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bluemoon-writer · 3 years

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LwS - Chapter 7

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: Harry decides to sit with the Slytherins for lunch and slowly they become friends. Drabble series Part Crack fic, part serious.

Chapter 7 - Author's Notes

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Harry plodded into the Great Hall shoeless, soaking wet, and smelling strongly of rubbing alcohol. He sat down at the Slytherin table with a heavy sigh. Blaise and Theo, who he sat between, scooted away so they wouldn't be dripped on. When no one asked about his disheveled appearance, Harry sighed again, even more dramatically this time.

Draco rolled his eyes and indulged the Gryffindor, "Alright, Harry, why are you all wet?"

"And where are your shoes?" Blaise asked, curling his lip.

"And could you really have not sprayed some cologne before approaching us?" Pansy asked pinching her nose.

Harry gaped at them in shock, "Were you not in Potions class with me? How can you act like you don't know?"

The Slytherins shrugged at each other, in their eyes it was a normal potions class.

"I'm afraid our focus on our work obstructed our observation skills, please enlighten us to what occurred," Theo said dramatically.

"Yes, and we beg your forgiveness," Daphne added sarcastically.

Harry nodded cordially. "Your apology is noted."

Then, with a theatrical air, he began his story. "It all started when I was late to Potions this morning. I was paired with Draco as punishment, but we're friends now…" Harry looked away dramatically, "Little did I know, Draco would betray me!" Pansy and Theo gasped in fake surprise. Harry nodded thankfully to them for playing along.

"Draco," Harry pointed at the blond boy accusingly, "ruined our potion!"

"I DID NOT!" Draco exclaimed at the same time that Pansy gasped a, "No!", Theo shook his head in despair, and Blaise tsked. Even Daphne played along and gave Draco a critical look.

"He did!" Harry cried. "Our potion exploded! And I took the blame for Draco's grave error, it pains me greatly that my dear friend cannot even admit to his missteps." Harry wiped away a fake tear while Draco rolled his eyes.

Theo patted Harry on the back while Pansy reached across the table and grasped his hands, murmuring, "We're here for you Harry, be strong."

Blaise crossed his arms and shook his head at Draco, "I'm so disappointed in you, Malfoy."

Draco was turning red as he stuttered about his innocence. Daphne appeared to be holding back a laugh.

"Do you know what happened next?" Harry whispered in mock horror.

Pansy clasped her hands over her ears, "I don't know if I can listen to this!" Daphne finally gave in and played along by prying Pansy's hands off her ears.

"Keep it together Pansy! You have to be strong, and witness Harry's testimony," she declared dramatically.

Harry nodded at her, "Thank you Daphne, I am gratified by all of your support." His voice dropped back to a whisper as he continued his tale, "The potion…It spilled everywhere. and guess who had to clean it up? That's right, me! It was harrowing, the smell made me gag and the potion was so acidic that it melted my shoes! Then, it got worse. Since it was a dangerous liquid, Snape sprayed me down with some sort of counteractive water, soaking me to the bone."

Harry shook his head sadly, "I was so, so cold." The Slytherins commiserated and scolded Draco for causing Harry such pain. Draco sighed; it was clear Harry wouldn't stop until the blond played along.

Draco placed his hand over his heart, "Harry, my dear, kind, friend. It tears at my heart to hear of your struggles. I curse the name of Severus Snape for giving you such a trial. You have my deepest apologies, if I could, I would take your place in a heartbeat."

Harry grinned at Draco cheerfully, "Oh lovely, because Snape counteracted the dangerous properties of the potion, so someone still needs to clean it up. I'm so glad to hear you'll do it!"

Draco gaped at Harry, "Y-you, you trickster!"

The others burst into laughter. Theo cried, "Ah, I knew Harry was up to something!"

"Up to something?" Harry said in dismay, "I am only interested in justice!"

"Spoken like a true Gryffindor," Daphne said.

"Yet, enacted like a Slytherin," Blaise mused.

Harry opted to ignore the two in order to focus on Pansy pointing her wand at him.

Harry put his hands up, "Woah, Pansy, I'm innocent, I swear."

Pansy rolled her eyes, "Do you want to be dry or not?"

Harry paused to think, "Well, everything is more dramatic when you're wet…"

"Is that why you entered the hall soaking wet?" Theo asked.

"No, he did that so he could trick me!" Draco fumed.

Harry ignored Draco and turned to Theo. "I did it for the aesthetic. If I wasn't soaked then you all wouldn't have been nearly as interested in my story."

"I'll do you for the aesthetic," Draco muttered.

"Well, that came out of no where!" Blaise exclaimed at the same time that Harry sputtered, "Excuse me? You'll do what?"

Draco turned red, "I-I didn't mean it like that!"

"That explains why he's been obsessed with Harry for so long," Daphne said.

"I'm sorry Draco, but I'm afraid there's someone else I'm interested in," Harry said apologetically.

Pansy patted Draco's back, "No wonder he messed up the potion."

Harry gasped, having an epiphany, "I WAS NOT BETRAYED! Draco was simply distracted by my presence, my windswept hair, my luminous eyes, and my handsome face! "

Theo's eyes widened, "Of course! It all makes sense, that is what caused the accident!"

Harry placed his hand over his heart, "Draco, I'm so deeply sorry for the pain I must have caused you by accusing you of something as cruel as a betrayal to your love."

Draco was completely red. The blond took a deep breath, stood gracefully, and walked away. Harry was impressed that he didn't run or move quickly at all. Everyone deflated slightly as their fun was abruptly ended.

"Well, now that Draco's gone I suppose there's no point to me being wet anymore. Pansy, is that offer of a drying spell still open?" Harry asked, reverting back to acting like normal.

"As long as I can spray you with some cologne."

"Will it get me wet again?"

"What? No, it's just cologne."

"Oh…then in that case, I accept."

A much dryer Harry was ready to dig into his meal when he was interrupted by Pansy once again.

"We must do something about your shoes."

Harry looked down at his feet; he had forgotten he was barefoot.

"Never fear Pansy! I have spares in my bag."

Harry pulled out the comfortable muggle shoes he had stored in his bag. Daphne and Blaise both made faces of disgust, Theo looked vaguely interested, and Pansy was covering her face in horror.

"Crocs? Who hurt you so much?" Pansy said in disgust.

"Were you not listening? Draco did!" Harry exclaimed.

"Didn't we determine that it wasn't a betrayal?" Blaise asked.

"That does not erase the pain of thinking you have been betrayed!" Harry declared passionately.

"Then you must work on forgiving Draco, he was simply overwhelmed by his love," Blaise argued.

"Blaise Zabini! Cease your lies and slander!" Draco said, reappearing at the table and slamming his hands down. Everyone blinked in surprise at his sudden reappearance.

"Draco? How did sneak up on us like that?" Theo asked in confusion.

Draco sniffed haughtily, "A true Slytherin has mastered the art of subterfuge and…sneakiness."

Daphne raised a delicate eyebrow, "The art of sneakiness?"

"Never mind that!" Draco pointed a finger at Harry, "I'm here to clear the air."

Draco paused dramatically before declaring, in a slightly hysterical voice, "I did betray you! I was acting on feelings of dislike, not of love!"

Harry gasped, but quickly composed himself. He cocked his head to the side and a simple question.

"Well, why not?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why don't you have a crush on me? I'm a totally catch."

"Yeah, Draco, Harry's the savior of the wizarding world, " Theo added.

"How can you not have a crush on him?" Pansy asked.

"W-well, I could say the same for all of you!" Draco stuttered

"We're his friends, it would be overbearing for us to have feelings for Harry and vice-versa," Daphne explained in a dull voice.

"Harry and I are friends too."

"No, we're not. You admitted to the betrayal, so obviously we aren't friends," Harry said crossing his arms over his chest

"Well, then let's become friends."

Harry struggled to hide his grin before saying, "Friendship requires trust, and I can't trust someone who has betrayed me."

"Well…he could do something to prove his trustworthiness…" Blaise said slowly.

"I suppose, but what?"

"That's easy, Draco can trade shoes with Harry!" Pansy chirped. Harry perked up, a grin slowly forming.

"Yeah! Draco, give me your shoes!"

Draco scoffed, "You want to me to trade shoes in order to prove how trustworthy I am? How childish, but fine, I'll do it."

Pansy clapped excitedly. Daphne smirked and leaned towards Harry, "Show him your shoes first, before trading."

Harry lifted the firetruck red shoes up and had a front row seat to see Draco's soul leaving his body.

"M-muggle! Muggle shoes? You want me to wear that? I refuse!"

Harry wiped away a nonexistent tear, "Would you really throw away the opportunity of our friendship so quickly?"

Draco scowled, "How can this possibly prove my trustworthiness?"

Blaise leaned in to explain, "Harry is practically a muggleborn since he grew up in the muggle world, by wearing these shoes you're showing acceptance for the muggle world and therefore, acceptance of Harry."

Draco sighed before sitting down and pulling off his shoes, "Do they really need to be such a garish shade of red though?"

"Are you saying that you don't accept Harry's Gryffindor heritage?" Theo asked in a scolding manner.

Draco shook his head and muttered, "I shouldn't have come back."

Harry laughed out loud, and smugly put Draco's shoes on, surprised, that they fit. He decided not to tease Draco too much because the glint in the other boy's eyes promised revenge.

#lunch with Slytherin #midnightsonder fanfiction #bluemoon-writer fanfiction

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laylacooke · 4 years

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Ain’t No Rest For The Wicked || Sam & Layla

timing: Thursday Morning at Took’s General Store parties: @hackysackace & @laylacooke Summary: Layla loses her job and possibly a friend. Warnings: Some violence towards the end.

“Ain’t No Rest for The Wicked” played faintly out of the speakers hanging high above in Took’s. Layla had already been late for her shift. She wasn’t wearing the required uniform, and she was snacking on something that looked like it had been sitting on the shelf for as long as the store had been in business. “How did I end up at such a BORING job again?” She sighed loudly. Raising one eyebrow, she hopped off the counter she was sitting on, towards the front of the store. It was nearly empty, but it still didn’t stop the few patrons wandering around from staring at her or in her general direction.

Sam looked up from where he’d been scrubbing the store floor, shoes covered in suds as he moved and swept the mob across the entryway in the aftermath of a syrup and beer incident. “Hey Layla,” he said, sizing her up with an expression of confusion. “Uh, Bill’s gonna want you to put the uniform on when you’re not in the stockroom…”

Finishing off whatever crumbs remained from her snack, Layla tossed the bag on the floor. Hearing Sam’s voice, she wandered through the aisles with her fingers slapping into the products hanging from hooks and sitting on shelves, “Oh, is he? Well, what if I don’t have it?” She slowly inched her way closer to Sam as she stared at the few customers giving her a once over, “What are you looking at?” Sending a hiss their way, the redhead laughed at the jumpy reactions.

Sam’s puzzlement deepened into a frown whose edges were crinkled with uncertainty. Widened blue eyes glanced from Layla to the heckled customers. “Uh, then you’ll need to get back to the stockroom,” he said upon rising to his feet and gingerly lowering the mop back into the suds bucket. After propping up a doubled-sided yellow “Wet Floor Sign”, Sam crossed the distance to where Layla was doing her Wicked Witch of the Northeast impression. “Heh uh,” he ventured in a cautiously low voice. “You ok?”

“The stockroom huh? You gonna handle this big store all by yourself?” She glanced around. Took’s wasn’t Walmart sized, but it was a lot for one person to take care of. Layla watched as Sam made his way towards her. Had she been any closer to where he was moping, she would have kicked the sign over, but instead, she stopped and pulled a bag of Veggie Straws off the shelf. Crumpling the bag in her hands in order to form a nice multicolored powder, she popped open the bag and dumped the contents onto the floor spreading the dust around with her foot, “Missed a spot, and I’m great. Haven’t felt this good in a long time.” Dropping the empty Veggie Straws bag into his bucket of water, she made her way towards the back as requested, now, having the opportunity to kick the “Wet Floor” sign down.

Honestly Sam didn’t relish the thought of manning the floor all by himself with this many people here. He was about to apologize and suggest some other alternative but then Veggie Straws got scattered all over the floor and in the scud bucket. Striding over the fallen sign, Sam tried to catch up to Layla. “Woah what is...Layla what’s the matter with you?! Why…”

She was almost back to the stockroom, when she heard him come up behind her, “Uh, because I can? I don’t see you trying to stop me. Besides, I’m sick of this town walking all over me or telling me I’m too weak. Or to quit whining.” It was like she had a bone to pick with whoever crossed her path, whether it be friends or complete strangers. She had already wreaked havoc all over town, and Took’s General Store was just another place Layla was working on checking off her list. Any remorse she had felt was non-existent now, and while she resented Salva for giving her the curse of being a werewolf, she was starting to relish in the idea of no longer having a conscience. After all, what was the point? She was just a monster to most. Why not act like one and give the people what they wanted.

Sam’s soft features were blank and lost during Layla’s explanation. About the most violent thing Sam ever engaged in was Lacrosse and hauling thrashing Atlantic tuna into the fishing rig. He hadn’t really considered forcefully stopping her, but the taunt still burnt a little. “Look,” Sam pleaded, “you’re not weak. I’m sure you’d do awesome in soccer and can do a lotta reps,” the high school athlete said, perhaps misunderstanding Layla’s deeper meaning. “But, weren’t you just saying you wanted normalcy and all that? Boss is gonna be pissed if stuff is wrecked. C’mon, ill clean this up and we’ll get you a new uniform.”

“Soccer? You’re thinking about Ariana. I’m a cheerleader.” She turned on her heels to face him, an evil smirk poised on her blood red lips, and blocked his path, “Come on, Sammy Boy. Be aggressive. Be-e aggressive.” She slowly inched forward clapping her hands along with the cheer, increasing the taunt. “Be aggressive. Be-e aggressive.” Before long, she was right up on him, and instead of clapping, she was pushing him backwards as she resumed her chant. Hoping he would fight back. Layla wanted action. The wolf inside of her wanted action, and he was giving her nothing in return

Sam Rainsbottom was an athletic young man with a filled-out frame, much like his father. Although Sam’s mellow mien and boyish features didn’t lend themselves to an intimidating bearing. But being pushed around by a hot girl in front of a bunch of staring customers was emasculating enough to kindle a spark of anger. “Cut it out,” he snapped. “The hell are you doing?!” Sam’s shoulders squared and he stopped stepping backward again Layla’s pushes, choosing to hold his ground. “I don’t know if you're fickin high of what,” Sam snapped, voiced heated but still low enough that it carried only to the two of them. He made no move against Layla however, just holding his place. “But maybe you need to sign out. I’ll cover your shift.”

Layla stopped chanting, giving him one last firm shove that sent him nowhere, “Well look who finally grew a pair.” The smirk was a wide grin. “Never seen you so angry, Sam. What’s the matter? Afraid a girl might actually be stronger than you are?” She cocked her head to the side, before pulling her long, red hair over to the opposite shoulder. Seeing the people staring at them, she flashed her yellow eyes and bared her fangs, causing them to scatter, and the bell over the door to ring continuously until no one, but Sam and Layla remained. Glancing back to Sam, she gave him a firm pat on the shoulder, “There you go, Buddy. Store’s empty. Now the real fun can start.” Pushing past him, a hard shoulder going into his arm and chest, she started to move down the aisles tossing shit onto the floor, “Let’s see what Bossman thinks now?”

Holy shit.

Sam had willingly taken a few steps back when Layla had unveiled luminous that seemed almost luminous, and bared fangs that looked like they punch though his forearm like tissue paper. The young woman scowled at himself for losing his grip like that. But those prosthetics looked almost...uh...well they were pretty high quality for sure. “It’s not about who's stronger Layla. You’re running off customers, messing up stock! You could get fired!”

She stopped what she was doing, and sighed loudly, “Does it look like I care? Half this shit’s probably been sitting on the shelves since before your born. Now, do you want to help me or are you going to be a problem?” There was no real motive behind what she was doing. Layla was purely enjoying it for the chaos she was causing; the consequences going straight out the door.

Sam Rainbottom was no saint and had committed all the usual chicanery one might expect of teenage fellows who are perhaps a bit too easily swayed by their peers. However, school roof-climbing, pranks, questionable choices of the sex drive were one thing. Trashing the store in broad daylight where store cameras were likely recording them was another matter, however.

Sam squared his shoulders and walked up to Layla, blissfully unaware that he was approaching a creature who could rip him in half and grabbed at the latest item she was about to throw on the floor. “I’m going to be a problem. You need to stop.” Sam’s normally placid pond-blue eyes had hardened and chilled in anger. “Now.”

Seeing Sam come over got her heart beating harder in her chest, but what he had said, she didn’t like. His authoritative tone had reminded her of her parents, and the hell they had put her through. A low growl in her throat and claws pushing out of her fingertips, she snarled, “That was the wrong answer, Sam. The wrong fucking answer.” Lowering her head, Layla charged him and shoved him as hard as she could; her wolf strength sending his buff form into the row of shelves behind them.

At this point she didn’t care if she had hurt him or not. Instead, she continued to destroy the store making sure to take extra care of ripping things up with her claws. If he didn’t want a mess, she was going to give him one. She was taking this as seriously as he had gotten with her. As seriously as her parents took hunting, making it very clear that she needed to as well. Her own personal vendetta being released on Sam and Took’s out of the twisted thoughts that lingered her mind now.

There was a ringing in Sam’s head as he tried to get his bearings. Everything was darkness, strange twisting shades. His ribs spasmed and Sam’s curled into a ball on the floor as he tried to cough in harsh rasping breaths. Sam was enough of an athlete to know that some ribs and his shoulder were dislocated, maybe broken. Flares of pain and cold numbness seared through his chest and spine. Being thrown through metal shelving had opened multiple lacerations before he’d impacted the floor headfirst. There was warmth against his cheek as blood welled from his forehead and temple in a growing pool on the linoleum floor.

Sam didn’t have the thought capacity to consider how a willowy-seeming girl about his age could throw him like that and nearly broken his ribs when Sam’s gotten through plenty of Lacrosse and Football games just fine. There was only pain, darkness, strange colors of vertigo, the mingled warmth and cold of bleeding out.

Making sure to trash every inch of the place, she didn’t stop until she was done. Bottles lay busted with soda, beer, and other sticky stuff on the floor. Food lay exposed or crushed. Fishing poles, tackle, and other random items that were contained in the walls of Took’s looked as if it were the holidays and there was a rush on the latest deals. She had successfully wrecked a town staple all out of her own form vengeance for all the hurt she had been put through. All while Sam Rainbottem lay in a crumpled-up heap on the floor.

Giving her masterpiece of destruction one last look, a sinister smile slipped over her blood red lips, and without hanging around any longer, Layla found her way out in the street humming the tune of “Ain’t No Rest For The Wicked” by Cage the Elephant, not giving a second thought to how much trouble she had just gotten herself into.

#para: ain't no rest for the wicked #saga: the dark side #hackysackace #wickedswriting

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zaymadden-author · 4 years

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Written by ZAY MADDEN

“Man, this is not how Saturday nights are supposed to go.” With all the shit going on in the world, I’ve been house-bound for a minute, and at this point I’m all TikTok’d out. A couple of my boys and my cousin Terrell pulled up on me around 8 for a couple rounds of 2K 🎮, but you know how Mississippi weather is. Mother Nature randomly decided to do her dirty work and had them staying later than planned, but once the sky stopped roaring, I sent my boys home. It was time for a night cap.

I trailed them outside to make sure they were all gone, and once the last car looped around my driveway, I could finally sit on my porch and think. I had my D’USSÈ 🥃 in one hand and my phone in another, scrolling through my thread of texts to see which girl I could get to bless my night; it was part of my weekend ritual. I had a rule though: never start at the top because most recent pussy tends to be not as interesting unless she really got that 🍑💦 if you know what I’m saying.

So, last I checked, Keisha wit the plump ass moved to Florida, which is unfortunate for me. She had one hell of a mouth piece in bed but never ran her mouth in the streets. I could respect that and that’s why I keep her on standby.

The next on my list, Monica, was on the classy end of the spectrum, but it was like rolling dice with her ass. Most of the time she waits until 7 am to reply. Her brain was still accustomed to her school schedule and she had a day job too, so I respected that. However, it sucked for me though cuz Monica was bad af from head to toe and really would’ve gave me a night to remember. Shit, I still reminisce about our last rendezvous. She had pretty feet and plump lips that felt like pillows with each kiss. And I know it’s weird, but I think it’s a turn on whenever I see her with those scrubs on. It’s just something about a hard-working black woman. (Damn smh.) I decided not even bother her this late.

So I kept scrolling up right, slowly feeling my luck build up, when my phone all of a sudden ding’d. My heart started thumping against my rib cage, and the corners of my mouth shot up. I couldn’t wait to see who this could be.

(I turn my notification banners off for good reason.)

Could it be Ashley? (The one that stayed wayyy out in Clinton). She usually texts when she wants some dick but it takes her forever to get to my place in Madison.

I put my search on pause and immediately made my way to the top to see who it could be. And would you believe it? “She always does this shit bruh. Like fr!”

Lo and fucking behold:

[MOM: Can you take your grandma to the store in the morning? I forgot to tell you earlier. Phone died.]

MAN 😤!! I almost summoned the spirit of Brady and launched $999 worth of iPhone in the damn pond. It’s 12:02 at night. She could’ve just waited until daylight resumed before bothering me with this!

I know that’s my heart and soul, but grandma is not the type of woman I want on my mind right now. But I replied “ok” to avoid any further communication at this hour.

I kept scrolling through my digital black book and I contemplated, but immediately dismissed, the idea of calling Alisha over. She said I be hurting her so she only wanna do oral. “Naw. I’ll pass. I’m good on that tonight.” Nobody else seemed worthy of hitting up at the time, at least this time of night, so I head inside. I locked the door behind me and made my way to the bathroom to get ready for bed. After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I spritzed a little water on my head and brushed my waves into submission before securing it with my DuRag. Staring at this thick-browed, handsome, brown skinned fellow in the mirror, I began to question whether I still had it. “I am only 23 so that’s nowhere near the ‘falling off’ age,” I say to myself. I guess with me working day and night, I didn’t have time to pull ‘em like I used to.

So, I went and plopped on my bed, face towards the ceiling, contemplating my future, when I heard the sound of rocks sloshing under tires. The sound slowly magnified, and to myself I’m thinking that maybe one of my homeboys forgot something in my house. A barcode-like shadow cast on my wall as the luminance of headlights beamed through my blinds. I almost walked to the door empty handed, but the detective Stabler in me wasn’t taking any chances. So, I grabbed my piece in my night stand and asserted my second amendment rights. Tip-toe after tip-toe I was almost to the door when I heard the engine stop. A few seconds later there was this rhythmic chiming noise echoing through the walls. I crept to the front window stealthily, and peeked out the blinds. I could recognize the vehicle but I had to be sure it was who I thought it was, so I flicked on the second outdoor light.

All I saw was curly tresses flowing through the window of a pink Lexus.

“Aaliyah?” ..... “but how did she?”

With a mixture of anxiety and excitement, I snatched open the front door 🚪 to greet her. And when I saw her strut up the walkway with a touch of flair, a second emotion arose: confusion. How did she know I was alone? How did she know there wasn’t another girl here? It’s been two years and I still can’t figure out how this girl knows me so well and I think that’s why she intrigued me so much. It also scared me a little bit too. I usually don’t let a girl come over unannounced.

She would’ve been the first girl I tried to text, but last I checked she was in New York on business.

I shoot commercials for a living and I did one for her boutique. That’s how we came across each other.

But she’s here now so who cares that she popped up. (Maybe that’s just my dick talking 🤷🏾‍♂️... idk)

She had two Raising Cane’s bags, which I’m guessing that, during this pandemic, was the only thing she could come across at this time a night. Everything else was closed, even Taco Bell.

She let out a soft “Hey” as she bat her lashes and I quickly shut the gap in my mouth.

“What’s up?” I then responded.

And for a moment our eyes did a tango before she broke the silence.

“Can I come in? It’s kinda hot out here. ”

[And she wasn’t lying about that.]

We suddenly smiled at each other (each clipped with a note of sensuality), and with a nonverbal response, I helped her carry the drinks in and held open the door, catching a strange whiff of fried chicken and some floral fragrance as she walked by. I sucked my bottom lip as she sashayed towards my couch; those long legs accented by her gold trimmed pumps.

With a quick, smooth swivel of her body, she had positioned herself towards me, carrying a whole conversation with her eyes.

After locking my door I suddenly needed to adjust my boxer briefs. Gazing at those smooth brown legs made me graduate from flaccid to half chub, but my need to feast was urgent. My stomach was growling like a mf.

So I sit down to eat, right. And we get to chatting about her trip to NY ✈️ and how she’s been so stressed out with trying to open up a store out there. The whole time she’s going on and on about her tired body and her hectic work schedule, I’m reading in between the lines. She didn’t come here looking like that just to talk about work.

Aaliyah has never been one to admit what she wants from me, she just drops hints and expects you to go fishing for answers.

After smashing half my chicken box though, she got up like she had no time to waste. With a flick of her ankles she had both shoes flying across the floor. She took one last glance at me before leading the way to my bedroom, first slipping her skirt off in the living room and her shirt slowly draped from her body as she made her way down the hall. To keep up the tempo, I removed whatever she did, and by the time we made it to my room it was nothing but birthday suits.

I was ready for penetration at the door, but baby girl had other plans. She made me sit on the love seat by my window as she put on a show for me. It was an immediate game of teasing and temptation as she watched me slowly stroke my dick to every scene of her performance. First it was the leg play, then the breast tease, and then my favorite of all... something she knows gets me hard as steel.... the pussy play.

I love it when she bends open her thighs and plays with the most anticipated part of her body. Her smooth, brown sugar skin and nude polished nails drew an excellent contrast to that sweet, bright pink center. And she knew I wanted it too. She also knows how much I brag about how tight she is, so she takes her two fingers and spreads it open in full view for me. It was one thing for me to speculate, but when she slid one finger in and out for me, it was proof enough that her coochie still had that snap-back action.

I couldn’t take it anymore. With my dick now towering from my hand, I made my way over to her. She was now in submission as I asserted myself over her, so I pulled her to the the edge of the bed to get ready for my part. I looked down at myself, the tip of my dick head now glistening with anticipation, and said to her “I want you.”

And in the blink of an eye I was down on my knees and I had her hips cradled in my arms; my tongue digging into the flesh of her thigh, roughly gasping for air as I was too focused to remember breathing. With a slow dance of kissing and tongue-groping, I lead a trail up and down her thighs until I heard her say, “OMG.... Sean!”

I swear I felt a drop of pre-cum stream down to my ankle as I made my way to her hot zone 👅 . Like a rollercoaster, I had my tongue going round and round, remembering all the pressure points that made her thrust her pelvis into my face. I was in full control now, and no matter how hard she gripped the sheets, there was no escaping my vice grip.

My tongue was putting in overtime, and right before my clock struck 1:00 🕐 , I felt her first nut. We both laughed (our goofy asses) to try and cut down on all that sexual tension.

I reared my head to get a good look at her sex face, my goatee now dripping in her juices, and I gave her a look that let her know I was ready for that action. I sprinted like hell to my night stand to grab me a “rain coat,” acting as if my dinner was about to get cold or something.

I slid that mf on so quick. I’d been waiting for this all night. Pussy in my mouth was one thing, but BEING in it... whew 😌.

I looked at her again before I engaged in our post-foreplay session. I already had my 🍆💦 on the edge ready for the deep dive. We shared a gaze as I slowly began to make my way inside. She had that “keep going” look on her face, but it was only so long that she could keep her composure. After the head made its way in, baby girl’s eyes began to sync with my slow strokes. They rolled as my hips began to roll, and before she knew it, her neck gave out and she rested her head. I finessed my hips into a slow roll as I reached down and sucked on her neck. Her walls began to relax as her pussy gradually began to invite me in. I kept piping her down, constantly going deeper until her belly felt full. And by then, I knew I had her.

I secured her backside with my arms, careful not to smother her precious body, as she demanded I up the pace. To keep up the demand, I got more comfortable on the bed before I shifted into overdrive. “Nice Sean” was gone and “ZADDY Sean” was on the scene.

I was working that pussy like I was running track, and before long, she had thought twice about what she asked for. She thought she was slick, inching her body away like I didn’t notice. But guess what, I inched right along with her ass. She had a long ways to go on my California King before she could escape this dick.

At this point, her facial expressions were no longer inaudible. She was squeezing out “oooo’s” and “ahhhhh’s” between every attempt to catch her breath.

“Wait baby... ooooooooo wait.” She pleaded, but mercy was no longer on the table. I kept going until her juices soaked my inner thigh.

“OMG Sean!” She utters the mantra again. But this time I give in to her cries. Hell, I needed to catch my breath too. Shit! 🥵

I rolled over for a brief intermission, slowly creeping my way to the top of the bed near my pillow. She followed. We rested for a good little minute, kissing on each other as the clock kept ticking, but I was mentally preparing for the second round. It was late at night so I had only about two good positions left in me.

She took a bathroom break before we resumed.

I had decided it was her turn, so I stayed where I was and used my finger to signal her to come near when she walked back in the room. So, she took a domineering stance right before she climbed into bed and cat walked towards me. Titties just bouncing everywhere. Curls flowing effortlessly in the breeze of my ceiling fan. She knew what she was doing and she got my lil man right back up. ☝🏾

She leaned towards me for a kiss as she saddled my waist, slow grinding to drum up more anticipation. I slapped my meat against her ass cuz I wanted her to stop playing these games. Hell, my dick was damn near shivering in the wind now.

But she took the hint and began to guide it back in. This time I rolled MY eyes as her warm goodies began to cradle me inside. She placed her hands on my chest and made her first move upward, then she put her hips in reverse. She put this same two-step on repeat, bouncing up and down on my shit, going all the way to the base. I’m talking balls deep. With this kinda grip, my dick was on the verge of spittin’ already, but I held back my nut. “This ain’t how I wanna to go out”

I was diggin’ this lil rodeo vibe she had going on, but the more her pussy lips clapped down on me, the more I started edging. I let her take control for a minute, but that minute quickly turned into a second as her hip grinding began to slow down. The batteries in that energizer bunny were at 20%... but thats what Zaddy Sean is here for. 😏

Right as she was on her way up, I stopped her and I kept her right in that position, pounding that 🎂 until all I heard was Mac n cheese stirring.

But shit, at this point it was time to make that Mac n cheese creamy. I got prepared for the finale as we moved into sex position #95.

I had her face on the pillow and I made her spread them cheeks before I dove in back. And for some reason, this position always gets me. Idk if it’s the fluffiness of the ass that gets my rocks off or the fact that the thigh clenching makes everything feel tighter. Who knows. But I didn’t have time to contemplate that.

With a few more strokes I was about to fuckin explode. I grabbed her extra tight, squeezing them titties and pushing extra deep until her moans went from tenor to soprano.

“Only a few more seconds baby,” I said in my head.. “just a few more seconds.”

I put a flex in my hips when I felt that good moment coming, and on my last stroke of edging, when I hit her spot, she squeezed her cheeks extra tight... and that was the extra umph that I needed to let loose.

I wanted to paint her back 💦 but the hooded Kermit in me said “naw, leave that shit in big dawg.” 😏

So, I hit my last pumps like a New Years countdown. 5... 4... 3.... 2... making sure my last hit was the strongest. I held it there as my body spasmed and my perineum pulsated, leaving me temporarily paralytic.

Cuz that’s what good pussy will do to ya.

I took a second to savor the moment because my horny-ness hadn’t completely subsided yet. By the time I was ready to pull out, my jimmy was slowly becoming soft & squishy again.

With the head still sensitive, I slowly abort, careful to keep the condom in tact. She’s about as sleepy as I am now, and as I withdrew, she stole a peek of me staring at all the nut weighing down the tip of my condom.

It was mutually understood that we were both tapping out, but we mustered up enough energy to quickly shower up. The whole time in the shower I’m still mesmerized by her beauty, all horny-ness aside.

We towel off in about ten minutes and return to the room before I quickly throw some fresh sheets on my bed.

She basically invited herself to spend the night and who was I to say “no” to her. Cute ass. She knew she was my Achilles heel. So, as we lay in our resting position before dozing off, the question circled back around in my head...

How the hell did she know I was alone? 🤔

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erikismybitch · 5 years

Text

Waiting In Vain : Chapter 13

Come Get to this .

Marley had just gotten home from a long shift at the bar . Her feet were killing her from walking back and forth on the hard floor all night . She threw her keys somewhere on the living room rug , along with her bag. Her superstitious mother told her to never put her purse on the floor, or she would be broke . So she kindly picked it up, even though she didn’t want to, and put it on the couch. By the time she reached her bathroom , she had already stripped down naked for the shower .

It felt so good , the water burned into her overworked muscles like a massage . She needed one of those , Marley had been working hard . And she hadn’t seen Erik in a while. He was away for work at first , in some place where phone service for foreigners was nonexistent . But whenever he got the chance , he’d call her . Only short conversations about their days, then he had to go. But he had been back for a few days . They just had two schedules that wouldnt permit them to be together.

Other than her long shift, Marley had a good day. In fact she had been having good days . She sat on her bed , dry from her towel but still slightly sticky warm from the water . The mango shea butter she applied all over her body gave her a glow . She laid there on her bed , with the slight lump of emotion in her throat .

The TV was on mute , something good was on but she couldn’t keep focus . Then, she started smiling out of nowhere , thinking about Erik . Just everything about him she liked . Even the way he coughed excited her . How he was so tough when he didn’t need to be , and how calm he was when he handled her .

Marley purposely laughed out loud to herself “Oh my god , you are tripping!” she tried to somehow convince herself that this kind of behavior wasn’t normal. But it was , especially when you liked somebody. Marley had liked Erik for a while, but this was different. It was below the surface of things , deeper . She thought about him all of the time, she wanted him all the time . Marley hated that feeling, she had that feeling long ago with Trey and it ended. Even though her relationship with Trey was good...until it wasn’t . But she knew Erik was not Trey and she didn’t like to compare the two . She also had to stop comparing herself to her cousin. Marleybhad to remember that Erik wanted to be with her, he said so himself . She turned the TV off . Then hit shuffle on her iPad that sat on her dresser . The Bluetooth was forever connected to her speaker , so it played.

Marvin Gaye - I Want You (Vocal)

Oldies always played through Marley’s speakers . Rather it be Soul, Dancehall or R&B . Sometimes she dabbled in New Age music , but nothing gave her good vibes the way the old songs did. Her mom used to tell people “Marley has an old soul”, whatever that may mean.

Melodies from the song sounded like love. Marley thought it was weird, but that was the only way to explain it . She had heard the song millions of times, this time wasn’t the same . The cords reminded her of him. Marvin Gaye’s aggressiveness reminded her of him. They way the song came together , the music was talking to her. Every lyric explaining exactly how she felt . She closed her eyes and stretched her toes to the rhythm . Envisioning a state where the words were her reality.

“I want you , the right way , I want you and I want you to want me to ...”

Marley turned over and grabbed her phone , she scrolled to their text thread and read the transcripts from the last couple of days . she wanted to tell Erik that she wanted him , just like the song said . But she thought it would be too forward , Erik was a little hard to read . She settled on something simple.

What are you doing.

Nothing was as simplistic at that. It’s funny , because Erik was thinking about her too . He was laying in the bed because he had an early morning that next day . The text woke him up . Even though he knew he needed sleep , he needed her too .

About to come over if you home .

The giddiness Marley felt when she saw the response. Erik watched the time , a quarter past twelve . She responded right away .

I’ll leave the door unlocked .

He wanted to tell her not to do that , because it wasn’t safe . Erik would loose his shit if something happened to her this early into things . Before he could have this new experience . He didn’t though , this overprotective-ness thing always went into overdrive when it came to Marley . He didn’t live that far from her and he drove like a bat out of hell . Nothing could happen to her in between time . Erik made sure to remind her to use the camera on the doorbell if she did leave it unlocked . He got dressed quickly , slipped on shoes and dashed for the door .

Marley heard him when he came in the apartment, in fact she saw him through the doorbell camera. Marley didn’t have to tell him to come back to her room , he was already there . Marley was cuddled against her biggest pillow . Dressed in nothing but a short white cami and white panties . Her scarf was hanging off of her head , Erik would probably make it fall off soon. Marley wasn’t extra, or even trying to be sexy . To him, she just was . And even if she did ... he’s be fine with that too.

“Hey” Marley’s sweet voice was like honey to a sore throat. He kicked off his shoes and threw down his hoodie. Erik then claimed his new spot beside her . She turned in a way so that they could face eachother. “You miss me?” She was only kidding with him. The apples of her cheeks rose to make her eyes chink .

“Yup”

Marley was overjoyed with effulgence , she didn’t expect him to say that. She thought maybe he’d joke with her too , but no .

“For real?” Her brow lifted in curiosity.

“I’m not about to say that shit again” Erik rolled his eyes like a brat.

Marley gave an airy laugh. Then “I missed you too” muttered carefully from her lips as her gaze set on his lips inching closer to hers . He kissed her first, nice and slow . When he pulled back you could hear the slight wet pop. His eyes were hazy, Erik smirked because hers were still closed and waiting for him to come back . So he did . Along with his wandering left hand that just had to grip the side of her jiggly ass .

Marley wrapped her leg around his waist to be closer to him, it excited her . He groaned against her lips , bewildered by her forward behavior. Even thought Erik knew she could never be as aggressive as him. He pushed her back down onto the mattress hard and broke the kiss. Marley bit on her lip, still tasting sweet traces of this man that infatuated her. The bottom of her cami rose up way above her belly , the bottom of her breast were peaking through. Erik gave a solid hit on her ass . Her giggles were muffled by the pillow she stuffed her face in.

“Stop being shy” his tone was calm , but his actions weren’t . He hit her again , she moaned this time . It hurt good.

“I’m not” her face still in the pillow .

“Look at me then” there was solemn in his voice so Marley showed him her face .

“It’s just...” she began to talk , but had gotten distracted by his chiseled arms. Her free hand ran up and down his arm a few times . He gloated .

“Nothin’ ”

“You good” He sealed with a smirk.

Erik lifted her cami and uncovered her body . He kissed the spot right above her belly button and bit lightly in between her breast. Her breast that bounced slightly each time he made a move . Erik liked that shit, he was a breast man. He claimed her nipples , squeezing both breast together like a two for one deal. He massaged them gently, then took turns on either one his mouth craved . Marley traced the back of his head with her fingers . She tried hard not to stuff her face back into her pillow .

Erik had decided that was enough , he’d get back to those later . He sat up in front of her , in that classic position with her laying on her back . He gazed at the radiant figure she had . Her curvy body that looked so strong and fertile . Like it could handle everything he wanted to give her , everything he was going to give her .

His shirt came off with ease . This was the first time she’d seen his body in a long time . Not in the dark kitchen of her old apartment, but in this luminous room. With soft lighting from the moon and her lemon scented candle . His muscles were everything to her , she knew he could probably bench press her weight with ease . Marley felt her little precious clit throbbing . He took grip at the rim of her panties . His touch alone made the hairs on the back of her arms stand up at attention . Her blood rushed to the center of her nub. “Omg” repeated over and over in her head .

Another body, number eight to be exact. But that shit was meaningless, especially if this was the man she’d be with forever .

Forever Marley ? Girl it’s too early ...

There wasn’t even a title between the two of them , and she was already having thoughts of forever .

Marley was delighted by the feeling of him slipping her panties down her leg . She was already so wet that her panties were slightly sticking to her . Marley eased up and let him pull them all the way off . She spread her legs in a wide V. Erik got off the bed , still in view between her legs, he slipped off his sweats and briefs.

Marley wanted to say something like

“Will this change us ?”

“Is this all you want?”

But instead of talking she brought his face down to hers and kissed him . Eriks hips retreated back , and forth as he found her entrance . His tip felt that warm slippery wet hole and he eased himself in, just a little bit .

Marley let out a short gasp , unprepared for his size . He expected that, that’s what all the girls did . A couple inches slid in and out at a steady pace , she stopped retracting and allowed him to do as he pleased . He kissed her neck to comfort her , she kept her hands on the back of his shoulder blades . When he felt her fingered grip become tighter , he knew he could give her more .

“Aight , Im finna’ put the whole thing in now” he told her casually, giving her another gentle kiss. Marley’s eyes spread in shock.

“Erik, it’s more?!” Marley panicked and rested on her elbows. She looked down at the act, in disbelief at how massive he was .Overwhelmed by the site of his huge dick stroking in and out of her . She coated all his inches , ten inches if she had to guess a number.

Erik was amused by her amusement. “You like watching my dick fuck you like this?” His voice was so raspy and full of lust. When she didn’t answer , he slammed into her hard , resulting in a huge slap . When he did it again her head flew black in bliss. He gave her another stroke, harder than before , the charge of pleasure that bolted threw her body made her fall back down on the bed.

“This the shit you like, huh?” He asked , but it was more of a statement by looking at her reaction . Her mouth drew wide open , Erik invaded her , reaching every spot that needed to be hit . Scratching every itch that had been yearning to be touched. Erik fucked her hard and steady , rhythmic almost . His ass muscles flexed at his technique. Marley felt like he had rehearsed exactly what to do to her body . Her lower lips were swelling on account of his body hitting hers so hard . His thick rod hit a nub of pleasure inside of her . It felt so fucking good that Marley finally let out a moan loud enough for him to notice. It came out so uncontroled, so honest that her body practically did it for her .

Erik thought it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. It threw him off game , he’d heard the moans and screams from numerous women before her. But they didn’t sound like this. Not like Marley. They didn’t come from the girl that lit his fire quite like she did . He looked up at her , his face softened with tenderness. Clueless to her effect he made her moan again for him . It was more bewildering than the first .

“Shit, Marley...” he sucked in air and hissed. Erik needed to hear that sound again , and again and again . So he made sure that every stroke gave him that even exchange. Even when she shook or her breath hitched like she was losing it . He gave her all he had , long and hard .

Marleys eyes met his for the first time . Her exposed breast bounced to his cadence. Erik didn’t understand that in the midst of getting fucked , how did she manage to still look so angelic. Marley gripped the sheets and when that wasn’t enough , she gripped him. She wanted to bite him, slap him maybe for what he was doing to her . And when gripping him wasn’t enough , she tugged at his dreads . Without words she was telling him that she needed him, and he was doing everything right .

“Oh my god , Baby!” her voice croaked and almost broke him down . Erik slowed his pace , she let out a deep sigh of relief . It was quiet for a moment, but a nice type of quiet . Where all they could hear were sloshing sounds of his dick , filling her wetness . With hitched breath, Marley looked him and asked “What’s wrong you okay?”

She worried , noticing the shift in him . He just laughed to himself and nodded his head . He thought it was sweet that she was worried about him, when it was the total opposite. “Yeah I’m good . You good ?” He slipped out of her, gazing at just how well she glazed his entire dick . Not just some of it, the whole thing. Every girl couldn’t do that for him.

Marley pushed against him , feeling empty because she wanted him back inside of her. Her plee didn’t go unnoticed, Erik was just beginning . He lifted one of Marleys firm legs up and placed it on his shoulder . He positioned inbetwen them . This gave full access for him to get deeper. Her eyes shut slowly. No cautioning , he invaded her . Her bed , that had never made noise before was now squeaking loudly because of how forceful Erik fucked her . He held on to her thigh. She held on to nothing , whenever she tried to grab a hold of anything , Erik slapped her hands away . She held back her screams but it was apparent on her face what she wanted to do . Marley was afraid of the sound she would let out . It would be ugly, exactly how she heard her cousin scream all those nights . Even her headboard hit the wall , she prayed that her elderly neighbors wouldn’t be bothered .

Just when she felt like she couldn’t take him any longer , she quickly used her hands to push him away . She wasn’t fast enough , Erik caught her .

“Why you running from me huh?” he teased and came down to her , never letting up his strokes . The same pace , the same hardness . His free hand squeezed her cheeks together, making her lips pout out . Hungrily he licked on her lips like a mad man. And when she looked as if she was about to try and run again, his hand latched on to her neck. Marley could feel herself going over the edge as he choked her. Her walls clinched around his manhood. Marleys face scrunched , her nostrils flared . She was embarrassed at how hideous she knew she looked . To Eriks view , it was the sexist face she had ever made .

He let her ease back down “Where the fuck you goin Mar ?” he said gently, followed by a satisfying groan .

“No where” she told him. Marley wasn’t going anywhere

“You so beautiful, you know I got you now.... Right” Erik ran his face along the side of hers . The feeling of his facial hair brushing against her skin reminded her of how much of a man he was . How rugged he was . His dreads overtook his face and hid the tiny beads of sweat. She pulled them back so she could kiss him . She wanted him to say that again to her . He was making her feel safe with him.

“When you run, I’ll always catch you” The break was over, Erik started to slam into her again . “You got it?” Erik was so aggressive with her, because he meant it .

“Yesssssss! ” she cried out long and submissively while He continued to get that spot “I got it baby... okay!”

“Ain’t no running, you take this shit!”

Marley could no longer make out any words but that didn’t stop her yelling out . She called on god so loud , you would have thought he walked into the room.

Each time Erik came down inside of her, he’d seethe the words “Take it! ....Take it!... Take it!” Through clinched teeth. He looked at her face of bliss , it made his blood rush to the tip of his manhood. He could have fucked her all over this room , he could have flipped her in every kind of position. But with missionary , it was a different kind of intimacy. He could kiss her , look into her eyes and make that connection with her. And if he could make her cum like this , the possibilities were endless .

“Damn , you look so good when you take my dick”

Scooping strokes that make her body want to explode . “My legs are shaking baby !” Marley had made a mess , they were on top of the huge puddle she had made . “Yes Erik , Fuck!” She buried the side of her face into a pillow , her hips arched forward so hard that the covers went down with her . Erik could feel the sensation setting from his balls , and making its short journey through his dick . He was about to bust , and right before he slipped up, he pulled out . Casting his warm coating all over the inside of her thigh.

He flipped himself over and laid on his back . Marley stayed in the position . Her legs were wide open . She tugged at her nipples as a way of easing herself. Marley was bewildered at what had just taken place . Erik was good at everything. She gazed off through her slightly open curtains, thinking about how she couldn’t wait for him to leave , just so she could see him all over again when he came back.

“ I almost didn’t pull out” he said , as if it was nothing . Reality had set in, they had used no condom and Marley was not on the pill . She was playing with fire . Marley got out of the bed and walked to her bathroom. Careful not to drip over her floor .

Erik was still in her room when she came back . After a quick wash up she had walked back in covered by her robe. He was dressed and sitting on the bed facing door . Marley could clearly see that he was about to leave her in this late hour . She closed her door and put her back against it . Her crossed arms were much like an angry mom. He could have jetted off while she was in her bathroom, At least he had the decency to wait for her .

“Come here” Erik could tell Marley felt a way about him leaving . Slowly she walked towards him. Erik wrapped his arm around her waist and used his freehand to scroll his phone . He was noting the time “I work in a few hours”

“Fuck work” she giggled and straddled his lap, causing him to fall back on her mattress . Eriks hands palmed her ass, like a magnet . He wanted to stay there, but tonight was all bad.

“My job won’t have that, I can’t ”

“Stay, make me cum again. I liked that” Marley kissed his neck quickly like a chicken pecking for food.

“Nah, my round two always lasts a lot longer” With his strong arms he managed to push her off of him. Marley flopped on to her bed, only craving the feeling of him more than before . She groaned when she felt the weight of the bed shift . Erik had gotten up .

“Fineeee” Marley dragged like a kid who couldn’t get their way . Marley walked him to the door . They shared a kiss and Erik left . Marley stayed glued at door until she heard his loud engine start. She didn’t walk away until she heard it head down her street . Then , she grabbed a clean sheet set from her linen closet .

(Hope it’s not a lot of typos)

#alright its time for me to bring the real erik out #yall know i dont do soft erik #this aint tchalla

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damienthepious · 5 years

Text

When The Reckoning Arrives (Chapter 2)

[Chapter 1] [ao3] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6]

[Summary: There are, inevitably, consequences for being too complacent while having a highly illegal affair with an enemy combatant.

Chapter 2: The chapter during which Sir Angelo Does His Best.]

The continuous, terrified churning of Sir Angelo’s stomach eases for the first time in hours when he sees that there is smoke coming from the chimney of Rilla’s little hut. Rilla is smart, Angelo knows. Possibly the smartest person that he knows, and she will know what to do about this, will know what he should do. Angelo very much needs someone smarter than he to tell him what to do right now, because-

Well. Yes. The reasons are obvious.

“Rilla?” He bangs his fist off the door frame, straining with the effort it takes not to hit the wood too hard. The more upset he is, the harder it becomes to contain his strength, but the last thing he needs in this moment is to face Rilla’s wrath if he breaks any part of her home. Again.

There is a grumbling from inside, and Angelo thinks that he hears her voice tell him to go away in a muffled groan. He bangs again, only fractionally harder.

“Friend Miss Rilla I must insist you come to the door,” Angelo says, strained. “I must speak with you immediately about a matter of dire-”

“Angelo?” her voice is slightly less muffled now, and he hears her feet creak across the wood before the door cracks open, revealing her face blinking and squinting down at him through the sunlight, framed in a loose, sleep-tangled mass of dark curls. “Damien isn’t here, Angelo,” she grumbles through a yawn. “He left to report in before the sun was even up. I’m trying to take a na-”

“Sir Damien has been arrested, Rilla,” Angelo blurts, and Rilla flinches, stares at him for a moment, and then she steps backward and pulls the door open for him.

“I’m getting dressed,” she says, all hints of sleep gone from her voice as she marches back towards her bedroom. “Come in, close the door behind you, and tell me everything.”

“They said treason, Rilla. I don’t know what happened, exactly, but they said it was treason and that they were taking him to the Queen.” He presses his hands together just to give them something to do, his armor squeaking around him as he fidgets in place. He can hear Rilla tossing things around through the thin wall of her room, and then she’s bustling back out, dressed and twining her hair over her shoulder in a quick, practiced braid.

“They didn’t say why?” Rilla asks around the hair pins in her mouth, hands and feet still moving.

“No, they- Rilla they said treason, and I don’t know what to do. Damien wouldn’t let me help.”

“Wouldn’t- let you?”

“I was going to insist that they let him go, of course,” he says, flinging his hands out and barely avoiding knocking a bowl full of some viscous orange liquid off of a table. “But he said he had been summoned and must not disappoint the Queen. I just don’t understand, Rilla, why-”

Rilla’s feet stop, and she swallows, her hand raising to press at the skin above her heart. “It’s simple, Angelo,” she says. “They figured it out somehow.”

“Rilla?”

“They know about Arum, Angelo,” she says in a strained voice.

“How can you be sure?”

“Has Damien done anything, literally ever, that could be considered treason besides what he and I have with Arum?” she asks. “Anything at all? A word, a mistake, a thought? He’s loyal to a fault, Sir Angelo. Arum is the only reason they could possibly have to punish him. It’s the only explanation.”

Angelo considers that, and decides that as usual she is correct. “Oh dear. Whatever are we going to do, Rilla?” he asks, voice wavering and light with horror.

“We aren’t going to do anything,” she says, and then she’s in motion again, striding around the room and putting things in order, extinguishing the fire and stuffing objects into the pockets of her skirt. “I am going to march down into that Citadel and figure out exactly how to keep Damien from getting himself killed.”

“But-” Angelo winces, wringing his hands again. “Damien said- he said for you not to worry about him.”

“Oh, is that so?” Rilla aims a glare at him and he quails under it. She can be far more frightening than the monster she and Damien love with very little strain, Angelo has learned. “Well, I’m not worried, Angelo. I’m furious. And I’m going to get him out of this if I have to knock the walls of that stupid Citadel down myself.”

She’s packing up her medical bag as if she’s going to the scene of an injury, and Angelo isn’t really sure why. Actually, Rilla doesn’t even seem to be paying attention to what she’s doing, her hands moving automatically, placing instruments and tinctures in their proper places and brushing her fingers over them, methodical and certain, before she lifts the bag and slings it around her shoulder to hang at her hip. She’s turning for the door when he speaks again.

“He said- he wanted you to be safe, Rilla. He told me to tell you not to worry, but also to be safe, and I don’t think-”

Rilla’s face freezes, and then her mouth falls open in shock as she turns back to look at him. “Oh, oh no, the complete idiot. Oh Saints above, he’s going to tell the truth.”

“The- truth?” Angelo blinks. “Is that a bad thing?”

She snorts, though her lips are tight with fear. “The truth is that Damien and I are in love with a monster, Angelo. Do you really think it’s going to go well if Damien admits that to the fricking Queen?!”

Angelo winces, and Rilla winces in turn. She sighs, and takes a moment to compose herself.

“Okay,” she says. “Okay, okay, I can still figure this out.” She narrows her eyes, then glances to Angelo. “I’m still going to the Citadel. I have to know what’s happening with him. Even if Damien’s done something completely stupid, the Queen will have to consider the issue for a full day before she passes official judgment, no matter how guilty she thinks he is. Custom and all that,” she sneers. “I have to go, but-”

“But?”

She steps towards Angelo and places a careful hand on his shoulder. “Angelo. You have to tell Arum what’s going on. I can’t wait another second here or I’m going to go out of my mind, but Arum needs to know what’s happened, too.”

“I- of course, Rilla, but- how do I-”

She drops her hand and turns, striding over to a wide planter in the corner of the hut, full of dark soil and luminous plants that Angelo hadn’t noticed before but is quite sure is a new fixture in the home.

“Keep,” Rilla says, and a low singing fills the space. “Open a portal to the greenhouse, please?”

The planter seems to spring to life with that airy song, the dirt at the edges curling up into vines that form a distinct archway that reaches all the way to the ceiling before the space between is filled with magic, a chasm that leads somewhere green and chirping and warm.

Angelo takes two full steps backward. “Ah… Rilla?”

“Through there is the place where Arum lives,” she explains quickly, pulling her shoes on. “The castle, the plant- the Keep is alive. When you go through just tell it that I sent you, and tell it you need to talk to Arum. It’ll lead you to him and you can explain.” She smiles tightly. “I’m counting on you, okay?”

“I will not let you down,” Angelo says automatically, though his brow is furrowed with worry.

“I know you won’t,” she says, her smile tilting more genuine. “Just- please promise me you won’t let him do anything stupid, okay?” Angelo nods quickly. “I have to go. I’m sorry, Angelo, but- thank you for coming to tell me. I’m glad you’re on our side,” she says, her hands in tight, anxious fists at her side, and before he can respond she’s outside, the door banging shut behind her, and he can hear her stride struggling not to run towards the Citadel.

Then, Angelo turns back towards the portal, and is certainly not afraid of it. Afraid of a little magic! Certainly not.

He thinks about that for a moment.

Actually, he is rather afraid of the portal, he decides. But he can’t possibly let Rilla and Damien down, so he musters his courage and charges, and then nearly gets a mouthful of some frilly, flowery plant once he’s through. He careens sideways so as not to collide with any more flora and skids to a halt, looking around himself in wonder at the strange space he now occupies.

It is impressive, and vast, and mostly green, and Angelo thinks he would probably appreciate it all the more if he knew anything at all about plant life. No wonder Rilla is so charmed by this monster! Angelo smiles at the thought. His interests seem to intersect nicely with those of the herbalist.

He notices, belatedly, that the portal through which he entered has stopped working, the vines shrinking and receding into the floor of this place, and Angelo very bravely tries not to let the lack of an exit make him nervous.

“Er- excuse me please,” Angelo calls out, and a number of the dull bug and bird noises he hadn’t quite noticed before quail and quiet at the boom of his voice. “Friend Castle-Plant-Keep?”

After a pause, there’s that singing again as when Rilla summoned the portal, clear and questioning and very, very odd.

“Miss Rilla has sent me,” he says, wondering precisely where this building keeps its ears, and whether he should try saying things a bit louder. “Sir Damien has been- imperiled, and I am to inform the liz- er- I mean, I am to inform Lord Arum. If you could take me to him. Please?”

There is another pause, filled with strange animal calls and chimes. Then there is the singing, and suddenly there are vines again, this time twining around his legs and arms and lifting Angelo into the air, pulling him- somewhere. The automatic instinct is to draw his sword, but- well, this is the Castle-Plant-Keep, yes? He does not want to hurt something that Rilla cares about, and it doesn’t seem to be squeezing him or otherwise trying to hurt him, it is just- lifting him and moving him out of the large green space and into smaller corridors, all wood and soft blue glow.

“Pardon me, I don’t know if you realize, but I am quite capable of walking to where the- Lord Arum is on my own feet,” he says, voice mildly strained due to the current way the vines are holding him, horizontal and verging on upside-down. “Would you be so kind as to set me down?”

The building sings around him, but the vines decline his suggestion. He still doesn’t reach for his sword, partially because he has become aware of exactly how strong these vines feel around him. He’s not actually sure that he could pull his limbs from that willowy grip, and-

Hm. The pressure is actually oddly comfortable. Much more gentle and supportive than the Budkin woman, he decides.

They exit to a balcony space and Angelo is suddenly back on his feet, wobbling and slightly dizzy, and the lizard Lord himself is staring open-mouthed at Angelo over the top of a scroll as he lounges on a large leaf that seems to be serving as a loveseat.

“Ah,” Angelo says, watching the vines recede again. “I see! I asked to be taken to him, and here he is! How helpful, friend Castle-Plant-Keep. And hello, friend Lord Arum,” Angelo says, his words going on automatic.

“What,” Arum says, blank. He sets aside the scroll and stands in a flurry of motion too fast to follow. “Knight? What are you doing here?”

“I have-”

“Keep, why have you not ejected this-” he blinks, glances Angelo over a little more closely. “You- you are Sir- Angelo, was it? The one Damien is close with, is that right?”

“Best friend and rival!” Angelo can’t stop himself from chiming, even as the mention of Damien sets his stomach sour again.

“How did you get in here?” Arum growls, but the heat seems to have gone out of the words now, and he seems only confused.

“Rilla, she opened that quite strange door-”

“Amaryllis is back?” He glances over Angelo’s shoulder, as if somehow Rilla could be crouched down quite low to hide behind the knight.

“No, friend. She sent me to-” he swallows uncomfortably. “Um. Pass along news. Quite unfortunate news.”

Arum raises an eyebrow, folds three of his arms across his chest, and gestures with the fourth for Angelo to continue.

“Er-” he coughs. “Sir Damien- that is, that is to say- I happened to meet him in the Citadel this morning and- well, it just so happens-”

“Will you spit it out already?” Arum says, tail flicking behind him emphatically. “Ridiculous, the air you lot waste on meaningless blather.”

“Damien has been arrested,” Angelo says, liking the words in his mouth less and less each time he needs to say them. “For treason, and Rilla believes it is because of- well-”

“Me.” Arum has gone so very, very still that Angelo has the mad thought that he has been turned to stone. He doesn’t even breathe, for a long moment. “Obviously. Me.”

“Ah. That- that is what she thinks as well, yes.”

“Arrested,” Arum echoes, voice sliding into a snide growl. “He was only- only just here last night.” He pauses, inhales sharply, then eyes Angelo over. “Why did Amaryllis send you to me? Why is she not telling me this herself?”

“She was eager to go to the Citadel to try to- to deal with the situation herself.”

Angelo has difficulty reading expressions at the best of times, but something in Arum’s sharp features goes overtly flat and frightened for a moment. “Of course she did. Did she not even pause for a moment to consider- if they suspect Damien of treason, would they not suspect her as well?”

Angelo’s stomach churns and churns and he clenches his hands as tightly as he can. “Saints above, you don’t think they will arrest her as well?”

“This. Cannot. Happen, takatakataka,” Arum snarls, apparently not quite hearing Angelo’s question. His entire body is twitching intermittently in his distress, his tail lashing dangerously. Mind, Angelo has not spent all that much time with the lizard since they met, but this is not how Lord Arum typically composes himself. Angelo is worried that the creature is about to come apart at the seams, and he only just keeps himself from instinctively wrapping his arms around him in a steadying hug, and only because he suspects that he will find himself on the receiving end of those flexing claws if he does. “I won’t let it happen. I’ve infiltrated that vile Citadel once before, I can do it again, I can- I can find my way into their dungeon, find him and get him out-”

“While that is impressive, friend lizard, are you quite sure that Sir Damien will leave with you?”

Arum almost looks wounded for a moment, and then he rounds on Angelo with a guttural noise that is nearly a roar. “Of course he will! Do you think he desires to let your foolish human rules kill him? Do you think he desires be hanged, or beheaded, or burned alive? I can’t stand- I cannot stand aside and wait for-”

“I merely meant that our friend allowed himself to be brought into custody,” Angelo says, a little queasy at the trio of horrible mental images the lizard has presented him with. “When I saw them bring him in I tried to have him released immediately, but he stopped me, and would not permit me to interfere when I saw they would not let him free. He means to face judgment. He has done no wrong, he says.”

“Of course he hasn’t, of course he’s done nothing wrong, he would sooner toss himself from this balcony than intentionally do harm to anyone, the naive little- but that doesn’t matter, because they won’t care.” Arum’s tail collides with the leafy seat he had been reclining in and it snaps, but he doesn’t seem to notice, teeth bared and eyes wild. “All your petty laws and taboos and the bindings with which you try to shackle the infinitude of the universe, and all it does is strangle the life out of everything good, just as it will strangle the life from him, just as- just as- they will kill him, knight, do you understand that?”

Angelo worries that his own eyes have gone a little wild by now, because the lizard Lord is starting to genuinely frighten him. Not with fear for his own person - Lord Arum is a friend, and Angelo has nothing to fear from friends - but with fear that Arum is going through something close to one of the paroxysms of panic that Damien himself is prone to suffer. Angelo nods (though he can’t make himself think of Damien dying, he simply cannot), because Arum seems to be waiting for an answer before his tirade continues.

“They will kill him,” he says again, more of that clicking, guttural rasp in his voice. “Because of me.” He pauses, all four of his arms wrapping around his own chest in a grip that looks like it hurts. “Damien will die because of me, because he- he will die and it will be my fault.”

“But Rilla is-”

“Marching to her own doom as well,” he says with a grim smile. “Amaryllis, clever Amaryllis will try to reason her way out of this, but our bond is magic, not science, and they will not understand it. They never will.”

“But I-” Angelo pauses, taps his fingertips together awkwardly. “That is, I understand. And- friends Marc and Talfryn understand, so perhaps-”

“Amaryllis’ brothers tolerate me because they adore her,” Arum says dismissively. “As they should. And you- you don’t understand.”

“I do understand your bond,” Angelo says, pretending not to feel hurt. “I will admit that there are many things in the world that I do not understand, Lord Arum, but love is not one of them. I was raised in a home that had love in spades, love to spare, and I can recognize it by sight.”

Arum winces as if Angelo has said something horrible, but he sighs and nods in concession. “Fine. Fine, if you say so. But just because a few humans understand doesn’t mean that your little ruler is going to let Damien live.” He turns away and starts stalking, pacing in a quick circle, thoughts visibly churning in his head. “And perhaps I could get him out of the Citadel if he would let me, but then- they would hunt for him, of course. Pursuit that would eventually lead them- here. Unless-”

He turns, looks at Angelo oddly for a moment, and then the frill at his neck raises suddenly, framing his head like a spiky halo.

“What?” Angelo says, fidgeting uncomfortably under that gaze. “What is it?”

“I have a plan, or part of one,” Arum says in a frantic growl. “If you will- help, that is. I think I can- I can make sure that Damien is released.”

Angelo’s spirits lift with the joy of helping, before they dip back down in worry. “I don’t suppose it is a stupid plan?” he asks, entirely earnest. “Because Rilla made me promise specifically not to let you do anything stupid.”

“Of course it isn’t,” he snarls.

“Oh, good!” Angelo says, instantly convinced. “Then of course I shall help. What are we going to do?”

“I will explain on the way,” Arum says, already turning to lead Angelo back inside the Keep.

#check ao3 for more specific tags #elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #seriously thank you to everyone who reblogged/commented on the first chapter #y'all are amazing and the only reason this chapter came together so fast #this fandom is kind of incredible actually i'm in love #when the reckoning arrives

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ccyans · 6 years

Text

The one where Todoroki Rei gets out of dodge with children in tow Pt 2

Revised and continued on AO3

Rei meets Inko at her job interview. She’d found the posting online a few days earlier and scheduled the meeting in an almost impulsive streak, before the decision could be second-guessed. There is nothing very impressive about the position, small and secretarial as it is. But the office is close, and Rei only plans on working a day one or two days a week. It’s an important thing, getting a job – a priority. Like proof almost, that she can get back on her own two feet after fourteen years of reliance.

The hiring manager is named Midoriya Inko. She is a small, slight women with dark green hair and wide expressive eyes. Rei meets her at a nearby coffee shop, dressed smartly, stomach a mess of anxiety and anticipation.

It’s been so long since Rei’s done anything like an interview.

“Yukimura Rei-san?” asks Midoriya-san.

“Yes,” says Rei, too quickly. She feels her face flush. “I mean, it’s nice to meet you, Midoriya-san.” She realizes she’s still standing. She sits down.

The rest of the interview does not go that much better.

Rei stumbles, fumbles, edges around the gaping fourteen year hole of empty job applications and recommendation letters. Then, in what is within that moment the most embarrassing moment of her life, she knocks over Midoriya-san’s coffee. The cup goes careening and both Rei and Midoriya-san try to catch it at the same time; They end up knocking against one another; the coffee goes spilling across the table.

‘I,“ Rei starts, staring at the edge of Midoriya-san’s soaked sleeve helplessly, "am so so sorry –” just as Inko goes, panicky, “my sincerest apologies Yuki–”

They pause. They look at one another.

“Oh. oh no, that was on me,” Rei tries again, but Midoriya-san has the same idea, apparently, because she says, her hands digging into her purse for napkins, “I cannot apologize enough. I should have moved it –” And Rei says: “No, no need it was my fault.” They’re like a stopper-starter engine of profuse apologies between the two of them, pausing and then retrying, Midoriya-san frantically pulling tissues from her bag, Rei trying to frantically wipe the stain from Midoriya-san’s sleeve, somehow managing to have competely different conversations while being on the same topic and working on the same angle. Eventually though, Rei just pauses. And Midoriya-san pauses. And they look at one another, at the coffee stain between them, at Rei bent over scrubbing the brown from Midoriya-san’s shirt and Midoriya-san bent over with her fistful of napkins, neither of them having thought to contact a waiter.

When Midoriya-san slowly sits down and begins to laugh, Rei does too.

“Oh, oh that was rather silly of us wasn’t it?” gets out Midoriya-san between giggles.

Re’s cheeks hurt from how wide she’s smiling. “It was.”

They look at one another conspiratorally. Rei feels like a school girl, fifteen and giggly and exchanging notes under the tables. Midoriya-san calls up a server to help clean up the mess, and they finish the interview in good spirits.

She gets the confirmation call at noon the next day. Rei is putting soba on a boil for lunch, the children herded away to the park out back. Fuyumi, sweetheart had looked at the stove dubiously, as if Rei didn’t know what they were doing trying to expel her from the ktichen every meal time.

“Hello,” she says, cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder. Midoriya-san’s cheerful voice rebounds back at her.

“Yukimura-san! Are you well?”

Rei smiles. “Yes.”

“Great! I’m just here to tell you got the job, of course,” Midoriya-san says. “Theres’s going to be an orientation, and then some training. Can I have a list of what days you’re free?”

There is one orientation day and three training days. Rei gets out her calendar and schedules it with Midoriya-san over the next two weeks, between therapist appointments and meetings with her lawyer. Afterwards, she is in giddy, excellent spirits finishing the rest of lunch: soba, eel skewers, cold watermelon juice. Her eldest pokes his head in just as she’s ladelling out the soba. He takes pair of chopsticks and a bowl and begins to help.

“Good news?”

“I got the job!” Rei laughs, and then spins, and then hugs him.

He goes very, very still.

She doesn’t notice the significance of it until she feels the way he tenses under her. That this not a mundane thing, between him and her. She doesn’t touch like she does with the others. Because he looks like – Enji. Enji, but with Rei’s thin hands and bird-bones and the slope of her eyes, and now the dyed black hair that belongs to neither of them. He looks like Enji and he goes stiff like a startled rabbit in Rei’s arms, and for a moment Rei falters, and then she remembers, and it’s not right. It’s not right, his surprise that she’s willing to touch him; her surprise that she’s willing to touch him, and it’s Rei’s fault, partially, and it’s – Enji’s fault, and it’s not right at all, that Rei can’t remember the last time she hugged her eldest.

After a little while, when Rei doesn’t let go or has a panic attack, he awkwardly hugs her back. He’s gotten taller. Broader. She hadn’t noticed.

She only lets him go when Natsuo comes banging up the stairs a minute later. Rei bumps shoulders with him, gently, purposefully, when they pack the rest of the soba, when he goes back to maintaining that careful distance, as if to say: this is alright.

Shouto is not very happy with her new job accommodations.

“So you’re leaving?” he demands.

They’re stretched out under shade of a cluster of tall trees, all five of them, lunch laid out on a picnic blanket and half eaten. Overhead the sky is blue and clear, full of luminous clouds. The humm of cicadas is a low buzz to Rei’s ears. Shouto, mouth smeared with sticky sauce from the eel, has wedged himself onto Rei’s lap, expression petulant.

“You’re supposed to be congratulating her, lil’ icyhot.” Dabi taps Shouto on the nose with his finished skewer. “Not throwing a tantrum.”

Shouto turns betrayed eyes onto him. “But she’s leaving.”

Shouto is not one prone to throwing tantrums, so this is somehow more significant than Rei thought. In retrospect, Rei has very rarely left him by himself. Or at all. Shouto’s also starting elementary in three weeks though, which means job or not, he still won’t be seeing Rei for seven hours a day five days a week starting soon.

As if sensing this knowledge, he clings to her a little harder.

Rei tucks her chin into Shouto’s hair. “It’s not a whole day, Shouto-chan, just a morning, mm? You’re going to be starting first grade soon, and then you’re going to leave mama. But only for a bit, a morning and a lunch, like me, and we’ll all be back by afternoon snack.”

“Oh,” says Fuyumi. She chews, thoughtful, on an eel skewer.“So when we’re at school you’ll be on shift? That’s a good plan.”

Shouto looks between them uncertainly. Rei kisses the top of his head. “It’ll be fine, Shouto-chan.”

Despite all reassurances though, come orientation day Shouto still tries to smuggle himself to work with Rei through Rei’s canvas bag, as if Rei would not noticed the extra thirty pounds of toddler, and makes pleading faces at her all the way through Dabi snagging him by the collar and carting him back to the living room.

“Have a good day mom!” Fuyumi shouts, echoed by Natsuo. “Stay safe!”

A family of hornets set up shop in Rei’s stomach on the morning of the orientation, some shivery mix of anxiety but also hopeful excitement. She arrives ten minutes early, where upon she gets a uniform, a nametag, and then whirls her through the tasks that need to be done. Since it’s a weekday and generally slow, Rei goes over her instructions with care. At lunch, Inko finds Rei at her new desk eating her bento with a coffee.

“How are you finding it, Rei-san?”

Midoriya Inko is cheerful and talkative, her speech punctuated with nervous hand gestures, and Rei is content to have her carry with the conversation. They exchange dinner recipes. Rei asks her about local community colleges, touching a bit on her nebulous plans of going back back to school right now limited to brochures and some half-filled applications. “Oh!” says Inko. “Yes, yes there’s a good one a half an hour train ride away. What do you want to study, Rei-san?”

Rei, frankly, has no idea.

When she was younger she’d wanted to go to nursing school. A decade later Rei knows herself well enough that a hospital environment would not be conductive to her mental health. She’s not planning on going back right at the moment either. College is a big commitment, and Rei wants to spend time with her children.

“Well,” Inko says, thoughtfully. “you’ll have time to decide then. No need to rush.”

“Yes,” Rei agrees.

This is the Inko-Rei friendship I want: two single mothers with, for one reason or another, absentee husbands. They do not talk about these absences. Some secrets are too close, too painful, too near to the heart. Instead they talk about clothes, and shoes, and sales in the neighborhood, about the newest television series, about the educational system, about their children. Midoriya Izuku is six years old and hero-tongue tied with stars in his eyes. Rei takes one look at him, dressed in an All might sweater with the hood flipped up, gap teethed, and says: “oh, oh he’s the same age as my Shouto!” Lockscreen photos are thus exchanged. Entire phone galleries are thus exchanged. Midoriya Inko peers over at last week’s picnic lunch captured in HD on Rei’s screen, hands clapped together.

Eventually, the fact that Rei’s enrolled her youngest in the same elementary as Inko’s Izuku comes up, and they look at one another – Inko, who knows her Izuku hasn’t quite been making friends since his quirklessness had come up; Rei, who knows her Shouto hasn’t ever made a friend, period – and, individually but simultaneously, decide that play dates are in order.

It is three in the afternoon with the smell of a storm is in the air when Rei comes back from the last of her job training. Her eldest opens the door. He has an ice pack pressed against his neck to ward off the muggy heat, and the first thing he says is: “the dead neighbour’s hanging off the balcony.”

Rei pauses.

“… do you mean… Aizawa-kun?” she hazards. And… hanging off the balcony???

“Yeah,” says Dabi, which doesn’t provide any additional information.

Rei takes off her shoes, goes into the living room with trepidation, and then nearly has a heart attack.

Fuyumi, and Natsuo, with Shouto balanced on his shoulders, are clustered around the balcony lip, peering wtih unabashed interest at what is unmistakably Aizawa-kun, somehow literally hanging off the balcony. Not Rei’s balcony, thankgod, but the one directly above hers. She can see his shoulders, the fall of his hair. And is he carrying – a cat?

The question to how Aizawa is hanging from a balcony is answered with a laundry line, which Rei sees when she wades past the children and cranes past the balcony ledge. Aizawa has folded his legs over it at the knee, like Fuyumi on the monkey-bars when hanging upsidedown, except with a five story drop instead of half a meter. Rei stares.

How is he still alive. How is the laundry line not broken. Is that a cat?

“Mom!” cries Shouto, little face beaming.

“Welcome back to madness,” says Fuyumi.

“Is that a cat,” says Rei aloud. She has no idea what her voice must be doing.

Aizawa grunts. “Yukimura-san.” And then

drops.

Rei’s stomach climbs up to her throat, hovers there for a heartbeat, and then descends with amazing vertigo as Aizawa twists midair and lands in a solid crouch on her balcony lip. There is indeed a cat wedged between his arm and his elbow.

"Um,” says Rei, very faintly.

“SHOUTA!” comes a holler. “YA CAUGHT HIM?”

The long silken edge of Yamada-kun’s hair spills over, two balconies above, followed by his face. Rei stares at him. Aizawa begins to calmly, methodically, detach the claws latched onto his T-shirt.

Yamada takes one look at Rei’s face and says, in a long-suffering tone: “Shouta. Do I owe them apology brownies? I do don’t I. You are lucky I baked two batches of brownies.” He turns to Rei, who blinks, slowly. “I’m sorry – he likes giving people panic attacks. It’s a gift. Just, uh, wait a bit.”

This is how Rei’s living room ends up playing host with her neighbours, their cat, and one still warm batch of brownies. The cat is the grumpiest she has ever seen, with yellowy eyes and a squashed face, looking incredibly put-out. It is also the apparent reason why Aizawa was hanging off a balcony via a laundry line.

Yamada explains it after he out brownies. “The little guy has some balance problems from an accident. We’re fostering it while it recovers, and like, accidentally left the balcony door open like a bunch of idiots. And you know cats, they try to jump on everything. But with the balance problem it, uh, didn’t stick the landing, so Shouta had go diving after it.“ He laughs, airily. "Lucky downstairs didn’t put their laundry line away.”

“… Ah,” says Rei, in response to this. She really can’t think of anything else to say. She looks at her iced tea, still full. She looks at her children, clustered around the couch where Aizawa-kun is, all of them with sugar powdered on their mouths and attempting without much subtlety to pet the cat trying to chew a hole in Aizawa-kun’s shirt. Even Dabi is regarding it with hovering interest.

The cat hisses at Shouto when he gets too close to its ears, tailed puffed out.

Yamada-kun says: “You know, I probably owe you more than one batch of apology brownies.: And then goes to quickly pry the cat away before it can do any lasting harm.

Rei downs her tea.

The storm comes in at dinner and continues well into the night, after Yamada-kun and Aizawa-kun leave with cat in tow. It is a drumroll in Rei’s bones that gradually calms to static with exposure. She sits by the window of her room and listens to the patter of the water on the concrete, on the metal pipes, tapping out a stacatto tune.

Shouto is curled up at her side, face buried in her stomach. He has little of the usual small-child fears; but storms – or maybe what they bring – are exemptions. Rei tucks him close and hums a lullaby until he quiets, a little, and then asks: “Mama’s has a friend at work with a son your age. Would you like to meet him, Shouto-chan?”

“Friend?” asks Shouto, raising his head. His nose is red and his expression somewhere between perplexed and anxious.

“His name’s Midoriya Izuku-kun. I think he would like to meet you very much.”

“… Is he nice?”

"Very.”

“Then. Okay.”

Rei smiles. Her baby boy. “Okay,” she repeats. “we’ll go next week, then.”

Thunder rumbles, distantly, and Shouto decides this new possibe friend is less imperative than burying his head back into Rei’s stomach. Somewhere next door Fuyumi and Natsuo are arguing over the television remote, the television itself playing what Rei recognizes vaguely to be a cartoon show. Rock music filters in from Dabi’s room.

The lightning flashes, blue-sharp. Rei closes her eyes, lets the night pass.

Revised and continued on AO3

#cyan ficstuff #todoroki rei #todoroki shouto #todoroki fuyumi #dabi #dabi is a todoroki #todoroki natsuo #midoriya inko #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #hi so apparently i can't summarize #so there's 5k more to go #Todofam au

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desperate-entwives · 6 years

Text

before midnight

memori week day seven: free choice

cw: abusive relationship, mention of past abuse

John Murphy is driving to prom when his car breaks down.

It isn't his prom. It's his girlfriend’s prom. He doesn't even want to go, but truthfully his girlfriend kind of scares the shit out of him. The idea of willingly spending time with people who went to school with him (albeit the year below him) scares him too, but not as much as his girlfriend does.

But when his car lurches through the pothole, a broken tin can being yanked by superglue, maybe he relaxes his shoulders a little. Maybe he breathes a small sigh of relief.

Maybe he realizes he doesn't have a fucking cellphone and probably wants to get out of this pothole eventually, or sometime in the next day maybe.

A car drives by, and then another one. He stares blankly at them and then thinks, oh. Help. I should get help?

When he waves at the next passing vehicle, it's halfhearted. But it pulls over. A sizable pickup truck manned by a smallish woman, who jumps out and wipes her gloved hands on her jeans.

“Stuck, huh?”

“Nah, just doing this for fun,” he says without thinking. She lets out a surprised laugh and he wonders why she's surprised, and then he realizes her face is soft and hard at the same time, the kind of face that has seen shit and still manages to care about shit.

“I'll call my brother,” she says. “He works for a tow company.”

“Lucky me,” he says, almost meaning it. He should think what are the odds. He's too busy trying not to think of what he'll say to Ontari, how he'll have to make it up to her, the pointless sex stuff he never feels like doing that he'll probably end up doing anyway. In trying not to think about these things, he watches the woman take it her phone, the awkward way she cradles it against her face with her left hand, the zoom of a headlight past on the highway and how it briefly glints in her hair. He has always romanticized being saved. He hates this about himself.

“It's gonna take about an hour,” she says. “Think your ball can wait, Cinderella?”

He is wearing a tux. He thinks fast, wanting for some stupid reason to impress her. She's wearing ripped jeans and a work shirt. Her hair is messy and knotted and braided, and she is somehow luminous in the darkness.

“I'll try to keep both my shoes on,” he says.

---

The woman's brother is grim and quiet and has scars on his face and drags Murphy's car to his mechanic, which is closed, of course. The car looks small and tired and crumpled in that parking lot, and if that isn’t a metaphor for something, well.

“I have to get back,” the man says to the woman and Murphy realizes he doesn't know either of their names. The man looks at his sister pointedly. “And so do you.”

“It can wait, Otan,” she says. “No,” he says. “It can’t.” Murphy wonders what, exactly, he’s stepped into. He shifts on the balls of his feet, checks his watch. 8:15. Perfect. The woman notices his restlessness and breaks her staring contest with her brother. “I can get you wherever you need to go,” she offers. “I just need to make a stop first.” “Sound like a plan,” he says, casually. He hopes he says it casually. His hands worm into his pockets; he thinks of Ontari. Ontari, beautiful and conniving. Exactly his type. He tries to remind himself of this but it’s hard, for some reason. His wrists hurt suddenly. The man, Otan, glares down at the woman. “Hurry up. Don’t do anything stupid.” “When do I ever?” she challenges. -- “So, you late for your wedding or something?” Murphy stares out the window, pointedly avoiding looking at the woman driving the car, who has a voice like low wind and apparently makes him think in stupidly poetic terms. “Don’t give me nightmare-fuel.” They’re driving along the road and the darkness and trees are all-consuming. Civilization is somewhere but he’s damned if he knows where. The woman, who told him her name was Emori, takes a sharp right turn and he almost slams his head on the window. “I hate it when men do that,” she says. “Do what?” “Complain about their girlfriends. If she makes you happy, be happy.” He is silent. She looks at him from the corner of her eye and he focuses on the relentless grind of wheel on gravel. These are sketchy little roads and he’s starting to hope this woman isn’t going to murder him. Sort of. If he was going to be murdered by anyone, okay, she’d be an acceptable option. “Unless,” she says carefully, “you aren’t.” “I’m tragically incapable of being happy.” “That may be true,” she concedes, “but sometimes people are wrong for each other.” She pulls over by a small shack and Murphy wonders if her tone was hopeful, just slightly, and she gets out of the car. “Wait here,” she says. He doesn’t; he slips out of the car and watches her enter the house and leave with a canvas bag she didn’t have before. “Let me guess; drugs,” he says, following her back to the truck and crunching through the shards of rock on the shack’s miniscule walkway. He likes the press of the texture against his soles. He likes walking in the dark with her. “Really big drugs.” “Good job waiting in the truck,” she says. When she climbs back in, her hands fumble a bit to find purchase on the wheel. Something transient about how she grips things. He files it away in the space of his brain reserved for morally dubious women he’ll probably never see again. “I don’t do what I’m told,” he says mildly. “I can see that. It isn’t drugs.” “No shit.” She studies him, leaving her keys beeping in the ignition. “So where are you going? Do you have a date?” “Prom,” he says. “At the Ivy.” “That’s north of here.” She pauses and Murphy watches curiosity drape itself across her face. Maybe it’s interest, and he won’t fool himself into thinking her obviously illegal transaction hadn’t piqued his own curiosity. “Look, I need to do something else,” she says. “You can come with me, or I can take you to your stupid prom and you never have to see me again.” Nothing sounds worse. He slouches in the passenger's seat. “What is it? A stolen high-profile fax machine or something?” “It’s a computer. You with me or not?” It isn’t even a choice. -- Her second activity is pretty easy. “It’s a game Otan and I used to play when we were kids,” she whispers as they eat french fries in the all night Walmart’s McDonalds. Everything’s too bright in here and he’s conscious of how starkly his bruises stand out on his pale skin, how fucked up his neck must look. She isn’t looking at his neck; she is peering at the trickle of evening Walmart shoppers and the dark precision of her gaze makes her look like a shark. His breath quickens. “Yeah?” “Yeah. Whoever gets the most wallets wins.” He almost laughs at that. “For all you know I could be a really good person who would never steal from my fellow man.” “Yeah, but you’re not, right?” She catches his eye. He wants to laugh and he also wants to drown in the dark material of her work shirt and he wants to know what her hair would feel like if he twirled it in his finger. “It’s like you know me,” he says. -- After running from a pair of guys who noticed Murphy’s hand in their mother’s purse, he winds up with Emori at a footbridge a few yards away in the shadow of another shopping center. It crosses a small stream and they sit on the edge, tangling their legs in the metal structure which is covered poorly in chipped green paint and his chest is heaving and he can feel his heart shaking like a live animal in his chest. “Wasn’t that fun?” she asks breathlessly. She bumps her leg into his. “You’re insane,” he says. “Batshit.” She grins wildly, and then her gaze softens. Looking her in the eyes is dangerous, but he’s feeling dangerous himself tonight. He meets her eyes. Something catches like a stone in his chest and he thinks why now, why the hell did I have to meet you now? “Where did the bruises come from, John?” she asks, which is not the romantic bullshit he expected hoped maybe wanted her to say. His name is absurdly soft on her lips. He should never have told her his first name; it’s a vulnerable word, a spell when spoken by her. A piece to a puzzle, an idea that doesn’t belong to him. He looks away. “Ah,” she says. “She isn’t all bad,” he says lamely, a moment later. No one gets it, really. “They never are,” she says softly, and he wonders what kind of angry, shitty dust lives in her past. “Do you think you deserve it?” He laughs. “Loaded question.” “I thought I deserved that bullshit for a while too,” she says. Her eyes are quick; she’s making a decision. “I’ve had to do things. Otan and I… are different. Our parents couldn’t take care of us, so we had to live by our own rules. Still do.” He takes her hand without thinking. It’s shape is strange and heavy in his fingers, but he doesn’t mind. Her face is startled, disarmed. “Come on,” she says quickly, pulling away from him. His hand feels cold without hers but that doesn’t matter, he tells himself, because he’s never going to see her again. She’s going to drop him off at prom and then drive away and that will be fucking that. “I think we lost those guys,” she continues, and she cradles her hand against her ribcage like a conversation with herself. -- When they pull up to the Ivy’s parking lot, Murphy realizes his tux is wrinkled and he totally lost his corsage and his hair hasn’t been combed in about three hours. He wants to say goodbye, but Emori is staring at the windshield darkly and the words shudder in his chest and die. “Why are you with her, anyway?” she asks. The words are laced in something indecipherable. He stares at her mouth, at her awkward grip on the steering wheel. “There isn’t much in my life,” he says. “She… she gets me out of the house.” He doesn’t explain what’s in his house, his father’s death and his mother’s empty bottles and his dropping out of school and his lack of future, but she seems to get it. Her hands loosen on the steering wheel. “You could sneak in?” he offers. It’s a shitty offer. She laughs. An empty chime. “No thanks. It’s almost midnight. You’re about to turn into a pumpkin, anyway.” “I don’t think that’s how the story works,” he says. She turns to him. She doesn’t say goodbye, but the door locks snap open and her gaze is unwavering. -- “Where were you?” Ontari is livid, of course. She looks dark and beautiful and he is completely unaffected as he looks at her, stomping her way across the dance floor to see him like the crest of a wave. She grabs his wrist; he lets her. Until he doesn’t. Until he yanks his hand away. Until he stalks out of the room before he can think about it twice and disappears into the warm May night. There, in the parking lot; a truck waiting, still waiting. An engine running. There’s a euphoria settling in his chest, like looking at something from a great height. He smiles.

#this needs more work but hey! I did every day this time!#I'm proud of me!#memori #memoriweek #my fic #some memori writing

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hazzabeeforlou · 6 years

Text

WIP snippet: H’s sweet 16

“I swear, this thing is a heart attack on a plate,” Gemma muttered, flinging the finishing touches of chopped chocolate onto the Bavarian Torte.

By some miracle Gemma had agreed to come home for his birthday, and Harry would take her, sardonic comments and all. He smiled as he reached for the napkins.

“You do not have to partake, Gemma,” Anne huffed, raising one eyebrow

“More for me,” Robin teased from over at the table, where he’d been attaching blue balloons to the backs of the dining room chairs.

“If fact,” Anne said, turning to Harry, “Even without your sister’s help, the cake might disappear fast tonight. Louis has a large family.” Anne said it with a taunting twinkle in her eye.

“I don’t mind.” Harry hid a sheepish smile behind the package of paper plates he’d started unpacking.

As he and Louis were attached at the hip most days, no one had batted an eye when Harry asked if they could have the Tomlinson’s over to celebrate. Their parents got along splendidly and the girls absolutely worshiped Gemma, so it seemed only logical.

The doorbell rang, and Harry raced to answer it, his socked feet skidding between the rugs.

“THOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!”

As he swung the door open Louis blew a loud party kazoo right in his face, the shiny, curly end of it thwaking Harry’s nose.

“Happy sweet sixteen, Harold!” Louis yelled, springing on him in a giant bear hug, his whole being luminous with excitement.

“Thanks, Lou.” Harry smiled so big his dimples felt like trenches in his skin.

“And look who I brought to celebrate! Thing one, thing two, thing three, AND thing four!” Louis ushered his sisters into the house, Lottie and Fizzy shooting him exasperated looks as they passed Harry.

“Hello dear, happy birthday,” Jay said warmly, embracing Harry as her and Mark slipped their shoes off and put them by the door next to the girls’.

As Louis made to follow Harry into the dining room, Jay caught his arm.

“Louis, your shoes,” she reminded, pointing to his sneakers.

“Mom,” Louis moaned, returning grudgingly. Though it was the dead of winter he’d forgotten socks. Again.

“S’okay Lou, I promise I won’t smell your feet,” Harry said helpfully, grinning at Jay as Louis mock fumed.

“You’re both the worst, see if I come to any more birthdays, just see,” Louis mumbled, toeing off his shoes and walking gingerly towards the kitchen in his bare feet.

“This is from Mark and I, Harry. We hope you like it.”

Harry took the bag from them, nodding his thanks. “I’m sure I will, Mrs. Tomlinson.”

They gathered around the table for food and festivities. Gemma had prepared popcorn, chips and salsa, and a stellar platter of cheese and crackers to complement Anne’s taco dinner. Everyone soon became engrossed in board games, save the twins, who wandered in and out of the dining room, easily bored. They tried playing Pit first, but Fizzy found it difficult to reach the spoons, so they switched to Uno, and later to monopoly.

Time flew by. Harry laughed until his stomach hurt when Jay snatched Park Place, thwarting Louis’ elaborate and well-voiced plans of real-estate domination. Louis proceeded to dramatically pout like the world had ended. Harry giggled secretly behind his hand when Louis’ pawn landed in jail for the hundredth time and instead of hollering complaints he stuck one of the discarded Pit spoons on his nose, balancing it there until the twins started squealing with glee and trying to jostle if off.

Sometime after dark Jay and Anne disappeared into the kitchen. Gemma stood and flipped off the lights, and soon only the incoming glow of candles illuminated the streamers twisting down from the dining room chandelier.

“Happy birthday to you…”

Robin started off the singing as Anne rounded the corner carrying Harry’s cake, bedecked with sixteen striped candles. Harry had difficulty picking out individual voices due to the twins’ yowling, but Louis’ voice cut through. It floated to his ears silkily, like melted caramel, yet sharply distinct. It had a tone like the clear peal of a bell amidst a storm. He latched onto it and locked eyes with Louis, who smiled back as his cheekbones caught the candlelight.

Harry should have been looking at the cake before him, not at his best friend. But he didn’t much care.

“Make a wish, Harry!” Daisy called out as the chorus ended.

“Okay.” Harry cracked his knuckles and closed his eyes, feeling the heat of the flickering wicks against his face. A wish came to him, half formed and inarticulate: he wanted this always. He wanted these people, these families, and Louis around him always. He wished that Louis would always be his best friend.

The ache swelled against his ribcage.

Quickly, he opened his eyes and blew out the candles, banishing the discomfort from his mind. Everyone clapped and cheered, but Harry looked only at Louis, meeting his eyes as Gemma flipped the lights back on, seeing in them blue, pupil-huge mirrors of his own.

Anne sliced the torte and gave Harry and Louis the biggest pieces, much to Robin’s protest. Everyone enthusiastically complemented Anne’s signature back, the twins liking it so much they fought over who had the biggest chunk of cream-cheese-and-chocolate-flake icing.

Harry ate his cake slowly, savoring it. Louis had no experience with the word ‘savor.’ He devoured his quickly, enjoying it far too much, seeming to slip into a personal ecstasy. Harry watched as he forked bites to his pink lips and closed them over the creamy icing, the flakes of chocolate melting into the edges of his mouth, lining it like makeup. His jaw worked slowly, smoothly, making angles Harry imagined were sharp to the touch. When he’d finished, Louis ran his fingers over the remnants of icing on his plate, popping them in his mouth and pulling them back out clean and damp and slightly red.

“Hairball, earth to hairball,” Gemma waved a hand in front of his face.

“W-what?” Harry stuttered, blinking at Gemma dazedly.

“I said, want me to get the presents now?”

“Oh. Oh sure,” Harry smiled at her, hoping Gemma couldn’t see how his cheeks had warmed.

His presents were small, nothing extravagant. Harry opened his parents’ first, a small package wrapped with shooting star paper. They’d gotten him a soft-knit shirt adorned with a penguin. Harry loved it.

Next he opened Gemma’s, an encyclopedia of C.S. Lewis quotes she’d found at the second-hand store on campus. The girls had also gotten Harry a gift. He unwrapped a shiny new board game to their excited shrieks.

Harry opened Mr. and Mrs. Tomlinson’s next, a gift card to Barnes and Noble. He thanked them enthusiastically, realizing, with a clenching gut, that only Louis’ gift remained.

He opened the card first, smiling at the goofy picture of two dogs gobbling birthday cake. He read Louis’ small handwriting to himself.

Happy sweet sixteen to my very best friend!!!! Hope you had a wonderful day, Harold. You deserve it. My gift’s pretty lame, but I hope you like it. Open the bag but don’t open the thing on the bottom until we’re alone. The girls would tease me forever. –Lou

Harry bit his lip. He set the card down quickly and fished into the bag, pulling out a Packer’s jersey.

“No way,” he said, his mouth hanging open in shock. Harry had always wanted a Favre jersey, a no. 4, but they were too expensive back when Favre was quarterback.

“Where on earth did you find this?” Harry asked, clutching the shirt to his chest.

“Oh, I got lucky at a thrift store,” Louis smiled brightly.

“I should say so, let me see that,” Robin motioned for the jersey and Harry obliged. It got passed around the table to much fuss, Jay even asking when on earth Louis had the time to poke around in thrift stores.

Harry met Louis’ eyes as the shirt came back to him and nodded just slightly at the bag. Louis blinked twice.

“Mommy can we play the new game?” Daisy asked, fidgeting around in her seat.

“Maybe you kids can just play, honey, I think the adults are going to sit in comfy chairs in the living room,” Anne replied for Jay, getting up and clearing the dessert plates.

Gemma broke away with the parents, though instead of joining in whatever adult conversation they started, she curled up in the armchair on her phone. Lottie and Fizzy were un-boxing the new game with Harry’s blessing, trying to explain the rules to the twins. Harry listened half-heartedly, curiosity gnawing away at his stomach. Louis caught his drift.

“Harry, think I could borrow some socks?”

Harry frowned at him. “Sure, Lou. Go ahead.”

“Where are they, exactly?”

“In my room,” Harry blinked at him. “Oh.” He stood up so abruptly his chair nearly toppled over. “I’ll get them for you, come on.”

Louis smirked triumphantly, stealthily tucking the bag behind his back as they hurried from the dining room and up the stairs.

They tumbled into his bedroom and plopped down on the rug.

“Go ahead,” Louis said, eagerly presenting his gift yet again.

Harry felt around inside until he grasped a hunk of thick paper. He pulled it out and stared at the little booklet of construction paper, the spine held together with staples, the cover a pasted picture of Luke Skywalker and Han Solo. In thick, markered letters across the top it read, “Best Friends Book.”

Harry dimpled terribly and side-eyed Louis in wonder. “Did you make me a book?”

Louis fiddled with his hands, nervously chewing his lip. “Maybe. Open it.”

Harry did. Inside were pages and pages of inside jokes and quotes, clipped magazine pictures movies they’d watched, and attempted illustrations of all the various activities they’d done together. It looked adorable overall, and spectacular in detail, every page inked over with Louis’ writing, which he’d been neater about than normal. Harry flipped through it, his grin growing with each new page.

When he got three quarters of the way, he found blank pages. Louis coughed delicately into his hand.

“Er, that’s for, you know. More.”

Harry swallowed down whatever had lodged in his throat. He folded the book closed and pressed it to his chest.

“I love it, Lou. It’s the best present ever.”

“It’s so girly, isn’t it,” Louis muttered, a smile playing about his lips though he continued to stare at the carpet and fiddle his hands.

“I think it’s awesome,” Harry stated, scooting closer to Louis and throwing his arms around him, drawing him into a hug.

Harry tipped them slightly off balance with his gangly limbs, though, and instead they toppled over, their arms twined together messily.

“Oops,” Harry said apologetically.

“Hi.” Louis had landed on top, pinning Harry to the floor. “I’ve heard you’re ticklish. Some people outgrow such things, though, so we need to test you again, this being your birthday and all.”

Harry had only a moment to squawk out a protest and try to cover his belly before Louis attacked him, his lithe fingers hitting just the right places, making Harry squirm and yelp and twist and laugh under Louis until his sides hurt and his eyes were streaming.

“Uncle unlce uncle!!” Harry screamed, trying desperately to get his legs up to Louis’ torso so he could push him away, but Louis knew that trick too well.

“What’s that you said? Buckle? Chuckle?”

Louis was merciless. Harry thought he might wet himself.

“Uncle!” Harry cried, his fingers trying to reciprocate the tickling, but to no effect.

“I think I’ve gone suddenly deaf, must be all the yelling in here,” Louis giggled, bearing down hard right above Harry’s tender hips.

“Louuuuuuu I’m gonna pee my pants stooooooop,” Harry moaned, his muscles jerking in twenty different directions.

The tickling ceased. Louis didn’t move, though, just hovered above him, his face flushed and close enough Harry could smell his cake-sweet breath.

“Alright, birthday boy, I’ll relent just this once. But only because it’s your birthday.”

Harry tried to recover some ounce of his stability, panting. “That’s noble, Lou. Gold star for you.”

“Eh, I try. I have a reputation to maintain and all.”

“I know.” Harry smiled up at him, his eyes maybe falling for too long on Louis’ thick eyelashes as they batted like sleepy caterpillars each time he blinked.

“Harry,” Louis started.

“Ya?”

Louis looked down at him a moment, a strange light coming to his eyes.

Nevermind.” Louis pushed up from him and stood. “We’d better get back down, make sure the girls haven’t caused any disasters.”

Harry wanted to press, wanted to ask further, but Louis had already launched into the hallway, his smelly, bare feet trumping down the stairs.

Before he followed, Harry tucked the book under his pillow securely, replacing Azzy on top with the admonition, “Make sure you guard it, okay?”

The stuffed animal made no answer, but Harry smiled anyways. He grabbed a pair of sock on his way out.

#I bribed myself with posting to make me edit more lol #It's now up to 82k... yikes what have I done??#Anyways have Harry's 16th party scene whilst I am sat a home alone on a friday night eating squash and drinking tea #the official working title is Promise in the Sky #my fics

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birdofthedark-blog · 5 years

Text

The forest

Midnight. When the sky is pitch black and all is dead silent. A time when everyone hides away in their bed, letting sleep protect them.

As the moon's dull light embraced the silent houses and the stars luminous shine promised a brighter tomorrow. No one dared wake from their slumber. No one dared open their eyes. No one dared move from their bed. No one...except her.

The girl with the bloodshot eyes and frostbit hands, with purple bags on her face and tear-stained cheeks that no one ever notices. Standing by her front door, she faced the twilight sky. With eyes shut tight, she released an icy breath and opened her eyes in time to watch as the clouded gas slowly disappeared.

Silently, she wished she could do the same. To disappear into thin air, no tragedy or disaster. As simple as a magic trick. But in this world, nothing was that simple.

While she stood in her doorway, contemplating her feelings, the girl felt a pull. It was like the air itself had grabbed her and was forcing her forwards. Maybe this is it, she thought, the escape I've been looking for.

Without wasting another second, she closed her front door quietly and let herself be pulled further and further away from 'home'. Anxiety gnawed at her brain, but the prospect of finally being able to disappear kept her fears at bay.

There almost seemed to be a hint of a smile playing on her lips. Something that hadn't happened truthfully in a long time. Being led into a large cluster of tall, dark, looming trees, the girl stopped. The eerie forest had her heart beating a mile a minute and the vaguely haunting howls and screams of the wind made her want to turn back.

Gulping down her worries, she thought about the stories she had heard about this forest. How many teenagers had lost their lives because of it? Supposedly, once you entered, it became almost impossible to do everyday, mundane things. It was like the forest had power over you, taking control of your senses until you were no longer the master of yourself.

It became hard to sleep, eat, breathe even. You become anxious, hopeless, stressed, sad. All the emotions that people spent their entire lives wanting to avoid. But the girl...she had already experienced all of this before. She often wondered if going into the forest would change anything. Moments of deliberation brought her to the conclusion that this forest, whatever sinister power it held, it could do her no worse than she had already felt.

Twigs, leaves and rocks, clawed at her cold, bare, blue feet. Leaving cuts and trails of blood in their wake. This didn't phase her though, it was like she couldn't even feel the pain from the gashes and grazes building up on her feet. She was too entranced with her journey she had chosen to take.

The girl hadn't felt a change either, not that she was actually expecting one. However, she was surprised that the forest appeared oddly ordinary. Apart from the yelling wind and towering trees, things were normal.

That's how it started out anyway. But as time passed the girl began to feel shivers travelling down her spine. Her composure finally broke when she found a lone shoe on the ground. Scratches covered the trainer and blood stained the white laces like red paint on a canvas. Images roamed in the girl's mind, ideas, questions.

She wanted to know 'why?'. So she walked on, heart in her throat and sweat in her palms. Soon the girl found the shoe's twin, in a similar state to the first. The only difference is that next to this shoe lay a pair of ripped, dirt-covered, grey shorts. They were almost torn completely in two.

Suddenly, a snap of a twig had the girl on the ground gripping onto the damp mud for support. The tall trees were blocking the moon from sight, leaving the girl practically blind. Even so, she knew something was there, watching her every move. Stalking her like a wolf stalks its prey. She was terrified. Body shaking and eyes watering, she made it to her feet.

Freezing stiff, she slowly began backing away from where she assumed it was, whatever it was. Another snap of a twig had her moving quicker than before. Then another snap and another snap and another snap and snap and snap and snap, snap, snap, snap. She started running.

Praying her legs wouldn't give out on her, she thought over the decisions she had made that led her here. Leaving the house at night, entering this godforsaken forest, ignoring the obvious signs of danger. Worst of all, no one knew where she was. Tomorrow her parents would wake up and she would have just..."Disappeared..."

The voice didn't belong to the girl. Stopping suddenly, she came face to face with a young boy. Cuts decorated his bare body and blood plastered his skin. With his mud-caked arms, he leant against a tree, desperate for support.

"Who did this to you?" the girl asked, needing answers. The boy stared at her for a moment, before moving his arms slowly and painfully. He grimaced as his hand came to point at his chest. "Me," he croaked "I did this."

The girl blinked rapidly, confused and worried. Why would he do this to himself? She didn't understand, it made no sense. Making a move towards him, she was startled by a gust of wind that knocked her off balance. It spun her around and behind her, she saw a figure.

She had forgotten about what was chasing her and now it had caught up. Closer and closer it moved but the girl stayed still, unmoving in the shadows and darkness of the forest. Closer and closer it moved until a hand grabbed her throat and pulled her forwards. Then...she finally understood what the boy had meant.

In front of her, with a dark look in its eyes, stood her mirror image. The figure was her, her anger, anguish, hurt, jealousy, greed, loneliness. And It had won. The girl had given up and let it take over. That was perhaps, the saddest part of all.

#short story #horror #mental health #fantasy #thriller #writing #writer #story #danger #monster #forest #dark #darkness

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nora-blake · 7 years

Text

My Last Day as a Freelance Criminal

My feet glide nearly frictionless on the slick metal. The lights in the soles leave a trail of vibrant purple in the luminous dust my descent kicks up. Were it not for my helmet, my hair would be trailing as well. But you typically need a helmet out here. In space.

I can hear the radio chatter as they follow me. From the backroads of Kentucky to the low-orbit superspires of the Orbital Residential Block, one thing remained eternally consistent.

Cops hate it when you run.

Now, in my defense, If I don’t run they’ll probably arrest me for defacing public property. Not usually an arrest-worthy crime...unless either you’ve done it about a dozen times, or the shit you drew is particularly offensive to police sensibilities. I just happen to meet both criteria. Call me a goddamn overachiever.

So anyway. I run. Glide. Whatever.

The things I do aren’t exactly normal. Historically speaking, humans don’t have the ability to manipulate and shift their own gravity. But I’m untethered. It’s what we do. “Gravity” is a bad word for it. It’s really…well, it’s complicated. We all know better, but use the wrong word anyway. In my opinion, that’s pretty damn representative of us as a species.

I reach out with my mind and feel the metal beneath me. I hold my attention there, bringing it into sharp focus with a shiver that feels almost like interacting with a holographic interface though a glove with physical feedback. That’s a really specific reference, but it’s what it makes me think of. The gravity pulls me more firmly toward the ORB as the sloping metal transitions from ramp to floor for yours truly. I keep my momentum for a moment with a jog as I reach my destination--a maintenance hatch.

Once I get deep enough into the labyrinth of pipes, access tubing, and ventilation shafts, the cops pull away. They never bother chasing anyone this deep into the structure, and not just because their jetpacks are incredibly dangerous in cramped spaces. No, cops don’t come to the lower levels. If the powers that be need something done down here, they’ll send an agent or the military--nothing in between is worth the trouble.

Slipping down through waist-wide holes not meant for traversal at terminal velocity tends to be incredibly dangerous, which is why most people climb or walk through these mazes. I don’t have time for that. Not because of my pursuers, as they’ve long since given up the chase. I don’t have time because I don’t give myself time. People walk. Angels fall.

I’m being at least a little ironic in my usage of the word angel, I admit. As I already said, I’m a criminal. Still, it was evocative. It’s all about perspective, you know? No one thinks they’re the villain of their own story.

My poetic thoughts nearly get my head knocked off by a stray pipe, and I have to take a detour to correct my new trajectory. I come to a stop on the side of a massive sewage pipe to get my bearings. Turns out I didn’t miss my turn by too much. It’s just a six-hundred-meter fall if I angle it right.

I angle it right.

Another twelve and a half minutes of gradually slower slides, freefalls, and the occasional hurried jog bring me to the Shell. Faded orange paint on the metal surface lead me to the nearest emergency airlock. These are supposed to trip an alarm somewhere up above whenever they’re used, but this one has long been disconnected from the network.

I step out of the airlock and find myself faced with the dual oppressions of mass poverty and the ORB’s artificial gravity zone that holds it. The neck of my suit protests with a snap-hiss as I pull the helmet off and shake loose my ponytail of black hair. I suck in a lungful of that sweet smog-filled air that you only find in the bowels of the Core.

I’m home, or at least in the right neighborhood. It doesn’t take long to mix into the hustle and bustle of the streets. All around me I pass my people. In the fifteen minute walk from the airlock to my street, I see people of at least twelve different races and half as many genders, and more than a few who simply defy such categorization. Some people have stopped noticing those details, but I never could get on board with that. People aren’t uniform. That’s how Uppers live, with their perfectly gengineered ethnostate bullshit. Fuck that, and fuck them.

I turn down a cramped alley marked by a white tarp and duck through a sundered chain link fence, arriving at last. The door is unlocked, as most are down here. No one in this neighborhood really owns any wealth, so the only things worth stealing are tools, which usually end up trading hands on a nearly daily basis anyway.

Ivy is busy when I show up, as usual. I wait for her to finish seeing her patient, who turns out to be the uniquely hobbly Veronica. She’s upward of sixty now, though she refuses to let it slow her down, and thanks to some of Ivy’s drugs she won’t have to for a long time. I know for a fact that some of her hobble is from the seemingly endless supply of weapons hidden under her rags. She walks past me and we exchange a quick smile. Veronica always has time for me. Always has.

Then I look back to the door she came out of and I see her. Ruddy lab coat, decade old shoes, calloused and steady hands, and bags of sleep deprivation under the eyes. She’s beautiful. A bit of dull red hair covers part of a steely eye that I can’t help smiling at. But the creases in her face aren’t from smiling. I’ve never seen a doctor smile down here.

She’s twelve years my senior, but that’s never stopped us. I smile, hurrying into her examination room and out of my clothes. I’ve never been religious, but there are times when I sound as devout as a choir on Sunday. She likes my boobs, but they’re hurting today and I find another place to direct her mouth. Turns out you can’t just start hormones and instantly get the chest of your dreams.

Afterward, when I’m pulling on my suit and she’s locking her desk drawer, she broaches a subject I’ve been putting off for a while now.

“Someone like you…your talents…you’d be appreciated.”

“You were gonna say I’d be useful. That you could use someone like me.”

She shrugs. “You prefer other words, but the meaning is the same. You can move around this place faster than any of my people, even Jorn’s drones.”

“You can use me all you like as long as you cuddle me afterward.”

I grin. She doesn’t. My flirtations are usually either rebuffed or ignored. I wonder sometimes if she’ll ever be interested in anything more than our ephemeral trysts. When I ask she doesn’t answer, but…call it wishful thinking on my part, but I see something in her eyes. I sigh.

“…Alright. One job.”

And…God Almighty, have mercy. Then she smiles. The worried lines, the weariness…it all melts away and my heart skips a beat and holy shit, I’m so fucking gay.

“I knew I could count on you.”

“I’m not part of this thing.”

“No? Then your life of crime was…just for fun?”

I search for the words. I fail. “That…”

“Is different from a war.”

“You could say that, yeah.”

“Not so different.”

I still can’t find words. I sigh instead.

“Sooner or later they’ll catch you.”

I know it’s true. Eventually I’ll slip up and get caught. Or worse, slip up so bad that they won’t have to catch me at all.

“Wouldn’t you rather be part of something?”

The implications run wild in my mind. Part of something. Part of a movement. A revolution. A family. She’s offering me what I’ve never had. Stability. Foundation. A solid bedrock to build a life off that doesn’t rely on doing odd jobs or collecting money for loan sharks or stealing from Uppers.

It’s tempting.

“Let me be clear.” She interrupts my thoughts with a sharp tone. “I’m not fucking you because I want you to join my organization. What we have is good. I…like it.”

There’s strain in her voice. For the first time I can hear real emotions in her voice.

“But I’m going to have to relocate soon. I want to take you with me. We can get you papers if you’re with us, but otherwise…”

I catch her eye. I have to know.

“This is real?” I ask, gesturing between us. “More than a little fun now and again?”

There’s fear in her eyes. Fear I haven’t seen except when she’s about to put someone under the blade.

“Yes.”

It’s a whisper. All at once the stern, disciplined façade slips and I see the vulnerable woman beneath. My heart skips a beat. I don’t know what happens between then and when we kiss, but it can’t be a lot. We hold each other for a while. When I finally speak, it’s a whisper that barely makes its way past the lump in my throat.

“I’m in.”

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