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lovelylogans · 8 months

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the parent trap

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: epilogue

Two very similar boys help their two very different families assimilate into one.

⁂

“Aw, Pa, do we have to?”

Patton—still entirely unused to driving on the left side of the road and therefore relegated to the passenger’s seat—gives Remus a Look through the rearview mirror.

“Even if this wasn’t suggested by the lawyer to clearly illustrate the harm that judge had on your upbringing, yes, I absolutely would have pushed for this on my own.”

“It’s a big upheaval in your lives, anyway,” Janus says, absently reaching over to pat Patton’s hand as he cranes his neck to watch for incoming traffic. “Too right you should have someone to talk to that isn’t related to you.”

“Or Virgil.”

“Or Virgil,” Janus amends. “And before either of you get any ideas, if you absolutely hate it there: fine. We shall find another child psychologist. But if you prank your way out of there, then that means you’re going to another child psychologist and your time in therapy will increase, as pranking the people you dislike is not a healthy way to express your feelings.”

The twins exchange a look.

Patton hopes that look means darn, any potential plan is foiled! but even he can see that there’s still some mischief brewing in those matching heads of theirs.

But any complaints are cut short by Janus pulling into the parking lot; sorry, the car park, he’s still getting used to all that.

Patton and Janus herd the boys in; they shuffle in, all together, to a cozy-looking if slightly bland waiting room, the other three taking up all the seats on the available couch as Patton approaches the front desk.

“Hi,” Patton says. “Appointment for Remus and Roman, under Parker-James?”

“Parker-James?” The person at the desk says, flipping through their agenda calendar. “Remus and Roman Parker-James… yes, I have you right here, he should be ready pretty soon…”

Janus flips through a spare copy of Vogue; the boys play some kind of hand-slapping game they must have learned at camp; Patton pretends to read the magazine in his hands while watching them both out of the corner of his eyes.

“Parker-James?” A voice calls from inside the office.

All four of them stand and make their way into the room.

The room is set up in mostly earth-tones; brown couches, leather armchair, nice wooden bookshelves stocked up with the books chock full of the latest therapeutic breakthroughs, a few plants tucked away in the corners.

The pops of color come from the cartoon decor; little figurines, paintings, a few stuffed animals tucked into strategic locations. Rubber ducks and Disney heroines and plucky child protagonist and superheroes, stretch as far as the eye can see.

And there’s a great tarp set up on the floor and transparent plastic wrapped over the chairs, hanging in front of the bookshelves with their decorations and books, with a variety of incredibly tempting, messy-looking acrylic paints ripe for any child to cause chaos.

“Hello there, boys,” the therapist says with a smile, setting aside his pen and notebook. “I’m Dr. Emlie Picani. I’ll be your therapist. Do either of you enjoy painting?”

The boys exchange a look, this one much less loaded with mischief, but both nod.

“Good!” Dr. Picani says. “Me too. I’d like this first session to be much less formal—and don’t worry if you get a bit messy with it, I’ve got all these tarps laid out and I believe your Dads have brought spare clothes if necessary. And, on that note—Dads, if you’ll take your leave?”

“Be good,” Janus says, smoothing a hand over Remus’s then Roman’s hair.

“Have fun, boys!” Patton says, and they take their leave.

Patton has a pretty good feeling about this.

⁂

“All right, Remus?”

“All right,” Remus says, getting pretty used to the way the British exchange this particular pleasantry. “Uncle Logan’s sent down—”

“Ah, a cuppa!” Grandfather exclaims, taking tray off Remus’s hands. “Now, I’ll be mother—would you like one?”

“What is it?” Remus says.

“Earl grey, looks like,” Roman says, taking his nose out of the book he’s reading long enough to look.

“Yeah, I’ll have one,” Remus says, flopping onto one of the numerous couches in the study. “Thanks, Grandpa Toby.”

Grandfather putters about with the tray for a moment, taking a moment to add something to his—Remus spies the amber-colored liquid in the glass bottle Grandfather keeps in an isolated place where the children can’t reach it.

“Here you are, Roman, bit of honey—Remus, yours with enough sugar to kill me—”

“No brandy?” Remus says, giving Grandfather a hopeful look.

“Certainly not,” Grandfather says, as if he didn’t literally just sneak away a healthy slug into his own teacup. “You’ll stick to your wines, and you’ll have to ask your fathers to indulge in that, besides.”

Remus considers this. “How many years until that wavers?”

Grandfather pauses.

“When you’re eighteen!” Roman squawks.

“Yes, certainly,” Grandfather says with an approving nod to Roman. “When you’re eighteen. That’s the responsible answer.”

Roman nods in satisfaction and returns his attention to his book.

“When I’m twelve?” Remus whispers.

“Certainly not,” Grandfather says, just as quietly.

“Thirteen.”

“No.”

“Fourteen? Fifteen?”

“...Eighteen.”

“Oh, puh-lease, as if you didn’t have moments of underage drinking, you can’t judge me for wanting to try things.”

Grandfather pauses, then waggles his hand side-to-side.

“Knew it,” Remus mutters, and he picks up a section of Grandfather’s newspaper. The sports section—Remus has been told in very certain terms about which teams the Jameses do and do not support, but it’s all gone in one ear and out the other—and pretends to read the articles while he really keeps an eye out to see if they’ve put any of the fun, rude chants in the paper.

(Tragically, no.)

And so they sit in silence, sipping their tea and reading their individual pieces of interest, and neither twin breathes a word to their fathers when their Grandfather cracks open the study window and busies himself with packing his pipe the instant the tea is done and spends the afternoon merrily smoking away.

⁂

Janus had initially been surprised that Patton had so willingly gone along with his insistence on filing a legal custody arrangement, even though they were once again back together.

The Patton he married nearly a dozen years ago probably would have insisted it wasn’t necessary, that they were together now and there was no point in it, but the Patton of today had fervently agreed and pored over the agreement with a metaphorical fine-toothed comb.

A decade without one of your sons was enough to change a person, Janus supposed.

Even if Patton tended to call it the Worst Case Scenario document.

“Okay,” Janus says, examining it. “Each boy returns to their original schooling, if necessary.”

“Even year summers are mine; odd year summers are yours,” Patton says. “The boys spend your birthday with you, and my birthday with me, when possible.”

“You have American Thanksgiving, always, which would mean I would always Bonfire Night.”

“Even year Christmas-and-Boxing-Days are yours; even year New Year’s are mine.”

“And Easters and other minor holidays in which the boys have a break from schooling alternate, with potential to revise the custodial arrangement until the boys are eighteen, at which point they’ll be free to spend holidays as they choose.”

They examine the paperwork in silence.

“Do you think we missed anything?” Janus says.

“I don’t think so,” Patton says uncertainly. “I’m sure Remy will tell us if we did.”

“Yes, that he would,” Janus says.

They stare at the paperwork some more.

“And now,” Patton says. “To file it away with Remy and hope we never need it.”

“To hope we never need it,” Janus agrees fervently, and Patton leans in for a kiss.

⁂

Not to be dramatic, but Remus has been dying from excitement looking forward to this moment literally since the moment their parents decided to send Remus to Roman’s fancy British school.

The fact that he has to wear a suit and tie kind of sucks, though. But it’s kind of nice that he’s going to be in all the same classes as Roman, if solely to spend more time teasing his brother and nothing else sentimental.

The school is smaller than Remus’s public California school; it’s all red brick and ivy, with a SOCCER field out back, a little bit outside of the edges of the city proper. He rides on the bus (also new—Virgil usually drove him to and from school, back home) and Roman escorts him to the office to make sure all of their paperwork is filed, like Dad told him to.

It is—he has to do hardly anything, just carry a form for his new teacher to fill out. He ignores whatever map they’re offering and just falls into step behind Roman.

The teacher meets him in the hall, signs his form, and goes into the classroom to introduce him.

Remus smiles to himself. Excellent. A dramatic entrance.

“Class,” the teacher says. “We have a new student this year—a Mr. Remus Parker, from California, in America. Come in, Remus, we can find a place for you next to your brother.”

Remus walks in, to whispers of wow, Roman has a twin! and American?! unhearing to all of it, his eyes searching the room for one familiar face.

He finds it.

All of the blood has drained from Dick Davies’s face, making him look even more pale and awful than usual. He’s slithered down in his chair, looking moments away from letting out a pathetic, awful whimper.

Remus offers his most bloodthirsty, shit-eating grin.

He does find a spot near Roman—near the back of the room, which is excellent. None of his American teachers would have made that mistake.

He waits until class is underway before he starts making mischief.

Like fucking Spalding he writes on a piece of paper, crumpling it into a ball, which he proceeds to chuck, full-strength, at the back of Davies’s head. Davies picks it up, frowning, and reads.

He lets out a really undignified squawking noise, which gets him giggled at by his classmates and scolded by their teacher. Roman grins sheepishly into his notebook, exchanging a look with Remus.

Yeah, Remus thinks. It’s going to be a fun year.

⁂

Janus loves London dearly.

He was born and raised there; he’s raising his children there. London is like another member of the family.

But Napa was certainly very nice at this time of year.

Janus lets out a pleased sigh at the sight of the sun, hands braced on the balcony railing as he looks over the vineyard sprawling below them.

“You’re like a cat,” a familiar voice says behind him, amused.

Janus smiles, but he doesn’t turn to see his visitor; instead, he simply theatrically tilts his face into the sunrays, taken up by the sweet, simple treasure of his body inundated by the sun’s glow.

“Sitting in the little sunspots and soaking up all the warmth,” Patton continues, pressing his lips to the nape of Janus’s neck; Janus can feel him smiling there.

“The boys are off,” Patton murmurs. “You’ll probably see them galloping out if you stand here long enough.”

Janus grins. “I’m sure Roman’s eager for the excuse to dress up as a proper countryman.”

“They look pretty cute in the flannels,” Patton says, and he wraps his arms around Janus’s waist. “You do, too.”

“It is yours.”

“Ah, that must be part of it,” Patton murmurs, and Janus laughs.

“I’m sure you were probably coming to soak up the sun before you return to the frigidity of London.”

“Well, I won’t lie—that’ll definitely be a nice part of being here again,” Patton says.

“And the other part?”

Patton presses another kiss to his neck, more lingering, more heated.

“Nice big house,” Patton says, “I think we’re the only ones in it” and Janus laughs; even after all these years, Patton can barely bring himself to say anything past the implication of innuendo.

“All right, then,” Janus says, turning to wrap his arms around Patton’s neck. “Bring me in we’ll do our best to keep each other warm.”

And Patton, pulling him along to their bedroom, certainly does.

⁂

“I guess there’s a lot to do on a vineyard this time of year.”

Roman surveys the grape vines, buzzing with employees and tourists alike, from his place tucked amidst the trees, atop Sprout. He is—once again—wearing the full wannabe cowboy outfit: flannel shirt, jeans, boots that Papa got for him practically as soon as they arrived in California, and his truly excellent cowboy hat.

Remus—a more experienced rider and therefore permitted to ride Papa’s Cinnamon—looks over at him with an expression that reads duh.

He’s also in jeans and boots, but he’s wearing a band t-shirt with one of Virgil’s old flannels thrown over the top, and a black cowboy hat. Basically the all-black, goth-equivalent of Roman’s red-and-white, wannabe-cowboy outfit.

Roman decides to read it as fond, reasserting his grip on the reins. “It is nice to feel warm weather, though.”

“Oh, you’re telling me,” Remus says. “I’ve never seen snow like I’ve seen in London—and it doesn’t even stick around very long! All the cars water it down to gray slush—”

“—and Dad and Uncle Logan would not be pleased it you started tracking that inside,” Roman says hastily, lest Remus resume his ideas of dirty snow snowball fights. Roman does not want to deal with slush down the back of his newest jumpers, thank you.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Remus sighs, waving him off, and turning his face to the Napa sun. Weak as it is, Roman thinks, it’s certainly much warmer here than it is back home in London, where carolers and bell-ringers have set up shop on practically every corner.

It’s not their first time back in Napa since their parents resumed their romance, but they are here for the longest; they’ll be back in London in time for Christmas, Boxing Day, and New Years’ with Grandfather, but the James-Parkers have decided to take advantage of the stretch of much better weather down in Napa while the pair of them are off school.

So: plentiful horse rides in the vineyard, getting up the courage to maybe splash around the much chillier pool, occasional jaunts into nearby cities and towns, baking cookies with Virgil and Uncle Logan.

Roman’s really looking forward to it.

“You know,” Roman says, contemplative. “The last time I was around this spot, Papa was trying to tell me he was going to marry Maddox?”

Remus makes a dreadful gagging noise. “Ugh, could you imagine?”

“I bet we’d be stuffing his Christmas cookies full of cinnamon so he’d choke on them.”

“Stuffing his stocking with dead fish!”

“Wrapping up a list of numbers for divorce lawyers as a present for Papa!”

“Pushing him out on an iceberg with the penguins!”

They both crack up at the memory of Maddox flailing in the middle of the lake.

“I’m really glad our fathers sent us to the same camp.”

“Ugh,” Remus complains, then, “yeah, I guess I am too.”

They sit in companionable silence for a while. There are a few birds, perhaps on their way south for the winter, chirping quietly in the trees. The distant murmur of people in the fields reaches them in a hush. The fields are less verdant than it was in the true depths of summer, but everything here is certainly much greener than anything in London. The scent of wildflowers wafts on the slight breeze, distant but there.

It’s really very nice.

Then:

“Raceya!” Remus shouts, and him and Cinnamon are off like a shot.

“Hey, no fair!” Roman yelps, digging his heels into Sprout’s side, and they speed off after his brother, kicking up dust behind them.

⁂

Logan thinks that Janus has placed a sprig of mistletoe in the doorway leading from kitchen to dining room solely for the purpose of attacking Patton with kisses whenever he goes to get everyone more wine.

Not that Logan is complaining. It works to his advantage, too.

Logan waits, quiet, as the sink shuts off, as the last cabinet closes, and then he takes a purposeful step forward.

Just in time to catch Virgil coming back from washing the dishes.

“Oh,” Logan says. “Look at that. We’ve been caught under the mistletoe.”

Virgil grins at him. “Accidentally, I’m sure.”

“Was I being too subtle? No, I want to kiss you.”

Virgil laughs. “Merry Christmas, Logan.”

“Merry Christmas, Virgil,” Logan whispers back, and Virgil leans in, pressing their lips together, Logan leaning back against the doorframe and wrapping his arms around Virgil’s neck.

They thoroughly fulfill the criteria of kissing under the mistletoe.

⁂

It’s almost weirder to Patton that he isn’t experiencing a ton of déjà vu.

Sure, it’s his second wedding day; sure, it’s in the same place as it was last time; sure, it’s to the same man, but other than that, there isn’t much else that’s the same.

For one thing, their relatives have managed to make it this time, Patton’s dearest regret of eloping the way he did; his sister, Linda, is standing beside Janus’s father, their heads bent together, discussing something very intently.

Their boys, in matching suits of white—Remus with a basket of flower petals, an errant rose probably plucked from a floral arrangement stuck behind his ear. Roman holds the rings, smiling up at Patton.

(They’d considered the boys for the opposite jobs—Roman surely would have liked to be tossing flower petals everywhere—but then Patton thought priceless wedding rings and Remus’s brand of mischief and they’d quickly swapped them around.)

Patton smiles back at his son, reaching down to ruffle his hair, thinking better of it, and instead squeezing his shoulder.

“You ready, Pat?” Virgil murmurs from his rightful place at Patton’s side as his best man.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more ready,” Patton confesses, adjusting the lapels of his silver-gray suit jacket, mindful not to crush his boutonniere of a tiny, pale pink rose and white alstroemerias. “I should be more nervous, right? I should be nervous, but I’m just really excited.”

A corner of Virgil’s lip quirks up, his eyes straying back toward where Logan is ducking back to see to any of Janus’s last-minute needs.

“Or maybe,” Patton suggests innocently, “all this talk of weddings is maybe leading you to think about…?”

Virgil laughs, a nervous, gleeful giggle, as Remus blitzes down the aisle, pelting anyone and everyone with rose petals.

“What, your wedding could make me think about my potential wedding?”

“Maybe you should,” Patton says, “think about a potential wedding, I mean” and Virgil snorts.

Roman gives Virgil an excited look at the thought of another occasion for fancy outfits, and he has to prodded into remembering his entrance timing by Vendela.

“How about we get through this wedding before we start worrying about another one?” Virgil says.

Patton grins, links arms with Linda—Janus’s father has gone back to join Logan and Patton’s once-groom-now-groom-again—and waves Virgil off on his walk down the aisle.

And now Linda squeezes his arm, rubbing up and down.

“Last chance to back out,” Linda jokes, her brown eyes and tan skin accentuated by the pale rose gown and matching shawl that Janus has put her in.

“Not on your life,” Patton says, breathless and giddy, which makes Linda laugh.

“Ready?” Vendela murmurs and, before he can answer, she says “and go” and suddenly Linda’s walking him down the aisle.

He feels a little awkward with everyone’s eyes on him, but he finds it’s easy enough to tune it out when he smiles and waves to his friends and family—the folks who help him at the vineyard, cousins and aunts and uncles, friends from school and beyond.

He finds it easiest of all when he focuses on the end of the aisle: the officiator, Virgil with his hands behind his back, smiling at him fondly; and his boys, handsome in their not-quite-matching white suits, discreetly elbowing each other.

When they reach the aisle, Linda stands to kiss him on the cheek.

“Love you,” she murmurs.

“Love you too.”

She departs to her seat. Patton takes a moment to once again squeeze Roman’s shoulder and to ruffle Remus’s already-messy hair before he stands at the altar, staring down the aisle.

It somehow takes forever and also just a moment before Janus makes his entrance.

And Patton loses the air from his very lungs.

Janus—handsome, always—seems to have moved from beautiful to ethereal.

He’s stunning, wearing a self-made suit with a tailcoat in all white, from his intricately-knotted tie to his shining white oxfords, except for the soft patch of pink over his heart that denotes his boutonniere that matches Patton’s.

Patton blinks out the first of many, many joyful tears of the day.

Patton can barely notice the way Logan is smiling shyly at Virgil.

(He does notice, in fairness. But it’s very difficult to not be staring at his ex-husband/husband-to-be.)

Janus smiles at him, that familiar wicked curve of his mouth, the port wine birthmark across his cheek, those mesmerizing eyes, and Patton beams back, cheeks aching and sure that he looks very silly, but he can’t bring himself to care.

At last, at long last, Janus’s father kisses Janus on the cheek, gives Patton a very firm handshake, and goes to offer the boys a paternal pat on the shoulders before he finds his seat beside Linda.

Logan ascends, taking a brief moment to give Virgil an unchoreographed kiss on the cheek before he flees back to his place.

But then Janus is standing before him, smiling. He’s so handsome. He’s so incredible. He’s so happy that this is the father of his children, the man he’s married once, the man he’s going to marry again.

Janus offers his hands. Patton seizes them, squeezing hard, almost blinded by his happy tears.

“I love you,” is all Patton can say, murmured under the swell of music.

“I love you too,” Janus whispers back, under the rustle of everyone sitting down again.

He can hear Roman’s daydreamy sigh and can only hope that Remus will suppress the urge to go “UGHHH” at an inopportune time in the ceremony.

“Ready?” The officiator murmurs. Patton and Janus nod, not taking their eyes off each other, and the officiator turns on his microphone.

“Friends, family, and loved ones, we are gathered here today…”

Janus squeezes his hands. Patton smiles at him.

Yeah.

They’re ready.

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#my fic #my fanfic #tpt fic

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hebuiltfive · 6 months

Note

::makes you a cuppa::

manner minded: [character] remembers their good manners while sick. Parker

It may have taken me a couple of months to get back to answering these prompts, but as promised, I did not forget! Hope you enjoy this one, @janetm74, and, once again, thank you for the asks! These are really fun to write up!

Manner Minded (feat. Parker)

Penelope always had a cup of Fortnum and Mason’s Green Earl Grey tea when she woke, and Parker was always the one who made and served it. Seven thirty sharp (unless a prior arrangement for an earlier wake-up time had been made) in the breakfast room of the Creighton-Ward Manor. In all his years as Penelope’s faithful shadow, combining the roles of chauffeur and bodyguard with those more traditionally domestic titles such as butler and housekeeper, Parker had never once missed a morning tea round.

So, he certainly wasn’t going to allow this stinking cold to get in the way today.

The wake-up had been brutal. His nose was stuffy and his head… ‘Cor blimey, his head felt like multiple high-speed trains were constantly running through it. When he stretched, bones cracked in unusual places and muscles screamed at him to just stay still and don’t move. He knew he was getting old, but did his body really have to make such a big deal over it all?

Parker ignored the wave of dizziness as he finally rolled out of his bed. He knew Her Ladyship wouldn’t mind him taking the morning off but his strong sense of duty had him pressing on. There were things on the agenda that he really should see to. His body, and by extension this cold, would just have to shut up and put up.

Getting dressed proved a marathon. It took him twice as long to get changed out of his pyjamas and into his usual go-to uniform of comfortable black casual wear. His feet were caught up in the legs of his trousers and, despite checking thoroughly after the third attempt, he had managed to put his shirt on the wrong way a total of five times.

By the time he was fit enough to leave his room (though the true meaning of that word ‘fit’ varied heavily today, it seemed), Parker was already exhausted. He cast a glance at his bed, all readily made up and tidied just as he prepared it every morning. Later, he promised himself.

————————————————————————

The breakfast room’s doorframe collided with his shoulder, causing a shooting pain to go straight down his arm. The tray, upon which the tea he had so lovingly crafted not ten minutes earlier, fell to the floor in an almighty crash that had Penelope running out into the hallway.

“Parker? What’s going on?” She asked as she opened the door to the carnage. Her eyes were filled with concern, glancing from her ever-faithful companion to the mess on the floor, and then back again.

“H’it’s fine, m’lady.”

Penelope was at his side in an instant, taking his elbow to guide him into the room. Cautiously, she deposited him on one of the chairs at the table. Sherbet yapped at his feet. Parker tried to tune out the noise.

“Are you going to tell me what happened or am I going to be forced to guess?”

The support the chair offered was a great comfort to Parker, who was currently trying to battle nausea. He felt sweat drip from his brow and catch on his eyelash. With a simple, shaky swipe, he wiped it away. “Just a cold, m’lady.”

“This doesn’t seem like just a cold to me, Parker.”

His blocked nose seemed to tickle and Parker managed to get his handkerchief to his face in time to catch the sneeze. “Sorry, m’lady.”

Sherbet continued his incessant barking, his paws padding at Parker’s legs.

Penelope tutted quietly, bending down to retrieve the pup before it could be of anymore annoyance. “Now, now, there’s no need for apologies.”

“But the rug…” Parker tried to gesture with a pointing finger but found the effort to keep his arm extended for more than a few seconds too tiresome.

“The rug is unimportant. Your health, however… Take the day off, Parker.”

“But, m’lady!”

“There is nothing on the agenda today that can’t be rescheduled.” Penelope crouched so she was eye-level with him. “Go back to bed, Parker. I can clean this all up.”

Once again, he tried to protest, but Penelope simply held up a hand to stop him.

“No. Bed. Now. There is nothing more important than you resting and recovering. I’ll be up later with some medicine and breakfast.”

Parker knew that tone and he knew better than to try and argue his case. He stood from the seat, and paid no attention to the sway in his step as he slowly left the room. “Yes, m’lady.”

The stained rug he carefully tiptoed over had his cheeks burning up in shame. Never in all his years of service had he made such a mess by accident. He knew what Her Ladyship had said, he knew that she was right in what she said, and yet he still felt a pit in his stomach that wasn’t down to his illness.

He wasn’t aware of the shadow following him as he made his way back to his room, only noticing Sherbet had trailed after him once he’d got himself back under the warmth of the covers. In normal circumstances, the dog was barred from Parker’s quarters, but whether it was because he had no energy left to chastise him or because he actually appreciated company of any sort, Parker made no complaints when the comforting weight of Sherbet settled on his chest and lulled him back to sleep.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #ask game #sickness prompts #five answers #aloysius parker #lady penelope #five fics

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faoighiche · 4 months

Text

PARTNERS : @wonder-in-wings | @mortemoppetere | @eldritchaccident TIMING : Early December. LOCATION : A shed in the Pines. SUMMARY : Burrow and Parker go to a secret shed to discuss their plans. Emilio and Teddy interrupt. Payback is a bitch. WARNINGS : Drug manipulation (mention), domestic abuse (mention), eye trauma (mention), alcoholism, unsanitary

The steam rising from the cup felt pleasant on Burrow’s nose. Well, the thing that was her “nose,” molded by the glamour encasing her. She took a sip of her tea: black with a squirt of lemon and a spoonful of honey. It was not as good as the honey from Nectarfell; an unfortunate nostalgia she could not remove. She could barely remember the taste now, just left with the knowledge that the honey from the human store was lacking somehow. It lingered on her tongue longer than necessary before she swallowed. It filled her with warmth, which was much needed as the air grew colder. She hated the winter months. It killed her parasites and made her tendrils slow to help. But she would continue to push through, for their sake. It was the reason why she found herself there, in the woods with a killer of her kind. Necessary uneases to be the proper protector she was made to be.

Burrow was familiar with winter’s slow embrace of death, but the ways of ironmongers were not as clear. Of course, she had heard the nightmares they bring, as all fae children did. But it was always through the eyes of others, not her own. She watched the man curiously. The binds on him were strong and firm; she could feel how they writhed around his neck. But still, she wondered, what would he do without them? Where would he strike first? Would it be quick? Would he watch her bleed out? What would be done of her body? She would see it, eventually, done to another. Her morbid curiosity sated through another necessary unease. She would have it readily, the same as the mediocre honey. She took another sip.

“There it is.” Burrow pointed to the dilapidated shed. It was easily missed, appearing as another collection of shrubs and moss amongst the wild floor. It had been claimed by nature, but since she was a being of pure nature, she knew it would not mind her use. Not that she would let it stop her. It would serve her just as any. “We can discuss more... sensitive matters in there.” A vagueness she knew he would understand.

—

The writhing mass of insects taking a temporary human shape wasn’t the only being that walked along in the forest that day that would rather have not been out there. Parker also disliked cold weather, even as it was being staved off periodically by each sip of the hot drink in his hands - white Earl Grey with… he wasn’t sure. Bergamot oil. Something citrus-y, he wasn’t really thinking about it. No, instead he was thinking about the way his blood churned in his veins as he walked alongside Burrow. The way his joints stiffened with each brush of brisk wind on his exposed skin. The way he could feel her eyes on him as she was likely studying him. He still couldn’t figure out why; was it the scars that lined his body like cracks on ceramics? Was it how much they had in common despite being on entirely opposite sides of the scale? He felt his teeth grit under pursed lips, the phantom sensation of feeling the deals pressing into his skin though he were tugging against a chain. ‘No matter how much they might seem to be, fae are not and will never be human. Never forget that, boy.’

He just knew that he couldn’t look at her for very long, not unless he wanted to add the feeling of his mind starting to race to his list of sensations. It had been a while now since that Fateful encounter in the forest, when she had bound him to several different deals, each one engraved on the inside of his skull and wrapped around his neck. And yet, despite all of this, Parker still longed to observe her, to take her apart, see how she operated. Add her to his collection. Just a piece. ‘It’s a shame you can’t; I’d love to see that happen.’ It was. He felt himself tightly coiled like the eternal spring he was but his mind was in disharmony regarding acting on that tension - what would he have been able to do if she attacked him? He wasn’t able to think about that at the time he was unfavorably restrained. Which part of it ended with regards serving her goal? She said she wouldn’t kill him, but the Warden knew as well as anyone how much someone could live without.

But then he thought, there wasn’t anything he could’ve done. It was pointless to think about, in that case. Not thinking about it was easier said than done and he tried to turn his mind into being more aware of their surroundings - how many steps it took to get to where they were going, how her tempo was, the sounds she made. The time of day, feeling each time his blood washed over itself in microcosmic waves in his veins.

If there was something fortunate about Burrow, it was that she was similar to Metzli when she didn’t expect small talk. Their journey was one in relative silence, going from Steeper’s Stop to pick up their drinks to the Greenhorn, the trail she had specified to him until the duo arrived at the abandoned structure. Parker’s blue-eyed stare danced over the details of the shed, immediately recalling the similarities it shared to his workshop; how intricately it hid among the foliage, the underbrush and patchy fuzz. How unassuming the exterior felt. How long it had been there, unappreciated until it was found by two individuals that were likely equally as unappreciated. “Very well.” He finally stole a glance sideways at her, uncharacteristically brief before pulling his gaze away once more and motioning for her to lead the way inside the discarded structure.

—

For the most part, Emilio tended to prefer hunting alone. Other hunters were difficult to trust these days, especially after the various… altercations he’d had with a few of the ones in town. Hunting with nonhunters stressed him out for an entirely different reason, each moment of action tinged with an undercurrent of stress that something might happen, that they might end up dead, that it would be his fault. Hunting alone was a much simpler ordeal, even if it tended to leave him in worse shape than he might have found himself with backup involved.

But hunting alone had also become a tad more difficult as of late. Sharing a house with Teddy meant that they were aware of his comings and goings, and it was difficult to hide where he was going when he headed out on a hunt. Teddy was smart enough to notice when he went out with more weaponry on him than usual, and they cared enough to prefer it when he didn’t go out alone on those days. Sometimes, Emilio could talk them out of it. Some days, they managed to out-stubborn him. Today happened to be one of the latter.

He trudged along beside them through what remained of the fall leaves on the forest floor, tense and uneasy as he always was when someone joined him on a hunt. The familiar paranoia crawled under his skin, eyes darting to the treeline as Teddy rambled on in a rant likely only designed to keep Emilio from growing too anxious in the silence. At least the adrenaline that came with the paranoid anxiety eased some of the pain in his knee. It had been worse since the ordeal with Parker, but it wasn’t bothering him as much in this moment. It was a small silver lining, but it was there all the same.

It was because of his paranoid scanning of the treeline that he spotted them first. A hand shot out to stop Teddy, a glance telling them to stop talking. Subtly, Emilio guided them behind a nearby tree. His heart was pounding in his chest, anxiety reaching a fever pitch. “Someone’s up ahead,” he said lowly. “I think — Christ, Teds, I think it’s that asshole. Had a kid with him. Shit.” His mind was reeling, hand already going for a knife. “How much do I have to pay you to get you to make a break for it and let me handle this?”

—

A wave doesn’t know that it’s a wave until it crashes. Until the swell rises far above its apogee and clear water gives way to frothy foam. Breaking against rocks, the wave wonders where the ocean went, where the shore began. Why its journey was cut short, why its water became separated. The wave loses its identity in the tidepools until the rest of the ocean comes to greet it. In, out. Teddy didn’t know how they’d react upon seeing the monster who’d mutilated them. More than just cut, Parker Wright disrupted all sense of safety the demon had. Took away agency along with a tail.

If you’d have asked them, it’s just as likely that they would have assumed fear to be their all consuming response. That they might flee, might put as much distance between the predator and themself as humanly possible. Or that they’d freeze up, petrified heart, stone still body. What they wouldn’t have expected, wouldn’t have guessed in a million years, was the anger.

Maybe it was a protective thing, seeing the person beside the beast. Sipping at a warm drink, having a stroll. Had he lured them out there? Was he planning on drugging them too? Or was it another exercise in repaying a gregarious kindness with senseless violence? Teddy didn’t know. Teddy didn’t stop to think. Teddy didn’t reply to Emilio, but they didn’t rush ahead either.

Instead, they shared a look. Determination lacing the righteous rage that seeped through every pore. In a weird way, Teddy wasn’t quite so fragile now. Whatever harm they received they could return in kind. Give the monster a taste of its own medicine, so to speak. A hungry growl peppered the back of Teddy’s throat. Something far more animalistic, far more suited for their old demonic form. Sure, they took the beast out of their body but the instincts still remained.

“Let’s get a whole hand this time. Think it’ll go nice over the fireplace.”

—

Though Burrow appeared to slip through the door, appearances were often deceiving. Just as her face was false to the truth of her nature, her body was as well. Her presence far outreached the limits of that physical form. She was everywhere because they were everywhere. She was the mistletoe that swayed in the crisp air. She was the cordyceps that descended to the ground with its ant. She was the worms feeding in the tree’s phloem. She was also the ones who were trampled upon. There was a presence that pressed into her dodders. It could be anything in those woods. True seclusion was never a guarantee. Luckily, she was also her precious vines. A whisper that turned to a steady drum as she had trekked through the woods. Still, her vines were not as close as the others. A distance she had ensured herself. They were far from the human nest and all the fires and poisons that sought to hurt them. But they watched, patiently, in preparation for if anything were to hurt her. It was why she chose this location. If the ironmonger caused trouble (sneaking through the weaves of her deals) or if an outsider did the same (sneaking through the trees of the forest) then her vines would heed her call.

Burrow entered the shed. She was greeted by a waterfall of light, dripping through the holes in the ceiling. It fell onto the leaves, ones who had been misplaced since her last visit. Another had been in there. She felt no warmth in the air, heard no sounds in the shadows, or tasted no presence on the wood. Whatever it was had left. Presumably. She spared another moment to search the interior of those forgotten walls, only remembered by those who were not of human society. Nothing else caused her concern. Despite the leaves, it was just as she had left it last.

Burrow turned to the ironmonger without a care for prelude. She had been musing for too long to delay this any further. “I will use myself as bait, in a sense.” Her voice was low. Not a whisper, but a tone the wood easily claimed for itself. Absorbing her voice before the outside could listen. “I will talk to the fae. I will determine what they know. If what they know is favorable, I will lure them to a different location.” Different in many ways. The fae will congregate wherever they could cause trouble, and this human nest seemed supple for the thing. She had been keeping her eyes on areas like the shed. Things that had lost their purpose. She would bless them with usefulness. “You will be waiting at that location… or you may follow us. Whichever is better for your… methods.” That morbid curiosity returned in a flash of her eyes and a catch in her breath. Her fingers tingled as if she could snatch that knowledge off his tongue. “What are your methods? What are your thoughts on the plan?”

—

Had his mind been more reminiscent of a child, ever having been full of wonder and whimsy, the aspect of stepping trepidatiously into an obscured, abandoned shed that had long since been enveloped in the mystery of the wood would’ve been excitable to him. Someplace new, someplace to explore, to imagine, to let it hold onto his secrets. As it was now, though, as Parker followed the nymph into the shed with its particles dancing in the rays of light, he only felt a modicum of relief; while he didn’t like being restrained at all, he did find a semblance of solace in enclosed spaces. His house was similar in its perceived protection for him, as was his workshop.

But this wasn’t a place that he found himself. No, Burrow had found it and Parker reliably placed his hands on his utility belt in a self-soothing gesture as he glanced around the interior of the structure mildly. He wasn’t familiar with the place, but she was, putting him at yet another disadvantage. A studious gaze fell to the floor, as though anticipating stepping into another trap - ever since that day, he had been considerably more careful about where he placed his body, his steel-toed boots, extremities. He was nothing if not a learning creature. That same gaze snapped back to her in her glamored form, knowing better what lay under the shimmery veil of misdirection but taking himself to task to look at her as she spoke.

Blunt, to the point. He didn’t… hate it. In fact, he almost hated that she was speaking so quietly he was having trouble hearing her more and his head turned subconsciously. “The plan is satisfactory.” He replied first after a pause as his mind ran through the ever-present list of possible contingencies, setbacks, shortcomings. It was essentially the same as any other fae and fortunately, his extended time with Rhett had since made him more aware of effective interrogation techniques. Keeping his good ear facing her, Parker began to slowly walk around the area, a subtle form of his pacing when he was more stressed. “My methods are… quiet.” His right hand that rested on his belt thumbed gently over the four, fluid-filled, needle-like daggers that were lined neatly on it. Ever since his encounter with Emilio, he had done a little bit of experimentation to find a stronger formula, something that worked on things like balam and other hunters. Two of them held that new formula; he wanted to see if it worked. “I expect something.” He looked over at the nymph. “And when it’s not given to me, I take it by force.” After a measure of deliberation, Parker’s other hand reached into one of the many pouches on the same belt and he pulled out a vial no bigger than the length of one of his medial phalanges, the glass thin and a clear liquid that glinted in the light that made it into the structure sitting tightly inside. “I subdue.” He explained, slowly, carefully extending his hand, three fingers and a thumb caging the vial as he offered it out for Burrow to take. “If you can’t get the information out of them, I’ll sedate and take something of theirs.” He suggested. “As I mentioned before, sometimes they’re more likely to talk if they’re threatened with loss.”

—

Of course Teddy wouldn’t walk away. Emilio hadn’t expected them to, even if he’d hoped for it. Teddy, he’d learned, had a passion about them that wasn’t dissimilar to Emilio’s own. Even if there was some shot that the hunter might have been able to convince them to leave if it were just the two of them and Parker in the woods, the presence of the third figure, the one who was likely well on her way to being the sadistic warden’s next victim, erased any shot of it. Teddy was too kind to leave even a stranger to the same nauseating fate they’d faced for themself. That kindness was a terrifying thing; Emilio couldn’t help but worry about where it would leave them in the end.

Scowling, he glared ahead at the pair. What had Parker said to the kid to convince her to come out in the woods with him? There was no telling. He glanced over to Teddy as they spoke, grunting in agreement. “Rather take his fucking head off.” Last time, Parker’s drugs had allowed him to get a drop on Emilio. The slayer hadn’t been expecting it, hadn’t been ready for it. He knew better this time. This time, he was walking away on top. He’d make sure of it.

He tilted his chin upwards as Parker and the figure with him disappeared into the shed, glancing back towards Teddy. “Can’t stop you from coming,” he acknowledged. “But if shit goes sideways, take the kid and get out. He’ll kill you. He’ll kill her. I don’t think he’ll kill me.” It was a guess at best. Parker had every reason to kill Emilio, and might very well have been planning on it regardless of whether or not they picked this fight now. Given the finger hanging in a shadowbox on the wall back at Teddy’s house, he had plenty of reason to. But it wasn’t a bad guess, either. Hunters hesitating to kill other hunters was the reason Emilio hadn’t gone after Parker sooner, and the fact that Parker was evidently friendly with Rhett might offer Emilio a reprieve that neither Teddy nor the kid in the shed would be promised. “I need you not to fight me on this one, Teds. Okay? Shit goes sideways, you get her out. That’s what’s important.”

—

“You aren’t the one who can regrow bones by snapping his.” Teddy leveled a hardened stare at Emilio. Always wanting to play the sacrifice game, wasn’t he? Here, back in the snow and the concrete room that preceded it. Glimpses of it poked through in every scrap the pair had wormed their way into. Emilio would always try and take the hit, even if he couldn’t actually take it. Even if the slayer had an inkling that the warden wasn’t going to kill him outright, it wasn’t a bet Ted was willing to make.

Still, an ache persisted in their chest. The same fear he held for them, they reflected back. Neither willing to let the other make the compromise at their expense. Teddy reached out, hand taking the detective’s for a brief moment. Their stare softened, their hand squeezed. “All three of us are getting out of this. Only one getting left behind is a shitheel named Parker Wright.”

Teddy turned back. Facing the small shack, scanning every inch of it for anything that might give them the upper hand. Small, not quite sturdy enough for them to attempt to come from above, not without giving away any surprise they had. From what they knew, Parker was an ambush predator. Somehow getting unsuspecting victims into a state of vulnerability, despite the severe nature he possessed, only to then subdue them into a malleable piece of meat for him to butcher.

If the time they lost to his methods before was any indication, the man was slow. Methodical. A fucking sociopath rivaling Patrick goddamn Bateman. They had a few moments before the scalpel at worst. Though Teddy preferred to stop the surgery before the sedatives. Before the snake’s venom ever had a chance of taking its toll. Before the kid had to feel like their world was torn, flipped, and changed irrevocably. Not everyone was lucky enough to get a whole new body after such an altercation.

—

Burrow looked down to the needles before she knew their true purpose. It was clear from the way his fingers curled that it was important to his hunt. She wondered how much it would hurt if that thin metal pierced her skin. It likely would not have caused even a gasp of acknowledgement, the bite as small as her parasites. Of course. Too much pain was not quiet, nor did it invoke charity. She thought of what he had told her online. His interactions with the fae; his fight with the balam. At first believed to be his way of questioning; his way of self defense. No. The two were connected. This is how he hunted. How wonderfully curious. The ironmongers were the same as her: takers. Something of a smile pulled at her lips. “I see.” Her mouth returned to a line. “So, that is how the Ironmongers hunt? They ‘take’ until the fae dies?” It would explain why they were so feared. As a child, she had merely taken a piece of the fae’s domain. To take such a thing was owed to her by her purpose and nature. Even that simple thing had caused so much fear and hatred. “You may take what you want from the fae. I want to take their knowledge.” She paused. “If the fae does not die, I will bind them to prevent them from warning others of the plan. You will threaten to take more if the fae does not accept the bind.” She may give them some of her parasites for their troubles… depending on their injuries. She would not place her parasites in crumbled homes, much like the building the two were in.

Burrow took the vial. It could have been mistaken for empty, containing a liquid of no color or fizz, except for the faint line at the top that shifted with her movement. She studied it in a way that she could still see Parker through its clarity, not fully taking her eyes off him. Still, her concentration did wonder at the implications of his statements. Her heart shuddered. The thing nestled peacefully in her palm had almost led to her demise. Without that knowledge, it was easily overlooked. How fitting, that a thing so small and unassuming would serve the parasites. It may be far more useful than the ironmonger would know. She was not impulsive: her vines had been making progress to her ultimate plan. Still, she was not opposed to adding other strategies in securing her hold on the fae. She would likely use multiple methods due to the multiplicity of the fae and their nature. She was eager to see the sedative’s capabilities. “How much of the sedative is needed to sedate one fae? Is the amount of the sedative that is needed different between types of fae? Are there consequences to the body if the fae is sedated for a prolonged time?”

—

“Not quite.” Parker replied in regards to her first inquiry. ‘Why are you so broken?’ His brother shouted at him from a memory that flitted through his thoughts, a specter that walked so effortlessly through the walls of his mind on occasion. ‘Why can’t you just fix your shit?’ He recalled the memory with such clarity, even if Walker had apologized months later after they hadn’t spoken throughout the duration of those months. “Generally, Wardens are slower to jump mindlessly into an altercation but they’re still killers.” He explained, recalling Rhett, recalling Walker and the rest of his family. “I’m… an outlier.” He admitted after a pause. “...Very well. Make sure you tell me if they will have your parasites on them before I proceed.”

The entomid took the vial, and a small, involuntary pulse, as though he’d been pricked, coursed through his fingers as Parker could feel his blood recoiling from her brief touch. It wanted to retaliate, press itself against his skin to protect him from her. The Warden didn’t display this sensation, however, and instead collected his drink from wherever he’d subconsciously put it down, taking another warming sip, feeling the steam entering his cold nose. While part of him felt as though it’d be appropriate to communicate just how he was a stranger even to other Wardens, he didn’t; she had moved on, and he was content to, as well. ‘Just don’t show any weakness, boy.’ His father warned. ‘People think you’re a killer. Fae won’t be scared of you if they know you just take pieces of ‘em.’

But that was where his father was wrong, surely?

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to add more introspection to his mind that already had too many gears turning, even more than his usual number. ‘Do you ever stop thinking?’ The answer to that question was obvious. “Generally, the amount that you hold in your hand is sufficient for most fae that I’ve encountered.” He explained, gesturing to it. “It has to enter the bloodstream to be efficient. I’m not sure if it works on leshy and it’s less effective on lampades.” Parker took another sip, his other hand still resting on his belt. “I’m proficient enough in my duty that one dose usually works.” A pause. ‘Don’t tell her. If she finds out you aren’t a murderer, she won’t think you’re worth anything.’ The pause made way for a small inhale and a twinge of his brow. “Prolonged sedation leads to sluggish neurological activity, numbness in the limbs and appendages and on one occasion, an accidental overdose led to respiratory arrest.

“...I’m not sure if it would work on you, either.” He added, blue eyes darting to her face once more, his expression shifting slightly to be more absorbing. His imagination replaced her glamor with what he’d seen in the forest, a slide from a projector being replaced over his visual perception of the world. His breath caught in his throat and Parker shook his head to bring himself back to wherever reality was. “I’ve never… encountered someone with your unique form before.”

—

Frustration boiled in his chest, the irritation clear in the scowl twisting his lips. “You can’t just say things will be fine,” he argued. “You wanted me to make a plan, I’m making a plan. He won’t kill another hunter. If he were going to, he would have done it in the woods when he put me under.” It was the first time he’d admitted to Teddy that Parker had sedated him. In all honesty, it wasn’t something Emilio liked thinking about. Control was something important to him. When he felt he’d lost it, he tended to lash out. And with those drugs, Parker had taken away his ability to do even that. But even the idea of a repeat performance of the ordeal was better than the idea of Teddy or the kid losing their lives to this madman. “I’m going to get us all out. Okay? I’m going to make sure everyone makes it out of this still breathing. I’m just asking for your help doing it. If things go wrong, get the kid out. I’ll get me out. She’s important.” More important, but he wouldn’t say it. They didn’t have time for an argument.

Which was why Emilio didn’t wait around for Teddy to agree with him. He trusted them. He trusted that, when it came down to it, they’d trust him back. All three of them were going to be just fine. And Parker Wright — Emilio made note of the last name, just in case — was going to die alone and bloody in the floor of this shed. With any luck, he’d be left there to rot and Emilio wouldn’t have to come up with a lie to tell Rhett or Jade. Either way, he’d be fine.

He moved towards the shed, figuring Teddy would follow along behind him. He tried to keep the noise low, though it was far from his top concern. He’d noted during their fight that Parker didn’t always track sound with proficiency. Hearing didn’t seem to be the warden’s strongest sense. Stopping at the door to the shed, Emilio strained his own ears, momentarily envious of rangers and their advanced hearing. He could make out the low murmur of voices inside, though he couldn’t hear what they were saying. There were definitely two, though. Parker hadn’t drugged the kid yet. That meant they weren’t too late.

Turning back to Teddy, Emilio did his best to communicate this without speaking. He nodded towards the door to the shed, then gestured to himself. Gesturing to Teddy, he held up his index finger. I’ll go in first. You wait a minute. Better to let Parker think Emilio was alone to begin with. Being underestimated allowed the wielding of a powerful weapon.

—

There was little to do about making an actual plan with the short time they had between themselves and the shack. This was probably the best opportunity they had to get at the man, even if they didn’t have a kid in there to save. Hunters could be elusive if they wanted to. Even if they were arrogant pricks who thought themself the apex collector of all things not his. Teddy bristled, but nodded. Positioning themself the best way they could. Out of sight, a hell of a surprise.

Watching the man leap into action (despite the knot in their stomach, despite the pounding in their chest, despite their wishes that he would do anything else) was a thing of wonder. Emilio was always on guard. Always ready for the next rattlesnake. But this? This was drive, precision. His muscles tensed in a way Teddy had only seen once or twice before. Readied and poised. He was the snake this time. A viper of vengeance and protection.

Teddy wouldn’t repeat the thoughts it inspired out loud.

They waited for the signal. Waited for the right moment to step in. Careful. Observant. They could do that, they could be that for him. But goddamn they really wish they had a better set of weapons than the three wooden stakes, two daggers and a set of not-exactly-brass knuckles that they had thrown in the fanny pack as a joke. If they had known the target was going to be him tonight, well. There’d be a whole different set. A scalpel, for one, seemed prudent.

—

“Oh.” Burrow’s voice chirped in a single note of disappointment. “Well. The others are wasteful, then.” When they die, all the body’s offerings die with them. Though, even in life, there were those whose offerings were pitiful. “Yes. I will not have my parasites in a damaged host. You will avoid excessive damage the few times… I want the fae to live.” A want that almost had its hand in those binds that connected all fae. Hers were tattered and faded from neglect, but still, she felt it. An annoying persistence of her youth. No. The want was for who truly mattered. She looked to her arm — passed the false skin wrapped around her. “The fae will serve us fully if we can claim both information and food from them.” Serve them just as well as the thing that laid in her hand. Her gaze traveled up to look upon it again.

One vial, one fae. A thing smaller than a finger could have brought down the entirety of her. It had come from a pouch which was joined by others; others Burrow was certain held more of the same. Many pouches, many fae. Well, for however long the effects lasted. “How long is the fae sedated from one dose?” She could devise a system. Jab a dose into the skin upon certain time intervals. The consequences of that were not dire. The fae did not need to be physically or mentally capable, they simply needed to be alive. Alive to keep the barrier up; alive to lure in their domain. Their death would lead to the death of her own, as all parasites did when their hosts died. She would ensure their survival, if only barely.

As if the gaze would pierce in lieu of his needles, the ironmonger stared. Burrow returned it, piercing the same. Looking for something. She had become adept at observing the humans, for all their survival relied on it. But this man was a curious thing. A blank. An ironmonger indeed. “And you will never know if it does, because-”

Her parasites called out to Burrow. Something, something, something. They did not know what they sensed, for they were things of no thought or care. But still, they sensed something. A something that was approaching. Her gaze on Parker sharpened. Had he invited others to this meeting? If he thought that would be rid of her, he would soon see the consequences of breaking a deal. A likely outcome that had yet to be proven, so she pressed her finger to her lips. A silent shush; a command for silence. Then her hand moved to an inner pocket of her jacket, where her swiss knife lay. She grabbed it, slipping the vial in the pocket as exchange. Her thumb pressed on the blade, ready to swipe it out at a moment’s notice.

A moment that came with the bang on the door. Feeble from decay, it relented to the intruder’s wish and clattered to the floor.

—

The numbers that ran through Parker’s head could’ve been visible for a flash as he glanced up in thought. How long did it keep one fae under? Again, it relied on physiology, the type of fae, and sometimes even the location of the point of entry. Instead of replying in a timely manner, he instead gave the impression that he was still thinking about the specifics when he noticed that their eyes had locked. It was inherently comfortable, but not because of their contrasting species, their similar behaviors, the two sides of the same coin or the damned reflection that the Warden hated looking at. He always hated eye contact, which Walker was sure to mention on occasion was ‘odd’ considering Parker’s proclivity to stare. He didn’t waver, though, and instead her affirmation that he wouldn’t be able to test whatever theory might’ve formulated in his brain was another small, but notable reminder that they were tethered together by the deals he was coerced into. One of his blue eyes twitched faintly, as though irritated at her rejection but he remained silent, not content with her refusal but begrudgingly accepting it as he was aware of the words wrapped around his throat. The Warden was expecting the rest of a sentence that had been cut short and where it had faltered, her stare on him hardened. He reciprocated with a semblance of a frown, not sure what had happened over the course of a few seconds to warrant both the abandonment of a statement and the glare of the nymph. He was nothing if not able to quickly study body language though, and Parker felt himself instinctively tensing even more than his usual preparation as Burrow herself indicated for him to be silent, reaching for what he assumed was a weapon. Did she bring back-up? Was this actually the setup that Parker had anticipated but in a moment of weakness, he hadn’t allowed himself to be prepared enough? Abruptly, he dropped his cup, splashing the soft wood with steaming liquid as the heat interacted with the frigid temperatures outside the confines of the vessel and he barely had time to turn to face the door when something - or someone - had caved it in. One arm flying up instinctively to protect his eyes from dust particles, plant matter and wood splinters, his other hand quickly reached for the broad dagger from the holster on his thigh.

—

The knife he gripped in his hand was longing to taste Parker’s blood. He wanted to take the warden apart slowly, wanted to take his remaining nine fingers one by one before starting on his toes, wanted to bleed him dry little by little, bit by bit. But that couldn’t be the priority now, he knew. Parker had a kid in there with him. A kid who was likely about to meet a fate similar to the one Teddy had suffered, or Teagan, or the nymph he’d caught Parker taking to shreds the last time he’d confronted him. Parker deserved everything Emilio wanted to give him, but the kid didn’t deserve to be caught in the crossfire. He’d meant what he said to Teddy before — she was the priority here. Getting her out, keeping her safe, that was what mattered.

So he’d make it quick.

The muffled voices inside the cabin died suddenly. It was hard to determine if it was the result of fronts being dropped and drugs being administered or if he’d been detected. Safer, he knew, to assume the latter. The element of surprise was a powerful weapon but, like most deadly things, it could be turned on the person wielding it fairly easily. To assume you weren’t in control when you were was a pleasant surprise. To assume you were in control when you weren’t was a fatal mistake. So Emilio settled on the former, assumed his advantage had been lost. He hoped that Teddy remained an undetected trump card, glanced over to them with a scowl, hoping to warn them against any drive to act too quickly. It was the last look he’d spare them for a while. Parker knew of him as someone who acted alone. Let him keep thinking it. Let the warden’s superiority complex be his downfall.

Squaring his shoulders, Emilio opened the door, eyes darting over the scene. The kid was still conscious. She was holding something that looked like the weapon Parker had used to drug him in the woods before. Was this the warden’s way of playing with his meal before striking? Emilio wouldn’t put it past him. “You should go,” he said quietly, ignoring Parker in favor of addressing the kid. “This isn’t the kind of man you want to be around.”

—

The knife under Burrow’s sleeve stayed firm in her grasp, its blade not yet fully revealed from its sheath. It was not her moment to strike. A parasite rarely attacked, it simply waited for an opportunity. So, she waited the same, gauging this intruder. He was similar to her associate, baring skin that told a life of violence with eyes that sought more blood. A confirmation for her initial suspicions — except — it was not her blood the stranger sought. No, that bloodlust was directed at Parker. She was only given a warning, as if she was not a danger herself. As if she was some poor victim. It was the stranger who was the fool. While she would not weep upon Parker’s demise, she did not want him dead. He was useful, and she was certainly not finished with him yet.

Though her face stayed facing the intruder, her eyes flicked over to Parker. Burrow waited for reciprocity, their eyes meeting, before calling to her parasites. A cauliflower fungus feasted on the dead wood of that long forgotten shed. Its cluster of mushrooms was advantageous: a nook just by the opening of the door. Her influence wrapped around those mushrooms and directed their aim. A swirling cloud of white spores erupted in the air, right into the intruder’s face. In the same moment, she mouthed to Parker: There is another one outside. Her tick could see them, those human shoes lurking beyond the walls. It could not decipher much else, for its view was small and its mind much smaller.

Burrow seemed to follow the advice of the known intruder. She threw aside a hanging blanket, revealing a broken window. Its glass had long ago lost its dangerous edge, so she slipped through it with ease. Out into the world, she looked to where her tick had seen the human. There they were, somehow standing both stiff and unsteady. She kept her gaze on them, watching and waiting. But she did react, though not noticeably. Her influence reached out further, invisible tendrils branching from her body the same as the mycelium below. They coiled around her vines who were eager to finally hear her call. But she did not call to them all. Her call was focused on the ones who had already satisfied their urges. Those who had claimed — those who could run. A few began to run to her.

—

He didn’t afford himself much time to shield his eyes from getting anything in them - each moment was one that compromised him for an incoming attack. The dagger removed from its holster rose in a defensive position as he forced his eyes open. As he did, a familiar voice managed its way into his good ear.

Emilio.

Parker’s nostrils flared as an involuntary surge of anger tore its way through his tense body. He wondered how the hell Emilio managed to find him out here, in the middle of seemingly nowhere. He wondered if it was stupid luck or some semblance of actual skill, though that wonder was quickly discarded - he refused to acknowledge that Emilio might’ve been good at anything. ‘Oh c’mon, surely other hunters can be skilled at things.’ Walker suggested, nudging him in the shoulder with an elbow once over ten years ago. The Warden’s gaze narrowed, not daring to remove his icy glare from the slayer. Last time, he got several knives thrown at him. The space they were in now was much smaller; surely that wouldn’t have worked.

Last time, he got caught off-guard, as well. And last time, the fae he was with was unconscious. So while he was expecting some empty dialogue to be shared again, Parker wasn’t expecting the slayer to address Burrow first. A recommendation for her to leave. An assumption that the parasite nymph was one of his targets, which was both correct and incorrect. How Parker longed to dismantle Burrow, find out what was under her squirming, writhing visage. He wanted to study her, an intense fascination that dug into his brain sometimes. ‘It’s funny because it’s like a parasite.’

And he couldn’t.

Just like he told Rhett he wasn’t going to kill Emilio.

Those unspoken promises, one of which he felt around his neck whenever he was near Burrow and the other souring his saliva as he stared down the slayer, threatened to leave his mind as he resisted the rage that wanted to overwhelm him. The hand that his finger had been cut from thudded with a phantom pain that had quickly since been ignored and forgotten until this moment in time. Instead of indulging in that urge, however,, he managed to tear his eyes off the slayer and he looked at Burrow for a moment, as though to communicate that this wasn’t his idea. Whether that communication was effective, there was no way for Parker to know but as steely blue met dark brown, she had summoned something from the ground, something that plumed and blossomed like a ghostly explosion of decompositional flora and something, presumably spores, were sprayed into the air, directed at Emilio. Subconsciously, Parker started to hold his breath and he took a step back. Burrow had mouthed something to him, but though he was adept at reading lips, he wasn’t sure if he understood clearly. There was someone else outside? Well, he supposed there was now as Burrow took the opportunity of distraction to escape from the decrepit building, leaving the two hunters inside as the Warden turned his gaze back to Emilio. He still wouldn’t strike first, even as he held the advantage. It was unbecoming so instead he backed up until he hit the far wall, silently, the dagger still held in front of him to block whatever would come his way first.

—

He’d been expecting an attack from Parker. A lunge, a throwing knife, maybe some attempt to hit him with those fucking sedatives. He’d been prepared for any and all forms of hunter attacks, body tensing in anticipation even as he addressed the nymph first. He hadn’t been expecting the nymph to come at him. A cloud of some kind of dust exploded all around him, invading his lungs and eyes. He shut the latter as quickly as he could, an instinctive attempt to prevent damage, but he couldn’t stop some of the shit from getting in them. Emilio grunted, taking a step back and bringing a hand up to rub the intrusion away.

Being blinded, even momentarily, wasn’t ideal. His heart thudded at the very concept, paranoia settling deep into his veins. He tilted his head, listening for Parker’s movements and gripping the hilt of his knife so tightly his knuckles went white around it. Why had the kid attacked him? Some terrified inability to tell friend from foe? Or… Was she working with Parker? The very thought seemed laughable. Parker didn’t strike him as the type to work with a fae, and he couldn’t imagine anyone who knew half of what he’d done teaming up with him, either. (Except for another hunter, of course; that was a different matter entirely.)

Questions swirled in his mind as he finally forced his eyes open. His vision was still blurry, but blurry was better than blind. The kid was gone. He could only assume she’d vanished in his blindness, and regardless of the reason behind her attack, that was probably a good thing. If she was working with Parker, it meant one less foe to worry about. He didn’t love the idea that she might stumble across Teddy, but Teddy had their healing and he’d much rather they go against the kid than Parker. If she wasn’t working with Parker, it was good that she’d gotten away.

His eyes locked with Parker’s, anger burning through them. The warden hadn’t attacked while he was blinded; Emilio was almost insulted. But only almost. In a fight, letting your pride cost you an advantage would only ever cause you to lose, and Emilio had no intention of doing that. If Parker wasn’t smart enough to take the advantage, Emilio would ensure he lost it. He was a scrappy fighter, used to fighting opponents more powerful than him. That was the nature of a hunter; while genetics granted them some useful perks, the things they were hunting were always going to have the upper hand. And right now, for Emilio, Parker was one of those things.

He shot forward, adrenaline granting him speed in spite of his useless leg. Whoever’s side the nymph may have been on, there was no way to know how long she’d remain out of the fight. Unlike his opponent, Emilio wouldn’t let any advantage slide from his hands. He feigned an attack on the left before ducking, attempting to plunge his knife into the right side of Parker’s chest instead. Finish it quickly, get out, get Teddy. That was the plan now.

—

The sudden flurry of activity wasn’t exactly what Teddy expected, but then again they barely knew what to expect at all. Emilio dove headfirst into the fray, but someone else jumped out almost just as quickly. Took the ex-demon more than a second to realize it was the kid. The one they were trying to protect. In succinct succession their expression shifted. From a hardened worry, all close knit brows and clenched jaws, to a relieved surprise. A smile ghosted their parted lips as their eyes widened. Almost blowing their cover by shouting something over to her.

Instead, Teddy mimed an ‘are you okay?’ over to the kid. Shortly followed by a ‘get out of here, get to safety’. Though that was probably a bit harder to read. Lots of reassuring palms and frantic gestures to the wayside. Deep into the woods where a fae would be safe, right? The ex-demon knew a lot, but they were no expert. That being said, nature was kind to most of its guardians.

With the kid out of the way, all that was left was the monster. Even before Teddy’s hand hit the handle on the door their heartbeat was the only thing they could hear. Any sounds of the scrape between the two hunters was drowned out and muted as everything began to sound as if it was underwater. No, that would’ve been comforting. This sounded more like they were being suffocated. Somehow, they knew it wouldn’t relent until they entered. Until they joined the fight. Until they won. Guess it was time to give the bastard a bit of his own medicine.

The ex-demon burst through the door, following the path the hunter took. Hopefully putting themself between whatever Parker had planned and the man who assumed it was his job to take it. The adrenaline was pumping, their vision was blurred around the edges, but he was vivid at its center.

“Remember me, asshole? My turn to take something.”

—

Burrow returned the human’s silence for more of her own. A silence void of any meaning or offering. Unlike the human, who offered her a warning, the same as she had warned Parker of their presence. The two intruders were very concerned for her, despite never bothering to ask her wants. She did not want to leave — she wanted them to leave. Still, she continued on her walk as if she accepted this warning as well. It was Parker who hunted, who held a knife the moment he was born. Burrow did not run into a fight, but she would watch one. Hidden behind the skeleton of a bush, peering through its bare branches.

Though steps away, Burrow followed the human with her senses. My turn to take something. Curious. The person was clearly not a fae, but it seemed they were no human either. She doubted Parker would take from his own kin. Could this stranger be the balam he had once mentioned? Her eyes immediately dropped down to the stranger’s ass, but saw no signs of a dent. Nothing to indicate the missing of a tail, sealed behind that human skin. It did not rule out her suspicions, but it did not solve them either. She would have to wait if she wanted to learn the stranger’s nature. A curiosity she would forfeit, for revealing their nature could cause the death of Parker. Parker was her host, she would not let them kill him before his use was done.

Burrow would not ask more from her fungi. It needed to save the rest of its spores for the proper time. Through the air, the tendrils of her energy searched for another. More diversions to stumble the strangers before her hounds arrived. Her tachinid flies heeded her call, weaving about her expansive presence. She swarmed them with her love, before urging them to swarm. Go to the cabin. The air around the shed’s door became littered in small dots. Unassuming and easily missed. Until she dug her essence into their wings, turning their silent flapping into a wail. A shriek that dug the same as her, writhing into the intruder’s ears.

—

The movement was swift, as it tended to be, even with a disabled leg but it still wasn’t quick enough for Parker’s mental arsenal of contingencies. The fake-out was expected and tolerated in place of the Warden moving to block the incoming dagger to his chest as the clash of metal scraped through the cold air. He used the momentum (and the offset weight of the slayer favoring his good leg) to push Emilio away from him, creating some distance between the two when suddenly the third party that Burrow had warned him about made themselves present in the room, glaring at him. A short pause in thought to the question before the Warden raised a brow. “The show-off Bisexual.” He replied bluntly, straightening up for just a second before returning to his defensive position, stepping lightly as he was determined not to expose his back to either of them. He wasn’t accustomed to fighting two at once, but he was even less accustomed to retreating from a fight, especially one that seemed to churn in his mind on occasion. Parker was frustrated with how often he thought about the first fight with Emilio, how much time was wasted wondering what would happen if they encountered each other again. There was no respect, no begrudging acceptance that it was a fair fight and that Emilio had held his own despite his lack of skill, thought or cleverness. And the thought that Emilio didn’t tell anyone that he had lost that fight did more than irritate Parker; it infuriated him. The slayer had taken a finger but he lost. And yet no one had perceived it that way. Parker received no praise from Rhett for not killing his “brother”, Jade treated it like it was a joke and she was still friends with Emilio despite the latter’s poor decision. He was sure if he told Owen, that slayer would’ve made a sardonic comment about it. This was why he didn’t have any friends; they weren’t friends with him, they were acquaintances, people to use him until they got bored, until he did something that was bad enough to warrant them deciding not to be “friends” with him. Parker wasn’t a failure, despite that being all that he heard from his father’s echoing voice in his head ever since that day, chastising him for not striking the killing blow. He wasn’t a failure, despite finding himself in a ramshackle cabin with two people who wanted him dead with the fae that he had made deals to nowhere in sight. He wasn’t a failure. He couldn’t have been. He wasn’t a failure, as the three started to engage in a desperate struggle before a loud screeching could be heard outside. It only reached half of him but the other half spontaneously wanted to shut down. Instead, he took the opportunity to slash out at one of Teddy’s arms while his other hand was busy preparing itself for another attempted stab from Emilio.

—

Parker dodged the attack — expected, but frustrating all the same. Emilio would have liked to have ended the whole ordeal before Teddy came onto the scene at all, because he knew that was only a matter of time. Teddy disliked the idea of letting Emilio take a fight on his own, even if fighting was what Emilio was for, what he was good at. They’d come to help, because they cared about him. He remembered the way they’d looked just speaking about Parker on the floor of their kitchen, how small they’d seemed. He’d wanted to make a corpse of the warden so that when Teddy came barging in, they’d find themself avenged, protected. He wanted to show Teddy the same… warmth that they’d always offered to him, and he’d only ever known how to do that through violence. But Parker dodged the attack, and he was still breathing when Teddy barged in the door. It wasn’t ideal.

Neither was the way Emilio stumbled backwards as Parker shoved him. His leg had been worse since his last encounter with the warden; carrying even less weight than it used to, aching more than it had before. It was a weakness he knew the other hunter would capitalize on if he spotted it, and it was a weakness that was hard to miss in the way he stepped backwards now. “Don’t talk to them,” he snapped as Parker turned to Teddy, anger burning in his chest.

He took another step forward, ready to go in for the kill, ready to turn the damn floor red. And then — the screech. Loud, unexpected. Two things that Emilio wasn’t much good with anymore, two things that tended to have an ill-effect on an addled mind. It disoriented him, made his ears hurt, made his eyes dart wildly from side to side as he searched for the source. Something’s wrong, his mind whispered, something’s here. It’s going to kill you, it’s going to kill them, don’t you get it? It’ll tear the world apart all over again.

His eyes settled back on Parker just as the warden slashed out at Teddy, and any limited strategy the slayer possessed vanished with the glint of the warden’s blade. He was a rabid dog as he launched himself forward, eyes wild and settling nowhere for long. He was a flurry of movement — slashes, stabs, fists, teeth. Emilio was raised in a way that found him fighting for every ounce of life he had; moments like this saw that heritage shining through. The movements were without strategy, but unpredictable as a result. With that disorienting sound triggering the parts of his mind that never left Mexico, he was a hard thing to pin down.

—

Where the fuck did that noise come from? The ex-demon was reeling long before the screeching ended. Staggered as if it had been a physical blow. Maybe not as hard as the hunters would have hit, but a strike all the same. And it wasn’t the only one. The momentary disorientation was all Parker needed to slash out and strike skin. Blood, bright red and human seeped from Teddy’s wound. Jagged and deeper on one side than the other, an imperfect strike. Good. Hurt worse in the moment, but that seemed to be the kind of thing that pissed Parker off. Ted didn’t know much but they knew a perfectionist when they saw one.

Was it the surprise of a second guest, they wondered, or the noise? Probably the former, Parker didn’t react quite as badly as Emilio did. Had the warden somehow caused that, was it part of the trap for the fae girl? Some supernatural creatures had extremely sensitive hearing, it was only logical to think some fae might as well. That it might be another of the coward’s tools like the drugs he’d hit Ted with before. The thought of which made their head spin, and their eyes snap towards the strange daggers on the man’s belt.

The slash on their arm was not enough to stop Teddy, wasn’t enough for them to show their hand and give it back either. Too early to show what would happen. In a way, the stinging gash along their arm was a driving force. Painful, and weakening that arm quite a bit, but igniting a fire inside their chest all the same. Unfortunately, they weren’t the only bonfire lit by the action. Ted’s attention whipped around just in time to see Emilio lunge at the other hunter. Fuck. Right within range of the scorpion’s tail.

So Teddy rushed at a different angle. Reaching out for a slash of their own, going for the belt that held those dangerous daggers. Metal met leather with a gnawing resistance, but Parker was far too tangled up in Emilio’s teeth (goddamn, now that was a mental image to savor) to stop the ex-demon from snapping the strip, then slinging it out of the belt loops. Quickly, they tossed the thing as if it was a live grenade. Far enough away from the fray that it might as well have been in a different state. This turn, however, served another purpose. Bait. Parker had wriggled one arm free, still had a blade of some kind in his hand. And Teddy had just presented him with a wide open target. Too enticing to ignore.

—

Snapping orders on what and what not to do. An observation that no amount of bravado could hide the knowledge that Emilio’s leg wasn’t any better than last time; if his quick observation was correct, Parker wasn’t the only one who lost something in their last fight. It should’ve given him a flash of satisfaction, but he wasn’t allowed any time between frenzied attacks from Emilio, especially after he could feel his dagger striking flesh. Uneven, unsatisfying, but there just the same. The Warden didn’t even have time to examine the damage he’d done (or see the black blood that surely spilled from the wound as it did last time) when something seemed to ignite in Emilio, the latter growing even more erratic and careless, but also utilizing his enhanced speed in ways that made it impossible for Parker to block them all and soon enough, he had placed his focus once more on the other hunter. The two became almost intertwined with each other; arms banging against one another, legs crossed as they pushed against the ground while trying to stay standing, themselves. There were different attacks coming from every angle he could perceive and then some but he reacted as best as he could to each of them, opting to block the knife in favor of whatever else the slayer had at his disposal– ‘Wait did he just bite you??’ Walker asked incredulously as the Warden sucked in a breath of surprise when he felt teeth being buried in his arm. Somehow, he was expecting that less than any stab wound and the hand that wasn’t holding the knife grappled for Emilio’s curly brown hair in an attempt to pry him off. Parker was so focused on being caught off-guard like that that he wasn’t aware of Teddy coming in from one of his blind spots and he realized with a sensation far, far stronger than the surprise that painted his face upon being bitten that his utility belt had been removed. Abruptly abandoning any endeavor to attack Emilio, his gaze snapped down where it found nothing, then his head jerked up just in time to see Teddy throw the belt with enough arm strength that it disappeared from his view. His breath caught in his throat and wild blue eyes with their tiny pupils darted to Teddy, who seemed to leave themselves open for him. Time slowed, or perhaps it was just his own enhanced senses but in any case, he was being confronted with options: In a deft maneuver, Parker had swapped hands that held the knife and for a split second, he was ready to stab Emilio just for the trouble - the two were obviously close and he himself was starting to lose the fight, especially as he struggled to keep himself from hyperventilating as he the weightlessness of his belt being torn from him and placed so out of reach threatened to send him into a meltdown. Teddy obviously wanted him to go for them, which was why it made more sense to remove Emilio, then he could take Teddy apart limb from limb. He inhaled…

…But any thoughts that were racing through his head were promptly lost as oozing crimson caught his eye. The belt was all but forgotten. Emilio’s teeth, his blade, his fists, anything against Parker was dulled. The sounds of struggle became muted as though they were plunged underwater and the pupils that were pinpricks just seconds ago swelled in size, almost like a cat suddenly fascinated with a moving object. Air was expelled from his nostrils and he wrenched his arm from Emilio, spraying his own blood everywhere as he wordlessly attempted to use the slayer as a springboard. The four inches of advantage he had over the slayer was utilized as well as still having two working legs and he rushed for Teddy– no, he rushed for Teddy’s arm, knife in one hand and approximately zero critical thoughts going through his head as everything was drowned in red. The pulsing, fevered spot on his back, obscured under both his shirt and jacket, sent signals to his mind. Consume. It wasn’t black. It didn’t matter. Parker was on them in a flash, all but dropping the dagger as he used his bare fingers to pull open the wound so he could sink his teeth into it and feed on their blood.

—

His teeth found purchase, and Emilio held on tight. The full force of his jaw was locked around Parker’s arm, even as his hands continued striking out with blades gripped in the fists. The warden’s hand was in his hair, trying to yank him back, but Emilio held fast. The pain was a long-forgotten thing. The sound was still assaulting from every angle, and Emilio’s mind was a frazzled thing. He smelled blood; he thought it might have been Teddy’s. The thought only served to further enrage him, and he tried for another stab in the center of Parker’s abdomen. Even in this state, he knew the best bet when fighting a skilled opponent was to aim for center mass, where you had a good shot at hitting something even if they dodged.

In spite of the stench of blood in the air, Teddy seemed to be holding their own. Out of the corner of his eye, Emilio saw Parker’s drug kit fall away. It was a smart move; he hadn’t thought of it himself, but he should have. The drugs had been what Parker used to take him out last time. If the warden got a chance to do the same thing again, Emilio wasn’t certain he’d wake up with all of himself still attached. But the slayer wasn’t the only one who noticed the kit falling away — it caught Parker’s attention, too.

And it wasn’t the only thing.

It was funny; Emilio recognized the behavior. It was a half-realized thing, in the state he was in, but bloodlust was the sort of thing he’d been trained to pinpoint since the time he was a child. The look in a vampire’s eyes when it zeroed in on its meal, the single mindedness of a hungry beast. The warden jumped at Teddy, grabbed for their bloody arm, sunk his own teeth in, and Emilio took a moment to focus on that hollow of his gut that usually tugged when there was something undead around. But the feeling wasn’t there now. Parker, despite his behavior, hadn’t been turned into a vampire since the last time Emilio had seen him. He was just… trying to eat Teddy’s arm. Huh.

The warden’s quest for Teddy’s blood had sent Emilio stumbling back a few feet, a chunk of Parker’s arm still clenched between his teeth. He spat it out in quiet disgust, shaking his head to try to center himself in spite of the sound. Being used as a springboard hadn’t done any favors for his bad leg, but he was miraculously still on his feet. And Parker was attacking Teddy, and even knowing that everything he was doing was being dolled back in his direction piece by piece wasn’t enough to quell the rage that came with that. Maybe Teddy’s new party trick would serve as a decent distraction. Emilio was about to find out.

Launching forward once again, he readied his knife and hoped that this time, it would be his blade that came away bloodied.

—

If the sensations from the battle up in the bunker in the mountains were strange, this was something else. Bizarre. Vile. One part excruciating, one part invigorating. Fingernails found purchase between the layers of skin. Peeling and prying at the weeping wound to get a better angle for his hungry mouth. Teddy felt panicked, a whole new flavor of freaked out. Their heartbeat quickened, blood pressure spiked, the body’s defense of sending all its blood to their extremities started becoming a real fucking concerning issue.

The sanguine fluid dribbled out and all over Teddy’s arm as Parker cracked into it like a greedy toddler trying to get at the candy in the center of a pinata. The ex-demon flailed, trying to put their whole strength into a move that would have thrown the man across the room with as much ease as they had clipped the belt but– but Teddy was human now. Human and broken enough that their strength was nothing impressive, certainly not something that could rival a hunter’s. Instead their shoulder popped with a sickening sllu–lruck! Drooping lazily for a moment behind them as they struggled to get away like a fox caught in a bear trap.

Even so, the Leviathan’s final gift was weaving its magic.

In Parker’s frenzy, maybe he didn’t notice right away. Teddy had no idea what had gotten into the man who they were pretty sure was a warden and not a vampire or something. Teddy hadn’t ever been jumped by vampires before. Demon blood apparently wasn’t too tasty. And since the ritual, well, Emilio had been sticking close enough around to act like mosquito repellent. As the ex-abomination watched and struggled against the shifting tides of skin and blood, they saw the way the skin tried to knit itself closed around the teeth still stuck deep within their flesh. Saw how it molded around, like the knots of a tree bending to the whims of iron fences, only to overtake with time and effort.

By the time their shoulder had popped back into place, Teddy was feeling woozy. The magic was struggling to keep up in a realistic way. It may have been pumping that much damage into the feral warden, may have been trying desperately to close the wounds his gnawing teeth and gnashing hands sought to re-open. That, or it was the sheer amount of magic that had to flow through in such quick succession. Either way, the edges of their vision started going dark and Ted had one hell of a fall.

—

The taste of copper on his tongue wasn’t a welcome one, Parker had acknowledged that immediately. But it was necessary, through a powerful urge that he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so strongly aside from when he found something he needed to add to his collection. The word ‘obsession’, said in disgust by his father when he would overhear the hushed conversations the man and his mother would have behind closed doors, found its way into his head once more. ‘He’s impossible sometimes, Eris.’ He said as the Warden clumsily, carelessly sucked at the open wound to siphon blood from Teddy’s freshly-dislocated arm.

‘He gets these… ideas in his head and it’s like he doesn’t realize where he is.’ A fresh, unnatural spike of pain came from his other arm now as his chin was coated in crimson. ‘He shuts down and gets unresponsive.’ The wound Parker’s jaw was clenched around was… closing, skin trying to push his teeth out from it. Every ounce of blood the Warden consumed seemed to fire another neuron in his brain, a machine fuelled by life itself with no grace, no capacity for recognizing when it should be grateful or understanding when it needed to stop. He jerked his head to the side as he felt the flesh attempting to stitch itself up, a human can opener with teeth not suited for what they were trying to do, a throat that wanted to gag as blood seeped down his esophagus but an insatiable hunger that overwhelmed him despite everything else he felt.

‘He doesn’t understand pain.’ Accompanied with the sensation of his own arm being pulled open by teeth not suited for what they were trying to do, miraculously forming as though he were being bitten by an invisible specter was the decidedly sharper pain of a knife in his side. More blood unlocked more of his capacity to think; Emilio was still there, Parker had turned his back on him and in that moment, the slayer had taken advantage. Every ounce of him that grappled to take control back told him that what he was doing wasn’t worth it. He would bite, the wound would close and he’d feel something akin to, well, teeth sawing into his arm. An arm that felt like it’d been tethered to a car that wrenched it from its socket.

‘You wanted a hunter.’ His mother replied curtly, with that tone Parker only heard on occasion, and mostly when he was listening in to their conversations. ‘He hunts. And I’d have expected you of all people to know what obsession feels like; he got it from you.’ He wasn’t sure if the knife was still in his side or if it had been pulled out, opening a hole for him, his own iron-rich blood pouring from it. He wanted– he needed to inspect it, to refocus his attention on Emilio, especially if the damage he was doing to Teddy wasn’t amounting to anything. His vision still swimming, blurred over and almost not recognizing anything but what was colored red, the Warden’s bones cracked as he pulled himself from the human just as the latter fell to the ground.

He straightened up despite both arms pulsing with bite wounds (and one of which swinging loosely), the inflamed sore on his back demanding he pay more in blood and the knife wound in his side and Parker, dripping, gasping for breath and still yet almost completely silent, cast his steely stare to Emilio. His own dagger had since been dropped. His blue eyes searched for an opening on Emilio, any place where the red stood out. He found nothing. He’d find something; Emilio bled just as well as he or Teddy or anyone else did. Staggering slightly, Parker attempted to kick Emilio’s bad leg once more. He’d fall, and his eyes would be at the perfect height for Parker to gouge them out with his thumbs. He’d drink from those sockets. ‘He doesn’t understand pain because you made sure he doesn’t understand pain.’ As he kicked, he brought one of his arms up and twisted it until his mouth was caressing his own skin, pulling blood from his own veins now in an attempt to quell the seemingly-unquenchable thirst.

‘How am I supposed to punish a boy who doesn’t feel anything?’

‘Maybe think about how that’s punishment enough.’

—

The vines bursted through the hole once known as a window. Wiggling and twisting like water from a spout. As if they had no limitations to the shapes they bore, except for the muffled clicking from their core. Clicks of those long dead bones below the surface. The vines were things of death, but they could be persuaded otherwise from the right mouth. The vines’ mouth was a spiral into darkness: a meager mimicry of the thing that rotted inside them. It latched onto Parker, the spiraled vines curling around both his arms. They slithered through the window, man and hound, and into the crisp air. But that hedgehound’s assistance was over, for it was the retriever. Parker was flung onto another: one mighty and swift. A thing worthy to be a steed, as its vines secured Parker onto its back.

Most things came in threes, and the hounds were no exception. The third loomed by the cabin, matching the second in girth. The only thing taller was Burrow, who clung onto its mighty back. With only a twitch of her will, the hound eagerly followed her command. Twisted masses that mimicked hind legs kicked the corner of the shed. It too was eager to bend to her will — it bent into total submission. With only a tremble of protest, the shed began to crumble to the ground. Nature had fully claimed it at last.

Burrow did not care to see it to fruition. She would not let the intruders harm her parasites or her host any longer. Back to the trees she urged her precious hounds, and back to the trees they ran. The steeds ran in tandem: side by side. The retriever trailed behind. Its legs twisted into their opposing directions, sending the hound into a backwards gait. Keeping its eyes steady upon what once was the shed and those inside.

It freed Burrow’s own eyes to look at Parker. She saw a composed man look closer to a bloody beast. “You are a full mess. Remember, you cannot harm me.” What had happened? The man ruminated when his emotions simply overstayed their welcome. Surely he would not worry about such little things if this chaos was common. A madness that had him biting whoever dared cross his maw, even his own flesh. Her retriever hound had told her of such. She could see its evidence: how the mess of gore concentrated on his lips. Even all the marks on his shoulder did not produce as much blood that dripped off his lips. Drippings he desperately licked upon. Almost as if he was… hungry. How interesting. “You will explain to me why you bit the intruder and yourself… after you calm down and deal with your wounds. Your amount of blood loss is wasteful and unhealthy.” She urged her vines to press onto the gash on his side, holding what blood they could into his body. “I will put the moss on your wounds. Then, you will tell me why you were biting.”

—

Teddy fell. Parker attacked them and they fell, and it was too loud, and his leg hurt, and he could smell blood in the air and taste it on his tongue and he didn’t think he’d be able to breathe again until the taste went away completely or he ripped the warden’s throat out with his teeth to add to it. The walls of the room were starting to shift and blur, and Emilio was as angry as he always was, as terrified as he always pretended not to be. A shed in the woods, a living room in Mexico, it was all the same. There was a monster in front of him with blood in its teeth, and he knew how to kill something like that, so he would. This was what he was good for, after all, this was the point of him.

The slayer readjusted the knife in his hand, readied himself to strike. Kill the monster, serve your purpose. It was simple.

But everything was only ever simple until it wasn’t.

There were vines; it took a moment for Emilio to realize that they weren’t just in his head. They crawled through the windows, they scooped Parker up. There were creatures — hedgehounds, he knew those were hedgehounds — and they were riding in like stallions, were carrying the warden away. The fae was back, was helping him, and it didn’t make any sense. Hunters could work together with the things they were supposed to hunt sometimes, but the idea of Parker doing so seemed so utterly ridiculous that Emilio couldn’t wrap his mind around it. But the hedgehounds were whisking the warden away, and the nymph seemed to be controlling them. It didn’t take a detective to put two and two together.

Nor did it take one to recognize the way the building began to tremble.

He could have gone after them. He knew that. Even with his bad leg, there was a chance he could have caught up. But the building was shaking and Teddy was on the ground, and Emilio couldn’t bare the thought of leaving them so he didn’t. Instead, he rushed over. He draped himself over them, let his skin brush against theirs. (Were there any injuries left, any more evidence of Parker’s assault? He’d take it all, if he could. He wanted to.) The ceiling fell, too old and decrepit to do any real damage even as it collapsed around him. He was a better shield than he was a person, he thought. He liked himself better when he was serving a purpose.

By the time it was all done, there was no sign of the hedgehounds. No sign of the warden or the fae, no sign of anything but Teddy and Emilio in the wreckage. Emilio glared in the direction they’d taken off in, furious that the warden had escaped with his life again, furious with himself for his failure. He’d spend the rest of the night drinking it away, he thought; chasing the feeling of inadequacy with a bottle of whiskey, burying the aches and pains of the fight with bitter amber. But… There were more important things to take care of first.

He stood, brushed himself off. One arm went under Teddy’s head, another under their knees. He scooped them up gently, cradling them carefully against his chest as he stood. His leg ached in protest at the added weight, already unhappy at the results of the fight, but he pushed the pain to the back of his mind. It was a message; it could be ignored. Straightening, he took an unsteady step forward, and then another. It’d be slow going, but he’d get them home eventually.

And then, with a bottle in his hand, he’d figure out just what he was going to do next. He still had a warden to kill, after all.

#lou made the header <3 #wickedswriting #thread #thread : parker #thread : emilio #thread : teddy #ft. parker w.#ft. emilio c.#ft. teddy j.#with : the hounds #drug manipulation tw #domestic abuse tw #eye trauma tw #unsanitary tw #alcoholism tw

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tanushakyrano · 1 year

Text

febuwhump day 21: shackled

characters: John, Penelope

additional warnings: injury, imprisonment

_______________

Muffled shouts and yells drag John back into the land of the living.

His face hurts. The man who’d knocked him out really hadn’t been pulling any punches (metaphorical ones, of course; he’d actually used a baseball bat). The right side of his face was astoundingly sore, and John just knows that he’s sporting a very impressive bruise right now.

His wrists hurt, too. The cuffs binding him to the chair were already uncomfortable, but they had practically been supporting his weight while John had been unconscious and had dug deeply into his skin. Blood had run down his wrists, now dried and encrusted on his hands.

The shouting is getting louder. John is still in complete darkness, with no visible markers to even attempt to figure out if he’s in the same place as before. He jumps when something large slams into the door he didn’t know was in front of him, its hinges rattling with the impact. There is a muttering and a clicking. Someone kicks the door wide open. He squints against the glaringly bright light of the corridor behind them.

“John. There you are.”

It’s a casual, almost flippant statement, but John’s known Penny long enough to know that she really is relieved to see him. His eyes are just adjusted enough to the light to catch the lowering of the pistol she’s gripping as she makes her way to his side. Kayo stands just behind her, watching him intently. Another figure - Parker, judging from the height and build - keeps watch in the doorway. No brothers in sight. John’s not surprised at that, though. This entire situation is a far cry from rescues and optimism and faith in humanity; it’s Penelope, Parker and Kayo’s world, and they all know exactly how to handle it. No matter how much his brothers wanted to help, they’d have only gotten in the way. (Well, maybe Scott and Gordon less so, given their military experience, but they’re years out of practice and John must have been hit really hard because his mind is wandering an alarming amount.)

He blinks. Penny has undone his cuffs. He flexes his hands experimentally, wincing as the barely-scabbed-over wounds crack and split. Penelope places a hand on his jaw and tilts his head to better examine the bruises.

“It looks worse than it is,” John mutters. He’s not fooling anybody, clearly; Penelope simply shoots him one of her signature looks.

“Did they do anything else to you?”

John shakes his head minutely. “No. No, I’ve just…been here the whole time.”

She inclines her head in confirmation, but the cold fire in her eyes does not dim. John has seen this expression on her before, noted the way her jaw sets and her lips thin and the terrifying sort of calm that she wears like armour. His brothers are the same way, the protective streak synonymous with the name ‘Tracy’ present in all of them. Penelope is angry. John almost pities the poor souls that will suffer the brunt of her rage.

Almost.

For now, though, she only smiles and takes one of his hands, giving it a gentle squeeze in a way that doesn’t jostle his injuries. “How about we head back to the car? We can get your wrists cleaned up, and have a spot of tea back at the manor.”

Oh, Penelope. Always so quintessentially British.

“Sounds wonderful, actually.”

And it really does. It’s been a long while since they’ve shared a cup of Earl Grey.

#cora writes #thunderbirds are go #john tracy #lady penelope #penelope creighton ward #febuwhump23 #whump #tw injury

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hannahhook7744 · 2 years

Note

How does it look when Storm Bringer crew goes out for an ice cream?

What is Hannah's favourite flavour? How long do they spend arguing about what flavour is the best? Who manages to buy an absurdly big sundae? Does anyone end up covered head-to-toe in melted ice cream?

It's a chaotic affair and it takes forever to wrangle everyone up just so they can even get to the place. Though, that's just the norm for them whenever they go anywhere and chances are high that they'll end up getting kicked out of the place by the end of the outing.

Hannah adored vanilla ice cream cones as well as rocky road ones. Can never decide which is her favorite.

Luke enjoys absurdly big Movie Madness sundaes.

Treycor likes simple chocolate milk shakes.

John loves chocolate sundaes drowned in fudge with a drizzle of lime syrup.

Darcy loves charcoal ice cream cones with black sprinkles and blue berries on top.

Skia usually enjoys a simple vanilla ice cream in a cup.

Aaron loves a strawberry ice cream cone with skittles and gummy bears sprinkled in while Genesis perfers a plain strawberry Milkshake and Luis perfers a waffle bowl full of strawberry ice cream dosed in chocolate syrup and oreo crums.

Anna loves cherry ice cream with a simple waffle cone and strawberry syrup.

Alex loves rum raisin ice cream (especially if there's rum in it).

Atlas is a baby and loves any non sour ice creams and is usually the one who ends up covered in melted ice cream and toppings. Somehow he even ends up covered in other people's ice cream.

Craven loves chocolate milk shakes with whipped cream and sprinkles on top.

Jolene loved chocolate pudding pops.

Skelebar, Francesca, Fiona, and Rian love coffee flavored ice cream.

Liberty loves a nice simple lemon pop as does Evelyn.

Josh likes a mix of chocolate and strawberry ice cream.

Eduardo loves wine Popsicles.

Isaac loves a coke float and James loves soft served Coca-Cola ice cream.

Haul loves brownie batter shakes.

Noah, of course, loves pomegranate ice cream cones with rainbow sprinkles, bird seeds, whipped cream, a dribble of chocolate fudge, and oreo crums.

Peachy loves Apple pie ice cream bowls.

Remi loves cookie dough ice cream in a waffle bowl with chocolate syrup, chocolate fudge, and brownie bits in it mixed with oreos.

Hope loves marshmallow swirl ice cream cones.

Herlando loves cookies and cream ice cream milkshake with sprinkles and strawberry fudge topped with a cherry.

Parker loves a donut raisin rum ice cream sandwich.

Ike loves orange crush push up pops as does Howiee, though he perfers an orange juice gummy bear popsicle.

Levi loves fondue ice cream bowls.

Misty loves kelp ice cream pops.

Gunner loves lemon ice cream cones with sour patch kids ontop.

And finally, Moxie loves himself a cheeseburger favored and earl grey flavored sundae much to everyone's disgust that Rian secretly loves as well.

And they can spend several hours arguing over which is the best flavor even though they can all agree that the last one is disgusting.

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krispyweiss · 1 year

Text

REK Bids Adieu to “ACL” - and Touring - with Songs about Leaving

Robert Earl Keen made one final stop - his seventh - at “Austin City Limits” before shuffling off into retirement.

The show premiered after Keen’s final gig on Sept. 4 and ends with the singer and songwriter, in a post-concert interview, explaining his decision.

“I wanted to go out pretty much the same way I came in - with the passion and a lot of excitement about what I do,” he said. “And there was certain times in the past few years when I kind of felt like that might’ve been slipping a little bit.”

Edited down to five songs to split the episode with Parker McCollum - WTF, “ACL?” - the performance finds REK seated and singing four songs about leaving, capped with “I Gotta Go.”

“Gotta warm up for retirement, man,” Keen said of his chair.

Backed by a five-piece band that included a rhythm section, pedal steel, a second acoustic guitar, plus fiddle and electric axe, depending on the track, Keen had the crowd all in on “I’m Comin’ Home,” “Shades of Grey” and “Gringo Honeymoon.”

Singalongs. Audience participation. Standing ovations. The whole bit.

It all started with “Feelin’ Good Again,” a song about going out rather than heading back in. And Keen says he may show up somewhere, sometime to play a benefit or sit in with a pal, but this was basically it - unless, of course, “Austin City Limits” sees fit to air the rest of the gig.

We’ll be waiting impatiently.

11/18/22

#robert earl keen #parker mccollum #austin city limits #pbs

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earlgreydream · 3 years

Text

secret.

| peter parker x reader | fluff |

anon requested. peter parker x starkreader, secretly dating and getting caught by the avengers

cw: steamy but no actual smut. parker is assumed to be <18 in my fics

You walked through the tower, the place you’d grown up in your whole life. Everything had been the same, until Peter Parker moved in after joining the Avengers.

It was dark, and you were sneaking out of your bedroom, wandering the halls. Your steps were quiet on the marble floors, silently making your way to Parker’s room.

You slipped in the door, closing it behind you. You crept over to the bed, leaning over your secret boyfriend.

“Baby?”

He was supposed to be awake, you’d planned for you to come visit that night. Big brown eyes snapped open, a teasing grin crossing the boy’s face at your confusion.

You smirked, giggling quietly as he pulled you to straddle his lap, the sheet draped between the two of you.

“Hi, baby,” you murmured against his lips, feeling his hands slide up your warm skin, venturing under your loose t-shirt.

His tongue slipped into your mouth as you carded your fingers through his chocolate hair, rolling your hips against his through the sheets.

“I missed you today,” Parker mumbled, kissing down your neck and lightly sucking at the base of your throat.

You dragged over his lap, the sheet creating a barrier between your tiny pajama shorts and his boxers.

“I missed you too,” you sighed softly, dropping your head back as he kissed up your throat before teasingly nipping at your earlobe.

“I’ve been dying to touch you. Watching you walk around all day, teasing me in front of Mister Stark,” he accused, knocking you flat on your back.

His hands slid up under your shirt, groping you roughly and grinding against you over the sheet.

“I wasn’t teasing, Parker,” you whimpered, tugging on his hair and dragging him back into a rough kiss.

You slept soundly beside him, making sure to set your alarm early enough that you could sneak back to your room before the two of you were caught together.

With Stark as your father, he forbade you from dating his team or staff. However, you found yourself falling for the young avenger, and you’d been sneaking around and dating in secret for the last few months.

You shut your alarm off, exhausted at the early hour you awoke.

“Don’t go baby,” Parker mumbled, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you against his body.

“I have to. I’ll see you later,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his mouth before slipping out of bed.

You managed to find your way back to your room unnoticed, opting for a shower before crawling back in bed. You had the day off, enjoying the weekend without anywhere to be.

You decided to spend the day in bed with films, wishing that your boyfriend were snuggled down with you. You drifted in and out of sleep, but you stirred when you felt warm hands on your back. You opened your eyes, looking up at Parker, who was kneeling on the edge of your bed.

“You’re here.”

“I came to see you. Everyone is busy,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You sat up, wrapping your arms around his neck and squeezing him. His body was warm, and you were sleepy and cuddly, and for a moment you forgot about everything else.

“Is my baby tired?” he teased, lightly squeezing your waist and kissing your cheek.

You nodded, leaning back and pouting your lips for a kiss.

You jerked back when you heard your name called, and you shoved Parker into the closet. He disappeared from view only a half second before your father, Tony Stark, walked in.

“Hey, I hadn’t seen you all day. Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes, just tired,” you answered, clearing your throat and trying to act natural.

“Well, I was wondering if you were feeling up to going out?”

“Not really. Is it anything important?” you asked, wanting to be left alone.

“No. You can stay. Have a good afternoon,” he said, touching your head before walking out of your room.

“Holy shit, we almost got caught,” Parker giggled boyishly, climbing out of the closet.

“Sounds like they’ll all be gone this afternoon. Will you stay and watch movies with me?” You asked, holding his hand.

“Of course.”

What you didn’t plan, was for the both of you to accidentally fall asleep on top of each other. The weather was dreary and you were both tired from the long week and late nights. It was innocent, you were just snuggled against his side, his arm around your body and your head on his chest.

The duvet rested over you, enveloping you both in warmth while the television droned on softly in the background. You were both startled awake by the very loud sound of your father shouting in the doorway.

“What in the absolute fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

You both sat up, staring at Stark, Steve, and Nat who were in the doorway. They’d returned to bring you some food, but had found you in bed with Parker.

“Dad! It’s not-”

“What it looks like? Oh, I think it is.”

Parker’s face was bright red, and he didn’t know where to look, caught by your father and his colleagues, your aunt and uncle for all intents and purposes.

“Auntie Nat!” You whined, hoping for some help.

“You’re on your own for this one kid.”

“How long?!” Stark demanded.

“A few months, Mister Stark,” Parker confessed, praying he didn’t get fired.

“I love him, dad. Please, don’t overreact,” you begged softly, trying not to cry.

Parker turned to you, gently taking your hand and squeezing.

“Tony. They’re adults. Let them be,” Steve said quietly, and your dad stared at you for a long moment.

“Fine. But Parker, if you hurt my kid, I will kill you and get away with it.”

“Yes, sir!”

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blue-ravens · 2 years

Photo

🏳️‍⚧️🫖🏳️‍⚧️

[image description: picture of charles winchester and donna marie parker from the episode ‘mr and mrs who’. they are both holding tea cups, and they are laughing. there is a screenshot of a tumblr post that says “T4Tea, when you’re trans and wanna have a nice cup of tea” photoshopped over the bottom left of the picture. end description.]

#i know for a fact he keeps the vials of t in an old tin of earl grey tea #charles emerson winchester iii #donna marie parker #mash 4077 #m*a*s*h #blue's post #charlie memerson #image description #mash

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fielran · 3 years

Text

A (not so) Brief Guide to Titles and Prefixes on Downton Abbey

Married vs Unmarried Women

All downstairs characters should be either Miss or Mrs. The prefix Ms. did not come into common use until the late 1960s and so is anachronistic -- it is not a shortened version of Miss, but rather a marital-status neutral alternative to the other prefixes in use.

"Miss" denotes an unmarried character, regardless of age.

"Mrs" or "Misses" denotes a married or widowed character, or rarely, an upper female servant. Remember the exchange from S1--

Joe Burns: I notice you call yourself Misses.

Mrs Hughes: Housekeepers and cooks are always Misses. You know better than anyone I haven't changed my name.

Joe Burns: Well, I know you wouldn't change it to Burns when you had the chance.

Miss or Mrs are also used for any middle or upper class characters who do not have titles, including courtesy titles.

Use of Prefixes for Servants

The lower servants, including maids and footmen, are referred to by first name only, both by upstairs and downstairs characters.

Lady's maids, valets, and male upper servants are referred to by prefix and last name by downstairs characters, but by only last name by upstairs characters. For example, Mrs. Hughes says "Miss O'Brien" but Cora and Robert say only "O'Brien". Female upper servants get the prefix from everyone, even Lord Grantham:

Mrs Patmore: I promise you, milord, if I could just be allowed a bit more time--

Robert, Earl of Grantham: Mrs Patmore, I've not asked you here to give you your notice.

For example, Thomas Barrow starts as a footman, and everyone calls him Thomas. During the war, he is Corporal or Sergeant Barrow, then he is called Thomas again after, as a footman. When he becomes Robert's valet, he is Mr Barrow downstairs, or Barrow upstairs, and remains that way throughout his remaining promotions. He is also called Mr Barrow by the children. It may be this is a peculiarity, or the children may be expected to refer to unrelated adults using their title.

Anna is a bit of a strange case - she properly ought to be Mrs. Bates downstairs and Bates upstairs after she becomes a lady's maid, but perhaps to avoid confusion with her husband who is also Bates upstairs, the change never happens.

Phyllis Baxter is Baxter upstairs, Miss Baxter downstairs. If Mrs Hughes retires and Phyllis takes her place, she would be Mrs. Baxter. If she actually gets around to marrying Molesley at some point, with no promotion, she would be Mrs Molesley downstairs, Molesley upstairs.

Tom Branson as chauffeur is called Branson by both upstairs and downstairs characters - at least those who are not in a relationship with him. After his marriage to Lady Sybil, he is called Mr Branson by those outside the family.

Daisy is called by only her first name as a scullery and kitchen maid. There are no other undercooks to compare, so I am unsure whether she ought to be Mrs Mason. If Mrs Patmore retires and she becomes the cook, she should become Mrs Mason (or Mrs Parker, if she actually gets around to marrying Andy by then).

Titles for Nobility

There are 2 main types of titles used by the 'nobility': Substantive titles, and courtesy titles.

Substantive titles are for those who hold titles in their own right. This includes hereditary peers, like Lord Grantham, as well as life peers. The title holders have seats in the House of Lords.

Courtesy titles are for those connected to title holders - wives and widows, children, and other male-line heirs. Wives and widows hold legal, though not substantive, titles. Children of title holders are considered socially as nobility; however, legally speaking they are commoners and can be elected to the house of commons.

Lord Grantham is the only member of the Crawley family with a substantive title during the time of the series. All the others use courtesy titles. As the wife and widow of title holders, Cora and Violet are Lady [title], in this case Lady Grantham.

Legitimate daughters of a hereditary Marquess, Duke, or Earl or his direct male-line heirs are Lady [first name]: Lady Sybil, etc. They retain this styling if they marry someone without a title. In Pride and Prejudice, Darcy's aunt Lady Catherine, daughter of an Earl, had been married to Sir Lewis de Bourgh, who held only a knighthood and no title, so she remained Lady Catherine. Violet Crawley married Robert's father, the Earl of Grantham, and so her married title of Lady Grantham took precedence over any title she used previously, even if her father had higher precedence.

This courtesy title does not carry on to their children. Sybbie Branson cannot claim her mother's courtesy title, and her father Tom Branson has no title of his own, so she will be Miss, not Lady. Under formal etiquette, she and any future siblings would be styled like the Bennets - Miss Branson for an adult Sybil, as the eldest unmarried daughter, Miss [first name] for any additional unmarried daughters. However, they would not necessarily follow such protocol unless they are active socially in the upper class - if Mr Branson marries Lucy and she inherits, for example. The middle and lower class, especially more radical members thereof, did not hold closely to this tradition by the time Sybbie would be an adult.

The eldest son and heir of the hereditary holder of a title in the top 3 ranks - duke, marquess, or earl - can use one of the title holder's subsidiary titles as a courtesy title. We don't know if Grantham has a subsidiary title, because nobody alive during the show is entitled to use it. If there is one, Robert would have used it prior to his father's death; however, James was not Robert's son and therefore could not use the title, nor could Patrick or Matthew. George, although he is Robert's grandson and heir, cannot use the title because he is inheriting through Matthew rather than Robert.

The younger sons of Dukes and Marquesses are given the courtesy title Lord [first name]. The younger sons of Earls without subsidiary titles, as well as all sons of other nobles, are styled The Honourable [first name] [last name], as: "The Honourable Evelyn Napier, son and heir to Viscount Branksome." Tim Grey is also "The Honourable", although he will not inherit if Larry has any legitimate sons.

Adopted children were not entitled to a courtesy title at the time Downton Abbey takes place, so there will be no title for Marigold even if Bertie adopts her or Edith acknowledges her.

Young Children

Young children of higher standing than the speaker should be referred to as Master or Miss, regardless of actual titles. So in Downton's nursery we have Master George, Miss Sybbie, Miss Caroline, and Johnny.

So What Does That All Mean for Whoever I'm Writing About?

Robert would have been Master Robert as a child, Viscount Something - the wiki says Viscount Downton - as a young man, prior to his father's death, and of course is Lord Grantham in the time of the show. Had he had a son while his father was still living, that son may have used another subsidiary title, if one exists, or have been styled "The Honourable". Any brothers Robert had would also be styled "The Honourable".

Cora would have been Miss Levinson prior to her marriage, Viscountess Something after, then finally Duchess of Grantham. She may one day become the Dowager Duchess of Grantham.

Mary would remain Lady Mary after both marriages, as neither Matthew or Henry has a title. However, had Matthew lived to become Earl of Grantham, she would have become Countess of Grantham at that time. Carson may have called her Miss Mary as a child.

Sybil Crawley would remain Lady Sybil, though she would use Branson's last name.

Edith would change from Lady Edith to the Marchioness of Hexam on her marriage. Her illegitimate daughter Marigold would have no title, even if adopted by Lord Hexam. Her firstborn son would use a subsidiary title, and younger sons would be called Lord [first name]. The firstborn son of her firstborn son would also likely have a subsidiary title. Additional daughters would be Lady [first name].

Bertie went from an untitled Mr Pelham to the Marquess of Hexam. His mother did not gain a title and is called Mrs Pelham.

Sybbie Branson is Miss Sybbie now, and will be Miss Branson. She will not have a title unless she marries into one.

George Crawley is Master George now, and will be Mr Crawley until he inherits the title Earl of Grantham. He is not Viscount Downton.

Marigold is Miss Marigold, and will be Miss whatever-last-name-they-decide-to-use. I don't know what that is, and there isn't one listed on the wiki. Miss Pelham if Bertie adopts her.

Caroline is Miss Caroline, and will be Miss Talbot.

Evelyn Napier is The Horourable Evelyn Napier. He is addressed directly as Mr Napier. After his father's death, he will be Viscount Branksome.

Anthony Foyle is Viscount Gillingham. Prior to his father's death, he was an Honourable.

Larry and Amelia Grey are styled The Honorable Mr and Mrs Larry Grey. They will be Baron and Baroness Merton on his father's death.

Let me know if there are any other characters you aren’t sure of, and I’ll try to add them.

#Downton Abbey #meta #writing resources

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teach463146 · 2 years

Text

https://www.tomsguide.com/news/downton-abbey-a-new-era

This list has Matthew’s name.

Downton Abbey: A New Era cast

Many of the Downton Abbey cast members from the series and the first movie will reprise their roles. They include:

Hugh Bonneville as Robert Crawley, the Earl of Grantham

Elizabeth McGovern as Cora Crawley, the Countess of Grantham

Michelle Dockery as Lady Mary Talbot, the eldest Crawley daughter

Laura Carmichael as Edith Pelham, the Marchioness of Hexham and second Crawley daughter

Maggie Smith as Violet Crawley, Dowager Countess of Grantham

Allen Leech as Tom Branson, widowed husband of youngest Crawley daughter Sybil

Jim Carter as Charles Carson, the retired butler

Phyllis Logan as Elsie Carson, the housekeeper formerly known as Mrs. Hughes

Robert James-Collier as Thomas Barrow, the current butler

Joanne Froggatt as Anna Bates, Lady Mary's maid

Lesley Nicol as Beryl Patmore, head cook

Sophie McShera as Daisy Mason, assistant cook

Penelope Wilton as Isobel Grey, Baroness Merton and Mary's former mother-in-law

Samantha Bond as Lady Rosamund Painswick, Robert's sister

Harry Hadden-Paton as Bertie Pelham, Marquess of Hexham and Edith's husband

Matthew Goode as Henry Talbot, Mary's husband

Douglas Reith as Dickie Grey, Baron Merton and Isobel's husband

Kevin Doyle as Joseph Molesley, former footman and village school teacher

Michael Fox as Andy Parker, footman

Imelda Staunton as Lady Maud Bagshaw, Robert's cousin

Tuppence Middleton as Lucy Smith, Tom's fiancee and Lady Bagshaw's heir

Several new faces are joining Downton Abbey 2's cast. One can be seen in the first photos from the movie: Laura Haddock as Myrna Dalgleish.

#matthew goode #the downton movie

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graysonclarke96 · 2 years

Text

Marvel: Young Avengers Protocol to Origins of Grayson Clarke.

Character to Actor:

The Clarke Family:

Grayson Clarke- Chris Wood

Zoey Clarke- Lily Collins

Sally Clarke- Kim Rhodes

Thomas Clarke- Christopher Cousins

The Stacy Family:

Gwen Stacy- Madison Iseman

Simon Stacy- Jacob Tremblay

Phillip and Howard Stacy- Freddie Highmore

Helen Stacy- Susanna Thompson

George Stacy- Mark Harmon

Jill Stacy- Emma Watson

Arthur Stacy- Sean Bean

Paul Stacy- Paul Walker

Miles Warren- Dave Annable

The Parker Family:

Ben Parker- Tom Cavanaugh

Richard Parker- Daniel Gillies

Mary Parker- Rachel Leigh Cook

The Morales Family:

Miles Morales- Jordan Fisher

Rio Morales- Danielle Nicolet

Jefferson Davis- Russell Richardson

Aaron Davis- Donald Glover

Young Avengers:

Rayshaun Lucas- Trevor Jackson

Kate Bishop- Hailee Steinfeld

Daisy Johnson- Shan Dodd

Bobbi Morse- Olivia Holt

The Fantastic Four:

Reed Richards- John Krasinksi

Susan Storm- Hilarie Burton

Johnny Storm- Zach Roerig

Ben Grimm- Conan Stevens

Defenders:

Luke Cage- Michael Jai White

Jessica Jones- Jessica De Gouw

Matt Murdock- Colin Donnell

Danny Rand- Josh Segarra

Marc Spector- Stephen Amell

Elektra Natchios- Julia Voth

X-Men:

Charles Xavier- Patrick Stewart

Logan- Hugh Jackman

Hank McCoy- Ewan McGregor

Ororo Munroe- Sonequa Martin-Green

Scott Summers- Sam Claflin

Jean Grey- Jane Levy

Kurt Wagner- Thomas Doherty

Bobby Drake- Brandon Flynn

Emma Frost- Josephine Langford

Piotr Rasputin- Daniel Cudmore

Warren Worthington- Alex Pettyfer

Alex Summers- Lucas Till

Sean Cassidy- Cameron Monaghan

Kitty Pryde- Danielle Rose Russell

Anna Marie- Elizabeth Gillies

Elizabeth Braddock- Michelle Keegan

Danielle Moonstar- Blu Hunt

Megan Gwynn- Natalie Dormer

Roberto De Costa- Froy Gutierrez

Illyana Rasputin- Anya Taylor-Joy

Tyrone Johnson- Roshon Fegan

Tandy Bowen- Virginia Gardner

Rahne Sinclair- Rose Leslie

Sam Guthrie- Charlie Heaton

(Various other students)

Brotherhood of Mutants:

Eric Lehnsherr- Dacre Montgomery

Raven Darkholme- Pauley Perrette

Cain Marko- Nathan Jones

Victor Creed- Liev Schrieber

Todd Tolenksy- Aramis Knight

Fred Dukes- William Berry

Dominic Petrakis- Toby Kebbell

Karl Lykos- Luke Evans

Jeanne-Marie Beaubier- Kaya Scodelario

Arkady Rossovich- Dolph Lundgren

Laynia Krylova- Tracy Spiridakos

(Various other Mutants)

Villains:

Otto Octavius- Mark Sheppard

Sergei Kravinoff- Manu Bennett

Flint Marko- Dominic Purcell

Max Dillon- Aaron Paul

Curt Connors- Jeffrey Dean Morgan

Morgan Le Fay- Katie McGrath

Martin Li- Stephen Oyoung

Lana Baumgartner- Emily Wickersham

Victor Von Doom- Viggo Mortensen

Carl Creel- Brian Patrick Wade

Wendigo King

Aleksei Sytsevich- Andrey Ivchenko

Tony Masters- Jason Statham

Edward Whelan- Julian Bleach

Zebediah Killgrave- David Tennant

Benjamin Pointdexter- Edgar Ramirez

Melissa Gold- Maika Monroe

Morrie Bench- Ben Foster

Thundra- Rebecca Quin

Sinthea Schmidt- Phoebe Tonkin

Other Characters:

Tim Elwood- Drew Roy

Grace Elwood- Lauren Roy

Ava Ayala- Tristan Mays

Felicia Hardy- Marie Avgeropoulos

Morgan Tyler- Hartley Sawyer

Flash Thompson- Michael Provost

Elena Gold- Nicola Peltz

Riri Williams- Candice Patton

Kamala Khan- Iman Vellani

Dante Pertuz- Jake T. Austin

MJ Watson- Sophie Skelton

Harry Osborn- Liam Hall

Norman Osborn- James Redford

Mendel Stromm- David Dayan Fisher

Cletus Kasady- Jackie Earle Haley

Eddie Brock- Alan Ritchson

J. Jonah Jameson- J.K. Simmons

Jean De Wolfe- Sandra Bullock

Jennifer Walters- Mary Elizabeth Winstead

Yuri Watanabe- Tara Platt

Richard Rider- Liam McIntyre

Sam Alexander- Dylan O'Brien

Eileen Harsaw- Camilla Belle

Mikhail Uriokovitch Ursus- Olivier Richters

Rachel Van Helsing- Katheryn Winnick

Jacob Russoff- Kristofer Hivju

Eric Brooks- Duane Henry

Robbie Reyes- Tyler Posey

Kari Lyngley- Katherine McNamara

Jared Lyngley- Ross Lynch

Bruce Banner- Eric Bana (Re-cast)

16 notes · View notes

pemfrost · 3 years

Note

For the bingo what about spideydevil hogwarts AU . Good luck on your bingo!!

Thank you if you do it.

Thanks for the prompt :D

So, this is like 3 times longer than I wanted to make these bingo fics lmao. Oops 🤷‍♀️. It still could use some polishing, but I'm terrified that Peter will find another plot thread if I poke at it anymore.

Bingo fic 1/?

As much as he devoted himself to studying, Peter could not bring himself to care about Divination. The whole class reminded him of cringe inducing hacks he'd seen on t.v. growing up. Except, no one was jumping out with hidden footage to debunk it. Everything appeared hollow: randomness assigned meaning. And, while Peter didn't often procrastinate, he found it harder and harder to work on his Divination homework the more weeks that passed.

There was one silver lining, though. Another student, one he'd held a torch for from afar, was in the class with him. That too, turned out to be hollow and meaningless until today. Despite having a class together, Peter still had no real reason to approach Matt. However, he stumbled into the opportunity in his usual Parker way: completely on accident.

His procrastination on his Divination assignments reached a plateau, and, despite his ability to work quickly under pressure, Peter was late to class. When he'd finally made it -ten minutes late and scribbling the last lines on his essay- he'd thought the repercussion would be a lecture. Or detention. The usual stuff Hogwarts professors liked to through his way.

Instead, the professor welcomed him to class in her airy way and quietly assigned him a partner for the project she was currently guiding the class through. "Ah, Mr. Murdock, please join Peter for the remainder of class."

By stoke of luck, Matthew Murdock had been an unlucky third wheel in another group, and made no fuss about changing seats. His usual partner was in the infirmary; the exact cause was the subject of many rumors. Peter was rather fond of the theory that Foggy was involved in a fight with the group of slytherins who often tired to bully Matt, but anyone involved was keeping their lips zipped tight.

It wasn't a glamorous impression, but Peter was thankful for the opportunity.

"Do you know what you're doing?" Matt crossed his ankle over his knee and leaned back in the cozy chair across from Peter. He nodded to the steaming cup of tea in front of him, raising an eyebrow.

Peter nodded, then mentally kicked himself and verbally answered, "Yeah. I read over the basics last night."

It was a basic tea leaf reading, and the set up was quite straightforward. The professor was kind enough to provide hot water and a selection of tea leaves at each table. Though, she did note they would have a better reading with their own supplies.

"Good. I started my tea already, so you can read mine while yours-"

"Mr. Murdock." The professor tapped the cup in front of him with her wand. "You must start over. The leaves are easier for your partner to interpret when they are brewed just for them." With a flick of her wand, his cup was replaced with an empty one and she glided off towards another set of students.

Matt sighed and reached for the tea selection, deftly selected Earl Grey and pinched a healthy amount of leaves into his cup. Peter followed suit, choosing one at random without reading the labels.

"Don't you care for tea?" Matt's gaze was slightly to the left of where Peter sat, his face not giving away his thoughts.

"I do, I'm just not picky." His pulse quickened. This was the most they'd spoken in years. He watched Matt's hands as he poured the hot water into their cups, tracing the calluses earned from long hours in the greenhouse.

"Now we wait." Matt sat the pot back to the side of the table and leaned back in his chair.

The tea would need to steep for at least three minutes. There were many things to do during that time to ensure a good reading, or so the professor said. Holding the cup and thinking about what you wanted the leaves to tell you seemed like a good option, but Peter really didn't believe in fortune telling enough to meditate over his tea. Another method was to talk to the person who was going to do your reading. And the third, and one Matt seemed keen on, was to silently wait and let what happens happen.

In Peter's opinion, silence was something to be broken

"Uh," Peter shifted nervously as watched the steam rise from his cup, "how is Foggy? That was a hell of a match last night, shame he missed it."

"He's fine." Matt's voice was flat. "He should be discharged in time for dinner."

"That's… good to hear." Peter eyed him nervously. Matt was a year ahead of him and in a different house, meaning they had very few direct interactions. Yet, Peter knew a good amount about him. Or, rather, he knew what the Daily Prophet said and what he'd observed with his own eyes didn't always match and had drawn his own conclusions.

Coming from a muggle family meant Peter had very little frame of reference for most things, and he could only try to compare having an Auror as a father to having one who was a cop. Matt was a third year when his father was targeted by a group of dark wizards and Matt was caught in the crossfire.

Peter, always in search of knowledge, desperately wanted to know which curse caused Matt to lose his vision, and which spells gave him a sense of the world around him. As far as he could tell there was no braille equivalent in the Wizarding World. He didn't ask, of course. He had more sense than that, even in the pursuit of knowledge. He wanted to know Matt first, because he seemed like a cool -and handsome- guy.

Even if he was callous enough to just ask, it wasn't like he had many opportunities to do so. This was actually their first class together in Peter's six years at Hogwarts- and would be the only one since Matt would be graduating in a few months.

Despite having no real social interactions, Peter was well aware of Matt, and would have been even if his story wasn't in the papers for months. The very first time Peter stepped foot into Hogwarts, he was so enthralled with the majesty and magic of the castle -- until he spotted Matt. It was silly, and, even though Peter couldn't name the sensation back then, that moment stuck with him.

Peter had read everything he could prior to entering Hogwarts, dreading being behind his peers who grew up in the Wizarding World. His heart was set on Ravenclaw, drawn in by the lure of knowledge and like-minded students. That was until he locked eyes with Matt from across the hall and, for a brief moment, yearned to be adorned in red and gold. Reason won, and he was proud to be sorted into Ravenclaw. But, part of him always wondered.

"Thank you." Matt's voice jolted him from his reminiscing.

Peter wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve thanks, so he deflected with a joke. "Hey, I'd be thankful too if someone rescued me from the 'Dream Couple'. More like 'Most Annoying Couple'." He tapped his index finger on the table towards students Matt was originally teamed with, rolling his eyes at how closely they sat together.

A small chuckle escaped Matt and Peter's chest puffed with pride. Matt was such a serious person, he hardly ever smiled or laughed, and then it was almost exclusively with Foggy.

"For that, too, I suppose. I meant to thank you for being the only person in this class… probably the school… who hasn't ask me… about… it."

Oh. Peter looked away, embarrassed by how many questions he truly wanted to ask while simultaneously reeling from the fact Matt apparently paid enough attention to notice. "It's not my business. Besides, there's way more things I'd like to pick your brain about."

Matt raised an eyebrow, "Like?"

Peter opened his mouth to list off a litany of botany questions, but was cut off before he managed a single syllable. The professor stared down at them, "It's been long enough, time to drink your tea, be sure to do your rotations. Read the leaves immediately, take notes on your findings before looking up their meanings. Then, give your reading to your partner. Ideally, you will know each common symbol by heart by the end of the term, but for now use your books."

They dropped the conversation, following her instructions and downing their tea. Peter was pleased with his random choice, noting hints of citrus.

"Here," he pushed his empty cup towards Matt. As he took Matt's cup, he wondered how Matt would read his leaves, but didn't ask.

Peter peered into Matt’s cup, trying to find patterns in the chaos of leaves. Eventually, his eyes focused on the task and he could make out what he thought were symbols. He wrote down his list and set the cup and notebook on the table.

Across from him, Matt was focused on Peter's cup. He ran his wand over it, then his hand, then with a flick of his wand his quill automatically made a note.

"You'll have to teach me that sometime," Peter said before he could stop himself.

Matt paused, lips pursed.

Peter continued, "If I could direct my quill to write, it would save a lot of time when I'm trying new potion ingredient substitutes. The constant starting and stopping to note every step and change I make is such a juggle."

"That's pretty dangerous," Matt said with an amused lilt to his voice. "Though, I suppose teaching you that would make it slightly more safe."

"Yea, it would be negligent for you not to," Peter's heart raced as he teased the handsome student across from him.

"We should probably do the readings." Matt shifted, "But we'll figure out a time that we're both free, yeah?"

Peter nodded, "Yeah."

"I'll start, if that's okay."

"Uh, yeah. Did you need to look up your symbols? 'Cuz I have no idea what some of these mean."

Matt heaved a large reference book into his lap, "I'm doing it on the fly. Let's see…" He waved his wand over the pages and ran his index finger over the text.

Peter didn't put much stock into fortune telling, but he was curious what Matt would read in the leaves.

"So, your leaves are interesting. There is a small ring or letter 'O' at the top, so either a love interest is close or you have something important with someone with an 'O' name." He continued on without waiting for Peter's reaction or input, "There is a spider that spans both the present and future, which could mean you have a choice to make soon which will have a huge impact on your life. But, there is a smaller thing that could be a spider, too? So maybe you have a lot of choices to make?"

Peter shrugged. The close love interest piqued his interest, though he was more curious what Matt would say about it. Maybe he would be given a beacon of hope, a sign that Matt noticed him too.

"Ah, and this at the bottom! It's a very clear anchor, meaning a stable future." Matt tilted his head towards Peter, "You do not seem impressed with your reading."

"Nothing personal, I just don't think these things are more than carnival tricks and fun games."

"Fair enough," Matt chuckled and set his notes to the side, folded his arms on the table and leaned in. "Now mine."

Right, Peter had to figure out Matt's. He pulled out his own book and looked over the page of symbols. "Well, let's start with what I know without reading paragraphs of contradictory symbology. So, there is a ring -or 'O'- at the bottom and it's pretty big. Future relationship? Or someone with an 'O' name? And there is a smaller one of the same in the present."

He paused to look at his notes. "Uh… I think this is a ladder? Which means travel in your future. And a Knife in the future meaning a fight. Umm, I wrote down a snake, but it could be a worm? Which… is a bad omen or a secret enemy."

Peter glanced up at Matt, and was about to apologize for accidentally reading a bad future for him when the Professor approached their table.

"Ah, let's take a look, then, shall we?" She gently plucked Peter's tea cup up from in front of Matt and swept her eyes over the leaves. "Oh, my. You have a small romantic notion towards someone that has lasted a while but hasn't grown into anything more. You have several challenges which will appear in the near future and your decision to take them on or ignore them will drastically shape your life. Those choices are why a lot of your future is fuzzy, but if you remain true to yourself there is great prosperity and even greater love waiting for you."

She looked over Matt's notes and pointed out the symbols he missed. Peter sighed, he was ready for the class to end. At least he had his study not-date with Matt to look forward to.

"Let's have a look at the other one," She said as she lifted Matt's cup from where Peter set it. "You have a recent romantic notion, it is small and very new, but you will have a journey before it can grow. There are a lot of small victories in your future, but they can be overshadowed by betrayal. I see a powerful romance in the future, but it could be lost if you're not careful."

Matt seemed to hang on every word, but quickly folded his arms when the Professor finished her own reading. Was he taking it seriously? Peter made a note to ask later. There were some interesting parallels between their readings, giving Peter a sliver of hope of his feelings being returned despite the absurdity of fortune telling.

"Overall, not bad for your first times. Keep studying, there will be a practical component to the final." With that, she drifted towards another group, leaving Peter and Matt to clean up.

"You're a muggleborn, aren't you?" Matt wasn't looking at him, but Peter could feel the weight of his attention pinning him to his chair. "Foggy is too," Matt added quickly, "and has the same opinions on this," he waved his hand generally.

"Ah, yea. It's a bit… "

"I get it. Don't worry, no judgment here. Still, the reading was a bit uncanny."

Peter huffed. "It's easy to assign meaning to a vague set of events."

"Is that so?" Matt tilted his head.

"We're teens, so it's not uncommon to have a crush. And everyone has a journey at some point, or choices to make. That's life. And it's not unusual to get married later in your life."

"True." He calmly began to clean the table. A swish of his wand and his cup was clean. "So, you do not deny liking someone."

Well, that was unexpected. Peter sputtered, searching for a string of words to put together as his pulse raced. "I- well- that's- I-"

Matt had the audacity to laugh at him, and the sound alone was almost enough to make Peter's embarrassment worth it. Almost. "Why so embarrassed, I thought it wasn't uncommon?"

Peter busied himself with clearing his side of the table. "So, you're not denying it yourself?" He leaned into the hope the conversation sparked, imagining his feelings being returned. Tea leaves be damned, Peter made his own fate, and if he was given the chance there was no amount of future-telling that could ruin what he felt for Matt.

Their conversation dropped when the professor requested everyone's attention for a short lecture before the end of class. It was important information they would need for their test, but Peter's attention drifted to Matt. By the upward tilt of Matt’s lips, he was well aware of Peter's distraction.

There was a flurry of activity after class, and Peter didn't have any chance to speak with him further. However, Matt was true to his word and sought Peter out over the weekend. The weather was fair, creating the perfect opportunity to study together outside and away from the prying eyes of their classmates. They found a shaded area and set up their makeshift study session under the shade of a tree.

"I think I got it." Peter waved his wand over a fresh piece of parchment, whispering the spell Matt taught him. The tree bark dug into his back, and Matt’s cologne was distracting, but he could feel the tingle of the spell working. His quill sprung to work, jotting down a few lines of potion ingredients before sputtering out and falling to the page. As it rolled to the side, he sighed and leaned his head against the tree.

"It takes practice to keep it writing longer, but you've done more than I expected for your first lesson. You really are every bit the genius they say."

"People talk about me?" Peter was top of his class, but he didn't think his grades warranted discussion with the 7th years.

Matt shrugged and knocked his shoulder into Peter's. "I may have asked around."

Peter's heart somersaulted. "Oh? What, uh, else did 'they' say?"

"That you're a smart ass."

Peter nodded and leaned towards Matt, "Go on."

"Peter…" Matt's breath ghosted over his cheek sending a thrill up his spine.

"Matt…" Peter continued forward, gently pressing his lips against Matt's. For a brief moment, Matt pressed back; then suddenly there was a large distance between them.

Peter's lips felt cold.

"Sorry. I-"

"Don't be, I-I kissed you." Peter fumbled to put his quill and notebook into his bag. "I thought-"

"Peter." Matt's voice was soft, unsure. "It wouldn't be fair to you."

Peter stared down at his notes, trying to make sense of what Matt was saying.

"I graduate in a few months." He held up a hand when Peter started to protest, "and I've just been accepted into a school in Germany. I leave right after graduation to get a head start with their summer law program."

"But-"

"We would have an expiration date, Peter." Matt's eyes were closed. There was a rigidness to his posture which made Peter suspect there was more he wasn't saying.

"Ok. Then just friends."

Matt inhaled sharply, like he hadn't expected Peter's reaction. "Friends. Yea, I'd like that."

With that, they settled into a rhythm for the rest of the school year. Studying together when time allowed, ignoring the tension between them whenever they accidentally touched. Whenever the tightness in his chest returned, Peter reminded himself of their tea readings and imagined a future where they shared a happy ending.

----

Woo, thanks for reading!

There is a part two I'm working on where they reunite as professors several years later. I actually started that first then switched gears when Peter made a reference to their past. Hopefully I'll finish it soon so it's not so much of a cliffhanger lol.

#spideydevil #peter parker #matt murdock #Hogwarts au #spiderdevil #pem writes

51 notes · View notes

the-mighty-jellybean · 4 years

Text

Crown of Thorns

“What will I be when I grow up, Lady Mother?” Y/N asked, the bed sheets wrapped high under her chin, arms clutching her knees.

“You will be Queen, my darling,” she cupped her face, and she leaned into her touch, “and a warrior.”

Series Summary: After the need for their alliance during the Battle of Titan, King Stephen asked in return for his services, that King Anthony of the Iron Islands’, first born daughter would be given in marriage, to his sons, Prince Steven and Prince James of the Kingdom of Kamar-Taj. Despite King Anthony’s other offers, King Stephen would only agree to one, or there would be war between their two Kingdoms. Leaving King Anthony with no choice, he sacrificed his first born daughter, in hopes of sparing his people of anymore suffering. Anthony prayed that the men would care for his daughter, and love her as he did, but a sparkly crown can hide a thousand secrets.

Pairing: Prince!Steve x Princess!Reader x Prince!Bucky

Series Warnings: Strong Language, Violence, Angst, Fluff (There will be some fluffy stuff I promise, I can't resist), Smut: This series will include some aspects of Dub-con/Non-con: Steve and Bucky aren't going to be Prince Charmings. More Warnings will be posted on Chapters.

Masterlist

Part One: End of an Era

Chapter Warnings: Gore, Violence

Word Count: 3.2k

“We’re losing too many men, my Lord.” Sir Rhodes was able to yell over the cries of the men, who were falling quickly, to Thanos’ blades.

“They are surrounding us; they mean to crush us.” Lord Parker informed, Anthony watched in horror as his men were quickly surrounded by Thanos’ guard caging them in a circle of swords and shields.

“Where is King Stephen, we need his men.” Anthony called out, shoving some of his men away from him, Thanos’ men were beginning to edge their way in, making their circle tighter and tighter.

“He is nowhere to be seen, my Lord. I believe that he is-“ Lord Parker was unable to finish his sentence, as one of Thanos’ guards raised his spear, thrusting it through the air with such force, it pierced straight through Lord Parker’s helmet, swiftly ending his life.

“Richard!” A voice called from across the circle of death; Lord Parker’s brother, Earl Parker, yelped in dismay. Distracted by his brother’s death, he was unaware of the closing shield wall, that soon swallowed him in a stampede of iron boots and swords.

“Benjamin!” Anthony called, watching as his own army began to trample each other, in their own desperation to survive.

His breathing laboured, he looked for a pocket or a gap in the closing ranks, but he was unsuccessful, everywhere he turned, more of his men were being stomped and stabbed, either by their comrades or by Thanos’ waiting steel.

“This is the end for you, King Stark, watch as your people and fellow Kingdoms fall…at the hand of Thanos, The Inevitable.” The dark and gravel voice that sent chills done Anthony’s back.

Stark was powerless to stop him, the pit becoming narrower and narrower; he himself, began to fight for breath, the men had caged him in, their bodies pressed closely, Anthony looked to the sky, it was grey and clouded.

‘Fitting.’ He thought. ‘For the end.’

He felt as though, he had taken his final breath, when suddenly through the shouts and pleas, he heard the unmistakable rumble of horses’ hooves. At first, he believed that his mind was playing tricks on him. That in his final hours the Gods were tormenting him, just before his death.

But then came the sound of a horn, not just any horn, but a battle horn.

Turning his attention from the sky, to the nearby hills, he noticed the crowd of horses that were advancing from the horizon. The Kamar-Taj banners flying high on the long poles.

Anthony let out what little breath he could, in relief, watching as King Stephen’s men quickly dealt with Thanos’ crushing circle. As more of his men fell, the looser the circle became, and Anthony’s men were able to free themselves, and take part in the glorious massacre.

Anthony discovered Thanos, who was attempting to flee the battle ground, his horse was injured, and was flaying and whimpering, staggering on its wounded legs.

“Move you, wretched beast. Obey your master.” Thanos roared, spurring the horse’s side, but the horse moved no faster, exhausted and weary.

“This is why you are a unworthy King, Thanos.” Anthony stalked towards him, drawing his sword as he walked.

The horse was spooked by the screeching of the metal as it slid from it’s sheaf. The glint of the metal, that was partially stained with mud and blood, danced in the horse’s eyes, causing it to rear up, sending Thanos crashing to the floor.

Realising that it’s master had been thrown, using it’s last fuse of energy, it broke into a distressed sprint, through the trees of the nearby woods.

Thanos shrunk away from Anthony’s towering stance, the man’s eyes were dark with anger and determination, he wanted to end the tyranny and pain the bad King had brought upon his Kingdom and his kin’s.

“You nearly took everything from us,” Anthony stood over the would-be God, enjoying seeing the man cower.

“My Lord, I did what I only saw as right, I did what I felt must be done.” Thanos stammered, crawling onto his knees, and bowing his head, in supposed shame.

“Five years, you have brought nothing but grief and blood, to my family, to my people, to my Kingdom. Now you must pay the price for your crimes.

“But, your Grace, I am a King, I am the King of Titan, what I did was nothing new, was nothing spontaneous, it will repeat itself for millennias to come. I am…inevitable.”

Anthony could not bear to hear another worthless word escape the man’s mouth. The grip of the handle grew tighter, his fingers curved round the leather grip, as he stood to the side of the fallen King.

“Look upon your Kingdom for the final time, your highness. Watch as the flames of heaven, scorch your damned Kingdom of it’s sin, as it burns you from history.”

Anthony raised his sword, Thanos looked upon the grounds as he was told to, watching the way his men would cower and scream, as they met their deaths, at the hand of King Anthony and Stephen’s men.

“You see, your Grace…you may be inevitable, but I am…The Iron King.”

Raising the sword above his head, he brought it crashing down, slicing through the fragile skin of Thanos’ neck.

There came a cheer from the knights, as they watched the fallen King’s head roll onto the battlefield, drowning in a puddle of blood.

~~~~~~

“To King Anthony and King Stephen.” Sir Rhodes cheer, lifting his goblet high, the other men following suit.

“To the Iron King.” King Stephen rose from his seat, lifting his own wine in good gesture to Anthony, the glint in his eyes did not match his unnerving smile.

“To the Iron King.” The men roared, before downing the contents of their goblets, and beginning to scrabble amongst themselves to refill their cups.

Anthony flashed a smile, but swiftly looked down, when he caught King Stephen’s eyes glaring at him from across the room.

“I’d like to thank you, personally, my Lord.” Anthony’s eyes trailed up the woman’s body, who stood before him. A sad, yet warming smile, stretched across her face.

“Lady Parker…” Anthony stammered, his heart tightening in his chest, “I’m so sorry for your loss.” Anthony extended his hand, Lady Parker reached for it, allowing Anthony to kiss it gently.

“It is indeed a great loss, losing my husband and brother-in-law, in one dreadful, yet magnificent day. I’d like to congratulate you on your victory against the Titans and thank you for taking young Peter as your ward. You will give him a life that a boy requires to grow into a man, a life that I cannot give him.” Lady Parker spoke solemnly.

“I will do only half the job that you could have done, my Lady.” Anthony replied, glumly “It is I, who should be thanking you. You gifted me two wonderful and strong warriors, and now I have a fine young boy, who has the bloodline and the heritage that will further lead my Kingdom to victory. I will raise him, as if he were my own son.”

Lady Parker’s warm smile, faltered slightly, when Anthony mentioned the idea that her nephew would engage in similar service that the men in her family had been slaughtered in.

“I ask for only one thing, my Lord. Please don’t allow me to speak, if you think that my words may be too bold…”

“Please, Lady Parker, you are amongst friends here.” Anthony motioned to his wife and young daughter who had sat either side of him.

“Peter has seen so much death, in his young life. So much pain, and anguish. After losing his mother to the fever, that also took your dear wife, Gods rest her soul…He has found it hard to adjust to life without that compassion and empathy that only a mother can give.”

“It is true; a boy without a mother, can turn savage. I understand your concerns.” Anthony dropped his head slightly, the feeling of his own past and family mishaps weighing heavy on his shoulders.

“Then you must understand my wish, my Lord. I wish for my nephew to not know bloodshed. I understand as a boy, who will become a man, there are certain qualities that he must possess, but I only ask that you keep him protected from the gores of war and he will no longer know of sudden death and unexpected grief.” Lady Parker swiftly wiped at her cheek, catching a stray tear that seemed to trail down her face.

Anthony was unsure of what to say, of what to promise this poor woman, who stood, practically pleading with him.

“I do understand your wish, Lady Parker, and I will do my best to protect young Peter, from the flames of war and death. He will be an educated man, much like his father.” Anthony tried showing his best smile, watching Lady Parker sigh in relief.

“Thank you, your Grace. Thank you so much.” Lady Parker curtsied a few times, before bowing her head to The Queen, and scuttling away from the table.

With the Lady now gone, Anthony once again caught eyes with King Stephen, who appeared to be unmoved, as he chewed expectantly on his boar’s leg.

Anthony cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, feeling uncomfortable under the other King’s stare.

“Are you alright, my love?” The Queen placed he hand on Anthony’s, pulling away when she felt how cold and clammy it had become, despite the warmth and stuffiness of the room.

“Are you okay, daddy?” Y/N, clutched his other arm, looking up at Anthony’s big brown eyes, watching as they clouded with worry and fear.

“I’m just tired from the battle, we should have waited longer, before we threw this celebration.” Anthony replied, shortly.

“What is the matter, Tony?” The Queen pressed, watching as Anthony continued to shift around in his seat.

“Daddy, why are King Stephen’s sons looking at me like that?” Anthony’s eyes snapped up to the other stretched wooden table, that was in front of them. Ignoring Stephen’s harsh gaze, he followed along the table, spotting Stephen’s two sons, staring at his daughter like she was a piece of meat.

“Pep, I need to speak with you…right now.” Without another word, he stood from the table, most of the hall fell silent, unable to ignore the fact that the King had just upped and left without an announcement.

Smiling awkwardly, the Queen stood from her throne, nodding to the crowd by way of excuse before trotting after Anthony.

“What is it, my darling? Why are you so on edge? We should be celebrating your glorious victory.” The Queen grabbed Anthony’s face, hoping to calm him by rubbing her thumbs over his weathered cheeks.

“There is something I must tell you, my love.” Anthony could barely look his wife in the eyes, as he fished for the words that he needed to say.

Unbeknownst to the both of them, the little girl, who had tugged on her father’s arm, had slid off her seat, and unnoticed by the rest of the guests had followed hot on her father’s heals, watching her step-mother and father, from behind a suit of armour, careful to remain silent so she could over-hear their conversation.

“Just tell me, Tony. It can’t be that bad.” The Queen sighed, her smile kind and her eyes warm, as she continued to coax her husband out of his frightened and weary state.

“I know that we promised to decide together, what would happen when we matched made for Y/N.” Anthony began, his own palms flattening on the Queen’s shoulders.

Y/N ears pricked at the mention of her name, shuffling slightly so she could hear better.

“It was Queen Y/M/N final words to me as her Lady-in-Waiting.” The Queen spoke sadly.

Y/N’s eyes glazed momentarily, when the mention of her late mother was brought up. The memories of her biological mother were becoming hazy as she grew older, her face was beginning to fog, and it made her sad to think that soon she would be completely forgotten. The only thing that kept the memorial tie, was the paintings her father had commissioned, that hung proudly in her room and the halls.

Queen Virginia, who had been Queen Y/M/N Lady-in-Waiting, was not bothered by the paintings of her husband’s ex-wife, as she had loved the Queen almost as dearly, and allowed for one of the paintings to hang in the throne room, to remind others of her beauty.

Queen Virginia, or Pepper as Anthony affectionally called her, had been so close to Queen Y/M/N, and had been one of the few at her bedside, when she unfortunately passed from fever.

“I know, but…” Anthony broke from his gaze with the Queen, his tongue freezing in his throat. Y/N turned back to her father, who had grown paler as he locked eyes with his wife.

“Tony…” the Queen eyed his suspiciously, “What have you done?”

“King Stephen required payment, for the sacrifices of his men, and his overall endorsement in the war with the Titans.” Anthony breathed, he sat on one of the stone window seals, his knees felt weak.

“What did he ask for, it is to be expected? Was it more lands, cattle?” Pepper edged towards him, placing her hand on his shoulder.

“King Stephen…has requested…” Anthony swallowed hard, his mouth and throat feeling dry, “…that Y/N be given in marriage to Prince Steven and Prince James.”

The Queen gasped, her hand covering her mouth, trying to contain her shock.

Y/N, who had been leaning heavily on the armour, slipped on the shining metal, in her dazed state, causing the armour to squeak slightly.

Diving behind the wall, before her father could spot her, she sat with her legs pulled to her chest, and eyes wide, as she re-iterated her father’s words, over and over again, in her head.

She realised that the couple had started speaking again, tuning her ears into their conversation.

“Tony you can’t,” Pepper gasped, “She is only 10 years of age, the boys must be what...7-8 years older than her. Oh, Tony you can’t do this. Have you not heard the stories?”

“Yes.” Anthony replied, briskly, standing from his stone seat, “Don’t you think I hate the thought, of my precious baby girl, in the jaws of those two creatures.”

Y/N’s breathing quickened, she was only little, but she too had heard the stories of the two Princes, who came from Kamar-Taj. Peter had told them to her, when they had been playing in the courtyard.

The story of the two sons; who were so wicked and cruel, they had brought about the deaths of their mothers, when they were no more than infants. Peter had told Y/N a story, of how the Princes had cut one of their nanny’s heads off, when they were only five and six.

“Tony you must refuse the proposal, I will not allow Y/M/N daughter to be mistreated by-“

“She is my daughter too!” Y/N shook at her father’s enraged tone, she had never heard him yell, at least not with so much rage and anger, especially not at his wife.

“Do you think that if there was any other way, I would offer up anything-anything, so that my daughter would be free, I’d give my soul to the devil, I would give up the ability to create anymore heirs, I would do anything, to protect my angel. She is the last thing that I have, that links me to Y/M/N. The only thing that I have left of her.” Anthony’s voice settled down, to almost barely a whisper.

“It must be done. King Stephen says it is all that he wants, and if I refuse then he would wage war against the Iron Islands,” Anthony sighed, “My people can’t cope with another war, it must be done.”

“Daddy, please don’t.” Y/N sprung from her hiding place, taking both of the royals by surprise. She wrapped herself around Tony’s leg, burying her face in his breaches, allowing the rich material to soak up her tears.

“Please don’t give me away to those beasts.” Y/N sobbed, Anthony brushed his fingers through her hair, the top of her head began to grow wet, when his own tears began to drip.

“My little bug, I would do anything to keep you safe,” Anthony hoisted the young girl on to his hip, holding her tightly to his chest, “If I don’t allow this marriage, then King Stephen will cause a war, that could see you and Lady Mother being killed. At least this way, I know that you will be safe.”

Pepper sent him an unconvinced glance, that Anthony had to ignore, choosing to bury his face in his daughter’s hair, savouring the smell of her luscious locks.

“I think it is time for bed.” Pepper announced, watching the young Princess’ eyes begin to droop, as she pressed her head under Anthony’s chin.

Scooping Y/N out of Anthony’s arms, she began to carry her to her bedroom, in her tall tower.

“Would you like me to take her, my Lady?” Lady Maria asked, holding her arms out to take the child.

“No thank you, Maria. I will put the Princess to bed tonight.” Pepper nodded, and Lady Maria curtsied back, before leaving the Queen and the Princess alone in her bedroom.

Pepper begins to undress Y/N, pulling her uncomfortable corset off, and sliding her little night dress over her sleepy head.

“Why did you marry my daddy, Lady Mother?” Y/N asked through a yawn, as Pepper laid her back in her bed.

“When your mother was…unwell…she told me and your daddy, that she didn’t want him to be alone, and that you needed a mother, so she said that daddy and I would be best suited to one another.” Pepper explained, as tactfully as she could.

“But did you love him?” Y/N tilted her head, not wanting to upset her step-mother, but wanting to understand.

“At first…no…I loved him as my King, but I struggled to love him as my husband, I was so worried about replacing your mother, but then I found a letter that she had written me before she…passed away…It read that she wanted me to be happy, and that she wanted Anthony, your daddy, to be happy as well, and she knew that I cared for you and loved you very much as if you were my own daughter, and that is what she wanted for her precious baby girl.”

“So you fell in love with daddy, because of me?” Y/N quirked an eyebrow, still not quite grasping the sentimental memory.

“Well…yes…I suppose we did. You brought your father and I together. Our love for you, was strong enough to bring us together, and now I love your father unconditionally, and he does to.” Pepper had climbed into the large bed, which was, despite it’s size, still a challenge, with her puffy under skirt and poufy gold dress.

“Will the evil Princes love me?” Y/N worried, looking up.

“You mustn’t call them that, little one. And I’m sure that you will warm their hearts like you do, with your daddy and I.” Pepper beamed.

“What will I be when I grow up, Lady Mother?” you asked, the bed sheets wrapped high under your chin, your arms clutching your knees.

“You will be Queen, my darling,” she cupped your face, and you leaned into her touch, “and a warrior.”

A/N: I’m back bitches...sorry about the long wait, this book will be updated weekly rather than daily, but I’ve reached a point where I need to be more chill and place less stress on myself with deadlines. Hope you enjoyed, feel free to Like! Reblog! Comment!

And the Taglist is always open!!

Taglist

@readermia @this-is-a-chilis-drive-thru @bbywtchh @liakrichards @nisha-misha97 @waywardwifey @xxblueslothxx @randomtails @emma-is-a-nerd @hhxppyyy @viviennebloom @in-a-constant-daydream6 @actualhobbitjenny

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