Currently reading?

The Name of The Rose by Umberto Eco. I'm on page 371, and it's crazy good for being a mystery book about 14th century monks.

My 9th graders are about to start Romeo and Juliet, so I'm also reading that right now.

The Box || Tom Holland

summary ↠ you feel a mysterious object in tom’s pocket... word count ↠ 4.2k. warnings ↠ mildly suggestive, but this is just some very easy domestic fluff :’) a/n ↠ this is a rewrite of a fic I wrote back in 2018! I sat down just to edit it, but I ended up adding 2.5k and changing most of it. lmao. it’s very cute though. very gentle. I was in a proper state after watching cherry, and working on this soothed my soul <3 hope you like it!

if you want to read the original version of this fic, you can find the link for it here <3

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You wake up to an empty bed and immediately get the suspicion that something is amiss. The sheets are pulled down, the duvet crumpled, and the mattress cool. As you draw your tired fingers over the space beside you, a soft pout finds your lips.

Tom’s away so often that he rarely skips out on the opportunity to cuddle you in the morning, and if he does, he’s always attentive in the way he pulls the duvet to your chin and tucks you in. He knows you hate to be cold, so he’d never usually jump out of bed so recklessly, leaving behind his uncovered side and your leg sticking out the duvet.

Perplexed, you yawn as you sit up. A quick glance at your phone confirms that it’s still early, and you find your confusion about your boyfriend’s disappearance quickly turning into concern. With a furrow to your brow, you slowly get out of bed, groaning softly as your tired limbs stretch and click. There’s an ache between your legs that makes you bite your lip, memories of the night before flittering through your mind like polaroids. You see flashes of a rose-tinted Tom, kissing up your thighs, panting into your shoulder, moaning sweet words of praise against your lips. He’d made you dinner, then laid you down, and you’d felt like the only person in the world as he’d cupped your cheeks and shown how much he loved you.

After pulling on a pair of leggings and a jumper, you find your curious feet taking you off in the direction of the living room. You hear Tom before you see him—the sounds of socks dragging over plush carpet filling the air. He’s pacing, half-naked, thick arms crossed over his bare chest as a few fingers stroke his chin. He’s in a thick pair of fuzzy purple socks, and rounding off the ensemble are some simple grey sweats.

When your boyfriend reaches the other side of the living room, he pivots and starts to walk back towards you, gaze vacant and fixed on the floor. There’s a tenseness to his jaw that you haven’t seen in a while, the valley between his brows pronounced and deep. Stress is obvious in every single part of his person, and it makes you so concerned that you decide to shatter his reverie.

With a gentle clear of your throat, you step forwards.

“Tom?” you say, voice soft. Your eyes widen as he startles, head snapping up, loose brown curls springing through the air. “Baby, are you okay?”

He blinks at you for a few moments, seeming to shake off the daydream as his lips pull into an instinctive smile. When he meets your eyes, the nerves on Tom’s face start to melt. He gives you a tight nod as he walks towards you, folding into your outstretched arms and immediately burying his face in the crook of your neck.  

“I’m fine,” he vibrates, voice dark and husky like it always is in the morning. “Are you?”

You cup the back of his head with your palm, dragging your fingers through his curls in a way that soothes him. He’s so warm, his arms strong as they wind around your waist and hold you in a tight hug. Your heart beats a little faster at his question. He’s always been so attentive, even in times like these where it’s clear that he’s significantly worse off than you.

“I’m okay,” you respond. You press a soft kiss to his forehead, and he releases a quiet sound of approval, snuggling closer. “You weren’t there when I woke up.” You pause for a few moments, hesitating. “Is something wrong? Is this about last night?”

You know that Tom loves you. He shows you every single day that he adores you. He leaves your special mug out by the kettle, brings home your favourite snacks from the shops, does your dreaded household tasks unprompted. He looks after you when you’re ill, has all the names of your extended family memorised, and always does his best to coax a smile onto your face. His love for you is as obvious as the stars that twinkle in the sky.

Yet, he left you alone, and he’s stressed, and even as you’re voicing your concerns, you can feel him tug himself free from your embrace. It’s hard not to focus on the loosening of his arms and think about his odd behaviour from the last few days. Tom’s been on his phone more, acting scatter-brained and nervous. You don’t doubt his love, but with his life as hectic as it is, you worry about him.

“Last night?” Tom says. He pulls back, warm hands falling to your waist as he peers at you, shaking his head. “Darling.” He frowns. “Last night was amazing.” His lips pull into a slight smirk as he squeezes your hips, eyes glinting a shade darker. “I had fun. Didn’t you?”

You press a light kiss to his cheek, shifting both of your hands to cup his face. His skin is so soft beneath your fingertips. “I had a nice time,” you agree, pushing back the memories before you can get too lost in them. “You’ve been stressed recently,” you observe, treading gently. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything.”

Tom closes his eyes, inhaling a quick breath. “Yeah... I know. I… Yeah. I’m fine.”

You play with a few strands of his hair, trying not to frown too much. “Are you sure?”

He pries open an eye, the honeyed hues of brown bringing you a sense of comfort. “I’m a little stressed at the moment. I have to do something today, and I… I’ve been thinking about it a lot, love… A lot.” He breaks into a breathless chuckle, swallowing nervously. “It’ll be fine. I know it will, but I… I can’t stop thinking about it.” Tom’s gaze shadows a little, and he swallows. “You do… You do love me, don’t you?”

“You have to know how much of a silly question that is.”

Tom bites at his lip as he sheepishly averts his gaze. “Yeah…” He’s sly as he gently pushes forwards to kiss your cheek. “‘Know you really loved me last night,” he rasps into your ear.

You roll your eyes, but you’re glad to see there’s some colour coming back to his cheeks. “What are you doing that’s got you so nervous?”

“Oh… Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Tom looks a little perkier now as he glances at you. “Nothing,” he repeats. “Well, a secret,” he clarifies. “I can’t tell you yet.”

Immediately you pout. “But why?” you whine, pulling your hands away from his face. “You can’t say all that and then not tell me what you’re doing.”

“Yes, I can.” He grins as he steps back, only leaving you once he’s kissed your lips. He hesitates for a moment before adding, “I love you. So much, darling.”

“I know,” you respond, tilting your head to the side as you look at him curiously. “I love you too.”

“Good. Good…” Tom steps back, briefly glancing behind you to the living room wall. His eyes widen as he looks at the clock. “Fuck,” he mutters. “I need to go.”

Tom runs away before you have a chance to catch him, stumbling back into the bedroom as he mutters something about finding some clothes. You decide to leave him to it, a yawn reminding you of how early it still is. You wonder for a moment why he hadn’t mentioned he had an early call time last night, but he’s been so all over the place recently that it doesn’t surprise you.

As you wait for Tom to re-emerge, you walk over into the kitchen, flicking on the kettle. You can hear him whistling to himself through all the open doors, and the melody mixes with the sound of your teaspoon bumping against the ceramic of your mug. It’s your favourite one—Tom had brought it back from Paris for you.

You’ve just settled at the kitchen table when Tom bursts back into the room, properly clothed and considerably more at ease. His hair is a little wild, but he’s in a pair of jeans and a lilac hoodie, and he wears his smile with confidence.

“Did I tell you that you look gorgeous this morning, darling?” Tom murmurs. He springs across to you, grabbing his keys from the bowl on the counter as he goes. When he reaches you, he tightly cups your cheeks and presses a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Because you are, y’know? The most beautiful woman in the world.”

You chuckle as you sit back in your chair, cheeks aching from your dopey smile. “Thank you,” you respond. “You’re looking very handsome yourself.”

Tom pulls on his jacket and then reaches down, stealing your mug of tea and taking a long sip before you have time to warn him about how hot it still is. You watch as he splutters, cheeks burning red as he releases a yelp of pain.

“Fucking hell!” he yells, cursing a little more as he puts the mug back down. Tom sticks out his tongue, tenderly reaching up to poke at the tip as he winces. “Ow,” he whines, the word garbled around his open mouth. “It hurts.”

He looks very sweet standing there, and for a moment, you wonder how it’s possible to love someone so much. Your affections smother your chest, and you almost choke up as you’re briefly overcome with a sensation of utter adoration. It’s so intense that it almost hurts, but it aches in the most wonderful way.

You stand quickly and press a soft kiss to the tip of Tom’s tongue. He smiles and retracts it, chasing after your lips until he’s able to kiss you.

“It’s Harrison’s birthday party tonight,” Tom says as he steps back, shoving his phone into his pocket. “I’ll be back from set at 9, then we can go. Is that still okay?”

You nod. “Yeah,” you reply. “Have a good day doing whatever it is you’re doing.”

He smirks elusively, then presses a final peck to your cheek before turning towards the porch. “Bye!” Tom pauses in the doorway to look back and send you a few air kisses, and you pucker your lips and send a couple back. The front door closes with a gentle click, and your smile lingers on.

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You think about Tom’s behaviour all day, flipping between confusion and adoration as easily as the wind changes its mind. When 5pm rolls around, you find your way back home, and you spend a few hours milling around before you get ready for the event.

With your dress on and your bag slung over your shoulder, you wait in the porch for Tom to pull up, scrolling through your phone with a crease between your brows. Time is ticking, and with every second your boyfriend fails to show, the nearer you get to being late for the party.

When there’s a bright burst of light and the crunching of gravel, you glance up to see Tom’s headlights douse the driveway to your house. You’re surprised when he clambers from the car instead of jauntily honking the horn as he’s taken such an irritating liking to doing. You watch him mess around with his jeans before hurrying along the front path, pushing open the front door a moment later and startling when he sees you waiting.

“Oh!” he exclaims wide-eyed. His hand drifts down to rest over the left pocket of his jeans. “You’re here?”

You pull a face. “Yes? Hello to you too.”

Tom grunts as he moves forward to kiss you hastily, jumping back when you try to pull at his waist and bring him nearer. As you’re left baffled by his behaviour again, he seems to swallow down a lump in his throat.

“Hi,” he corrects, smiling nervously. “I, uh… I’m going to go and change.”

You wince. “We don’t have time,” you point out, reaching out to gently tug on his sleeve. You turn around, reaching back to pluck one of Tom’s stylish jackets from a peg. You offer it to him with a smile. “Try this,” you suggest. “We really need to go, though, Tom. Haz won’t let us live it down if we’re late to another one of his parties.”

Tom hesitates. You watch as he digs his hand into his left pocket, clucking his tongue. “I… Yeah. Okay. You’re right.” His eyes flutter back to the main body of your house, but his reluctance fades when you nod and peck him on the cheek. He easily pulls off his hoodie before replacing it with the jacket, the red of the smart coat complementing his black t-shirt.

“C’mon,” you urge. “Do you want me to drive?”

He begrudgingly follows you out of the house, locking up behind you both before slipping into the passenger seat. As you navigate the roads, Tom keeps you company, nurturing a constant dialogue as he chats to you. He avoids all of your questions about his day and his mysterious engagement, redirecting everything you say into a comment about you and your activities. It’s cute how much he cares, but you get a distinct feeling that he’s trying to distract you.

Harrison’s birthday party is being held in a bar in central London, and you find him easily amongst the throes of people. Tom’s holding onto your hand, standing back, quieter, as you pass over your gift to his best friend with a smile on your face.

“Happy birthday, Haz!” you exclaim, beaming at the man. Harrison kisses your cheek as he grins, cheeks flushed from the booze and warm atmosphere. When Tom is noticeably quiet beside you, you squeeze his hand and glance back at him, raising a brow.

“Oh,” Tom mutters, blinking a few times. “Sorry,” he adds. “Happy birthday, Harrison.”

Harrison rolls his eyes. “‘S alright, mate. You already passed on your congratulations earlier. Thanks, though.”

Your friend is pulled away by his sister a few moments later, leaving you with a confused furrow to your brow. You turn around to look at Tom, tilting your head to the side.

“Wait, when did you see Harrison?” you ask. “Weren’t you at work today?”

Tom reels you in by the hands, knocking his lips up against yours and disrupting your words. “Doesn’t matter,” he soothes, rolling his fingers gently across the sides of your face. “Let’s just have a good party, yeah?”

You melt into him with ease. “Okay,” you agree. His lips are warm and seductive as he kisses you again, deeper, harder, stronger.

Something is in the air. As a pair, you make a few rounds of the party, but somehow, you always end up huddled in a back corner together. As the alcohol flows and your friends around you get less and less observant, it happens more often. It isn’t long until Tom’s tugging you down onto a secluded armchair in the corner of the artsy bar. Your lips find home in his, slotting together as they always do.

As you shift in his lap, part of you feels guilty for blowing off Harrison’s birthday, but another part—a darker, hungrier part—demands you stay exactly where you are. You’re awfully comfortable with Tom’s hands on your hips and your legs spread over his thighs, content with the shadowy lighting leaving you secluded from the rest of them.

“Oh god,” Tom moans, speaking against your lips as he kisses you between laboured breaths. “Fuckin’ perfect woman, eh?”

You suck on his lower lip, smirking as you feel him whine. He discreetly grinds up into you, and you bite back a whimper. “Tom,” you whisper. You move your mouth to his ear, stroking your fingers through his curls as you brush your lips over his tender skin. “We shouldn’t do this here. We can’t go home just yet.”

He groans, head dropping down to your collarbones. When you expect him to agree and help you up, Tom instead seems to decide that his time would be better spent marking up your neck. Your pulse roars through your ears as he takes time licking and sucking and biting your skin, stretching from the base of your neck all the way up, up, up, soft lips suckling below your ear. By the time he reaches your face, you’re squirming, heat pounding in your body as desire replaces any wish to stay at the party.

“We should just go home,” Tom pants, lips red and inflamed. Your fingers drag over them until he uses his tongue to lick over the pad of your thumb. “I can’t take being here.” His voice drops down to a low grumble as he shifts in the chair, “‘m so hard, sweetheart.”

Wanting to feel for yourself, you shuffle up his lap, eyebrows furrowing together when instead of feeling his hardness, your knee knocks against something firm lodged where his pocket is. Confusion replaces lust as you tilt your head to the side. “Wait, what’s that?” you muse, unable to believe that his arousal has manifested itself in his jean pocket. Intrigued, you poke the object, pressing harder as your brows furrow.

Tom’s eyes widen. “O-Oh, no, that’s something else.” His hands go down to your waist as he tries to gently push you off his lap. “Just ignore it.”

But your curiosity has been piqued, and before you can stop yourself, you’ve reached up and dug your fingers into his tight jean pocket. It’s dim and dark in your secluded corner, and you find yourself squinting as you bring the small object closer. Too focused on your task to hear Tom’s noises of panic, you pull it up into the air. As the first dredges of realisation wash over you, you’ve got it half-open, and it’s too late to stop yourself.

There is a glistening engagement ring embedded inside the silky black box, glinting magnificently.

Your jaw drops.

A few moments pass in silence, the air between you being filled by the songs coming from the bar. Your thumb wanders absently over the edge of the jewel as you peer at it, heart throbbing in the back of your throat. Guilt twists into you, mixing with your excitement and your shock, and you look up at Tom, tears pooling in your eyes.

He’s looking at you, nerves written all over his face. His teeth are bared, and his eyes are wide with shock, every inch of him seized up and tense. When Tom sees your tearful expression, he blinks a few times, clearing his throat as he tenderly reaches up to cup your face in a hand.

“Darling…” he starts, voice softer than before. He drums his index finger over your temple as he manages a tense smile. “What’s going on up here?”

You open and shut your mouth a few times before finally finding the words.

“I’m sorry,” you manage, voice thick. “I…” You take a breath, looking away. Your mind starts to spin, suddenly kicking back to life as you recover yourself. “Wait… Why have you got this in your pocket? Did… Oh. Did you get this today?”

Everything makes sense. His nerves all week, his pacing this morning. The fact he’d left suspiciously early and met up with Harrison without you. Tom’s conflict when you’d pushed him out the door instead of letting him enter your house and stash the little black box before leaving for the party.

“Yeah,” he admits, running a hand through his hair. His chest is rising and falling quickly, his jaw still tense. “What do you think? Do… Do you like it?”

You nod wordlessly before looking up at him, lower lip wobbling. “I ruined it,” you lament. You fall forward, groaning as you rest your forehead on Tom’s shoulder. He chuckles, dusting the top of your head with light kisses as he hums.

“You didn’t,” he assures you. “I’m just a twat and didn’t hide it properly.” He falls silent for a few moments, warm hands wandering your back. “Y/N, darling… You… You would want to get married though, yeah?” His voice is light and high-pitched and full of so much uncertainty it makes you bolt upright.

“Tom,” you say, voice soft. You balance the box between you and reach up to take his face in your hands, admiring his handsome features with your fingers. “I would love to marry you,” you whisper. You feel yourself well with emotions again, but you let them build. You don’t mind if he sees you vulnerable.  

Tom releases a deep breath, his own face twitching as relief ripples across his eyes in the form of light tears. He leans closer and kisses you very gently, his mouth soft and tender as if he’s savouring it. When Tom pulls away, he keeps his forehead pressed to yours, the tip of his nose cool against yours.

“I love you so much,” he says slowly. “Every day, I wake up beside you, and I wonder what I did right to deserve being loved by someone as wonderful as you. I hate being away from you, and I think about you all the time.” Tom cracks a soft smile, his voice quivering. With trembling fingers, he reaches between you both and picks the box from between you both.

You gasp softly as he pulls back, squeezing your hip softly before holding the box out in front of you. The diamonds sparkle, blurred by your tears.

“Y/N… I didn’t plan to do this tonight, and I know this is sudden, and I know you deserve a proposal a thousand times more romantic than… than at Harrison’s fucking party, but I can’t wait another moment.” He swallows as he pulls the ring from the bed of silk. Tom’s gaze is unwavering as he looks back to you, speaking passionately. “There’s nothing else I want in life apart from you. I promise that I will love you for the rest of my life, darling, if only you’ll let me. So…” Tom’s lips pull into a small smile. “Would you do me the honour of marrying me?”

The world stops, and everything fades until it’s just you and Tom and the ring held between you. Without hesitation, you nod your head, two stray tears dripping down your face.

“Tom… You could ask me to marry you anywhere, and I’d say the same thing.” Your heart pounds in your ears. “Yes. I would love to be your wife.”

Tom releases a strangled sound of relief, and you both look down as he hurries to push the ring down your finger. It’s cool against your skin, but before looking at it, you find yourself leaning in to kiss him. Both of you are smiling, and you think he’s crying too. His hand shakes as he holds yours, and when you pull away to admire the ring, Tom loops both arms around your waist.

“It’s so pretty,” you muse. You roll your thumb across the glittering gem. You feel so warm inside your chest. “Did you pick this out yourself?”

Tom makes a noise of disagreement. He cuddles in closer, burying his face in your neck and leaving a few soft kisses to your skin.

“Haz helped, and so did mum. Thought she’d have better ideas than him.” Tom pauses, and you feel him smirk against your neck. “I was right.”

Your heart softens a little at the revelation. “Do you think he’ll be upset that we’ve upstaged him at his party?”

Tom peels back from your neck, pressing his lips to your jaw as he chuckles. “Let’s...maybe not mention it tonight.”

You run your hand through his hair, eyes catching on the way the diamond cascades with shards of light. “Okay,” you agree. You lean closer to kiss the tip of his nose. “Are you sure you’re not mad I ruined this?”

Tom shakes his head. “Absolutely not, love. If anything, this just makes it more special.” He shoots you a toothy grin. “Don’t know what I’ll do with all the stuff I bought to use in the proposal, though.”

You smirk softly. “Well, who says you can’t do two proposals?” you say, intending for it to be a tease, only to widen your eyes when Tom’s entire face lights up. “Wait— babe, I was kidding, you don’t need to do another—”

“Shhh.” Tom cuts you off with a kiss. “Pretend that this conversation never happened.”  

“What, even the proposal—”

“No.” He’s grinning, eyes dancing with amusement. “You’re marrying me.”

Your lips twitch as you give him a slight nod. “Yeah. And you’re marrying me.” Tom kisses you again, and you fall back into his lap with ease. For a few moments, you make out with him, the temperature in your body rising until you remember what started off the conversation, an eternity ago. “Can we go home now, Tom?”

He’s a little slow to respond as he chases your lips, but the smile you share feels like dawn breaking for the first time.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I’ll take you home, fiancé.”

And you like the sound of that. You really like the sound of that.

“Okay, fiancé.”

Judging by the unstoppable grin that finds Tom’s face as he hears you speak, you have a feeling that he likes the sound of it too.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ 

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:’))) im going to be rewriting/reworking a few of my older fics! if there are any in particular you’d like to see refreshed, lmk? 

lmk what you thiiiiink !!! <3<3<3<3

masterlist + taglist through the link in my bio wahey :D

Sunday Sniffles

Valentine’s Event: Day 4

Prompt: Rohan + Domestic

Ao3 Link

Author’s Note: Hi! This one is a bit of a sick fic, but it isn’t very gross, just a little fever. I’m so excited for the Rohan ova to go to Netflix, I haven’t gotten the chance to watch them on my own so I’m super excited. I love Rohan so much, he’s so fun to write for! Expect a lot more Rohan content soon!

As you opened your eyes, groaning softly as you woke up, you noticed the man that was beside you when you went to sleep was long gone. To most people, waking up to an empty bed would be upsetting, but you had grown used to it. You and your fiancé, Rohan, were busy people, and there wasn’t much time for early morning cuddles. There was coffee to make, pages to draw, and work to be done. 

However, you both had the tendency to run yourselves ragged. As you rolled out of bed, your legs felt like jello, and your sinuses were extremely sore. As you headed to the bathroom, chills ran up and down your spine as you sniffled and coughed, your head pounding as every step felt like a mile. Realization hit you, however, when you entered the bathroom and flicked the lights on. Your paled cheeks and reddened nose gave it away- you had gotten sick.

After washing up a little, you hoped the icky feeling that coated your body would disappear so you could get some work done; alas, it did not. You slung a blanket over your shoulders, wandering down the hall to your fiancé's office on shaky legs.

“Rohaaaaaan,” you called, your voice hoarse,  before opening the door, “I’m coming in.” He always got a little miffed when he was interrupted, but he was used to you stopping in around this time to say ‘Good Morning.’ Not noticing the weak warble of your voice, he didn’t think to take his eyes off his work.

“What is it, (Y/n)?”

“Babe, I think I’m sick,” you told him, before sneezing, “I don’t think I’ll be able to look over your pages today, I’m sorry.”

Setting down his pencil, he turned to face you. The moment he laid eyes on you, he could definitely tell you weren’t bluffing- you looked like death. While Rohan could certainly overdo it at times, your job as a manga editor had you working yourself to the bone a lot. You not only checked for continuity and general errors in a multitude of mangakas’ manuscripts, but you also were their main consultant, bouncing around ideas with them whenever they seemed stuck. While you were the editor for Pink Dark Boy, Rohan was very self-sufficient, so he never needed much from you. However, as of late, the other mangakas under your care were getting quite needy, putting a little too much on your plate for the past week or so.

“Let me take your temperature,” Rohan stood up, taking your hand and dragging you into another room. He pulled out a little thermometer, placing it in your mouth- just as he expected, the temperature rapidly rose.

“You have a fever, my dear,” he sighed, looking over your weak form, “Come on, let’s get you back to bed.” To most people, Rohan seemed like a heartless bastard; Hell, when you first became his editor, you thought so too. However, after getting to know him better, you quickly found that he could be rather sweet if he wanted to. After years of going out, you discovered that said kindness seemed to only be extended to you and a few close friends. Whenever he’d call you little pet names, or hold you like he was right now as he walked you back to your shared bedroom, you reminded yourself of why you fell for that heartless bastard in the first place.

Tucking you back in under your covers, he sat you up on some extra pillows, grabbing some extra blankets from the closet to warm you up even more.

“Tea?” he asked, rolling up his sleeves.

“Babe, you don’t need to baby me,” you told him, prying off some excess blankets, “Go back to work, I know you’re busy. Besides, I have a few calls to make-”

“No, no (Y/n). You’re not doing any work today,” he protested, taking the blanket you were trying to get rid of and putting it back on top of you, “The more you try to do today, the longer your fever is gonna last. You’ve been working too hard lately, anyways. It’s probably the reason you’re sick.”

“But the other mangakas need me, at least let me call them-”

“Dear, they’re creative people, they can manage for a few days while you recover,” he cut you off, making a snide face. He never liked how busy those other mangakas made you- they always seemed to rely on you too heavily for ideas.

“Until then, you’re staying right here. I’m going to make you some hot water for your throat- would you like to read something?”

“Again, babe, you don’t have to fuss over me,” you chided, shooing him away, “I won’t go into work today, but I can make my own tea. You have pages to finish.”

“I know I have pages to finish, but I’m ahead of schedule. Is it wrong of me to ensure my fiancée is well taken care of?” Rohan rolled his eyes, a cocky little grin on his face. He knew you hated when he was right. “What if I wanted to fuss over you anyways, hm? We’re both so busy, I don’t have the time to properly spoil you like I should.”

“You sly dog,” you smiled back at him, sniffling in between words, “You’ve been waiting for something like this, haven’t you?”

“Guilty is charged,” he chuckled, rolling up his sleeves before placing a box of tissues on your nightstand, “I’ve been wanting a nice, easy day with you for awhile. While your condition isn’t optimal, I’ll take any chance I get.”

Without another word, he rushed downstairs to fetch you some warm water as you reached for the drawer in your nightstand, pulling out a book you’ve been meaning to finish. Rohan came back to your room, not only with some hot water and a variety of tea bags to choose from, but with a large breakfast, too.

“You’ve got to drink lots of warm water and eat right so you can get better, okay?” he instructed, setting the tray of food deftly on your lap. You also noticed his ‘go bag’ of art supplies slung over his shoulder. He always carried that bag around when he was out of the house in case inspiration suddenly struck him, so he could draw whole pages of manuscript then and there. He set it down, gently, in the corner of the room; if this bag was with him, it meant that he was staying by your side all day.

Sitting on the bed next to you, Rohan made conversation with you while you ate, cleaning up soon after you were done. He spent the whole day like that, lying beside you, making sure you were okay.

“Rohan, you shouldn’t cuddle me,” you weakly argued, trying to push the man currently spooning you away, “I could get you sick!”

“I don’t care. It’s been too long since we’ve gotten to just lay around together, Dear,” he shot back, nuzzling into you. While you wanted to protest further, the warmth of his body and the endearing pet-name made you complacent. Soon enough, you found yourself drifting off in his arms.

Seeing as you were ill, you had a hard time staying asleep, but Rohan would always lull you back down, comforting you like a mother singing to a baby. While part of you wished he was getting his work done, it felt so nice to finally spend some quality time with your future husband. Your little chats in between naps actually included a lot of wedding planning- something you were both too busy to think about since he popped the question. Also, even though you felt a little bad about it, it felt really nice to be doted on like this. Rohan was being so sweet and gentle with you, which was a very nice change of pace compared to his usual prickly personality.

Suddenly, you found yourself waking up, the electric clock on your nightstand showing that it was the early evening. Did you just spend all day in bed? Despite the frail feeling in your limbs, or how gross your face felt, it was so nice to lounge around all day. 

Behind you, you heard a little snore coming from Rohan. Carefully, you turned over to face him, making sure to go slow enough not to wake him. As you settled back in, you saw how peaceful his face was, all of the tension in his body gone as he slept.

It felt nice to wake up to his face again. From here on out, you two would make sure to save some more time for each other.

Going Once, Going Twice, part 4

I kid you not, I have re-written this 3 TIMES. I hope I didn’t overlook something *I’m excited to write the next one though*

CW: Whump, Pet Whump, Trauma, Manhandling, Panic Attacks, Anxiety, Restraints, Implied Abuse

Masterlist

Robert pulled up to his home, he glanced at the boy in the back of his truck. Poor thing was exhausted... He was fast asleep in the back, bundled up in his coat with his shackled wrists. He really should have taken those shackles off, but after getting his shoulder bitten, he didn’t want to scare him anymore, or risk losing a finger.

He opened the door as quietly as possible, and gently lifted him in his arms. He didn’t even stir as he was carried into his house. It was one story with a basement, even after his inheritance, he refused to move, as he always loved this place. He only fixed it up a bit and installed a nice kitchen for all his cooking dreams, it was also next to a childhood friend as well, so bonus points. 

He unfortunately didn’t have a spare room, so he was just going to tuck him up in his own bed, and crash in his favorite recliner and call it a night. He pushed open the door to his bedroom with his foot, accidently jostling the man in the process, who slowly blinked to awareness. His eyes shot open. 

Wait, where was he? Was he being carried? Who was carrying him?! 

He let out a yelp, trying desperately to kick his way out of the man’s grasp. “Woah there!” Robert called, as Peter managed to kick his feet out from his arm, but Robert kept a firm hold on his chest. His feet hit the ground and he tried to slink out of the man’s arms, but Robert’s strength kept him held against his chest.  

“Easy, it’s okay! I’m not going to hurt you, calm down!” Robert tried, as Peter cried and struggled. Finally, all the frustration and exhaustion hit him, as he let out one last desperate cry, before falling limp. 

Robert slid down onto his knees with him still in his arms, this was wrong... His first step into his home and this is how he’s being treated. He was manhandling someone who was traumatized. “I.. I’m sorry.” Robert huffed, holding the hyperventilating boy in his arms. “Sshh... It’s okay. I’m going to let you go now. I’m sorry...” He released his grasp, as Peter used whatever energy he had left to scamper away. 

The closest thing was the bed, as his instincts forced him to crawl underneath as far as he could push himself and tried to catch his breath. “Oh no no no... Sweetheart...” Robert sighed, flopping into his chest on the floor, trying to coax the boy out with an outstretched hand.

 “I know you’re scared and exhausted. Trust me, I am too. But I can’t let you sleep under there, please come out so we can get some proper rest, okay?” He knew It probably wouldn’t work, but it was worth a shot. Peter glanced back at him with fearful eyes, too upset to budge from his spot.

Peter hugged himself under the bed. He was being so so disobedient. He couldn’t believe he wasn’t yanked out and beaten half to death for his disrespect. The man paid an unholy amount for him, so why was he being so patient? He felt terrible, and cursed his behavior.

Robert wondered if he should just leave him there for the night and crash himself. But no. He had to take care of this boy now, and he wasn’t going to be lazy about it. He inched over as quietly as he could until he could reach him. He gently placed a hand on his shoulder. The most Peter could react was a very sad little murmur and a flinch. 

“Everything is okay.” He whispered, slowly pulling him closer, and closer. “Can you come out for me?’’ He soothed. Peter gave in, he was tired, and scared, and knew all the man had to do was grab him. 

“I’m s-sorry!” He yelled. He wasn’t going to cry, he was going to be respectful and give his master what was owed. “I’m s-so sorry! I know I’ve been t-terrible for you, I d-didn’t mean t-to... I even bit you, and that’s unforgivable!” He cursed himself.  “Oh sweetheart...” Robert muttered. “You’re not bad, you’re just scared, there’s a difference. You didn’t hurt me either, you just took a chunk out of that coat.” Robert chuckled, brushing the hair from his face. 

He took his hand, as Peter cringed, waiting for a punishment. Instead, the shackles popped off and fell away from his bruised wrists, as Robert tossed them into the trash.  “I.. But-.”  “-Sssh, no buts. It’s off to bed with you now.” He smiled. He took his hand and pulled him up into the bed.

He pushed the heavy blankets down with a knee, and laid him in the plush bed. He whimpered and looked up at him pitifully, clutching the coat to his chest tightly. “It’s alright, you can keep the coat.” Robert smiled. “I’m in the next room if you need anything. Goodnight.” He said, sitting up and turning the light off, before heading straight to his recliner, and passing out himself.  

The unwanted sun rose soon after, Robert crept over and quietly opened the door. Peter was still fast asleep, hugging the coat tightly with a peaceful expression. Thank goodness...

He pondered what to make for breakfast, it was his first morning, technically his first time meeting him too, without him being half asleep, or his teeth sunken into his shoulder... Peter had been through a lot, that much was clear. He was only going to be there for a week, not to his knowledge... But he was going to do his best to make him comfortable and happy.

He cracked some eggs and bacon onto a stove, and even decided last second to also make some pancakes.  After some time, he glanced back at the bedroom. The door was... open!?

“Peter?” Robert called, trying not to let the panic leak in his voice. He ran out of the kitchen towards the open door, but startled himself when he found Peter pressed against the wall, cowering. His face said he had just woken up, but he had some energy now, it seems his fear got turned into curiosity.

He dropped to his knees instantly, still holding the coat in his arms. “Good morning... Master.” He mumbled. It felt so wrong to call someone else master then his previous one. “Good morning.” He smiled, giving himself a moment for the adrenaline to wear off.

“Come on up off the floor. You got up at the perfect time! Breakfast is ready.” Robert lifted him to his feet and steadied him by his arm.

The kitchen was gorgeous, spotless, marble countertops, golden background, hundreds of pots, tools, equipment selectively in their place, and colorful plants lining the windowsill. There was a small table in the center, with a couple of high chairs around it. Robert was a very tall man, so the chairs were quite towering.

Peter looked up at him for confirmation, as Robert nodded with a smile. He tried to hop up onto the chair, but failed a couple of times. “Is it alright if I help you?” Robert asked, as Peter ceased his attempts with embarrassment. He nodded shamefully, as Robert took his arm and gave him a boost up. He set a plate full of delicious smelling food in front of him. He gasped, covering his mouth, glancing up and down between the food and Robert, who gave him a sweet smile. “It’s all yours.” He said.

Every bite was divine, with every bite he felt more and more guilty that he didn’t deserve it. The man paid an unholy amount for him, but was also being so patient with him.

Why?

“So! Peter, is there uhh, any hobbies you like? Something I can get for you?” Robert asked.  “Oh! I like... Being useful, I guess.. Master.” He replied. Robert stopped and glanced up at him. “It’s okay, you don’t have to call me that. It makes me feel like some tyranny.” He laughed. “Is calling me Robert, or Mr. McAllen okay?” He asked.  “O-f course. It’s whatever you prefer, Mr. McAllen.” Using his first name felt wrong on so many levels. 

“Maybe you would like to try painting, or music. I personally love woodcarving. I used to sell some awhile back.” He smiled. 

Yes, yes... He knew it was only a week. But he seemed like such a sweet young man who never got to have fun and express himself. Maybe he should run to the store and buy him a bunch of things, can’t say no until you’ve tried them all!

Oh no.

It was happening.

He was starting to bond with him

Tag list: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @moose-teeth @ill-eat-you-if-you-cross-me @yet-another-heathen @sillypizzazineoperator @freefallingup13 @alien-octopus

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ Thank you for reading!

my brain huuuurtttsss

BTHB Communication Suddenly Cut Off

@badthingshappenbingo

Original work!

Communication Suddenly Cut Off

******

Hero adjusted her shoulder, elbow on the arm of her chair. "No way!" She dropped her spoon into her bowl of cereal. "She actually said that to him?"

On the other end of the line, Friend laughed. "Oh yeah. I don't blame her a single bit! I mean, he was borderline stalking her. You remember when we were at Max & Erma's and he dressed up as a waiter just to see her? Insane."

Picking her spoon back up and shoveling it into her mouth, Hero mumbled a 'Yeah, guess you're right'.

"So what have you been up to? I missed you at the party today. You doing alright?"

Bending forward with legs bent on the cushion, Hero put her bowl on the coffee table in front of her. She grabbed her phone with a hand instead of holding it between her head and shoulder. Hero was cramping enough without having to take up weird body positions.

"I'm alright," she said. "Just exhausted from work, you know?" Exhausted from fighting a villain you hopefully know nothing about.

Friend was silent for a moment. "I get it. It sucks not seeing you though. Maybe we could have a movie night." Her voice pitched at this. "Be exhausted all you want that way. I'll get us some popcorn. And! I'll get the nacho cheese stuff to sprinkle over it!" Hero smiled in her seat. "I'll pick up a few movies from Redbox, too, so we don't have to watch a bunch of oldies. Okay, that's it. That's the plan. Now," Friend hummed then began mumbling, "It's five o'clock and Mom needs eggs from the store. I'll try to be there by-"

The line went fuzzy, a quiet chshhhhhh. "Friend? Hey, you're cutting out." Hero stood from the chair, walking to the window. Maybe there was better reception there? If it was on Friend's end then it didn't matter much, but she could at least try. "Friend? You there?" She pulled the phone away, the screen of her phone lighting up. Hero was on a second call. No name though. Weird. She hung up, or at least tried to. The screen hadn't changed when she tapped the little red phone. Hero tapped it again, but nothing happened.

Next time she tapped the counting timer that told her how long she was on a call with Friend. The phone call returned normally and the other disappeared. She shook her head.

"H-ero? I th-ink-"

Hero cut to the chase. The call wasn't getting any better. "What time?"

Chshhhhhh.

Damnit, Hero thought, and peeked at her phone again. 'Unknown Caller' it read for a second time. "Hello?" she said impatiently. No answer. "Hellooo?" Nothing.

She hit the home screen, tapping the text message icon then tapped on Friend's contact. 'Hey. Phones are acting weird. What time do you think you'll be here?' Hero typed. Hitting send, a red and encircled X appeared. 'Message failed to send' it said below. She touched the X and then touched where it said 'Retry'. The X reappeared. Hero repeated the process once. Twice. Three times. Four. Five. Nothing, nothing, nothing. "What the hell?" Her phone was slow sometimes, but never this bad. "She'll get here when she gets here I guess."

Her phone began to ring just as she tossed it on the couch across the room. Sighing, she went to pick it back up. 'Unknown Caller'. No. If it was important, they could leave a message or text her. Hero didn't pick up from numbers she didn't know, or from numbers that didn't appear on screen. She pushed the lock button on the side of the phone, rejecting the call.

"How rude, rejecting my call."

Hero froze. Her shoulders drew tight, her spine straightened so much that it cramped as badly as when she held her phone with a shoulder. Her jaw clenched and her eyes went wide, staring vacantly at the couch cushion in front of her. Was Hero breathing? If she was, she didn't feel it.

"Won't talk to me on the phone and now not in person either, hm?"

Goosebumps rose along her arms as she heard the villain stepping closer. How had he gotten in? She turned. "How did you find me? Where did you get my information? What else do you know?" Information being both her address and phone number, maybe even her specific phone if he was able to block her communications the way he did.

Villain looked so casual, he always did. You'd never expect him to be a madman who plotted humanity's demise. He looked like a fancy historian; brown pants, black turtleneck, plaid and half buttoned jacket. He had his hands planted in his pants pockets now. Hero still had no idea how he managed to get inside of her apartment.

He chuckled at her uptight-ness. "Can't we just chat for once- for a minute before you question my how-comings and motives?"

"No," Hero responded shortly.

Villain fake-pouted. "How's come? You and your friend seem great. I would love to gossip to you the same way."

Hero rolled her eyes. Her shoulders were still tense, but she was relaxing- not so far that she wasn't prepared, but just enough that she wasn't uptight beyond movement. "You didn't answer me. What else do you know? How did you learn anything about me?"

He smiled at her. "Now that's a fun story. Guess I get to monologue after all."

"Make it short."

"Or what?" He dazzled her with a wider smile, one that showed teeth. Was it just her or were they sharpened? It was just her, definitely just her- and her anxiety, her terror.

Villain strode to the chair Hero had been sitting in just minutes ago. He plopped down, ankle on knee, arms on either side. "Go on," he told her. "Sit."

"Maybe you should stand."

He chuckled without moving. "Darling, I don't think you understand how easy I have been on you. In multiple ways, actually." His eyes fell from her own to the couch behind her. "Sit." Villain looked at Hero again and she swore something changed in his eyes. They almost seemed darker. She obeyed.

"Now, I think you recall that little stalker of your friend?" Hero squinted, but nodded. "Did you know he's able to take up the appearance of anyone he wishes?" He didn't wait for a response. "In that, he's also able to project his own appearance onto bystanders, even control what they would do as him. Very talented, very...mindfully aware."

Hero shook her head. "Where are you going with this?"

He shushed her, softly, as if she was a baby. "He came under my employment about a month ago. Remind me," he said, "how long ago it was that your friend became ill."

Her eyes went wide and she nearly launched from her seat, realizing what he meant. Villain might attack her if she acted out so suddenly though. Hero remained seated.

"What have you done with her?" she demanded. It made sense what he said. Whoever his worker was, he made himself look like Friend 2 then made anyone else appear like him. But where was Friend 2 if she hadn't been with Hero and Friend all along?

"Nothing too dastardly. She isn't starving, but I'm sure she would appreciate a nice chicken dinner."

"And Friend?" she asked, somewhat panicked. Friend was okay, she had to be. Yeah, the phone call ended somewhat abruptly, but that was just because Villain interfered. Beyond that, she was fine, right?

Villain shrugged. "What do you think?"

Her eyes stung with tears she refused to let fall. She shook her head. "Why are you here? What are you doing?"

"Entertaining myself mostly. You're my opponent. I wanted to brag."

"I'll kill you," she swore. "If not tonight, I will find you like you did me, and I'll kill you when I do."

Villain's eyes twinkled from afar. "Cute. Very cute." He laughed heartily. "I told you already that I've been easy on you, right?" Again, he didn't wait for an answer. "I'm here for more than bragging rights. I want you to come with me. I've given you opportunity enough to back down on your own; I'm giving you another now. Come with, or I'll have to force your hand."

Her eyes became squinted and her lip lifted. "I'm sorry?"

"Surrender," Villain said simply. His legs uncrossed and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "If you don't I'll take you away forcibly."

Hero huffed a laugh. "As if you could. When have you ever bested me?" In truth, she was terrified. He was being serious, no amusement crossing his features. And the number of times he'd mentioned 'going easy on her'...what if he was telling the truth?

"Try something now then. Lunge at me." His lips were in a straight line. No emotion.

She considered him. Serious. He's serious. Villain was inviting her to attack him. Maybe she should take the opportunity.

Without another thought, she leaped from the couch, ready to tackle Villain, even though he was in a chair. She would have knocked the whole chair back if she could. But, something stopped her, a- a wall of sorts, one that glimmered like a bubble. "What-?" She touched that wall. Her fingers couldn't pass through. Shaking her head, she spun on a heel trying to return to the couch. Unfortunately she ran into another wall. "You're doing this," Hero muttered, facing Villain once again. She swallowed seeing his smile.

"So, you'll come with on your own. Otherwise I can push you along myself, and I think that would be rather humiliating, don't you?"

"This doesn't prove anything. You can push me, but you can't command me."

"Isn't it the same?" Villain sighed seeing Hero's fiery stubbornness. "Fine then. Let's have a little charade." He stood from Hero's chair, face forming into something...something Hero didn't quite understand. "I forgot to grab something to drink before I came here. Do you have something for me to drink, Hero?"

Her lips moved. "Yes, of course, Villain. Let me show you to the kitchen." Her hand flew to her mouth afterward. She hadn't said that. She hadn't said that. Hero's eyes found Villain's.

"Lead the way," he said.

Hero's feet moved on their own, leading the two to her kitchen despite how she tried to resist. She couldn't even feel herself pulling back. There was no resistance except for in her thoughts. She began unwillingly talking again. "There's some water bottles in the bottom right drawer. Fruit punch juice boxes on the left- though my younger cousin will be disappointed when she finds not only me missing, but her juice as well." 'When she finds not only me missing.' So this was how Villain would take her, by commanding her just like she said he couldn't.

What was almost worse was that what Villain made her say was exactly right. Water bottles, bottom right drawer. Fruit punch juice boxes in the left drawer. One of three things could have happened. One, Villain had that stalker, body-switching guy, go through her home while she was gone. Two, Villain himself went through her house while Hero was absent, or when he somehow snuck into her house while simultaneously messing with her phone today. Three, he had access to her mind. The last one would have sounded ridiculous if it weren't for the way Villain was controlling her now.

"You're realizing you have no choice now, aren't you?"

Hero nodded her head. She couldn't tell whether it was her doing it or if Villain was still possessing her. Either way, he was right.

"Why?" she asked. Villain tilted his head. Hero believed he could have gotten his answer if he wanted. Still, she continued, "Why are you doing this? Taking me? Is it not enough that you've taken my friends?"

Her body turned to the exit. She began walking through, walking to the front door of her apartment. They were really leaving. She was going to get sick.

"I'm tired of you fighting is all. It will be much easier to accomplish my goals if I don't have to worry about turning you away every time."

"Then kill me." She swallowed after she said it. Hero didn't really want him to kill her, but she also didn't want to be taken. Villain said Friend 2 was okay, not starving, but would certainly be happier if she was given more. Hero had a feeling she wouldn't be given the same treatment. Villain might actually starve her because of her putting a kink in all of his plans, for not surrendering when she was given multiple chances to.

"Am I really so awful to be around?" Villain asked behind her as she led the way to the elevators. "I should think my style makes up for any unpleasantness. This jacket was bought yesterday. I'm rather dashing in it, aren't I?"

Just as unwillingly as before, Hero said, "Yes, very."

******

Requests are accepted!

Past Times

Here’s my attempt at writing a Regency Period Drama. You can catch up on my Masterlist. My MC Elizabeth and her family are visiting her fiancé at his estate south of Edinburgh in Scotland. House guests are expected for the beginning of a series of balls and other amusements similar to the Social Season normally held in London. I’m not attempting to make this super accurate, I’m just fascinated by social history from this era and am having a little fun. My period AU, my rules! 

Word Count 2983

A/N No smut, mostly fluff, but this is an adult blog and will get more explicit so No under 18s

11 Company

After luncheon, the family gathered in the lounge to await the arrival of the next guests. Elizabeth practiced a tune on the piano, and her sister sat embroidering a sampler. It had been decided that after Amelia had been introduced to Tom and Dorothea, she would enquire as to whether Lady Margaret wished her to read to her. Sir James read his newspaper, and Lady Charlotte and Morag played cards together. John stood by Elizabeth’s side turning the pages as she played. From there he had a view of the driveway, and would see any new arrivals.

‘I see a carriage approaching’ he announced as Elizabeth took a break in playing to sip a glass of raspberry cordial. ‘I shall go and greet them outside – will you come with me, Lizzy?’

‘Of course’ she replied, and stood, smoothing back her hair ‘Do I look presentable?’

‘Always, my dear’ he assured her, but Lizzy turned in question to her mother, who nodded in approval. Together the couple went out to greet the guests while the others made themselves ready in the lounge. They arrived with a few seconds to spare, and the carriage, drawn by two fine chestnut horses, drew to a halt in front of the manor. Tom alighted first, and helped Dorothea out before turning to John, who embraced him and slapped him heartily on the back.

‘Welcome, welcome Tom. We will have a merry time now you and Dorothea are here. You’ve met my fiancé, Elizabeth Dalgliesh, if you recall?’ Dorothea made a little curtsey and stepped forward to take Elizabeth’s hand.

‘I well recall how rude Tom was when we met at Duddingston. I am so pleased that his ill manners did not deter you from accepting John’s suit’ she said, smiling brightly.

‘Not at all Dorothea, my mind was made up already and nothing would put me off, I assure you’ Elizabeth replied, and Tom turned to her and took her hand, kissing the back of it.

‘My apologies for my former misbehaviour, Miss Elizabeth. I am pleased John has found such a determined and forgiving soul to spend his later years with’ John dealt a playful blow to Tom’s shoulder.

‘Less of the later years, you scoundrel. You are but two months my junior, Tom’ he asserted. ‘Come inside, you must meet Lizzy’s family. I fear mother is not available yet, but I believe she may join us for dinner later.’

‘I’m sorry to hear she’s indisposed’ Dorothea said ‘I hope you do not mind if I call you Lizzy, my dear’ she said, squeezing Elizabeth’s arm. ‘I am determined we should be firm friends, for we women should stick together when there are such rascals as my husband about’

‘That is most acceptable’ Elizabeth replied ‘Do you know many of John’s other guests?’

‘I do indeed, for I grew up not far away, and know all the gentry in John’s social circle. I am sure that between us we can name each guest and tell each other their temperament, for I am not often in Edinburgh and you are almost certain to know those who visit from the city’ The four young people went inside the house to introduce themselves to the Dalgleish family, then going up to their room to settle in and prepare for dinner. Amelia was loathe to spend time with Lady Margaret, realising that the arrival of guests closer to her sister’s age might afford more entertaining activities. However, Elizabeth instructed her to make sure and read something uplifting and entertaining so that the Duchess might feel more able to take part in the gathering.

Tom and Dorothea chose to go for a walk in the grounds before dinner, and John and Elizabeth joined them. The conversation was lively, and Elizabeth knew it would be easy to share confidences with her female companion. Her friend Rosanna would be coming for but a short visit for the betrothal ball to be held in a week’s time. She herself now had her own beau and was spending much time with his family, so had little to spare for Elizabeth. However, the two young women wrote to each other regularly and kept each other updated on their love lives and other matters.

After their walk, Elizabeth went to dress for dinner. Amelia came into her room.

‘How did your visit with Lady Margaret go, Melly?’ she asked

‘She seemed more cheerful after I had read to her’

‘What did you choose?’ Amelia smiled mischievously

‘Lady Margaret has a collection of gothic novels. She reads much of Anne Radcliffe’s work, so we have chosen a book called The Romance of the Forest. I fear we shall not be reading it in public, but shall choose poetry should there be anyone to eavesdrop’

‘That sounds most exciting’ Elizabeth laughed ‘Who would have though that Lady Margaret had such tastes?’ The sisters helped each other prepare for dinner before going to their parents’ room for approval, and the family descended together. Truly there was no pressing need to dress grandly in the company of Tom and Dorothea, but Lady Charlotte thought it good practice for the upcoming ball and other dinners.

Lady Margaret was present at the meal, and looked a good deal better, having some colour in her cheeks and being more animated in her conversation. After dinner the men withdrew to the study for Sir James to get better acquainted with Tom. The ladies went to the drawing room, the older ones playing cards while the younger women sat and conversed until the men joined them. Dorothea was prevailed upon to play the piano, but Elizabeth was concerned about John’s agility with his injured leg as she played a merry dance tune.

‘I understand if you are not able to take a turn’ she said in a low tone, as music filled the air. Her hand rested on his forearm, and he patted it comfortingly.

‘I can manage the slower dances if I have had some exercise during the day’ he assured her ‘Our walk in the garden helped to ease it somewhat’ Elizabeth pulled out her fan and deployed it as colour rose to her cheeks.

‘Would that we were in the arbour alone again’ she replied ‘Though I must confess having Tom and Dorothea here has enlivened things somewhat’ John smiled

‘Their company is very agreeable, and it is good to have guests closer to our own age’ He patted her arm and raised his voice to address the room. ‘If Dorothea would oblige me in playing something a little more sedate, I invite everyone to take the floor in order to practice for the ball’ he announced.

Dorothea smiled, and Sir James and Lady Charlotte rose to take part, the furniture already having been arranged to make space. Tom asked Lady Margaret if she wished to dance, but she declined and suggested that perhaps Amelia would partner him. She blushed furiously, but Elizabeth reminded her that before long she would be taking part in dances that might cause her to dance with someone with whom she had very little acquaintance, and it was good practice for her. Timidly she agreed, and Tom promised to make her feel at ease.

Eagerly Elizabeth took John’s hand and the partners arranged themselves. Dorothea started to play a tune for the Cotillion. The dance needed only a very few couples, and they managed very well before they went on to attempt a reel. There were a few hitches in the changeover of partners which caused a great deal of laughter, and after that Elizabeth declared that it was a good opportunity to practice with friends so that they would not be embarrassed in wider society.

Lady Margaret had watched the dancing with a smile, and declared that the hour was late and she would retire for the evening. Lord and Lady Dalgleish politely followed her example, insisting that Amelia would also. She pouted a little but dared not complain in front of Tom and Dorothea, so did as she was told.

That left the two young couples to themselves, though Morag declared that she would be sitting in the hall to await Elizabeth’s lone departure to her room.

‘Oh Lizzy, I well remember the restrictions of a chaperone’ said Dorothea, leaning toward her and fanning herself. ‘Mine was an absolute fright and never went out of earshot if she could help it’

‘Morag did allow us a very few freedoms’ Elizabeth confided ‘but now I have accepted John’s proposal she is more lenient’

‘We should play some parlour games’ Dorothea cried

‘With only the four of us, there are few games we could play, my dear’ Tom said ‘Perhaps when there are more young people like ourselves we may indulge, but I have an idea to put to our dear friends’

‘Do tell’ Elizabeth begged ‘I dearly love my parents, but their pastimes can be dull, and I must be careful not to do anything improper for Amelia’s sake’ John looked wary.

‘Beware, Lizzy – Tom’s ideas of fun can be rather – extreme’ he warned her. Tom looked aghast

‘I was but going to propose a card game’ he protested ‘One in which we play for points’

‘Father will not allow me to play for money’ Elizabeth sighed ‘He always was wary of wagers and gambling, and his fears were realised with my former fiancé’

‘I was not thinking of money’ Tom smiled archly ‘I propose we pay with kisses’ Elizabeth gasped and fanned herself furiously, and Dorothea giggled, putting her hand on her friend’s forearm.

‘We have played this before, my sweet friend. You need have no fear of impropriety, for the person receiving the kiss may choose where it is bestowed. You may have a kiss on the hand or the cheek or wherever you will, and the person doing the kissing can also choose if they are uncomfortable’ Elizabeth felt a little thrill at the thought of perhaps gaining a kiss from John despite them not being alone, but she wasn’t sure just how proper it was. John leaned close to her.

‘You need do nothing you feel uncomfortable with, Lizzy’ he assured her ‘We can play for matchsticks if you prefer.’ Elizabeth sat in contemplation.

‘I only fear that mother and father would not approve, but what they don’t know cannot harm them, and we are engaged, after all’ Dorothea clapped her hands

‘Does that mean you will play?’ she asked eagerly, and Elizabeth took a deep breath.

‘Yes, I surely will. Why sit and be dull and proper when we can have a little fun?’ She looked at John, his eyes darkening and glittering at her boldness. He rose to fetch a deck of cards, and the others arranged themselves around the card table.

‘I propose that  we might be make our own rules’ Tom asserted, and Elizabeth looked dubious. ‘It’s simple – we each are dealt three cards, and count up the points, with aces high, and the highest scoring player will be the one to kiss the lowest. The loser may also choose to play a forfeit if they don’t wish to be kissed.’

‘But there is no skill in the game’ John protested.

‘Indeed, it is all chance, and is not love all a matter of chance?’ Tom laughed ‘We see a pretty face and fall in love, no matter what station or class that pretty face might possess’ Dorothea pouted.

‘I suppose that means you may try for the hand of a milkmaid if she be comely enough’

‘That is where society comes in’ John interjected ‘If one is poor, one is unlikely to marry rich’

‘We are fortunate to be comfortable in our way of life’ Elizabeth replied.

‘Indeed, and I believe in helping those in need’ John smiled ‘It is our duty to help those who cannot help themselves, if we can’

‘Enough of this virtue!’ Tom sighed ‘let us play’ He picked up the deck of cards and shuffled. Elizabeth felt her heart beat a little faster as he dealt. Her hand shook a little as she picked up hers , guarding them from John’s sight. She had a queen, a two and a five, which came to nineteen. She flicked her gaze to her fiancée, who smiled back at her reassuringly.

‘Count up’ Tom directed, leaning toward his wife to look at her hand. She batted at him and laid them down. She had but six points, and Tom had twenty, so Elizabeth sighed with relief. John had seventeen points and Tom rolled his eyes. Dorothea laughed.

‘You must kiss me then, husband’ She offered Tom her hand, which he grabbed and kissed, then proceeded to continue with small kisses up her arm to her shoulder, finishing up on her cheek. ‘Fie Tom, one kiss would have sufficed’ she protested.

‘One kiss is never enough with you, my dearest’ he murmured, gazing deep into her eyes. Elizabeth swallowed, and Tom gathered up the cards, handing them to his wife to deal out. This time John had the most points and Tom the least.

‘My dear Tom, I have no intention of kissing you’ he asserted ‘So I charge you to tell my intended the circumstances of our meeting’ Tom winced

‘That is a sad tale indeed’ he said glumly.

‘Only for you’ John laughed. ‘It is your forfeit, and you must do it’ Tom sighed heavily.

‘Very well. Miss Dalgleish, the day I met John he most likely saved my life, for I missed my step on the gangplank to the ship we were to serve on together, and he dove in to fish me out of the water’

‘That water was not the cleanest either’ John added ‘I swear I came out smelling worse than when I went in, and had to pay extra to have my uniform cleaned’ He took the cards to deal them out. Dorothea had the highest score and John the lowest. Tom frowned slightly as she rose from her seat and walked around the table. She leaned down to John and lightly kissed his forehead.

‘See, it is not so difficult’ she smiled ‘Elizabeth, should you lose to my Tom, this is all you must do’

‘This game will not last very long, I fear’ Tom sighed ‘It would also be better played with more participants.’

‘It grows late, and Lizzie’s chaperone is waiting’ John pointed out. ‘We don’t want to scandalise Sir James, we should retire soon.’ Tom nodded sagely, and the cards were handed to Dorothea. She dealt while Tom refilled everyone’s glasses with wine. Elizabeth felt a little light headed as she sipped, and turned her cards over, squinting a little to read them. She felt a flutter as she realised that hers was the highest count, but was dismayed to discover that Dorothea had the lowest. Tom smiled at the two women and his eyes darkened.

‘Surely you will kiss, my dears?’ he said hoarsely, shifting in his seat a little. Elizabeth felt a little dizzy as she rose to walk toward her new friend.

‘Do not fear’ Dorothea said softly ‘You may but kiss my hand’ Elizabeth blushed and leaned over to peck her on the cheek. A scent of jasmine and lavender greeted her, and her skin was soft. Tom’s eyes glittered as John shifted uneasily.

‘You are bold Miss Dalgleish’ Tom said throatily, and she went back to her seat swiftly, picking up the cards to deal again. She calculated that she had a low count, and scanned the faces of the others as they work out their hand. She turned her card over to show them.

‘I have but five’ she admitted ‘Who of you shall be the one to kiss me?’ All eyes were on John as he revealed his cards one by one, being two kings and an ace. Tom threw his hand down with a heavy sigh, and Dorothea smiled sweetly.

‘You and your sweetheart may have at it’ she asserted, revealing a hand of but two sevens and a two, and Tom with a king, a two and a three. John smiled and beckoned her, pushing his chair away from the table and patting his lap.

‘We should do this properly, my dearest, for I think after this we should retire’ She rose and approached, for him to take her hand and gently pull her onto his lap. After a pang of self consciousness, she threw her arms around his neck, surrendering to his warm solidity and inhaling the scents of leather and musk that rose to her. She pressed her forehead to his.

‘I can barely wait to be wed’ she murmured ‘To have the freedom to touch and be touched is my most fervent wish’

‘It is my wish too’ he assured her, gazing into her eyes before their lips met. Everything around her – the room and its occupants – vanished from her senses and she felt only his firm body and his lips, a little scratch from the stubble on his lip and chin that she had noticed developed over the day.

She snapped back to her senses as she heard a tap on the door.

‘Miss Elizabeth, the hour is late’ her chaperone was heard to say. The lovers broke their kiss and again rested their foreheads together.

‘Until tomorrow my dear Lizzie’ John murmured ‘I may perhaps visit you in your dreams’ Elizabeth rose, looking over at her new friends. Dorothea smiled sympathetically, but Tom looked away, somewhat embarrassed.

‘Until tomorrow, my dear John’ she replied, and curtseyed to the other two. ‘I enjoyed our game. It is wonderful to have you here and I hope we will have more fun in the weeks to come’ She went to the door and turned to blow a kiss before she left to go to her lonely bedchamber.

 @sirbeepsalot​ @camillemontespan​​ @dcbbw​ @rainbowsinthestorm​ @katedrakeohd​ @trappedinfandoms​ @kingliam2019​ @nomadics-stuff​ @texaskitten30​ @princess-geek​ @texaskitten30 @fluffyfirewhiskey

Fic writer interview

I was tagged by @captain-aralias to do this, so here I am:

Name: thisbluespirit.  I previously went by lost_spook and also a very long time ago as vvj5.  (You don’t get my real name, because unfortunately, it’s comparatively uncommon & too easy to find online).

Fandoms: I’m very multi-fannish.  I like the challenge of writing for different fandoms and getting the tone right and so on, and I also love exchanges, which often leads to writing unexpected gifts and treats when somebody’s prompt bites me hard.  As a result, I have quite a ridiculous number of fandoms, but my main ones are probably Doctor Who, Sapphire & Steel, Blake’s 7, Once Upon A Time, Spooks, The Librarians, Adam Adamant Lives! and a lot of very old British TV I love that few others do, like The Shadow of the Tower, the 1968 Dracula, Enemy at the Door, The Power Game and Public Eye and so on.  Recently I fell into the Star Wars Prequels fandom, which was a bit scary but very nice (it’s generally a friendly & very pretty corner of the GFFA) and I definitely want to write some more things for it, and not just Obidala.

Where you post: My fic?  To AO3, and before that (when I was much more mono-fannish) the Doctor Who archive, A Teaspoon and an Open Mind (which we refer to as “Teaspoon” - something that confuses non-DW people).  I once posted three non-DW works to ff.net, which I found so difficult and awkward, I never tried it again, especially not after it later on ate my scene breaks.  (ff.net’s war against scene breaks is apparently eternal and baffling).  Although I used LJ a lot (it was my primary fannish platform for years, and Dreamwidth still is), I was on it for the social and community aspect and find it strange to think of archiving fic there. I only posted it there if it was for a particular comm or meme or challenge being run there. 

Most popular one-shot: By kudos, this is my Yuletide treat where Miss Marple is a genius loci, and by hits, this is my flash ficlet where Miss Marple dusts Dracula.  I write hardly any Miss Marple, but when I die, she’ll be on my fannish tombstone and, at the end of the day, that’s probably a nice way to be remembered!

Most popular multi-chapter: This is impossible to say.  Since I’ve been so ill (for ten years now, much as I hate to say that aloud), I’ve written about 3 multi-chapter works, and only one of them was posted in progress, the others were posted complete.  The rest are very old and are either still only on Teaspoon, or I posted them to AO3 but backdated them, so these just aren’t comparable things.  None of them, being rare fandoms or in OW or backdated Doctor Who works, are popular in any case. The one with the most kudos is a Yuletide fic, The Poison Tree, for Dracula (1968).

Fic you were nervous to post: Lots of them!  The most nerve-wracking are gifts for exchanges, especially if they were serious or shippy, where I have to wait to find out if the recip liked them.  If I’ve written something fun and humorous I tend to know instinctively if it works or not, but when it’s serious, I just feel... terribly stupid and exposed until that comment from the recip, or someone at least, comes at last!

I think, particularly, some of the historical ones and the two Shakespeare ones, understandably, because it would be so easy to go out on a limb and just make a fool of yourself falling off: i love the rose both red and white, (sotT/15th C) his wonders to perform (even though it wasn’t for an exchange- it was a bit outside my usual and I’m still not sure if it really worked) (15th C RPF); movements of the mind (Twelfth Night) and Vigil (Measure For Measure).  The last two proved quite popular-for-Yuletide & I had some of my nicest comments ever on both, though, so obviously I did something right! \o/

How do you choose your titles? Well, either something comes, or I find a poem or song or proverbs quote or I just go dammit and come up with something simple. Remix is easier because you play on the original fic’s title, the fic and your fic, and that always seems to work.

I would worry about this, but I posted a whole bunch of meme fic that I just called “AU Meme: [Character’s Name]” and the summary for each one is “10 AU scenarios for [character] in a Dreamwidth meme” and people read those more than plenty of the others, which does kind of put the whole thing into slightly ironic perspective.

Do you outline? If it’s a long fic, to a certain extent, but only a few notes, or jotting down the ending and so on.  With shorter pieces (which most of mine are), less so, but usually the same things - this scene, or the ending or this line, or a research note or two where needed.

Complete: Number of completed works?  596 on AO3 (599 on my dash, but three are fanvids), but there are more at Teaspoon that I’ve never transferred over.

Do you take prompts?  I write nothing else these days, one way or another, most of the time - bingo squares, random generators, prompt tables, fests, exchanges, writing memes.  I just don’t take them generally, because I am still working on my last writing meme... from April (among other things).  But, yes.  I love prompts.

In progress: 0.  Well, no, actually, I tell a lie, there is one abandoned WIP on Teaspoon, which I started just before I became so ill, a Fifth Doctor crossover with the William Monk & Hester crime series.  Since it is abandoned, though, I don’t think it counts.

Coming soon: My Yule-fic.  Hopefully the last two from the AU Meme before the year is out, maybe a long origfic for Rainbowfic/genprompt_bingo I’ve been working on for ages, which is still in the editing stage, and I’ve a Good Omens/Doctor Who crossover in my notebook that I want to type up soon.  (I promised astrogirl on Dreamwidth I would.)

Tagging: whoever would like to do this and hasn’t been tagged yet - @allegoriesinmediasres @pers-books @human-nxture @luthienebonyx @scarletmanuka @maryellencarter & whoever wants to, feel tagged!  And if you’ve been tagged and you don’t want to, that’s okay, you’re excused.

Madam Dixon

by STEVE LAMBERT

What set the whole thing off was Sam Heintzman leaving a vase of long-stem roses on her front step. It was early still, around seven, and she heard something outside the front door. She peeked out the window and saw Sam waddling back towards his place across the street.  They were beautiful, the roses, and the ring in the middle of the vase were all open and singing, and the ones around the lip, for some reason, huddled in on themselves like little old ladies wrapped in shawls.  A tiny card taped to the vase read, “Let me know if you need anything.  My deepest sympathy.  –Sam.” She leaned in, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

Sam, who had been an engineer at the Cape, was recently retired.  His job had been something to do with making the tiles on the front of the space shuttles.  But now he alternated between working in his yard and sitting in a lawn chair in his driveway, drinking canned beer and admiring his landscaping while the sprinklers ran. He had almost no fingernails, and his fingers were nubby at the ends.  Nubbiness, she’d often thought, was his defining feature. On more than one occasion, she’d seen him pop a beer tab with his house key. She couldn’t imagine “needing” anything from him.

Rich and Sam hadn’t exactly been friends, but living so close to each other for so many years, they’d became steady acquaintances, treated each other in that excessively cordial way that people do who don’t know each other intimately; all those handshakes and nods and winks and courteous chuckles—affirming gestures, like two salesmen.  Plus they both spoke the dull Latin of lawn care.  She recalled how on late afternoons the two of them would walk slowly around their or Sam’s yard, each with a can of beer in hand, pointing at various imposters, pulling them up and naming them: tickseed, dollar weed, chick weed, etc., etc.  She didn’t know the language.  It was an easy way for them to be, but she saw the way Sam looked at her sometimes.  She thought Rich noticed, too, but he was not the jealous type.  Never was one to get territorial.  

              She didn’t really feel like visiting, but probably should, she thought, go thank him for the roses before it got too late.  For some reason, she thought about how hard she’d found it to be alone at night, especially not being a sound sleeper. That was the most pronounced absence she felt in the wake of Rich’s death—his not being there, next to her, when she lay in bed at night.  It was just her now when she’d wake up at two or three in the morning; her and the intermittent sounds of the night settled down around the house, gently crushing it into the dirt, like a child slowly pressing its soft, fat hand down on a toy it has decided is no longer fun to play with.

She glanced over at the vase of roses on the bar, where she’d put them, and decided to walk over to Sam’s and invite him for lunch.  Why not? She thought. It’s a neighborly gesture. It would be an imposition for me, to go to lunch, but it would probably mean a lot to him. Anyway, it’s the right thing to do.  

 He answered the door in his usual attire: plaid shorts, white V-neck and flip-flops—big grin on his round face.  “Madam Dixon,” he said in a voice like a retired boxer’s, and bowed, his rubber flip-flops squealing under the strain.  

“Sam,” she said, “the flowers are lovely.  Thank you for them—and the card.  It was very nice of you.” She didn’t mean to sound dismissive but thought maybe she had. She hoped he hadn’t noticed.

“Come in, come in,” he said, moving to the side, and she reluctantly stepped into the dark living room. She found herself wondering if was her first time inside his house. A couch hunkered to her immediate right, and a small hallway stretched out beyond it.  Light funneled in from the back of the house. Particles floated and swirled around in the rays of light like nebulae.

“Thank you,” she said.  No, I must have been in here before, she thought, but couldn’t think of a single time she had.

“Have a seat.” He pointed to the couch, and then touched a stout finger to his nose, as if nudging it into place.

“It’s rather dark in here, don’t you think, Sam.”

“I guess it is if you’re coming in from outside,” he said, and he opened the blinds. Light slanted in in thin layers. He winced a bit.

“How’s that, madam?”

“You don’t have to call me that, you know,” she said.  Now that Rich is gone, she thought, it seems silly somehow.  She had been “madam” to his “Colonel.”  

“Oh, it’s just for fun,” he said.  “Would you like something to drink?  A cold adult beverage, perhaps?  I have some Busch in the fridge.”

“No, thank you, Sam. I just stopped by—”

“I believe I’ll have one, if you don’t mind.”

While he was gone she noticed a very large framed photograph on the wall, opposite the couch, of a space shuttle blasting off of a launch pad.  She pointed it out when he returned with his beer.

“Oh, her.  She’s the Columbia. A real beautiful craft.  The first to go to space.…April twelve, nineteen eighty-one.” He clicked his tongue then sipped his beer.  She found it mildly irritating that he referred to it as “her,” but didn’t dwell on it because she realized something.

“Rich took me to that launch, Sam.  We were there, at the—what do you call it—where the bleachers are? Where everyone watches?”

“The Causeway?” He slightly tipped the beer can and slurped, like he was trying to be extra careful not to spill any.

“That’s it. The NASA Causeway.  That’s where we were. We’d been transferred to Patrick about, I don’t know, a month prior—from Barksdale, in Louisiana.  He was so excited about that—getting to see that first shuttle launch.”

She remembered: on the way to the Cape, Rich driving huddled up close to the steering wheel, pointing up at the sky, and her just sitting there listening. “Folks who’ve been to rocket launches say you can watch it the whole way up. You can see everything: the glint of sunlight on the metal, the tower of smoke, like a string of popcorn, like on a Christmas tree—everything.  Takes maybe an hour to disappear, to dissipate.  Course, this’ll be a little different.”  Neither of them knew exactly what a shuttle was, but he made it sound much more interesting than she would have found it all by herself. The car swerved a little under the strain of Rich’s excitement.

And it was something. And crowded with people—people with binoculars and telescopes and wearing sunglasses and wide-brimmed hats and men in shorts and Hawaiian-print shirts, open at the front.  One woman chased a little boy, who was about three, in circles.  She was short, but pretty, and had on a black one-piece bathing suit.  The little boy chuckled as his young mother chased after him, one hand keeping her sun hat on her head. And they all watched it lift off and go up and it all seemed so slow, but it wasn’t slow, it was fast, hundreds of miles per hour, but from where they stood everything was happening in slow motion, beautiful and vivid and big.

“It was a big deal, Madam. Very exciting.”  Sam walked closer to the photo, swigging as he moved, like a kid with a glass of milk. She half expected him to start blowing bubbles in his beer. “Who knows,” he said, “the guy or gal who took this picture might have been standing right next to you.” He looked away from the photo. “Barksdale,” he said, and scratched at the top of his blotchy bald head. “Seems like I’ve been there…”

She watched him and wait for more, but nothing followed.

“Sam,” she said, “I was wondering.  Do you have any lunch plans?” It seemed absurd the second she said it. Of course he didn’t. She imagined him opening a can of tuna and eating straight out of it with a fork.

“Oh, well,” he said.  He put the beer can down on the coffee table and scratched at his head again.  He moved closer to the wall with the photo of the shuttle on it. He put a hand on the wall, like he was bracing himself for a dizzy spell.

This can’t be happening, she thought.  He isn’t even attractive. He’s an old troll. I don’t like him a bit, to be honest. Drinking beer this early in the day.  She got a flush feeling and her face felt warm.  He thinks I’m a sad, pathetic old widow.

“I do, as a matter of fact, Marie.  I’m going out to the—” He looked at his watch.  “And won’t be back till—Maybe we can—”

“Oh, that’s fine,” she said.  She stood up, shook her head.  “Really. It’s fine.”  She thought she might start crying, which was completely out of the question.  This is not a rejection, she told herself. It’s just bad timing.

“Well,” he said, and he smoothed the palms of his hands across his shirt front.

“No need to explain, Sam.  It’s fine,” she said, smiling. She found that she was pressing on her hair with one hand. She made herself stop. “Rain check,” she added, without having thought about it beforehand.

“Yes!” he said, happy to have a word for the awkwardness he felt.  “Rain check, indeed, madam.”

 She watched from her living room window as Sam got into his burgundy Chrysler and pulled out and sped off down the road and out of sight.  Where is he going so fast? She thought.  She picked one of the roses from the center of the bouquet and smelled of it.  Its scent was so faint that she couldn’t think of a word to describe it.  He’d said he wouldn’t be back till late.

 She’d loved Rich, she often thought, because he made her feel like somebody. In the beginning, when they were dating, she’d felt unfamiliar to herself when she was with him. Later, after they were married, the wife of an Air Force officer, she felt confident and important. Initially, anyway. She loved him for that, for that gift he probably didn’t even consider a gift.  She loved it better than any jewelry or flowers or exotic getaway. It felt almost permanent, and it was real. But things always change. Things didn’t get better or worse—they just changed.  They were two people in a habituation together. She continued to love him, and she supposed he still loved her.  But towards the end it wasn’t a gift so much as an ill-fitting pair of jeans you can’t bring yourself to give away because you are sure you’ll fit back into them some day.

 She waited till dusk.  She put on dark clothes and her old running sneakers and grabbed the flashlight out of the catchall drawer in the kitchen. She preemptively took two Ibuprofen. If I have to do any climbing or crawling or anything I’ll be sore tomorrow, she thought. It was very quiet outside.  

She checked his side door, the one that goes into the garage, and it was unlocked, of course. No one locked up in their neighborhood. There was no need to. It smelled like gasoline and fertilizer in the garage, and the smell made her feel lightheaded.  She lifted the mat at the foot of the door that led from the garage into the house, but didn’t find a key. she shone the flashlight around until she saw a little metal hook on the wall, to the left of the door, with a ring of keys hanging on it. She tried five before she found the right one. Before she turned the key in the lock she took a moment to consider what Rich would think of this.  Presumably, she thought, he could be watching me at this very moment.  What do you think, Rich? she whispered. It gave her the creeps to hear her voice in the dark, stinky garage.  She heard something scurry and thought rat or possum and inserted the key and quickly entered the house.

In the yellow glow of the flashlight bulb the photograph looked mythic. She immediately had an urge to cry, standing there looking at it with what amounted to a spotlight on it.  For the first time in a month she was feeling the full weight of her grief. Before she knew it she was sitting on Sam’s couch looking up at the photograph, sobbing—like a proper widow, she thought.  What an odd place for mourning?  But the photo captured something, and not just the shuttle launch—that was secondary—but the color and feel of that day, that point in time.  The quality of light.  A small bit of her life, as it had been once, paused—a crystalized memory she’d forgotten she had.

She got up and walked over to the picture and put the flashlight right on it. Maybe if I look long enough I’ll find us, she thought, me and Rich, with our hands shielding the sun from our eyes, watching the shuttle climb up towards space.  Maybe I’ll find the petite young mother and her little boy. She looked and squinted and searched the photograph.  But she needed more time with it.  Most of the onlookers were blurry. It was too dark now. The shuttle, lifting off, and the dense exhaust, were the most vivid things. She stared so hard that things got distorted and she started to zone out. She imagined Sam ripping his nubby fingernails off and sticking them to the black nose of the spacecraft.  He ripped one off and stuck it on and went for another one.  Then he took a sip of beer. Disgusting old troll, she thought. Who drinks beer in the middle of the day, anyway?  

A few minutes passed and she pulled herself together. She sat and stared at the huge thing hanging there on the wall until a light from outside grew and intensified and she realized that it was the headlights from Sam’s car, shining in through the window as he pulled into the driveway.

She wasn’t sure what to do. She heard the car door slam. She turned off the flashlight and put it in her back pocket and carefully hoisted the photograph off the wall and crept, bent over, to the door that let out to the garage. From inside the garage, she heard the key in the front door, heard it turn and the door open. Sam sighed as he closed it. She slowly put the keys back on the hook by the door in the garage. She paused and heard an interior door, a bedroom door. She left the garage and stole quickly across the street, tip-toed home in the dark, the picture under her arm, like a cat burglar.  But what I’ve done doesn’t feel like stealing, she thought, as she sat the photograph against the wall in her bedroom. She took the flashlight out of her pocket and sat on the edge of her bed. It feels like something else. Feels like a resurrection.

()

Steve Lambert’s writing has appeared, or is forthcoming, in Saw Palm, Chiron Review, New Contrast (South Africa), The Pinch, Broad River Review, Longleaf Review, Emrys Journal, BULL Fiction, Into the Void, Cowboy Jamboree, Cortland Review, and many other places. In 2015 he won third place in Glimmer Train’s Very Short Fiction contest and in 2018 he won Emrys Journal’s Nancy Dew Taylor Poetry Prize. He is the recipient of four Pushcart Prize nominations and was a Rash Award in Fiction finalist. He is the author of the poetry collection Heat Seekers (CW Books, 2017), the chapbook In Eynsham (CW Books, 2020) and the fiction collection The Patron Saint of Birds (Cowboy Jamboree, 2020). His novel, Philisteens, will be out May 2021, and his second full-length poetry collection, The Shamble, will be out in October, both with Close to The Bone Publishing. He lives in Northeast Florida, with his wife and daughter, where he teaches part-time at the University of North Florida.  

House of M- Redone (part 4)

N/A: This idea came to me in a feverish dream. Ok, thank God I wasn´t with a fever...but the idea came as if I was so...anyway. I have an idea for the villain in this story, thank God again.

@dannybagpipesarecalling @tieflingteeth @muninandhugin @djinmer4

Genosha has rules. Genosha needs rules to function even though, some misguided people seem to relish on the illusion that "if you´re a mutant, you´ve got a free pass to do anything" which the royal family is doing their best to disprove that. King Magneto´s marks still can be felt and sometimes, only sometimes, the royal family has to admire the tenacity of their father. If nothing else.

Rules are needed and no one is above law. Kurt Wagner is one of those people that work to make sure power doesn´t corrupt, at the same time, making sure power doesn´t go impune. The Red Guard has a reason to exist and Kurt has reasons to fear excess of power.

If we ever oppress the oppressed ...how can we ever dare to call us as Red Guard?

Thankfully, right now, is one of those moments where his true nature shines. "Is everyone present?" his golden eyes goes to Bobby Drake, one of Piotr´s victims or almost victims, then goes to Kitty Pryde- too silent and too composed to let anyone read her expressions- and finally to Illyana Rasputin the sister of the culprit.

"I´m waiting for my lawyer" is Yana´s only replies and she´s a reward by Roberto da Costa entering in the main office of the Red Guard´s headquarters spotting an easygoing smile. Then his eyes lock on Yana and both start talking in a different language.

Kurt follows Kitty´s expression and it seems she´s lost as well. Roberto da Costa aka Sunspot is a lawyer and was born and raised in Brazil, therefore, is no wonder he´s speaking in his native language. His golden eyes watch the scene for a moment and land back to Kitty. She too appears to be clueless about what they´re saying.

Bobby Drake, however, seems to not mind this interaction.

"Ok, I´m apart of the situation" Roberto uses a more professional tone. "I´ll represent Yana, Kitty and Bobby" his eyes linger to the Ice mutant for a moment, asking for permission, and said mutant nods solemnly. "In regards to what just happened" and faces Kurt now. No more easy-going smiles.

Kurt can be professional as well. Is his job and his career. " Piotr Rasputin was arrested for attempted murder on Bobby Drake" the ice mutant is not happy about it and shows no inclination of forgiveness. "As well to Kitty Pryde" and Kitty looks too unreliable. He doubts even Kwannon would be able to get through her mind.

Maybe ...she´s from project X after all.

"The victims present charge against the mutant, but, no one here wishes him to spend his entire life in...Rockbell" Kurt concludes and Kitty looks at Yana only nodding softly. A message was sent and Kurt is clueless about it.

"No one here wants that, but, we want justice...so, what´s the alternatives?" Roberto begins with a very pointy inquiry. "The laws of Genosha are too absolute. So as everyone here already vetted out for Rockbell, the only remain options are Expulsion, blocking off their abilities, or SweetBells!" his tone is sharp and focus.

"And I ask you, Red Guard Nightcrawler if we really have any choice here"  Roberto tries again. Kurt sighs and is bound to speak the truth. If we oppress the oppressed ...what´s the point?

"Normally, that would be a choice linked only to the victims and the system, however, it comes to our attention that Piotr Rasputin has done something similar to a man named Pete Wisdom...while he was saved by a nick of time...is still an aggravating" and his golden eyes seem to shine even more in direction to Yana Rasputin. "His options are really trim here...your brother seems to have a severe anger issue and presents to be a problem to everyone around him"

Maybe it was harsh. But, also true.

Kitty rose from her chair in the exact moment Yana, muttering something in Russian, is hiding her face behind her hands. "Is my fault...I should have done something ...when Piotr tried to kill Pete...I was naive and stupid to think he would stop..." she confessed.

And Yana slams her fists on the table hard. Too hard to the point a crack is made. "Shut up, Katya. This is not your fault...if anything, it should be mine...I saw the signs...I saw what he was becoming but...I didn´t do anything" her tone is crestfallen for a moment until her eyes shimmer a hellish hue. "My brother has demons to face and that I can understand more than anyone in this room"

No one spoke against such a claim. Magik has a heavy story.

Roberto looks at Yana and nods. "A compromise can be made. Sent him to the SweetRock and his powers will be blocked until he´s deemed to be better. Justice will be served and everyone will be in agreement" Roberto suggests.

Bobby wants to complain. Bobby wanted to complain but Kitty´s eyes stop him.

"If that happens...your brother will be there for a long while" Kurt warned. The SweetRock doesn´t work like other institutions, Piotr may as well spend his entire life in that place.

"Yes, I know, and considering what he tried to do...that´s too good for him" Yana states. "Can I go see him? Can I show him how much this displease me?" her face twisted into something demonic and Kurt almost back down. Almost.

Kitty is the voice of reason. "Yana, don´t! Anger won´t solve more anger" and again, those two send secret messages and Kurt is curious about their past.

"If Katya says so...you feel safer this way? If you prefer him to be exiled and without powers...I´ll understand" Yana has to say it.

"I did consider this...but, no...SweetRock is a good option" for you, she mentally adds. The conversation is over.

"My client, Yana Rasputin may visit her brother in the facility?"

"Not after 2 months"

"That..." Yana nods at Roberto. "is agreeable"

And the conversation shifts to insurance policies. A mutant going crazy, for whatever reason, and trying to kill you does warrant you some compensation.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

Once putting the laws aside, life goes on. Kitty is a teacher and has to continue to do her job. She can´t help feeling bad for Yana (imagine if your brother tried to kill two people in an angry fit!) and won´t lie by saying Piotr deserved worse, however, she wouldn´t dare to inflict more pain in Yana´s life.

Her nose tracks the strong scent of brimstone and turns right to see Nightcrawler again. "Hello?"

Nightcrawler is still with his uniforms. Kitty can look at him up and down and understand why he´s so popular, yet not understand why he´s here of all places.

"I came here to see you...Before the fiasco with Piotr...I wanted to tell you the Juggernaut´s case has been dealt...he won´t cause any trouble ever again" there´s conviction in his tone. Sure, Kitty will be thankful.

Kitty blinks at this and then snaps her fingers. "Oh, yes. I completely forget about this, thanks...I guess."

She...forget?

"And I´m also here to ask you..." and Kurt believes the best defense is a quick attack. "if you´re a subject from the program X"

Kitty is deadpan staring at him. Too pointy and too bemused for his like.

"No, actually I was part of the program WXYZ" and stares at him pointy.

"You´re making fun of me...aren´t you?"

"One of many qualities I learn in the WXZY is subtle" and wink at him.

"So...you´re not from Program X?"

And Kitty chuckles leaving Kurt behind. She needs to laugh. Kurt can pick a new theory.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

Wanda Maximoff is one of the most powerful mutants in the world. A fact no one let her forget and also, a fact that often comes with lots of burdens. One of its perks though is how no one would dare to pick a fight with her. Not that Polaris and Quicksilver aren´t powerful, but, the Scarlet Witch is another level.

However, as she stares at the lifeless body of her biological father-Magento and her may share DNA. Django Maximoff is the one who raised her and is her and Pietro´s father for real- Wanda can´t help by biting her bottom lip and let her eyes be as crimson as the moniker Scarlet Witch suggests.

Lorna is the one to break the silence. "So, is really not Wakanda or Atlantis that is after us..."

Pietro looks down at his biological father- Django is his father for real- not daring to touch the body. Not daring to speak ill about the dead either. "...There´s a message here" and is no metaphor.

There´s a small message next to Magneto´s body.

Wanda waits for Pietro to read for them.

"I´m back to return what´s mine"

And Lorna´s eyes wide. "Wait...how many people know about the real history of Genosha?"

"Few people and fewer are still alive...Another case of Dad´s henchmen wanting revenge" Wanda is not happy. "And if they plan on attacking Genosha...it means they´re tired of living" is her final words as she uses her magic to change the coffin in something more proper to Magneto. "We have a funeral to do. Our Jewish father deserves this much"

Get A Grip III - Epilogue

pairing : draco/fem-y/n 

word count : 3.3k

warning(s) : mentions of healing/PTSD/war/sex, lots of fluff.

requested : sort of??

a/n : i just wrote this in one sitting! lol. i hope this is satisfying?? i know a lot of my stuff ends on cliffhangers so I decided not to do that for this one. give me some feedback pls! love u! hopefully this doesn’t come off as rushed??

tag list : @kaibie​  @acciodracoo​  @drawlfoy​  @war-sword​  @socontagiousimagines​

Part I II

Y/N’s life as a healer was nothing short of tedious on paper. But she still loved it.

After having received specialised training for treating those impacted by war, trauma and violence post her basic healing certification, her schedule remained full, full, full, thanks to the Second Wizarding War, of course. Everyone and their mother was impacted and gravely so. Thanks to the Ministry’s work towards spreading awareness about the mental implications of war and trauma, everyone had been encouraged to seek support. 

Her ward at St. Mungo’s remained constantly occupied, with the people who were permanently disabled as a result of the violence of the war taking up beds and pretty much being forced to spend the rest of their lives there. It was heartbreaking, but she had to keep her head up high and help them move on. She’d been lucky enough to be able to cool down the impacts the war had had on her in time enough to complete her schooling and be able to work towards achieving the goal she had desired ever since her seventh year at Hogwarts.

Her clinic times were full as well, with her having to both counsel and treat afflicted patients. There were some familiar faces here and there, old friends and teachers and classmates from Hogwarts. And also, the others who’d been in the cellar along with her. Sure, a hospital wasn’t an ideal destination for her to meet others, but it was the only place she seemed to have time for. The little time she got off, she’d stay home, reading up and attempting to expand her knowledge of post traumatic stress disorder based on Muggle research. (Someone had to put in the effort for the rest of the Wizarding World, right?) Romance wasn’t something she put effort into anymore. Sure, she’d had a few affairs, but.. she wasn’t actively looking for something, not when she was so busy. 

But sometimes, the best things come when you least expect them to. 

Y/N was sitting at her desk, writing off yet another prescription of Potion for Dreamless Sleep (something that was so greatly helpful to those suffering with mental illness, you’d never have thought!) for a previous patient. She soon finished writing notes about the frequence of the dosage they were permitted and charmed the parchment to go to the patient’s hand. 

She checked her list and almost froze as she read the name of her next patient. 

Malfoy, Draco. 

Age : 27. (D.O.B. : 5th June, 1980.)

Blood Status : Pureblood. 

Nationality : British.

Ailments : 

Diagnosed with PTSD at 18. Now mostly recovered. 

Suffered severe physical damage and faced Cruciatus curse at a young age, has some sensitivity to loud noises, flashing lights, etc.

Suffered dark magic curse at 16, left with minor scarring on abdomen. No other permanent effects.

Hereditary concerns : skin hypersensitivity, family history of osteoporosis.

Prescriptions : 

Potion for Dreamless Sleep. (Taking regularly for 10 years.)

There was a name she hadn’t seen in years. She’d thought about him, sure. But they hadn’t stayed in contact at all. She usually learned the most about him through the Daily Prophet, where she’d recently learnt he’d been seen talking to a woman at a party. Huh. There really wasn’t much to report about anymore, it seemed. Maybe that was something to be grateful about?

Most of what was on his sheet was expected, when she’d last seen him, at Hogwarts, during their 8th year, which most of the others in their year had chosen to forego, she remembered he was still taking the potion. The only oddity was his continued prescription.. most patients would basically be ‘weaned’ off of it by their fourth or fifth year of treatment.. why had Draco been taking it for twice that long?

Either way, she kept staring at her door a bit nervously, awaiting his entry. There was a soft knock at the door and she bit down on her lip. “Come in.” And then.. He.. walked in. 

She offered him a smile and ushered him over to the chair in front of her desk.

 “Hello, Draco.” 

He was wearing dark robes, his height still prominent as he stepped into the room. His hair seemed to be a bit longer than she remembered it, a few pale strands covering his forehead but still styled meticulously. He seemed obviously more mature, and a bit less skinny than the boy she remembered. There were slight wrinkles on his face, under his eyes, which could again be traced back to the stresses of war, most likely.  

“Good afternoon, Y/N.” He looked at her with an eyebrow raised. “I.. I recognised your name but I didn’t know whether it was really you. I should’ve brou-” For some reason, she forced out a slight giggle. “That’s no-no problem at all, really. I was a bit surprised when I saw your name too.”

“I usually have my check ups with uh.. Healer Bole? I thought it was him again, but the name on the door confused me.” “He’s taken some time off these past few days. That’s why they must have assigned you to me instead.” “I suppose…”

Y/N looked straight into his eyes as an awkward silence rose into the room. His grey pupils stared right back at hers, blinking very slowly. What were you supposed to talk about with someone you’d been close to ten years prior? 

Oh, right, she was supposed to be healing him. Thank god there was no need for any actual small talk between them. 

“So, what brings you here today? If you need counselling or anything, I probably shouldn’t do it since we know each other personally an-” “Oh, oh, no. I just needed to refill my prescription.” “For Potion of Dreamless Sleep?” “Yes.” “Right.. Before I do that, could I ask you about it..?” “Um, sure?”

“Well.. I wanted to know.. how come you’ve been taking it for so long? I don’t know if you know, but patients are only recommended to take it regularly for a maximum of five years.”

“I.. I need it. I can’t sleep without it. The nightmares are still awful.” “But you’ve been.. taking it regularly ever since th-”

“I have.” “So.. how do you know the nightmares are just as bad?” “Well.. um.. I’ve tried sleeping without it, it didn’t work out well for me.” “For a night?” “Yes.” “Well, I’d like for you to try it again, for a few nights. We can send in a nurse for you, if you want.”

He looked at her with a slightly pained, irritated expression.

“Must I..? Bole would give me the prescriptions just fine.” She hesitated for a second, then thought through what he’d just said. “Bole was.. making a mistake, I think. Did he know you’d been taking it for that long?” “I’ve been seeing him all along.” “You’re kidding!” “I’m not..”

Wow, had she just discovered her colleague had been engaging in medical malpractice? Taking the easy way out of a complicated situation? Surely, there had to be more to this, right?

“Did he never ask you to try..?” “He did, but after I told him it didn’t go well the first time he seemed fine with just continuing to prescribe it to me.” “I see..” Hmm. Bole had definitely not done the right thing. It sounded terribly lazy. He was risking Draco developing an addiction just so that he wouldn’t have to put in actual effort to heal him. When dealing with a case as such, patients were often kept in the ward for observation, but obviously Bole hadn’t even brought up the possibility of the same to Draco. A complaint was going to have to be filed, it seemed.

“I hate to inform you of this, but I feel Bole might have done the wrong thing in this case.”

“Oh..?” “Yes, I will again insist you try to forego potion for a few nights. There are major potential implications of using it for as long as you have, and we can avoid any actual damage if we can have you give it up soon.”

“But.. Y/N.. I..” “Come on.. “ She bit at the inside of her cheek. “Like I said before, we can have a nurse come in for you and observe. And also.. It’s Healer Y/L/N to you, Mr. Malfoy.” He smirked at this and set his hands on his lap, taking a deep breath. 

“You know what, Healer Y/L/N? I might be willing to try.. but.. I don’t want a nurse to come in. I want you to.”

Her eyes widened and she reached for the quill on her desk, fiddling with its fibres. When an ex challenged you as such, were you supposed to take it? The feelings he used to stir inside of her had long faded and she was sure the both of them had moved on as much as the other had, it was a mutual break up, in the end. Was this supposed to be related to that..? Was he.. Actually interested? Or was he just playing games? 

Did it even matter? Life was getting a little boring. Something a little out of the ordinary for her would be fun, for sure.

“You know what? Sure.”

***

It was seven o’clock on Friday evening when she finally finished up with all her work at St. Mungo’s and headed home, ready for the night that lay ahead of her. 

She slipped out of the lime green uniform robes she wore to work and went through her wardrobe, confused. What the hell was she supposed to wear? Definitely not something inappropriate, not something overly casual, and not something too fancy either. In the end, she was going over to his place to watch him sleep, and hopefully manage to sleep herself, not to sleep with him. (She was quite tired, admittedly.)

In the end, she decided to wear a pair of pyjamas (white with purple stripes!) just out of spite. Would it be a turn off? Huh, possibly. Would it be funny? For sure. Would it be embarrassing? ..maybe, but hopefully not.

And so she did exactly that and apparated to his home. One she’d only visited years and years ago. 

It was just as grand as it was then. Probably a bit more wellkept now. Obviously so, since it had been 10 years since the war had struck.. since she’d been trapped inside that very cellar. And for a second, she just stood there, processing her memories. She was not going to let the sight of this house cause her to relapse, absolutely not. It had been years. Many years since then. She’d gotten over it. She didn’t need to think about it. 

Slowly but steadily, she made her way through the gate and into the estate. The hedges were gorgeous, trimmed to perfection and even with the sun down, the lamps set every few steps along made everything look even more.. perfect. Draco really did live in the lap of luxury. He always had.

She walked to the door and used the snake-shaped door knocker (Christ!) a couple times, staring up at the tall hardwood door as it suddenly opened. 

And of course, it was him. Him. In a blue cotton button up shirt and silky pyjamas. Cute.

“Good evening, Healer Y/L/N. Do come in. Nice outfit.” He took a step back and held the door open. “Good evening, Mr. Malfoy.” She stepped in, looking around curiously. 

It was all different. Draco had switched up the layout considerably. Gone was the dark and gloomy aesthetic that had presided over the interior of the house before. Everything was white now. Off-white, perhaps, like the color you’d call marble. The palatial chandeliers still hung from the ceilings, but that was all that remained the same. Everything else was brighter. She was glad to see it was so.

“Having a look around, are we?”

“Well, what do you expect, Draco? It’s been.. so many years.. It looks beautiful, by the way.” “Thank you, interior design by yours truly.” “I thought as much.. your taste has improved a bit, I’d say.” She smiled up at him.

The change was definitely helpful towards her not feeling panicked at the sight of the place. It actually looked.. inviting, to some extent. 

“Glad to hear you think so, Healer.” “Right, so, were you going to get to bed?” “This early? I thought we were going to have dinner first.” “I.. had some dinner at work. Quite a bit, actually.” “That’s too bad.. I just had Golby set out the table for us. Nice food too.”

“You can have it, if you like. I’m just here for work, am I not?” “.. Y/N..” He rolled his eyes. “No formalities between us, please.” “It’s not a formality. It’s protocol.”

He set his hand on her shoulder and she almost winced. “Please? For me?” “Ugh.. fine.”

***

Sitting beside him on the table brought back memories. Pleasant ones. Of all the times they had together. The first true ‘moment’ they had between them wasn’t one she liked looking back at all that much. It was unpleasant and could still trigger an anxiety attack. 

But everything after..

She could remember the joy that had filled her upon seeing Draco stumble into Shell Cottage that same day. He was wounded, badly, but he was alive. He could be healed. She’d helped Fleur as much as she could with all the healing after that point, and she took up a mattress right next to where Draco had been put to sleep, and she took care of him, personally. He was beyond grateful, as he’d told her a few days later.

And she was beyond grateful to Harry and Ron. They’d actually listened to her when it would have been so easy to just ignore her. She knew they’d hated him like anything at school, and it had truly elated her to see Draco again, actually alive. 

They’d spoken to Draco and he was actually willing to help them. He told them of the plans he knew the Death Eaters were working on. It wasn’t quite a lot to go off of, since apparently, You-Know-Who had begun to distrust the Malfoy family, but it was still helpful. Draco even told her he basically saved their lives by lying for them, and they’d basically returned the favour. She wasn’t sure about the specifics, really. All she knew was that they’d somehow balanced out what they owed each other. 

They’d spent a while at Shell Cottage before being moved over to a different safe house. Draco was the Death Eater’s biggest target at that point, and he had grown very, very scared. For some reason, it was decided that the two of them would go to the Tonks’ house. To Andromeda’s house. To Draco’s estranged aunt’s house. He felt even more afraid.

She’d been shunned out of their family! All because she’d eloped with a muggle born. He was afraid she wouldn’t take much of a liking to him, but.. it was completely different to what he’d anticipated. She welcomed with open arms, treated him like her own son. Everything was just fine. Or at least that’s what it seemed like.

The ‘Battle of Hogwarts’ came to fruition before them and the two of them stayed far from it, the lack of wands rendering them useless in such chaos. Obviously, after the conflict, they were off in search of their families. Draco’s was glad to have him back alive, as was hers. They’d apparently fled from the country the instant they realised she’d been kidnapped by the Death Eaters. 

But.. of course.. she was then forced to spend quite a lot of time at St. Mungo’s. PTSD. Thankfully, she was far from alone. Practically every other person even partly involved with the conflict was also undergoing some sort of treatment post war. And right after a particular therapy session, when Draco’d asked her to join him for a pint at the Leaky Cauldron, was when repressed feelings came out into the open and she kissed him. 

And that was that, really. 

They were inseparable for the next year. The ‘eighth years’ at Hogwarts, which consisted of several students looking to get the NEWT’s they’d missed out in the year prior, were banded together most of the time, and Draco and Y/N seemed to be joined at the hip. Well, until they weren’t anymore.

It was a mutual agreement. Neither of them were treating it very seriously and they had things to focus on. It ended on a positive note, with a little giggle between them and a hug. They were teenagers, after all.

But now, ten years later, she wasn’t sure why all those feelings were coming right back. Making her blush when he spoke to her. Goddammit. Why did Draco have to get cuter as he got older?

Soon enough, it was time for bed. They’d chatted for nearly an hour just at the dinner table and Y/N suggested he try sleeping earlier than usual, just for observation’s sake. And so he led her into his bedroom, shutting his door behind the two of them.

“Should I.. get you a mattress?”

“That would be nice.” “Actually.. wait... I..” She stared up at him curiously, smoothing back her hair. All of a sudden he grabbed ahold of both of her hands and pulled her forward, closer to him. 

“Draco, I-”

“No, I have a confession to make…” He took a deep breath. “I might have had.. intentions.. calling you over here. Doing all of this, really.” “You.. what?” “I asked them to schedule my appointment with you instead. I kind of.. missed you.” “..Oh?” “I totally get it if you don’t want anything.. romantic with me. I’m fine just being friends. I.. I don’t think you’re in a relationship, but of course, I could be wrong.. I just.. I.. we were so good together, you know?” “We were.” “We just.. got each other. You were so kind to me. Why did we even.. end us..?”

“It was a mutual thing, remember?” “I know but.. I like you, you know?” That made her cheeks flush more than she’d care to admit.

“You do?” “I do. I.. didn’t really need the potion when we’d.. sleep together. You’d just.. I don’t know how you did it.. But I’d feel calm with you. Around you. There’s no better candidate for a healer, really. I was thinking that you’d be very, very good.. and I was right, you were. You.. did the right thing, didn’t you?” 

This was so out of nowhere. She should be more shocked, shouldn’t she? But why was she feeling like she was on cloud nine?

“I like you too.” was all she could manage out. He looked at her for a second before giving her a wide, wide grin. 

“I can’t believe you pretended you didn’t know it was me! Was that just because you couldn’t be arsed to get me chocolates or something?”

“Uh.. well.. Maybe.” He laughed and she did too, playfully hitting the side of his arm. “I’ll get you some if you want them so badly. I have.. better gifts to offer you.” He winked.

“Draco!” She shook her head. 

“Fine. As you wish, Healer.” She just rolled her eyes at him and stared at him with the most sincere smile she could manage. He pulled her even closer towards him, bringing a hand up and setting it on her cheek. His eyes were suddenly on hers and she leaned up towards him, puckering her lips. 

And then their lips met. It was the most familiar feeling in the world and yet the most electrifying. Everything was soft and sweet and perfect. All their wounds were healed and they knew anything that still hurt would only get better. 

All was well.

Úveluie the Exile

Lothlorien, Caras Galadhon, T.A. 3011

The lilt of a gentle voice reciting sweet and chaste poetry filtered through the glade and harmonised with the sigh of wind passing through golden leaves. Istarien delighted to read her own work, even if the confidence to do so often eluded her. Still, Luidhros’ request for a performance was more than enough encouragement for such a kind afternoon.

Broad shoulders, a tall and powerful frame, dark hair, Luidhros was Noldo in all but personality. He had his eyes closed to better appreciate her verse, which allowed her to take a little guilty enjoyment in the sight he presented. Unfortunately, it was not to be for long.

“Good Eve Luidhros, ah! And Istarien! Well met.” Húrien strode over, all high bearing and knowing smiles, slotting seamlessly between them as Luidhros came out of his reverie.

“Well met, Húrien.” He hummed with a rye smile, “I would ask after you, but something tells me you have a tale you are eager to tell.” And by the way the Scholar’s eyes flashed in the starlight, Istarien had to agree. With a sense of finality, she tucked her poetry back into it’s pouch and settled in for what new piece of gossip their old friend had to offer, even though it may have cut her recital short. Húrien could always be relied upon for entertaining topics.

“Ah, bless you Luidhros, you know me so well. For, did you hear? Úveluie has returned to the Golden Wood!” Istarien wrinkled her nose at the cruel name but her head still tilted curiously. She had heard the name mentioned before but had never known whom it referred too. A glance to Luidhros told her he was also at a loss.

Húrien huffed, perhaps silently berating herself, “Oh, of course, our dear Istarien and well-mannered Luidhros would not know her as such. The ah-.” She pondered a moment, trying to recall the title, tutting at herself as it eluded her. “What a dreadful mark upon my scholarly art, but I have not spoken Quenya for a yeni and more… Mm… Arcaumaro! The Arcaumaro. You must know of her Luidhros?”

Her assumption certainly appeared correct, if the shift in the ellon’s expression was any judge. Istarien could not remember seeing the Noldo appear quite so… taken off guard. Curious, yet cautious. “I do. Though I cannot claim her acquaintance.”

“But you know enough, I deem, to understand why she is known as Úveluie best?” Húrien asked with a smirk. Luidhros apparently could not quite stall a small huff of amusement before nodding his head. Istarien was about to ask why, but she found herself interrupted a second time as the powerful voice of Pethbes entered the fray.

“Úveluie? Do my ears deceive me? She cannot be back.” The practical and tidy cook said as she approached them.

“And yet I swear upon my heart she is, dear Pethbes! I first heard it from Lathron yesterday, but this morning I recognised her myself!”

From the tone of her voice one could easily tell that Húrien was deeply enjoying herself. However, she was an excellent storyteller so it was easy to forgive her gossiping habits.

Pethbes, as usual, did not see much fun in the telling. Her expression was highly disapproving as she spoke. “Have the Marchwardens been informed? I cannot imagine Lord Celeborn would allow her to set foot upon even one Golden leaf, let alone roam the city unattended.”

Luidhros spoke up, “I was not made aware of her, but there have been no warnings of trespassing either. She must have been permitted entrance into Caras Galadhon.” His tone was gentle and deep as ever, but he held a curious expression

“Can we be in such need of martial might?” Húrien asked.

“Mirkwood grows darker every day. And Lord Celeborn is by far wise enough to forgive past transgressions for the sake of War.” Luidhros replied.

“How much worth can one Soldier have Luidhros? She cannot be that impressive, I did not even know her as a warrior.” Pethbes griped, waving her hand dismissively.

Luidhros’ reply was grave, “Then the tale has suffered in the telling. i arben na Aran, as you would call her, did not stand at the High-King’s side for nothing.”

Pethbes’ eyes widened a moment, before her scowl deepened once again. “You cannot mean to say Úveluie, with her infamous reputation, was once a member of High King Gil-Galad’s court.”

Luidhros could only nod, and this shocking revelation stunned Pethbes into silence. Finally, Istarien felt she had a moment for her question.

“What did this Úveluie do to garner such infamy?” The youngest there, Istarien was used to the slightly patronising glances that her question earned. But she knew her companions would answer her eventually and so bore them without comment.

“Ah, how rude of us, of course you do not know.” Húrien’s expression was apologetic enough to be sincere but Pethbes immediately took it upon herself to give an answer.

“Though there was a time when she was welcome in Lothlorien, Úveluie has never been kind or pleasant. Always loud, rude, never satisfied to let a disagreement rest and ungrateful for the hospitality she was shown here. She is ill made both inside and out! I do not know how the High-King can have stood for her disrespect.”

Seeing that Pethbes was about to slip off track, (and very eager to continue the tale herself), Húrien took over quickly. “Her banishment came after a dreadful audience with our Lord and Lady. No one knows for certain what was said, only that the Lady Galadriel suffered such a grievous insult that the Lord drew his sword before recovering his temper and ordering her gone!”

Istarien’s eyes were wide as the tale was told. Though she had no true personal experience, all knew the Lord Celeborn to be wise and thoughtful. Calm in the face of every storm. It was difficult to even imagine what mere words could have stirred his ire. “If that is so then how can the March Wardens have allowed her within?”

Luidhros, after being quiet for a moment, finally replied. “Now that I have given it more thought, it is possible- even likely- that many of our younger warriors would not know her face to refuse it. Her exile was not recent, after all. Not even by our reckoning.”

Húrien gasped in what might have been distress but was far more likely to be thrill. “Could that not mean the Lord and Lady are unaware of her presence here?”

With that, Luidhros rose from his seat, reaching his towering height over all of them. “If that is the case, it will not be for long. I fear I must excuse myself and see to this. Thank you again for your indulgence Istarien. I will have to beg you finish it for me another time.” Istarien could only blush and nod before the Noldo was up and gone away, leaving their little gathering quieter in thought.

“… If she can have been so cruel to someone as kind and beloved as the Lady Galadriel, I certainly am discomforted to think this Úveluie walks among us…” Istarien eventually murmured quietly. But Húrien was quick to comfort her. “Foul and loathsome she may be. But if you encountered her you would only be in danger of an unpleasant conversation, nothing more. We are as safe as always Istarien.” Her smile was confidence and brightness itself. But Pethbes was not convinced.

“To that, dear Húrien, I ask simply this. How could you know? When we do not even recall her true name?”

To her credit, Húrien did not pretend to have an answer.

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

Up upon her toes, fingers straining as high as they could go, the parchment still fluttered just out of Istarien’s reach. A little mischievous breeze plucked at it tauntingly, threatening to pull her poetry from the lamp it had been caught in if she did not act fast. Her brow was furrowed with the deepest concentration and she worried her bottom lip as the very tip of her nail grazed the edge of her quarry.

A sudden gust made her gasp and flail, accidentally batting the poem which broke free without warning. She gave a cry of frustration and spun to give desperate chase, but in blindly spinning she ran herself headfirst into a solid, immovable tree.

Well, she first assumed it to be a tree, the collision so jarring that it quite took her off her feet. She could have sworn a tree had not been there before! Not the most graceful of the Eldar beneath the eaves of Lothlorien, to be sure.

However, after giving a small whine of pain and gingerly searching her head for damage, she opened her eyes to look up at her obstacle.

The elf that looked down at her was possibly the tallest she had ever seen, even taller than Luidhros though Istarien had no notion of that being possible. Her nose would barely reach their chest! Their shoulders were so wide, features so sharp and graceless, that it took her a long moment to recognise them as an elleth at all. Indeed, if any elf could be called ill-made or unbeautiful, it would be this one. Istarien had to stifle an urge to shrink away when her gaze found the twisting scar that pulled gruesomely at their right eye. 

Still, all of that flew from her mind the moment she noticed the parchment this stranger had caught between their fingers.

Istarien flew to her feet with a small noise of delight and relief and her eyes were bright with gratitude as her poetry was handed back to her. “Ah, my sincerest thanks! I had thought to never see it again!” She exclaimed as she ensured none of the ink had run before glancing back to her saviour.

This quendi looked stranger and more unusual by the moment. Up on her feet, Istarien had a better view of the dull, rough-spun cloth and leather shirt she wore, the in-elegant pauldrons upon her corded shoulders. A far cry from the soft and virgin or gold linens and robes of Caras Galadhon. Her hair was a dull and uninspiring flaxen colour, braided resolutely away into a long rope behind her. And, oh, Istarien had not noticed the sheer musculature of her until now. The Stranger’s forearms were so thick it seemed she could have uprooted a mallorn with just her bare hands alone. Not an ounce of femininity to her, she looked utterly foreign.

The Stranger had a quirk to her lips as she silently dipped her head in acknowledgement of Istarien’s thanks, which was when the strangest and most unsettling part of her appearance was shown.

Soft lines spiderwebbed their way about her eyes, creased over her mouth and framed the sharp jut of her nose. Lines of age. That wasn’t right, that shouldn’t be. If not for her shear size, the touch of elegance to her frame and the long ears that tapered to an unmistakable point, Istarien would have easily mistaken her for one of the second born.

And yet, though she unsettled her deeply, there was some… strange pull to her. A heady throb to her presence, just noticeable at the edge of Istarien’s consciousness. It was wholly unlike the Lady Galadriel’s divine and otherworldly aura, this was primal and earthen and quiet. To a poet’s mind, it was like comparing the dreamy and powerful pull of moonlight to the thick yet subtle scent of a thunder storm.

She blushed when she realised she was staring.

The stranger only seemed to find this passingly amusing and was about to leave when Istarien stammered out, “A-ah, please! Allow me to thank you properly! You are a newcomer to Caras Galadhon yes? Let me…” 

And, all at once, the disparate deductions of her mind finally spooled all the pieces of this puzzle together. Her eyes widened, and she felt a second, more fearful thrill run up her spine.

“No need.” Úveluie said, her accent in sindarin so odd it was almost difficult to comprehend. “This is not my first visit to the Golden Wood.”

“Úveluie…” Istarien whispered, the ugly nickname leaving her lips before she could reclaim her composure. And yet the slip still confirmed her suspicion. Úveluie’s natural smile turned to a darker pall and her back straightened to her full, intimidating height. A peerless warrior, Luidhros had said. Cruel and ill-made inside and out, Pethbes had said.

“Rumor spreads even faster than I remember beneath the mallorn’s leaves.” Her words were bitter, though they held a hint of amusement, and the suddenly harsh edge made Istarien flinch.

“The March Wardens will be told!” She blurted out, without truly knowing why. An abrupt sense of vulnerability had stricken her, something about the eerie shift in this elleth’s manner giving Istarien fright.

Úveluie seemed unphased, though her head tilted with a predatory-like curiosity. “I should hope they already have been…” Her pause was small, but her eyes were so piercing it gave an unsettling sense of invasion. “Why do you tremble?” She asked finally. “Has my reputation grown so dreadful?”

Istarien hadn’t noticed the slight tremor in her fingers until this moment, the parchment in her hands gently fluttering in her grasp. Her grip tightened to still it, her pride demanding that she be brave.

“You do not belong here, you break our Lord’s law by crossing the border of Lothlorien.” She was grateful that her voice was stable, some well of strength giving her the courage she needed.

“I cannot be blamed if the sentries have short memories.” Úveluie replied dismissively. “And besides, I am only here for the sake of a friend.”

“Then they will soon miss you!” Istarien countered, “Captain Luidhros already pursues you, he will surely-“

“Who?”

Istarien stalled at the query. Her tone was so… bored. So dismissive. Luidhros was a Noldo, a war hero, an honoured Captain among the Galladhrim. The fact that someone who had spent time in Lothlorien did not possess even a passing memory of him, showed him such disrespect, Istarien was utterly thrown. Anger and insult boiled in her eyes but for once she was voiceless to express it.

Úveluie seemed to recognise her ire, though she did not appear regretful. “No matter. I am thoroughly discovered it seems. Thank you for the warning.”

She had the nerve to dip at the waist before she turned to leave, an insulting play at gratitude and farewell. Istarien found she could not restrain herself any longer. An ugly part of her rose to meet this challenge and she nearly spat her next words.

“I hope you rot in exile!”

There was a pregnant pause. Úveluie ground to a full stop, holding herself eerily still for a moment before slowly turning back. The look in her eyes was truly, deeply discomforting. As was the bitter and vile tone in her voice as she replied. “Verily! Whilst you seem content to rot here.”

“Excuse me?!” Istarien cried, outraged.

Suddenly, and in a motion that almost defied sight, yet also seemed no more than a casual reach, Úveluie plucked the page of poetry from Istarien’s hands. “This?” She scoffed as she glanced over her verses, the Poet still looking from her hand to the page in bewilderment. “Another wistful ballad of chaste love beneath yellow trees? How original.”

The sarcasm dripped from her tongue and Istarien uttered an indignant, “How dare-!” before she was interrupted.

“-Here you compare sweat on your brow to the morning dew, that must have pushed your literary talents.”

Istarien gritted her teeth and made to snatch the page back but Úveluie, in an act of utter pettiness, simply held it out of her reach. She flushed an angry red at being forced to play into such a childish act. Stars above, she could not remember ever being so furious. Úveluie just smirked.

“They were right about you,” Istarien declared, “you are cruel and ill-made, inside and out!”

Úveluie seemed to take wicked satisfaction in her fury. “Were they now?”

“Yes! Perhaps if you listened, you might learn to be less foul! Though I doubt you capable!”

“And perhaps if you set foot outside these borders you could write poetry with even a shred of originality. I know you are capable, but I still doubt you ever will.” And, with that, Úveluie released the page from her grip.

By the time Istarien had caught it out of the air her new and detestable acquaintance had left. As mortifying tears pricked at her eyes, she found she had no wish to follow her.

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

Translations;

i arben na Aran - (Sindarin) Knight of the King Arcaumaro - (Quenya) Protector of the King Úveluie - (Sindarin) Not amiable, an unloveable person.

Not as it seems

TITLE: Not as it seems 

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: chapter one

AUTHOR: Technically a-pandoras-box-of-characters, but my story blog (a-pandoras-box-of-stories) is a side blog, so I’ll likely be posting there too at some point. 

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine that Loki is banished to Midgard shortly after Thor: the dark world. However, as punishment for his crimes, he is forced into the form of a common animal on earth to prevent his use of magic and silver tongue. This common animal is a cat. 

RATING: Right now should be fine for anyone to read, later chapter rating may change. 

NOTES/WARNINGS: Up until they learn his name, he is thought not to have one. The characters I’m using are Rp characters, but I thought that this would be fun. Feedback would be appreciated! :) (Also, her name is pronounced “Eye-zale-ia,” similar to ‘Azalea,’ but different because I’m weird and like the sound of my spelling better.)

** Chapters may run longer or shorter depending on what ideas I have for them! 

————————————————————–

Living among humans had never been easy for her. She was most certainly not a human - but nearly no one believed her when she said otherwise, so she just went with it. Her and her two friends’ living depended on it: they were in a band; bands had to have fans in order to get anywhere. Without fans, they’d get no performances asked for. Without fans, they would sell no CD’s. And so forth. 

This made living among the humans something essential to their survival. It was sometimes more pleasant than others..other times, however, it was not. 

Right now, there was a lull in performances. This was because they had just come off of a tour, and were trying to take a break. Although it was a surprise to them all, that their manager/agent - a nasty man named Steven Pollag - had even allowed them to do it. Usually, he was all about working them hard to get the money. There was a theory among the three of them, that he was only allowing them to have this break because it was also beneficial to him in some way. 

Aizalea, better known by her stage name ‘Izzy Moon,’ or to her friends, simply ‘Izzy;’ she did not care. Whatever would keep him far away from her was good enough. 

He was good at his job - surprisingly - but not good to Izzy. She rejected his advances, and so he’d become violent; he had also begun to threaten her because he knew it would get under her skin. The full extent of it all, she had been trying to keep from her two bandmates, Ashley and Lauren - better known as ‘Ash and Luna,’ both on stage, and by themselves with Izzy. If they knew more than she thought they did, they weren’t telling her. They knew she had her pride, after all. Not that it made keeping their agent around any easier. 

Right now, Izzy had decided to go for a walk. She had been out for some time when it had started to rain, so she pulled her hood up. Thinking about to head back to the - unnecessarily lavish - rented apartment that Steven was letting them use when something caught her eye from across the street. 

A car had driven off, leaving a cat at this vet’s office. It was clearly not open right now, but whoever it was had been yelled at to leave the cat so they could go. After speeding away and splashing the poor thing with a growing puddle in the road, the car went off out of sight. Izzy could see a sad woman looking back, but that was it before the car continued on down the street and away to wherever it was going. Seeing no one else interested in helping the cat, Izzy bit her lip. She knew Steven would only gripe at her for it, but she had to do something. Part of what she was, was animalistic..in a manner of speaking. To leave another creature out here like this would be horrible - and she couldn’t do it. 

Deciding that Steven could shove it and that what he didn’t know for now couldn’t hurt her, Izzy ran across the road before any more cars come. The cat had started to wander around a bit as if confused. It was still close enough, though, for Izzy to come over and pick it up. 

Immediately, the cat began to growl and hiss lowly. It sounded pained, though, as if something were wrong. Judging from the limp she thought that she’d seen, Izzy was nearly certain that it was. From her heightened sense of smell, she discerned that the cat was a boy. There seemed to be something else off about him, but since he didn’t seem in the mood to willingly communicate with her, she couldn’t figure it out that way. For now, Izzy bundled him up as best as she could with the front of her hoodie, carrying him in what was sort of like a basket made of cloth. Or.. something. 

“Shhh. It’ll be alright, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to take you inside, get you cleaned up, and see about finding you something to eat. So you can stop growling, kitty. I’m not letting you run off with a hurt paw and other probable injuries that need checking. I’d be a terrible hybrid if I did that,” she stated the last part softly, figuring that admitting such a thing to a cat wouldn’t be of any ill consequence to her. She did seem to have his interest after that, though, she noticed. And he’d stopped growling. 

Taking that as a good sign, Izzy continued onwards to the building where she, Ash, and Luna had been staying at. Once inside, she took her hood off and headed for the elevator. Holding the cat in her arms as closely as she dared for the whole ride up, Izzy had to wonder if the cat that she had saved had a name already or not. She didn’t have too much longer to think about that, though, because they soon reached the floor that they were supposed to be on. 

Stepping out of the elevator, Izzy carried her “precious cargo” across the hall and to the door leading to their apartment. Pausing at the door, Izzy fished out her keys. Resituating how she was holding him, she cradled him in one arm and opened the door with her free hand. 

Upon stepping inside, Izzy was greeted by Ash jumping up and halting whatever video game that she’d been playing, jumping over the couch rather than going around it, and bouncing over to her, exclaiming nearly all in one breath: Izzy, Izzy! Where’ve you been? We missed you! Oh, and I got a new high score and I want you to see! It was the coolest thing ever, so you just gotta come and see it!” Ash jumped up and down, startling the cat in Izzy’s arms. 

The greeting from her sister, however, began with her simply lowering her book, marking her spot, and rolling her eyes with a soft sigh. Then, she got up and walked over, arms folded. 

“She’s been in the sugar again,” Luna stated, to which Ash stuck her tongue out at her and shook her head. 

“Have not!” Ash said, in a way that only gave away further how hyper she was. She was about to start arguing with Luna when she heard a cat growling at her and stopped. Sniffing the air, she gave a confused look. “I smell a cat. There’s no cat here! Where’s the cat? Where’s—“ she was cut off by Luna clearing her throat and pointing to Izzy, to which Ash just bounced back into hyper-mode, and grinned. “Oooh!! You brought home a kitty!” She grinned, leaning in to try and get his attention. He was having none of it, though, and swatted at her despite it being painful to do so. Ears back, he bared his teeth and growled. 

“Owwie.. he hurt me,” Ash pouted, withdrawing her hand and putting her finger in her mouth to make it stop bleeding. 

Izzy just sighed and tried to calm the kitty down. It was not working well. 

“That’s what I was trying to tell you, Ash,” Izzy said, looking down at the cat in her arms, sort of folded up in the risen front of her hoodie. “I found him on my way back. Someone left him in front of the vet’s office, even though it was closed. As if the expected the poor thing to stay until someone came in the morning,” Izzy frowned, rolling her eyes. 

“Anyways, I could tell that he was hurt so I went across the road and picked him up. The car that left him there splashed him with road water, so I tried to fold him up close to me so he’d be at least a little bit warmer. As you can see, we’re both soaked. So I am fairly certain that before I can check on his wounds, I’m going to have to give him a warm bath. I’ll take my shower later.” Aizalea finished, pausing for a moment. Turning to the more responsible and far less hyper of the two, she coughed. 

“Luna, could you and Ash go and pick up some stuff from the store? Kitty friendly, remember. He’s got feline in him, not canine.” Izzy looked at Ash when she stressed this and shook her finger. “I’ll order us dinner unless you two want to bring it home?” she rose a brow, to which Luna looked down at the poor creature in her friend’s arms, and nodded. 

“We can bring it back. He needs to eat, and so do we. You give him a bath, and we’ll go get the stuff. Come on, Ash. Let’s go get ready. This stuff won’t buy itself,” Luna added, turning to walk off and get herself ready to go out. She knew it was raining, so she reminded Ash more than once to dress in something warm because she wasn’t entirely sure that Ash was listening to her the first few times. After all, in this form, they didn’t have as much to keep them from getting cold in the rain.

 And questions would likely be raised, if they were to go running through the city in their other forms, with bags of food and cat supplies in their mouths. 

                                  ✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ 🐾 ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

After Ash and Luna had gone out to go buy the stuff that they’d probably need, Izzy carried her new little friend to the kitchen. Removing him from her hoodie and carefully placing him into the sink, she turned and took her hoodie off. Using a black hair tie off of her wrist - that had been there for who knew how long - she pulled her long hair up in as best a way as she could. All the while, keeping watch of the cat, who also seemed to be watching her. He was sitting there with his tail flicking in a way that suggested that he was frustrated, and his ears were back. But he hadn’t tried to get away yet - she guessed this was because he was in pain, and left it at that.

“Alright..” She stated, sighing softly. “Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” Izzy smiled lightly, coming over to the sink. She had no idea; or, at least, didn’t know yet, where this cat had truly come from. Or, who it actually was. It was fair enough: the cat sitting in her sink didn’t know who she was, either.

Miserable as he was before having been picked up by her, things had only become even further of a mess as far as he was concerned. There was only one of them before. Now, there were three. The one they called ‘Ash’ reminded him far too much of an over-excited child. ‘Luna’ seemed to be decent, but he wasn’t sure yet. The last one, who he supposed was called ‘Izzy,’ was..strange. He could tell that she thought that what she was doing was right, even if he wasn’t in the mood to receive help from her currently.

If he ever would be, he didn’t know. Life had made him a lot more bitter of late; before coming here, he had been stuck in a form that purposely prevented him from shifting out of it. He had been made to take the form of a cat and was unable to change it because he had been barred from doing so somehow. Whatever manner of spell that had been used to change him was not one that he was familiar with - that was the only reasonable conclusion that he had come up with so far. Not that it was one that he was particularly satisfied with. 

While being bathed in a sink of all things was something that he felt to be highly undignified, Izzy was gentle. She scrubbed where necessary, but did her best not to further harm him. For one who smelled to him like a mix of something extremely strange, and more oddly, a dog of some kind; she was not horrible. For the moment. 

Now that he thought about it.. they all smelled like dog to him, in some capacity. A scent that he had learned to not be very fond of since getting here - he blamed his current form and its reactions that he couldn’t stop, for that. The hissing, the growling.. the instinct to bite or to swat at people. All of that came from his being trapped in feline form. He was sure of it. The rest, he supposed must be from how the mortals here had treated him. All of them, save for the little girl who had apparently desperately wanted to keep him for longer than a night, were terrible as far as he was concerned. Kicking him, throwing things at him. Yelling, chasing, and frightening the life out of him. All reasons why he wasn’t happy that Izzy had picked him up in the first place. Yet here he was, sitting in a sink in what he guessed was their home, getting a bath in the sink.

The warm water felt nice, after being so cold outside. In this form, he apparently was affected by the cold. Ironic, he thought, given his true genetic lineage. 

His thoughts were brought back to the present, as Izzy continued to bathe him. She was using some flowery-scented soap, which also kind of smelled like vanilla to him; sudsing him up, gently massaging it in, and then washing it away again, with some sort of extendable sink sprayer-thing that also felt pretty good. The whole time, Izzy hummed softly, as if hoping that it might somehow make him feel better. In the beginning, it was an annoyance. Over time, however, he decided to tolerate it. 

Right when he was getting used to the pattern of things, the water went off. What an un-disappointing disappointment. 

                                   ✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ 🐾 ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Being a feline was complicated. Part of him had hated the water, and yet; there was another part of him that found it soothing. That, and, perhaps he liked the fact that he wouldn’t have to use his tongue for a while..a lot more than he was letting himself believe. 

When the water went off and she had put the sink-sprayer thing back in place, Izzy set about carefully drying his fur a bit. It felt weird to have her patting all over him with a towel, but it was at least soft and did not smell bad. Only once she seemed satisfied with his level of dryness, did she finally hoist him up out of the sink and into her arms again - snuggled close like some form of wrapped-up food. He got his breath hard; but it hurt, so he didn’t do it again. Watching from the view he had, he could hear her talking to him. 

“I’m going to find you a comfortable pillow to sit on,” Izzy stated, although it seemed more like it was to herself than to him. “After I set you down, I’m going to get the hairdryer. It will be loud.. so please don’t run, okay?” 

The plea posed to him came with a soft and caring tone; in with it was also pity, which he despised. However, he elected to stay on the pillow on the grounds that it was indeed comfortable, and he liked it. 

Returning to dry him off further, Aizalea sat on the bed and plugged the hairdryer into the wall. Turning it on a lower setting, she took the towel and set it to the side. One hand on the other side of his as if to prevent any escape attempts he may make, she began to dry his fur better. She was not sure how he felt about it but hoped that he enjoyed it. 

The hairdryer put to the side when finished with, Aizalea picked him up and rose again. This time, she brought him to her en-suite bathroom. The counter was big enough for her to check him over, and she could get to the most basic first aid supplies that she may need. It seemed like a good idea to her, but he did not seem to like it one bit. It was as if he’d had enough of her handling him, and now he wanted down. 

“No, you can’t. You can’t get down,” Izzy said, hoping that somehow he’d get it in his head to behave. The air and scent that she got off of him may have been strange, but that didn’t have to mean that he wasn’t a normal cat. For all she knew, it could very well just be her smelling or feeling things that weren’t there. His attitude was enough to prove that he likely was just a normal cat. Even if he had set relatively still for his bath.

Claws and hissing met her when she got to some of the hurt places; she had not expected for him to give her a necessarily good reaction, but this was not something that she was going to put up with. 

“Stop. I’m just trying to help you. Behave,” she growled herself, startling the cat in front of her into being still for a moment. Long enough, for Izzy to finish bandaging him up. A heavy exhale left her as she picked him up; she was glad that she had gotten him cleaned off and that he was now fixed up as best as she could accomplish right now with such little cooperation from him. 

A frown pressed on her lips, as she brought him in and set him down in her room. Irritated by having been attacked simply for helping, she decided that she was going to leave him alone in her room for a while, to see if he’d start being a little nicer to her later on. The look she was given was as close to a scowl as he could give, and she hadn’t missed it. Shaking her head as she shut her door, Izzy went to the kitchen to wash her arms off. She didn’t think that any of them were bad enough to warrant bandages, and would likely heal on their own anyways; she had elevated healing from two different sources, her wait wouldn’t be a long one. 

Not that that didn’t mean that she was not going to sit and be frustrated for the rest of the time before Ash and Luna came back to their apartment. 

Because she was.

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A few hours after the “incident” with the cat, the sound of knocking on the door brought Izzy away from her attempts to write a new song. Setting that to the side, she went to the door and let them both in. 

“Thanks,” Luna sighed, arms full of bags. From behind her, Ash gave a limp sort of greeting, signifying that her sugar rush induced hyperness had finally worn off. Shuffling inside, both sisters set down the bags of cat supplies by the doorway and took the food bags into the kitchen. Going through the kitty supplies was going to wait. For now, they were all hungry. 

“I’m guessing that the bath didn’t go so well, did it?” Luna asked as they ate their very late dinner: consisting of fried chicken that they’d gotten from the nearest deli, various sides, and several other types of meat gotten from either that same deli or from different places around it. 

“No,” Izzy sighed, setting down her chicken bone. “These didn’t come from me giving him a bath. He did pretty well with that, actually. It was when I was trying to check his wounds that he did it. He started hissing and growling at me, so I left him in my room.” Aizalea chewed at her lower lip, seeming conflicted about it. Finally, she looked up at the sisters sitting at the table with her and added on to what she’d said before. 

“Don’t eat it all. Leave some of it for me, okay? I’m going to take some of it to him so he can eat. Maybe it’ll put him in a better mood, I don’t know..” she said, earning nods from the other two in response. Ash was pretty tired right now, so she didn’t feel like eating a huge amount anyways. 

“What’re you going to call him?” Ash did speak up after some time, glancing over the rim of her cup at Aizalea as she got a drink from it, and raising an eyebrow. 

Getting up to take care of her trash and her dishes, Izzy hummed softly. Her own dark eyebrows creased in thought as she wiped her inedible bits of food into the trash, she shrugged her shoulders. 

“I’m not sure yet,” was her answer. “I’m going to take some food to him, though, and I think maybe also get cleaned up. Night or not, don’t forget to sleep you two.” This comment was her last to them for the moment, as she picked out nice bits of still-warm meats and put them on a plate. Her actual final words to them for the night, came as she went into her room and wished them both goodnight. 

Once inside, she looked around for the cat that she’d left in there earlier. He wasn’t anywhere that she could see at first, but in pausing to let her higher sense of hearing take over, she located him by the sound of his breathing. He was sulking under her bed, likely not very happy with her. 

“I know you’re probably still mad at me, but I brought you food. I hope you like it, it’s out here.” 

Izzy placed the plate down on the carpet near the end of her bed, then went about gathering her things for a shower. The whole time, she had to wonder if he already had a name. She hadn’t been able to speak with him so far because he wasn’t in the mood to cooperate; all she had gotten was normal animal sounds. Nothing she could make heads or tails of, which bothered her. If he wouldn’t speak to her, how would she know if he had a name? 

As she went to bed for the night, she continued to think about it all for a while. Her whole day - how it had gone, finding the cat, and what had all taken place afterward. The last thing she thought to herself while finally drifting off, was that she’d seen the cat laying on her bookshelf and staring at the books themselves. 

Odd… 

Wrote NaraTrish having fun, confessing, and comforting each other bc they’re so great as either friends or a couple

*This isn’t for nasty pedo thotties or prudish infantilizing thotties, both sides of the discourse shut up 1-2 year gap max is fine and no one should ever sexualize minors with or without adults, this is for well adjusted people who recognize teens can explore sexuality and romance without showing sex or being disgusting fetish ty 

Anyway I made like 3 Aerosmith song references if you can find them cool keep on rockin (extra bonus if you know what the allusion is at the final paragraph and line) also bisexual hc for both

"Your hands are a lot bigger than mine. That's friggin unfair. I'm a guy!" Trish giggled yet the only irritation he felt aimed at himself. He knew why that was. How he once scrounged a year eating trash; no home or bed and the eyes of wolves reflected in anyone else. When he would tell her however remained uncertain. It brought only shame. "Narancia there's nothing wrong with that. Look, you're covered with callouses. I'd never get one in a million years." She smiled and separated their hands to trace along his. Her finger ran along his lifeline; a patch of skin on his left palm mangled by scars. He didn't know what quick thing he should say. His boyish eyes were too dazzled by how smooth she was by comparison. How nice she smelled. The way he carried himself just didn't cut it. But now wasn't the time to think, Trish was speaking. "If you're worried about looking manly I think you're already there. Halfway at least." Narancia groaned and hung his head. The bravado he clung to deflated. She touched their foreheads. Their hands returned to their laps. No hesitation bothered Trish when she stroked his cheek. He moved to rest his head against her shoulder. "You really think I'm doing a good job Trish? This whole thing, this fuckin mess...Your life in danger...Your asshole dad-" "I said before to all of you. Even if I have to die by the end; I won't meet it without knowing who I came from. I'll see this through never running away." She felt him sigh and lean against her. She'd flooded confidence into what she said. It was conviction. Not just because she believed it, or because facing one's problems defined responsibility. Courage propelled Narancia forward; eased past his turbulent indecisiveness whenever he wasn't under threat. Buccellati breathed such a thing as if it were life energy. Without her full awareness that will had a hand in shaping her, when exactly she couldn't say. To think the same man she might regard as a true father often disregarded Narancia being wounded short of death- that gnawed at her. To Trish, risking his life being part of the job didn't justify some callousness. Whether she loved Narancia as a man or a comrade he mattered beyond being ordered. When she realized he'd gone awfully quiet she embraced him. He was so small despite being an inch taller. A minute passed before anything came from him. "I was so scared. Following everyone- I was so so scared. Buccellati's never been wrong; but when I had to make up my own mind I froze. That's awful...I owe him everything but I froze. Why couldn't I just be ready to die for him and come along to begin with?" She pet his hair and leaned against him closing her eyes. He felt coarse, even a bit sweaty. No one could remember the last time they'd taken consistent showers. Yet the longer she felt his heart in silence the more she didn't care. Only he could do that. Of the talkative bunch Mista was a friend; but his fault lay in the ways he bore himself down. Asserted himself a bit too intensely. Narancia had been different from the start. Thus by her book he got away with less. Most importantly he was the easiest to talk to. He could be loud and quick tempered at insults- then soft spoken the moment he grew unsure in himself, or unsure at saying the right thing on his mind. Even if he didn't always understand, he knew how to consider what others suffered. Not once could Trish remember him speaking to her knowingly with ill intent. So she held him thinking, grasping in her mind for any smart sounding solutions. Anything Buccellati might say as much as it annoyed her to admit it. Ultimately that proved fruitless. No one else but Buccellati could be him after all. Instead she said, "No one is glad to die Narancia." He tensed up. Trish pulled back and looked him in the eyes; spoke directly to his heart. "No one's glad to die even if they say they are. They'll hate it right to the moment it happens. I think you were right to hesitate. That's not an easy choice." "Hmm...if you say so. Giorno gave me hope what I chose was right y'know; he's that kinda guy. I gotta figure out how to do that for me. And I guess also...the stuff you said about not giving up on finding things out..." Narancia fiddled with his hands. Mussed his hair. Buying this much time to think in conversation set off Trish's suspicions. She raised an eyebrow; that was her tell. "I thought you were a lot like me. But you don't just do things on whims, so I guess not. Sorry." The room inside the turtle grew quiet only for a pause. Trish broke it with a laugh light as air. Immediately Narancia's grim mood was wiped away by a panic. He spoke as she kept laughing. "Did I say something dumb?" Trish wiped a tear from her eye and fell calm. She had such control of her emotions sometimes he could always tell where one had stopped and the other began. Emotion through his mind took on the unguided frenzy of a storm. The idea of control, like obeying authority he didn't choose, slid off him no better than oil on water. "No no Narancia just silly. You can empathize with someone without being them." "Empathize? What's that mean?" "Means you can understand what someone feels. You understand it and share it. Usually if you've gone through similar things." "My mom died when I was younger and my dad could care less about me too. That's why I emp...empi-" "Em-pa-thigh-ze." "Yeah that. Empathize." "That's alright Narancia I get it." She wouldn't press him for more. That would come in his own time on his own terms. Not knowing everything didn't make the pang in her heart less real. "Dads suck huh?" They laughed. They didn't know if it was to mask hurt or dry humor or both. Though it felt sudden but certainly wasn't, now Trish wanted anything to change the mood. She stood up and Narancia's eyes followed in constant interest. No one needed to say anything for him to mimic her. "I never showed you my Stand did I? You were injured." In an instant every feature of Narancia's face glowed excitement. He made exaggerated gestures and talked almost twice as fast. The others could find it annoying or immature but she saw endearing. "You didn't you have to show me! What's its name? Lemme see lemme see!" "Settle down Narancia I'm not going anywhere." Trish stood still and shut her eyes. She breathed a deep breath. Her concentration would've faltered if it weren't his eyes watching. A trick she's formed was to focus on an idea of her father. How she'd hit him back. The rest came easy. "Spice Girl." A feeling on her skin like a buzz when you come close to an electric current swept over her. Behind her, from her a shimmering humanoid figure emerged. Despite all the attention it took to summon Spice Girl appeared in an instant. It matched her height and build; that was where the similarities ended. It's skin was pinks and reds and rare whites. The eyes were catty and yellow; all emotion reserved to observe the world. Symbols marked its head, kneecaps, and shoulders. Though he never finished elementary school Narancia thanked Fugo for learning to recognize them. They were equation markers. Addition and division. Something akin to a tunic with narrow rectangular gaps covered its chest. A tiny skirt resembling a Centurion's at the end of that hid the groin. It said nothing yet stared at him; peered into him as if seeing not his body but Aerosmith. Trish opened her eyes; shifted from looking lovingly up at her Stand to enthralled Narancia. His naturally big eyes gave him the wonder of a child. That she always found cute. What hitched her breath came seeing the gentle fascination, the pride for someone else, the way he stared as though it were the only thing he'd find tender. She moved to walk closer toward him and found him doing the same. He remained entranced until they gently collided. Finally his eyes fell on her again; their sweet emotion unchanged. In one of those rare contemplative moments he spoke soft but genuine. Forever genuine. He didn't know any other way to be. "It's really nice Trish. Way cooler than Aerosmith. It looks like it always knows what to do; that's you all the way. Looks strong." Suddenly her face grew red hot; her first blush not from embarrassment. If Narancia noticed he didn't say it, but he probably had. "What can it do?" "It makes anything softer. Like rubber. And that-" She rose her hand and clenched it the way Spice Girl had done at its awakening. "Makes them stronger than diamonds." Spice Girl punched the floor in a blink. The rug beneath them stretched like gum. Narancia stares down trembling ever so slightly. The fabric had appeared to melt into a reflective puddle. Shifting his feet produced a rubbery squish. It consumed him faster than quicksand. Before they could sink knee deep as the ground gave way, it was undone. He sighed and caught his breath. Little by little his composure returned. Though he would never be endangered at her hand such strength made anyone nervous. Spice Girl returned within Trish. They were within arms length. "Pretty crazy huh? I'd never have believed it till it appeared." Narancia nodded dumbly. When she took his hands again he swallowed hard; looked her head on. He had a knack for reading into anything if he applied himself. Right now it washed away under the racing of his heart. There was an energy to her expression he'd never seen on anyone. A look he once imagined Fugo might wear. His body tingled. Trish spoke uncharacteristically sheepish. Paused in places where he thought she'd be firm. Her thumbs brushed along his and it gave him a chill. He didn't want to pull back. The last bits of his rationale struggled to give answers. Was she sick? Did she need to lie down? More importantly how much longer did they have alone? What would he tell the guys? Buccellati? "Narancia I...uh well...this might be weird but- have you ever kissed someone?" A pause. His memory skipped in disbelief. "W-What?" "Kissed someone. Anyone. On the mouth." "Like how my parents used to?" Trish laughed into a sigh. "Yeah like that." Narancia scrambled to undo the burned out engine his thoughts became. He was growing way too hot. Hot the way he sometimes did dreaming of Fugo, or some magazine model, or...Trish. Those nights he'd wake up covered in sweat and dazed. The feeling crashed its way into the present faster than a plane. He couldn't meet her eyes. "No. You'll probably say it's weird but I used to...imagine that with Fugo. N-Not all the time! It would just happen and I couldn't do anything about it." "Oh? Really?" "Yeah. It's stupid cuz guys are supposed to think about girls. And that kind of stuff with them..." If he were looking he'd see some of Trish's fire dampen. She didn't let it reach her voice. "Do you still think of him that way?" "No! N-No...not since he left. I mean I can get why but, he abandoned us when we needed him." His eyes flit to her again. "When you needed him. It's made me real confused; angry too I guess." "Well it's not weird. Not to me. Don't tell anyone but sometimes I've thought of girls too and-" Trish grew fully red in the face again. Even she couldn't finish that sentence. Narancia gasped; his expression lit up with something not painful. "So you get it then! I thought I was the only one. Boys and girls...I don't think I care which." "Right? I don't think I could choose either. But my real question is-" She leaned closer letting him hear her heart through her pulse. He didn't need Aerosmith to tell her breathing went fluttery. It made him want to lean in. "Have you ever wanted to kiss me?" Wordlessly he held her. The spinning indecisiveness that had him tail diving righted itself. He stared at her with his mind made. The tiny gasp she gave at the move solidified his resolve. This wasn't a dream. "You should've just asked me that in the first place." "Eh? So you-" "To be honest I thought you'd never ask or do anything. I'm not the brightest guy at this stuff." "Sorry..." "It's alright." "Really?" "Yeah." Their faces were a hairsbreadth apart. "Ah-" Their eyes shut at the brush of their lips. Neither needed direction or would've taken any from anyone but themselves. He felt Trish wrap her arms around his neck; pressed all of herself against him the way he did her. Slowly she pulled him down with her fingers in his hair. Kissed him stronger when they knelt in sync. The feel of his touch along her jaw electrified them both. Affectionately he brushed her hair behind her ear. No longer than seconds passed each time they separated into another kiss; shallow  or meaningful. One after another. The thought of being caught with one look into the turtle from above meant nothing to their roaring hearts. How long it'd been before they separated they didn't know. They sighed against each other. Trish was the first to smile; to giggle in that mystical way Narancia couldn't explain but felt. He kissed her forehead; hated to let go. "Trish I lov-" She put a finger to his lips. "You've already said it for now. Just hold me. I wanna know you're really here." "Ok...ok." They laid on the rug embracing all the while. When she leaned against his chest and tickled his neck at each breath- that was a home. A place only they had. She tilted his chin and he gave it gladly; blushed at the kiss on his nose. At this distance he felt her heart through his. He rested his cheek atop Trish's hair. "Are people always this warm so close?" She asked. "I dunno. Never checked." "I guess we found out anyway." He heard the sleepiness in her voice. She grew heavier against him; relaxed into his shape. He looked down to find her eyes closed. Trish wrapped her arm tighter around his waist. He returned the favor as she slept. Narancia felt himself tire. Trish was the warmest heat he'd ever known. It could rage for him like a furnace one moment, then be gentler than sunlight. He blinked hard and fast. Never took his gaze off Trish. To hell if he was tired. He didn't want to miss a moment. Never one to deny his impulses he kissed her eyes. She made a soft noise against him. Like dusk to dawn the present became the past. The need to rest his body weighed upon him began to win. Before he could drift away his mind showed him a fleeting image. He was alone again. Damp and dirty and his bandaged eye burning. Two years ago that kind of night blended into the next without end. He'd clutch his only blanket tight; his only comfort against death or cold or despair. Narancia glanced at Trish a final time. The helpless boy of then rested into the arms of his blanket, his safety. He'd never slept so soundly.

Fire and Ice

Here’s my submission for @whumptober2019 number three, “Delirium”. Also included are the alternate prompts 2 (Broken voice), 3 (Fever), and 9 (Hiding)

Featuring Vergil and Dante. Enjoy!

Word count - 1,702

______

Dante sighed and grabbed the bags of take out from the passenger seat. Tubs of liquid so hot they would’ve burned anyone without his heritage sloshed as he headed to the front door, heavy containers of meat and veggies in the second bag. Pho wasn’t his favorite, but it wasn’t too bad with enough hoisin.

“Vergil, I’m back!” he called, dropping his keys on the table.

Silence greeted him and his lips twisted into a frown. Vergil wasn’t doing well; a rare strain of flu forced him to stay in bed for the last few days. His fever was over one hundred degrees that morning and he hadn’t been able to keep any food down. Hopefully the pho would do the trick, but Dante was worried.

He set the food on his desk and trotted to the staircase, taking the steps two at a time as he called his brother’s name again. As before, there was no response.

Damnit, Verge… answer me, will ya?

A deep thud quickened his steps. That couldn’t be a good sign. His heart twisted in concern as he reached his brother’s door and knocked.

“Vergil, you okay in there?”

Nothing.

Shit.

He tried the handle. It was locked.

“Let me in, douchebag!”

A second heavy thud was the only reply. Dante cursed under his breath and pounded on the door once more, by now unsurprised by the lack of response. He stepped back and considered his options.

Shooting the handle or breaking down the damned thing entirely wouldn’t be difficult; he had no clue where the master key was. What a mess. He growled in annoyance and tried one last time.

“If you don’t unlock the door, I’m breaking it!”

All he heard was his own breathing. The threat of property damage always got a response in the past; something had to be terribly wrong. What if Vergil wasn’t answering because he couldn’t? What if his fever was worse? How high did it need to be to be dangerous? The man in red didn’t know and it scared him all the more for its ominous mystery.

Dante took a deep breath and shifted, his skin erupting in tough armor and flashing to red and black. Leathery wings sprouted from his shoulders and the taste of ash filled his mouth. He growled and stepped back to the opposite wall, bracing his claws in the carpet.

The door crumpled at his bull rush, splinters of wood scattering across the room. He shifted back the second the clattering ended with a deep exhalation, sapphire eyes already scanning the room for a familiar head of swept back hair.

His jaw dropped at the state of the room. Books lied on every available surface, some still open as if forgotten partway through reading. Piles of dirty clothing were heaped by the closet, empty glasses on the headboard. Tangled sheets covered the normally pristine bed, pillows arranged in a haphazard pattern. It smelled of sweat and sickness.

Never had he seen the room in such disarray.

But where’s Vergil?

He checked all the familiar spots; the chair by the window, the desk by the bedside, that patch of carpet Vergil paced upon whenever his mind needed to work. With every vacant space, his worry grew. He’d never needed to take care of anyone but himself, so the concept still felt strange, but his brother wasn’t well. He couldn’t take care of himself.

“Vergil?”

A miniscule rattle drew his gaze to the closet. Why in the world would he be in there?

It didn’t matter. It was his only hint.

The closet opened with a creak of complaint. Panting breaths echoed in the air and as Dante’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, his heart fell to the floor. There was Vergil, knees at his chin and arms wrapped around them. Yamato lied beside him, within easy reach but his brother didn’t seem aware of it. His eyes were wide open, vacantly staring at the opposing wall as if it held the secrets of the universe.

“Aw, shit, Verge… c’mere.”

Dante tugged at his twin’s arm, his eyes widening as it limply dropped to the floor. Whatever was happening in the other man’s mind must be intense, for him to be lacking his usual resistance. He crouched down and shuffled closer to feel his forehead, recoiling as it scorched him.

Fuck. I gotta cool him down somehow…

He retreated to douse a towel with cool water, bringing it to his brother’s boiling flesh upon his return. Steam rose from where cloth met skin, a sizzling noise accompanying every dab. The towel didn’t last long; within minutes it was dry and he tossed it aside with a scowl.

“I’m gonna move you, it’d be nice if you didn’t stab me,” he grumbled. He doubted Vergil heard him, but it couldn’t hurt.

Dante grasped his brother’s shoulders firmly, grunting as he dragged the man from his dark hiding place. His empty look didn’t shift as he heaved him into a fireman’s carry and headed for the bathroom. A soft exhalation was the only signal of Vergil’s continued incoherence as Dante carefully set him on the cold tile, doing his best to avoid burning his fingers.

Demon flu, maybe? Is that a thing? I swear if I catch this, I’m gonna be pissed.

Dante snorted. It was probably too late for that. He shook his head and started the bath, turning the dial completely to the cold side. Now for the really fun part.

It took several minutes of curses and singed fingers, but finally Vergil was left in only his briefs. No matter how sick he got, there was no way in hell Dante was taking off his brother’s underwear. He had his limits.

“All right, this would be way easier if you helped me out,” he said. As expected, Vergil didn’t respond.

Dante sighed and covered his hands with a towel. It wasn’t much, but hopefully it would protect him from the worst of it. If not, he’d heal in a few minutes, but pain never got more fun. He braced himself and grappled Vergil into the cool water, splashing an absurd amount over the edge with his efforts.

Once his brother was settled, Dante took a perch on the toilet. Steam rose from the water, the area around his hands and feet reaching a low boil. The red-clad man added more water every time Vergil’s heat boiled too much away, staying by his side for hours and waiting for any change.

He jumped when Vergil spoke at last.

“It… it cannot be…”

The fuck is he yammering about?

Icy eyes darted around the bathroom, landing at last on Dante’s face. He offered a sheepish grin but his twin only snarled in return. A haze of confusion still clouded his expression.

“Im- impossible. She’s dead!”

Lithe but powerful arms slashed at the empty air, attacking an invisible foe. Dante dodged with practiced ease.

“Vergil! It’s me, calm down!”

“Begone, I will not succumb to trickery!”

More water sprayed onto the tile as Vergil thrashed. His hands cracked against the wall and Dante lunged forward, grabbing his skull before it followed suit. He bit his lip and held on as his brother writhed, battling the demons of his mind.

Damnit, quit freaking out!

By the time Vergil calmed, Dante’s arms were aching from holding his head for so long. Two of Vergil’s fingers splayed at unnatural angles and bruises marked him in several spots. Blue met blue as the two brothers’ eyes locked.

“D- Dante?”

“Hey, Verge,” he replied, lowering his sore limbs. Never had he heard Vergil sound so broken, his voice a low croak. “You back now?”

The elder Sparda glanced at the marks lining his arms, taking in his injuries with a disapproving sneer. He cradled his broken fingers and closed his eyes. “I think so.”

Dante leaned back, stretching his shoulders. “Good. You uh, ya had me worried for a sec.”

The man in the bathtub scoffed. “I didn’t realize you had the capacity for such things.”

He snorted. Vergil must be feeling better. A cautious hand went to check his temperature by shoving his shoulder; it felt warm still, but far less so. Progress.

“You should’ve heard the crap you were saying.”

Vergil flinched, his eyes lowering to stare at the water. The expression of vulnerable sadness shocked Dante; his brother wasn’t prone to fits of openness. It was rare to glimpse the man beneath the stoic exterior.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Vergil leaned back, resting his head on the wall as he lowered his mangled fingers into the cold water with a deep sigh. “I imagine you’ll pester me until I do.”

Dante chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, probably.”

His brother clenched his jaw and clicked his tongue, gathering his thoughts before he spoke again. “I was in the Underworld. Mundus was coming.”

“So, you hid in the closet?”

A curt nod was the only response. Dante knew better than to prod at that wound any further. He hummed and crossed his arms, gazing thoughtfully at the ceiling. Did he have the nerve to ask? How could he not?

“You mentioned a woman, too. Was… was it mom?”

Vergil shook his head and muttered, “No, someone else. You didn’t know her.”

A long moment passed in silence, each brother lost in memories of those they’d lost years ago. Eventually, Vergil broke the spell.

“Don’t you have better things to do than sit here and bother me?”

“Not really. But if you leave the door unlocked I’ll go,” Dante replied.

Another curt nod. “Agreed.”

The legendary devil hunter grunted as he rose, his tired body complaining after sitting in the same position for so long. He yawned and stretched, cracking his sternum as he walked away. Halfway out the door, he paused.

“There’s pho, if you’re hungry. Don’t drown.”

A final scoff was his answer and he smirked as he clicked the door closed. Only time would tell if the worst of Vergil’s illness was over. The thought of repeating the last few hours made him cringe. Stripping his twin once was enough, thank you very much.

Have you ever read the Hunger Games series? Yep and watched all the movies. I was really into it at the time. When was the last time you ran into something? Hmm. I don’t recall. Do you enjoy dressing up? Nah. Do you live in the city or a rural area? I live in the city. Would you say you have a sense of style? My sense of style consists of mostly graphic tees and leggings, but also some Adidas clothes. And shoes. 

What’s your biggest fear? This question comes up all the damn time. Have you ever been bitten by a wild animal? Nooo. Are you close to any of your cousins? Aww, I used to be close to a few of my cousins. Not anymore, though. :( That’s all my fault. I became really distant and withdrawn from friends and even family outside of my immediate family.  Have you ever been lost in the woods? No, thankfully. Where did you last travel? Disneyland back in February. Do you enjoy driving? I don’t drive.  What song did you last listen to? I mentioned this in a previous survey already, but I’ve had Savage by Megan the Stallion stuck in my head because of TikTok. If you have a job, how often do you work? I don’t have a job. What time do you normally go to sleep at night? For the past month I’ve been going to bed after 6AM. :X Do you watch a lot of movies? Hmm. Not a lot, no. I watch more TV shows. Do you like Tom Petty? ”Now I’m freeeeeee Free fallin’.” Would you rather have snow or rain? I love rainy days. It doesn’t snow here, but I wish it did. Do you own a lot of sweaters? I own a lot of sweatshirts. Have you ever tried rock-climbing? Well, no. For obvious reasons. Ever ridden in a police car? Nope. Favorite decade of music? That’s tough cause I like music that spans across decades, but I think the 90s and early 2000′s will hold a special spot. Have any of your best friends been your best friend longer than a year? My longest was my best friend of 15 years.  Ever witnessed a murder? Noooo.  Does your room have a ceiling fan? Yep. Have you ever tried blogging? Before Tumblr I had Xanga for a long time.  Favorite television channel? E!, MTV, The Hallmark Channel, TeenNick, TVLand, and the ID Channel. Have you ever lied under oath? I’ve never had to be under oath. What are your religious views? I’m a Christian. When did you last change your bed sheets? A week ago. Would you consider yourself a flirt? No. At what age do you plan to be married? I don’t plan on getting married. Do you eat a lot of junk food? Honestly, all I eat is sandwiches, ramen, eggs, and Wingstop. Sometimes pizza and pasta. When did you last go on vacation? I’ve answered this 3 times now tonight, but I went to Disneyland back in February. Are you resilient? I was when I was younger. Definitely not anymore. Have you ever failed a subject before? I failed one math course in community college and had to retake it again. I ended up doing a lot better the 2nd time. I honestly believe it’s because I had a better teacher. If so, what was the class? ^^^ Do you wear more bright or dull colors? Dull. Majority of my clothes are black. Do you know anyone who has attempted suicide? Yes. What’s your favorite quote? Blah. How many clocks are in your house? Like 20 including all the electronics.  Do you play any sports? Nope. What is your biggest life regret? I have a lot of those. Have you ever been injured in a car accident? No, thankfully. If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be? Well obviously right now I only want to be at home, but I look forward to the day I can go to the beach. Have you ever had highlights in your hair? Yeah, I had them for years. Favorite fast food restaurant? I’m not into fast food anymore like I used to be. I was a fast food junkie before. The only takeout I’m into is Wingstop. And pizza from a local place, but I haven’t had that in awhile. In what country were you born? US of A. Are your eyes more than one color? Nope, just brown. Have you ever caught something on fire? Something in the microwave once, something in the oven once, the tips of my hair.... What would you consider your biggest flaw? Oh boy where to start. What do you think your best quality is? I don’t know. Do you enjoy listening to others’ problems? I used to be the person people came to if they needed advice or just someone to talk to and I was good at it. I liked being there and helping any way I could. People told me they felt comfortable talking to me and I was easy to talk to. It could also be overwhelming and draining at times. Especially leading up to when I fell into a really low, dark place a few years ago. I couldn’t be that person anymore. I wasn’t in a good headspace. I pushed everyone away and became very distant and withdrawn. That was 4 years ago and I’m still out of that place. :/

Do you keep any plants in your house? Nope. What is your mother’s occupation? She’s a manager at Walgreens.  Do any of your friends like your musical style? My family and I share some musical interests. What are you most looking forward to? I wanna say this quarantine ending, but I know resuming life in the real world would also be making me anxious when the time comes. I guess I’m most excited for seeing Gabie again, because I haven’t seen March 7th. <<< SAME to the first part.  What was your favorite television show as a child? Disney Channel, Nickelodeon, PBS, Saturday morning cartoons on ABC, WB Kids... all the kid shows in the 90s, basically. Are you afraid of insects? YES. ALL of them. Are you cold-natured? I’m very warm blooded, I feel like I’m always hot. I like when I’m actually cold and can wear a hoodie/sweatshirt or curl up under a blanket. How old were you when you got your first pet? We had a dog when I was a baby. Did you / do you enjoy high school? I liked parts of it.  What would you say was your favorite age? Childhood. What annoys you most about social networking? Trolls, fake news, cancel culture.

Are you the center of attention most of the time? Nooo. I never want to be the center of attention. What are you currently reading? I’m starting the 2nd book in the Jack Ryder Mystery Series by Willow Rose. When did you last go to the library? Sometime back in 2014 when I was still in school. Are you ill at the moment? Not with a virus or anything like that, thankfully. I just always feel crappy for other reasons. Do people tease you about anything? How I’m too sensitive.  How late did you stay up last night and why? Last night I went to bed at 4 in the morning, which is really early for me these days. Have you ever written poetry? I dabbled with it when I was 16. I still have the diary I wrote them in and yikes they’re so cringe-y haha. Curtains or shades? Curtains.  How many people have you spoken to in the last hour? Zero, everyone in my house is asleep. Do you tend to text a lot? Nope. Ever lost a great best friend? Yes. What is your favorite kind of flower? Eh, I just say roses but I don’t really have one. Do you own any guns? No. What would you say is your favorite book of all-time? I could never choose. What’s your least favorite part of the day? Late evening always seems to go by really slow.

Have you ever won an award for a speech? No. Do you tend to curse a lot? Nah. Have you ever played on the Ouija board? Nooo. I don’t mess with that kind of stuff. Do you sleepwalk? Nope. Have you ever slept on the floor before? Yeah. Are you a fan of public displays of affection? I don’t care for like heavy make out sessions or groping all over each other, but I don’t care about a kiss, cuddling, or hand holding. When did you last attend a yard sale? When I was a kid. We had a family friend who had them often. What goals do you wish to accomplish tomorrow? I don’t have anything I want to accomplish tomorrow. When is your birthday? July 28th. What was the best part of today? It’s only 430 in the morning. Do you attempt to stay away from drama? Involving me yes, but I like celebrity gossip and drama. What liquid did you last drink? Starbucks Doubleshot energy drink. Do you ever prefer to be alone? Yeah, I need to have some alone time. Have you ever had a deadly animal as a pet? No. Favorite Disney movie? Alice in Wonderland, Winnie the Pooh, A Goofy Movie, and Toy Story. Have you ever been to the beach? Countless times. I love the beach.  If you have, how many times have you been? ^^^^ What was your dream occupation at age ten? I wanted to be a teacher back then. Are you terrified at the idea of weight-gain? No. I’m underweight and need to gain some weight. Do you drink a lot of water? I only get like 2-3 glasses a day. :X Does your room have carpet or hard-wood floors? Carpet. Do you take naps daily? No.

Who were you named after? No one in particular. Do you plan on traveling this spring or summer? No, we’re still going to be dealing with all this. :/ Do you know anyone who is colorblind? Nope. Have you ever been a teacher’s pet? I guess so. I was always the good kid, the “pleasure to have in class.” Teachers loved me. What is your absolute favorite hobby? Reading, surveys, coloring.  Ever been to a tanning bed before? No. I have no interest in that. Are you satisfied with your financial stability? I have enough to pay my bills and a little extra for other stuff, so I’m grateful for that. Who is your favorite actor / actress? Alexander Skarsgard. Are your nails painted? Nope. Do you ever accidentally talk to inanimate objects? Not accidentally, but I talk to inanimate objects when they don’t cooperate. More like talk shit, but haha. What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream? Strawberry. Have you ever kissed someone of the same gender? No. Do you receive any hate mail? No. Have you ever sent a letter in the mail? Yeah. If you could, would you have a pen pal? I did in 3rd grade. It was fun. We even got to meet them toward the end of the year during a field trip. I wouldn’t want one now, though. What color are the pants you’re wearing? I’m wearing black leggings.  What is your life philosophy? Hmm. Who last sent you a goodnight text message? No one does. Do you own any clothes that are your favorite color? Yeah. One of my favorite colors is black and most of my clothes are black. I have a few items that are my other favorite colors as well. Have you ever been in a hot tub before? Once for a short time. I didn’t like it. What’s your favorite comedy movie? I have several, but the one that came to mind first was Bridesmaids.  In which year were you born? 1989.

May Angel Fish Awards

Every month all of you fantastic writers work your asses off to post some truly incredible stories. Our Angel Fish Awards are the way for all of us, as a community of writers and readers, to lift each other up and give praise to those who have captured our attention and deserve a few kind words.

The monthly Angel Fish Awards are peer-nominated, meaning ANYONE IN THE POND CAN NOMINATE ANY POND MEMBER’S FIC. While the Pond was founded to support the Guppies, everyone in this community deserves to be showered with love and feedback, and we hope that by opening this up as a Pond wide system, we’ll be able to share the love as far as it can go.

NOTE: WE’VE BEEN HAVING OCCASIONAL PROBLEMS WITH ASKS GOING MISSING. Please use the Submit button when submitting your nominations and make sure you’re signed into Tumblr or your URL won’t show. (If the form asks for your name and email address, then you’re not signed in.) If you like, you can also send a message to Michelle or Mana to check and make sure we got your submission.

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, HERE ARE MAY’S ANGEL FISH AWARDS!

Nominated by @mrswhozeewhatsis 

The Things We Don’t Believe In by @thecleverdame 

This series has more drama than a soap opera! It’s an ABO Sam AU where the Winchesters own a huge company and are stupidly rich. Then Sam meets his true mate, who is working at a grungy bar as a bartender. Worlds collide, and not in a good way! This is a great story well told and everyone should read it!

What Lies Beneath by @thewhiterabbit42

It took me through most of my first reading of this one shot to figure out what’s going on (because I’m slow on the uptake, sometimes), but once I did... WOW! I had to go back and read it all again to appreciate it! No spoilers, but this is an awesome idea well executed and everyone should read it!!

On My Mind by @girl-next-door-writes 

This is SO CUTE!! I love me some flustered Sam, and this is cute, flustered Sam at his best. So freaking adorable!

Nominated by @risingphoenix761 

Blood in Bed by @slytherkins 

There aren’t nearly enough Drowley fics out there, and this one hasn’t gotten nearly the attention it deserves. Tara has a gift for snark, which is a must-have for writing Crowley, and she nails demon!Dean with smug, cocky finesse. A nice, cheeky, angsty look into what could have happened while they were howling at the moon, and an appropriately moody ending. I love the banter. I love the pining. I need more people to read this! 

Just a Bug by @impala-dreamer

This was a surprise, even with what I’ve come to expect from Beka. It’s short and sweet with a shot of blech and so fluffy. So fluffy!!

When In Rome by @slytherkins 

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: there aren’t enough Drowley fics to be had. Which makes this one twice as satisfying! Tara nails Crowley being Crowley and it’s glorious, but what really blew me away here was Dean. Holy smokes! I didn’t know whether I wanted him to keep fighting or give in, his perception was so well handled. It would have been very easy to get something wrong with his character here, but that never happened. And read the warnings for sure… This one’s DARK.

Nominated by @emilyshurley 

Dear Dean by @purpleskiesandcherrypies 

I don’t have enough words to describe how much I adore this fic. At first i wasn’t sure if I would like a WWII story but I fell in love with how cute Bambi and Dean are together.

Nominated by @manawhaat

Dear Readers (drabble) by @atc74​

THESE. WORDS. ARE. SO. IMPORTANT.

This is not only a very believable letter to readers from Journalist!Jared, but it’s also something so JARED in character. The message, the sentiment, the way he’s so open with the fandom, how encouraging he is...all of that incredible shit that Jared is is echoed in this letter. It’s so well done and so beautifully honest. The message in this is so important, and I really hope that it can be shared so people can see it.

Lost In The World (drabble) by @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish

This is short and sweet and meaningful. Dad!Dean is always a thing that tugs at my heart strings, and the kind of hope and strength he portrays in this, even if it’s quiet and coupled with worry and uncertainty, is so Dean and so important for people struggling with mental illness. Finding hope, solace, and comfort in fanfiction is a powerful thing, and that light and support shines through in this sweet little gem! 

Insomnia (oneshot) by @rowdyhooliganism

This is one of the sexiest Benny fics, hell, one of THE sexiest fics I’ve read in a while. There’s wit and sass and an undeniable pull and tension between them. The heightened vamp senses and the way they play into this kills me. I’m a sucker for a big fucker and the way Benny is portrayed in this really showcases the big brute’s size. Seriously, it’s just fucking good so go read it okay?

Tell Sam (oneshot) by @kittenofdoomage

I’m a slut for dubcon, for rough!Winchesters, and this portrayal of purgatory!Dean really fucking delivers on so many levels. Rhi’s characterization is spot on, as always, and it all feels so dangerous and gritty. It’s painful and scary and heartbreaking and riveting and makes you feel guilty for wanting it so badly. 

Nominated by @fictionalabyss 

The Broom Is Not A Toy by @sorenmarie87 

When the idea for it hit me,  I was so happy to hand it off to her and see what she could do, and she didn’t disappoint with it. Adorable panda cubs refusing to let Dean just do his work? perfect. I really want to join in on the panda habitat fun now.

Love Shouldn’t Hurt by @sorenmarie87 

HEED THE WARNINGS. It’s a tough subject, the likes of which we don’t normally see from Dawn, but she did great with it. I had the pleasure of being her beta for this piece, and it not only came out fantastic, but really shows her growth as a writer.

You’re Mine by @coffee-obsessed-writer 

I happened across this one this morning and damn near died. It’s so well written and I’ve never wanted a dom!Jensen more in my life.

Nominated by @wi-deangirl77 

Standing Here by @plaidstiel-wormstache 

I want to nominate this fic by @plaidstiel-wormstache because she does something wonderful with the age old trope of someone pining for the person they can’t seem to have. It’s brilliantly written and incorporates the perfect song to encapsulate the theme of the fic. It’s all the angst, but it’s beautiful angst.

Nominated by @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish 

His Property (series) by @negans-lucille-tblr 

What can I say about this story other than it’s freaking amazing?! I binged the first five chapters before I got added to the tag list and as I said AMAZING! Love the way the characters are being written and the change in POVs is being handled beautifully! Keep up the fantastic work and I can’t wait to see where this story goes! 

House of the Rising Sun (series) by @kittenofdoomage 

Oh. My. Gosh. What can I say about this story except that I will be rereading it and reblogging it to explain just how much I love it. The first time I read it I truly forgot to hit reblog (because I am a horrible person) but I was so lost in the story and the intricate world that had been woven by dark queen Rhi that the real world kind of escaped me. Please accept my most humble apologies.

Check and Mate by @kittenofdoomage 

WOW! I’ve been on a dark!Sam kick lately so this story is perfection!! I loved everything about it, I don’t even think I could narrow it down to a favorite part, although, “bathe in the rivers of destruction” is a brilliant line!

Outside the Iron by @kittenofdoomage 

As I told Rhi “who gave you the right to give me this many feels?! I am not ok and was not expecting to feel this much so early in the morning, so, ya, thanks for that. But really, that was a freaking **work of art** and I loved every word of it! She is a freaking genius writer and everything she writes gives me some kind of feels.

Bed of Roses (series) by @crispychrissy 

What doesn’t this fic have?  mob fic (a personal favorite of mine)? check. most genres of fan fic? check. a kick butt reader that I dream of being? check. spot on characterization? check. Basically a recipe for an amazing story, which it is!

You’re Mine by @coffee-obsessed-writer 

This was so good in oh so many ways! Love me some Dom!Jensen and this story is great as a stand alone or a great intro to a (mini) series. Not sure what the author has in mind but I am happy either way.

The Mobster’s Girl (series) by @fictionalabyss 

I have been following this series for a long time and have loved seeing the journey of the reader and Sam, both separately and together. I think my personal favorite would be the original Mobster’s Girl set, seeing Sam try to win her over, and then eventually just exert himself as the mobster he is was fantastic.

Songs of a Caged Bird by @manawhaat 

I love a good twisted Winchesters story and Mana did a fan-freakin-tastic job of portraying the boys as twisted while still keeping them in character. Her portrayal of them just felt so spot on to me and I just adore this fic!

The Moonlight ‘Verse (series) by @thecleverdame [link is to George’s masterlist where you can find the links to all of the parts)

So many good stories in this 'verse but A History of Violence Parts 1 & 2 are my two favorites because everybody gets a little bit sassy and that’s always fun! The characters and the settings are very well written and I enjoy reading anything written by George!

Thank you all for the awesome work and great feedback!

As with the BFAs, these are not actual awards! This system is set up so everyone in the pond has a chance to share the love and promote a fic/author that has grabbed your attention. The more people that participate, and the more everyone remembers to submit their own fics after posting, the better this will be :D

THANK YOU ALL AGAIN, KEEP UP THE AMAZING WORK, AND AS ALWAYS, HAPPY WRITING!