skylar was left staring at the two roommates. “What. The fuck. Was that?” She breathed, shoulders shaking.

Ricky spit shell fragments from between his teeth, listening as they hit the ground and landed amid piles of guts he just knew he was going to have to rent a power washer to properly clean. “In order… of de-fucking-scending importance.” He grunted out as he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled across the deck to his half-conscious roommate, “You…” He looped Winston’s arm over his shoulder, struggling to lift them to their feet as the wound in his side pulsed and throbbed, “Are apparently a fucking mage, and we need to talk about why you didn’t tell me.” He started to drag them slowly toward the door, “You…” He had no free hands to point, but was certain his eyes were going to do the trick as he stared at Skylar, “Are about to be privy to several secrets that could get people killed if you talk. And I…. well I’m just bleeding through my third favorite flannel and onto my second favorite pair of jeans. So we are going to go inside, I’m going to disinfect this with copious amounts of isopropyl alcohol, I’m going to stitch it closed, and we’re all going to have a nice talk. Sound good?”

Feeling faint, Winston in a disorientated haze felt someone scoop them up. They recognised the sound of Ricky’s voice. They were saying something about them fucking a mage? But they never played Bards in D&D. They were the one class that they never really got the hang of. They always felt their characters fell flat. “What … about the … crabs?” Their eyes slid shut after that and a few moments later and they were being carried into the house. They could hear the crunch of Ricky’s shoes cracking glass fragments into even smaller pieces. They felt themselves get laid down on the sofa and slowly their body seemed to restart. “Fuck,” they muttered, their mouth feeling dry. “What the hell happened?”

Hurrying ahead of Ricky, Skylar opened the door to the house and let the two of them hobble inside. Now that she was coming down from the adrenaline high of everything that had happened, her hands were shaking at her side. “The crabs are dead, you got ‘em.” Skylar said with a trembling smile as she followed the two of them into the living room. “I’ll get… I’ll get the rubbing alcohol. Stay put.” Skylar said as she hurried away towards the bathroom. That was where they’d keep isopropyl alcohol, right? She did her best not to dwell on everything she’d just seen, but her mind kept going back to the fangs she’d seen, the fire that had grown. “Mage. They’re a mage. And Ricky…” Skylar stared at herself in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. “He’s like me?” Shaking her head, she found the bottle of alcohol and returned to the others. “Here you go. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Under the sink! Grab the whole kit, I’mma need it” Ricky shuffled out of his shirt and examined the wound in his side with no small amount of disappointment, “This… is gonna be one ugly scar. Least it missed the tattoo.” Hearing Winston mutter from the couch he rounded on him, clamping his shirt to his side so he didn’t spill anymore blood, “MAGIC?! And you had the gall to be uppity about me?!” Skylar returned with the first aid kit and he flicked it open, unscrewing the bottle of alcohol with his teeth and gingerly pouring it over the wound, “Ahhhhhh fuck that burns. Oof. Uh…. I’m fine. I can fix myself. But I dunno about Johnny Flame over there.”

Stumbling to their feet, Winston moved slowly and painfully through the ruined room and into their kitchen which had been mostly undamaged. Pulling open their cupboards, they searched in silence for a moment until they found some oreos and began devouring them in an attempt to raise their blood sugar. This wasn’t the first time that something weird had happened and they had felt exhausted and they were getting better at feeding themselves. “Listen,” Winston finally croaked seven oreos later, “I didn’t know that I was … well we don’t know what I am, not for sure yet. You said yourself that you didn’t know everything.” They had had their own suspicions. But the fact of the matter was that they weren’t exactly in control of this. Not in the slightest.

Skylar settled down on the arm of the couch, watching as Ricky poured the rubbing alcohol over his wounds with a grimace. But, what she was most focused on were his teeth. The sharp fangs that looked so similar to her own. She glanced over to where Winston had crammed oreos into their mouth and hurried over to get them a glass of milk. It was the least she could do. “Here. Milk and cookies, just what every wizard friend needs?” She joked weakly before heading for the first aid kit she’d brought over. Glancing over at Ricky, she handed him a few packages of gauze and a roll of medical tape. “Do you think this will be enough?” The two of them looked miserable, it was the least she could do after their home had been trashed and they’d been attacked by… lobster monsters.

Watching Winston Oreo themself back to semi-consciousness again, Ricky grunted an assent as he continued to clean his wound. “You’re right. I don’t know everything. But I know magic when it almost burns the porch down.” Heaving a deep sigh he gritted his teeth and looked down at the needle and suture thread in the first aid kit. He’d taken some field dressing classes after an accidental run in with a mermaid a couple of years previously, but it didn’t mean he had to like the process of giving himself stitches. Even if it only looked like he’d need four or so. “I think I know someone who can help. I won’t out you. But I’ll ask about resources.” The last syllable ground out into a sibilant hiss as he pushed the needle through, “fuck me with a chainsaw that never feels great. Did you get my teeth from the porch?” At this point the seal was very much out of the bed, and he wrangled the bottom set of veneers out of his mouth with his tongue and spat them onto the couch. “Sky. You hurt?”

Gratefully accepting the glass of milk from Skylar, Winston shot them a grateful smile. “Thanks, not sure what we would’ve done if we hadn’t invited you over for dinner,” the good news was that they were pretty certain that Skylar now knew what Ricky was, whether this was enough to get them to talk about it and start learning more about themselves was another matter entirely. But right now, Winston’s limbs felt like lead, their energy levels were rock bottom and they were sure that they could sleep for a few years if needed. “I didn’t almost burn down the porch and we have no proof that wasn’t a spontaneous natural phenomena that we’ve yet to explain,” they paused for a second and stared at their feet, “maybe you can find someone who can help me, but maybe I’m also not interested in exploring this discovery more, after all you saw what I nearly did to the porch, so why would I want to fuck around with this shit more?” They stared at their shoes for a second. “I’ve got your teeth, yeah,” they fished into their pocket and tossed the veneers onto the couch next to their friend, “those look almost similar to ones I’ve seen before,” they said pointedly, looking Skylar dead in the eyes through their glasses.

Waving her hand, Skylar shook her head. “I’m fine, they didn’t get me. And you don’t need to thank me, I didn’t do much. Just threw a bunch of fish out the window, really.” She said as she did her best not to stare as Ricky began to sew himself up. But, that went out the window when he spat out a set of veneers that looked… shockingly like hers. She could only gape with wide eyes. She could barely process Winston’s words, the less than subtle nod at her own false teeth. Covering her mouth with her hand, she stared from the two of them. “So… So, you’re a freaking fire wizard. And you’re a-- what are you?” She asked, heartbeat pounding in her ears.

Tying the first stitch off with a hiss, Ricky gave himself time to breathe, pressing his shirt to the wound as he glared at Winston, “Oh can it, Herbert Hypocrite. Did we not just spend a whole meal telling Skylar over here that knowing more is always better than knowing less? Natural fucking phenomenon my ass. I’m not human, Win. I can guess at magic when I see it.” He grit his teeth and started the second stitch, sighing and looking at Skylar. “I’m a shape shifter. A selkie. I’m a seal who can walk as a human. Is the real short version of it. The slightly longer version of it is there are people who hunt creatures like me. So I keep it hella on the DL.” His muscles contracted at the strange dragging pain of the suture going through his skin and he could feel sweat breaking out across his forehead. “You know. At least this time I’m not giving myself stitches on a lonely beach. Upgrade!”

Winston moved to Ricky’s side where they were stitching themselves back up. “Do you want me to do that?” they asked without really thinking it through, honestly they kind of hoped that Ricky would say no because they weren’t sure that they actually could without throwing up. “That’s a good one Ricky, Herbert the Hypocrite was actually my name in another life. But the truth of the matter is that if I had known that this was actually a thing and had a name then I would have talked to someone, but these things have just been happening whenever things go haywire and I’m kind of stuck there afterwards completely exhausted and wondering what the fuck went on.” At least the secret was out. Ricky was talking to Skylar about what they were and Winston truly hoped that they would be able to come to terms that they were also a Selkie.

Through all the insanity of the evening-- finding out that magic was real, being attacked by evil lobsters, watching Winston go all firebender on them-- Skylar thought she’d done a pretty good job of keeping things locked down. That she was, you know, handling it all. But, the more she listened to Ricky, the more the reality of her situation began to hammer into her brain. He was… a shapeshifter? A seal? A, a selkie? That couldn’t be possible, that wasn’t real, she couldn’t be one of those. She let Winston talk their way through everything, still staring at Ricky in shock. This couldn’t be real. But, in the back of her mind, she could see the soft pelt in her apartment, tucked under her mattress and hidden away. The weird pelt she’d been wrapped in as a baby… she’d never figured out exactly what kind of skin it was, but a seal? Was it a seal skin? Was she--? “Trust me, I’m also wondering what the fuck is going on too. We’re… in the same boat there.” She said to Winston before looking over at Ricky. “How… how did you know you were a selkie?” Skylar asked, voice shaking.

Ricky waved away Winston’s offer of help. “You need to sit down and get your strength back. I’m not the biggest fan of being touched when I’m bleeding out. Besides. If I paid all that money for those classes and then don’t stitch myself up it’s a waste.” He tied off the second stitch with the ghost of a whimper before starting on the third. “I’ll put some feelers out to people I know in the “not normal” community. See what I can come up with for you.” He turned to look at Skylar somewhat curiously. It wasn’t the normal line of questioning he got. “I was born a seal. I didn’t first shed my skin and become human til I was already two years old. I was born to a selkie and a human. My mom was from a clan of selkies. It was a bit of a scandal when she married a human. I’ve got fangs even in my human form, I can’t hear for shit, I’m color blind except underwater, and I have to transform every couple of weeks or I’ll die a, from what I’m told, incredibly painful death.”

Winston wasn’t exactly sure that they were in a position to complain about Ricky not wanting someone else inexperienced to stitch them up, let alone actually do it. “That … is a fair point,” they fell silent once again, “I’m not sure that is exactly the way that value money exchange works but go off.” They sighed gently and tried to regain some of their strengths. Their bones ached and their muscles ached slightly less from the sugar boost in the oreos. But they knew that the real cure to this was sleep. Caffeine and sugar could only ever do so much. They listened carefully to what Ricky had to say for themselves. They hoped that Skylar could put the dots together. But this must be all very scary. Winston themselves was feeling overwhelmed with their current state. Were they really capable of magic? It seemed ridiculous to consider it. They’d been smarter then most for a while sure, but they weren’t special. They were just normal.

As Ricky rattled off the various traits of what made him… a selkie, it felt as though Skylar’s entire world was collapsing in on itself. Everything she’d struggled through as a child, every weird look and bullying word sent in her direction, every time she’d wondered if she was just always going to be that… sad, pathetic girl. It was all coming together in one horrifying, startling picture of truth. “Oh my god.” Blinking rapidly, Skylar immediately stood up, her back ramrod straight. “I… I need to go. I can’t be here right now. I have to leave and I need…” She looked around the room, eyes wide and panicked. “I need to go home.” She said, her fingers reaching into her jacket pocket to curl around her car keys.

Skylar’s incredibly rapid rise from the couch had the unintended consequence of making Ricky jump, which in turn sent the needle in his hand deeper into his flesh than he was planning “Oh jesus fucking christ” he gasped out, doubling over on the couch, “Oh god that one stung. That one…. That one was a doozy.” He flapped a hand in Skylar’s direction as she made moves toward the door “I really don’t think you should! We’re not terribly close to the main road, chances of you running into those things on your drive out of here are pretty high, and it’s gonna be safer if you wait until light.” He slowly withdrew the needle and started the third stitch where he’d meant for it to be, “You should stay.”

If they were faced with the situation in which Skylar was now faced, Winston couldn’t say with all honesty that they would want to remain in this place. Especially with the fact that they looked like maybe they were coming to terms with a lot more then they had before. Winston hoped that this wasn’t all too much. They’d just planned for this to be a nice dinner where they got to know them but instead they’d found out that they were truly a magician and Skylar had found out that there were other Selkies in the world. “I know you don’t want to be here, and if you want to be alone there’s a spare room and if you insist on going home we won’t stop you, but Ricky’s right. It’s dangerous out there right now.”

Jumping in surprise at Ricky’s outburst of pain, Skylar shook her head. She had to get out of here, she had to leave. She didn’t want to be here right now. And as the two tried to convince her, all she could think of was the pelt in her bedroom and how she needed it. How she needed to make sure it was safe. How she had to figure out if what Ricky told her was true. Taking in a deep breath, she screwed up her courage. Fuck it. Reaching into her mouth, she removed the veneers from her teeth and bared the long fangs that she’d spent so many years of her life hiding. “I’m going home. Right. Now.” She said before storming out of the house, the door slamming shut behind her.

Several things happened in quick succession. Ricky tied off the third stitch, listened to Winston lay out some solid logic, and looked up to see Skylar revealing fangs that were only slightly less perfect than his were. In her defense, however, he’d always been a stickler for oral hygiene. Many puzzle pieces clicked into place all at once. The hearing aids. The fishing. The sense of connection he irrationally felt and he couldn’t help but turn to his roommate as he tried to stop more blood from getting on his couch with a hint of recrimination in his voice, “you fucking knew, didn’t you.” One hand slowly managed to drag his phone out of his pocket and painfully type out a text as he used the other to cover his wound. When you’re ready to find out more about what you are… we’re here for you. In the end, that was all he could do.

Sighing guiltily, Winston shrugged and fixed Ricky with a stare. “I couldn’t tell you about her because she didn’t want everyone to know, and I couldn’t tell her about you because you’re worried, justifiably sure, but still…” Winston couldn’t help but feel somewhat concerned by everything that had gone on here. They had to clean up their house, make sure that Dee hadn’t gotten hurt, work out what the hell was going on with themselves and then they had to make sure that Skylar wasn’t hurt or upset or anything too untoward.

#wickedswriting #one shell of a dinner party #p: ricky #p: skylar #para #chatzy para

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clumsydarknut · 5 years

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The Spirit of the Hero - Chapter 5

My take on the AU by JoJo over @linkeduniverse . Posting this in celebration of finally acquiring a NES and SNES plus the gold cartridges of Zelda I and Zelda II. Took me a little longer to get a good handle on this one. Longest chapter yet. Enjoy.

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The morning air was crisp and cool, frost glistening on every surface. Though the sky was still dark and the forest almost black, Link – now named Courage – knew the sun was up and simply hidden by the mountains to the east. It would be at least another hour before the sky lit up, and another hour beyond that for the light to penetrate the towering trees. Still, their party needed to set out.

The night before had been an interesting one, to say the least. Setting aside the strange revelation that he now traveled with eight other variations of himself, the discussion on why they were brought together, how they ended up here, and what exactly is going on was plenty for his mind to chew on. Despite all their theories, they had only been able to determine one thing: someone was in danger, and a lot of it. The rest, Time had said, they couldn’t figure out without more information. It was agreed they would head to Castle Town – hopefully to speak with the Royal Family – and that they would break camp as early as possible the next morning.

Courage took another breath, enjoying the near-silence of the sleeping woods for a moment longer. I’ll have to wake them. We can’t afford to wait for true daylight. He stood and looked to the fire where Light sat. They had kept it going for the sake of their islander, who couldn’t manage to keep warm without it. Wind was curled up in three extra blankets not a foot from the firepit and still shivering. Courage had done plenty of travel and was very used to acclimatizing quickly, but to live your whole life on a warm, tropical ocean and then be dropped in the middle of a pine forest at the start of winter? That would test even his abilities.

“It’s time, then?” Light asked softly.

“From the looks of it,” Courage replied, then gestured to the quivering bundle, “Wake him last, though. Doubt he’s had enough rest in this cold.”

Light nodded and stood, making his way to the next-closest bedroll. Courage knelt next to Wild and put a hand to his sword before nudging the man gently.

Just as he expected, Wild jolted awake and drew his sword halfway before realizing who was there. Courage smiled. I suppose we all have that in common. He motioned for Wild to sheath his sword and to try to stay quiet, nodding his head in the direction of Wind. Wild nodded in return, calming his pant and setting to preparing breakfast.

The others awoke in a much similar way. Most started to draw swords and rose with a burst of adrenaline. Light almost had an ear taken off when he nudged Twilight, for which Twilight apologized profusely. Courage approached Legend with that reaction in mind, but to his surprise Legend didn’t stir after a first, second, or third nudge. It wasn’t until Wild sprinkled some pine needles over his face that the man showed signs of life, and those signs were… less than ecstatic.

Once Legend was awake and no longer bloodthirsty, they set to breaking camp. Light and Courage were already fully equipped, having been on watch, and most of the others only had to strap on their weapons. Time and Warriors, however, had opted not to sleep in their armor. The time it took Warriors to don his vambraces and Time his plated cuirass allowed for Wild to roast some of the frozen boar, which, when Wind awoke, he found he desperately needed.

“I c-can’t believe how w-well this is warming me up,” he chattered from inside his blanket cocoon.

“Pink safflina does that,” Wild stated through a mouthful, “as do sunshrooms, if you cook them. Handy in a pinch.”

“These will help, too.” Light held out a pair of boots. Wind dropped his breakfast and shoved them onto his feet.

“Ohhhh man that’s so much better,” he sighed, flopping back on the forest floor.

“I’ll need them back eventually,” Light intoned. “You can probably get your own when we get to Lehara.”

At that Wind heaved himself back into a sitting position, shoved the rest of the boar steak into his mouth, and leapt to his feet. “Weshl ngu bem!” In one motion he had his gear off the ground and on his back, and without another word was headed down the road. The other Links exchanged surprised looks and hastened to get going themselves. Courage quickly rolled up the abandoned blanket cocoon and stowed it in his enchanted pouch, jogging to catch up with his lobster-shirted friend.

Courage had expected the journey to be less quiet than it had been with only five of them, but he was soon proven wrong. While Legend’s occasional cursing was joined by Wind humming here and there, no one said a word. Rather than tense, though, it seemed peaceful. I suppose, Courage thought, we all have probably spent a fair amount of time alone. He certainly had.

Courage’s mind drifted to his time in the labyrinths. He’d been so young then. How old had he been? Could he even remember? Maybe somewhere around thirteen, fourteen? That time was so foggy. Even if he had known how old he was when he encountered Impa, the ancient underground of Hyrule didn’t show the passage of time. Devoid of light, warmth, and populated only by monsters, the months he spent there – or perhaps years; he did not know – had left him without a lot to say. When your lantern went out and all you could do was feel your way along the walls, silence was survival.

More than that, silence was safety. In the dankness of a decrepit dungeon, it gave him comfort to hear all that was going on in a room. To know with a surety that nothing could sneak up on him. To always have the upper hand. Silence gave him that. In silence there were no surprises, and when surprises included blades to the gut, it was better that you didn’t encounter any. Whether or not the other Links shared his reasoning, he had no doubt that they had their own.

The walk went rather quickly, for being so quiet. Midday came and warmed their skin as they paused to pass out some of the deer jerky, then passed quickly into dusk as they came up on the town. The forest gave way into outlying farms leading up to a mess of buildings set on a river. Lehara was less of a town and more of a small city. Courage hadn’t seen many of this size, and felt something twist in the back of his stomach looking at the complicated streets. It made him uneasy, being only able to see where the town began and not where it ended. Too much potential for surprises.

“Courage?”

Courage gave a start and turned to Time. “Hm? What?”

“He asked if you were alright,” Legend sighed, tilting his head. “’Courage’ is seeming less and less like a fitting name. You look like you could be sick.”

Courage gave him a short glare and turned to answer Time. “I’m fine. Just got a bad feeling is all.”

Time nodded. “Let’s find an inn quickly. A heavily armed group of our size is sure to draw attention.”

“I need my own boots, still,” Wind piped up. He kicked the toe of one foot into the ground and looked sheepishly at Light. “They’re, uh, a bit small.”

“All the more reason to find an inn,” Warriors put in, stretching his arms over his head. “The innkeeper – if he’s worth his salt – can tell us where the best cobbler is.”

The group set off into the town at a quick pace. The streets were nearly empty, with only a few stragglers rushing about their last-minute errands. Courage noticed suspicious glances being cast out from under the awnings of roadside stalls and windows that quickly slid shut. The feeling of mistrust wasn’t new to him – in his time the people were necessarily suspicious of everyone – but feeling it on this scale was something else. I guess I am traveling with some pretty conspicuous partners. He generally didn’t wear much chainmail and blended in well with any crowd of travelers; Time’s full suit of armor, however, did not.

“Mommy,” a little boy squealed, clutching his mother’s apron, “Is that man a soldier?”

The boy’s mother patted his head and glanced warily at the group. “I’m not sure, sweetie, but it’s rude to point like that. Come along.”

Time chuckled as the woman scurried away, herding her son along in front of her. “I forget how extravagant this armor is.”

Warriors raised an eyebrow. “Is that not your usual garb?”

“I wouldn’t say that it is,” Time replied, examining the back of his gauntlet. “I’ve certainly used this equipment before, but not often, and not for a very long time.” He laughed. “I suppose, though, that even if I were dressed more plainly, your fine tunic and pauldrons would still draw the same attention.”

Warriors chuckled. “You’re right, but in my case that’s what they’re meant to do.”

“Over there!” Twilight rushed to the front of the group, pointing down the street. Courage quickly found what he was looking at – a carved hanging sign of a gluttonous cyclops with the name “The Drunken Hinox” embellished in tarnished silver underneath. On the street below was a barrel with a plank leaning against it that read “Lodgings Available” in a messy scrawl. The Links exchanged nods and pushed open the door.

The bottom floor – as expected – was a tavern of sorts. Considerably larger than the one at Beaverville, the spacious room held a dozen tables and had a small stage on the opposite wall from the bar. Courage breathed a sigh of relief at seeing most of the tables full and hearing raucous singing fill the air. Their party would likely go unnoticed, even with their heavy gear. Assuming they didn’t stir up any trouble, of course.

“G’devening, young masters.” A short, round man with a shiny bald head and scraggly red mustache called to them from behind the bar. “Here for a drink? Finest ale in all of Hyrule is served right here!”

“Actually,” Legend said, stepping up to the counter, “we’re here for the ‘inn’ part of your fine establishment. How much is one night?”

The man looked at the party and stroked his chin. “Nine of you, eh? Well, each of my rooms only has two beds, but I suppose if you paid for four I could give you three and haul an extra mattress into each of them. That’d run you… 800 rupees?” The man ignored Legend’s dumbfounded face and picked up a stein and a washcloth. “No, 850 with a ninth breakfast thrown in. I can discount you on the rooms but my wife’ll have my head if I discount her work in the kitchens.”

Courage could barely believe his ears. 850 rupees? He’d never so much as seen that much money, let alone spent that much on a room. Based on the expressions the other Links bore, he wasn’t alone in that. What kind of economic boom is Hyrule in right now that an inn warrants that kind of pricetag?

Light choked out a cough before cutting in. “Sir, I’m sure this town has many other inns where we can find a better price. Surely you can cut that down a little further?”

The man smiled. “Now, son, I know what you’re thinking. ‘He’s taking us for fools and raising the price for us cuz we’re from out of town’, right?” The man knocked on the sign above the bar with the back of his fist. “I don’t roll that way, young master. My prices are set right here. Lehara gets enough travelers for me to make a living without that kind of dirty work.”

Courage squinted at the board, and sure enough, his prices were listed there, however faintly. 200 still seems ridiculous, especially where one night was only 30 in the next town over.

Wild laughed suddenly, startling the other Links out of their stupor. He sauntered up to the bar and leaned over it, turning his back to the rest of the tavern and blocking any strangers view of the three, shimmering gold rupees he placed on the counter. Courage could barely believe his eyes.

“900 rupees for nine travelers in three rooms seems a fair price,” Wild hummed, “wouldn’t you say? ”

The shock that overtook the Links was nothing compared to that which hit the barkeep. Courage nearly jumped out of his skin when the stein the man was cleaning hit the ground with a loud clatter. It wasn’t loud enough to draw the attention of the whole room, but a few drunkards down the bar glanced their way. Exactly what we need.

The barkeep stammered his reply. “Y-you don’t seem to have much sense for bargaining, son, I wasn’t asking for that much.”

Wild slid the shiny gold gems discreetly across the counter. “Oh I know, but decent people deserve decent rewards. I can’t imagine it’s easy to compete in a hub town like this with a policy of honesty.” The long-haired man took on a sly grin. “It’s not like I’m short on cash anyhow.”

The innkeeper’s eyes were nearly as round as his figure now, but he took the jewels and nodded. “R-right this way, young masters…”

Wild sauntered after the man much more confidently than his awestruck fellows. Is he really that naive? Courage kept his hand on the hilt of his blade as they followed the pudgy little man out of the room. This is the second time he’s flaunted something valuable within earshot of others. Doesn’t he know that makes him a prime target?

“Here you are, sirs,” the man said, gesturing to the three doors at the end of the first floor corridor, “I’ll have my staff bring you those cots right away.” He pulled two large key rings out of his apron pocket and fingered through the heftier. With a changle he unhooked three marked keys and handed them to Wild, gave a casual salute, and waddled back to the tavern.

Wind clapped Wild on the back with a whistle. “Wow, Wild, didn’t know you carried that kind of cash on you.”

Wild smiled and examined the keys with fascination. “These are high-quality keys. I sure hope he didn’t give us his best rooms.”

“Oh shut up,” Legend growled, snatching them from his hands. “I hope to the Hylia he did. We’ll need them with the giant, flashing ‘rob me’ sign you just hung on our backs!”

Wild looked taken aback. “’Rob me’ sign? What?”

“He’s right,” Light sighed. “You really shouldn’t flaunt your wealth like that.”

“Flaunt?” Wild scratched his head and looked at Wind, who was equally confused. “I wasn’t- I just- the man’s a nice guy!”

“Unfortunately,” Time added solemnly, “I don’t think the innkeeper was the only one privy to our conversation.”

“And even if no one else heard exactly what was going on,” Twilight added, “I’m pretty certain the people down the bar picked up on the fact that something interesting happened.”

Wild opened his mouth to respond, but Courage couldn’t stand to let tensions rise any higher – he may agree with the others, but berating Wild now wouldn’t change what happened.

“Making a scene like this isn’t going to help,” he cut in, passing a level stare around the circle. “We have more pressing matters than a few thieves in a random tavern. Let’s just settle in for the night.”

“You’re right,” Warriors said firmly. “We need to focus on the big picture right now.”

The men shared uncomfortable looks but all hummed in agreement. Courage felt a twinge in his gut. He still couldn’t remember what had happened after he began his toast at the feast. Is she safe? Is she even alive? Dear Farore please let her be alive.

Sky broke the tense silence with a change of subject. “Let’s decide on rooms. That’s a good place to start.”

“I call Twilight!” Wind shouted excitedly.

Courage felt himself relax. She’s fine. I’ll take care of this mess soon enough and then I’ll be back. He put a hand to the lump in his pouch and smiled. I’ll be back soon, Zelda.

Wild rolled over uncomfortably on the feather cot. It was well past dark now – likely past midnight – but he still couldn’t sleep. Not that taking one of the nice, plush beds would have helped; he took the cot on purpose since he knew it wouldn’t matter. He hadn’t slept comfortably since… since before he could remember. Sure, there had been the occasional specialty bed at an inn or spa somewhere that made it so he could at least dream something, but even that hadn’t been deep or particularly restful.

He chuckled to himself. He had tried a Zora waterbed once, but if one even so much as wiggled a toe the watertight mattress would tremble and make all sorts of noise. When he had finally drifted off, he shifted his arm, startling himself awake and leaping off the bed with a screech, sword in hand. He grinned at the memory. That poor innkeeper nearly had a heart attack.

Luckily he didn’t usually need much sleep, either. He hardly slept the night before in their camp, and didn’t feel particularly tired now either. Did he even remember what a good night’s rest felt like? He couldn’t recall. He’d never really wanted one anyhow. At least, not more than to see what the difference was. Was there a difference? Would he function better with more sleep?

A knot formed in his stomach and his smile faded. He ran his hand over the web of scars on his arm. Did I function better? Something tugged at the back of his mind – a gnawing feeling he couldn’t place, but couldn’t ignore. Impressions trickled into his consciousness. Complete blackness. Water. He was underwater. Weight on his chest. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

He shook his head and pulled his hand away, rolling onto his stomach and shoving both fists under his pillow to stop himself from tracing the wounds. I don’t need to think about that.

That was one disadvantage of not sleeping much – it left one far too much time to think. In his opinion, though, there were far more advantages than disadvantages. You didn’t absolutely need it, for instance. If you were in a rush, you didn’t really have to stop for camp. You were also less likely to get caught off guard. You could be your own watch when you camped on your own, and an extra set of ears when you had companions. In general he considered it a blessing.

Sky shifted in his bed, shaking Wild from his thoughts. He listened as the man’s breathing fell back into the slow rhythm of sleep. Courage lay in the other bed, his breath almost imperceptible. Wild was glad these two were the ones rooming with him. The others had all gotten so upset with him earlier. Had it really been such a big deal that they had to go and lecture him on it? He had been discreet, hadn’t he? At least he wasn’t actively showing it off!

He frowned. So I’m being obvious, but Time and Warriors with their expensive armor aren’t? Time’s pauldrons have gold inlays! And Legend’s got like, 30 shiny jeweled rings on each hand. Why are they so worried about me making us a target? Honestly if any of them are half as good at swordplay as I am we really shouldn’t have to worry about bandits at all.

Almost as if summoned by his thoughts, he suddenly felt a hand grab his hair and yank his head off the down pillow. He gasped as a sliver of cold metal met his throat.

“Where’zzz yer wallet?” a raspy voice slurred quietly into his ear. Wild felt a boot press down on his back as the man pulled harder, and he swallowed the cry that attempted to escape.

“C-cabinet…” Wild breathed. The man didn’t seem to hear and yanked harder, and Wild hissed.

“Where’z yer wallet?!” the man said louder. His breath smelled of booze and the way the knife wobbled against Wild’s skin said he was very drunk, never mind the fact that he was no longer maintaining any semblance of stealth. “Tellme whereitiz! I’llzzslit yer throat!”

Wild heard feet hit the floor as the man started to scream. Courage’s voice started to call out to him but the man drowned it out.

“Donnntry it, boy!” the madman shouted. “Whozzzzswordoyou think’m using, huh?” Wild felt the steel sliver into his skin just a hair as the man cackled maniacally. “Damn, kiddo, if I didn’know yer friend’ad sucha hefffty wallet I mightajustaken thizzz beaut!” He leaned into Wild’s back and gave a tug. Wild couldn’t stop the yelp.

Footfalls sounded in the next room and Warriors’ muffled but commanding voice penetrated the wall. The bandit tensed and pressed the sword closer.

“ShhhhhhhhhhhhhHHHHHH!” he demanded, “Dammmmmitnow there’zzzno clean getaway. I tol- told you to be quiet!” The man removed his boot and yanked Wild to his feet, keeping the blade against his neck. If Wild weren’t so preoccupied with his life hanging in the balance he might have stopped to admire Courage’s ruby-encrusted blade – or the miraculous fact that the inebriated bandit hadn’t slit his throat by accident already. Instead, now that he could somewhat see the dark room, he searched desperately for a solution.

His own sword was tucked under the cot on the opposite side from where Courage now stood. Courage had the sense not to go for either of their bows, which were locked safely in the cabinets with their other possessions. Even if he had a weapon, though, the drunkard had Wild safely caught as a hostage – even if the others burst into the room right this second that wouldn’t free him from his grasp. He doubted he could overpower the man without getting cut in the process – any movement would drive the pristine blade edge right through skin and into his trachea. And most amazingly, how was Sky still asleep?

“Put down the sword,” Courage urged calmly, “We’ll give you our wallets, just let go of my friend.”

“Hellllyou will!” the man jabbed back. “Gimme the cashhhfirst!”

“Easy, easy,” Courage continued, inching toward the cabinets. “Give me a second to get them.”

The man quavered and wobbled slightly as Courage turned to unlock the pine cupboards, barely visible in the dark. The click of the key in the lock made the man flinch and Wild inhaled sharply as the blade jolted slightly. Courage exhaled and wrapped his hand around the brass doorknob.

Just as he moved to swing the doors open, the other Links crashed into the room holding lamps and swords. Courage jerked around and started to shout a warning and the bandit screamed at the sudden interruption. Wild felt the steel shift and he sent one final plea to Hylia. Please, let Zelda be happy.

Everything went quiet. Time came to a halt. No pain. No hurt. Just silence.

And then, a gurgle of blood.

Wild opened his eyes slowly and registered a few drops of crimson trickling down his bare chest. The thick liquid was sticky and warm, staining his skin and scars. But, still, the pain didn’t come.

Wild turned to look at the bandit and suddenly realized why. He was an ugly man, with a ratty brown beard and wild eyes. Eyes now open in horror as he choked on his own blood, coughing and bubbling more up over his lips. His sword arm lay severed on the mattress below, and through his torso was run a very familiar blade.

Sky pushed the man off the sword with a grimace, hefting it in his hand and frowning down at the dying drunkard. Even covered in blood, the sword glowed like a star. The holy light of the blade shimmered off the gem set in the deep blue hilt, which was carved in the shape of Hylia’s sacred bird. At the base of the blade was inscribed the most ancient symbol in Hyrule – the crest of the Triforce.

The Master Sword.

#linkeduniverse #the spirit of the hero #zelda #legend of zelda #fanfic #fanfiction #fan content #fan narrative #original nes #blood! blood! your organs

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