#I wanted this for the last day of the challenge
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Wrong Delivery
Summary: Sleepin' with the hot construction guy doing the remodel at your work, he winds up buying flowers for someone else...
Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI go on get! No outbreak/pre outbreak(you decide), fluff, smut, miscommunication, cussing, oral f!receiving, unprotected piv(don't do that, make smart choices), cream pie, Joel being a dork.
A/N: First time I've ever actually finished a Joel story I started working on! Many thanks to @strang3lov3 for the encouragement and taking a look at this, @jay-zzle as always for giving me ideas and making moodboards for me because I hate doing them myself! ❤️❤️❤️
🌹This is for @morallyinept’s flora & fauna challenge! 🌹
Divider provided by @saradika-graphics
Masterlist||AO3 Link
As you rush into the building, trying to avoid the construction team surrounding the place, a timid smile crosses your face when you spot Joel, the man responsible for why you’re running late this morning. Instead of getting ready for work like you were supposed to, Joel Miller decided he wanted to spend his morning coaxing another orgasm out of you, as if the three last night weren’t enough. It’s been a couple of months of this.
It had never been your intention to start sleeping with the hot contractor who had been doing construction at your place of work, you both just happened to be at the same bar one night. One thing led to another and now it’s been this, whatever this is.
“Mornin’ guys,” you say passing the crew, each giving their own sort of greeting back, be it a grunt of acknowledgment or repeating the greeting.
“Mornin’ ma’am,” Joel says with a cheeky smile, “Runnin’ a little late?”
“Yeah, woke up late,” you shrugged, feeling your face heat up.
“There you are!” Becky shouts, making her way towards you, “Angie is up my ass right now about where you are with those reports you said you’d get done yesterday.”
“On it,” you sigh, “Nice talking to you Joel.”
“Oh!” Becky said with a smile, grabbing his bicep, “Hi Joel! You guys sure have been working hard on all of this.”
You try to keep your eyes from rolling at Becky’s consistent attempt at flirting with Joel. She has definitely tried her hardest to get his attention, made cookies “for the crew” but only handed some of them to Joel, tries to talk to him every chance she can, wearing lower cut tops so her cleavage is on full display, batting eyelashes and laughing at any dumb thing he says. It’s starting to get on your nerves, if you’re being honest. Making your way to your desk you open the drawer, shoving your purse inside before closing it and turning on your computer. You open the teams app, sending Angie a quick message to let her know you’ll put the file with the reports in the folder outside her door, grabbing the file and making your way to her office.
Becky is still talking Joel’s ear off and you have to stifle your laugh, watching his eyebrows scrunch together and his polite nod before excusing himself. She catches you as you're on your way back to your cubicle to start the work day.
“That Joel Miller is a man,” Becky sighs, walking beside you, “The things I would let him do to me.”
“Oh jeez,” you laugh awkwardly, sitting down at your desk.
“I wonder what his dick is like,” she continues, “I bet it’s big.”
You turn to your computer hoping she can’t see the look on your face because then the jig would be up.
“Uhm,” you say, clearing your throat, “You better be careful. Don’t wanna get turned into HR.”
—
“Hello,” a frazzled delivery guy announces himself at the entrance to your cubicle. “I have a delivery for you, miss.”
“For me?!” Becky asks excitedly, seeing the bouquet of flowers. The delivery guy nodded, handing her the flowers. “Who are they from?!”
“Uh… Joel Miller?” The guy says, looking at his sheet. Your jaw drops upon hearing his words. Why on earth would Joel send Becky flowers?
“Oh my god!” Becky squeals with delight, grabbing the card, “Aw! Look! It says darlin’ on the envelope!”
Becky opens the card, reading it aloud:
“Figured a pretty lady like you should have some flowers to look at. Been havin’ the time of my life gettin’ to know ya and would love to take you out. He signed it off with a heart and J. Miller! How sweet is that?!”
Beside yourself on handling this, the only thing you could think of was finding the man himself. If this entire thing between you two was just for fun so be it, but you needed answers.
“Real sweet,” you mutter standing up, “I’m… uh… I’ll be back.”
“Okay.” Becky hums dreamily, staring at the flowers on her desk.
You make your way to the front of the building, spotting Gus, one of the construction guys.
“Can you tell Joel I need to talk to him?”
“Sorry ma’am, he had to leave earlier, something about Tommy.” Gus shrugs.
“Uhm… okay.” You nod, deciding to make your way to the breakroom, sitting at one of the tables trying to collect your thoughts. Maybe it’s for the best that he left. That way the entire building wouldn’t see you blow up. Are you even still supposed to see each other tonight? That had been the plan when he left this morning. What the actual fuck, you think to yourself, give annoying ass Becky flowers to ask her out, and then fuck you? That two-timing son of a bitch!
“So fucking stupid,” you mutter to yourself.
—
You make it through the workday, as best as you can, trying not to think of Joel and how mad you are all while Becky continues to talk about him all day. What should she wear, wondering where he’d take her, what they would do, should she sleep with him on the first date. Hopefully, the Excedrin will kick in soon to help with the teeth grinding headache you’ve had all day. Walking to your car Becky’s shrill voice rings out wishing you a good evening.
“Yeah, you too,” you grumble, pulling your car door open and throwing your purse inside. You’re still so mad, fuming, seeing red as you drive towards your place. Once getting home, you quickly change into comfy clothes, and see you have a text from Joel.
JMiller: Can’t wait to see you beautiful ;) Leavin’ Tommy’s
You scowl looking at the text. How do you even respond to that? Petty, that’s how.
You: K.
You see the text bubbles pop up, disappear then pop up again before his face shows on your screen with an incoming call.
“Hello,” you snap.
“Hey,” Joel says hesitatingly, “Bad day at work?”
“Well, Becky got some lovely flowers delivered at work.”
“Oh?”
“Yep,” you say with a harsh pop at the end.
“And?” Joel asks, “Is that it?”
“Delivery guy and card said they were from you.”
“Fuck me,” Joel groans “Those were not for goddamn Becky!”
“Sure about that?”
“I got them for you.” Joel argues.
“Yeah, okay.” You huff into the receiver, rolling your eyes. “Look, I get it. It’s fine if you didn’t want this going anywhere but you could’ve been honest with me about it.”
“Fuck, darlin’,” Joel groans, “I do want this going somewhere! Like I said, the flowers were for you!”
“Sure,” you say, shaking your head, “Just be honest, Joel. This has just been fun, that’s it. You’re getting your dick wet, stringing me al—“
“God damn it! I am telling the truth!” Joel growls, cutting you off. “I even have proof!”
“What proof?!” You spit back, “The proof of the flowers you sent Becky? Yeah, I saw them, and the card too. Sweet touch signing it off with a heart and then your name.”
Suddenly there is a knock on your door. You cock your head to the side, hearing the knock sound through the phone as well. Of fucking course, Tommy’s is a five minute drive to your place, making your way to the door you swing it open to see Joel standing there. His nostrils flared, phone held up to his ear, dropping it and angrily stuffing it back into his pocket.
“Just give me five minutes, I swear, they were meant for you and I have fuckin’ proof,” Joel says, holding up a piece of paper.
“What the fuck, Joel?” You groan, smacking your phone onto the entry table. “Why are you here?”
“I was on my way home from Tommy’s. Figure I’d come here first,” Joel says, holding the paper out to you, “Go on, look at it.”
You grab it, glancing it over. Farrah’s Flowers printed at the top, with your name listed as the order’s recipient, eyes bulging out of your head as you look at him.
“Told you.”
“Wait, then how the fuck did they get to Becky then?”
“Somebody fucked up, that’s all I know but that is my copy of the receipt for buyin’ them in the first place, and that is your name on it,” Joel smirks in triumph, crossing his arms across his broad chest.
Your shoulders relax as you open the door wider, motioning your head for him to come in. He gives a subtle nod, making his way into your home, you slump against the door once it’s closed.
“Joel,” you start, “What the fuck are we?”
He cages you against the door, pushing his lower half into you. You sigh, looping your arms around his neck, looking at those dark chocolate eyes.
“Well,” Joel says, kissing your cheek, “I want you,” placing a soft kiss against your lips, “More than just for sex,” he whispers, against your lips breathing in each other's air causing you to feel a dizzying arousal. Lips collide with him in a hungry kiss, tongues rolling against one another, gasping when his hands creep down to hook around your thighs lifting you, grabbing onto your ass before pulling you away from the door and carrying you to your bedroom.
Joel lays you down on your bed hovering over you, never breaking away from your lips, licking into your mouth with desperation like this might be his last chance. Arousal begins pool in your underwear. Hands gliding down his back, feeling the warmth radiating from him, lifting the bottom of his shirt until he finally lifts to fling it off.
“Don’t want anyone else,” Joel husks, lightly biting your neck, causing you to moan at the sensation of his teeth against your skin, “Just you.”
“Joel,” you whimper as his hand travels down the length of your shirt, pushing it up to expose your tits, ducking his head down. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the stiffened peak before switching to give the other equal attention, kissing a trail down the soft flesh of your stomach until he reaches the top of your leggings.
“Can I?” He asks, looking at you, fingers hooking into your waistband. You give a firm nod and he pulls them off along with your underwear. He sighs once they are off, using his shoulders to spread your legs further apart, “So fucking pretty,” he hums, nipping and kissing along your inner thighs, slowly making his way to your center.
You can feel his breath against your folds, trembling with anticipation for his tongue and lips to make contact, letting out a soft moan Joel begins lapping at your folds, sucking your bundle of nerves into his mouth. Tongue massaging circles against your clit.
“Fuck,” you moan, raking your fingers through his hair and lightly tugging.
Joel’s hum reverberated into your core. His mouth opened and he began to fuck you with his tongue while firmly holding your gaze. You’re back arched at the sensation, letting out a gasp. You roll your hips against his face, his nose pressing deliciously against your clit. He grunts, moving his thumbs to spread your lips, licking a stripe up to your clit and sucking it into his mouth. Your legs begin to shake at the sensation.
“Oh my god, Joel!” You whine, arching your back, feeling the band tightening within your core, begging for release. Joel sinks two of his thick fingers into you causing you to cry out, moving them to massage that sweet spot against your walls, “Yes! Oh my god, fuck!” You could feel the smug smirk on his face, knowing you’re about to come.
“Come on,” he coos, firmly licking your bundle of nerves “Let me have it baby.”
You cry his name out over and over as you feel the waves of pleasure crashing through you. He continues lapping at your folds, wanting to make sure he gets every last drop before you push his head away. He crawls up the length of your body, the denim of his jeans scratching against your skin.
“Good?” He asks, you nod giggling and he smirks, grabbing the nape of his neck you pull him closer to your face, looking into your eyes he whispers a hi. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face, surging forward to kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue. He groans into your mouth, grinding his bulge against your center, the rough denim providing friction against your core. His hand moves to his belt, swiftly unhooking it and unbuttoning his jeans. Hands sliding down to help him push the denim off his hips, boxers following suit. You grip his hard length, stroking it from tip to base. Palm spreading the precome over his long thick length. Joel lets out a soft moan at the touch.
“Want you inside me,” you whimper, rubbing his cock against your slick heat. “Please.”
He bats your hand away, grabbing his cock to tease your folds more, rubbing his tip up and down your slit. You let out a moan when his tip catches against your entrance. Only for him to slide back up to your clit, rubbing agonizingly slow circles against you.
“Joel,” you begged, titling your pelvis, “Please, please fuck me.”
Joel smirks, sliding his cock back down to your entrance, feeding you his bulbous head. You writhe, feeling the stretch. He sinks into you slowly, filling you up until his tip kisses your cervix. Fingers gripping his back, each of you letting out a satisfied moan.
“Fuck, darlin’,” Joel murmurs into your neck, nipping and sucking on your pulse point, letting you adjust to his size, “Best pussy ever,” placing gentle kisses along your jaw.
“Joel, move,” you plead, hitching your legs up on his waist, “Need you to move.”
He pulls out slowly before snapping his length into you again, letting out a shaky breath at the harshness of his thrust. Your grip on his back tightens, sinking your nails into his skin. He lets out a hiss as he rocks his hips into you, trying to find that spot that makes you see stars.
“Fuck,” he grunted, “Don’t want anyone else, darlin’.”
Breathy moans shared between kisses, sweat slicked skin gliding against each other. He pushes your thighs back further into a mating press, finding that sweet spot inside your walls.
“Oh my god,” you whine, back beginning to arch, “Right there!”
His cock massages that spot with every stroke, causing your muscles to tighten. You can feel the coil in your belly tightening, walls beginning to flutter around his shaft as he drills into that spot over and over.
“Jesus Christ,” Joel growls, feeling the heat of his skin slapping against yours, “I need you to come, baby. Ain’t gonna last much longer.”
You moan wantonly as you feel his dick twitch inside of you. Joel holding out to make sure you come first. The coil in your belly finally snaps, sending you over the edge, white hot electricity flowing through every limb. He thrusts into you harshly half a dozen more times before his hips stutter.
“Only you, darlin’, only want you,” he grunts, as he empties himself inside you, painting your walls with his sticky release, “only want you.”
Joel collapses, holding himself up by his elbows on either side of your head, nuzzling his nose against yours, placing soft kisses against your lips.
“Only want you,” he sighs.
—
You spent the next hour, in each other's arms, talking, snuggling and kissing.
“I can’t believe you would think I’d want Becky,” Joel booms with laughter, eyes crinkling around the edges. You smirk playfully, slapping his arm.
“Look,” you giggle, “I didn’t know if her flirting finally wore you down!”
“Hi Joel!” He says in an exaggerated high pitch, batting his eyelashes, “My, you sure have been working hard!” he adds with a girly giggle, lifting his pecs to create some sort of cleavage.
“Oh shut up!”
“Did you see the flowers though? Like actually look at ‘em?”
“Not really,” you sigh, playing with a loose thread on your blanket.
“Purple tulips for new beginnings and love,” Joel says, planting a kiss on your cheek, “Jasmine for devotion,” he continues, kissing your other cheek, “and pink roses for appreciation,” he smiles before kissing the tip of your nose.
“Really?”
“Yep, the florist helped me pick them out,” Joel says, grabbing the back of your neck pulling you into a kiss, “Told ya they were for you.”
#jettsflora&faunachallenge#joel miller fanfic#joel miller smut#joel x reader#joel miller tlou#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x you
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reunions
pairing: art donaldson x reader x patrick zweig
length: 3.8k
tags: y/n is art donaldson's wife ; birthday party ; surprise visit from patrick ; art is down bad ; patrick wants y/n ; possessive!art ; the boys are fighting ; no use of y/n ; pining ; sexual tension
summary: you want to make your husband's birthday special, so you invite his attractive, charming, estranged childhood best friend in the hopes that they'll make amends. surely nothing will go wrong, right?
author's note: i can't stop thinking about them i am so ill. this is the first of presumably many challengers works. and yes i did make a new blog just for this, don't judge me. this is a drabble that was stuck in my head but I do have more for it should it be wanted! preferably something that leaves you sandwiched in between them :3
originally posted by iholdwhatican
You told yourself this whole thing happened out of the goodness of your heart. You’d just wanted to be a good wife and make your husband’s birthday the best it could possibly be. Because Art Donaldson was the most amazing person you’d ever known, and he loved you, and he deserved the world. There was nothing off limits when it came to him, no line you wouldn’t cross.
You knew how much Patrick had meant to him, how much he missed his best friend. Your cheeks hurt from how wide the stories made you smile, how happy he sounded when he recounted the things he’d gotten into with the eccentric tennis player. And you knew how sad Art was that they didn’t talk anymore.
So what better time to remedy that than for his birthday? That was a wonderful surprise, right? Right?
Upon meeting Patrick Zweig, your first thought was how the hell this man got along so well with your Art. Not to say he was a bad person, but he was just so… much. He was cocky, indomitable, the kind of person that knew what he wanted and what he was worth and wouldn’t settle for anything less. He was a force not to be reckoned with, no matter what. He was also unbelievably charming (and not bad on the eyes, which you would never admit), and you hated the way his sweet-talking got under your skin.
He asked you how Art was. You told him he was fine. Retired, now. Making the most of a quiet life. You’d just celebrated 3 years of married life. He asked to see wedding photos and you didn’t miss the sadness in his eyes at missing the event. You happily obliged. It was the most romantic day of your life, after all.
And you couldn’t help but internally pat yourself on the back. Patrick missed him too. You could mend the broken bridge between them, and your husband would be thrilled. He’d reward you for your good work.
You asked Patrick to come to Art’s party. To make contact again. To come back into his world. He only hesitated for a moment, asked if Art knew and was okay with it.
The lie slipped off your tongue easily. Of course, he’s wanted this for a long time. It’s a surprise, but a most welcome one. You didn’t have details on what happened between them- only knew of a falling out while Art was in college- but it couldn’t be that bad. Anything could be overcome, right?
Patrick accepted and you hoped the lump in your throat was from excitement and not dread. You thanked him for meeting you, told him you’d forward him the details, and went back to your husband.
The day of the party came, and you were so nervous you could hardly take it. You’d spent the last couple of days working yourself into a frenzy, convinced that this reunion was a terrible idea and your husband would hate you. You had no right to bring an estranged friend back into his life, on his birthday no less. And without saying a word to him.
God, what the hell was wrong with you?
You gripped the edge of the kitchen counter and downed your third glass of water. It did nothing to soothe the dryness in your throat. Or the pounding of your heart. You wondered how fucked you’d be at the party if you took a Xanax right now. Or five.
Just then, Art peeked his head into the kitchen, donning a sweet smile when he spotted you. He looked as handsome as ever, sporting a well-fitting polo shirt and khakis. His hair was growing out again, starting to show those boyish curls you’d fallen in love with all those years ago. He made his way over to you, wedding band sparkling on his finger, and your heart melted.
You loved him so much. Had you ruined his birthday with your stupid meddling? Maybe even ruined your marriage?
“Hey, beautiful.” He greeted, sliding a hand around your waist and kissing your head. It was a familiar gesture, a normal one. He loved touching you, keeping you close. You loved it just as much, “The cake was just delivered. You went way overboard, as usual.”
You pretended you weren’t overcome with dread and cupped his cheek, “Shut up. There’s no such thing as overboard. You deserve this, okay? You deserve to be celebrated.”
Please, please don’t be mad at me for inviting him. For bringing him into our world. Please still love me. I did it for you. I’d do anything for you.
His eyes crinkled as he smiled- in that perfect way you adored so much. He leaned down to kiss you again, this time on your lips. It was gentle and caring and everything you were to each other. It made you want to cry. Art was everything. All you wanted was to give him the same.
The doorbell rang, breaking you two out of the moment, and your husband pulled away. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.
“Well,” He spoke, looking at you like there was nothing else in the world, “That must be our first guest.”
You hummed happily, “Guess it’s time to celebrate you, Birthday Boy. Shall we?”
“We shall.” He teased, doing a mock bow as he offered you his hand. You took it, laughing, and the two of you made your way to the front door.
You took a deep breath and tried not to focus on the unhappy way your stomach was churning.
The first hour of the party went by with a pleasant lack of reunions-turned-altercations. Patrick had yet to show his face, and you wondered if he might not come at all. Part of you was relieved at the idea, while the other couldn’t help but be frustrated.
He said he would come. What if the surprise didn’t end up being a bad thing? How would you know if he never showed?
God, you needed a cigarette.
You’d spent the entirety of the party so far glued to Art’s side, being his doting wife as you made conversation with everyone. Your eyes continued to stray to the door, looking for a certain dark-haired man. Every single time, you were disappointed. Disappointed, yes, but not surprised. From what you’d heard, Patrick wasn’t really someone who could be counted on a lot.
Maybe this whole thing was just a big mistake. And maybe the part of you that truly felt let down at not getting to see him again was something you should never, never look into.
You patted Art’s chest and stood on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “I’m gonna check on the food. I’ll be back.”
He nodded, smiled, and pressed a kiss to your temple. His arm released its grip on you and he continued his conversation with an old Stanford buddy without missing a beat. He was fucking incredible. At everything. You were crazy about him.
The food didn’t actually need to be checked on. The caterer was high-quality, and they knew better than to fuck up one of your events for your husband. You had full trust in them- you honestly just needed a breather. This whole night had felt like a cold fist clenched around your heart.
Instead, you grabbed yourself a large glass of wine and made your way to the patio to enjoy some cool night air.
The area was blessedly empty, allowing you to slip out of the hostess facade. You were more than happy to do it, especially when celebrating Art, but the circumstances tonight were making it much harder than usual. Which was, of course, entirely your own fault. Way to go, you! Knocked it out of the park tonight, didn’t you?
You sighed, leaned against the railing, and took a long gulp of your drink. The weather was slightly chilly, and it felt amazing against your heated skin. Already, you were finding it easier to breathe. And think, for that matter.
“Shouldn’t you be at the party, Mrs. Donaldson?” A familiar, spine-tingling voice spoke, breaking you out of your peaceful moment.
You whirled around, eyes landing on Patrick fucking Zweig leaning against the wall of your house. A lit cigarette hung from his lips, his hands nonchalantly tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans. They went well with the button-up shirt he wore, a stark contrast from the shorts and hoodie he’d had on when you first met. He looked good- really good. Enough to make a pit grow in your stomach.
“I thought you weren’t coming.” You blurted out, thankful that the darkness was shrouding your red face. His face was just barely illuminated by the orange glow of the cigarette, and you watched as he looked you up and down, “Also, how’d you get back here? I didn’t see you walk into the house.”
Patrick kicked off the wall and walked over to you, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth. His curls fell over his forehead, and you found yourself fighting the urge to brush them out of the way- the same way you always did to Art. You swallowed deeply. What the hell was wrong with you?
“I told you I’d come, didn’t I?” He responded matter-of-factly, blowing a puff of smoke into the air. The smell made you nostalgic. You and Art had made a pact years ago to quit together, but God did you miss it sometimes. You licked your lips and tried (and failed) not to stare, “I snuck in through the back. Thought it’d be less messy that way.”
You had no idea how he’d been able to get back here, but you decided you weren’t gonna ask. It didn’t matter in the long run, anyway. Besides, he was probably right. You had no idea how Art was gonna react, and it was smart to have it happen in an isolated area.
“Probably smart.” You muttered, taking another swig of the wine. The feeling of his eyes stayed on you, burning into your skin, but you didn’t meet his gaze. You didn’t want to think too hard on why.
“He doesn’t know you reached out to me.” It wasn’t a question, but you responded to Patrick’s words regardless. He’d find out eventually.
“No.” The admittance came out with a heavy breath, like you were releasing the weight that had been on you all night. In a way, you were. You ran a hand over your forehead, “I don’t know what happened between you two, he doesn’t talk about it. But I just- I’m terrified he’ll hate me for bringing you.”
Why the hell were you pouring your heart out to this stranger? What was it about him that drew you in so much and made you want to bring down your walls? How was this charming man already under your skin from one damn meeting? And how the fuck were you supposed to explain any of this to your husband, his estranged best friend?
You needed another drink. Or ten.
“You really love him.” Again, not a question. But you answered. You had to.
“More than anything else in this world.”
Patrick offered you his half-smoked cigarette and you took it without thinking. The sting of the smoke in your lungs was like coming home. It was so good it almost made you cry. But lots of things made you want to cry right now. You could taste mint on the cigarette, like he’d been chewing gum before lighting up. The same kind Art always chewed.
It made something flip in your stomach.
“Well, from what I can tell, you’re pretty great. Super caring, based on how far you went in an attempt to make him happy. Shit, you tracked me down, which is a feat in itself. And you’re gorgeous, obviously. I’m surmising that you’re basically the whole package.” He spoke calmly, as if every one of those words didn’t make your heart jump into your throat. You chugged your drink to use it as an excuse for your rosy cheeks, “So I don’t think there’s any way he could hate you. Even for inviting me here.”
You were speechless for five long seconds as he took the cigarette back and inhaled. Then you finally got your brain to stop lagging, “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.” He countered, continuing the pass back and forth of the cigarette, “And I know Art. He wouldn’t marry someone beneath him. The fucker somehow always gets the ones way out of his league.”
You didn’t comment, but you knew what Patrick was referring to. Tashi Duncan. The now pro-tennis player that he’d had a thing with back in the day. You didn’t know the details, but you knew she was a point of contention between the two men.
Honestly, you tried not to think about Tashi. She was gorgeous, super talented, and an overall seemingly great person. Art had passed up on that for you, and it got to your head a lot. You wondered if he regretted it. Or at least wondered what his life could’ve been like.
You didn’t think you were out of his league. In fact, you thought the opposite. Not that you needed to tell Patrick that. Your insecurity and jealousy issues could stay yours alone.
“Well, I don’t know about that.” You murmured.
The cigarette began to dim as you took the last drag, flicking it off the balcony and down into the grass below. With both the alcohol and nicotine gone, you started to think you probably needed to get back to the party. Your husband would be looking for you, and you didn’t want to keep him waiting. You just had to figure out how Patrick would fit into the equation.
“If you weren’t taken, I’d be trying to charm the fuck out of you right now.”
The statement caught you completely off guard. You looked over at him, eyes wide, and tried to keep your cool at the sexy smirk on his face. God, he was so fucking attractive.
You blinked once, twice, a third time, “What?”
His smile grew at your flustered state, “I have great taste in women, and I’d flirt with you if I could. So I’m saying you’re definitely a catch. And totally out of Art’s league.”
You licked your lips. Subconsciously, “I’m pretty sure that was flirting.”
“Was it?” He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed, “Oops.”
You ran your finger over the rim of your wine glass, trying to think of something to say. You came up empty. You were married- to this man’s childhood best friend. To the love of your life. He shouldn’t be flirting with you. And you definitely shouldn’t be enjoying it.
“There you are! I was starting to worry.” Art’s voice broke the tense silence, and you turned around to watch him making his way to you with a smile. Then he spotted Patrick and his smile dropped as his face filled with recognition, “You- what the hell are you doing here?”
You opened your mouth to speak, to explain and mediate the situation, but the dark-haired man beat you to it.
“Your pretty little wife invited me.” He said, which was probably the worst thing he probably could’ve chosen. You internally buried your face in your hands.
Art’s jaw clenched and his eyes lit up. It took you a moment to realize that the expression was anger. Honestly, it took you by surprise. It was extremely rare to see him angry, and never was it directed at you. And though he was looking at Patrick, you were terrified that in this instance it was.
“Let me explain.” You immediately choked out, clutching your empty wine glass like a lifeline, “I really just thought that-”
“She thought you missed me and wanted us to reconnect. As a birthday surprise. Isn’t that sweet?” Patrick butted in, throwing an arm over your shoulders. Art looked ready to murder someone (probably the tennis player holding you), “I doubt it was easy contacting me, but she managed. All for you.”
You laughed nervously, ducking your head, “Well, that’s not-”
“Let go of her.” Art demanded. His voice was cold and dangerous. Possessive. It made something twitch in your core. Oh, you liked that.
The brunette didn’t hesitate to do as he was told, holding his hands up in surrender, “My bad, man. I just feel like we’re already such close friends from hanging out together. Don’t you think so?”
The last part was directed at you, and Patrick nudged you. You gave him an incredulous look.
The charming, sweet man you’d just been talking to was gone. He was replaced by a cocky, near-disrespectful antagonist who was trying to egg your husband into some kind of altercation. And he was using you as the bait.
You couldn’t lie that you were frustrated, but it did feel a bit nice to be in an almost tug-of-war between the two men. You liked being an object of affection or desire.
“You should head inside, baby.” Art spoke to you, though his furious gaze never left Patrick, “Our guests will wonder where the hosts went. I’m gonna talk to Patrick for a minute.”
You’d be damned if you told him no. Even though this situation felt like a mess that was definitely all your fault. Damn you for inviting Patrick. Damn him for being so captivating. And damn Art for loving you so much that the sight of another man touching you made him see red. This entire thing was like a whirlwind.
“Okay…” You whispered, moving towards your husband and the house. You gave Patrick a small smile, hoping to convey your thoughts to him. Please don’t hurt him- he’s my world. Then you stopped at Art’s side and placed a hand on his bicep, “I’m sorry if this was a bad idea. I just wanted to make your birthday special, is all. I didn’t mean to fuck it up.”
He finally looked at you, just long enough to give you a loving smile and a shake of his head, “You didn’t ruin anything. I’m so proud of you for doing all this for me. Don’t worry.”
Then he kissed you, only to stop and pull away, “Is that- were you smoking with Patrick?”
You sucked on your teeth and nodded, “Yes, a little. I’m sorry. I just-”
But then he was kissing you again, hard and needy. Like he wanted to fuck you right then and there. Your face burned bright red, and you could feel Patrick’s eyes on the two of you. Art had never acted like this in all the time you knew him. But right now, within thirty seconds of being around his old friend, he was putting on a show to prove that you were his.
You belonged to him. And he wanted Patrick to know it.
You really, really fucking liked this.
When he pulled away, you felt dizzy. From both the kiss and the wine you’d downed. You barely had time to take a breath before he was lightly patting your cheek and sending you inside. You managed to take a look at the two men before rejoining the party. They just stared at each other, like they were in a standoff.
It was unbelievably hot.
As you went back to your guests, lips still tingling, only one thought was coming to you.
You wondered how long you could keep Patrick around, just to see what it would do to your precious husband.
#challengers#challengers movie#challengers 2024#art donaldson#art donaldson x reader#art donaldson x you#patrick zweig#patrick zweig x reader#patrick zweig x you#challengers fic#challengers fanfic#art donaldson x patrick zweig#challengers x reader#challengers x you#art donaldson x reader x patrick zweig#tashi duncan#charly writes!!
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wrong choice, wrong move-a.donaldson
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a/n: fem reader but as per usual, imagine what you like :)
summary: when you find out about his betrayal and how your relationship truly ends. (dw there are more parts after this :))
pairing: art donaldson x reader
warnings: angst, feelings of disappointment, hurt, allusions to an eating disorder, depression, fainting, cheating, etc. +
PART 1: before his choice PART 2: choices and chances PART 3: choices and meetings
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Art was a shell of his former self. His eyes were constantly blood-shot and sunken, he was losing weight, his mindset was fucked, the works. Yet, you seemed perfectly fine. Your tennis had never been better, your grades were excellent, and you were focusing on yourself. Well, you were trying to, it was pretty difficult when Art Donaldson was constantly over your shoulder, wondering when he could apologise and make things right. You two had promised that you’d go no-contact for a few weeks, giving time to allow the fresh cuts to heal over and then you’d be there for each other after. That ‘no-contact’ lasted a day. Then Art was at your door sobbing his eyes out, and you had to let him in.
“I`’m so sorry to show up like this,” he sighed, tears rolling down his cheeks as he rested his head on your chest, his arms holding you close to him as you played with his hair.
“It’s alright Art,” you promised him. You missed him just as much as he missed you but you were hurt. You wanted a change in behaviour, not just some pretty tears and kind words. “Seriously, we promised we’d be there for each other.”
Art let out a choked sob into your chest and you held him tighter. “It's ok, I’m always going to be here for you.”
“I’m so sorry,” he cried into your chest. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” you whispered, trying to calm him down. “Art you can’t keep doing this to yourself, you have to move on,” you sighed. “I’m not that special.”
His eyes met yours in a disapproving glare as he stood up, pacing your dorm. “You’re so special. You’re so incredibly interesting and smart and driven and I fucking love you! I fucking love you so much that I show up at your dorm room every fucking day looking like a fucking loser and making you comfort me because I fucked up! You’re off doing your own thing, being amazing and I barely do anything anymore! I feel like I can’t breathe when you’re not around, like I can’t think when you’re not there. I need you Y/n. So yes, you’re pretty fucking special to me!”
The room was silent.
“Art, just calm down love,” you sighed, trying to coax him to calm down.
“I’m not calming down. I want you, I want you more than anything-”
“Art that’s not fair,” you snapped. You were angry now. It’s exhausting watching someone be this blind to their own faults. “Art, we broke up because you constantly choose Tashi over me. That’s on you! You need to move on!”
“Have you?!” He shouted back.
“I can’t when you’re clinging to me like a fucking baby!” You shouted. “Go to your friends, not your ex-girlfriend Art! We broke up and maybe yeah, it was your fucking fault but I’ve been really nice trying to not hurt you more because I love you!-”
“Then why are we broken up!?” His voice cracked.
“Because I’m sick of being your second choice!” You screamed.
Art was quiet. He grabbed his jacket from the bed and left your dorm, leaving you to fall apart on your own.
Since Art had felt, your world had grown quieter and quieter, you became more distant to those around you, you were unhappy, you ate less, you trained more, probably too much.
But what else were you supposed to do?
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You showed up to the Challenger ready to win, despite the clear exhaustion you showed with your sunken and dark eyes, horrible posture, and constant yawning.
Art was shocked. He hadn’t seen you in weeks. You were significantly slimmer, you looked awful to be honest, and he knew it was his fault.
You served first, Tashi against you. The serve was good, not your best, but you two were playing real tennis.
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The ball hit the court and the game was over, you’d won, once again. Art and Patrick cheered discreetly from the stands as Tashi smashed her racket in anger. You didn’t even celebrate, just running to the bathroom and into a stall, sitting on the closed seat and passing out.
You were severely damaging yourself. Your entire team knew you were not safe to be playing, but they knew you were at your prime to go pro, so they ignored it. Everyday was like an uphill battle, one that you were losing.
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“Art!” Tashi shouted as Art rambled about how ill you looked. “I don’t fucking care about her form, or how she looked! If she’s ill, how come she beat me?!”
Art stayed silent.
“I cannot believe I fucked you at that party,” Tashi sighed, her head in her hands. You gasped and hid behind the door, stopping your hitting partner from walking into the warm-up court.
Art and Tashi had fucked the night of the party. The party that you and Art were late to because he fucked you before it.
He’d cheated on you.
What?
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You walked into the court, head high in spite of the dizzy feeling in your head.
“Good game, sorry I had to run off earlier, I felt sick,”you explained to Tashi, holding your hand out for her to shake.
"Good game," she grumbled. You caught a glimpse of the horror on Art's face. You'd heard. He was never getting you back, not now, not ever.
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art donaldson masterlist :)
navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games, challengers :)
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#art challengers#art donaldson x reader#art donaldson#challengers#zendaya#mike faist#mike faist x reader#josh oconnor#patrick zweig
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tiny socks and bibs
summary: sukuna briefly hints at the possibility of one day having a family with you, and you tell him you don't want kids
pairing: ryomen sukuna x female reader
content warnings: just a little angsty, happy end, ooc sukuna, cursing, no curses modern day au -- not at all accurate to the manga/anime ok
Masterlist
-----
Sukuna called you over to hang out at his place today. You never say no, because you love spending time indoors and with him, so you immediately get ready and are on your way. But you didn't expect him to have a baby in his arms as he opens the door.
"Sorry," Sukuna apologizes, "My brother called last minute, I have to babysit him today and I haven't had the chance to tell you.."
The baby keeps slapping Sukuna's face out of glee and you chuckle. Seems like he has been quite busy.
"Meet Yuuji," Sukuna sighs, "My nephew."
You decide to stay and help him babysit his nephew -- you're already there anyway, you're not about to go home just because of this.
"Have you guys eaten yet?" You ask as you take your shoes off.
"No, but Yuuji here just had some milk- ow, hey," Sukuna frowns as Yuuji bites his arm. It doesn't actually hurt, of course.
"I'll make something for the both of us. Can I use your kitchen?"
Sukuna chuckles and kisses your cheek, "Baby, this place is practically yours, you know that."
"Mm, I know, I just like to be polite." You smile cheekily.
You hear gibberish coming out of Yuuji as he reaches for you from Sukuna's arms. You can only assume he wants you to carry him instead.
"Looks like I'm cooking," Sukuna says, passing Yuuji to you, not knowing what to do with a baby in your arms.
You laugh awkwardly and sit by the kitchen island, having Yuuji sit on your lap. He's waving his toy airplane around and you think he's trying to show it to you, but you really don't know what to do.
"Hey, how old is he again?"
"Like almost a year," Sukuna answers, "He's learning how to walk."
You hop down from the stool and go to the living room, where you see Yuuji's toys. Yuuji sits in front of you, giving you his toy airplane before he reaches for the table, slowly pulling himself up to stand.
"Omg," you whisper, hands hovering next to him just in case he falls. "Ryo, he's standing!"
"Yeah, let him practice!" Sukuna says, not even turning around.
Yuuji's hips bounces from left to right, his legs shifting from one to the other because he has trouble distributing his weight and finding balance. You let out a giggle, he looks like he's dancing.
"Auh," Yuuji turns his head to look at you, pointing with one of his hands.
"Sorry, sorry, won't laugh at you again, promise." You grin.
Deciding he's tired, Yuuji drops to his butt and crawls back to you, wanting to ask for his toy airplane again but gets distracted with his other toys on the floor.
"Naa," Yuuji shakes his teddy bear vigorously before biting on the bear's arm, "Naaaa-mm."
You raise your brow at the little kid chewing on his toy. Kids are truly a puzzle to you. They're adorable, but something you'd usually admire from afar. You've never really spent time with a baby before, so this is a first.
Sukuna brings over two plates of food to the living room, turning on the TV so Yuuji's distracted and he can have some time with you.
"Thank you for the food," You smile, taking a bite of what he made.
"Thanks for looking after him." Sukuna smiles back, "You don't have to stay, by the way, he's gonna be here all day... unfortunately."
You hum, "I don't mind. I can also help out."
-----
The day goes by faster than you expected, mostly because Yuuji fell asleep and that also lead you and Sukuna to take a nap. Taking care of a baby is hard, that's for sure. You never thought changing a diaper would be so difficult but it proved to be a huge challenge.
It's around 5pm, and Yuuji's parents finally comes to pick him up. Sukuna sighs in relief, handing Yuuji over to you while he gets the baby's stuff and opens the door.
"Hi Yuuji, ready to go home?" His mom coos, taking Yuuji from your hands, "Thank you for taking care of him."
"And him." Sukuna's brother comments, motioning to your boyfriend, "Be honest, was it like taking care of two babies?"
"Alright, alright." Sukuna rolls his eyes before ushering his family out and closing the door. "Sorry about that."
Chuckling, you stretch and yawn. "It's fine. They seem fun."
"They can be a hassle," He yawns too, yanking you to lay on top of him. "Stay the night?"
"Mm," You hum and nod your head, slowly about to drift to sleep when Sukuna says something unexpected.
"You take care of Yuuji so well," He mumbles, "You'd be an amazing mom one day."
And then the sleepiness leaves you. You know it's a general praise that people give out towards others, but it makes you wonder if Sukuna meant what he said.
No, you don't want kids. Not because you hate kids -- they're kids -- but you really just don't. They look like they're a lot of work and you just don't see yourself being a parent in your future.
But what if Sukuna wants kids?
You've never really thought about that -- not because you just assume that Sukuna wouldn't want kids, but just because both of you haven't talked about it. And from what he said, it sounds like he does want kids.
You slowly get up from Sukuna's embrace, and he has a questioning look on his face. "What's up?"
"Um," You start, "I guess we've never really talked about this before..."
"...Oh, you're right." He says, scratching the back of his neck. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
"No!" You immediately say, "No, you didn't. I just..." Sighing, you hold his hand and fix your posture so you're facing him. "Ryo, I don't want to have kids."
Sukuna blinks a few times before nodding, "Okay."
"Huh?"
"I said okay," He repeats himself. "Then we're not having kids."
"Ryo, you don't want kids?" You look him in the eye, trying to see if he's lying.
Sukuna sighs with a small smile like he can't believe you haven't figured it out yet. "I don't care about tiny socks, toy airplanes, or little bibs. All I want and need is you."
And it takes you by surprise -- his words, his desire still for you. Because usually when these conversations happen, you end up having to say "it's okay if you want kids, I guess things just won't work between us." and you're not sure what to do when the person you love accepts you for who you are.
Part of you is screaming he might just be saying it to make you happy, while the other part is telling you -- hey, he's straight up telling you he only cares about you. Why aren't you letting yourself be happy? This is what you've always wanted, to have someone love you despite your flaws.
And you laugh with tears in your eyes. "You really mean that?"
"I'll prove it to you." Sukuna says, kissing your tears away. "I'll prove it to you every day."
You smile and caress his cheek. "You're such a sap today, Ryo."
He rolls his eyes and pulls you back to lay on the bed with him. "Yeah, yeah."
Smiling contently, you let yourself be engulfed in his arms, pressing a kiss on the crook of his neck. "Thank you."
"I didn't do anything."
"You accepted me for who I am."
"I've always done that." He responds. "And always will."
You giggle. "Sap."
He only groans in response, burying you even closer to his chest so you wouldn't see the blush creeping up his cheeks. But you can tell by the way his heartbeat races, and it makes your heart do the same thing, matching his pace.
-----
"I'm open to having dogs though." You say.
"Not a chance."
"..."
"Okay, one."
"..."
"But we're getting a cat."
#ryomen sukuna#sukuna#sukuna x reader#sukuna x female reader#jjk sukuna#sukuna ryomen#sukuna x you#ryomen sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna x female reader#sukuna fluff#sukuna angst#ooc sukuna#sukuna jjk#ryomen sukuna x reader fluff#ryomen sukuna x you fluff#ryomen sukuna x you#sukuna x reader fluff#sukuna x you fluff
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18+ / MDNI
cock warming; f!reader (wc 992)
with PATRICK ZWEIG
There was a story about the tortoise and the hare, and Patrick Zweig was the hare.
Slow and steady wasn't exactly his style.
He was quick and impulsive. Careless and arrogant. Annoyingly—or admirably?—persistent like the suffocating heat on a hot summer day. If you spared one glance at Patrick, you'd think he was nothing but smug. And he was well aware of all of this, too. He just never cared much about what other people thought of him, to begin with.
But Patrick loved a challenge, and he sure liked taking his sweet time with you. Or, more accurately, he enjoyed making you squirm.
He'd have his cock stuffed inside your cunt, and tease you with lingering touches and chaste kisses until you caved in and begged him to fuck you. With Patrick, it was all fire and the wrong kind of love. But sometimes, when he felt a little nicer, he just wanted to be close to you, to become one with you, heartbeats linked and breathing the same breath.
And with how poorly he had been doing in his last few matches, he needed that semblance of human connection he had lost years ago.
The night was young, but Patrick was eager to have you. His hungry kisses left your lips raw, and his mouth traveled south and started to nip at your jaw, his nose digging into your cheek. Everything he did was to distract you. Distract you from the burning sensation you felt as his cock stretched you out.
"There you go, atta girl."
Patrick kept a firm grip on your hips, his thumbs caressing the skin there to soothe your nerves. You always got so flustered whenever you tried to take him. And that was because you felt all of him. The tuft of hair on his pubic bone, the veins on his cock. You'd whine, tell him that it was too much, that he was too big, as if your pussy wasn't made for him.
He liked it, though.
Because in the end, you looked so pretty, sitting on his fat cock.
You heard him groan, low and guttural, and his large hands snaked up to your ribs, stopping just beneath your breasts. His touch was electrifying—everything about him was—and it sent a slight buzz through your body. And the sight of him alone wasn't helping. Patrick's wild hair and deep green eyes and that fucking smirk he never went without. But as much as you wanted to move, you couldn't. He wouldn't allow it. Not yet.
"Fuck, look at you." Patrick slid a hand further up to cup your breast, and you wondered if he could feel your pounding heart. "I could stare at you for hours."
You raised a brow. "I hope that's not the only thing you'll be doing."
"No, no," he said softly, his gaze darting over your face while he let his other hand wander, fingers tracing up your arm and leaving goosebumps in its wake. "But it's tempting."
Patrick watched you roll your eyes, and he chuckled, grasping your hips once again and squeezing. He wished he could just keep his cock inside you all night, your cunt keeping it warm and wet and snug. But you were always too fussy to stay still for long. He supposed that was his fault—he did like spoiling you, after all.
"I have an idea."
Ideas and Patrick Zweig didn't mix well. You learned that early on when you first met him. And as you looked into his eyes, seeing the playful mischief within, you knew you were in for a treat whether you liked it or not.
He took your silence as an invitation to continue, so he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear and voice velvety, "We should do this in front of a mirror next time."
Or maybe ideas and Patrick Zweig did mix well.
Your mind started to reel, imagination running wild. But Patrick painted the picture for you like it was something he had been thinking about for a while.
"You'd have no choice but to look at yourself—to look at just how fucking pretty you are when you're like this," Patrick whispered, his voice beginning to get lost in the heat and longing. "I'd keep your legs spread nice and wide so that you can see how my dick looks stuffed inside your sweet pussy." You squirmed, but his grip tightened around your hips. A silent warning to stay still. "Maybe you'd finally understand why I do this to you every time."
He pulled away from your ear, a hand leaving your hip to caress your cheek, his touch soft despite his calloused palm. All you could do was stare at him with a tight chest. "I care about you, you know," he laughed as if to hide the sincerity behind his words. "I'm not just trying to get a quick fuck. I wanna take my time, stay close to you longer."
For once, his name tasted sweet on your tongue. "Patrick."
It was a prayer disguised as a whisper, a plea for his words to be true. And he hummed, his lips brushing yours as he uttered your name back. If this was the wrong kind of love, why did it feel so right? Why did he feel so right?
You tried to swallow down your pride. "Please."
"Please, what?" Patrick asked, but he knew what you wanted. He was connected to you. Your thoughts were his, too. "C'mon, use your words, baby."
But you couldn't bring yourself to say more, to accept defeat. You pulled your lips taut.
"No? Nothing?" He tilted his head, and his signature smirk was back. "Well, let me know when you figure it out."
And while Patrick was much like the hare, he knew he needed to take it slow and steady when it came to you. You would surrender to him sooner or later. You always did.
author's note:
i have very mixed feelings abt this 😄
ANYWHO i will gladly give patrick everything he needs which is a shower and a bed
UNEDITED — 05.14.2024
#patrick zweig x reader#patrick zweig x you#patrick zweig smut#challengers#challengers smut#josh o'connor#✶ — sunnie writes challengers!#✶ — patrick zweig
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hey lynkzee!
you know how in Exclusive Tutorial (mild spoiler) Zayne says "provocation doesn't work on me?" What if the reader takes that very personal, as a challenge.... Doesn't have to be within that card's context either.
Provocation
Spicy but marked NSFW to be safe!
It had been bothering you for months. Ever since the exclusive tutorial Zayne gave you at the billiards table, you couldn’t get his stupid words out of your head.
“Provocation doesn’t work on me.”
By who? Was that a challenge? This sentence kept repeating itself over and over in your head, even as you sleep. Did he really think you weren’t sexy enough to be persuaded?
Maybe sexiness wasn’t the issue. Zayne clearly loves your body. He wouldn’t be fucking you every day if he didn’t. Maybe it was the fact that he wouldn’t break…Even if it was you. Maybe that’s what bothered you.
So, you made it your mission tonight. Provocation doesn’t work on him? So you’ll make him beg. Tonight he has another dinner party with his co-workers at a luxury club. This time, you were going all out.
Red fabric dripped off your skin in sultry waves. You were the sexiest you’ve ever been, you felt like a sensual deity. When you opened the door for Zayne who was going to pick you up for the party, he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you. His face blanked, a hot flush filling his cheeks.
“You like?” You did an innocent twirl for him, your scent wafting into his flared nostrils. Was that a new perfume? And— god, the oil you glazed your skin with smelt like honey. You countenance was downright sexual. He felt like he could barely breathe in your presence.
“You’re gorgeous…” He murmured. You fought down a smirk as his hands drifted up your forearm in light grazes. Your skin against his was magnetic. And there was faint music in the background he could discern. Was that to set the mood? He cleared his throat. “We should go…”
You pout, your tantalizing red lips making him lick his own as his throat dried. You fluttered your butterfly eyelashes. “I don’t want to anymore…”
It was only then he realized the room was dimly lit by candles, red petals scattered on the floor. He swallowed thickly. “Were those the roses I bought for you last week…”
“Yes…They were wilting…I wanted to repurpose them for something better…”
At that point he knew it was a trap. But he couldn’t help but be drawn in.
You hummed. Everything was set up perfectly. Dimmed lighting, sensual music, a romantic atmosphere. And you, the grand feast. You pouted up at him again and whispered, “I don’t want to go anymore…”
Zayne’s lips parted as he sucked in a breath, the surrounding atmosphere blurring until he could only see you, your pouty lips, and your salacious outfit. Your voice oozed sex as you whined how badly you wanted to stay home. With him. His icy demeanor started cracking under the heat.
You stepped closer, making him gulp audibly. With a dainty hand, you smoothed out the expensive fabric of his tailored vest, your fingers making their way up to graze his neck. “The party will be so boringgg…” You whine softly, your desperate voice turning his ears pink. You caressed his jaw. “You’d have so much more fun here…With me…Come on, I’ll show you where the rest of the rose petals are.”
He gripped your hand, trying to steady himself through the dizzying lust. Zayne closed his eyes to regain his composure and he looked at you. “The others are waiting…”
“But I’m here right now…” You pressed closer, chest to chest as you leaned your head against his shoulder. “I’m here…” You whispered. “I’m much more interesting than your co-workers…”
“You are..” He gritted out. Zayne tried to ignore how dangerously close your hands were to his hips, tracing circles. “Come. We made a promise.”
“You made a promise to me…To show me you love me, that you want me with every fiber of your being, until the end of time…” You bit your lip, fluttering your eyelashes at him with doe eyes. “Isn’t that more important…” You pull him down by his necktie as you lean up, whispering hotly into his ear. “…Sir?”
At that moment, he kicked your front door shut and threw you over his shoulder to head to the bedroom. You silently cheered, but your celebration was cut short by a slap to the ass.
Turns out provocation does work on Zayne.
#🌙l&ds#⭐️l&ds#love & deepsace x reader#zayne lnd#zayne l&ds#zayne lads#zayne love and deepspace#zayne x reader
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Started as one thing and veered in another direction, enjoy!
Masterlist here
Last time was a fluke. A mistake… right?
Danny glanced around him, and looked in the mirror.
He looked the same. He didnt know how he even did it the first time. He had blacked out.
He still inspected himself. No gills or scales.
No glow-in-the-dark white on his skin in vertical lines flanked by black. Besides the usual body hair.
No green freckles. He… he can admit to missing those.
He kept checking daily. For any signs that, that form(?) was creeping back into his day to day.
That stupid ectopus he’s convinced is on ecto-dejecto or ghost steriods kept coming back.
It was to the point Boxy was concerned and ‘guarding his sleep’ (in exchange for origami boxes/cubes. He even made some for Lunch Box).
Danny decided to conk out during one of Lancer’s lessons after another attack the nogjt before.
He’s pretty sure Tapas/Taco is being restrained by his parents in an ecto-proofed tank.
Ancients he hopes so.
Lancer called him back after class, with that stupid ‘i know you are better than this and that accident does not excuse such poor behavior young man’ attitude most of the staff had toward him.
The actual lunch ladies were chill, and therefore his favorite. And Lunch Lady since she took to packing him an extra lunch that Boxy drops off. Something about fighting your food to eat it daily being ‘unacceptable!’
Whatever.
“Mr. Fenton, I understand that you are facing more challenges than your peers, but do try to stay awake in my class.”
“Got it. Blame Tapas.”
“You can’t blame mexican food for all your issues.”
“I don’t—Tapas is the ectopus that’s been obsessed with me and Phantom since the stupid thing showed up. It keeps escaping the Thermos, and i honestly have no clue how to keep him contained long enough to throw it at ecto animal control or ghost jail.”
“… Mr. Fenton, have you considered staying with relatives away from Amity until this issue is resolved?”
“I literally can’t.” His core sank at the idea. “Ecto contaminated and dependent. Medically speaking, until portable ecto is something that can be handled over long distances, I can’t leave for more than a hundred days, give or take, before dying.” No matter how much he wanted to at times.
Mr. Lancer frowned at him. “If possible, would mixed in-person and online schooling be something you’d be amenable to? I can speak with your parents and arrange alternative student success plan, but its clear the situation won’t improve unless better accommodations are put in place.”
Danny opened and shut his mouth. “If I can get them here, sure.”
“Excellent. I would like to continue your classes with myself in person to better monitor your progress, or we can do tutoring after school or during my usual block for Saturday detentions.”
Danny nodded in a daze.
Then something crashed in through the window.
“Adventures of Tom Sawyer!”
Danny threw himself against a wall, trying to get Taco off him, only to get pulled through a wall, and further.
Hey tried scrambling for something to grab, but he phased through everything and he couldn’t go ghost in front of everyone seeing him get kidnapped by an extra annoying octopus.
The fact it was being filmed made it Worse.
Fuck.
Masterlist here
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baby, i'm-a want you — (bonus) "platinum tier"
gif by me
pairing: din djarin/dieter bravo
rating: E (18+) mdni
word count: 1.2k
content: swearing, mentions of monster fucking, furries, and oviposition, sex toys, a/b/o dynamics, unprotected p in a, "knotting" (it's not real, just go with it), talks of aliens, masks, copious amounts of lube, if i missed anything lmk!
dividers: @saradika-graphics
beta: @qveerthe0ry & @scenaaario (ily both ♥)
a/n: this was written for the @dieterbravobrainrotclub may drabble challenge! go read the others and join in on the brainrot with us ♥
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“Do you believe in aliens?”
It was the first thing Dieter Bravo said to him when Din walked on set that day. In fact, it was the first thing Dieter Bravo had ever said to him. They’d only seen each other in the halls of the studio and around catering before this.
It wasn’t the weirdest thing Dieter had ever said to him since, but well, he wasn’t expecting it either. With big, dark eyes, Din looked Dieter over. Those unruly curls and dilated pupils being staples of Dieter’s appearance.
“Never mind, it’s not important,” Dieter waved him off, putting his sunglasses on. He had a joint sticking out of the mop of curls on his head, resting precariously on his right ear.
Din raised a brow, an amused grin crossing his features. They were going to film a scene together in a few moments and Din would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited. He’d watched Dieter’s content for a long time, and it was rare for him to have scene partners. Almost all of Dieter’s videos were solo, with the most outlandish toys and concepts than anyone on the site.
Dieter appealed to the monster fucker and furry communities, to put it plainly.
In fact, Dieter got recognized at the AVN Awards last year for being able to take the biggest non-human dildo in a single session.
So, the question of aliens was just normal conversation, Din assumed.
“Are you sure you don’t want to know?” Din asked easily.
“Of course I do,” Dieter scoffed. “But it’s not for the reason you think.”
Din blinked, listening intently for Dieter to continue.
“Okay, maybe it is,” Dieter’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and leaned on the railing next to them outside the studio. “I just wanna know, like,” he scrambled for the words, hands moving in all directions. “If– No, when, they invade, or I dunno, visit, I guess? Would you be scared or turned on? Who knows what they’ve got packing in there, y’know?”
Din snorted and shook his head in amusement.
“Listen! I’m just saying, those tentacle and dragon toys I have are amazing, but it’s nothing compared to the ovipositors I have, okay.”
Din raised his hands in defeat, not denying it in the slightest. “I believe you,” he chuckled. “You were going to use one of those toys with me today, right?”
A slow, dopey grin grew on Dieter’s face. “Yeah, but not one of those. I’ve got an idea for you, big guy. Max gave me the green light,” he winked, looking at Din over the top of his sunglasses.
A shiver traveled down Din’s spine in excitement.
“Mmm, fuck, Din,” Dieter whined, his body trembling below the larger man. His skin was flushed a lovely red color, his chest heaving rhythmically.
Din smiled from under the helmet. His breathing sounded heavier under it, making Dieter’s head spin. This is why Dieter wanted to work with him. He was talking to Max about how sexy he found Din’s content because he was always masked and he could be anyone underneath there.
But Dieter was lucky because he knew what Din looked like.
The toy Dieter had put on him was something he called a “wearable”. It was a silicone second-skin of sorts, to put on top and around Din’s cock. Normally Dieter was happy to have Din’s cock bare and beautiful, but this wearable had a knot at the end, and well.
Dieter was in a mood.
“C’mon,” Dieter pouted, wrapping his legs tighter around Din’s waist impatiently. “Knot me,” he smirked, arching his back teasingly.
Din growled and slammed his hips forward, the top of the knot brushing the rim of Dieter’s hole enough to make him gasp in surprise.
Din normally cut an imposing figure on an average day, so with the storyline of Din being the “alpha” to Dieter’s “omega” it really drove the point home.
Large, rough hands gripped Dieter’s soft, pudgy hips and squeezed as he started fucking into him in earnest. Dieter’s eyes rolled back, eyelids fluttering shut and lips parted obscenely. Din’s heart pounded with the effort of his thrusts as heat settled at the base of his spine.
The sounds coming from them were filthy. Dieter preferred to have an obscene amount of lube in his videos and it was no different with a partner, the slick wet suck of Din’s cock fucking into him being caught by the mics perfectly.
One of Din’s large hands traveled up Dieter’s sides and rubbed a pebbled nipple with his thumb, his hips never letting up on their pace.
“Oh, fuck,” Dieter moaned shakily, his thighs trembling on either side of Din’s narrow hips. The small puddle of precum collecting on his tummy started dribbling down his flushed skin. “P-please,” he whined, looking up at Din with big, wet eyes.
A low rumbling simmered deep in Din’s chest as he gave Dieter what he wanted, slamming his hips hard against his ass. It took two more thrusts and Dieter was shaking like a leaf as he came with a shout of Din’s name, thick spurts of come landing on his chest.
Din groaned, eyes locked on Dieter’s disheveled appearance. “Fuck.”
He raised Dieter’s legs and folded the other man nearly in half, into a mating press, and chased his own release.
Dieter moaned loudly, his toes curling and fingers gripping the sheets tightly in his fists.
“You want it?” Din growled.
“Y-yes!”
Neither of them could even feel the silicone anymore at this point. It just felt like Din’s cock had this extra little something, this knot.
And when it pushed past the tight ring of muscle of Dieter’s hole, it felt like heaven. Dieter made a sound none of them had ever heard before as a weak trickle of come released from his overstimulated cock.
Din pushed one more time once it was inside and erupted as he came, head thrown back and a loud grunt echoing underneath his helmet.
They breathed hard, chests heaving. Dieter’s curls stuck to his forehead and Din’s mask was fogging up underneath.
“Cut!”
“Why haven’t we worked together before?” Dieter panted, eyes glued to a throbbing vein on the side of Din’s neck.
Din lifted the helmet off and smiled down at him, leaning over to kiss Dieter’s lips languidly. Dieter hummed into it and wrapped his arms around the larger man’s neck. They’d be stuck connected like this for a bit until Din’s cock grew softer.
When they parted, Din pretended to think about it. “Maybe it’s because I don’t believe in aliens?”
Dieter froze and blinked at him. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Well…” Din smirked, pinching Dieter’s nipple. He watched as Dieter’s face twisted into shock, but spoke before he got too upset. “Kidding! I’m kidding,” he laughed, kissing Dieter again.
“Oh my god,” Dieter slammed his head against the pillow. An assistant came over to them to ask if they wanted water, and they nodded. “I almost threw a fit. You’re such a dick!”
Din snorted and winked at him. “You’re just easy to tease.”
Dieter blushed a little and looked into his eyes again, melting a little at the look he saw there. “Can I have your number?”
A wide smile graced Din’s features.
“Only if I can have yours, alien boy.”
#dieter bravo#din djarin#dieter bravo fanfiction#dieter bravo fic#dieter bravo smut#din djarin fanfiction#din djarin fic#din djarin smut#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal cinematic universe#ppcu fanfiction#oaksfics
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Favorite Korrasami Fics
I'll include word counts for those that want to start with shorter ones first.
At the end of this post, I'll drop a few of my own fics as an addendum for anyone interested. I like to think my work is good, but well, you'll have to read and let me know what you think. :) If any of you have recs for good Korrasami fics, feel free to drop it in the comments.
Bird's favorites:
Lovedeathcats's It Belongs In A Museum (186,403 words) This is an Indiana Jone-esque AU, where Asami Sato a professor seeks the long-lost Elements of Eternity, relics rumored to grant the power of the Avatar over the four elements to stop them from falling into wrong hands. Korra and Krew joins her on this adventure.
Lovedeathcat's Beneath the Surface (still ongoing as of today 5/13/2024 and currently at 67,231 words) Premise: Set in a Modern Day AU where bending is a hidden art. "When Asami accepts a job at an isolated, hidden boarding school, she finds more than she bargained for - as well as everything she's been searching for."
Shigan's Such Essential and Invisible Things series:
* Stake in the Pond (3,158 words)
* Bedrolls (4,120 words)
* When Meelo Brought the Porn (6,443 words)
* All These Tiny Moments (772 words)
Progman's Repairs, Retrofits, and Upgrades (part of the Spin Your Rails series). (220,963 words)
*Note the series as a whole as seven works in it that range from 3k to 220k in length. The other stories sort of serve as gap fillers for the main series, and the series as a whole is fairly close to canon. (The comics do not filter into this series).
FuzziFox's South (Currently 185,235 words, though it is still being updated as of today 5/13/2024). Premise: what if when Asami asked if Korra wanted company going South, Korra said yes instead of no?
Islandofme's Korra, not alone (35,080 words) -- Premise: what if Asami came and visited Korra while Korra was recovering?
RainbowRosie's Restoring a Frozen World series
*The Girl in the Iceberg (352,793 words) Premise: Asami Sato uncovers a girl frozen in an iceberg, who turns out to be Korra the Avatar. Set in a 1920s version of Avatarverse, where bending doesn't seem to exist anymore.
*The Church of Raava (still being updated as of today 5/13/2024 and is currently at 58,977 words)
@asamiontop's Where the Snow Takes Us (283,139 words) Premise: Korra is a ski instructor and Asami is a student. They meet. (It's a very cute tale that takes place in a Modern AU.)
@korrasamibottles's Under Me, Over Me, Any Way You'll Have Me (5,098 words) Premise: Height difference shenanigans.
Vetofan's Balance of Power series, which dives into Korra not realizing she is the Avatar (growing up thinking she's a nonbender) but having to face all the same challenges while she figures out what to do about this newfound Avatar powers. While falling in love with Asami Sato. (Currently 289,062 words with five works, though the fifth work is still being updated as of 5/13/2024).
Paxbanana's Place In This World (303,813 words) -- sticks with canon and chronicles the period after the show ended.
Valkrez's A Second Glance series (186,877 words and five works) This is mostly canonical, and it chronicles the times between episodes. It's all about Korra and Asami's off and on again relationship until they finally get together at the end of the series (the last fic is them in the future after years of being together). This one is heavy on the smut.
mustangsgloves's Falling For You (13,977 words) Premise: the four times Korra ignored her feelings for Asami when sparring and the one time she doesn't.
Tempest (sniperct)'s The Avatar and the Inventor Series:
* There's nine works in this series that range from 700 words to 82,000. I really loved the "A Thousand Ways to Love A Woman the most), but all the fics are good in their own ways.
GallifreyanFairytale's with every drop of rain, singing (i love you) (1,385 words) -- it's a cute one-shot of a rainy day.
wegglebots's The Engineer's Guide to Dating the Avatar (17,989 words) -- it's just an adorable collection of ficlets that are extra silly and details Korra and Asami's relationship.
gayestcatra's The Path to You Series (2 works that total 194,288 words) It is canon-compliant, and just tells the story of how Korra and Asami fell in love. Includes the events of Turf Wars too.
Just_Addie's Uncivil Wars (3 works that total 88,737 words) Premise: The Winter Soldier but set in the Avatarverse.
The Road Trip Universe has a bunch of fics by the following authors: BarbWireThong, L2_BBOC, lanagotconed20, OccasionalWriterHD, Volchise. It's a modern day AU. (34 works that total 190,809 words. Each fic various in word count from 747 words to 36k words)
SifuTurtz's The Calm Before the Storm (2,978 words) A canonical fic that takes place the night before Kuvira's army reaches Republic City.
ADDENDUM:
My works:
Korrasami Adventures Series (All works in this series are canon-compliant)
*How Was Those Three Years (21,397 words) Premise: How Asami handles those three years without Korra.
*Spirit World Vacation (currently on hiatus but will finish soon, at 20,769 as of 5/13/2024).
*Asami's Hidden Box of Poetry's And Letters ( 2,274 words ) -- a short, completed fic that's just fluff of our two favorite gals.
*Is This a Romance? (14,411 words ) -- a silly retelling of the Asami's attempts to date the Avatar and the three year gap from Asami's perspective.
Shared Moments Series (Currently 6 works totalling about 960,009 words)-- this is canonical through Book 1.5.
*Book 2 is my rewrite. Civil War turns into a World War, and Korrasami happens by end of Book 2.
*Book 2.5 covers the aftermath of the World War in Book 2.
*Book 3 is canon-adjacent as in same villains with similar plot beats. It has the repercussions of my Book 2 and 2.5 cascading through it.
*Book 3.5 is my current project and I'm still updating as of today 5/13/2024. It sets the stage for Korra and Asami's healing journey, Bolin spy shenanigans, Blue Spirit Rises Again, and Earth Kingdom Civil War.
*Book 4 and 5 are in note stage still. These two books will detail the repercussion of all prior books, the Second World War, and its Aftermath.
Enjoy!
#korrasami#legend of korra#the legend of korra#tlok#asami sato#avatar korra#writing#fic recs#fic recommendation#my works#my fics#ao3 fanfic
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Love that Lets Go
Summary: Lilia Vanrouge has witnessed the rise and fall of great nations, has criscrossed the world, traversing distant realms strange and unknown, but never before in his life has he faced a challenge as grievous as this: parenting a teenager.
Or: Silver stops calling Lilia "Papa", and Lilia loses his mind.
Content Warnings: blood, explicit language, contains depictions of animals being hunted and butchered, canon divergent
Pairings: There's like one reference to past Lilibaul, but otherwise, none.
Length: 38k
(Header artwork from here)
You can either read it after the cut or on AO3!
A/N: I began working on this fic last summer, right after I finished Electric Dreams, and was able to complete the general outline and write about a third of it before I promptly abandoned the project for over half a year. By the time I started working on it again this past January, Book 7 had progressed greatly on the JP server, and pretty much everything that I'd written regarding Lilia's background and his involvement in Mal's upbringing/their relationship had become uncanonical in the meantime ://// I decided to go ahead and keep those parts in the story unchanged from how I had them last summer, partly so I wouldn't have to rework the plot, and mostly because I am lazy. So the setting is more or less the same as the game, but with some major changes in Lilia and Mal's pasts, with no major Book 7 JP server spoilers for those wishing to avoid them.
I.
It was a speculative day, the kind that could not fix upon a proper humor or color, hesitating in turns between the brilliant bustle of spring and the sultry lull of summer. The morning air was thin and cool, not unusual even that late in May, but several months would pass by that afternoon, so that a sticky July heat would descend upon the valley once the sun reached its zenith. In the evening, there would be a light rain. All this the boy Silver calculated as he stepped outside.
The sky above him was a perfect meadow of morning glory and larkspur, bordered by a flourish of honeysuckle and cockscomb as golden-red as amber sap. He thrust his hand high above him, wishing for a moment he could pluck one of the dandelion clouds from its indigo plot and press it for his collection. It would be his secret treasure, and he would not reveal it until his friend Sebek next designed to inflame him. He carried within his mind a catalog of every expression and shade his friend could take, and this he now opened and paged through while he wandered towards the pig pen and lean-to that stood opposite his home, contemplating what combination of flush and scowl the other boy would respond with. He smiled at his private entertainment while he walked.
He was one of the few beings awake on that land. An industrious blackbird chirped quietly off in the distance, but the surrounding forest was otherwise silent, the pine trees and giant firs still dozing in the early morning shade. He was not, however, lonely; nor was he in want of more. His heart was light, and it gently thrummed with the same anticipation that had slipped into the hearts of all the valley’s creatures as of late, just as the sunlight slipped into their skin. May was an in-between month, an intermission, a time for Nature to enter her great chrysalis and prepare for the summer months to come. She would re-emerge sometime in late June, the earth’s prodigal daughter carrying in her arms the red-ripe wildberries she’d hang in the thicket all around him, the bright yellow coreopsis and vetch of the softest pink she’d set down in the meadow near his home, and the pearl white blossoms she’d drape across the canopies of the sweet bay beyond the fields. And she would beguile, too, the whip-poor-wills into beginning their annual summer serenades, allowing the robins and the orioles to retire from their heraldic duties at last, having spent several weeks announcing the season prior.
“There are two summers,” his father had once explained to him years ago, when he was very small. He held up two fingers while he spoke. “There’s the summer that starts on June 1st every year. That one’s based on dividing the calendar into four periods of three months each.”
“Three months each,” the little boy repeated with a nod.
“And then the other summer, the real one, starts on the solstice.”
“When’s the solstice, papa?”
“Easy,” the man grinned, “it’s when summer starts!”
The boy memorized this and all his father’s other teachings as his catechisms, and he knew, based on his observations, and based on all he'd ever learned from his masters - his father and the stars and the entire natural world around him - that the solstice was but a few short weeks away. This knowledge captivated him, and when he awoke at twilight each morning, he would spend a few minutes lying completely still in bed, nearly holding his breath, listening for those first few notes of the whip-poor-will’s call.
After releasing the animals from their detainment, he watched as the small procession of cows and pigs and chickens trod dutifully into the adjoining pasture. He would wait to fill their troughs later; each creature would automatically find for itself its morning fare amongst the acres of dew-wet grass – on this day the milk cow and her calf selected a patch of dark green clover for their breakfast, and the pigs beside them dined noisily on tall stalks of chicory, their pink brows misting over with sweat as they feverously chewed. The chickens, however, quickly stumbled upon a single, tender petunia they had overlooked all month. Gathered around the shining lilac jewel, they could not decide who amongst them would be permitted to destroy it. A forum was immediately convened, with each hen arguing her case in turn, and Silver gathered their eggs while they debated. Their hues were as soft and as delicate as a watercolor wash; some were tawny brown and speckled, others a faded green or blue. They reminded him of river stones, and they felt as smooth as clay in his work-worn hands. Each one he gingerly wiped against his pant leg before depositing into his wicker basket.
He had, for a time, believed – largely due to his father’s persuasions – that a bird’s diet determined the color of its eggs, and he’d spent one summer collecting armfuls of nasturtium, cone flowers, and bright red peonies every single day from the meadow by their home, attempting to invent an egg as ruby red as his father’s eyes. But while the chickens had delighted in their daily carmine feast, his efforts proved fruitless, the egg shells failing to develop even the slightest indication of a blush. When the truth of his father’s scheme was revealed later that fall, Silver had not rebuked him. He'd only blamed himself for being deceived, and for neglecting to include some beautyberries and rosehips into his mix, secretly believing that this was the true genesis of his failure.
The chickens resolved their quarrel by the time his basket was full. In celebration, he scattered a few handfuls of scratch over the ground for them. The bits and pieces of grain could not have delighted the small party more even if it had been the rice thrown for nuptials, and Silver turned and left them to their devices.
On slow days, when he had little else to do but drink in the air and watch the sun move across the sky, he liked to sit in the pasture and listen to them talk. The tall grass would form four walls all around him, and the hens would often come sit next to his verdant cabinet, offering to him their confessions through the screen of sorghum and fescue. They were perfect in their gesticulations, and he particularly enjoyed the mechanical way they moved their heads; it was as though invisible strings were jerking them this way and that, moving not unlike the marionettes his father had once brought home on one of his travels. There was, overall, a hilarity to their character that he missed in his other animal companions – the cows were too listless, he thought; the pigs, too cavalier.
The pigs he favored the least. He had helped his father erect a new fence along the south side of their property last summer, working sun up to sun down for over a week, and it had taken only a single afternoon for one of the boars - newly purchased with money his father didn’t have to spare - to rip a hole through the wire mesh and lead his brethren into the open forest, never to be seen again. He had been with his father the morning the vandalism was discovered. It was one of the few times in his life he’d seen the man angry, and he had been unsympathetic towards the species ever since.
He glanced at them occasionally while he backtracked to the vegetable garden beside the cottage, quickly looking away when they returned his stare. He walked around the fence that protected the garden, giving it a cursory inspection before stepping inside. There hadn’t been any break-ins yet, but he had noticed the shallow, hoof-like indentations that would sometimes manifest in the soil around the gate, and he could tell, too, that something heavy had been pressing itself against the fence posts lately, evinced by the unnatural angles a number of them were now inclined. However, the pigs defended their innocence with a brazen confidence that stupefied even his father, and the animals had so far been spared of any further interrogation.
He entered the gate and filled the watering can sitting by the pump. The alternating rows of green and orange and red and yellow buds dotting the area convened into a checker pattern, as though one of Ma Zigvolt’s gingham dresses had been spread out over the ground. He carefully stepped over and around and in between every sprout and seedling, dancing, almost, as he worked through each row, providing only just as much water to the young plants as they demanded, pausing only when he reached the tomatoes. His father was severely particular about them, fussing over the vines like a sculptor would his block of clay, and would, at the end of every season, declare that he had grown the "best tomatoes this side of the valley", but as he was one of few fae who grew them, and perhaps the only one who enjoyed their tart taste, his countrymen gladly indulged him in his boasting. Silver tilted his watering can and aimed the stream into the soil around the base of the plants, avoiding the foliage as he’d been instructed. He hummed to himself as he continued his ministrations, his thoughts drifting brightly towards the harvest to come.
Soon, there would be fresh corn pone and hoe cakes and yellow squash fritters fried in pools of marble white pork fat, heaping bowls of piping hot green beans sauteed in pats of golden yellow butter, and tender, fresh baked apple dumplings topped with a creamy homemade vanilla glaze, all washed down with the coldest, sweetest lemonade the valley had to offer. And he and his father would make preserves – of everything; jams and jellies from the wild raspberries and blueberries they’d gather from the forests, and from the bushels of strawberries now growing in their garden, and they’d pickle cucumbers and beets and radishes and fennel and bell peppers and cabbage; the tiny root cellar under their home would transform into a museum over the summer - its shelves filled to the brim with rows upon rows of glass jars containing their colorful fermented treasures, with giant slabs of dark red elk meat and pale pink sausage links hanging from the hooks lining the ceiling, and pounds of wild-caught bass and catfish curing in salt baths on the floor, nearly every specimen in that small space a self-contained microcosm of bacterial delight.
Silver was not one to favor any season over another; he found pleasure in the flora and fauna of his surroundings all year round. But so long as his father was strictly supervised in the kitchen, it was summer fare that delighted him more than anything else, and he wished every day for the watermelon and the strawberries to ripen faster, and for the honeybees to finish constructing their summer combs.
A pine warbler’s sharp trill snapped the boy out of his daydreams. The sun had at last emerged above the umber line of the horizon, and the golden edges of the sky were rapidly fading into a soft baby blue. The land was rapidly beginning to awaken. He could hear the low drone of the honeybees as they pushed past him on their way to the meadow, and the goldfinches warming up for their morning performances in the forest yonder. He hurried to complete the rest of his chores, invigorated by a mixture of excitement and hunger and still that same dull throb of anticipation in his heart.
When he was finished at last, Silver lay down on the grass, tucking himself under the blanket of fog that hung low over the ground. He could hear only the cows lowing and the chickens murmuring and the wind brushing up against the pine trees. And if he lay still enough, he could hear even the earth itself breathing. If he pressed his ear against the damp soil, he could hear the planet exhale, could hear the molecules of water vapor rising through the air, lifting themselves off the slick blades of grass, unifying and condensing into the wave of fog that rolled across his body. His world was now perfect. And it remained perfect for half an hour longer, until his father threw open the cottage door and called him inside for breakfast.
The air grew warmer and warmer as the morning languidly transitioned into afternoon. Pleased that his prediction had been correct, he suggested to his father, Lilia, that they begin making their way to the Zigvolt's before it grew too hot, and the man agreed. The mass of burnt scrambled eggs his father had prepared for breakfast still festered heavily in Silver's stomach, and he quickly wolfed down a plain butter sandwich and an apple for lunch. His gangly body could get by on very little, and the Zigvolts always had refreshments at the ready, anyways. He grabbed his knapsack from his room and accompanied his father out the door. Together, they followed the dirt path that led from the clearing into the forest.
Lilia had settled down there decades prior, appearing in the neighboring town one day with little more to his name than a few gold coins in his pocket and a raggedy shawl strewn across his back. He'd been a drifter for decades, having retired from the local military under circumstances he never cared to divulge, and while some of the townsfolk were glad to welcome him home, most others thought him a stranger. A pack of these skeptics descended upon him one evening, cornering him in the run-down hostel where he'd been temporarily residing. They poked and prodded him with their questions, asking him why he had left and where he'd been to and why he'd now suddenly returned, at times turning away to whisper amongst themselves, as though evaluating a head of cattle. To each of their scathing rebukes he simply replied, "Doesn't matter anymore." He repeated those three words like a mantra, like a prayer to exorcize the specters gathered around his bed. His defense was as solid as a leaden curtain, soundly deflecting each and every one of the inquisitors' attacks, and when they finally scattered that night, rendered stupefied by their defeat, Lilia gathered up his sparse few belongings and vanished amongst them.
He ultimately bought his property from a man who'd recognized the name "Lilia Vanrouge", but not the mysterious little creature attached to it. The landowner was however only glad to finally rid himself of the place; it had been sitting vacant for years, long overgrown with its own miniature forest of brambles and weeds, and he was easily dismissed with what little money Lilia had to offer. There was a dilapidated cottage the last tenants had left behind, as well as the rotting remnants of a barn that hadn't been touched in ages, and the water pump, rusted over from decades of unuse, snapped in half the first time Lilia tried to use it.
He began making renovations immediately. He patched up the roof on the cottage and spent a week removing all the cobwebs and rat nests he could find inside. He cleared out the overgrowth suffocating the area and tore down the old barn, erecting a lean-to for his cows and a coop for his hens in its place. He sectioned off a small plot of land next to his house for a vegetable garden, and sowed his new fields with the fervor of a devotee. Decades of working the land yielded a soil heartier and more robust than anything the locals ever seen, as though the very earth itself was repaying him in kind for liberating it from its long imprisonment. His tomato plants bore him perfect rubies bigger than his fists. His corn and his wheat stood like giants, towering high above his head. He found his heart lifting up and growing lighter and lighter together with the green stalks soaring up into the sky. All these things slowly grew in tandem with his household - he'd added another wing to the cottage when he took in Silver, and the garden, having more than tripled in size since it was first built, now produced a far greater variety of colorful fare than Lilia could have ever imagined. It was, in all, a meager living - a little home with little in it, the glass jar of rainy day funds sitting above the fireplace never to be full, always repairs around the property to be made, always hand-me-down clothes and toys to be mended - but it was enough for the man and his child, regardless.
When Silver grew older, Lilia began letting him operate the homestead on his own when he went traveling, a leisure he'd picked up in his older age. He would leave Silver a list of rules to follow and projects to work on while he was gone - in addition to his regular everyday chores - which he adjusted for each season, such as chopping firewood in the winter, and making preserves in the summer. But above all, no matter the time of year, and barring an emergency, he absolutely forbade Silver from leaving their land. Lilia had marked off a boundary for him years ago: the river to the west, a felled oak tree to the north, the meadow to the south, and the base of the nearby mountain range to the east. Lilia trusted his son, minimally, to the extent he had no doubt the boy could procure the food and water needed to keep himself alive when left alone. But the mountains and the deep forest and even the castle town he did not trust, didn’t believe in the sincerity of the light that flooded the silent earth bordering their home.
Five miles separated the Vanrouge’s homestead from the Zigvolt’s home. Five miles that cut through the forest that extended far beyond Lilia’s land. As such, Lilia would supervise his son's travels to and from his friend’s home. They only ever walked - teleportation magic gave Silver extreme vertigo, and Lilia found his powers could no longer cover the long distance as easily as in his youth. But it was a pleasant journey, and the pair quietly admired the same mass of towering pine and spruce trees they'd admired hundreds of times before as they continued down the winding road. The forest was handsome in its late spring attire, adorned in a thick flush of bright green foliage, and the charming white faces of the star flowers and wood anemones peeked at them from amongst the undergrowth as they passed by. Overhead, a symphony of chaffinch and dunnock calls accompanied the gentle stir of the treetops brushing against each other in the wind.
Silver often called on the Zigvolt’s. The youngest of the three children, a boy named Sebek, was the only non-animal companion he had his age. They had first met a number of years prior, when Sebek apprenticed under Silver's father, and while their rivalry had been immediate, their friendship had formed only slowly, over years of tense acquaintanceship. Sebek had held a grudge against Silver since the day they’d met, or possibly longer - that much Silver had been able to determine, but he could never puzzle out what he’d done to injure him so. He was frequently agitated - over Silver’s abilities, his actions, the clothing he wore, the way he walked and the way he talked. He was “wound up tighter than an eight-day clock”, as his father would often laugh. Had Silver grown up interacting with more children his age, had he an index against which to measure his friend’s volatile attitude, then he would have understood that Sebek was simply a very immature boy – he’d not yet outgrown his foot-stamping tantrums and his jealous remarks, but there was never any true venom behind his words, only that primal, juvenile desire to convince himself and the adults around them that he and Silver were equals. But Silver liked him, at any rate; there was only so much one could do to persuade a rabbit or a songbird to gambol with one, or to explore make-believe worlds that stretched far beyond their animal imaginations, and Sebek was as eager a daydreamer as he. Even a child’s heart can be a guarded thing, as Silver’s was, having matured in a world comprised of only a small handful of faces and an even smaller stretch of land, but he’d long placed Sebek in that corner of his heart only his father and Malleus and the blue birds and honeysuckle otherwise occupied, and he cherished his friend for his outbursts and rare affections, both.
It was an “off day” for the boys - neither had any training exercises scheduled, and Silver looked forward to their rendezvous. He figured they'd be spending most of the afternoon outside, in light of the pleasant weather. Later in the summer, when the heat would spoil their entertainment, they'd move indoors, reading comics and old almanacs together in the Zigvolt's parlor, sprawled out like a pair of lazy tomcats on the cool hardwood floor. And if he was lucky, Ma Zigvolt would invite him to stay for dinner (he was always too shy to ask). She was one of his strongest allies, and had rescued him from his father’s well-meaning meals on more than one occasion. He kept his fingers crossed as he walked, hoping she and Pa Zigvolt wouldn't be staying late at the dental clinic they operated.
Once they entered the deepest part of the forest, Lilia cleared his throat, signaling that he was about to speak. Silver braced himself. His father was a habitually cheerful and easygoing man, able to make merry with nearly anyone that crossed his path, but the man's good humor came at the cost of his interlocutor's, at times.
First, Lilia asked what plans he had with Sebek for that afternoon.
"Not much."
Lilia shrugged off the curt response. They'd crossed several miles already, and the afternoon heat was prickling at his fair skin. He chastised himself for neglecting to bring a hat. He next asked, smiling broadly this time, hoping both to coax his son and to take his mind off the heat, if Silver was excited for all the fresh vegetables they'd soon be harvesting from their garden.
"I guess."
Still not discouraged, Lilia dispatched his probes once more, asking if Silver had any requests for dinner, and whether he'd read or heard anything interesting lately, but the boy deflected each one with a “Yes”, or a “No”, or an “I don’t know”. Silver had recently discovered that the briefer he kept his answers, the quicker he could get his father to stop talking, and this observation proved itself true once more, the man quitting his examination a few moments later. A feeling of discomfort prickled at his skin as the heat did his father's; the perfection of that morning a few short hours ago now seemed to him like a distant memory. They walked the rest of the way in silence.
By and by, the dirt road transitioned into a gravel walkway, and the Zigvolt’s farmhouse at last came into view. It was a noble building - tall and spacious, constructed from dense heart pine lumber, the eggshell white finish still shining brightly after so many years, with a towering red brick chimney that rivaled the surrounding cottonwood trees in their noble height. An amber light glowed softly from one of the windows. Silver and Lilia stopped before the stairs leading up to the front of the wraparound porch, where a clothesline heavy with freshly washed bed sheets rocked gently in the breeze. Ma Zigvolt was known to perfume her wash, and sunny notes of bergamot drifted down to them in waves.
The pair said their goodbyes, but when Lilia leaned forward to kiss the boy’s cheek, Silver moved away, ducking and turning around so quickly that Lilia stumbled as he fell through the empty air. He steadied himself hastily, his arms whirling for a moment before plummeting to his sides, his puckered lips collapsing into a frown. The rejection stunned him. His mind hastily reassembled and played back the insult it had just witnessed, finally ascertaining after the third repetition that he had not just been struck.
Wide-eyed, he croaked, “Silver?”
The boy took a step towards the house, his back turned to Lilia. “I’ll see you later,” he grunted, as though struggling under the weight of his father’s heavy gaze. And then he stormed up the porch, threw open the front door, and disappeared inside without a second glance.
Lilia stared imploringly at the silent house, but it offered him no answers. He shook his head and sighed. “The hell’s been going on with him lately?”
Sebek’s older sister Iris emerged onto the back porch carrying a tray of milk and pound cake. She set the tray on a small table by the door and began arranging the glasses and plates. She’d been away from home the past year, busy with her university studies, but had returned for the summer. Her absence had been difficult for the family – for Sebek most of all.
Though he was now the apple of her eye, Iris had been opposed to the idea of a younger brother at first. She’d spent the first few months of her mother’s pregnancy curled up against the low swell of her belly, regaling the child - her new little sister - with all the fantastic plans she had in store for the two of them. But when her parents returned from a doctor’s appointment one day, a set of grainy monochrome photographs in hand, and they announced the baby was, in fact, a boy, she felt the faceless black thing staring up at her from the pictures had betrayed her. She staunchly refused to address her mother’s stomach for the rest of the pregnancy.
Ultimately, Sebek entered the world as an absolute bear of a baby, all rolls and dimples and folds and milk white skin that smelled as sweet as honey. The first time Iris saw him, he was dozing open-mouthed, lying curled up on the pillow of his mother’s breast. He looked like a dollop of pure butter, and with that single glance the girl was thoroughly convinced of his perfection.
As the baby matured, growing conscious of himself and of the world around him, his burgeoning mind, incredibly receptive to every new stimulus that entered his environment, quickly took note of his sister’s eager affections, and it wasn’t long until he ascertained that his incapability was the trick to his own allure. A halfhearted grumble would earn him a kiss, for example; a miserable wail, liberation from his crib. It was almost cunning, the way he’d play the fool for her, wrapping her tighter and tighter around his plump little finger with every feigned ineptitude he devised. “Oh, Sebby!” Iris would laugh, scooping his doughy mass into the cradle of her arms when he'd whine to be held. “You’re just a helpless little thing, aren’t you?” And the baby would bat his cub paws at her and smile his gummy smile, as if to say, “Just you wait and see!"
When their brother Horace, the eldest of the three siblings, moved into his own apartment in the castle town a few years ago, Sebek had been secretly pleased, for their mother now looked to him for help with splitting firewood and mending the fences and tilling the garden. He knew his father could not be entrusted with such things - Linus Zigvolt was a kind and good man, but he was also foolish. And boring. And unforgivably human. Sebek’s mother and his sister - and his grandfather, when the man was in an affable mood - were the center of his juvenile universe. His father and brother merely orbited them. And whereas Horace’s departure had been no more noteworthy to him than the changing of the seasons, his sister had taken with her a sense of stability he still hadn’t grown accustomed to living without.
She was a tall, muscular girl, with a broad, handsome face that was rimmed by the family’s trademark scales. A star member of her school's track and field team, she had recently broken the district's shot put record, a fact which her parents and grandfather had been proudly mentioning at least once every day since. Although soft-spoken, like her father, she was also in possession of a tongue as caustic as her mother’s, and more than one naïve suitor had abandoned his endeavors a much meeker man than when he’d met her. Her long, green hair was bundled in two intricate fishtail braids that trailed down her back – a style popular amongst valley girls her age – and she brushed away a loose strand from her face as she straightened out the napkins. Her mind dimly registered that she'd need to schedule a trim before returning to school.
Content with her work, Iris turned to the garden and cupped her hands around her mouth, shouting, “Sebby! Silver! I brought you guys some snacks!”
The boys rose from behind the jumble of cardboard boxes they’d been working on taping together. They raced each other to the porch, politely offering Iris their thanks as they sat down at the table. Silver gingerly cut into his cake, careful not to scatter any crumbs. Iris had always thought of him as bird-like, with his wiry frame, and his too big head that hung so awkwardly from the end of his long crane neck, and she was struck once again at his meagerness as he pecked at his meal.
After observing them for a few moments, she asked, “Why’d you drag all those boxes into the yard for, anyways?”
“That’s – I mean – ‘Tis our fortress!” Sebek explained between mouthfuls of cake. “We’re defending our home from those wretched ne’er-do-wells yonder!” He pointed towards the garden with one hand and shoveled another piece of cake into his mouth with the other.
Iris followed the line of Sebek’s outstretched finger. Beyond its glaze-covered point lay a pair of rabbits, lazily nibbling on a patch of grass by the boxes.
“Ooh, so you guys are playing pretend again?” She smiled as she put her hands on her hips. “Are you knights this time? Do you want me to be, like, your damsel in distress again or whatever?”
Sebek’s face reddened. “Sissy, stop it!”
Iris laughed and pinched his cheek. He resigned limply.
“Don’t worry, I won’t interrupt your little fun.” She turned away, and then added, “I’ll be in my room, so just shout if you need anything.”
Sebek huffed as his sister closed the door behind her. He scrunched up his round little face and balled his fists. His cheeks were permanently ruddy, flushing darker or lighter depending on his level of agitation, and it was clear by their scarlet hue that Iris's words had hurt him. Silver pushed his empty plate away and stood up.
“Come on, Sebek,” he sighed, rubbing the other boy’s back placatively. “You can be the General of the Right this time. I’ll ask some birds and rabbits to be the townspeople, and you can come save us.”
Often, Silver’s ability to brush off any injury with the placidity of a rock would only inflame Sebek’s rage further, but he permitted his friend to coax him back into the garden. As he watched Silver recruit a regiment of forest creatures for their schemes, he decided there was fairness in the world yet.
Baul Zigvolt was dozing in his rocking chair when Lilia returned that evening. He was perhaps the progenitor of his family members' incredible statures. His wife had been a modest woman, of average height and unremarkable in her build, but he in turn was a veritable mountain of muscle and hardened flesh, so massive that the top of Lilia’s head just barely reached the enormous blocks of his shoulders. He was squeezed into his chair rather than sat upon it, and the wood groaned threateningly as he rocked. The family’s only pet, an equally massive black tomcat with a lone white spot on the tip of its tail, was sprawled comfortably by his feet. The creature was as lazy as it was amiable, having not once dispatched any of the vermin that made merry of its owners’ grain stores, but the children were so enamored with its corpulence that their parents could not bear to rehome it. It shared with Baul a passion for evening naps, and neither of them stirred as Lilia approached.
The two men had served in the Imperial Guard together for centuries, and though they’d stepped down from their posts and re-entered civilian life ages ago, having both established households and produced children, and were now enjoying all the slow pleasures of retirement, Baul still offered advisory services to the Guard on a voluntary basis. The truth of Lilia’s retirement, however, had never been fully absorbed into the folds of Baul’s brain, and he continued to address his erstwhile superior as “General” at their every meeting. “It’s just a bad habit!” he’d defend himself sheepishly when rebuked. But he would soon disremember his error, and would, in the next breath, refer to Lilia by his long-vacated position once again.
“Hello, Baul.” Lilia dipped his head in greeting.
“Evening, General,” Baul murmured, slowly blinking his eyes open with a yawn. “You come to get your boy?”
“Yes, do you know where he is?”
Baul leaned forward and jabbed his thumb behind him. “Yeah, he and Seb are playing out back.” He settled back into his chair and closed his eyes again, opening them once more a second later. “Oh, and while you’re at it, could you tell Seb he needs to get home before nightfall?”
“Oh?” Lilia raised an eyebrow. “That’s quite unlike you to worry about him,” he replied with a smirk.
“Hell if I care!” Baul huffed, crossing his arms. “We’ve been seeing bear tracks around here lately, and I don’t want him to come crying to me if he runs into one of the dumb bastards. That’s all.”
“I see, I see,” Lilia laughed. He reached out and stroked the cat’s head, cocking his own head as he did so. "Well, I don't hear them close by. Can I wait here until they come back? They're probably off playing in the woods somewhere."
Baul huffed again. "I certainly wouldn't mind any if you'd like to take a seat."
Lilia stepped onto the porch and lowered himself into the chair across from Baul with a groan. He was occasionally stricken with bouts of rheumatism, and the frequent trips to and from the Zigvolt’s that year had been taking their toll. Baul raised an eyebrow as Lilia pawed at his back, but made no comment on the subject, electing instead to remark on how nice the weather had been lately, and how excited his grandkids were to go swimming in the river that weekend. Lilia offered in turn the latest updates on his own son. The men exchanged these little stories about their children and grandchildren as passing travelers exchanged their wares. They would file away each anecdote into their hearts for safekeeping, and take them out later to smile at when left alone.
Their habitual pleasantries concluded, Lilia asked Baul if he'd noticed anything unusual about Silver that afternoon.
"Unusual?" Baul frowned. "In what way?"
"Ahh, was he..." Lilia searched for the right word. "Quiet at all?"
Baul scoffed. "He's always quiet. Never met a child made so little noise in my life. I always wondered how he turned out like that, being raised by a loudmouth like you."
"Hey!" Lilia frowned.
"Hah! Sorry, sorry," Baul replied with a laugh, throwing up his hands in defense. "But I mean, other than that, only thing I noticed is the kid's been growing like a weed lately. Guess that's one more thing where you don't have to worry he'll take after you. Heh."
Lilia paid no heed to his baseless fibbing, and instead concentrated his thoughts towards one of his oldest pleasures: finding ways to agitate Baul. He never wished to start any real fights, but was simply possessed by the natural urge to tease him, as a child might like to prod a sleeping bear. Baul found the topic of his son-in-law particularly sensitive, and Lilia grinned as he formulated his attack.
"And how's dear Linus? I heard from Silver the clinic's been pretty busy lately."
Lilia's ploy worked immediately. A vein throbbed on Baul's forehead. "That human is fine, far as I know."
"As far as you know?" Lilia looked at him quizzically. "Aren't you here almost everyday? When's the last time you spoke with him?"
"Hell if I know. I don't give a damn what he has to say."
Lilia rolled his eyes. "Will you ever get over yourself?"
"No!" Baul grunted automatically, flushing hot red once he understood Lilia's insult. "The hell's that even supposed to mean! General!"
Lilia laughed. "Oh, come on! Why can't you just cut him some slack already? I still can't believe he agreed to take your last name like you wanted, with the way you treat him."
"Hmph! One of the few things he's done right by me."
Like so many of his fae brethren, Baul did not favor humans. He and Lilia had witnessed their evils firsthand during their time in the service, and they had watched, powerless, as so many of their friends and comrades, so many of their hopes and dreams and aspirations were crushed and destroyed under the iron heels of their enemy. Over time, after peace treaties had been signed and all the war flags had been taken down and neatly folded and put away, Lilia's heart had softened enough to accept humans with a frivolous neutrality, going so far as to adopt one to raise as his son, but Baul's had not. He was immediately suspicious of the handful of humans that came to live in the valley after the war, turning up his nose at their strange wares and customs and ways. When even more of them began to pour into the castle town, he and his wife sold their house and fled to a small homestead in the forest.
But fate continued to torment him, and he ended up a widower shortly after their first and only child, Thalia, was born. Even through all of his pain, he found his daughter was perfect - more perfect than anything he had ever seen. He was at first cautious in his parenting, aware at all times that he might one day lose her, too, as he had lost so many others before, but the child embraced all the challenges of her life with a ferocity that stunned him, and his concerns quickly proved themselves unwarranted as the years went by. She grew to be a tall and proud woman - she was heavyset, soft and plump in all the places her father was lean and hard, and more beautiful than a dahlia in full bloom.
They remained close after she moved out, meeting together for dinner most nights, and he thought nothing of it when she mentioned she'd started working at a local dental clinic. She would now and then talk about her boss, a human who'd immigrated to the valley some years ago, and to Baul's dismay, her innocent admiration quickly burgeoned into something more serious. Her infatuation with the human felt to Baul like a betrayal. He and Thalia fought when she announced she was courting him, they fought when she announced her engagement, and they fought when she announced she was pregnant. It was Horace's birth that finally allowed for their armistice, and his arms trembled the first time he held his newborn grandson. A child's eyes are the truest mirror one can face, and when Baul gazed into the wet emerald panes peering up at him, he realized for the first time in his life how ugly he had become. He locked himself in his room when he returned home that night. All alone, he reached as far and as deep as he could into his heart and ripped out the black seed of his hatred, casting it far away - farther than Zeus could launch his bolts of lightning or Thor his hammer.
But even though he'd finally been able to make peace with his daughter, nothing could be done to mend his relationship with his son-in-law. Linus had been intensely curious of the world around him from a young age, and the interest he'd developed in fae dentition during his studies had drawn him across the ocean and into Briar Valley upon his graduation, where he established a successful dental practice that treated both human and fae patients, alike. He was a pinched and narrow man, from the bottom of his feet to the top of his head, and his heavy-lidded eyes had never lost the childlike spark that so often betrays us as we grow older. It was this spark that had first piqued Thalia's interest, and he was just as obsessed with his wife as she was with him. There was very little of him to see in their children - they had inherited neither his shaggy black hair nor his brown eyes, neither his wiry frame nor olive complexion; their mother's genetics had overpowered his so completely it was as though Thalia had simply sculpted each child from the white clay of the earth by herself. But he fiercely adored them, regardless, showering them with praise and affection, and with an abundance of sugary treats that would make other members of his profession light headed. Over the years, Baul had grown to appreciate Linus for his kindness and for his intellect, and for his devotion to his family, but still could not stand how weak he was, and how small. He was a foot shorter than his wife and several hundred pounds lighter - a miserable twig next to a glorious oak tree, and Baul often complained that he would "snap in half if he sneezed too hard." Worst of all, he was magicless - a transgression Baul knew he would never be able to forgive. He could only tolerate the man, and offered him no more mercy than that.
Lilia shook his head, exasperated. "My god, I'll never understand how Tally puts up with you. Woman has the patience of a saint."
"Yeah," Baul murmured. "Yeah, she does." He folded his hands in his lap and contemplated.
They rocked in comfortable silence. The sun drifted leisurely towards the horizon, and the golden-orange sky looked as soft as an oriole feather. A nightingale, determined to outwit its rival suitors, began his serenade an hour early. Lilia had come to that place with the sole intention of retrieving his son, but the evening breeze dislodged that singular thought from his mind, and it floated away to join the cloud of fireflies gathering in the front lawn. The cat observed all of this with great interest. It was suddenly wide awake where the two men beside it were growing slowly unconscious, its body twitching with the primordial knowledge that night would soon fall.
Silver and Sebek found the pair fast asleep when they returned an hour later.
II.
Sometimes, when the sun seems to hang frozen above him, stubbornly refusing to give up its domination to the pleasant respite of night, when there are no chores to distract him with and his boy isn’t around to tease, Lilia will wander - usually carelessly, at times with a pointed determination - into the dim labyrinth of his mind. It would always astound him how, despite nearly seven hundred years of escapades and follies, despite almost a millennium of joy and heartbreak and unrest and sorrow, there were so few memories for him to parse through. Some of them had simply faded away as he grew older, others had burst into his consciousness and then vanished like spring lightning, dragged down by his heart into an unknown place where they could no longer hurt him. When he’d at last reach the center of that great maze, he would cling onto the earliest memory he could salvage from its shadowy depths, and always he would find himself next blinking his eyes open into the dull light of the castle barracks. He was no longer certain if the memory was from the day he’d enlisted, or if it was from a time much later in the service. He only knew that he must’ve already been an adult then, that he must’ve already accepted all the solitude and responsibility that had been thrust onto his small shoulders by the forces that determined his life.
He'd been told by the queen, along with all the lords and ladies and every other manner of noble and aristocrat he had ever served, on numerous occasions and under no pretense of kindness, that the royal family had taken him in as a young orphan, but he could not remember if that was true. He was certain, at least, that they had given him his name. "Lilia" was derived from the fae word for lily flowers, a plant whose legends and symbolism encompassed grand ideals of hope and purity, and something about it - the sound of it, its grandiose meanings, the way it would catch itself on his teeth, as though his body could not recognize what it was he was trying to say - had always felt wrong to him - foreign, even, so that he always felt like the people addressing him were talking to someone else. Out of discomfort, he often went by his last name, instead. "Vanrouge" had a sharpness to it that he found suited himself much more - both the sharpness of his temperament, and of his body. He was bony and stunted in height, his back no broader than the sticks used for kindling, and he stood shoulder height or lower to most adults his age. The nobility was not beyond recoginizing his strength and his talent in magic, however, and for all that his self-proclaimed benefactors gave him - a place to call home, people he could call family, military prestige beyond his wildest dreams - they took away just as much. Their orders came down like axe heads, and for centuries he dutifully served under their beck and call, acting as a guard dog for them one day, a scapegoat another, an undertaker the next, folding for them like a blade of grass forced flat by the wind.
He stumbled through the years as haphazardly as a tightrope walker, going only where he was told to go and doing only what he was told to do. He worked to the point that he could work no more, and when his incapability was discovered, he was immediately ordered to resign. It was one of the few times in his life he had ever felt afraid. Each and every one of the sovereignty's commands had been a link in a long fetter that bound him to their sides, but it had also been his lifeline, and without it, he feared he would be lost. The day of his resignation, he received one final order to remove his things from the barracks before leaving. The truth of it all pierced his mind like an arrow just then. He realized all at once that the tiny room with its cot and its chest and its wardrobe would be his prison cell no more, that the four walls that had been closing in on him for centuries had finally halted in their paths. He realized the thing that had been beating in his chest all his life had not been stamped out, had not been taken away from him - he had lost his dignity, his strength, even some of the people he had permitted himself to love, but not this. He smiled as he left the castle, made giddy by the greatest secret he knew he would never be able to tell. The discharge papers in his hands suddenly seemed to him like a pardon.
However, he had spent so many years bowing down to others he found he did not recognize the world when he finally stood up and looked at it again. With nothing more left in his life to guide him, he left his homeland shortly after his expulsion. He traveled from country to country with no real destination in mind - if a locale displeased him, he simply packed his things and departed for the next. As the years went by, he gradually began to operate with less and less reason, doing everything and anything he could "just because". Time had molded the clay of his person into a confusing and crude shape, and after decades of slow disentanglement and reformation, of reclaiming all the good things he had been forced to cast out of his heart, he discovered that his truest pleasure was to simply live by his whims. When he at last exhausted his traveling funds, he returned to the valley, settling down only because he'd never done so before, and was curious how well it would go. The people around him pitied him, as one often does those whom Life seems to have forgotten in its haste, but he was far too absorbed in his newfound self-indulgences to pay them any mind.
Even the acquisition of his son had been unplanned. He'd periodically scavenge from the ghost towns that dotted the countryside, in search of tools and good lumber he could use for his repairs back home, and on one such excursion, while searching through the rooms of a crumbling little cottage located deep within the valley's eastern forests, he found a human baby, fast asleep in its cradle. It was gaunt, with an evident pallor to its face, and Lilia quickly concluded it had been abandoned; the stagnant air in that place told him no other living being had been there for days. When he turned to leave, not wishing to disrupt Nature's process, an idea struck his mind so suddenly and so violently he had to steady himself against the doorway before he fell. What if he were to keep the child? What if he, a fae, were to raise the very flesh and blood of his nation's most ancient enemy? The notion intoxicated him. His head spun as he slowly returned to the crib.
"Now wouldn't that be a lark," he murmured as he raised the child. It blinked up at him weakly with eyes the color of the aurora, and Lilia was immediately convinced of his own genius.
"Let's get you something to eat, you poor thing! I'm quite famished myself, you know. You have excellent timing," he said with a wink. The baby watched him silently as he carried it back home.
He thought it would be simple. He knew from his time watching over the infant Malleus that babies needed little more than food, play, clean diapers, and naps. His first charge had flourished splendidly in his care, and he had no doubt his second would do the same.
But Silver was difficult. After its initial, desperate feeding, the baby, seeming to finally remember it was in possession of lungs and a vocal instrument, began to cry incessantly. If it wasn't in Lilia's arms, it cried. If it went a moment too long between feedings, it cried. Even when it slept Lilia was not safe. If he set it down for a nap and attempted to leave the room, it would awaken immediately, understand it had been abandoned once more, and would cry. There were times - random, and frustratingly rare - where it would suddenly stop in the midst of one of its fits, and smile at Lilia so sweetly he'd wonder if someone had snuck in and swapped the child for another when he wasn't looking. Once he realized his legendary frivolity had met its match, he began consulting with the Zigvolts on a regular basis, as Pa Zigvolt was the only human in the valley he trusted. It was the height of summer then, a time he'd usually spend taking refuge in the cool shadows indoors, but he did not mind walking the five long miles back and forth between their homes, preferring even the heat over the child's endless screaming. Pa Zigvolt assisted him to the best of his abilities, imparting to Lilia all the knowledge he had acquired over the years as a then-father of two, and Silver's fits ended a few months later as abruptly as they'd started.
The second hurdle arose when the little boy began to talk. His first, crude word was "Ba pa", and it took several days for Lilia's mind to finally register that he was the intended recipient of this title. He'd planned to have Silver call him by his first name, just as he'd been forced to do when Malleus was little, and hearing the child acknowledge him as its parent made him uncomfortable, as though both of them were breaking a rule he didn't know the name of. The baby, however, refused his every plea for reconsideration, and gradually figured out all the tricks of human speech as he grew older, learning to perfectly pucker his lips, and mastering the rhythm of the two syllables he so desperately wished to string together. He would repeat "Papa" throughout the day, singing out "Papa, Papa, Papa!" with the joy of a hymn. But for Lilia, each utterance was like a stone launched against the walls he had built up around his heart, and when they collapsed and faded away into nothing, he realized his discomfort had vanished with them.
He would later realize, too, that where he'd long forgotten much of his early life, he found he could now remember, to an almost startling degree, much of what he'd seen and experienced ever since he took in the boy. He could still remember a freezing day in January over a decade ago, when Silver had chanced upon a lone snowdrop shivering off the cold in the meadow near their home. The flower had fascinated the boy severely; he sat before it, stone still, tilting his heavy head this way and that, trying to understand the small creature’s drooping frame. Eventually, Lilia came over and accompanied him in his study. He had seen snowdrops countless times before, while marching through the countryside, while working on the clearing, but only then, as he knelt in the snow with the young boy at his side, both of them shivering quietly in the late winter light, only then did he finally realize its perfection. He could still remember, too, the snow slowly melting later that year, and Silver pointing out to him the magnolias blooming in the copse behind their shed, and the daffodils and tulips breaking through the frost that blanketed their small garden, and the linden trees releasing their sweet perfume. He could remember Silver revealing to him with a boyish surety the strangeness of rain showers on sunny days, and the comfort of the mist that lingers on cool autumn mornings. So many sights and sounds and sensations had passed by him all his life in a blur - colorless and dull, abstract and undefined, and when his son entered his life, it was as though a bolt of lightning the color of the aurora had struck the earth and finally given all these things their color and meaning.
But Silver had begun to change recently. Not physically - no, he still had the same rosy, cherubic little cheeks; the same bright blue-grey eyes; and the same sweet, half-crooked smile that Lilia would proudly boast about to all who would listen, and even to those who would not. It was his attitude, his tone of voice, his humor that had changed, and Lilia had not noticed it willingly, at first. Where he'd always been so agreeable and forthcoming, so that Lilia was unsure if the boy had ever kept a secret from him in his entire life, he was now secretive and temperamental. At times, Silver would whirl on him like a wildcat, his eyes narrowed, his thin lips pulled back into a snarl, upset at something Lilia could not understand. There was always a strange look to his eyes during these flares, not quite panicked, yet not angered, either. He looked, if anything, confused - as though he could not believe the truth of the thing he'd just done. When he was amicable, he was as loquacious as a monk. He'd also been showing a newfound apathy towards Lilia's jokes and teasing, and to his presence overall, expressing more and more his desire to be left alone. Most alarming of all, Silver had recently stopped addressing him as "Papa", and now called him "Father", instead. It felt as unnatural as if a songbird had stopped singing. He found it vulgar. "Father" was harsh, adult, stern - formal and distant where his previous moniker had been so intimate and sweet. He'd pleaded with Silver more than once the past month, asking if anything was wrong, demanding to know why he was acting like this, but the boy was unwavering in his defiance, curtly assuring him each time that everything was fine, before excusing himself to go be alone his room once more.
Lilia ultimately decided not to push the matter further, presuming Silver would recover his good attitude in due time, and had instead been focusing his attention on preparing the homestead for summer. The garden work and other miscellaneous chores had all been welcome distractions, but an incident the past week had revived his concerns.
He and Silver had gone to the Zigvolt's for dinner. Ma Zigvolt prepared a feast of grilled corn cobs, roast venison slow-cooked with creamy golden potatoes and carrots, and a whole pile of her buttery homemade biscuits. The pair ate heartily, having both worked up a respectable appetite from hoeing weeds together all that morning, and as usual, they stayed with their hosts late into the evening, if only so Lilia and Baul could talk, and so Silver and Sebek could listen. It was the boys' greatest pleasure in the world to gather in the parlor and listen to them talk. Sometimes, they would simply muse on the recent weather, or discuss local politics. Other times, they'd tell stories - the boys always begged for a story. The former war heroes would weave tales about all the faraway lands they had journeyed to and the greatest enemies they had ever faced, and about fearsome beasts the children had never heard of and stars they'd never seen - “Men’s talk”, as Ma Zigvolt would scoffingly call it. But there was always softness in her voice whenever she rebuked their late-night gatherings. Horace and Iris used to join the small audience, too, but gradually stopped as they grew older, claiming the men's yarns had lost their appeal. It was one of the few things Sebek disagreed with his sister on - he worshiped her, but understood at his young age that even an idol's opinions could be wrong, at times.
The boys' habit was such:
Sebek would sprawl on the bearskin rug before the fireplace, and Silver would curl up against his father’s chair, his head resting on the man’s lap. Lilia would play with his son's hair absentmindedly while he spoke. It could’ve been the shining hands of the angel Gabriel himself carding those gentle fingers through his hair and the boy scarcely would’ve noticed a difference. This was his great reprieve, the most delicious reward after a long and tiring day of chores and training and schoolwork and hard labor; a time for him to sigh out all the aches and pains that gripped his thin body and a time for him to rest.
Lilia knew all this. He had always known this. His son’s heart was a rose; he needed only to whisper the boy's name and its petals would unfurl for him.
The meeting last week had proceeded as usual, at first. Dinner was enjoyed by all, the fireplace was lit, Baul and Lilia took their seats in the parlor, and Sebek planted himself on the bearskin rug. But when Lilia smiled at Silver and set his hands on his lap, his palms upturned, the boy turned away, sitting down in front of the fireplace next to Sebek, instead.
In that moment, Lilia realized Silver's strange behavior the past month was a symptom of an issue far graver than he could have anticipated. When they returned home that night, he consulted his trove of parenting books after Silver went to bed. He'd bought a number of them when the infant Silver had begun his fits, turning to them for advice whenever the boy fell ill or reached a new developmental milestone. He hadn't read any of them in ages, and he sneezed as a cloud of dust billowed when he pulled them down from the shelf.
He flipped through the yellowing tomes one by one, smiling whenever he came across a dogeared page. Each bookmark and scribbled note he could trace back to a specific period in Silver's life, and the memories of those first few stressful years he now counted amongst his greatest treasures. He worked through the tall stack throughout the night, giving up at dawn with a sigh. Were he a more sensible man, perhaps he would've taken note of the fact that his entire collection was made up of books concerning a human's first few years of life, and that his son was now thirteen.
III.
A massive thunderstorm exploded into the valley in early June. It seemed to have materialized from nothing, catching the residents off guard like a cottonmouth's strike. On the first day of the storm, Lilia presumed it was nothing more than a typical summer shower, and felt confident it would quickly pass. On the third day, he remarked he had never seen anything like it before in his life. By the fifth, he was too stunned to speak again. The rain fell down in sheets as thick as pure marble. The sun and moon and stars all vanished beneath a sky as dark as bruised flesh, and only the candles melting above the fireplace gave any indication that time had not stopped. Some days, the rain would harden into hail, and it would pelt the earth like white meteors for hours on end. The deluge pounded on for over a week. The first morning after the storm, the valley denizens stepped cautiously into what seemed like a brand new world. Entire villages had been washed away in some areas, and miles of farmland now stood underwater in others. The river, engorged with rainwater, had flooded over, transforming large swaths of the surrounding forest into a veritable swamp. Carcasses of the animals that hadn't escaped the disaster - deer, boars, turkey, elk, wolves, snakes, predator and prey, young and old - drifted in a black line down the muddy waters. Buzzards whirling their death dance filled the skies.
The Vanrouge's clearing, located uphill, had been mostly spared - a drowned chicken the lone fatality. But the corn fields had been left flattened, and the thatching on the cottage roof lay in shambles. Silver and Lilia worked quickly to dig a maze of deep trenches to help drain the excess water from the garden and pasture. They ripped out the molding stalks of corn and salvaged as many of the clean cobs as possible, hanging them to sun-dry from a wooden rack they'd erected in the yard. "The animals will be glad to have them, at least," Lilia had sighed.
Realizing they were quickly running out of nails and boards to finish making the repairs, Lilia decided one morning to head into the nearest town and replenish their dwindling supplies. Before leaving, he found Silver lying on his stomach in the living room, peering intently into a bird identification book he'd received for his birthday. He called out to the boy while he finished getting dressed.
“Silver, darling?”
Silver’s face, framed on one side by an illustration of a juvenile blackbird peeking out from its nest, and on the other by an adult in flight, emerged from between the pages of his book. Without looking up, he replied, "Yes, father?"
He still on that “father” thing? Lilia swallowed the annoyed groan building in his throat. “While I’m gone, could you butcher one of the shoats, please? I just noticed we’re about to run out of pork belly.”
“Yeah, I’ll take care of it today.”
“Perfect, thank you.”
Lilia grabbed his leather coin purse from the table by the door and secured it to the hook on his belt. He threw a light cloak over his shoulders, anticipating more rain, and glanced at Silver across the room while he fussed with the clasps.
The boy had retreated into his book.
Lilia sighed. The past week had been quiet. Even with the hail exploding all around them and the wind howling and the rain pounding like sledgehammers against their home, it had been quiet, because Silver had hardly spoken a word the entire time. The child's voice seldom rose above a pleasant murmur as a habit, and yet its absence had made the little cottage seem so much vaster and emptier than it really was; there were times during the storm Lilia had felt like the only living thing in the world trapped within its black fury. He hovered at the door for a moment, debating if he should try to kiss the boy goodbye, but his every attempt at parental affection the past month had been met with hostility, scorn, and disgust, and he feared any further attempts would only end the same. Electing for the path of least resistance, he opened the door and departed without another word.
Silver waited for the door to click shut before he pushed his book aside, sitting up with a grunt. He grabbed his pig sticker from his room and slipped on his work boots and gloves. Butchering was laborious work, more so than even his father's rigorous training regimes, and he gripped his knife expectantly while gathering his things.
The clearing glittered with rainwater as he stepped outside. The air was heavy, weighed down by a thick layer of petrichor, smelling somehow both earthy and sweet at once, and it felt like he had to push through it as he walked, as though he were swimming upstream. While struggling towards the pig pen, he contemplated his soggy surroundings. The wet ground was as dark as umber. The chickens, equally as wet and as dark, were scratching dejectedly at the mud, and the cows looked on wisely from underneath their dripping lean-to. He was thankful the garden hadn't been harmed. The brightly colored heads of the newborn squash peeking out from their leafy cradles lifted his heart where the rest of the world drooped and dripped so miserably around him. On the second day of the storm, when it was evident the rain and the wind would not soon abate, he and his father had rushed to cover all the plants with heavy sheets of plastic in a last-ditch attempt to save them. The covers had served them well, having prevented the incurrence of any vegetative losses, and though they now sported deep abrasions where the hail had struck them, Silver found the markings as noble and as handsome as any other battle scar.
Upon reaching the pen, he selected the smallest of the shoats, doubtful he could handle one of the larger animals on his own. The blade of his pig sticker shone dully in the dappled light. The mahogany handle felt cool in his sweat-slicked hand. With a practiced surety, Silver plunged the knife up into the pig’s rib cage, and the animal collapsed to the ground. He cleaned the blade in the grass while he waited for the body to stop moving. After the shoat finally stilled, he hoisted its heavy body onto the metal gambrel hanging from the tree by the shed, and then he began the long work - extracting the tender leaf fat hidden deep within it.
He grabbed the set of butcher knives from the shed and used the longest one to cut into the hide. The skin was rough against his hands, coated with a thick layer of wiry hair, and he grunted as he ripped it off. The head and wet mass of guts and other organs he removed from the torso as quickly as possible, discarding them in a pile far behind them, where he did not have to look at them and remember what he had just done. He slowed down to a comfortable pace as he began removing the leaf fat. The pigs had been enjoying a hearty diet of sweet potatoes, mulberries, and corn for most of the year, and the shoat he'd selected was richly packed with thick sheets of candle white fat. He plunged his knife into the carcass and began separating the fat from the muscle, working in a rhythm, stopping at times to put down his knife and use his hands to tear back the white slab, then picking it up again to continue cutting. He dislodged the mass with one final flick of his knife and deposited it into a bucket by his feet. Once rendered, it would be used not just for cooking, but also to make soap and candles, as a poultice for minor burns and wounds, and as lotion for chapped skin.
After swapping his knife for a bone saw, he split the carcass in half, and then hung both pieces inside the smokehouse. In a few days, once the meat had tenderized, he and his father would finish quartering them and divvying up the meat, grinding some of the portions to make sausage, and putting aside others for bacon and jerky.
He could feel beads of sweat crawling down his back like a line of ants as he plodded over to the water shelf to wash his hands. He figured by the sun's position there were still a few hours of morning left. Might as well see if I can't hunt something he thought, having already exhausted all the distractions the clearing and the cottage could offer.
He washed himself hastily, glancing in the mirror as he dried his hands against his pant legs. He was a demonstrably plain boy – not outstanding in height or wit or strength or speed. His body was lean and wiry, his hands prematurely calloused from years of grueling work, and only the few meager lumps of baby fat that clung to his face protested weakly that he was, indeed, just a child. The only remarkable thing about him was his eyes – they were a brilliant blend of amethyst and steel blue, almost prismatic in nature, seeming to change color with the rise and fall of the sun. The few adults in his life often remarked on their beauty, but Silver never paid their compliments any mind - in truth, he rejected them. He'd always thought his eyes plain, just as he thought the rest of himself plain, especially in comparison to the fae, and if there was any one thing he begrudged Sebek for, it was the serpentine pupils he'd inherited from his forefathers. He frowned at the mirror, then averted his gaze from his dissatisfied reflection.
Before leaving, Silver printed on the back of a used envelope a short note for his father, letting him know he was going hunting, and that he would return home before supper, and this he left on the counter, held in place with a coffee tin. He then retrieved his crossbow from his room, and left the clearing, cutting a path straight North, far away from the bloated river and its poisons. Huge puddles of muddy water dotted the trail before him, and the damp ground squelched noisily under his boots. The trail was bordered by a lavender frame of honeysuckle in full bloom, but the trumpets sagged poorly, still heavy with water. His father had said it would likely take another week or two for the land to dry completely.
Silver had observed the storm with great interest. Pa Zigvolt had once told him how people in other countries conceived of the beginning of the world, and in one version, he spoke of when the planet was all water, and a god had sculpted the land and the sky and all living creatures, and Silver had wondered during the storm if this was how the world had looked during those primordial seven days, or if perhaps that wrathful god had come back to restart its creation. Never before in his life had he seen so much rain, so much wind and lightning and hail all at once before. The sky was one ocean and the land was another. The rain seemed to move back and forth between them, falling and rising, the drops of water shining like the million wings of a dragonfly swarm. He processed novelties such as these almost programmatically. If he understood something, then he determined he would not fear it. His comprehension was a beam of light he could shine upon his abhorrations, it would cut through the shadow of his uncertainty and allow him to see the face of the thing, to touch it, and to understand it. He was afraid of very little: the forest at night, adders (he'd been bitten once as a small child), all the various tinctures and teas prescribed for his occasional afflictions, and his father's Halloween performances. Darkness was one thing he'd studied and studied since he was very young, but had never been able to puzzle out, perhaps because it did not end. It was too broad, too immeasurable; he could lift up one corner of it and step underneath it and walk a thousand miles and still never glimpse its face. Even when it receded during the day, he felt it prowling beyond the safety of the clearing, like a panther in waiting. The storm, too, had seemed infinite in its wrath, but it had ended, and now it was gone. Now there was only a liquid world, shimmering, iridescent, like one great droplet of water sitting on an endless spiderweb.
The frenzied drumming of a male grouse sounded off in the distance, beyond a thick wall of fir and aspen. Following the clamor, Silver slipped into the underbrush. He moved over the wet leaf litter as quiet as a shadow. The performer soon came into view, perched atop a fallen cedar tree. It was in the midst of a thunderous crescendo, beating its spectacled wings so feverously the air around it seemed a solid tawny blur. Silver dropped to a crouch, stalking slowly forward until he reached a mass of undergrowth tall enough to conceal him. Kneeling in the grass, he loaded an arrow into his crossbow, disengaging the safety as he raised it to his shoulder.
A noise above drew his attention. A red squirrel, high up in the tree beside him, was glaring at him, its eyes blazing as fiercely as its bright copper fur. Silver held his breath. If the squirrel let out a warning bark, the grouse would surely hear it and scatter. His gaze flew between his observer and his target - the bird had paused in its performance, its small black eyes scanning the tree line where he was hiding.
After a few tense moments, the squirrel disappeared into the privacy of the canopy with a huff. The grouse cocked its head, alert, but not alarmed, and then resumed its drumming. Silver quietly let out the breath he'd been holding and moved his finger over the trigger. The arrow soared through the air and struck the grouse with a heavy thud. It fell to the ground, disappearing behind it's earthen stage.
Silver stood up and thrust his crossbow behind him. He rushed in long strides to the log and hoisted the grouse's limp body with one hand, his own body still thrumming with adrenaline. A scarlet blot bloomed in the animal's chest where his arrow had pierced it. The sight of the blood immediately muted all his excitement. He whispered an earnest "Thank you" to the creature before slipping its thin neck up under his belt and turning around. As he stood there, awash in the late morning light, contemplating the still-warm body resting against his thigh, his mind finally acknowledged that he knew this place.
One day, a few months ago, on his way home from collecting armfuls of wild sorrel and burdock in the forest, Silver had discovered a great horned owl sitting atop a towering oak tree while passing through there. The creatures were rarely seen during the day, typically active only during crepuscular hours, and Silver carefully set down his leafy bundle upon spotting it, taking the opportunity to quietly study the bird for as long as it allowed him to. He concluded that its long, brown ear-tufts reminded him of the projections in his father’s hair, and he smiled, pleased by the genius of his observation. When he walked up to the tree and craned his head back, the owl slowly blinked its yellow eyes down at him in perplexment.
“Could you please help me?” Silver asked.
“Whooo?”
“You, silly bird!” he laughed. He explained that he'd learned a new word recently, and desired an audience before which to practice his pronunciation.
The owl obliged his request and swooped down to a branch directly before him. He unfastened his cloak and draped it around its neck, carefully hooking up the fastener so as to not pinch its feathers.
He stepped back to admire his work. “Looks good to me,” he murmured to himself, nodding. “Now, I want you to please pretend to be my papa- I mean, my father.”
The owl stared at a toad loitering by Silver’s feet. It looked up and blinked its spotlight eyes at him slowly.
Flustered, Silver continued. “Oh, if you just sit there, that should be okay! I’ll go ahead and start now. I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”
He cleared his throat and straightened his back, crossing his arms. “Hello, Pa-, erm, Father. Today, I’m going to go play- I mean!! I’m going to go train with Sebek. I’ll be back for dinner. Farewell!”
He spun around and marched off, swinging his arms importantly, just like he’d seen the imperial guards do on his rare trips into town. After a few heavy steps, he stopped and turned around again, nervously searching his spectator's face for any sign of reproach.
“...How was that?” he asked after a moment.
The owl bobbed its head excitedly, but Silver could not determine if the gesture was meant for him, or for the toad that was now clinging plaintively to his feet. He reset his stance and repeated the exercise from the beginning. Again and again he stuttered through his short speech and pumped his arms and stomped across the ground, and then turned around to be greeted by a feathery face as unintelligible as some ancient cipher. This cycle continued for so long his pile of greens had begun to wilt by the time he was at last satisfied.
His request had been sincere, if not misguided. The new moniker he'd chosen for Lilia sat as heavy and awkwardly as a foreign word on his tongue, and he'd often lapse into calling the man "Papa" as a course of habit, which he'd aimed to rectify through this practice. But there was another, graver reason why he'd felt so anxious that day - a secret dilemma had been plaguing him for weeks.
He had discovered, unwillingly, and to his great alarm, that the adults in his life had suddenly developed an irritating air about them. He wished, for example, to push away Ma Zigvolt’s pinching hands when they reached for the roundness of his face and to flee from Pa Zigvolt’s awkward attempts at conversation. Baul and his father’s stories had lost their wonder, too, no longer coloring the quiet expanse of his dreams. And his father, by far, presented the most extreme case of this mysterious ailment.
It was as though, after thirteen long years of worshiping the very ground he walked on, Silver had woken up one day with his mind rewired to find everything the man did purely annoying. When he'd suddenly start to sing in that strange, deep voice he could conjure on a whim, or when he’d pester him with questions, asking him how his day was, and what he and Sebek had gotten up to, or when he'd declare to the world what a splendid, hardworking boy he was, instead of laughing or smiling or nodding along, as per his customary response, Silver instead found himself praying for the earth to open up and swallow him whole.
Even Malleus had changed. All his life, Silver had approached the young prince unabashed and forthcoming, as he was never taught the fear that lurked in the hearts of many of the valley’s citizens. Indeed, for Silver, Malleus was one of the precious few cornerstones of his meager world – he was a comforting shadow in the dim haze of Silver's infantile memories, and the green glow of his magic was as reassuring to him as the North Star’s guiding light. More than anything, he was someone - the only one - who’d come visit Silver when his father was away.
Lilia had resumed traveling for leisure after Silver was old enough to look after the homestead on his own. He was never gone long, in his own opinion, only a week or two at most. He'd pack the fridge full of questionable food for the boy, leave him a list of chores and rules to follow that was, at times, as questionable as the food, kiss his cheek goodbye, and then promptly disappear to whatever locale he'd selected for his itinerary that month. He'd always send Silver postcards of the places he'd visit. They often arrived faded and torn, or sopping wet from the rain, but Silver kept each and every one of them, regardless if damaged or illegible, or otherwise totally destroyed, in a little box underneath his bed. When he lay down to sleep at night, in his mind he would reach his hand underneath his bed, open his box, and quietly step into the distant worlds contained within the postcards.
Some nights, he and his father would stroll through the glass-topped bazaars of the Shaftlands, their arms heavy with paper shopping bags filled to the brim with newly purchased clothing and trinkets and toys, slowly moving through the crystalline cloud of cologne and parfum drifting out from the stores and boutiques, each establishment a gem of its own, the arcade an endless line of diamonds, amethysts, pearls, topaz, and rubies; then this vision would vanish, and he and his father would be pulled another thousand miles away to the golden plains of the Sunset Savanna, where sky touched the earth, where a boiling sun raged like an angry god above a scorched plateau of rock and grit and sand and red clay dust, and they would journey across this shimmering land marveling at all the beasts and vegetation Silver had only ever read about in his books, and would likely never see for as long as he lived.
He'd spend the entire night thus traipsing from one postcard to the next, so that by the time he awoke in the morning, he'd crossed nearly half the planet in his sleep.
This habit he continued for over half a year, at which point Malleus at last learned of Lilia's departures. Often kept detained at the castle by mountains of paperwork and other bureaucratic trivialities that left him too exasperated and too occupied for leisure, he did not regularly call on the Vanrouges, and when he'd taken a rare opportunity to drop by their cottage one day, many years ago, he was surprised when Silver opened the door and informed him that his father was gone. Silver did not notice anything strange about Malleus's reaction, at first. He'd gotten another postcard recently. On the front, an image of massive, stone towers rising high into a cloudless turquoise sky, their spires terminating into crowns shaped like pyramids; on the back, in his fathers prim script, a short note explaining the structures were called "obelisks'', and that they were monuments dedicated to the local gods of that region. All of Silver's dreams lately had been of endless deserts and great golden towers and the ancient kings and queens that once ruled over them, and when he saw the pair of black obelisks that were concealed in Malleus's slit pupils, his fantasies materialized temptingly in his mind once again.
But Malleus's low voice, inquiring on Lilia's return, pulled him back to the clearing and the small cottage and its plainness for a moment. Trying to focus, he stated bluntly that his father would not be back for another week.
"A week?" Malleus said, his tone halfway between a scoff and a cry.
"A week," Silver repeated absentmindedly, busy trying to determine how a pharaoh's headdress might sit between Malleus's horns.
When his gaze drifted lazily back to Malleus's eyes, he finally realized the man was angry. The black obelisks had vanished, and all the kings and queens in his mind bowed their heavy ornate heads, crumbling away to nothing in the face of the prince's quiet rage.
From that day on, Malleus dedicated himself to visiting Silver as much as possible when Lilia was away. He would bring with him cakes and pies he'd stolen from the castle's kitchen, and books he'd snuck out of the royal library, and they would sit together and enjoy these treasures in the living room, or stroll through the forest when the weather was fair. These visits made Silver feel very important, a sensation he seldom had the privilege to enjoy, and he'd imagine he was a duke welcoming a fellow aristocrat to his palace whenever Malleus stopped by. The lonely late-night journeys through his postcards melted away into this new pleasure.
As Silver matured, he slowly began to comprehend the gravity of Malleus’s periodic decampments. It first felt like nothing more than a small discomfort, as though he were wearing a garment a size too small. As time went on, the discomfort only grew, transforming from a minor inconvenience into an ever-present malaise. But Silver was attentive as he was reticent, and he’d noticed how, when he’d caper with Malleus through the forests, the pixies living in the oak trees and the river would whisper and whisper all around them, their high voices a chorus of reproachful chimes. And he’d noticed, too, the confusion that had flashed across his father’s eyes the day he’d confessed to these secret visits. Silver collected these observations as his evidence, examined them, and concluded that Malleus was doing something wrong. But to accuse their crown prince of misconduct required a level of brazenness that far exceeded his capabilities, and he'd waited several months until he finally voiced his suspicions.
He broached the topic the spring prior, when his father had departed for a week-long sojourn in the Shaftlands. That first night, Malleus appeared at the cottage door with a pan of freshly baked apple strudel in hand. After they were sat at the table and Malleus began cutting their portions, Silver at last revealed all his concerns.
When he finished speaking, he watched Malleus’s hand slow down as it moved the knife through the steaming pastry.
“I…” Malleus pursed his lips in thought, lifting them into a soft smile a moment later.
“I remember how I felt whenever Lilia would vanish on one of his excursions when I was little, and I suppose I simply wish not for you to feel the same.”
“But that’s-”
“You needn’t worry, Silver.” Malleus laughed gently, pushing a plate heavy with warm strudel towards him. “I shan’t get into any trouble - so long as my grandmother remains none the wiser about all this, that is,” he finished with a wink.
Silver was at once overcome by a rush of joy and shame and guilt and relief all combined together. His body, unable to process this strange emotional amalgamation, resigned to color itself with a vicious crimson flush. The chameleonic display was so severe it shocked even Malleus, and he spent the rest of that evening marveling at the different shades of red human skin could take.
Something shifted in Silver's relationship with Malleus that day. He felt it before he understood what it was. When his father returned from his trip, he revealed to Silver the truth that had been looming over him all of his life, and explained to him all the different rules that Malleus had been egregiously breaking for him for years on end. When the lecture was finished, Silver asked his father to leave his room so he could ruminate. He concluded that if it was wrong for Malleus to show him this kindness, if it had to be locked away and kept a secret, then he would keep his own secret - he would take his love for Malleus, for his brother, and he would bury it. He would construct a pedestal in his heart, as all the other valley citizens had long been taught to do, and place upon it the man he'd been too ignorant to realize had never truly been his equal and his friend.
He was bothered greatly – by his father’s antics, by the dullness of the adults around him, by the solitude of his strange and sudden affliction – and yet he never could find a remedy for his discomfort. It was like an insect had stung him in a spot his hands couldn’t quite reach, and the words to describe how he felt evaded him just the same.
All of this he considered once more as he left the forest, stumbling back home in a haze of speculation. By the time he reached the clearing, the darkened sky looked like a giant raven's wing stretched out over the land, and the treefrogs had already begun their evening serenade. Even in the low light he could feel their beady eyes staring at him as he approached the door.
Inside, the cottage was warm, and his father's humming radiated quietly from the kitchen. After slipping off his muddy boots by the door, he set the limp grouse on the counter and went to wash his hands at the basin.
His father stood before the cookstove, stirring a pot bubbling with a substance as black as tar. He looked up, and the smile he’d been planning to offer Silver rapidly faded away. Knitting his brow in concern, he asked, “Is everything okay?”
Silver swallowed thickly and nodded. “I’m fine.”
IV.
Summer crept forward like an inchworm. The land dried out completely within a matter of weeks, as Lilia had predicted, and one could now comfortably move around outside without fear of the humidity's oppression. The linden trees, made anxious by the pounding wind and rain, had been steadfastly clutching their bright yellow flowers against their leafy breasts since the start of the month, and had only recently just begun allowing the satiny petals to unfurl, as though acknowledging the valley's languid recuperation. Their delicious perfume billowed out across the entire nation, eventually overshadowing even the contaminated river's foul odor.
The Zigvolts had fared well through the disaster, their tall, white house still standing proud and pristine amongst a mess of downed trees and waterlogged foliage, not a single red brick from the chimney missing or otherwise harmed. Their neighbors, however, had not been nearly as fortunate, and the elder Zigvolts had agreed to close the dental clinic while they helped their friends repair their homes. The children eagerly assisted wherever possible, and they spent the better part of June lugging armfuls of wood and shingles, readjusting crooked fences, and clearing out dripping debris from the trails that weaved around their home. The entire family would work from morning until late at night, reserving one day a week to either relax or to see to any high-priority dental cases.
It was on one of these holidays, in late June, when Lilia and Silver dropped by in the morning for a scheduled call. The two families gathered in the parlor, the adults chatting amicably, while the children competed to see who'd had the most interesting experiences during the storm, but as noon rolled around and the boys lost interest in conversation, Baul suggested they go outside for an impromptu sword fighting lesson. The group thus disbanded, Lilia remaining with Pa and Ma Zigvolt in the parlor, while Iris joined her grandfather and the family cat in supervising the boys, taking turns cheering for her brother or for Silver as she saw fit.
After they left, Ma Zigvolt went to the kitchen and refilled the pitcher of ice tea she'd prepared that morning, topping up Lilia's glass for him before retaking her seat. Looking at him expectantly, she asked, "Now what were you saying before? About Silver."
“Ah, about Silver acting strangely during the storm?” Lilia waited for her confirmation before continuing. “Well, there was this one day I was able to get the fireplace going and I gathered up some blankets on the couch. And when I asked Silver if he wanted to come cuddle with me for a bit, he… he…”
Ma Zigvolt balled up her apron in her hands and leaned forward, wide-eyed. “He what?”
“He said no!” Lilia cried, throwing his arm over his face with a flourish.
“No?!” she gasped. “Not Silver!”
“Yes! I could hear my poor heart breaking in two on the spot.” Lilia slumped back in his chair. It was the first time he'd spoken to anyone about the problems he'd been having with his son, and he felt somehow encumbered by the weight of his confession.
Ma Zigvolt gently asked if he'd had any luck talking to Silver about his behavior, and he begrudgingly shook his head.
"He always says he's fine, and that's about as much as I can get out of him." He sipped his tea, setting his glass down on the table beside him with a frown. "It almost feels like he doesn't even like me anymore..."
Pa and Ma Zigvolt exchanged a pointed look. It was not unlike the one they'd share with each other at the clinic, when a patient, complaining of mysterious symptoms that had "simply popped up out of nowhere!" would throw themselves into the examination chair with a huff, only to confess after much prodding that they had been consuming a poor diet, and had been practicing even poorer dental habits.
Pa Zigvolt spoke first. “It’s normal for kids Silver’s age to go through a phase like this. It just means he’s growing up.”
Lilia blinked. “Growing up…?”
“Mm-hmm,” Ma Zigvolt continued. “We went through the exact same thing with Horace and Iris. Horace especially had it rough, the poor thing. You remember, honey?”
“Yeah, I remember it clear as day." He nodded solemnly. "He’d stay holed up in his room all the time, and trying to get him to talk to us was harder than pulling a tooth. It’s like he thought we were the most embarrassing people in the world.”
“Oh, but he still thinks that way about you, dear.”
“Tally!”
Laughing, Ma Zigvolt reached over and patted his knee soothingly.
Lilia considered their words. “If that’s the case, then I suppose I just don’t understand why he’s trying to grow up so quickly. For most of his life, I pushed him much too hard, had him undergo training better suited for soldiers thrice his age. The day I finally realized what an awful mistake I’d been making, I don’t think I’d ever felt so ashamed of myself in my life.”
“From that moment on, I swore to ease up on him and just let him be a kid, and to make sure he could enjoy his childhood as much as possible. Especially since I… Ahh…”
Lilia thought of the castle barracks. There had only been one window in his room, a pitiful little square cut high into the stone wall adjacent to his cot. It faced East, and for a few, meager hours in the afternoon, when the sun was positioned directly before the castle, a singular column of light would enter the window and illuminate that small, dark space. He thought of how he would lay transfixed in bed, watching the light glide across his body like a golden serpent, how he would thrust out his hands, trying to capture it, trying desperately to stop this one thing from exiting his life as everything else had, and how each time it would slip through his groping fingers like water and evaporate into nothing. He thought of marching for days, of the sharp iron stench of the battlefield, of the bone-deep ache that would weigh heavy like a stone over every fiber of his being. He thought of all the things he experienced growing up that he never wished for his son or any other child to go through.
Lilia swallowed the lump forming in his throat. Looking past Ma Zigvolt, focusing on the wall clock behind her, he finally continued, “When I was a child, I didn’t have the… the kinds of opportunities that he has, so I just want to make sure he makes the most of them while he can.”
"I see..." Ma Zigvolt sighed, folding her hands in her lap. She had grown up knowing Lilia to be an evasive - if not frustrating - man, and her father had warned her repeatedly over the years to be cautious in her prodding. He was like an uncle to her, and she dutifully acknowledged his seniority, if only in regards to his age, but he was also a fellow parent, and her neighbor, and where the wellbeing of children was concerned, she was known to reveal the full extent of her caustic rhetoric, so that more than once she'd had to quit all civility and rebuke Lilia for his parental failures. Still, she considered each of her questions carefully, as though treading across a sheet of ice, knowing full well that if she chose her next step incorrectly, it would shatter the man's trust and terminate the conversation.
After a moment, she asked, “And you two haven't had any fights recently? You don't think you've said anything that might've upset him?"
Lilia paused for a moment, and then shook his head again. “No, not at all.”
Ma Zigvolt pressed further, sensing his hesitation. “Well, regardless, you don’t think there’s anything you’re doing that might be making him act this way?”
She'd stepped too far. Lilia frowned. “I think I know my own child, Thalia. If he had a problem with me, he’d say so.”
"I wasn't trying to insinuate anything, Lilia."
“Alright.”
Pa Zigvolt glanced rapidly between his wife and Lilia. Confrontation historically made him nervous, and it was clear from their stony faces they'd reached an impasse. He rubbed his clammy palms against his pant leg and rose from his seat, asked politely if anyone would like another round of refreshments, and fled to the kitchen before receiving a response. Lilia's gaze followed him as he walked off, his thoughts drifting away together with the man's receding figure.
He could hear the children's laughter floating in through the open windows, Sebek's loud and exuberant, Silver's quiet and breathless. Other sounds poured in, blending together like a symphony. There was the harsh percussion of their wooden swords clashing together, ringing out at times as viciously as gunfire; there was Baul's voice, low and clear, gruffly barking out his commands in tune with each thunderous strike; and there was the shining thread of Iris's singsong voice, interweaving amongst the clamor as she called out her gentle encouragement.
But still through it all his son's voice came to him, as direct as a beam of light, sounding sweeter and brighter than the goldfinches chittering away in the cottonwood trees.
It'd been so long since he last heard his son's laugh he'd almost forgotten what it sounded like. For over a month, he'd failed to elicit from the boy anything beyond the faintest imitation of a grin, yet here he was, just out of arm's reach, laughing and smiling so freely it was like his body demanded it more than breathing. He looked away from the window and glanced at Ma Zigvolt. She sat with her back erect, her hands folded primly in her lap, her eyes closed, awash in her children's joy, her round face as radiant and golden as the sun. Lilia fought back the urge to call out to Silver, knowing he would only destroy this moment.
He thought again of the past few weeks, scrutinizing everything he'd said and done to his child. He sifted through his memories, upturning each one and twisting it around and inspecting it from every angle, but still he could not find any evidence of his error. And he couldn't make comprehensible, either, the notion that his son was "growing up", as the Zigvolts had claimed. How could he, when Silver only had taken his first, wobbling steps just the other day, when it was only just yesterday that he'd learned to string his words together and share his quaint little thoughts, when he was still so small - his body, his voice, his hands, all no greater now than they had ever been before in his entire life? Lilia bit back an incredulous scoff, humored greatly by the absolute absurdity of the notion. And yet - his son's laughter drifted into his consciousness like a spring breeze. Why this drastic change in his demeanor, then?
Maybe there is something I'm doing wrong. But I just...
Lilia cleared his throat. "I'll certainly need to mull this over some more, but if you have any advice, I'm all ears."
“Well…” Ma Zigvolt smiled, smoothing out her apron before folding her hands in her lap again. “I know I’m no expert, but I’ve found that sometimes, being a good parent means you gather your babies in your arms and you hold onto them as tight as you can. And other times, it means you let them go. And he's at a point in his life where you might just have to start letting him go.”
"Hm."
The Vanrouges departed for home that afternoon. Before they left, Pa Zigvolt pulled Lilia aside, and let him know he was more than welcome to come speak with them again about Silver's behavior at any time. Lilia thanked him, reassuring him that his wife had already given him more than enough to think about for a while yet, and politely declined the couple's offer to meet for dinner later that week. As he stepped through the door, he winked at Ma Zigvolt, and she grinned at him audaciously.
Silver retreated into his shell as soon as they stepped off their neighbor's property, but Lilia was for once too occupied to take offense, busy ruminating on his conversation with the Zigvolts. Their dinner that evening was silent, and he later fell asleep dreaming of the boy's twinkling laughter.
Lilia would come to regret rejecting the Zigvolts' offer. Over the next several weeks, Silver seemed to burrow deeper and deeper into himself with each passing day. The boy's emotional carapace was thicker than any suit of armor or garrison Lilia had encountered during his time in the service, and some days he receded so deeply Lilia would have to call his name multiple times and rap his hand against the table just to wrest the child's attention away from himself. It was all Lilia could do to maintain the fraying strand of his composure from completely snapping. He'd been hotheaded as a youth, and positively vicious to his troops as a general, but had sworn off his every inclination towards corporal punishment once Malleus was born. During this period he often found himself questioning the rationality of his vow, and would sometimes envision giving the boy a lashing, only to immediately chide himself for his own weakness.
Something sinister seemed to be building up inside their little home. It was as though there was a great coil lurking underneath the floorboards, one that wound itself tighter and tighter with each of their disastrous interactions. The palpable tension only further stymied Lilia's every attempt at repairing their relationship, and the blowout he'd been fearing finally materialized one afternoon in early July.
Silver had spent the better part of that day in a state of quiet agitation. He would approach Lilia, open his mouth, close it, open it again, and then spin around and march off to his room, proclaiming hastily he needed to close his window, or make his bed, or any other excuse he could find to justify his escape. Lilia would only laugh in response. The previous day, while cleaning the kitchen, he'd glanced out the window and noticed the boy speaking animatedly with the chickens. He watched for hours as Silver paced back and forth before them, waving his arms and moving his mouth rapidly as the birds pecked indifferently at the ground.
Since then, Lilia had been eager to learn the truth of Silver's recital, but he did not press the boy, choosing instead to bide his time sprawled out on the couch, flipping through a stack of traveling magazines he'd been meaning to read.
After an hour of consternation, Silver planted himself before Lilia, his spine erect, his shoulders drawn back, and stated with perfect confidence, "Father, there's something I'd like to ask you!"
"Hm?" Lilia lowered his magazine, his eyes peeking over an editorial on deep-sea diving in the Coral Sea. "What is it?"
Silver's shoulders slumped. He'd not gotten this far in his rehearsals.
"Erm." He nibbled on his lower lip. "Is it okay if I go to the Zigvolt's by myself today?"
Lilia blinked. He'd been hoping - expecting, even - to hear from the boy a teary-eyed apology for how poorly he'd been acting recently, or perhaps a plea for his forgiveness, but not this. After a moment, he muttered, "What?"
"Is it okay if-"
"Sorry, I heard you." Lilia sat up and placed the magazine on the coffee table. "Why are you asking that?"
"I dunno. I just thought I-" Silver licked his lips. "I guess I just thought I could go by myself now. And I know it hurts your back to walk all that way, so."
"Oh, you don't need to worry about me, darling." Lilia said, inwardly cursing at himself for allowing the boy to notice his infirmity. He made a note to check the bathroom after they were finished talking, wondering if he'd neglected to put away his pain relief balm and bottles of medication where he typically hid them, at the back of the medicine cabinet.
Sitting up as straight as his bruised back allowed, he offered Silver a smile so brilliant it was as though he wished to expunge the shadow of the boy's doubt with its radiance. "I'm fit as a fiddle!" he proclaimed through gritted teeth.
Silver returned the smile, unaffected. "I'm glad. But I still wanna start going by myself."
Lilia's lips dropped into a frown. He shook his head and sighed. "I'm sorry, Silver. But the answer is 'no'."
Had Silver heard those words at any other point in his life prior to that moment, he would have conceded, and bowed out of the conversation in recognition of his father's perfect judgment. But this time, rather than his usual disappointment, he felt a strange anger welling up inside of him, instead. He clenched his fists and set his jaw, ignoring the hiss of his instincts warning him that he was about to step into a fight.
"No? Why not?" he asked, interrupting Lilia as he reached for his magazine.
Lilia leaned back into the couch and bit back another sigh. "Simple, because it's not safe for you to go all that way by yourself." He spoke slowly and carefully, hoping an air of manufactured calmness would mask his irritation.
Silver's voice, in contrast, blatantly swelled with indignation. "But I stay home by myself when you're gone."
"Staying home by yourself is different. My magic is all over this land. Magical beasts and fae know not to come here, and you know that, too."
Here, Silver paused again. The hiss of his instincts had at that point deformed into a mangled screech, which he knew would soon summon the animal panic that had struck him before a handful of times in his young life - once when he'd gotten lost in the woods as a small child, and another when his father had fallen gravely ill after returning from one of his trips, and Silver had been powerless to help him. There was one, final question that he now wished to ask the man, though he knew the answer to it might hurt him. As his mind frantically tried to draw back the words already forming on his tongue, he hastily wrenched them out and spat:
"Well, what about when you drop me and Sebek out in the middle of nowhere for our training? We always get along just fine without you."
Lilia crossed his arms and looked away. "That's... different, too."
Silver's heart skipped a beat. "...How?"
"It just is-"
"How!" the boy cried, his voice bursting into a screech.
"Because I watch you guys the whole time! I've always been watching you when you train. I would never leave you alone like that, you're just a child."
Lilia realized too late the poison of his words. It spread immediately into Silver's heart. His eyes were two perfect shining wet opals; his tears fell silently - gliding, almost, lifting off as they fell from his face, as though afraid to mar his skin. He turned and ran to his room, hesitating as he took the door into his hand before, for perhaps the first time in his life, he slammed it shut. Lilia leapt from the couch and raced after him, hissing out a choked "Damnit!" under his breath as he tried the knob and found it locked. He pressed his ear against the door and called out Silver's name. At first, he heard nothing, and feared for a moment the boy had slipped out his window and fled into the forest, in repeat of that awful, wretched night from so long ago, but then he heard it - it was like a whisper at first, nearly as imperceptible as the clap of a butterfly's wings, but still he heard it, heard the stifled, quiet sobs drifting through the heavy panel of hardwood separating him from his son. Lilia stood there, petrified, listening, feeling as each of the boy's sobs pierced his flesh and bore down into the deepest folds of his heart, as if seeking him; as if they were his own.
V.
Once a month, when the moon casts aside her shadowy veil to grace the valley with all her beauty, the Zigvolts and the Vanrouges and their neighbors gather together in a log cabin at the edge of the forest, and they dance.
Regular merriment was a necessity for the fae - mirth coursed through their bodies like the blood in their veins, and any opportunity for celebration, any chance they had to raise their voices together and join hands under the soft light of the stars, they would take it. Baul would scoff and say they were all plagued by a sickness, Ma Zigvolt would click her tongue at him and say it was rather an inclination.
The monthly dance was a rare opportunity for Silver to socialize freely with the townspeople. His father had always been honest with him about his species' general attitude towards humans, and the boy understood very well that the glint in their gemstone eyes - some of them deep ruby red like his father’s, others mesmerizingly green like polished emeralds, or as molten as bright blue sapphires - was not always a kind one. Only on those full moon nights, when the whine of the band’s violins accompanies the forest symphony of nightingales and tree frogs calling out their lonely verses, when the humans and the fae breathe each other in and twist and turn and dip and whirl and spin each other out, only then was it safe for Silver to take their clawed hands into his own and look unabashed into the fire of their eyes. They could and they would return to their quiet judgment and whispered denouncements later, but not on those nights, not when their bodies burned hot with jubilation and the music bewitched them so.
It was for this reason, and for his love of the communal mirth he habitually longed for, as isolated as he was at home, that Silver looked forward to the dance each month with great excitement. The night before the July dance, however, a war had raged inside the Vanrouge household.
Partway through their silent dinner, just as Lilia had gotten up to refill his glass of water at the sink, Silver had announced, plainly, and without a moment's hesitation, that he would not be participating in tomorrow's festivities, and offered neither an explanation nor any willingness to compromise when prompted. But Lilia was equally insurmountable in his parental concerns, and he questioned the boy until his blood boiled. The conversation rapidly crumbled into an argument, before further disintegrating into an all-out screaming match.
They volleyed their rebukes at each other from across the dining table, both unbending in their determination, Silver deflecting each of Lilia's pleas and demands with an iron-clad defense that bordered on hostility.
"You're going to that dance whether you want to or not!" Lilia had nigh snarled at one point as he launched his next attack.
But his words had ricocheted off Silver as harmlessly as though they were filled with air, and he ultimately fired back a retort so scathing it made even Lilia's marble white skin flush in mortification.
Their clamor poured out the open windows and flooded the clearing, where the sows and the heifer in the pasture looked at each other in concern. A songbird that had perched on the windowsill for a moment’s respite burst into the sky a second later, alarmed by the ruckus within. After an hour of tense contestation, they finally reached an agreement: they would go to the dance, but would not stay the entire time. But the foul atmosphere from the great storm of their quarrel lingered in the small cottage, and the pair kept to themselves the next day, Silver sulking in his bedroom, and Lilia fussing in the kitchen, busy preparing a dish for the dance's customary potluck.
They convened in the evening. The partygoers traditionally wore their Sunday best, and Silver and Lilia both donned their black slacks, white button up shirts, and leather-soled shoes. Their jackets and vests they left hanging in their closets, the threat of the summer heat overpowering any inclination for gaiety. When Silver emerged into the living room, he was finishing buttoning up his shirt, and did not look up as he called out a quiet greeting to his father. It was the first time Lilia had seen him all day, and once the boy had completed his toilette and finally met his gaze, Lilia offered him a reconciliatory smile, which Silver at first returned, reflexively, then retracted a moment later, substituting it with a scowl in its place.
Shortly before dusk, underneath a blue-gray sky streaked with clouds of pure amber, they departed for the cabin, joining up with the Zigvolts as they neared the edge of the forest. Baul was not with his family, having excused himself to instead partake in an evening nap, and the small troupe reached its destination just as the last golden wisps of the sun had withdrawn into their equatorial den.
While Ma and Pa Zigvolt and Iris set off for the dancefloor, Lilia headed towards the tables at the back of the one-room cabin, Silver and Sebek in tow. He gingerly set down his tray of charred cookies amongst the other desserts while the boys took a seat. As Sebek gazed at the rows of meat pies and pound cakes spread out before them, Silver fidgeted in his chair.
The last of the partygoers having finally assembled, the band picked up their instruments and began to play. There was no electricity in the valley, and aside from the small handful of families that could afford imported record players, music was traditionally played live, both for private enjoyment, and for public celebrations. Most fae children, as a result, learned to master at least one instrument as part of their general education, and while Lilia and Malleus both were highly skilled in a wide variety of stringed instruments, Silver could play only a few, clumsy chords on the guitar - and nothing else - having suffered greatly under his father's abstract instruction.
The theme that night was "Rhythm and Blues", and the band played a selection of human songs that had lately entered the valley's cultural zeitgeist, a record-short 50 years after first debuting overseas. The partygoers danced uproariously, all of them eager to show off the new steps they'd been practicing the past month - twisting and turning and stomping their feet so thunderously the entire cabin shook from their gesticulations.
After the first song ended and a transitory lull settled over the party, Silver took the opportunity to finally voice his discomfort. Sitting up straight in his seat, he said, “I’m gonna go sit outside, it’s hot in here. You wanna come, Sebek?”
Sebek tugged absentmindedly at his suspenders while he thought. “I should like to partake in some of the fare, so I shall remain here with Sir Lilia for now.”
“Okay,” Silver replied with a shrug. He walked into the swarm of dancers just as the next song began, vanishing amongst the undulating crowd a moment later.
Lilia wished desperately to follow after him. He'd apologized repeatedly for snapping at Silver the other day, and for their fight the evening prior, both times attempting reparation through the offer of a new sword or other training implement, or ordering dinner from Silver's favorite restaurant in town - methods that had always proven successful in the past - but the boy had shot down any notion of making peace. Deciding to allow Silver his space, Lilia rose from his seat and cut a large piece of cake for Sebek, grabbing for himself a glass of berry juice before sitting back down again. He drank deeply; a familiar warmth began to pool in his stomach and radiated pleasantly into his skin, gathering up and pushing out the restlessness that had been plaguing him since the night prior, so that it lifted away from his body like the mist after a rainstorm. He downed the rest of his glass lethargically, only getting up to move whenever Sebek politely asked for another slice of cake.
The pair observed the dancers in silence together, Lilia apathetically, Sebek with great interest, his bright eyes jumping excitedly between his parents and his sister, narrowing in contempt each time the latter's current dance partner whispered something in her ear that made her smile. He resolved not to dance with the perpetrator, a young woman he recognized as one of his sister's classmates, if offered, and the prospect of this future rejection delighted him even more than his final bite of cake.
Half an hour later, Pa Zigvolt came staggering over to their table, his pinched face dripping with sweat. He stood before them for a moment, swaying slightly, trying to catch his breath, then cleared his throat and announced, meekly, “Seb, your ma said she wants to dance with you next.”
Sebek's heart plunged into his stomach. He nodded and slowly stood up, wobbling a little as he marched stiffly towards the dance floor.
After watching his son leave, Pa Zigvolt sank down into one of the empty seats with a groan. He took out his handkerchief, and as he began dabbing at his wet face, a pained smile formed on his lips. “What a woman!” he panted, amazed. “I’m telling you, she’d go all night if you let her.”
Lilia smirked. “Sounds like she’s just like her father.”
“Yeah,” Pa Zigvolt sighed. And then he frowned. “Wait, what…? What do you mean by that?”
“What did you mean by that?” Lilia countered with a gentle smile.
The color drained from Pa Zigvolt’s face. The layer of sweat he’d only just managed to wipe off suddenly rematerialized across his skin, and he nervously balled his soaked handkerchief in his hands. “I- I was just talking about dancing!!” he stammered in defense.
Lilia laughed. “Then we’ll say that I was, too.”
Exasperated, Pa Zigvolt clicked his tongue. He timidly glanced around the room, and, upon confirming none of the other partygoers appeared to have heard them, deflated in his seat once again, kicking out his still quivering legs in front of him to let them rest. He set his used handkerchief on the table and extracted a fresh one from his crumpled breast pocket while scanning the dance floor, and quickly spotted the shock of his son's bright green hair weaving through the crowd, heading towards Ma Zigvolt at the front of the cabin, where she stood towering above the other partygoers. Smiling, he resumed mopping his face, and quietly breathed a prayer of good luck for the boy.
“There you are, honey! I was waiting for you.” Ma Zigvolt smiled brightly as her son approached, and Sebek nodded in greeting. In stark contrast to his father, whose haggard breathing still rang out far behind them, his mother was the very definition of radiant; the cabin walls were lined with rows of glass lamps, each one burning a magic flame of an amber hue, and where their dim incandescence reached out and cupped her rosy face, her skin seemed to effuse its own milk white glow in return. She grabbed his arm and drew him flush against her, causing him to yelp in surprise, but he quickly regained his composure, and placed his trembling hands on her broad waist as she instructed.
They stood directly before the band, so close that Sebek could see his warped reflection in the gleaming brass of the saxophones; next to his doppelganger, within the piano's raised lid, was an umber copy of his mother, smiling gently at him. Turning his gaze, he watched as the singer stepped forth and clapped his hands, casting a simple spell to amplify his voice. The band members, thus signaled, each became animated in turn; one after another the horns swung in golden arcs up to their players' lips; the drummer and the pianist sat rigid in their seats; the guitarist and the bassist hovered their fingers over strings that seemed to vibrate in anticipation; finally, the singer, glancing around him, issued with a nod of his head a silent affirmation of their readiness, took a deep breath, and began to sing.
“Here they have a lot of fun
Puttin' trouble on the run
Man, you find the old and young
Twistin' the night away”
The dancers convened before the band immediately, some forming pairs, others choosing to shuffle on their own. The song called for a basic step, if danced solo: one need only to dig one's foot into the floor and twist it, as though "squashin' a damn bug", as Baul had once commented - with the elbows and hips swung in a similar, rhythmic fashion. Those who'd coupled up alternated this movement with a variety of turns, spins, and other footwork predominant in the swing style of dance. As they moved, the sound of their shoes scuffing and squeaking against the hardwood floor became a backing beat to the music.
The cabin was formed from stacked logs of hewn pine, affixed together with a mixture of mud and clay; the night's heat slipped through any miniscule gaps it could find in this rudimentary sealant - through the walls, the flooring, the roof - combining with the warmth that radiated from the mass of bodies packed together in that small space, so that the air within the building was as heavy and hot as the air without. Sebek's face quickly bloomed bright pink from the heat, and then dark red and splotchy; the impudent strands of hair he’d spent over half an hour in the bathroom slicking down fell limp over his eyes, heavy with perspiration. He understood at once his father's fatigued condition, and discarded the disgust he'd felt when he saw the man staggering to their table earlier, a newfound compassion taking its place.
“They're twistin', twistin'
Everybody's feelin' great
They're twistin', twistin'
They're twistin' the night away”
It was all Sebek could do to brace himself against his mother's thunderous exuberance. She swept him across the dancefloor as though he were a leaf caught up in a storm. His gaze shifted rapidly between her smiling face and his own shuffling feet, worried he might stumble and fall. Noticing this, Ma Zigvolt’s heavy body shook with laughter, her voice deep and rich like a dove’s call, and Sebek decided that he would never hear a more wonderful sound in his life. He soon forgot all his apprehensions; his shining white smile accompanied his reddened cheeks, and he nuzzled his face below the swell of his mother’s breast, as content as a nursing kitten.
A moment later, several of the dancers detached themselves from their partners and floated away. One of the Zigvolts' neighbors caught Sebek's mother, and his sister drifted over to take her place. He steadied himself against the thick trunk of her arm. She was wearing a pleated, pearl white dress, with a floral pattern sewn in golden thread along the neckline, the bottom falling down to just below her knees. The dress billowed out as she twirled, so that the hem unfurled around her like the petals of her namesake. Her pretty face was just as flushed as his, and her bright green eyes shone like pure jade; it was as though she had grown several years younger that night, no longer appearing to him as the young woman who had departed for college a year ago, but like the little girl of his infantile memories. They whirled and whirled, giggling until their stomachs hurt, as if sharing together in some great secret.
The floor groaned under a storm of stomping feet, the windows shook precipitously in their crudely cut frames. The crowd roared, voices low and high emerged from the swaying mass to accompany the singer at the end of each verse. Though there was not a drop of alcohol to be found in that cabin, many of them moved belligerently. They were intoxicated purely by the clang of the drums, the blare of the trumpets, the rumble of the singer's low voice - each of these more potent a drug to the fae than any other known substance on the planet.
At the back of the cabin, Lilia and Pa Zigvolt laughed and clapped along from their seats. Lilia's eyes darted around the room as he clapped, trying to locate his son, but the wall of dancers surging back and forth blocked his view.
“Lean up, lean back
Lean up, lean back
Watusi, now fly, now twist
They're twistin' the night away”
Outside, Silver sat alone on the doorstep. The sounds pouring out of the cabin washed over him in tumultuous waves. He'd heard many of the songs before, at prior dances, or on Pa Zigvolt's record player, and the familiarity of the music felt like a reassuring hand on his thin shoulders that night. He swayed gently to the beat, noticing at times how the slurred voices of the partygoers would rise above the band’s thunderous performance, and at one point he looked up and wondered if they had all grown drunk on the wine-dark sky.
He yawned loudly. The hot anger from his father’s recent injury still burned dimly in his stomach, and he wavered between his desire to snuff out the last few dying embers, or to let them fester still. He wasn’t used to this feeling, this irritation that clung to his tired flesh like a tick. His father had upset him before, over trivial matters that had seemed substantial to his child’s heart at the time – and once over something he understood was sincerely very grave – but he could not recall ever feeling truly angry towards the man.
All his life he'd thought himself plain and unmemorable, a pale, living blemish upon the fair folk and their preternatural beauty. But that day, when his father had revealed the truth to him, that was the first time in his life he'd ever felt ugly. The lone attestation to his maturation - all those miserable nights he'd spent in the wilderness as part of his training, often alone, other times accompanied by Sebek, cast hundreds of miles away from the clearing and all its conveniences, relying solely on his magical prowess, his wit, and a small set of tools to make it through the night - had all this time been a lie. Had any of his accomplishments been real? Had a single jot of his father's pride for him ever been genuine? What good was the torture of his training! What good was the endless exhaustion, the cold fear wrought by those awful, lonely nights, all the callouses and scars he'd been led to attain as a child and would now forever mar the alabaster of his flesh! To have ascended the black crags of the Forbidden Mountain, to have crossed endless deserts and forded raging rivers with trembling arms and legs, and yet to have failed to notice his father had been there with him the entire time! Or, perhaps he had noticed, perhaps he had noticed and merely pretended not to, to assuage the frightened little boy he now realized he truly was. Or, perhaps the man had secluded himself somewhere far beyond Silver's reach, perhaps he'd been observing him from behind the stars or the moon. But this last thought only wounded him further, as though even the heavenly bodies had betrayed him, too. He turned away from them now, not wishing for them to see him cry.
Humiliation is one of life's cruelest teachers, and that day it had taught Silver that nowhere in his house, nowhere in that land was he safe. Nowhere could he escape from the prison that was his father's gaze.
The dance proceeded languidly, drawing on as the stars drifted quietly through the night sky. Pa Zigvolt, having at last recovered from his wife's fervor, had left Lilia to go dance with his daughter. Alone, Lilia remained in his seat at the back of the cabin, tapping his feet on occasion, or humming along to the songs he recognized, but did not otherwise participate any further in the festivities. He tiredly declined each of his neighbors' offers to try their cakes and their pies, raising an eyebrow when he noticed, an hour into the party, that his own plate of cookies was still untouched. He angrily crunched one of the charcoal black disks - frowning not at its flavor, which he found as decadent as anything else his impotent taste buds could detect, but at his neighbors' general ignorance towards good food.
Upon exhausting their repertoire of fast-paced numbers, the band called for a short interlude, at which conclusion the singer cleared his throat and announced, “Alright, ladies and gents. We’ll be slowing things down a bit for these last few songs.” The band behind him reassembled itself; the guitarist and the bassist returned their instruments to their cases, trading them for a pair of violins, and a portion of the brass section retired entirely. The violins, perched proudly on their players shoulders, let out a long, plaintive note, and then the singer parted his lips once more.
His voice hitherto had been brash and booming, a perfect accompaniment to the vibrant music, but now it melted into something as smooth as velvet, flowing like a summer breeze over and around the audience, dripping into their hearts with the sweetness of honey. The thunder of shuffling feet was no more. There was only the slow swaying of couples - lovers with their partners, mothers and fathers with their children, and neighbors with their friends.
“I wish you bluebirds in the spring
To give your heart a song to sing
And then a kiss
But more than this
I wish you love”
Lilia perked up as the first verse concluded, his gaze darting immediately to the front of the cabin. He recognized the song; he'd first heard it decades ago, while on a weekend trip he'd taken to the Queendom of Roses. It was during a period of his life where he'd been "going through the motions", as he'd regularly complain to Baul, plagued incessantly by an ennui that so often strikes those transitioning into their twilight years. In desperate need of a distraction, he spontaneously booked a flight to the nearest country - he didn't care which one, only that the ticket was cheap enough to justify paying for a farmhand during his absence. On the evening of the first day of his trip, while having dinner in his hotel, he learned from the waiter that there was to be a jazz orchestra - or "big band", as the humans called it - hosted in the ballroom located on the establishment's ground floor, and that patrons could attend the performance for free. His interest piqued, he rented a suit from a local tailor, freshly pressed, and perfumed with a crisp eau de toilette he'd brought along with him, and ordered a bouquet of fresh roses sent to his room, the brightest of which he trimmed and placed in his lapel.
Fae and human relations had long cooled down to a congenial level by then, and he danced comfortably with a number of human partners that night, free from the vicious admonishments that had disturbed him on his prior travels. They danced the same dances the fae before him had been dancing all night, and the performance concluded with the same song the band at the front of the cabin was playing now. It was the only number he'd sat out for, not wishing to engage in the cumbersome intimacy that slow dances demanded, and he'd observed the other couples with great interest; they all swayed in a gentle unison, moving like the fields of tall grass that grew near the meadow before his home, so that he felt like he'd been cast under a trance while watching them. When he returned to Briar Valley later that week, he promptly disremembered everything about the song - its lyrics, its rhythm, its melody - his attention wrested first by his responsibilities on the homestead, and then by his young son.
It was a few months after his acquisition of Silver, when he and the child both were still suffering from the boy's interminable fits, for which Lilia had long exhausted all his patience and energy into locating a cure, that he finally recalled the song he'd once heard all those years ago. One morning, with the wailing infant in his arms, its little face bright red and puckered, he was despaired to find his usual consolation tactics - rocking the baby, swaddling it, offering it a moistened rag to suckle on - had all lost their effects, and he paced back and forth across the living room, debating if he should call on the Zigvolts again, or attempt to find an alternative solution on his own.
He was tired, both mentally and physically; the weeks lately had been passing him by in an endless, uniform blur, each day demarcated by whatever twilight hour the baby would surrender to its circadian needs and drift off to sleep. In the midst of his fatigued panic, something that had for decades been slumbering in the recesses of his mind finally awoke then; the lyrics and melody he'd long forgotten burst forth from the cerebral pit they’d been cast into, reassembling themselves as brilliantly as the molten birth of a newborn star. Parting his lips, his voice nigh higher than a shaky whisper, he began to sing, “I wish you bluebirds in the spring…”; by the end of the first verse, the child's loud cries had hushed into a quiet whimper; before the conclusion of the song, it had fallen fast asleep. It was like he'd discovered a panacea; from then on, any time Silver was upset or fearful, or on stormy nights when the thunder was too loud and the lightning too bright for him to be able to fall asleep, Lilia would gather the boy into his arms and sing to him, dispelling the child's every perturbation with the low hum of his voice.
Lilia's heart sank, realizing in that moment just how long it'd been since he'd last sung it for Silver, likely not for months, or for a year, even, and yet - he smiled; this was their song, and now here was the perfect chance to finally reconnect with his withdrawn and sullen child once more!
Trembling with excitement, he shot up from his seat. He fought his way through the throng of dancers until he found Silver, still sitting alone on the stoop outside. He grabbed the boy’s hand and pulled him back into the cabin, but Silver dug his heels into the ground as they reentered the crowd.
“Stop it, I don’t want to dance,” Silver said with a glower.
Lilia sighed. “Oh, come now. Can’t you entertain your old man just for one song?”
“I don’t want to dance!” Silver repeated louder, putting as much stress on each word as he could muster. Some of the partygoers turned to look at them, and their curious stares made him flush.
Lilia tugged on the boy’s arm and offered him a reassuring smile. “Just this one song, and then we'll go home and you can sulk all you want.”
Silver ripped Lilia’s hand away, his face contorting into an angry grimace. “I said stop it! You’re embarrassing me!”
“But Silver! This is-!”
He pushed past Lilia and stormed out the door. Outside, the sky and the ground below it had merged into a single, black swath, so that his white head contrasted like a point of light against it, appearing like a star floating through the darkness. Lilia watched him walk away from where he stood frozen in shock, his rejected hand still hanging in the air. He did not move as the dancers silently drifted all around him; most of them did not turn to look at him, as though he were nothing more than a small obstruction in a stream.
“I wish you shelter from the storm
A cozy fire to, to keep you warm
But most of all when snowflakes fall
I wish you love”
Later, long after the last notes of the music had faded away, Lilia whispered, “But this is our song.”
VI.
Silver awoke the next morning long after the songbirds had concluded their matinal performance. The world outside was grey and silent, and he stepped through it as quietly as the pine boughs brushing together in the wind. He moved with confidence, his eyes habitually adjusted to low light, and followed a patch of wild coreopsis and daylilies that spread lace-like on the ground before him. They appeared to have claimed for themselves all the meager drops of sunlight that percolated through the clouds, shining like gemstones in the dim darkness.
He'd slept poorly last night, plagued by dreams of the dance, and his thoughts once more drifted away from him while he plodded through his chores, traveling far beyond the clearing, down to the cabin just past the forest's edge, where they pooled within it alongside the stagnant summer heat. Last night at the dance, a warmth had flowed from his father and into him where his fingers had touched his arm, and again and again, as he lay in bed upon returning home, he'd felt it anew, felt it erupt into the hot rage that had coursed through his veins when he'd stormed out the door. A part of him was sorry to have upset the man, having now belatedly realized his harmless intentions, but a greater part of him was struck by a deep frustration - his body ached with it; it prickled at his skin as though he'd bathed in poison oak, so that more than once he felt his face twist into a scowl while he worked.
The animals, too, noticed his contortions. The chickens coalesced at his feet as he gathered their eggs; the pigs butted him gently as he refilled their trough; and the young calf, renown for its stubborn shyness, detached itself from its mother for once and loitered by his side, unsure of what to say. Silver sighed at all of this. His whole life he'd had a peculiar connection with animals. They would sense his vexations and his fears, and would come to him, unbidden, offering him their crude affections in a variety of forms - sometimes pinecones or hickory nuts covered with specks of leaflitter, other times poorly picked wildflowers still dangling with heavy roots, each of these gifts held with utmost tender in their mouths or little hands. But he had not the patience for their ministrations that day, and he dismissed the chickens and the pigs and the calf each with a scoff and a wave of his hand. The heifer, however, he failed to evade.
She was the eldest of the Vanrouge's livestock - a wise, if not shrewd, creature; only a year younger than Silver, they had tumbled across the clearing together in their infancy, and most of what he knew of animal husbandry he'd learned from her. That morning, she had refused to vacate the lean-to in protest of the dismal weather, and she was waiting for him there when he approached her with his milking pail and wooden stool in hand. Once seated, his hands and his attention preoccupied with stripping the foremilk from her teats, her broad body blocking the exit, she turned her heavy head towards him, and issued from her liquid eyes the same question that had been tormenting him all that morning: Are you alright? Her plaintive gaze struck him like an ambush. Ensnared, he fumblingly released her udder and stroked her sides, ensuring her through gritted teeth that he was perfectly fine. Satisfied by his response, she turned away, and leisurely resumed her meditations.
After finishing his chores, he returned to the cottage and forced down a tasteless bowl of oatmeal and some scraps of white bacon. His thoughts raced while he ate. Within his mind flew bits and pieces of anger, trepidation, worry, and sorrow, and these he took into his calloused hands and pressed together, trying to mold them into something he could understand, but they ultimately formed into an idea, instead. This discovery satiated him where his meager meal had not, and he smiled as he brought his dishes to the sink.
When Lilia stumbled out of his bedroom an hour later, half-asleep, and still clad in his dress shirt and pants from the night prior, he found Silver waiting for him by the front door, his canvas knapsack slung across his shoulders. As he began to yawn a greeting, Silver stiffened and cut him off, rapidly spitting out a gruff request to go to the Zigvolt's before turning to face him. His tone was so severe that his words struck Lilia's skin like a splash of ice water, causing him to sober immediately, and he numbly gave his permission with a slow nod of his head. They left together after Lilia got changed, Silver leading the way, Lilia trailing far behind him.
The grey curtain of the sky had pulled back to reveal an angry red sun behind it. Summer had reached its height then, and the entire valley was plainly sullen. The trees, seeming to sag in the heat, stood with their great branches drooping weakly; the songbirds concealed amongst them cycled between a restless dozing and a fitful agitation, too uncomfortable to sing. Silver, however, cut unphased through the stifling air. His hair blazed like white fire, and the shimmering light around him made him appear at times like a mirage to his lagging father. Upon reaching their destination, and after an exchange of curt farewells, Silver glanced behind him as he opened the front door, but all he saw was the thin line of the man's back receding into the haze of the forest.
Silver found Sebek upstairs in his bedroom, pouring over sheets of magical formulae spread out across the floor. He stepped gingerly into the room, being careful not to disturb any of Sebek's materials, announced himself with a throaty, "Hey", and then promptly launched into a recount of last night. He spoke so rapidly it felt like his words were slipping blindly off his tongue. He blinked away hot tears as he talked, his anger and his hurt boiling up each time he mentioned his father. When he finished, he sighed, and then began nibbling on his lips, unsure of what he next wished to say. Sebek waited patiently for him to continue.
Finally, after a tense pause, Silver grumbled, “He keeps treating me like I’m a dumb kid and It’s driving me nuts. I just dunno know what to do anymore.”
Sebek frowned. “And you’re certain you’ve cast aside all your childish whims?”
“Yeah,” Silver nodded solemnly.
“Hmm…” Sebek thought for a moment, and then his lips pulled up into a smirk. “Then I should think the solution is obvious, you twit!”
“And what’s that?”
Sebek crossed his arms. “Recall Sir Lilia’s and my grandfather’s old war stories. Whenever they carried out some grand feat or other, they’d be lavished with adoration upon their return home. Clearly, you simply need to accomplish some sort of heroic act, and then your father shall finally recognize the man that you’ve become.”
“Yeah…” Silver murmured, nodding his head again. “Yeah, I think you’re right, Sebek. That’s a great idea, thank you.”
The praise made Sebek swell like an adder. He puffed out his chest and jutted his chin. “Truly, you are fortuitous, Silver! To have a friend as clever as I!”
Silver smiled. “I sure am.”
Sebek was taller than Silver by a single, coveted inch. And he was stronger, too, heavy and thick everywhere his companion was gangly and thin. But still Silver was more skilled at magic and combat than him, and he could count on one hand the number of times he’d bested his fellow apprentice in battle. Silver held over Sebek's head something he would never be able to reach no matter how much taller he grew: namely, the fact that Silver was older.
Sebek was only twelve, still just a child. Adolescence fascinated him severely, having watched it radically transform his older brother and sister before his eyes, and he was jealous that Silver got to enjoy all its mysteries before he could. Every morning, gripped with excitement, he’d snatch the desk calendar from his bedside table with trembling hands, eager to see if it was finally the day when he, too, would be permitted to enter that strange and curious world of young adulthood. And every morning his little shoulders would sag in disappointment as he read the date. He’d begun wondering lately if it would ever be March 17th again, thinking that perhaps the planet sought to deny him his wish, and was intentionally dawdling in its flight around the sun. The idea of a great conspiracy pleased him, which helped to placate his usual disappointment.
Now presented with the chance to prove his capabilities before all the adults around them, he trembled with excitement. They fell immediately to their plotting. First, Sebek suggested they apprehend a robber or other trivial criminal, but Silver quickly dismissed the idea, doubting its feasibility. He additionally dismissed Sebek's propositions that they search for long lost treasure and other such artifacts for similar reasons. When Sebek mentioned they could contact Malleus for assistance, Silver balked. He hadn't seen the man all summer, and hadn't heard his name in weeks - the young prince had been preoccupied with helping their country recover from the aftermath of last month's monstrous storm, traveling from waterlogged village to waterlogged village, magically repairing homes and rejuvenating flooded farmlands wherever he went. Silver rejected this proposal, too, explaining that Malleus likely wouldn't have the time available to help them, and noting internally that he'd only betray their schemes to his father, anyways, and they quickly moved onto their next point of contestation. After much debate, and much grumbling and whining, and following a short intermission to enjoy some of Ma Zigvolt's lemon pie, Sebek finally proposed an idea that the both of them agreed on.
A rogue grizzly bear had been making a feast of the local livestock over the summer, a missing sow of the Zigvolts and a milk calf of their neighbors amongst its victims. Any attempt the past month to detain or eliminate it had ended in failure, and it'd been outwitting the small community unlike anything the elders had ever seen. Recently, for example, a family living down the road had attempted to capture it after it had devoured several of their chickens during one of its nightly jaunts. They placed a series of foothold traps around the coop, buried under leaf litter, and totally de-scented using a complex spell, and awoke the next morning to find their yard blanketed with bloody white feathers, not a single trap containing within its undisturbed jaws even one strand of the creature's hair. Silver and Sebek decided they would bring an end to the terror themselves.
Its massive tracks had last been spotted heading into the Obsidian Forest - a congested strip of towering firs, spruce, and pine trees located to the north of the Zigvolt's. The trees there grew so closely together that hardly any sunlight was able to pierce through the thick canopy, casting the land inside of it into an endless shadow. One had the feeling Nature had forgotten that place in her designs; it was quiet as something alive should not be. There was no birdsong during the day, and neither the soft gurgle of the river nor the wind brushing against the trees. Tawny owl cries could sometimes be heard emanating from it at night - lonely, sharp trills that rang out almost like a warning. The fae were not known for being a judicious people, but they were perceptive, able to detect on their skin the slightest gradations in magic and other immaterial energies that even the finest tuned devices could not, and they stayed far away from the forest in confidence of its dangers.
Silver, however, was a human, and Sebek, a half-fae, and they had long viewed the forest with a simple, innocent curiosity, both unable to sense the unseen forces that made their countrymen so cautious of that unknown realm. As such, and with Silver consumed with thoughts of his redemption, and Sebek thinking of little more than all the praise their great adventure would earn him, they boldly made plans to meet together early the next morning before their parents awoke. Lilia regularly went to bed shortly after 11 o'clock, and Silver would make his escape several hours later. He would cut a path straight to the Zigvolt's, avoiding the long, winding trail his father had erected for him through his land, and would rendezvous with Sebek behind their home. They talked until the sun set and shadows flooded the room, but neither moved to turn on the light, for the excitement in their hearts brightened that dark space better than any candle or lamp ever could. Silver returned home that evening feeling lighter than he had in weeks.
Silver dipped his hands into the kitchen basin and splashed some of the cold water onto his face. The windows above him were a pair of jet black panes, dotted with a smattering of stars that twinkled distantly like lightning bugs. He couldn't remember ever having seen a sky so desolate before, and he marveled at the miniscule pinpricks of light as he slowly dried his hands with a terry washcloth, anxiously aware of each and every sound he made.
He completed one final circuit throughout the house before leaving. Moving on his tiptoes, he double-checked that the covers were drawn over his bed and the pillows beneath them were positioned correctly, and that his father was still asleep, the last of which he ascertained with a furtive glance thrown inside the man's room. When he reached the front door, he sank back down on his heels and bent over to re-lace his boots.
He'd packed his knapsack before going to bed, filling it with a handheld lantern, his canteen and compass, an emergency kit, a small bag of cornmeal and a cast iron pan, and some pemmican and soda biscuits he'd wrapped in napkins. His crossbow hung snug over his shoulders; his favorite hunting knife was nestled deep into the leather sheath hanging from his belt. He and Sebek had agreed not to come back until their mission was fulfilled, and if they ran out of provisions before felling their quarry, they'd be well prepared to secure more.
The house breathed him out like a sigh. The moon unfurled overhead like an orchid in full bloom, vastly outshining the indolent stars hovering around it, and it bathed his surroundings in a pale film of argent light. The broad, black blocks of the cows and the pigs asleep in their enclosures jutted out from the darkness, and the black pyramid of the chicken coop rose silently above them. He crept past the dozing creatures and slipped into the woods. His legs instinctively followed the same trail he'd taken countless times before. His feet he lifted and placed methodically, stalking as he did when he hunted, fearing that the soft crackle of the twigs and leaves underneath him might awaken his sleeping father from hundreds of yards away.
Presently, the felled oak tree that marked the northernmost boundary of his father’s land appeared. Its withered roots splayed out like the gnarled fingers of an outstretched hand, their grasp extending far above his head. He reached out and rested his palm against the trunk. Its bark was soft and brittle from decay, blanketed with a thick layer of moss and algae. He knew not if his father had struck down this once mighty giant himself, or if it had merely collapsed in its old age, only that he was forbidden from passing by its sentinel gaze on his own. He grabbed onto the slippery bark and scrambled atop the trunk, letting out a shaky breath as he stood up.
All of the land before him stretched beyond the confines of his father's territory. Each and every bush and tree and creature, every shadow, every undefined mass lurking in the darkness there was to him an alien, a stranger. Somewhere further beyond lay the Zigvolt’s homestead, and further past that, the Obsidian Forest. The mountains erupted in the distance like a row of black fangs piercing the sky. Behind him waited the clearing and the cottage, the toolshed and the garden, the wheatfield and the pasture and the meadow – each of these forming another slat of his boyhood cradle, another barrier around the only world he'd ever truly known.
He lifted a trembling hand and groped at the air. He'd been expecting some sort of rebound from broaching his father's magical perimeter, but it did not come. He leapt off the trunk and landed on the ground with a loud crash. The sound echoed viciously all around him and yet - there was nothing. No harsh cry of his name. No thudding of feet racing up behind him. Nothing. Had he successfully escaped? Gasping, he rapidly swung his head this way and that, scanning his surroundings. Here was the copper blur of a fox slipping through the forest undergrowth, there was the heavy grey body of a raccoon lumbering slowly behind it. And here, again, the silver outline of a barn owl peering at him from the thicket yonder.
He could see now that these were no specters, no apparitions - they were living things, with eyes like his and beating hearts like his, things that drank in the same sweet night air as him. All his fears vanished - it was as though he'd finally let out a breath he never realized he'd been holding in all his life. Re-shouldering his bag, he set off once more, his heart pounding with excitement, his body coursing with the ecstasy of this newfound freedom. He swept through the forest like a beam of moonlight. The five miles to the Zigvolt's he crossed in what felt like five steps.
Why was I ever afraid of this place? he wondered. Why was I ever afraid of anything in my life?
At three o'clock in the morning, less than an hour after he'd left the clearing, Silver stepped onto the dirt road that led to the Zigvolt's farmhouse. Breathless from his record flight, he took in long, quiet gulps of air as he neared the agreed-upon rendezvous location - the left-side porch, for there were no windows there - his eyes flicking occasionally to his sides, and to his rear, and to the spider web of starlight draped across the cottonwoods towering around him, his steps falling lighter than even the cloven feet of a vigilant deer. He immediately noticed the small, darkened figure hovering by the porch, and watched as it detached itself from the greater mass of shadows, revealing itself to be Sebek. His friend flashed him a triumphant smile, his little fangs shining bright white in the darkness.
"You made it!"
"Hush!"
Sebek's hands flew over his mouth. "Sorry!" he yelped as he turned to look at the house, his heart racing, but the stalwart building gave no reaction, remaining stone still, silent. Through his fingers, he sheepishly repeated, this time quietly, "Sorry." He quickly readjusted his knapsack from where it'd slipped down his shoulder, then hurried to join Silver in the road.
Silver rolled his eyes, grinning.
They padded cautiously through the darkness, their feet kicking up small clouds of dust from the earth beneath them, each one rising like an ochre breath before dissolving a moment later into the blue-black of the night. After walking for a length, Sebek pointed out from a row of identical log cabins his neighbor's home - namely, the one who'd recently tried to apprehend the beast after it'd feasted on their flock. They circled around back, ducking as they passed the lower story windows, and found, by a pair of crooked fence posts surrounding a small vegetable garden, a set of lumbering bear tracks that trailed away due North. Sebek crouched down and placed his hand in one of the prints. The massive groove was as broad as a dinner plate, so that even when he splayed and stretched out his hand as wide as he could, his fingertips stopped several inches short from the rim. The indentations from the claw marks looked like a set of daggers had been dragged through the ground. Silver swallowed thickly as he observed this. Tugging at Sebek's sleeve, he whispered hoarsely, "Come on, let's go."
The tracks led them further and deeper into the bowels of the adjacent woodland. Neither spoke, both of them gripped with a nervous excitement that bordered at times on trepidation. Occasionally, Silver's hands reached behind him for his crossbow, finding reassurance in the solidity of its metal stock. Sebek, too, had taken with him the children's rifle he'd received for his birthday last year. Purchased by his father while traveling overseas for a dental conference, he'd gloated joyfully to Silver upon receiving it, and had been treating it with the utmost care the past year, polishing it daily, and keeping it secured in a case he kept hidden underneath his bed. The fall prior, Silver had accompanied Sebek and his father when they'd gone duck hunting at the river and had received a turn using the weapon, with both boys dispatching several birds, each. Though Silver was amazed at its great strength, and though he found it a very lovely piece of craftsmanship, indeed, the sound of it firing hurt his ears, and he secretly hoped they wouldn't have to use it.
The trees gradually thinned out and fell away, receding into a tall, grassy meadow that, in turn, soon bowed down and terminated before another stretch of forest. But the shadowy structure looming before them was somehow different than all the other natural places they'd ever come across in their lives. It was darker than the night, silent; foreboding in a way that left them wondering if it was about to reach out a gnarled, earthen hand and strike them. This was the Obsidian Forest, and the bear's tracks disappeared within it.
The boys, having simultaneously come to a standstill at the edge of the forest, their hearts pounding, exchanged a tense look, then turned back to face the verdant bulwark. The moonlight fell like a curtain before them; Silver took Sebek's larger hand into his own and they stepped through it together. The air within the forest was several degrees cooler than without, and the shock of the cold was like jumping into the river on a warm Summer day. Sebek shook off Silver's hand with a grunt, and once freed, zipped his jacket and pulled up his collar. Silver, ignoring his friend's indignation, extracted his lantern from his bag, and lit it with a simple spell. He held up the device and slowly swung it back and forth it as he turned around.
All the light in the world was now contained within Silver's hands; everything around them was only an abstraction of what they understood to be total darkness. The copper glow from his lantern struck the surrounding fir trees, dimly illuminating the bone white bark covering their emaciated trunks. Their scraggly canopies converged together and formed a single, continuous, vegetative wall that strangled the moonlight within its matted foliage. The air was heavy with the clean smell of pine, underlaid with the rich musk of a humus that had been forming undisturbed for centuries. It was quiet, as the adults had described, but not completely devoid of sound - they could hear, emanating like an invisible vapor from the leaf litter, the silver song of crickets drawing their bows across their instruments; the wind had dropped its voice to a whisper, but they could hear this, too, threading through any microscopic gaps it could find in the leafy barrier overhead; and as they walked, there was the soft crunch of their boots sinking into the plush carpet of pine needles underfoot.
After a moment's consideration, Silver declared, "It's no big deal," and Sebek nodded mutely in agreement.
They'd been misled countless times before by the adults in their lives, having been warned of dangers they'd later discovered were, in truth, harmless in nature, such as cracking one's knuckles, or staying up until the early hours of the morning, and the Obsidian Forest they now added to this ever-growing list. But they remained cautious - Sebek walked with his hand looped around his rifle's strap, and Silver's eyes followed wherever the roaming light of his lantern touched the earth.
Their abscondment from home and their entry into the forest having now been completed, the final phase of their plan would be simple: they needed only to track the bear to its den, and kill it. This would not be unlike their usual training exercises, during which Lilia would deposit them in a remote location - often high atop some distant mountain range, or in the middle of a barren ravine - and they would be forced to survive on their own for days or weeks at a time, typically with an additional command to secure a target of Lilia's choosing, such as a wild animal, or an object he'd hidden deep in the wilderness. They had felled various species of direbeast before, both together, and on their own, and a bear would be no different. Knowing the creature's massive body would be too heavy for them to drag out of the forest on their own, they planned to cut off one of its paws to bring back as proof of their accomplishment, and would come back later to retrieve the rest, with assistance from the adults. Bear meat was a popular delicacy in the valley, and after the carcass was carved and distributed amongst the local community, Silver was determined to request a bottle of its golden oil - renowned for its anti-inflammatory properties - as a gift for his father.
Silver swept his lantern low over the ground, and with its pale glow as their beacon, they followed the tracks deep into the forest. They would occasionally notice movement in the darkness, fleeting figures and shapes that their nervous minds would automatically warp into the hulking mass of the bear, and each time, as they would begin to reach for their weapons, they would realize a moment later they'd stumbled upon nothing more than a small raccoon or an opossum on the prowl for food. They jumped at every such encounter, and at every unexpected noise that entered their peripheral - a heavy branch Sebek mistakenly stepped on rang out like a gunshot; a tawny owl's sudden cry boomed like a crack of thunder. For hours they proceeded tremulously; fear had been stalking them all that time like a shadow, and as the veil of darkness surrounding them lifted and gave way to daybreak, it vanished together with the night. They could not see the sun's yellow face above them, but they could feel its dappled light falling down on them like a warm and gentle rain. The canopy, which had hitherto been a solid, dark green streak, was now dotted with flashes of a vibrant cerulean blue.
With the night's vanquishment, they steadily grew more and more confident, feeling now important - older, even. They walked with their heads held high and their backs erect, pumping their arms and swinging their legs as though on the march. They kicked up cedar chips and pine needles as they walked, scattering them onto the ground like birdshot. The blood coursed through their veins hot as liquor; the temptation of glory drove them on like a whip. Each child began to envision himself seated like a king in the Zigvolt's parlor, regaling this tale to their neighbors and family, and joining a long line of men who had come before them - heroes and explorers, great and mighty conquerors of the strange and unknown.
They would stop - intermittently, and only for brief sprints - to rest, to drink water, or to re-lace their boots, and would then immediately resume their march as zealously as before. They hurried as fast as their legs could carry them, knowing that the creature would likely have returned to its den by that point, and that it would be fast asleep in preparation of its nightly activities - tracking it down before it awoke that evening would be vital to their success.
When they came across a noticeable gap in the canopy - a hole ripped open where a pine tree had collapsed, through which they caught their first, true glimpse of the sky since that morning - they agreed to take another short break. Amongst the various survival skills that Lilia had taught them was the ability to derive the time, and working together, they erected a rudimentary sundial using some branches they gathered from the ground. They calculated that it was presently midmorning, and that they must have covered several miles since entering the forest. They remained there for a few minutes longer, Silver sipping quietly from his canteen, Sebek dismantling their earthen clock. Languid clouds passed through the gap overhead. Silver recalled how, every winter, the pond near his home would freeze over, and yet he could still see fish swimming undisturbed beneath the thick panel of ice. He wondered if this was how they felt, watching the world pass by them silently up above. As he wiped his dripping mouth with his sleeve, he glanced over, and noticed that Sebek was frowning.
"What's wrong?"
"I'm getting hungry, that's all."
Silver put his canteen away. "You brought some food with you, right?"
"Of course I did!" Sebek bristled. He slid off his knapsack and rummaged inside it, cataloging each of his belongings out loud, more so to himself, than to the half-listening Silver.
"I've got biscuits and cornbread, some jerky, some apples..."
"Uh-huh," Silver said, stifling a yawn.
"My water bottle, of course. Aaannnd..." He reached deep inside, smiling when he felt his fingers touch what he'd been looking for.
"Some of my mother's snickerdoodles, freshly baked." He pulled out a brown paper bag, shaking it with a grin. "Sissy has been hogging them, but I was able to pilfer a few without her noticing." He poured several of the cookies onto his hand before returning the bag to his knapsack.
"Would you like one?"
"Sure, thanks."
Silver gingerly took one of the cookies from Sebek's outstretched hand and bit into it with a sigh. The soft dough crumbled in his mouth deliciously, each piece dissolving like a sugar cube on his tongue. The almost overwhelming smell of cinnamon, the faint hint of vanilla, the rich, buttery aftertaste, all made him think of Ma Zigvolt. He'd overheard her lamenting the loss of the family's sow a few weeks ago - she loved each of their livestock like her children, and the bear's cunning attacks had wounded her pride and her heart, both. He imagined, upon their return home, how her face would break into a smile when they told her what they'd done, presenting the news to her as though it were a freshly picked bouquet. The image was somehow sweeter than the cookie itself, and he licked the sugary crumbs off his fingers, tasting little more than a delicious contentment.
They resumed walking. For over an hour the forest stretched on unchanging and uninterrupted, before it began to angle sharply downhill, transforming eventually into a semi-exposed slope. The incline was so severe they had to descend on their hands and knees, slowly zigzagging from one tree to the next, at times using the exposed roots and fallen branches to rappel downwards. The plateau they arrived at was bisected by a meager creek, appearing as blue and as thin as the veins running down their arms. They lay on their stomachs and drank deeply from it, bringing the crystalline water to their mouths with their hands. Silver shook his head like a dog when he was finished, spraying ice cold drops everywhere, and Sebek pushed him away with a laugh. A school of minnows, each one a silver grain of rice, darted away at the commotion, but the water striders on the surface above continued their skating, unaffected. They washed their hands and refilled their canteens before moving on.
The sunlight filtering down through the forest canopy gradually became more intense as the morning rolled into afternoon. Silver and Sebek had been talking with one another at length ever since daybreak - discussing their plans and their upcoming glory, and pointing out all the flora and fauna around them - and their conversations slowed to a comfortable lull as the air grew increasingly warmer. Unable to tell the time without a further break in the canopy, one hour blended seamlessly into the other, so that occasionally, when they blinked, they would open their eyes to a world remarkably brighter and warmer than the one they'd been in just a moment before.
Late in the afternoon, as they picked their way through a pleasantly mild Summer haze, Sebek suddenly stopped walking and threw out his arm, blocking Silver. His bright green eyes bore laser-like into the distance; his whole body stiffened like a bird-dog alerting to game.
Unmoving, he stated plainly, "I do believe we've been here before."
Silver blinked. "Huh?"
"That spruce tree yonder, with all the moss on it," Sebek said, now pointing, "I've seen it before."
Silver studied the tree indicated for several moments, but could not determine how it differed from any of the other dozen trees surrounding it. Shrugging, he said, "It probably just looks like one we passed earlier. Tons of trees have moss on them."
"I know they do!" Sebek huffed, gritting his teeth. "But that patch there's shaped like a star. That's how I recognized it."
Silver looked again. The patch of moss did indeed resemble a child's simple depiction of a five-pointed star, but his mind refused to accept what it had just heard.
"That's impossible," he murmured, shaking his head. "We've just been following the bear's tracks this whole time. How could we..."
Silver frowned. His incredulity obscured his mind like an eclipse. As he stared at the bear's tracks - crisscrossing the ground in some areas, and issued in a straight line in others - they began to swirl before his eyes, forming a nameless thing that Silver knew he'd seen before, and after a terse moment of contemplation, he finally recalled where.
He thought of a time, years ago, when he and his father had spent the whole Summer attempting to snare a devious buck. The animal had pillaged their vegetable garden every night for weeks, tearing up their sweet potatoes and corn, and even daring to defile Lilia's prized tomato plants, and had avoided all their various traps and attempts to trail it. One day, after sitting together for several hours in a cramped tree stand, they were able to witness its genius. After passing directly before them, it disappeared for approximately fifteen minutes, then doubled back, retraced its steps to just before the stand, and cut into the forest in the opposite direction, at a sharp angle, so that its path formed a "V" when viewed from above. Even the most experienced hunter - whether human or animal or fae - would likely follow the original set of tracks, which would appear - and smell - fresher, having been laid down twice, and by the time the error was realized, the quarry would have long escaped. The buck, as if having calculated all of this, strode off that day waving the chestnut flag of its tail in victory.
And now here again was that same whirlpool of footprints, now here again was that same irrefutable display of animal cunning. The eclipse passed his mind; the light of his revelation nearly blinded him - they must have been going in circles for hours.
His eyes flew wide open; his heart thundered so viciously he wondered for a moment if it was about to burst. His eyes darted wildly about him, as though hoping to find some form of consolation hidden amongst the leaf litter. And then, in a moment of clarity, he recalled a new trick he'd recently learned, the very same one he now knew adults had been using on him and other children all his life: he lied.
"It's fine, Sebek. I know exactly where we're going." He turned away, so that his friend would not see him nervously biting his lip. He pulled out his compass and held it out this way and that, making a show of orienting himself.
"The bear just circled around here to try and shake us off its trail. We'll find it if we keep going..." His eyes scanned the ground, trying to deduce which set of tracks looked the freshest. "That way."
Sebek, frowning sternly, opened his mouth, and then closed it again. After a moment, his face relaxed, and he slowly replied, "If you insist..."
Silver let out a shaky breath. Sebek's immediate acquiescence, which he at other times would only earn after much coaxing and arguing and persuasion, excited him. He experienced once more the feeling of being much older and more important than he really was, and wondered for a moment if this was the true pleasure of being an adult. He made a note to emphasize this part of the story when he'd later recount it to his father - how he'd outwitted the terrible beast where all others before him had failed, and how he'd led himself and Sebek through what was sure to be their darkest hour. They would return home heroes, indeed!
"Come on, this way."
Thus continuing their journey, they picked a new trail in the direction Silver had indicated. Portions of the sky peeking through the canopy slowly turned a golden orange, others light pink or red, forming a mosaic of the sunset. The bear would now likely be active again, and out roaming the forest with them, and when Sebek mentioned this, Silver hurriedly explained that they could still locate its den in the meantime, and lay in wait for it to return, to which Sebek, still in an unusually agreeable mood, only nodded. Their enthusiasm from that morning waned together with the fading sunlight. They plodded on halfheartedly for hours; identical trees and shrubs and rocks extended all around them for miles. They nibbled on their sticks of jerky and pemmican as they walked, breaking off and exchanging pieces of dried meat with each other in lieu of conversation. Sebek's apples and corn bread and most of their biscuits they soon finished off, too.
Finally, evening gave way to night, and the world around them was plunged once more into darkness. As Silver fished in his bag for his lantern, Sebek suggested they quit for the day and set up camp, but Silver adamantly disagreed.
"Just a little bit further and then we'll stop," he said, struggling to relight the lantern as he spoke. "The den's gotta be close by."
"Hmph!"
And again, an hour later:
"We're almost there, I promise."
"Hmph!"
They slogged on wearily. Periodically, Silver would command they stop, and, taking out his compass from his pocket, would double-check the accuracy of their orientation, then indicate with a satisfactory grunt that they could continue moving. They did not rest, otherwise. Low hills and mounds they climbed felt to their leaden legs like mountains; meager creeks and streams they crossed seemed to stretch on for miles. The trees, crowding down on them, reached out and scratched at their arms and legs and faces with wooden claws as sharp as needles. Foxes and barn owls screamed out from deep within the forest, and their fatigued minds, instinctually recalling legends of all the various monsters that lurk within such darkness, heard amongst their mangled cries the laughter of evil witches, and the terrible roars of bogeymen and other foul beasts. The stars shone coldly above them, ignorant of their torment.
Eventually, the line of the bear's tracks duplicated, and then further split into a third and a fourth set, all at various points overlapping and crisscrossing the first one. Silver felt his heart sink further and further at the discovery of each new set, and when they all converged and disappeared into a tangled copse of towering spruce and fir trees, he felt it stop moving entirely. Stopping, he drew the lantern in a wide arc before him; his steady gaze swept across the rows of identical giants like the roaming beam of a lighthouse, moving slowly, searching them, daring them to offer him what he was looking for, as though conducting a silent interrogation. His pale watercolor eyes, always so soft, hardened into steel. Sebek became at once afraid of him.
"Silver, what are you-"
"Quiet!" Silver hissed, waving him off with his free hand, his other hand tightening its grip on the lantern until his knuckles bloomed white.
And then - he saw it.
There, deep within the copse, standing just off to the left, partly obscured by the long shadows cast by its brothers, was the same spruce tree from earlier that day, wearing the same star-shaped patch of moss upon its wooden breast. They'd simply gone in another, massive circle around the forest.
"Damnit!" Silver spat. "Damnit, damnit, damnit!"
"Silver!" Sebek whined, but Silver ignored him.
He ripped his compass from his pocket and held it before him with trembling hands. Its needle pointed North. He spun around 180 degrees, yet still it pointed North; he spun a quarter further - again, North. His jaw dropped. No matter which way he faced or how he held the compass, its needle only spun and spun, racing in time with his pounding heart. He threw it to the ground in disgust.
His adam's apple bobbed precipitously. "I swear I..."
"You see! I told you so!" Sebek huffed, stamping his foot. "We're lost!"
"Shut up!" Silver growled. "I need to think."
For several, long hours leading up to that point, Sebek had been languishing under a terrible secret, the truth of which was that he had known, ever since he'd first glimpsed that verdant star, that they were utterly, and completely, lost. However, he did not wish to embarrass his friend, for although he found pleasure in showing off his strength and his intellect, and in being able to do things that other children his age could not, he was not a cruel boy, and had no interest in causing others pain, for which reason he'd decided against questioning Silver's judgment. He had trusted that Silver would architect for them some miraculous solution, just as he always had done any time they'd encounter an issue when training, but Silver had failed, and now Sebek was scared. The volcanic plug that was his faith in his friend having been destroyed, he finally erupted. "I don't like this! I want to go home!" he cried, his voice quivering. "This isn't fun anymore!"
"Fun?" Silver spat. "We didn't come all the way out here to have fun, Sebek!"
He stormed towards the other boy; the pine needles snapped and popped like firecrackers under his feet. His voice rose to a crackling scream. "We came out here so I could get my dad to trust me! And now it's all ruined!"
Sebek sniffled, cowering. His eyes shone with the threat of crystal tears. Silver's anger shot out of him as rapidly as it had come.
"Everything's ruined..."
Their venture was over, and what had they to show for it but their knobby little elbows and knees, scraped and bruised and smeared with blood; their filthy clothing, torn and stained with their tears; their ruddy, dirt-smeared faces; and their eyes, red and swollen from crying? What were they, but two scared little children, who would now sit down and fold their hands, prim and proper, and wait for their parents to come wipe their faces and clean up their mess? There would be no glory, no praise; no retribution against Silver's father. He half-expected the man to suddenly emerge from the shadows and begin chastising him.
Silver picked up his compass, wiped it against his shirt, and shoved it back into his pocket. He quickly glanced at Sebek, then ducked his head again, ashamed. Staring at his shoes, he grunted, "Sorry."
Drawing his sleeve across his soiled face, Sebek grumbled through the fabric an acceptance of his apology. He then turned and stepped behind the wall of foliage to collect himself in private.
Silver waited for him. He rolled a pinecone back and forth under his boot for a few moments before gently kicking it away. The air buzzed with the sounds of nature's nocturnal choir; its leading members, a cloister of tree frogs hidden amongst the copse before him - each one a piece of peridot, emerald, or jade - sang quietly, joining their crystal voices with the crickets and katydids plucking their chitinous strings. He could hear Sebek's hushed sobs filtering through to him, carried upon the silver chorus like a pine needle pulled down a stream. He wished to go join him in his anguish, to throw his arms around his friend and to weep with him, but the shock of his failure had drained his body of all its frustrations, leaving him numb. He knew there would be time to mourn later; for now, his only focus would be on getting through the night.
Once Sebek returned, his eyes and his face cleaned and dry, if not still inflamed, Silver cleared his throat and said, "Remember what my father would always tell us: Best thing to do if you get lost..."
"...is to sit your ass down, and stay put." Sebek finished with a shaky sigh.
Silver set down his lantern and knapsack, and after taking out his emergency kit and placing it to the side, began clearing out a broad perimeter in the leaf litter, attempting to erect a small fire pit. Sebek, as if suddenly roused from a stupor, dropped all of his gear and moved automatically to help him. They labored slowly, dragging their long, weary arms apelike by their sides, fighting weakly against a sea of pine needles that seemed to never end. Their calf muscles, having been deflated of all their adrenaline and fear, burned with each of their languid movements. Ten minutes later, with the ground now barren, and their skin freshly pricked and bleeding, Silver used his magic to ignite the pile of tinder they'd gathered, then turned to rummage through his belongings once again. Beside him, Sebek flung himself against his knapsack and kicked out his legs with a groan. He pillowed his heavy head under his arms and observed the fire silently. The flames dyed his face in a wash of vermilion, elongating the shadows under his eyes.
Silver glanced at him as he removed the emergency blanket from his kit, still disturbed by his outburst.
"I brought some corn meal with me. We can make some hoe cakes or something later, if you want," he offered gently.
Sebek sniffled again. "Ok."
Silver circled their meager camp, searching for a place to hang the blanket, ultimately deciding upon the outstretched branch of a sagging pine tree. One side of the blanket was coated with a bright orange material, which he positioned facing away from them.
"That's to help people find us, right?" Sebek asked, pulling out the remaining biscuits from his bag.
"Right," Silver replied without looking back. He straightened out the blanket and frowned.
If anyone's even looking for us.
VII.
Had you stayed behind at the Vanrouge's cottage after Silver embarked on his misadventures, electing to observe Lilia as he went about his day, up to - and including - his ultimate reconciliation with his son, then you would have witnessed the following:
Lilia awoke, as usual, shortly past 7 a.m. He did not own an alarm clock, preferring instead to let his body awaken naturally, gently roused by the golden sunlight filtering through his curtains. He lay in bed for a few moments, wrapped in the warm pleasantries of his blankets and his lingering dreams and the ebbing darkness, yawning leisurely, listening to the song thrushes chittering softly outside his window. Then, with a snap of his fingers, the curtains drew back and fixed themselves into place. That morning was a fine one. Where the sky had been grey and congested the day prior, it had since been painted over in the brightest blue, reminiscent of a stalk of larkspur, with not a single cloud in sight.
For five minutes Lilia indulged in this his usual morning pleasure, before, like clockwork, his reality struck him - he suddenly remembered every vexing instance of his son's tumultuous behavior from the past few months; felt anew all the dull aches and pains tugging at his limbs, felt the impending exasperation of the long list of chores that awaited him that day; each recollection pricked at his mind and his heart as though they were bee stings. He threw off his blankets and sat up with a scowl.
After grabbing a cup of tea, he settled himself at the dining table together with a gardening catalog that had arrived in the mail recently. He flipped through it halfheartedly, circling with a pen any seeds and supplies he planned to purchase for fall, his gaze occasionally drifting away from the pages of colorful produce, wandering over to and slipping out of the kitchen and living room windows. He thus swept through a third of the catalog before noticing the animals' absence in the yard, realizing a moment later that he had yet to see Silver that morning, too. Presuming the boy had slept in again, he waited half an hour further before checking his room, at which point a dull uneasiness had begun to form in his stomach.
The darkness in the little room yawned cavernously as Lilia pushed open the door. The heavy linen curtains were drawn tightly shut; the comforter was pulled up flush against the headboard of Silver's bed, a long lump protruding motionlessly underneath it. His uneasiness exploding all at once in a poisonous concern, Lilia flew across the room in rapid, broad strides, alighting to his son's bedside in an instant. He whispered, his voice slightly trembling, "Are you feeling alright, sweetheart?", and, after receiving no response, reached out to stroke the head of the lump, his lips pulling into a frown as the mass gave buoyantly under his hand. He wrenched back the blankets, stifling a cry as a mound of pillows tumbled out before him. He gingerly picked up one of the pillows and dropped it to the floor again, as though expecting to find his child concealed beneath it.
"Silver!" he shouted, glancing wildly around him, but the only response was his own disgruntled echo.
Frowning again, he put his hands on his hips. Where the hell is he?
Upon completing a thorough search of Silver's room - including his closet, his chest, his hamper, and underneath his bed - Lilia swept through the rest of the house and the root cellar, opening every door, and upturning every piece of furniture he could find, and when this, too, proved fruitless, he continued his efforts outside. He looked in the pig pen and in the chicken coop, checked behind the cow's lean-to and inside the shed, and, for good measure, even stopped to peer inside the empty flower pots in the garden. But each of these places and their inhabitants, whether living or inanimate, offered him no leads, and rejected all his inquiries.
Standing in the middle of the garden, he crossed his arms and considered all the oddities he'd noted that morning. Several items from the house were missing, including Silver's knapsack and crossbow, as well as some candles and other supplies from the kitchen, and the trick with the pillows was one he'd used himself in his youth for late-night abscondments from the castle. All of these observations he could trace back to only one conclusion: This was all just some sort of childish prank.
"That little...!" Lilia grunted, balling his fists. He turned and stepped towards the gate, intending to continue his search in the surrounding woodland, but the sound of the cow's mournful lowing stopped him in his tracks. None of the animals had been fed or watered yet, and the garden was in desperate need of another weeding. After a brief deliberation, he decided he would tend to Silver's chores in his absence, and then, he would return to the cottage, and he would wait - he would not indulge the boy in his games.
Any fatigue he'd felt that morning was immediately flushed out of his body and replaced with a venomous rage. He swept across the clearing like a tempest; the animals scattered before him in terror. He tore open their bags of scratch and grain and threw them to the ground, careless of the waste. He stormed back to the garden and began ripping up the tangled mass of weeds suffocating the ground, tossing muck-covered fistfuls of crabgrass and dandelions over the fence; the pigs, having recovered quickly from their fright, dove noisily for the mess.
His mind raced, his thoughts jumping rapidly between all the different ways Silver's return could occur. Likely, he would try to sneak into the house later that night, coming in either through one of the windows, up through the cellar. Or maybe, made shameless by his caper, he would stroll through the front door, kick off his shoes, and throw his bag to the ground, moving with the bold swagger of a yearling buck. Lilia would be ready for him either way. He would wait for him in the living room, on the couch, facing the door, his arms crossed, his eyes narrowed and blazing. If the boy tried to sneak in, Lilia would hear him. If he came in through the front door, Lilia would see him. If he cried, so be it. If he whined and begged for forgiveness, Lilia would not give it to him. He'd had enough of the child's attitude, his insolence, his unwillingness to talk, his newfound proclivity to brush off each and every act of kindness Lilia tried to offer to him. Perhaps his own parental failures truly were to blame for their ongoing disputes, but he would not allow this blatant defiance to continue a moment longer. He would ground Silver - for a week, at a minimum - double his training exercises, forbid him from seeing Sebek- He crushed a dandelion in his fist. And have him do all the weeding that month! An impish grin flashed across his face as he plotted. The sun beat down on him reproachfully.
Hours later, frustrated and in pain, his clothes caked with dried mud and bits and pieces of crabgrass, he marched back to the cottage and threw himself face-first onto the sofa. He lay there for a few moments, unmoving, before a sharp spasm in his calf forced him to slowly, wearily, sit up. Palpating the now throbbing muscle, he realized in that moment just how much his anger had blinded him. Why didn't I just fucking use magic to do all that? Another stream of profanity poured from his lips.
He sat watching the hour hand of the wall clock slowly inch forward. He rose periodically, to glance out the windows, to refill his tea, to pace back and forth across the living room, his gaze fixed on the front door, his thoughts slowly congealing into the perfect, incendiary speech with which he'd lash the boy upon his return. But Silver did not return, not as noon rolled around, nor as Lilia prepared their dinner. By that evening, the molten rage in his body had cooled, hardening into a tense knot of worry.
Shortly before sunset, just as he'd risen to check the kitchen windows once more, a commotion sounded outside - something heavy was pounding across the clearing, heading rapidly for the cottage. Lilia leapt from the sofa and raced to the door, throwing it open with a scowl, the first in the long list of scathing remarks he'd been preparing for Silver all that afternoon poised on his lips, but both his anger and his relief evaporated when he saw that it was only Baul, rushing in long strides down the dirt path leading to the cottage. As the other man approached him and opened his mouth to speak, Lilia put up a hand to silence him. "Uh-uh, I don't have time for this today. If you're here for-"
"I'm not!" Baul huffed, tiredly swatting Lilia's hand away. "Please just listen to me, General."
Lilia crossed his arms and jut his chin, indicating for Baul to continue.
"You seen Seb today?"
"Sebek? No, I haven't. Why-..." His words trailed off, the answer to his question instantly forming in his mind.
"He's not... Don't tell me you can't find him?"
"We can't," Baul sighed. "We tore up the whole damn house, looked down by the river, all through the woods. Got some of the neighbors out helping us look. We figured he mighta snuck out to go play with your boy, so I came by to check."
"Sorry, but no, I haven't seen any sign of him today." Looking away, Lilia muttered, "...And Silver's gone, too, actually."
"Huh?" Baul's eyes widened in surprise. "Have you looked for him?"
"Of course I have!" Lilia scoffed. "I checked the whole clearing twice over. I'm thinking he just ran off somewhere because I..."
Baul raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, mirroring Lilia.
Lilia rolled his eyes. "He blew up at me the other night and probably just ran off for a while to get back at me. You know how kids are."
His apparent apathy inflamed Baul. He stalked over to Lilia, the dense column of his body twitching as he loomed over his former superior.
"That's it," he snarled, his nostrils flaring like an enraged bull's. "You're coming with me."
"Wha-"
Moving at a speed that belied his great size, Baul threw his arms around Lilia, caging the smaller man in his vice grip. One moment, they were standing in the clearing; the next, the ground disappeared beneath their feet, and the world exploded into kaleidoscopic streaks of color rushing all around them. Caught off guard, Lilia hardly had time to close his eyes before they landed on solid ground again a few seconds later.
Baul released him carelessly and walked away. Lilia slowly staggered after him, clutching his head, his vision swimming.
His quivering eyes concentrated first on the red beam towering before them, then moved to the smaller white block standing beside it. A sudden shift in the breeze carried with it the clean smell of cottonwood. He knew this place - they'd hurtled five miles away to the Zigvolt's home.
"Fucking warn me before you do that!" he hissed. Over the ringing of his ears, his mind vaguely registered several voices - some talking softly, and at least one other crying, but he could not discern amidst his blurry surroundings whom they belonged to.
Baul asked if there'd been any sign of Sebek while he was gone.
A broad green shape came forward and congealed rapidly into Ma Zigovlt. She was dressed in her dental scrubs, her dark green hair pulled back in a fraying ponytail. "No! Nothing!" she cried while pacing back and forth.
The two shapes behind her then revealed themselves to be Pa Zigvolt, also in his work attire, and Iris, sitting together on the steps of the front porch. Iris was weeping quietly, her head buried in her father's neck.
Turning to Lilia, Pa Zigvolt explained that Iris had been left alone to watch her brother that day, and it wasn't until late in the afternoon that she'd discovered him missing, having gone to check his room after he'd failed to appear for both breakfast and lunch. When a frantic search of the house and the backyard proved fruitless, she rushed into town and alerted the elder Zigvolts, who promptly canceled all their appointments for that afternoon to help her look. They rallied the neighbors, forming several search parties to sweep through the surrounding forests and the river, and after several hours of unsuccessful canvassing, it was ultimately Baul who suggested they inquire by the Vanrouge's.
Pa Zigvolt turned again to his daughter, gently squeezed her arm, and whispered something in her ear. She nodded and raised her head from his shoulder, allowing him to descend down the stairs. The family cat, which had been dozing elsewhere on the porch, promptly stood up, stretched, and padded over to Iris, taking her father's place. She scooped the animal into her arms and held it against her chest. She blamed herself bitterly for not noticing sooner her little brother was gone, and had been inconsolable for hours.
"Thank you so much for coming to help, Lilia." Pa Zigvolt said, shaking Lilia's limp hand. He glanced behind Lilia, then behind Baul, before asking, confused, "Where's Silver?"
"He's, erm..." Lilia hesitated, fearing another unpleasant reaction. "He's actually missing, too."
But the Zigvolt parents simply exchanged a silent look with one another, and Ma Zigvolt's voice was only gentle as she asked him to explain.
Lilia proceeded to recount his own experiences that morning, and by the time he finished speaking, the small group was in agreement that the boys had likely snuck away together. As they loitered in the front yard, heatedly discussing their next plan of action, a group of neighbors approached. One of them, an elderly fae known for his avid hunting, stepped forward, waving his hand.
"We found their tracks!"
"You did!? Where!?" Pa Zigvolt asked, his eyes shining in excitement - this was their first lead all day.
"Yessir, two little sets of feet headin' due North," the neighbor explained leisurely, scratching his arm. "We followed 'em a long ways and think we know where they're at. That's the good news."
Their hearts plummeted at his next words.
"Bad news is it looks like they went right into the Obsidian Forest."
The forest was still, the night air punctuated at times by the sound of Baul softly cursing at the branches and bushes impeding their way.
“I swear, when I find that boy,” he growled as he smacked away another insolent branch, “Ooh, I swear! When I find him, I’m gonna…!”
Lilia rolled his eyes. Baul had never so much as laid an unkind finger on any of his children or grandchildren, and his grumbled threats never resulted in anything more than a glare or a scowl or a frown.
They'd split up, Baul and Lilia forming one search party, Ma and Pa Zigvolt another, each covering their own half of the forest. The Zigvolt's neighbors remained at the house with Iris, ready to send out an alert should the boys return on their own, partly to keep the still despondent girl company, and partly out of a reluctance to come with them.
And so Lilia and Baul, and Ma and Pa Zigvolt, elsewhere, had been canvassing the forest for several hours, intermittently calling out Silver and Sebek's names, with no response other than cricket song or the occasional owl's cry. The bear's tracks - several sets of them, as it were, overlapping one another and forever winding like a loamy, coiled serpent - provided their only guideline, as the plush leaf litter hadn't absorbed the children's much lighter prints.
However, to their great luck - and to Silver and Sebek's misfortune - the boys had misoriented themselves as soon as they'd stepped foot into the forest, for as they'd trudged through the early morning darkness, their senses and their judgment obscured both by the endless shadows and the heavy fear in their hearts, they had failed to notice the numerous times they'd looped around and mistakenly followed a different set of tracks, some which had been laid earlier that week, others at the beginning of the month. The combination of the forest's perfect uniformity, its paucity of light, and its impregnable secrecy had been leading its diminutive invaders astray from the very beginning. As such, the children had only wandered a few miserable miles during their entire journey, and Baul and Lilia did not have to walk very long to find them.
Presently, the direction of the wind shifted, bringing with it the heavy smell of smoke; Lilia and Baul automatically moved to follow it. The spectral grey tendrils, unable to fully penetrate the canopy, congealed, hanging in a bloated cloud above them, through which murky haze the red light of a fire glowed softly in the distance. The men picked up their pace as the light grew stronger; Lilia soon rushed ahead of Baul, breaking into a run. But it was not the fire's glow that urged him on, that guided him, that drew him through that endless darkness - it was the moonlight of Silver's white hair, brighter and dearer to him than any star, that was his beacon.
"Silver!" Lilia shouted.
"Who's there!?" Silver shouted back, whipping his head around. Spotting the two men, his jaw dropped, and he turned to shake Sebek, who'd been dozing on his shoulder. The boys rose, Silver quickly, Sebek groggily, rubbing his eyes in confusion. Before Silver could take more than a few stumbling steps, Lilia ran to him and pulled him into his arms, and for the first time that summer, Silver allowed his father to embrace him. He ducked his head into Lilia’s neck, felt the man's pulse thundering against his skin, felt in turn as his own tempestuous heartbeat finally calmed after so many long hours of strange terror. Overwhelmed, Silver opened his mouth, and he cried.
Watching the pair, Sebek, the poor creature, threw a nervous glance at his grandfather - the man’s stony face was anger itself. The child felt wretched, and he wished for nothing more than to be held. He drifted towards Silver and Lilia, his wet eyes downcast, feeling as guilty as a whipped hound approaching its master. Before he could begin his pleas, Lilia opened his arms and pulled the trembling boy into a hug. He was at once unburdened, and his relieved sobs soon joined Silver’s.
For Silver and Sebek, the men were their heroes in that moment, their guardian angels - two mighty pillars of light within the black maw of that abominable forest. Go ahead, weary children, dry the pearls of your tears against their shining wings. But do not forget – the Lord’s angels must deliver judgment and salvation in turn. Look now as the one takes up his golden scale, and the other his blade.
The interrogation proceeded as follows:
Although the boys had, while waiting for their rescue, vowed not to reveal the true purpose of their mission, fearing the truth would only worsen Silver's predicament, they had failed to devise an appropriate excuse for their disappearance. Caught off guard, they first claimed that they'd merely wandered into the forest on accident, after having lost their bearings in the woodland behind the Zigvolt's property, but Lilia dismissed the claim at once, knowing his apprentices would never dare be so careless.
The boys retracted this statement, drew a few paces away to convene privately, and then offered a new story, one of a monster that had chased them all the way out into the forest.
“What kind of monster?” Baul pressed.
“A scary one?” Sebek shrugged.
A jury of nosy tawny owls convened spontaneously in the trees around them. They balked wordlessly at the children's flimsy defense.
Just then, and by chance, while shaking his head in frustration, Baul noticed that Sebek's hands were trembling. The movement was so subtle, so minor, that it was only perceptible when the breeze shifted towards them, so that the light from the campfire hit the child's hands just so. Baul nudged Lilia with his elbow and jut his chin towards the boy, indicating his tremors. With both men now focusing their gazes fully on Sebek, Lilia asked once more why the boys had gone into the forest; Sebek crumbled immediately under their wrath.
“W-We just… We wanted to go hunt the bear that’s been killing off the livestock so we…”
“…So you snuck off without telling anyone?” Lilia asked.
“Yeah…”
“It’s my fault, sir,” Silver said, stepping in front of Sebek.
“What?” Lilia and Baul replied in unison.
“I was the one who wanted to go. Sebek didn’t wanna come but I made him. Please don’t get mad at him.”
“Silver!” Sebek squeaked. He opened his mouth to object, but Silver silenced him with a pointed glare.
Baul crossed his arms and looked over Silver, directing his gaze at his grandson. “Is that true, Seb?”
“…Y-Yes, sir.”
“God damnit,” Baul hissed. “You damn kids had us tearing up this whole fucking forest just for-”
“Baul, please,” Lilia sighed. “It’s been a long day. Let’s just get the kids back home.”
“Fine!” Baul threw his hands up and stomped off, muttering under his breath.
Lilia clicked his tongue and turned to the children. “You two, put out your campfire and follow us - and be quick. I’ll light the way with my magic.” Sebek and Silver’s pale faces shone faintly in the cold darkness, as white as the moon. They nodded dully, stunned from Baul’s outburst.
Lilia sprinted down the path Baul had taken, calling after the green and white hurricane crashing through the trees ahead.
“Baul, wait!”
“What!” Baul shouted without looking back.
“If you’d just stop for one second so I can apologize to you-”
“Apologize for what!?”
“For Silver!”
Baul finally stopped.
“I’m sorry, General, but what in the actual hell are you talking about?”
Lilia shook his head in exasperation. “Are you kidding me? I’m trying to apologize for what my child did. He caused you and your family a lot of trouble, so I-”
“Oh, for crying out loud. I was standing right next to you when he said sorry. He doesn’t need his damn pappy covering for his ass.”
“I understand that. But regardless, I need to take responsibility as his parent.”
The thick pillar of Baul’s neck tensed as he worked his jaw. “…You really do still think he’s just a little kid, don’t you?”
“What?”
“I said,” he growled, taking a heavy step forward, “you really still think he’s just a little kid. Don’t you?”
“Yes? He’s only thirteen, Baul.”
Baul blinked at him slowly. “You know, I’ll be honest with you. The day you brought that kid home and said you were going to raise him, I thought that was the dumbest thing I’d ever heard in my entire life. But that right there takes the cake.”
Lilia pinched the bridge of his nose. Clinging onto his last, frayed strand of patience, he hissed out through gritted teeth, “Would you please enlighten me to what it is you’re trying to get at?”
Baul spat at Lilia’s feet. His yellow-green eyes blazed like canary diamonds. “Your boy’s growing up, General. He’s becoming a man. The sooner you accept that, the better.”
Lilia scoffed. “You think I don’t know that? I just-”
“Bullshit! You know what I bet?" Baul licked his lips. "I bet you haven't even noticed he's already taller than you now, huh. All that fucking yapping you do, bragging about each and every little fucking thing he does, and not once have I ever heard you mention it.”
Lilia stared at him incredulously. He recognized the taunt - it was the same one Baul had attempted to provoke him with earlier that Summer, but as Lilia opened his mouth to rebuke him, he quickly closed it again, suddenly overcome by an almost paralyzing sense of apprehension. He's not taller than me... right? He tried to recall the last time he'd looked at Silver - truly looked at him, not in anger or in contempt; not as an object of his frustration nor the progenitor of his grievances; not begging him to please tell him what was wrong and to just talk to him already. He realized with a start it must've been months ago, before the sudden change in Silver's demeanor, perhaps around his birthday, or earlier, for he saw nothing more than abstract glimpses flash before his mind's eye, of Silver's back turned to him, of Silver storming away from him, enraged; of Silver snapping at him with heavy tears welling up in his opaline eyes. But still- No, it wasn't possible, he would've noticed. For what were the past thirteen years of him centering his entire life around the child if he had not? What right had he to call himself the boy's father, to claim the child as his son, if he had failed to notice something so monumental? His son was just a young boy with cherubic little cheeks and bright blue-grey eyes, who would beam at him with the most precious little smile - half-crooked, his thin lips pressed into a rosy crescent moon, and that was the truth.
“That's not...”
Baul roared over him, drowning out the rest of his halfhearted response. “And now he’s sneaking off and lying to you and taking the blame for shit he didn’t do, and you honestly still think he’s just some dumb little brat who needs his pappy to wipe his ass for him!”
Lilia winced at each of his words, as though they were daggers striking his skin. Noticing the other man's sudden trepidation, Baul paused.
"Honestly, you just..." Slowly, he began summoning the patience one required when attempting to convince Lilia Vanrouge of his own failings, and as his anger dissipated, he thought suddenly of his daughter. His expression softened, settling halfway between a scowl and a lopsided smile; his voice softened, too. “I know how much you're hurting here, but my god, you seriously need to get your head out of your ass.”
Baul continued speaking, but Lilia could no longer hear him, could not wrest his attention away from the uneasiness still gnawing painfully at his heart.
Just then, Silver and Sebek emerged from the surrounding thicket, as if beckoned by Lilia's anguish. His gaze flew instantly towards his son.
The boy's face was filthy, covered in a greasy film of sweat and grime and dirt, with pine needles stuck to his forehead and leaf litter entangled in his hair, and a thin line of blood on his cheek where a branch had scratched him. The steely blue-grey eyes peering at him from above the sharpened cheeks evoked an almost hawkish appearance. He was angular, scrawny, gaunt - nigh spectral in the pale glow of the lantern in his hands. Who was this gangly youth? This stranger? Had his mental image of his son been all this time nothing more than an exaggerated caricature, a farce cobbled together months ago, or years, even?
“We got the campfire put out," Silver said, panting, trying to catch his breath. As he raised his arm and drew his sleeve across his wet brow, the pale circle of lamplight suddenly fell upon his father's face. His skin blazed bone white, and his bloodless lips, parted slightly, were frozen in a silent gasp, as though he were dazed; he looked cadaverous. Silver gulped and took a step back. "...Is everything okay?”
"Silver, stand up straight." Lilia's voice curled out into the chill night air like a fine mist, softer than a whisper, yet the pure animosity with which he spoke betrayed the threat underlying his words, so that the boy immediately drew himself to his full height without a second thought.
Lilia stumbled mechanically towards Silver and cupped his face in his hands, swept his eyes down from his chin up to his lips, to his nose, tilted his head back to meet the boy's gaze- Ah! There it was, Lilia felt it, felt the microscopic contractions in the taught fibers of his neck as he yawned his head back, hardly more than a few degrees, scarcely lifting it above his eye level, could almost hear them as they cried out in pain, and yet - he was looking up at his son! Lilia's palms suddenly grew cold despite the warm flesh they cradled; his hands moved on their own, weakly pressing into the face, as if making one final, feeble, desperate attempt to mold it into the infantile visage beginning to rapidly crumble inside his mind. He choked back a quiet sob and dropped his arms to his sides, receding a few steps away, visibly distraught. The whole torturous act had lasted but a mere moment, during which time Silver had stood petrified, as though caught in a trance. He now sluggishly raised his own hand and traced his cheek where his father had touched him. He shivered; his skin felt like ice.
Baul went to Lilia and spoke at him rapidly in fae language – talking too quickly for Sebek’s mind to translate, and wholly incomprehensible to Silver’s – before turning around and walking off.
Lilia stared at Silver again, opened his mouth after a moment, then closed it, deciding he would talk to the boy later, in private. Taking a deep breath, he began telling the children to follow him, but was interrupted by a thunderous crash off in the distance. The three of them pointed their gazes simultaneously to where the sound had erupted - a freshly felled pine tree, behind which stood a black shadow so towering the boys feared for a moment that it was the bear come to ambush them.
However, to their great relief, it was only Ma Zigvolt who stepped out into their lamplight, casually shaking off the pine dust from her hands. Upon spotting her son, her face broke immediately into a wide smile, while Sebek's, in turn, scrunched up as he began to cry.
“Mama!” Sebek wailed.
Ma Zigvolt rushed over and engulfed his small body between her arms. He nearly disappeared underneath her frame. “Oh, thank goodness!” she heaved, swaying gently as the tight coil of her nerves slowly unwound.
“Is everything… Okay…?” Pa Zigvolt panted as he emerged from the darkness of the forest a moment later. He coughed into his sleeve, and then gasped once he heard Sebek’s quiet sniffles floating out from the cage of his wife’s arms. The long search had exhausted him, had strangled his lungs and poisoned his mind with fear, but the boy’s hushed sobs invigorated something within him, rousing a force in his heart greater than even the weariness hanging heavy from his limbs like iron chains. He lurched forward, breathing heavily, taking one shaky step after another, stumbling as he covered a short distance that to him felt like miles. At last, he lifted his leaden arms and wrapped them as far as he could around his wife’s quivering back, collapsing into her with a sigh.
“Oh, thank goodness! Oh, thank goodness!” Ma Zigvolt whispered again and again.
Lilia and Silver watched them from afar. Silver soon looked away, awkwardness prickling at his skin.
Presently, Lilia cleared his throat, announced loudly that he and Silver would be leaving, and, after waiting a moment for Pa Zigvolt to wave them off, he turned to his son, and motioned with his head that it was time to go home.
Lilia threw himself on the living room sofa with a mangled groan. He and Silver had reached the clearing shortly after midnight, their long trip culminating in several grueling miles of Lilia carrying his exhausted son on his back, trudging almost bent in half for over an hour. He'd set aside Silver's portion of dinner that evening, a plate of sausage links and biscuits that had since grown cold, and this Silver bolted gratefully before excusing himself to take a much needed bath. Consumed with a sudden restlessness, Lilia busied himself while he waited, returning the animals to their enclosures, washing the pile of dishes festering in the kitchen sink, and straightening out the piles of books and toys and other various knick-knacks strewn across the living room. He went to rap his hand on the bathroom door after fifteen minutes had passed, concerned Silver might have fallen asleep in the tub, and, after receiving a quiet response, had staggered back to the living room, where his own fatigue finally struck him.
He clenched and unclenched his hands nervously, occasionally wincing as hot tendrils of pain shot up through his spine and flared out into hips. His thoughts flit rapidly between each of his aching limbs, between the anger, the fear, the sorrow that clouded his mind. While they were walking back home, he could hear Baul's words repeating over and over again, overlapping with Ma Zigvolt's remarks from a few weeks prior, and mixing together with his own, anguished thoughts that had paralyzed him as he'd finally realized how much his son had changed. A part of him, a part that he'd for so long fought to viciously stamp out and silence, knew that Baul was right, and that Ma Zigvolt was right, too. He realized now he just hadn't wanted to admit it.
When Silver at last emerged from the bathroom and came to sit beside Lilia, he did not react at first. The boy - the youth, his child, his son, the stranger - stared at him silently. His eyes, though sharper and slightly narrower than how Lilia remembered them, still bore that same, auroral hue that had first captivated him so many years ago, and he found himself being slowly drawn out of his frantic ruminations as he met Silver's gaze.
Folding his hands in his laps, he took a deep breath, and asked, "Alright, so what's the real reason you did all this? Because you were mad at me?
Silver fidgeted in his seat and nibbled at his lip. His eyes darted to a corner of the living room. "No. I mean, yeah, I was mad at you."
"Over what happened at the dance?"
Silver's gaze jumped to the other corner. "The dance and... other stuff."
Lilia recalled immediately all their quarreling from the past few months, the long days that would pass without Silver uttering even a single word to him, and the even longer nights where he could hear him quietly crying in his room next door. His heart ached for the boy. He reached out to drape his hand over Silver's. “Baby, you know I-“
Silver swatted his hand away and retreated further into his side of the sofa. “You’re doing it again!” he whined, his voice cracking.
"Doing what?"
"You keep treating me like a little kid!"
"You-!" Lilia swallowed his retort with a grimace. Exhaling slowly, he admitted grudgingly, "You're right, I am. And I'm sorry. I'll try to stop doing that."
Silver's jaw dropped open. He couldn't recall his father ever having conceded to him so easily before, if at all. Quickly recovering from his shock, he sat up straight and said, "Umm- I mean, yeah! Please do that." He crossed his arms and nodded sagely, with the air of one who has successfully negotiated for terms that are completely in one's favor.
"Now, I can understand you ran off because of what's been going on recently, but what about your behavior from the past few months?"
Silver uncrossed his arms and tilted his head quizzically. Noticing his confusion, Lilia explained he meant the very same quarrels that Silver had previously mentioned, as well as his sudden adoption of the moniker "Father".
"I dunno." Silver shrugged his shoulders. "I mean, the "Father" thing's 'cause Sebek told me about it a while ago."
Lilia blinked. "Told you about what?"
“He told me… Ah, wait.” Silver straightened his back and puffed out his chest, pointing his eyebrows sharply together like an arrowhead. “He said, “Silver! Why do you continue to refer to your father as “Papa”!? Are you not turning thirteen years old soon? It’s positively childish!”” Deflating into his usual stoic expression, he continued, “And then he told me if I wanted to be a real knight, then I need to hurry and grow up already.”
Biting back an incredulous snort, Lilia summoned as much tenderness his weary body could muster, and said, smiling, "Listen, you don't have to do everything Sebek tells you to, you know. You can call me 'Papa' all you want. If somebody doesn't like that, that's their problem."
"But I don't..." Silver looked away again. His voice dropped to a whisper, as though hoping that if he spoke his next words quietly, they would hurt his father less. "I don't want to."
Lilia's smile vanished. "You don't?"
"Uh-uh."
"...But why?"
"I just..." Silver frowned. "I don't know. You keep asking why I do this and that, but I don't know how to explain it. It's like every time I try to catch my thoughts, they up and fly away from me. And then you just keep on badgering me more and I just get so mad."
Silver had expressed similar sentiments numerous times before over the past few months, but although there were no stunning revelations to be found in his words, no breakthroughs to be made in understanding the transformation in his demeanor, Lilia, for the first time, listened to him. Lilia had stumbled blindly through that whole Summer, feeling as though he were trying to walk across quicksand, ever fearful that the next blowout with his son, that the next new symptom of his strange ailment would lead to some sort of irrevocable, irreparable damage to their relationship, but as he listened, he felt the ground beneath his feet finally, slowly begin to solidify at last.
They quietly conversed for half an hour longer, at which point Silver began to yawn and rub at his eyes, nodding off a few minutes later. Lilia stood up, intending to carry the boy to his room, only to immediately drop down onto the sofa again with a pained cry. Rubbing deep circles into his lower back with one hand, he leaned over and gently shook Silver awake with the other.
"Go on and get to bed. We can iron out your punishment some other time."
"Okay." Silver rose slowly, dragging his feet as he plodded down the hall. Standing before his door, he turned around and stammered, "I love you," before disappearing into his room.
"I love you, too." Lilia replied hoarsely, fighting to speak past the lump in his throat.
With a grunt, he lifted his leaden legs onto the sofa and lay down flat on his back, sighing pleasantly as the worst of his pain began to subside. For over an hour he drifted in and out of a restless slumber, after which he stiffly sat up, and, this time rising without issue, limped quietly across the floor and down the hallway to Silver's room, steadying himself with a quivering hand against the wall.
Silver lay fast asleep, sprawled out face down atop his barren mattress, his blankets and several of his pillows still scattered across the floor from Lilia's frantic search that morning. A soft smile tugged at Lilia's lips. He must've passed out as soon as he lay down, the poor thing. Not trusting he'd be able to stand up straight again should he bend over in his present state, he instead cast a cleaning spell, and watched as the blankets and discarded pillows silently rose from the floor and arranged themselves neatly into place on Silver's bed. His eyes flicked back to Silver as the emerald sparks of his magic began to fade away, but the boy did not stir.
He cupped Silver's cheek, swept his thumb across the warm skin, moved his hand up to his hair, and began picking out the bits and pieces of pine needles and leaf litter Silver had been too exhausted to comb out while in the bath. His thoughts began to wander again while he fussed with a difficult knot.
Loss had accompanied him all his life; it was as regular to him as the changing of the seasons, as inevitable as the mighty storm that had swept across their nation and all the other natural disasters that would someday follow. But when he found Silver, he'd believed, selfishly, foolishly, stubbornly, that here was something, the only other thing besides his own heart, that he would be able to keep for himself, that life could not take away from him. Perhaps therein lay the reason why he had tried for so long to remain ignorant of his son's maturation, why he had fought so desperately to prevent the boy from growing up, from growing away from him. But he knew now that he'd been wrong, for he had split his heart in half long ago - long before he had ever left the castle. One half he had given to Malleus; the other lay before him now, curled up against the palm of his hand, breathing quietly, the moon's silver glow shining faintly in his hair.
And though he did not have a name for it, he could feel as something new was beginning to slip away from him once again, just as the soft strands of moonlight slipped through his fingers.
“And that's okay,” Lilia breathed out with a shudder. “It'll be okay. And I’ll try. I’ll let go.”
Lilia brought his folding stool into the garden and set it down amidst a semi-circle of empty buckets and baskets he'd arranged between two rows of low bushes, and, after sitting down gingerly, careful not to agitate his back, began picking off handfuls of snap beans from the bush before him. It was the second week of August - time for the Summer harvest at last, and when finished here, he would move onto the squash and eggplants next, then the bell peppers and tomatoes, then the watermelon and strawberries; the sweet potatoes he would leave for Silver to dig up on his own. Having recently satisfied the terms of his punishment, during which period he'd spent several weeks completing additional training exercises and chores every day, Lilia had granted him a short holiday, and he presently lay fast asleep in bed. Though working on his own, he moved quickly, and filled two of his buckets by the time Silver awoke later that morning and approached him in the garden.
He'd already combed his hair and gotten changed, with his knapsack slung comfortably across his shoulder. He'd grown another inch in the past month, and his face seemed miles away as Lilia looked up at him.
“Father, may I visit the Zigvolts?" he said plainly, studying his father's face. "The robins told me Sebek got a new astronomy book he’s been wanting to show me.”
Lilia dragged his sleeve across his wet forehead and nodded. "That's fine. Will you be having dinner there?”
“No, I don’t plan to.”
"Alright."
While Lilia returned to his picking, Silver shifted uncertainly from one foot to the other, his gaze jumping between his father and the forest path beyond their home. After a moment, he licked his lips and asked, “Did you, uh, want me to wait for you?”
Lilia shook his head. He looked up at his son again and smiled.
“No, you go on without me.”
Song credits
“Twistin’ the Night Away” written and recorded by Sam Cooke
“I Wish You Love” recorded by Sam Cooke, written by Albert Beach
Title is taken from the Hannah Montana song by the same name.
Just for the sake of transparency, some parts of this fic took very heavy inspiration from Marjorie Kinnan Rawling's book "The Yearling", particularly the first two chapters.
#lilia vanrouge#twst silver#sebek zigvolt#baul zigvolt#malleus draconia#twst#twisted wonderland#txt#(although im tagging malleus he is not actively in the story. hes just mentioned in flashbacks)
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Amazing what lies you were capable of
Pairing: Chan x reader (referred to as she/her)
Word Count: 1485
Summary: Chan reflects on everything that happened with her and finally decides to move on.
Warnings/Tags: angst, mention of ghosting, empty promises, mention of smoking (one sentence), heartbreak
A/N: Purely self-indulgent, I already apologize for the angst.🖤
do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -
Amazing what lies you were capable of, Chan thought as he sat in his dimly lit apartment, staring at his phone. The screen was blank, no sign of any new messages or missed calls. The silence was deafening, each minute stretching into eternity. He had been here before, in this very position, heart pounding with a mix of hope and dread, only to be met with the same empty void.
The first time she had ghosted him, he had been naive enough to make excuses on her behalf. She was busy with work, overwhelmed by her personal life, or perhaps dealing with something he couldn’t quite grasp. He had convinced himself that there were reasonable explanations for her silence. But as days turned into weeks and weeks into months, the pattern became unmistakable. She would reappear with apologies that seemed genuine, stories of chaos that he wanted so desperately to believe. And each time, he welcomed her back with open arms, the embers of their connection rekindling his hope.
Now, as he sat there in the dark, he couldn’t help but reflect on the many moments they had shared and the many more they had missed. She had been a whirlwind in his life, a bright and captivating force that had drawn him in from the moment they met. Her laughter, infectious and bright, had been a beacon in the often gray landscape of his days. Her touch, warm and reassuring, had been his anchor in the stormy seas of uncertainty.
But those moments of joy were always fleeting, interrupted by the harsh reality of her absence. She would vanish without a trace, leaving behind only the faint echoes of her promises. Promises that now seemed as insubstantial as the smoke from his cigarette, curling and dissolving into the night air.
Chan rose from the couch and walked to the window, looking out at the city that stretched out before him. The lights flickered like distant stars, each one a reminder of the lives bustling around him lives that seemed so much more certain and grounded than his own. He wondered how many others in this sprawling metropolis were staring at their own silent phones, waiting for a message that might never come.
He remembered the last time he had seen her, just over a month ago. They had met at their favorite café, a cozy little place tucked away from the main streets. She had been radiant, her eyes sparkling with a light that had always captivated him. They had talked for hours, losing themselves in conversation, sharing dreams and fears. She had told him about her new job, the excitement in her voice intoxicating. He had felt a surge of pride and happiness for her, believing that this time, things would be different.
But then, as always, she had started to pull away. Her messages became sporadic, her replies curt and distant. He could sense her slipping through his fingers, like sand in an hourglass, each grain a moment lost to the void. He had tried to reach out, to understand what was happening, but his efforts were met with silence.
Amazing what lies you were capable of, he repeated to himself, the words a bitter mantra. He had believed her when she said she loved him when she promised that they would make it through whatever challenges lay ahead. He had believed her when she said that her disappearances were never about him, that she was dealing with her own demons. But now, those words felt like daggers, cutting deep into the fabric of his stupidly blind trust.
He turned away from the window and walked back to the couch, sinking into its familiar embrace. His mind drifted to the countless nights he had spent waiting for her, each one a torment of doubt and longing. He thought about the times he had seen her online, her status mocking him with its glaring green dot and the agony of watching as his messages went unread.
Chan picked up his phone again, scrolling through their old conversations. Each message was a relic of a time when hope had still burned bright within him. He lingered on the ones that had meant the most to him, the ones where she had poured her heart out to him, where she had shared her deepest fears and wildest dreams. He had held onto those words like a lifeline, believing that they were a testament to the depth of their connection.
But now, he saw them for what they were: illusions. Beautiful, comforting illusions that had kept him trapped in a cycle of hope and despair. He wondered how much of what she had said had been true and how much had been crafted to keep him hanging on. He wondered if she had ever truly loved him or if he had simply been a convenient escape from her own reality.
The thought of moving on had crossed his mind many times, but each time he had pushed it away. The idea of a life without her, even with all the pain she brought, was too unbearable to contemplate. He had built his world around her, his identity intertwined with hers in ways he couldn’t easily unravel. She was the sun around which his life orbited, and without her, he was lost in the darkness.
But now, as he sat in the quiet of his apartment, he felt a shift within him. The pain was still there, a dull ache that throbbed in his chest, but it was accompanied by a new sense of clarity. He realized that he couldn’t keep living like this, trapped in a cycle of hope and heartache. He couldn’t keep waiting for someone who might never come back, for promises that might never be fulfilled.
He thought about the lies she had told, the ones that had kept him tethered to her even as she drifted away. He thought about the moments of joy they had shared, moments that had felt so real but now seemed like mere fantasies. And he realized that he needed to let go of those illusions, to accept that they were never meant to be.
Chan took a deep breath and set his phone down, the decision solidifying in his mind. He needed to move on, to find a way to rebuild his life without her. It wouldn’t be easy, and the pain wouldn’t disappear overnight, but he knew it was the only way forward. He couldn’t keep living in the shadows of her absence, waiting for a light that might never return.
He stood up and walked to the kitchen, the weight of his decision heavy but liberating. He poured himself a glass of water, the cool liquid soothing his sore throat. As he drank, he thought about the future, about the possibilities that lay ahead. He thought about the things he had put on hold for her, the dreams he had pushed back in the hope of a shared future that now seemed so unlikely.
He realized that it was time to start living for himself, to reclaim the parts of his life that he had sacrificed for a love that had never truly been his. It was time to let go of the past and embrace the unknown, to find joy in the small moments and the simple pleasures that life had to offer.
As he stood there in the quiet of his apartment, he felt a sense of peace settle over him. The road ahead would be long and difficult, but for the first time in a long while, he felt ready to face it. He was ready to let go of the lies, to free himself from the chains of a love that had only ever brought him pain.
Amazing what lies you were capable of, he thought one last time, but now the words were not filled with bitterness. Instead, they were a reminder of the strength he had found within himself, the resilience that had kept him going even in the darkest of times. He knew that he would carry the scars of this love with him, but he also knew that they would make him stronger, a testament to the battles he had fought and the victories he had won.
Chan took one last look at his phone, the screen still blank, and then turned it off. He didn’t need it anymore, didn’t need the constant reminder of a love that had never truly been his. He was ready to move on, to find his own path, and to embrace the future with an open heart and a hopeful spirit. And as he took his first steps into the unknown, he knew that he would be okay, that he would find his way, and that he would never again let himself be defined by the lies of the past.
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@atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @zehina @jinnie-ret @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @palindrome969 @michelle4eve @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @kazuuuaaa @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143
#stray kids#skz#chan#chan fic#chan imagines#chan scenarios#chan angst#bang chan fic#bang chan scenarios#bang chan angst#bang chan imagines#bang chan#stray kids fic#stray kids scenarios#stray kids imagines#stray kids angst#skz fic#skz scenarios#skz imagines#skz angst
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Ready To Love
Author: orshii
Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x female reader
Word count: 5,1 k
Summary: Soonyoung, your best friend and soulmate, lived and breathed football until a devastating injury shattered his dreams. Unable to cope with the loss, he pushed everyone away, including you. Now, faced with the challenge of bringing back the friend you once knew, you must navigate through his pain and rediscover the bond that once held you together. Will you succeed in resurrecting the old Soonyoung, or will his journey lead him down a different path?
A/N: This is my first Seventeen ff lol. Well...yesterday as soon as I woke up, I just needed to write something with Hoshi LMAO. Cause recently he killed me, I love this hair on him sooo much. And his style?? Let's not talk about that...It's just a little drabble I needed to write out of myself, it's not a big deal tho. The story was inspired by Seventeen's Ready To Love ofc, cause I'm in love with that song istg. Okaay bye. (divider)
Life's journey resembles a roller-coaster ride, filled with unexpected twists and turns, but we shall never lose ourselves along the way, if you do, you remain alone with your toxic thoughts, that slowly eat the remaining life out of you.
When the most important person in your life becomes the strangest person on Earth. My best friend couldn't stop the venom from spreading through his brain, poisoning it and making him believe he was nothing but a breeze of the dark autumn night. Soonyoung was a maximalist, football was his life it made him believe he was perfect, and that nothing could come his way.
But on a rainy game day, that promised a good future for him, he slipped on the wet green field and fell on the ground. Soonyoung's knee buckled beneath him as he slipped on the rain-soaked field, a sharp pain shooting through his leg, rendering him immobile amidst the downpour. Rain fell on his face in slow motion as he was screaming from the pain. That day was the end of the beginning of his career.
Since then, Soonyoung pushed everyone away from him who tried to approach him. Well, the ones he knew his whole life. His parents and me, I was his best friend. In past tense, because since the day of his injury, he did not want to talk to me. And the times when I tried to talk to him, he treated me like he didn't even know me. He looked down on me in front of his new troublemaker friends, making me feel like I was a clown trying to entertain them, whenever I tried to approach him at lunch breaks.
He has been my best friend since we were little. My parents introduced us when we were little to each other as Soonyoung's family lived opposite our house. Since that day we have been inseparable, we did everything together, even though we had different interests, him finding football as his lifesaver and me finding photography that helped me through difficult times of my life. We always adored each other's passion; he supported me whenever I wasn't sure if my photos were good enough. And I always attended his games to support and cheer for him, just be the first to congratulate him whenever they won.
Now that football wasn't there for him, he buried his cheerful past self deep down into his soul and a new careless Soonyoung came to the surface. He got into a new friend group, they were bad guys, and they always partied and got drunk whenever they had time. I couldn't recognize this Soonyoung, as neither did anyone who knew him before. He turned from a harmless hamster to a merciless tiger.
Our university’s football team had the last game of the year, everyone was excited and everyone attended to support their team. Except for one person and it was Soonyoung. The accident happened half a year ago and since Soonyoung isn't part of the team, they are bad, like really bad. They couldn't win a game; the team was falling apart without him. He was their fully trusted captain, who held the team together with his eagerness and his confident aura. Deep down I knew he was glad the team couldn't win without him, if he couldn't play then they deserved not to win.
The game was again a disaster as I watched it with my good friend, she was in the same major as me and we quickly became friends, photography connecting us. Watching the game everyone started to get bored, as winning the match was hopeless, they couldn't win, no matter how hard they tried.
They lost but that did not mean they couldn't throw a party for the sake of keeping the traditions. Everyone was invited, and it was held in a rich guy's house called Hongjoong, who was the new captain of the team, trying desperately to put the broken team's pieces together again. I kind of pitied him, because it was a very hard task breathing life to people who already lost hope. But he was known as a determined leader who would never disappoint his team, and it really seemed he was trying with his whole heart.
When we arrived at the party, my friend already got lost in the crowd as she was a real social butterfly, while I on the other side, liked the quieter places and fewer people. The living room was already full of students, most of them drunk, as they were dancing along to the loud music. Some random lights lighted the living room from time to time, for the sake of this seeming like a club. Through the sweating dancing bodies, I navigated myself to the kitchen to pour myself a drink. The furniture was all white and luxurious, I looked around as I searched for something to drink. I needed to relax a little, as recently I felt overwhelmed with everything I needed to do for the classes, project after project. I stayed up for nights, and on the days coffee was my only savior.
It was unhealthy, but Soonyoung wasn't the only one who got injured that day. Well, just theoretically, because my heart broke every time, I saw Soonyoung fall deeper into the dark and not let me in. It hurt because he was the only person in my life that understood me wholly. I tried to live without him, but it was hard. And seeing him laughing with his new friends made my heart fade into the dark.
"Woah, woah what did that whiskey do to you?" A strange voice brought me back to reality as I didn’t even realize I was pouring out the drink into a glass while I wandered off. I looked up just to meet with Hongjoong's sharp glaze, holding my wrist to stop me from pouring the drink that had already flown down to the kitchen counter.
"Oh—sorry, I got lost in my thoughts." I blushed in embarrassment, trying to find something I could clean the mess.
"It's okay, let me help you." He smiled at me and opened a cabinet to pull out a dry cloth to wipe the whiskey off.
I looked at him frowning. "How did you—", I hit my forehead as I realized this was his house.
He chuckled. "Yes, this is my house, I should know where my things are." He looked so adorable with his blonde hair falling into his eyes as he tilted his head down to clean up the mess I made. He looked so decent, as he was wearing a casual beige pullover paired with blue jeans with cuts on its knees, a lot of accessories in his ears, and on his fingers. When he was on the football field on match days, he always yelled at his team like a lion, trying to keep together his team, but now he looked nothing like that he was just a sweet guy.
"I'm so sorry again for making a mess." I ran my fingers through my hair.
"It's okay it happens." He finished the cleaning and took my glass to pour half of it into an empty glass.
He reached my glass towards me and took the other to his hands. "Let's drink then."
I chuckled at the fact of how casual he was, after all, I was just a stranger to him. "Cheers!" we clinked our glasses together and downed the whole drink in one go. The both of us were making a face when we finished the drink, from the bitter taste and the burning feeling it left behind. We both started to giggle looking at each other's faces.
Suddenly people streamed into the kitchen as we were laughing, one familiar guy in front looking straight into my eyes. I saw nothing from my past best friend. He looked completely different. His blonde hair which almost seemed like ash was hidden beneath a black cap that was turned backward. His ears were pierced, just as his eyebrows. He was wearing a black sweater, that was oversized, hiding his well-defined body, white crosses on its sleeves, that matched with his blue jeans, with black and white crosses on it. He was the total opposite of the old Soonyoung. He was glaring at me with sharp eyes, I saw a hint of disappointment evident. But I felt more of it, I just hated him with my whole heart.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" Soonyoung clapped as he came closer to us in the kitchen.
"What are you doing here? You were not invited." Hongjoong stepped in front of me, hiding me from Soonyoung, preventing me from hunting me down.
Soonyoung laughed out loudly that sounded fake. "I thought everyone was invited to this party, Captain." He leaned down to Hongjoong, to be on the same height level as him. Their height difference was barely visible from the outside, but Soonyoung looked so intimidating it made the Captain look small. But he did not let it happen. He straightened up and stepped closer to Soonyoung grabbing his collar.
"Everyone is invited. Except you." Hongjoong hissed through his teeth. "Get the fuck out of here!" He raised his voice.
Soonyoung laughed again, sounding the same as before, there was no life in it. His eyes met with mine as he looked behind Hongjoong. His eyes on me made me freeze as if almost to death, it was so intimidating I just couldn't move. I wanted to scream at him, to hit him, to beg for his old self to come back. But all I could do was look back at him with no emotions on my face. Slowly, I turned away, mirroring his detachment. I buried my emotions deep alongside his old self.
"What if I don't want to?" Soonyoung stepped even closer to Hongjoong and pushed him on the chest, Hongjoong's back hitting the fridge.
"Enough! Get the fuck out of here Soonyoung, you are not welcome here." I yelled at him suddenly, surprising him with my sudden impact.
His eyes rounded for a slight second in surprise, probably because I never called him Soonyoung, since we were kids, I always called him Hoshi, he asked me to call him like that when he found out what it meant, since he was obsessed with stars, he always adored them. For a second, I thought that's it, that is my Hoshi, he is still there. But his sharp glare was back in the blink of an eye.
"Are you in search of a new emotional support to replace me?" His question sounded full with disgust. I just couldn't believe this person was my best friend.
After half a year, he couldn't tell me anything else other than to humiliate me and I felt sick, I just never wanted to see him again.
I stepped closer to him, our faces inches apart, I tilted my head up to glare at him with zero emotions.
"There's nothing to replace." I said to him as I pushed him on the chest and fought my way through the crowd that assembled in the kitchen, people were always in for the drama.
Every year our neighborhood gathers together as we are close to the end of the year. We just celebrate the year at the end of autumn so we can say goodbye together to the year. This is the reason I am sitting in the house of our neighbor next to us, watching as the adults talk with each other, not like I am not an adult, but I just hate the shallow conversations where they ask about my life and what I want to do in the future. They had nothing to do with my life then why did they ask the same questions every year?
In the past, it was fun. At least Hoshi made it fun, as we always hid in the corners to judge the people and gossip about them. Now, I was sitting here all day on the couch with a glass of fine wine in my hand, and judging the people around me alone. I didn't see Hoshi all day, but I knew he was here somewhere hiding in the corners or who knows where. His parents were here and I knew they made him come along not accepting no as an answer, they were very strict if I may say.
The sun was already down and I felt so bored all day, I couldn't wait for the moment when they were distracted enough so I could slip out to be free. And that moment came quickly as I saw my parents were talking with a man and I quickly slipped outside through the backdoor.
When I closed the door and turned around, I froze. Hoshi was sitting on the top of the stairs leaning forward on his knees a glass of wine in his hands. He was staring up at the sky looking for the stars that were hidden between the dark clouds. I hesitated, I just wanted to get out of there, but seeing Hoshi like this…He seemed so—vulnerable in this moment and I kind of wanted to take advantage of it.
So, I slowly approached him and sat next to him on the cold stairs. As he felt my presence, he didn't even look at me, he just looked down at the glass in his hands, his features seemed full of regret and shame. I didn't want to be the first to say something. I tried to imply that I was there if he wanted to tell me something because I really deserved that. I took him in, while he was deep in his thoughts, he was wearing the same black cap turned backward, his ashy hair that grew down to his nape lolling out from the cap. He was dressed up in full black clothes, a sweater with black writings on its chest, and its sleeves decorated with white flowers, paired with black oversized pants and black sneakers. A cross was hanging from his neck that swung between him and the glass he was holding.
"Why are you here?" He breaks the silence, his voice unstable.
"Just wanted to escape from inside, it's boring." I hated him, but seeing him like this I couldn't be mean to him.
Hoshi just nodded still analyzing the glass in his hands.
"And you?" I asked looking at his sharp side profile, his cheekbones puffy like a hamster.
He shrugged. "My parents won't let me go home and it's boring without—" He stopped when he realized what he was about to say. He seemed angry at himself at that as I was observing him. He was drunk and, in this state, it felt like the old Hoshi was screaming at this person next to me to let him out of the prison he made. I knew my Hoshi was still there I just needed to somehow fight with this poisoned Hoshi.
"You know this shit is very boring without you. There's no one I could gossip with about Uncle Chanyeol's third wife." I said what he didn't finish and tried to lessen the sour mood a bit.
At that, he snapped his head up to look at me with surprised eyes. There he was, the Hoshi I loved so much. Many emotions went through his face as he took me in, finally looking into my eyes, finally seeing me after half a year.
"Well, the second was much uglier not gonna lie." He said looking back at the glass as he downed it until the last drops.
I hummed. "Not to be a bad person but he looks like a witch, who would curse you the second you stay alone with her."
And Hoshi laughed out wholeheartedly, that made my heart whole again. The sound of his laughter puzzled the pieces of my heart together. It made me realize how important he was in my life, and how much of an influence he was in my life. Everything he did affected me, even if it was good or bad, I felt the same way as him. I felt like he was my soulmate and if he was hurt I was hurt as well. It made me realize that I loved him so much not just as my best friend but as my soulmate. But after he pushed me, it faded. And I hoped it'd be gone in seconds, but as I heard him laugh again, made me realize it was never going to fade.
I smiled, hearing him laugh sincerely again, knowing it wasn't fake. Then as he realized what he was doing, his laughter faded into a smile and his smile faded into a thin line.
"You shouldn't speak to me." The sour Hoshi from moments ago had returned.
"Yeah…I shouldn't." I looked down at my hands fiddling with my rings taking in the sour emotions Hoshi was feeling.
"You know…" He broke the silence that fell on us, looking up at the sky. "…I always wanted to be perfect, and I truly believed I was, just until…" He looked down at his hands again as he tried to hold his tears back. I just listened to him, letting him speak whatever he wanted out of his heart.
"I'm so tired, I'm so tired of pretending everything is fine, Y/N." He buried his face into his hands, sobbing.
Tears started to appear immediately in my eyes seeing him like this. I scooted closer to him and hugged him, pulling him to my chest as he was still sobbing. "It fucked up everything— a-and I don't know what to do with my life anymore." He mumbled into the crock of my neck, wetting it with sour tears that made my heart break again.
"I know, I know it's hard Hoshi." I caressed his back up and down as I leaned my head on top of his, staring into the dark and chilly night. "There's life outside of football too. You can't just push away everyone you love, because some shit happened to your life. It's not fair and you know that."
He was quiet for a few moments, to take my words in and slowly lifted his head to look into my eyes. His eyes were red and puffy, his eyes barely visible, as the tears were still flowing down his puffy cheekbone, his lips trembling a little from the flow of emotions. "I-I know I fucked up and you have no idea how much I regret it. Pushing away my real friends and my parents. But mostly you, Y/N." One tear flew down his face again.
I slowly reached my hand towards his cheeks and cupped it just to wipe the sour tears away from his face. "I'm sorry for pushing you away…I really miss you, you being by my side all the time…" His eyes still stared deeply into mine.
I sighed, detaching my hands from his face, and letting it fall onto my lap. "I miss you too, Hoshi. But…you really treated me like shit, it hurt you know." I tried to blink away the tears that tried to escape.
"I know, I know, I was such an asshole, please forgive me.” He turned towards me. “You really deserve better than that…" He said reaching for my hands, but along the way, he knocked over the glass that was between us. It made me realize he was just drunk and who knows tomorrow he is going to be the asshole Hoshi again.
I smiled at him sadly. "Go home Hoshi and sleep." I stood up and left him there without waiting for an answer.
Days later, it was already late at night when my phone rang just as I arrived home and parked my car, after a tiring day, as I was at classes all day and learning for the exams at the library. I sighed as I turned the engine off to pick up my phone, where the name of Hoshi's mother showed. I frowned as I picked it up.
"Y/N, darling, I'm glad you picked it up." Her voice seemed hurried and full of concern.
"Hi, what happened?" I asked her, leaving the formalities behind ages ago, as she treated me like I was her other daughter.
"I just wanted to ask, if you saw Hoshi today. We've been looking for him all day, but his phone is off and we don't know where he is." I heard as her voice got a little weaker.
"I saw him last night, but that's all, I'm sorry," I said looking down at my hands, running through the maze of my thoughts.
"Oh, okay, maybe it's better if I call the police, I am very concerned." Her voice deepened as she was thinking. "Anyways, thank you Y/N, I hope you are okay, we miss you." She wanted to hang up but I stopped her.
"Wait—, I might— I might know where he is, give me an hour and I'll find him," I said a little hurriedly as a place appeared in my head.
"Okay, thank you so much, Y/N." She seemed a little relieved at that.
I hung up the phone and quickly started the engine of my car, just to drive through the town to a place no one would search for Hoshi. And it was the football field. It sounds ridiculous but, why would anyone search for him there? When he didn’t step on that field since his injury happened?
When I arrived there, I still had doubts about him being at the field. But all my doubts disappeared when I saw him on the barely lit field, the moon above him shining at his presence. I approached the fence that separated us and just observed him as he was facing me, but he couldn't see me as the darkness hugged me around.
He was standing in the middle of the field the ball in his hands; he was wearing black shorts and a beige sweater on top the black cap never leaving his head. He squeezed it like he wanted to drown it like it could've helped make his misery better. Then he lifted his right hand in the air and threw the ball into the chilly air, his first intuition was to run after the ball, and he tried, but his knees buckled and he fell on the ground. My heart broke at the image of him breaking on the field of his dreams, I couldn't watch him suffer anymore. I stepped on the field slowly; he was still lying down with his face down and his shoulders were shaking. I walked towards the ball and took it in my hands. Then I walked towards him soundlessly.
"Hey!" I yelled at him while I was walking towards him. He snapped his head up at the sound. "Catch the ball!" I said not leaving him to think as I threw the ball towards him.
He quickly stood up, wincing from the pain, that his still unhealed, injury caused, and caught the ball.
"What are you doing here?" He tried to turn away from me, so I wouldn't see his face that screamed he was crying.
"The question is mine." I folded my arms together frowning at him.
He shrugged. "Needed to clear my head." He looked down at the ball and picked at some strings on it, not daring to look into my eyes.
"Your family is searching for you."
"I know." He spoke. "But I just wanted to get away from home."
"Why?"
"Because they want to control my life, and I can't stand it anymore." He turned away from me, looking up at the sky.
"Well, at least they are doing it, instead of you." I said stepping closer to him.
He suddenly threw the ball to the green grass with a wave of anger the ball almost bounced back to his hands.
"Hoshi, what is going on with you? It's not you." I said trying to stay calm.
"Well, you have to live with this, because this is me." He yelled at me turning towards me and pointing at himself.
My heart started to race, he kind of scared me. "No, it isn’t you, you changed." My voice got quieter as I stared down at the ground. Now I was the one not daring to look into his eyes.
"People change, and then what?" He lifted his arms in the air frowning.
"You act ridiculous, you know? You lost football and now you think you are a nobody?" I scoffed at him in disbelief.
"Football was the only thing that made me feel alive." He lifted his hands and turned around showing the field. "You can't fucking understand what am I going through." He pointed at me raising his voice.
I scoffed. "No, I really can't understand Hoshi." I looked deep into his eyes. "But I really tried to be by your side after your injury but you just threw me away just like that fucking ball.
“I pointed at the ball in his hands. "I get it, I get that football was your life, but life sometimes sucks and you have to live with it, it can't be perfect…" My voice cracked as the emotions flew through me. "…nothing can be perfect Hoshi, neither can you…"
Tears started to appear in my eyes and I turned around. "You are on your own now." As soon as I turned tears flew down my face, and my heart broke into a million pieces again, but it was worse than everything beforehand because hope left my soul as well leaving nothing behind but dust.
I was near the fence where the exit was when I heard him.
"Y/N, wait!" He yelled after me, but I just closed him out.
All of a sudden all I could feel was that I was being pushed against the fence, which made a loud noise, as it echoed around us like bird chirping. His face was close to mine, his hands on both sides of my waist as he pushed me against the fence.
"Please listen to me." His voice was barely a whisper, that I felt on my lips.
I didn't say anything as I was too stunned being this close to him, his dark peachy scent hugged me around, making me feel woozy.
"I'm confused, okay?" His hands left my waist and he supported himself on the fence on both sides of my head. "It's…" He sighed and took off his cap with his right hand to run his fingers through his silver hair. This hair color fitted him so well, he changed but it was still him. He threw his cap on the ground now his hair falling into his eyes as he looked at me. "It's not just about football. It's about you Y/N."
My heart started to race quickly as I just looked at him with wide eyes.
He leaned closer. "The reason I pushed you away was because I wanted to be more than friends. And I knew you didn't want that." He leaned his forehead against mine. “I couldn't be friends with you anymore so I pushed you away before I fell in love with you more." His voice was low as he closed his eyes. "I was not ready for love, not when I knew you weren't as well." He whispered it and I barely could hear what he said.
"But," he continued not letting me say a word. "I realized I can’t live without you, because you are my escape from this fucked-up world and you are my purpose on this earth. I know that my life won't suck if you are by my side and that with your help, I can put my life together again." His voice crackled as tears formed in his eyes when he opened them again.
I was stunned to speak; I never could've imagined that Hoshi was thinking of me like that. But at the same, I was waiting for this moment my whole life.
"You are so stupid, Hoshi," I said the first thing that came to my mind after I gathered my thoughts. I reached my hands towards his swollen face and cupped it.
"I was in love with you my whole life," I said to him honestly.
His barely visible eyes rounded his mouth fell open, he looked so adorable. "Are you joking?"
"No, I'm not. Well, I'm sure it wasn't that deep when we were kids, but…since we grew up and started university together I fell in love with you deeper as the days passed Hoshi, and I couldn't help it." I looked down on the ground feeling shy as I just put my heart out in front of him. "My heart broke when you pushed me away…"
He slowly reached his hands towards my waist, squeezing it reassuringly, and leaned his forehead against mine. "I am so sorry, Y/n, for being so stupid, I won't ever forgive myself for treating you like that." He whispered onto my lips, his cold breath against mine, our cold breaths mixed just to melt into each other.
"You deserve the whole world, Y/N. And please let me give you the world, forgive me." He whispered the last few words, coming out like forgotten promises.
I smiled at him as if my eyes were sparkling from the happiness I felt. "Are you ready for love?"
He smiled fondly and looked at me like I was his whole world. "I'm ready for love. Can we stay together forever? I will give—"
"Just kiss me already you idiot." I interrupted him impatiently.
He chuckled and cupped my face, just to push me more into the fence that hurt my back, but not until one of his hands reached behind my back to pull me off the fence, body flesh against his. My lips curved into a sincere smile. I couldn't believe my soulmate had just confessed to me and promised me the world.
"You give me purpose." He whispered onto my lips like sweet promises and closed the distance between our parted lips. When his lisp met mine, the world stopped spinning, everything slowed down, the clocks stopped ticking, and the rivers stopped flowing. Everything stopped. It was just the two of us in this world, as he promised me the world, and with this kiss, he gave it to me. His lips moved against mine slowly, passionately, like he wanted to carve this moment into the history books, where two best friends went through ups and downs just like a roller-coaster, so in the end, they were finally ready to love each other wholeheartedly, staying together forever.
*Ateez masterlist*
#orshii#hoshi x reader#kwon soonyoung x reader#hoshi#kwon soonyoung#hoshi drabble#hoshi fluff#hoshi angst#kwon soonyoung angst#seventeen hoshi#seventeen kwon soonyoung#soonyoung x reader#soonyoung angst#soonyoung fluff#soonyoung scenarios#soonyoung imagines#seventeen#seventeen drabbles#seventeen x reader#seventeen scenarios#seventeen fluff#seventeen angst#seventeen soonyoung#kpop fanfic#seventeen fanfic#Spotify
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You really ate it up with the other NSFW head cannons for the touchstarved LIs, was gonna ask are you planning to do one for Leander?
Of course of course! Can’t leave out the manipulative malewife!!
Leander
aka the Man of the Hour
🗡 Oral
Starting off strong; SUCK HIM OFF. He’ll grab your head and force you to take him whole and no, it’s not an easy task—but it is worth it. Watch through tears as he throws his head back and lets out a groan from deep within his chest.
🗡 Dry Humping
A favourite during make-out sessions. He’ll grab you and make you sit on his lap and man’s already hard. Hands on your ass and he’ll guide you to grind against him—extremely shameless and desperate as he is (can’t but will try to hide it).
🗡 Anal/Pegging
He’s an ass guy, alright? He will ask you to take you from behind and prepare you accordingly… but if you ask to peg him? He’s already face down, ass up and waiting, no protection, no lube, no prep, nada, nothin’.
🗡 Bondage~
Tie him up and have your way, see if he can walk for the next week and a half; he’ll be WOBBLING down the Wick’s stairs. But let’s rewind; while tied up, man’s SWEATING. His lover’s either too slow or too fast, going too hard and he can only sit there and take what he’s given.
🗡 Edging/Denial
His breaking point. His bottom lip will be bleeding from how hard he’s biting on it. By the second time he’s begging, pleading, withering around just please let him cum. (Don’t. He can at least put on a better act before he’s rewarded, hm?)
🗡 Cockrings
Make your life easier and use one on him.
🗡 No touching
Ah, another goldmine. A challenge to his n̶o̶n̶e̶-̶e̶x̶i̶s̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ self control.
🗡 Dirty talk
DEGRADE HIM DEGRADE HIM D E G R A D E H I M. While he tells you how great you’re doing and how much he adores you, tell him he could do better than that, that’s he’s pathetic and call him every name in the book—he won’t last long.
🗡 Breath play
Wrap your hand(s) around his neck. “Really now?” He muses, curiosity overlapping his surprise. The second your grip tightens, his eyelids flatter and he exhales quietly, back arching just a little. Don’t continue for long though. Let him go and do it again only when he’s starting to look desperate.
🗡 Marking
Possessive. Hickeys will be adoring his lover’s neck for days, maybe even weeks—depends on how long you’ll let him suck on your skin. Lately, he might be considering finding a spell to make them permanent—
🗡 Breeding/Pregnancy
Same as above, plus just the thought of possibly impregnating his partner, regardless of gender, sex or physical capabilities, is an incredible turn on for him a̶n̶d̶ ̶a̶ ̶w̶a̶y̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶m̶a̶r̶k̶ ̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶p̶a̶r̶t̶n̶e̶r̶ ̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶e̶v̶e̶r̶.
🗡 Fingering
His partner until they cry and beg for his dick instead.
🗡 Forced to keep quiet
Pause the music and let me explain. Leander is a private guy, he doesn’t want anyone to his beloved vulnerable—only he can have that pleasure. However, happen they’re somewhere public, he will act on his libido and will make his partner keep quiet w̶h̶i̶c̶h̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶q̶u̶i̶t̶e̶ ̶l̶i̶t̶e̶r̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ ̶i̶m̶p̶o̶s̶s̶i̶b̶l̶e̶.
🗡 Do̶u̶b̶l̶e̶ ̶p̶e̶n̶e̶t̶r̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶
🗡 Aftercare
Knows exactly what to do. First and foremost comes the comfort of his partner. He makes sure they’re alright and provides for whatever they need, regardless of the relationship status. Then comes a shower, sheet change and cuddles.
#verewrites#red spring studios#leander touchstarved#leander#leander ts#leander headcanons#touchstarved#touchstarved headcanons#touchstarved game#touchstarved leander
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Dont know if you take blurb requests but I wanted to ask for one (no pressure❤)
What about, something like the reader and Noah being together for a couple months and she thinks that he's gonna leave her for whatever reason but Noah 'reassures' her so she can keep calm.
Idk if you like this but do what you please with it❤
Okay, I got overly excited and a little nervous writing this, but I hope this is what you were semi-looking for. If not, I will do it again without hesitation! :) :)
I may or may not have read other blurbs to make sure I was doing this right.
Song
Masterlist
Three glorious months—seemingly a blink in the vast of time, yet profoundly meaningful in the journey you and Noah have navigated. It marks the peak of three years of friendship, a journey paved with shared laughter, countless conversations, and moments of unspoken understanding. Finally reaching the finish line, you both have embarked on a new chapter, intertwining your lives in a bond strengthened by trust, mutual admiration, and a deep-rooted connection. Every day shows the lasting beauty of your relationship and the profound impact of love, which thrives and grows with each passing moment.
Things seemed like they couldn't get more perfect until your first big fight. You posted a picture of you and Noah cuddling up in his bed, and he freaked out a little. He was one for complete privacy regarding the internet, but you wanted to shout your relationship to the world. It was hard for you to understand why he didn’t want pictures of you two posted, and it was even more challenging for you not to take it as personally as you did. You have been holed up in your room blasting "Lover Dearest '' by Marianas Trench for an intense hour, screaming and crying the lyrics to yourself.
You felt like he was going to break up with you sometime in the near future, and it was getting harder and harder for you not to freak out about it. This caused you to slightly distance yourself from him, which wasn’t hard due to him working in the studio a lot lately. Everything seemed reduced to slower texts, fewer calls, and limited visits for several weeks. You knew it was because once Noah had a creative flow, he couldn’t be slowed down, but emotionally, it felt like he was avoiding you because he didn't want you around anymore.
There was a knock on your door, so you slowly got up to answer it. On the other side was Noah, who had a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a big smile on his face. His expression slightly faltered when he saw your tear-streaked face. Confusion crossed his features when he heard the song you were playing.
“Why are you listening to your break-up song?” He asked. That just pushed you over the edge and made your tears fall again. He grabbed your face with his free hand, wiping away the tears. “Hey…shhhh, it’s okay, baby. What’s going on?” he asked, concern laced in his voice.
“Are you going to break up with me?” You asked through sniffles and hiccups. Avoiding eye contact, you couldn't bear to see his face, knowing it would only deepen your heartbreak.
Seeing the anguish in your eyes, Noah's expression softened with understanding. After setting down the flowers, he gently cupped your face with both hands, coaxing you to look at him.
"Hey, no, no, baby, I'm not going to break up with you," he reassured you, his voice filled with sincerity. "I love you, okay? I'm here for you."
Feeling relieved, you finally meet his gaze, tears still glistening. With a shaky breath, you leaned into his embrace, comforting yourself with his reassuring presence. Noah held you close, his arms wrapping around you protectively as you let yourself release the pent-up emotions weighing on you. Looking up at him, you both get swept up in the feelings, and he kisses you. At first, it starts slow and gentle, a way for him to show you that he understands your feelings and will be there to take the pain away. Then it starts to turn hungry, showing you his passion for you and that he isn’t going anywhere.
Leading him to your room, you lay on your bed as he climbs over you. The air is thick with anticipation and desire as he leans in to kiss you, his lips tender and warm against yours. As the kiss deepens, you feel a surge of emotion wash over you, the intensity of your connection palpable in every touch.
For the next hour, Noah worships you and every inch of your body, his lips and hands moving with purpose and passion. Each caress declares his love and commitment, reassuring you that he isn't going anywhere. In his embrace, you feel safe and cherished, the worries and doubts of earlier fading into the background as you lose yourself in the moment. Time seems to stand still as you revel in the intimacy and closeness you share, knowing that together, you can weather any storm that comes your way.
#bad omens band#noah sebastian#bad omens#fanfic#bad omens fanfiction#bad omens fic#noah sebastian davis#noah sebastian x reader#noah sebastian smut
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Cozy Corner Domaystic prompts #16: Going through immigration and #24: Identity theft.
Guys. Guys, I’ll be honest. I have no idea what possessed me. I think I found these two prompts as some of the most challenging to imagine as a domestic fic, and… my thinking got a little bit too outside the box.
This fic will have an intended audience of about 1 (me). But I want to give major major props to @olliveolly who introduced me to this game and was the one who came up with this That’s Not My Neighbor / Boys crossover AU (with a couple lovely art pieces on the theme). The “lore” of this horror game is very simple. Tell me you don’t see it:
Butchlander. That’s Not My Neighbor crossover/AU. Rated E (why). 3.3k words (why). 2nd person to allegedly reflect the feeling of first-person gameplay (why). Is this domestic fic? Welllllll. It takes place in an apartment complex so it counts, right? Lax interpretation of ‘going through immigration’ but honestly that’s what this game really reminds me of 😂
Another day, another interminable shift working as the concierge in the dreary lobby of this apartment complex. It was exciting at first, sure, what with getting to play the first and last line of defense against the doppelganger monsters that attempt to sneak in every single day. But you’ve just gotten too good at noticing discrepancies. Nothing gets past you anymore. You know every single feature- hell, every single freckle! -of every single resident in the building. By this point you’ve got all their phone numbers memorized, for no better reason than there is simply too much tedium to this job. You find yourself wishing you could actually watch the D.D.D. ‘decontaminate’ the lobby, as they so euphemistically put it, instead of just sitting there twiddling your thumbs behind a pulled down rollup metal shutter after summoning them. You could still make out screams without seeing the brutality, and you knew the D.D.D. employed flame throwers and other serious weapons to deal with these monsters. Sometimes you caught yourself feeling just a little bit of sympathy for the doppelgangers, even though their main goal in life appeared to be to imitate people to blend in and then feed upon human flesh, and your main goal in life was supposed to be to ensure none of them would ever get let in through the locked inner door.
John Gillman comes in through the first door and gives you a tired, nominal wave before fishing around in his pockets for his documents to gain entry. He might be your favorite resident— always polite, always in that clean-cut milkman uniform at least when you happen to see him, because no one really leaves the apartment building outside of work obligations. There’s no nightlife in New York anymore, not with everyone nervous of dark alleys or being alone on the street, especially after dark. When you came over here from London, you certainly didn’t expect to get stuck here during a worldwide apocalyptic event like this that has resulted in curfews and lockdowns. You certainly didn’t expect to get zero action and get a mindnumbing job just to make ends meet. It was probably still more interesting than your gig working as a bouncer back in London, but at least you got fresh air there, and sometimes a date to go home with after closing time. Maybe that’s why you’ve started hyperfixating and daydreaming about one of the residents— the involuntary celibacy is getting to you.
John just always looks uncannily attractive. Maybe it’s that silly uniform that’s easy to fetishize. Maybe it’s because his tired eyes also look like bedroom eyes, or the dark circles function the same way eyeliner would. Why is he always so tired anyway? You know he lives alone up there in F03-02. He never gets any visitors either. How much can a person masturbate, really? There’s a rumor around the building that Becca Saunders’ tyke might be his, but you don’t really see the resemblance, and have your doubts that this didn’t just start as a “sleeping with the milkman” joke that got out of hand. People just like to gossip about single mothers. Things like this shouldn’t be considered scandalous. It’s 1955 for god’s sake!
“Sorry, William,” John says, hurriedly shoving his ID and entry request form underneath the glass so you can take take a look. “Almost thought I left my ID at work.”
“Long day, huh?” you ask without expecting a reply, pretending to scrutinize the documents while making small talk. You know this is John. You’d know him from a mile away. But it doesn’t mean you can’t have a little bit of fun. “Looks okay, and you are on the list of people authorized to come and go today. But can you take off your cap?”
John grabs his milkman cap off his head, exposing a mop of blond hair, looking mussed after being under the hat all day. You really wish you could test him, see how far you’d be able to take things before he refused to cooperate. Take off your shirt, John. Gotta make sure it’s really you. You never know these days. But of course you don’t. All you’ll have is your fantasies about breaching every code of ethics and using your master key to gain entrance into his apartment, seducing him, ravishing him right in the middle of what must be a depressing bachelor pad. Give him much darker undereye circles by keeping him up all night. Give this apartment complex a more interesting rumor to spread about the milkman in their midst.
“You’re good to go,” you say and press the green unlock button to let him in. He gives you a wan smile and walks out of view, and you listen to his footsteps ascending the stairs.
The rest of the afternoon is uneventful, only a few people coming and going, and a couple of doppelgängers with laughably strange appearance or bad credentials being dispatched quickly. Or at least it’s uneventful until John walks in, just a little bit past curfew.
“Hey William,” he says, sounding distracted, rummaging in his pockets for his documents as a cold sweat breaks out on your forehead. This better be a doppelganger, you think to yourself. But he has both his ID and the entry request filled out correctly. He looks identical to the John that passed by here a couple of hours earlier. This can’t be.
You start dialing John’s number, not taking your eyes off the man in front of you.
John’s eyes widen with alarm when he sees that you get an answer from the other end of the line.
“Yes, hello? John here. I’m not expecting any visitors.”
You hang up pretty abruptly, staring at the John in front of you, searching his appearance for any subtle defect or inconsistency but finding none. Your finger is hovering over the alarm button.
“Oh my god. Oh my god, you think I’m someone else? It’s me, William! I swear to god it’s me! I don’t know who you let in earlier, and who’s answering the phone now, but it’s not me up there!”
And shit, you believe him. You must have fucked up. Gotten smug and sloppy. Maybe the doppelganger handed you a fake ID but you didn’t notice because you were too busy daydreaming about fucking him.
“William, please believe me, please!” John is pressing up against the glass at this point, clearly scared that you’re going to quarantine him in the lobby and sic the D.D.D. on him. They don’t tend to ask questions. You’ve never had it happen, but you’ve heard of innocent people getting snuffed out on the mere suspicion of being doppelgangers, the D.D.D. rarely admitting to such mistakes even after the fact.
“Alright, alright, I believe you. I just have to think…” you mumble. “I’ll let you in, but don’t go up to your flat. We have to figure this out.”
John nods frantically and slips into your office after you buzz him in.
“What are you going to do?” he asks, and if you weren’t scared shitless at the moment, you’d probably get a kick out of how vulnerable and scared his expression is compared to his usual tired, impassive one.
“I should call the D.D.D. and get them to go up there,” you think out loud.
“Won’t you get reprimanded?” John asks, and oh how sweet of him to worry about your job when you’ve fucked up so royally and almost gotten him killed with your negligence. Maybe already gotten some of his neighbors killed.
“I just don’t want you losing your job over this— you’re the best concierge we have,” he says and then looks down shyly, as if realizing how strange that concern is.
What is this? Are you dreaming? Maybe you’re just out of your mind with adrenaline, but John sounds like he’s got feelings for you.
“Let’s just go up there and see what’s going on,” he says, and damn he’s persuasive as fuck. You want to go and deal with the mess you made, and protect him.
“I’ll go up there and just check,” you say, hardly believing yourself as you grab the fire extinguisher from the wall as a makeshift weapon. Everyone who was scheduled to return to the building has, so you shouldn’t get any more legitimate people coming through, but you still tape up a note that you’ll be back at your post in a few minutes. “Right then. You just stay down here and wait. I don’t want you putting yourself at risk. If I’m not back in five, call the number on the post-it.”
John shakes his head and follows you up the stairs. “I’m not letting you go up there alone,” he says in that quiet irresistible voice and you start to wonder if there’s something strange going on. Why are you going on this potentially suicidal mission to deal with a doppelganger on your own? So what if you get fired? No job is worth your life, right? But you probably wouldn’t see John ever again if you lost this job and that’s clouding all your judgment right now.
Knocking on John’s apartment door is probably not a good idea, and will just give the monster inside time to prepare or hide. So you take out your master key and turn it in the lock as quietly and quickly as you can. The door swings opens with an ominous creak, revealing a dark living room with no sign of anyone there. Did he hear you coming up the stairs? You try to keep John behind you and shield him in case anything sudden happens from within the apartment, but then you feel a strong push from behind and both you and John are in the flat now.
You’re so stupid, so critically, fatally stupid. The John you let in earlier was the real one. You’ve let a doppelganger convince you that you made a mistake, and now you did let one in. You whirl around, try to hit him upside the head with the fire extinguisher you’re brandishing, but he blocks the move with little effort.
“I thought we agreed,” he says, and you realize he’s speaking not to you but past you to someone else in the room.
“Thursdays are my days,” an identical voice answers from behind you and you step back and try to make sense of what you’re seeing. Two John Gillmans, both in the same uniform, neither one looking the least bit spooked, both looking mildly irritated if anything.
“Since when,” the John who came up behind you asks of the other one. “I get to be here every other day, doesn’t matter what day of the week it is.”
“So now what are we going to do about him?” the John who was in the apartment asks, pointing to you. “Why didn’t you just leave once he called me? Are you stupid?”
Your heart may be racing, but your thinking feels as slow as molasses. They’re …. both doppelgangers?
“What have you done with the real John Gillman?” you whisper hoarsely. The twins turn to look at you and you’re creeped out by the very similar smirk that spreads across both of their faces. They’re really impeccable facsimiles of the real person, but this is an expression you’ve never seen on John.
“You’ve never met the ‘real John Gillman’,” one of them says.
There’s enough cold sweat that’s broken out on your back that it starts to trickle down as drops.
“We like you William. It would be such a shame for our friendship to end.”
You hold up the fire extinguisher in front of yourself defensively, but you’re not sure you can really do anything against two of them. You’ve never noticed before, and maybe the real John’s teeth didn’t look like this, but the two doppelgangers have sharp looking canines when they’re grinning. It’ll serve you right to get devoured in this dark flat for making so many mistakes and bad decisions in a row today.
“So you’re just going to kill me then?” you ask.
“We’d really rather not,” one of the twins says. “A murder would bring a lot of snooping law enforcement if not the D.D.D. Itself.”
“And it’s so hard to find good lodging to spend the night.”
They must be joking. “You really expect me to believe you’re not just here to eat people?”
One of the twins rolls his eyes. “Eat people! Yeah, that’s why we’re here, clearly.”
“Has anyone in this apartment building ever disappeared in all the months you’ve worked here?” the other one asks.
“How should I know?” You’re beginning to feel like this has to be some sick nightmare. You can’t possibly be having a civil conversation with a couple of cannibal monsters. This thought has a strange calming effect on you. “If I didn’t know you lot were masquerading as John Gillman, how am I to know how many other residents are real people?”
The twins turn to each other, still smiling and shrugging.
“We’ve been on a vegetarian diet for a while,” the other says and you can’t help but bark out a laugh.
“Laugh all you want,” the other one says, spreading his hands in concession. “But milk is more than enough to sustain us. We do think people are delicious, but there’s one thing we like much more than eating them.”
“And what’s that?” you ask, emboldened by the possibility that you’re just in a ridiculous, paranoid, bad dream of a worst case scenario at your job.
“We’ve been watching you William. We think you’ve been interested in us.”
“We’ve never fucked anyone from this building, and never fucked together, but there’s a first time for everything, right?”
You just stand there, fire extinguisher still raised up defensively. No question about it, this must be a nightmare that’s slowly but surely twisting itself into a sexual fantasy.
“Come on, William. Let’s make you comfortable.”
You can hardly protest as one gently pulls your makeshift weapon out of your loose grip, and the other one sweeps you off your feet with preternatural superhuman ease and carries you over to the couch in this sparsely furnished apartment.
Gentle but insistent hands undo the buttons on your trousers and then maneuver you so they can pull them off completely and free your legs.
“Humans are such fun creatures,” one of the Johns comments when he sees that despite your fear of the situation unfolding right now, you are sporting a half-hearted hard-on. It somehow only gets harder when you hear them talk about people as another species.
Both Johns are still fully dressed, situating themselves to kneel on the floor on either side of you. It’s wild. You must be dreaming. And as you watch both Johns lean forward, extending their tongues and licking your cock up and down from opposite sides, you realize that if this is a dream, you never want to wake up.
They know what they’re doing. They bring you right up to the edge of orgasm and then pull away, leaving you feeling desperate and even annoyed. You’re not annoyed for long though as they both strip down, and you see that their human-mimicking powers are perfect, down to the most minute details that would never be seen under clothes. Granted, you don’t know what John Gillman looked like naked, so maybe they’ve taken artistic license and embellished. Whatever it is, they’ve compared notes, because they still look indistinguishable to you.
“Like what you see?” one of them asks and you realize you I’ve been staring, maybe even with your mouth hanging open. You never imagined you’d hook up with a doppelganger, let alone two of them at once. But you have imagined foisting yourself on John in this very flat, and you’re about to live that daydream.
You end up doing things with the two of them beyond what you’ve ever dreamed of. You fuck one of them, and at the same time get fucked by the other one from behind, the cheap bed’s metal joints creaking and moaning from the motion of three bodies rocking against each other. You let them suck your cock and rim you to get you back in the mood for another round, trying not to think about how unsettlingly hungry they both look, and who they really are underneath the human-looking exterior. The exterior slips periodically when they’re in the throes of pleasure. You wince when they betray just how strong they really are, whenever they flip you over or change positions, as if you weigh nothing. You try not to pay attention when their eyes start glowing red when they’re particularly turned on, but it’s impossible to ignore in the darkness of the bedroom.
“William, you are fucking delicious,” one of them declares, licking his lips obscenely after swallowing down your cum, and all you can do is emit a short nervous chuckle, and think that even if they do decide to eat you at the end of all of this— either to cover their tracks, or just because they might start feeling peckish after all this is over— it will still have been worth it.
You don’t get eaten. In fact, you’ve had the time of your life, and as you get up from the bed and mumble that you have to get back to your post before your shift is over, the two Johns lie languid, naked on the bed watching you, each enjoying a post coital glass of milk (that’s all they have in the fridge— you saw when they opened it), like perfect mirror images.
“You won’t be making any unnecessary phone calls, right William?”
“We can count on you to be discreet and keep a secret, right?”
Through the combined haze of being scared for your life and then having the time of your life, there’s still one thing that bothers you, and you ask about it, against all your best self-preservation instincts.
“So what have you done with the real John Gillman?”
They turn to look at each other, not exactly conspiratorial but it still makes you uneasy.
“Oh, John Gillman never existed. We’ve been around a lot longer than you humans think. Many of us never tried to replicate and replace real humans.”
“Yeah, and a lot of good that did when some of us started! The ones who are doing it are the reason we’re being hunted now. Unoriginal hacks. And so bad at mimicking too.”
“So many embarrassing ones out there.” They both nod at each other.
You’d like to believe them. You really would. “So why choose this persona?”
“The milkman gets free milk and gets around in your society! And humans seem to like this look,” one of them says, grinning and gesturing with his hand over their naked bodies.
“But we only ever get to enjoy bored housewives.”
“And why are there two of you?” you ask hesitantly, glancing at the clock on the wall to verify that you’re not late yet.
“Oh there’s more than two of us,” one of them says and they laugh in unison in a way that sends a chill down your spine.
~~~
You think you’ve got it all worked out. You’re letting the John Gillmans stay in the apartment undisturbed, and you let them through even when it’s obvious that there’s more than one of them coming and going. You figure it’s a win-win. They promise to protect the building from any rogue doppelgangers who infiltrate and intend to harm the residents, and in return get a place to stay the night peacefully. You get to visit apartment F03-02 after your shift ends and have mind-blowing sex. They seem to enjoy the orgies as well. They know your shift hours and try to only come and go during those times. There doesn’t seem to be a problem with this arrangement.
Or at least not a problem that you’re going to make into your problem. When one of the Johns walks in, visibly smeared in blood, you do give him a hard time.
“Come on, John. Just because I’ll let you in, doesn’t mean you can just stop trying to look decent. God forbid I call in sick and someone else is here.”
John shrugs and goes through the formality of pushing his ID and entry request under the glass window.
“And get a new ID…” you tell him when you see bloody fingerprints all over the worn paper.
John shrugs, doing his usual tired act, despite how ridiculous it looks to be so bored and nonchalant when he’s smeared in blood.
“Whose blood is that, anyway?” you ask, wondering why you’re not more disturbed.
“Someone who was of no consequence and who won’t be missed,” John replies, terse and cool as a cucumber.
“I thought you said you were vegetarian?”
“I’ll take a cheat day if I run into a wifebeater,” John says, shrugging.
You buzz him in, telling him to get washed up before someone sees him, wondering if you’re being colossally naive to believe his story, and wondering if you’ve got a death wish because you’re still looking forward to going up there once your shift ends in a few hours.
(What in the world. 💀)
#cozy corner domaystic#lol#butchlander#that’s not my neighbor au#homelander#billy butcher#the boys#the boys tv#fic#mystuff
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May 15 - Nightmare
We're at a crossroads! Eek! Time for timelines to start merging. It's gonna be a bumpy few days. Enjoy!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"When were you planning on telling me?" John's fury was written on his face, in his stance, in the tone of voice. Sherlock lowered the phone and turned to look at the man in the doorway.
"John."
"You're going to run away again. Is this all you ever do?"
"I don't..."
"Don't what? Actually want to stick around? I let you be a part of my daughter's life! How are you going to explain this nightmare to Rose?"
"John." Sherlock stared at his friend. Unable to find the words in the face of such anger.
"I heard it all, Sherlock. I know you're leaving us."
"I... it's not what you seem to think." John took a step forward. Sherlock willed himself not to move backwards despite his brain reminding him that the last time John was this angry...
"So 221 isn't up for sale? You've not just accepted an offer." Sherlock swallowed and looked away. "So it's exactly what I'm thinking."
John turned and walked back towards the door, his back rigid, his steps clipped.
"I trusted you. But all you ever do is leave me behind." Suddenly, John was back, forcing Sherlock back up against the wall. John's fist connected with the wall beside Sherlock's head. "Fuck you, Sherlock."
As John left, Sherlock merely stood, staring at the plaster, broken.
All for @calaisreno's May Prompt Challenge. Read the whole fic here
#sherlock holmes#john watson#sherlock#221b baker street#johnlock#bbc sherlock#sherlock bbc#benedict cumberbatch#may prompt challenge 2024#may prompts 2024#fic prompt#writing promt#writing prompt#221b ficlet#ao3 writer#ao3#ao3 fanfic#angst
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