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chasing-classics · 3 years

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It Takes A Man- Ray Diaz x Reader (2)

Pairing: Ray Diaz x Reader

Warning(s): Language, angsty feels, mentions of cheating, SMUT

Summary: In the aftermath of your night with Ray, you struggle to move on from the Diaz men, but find difficulty in forgetting the man in question. What happens when you reunite?

A/N: This will not be a full-length story, I think it’ll just be a fun little miniseries that I’ll work on between drabbles and oneshots, but so many of you loved the first part that I couldn’t help but post the sequel earlier than anticipated. Enjoy, my little deviants!

Part 1

You huffed, barely making it through your front door before the handfuls of grocery bags collapsed at your feet. You cringed, shaking your head upwards at the thought of how all the fresh fruit you just bought at the corner bodega was now bruised. Shuffling your feet, you prodded the cans of various sauces and whatnot out of your way, casually closing the front door with your foot and tossed your purse on the nearby sofa.

Your new apartment had finally been put together in your hasty move from the Diaz household. The drive was not so bad, it was long enough to put distance between Oscar and yourself so that you two could avoid any awkward/angry confrontations on the street. But you were relieved, as was Cesar, that it was no more than a 15-minute drive, 25-minute to half hour walk in case the youngest Diaz brother and his friends ever wished to stop by. The pang in your chest whenever your thoughts drifted towards Cesar was still an entirely fresh wound. The way he yelled and cried in your arms the night he came home still made your e/c eyes well up with tears. You would never forgive yourself for the role you played in the separation. Oscar was by no means innocent; his actions were unforgiveable. He cheated on you more times than you would ever care to admit. He made a fool out of the one person who held him down, the one constant in his life. And you would be lying if you said you weren’t still bitter.

Cesar knew the breakup was looming, in the months leading up to that fateful night you and Oscar had gone for each other’s throats. Initially he only left the house to take care of ‘’Santo business’’ but the smell of cheap perfume contradicted that immediately. Despite your valiant efforts, Cesar walked in on you once or twice just crying your eyes out until they became so painfully puffy. History certainly repeated itself in the Diaz house. The only difference was that you managed to get out in, mentally exhausted but physically fine, while his mother had overdosed not two years after Ray was locked up. Cesar partially felt betrayed by everyone involved. Oscar, Ray, and even you. But Oscar had been the real target of Cesar’s anger and hurt. Had Oscar not made Cesar join the Santos, Cesar would’ve had a normal life and possible ticket outside of Freeridge. Had Oscar not been a complete jerk to you, Cesar could’ve had some resemblance of a family left. He still had you, he still had Oscar. But it was never going to be the same.

That said, what you and Ray had done was anything but innocent. ‘’Fuck,’’ you huffed, tossing your keys in the dish by the entryway. As much as you probably should’ve forgotten all about that night. As much as you tried to dismiss the reminiscing, you found yourself in a losing battle. About the way Ray had felt filling you. The drag and pull movements of his manhood along your velvety walls. You involuntarily shivered and cursed yourself as your mind clouded over in a haze of lust.

‘’No. . .no, we aren’t going back there,’’ you chided, working to tidy up the place. ‘No matter how much I may long to. . .’ you mentally noted as your actions quickened in a pathetic attempt to block the mental image of Ray hovering over you, filling your tightness. The familiar pitter patter of butterflies in your abdomen alerted you of your arousal. The blush that steadily spread across your cheeks did the same.

Ray and you had seldom spoken in the nearly 40 days it took for you to find an apartment in a safe part of Freeridge (upon Oscar’s insistence, to your shock) and for you to gather your belongings and move out (thanks to the efforts of Sad Eyes and Tito, also upon Oscar’s insistence and your shock). When you had said a quick goodbye to your ex of five years and the boy you practically raised since he was a small fourth grader, the longing look in Ray’s eyes was not lost on you. Whereas Cesar walked you to your car, Oscar hung back on the porch trying his best to seem unbothered, Ray leaned against the side gate of the house. A cigarette hung loosely between his lips as he made sure to stay out of Oscar’s line of vision. You didn’t need to look up at him to know he was watching you. To know that look in his eyes. You had the same look as you drove way, only concealing it as to avoid another fist fight between Oscar and his father.

The apartment itself was nice and homey. Your job in real estate, selling mostly houses in Brentwood, made sure that you could afford nicer furniture, a stocked fridge, and lunch money for Cesar. He would alternate, opting to camp out on your charcoal gray couch while Oscar enjoyed the benefits of a newly single life back home. You feigned ignorance or uncaringness whenever Cesar showed up late at night with a sympathetic look in his deep brown eyes, but every time you thought about the girls drifting in and out of the only home you had truly known the past five years, your heart clenched in your throat.

Sad Eyes had been another figure who graced your doorstep every now and then. He insisted it was because of the friendship you and he had maintained since high school, but something told you he was keeping tabs on you. The one, single one night stand you had partaken in a few nights ago just so happened to be cut short (too short) when Sad Eyes conveniently began pounding on the door. The situation had Oscar’s hypocritical jealous antics written all over it. Nonetheless, Jose was a good friend of yours’ and he along with Tito and the other Santos were a big help in setting up the place to your liking.

As you drifted around the entertainment area, around the balcony, and around the kitchen watering your various plants, your brows furrowed. The one person who hadn’t really visited you, aside from Oscar of course, was the one man you couldn’t stop thinking about.

Your night with Ray was far too passionate, or so you thought, to be just a one-time thing. As sick and twisted it might be, as horrible of a person that made you, you couldn’t help but yearn to have another night with the Diaz patriarch. Subconsciously, your hand drifted to your collarbone, sighing through your nose as visions of his strong, rough hands exploring your flesh resonated within you. Part of you shrunk back into your shell, your subconscious telling you that Oscar had clearly taken after his father when it came to breaking hearts. That Ray probably hadn’t been with a woman since being released from prison. That you were just an easy fix, a convenience for him in the form of an insecure and emotionally exhausted hyna. He didn’t see you anything other than a tight hole to keep his dick warm. You bit your lip, hands clutching the kitchen counter until your knuckles turned nearly pale.

But the other part of you felt in your bones that it was not just an easy fix. That, yes lust fueled and spurred his actions, but there was something about the way he looked at you as you drove away from the house. Something that screamed ‘’more.’’ An enchanting, debauching look. Interest, maybe, but still more all the same. More.

Your fingers danced down the valley of your breasts, down your abdomen, until your fingertips made contact with the top of your leggings. Admittedly, you had forgone wearing underwear this particular day, out of laziness, but you were certainly not complaining as your fingers met the wetness of your tight folds. An airy sigh escaped your lips, eyes closed as those fingers danced along your sensitive folds like little ballerinas.

Your other hand began kneading your still clothed breasts, becoming rougher in an attempt to mirror the way Ray had done. Whether it was the forbidden, sinful nature of that night or not, no other man, not even Oscar had made you feel so erotic the way Ray Diaz had. Your eyelids fluttered shut as your moans steadily flowed past your lips like a gentle choir. The middle finger curled in the depths of your core, your index finger gently rolling the sensitive pearl above. The faster your digits worked, the easier it became to imagine Ray’s touch. The smell of his shampoo with the slight musk of his sweat from working out in the front lawn. The way he grunted every time he slammed into your core. The way his eyes went nearly black from pure lust and primal desire when he looked over your quivering form.

‘’R-Ray,’’ you whimpered to yourself, panting as your fingers worked diligently.

‘’Don’t stop, nena.’’

Your eyes flew wide open, your mouth following suit as the man of the hour stood in your front door, learning against the frame. That infamous, lopsided Diaz smirk left no room to question where his boys got it from.

‘’Don’t stop on my account,’’ he repeated, uncomfortably shifting his weight to his other leg, a very noticeable bulge catching your attention immediately. You gulped.

‘’How the f-fuc. . .wha. . .why?’’ you screeched, hand quickly retreating from your pulsing, needy pussy much to your discomfort. You were convinced that he could feel the heat of your blush from across the room.

‘’The front door was unlocked. I know it’s a safer neighborhood, but you still need to-‘’

‘’I meant why the hell are you here?’’ you didn’t mean to sound as bitchy as it had came out, but you were slightly jilted from the way he had ignored you the pas several weeks.

No calls. No texts. No surprise visits. Until now.

The smirk faded from his handsome face, becoming more serious although his eyes showed the slightest hint of a mix of shame and sorrow.

‘’Y/n,’’ he sighed, eyes turning to look down at the floor. It was amazing how, for a split second, the father of two and former Santos member had morphed into a nervous young man. You could almost pinpoint what he looked like younger.

You stilled, heart still racing violently in your chest. He had rarely called you by your name before. Even before you two had sex, it had always been ‘’nena’’ or ‘’mamacita.’’ In fact, you were sure he only used your name once. When he came inside you and sealed your fate. You suppressed a shiver, but Ray quickly caught the effect he still had on you. He regained some of his courage, standing up straight. Your eyes quickly surveyed the way his muscles automatically flexed as his arms folded up and crossed his chest. Damn him.

‘’I’m sorry I haven’t called or visited. . .I wasn’t sure if you wanted anything to do with me considering. . .,’’ his thoughts trailed off, not wanting to discuss the way Oscar had blown up after catching you. One thing you admired about Oscar, that despite his temper he never laid a hand on you. He would rage and toss some furniture in the opposite direction and yell like a madman. But his rage was mostly directed at Ray that night.

‘’We need to talk to you, hermano,’’ Oscar’s deep voice cut the silence as you resisted the urge to glare at the Santos’ leader.

‘’Okayyy?’’ Cesar offered an awkward smile, sitting at the dinner table. The same dinner table that just moments prior had been flung on its’ side as Oscar raged throughout the house. You had barely tossed the scattered food into the trash can before Cesar walked in.

Ray cleared his throat and retreated to the side door of the house, probably smoking a cigarette to calm his nerves as the ‘’adults’’ had their talk.

‘’Cesar,’’ you started, reaching across the table to gently grasp his hand. When had he gotten so big? You never once tried to be the mother he had lost to drugs as a five-year-old. You never took away the authority figure that was forcibly bestowed onto Oscar. You were just Y/n; his brother’s girlfriend. But you knew you were the closest thing Cesar ever had to a mother/motherly figure. And you had fucked it all up.

‘’What’s going on?’’ his thick brows knotted in confusion. You hesitantly glanced at Oscar, him biting back a glare towards you as he sighed.

‘’Y/n is moving out,’’ he mumbled and if you didn’t know Oscar any better, you could’ve sworn there was a hint of sadness in his voice.

‘’Wait.. . what?’’ it broke your heart hearing the confusion and panic in Cesar’s voice.

‘’Cesar, it’s ok. I’ll still be here whenever you need me. It’s just,’’ you trailed off, your own voice wavering as you tried to muster up the best way to explain things.

‘’No it’s not ‘ok.’ Why are you leaving us? Leaving me?’’ Cesar’s voice steadily rose, yanking his hand away from you. The gesture made you wince.

‘’Cesar,’’ Oscar’s tone slowly shifted to that of Spooky.

‘’No! Tell me why she’s leaving. Why is she really leaving!’’ Cesar stood up abruptly, nearly knocking the chair to the floor. Somewhere outside Ray coughed on a nicotine coated cloud. The room filled with uncomfortable silence.

‘’Cesar. Sometimes, people just fall out of love. Things happen. Life happens. Sometimes even adults make really shitty decisions and they change on each other,’’ your voice remained soft as you sadly looked up at the boy you helped raise. You resisted the urge to look at Oscar’s gutted expression, knowing that if you did you would surely lose it. It had been that exact moment you regretted not leaving the house as soon as Ray walked in just hours before.

Cesar’s gaze softened as he looked down at you, but once his chocolate brown hues fell upon his brother, they quickly hardened with anger.

‘’You did this. . .you fucking had to get your dick wet that bad that you didn’t even consider her! She did everything for us! For you! She was there for me when you weren’t! You were too busy being Spooky that you couldn’t be fucking bothered!’’ he snarled.

‘’Watch your fucking mouth, Lil Spooky,’’ Oscar steadily rose on his two feet, towering over Cesar. You stood as well, ready to jump into the lion’s den if necessary.

Cesar scoffed, a mocking smile on his lips before it quickly gave way to the coldest glare. He looked nearly identical to Oscar. ‘’You’ve given Ray so much shit for leaving us and abandoning his family. . .in reality you’re no better.’’

Oscar lunged forward, the two brothers tangled up as fists were flying.

‘’Oscar stop!’’ you screamed, throwing yourself into your ex, dodging fists left and right. Ray barged back into the house, getting a grip of Oscar as you shoved Cesar in the opposite way. The sound of Oscar’s fist coming into contact with Ray’s jaw echoed throughout the house.

‘’Get the fuck off of me! Get the fuck off of me!’’ Oscar snarled, desperately trying to shove his father off him to no avail. What Ray lacked in height when it came to Oscar, he made up with in strength. You could see Ray struggling to rein in his anger and maintain his grip on his son. Tears filled your eyes as well as Cesar’s as the two of you fell to the floor, watching the two men struggle.

‘’Had enough?’’ Ray grunted. He still smelled like you, and that more than anything broke Oscar.

Oscar managed to shove the Diaz patriarch off, falling back against the wall as he huffed, tears clouding his vision. His eyes fell on you and for once, he saw the damage his infidelities caused blow up in his face. His baby brother crying into your arms, begging it all to stop as you cried to yourself in the corner. Both of you looked so small, you looked so defeated. He had fucked up. You met his broken gaze, shaking your head as if you could will all of this to evaporate. You had fucked up. The next morning, you began looking around Freeridge for apartments. The next few weeks, Oscar helped you load up your car as you moved twenty-five minutes away from the only home you knew. The day after that? You gathered the rest of your belongings and bit back a sob as you held Cesar in a crushing hug. As you looked over his shoulder, you saw Oscar leaning against the porch’s structure, biting his lip as he looked down at you, fighting the urge to ask you to stay. To work through it. But he quickly realized that was what he had been asking of you throughout all of these years. And that is why he remained silent as you pulled out of the Diaz’s driveway. He didn’t move until your car was out of sight.

You shook your head, leaning against the island in the middle of your kitchen. Your hands rubbed and massaged at your temples, biting down on your bottom lip to prevent the tears from falling. ‘’That was on me,’’ you whispered, voice croaking with emotion. You jumped when you felt Ray’s strong hand on your shoulder. You gasped as a jolt of electricity passed through the two of you. Judging from the quick intake of breath, Ray felt it too.

‘’I’m so sorry,’’ he whispered. You straightened out, looking up at Ray despite still only reaching his collar bone. The inner struggle was clear as day in Ray’s eyes. He was undoubtfully attracted to you. But more than that, he admired you. The way you cared for his sons. The way you managed to handle the lifestyle of the Santos while still obtaining your classy demeanor. You were capable of holding down a family. And although you were insecure thanks to what his eldest son had put you through, Ray wanted nothing more than to reassure you of your worth.

You hesitated for just a moment, before lunging upwards and meeting Ray in a passionate kiss. A kiss that conveyed all the words you wished to say, but didn’t have the strength to voice. His hands clutched your hip and cradled the side of your neck as he returned the kiss tenfold. Whether it was lust, genuine interest, curiosity, or some weird concoction of all three you found it entirely all too easy to throw caution to the wind around this man.

You nipped at Ray’s bottom lip playfully, biting back a grin when you solicited a low moan from him. Pride be damned. Morals be damned. You had no obligation to Oscar anymore. Cesar didn’t need to know about this. It would just be a secret between the two of you.

The whimper that escaped your lips as he forcefully tugged off your top sent shivers down Ray’s spine. He grunted when his eyes feasted on the exposed skin. Without him even asking you, you unclasped your bra and stood topless in front of him. He dove down, expertly taking your nipple into his hot mouth and began twirling his tongue around your hardened bud. You moaned mewled, hands running through his short hair and roaming his broad, muscled back. Your eyes rested on the faded Santos cross on his arm, whimpering when he nipped at your sensitive skin.

‘’R-Ray,’’ you moaned lowly, mouth falling open when his hand made contact with your ass in a playful slap. You had no time to recover before he pulled away from you, gently turning you so that your front was pushed and pinned against the cool surface of the granite island. You hissed as your already hard, sensitive tits pressed against the freezing surface. You rested your cheek against the counter, shivering as Ray yanked down your leggings.

‘’Fuck,’’ he moaned, seeing your wet core fully exposed and presented to him.

‘’You’re going to be the death of me mami,’’ he whispered, pressing his bulge against your gaping hole. You bit your lip at the heat that emitted from his still clothed cock. You knew what was awaiting you and your insides coiled at the anticipation.

Each of his massive hands took a firm hold on the globes of your ass, gripping them and spreading you apart so that you were on full display under him. You let out a shaky breath between panting when his hot saliva met your tightness. His thumb spread it against your folds, teasing your clit before diving two fingers into your awaiting cunt. Ray all but growled at the way you gripped his digits. The delicious way you pulsed and clenched excitedly around his middle and index finger. He found himself constantly thinking, ‘I could get used to this.’

‘’Ray,’’ your needy voice broke him out of his thoughts as he folded over you, you feeling ever muscle of his chest against your bare back as he pressed light kisses against your shoulder before finally meeting your cheek and then your plump lips.

‘’I need you,’’ you whispered, leaning into his kisses and sighing when you heard him pull himself from his pants.

‘’You have me, princessa,’’ he grunted, working himself with one hand as the other tangled with yours’. ‘’You have me, all of me,’’ he groaned thrusting his hips forward and filling you with a brutal, singular thrust. You cried out, the burn of him stretching your tight canal was familiar and slightly painful, but divine all at once. His hand clenched yours, as if assuring you that you were ok, his lips still kissing the tears that threatened to escape the corners of your eyes.

‘’Fuck y/n,’’ he groaned, savoring the feel of his cock dragging within your tight pussy, pulling you back towards him as bit, only for you to bounce forward as he thrusted back into your core. He set a fast, brutal pace as the sounds of his thrusts echoed off the walls. You were grateful that your neighbors were at work, the wanton mewls and cries that escaped your lips would’ve surely caught their attention. As his hand held yours throughout the entire time he fucked into you, the other had a firm grip on your shoulder. Pinning you down so that you couldn’t slip from his cock and pulling you back to impale yourself on to his thickness.

You attempted to burn the sounds of his grunts and groans, as well as the squelching of your tight core every time his hips snapped against you from behind, but soon became overwhelmed. He was heavy and hot inside of you. You could feel exactly where he was every time he was seated inside of you. Your body bounced in tune with his movements, but the feeling of his heavy, throbbing manhood in your cunt was something you’d always savor.

Before you could even speak, waves of euphoria crashed within you as your release fell over his still hard cock. You could only cry out his name, panting it out as his hold on you tightened. He pressed fully against you, curling over your back as his cock throbbed and pulsed violently, painting your insides with his release.

His arms wrapped around your front, dragging you so that you rested against his chest, impaling you on his still solid dick. With awkward movements he led you past the kitchen, into your bedroom while every step you took resulted in another jolt as you practically balanced yourself on his cock.

Ray only pulled out briefly, laying you on your back on your mattress. He hovered over you, panting as his eyes glazed over at the sight of you. Your hair sprawled out like a crown around you, chest heaving with your labored breath and the post-orgasm tremors that shook you. What really caught his attention was the sight of your pretty pussy, still impossibly tight, dripping with his load onto your sky-blue comforter.

‘’Ray,’’ you whispered, reaching up for him. He laid over you, crashing his lips against your lips, seating himself back inside you. Your hands clawed at the white tank he still had on, only or him to pull away slightly and yank it off, tossing it carelessly into the corner of your room. His sweatpants were next along with any other article of clothing he had previously worn. All that was left was himself, bare and all.

Your leggings had been long abandoned in the kitchen and the moment his bare skin met yours, your fates were sealed. It was hot, passionate, deplorable, mind-blowing, wicked, otherworldly sex. Your nails embedded themselves into his back and shoulders, your legs wrapping around his hips as they crashed into you. Your moans mingled with one another, lips and teeth occasionally clashing against each other as he moved in you.

‘’It’s been too fucking long without this tight pussy, princessa. My pussy,’’ he growled, hammering into you as you struggled to keep up with his thrusts. Your clutched the comforter beneath you as that familiar coil began curling and tightening within you. He was reaching new depths, exploring new parts of you that you didn’t even know existed. And all you could do was lay there, moan out his name, and take it.

‘’Fuck, Ray, yes, fuck it feels so good,’’ you whined, throwing your head back as he began nipping and sucking on the column on your neck.

‘’Cum for me, mi reina,’’ he grunted, every muscle flexing as he moaned and panted above you. His hands were wrapped around your hips, dragging and pulling you upwards to meet his thrusts. The coil was impossibly tight, tears running down your cheeks and falling onto the bed below from the sensation of it all.

But came you did, violently around his manhood. You shook underneath him, mouth warped into an ‘’o’’ shape as you sighed and moaned under him. His thrusts sped up, to your shock, and it all came to a close the moment he pulled you to him, tucking his face into the base of your neck as his hot, thick load filled you once more.

As he pulsed within you, your pussy clenching and unclenching from the aftermath of two mind-blowing orgasms back to back, you simply laid there. You basked in the aftermath of it all, shivering when his load began dripping out of you and pooling onto the blanket, leaving a quarter-sized dark spot in its’ path. Once your breathing returned to normal, Ray met your eyes, a softness in them. His mouth met yours in a comforting, warm kiss. He was still inside you when you closed your eyes and fell into a satisfying, deep sleep.

When you had opened your eyes, it was visibly night-time. The orange glow of the streetlights illuminated your bedroom from your sheer curtains. Ray was knocked out beside you, one muscled arm thrown over your side in a protective manner. A small smile graced your lips, widening when you felt the strangely satisfying soreness between your legs.

You quietly got out of bed, maneuvering around the apartment to get a glass of water while trying not to disturb Ray. You had no idea where this was going to lead you. You weighed the possibilities. To date your ex-boyfriend’s father just seemed so ridiculous and wrong. No matter what Oscar had put you through with his infidelities, to go ahead and enter a relationship with his father just seemed cruel to you. And what would Cesar think if he were to catch you and Ray together? At the same time, you didn’t want to say goodbye to Ray. Aside from great sex, you felt a genuine connection with him. He was older, yes, but he made you feel things that nobody ever had. You huffed, sipping on your water as you felt the beginnings of a headache approaching. A sudden knock and turn of your front door startled you to the point you nearly dropped your glass onto the hardwood floor.

‘’Y/n,’’ Cesar’s voice was muffled, but clear as day through the door.

You gulped, body stiff with shock and fear. From your bedroom, the mattress creaked as Ray sat up, eyes groggy with sleep.

‘’Y/n?’’ he called out, getting up to check what the commotion was.

‘’Fuck me,’’ you sighed, mind racing and heart rising to your throat once more. You were so fucked.

#on my block #Ray Diaz #spooky diaz #cesar diaz #omb fic #ray x reader #freeridge #ray diaz x reader #Smut #on my block smut

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rohad93 · 4 years

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Moonlit Masquerade: High in the Mountains Pt 1

Part 9 of the Moonlit Masquerade Series

"What if we went camping?" Willow suggests as they all sit around in the living room of the owl house.

"Camping?" Luz asks, tilting her head as she looks at her two friends sitting across from her and Amity.

It's Friday after school, marking the beginning of fall break, a whole week off from school.

"Yeah, we can go out and enjoy the weather for a couple of days, hang out, no school or stuff." Willow grins, any outdoor activity is one she can get behind.

"And you two can be as gross as you want!" Gus smiles, directing his comment at Luz and Amity.

"We are not gross!" The green-haired girl barks and Luz agrees.

Willow and Gus look at them, Amity is sitting on one side of the couch with Luz laying across the rest, her head in her lap while Amity mindlessly runs her hand through dark brown hair. Willow cocks a brow at them.

"This proves nothing…," Luz grunts, crossing her arms but makes no move to extract herself from Amity, who rolls her eyes.

"You kind of are… but in a good way!" Willow quickly amends. "What we mean is, you won't have to worry about hiding while we're camping."

"I do love camping." Luz hums "Seems like it wouldn't be as much fun if we do it with magic though," she says.

"Oh, what if we do it the human way? Everything by hand…. That is how humans do it right?" Gus looks at her.

"Yup, setting up tents and making the fire and all that fun stuff." Luz grins.

"Sounds good to me. We could leave tomorrow morning and come back Monday?" Willow asks. Gus and Luz nod and then they all turn to Amity.

"I'll have to see if I can go somehow first, but I'm good to go otherwise.

"Hey, if you can't it's no big deal, we can figure out something else to do," Willow assures her, and Gus nods.

She looks down at Luz who just smiles up at her and Amity nods, smiling softly. It's been months since she started hanging out with all of them as part of the group, but sometimes it still feels strange after the years of being 'friends' with Boscha and the other girls in that clique. Having friends like Willow again, who actually listen and care, care about you and not what you can do for them.

"We still all have to get permission too," Gus reminds.

"Oh, right. Hey, mom!" Luz leans her head back and shouts making the others wince at her volume. She barely flinches when she realizes what's come out of her mouth, and she knows her friends have noticed the slip but they have the good grace not to say anything about it, they’ve talked about it.

Every day it becomes more common, and she pushes aside any guilt that comes with it. For all intents and purposes, Eda is her mom, she’s coming to accept that, and she's realized by watching that she actually seems to like it when she calls her that, though she tries to hide it. Something she kept forgetting to talk to Lilith about.

Barely half a second goes by before Eda is yelling back from the kitchen.

"What?"

"Can I go camping with everyone tomorrow morning?"

Eda sticks her head out of the kitchen to look at them.

"Where and for how long?"

Luz's lips twitch up at that. Used to, she could just leave the house and not come back for hours, and Eda wasn't bothered. For the most part, she still could, but with every week that goes by she starts to ask Luz where she's going and when she thinks she'll be back; like a parent.

"We haven't decided yet, and we'll be back Monday."

"You gonna be there?" She turns to Willow who blinks at her.

"Yes?"

"Fine then." She nods.

"What does Willow being there have to do with it?" Gus asks, brow furrowed between his eyes.

"Someone with some sense has to be in charge." Eda crossed her arms and shrugged.

"I have sense!" Amity frowns.

"Me too!" Luz sits up enough to roll into her stomach to look at her.

"Luz, you let yourself get carried away too easily, and you…" her eyes turn to Amity. "Will go along with just about anything Luz asks you too." She grins wickedly at them and both turn bright red at the declaration. Willow and Gus both snort and snicker at them.

"So yeah, if flowers is going, you can go, and dinner's gonna be ready soon." With that, Eda turned and walked back into the kitchen, leaving two embarrassed teens and two barely holding it together.

"I'm working on the getting carried away thing…," Luz mumbles. Dropping back down, her chin smacking against Amity's thigh with a grunt and she pats her head.

Amity has no words for her own defense. She certainly doesn't let Luz do anything… too stupid, but she can't deny, no matter how embarrassed it makes her, that Luz has a way of getting her to agree to things. She's just too cute to say no too sometimes.

They discussed the plan a little bit more until Eda is calling them all for dinner.

Dinner at the owl house is a loud, messy affair of constant talking and laughing with plenty of food with King standing on the table and laying claim to anything in sight while sometimes the sisters argue. Other times she talks to Lilith. Their interactions ease more every day.

It's loud, bright, warm, and homey.

Which makes going home to Blight manor all the more depressing. It's so quiet most of the time.

Amity closes her front door softly, based on the oppressive quiet, she knows her parents aren't home. The twins are probably in their rooms. Her feet make quiet taps on the wooden stairs, echoing off the cavernous halls.

She's sure she's not going to be able to get permission to go but didn't want to say as much in front of everyone else and bring down the mood.

She waited till Gus and Willow had left when she and Luz had been laying on her bed, door open, of course, to say as much.

“It’s okay, mi amor, we all get it. It’s not like we can’t figure out something else to do if you can’t go. We can all be together anywhere,” she had assured her, running her fingers through mint hair, but Amity still feels bad.

She sits at her desk and pulls out her scroll, sending Luz a quick message that she was home safe and sound. She smiled to herself as a message immediately came back.

'Good, Gus and Willow said they can go. What about you, mi Amor?'

'Let me ask…'

She swipes away her girlfriend's message and opens the contacts, scrolling down to her mother's.

She looks at it a long time, finger hovering over her mother’s contact. She has to at least try, she could tell how much Luz wants to go, but she knows that there's no way she can cover her tracks for two days, even if the twins helped, she doesn’t want to ask that much of them anyway. They would be in just as much trouble as her if they’re caught. She’s managed to cover a few things over the last few months by telling them of her rekindled relationship with Willow.

Though maybe revealed, would be a more appropriate word, because she didn’t tell them, so much as her mother found out from Boscha’s parents after the grudgby match. Surprisingly, they hadn’t been upset at all.

Willow had proven herself to be plenty powerful and capable since switching into the plant track, in fact, she was the head of the track now. Her mother was actually thrilled by the turn of events.

She rolls her eyes at that, bitterness welling up in the pit of her stomach. Willow had been her best friend, her only real friend for so long, and then her mother had made her get rid of her and now she was glad they were friends again!

Her fist clenched atop the desk, nails digging into the flesh of her palm as she stared darkly at the contact still sitting open on the screen.

She had thought that wound had long been scarred over, but here it was, bleeding again.

She's so lost in thought she doesn't hear her bedroom door open or the soft footsteps approaching.

"Hey, Mittens."

Amity shrieks, nearly jumping out of her skin as her sister grins at her.

"What!?" she snaps, snarling, lip curled and fangs poking out and Emira blinks, gold eyes glancing at the scroll and seeing the contact pulled up and understanding flashes behind her eyes.

"You okay?" she asks. Amity stares back at her for a second before turning back to the scroll and she's tense for a few long seconds before she sighs, deflating.

"I'm fine…," she finally mumbles sourly.

"Mhmm" Emira hums and struts across the room, and uninvited, as she did most things, sits on Amity's bed and leans back on her hands to regard her sister from across the room. "Want to try that again, but less morose?" She cocks her head.

Amity gives her a tired and annoyed look.

"Come on, just tell me." Her sister smiles. Amity sighs again.

"My friends want to go camping tomorrow, and they're all really excited about it, especially Luz, but I don't think there's any way I'm going to be able to get permission to go…" she frowns down at her knees.

"Yeah, that is a problem…," Emira hums, looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully and Amity grunts in response. They're quiet for a long couple of minutes before Emira smiles to herself and looks back down at her sister.

"What if we told her something else?" she says slyly.

"Like?" Amity arches a brow at the devious look on her older sister's face, one she's intimately familiar with.

"Like, what if we asked if we could go camping with my buddies from the illusion track?" She says and Amity frowns, brows furrowing between her eyes.

"How does that help?" Amity asks.

"Because, oops, my friends couldn't make it, but we ended up running into some classmates from school and camped with them instead, and since we got all the way out there, we decided to just stay." She grins and slowly Amity's doubtful face morphs into something hopeful.

"That… could work," she says, sitting up.

"So?" Emira asks, grinning.

The twins have been more than helpful ever since she and Luz started dating, though especially since her and her girlfriend's little encounter with the two upperclassmen from the illusion track, but something about Emira's smile, for the first time in a while tells Amity that her sister wants something out of this. Maybe she's just being paranoid and hates to look a gift horse in the mouth by calling out her sister's intentions, but rather than just covering for her, Emira would have to spend the next two days camping with them, and that is suspicious.

"What's in it for you?" she asks finally, and Emira gasps in mock offense, resting a hand on her chest, and Amity immediately knows what she's hit the nail on the head.

"I can't just do something nice for my baby sister?" She bats her eyes at her. Amity glares.

"You can, but offering to spend the next two days camping with my friends and girlfriend seems a little bit of a stretch for you…"

Emira laughs.

"Quid pro quo, Mittens." Emira holds up a finger. "I don't see why we can't both get what we want," she starts. "If Viney happened to be one of the classmates we ran into, what would it hurt?"

"That's it? You want your girlfriend to come with us?" Amity blinks, wondering why she didn't think of that, of course, that's what her sister wanted.

"That's it." She nods.

"Let me ask the others," Amity says, turning back to her scroll and typing out a quick message in their group chat.

All three agreements come in within five minutes. She expected Luz's answer, Viney was a friend of hers after all.

"They said yes." She turns back to Emira who brightens up and draws a spell circle, her own scroll appearing and she hits a button before holding it up to her ear.

"Hello, Mother…," she starts and Amity turns back to her own scroll, half-listening to the conversation between her mom and sister, it's fairly quick and within a minute she hears. "Yes, thank you." She's grinning and then it's over and she sets it on the bed. "We're good to go," she says and smiles brighter at the way Amity's face lights up with a joy that has been far too infrequent until she started dating Luz.

Amity turns back to her scroll and announces she can go to cheering messages from her friends and Luz.

The exchange a few more messages in the group chat, finalizing plans before it goes silent, but then her personal chat with Luz pings.

'See you tomorrow. Love you, G'night!'

She quickly types back the sentiment and spells her scroll away before turning to her sister.

"We're going to meet at the owl house at seven," she tells her, and Emira nods before making a call. This one's so vastly different in tone from the one with their mother that it almost causes whiplash.

"Hey, honey," Emira says into her scroll and Amity snorts, making her sister glare at her and she just grins

Turnabout is fair play, she thinks, and Emira seems to come to this conclusion as well aa she huffs silently and carries on her conversation with her girlfriend.

She's smiling stupidly into the distance by the time she hangs up.

"We're all set," she says, standing and making her way to the door.

"Thank you," Amity says to her back and Emira pauses in the doorway only long enough to smile over her shoulder.

"Don't mention it." Then she's gone, shutting the door behind her.

They are outside the owl house at seven sharp, backpacks packed and ready.

Amity and Emira are the first to arrive, the first wide awake and buzzing with excited energy and the second a walking zombie.

Lilith lets them in with the warning that Eda is still asleep, and they set their bags on the couch before Amity heads quietly up the stairs to Luz's room.

The door is hanging open when she peeks around the corner. Luz is facing away from her, shoving things into her bag and humming happily to herself. Amity smiles to herself as she sneaks quietly, even in hiking boots, across the room and wraps her arms around Luz's waist, making her jump.

"Morning, querida," she mumbles, pressing her face in between sharp shoulder blades.

"Hey! You scared me," Luz chuckled, resting her hands over the ones wrapped around her.

"Sorry," is her muffled response. Luz spins in her hold to throw her arms over her shoulders and Amity meets her halfway in a good morning kiss. They might as well get it out now, as much as they know their friends don't really mind their sometimes, overly affectionate nature, much as they like to tease, and are all for them being themselves when they're with them, they don't want to subject them to it all weekend. That, and Emira was here, and the last thing Amity needs is her sister's constant teasing in the background for the whole trip, though it's probably going to happen anyway.

"All ready to go?" Luz asks, resting her forehead against Amity's.

"Yeah," she smiles and Luz grins.

"This is gonna be so much fun." She bounced on her toes, vibrating with energy, it's infectious.

"You're going to jinx us," she warms with a grin.

"Naw, sides, you heard Eda. Willow is there to 'keep us out of trouble'," she says mockingly and sticks out her tongue. Amity snickers.

"No one can keep you out of trouble," she says, and Luz grins, shrugging.

"Maybe, but you all do your best," she says and kisses the tip of her nose, making Amity go cross-eyed even as she giggles before she untangles herself from the witch and grabs her bag.

Amity steps back and finally, actually looks at her.

Luz is wearing jeans and boots like hers, but a weird button up purple shirt with black and white stripes making square patterns across it over a tank top.

She reaches out and pinches the sleeve between her thumb and finger. It's soft and slightly fuzzy.

"What is this?" She tilts her head.

"Oh, it's a flannel. I accidentally packed it when I left for 'camp', but it's finally cold enough to wear it." Luz smiled, watching Amity rub the material between her fingers. "Flannel is actually supposed to be the material, but in the human world, any shirt with this pattern is usually called a flannel." She shrugged. She really wants to make a joke about lesbians and flannel given how interested Amity is in it, but she knows it would go over her head since they don't really define sexuality in the Boiling Isles.

Damn it.

"Willow and Gus should be here soon," she reminds and Amity nods before they make their way back downstairs.

Emira looks up when they come back and lifts a hand in greeting.

"Hey, cutie." She smiles. Amity makes a face at her but doesn't say anything. Maybe early on when she first caught feelings for Luz, she had been worried about her liking her siblings more than her, but now the thought is so ridiculous to her she almost snorts. Besides that, Em has her own girlfriend and Ed has never shown any serious interest in anything but practical jokes and pastries.

"Hey, Em." Luz greets as she sets her bag on the floor before walking into the kitchen.

"Morning Lilith," Luz greets the elder Clawthorne sister as she grabs a bag off the counter and digs through the fridge for the foods she was taking with them, tossing it in the bag. She'll throw some ice in there and take some ice glyphs to keep it cold over the weekend, but that's about the extent of the magic they're going to be using since they don't have coolers on the Isles.

"Good morning, Luz. Are you all ready to go?" Lilith asks as she flips through a book and sips on her morning tea.

"Just about, we're just waiting for Gus and Willow," she says that she throws the rest of the food into the bag and picks it up.

"Well, have fun," Lilith says.

"We will." Luz grins and darts back out to the living room.

Just as she walks back into the room, a knock on the door makes her grin and she rushes over to open it, not wanting to subject her friends to Hooty any longer than necessary.

"Hey guys!" she greets.

"Hey!"

"Morning"

Willow looks ready to go, pack slung over her shoulders, and wearing a hat that reminded Luz of something she'd seen in movies of people on Safari, and Gus has a backpack nearly twice his size towering over him. He wobbles a little under its weight.

"You look… prepared?" Luz says and he beams at her.

"I wasn't sure what all we would need to camp like humans so I packed for any possibility," he says like it should be obvious. Luz chuckles to herself.

"Well, I guess we're just waiting for Viney then." Luz steps aside to let them in.

"She's going to meet us at the ribs," Emira says and stands from the couch.

"Well then what are we waiting for?" Gus bounced excitedly, though it appears more like a twitch under that weight of his bag.

"Let's go then!" Luz declares, pointing toward the door and everyone shoulders their bags and files out.

Eda chooses that moment to shuffle down the stairs, mid-yawn with King following behind her dragging a stuffed animal, eyes still closed.

"You kids ain't left yet?" she mumbles.

"Leaving now," Luz says, trotting over to hug the older witch.

"Stay outta trouble," she grumbles.

"No promises!" Luz grins up at her. Eda snorts at that.

"That's my girl." Eda smirks, reaching up to ruffle her hair before Luz leans down and kisses the top of King's head.

"Bye, ya little cutie," she says before turning and running out of the house. "Love you, bye!" she calls over her shoulder.

Everyone is waiting in the yard for her and Hooty is beside himself with all the people to talk to. He's stretched out between them, unable to decide who he needs to talk to first, and gets uncomfortably close to Emira who is making a face at the house demon.

He stays clear of Amity.

"Sorry, Hooty, we gotta go," she tells him and he slumps.

"Aww… well okay!" He slithers back into the door and they shiver before hurrying away from the house.

Luz hurries to match stride with Amity and laces their fingers together. They smile at each other as they all trek through the woods.

They meet Viney at the base of the mountain they've planned to climb, she's leaning against a tree, bag at her feet.

"Sup guys." She waves.

Amity watches the change in her sister with fascination as she lights up and jumps into the shorter girl's arms, who grins and lifts her off the ground, making Emira giggle before she leans down to kiss her.

“There’s more of them…” Gus leans in to whisper horrifyingly to Willow, who chokes on a laugh, holding a fist to her mouth to stifle the noise.

"Caramba," Luz mumbles, drawing her gaze. “Is that what we’re like?” she says quietly to her and Amity laughs under her breath.

“Yes…” Gus and Willow answer.

“Probably…” She smiles and Luz makes a face.

“Aww man… we are gross,” she grumbles and Amity laughs quietly behind her hand.

“Maybe, but you’re cuter than Viney,” she whispers, making Luz grin.

“So, we going or what?” Viney asks once she’s set the oldest Blight daughter down.

"Onward!" Luz shouts, pointing to the faded, partly overgrown, dirt trail that leads up the mountain.

"To adventure!" Gus throws up a fist before the weight of his bag makes him teeter back and fall flat into the dirt. He kicks his legs helplessly. "Uh, little help?"

They haul him up before making their way up the path.

Half the trees have grown bare in the last month, but some still stubbornly cling to their leaves even in mid-fall.

They create a chorus of crunches under the teenagers' feet as they walk up the trail and climb over rocks. The air is cool even in the bright sunlight.

Gus struggles at times with his oversized bag.

"How long are we going to be camping for again?" Viney asks, looking at the giant blue backpack.

"Just till Monday," Luz assures her.

"Then what's with him?" She jerks a thumb at Gus.

"I packed for any situation, we're camping like humans after all!" He pants.

"Well, I know backpackers try and pack as little as possible so they can hike for longer, like, weeks. That's a little rougher than I think we want," Luz tells him. "You still might have packed a little much though…"

He just grunts and after a while, Willow trades him bags and carries on at the same place as before.

By afternoon they reach the top and find the clearing on the cliffside where they plan to set up camp and drop their bags.

There's an empty stone circle in the middle, an abandoned fire pit, but not much else.

"This is perfect," Luz says, dropping her bag and running over to the edge on the far side of the clearing. They can see most of the Isles from here and she takes a deep breath of the crisp mountain air. She grins, the wind whipping at her face and tousling her hair.

She never did get that haircut from Eda. It's getting long, reaching down the back of her neck and laying over atop her head. She kinda likes it, Amity seems too also, so she's just letting it grow, though she has had Eda trim the ends when they get a little ragged.

She enjoys the way the cold air feels in it right now.

"Luz, come help us get set up!" Willow calls and she turns with a grin.

"I'm coming!" She walks back over to where everyone is digging through their bags.

Willow, Gus, and Viney have started setting up their tents while the Blight sisters watch, realizing that the two of them have forgotten one essential piece of camping equipment.

"You two gonna set up your tents?" Luz asks, looking at them. Both turn slightly pink.

"Say, we don't… have… tents… what would we do?" Emira asks, and across the clearing Viney snickers.

"You can sleep in mine, babe," she calls.

"Oh, nevermind, good luck, Mittens." Emira grins before hurrying over to her girlfriend to help her set up the dark green tent.

"Hey!" Amity shouts at her back, face red. Luz laughs.

"It's okay, mi amor, you can sleep with me," Luz says with a grin, and Amity nods, carefully avoiding the look she knows Willow is sending them as she sets up her own tent.

Luz pulls out the poles and tarp and they get to work putting it together.

"Does it go here?" Luz mumbles, shoving a pole into a slot.

"No, I think it goes over here." She points, looking at the directions with a furrowed brow. They squabble lightly about the placement before getting things in the right place.

It takes them nearly half an hour to put the thing together, but they eventually manage.

"Perfect." Luz smiles, standing back to eye their work.

"Perfect is a strong word… I think we're missing a pole…," Amity mumbles, still looking at the paper.

"Eh, it's fine." Luz waved a hand and Amity hummed.

"So long as you two aren't too rough in there it'll be fine." Emira is suddenly standing behind them, making them jump. They both turn red at the implication.

"Don't you have something better to do than bother us?" Amity snaps at her grinning sister.

"Not at the moment, no," she says.

Amity growls at her.

"Hey, Luz!" Gus calls. "Where's the bathroom?"

"Uhh…" she gestures to the woods.

"Okay, I know we're supposed to be camping like humans, but no." Emira huffs and spins a finger and an outhouse appears at the edge of the clearing.

"Thank you!" Gus calls before running over to it.

"Fair" Luz shrugs. That was always her least favorite part of camping anyway. "Well, I'm on to my next order of business!" she declares and digs through her bag, pulling out an axe.

"Where did you get an axe?" Amity questions.

"Eda" is the simple answer. They can hear Willow sigh across the camp.

"Of course…," Amity mumbles. "And what are you going to do with an axe?" She holds her hand out to the tool.

"I am going to chop down a tree!" She slings it over her shoulder and puffs out her chest.

"Why?" Amity stresses and Luz shrugs.

"Well, we need something to sit on right? I've also kinda always wanted to…" she grins. She looked around the clearing before finding one, maybe sixteen feet tall, barren, and about two feet wide, autumn had stripped it of all its leaves already, just beyond the tree line. "That one!" She says, pointing the axe at it.

Amity crosses her arms and looks at her.

"Don't worry, mi amor, I'll be careful," she promises and somehow that doesn't make Amity feel any better, but she just sighs and she knows this is exactly what Eda was talking about last night.

"Luz…," Willow says.

"It's fine, you all worry too much!" She turns and heads for the tree in question.

"Hold up, killer!" Viney chased after her. "Let me show you how to start it so it doesn't fall onto camp."

"You know how to chop down trees?" Luz asks.

"My family owns a beast raising farm, sometimes it's easier to clear a few by hand then by magic since the spells are for large areas." She shrugs and turns to the tree and explains to Luz how to cut an angle at the bottom of the trunk so they can control where it falls.

The Blight sisters watch as Viney hacks a notch into the wood before handing it over to Luz and giving her tips on grip and stance before leaving her to it.

"Let's get started on lunch." Emira nudges her sister and she hesitates, afraid the second she turns away her girlfriend is going to lop off one of her limbs but eventually nods and they start digging through the bag of food Luz brought, the echoing of the axe hitting the tree sounding at regular intervals across camp.

Willow and Gus wander off to collect wood for the fire pit while they do.

The sisters and Viney finish unpacking before starting on lunch.

The mountain is quiet, except for Luz's chopping, and Amity relaxes in the calming atmosphere as they put together sandwiches for everyone.

She decides to take one to Luz when they are all finished and walks over, sandwich in hand, she rounds a tree to where Luz is and freezes, dropping the sandwich into the dirt at her feet.

Luz is still working at the tree with long swings of the axe.

She must have gotten hot, because she's taken off the flannel and has it tied around her waist, leaving her in her tank top as she works to chop the tree down.

Sweat is dripping down her brow, making her hair stick to her face.

Amity's whole body heats up, watching her girlfriend swing the axe with a grunt. Has Luz always had those muscles she can see flex just beneath the dark, flushed skin of her arms and shoulders?

Luz stops with a sigh and mumbles something to herself as she wipes the back of her arm across her forehead before going back to it.

"I'm going to go see what's taking Amity," Emira says as she stands and walks over to where she knows Luz is, still working on the tree by the sound of it. She peeks around a tree and sees Luz still working and Amity standing a few feet away, watching, face red, and seemingly frozen.

Emira watches for a second before she realizes what's happening and grins before walking up quietly behind her sister and leans down to whisper in her ear.

"See something you like?"

Birds fly out of the trees, startled by the scream that echoes through the woods.

Amity sits in front of the fire pit, arms crossed and scowling at the dirt.

Emira is still snickering to herself fifteen minutes later, it's a lot better than the gut-wrenching laughter from earlier.

Viney is smirking and shaking her head, choosing much like Luz to not interject herself between the stuff that goes on between the Blight siblings.

Willow and Gus have returned and they wonder what happened, but based on the dark look Amity is sending Emira they choose not too.

They eat their sandwiches and are almost through when they hear the sounds of loud splintering and cracking followed by Luz shouting.

"Timber!"

Then the ground shakes and shudders with a loud crash and snapping noises. They all jump up and run to check on their friend, but before they can get there they hear her loud whoops of joy, which eases their worry.

When they round the trees they're treated to the sight of Luz, standing with one booted foot on the felled tree, axe slung over her shoulder and her other hand fisted against her hip. She looks sweaty and exhausted but is grinning brightly.

"I did it!" she declares triumphantly.

"Nice!" Viney grins at her.

"Good job Luz!" Gus cheers. Willow is smiling but shaking her head.

Emira holds up her scroll and takes a quick photo, tapping a few buttons.

Amity feels her scroll vibrate and ignores it for now.

"Good job, now come eat," she says, hand on her hip.

"Yes, dear!" Luz grins to herself and Amity pinks at her teasing.

They make their way back to the clearing, but Amity lags behind and spells her scroll out and opens the message from her sister.

A photo of Luz comes up, standing triumphantly over the fallen tree, sweaty hair pushed back from her forehead, and axe slung over her shoulder, the rays of sunlight filtering through the foliage are lighting her from the front, she looks almost heroic. No doubt copying something she saw somewhere.

She rolls her eyes but smiles.

She's so cute…

She taps it and saves it to her album.

I have 3 not including this one planned out, and one of them is VERY important, but I’m not gonna say which one....

#Lumity #Luz Noceda #Amity Blight #Willow Park #Gus Porter #Emira Blight #Viney #Eda Clawthorne #Lilith clawthorne #fic #the owl house #toh #moonlit masquerade

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years

Text

The Early Leaf’s a Flower: 6/11

In different realms, Emma and Killian still think of the other as they search for something to fill in the hole in their hearts.

Yes, Emma and Killian are still separated in this chapter. Before you yell at me, though, this chapter also shows how often they still think of one another. Bear with me, I swear, all of this will make sense later, and I promise a great (steamy) payoff ;)

This chapter also introduces more of our favorite Once characters both in Neverland and the Land Without Magic. Emma does end up in Storybrooke, but I will go ahead and make something abundantly clear: it is an ordinary (albeit quirky) small town in this story. Some of the scenes in the Neverland section may sound familiar to some of you. I have had head canons for ages about Killian’s backstory with the fairies and with Wendy which I explored previously in fics that I have since deleted. They have been resurrected here, which I love because they are now fully fleshed out and in my own au! Anyways, I hope you enjoy my au versions of these characters.

Once again, massive thanks to the mods in the @captainswanbigbang fo organizing the CSRT especially @optomisticgirl who helped me handle self-doubt and writer’s block. B also was invaluable as a beta and in Discord chats as I tried to figure out how magic would work in this au. My other beta, @shippingtheswann whipped this chapter into shape, pointing out sooo many plot holes. Girl, where would I be without you?

Summary: She saw eyes that were the blue of the forget me not peering at her through the cracked door of the wardrobe. He saw hair as gold as the buttercups. Why does the wardrobe keep bringing them back to one another, if fate keeps tearing them apart? Or maybe fate has her reasons …

Rating: M for eventual sexy times, violence, canonical character death, and attempted rape

Trigger warnings: vague references to child abuse (physical and sexual), violence, and positive Millian

Words: Almost 6k in this chapter

** Complete and updated every Monday** Also on Ao3

Emma: Age 19

The taxi drives off behind her, and Emma startles, grasping the straps of her meager duffel bag tighter as she looks up at the quaint inn before her. The small wooden sign out front swings in the breeze: Granny’s Inn. Behind it, facing the opposite street, is Granny’s diner. The two are attached by a stairwell. Convenient, since Emma will be working there.

She hoists her bag with a deep sigh as she walks up the stone steps leading to the inn. In her jacket pocket is the recommendation letter from her parole officer. She doesn’t think she’ll need it, but she has it at hand just in case.

A bell rings over the door when she enters, and an elderly woman with white hair and bifocals perched on her nose bustles out. With a pang, Emma thinks of Martha so long ago, though this woman has a stern look on her face, almost a scowl, that Martha never would have borne upon her countenance.

“Need a room?” the woman asks, all business.

“Um,” Emma hesitates, fishing the letter out of her pocket. It’s crumpled from the cab ride, and she feels a bit foolish as she holds it out like it’s proof or something. “I’m Emma Swan.”

“Oh!” the woman cries out, flinging both hands in the air as she bustles around the check-in desk. “My apologies. I was expecting you this evening.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think -”

“No trouble at all.” She glances at the paper in Emma’s hand. “I don’t need that, I’d know you from Marco’s description.”

The woman heads for the stairs, gesturing for Emma to follow. The inn is warm and homey, with vintage wallpaper and wall sconces illuminating the stairs. She follows the woman to the second floor and down the hall to room 210.

“This has a view of Main Street,” she tells Emma as she pulls an old fashioned key from her apron pocket and inserts it in the lock. “It’s a suite with a little sitting area and kitchenette, though you’re welcome to take your meals in the diner. On the house, of course.”

Emma’s eyes widen. “Oh, but I couldn’t. It’s your business.”

Granny waves her off. “I know a waitress’s salary isn’t much. How are you ever to get back on your feet if you have to spend every dime just to live? Besides, it was all in the agreement I sent you.”

Emma just nods, still nervously clutching her duffel. She doesn’t want to tell her that she didn’t actually read it. All the fine print and the legal jargon had made her head spin. Marco had said it was the best deal for a girl like her, and how many options did she have, anyway?

“Storybrooke is a nice little town,” Granny says as she pulls the curtains open to let in more light. “The last girl I helped, Ashley, ended up staying. She’s even engaged to a nice young man who works at the cannery.”

Granny comes closer, studying Emma’s face carefully. “Ashley was pregnant when she came. Marco told me you just gave up a baby. I want you to know, I’ve been there. Back in my day, they just shipped me off to a convent and ripped my little boy from my arms. I didn’t even have a say.”

Emma glances away nervously.

“Oh, I know you don’t want to talk about it. I’ve said my piece, and I won’t bring it up again. Just know this is a safe place, and I’ve got your back. And I don’t answer to anything but Granny, okay?”

Before Emma can say anything else, the woman is gone. Emma sinks down on the antique sofa situated in front of the fireplace. She feels out of place, out of sorts. Granny seems nice, and it’s clear she means well, but Emma isn’t staying here. Once she’s saved up enough money, she’s getting as far away from Maine as she possibly can.

Tallahassee still sounds nice.

**************************************

Emma stands in front of the large, mahogany piece of furniture, her dry toothbrush dangling from her lips. It doesn’t look like the one from when she was ten and sixteen: the carvings are far more ornate, and the trim is all wrong, yet her fingers itch to open it and her heart rate picks up just a bit. She’s just about to reach for the little pewter knob when a knock sounds on the door. Emma opens it to find Granny standing there with towels in her arms.

“Thought you might need these tonight,” she says, bustling in without an invitation. “You’re not a guest but an employee, so washing these is your responsibility. The laundry is in the basement. Do you know how to do laundry?”

Emma nods.

“Good. Ashley turned her sheets pink.” Granny says this matter of factly, and Emma stifles a laugh. “Well, I’ll leave you be.”

“Um,” Emma gathers the courage to ask, “this wardrobe . . . “

“Wardrobe?” Granny asks, brow creased in confusion. She sees what Emma is gesturing at, and nods. “Oh, that. It’s not a wardrobe, it’s an entertainment center. Just fits the decor better. There’s a tv behind those doors. A small one, and it’s just the basic cable with fifteen channels or so. Better than nothing, though, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, goodnight.”

Emma’s shoulders fall after Granny leaves. An entertainment center. Nevertheless, she holds her breath when she flings it open.

Nothing but a twenty inch television set, just like Granny had said. It seems even smaller in the large cabinet, and it sits atop a cable box. Emma sighs and closes the doors. What had she expected, anyway?

***************************************

Emma’s feet are sore as she sags against the prep sink and removes her apron. Ruby sees her and laughs in camaraderie.

“The first day is always the toughest,” she encourages.

“I hope so,” Emma groans. She pulls a wad of bills out of her apron pocket and thumbs through it. “I got good tips, though.”

Ruby smiles. “The breakfast crowd is always generous. Lunch? Not so much. Too much take out.”

Emma shoves the cash into the pocket of her jeans. There’s no uniform here, just the matching retro aprons with the pink frilly trim. Ruby is dressed vastly different from Emma in a tiny skirt and a midriff top. Emma wonders if this got the brunette more tips. Not that Emma is going that route, no matter how much she wants to get to Tallahassee.

“Speaking of lunch,” Emma says, “I’m starving.”

“Take a seat out there, and I’ll bring you something.”

“Grilled cheese and onion rings with a Coke?”

Ruby winks. “Coming right up!”

Emma heads for one of the smaller, two seater booths in the back near the jukebox, not wanting to take up room needed for real customers. She still feels a bit guilty taking food from Granny’s business. Of course, Ruby is Granny’s actual granddaughter, and she didn’t bat an eye at Emma’s “order.” She’ll just have to try and get used to generosity, she supposes.

Emma’s surprised when Ruby comes out almost immediately, but it isn’t her lunch on the waitress’s tray. With a flourish, she sets a mug of hot cocoa down in front of Emma. It’s even topped with Emma’s favorite: whipped cream and cinnamon.

“From a secret admirer,” Ruby chuckles with a roll of her eyes.

Emma frowns down at the beverage, and then her eyes flash as the cop she’d served at the bar earlier walks over. She’d recommended the whipped cream and cinnamon, telling him it was her personal favorite. The pervert! He stops at her booth and opens his mouth, but before he can speak, she lifts the mug and flings the cocoa right at him. It wets the front of his dress blues and drips from the badge at his hip. He glances down in shock at the front of him then back up at her.

“You do know I’m nineteen, right?” she snaps. “I may not have the most spotless past, but I’m not an easy score.”

The cop calmly grabs some napkins and pats at the stain on his shirt. “I agree one hundred percent,” he says, focusing on his shirt and not her. “I’m a thirty-two year old man. However, that creep Walsh Oaken over there is thirty-six and likes to sniff around Granny’s girls. I wanted to warn you.”

Emma’s brow furrows in confusion as she studies the cop, then looks over his shoulder at a skinny man who’s also perched on a stool at the bar. He winks at her, and Emma’s face turns red.

“Uh, you mean that guy at the bar? The one who’s been sitting two stools down from you since you came in?” Emma attempts a wry grin at the cop.

He chuckles, and Emma thinks that his eyes look kind, though also sad. The creep Walsh obviously overheard her conversation with the cop, and she suddenly wants to crawl under the table.

“Graham Humbert, sheriff of Storybrooke,” he tells her, extending his hand.

“Oh God,” Emma groans, “the sheriff?”

He laughs again. “It’s okay. I admire your spunk. Guys like Walsh obviously have no hope of taking advantage of you.”

“Ew,” Emma says, her nose wrinkling, “he’s gross and old.”

“I’ll overlook the old comment,” he tells her, “since he and I are too old for you.”

“Hello, Graham,” Ruby purrs as she sidles up with Emma’s plate of food. The sheriff’s eyes light up, and Emma is surprised when Ruby, over the top flirt, actually blushes.

“Hello, Ruby.” He replies, and Emma almost laughs at the way the man’s voice hikes up an octave. He clears his throat nervously, then says, “Well, duty calls, ladies. I’ll see you tonight, Ruby?”

“You know it,” the brunette tells him with a wink.

Ruby watches him go, and the sheriff even glances back in the doorway. Emma takes in the exchange with growing humor. When Ruby turns back around, Emma arches both brows at her.

“What?”

“You and the sheriff?”

“Shhh,” Ruby admonishes, waving at Emma, “not so loud, my Granny doesn’t know about us yet.”

“Why would she care? He seems like a nice guy. And you’re old enough for him.” Now that she knows he isn’t a pervert, Emma can acknowledge the man is attractive. She has eyes, after all.

Ruby shrugs. “Well, he lives here in the inn. Granny likes that he does, says he makes her feel safe, especially with the girls she takes in. If she found out I was sleeping with him . . . “

“Oh come on, Ruby, Granny seems more understanding than that.”

“Maybe,” Ruby gives Emma a sly grin, “but there’s also something thrilling about sneaking around.”

Emma rolls her eyes.

Ruby waggles her eyebrows. “Enjoy your lunch.”

*******************************************

The envelope is fat with bills and Emma smiles at the heft of it before she slips it beneath the panties in her underwear drawer. Not the most original of hiding places, but it works. Granny offered to take her to Storybrooke Savings & Loan to help her open an account, but Emma had declined. It’s too permanent, for one, like making a commitment to this quirky little town. But Emma also knows that plastic can be traced, and she has no desire to be found.

Or does she?

The pop and boom of fireworks shatters the silence of her room, and it's followed by a chorus of oohs from the families gathered below in the streets of Storybrooke. Emma merely crosses the room to draw her drapes closed before plopping down on her bed and turning on the tv. Fourth of July celebrations are playing on almost every station, but the last thing she wants to look at are families in the crowds with wide eyed children balanced on their hips. She could walk downstairs and out the door for that.

After she flips through the main four stations and PBS, she finally finds movies instead of fireworks. She’s not surprised by her options: Independence Day (naturally), Top Gun (of course), and a western she’s never heard of before. What’s more American than a western, right?

She settles for Top Gun, though she’s seen it so many times she can quote it by heart, wriggling beneath the covers and propping the pillows behind her head. Ruby had ragged her about living like an old woman, Granny had given her a reprimanding glare over her bifocals, and Graham had gently asked why she insisted on hiding. She supposes he’s right - she is hiding, but it’s for the best. This is merely a stop on her journey, and it’s best for everyone if she doesn’t get too attached.

She may live like an old lady, she won’t deny it, but Emma is still only nineteen years old. Going to sleep when even toddlers are gazing in wonder at fireworks is something Emma finds physically impossible, and by the time the smoke fades from the harbor, she’s antsy and slightly claustrophobic. She crosses to the window and sees the crowd slowly dispersing but not in any hurry to get home. She lets the curtain fall back into place and plops back down to watch Maverick and Goose for a bit longer. Once the credits roll, Main Street is finally empty, the few remaining revelers having headed down to the Rabbit Hole for drinks. Emma grabs a light sweater that’s draped over her desk chair and heads quietly downstairs.

This isn’t the first time she’s made her way through the quiet streets and headed to the docks. It’s one of the things she’ll miss when she leaves because Neal had been wrong. Emma looked it up - Tallahassee isn’t on the coast of Florida. The nearest beach will be over an hour’s drive away.

Emma sighs as she reaches the boardwalk, wrapping her sweater tighter around herself as a cool breeze sweeps across the water. She leans against the railing, looking out at the barges from which they’d shot off the fireworks. She can hear faint shouts from the crew as they clean up from the festivities. She glances over to her left and sees a sailing ship bobbing in the water where it’s tied to the dock. She thinks of a boy from years ago with sea-chapped lips, messy hair that smelled faintly of salt water, and bright blue eyes.

Three years ago, that’s when she saw that boy last. Has he changed as much as she has? Emma crosses her arms upon the wood railing and bends over to rest her chin atop them. As she often does when she comes here, she thinks of the first boy she really kissed and wonders if he’s still sailing the ocean. Maybe he’s a lieutenant now, like he had hoped. Maybe he has a nice, sweet girl who waits for him at the end of each voyage.

Emma isn’t sure why she entertains these fantasies of a boy she knew so briefly. Perhaps because it’s better than other places her thoughts could wander.

Only when her eyelids begin to droop and goosebumps rise on her arms does she leave the docks. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a penny. She holds the copper to her lips and whispers “Tallahassee.” Why she needs to get there so badly, she can’t even say. Nevertheless, she says it like a promise before tossing the penny into the waves.

Killian: Age 19

“Bloody fairies,” Killian mutters as he makes his way deeper into the thick jungle. Tiger Lily and Tink just had to bring up Milah and the need to avenge her death.

He stops at another thick tree truck; the only ones on the island that grow so large and tall. As the fairies had instructed, he slashes his hook across the smooth bark. He leans close on bated breath, and within minutes he has his answer: thick, black viscous liquid seeps from the tree. Hook retrieves a piece of parchment and a stub of charcoal from his duster pocket and makes a mark. So far, he’s counted two dozen dead pixie dust trees like this one and only half a dozen that are still producing.

Half an hour later, sweat is trickling down his back as he hacks his way through the dense bush. Suddenly, Killian spins, his hook at the ready as someone or something comes crashing through the jungle foliage to his right. He takes cover behind another thick pixie dust tree and waits. Pan’s crew are breaking in a new lost boy, most likely. Killian is shocked when it’s a girl, not a boy, who stumbles into the small clearing near his hiding place. Her blonde curls are a matted mess filled with bits of leaves and bracken, and her white gown is tattered and stained. As she scrambles to her feet, the moonlight hits her face, and Killian can make out the sheen of tears. Her blonde hair reminds him of Emma so long ago, and he can scarcely breathe for a moment. Then he blinks, his eyes clear, and he obviously sees that this girl’s hair is darker than Emma’s was.

Killian is so distracted by this strange turn of events, he doesn’t even hear the lost boys coming. They have the girl surrounded before Killian can get a bearing on the situation. The girl spins in a circle, frantically searching for an opening of escape, chest heaving in panic.

Félix stalks towards her, smacking his club repeatedly into his open palm. A phantom pain throbs where Killian’s hand used to be as the urge to pummel Félix with both fists surges through him.

“Wendy, Wendy, Wendy.”

“Please,” the girl begs, “just leave me alone.”

What happens next is a blur of white hot rage. The boys advance, Wendy is on the ground screaming, and Killian is suddenly in their midst, flinging lost boys right and left. Félix has Wendy on the ground by the throat, and Killian turns on him next.

“Run!” Killian yells, but Wendy simply stares at him with wide eyes, trembling as she curls herself into a ball. An image of a nine year old boy, cowering behind the barrels in a ship’s hold, swim up in Killian’s memory.

Félix stalks towards him, the rest of the lost boys regrouping at his back. “She’s a little young for you, don’t you think, Captain?”

That’s all it takes to send Killian over the edge. He swings with his hook, slicing down the side of Félix’s face. The young teen howls in pain, and stumbles backwards, blood gushing from his wound. The other lost boys falter as Félix stumbles to the ground, then turn and flee. Wendy has backed herself against a tree, still cowering in fear. Growling in frustration, Killian hauls her to her feet and commands her to run. When she makes no move to obey, he plunges into the jungle, hauling her along with him.

A few moments later, Wendy comes to herself and begins struggling in his grasp. “Let me go!”

He stops, turns, and snaps at her in frustration, “I’m trying to help you!” He gives her a small shake, but stops when he sees the terror in her eyes. He looks down at his hook, still dripping with Félix’s blood. He suddenly realizes what he must look like to her. Trembling slightly, he drops her arm and steps away from her. He points towards a faint trail to his left. “There’s a fairy nearby. Her tree house is that way. It’s hidden from the lost boys. You’ll be safe there.”

Wendy narrows her eyes. “You’re . . . saving me?”

The sound of lost boys echo through the jungle. “Weeeendyyyy! Come out, come out, wherever you are! We only want to play!”

Killian gestures with his hook, “Go!”

Once Wendy is heading for the tree house, Killian takes off in the opposite direction, crying, “Wendy! Run!”

He can hear the lost boys behind him, following him far away from the little lost girl.

The sounds of the lost boys are distant once he stumbles onto the beach where he’s left the dinghy. He hasn’t finished his task with the pixie dust trees, but that will have to wait. The lost boys were never supposed to know he was here.

“Bloody fairies,” he mutters again as he scrambles into the boat.

“Going somewhere, Captain?”

Hook’s blood boils as he turns to find Pan hovering nearby, his arms folded over his chest and his head tilted at a cocky angle. “Do you have a death wish, boy?”

“You can’t kill me,” Pan scoffs, “or you would have by now.”

“I can try!” Killian growls, leaping from the boat and onto the sand.

Predictably, Peter flits about around Hook’s head, but his taunts aren’t what the pirate expects and makes his blood run cold.

“You can’t save them both, Hook.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re old friend Tiger Lily or your new friend Wendy? Which should die today?”

Killian gives a feral yell as he grabs ahold of Pan’s ankle and flings him to the ground. He pins the demon there, his hook to the lad’s throat.

“What game are you playing now?”

Pan smirks, as if cold steel at his jugular is of no consequence. “Wendy was a gift for Felix, and you ruined it.”

“You hate girls.”

“But teenage boys have needs, unfortunately. It was long overdue.”

Killian presses his hook just enough to break some skin. “Wendy is safe, and what do you know of Tiger Lily?”

Peter laughs. “My crew has Tink’s treehouse surrounded. And as for Tiger Lily, well . . . let’s just say I hope she can hold her breath long enough for you to save her. Skull Rock fills up with water when the tide comes in, you know.”

Killian hauls the imp up and tosses him across the sand as he plunges back into the jungle.

“You don’t have time to save them both!” Pan calls after him. “The tide is coming in soon, Hook!”

Killian ignores him as he slashes his way through the thick brush towards Tink’s place. He’s racing so fast to get to the innocent little girl that he doesn’t see the flash of two blond heads coming from the opposite direction. He collides with Tinker Bell with such force, she tumbles to the forest floor, taking Wendy down with her.

“What the bloody hell, Hook, are you trying to kill us!”

“Tink, thank the gods!” Killian exclaims as he hurriedly pulls first Tink and then Wendy to their feet. “Pan said -”

“That the lost boys had found my hideout?” Tink finishes for him. “Yeah, I got that already.”

“Hurry!” Wendy screams when they hear shouts in the jungle behind them.

“Let’s go,” Tink orders, yanking Wendy by the arm down a ravine nearby. Killian brings up the rear, his sword at the ready in case he needs to slow down the enemy. Soon they’re racing along the bed of a trickling stream, and the sounds of the lost boys fade into the distance.

Tink stops in front of a large boulder covered in moss and pushes at a curtain of thick vines to reveal a shallow cave.

“This doesn’t look like much of a hideout,” Killian mutters.

“Do I look dense to you, Hook?” Tink snaps.

Killian arches a brow and tilts his head at the fairy. “Don’t answer that,” Tink mutters, and Wendy giggles. He winks at the child and is pleased when he elicits a blushing smile from her. Tink taps on the back wall of her cave with her wand, and a door appears.

“Bloody fairies,” Killian says for the third time that day, but this time with affection. That makes him think of - “Tiger Lily!” he cries. “Will you two be okay?”

Tink rolls her eyes. “Of course.”

He gives a tremulous smile to them both, then turns back, taking a different route back to the beach from the way they had come.

*********************************

Skull Rock is a hulking menace in the distance, staring at Captain Hook with vacant eyes as he rows across the choppy waters. Rowing isn’t easy with one hand, even with his hook, and he wishes he’d thought to bring one of his crew along today. Of course, he hadn’t expected to be performing a rescue mission.

Killian curses himself, because – once again – he has mucked everything up. Just like with Milah, he has put a friend in danger. He just hopes Tiger Lily forgives him for going to rescue Wendy first. If she lives, that is.

Curse that wretched demon of a boy! His stomach turns remembering the lad’s mocking laughter on the beach.

The tide is rising faster, filling up the cavernous, yawning mouth of Skull Rock. Killian rows harder and swears again as the waves crash against boulders as he draws closer to his destination. Killian’s row boat is almost knocked sideways as he makes his way through the mouth of Skull Rock. There’s Tiger Lily, lifting her chin to call for help. The water splashes into her mouth, and her thick braids float on the surface of the water. Killian abandons the boat; there’s no more time. He dives beneath the waves, kicking his way to where Tiger Lily is tied to a rock. He comes up for air in time to see Tiger Lily’s wide and panicked eyes just as the tide completely closes over her. Killian inhales deeply and dives back under, hacking at the thick rope with his hook. Finally, it breaks free.

Killian grabs Tiger Lily around the waist and kicks upward. When they surface, they both gasp for air. The waves are beating harder, sending the row boat farther away from them. If they don’t catch up to it soon, water will completely fill the cavern, and they’ll both drown. Tiger Lily doesn’t need any instruction; she kicks her legs and swims alongside him. When they reach the side of the boat, Killian pushes her inside, then shoves the row boat through the opening of Skull Rock that has become the narrowest of exits. Killian dives under to follow the boat.

He swims with long strokes as far as he can, hoping he has cleared the rocks. When he breaks the surface, gasping for air, he’s relieved to find himself in the open air. A hand reaches down, and Tiger Lily hauls him over and into the boat. He barely has time to catch a breath before her hand connects with his cheek. The sound of her slap echoes across the water.

“What the bloody hell was that for?” he shouts.

“Hook, you are a dirty pirate, and I never want to speak to you again.” She yells, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What did I do? Pan was the one who tied you up in there!”

Tiger Lily glares at him, her arms still crossed. “And the only reason he found me was because YOU told him where I was!”

“Why the bloody hell would I do that?”

Tiger Lily deflates slightly, her brow furrowed. “In exchange for some of your crew.”

Killian arches a brow. “And you believed him?”

“Well, I . . . “

“I would have been here sooner, but I had to rescue Wendy.”

Tiger Lily shakes her head, even more confused. “Wendy?”

“A girl Pan had his shadow bring to the island. To . . . entertain his teenage crew.” Killian can barely get the words out.

“Pan hates girls, and he’s never cared . . . unless . . . “

Killian’s eyes widen. “Unless Wendy is bait.” He thinks of Mason and Felix telling Pan that he didn’t have the mark. “He’s looking for someone specific. He’s looking for -”

“A little boy,” Tiger Lily finishes for him, “very young.”

“But why tie you up in Skull Rock?”

Tiger Lily’s eyes widen as she takes up the oars. “A distraction. Where is your crew?”

Killian shakes his head as he too takes up the oars. “The ship is docked in Pirate’s Cove while I’m gone.”

“Exactly. No pirates to rescue lost boys from the shadow. Does Wendy have any brothers?”

Killian scowls. “I’m guessing the answer to that is yes.”

*****************************************

“Don’t they ever sleep?” Tiger Lily mutters from their hiding place behind a large rock. In the clearing, the Lost Boys are hunched around the blazing campfire, dipping spears and arrowheads into the sticky black sap of dreamshade.

Killian arches a brow at Tiger Lily. “Not much. Not without a mother.”

Tiger Lily tilts her head in confusion. “What?”

He shakes his head and mutters, “Never mind.”

The fairy crouches lower and tightens her hold on her bow as she draws closer to Pan’s camp on soft feet. Killian follows her, his palm sweating as he grips the hilt of his sword.

“They’re preparing for battle,” Kilian hisses to his companion.

“But why?”

Killian doesn’t reply; he’s too distracted by the rustling in the branches above them. He scowls when Tink drops to the forest floor beside him.

“Bloody hell, can you warn me before you drop out of the sky like that?”

“Tink,” Tiger Lily admonishes, “there isn’t enough pixie dust left for you to flit around like that!”

“Shut up both of you, and listen to me! I had to fly here, it was an emergency. Wendy is gone!”

“What do you mean she’s gone? ” Killian snaps. “I left you not an hour ago!”

“She was dirty and covered in scrapes, so we went to the stream for water. She swore she heard her little brother crying. I turned around for a second, I swear -”

“Shit,” Killian mutters, “it’s not a battle they’re preparing -”

“-it’s a hunt,” Tiger Lily finishes for him.

The three of them split up, knowing that covering more ground is the only hope for Wendy and her brother. His heart pounds in his chest as he makes his way up Dead Man’s Peak, thoughts of his brother swimming up from the dark recesses of his mind. He can’t let Wendy lose hers. He pauses for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a long, slow breath. Barreling around won’t help the children; he needs to focus.

Holding his hook aloft and using his sword to push aside the foliage, he continues his search. He wishes he had a lantern, but the risk of drawing the Lost Boys’ attention was too great. Thankfully, the moon is full tonight, and its light bathes the ground more and more as he ascends the peak, the foliage becoming sparser. His eyes scan the meager sized clumps of bushes, hoping for a glimpse of Wendy’s white nightgown.

Yet it’s a pair of green eyes that halts his steps. For a moment, his heart slams against his ribcage. The shade is so similar to Emma’s from long ago. As his gaze lands on those green eyes, they widen and he hears a small gasp. The bush from whence the sound came rustles, and he recognizes Wendy’s voice as she whispers, “hush!”

Killian sheathes his sword and lowers himself to his knees, not wanting to startle the children. “Wendy,” he hisses.

“Hook?” she asks in a wobbly voice.

“Yes, it’s me,” he says gently, easing around the bush. It grows right up against a wall of rock, and beyond it he hears the gurgling of Rainbow Falls. He pushes aside the foliage shielding the children, and the moonlight falls across them both. Wendy has her arms around a little boy of about four. For a moment, he looks up at Killian with wide, light green eyes, but then he shudders and buries his face against his sister’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, Michael, the pirate is our friend.”

“Come, children, quickly. The Lost Boys are on the hunt for you.”

“They don’t want me,” Michael says hoarsely, peeking out at Hook again. “I’m too little, and I don’t have marks.”

Killian’s brow furrows. “Marks?”

“Here,” Michael says, holding out his arm.

Killian blinks, thinking back to Felix yanking at Mason’s arm a year ago. He doesn’t have the mark. Yet he has no time at present to contemplate it further as the shouts of the Lost Boys echo from the canyon below. Killian reaches for the children, urging them to hurry, but he stills when he sees a large palm leaf resting near Wendy’s knee. Water shimmers in the center of it, reflecting the moonlight.

“Where did you get this?” he asks Wendy.

“From the falls,” she tells him, “we were thirsty.”

“You drank from Rainbow Falls?” he asks, his heart plummeting to his stomach.

Wendy tilts her head. “Yes, of course. Why?”

Killian puts on a brave smile as he scoops up Michael. “No time for that now. Let’s get you back to the fairy’s cave.”

“I want to go home,” Michael whimpers as he clutches the edges of Killian’s coat.

“Hook will help us,” Wendy says with so much faith, that it makes Killian want to weep.

He says nothing in reply. He doesn’t have the heart to tell them that they doomed themselves the minute they drank from Rainbow Falls. They will never be able to leave the island.

Tagging: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @teamhook @bethacaciakay @let-it-raines @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @courtorderedcake @branlovestowrite @hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ekr032-blog-blog @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @spartanguard @shireness-says @scientificapricot @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @snidgetsafan @ohmakemeahercules @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @nikkiemms@delirious-latenight-laughs

#cs ff #csrt #captain swan rewrite a thon #cs neverland au #cs canon divergence #magic wardrobe #soul mates #angst #childhood sweethearts #slow burn

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persona-5-for-want-of-a-nail · 4 years

Text

Chapter 1 - New Horizons

4/9

Megumi adjusted her glasses as the train continued to clatter along. She held her bag closer to herself, trying to get any semblance of something homey from it, though it was to no avail.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for riding with us today,” As the voice on the speaker began, Megumi glanced up to catch sight of the nearest one. “We’ll be arriving in Shibuya shortly. This is the last stop for this line. Please transfer here for all subway lines. The doors to your left will open.”

Quietly, she stood up and grabbed onto one of the dangling handles above. Grimacing as a pit formed in her stomach, almost as a bitter reminder of why she was in Shibuya to begin with.

The glare of the overhead streetlight, the innocent woman’s cries for help, the stench of a hopelessly drunk man, the thud on the pavement, the shouting, and above all else, the harsh grip of the very police officers she had called for help.

Without thinking, she ran her fingers across her bicep, practically feeling the strong fingertips that had dug into her flesh that short time ago.

“What? Are you for real? A mental shutdown?” The chatter of two nearby girls dragged Megumi out of her trance, glancing over in curiosity.

“It’s the truth!” The other retorted, a certain conviction in her words.

“To a person though?” Her friend asked, skepticism in her voice. “That’s gotta be a joke.” Still, she giggled, pointing to the phone in the formers hand. “You really love that occult stuff, don’t you?”

Mental Shutdowns…?

Odd.

After dismounting the train, Megumi made her way up into the station square. Her grip tightened on the strap of her bag as she slowly weaved through the crowds. This certainly was different from home…

A beep from her phone drew her attention back to the device in her hands. Her brow creased as she looked at the screen.

“What on Earth…?”

Casting on the screen was an app she was unfamiliar with. She knew she didn’t download it, so what was it? She stopped in her tracks and tapped on it, though it didn’t seem to open properly. Megumi sighed prepared to reboot her phone, but then she noticed something. Everything seemed to have stopped in its tracks.

Even the birds overhead.

The most striking thing of all, however, was nestled right in the center of the scramble.

Raging azure flames danced and licked away at the skies, though they soon formed together, making a coherent figure, standing tall and proud. Just as soon as it formed, it dissolved, and for the briefest of moments, Megumi could have sworn she saw herself in it.

And just like that, the world was once again turning.

Megumi looked back and forth. Was she just seeing things, or…?

Whatever, it didn’t matter. She was probably just tired from the train ride. That was what she told herself, anyway. She looked back at her phone screen, gently setting a finger on the offending app and dragging it to the trash.

She still kept a tight grip on the straps of her bag as she dismounted yet another train. Yongen-Jaya, this was the place all right. Her steps were slow as she left the station, not wanting to miss the place she was staying- it probably didn’t help that her sense of direction wasn’t perfect to begin with but that on top of how out of touch she’d felt that day, it simply wasn’t a good mix.

Still, she didn’t know a lot about Yongen, but from what she could see, it felt rather homely from the get-go. She gave everyone who paid her any mind a gentle wave as she weaved her way through the area’s backstreets. Sojiro Sakura was the one she was in the care of, if she recalled correctly, but where on earth was…?

Let’s see… A second hand shop… What looked to be a theater, that could be fun… Takemi Medical Clinic? At least something like that was local, same for the supermarket.

Emerging from the short alley where the clinic was nestled, Megumi sighed, holding her head in her hands. Was she really not even going a day without directional issues?

“Excuse me, Miss.” A gruff sounding voice had asked- no, not asked,- told her, and in response her head shot up, meeting the eyes of a rather menacing officer. Unconsciously, her grip tightened around the cuff of her sleeve.

“Ah, yes, sir?” She had asked, voice just a touch shaky. The last thing she wanted right now was to cause trouble.

“Are you alright? You’ve been wandering around this area for a while now, you aren’t up to anything suspicious, are you?” Without thinking, her back straightened as she shook her head.

“No sir, I was just wondering where the residential area was.”

The officer shook his head with a sigh, pointing over to the girl’s left.

“Just down that way, take the first left and you’ll be there.”

Offering a quick thanks, she continued on her way.

Don’t make waves.

In a way, it was almost fortuitous. The first house on the left had a small brass nameplate, the surname ‘Sakura’ embossed on its surface. She shuffled from heel to heel as she gently pressed on the doorbell, but received nothing in return. She chewed on her lip. Was he out, or perhaps was there another ‘Sakura’ living in the area…? What to do…

“Ah, looks like no one’s home…”

Megumi glanced over her shoulder, noticing a delivery man with a parcel under his arm. It was clear he hadn’t noticed her, attention on other things.

“I suppose it makes sense, Sakura’s usually at his cafe around this time. Although, LeBlanc’s in the back alley, I’d probably be best off working on my other deliveries first…”

Megumi had hesitated for a moment, though she supposed this wild goose chase would have to bring her something at some point. She was thankful, though. It wasn’t nearly as tricky to find LeBlanc.

Slowly, she pushed open the door, the lingering scents of coffee and curry spices that danced out into the cold air calming her down considerably. It felt… homely.

“A public transit bus was driven down an opposing lane with its customers still in it! The citizens can’t live in peace if this keeps up.”

...Oh Heavens.

Megumi craned her neck over to catch sight of the TV mounted on the wall at the far back of the small cafe. Sure enough, a news report of an incident from just a day prior. Maybe it wasn’t in her best interest to stay here after all…? Though it wasn’t like she had much choice in the matter.

“How frightening.”

Soon, she found her attention on an elderly couple in one of the establishment’s booth seats.

“What could be going on?” The man’s wife had asked, a clear concern on her face. “Didn’t something similar happen just the other day?” Her words made Megumi’s stomach twist.

“Vertical is… the name of a shellfish used for farming pearls…”

The manager of the place however, seemed to have minimal concern, simply focusing on a crossword, pen between his index and middle fingers flicking back and forth. Soon enough though, he caught sight of Megumi. His brow creased as he put the crossword on the countertop behind him.

“Right, they did say that was today, didn’t they?”

She nodded, not even sure if she was supposed to reply.

“We’ll be going now. The payment’s on the table.” The older man had said, both him and his wife getting up from their table, a small amount of coins left behind on the smooth surface.

“Thanks for coming.” The manager had said, only glancing at the couple for a moment before he looked back to the teenager in the doorway. Still, the couple continued to ‘joke’ on their way out of the shop.

“At least this place is in the back alley, there’s no worries of a car crashing in here.” The man had said, mostly to his wife but the manager picked up on it.

“A what?”

“Oh? Haven’t you heard? There’s been an entire string of those rampage accidents. I just hope that none happen around here…”

The manager shook his head, looking as unimpressed as ever.

“It’s none of my concern.” He had said curtly. The elderly man had laughed before bidding his farewell and leaving with his wife. Once the bell had chimed, signalling the door had shut, the manager sighed. “...Four hours for just a single cup of joe.” He looked away from the table that had been occupied for so long, back to the only other person in the shop. “So, you’re Megumi?”

She nodded, straightening her posture without thinking about it.

“That’s right. Is Sakura-san here?” She had asked, shifting her weight from foot to foot. He had smiled at that- not a friendly one, but an entertained one.

“Yeah. I’m Sojiro Sakura. You’ll be in my custody over the next year.” His gaze flicked up and down over Megumi’s form. “I was wondering what kind of unruly kid would show up, but… You’re the one, huh?” She didn’t blame him for being confused, she would be too. She was, to a degree. “Have you been told? A customer of mine and your parents are good friends and-” She nodded along with his explanation, which he seemed to notice after long enough. “Well, not that it matters. Follow me.” He turned around and motioned for her to follow, bringing her up a rickety staircase to a large attic at the very top.

The attic was big, if cluttered, one on shelf large bags of coffee beans sat, while miscellaneous junk covered the entire left of the room, a desk in the back covered in old and worn magazines and folders. There was also a small worn bed in the corner opposite the desk, just as dusty as the rest of the room. In the center of it all was a large cardboard box- that she had recognized.

“This is your room.” Sojiro had said curtly, sweeping over the place with his gaze. “Oh, I’ll at least give you sheets for the bed.” Again, she nodded, an action she was getting used to very quickly, as she stared into the distance. “You look like you want to say something.” He had told her, as if he was testing her.

“It’s just a lot bigger than I thought it would have been.” Megumi had told him, staying as polite as possible. She set her bag down on a table next to the stairs, resting her hands on her hips as she looked the room over again and again. “..Could be cozy though…” She mumbled, more to herself, though it’s not like Sojiro hearing would hurt her.

“It’s up to you to clean up the rest.” He had said, hand lingering on the back of his neck. “I’ll be leaving after I lock up each day.” Sojiro looked back toward Megumi as he spoke “You’ll be alone, but don’t do anything stupid; I’ll throw you out if you cause any trouble.”

“Okay.” She had replied, quickly and quietly.

Don’t make waves.

“Now then, I got the gist of your situation.” He had begun. Megumi still hadn’t moved from the top of the stairs, standing straight and tall like a tin soldier. “You protected some woman from a man forcing himself on her, he got injured, then sued you. Right?”

“Mmhmm.”

“That’s what you get for sticking your nose in a matter between two adults.” His expression was sour, not like he was scolding his own child for doing something wrong, more like scolding a puppy. “You did injure him, yeah?”

“We-”

Before she could even begin, Sojiro cut her off.

“And now that you’ve got a criminal record, you were expelled from your old high school.” She didn’t particularly mind that part. She didn’t have much attachment to her old school, much less friends she would miss. “The courts ordered you to transfer and move out here, which your parents also approved. In other words, they got rid of you for being a pain in the ass.”

He looked so smug at those final words. She knew it wasn’t like that, her parents just didn’t have many other options…

“It’s best you not talk about anything unnecessary. I am in the restaurant business, you know. Behave yourself for the year. If nothing happens, your probation will be lifted.”

“Yes sir.” As much as she wanted to say that that was her plan, she didn’t want to seem smug, especially after only being in the attic for two minutes. She knew her sentence would last until next spring, but she figured it’d be best to at least try and make the most of it.

“Just remember, cause any problems, and you’ll be going straight to juvie. We’ll be going to Shujin tomorrow.”

“...Shujin…?” Megumi had mumbled, moreso to herself, but Sojiro still heard it.

“Shujin Academy. The school you’ll be attending.” He had said so matter-of-factly, an underlying tone of exhaustion in his voice.. “We’ll introduce ourselves properly to the staff there. You’re lucky there’s a place that’ll accept someone like you, you know.” He sighed to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What a waste of my Sunday.”

Megumi stayed quiet. She wanted to apologize, but was sure she’d only get snark in return.

“Your ‘luggage’ arrived a little while ago. I brought it up here for you.” Sojiro gestured to the large cardboard box in the middle of the room. Without another word, he went back downstairs to the cafe.

A few moments after he left, Megumi finally broke out of her soldier stance, stretching out and looking at the box from home. She knew a lot of what she needed was in that box, clothes, three spare pairs of glasses and a few other odds and ends.

She ended up opening the box with a mechanical pencil in her bag. She didn’t want to bother Sojiro by asking for a knife or scissors. No matter the impracticality, it got the job done. Taking the opportunity, she changed into some more comfortable clothes- a grey turtleneck sweater which happened to be her favourite shirt she owned, and a simple pair of black pants.

Megumi looked around. Cleaning this place would probably be a good start…

It was nothing too complicated, just a bit of dusting here, a bit of mopping there, putting fresh sheets on the bed, piling a couple trash bags on the table with her school bag and tucking away all the loose magazines underneath the table. She didn’t throw them out in case they held any importance to Sojiro.

It was just as she was pushing the cardboard box with her belongings into a low shelf when Sojiro had come back upstairs.

“What the heck? I heard you making all sorts of noise up here, but I didn’t think you’d be cleaning.” He had said almost as soon as he came up the stairs, looking around the room. Megumi had opened her mouth to apologize- what for, she didn’t actually know, but Sojiro had interrupted her before she could even speak. “Actually, the place doesn’t look too bad. Though it’s only natural you’d want to keep your room tidy.”

That was the first time she even tried to smile in days. Even if it was rather backhanded, she would take the praise regardless. She stood up straight, but before she said anything in reply, she yawned. What time was it, anyway…?

“Why don’t you go to bed for tonight?” He had suggested. “You don’t have anything better to be doing, right?” Sleepily, Megumi nodded, getting a nod from Sojiro in reply. “I’m going to close up shop and get out of here myself. Just remember that I’m not the one who’ll be taking care of you if you get sick from staying up too long, got that?”

“Mhmm…”

Megumi had changed into her soft, creamsicle-coloured pajamas, and looked around the attic once more. She debated doing more work with the cleaning, but she really didn’t feel up to it, practically ready to pass out as soon as she hit the sheets.

As tired as she was though, she couldn’t sleep. She kept thinking about everything that led up to now. Arrest, then trial, and now a criminal record and probation. What else was she supposed to do though?

One thing had led to another and she ended up getting home late, she remembered worrying as she checked her watch. She knew her mother would be worried sick about her, but here she was, lightly jogging through the neighbourhood, but slowly her steps became uncertain.

“Just get in the car!”

She stopped in her tracks completely. Gently, she chewed on her thumbnail. The yelling was coming from her left, but that was the opposite way of home. She was late enough already… Maybe it would just be a second? Megumi found herself trying to rationalize things as her steps guided her toward the voice. Maybe it was just someone trying to coax their pet into their car. At… 8pm. Though she soon found it was hopeless to be optimistic, as she soon picked up on a younger woman’s voice alongside it.

“N-no! Let go!”

“You dare cross me?!”

Again, Megumi stopped. She could see what was happening now. She could see under the glare of the streetlight the silhouette of a man forcing himself on a younger woman, and she could see her struggling rather noticeably. Could she even do something about that? Quietly, she took out her phone and dialed for the police, voice barely above a whisper. She was a bit relieved to hear that the police were on their way- what a mistake that would turn out to be.

“No…!”

“Don’t give me that shit.”

“Ow! P-Please, stop…!”

Letting out a sharp breath, she moved forward, her legs carrying her without a second thought. It didn’t matter if she could or couldn’t stop it, she just needed to try. As Megumi approached, she began catching the heavy scent of alcohol looming in the air. If anything, it made her stomach twist more.

“Tch… What a waste of my time. You think you’re worth causing me trouble? Huh?” The drunken man continued, not letting up.

“I’ll call the police!” The woman had squeaked out. Her nails gripped onto his arm as she desperately tried to pry him off.

“The police are my bitches.” He had growled out. “They’re not gonna take you seriously.” The look of fear on her face only increased at his words. Only moments later the sound of police sirens pierced through the tense atmosphere. The man’s eyebrows furrowed in frustration and anger. “Someone called the cops, huh?” Both his scowl and his grip on the woman tightened. “Get in the car!” He had yelled. “Incompetent fools like you just need to shut your mouths and follow where I steer this country!”

Megumi felt her blood freeze as the man finally noticed she was there, his gaze staring daggers at her from behind his orange tinted sunglasses.

“...What’re you looking at?” He snapped out. “Get outta my face!” She took one step back, gripping onto the strap of her bag. “This ain’t a show. Get lost, kid.” His hand slid off the woman’s body as he began fronting on the high-schooler. Before he got closer, he sneered at the woman again. “See? This is all because you’re so damn slow! Get in the car!” He ordered.

Megumi sighed and shook her head. There was no use even thinking about it now. It was far too late to think about anymore. Just as she felt herself begin to drift, her phone had played it’s little note, trying to grab her attention, which it had. She nabbed it from the floor, and whatever it had tried to notify her on had been pushed to the wayside as she noticed the strange app from just that morning. Her index finger loomed over it, puzzled. Did she not delete it? She thought she did, but she supposed it was entirely possible she didn’t. She was quite frazzled after all. Without another thought, she dragged it off to the recycling bin and placed her phone back on the floor.

Her eyelids were getting heavy and her consciousness began to drift. She’d be scoping out her new school tomorrow, so maybe this would be her lucky break in disguise. Potential friends, potential experiences… She was optimistic, but she’d have to see the hand fate felt like giving her.

Megumi wasn’t sure when she had awoke, but nothing about it felt right. Sure her bed wouldn’t be called luxurious, but it wasn’t this uncomfortable…

The rattling of a chain made her shoot up to sitting, though that only made her notice the chain on herself, going from one wrist to the other with a little bit of give, cuffs linking them to one another. She swung her legs over the side of her ‘bed’ and clutched her head. Sure she could excuse it as a dream, but her wrists certainly did hurt. A chuckle dragged her attention to just outside her new cell.

Just outside she could see two girls, awfully young looking ones at that. They weren’t identical- she didn’t think so anyway, but they shuffled closer together in sync, as if they were moving in a mirror. As Megumi approached, she only found herself stuck at a point, only to look down and pin the cause as a ball and chain. Now what in the world was this…? Megumi only stared at the two girls, hands resting and gaining a loose grip on the bars in front of her, loose striped sleeves sliding down her forearms.

The girls stared back, their uncovered eyes unmoving, though the both turned away, no longer blocking Megumi’s view of the long nosed man in the center of the room. He had offered a hand that she could never grab, and announced in a low, booming voice.

“Trickster… Welcome to my Velvet Room.”

“So, you’ve come to, Inmate?” One of the girls had asked, glancing at Megumi from the corner of her eye.

“The you in reality is currently fast asleep.” The other had continued, her voice just a bit softer than her cohort. “You are only experiencing this as a dream.” She clarified.

“You’re in the presence of our master. Stand up straight!” Without hesitation, she did. She could swear she saw the tiniest grin pop up on the younger girl’s face, but said nothing.

“Welcome.” The man in the center had started, the two girls at either side of you falling quiet. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance. This place exists between dream and reality, mind and matter.” He continued. Megumi’s grip only tightened on the bars. “It is a room that only those who are bound by a ‘contract’ may enter. I am Igor, the master of this place. Remember it well.” Igor continued to drum his fingers, which were just a touch too long on his desk. Megumi told herself that she probably wouldn’t forget this even if she tried. “I summoned you to speak of important matters. It involves your life as well.” She furrowed her brow, not wanting to make waves.

“Important matters?” She asked. It was just a dream, that's what she told herself anyway. Just a strange, strange dream. It probably wasn’t that important overall, but there was no reason not to play along. Igor only nodded along at her words.

“Still, it is strange…” He looked around, as if searching for something. She glanced around too, unsure of what the problem was, besides the obvious. “The state of this room reflects the state of your own heart. To think a prison would appear as such…” His gaze returned to her. “You truly are a ‘prisoner’ of fate.” Igor pointed at her, index finger only drifting around; lingering. “In the near future, there is no mistake that ruin awaits you.”

“Ruin…?” She repeated, concern growing on her face. Igor simply chuckled.

“Worry not. There is a means to oppose such a fate. You must be ‘rehabilitated’. Rehabilitated toward freedom… That is your only means to avoid ruin.” He stared at her again, eyes boring deep into her. “Do you have the resolve to challenge the distortion of the world?”

Megumi stayed silent, though considering Igor’s inclination of doing the same, she realized he was looking for a reply.

“Well, I’d like to avoid ruin…” To this, he grinned even wider than he already was.

“Then allow me to observe the path of your rehabilitation.” As he finished his words, the two girls turned on their heels to face her once more. “Ah, pardon me for not introducing the others. To your right is Caroline; to your left, Justine.” Her gaze travelled as he said each direction. “They serve as wardens here.”

“Hmph,” Caroline huffed out. “Try and struggle as hard as you like.”

“The duty of wardens is to protect inmates. We are also your collaborators.” She couldn’t tell if Justine was trying to calm her. The words seemed sincere but her tone and demeanor was of ice. “...That is, if you remain obedient.” Megumi decided her uncertainty was best left where it was.

“I shall explain the roles of these two at another occasion.” Again, as Igor finished speaking, the wardens turned on their heels in perfect sync to face their master. “Now then, it seems the night is waning… It is almost time.” Almost time for…? “Take your time to slowly come to understand this place. Surely, we will meet again, eventually…” At the flick of his wrist, sirens began blaring in the small prison. Caroline snapped her attention to Megumi.

“Now hurry up and go back to sleep.”

Megumi was confused, but soon enough found her consciousness fading yet again.

#Persona 5 #Persona 5 Royal #Persona 5: For Want of a Nail #persona 5 oc #megumi kurosawa #sojiro sakura #igor persona #caroline and justine

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neokollection · 5 years

Text

Mine To Play With ㅡ Doyoung (M)

A/N: Someone asked for a continuation of drying DY’s hair- So, I'm here doing it because I’m in a Doyoung mood and a horny mess ready to take it out on him :/

**MATURE**

Word Count: 2K ㅡ Genre: Domestic smut & fluff ㅡ Teaser: A lazy day with your man while your hormones are raging causes you to have horny temptations. Who better to take it out than your ever willing boyfriend?

no, im not oki

Your period certainly came with a plethora of side effects, a wild appetite, mood swings at ungodly hours, cramps and pains, and occasional horniness. Your victim, always your victim, endearing Doyoung, sat idle on your floor- He’d been playing Need For Speed on your phone to help you level up since you’d been whining about being stuck on a level. However, slumber had gotten the better of him... His head hung low your phone caressed by his familiar hands. His hands- They were beautiful, warm hued and smooth skin that you loved to touch, prominent knuckles and veins that snagged your attention, and slender delicate fingers that did ungodly things to you. You’d nearly been nodding off to sleep yourself, watching over his shoulder from your comfortable bed-

“Youngie,” you murmured, stretching your leg beneath the covers to nudge one of his broad shoulders.

His shoulders- They were so broad. A safe haven for only you to embrace and to protect you- Prominent and alluring, it was prime real-estate that was begging to be marked.

“Dongyoung,” you tried again, nudging him once more.

“It’s weird when you call me that,” he muttered, raising his head before shaking his tresses to get them out of his eyes.

“I miss you,” you whined, a pout forming on your lips.

You weren’t normally this needy or cutesy, but you couldn’t help it at the moment.

“What do you need?” he questioned, shifting slightly to set your phone upon your nightstand.

“You,” you half-joked.

He crawled onto your bed, resting atop your covers as you shifted beneath them, the homey sounds of sheets shifting causing him to smile to himself tiredly.

“Let’s take a nap,” he suggested, shifting to let his face fall to your pillow, draping an arm over you.

“I don’t want to sleep,” you hinted, wiggling closer.

He let out a muffled hum into your pillow to serve as an inquisition as to why- Reaching over, you massaged the nape of his neck gently, knowing it must have been sore from how he’d fall asleep.

“Because I want to spend time with you.”

“You are-”

“I want you to hold me,” you blurted, dragging out your words.

Knowing how childish you could get if your affectionate demands weren’t met, he slipped off the bed, throwing back the covers before sliding in, nudging you to scoot over with his body pressed to yours. His arms wound around you, his face tucking itself into your shoulder, his cheek resting upon the fabric of your sweaters as his doe-like eyes met your own for a moment before closing. Disrupting the peace, you turned from your back to your side to face him, peppering light kisses across the expanse of his face, to which he grinned before nuzzling into your chest as he whined for you to quit, his cheeks heating at how unusually affectionate and forward you were being. You arched your back slightly, pressing your chest against his face to savor the sensation.

“Doyoung...” you called gently.

He drew back slightly to glance upward.

“I’m really horny,” you admitted, turning sheepish.

He knew you were on your period- He was able to read the boisterous signs. Plus, you’d been using it as an excuse, as to why you couldn’t leave home, and as leverage, as to why your ice cream choice was more valuable than his due to your menstruation.

“What’s there to do?” he questioned partly to himself.

You let a hand sneak beneath the front of his black shirt, letting it raise along with your tempted hand.

“I want to do stuff-”

He let out a small hiss, swatting at your hand as you pinched his nipple. Not in the mood to be teased, he herded your hand to your other, collecting your lithe wrists in his single hand, to keep them docile.

“You have to be more specific than that.”

“Let me take care of you,” you tried, mustering a pleading expression.

Wordlessly, he released you, instead, his hands moving in haste to push your sweater upward, frowning at the sight of your bra before he was tugging it down, the straps biting into the skin of your shoulders. Your voice was caught in your throat as he leant in, pulling you closer by the small of your bra that his fingers had hooked in. He was already peppering kissed over the warm skin, his lips growing wetter with each pass. You let out a breathy sigh of his name, weaving your fingers into his black hair to pull him closer. His hot tongue glided across your nipple, causing you to screw your eyes shut to keep quiet as his teeth grazed it next.

“No, no-” you muttered, pulling at the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

As much as you loved the effect he had on you, you wanted to be the one inflicting pleasure- To touch his body and make him writhe. Your own personal pornographic content starring your dream boy.

Easily, he let you push him away, content with resting on his back as he watched you pull your sweater down. His eyes were half-lidded with lust and drowsiness, the small unconscious pout on his lips alluring your own. Letting your mischievous hand sneak under the hem of his shirt once more, you lazily kissed, swallowing his muffled sound as the pad of your finger traced around his pink areola, your palm melding to the curvatures of his chest. He could feel a blush creeping on to his cheeks, he hadn’t known you were so fascinated with his chest- The unfamiliar sensation of attention on his sensitive nipples causing him to writhe gently in the sheets. Your hand abandoned his chest, going to the front of his sweats to palm him as your lips trailed to his neck, suckling upon the side of his neck, causing him to jerk at the ticklish sensation.

“Ah- You’re so...” he paused, trying to find the right word, “horny-”

“You made me like this,” you blamed in a low utter.

You hand slipped beneath the waistband of his sweats, fingers crawling towards his length, before his hand met your own.

“Slow down- There’s no rush,” he huffed, cheeks flushed.

You wiggled your hand from under his grasp, suckling upon the delicate skin of his neck causing him to hum lowly. He gave up trying to slow you once you crawled on top of him, his head lolling to the side as you pushed his flimsy t-shirt to rest at his collars. You kept a watchful gaze over him as your lips fell to his chest, your body pressing to his own. It was easy to pull him out of his boxers and past the waistband of his sweats, tucking it beneath his taut sack as your stroked his length. Squeezing his scrotum, you watched how his brows knit together, lips parting slightly. You tore your eyes away from his features to let your teeth dig into the supple flesh of his chest, littering love bites in your wake. His skin was warm, with a salty twinge, a familiar scent- his scent. Your tongue laved across one of his nipples as you squeezed the base of his shaft, his body jolting at the sensation.

You sat back, straddling him just below where his cock lay. Your greedy gaze swept over his chest, pink marks littered, but none angry enough to leave a bruise. Your hand moved to the tip of his length, its weight comfortable in your hand as you used your thumb to swipe the precum from his tip. Doyoung let out a sigh of satisfaction, let his head fall back before nodding forward, petal pink lips parted and hair disheveled as he watched your other fingers slip between your lips.

“I want you,” he muttered, knowing he couldn’t- At least in your current condition.

You removed your glistening fingers from your mouth before licking your palm. He let out a slight whine at the lewd sight, feeling his cheeks once more ignite and his cock twitch. Using your slicked hand to caress his length, you began to tug him, forming a comfortable pace at which to pump your boyfriend’s shaft. His hips began to flex, eager for more, his chest rising and falling in unison. You angled him towards himself, flat against his toned stomach. You worked him, your slickened hand sliding from veiny shaft to rosy tip. His moans and pants were godsend to your eager ears, unable to keep quiet. He came on himself, his abdomen crunching as he lurched forward slightly, calling your name before falling limply back to the sheets.

Beneath you he lay motionless, only his chest rising and falling. You massaged his shrinking length in your palm, drinking in the sight of him. Worn out, he pushed your hands away, bucking you from his thighs. A small yelp escaped you as nearly tumbled off the side of the bed, grabbing his boney hips to stay seated. Impatiently, he tore his shirt the rest of the way off, sweat having formed along his hairline and neck. His eyes fluttered open to meet your own once he finally felt your weight crawling from him. He tugged his sweats back up to cover his decency before getting off the bed with a creak, careful to not let the cum on his stomach drip. Giddily, you followed him to the bathroom, turning on the tap to wash your hands of him. He was unusually quiet, turning to turn the knobs of the shower. You watched his back flex in the reflection of the mirror, suddenly wanting to embrace him and plant soft kisses along his warm back-

He showered, turning the water cold to cool his scorching body and regain his breath. He took longer than was necessary, his movements slow with fatigue. Opting to tug on only his shirt and his boxers before returning to your room. The bed dipped dramatically as he dropped to it, snuggling close and lazily tugging the covers over the two of you- but you squirmed away from him.

“Your hair’s wet,” you complained, the dampness uncomfortably cold on your warm skin.

With a sigh he got up, tossing the blankets away dramatically as he slinked into the bathroom. You heard some commotion before he was dropping back to the bed, reaching to unplug your phone charger and plug in your... hair dryer.

“Do it for me,” he bargained, glancing over his shoulder from where he sat on the edge of your bed.

With a small sound you sat up to crawl towards him, sitting on your haunches behind him, as you picked up the dryer. You turned it on the lowest setting, raking your hands through his hair in the process. His head bobbed to and fro where your hands raked, his eyes drifting closed. You turned it up to a higher setting, watching as the fine black stands slithered through your fingers easily, no tangles. With your fingers you brushed his bangs down in the front and the sides before drying over them, combing your fingers through the fluffiness to tame it. He let out a low hiss, bringing his hand to cover his ear; evidently you held it over the same spot for too long. With an apologetic tone, you focused on his other side, turning off the noisy dryer once you felt he was sufficiently dry. Gently, you dropped the dryer to the floor, off the edge of the bed. Brushing Doyoung’s hand aside, you saw the angry red shell of his ear. Apologizing, you tucked his hair behind it before giving it a chaste kiss. You coaxed him to lay with you once more, holding the covers open invitingly as you wiggled your way in.

Exhaustion got the better of him as he snuggled into the valley of your breasts, your inviting warmth and soft hands brushing through his tresses lolling him into a peaceful slumber.

#yep that's it- that's the post #I turned soft #doyoung #nct #nct scenario #nct smut #nct fluff #domestic nct #doyoung scenario #doyoung smut #doyoung imagine #nct imagine #doyoung fluffy smut #nct fluffy smut

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snarky-badger · 5 years

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Can I ask for a drabble in which Ultron is living with someone romantically and they get him an apron that says "Kiss the Overlord"for Christmas because he'd been learning how to cook? I just really wanna know how your depiction of Ultron would react to that. And Christmas.

I can do that! Another part in the Smooth Criminal series! (Because I love that series so much)

EDIT - Okay, so I rewrote this a bunch of times. Still not too happy with it, buuuut…. *shrugs* It is what it is. I hope it’s good enough!

Part 6 in the Smooth Criminal Series. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

If you like my writing, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-Fi!

Things went smoothly for another month. You continued your classes - which were easier without your bully present - did your exams and end of the term tests. Continued going to work, fixing whatever came through the door - including a car whose owner had tried to replace an engine part with duct tape.

Ultron, oddly, had gotten a bit more distant over the weeks. You wanted to talk to him about it, but felt nervous. Maybe you’d done something wrong. Maybe he’d decided against pursuing a relationship with you. You didn’t know, and a large part of you was afraid to ask, terrified of the answer.

Honestly, Christmas came upon so fast that it shocked you.

You spent a week wracking your brain trying to think of things to get Ultron. You’d texted the AI and discovered that he was rather blaze about the whole holiday - he’d never really celebrated it before. Upon finding that out, you’d decided to take it upon yourself to make it special for him, to show him the fun and joys of it.

So you bought a beautiful artificial tree, a massive eight foot thing with lights. Managed to get it up and decorated while Ultron was out doing whatever it was he was doing. Loaded it with red, gold and green ornaments and faux poinsettia flowers, even bought a pretty golden tree skirt.

You still didn’t know what to get him as a present. What do you get someone that has everything or could buy anything they wanted? He didn’t eat, didn’t wear clothes, simply downloaded any book he wanted… It left you woefully idealess.

Two weeks before Christmas, your parents called, your mother wondering if you were going to visit.

Crap. You’d honestly forgotten about them.

Another frantic search on Amazon and a run through the Mall, and you’d loaded yourself up with presents for them. You didn’t really want to leave Ultron alone for Christmas, so you lied to your mother - God help you if she ever found out - and said that you needed to be home the weekend before the Holiday to help your boss out at the Garage.

Ultron hadn’t seemed all too bothered by you leaving to visit your parents. He was really starting to worry you. Why was he pulling away?

A little heartbroken, you packed yourself up, rented a car, and, drove yourself two hours North East.

Your parents were thrilled to see you, and you let them distract you from your worries about Ultron. You baked with your mother, helped your father decorate the house, even went out and bought a real tree with your father - as was tradition.

It took a couple of days to help them get everything ready, but by the end, the house was decorated, the cookies and fruitcake were done, the tree was up and barricaded from the far too inquisitive dogs plus one cat, and things felt nostalgic and homey.

That night, after a long discussion with your father about your courses, you headed up to bed with a mug of hot chocolate - laced with Bailey’s - and grabbed your phone. It hurt your heart a little to see that Ultron hadn’t left any messages or emails.

Hot chocolate forgotten, you bit your lower lip, then nervously opened up a specific app. Ultron had long ago installed a program that tied into his systems, allowing you to contact him directly. ‘For anything’ he’d told you.

You sent him a simple message of ’I miss you’. Stared at your phone for almost fifteen minutes for a reply, then sighed and set it aside. Ignored your now cold chocolate drink as you lay down on your bed, sniffling a little as you curled up. You cared so much about Ultron, and now, things were… different. Something was up with him, something had changed. What, you didn’t know, but you intended to find out, because this ‘avoidance’ shit wasn’t flying with you.

Frowning, you rolled over and snatched up your phone again, thumbs tapping out a message. ’For the past little while, I feel like you’re avoiding me. I miss you, so much, and I don’t know if I did something wrong, but I’m so sorry if I did. I wish you’d talk to me again. I don’t like this chasm between us. If you changed your mind about me, tell me, please. Because this… this cold shoulder thing hurts. I… I love you. I do. More than you know… I just… wish you felt the same. If you don’t, that’s okay. Even if you don’t, you’re still the most important person in my life, Ultron. You are. I… I just had to tell you. Goodnight.’

Butterflies in your stomach from the message, you forced yourself to bed. Spent far too long tossing and turning before sleep finally claimed you.

Until something jerked you awake at two-am. You spent a moment staring, bleerily, at the clock at your bedside before another knock at the window made you roll over, eyes widening when you saw Ultron hovering outside.

You rolled out of bed, then tried to shove the old window open before gesturing to the porch when it stuck fast. He nodded in understanding, and you paused to throw on your housecoat before creeping out of your room. Good thing your parents were heavy sleepers, because you had to pass their door to get to the stairs.

You took an extra second to slip your bare feet into your winter boots before opening the front door and stepping out into the cold, your breath fogging in the air as you closed the door behind you. “Ul–”

He grabbed you before you could even speak, lifting you off your feet and pressing you up against the wall next to the door. Crimson optics met yours, and you felt his hands spasm where he was gripping your upper arms, before he simply leaned in and kissed the breath out of you.

Afterwards, when you were dazed and out of breath, he leaned his forehead against yours, metal chilly from the cold, optics locked on your gaze. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice rough with worry and regret. “I’m so sorry. I never meant– I–”

You frowned and rose a hand to his face, thumb brushing his cheek. “What?”

His brows drew inwards, a scowl settling onto his features. “I’m not what I was meant to be,” he said finally, disgust and self-loathing thick in his voice. “I look at you and I want to give you everything, but I…” His gaze went to where his right hand was holding your arm, metal against flesh, and his gaze darkened. “I’ll never be anything except this.”

“Ultron…” You leaned in and kissed him, ignoring how stiff he was. “I’ve only ever known you as you are. I know you don’t see yourself the way I see you, but you’re perfect to me. You’re kind and brilliant and generous and thoughtful and snarky and beautiful and I love you, you dummy. I don’t want everything, just you.”

Ultron shuddered a little, and goosebumps rose on your skin as he nuzzled his face against the side of your neck, his arms going around you to pull you into a hug. You rose a hand to the back of his head as you returned the embrace, fingers brushing over the hardline port at the base of his skull and hearing his low groan as he nipped at your throat.

“T-That’s a little sensitive,” he mumbled against you, and you grinned as you did it again, feeling him tremble and gasp. “Mmmm. Okay, yeah, that’s– Ohh! Okay– Mm. Stop, because otherwise I’m going to rip off your clothes and we’ll wake your parents.”

You snickered, but relented, filing things away for later. Instead, you stroked the nape of his neck and kissed the outer edge of his right audial. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” Ultron sighed, raising his head to meet your gaze sadly. “I… I have issues with this form. I had a perfect body, once. I built it. But the Avengers… they stole it from me. Corrupted it, twisted it. I just–”

“You’re perfect to me,” you murmured, kissing him, hearing his groan as he reciprocated, earnest and hungry, his right hand rising to caress your cheek. “Absolutely perfect.”

A smirk tugged at his mouth. “You’re biased.”

“Damned right I am.”

Finally, he chuckled, the tension in his frame easing, the metal pieces at the corners of his eyes unclenching. Ultron leaned in again, forehead brushing yours, his mouth grazing your lips. “If you don’t think I love you, then I’m doing something terribly wrong,” he murmured, the palm of his hand cool against your cheek as he cupped the side of your face. “I’m so sorry I made you think I didn’t care.”

“S'okay,” you murmured back. “Don’t do it again.”

“Never.” He nipped at your lower lip before kissing you, humming against you when you teasingly grazed your fingers across the port at the back of his head. “Mmmm. When will you be coming home?” His hands splayed across your back, pulling you closer.

You wound your arms around his neck. “Couple more days. I’ll be home by Christmas.”

Ultron grumbled, but nodded. “Alright.” He nuzzled at your neck again, then sighed, and carefully placed you back onto your feet. “You’re shivering. Go inside and get warm. Oh. One more thing.”

You glanced up at him, and he smiled fondly as he touched your cheek again.

“I love you.”

A smile spread across your lips, and you took his hand in one of yours as you turned your face to press a kiss to his palm. “I love you, too, Ultron.”

He beamed at your response, paused to lean down to kiss you, then the repulsors on his back and legs activated with a dull roar and he stepped off the covered porch and simply shot up into the air.

“Show off,” you said to the place where he’d been, shaking your head as you turned and headed back inside.

You felt lighter the next day, and while your mother questioned your sudden good mood, you merely shrugged and said that you’d slept well. You helped her make the early Christmas dinner that she’d insisted on making for you; your father spent the time cutting wood for the fireplace and yelling at one of the dogs that like to steal pieces of firewood and bury them in the snow.

That night, after a massive supper, Ultron texted you a simple ’I love you, sleep well’, and you spent half an hour smiling stupidly as you tried to fall asleep.

Three more days passed. You found a funny gift to give to Ultron during an outing with your father - your Dad always needed help picking out a present for your mother and you were his constant go to for ideas. You helped him pick out a beautiful framed art print form her favorite artist at a gallery on Main Street.

You celebrated an early gift opening with your folks that night. Everyone was happy, even you, despite the ugly Christmas sweater that your Aunt had mailed to you. Good Lord, the woman was either colour blind or evil, you weren’t sure which.

The following day, you bid goodbye to your parents and drove home, glad that the rental car had winter tires when a surprise blizzard hit half way. Texted Ultron that you’d be late before spending over three hours peering through an icy windshield at the lights of the car in front of you, trying desperately not to swerve off the road and into a ditch.

You were twitchy by the time you got to the rental place, a headache pounding behind your eyes from having to squint through the whiteout conditions. You dropped off the car, then took a cab back to the penthouse, never happier to see the doorman in your life.

Honestly, you were exhausted by the time you dragged your luggage and a bag full of gifts from your folks into the penthouse elevator. Your hair was a mess, your coat and scarf overloaded with melting snow, and your headache had gotten worse on the cab ride over. You were looking forward to a hot bath and a nice cup of coffee and maybe a movie with Ultron.

But when the doors slid open, you forgot about everything.

You’d originally decorated the penthouse with only a tree. Now, there was garland and poinsettias and lights and mini trees everywhere. It was all tastefully done, like something out of a magazine that you’d swooned over as a child.

Eyes wide, you stepped out of the elevator, your rolling luggage clattering a little against the hardwood floor as you tugged it behind you.

Ultron appeared from around the corner, wiping his hands on a dish cloth as he approached you. “There you are! I was worried. The weather station’s been sending out warnings and road closures all day.”

“Blizzards suck ass,” you frowned, still looking around. Let Ultron take the bag off your shoulder before shucking out of your jacket when he tugged at it. “What did you do?”

“I know you like Christmas. Thought I’d spruce up the penthouse a little. I love the tree by the way - though I’m sorry I wasn’t here to decorate it with you.” He went to hang your coat up in the closet and you took the moment to toe out of your boots, grimacing when your socked foot stepped in some water.

Ultron smirked as he ushered you deeper into the penthouse, and you glanced at him questioningly before you turned your full attention to what he’d done. He’d really gone all out. There were decorations - deer, baubles, ornaments and garland - and lights everywhere, the warm white glow from the LEDs giving everything a pretty appearance.

“You’ve been busy,” you grinned, your gaze darting around the penthouse, trying to spot everything new. He merely chuckled in response, moving past you to the kitchen, and you curiously followed him, smiling when you saw he’d prepared some tea for you along with, “Are those cookies?”

“Oh. Yes. I, um… thought you’d like some?” He shifted, a little nervously, and you smiled as you went to investigate the cookies, drawn by the awesome smell. “They’re shortcake. I found a recipe in one of your books. I hope you don’t mind.”

You plucked a perfect star cookie from the pile and bit into it, trying not to moan at the taste. “Oh my god, these are awesome! Dude, why didn’t you tell me you could bake?”

“Well, to be fair, I’ve never tried before now,” Ultron shrugged, smirking as you grabbed another cookie. “You didn’t eat again, did you?”

“I’ve been driving for three hours in a blizzard.”

“That would be a ‘no’ then.” He went to the large fridge and started pulling food out, and you looked up from shoving another cookie into your mouth. “Sit down, I’ll make you something. How about salmon?”

“Mmpft!”

“Give me those.” You whined as the plate of cookies was snatched away, the AI raising the plate above his head when you tried to grab another one. “Seriously? I turn my back for one second and you somehow manage to eat half the plate?”

“They’re really good!” You licked crumbs off your fingers, then, when it was obvious that he wasn’t going to give them back, huffed and pouted a little.

Ultron rolled his optics at you, setting the plate of cookies onto a top shelf that you had no chance of reaching. That done, he turned back to you and reached down to gently grip your chin between his left forefinger and thumb, tilting your head up as he leaned down to kiss you. “Go get changed and I’ll make you some real food, okay?”

A sigh left you as you stole another kiss before pulling away. “Okay. Spoilsport. Oh. Oh! Wait here, I have something for you!”

He blinked at you as you darted around him and ran for the bag and your luggage that were sitting in the entryway. Dug through all the presents your parents had bought you before pulling out a wrapped box, taking a moment to try to unflatten the bow before walking back to Ultron. “I had no idea what to get you but I saw this and thought it was funny.”

A metallic brow arched upwards as you thrust the package at him nervously, his fingers brushing yours when he accepted the present. Optics bright, a fond little smile on his face, Ultron carefully tugged at the tape before peeling the wrapping paper away.

Endlessly curious, he opened the box, then blinked, staring at the contents before a low, rumbling, chuckle left him. “Seriously?”

You felt your face heat. “I thought it was cute!”

Shaking his head, Ultron set the box down on the counter, then pulled out the 'Kiss the Overlord’ apron you’d found. He held it up, staring at it, then glanced at you again. When you shifted, from foot to foot, nervously, Ultron smirked, breaking his stern facade as he put the apron on and crooked a finger at you. “Well? Are you going to obey the apron?”

Your eyes narrowed a little as you closed the distance between the two of you, reaching up to grip the collar of the apron and tugging until Ultron leaned down to you. “Don’t scare me like that,” you muttered, seeing his smirk widen before you did your best to kiss it off of him.

#ultron #ultron x reader #reader x ultron #snarky is writing

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das-boog · 6 years

Photo

I had an idea for a battle-monster setting where instead of being divided up by an elemental type (fire, water, dragon, etc) monsters were categorized by genre. B-movies have an advantage over Modern Scifi due to their solid rubber bodies being hardier than CGI, whereas Fantasy creatures get a fascination effect against Art Flick Metaphor Puppets. Wrote a drabble for it below.

———

When I was told I’d be conducting an interview with the local MonsTactics champion, I wasn’t sure what I’d expected. Certainly not the woman I’d been handed a photo of; tiny Anzu Goda, in a prim pantsuit, all professional smiles as she held up a tournament trophy alongside two other well known monster breeders clapping politely. Besides the artificial-plastic-orange hair she looked like she could be any other professional athlete, a far cry from the bombastic personae she had in the arena.

That was to be expected though; most breeders prestigious enough to have their own dojo were expected to be larger-than-life personalities. A career MonsTactician had a lot of expenses, and winning battles could often come a far second to selling merchandise. Ms. Goda was known to be more committed to the keyfabe of her profession than most, and I hoped for the chance to crack through that gaudy, vaudeville exterior to show people the REAL Anzu.

Driving up to her dojo, however, I felt the hubris of that expectation settle on me like a lead blanket. Ms. Goda’s flagship dojo, Milktooth Hall, is an imposing edifice miles into the mountains outside of town. Formerly an asylum, Milktooth’s imposing bulk of gothic architecture, wrought iron and apparently unfinished renovations did not exactly give off a welcoming, homey vibe. While the main building looked largely livable, from the road I could see shattered windows and missing shingles on the upper floor, and another house on the grounds that looked like it had suffered a recent fire. Even already knowing her reputation, the structure was intimidating, and I felt it was nearly instinct that made me check my phone’s reception and my pocket for mace before stepping out of the car.

So braced was I for some sort of danger that it was almost a relief when, at my touch, the door creaked open on its own to pitch blackness. It was too blatant for me to keep taking seriously, she had to be messing with me. Repeating that to myself until it was convincing, I walked into the house.

The foyer opened into a largely unaltered reception area for the asylum. Wooden benches had been replaced with plastic seats bolted to the ground and the floors replaced with linoleum the color of curdled milk. Lights seemed broken or flickering at random. I was the only person there. This was all, again, expected decor for the famed MonsTactician Goda, but I was surprised that I was the only person in the room. Had she been told I was coming? Image was one thing, but certainly Milktooth Hall had to have other staff? Battlers being trained, monster wranglers, classes, accountants, clerks, something? Even Black Jacobs, who raised monsters found at the unexplored sections of maps, kept local offices in his port of call to handle business. But besides the buzz of the neon lights and the odd distant creak or snap of the building settling there was nothing. After a few minutes alone and confused I made up my mind to search the building and opened the first door to my right.

This is how I met her, standing stock-still just behind the door, not showing so much as a flicker of shock when I shrieked in surprise an inch from her face. The beloved, bellicose, Bloodsplatter Tactician, Anzu Goda.

She was wearing the costume she had on in all the major tournament photo-ops, faux-leather strips and resin-faked metal scraps covered in fake bloodstains and artistically draped rags. The outfit was ramshackle mess faked perfectly around superhero sleekness. I was briefly disappointed. If she was meeting me the same way she met her battle opponents, then this might be just another promotion opportunity.

“You are… From the magazine.” She giggled, true to her stage presence as ever. Unblinking, mad grin, movements just a little bit too fluid. A performance cultivated by a slew of dance instructors, acting trainers and psychologists whose careers Anzu had made very, very prestigious. I tried not to let my judgment show.

“Yes. Ms. Goda, MonTactics Monthly. I’m Ezra, Ezra Goodfellow? I believe I spoke to your agent on the phone?”

“Yes I… Recall.” She froze and then whirled away from me, fake metal pieces clattering in my face as she made a 540 degree turn away from me. “This way, to down the hall! Everything will be clear there!” She giggled again, “We’re going to have so much FUN!”

I followed and tried not to audibly groan. Ms. Goda skipped ahead, pixielike, in my own opinion probably a bit too much so for a woman just entering her thirties. Lights began to click off at random. “This way, this way!” Another flash of the mad grin and a ballet twirl around a bend, out of my sight. “We’re almost to my favorite place! My favorite place in the whole building!”

Her voice was still echoing, like from the bottom of a well, when I rounded the corner and found her gone.

I was understandably frustrated; I’d naively hoped my status as a professional would’ve spared me this funhouse nonsense and, to be honest, the whole thing was getting to me. Not the building itself, although it certainly didn’t help; As we’d gone deeper in rusted pipes began to drip unidentifiable brown-red substances down the walls, tiling was missing, and the lights just seemed to get worse and worse as I went. It was how clearly manufactured it all was. The hokiness of the whole thing, right down to the dye in her hair. Something glass, a small bottle or vial, cracked under my foot and I cursed. I’d be lucky to leave this place without tetanus.

I have no idea how long I wandered, but it was more than long enough for my irritation to take root and ferment into a constant low-grade tension. The whole first floor of the building seemed like an endless maze of crisscrossing halls, and more than once I turned back toward what I was CERTAIN should be the lobby just to find more carefully-ruined medical offices and creatively stained wards. Eventually at intersections I would just turn the first way I heard a sound down, a distant giggle or a scratch. I briefly considered calling my editor for help but, true to form, my phone had already died.

It was in this high-strung, exhausted mood that I met Anzu Goda again, standing backlit in front of the door to what appeared to be an administrative office. “Ms. Goda!” Decorum long forgotten, I broke into a half-jog. “Ms. Goda please, I-I get it, we just-“

“Do you know what you are here for, Ezra… Goodfellow.” Sillouetted in the doorframe I couldn’t see her expression, but even so it felt like her gaze bore right through me. An air duct banged and dented overhead, something crawling inside!

“Yes the- the INTERVIEW dammit just let me do my fucking job-!” Professionalism abandoned, I broke into a sprint. My shirt had come untucked. Sweat stained my collar. I was grabbing her arms, shouting, shaking, “Just let me know where we can actually sit DOWN and-!” The vent banged again. Something in it. I looked up at the vent. Wrong! Too late! Something screaming from BELOW me, bursting out of the tiles (loose, shitty linoleum, easily peeled up.) I feel back, flailing, screaming, crying-!

And… So did Ms. Goda. Some pale, bruised, almost translucent-fleshed THING had burst from the ground and was standing over her, shrieking, and tears were running down her face. Just two, around a wide mouth that stretched and contorted her cheeks so the tears ran zigzags. Her scream lasted longer than mine. It lasted longer than the monsters… And slowly faded to peals of laughter as she threw her arms around our assailant.

“Oh that was WONDERFUL Humphrey! Oh who’s my jumpy boy, who’s my loud jumpy BOY!” The creature- soft, eyeless, its fishbelly flesh mottled with random oozing bruises- made another small shriek followed by heavy wheezing and panting as it’s tongue lolled over its almost-human teeth, flopping randomly like a slug exploring. It had hooks for hands, and clammy skin pulled tight over bestial musculature and bones. At its full height it came up to Ms. Goda’s chest, and walked with a pronounced hunch. It headbutted her shoulder twice in catlike affection. Ms. Goda turned to me with another of her signature grins. “All the vents, pipes, secret passages and crawlspaces in the building intersect here, so this is the spot I picked for my office. Any of my rowdy little guys can come surprise me at any time. It’s my favorite place in the whole building!”

The office was comparatively more brightly lit, although I noticed there was still a slight flickering problem. I was soon sipping tea in a large comfortable chair while Ms. Goda ushered a few more Monsters into the room, casually pointing out where I could charge my phone (Humphrey had, out of a desire to “play” with me, apparently drained the battery. “He was probably stalking you about a half an hour,” She added conversationally). Her creatures (or, as she referred to them, “rowdy boys”) mostly kept on a large, thick shag carpet where they would stalk the perimeter, groom themselves with their tongues or rusted-looking blades, or get into brief and terrifying scuffles while we were at the other end of the room. The sole exception was a gaunt creature with what appeared to be a metal cylinder for a head, which set down a large butcher knife to crawl across the room and lay its not-head in my hosts lap. She patted it absentmindedly as we spoke.

“Sorry about all that… you seem pretty wiped out!” Her voice remained just as chirpy and sing-song as it had been when I first encountered her but I was starting to believe that might just naturally be who she was, ellipses and all. “That might’ve got a little out of hand. I was hoping to show off the unique… charm, I guess? Charm and beauty of my lil’ guys here.”

“I mean they made an impression. Humphrey was… Very intimidating. I’m sure he’s a terror in the arena.” I mentally went over the recent tournaments Anzu Goda had been in. I might’ve seen Humphrey deployed in the Hugo Arena in Heorot, exactly once, but I wasn’t sure.

“Hm? Oh sure that too, he’s an Aughts Greenscreen, little bit MacFarlene Slasher and Western Jumper mix. TECHNICALLY a vampire. See the hooks?”

“Yes, I remember now, he used those to bring down a Kelpie being fielded by the Heorot champion, Liana Monteblanc. Would you say then that that was your reason for using a mutt rather than a purebred-“

“Would you like to pet him?”

I froze. For most of these interviews a Tactician would parade out a few of their most prized or crowd-pleasing creatures for some photo ops, I’d never been encouraged to actually interact with one beyond throwing a target for it to chase or cajoling it into roaring for the camera. Besides a tank of Slithy Toves I’d kept when I was little and my mother’s loud, squawking Phoenix I’d always been more of a dog person.

“Would that be alright?”

“Humphrey! Come here!” The creature shambled up obediently at Ms. Goda’s beckoning, the one in her lap already shuffling away in some territorial submission display to Humphrey (Ms. Goda seemed displeased by this, but I didn’t really notice until later).

I slowly, tentatively reached out my hand, and Humphrey jerked to bite down on my wrist. I gasped and looked away, but the pain never came, and when I looked back the monster was holding my hand gently, but firmly, between its teeth. Its fat tongue squirmed between my fingers.

“Humphrey no!” Laughing, Ms. Goda placed one hand on the beasts flat face and shoved it away, making it release my hand with a wet scrape. “You’re going to want to reach out more forcefully,” she explained, demonstrating. She patted its head like a three year old would pat the head of a dog, a clumsy pantomime of affection, “Anxiety, fear, tentativeness, they zero in on that really closely. They’re incredibly empathetic creatures, even compared to most other monsters. If you seem doubtful about what you’re doing for even a moment they can tell, and the only way they know how to react to fear is to exaggerate it. Here, try again.” I did, this time imitating her rough handling, and was rewarded this time by Humphrey nuzzling my hand. Pretty soon the creature was hunched next to my chair, my arm reaching down to pat it occasionally. It felt cool and smooth, like leather with a thin layer of silly putty over it.

“Isn’t that nicer?”

“It is,” I had to admit it. I’d never seen a MonsTactician’s creatures behave so… intimately. Like something kept as someone’s pet rather than some grand incarnation of raw power. I’d stood beneath the bellies of dragons while their handlers pointed out the patterns of their scales, I’d seen pixies twinkle toxic or wish-granting glitters inches from my eyes, but casually patting the flank of this bleating, oozing horror I was cowed. My prepared questions fled me. “Do you… Do anything to get them like this? Some socialization training?”

“Oh most tacticians I’ve met are like this with their monsters in private. Some not,” Ms. Goda shrugged, “But for the most part you really cant work with any animal without some degree of empathic connection or affection, monsters are no different. I’m not surprised you cant really get at that side of them though, I didn’t really agree to this for the same reasons.” Her laugh twinkled, “I’m already rich, I don’t need to do favors for publicity.”

That rankled me a little. “That’s a little strange to hear, Ma’am. With all due respect, it seems odd that someone who doesn’t need publicity would go to the trouble of this whole performance.”

“Hm?”

“You know… Your whole battlefield schtick.” I was beginning to get frustrated again. “The abandoned haunted house, the costume, your whole mistress of horror act.”

“What?” She threw another mad giggle into the conversation, the way a card shark throws down a winning hand, “Ezra, what about this do you think is behavior that I wouldn’t exhibit anyway?”

“Ms. Goda,” I was getting a little sick of being condescended to, not that I wasn’t earning it. “It’s well known that every inch of this building, down to the rusted clasps on your costume and the passages in the walls, are the product of teams of set designers, acting coaches, fashion designers-“

“Oh pfft yeah everyone knows THAT Ezra, god,” she waved me to silence, still laughing, “Because I want to do the thing I would do anyway WELL.” She must’ve noticed my confused expression, because she continued, “I LIKE doing this Mx. Goodfellow. There’s no ‘’trouble’ involved. I LIKE playing the mistress of horror, and I don’t hide that I’m acting.” Her hand gently massaged the base of the metal-headed monster’s neck, eliciting a thrumming tinny purr. “I mean holy smokes man, my door opened by itself like something from an October B-movie. You KNOW who I am.”

I was heartbroken. I wanted to get to the real Anzu, and she was essentially telling me that there wasn’t one. That the woman WAS a fabrication, and lived as one, and liked it that way. She grinned at me leaning back in her chair across from me, fang-caps on her teeth sharp and obvious, streaks in her thick black mascara from when she’d been crying just ten minutes ago tracing drips and zigzags down to her jaw like they’d been painted on. Maybe they had been. I sighed and got into the boilerplate questions; if she wanted this to be rote, I could do it rote and leave.

“Most famous MonsTacticians pick a genre of monster to raise, sort of as their bit. Is that why you chose Horrors, to play into this fantasy?”

“Sort of a chicken or the egg thing really. The truth is that when I first got into raising these guys I hated the idea of ever making them fight.”

“Ah, but most monsters need some degree of violence, conflict or intrigue. Even something as docile as a sphinx needs chances to ask riddles and gamble on the outcome,” I pointed out, “We’re not talking about a pet bird or a normal animal, we’re talking about something with flesh wounds for eyes and rusted fishhooks for hands. A lot of monsters are innately aggressive and need an outlet.”

“No.”

“What?”

“No. No monster is innately aggressive.” Briefly, Ms. Goda’s smile took on a frozen edge. A simian display of teeth. “Monsters are reflections of us, of humans. WE’RE innately aggressive and need an outlet. We’re innately dangerous, loving, curious, most HUMANS need some degree of violence, conflict or intrigue. And monsters follow us to them. Do you want me to finish answering your question?”

“I’m sorry, do continue.”

“To fall back on stereotypes, I never really got along with other kids when I was small. My parents had a big house with a property that extended into the woods behind it, and I was an only child, so I spent a lot of time by myself.” She sat back and gripped her mug of tea in both hands, delicately, that soft thrumming anger I’d only barely glimpsed fading to reminiscence. “I was homeschooled for a long while, so I only started spending much time around other children in middle school.” She grimaced, “Bad place to start with humans, really. I honestly think we should raise the age where you’re allowed to take care of monsters a little higher than thirteen, after they stop being monsters themselves. It’s like a feedback loop. But that’s not what you’re here for.” She sipped the tea once, one hand at her jaw to preserve her makeup. “I didn’t really understand them, and they didn’t want to understand me… It felt like the results of every interaction I had with people was completely divorced from my actions. I’d tell a joke, I’d get stared at. The next time I did they laughed. The time after that someone called me an idiot. Eventually I was just… doing random things to see how they’d react. Throwing behavior at a wall to see what would stick.”

“My parents noticed this and would try to get me to break out of my shell. They’d ask me about my classmates, invite the ones they thought I might like to our house for playdates and birthday parties and we’d go romping around the woods, but it still didn’t really click. They liked my toys, they liked my big house and big yard, but I was still an incomprehendable foreign being. The best I could do was mimic them.” She laughed again, twinkling, “Honestly by then it was probably a self fulfilling prophecy. I already assumed nothing I did to make real friends would work.”

“These days, a child with a monster or two can be afforded a lot of freedom. We’d go rollicking deep into the woods, with a couple kids and their monsters keeping watch for anything wild. I remember one of them had a dragon, a big fat goofy eighties-barbera lump of scales and tiny, agile wings, while the other one had some big floppy puppet of a brute that has parents had gotten to teach him his numbers and ABCs when he was little. Supposedly, they would be able to smell any other monsters coming and hustle us home if something were to go wrong.”

“So, when the other kids didn’t see what was following us, I assumed I wasn’t supposed to either and ignored it.” I remember when she got to this part I double checked that the recorder was working. There is a page in my pocket notebook where I distinctly recall writing the words ‘dark backstory???’ and circling it.

“Every glance I got of it was moving slowly, deliberately through the trees above us, gentle enough to be mistaken for just branches moving in the breeze, but it seemed to have no trouble keeping pace with four rambunctious children and their caretakers. Maybe one of the kids had brought a third monster? I heard some fae were supposed to be shy. Or maybe it was something mundane, like some… big monkey. I was twelve.” Ms. Goda chuckled, “It made sense to me.”

“We hadn’t really DECIDED we were going to the creek, Shifat just said he saw a deer there and we just sort of wandered in that direction. Susan hated the woods though; the dragon was hers, and riding on its back had gotten her hair caught in hanging branches here and there. “As she ran up to the waterfront to check her curls in her reflection, I saw the thing in the trees above us speed up, to keep pace with her. I almost raised my voice to shout a warning, but back then I didn’t really have the nerve.”

“I waited with this kind of dread you only experience with social anxiety as like, the look on her face went from preening to frozen fear and confusion, when she saw whatever was waiting above her reflected in the running water. And it was new to me because for once I felt like I could predict how she was reacting. Like, I knew she was about to freak out, because I understood what was prompting this.”

I tried not to salivate and wrote over ‘dark backstory???’, capitalizing it.

“It dropped from above, slower than gravity should allow. Its flesh was mottled hues of dirty pink and green, solid and warty like an armadillos shell. Its face was a cluster of human molars. Its twelve legs ended in delicate, ladylike hands that reached out to brace against the surface of the water, like it might float away without the surface tension to latch on to, with steepled fingers as it lurched its bulk, mouth first, toward Susan.”

I circled ‘DARK BACKSTORY???’ a few more times, excitedly. Ms. Goda did not appear to notice.

“We all screamed. That’s… Kind of the main point I remember. If I focus I could tell you about how her dragon pulled her back with a wheezing burble before horking a wad of flame at the thing, or about Shifat’s Puppet sweeping all of us into its hairy arms and booking it for my house. Or about Aaron’s snotty panicked face a few inches from mine or the clacking howling of the creature behind us but what really stuck with me was that… Scream. It was the first time in forever I’d done anything around anyone else that I hadn’t overthought or tried to control. I just let loose and let what I was feeling come out and everyone else did too, at the same time.”

I underlined ‘DARK BACKSTORY???’ frantically.

“I’d never really felt like I was doing something WITH others before.”

… I thought for a moment, and then crossed out ‘DARK BACKSTORY???’

“I was… Really, really used to not really being in-sync with other children. I didn’t react the same way as them… to bad news, to surprises, to new experiences or enjoyment. Everything I did around my school friends was really carefully analyzed or rehearsed in my head first because I was worried about humiliating myself, or driving people off. But I just reacted instinctively, on the same level as the other kids, without a moment of thought. And afterwards I felt great! Feeling so pent up all the time wasn’t exactly good for a preteen, one good long scream did more for my mood than all the therapy my parents could pay for.”

“I’ve heard some say fear is more of an instinct than an emotion, a defense mechanism.” I offered, “You had trouble connecting empathically, but something so basic-“

“I mean sure maybe,” Goda shook her head and took another sip of her tea, “The point was that I finally had a starting point. Fear. Surprise. Shock. There was a… a Control group that I could start from for understanding other people.”

“So what was the next step?”

“Immediately after? For a couple weeks I was in the habit of hiding in closets and cupboards and jumping out to scare my parents. So when they got fed up with that I got sent along to a new therapist, who figured that I was trying to work through my traumatic incident with the creature in the woods.”

“Something of a swing and a miss.”

“I mean hell, he wasn’t completely wrong. Just whiffed the follow-through. His first idea was exposure therapy, had me play with small therapy monsters they kept that were similar. He had a tooth fairy and a boggart that he thought would be similar. Real couple of cuties, but … Kind of missing the point. The next step was him showing me the articles about how they, y’know like, captured and relocated the thing from the woods that attacked Susan, and that DID catch my eye. Apparently it was a Bandersnatch that had been feeding off ectoplasm runoff from a local prison. When it got big enough to divide, it split into this and a few other ghoulies. It’s really fascinating, like when a Bandersnatch or a Jabberwocky or anything else of the Wunderlander family take in enough external thematic elements they just kind of swell up and SPLIT into new monsters, it’s why there’s so many-“ The topic seemed to be working Ms. Goda up and I was worried we’d lose the plot, so I tried to bring the subject of our chat back to her.

“The creature that attacked you, where was it relocated to?”

“… Uhh, a shelter.” Goda got quiet. “According to the article it was, um, slated to be destroyed.”

“Oh.”

“I guess I understood? It had attacked a child. But I feel like a lot of problems could have been avoided if they’d just moved it to the right habitat. A sunken ship or an abandoned laboratory, someone puts up a sign, maybe get a behavioral specialist in there…”

“A specialist… Like you are now?”

“A bit, yeah.” Anzu grinned, “You know, horrors are the only breed of monster whose primary means of defense or offense requires forming an empathic connection?”

“You mean like Humphrey here did earlier?” I raised an eyebrow and patted the creature with a damp ‘slap,’ “Oh yes, we bonded.” The creature wheezed and, in spite of myself, I rubbed the top of its head and cooed to it. “I’d hardly call screaming and leaping an empathic connection, Ms. Goda.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” There was that stiff, toothy smile again. The woman had some sort of direct access to the lizard-brain prey instincts of whoever she was speaking too. Her pupils pinned me to my chair like a moth to a board. I felt like I’d made myself look extraordinarily stupid to her again. “An abrupt scream can, without language, communicate intent and elicit a reaction that requires an understanding of the recipient and what they’re concerned about, but let’s disregard that. You used Humphrey as an example. Maybe you didn’t feel so close to him, but over the course of the entire time he was hunting you he had to figure out how attentive you were, how much noise he could get away with making in the vents to put you on edge without making you run for it, when to drain your phone’s battery so that you’d feel isolated, and when to bring it all home so that you’d be at your most panicked when he jumped out.”

I looked down at the monster incredulously. It was resting its head on its ankle in an awkward, folded up heap, tongue darting out to lick a scab every so often.

“He played you like a fiddle, Ezra. The instincts that make dogs play fetch are the same ones that they’d use to hunt squirrels. In the wild, the part where you were screaming, flailing and confused would have been where he’d brought the hooks out.”

Humphrey chewed on one toe. I could not find it in myself to describe the action as thoughtfully.

“The more I studied up on horrors, the better I understood what people found offputting. Did you know that there are celtic horrors, a breed of fae called The Gentry, that can completely fake a conversation with a human? They’re no more sapient than any other monster, but can give an impression of complete power with only vague, instinctive answers and precise body language? 50 people a year make bargains with them to grant wishes, and the backfire from the wishes are the Gentry’s feeding apparatus. There’s also the Eastern Haunt which, in addition to constantly emitting anxiety-inducing infrasounds, floods its prey’s den with a gas that suppresses the fight or flight response, but not the desire to act on one of them?”

“So you argue that, what, horrors understand human behavior better than other monsters?”

“I mean, I don’t want to disparage the work of my colleagues.” Ms. Goda grinned and chuckled again, hands fidgeting with each other as she spoke. I got the impression that she would, in fact, LOVE to disparage the work of her colleagues but that isn’t really my role as a journalist. Her fingers interlaced and broke away from each other quickly, like fighting crabs. “Black Jacobs once told me he sees man’s wonder for exploration reflected in the eyes of his favorite sea serpent, I’ve got no reason to disbelieve him. Rational Rick Redcliffe, the Paradox Tactician, says that his Rokos Basilisks and Laplace’s Demon make better company than most people he knows, but I kinda think that’s just because he’s really, really bad with people. I certainly do think Horrors are trying harder.”

“To understand us?”

“To empathize with us. Horror relies on emotion. Connection with an audience where you know exactly how uncomfortable to make them, and what kind of discomfort they need or want.” Anzu shrugged. “That’s what I learned from studying them, anyway. The more I learned about how Horror monsters defended themselves, the better I got at defending myself from humanity. What buttons are okay to push or lean on a bit, which ones to avoid because they’d provoke too much blowback.”

“So that’s all this then?” I gestured to the artfully delapitated building around us, “You do this to push people’s buttons.”

“Swing and a miss, Goodfellow.” Her grin was back, lightly infuriating. “I don’t do this FOR anyone. I just accepted that I’m going to push people’s buttons anyway. So I might as well pick the ones that we both get something out of.”

“Can you elaborate?”

“I didn’t need to pull back from people, Ezra, I needed to throw myself at them with fuller force! Monsters just need presence, the chance to exist as a force upon events. PEOPLE need drama, Ezra. They need the things that they think monsters need. Violence, intrigue, they need to feel like sometimes things have high stakes! Instead of holding myself back, I let myself go off the rails. I got in people’s faces, laughed at my own jokes if nobody else was going to… I let myself be as loud and abrupt and as frantic as I needed to be, with just enough awareness and control of where I was sending things to avoid the stuff that would really hurt people. It didn’t matter if I staggered too far into discomfort as long as I veered out again right after. A good scare is followed by closure. A mess can be therapeutic, as long as it’s cleaned up. After people scream it all out, endorphins flood into the space left behind and they laugh!”

“And this got other children to like you?”

“Oh no they HATED it,” Ms. Goda gave another cackle, “For the most part. But there’s more place in a social group for an oddity than there is for someone trying and failing to fit in. I found people that appreciated who I was naturally rather than having a role in their life that needed filling. Or, maybe they just needed the role I filled naturally? Either way, things picked up.”

“It sounds like this is where you really started to come into yourself. Where the Bloodsplatter Tactician began. What did your parents think of the change?”

“They were glad I was happier, but were worried that my new habits would make life harder for me. Got me tested for aspergers syndrome, fussed over whether I’d be able to hold a job or find a husband.”

“Those sound like the sort of concerns most would buckle against.”

“I never really thought about it enough to have an opinion? My ex-wife thought it was funny as hell though.” I perked up here; Anzu’s personal life was the subject of much gossip and speculation, and there had been a rumor that her five year cohabitation with the troll-rearer Liana Monteblanc had been something more.

“I suppose you may have had some trouble getting close to others, what with your larger than life personality-“ I was rewarded by another peal of frantic, chirping laughter.

“Sure thing Ezra, that’s why so many leads in romance stories play such passive, subdued characters,” That grin was back, toothy and playful, “People need intrigue, remember? They need to be regularly overwhelmed and awed and released. That’s part of what attracts people to monsters in the first place, and it gives monsters a chance to be provided what they need.”

“I thought you said monsters don’t need violence?”

“I’m not talking about violence Ezra, I’m talking about presence. Look at Grendel, or Medusa, or Polyphemous. What they need is to be massive, to have an impact that bends circumstance around it. It reflects on humans that the best ways we can ever think about expressing that is violence. Not that it can’t work in context, but it’s part of what I want to address in my own career. Hence today’s interview.”

“It sounds like your opposition is to the very concept of Monster Battling, Ms. Goda.”

“I’m opposed to ONLY monster battling, Mx. Goodfellow, because it results in drastic misunderstanding of beautiful creatures that have been our companions at least as long as the dog, if not longer. Like look, take in Jiji here.” At this Anzu chucked the cylinder-headed monster under its, lets say chin, and ran her knuckles down its back roughly. I leaned in to peer at the creature, noting the flutelike oozing perforations on its arms and legs.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you employ this one in the arena, Ms. Goda.”

“And you won’t, he’s a rescue.”

“Where from?”

“My last batch of classes.”

“Pardon?”

“Milktooth hall is a battler dojo Ezra, I DO train people here.” Anzu giggled, a high-pitched rattling of pleasure, “A few people wanting to get into the Montactics industry sign up for classes on raising and battling monsters every year. You have to be committed, of course, we’re something of a remote locale, but for people that want it badly enough…”

“I see.”

“Jiji was being kept in a steel locker the trainer had bought at an auction for a dilapidated school, chosen simply for rusted aesthetic without even the slightest attention to who the prior owner had been or whether or not it had been used for any sort of sinister disappearance. The ectoplasm he was being fed was scraped entirely off of vengeance fantasies and suppressed fetishes. Jiji here was weak, malnourished, aggressive, and showed signs of wanton abuse.”

“I mean, it is a horror Ms. Goda, I would expect that-“

“Hence WANTON, Ezra!” Anzu launched forward out of her chair at me, Humphrey and Jiji scattering away with a spray of scabs and soft, flailing limbs. The Bloodsplatter Tactician’s arms reached out to either side of my chair and, instinctively, I tried to recoil and hide deeper in the cushions.

The light was behind her head, casting all of her into a silhouette. Stick-thin limbs interrupted by the jagged offshoots of her costume. All I could make out were here eyes and teeth, gleaming above me.

“Horrors aren’t just a collection of Bad Things you can funnel human grossness into and get a result, Mx. Goodfellow!” Spittle flecked my face with every other word, blowback from the unknowable world of her open and enraged maw, “Each one of these creatures is, in and of themselves, an ECOSYSTEM of emotion, experience, texture, and instinct that has to be kept BALANCED! A monster needs to be able to bend the world around it, to have presence solid enough to keep itself impacting its environment! Jiji was forced to sleep in a box, Ezra! An ugly, unhaunted box, without a scrap of history for it to soak! Forced to choke down and guzzle scraps of teenage agony without the rich nutritional value needed to develop a thematic target! How could it empathize with its prey enough to victimize it without any personal qualities of its own? What archetype is it supposed to break when it’s only disruption is good taste?! I do not train people that don’t aspire higher than running some slasher-mill to keep the new owners of the Native Animosity stocked up on disposeable ghouls!”

She was breathing heavily. Her breath was fogging my glasses, but I almost saw a new trail making its way down the mascara on her cheek.

I clicked my pen, awkwardly, “So you… Took Jiji?” Anzu blinked and stepped back.

“Ezra that would be illegal as hell.”

“I mean, you just sounded very passionate about-“

“Could you imagine if it got out that a major MonsTactician was just stealing monsters from people that came to her for training? My career would be over.”

“Well that’s very-“

“I took her aside, expressed my concerns and explained to her that I was worried that she couldn’t provide what this creature needs. I told her what needed to change, and if that was too difficult I offered to take the creature off her hands and compensate her for it.”

“Okay well that makes more-“

“Then she got institutionalized and I cut a deal with her family instead.”

“What?”

“Uuuugh it was so stupid,” Ms. Goda flopped back in her chair, head rolling back like a frustrated teenager. “The girl heard what I said about history and tried to hook Jiji up directly to a psychoactive pump funneled directly off of a set of violent crime news blogs. If it had worked, her failure to dilute it with adequate metaphor could have taken years off Jiji’s lifespan, but instead the pump sprung a leak and doused her with the raw ectoplasm.”

“Oh my god.” Anzu nodded.

“Stage 3 Cthonic Genre Awareness. They had her taken away to St. Pratchetts, screaming about being a background character in a piece of short genre metafiction.”

“That’s horrible!”

“It is… But I suppose it works out for Jiji here.”

“Cold comfort, I suppose.”

“Is it?”

“You don’t think so? The girl wanted to make a change, she came to you hoping to gain understanding. The fact that your advice was so misunderstood, or went so catastrophically wrong in its execution, doesn’t strike you as a little tragic?”

“I mean, yes, of course.” Anzu’s hand fluttered and grasped, spiderlike, to the back of Jiji’s neck to resume petting. “Honestly, that might be part of what she might’ve misunderstood in the first place.”

“How do you mean?”

“There’s a temptation, in horror, to contextualize it as something that only happens to bad people. That we can feed them vengeance fantasies and gifts from exes and personal, unbreakable judgement,” Anzu pulled Jiji further into her lap, where it began to emit that metallic ringing purr. As she stroked its back, spines dripping some sort of green ichor rose and fell along its vertebre, careful to point away from its masters fingertips.

“I think that’s something people do in real life a lot, too. Contextualize horrors as things that only happen to people who made some kind of moral or tactical mistake,” I hadn’t noticed it at first, but the sound of the monsters playing on the carpet had stopped. A creature like a ball of tar with nails sticking out had paused mid-wrestling with something not unlike a fanged barnacle. Both had turned their heads to stare at me.

Humphrey had too, for that matter. When I reached out to pat his bald eyeless head again he pulled back, with a warning hiss.

“They figure they’ll never be poor, or assaulted, or lonely, not because of any external factor but because they consider themselves ‘good’ in some abstract, unaddressed definition of the term. Pious or rational or charitable or successful or kind.” Jiji’s lower body still knelt on the floor. Anzu Goda, the Bloodsplatter Tactician, wrapped one leg around it possessively and clutched it in her arms like a child with an oversized toy. She glared at me over the top of its head, her voice trancelike.

My phone was still charging on the desk, five feet away. It felt like a mile. I remembered what Anzu had said about monsters not needing to be violent. I also remembered that the one she’d encountered in the woods in her youth, that she had so much sympathy for, had attempted to seize a child.

“The fact of the matter is that horror, that real meat-hook sensation you feel behind the ribs to drag out a scream, works best when you acknowledge that a perfectly good person can do everything right and still be the next…” I heard a low, rumbling wheeze from Humphrey, “… Victim.”

Why would a reclusive celebrity agree to her first interview in years, gush about how much more closely she connected with the most aggressive breed of monster than she does with humans, and then cop to giving advice that might have gotten one of her trainees sent to an insane asylum?

I looked down to organize my notes. My hands felt clammy and I remember hoping, briefly, that they didn’t smudge my ink. Breaking eye contact was a mistake. “W-well Ms. Goda, you’re clearly passionate about your work, I s-suppose I should ask if you have any further thoughts for our readers before-“

Anzu Goda let out an earpiercing HOWL, and Jiji launched itself from her lap. Before it reached me my world turned sideways; some part of me that wasn’t screaming registered that Humphrey had slammed into my chair from the side. I pressed back into the cushions to keep from banging my head on the linoleum and tumbled across the floor, coming to a rest by the desk.

My phone. It should be charged by now. I scrambled to my feet, still lurching and dizzy, and grasped for my canister of mace. It took another three seconds of panicked fumbling, staring down the approaching monsters and the back of Ms. Goda’s seat, before another all-important detail bubbled to the surface of my thoughts.

“… Did you just yell ‘Boo!’?”

Laughter erupted from the other side of the seat. Anzu clambered up to sprawl over the back of her chair. In spite of myself, I began to laugh too. “Oh my god I’m so sorry, I didn’t expect Humphrey to get in on it, that was way out of hand, but that was AMAZING. Are you alright?”

“Possibly a little bruised,” I admitted, still chuckling (I wouldn’t notice until later, in my car, two perforations in my neck just below the jaw. They were healed by the time I’d gotten home, and at the time of writing this I’m pleased to observe no noticeable signs of tetanus). I hated to admit it, but Anzu had a point about how you felt after a fright. My muscles felt loose, my heart was pumping, I was incredibly relaxed. If she could bottle a good rush of fear endorphins I suspected Anzu Goda would never have to work again. Not that she’d ever willingly retire.

“If anything aches I have ibuprofen in the top drawer of that desk and tequila in the bottom one. I hope that wasn’t too much Ezra, I’m supposed to keep them under better control than that.” Jiji and Humphrey had marched back to either side of her chair, and at this remark she reached down and pressed their heads into a lower bow with a ‘tsk’. “You two say you’re sorry, I have to go give Mx. Goodfellow the rest of their tour.”

“You asked me for a closing statement, Ezra,” Ms. Goda went on, escorting me out of the office and locking the door behind her (I heard the sound of some of the creatures clambering back into the buildings air ducts, others scratching and whining on the other side of the wall). “Do you mind if we handle the photos the Monthly wanted while I think of a good one?”

“You mean that whole display wasn’t it?” Anzu gave another cackle and reached up to throw an arm around my shoulders. It felt like being hugged by a rubber Halloween skeleton.

“Mx. Goodfellow, I have to invite you over again sometime. You’re exactly my kind of stick in the mud.”

“A perfect victim, you mean.”

�� “That too. But really, I don’t think you appreciate how much you’re helping me today.” Her tone softened in a way I hadn’t heard previously. “Horrors are the most frequently misunderstood genre of monsters. I agreed to this interview to sort of… Un-demonize them in the eyes of the public, I guess? Help them get more popular, and into good homes.”

“You un-demonized them by having them chase me around an abandoned asylum?” “I mean I’m not magic. They demonize themselves a little.” She winked, and I noticed some of her remaining makeup clotting at the corner of her eye. “But some folks need a few demons, right?”

The interview portion of my visit was a difficult act to follow, so Ms. Goda elected not to try. Or maybe she took showing me around the actual functionality of Milktooth Hall too seriously to ham up. Regardless, I finally got to meet some of the battlers Anzu had trained, working in the nurseries and pens for her creatures. They were a varied bunch. A man of forty with a long goatee and tattoos on his palms delicately removed a Xenophormous creature from the chest cavity of a pig and gently placed the writhing, mewling monster pup aside as he moved to the next hanging incubator. His name was Marv. He’d gotten into raising horrors as something to do after his daughter left the house. Anzu was giving him the pick of this litter for volunteering, after they’d been weaned and eaten the obligatory runt. I also got to witness the feeding of her latest addition, an attempt at Genty/Greater Vampire crossbreeding, with the assistance of a gaggle of teenagers from one of her classes. They were taking turns swinging a ballistic gel dummy wrapped in a Kevlar vest winched to a cable at the ceiling (which Ms. Goda assured me was a standard enrichment toy most battlers gave to their monsters) into range of the things claws where it would rake the gel body to pieces, babbling gothic nonsense in iambic pentameter. Every successful strike resulted in peals of laughter from the youngsters, followed by dares to swing the next pass closer. It was actually while I was lining up the photo of the group I eventually chose to accompany this article that Anzu settled on a closing statement.

“So far, Mx. Goodfellow, I’ve been threatened with closure seventeen times.”

She simply dropped the sentence into the silence of me setting up my tripod so neatly, like a seltzer tablet into a glass of water, that you could mistake it for your own thought. Words bubbled forward without disturbing the surface as I lined up my shot. She spoke evenly and quietly, not looking in my direction.

“Three times were concerned citizen groups. Two were former students. One was due to a city ordinance that, abruptly, qualified my dojo as an unlicensed slaughterhouse. Once was Rational Rick Redcliffe, although I think it was just because he wanted to prove one of his tedious ‘points.’ I don’t totally remember the others. And most don’t surprise me. I’m in the business of making people uncomfortable.

“People have every good reason to be repelled by horror, Ezra. I don’t deny that. That same immune response that lets people recognize other people as untrustworthy is the one that leads them to the conclusion that me, my creatures, and my work doesn’t belong in the public eye or should be subject to strict, codified limits.”

The teenagers smiles had begun to freeze. I didn’t dare take the picture. If the click of my camera interrupted Anzu I’d never forgive myself.

“Monsters are reflections of US though, Ezra. Denying or limiting the myriad forms they can take is to deny our own nature. Being disgusted by one is like a dog looking in a mirror and getting angry at this other, similar dog. Locking these sorts of things away or shoving them into the dark parts of the world we don’t look at… That doesn’t HELP a lot of people. Some need to understand that discomfort. Some need to experience that horror in order to get their release. Some need to find their way to empathy just by this… groundwork, followed by process of elimination. Raising or handling horrors can often provide those things safely, so long as the owner can be trusted to recognize what they are. “My hope is that these breeds will become more popular with the general populance. Not just battlers, but ordinary people that need this kind of companionship. I want to see more slasher mills shut down, I want to see more Haunts and Psychopomps go to good homes instead of ending up as scared and sickly as Jiji was when I found him. I sincerely implore your readership to look into their hearts and ask themselves… ‘do I need a good scare?’”

Anzu Goda finally glanced in my direction and winked, grin returning like a crack in a cartoon earthquake. “How’s that for a closing statement, Mx. Goodfellow?”

“Sounds like good press, Ms. Goda.” I replied, and took the photo.

-Last Professional publication of Ezra Goodfellow before leaving Montactics Monthly. Present whereabouts unknown.

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digressfromreality · 7 years

Text

That’s The Point, Own Up To It

Synopsis: "I told you that if you got involved with me, I would corrupt all your hearts desires. It will leech into every dream, giving you everything you wanted in the worse possible way.“ Joker stated. And Harley did just that. My interpretation of what the baby clothes meant and the reason of Harley’s dreams induced by Enchantress.

"Own up to it!” Harley taunted El Diablo. Someone who kills children…their children, they have to live with it!

But you didn’t Harley. Harleen whispered.

That wasn’t my fault, that boy-

You provoked them Harley.

“You own up to what you’ve done!” Her breathing ragged. If you’re going to do the dirty, you better admit it. She hated no one more than liars. Child killers. A life, that he created-

You created-

Stop that! I didn’t kill them! He took them from me, from Puddin and me!

You could have stopped it.

SHUT UP HARLEEN!

“You’re putting on a bit of,” he jab her side with the semi-automatic, before settling behind her ear, “weight. Harls?” She chewed her painted lip, worried. “Oh, uoo, you look at bit nervous.” He circled her again, this time nearly nose to nose with her. “What is it babydoll?" Don’t fall for it Harley. He nipped at her and she reciprocated, smiling at her man.

"Well Puddin, we’re gunna be a family! A real one.” Joker’s stare didn’t waver, his smile never wander. The excitement she slowly fell, dying a bit in her eyes of course, he could tell. Thoughts were burning through his mind, when did this happen? How hadn’t he notice? Had he been gone that long? How did this happen? He knew, he knew when exactly, oh yes, there was red, so much red!

“Back off Har-ley,” he kicked her over as she wiped her mouth, “we have guests.” Her hands flew over to adjust his pants, Mistah J definitely wouldn’t want to be undressed for visits, no he wou- Joker grabbed her face and shoved her hard to the floor. He glared down at his doll, wagging his finger. Dolls do what their told. “Boys, boys what a surprise. A surprise indeed.” The men approached him cautiously. Nobody really knew how to handle the clown gangster. Try not to piss him off and that was really it. But how to not to set off an impending bomb, that wasn’t something that anyone was prepared for. The trigger was always different.

“Joker.” They greeted. Both flinch upon hearing a crunch of glass. Harley was pouring herself a shot, almost looking mildly offended for becoming center of attention.

“What? Boys thirsty?” She barked at them. They flinched again, she was just as bat shit crazy as him. Both vigorously shook their heads, she shrugged nonchalant. “More for me.” Joker slammed his hands on the countertop, gaining their attention once again. Harley giggled.

“There a reason for this little, said, get together?” Joker gestured, rubbing his thumb and pointer finger together, money. He smiled wickedly.

“We wanted to hash out the deal. Prices are increasing.” To which, Joker, smiled some more. He watched Harley approach the smaller of the two men. She nuzzled her face into the crook of the man’s neck. She made an exaggerated whiff of the guy’s expensive cologne and sweat.

“I like him.” She backed up, trailing her hands on the back of his leather jacket. “An Armani man.”

“She’s taken a liking to you boys. Wanna take her for a spin?” She nodded to Joker, from behind them, no weapons on one, a gun on the other.

“Nah, nah man. We’re here to do business, notcha girl.” She rubbed the shoulders of the other, circling back around by the Joker. Joker snapped his fingers, pointing Harley back to the bottle of booze.

“If, we’re going to, do some uh, business we’ll need some entertainment. Harley?” She ripped open her top, revealing a black and red brasserie underneath. “Some sugar boys?”

“No, no not necessary man.” The men stammered. Harley frowned, staring at Joker. They didn’t want to play. No matter, he had made other plans. Nobody refuses him a third time.

“How’s bout a drink?” They nodded, “a hammer special doll.” He showed teeth, and Harley returned the sentiment. The both uncomfortable by the tension between the other two.

“Coming right up Mistah J!” Something slammed into the floor, followed by Harley giggling, “Whoops!”

“Whoa, whoa. We’re cool. We’re cool.” Joker had a gun pointed point blank at the one carrying heat.

“Then why refuse such a pretty party favor? You’ve upset the queen.” He grinned wide, winking at Harley who was inching closer. She raised her mallet waiting for him to give her the go ahead. “Hammer time doll.” She shrieked loudly as her mallet connected with one’s face, blood spraying everywhere the other jumped back as the other two barked with manic laughter.

What had he walked into? He tried to quietly back away as Harley pounded his partner’s flesh into a pile of useless putty, while Joker egged her on. He went and kissed his lady’s blood soaked lips. The coppery taste and murderous gleam in her eyes made him excited, very, very excited.

“Oh Puddin!” She squealed as he threw her up on the counter top. He began tearing at her clothes, while she panted like an animal. Ready to be ravished by man. Joker paused, grinning into the side of her neck when he heard the other man desperately paw at the locked door. They hadn’t forgotten him just yet.

“An audience Harls?” He whispered into her ear. She smiled as she felt the gun pressed into her palm. Tap. One. Tap, Tap. Two. Tap, Tap, Tap. Three. Joker moved back from Harley as she let off two rounds, one in each of the pathetic man’s kneecaps. He hollered in pain. She laid the gun on the counter and raised her brow suggestively at Mistah J.

“Now where were we?”

He clenched her delicate jaw in between his twitching fingers, like they were itchy to pull a trigger, or twist a knife. They dug hard enough into bruised skin, almost making her whimper. Almost. His smile stretched as she tried to pull her head away. What’s Puddin going to do?

“Mistah J?” She whispered, desperately. He patted her other cheek but roughly releasing her. He backed away from her, deep in thought.

“Harley Quinn. Harley, harley, Harley Quinn.” He returned to his predatory circling, shoving a dresser out of his way. “What to do, what to do, Harley?” He leaned against the darken wall, leaving devastation in his path. He beckoned her forward, no hesitation, and quick compliance. She hadn’t forgotten her place, he mused. Her current condition, complicated things but- “You’re going to have to pull your weight Harley.” He looked down at his girl’s basketball. “Double time.”

“Triple actually.” The gleam brighten in her eyes, “but no worries, Mistah J! I’m ready as you need me,” she giggled, “until they pull the plug.” Double trouble, how fitting. A clamor of noise brought them back to their surroundings, the walls shook.

“And it’s, Time. To. Go.” He pushed Harley ahead, she stumbled over the debris. He glanced back and forth, trying to judge the best way to escape. Harley looked back at her homey cell, she might miss it. Don’t leave with him Harley. You need to leave you need- "This way.“ He grunted, tugging violently on her arm. She smiled, her Puddin needed her, and no, no she won’t miss it.

"Come'on. Kill him!” She cheered her man on.

Harley stood aside watching Bats pant in fatigue and pain. The queen never too far from her king. Joker laughed, kicking the dark figure in the side.

“What fancy toy are you going to use now? Hmph?” He laughed again, “Ha ha hee Ha!” He kicked him again, hard. Harley could hear the Batman sputter. One more and the Bat will, fall off the roof. “Come on, do it! DO IT!” He roared, and with one final look, Batman launched himself off the roof. Joker laughed hysterically as he witnessed Batman’s graceful decent from the roof. His body bounced from awnings like a broken rag doll.

Suddenly another dark figure flew at the Joker from the shadows. He had anticipated this. “Oh, batman junior has decided that he wants to play too.”

“Shut up!” Jason swung a metal pipe at the Joker, missing by a margin. He had to resort to using miscellaneous items as weapons now.

“Ha, a ha ha. You’ll have to do better than that!” The kid swung again, and again, and again. This time, the Joker wasn’t so lucky. He fell on the concrete roof with an unceremonious thud.

“Puddin!” Harley cocked the gun, unloading a shot or two. The figure hadn’t even flinched, throwing heavy pipe in Harley’s direction. The contact instantly made her throw her weapon and spit blood. “My babies!” She whined, finally the figure turned towards Quinn, horrified. He hadn’t, he truly hadn’t mean to- he watched Harley dropped to her knees, spitting up more blood. He went swooping towards her as she cried and held her stomach. “I can’t feel them, I can’t feel their heartbeats.” He tried to help her up, assess the damaged. She slapped his hands away in a fury. “Get your grubby hands off me! You killed all of them!”

“I can get you to a hospital. Doctors can save them.” He yanked her arm, trying to pull her up. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, not like this! She cocked her head to the side, anger exuded from every pore of her skin. A look of emptiness in her eyes, he did this. He killed them.

“You’ll pay! You’ll pay for everything!” Harley pulled the trigger, spraying the would-be hero with an array of bullets. His body landed a few feet from her, she kept shooting until her gun finally clicked. She had emptied the entire clip. A sting of pain, made her scream with torture. She dared to touch in between her legs, her fingers came shaking back coated in blood. “Mistah J!” She screamed desperately as her vision blurred. J finally rolled over breathing heavy,

“J!” She called softly before falling back. Joker cracked his neck, throwing himself back into his feet. Tutting as he leisurely walked up towards the two, smiling noticing the wannabe hero was riddled with bullet wounds. He knelt by Harley, watching her pant as she fought against the darkness. He pushed his fingers to one side of her swollen belly and then to the other. He could only feel her weak pulse. A pity. Blood was pooling beneath her, intermixing with baby killers. Ah, he reflected, reaching for the forgotten cans of spray paint that littered the roof top.

Now, the dark knight of Gotham and his heroic side kick had finally failed. Lives were lost by their hands. He began spraying a message onto the man’s chest. His own masterpiece. “Puddin?” Her voice weak. He dropped the can, looking at his lady’s crumpled body. “They’re dead Puddin, they’re dead.” He scooped her fragile body in his arms.

“Let’s go Harley.” He walked a few steps, before looking away one last time. A perfect pun spray painted on the killer’s chest. Jokes on You, batman. Jokes on you.

#suicide squad imagine #harley quinn and the joker #harley quinn imagine #what happen to robin

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mindasvastasspace · 6 years

Text

Reunion with Mom, pt 1 (self para)

Boarding the plane, Kylar’s mind was racing with so many scenarios of how things were going to work out the moment he stepped off the plane and reunited with his mother. Given their...colorful...past together, he’d been hesitant to even bother to show up this year for Christmas, seeing as she’s been one of the main sources of his childhood traumas he’d had the burden of bearing his entire life. But he’d sensed a change in her over the past month or so, over texts and phone calls to one another—as if she’d finally realized that he was her SON. Her family. Her one child she’d been given to as a miracle. That change is what had convinced Kylar to come back home for the holidays. If they hadn’t been talking and getting a better understanding of each other over the past month, Kylar would’ve stayed in Florida, or taken Mason up on his offer to go to Canada for Christmas. After getting off the plane, he sent his mom a quick text to let her know he’d landed safely and headed right down to baggage claim to grab his now-overly stuffed luggage, thanks to his shopping and “father-son”bonding weekend he’d had worth Gerard (who at this point was a better father than his own flesh and blood.) He’d planned out to meet his mother around baggage claim, so he picked a spot where he’d be easy to find, set his suitcase down and played around on his phone for a while, texting his friends to let them know he was okay, and to the few he trusted explained how he was actually feeling, considering the situation. Nervous, anxious, happy and excited; all lumped into one emotion he honestly had no idea how to categorize. But it was making him antsy. Completely on edge. Enough to have him standing with one hand in his pocket and playing with his fidget cube and typing with the other. After a few more minutes, he heard a familiar voice calling his name, and felt his heart freeze.

“Kylar!!” He looked around, not knowing where that voice was coming from. He felt his heart racing faster, the fight or flight reaction he got every time he spoke to his mother once again taking over his body. If he ran, he could easily get away. But no. He had to face his fears. He wanted things to change between them. When he finally saw her, his jaw dropped.

His mother looked completely different. Her hair was more tame, was what he first noticed. It wasn’t the way-too-perfectly sculpted, Christian stepford wife do up she’d always had that he’d been so used to seeing. It was dyed blonde, straightened, and honestly framed her face very well. Instead of pastel sweaters and slacks, she was in a nice red pea coat and black leggings, a white scarf around her neck and tucked into her jacket, with a matching beanie on her head. She looked like a completely different person. Enough for Kylar to not even recognize her at first.

“M-Mom...?” He spoke slowly, pocketing his phone and bit his lip. Her smile was the same it’d always been, and that was what made him realize it was actually her. “H...hi, I didn’t even recognize you.”

“Ky...” she walked a little closer, unsure as to go in for a hug or not. They’d never been that close.

“Yes, Hi, Mom. It’s me. Your gay son. Hello.” Kylar said flatly, pocketed his phone, slung his backpack over his shoulder and grabbed his suitcase. “You look different. Can we go now?”

“Kylar. I know what you’re thinking and we have a lot to talk about—“

“You have no idea what I’m thinking right now, honestly. Im cold, Im tired and hungry and I just wanna get home, okay?” He paused, realizing he might be being a little too harsh. “I’m sorry, I’m just. This is really, really hard hard for me, Mom. But I’ll tone it down. I don’t wanna be angry right now. You really do look great.”

“I know. I get it. And, um. Thanks.” She smiled back, seeming like she took the compliment to heart. “Let’s go get you something to eat.”

He followed her to the car, without another word, lost inside his own thoughts. He knew he had every right to be heartless to her, but that’s just not who he was at all. He did have a grudge and a lifetime of resentment towards her, but. It just wasn’t in him to be so cold. He literally did not have the capability to be angry for more than a few minutes at a time. The last time he saw his mom was on his 21st birthday, where she was nowhere near in control of herself. She’d always seemed fine on the outside, what with the usual church-lady attire and bright sunny demeanor. But when it came to her son she’d always been nasty. Verbally abusive, cold, and ignorant. Completely unaware of the abuse she’d been dealing him his entire life, always hopped up on pills and downing booze the moment the clock hit noon. But now she seemed like a completely different person, and Kylar didn’t know how to process that. Was she just fooling him? Manipulating him to try and get him back? Or was she actually in this with his best interest in mind? He had no idea, and that was part of the reason why he’d been so nervous and anxiety ridden ever since his trip back to Chicago had been set in stone.

The car ride back was, for lack of a better word, awkward. He didn’t speak, his words still spinning around in his head every time he tried to grasp at something to say. She didn’t speak either, so between the radio and the sound of the road under them, it’d been pretty silent. The house looked all-too-familiar once they parked by the curb, and again, Kylar felt that surge of anxiety course through him. This was the house that he’d spent his senior year in, the old, run down little townhouse in the heart of south side Chicago that he’d tried to forget about the past two years. The scene of the crime, he thought. This relic of the past was the last thing he’d looked at before he packed up and left. Part of him regretted it, but the bigger one knew it’d been the right thing to do at the time. But here he was now, nearly 3 years later, and it looked exactly the same as it always had. Old, run down windows, slightly peeling paint on the sidings, and a short flight of run down stairs leading up to the barely-crooked front door. As he got out of the car, he looked up at the top left window, the one he’d snuck out of so many times in the past. A tiny remnant of the makeshift rope ladder he’d crafted years before was still visible hanging off of the windowsill. Seeing that made him smile a bit. A smile which faded away the moment he remembered why he’d snuck out countless times in the middle of the night.

I have to see him while I’m here,he thought. His ex. The one person he knew that was in town that never judged him for who he was. Dean was coming back in a few days, but until then? Nobody. He’d promised he would meet up with his ex, since they were still extremely close and obviously still had strong feelings for each other. but that was a whole different train of thought Kylar forced himself to log away for now. After taking a slow, deep breath to calm himself, he walked up the rickity steps, careful to avoid the rotted wood on the third step up and waited for his mom to open the door, expecting to see the same old, far-too-clean OCD interior he’d been so familiar with growing up.

“Welcome home.” His Mom said, opening the door for him and let him step inside first. He watched his feet as he crossed the threshold, stopping in his tracks the moment he looked up. The house was somewhat the same, with furniture in the same exact places and the stairs leading upstairs to his right. But something felt different—he couldn’t quite place it, but it felt more homey. Less stepford kind of creepy. His mom had apparently decorated before he got there, with tinsel and multicolored lights lining the hand rail of the stairs, christmassy decorations hanging on the walls and scattered around the kitchen and living room. She actually had a tree for once, which was new to him. All they ever could afford before was skimpy, run down spruce trees that nobody else would buy from the lots but this? This was a real, tall pine tree, the aroma coming from it somewhat soothing to Kylar.

“Wow...you went all out didn’t you?” He offered a smile, this one actually genuine. She returned it with a nod as she took off her jacket and hung it next to the door.

“Eh, it’s nothing really.” She replied. One of the phrases Kylar had inherited. “I just wanted you to feel welcomed back. Since , well.” She huffed. “it’s been a while.”

“Yeah....” Kylar silently replied. “So I’m gonna go put my stuff in my room. I’ll be back down in a bit.” Without waiting for a reply, he hopped up the stairs by two and walked down the hall to his old bedroom, not surprised that a single picture of him was on the walls. He expected that. But what he didn’t expect was that his room had looked exactly the same as it did when he’d up and left. The band posters on the walls, anime action figures lining the shelves where he could fit them between his books; his sewing machine against the wall and the vinyl record player in the corner next to his TV...everything had been preserved exactly like it was before. Even his sheets were the same black and grey striped ones, just washed for once and neatly tucked under the bed. His little Stitch doll was even still on his pillow, exactly how he’d left it.

“Hey, Stitch...” he couldn’t help but smile as he dropped his suitcase on the floor and went to sit on his bed, put the Stitch doll in his lap and played with the oversized ears. Looking over it, he saw the stain on the doll’s hand from when he’d spilled black dye on it when he’d changed his hair. There were some good memories in here, he thought, and once he realized that, he actually felt glad he’d come back home. Fighting back some tears, he set Stitch back down and took out his phone, laid down on his neatly made bed and texted back some friends, letting them know how he was doing. Because he honestly was, deep down. Still a little anxious, but less so now that he was in his safe space. The one room in the house he couldn’t be touched or hurt in. Halfway through replying to Olly, he remembered something. He set his phone down, shifted to look under the bed and blindly reached around until he pulled out a cardboard box, and immediately felt a huge grin form.

“Oh my god...” he said aloud, pulling the box out a little more before picking it up to put in his lap. all this old, prototype, amateur photography was still in here. All the Polaroids of him and his friends from Detroit before he moved, along with old ones with him and Dean. A million of himself and his ex, which was a pretty harsh sting to the heart. and some of his friends from Chicago as well. That really hit him hard, and he couldn’t stop the tears this time and just started sobbing, enough to have to set the box aside as to not ruin the memories of his past and just let the tears fall. Hearing his mom coming up the stairs, he quickly sat up and wiped his eyes with his sleeve, smiled, and looked up right as she walked into the doorway. He figured she knew how he was feeling, seeing as she didn’t ask questions.

“Um. I made some cocoa if you want some?” she smiled. Kylar nodded and wiped his eye of a stray tear, smiling back.

“Yeah. Thanks. I’ll be down in a minute.” He replied. She nodded, and he stopped her as she turned to leave. “Hey, Mom?”

“Yes?” She turned back, almost with a hopeful look on her face.

“Thank you...for letting me come back. I know we weren’t on the best of terms and we still aren’t exactly but—”

“Kylar, shh. You don’t have to say another word. You’re welcome, honey.” He looked up at her. She’d never in his life called him that before. Admittedly, that did make him feel a little warm inside. Standing up, he hugged his arm to himself and bit his lip, as if not knowing what else to say at the moment. Before he knew it, he felt himself practically falling forward, unable to control his body and hugged his mother for the first time in years, the tears escaping him once again.

“Fuck, I’m. I’m s-sorry I left. I’m so f-fucking sorry...Mom. I just felt so trapped, and hurt, and unwanted and I thought you hated me and I didn’t know what else to d-do and, and—” He managed to let out a jumbled stream of words before he could even think about what he was saying. Feeling her hug him back made the tears fall even harder, a small wail and a deep inhale escaping him.

“shhhh just take a deep breath.” His Mom replied, somehow a lot calmer than he was. Like she had had plenty of time to think of exactly what to say. “you have nothing to be sorry for. You did exactly what you should have done.” she pulled him away so she could get a good look at his face, holding his head in her hands, tears forming in her eyes as well. The same big, brown eyes she’d given to her son. “I’ve been absolutely awful to you. Horrid. And beyond wretched and unfair. There’s not even a word for how horribly I’ve treated you and it. It took you leaving for me to realize that.” Kylar was speechless, and could only respond with another gasp for air and a nod, hugging her tighter. “There’s nothing in this world I can do to ever, ever make up for the things I’ve done. The things I’ve said to you. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to try, baby. I love you. You’re my son. My only son. and I’m sorry it took me this long to realize that, Kylar. I can’t change who you are. I never should have tried. And I’m proud of you. Im so fucking proud of you.” Kylar let out another muffled sob against her shoulder. “And I know sorry doesn’t mean anything, I know that....” all those words were exactly what he needed to hear. What he’d waited for her to say for the last decade. She’d been emotionally manipulative in the past to have things go her way but this. This was different. something resonated in her tone for him to realize that she most likely did mean every word she said. And that meant the world to him. It felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders after years of it constantly being there, keeping him down and burdening him.

After a couple more minutes, Kylar finally collected himself and let her go, smiled sheepishly and wiped his hands over his face.

“God, I probably look like a mess...” he managed a haughty laugh, sniffling quietly as he wiped his eyes dry. “That cocoa sounds really good about now.”

“Awww...” his mom ruffled his hair, just like she’d always done when he was a kid. But this time it wasn’t menacing. It was actually a comforting gesture for once. “C’mon. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.” With another sniffle, Kylar nodded and let her lead the way downstairs.

Over multiple mugs of cocoa, his mom got Kylar up to speed. After he’d left, she’d been upset. All the calls he ignored from her, the unanswered texts and emails...it had taken her a long time to realize just how her son had felt, but when it did hit her, it hit her hard. She realized without him, she was completely alone. Her husband had walked out on them a year prior to Kylar leaving, and got together with a younger woman. Whom she’d found out he’d been cheating on her with for the last couple years. Kylar had seen that one from a mile away and even commented, into a drink of cocoa, “fucking called it.” After that realization of hers, she’d turned to the church and found Jesus, as she always did. Kylar wasn’t religious at all, so he kind of tuned out at that part of her story and let his mind wander as he half-listened, half processed what was actually happening. She prayed, begged for forgiveness, and started on her own journey of personal reflection and reformation. She quit drinking, stopped downing Xanax like candy and changed her appearance,ultimately becoming a better version of herself. And when she was finally satisfied with that, got back in touch with her son and insisted he come home for Christmas. Kylar let her talk with no interjections besides the occasional “asshole” and “dickless fucktard” when his father was mentioned, each time gripping his mug a little tighter. Ultimately, they had a nice, lengthy chat, catching each other up on their lives. This was probably the most meaningful conversation they’d ever had between the two of them, and for once it didn’t end in a huge argument and him storming off upstairs to hole himself away and dissociate. He told her about Florida, and school, and hid new apartment. About how close he was to Magic Kingdom, and how he’d scored his job at the studio thanks to a very, very close friend of his he considered a sister he’d never had. He told her about all his other new friends he’d made, famous or not, and now he was tight with the “emo guy from fall out boy” and the “eccentric artist of my chemical romance”. Both of which she was in awe of, seeing as they were all he talked about all through his teenage years. He still had posters of both of them up on the walls of his bedroom and had no intentions of ever taking them down.

“My, my, my little boy’s all grown up.” She smiled at him. Kylar just shrugged and took another drink of cocoa.

“Eh.” He replied. “Where it counts I guess.I still don’t know what the fuck I’m doing half the time.”

“Uh huh. You still doing that, um. Cos...play? Is that what it’s called?”

“Yeah, what you used to call glorified dress up. Remember? You said that any hack could do it because it’s the same as Halloween?” He replied with every amount of sass he could possibly put into words. He could see the pain in her face as she heard that and it was, admittedly, satisfying to see. His smirk proved that.

“Yeah...that. I don’t even remember saying that.”

“It’s okay, Mom. You’re not the only one that thinks it’s weird and a waste of time. But it’s fun, and elaborate, if you wanna make something that means something to you. And it takes a lot more effort than you think. You should see some of the stuff I’m working on now. Been sewing and drawing them out for weeks now.”

“I would love to.” She smiled back, nodding. That response made him feel pretty good.

“Cool. My friend Olly took some pictures of me as Sora at Disneyworld so I can dig those up and show you later?”

“Sounds great, Ky.”

“Cool.” He felt another smile grace across his face. “Listen, um. I’m exhausted, it’s been a long week and I’ve cried more the past few days than I have in months so I really need to sleep for a while. But we can talk some more later? Grab some lunch?” He got up from the table as he spoke, rinsed out his mug and set it in the dishwasher and started headed toward the stairs, stopping on the first one as his mom responded.

“Of course. I did promise you ice skating, after all.”

“Oh yeah, no, I didn’t forget about that. You’ve got like two years to catch up on, Mom.”

“I know. We’ll get there.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we will.” Kylar nodded, smiling to hold back another wave of emotions and headed back upstairs to his bedroom. As soon as he closed the door behind him, he stood in place for a moment, still trying to wrap his head around what an emotional, eventful morning it had been, and finally found it in himself to flop down, face first, into his bed, and cuddled up with his beloved Stitch.

“It’s gonna be okay, little guy.” He said aloud, hugging the doll tightly. Within minutes, he was fast asleep, with a single tear slowly trailing down his cheek.

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