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utterlyotterlyx · 5 days

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The Fox and The Fawn

High Lord Eris x Rhys!Sister!Reader x Azriel

Part Five

Summary - After an intense meeting at the boarder, Eris and Lucien return home tight lipped and unwilling to ruin the night, and you discover something you thought was impossible.

Warnings - angst, fluff, Rhys being a grade A prick, our favourite found family back at it again, drinking, mentions of sex, some Eris background, Lucien being a meddler, a little trip down memory lane

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

HAPPY 600! 🥳

Be careful.

Eris would ensure he was. For you, he would contain his fiery rage, he would conform himself to the mask he had to wear around those from the Night Court. He would do anything to make sure he returned home to you.

Part of him was glad that Lucien had coaxed him away the moment he had secured you inside Fir Manor in the arms of Nesta and Elain, if he saw those rounded eyes of worry, he was sure that he may not have been able to walk away from you.

Sweat coated his brow as his weight crunched at the leaves and fallen branches beneath his feet. Of course Rhys had chosen to meet where Autumn met Winter, Kallias cared little when the High Lord of the Night Court would prowl onto his lands, and Rhys wouldn't dare to stand in Summer or Spring after what he and his Inner Circle had done to both of those courts.

The air had turned cold and the ground frozen a few miles back, the cold shrill of Winter swarmed around Eris and Lucien, and they were glad that they had made the smart decision to shroud themselves in their fur lined coats for what was sure to be a frosty meeting indeed. Though, Eris was glad that he had chosen the Winter boarder to say his piece, it meant that he was as far as possible away from you.

They had winnowed most of the way, hounds in tow bar Willow who had refused him to stay with you, coiling up on the porch and watching her master disappear into the forest. Lucien had groaned when they had landed at the foot of a rather large hill lined with an array of snow-kissed trees, Eris had smirked at the sound but willed his brother onward.

"Promise me that you won't let him get under your skin." There was still an ocean full of unspoken words between the two brothers, ones that voiced Eris’ regret and longing, that voiced all of guilt and desire to make things right.

In a way, it was easier for him to convince Lucien of his true nature now that they had something in common bar their looks, it was the shared need to protect you, to let you grow into your own person and watch on as you drove down your own path.

Eris frowned softly, he couldn't exactly blame Lucien for thinking that such a thing was possible, he hadn't exactly played the role of a loving brother or male in general. "I won't, Lucien. There is nothing he could say or offer to make me even consider it." That being handing you back over to the Night Court.

It wasn't something that he needed to say, neither of them wanted to even think about it as they continued upward.

"I know that you have no reason to trust anything I say after everything I've done to you," Lucien fell to Eris' side and glanced sidelong at him, not knowing what was coming next, "But I hope you can believe me when I say that I won't let any harm come to her. I have abided by every decision she has made, all I wish for is her happiness. I want her to grow and build her own life. All I can do is gently nudge her in the direction she is hesitant to follow, but I would never make her do anything she didn't wish to."

There was a pause, a comfortable silence as Lucien came to a certain realisation and grinned, "You feel something for her, don't you?" Eris felt the heat rise to his cheeks, the cold of the air making the redness more prominent on them, Lucien laughed, "I knew it from the moment you fought me to sit next to her at that dinner," his smile faltered and he stopped walking, he examined his brother, the one whose entire façade faltered the moment he noticed that you were around, "After everything that's happened, y/n deserves a chance to find her own passions away from the influence of anyone."

"I know that-"

"I wasn't finished," Lucien rolled his eyes and continued the ascent, passing Eris who trailed him by a step, "Despite everything, I do believe that she's better off here, with you. It's like you see her like how Nesta, Elain and I do but in a slightly different way, you see her in the way she deserves to be seen, in the most candid and gentle way possible," Lucien looked to Eris with understanding, "She deserves that, to be seen and understood and listened to, to be involved in every conversation, to be able to show everyone who she really is.”

The conversation died at the exact moment when the Vanserra brothers reached the apex of the mound, spotting the three Illyrians through the break in the trees that coiled around their figures, as if in warning to stay far far away.

The mask.

Right.

Rolling his shoulders, Eris was ashamed to drown his soul in the brutal essence which he often forced himself into, and he never wanted you to see just how bad it could be. Whisps of his breath floated from his lips, curling upward and freezing in the air.

"Thank you for waiting. Lucien couldn't keep up," the namesake scoffed in response as the pair approached the boarder, thanking the Mother of that intact shimmer which told them that the wards very much still up, and very strong. Eris folded his arms over his chest, finding the nearest tree and leaning on its rough bark before drawling, "You got me here, Rhys. Better start talking."

It was clear that Rhys was on the brink of losing his sanity, his eyes were cold and distant, more onyx than their usual violet hue, his wings were furled around his sides, and Lucien nor Eris could tell if he meant them to be intimidating. He appeared to them dishevelled, messy black hair, a certain paleness to his skin, an unhinged glare in his eye.

"I appreciate you taking the time to meet with us," he motioned to Azriel and Cassian, the latter of which looked more broken than Lucien had ever seen him, no doubt reeling in the loss of his mate, "I hope we don't keep you for long."

"Tell me what you want, Rhys. I don't have time for pleasantries," Eris plucked an invisible thread from the stitching of his coat and looked toward the High Lord.

The fake politeness was doing little to convince Eris of anything other than that Rhys surely was the most manipulative male he had ever come across, he stole that crown right from Beron's decaying corpse.

Resisting a snarl, Rhys exhaled deeply, unclenching his fists as he began a perfectly practiced speech, "My sister is not quite herself at the moment, I fear that she has made the wrong decision in residing in your court, her mental state has always been rather brittle," he took a step toward the boarder, his toes kissing the edge of that shimmering glare, "Give her back to us so that I can ensure that she receives the proper care."

"If y/n desires to return to the Night Court then she can, I'm not stopping her from doing whatever she wishes," Eris replied flatly, completely unphased to the words that were making his blood boil in his veins, did Rhys really have the gall to suggest that you were insane?

Azriel spoke then, realising that there was no realm of possibility where Eris would willingly give you back, "You stole her from the Day Court. Some would call it war-inducing."

There it was, the threat, Eris smiled, "Is that what you want? Another war?"

"I will do whatever is necessary to ensure her safe return to her home court."

Lucien moved to Eris' side, his muscles contracting with anger, "The Night Court is no longer her home," his voice was stoic and unnerving, his gaze daggered between the three Illyrians, "Eris did not steal her, she decided with her own strength to walk away from you, and she is already better for it."

Then, Rhys grinned, his power rattling against the wards around the Autumn Court, "I think you'll find, Lucien, that y/n belongs to me, she is property of the Night Court, her blood is a powerful tool that we can use to solidify our line. Since she is unmated, with no claim to her hand, it does mean that as long as she breathes, she is mine."

The words were a statement, and Rhys' voice did not falter. It was an old tradition, one marred in hatred and sadness. You were the daughter of a High Lord, and when he died, the archaic responsibility of marrying you into a suitable line fell to Rhys.

"I do suggest that you hand her over, I would hate to decimate your court, Eris. Especially when you've been working so hard to rectify the tyranny of your father," Rhys' hand drifted over his heart in mock sympathy.

There was no way in Hel that Eris would ever do such a thing, and he knew that there was no easy way for Rhys to willingly wage war on another court after what Prythian had only begun fully recovering from.

It was risky, but he couldn't let Rhys think he had him pinned to the frozen dirt like a snow fox to a bunny, "Rally your armies then, Rhysand, because there's no reality that exists where I would ever hand her over to you," then a feline smirk consumed his face, he ran his hand through his hair of fire and struck hard, "It seems to me that you only wish for her return so that no one learns what she is capable of. I intend to let her find out, and perhaps when the others realise too, of her story and what you've done, we may have High Queen on our hands."

Darkness exploded from him, his arms elongated into talons, his wings grew and creaked at the stretch like leather, he roared, an inhuman sound that sent shivers prickling down Eris and Lucien's spines; and even Azriel and Cassian had to step back with wide eyes at the sight of it.

Bingo.

With a graceful bow, Eris turned on his heels, beckoning his growling hounds whose hackles had raised to the skies, "I wish you a safe journey home, Rhysand. Send Feyre our collective regards," he called over his shoulder, not even flinching at the roar that flew threw the air.

They had what they wanted, the reason for Rhys' insistence, he knew that you had the power within you to be granted the highest honour of their world, and he had worked his entire existence to stop that from happening.

If Rhys wanted a war, then that's what he would get. Eris would rain hellfire over Prythian, and he knew for a fact that you would stand beside him smiling the entire time.

Eris and Lucien couldn't have been more relieved to be back at Fir Manor, the warmth of the estate shook their frozen bones back to life and they bristled off the jagged edges left by the words exchanged with Rhys.

Stones clunked together under their feet, but a hand on his arm stopped Eris moving to the house that was glowing with the essence of you. Golden light emitted from the windows and kissed the cobbled path before it, and girlish laughter drifted from the open windows along with the most divine smell.

"Before we go back in, I have to ask you something," Eris tensed and turned to his brother, his hair was unbound down the back of his fur coat, his mechanical eye surveyed him inquisitively, "Did you mean what you said back there? You'd go to war for her?"

Eris could had scoffed at the question, he removed his arm from his brothers grip and turned to the manor, smiling at the sight of you, Nesta, and Elain all dancing before the window, the neck of a wine bottle in your fingers and a sweet melody falling from your lips. Elain was cradling Willow in her arms who looked thrilled to be involved whilst Nesta had her own arms wound around your waist.

"Would you go to war for Elain?"

"Without question."

The sound of Eris' message being received was enough, but he spoke, "I have a feeling it won't come to that though. Call it a hunch."

Lucien hummed, not quite sure of what Eris meant, but followed after him as he paced down the path and up the porch steps, flinging the door open and grinning at your startled state as you fumbled to hide the wine bottle behind your back, "You're back," you whispered to him, the strap of your form fitting green dress falling over your shoulder which you didn't move to lift as you gazed at him.

His face was prickled with cold, his cheeks flush from walking into the heated manor from the wild winter winds; Eris shrugged off his coat and lay the garment over the arm of one of the armchairs of the seating area, pulling his sleeves up to expose his forearms, "I'm back."

"I'm here too, just in case anyone wanted to know," Lucien all but rolled his eyes at you as he passed, pressing his lips to Elain's forehead who fell into his embrace with Willow still firmly swaddled to her body, "Who's been cooking? I could smell it from outside," he delved deeper into the house despite Elain's scolding telling him that dinner wasn't ready yet.

Nesta followed the pair with a groan, taking the bottle of wine from behind your back and muttering something about saving the meal from Lucien's paws, leaving you and Eris alone.

Fiddling with your fingers, you took a step toward him, noticing a strand of his hair fall over his face and watching as his fingers moved to rake it back, such a thigh-clenching thing to witness. "How was it?"

"It was fine," his eyes still held a cold glare to them, one that was waning the longer it was fixated upon you, "We got what we needed."

"Which was?”

The nerves radiating from you were making even Eris feel nervous, he tiled his head to the side and took a step closer to you, his hands at his sides, "Not worthy enough to talk of now. Let's have tonight as a newly formed found family, and tomorrow, we can talk. I'll tell you everything you want to know."

Another step forward was taken by you, the hem of your dress swaying at the motion. You were so close to him that he could feel your warmth seep into his bones, so close that his cold breath made your own cheeks flush red.

It felt natural, to close the gap and fling your arms around him, to bury your face into his chest and deeply inhale his scent like you needed that to know that he had come back to you. There was a single beat where Eris just stood there frozen to the ground, but he slowly ran his fingers up your sides until one of them rested around your waist and the other cradled the back of your head, his nose rested atop of you, his lips ghosting at your hairline.

"I was worried," you admitted, squeezing him closer, thinking that if you didn't tell him that then he would think you weren't appreciative of the position he was now in.

Eris chuckled, it was low and rough, swirls of fire danced around your figures and his thumb rubbed small circles into the back of your neck, "You can't be rid of me that easily, Fawn."

The scampering of steps made you pull back from him, and he yearned to hold you again without a care about who would see and what they would say. Lucien entered the room once more holding a beautifully decorated cupcake in his hand, a raised brow on his face and fighting a smirk once he noted your closeness, "These cakes are amazing, y/n."

"Thank you, Lucien," you swayed back and forth on the balls of your feet, your eyes drowsy with drunkenness.

"I sent for dinner for your three, why are you cooking?" Eris asked, confused, only a fool would turn down food from the Autumn Court chefs.

Nesta shrugged, plopping herself down on one of the deep rooted chairs, licking her fingers free from icing, "Elain sent them away, says she can do better."

"Which you're now all ruining thanks to her cakes," Elain's hands were on her hips and she pointed to you, her apron was coated in flour, her hair was strewn up and messy, and it was clear that she was busy cooking before you and Nesta had pulled her from the kitchen to dance, "They are rather lovely, y/n. You should be thrilled."

Eris' heart fluttered as you turned to him, a hopeful glint in your eye, "Would you like to try one? I think you'd like them," he couldn't speak, he couldn't find the words really.

The firelight made you look ethereal, the golden flames danced in the glistening pools in your eyes, so pristine that he could see himself in them, "I'm afraid that I don't have much of a sweet tooth," your smile faltered, "I'm sorry."

The gaze he felt on his face was enough to make him warm the blood in warning to its owner, Lucien coughed, red faced and watering eyes and you turned to him with worry before he strained the words, "Sorry, crumb," a lie.

"Okay," you whistled, not at all noticing the silent daggers drifting between the two Vanserra brothers, which was odd considering how observant you usually were, perhaps it was the wine floating to your head.

Maybe you were letting your guard down and didn't feel the need to be watching everyone anymore.

Eris watched you retreat into the kitchen with Elain, waiting until you were out of view before he readied himself for Lucien, "I cannot remember a time when you denied yourself a dessert."

"Things change."

"Not with you they don't," Lucien stared after his mate, his eyes full of love and desire, full of possibility and thoughts of the future.

When the news had spread of Lucien and Elain's mating, Eris was truly happy for them, out of everyone he knew his brother was the one most deserving of that happiness, of that type of love. Eris couldn't say the same for himself, he didn't think he deserved any light after the things he had done, after the atrocities he had inflicted over the course of his existence. Having a mate was something he could never allow himself to dream of, everything he touched turned to ask, his fire and mask too cold to allow anyone close enough.

Eris had depleted his worth, he never let anyone touch him, he would cower from it like a wounded animal. Even when he laid with the courtesans, their time together was restricted to just sex, no kissing, no holding one another, just unsatisfying sex that made him bathe in self-loathing whilst his partner relished in the feeling of being fucked by fire.

There was always a part of him that felt unworthy, his father had gone as far to tell him so, multiple times. Every touch sent him spiralling into memories, ones of mutilation and marring, but when you had touched him, when you had wrapped your arms around him and held him close, he didn't feel the need to shrink away or unwind you from his body. All he wanted to do was keep you there forever, and that, that was something remarkable on its own.

You may have been Prythian's darkest secret, but he found you to be the only thing worth fighting for.

His salvation.

It wasn't long after dinner that you had disappeared from view.

It didn't take Eris long to embark on his search from you, excusing himself from the table that had long since gone quiet without your teasing stories of your upbringing and playdates with the High Lord beside you.

Eris didn't think that you would remember your visits to Autumn when you were a child, thinking that you were too young to retain the memories that he had held onto tightly. You were such an innocent little thing back then, and he remembered his wonderment when you had seen the orange ring in your eyes, displaying his own fire to compare the two and enjoying the sound of your giggles far too much.

He was sure that there was talk of a union between the two of you, he remembered the hushed whispers and beaming smiles of pride as both sets of parents gazed at the two of you playing in the corner with Lucien and Rhys adjacent. Though, neither of your brothers could steal your attention away from the other.

It was what he had held onto all of those years apart, in the moment when the light began to dim and the abuse began to accelerate, in the times when he wondered where you had gone. There were gaps in his mind, like memories had been stolen and locked elsewhere because he couldn't truly remember the last time he had seen you before the time he had caught a glimpse of your wingless figure wandering the halls Under The Mountain.

Eris wandered down the halls of the manor, following your scent that clung to the walls, absentmindedly pondering where exactly he would place a portrait of you in the vast home.

The sound of gentle whimpers entered his earshot and he stopped in his tracks, turning his head to the side to listen harder. He knew that the whimpers were coming from you, they weren't scared ones, but ones of pain, and his heart raced in his chest at the mere thought of you being in any form of pain under his roof.

Knocking softly on the door to your room, his old room, the grandest chamber in the entire manor, he waited patiently and listened to the shuffle of your feet and the soft padding of your companion before the door opened to reveal your strained features and a certain hound peeking around the wood, "You left."

Turning from him, you winced, leaving the door open enough for him to let himself inside, "I get these knots under my scars, it feels like I'm being stabbed, and I just need a minute when it starts."

Eris had heard of it, of the pain residing in the bones and muscles of clipped Illyrian females, sometimes so severe that they believe a new pair are pushing their way through the marred crescent moon scars, and breaking a little when they realised that it wasn't the case.

"It's been happening more recently, I think it might be stress related," you huffed out a laugh. It wouldn't be surprising, you had gone through enough to have permanent knots twisting at your shoulders, "Mor or Azriel usually tend to them," your voice was full of longing as you perched on the edge of the chaise lounge before the roaring fireplace. Willow had hopped up onto the plush piece of furniture, spinning in three circles before settling her head into your lap. Eris made a note to scold her for that later.

The tattoo on your arm shone in the golden embers, swirls of shadow and fire intertwining and dancing around your bicep, "I can help."

"Eris," you winced softly as you turned your head to him, "I couldn't ask you to do that, you've done so much already."

"You're not asking," he moved behind you, his fingers hovering over the sheer fabric of your dress that was transparent enough for him to see the muscle contorting under your skin, "If all I can give you is some relief, then I will."

A moment passed as you thought about it, but you nodded, giving him permission to unlace the strings holding the back of your dress together and pull the straps over your shoulders.

Eris' fingers were warm against your skin, you sucked in a breath at the contact, you felt fire spread across your surface as his gently wound his fingers into your flesh, "I want to try something." When you said nothing, he took it as a sign of agreement, he allowed his fire to flow into his fingertips, the heat of them unwinding the knot in your muscles instantly, withering the demon under your skin into the abyss, "Better?"

"Much," you glanced over your shoulder, "Thank you," your eyes were dazed and you smiled at him, your own fingers running down the space between Willow's eyes and down her long nose.

A question had been poking at him the moment he had seen it, the tattoo that glowed in the light, the one that when you looked at it for a moment too long seemed to dance, "That tattoo. It was a bargain?"

A solemn nod, "Yes," you confirmed, "Between Azriel and I," you gazed into the fire and sighed, but you didn't move away from Eris when he took the seat beside you, "We promised that we would always look after one another, that we would never feel harm at the other's hand."

You smiled sadly, "Azriel and I weren't so different, we were both raised by people who didn't particularly want us, burdened with a power we didn't understand. I think we understood one another in a way no one else could, we knew what we needed and when, we basically knew each other better than we knew ourselves," your voice trailed off, "At least, I thought we did," tears pooled on your bottom lids and you blinked hard to rid your vision of their blurry infliction.

Eris watched you shudder, the loneliness and betrayal worming its way into your soul like you had realised the gravity of it all.

Shuffling closer, Eris' thigh brushed against your own, his fingers millimetres away from yours and he gave into his desire to touch you as his index finger curled around your little one. A simple action to show that he understood, and more a singular moment, you let your guard down, the walls tumbled and you felt his power wash over you, kissing your own and sewing together the brittle remnants of your essence.

The room shifted, the world tilted, and you felt a sensation you had never felt before. Looking down, you found black flames licking up your fingers, they danced up your arms and across your connected digits to curl around Eris.

Neither of you moved, you both simply gazed at it, his fire and your darkness moulding together to create a wonderous crackle of flame that didn't burn either of you. It was softly calling out, and you raised your entwined fingers to inspect it carefully.

It was meant to be terrifying, but the personification of your darkness felt more childlike than anything, it was excited and new, and it nestled itself onto both of your limbs.

"I've never seen anything like this before," Eris held your palm atop of his own, his fingers smoothing over your pulse as his eyes found you, examining your face, namely your eyes where the fire in them burnt brightly.

Eris should have cowered away from you, but he loved your touch more than anything, and no matter how fleeting it may be, he would bathe in it for as long as he possibly could. "Neither have I," you tilted your head, realisation was littered on you, "But I've read about it. It's called Carranam, I think." The look in your enlightened eyes told him of the rarity of such a thing.

"You really are a clever little thing, aren't you?"

A sidelong glance and smirk later, you drawled, "You don't even know the half of it, High Lord."

Author's Note

Here she is!!!

Hope you love this and are going just as feral as me right now 🫶🏻

Taglist

@mybestfriendmademe @jesskidding3 @rosewood-cafe @fandomarchiveilyd @brujitafantomatico @crazylokonugget @mai-adaptive-dreams @magicstrengthandcourage @acourtofmoonlightandstars @ysmttty @lilah-asteria @circe143 @xyzmeh @paleidiot @namelesssav @amberlynn98 @acourtofbatboydreams @azrielsmate3 @ivy-34 @mp-littlebit @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @iamjimintrash @ifonlyiwerefiction @pirana10 @donttellthecats @padbaeamidla

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marblemoovt · 1 year

Text

Bake A Wish - John Price/Reader

Masterlist

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: Fluff with a smidge of angst

Summary:

You bump into a man and his daughter at the grocery store. The kid is really insistent you join them for dinner.

------

She’s been on a tangent about her father, who you assume she’s hiding from, for ten minutes now. From what you’re able to gather, he works in the military.

Unwilling to dampen her excitement, you crouch down and listen to every word. “Is that so, little one?” you say, propping your chin up with your hand.

She nods, brown strands flying everywhere. “Mhmm. And he’s super handsome, too! A lady called him a dill, but Daddy’s not a pickle! She was so silly.” Your eyes widen, and you slap a hand over your mouth to barricade the gurgle in your throat. A fucking DILL.

Note:

This has been sitting in my wips for over a month but it's finally done!! I apologize if the quality feels sporadic throughout the fic. Writing consistently is just something I can't seem to do and my motivation/inspiration has been in a slump lately. The amount of fluff fics I've written that involve baking is ridiculous, I didn't realize that's the activity I default to lol.

I've never written for John before, so I'm still trying to get a feel for his character.

Anyways, thank you @yeyinde for introducing John Price to me. I was debating on not tagging you but I can't be a coward forever.

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

John holds the hand of his six-year-old daughter, Rose. The little munchkin is a ball of energy, and he fears the consequences if he were to let her run wild. “Don’t let go of my hand, ok Rosy?” Rose grins with more mischief than a little child should have. She attempts to run away, and John scoops her in his arms.

“I’m too big to be carried, Daddy!” she squeals, arms flinging around his neck to stabilize herself. The scent of her strawberry shampoo tickles his nose.

“You have to promise me you’re not going to do that again,” he says. Rose holds out her pinky, and he accepts her promise. Her finger looks tiny and frail compared to his. He sets her down and ruffles her hair despite her whinging. “Do you remember what we came here to buy?” he asks.

She claps her hands with glee and exclaims, “Cookies for Santa!!! Because Daddy can’t bake, so we have to buy cookies from the store!” John smiles, but he can’t help but feel the sting of her bluntness. Kids are way too honest.

“What kind of cookies do you want to get?” he asks.

“Not chocolate chip. Everyone uses chocolate chip.” She strokes her chin, imitating the gesture she’s seen her father do whenever he has to think hard about something. “Candy cane cookies!” She ponders over it for another minute before nodding her head. “I bet Santa’s never gotten candy cane cookies before.”

“I don’t think they sell those, rosebud,” he says, and she frowns.

“I guess they’re too special to sell in a store,” she laments, her enthusiasm wilting a little.

John crouches down to Rose’s eye level. “Why don’t we look at all the cookies they have and pick one afterwards?” he suggests.

“Ok,” she sighs, holding her hand out for him to grab. Large, calloused fingers swallow her hand whole, and John wonders how much longer it will stay like this. Her brown locks are a few inches longer than last time, but the beaming smile on her face when she sees him remains constant. He blinks the heat away from his eyes and leads Rose to the snack aisle.

There’s an entire shelf dedicated to cookies, some of them themed for the holidays. But the snowflake shortbread cookies further deflate Rose. She droops when they come across sugar cookies in the shape of Christmas trees. John silently curses the corporate companies for manufacturing every winter holiday cookie except for a candy cane. He squeezes her hand, and his heart aches when he catches Rose biting her lip. Tears are on the verge of spilling, but she will not cry. He actually can’t remember the last time he’s seen her cry. The thought bothers him more than he wants.

John spots a box of rainbow cookies on the top shelf. He releases her hand to grab them, “What about these?” When he turns around, Rose is gone. The box tumbles to the ground. “Rose?” His eyes sweep the shelves. Rows of cookies and other snacks, but no sign of her. “Rosy?!” He begins jogging through the store, checking every aisle before moving on to the next. Icy claws grip his chest, and all of his senses are on high alert. He fidgets with the dog tags around his neck and has to remind himself that he’s not on duty.

Sharp laughter slices through the pounding in his eardrums; a high-pitched fit dissolves into familiar giggles. Rose. He flexes his clenched fists to relieve the stinging in his palms. He pinpoints the sound to the baking section and sprints like a madman. Sliding to a stop, he spots her at the other end of the aisle. His body sags against a shelf, and the air enters his lungs with ease once more.

“My Daddy’s amazing! He can shoot bad guys from reeeeally far away,” Rose brags to a stranger crouched in front of her. That stranger is you.

A faint giggle grabbed your attention. Twinkling lights accompanied by the pounding of tiled flooring. A little girl beelined straight toward you, veering to the side to hide behind a display of chocolate bars. She covered her shoes with her hands to dull the blinking, peering around for someone. She spotted you holding a bag of flour and asked if you bake. Her eyes lit up when you confirmed that you do.

She’s been on a tangent about her father, who you assume she’s hiding from, for ten minutes now. From what you’re able to gather, he works in the military.

Unwilling to dampen her excitement, you crouch down and listen to every word. “Is that so, little one?” you say, propping your chin up with your hand.

She nods, brown strands flying everywhere. “Mhmm. And he’s super handsome, too! A lady called him a dill, but Daddy’s not a pickle! She was so silly.”

Your eyes widen, and you slap a hand over your mouth to barricade the gurgle in your throat. A fucking DILL. You don’t have the heart to correct her. Correction: You’re too busy trying not to collapse on the floor in a fit of laughter. The misunderstanding is best left alone, but your curiosity is piqued. What does this man look like?

“Rose!” A voice booms from the other end of the aisle, and the child hides behind you. You stand up and shield her with your body, eying the stranger with a frown. Brown hair with silver streaks, and his eyes—fuck, you wish the sky would be that blue instead of grey. He approaches you two, and when Rose makes no further movements, you stick your arm out to block him.

“Who are you?” you ask. He must be at least six feet tall, with broad shoulders, and built like he could beat you into a bloody pulp if he wanted.

He mirrors your frown, eyes flickering to the brown hair peeking behind your figure. “I should be asking you that. Who are you, and what are you doing with my daughter?”

You narrow your eyes. “How do I know you’re not some pervert who kidnaps children?”

He chuckles; the low rumble sends the butterflies rampaging against your stomach walls. “Sweetheart, I could say the same about you,” and he crosses his arms—his thick and muscular arms. The way his biceps bulge underneath his sweater…. You bite your lip. The metallic tang in your mouth grounds you. You swipe a tongue across the fresh wound, and the sting helps you regain a few brain cells.

Turning to Rose, you ask, “Is this your dad?” and squeeze her hands. “You can tell me if it isn’t, and we’ll find a nice employee to help you.” You talk slowly, enunciating each word with care. Rose glances at the man behind you before settling on your face.

She cups her hands around her mouth, and you lean in, her warm breath tickling your ear. “Yeah, that’s my dad. What do you think? Super handsome, right?” she whispers. You glance at him and huff. A fucking dill, indeed.

“Rosy, stop bothering the nice stranger,” her father says, gesturing for her to come to him. She skips over and fails to dodge his hand. Rose groans and buries her face into her father’s stomach as he ruffles her hair. You avert your eyes and ignore the heat that prickles the back of your neck. Wringing your hands, you stare at the floor as their laughter echoes in the aisle. You hardly know these people. Plus his wife must be somewhere in the store, ready to pop out at any second.

“The ‘stranger’ has a name,” you speak up, introducing yourself. You keep your eyes trained on the shelf of sprinkles above his right shoulder as if the plastic bottles of sugar will stop you from falling.

He holds out a hand for you to shake. “John, John Price.” Firm warmth envelopes your skin and dissipates far too quickly for your liking. Sparks of electricity fizzle before they get a chance to light your nerves on fire—and you want to burn.

“Heh, P as in Pickle,” you snicker, making the mistake of meeting his gaze. Your arm drops to your side, and your bones turn to lead. The sky must be grey because all the blue was stolen and contained in his eyes. There’s no coldness, no ice, only calm ripples of water. The gentle drag of the ocean as the waves lap against the shore, inviting you into its depths.

John raises a brow. “An odd observation, but yes.” He smooths Rose’s hair to no avail. Baby hairs and cowlicks in all different directions are a continuous reminder that he’s been meaning to learn how to style hair.

Rose beams at him with her toothy grin. “Cause Daddy’s a dill!” she adds.

John’s confused expression quickly morphs into one of horror. “Where did you hear that?!” He narrows his eyes at you.

You throw your hands up in surrender. “Don’t look at me. This is the first time we’ve met.”

Rose tugs on his shirt and says, “That lady who used to babysit me. She also called you a fox, but I told her you’re a man.” Your eyes widen, and your shoulders tremble. John runs a hand through his graying hair, and you rip your gaze away because witnessing that felt illegal. Every time you look at him you notice another thing that attracts you.

John sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m sorry about her. I love Rose, but she can be a handful at times,” he says, whispering the second half. His head tilts forward, and now all you can focus on is how his moustache frames his mouth. Plump and pink.

Your lips crook upwards in a slant. “It’s not a problem. She’s an entertaining conversationalist.” You find yourself drawing nearer to his face, wandering from the shore and deeper into the ocean—oblivious to the current that will pull you under.

Rose tugs on your shirt and asks, “Why don’t you join us for dinner?” You pull away with a sharp inhale, processing how John’s eyes flicker to your lips. The little girl gazes at you with a hopeful smile, but you look to her father for confirmation.

“Rose, you can’t invite people you barely know to your home,” he reprimands, and her smile flatlines. It’s probably for the best. At the current pace, it’s like you’re in a sappy romance novel! John shoots you an apologetic smile, but you wave your hand and shake your head in understanding.

Rose pouts and stares at her shoes. She shuffles her feet, and the lights twinkle with each tap. “But then there’ll be someone who can bake cookies,” she says, looking up at him with puppy eyes. John winces.

You notice him wracking his brain for a response and decide to help him. “They sell rolls of sugar cookie dough; next to the puff pastry,” and you jerk a thumb behind you. Sometimes you buy a roll or two when you feel particularly lazy but crave cookies.

John mouths a “Thank you” and holds Rose’s hand. “C’mon, rosebud. Let’s buy some, and you can make your candy cane cookies.”

Rose perks up at the mention of cookies, her shoes now fighting to match the brightness of her eyes. “Wow! They sell everything here!” She drags him to the pre-made dough section. Well, she tries to drag him. Rose is less than half her father’s size. It reminds you of those cartoon characters that try to move a comically large boulder. Blue eyes meet your gaze one last time and wink at you.

Did. Did he just?

You stand there, unblinking, staring at the corner they disappeared behind.

Holy fucking shit. He did.

You don’t register going through the checkout and packing your things in the car. With a blink, you’re in front of the steering wheel, key in hand. Where were you...? Home. You were on your way home. Slotting the key in the ignition, you start the engine and begin the drive home. For once, the clouds have gone, and the world mocks you with its clear skies. You don’t think you can stand to look at the colour blue for a while. It’s a good thing you’re sitting right now.

The drive itself is unremarkable. You go through the same streets, pass the same buildings, pull into the same parking lot, and park in your usual spot next to a truck. You admire the muscular arm resting on said truck window. Funny. Guess that sweater is popular around here. Large hands run through brown hair flecked with grey—John.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

You creep out of your car and circle around to the apartment building, abandoning your groceries.

Just a few feet. Just a few feet, and you’ll make it to the door. Conscious of your steps, you slink across the pavement and concrete. You wrap your hand around the handle, and the tension bleeds from your shoulders.

“Are you playing hide and seek, too?” a voice from below asks. You jerk and pull the door instead of pushing. A loud rattle echoes in the vicinity. Who decided it was a good idea to make doors out of glass? A sadist who likes to watch people open doors incorrectly, that’s who. You glance down. Long lashes frame blue eyes that stare into your soul. Your fingers itch to adjust the cowlick in the disarray of her hair. You spot a few leaves clinging to her locks. Was she hiding by that bush beside you?

“Are you hiding from your dad?” you ask Rose, scooting behind the potted plant when she beckons you closer.

Rose shrugs and peeks around you. “Daddy was taking too long. I’m waiting to see when he’ll notice I left.”

Your brows pinch together. “That’s not safe, Rose. You should stick close to him. What if something bad happens to you?”

“Don’t worry, I have a lot of uncles, and they taught me how to beat up baddies!” She punches the air a few times. Her face pulls tight in concentration before loosening into a grin. She shrinks behind the bush and brings a finger to her lips.“Now shhh, we have to be quiet.”

Boots thud against the pavement, the strides between each step growing shorter. “Rosy! Where did you run off to this time?” There’s a divet to his tone beneath the loudness, like the warning tremors of an avalanche. “I need to put that girl on a leash.” There’s a smile in his tone, but it stretches taut like a rubber band, ready to snap and whiplash you with his increasing agitation. He runs a hand down his face and sighs, eyes darting across the rows of cars.

You can’t watch this any longer. You move to reveal yourself, but Rose beats you to it. She tiptoes behind her father, giving up halfway and slamming herself into him.

“Boo!” Rose screams, voice muffled by his shirt.

John stares at Rose and shouts half a second later. “Ah!” Half a second too late.

Rose pulls away with a sullen frown. “I didn’t scare you, did I?”

John crouches down and pets her hair. “No, no, rosebud. Was so afraid I forgot how to talk,” he insists.

Rose gives him a scrutinizing look. “Liar,” she pouts. John leans in and whispers something into her ear, scratching her smooth cheek with his beard. She giggles and squirms, pushing his face away with both her hands. He deliberately rubs their cheeks together, and it causes her to laugh harder.

Once again, you’re watching the two of them from afar. Heat pricks your skin, and your gaze steers toward the door. You should be able to slip unnoticed if you’re quiet. Standing up, you wince as your joints pop. You might as well hang a giant neon sign to denote your presence.

John’s voice glues your feet to the ground. “Let’s bring everything inside, then you can bake your cookies,” he says. You press your back against the wall and exhale through your nose. No big deal. You just need to wait until they head inside first. Your palms dig into the stony material of the building. As if with enough force, you’ll be able to reorganize your atoms and disappear into the walls to escape dying from embarrassment.

“I have a surprise for you, Daddy!” Rose’s voice draws nearer.

You are a wall. A silent, still, and formidable wall.

“Did you find another pretty stone?” John asks, tone laced with amusement.

You close your eyes, but the ocean will not leave you alone. The waves lap at your feet on the shore, and you shrink away. Stone presses hard into your back.

They won’t find you. They’ll walk past you and go inside. Your erratic heartbeat fragments your thoughts into mismatched puzzle pieces. You can’t think with all this drumming and adrenaline.

“It’s pretty, but it’s not a stone.” Rose runs up to you and tugs you from your hiding spot. “A special guest for dinner!” she presents you like a prized animal. You stumble, and your eyes snap open in fear of hitting the ground. Strong arms rush forward to steady you. You lift your head, and your mouth dries.

Cerulean eyes pull you into their depths, crinkles forming at their edges. John’s accent caresses your ears, and you tamp down the unintelligible noise that threatens to destroy your last shred of dignity. “I didn’t know you lived here too,” and the corners of his lips twitch.

You force your tongue to articulate, the words scraping like sandpaper up your throat. “Neither did I—that you also lived here! Cause I know that I live here because I live here!” A shaky laugh warbles out of you. “I wasn’t following you because that would be creepy—and I’m going to shut up now.” You seal your lips together before you can dig a deeper hole for yourself. His hands are still on you, fingers wrapped around your arms. Your blood sings at the contact.

“Do you think Daddy’s handsome?” Rose blurts out. Flames lick your skin, and your mouth becomes reminiscent of a goldfish.

John’s fingers dig into your arms, and it’s not until you flinch that his hands drop to his sides. “That’s not a polite question, Rose,” he rumbles. It’s low, a warning. But when you’re a kid, you’re not afraid of anything.

Rose places her hands on her hips. “But you were like this in the car on the way home too! And when I asked you what was wrong, you told me I was too young to understand. I’m not stupid, Daddy. I’m six.” She stomps on ‘six.’ And you watch as this little girl brings this burly man to his knees.

John sighs, “Not here, Rose. Please.”

But Rose refuses to yield. “Why not? You both like each other, so why can’t we have dinner together?” she asks.

John rubs the back of his neck, the muscles in his arms flexing. “Would you like to join us tonight?” he asks, eyes flickering between your face and the parking lot behind you.

“I’m afraid Rose will kidnap me if I don’t say yes,” you joke.

Rose grumbles, “Just because you’re right doesn’t mean you have to say it out loud.” She grabs your hand and tugs you to the entrance. “Daddy can bring the groceries inside. I want to show you my toys!”

You dig your heels into the ground and say, “I need to bring my things inside as well. It’ll only take a few minutes.” Rose’s smile falters, and she reluctantly lets you go.

“Don’t worry, Love. I can take care of that for ya,” John offers

You fidget with the keys in your pocket. “Are you sure?” You’re not worried about him stealing your car. He can’t exactly hide if you two live in the same building. Besides, you want to believe that the kindness in his eyes is genuine.

“Wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t,” he reaffirms.

“Ok,” and you hand him your car keys. His fingertips graze your palm, and you shiver. God, you’re pathetic. Rose tugs on your arm, and you trail after her. She leads you up a few flights of stairs before stopping on the third floor, where you also live. Except she walks to the opposite end of the hallway, away from your apartment. She pulls a key out of her pocket and unlocks the door.

Rose drops your hand and runs inside, returning with a stuffed animal in her arms. “This is Mr. Bear. Daddy got him for me!” Mr. Bear is wearing tactical gear and a bucket hat. Frayed threads stick out of his body along the seams, and small patches of fur have fallen out. She cradles the stuffed animal close to her chest and rests her chin atop his head.

You nearly melt on the spot. “That’s very sweet of him,” you say.

“Sometimes, when I miss him, I just need to squeeze Mr. Bear tight.” She gives you a demonstration.

A familiar warm timbre greets your ears.“I love you, rosebud.”��

You grin and say, “Your dad reminds me of a bear.”

“Yeah! He’s big and cuddly. But his face turned red when I told him,” Rose mumbles the last part. She straightens up and tugs on your arm. “Oh! And these are my action figures!”

You walk into what you assume is her bedroom. It’s not as chaotic as you thought it would be. Her bed is in one corner of the room, with a collection of stuffies sitting along one side. There’s a shelf with knickknacks and picture frames. Your eyes land on a photo of John holding a small bundle in his arms. It looks like the picture was taken without him knowing. His eyes are wide, staring at the tiny hand wrapped around his thumb.

There’s something that’s been bothering you, but you don’t think it’s your place to ask. Rose startles you when she starts barking out, “Hold your fire! We can’t alert the enemy of our whereabouts!” You whip around to see her sitting on the ground with a mini soldier in each hand. The large tub behind her is open, the lid propped neatly against its side. You sit next to her and watch the ‘mission’ play out. She hands you a soldier and assigns you the special position of super spy. Now a successful job rests on your shoulders.

Thanks to Captain Rose, your team retrieves the files, returning without a single casualty. Although you had a close encounter with the enemy’s Captain Pickles, which began some sort of enemies-to-lovers arc. You don’t know. She’s six. She reasoned that the power of love triumphs over all. Rose begins cleaning up, setting the toys neatly in the bin before snapping the lid shut.

“Did you learn all that from your dad?” you ask.

Rose shrugs and picks up Mr. Bear. “Daddy never tells me anything about work. It’s classified. Sometimes I watch TV. There’s a show where one of the characters looks just like him, but Nana doesn’t let me watch much 'cause it’s not for kids.” Dear lord. Could you imagine being sandwiched between two Johns??

“Rosy? Want to bake your cookies now?” John shouts from the corridor, snapping you out of your fantasy.

“Yes, please!” Rose replies. She grabs your hand and gives you a toothy grin. “You can be my assistant. Daddy’s hopeless at baking.” She leads you to the kitchen, where some bowls and a tray are on the table. Rose lets go and skips to a seat, plopping herself down. Mr. Bear is seated on the chair next to her.

You sit at her other side and ask, “What kind of cookies are we making?” There are no cookie cutters in sight to give you a clue.

Rose clasps her hands together. Her feet swing beneath the table. “Candy Canes! Santa will be so impressed that he’ll grant my wish for sure,” she answers.

You don’t know what a six-year-old would ask from Santa, but you sincerely hope it’s fulfilled. Perusing the items on the table, you notice a vital ingredient missing. “Do you have food dye?” you ask.

Rose strokes her chin. She hops off her chair and walks up to John. “Daddy, do we have any food dye?”

John’s head peeks out from behind the fridge door. “Sorry, Rosy. I don’t remember,” and there’s a sheepish grin on his face.

Rose hums and grabs a stool, tottering to the drawers. “I forgot. You went away for a while. I think Nana left some the last time we baked.” Your eyes snap to the fridge when you hear a thud. An apple rolls across the floor and stops near your feet. You pick up the fruit, thumb brushing over the bruise blooming underneath its skin. “I found red!” Rose waves a small bottle in her hand and dashes to show you.

You set the apple on the table and praise Rose. Her chest puffs up, and the smile she gives you is dazzling. She hops onto her seat, clutching the bottle to her chest.

John walks up to you two. “Here’s the dough,” and he holds out the cylindrical tube but changes his mind and leaves it on the table. The only seats left are the ones across. He picks the spot in front of you.

“Thanks.” You snap the tube open and remove the packaging. “Alright, Rose. We split the dough in half, and you’ll colour one part red.”

Rose cocks her head to the side. “We don’t paint the cookies?”

You shake your head and say, “There’s an easier way to make them look like candy canes.” You hand Rose a wooden spoon and tell her to mix the dough while you add the dye. Once half the dough is red, you take equal parts from both bowls and roll them into noodles. Putting them together, you twist them to form a cane. You curve one end, and the result is a near-perfect replica of a candy cane. Rose marvels at the sight, face inches from the table’s surface.

There’s a streak of food colouring on her face, and you grab a tissue for her. She’s engrossed in the cookie, picking it up and turning it over. Out of impulse, you wipe the stain on her cheek and her laughter tinkles throughout the room. She complains about being ticklish between her giggles. A low sigh draws your attention. You look over to John, who’s watching you with his head propped up with his hand. “What? Do I have something on my face?” you ask.

There’s a softness to John’s features. He looks at you like you’re holding his heart in your hands, squeezing the pulsating organ with every cookie you form. “Do good looks count?” It’s barely audible, but you hear it. His elbow slips from the table, and he clears his throat. “Just been a while since I’ve seen her so happy.” He folds his arms across the table, a wall of muscle to create a false sense of distance.

You gesture your head at Rose. “Make a cookie with her; have fun together.”

John stares at the table, stroking his chin in a familiar fashion, but remains silent otherwise. You chew on the inside of your cheek and resume forming the cookies. The squeal of wood scraping against wood pricks your ears. John squeezes himself into the space between you and Rose. His shoulders brush against you, and he is radiating heat. “What have you got there, Rosy?” he asks.

Rose looks at him with furrowed brows. “A candy cane, silly. Here, I’ll show you how to make it,” she answers. Rose does a quick demonstration, but John still struggles. Somehow he’s managed to mix the parts to create pink. Rose shakes her head, lips tugging into a frown. “My hands are too small; can you help him?” She turns to you. Long lashes frame her doe eyes, and you can’t bring yourself to say no.

You glance at John to find he’s staring at you. Shifting in your seat, you say, “If you don’t mind…?”

John maintains eye contact. “I’m all yours,” and the smile he gives you is bashful. You fight the warmth rushing to your cheeks, but it’s like trying to douse a flame with gasoline. The heat intensifies, and you grab a tissue to wipe your clammy hands, muttering an excuse about the dye staining your skin.

You focus on the table, resisting the temptation to turn your head and meet the gaze burning into your face. “You take equal parts of each dough and roll them into logs.” You pause to make sure he’s following along. “Once they’re the same size, you can twist them together to form a cane.” John is about to mush his cookie as children tend to do with playdough; always mixing the colours. You grab his hands to stop him. His fingers twitch against your palms, but he doesn’t recoil. “Like this,” and you twist your cookie, rolling it some more to flatten the cane.

“You make it sound so easy,” John huffs.

You shrug your shoulders. “It’s not too bad once you get the hang of it.”

John shakes his head. “Give me a pistol, and I can field strip and reassemble in a few minutes.” He holds up a warped cookie. “This, this I can’t do.”

You bump your shoulders together. “I’ll have you baking like a pro.”

John grins; it’s boyish and charming—it pulls you in like a flower reaching for a ray of sunlight. “Is that a promise?” he asks, lashes framing an expanse of blue. And once again, you are hopelessly lost at sea.

“Only if you’ll invite me over again,” you quip.

“Is this flirting?” Rose asks. Her head pops up behind John’s shoulder. “If Daddy won’t invite you, I will.”

You smile as John buries his face in his hands. “Thank you, Rose,” you say.

She returns the gesture with a wide grin. “You’re very welcome.”

You continue making the cookies in silence, gaslighting yourself into thinking that the numerous brushes against your hand are accidental. 7/10 times you’re grabbing something, John also happens to be reaching for the same item. The cookie under your palm flattens into a pancake when his body leans ever-so-slightly into yours. Thankfully this is the last cookie, and you place it on the baking tray with the rest.

Rose insists on putting the tray into the oven herself, and John watches her like a hawk, hovering behind her in case he needs to step in.

Once John’s certain the apartment won’t burst into flames, he rolls up his sleeves. You eye the veins along his arms as subtly as you can, wincing like a child caught in the act of misbehaving when John speaks. “Can you please help Rose clean up? I need to get started on dinner,” he asks.

“Yes, Chef,” and you give a mock salute. “Alright, Rose. I’ll wash all the dishes in the sink. Can you wipe the counter?” you ask her.

Rose straightens her back and nods. “Affirmative,” she replies, marching to grab a towel.

You begin collecting the bowls and utensils, plugging the drain afterwards to fill up the sink. A few drops of soap and a mountain of suds form. With a sponge, you begin scrubbing away at bits of dried-up dough and red dye. In the corner of your eye, Rose is reprimanding Mr. Bear on how he needs to pull his weight too and that it doesn’t matter if he’s not heavy because he’s full of stuffing.

“You’ve got an adorable soldier,” you say, turning your head to John, who’s heating a pan on the stove.

John watches Rose with deep affection. Those are the eyes of a man staring at the purpose of his existence. “She’s a trooper, alright,” and the smile on his face is lax.

“What’s on the menu tonight?” you ask, adding more soap to your sponge. The remaining traces of dye are giving you grief.

“Fish and chips; one of Rosy’s favourites,” John answers.

“Daddy makes the best!” Rose pipes up.

John shakes his head, and the base of his neck flushes. “She’s exaggerating,” he says.

You smirk, “I’ll be the judge of that.” The chuckle your words elicit from John fills you with a pleasant buzz.

“I have to warn you. I aim to please,” and the lilt in John’s voice encourages you further.

“Yes, you certainly look the type,” you say, eyes trailing up and down his figure. John’s body trembles under your gaze. “Is it just you and Rose here?” You don’t know if he’s divorced, but you don’t recall seeing a ring on his finger.

“She’s dead,” John says. Concise and well-practiced. The plate in your hand slips and splashes into the sink with a thud, shattering the silence. You look over at John, but his back is to you. Shoulders hunched and head low. “Died during childbirth,” he adds, and the slight wobble churns your stomach. You should have known. Should have guessed from how the pictures on the walls only contain two subjects. Rose only ever talks about her father and grandparents. How could you be so fucking blind?

You crush the sponge in your hands, and bubbles seep out between your fingers. An apology is on the tip of your tongue, straining under the weight of your rapid thoughts. Day one, and you’ve already stepped on a mine. A phantom pain aches in your chest, grieving the loss of a love you never had in the first place. John says nothing. Continues to fry the fish in silence. Pops of oil like the rounds of a machine gun, but not loud enough to drown out the hammering of your heart.

Rose breaks the silent war. “I cleaned the counter. Can I check on the cookies?” she asks.

The apology dies on your tongue, and you tear your eyes away from John’s back, missing how the tension bleeds from his body. “Of course,” you say, placing the last dish on the drying rack. “Do you know how?”

“Nana showed me the buttons because I accidentally turned off the oven before,” Rose replies. She hands you her towel, and you lump it in the sink with yours. Rose walks up to the oven, and John moves to the side. You hang back, grappling with the temptation to steal a glance. You’re not sure what’s worse: John catching you staring or the disappointment of him not staring back. In the end, you decide to focus on Rose. She awes at the cookies and beckons you closer. You shuffle towards her, sticking close to the opposite side.“We should leave extra for the reindeer and elves who want some too!”

You smile and pat her head. “Next time you can buy peppermint extract so they’ll taste like candy canes too!” you suggest. Rose’s eyes widen. She looks at you like you have the biggest brain in the world. Your confidence skyrockets, but a quick peek at John sends you plummeting back to Earth. You can’t read the expression on his face, and it worries you.

“They look so good! Santa will definitely grant my wish!” Rose’s comment piques your interest.

“What’s your wish?” you ask, crouching down to her level.

Rose glances at her father before lowering her voice. “I can’t tell you with Daddy around; it might make him sad.” Your jaw slackens. What could a child wish for that would make their parents unhappy?

Dinner is served, and the seating arrangement remains unchanged. True to John’s words, Rose devours her dinner. She even asks for seconds. “I’m a growing girl,” is all she responds with when she notices your amused expression.

The conversation consists of small talk. You learn they moved into the complex two years after you did. It’s honestly amazing how you didn’t run into them earlier. John doesn’t talk about his job, but he asks you plenty of questions about yours. You’re happy to answer. Glad to have something to talk about that won’t prod old wounds. Before you know it, you’re cracking jokes, and John is struggling to breathe. His laughter is intoxicating, and like an addict, you crave another dose. Rose watches the entire interaction with a broad smile, nibbling on her food as her eyes ping pong across the table.

John leans forward and hangs off your every word. Every ounce of his attention focused solely on you. You pause mid-story, caught up in the softness of his features. Before he can ask you what’s wrong, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You pull out the device to see it’s a text notification. The time on the screen reads 9:30 pm. It’s getting late, and from the way Rose slumps in her chair, she should be in bed soon.

“I should go. Rose looks like she’s about to pass out,” you say.

“M’not sleepy,” Rose argues, rubbing her eyes.

John rises from his seat. “I’ll clean up. Rosy, why don’t you say goodbye to our guest?”

Rose gets out of her chair with Mr. Bear and holds your hand, leading you to the entrance. John steps forward but stops himself. He turns to collect the dishes, and you walk away, feeling the heat of his gaze lingering on your back.

As you’re slipping on your shoes, you ask Rose, “Now that it’s just us, do you want to tell me your wish?” She glances behind her. The faint sounds of porcelain clattering against metal travel along the corridor.

“You can’t tell Daddy, but I don’t want him to be lonely. He doesn’t cry at night anymore when he thinks I’m sleeping, but he still looks like a raccoon in the morning,” Rose says, pinching an invisible zipper between her fingers and dragging it across her lips. You copy the gesture and even go as far as to mime turning a key and tossing it over your shoulder. You have a sneaking suspicion, but you don’t want to get your hopes up.

Unlocking the door, you reach for the doorknob. “Wait,” John shouts, stopping you in your tracks. He jogs up to you and holds out a reusable takeout container and your bag of groceries. “I made too much. Take some leftovers with you.” You peer inside, and there’s a generous portion. How much did he cook?

“I’m tired. I’m getting ready for bed,” Rose suddenly announces.

John chuckles, “I thought you weren’t tired earlier?”

“That was earlier. I’m tired now.” Rose walks off to her room, mumbling to Mr. Bear. The only snippet you catch is something about ‘having a moment.’ You take the container and bag from John, fingertips touching. He doesn’t let go, and you’re left standing there awkwardly.

“Don’t feel bad about what happened earlier,” John says, withdrawing his hands and shoving them into his pockets.

Earli—oh. Your cheeks tingle with warmth. You clear your throat and bring the container close to your chest. “I didn’t mean to pry, I just wanted….” You pause.

“Wanted what?” John asks, and his eyes are wide and pleading. He waits and doesn’t push. Watches as you chew on the inside of your cheek and avoid his gaze.

When you finally gather the courage to look at his face, tender eyes observe you. Does he feel the same? A wave of confidence washes over you, and you decide to take the risk. “To know if I have a fighting chance,” you say.

The corners of John’s lips boomerang up and then back down. His eyebrows draw together, and he almost looks… scared. “Love, I work in the military. I’m a single father. I don’t have much to offer,” John rasps, the words constricting his chest like a vine of thorns. His throat bobs, and he closes his eyes, steeling his body. Because bracing for impact is a natural human response in an attempt to lessen the damage of an imminent crash.

You smile softly. “And if I said I didn’t mind? That I’ll wait for you to come back and become Rose’s favourite while you’re gone?” John’s eyes snap open wide. He stares at you like you’re some sort of mythical creature; a being that can’t possibly exist in this world. Here is a man with his own baggage, who carries a burden on his shoulders that you will never comprehend. And you want to learn how to love him anyway. His expression softens, and he gravitates toward you.

“When I saw how you handle Rose, I didn’t think I could like you more than I already do,” John says.

Your ears perk. “You like me?” you ask. You didn’t think the attraction went both ways.

John rubs the back of his neck, and his cheeks flush. “Might have seen you use the elevator a few times… regularly,” he confesses. “I’ve liked you for a while.”

“And you never tried to say hello?” you tease him, placing a hand on your hip. The pain that flashes across his face is brief, but it stops you from continuing. You decide to change the topic. “Can I kiss you goodbye?” Your face engulfs in flames. “On the cheek, I mean!”

The pink dusting John’s face darkens. “Only if I get to kiss you—on the forehead,” he clarifies.

“Deal.” You place a quick peck on John’s cheek, his skin an inferno against your lips. He cups your face and leans in. It’s soft and leaves you tingling from head to toe. A laugh bubbles in your chest. You slap a hand to cover the dopey grin spreading across your face. “Sorry. I'm just really happy.”

John’s thumb caresses your cheeks. His blue eyes are sparkling. “So am I, Darling. Goodnight,” he says, leaning forward to plant another kiss. You close your eyes and make a content hum, basking in his warmth.

John opens the door for you and leans against the doorframe after you step out. The hallway is relatively dark, and the lights from the apartment bathe him in an ethereal glow. A smile graces his features, and the current that threatened to pull you under has settled into gentle ripples. “Night, John,” you reply, waving goodbye.

A smug grin stretches his smile, and he winks at you. “See ya later, Love.”

You skip to your apartment. The door behind you doesn’t click shut until you disappear from sight. You head to the fridge first to store the leftovers. You find a note when you put away your groceries. Fishing out the paper, it reads: ‘Rose’s bedtime is 10 pm.’

The clock on your stovetop tells you it’s 9:50.

Where did you put that expensive bottle of whiskey you bought years ago?

Bonus Scene:

John tucks his daughter into bed, pulling the blanket to her chin. “What else did you wish for, Rosy?” he asks. It’s become a tradition to figure out her Christmas present. He makes sure to ask her right before bed when he’s certain she won’t remember the conversation in the morning.

Rose snuggles into her pillow, hugging the stuffed bear close to her chest. Her voice is muffled and thick with sleepiness, but he hears it crystal clear. “A little sister.”

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

End Note:

Happy early Valentine's Day! I can't wait to consume the Valentine-themed content for all the fandoms I'm in. Not related, but I saw a cowboy ghost render on IG and I think I'm going to have to go back to writing something for him ¯\_( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)_/¯

Time to drop off the face of the Earth for a month or two again.

I'll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

Reblogs are appreciated!

#john price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price #captain john price #cod x reader #cod mwii #single dad price #gender neutral reader #no y/n #And they were apartmentmates!#I will update the tags with something funnier once my brain isn't mush

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jakecockley · 1 year

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- el niño que creció sin amor -

✧ pairing: namor/k’uk’ulkan x gn!poc!reader

✧ summary: namor visits his mother's grave. in search of comfort, something he did not expect, he heads to you. only in your arms, does he let himself truly breathe.

✧ genre: fluff/soft comfort/bit of angst/sfw

✧ fyi: reader is of ambiguous race (can be defined however you want, but they are a person of color) and they're an artist! they also know yucatec mayan, a little fluent in it, thanks to namor

✧ warnings: a lil sad, other than that ur good

✧ author’s note: it’s kinda weird how I always do fluff, but I just love bringing out the soft side of characters like namor. I haven’t seen much fluff/comfort topic fics abt him. I don’t think I’ll be able to get over him soon ☠️ this obsession will last for monthsss. alsooo english isn't my first language so sorry if u see a few mistakes!

Who was he?

Was he a man? A god? they wondered, for the first time when they laid eyes on him.

No man looked the way he did. No ordinary man had those sharp ears that pointed up to the clouds nor those white wings on his ankles that made him fly to the skies themselves.

His visits to their pueblo were a rare occurrence. He never entirely spoke whenever he emerged from the waves in the night and shook the water from his wings. He kept to himself, making his way to his mother’s burial, pushing the large leaves from the trees out of his way. He’d stand there for a while, contemplate the past or murmur a few words in his native tongue. He’d come to let himself think, away from the waves, noise, and duty. He liked to remember all of what he liked to do with his mother: whenever they’d race or play with the sea life, amongst others. He’d remember when his mother would rise to the surface, only to look at the past life she left behind. Her land. Her home. It meant everything to her. So did it to Namor.

He was constantly worrying about his people, how the time they had was running out by the day, and what would happen once the surface world got its hands on what they wanted below. Namor could not allow his kingdom and its people to be discovered. Yet all those thoughts and worriments faded whenever he thought about you, a surface dweller. To his surprise, you were someone he’d come to care for. Maybe if he went to you, he'd feel peace.

With a simple brush to the dirt as a farewell, Namor took off, heading to your home.

- Your home was a simple one. It was a small house just near the coast, away from the city and its bustling noise. You liked the peace here, you didn’t have to worry about the big things anymore, and finally let yourself breathe.

You loved it, even more, when your lover would arrive at your doorstep, just as he did right now.

Those wings of his always give it away, you thought with a chuckle. His wings sounded like a rattlesnake’s rattle, buzzing, when they flapped. It added to the intimidation he had and you found it fitting, as he was the feathered serpent god to his people. Setting your paintbrush aside, you sauntered over to the door, opening it and finding Namor looking not quite like himself. Before you could speak a word to him, he abruptly wrapped his arms around you, and buried his face between the juncture of your neck and shoulder, unwilling to meet your eyes. Without hesitation, you returned the affection, rubbing a hand on his back soothingly for comfort.

The two of you walked to your bedroom, no words spoken, not until a minute passed with Namor in your arms, limbs entangled with one another.

Only then did you ask him.

“What’s wrong?” you murmured to him, playing with his dark hair as he laid his head against your chest. He felt warm against your body, surprising for a man always submerged in water.

He’s silent for a moment.

You looked at him, staring into those keen, dark eyes you've admired for so long. Your hand caressed the side of his face lovingly, the thumb brushing his cheek.

You hummed, a small, sweet smile forming on your lips when you noticed Namor careening into your touch. Taking advantage of the comfort he was in, you slowly leaned down and planted a kiss on his forehead.

Namor's breath softly hitched, eyes cast down, lashes barely grazing his skin. He felt your forehead touch his own when you scooched downward.

He hoped to the gods that you couldn't hear the way his heart thundered against his chest.

You weren’t the best comforter, but for him, you’d try. You whispered softly to him.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, in yakunaj.”

His breathing stilled, like he was alarmed of something, but in a second it passed. His eyes looked up to your own.

He smelled like the ocean and its salt, a muskiness to him that you grew fond of whenever he came. Your man of the sea.

“I visited my mother’s burial place. I thought going to her would help me think,” he told you, gaze casting down, “ba'ale' ma' bin beya'.”

The moonlight peeked through the slits of your curtain’s blinds, casting a soft white glow on the outline of his brown skin.

He traced the curves of your body with his hand, going over the dip and rise of your waist and hip. You figured it was to distract himself a bit.

You didn’t mind that at all.

It was rare to see Namor like this. Quiet. It wasn’t like him, but you understood why.

Usually, he always had a snarky reply up his sleeve or a comment on whatever he could tease you on.

But tonight, this was different. Not the first time, but different.

“I worried more for my people. I don’t…” His words faded, but you finished them, knowing what he’d say.

“…want them harmed.”

Namor gave a small nod.

The ends of your lips stretched to express a sad smile.

He did not think he was enough to protect them.

You knew of his past.

How his mother died, outliving her, and he was the one his people were dependent on. He led them and grew their civilization over the many years.

His people were precious to him, everything to him. It was that trait of love that you adored, the fierce protectiveness and his willing to go beyond whatever means necessary to keep his people safe and out of harm’s way.

Knowing that the surface world could discover them ate at him.

You ran a finger across one of his pearl necklaces.

“Worrying is a normal thing, Namor. You are their king; they look up to you and they know you will protect them. You are K’uk’ulkan. A god to your people.”

There’s a long pause of silence afterwards, and you watched the tiny flicks of changes of expression on your lover’s face. You wait for him to say something or look at you, but nothing.

His tense body relaxes against yours.

“I know you will keep them safe; unharmed,” you added, grabbing his still hand that was at your waist. You planted a soft kiss on the back of it, then looked at him as you intertwined your fingers together.

“Níib óolal in yakunaj,” he murmured softly to you, but he knew you heard him.

You pressed your forehead against his once more.

“I love you,” you gently smiled.

They said he was a boy who grew without love.

But you were the person willing to give him the love he deserved.

✧ taglist: @slenderclaw @marc-spectorr @96jnie @taestrwbrry @caroldxnvxrs @namorsirens @smut4lifee @sunfairyy @layazul @duchcess @salimothmanlover @vampiredoll6-6-6 @aniia-x3 @eerievixen @deliciousfestsalad @astrospunutt @heart-an0n (didn’t let me tag all of u for some reason 😔)

✧ translations:

"in yakunaj" = "my love"

"ba'ale' ma' bin beya'" = "but it didn't"

"níib óolal in yakunaj" = "thank you, my love"

main masterlist

liked my work? check out the characters i currently write for and send in a request ! (anons welcome!)

want to be added to any of my taglists? shoot a dm, ask, or reply !

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momolady · 27 days

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April Fool's! Author April 2024 #1

I posted some of this on Patreon and it got some good feedback. But I wanted to share some stuff before I posted it. I found a file with a ton of old writing on it. If you were on Patreon in October you got to see some of this mess. For Author April I decided to share here so ya'll can see where I started. I've been writing since I was ten, but I started writing original works around the time I got out of high school. Anyways, this is Wild Adapter. It was from 2009.

I was barely 20.

This story is FIFTEEN years old. But anyways...

I found the old book cover I made for this story and I wanted to share despite how humiliatingly bad it is. I am already considering reworking it and making it a novel by rewriting, editiing and changing a lot. My bff even gave the news that she so loved a character from this story she considered naming one of her twins after them.

So like, maybe this is worth investing time and love back into, maybe it's worth revisiting my late teens early twenties and see if that idiot had something going I can finish. Let me know, would love to make this a journey to share next year!

Prologue

Fate leads the willing and drags along the unwilling. -Seneca

When I was little, my father took me to where he worked. He was a doctor for a special orphanage and some of his patients had been asking to see me. The entire time we were there, Dad never let go of me, and whenever he did he was so close beside me it was like he was my shadow. Dad had never been this protective of me before. At the park he let me run free as long as I stayed in his sight, but he never watched me like a hawk.

He showed me into a room that had four sets of bunk beds, and I found it odd considering the room was so small. Then there were six boys and two girls. The two girls clamored around me, held me, kissed me, cooed and giggled to me. The six boys watched me with curiosity. They were amazingly still and quiet, only whispering to one another for brief moments. They were watching me as if I were some sort of fascinating animal. It looked like they wanted to approach me but were afraid I’d run away from them if I did.

One boy managed to gather up the courage to approach. He broke away from the group and kneeled before me and the other two girls. He held his hand out and I grabbed onto it almost instinctively. I don’t remember much about him, or anyone else in that room, but I did remember the boy’s eyes as he watched me. I can’t remember the color, only that they fascinated me, dazzled me. I was little so I was able to comprehend a lot more about emotions and sensations than I do now. I can remember a great burst a joy as he looked down at me. His hand tightened over mine and he pulled me towards him. I heard Dad shout, but I felt no danger. I felt safe. The boy clutched me tightly in his arms. I heard the girls coo and muse sweetly. The boy held me tight and firm. I wasn’t sure, but I believe he was crying. I wanted to hold him. But my arms were too small.

Chapter One: The Empty House

I came home expecting the house to be completely empty. I could also see smoke rising from the chimneystack on father’s private lab where our backyard had once been. This meant I would have to make dinner then deliver it to him and watch him eat it to make sure he actually had something to eat that night.

Dad and I lived alone in a three story Victorian mansion painted mint green. The house itself was largely unfurnished due to that fact it was too big for the two of us. The house also had a screened in porch at the back and ivy growing all around it and up to the roof. It had been in my mother’s family for generations. Technically, according to family tradition, I was the heir of the house considering I was mother’s last living descendent. Dad and I joked about this. He said I could kick him out anytime and he could live alone in the lab. I said then I wouldn’t have to work and I could let my friends live in the house with a monthly rent. I would never do that though, even though Dad did practically live in the lab. The mansion was his home, our home. And we were the only things we truly had.

In back, where my swing set used to be, sat Dad’s private lab. I tried to keep it private for him, but every so often I went inside and became his lab assistant. To me it looked like the science lab of a high school, a well stocked high school lab at that.

During the seventies a garage with an apartment above it had been added back when my mom’s parents did use it as a boarding house. The apartment had been Mom’s room, keeping her away from all the hippies and beatniks her parents said. The garage apartment then became my brother Spencer’s when he turned ten. I hadn’t been inside it for over ten years. At least not since he and Mom died. In fact the garage itself became untouched save for storage. Dad and I parked out front then walked around to the back door and into the bright, yellow kitchen.

I was surprised though, that when I entered the house Dad was sitting at the table preparing the take out he had ordered from Lee’s Take Out Dragon of Fifth Street. We both stared at each other for a moment, as if we had no idea who the other person was. We then smiled awkwardly and went on with what we had been doing before.

I sat my school things in the closet and kicked my shoes off against my bag. I then wafted over to the dinner table and looked over the spread Dad had ordered. It was a rare occasion when Dad made dinner. It wasn’t that he was lazy or a bad parent, he just got wrapped up in his work easily. That, and he nearly burns down the house every time he attempts to cook.

He sometimes jokingly said that while working he would remember he had a daughter and come in to discover me five years older than he had last seen me. For me, I said he’d come in looking the same each and every time I saw him.

His hair would be shaggy, unkempt, and graying around the ears. His lab coat, uneven due to sloppy buttoning, yellowing at the cuffs and collar, and dingy from being worn without-end. His shoes untied, scuffed, and often times mismatched like his socks. His glasses smudged, lopsided, and duct taped to the point I had to force him to buy a new pair.

His face was unexplainably young and handsome for his age. Under his disheveled hair he had bright green eyes surrounded by long black lashes. He had a cute button nose and smooth cheeks with high cheekbones. He had dimples whenever he smiled and a round beauty mark at the corner of his lips. Despite his scruffy and unkempt appearance my father’s skin was always clean and unblemished furthering his youthful appearance.

I more than often thought my father was an ancient alchemist who had created a philosopher’s stone and was perpetually manufacturing an elixir that kept him from aging. If so, this answered a lot of questions about him. He was more knowledgeable than his age allowed and often spoke with outdated words and phrases. I also found myself hoping I had his good genes and was able to look that good at his age.

I looked up as Dad handed me a plate and fork. His dimples appearing in a shy, sheepish fashion in an attempt to get me to speak.

“You didn’t tell me you got a job.” He replied, sitting down in his chair.

“I‘ve had it for two months.” I answered, sitting at the opposite end of the table. Then for his benefit I quickly added on, “And it’s only part time so it doesn‘t affect my school work.” I smiled. “Not that I have much anyways.” I joked.

Dad’s eyes softened, making him look pitiful. “I still don’t like you working during the school year. Don’t I give you enough money?”

“You do, Dad.” I argued in attempts to get that sad look off his face. “But I need to get out of this depressing house once in a while. I need this job, Dad.”

“Are you sure?” He pressed.

“My school work is better than ever, considering I only have electives this semester.” I plopped a spring roll onto my plate. “Besides, I’m using the money you give me to start up a college fund.”

I could see a twinkling smile in his eyes. “Well that’s very smart of you, Mackenzie.” He was overly proud of me, especially during moments like these.

Dad was one of the only people who called me by my first name instead of a silly nickname. I had several. My friends called me Mac, Kenny, KZ, MC, and a number of other things. I suppose I had my darling friend Scout to thank for that. She had started the whole nickname craze back in fifth grade and ever since then I’m never, ever called by Mackenzie. Unless someone is angry of course.

“When do you go to work again?” Dad asked between bites of his fried rice.

“Um…tomorrow.” I answered.

Dad stopped shoveling fried rice and looked up at me in shock and awe. “But it’s Saturday.”

“I know.” I sighed, shrugging my shoulders. “But they need all the help they can get and I’m one of the few delivery people who actually work.” I grunted.

The place I worked at was a small collection of family owned business that, in recent years, had pulled together to form one industry that sold books, baked goods and other food, movies, games, appliances, and other such things. They called the place the Market. Not only that, they delivered, which was my job.

Also, I wasn‘t just working tomorrow because they needed me. I had a whole ulterior motive for wanting to work that day and working the one route everyone avoids on Saturday due to this very reason. Every Saturday a huge order of food, books, games, and everything and anything imaginable went out to a thought-to-be abandoned studio in the artist district downtown. And for the past month I had been working at the Market I had had to make a delivery to that building where I would be greeted by a voice through an intercom and two envelopes in the mailbox. One filled with the money to pay for the delivery and the other with a large tip for me. But it wasn’t the tip I was after.

The voice on the other end of the intercom was polite and nice, but I never learned his name, unlike with most people on my route, and I had never seen him. Since I already had an over active imagination it was going crazy at the prospects at what the intercom hid. I had already made up my mind to at least try and befriend the faceless voice, or at least learn his name.

Everyone at work had rumors about the place. There was one stipulating it was a crazy shut-in who was actually the second person on the grassy knoll, running since the assassination on JFK years and years ago. One was that it was what was left of Manson’s cult, in hiding until they receive word. Another, even more ridiculous idea was that it was a coven of vampires. Then again, a recent boom in the vampire craze had been going on so I chalked this up to the overactive imagination of fans.

While the first two could be considered plausible, although I doubted it, the voice sounded really young. And while I had never met the guy, he seemed sweet and nice, so I doubt he could be a killer at all. I could feel it in my gut that I was nowhere near harm standing there in front of his door.

The next day as I arrived at the Market I found one of my coworkers, and best friends, Dee Laughlin, sitting in the employee lounge sipping on a cup of hot tea. She looked up at me with her large hazel eyes and beamed.

“Good morning, Mac.” She greeted me cheerfully.

“Hey Dee.” I answered as I moved over to the snack machine to decide what to have for breakfast.

“Scout said she was going to be running late today.” Dee murmured, looking back briefly at her opened book before she shut it. “You know there’re same day old donuts and pastries in the bakery you can help yourself to.” She chose a job in the Market Bakery in order to loose weight. She said if she worked around the stuff long enough, she’d grow and aversion to it. Sure enough, she had, but in the process she had become addicted to the overly sweet coffees they also served.

“Nah.” I mused, placing a dollar bill into the machine. “I’m fine with this.”

“I just fixed some coffee too, so help yourself.” Dee mused as she looked dreamily back into her book.

“I don’t understand why you don’t just work in the bookstore instead of the bakery.” I chuckled, moving towards the coffee pot.

“I work in the bakery to have an aversion to pastries.” Dee laughed. “You know that. Besides, if I had a job in the bookstore, I’d never have any money. I have insurance and a car payments to think about.”

I nodded. “Well, what about Scout?” I asked as I poured my coffee into a yellow mug with a P on it. Scout loved the mug for this reason.

“Scout is a special case.” Dee muttered bitterly and snapped her book shut. “She rides her scooter everywhere she goes and with all the games and videos she buys she doesn’t have to go anywhere else.” She then watched me as I added creamer and sugar to my mug. “And what about you?”

I peered up from my brewing. “Me?”

“You’re Dad pays for everything and even gives you money for the week. Yet you’re working here.” Dee paused a moment to tie back her cropped, sandy hair into pigtails that jutted out from behind her ears.

“I work to get out of the house. I’m not like Scout in that department.” I breathed, taking a seat across from Dee at the table.

“And you deliver, the most brutal job to take! Why don’t you just stick to working in a specific station like Scout and I do?”

I told Dee everything. I enjoyed the deliveries and not having to stay in one place all day. I got to travel around and meet new people and see new places. I also got to drive, which I loved doing anyways. I got to drive in places, that during the right season, were straight from fairy tale lore. Doing the deliveries gave me a chance to escape the mundane life that had built up in the years of complacency I had gotten used to since the accident.

Dee nodded in approval. “To each his own.”

The door slammed open and a white blur whipped into the room followed by a cold gust and a bundled up Scout Theobald. After slamming the door back shut and shaking the freshly fallen snow from her shoulders, Scout peered out from between her hat and scarf with her big blue eyes.

“It just started snowing like crazy for no apparent reason out there!” Scout blurted as she unwrapped herself from her thick jacket and scarf. She hung them on the coat rack and readjusted her beloved cap. She wore that hat religiously and she wore it proudly. She had received the hat from her favorite band’s guitarist when, in a moment of extreme ripping, had tossed his head so hard that the hat flung out into the crowd and into Scout’s eager fingers.

“You’re early.” Was all Dee and I could think to say to her.

Scout’s already thick bottom lip pouted out even further, looking like a slice of apple, as she frowned at us. “I saw this snow start up and decided to be early than never, or, God forbid, buried in that mess.” She peered out the window before she grabbed up a coffee mug. “I ain’t ever seen it snow this hard before.”

Dee and I both stood up to peer out the window. “You didn’t come here on your scooter did you?” Dee gasped, looking over her shoulder at Scout in awe and horror.

Scout shrugged, more snow falling from her curly, amber colored hair. “What else could I do?” She took a deep sip of coffee.

“Take the bus.” I scoffed. “You could have gotten yourself killed in this weather!”

“It’s safer than a car.” Scout argued weakly but triumphantly. “The worst I could get is a cold.” She then laughed at the idea.

“Or pneumonia.” Dee snapped.

Dee and Scout had known each other longer than any two people should. They had grown up together, going through school in the same class since second grade. They had been together so long they could finish each other’s sentences. They sometimes even came into work wearing similar outfits. I was often jealous of how close they were. While I had met and befriended them in the fifth grade, at least seven years ago, I still felt like the third wheel. And even though they were my closest friends and confidants. I don’t think I have ever really had a best friend.

Scout pushed a stray hair out of her eyes then sat down at the table. “I never get sick.” She bragged proudly, putting on her Joan Crawford smug expression.

Dee and I sat down on the other end of her and decided not to argue with her. She had obviously survived the storm and like she said, she never got sick. She took a lot of personal days during the school year, but never once had she taken a day because of a cold or other illness.

“I’m glad I work in the bakery where it’s warm.” Dee breathed. “I know I’d probably die if I had to work in that weather.” Her and Scout then both glanced over at me. “Sorry Mac.”

“Sorry for what?” I asked. “They’ll probably make me work stock or cover a shift in a section today.” I turned back to the window. “There’s no way in hell they’re going to make us do deliveries today.” I turned back to my coffee and was struck by the realization of what I had just said. I wouldn’t be able to go to the studio today and try to make contact with whatever it was living behind those walls. I bit my lip and sighed disappointedly.

“Or they’ll just let you go home.” Scout grinned. “Or, you could take over my shift and I can go home.” If I had a younger sibling, I’d want them to be like Scout.

“Don’t be such a lazy mooch, Scout.” Dee scolded. “Although, it does sound tempting.” She sighed dreamily. “A hot cup of herbal tea, a good book, and the fire place. Oh, and my favorite tunes playing full blast in my new surround sound system. Sounds heavenly.” She cooed. “In more ways than one.” If I had an older sister, I’d want her to be like Dee.

“To you.” Scout sneered. “For me it’s a customized, wireless controller, bags of chips, cold sodas, the newest Slayers game, and a warm TV screen.” She took a deep sip of her coffee and added quickly. “All nestled snuggly in my bed and wrapped in several blankets.”

“Of course.” Dee snickered, wrinkling her nose. “If you had an opportunity like that, you’d never leave your home.” She glanced up at me and smiled. “What about you? What’s your dream wintry day in?”

“Well…” I thought for a moment. “I’d snuggle up on the couch with my favorite old blanket, pop in an old classic movie, then relax with a warm bowel of popcorn in my lap, a bag of chocolate chips at my right, and one of those huge jugs of chocolate milk on the floor.” I smiled dreamily at this thought. It had been a long time since I had a movie day.

Dee chuckled. “Classic literature, classic films, and…” She stared blankly at Scout. “Classic brain rotting.”

“Don’t dis it till you try it.” Scout swayed side to side, wagging her finger. She then glanced up at the clock. “Uh oh!” She finished off her coffee and jumped to her feet and strutted to the door. “Time to open shop.” She announced happily.

“You seem exuberant.” Dee mused.

Scout grinned goofily. “Of course! Today’s the release date of the new Vampire Hunter X game!” She gripped her fists close to her cheeks. “Innocent Blood the Second Dawning! I will literally be the first person to get their hands on it.”

“You enjoy that.” Dee sighed, patting Scout’s head as she left the lounge.

Scout turned to me before she left. “What’re you gonna do?”

“I’ll check my route and see what needs to be done. If there is anything serious I’ll get that done with. If not, I’ll tack it onto Monday’s shift.”

Scout nodded in agreement. “Just be real careful, Mac. If anything happened to you out there…”

I smiled softly. “Thanks Scout. I’ll be safe. Promise.”

Scout gave me another reassuring smile. “Alrighty then! Come see me anytime you want. We’ll lunch.” She then bounded out of the employee lounge and down the hall to her section of the Market.

I made my way slowly down to the delivery room. As I suspected, no one was there. All the other delivery boys must have seen the snow and said to heck with it all. I lifted up the delivery roster for my route. Sure enough, the studio’s order was on there. I checked the delivery number and found the box. There was a post-it on the front that told me to get the new game Scout had been rambling about earlier.

I’d get the game then head out to make the delivery then head home for a much needed movie date. I’d even make quick lunch plans with Scout.

I took the box with me to the gaming section of the market. Scout was surprised to see me after such a small break from one another and she happily got me the game. We made plans for lunch at noon, if weather permitted, at Dee’s bakery so we could get a discount.

I went out into the snow and wind, barely making it to my delivery car unfrozen. I was also surprised at how clear the roads were. They had probably salted them early that morning while Dee, Scout, and I had been talking.

I slowly made my way to the artist district, leery of black ice. The sky around the many studios and galleries was a dark gray from smoke billowing chimneystacks. It reminded me of a scene in an old movie depicting a very primal, coming-of-age city.

I parked out front of the old studio. As I approached the front steps, I noticed there was no smoke coming from the chimney. Perhaps the person who lived here was rich, considering how much he spent each week at the Market.

I pressed the buzzer and waited.

“Hello?”

I licked my lips and took a quick breath. “The Market Delivery. Mackenzie Bronwyn delivering.”

“Oh wow! You actually came!” He laughed. “Aw gee…I didn’t think you would be coming. Um…I didn’t put the money in the mailbox. Uh…” He stalled for a moment and I thought I heard people arguing and running around in the background.

“Uh, hold on one moment. The door is unlocked. You can come in and warm up while we get your money together.” There was a loud, stunning buzzing noise and a loud click. The doorknob turned ever so slightly.

I was so surprised I was actually frozen. Forgive the pun.

“Y-yeah. Thank you.” I turned my attention to the steely, icy doorknob. I swallowed hard and reached for it. Ice shattered as I turned the knob and pushed myself in. The door groaned lowly, like someone disappointed.

I stepped inside the large entrance hall, it was dark, but cozy and warm. I closed the door behind me and stood in the darkness. I dumped the box off the handcart and noticed I was breathing loudly. It was better than I expected. Not only did I get to have a few words with him, I was inside the studio. And from the sounds over the intercom, he wasn’t alone.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could notice some of the details in the hallway.

To my left I was a little surprised to see a shattered mirror. I bit my lip and turned away from it. I wasn’t sure to take it as a sign or as a piece of modern artwork. I decided to pay more attention to the right side of the hallway, which was a large white wall covered with crayon drawings and other random artistic scribbles. Certain sections were dated and signed even. I leaned closer and ran my hand over it, barely making out the signature of Dakota.

There were three other distinct signatures on the wall but I couldn’t make out the names in the dim light. I ran my fingers across the indention of one name, trying to decipher it.

“Here’s your money.”

I gasped, jumping at the sound of his voice. I gasped and caught my breath. “Gee! You scared me.” I chuckled, scanning the darkness to try and find where the voice had come from.

“So sorry.” He laughed. “Um, here.” Two white envelopes came out of the darkness towards me. Beyond them I saw a pale, moonlight hand and arm. “You can leave the box there if you wish.”

I knelt forward and plucked the envelopes from his fingers. As soon as I did, the moonlight pale hand vanished. I studied the envelopes quietly then looked back up into the darkness. I heard something shifting as if impatient for me to leave. I opened up one of the envelopes to make sure the balance was correct.

“Just get out of here!” A voice I didn’t recognize roared out at me.

I jumped and dropped the handcart. I rushed to pick it back up and once I had a grip on it I ran back out into the white snow. I stood there at the door, wondering what had made me move so fast. I pressed my palm against my face and ran my fingers limply through my hair. I barely glanced over my shoulder at the door, afraid I might see someone or something standing there.

The intercom buzzed and I jumped again. Clutching my heart I quietly answered.

“Yes?” I gasped.

“Sorry about that.” The familiar voice said. “He’s, uh, unfriendly.”

That barely answered one of my questions. There was more than one person living in the old studio. I turned to face the intercom, unsure if I should say anything to the familiar voice beyond the door. I furrowed my brow.

“It’s okay. I was intruding.” I answered meekly. “Thank you for your continued business.” I waved, even though I knew they probably couldn’t see me.

I quietly turned back to my snow covered car. And as I drove home I began to wonder more and more about the people living within the studio. Hidden away from the public eye in a giant safe. Were they a family? Friends? How many were living there? Why were they living there? All the possibilities built up around me like walls, forbidding me to think about anything else.

Chapter Two: Like a Dream

The snowstorm didn’t stop until late Sunday night. And even then the snow stayed piled up until next Saturday due to continuous light flurries and snowfalls that occurred throughout the week.

The snow was thick everywhere, except on the roads and where people had shoveled it away, But where it still stood, like on our lawn, when you stood on it, you could detect three distinct layers. The top layer was soft and powdery, the fresh snow. The second layer was the kind of snow you’d want to use to build snowmen, for snowballs, and typical winter fun. Then, the bottom layer was thickly packed ice that probably wouldn’t disappear until spring, or, if you used a jackhammer on it.

Other than that it was safe to drive on the roads because they salted it constantly. School had only been canceled three days that week and I had to work double duty in the Market. I did my deliveries then worked in whatever section of the store that needed my help. A lot of people took any excuse to be able to take off work, especially during such heavy, snowy weather.

On Saturday it had finally gotten back to a place of normalcy where I was back to being just a delivery girl. I received my delivery roster for my route and our supervisor told us that once we finished our routes we could head on home. He said his knees were hurting him and that meant another snowstorm.

I didn’t trust his knees, but I did trust the clouds enveloped sky and the way the clouds shaped together like a package of frozen cotton swabs. And it was also as if I could smell the bad weather coming on. In a way, it was the same as the day of the accident, something just didn’t feel right.

After examining my roster and the clouds I jumped into my car loaded with packages. There was an especially huge package that took up half my back seat that was headed for the studio. It was their largest one thus far.

I delivered all the other packages first then ended my route with the artist district and the old studio. I had to pull out my trolley cart to lift the giant box. It felt like one of the boxes in Dee’s room filled to the gills with thick books.

I left the handcart at the foot of the stairs and walked up to the intercom. I pressed the buzzer and waited a moment. There was no answer. I stared puzzled at the mesh screen of the intercom and pressed the buzzer again.

Still no answer.

I decided to examine the mailbox. Perhaps they had left me a note along with the payment. I pulled out the envelopes, but no note. I pressed the buzzer again. Still there was no one to answer me.

I pulled my scarf tighter around my jaw and neck as a cold breeze floated around me. I waited for a few more minuets then descended down the stairs and went to try and heft the box onto the stoop.

It was times like these I wished Scout was around. She possessed an amazing upper body strength. I had often heard her bragging that she could lift a little over twice her body weight.

As I managed to figure out a way to balance the huge box in my arms I felt a presence around me. I glanced up to see three rough looking guys standing around me. I gave them a cordial smile then went back to work, hoping they either go away or ask to help.

I wasn’t so lucky.

One of them grabbed my arm and pulled me forward. I was able to keep myself from being pulled into their crowd by pushing against the heavy box. With a hard kick I was able to make the box flip over and disorient the gang if only for a moment.

I ran, dashing into the alley between the studio and the tenement building beside it. I heard them chasing after me so I ran faster. I pushed myself out of the small wedge between the buildings and popped out in the back yard of the studio.

The small yard was littered with rusted exercise equipment, several bent and destroyed trashcans, and stacks and stacks of folded up cardboard boxes from the Market. I heard the gang behind me and I raced forward, praying someone inside would also hear them and come out to see what the noise was about.

The ground stopped suddenly, crumbling into a huge ravine where the sewer line ran for the artist district. I looked this way and that. I stared up at the windows of the studio. All the windows were closed and covered. I ran up to the backdoor and started poudning on it and screaming

“Let me in! Let me in! Please! Someone! Help me!” There was no sound from inside, no sign of life at all. I cursed and raced for the chain link fence separating the properties. Just as I was making way over the top I was pulled back down onto the icy ground. I foot came down against my temple and for a moment everything was black.

Just as they were forcing me deeper into the snow I heard one of them scream and I slowly came back to my senses. Their release on me became looser until none of their hands were even on me. I sat up from the snow to see a black shadow bashing one of the thugs across the head with what looked like a rusted free-weight bar. I winced, relieved someone came to my rescue, but afraid I had only gotten rescued by an even more dangerous animal.

The shadow kicked at a downed thug then turned to stare at me through the visor of his helmet. He was dressed from head to foot in black leather, every inch of his skin hidden away under a thick skin of shining black. He had large shoulders and a muscular chest. His arms were twice the size of mine and I could see the ripples from the muscles even under the leather. His hands were big but thin with long fingers, his right hand still clutching onto the rusted bar. His waist was slender and he had long, muscular legs.

He walked towards me and pulled me out of the snow by my shoulders. His head bobbed up and down, inspecting me.

“You okay?” He asked gruffly.

I felt like crying but something held me back. “Y-yeah.” I sputtered. I had half expected it to be the voice over the intercom. But I was wrong and disappointed and I suddenly started crying.

“Tha-thank you so much!” I balled.

His hand came down on top of my head and ruffled my hair. “Stop crying.” He huffed, sounding a little impatient. “You’re bleeding so you better get home.” He wiped a little blood away from my temple then rubbed his thumb against his pants.

I rubbed my eyes. “Bu-but…”

“Hurry up and get home.” He pointed in the direction of the alley. “Ya hear me?” He half threatened me with the bar. “Get!” He shoved me forward with his hand then prodded my back with the bar.

I wanted to turn around and thank him again, but I was too frazzled to even breathe. Only until I had gotten in my car and lost sight of the studio did I breathe again. I pulled my car over to stop and compose myself. As I did so I saw a red motorcycle fly by with a man covered in leather riding on the back. I was so relieved I smiled. Although, I had never expected my guardian angel to be a leather clad biker.

When I got home, hoping I could take care of the cut on my head before Dad saw, I was horrified to see Dad standing in the kitchen making coffee. He was smiling when I came in but that faded away with an instant and he magically produced the first aid kit and was rushing me to sit at the table.

“My God, Mackenzie! What happened to you?” He tied my wavy black hair back for me in a ponytail, then poured some rubbing alcohol on a cotton swab.

What could I tell him? I had to think up a believable story fast.

“I was making a delivery and slipped on some ice.” I laughed.

He wiped the swab over the cut and I hissed. Nothing stung like that. “Oh my poor girl.” He whispered, then putting some disinfectant on it. “Did anyone help you?”

I smiled. “Yeah. Someone helped me.”

“That’s good.” Dad then put some Neosporin on the cut and a little band-aid. “Where did you fall at?” He asked, putting the kit away.

“Um…the artist district, in front of the old studio.”

Dad furrowed his brow and looked at me as if he wanted to ask me something then he went back to placing the first-air kit back in the cabinet above the stove.

“Well I’m just glad you’re safe.” He kissed me on the forehead. “Please be more careful next time. Okay?”

I nodded. “Okay, Dad.” I then smiled reassuringly for his benefit.

“Oh!” I then quickly changed subject. “Would it be okay if I spent the night with Scout and Dee tomorrow?”

“That’s fine with me. But you girls be careful in this weather, okay?”

The next day, Sunday, I went back to the studio. I carried with me a gift of thanks for the man clad in leather, hoping he was a tenant at the studio. As I had made my way to the studio a thick snowstorm had blown up and by the time I had gotten there, I couldn’t see barely five feet ahead of me. Everything thing was white and swirling like a snow globe with too much glitter inside.

I raced through the snow, pressing against the wind as if it were a wall and finally I came up on the stoop where I was a little safer from the icy elements, but just barely. I pressed the buzzer, praying they would answer inside.

“Hello?” The voice sounded quizzical.

“Hi, it’s me.” I rasped. “Mackenzie. Mackenzie Bronwyn” I blurted. “Listen I hate to bother you but I came by with a gift for the guy who saved me yesterday.”

I was equally surprised to hear him blurt back at me. “What are you doing out here? You could have gotten yourself killed in this weather. Yes! Come on! Come in!” He sounded both angry yet concerned for me. The door made the loud buzzing and it was kicked open from inside.

As I walked back into the warm hallway I heard an angry wind howling out behind me and slam the door against my back. I squeezed the gift close to my chest and held in my scream. My eyes locked on the broken mirror, many eyes looked back at me.

I waited for what seemed like hours there in the entranceway for someone to great me. Finally I heard someone approach then stop suddenly beyond the line of darkness.

“Are you warm enough?” He struck a match and lit and candle. In the glow of it I just barely made out his soft features. He was young, a little older than me but still young. He had soft, white skin and dark hair.

“Yes, thank you.” I looked down at my gift and held it out at arms length. “I don’t know if he lives here or not but I just wanted to thank the guy who saved me yesterday.”

“That’s very kind of you.” He breathed softly. “Um…listen, Mackenzie…” His voice cracked. “Our power is out, and, um, I don’t know when it’ll it come back on. I’ll give you some matches and candles if you want them.

“If I have to I suppose…” I held my arms back to my chest. “Is the snowstorm that bad?”

“Something like that.” He murmured. “I made up a room for you that you can stay in until the storm clears up. Is that alright?”

I felt oddly at home yet unwelcome at the same time. “That’s very nice of you. Thank you.” I swallowed. “I’m sorry I intruded like this. I never expected to the weather to get this bad this quickly.”

“It’s alright just come this-”

“No way!” Another voice blurted. “She can’t stay here. You!” The new and angry voice roared at me. “You need to go!” I barely made him out in the candlelight. His brow was heavy and creased, his face covered with stubble.

“Dude! Don’t be so cruel.” The first voice snapped. “It isn’t safe out there for her to drive.”

“Well we can’t keep her here.” The second voice sneered.

“You don’t have to worry about her.” The first voice whispered. They probably thought I couldn’t hear them. But ever since I was a little child, I could always hear the faintest of noises. I was rather proud of my unnatural hearing ability.

Well, right now I felt rather uneasy over hearing this odd conversation. I was an outsider who could possibly be in on a deep secret the tenants of this old studio hadn’t let out to anyone except themselves. I swallowed hard. I wanted to leave then and there to stop their fighting. But outside the wind was getting louder and louder, and the sound of ice beating against the door was growing from faint, tiny tinks to the sound of loud knocking.

Finally, the second voice roared. “Fine! But don’t come crying to me when she sees you and goes running away screaming!” He stormed off and I heard a door slam and something shatter.

“Um…Mackenzie?” The first voice murmured. “Can you see well enough in this light? Or would you like the candle?”

“Yeah, I can see fine. I don‘t need the candle” I gulped. “I hope I’m not intruding or anything.”

“Not at all.” He laughed softly. “My name is Vegas.” I heard his hand slide across the wall. “You know. It’s funny really. Ever since you became our delivery girl I had this feeling about you.”

“Excuse me?” His words made my insides jump. I suddenly felt scared.

“Well, you know how you sometimes have this sixth sense about a person who one day winds up being your closest friend?” Vegas asked. “That’s kind of what I meant. Sorry if I scared you.”

“Oh.” I chuckled meekly. “Sure, sure.” I didn’t have the guts to tell him that I felt the very same way.

I heard a door click open and a ray of grayish light poured into the hallway. I also had a feeling that Vegas was hiding himself behind the door.

“Here you go.” He handed me the candle. “If you need anything use the intercom and call for me.” He said as I stepped into the room. “I’ll bring you lunch later.”

I suddenly remembered my thank you gift and held it out towards the shadows of the hall. “You take it.” I instructed. “You’re being much to kind to me.” I then quickly tacked on, “Its pie. I made it, so I can’t say if its good or not.”

I heard the paper bag rustle as he opened it up. “What flavor is it?”

I beamed and wanted to go back out into the hallway. “Apple. I learned how to make them when I did a temp job in the bakery at the Market a few weeks ago. I hope you like it.”

“Yes. Thank you.” Vegas chuckled.

I smiled and turned into the dimly lit room, closing the door behind me. Hoping for a miracle, I felt along the wall for a light switch. A single skylight flickered on, but it was so weak it was barely better than the glow of the candlelight. I opened the curtains to my window and stared out at the snowstorm. Everything was white, but at least it allowed more light into the room.

I stared around, only now noticing that all four walls were made up of shelves filled with books, comics, movies, and magazines. I had never seen such a massive collection in person before. All I could do was standing there and stare around.

I then got the courage to actually touch something. I pulled a book from the shelf and flipped it open. I then looked to the pile of blankets and pillows sitting by the door and laid them out on the rug in the middle of the room.

I then picked me out a stack of books and magazines and curled myself down to read. But all I could do for the longest time was stare off into space and daydream. I was inside the studio, and I couldn’t have been more breath taken. But at the same time I trapped there, almost a prisoner. In a way, I was like a prisoner in a tower. Like Beauty from Beauty and the Beast, my favorite story and fairy tale.

Chapter Three: Life on Mars?

I had fallen asleep while reading, a common side effect for me. Although I was no longer on the big rug in the center of the floor, but lounged up comfortably on the large couch resting under the canopy of a bookshelf. I pushed the thick blanket off the top of me and stared at the clock sitting on the table beside me. It was a little passed five.

I figured Dad wasn’t worried, since I lied and told him I was spending the night at Scout’s house. More than likely he was holed up in his lab and unable to get out because of the storm. I then remembered Vegas and I saw the covered dish sitting on the table right beside the alarm clock. That explained how I ended up on the couch and it made me feel embarrassed but also impressed and flattered. Vegas was either a great gentleman or an even greater pretender.

It was then to my great dismay that I needed to use the bathroom. I had no idea where to begin. So when I blindly made my way out into the hallway I simply prayed for the best. I feel into a long, narrow hallway, but it creped me out so bad I didn’t try to find the door at the end. After a few more minuets of searching I suddenly stumbled into an open door and crashed onto the floor.

“Mackenzie?” Vegas gasped.

“Oh! So sorry.” I grunted as I lifted myself off of the carpet. “I was just…” I held my head. “The bathroom.” I muttered just above barely audible.

Vegas helped lift me up and placed me in a chair. “You okay?” He quickly stepped away from me and back into the shadows.

“Disoriented.” I managed to laugh. “Sorry again for falling into your room like that.” I tried to make out his silhouette in the dark in vain.

“It’s okay. I’m kind of glad you showed up.” I heard him stand up and walk back towards his door. “I had a talk with my brothers and we felt like you shouldn’t be kept in the dark like this.” The way he said you bothered me a little. It was like I was supposed to be in on the secret yet had no idea about it.

“But you said your power was out.” I chuckled nervously.

Vegas laughed softly. “If only it were that simple.” He took a deep breath. “I do hope you have an open mind about things.” He spoke softly and I could hear him moving about in the darkness. “I also pray you don’t scare easy. Here, take my hand.”

I reached up blindly in the darkness, finally touching something solid and warm. But it wasn’t what I was expecting. The palm of his hand was rough, like the calloused heel of a foot. The back of his hand was soft and furry and reminded me of Dee’s old Labrador. I looked up, trying to follow his arm and figure out this strange puzzle.

“Do I have your hand?” I asked, confused.

He half laughed, half sighed. “Yes. You have it.” He said as he helped me ease back up to my feet.

There was a click and fluorescent lights blinded me. I stared between my fingers at the oddly shaped figure standing a few feet before me at his open door.

“I am truly sorry if this bothers you.” Vegas murmured.

As my eyes became accustomed to the light I slowly became aware of the figure standing before me. I noticed that his outline was odd, rather shaggy. I rubbed my eyes, hoping the blur would take a much finer shape.

I became aware of pointed ears, jutting out from where ears normally were but to a length that they surpassed the head like an animal’s. And the shagginess didn’t stop at the head, it was as if his entire body was covered with thick, dark fur. But how could that be? When I saw him in the glow of the candlelight he had a milky white complexion and hair like a sheet if black satin.

I first stared down at the hand I was holding. The rough palm, in fact, looked like the underside of a dog’s paw. And while shaped like any normal hand, it looked like I was holding some Halloween glove for a Wolfman costume. My eyes trailed up the arm, growing wider the further up I stared. There I was, standing before a man-animal. At first, I thought of a werewolf. But the more I looked at him I didn‘t see a horror movie monster. His green eyes were certainly human, more human than even my own. But he was definitely not human. I recoiled and took several steps away. I wasn’t afraid, but I was shocked. His hand hung suspended in midair.

“Sorry. Again.” Vegas whispered, his hand falling back to his side. “If you don’t like it. We can all leave you be until the storm is over and you can leave.”

I suddenly found myself touching his outstretched arm. My hands worked up the shaggy black fur of his arm and onto his face, both my hands pinching his cheeks.

“Am I dreaming?” I muttered breathlessly.

“I believe you pinch yourself when you feel that way.” Vegas chuckled, a little surprised at my reaction.

I pulled my hands back. “Oops!”

Vegas rubbed his face where I had pinched him. “Quite alright.”

“How did this happen to you?” I asked, reaching out again and brushing my fingers through his shaggy, shiny mane. “How come you…“ I hesitated, trying not to think along the lines of horror movies. “Are you circus freaks?” My voice squeaked.

Vegas shook his head glumly. “I wish it were that simple, Mackenzie. But I’m afraid our tale is a bit more complicated.” He shrugged.

“How many more of you are there?” I asked, following Vegas down the now brightened hallway.

Vegas opened a door for me. “Didn’t you need to use the restroom?”

“Um…” I glanced over at him and blushed. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

“I’ll wait out here for you.” He said, turning his head away as I walked into the bathroom. I hurried myself as much as I could, but as I sat there I couldn’t help but feel I recognized Vegas from somewhere. His form, his shape, his eyes all seemed familiar to me.

I then went back out into the hallway and looked up at him, standing like a guard on the left side of the door. “I’m good now.”

He nodded and waved his hand for me to follow.

“So?” I asked again. “How many?”

“Four. My four brothers and me. You kinda met Lexington.” He spoke about the second, much angrier, voice in the hallway last night. “Sorry about him.”

“No need to apologize.” I examined Vegas closer. I now noticed that he wore some straight leg blue jeans and a red vintage tee shirt bearing a classic band’s logo on the front. “I can see why he was…hesitant.”

“Hesitant is a soft word to use for his actions.” Vegas breathed. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the family. You woke up in time for dinner.” He hesitated and glanced over my expression. “Only if you want to.”

“I think I owe it to you.” I said brightly. “I’ve seen you, I might as well see the rest of the family secret. After all…” I took a deep breath. “You were brave enough to reveal this to me.”

Vegas smiled. “I knew I was right about you.”

I couldn’t help but smile back.

It was funny how his face worked. While being wolf like in every sense, he had a very human face, especially around the eyes. His eyes were the deepest forest green, like my mother’s and brother’s eyes had been.

He then had a cute little muzzle, not exactly as long as a wolf’s but enough to protrude from his face. If he were bigger and hulked over, he would be exactly as I pictured the Beast from my favorite fairy tale. That’s where I recognized him!

It was then I also noticed his body shape. I suppose it was because I wanted to figure out who the leather-clad biker had been. But Vegas didn’t fit the bill. He had small shoulders and lean, but muscular, arms. He also had a thicker waist and longer legs. I was slightly disappointed.

Vegas glanced over his shoulder at me. “You’re quiet back there.”

“S-sorry! Just lost in thought.” I caught up to Vegas so I walked beside him. I could feel the fur on his arm against my own. Vegas was also quite tall and my head barely cleared his shoulder blade.

Vegas then pushed open a door and allowed me to step in first. The room became intensely quiet. I stared up at two more wolf-like boys. They were sitting at a bar on high stools. One had his back turned toward me and the other was staring wide eyed and worriedly at me.

“Guys, this is Mackenzie.” Vegas patted my back. “She’s going to be staying with us for a while.” He said cheerfully as we walked into the dining room.

I felt suddenly at ease. I raised up my hand and scrunched my fingers down in my cute, signature wave. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you.”

The one who had been staring at me was now grinning and leaping over the bar to greet me. “She likes us!” He was small, about my height, and extremely skinny. Unlike Vegas, he was a reddish brown with a white face, paws, stomach, and feet. He wore a black shirt with a video game logo on it and extremely baggy pajama pants. His tail wagged happily as he ran up to me and his bright hazel eyes sparkled.

“Delivery girl!” He reached his hand out and I took it in my instinctively, suddenly feeling nostalgic in doing so. “I’m so glad to finally meet ya in person!” His thin arms then wrapped around me and squeezed me tightly. He smelled like chocolate and his fur was so soft. He then pulled away and gave me a big, toothy grin. “I’m Dakota by the way. I guess I should introduce myself before I go around hugging people.” He laughed.

“Make that a note next time you go out.” I chuckled with him, feeling extremely welcomed by the cub of the pack.

I then glanced up over Dakota’s shoulder to see the third wolf approach. He was slightly taller than me, the top of my head could easily reach the bottom of his chin. He was a peppered gray with a white muzzle, a black paw and a white paw, then both feet were black. He wore glasses before his narrow, sky blue eyes. His mane was thicker around his face than Dakota’s and Vegas’. His hands were also larger even though he had about as skinny arms as Dakota. He had a shapely rear though and well toned legs. I also noticed he wore a button up blue polo shirt and tan cargo pants with bulging pockets.

He smiled politely and held his white paw out to me. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m Raleigh.”

I managed to pull my hands away from the gleeful Dakota to shake Raleigh’s thick hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for having me.”

“We should be thanking you.” Raleigh smiled at me with a wise glint in his eyes.

“Yeah! You bring us our supplies every week. I don’t know what I’d do with out my weekly game dosage.” Dakota cheered. “Doc was right about the Market.”

“Doc?” I was about to question but Vegas cut in.

“Yeah, before the Market we used to have to order from fifty other places and the shipping was eating up all our monthly funds.” Vegas then cut a glare at Dakota who had latched hold on my hand again. “Especially those video games and anime cartoons you love so much.”

Dakota shrunk back behind me. “I know, I know.” He sighed pathetically. “Crack would be a cheaper addiction, but my body is a sacred temple.”

“So you’re the gamer.” I asked as I joined them at the bar. “My best friend Scout works in the entertainment section of the Market and she’s a huge gamer as well. Every game I’ve delivered to you she’s gotten herself.”

Dakota’s already bright eyes got even brighter and wider. “Really?” He squirmed in his seat. “I just got the new Vampire Hunter X game and I’m almost half way through.”

“I don’t get what’s so great about video games.” Raleigh sighed. “I keep telling him he can get just as much fun and excitement if head read something other than strategy guides and comic books.”

I knew who always ordered the books. “So then I take it you’re the one who orders the brunt of most of the heavy novels that have been breaking my back.” I chuckled, thinking to the previous package and how I needed the special dolly to deliver it. “The real intelligent gent?”

Raleigh sighed and took off his glasses. “Someone has to be.” He had a twinkle in his eyes as he spoke. “I guess I need to apologize for that as well. I suppose I could order the paperbacks and be a little more gentler on you. But the hardbacks just last so much longer.”

There was a familiar buzzing that rang out through the house and the boys lifted their heads in anticipation. Vegas stood up from the bar.

“That’s probably the pizza.” He said. “I’ll be right back.” As he walked towards the door he stopped at the door and scanned the sheet of pockets that hung there and plucked what looked like a checkbook from one of the many pockets.

“Are the roads clear?” I asked.

“Not really.” Dakota hummed. “But we have connections. We get whatever we want whenever we want it.” He said, grinning proudly.

“Don’t worry, Mac, we aren’t holding you here against your will. You can go whenever you want.” Raleigh said in a very serious tone. “But I wouldn’t recommended it right now.”

I smiled and shook my head. “I wasn’t thinking that. It was just surprising to me that pizza would actually deliver in ice age weather.”

Raleigh cleared his throat then removed his glasses and rubbed at the lenses with the hem of his shirt. “Oh, um, well, I was just letting you know.”

“Yeah!” Dakota chimed. “Mac probably doesn’t even wanna leave.” He grinned over at me. “Right?”

In all honesty, I did want to go home. I was really worried about Dad. But I couldn‘t tell that to Dakota, it‘d probably break his heart. “Probably not for a while.”

“Here’s the grub.” Vegas said, hauling in six pizzas, three boxes of breadsticks, and two dessert pizzas.

I stared in awe at the massive amount of pizza. “Do you always eat all this?” I gasped, staring at Dakota for the answer.

“Naw!” Dakota laughed. “We got this one for you.” He placed a whole pizza in front of me.

“I can’t eat all that.” I murmured apologetically, staring at the box.

“Really?” Dakota stared at me in disbelief. “I guess you were right Raleigh. Women really are more delicate.”

Raleigh tensed up and I’m sure if the fur wasn’t covering his cheeks they’d be bright red. “Dakota, just shut up.” He huffed and hid himself behind his box of pizza.

I smiled meekly. “Thank you very much for this. I really do appreciate the thought. You can have what I don’t eat.”

Dakota grinned another toothy grin, cheese stringing down from his jowls to the slice in his hand. “Okay!”

“What about Lex?” Raleigh asked.

“If he wants to eat he can join us.” Vegas growled.

I furrowed my brow and sat down the piece of pizza I had been chewing on. “Am I causing some sort of trouble I should know about?”

“Huh?” Raleigh gasped. “Oh no, you’re fine. It’s our other brother, Lexington. He’s being a complete jerk as usual.”

“The correct term is ass hole.” Dakota said between bites.

Vegas leered harshly down at his pizza. “He’s the one being a problem. He says that he doesn’t want you here. He wants us to make to make you leave.”

“Does he know I’m not bothered?” I asked. “I think you’re all fine! When you said all those things earlier, Vegas, I thought the worst. Like you were a coven of famous serial killers or something.”

All three of them snickered and Dakota went into a fit of high-pitched giggles. He had to drop his pizza and control a spasm of hiccups.

“Do you mind my asking why our appearance doesn’t offend you?” Raleigh asked, politely.

I shrugged, slightly embarrassed to give my answer. “Growing up I was obsessed with Beauty and the Beast.” I laughed, avoiding all of their reactions. “I know that may seem extremely silly but I think that might be the main reason.” I glanced up at each of their interested looks. I smiled meekly. “But I doubt that falling in love with you would undo this.” I meant his as a joke, but I had the sudden pain that said it was much more serious than that.To them, it actually meant something.

“So…” I muttered quietly and put on a forced smile. “That’s my silly reason.”

“I see.” Raleigh nodded.

After that, the rest of dinner was extremely quiet. I only ate three pieces of pizza and let the others pick at it. When all was said and done Dakota dragged to his room, which reminded me of how I last saw Scout’s room. There was a bunk bed against the wall with the door and across from it a huge entertainment system with a wide screen TV, several game systems, a DVD player and a fancy music system. Then, on a desk put right up to the bottom bunk was a laptop, speakers, and several game controllers. His walls were painted red and covered with movie posters, magazine clippings, and photographs. His floor was littered with his clothes, trash, and dirty dishes.

He had what I thought was a closet in the farthest corner of the room, but when he opened it up I was surprised to see row upon row of video games and cartoon show DVDs. I found myself thinking how completely opposite this home was from my very own, and I was surprised to be extremely jealous.

“Whoa.” I mouthed, staring up into the store like assortment.

“Yeah I know.” Dakota giggled. “Do you have a preference?” He asked. Then, upon seeing my confused stare, grinned. “What kind of games do you like?”

“Uh…Mrs. Pac-Man?” I muttered.

Dakota scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Fine. We’ll play this one.” He waved a fighter game before me then popped into the corresponding gaming system.

We played that for a few hours until Dakota started yawning loudly. He switched out the game for a cartoon and he curled up beside me on the bed. He fell asleep halfway through the movie, his head resting in my lap and my hand stroking his fur.

When I was sure he was dead asleep I moved him off my lap and covered him up. I turned off all his appliances and lights then exited the room quietly.

“Dakota asleep?” I heard Raleigh call from across the hall. His room was opposite of Dakota’s and I could look into his room as I turned around.

“Out like a light.” I chuckled. I leaned in his doorway and stared around at all the books. It was a little bit bigger than Dee’s own boxed collection. He had two walls of bookshelves, but they went from floor to ceiling and there were several smaller bookshelves cradled into corners. His walls were blue and he had a futon bed positioned between two corner shelves. He had a door on one of the clear walls that was cracked open and I could barely see his neatly organized closet inside.

“The radio said the storm is probably going to last another two or three days.” Raleigh said, looking at the radio sitting by his bed. “Do you think you’ll be fine staying here for that long?” He removed his glasses and sat them on his side table.

I could see the worry in Raleigh’s eyes and it reminded me of my father. “I’ll be fine.” I folded my arms across my chest. “It’s my dad I’m worried about.”

“Well…the phone lines are down. But I do believe Vegas has gone to leave your father a note.” Raleigh murmured.

“What?” I gasped, early tripping over thin air. “He’s gone to my house?”

“Yeah.” Raleigh seemed uncomfortable, like he had just released top-secret information. “He was worried about your father too. I mean, with you not being at the house and all.”

“Oh.” I bit my lip. “That was nice of him to worry.”

“Well, in my opinion, I think he likes having someone other than the rest of us to worry about.” Raleigh said as he stood up and walked towards me at the door. “We’ve been alone in this house for about six years.” He smiled. “I guess we just got boring to him.”

I nodded. “I suppose that it would get boring for anybody for that long.” I glanced over my shoulder, thinking I heard something moving at the end of the hallway. “Where did you guys move from?” I asked, looking back up at Raleigh.

“Somewhere…” He hesitated and looked away for a moment. “Somewhere very unpleasant.”

“Oh.”

“No.” He defended. “Don’t think that we don’t want you to know. I think you should know everything. But for now Vegas wants to give you time. It’s hard to explain. But trust us.”

“No. It’s okay. I owe you guys big time. No need to explain to me.” I chuckled. “I mean, yes, I would love to know. But it understand that it must be a hard thing to talk about. You guys took a big risk even showing yourselves to me.”

Raleigh smiled softly. “Do you know what an amazing person you are?” He asked. “For some reason, it’s easy around you.”

I wanted to ask him about what he meant but his head jerked upward and looked down the hallway.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Someone is home.” He muttered then looked back down at me. “Anyways, I need to get to bed.” He laughed. “If I don’t get more than eight hours of sleep I become psychotic.” His smile then faded. “Not that I don’t like talking to you!”

I shook my head. “It‘s okay. I’m gonna head on to bed too.” I reached out and patted his arm. “Good night.” I chuckled and walked down the hall.

“Good night.” I heard Raleigh echo as I made my way down the hallway.

As I passed the kitchen I heard someone moving about. I, of course, thought it was Vegas. I popped into the kitchen and sat at the bar casually. There was a box of pizza sitting open on the counter along with a glass filled with ice. I looked to the fridge, but I couldn’t see Vegas from the open door and the bright lights inside.

“Hey Vegas.” I called to him, making my presence known. “Raleigh told me you went to my house to give my dad a letter.” I said and looked at the open box of pizza, remembering Vegas had eaten a whole one plus half of mine then a box of breadsticks and half a desert pizza as well. “You didn’t need to do that.”

The fridge door closed and the wolf that stood before me was russet colored and much bigger. My jaw dropped and my breath caught inside my throat. There was no doubt in my mind that the wolf before me was the infamous Lexington.

His silver eyes narrowed upon me and he didn’t move from his spot before the fridge. I was welded to the spot as well. I felt terrified, remembering what the others had been saying during dinner. He was certainly intimidating by appearance alone.

I swallowed my heart back down into my chest and gasped for air. “H-hi there.” Which was perhaps the stupidest thing to say at this moment. I wanted tog et up and run away, but I felt that if I did, it would only make my situation worse.

Lexington was even taller than Vegas and stronger built to boot. He had broad shoulders and thick arms to match. His chest heaved in anger and his lips curled up over his fangs. His fur was a rusty brown and grew longer and wilder against the back of his head. His ears were longer too and jutted out like daggers from his head. He wore no shirt over his muscular chest but he wore a pair of ripped and faded blue jeans that smelled strongly of grease and gasoline.

I managed to catch my breath from the shock and I cleared my throat. “H-hi!” I sputtered out again. “I’m Mackenzie. You must be…” I hesitated, watching as he closed the fridge and push passed me like I was a spider dangling from the ceiling.

“Y-you’re Lexington, right?” I asked after him.

He turned and looked down at me from the other side of the island. I could see the contempt in his eyes as he leered at me. He tossed his head to the side and reached over the countertop of the island, lifting up the box of pizza. As he leaned over the island I noticed how slim his waist was and how long his legs were. I stared up at him as he sat upright again. Our eyes met and he stopped suddenly.

His eyes looked like mirrors, reflecting everything in their silvery surface. I couldn’t look away, knowing his gaze was meant to terrify me to my core.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He snarled.

“I-I was…the storm…” I stuttered.

“I meant here in the kitchen.” He snarled, ripping his teeth through the pizza like he wanted me to think he would do the same to me.

“Oh! Um…I thought you were Vegas and…” I swallowed. “I don’t know.” I muttered apologetically. As I said this he got up and moved towards the cupboards behind me.

“But I feel like if I leave I’ll, well, I’ll stay on your bad side.” I looked up at him, his back turned to me. “And I’d like to be your friend.”

Lexington turned back around and rolled his eyes at me. He pointed a long finger in my face. “You don’t belong here. You shouldn’t have even been allowed through the front door!” He barked and grabbed onto my arm.

“Hey!” I half screamed. “Let go of me.” I struggled against his strong hand.

Lex’s eyes flashed and he lowered his head slightly, talking to me in a low, almost sad, voice. “No one like you should be here. You don’t deserve this kind of punish…”

“Lex!” Vegas roared.

Lexington dropped his hand and leered up at Vegas. I jumped back a pace closer to Vegas and looked up at him cautiously then back up at Lex. His face had changed, his ears slicked back, a smirk curled his lips. He had started putting on his airs.

Lexington sneered sarcastically. “Well, well, well…” He hissed. “If it isn’t our fearless leader.” He stood so that he blocked Vegas and I from one another’s sight’s.

“Don’t you dare talk to Mackenzie like that.” Vegas snarled. “She hasn’t done anything to you.”

“Ha!” Lexington scoffed. “Yet.” He scowled down at me as he skulked out of the room. He shoved Vegas out of his way so hard I was worried for a moment.

Vegas turned back to me and stared at me apologetically. “I am so sorry about him. He didn’t say anything to you did he?”

I didn’t have to heart to tell Vegas that he did say something. Just before Vegas had interrupted him, it sounded as if Lexington was about to say: “You don’t deserve this kind of punishment.” I suddenly felt sorry for Lexington. Out of all four of the wolf-boys, I had a feeling the affliction hurt Lexington the most.

“No.” I murmured. “Nothing that was worth getting upset over anyways.”

Vegas nodded and forced a smile. “That’s good, I guess. Just don’t pay any attention to him.”

“Okay.” I nodded. “But, I don’t blame him for being defensive.”

Vegas frowned, a quizzical look to his eyes. “You don’t?”

I shrugged. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Vegas shook his head and faked a laugh. “Guess not.” He turned. “Well, I’m going to bed. So…” He hesitated, watching me with his overly human eyes. “Good night.” He muttered and walked off.

“G’night.” I answered and looked around the kitchen before I went off to my own corner of the studio.

#author april #monster romance #creative writing #writeblr #old writing #momolady monsters #my writing

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momo-t-daye · 1 year

Photo

“Uh, Professor, er, sir,” Harry stumbled over the seldom-used honorifics in his bafflement. “Uh, on your mouth…?”

“Lipstick, Potter,” Snape sneered, the expression all the more pronounced with the cosmetic assistance.

“Oh, uh, it’s, um, it’s black?” Harry hadn’t known lipstick came in anything other than his aunt’s subdued pinks or the vivid shades of red that Petunia considered sinful and salacious (and intolerably reminiscent of Lily to ever be permitted back into the precariously normal life of Number Four, Privet Drive).

“Very good, Potter,” Snape said sarcastically. “Twelve years old and you’ve learned your colors.”

That was pure nastiness and entirely unfair.

“I’m fifteen!” Harry protested, which earned him a merely sardonic eyebrow. “Almost fifteen,” he amended. “I’ll be fifteen on Monday.”

Harry longed to surpass Snape in sheer churlishness and considered pointing out that muggle men generally didn’t wear skirts. Certainly not in Little Whinging. Definitely not when Dudley and his gang were roaming the streets.

He’d seen plenty of oblivious wizards sporting spiffy new dresses as their muggle disguises at the Quidditch World Cup the previous summer (a lifetime ago, before Cedric was murdered and he hadn’t been able to stop it from happening). But there was something peculiarly well-tailored and suspiciously well-worn about the Potions Master’s garb that suggested less “disguise” and more “daily wear”. He found that his brain was oddly unwilling to acknowledge the existence of Snape’s psychedelic cardigan. His mind kept trying desperately to wallpaper something sensible over the bizarre image his eyes insisted on perceiving.

“…nice skirt,” he mumbled.

“Thanks,” Snape drawled the false gratitude out with a smirk. “It has pockets. Dipshit and Dumbass there were too excited to get on the road this morning and didn’t give me any time to do laundry.”

“Am I ‘Dipshit’ or am I ‘Dumbass’?” Sirius whispered loudly, grin gone well past manic.

“I believe Severus called me a ‘dipshit’ among other things for forgetting to take my Wolfsbane last year,” Remus replied thoughtfully, “So, Sirius, that probably makes you the dumbass.”

“I’m more of a hot piece of ass, but okay,” Sirius said with a wink. “Hi, Harry!”

“Hi, Sirius,” Harry said weakly, glad for the excuse to sidle past Snape. “Uh, what are you doing here?” The Daily Prophet hadn’t said anything about Sirius being pardoned and news like that, while less of an urgent headline than Voldemort’s return, wouldn’t lurk about in the society pages or behind an advice column.

“Dumbledore told me to lie low at Lupin’s place,” Sirius beamed with an innocence so intense it could only be artificial.

“And, er, well, what with one thing and another, it really hadn’t seemed like a good time really to mention that I’d been, ah, evicted,” Lupin added, “…again.”

“Renting really seems like such a bother,” Sirius opined. “So I bought a house for Remus here.”

“Oh,” said Harry, who had witnessed Aunt Petunia compulsively twitching the curtains as she tried to discover how Mrs. Number Seven had eluded neighborly surveillance and, somehow, managed to sell her house to a person or persons unknown to the remaining residents of Privet Drive. “Isn’t that supposed to take a long time?”

“Building a home takes a lifetime,” Sirius said sagely. “Buying a house just takes money.”

Snape’s scornful snort brought Harry’s attention back to the least welcome visitor to Little Whinging.

“So, uh, why did you bring,” Harry gestured vaguely, unsure if the word ‘him’ could accurately encompass the snidest professor present, “Snape?” He’d rather noticed that Snape hadn’t lifted a finger to help Sirius and Lupin move any of the large boxes from the lorry into Number Seven.

“Severus knows how to drive,” Lupin explained gently. Sirius’ mouth opened, prepared to protest.

“Severus,” Lupin repeated, louder this time, “Has a valid muggle license to drive.” Sirius’ subsided.

“And I know how to hot-wire cars and lorries,” Severus added smoothly. “And,” Lupin echoed wearily, “ Severus knows how to ‘hot-wire’ muggle vehicles.”

“I’m learning to do that,” Sirius said helpfully, “I’m going to figure it out too. I’ve nearly got it.”

“Talk is cheap, Black,” Snape scoffed starting to stroll in the last direction Harry wanted him to go, “I’ll believe you when I see some tangible results.”

“Wait! Stop!” Harry wondered if he’d get in trouble for tackling a professor outside of Hogwarts. It would be worth it, to try to alter Snape’s trajectory towards the front door of Number Four. “Stop, stop, stop!”

For all Harry’s desperate scrambling, Snape maintained his lead.

“Please stop!” Harry begged as the professor hitched up his skirt slightly, “Use the bell! You don’t have to kick the door in!” Aunt Petunia was probably at the door, surely she’d spied them across the street at Number Seven.

Snape kicked the door, already unlatched in Petunia’s nosy anticipation, open.

Aunt Petunia let out a shrill little scream.

“Hello, Piss-Tuna,” said Severus Snape, far more gleeful than he’d been even when Harry and Ron were facing the threat of expulsion after flying a car into the Whomping Willow. “You look as awful as ever.”

Piss-Tuna, Harry thought as his world tilted on its axis, Snape, Professor Snape, just called my aunt Piss-Tuna. This can’t be happening.

“You—!” Her face was white, her eyes were wide, and Petunia Dursley, née Evans, practically growled in her outrage.

Harry found himself thinking that Brazil might be a very nice place to live. It was far away from Privet Drive, for a start. He wondered what it would take to get there.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in, Tuney?” Snape’s foot had blocked the door from closing. “I’m more than happy to have this confrontation on your front step if you’d prefer.”

“We, ah, brought some biscuits,” Lupin added. “Store bought. Assorted. With chocolate. Er, I’m, ah, we’re the new neighbors. So nice to meet you again.”

Petunia goggled at the lot of them.

She also stumbled back, which Snape seemed to take as an unspoken invitation. Harry found himself dragged along in the professor’s wake, with only Sirius’ hand on his shoulder to steady him in the swift tide of strangeness.

“I can’t believe your taste in interior decoration deteriorated into this level of disgusting kitsch and doilies, Tuna,” said the man who decorated with floating dead things in jars. Severus surveyed the photos on the wall, on the mantle, on the little side table. So many perfectly posed pictures of a happy family of three- mother, father, son- and a lock on the cupboard under the stairs. Narcissa had been absolutely right.

“Is that my jumper?” Harry jumped. Petunia’s voice was high and thin and quite peculiar.

“You’ve really done a terrible job of raising Potter,” said Snape, and Harry bristled. Of course Snape wanted to criticize him, Harry had been expecting the criticism, but he loathed the thought of his two biggest critics were now sharing notes and combining forces.

“Not only is he, like the majority of students, a careless menace in the laboratory, but I have also wasted entirely too much of my already limited time deciphering his atrocious penmanship to correct insipid essay after insipid essay only to see the same flawed reasonings repeated week after week.” It was news to Harry that he was supposed to read the sea of spidery red notes Snape deposited on every essay. It seemed rather unfair, given that Snape could fit five lines of text for every one line Harry wrote. The single “P”, or the occasional and welcome “A”, was more than sufficient in Harry’s view.

“That’s my jumper.” There was a touch of hysteria in Petunia’s tone now.

“He will be taking his O.W.L.s this year, his O-levels if you prefer,” Snape continued, demonstrating more confidence in Harry’s continued survival than Harry typically expected to hear from the Potions Master. “Unfortunately, his current record of scholastic mediocrity, his stubborn refusal to revise, and a peculiar incuriosity about magical theory does not bode well for his continued academic career.”

“You little bastard! That’s my goddamn jumper!” Petunia’s shriek derailed Snape’s momentum. The unexpected profanity from his aunt made Harry’s brain stutter to a halt.

“Tuna,” Snape frowned, “We’re not here to discuss my sartorial decisions and I will never take wardrobe critique from you. I only deigned to enter this suburban hellscape to discuss your horrendous failure to raise and parent Mr. Potter.”

“Biscuit, Harry?” Sirius offered, retrieving the tin from Remus.

“You stole my jumper!” Shockingly, Petunia’s epiphany failed to shatter glass. Yet.

“Didn’t,” sniffed Snape.

“I thought it was Lily who stole my jumper!”

“She did. I just hid it for her.”

“I bought that jumper myself! I’d saved up!”

“Yes, I know.”

“It was for an interview!”

“We wanted to spare you the humiliation of being seen in public wearing such a hideous thing. You even got that position, even if you didn’t keep it for very long.”

The biscuit was rather good, even without tea, and it was beginning to dawn on Harry that Snape and Aunt Petunia were more inclined to tear into one another than join forces against him. He felt oddly inclined to cheer for Professor Snape, despite the ranting about Harry’s scholastic shortcomings. Perhaps it was because Harry knew so little about his mother that every glimpse was a pearl he treasured.

“I want my jumper!” Did she learn that tone from her little Diddykins or had Dudley inherited that petulant demanding pitch from Petunia?

“And I want you to understand how your failure to nourish any academic inclinations Mr. Potter may have shown before the age of eleven may have rather dire consequences for futures beyond his own, but I fear we can’t all get what we want.” Remus handed Harry another biscuit before he could think to protest.

“Give me back my jumper!”

“Fine!” Snape finally snapped, fingers tearing at the buttons in wrathful haste. “Fine, here!”

Petunia caught the cardigan with her face and a squeak.

Severus Snape looked like a stranger again, in the ratty, oversized band shirt, hair disheveled from the jumper’s passage. Harry hadn’t seen the Dark Mark his professor had shoved under Minister Fudge’s nose in the Hospital Wing those few weeks ago, and he found himself oddly glad that the mark was concealed under a peculiar leather bracelet with metal studding. A wand holster, perhaps.

“Are you prepared to face your shortcomings now, Tuney?” That dangerously silky tone was entirely familiar, and Harry took another biscuit before he was told to go serve detention during summer vacation.

“It smells like Cokeworth,” Petunia’s complaint was bitter, for she dreaded the day her neighbors discovered the lingering taint of the Cokeworth streets sullying their Surrey security.

“Hey,” said Sirius, who had gone oddly still.

“I wasn’t going to take it to Hogwarts, was I?” Snape said. “It’s acrylic, you know that sort of stuff doesn’t hold up around magic.”

“Hey,” said Sirius. “Hey.” His face was a rictus of delight, as pleased as Petunia had been put out. “Snape. Isn’t that, isn’t that my shirt you’ve got on?”

“Oh, oh,” snarled Severus. “Not you too!”

#Severus Snape #Harry Potter #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #Petunia Dursley #Moving into Number Seven Privet Drive #Severus 100% wore the stolen sweater for the exact purpose of winding Tuney up #self-indulgent AU #My art #ficlet

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shdo-xplosion · 1 year

Text

INTRO: BEGIN TRANSMISSION

warnings: general warnings on the MASTERLIST! this chapter contains elements of fear, language barriers, and choking (not in a fun way) 1.4k

notes: this is just the beginning ( •⌄• ू )✧ plzplz tell me what you think!!!

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

“You sure you’re ready for this?”

Securing your helmet, you glance at Shinsou through the convex lense and laugh. “A little late to be asking that, don’t you think?”

“Just giving you the chance to hide under your blankies until this is all over,” he smirks.

“You mean hang out in the ship for the next two years? Think I’d die of boredom.”

When you’d first joined the crew you probably would have been able to entertain yourself for that long, exploring all the nooks and crannies of Hermes, but after years of learning all its secrets most of the mystery is gone.

“Just remember I gave you an out.”

“No outs allowed,” Kendou pipes up, voice distorted by her helmet speaker. “We’ve been preparing for this for years. We’re all ready.” She flexes both of her bionic hands, a subtle indication that she’s just as nervous as the rest of you.

The main door of the ship slides open in front of you, and Kendou leads the way out of the familiar territory and onto the shuttle platform, seven other crew mates following.

You’re all a very long way from home—light years away. The people you’ve left behind have all aged many years while you slept through the journey. Your entire home planet has changed drastically. And it’s only going to keep changing, keep degenerating. It’s why you’re here now.

Nobody knows exactly how to say this world’s name, but they sent a simple message that included something of an alphabet. Shinsou, your language expert, translated as best he could.

“The closest I can get as far as pronunciation is Destro, but they don’t really have vowels, so it’s more like dsst-ruh,” he tried to explain.

“Sounds a lot like ‘destroy’,” you had pointed out, trying to laugh off your unease.

Monoma snickered while throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you if anything spooky happens.”

It’s hard to get that out of your head as you make your way down the catwalk. Don’t look down, don’t look down, you repeat to yourself. The landing port and platform seem to be surrounded by nothing, a single lit up construct in the darkness. Though the station is in view, it looks very small.

Every step closer makes your stomach crawl higher in your throat, and by the time you make it to the massive doors that will grant you entry, you feel like throwing up.

“It’ll be fine,” Kendou’s voice sounds through her speaker. “We’re doing this for all of humanity.”

“You sound very brave,” Monoma snorts.

Shinsou, unwilling to wait apparently, steps forward and pounds on the door, unfazed when a large sphere drops out of nowhere, red light pointed in his face.

“Probably a camera,” he says.

“Or some kind of laser that’s about to melt your face off.”

“Helpful, Monoma. Very helpful,” you comment sarcastically.

Shinsou slowly holds up a gloved hand for the supposed camera to see, then speaks clearly: “Planet Earth. Humans.”

You don’t know what good it will do since they don’t speak your language, but whoever or whatever is on the other side of the doors must understand enough to know that you are not invaders but visitors.

The grind of the doors opening echoes in the abyss, a bone-chilling sound. You rest your hand on the gun at your hip, eyes widening as you’re finally able to see what lies ahead.

A handful of strangers are waiting for you, and you try to take in as much as you can in a short amount of time. Humanoid in stature aside from size, the same number of limbs, even their faces look similar to yours. But their eyes are different—sharp, the sclera (or what you assume to be), filled in red rather than white. What could be hair looks coarse and glitters in the light. There are markings on their cheeks and noses, different colors, and their skin, ranging in human hues, is smattered with scales.

Shinsou has his tablet ready, projecting a hologram of their alphabet so that he can point to the different letters that spell out ‘hello’ followed by ‘peace’.

The alien at the front of the group nods, grunts, then raises a hand and points at the device to spell something else out. Shinsou’s tablet collects each letter and translates them so that he can look at the rest of you and relay, “decontamination. I guess that’s the first thing we need to do.”

After a few more typed exchanges, the possible leader turns and motions your crew to follow his.

They’re taller than all of you, averaging anywhere between 7 and 8 feet, but the similarities are a little baffling to you. You suppose if their planet is anything like earth, the shared traits make sense. Maybe they’re taller because this world is richer in oxygen. Maybe their longer fingers have more webbing in between because they spend more time in water. Maybe the serrated teeth one of them flashes at you are for tearing apart tougher meat.

Or for ripping the throats from their prey.

You force a smile at the one looking down at you, hoping it isn’t an aggressive gesture. The way it puffs its chest out and shows more of its teeth makes you think it might be trying to smile back.

Despite your crew outnumbering theirs by three, you can’t help but feel watched, like there are many many more eyes on you that you can’t see. It makes your skin prickle, and you keep your hand close to your gun.

Another, smaller set of metal doors opens, and once inside the creature in charge points toward a room that looks to be made of glass. You can see through the walls, spot dozens of fixtures that resemble sprinkler spickets. Decontamination.

“Are we sure this is a good idea?” you ask Kendou. “We don’t know what they’re going to use on us. What if it’s acid or something?”

Her jaw is set, eyes trained on the room you’re being led to.

“It won’t be. If they wanted to hurt us, they wouldn’t have offered their help,” she reasons.

You’re not so sure about that.

“Suits off,” Shinsou says, holding up his tablet as if anyone else can read it. “There’s enough oxygen that we’ll be able to breathe.” He takes his helmet off to demonstrate, and you’re relieved when his head doesn’t explode on the spot. “It’s sort of like breathing at a high-altitude, though, so be ready for that.”

You have to fight every one of your instincts in order to strip yourself of your suit and helmet—your protection. It’s your life support when you’re traveling the stars. You feel completely vulnerable without it.

In nothing but underclothes, the 8 of you walk into the strange chamber. All you can think is that these might be the last few breaths that you ever take. This could all be a trap, no large step for mankind.

The door closes, and you stare through it, catching the red eyes of the alien who had been walking next to you. You think you see his mouth begin to pull up on one side just as a substance begins spraying from the spickets all around you.

It isn’t liquid nor is it gas—more like some kind of powder that coats your mouth and makes you cough. If it was hard to breathe before, it’s getting impossible now, this stuff clogging your throat and the throats of those around you.

The room is filled with violent hacking. Monoma vomits next to you, his watery eyes caked with whatever this is.

You wave a hand in front of your face in an attempt to dispel some of the flakes floating around you, searching for Kendou, for Shinsou, for an escape as you realize with terror that your gut instinct has been right. You never should have walked into this place, never should have taken one step off Hermes. This was a fruitless mission. This was arrogance, humans thinking you deserved to be helped.

Your vision is almost non-existent, and it feels like every inch of you is caked with whatever poison is pouring down on you. You bang on the wall with a desperation you’ve never felt before, screaming pleas you know the creatures don’t understand.

We’re dying. I’m dying. We came all this way to be killed.

The smiling alien watches you as you grow more and more light-headed. Whatever you’re inhaling burns your lungs, your mouth, the very inside of your skull.

The last thing you see before blacking out is the smiling alien’s split tongue running over its lips, a hungry beast waiting for its next meal.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #tw dark content

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mewmckenna · 2 months

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Miss Scarlet

So, I am sure by now that everyone has seen the news that Stuart Martin will not be returning for season five of MSATD. I know a lot of people are super disappointed that William is leaving the show, as am I, but honestly, I kind of feel that this could be a new opportunity for the show. It is obvious that the writers did not know that Stuart was leaving the show for good as they were writing last season, but with him being gone it makes the ending of season four almost better to me. Eliza is no longer working for Patrick, and while he is coming back and will likely not end up in prison (though who knows), I imagine Eliza won't go back to Nash & Sons. She was finally able to change the sign above her door to say "Miss Eliza Scarlet," something that seemed impossible to her in earlier seasons. Also, while Eliza is certainly fine at working with a few friends, she will never be the kind of manager that Patrick is as she's simply too independent and stubborn. It is for the better that she is at her own agency, able to do her thing without too much interference.

In a roundabout way, I think William's departure kind of brings everything together. Eliza is truly alone, without William or her father. Everything that she does now will be entirely up to her; she has no father or childhood friend to fall back on. I think that this, plus the name of the show changing to be just Miss Scarlet is a kind of bookend to how the show began. The producers and writers of the show have already hinted at this being the start of a shift in direction, and while the story was largely focused on the romance between William and Eliza during the first four seasons, I think that this gives the creators an opportunity to do more. By calling the show Miss Scarlet and the Duke, they were limited in what they could write. I know I have seen many people comment on how the show seemed to drag because of the drawn out will-they-won't-they between Eliza and William, something I noticed myself after the first couple of seasons.

Now, since it is apparent that they are no longer going to be the endgame couple, there is more freedom in the storyline and what the writers can do with the personal relationships. At the end of season four, it felt to me as though the show had sort of written itself into a corner concerning the title relationship of the show. In another recent post I even commented on how the relationship between the two would remain unchanged unless some drastic action by one of them, probably William. Obviously, I did not know that Stuart was planning on leaving the show, but I think my criticism still stands. Both Eliza and William cared too much about their jobs to ever be able to be truly happy together as we last saw them.

This is exactly the reason that William leaves for New York, and it could be very possibly that the way that they write him out of the show is with him deciding to stay in America. William had been considering quitting his position at Scotland Yard, but this was due to the conditions of his job at the time and how overworked he was, plus the draw of finally being able to be with Eliza. It feels very possible to me that he might change his mind upon entering a less stressful environment and decide not to come back to London. After all, William went months, if not a year, suspecting or knowing Eliza's feelings towards him and vice versa but he was still unwilling to give up his career to be with her. I don't fault William for this as Eliza does the same thing, but it does make his staying in New York a bit more believable.

So even though the show is not going to go in the direction we have all thought it would, I think that this could be a good thing. While we won't know if that is the case for likely a year, I am not going to call any judgements until season five is released. Though I think that the show has definitely benefitted from William's presence, it has always been about Eliza first and foremost and so I am excited to see what she gets up to next.

(Also here's to hoping that Ansu Kabia is included in later casting announcements as we have gone far too long without Moses)

#msatd #msatd s5 #msatd s4 #msatd spoilers #miss scarlet pbs #miss scarlet and the duke #eliza scarlet #william wellington #eliza x william #williza #scarnash #patrick nash #eliza x patrick

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oneshotnewbie · 1 year

Note

A blurb of Natasha shooting someone that kidnapped you pls?

Authors note: Just a little blurb today, sorry. The day was really exhausting; I haven't slept almost the whole night and a lot has happened that makes me a little not okay. Nevertheless I hope you like it ♥

---

"Shoot him in the hand." you gasped out of breath as you sat down on your lower legs on the floor; desperately holding the increasingly reddening area on your throat, where a few moments ago his hand tried to take your life.

Natasha looked over her shoulder at your body crouched on the floor; her gun gripped tightly in her hand and aimed at the large and muscular body. Her emerald green eyes were dark and while she would not admit it publicly, they were filled with concern but also relief that she had found you at the right time.

At your statement, her eyebrow furrowed questioningly and her lips pressed together; confused and not knowing why you chose that particular spot. "Why? There are dozens of places to non-fatally shoot someone, and there are much bigger targets too. I could miss the hand."

"Yes, but you won´t." you gasped, slowly finding your voice and letting it successfully escape through the previously pinched airway. "Not when this way comes with the option of destroying his hand forever. He’ll literally never be able to do this to anyone ever again.”

The redhead went insane at the thought of what could have happened to you if she had not tracked down your existence. She had helped to set Alexander Pierce free by trusting him and letting him escape. If Natasha had known that he just wanted out to get revenge on you and kill you in front of her, she would never have let him take a damn foot out of the cell.

But she did and you were gone in less than 24 hours. Pierce had taken you and through torture tried to get information about the whereabouts of the data stick that Fury gave to Steve. You persisted, unwilling to tell him something that could kill your entire crew and instead remained silent. This resulted in masses of broken bones, lacerations and other injuries.

Black Widow, who meanwhile had turned her gaze back to the man in front of her, tilted her head to the side and you could feel her grin even when your back was turned to her. "It’s evil, but it’s so tempting.”

The click of the gun as the redhead loaded her shot gave you a moment of reassurance. Only now had your body dared to safety, adrenaline draining from your veins and allowing you to take along, deep breath.

The soft click of the trigger sounded in the storehouse before the propellant began to explode with the characteristic sound, catapulting the projectile out of the gun´s barrel and accelerating.

The sound of the cartridge case clattering on the concrete behind you mingled with Pierce´s scream of pain as the bullet drilled through his hand; ripping through skin and muscle and shattering his skullcap with a crunching crack.

"Touch her again and I will break your hands and chop your fingers off."

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wanderinginksplot · 7 months

Text

Refuge Chapter Six

Continued slow-burn Delta Squad x fem!reader fic

Now that you've made your decision, the real work begins.

Word Count: 4,700

Warnings: Mild suspicions, explosions, mentions of theft and pickpocketing

Previous | Next | Masterlist

---

Training

“And certain you are of this choice?” Master Yoda asked you, his voice grave.

You hesitated, unwilling to lie. Were you certain? No, not entirely. But despite your lack of confidence, this was the right decision. You knew that much. Your gut - maybe the Force, maybe just instinct - was drawing you toward Delta Squad, and you knew better than to go against a feeling that strong.

“This is the correct choice,” you answered eventually, deciding on simple honesty.

Yoda's eyes - disproportionately large and disconcertingly insightful - were locked on you for a heart-pounding moment before he nodded slowly. "Agree with you, I do. As does the Council."

That took a moment to filter past the roaring in your ears, but the kind nods and gentle smiles from the Council behind the diminutive Jedi master helped you understand.

"Thank you," you said, fighting back a wince at the tremors you could hear in your own voice.

"It will not be a simple task," Master Unduli warned. "We will not send you into the field without any training."

"Training?" you repeated, frowning at the unexpected revelation.

"Yes, training." Master Windu's tone was firm. "At the very least, we will teach you to recognize when you're using the Force. Beyond that, you'll get training on how to infiltrate an area, basic combat abilities, weapons training, and as much information about Separatist battle plans and tactics as we can manage."

"And how long will that take?" you asked carefully, striving not to sound ungrateful.

“Likely a few weeks,” Master Unduli calculated. “Delta Squad will complete their next mission alone. You will not accompany them until the following mission.”

“A few weeks,” you mused. It was a shorter span of time than you had expected, but you still had some questions. “I’m sorry, Masters, but that seems like an extremely short amount of time. Am I going to be able to learn everything I need to know by then?”

“It will be a lot of work,” Master Windu warned, his brows lowered into a foreboding line. “You must be prepared for that.”

“The reason your training will not last longer is that we are not teaching you to be a Jedi,” Master Unduli explained. “You will learn some control exercises, but you only need to use them when your emotions begin to get the best of you. You will practice controlling your emotions and recognizing when you are beginning to lose that control. You will learn the basics of working in a combat situation, as well as the expectations of working with the GAR.”

You nodded, but Yoda spoke next. “Warn you, we must. Instructed, Delta Squad has been. If signs of betrayal they see, inform us they will. Watching, we will be.”

“I understand,” you agreed. “When do I start?”

“Today.”

“I’m sorry?” you said politely to Master Yoda. You had heard some of the younglings in the Temple talk about the tiny green Jedi, and all of it was done in tones of awe. He, apparently, was one of the most powerful Jedi to have ever lived… and he had lived for a great deal longer than it would seem. It paid to be polite, even if you were taken fully aback by the answer he had given you.

“One of the instructors, Master Vildon Haze, is going to begin training you in control techniques,” Master Unduli told you. “This afternoon, your instruction will be undertaken by an expert in the criminal underworld of the galaxy, Master Tera Sinube.”

“So, control over my feelings and learning about the criminal underworld,” you summarized. “Are those going to be the two main things I focus on?”

“Consider this your first lesson,” Master Windu said, not unkindly. “Trust that we know the correct path for you. Save your questions for the things that really matter.”

You bowed your head slightly, trying to decide whether that was something you were able to accept as a good idea. You had always overflowed with questions, doing your best to learn about everything and everyone around you - it was what had helped you survive the Separatists as long as you had. The idea of trying to change that facet of yourself was… uncomfortable.

No, not change, you amended internally. Just bite back. Push it down for a little while as you trained in the Jedi temple. They were not asking you to become a Jedi. As soon as you learned what you needed to know to function alongside Delta Squad, you would be on your own once more and could ask every question that came into your head.

With that in mind, you nodded. “Yes, Masters.”

—

"How do you think the jetii will go about training her?" Scorch asked in a rare quiet moment.

"That really what you're thinking about right now?" Fixer bit out, checking his blaster for damage.

Scorch shrugged. "What else should I be thinking about?"

Boss stared at him, inclining his head to indicate the current situation. "Finding a way out of this cave would be a good place to start."

"I have a way: a thermal detonator, some explosive tape, and a reckless disregard for life." With that, Scorch finished rigging the improvised blasting system and patted the rock wall beside it. He knew better than to risk patting the system itself. "There you go. Done in less than two minutes and I was able to think about the newest Delta at the same time. Try to act like you aren't impressed."

"I'm not impressed," Sev snapped. "You're the reason we're stuck here in the first place."

It was true, but Scorch didn't let that bother him. Anyone could have thrown a thermal detonator that had a forgotten piece of blasting tape stuck to it. It was just bad luck that the combined explosion had been strong enough to start a rock slide that trapped Delta Squad in a cave.

"Look on the bright side," Scorch suggested. "At least there aren't any enemies out there."

Sev scoffed, but Boss looked at the entrance of the cave, hidden behind a messy spill of rocks. He activated his HUD’s heat sensor with a twitch of his cheek and performed a brief search for living organisms outside. He gave a short nod.

"Scorch is right: if there are wets out there, they're either dead or dying."

"Just wait until this hits 'em," Scorch agreed, indicating his work on the perimeter of the slide. “Speaking of, take cover.”

Sev wordlessly led the retreat toward the back of the cavern. He had been front and center for most of Scorch’s exploits since… well, since Kamino. Boss and Fixer had been present for more than a few, but their pace was too slow. It told Scorch they didn’t understand what was about to happen, not really.

Ah, well. They’d find out soon enough. Scorch moved to the closest possible spot that could still be deemed safe, broadcasted a short countdown in the inter-HUD comm channel, and activated the detonator.

The resulting explosion was stunning, even to the person who had set the charges.

A blinding flash and a deafening roar did their best to destroy two of Scorch’s senses, but the wave broke against the muffling plastoid of his helmet. When the dust settled, there was an open space where the previously blocked entrance to the cave had been.

“Mission accomplished,” Scorch announced, rising from his protective crouch.

Fixer was cursing into the squad comm channel while Sev growled something foul in Mando’a. Boss strove for a milder tone. “Scorch, you think you might have overshot the parameters of the assignment?”

Scorch turned, arms open wide as he indicated the space around him and over his head. “You said you wanted it clear, Boss. I got it clear. Besides, didn’t the Sarge always teach us that commandos go above and beyond? Or… wait. That might have been the holos of propaganda they show to the natties. But at least we have a clear exit.”

Boss snorted at Scorch’s rambling. As he passed by, taking point as always, Scorch saw his helmet tip back as he admired the results of the demolition job. Or, at least, that’s what he should have been doing. There was room for all of them to leave the cave side-by-side (disregarding the rubble, of course), and the new opening was tall enough to pilot a LAATi through if they had brought one. Honestly, the cave probably wouldn’t last much longer with so much of its structure gone, but it was still standing now.

Scorch gave himself a pat on the back for that.

“I’m still waiting on an answer,” he reminded the others, trailing behind them. They had left the cave while Scorch admired his own work, leaving him to huck his slightly-lighter pack over his shoulder and hustle after them. “What do you think the jetii are doing to train her?”

“Hopefully some basic weapons drills,” Boss replied absently, checking for enemies before he led Delta around a corner.

“Like a jetii knows anything about any weapon other than a lightsaber,” Sev told him, voice sour. “What else do they do to train? They’re probably teaching her a bunch of mystical osik.”

“Watch your tone, oh-seven,” Fixer warned.

Boss’s voice was carefully bland when he responded, ignoring Fixer entirely. “Do you have a problem with me letting someone new join Delta Squad, Sev?”

“She’s not joining us, she’s tagging along,” Sev said.

“You’re the one who said she could keep up with us,” Fixer reminded him.

“Yeah, as a civilian,” Sev emphasized. “But she isn’t gonna be coming as a civvie. If she’s trained by the jetii, she’ll be considered part of the GAR.”

Boss was still wearing his helmet, but it was clear from his tone that he was frowning, unable to see the problem. “And..?”

“And, GAR personnel are all considered expendable,” Sev bit out. “She won’t be protected. She’ll have to come along on all of our missions. And we know what kind of missions we get sent on.”

“Kandosii'la ones?” Scorch suggested.

Sev’s frosty silence said that he didn’t agree with Scorch’s upbeat assessment. “Dangerous ones. Ones where a civvie might be able to wait in the ship or be kept out of the action, but a GAR staff member would be expected to pitch in and keep up. And no month of training is enough for her to do that, especially when that training is being done by the jetii.”

“We’ll just have to keep her safe,” Fixer decreed. “We decided she could be helpful, didn’t we? That hasn’t changed just because her status might.”

“It changes more than you think,” Sev bit out. “We barely got outta that back there. How do you think an untrained civvie would have done? They send us on the missions that can’t be done by standard troopers, and now they want someone with no augmentations to help. And how is she going to help us at all? She did well enough on her planet, but that place was a hundred years behind the rest of the galaxy. She’ll be out of her depth every day, especially with us. She doesn’t have any useful skills other than being ignored.”

Silence fell in the inter-HUD chat as the members of Delta Squad considered that point… though, of course, they disguised it as concentration on picking their way back through the complex network of caves that led back to where they had left the ship. Sev wasn’t known for making long and passionate speeches about anything. The fact that he was doing it now about a civilian who may or may not be considered half a Jedi was concerning.

They had nearly reached the ship by the time Boss spoke. “For whatever reason, the GAR and the jetii decided that she would work well with us. Civvie or not, skilled or not, she’s part of the squad now.”

The quiet was oppressive until Scorch decided to break it with his favorite weapon: a joke. “Don’t worry, Sev. Worst case, we’ll just send her back to the Triple Zero and forget she ever existed.”

Sev didn’t answer out loud, but the rest of Delta Squad saw the slight, doubtful shake of his head.

—

Your time at the Jedi Temple passed much the way you had assumed it would. As the members of the Council had told you, your training consisted mostly of time spent learning to control your emotions and to do basic surveillance.

Master Haze was normally assigned to work with the younglings of the Jedi Temple. The Iktotchi female was particularly skilled with children, but she was able to adapt her teaching style to one that you responded to quite well. You felt like you were improving rapidly on controlling your emotional response to everything that had happened. With her guidance, you had confronted your two major sources of emotional turmoil: your grief about the past and your fear about the future.

Master Sinube was an elderly male Jedi. You weren't familiar with his species and it felt rude to ask. In any case, he was often overlooked by others. Whether it was because of his age or his tendency to ramble, Master Sinube was constantly underestimated by those around him. Under his tutelage, you learned to see beyond sight, to listen instead of simply hear, and to don an unremarkable aura like a cloak.

Eventually, you added a third piece of training, done in the form of lessons with Jedi Master Quinlan Vos.

Master Vos was another expert in the criminal underworld. While Master Sinube specialized in the peoples of Coruscant, Master Vos had a more generalized skill set. More importantly, he was still actively going undercover and knew the intricacies of how the war had impacted crime.

Realistically, you were underprepared for war. You had gone from never having left your home to preparing for galaxy-wide travel, all in a very short span of time. If you had the choice, you would elect for more training, but - as the Masters reminded you - you would resume training between missions, every time you were on Coruscant. For now, you had gained an understanding of the way things worked. That didn’t feel like it would be enough, but the hope was that any gaps would be covered by your connection to the Force.

In any case, you were far beyond where you had been when you first arrived at the Jedi Temple. You had formed connections with the Jedi, learned to balance your emotions with your new-found abilities, and learned how to navigate through the underworld you would find on all too many planets through the galaxy. Did you feel ready? No. But the Jedi Masters constantly assured you that you were ready, and that would have to be good enough.

Finally, you were called into the Council’s chambers. There were several Masters missing. That wasn’t unusual - the demands of war took them all away from Coruscant, though some more often than others - but some of the faces you had relied on seeing were gone. A blue, flickering version of Master Unduli hovered just over her customary chair, but Master Windu wasn’t present even in hologram form. Still, you had gotten familiar with some of the other masters over your time at the Temple and weren’t completely lost in the group.

“You have made excellent progress over the past few weeks,” Master Fisto told you, a broad grin stretched across his face. “How do you feel?”

You straightened your shoulders, trying to project confidence as you matched Master Fisto’s smile. “I know I have a great deal left to learn, but I feel I’m much better off than when I first arrived. Thank you all for helping me.”

The typical Jedi bow felt odd and alien still, but you gave a deep nod to show your respect to the gathered Masters and were happy to see them respond in kind.

“We must have some proof of your abilities before we send you into the field,” Master Secura warned. “It would be irresponsible of us to order an untested civilian into danger without knowing that you can look after yourself.”

“I understand,” you agreed easily. “What do you want me to do?”

The other Masters glanced at Master Yoda. The diminutive being beamed at you. “A special mission, we have for you…”

—

Fixer bit back a sigh as he watched Scorch crane his head around, trying to look in every direction at once. Delta Squad had been on Coruscant before, but it had been a different quadrant and, apparently, Scorch thought this new one was just as interesting.

Not that it would have mattered if Delta had been assigned to that very neighborhood where they had been last time. Given the cramped space and the incredible population density, even that small area had probably changed dramatically in the time since Delta had left. There were only so many beings who could occupy the same space before homeostasis became impossible.

He couldn’t really blame Scorch for studying their surroundings so eagerly… but that didn’t stop him from being irritated. “Six-Two, you’ll hurt your neck if you keep doing that.”

Scorch’s only reply was a scoff, but he did dial it back, relying on the holocams embedded in his HUD to provide him with a 360° image of the crowded street they were walking down. The buildings towered overhead, narrowing the sky to a slight flash of light between the transports caught in a line of traffic. Even here, on the top level of Coruscant, seeing the sky was a luxury reserved only for those who could pay for it.

“I don’t know why the jetii had us run their errands,” Sev bit out, his low voice harsh over the crispness of their in-HUD comms. “Isn’t it enough we’re fighting their war?”

“Sev,” Boss warned. “Stow the attitude. It took us four minutes out of our way.”

“And you’re not even the one carrying the shuk’yc box,” Fixer added. He thought about tapping the small rectangle at his belt for emphasis, but he could feel Sev’s glare through both of their helmets and knew his brother had gotten the point.

“What are the medals for, anyway?” Scorch asked, apparently having gotten his fill of the streets of the Triple Zero. “Are we getting promoted?”

The snort could have come from anyone, but Fixer’s credits were on Sev.

“Pretty sure they’re jetii-specific,” Boss told him. “Counts out any of us verde.”

“Shame,” Scorch said carelessly. “I could use a new rank.”

“Why?” Fixer asked, unable to prevent himself from tossing out the barbed comment that had come to him. “You aren’t doing much with your current one.”

“Because I’m not being challenged,” Scorch complained.

“That isn’t true,” Sev joined in. “Just because you haven’t beaten a challenge doesn’t mean you haven’t gotten any.”

Fixer snickered as Scorch threw an elbow at the deep-voiced commando. “Har, har, Sev. If you want to see a real challenge-”

“Men,” Boss said sharply, cutting off whatever antics that may have started. “Pipe down and hurry up. We have a meeting with the jetii and I don’t want to be late.”

Delta Squad obliged, the men cutting their bickering short as they picked up the pace. Fortunately, their white armor and the intimidating shape of the commando visors helped them cut effortlessly through the crowd.

Or almost effortlessly.

Even as the thought crossed his mind - though it was couched in the uncomfortable realization that they were designed to protect these beings and most of them were more scared of Delta Squad than they would have been of Grievous himself - a short form collided with Fixer.

He glanced down in surprise, catching sight of wide eyes and a gasping mouth under a deep hood before the being gave a hoarse yelp, ducked its head, and scurried away.

“However much Procurement spent on the proximity sensors in your armor,” Scorch remarked, “I’m glad to know it wasn’t wasted on you, Fixer.”

Fixer rolled his eyes, grumbling at his loud-mouthed brother, and focused on their path through the city.

“Do you think she’s done training?” Boss asked, unprompted. There was a beat of silence between them, one that stretched only a millisecond too long before Boss added, “That’s why they’ve brought us back here. It has to be.”

“You don’t think they would send her to meet us somewhere?” Sev asked.

“No.”

Scorch, sounding uncharacteristically uncertain, said, “She’s only been with them a few weeks. Maybe they brought us here for something else?”

Fixer shook his head. “We’re not important enough to be invited to meet with the Jedi Council if it doesn’t have to do with her. Do you think we’ll be invited to see her graduation ceremony?”

“She’s not a shiny leaving Kamino for the first time,” Sev told him derisively. “They won’t give her a ceremony. They probably won’t even evaluate her skills.”

“How would they, with the skills they say she has?” Boss asked.

“I would start with a basic weapons skill test.” Scorch shook his head. “Gonna guess that would be asking too much from the Jedi. Do any of them have to take tests?”

“Sort of,” Fixer told him, watching from the corner of his eye as a group of younglings appeared and started begging for credits from the people walking just ahead of Boss. Well, half of them were begging, the other half were picking pockets. They were smart enough not to try either move on the troopers. “They pass a ‘Trial’, but there’s no telling what that is. Sometimes the Jedi create it, but it’s usually something that happens to them in the field. A challenge they overcame.”

There was a curious pause after that, but Fixer kept his eyes on the surprisingly skilled younglings. Eventually, Boss huffed out half a laugh. “Didn’t know you were an expert on the Jedi, Fixer.”

Fixer shrugged. “Pays to know about the people in charge of commanding the GAR.”

He, of course, didn’t offer up the information that he had only recently become interested in the Jedi, what was expected of them, and what they were and weren’t allowed to do. Very recently.

“We’re getting close on time,” Boss commented. Fixer’s HUD chronometer told him the same thing. “Double-time, men.”

At the commandos’ increased pace, they were at the Jedi Temple before any more conversation could be had. Fixer didn’t mind. Despite their best efforts, Delta was a little late to the meeting - not by more than a few minutes, but from Boss’s impatient huffs in the repulsorlift, it was too much.

Still, when they got to the Jedi Council’s chamber, their entrance didn’t interrupt anything. The Council members were sitting in peaceful silence other than a few scattered conversations between holofigures. You were nowhere to be found.

Boss snapped a crisp salute and the rest of Delta followed his lead. “Delta Squad, reporting. Apologies for our tardiness, sirs.”

“Worry not,” General Yoda assured him. “Started, we have not.”

“Yes, we could hardly begin the proceedings without you,” General Kenobi agreed, seemingly amused by some kind of private joke. Fixer couldn’t say what was funny, but at least the Jedi didn’t seem to be laughing at them.

“Where is she?” Scorch asked, and Fixer was relieved to see that his brother had asked it in their inter-HUD comm channel rather than aloud. “Shouldn’t she already be here?”

“Maybe she’s late, too?” Fixer suggested.

“Or she didn’t want to see Scorch’s di’kutla face again,” Sev opined.

“You two don’t want to see the punishment I cook up if you start bickering in front of the Jedi Council,” Boss warned, voice heavy with threat.

There was no more inter-HUD communication.

The quiet in the chamber was so intense that Fixer nearly jumped when the repulsorlift in the atrium warned of another arrival. He turned reflexively and was thankful for the cover of his helmet when he saw you hurrying into the room.

He expected you to look flustered, but your general appearance of disarray seemed to be due to excitement and… pleasure? You were wearing an odd assortment of clothing - an ill-fitting, bland-looking array of gray, brown, and dark green - though the bright yellow of your vambraces flashed through the gloom.

As you walked forward, Fixer’s training leapt to the front of his mind. There was armor in your clothing. Not much of it, but enough to reduce the risk of being hurt.

After you had been politely greeted by the Council, General Windu arched his brows. “And? Did you succeed?”

“I did!” you confirmed with a joyful smile, reaching toward one hip.

“Perhaps you should tell Delta Squad about your mission first?” General Secura encouraged.

“Of course,” you said, a slight hint of embarrassment dimming your happiness for only a moment. When you turned toward them, your brow creased oddly. “Why are you still wearing your helmets?”

The question hung heavy in the air for a moment before Boss broke the seal between his helmet and his body glove, pulling off his bucket and tucking it under one arm. The rest of the squad followed his example, and were rewarded with another beaming smile from you.

“I was given a single piece of information and sent to use it however I thought most appropriate,” you explained. Privately, Fixer thought that was a little vague, but you continued. “In this case, I was told that a group of soldiers was going to pick up some Jedi artifacts.”

General Koon leaned forward in his chair, templing his long fingers. “And what did you do with that information?”

“I tracked Delta Squad from the GAR dockyards and followed them until they picked up the artifacts. I was able to recover them from Fixer and then tailed them the rest of the way here. They never saw me.”

“Is that true?” General Windu asked Boss. “Did you or any of your men see her or otherwise suspect that something may have been wrong?”

“I had no idea,” Boss told him, a shade of respect in his tone. “Men?”

“Not a clue,” Scorch chimed easily.

Sev shook his head.

Fixer opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His stomach twisted unpleasantly. That small box - its weight nearly imperceptible - weighed heavy in the pouch at his hip. You hadn’t gotten the medallions from him, but could he make the Jedi somehow believe that you had? Maybe if he pretended he had put them in a different pouch…

At last, he realized that he probably wouldn’t be able to lie to an entire group of Jedi. He pulled the box from his belt.

“I… still have this, though,” he admitted, trying to apologize to you with his eyes alone. Another trooper would have understood the non-verbal communication in a moment, but natties only knew what they could hear out loud.

He held the box out to you, but you only watched him with amusement on your face. “Open it.”

Fixer pulled the box back, staring at it for a moment before he did as you said. The box opened easily, revealing an utter lack of contents.

General Windu cleared his throat. “Again. Did any of you see her or suspect something was wrong?”

Fixer shook his head slowly. “No. I- I never even felt someone touch the box.”

“Does that mean I passed?” you asked.

“Yes,” General Yoda said, inclining his wrinkled head. His expression grew solemn the next moment. “But warn you, we must: face many more challenges on the battlefield, you will. Hmm… difficult challenges indeed.”

“I understand, Master,” you said, offering a bow to the gathered Jedi. “Thank you all for the training and allowing me this opportunity. I look forward to using what I’ve already learned and learning more every time I return to Coruscant.”

General Yoda smiled kindly. General Windu looked to Boss. “Boss, you and Delta Squad are scheduled to leave Coruscant early tomorrow morning. You’ll be accompanying the Wolfpack on a relief mission. We’ll meet for a briefing at twenty-one thirty.”

Boss saluted. “Yes, sir!”

“C’mon,” Scorch urged, cutting his salute short to tug at your arm. “Drop off those medals and we’ll find a fun way to spend our time planetside.”

---

Author's Note - Not a huge fan of this chapter, honestly, but we needed to get it out of the way to set up for the next few! Thank you to those who have been reading and leaving kind comments and waiting so patiently. I appreciate you!

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#star wars #star wars fanfiction #reader insert #refuge #star wars the clone wars #star wars republic commando #star wars legends #delta squad #refuge fic #female reader insert #republic commando #delta squad x fem!reader #sergeant boss #boss #fixer #scorch #sev #ink's fics #more to come

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