#Sunday's monster burnt me out more than I thought it would | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

batskulldrag · 4 years

Text

Phoenix by Fallout Boy

Chapter four bitches

obligatory warnings for abuse mentions. and a lot of Virgil being anxious. but plenty of fluff to balance it out

Chapter Three: Flares by The Script

“Toothbrush!” Logan bolted awake at four in the morning. “That’s what I was forgetting! He’ll need a toothbrush!”

“We’ll add it to the list.” Patton yawned, pulling Logan back down. “Lie back down honey.”

Logan dropped himself back onto the bed and sighed. Patton wrapped himself around him and grabbed for his hand.

“We’re going to be ok. We can do this.” Patton sighed, resting his head on Logan’s chest.

# # #

“Ginger or peppermint?” Patton asked, holding up two different tea boxes.

“Peppermint.” Logan didn’t look up from the list he was writing. “Ginger is a more acquired taste.”

Patton nodded and dropped two peppermint tea bags into the thermos.

Roman walked into the kitchen to join them.

“I have scheduled us a few interviews with news stations that we like.” He announced triumphantly. “That should at least reduce the squatters we’ve acquired.”

Logan snorted in derision at the prospect of having to be on TV and Patton fidgeted with the kettle. Tension reigned in the household.

“So,” Roman said cautiously. “What’s Virgil like.”

“He wasn’t very talkative yesterday.” Patton replied, screwing the cap onto the thermos. “He mostly wanted to snuggle.”

“Poor little lamb, living with that… that thing all that time.” Roman sighed.

“Physical affection is probably new to him.” Logan chimed in. “I’m surprised he took to it so quickly.”

“Do you think he’ll like us?” Roman asked timidly.

“I’m sure he will.” Patton chirped. “What’s not to like?”

I can only speculate. Logan thought.

# # #

Virgil glanced up at the three visitors who stood at the end of his hospital bed. Not only had Patton had come back but he brought his friends along. He sized them up discreetly. One of the new guys was slightly thinner than the others and he was the tallest of the group. Not by much, maybe a centimeter. Tall guy also wore glasses that were identical to Patton’s and had very short hair that he had slicked back. He dressed exactly like you would think a teacher would be dressed, which was weird because today was Sunday according to the nurses.

The other guy was a bit more flamboyant and a lot more muscular. His hair was combed back as if he were on his way to a date. He was wearing a white T-shirt under a red and white lettermen’s jacket. Virgil was tempted to think he played football in high school. But one of the front patches on the jacket advertised the happy mask sad mask theater symbol. So, drama guy. Drama guy also wore a cast around his hand that he had painted pirate’s hook over the top of. Cool. Virgil bit his lip, drama pirate looked familiar.

Call it. Virgil mimicked a coach’s tone in his mind. Tall guy is the husband. He seems like Patton’s type. And just look at how they look at each other.

“Hey kiddo,” Patton greeted cheerfully. Man, nothing could bring this guy down. “I thought I’d bring along everyone so you could meet them.”

“Ok.” Virgil said flatly. Were these guys going to gang up on him or were they just here to hang out?

“Firstly, this is my husband Logan.” Patton placed a hand on tall guy’s shoulder and nuzzled up to him.

CALLED IT! Virgil internally celebrated.

“Salutations.” Logan said in a stilted voice, holding out a hand for him to shake. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Not really thinking Virgil draped one of his hands, which was stuck in a sort of claw shape, over Logan’s. The two met eyes and exchanged a look of mutual horror at the awkward scene. Logan took his hand back.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t notice that your hands were wrapped up.” Logan said, now avoiding eye contact.

“You can fist bump me if you wanna.” Virgil offered to lighten the mood. “My hand’s almost a fist.”

“Alright.” Logan gently pressed his closed fist against Virgil’s outstretched claw. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“And this is Roman.” Patton slapped drama pirate on the shoulder playfully. “He’s actually the one who called the fire department on Friday and got you out of the house.”

This guy broke a window with his fist. Holy shit.

“Glad we could be formally introduced.” He held out his hand, then immediately pulled it back. “Right, you can’t do that.”

“Let’s touch bandages instead.” Virgil held out both hands like a zombie, this was fun.

Roman tapped his casted hand across Virgil’s zombie hands and laughed a bit.

“I guess I should thank you for saving my butt.” Virgil said, looking down at his hands. “So, thanks for saving my butt.”

“Don’t worry, I was just doing what anyone would do. Except Garbo and Malloy.”

Patton laughed softly and Logan snorted a bit at this.

“Who?” Virgil asked looking at the other two.

“Never mind that kiddo.” Patton dismissed, ruffling Virgil’s hair. “It’s just a couple of reporters or talk show hosts or whatever they are.”

“Have you heard any news since you’ve been in here?” Logan inquired.

“Just that my dad’s losing custody of me if everything works out.” He fought a smile. “There’s something I never thought I’d get to say.” He paused. “I meant have to say. There’s something I never thought I’d have to say.”

Virgil clumsily picked up the stuffed bear and set it in his lap so he could have something else to look at. What did they know, what did they think they knew? What were they thinking in general? Were they judging him? What if they thought he started the fire? If they knew he didn’t want to live with his dad, then they might think he was lying about the… he didn’t want to think of the word just now. Could they though, think he fabricated all of this? And even if they didn’t, would they just think of him as his father’s son? The spawn of that monster? Did they think he was a bad person just because of who his dad was?

“By the way.” Patton shattered his concentration. “I brought you some tea for your throat.”

Virgil jolted back from the sudden noise and stared at Patton in shock. Not seeming to notice, Patton set a thermal cup with a straw on the tray in front of him and pulled up a thermos. He poured a generous amount of a semi-clear liquid that smelled strongly of mint into the first cup and returned the lids to both.

“I thought this would be a little easier for you to use.” Patton beamed at him.

Virgil stared down at the cup, it was covered with cats of various sizes and colors. It definitely seemed like something this guy would own. But none of that made sense.

Here was Patton, a happily married gay man who was the softest person alive. This is a man who brought him a thermos of tea and a cup with a straw so he could drink it with his useless burnt hands. This guy gave him a teddy bear yesterday and had absolutely no objections to some weird kid wanting to curl up on his lap. How in the name of sanity had this man grown up in the same house as his father? It didn’t make any sense! Granted, Patton acted in privet the same way his dad used to act in public. But why act like that without witnesses?

“Something wrong kiddo?” Patton snapped him back into reality again, this time with a gentle voice.

Shit! He must have been making a face or something!

“What, no, I’m alright.” Virgil shook off whatever face he must have been making. “Thanks for the tea.”

“So, Virgil.” Logan began, still sounding a bit stiff. “What classes do you enjoy in school?”

Why do you care?

“Uh, I’m not really sure.” He stammered. “History is cool. And I like English ok.”

“Do you have any extracurriculars?” Logan seemed to think that was a normal phrase.

“I don’t think I know what that means.” He could see the headlights coming at him.

“Ok, I’ll rephrase. Are you a part of any clubs or sports?”

“I was on the wrestling team in sixth grade. That sucked. And now I’m in the chess club and I think I’m on the debate team. I know one of them is gonna throw me out, I can’t remember which one.”

“Why are they kicking you out?” Roman said with a puzzled look.

“My grades are too bad.” Virgil looked down at the cup again to avoid everyone’s gaze.

And if they get any worse, they aren’t just going to kick me outta the clubs, they’re going to kick me out of the school.

“We’ll have to look into getting you a tutor next semester.” Logan said frankly. Wait, why didn’t he sound mad? “You probably just need extra help with certain subjects. Or have a different method of learning than what you’re being given in the classroom.”

Welcome to the twilight zone. Rod Sterling echoed through Virgil’s head. This didn’t make an ounce of sense.

“Yeah, Roman and I both needed tutoring in high school.” Patton added as if it were no big deal. “And I actually got held back a year. That’s how I met the other two.”

Virgil started seeing spots. Somehow, he had thought that being held back was a badge of shame that would ruin his entire life. Yet here’s Patton acting like it doesn’t matter after school ends. What about all the teachers who know you’re repeating their class? What about all your peers who are now a grade ahead of you? What about … what about anything?

Everything was starting to spin again, and Virgil couldn’t feel his body. He pushed the tray aside and lay down. What was this? Where was all this coming from? Was this a front? Was this real? Could he trust them? Could he trust himself? Who was he supposed to listen to? Who was he supposed to trust?

He didn’t know these guys, they just showed up out of the blue. His dad never even mentioned having a brother. And certainly not a brother who was a marshmallow of a person. Could this guy have really survived growing up with his dad? Or the judgement that comes with being the oldest kid in your class? Could he really be who he said he is? Granted he’d have no reason to lie about it, and he’d already gone through social services, but just who the hell was he?

And who were these other two? Casually mentioning that he might need a tutor, having a hook drawn on a bandage. Fricking saving him from a fire. No, this didn’t add up. Why were they all so nice? They were white slavers, or sex traders, they had to be. There was no way they would be this nice without some kind of motive. Especially not to him.

�� # # #

Patton put his hand on Virgil’s forehead. He was still pretty warm, but the fever wasn’t that high. Maybe the painkillers were making him sleepy.

“You alright kiddo?” Patton asked, brushing some of the hair away from Virgil’s face.

“Yep.” Virgil answered quickly.

“You’re looking pretty pale. Should I get a nurse?”

“No, I’m ok.” Virgil squeezed his eyes closed intensely.

Logan leaned in to feel the younger man’s head and check his pulse. Patton sent him a look of concern.

“I think we’ve made enough small talk for now.” Logan said, gently putting Virgil’s hand back down. He motioned towards the door with his head. “We should probably let you rest now.”

Patton and Roman stood in silent confusion.

“It was very nice to meet you Virgil.” Logan said patting his shoulder. “We’ll try again when you’re feeling better.”

“ok.” Virgil mumbled keeping his eyes closed.

“Bye, Kiddo.” Patton ruffled his hair. “When you run out of tea in your cup just ask one of the nurses to refill it for you.”

Virgil laughed nervously in response.

“When we come back, I’ll bring some markers so we can make your casts a bit cooler.” Roman tapped his bandaged hand against one of Virgil’s.

Virgil tensely nodded.

The three left at that. When they were far enough away Logan explained why he had ushered them out in a hurry.

“I think we might have overwhelmed him.” Logan explained as they walked. “And caused him to have an anxiety attack.”

“What?!” Patton stopped. “If he’s having some kind of attack, we need to help him!”

“I understand, but if we had continued to hover over him his anxiety would have just gotten worse. We have to understand that this is all very new to him because of the hostile environment he just left.”

“And I suppose his dad being in prison for trying to kill him isn’t helping.” Roman murmured.

“That is accurate.” Logan sighed. “Patton, I know you want to love him and show him love, but just remember he’s used to Payton. To him this is unfamiliar and frightening. He may even think it’s a ploy.”

“I-I can’t be mean to him though!” Patton stuttered.

“No, nor am I asking you to.” Logan sighed again. “We just need to be mindful of our pace and be patient with his. He’ll get used to affection and having a healthy relationship soon enough.”

“It was going so well too.” Roman sighed, shoving a hand in his pocket. “I always knew Payton was a scoundrel, but this is flat out irredeemable.”

“Roman, this is Patton’s brother we’re talking about.” Logan scolded, more out of obligation than anything.

“It’s ok.” Patton sighed, staring intently at the floor. “He’s right, Payton was mean, I’ll be the first to admit that. But this is just evil! He’s just a kid!”

Patton stared downwards as hot tears of sorrow, rage and regret made their way down his cheeks. He felt Roman grab his shoulder and became aware that Logan was hugging him.

“He didn’t have to take the baby.” He choked into Logan’s shoulder. “He didn’t even want him, so why take him? I don’t understand.”

# # #

The last anyone had really seen of Virgil had been when he was about eighteen months old. Payton and Patton’s mother had passed away, finally succumbing to an illness. This left Patton completely out of sorts and with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Not that things had been light before, but the weight sat differently now.

Payton, who was chasing ambitions, was useless when their mother got worse. And he didn’t take care of his son either. When their mother finally did pass away Patton learned a new emotion. A disgusting cross breed between relief and absolute guilt and self-hatred.

It was over, she wasn’t suffering anymore, and neither was he. There weren’t any more fake smiles exchanged between the two. No more lying and saying she looked better when she was literally fading away. No more walking into her bedroom in the morning worrying that today was the day he found her body. No more hospice. And no more being strong for her, he could finally be weak again. He could suffer and hurt and feel this. At last he could feel this!

And he certainly felt it. How could he be happy his own mother was dead? She raised him, gave him life. She took care of him forever. And this is how he feels when she dies? Relieved? How could anyone feel that way?

Payton felt nothing and he didn’t try to hide it. He made an appearance at the funeral and could be heard accepting condolences while spinning a tale about how sad he was that she was gone. He did most of the talking. Patton was just trying to hold himself together and not make a scene, he spent that entire day hanging off Logan’s arm.

And, no, Payton didn’t help to get her things in order. Patton did that on his own. All or their mother’s assets were split between the two of them, with the exception that Patton would get to keep the house. For some reason Payton didn’t contest that, which took everyone by surprise. But he just took his share of whatever had value and left one day while Patton was gone.

He took Virgil with him, obviously. But Patton could never figure out why. With the help of Payton’s claims that children ought to be raised by their parents, and that boys especially need to have fathers; most people said that he had probably accepted the responsibility and decided to be a dad. But Patton held his doubts. Granted, there was nothing he could do. But he had his doubts.

And he was right.

# # #

Virgil lay flat on his back wheezing until the spinning stopped. Despite everything he could hear his father mocking him. Calling him weak, stupid, worthless. Pathetic.

He pushed himself up. He would not be pathetic. He would not let his dad be right.

“Hey, Virgil.” One of his nurses, her name was Valerie, addressed him. “How are you feeling today?”

“Fine.” He quickly rubbed his eyes to cover any trace of tears.

“That’s good.” She smiled, walking over to take his temperature. “Do you feel up to talking to another of our doctors?”

“What’s this new guy?” He asked, the thermometer still in his mouth.”

“Dr. Picani is a psychiatrist, he specializes in child therapy.”

“Do I need therapy?” Virgil jolted back. “Isn’t that just for, like, crazy people? Am I gonna get committed?”

“Dr. Picani is just going to talk to you for a minute.” Valerie rubbed his back gently. “He’s just someone you can talk to to help you acclimate to this.”

“What’s to talk about?”

“You’ve been though a lot. Talking to someone usually helps.”

“I’m not crazy.” Virgil insisted.

“Good.” She ruffled his hair. “Neither am I. But I still see a therapist sometimes.”

“But you’re a nurse.” Virgil pulled his arms around himself.

Somehow that argument made sense. A nurse would know better than to believe in mental illnesses. Right? His father had always said that mental stuff wasn’t real. That it was only something that stupid people got because they were gullible.

“And that’s a very stressful job.” She smiled. “Talking to someone helps. And it should help you.”

“Ok.” Virgil looked around. “So, does he use herbs or brain leeches or something?”

“Oh, carñe[1], you watch too many horror movies.”

Valerie left and was replaced by man with curly, blond hair.

“Oh, there you are Perry.” The doctor smiled.

“My name is Virgil.” Virgil said, sunned.

“Sorry, that was a reference from a cartoon.” Doctor smiled.

“I don’t watch cartoons.”

“Ok. We’ll address that later.” He straightened his round glasses. “I’m Dr. Emile Picani.”

“I already introduced myself.”

“How about your buddy? Has he got a name yet?” Picani pointed at his bear.

Virgil slid his pun bear under his pillow.

“Nope.” He said stiffly.

“OK, so, how are you holding up?”

“Ok, I guess. No. I don’t guess. I’m fine. Definitely.”

Picani gave him a ‘I know you’re lying’ look.

“That’s handy.” Picani nodded. “Are you comfortable talking about your dad?”

“Nothing to say.” Virgil said quickly.

“A couple of doctors told me you’ve been having anxiety attacks.”

“I don’t have anxiety!” Virgil snapped.

No, no. This was bad. He just snapped at this guy. Now he was going to get committed. But he couldn’t have anxiety. He couldn’t.

Everything was spinny, that static feeling crept through his limbs. He gagged and collapsed back onto his pillow, completely lightheaded.

“Ok, ok, Virgil can you hear me?” Picani was taking his pulse.

“Yeah.” Virgil gasped.

“Ok, I want you to take a breath. Breathe in for seven seconds.”

Virgil shakily inhaled.

“Good, you’re doing good. Now, hold for four seconds, and then breathe out for eight seconds.”

Virgil woozily complied.

“Good, you’re doing great. Just keep it up.”

After a minute of breathing Virgil sat back up.

“Feel better?” Picani rubbed his head tenderly.

“Yeah. I guess.”

“You know, it’s not a bad thing if you have anxiety.”

“Yes, it is.” Virgil buried his head in his knees.

“Why?”

“Because you can’t be sick in just your brain. It’s just like, like that placebo thing.”

“Says who?”

“My dad for one.” Virgil looked away.

“Well, Virgil. The brain is its own organ, and sometimes organs have problems. Especially one as complex as our brain.”

“Really?” Virgil looked up at him.

“Really. This is very real, and it’s very treatable too.” Picani squeezed his hand.

“I don’t have to be committed, and I’m not just stupid for feeling this way?”

“No, and definitely no.”

“So, what then?”

“Well, you could tell me if you’ve been having these attacks often.”

“I have.” Virgil sighed. “Pretty much every day lately.”

“Ok.” Picani rubbed his back. “Do you want to tell me about that?”

“Sure.” Virgil chewed his bandages. “Why not?”

# # #

After gathering everything they would need to finish off Virgil’s room the three returned to the hospital for take two of their introductions. Despite Logan’s warnings not to overdo things, Roman brought several paint pens in with him. Before going in the room, they hunted down one of his doctors for an update. This one was a psychiatrist

“Hello, I’m Dr. Emile Picani.” The doctor held out his hand. “Virgil’s psychiatrist. You can call me Emile.”

“I’m Patton, this my husband, Logan and our roommate Roman.” Patton group introduced. “I’m Virgil’s uncle and we’re gonna be taking care of him for now.”

“Well, my initial diagnosis is pretty rough.” Emile sighed. “From the looks of things Virgil has severe anxiety. From what he actually told me, he’s been having both panic attacks and anxiety attacks pretty regularly. Sometimes without even being triggered. He claims to have no appetite and I don’t he’s drinking.”

“What?” Patton gasped in horror. “What do you mean?”

“I saw that you left him a thermos of something. And a cup. But they were both still full and untouched when I came in. And he didn’t drink while we were talking.”

“I was thirteen once.” Roman started. “So, I understand avoiding food, I don’t condone it, but I understand. But. I do not understand why he would dehydrate himself. Did he tell you why?”

“He was very open about the symptoms he has, but he wouldn’t talk about his father or the abuse. So, I can really only guess why he wouldn’t want to drink.”

Please don’t say he’s trying to kill himself. Please don’t say he’s trying to kill himself. Please don’t say he’s trying to kill himself. Please don’t say he’s trying to kill himself. Patton chanted internally.

“Please don’t say he’s trying to kill himself.” Roman said in response.

What?

“No, he’d not trying to kill himself. Suicide attempts are never something drawn out. I just think that the emotional abuse is making him wet the bed, so he’s avoiding fluids altogether to spare himself that humiliation. I’ve seen it done before, it’s pretty common. It’s nothing so dramatic as suicide.”

“What do you think we should do?” Logan asked, having been quiet the entire exchange.

“He ought to improve with time and medication. I also recommend therapy.” Emile adjusted his glasses. “Until then just make sure he stays hydrated and eats properly. And be sure he takes the medication.”

“Trust me, we will.” Patton insisted. “Can we see him?”

“Of course. Just don’t confront him with all this, I can’t actually prove that he doesn’t want to drink. He might just not like tea. But he was pretty dehydrated when we brought him in, and its suspicious.”

“Heyya Kiddo.” Patton forced an upbeat tone in the face of despair as he pushed the door open. “I brought everyone back for another try.”

Virgil blinked slowly. “Ok?” He said, sounding about as confused as he looked.

“Cool,” Patton bounced inside, with the other two in tow. “We’d all like to get to know you a bit better.”

“And” Roman held up his paint pens. “I brought these for your bandages.”

Virgil’s eyes widened a bit and he cracked a slight smile, but almost immediately shook it off. So close.

“That’s cool, you can do that if you want.” Virgil mumbled looking down. “They change the bandages on my hands a lot, so that’d probably just be a waste of paint.”

“Alright.” Roman was not fazed. “Casts were made to be painted. What should we paint on it?”

“Can you paint a haunted house on it?” Virgil lit up again, and for a second he was a kid. “Like with ghosts and witches and storm clouds?”

“Can I?” Roman sounded indignant, he pulled back his jacket revealing a portrait of Jack and Sally standing on their cliff silhouetted by the moon painted on his bicep. “What do you call that?”

“You have tattoos?!” Virgil squeaked.

“No, I got bored in the car and drew that earlier.” He licked his thumb and rubbed a part of it off. “I wanted a tattoo, but I couldn’t pick a favorite among my darling babies.”

“That’s even cooler!” Virgil was distracted completely. “You drew that! It’s awesome!”

“That’s what you get for doubting my skills, you get to be wrong.” Roman smirked. “Come on, help me color in your cast.”

“Have you seen Nightmare Before Christmas before?” Patton added, Disney was a safe subject.

“I’ve seen the songs online, but I never actually saw the movie. It looks cool though.” Virgil answered.

“Have you seen any Disney movies?” Roman looked up at him.

“I wasn’t really allowed to watch TV, and I had a lot of after school things to do, so no. I guess not.” Virgil tensed back up a bit.

Roman leaned back with one hand on his heart and the other one outstretched and flailing as if he were trying to be rescued.

“He has officially gone too far!” Roman gasped saturated in drama. “Where do I report a crime?”

“Really, Roman,” Logan sighed. “You’re making a scene over nothing.”

Patton sat down next to Virgil, who had a very slight amused smile on his face.

“I am making a scene over Disney!” Roman challenged. “I am making a scene over education!”

Logan just sighed and pushed his glasses up. He used his middle finger to adjust them and Virgil let out an audible squeak of laughter. Instinctively, Patton covered Virgil’s eyes.

“I have access to the internet.” Virgil protested. “You can’t save me it’s too late!”

Patton dropped his hands. They couldn’t, could they? Couldn’t save him.

Virgil cuddled up to Patton suddenly as if he had sensed they sudden shift in mood. Patton glanced down at the younger man and saw his vertebrae through the slit in his gown. They were pressed against his skin as if they were trying to get out. And he saw the bruises all vulgar shades of purple and blue. He sighed and held Virgil tightly. They could too save him. And no one was gonna say otherwise.

“Roman, we’ll give him a proper Disney education when we bring him home.” Patton offered. “We’ll start with Nightmare.”

“Agreed.” Roman walked back over to the bed. “Now, let’s make this cast better.”

Logan casually walked over and stood by the bed, he just watched contently as the scene unfolded. Virgil was hunched forward, drawing on his foot upside down with a pen flimsily held between his forefinger and thumb. And Roman was kneeling at the foot of the bed giving footnotes on the entire Disney anthology while he drew. He was just in Lion King, so he started with that one. He began with the opening bars of ‘circle of life’ naturally.

“Dude,” Virgil sat bolt upright and looked around in terror. “I think you just summoned a demon.”

“Well he’d better like Disney.” Patton joked. “Or he’ll be bored.”

“Go home Chernabog.” Roman commanded. “We’re not doing that one.”

“I don’t think Roman has the capabilities to summon a demon.” Logan added, looking around in confusion. “I’m also certain that they don’t exist.”

“He was kidding hon.” Patton smiled at him.

“Oh, of course.” Logan answered quickly.

“Are you writing MCR lyrics?” Roman’s voice pulled them back to the moment.

“You can read that?” Virgil answered. “I’m calling you out on that. You’re lying that writing sucks.”

“’Remember when you broke your foot from jumping out the second floor,’” Roman read. “Oh, I get it.”

“So, Virgil.” Logan chimed in. “You expressed an interest in history earlier this morning. Are there any time periods that interest you?”

“Well, the gothic period to state the obvious.” Virgil sat back up to look at him. “And whatever period in roman history had all the cool stories. Like with the gods and everything.”

“So, you’re more interested in legends?” Logan smiled. “I trust you’d be very attracted to Dante’s Inferno. One of the characters shares your name.”

“Is he cool?” Virgil awkwardly pulled a bandage out of his teeth.

“Yes. He is cool.” Logan confirmed. “He acts as Dante’s guide through hell.”

“Hell’s tour guide.” Virgil said thoughtfully. “That is cool.”

“You like the spooky stuff huh, kiddo?” Patton ruffled the younger man’s hair.

“I guess so.” Virgil nodded. “It usually sounds cooler than that.”

“Macabre might be a better term.” Logan added.

“I hate that one.” Roman chipped in angrily. “Words should know how they sound. I sound that one out and still spell it wrong.”

Virgil chewed absentmindedly on one of the pens and said nothing. Patton once again regretted forgetting his camera. But that probably would have been a bit much. Still it was great to watch Virgil be a kid, watch himself and Logan be dads and Roman, he was either the fun uncle or a distant older brother. They were a family. And for all the troubles they had with their own families that was a feeling he’d never thought they’d all enjoy.

[1] That means sweetie in Spanish

#logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #dr.emilepicani #virgilsanders #parental moxiety #parental anological #logicality #romile #platonic lamp

14 notes · View notes

aeris-blue · 4 years

Note

fluffy p r o m p t s aaaa!!! okay okay um--what about grillbz trying to teach gaster to cook somethin? domestic bliss!!

I was so surprised at how hard it was to maneuver around Gaster’s gosh darn pride… but I did my best!

Grillby yawned the taste of smoke lingering heavily about him as he stoked his flames awake for the day. He stretched his arms high above his head and arched his back as he pulled himself awake. Even after his sun drenched oranges flickered to life over him the scent of smoke lingered, had he eaten something odd last night?

Wait. That wasn’t him.

With the increased visibility his glasses allowed he could see the subtle wafts of smoke seeping through the gaps of the bedroom door. Before another thought could emerge he leapt out of bed and tore open the door, “Bun?” He called.

The whole house was covered in a thin layer of gray that danced in the early morning light. A plethora of coughing from the kitchen sent him that way only to discover Gaster waving away at the clouds of smoke that circled him. His sockets were watery as he uselessly swatted at the smoke. ‘Go back to bed I’ve got this.’

Yeah, it looked like he had everything in lock down. Grillby crossed to the oven to flip the vents on before opening the windows closest to the kitchen. ‘Your fire alarm needs new batteries,’ Gaster declared after a coughing fit.

“I don’t keep one of those up here,” Grillby shrugged looking over his poor kitchen. All he needed was some machine wailing at him everytime he was running too hot or too cold.

‘That’s dangerous you know.’

Not as dangerous as giving Gaster free reign of his kitchen. The counters were coated in flour, milk was spilt onto the floor, a mess of towels were heaped over something he didn’t dare to investigate, and his oven, his poor oven, was coated in an unfortunate mix of burnt and uncooked dough. “I thought you said you’d made pancakes before.”

Grillby loved Gaster, with all of his soul, but the same could not be extended to his cooking. Since they’d moved in together he had forced himself through a myriad of experimental dishes that were better suited for Gaster’s line of work than his own. When Gaster declared he was going to make him breakfast in bed he’d foolishly agreed to those wide sparkling eyelights. Toast and some scrambled eggs, maybe some fruit? He could trust the monster with that much. However, Gaster had insisted on pancakes.

The resident scientist promised he had made some before. Apparently, there needed to be follow up questions. ‘I have,’ he defended, ‘just… not edible ones.’

Stars alive how could anyone as smart as Gaster just burn through ingredients like this? He was learning to play the piano, becoming quite the nature photographer, studying human healing and business practices, working with Alphys to make who knows what, and that was all since coming to the Surface but cooking was where the line was drawn. One of the two or three things Grillby could do well and it was lost on his partner.

‘I’m sorry,’ he sighed, ‘I should have known better.’ He shifted his toes against each other looking positively miserable amongst the thinning smoke. ‘Just go back to bed. I’ll clean it up.’

It was a tempting offer, Grillby certainly didn’t want to clean this up, but that would have left Gaster to wallow in his mistake. “Here come with me,” he left him with little option as he grabbed Gaster’s oddly sticky hand to head downstairs. The bar was closed on Sunday which gave them one more kitchen to play with.

Gaster leaned against the counter while Grillby grabbed cinnamon, sugar, nutmeg, and vanilla from the cabinets then eggs, milk, and butter from the fridge. He set the ingredients along the counter before scanning through his recipe cards. ‘That’s not pancakes,’ Gaster winced as he stared at the card.

“It’s french toast,” Grillby stated simply.

‘French toast? I messed up adding water to mix and you think I can manage this?’ Gaster’s hands twitched their signs hastily.

There was something magical about French Toast. The name and appearance made it seem far more complex than battering bread and throwing it onto a skillet but he wasn’t going to tell Gaster. “Don’t worry, I’ll supervise.”

After a hefty breath to center himself Gaster grabbed a bowl and a fork to mix the ingredients together. He was so overly cautious about making sure he had the absolute most precise measurements. One teaspoon of ground cinnamon meant exactly one teaspoon. In fact, as meticulous as he was imagining most of the creations he’d mustered was sort of hard to do. What step was he skipping? Where was his error?

“Ya know,” Grillby started which seemed to shake Gaster’s steely focus, “you’re really good at the prep work.”

‘Just give me twelve years and I’ll finish measuring everything.’

He bit back the urge to inform him being so precise was not a necessity, “No really, you know how to read a recipe, your measurements are exact, and there’s no one I would trust more with a knife.” He shrugged with a cocky smirk, “Aside from myself of course.”

‘Of course,’ he snickered.

Gaster flipped the burner to high then set the pan atop it. There it was, “You’ll want to turn that to medium to help keep the browning even.”

‘Really?’

Grillby nodded and Gaster turned the burner down. “I think this is the part that gives you problems.”

‘Oh yeah?’ A pair of hand bullets signed while Gaster doused a piece of bread in the slimy yellow mix. He was about to flop it to the pan without letting it drain but Grillby caught his hand as an encouragement to let it drip first.

“I think you try to hard on the actual cooking part,” Grillby folded your arms, “plus it’s an excuse to let your pyromania loose.” He crackled warmly as Gaster squared his shoulders in minor insult. The skillet hissed as the egg battered bread was placed within it.

‘I think we’ve established that I’m a P-Y-R-O-P-H-I-L-E,’ his face was sponge painted with regal shades of purple while Grillby traced the letters in his mind. Once he managed to snap the letters into a word he found cyan swirling through him. He quickly covered his mouth as a series of hissing crackles escaped him despite his efforts to quiet his laughter Gaster found himself giddily laughing along. Stars he loved that laugh.

He wrapped his hands around the top of Gaster’s hips and placed his chin between the space in his shoulders. “You need to flip it love.”

‘What?’ He looked over to him genuinely confused before he recalled the task at hand. The aroma of cinnamon sugar wafted in the air between them content to add its’ own presence to the scene.

“A little easier to flip than a pancake isn’t it?”

‘I’ll say,’ Gaster scoffed.

It wasn’t much longer before the toast was finished. “It will be better with syrup,” Grillby insisted, “but go ahead and try it.”

With a nervous shutter in his magic Gaster bit into the bread. A wide smile grew across his teeth while his eyelights sparkled like starlight, ‘It’s good?’ His expression was so incredulous he almost looked like a child. Grillby kissed his cheekbone then held his mouth open like a needy bird.

Gaster tore a piece off and fed it to him, “It’s good,” he confirmed.

‘I cooked something,’ he stared at the remaining bread with reverie.

“You did.” Grillby smirked as he leaned his head closer to Gaster’s, “Should we frame it?”

‘Oh hush,’ he rolled his eyelights but turned to Grillby, ‘Thank you.’

“You’re welcome.”

Gaster pressed his teeth against Grillby’s lips and allowed his magic to sing of his gratitude and excitement. “Well,” he breathed the last of Gaster’s cold magic, “should we make a few more?”

‘Sounds good to me.’

#cute prompts #grillster #domestic #cooking #grillby #gaster #so Grillby mentions being good at three things #they are cooking #counting #and dancing #of course he is good at other things #he just doesn't think so #sorry for the wait #this was attempt three haha #Gaster kept pouting #and not in a fun way

39 notes · View notes

spyvstailor · 4 years

Text

As A Thanks

So, since you all were generous in helping me with rent. THANKS FOR ALL YOU DID!

Here’s my end of the bargain. Chapter Three of Graveyard Dirt & Salt.

Don’t forget to follow me on my Ko-Fi and hey, just because we reached my goal, doesn’t mean you still can’t help a struggling author out by kicking a few funds her way over at my PayPal.

Chapter Three

There was a parable Father Jeffords told one Sunday in her childhood that she always remembered in times of doubt or worry.

It went like this.

A woman was beginning to worry that her husband didn't love her anymore. So she went to her church and confessed this to the priest.

'Does he still offer you support and encouragement in times of dire need?' The priest had asked.

'No,' she confessed.

'Does he hit you or make you believe that he in unfaithful?'

'No.'

'Does he sleep in another bed at night?'

'No.'

'Could you imagine your life without him?'

This question struck the woman. Could she? For a moment, she gave pause and thought about it.

'Yes.' She answered.

'Close your eyes,' the priest said. 'And imagine you're walking through a secluded wooded path. Are you alone?'

'No.' She admitted.

'Is it your husband at your side?'

'Yes.'

'So when you're alone, you feel him at your side?' The priest asked.

'Yes.'

'But you believe that this isn't love?'

'I want him at my side here and now,' she insisted. 'I don't want to have to imagine him in my head.'

'But I didn't tell you to imagine he was there, I just asked if you were alone. You put him there at your side, because he brings you comfort and companionship. Love isn't grand gestures and embraces, it's as natural as breathing. Close your eyes and allow yourself to just feel without thinking. Doubt comes with too much thought.'

When Sister Evelyn Marie and the others didn't return the day they had gone to the farmer's market, when Sister Agnes and Mr. Carruthers their handyman didn't come back after they went out to fetch them, Philomena began to worry.

It just so happened that as she decided to set out on foot the next morning to find them, that one of the abominations had been right outside the gate waiting.

If it wasn't for that thing, she would have succumbed to the same fate as the others.

Philomena recalled just standing there, staring at the ugly thing as it gawped back at her hungrily, the gate between the two of them, she had stood there for hours looking at it in disbelief, before Sister Mary Agnes came out to find her.

Guilt weighed on her heavily for allowing Sister Agnes and Mr. Carruthers to go. She knew that she would never forgive herself for that.

That was the day doubt began to creep into her mind.

Try as she might. As hard as she could, she could not tamp down that feeling.

But it remained, and the more she tried, the bigger the doubt became.

When she began to duck out during Sunday mass to kill the abominations that came when the bell was rung, was when she knew her faith was faltering.

If this was the end, the rapture. If all good souls were to be removed to heaven, then why were they left behind? Was this a test? Was it just chaos? Where was God among the dead that walked around their walls?

To the others, she was still a staunch leader of faith. God was everywhere, if anyone asked her. They were simply in the midst of their hardest trials and tribulations and would be rewarded in heaven for their duty.

But with every day that passed, she began to worry. They needed their well water tested come spring, who would do that? They needed clean water to live on.

Were there more milk cows out there should anything happen to theirs?

How long could flour last before it succumbed to wheat midge and mildew?

What would happen if one of the nuns needed a doctor? Sister Mary Claire had medical training as a nurse, but that was the best they had.

What did she do? What did she do?

She prayed.

Every night she prayed until it was practically mad begging and pleading. God if you love us, you must raise us up and out of hell on earth. Please, send me a sign. Send me something.

When it seemed like God wasn't listening, she began praying to every saint she could think of.

Saint Jude, Patron of hopeless causes, please hear me?

Saint Agricola, Andrew, Adrian, she worked her way down the list, but nothing. Not a sign, not a burning bush in sight. Her people, her nuns were lost in the desert.

Every day it was hard work as usual and more doubt.

The dead still came and went, she still climbed onto the wall every Sunday in jeans and an old blouse, to strike down at the dead with her stick, to pierce their heads and put them down.

The stink, the horror, it stuck with her, it tainted her and changed her. Warped her until she felt she was no more than one of them. Shuffling around blindly. Eating and sleeping, only to wake and eat and sleep some more.

When that man appeared on the wall, living and smiling easily, she was horrified that the dead had finally come for them. And they were getting better and better looking.

But he proved he wasn't much of a threat.

She was still wary.

It was like, seeing a man, living and breathing and capable of speech, it flipped something inside her on. She was a nun again, a normal woman with a duty to her faith.

He had to go.

As handsome as he was, as pleasant as he seemed. She had nuns here, they were her charge.

And that was when she realized, if God had left them here, then her trial was to lead these women, to keep them safe and as happy as they could be.

Maybe for a moment in the millions of minutes of her life, she had a purpose.

But then he came back, at least she suspected it was him leaving those silly little things on the wall where he first appeared at the back of the convent grounds, right behind the cloister's kitchen door.

It alarmed her for some odd reason, to think of him still hanging around, bringing them things like a cat leaving dead birds on their doorstop.

But when he showed up again, coming out of the woods as she was putting down the abominations that came calling to the sound of the mass bell ringing, she had a change of heart.

He had cleaned up some, shaved that backwoods beard he had, washed the grime and mud off his face, looked more like a man than a monster.

She knew he was still dangerous though, not in a bodily harm sort of way, but she had seen how a few of the younger nuns looked at him. They were still hot blooded women, and no amount of praying could chase away the feelings God gave women whenever a handsome man smiled their way.

And he was handsome. She had two eyes that worked just fine and they didn't miss the fine details God put into the man. Sure he was tall, dark, well muscled, with rangy limbs and broad shoulders, but there was more to him than just that. His eyes wavered between grey and blue so easily, she wasn't certain from one day to the next which colour they'd be. His face was both somehow boyish, but also patrician and villainous in a sort of brooding way. When he smiled the world around him seemed to light up, when he was at rest his face was grim and stern, eyebrows dramatic and dark, mouth firm.

But Lucifer was beautiful too and just as dangerous.

“We can't just keep shoving food out the backdoor at him like he's some stray,” Sister Mary Agnes finally said as they were scrubbing the cloister clean one morning, standing on the front steps sweeping as Philomena scrubbed the railing with a good stiff brush.

The older nuns were gathered there, a few of them plucking weeds from the shadowy side of the wall beside the steps.

“It's not Christian,” Sister Mary Monica pointed out.

“And you propose we bring him inside the cloister?” Philomena asked. “Give him a bed in a room beside ours?”

“I wouldn't mind,” Sister Thomas Aquinas declared loudly from where she was washing the north side windows. “I've survived the temptation of men for a good fifty years, I think I'll survive this one.”

“And what of the younger nuns?” Philomena asked, stopping her vigorous scrubbing to look at the older woman. “Do you suppose they could resist such a temptation?”

“He is awfully tempting,” Mary Monica said with a bright smile. “I almost got a little dizzy when he smiled at me yesterday.”

“Nothing more dangerous than a snake in the garden of Eden,” Mary Patrick declared firmly from where she was watering the flowerbed.

“Oh, charity and kindness cost nothing more than a smile,” Mary Monica said.

“I think he should be welcome into our flock wholly and without judgment,” Mary Elizabeth said, popping up from where she had been rounding the corner from the garden, her arms full of clippings and weeds to dump over behind the infirmary where in the fall they would be burnt. “He's come to us and offered to protect us and has asked for nothing but company. It's cruel to keep him out of our way.”

“He could be here to rape and kill us all,” Mary Patrick stated, her mouth tightening into a firm line.

“We shouldn't get carried away by wild dogs, Mary Patrick,” Mary Agnes said. “As far as I'm concerned, he's welcome around me. I would even go so far as to say I feel comfortable around him. He's a hopeless flirt, but he's goodhearted and lonesome.”

“We'll take a vote at lunch,” Philomena said finally. “And then decide what to do with him.”

“We should have taken a vote in the first place,” Mary Patrick stated.

There was a sort of eerie stillness to the countryside.

Even in the small town the Lieutenant approached. Normally there were the sounds of cars rushing by, driving on the streets, sometimes the far off laughter of children, a dog barking, birds singing.

There was nothing now. It was like the moments after an explosion, when you got caught too close to the action, when your ears were ringing, when around you was chaos and calamity, but you were in a vacuum of sorts.

He had been to the town before, it was one of his regular stops for supplies in the early days, though at this point he avoided it as best he could. Anyone could be driving through, moving on through the Georgian countryside. And at this point, he wasn't certain those left behind were friendly. Everyone was of the 'us or them' mentality at this stage in the breakdown of civilization.

But he would have a better chance finding a vehicle that would still start up, the odds were better in the town, so he moved with caution through the streets, eyes on the windows for signs of movement, both alive or dead.

Every nerve was on alert for a sound, for a movement, for a sign to get the fuck out of Dodge.

Ducking into a dust mote filled garage, he figured he might find a car and keys to match it in there, better than anywhere else.

What he found were two shufflers standing beside an Oldsmobile. Granny bronze, Sunday ready.

One, missing the lower half of her face, wagged her tongue helplessly at him, the other with her guts trailing behind her, stumbled towards him, tripping on her own intestines.

It didn't take much to put them down, he bashed them with the butt of his rifle and stepped onward, deeper into the garage.

Sorting through shit on the desk of the garage's back office, he tried to think of where they would put the keys to vehicles they were working on, when a change in the sunlight in the main area caught his attention.

It was subtle, like the light caught something that changed it only just a little.

Taking up his rifle, he quietly made his way back into the main garage bay to find a man in what looked like an expensive suit treading over the uggies the Lieutenant had dispensed of earlier.

The man didn't look like much of a threat, he was short and dressed like one of those fancy men from the city, which despite the grime and wear and tear to the suit, still stuck out in the middle of the end of days.

Was he alone?

Wandering if he should run and hide or reveal himself, show that he meant no harm and then head out on his way, the Lieutenant waited in the doorway of the office.

“You do this?” The man asked without turning around, his back still to the Lieutenant.

Glancing around, the Lieutenant realized he was caught, but the short man still didn't even offer him a look, eyes on the corpses, before he looked up and over his shoulder at him in the office doorway.

“Fucking nightmare, huh?” The short man went on.

Knowing how dangerous a man could be when he felt cornered, the Lieutenant remained in his doorway, hands on his rifle, ready for a fight.

Turning to face him, the short man huffed a deep sigh. “Look, I'm not looking to cause shit, I was trying to find some goddamned food. Thought there'd be a vending machine or something in here I could tip over.”

Normally the Lieutenant was the chatty man, but he didn't know this short fellow and he damned sure didn't trust him.

Narrowing his eyes, the short man came toe to toe with the Lieutenant, not at all scared of him. He opened his mouth to say something, when he sensed movement to their side, near the open bay door of the garage and turned his head.

Standing there were five deepwoods looking rednecks, rifles, ball caps, camouflaged, dirty and mean looking.

“You're in our town,” the leader said in that slow Georgian drawl they were known for, speaking around what sounded like a bunch of marbles in his mouth that the Lieutenant suspected was chaw.

Compared to them, the short, pretty boy in the black skinny suit looked like royalty, but he stared hard at the Lieutenant for a moment, before deigning to address the rednecks, turning his head.

“What?” He asked coolly.

The Lieutenant began to sense he was caught in the middle of some kind of situation he wanted nothing to do with and began to look for a way out if things went wrong. There was what looked like a backdoor through the office he decided he'd use if he had to.

“I said you're trespassing in our town, we don't like it.” The redneck leader drawled.

“We got a fee for trespassing, you have to pay it,” another man supplied with a slimy grin.

“The fuck you say?” Shorty demanded. There was a hint of a northern accent in his tone, something like New York or Boston maybe? The Lieutenant wasn't great with Yankee accents.

“Guns or your lives,” another redneck stated.

Reaching down the short man pulled a wicked looking custom trailing point knife from a strap near his fancy boots and held it up.

“I don't have a gun, but I got this. You want it?” The short man asked.

“What about you soldier boy?” A redneck asked.

“Hey, hey!” Shorty broke in roughly. “Do I look like some ten dollar whore you can bend over and rail after chowing down on a two dollar hot dog buffet? You were talking to me not him! Show some respect!”

The Lieutenant side eyed the man beside him. The short, Yankee voiced man with the thick, wavy chestnut hair, seemed ready to square up against the four rednecks who stood before them.

Flipping his knife in his hand, the man chuckled, “I mean, come on, guys. I know the world's gone to shit, but let's have some manners.”

Feeling a sort of chill creep up the back of his neck, the Lieutenant turned his head enough to spy the man licking the side of the knife, before grinning.

It was unnecessarily homoerotic, but he had a feeling that was the intention, it seemed to throw a few of the rednecks and they gathered themselves with an inhale and a scowl.

“I'm going to stab this fucking knife into your eye,” the man pointed the knife at a nearby redneck. “Before castrating you with it--”

The redneck nearest the Lieutenant pulled his trigger and hit the short man, sending him spinning backwards against the Oldsmobile, the Lieutenant took that chance to dive for cover behind the car, as the five men backed away, firing their guns into the gas station.

For an instant, just a short blink in time, before he reacted and hid for cover behind the Oldsmobile, the gunshots flashing brought to mind bodies, people falling, pleading, begging to live.

But they had kept firing, hadn't they?

“You don't fucking shoot your fucking rusted assed pieces of shit at me!” The short man hollered from where he had crawled to cover beside the Lieutenant, a bullet graze to his head. “I refuse to die by a .22!”

The Lieutenant wished the man would keep his distance, he didn't need anyone thinking he was with the yippy pup.

“Fuck!”

Shifting his rifle from hand to hand for a moment, he deliberated what to do, before deciding he did have a duty to protect the yippy pup. After all, in this situation, the man was the innocent party.

Despite claiming he had no gun, the short man whipped out a Springfield XDM from inside his suit jacket, and waited with zen-like patience for a pause in the shots, to reach up and fire back at the rednecks.

The Lieutenant peered around the edge of the car where they had scrambled and caught a few of the men get hit and fall.

“Fucking get blood all over my last good suit, you fucking cunts!” Short pup shouted, leaping out from behind the car and walking towards the remaining two rednecks, still firing his pistol. “Fuck you!”

Shocked into silence, the Lieutenant stood up from behind the car as the crazy little man finished off the second last rednecks with his pistol, before picking up a wrench from the nearby workbench to approach the last redneck who was clearly out of bullets and out of time to think of another weapon.

He watched as the short man bashed the shit out of the last man's skull, before throwing his wrench weapon away and huffing, “fuck,” under his breath.

Easing towards the backdoor he had spied earlier, the Lieutenant paused when he spied the man grab at his head wound, beyond him uggies who had heard the gunshots were ambling from the town, coming out of the woodwork, it seemed.

A snap decision had him returning to grab hold of the back of the man's suit.

“We gotta go,” he said quickly, dragging the little man with him out the back way. The short fellow cursing and swearing a blue streak the entire way.

Knowing the nature of the uggies, they would be distracted by the fresh meat and stop for a snack, so the Lieutenant knew they'd have some time to book it out of the town and back towards the convent.

“Let me go, fuck! Get off me, you goddamned fuck!” The short man argued, as they tore out of the town into the woods.

The Lieutenant released the man and he staggered, but stayed upright, holding his head.

“Come on, I'll patch you up and then you can get on your way,” the Lieutenant said as they ran together deeper into the woods.

“I'm fine, probably'll get tetanus, but I'm fine.”

“You're lucky them good ol' boys didn't Ned Beatty you,” the Lieutenant teased as they hurried North. They would circle wide around back to the convent, just in case the uggies were still after them.

The short man staggered and this time fell to his knees.

Stopping short, the Lieutenant approached him. “You alright?”

“Dizzy,” the man murmured, before dropping face first into the leaves of the forest floor.

The nuns were in a flurry when he dragged the short man's carcass back to the convent, a few of them were in a tizzy because he looked 'dangerous'. Sleeve tattoos and a nice suit apparently meant the man was trouble (though the Lieutenant had his concerns about that too), the others were in a panic because Sister Mary Monica was the only one with some medical training and even then it wasn't enough if the head wound proved serious.

Mother Mena was more unimpressed than angry or worried, but Mary Agnes reminded her about the virtues of charity and the woman made herself scarce in order for the others to coddle the wounded man.

The Lieutenant didn't go far, he didn't want the man waking up and terrorizing the nuns, but he also wanted to learn more about the man. What the hell was a well dressed man doing in the middle of the end of the world in small town Georgia scrounging for food?

The more he studied the passed out man, the more he realized the man didn't fit in at all with the Georgian countryside.

He dressed like one of them slick Las Vegas gangsters you'd see in films. Skinny suit, patterned silk shirt unbuttoned about three buttons too many, no tie in sight, silver rings on his fingers and fancy ankle boots that had been well polished and loved at one point.

Searching his pockets for weapons, produced a nice pair of knuckle dusters, a switchblade, a trailing point knife strapped to each leg, his handgun, a pack of playing cards, a pack of cigarettes, a nice silver lighter engraved BM, some loose bullets for his Springfield and a moneyclip with enough cash in it to choke a horse.

What he didn't find was any water or food, so he assumed while the man seemed capable with a gun, survival wasn't really for him.

Reaching into his pack, he pulled out some bottled water and a bag of trail mix for the man, he left them on the table beside the infirmary bed, before ducking out to get some fresh air and sunshine before the sun went down.

He loitered by the infirmary door, making sure no one went in and no one came out who didn't belong, protecting his nuns from the man, but also ensuring the man didn't wake up and just slink off into the night.

Popping a squat, he dropped his pack and pulled out his whetstone and knife to sharpen it.

He must have stayed there in that position, grinding his knife to a nub, when Mother Mena found him. She settled at his side like a lady, legs together, on the balls of her feet, hands on her knees.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

“Yeah,” he lied.

Gazing out at her well maintained convent grounds, Mena said, “I've only known you a few days, but I've never known you to be this quiet.”

“Aw, well, I just figured the nuns were getting sick of my jokes,” he said with a grin.

“Actually, it seems they like you a little too much. We voted ten to one, for you to join us for meals now.”

“In the cloister dining hall?” He asked.

“Yes.”

He smiled and leaned in to whisper, “were you the one vote against it?”

“I won't tell,” she said with a small grin. “But no. Not me.”

“I knew you liked me,” he teased.

She laughed softly. “I think you're good for us. But no more dragging back strays, please? We don't know this man.”

“I know,” he said. “I don't really trust him much, but I couldn't just leave him there.”

“The thing is,” she began cautiously, “with you and this new fellow, my Christian heart says be charitable, but my woman's intuition says be careful.”

“It's probably for the best if you listen to your intuition, there are dangerous sorts roaming wild these days.”

Mena was quiet, then said, “well, thank the Lord we have you. At the very least, my gut says you're a good sort.”

“I try,” he said, with a small tilt of his head, “but we all have our demons, don't we?”

Beside him Mena was quiet, before reaching out and touching a comforting hand to his forearm and asking, “did you rifle through his pockets?”

“You bet I did.”

#not sure if anyone's actually reading this or not #but follow me on ko-fi #i will post more chapters there #maybe other stuff #this is the last chapter i will post here #so if you are reading this and interested #follow my ko-fi

3 notes · View notes

thehomierobbstark · 6 years

Text

Slow Ride

Pairing: Erik Killmonger x Reader [#TeamErikDon’tDateWhiteChicks]

Prompt: @eriknutinthispoosy would not leave me alooonneeeeeeee (love u girl lmfaooo)

Warnings: I wanna try something new with my fics where I put the warnings at the bottom so that if you wanna read the story and be surprised with the outcome you can. I’ll never put dubcon/rapeplay or any other fics of that nature with warnings at the bottom just because I want to be very upfront about that should I ever start writing those type of fics. But if you wid it wid it, peep the warnings at the bottom if you wanna know, or wait until after if you don’t.

A/N: This is...???? Idrfk what this is 😂😂 but its not good, just a quick little shit I put together last night and part of today. I dunno thats all I got, enjoy I hope?

This is for all my lil cute ass black gorditas out there rockin back fat, belly rolls and thick ass thighs that touch!! x Reader is always gon be black, chubby, and sassy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Daddyyyyyyyy,” Ashleigh whined from her spot on the counter top, swinging her short legs back and forth while she watched Erik cook breakfast over the stove. He looked so fucking good in his black wife beater and grey basketball shorts, the keloid scars peppering his arms and back out on display. His dreads were up in a messy pineapple on top of his head, the only accessory other than the Diamond Cuban Link chain that hugged his thick neck being those damned gold rimmed glasses perched on top of his nose.

Wasn’t no damn reason for him to be wearing them in the house like that on this Sunday afternoon, but he loved being extra for no reason, and dammit she couldn’t deny how fine they looked on his ass.

And they weren’t even prescription! Which made her even more mad considering the fact that her blind ass owned two pair, one for night driving and one for reading, and she didn’t look nearly as good as that whenever she had to wear them 🙄.

Erik whisked away at the eggs in the bowl, adding in garlic and onion powder before pouring it into the hot skillet, adding a pinch of salt and pepper while he let it cook. It was hypnotic watching him work, the muscles in his back rolling and glistening under the soft sunlight that peeked through the balcony window into the kitchen.

The sound of the bacon grease popping away at the egg mixture filled the room, and Erik turned the fire down low before placing the bowl and whisk into the sink and turning to finally give his baby girl some attention.

They’d both enjoyed a lazy morning, sleeping in til 11 and lounging around in bed for an hour or so while they smoked a couple blunts, letting the Pineapple Express and Hindu Kush cloud up their bedroom to create a comfy haze.

It wasn’t until Ashe’s stomach started growling that Erik decided to finally get up and make breakfast, hoping to fiend off the hangry monster that would no doubt rear its ugly head soon if he left her stoned and starving any longer than necessary. She was usually a sweet little princess, well, mostly, but hell hath no fury like a ravenous little brat like Ashleigh.

He thought making her favorite breakfast might help to keep the demoness at bay, but unfortunately for Erik, she had other plans.

“What you want on your omelette baby,” he asks her, nodding over to the bowls filled with various meats and vegetables for her to choose from.

She ignored his question, going straight in for the kill.

“When you gonna let me ride your face Daddy?” she gnaws at her lip, batting her eyelashes innocently while she scans over his face. “Your beard would look so sexy covered in my cum, don’t you think?”

Erik opens his mouth to respond, but drops his head with a smile and just laughs when nothing comes out, not at all expecting her outburst. Surprisingly, of all the kinky fuckery they’d both engaged in in their last 6 months together, face riding had not been one of them.

Now, he never needed an excuse to eat her like Sunday Dinner, but he also never heard her talk or act this filthy before. And on the Lords day of all days?

He wanted more. Had he known this was the kind of fiend that could be unleashed with a little Sativa and Indica, he’d have been blowing her back out during smoke sessions a long time ago.

“Unless you want burnt egg, I suggest you tell me what you want inside your omelette lil girl.” He crosses his arms over his chest in a faux show of seriousness, an eyebrow cocked while he stares her down. If she wanted to suffocate him between those big juicy thighs of hers, a beautiful way to go by the way, she was gonna have to work that mouth a little bit harder for him.

Again, Ashleigh steamrolls right over his words, not realizing he’d already peeped her game and was playing with her. That was the one thing she always forgot about when she was high as shit; she was unaware as fuck and it always took her a second to figure it out.

“Can I get you inside of me instead? Or, more specifically, your tongue inside this pussy?” She smiles devilishly, fingering the hem of his overlarge muscle tee she was wearing before spreading her legs wide to expose herself.

She wasn’t wearing any panties, which was typical considering she never slept in any, but what he wasn’t expecting was for her to already be so wet for him.

“Damn girl, how long you been like this?” Erik asks her, hissing at they way her pretty pussy glistened on top of the counter top, putting him in a trance. He absentmindedly reached down to his shorts to pad himself through the material, forgetting about the game as he zeroed in on his breakfast.

“All morning, Daddy.” She purred, snapping her legs closed as soon as she saw him getting too interested. She finally caught up.

“But… you look busy. So I’ll let you finish.” Hopping down off the counter with a sigh, she saunters away from him, heading into the living room toward the couch.

“All veggies and no sausage for mine.” she tosses her order over her shoulder at him, voice laced with boredom now that the chase seemed to be over.

Erik kissed his teeth, flipping off the stove before following her and looming over her splayed out form on the loveseat.

“So you just gon dangle my meal right in front of me and then leave?” He asks her, reaching one hand behind his back to whip his shirt over his head, already getting ready.

“Whatchu mean? Your meal is in there on the stove, you better go get it.” She half heartedly points back in the direction he came from with the remote in her hand before aiming it at the TV to turn it on.

“Come on and quit playin. You wanted your pussy ate and here I am, now get up off this couch ma.” He moves to grip her legs but she takes one and places her foot on his hard chest, holding him back from her.

“Nah,” she dismisses him, a realization starting to form somewhere under the curly mess atop her head.

“I shouldn’t have to beg you to let me ride your face Erik,” she states, her words riddled with attitude. She was faking it, but the cute little pout plastered on her face made it sound damn convincing.

“Matter fact,” she removes her leg, her boldness coming back full force. “You should be begging me.”

The next few moments are tense as the two stare each other down, neither willing to give in to the others demands. Pussy was on the menu, and pussy was definitely going to be eaten, but the question of who would be begging who for it remained unanswered.

Erik steps forward, bending low to get eye level with his baby girl before snatching up her jaw in one quick motion.

“You gon keep runnin that nasty ass mouth of yours?” He baits her, already knowing what she’s going to say.

“Always.” Her lips spread wide, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

He returns the smile with equal enthusiasm, dropping his hand around her throat to sit down on the floor. “Then come ride Daddy’s face babygirl.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Warnings: Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Face Riding, Bratty!sub, Pre-Smut

Tags: @kxnfuzed @sweet-epiphany85 @blackpantherismyish @huuniii @wawakanda-btch @ljstraightnochaser@bearhuggingbaby @drsunshine97@hearteyes-for-killmonger@maliadestiny @lucidaquarian @theunsweetenedtruth@sicksadgen@louisdimuccis @blackchunkyqueen @ash-moneyy@blowmymbackout @buttercup812 @minkyomom @softnani @curls-and-crosses @lunaerly @lovemekaycee @uhlxis @blackgirloneshots @thecaptainofamerica @wakandas-vibranium @teheeboo@scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade@whorderofthepheonix @youreadthatright @killmongerdispussy@cawifornia @tchallamakesmeh0lla @siriuslycollins @panthergoddessbast @blue-ishx@shesfromwakanda @amethyst1993 @bartierbakarimobisson @whoramilaje @muse-of-mbaku@eriknutinthispoosy @wakandas-vibranium @wakanda-inspired @thickoreo@allhailnjadaka @wifeyofnjadaka @hidden-treasures21 @killmvnger@tgigoldie @killmongersgurl @princessstevens @beautifulqueenflaws @cocooned-butterfly @chaneajoyyy @ange-sensuel@laketaj24 @chasingsunlight @vikkidc@shadowkissedprincessofheart @wakanda-inspired

IfIForgotToTagYouImSorryButIGottaRunAnErrandRNI’llBeBackSorry!!!!

#yes! theres a part 2!#erik killmonger #erik killmonger x reader #erik killmonger x black!reader #erik killmonger fan fiction #bp #black panther fandom #black panther fanfiction #TheHomieFics

324 notes · View notes

fandomfrenzysworld · 6 years

Text

Monster World

(Sorry that this isn’t the SCP story, for anyone hoping to see part three, but I just wanted to make something different and more toned down. My apologies to that this upsets.)

So, before I get into the whole ‘Monster’ part of our world, I think I sould make a few disclaimers about what that means. In our world, the term monsters is given to humanoid being with monster like qualities. This can be as simple as having one eye rather than two or as complex as being a literal f**king dragon. It’s just how it is in our world. On top of that, monsters are generally accepted in our world as we’re kind of just mutant humans in an odd way. I should probably explain that too now that I think about it. Okay, so long ago when magic and mythical creatures still existed there was an ongoing war between humans and...well everything else that breathed. Humans were a**holes back then...the more I think about it the more I realize history repeats itself.

Where was I again? Oh yeah, the whole war thing. During this war countless lives were lost. Both human and non-human. In order to end such blood shed among her children, a woman in our world that was the living incarnation of life itself sealed the monsters away in the most abundant living thing the world had to offer at the time. Humans.

There’s a lot of complicated magic and life energy mumbo jumbo that I could use to explain the whole process, but I’ll sum it up as this: Monster’s had essentially become a hidden locked code of DNA with a one in one billion chance of mutating and taking form within the human body. That really shocked doctors when they found out. But for now, I’ll let the story unfold. By the way, my name is Chase Vita.

10/1/2020-The day was Thursday, and everyone was wishing it would go the hell to Sunday already. I was sitting in my final class of college for the day at the time, some gossip being passed around here and there. I looked to the window next to me and saw that there were a few people coming in from their gym class. Some of-no, most of them with slightly burnt clothes. As I continued to watch them come in I noticed a black line trailing up to the front door.

“Son of bi-” was all I could say before I was pulled into a suffocating hug. My only wish was that it was suffocating due to the hug being tight. Unfortunately it was because a phoenix girl had my face shoved into her chest. Meet Rose.

Rose-Description: She looks like a Caucasian girl with crimson red hair, eyes, and feathery wings extending from her shoulder blades. And if I must, she’s a size E. Enough said. She’s about five feet 10 inches tall.

I quickly pulled my head out of a place most guys in my school would love to be in and stood up to my full six feet five inches tall. “Why the heck do you keep doing that?!” I yelled.

“Cause it’s quickest way to bring these out!” She squealed before beginning to scratch my now present ears, my reaction being to freeze and blush as my tail curled up behind me.

Chase(me)-Introduction: I look like a Caucasian guy with green eyes, black hair, ears, and a tail. I’m about six feet five inches like I said before. Most importantly, I’m a werewolf.

In my head I was hoping the grim reaper I would come into the classroom with a clipboard and say, “Chase Vita?” But the bell rang instead. Not as long lasting but it would suffice to get me away from the crazy firebird girl for the time being.

I got my ears out of Rose’s hold, gathered my stuff, and bolted for the front door. I’m home free! I thought.

“Chase!” I heard a girl call out. I felt my stomach sink as I wished the reaper could get hear a little quicker. I looked over to the parking lot and sighed. An african american woman with green hair and eyes was standing there smiling at me.

By the way, there’s one more thing I should probably let you know. That woman who sealed away all magic and monsters until very recently, the literal embodiment of life itself, is my mother.

#monster #fantasy #phoenix #werewolf

1 note · View note

intheruinsofparadise2021 · 2 years

Photo

still from videography by Stuff Studio

15.

I know that love must feel the way my grandmother looked at her garden of flowers on Easter Sunday. The lilies. The roses. The daffodils. The way she looked at the horizon. The way that she looked at me.

When my friend and I are watching the fire roar and the birds race past the windows, the white sky, the white snow, the white trees surrounding them and he and I gasp at the freedom. I know that is something close to love.

I know that my grandmother never traveled more east than the Mississippi river.

She grew up in rural South Carolina under Jim Crow and–

(ritual tortures as the background shot. My grandmother standing in the foreground, church hat cocked to the right of the frame)

She read the bible like an oracle and called my grandfather names under her breath as she wiped her hands on a towel, as she served grits, oil sausage, cheddar cheese and fresh biscuits. She spelled each letter. F/ double O/ L, so we kids wouldn’t know what she was saying.

She refused to get on a plane even though my mother would have taken her anywhere in the world. “Anywhere, Mother, Paris.” Paris, where she could finally hear French being spoken around her and not just in a classroom or out of her own mouth.

16.

She teaches me that if you can touch the core fire and keep coming back to it, then you don’t have to be afraid of fire, because you are fire, and the earth looks new and full of possibility.

She teaches me if you fail, if it turns out that you were foolish, then you can turn around and close that door.

But that usually, mostly, if you stay in fire rather than fear, then your fear will align with things that are dangerous. And that knowledge is a form of freedom.

I know most people don’t want to touch fire, because they are afraid of being burnt or worse dying. The way that I don’t want to learn to play guitar because I am afraid of my fingertips having calluses. But the truth doesn’t mean being callous. It means feeling that the body is alive even when everyone would like for you to play dead.

Everyday I talk to my grandmother. Like a prayer, like a thanksgiving, like a wail.

She tells me strange things like drink more water and walk more in the hillside woods and --

Have you ever met someone who has spent their life meditating and --

When I first did, I thought they would be the kind of people who float on a cloud, who are so peaceful and soft and whisper, but they were fierce and intense and vivid and smiling like the dead. And it was hard to stand next to them. Like a tuning fork next to a guitar, that heart is pitched to --

Like my grandmother walking in fire wishing me luck before my next flight across the ocean/the heavens holding me alive.

Like singing opera in a punk bar bathroom in Berlin the walls tiled and screaming with stickers against everything–including hope.

17.

I was going to write about the chickens coming home to roost and Malcolm X’s famous speech in response to the assassination of JFK and about the chickens in my backyard and about the president’s infection with Covid-19 and about making home. About what it means to be in October of 2020, the season of harvest, and watching the apocalypse from a window and a dusty screen.

Then an allusion to the dinosaurs from whom chickens evolved, descended. Dinosaurs with feathers. And how birds are now tiny dinosaurs. How dinosaurs didn’t look like the reptilian monsters in movies and science books. But instead I imagine they looked like large colorful birds. A world full of big birds, yellow and red and black and blue feathers, kind-hearted and bumbling and full of song.

I want to write about the monsters that haunt me still. Nowadays I imagine the monsters like giant chickens. ravens. blue birds. eagles and hawks.

0 notes

80srichie · 7 years

Text

collide

WHAT IS UP yALL

so i got this idea that derry was the upside down of hawinks and someone told me to write it, so here i am.

however, my wonderful co-writer and beta @richiewheeler helped me out A TON and she’s gonna be helping me write this whole fic so pls give her some love as well pls and thx

i hope you guys like it! we are SUPER DUPER proud of it

without further ado, here is my stranger things/it crossover

summary: a stranger things/it crossover fic

pairings: reddie def, and lots of others to be determined

words: 1991

Will Byers always had to ride his bike home at night, it seemed. Mike’s Dungeons and Dragons games managed to always run way longer than the group had anticipated, usually, 10 hours was a normal time frame for them. School nights always ruined the flow of it, sure, but Will’s team always won. Sometimes he wondered if Mike let them win, or, perhaps, it was just luck.

His older brother Jonathan was working a late shift, as was their mother, which was a common occurrence. He didn’t mind riding his bike so late, he’d gotten used to it. Nothing happened in Hawkins, so it was almost therapeutic. The sound of his bike wheels thumping against the pavement and crickets that chirped in the darkness.

Mirkwood, a street so familiar to him he could almost see it just as he would in the day, stretched in front of him. Since it was only a fall Sunday, there was no one there. He hummed to himself and looked through the woods of Hawkins Forest. He’s almost home.

Will looked back at the road, and saw a tall figure standing right in the middle of the street. Yelping, he slammed on his breaks, nearly falling off the front of his bike as he skids to a stop.

It was a clown, with wild red hair and a pristine costume. If it were Halloween, Will would’ve been impressed. But the autumn holiday was last month and this didn’t seem like a costume. It was too real as if the face paint wasn’t actually paint at all.

“Hey there, Will. Where are you off to?” The clown spoke, his words causing Will to physically shiver in fear.

His mother’s warnings of don’t talk to strangers rattled in his head, so he just swallowed and wanted to leave it there. But he had to know.

“How did you know my name?” Will asked, his voice sounding scared to his own ears. He wished he could be stronger about it, but he wasn’t.

“I’m a friend of your dad’s,” The clown said. “He tells me all about you, Will.”

He hated the way this guy said his name, and he knew his dad didn’t say many positive things about him. He changed the subject, “Why the clown outfit?” “Well, I’m Pennywise the Dancing Clown,” The Clown- Pennywise- said, grinning. In the light of the moon, his eyes shined bright and his teeth looked so sharp. “I was just at a party, and I thought I’d take Mirkwood home.”

Will smiled awkwardly a little, “We call this street Mirkwood too.” He didn’t know why he continued to talk to strange man in a clown costume. He almost felt compelled to stay.

“I know,” Pennywise said. Something in Will’s stomach twisted and his fingers clutched the handles of his bike until his knuckles went white.

“My mom’s expecting me home,” Will started to excuse himself, but Pennywise frowned. That frown sent a wave of discomfort through his small frame. A frown like that wasn’t normal. It was far too sinister, too off to be ordinary. The clown tilted his head a bit, his hair staying in the perfect “windblown” shape it had been in. That wasn’t normal either. His eyes, Will noticed, were a bright orange color. Number three on the ‘not normal’ list about this guy. One was lopsided as if he had a lazy eye. One concentrated on Will’s figure, the other looming off slightly to the right of him. Number four, check.

“Let me show you something first.” The clown spoke slowly as if he was trying to be friendlier, more convincing. Will felt as if he didn’t have much of a choice. The man blocked his way regardless, so he stayed put and kept his mouth shut.

The clown smiled once more. His face suddenly contorted, his head snapping to the side violently at a 90-degree angle. That’s when Will realized it was no longer a person. This thing wasn’t human, it never was, to begin with. Will watched in horror as this thing transformed into a large-scale version of the Demogorgon, one of the many pieces in Mike’s Dungeons and Dragons campaign from today. He was terrified, slowly backing up with his bike in a vain attempt to separate himself from this monster as much as he could. Will glanced around him quickly, seeing if he had a possible escape route. He didn’t.

When he glanced back at the monster, it started to advance. With no choice, Will threw his bike down and ran down the street, the thumps growing louder behind him. The last thing he heard was his own terrified scream before he hit the pavement and his vision clouded black.

In a town closer than they thought, Georgie Denbrough bounced beside his brother, Bill, as he made a paper sailboat as a storm crossed through Derry.

This was a tradition they had when it rained, seeing how fast one boat could go in the pouring rain. Georgie liked that even though Bill was sick, he was still gonna let him play. It wouldn’t be the same without him, but they both agreed that tradition was important. They couldn’t miss an opportunity.

“S-she’s all ready, Captain,” Bill said, coughing a little. Georgie nodded vibrantly and took the boat in his hands. Slightly sticky to the touch, he knew how much work his big brother put into it and made sure he handled ‘her’ carefully.

“D-don’t forget your g-galoshes,” Bill reminded as Georgie nearly raced out the door. “M-mom will k-kill you.”

Georgie made a face but nodded once more. When he ran down the stairs to the mudroom, he pulled on the dark green boots that chafed against his ankles.

He ran outside and Georgie turned, waving up to Bill’s window, showing off how well the boat was maintaining its structure in the downpour. Bill waved back at him, so he took that as his signal to start his boat’s journey. The static hum of the walkie-talkie in Georgie’s pocket made him smile, knowing Bill was sorta there with him.

“Be careful.” His brother’s voice crackled and Georgie was off. He placed the boat down near the street curb, watching with glee as it raced down the road following the direction of the water flow.

He tried being careful, he really did, but it was too easy for him to get distracted. Georgie wasn’t too surprised when he smacked into the orange sign, coincidentally at the perfect height to hit his head on. He didn’t want to lose the boat so he tried to keep up, but he cried out in horror as it fell down the sewer drain.

“Bill’s gonna kill me,” He moaned, disappointed in himself. He kneeled down and tried to see if it had caught on something. But instead of seeing the boat, he saw a kid.

Georgie yelped and fell backward, landing on his butt. Even to a little kid like himself, it was a little odd to see someone in a storm drain. The kid in the drain smiled meekly, holding up Georgie’s boat. He had brown hair, that was wet and flat due to the rain. His outfit consisted of a vest with a flannel underneath and a pair of jeans from what Georgie could see, but it was dark in the drain.

“Hey, Georgie, is it?” He asked, looking down at the paper boat. A drop of water landed on the ‘S. S. Georgie’ Bill had written on it, smearing the ink a bit.

Georgie nodded slowly, a little thrown off by his question but answered anyway. “Yeah, that’s me!”

The kid smiled. “Hey, I’m Will Byers. Nice to meet you.”

Georgie smiled back at him. “How did you get in there?” He asked, “Are you stuck?”

Will nodded solemnly, before his expression changed. If people got lightbulbs over their heads like in the cartoons, there would’ve been one above Will’s head. “If you help me out, I can give you your boat back! How does that sound? You can help a new pal out.”

The small Denbrough contemplated it for a second, before agreeing.

Will grinned. “Grab my hand.” He spoke, reaching his hand upwards towards the opening in the drain.

As Georgie reached down, Will’s face changed drastically. It contorted into something sinister, multiple rows of teeth baring in a mere instant.

His scream of agony could be heard all the way down the road but by the time anyone had checked, Georgie Denbrough was gone. The only evidence of that he was ever there was red water slowly flowing into the storm drain.

But no adult nearby saw it.

Will woke up with what he thought was the start of a migraine after the worst nightmare he’d ever experienced. A goddamn clown accosted him when he was just trying to get home. He just wanted to eat Jonathan’s breakfast and see his friends at school. He wanted to hug his mom and have her tell him the nightmare clown couldn’t get to him again until he believed her.

But instead of smelling pancakes and nearly burnt eggs, all it smelled like was like stagnant water and blood.

Will’s eyes snapped open, and all he saw was gray. He pushed up onto his palms and looked around.

He wasn’t in his room, safe in his bed under the covers and dry. Instead, he was in a wide, circular room covered in trash, soaking wet. How long was he asleep? Did he get knocked out?

Something dripped on his shoulder, and he looked up to see a trash pile that nearly skirted the tall ceiling. But more astonishingly, bodies floated. They floated around the room like limp rag dolls that Mike’s sister Holly played with. And they were all upside down.

A sound of squelching caused Will to look to his right, only to come face to face with the same clown that he saw on the street.

As if it wasn’t terrifying before, its clown face was now smothered in blood. It grinned, and the crimson-stained teeth looked even sharper than he remembered.

In its long, twisted fingers, it held an arm with a chunk taken out of it. In that quick glance, he could see blood and muscles and bone.

Will screamed and scrambled backward, a sharp pain in his side as his heart nearly beat out of his chest. How was this real? How was none of that a dream?

No. This is still a dream. This isn’t real, Will focused on convincing himself. He scrunched his eyes shut and dug his nails into his palms.

“Not real, Willie?” The clown’s scratchy voice said, sounding so close. But he refused to open his eyes. “Do you want to see a dream?”

He screamed and his eyes flung open. The clown grabbed him by the throat and leaned in close. Its breath was rancid like the trash that littered around them. It drooled blood and saliva all over him as he squirmed in a vain attempt to escape the clown’s death grip on him.

“I’ll show you a goddamn nightmare.”

so YEAH

i hope you guys liked that as we’d love to write a part dos

let us know how y’all feel about it!

masterlist

ask to be on taglist/feedback!

thank you so so much for reading <3

692 notes · View notes

sherrybaby14 · 7 years

Text

She’s Not There

This is for @wayward-mirage ‘s British Men Of Letters Challenge

Summary: You decide to visit London for a week after college graduation. My Prompt was “She’s Not There” by the Zombies (Which is an awesome song and on my playlist!)

Warnings: Smut, a bit of fluff (for me, it’s a little fluffy, probably not for most), oral

Characters: Ketch x Reader, background Mick Davies

Tags (people I think might like it, ignore if not interested) @kellyn1604 @marauderice @miiraal @alyisdead @mac5323 @2-fast-2-curious @negan--is--god

The light was on inside the establishment. You took that has a good sign and the gnawing in your stomach was replaced with hope in your heart. The door pushed open and showed a nearly empty pub. One guy sat at the far end, swirling a drink and a bored looking bartender watched the television. He didn’t acknowledge the dinging of the bell as you walked inside, but you rolled right up to him anyway.

“Do you serve food?” You leaned over the bar.

“Na.” He didn’t glance away from the screen.

The hope in your heart vanished but the pain in your stomach didn’t return for the moment. Your feet were tired and at this point you needed a map to get back to the hotel so you sat down and rested an elbow on the bar.

“Can I have a drink then?” Now it was your turn to be rude as you looked through your bag for the travel guide.

“What’ll it be?” The bartender still didn’t look at you.

“Lite beer?” You had never been in a pub before and weren’t sure you ordered it right.

“Lite beer?” The bartender looked at you with his face pinched. “Are you mad? We have Guinness and Fullers.”

“A Guinness please.” You had no idea what a Fullers was and figured better the beer you had heard of before.

The Bartender poured the drink and put it in front of you before turning back to the television. You glanced over to see what was so important to find him watching some sort of soap opera. A woman slapped a man across the face.

“Ooooo!” The bartender started clapping. “Good fo’ er.”

“I take it the man deserved it?” You weren’t really interested.

“Shhh.” The bartender batted his hand towards you.

You rolled your eyes and looked down. Off the plane for two hours and already making friends. You reminded yourself not to get down and took a sip of your drink. A bitter burnt taste filled your mouth and you lunged forward, spitting the beer half back in your glass, half of the bar as you started to cough.

“You’ve gotta be kiddin me!” The bartender through up his arms.

The other patron started laughing and clapping. You turned your head to the right and got a good look at the man. He had a suit on that looked crisp. In fact, crisp was the perfect word to describe him with his brown hair and grey eyes. His laughter did not die down and your cheeks began to burn from embarrassment.

“You guys are a country fool of assholes.” You pulled out some money and put it on the bar before shoving your book back in your bag.

The bartender grabbed the cash and went to the register, you stood up and started for the door when a hand grabbed your elbow.

“Don’t be like that darling.” His eyes locked with yours and you realized he was older, but not as old as you initially thought. There might have been a ten-year gap between you two. “Also. In London, we do not tip. George give the lady her change.”

“She spit on my bar.” The bartender started complaining.

The mystery man glanced over his shoulder. You couldn’t see his face, but you saw as the bartender went pale. He reached out towards you with some bills and a few coins. You lifted your arm and the stranger let go of your elbow.

“Have a nice night miss.” George the bartender nodded at you.

“Thank you.” You dropped the change in your bag and looked at the man, making sure he knew who you were really thanking.

“Almost everything is closed on Sundays in England.” The mystery man opened the door. “There is a take away a few blocks over that might still be open.”

“Take away?” You raised an eyebrow.

“How do you American’s say it? To go?” He raised an eyebrow. “Come on, I’ll walk with you.”

You exited the pub, not sure that walking with a strange man at night in a city you didn’t know was the right thing to do, but it couldn’t have been any more dangerous than walking alone. Besides, he was dressed so sharp and you had on jeans and a t-shirt, your hair swept up off your face and probably looked as jet lagged as you felt. If there was a threat on the street they were much more likely to stay away from him than you.

“What brings you to London?” The man asked.

“Pleasure.” You stuck your hands in your pockets. “Or how do you British say it? Holiday?”

He smiled at you and you started to think maybe you had the wrong first impression of London.

“Don’t most girls your age go to party places? Mexico? Jamaica?” The man’s accent was sexier than you wanted to admit. “You’re not even in the tourist section of London. No Picadilly Circus?”

“My parents were from here. I wanted to see what their lives were like.” You looked at the brick streets and parked cars. This area was much more residential than you thought it would be, but it was only your first day.

“So where are mum and dad then?” The man probably thought you were twelve.

“Dead in America.” You weren’t phased by the answer any longer. “Car accident. I was a baby at home with a fourteen-year-old sitter. I don’t remember them in the slightest so no need to apologize.”

“Came here to visit some relatives?” He asked.

“Nope. Don’t have any.” You raised an eyebrow. “Hey, are you trying to ask me these questions so that way when you kidnap me you will know who is going to look for me?”

The man burst out laughing and you bated your eyelashes at him.

“You’re a clever girl you know that.” He shook a finger at you. “I always try and get as much information out of my potential victims as possible.”

“Nah, you’re more of a protector than a kidnapper.” You approached a cross walk and looked to your right before stepping out into the street.

He grabbed your arm and tugged you back just as a car zoomed by, honking its horn. You found yourself pressed up against his chest and your eyes moved up to look at his steely grey ones.

“See?” You asked.

His mouth twitched and he let go of you. Then glanced to his left before crossing with you in tow.

“What about you? Where is your family on this beautiful English evening?” You wanted the conversation back to light.

“In a beautiful English cemetery.” He held up his hand. “I never knew them either, no need to apologize.”

“Is it called foster care in England?” You asked, wondering if you and this man shared another part of your pasts.

“Yes it is, but no I wasn’t one of those children. I was raised in a special type of boarding school.” Before you could open your mouth he added: “No. It’s not Hogwartz, but I did love it there. I received the perfect training for my job, which I love now.”

“And what is it you do?” You guessed money based on the outfit.

“I work with a lot of monsters.” He smiled at you and gave a wink.

“I thought banker, but now I’m leaning towards stock broker?” You over exaggerated your eye movements, looking him up and down in the process.

“Good guess.” He chuckled. “And you? I’m thinking broke student?”

“Try broke graduate.” You laughed. “This is my one last fling before I go and find a job in the real world.”

“Psychology major?” He paused. “No, art history?”

“Electrical engineering.” You loved saying that and seeing the shock on people’s faces.

A small window was lit up a few stores down and your stomach growled.

“Sundays are a slow day in London. Tomorrow everything will be open. I’m sure your hotel will serve a proper British breakfast. They all do.” He paused in front of the window.

Even though everything was in English you didn’t know what most of the board was.

“I’m guessing they don’t have a hot dog or hamburger?” You looked at the man sheepishly.

He went up to the counter and ordered. You watched as he paid and felt the urge to give him some money.

“My treat.” He must have heard your movements.

In a moment he was back with some sort of sandwich for you and one for himself.

“Mmmmm.” You swallowed. “This is delicious.”

“Could I be so bold as to ask you your name?” He spoke without a bit of food in his mouth.

“Now why would I tell my kidnapper my name?” You winked at him. “What about you Mr. Fancy? What is your name?”

“Tit for tat.” He laughed.

You shrugged and continued walking down the street, enjoying the foreign country and old architecture. It was easy to imagine this place one hundred years ago.

“Alright Miss Americano. If you don’t want to tell me I guess I’ll call you Amy.” He took a much smaller bite of his food than you did.

“Amy the American?” You swallowed. “I like it. I think I’ll call you Brittany the Brit.”

“I’ve got to object to that one.” He almost sounded nervous. “My name is Arthur.”

“A pleasure to meet you Arthur.” You held out your hand and he shook it.

“Not going to tell me your name?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I think I’ll stick with Amy.” Different country, might as well be a different person.

“Alright Amy. It’s getting late, can I walk you back to your hotel?” He smiled.

“No thanks.” You took another bite. “I think I want to wander. I’ve only been here a few hours and I slept on the plane. Thank you for the food and the company though.”

“Haven’t you heard the story of Jack the Ripper?” He looked left at the next crosswalk and you remembered the right way this time.

“I think I’ll be alright.” You roll your eyes. “I’ve been taking care of myself my whole life. If my fate is to be chopped into pieces by a mad butcher so be it.”

“Butcher? Didn’t they think he was a surgeon?” Arthur kept pace with you.

“Didn’t you hear?” You smiled. “They never caught him.”

“Right.” He smirked back at you. “If it’s alright, I’d feel better about myself knowing I’ve kept you company.”

“Fine by me Arthur.” As far as strangers went you could have done worse.

~~~

“This is it.” You stopped in front of your hotel.

“This?” Arthur stretched out his hand. “Amy this is a dump!”

You looked over your shoulder. It was a strange set up, there was a house you had to cut through that led to more of a row of shacks than a hotel, but it was better than a hostel and more affordable than other places.

“Well it’s my dump for the week.” You shrugged your shoulders at him. “Thank you for keeping me company tonight.”

The hours had flown by, discussing movies, politics, art, everything with Arthur. You were sad it had to end, but it was after three in the morning and the tiredness was creeping up on you.

“I’m not letting you stay here.” He shook his head. “Get your things and we will go to my apartment.”

“Now if that isn’t a line that screams I’m a kidnapped I don’t know what is.” You laughed. “Seriously Arthur, I’m fine here.”

“Well you can’t stay here alone then.” He looked annoyed.

“Does that mean you want to come in?” You lowered your voice and looked at him through heavy lids.

The annoyance on his face transformed to shock and then switched to a predatory hunger, one that made your hormones flare. He nodded his head and you turned, walking up the stairs with Arthur following behind.

The owner of the hotel lived in the house and you felt like you were sneaking in after curfew as you moved towards the back door. In a moment you were outside again and made your way straight to your room.

It was the second time you had seen it that day, it had a twin size bed, a concrete floor, and a small private bathroom. Your suitcase was set out on the desk with nothing unpacked. You went to the bedside table and turned on the lamp. The soft light really did make this place seem like a dump, you turned to apologize when Arthur’s arms wrapped around your waist. He pulled your tight against him and smashed his lips against yours.

You opened your mouth, as hungry for him as he was for you. Your hands found his suitcoat and you pushed it off his shoulders. He started pulling at his tie as you undid the buttons on his shirt. Both of you kicked off your shoes and managed to still kiss as the socks came off too. Then he pushed you away.

“I’ve been wanting to do this since I saw you spit out that beer.” He yanked your T-shirt over your head.

His lips were back on yours and you slid your tongue into his mouth as you undid his belt buckle. He unbuttoned your jeans and pushed them off as his pants fell down. You both were standing in your underwear when he broke this kiss again. His breathing was heavy and yours matched. You were unsure why he stopped and looked up at him. His eyes were dancing all over your face.

You didn’t look away as you reached behind yourself and undid your bra clasp. It fell off your shoulders and joined the pile on the floor. Next you slid your fingertips under your panties and slid them over your hips, before stepping out of them. Your hands went to his abs and you traced your finger across his stomach, before slipping them under his waistband. You pushed down pulling the garment off of him.

His cock sprung forward and you decided to slide down with his boxer briefs until you were on your knees. You never broke eye contact as you started to tease the tip of his cock with your tongue, playfully flicking it back and forth, enjoying the taste of the precum that had already worked its way out.

He let out a grunt as you wrapped your mouth around his head, taking a very small amount in. You wanted to taste all of him, but before you could his hands were on your shoulders pulling you back up. He spun you around so your feet were still on the ground, but your hands were on the mattress.

“If you kept that up Love, I wouldn’t have been able to properly fuck you.” He lined himself up with your entrance and a grin spread across your face.

He slid deep inside of you with ease and you arched your back at the fullness he brought. His hands slid up your body. One stopped at your nipple and started to pinch while the other went all the way up to your throat. His hand was large enough to cover the whole thing as you tilted your head back.

Arthur started to move in and out of you, pumping himself as he caressed your throat, lightly squeezing in unison with the pinches on your nipple. You let out a moan, but bit it back for fear of waking one of the neighbors.

“If we were at my place I’d want you as loud as possible.” He leaned over your back and bit your ear. “Next time, you’ll listen to me.”

He jammed inside of you and a gasp came out as he landed directly on your G-spot. You started moving your hips in tandem with his thrusts. It didn’t take long until he squeezed down on your nipple and throat at the same time as he smacked against your pleasure center and a loud roar racked through your body.

His hands dropped and you fell forward. He continued his movements, each pulse sending another euphoric wave.

“Are you on the pill?” He asked.

“Uh-huh.” You were fairly certain your head was nodding.

With one final grunt it was his turn to explode. You could feel his cum coating your walls as he let all of his weight on top of you, both your bodies half on the bed. He kissed your shoulder before pulling out.

“Come on now.” He pulled the covers down. “I need some sleep tonight.”

You forced yourself to wobbly feet as Arthur climbed in the bed.

“You’re staying?” You bit the inside of your cheek.

“Unless you’re kicking me out?” He held up the blanket for you.

You didn’t understand the point. It was a tiny bed and this was just a one-night stand, but it was late and some cuddling wouldn’t hurt. You climbed in next to him, curled up to him on your side with your head on his chest. There really weren’t any other options in such a small bed. Arthur leaned over and shut off the light.

“You’re different.” He kissed the top of your head.

“I know.” You weren’t sure you got the second word out before you drifted off to sleep.

~~~

It was silly, totally unlike him, and almost bizarre. Most of the women he picked up with either sophisticated professionals or nightclub tens. This American broke graduate should have been nothing to him, but when he saw her spit that beer out he was smitten. If he didn’t know any better he would have thought her a witch, or possibly a siren or succubus. Of course she wasn’t any of those things.

Right now she looked like an angel, asleep against his chest. He wanted to get the hell out of this dump, but he wanted to take her with him. Unfortunately, the latter wasn’t an option since he had to get to HQ in an hour. He lifted her arm and rolled out the other side hoping not to wake her.

Amy. His Amy. That wasn’t her name. He started to dress in yesterday’s clothing and glanced at her, still fast asleep. Now would be a good time to do some snooping and get her real name. He grabbed her bag and started to open it.

“You don’t have to rob me.” She didn’t lift her head from the pillow. “Just take how much money you think you deserve from last night’s session and I’ll consider you a prostitute.”

“Prostitute?” Ketch furrowed his brow and set the purse down. “I want to know your name.”

“Amy.” She grabbed the pillow and centered herself in the middle of the bed.

“Your real name?” He picked up his shirt and started with the buttons.

“How do you know it isn’t Amy?” A sly smile spread across her face.

He glanced at his watch, short on time as it was. He would have to go straight to the office. It wasn’t a surprise, he had been awake for at least an hour before he got out of bed, but he just wanted to hold her.

“Alright Amy, can I have your phone number?” Maybe he could get some other information.

“Don’t have one.” She stretched and sat up in bed.

“What do you mean?” Ketch grabbed his tie.

“I mean I don’t own a phone.” She motioned for her purse, which she then dumped on the bed. There was no phone or passport. “This is the last chance I will ever have to live off the grid. I’m running with it. When I get back home I’ll sign up for one.”

“What if someone wants to get a hold of you?” Arthur narrowed his eyes.

“I have an e-mail address.” She did another stretch, the sheet almost falling to expose her nude form. “Which I will be checking when I get back home.”

“What if you met some charming Englishmen, who wanted to see you again?” He sat down on the bed and grabbed her chin.

Her eyes were something else. Something he desperately wanted to see more of. She looked suspicious at him, but he leaned in placing a delicate kiss on her lips.

“I’ll be spitting out some Guinness on a bar tonight, around 7 o’clock?” She tilted her head to the side.

�� “Did you pack a nice dress?” Ketch stood up from the bed and pulled on his suit coat.

“Only walking clothes.” She brought her knees up to her chest, it was so tempting to dive back into bed with her.

Ketch pressed his lips together and pulled out his wallet.

“Once you’re done spitting you Guinness I’d like to take you to dinner.” He placed a few hundred pounds on the bedside table.

“Now who’s the prostitute?” She reached over and grabbed the cash.

“We’re all whores in one way or another darling.” Ketch smoothed out his shoulders.

“This is way too much.” She looked up at him with confusion.

“I know.” He winked. “This way if you want to give it back to me you won’t stand me up, but seriously, pretty lady pretty dress.”

He grabbed a hold of the handle and left the room before she could follow him. A guest who looked as cheap as this place was stood outside smoking a cigarette. They watched his every move. This trash normally disgusted him, but right now he was on top of the world and nothing was going to bring him down.

~~~

Ketch was the first one in the office and sat at the conference table, waiting for the others to arrive. Whatever assignment Hess was giving out he hoped it didn’t involve travel. For the first time in forever he would be content with the ease of London.

“You’re in a good mood.” Mick walked in the room.

“Surprisingly, you’re correct.” Ketch sat up at the table.

“Ah, there’s the Mr. Ketch we all know and love.” Mick picked up the file in front of him. “Who is she? Are you and Toni back on again?”

“Her name is Amy.” Ketch didn’t normally share, but for some reason he felt like bragging. “She’s an interesting girl.”

“Sure.” Mick continued to flip through the file.

Dr. Hess walked in and both men stood up. She signaled for them to sit before going to the front of the table.

“Mr. Ketch you did not go back to your home last night. Anything to report?” Dr. Hess took a seat.

“Personal, not business.” Ketch picked up the file.

“If it’s an internal romance remember not to let it…”

“It’s not.” Ketch interrupted.

This action caused Mick to lower the file. Dr. Hess looked taken aback.

“I apologize for my rudeness.” Mr. Ketch smiled. “I would like to request an assignment that would keep me local for the next week.”

Dr. Hess’ jaw twitched. She went back and forth between the two men.

“Fine.” She signaled for them to switch files. “Mr. Davies you leave this afternoon.”

The meeting went on and Ketch kept thinking back to his American chickie, he would have to remember to make reservations for dinner. He hoped she like seafood.

“You were serious.” Mick roused Ketch from his thoughts.

The rest of the participants were packing up their things and leaving. Ketch grabbed his file and rose.

“If this is love be careful.” Mick stepped closer. “It doesn’t work out well for our people.”

“Love?” Ketch laughed. “She’s practically a stranger.”

“All the more reason to keep your guard up.” Mick’s eyes were bouncing back and forth between his, looking for a lie.

“Have fun in Russia.” Mr. Ketch gave a smile and raised his file. “I’m sure my artifact assignment will take all week.”

Mick sneered as he looked down at his file. Ketch walked out the door, hoping that nothing else popped up this week and he could spend more time with his Amy.

~~~

It was six forty-five when Ketch got to Lowery’s Pub. He half expected her to be there waiting for him, imagining she could not stop thinking about his either.

“Usual?” George asked as he grabbed the glass and poured the drink.

Ketch took a seat at the end of the small establishment and swirled his cocktail. He came here often enough that they knew his drink, but not so often that he was a regular. There was no doubt his dress made him stand out, most of the men in here were blue collar, but Ketch didn’t live too far and liked to come here when he wanted to be alone. Plus, it was open on Sundays.

He remembered last night and a smile came to his face. The sound of her voice while she told him of her past, the melody in her laugh, the noises that came out of her as he fucked her. It rose something inside of him he didn’t know existed. Mick mentioned love, but that wasn’t it. Ketch didn’t think there was a name for it, maybe infatuation mixed with lust? Either way, he was eager to see his Amy again.

The screen switched over to the seven o’clock programming and Ketch took another look around the bar. He worried she wouldn’t be able to find the place again. Five minutes passed and he debated on heading to her hotel, of course what if she were standing him up on purpose? Wouldn’t that make him look like a stalker.

The idea of being stood up bothered him more because it meant he wouldn’t see her again, not because of the stigma or her thinking she was better than him. Another ten minutes passed. Ketch finished the last of the drink he was nursing.

“Another one sir?” George came by with the bottle.

Fifteen minutes late. How long should Ketch give her? He ran his tongue over his teeth and pointed to the glass. Another drink poured. He took a sip, knowing he would sit here waiting until that bottle was done and then he would be drunk enough to wonder over to her hotel and demand an audience. All-in-all, not a bad plan.

Of course then the door to the pub opened and his Amy walked inside. She moved with confidence he hadn’t noticed last night, and the dress. A stunning little black number. It was perfect for her shape, flattering her in all the right place. The heels she wore made her look at least three inches taller than she was. Her hair was styled to perfection. It was a stark contrast to the subtle beauty she displayed last night. Ketch had a feeling he was going to have to fight off other men this evening. Truthfully, he found each version of her to be just as stunning.

“Does Arthur approve?” Amy span in a circle as she walked towards him. “I bet you thought I wasn’t going to show up.”

Ketch cracked his neck and stood up as she arrived.

“Nonsense.” He paid his tab. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist me.”

“Here I thought you just wanted your change.” Amy grinned at him.

“Well it would be a waste of a dress if you didn’t show it off a little bit, and seeing as I’m the financier behind it I should get to enjoy it, don’t you think?” Ketch collected his change and put it in his wallet. Then he moved his hand to the small of her back. “Shall we?”

She eye’d him suspiciously as they turned back around and walked out of Lowrys.

“We have to walk a few blocks to the main road and hail a cab.” He made sure to leave his hand on her back.

They walked by several groups of people, all of whom checked out Amy. Ketch tried to keep his cool, but he felt a strange possessiveness over the girl, one that urged him to bash these people’s brains in with his fists. She was his and his only.

“How was work?” She glanced over her shoulder at him.

“Dull.” He wondered if she sensed his displeasure and tried to relax.

“Not any monsters in the office today?” She turned her attention back to the street.

“Not a one.” Ketch looked left at the intersection, while again his Amy looked right. “If you don’t remember what way the cars are coming from you will find yourself in the hospital.”

“Wouldn’t that be a way to spend a vacation.” Amy turned her head left and then they both crossed.

“What did you do on Holiday day one?” Ketch surprised himself that he genuinely cared about the answer.

“Slept, did a little shopping.” Amy ran her hands down her dress. “Visited the spa.”

“The spa?” Ketch didn’t think this was supposed to be a relaxing trip.

“Before I forget.” Amy reached into her clutch and pulled out a coin, placing it in his hand. “Your change.”

Ketch looked at the minuscule amount and back up at her.

“Well you said buy a dress, and I did, but then I needed new shoes and a new purse to go with it.” Amy looked down and pointed her foot. “Then I couldn’t possibly wear something so nice without having my hair done, which snowballed into a manicure, pedicure, and a massage. Then I had to tip them, naturally since I’m an American.”

“You spent six hundred pounds today?” Ketch raised an eyebrow.

“Everyone is a whore for something.” She grinned up at him. “Are you not going to be able to afford rent now? No fancy dinner for Arthur and Amy?”

“You’re a funny girl.” Truthfully Ketch was thrilled she’d spent it all. He assumed she would have tried to go cheap and give him most of it back, he wished he had more cash on him to spoil her with. “It is a beautiful dress and you do look beautiful.”

He stuck his hand out and a taxi stopped in front of them.

“Wait until you see what I picked out for underneath.” Amy almost whispered the comment, but Ketch heard her loud and clear.

Testosterone spread through him and he held up the door, hoping it was blocking his growing erection. Amy gave him a sly look as she dipped in the cab. Ketch had half a mind to skip dinner and just take her back to his place, but he was a man with a plan and the girl would need to eat in order to keep up with him.

~~~

Dinner was delicious, it was probably the nicest restaurant you had ever been to. Arthur took the liberty of ordering everything and the menu lacked a price list. You expected him to be annoyed with spending all his money, but it was nothing to him.

In the morning he made that crack about you feeling guilty and giving him change, but if a strange man you would never see again gives you money you take it and spend it. Particularly on things you don’t need. The last thing you wanted was to look back on your trip to London and say ‘why did I do the right thing and give that guy his money back?’. Now you could say ‘look at my fancy shoes!’.

“Thank you for dinner.” You left the restaurant and Arthur didn’t hail a cab.

“Thank you for the company.” He slid his hand in to yours.

You hesitated to wrap your fingers around his, confused by his actions.

“Something the matter?” He glanced down at you.

“No.” You shook it off. Arthur was just a hot guy who wanted a piece of American ass. There was nothing else to it, you didn’t mind having another bite of an English gentlemen so you laced your fingers with his. “Is it too far to walk back to the hotel?”

“Why don’t we go back to my place?” Arthur stopped walking and pulled your hand so you faced each other. “I have a wonderful bottle of wine we can open.”

“We already had two bottles with dinner.” A nagging feeling came to your gut that he was trying to take advantage of you.

“I also have a much bigger, more comfortable bed.” The predatory look that sent tingles down your spine came back.

“Sorry.” You looked away and shook your head.

“Are you saying I won’t get a peek at what’s underneath that dress?” He sounded more playful than threatening, but you did detect a hint of frustration. “I suppose my imagination will have to do. Are you sure you won’t let me pay for a nicer hotel for you at least? I hate to think of you alone there at night.”

He was such a proper gentleman, even when you were acting like a tease. There really was no reason to lead him on either. You liked him, he was great in bed last night, and dinner had been fun. Still, the idea of going back to his place wasn’t right to you.

“Then don’t leave me alone there tonight.” A smile spread across your face.

All expression on his face melted away. He swallowed hard and flagged down a cab. You were on vacation, might as well have some fun.

The taxi pulled over and you got in first, when Arthur came in you reached out and grabbed his suitcoat pulling him closer to you. Your mouth met his and you did not hold back on the passionate kiss that came forward, you arched your back and tried to press your body to his chest.

“Ahem.” The driver interrupted.

Both you and Arthur turned your heads to the front.

“Northerly Hotel please.” Arthur barely got the words out before you grabbed him by the tie and pulled him back towards you.

His hand smacked the window to steady himself, but he didn’t object as his mouth covered yours. You brought your freehand behind his neck and pulled him closer. If your one-night stand was going to turn into a two night stand you might as well make the most of it.

By the time the cab stopped you and Arthur needed to come up for air. As you exited the vehicle he followed, throwing a bill at the driver that was more than the fare.

“Not waiting for change?” Your eyes looked him up and down.

The cab ride had wrinkled his perfect clothes, and your hands in his hair made it fluffier.

“Un-un.” He grabbed you by the back of the head and placed another long, hard, kiss on your lips.

You barely broke apart to walk through the doors and out to your shack. The entire time he had been right behind you, rubbing his hands up your body, staying as close as possible. While trying to get the key in the lock he bit your shoulder and you let out a moan as his hands ran over your breasts.

Finally, the key turned and you were in the room. You spun around and grabbed his face again, the two of you kissing as you fell to the bed. He pushed himself upwards and slid off his suitcoat. You helped him with the tie and the shirt. The kiss broke and he stood all the way up, undoing his pants.

You used this as an opportunity to stand. With concentrated slowness you grabbed the hem of your black dress and pulled it over your head. You weren’t lying about the undergarments. You had a low cut black lace bra and matching underwear. Both pieces cost more than anything from Victoria’s Secret.

“Do you like your purchase?” You ran your hands down your body.

Arthur had that hungry look again. He kicked off the pants, losing his shoes and socks in the process. He had a phenomenal body as he stood in his boxer briefs, his eyes taking you all in.

“No.” He pulled down his underwear to show a very hard dick that made you even more aroused. “It’s rubbish. Take it off.”

There was no mistaking his tone or meaning. In a second he was on your again, his hands rubbing up and down your sides as he kissed you with such passion you thought you would fall over. You brought your hands behind you and undid the clasp as he forced the panties down.

His hand was under your ass and he lifted you in the air, wrapping your legs around his waist. You felt his cock poking at your entrance and he walked towards the door, pushing your back against it as he sunk inside of you. He let out a groan and his mouth moved to your neck, kissing and licking.

You ran your fingernails down his back and tightened your legs as he started to rock in and out of you. A growl escaped his mouth and he removed one of his hands from underneath you, making you wrap your legs even tighter to support yourself, your heels still on.

His free hand went behind him and grabbed one of your wrists. You brought your other hand in front and he grabbed that two, his palm large enough to hold both of them. Then he threw them both above you head and pinned them to the door, along with the rest of you. You tried to pull them down, but only in play. He gripped them tighter and the knowledge of how much stronger her was than you made you gush.

You let your head fall back as he continued moving in and out of you. You tried to rock your body with his, but you were scared of your legs falling.

“So fucking beautiful Amy.” Ketch licked up your neck. “So tight and wet for me.”

His words were the last thing you needed before you started falling over the edge. He responded by pressing his pelvis against yours and grinding, sending powerful surges through your clit.

“That’s right. Cum for me.” His mouth was on yours again, but you were too incoherent to kiss him back.

You were starting to lose the strength to hold up your legs and slipping down the door. He let go of your wrists and brought his other arm back underneath you, giving you the support he needed to rail inside of you.

His teeth bit down on your shoulder and you cried out as his cum filled your insides. You slumped forward, your head on his shoulder as he picked you up off the wall and carried you to the bed, his cock still softening inside of you.

Arthur lied your down gently, pulling you heels off as he set you on your side and lay down next to you. Your eyes were heavy with sleep.

“You can take a rest Darling, but we’re far from done tonight.” He kissed your forehead. “I plan on taking you as much as I can.”

You nuzzled up next to him, lacking the energy to ask him why.

~~~

When you woke in the morning there was no doubt you were sore. Maybe today would have been the better option for the massage. Arthur was sitting on the bed staring at you. In your sleepiness at first you didn’t notice, but then your eyes popped open and you shot up. It was a little unnerving to see a fully dressed man watching you sleep.

“What time is it?” You clutched the sheet to your chest.

“Sorry if I woke you.” He smiled. “Well, not really. I wanted to speak to you before I left. It’s about seven thirty.”

The two of you had sex at least three times last night. It might have been four, but that time could have been an after effect dream from the orgasms.

“I want to see you again tonight.” Arthur set his hand on your knee.

“Why?” You enjoyed his company and the sex was phenomenal, but you had to make sure you were on the same page. “You know this is nothing, right?”

His eyes slanted.

“I’m only here for five more days. You’ve probably already wasted over a thousand dollars on me.” You looked him up and down. “A guy like you can get anyone you want. Nothing is going to come from this.”

“I know.” Arthur laughed. “But I’ve never been with an American before and you are an exceptional lay. If you don’t want to see me again that’s your call.”

You felt silly. Of course you were misreading this situation. He was only interested in sex too. Way to have a huge ego.

“Of course if you don’t want me to take you out first we can skip right to the sex and I can leave you money like a prostitute.” He grinned at you.

You took the pillow from behind you and smacked him in the head. He lunged forward and grabbed your shoulders, pushing you back to the bed. His grey eyes had a playful look and he studied your face.

“I know what this is Love.” He placed a peck on your lips. “It’s fun, and I do enjoy fun.”

You bit your lip and nodded. Then he kissed your forehead and stood up.

“You’re here, what five more nights?” He straightened his suitcoat. “I would like to have as much fun with you as possible in the next five nights. If you find a better offer, I will not be the slightest bit offended. Now I’m not normally a wham-bam sort of guy. I like to mix in a little romance, and this way you get to experience more of London. I think it’s a fair trade.”

If it weren’t for Arthur you probably would have spent the last two nights by yourself, wandering around, trying to meet other travelers who were likely here with their own companions. It was a pretty sweet deal.

“Go on…” You sat up again on the bed.

“I’ll pick you up tonight here around nine.” He went to the doorframe. “Wear something fun. I’m taking you to a London club.”

“Ooooo, dancing and drinks?” That wasn’t really your scene, more like loud and crowded, but maybe it was time to experience new things.

“You can pay for your own outfit tonight, I’ve got to save my money for the bill you’re going to stick me with at the end of the week.” He opened the door. “By the way, be ready on time tonight.”

You grabbed the pillow and tossed it at the door, but Arthur shut it before it made contact. You got out of bed with a stretch and headed to the shower. Four nights were left, not five. Hard to believe that tomorrow you would be half way done with your last hoorah.

A week of fun with a traditional Londoner, was there any better way to experience the city? You tried to reassure yourself, but something in the back of your head told you this situation was off. You shook the doubt away. A fun time with a fun guy, that was all there was to it.

~~~

“It was time I caught up with you, I could really use someone to speak with.” Ketch looked out the window at the London skyline. “This girl, she’s…indescribable. I enjoy her company on a whole different level. She’s so clever and smart, my Amy. You know I don’t even know her real name? I’ve searched her room several times, nothing identifiable.”

He turned around and looked at the looming Doctor’s office. The patient lounger was empty, but Ketch always kept a clearer head when he was mobile. Dr. Jennings was seated in his chair behind the desk, his back to Ketch.

“We’ve gone dancing, I took her to the theatre, even did one of those tourist nights at the tower of London. During the day she strolls around, trying to connect with her parent’s ghosts, but it’s me she’s forged the real connection with.” Ketch walked around the desk and took a seat. “But she’s made it very clear it’s only about the sex for her.

“Don’t get me wrong Doctor!” Ketch held up his hands and shook them. “The sex is fantastic, best of my life. Her body was made for mine. If it were up to me I would stay in bed with her all day.”

Ketch stood up from the chair, not enjoying the still sensation.

“But there’s more between us. I know it. Me and my American Amy.” He breathed out. “I mean, some of the things I’ve done for her, spent the last five nights in a shite motel on a twin bed. She still won’t come to my apartment, makes jokes that I’m actually a serial killer, but the first night we met she called me a protector.”

His chest thumped at the memory.

“It’s like she makes me feel more human, she really sees me.” He walked back to the skyline. “We have two more nights together. I’m picking her up after I leave here to go on a traditional English Pub Crawl. Ten pubs in five hours. I do wish it was Football season, I would have loved to take her to a match.

“For our last night I was going to take her to the London Eye, but I’m starting to realize, I don’t want it to be our last night.” He turned back around and faced the back of the chair again. “So the way I see it is I have two options.”

Ketch circled the desk and went to look at some of the Doctor’s artwork. It was a painting of lilies, probably designed to calm his patients.

“First I can ask her to stay, she has no job, no family, no close friends. Her possessions are in a storage locker. When she returns to America she will be living in a motel until she finds work. Can you understand such madness?” The lilies were not calming to him. “But if she says no then I run the risk of scaring her off or having to fight her down.

“Option two is I simply take her.” Ketch wiped his mouth. “I know it sounds bad, but hear me out. She would learn to love me, and I have the means to do it in such a way that she wouldn’t even see it coming. Lock her in one of our safe houses. If my methods don’t work I could always employ the Men of Letter’s methods, but I would hate to risk destroying that mind. I want her for more than that body you see.”

Ketch walked back to the chair and sat down.

“Of course that would turn me into the kidnapper she’s always said I was, but in a way I would still be her protector.” Ketch smiled. “America is still the wild west when it comes to monsters. Demons, vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters, ghouls, witches, Jinns. You think about it, it’s there. So really I would be protecting her by keeping her here.”

He picked at the arm of the chair, trying to fight away the anger at a monster getting their hands on his girl.

“So what is it, do I ask first or assume she’ll say no and just take her?” Ketch locked eyes with the doctor.

“Mmmm! MMMMM!” He tried to yell over the duct tape on his mouth.

“You’re right.” Ketch stood up and grabbed the knife off the desk. “Tonight we will just have fun, tomorrow I’ll ready a space for her keeping, and then tomorrow night I’ll play it by ear. Either way, my Amy is already home.”

With the final word Ketch plunged the knife into the Doctor’s heart and pulled it out. The aorta had been severed and the death would be quick. He pulled out his cellphone and dialed the home base.

“I found the artifact and the thief.” Ketch wiped the blade on the Doctor’s shirt. “I need a clean-up crew sent to this address. I’m taking tonight and tomorrow off. I’ll report in first thing Sunday morning.”

He put the phone away and grabbed the box containing the artifact. After fixing his jacket he strolled out of the doctor’s office. There were still a few hours until he was due to pick up Amy, so he decided it was best to swing by the headquarters and drop off his find.

~~~

“What are you doing here?” Ketch walked into the library surprised to see Mick up in the stacks.

“Research.” He grabbed a book and brought it down. “I fly back to Russia on Monday. It’s an interesting issue…”

“I don’t care.” Ketch picked up a book and flipped through it.

“I hear you returned the talisman.” Mick pulled the book out of his hands. “What does Hess have you doing next?”

“Not sure.” Ketch pulled out a chair and sat down. “I am taking tomorrow off.”

“Mr. Ketch taking a day off of work?” Mick snickered. “She must be some girl.”

“You’re more in touch with your feminine side than I am.” Ketch put up his legs. “I don’t like to ask questions I don’t know the answer to, but I’m at a loss for what she will say.”

“You proposing?” Mick jutted his shoulders out and pulled his face back.

“No you twat.” Ketch took his legs off the desk. “I barely know her.”

“She best present you can give a girl is to stay away from her.” Mick flipped through the pages. “People in our line of work can’t for relationships. Let her run while she still can.”

“Is there a copy of information about those American…huntsman lying around?” Ketch stood up.

“They call themselves hunters. There’s a few hard copies by the shelves.”

Ketch walked over to the section on the Americans and grabbed the book he wanted to flip through.

“I’m off.” Ketch didn’t turn around.

“Arthur.” Mick stood up and Ketch paused. “Women like honesty. Whatever you have to ask her, be direct and truthful. You might discover being vulnerable pays off sometimes.”

“Thanks.” Ketch was going to add an insult, but he wanted to get home and change before picking up his Amy.

~~~

The rugby shirt was the perfect size. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve sworn Arthur had it tailored. Your hair was braided and out of your face and you completed the outfit with jeans and tennis shoes.

You glanced at your suitcase on the desk. It was packed and ready to go. Your airplane outfit was all that remained. When you got back tomorrow morning it would be easy to grab your stuff and flee. It made you sad that your time in London was coming to an end.

One last night being spent at a pub crawl. Arthur promise he would pick out what beers you should drink and that none of them would be Guinness. You were going to miss him, and it was more than just the sex. He was uptight, a little odd, but he did show you a good time while you were here.

His assumption that you meant five nights when you said five days was never corrected. It was better this way. You would celebrate tonight and not have to go through a painful goodbye. Besides, you were certain whatever he planned for tomorrow night was way over the top. He was probably going to take you to Big Ben, the Palace, or on that stupid Ferris Wheel. You weren’t here for the tourist attractions, you were here to get the real feel of the place, to try and imagine what it was like for your parents.

You glanced at the clock, two minutes until he showed up. It was time to make it to the street. After picking up your purse and locking your room you made your way through the alley of shacks, passed the main house and on to the street. Arthur was already there, leaning against a lamp post.

“My my, you dress down quite nice.” Your eyes ran over him. “I didn’t think you owned anything but suits.”

His jeans were far from Levis, and his rugby shirt fit him as perfectly as yours fit you.

“Are we going to look like nerds? Matching like this?” You pointed between the two of you.

He held out his hand and you grabbed it as you started walking down the path.

“Amy you always look like a nerd.” He winked at you.

“Oooo, I wouldn’t talk Mr. I-only-eat-my-food-in-iddy-biddy-bites.” You nudged him in the side.

“Well we don’t all the jaw flexibility that you do Darling.”

You gave him a smack on the arm and he fake winced in pain.

“You Americans, always so rough.” His hand went out and tickled your side.

You let out an eep and pulled away from him. This was the perfect way to say goodbye.

~~~

By the time you made it to the tenth pub you were beered-out. It didn’t matter that the two of you were dressed alike, everyone in every bar was dressed alike. The rugby game was blasted on every screen in every establishment.

“Here you are.” Arthur practically yelled when he set the water down in front of you.

The match ended at the last bar and everyone in here was in full celebration mode. The roar of the crowd louder than the music. Your ears were ringing and you knew it was about time to leave. You reached across the table and touched Arthur’s hand.

“Do you want to go back to your place?” You asked.

“Sorry?” He turned his ear towards you. “What?”

“DO YOU WANT TO GO BACK TO YOUR PLACE?” You moved closer when you yelled.

His eyes looked blown when he realized what you said and furiously nodded his head. Arthur didn’t bother with his beer and grabbed your hand as he led you through the crowd. There was no doubting his excitement, he wanted to get you in his apartment since night one and you always refused. You decided spending one night there would be your parting gift.

Soon you were in the back of a cab, making out again. The material of the rugby shirt felt too thick and the garment you once found comfortable now seemed in the way. He was such a good kisser and an even better lover. There was no doubt you would miss him. You let out a moan and forced the idea of goodbye out of your head. There was never a future here, he was just some guy you’d only known a week. It was for the best.

The cab came to a stop and you jumped out, pretty much having the system down to a T by now. Arthur threw some money at him and picked you up, your arms around his neck before planting another kiss on you.

“I’m excited to finally see your place.” You pushed your forehead to his. “Since you wouldn’t invite me over or anything.”

“You’re a piece of work.” He set you back down on sidewalk.

You turned towards the building and wham. Arthur landed a smack on your ass. He squeezed you bottom and whispered in your ear.

“Just wait until we get upstairs.” He slid his hand along your body and pulled you into the building.

It was older than you expected, Arthur seemed like such a modern guy. There was a doorman who did not look up as you walked towards the elevators. Arthur spun you in so that your back was to his chest and started to nibble on your neck.

“I was beginning to think I would have to drag you here kicking and screaming.” His whisper sent a chill through you.

“I think you would have liked that too much.” You brought your arms up behind you and started to run your fingers through his hair.

The elevator dinged open and the two of you fell inside. His arm leaving your waist to hit the button before returning to your body, this time sliding up your neck.

“Is that what you would like Love?” He nibbled on your ear. “Me taking you any way I like?”

His dirty mouth turned you on more than you wanted to admit. You twisted in his arms until you were facing him. His eyes were heady with lust and you resumed the passionate kiss without responding.

Arthur was the first real man you had ever been with. You were sure the age gap had something to do with it and thought from here on out you would only be interested in more mature men who had a clue what they were doing with the female anatomy.

The door binged open and he broke your kiss, pulling you into the hall, practically running down. When he started unlocking the door you snaked your hand around him and grabbed the crotch of his jeans, just as you expected he was hard and ready for you.

“You’re making this difficult.” His hand slipped when he tried to put the key in the lock.

You gripped the girth of him and squeezed through the pants. He let out a groan and almost dropped the keys. You giggled as you kissed his back through the shirt.

“Now you know what it feels like.” You bit down on the fabric.

Finally the door opened. You looked around in the darkness but Arthur bent down and through you over his shoulder. You let out a scream and SPANK! He slapped your ass again.

“Remember love you can be as loud as you want in here.” He ran down a hallway and opened a door.

He set you down and flipped on the light.

“Now that’s a bed we can really use.” He stood behind you and grabbed the hem of your shirt.

You lifted your arms and the garment was gone. You tried to stifle a laugh, but the huge bed would barely be an American queen. The thought was lost when he unsnapped your bra. His hands slid up cupping each of your breasts and he resumed kissing your neck.

You tilted your head to give him access as you kicked off your shoes. He massaged your chest and your nipples were pulled between his fingers, causing you to let out a whimper.

“Take off your pants.” His bit into your shoulder.

Your fingers undid your jeans and you pushed them down, along with your panties. You stepped out of them and turned to face Arthur, who was still totally clothed.

“God you’re beautiful.” He pressed his forehead to yours.

You tugged at his shirt and he lifted it over his head. Your hands went to his pants as he kicked off his shoes. Before you could push them down he moved forward, causing you to fall onto the bed, your feet still on the floor.

He ducked down, his jeans open but still on, and dove between your legs. His tongue touched your clit and you let out a cry. One of his hands steadied on your thigh, keeping you spread. His other slid up to your pussy and started circling the entrance.

Your hips started to rock towards his mouth and he looked up at you. His eyes were like steel and they conveyed one message. Keep still. You gasped as you were rewarded with his finger sliding inside of you. You put a hand on the back of his head to pull his hair and he let out a grunt. His tongue moved away from your clit and you whimpered.

“Lay back.” There was no room for argument in his voice.

You did as you were told and his tongue made contact again. He alternated between licking, sucking, and nibbling all while his finger rubbed against your walls. You went to moan and brought your wrist to your mouth, biting down. His other hand left your thigh and pulled your elbow. His mouth left your core again and you lifted your neck.

“I want to hear you scream.” He licked his lips before attaching ot you again.

You did not hold back this time. His mouth sucked hard on your bundle of nerves and you cried out as you arched your back. He prodded the small button and the cries turned to moans. He continued to work, stroking, sucking, licking…it all turned to one and soon you were literally screaming cries of pleasure not caring to stifle yourself.

You thought he was finished, but his mouth didn’t leave. In fact, he sucked down harder and added a second finger to your channel.

“What are you doing to me?” You asked with heavy breaths.

“Whatever I want.” He gave you a wicked grin and you dropped your head back down to the bed.

His mouth resumed its spot and his teeth started grazing your clit again, causing you to squeal. His fingers picked up their pace and his tongue started flicking back and forth on your clit.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum.” You couldn’t bring yourself to say the word again before you arched your back and sparks went shooting down your limbs.

His hand and mouth were gone and in a second he was on top of you. His cock felt huge as it slid into your tingling body. He stayed above you, his hands on either side of your head as he slammed into you with might. Each thrust caused you to cry out, unable to tell if you were having one massive orgasm or a million mini ones.

Either way, you didn’t know that satisfaction of this level was possible.

~~~

Even though the bed was bigger you were just as close as you had been in the hotel, Arthur spooning you as close as possible. Both of you knew this was just a break, it was unheard of for the two of you not to go for it at least twice. The euphoria was still alive and you felt peace in his arms.

“Stay.” He kissed the top of your head as his fingers lazily traced your arm.

“You know I can’t.” This was a conversation you wanted to avoid.

“Why not?” He popped up on an elbow. “You have nothing to go back for. Make England your home, with me.”

You shifted so you were on your stomach, your neck turned towards him. There wasn’t a bit of joking in his eyes.

“We always agreed, this was just sex and fun.” You smiled. “And it has been wonderful, but I can’t stay here.”

“Sure you can…”

“I don’t have a visa or any reason why they would let me, even if I wanted to.” You wanted this conversation to end.

“But your parents were British… “

“And they never took care of my citizenship. Even if I wanted to go down that road it would be months of paperwork and applications. If I stayed here illegally I could kiss that goodbye.” You hoped he was getting the hint.

“I enjoy you, so much.” His hand stroked your back.

“You don’t even know my name.” You rolled your eyes.

“Only because you won’t tell me.” He smiled. “Put me out of misery my dear Amy, what is your name?”

You started to speak, but hesitated. There was no point in giving the man false hope. Instead of speaking you put your mouth to his and started to kiss. He responded and pulled you closer to him. Round two was starting early.

The conversation only strengthened your resolve that lying about tomorrow was the right thing to do. Having a traditional goodbye would be too hard.

~~~

“So you’re staying here again tonight?” Arthur asked over breakfast.

You were in one of his shirts and his scent was all around you. You nodded your head and took a bite of the toast, missing your American food.

“I wish I didn’t have to work today.” He took a sip of his tea. “I’ll pick you up at your hotel at six. Have all your stuff and then tomorrow I’ll take you to the airport.”

“Is it really picking me up if it’s just you and a taxi?” You shook your head.

“I’m there, so it’s me.” He winked. “Besides, we’ve had some fun in the cabs.”

You grinned and shook your head.

“Sorry about last night.” His smile faded. “I had too much to drink, with that staying stuff.”

“Already forgotten.” You gave the scouts honor.

Arthur clearly didn’t get the reference.

“Maybe you could leave me that e-mail address though? Or maybe your name? Or what state you live in? Where you went to college? Normal information people give out.” He gave a fake laugh.

“Trust me, you know more about me than most.” It wasn’t a lie.

“Alright Amy.” He got up from the table. “I’ve got something special planned for your last night. Hopefully it will have touched you enough to throw me a bone.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath.” You stood and started toward the bedroom.

Arthur was in the kitchen and you picked up your clothes from the floor. It was sad leaving him, but the adventure of Amy had to come to an end. You told yourself you were sparing him from having to say goodbye. As much as you enjoyed yourself you still got the impression he was more into you than you were into him.

You dressed and grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. In your reminiscing haze you forgot to put on your panties. They sat there on the floor, you reached for them but decided to leave them, let Arthur have something to remember you by.

You decided you deserved a souvenir of him too. The t-shirt was too big to hide in your bag, and were pretty sure his boxer briefs wouldn’t give you the same level of appreciation. You examined his room for something to take he wouldn’t miss.

There was a small bookcase, it looked decorative since each of the books had the same binding. Almost like they were multiple copies. One sat out, it was small enough that you could slide it into your bag.

You flipped it to the middle and scanned the page for information, then read the name Sam Winchester along the text. You recognized that from somewhere. When you remembered you laughed. You never figured Arthur to enjoy pulp fiction. Someone you dated in college loved Chuck Shurley books. This one was hardly a collectable and you doubted Arthur would notice it was gone. You dropped it into your bag before leaving the room.

“Ready?” Arthur asked.

You nodded and he placed his hand in the small of your back as he led you out in the hall. You took the elevator down and noticed he wouldn’t stop staring at you.

“What?” You smiled, your making me self-conscious.

“Just counting down the minutes until we’re together again.” Arthur laughed.

“We’re still together right now.” You gave a nervous chuckle.

The elevator opened and Arthur went for the doorman. He asked for a cab and you crossed your arms, promising yourself you would not cry. He came back towards you and offered you a hand, which you took. Of course a taxi showed up right away.

He leaned down and gave you a small kiss. You couldn’t help yourself and brought your arms up around his neck, opening your mouth and gliding your tongue against his. You broke the kiss and took a heavy breath.

“Just something to think about while you count down the minutes.” You pushed away and stepped in the cab.

“Six o’clock.” He held the door. “Be on time.”

You smiled and sat down. The cab door closed and you didn’t look away as the vehicle sped off. The tears didn’t come though. London was an experience, one you would never forget, but Arthur wasn’t the man for you. There was no reason to know this outside of your own gut. There was affection and lust there, but it wasn’t deep enough for you.

The cab arrived at your hotel in a manner of minutes.

“Would you mind waiting?” You asked the driver. “I need a ride to the airport.”

“That’ll be extra. The gentleman already paid me.” He looked at you in the rearview mirror.

“I know.” You smiled. “Just a few minutes.”

You practically ran to your shack, changed clothes, and grabbed your bags. Soon you were back in the cab and on your way to Heathrow.

Once at the airport your first stop was the locker you rented. The digital combination was your birthday and it popped open. You pulled out your passport, keys, wallet, and flight information. All of the things you were terrified of losing.

An hour later you were done with security and an hour after that your plane was on the runway. Once it was six pm London time you would already be across the pond. Your heart ached a little, but overall you felt like you did the right thing.

Once the plane took off you went for your bag and pulled out the book you had taken. There was nothing wrong with a little light reading on the flight.

~~~

Ketch was beyond angry. He was ripping apart his apartment, pulling items off the shelves, punching holes in the walls. He didn’t understand. A knock at the door broke his fit and he yanked it open to see Mick, computer in hand.

“Did you find anything?” Ketch ignored the mess of his apartment.

“Nothing solid.” Mick walked over the strewn objects and went for the kitchen table. “She paid in cash at her hotel, said she left this morning. The cab driver took her to Heathrow, I taped into the security cameras, but couldn’t find her.”

“Let me tell you about the way she looked.” Ketch leaned over Mick’s shoulder as the computer booted up. “Her hair color was…”

“Don’t bother.” Mick shook his head. “There is too much surveillance. Unless you had a picture of her to compare it would be impossible to find her. Do you have a name? Address? Anything we can go off of?”

“I have some of her DNA.” Ketch remembered the panties she had left.

“I don’t want to know how,” Mick exhaled. “Unless she has a criminal record in a specific city we won’t be able to find her. America doesn’t have a national DNA database.”

Ketch let out a frustrated yell and kicked the wall.

“What about looking at the flight information for today?” He thought they might be able to narrow it down by age.

“Two hundred and sixty thousand passengers today, even if you narrowed it down to say twenty thousand it would take you two years to go through it all.” Mick tapped his fingers. “And of course, you would have to explain to Hess why you want that information.”

Ketch never saw this coming. He had spent the day making plans, getting her new home ready. He had everything planned out perfectly. She was going to be his forever. Then all of a sudden she disappeared.

“So she stole a book on American hunters from you, never gave you her real name or any identifiable information.” Mick took a breath. “I don’t want to spike your anger, but do you think she may have been working with them the entire time? Maybe our American counterparts are smarter than we think?”

“No.” Ketch shook his head. “They don’t even know we exist. She wasn’t like us or them. She was different.”

“I hate to break this to you, but I wouldn’t bother trying to find her.” Mick pointed to the airport security footage. “She’s not there.”

A/N: I do have an idea for a part two, if there is enough interest. Thanks for reading!

#Toni’s BMoL British Invasion #ketch x reader #supernatural smut #spn bmol #arthur ketch

369 notes · View notes

bondedbrotherhood-blog · 5 years

Text

The tree

Written by @ScarredNLethal

*The air was pungent with pine, apples and mulled wine, overlaced with laughter and squeals of the young racing through the manse getting underfoot. The females and Fritz had run a blitz play the day after the human holiday Thanksgiving and transformed the manse into a winter solstice theme that any living being would be in awe of. Yards upon yards of evergreen garland hung from doorways and mantels, showcasing the grand staircase in holiday splendor. Ribbons of the family's colors adorned segments here and there, a new tradition started by Beth and Bella over the past year. As if Wrath would say no to his female when it came to holiday decorating. And as tradition dictated, a large tree was procured and set up in the main room. Wrath's joking comment about trees belonging outdoors only incited the females to harassing the males to go out and cut down -more- trees to bring inside and decorate. Our resident Angels thought that was real amusing until they found out Wrath was ordering them both as ornaments. Tree toppers, as you will. Wiped the fucking smiles right off their angelic pusses. None of us were immune to being roped into any of this holiday stuff. Over the past weeks Hollywood and V toted the inside decorations from storage, Qhuinn, Blay and Tohr were on outside light display duty. And Phury was in the commercial size kitchen manning the fire extinguisher, just in case, while his Chosen baked (and I mean -burnt-) cookies because the ovens in the manse were more efficient to use and Phury couldn't say no to his females, much to the tittering dismay of Fritz. The old doggen was going to have a coronary before Last Meal at this pace. I didn't get out of getting my hands dirty either. Not that I was complaining one bit; anything mine female wanted that was within my power to make happen, was priority one. Bella bundled Nalla up in the thickest winter clothes I could find. See, my female wants her own Christmas tree. In our room. And with those beautiful eyes, sexy as fuck lips and a body that demands only -I- satisy her in -every- way, how the fuck could, or would, I say no? She wanted a fucking forest in our room, then I wouldn't stop until every pine tree in North America was stuffed in the manse. Which was why I was headed out the vestibule door with John Matthew and my young, an axe in one hand and little Nalla's gloved hand in the other. Nalla was along for at least two reasons. One was to make sure I got -exactly- the right tree (both her words and her mahmen's), and for a little father-daughter bonding. We trudged through the deepening snow toward the outer perimeter of the property. Vishous's mhis was still strong and masked any visual from outside the tree line, but that wasn't a guaranteed elimination to all threats. Both John Mathew and I were armed as always; any outside eye would never guess that underneath the layers of leather was enough metal and ammo to make a platoon happy for a Sunday jog. Snowflakes fell in random whirls, much to Nalla's delight. Her little girl giggles sung to my ears and her wide brown eyes shone as beautifully as her mahmen's. John Mathew stopped and knelt down next to Nalla and pointed up at the sky at the falling flakes and signed.* "Can you catch one on your tongue, Nalla?" *Raising a brow, I watched Nalla follow John Mathew's example as he tipped his head up and stuck his tongue out. Nalla's giggles became squeals and squeaks of laughter as flake after flake (I assumed) hit her tongue. Those dark eyes turned on me with an expectation that I didn't could make me feel oddly... childish.* "Papa try it! Its so cold and fun!" *Now what grown male would caught dead licking snowflakes from the sky? Flummoxed, I looked at my young and then at JM, who for all intents and purposes was a full grown male, a warrior and a Brother. Who was licking said snowflakes from said sky with my young female. And he bore no embarrassment over it. JM's grin and beckoning ASL encouragement made my fingers grip the axe tightly then loosen. I drew in a breath and smiled at my small female.* Show me again, Nalla? *When Nalla eagerly tipped her head back and poked her tongue out, I whipped out some ASL of my own to JM. [No telling Rhage my tongue is longer than his, he might visit you in your sleep] Before Nalla could ask me again to join her, I swore an oath to the scribe and knelt beside her, forcing my jaw open and tongue out to catch snowflakes. No details beyond that. Its a thing that's now between father and daughter. After several minutes of catching snowflakes, we resumed our hunt for the perfect tree for Bella. Nalla spied the victim first. A tall blue spruce with a wide bottom that flared out. John Mathew kept watch and held Nalla's hand as they stood well out of arm's swing. The thick blade bit deep into the tree trunk, chipping bark pieces off in chunks that flew all directions. A dozen or so swings dropped the spruce to the ground, its branches quivering off the coating of snow as it came to its final rest. Giving me a nod of 'all clear', John Mathew produced some rope and we worked to tied the tree into a pull-able load for the trek back to the manse. I wasn't truly worried about anyone breaking through V's mhis, but with having Nalla out here, JM's presence and knowing he has my back 100% makes it a little easier to breathe. Just a little. Hiking Nalla up on my shoulders, the plan was to make the trip back take less time. Grabbing a handful of rope, we plowed back over the same path, John Mathew bringing up the rear. Winter nights were longer which meant more time for us to be out hunting Lessers, and they in turn hunting us. No chances were being taken, it was all line of sight back to the house. Once we were within a few yards of the back door, I set Nalla down to get into the vestibule and await Fritz to let her in before dragging the tree around to the garage side entrance. John Mathew slipped inside and opened the bay door so I could drag the monster pine inside and let the last of the snow melt off before I hauled it upstairs. A sharp whistle lifted my eyes to JM's as he signed before walking toward the main part of the manse.* "Bella's going to LOVE it, man. See you at Last meal." I hope so, man. *Turning to close the bay door, I caught a familiar scent and spun around. Bella stood in the doorway, her bright eyes focused not on the 14 foot spruce lying on the floor, but on me. My bonding scent roared; Bella's reaction perfect as our bodies collided against one another, my arms wrapping possessively around her.* Merry Christmas, nalla. #TheTree #BondedBrothers #BDB

#Z #Zsadist #The Tree #Bonded Brothers

0 notes

ineverhadmyinternetphase · 7 years

Text

Steal My Heart (steal my whole life too) 8/24

Genre: Chaptered, fantasy AU, Prince!Phil, Thief!Dan, romance, enemies to lovers, angst and fluff, slow burn (like serious slow burn)

Warnings: some violence, mentions of death (no main characters), dark magic, descriptions of wounds/blood, some hints of sexual scenes (but no actual smut), murder, dangerous situations, stealing/thievery

Summary: Captain of the Royal Guard and Prince of Morellia, Philip Lester has never been given the chance to find love. Instead, he’s run from a system that works to end class differences and improve equality for its citizens. Happy as he is to make the world a better place, Phil can’t help feeling bitter towards his ancestors for making it impossible for him to find someone who will actually love him for more than just his title, and strives instead for a life of justice and doing good - only to meet his match in the King of Thieves, a man who will change everything he once thought he knew in life. Together, they must depart on a quest to save the kingdom, and, in the process, destroy their differences and find their own form of love.

Word count: 240,000+

Updates: Sunday

Thanks so much to @botanistlester for betaing this giant monster, as she’s been super helpful and encouraging with her little comments and endless excitement. We couldn’t have done it without you <3

Disclaimer: In no way do I claim that this is real or cast aspersions on Dan or Phil

For reference, @snowbunnylester is Phil, @ineverhadmyinternetphase is Dan

Hey guys! Thank you so much for your really enthusiastic replies to our update last week. Again, we are so grateful to everyone who was so patient with us! I just wanted to drop in this time to let you guys know that I (Eliza) have had a url change recently! I was insanityplaysfics, but on tumblr I have changed my URL to @snowbunnylester, and I am considering changing my ao3 as well. Anyway, if you wanted to follow me there, I’d be happy to see you :)) Also, you can feel free to send me messages anytime! Also you can find Julia at @ineverhadmyinternetphase on tumblr too, feel free to message either of us if you ever want to ^_^

(Masterlist) (AO3)

Chapter Eight

Phil hardly got any sleep that night, and this time it wasn't due to thoughts of Dan or the pain still radiating hot in his chest. Instead, it was due to the fact that the minute he crawled into bed, he was being woken again by one of the cleaners telling Phil that his mother had insisted she wake up Phil to start getting ready for the wedding.

He was whisked away in his misery, then, to have his hair and makeup done all over again, the maids and other palace employees laughing and joking about how excited for the wedding they were as they worked on getting Phil and his nephews ready for the big day.

Phil, bored out of his mind, could only think of Dan.

The man had stolen his heart, officially. It felt like it was missing, even now, as he sat and remembered the way it had felt to be kissed for the very first time, the tender and gentle way Dan had touched him, plundered him, taken everything he had and given it all back three fold to Phil. He swallowed as he remembered the way it had made him feel, and how happy he'd been to be teased and made to laugh while stuck at that party last night. All he could think about was how much better life would be if Dan were always around, how much easier this wedding would be to survive if Dan were there to amuse him again, but there was no chance of that, and Phil knew it.

He might have ruined every last chance he would ever have with his first love last night, and he didn’t know what to do about that.

So instead, he allowed his makeup to be done to hide the deep circles under his eyes from the lack of sleep he'd been getting recently, and allowed his hair to be done up while he took a quiet nap. Once done with him, the girls who’d settled over his face all morning woke him sometime later to go and get dressed.

They put him in his brightest of finery; black pants that clung to his legs and made it difficult for him to walk, and his ornate, royal purple jacket with the cufflinks and the golden belt that would leave it cinched at his waist. The outfit was remarkably similar to the ones he wore to most royal functions, including the stag nights of past, but done up in even more splendor than the more “casual” ones. Every which way Phil moved, he could see gold glinting off of his jacket, and he hated it.

Once clothed, Phil managed to get himself used to moving about in starch pants once more, and headed back into the main hall where his mother was waiting for him.

He was expecting to stand at the back greeting people with an entourage of guests, but before he could so much as flag down the best of the best guards in the room, his mother was gripping his arm and whisking him off towards the King. Confused, but nevertheless ready to do whatever was asked of him, Phil followed suit as stoically as possible.

“Father,” he greeted, the second he was left in his presence. There were more maids hovering about him, fixing his cufflinks and his hair. He looked to have been in a recent fight, and Phil reached for the weapon that would normally be at his waist, but that wasn’t there. His brow furrowed.

“What’s going on?” he asked, confused.

The king merely shrugged.

“Your guard is lost without you,” he stated simply.

Growing flustered, Phil stood up taller. Knowing better than to make a scene, he leaned in close to his father before he began to speak.

“I told you I should have been left to my duties. What good am I as best man if my brother is left exposed to assassins?”

The king hardly batted an eyelash at his words.

“This is what the royals expect of you. Nevermind your captain status, you are prince, Philip. Now listen. I’m needed by the officiator, but your brother is in a state of distress. Pre-marital nerves, you know? Only, I think it’s much more than that,” he explained, reaching out to place a calming hand on Phil’s shoulder the moment that he tensed up. Hearing about his brother was not something that Phil wanted to do just then.

Bad enough he had to attend his stupid wedding, when he had a thief to catch.

Phil’s heart fluttered.

“Listen to me, Philip. Whatever problems you and your brother are facing right now, discard them. He needs you right now, more than he needs me or your mother or even Cornelia. Whatever is going on… fix it, before your brother goes up on that altar today and makes the worst mistake of his life.”

The Crown prince had been relegated to his rooms, as had the soon-to-be-princess, kept apart until the hour of their matrimony. There were pairs of guards walking up and down the halls like terrifying sentries whom Phil knew all too well, watching and guarding the two soon-to-be royal couple.

They let Phil pass without a word, until he was stood in front of his brother’s rooms with his head bowed and his hand pressed delicately over the doorknob.

It would be so easy to turn it and push in, to walk into his brother’s room and collapse onto his bed like old times; times when they didn’t have a care in the world. It used to be so simple, to be around his brother, but it wasn’t now.

Phil found himself hesitating just outside his door, something he once never would have done.

When had he and his brother become so distant, so afraid of each other’s words? It used to be so easy to fight even, with both men fully aware of each other’s good intent and love for each other, but now - now - everything just felt so raw.

And it hurt. It hurt nearly as much, almost more, than the hurt Phil felt in his heart for Dan, for his thief, the very person who’d come between he and his brother in the first place - but that wasn’t true, not really. It wasn’t Dan who’d come between them, but their own bullheadedness and duties in life.

They both had so much responsibility, in two very different ways, and it was hard.

Phil longed for the days of their childhood, when they’d been close and able to play like nothing else mattered in the world, the hardship of life a long way away.

He sighed, dropping his gaze to the floor, and wished, just for a moment, that the world could just - go back.

“I know you’re out there,” a voice suddenly said from inside, muffled and - ashamed. “Father told me - he told me you were on your way.”

Gaze snapping back up to the wood of the door in front of him, Phil swallowed thickly and nodded his head, despite knowing the fact that Martyn would not be able to see him.

“Yeah,” he eventually responded, and shook his head this time. “I’m here.”

Slowly, the door came open under the palm of his hand, and Phil let go of the doorknob as if had burnt him, looking up once more to find his brother stood in front of him, looking dashing as always.

There was a shy, unsure smile coating his features.

As Martyn stood back to let Phil in the room, Phil took in his ensemble; he wore similar starch pants to Phil, but his were white, rather than black, the same color as Cornelia’s wedding dress. He had a similar royal purple jacket on as well, but it was feathered in far more finery even than Phil’s, if that were possible, and he wore every mark of achievement on his chest as if he were the military man, and not Phil. The waist was cinched in the same golden belt as Phil’s.

He looked absolutely stunning, and as he stood back and did a slow, nervous twirl, Phil felt a lump beginning to form in his throat.

His brother was getting married.

“Well?” his brother asked after a brief pause, coming to a stop facing Phil once more. He still looked intensely nervous, but Phil wasn’t sure what he was more nervous about; Phil, or his about to be wedding. “How do I look?”

“Like an idiot who's about to get married,” Phil quipped back easily enough, melting into the easy familiarity of bantering with his brother.

Martyn snorted at him, smacking Phil on the chest in that same, playful manner they’d had since they were kids, though it felt almost awkward and strained, now, unlike how it used to be.

“Shut up, little brother,” he said. “One day you’ll find someone to love, and then you’ll understand.”

For a moment, they grinned at each other, and it was just like old times. For a moment, they were fine. Everything felt like it once had, like their entire lives hadn’t been flipped on their head in the last few months alone. For a moment, Phil could forget that his brother had threatened him, and Phil thought that maybe Martyn could forget that Phil had pulled a knife on him.

But then, of course, the spell broke, and Phil was left staring down at his older brother while Martyn’s brow crumpled and his jaw began to wobble.

“Phil,” he whispered, blinking away tears. Phil’s own easy grin from before began to fade. He felt his own brow crumple.

“Fuck,” Martyn said, and then, quite suddenly, he was stumbling forward and grasping his brother into a strong hug, his face pressed tight to Phil’s shoulder.

Phil could feel the tears dampening his stupid, royal purple jacket.

“Fuck, Phil. Fuck, I’m sorry I’ve been such an ass,” his brother wept, the sound broken in the silence of the room.

All Phil could really do was clutch his brother back and whisper in his ear, “I know.”

The day of the wedding found Dan slyly stalking through the city, cloak on, hood up, as hidden as he could be in the middle of the day.

Even after his last meeting with Phil hadn’t ended… perfectly, Dan still hadn’t left the city. He was running the risk of being recognised with every new house he stole from, but he couldn’t just stop stealing - his black markets were relying on him, never mind the fact that he needed to feed himself somehow. The one good thing about the wedding was that Phil was too distracted to keep a good hold on his guards, and the security had become far more lax. It gave Dan more room to move - even if he did have to deal with a distinct lack of Phil in his life.

But that would change after the wedding. Dan was determined - he was going to the wedding, and he was going to show Phil just how miserable his life would be without Dan..

The streets were busy. All the official wedding guests were entering the palace through the proud central boulevard, which meant the streets were lined with hopeful citizens wanting to get a glimpse of the rich and higher classes who had flooded the capital for the royal wedding. Dan ignored them all - the guest he cared about was already in the palace, after all.

Memories of the last time he’d seen Phil were still there, ever present in the back of Dan’s mind, flooding his thoughts with images and interfering with his concentration levels. It was difficult to stay concealed among the crowd when every five seconds Dan found himself with a distracted smile on his face, staring off into the distance, thinking about Phil’s lips on his. It was the best kiss Dan had ever had, or ever given, and he found himself looking forward to it happening again.

If it ever would.

Things afterwards had turned sour again, and Dan was so frustrated with it. Every time he thought things were maybe going their way, that maybe the rules of the universe would bend just enough to allow Phil to be his, something else struck and tore them apart again. And now, here Dan was again, trapped outside the walls of the palace, a mere observer as the members of Phil’s world paraded around in front of them - a world to which Dan would never belong.

Dan had always detested people like this. Watching the large carriages parade through the streets, the giant doors at the main entrance of the palace thrown wide open to peek at just a hint of the grandeur inside, the grandeur Dan knew first-hand existed now. Dan stayed concealed among the crowds, hood low, just peering out at the guests who swarmed their way in.

Little did they know that he’d stolen at least one thing from just about all of these special high-class families.

Dan allowed himself a smirk at that thought. He fingered the inner pockets of his cloak, where he could feel his latest spoils wrapped up safely in the cloth, held still so they wouldn’t jingle as he walked. Nothing quite as fine as the bracelet he’d pressed into Phil’s hands, aside from perhaps that blue-green-gold ring he’d stolen so many weeks ago, the one that reminded him of Phil’s eyes.

Dan still kept that on his person at all times. Not that he was ever going to admit that to Phil himself.

Regardless, this entrance was far too well populated to risk slipping inside, even for Dan. There were guards stationed at every corner, the crowd was thick and noisy, and the proud rich guests were going through some kind of ceremony every time they entered the palace. No, it would be much easier for Dan to slip around the back and in through the servants’ entrance again, like he had last time - and wasn’t that odd, to remember a last time he’d been inside the palace.

But from there, it should be easy enough to make his way to the main hall, where Dan assumed the wedding would be. He’d witnessed the layout of the castle from his time among the rafters, and he’d been sure to memorise it. He should be able to get in fairly easily - most of the guards seemed to be out the front, and they’d been short-staffed what with their Captain Philip being so caught up with the wedding.

Another way Phil was making Dan’s life easier. He’d have to be sure to thank him.

Dan had been having doubts about attending the wedding all morning, knowing his mission was largely fruitless when Phil had made it clear he wouldn't accept Dan as he was, but the pull to Phil was impossible to resist. One last time. Dan would wait to see Phil one last time, and then he'd leave the capital and disappear back to his cave in the desert.

As he sidled in the servants’ quarters, it was to find everything in various amounts of chaos. Platters of food were balanced precariously everywhere in the vast kitchen, there were servants running along the corridors with harried expressions, and everyone had that slightly wild-eyed look that spoke of something big happening that no one was quite prepared for. Needless to say, no one noticed another addition to the crowd, especially not one hidden in a dark cloak.

It got slightly more difficult to remain hidden as Dan headed back into the richer parts of the castle. He ended up scaling up a wall again and becoming reacquainted with his old friends the rafters, scampering along them so he could observe the crowds from above. Most of the action seemed to be taking place near the main entrance, in the giant foyer. People were milling and chatting, everyone dressed up in so much finery it made Dan’s stomach curl. There were children starving right outside this palace, and yet no one apart from Phil even seemed to care.

But enough of that anger for now. Dan could yell at Phil about it once this ridiculous ordeal was over.

Phil wasn’t around here at all, though - the royals must be set up in the hall already, where the guests were being shown inside to find their seats. Dan debated trying to get through the doors for a while, but he’d have to come up with some kind of convoluted story, and he really didn’t want to attract too much attention when he was really not supposed to be here.

In the end, Dan clambered along the rafters and over the doorway until he was among the rafters in the roof of the great hall itself. He teetered high above the guests, but concentrated solely on getting himself safely down by carefully hoisting himself over to a pipe in the corner and scurrying down it as quietly as possible. Once his feet were safely on the ground, he made sure his hood was pulled low and quickly mingled in as much as he could, ducking away to find a seat near the back.

The room was filling up quickly, everyone chattering and sharing gossip. Dan heard a few snippets of conversation as he carefully maneuvered his way through the crowds, but his attention was really focused on finding the royals - or the one royal he really cared about. Dan settled into a row of seating behind a giant round jolly man, hidden away from sight, and peeked around to take a look at the front of the hall, where there was an altar set up and a few people gathered around it.

Martyn Lester was easy enough to spot - he was the one who was white as a sheet. Dan allowed himself a small sneer. He still wasn’t a fan of the Crown Prince, or any of the royals who weren’t Phil. The only time he ever wanted to talk to them was to gloat about how he’d corrupted their youngest son - even though Phil really wouldn’t approve of that.

Speaking of Phil - Dan would recognise him anywhere. Standing up by Martyn’s side, resplendent in his purple royal robes, one hand placed in comfort on his brother’s shoulder... Dan almost broke when he caught Phil's eye, he just looked… perfect. And entirely, entirely different from Dan.

Dan actually had to swallow, gathering himself together. Phil was the most beautiful person Dan had ever seen.

The ceremony was about to start. The crowds had been rushing inside of the castle since daybreak, and it was well past early dawn, now. The sun was making it’s quick ascent into the sky, midday rushing towards them. Phil and Martyn had only just arrived to the front of the main hall, stood proud and tall at the altar. The flower girls were giggling at the back, Phil could just about see them, and Cornelia’s mother was lecturing them with a tight lipped scowl. Martyn stood just in front of Phil, visibly shaking.

They didn’t speak, watching instead as the palace filled up with royal guests, lost to their own thoughts.

They’d made up in Martyn’s room, before the guards had come and retrieved them for the ceremony. Men, always, they hadn’t actually said much, but Martyn had touched Phil’s wrist and told him “I’m okay with it, you know? After what father said. Or, well, I’m trying to be.”

It had been enough, and while Phil had not said a word in response, he thought they both knew that was acceptance. The last thing Phil would ever do was confirm that the King of Thieves was his suitor, though, and whether or not Martyn would ever truly accept him, only time would tell.

It was fine though. It was good. This was progress, and with the promise from Martyn that he would do his best from now on to help Phil with all of his desired plans for the future of their kingdom, Phil thought they might actually be okay too.

So all that was left now, was to get through this wedding well and alive. They could do that, Phil was sure.

He watched the crowds as they continued to enter the main hall with the loudest of fanfare, names being rattled off to loud applause with every slow, painful entrance. It disgusted Phil, that these people were so high and mighty they needed their own moment of fame in the midst of Martyn’s wedding. It was customary, however, to highlight the guests of honor, however many there might be - and there were thousands.

Phil hadn’t honestly thought they would all fit in the main hall. Even now, as he glanced over the seats, he realized that they didn’t - not really. There was already nearly only standing room left, and - wait. There, in the near final row. Was that - ?

Dan?

Phil’s heart leapt into his throat, and he could feel it starting to race as a slow grin took over his features. He could feel himself brightening as Dan’s eyes met his. It was like the world had been righted once again. Dan had well and truly come to the wedding for Phil, he was sure of it.

When Phil turned and caught Dan's eye, Phil's entire face brightened. It felt like a punch to Dan's stomach. He wanted to make Phil look like that every day, to keep being a source of light in his life.

No, no thinking about the future. Dan was here to make things easier for Phil, and then he'd be gone.

So Dan tossed Phil his usual cheeky wink, and hunkered himself further down behind the large, round man he’d sat behind.

Slowly, as if he were a mere figment of Phil’s imagination, Dan smirked at him from behind a rather robust guest of the royal party, and winked at Phil. The expression was such a delight to Phil that he nearly laughed, and had to reach up to cover his mouth at the same time as he ducked his head. Dan had already disappeared behind the man’s body anyway; there was no familiar, welcome face to look at any longer.

“What are you giggling about?” Martyn hissed from in front of him.

Phil jumped, and cast him an apologetic glance.

“Sorry,” he whispered back.

Martyn was peering at him, his glance sidelong and suspicious. For a moment, Phil felt terror fill him. Had he made a mistake, not reacting to Martyn’s earlier promise, his earlier presumption that the King of Thieves truly was Phil’s courter? What would Martyn do, if he knew the King of Thieves was here, right now.

“Stop making eyes at your thief,” Martyn eventually added, his lips quirking nervously, eyes flitting away as he turned his body forwards once more. “This is my day.”

The sound that exploded from Phil’s chest was a surprised laugh that was nearly too loud, and he shoved his hand over his mouth once more, ducking his face to hide his expression of absolute glee.

“Sorry, I’ll do my best,” he promised Martyn, surprised when it made his brother chuckle as well.

“Of course he would be here,” Martyn muttered. Phil didn’t even have a chance to tense out of worry before his brother was turning to offer him another awkward smile. “I’m glad.”

The words made something like hope flutter through Phil’s chest, and before he knew it, he was smiling warmly back at his brother. For the first time since things had gone south these past few months, Phil felt like things might actually be okay. One day, they would rule together - Martyn the King, and Phil his right hand man, working to make their justice system just that little bit better.

They settled back in to wait for the wedding ceremony to begin.

The bells were ringing. The hall was at a low hush. Phil could see Martyn’s shoulders shaking.

“Are you okay?” he murmured, soft as ever.

The wedding march began.

Martyn shook his head.

“What’s wrong?”

Martyn didn’t respond.

“Do you not want to marry Cornelia anymore?” Phil asked, upset, and moving from his station to take a step down towards his brother.

This time, the head shake was more vehement.

The crowds weren’t watching the two of them, anymore. They were all turned to face the back of the main hall, where the flower girls had just started to prance into sight, skipping down the long, extended hall. Their flower petals began to scatter against the royal purple carpet as they moved, and the guests laughed.

Phil’s eyes searched the hall for anyone watching the front, and then he moved closer still to his brother. He dropped a steady hand onto his shoulder.

“Then what’s wrong?” he asked, quiet as ever.

The haunted look that Martyn turned on Phil sent a shiver of fear down his spine. Suddenly, he wished more than anything that he had his sword on him, even a dagger.

“I have a horrible feeling that something is going to go terribly wrong. Will you protect me, brother?”

Martyn’s voice was trembling.

Phil did not hesitate when he said, “Always.”

Cornelia appeared at the end of the hall, her head bowed, face covered with a veil, and a bouquet of beautiful flowers held aloft in her hands. Martyn went rigid underneath Phil’s touch. They shared one last look, Martyn offering Phil a wobbly smile.

“It’s - it’s all going to be fine, right?”

Phil nodded his head.

“I’m just worrying over nothing.”

Phil nodded again.

“Your guard will protect us. No one will get in.”

Phil offered Martyn a gentle smile.

“No one.”

But even as he said it, he promised himself to keep a lookout for danger. There was a guard nearby whose sword he could steal, if the need arose. He would play his part, the attentive best man regarding Martyn and Cornelia with nothing but pride, but he would be on the alert for any signs of danger.

For the majority of the ceremony, Dan alternated between playing with the ring on his finger and staring at Phil. Watching Phil was his favourite habit, though - watching him stare at Martyn with pride, the fondness with which he regarded Cornelia. And even to Dan, there was something… sweet about the ceremony, or at least the way Martyn and Cornelia looked at each other. It was hard to imagine that Martyn was the awful Crown Prince Dan had hated for so long when he looked so softly at Cornelia, who was veiled but lovely, her short hair the brightest colour amongst all the white of her dress.

That look they shared was full of unmistakable love, and it made something twist in Dan’s stomach. He cast a quick glance to Phil, who was standing there beside his brother all proud looking, those blue eyes of his shining with moisture. It would be just like Phil to cry at a wedding.

That something in Dan’s stomach twisted tighter.

These feelings were so difficult. Dan wasn’t used to this - wasn’t used to looking at someone and getting completely lost in their expression, or distracted by the way they smiled. He was staring, he knew it, and as such, he wasn’t as aware as he should have been.

So Dan didn’t notice of the darkness until it was too late.

It started with a chill - goosebumps running up Dan’s arms beneath the folds of his cloak, a tingle running down his spine. He gave the tiniest shiver, looking away from Phil for the shortest of moments, and that’s when he noticed the spots of darkness in the edge of his vision, the cackle of laughter that echoed from somewhere behind him.

Dan sat up straight. He recognised that cackle, and the dark power now thrumming through the hall accompanying the flicker of black that crawled around the edges of his sight. He recognised it all too well, and it made his stomach churn and his hand flicker down to the knife in his boot.

A witch.

A witch with dark magic.

The darkness was growing, descending on the hall like a cold sheet of fog and settling among the guests and royals alike. Dan was up on his feet in an instant, ignoring the startled murmurs from the people around him, instead straining to see the altar. The darkness was growing thicker, it was getting harder and harder to see, and Dan recognised this - he recognised this far too well.

He’d seen this before, and there was no way in hell he was letting this happen to Phil.

There was another loud cackle, and then something whooshed through the air right above them. Dan looked up to see the end of a broomstick, a flicker of a black cloak far too similar to his own, and then the witch was hovering right above the altar, right over Martyn and Cornelia - and Phil.

“Too late!” She cackled, pointing a single accusatory finger at Martyn. “You’re too late, you fool!”

Martyn looked pale, stricken, standing right over Cornelia and gripping tight to her hand. They hadn’t been able to say “I do”, hadn’t been officially married yet, and even though Dan didn’t care, he cared enough to not want this to happen.

He struggled to get through the crowd, pushing his way between sweaty, panicked voices, as he heard the witch cry, “You thought you could abandon me, Martyn Lester, but no! I have come to exact vengeance upon you, to cast your heart into darkness, just as you did to me. You will regret the day you ever met me!”

Martyn was backing up now, tugging on Cornelia’s wrist and shaking his head, but the witch pointed one finger at him and he fell with a loud crack. The searing ache of magic rippled through the hall, dark magic that sucked at your soul, and Dan felt himself shake, felt memories pressing to the back of his skull. He’d seen this before - used it before - but he couldn’t think about that right now.

He couldn’t risk it. Not when Phil was right there on the altar, under the witch’s dangerous fingers.

The witch, it seemed, had another target in mind. Martyn was struck down, but Cornelia - Cornelia was still standing there, resplendent in her wedding dress but with tears on her cheeks as she reached out for Martyn.

Before she could take a single step, a shadow flew from the witch’s fingers and descended on Cornelia, and she thumped down to the ground.

There were screams now, and a rush of movement as people tried to get out of the hall, but the shadowy darkness was thick around them all and it was hard to see, hard to breathe. Dan’s chest felt tight as he tried to battle his way forward, fear gripping cold fingers around his heart. He knew what witches were like when they’d been jilted, as it seemed had happened here - but could Martyn Lester have really been that stupid?

As the rest of the hall fell into complete disarray, Dan stood straight up, his towering height giving him a clear vision straight to the front of the hall. The bride - Cornelia - was on the ground, collapsed, with people flooding around her. A dark shadow hovered over her body, even as the witch flew away again with a screaming laugh.

Dan glared after her. He'd seen enough to piece together what had happened - a curse. He'd seen them used before - in the dark world of his past, he'd even ordered them used on his own foes. Dan had no such power himself, but he knew a sorcerer who had worked with Dan for years, since he was barely more than a boy.

Curses were dangerous. Dark magic was dangerous.

Phil was in danger.

With that thought, and cold fear still gripping his chest, Dan strode impatiently towards the front of the hall, pushing his way through the screaming crowds. He could see Phil crouched by his brother's side, obvious worry written all over his face, and Dan directed his steps straight towards there.

Unfortunately, he wasn't quick enough.

"Hey!" The rough voice of a guard caught Dan, along with a large hand on his shoulder. "No one is to go near the royals!"

"I don't have time for this," Dan growled.

"No? You'll have time for this, boy." The guard raised his fist, but Dan ducked, scrambling away with a growl.

He tried three more times to get close to Phil, but every time he was stopped by guards or terrified citizens or both, the crowd pushing the other way, trying to get out of the doors and away from the cold, dark shadow that still lingered in the air.

Giving up with a frustrated sigh, Dan edged his way to the side of the hall and stopped to think. He needed to get to Phil, to tell him about the curse - even if he was probably the last person Phil wanted to see right now. Dan couldn't leave him in danger. The very thought twisted his gut.

There was no way Dan could get to the altar, though. The royals had closed ranks, they were getting Martyn and Cornelia to safety, and Phil would be there somewhere too. Dan couldn’t get to him that way - he was going to have to be more inventive.

Dan ducked quickly through a tiny doorway and scurried down a corridor, keeping his hood low over his face. This was beyond risky - if he was caught, he knew he'd be tried - but Dan couldn't abandon Phil. Not even if he should. He knew the layout of the palace well enough by now, and travelling via the rafters would be even easier with such chaos going on. He could find his way to Phil’s private chambers, wait there for him to return. He’d have to at some point, right? And then Dan could finally warn Phil about the magic, about the curse. Someone had to warn him about this, or they could all be in danger right now.

It all happened in an instant. On edge as he was, Phil did his best to play his part in the wedding ceremony, nothing but grace and elegance and easy, happy smiles as the officiator stood in front of his brother and soon to be sister-in-law with words of wisdom and power that would soon bind them together forever. There was the holy bible in his hand that Phil could not help staring at, terrified it would hold some kind of dark magic that would leap out and murder his brother before he could stop it, but it never happened.

Instead, one moment Phil was staring with genuine tears in his eyes as Martyn and Cornelia took each other’s hands, and the next, the main hall of the palace was being steeped in darkness and Phil’s body was shocked into stasis.

He didn’t know how it happened. He was never given the chance to react. It was like someone had cast a spell over him, and he was forced to watch as first his brother, and then Cornelia, fell to the ground. A witch cackled in the air above them, but her words were drowned out by the screams of the royals in the hall, and Phil’s ears were abuzz with magic. His bones ached as he strained against the magic’s hold, and his jaw screamed with the forced effort he made to make a noise, any noise.

If he hadn’t been magicked into stasis himself, Phil might have wondered why no guard rushed forward to help, but he knew without even having to look that this had been a coordinated attack. Phil hated himself, then, for not being able to protect his brother, for not thinking to have his guard plan against this kind of eventuality, and strained harder still against his magical bonds as the witch cackled once more, and whisked out the broken windows of the main hall, leaving the palace cast in a dense fog that Phil could just manage to see through.

It was beginning to dissipate, and with it, the spell that had cast Phil immobile.

The second he was able to move again, Phil launched himself at the nearest guard and divested him of his sword, straining his gaze skyward to follow the witch’s flight pattern out of the castle. Once he’d ascertained which direction she was moving, he turned his attention back to his brother and Cornelia, who, last he’d seen, were collapsed on the floor.

What he found was Martyn dragging his body towards the women who was not quite his wife, his body in clear agony. Phil’s jaw set.

“Martyn!” he called, rushing to his side.

Martyn ignored him.

“Martyn, you must tell me who that witch was! What was she saying? What did she want? What did she do?”

“I don’t know!” Martyn screeched, shoving his shoulder back at Phil, narrowly missing breaking his nose. “Cornelia! She’s done something to Cornelia!”

Phil wanted to roll his eyes. That much was obvious. She’d also done something to Martyn, at least temporarily. He could hardly move.

There was a flurry of activity happening in the main hall. Phil knew that if someone else wanted to attack, they could just then, but he couldn’t focus on what was going on. He had to watch Martyn, to get as much information out of him as he could before Cornelia possibly died.

The dark mist the witch had cast over the palace room, over Cornelia, had not yet faded completely, and Phil was terrified at what that might mean.

“Martyn!” he shouted once more, grasping his brother's shoulder and forcing him to turn around. Martyn convulsed, and collapsed on his back. There were tears streaming down his cheeks. “You knew this was going to happen! You told me, you warned me! Who was the witch!?”

Martyn was sobbing as he answered.

“An ex-lover, from when I was a boy.”

The sheer pain in his words was enough to explain to Phil what he had missed. The witch, whoever she was, had been enacting her revenge, most likely for a broken heart.

Phil cursed.

Whatever had been done to Cornelia, it could not be good, but Phil had a terrible feeling that this mist was something far more than a danger to just her. Standing quickly, Phil grabbed hold of the nearest guard, and shouted, “Don’t let anyone leave the palace! It isn’t safe! Keep them all in here!”

The guard nodded their head without question, and went to do as Phil had told. Fear straining through him unlike any other, Phil turned his attention to the rest of the hall while his brother sobbed over his betrothed’s body, and searched for Dan.

Where was he? Surely he was still here?

The fear that something might happen to his beloved nearly broke Phil, and his mouth set in a hard grimace.

He turned to Martyn once more.

“Get up! Get up, you idiot, get up! We have to go after her! We have to find out what she’s done before someone dies!”

All Phil could think was that he would never forgive his brother if he lost Dan to his brother’s mistake.

They didn’t find the witch.

Phil led his brother outside of the palace walls alone and on horseback with their swords drawn, headed in the direction Phil had seen the woman fly off. Martyn confirmed it was the same direction he would go when he’d sneak off to meet her more than five years ago, and they headed off to get some answers.

They never found her.

When they reached the sullen little hut Martyn said they used for their sordid affair before Martyn had ever gotten together with Cornelia, they found it long abandoned and devoid even of the furniture Martyn once remembered being there.

In fact, the inside of the hut was largely burned with what smelled like dark magic to Phil, and the two had left with nothing but bitter regret in their hearts.

Phil allowed his brother Martyn to pull ahead of him on his horse, racing home, but did not let him get far, determined to protect the only family he had left. Phil had no idea what would come of the dark mist, or what had been done to Cornelia, but he knew that it would not be good.

They had no answers, though.

Phil could only hope that the healers would.

The last thing Phil wanted was to lose his sister, on top of everything else.

He blamed himself, and he blamed his brother.

If only Martyn had confided his fears in Phil earlier, if only Phil had been prepared for such an attack, if only Phil had insisted on being armed, of wearing his armor, of being shielded from a magic attack such as the one they had experienced…

If only Phil had thought of anything other than his anger at his brother the weeks leading up to the wedding, and had considered every possible angle of attack.

How could he have been so stupid, so distracted by his love for a man he could most likely never have?

Phil hated himself in those final moments as he and his brother approached the castle once more.

The guards let them pass, reassuring Phil that they had kept as many party goers as possible confined within the walls, and that search parties had been sent out to retrieve those who had escaped, just as Phil had asked.

Martyn did not wait for such reassurances. He headed straight for the healers, to check on Cornelia, and Phil did not blame him.

He personally headed for his own rooms, exhausted after the chase, after the day that he had had.

All he could do was hope that Dan had gotten away, that no one had figured out he’d been at the wedding, and that the curse - whatever the curse was - had not effected him.

Sighing, Phil followed Martyn with a stone in his heart.

Martyn had known this was coming. When he’d broken things off with the witch five years ago to pursue a relationship with Cornelia, she had warned him that she would enact her revenge. If only Martyn had told him. If Cornelia died, if anyone died, it would be Martyn’s fault.

The healers had no good news for any of them. When Martyn and Phil arrived, Cornelia was laid to rest in her chambers with her mother and father, and Martyn’s mother and father crowded around the bed, and the healers shaking their head.

They had no understanding of what had been done. All they knew was that Cornelia was not quite dead, she was just not… alive, either.

Her heart continued to beat, and her chest to rise, but consciousness would not come.

Martyn cried like Phil had never seen before, and Phil… well, Phil escaped to his own chambers, unable to watch the heartbreak of his brother as all that he had ever done wrong came crashing down around him.

Phil’s thoughts flickered back to Dan once more.

Please have gotten out, he begged to himself, please do not die.

His fingers pressed to the bracelet on his wrist as he sighed.

Phil dragged himself to his bedroom, tears dripping down his cheeks as he sniffled, and pushed in the door as he began to strip.

Dan had managed to find his way to Phil’s rooms easily enough, and he’d spent the entire day waiting there, hoping that he was right and Phil would come here soon. He had to sleep at some point, right? No matter how much panic the castle might be in, or what Phil might have to do to keep his brother and almost-sister safe, Phil had to come back here eventually. He had to, so Dan could warn him about the curse, and tell him what it meant.

The darkness that had settled over the entire room was what worried Dan the most. He didn’t know much about dark magic, but from what he had picked up from the sorcerer he knew, it wasn’t good.

Dan spent his time thoroughly searching Phil’s room, figuring he might as well take the chance while he was here. Phil was haphazard and messy, items strewn around in a completely disordered fashion that upset Dan’s need for symmetry, but the entire place felt like Phil’s. It calmed Dan a little, to be somewhere that felt so much like it belonged to the person he’d come to care about more about than anything.

Caring about a royal. Dan never thought he’d see the day.

There was one drawer under Phil’s desk that Dan couldn’t open, even with all his lock-picking abilities. He’d spent several irritable minutes trying to prise it open, but in the end given up and thrown himself down onto Phil’s bed instead, impatient for him to return. The sheets were just as soft and silken as Dan had always imagined, the colours a lovely mix of green and blue that Dan could imagine Phil picking out for himself.

But mostly, Dan was caught up with thoughts of the curse he'd witnessed in the wedding hall earlier. Dan had seen plenty of dark magic in his time, enough to know that whatever the witch had done was bad. It didn't look like an instant killing curse - Dan shuddered at the memory of the last time he'd seen that - but it might be more like a poison, a slow-running death that was altogether more horrible. Dan had used one of those on someone, once. The results had not been pretty, and certainly not something Phil would want to hear about. Especially considering the person Dan had done it to - but that wasn’t worth thinking about now. He had to stay focused on Phil.

Dan's brows furrowed. He didn't want to see Phil go through such a horrible loss of a family member. And more importantly - being around dark magic was dangerous, even just as a bystander. That witch could have done anything to taint the very air in the castle, there was no way of knowing if Cornelia was her only target. Dan couldn't allow Phil to continue living in danger. No matter how much it might hurt to see him again, Dan had to do this.

When the door did open, Dan sat up straight, preparing himself for an argument.

What he wasn't prepared for was the casual way Phil was stripping his clothes as he walked through the door. Dan's lips parted slightly, his hormones suddenly coming back to life. Now he knew what Phil tasted like, Dan had a sudden urge to pull Phil back into his arms, to hold him and kiss him until he was melting into Dan again, the way he always should be.

The universe was just taunting him again, wasn't it?

Instead of acting upon his urges, Dan stretched out languidly in Phil's bed and raised one eyebrow, the hood of his cloak now down, revealing his face.

"You comfortable there, my Prince?"

Phil's thoughts were clouded and dark. That didn't mean a voice piping up behind him wasn't enough to break through any pain he was currently feeling, and he tore the sword he’d been carrying from his waistband at the same time as he whirled around. Shirtless and exposed, but ready to fight for his life, Phil's jaw instead dropped open to find his thief quite literally sprawled out on his bed.

Seconds later, however, the teasing man was sat up straight, staring at Phil in concern as his eyes took all of Phil in. Embarrassed, Phil flushed, feeling it as it traipsed down his chest, turning his entire body a horrible shade of red, and he dropped the sword dumbly to instead cover himself with his arms.

The way Phil's entire chest turned red was far too endearing. Why was he so adorable, so tempting for Dan? He was quite literally sitting in Phil's bedroom, with Phil half-naked in front of him, and yet Dan could do nothing about it other than let out a frustrated sigh.

Instead, Dan finally noticed the tear tracks on his face. Instantly, all teasing was gone from Dan's tone and he sat straight upright, his brow furrowed and his voice serious and severe. "What is it? Are you hurt? Come here, let me look at you."

Rather than doing as Dan had demanded and going to him, Phil stood up straighter and glared. "What are you doing here? How did you get in my rooms?" The horror and fear were clear on his face, but Phil was less angry to have Dan in his room than he was to have him put himself in harm's way. "You shouldn't be here," he growled, aware of how it sounded, but less afraid of hurting Dan's feelings and more concerned with keeping him safe.

He sniffled, probably ruining the whole threatening effect he'd meant to get across.

Phil's words hurt much more than Dan had braced himself for. He barely concealed a flinch. He couldn't help it - Phil's honest words had a way of striking straight at Dan's heart, attacking his softest spots.

"Yes, well," Dan answered tersely, "You might not want me here, but right now I'm the best ally you've got. Don't worry your pretty little head about how I got here. Just get over here and let me check you - how long were you in the hall after the curse was cast?"

Dan snapped impatient fingers at Phil, directing him over to the bed in front of Dan. Normally even Dan wouldn't use so forward a gesture, but worry for Phil's well being was making him ever so slightly panicky.

Dan wasn't going to analyse what that might mean until he was long, long gone from Phil's dangerously intense gaze.

Laughing derisively, Phil let out a small sob, and shook his head. "You're an idiot, Dan, you know that?" He growled, and wiped furiously at the tears falling down his cheeks once again. "You honestly think I don't want you here? You honestly think I just need you as an ally, to help me out of whatever ridiculous situation my idiot brother has managed to get us stuck in now? You think that's what this is about?" He added, trying and failing to bite back another sob. "You're an idiot if you don't think I want you here. You're an idiot if you don't know that much already."

Phil's tearful near-confession left Dan damn near speechless.

Call him an idiot, but he hadn't seen that one coming at all. He thought - he thought Phil didn't want anything to do with him, not after knowing that Dan wouldn't give up being a thief. That Dan couldn't change. Wasn't Phil supposed to be angry about that?

So why was he crying all over Dan, still so obviously upset with him, and yet wanting him near?

"You," Dan settled on muttering, "Are very confusing, my Prince."

Wiping hard at his cheeks, and feeling downright miserable, Phil moved closer to Dan despite not wanting to, and stopped in front of him, giving Dan the chance to look him over. If nothing else, Dan at least seemed to have some idea of what was going on, and maybe he could help. But if Dan was concerned about how long Phil was in the hall after the curse had been cast, how worried should Phil be about Dan?

As soon as Phil obeyed Dan's words and sat on the bed in front of him, Dan set about checking every inch of him for signs of dark magic. A dark spell like that curse always left physical traces behind if you knew where to look, and Dan had learned from an early age just how vital it was to recognise such signs.

Plus, the chance to explore Phil's chest might never come again, so Dan was going to take the opportunity while he could.

"I couldn't protect you. I couldn't protect anyone. What's the bloody point of being Captain of the Royal Guard if I can't take care of the people I care about," Phil hissed dramatically, still swiping at his cheeks as Dan's hands moved about his body, eyes probably scanning over him as well as he checked him out.

“Hush,” Dan murmured, focusing on checking Phil before he’d address everything else. “Sit still. How long were you in the hall?”

"I don't know how long we were in the hall. I took Martyn, and we left, tried to track down the witch. No good, she's gone and now the healers say -fuck,” Phil moaned, and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes.

Dan tutted quietly. He ran his hands up and over Phil's shoulders, tracing slowly down his chest and watching as goosebumps rose up in his wake. "Don't you dare blame yourself," Dan told him sternly. "You're a Prince, but that doesn't make you responsible for every single thing that goes wrong in the whole of the damn Kingdom.

Phil couldn't bring himself to argue with Dan. Dan didn't understand, anyway. He had to blame himself, because the kingdom was his responsibility, and he had been meant to be the one to protect all of his people, especially the ones he loved. Everyone was looking to him now, as Captain Philip, second Prince in line for the throne, and brother-in-law to Cornelia. He was the one who was meant to save everyone, to protect them all, whether he knew them or not.

Dan finished up his investigation of Phil's chest and instead moved to his eyes, tilting Phil's face towards him by the chin and lowering his hands. Dan hunted those deep blue eyes for any trace of a shadow, staring into them for perhaps longer than was strictly necessary. Dan could feel his fear for Phil's safety rising in his own expression, despite his best efforts to hide it.

"Ok, I think you're clear." Dan let out a breathy sigh of relief and, because he couldn't help himself, he collapsed into Phil's shoulder. "For a minute there, I thought..."

Dan's voice trailed away and he shuddered against Phil, closing his eyes. His Prince was safe. Dan was almost bowled over by the amount of relief he felt at that, seeing that for himself. Phil was safe, and with Dan, and none of the dark magic had touched him.

Phil was so consumed in his own pain and heartache that he hardly noticed Dan checking him over until Dan forcefully pulled his hands away from his eyes to check them as well, one hand holding Phil's chin in place. He couldn't stop the tears, knew he probably looked ridiculous, and yet, Dan's warm brown eyes held a familiarity that was comforting. Phil didn't know what Dan was looking for, but he felt safe with his thief touching him.

The last thing Phil expected, however, was for Dan to collapse against him, slumped into Phil's side with his head resting on Phil's shoulder. His voice was pained and torn, showing even more emotion than he had last night when he'd stormed off, angry and having misunderstood Phil. Reaching up despite his own pain, Phil placed his hand on top of Dan's head, and stroked his thief's hair.

The touch to his hair was just about the most comforting thing Dan had felt in his life. He had some vaguely distant memories of his mother touching his hair, in the deep reaches of his past, but other than that Dan couldn't remember the last time someone had touched him to bring about comfort.

Dan couldn't help himself. He leaned into Phil, allowed his eyes to close, allowed himself to find some peace in having Phil near again.

It couldn’t last, but Dan would enjoy it while it did.

"I'm fine, Dan," Phil murmured, sniffling again. "Physically, I'm fine… but the healers. They don't know what's wrong. They can't - they can't fix Cornelia, let alone anyone else who might have been affected, and it's - " Phil meant to say it was his fault again, but he held his tongue, knowing it would only anger Dan more.

Dan's words earlier echoed back to him, about Phil having confused him, but he put it out of his mind for now. They could deal with that later. For now, Phil allowed himself to cry silently while he stroked his thief's soft hair.

Dan sat up again, despite losing the lovely touch to his hair. He needed Phil to calm down, to listen to Dan and understand exactly what he was saying. So he reached out to cup Phil's cheek again, bringing the Prince's attention back to Dan.

"Your healers wouldn't recognise this," Dan told him quietly, "Because it's dark magic. A curse. I don't think it was an instant killing curse, but it might be a long-acting poison. I'm not expert enough to tell. All I know is, you do not fuck with dark magic."

Dan let out a bitter laugh, remembering all the times he'd learned that the hard way.

But right now, Phil had to be the focus.

"I know a sorcerer," Dan told Phil quickly. "He knows dark magic better than anyone. I can bring him here. He'll be able to tell what Cornelia needs - but you have to get him in to see her. I can only do so much, and time is of the essence with things like this."

Dan's grip on his face pulled Phil's attention back to him, and Phil stared into those eyes he'd come to love and listened, as best he could, to the only solution being offered to him right now.

The idea that Cornelia had time, but maybe only so much time, was heartbreaking, and Phil had to fight through the panic to really take in what Dan was saying. The idea that Dan knew how dangerous this was because he had faced dark magic before, however, only cemented home how badly Phil needed to protect him, and he reached up to cup the back of Dan's neck with his own hands, dragging him closer.

His eyes closed, and he nodded his head slowly. "Okay, okay, whatever needs to be done, I'll do it, just - Dan, please. Help me. I'm begging you," Phil said, and pressed his forehead to Dan's. His eyes were still closed, and he was still crying, could feel the tears dripping down his cheeks, but he didn't let go of Dan. "Just help me help her."

Dan froze at those words.

Phil was - Phil was asking Dan to help him? Phil actually wanted Dan's help?! Dan had counted on a fight, on having to work to make Phil trust him enough.

But instead, Phil was showing complete blind faith in Dan, begging him to help.

Dan had underestimated him once again.

The way Phil was clinging to him showed his vulnerability, and that wasn’t something Dan had ever thought he’d see from the Captain of the Royal Guard. This man, this man had given Dan hell for so long, chased him through the streets and into darkness, and now here he sat, crying and clinging onto Dan, begging for his help.

Seeing Phil cry like this wasn’t ok in Dan’s books. Phil shouldn’t ever be sad, and he certainly shouldn’t be having to ask for Dan’s help. Dan would give him whatever he needed, always, in whatever ways he could. Didn’t Phil know that by now?

Apparently not, and even Dan was taken aback by the strength of his own feelings. Phil was important - the most important person Dan knew.

"Phil," Dan murmured, hating the way his own voice broke. "Phil, it's ok, I promise you it'll be ok. I'll help you. Phil? I'll help."

Dan reached up to thumb away the fresh tears marring Phil's smooth cheeks. Dan tilted his face up, looking Phil right in the eyes.

"I swear to you, Phil Lester, on the blood of my own family, I won't let you lose yours." Dan's voice cracked, just a little, but he held Phil tight in place. "Do you hear me? I'm going to help you. It's ok. I'm going to help."

Dan drew in a shuddering breath. "Give me a raven. I'll summon the sorcerer. He'll answer my call and be here within the hour. But you have to grant him safe passage, you hear me? This is important." Dan looked away, reluctant to continue, but knowing he had to. He didn't want Phil guessing at just how dark and twisted Dan's own past was. "This sorcerer has probably been on your wanted list at some time or another. But I promise you, he will help. Do you trust me, Phil?"

Phil was crying even harder now, terrified that Dan would take it back, tell Phil that he was only screwing with him, but then his thief began to speak, and every word out of his mouth was like a soothing comfort to Phil's broken heart. Maybe it would be okay, maybe it could be okay. Dan's touch on his cheeks, the way his voice sounded caressing Phil's name like that, it helped, until Phil was stuck staring into warm brown eyes once more.

They were both more vulnerable in that moment than they ever had been before, and that was made more than clear by Dan opening up to him, swearing on his own family’s blood - and that cemented it home to Phil. Phil had struck a nerve the last time he'd brought up Dan's family, calling him out for him implying that he was an orphan and it was Phil's family’s fault Dan's family had died, but he'd also struck back, telling Phil never to presume to know him.

And now he was admitting as much, letting Phil in, showing him trust by swearing on the blood of his family and promising that he wouldn't allow Phil to lose his as well.

Looking up into warm brown eyes, Phil slowly nodded his head. It didn't matter to him why or how Dan knew a sorcerer who'd been on Phil's wanted list before.

"I trust you. I'll send for a raven."

Dan nodded, more than relieved that Phil seemed to be calming down enough to take in the situation. It hurt a little, for Dan to be this open and vulnerable to someone. He never talked about his family - it was too raw - but he needed something to bring Phil back to him.

Without further warning, Dan leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Phil's forehead. The gesture was far sweeter and more comforting than Dan usually went for, but the sight of tears on Phil's cheeks was alien, and Dan had the irrepressible urge to fix it.

"Hold on, let me write a message," Dan murmured, and went straight to Phil's drawer to retrieve some parchment. He'd searched Phil's room enough earlier to know where to find things. He scrawled out a quick message, knowing his sorcerer friend would recognise his handwriting and therefore know this was not a hoax.

The softness of Dan's lips against his skin sent Phil's heart fluttering all over again, and he closed his eyes as he let the sensation trail through him, lighting him up all the way to his heart. It was sweet, something different even than anything else Dan had done for him, something for more intimate that showed Phil a part of Dan he'd never thought he'd see.

It was a move of affection, and it was beginning to prove to Phil what Phil had hoped Dan could prove to him. When he opened his eyes again, it was with a watery smile aimed at Dan's back as he moved around Phil's chambers to scrawl out a message. Phil didn't even question the fact that Dan appeared to have searched his room heavily recently to know where everything was, and watched with baited breath for things to be set in place.

"I've told him to meet us by the servants’ quarters," Dan explained quietly as he held the parchment out to Phil. "I don't think you'll want the sight of a dark sorcerer entering the palace to spread. Send this, and I promise you he'll be here within the hour. Let me be there when you go to meet him - I need to tell him it's safe."

Eyes finally landing back on Dan's face, Phil bit his lip again. "I don't want you in danger," he whispered, but he knew that Dan was right, and nodded firmly anyway. "As long as you're safe."

Dan let a wry smirk twist his lips. "I'm always in danger, Phil. You get used to it after the first few years.” Still, it was sweet to have Phil actually caring about him, rather than the usual shouting at him that Dan was used to from other people.

Taking the parchment from Dan, Phil nodded his head slowly, looking the paper over but too unfocused to read the words. He rolled it up, tied a string to it, and began to move past Dan, but Dan stopped him with a hand on his arm.

Dan chewed his lip, dark eyes trained on Phil's face. "Phil, please - please don't judge me by him. He's part of my past."

Phil reached out to grip Dan's wrist, tethering him to him, and promised, "I'll never judge you for your past, my thief. I swear to you on my life."

Dan melted just a little under those words, under the way Phil held his wrist, tying them together. It was sweeter than anything Dan had felt before, hearing Phil say he wouldn’t judge Dan, but Dan wasn't so sure that would last. He'd reserve judgment for now. After all, he'd underestimated Phil before.

Dan allowed Phil to go and send the raven, in the meantime settling himself further into Phil's bed. The sheets were incredibly comfortable, more so than the hard ground Dan was used to sleeping on, and so he had a hard time not just falling asleep.

Leaving Dan behind in his chambers was both thrilling and discomforting. Phil had never had anyone of a romantic interest in his chambers before, let alone on his bed, and he was terrified. He didn't know if Dan would expect anything when he returned, didn't know if he was in the right emotional state for much of anything at all, and took his time finding and sending a raven in order to pull himself together.

He swept away the tears on his cheeks, reminded himself that crying would do nothing, and reassured himself he was currently doing all that he could. An hour, Dan had said, an hour before he could really hatch a way to save Cornelia, and protect his family from any other problems the curse may have brought with it.

Phil might be safe, if Dan's diagnosis was anything to go by, but that said nothing of anyone else.

It was on his way back to his room that he walked past a confused looking duchess whose eyes scanned slowly over his body that Phil realized he’d been in such a state, he’d forgotten about his misplaced jacket. Blushing deeply, and discomforted in a completely different way to Dan having seen him like this, Phil scurried down the passageways to his room, praying the duchess did not follow.

Once Phil had returned to his room, he thought he mostly had himself under control, and was no longer even sniffling. He pushed his door open and walked inside quickly, shutting and locking it behind him, and turned to find Dan sprawled out on his bed again, this time looking like he'd got quite comfortable. He wasn't nude or anything like that, though, or trying to come on to Phil, for which he was grateful.

It wasn't as if no one had ever tried to seduce him before, after all.

When Phil returned, it was with a slightly dejected look that tugged at Dan’s heart. Dan reached out for him without getting off the bed, wanting him near again, wanting to comfort him and try and take away the sad lines marring his usually warm features. Phil was supposed to be happy, that was the way the world was supposed to work. "You know, your palace isn't half bad from down here," Dan spoke through a yawn. "The view from the rafters was more exciting, though."

Sighing, Phil moved to meet Dan's hand that was reaching for him, and collapsed into bed next to him, feeling his heart curl up and purr to see Dan looking so vulnerable to him. He rolled to face him, fingers tangling with Dan's, and chuckled.

"I'm sure that was a much more exciting view, though I can't help but be glad you're down from a height that could kill you," he murmured, voice sounding exhausted. Dan was on his back, staring up at Phil's ceiling, but Phil was on his side watching his face, just enjoying the fact that Dan could be soft with him, now. He wasn't poised for attack, or flirting with that insufferable smirk on his face that told Phil he was very much in charge. Right now, he was gentle.

Dan stayed on his back, looking up at the ceiling, and tried not to show how happy he was when Phil took his hand. Phil's fingers were warm, and Dan liked the way he could curl his whole hand around Phil's, making him feel like he was protecting Phil. Phil sounded exhausted and miserable - Dan wanted to distract him, at least for a little while.

"Were you worried about me, my Prince?" Dan's voice was bubbling with mirth again. "I assure you, the rafters are as safe as anywhere in this castle for me."

He turned his head to catch Phil's eye, only to find Phil already staring at him. Something in Dan's chest fluttered. He shouldn't care, but having Phil looking at him like that, like Dan was the only thing in the world...

Dan shook his head once, looking determinedly back up at the ceiling. He squeezed Phil's hand, feeling the ring he was still wearing press against Phil's flesh.

Phil's mood soured a bit at the reminder that the Castle was a very dangerous place for Dan right now, and he closed his eyes briefly, feeling a failure in that capacity as well. It wasn't fair that Phil was keeping Dan drawn to this place where Dan's life could be taken right out of his hands, to the point where Dan felt just as safe in the rafters as he did on the ground. He wanted to roll over and tell Dan that he was safe here, in Phil's bed, but the very idea of it made him blush.

He thought he knew Dan pretty well by now, and there was no doubt in his mind that would start another bout of teasing.

For a moment. Dan rolled to him, seeming a bit taken aback to find Phil staring at him, and then warm fingers tightened around his, the ring on Dan's finger pressing into Phil's skin as if it were a reminder.

They had an hour until the sorcerer would show up, and Dan had a sinking feeling that Phil might not want as much to do with Dan after that. No matter what Phil said now.

So Dan planned to make the most of what time he did have.

"Did you enjoy my distractions last night, by the way?" Dan asked suddenly. "I was quite proud of my dagger throw, personally.”

Startled, Phil laughed again. "I can't believe you threw a dagger at a royal duke," he said, "Not that I'm complaining. It was quite a show of… courtship," Phil dared to say, biting his lip on the word. "I quite enjoyed your company, actually. You made the event much more bearable."

At the word 'courtship', Dan stiffened ever so slightly. Of course that was how Phil would take what Dan had been doing - and that was partly why Dan had done it, yes. Everyone had to see who Phil belonged to.

Dan couldn't let Phil see too much of that, though. Not when things were still so fragile and impossible.

"Oh, he was a Duke, was he?" Dan replied casually, still looking up at the ceiling. "Well, he learned the hard way not to put his hands on what belongs to me. I don't do sharing very well."

Phil wanted to ask, Are you courting me, Dan? but he didn't, accepting his response instead. In time, maybe… maybe they would trust each other enough to use that word properly. Maybe, if Phil was lucky, this was more than just a chance to flirt and play pretend for Dan.

Still, it sent a flutter of warmth through his chest to be called Dan's once again. He should be used to that by now, and yet he wasn't.

"Yes, a Duke who seemed quite after my hand. It's a good thing you interfered when you did. I thought I was going to have to punch him, and just after he threatened me, too," Phil replied equally as casually as Dan.

There was too much space between them. Phil ached to close it, but didn't. His eyes were weighing heavy on him, and despite Dan being a good distraction, the hurt in his heart for his family had not gone. All in all, Phil was miserable, whether he was flirting with his thief or not.

Dan was glad that Phil didn't push him on the courtship issue, but it did worry him slightly. From what Dan had seen, Phil was the sort of person who said what they meant, who liked to know where they stood. Dan couldn't give him that just yet. And that worried him - that maybe Phil would give up before Dan could sort himself out.

"Are Princes allowed to punch their royal guests?" Dan wondered aloud, turning once more to face Phil. He narrowed his eyes, though, when he saw the exhaustion marring Phil's face. There were deep lines on his forehead, and his lips were turned downward. Dan ached to see that carefree smile there instead, but it seemed impossible just then. Phil was weighed down with worry, with fear, with responsibility that he shouldn't have to bear.

Dan burned with the desire to protect him, and it scared him a little. Dan never wanted to care for others, not since he was alone in the world, anyway. And yet, here Phil lay, exhausted and alone, and Dan wanted to change that.

Rather than answering, Phil shrugged his shoulders. He wasn't entirely sure it would have gone over well had he punched his guest, but at the same time, Phil wasn't sure he would have been able to control himself. In any case, the event had not arisen, and so he found no point in speaking on it, especially not when Dan had turned to look at him again.

Phil loved looking at Dan's face, especially when he was close and warm and looking at Phil's face too.

"Hey," Dan murmured, rolling to close the gap between them until his side was pressed right up against Phil's. Dan lifted one hand to drag a gentle finger down Phil's cheek, tracing the lines his tears had made earlier, and gripped Phil's fingers tighter with his other. "Quit worrying so much. I promised you I'd help, didn't I? Don't you trust me to help you?"

Phil wasn't entirely expecting Dan to move closer to him, but he wouldn't deny that he was happy for it, and sighed a bit at having him close before closing his eyes. They burned with exhaustion. Phil was tired to his bones. He'd gotten so little sleep the past few days, but especially last night, and then, when he'd finally had the chance to go out and see his kingdom once more, it was on a wild goose chase for an insane witch who'd cast a spell.

He wanted to sleep, but even as his eyes burned with exhaustion, he knew he needed to stay awake. He had a family to save.

Startled by Dan's finger pressing down Phil's cheek, caressing him, Phil's eyes popped open again.

"I trust you more than you know," Phil agreed, voice quite, hushed, like he almost didn't want Dan to hear him at all. "Maybe that's a dangerous game, but… you're proving yourself to me," he added, and then let his eyes flutter closed again. He had a feeling Dan wouldn't entirely understand what he meant by that, just as he hadn't understood the last time Phil had said those words to him, but Phil was too tired to explain.

So instead, he breathed in deep. "It's hard, not to worry."

Dan's eyes widened a little at Phil's quiet admission. The way Phil spoke was more open and vulnerable than Dan had ever seen him before, torn apart by worry for his family, by fear that he'd failed his duty. Dan couldn't bear to see him like this.

His words confused Dan, though. What exactly was Dan proving to Phil? Dan wasn't aware that he was proving anything. As far as he knew, Phil would never truly trust him because he was a thief, and that was never going to change. Wasn't Phil supposed to be angry about that?

If that was the case, why was he letting Dan in so close?

Dan shook his head, his thoughts rushing together in a confusing mass. He could try to puzzle it all out later - for now, Phil looked like he was about to drop off, and Dan had a job to do. If Phil was one of Dan's precious treasures, then Dan knew exactly what he had to do to protect him.

"Stop thinking so loud," Dan muttered. He tightened his grip around Phil and tugged, until Phil's head was resting against his chest. "Go to sleep. I'll wake you before the sorcerer comes, we'll go down and meet him together. You'll be no use to anyone if you're dead on your feet."

Dan's fingers idly started to thread through Phil's hair, playing with the styled strands. Having Phil's bare chest so close to him almost made Dan regret his own fully clothed form, but he didn't care. Right now, his focus was solely on Phil's comfort.

Yet another sign that Dan was in too deep.

Phil couldn't help but to chuckle, knowing Dan was right. He needed to find a way to relax, but how was he meant to do that? It seemed the best way was to have Dan touching him, apparently, as the second Dan had tugged Phil in, forcefully making Phil rest his head against his thief's chest, Phil was practically melting.

He was so tired. So, so fucking tired, weak and heartbroken, scared to death, and Dan… well, Dan was just a comforting presence who could technically kill Phil in his sleep, and yet he didn't think that was going to happen.

Phil could hear Dan's heartbeat. The feel of it made his own heart race, and his lips quirked up that tiny bit, drawing comfort from Dan's hand in his, Dan's hand in his hair, Dan's heartbeat under his ear.

"Wake me up early. I wanted… give you something," Phil murmured, unsure if Dan had heard him at all, but he was too relaxed to care, too close to sleep, so desperate for comforting oblivion, and so he let his eyes drift closed, and he let Dan protect him, and he trusted Dan to keep him safe.

Dan frowned a little at Phil's last words before he slept. Give him something? What more could Phil possibly give him? Dan had already taken so much from Phil, forcing him to chase him all around the city, luring him to places he deliberately chose because he knew Phil would hate them. And now Phil wanted to give him something?

Dan's Prince was definitely confusing.

Not that Dan was going to turn down another gift. He'd come to rely heavily on Phil, on the time they spent together. His obsession had more or less taken over his life over the past few months, ever since the last of his comrades had been captured by Phil's Royal Guard. It was hard to believe that that same man was currently sleeping in Dan's arms.

Dan continued to toy with Phil's hair. He was trapped beneath Phil's warm, heavy body, but Dan could hardly say he minded. It was nice to have another body so close to his, to see just how much Phil trusted him. Dan could slip away and steal all of Phil's riches if he wanted to. Honestly, though, the thought couldn't be further from his mind.

He would wait here, patiently, with Phil against his chest, until Phil woke again and it would be time to face the world. They had an hour until the sorcerer arrived - an hour to rest.

An hour Dan fully intended to spend wrapped up with Phil, and neither of them would move again until they had to.

#phanfiction #insanityplaysfics #iwritephanthings #phan fluff #phan angst #steal my heart

82 notes · View notes