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kisslandeds · 5 months

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[̲̅T]here's a stillness in the atmosphere of the auditorium, and a heavy languor that pervades the circumambient air. It's a rather lethargic Tuesday morning, a rather laid-back day for Bella, who'd been somnolent since she'd woken up. Despite her indolence, it was necessary she tackle the day. She had several errands to run after rehearsal, and she was more than nervous for them. Regardless, Bella is an early bird, and like usual, she's at work before anyone else.

Bella figured, as she ambulates across the stage of the regal opera house, that she might as well use this time to rehearse her lines again. She stands in the middle of the vast stage, in a field of light reflections. Being right in the heart of the auditorium helped her visualize an audience, perhaps serving as an incentive for her.

Before her were thousands of seats, vermillion in colour and sewn from the finest textiles. There were levels of seats, balconies of them, just waiting to be filled with people and ovation. Alabaster pillars and delicate marble pillars complete the architecture of the house, perhaps derived from works of the Renaissance era. The lambency from the balcony lights shoot diamonds from the gloss of the stage floor, it felt like a garden of crystals just right beneath her.

With a deep breath, Bella closed her eyes. Opening them again, she is greeted with visions of thousands of people filling up the empty seats in front of her, an animated audience clapping and cheering. Such a sight would never grow old to Bella. This view, after all, paid her bills and gave her a motive to keep acting. She loved it, adored it. Despite being a job, she never got tired of entertainment, she never grew bored of being on stage.

For a moment, the ambient was stentorian during Bella's reverie, palpable, even, before silence catches up with her once more and breaks the unreal utopia before her.

Just before Bella reached for her purse to retrieve her folded script, a bright light flashes in front of her, a luminaire so blinding she instinctively shuts her eyes and covers them with the palm of her hand. The main stage light moves across the stage, and the once still ambience of the auditorium was now completely gone.

Before Bella has a chance to react to the rush of fright that moments before filled her stomach, she notices a figure among the cavernous seats, juxtaposed between them. Gradually, it gets larger, as if moving closer to her. Given the events that had been happening in her life, she had every reason to believe she was in danger. A rather disconcerting emotion overtakes Bella.

"My Belladonna! I knew you'd be here, you're always here at 9:30 AM without fault!" A rather flamboyant masculine voice reverberates across the empty theatre. Just like that, the quiet atmosphere had been cut through with a knife.

"Simon," Bella gets up from the stage, a sigh of relief escaping her glossed lips. "Good morning. You're in a good mood today, aren't you? Why are you in so early? You're not here until 10." She inquires, walking across the stage and watching as Simon, her agent, trots down the stairs at the side of the auditorium to get to the pit. She pretends as if moments before she was completely shaken by his entrance.

"Oh dear," Simon's voice is high in several octaves, and his visage is rather grave. "Today has to be a busy day I tell you! We have to make sure you're on your A-game, baby!"

"You're making me anxious, Simon."

"You ought to be anxious," Simon finally reaches the pit before climbing up the stage as if to intensify what he was about to say. "Bella, those casting directors that watched your rehearsal yesterday were in awe at your work! They want to schedule lunch and talk business!"

"My Gods, Simon," Bella sighs. "You don't think a simple text could've sufficed? You know how much you make me nervous when you look so serious."

Simon gives out a small chuckle, his dark skin wrinkles as he smiles. "I'm sorry, Bella," his eyes twinkle, the gold eyeliner on his eyelid shimmers in the light of the luminescence filling the house. "You know how much your success means to me."

"Yeah, I'm sorry, Simon, I don't mean to get all serious," Belladonna apologizes for being so apprehensive. "Today's a big day for me. I'm finally going to see someone to talk about these weird things going on."

"That's great!" Simon adjusts his scarf. "You let me know how that goes," he clears his throat, "anyway, I'd like you to get ready for rehearsal. Your costar will be here any minute now. Remember, your A-game today, ma'am!"

Quick to brush it off, huh, Belladonna quips to herself. I guess I shouldn't share my business.

With a forced smile, Bella saunters off to get ready for rehearsal.

II.

"Beautiful, beautiful," Simon claps, he is as preppy as a schoolgirl. "Brava, bravissimo! I could shed a tear."

After enduring painful hours of wearing a tight corset and having to act out intense emotions, Bella was to say the least, exhausted. Her visage was glossed with sweat, her stage makeup fading away with the hours of wear. From arriving at the auditorium at 9:30 AM, it was now 3 PM. Despite this, it didn't matter to her. Her role had to be perfect, it was imperative she mastered her character. If that meant staying overnight rereading the same lines over and over again, it was a condition she was willing to endure. Of course, Bella's most critical audience was herself.

"I think I am moved," Simon wipes away doubtful tears from underneath his painted eyes. "Truly, I have never seen another Christine so remarkable!" Simon turns to Bella's male counterpart. "And you! You make a wonderful phantom!"

The play that had demanded so much of Bella's time and energy was the classic, 'The Phantom of the Opera.' To be frank, it was a rather challenging role for Bella, having to act out all these intense emotions from the protagonist she plays in such tight clothing and dry conditions of the stage. Not to mention, she was required to sing, and to project your voice across the massive auditorium was no easy task.

"Don't flatter me," Abel, Bella's male costar chimes. "If you're on stage with such a talented actress, naturally, the energy she exudes would motivate anyone to perfect this role." A big, teeth-y smile spreads across his profile.

"Oh, please," Bella laughs. "Don't sensationalize me."

"Don't be so modest!" Abel exclaims. "Although, that is what makes you so charming."

"Mhm," Simon hums. "Bella, I have to get going to meet with some directors. Please, get some beauty sleep. I need you looking youthful and energetic! You seem gloomy today, and we can't have that," Simon is already at the curtain to the backstage, "Don't forget to rehearse your lines, dear. It's not too long 'till opening night." Just as quick as Simon made his ingress this morning, preceded his egress in the same fashion.

As soon as Simon's presence had left the room, the air was much more desolate and did not seem so cheery. The preponderance of his aura now dissipated, and Abel and Bella are alone. It was already 3 PM and Bella had to get going to run her errands. The day was certainly not over here.

"I gotta get going, too," Bella gives in a breathy chuckle, she was starting to suffocate from how tight her corset was. "I'll see you tomorrow, Abel."

Abel nods and elicits a small smile, giving a small wave goodbye as Bella wastes no time to start heading back to her dressing room. The sound of her antique heels reverberate across the theatre, and before it could be gone, Abel stops Bella from sneaking away behind the curtains with a gentle touch to her arm.

"Hey, Bella," Abel says hesitantly, "before you go . . ." he smiles nervously, as if telling himself to confess something, "would you fancy lunch today?"

Bella turns around upon Abel's survey, observing a shy expression dominating his features. He runs his fingers through his quaffed hair, scratching his neck awaiting Bella's response.

"I'm so sorry, Abel!" she commiserates. "I have something today that I just can't put off. Maybe some other day, though."

"Of course." Abel chuckles nervously. "Have a nice afternoon, Bella." Finally, he waves her goodbye, to which she replicates, and that was that.

III.

After rehearsal, Bella had changed into her evening attire and decided to refresh her makeup. After all, she needed to look as presentable as possible today. Her mascara had drooped after hours of wear, and her under-eyes had begun to crease due to her exhaustion. With an anxious exhale, Bella powders her face, cleaning up her makeup to look as awake and fresh as possible. She runs a nude colour liner under her waterline, opening up her eyes as much as she can.

Bella was no stranger to anxiety. As an actress, living alone, she had many things to worry about. However, besides what a person usually worries about nowadays, she had something weighing on her shoulders that she just couldn't handle anymore. She'd been fatigued the past few days with a melancholy feeling reducing the quality of her life, and now she was finally going to get help.

The World's Only Consulting Detective, huh, Bella thinks to herself as she reapplies a pink blush to the roundness of her cheeks. Will you disappoint me, too? Bella sighs, reminded of the contents of the article she'd read on The London Times, the tabloid in which she'd discovered the office of this detective.

❝ Proficiency with observation, deduction, forensic science, and logical reasoning.

At 221B Baker Street

Approved by the Scotland Yard ❞

It was in Bella's best interest that this detective—Sherlock Holmes, would accept her case. She'd grown tired of rejection from local private investigators, brushing off the details as too 'trivial' or of lesser importance than their other cases. Bella would be referred to the Scotland Yard—and that was the last thing she wanted. She wanted to keep the details as private as possible.

Belladonna takes a profound look at herself, subconsciously deep in thought of what could come of today. Her brown eyes glisten with the bright white light of her vanity bulbs, a lustre glazing her pupils. Absentmindedly, she stares at herself, her conscience lingering with nothing but thoughts of the future.

A rhythmic knock catches Bella's unconscious thought. Bella, shaken up, reverts her glance to the door. That's weird, Bella gets up from her chair, I'm not expecting anyone. Could it be Abel again? Simon?

"I'll be there in a second!" Bella grabs her phone from her purse that'd been hanging from a clothing rack. She checks the time, to which it read 3:55 PM. Damn, it's late.

With a sigh, she places her fingers on the doorknob and cautiously opens the door. The door is barely open, but she can tell there is two strong, broad chests. Curiously, she widens the interstice that separates her and the two men.

The men, standing right before her, were none whom she knew.

The man, on the left, wore a white button-up and a black vest. His posture was relaxed, his hands inside the pockets of his dress pants. The man, on the right of Bella, wore a polished 3-piece. The fabric of his vest was deep navy in colour, his button-up was striped and pristine, and his tie was a refined silk, a deep red. Above it all, was a heavy, sculpted dress coat that hung over his robust shoulders. Peculiarly, an arm seemed to be hiding behind his back, as if concealing something.

Although it was impolite, she was rather compelled by his clothing—she couldn't stop herself from staring, and she hadn't yet seen their faces. What piques Bella's interest specifically is his lapel. Near his navy lapel is a brooch, a brooch of a blue rose with an intense hue. It was a beautiful rose, a rose that seemed so fresh in spite of the dry auditorium air. To Bella's curiosity, both men complimented their habiliment with the same brooch as if to insinuate their affiliation.

From first glance, without even a look at their face, it was very evident how well-dressed these men were. However, it wasn't just their vesture that made their appearance so captivating, but rather their very aura. Something palpable radiating off of them, something so tangible. Consider it a very emanation of their preponderant, puissant presence.

Before Bella could open her mouth to speak, realizing how impertinent she'd exhibited herself, her words are adjourned.

"Good afternoon, madam! How does the day find you?" The man, who she had been studying so intently, finally cuts through the silence. His voice is clear, as smooth as silk.

Finally, Bella looks up. The man she'd scrutinized the longest of both looks at her with a cunning expression, a perfectly fitting frame for his chiseled physiognomy. His eyes resembled that of sapphires. The bright, extravagant luminescence from the dressing room emits precious gems from his eyes. Even with such an alluring pair of eyes, it does not undermine the sheer amount of education expressed in them. Unconsciously, and uncontrollably, Bella is gripped onto his physical.

Though she wants to reply to his greeting, she can't seem to get the words out.

"Have I startled you?" The man's eyes, as blue as the brooch he had clipped on his vest, sink into his apricot skin with a chuckle that leaves his pillowed, pink lips. The man's large palm runs through his perfectly styled hair, wrecking his pristine haircut, yet seamlessly rocking the effortless look. "Or, is it that you find my face captivating?"

"I'm sorry. . ." Bella breaks her reticence. "I didn't mean to come off as rude."

"It's quite alright!" The stranger chuckles once more. "You're quite reserved, aren't you? It's rather charming."

In response, Bella reluctantly laughs. Although this encounter was very strange, there was no unnerving feeling that permeates her. In fact, although she was nervous, she felt comfortable. In other words, she wasn't worried for her well-being.

"In any event," he remarks, "I'm quite thrilled to meet you like this. You are much more beautiful in person, Ms. Demie."

"Thank you." Bella replies.

So they know my name, Bella thinks to herself. Although that would be a reason to be alarmed for someone, it wasn't anything out of the ordinary for Bella. After all, she was an actress. Although she wasn't by any means a superstar, she did star in small films that did well in the city, and she would often get recognized for them.

"I cannot express how lovely you look today. I almost wish I could frame you and look at you everyday." Again, the man expresses his adulation.

"Do you want her framed dead or alive? Whatever it is, I'll make it happen, James." The young man, who has not said a word until now, breaks his silence and makes a rather strange remark as his introduction.

Bella reverts her gaze to the other stranger, and she notes how much younger he looks from his affiliate. His face is slightly fuller, more juvenile, and is framed by a full head of brunette locks. The young man's eyes are a deep brown, almost amber when the light reflects it. Underneath his eyes are heavy-sunken circles, although it fits his demeanour. Propped in between his thin lips is a toothpick. "What do you say, James?"

"Oh, Sebastian," the man clicks his tongue. "You're going to scare away Ms. Demie. It was a metaphor. I meant that she's so pretty that I wish I could have her as a decoration. Like roses on a bedside table."

Although nothing but oddities have been elicited from this conversation, Bella gets a feeling they mean no harm. "Pardon me if this sounds rude," Bella clears her throat, blinking nervously. "Who might you two be?"

"Where are my manners? How rude of me, I apologize." The man on the right extends his unoccupied hand, seeing as though there is one hand behind his back. "My name is James Moriarty."

The two exchange a handshake, and Bella becomes cognizant of his skin, flesh that was rather cold, but soft. His grip on her palm was gentle, contradicting his authoritative demeanour. Her fingers brush against several bulky rings that adorned his fingers, encrusted by what had felt like some rough stone.

"I'm a maths professor. I teach at the University of London." James elaborates.

Never heard of him. Bella blinks in acknowledgment, a wavy smile framing her face.

"This is Sebastian," James refers to his cohort. "Go on, introduce yourself to the lady."

Sebastian clears his throat, picking the toothpick out of his mouth and holding it between his pale fingers before chucking it into his breast pocket. "Sebastian Moran," the man exchanges a rather firm handshake. "Former serviceman."

"I must say, you have excellent work, Ms. Demie," James exclaims, following Sebastian's brief introduction. "Your role of Irene Adler in 'Murder Mystery' was truly unprecedented. Marvellous indeed!"

"You mean that crime drama? I remember you forgot to record it once, and you were so mad that someone ended up dead!" Sebastian laughs in amusement.

Bella assumes what he just said is a joke.

"You were cunning, witty, graceful, and clever. You almost made Irene Adler seem like a knockoff when you, Ms. Demie, were on-screen." James has expressed nothing but reverence to Bella, although it's a kind of flattery that seems genuine, and not cheap or artificial.

"Thank you, Mr. Moriarty. I really enjoyed playing Irene. She was my debut character in TV," she states, "I'm really grateful I was able to play her."

"I can see how!" James exclaims. "As you can see, I'm quite the fan. I'd like to offer you something."

With that, James moves the hand that he had hidden away behind his back during the duration of this interaction, divulging a bouquet of an assortment of bright, blue roses, the same as the one he had on his brooch. They looked so fresh, with beads of dew still on them, as if they had just been picked from a vast field. The roses were the epitome of pulchritudinous, Bella had never seen such a thing even in nature. The colour, it seemed almost unearthly.

"Thank you," Bella accepts the flowers, sauntering deeper into her dressing room and placing them inside of a wide, empty vase on her vanity. "I have to ask. . ." she ponders, "how were you able to get in? The theatre is closed all day, unless you got in at the crack of dawn."

"Why, of course, we've been here since morning. Stayed until your rehearsal ended." James says matter-a-factly.

"That can't be. . ." Bella takes a long pause and recounts the events of her day; she woke up, got to the theatre, where there was not a single soul but herself. Bella could not surmise their claim. Before she can continue her statement, she is lulled.

"You think we're lying?" Sebastian has a smug expression plastered onto his face.

"No, I didn't say that," her gaze trails down to the floor, verifying a lingering thought she had in her head and gleaning to support her corroboration. "It's just that your shoes are wet."

James gives out a chortle, a hearty laugh upon Bella's examination. "It was sunny all morning," he pauses with a smile on his face, "and it's almost like we got caught in the afternoon London rain." James cedes, putting both his hands up in defeat, as if to elucidate that he'd been caught.

"Aren't you observant?" Sebastian quips.

"Oh, I am truly taken by you," James avows, "you have a truly excellent display of observation. It seems you are just as smart as you are beautiful." There's a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"Truly. It makes me want to bite even more." Sebastian says this with a deep chuckle.

"You want to 'bite'? What?" Bella furrows her arched eyebrow, expressing a look of puzzlement upon acknowledging Sebastian's terse remark. Before Bella can further inquire Sebastian's obscene sense of humour, James adjusts his tie and clears his throat.

"Well, Ms. Demie, I must see you again," he takes a step back into the corridor. "Sooner, rather than later."

The door to the dressing room slams shut in an instant, in such a swift manner that Bella cannot even begin to process what has just happened. The two men are gone, and the presence that emitted off of them left with them, too. The room seemed so much more empty and quiet.

Bella blinks several times in confusion, staring at the white wooden door in front of her. Her eyes squint in thought, her mouth agape. What on Earth just happened?

IV.

After the afternoon rain, a cold front infiltrates the humid air in London. With the cold front came a gentle breeze, a mellow wind that mollified the incongruous events that had transpired during Bella's day. She'd spent the last 20 minutes or so on a leisurely amble to her prioritized errand, and while doing so, mentally delineating the unusual details of her afternoon.

Bella's thoughts linger to her unprecedented interaction with the 2 strangers in her dressing room. She thinks about the beautiful, bright blue roses she had been gifted, and wished she had been able to take them home with her. With those men, specifically the professor, Mr. Moriarty, was an undeniably prepotent endowment.

A huff escapes Bella's glossed lips, her tresses flow through the air. She digs her hands deeper into her beige dress coat, an effort to insulate herself, in spite of her legs being exposed from her skirt. Still, her ribbed stockings provide her with a sense of snugness in the cold. Bella clutches onto her purse, opening it and rummaging through her belongings to verify the address she'd been looking for.

Bella stops in her tracks, remaining stationary and leaning against a railing that separates the walkway from a small lake. She huffs once more, looking down and retrieving a folded paper from her bag. The paper unfolded revealed a ripped piece of a tabloid, the edged rigid and coarse. From inside her bag, she takes a look at the article. She leans against the railing and rereads the contents of it, refreshing her memory. The address is highlighted in a light blue.

221B Baker Street

During Bella's perusing, her sense of smell is pervaded by a faint aroma of herbal tea. She looks up again. Ahead of her was a quaint café, it was rather busy, too. Several antiquated table set-ups lined against the building, having a perfect view of the main road and the lake behind the black railings. It was a quite cute setting to sit down and enjoy a cup of tea.

"Fancy a cup of tea, Ms. Demie?" A virile voice calls out, to Bella's surprise. The voice, as Bella follows it, leads to a table where 3 friendly, besuited young men are sat. It was the second time a stranger had referred to her by her surname.

"How ill-mannered of me," the man in the middle says. "I shouldn't have called you by your name like that." There's a friendly tone reminiscent in his voice. From first glance, it was very apparent how tall this man was, despite being seated. His hair was dark, and his skin pale. The man's companions on either side of him were both blonde with an admirable smile.

"My name is Mycroft," he speaks again. "You're Belladonna Demie." Once more, Bella puts another name to a new face.

"I'm flattered you recognize me, Mycroft."

"How could he not?" The man on his right comments. "To not notice such an exceptional actress would be a crime, especially in broad daylight—where she's most radiant. My name is Arsène Lupin."

"It's nice to meet you, Ms. Demie. I'm Hercule Poirot," the man on the left extremity says with a charming smile and a small wave.

Hercule Poirot. That Belgian detective? I've seen him on the paper before, Bella thinks to herself. If she didn't know about Sherlock Holmes, she probably would've reached out to him to consult about her case. "It's nice to meet you all." Bella exchanges. "Call me Bella. I'll never get used to Ms. Demie. It feels too formal."

"Very well then, Bella," Mycroft presses his lips, analyzing her very character. "Why don't you have a seat? Considering we've introduced ourselves and whatnot."

Considering the men were so welcoming, Bella didn't feel like an imposition. In fact, she felt rather comfortable, not suffocated by flattery. She knew they were good people. Still, she felt she shouldn't waste anymore time. "Oh, I don't know. . . I have to be somewhere soon."

"Oh, I do know you're in a rush," Mycroft says, a sympathetic expression on his visage. "But, I do have some thing for you that you may find useful in this very moment. Chat over cinnamon tea? You like cinnamon, don't you?" Mycroft calls out a waiter and asks for a cinnamon tea.

How utterly strange. How could someone possibly deduce that from first glance, with less than a few sentences exchanged? It was alluring, impressive, even. "Y-yes, I do."

"Take a seat, miss! Enjoy a cup of hot tea in this cold weather. I think your company would be a perfect addition to our afternoon," Hercule adds. "I think we may have some information for you in exchange."

Reluctantly, Bella takes a seat on an unoccupied chair. Just seconds after, her cinnamon tea is placed onto the clothed table, along with a small dish of biscuits and a spoon. Her question, of how on Earth that man could know she liked cinnamon tea still remained unanswered. It all felt like some sort of magic trick.

"Your bag." Mycroft points at Bella's leather bag, which was still open from before. He takes a swig of his black coffee whilst doing so. "You have a pack of cinnamon gum inside. You were wondering how I knew you would like cinnamon tea, didn't you?"

"That's not the only thing we can tell from her bag." Hercule quips.

"Hercule, spare the vagueness on this poor lady. We're eating up her valuable time, aren't we?" Mycroft chastises his friend. "She needs to pay a visit to 221B."

Once more, Mycroft makes a sharp deduction. His sense of perception was keen, exceptionally refined. Bella had only just met these men, yet they read her as if it was a facile task. She expresses the shock she felt when he pinpoints her errand. ". . . How did you know that?"

"When you were in the corner, rummaging through your purse, you seemed to have been trying to figure out your way somewhere. You referred to a paper. Specifically, an article on the London Times. It's a rather peculiar thing for a young woman to be reading," Mycroft explains. "Which is why you didn't take out the paper, but rather, you read it through your bag."

But if I never took out the paper, how could he have known? Like a book, the man is able to read her, with finesse. Bella wondered if he was a dilettante for detective work.

"You're sure you didn't take the paper from your bag out," Mycroft adds. "So, how did I know? Your face tells me that's what you want to ask. Well, for that sliver of a moment you crouched down to sit down, I was able to see you ripped out a small section from the paper. There was a photo of a rather popular case that remained unsolved until recently, and from that I didn't need to look more than that to know you were going to 221B. Not even the address you highlighted."

My Gods. Bella is at a complete loss for words.

"Oh, yeah, I know what case you're talking about," Arsène says. "The french nobility's daughter was getting married, but the groom went missing for quite some time."

"Shirley really went out of his way to solve that one," Hercule sighs. "Quite the shock since nothing piques his interest."

"Bella, you're going to hire Sherlock Holmes." Mycroft ends his spiel.

"There's the end of that soliloquy." Arsène chuckles.

To say Bella was amazed would be diminishing the emotion she felt. For the second time today, she'd been rendered unresponsive. However, this time it was from the sheer shock she felt upon this man's extraordinary faculty for figures. It seemed like she'd been a slave to his search for detail.

"Amazing! You're a brilliant mind, aren't you?!" Bella takes a sip from her tea, expressing her impression.

"You're too kind to Mycroft." Arsène laughs a hearty laugh.

"You mentioned you had something I would find of value." Bella remarks, taking a sip of her tea.

"Oh, yes," Mycroft clears his throat and presses a napkin to his lips to wipe off excess coffee, "hand me your phone."

"My phone?"

"You've got the default maps app, don't you? I just want to show you the way there." Mycroft explains he has no ill intent but to help.

Bella's intuition leads her to believe this man means no harm, and she has no reason to believe he'd do anything with malice from just a look at her phone. If it were anybody else, she'd tread with more caution. She trusts him. Bella hands Mycroft her smartphone. In just a moment, after a few swipes, he hands it back to her.

"Your destination is here." Mycroft points at a blue dot on a digital rendering of the map of London.

"Thank you so much!"

"I suppose you should get going. We've had you here for about 5 minutes, not too much of your time." Mycroft wears a knowing expression, satisfied with himself and the outcome of the brief conversation.

"Shame you can't enjoy some freshly-baked scones!" Arsène refers to the dish of pastries a waiter has just placed onto the table. Though they looked divine, she couldn't possibly waste anymore time.

"Mycroft's right, she doesn't have time to relax," Hercule supposes. "No time for afternoon tea."

"Yeah, it does seem I should get going now," Bella gets up from her chair and pushes it into the table. "It was fun talking to you all. I'm happy I got to know you."

"I hope you won't be disappointed in what you may find in there." Mycroft says this with a sigh, as if he knows something she doesn't.

"Oh! Let me pay for my tea." Bella retrieves her wallet from her purse, before Arsène makes her refrain.

"Let me be a gentleman and pay for it," he smiles, "perhaps a dinner with you too."

"Until next time." Hercule gives a wave goodbye, with a closed-eye, wavy smile. His blonde hair glimmers under the sun, that had now started to set. Upon that observation, Bella realizes how late it had gotten.

"Well, I'm off. Goodbye!" Bella dismisses herself, delighted with the help and conversation she'd gotten from the friendly trio. With that, she uses her phone to guide her to her destination.

It's about a quarter after 5 PM. The sun was setting, and the clouds had become to reflect the light from the horizon. Light orange hues emitted from the sky, a beautiful luminosity as a consequence for the afternoon rain. Although the day may have been nigh to an end, Bella was not yet completed with herself, despite her atypical day having her busier than usual.

Bella, with the help of the digital map Mycroft had set up, was able to reach her destination without getting lost in the vast array of streets in London. However, she had found herself loitering in front of the London residence. She'd come so far that she wasn't going to stop herself from going in, but she was still trepidatious, the lingering feeling of her trip being in vain made her feel tense. Intrusive thoughts of rejection worried her.

Don't be disappointed. Anything can happen. Bella responds to the mental thought of her case being shunned.

Bella exhales, trying to muster up courage to knock while observing the building in front of her. It was three stories, with a flat right beneath it. The residence was connected to several others, however, the architecture suggesting everything directly up and straight belonged to the detective. Embellishing every window, stacked on every story, was a container of flowers, a small garden of green. On the floor above the flat, was a balcony, composed of an intricate black railing and more flowers. The domicile seemed sophisticated, dapper in appearance.

It's now or never, Bella. Composing herself, Bella saunters over to the ingress of the building. The door is black, a glossy paint, she can almost make out her distorted reflection. The frame is rectangular, rounded at the crown. Reluctantly, Bella reaches for the copper door-knocker, her attempt to refrain from being abient. Her warm fingers touch the cool surface of the door-knocker, but before she could knock, she hears an extrinsic speaker.

"Oh, no! Did Sherlock keep you waiting, dear?" A mature, coarse voice calls out from behind Bella.

Bella turns around in response, inquisitive in the source. It's an elderly woman, a convivial expression on her aged mien. "I don't know what I'm going to do with him," she sighs, "how long have you been waiting for, dear?"

"Oh, actually, I was just about to knock." Bella felt discomfit rushing in her, her cheeks going red when she realized the old dame had likely seen her dallying and assumed that she'd been forced to wait. "Do you live here?"

"'Do I live here?' Aha! I'm the landlord, dear," the elderly woman explains, approaching the door with a ring of keys. "I live next door."

"I see," Bella enunciates. "Well, I'm here to talk with Mr. Holmes. I'd like to hire him, you see. I'm hoping he's interested in my case."

"In that case," the elderly woman smiles, her wrinkled skin does not cut her juvenile emotion short. "Welcome to 221B. The boys call me Mrs. Hudson."

"The boys?"

Mrs. Hudson has unlocked the door and pushed it open. "The boys. Sherlock and Watson, dear," she explains with a discreet tone. "Come in."

Watson, Bella thinks to herself, I think I read about him in the paper. He's Mr. Holmes' assistant.

Warily and with circumspect, Bella steps into the ingress of the hearth. Posthaste the door slamming shut, the ambience that carried over Bella outside pendulates to a warmer one. The scent of the breadth is woody, redolent to that of cedar. The interior of the edifice presents itself with an antiquated yet pleasant style, the walnut mahogany walls daubed with an intricate, vermillion wallpaper. The vestibule was spacious, a welcoming entrance. Before the front door was a staircase, the corridor that fared the voices that were upstairs to the first floor.

"Lestrade, you idiot! How could you possibly have this overlooked? My Gods, the Scotland Yard is useless! What do you even do?! Use up valuable taxpayer dollars?!"

A commotion from upstairs penetrates through the observation that had kept Bella so absorbed. She looks up at the stairs, to which Mrs. Hudson gives a quiet laugh, and says, "I hope you won't be disappointed by what you find today." That was the second time she'd heard those exact words today.

"Watson, tell Sherlock to calm down. 'Else I'll assign someone else on this case."

"For the last time, Lestrade, I'm not Sherlock's mother, nor am I his father. Not even the Queen herself could strip him of the arrogance he has."

"You wouldn't even think about having someone else on this case, George. The Scotland Yard couldn't be less oblivious to any crime networks going on in the cesspool of London. How could you even contemplate replacing me?! To have another idiot overlook such a crucial part of the autopsy?"

Several voices reverberate in the domicile, voices Bella can't put a face to. Suddenly, an anxious emotion pervades Bella, and she turns to shoot Mrs. Hudson a glance. "It seems they're a little busy. I can come back another time."

"Nonsense. You see, they're always chatting up a storm like this." Mrs. Hudson clicks her tongue, her voice is brimmed with unconcern. "Boys! Stop arguing! You've got a guest."

Following Mrs. Hudson's yell, Bella can't help but feel like an imposition. She fidgets with the backings of her earrings, a futile attempt to control the desperation that fills her. With a deep breath, she relaxes herself. Mrs. Hudson motions her up the stairs, and Bella acquiesces.

In the loft, the entire atmosphere is switched. It was a complete juxtaposition from downstairs, instead of being warm and welcoming, was contemporaneous to chaos and disarray. The lounge room, or rather, the office, had several items strewn about the space, disorder defining the character. In the middle of the study was a hearth, a dark mahogany fireplace with a dimly lit fire. On either side of the fireplace, in the center, were two leather chairs. A window, barely covered by a curtain, released a stream of sunlight into the room and reflected onto the intricate red patterns of the wallpaper, hints of gold adorning it. The office was mounded with books, literary works on the shelves of the walls.

Ambulating about the room were two men, whilst one sat at an escritoire. However, once Bella's presence had been acknowledged, their quarrel had came to a stop. Knowingly, and not wanting to exhibit herself as brusque, Bella takes the opportunity to introduce herself.

"Hello," she waves a small wave. "My name is Belladonna Demie."

Mrs. Hudson, not saying a word until now, dismisses herself. "I'll make you all some tea while you talk things out."

The man on the right of Bella wastes no time to extend his hand. His face, is carved wonderfully and to perfection. His skin is pale but golden, and his hair is flaxen and with a fitting coiffure. He's suited in a dark brown suit, except without the coat. The man's air lingered with tranquility and cordiality. "It's nice to meet you, Belladonna," he smiles, his white dentition framing his visage, he looked leonine. "I'm John Watson. Feel free to call me John."

Bella and John exchange a brief handshake, their eyes meeting and acknowledging the establishment of a standard familiarity. His eyes are amber, resembling that of a jasper. His physique is strong, bigger than the rest of the men in the room, however, it doesn't look vulgar, it looks fitting to his masculinity. It was impossible to deny his endowment in appearance.

"It's a pleasure to meet you John. Just call me Bella, I much prefer it," she says, "I believe I read that you're the assistant, aren't you?"

"The pleasure is all mine!" a small chuckles escapes his lips. "Well, I do suppose I've become an assistant. The papers write me out to be that way. I'm actually a doctor. I work as a physician at the local clinic."

"I see. So you're a Dr. Watson."

"May I take your coat? It's quite warm here," John offers, immediately approaching from behind Bella. Her beige coat is slipped off her back, and she is suddenly reduced to her brown skirt and cream cardigan. Her modest jewelry is exposed, a breeze of warmth immediately grazing against her chest.

Following John's statement, the man next to him takes a few steps forward, extending his hand to Bella. "George Lestrade."

George's appearance is more aged than that of John's. His jaw had a grey stubble, with an indentation in his chin. Grey hairs had already begun to sprout on his head of hair. He wore a navy trench coat with the buttons lazily put on. In the centre of his chest was a brown lanyard, which read George Lestrade with a photo of him.

"He may not look like it," John says, "but he's an inspector at the Scotland Yard."

"Could've left out the part where you said 'he may not look like it.'"

"It's nice to meet you, Inspector." Bella makes out the man who had not said a word through this interaction, he sat on the escritoire with a brooding demeanour. He wore a white button-up with a black vest, his tie was a plaid navy blue. His visage is clouded with the darkness of the corner, exhibiting himself as arcane. Through the process of elimination, she supposed that was Sherlock Holmes.

"By the way. . ." the inspector scratches the back of his head, "have we met before?"

John, immediately bears a look of disapproval on his visage. ". . .It's only been 5 minutes, George. Anyone can see where you're trying to take this."

"No, I mean it! It wasn't me trying to come on to her, I really have seen you somewhere, Bella!"

Bella, about to mention the fact she's a rather common face on local London TV, is interrupted by John's realization that he had seen her somewhere, too. ". . .You're right. Now that you mention it, I've seen her somewhere, too."

Before Bella could explain that she's an actress, the words are taken out of her mouth and thrown onto the ground.

"You've come to hire me? I'm quite busy today, so if it's less than trivial, I'll send you off," the man on the escritoire whom had not said a word until this very moment breaks his reticence with a brusque remark. Suddenly, the welcoming environment is cut through with a knife, replaced with a tension that was palpable. He gets up, a quiet creak following, striding on over to Bella. "You must know, I value my time."

Feeling reduced to an infant, Bella parts her lips to speak. Again, like clockwork, the words are taken out of her mouth and thrown onto the floor.

"Let us review," the man paces around the room, his hands inside his vest pocket attempting to look for something. He produces a cigarette from the aperture, setting fire to the butt of it and placing it on his lips. "You're an actress. You've been acting since a very young age. You're preparing for a lead role at this moment, a role you're nervous for."

"Maybe that's where I've seen her. . .!" Inspector Lestrade comes to a realization.

Well, anyone who watches TV can know I'm an actress. Bella does not express any amusement to his observation.

"You're Turkish by birth. You came to London in pursuit of work," he takes a puff of his cigarette, "you have Egyptian roots. You're religious."

Maybe that's a little harder for him to know, Bella thinks to herself. There was really no way to research her background, so it was more than a startle to Bella he'd been able to deduce such a thing. Before she thinks anything else, she listens attentively. Suddenly, she'd encountered an interest in someone recounting the mundane details of her life.

"You just had cinnamon tea. Specifically from the Crescent Café a few blocks from here." Sherlock attests.

"Wait, Sherlock, I think I know where I've seen her!" John exclaims, "She was in—"

"You're with 3 strangers. You're used to being around strangers, yet you're nervous now. You're hiding it, yet the smile on your face looks natural and not timid," he continues, "you don't like exhibiting yourself as shy, or nervous."

"You breathe from your abdomen. It's why your chest doesn't rise or fall, you were taught that since you were a child."

"It's a surprise to see you here, Bella, looking for Sherlock of all people," John wears a smile on his face, realizing finally where he'd seen her. "You must know, Sherlock is a fan of 'Murd—"

"You're modest," he continues, interrupting John again. "You don't wear expensive clothing, for the most part, and your jewelry is from your family," he blows out another puff of grey smoke and the room is daubed with an effluvium of menthol. "The symbols on your necklace," he insinuates to the pendant that fell between Bella's bosom, "it's an Ankh—a customary Egyptian religious symbol. It's a rather peculiar pendant for a woman in London to be wearing. It's gold, like your other jewelry, not because of wealth, but because of culture."

It seemed Sherlock was explaining the observations that led him to his deductions. With keen interest, Bella listens, making no interruptions. "Your other necklace has a blue eye as a pendant. That's the Nazar Boncuk, an amulet known to 'thwart' the bad energies from people by absorbing them. Although it doesn't come from Turkey, and it can be traced back to Ancient Italy and some parts of Asia, it is Turkey's most popular souvenir and tradition. It's not a big pendant, nor one that's very visible, but from the light reflecting it, I can notice the blue gemstones forming the pattern of a blue eye, despite the primarily gold component."

So that's how he knew I was Turkish, instinctively, Bella places her fingers on her pendant and fondles it as she continues to hearken to Sherlock's immaculate faculties of observation.

"Your bag is half-open, and there's a script visible. It's wrinkled, worn out, probably because you've been reading it every opportunity you can because it's a big role and you're careful not to mess up on any lines. You're nervous about it, that's why so many pages have the ears folded throughout the distribution of the pages. On the spine of the script, is the title of the play. You're playing the heroine of 'The Phantom of the Opera.'"

The detective pulls the cigarette out of his mouth and chucks the decay and presses on it with his foot. He puts down the cigarette on an ashtray atop the fireplace. "You stopped by the Crescent Café and had cinnamon tea. The Crescent Café happens to be the only place in London to serve Ceylon cinnamon, a strain of cinnamon grown in the fields of Sri Lanka. You carried that aroma with you."

It became very clear, that despite the imperious and haughty that lingers in his voice, there was an unfettered extraordinary mental power he was endowed with. With just the power of sense, visual and olfactory, he is able to retell the characteristics of someone and their exact steps. It was magnificent, unprecedented.

"I suppose I did make the right choice coming here." Bella says nothing more.

"You just now realized that?" Sherlock scoffs.

"What Sherlock meant to say is, 'I'm glad you think so.'" John corrects his companion, adding humanity to his statement.

Mrs. Hudson comes into the room carefully holding a tray with an arrangement of dishes. In the center is a porcelain teacup, releasing a pleasant aroma of herbal tea. "Have a seat, Bella," she insists, setting the tray down on a coffee table in the middle of the two chairs. "Come here." Bella sits on one of the leather seats, following Mrs. Hudson.

"You too, Sherlock," the woman says, "I made peppermint tea. Your favourite." The landlady talks to Sherlock with a low tone, displaying her respect and familiarity. It almost seemed kin-like, like a grandmother talking to her grandson. Shortly, she leaves the room.

With no protest, Sherlock seats himself onto the leather chair in front of Bella, on his side of his back faced the pouring sunlight. He reaches for a small teacup, treating himself to the peppermint contents inside the teapot. For a moment, he's silent, his eyes closed taking a sip of his tea. Not ambulating across the room anymore, finally stationary, Bella is able to get a better look at his appearance.

Sherlock's shoulders are sinewy, his build robust and fitting to his tall frame. His physiognomy was chiseled, a masculinity that contrasts to the softness of his appearance. His cheekbones were carved, the highest point complimented with the light that met it. His eyes, were a light, iced cerulean. It was a timid blue, an iciness that characterized himself. His lips, now wet with tea, were a soft pink that were pillowed, a keyhole effect. His coiffure was black, a deep obsidian hue, combed untidily, yet he wore it nicely. He was an attractive man, his prepossessing figure was yet another endowment to his many brilliant gifts.

"I've shown you the extent of what I can do," he gloats, "I would rather not waste anymore time and would like you to discuss the matter of today's visit. What is the matter of today’s visit?”

"Of course," Bella clears her throat and reaches for her purse. She retrieves a plethora of white envelopes, passing them to the detective before her.

Sherlock shuffles through the documents, before passing them back to John who'd been standing behind his chair. John studies the papers, a wary expression on his visage.

"'Give up the play or there will be the most dire consequences.'" John says, "'Give up the role, or you will regret it.' Christ, how have you been going to rehearsal with this? I'd be looking after my back. All the notes have the same handwriting, so naturally it's from the same person."

"They were always in my dressing room," she explains, "but that's not all."

"It's not?" John asks.

"A little while ago, one of my dear friends passed away," she continues, "it was ruled an accidental death by the autopsy. She'd died in a car accident. Her name was Flora."

"I'm so sorry to hear that."

"It's quite alright," she says. "The point I'm getting to is that she was also performing a play sponsored by the same people this play is being sponsored by."

"And, you think those things may be related?" Sherlock inquires.

"To be honest," she sighs, "I have no idea. It's been a lingering thought of mine ever since I've gotten these notes. Not to mention, it doesn't help the fact that I have no idea who the main patron for this play is. Anyway, Flora was also playing a main role. She never mentioned any threatening notes to me, but I was thinking it might've been because she was scared to."

"These people funding this event, do they have a company?" John asks.

"They're anonymous. My agent, Simon, got me this role because they whoever funded this play looked for me specifically," she sighs, "frankly, Dr. Watson, I feel that my life has been overtaken by strange, intangible little details that could very well lead to nothing. But, I do know one thing, which is that I am being threatened over this role that I refuse to jeopardize."

"I'm afraid I've got my hands full." Sherlock clears his throat.

"Come on, Sherlock, you're so bored you've started to shoot bullets at the walls." John reclaims, glancing over at the wall behind him which had been slightly dilapidated with holes remnant of gunpowder. He closes his eyes and frowns. "Much to the dismay of Mrs. Hudson."

Sherlock says nothing in response. He settles himself deeper into his chair, taking another sip of the peppermint tea that had now gotten lukewarm.

Bella bites at the inside of her lip, accepting the defeat the end of the day had come to. It seemed the prescient conversation with Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft had foreshadowed the events occurred. They mentioned Sherlock was critical of his cases, and almost nothing piqued his interest. Although Bella was disappointed, she was not surprised. Sherlock was implacable. That's that.

"Well, I'm disappointed you won't take my case," she explains, clutching at her purse, "but the reason I came here was because I'm not giving up this role no matter what, and I hoped I could get this issue resolved. But, even still, I'm not going to let these notes stop me. I will ensure this production is a success, and I refuse to put my role in jeopardy."

Sherlock sighs an exasperated sigh, his gaze finally meeting Bella's.

"In any event," Bella gets up, "I'll be on my way out."

"No, please sit," John protests. "Sherlock, are you sure about this?"

Sherlock says nothing.

"Bella, how about talking with the Scotland Yard about this?" Inspector Lestrade commiserates.

". . .I want to keep this as quiet as possible." Bella explains why she'd sought after private detectives rather than the police department.

"You think someone on the inside may be responsible." John exclaims.

". . .Maybe. I also don't know who it is I'm dealing with. I also don't want to publicize my bestfriend's death, or sensationalize any of this." Bella explains.

"That's more of a reason to talk to Scotland Yard."

Sherlock, saying nothing more, gets up, retrieving his coat from the coat stand. "I'll need you to show me where you hold your rehearsals."

"Congratulations, Bella," John exclaims. "You finally got to him."

"We must start where the incident occurred," Sherlock says, "and looking for clues in the dressing room is indispensable."

"My Gods, thank you so much, Mr. Holmes!" Bella exclaims, filled with alacrity. "Really, thank you!"

"Don't misunderstand," he quips, "I haven't accepted your case yet."

"I know," Bella says, with a smile. "I'm just really happy you agreed to take a look and offer me your time."

Sherlock, almost fighting off a smile, wears an indiscernible expression on his visage. "Very well then. I'm sure the answer to this matter will take no longer than 1 hour to be uncovered."

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐍𝐃

//A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:

i'm extremely glad i was able to wrap this first chapter up. this really is just the beginning, and a way for me to establish some of the main characters. yes i know i took off jack stillman but i just don’t like him😣 maybe i’ll put him back idk 🥹

if this is well received, i will be more than happy to continue my writing :) i just hope this reaches the small, niche audience i want it to reach.

anyways

thank you for reading!

blessed be.

#guard me sherlock #james moriarty #sherlock #john h watson

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nyotasaimiri · 1 year

Text

Arc Two (redux) 86

The door led to a small chamber, smaller than Nyota had expected after witnessing Big Ape’s room and the Avatar of Kluex’s den. As if great threats always liked their rooms vast and intimidating. The floor was strangely free of ice, but not for lack of trying. Creeping ice climbed down the walls and tried to overtake the floor with a thousand tiny cracks and hisses as it turned to steam on contact, turning the air so cold and humid that frost whispered along Nyota’s cheek fur almost as soon as she set foot inside.

Nyota’s earpiece rang quietly in her ear.

“Captain?” Lumen sounded worried. “Yer signal’s sharper’n it was now. Did ya turn back?”

“No.” Her voice held half a question to it, but she had a guess at why. “It must be the vault guardian’s influence. We found the frozen warden’s lair.”

Lumen hissed softly. “Ain’t that a doozy… Ya got a heck of a timin’, Captain. I was ‘bout to call ya anyhow. SAIL’s spotted some small craft hangin’ ‘round the asteroid belt. They ain’t doin’ much yet, not close to the gate or nothin’,” he said, anticipating her sharp throaty growl, “but we ain’t too sure what they’re out here for. I’m doin’ a closer scan. Got Namina on standby in case they ain’t friendly.” He whistled; his microphone turned it into almost a sigh. “I sure don’t like this, ma’am.”

“I don’t like it either.” Nyota swallowed the low snarl as she ran a few short calculations. The timing was almost too perfect… But nothing else had come through here. Sheer foul luck? The drone. She inhaled sharply. Its owners must have received a warning. Or noticed it stopped responding. “Lumen, tell me the moment they make a move toward the gate. We don’t know for sure if they are trouble, but we will be ready if they are.”

Am I getting soft? she wondered as she turned her focus back to the rest of the room. Agent Saimiri would have destroyed them on suspicion alone. But… I am not the agent now, am I?

Arjun was watching her. She couldn’t read his eyes. It did not matter. She was Captain. It was her decision, and no one else’s.

No further time for musing. Nyota felt the warning in a surge of warmth just under her collarbone, just before Arjun’s hand touched her arm.

“Think I found the warden,” he murmured, voice low and tense. “Those carvings aren’t flush with the wall.”

Nyota followed his gaze; a stone figure twice her height and half as broad again sat halfway up the wall. Dark lines ran across it, glinting faintly in the gloom like glass. Her eyes were not sharp enough in the half-light to pick out the shadows, but she knew he was right. The warning rose again, and as if responding, the carving came alive.

Light flooded along the glassy lines, surging white and blue. It pooled in two hollows near the top, like eye sockets in a stony skull, and the figure wrenched itself free with a shuddering crack. It drifted out into the middle of the room, hovering nearly Nyota’s height above the floor without any apparent support or means of flight, shedding ice that in thin sheets that shattered on impact with the tiles. Its head was almost leonine, except for the stone tusks that jutted out of its carved open mouth. Two more lights drifted out behind it, eyes set behind stone carved like the hooked beaks of birds.

Its silence was more unnerving than any battle cry she had ever faced. The warden looked down at Nyota, and she knew she was not welcome.

It wasted no time on ceremony or speech, if it was even capable of either. Nyota grabbed Arjun’s arm and hauled him back as energy bursts shattered at their feet, spreading frost wherever the shards touched. One of the birds smashed into her shoulder and sent her reeling backward. Arjun’s wrench cracked it away.

“This thing has problems,” he panted as he ran after her to avoid a second volley.

“We’re interlopers,” Nyota told him, not caring where the certainty came from. It wasn’t important. “It sees us as a threat to its vault. All change is a threat.”

The old man whistled—he reached the same conclusion as her. “The ancient capricoats.”

“Exactly.” Nyota deflected the second bird with her spear as it tried to ram her like its comrade had. “I would guess that the warden has weeded out anything that… changed too much.”

She could feel the slow horror in him as he processed that through the lens of an archaeologist. “That’s not life,” he said slowly, “that’s just stasis. That’s wrong.”

Nyota looked up at the looming warden. “I don’t think it will listen to that.”

Arjun squared up beside her, more determined than Nyota had seen him before. “Then we fix that.”

#this is such a fun scene for me #arc two #repost

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icarusplunged · 2 years

Photo

@tamthingdraws said:

❛ abrupt . kiss my muse out of the blue . [rus @ keon ;) ]

nonverbal prompts. ( accepting )

IT HAPPENS FIRST IN KEON’S ROOM. he has to admit, begrudgingly, that antares coming to check on him is... well, it’s unlikely he was forced to do it, given his strained relationship with the rest of their group. it’s been a few weeks since antares’s anger reached out toward keon’s soul, a flightless, messy thing, a shaking thing, and pulled his anger out – since he began, then, to mend. hell of a plot twist, wasn’t it? of all people, the one whose throat he most wanted to carve out with his teeth was the one to snap him out of the stupor his father’s betrayal put him in. the knock sounds while keon’s doing pushups in his room. for the first time in a while he’s begun training for strength rather than aesthetics — not because he doesn’t care about his appearance, but because he’ll need every advantage he can get if they ever plan on fighting his father. at first he doesn’t answer, opting instead to finish the set even though ( or perhaps because ) every muscle in his chest and arms screams against it. another thing about training: it hurts. keon counts on it. he may have learned how to smile and laugh and put on a face, but underneath it the anger burns, and burns, and burns. it consumes him from the inside out. perhaps that’s why he punishes himself now, takes the soreness and eats the blows from training with his group members without complaint. then . gods. after shrugging an open button-up over his shoulders to hide his back, keon yanks the door open to see him standing there. antares is alone. oddly alone, he realizes, before noticing that for once the bird isn’t with him. ❝ arct — antares, ❞ he corrects, his words slow with caution. ❝ what do you want? ❞ – as it turns out, nox was giving antares trouble. unsurprising, of course. that bird seems to crave mischief to a degree keon’s never witnessed before in an animal, even an intelligent one. then again, the derege family never had familiars around the house, not really. not being predators themselves.

oddly enough, antares doesn’t leave after he learns his familiar isn’t here. the conversation starts with him commenting on keon’s messy hair, which leads to a barb in return about how he looks shorter without the bird on his shoulder; predictably, a foot to the shin here and a playful shove to the shoulder there leads to a full-on roughhouse on the floor of keon’s room.

it’s not hard to physically overtake the druid – he has the build of a goddamned willow branch – but something possesses keon to let him win this time, and somehow, he finds himself laughing. real laughter, for the first time in... what, years? it must be years now. it seems that somehow, the rest of his emotions have begun to bleed through the path anger carved through his walls. joy. sadness. spite, envy. something else he can’t recognize, right now, something that beats like a war drum in his chest as he lays on his back with his rival’s elbow digging uncomfortably into his upper arm, knee in his thigh. whatever the feeling is, it’s mirrored on antares’ face as they meet each other’s eyes in the sudden stillness. star freckles, he thinks despite himself; they glow in the room’s dim light, pure white contrasted against the yellow glow soaking into the druid’s white-streaked hair.

keon exhales, opens his mouth to speak, and then antares’s lips are on his. the only way one could describe the feeling is an eruption of sparks in his chest, like a firework going off in a small box. his shoulder blade digs into the wood floor, cold against his back, but he doesn’t notice. in this moment, the world bleeds away into nothing and antares’s mouth on his is all that remains – all there is – a global encompassing light. then, like a lightbulb burning too strong, it blinks out. keon’s eyes open to see antares above him, having shrunk away like he’d been stung. there’s confusion and dread on his face now. stunned into complete silence, keon says nothing and does not move; all he can do is watch the druid scramble to his feet and sprint out of the room, slamming the door behind him. and then keon is left with – ( A man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river                     but then he’s still left with the river. A man takes his sadness and throws it away                                                                         but then he’s still left with his hands. ) and oh, his hands are shaking now. it’s the come-down from a hard dose of adrenaline. it’s the slow-dawning realization that he has just been kissed by antares – another man, a man he despises – and it felt like the sun in his chest. but the sun burns and radiates. keon. his father’s voice in his head, edged sharp with banked fury. you’re disgusting, he says, and leather cuts across keon’s back. wrong. wrong. it’s wrong, it can’t have been him – this can’t be him. it can’t have felt good. perhaps it was surprise. just shock at the suddenness of it all. thought after thought piles atop the soft glow in his chest until its light, buried deep under layers of fear and pain and confusion and denial, snuffs out.

#ic.#keon drabbles.#child abuse cw #homophobia cw #{ i didnt mean to make this sad. i really didnt. }#{ and then. }

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jaewrotethis · 1 year

Text

14- Let Go...

The wind could scream around me as loud as it wanted to but still the thoughts in my head would scream louder. And Peter Pan could clasp and pull me as close as he wished but my eyes would refuse to look back at his. The salty sea would stay far behind us, and the trees low beneath us for the entire flight back to the tree house hideout, and not once could I find the reason or courage to let him see what’s in my eyes, in my mind. I could never. If, even for a moment, I allowed those seeping green eyes of Satan to catch a glimpse of my uncertainty then I would be handing him exactly what he wants.

Until discovering that what I’ve always longed for is right here around me, it was always intended to get back to London. If fate somehow granted me my wildest wishes of making Pan suffer, as it did when it planted me on the island of my dreams, then the end goal was still always to go back home. After revenge, after fighting for answers to this source of magic that called me so loudly, London was always the endgame. It didn’t even have to be London, just getting far away from Peter Pan’s miserable, evil grasp was always number one priority. Although now I’ve made the horrid discovery that the escape I had of the real world, the dream land I begged for, is truthfully this nightmare island ruled by something dangerous and dark. And the worst of it all; my want to leave has become absent and it’s exactly what he wanted.

The atmosphere has entered a darkening of clouds in sky over a deep mist slowly overtaking the forest down below. The night excited to finally have a turn to expose itself in a calm ominous leak. With every adding dewdrop to every blade of wild grass down there a thought of why or how I could possibly dream of this place years ago seeps into my mind. The lively ground that darts passed, the shoreline we left behind, the ancient mountains that texture the map show me memories of the hot flames and smokey ash in the air. We fly over the deep valleys that bring up deep memories of watching this land burn alive, pieces of memories with what I’m seeing in front of me connecting like the mist to the ground around us.

When he lands us back at the enormous tree house I’ve only ever so disoriented, enraged, and evidently lost in the mystery of it all. Lost in thought, lost in the past but like the stars mixed in the daytime I’m lost in the present around me also. I wonder how conceivable it is for him to somehow, magically, plant memories of this island in my head just to make me want to stay. There is no way of finding out without exposing my secret of having I’ve seen this place before. The fear alone of how quickly he’ll kill me if he knew I harbored such a secret, or worse, if he believes still that I lie about how I ended up on the shore, convinces me to never let him know, ever.

Once we land in the campground outside of the tree house Pan drops me, fairly high, onto the grass, never allowing any sense of gentleness in his touch, but I mattered not since I was aching to disrupt all contact. The wet grass soaking my long since disgusting socks, and my kneecaps when I fall from too high, I clench hard. The wet pebbles in the substrate that caught me dig into the open cuts on my palms when I land but relief from his touch feels overwhelmingly safer, so I embrace it.

“Have fun?” he touches softly down in the dirt beside me.

“No,” I say, unwilling to give him any sort of reaction.

“Decided to stay after all?” he out stretches his hand to the tree door.

My eyes widen. How could he know? I stutter,“I don’t know,”

He looks suspecting of me.

“I’d rather not get almost killed again,” I play it off.

He teases me, “Day’s not over yet,”

He takes a little hop towards the door of the tree house when from above a big bird circles. It’s shadow copies the sway of it’s thick wings as it drapes low, dropping something. Pan seems to expect it once the bird got close enough and he catches what the bird drops before it hits the ground. Pan doesn’t even look at my confused face when I realize that it’s a chunk of bread. As if completely natural he doesn’t miss a single step, leading me back into the tree house, opening his vest to place the bread on the inside.

Perhaps the sky above created a black rain cloud just for me as we walk into the busy room, my head down, unsteady about all the attention about to be dropped on it. Holding my breath and trying to ration my thoughts, trying to make a decision, or a plan, scrambling for how to play this, what to say next. I stay close to Pan, just so uneasy. We’re immediately greeted by my babysitter, K.

K gets a look at me and smiles a laugh, “Whoa, have fun?” “I think enough to stay another night?” Pan answers him by asking me.

I look at him, then K and I realize I’m on the spot, my mind tearing apart. I know I have to decide now. The deal is at it’s end, Pan waits for my choice. The sight of the island over the sea exposing the land I’ve wished for clogs my train of thought.

“I...suppose,” I barley whisper, still so unsure.

“Wonderful,” Pan smiles and walks away from us.

I watch him walk away. Irritation and anger swallowing up the uncertainty. Angry that he gets what he wants every time. Irritated that I know what I know and I don’t want to leave. K watches my glare that follows Pan into the cooking area.

“What’s wrong?” K asks me.

“What.”

“What is it?”

Looking back at K’s eyes I’m at ease again, remembering how easily this K boy brings the sense of comfort and I relax a little bit.

“I’m just hungry,” I lie.

“We can fix that easy,” he cocks his head to follow him.

I do so to the corner of the room beside a weapons rack and a tall skinny window. He lets me take a seat then bounds away to same food area as Pan, leaving me alone in the corner. I can’t even let the stares of the other boys in the room make me feel uncomfortable or question why K keeps me isolated from the rest because my entire mind is consumed by the fact that I’m on THE island. A glass shields my eyes stopping me from seeing the stares and the whispers as they wonder the room, searching for the answer I cannot comprehend. The answer to how the magnificent feeling I’ve craved only comes with a place that holds so much of this certain type of horror. It’s the largest contradiction my heart has experienced with no answer to it. I’m so lost in the comprehension of such a nightmare being the only source of the highest thing I’ve ever known, that I don’t see K return with a wooden plate for me.

“Hello?” he says, waving the plate in my face.

I zoom back in, focusing my eyes on the bunch of berries on one half of the plate and the enormous slice of smoked animal on the other half. I blink and take the plate, giving K my attention.

“O-oh,” I settle the plate on my lap. “Thank you,” I remember I have to eat to save my lie

“By the wind in your hair, I’m guessing you saw a good amount the island,” he turns my state into humor.

“My- oh,” I breathe a laugh and fix my winded hair. “Yeah, I, I suppose,”

“That’s murnum,” he points to the steak on my plate, “The best rodent there is out there,”

“Rodent?”

“Type of rodent,” his shoulders shrug. “And those are dypenberries. Red and purple makes them the best source of hydration when water can’t be found. But black like that,” he picks a black one I thought was purple off my plate and flicks it onto the carpet, “is poison,”

“Wh-you just threw it,” I serve my hand to it.

“No ones gonna eat that,”

“Why was it on the plate?” I look to the area where the food is being served.

“That’s a good question,” then he shrugs again, “But if you ask me, if your dumb enough to eat a black dypenberry, you deserve to die,”

I giggle looking to the berries on my plate and choosing a brightly red one to push pass my teeth and force down my throat. Although looking at the berry bunch, I can’t focus on the sweetness that coats my tongue. I look back to the berry he threw, then down at my plate one more time, wondering why he bothered educating me.

When water can’t be found.

His words are suspect. I look over at Pan in the food area, throwing bits of bread at another boy who throws fruit hunks back. His eyes squinted in a joyful laugh as he ducks. I divert my attention back to K, he’s leaning back on the wall, playing with a sharp knife that has a leather handle. My eyes squint as suspicion just rises and rises until I am certain he has a hidden meaning and I must ask.

“What do you know?”

He looks back at me, “Huh?”

I scoot to him, rising the plate between us, “Why bother teaching me what’s out there?” I knock my head to the forest beyond the walls.

He tries to play off his unsettlement but I see it, “Could be useful,”

I’m only more certain that he is hiding something now, “Tell me,”

“Tell you what?” he fakes a laugh.

His unsteady doesn’t go unnoticed and I become worrisome. It falls quiet for a moment as we hold the stare determining who will submit first of either my dropping the matter or him admitting what I want to know.

In the silence my mind decides on the worst, and I break it, “Is Pan gonna throw me out there?”

“What? No,” he laughs it out.

I wait.

K caves,“Well,-”

I drop the plate, and stand up, looking to where Pan rough houses, “Why? What for?”

“Relax, I didn’t say that,” K gets up, and tries putting his hands on my shoulders, where I wrench them off. “No, what is he going-”

“Would you calm down?” K’s eyes become mean and he talks in a low voice, coming close, too close. “Pan is watching everything and if he thinks something’s wrong-”

“Something is wrong! I can’t go out there, I’ll get killed, I already almost got killed-”

“Jane,” he nearly yells at me, grabbing at my forearms to turn us around so that he hides me from the big room, “Let me explain everything, alright? Just sit down,”

I’ve never heard his voice sound demeaning, I feel frightened, suddenly so alone. I obey and sit with him once I yank my arms from his grasp, glancing towards Pan, who hasn’t noticed a thing.

“I’m not saying Pan’s gonna throw you out there,” K starts.

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m telling you that in the past there have been...times, when a Lost Boy-to-be doesn’t make the title-” “I’m not a damn Lost Boy,”

“We don’t know what you’ll be, and in those...times, yes, Pan threw them out there, and I just, I don’t want to see you end up eaten by something you could’ve ate. If you know certain things you can survive out there,”

“How do you know I’ll end up out there, what have I done wrong?”

“I don’t, but if you do-”

“If you care so much to not see me dead in the woods, why let him throw me out there in the first place?” I spit angrily at him.

“Jane, you don’t get it-”

“Oh, I get plenty, you’ll let Pan throw people to die so long as you get to keep your precious title,”

“No, listen-”

“I’ve heard enough,” I get up again and he stops me.

“Jane, you don’t understand, if Pan decides you’re not worth the trouble anymore, then that’s it for you.”

His sentence frightens me and let him face me.

“The minute he decides you’re one thing, you are that one thing. And you’d better hope it’s a Lost Boy and not something else, because anything else gets thrown to the Lurid, do you understand? It’s him you gotta prove yourself to,”

“So that’s how it’s gonna go? His way or death?”

“His way is our paradise, Jane, I mean look around you,” he shows me the room.

I shake away from his gesture, “And what are you then? If not a friend to stop him from killing me, you’re what? Just a babysitter, because I will NOT bother proving myself to that deranged, power high, little boy-”

He shushes me, “Would you keep it down? I’m giving you a warning, because I am your friend, Jane. I want you on our side,”

A deep anger seethes from within, coming out almost as a hiss, “I will NEVER be on HIS side.” I glare at him.

He pauses and his eyes sadden staring into mine “What did he do to you?”

Now I pause, unprepared for the question, anger gone.

“K! Over here,” a boy shouts from a circle towards the center of the room.

We both look at who called then back at each other.

“Remember you still owe me those six answers,” K whispers to me, “We aren’t done,”

K nods toward the group that called him, telling me to follow and pulls my arm, where I pull away from his touch not as hard as I meant to. In attempts to calm myself I exhale frustration, walking with K. I follow his lead and we take seats on the floor beside each other. I walk tense, I sit very tense, head low, eyes down, I’m shutting down. Like the sorrowful dusk hiding the land I wish I could hide with it, lonesome to think.

“Great, we need a girl for the game,” a random, tall, blonde boy says.

I know he’s taking a bothersome of my presence and it shames me.

“What game are we playing?” K asks.

“Spinning Dagger,” the same boy replies, placing a long, silver dagger in the middle of the circle.

Startled by the name, I finally look up at the group. I don’t know what to say, hoping this game is nothing like the one I know back home with a similar name.

“Heard of it?” another boy across the circle asks me.

“I’m, I’m not sure,” I lowly speak

“Ever played it?” the boy beside me asks.

My eyes flick over to him. I do a confused double take. He is a twin. His brother being the one sitting across the circle. I look back and forth at them and he thinks I’m shaking my head.

“One spins the dagger. And duels whoever it lands on. Winner gets bragging rights,”

“Think you can handle that, little girl?” Blondie asks, his mean eyes fixated on my small demeanor and making it smaller.

“Sounds fun,” my low tone croaks out as my eyes fall away from his, I know I am being tested, but I disengage none the less.

What’s your plan here?

I jump at the loud voice, still not used to her at all. Beside me K notices but he leaves it alone and I just hope he doesn’t count it as one of his questions later. I slink back when the big blonde boy gives the dagger a tough spin. On the wooden floor a scrapping sounds spins from the dagger doing such. I keep my eyes on the pointed end, hoping I can just sit here quietly, as the odds of it landing on me are just too odd. I watch as the dagger lands on a boy two down from me. His much younger face falls pale when the blonde, so much bigger than him, stands, challenging him with a threatening stance but a prideful smirk on his face. Some sort of unspoken agreement is passed along as the boys behind our circle disperse, clearing a space. Blondie has equipped a sword, I assume from a stack of cluttered weapons at the base of the clearing they created. The much younger boy scrambles quickly for a weapon before pulling a spear from the pile.

“Wait, they’re going to actually duel, with real weapons-” I lean over to ask K beside me.

Only he’s gone and in his place is the gray-eyed boy. Shocked and a little disappointed I search the room for K. He’s nowhere. The boy in his place, shifts closer to me. I tense up even tighter and lean away from him.

“They do all the time. The kid with the spear, that’s Charlie,” he says, completely casually to me.

I ignore him and look over to the evil ruler in the corner of the eating area. He speaks with the boy that had locked me in the cell under ground, the one that hit me in the face. Something about the way Pan interacts with him is foreign to me. My brows knot as I watch them together, the way Pan levels his eyes with him instead of looking down at him as he does the rest of them, and myself. The way Pans shoulders match the boys as if Pan sees an equal in front of him. And not once have I seen Pan narrow his eyes at the boy or disrespectfully bark an order at him. I fit the pieces together when the other boys around the two give them a respectful distance as they walk and hustle by. That boy is Pan’s second in command.

I look back at the boy beside me. Perhaps he could confirm my conclusion, if it’s even worth trying to get information from him while I’m unsupervised. That is, unless, K switched out with this boy as a babysitter and I am still being watched. I roll my eyes away from my thoughts, of course I’m still being watched.

The soft talking of the entire room has turned into a loud murmur of excited boys getting ready for the show of a duel. I give my focus to the boy who took K’s spot. He’s got a black eye, with a small red cut above his eyebrow and light bruising down to his cheek bone. He notices me looking at him and cracks a short laugh.

“W. I’m W,” he clears up.

I stare at him.

“I’m the one you blasted away, on your first night,”

I hide my defensive expression, though it shows through my words, “You mean the one who held me to the ground on my first night.” I haven’t spoke about what I did with anyone yet.

He breathes a casual laugh, “Yeah, that was me,”

His pleasantness seems too genuine to not bring guilt to my feelings so I soften just a little bit, “You invited me to my first treasure hunt,” I say, referring to the truth or dare game.

“That’s right,” he grins, completely relaxed beside me.

“Sorry, about that,” I point at his shiner.

“Don’t apologize. It’s a rule,” he whispers with a smile. His attitude sways me into a liking for him, at least more than the blonde boy who clearly didn’t want me here and I half smile at him, “Well, you were trying to break my arm,” I take back my apology.

I look back to the duel between Blondie and Charlie, deciding that yes, I will be looking for information as usual.

“This seems normal,” I say.

“You’ve got a lot to learn, Miss Jane.”

I sigh, “People keep telling me that,”

“Well, for instance, why do you wear those white clothes?” he says gesturing to my stained, long-since-white clothes.

Dodging that ponder I ask, “Am I the only girl here?”

The duel begins and the boys all around start hooting in excitement but I feel my own duel with W beginning over answers.

“No, you’re not. There are girls around here somewhere. Not here with us but in the villages around the island.”

“Why not here with you?”

“Why would they be?”

“Well, why no girl...Lost Boys, girls-Lost Girls?”

“Being a Lost Boy means being committed. It means giving it all you got and not giving up. Being strong and invulnerable. Girls whine and cry cause they can’t handle initiation,” he smirks, not nearly as smooth as Pan’s.

“Can’t handle giving their soul to Pan,” I say looking over at the subject of our conversation.

He still hasn’t noticed the duel between Charlie and Blondie. Or he just doesn’t care.

“That’s a perfect example,” he says.

I look at him.

“Girls don’t understand why we owe Peter so much. If not for him, we’d still have our...pathetic lives back on the Mainland,”

“The what now?”

“Where you came from, where we all came from,”

I begin to piece together that this is not the first time I’ve heard this word.

“You came from where I did?” I ask him. “We all did...for the most part,” “And every single one of you, by choice?”

My attention is drawn away as the dueling boys’ swords clash loudly. The big blonde bends down low, spinning in a circle and swiping his leg right at Charlie’s ankles. Charlie crashes to the floor on his back. The older boy has his sword over Charlie’s chest.

“Of course. Peter gave us a home when we didn’t have one. He’s watched out for us, trained us, and provided like an older brother,” he’s looking at Pan now.

I try to soften my bias, trying to be understanding and I think it’s because this conversation is the first time I’ve been able to get answers without having to give anything in return. It makes me feel a liking for this W boy. But then I get so bothered by his answer. I start obsessing over why they all were given the choice, and not me. Why wasn’t I given the choice to come to Neverland? I shake my head, changing the subject to try and drop it.

“Well, I guess you’re right, total commitment to being a Lost Boy.” but then I can’t drop it, “What about girls who were brought by the spirit?” I ask.

He looks back at me.

“That’s how people are brought here, right? The spirit?” I say.

“Shadow. Peter’s shadow. He detached it from his soul,”

“...Of course...he did,”

“Shadow is his scout. It finds potential Lost Boys or, in the rare occasion, Peter sends Shadow to pick them up and bring them to Neverland. Girls arrive with their brothers. They never want Shadow taking their brothers away so they come with. But they don’t stay long.”

“Why is that?”

“They...” he shifts his eyes upward, “serve other purposes,”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know” he seems uncomfortable, “always falling all over Peter, so easily, their like putty in his hands and it’s not to say Peter isn’t human...”

“Oh...” I suddenly feel all the discomfort he felt.

“Peter has his fun, only really focused on the girls’ brothers, trying to have them join us. The girls end up falling apart when then they can’t make Peter change his mind, every time,” he nudges me, with a playful tone.

I shift away from the contact instantly but he doesn’t seem to notice. I realize now why K asked me about my brother when we first met. All these boys must have thought I had one this entire time. And I only feel more out of place and singled out.

Charlie and Blondie are walking back to us. I scoot away from W a little bit more.

“Do they have power?” I test how normal speaking about power is for him.

“Everyone’s got power if they believe,”

I squint at him, not finding any conclusions, “Does he make an effort to make them believe?”

He squints back at me and I know I’ve made him suspicious, “I really don’t know,”

I have to deplete his suspicion, “Then what?”

He shrugs, “Depending on how hard they make it for themselves, they get dealt with.” “He...he kills them?”

He looks down, “Sometimes,”

I suppose I’m quiet for too long when he says, “Other times he just forgets them,” “What does that mean?” W shrugs again, “If Peter decides to forget you, your nothing, just gone,” I feel a shiver haunting me.

I look back to the circle. The boy called Charlie has taken his seat shamefully as the others bash and make fun of him. The dagger spins again and a new boy stands to face the blonde one. I go over this new information of females in my head. Pan seems so invested in me and why I’m here, yet doesn’t seem to have the same interests as ‘other purposes’, so I know it is not as simple as W makes it sound. Just the fact that I seem to be the only girl brought here with no brother is enough to make me sure that it is not that simple. It’s like Pan thinks I’m here to bring some awful curse down on him and deceive his every thought, so he’s saving me for some sacrificial kill.

I bet that’s Pan’s game play.

I flinch at the voice and W notices. I avoid his eye contact completely, praying he drops it. He seems to ignore it but I see the expression on his face. He’s curious, but something other than that, he looks determined. As if he’s just decided that I have something to hide and he will find out what it is. I push away his suspicious vibes and listen to the second girl continuing to speak in my head.

He’s done this with the others most likely. Claiming they have power to get what he wants, then kills them.

But what does he want?

He seems obsessed with power enough…

“But, then, there’s you, Jane,” W says.

I stop my thoughts and look at him, “What?”

“Come on, you can play dumb all you want but we all see right through it. You know there’s something...different about you than the others,” he answers my thoughts in my head.

“What?” I say again.

“You give off this...vibe that is so...so bright,” he says.

“You know you are not making sense, right?” I say, though I know he’s talking about power again.

He gives me his attention and turns his body towards me, “Neverland is the birthplace of magic. Everything has magic in it here. Everything natural, everyone brought here. The same source, in here,” he touches between his lungs.

I nod. If he is telling the truth, then I need to absorb this all. If he isn’t then I need to remember the lies he thinks he’s feeding me.

“Everyone’s source is limited, like a reservoir that holds power, except Peter. He is the maker. Instead, of having a source, he IS it. Get it?”

“How does that make me different?”

“You feel like you could be it to. Maybe, the same as Peter, but not as strong, almost. It’s not exactly like his, but not like ours either. I don’t know how, or why, but you, Miss Jane,” he smirks, “have some sort of business here,” he speaks so smoothly, he truly is in his comfort zone.

I lift a finger at his stupid smirk, “What is that?”

He acts confused.

“That smile everyone makes when they say that?”

He laughs, caught, “It’s a joke,”

I nod, “Clearly,” I let it go figuring I’ll never know why they laugh whenever they say ‘Miss Jane’.

I find his laugh makes me smile. It’s odd to feel the slightest amount of guard release once these boys begin conversation. The big blonde boy defeats another boy, though I couldn’t pay attention.

“What makes you so sure, I’ve got this different ‘source’?” I use air quotes.

“I feel it, everyone can, hell you can nearly see it,” he leans back.

Great. The feeling of being on the spot quadruples in size, I drop my head saying,“Explain,”

“I wouldn’t be worried about us, Peter feels it the most,”

“Of course, Pan knows all,” I roll my eyes in irritation of the powerful demon boy.

“More like he feels all,”

I look over to Pan. Still, he leans on the wall talking to his right hand. I stiffen, thinking about him seeing this so called power, I advert my eyes back to W quickly.

“How old are you?” I ask the gray-eyed kid.

“Who knows, I’ve been on Neverland so long...”

“Well, when you left...earth, how old?” I stress.

“Eighteen, maybe,” he says not really thinking about it.

“Who’s gonna be the next to fall to the feet of Chris!” Blondie shouts from the fighting circle.

He is cocky, he is big and he is annoying me. He throws his arms in the air as he walks in circles, eating up the cheers and warm energy of everyone who watched him win both duels.

I lean in to W, “What do you mean you can see it?” I ask, when I find it impossible to stop glancing at Pan, knowing now he sees or feels whatever curse W explained to me.

“A shield or vapor around you, I’ve never seen anything like it,” he says with an underlying meaning.

I know he doesn’t trust me by the way he says it and I know he’s isn’t saying what he means. We watch one of the twins twirl the dagger. The blade spins.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” he looks at me, “You might not know, or maybe you’re covering it up, playing dumb for your own reasons, but you do have it.” he pokes the air around me, gesturing that he can see it, “And if you don’t know, then you’re about to,” he looks at the spinning dagger.

I follow his gaze and immediately wish I stayed over at the corner of the room. I feel the color drain from my face as the pointed end has settled in front of me. The crowd watching breaks with howls and whistles. A yellow glow of everyone’s excitement magnifies and a warm glow rises above the crowd. I feel embarrassed at all the attention. I look back at W, for the first time showing him personality with a plead. A plead to stop whatever this means.

“It’ll be fun,” he shrugs with a smile on his face.

I only plead some more with my eyes.

“Come on, everyone here wants the dagger to land on them, you want to be one of us, don’t you?” he yells over the loud crowd.

“I never said I wanted to be one of you,” I shout back, as the crowd clears around me, forcing me into a new fighting circle.

I look around the room for K. Sill missing. I even look to Pan, he hasn’t moved, oblivious to what is happening.

“Miss Jane!”

I look over to Chris who shouted my name, his arms out, a sword in one hand. He is smiling, looking like he wants to eat me. I don’t like how he said my name, owning it as if I’m nothing more than an animal. His stance angers me. He stands like he knows exactly how much bigger he is than me, like he knows I don’t and couldn’t ever stand a chance against him. The anxiety of having to pick up a weapon and fight this trained boy is turning into an urge to put him in his place instead of finding a way out the situation. All rational thoughts of the fact that I will not win this fight leave my mind as I stand up. I look at W one more time, and he nods at me with a reassuring smile. I present myself to Chris, scrambling for an idea of how I am going to teach this cocky boy a lesson, but somehow calm with a sense of letting what is going to happen, happen.

“What’cha got?” Chris challenges. “I’ve never fought before,” I barely say to him, though I’m not sure anyone heard it over the loud crowd.

“I’ll go easy on you,” he says to me, and he gives me that same smile Slightly gives me.

I don’t entirely understand flirting, or how to flirt but he takes my confused face as a weakness and he laughs in amusement.

“Care to make it interesting?”

“Okay,” I drag it out, trying to stand tall.

“Winner gets to take loser out for what they call a date,” he plays his game and the crowd eats it up, getting noisier.

“What is a date?” I am nearly cut off by a pile of weapons tossed at my feet.

“It means I get to know you a little better,” he still smiles.

I look down to the pile. Of all the dangerous and dirty looking tools, a plain sword that matches Chris’s sits nearly at the top. I bend down and pick it from the pile, bringing joy to the boys watching. Chris swings his sword in his hand like a pro. I feel intimidated, but I know I have to prove something right now. I have to show these boys that I will not be pushed around a fight. So in the name of pure fun I decide to wing this entire thing, and hope for the best. He gets into a new stance, a tall offense stance and all I can do is copy him.

“I wouldn’t count on that,”

“I’m more than counting, I’m waiting,”

Still confused, I don’t respond, glancing to Pan. Still oblivious.

“Ready Lost Girl?” someone in the crowd says.

“Lost what now?”I say but Chris’s sword clashes down on mine.

The impact rings up the sword, into my hand and entire arm. I release from shock and the sword clatters to the floor. As everyone howls from Chris’s point, I shuffle to pick up the sword again, pushing my hair behind my ears. I grasp the sword again and Chris lets me stand and get ready. He waits for me to attack and I wait for him. Until the suspense is too much and I just swing the thing. He blocks it flawlessly, of course. He comes back with a hard strike, clashing our swords, the collision knocking me to my knees. But at least the sword stayed in my hand this time. I straighten my arms to push the ringing metal away from my shaking body and it matches his blow, blocking it.

My second block, creates a red glow in Chris’s chest. But I don’t get to focus on it for Chris brings his sword up to swing again, I feel panic at the sight of the sword high up over me. And in that panic I hear the second voice.

Don’t let him win!

I flinch from her voice, or maybe from the panic, whichever it was, it flips into motivation and I don’t want to lose. I wish to win. The way Chris took down the scared little Charlie boy plays in my head in that moment. I recall how he dipped low, dodging the blade and while he was down low he kicked out Charlie’s legs from beneath him. He did so gracefully, and smooth like it was his plan all along. Chris had come up, standing tall with his sword at Charlies chest.

My eyes close from Chris’s sword swinging down, excitement exploding from my chest. I didn’t feel it happen. But I know I duplicated his smooth move, perfectly when I allow our swords to clash and the strength of the collision pushes my spin. My leg comes out and takes his from right under him. His sword clatters on the floor in a satisfying ring of disarming as his back slams into the ground. I come up standing tall, just as he did with the tip of my sword at his chest.

I open my eyes, to see my sword at his skin. He is looking up at me, his eyes are so surprised, he’s afraid. The little puppy dog look is absolutely hilarious, and I simply bust out laughing, harder than I have in years. The crowd erupts in cheers and hollers. It stops my deep laugh and I realize what I did. I copied his move entirely and I won.

What happened?

What was that?

The cheers extend as all the boys flood the fighting circle. I drop the sword, new fear surfacing again and I begin throwing fists as they rush in close, too close. I hit a few, not in the face, and stop when I realize they are trying to lift me in a celebratory manner. I look over to Pan, he is looking now, staring right at me and our eyes meet. His right hand man, the one that hit me in the face before locking me in the dirt cells, stands behind him, looking disturbed.

Something new stirs in my chest. A prideful stir. I feel accomplished, I smile. I feel so happy in this moment and it’s because of the way these boys show how happy they are about what I just did. As if I passed their test. I am able to smile so freely with them. I am able to laugh right now, so I do. I laugh out loud with everyone else hollering and such as they carry me from the room, out the door.

A dim tint of yellow fogs above us all. The cheerfulness and glee of the duel bringing a visible energy catching all my attention. I had forgotten this feeling of joy, of laughing. I’m barely able to hear my laugh over the excited cries taking over the night. Pan’s eyes are on me, I can feel them. The spirit inside of me wants to ignore him as the crowd makes their way out of the tree and into the campsite that is their front yard. They pass me along over their heads, surfing me to the end of the crowd where the boys up here place me to the ground so they can take off to grab at fire wood. The used up fire pit in front of me becomes a scene as the crowd scatters. Some of them surround the fire pit, most run to collect wood and others, drums. I watch the boys create a chain with themselves, bringing each other logs of forest wood.

They build the logs like toys, inviting more and more boys to drop off wood and take off to grab some more. K comes from behind me, clapping his hands down on my shoulders with a prideful cheer in his throat. I wrench away from the contact until I recognize him and I settle for inches between us. His face notices my unsettlement and he gives me the space I want by leading his hand to a spot to sit by the pit.

The boys have shifted from a roaring crowd to a wild pack of animals hooting and hollering. Some of the boys have retrieved enormous drums to the pit, another crowd is beginning to form around the unlit fire pit. I can feel how excited every single person is. I watch them, with a thrill. They bring hand made chairs and different instruments back to the pit. I giggle at how they jump when they run. I love the way they cry out into the night’s wind when they pass one another. I stare in awe at the technique the boys have when they beat their drums in front of them, a dance of raising their arms just to pound them back down on the stretched leather. Instantly sending a powerful beat into the air, loud and very proud.

Their just a bunch of kids. Just boys.

As the scene builds into a party, somewhere beside me, down the circle, a loud spark cracks into the crescendo. I look to where I hear it and watch a bright yellow and purple flare of an arrow fly from a bow. It hits the pit, below the triangular tower the boys have built. The wood catches a blaze lighting up the entire clearing, even the forest wall. The hot blaze surprises me, I jump back, falling on my butt in the dirt, but what could it matter when what’s unfolding in front of me is extending the night into something I’ve never witnessed before. The dancing begins around the flames. It wasn’t normal dancing though. They horsed around and laughed with each other, hopping around and over one another. I laugh again as two tumble over. They spin like they’re celebrating something new every few seconds. They jeer and laugh at themselves. Tumbling, wrestling, moving, stepping, jumping, spinning, a plain wildness in their movements.

I spot K in the mess of boys. I watch him do a full lap, bumping into a boy, leaping up and turning in circles then coming back down, landing on another boy on the floor and toppling over with him. I double over from the laugh produced after his fall sent a dust cloud up into the smokey air. He gets up, not missing a single beat of any drum. He waves me over. My smile goes away as I do not find any will to join in the ridiculousness. He keeps waving me over as he bounds closer to me. I continue to shake my head as he rounds the fire, approaching me.

“Come on, you’re missing the best part,” he says.

I shake my head, “No, I-I don’t, whatever that is, dance,”

“It’s not dancing, it’s letting go,”

He grabs my hands and I do better not pulling away so fast because I could feel something in his hand. I feel a heat, but not a heat from the fire, a different kind of heat in his hands. A warm magic. I look down at his hands in mine and I can see a vibrant color of red and orange inside his skin. The warm magic leaves his hands and crawls into mine. My heart pounds more excitedly, as it has been since I opened my eyes to see Chris on the floor, my sword at his chest. The magic feels powerful, so safe, as if I’m finally invulnerable, I’m finally protected. I become so comforted by it, so quickly, my eyes close. I want to cry with happiness, knowing I finally have it. It’s finally mine and I feel so at home holding it. I treasure it and the precious knowledge of it being mine.

I feel the warmth seep up my arms, I feel stronger the more it spreads, safer. More and more careless the stronger I get. The fun and excitement is fuel to this new feeling of release. I don’t know when he let go of my hands, but as soon as the magic hits my spine I feel my whole body become lost in the warm embrace. The warm shiver electrifies so fast up my spine I gasp, opening my eyes. In one instant I can see the music, I can hear the fire laughing, I feel the bliss of every single boy here. Not one single worry, anywhere. No anger, no troublesome, or loss. I don’t feel any fear, or wonder, or any sort of unnerving emotion anywhere. Nothing matters.

The energy of the entire scene is a whole new world and it pulls me in like clouds in a storm. I feel invincible in this new world. I want to do something, anything with all my power. But the only thing to do is dance. The only thing that feels so perfect in this new setting, the only thing I can possibly do to satisfy all the new power is leap with the drums, twirl with the wind, shout out loud with the blazes. I jump when the beat jumps up. I flow with the rest of the bodies around the living fire. I skip and spin, not caring how I look. I don’t notice how they dance, they don’t notice how I dance. The music and releasing magic has taken us all over. I can’t stop moving, I can’t stop laughing. I laugh uncontrollably at myself. I giggle at the carelessness I never knew I had. K was not exaggerating.

I was missing the best part.

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finalyaksha · 2 years

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Canon Verse Drabble - A Hidden Message By the Sea

A cool breeze along the waves. A soft crunch, crunch, crunch of sand. The occasional passing shadow of a bird. The day was coming to its end. And despite the evening approaching, the Guardian Yaksha’s footprints were still leaving a trail on the sandy beach.

Why was he at the beach? Xiao honestly didn’t really know, himself. He had been resting at Wangshu Inn when he’d received a sudden visit from the Qixing’s emissary, Ganyu. And after speaking with her for less than fifteen minutes, he found himself following a vague set of instructions, traveling to a quiet beach near Guyun Stone Forest.

“On behalf of the Qixing, we want to commemorate the day of your birth with a special gift. Liyue would not be where it is today without the watchful eye of the Guardian Yaksha protecting us. Please, go to the Guyun Stone Forest. There, you will find an offering from the Qixing.”

That was what Ganyu had told him.

Her answer did nothing to quash Xiao’s confusion. What concern was it to the Qixing how he spent his birthday? Furthermore, how did the Qixing even know it was his birthday in the first place? Surely, the mortals haven’t gotten into the habit of commemorating birth anniversaries of the divine in the hopes of some sort of blessing in return, were they?

Frankly speaking, Xiao figured Ganyu was behind all of this and was simply pretending to be the messenger, as it would have been far too obvious if she’d sent someone in her place. Speaking to her directly would make her less of a suspect, she must have thought.

In truth, it wasn’t as if Xiao didn’t appreciate the gesture. Ganyu was something of an older sister to him. Even though they didn’t get to see each other very often, she would generally make sure to acknowledge him on his birthday or Liyuen holidays, even if he hardly went out of his way to do the same for her. Given that this wasn’t entirely new for her, Xiao was confused as to why she didn’t just come out and say it.

Needless to say, Xiao was far from over the moon about his current situation. No, there were no demons to quell. No, there was no one calling his name for help. It was a rare, relatively peaceful day for him. And while he wasn’t one for lazing about, he wouldn’t have minded being back at Wangshu Inn right about now.

After all, where and what were these gifts? Xiao had been walking along the beach for almost an hour with only Ganyu’s vague, “you won’t be able to miss it” as his guide.

Xiao was fortunate there were few mortals out currently. It would have been far more frustrating had he been forced to overhear their incessant babble while he was searching for this “gift”.

Finding himself tired (more mentally than physically), Xiao sat down on the cool sand for a break, resting his chin on his fist. This was…such a bore. Why do mortals and half-mortals have to be so keen on their surprises? Was reaching a destination and achieving a specific goal in a timely fashion not exciting enough for them?

Xiao sighed before something to his left caught his eye. It was a bright blue seashell of sorts, slightly sticking out of the sand. Upon closer inspection, there were two others buried nearby.

Curiosity overtaking him, he reached over and picked one up. He stared at it, the cool blue color conveying a peaceful sense of serenity as the cool evening wind blew through his hair.

“Xiao?”

Xiao’s eyes widened as he dropped the seashell, looking around for whoever might have called his name. Seeing no one, but continuing to hear a voice, he looked back at the seashell.

“Xiao? It’s me, Ganyu.”

This seashell…was Ganyu?

“If you’ve found this, then you’ve done it, congratulations! Don’t misunderstand, this is only a recording that I’ve left for you. I’m unsure if you’re aware but, Starconches like these are used to carry messages. It’s no coincidence that you’ve found this Starconch or any others nearby. I encourage you to listen to what they all have to say.”

So, it appeared that this must have been the gift Ganyu had been referring to. Xiao had admittedly not been suspecting something so subdued, yet peculiar, as a gift. In any case, at least this meant he no longer had to keep walking aimlessly.

Looking closer, Xiao noticed at least five more Starconches near the one he currently held. The first one he picked up was, again, from Ganyu.

“Happy Birthday, Xiao! Do your best to relax today. And please, leave no Starconch unturned!”

As soon as Ganyu’s voice stopped, another followed.

“Hello, young Adeptus. It’s Mr. Zhongli. Miss Ganyu allowed me to share a message with her. Please take care of yourself. Don’t go beyond what you can handle. And…if you’re able to…try not to keep to yourself too much.”

Zhongli was in on this, too? Xiao was somewhat touched that the funeral parlor consultant had made time to record a message for him. There was something…familial about it hearing from the two of them.

The next Starconch contained a voice Xiao wasn’t all that familiar with.

“Good evening, Adeptus Xiao. As the Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing, I wish to extend my gratitude for your continued service to Liyue. The Qixing owes you and the other Adepti a great deal of thanks. May you have the happiest of birthdays, and please, don’t be a stranger to the office of the Qixing.”

Xiao began to piece together that these messages must have been recorded at the same time, justifying Zhongli’s formality in his recording. He’d always been mindful about concealing his identity. Still, it seems that this was genuinely put together by the Qixing. There was little reason to otherwise believe that the Tianquan would go out of her way to acknowledge him.

And if that was true, Xiao now had a hunch as to who the following voice would be from. Picking up the next buried Starconch, he placed it beside his ear.

“Hello Xiao, this is Keqing. As the Yuheng, I must commend you as always for the continued protection of our civilians whenever needed. Even today, I know that, were we to call you, you would be here. And for that reason, I made sure that nothing and no one would interrupt you from getting a day of peace on your birthday. You need not worry about any danger befalling humankind today. We, the Qixing, will handle it. Liyue is under mankind’s rule, we cannot always rely on you for protection.”

At this point, Keqing’s voice gets quieter.

“If it were up to me…you would be released from duty. Free to do what your heart desires. Free to live the life you’ve always deserved to live, if not for the tragedies you’ve had to endure up until now. You have given your life for Liyue, and if I’m ever able to do anything for you, it is to give you your life back. This will be my gift to you, whenever you’re ready to accept it.”

Her words didn’t completely surprise the Yaksha. Xiao and the Yuheng had formed something of a cordial friendship after becoming more aquatinted with her a few months prior. He could hardly forget his several failed attempts at trying to complement her skill in battle, only for her to agree to an outing with him that went surprisingly well.

Since that day, the two would not meet much, but whenever Keqing had the time, she would visit him at the Inn. Sometimes, they would chat. Sometimes, they would eat. Sometimes, they would simply enjoy each other’s company and watch the stars set before Xiao offered to walk her home. To which, she’d always agreed.

Despite that, he hadn’t quite expected such a…touching message.

“For now, I will simply wish you a happy birthday. Until we can meet again…”

Xiao felt oddly warm as her voice ended. The heartfelt message aside, it had been a while since he’d heard her voice, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss it. Miss her.

The Conqueror of Demons shook his head at that last thought. He didn’t even know what possessed his brain to think it. The Yuheng was…not unpleasant to be around. But…it was nothing more than that.

After setting the seashell with the Yuheng’s message in his lap, he noticed that there were still two Starconches left. Who could they be from?

Picking the closer one up, he was surprised to, once again, hear the voice of the Yuheng.

“You know, I still haven’t gotten over seeing your smile that time we went on a date in your room.”

Immediately, Xiao’s face flushed, and he was glad there was no one around him. He quickly noted that Keqing, while still speaking is a low voice, didn’t sound as if she was in the same location as she had been in the previous recording. She sounded…somewhat girlish and her tone was less professional. More personal. The way she spoke to him when they were alone. This had likely been recorded independently of the Qixing’s messages.

“Even now, I still think about it sometimes. It probably sounds pretty childish, doesn’t it? Imagine me, feeling…giddy…about being the one to see you smile. Part of me selfishly hopes that…I’m one a select few you feel comfortable showing that side of yourself to. And that…maybe…I’ll be able to see it again. Is that…silly? Wanting to make you smile? Maybe…but…I don’t mind. I like being able to let my guard down if it’s with you…”

…Where was all of this coming from? Xiao was starting to feel a bit flustered. He’d never considered the possibility that Keqing had been carrying these feelings for quite some time. What was she…getting at?

Xiao shook himself out of his thoughts as he remembered the final Starconch in the sand. Would the answers be hidden inside of it? He slowly brought the seashell to his ear as the message began playing. His face felt warmer still as he was internally both relieved and pleased to hear that it was Keqing’s voice again.

“…I…really wouldn’t mind spending more time with you. At Wangshu. At the Harbor. In the mountains. Wherever. Whenever. I’d…really enjoy that. Maybe we could…do something like that. There’s no rush, I just wanted to…put that out there. I…really do like spending time with you, Xiao. I…also…really like…”

There was a pause. Both in the recording and where Xiao figured his heartbeat should be. His breathing could probably also be included right about now. It was only a few seconds, but it felt like minutes before the Yuheng continued.

“Eh-hem, I should…probably not say too much. The others will get suspicious if I record any more of these. Just know that I meant everything I said. I’m…happy you sought me out after Lantern Rite. And I’m really happy we’ve become friends.”

The final message ended, leaving Xiao at a loss for words. Had the Qixing presented this in person, he’d probably have flown off in sheer embarrassment. It was clearly intentional for him to find these on his own. He certainly was not complaining about that decision.

The Yaksha was battling about 100 different emotions at once and wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel. Why Keqing decided to do this now. How he was supposed to interact with her once they next met. At present, he had no answer.

As Xiao was collecting the Starconches to take back home, he found himself unintentionally picking up a sixth Starconch. This one had no message recorded in it. Staring at it in deep thought, he decided to take it back with him.

That night, Xiao returned to his room at Wangshu Inn, repeatedly playing Keqing’s messages - all three of them - over and over. He really did miss the sound of her voice. And the more he listened, the more he thought that…perhaps, it was no accident that he felt compelled to take an additional Starconch with him.

For the next few hours, he listened to Keqing’s messages until he’d had them partially memorized. His heart warmed, picturing how she might have looked when she recorded them. The warmth in his heart spread through him and remained until the moon shone brightly in the sky. Before settling down to rest for the night, he decided to pick up the empty Starconch.

“…Keqing…it’s me…Xiao.”

“I would…also be happy…to spend more time with you.”

“What we do…it doesn’t matter. Where we go…I don’t care.”

“The sound of your voice…that is all I need.”

~~~

A more Xiao-centric version of something I posted to AO3 for Xiao’s birthday.

#Xiao #Canon Verse Xiao #Xiaoqing #Xiaoqing Headcanon #If you noticed Zhongli Ningguang and Ganyu all trying to set them up clap your hands #His birthday letter was for Keqing #Xiaoqing Drabble #I say drabble and then write an essay why #Keqing

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fatecanberewritten-writer · 7 months

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Bewitched | Chapter Two: Out

Stars Series | Bewitched

The clouds were just beginning to part when the owl tapped on her window.

Andromeda Tonks looked up at the sound with relief - she had been trying, for no less than twenty minutes, to detangle her four year old’s hair. Today, little Dora had made it long, fiery red, and with more curls than Andromeda knew what to do with. She was thankful to step away for a moment, leaving her daughter to her plush Hippogriff toy.

Approaching the window above the kitchen sink, Andromeda fully expected the owl of her husband’s boss, a quick note from Ted saying Arthur had asked him to stay late again, but when she was close enough to see the owl, she stopped in shock. She opened the window, and let in the owl of the family that had disowned her.

Wispy hooted at her in recognition, attempting to nuzzle her head against Andromeda’s hand as she took the letter. With a heavy heart and a broken smile, Andromeda stroked the bird’s feathers, and satisfied, Wispy took off, heading back to her rightful home. The disowned Black turned shakily to the letter.

A weight lifted off her shoulders as she noticed the narrow cursive of her little sister, but as she opened the letter she was concerned. Narcissa knew not to use Wispy to write to her. There were only a few lines of writing inside the letter.

I need to talk in person. Meet at the old pub, tonight at seven.

It was her third time reading it over when the front door opened.

“Evening, love,” greeted her husband as he shuffled into the kitchen. “Glad to see the rain hasn’t reached here yet - Dora’d be crushed if her fort’s been rained out.”

Ted Tonks was just beginning to recognize the worried look on his wife’s face when his daughter came running into the room. “Daddy!” she cried out happily, long locks of curly red hair flowing behind her.

He looked at Dora, a gleeful smile overtaking his face. “Look at you! Red hair like that, you could be a Weasley!” He lifted his daughter up as she reached him, holding her high up as she wildly giggled, before settling her on his hip. He turned to his wife. “Everything alright, Dromeda?”

Without a word, she handed Ted the letter, and as he read it, Dora peered over curiously, though she couldn’t read a word.

“Your sister?” he asked, as the letter wasn’t signed.

“Yes,” she answered immediately, “and she’s getting sloppy. She sent my father’s owl.” Ted’s eyes widened at this. He’d worried for some time what might happen if her family ever found out about Andromeda’s correspondence with her younger sister. They’d been quick to disown her when she told them about him, and if they knew that she was influencing another sacred member of the House of Black, he was worried they might retaliate. “I think something’s happened.”

“You should go.” Despite it all, Ted knew Andromeda cared about her family deeply, especially Narcissa, the only one she still thought she had a chance at saving.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” responded Ted, pulling his wife into him with his free hand, softly kissing her temple. “It sounds like she needs you.”

She smiled softly as she looked from her husband to her daughter. “You two will be alright without me tonight?”

“Oh, we’ll be alright,” Ted said, bouncing Dora on his hip. “Dora and I are gonna go put an enchantment on her fort and play in there until we have dinner.” Nymphadora looked increasingly excited at her father’s words.

Andromeda gasped excitedly as she watched her daughter. “Doesn’t that sound like fun, Dora?” She reached out, tickling the little girl’s tummy and smiling at the giggles she received. “Sorry I’ll be missing out on all the fun.”

“I’ll have tea waiting for you when you get back, and I’ll tell you all about it,” said Ted, though they both knew Andromeda would be the one with something to tell.

She looked lovingly at her little family, and brought them both into a hug, kissing their cheeks. Andromeda had made many mistakes in her life, but marrying Ted was not one of them. “I love you both.”

“We love you too, Mummy,” said Nymphadora.

Ted looked proudly at his daughter, then turned to his wife. “What she said,” he muttered, leaning in to kiss her.

An hour and a half later, Andromeda was getting her Muggle coat on. The rain had followed her husband home, and now they were in a downpour, but she was grateful for it. The cover would save her the trouble of apparating into Diagon Alley and walking clear across town to the pub. Pulling her hood over her head, Andromeda looked out into her backyard to her daughter’s fort, and caught Ted’s eye. They shared a gentle smile, and she disapparated.

A crack of thunder hid the crack of her apparation as Andromeda appeared in an empty alleyway. She looked around, and aside from a stray cat eating out of a can next to the dumpster, she hadn’t been seen. She sighed and walked out to the street.

She walked no more than a block before coming in sight of Young Buck’s, an average pub that had become her and her sister’s middle ground. It was entirely Muggle, which meant the two witches would be completely off their family’s radar.

But tonight, Andromeda was especially alert. In all the time of their secret communications, Narcissa had never used the family owl, and while Andromeda was hoping it only meant that their parents were out when the letter was sent, fear nagged at the back of her mind. She could very well be walking into a trap.

The bell chimed as she entered the pub and removed her hood.

“Evenin’ ma’am,” greeted the bartender. He seemed to be the only one working tonight, and understandably so. Beside herself and the bartender, Andromeda counted seven people, a couple by the window, a group of four men talking rowdily to each other, and a lone woman sitting in the middle of the bar, her glass nearly empty. It was, after all, a Tuesday.

“Evening,” responded Andromeda. She walked to the bar, a small distance between her and the woman, and ordered a gin and tonic. As it was being made, she let her eyes wander to the woman, and just as they reached her, she looked down, having obviously been looking at her as well. She fiddled with her nearly empty glass.

“Should I open a tab for you, miss?” asked the bartender as he handed Andromeda her drink.

“No, but the person I’ll be meeting will take a shandy when she gets here,” she answered. Without looking back at the lonely woman, Andromeda paid for the drinks, then found a fairly secluded booth in the back.

She sat anxiously, looking at the clock on the wall far more often than she was taking sips of her drink. By six fifty-five, her worry was peaking - Narcissa was always one to be early, yet she was nowhere to be seen.

Her head shot up at the sound of the bell chiming with the opening door, but looked down again, disgruntled, when a man with a receding hairline came in, greeting the bartender like a regular. She noticed the woman at the bar shift in her seat as the man sat next to her, only a stool between them. The man, however, didn’t take much notice of her, already deep in a conversation with the bartender.

Time went on, Andromeda’s eyes switching from the clock to the door every couple of seconds. She was glad the bar was dimly lit - anyone who saw her would probably think she was mad. The bell on the door chimed again at seven o’four, and Andromeda sighed in relief at the sight of her little sister.

Narcissa Black stopped in the doorway of Young Buck’s pub, removing the hood from the most Muggle-like cloak she could find in her parents’ extremely anti-Muggle household. Her eyes darted around the room as the room went silent momentarily, all the patrons’ attention drawn to her. She immediately worried that her cloak wasn’t Muggle enough, but the jealous remark a woman by the window had made to her date dismissed that fear. There were only three women beside herself in the pub - a now upset-with-her-date brunette, a young woman sitting by herself at the bar, and, in a secluded booth in the back of the pub, her sister. Narcissa went to her immediately.

The youngest of the Black sisters had moved so quickly to the booth that Andromeda hadn’t even gotten the chance to stand and greet her. She slid in beside her instead of taking a chair across from her, so they both could have a clear vantage of the door. By the way Narcissa hugged her, Andromeda knew that there was something very wrong.

“What is it?” she said in a hushed voice. Narcissa looked like she was about to cry.

“Here’s your drink, ma’am,” said the bartender before she could speak, placing her shandy in front of her. The sisters both looked up and smiled at the man.

“Thank you,” Narcissa said in a strained voice. The man nodded, returned the smile, and went back to the bar. The general atmosphere of the pub returned to normal to all but the sisters in the secluded booth and the woman at the bar, who, though appearing disinterested, was stealing glances and trying to listen in to the sisters’ conversation. Neither of them noticed.

Narcissa looked back to her sister after the bartender had left, and from her look of clear desperation and sorrow, Andromeda didn’t want to let her go back to their horrid family, though she didn’t even know what this was about yet. “You sent Wispy. Do - ” started Andromeda - “do they know?”

Narcissa quickly shook her head. “No, um,” she rested her chin in the palm of her hand to try to hide the fact that she was wiping away tears, “they - they were with Bella when I sent her.”

“Why couldn’t you send Shonda’s owl, like you normally do?”

Narcissa tightly closed her eyes at this, and Andromeda sat back slightly, fearing the worst. “Mum made me end things with her.” Andromeda could feel the heartbreak radiating off her sister’s words.

Though she was greatly relieved that Narcissa had not informed her of Shonda’s death, she took her sister’s hand comfortingly, knowing this result couldn’t be much easier on her. But Andromeda was confused. Their parents had found out about Narcissa and Shonda’s relationship months ago, and, as Shonda was Pureblood, they had been relatively okay with it. What had changed their minds?

“This fucking Pureblood mania,” Narcissa seethed. “So desperate to keep the line going that nothing seems to matter besides that.”

“What d’you mean?” asked Andromeda. “Bella will be able to continue on the line, she - ”

But Andromeda was stopped by the shaking of her sister’s head. “They can’t have children.”

Andromeda’s mouth fell open. “Are they sure it’s her? I mean, her marriage was never about love. Couldn’t she just leave - ”

“It’s not Rodolphus, Dromeda, it’s her. Bellatrix has seen ten different Healers about it now, and they’re all sure it’s her. I was able to send Wispy and come here tonight because Mum and Dad are begging the Lestranges not to divorce her. But before they went to do that, Mum went to the Travers’ and outed Shonda.”

Andromeda sucked in a breath. “Why would she - ”

“To ensure that her parents would never allow her to see me again.” With glossy eyes, Narcissa looked up at the ceiling. “She said to me, ‘We will have a respectable marriage in this family. The Black family will have an heir.’”

Andromeda tried not to think too much about how she could have prevented this. “Can’t that responsibility fall onto our cousins?”

Narcissa scoffed. “Sirius’ll be disowned before he’s seventeen if he hasn’t been already. And Regulus . . . ” she trailed off, shaking her head. “But it doesn’t matter anyway. It’s all to make them feel like they’re less of a failure. An infertile, a Blood Traitor and a lesbian?” She scoffed again. “They’d be the laughing stock of Pureblood society. The damage is done with the two of you, so they’re focusing their attention on me.”

The sisters sat in a shocked and angry silence. It was then that Narcissa took notice of her drink. She took hold of it, raised her glass to the horrible situation she was thrust into, and downed the entire thing in one go. At the bar, the lone woman watched her in awe.

“And to top it all off, Father’s already looking into possible suitors for me. Wanna take a stab at who’s at the top of his list?”

Andromeda’s eyes widened. “No.”

“Yes,” Narcissa answered, her nostrils flaring. “Lucius - fucking - Malfoy.”

All of what Narcissa had been telling her sister was bad, but this was probably the worst of it. Lucius Malfoy had been a year below Andromeda at Hogwarts, and two years above Narcissa. For some ungodly reason, Malfoy, the last of his ‘noble’ line, thought that he was entitled to the best, and as the Blacks were seen as wizarding royalty, Malfoy was convinced that he would have a claim over one of the girls. From the moment the boy had come to the school, his attention had been keenly focused on the Black sisters. He gave up on Bella when she had been betrothed to Lestrange, and on Andromeda when he had seen her associating herself with Muggleborns, but he became obsessed with Narcissa. No matter what she would do, she couldn’t seem to shake him - he was like her own personal stalker. She thought she had finally rid herself of him when he graduated and became very involved in the Ministry, and as she suspects, the Death Eaters, yet here he was again - getting closer and closer to claiming his prize. Narcissa shuddered at the thought.

Her lip was trembling when she turned back to her sister. “How did you do it?” she asked in a small voice. “How did you get out?”

Andromeda felt tears welling, and she took a deep breath to calm them. “I’ll help you, okay? Ted and I will help you - ”

“No, Dromeda,” Narcissa cried. “I can’t let you do that. They’re desperate now. They won’t just disown me, they’ll retaliate. I can’t let you put your family in danger for me.”

Andromeda stared at her sister, knowing she was right, but still refusing to accept it. She pulled her into a hug. “We’ll find a way,” she whispered to her.

They didn’t stay in the pub much longer. Together, they donned their Muggle and Muggle-like cloaks and stepped back out into the rain. It was much darker than when they had first arrived, and as they walked arm-in-arm down the street, they didn’t realize they were being followed. They turned into an alley that could shield their disapparation.

Andromeda pulled her sister into another tight hug, as if she were going off to battle. “Give me some time to talk to Ted. He and I will find a way to help get you out safely. In the meantime, just lay low, okay? See if you can come stay here in town with Aunt Walburga.”

Narcissa shot her an incredulous look.

“I know she’s no better than Mum and Dad, but at least you can get out of that damned house. Besides, it sounds like she’s got her own troubles with Sirius to worry about, so I don’t think she’ll pry much. And it’ll be easier for me to talk to you if you’re in London. But don’t worry - this whole thing will take time, and we’ll get you out before anything happens, okay?”

She nodded, hugging her sister once more before stepping away from her. Andromeda gave her a reassuring smile, and disapparated.

Narcissa was about to do so herself, but with the sudden feeling that she was no longer alone, she pulled out her wand and turned sharply to the end of the alley. She met the blue eyes of the woman who had been at the bar, her wandless hands raised in defense.

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solarwonux · 3 years

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59. “I’m still sore from last night.”

single dad!jungkook x f!reader

w.c: 2.3k

warnings: fluff, non-penetrative unprotected sex. Jungkook thinks too much lol.

note: hello, first and foremost, THANK YOU FOR 1K. I’m over the moon honestly, I found out while I was on my mini vacation and it just made it 10x better so thank you so much. Anyway, I hope you like this one, it was so much fun to write, let me know your thoughts. Send me a prompt or two if you’d like. hehe <3

sequel

MASTERLIST || PROMPTS

The single ray of light peeked through the slit of Jungkook’s dark curtains, making his eyelids flutter open in discomfort. He sat up on his elbows, looking over at your splayed-out body occupying the usual empty spot next to him. Arm lying lazily around his midriff and leg wrapped around his waist. In a poor attempt to hold him hostage. He could easily slip out without waking you up, but this was a rare sight for him. You in his bed, hair messily fanning out against his dark pillows, and his sheets hanging off your naked body. Your skin glowing under the peeking sun rays of the morning sun, painting tiny sunspots all over your body.

It was a rare sight for him because you rarely stayed over, and he wanted to revel in the quiet and still moment as much as he could. As much as you allowed him to do so. Before you woke up panicking peeling your limbs away from his body in a frantic sleepy search for your clothes that occupied every inch of his one-bedroom loft.

He was outgrowing it in every sense of the word. Last week he had to replace the crib in the far with a twin-sized bed, leaving little room to comfortably move around it. It had been proven to him last night when you accidentally bumped your knee into the corner of his daughter’s bed while you helped him clean up his place, while she was away at her grandparents for the weekend.

It was why you had shamelessly decided to stay over. It was why he was able to wake up next to you. Why he was contemplating on waking you up so the two of you could hunt for apartments together. Why he had been turning the same sentences over in his head, looking for the right way to ask you to move in with him. To marry him. Would asking the two questions side by side be too overwhelming, or will knocking two birds with one stone be the right thing to do?

He didn’t know, this was all new to him. Haneul’s mother didn’t want her, didn’t love her and left her to him before disappearing without a trace. You were the first person he called when he arrived at the hospital to pick her up. Having his daughter in his arms, a daughter he had no idea he had until that morning, was terrifying and in the midst of his breakdown, he dialed your number. You were his best friend back then, now you were his girlfriend and the only mother Haneul had ever and will ever know. He wanted everything to be official but he didn’t know how or if he should.

Frustrated, he lays down again, running his hand down his torso until it reaches your hand. He walks his fingers up your arm in a ghostlike matter, while humming quietly, contemplating the ever-present questions that he always found himself swallowing. It was never the right time, but the right time never seemed to come, so maybe he should just blurt it out and then hide away.

“Good morning,” you croak, sleep still present in your voice. A smile creeps onto Jungkook’s face, his thoughts fleeting to hide in the back of his mind again. He turns to face you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close.

“Good morning my beautiful girlfriend.” He hums leaving a gentle kiss on the tip of your nose before burying his head in your neck. You smelled like green tea and white sage; the scent of your body lotion and him. It made him feel calm. Though if he were to ever express that thought out loud you would just say that it was the work of your stress-free body lotion. But no, you smelled, felt like home to him and it made him feel calm.

You twinkle your fingers down his bare back, the gnawing emptiness in the pit of your stomach returns. Your alone time with him was coming to an end and you hated it. “I have to get up, I have to go.” You whisper, planting a gentle kiss on the crown of his head.

Jungkook makes a disappointed sound, tightening his hold around you. “No five more minutes.” He whines kissing down your neck and lifts his head. A smug smile painting his beautiful features. “I can convince you to stay.” He quirks a brow, rolling his hips into yours.

“Babe.” You place a hand on his chest, your head hitting his pillow again, as the pleasure overtakes your body. “I-I can’t, I’m still sore from last night.” You breathe out as he grinds his half-hard cock against you.

He hums, chest swelling up in disgusting testosterone-filled pride. He knows he rocked your world a few times last night. Still remembers how he had you screaming louder than usual underneath him, enough to have his neighbors banging furiously against his wall. “We don’t have to go all the way, we can just stay like this.” He whispers, kissing your temple, grinding his hips against yours experimentally. It was slow and careful. He didn’t want to work himself up to full mast without your verbal agreement. Jungkook always respected your boundaries and he knew your body better than anyone you had allowed to touch you in the past. So, if you were to tell him no as much as he wanted you not to he would stop without a complaint ever leaving his lips.

You smile and push him down, straddling him. “Okay but relax, I could literally hear you thinking while I was still sleeping.” You roll your hips, your clit brushing against the tip of his fired-up cock.

He lets out a pleasure-filled sigh, resting his hands on your ass, “I got a lot to think about.” He winks before moving up his bed resting his back against the headboard of his bed, your chest now against his. “Keep going, I want to paint your pretty lips with my cum.” He mumbles kissing your cheek.

“For a dad, you’re always horny. I thought having a kid would kill your sexual prowess.” You sigh running your wet pussy over his cock harder, your lips fluttering around him, ready to take him in fully.

He laughs, bucking his hips against yours, a whimper falling out of your lips. “It did at first, remember?” He hisses when your clit brushes up against his angry head again. He wants to be inside you so badly, but he knows he’s already pushing it just with this, though, he can’t complain. When it comes to you, everything was euphoric.

You nod, looking down at him with hooded lust-filled eyes, resting your palms against his shoulders to use him as leverage to go faster. “Y-Yeah, you couldn’t get it up for the longest time, now I swear, f-fuck, it doesn’t stay down.” You rest your forehead against his.

Jungkook moves his hand between your bodies, his thumb on your clit, rubbing slow careful circles, making you jolt. “I can’t help it, you’re so sexy, everything you do is sexy.”

“Mmm, don’t stop please.” You arch your back, your hard nipples brushing against his. The bars decorating them still catch you off guard. They had been an on the whim decision back in college during a particularly stressful finals week. You had held his hand throughout the entire piercing process and wiped away his tears as he made you swear not to tell anyone he cried in pain and came in his pants all at the same time. You did and have kept his secret ever since. Now using the ladder against him during sex.

He rubbed your clit fast, his cock trapped between the wet lips of your pussy, quiet pants falling out of chapped lips. The pleasure was building fast against the pit of your stomach, “I’m close baby, are you?”

Jungkook hummed, grabbing hold of your hips and rolling them against him. The change of rhythm was much more intimate and arousing. There was no space between the two of you, your clit was brushing against the short course hairs against his mound, and it was driving you insane.

“Yes, baby, do you want me to pull away?”

“No, no want to feel you close Kook.” You threw your head back, pulling on his hair, letting your desperate need take over your body.

Jungkook moaned your name silently, moving your hips faster chasing both of your highs, “Gonna let me cum on you my sweet girl, gonna let me paint you with my cum. God, I wish I could fuck it into you after, but we can stop here, just let go please.” He bit down on your neck, making you arch your back.

“Oh my-, I’m cumming Jungkook f-fuck.” You whimpered, letting your orgasm take over, moving your pussy harder against his cock, riding out your high. You looked so beautiful and fucked out, the image burning brightly inside the corner of his brain that kept all the dirty versions of you. Your swollen clit rubs over him one last time before he’s cumming. Hot sputters of his sticky white essence coating your cunt and his abdomen, your eyes wide as you watch him spill himself all over you, the immorality of it all, enough to get you going again if you could.

“That was sexy.” Jungkook pants, making you roll your eyes. He leaves a delicate kiss against your collar bone before looking at you with soft doe pleading eyes. You never understood how he could have the dirtiest things spewing out of his mouth one second and the next he’s looking at you the same way Haneul does whenever she wants a chocolate bar before dinner. “Did I convince you to stay longer?”

“Yes, but I might consider it more if you tell me what’s been bothering you since yesterday.” You tilt your head and stand up. Jungkook blushes when he truly assesses the mess the two of you had made, making his cock twitch at the sight. “Join me in the shower?”

“Wait.” He wraps his fingers around your wrist and pulls you down on his lap again. “Not yet, wait a while please.”

“Jungkook as much as I wanted to be covered in your cum, it’s a little gross to just stay here cuddling.” You pout, running your hands through his hair pushing his dark bangs back.

“I know but,” he chews on his bottom lip, the questions from earlier return and he wonders if this is the right time. You sitting on his lap covered in his cum, or if he should wait until after the two of you have showered. This was truly driving him crazy and there was no way to hide from you because you knew him better than anyone else in this entire world.

“Babe, you're thinking again and loud. What’s wrong?” You run your index finger down the side of his, tracing the tiny minuscule freckles on his cheek connecting them.

“This is so hard, I don’t know how to just ask you to marry me and move in with me. It’s been driving me up the wall for like two weeks now. And like I don’t even have the ring yet, because it’s still being made, but they told me it would take only two weeks and it’s been a month because they’re backed up but that’s okay because they're short on staff. But I wish I had everything with me because I want everything to be perfect, you deserve perfect always and fuck, I-I just want you here forever by my side. By Haneul’s side because you make us complete and god, I don’t know how to ask you.”

There was a brief silence before you’re bending over laughing against his chest. Jungkook is left there sitting dazed and confused holding you as you laughed against him. Did he say something funny?

“Jungkook, I think you just asked me?” You lift your head, placing a hand against your chest trying to calm your nervous laughter and the pounding over your heart.

“Fuck,” he hits the palm of his hand with his forehead, his neck flushing red from embarrassment. “I didn’t want to ask you like that please, just forget about it.” He pleads sadly, tears brimming in the corner of his eyes. He wants the ground to swallow him whole.

“I don’t want you to.” You say stubbornly wrapping your arms around his neck, “and I want to say yes I will move in and marry you, will you let me?” Your fingers play with the hair resting on the back of his neck making him shiver.

He’s looking at you wide-eyed and in shock, “are you sure? We can forget about it and I can ask you when we’re not covered in cum and I have everything. I’ll even write a speech.” He says fast, his heart beating hard against his chest, threatening to fall out. The only other time he’s felt this way was when he held Haneul in his arms for the first time ever.

You shake your head, pecking his lips softly, scrunching your nose, remembering that two of you still hadn’t brushed your teeth yet. “I don’t want a do-over, this was perfect, I mean I still want my ring so I can show it off, but this was perfect. It was us.”

He lets out a sigh of relief, his shoulders falling forward, letting the tension leave his body. He was stressed out for no reason. “I love you so much,”

“I love you, now can we shower?”

“Yes, and then we can get breakfast and pick up Haneul together?”

“Sounds like a dream come true.”

#kpopscape #kdiarynet #bts #bts imagines #bts fanfiction #bts smut #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts drabbles #bts scenarios #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook drabbles #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagines #jungkook x reader

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Text

Wounded Love (Lady Dimitrescu/F!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: M for mature. Blood, more blood, heavy language, seriously lots of blood. Literally the bloodiest/most detailed thing I've written. Genre: Super angst with some fluff to ease the pain. We're talking putting honey in your cup of poison to make it taste better. The ending is split, with both a happy and a sad ending. Warnings: Minor surgery (technically?) while the patient is fully awake (that's the reader, btws), blood loss, graphic depiction of a wound and how said wound is taken care of. Possible trigger for self-harm, as the reader is performing part of the surgery themselves. Also brief mention of cannibalism in the bad ending. This may very well be a Dead Dove: Do Not Eat sort of thing. Notes: While I have more medical knowledge than the average person, due to my Girl Scouts training + having a mother as a nurse, I am in no way shape or form a medical professional, and do not suggest that the methods of treatment used in this fic be taken seriously. If you find yourself seriously injured, do not attempt to replicate anything you read here. Only a portion of this is based on a real-ass incident I went through, the rest is based on a dream, and what I experienced was not what you want to do in an emergency.

{Wounded Love}

This was a mistake. Blood stains your leg, your fingers, and bruises start to form all over your exhausted body. And for what? Why had you, a tiny, fragile human, dared to pass through this damned, lycan-infested forest? Because a woman who didn’t even love you asked you to. Now you were going to die, body certain to get left out in the cold or reduced to a pile of gnawed bones. If you had more strength remaining, you might have slammed your hand into the ground in frustration, or screamed until your lungs burned from something other than frost.

But that wouldn’t get you anywhere. Wouldn’t help you get back to the castle, wouldn’t ease the racing of your heart. So you settle for the only thing that might do any good: One quick motion pulls the scarf from your neck, sending a chill down your spine that you promptly ignore. Even with shaky hands and numb fingers, your experience is enough to let you wrap the cloth around your leg, tying the ends in a knot to secure it. The pressure hurts, just not enough for you to prefer bleeding out. A test step reveals that walking is mildly more difficult now.

“I’m going to haunt her,” you muse, under your breath, tears starting to freeze at the corner of your eyes. Still, you are as quietly determined as ever, and so once more you limp down the path. Every time you put weight on your injured leg it protests harder. If not for the snow and ice covering the ground, you might have quickly searched for a walking stick. “What could be so important about this damn package? Couldn’t Doug or whatever-his-fucking-name-is deliver it? Man can practically teleport, and here I am, watching as blood loss and hypothermia race to see who can kill me first.”

Gods were you angry. Why had this happened so soon after you had settled in? Finally you had been comfortable in Castle Dimitrescu, no longer as frightened of the residents, even finding them… charming, in a way. Then the Lady of house called to you for what she claimed to be a simple errand. You had believed her, even when she explained that you would have to leave the relative safety of her home. What a fool you had been.

“What a fool she must be,” you murmur, “to think me safe here. To think I could outlast wolfmen prowling the village outskirts.” Would she even care if she saw you now? Would she be surprised, disappointed? Would she do something to change your fate? There was no reason for her to do so. It didn’t matter how much you had helped her, how much she claimed to appreciate what you did (heavy lifting, repair of clothing, massages). You were as replaceable as any other Maiden there was. And that, that was what made you have a double-take. It came to you in that moment, a thought so painful that you could not deny it was the truth. “She never thought I would survive.”

Bitterness coats your tongue, like blood in your throat, and your brain demands that you destroy your cargo, the very thing that got you sent here in the first place. You almost do it. Feet stopping, arms shrugging the carrying straps off, bloody hands taking hold of it. Tears fall, just two, and hit the package. At that moment your plan changed. This new idea would be far, far more satisfying… as long as you succeeded.

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Spite was one hell of a drug. Enough of it and you could march your warm corpse right back to the castle, fist banging on the front door with everything you had. The path had been shorter than you thought, thankfully, but it had still taken so much out of you. Now you were leaning against the door, sliding down it, unable to support your own weight. Nothing inside the castle stirred. Were they ignoring you? Was Alcina really going to let you die inches from your “home”? Fuck that, you thought.

“Alcina!” You scream, loud as you can, startling the birds in the distant trees. The word echoes around you and rattles inside your ribs. It’s not enough. “Damn it, I am seconds away from dying, get out here now so I can look you in your fucking eyes!” Something tears a little in your throat, turning the last of your words into a hellish screech, leaving you to gasp and croak in the snow. You go to wipe your tear-filled eyes with your hands, only to remember just how much blood they’re covered in.

Sobs overtake you in just a few moments. You’re blinded by tears, deafened by sorrows, and numb from all the cold. In the aching seconds before you black out, you can only barely make out the silhouette of someone rushing to your side…

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The first thing you feel when you wake up is mind searing pain. You try to jolt upwards, only to find a pair of strong, gloved hands holding you down. Someone shouts something, but you can’t make it out, and you feel another hand gently squeeze one of your own. Pained gasps escape your throat one after the other, but whatever is hurting you doesn’t stop. It takes a full minute for you to adjust enough to make sense of where you are. At last, you understand what’s being said.

“-it’s okay, shhh, please, we’re trying to help,” says none other than Lady Dimitrescu herself. She’s the one holding your hand, doing her best not to hurt you with her grip, trying desperately to calm you down. One the other side of you, Cassandra is positioned to hold you down. There’s a tight-lipped scowl on her face, and her brow is furrowed, but she’s not looking at your face, but rather eying somewhere in the opposite direction. Following her gaze, you find her older sister is sitting near your injured leg, and is undeniably the source of some of your pain. In one hand she holds a bottle of alcohol (notably not the wine her family produces), the other holding a wet cloth to your wound. No wonder it stings so much.

“Shit, shit, stop,” you growl, barely getting the words out. But all anyone does is look at you. Alcina’s mouth opens to speak, only for you to cut her off. “I’ve got medical training, for the love of Mother Miranda let me help! How long have I been unconscious?” This time Bela stops, glancing at her mother for direction. The grip on your torso grows looser, with Cassandra evidently heeding your words, and you take the chance to sit up, careful not to move your leg. At this point you realize that there’s a needle of sorts in your arm, attached to a tube, which trails up into a blood bag. It’s clearly been improvised with equipment from the “wine-making” part of the castle.

“Fifteen minutes at most,” a new voice chimes, from somewhere behind you. “I got that cloth you wanted, mother, but something tells me I’m not done fetching things.” Ah, Daniela Dimitrescu. Was the whole family helping you?... Why? As much as you wanted answers, there wasn’t (currently) time for questions. Not when one glance at your leg tells you that some of your flesh is rapidly decomposing. The wound was made only an hour ago, and already it was getting deadlier than you could even process.

“I need a sharp, clean knife, a needle with thread, a glass of water, and someone needs to put a metal tool, sterilized, on the stove, right now,” you said, finding it easier to talk now that no one was cleansing your wound. Without hesitation Daniela dispersed into a cloud of insects, heading towards the kitchen, while Cassandra stood up and moved towards the stairs.

“Guess I’ll get the needle,” she said, sounding rather unenthusiastic.

“What are you planning?” Alcina asks, more concerned than you had ever heard her before. Attempting to reassure her, you manage a small smile before explaining.

“Got scratched and slobbered on by a lycan. Whatever they have, it’s infectious. If I want to save my leg, or at least have a chance at surviving, I have to take measures to reduce the likelihood of an infection,” you say. Now Alcina is slowly stroking her thumb across your hand, eyes narrowed with concern. There’s a look on her face that you can’t quite parse, something she’s not saying. For now you ignore it and continue going over your plan. “The best thing would be to amputate. The tourniquet might have helped prevent the saliva from getting further into my body- and I do mean might- but I can’t keep it on forever. Problem is… I don’t want to lose it. God, I’m terrified of that, and with what we have in the castle I… I’d be more likely to die of shock than not. So, well, forget that idea.

“I’m just going to remove the wound. By making a bigger wound. It’s crazy, I know, but this will kill me if we do nothing. It will probably kill me if we do. The technical term is some shit like ‘de-bride-ing’?... No, debridement, I think. Except normally the poor fucker getting cut open is asleep for the procedure.” By the time you’re done, Lady Dimitrescu is looking at you with horror. Yeah, you had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the idea. “Look, if this is too much… if it’s not worth saving me, if you’d rather give me a quick death, I understand. If I were-”

“Don’t be foolish, dear. You will not die, not as long as something can be done about it,” Alcina replies, quickly, eager to stop hearing you talk about dying. It’s… strange to hear her sound so confident about saving you, even stranger to realize what she called you. As if reading your thoughts, she shifts in her seat, avoiding your gaze for a moment. Shyness didn’t suit her, and you imagined it was more about her finding the right words. When she speaks, she’s looking right at you again. “I have hesitated to tell you the truth, and now I find the world playing a cruel trick on me, trying to take that which I adore. But I don’t want to aggravate your stress right now. Please, think nothing of what I have said.”

Before you could reply, footsteps reached your ears, and soon enough Daniela returns. In one hand she holds a large pitcher of water. In the other? Several knives, of various sizes, one of which you’re pretty sure you’ve seen Cassandra playing with before. As soon as you see her your face lights up, glad to be able to start the procedure.

“Oh thank fuck- or, I mean, thank you, Lady Daniela,” you stutter, reaching out as she offers you the items. Thankfully Bela had already made room on the table at your side, where she had set the bottle of alcohol down. For a moment you had forgotten that she was there. Had she already known about her mother’s feelings? Based on her lack of reaction, you could only assume that she was well aware. “I’m gonna scream, B-T-dubs. Just, uh, cover your ears?” You offer, already holding your chosen knife (big enough to be effective, small enough to offer precision).

“So… you’re going to do this yourself? Didn’t think you had it in you, red. Try not to cut anything important. Wouldn’t want to have to clean that mess up,” Daniela teases. As soon as she’s finished she has to shift into a swarm, as Bela flat out throws a knife at her. For a moment you freeze, watching as Alcina rises to her full height, staring her eldest daughter down. Behind her, Daniela reforms, clearly using her mother as a shield. “I was just trying to relieve the tension, jeez. It’s like you think she’s already dead.”

“Don’t speak another word!” Alcina snaps, sending a frightening stare towards Daniela. You cough, awkwardly, not knowing what to do. Meanwhile Bela is pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers, clearly tired of dealing with her sister’s sense of humor. “No one will speak a word until this is finished, unless my dear needs something, understood?” Both the girls nod at that, neither feeling a need to risk any further ire.

“I’m just going to start working now,” you awkwardly chime, taking a deep breath before leaning in towards your injured leg. On closer inspection you can see a strange, dark residue in the wound. They’re specks, scattered along the length of it, and they seem more common the closer you look to the gash’s center. Gross, you think. Half curious, half checking for legitimate reasons, you bring your other hand to the cut and gently spread both sides apart. It hurts like hell, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from screaming. But sure enough, the residue is practically solid at the deepest point of the wound. “Those lycans really should be on leashes.”

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Daniela exchange looks with Bela, but neither of them disobey their mother (yet). Shaking the thought away, you finally get to the brunt of the task at hand. Your hand moves slowly, reluctant to inflict such damage against its own body. As soon as the tip of the knife touches your skin, you start to doubt your ability to do this. It takes looking at Alcina, seeing the way she watches you with equal parts concern and tenderness, to remind you why you’re doing this. Death just wasn’t something you could accept right now; not after what she had said, what she had implied.

The knife is fantastically sharp. Hardly any pressure is needed before your flesh gives away, cells letting go of their neighbors like it was a casual affair. You start at the left side of your injury, digging down a little, trying to only go as deep as you needed to. Tears formed in your eyes but you quickly blinked them away. As the first of many screams leaves your mouth, you turn and twist the knife, cutting to the right, then up. Like scooping the seeds out of a pumpkin. Fresh blood springs from the wound, starting to fill up the crevice. Quickly you discard the skin you removed by tossing it into the same bowl that Bela had put a bloody towel in earlier.

“Yes,” you shudder through gritted teeth, “this hurts so fucking bad. No, I don’t need someone to take over yet.” At this point neither of the present sisters are looking at you, seeming oddly uncomfortable at the sight of you cut up like this. Hadn’t they done worse to your fellow Maidens?... Whatever, the thought couldn’t last long when you still had work to do.

Next you take a fresh, damp cloth and dab at your injury, ignoring how it throbbed beneath your touch. Then you resumed cutting, forced to press the knife deeper in order to remove the spreading residue. If you had been a scientist, this would have been utterly fascinating to observe. Whatever had been in the lycan’s saliva was slowly eating at your flesh, but not outright dissolving it. No, it simply left the skin where it was, but killed and rapidly broke it down. Yes, it would have been fascinating, if not for the fact that there was a chance you wouldn’t be able to outpace the bacteria.

With this in mind you force yourself to hold in your next scream, hoping to make it easier for you to focus. The knife continued to cut, going lower, setting nerves alight as it did. Your vision starts to blur, and for a few seconds you think you’re going to black out. Someone says something you don’t hear, and then suddenly there’s a hand on top of your own. When your vision clears you see Bela is responsible, her grip keeping you from dropping the knife. She doesn’t let go until you give her a clear nod. Even then, she seems reluctant to let you continue.

Around this time is when Cassandra returns. Her footsteps catch your attention (it’s your understanding that carrying objects is much harder in swarm mode), and you spare her a quick glance before getting back to work. A few moments later she’s placing a set of needles and a long spool of thread next to you. Ironically, they’re the same tools that you’ve used to repair and adjust Alcina’s dresses over the past year. Hopefully they work just as well on flesh, you think. Your next thoughts are canceled out by unbelievable pain. More cries leave your lips, and your hand starts shaking. Panic is settling in fast, your movements getting sharper, leading you to make a brash decision: Time to care less about precision and more about speed.

“Distract me, please,” you gasp between grunts. No one responds at first, and you know they need clarification. Speaking is getting harder by the second, but you do your best. “Brain can’t process many stimulants, same time. Just- fuck- trace skin around wound, touch hair, anything.” Somewhere between your semi-broken sentences and screams, Alcina gets the message. She’s moving closer, now, behind you, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other rubbing gentle circles on your undamaged leg. Across from you Daniela is too busy pacing to help, though you can hardly blame her.

“Should I get the metal thing from the stove?” Cassandra asks, silently hoping that Dani hadn’t assumed someone else was going to handle that part. You’re still in too much pain to talk, so you half nod half grunt in response. Not bothering to say anything, the middle child takes off, swarm moving at what might be a new speed record.

As much as your hands are shaking, you still manage to cut away another strip of flesh, tossing it aside with even less care than before. This time Bela wipes the wound for you, practically reading your mind. The moment her hands are completely out of the way you start cutting again, crying out, throat shredded to pieces from all your screaming. Alcina sounds like she might be close to sobbing, but she doesn’t stop her movements, doing her best to distract you just like you had asked. Even Bela helps, now, tracing spots around your injury whenever she knows she won’t be in your way. The effect is minor, in the end, hardly making a dent in how much pain you’re processing.

If you survive this, though, you’re hugging every daughter as tight as you can and showering them with affection… but only after you finish doing the same for their mother.

“You are so brave,” Alcina murmurs next to your ear. It’s even clearer now how close she is to crying, her voice seconds away from cracking. Hearing her like this almost hurts as bad as the initial lycan attack did. “You are so strong. No other mortal could ever be your match. Do you understand, my dear? You are blessed, divine, and I love you so much.”

In any other setting, her words would leave you melting in her arms, radiating affection so strongly that you might as well have been radioactive. Instead, you are unable to respond, or even look her way. All you can do is press the knife to your skin again, showing your own feelings by destroying yourself for her.

The blade is starting to find more resistance, and you’re having to pause more often, spots appearing in your vision. Going faster only makes things worse, your hand threatening to slip. You’re determined to finish this, no matter what, but your need to control the situation is gradually making things worse. Alcina notices this before you do, and acts before you have a chance to protest.

“Bela, the knife,” she says, then tightens her grip on your waist. Your confusion shifts to panic as your arm is carefully, but forcefully, pulled away from your wound. “Can you finish the job?” It takes you a few moments to realize that Alcina isn’t talking to you. No, she’s speaking to her eldest daughter, who doesn’t hesitate to take the knife away from you. It’s so easy for her, between her strength and your weakness. “Don’t struggle. Let us finish this.”

Protests rise from your throat and die in your mouth. Pain flares harder now that Bela isn’t distracting you. Once more your vision goes dark, but this time there’s no pause, no hesitation. You are suffering, horribly, and the Dimitrescu family refuses to make you hurt longer than necessary. It’ll be over soon, you think, not knowing whether you refer to your pain or your life itself.

Something wet drops onto the back of your neck, then darkness overtakes you…

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

“Damn those lycans, I should string Heisenberg up myself! They’re his responsibility, after all,” Lady Dimitrescu snarls, trying to ignore the tears in her eyes. Now that you’re unconscious, unable to hear what ails her, she feels free to voice her thoughts. “The damn things should never have come close to the path to the village.”

“What if she strayed from the path? Wouldn’t that explain it?” Bela suggests, even as her hands work to remove what seems to be the last piece of dead/infected flesh from your leg. She hates how the words feel in her mouth, hates suggesting that you of all people might have betrayed her mother’s trust. But it makes sense. After all, this whole mess, with you leaving the castle to retrieve a mysterious package, was all a test to see if you would try to run. It hadn’t been her idea, and Bela admitted to herself that she thought it was unnecessary.

“On the way back? Why would she bother getting the package if she intended to run?” Lady Dimitrescu asks, right as Cassandra returns. The middle child is practically juggling the metal spatula she’s carrying, irritated (not harmed) by the heat it produced. One of her brows perks up when she hears the conversation, but she keeps any thoughts she has to herself.

“Just a thought, mother, I didn’t quite believe it myself,” Bela chimes, after a pause. With that said she holds up her hand with pride, clutching between her fingers the last of the decaying flesh. The way the others react, one might have thought that a miracle had been performed. Daniela clapped her hands together, giggling a little, and finally stopped her pacing. “Don’t celebrate too much, now,” Bela reminded her, taking the spatula from Cassandra as she did. “There’s still plenty to do. It’s a good thing she’s not awake for this part.”

A good thing, indeed. She uses her fingers to spread the remaining skin a little, giving a quick examination, then deciding that she had successfully removed all remaining residue. Keeping her fingers where they were, she pressed the side of the spatula to your skin, putting the most pressure at the center of the wound. Three seconds passed, then she lifted her hand. A pause. She pressed it back into place, keeping a close eye on the affected area. This repeated several times, the gaps being necessary to prevent unintentional damage. Once the wound seemed properly closed she set the spatula aside.

“Is that it?... Did we save her?” Daniela asks, opting to finally sit down in a nearby chair. Something about her word choice makes both of her sisters scoff.

“I could sew it closed, as a precaution, but there’s no way I’d do it the way she had intended. It might be best to just give her time to rest, and see what she thinks when she gets back up,” Bela answers. For a moment her words hang in the air, but eventually Alcina gives a little nod and a hum.

“Very well. I shall carry her to my quarters, where she won’t be disturbed. Please, let one of the Maidens know to bring some food up this evening,” Alcina says, gently taking you into her arms as she does…

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

BAD ENDING: It’s been six hours, with no sign of you waking up. Your other wounds had been examined, cleaned, and bandaged. Food had been carefully prepared and brought up to you, though it now remained on the bedside table, untouched. Alcina has gone to call Mother Miranda, intending to speak to her about the growing unrest of the lycans, as Heisenberg hadn’t answered his phone. For the first time since you returned you are alone. It is now, of all times, that you awaken. A gasp sends you into a coughing spree, forcing you into a sitting position. The space around you feels like it's moving, and your vision blurs. Blood spills from your mouth as you finally regain the ability to breathe.

Seconds later your vision clears, but what you see is enough to make you wish you couldn’t. The blood that spilled onto the sheets is a dark red… with even darker spots scattered throughout it. All at once you know what happened: Residue had hidden from you, or gone deeper than your wound, infecting you before you ever stood a chance. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes, but something deeper starts calling to you. Something older. Darker. It drags you to your feet, ignores the pain of your wounds, and sends you out the bedroom door.

Your mind is racing, thoughts never quite clear enough for you to understand. It doesn’t feel like you’re in control of your own movements. Was something else in charge, or were you operating on an infection powered autopilot? Answers weren’t coming, just bloodshed.

“You’re not supposed to be out of bed yet!” A voice calls out to you, making you turn to investigate. On the other end of the hallway is a maiden, one you instantly recognize. You’ve worked with her before, plenty of times, tag-teaming more tasks than you could count. She was like a sister to you. When she sees the blood staining your clothes, she gasps, then moves to support you. “Please, Lady Dimitrescu will be so upset if you-” her words melt into a blood curdling scream. For a moment you don’t understand.

And then you swallow, a chunk of hot meat slipping down your throat, and the scream dies down.

“What?...” You whisper, finally tasting the blood in your mouth, watching as your friend’s body falls to the floor. There’s a chunk of flesh missing from her neck, and the dots connect themselves in your head. You did that. Every part of you wants to scream, wants to cry out and beg someone to come kill you. Instead you fall to your knees, hard, uncaring. Your hands move themselves, grasping at the still warm corpse. Something has made you stronger, or at the very least removed the mental limits that kept you from destroying yourself. Flesh gives under your touch, tearing like paper, and you start crying as it reaches your mouth.

Footsteps approach, thundering fast, and you want to warn whoever it is. When you turn to look, you feel your hands let go of your meal. Your gaze meets that of a stunned Cassandra Dimitrescu, then drifts to the sickle in her hand.

“Kill me,” you growl, voice distorted, practically echoing. “Kill me now!” Not needing to be told a third time, Cassandra moves lightning quick, swarm-jumping forward before manifesting behind you, sickle dragging across your throat in one smooth motion. But it’s not enough. She realizes this, though, and slams her foot into your back, sending you tumbling forward. It’s enough to prevent you from countering, which gives her time to advance again, this time pulling a knife from her boot and driving it into the center of your back. When you scream, it’s not with your own voice, but that of a monster.

“Fucking fuck, what the fuck, red?” Daniella asks as she rounds the corner, eyes immediately landing on your bloodsoaked mouth. She’s quick to take in the scene, drawing a conclusion easily, even if it breaks her heart a little. Your vision fades as she approaches, and you know that it’s finally over. If only you had expired a few seconds earlier… because the last thing you hear is the startled cry of your would-be lover.

“No! No, darling, what happened-” Alcina finishes her sentence, but you do not hear it. You do not hear anything, anymore. You do not know it… but there will be hell to pay for your death.

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

GOOD ENDING: When you awake, you find yourself in the softest sheets you’ve ever touched, a warm and familiar presence next to you. The first thing you see is Alcina’s sleeping face next to your own. She’s on her side, one arm around your waist, the covers pulled up to her hip. Warmth fills your chest as you take in the sight. For a few moments you just… appreciate this. Never before had you imagined that you would get to wake up next to the woman you loved so much. A sigh, one of bliss, leaves your lips. Slowly you move forward, gently placing a kiss to Alcina’s cheek. Seconds later her eyelids flutter open, and she tiredly takes you in.

“You’re… awake,” she murmurs, hardly awake herself. But her fatigue doesn’t last long. As soon as she’s fully processed the situation her eyes go wide. Then she’s pulling you closer, careful not to hurt you, and peppering little kisses over your face. “I’ve been so worried, dear. You scared us so much.” The hurt in her voice leaves you restless, making you curl up against her, desperate to soothe her worries. Moving hurts a little, but not enough to dissuade you from your goal.

“I’m sorry, love,” you say, tears pricking your eyes. “I’m okay, I’m alive, the plan worked out. You don’t have to fret for me anymore. I won’t leave you, I promise.” Slowly but surely, Alcina calms, exchanging kisses for softly running her fingers through your hair. There’s such love in her eyes that you can hardly believe you aren’t dreaming. “You’re amazing, Alcina. I could stay like this all day.”

“Maybe we should,” she offers, chuckling a little. Once again you give her a quick kiss, unable to resist the urge. “I should have never asked you to leave. I should have just trusted you.” The words give you pause, and you tilt your head in confusion. Realizing that you still didn’t know the full story, Alcina frowns. “The package is worthless, just a bundle of straw and a few rocks for weight. It was never what I cared about.”

Tension builds in your chest, and for a few seconds you have no idea how to react. It takes a minute for you to think, to connect the dots, but once you do it’s a tad bit easier to breathe. A scowl twists your lips as you think of what to say.

“If I had known that Heisenberg was forgoing his duties, I never would have sent you outside,” Alcina adds, the silence taking its toll on her.

“You shouldn’t have sent me either way,” you respond, bitterly, thinking of all that you had seen and heard on your journey. “I would have done anything to prove to you how I feel. There are other ways to show devotion- far less dangerous ways, at that.”

“I know, dear. You have every right to be angry… and watching you suffer has taught me all that I need to know,” Alcina says, still playing with your hair, trying to ease the tension. As upset as you about this recent revelation… it’s not enough to change how you feel about her, and you want her to understand that, fully and completely.

So you lean into her touch, let your eyes drift close for a moment, then softly place one of your arms around her as best as you can.

“We’ll need to talk about this more… just not right now. Right now, I need you, Alcina. I need to hold you, and be held by you, and just know that you’re here. That I’m here. That neither of us are going anywhere,” you say, resting your forehead against hers. “I need to feel safe, and your arms are the safest place I can imagine. Stay here with me?”

“It will be the easiest thing I have ever done.”

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #alcina x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #tw blood #tw self harm #tw cannibalism #blood blood blood oops #I wrote this instead of sleeping because my hands cannot be stopped #typeity type type type #sorry if the formatting is off #i'm trying the new editor or whatever #if it's fucked I'll fix it whenever I wake up

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lipstickstainz · 3 years

Text

true lies - s. r. (1/15)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Series Summary: Spencer is furious, when you rejoin the team after a year and after you left him, when he got arrested. Little does he know, that you leaving him was the only option to ever get him out of prison.

Chapter Summary: Spencer and you have your first encounter, after you left him a year ago. Spoiler: it doesn’t go well.

Warnings: angst, secrets, swearing I think, typical criminal minds stuff

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: tadaaaaa. it’s finally here! my first series! tell me if you liked it! love you! gif not mine.

Series Masterlist

The first thing you notice is the complete silence that takes over the room. The last time you had been here, it had been crowded and so noisy that you could hardly understand your own words. People had been everywhere, talking or exchanging theories, but your gaze was fixed on the desk overflowing with books. Now there are only files, carefully sorted and stacked on top of each other.The office is empty, no agents, no witnesses. No one. You take a deep breath.

It's been some time since you've been here. Almost a year, but everything in this building is all too familiar to you. The coffee maker just waiting to be used in the kitchen. The law books gathering dust on a shelf. It feels like you've never been away.

"Y/N," a woman's voice snaps you out of your thoughts. You have to tear your gaze away from the desk in front of you, and your eyes find a tired, yet incredibly good-looking Emily Prentiss standing outside her office door, smiling at you like you just saw each other yesterday.

"It's good to see you," you say, and she wraps you in her arms after she closes the office door behind you. It feels good to finally have her by your side again; after all, you had been best friends before you left. You hug her one last time before carefully pulling away from her and sitting down in the chair in front of her desk.

"It's good to see you, too," she replies, dropping into her chair. She places her hands on the desk and interlaces her fingers. "Of course, I'd love to know how you've been this past year, but I'm afraid that will have to wait." She opens a drawer to her right and reaches for a file-your personnel file, you realize-and lays it open in front of her. "I've been informed that my request has been approved and you'll be rejoining our team," she says, smiling briefly at you. "It took a favor, but you're well worth it to me."

Your stomach tightens at the thought of Emily owing someone. You swallow the sour feeling spreading down your throat and nod at her. "Thank you, Emily."

She tilts her head and her gaze slides from your face to your kneading hands. "You're not happy with this, it seems. What's wrong?" Emily doesn't need to profile you to know something is bothering you. She knows you too well to miss the change in your behavior.

"I don't know if this is a good idea," you confess.

"And why is that?" asks Emily, but she already knows the answer. She knows what happened a year ago, and she certainly knows more than you do, because she had been here for the last year, after all. Before you can answer her, the door opens and a colorful person comes in.

"Good morning, my beautiful and strong boss," the one and only Penelope Garcia speaks without looking up from her iPad. "We have a new case that I would like to discuss with you before the whole team arrives. It's about -" When Emily doesn't answer her, she looks up and her gaze immediately lingers on you. You're surprised she doesn't drop the tablet on the floor as she rushes toward you to yank you out of the chair and into her arms. "Y/N! What a relief for my tired brain to see your beautiful face! Am I dreaming?" She breaks away from you and gives Emily a look. "Please tell me I'm not dreaming. I couldn't take it."

A smile spreads across Emily's face. "You're not dreaming, Pen. Y/N is actually back."

"Oh, how wonderful!" she squeals, pushing her glasses back up with her index finger. While she says something else to Emily, you look at her. She really hasn't changed in the last year. She's still the colorful bird of the BAU, and that's a good thing.

You notice yourself starting to smile, but then she utters the thing that erases the smile from your lips. "How's Reid doing? Have you guys talked yet?"

Emily makes a hand gesture for Penelope to drop the subject, but your expression has instantly changed when she said his name. It stabs you in the heart and cold shivers run down your spine, and only with difficulty can you suppress the tremors that want to overtake your body.

"I'm afraid the team is already here," Emily interrupts the silence and casts a glance out the window into the open-plan office. Even if you want to follow her gaze, you don't dare and your body is still in rigidity. She gets up from her chair and walks towards the door, but before she opens it, she turns to you once more. "If you need more time, that's fine. Take all the time you need. But your place is here with us, Y/N. We're your family." And with that, she and Penelope leave the office.

She's right. The BAU is your family - even if you hadn't seen or spoken to any of the family members in the last year - and walking out now wouldn't change the situation. The circumstances under which you left - had to leave - were anything but normal, and you hope that your decisions would be met with understanding, but you can't count on that. So you tighten your shoulders, push through your back, and follow them into the conference room. Your heart beats up to your neck and your hands sweat as you stop on the doorstep.

Your gaze fixes on the youngest team member, except for you. His brown curls are a little shorter than they were a year ago, and it doesn't take you ten seconds to notice that it's not the Spencer Reid you know sitting at the table. The year had changed him. Your absence had changed him.

Rossi is the first to notice you, which is because he glances over his shoulder. "Who do we have here?" he asks playfully, before rising from his chair and taking you in his arms. But you're only peripherally aware of that. Your concentration is on Spencer, who stares at you unblinkingly before jumping up and storming out of the room. JJ, sitting next to him, reaches for him, but he wriggles out of her grip and he runs past you so fast that it's easy to call it an escape. JJ smiles weakly at you before putting her hand on your arm. She doesn't need to say anything, her look tells you that she's glad you're back, but you're also aware that she wants to take care of Spencer, so you nod at her and wordlessly she follows the genius of the team.

The rest greet you with great joy, Rossi presses a kiss on your cheek and Alvez puts his arm around your shoulders, but you look out the window and see Spencer and JJ talking. His face is red and even though you can't hear his words or read his lips, you know exactly what it's about. The blonde tries to calm him down, wanting to put her hands on his shoulders to make him stop shaking, but he avoids her and takes a step back. The gesture is enough, as she drops her arms and doesn't follow him either when Spencer leaves the bullpen. You know he won't be back in the next few minutes.

Garcia tells you about the case and you try to focus on her words as best you can, but again and again your mind wanders to Spencer. His reaction to your return is understandable and you don't judge him for it. You have no right to do so; after all, you are responsible for his condition. You hope that soon there would be a quiet moment when you could talk about the past, but you are not optimistic. He pushed JJ away from him a few minutes ago, which is definitely not a good sign. You try to push the thoughts of him to the back of your mind; after all, there's a case to solve, and although the current situation isn't ideal, you're looking forward to it. It's been a long time since you've worked properly.

"All right," Emily says, snapping you out of your thoughts. "Wheels up in thirty."

"Hey," JJ addresses you as you freshen up in the ladies' room. You glance at her in the mirror and she smiles at you. "Are you okay?" You both know this question is purely rhetorical. She is, after all, Spencer's best friend. Aside from the two of you, she probably knows best what's been going on, but still not everything.

You turn around and lean against the edge of the sink. "I'm trying to get used to everything," you reply, pursing your lips into a thin line. "It's changed quite a bit while I was gone."

She nods. "Yeah, it did." She takes another step toward you. "Look, you have to give him some time, all right? This year hasn't been very nice to him. I hope you can understand that." She sounds sincere and, above all, concerned, which is why you don't resent her little speech. Of course, you're already aware of all this, but hearing it from her confirms your suspicions.

You are to blame for Spencer's condition. And there's no way you can straighten things out anytime soon.

Spencer rejoins the team only on the plane, but he avoids your proximity or your glances at all costs. He takes the seat next to Alvez, which is almost at the other end of the plane, and he is completely silent. The others, of course, notice the tension that has spread through the group since your arrival, but they all have the decency not to bring it up. But by their manner they let you know that they don't stand between you. You had been gone a long time, and they know halfway what had been going on, but they didn't take sides, and for that you are infinitely grateful.

"Alvez, JJ, Simmons. You guys talk to the families. Find out if the victims share any common traits that might connect them," Emily says, dividing the team into focus groups as usual. She glances around the group. "Rossi, Reid, Y/L/N, you go to the coroner's office while -"

"No." It's the first word Spencer has uttered since you boarded the plane. You expected his voice to be weak or to reveal any other signs of uncertainty, but the word came from his lips in a firm tone, leaving no room for discussion. Spencer looks up from the paper file and before he looks at Emily, his gaze brushes yours and at the coldness in his eyes, your blood freezes in your veins.

"All right," Emily says without elaborating. "Alvez, you switch places with Reid. Tara and I will go to the local police department and talk to the detectives. Let's catch the killer."

To say the mood on the plane hit rock bottom would be an understatement.

Forensics helps you out a bit. The victims were drugged before they died, causing hallucinations, which is probably why they self-inflicted injuries. Also, both victims have the same cut wounds in the same place. Definitely not a coincidence. Alvez has Garcia dig up some information on the way to the police station, which is why you could briefly organize your thoughts, but Rossi tells you about a new dish he'd like to cook for you sometime, and you'd been gone too long to block out your work dad. Besides, your mind would only be on Spencer and that's not moving you forward either.

"According to the relatives, none of the victims were unpopular, loners, or even depressed," JJ begins as the team gathers. You take a seat in the chair facing Spencer. When he notices, he gets up and sits somewhere else. The main thing is to get out of your sight. You sigh imperceptibly, but Luke turns in your direction and raises an eyebrow. You shake your head.

It hurts that Spencer doesn't want to be near you. In fact, it almost breaks your heart, but you can get used to that. He should go ahead and hate you. You could handle that.

The day flies by and when the team checks into the hotel in the evening, Spencer grabs one of the keys and leaves without another word. Sadly, you watch him go and Emily puts a hand on your shoulder reassuringly. Eventually, it would get better. Later on, you sit on the bed with her and tell her about the year you've been away, the people you've met, things you've experienced, but each anecdote brings you back to the one topic that makes your heart skip a beat.

"You have to tell him, Y/N," Emily suddenly says seriously, and you shake your head.

"No." It sounds almost as harsh as Spencer on the plane, but there's still some pain hovering in the air with you. "I'm not going to tell him, Emily."

"He thinks you left him because he went to prison. In his mind, you basically left him at the altar," she tries to change your mind, but to no avail. She would not succeed. You had sworn to yourself that this matter would remain a secret, something you would both take to your graves. And you have no intention of breaking that vow. "You were engaged, for gods sake" Emily's tone sharpens. "Don't you think he deserves the truth?"

"I'm not going to tell him. It's for the best."

Emily looks at you incredulously, but also knows she can't change your mind. "Best for whom?"

That night, you lie awake, tossing from side to side but unable to find sleep. You don't feel guilty about what happened. You don't question your decisions you did back then. It was the right thing to do. It bothers you because of Spencer, because of his reaction to your return, because of his hostility. JJ had asked for your understanding and you would do anything to mend fences, but you're not sure that's Spencer's intention either.

After two hours, you get up and slip into sweatpants and a sweater before leaving your room. As if of their own accord, your feet carry you down the hallway, to a destination you shouldn't be going to. As you turn into the hallway where Spencer's room is, you stop, rooted to the spot.

JJ is standing on the doorstep to his room, saying something to him before he leans down and pulls her tightly into his arms. His hair is messy, and even from this distance you can tell Spencer is leaning on JJ with all his weight. You have to swallow. How much you want a hug from him.

JJ is the first to disengage, saying goodbye to him and disappearing in the opposite direction, while Spencer stops and watches her go. There is a small smile on his face and he looks more relaxed than he did earlier in the day. As he turns to go back to his room, his gaze lingers on you. The smile disappears and his body is tense to the breaking point.

Time seems to stand still. It feels like an eternity that you stare at each other without speaking a word, but there is so much coldness in Spencer's eyes, so much pain, that you can hardly stand it and want to look away. But you're transfixed. Your hand raises of its own accord, as if in greeting, and your mouth opens, but before you can say anything, Spencer takes a step back and slams the door behind him. Only then do you realize that you've been holding your breath.

next part

- tags -

@obsssedwithjustaboutanything // @ashwarren32 // @slytherinbth // @rexorangecouny // @candlemouse // @cloudybau

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid angst #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #spencer reid x reader smut #derek morgan #Emily prentiss #Jennifer jareau #david rossi #Penelope garcia

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