Haunted by the House of Black

What it would be like to feel like you’re being watched… by something not of this plane? Lingering touches that first startle, then intrigue?

Pairing: Neutral gender!Reader x Malakai Black/Brody King/Buddy Matthews/Julia Hart

Warnings/Promises: SMUT, horror aspects, masturbation, voyeurism, oral (reader and House receiving), dub-con, edging (?)

Word Count: 1400

Note: 18+ only please. I’ve got the note on my blog, but I had a 15 year-old reblog one of my fics last week. I am not your mother. I can’t tell you what not to engage with. But please note that interacting with art above your age group can and will get the creator in trouble, even if it is your actions and they had nothing to do with it besides create the art. So please, wait until you’re 18 before reading. For those 18 and older, please enjoy. Heavily inspired by this post, and this, and this.

Being haunted would include:

·        Moving into your new house. It’s old, but you think it’s sweet and full of character. The first room you sat up was your bedroom.

·        What better way is there to break in a new place but with some self-pleasure?

·        There was the usual uneasiness of being alone in a new space. It grew as you undressed, but you knew it would dissipate after a few nights. You put on your headphones to further block out the house settling noises. All you heard was your favorite music or audio that helps you get into the right headspace.

·        If the air is cool, it’s because your body started to warm up. You writhe and tease your skin in the ways that make your core tingle. It doesn’t matter how long it takes. Release is inevitable when you’re the one pulling your own strings.

·        Just as you focused to reach the end, one hand on your chest, the other between your legs, you felt a breath on your skin. And the sensation of a finger flicking your nipple.

·        You cum, but you ripped out your headphones as the orgasmic quakes cut short. You were alone. Of course.

·        It’s just a new house. It’s just a new house. It’s just a new house.

·        The mantra plucked at your thoughts over the next week. The stack of boxes piled up in your various rooms dwindled. But there was something more.

·        Whisps of air breezing over your skin.

·        The sound of shoes over the floorboards when you were sitting or standing still. Sometimes multiple sets.

·        The sensation of being watched followed around your house. It disappeared any time you spun around looking for peepholes, figures in the windows, or anything else your imagination could come up with as an explanation.

·        Fully unpacked, you set yourself to take a long, hot, self-indulgent shower. The only room in the house without windows. The steam breathed into your lungs, relaxing away the anxiety. Suds washed away the ache in your muscles. And washing your hair gave you an excuse to knead your temples and massage your head to your full desire. Robbed of your former “me-time”, you shifted your hands to your chest. Soon you brought your nipples to peaks.

·        You shifted your hands down, leaning against the shower wall and closing your eyes. The hum overtook your skin.

·        Completion was still a ways away when your eyelids fluttered open. Through the steam and the condensation on the shower wall, you could have sworn you saw eyes. Instead of being terrified, a different type of warmth filled you.

·        Whispers filed like static into your ears. Promises of what could be yours. If you only said yes.

·        A hand smeared through the condensation.

·        Another gripped your hip. Something took a deep breath next to your neck, inhaling the scent of your need.

·        Terror overtook pleasure. You ducked under the water, using it like a shield, and clamped your eyes shut tight. A few breaths later, you opened them again.

·        The handprint was gone.

·        Over the next several weeks, the touches became more bold.

·        At breakfast, a hand rested on the back of your neck, or the top of your head.

·        During your work from home, the trailing of fingers up your legs. Despite wearing your thickest pants, they still felt like skin against skin.

·        As you prepared for bed, lips kissed your back between your shoulder blades. A set of four, all at different heights along your spine. All at once.

·        At night, whispers told you to say yes. They passed wet dreams into your sleep. You woke up with a growing ache between your thighs, and a buzz in your skull.

·        Some days were quiet. Others were filled with quick touches that made you question your sanity.

·        One day they left you completely alone. You almost missed having them. And you said as much… out loud.

·        The next day, the larger pair of hands pined you to a wall as two mouths places chaste kisses to either side of your neck.

·        After a month and a half, you were ready to give in.

·        You began again, searching for the release that had been denied you since moving in.

·        No headphones this time. Just you… and the energies that creeped in. You wandered around your house, palming yourself. You stopped in the dinning room.

·        They waited until you were panting with need.

·        When the first hand smoothed across your skin, you didn’t flinch. Its match joined int the exploration. Another pair smoothed up your legs. A third landed heavily on your shoulders, massaging and moving you to lay across the table like a sacrifice or a meal. The fourth pair of hands, smaller, landed on your collarbone. Not tightening.

·        As one, they all stilled.

·        Waiting.

·        You took a deep breath.

·        “Yes.”

·        The small hands gently constrict around your neck. The others toyed with whichever part of you was closest to their grasp.

·        One hand eased over your sex, flicking its thumb over your most sensitive places. Tightening. Twisting. Curling. Another hand toyed at your puckered hole. The hands on your shoulders held you down as you writhed.

·        It’s so much. Their touch was cool against your flushed skin. Mouths placed wet kisses over your figure, leaving nothing behind. And, under the sounds panting out between your lips, the increased breathing of four other beings puffed. It chilled the air. You wondered if a ring of salt would have prevented all this.

·        Something harder and longer than fingers traces over your lips. You open your mouth and use your tongue. It’s odd working something cold and invisible. But it reaches the back of your throat without choking you. Why would it need to. The hands around your throat tightened as your arousal increased.

·        Another invisible cock slid across your sex, bumping and teasing while a mouth covered your heat. With the movement at your back, phasing through your table like it was nothing, you were soon full everywhere.

·        The arousal that had been building hovered out of reach.

·        No matter how you pleaded around the cock in your mouth, writing in the eight hands that gripped you, they prevented you from cumming.

·        The ghosts were reaching for and end of their own. The more they filed you, the more your energy depleted. Were they taking it from you? Or were they working you that much that you were spent?

·     ��  Between blinks, you began to see the forms of your guests.

·        Three large men, two of which were covered in tattoos. The largest at your head, pinning you down and filling your mouth. The other two lower on your body. The tattoo-less one worked his mouth over your sex. The third, with the piercing eyes you saw in the shower, filling you. And a woman, sliding herself across your stomach.

·        Their forms were see-through, but each thrust and moan gave them another layer of opaqueness.

·        Resigned to wait for them, you let them use you. Moving and humming when you can, you took what they gave.

·        The woman suddenly tightened her grip. She tossed her head back as her body was wracked in shudders.

·        At that sight, the cock in your mouth swelled. A few more desperate pumps followed before it filled you, spilling past your lips.

·        The other two did their best to work you to completion. With two less weights on your arousal, you rapidly careened towards the end. The tattoo-less one came first, drawing away so he could spill on your stomach.

·        Finally, the last ghost refused to fill you until your walls clamped down on his cock. For the first time, you heard his shout twinged with the groan of release. His eyes bored into you as you came, shivering and filled with endorphins to the point where you felt like you were floating. Maybe you actually were.

·        Each one stroked you till you were at ease. Then, one by one, in the order they came, faded out of view with your name as a whisper.

·        The last stoked your cheek before he went.

·        “We’ll take care of you soon, liefje.”

·        You slipped off to sleep.

·        Awakening the next morning, you had been moved to your bed. You were clean and the only ache in your body was the familiar one that followed after a pleasant evening of pleasure.

You hoped they take care of you often.

𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲

full masterlist / commission open / support my work

Pairings: bucky barnes x female!reader

Word count: 1,507

Warning: SMUT!! (18+), use of toys, handcuffs, vibrators, mild bondage.

Summary: written for @celestialbarnes' 4k writing challenge with the prompt 'handcuffs'. congrats raachel! you deserve it love ♡. bucky came home from a mission and found a toy in your drawer that kept you satisfied while he was away. he decided to take advantage of it.

a/n: it's been awhile since i wrote a filthy one shot. enjoy! please leave a like, comment and reblog! :)

You stood in the middle of the room, anticipating his return. “Stay here and don’t move,” he whispered in your left ear, awakening the chills that ran down your spine. You only nodded in response and obeyed him. Your thoughts were racing, eager to find out what he had in store for you. Bucky had always had a way to keep things exciting in the bedroom, but this time, he took it to another level and you didn’t know whether you should be nervous or thrilled. (Thrilled, you were mostly thrilled.)

Since you began dating him, you learned that Bucky could be intense and passionate in making love. He tended to be more dominant, but he always had his limits and he’d never let himself hurt you. Until one night, you were reading an erotic novel while he was away on a mission and you needed something to relieve yourself, so you utilized that buzzing toy you kept in your drawer but never had the chance to play with (why would you when you have the sexiest and most generous lover?) and lost yourself in the fantasy of you and Bucky doing the scenario that the two characters were doing in that page.

Bucky found that toy a few days later once he came home and he was looking for his key and he had you pinned on the mattress that night for three hours. The next day, you and he were cuddling on the couch only in your underwear and you nervously told him about a fantasy you had while he was gone. Bucky was initially ambivalent about it, but the more he thought about it and the more you assured him that you were okay with it, that you wanted it, the more interested he was in the idea.

So here you were, staring at the wall, bare and cold from the air conditioner of the room, waiting in the dark, the only thing that illuminated your view was the city lights and the moon from the window. You were worried that Bucky changed his mind but Bucky was a man of his words and he was willing to try new things with you. Including- no, no, especially sexual activities.

You heard his footsteps from behind you and you couldn’t help but tingle from his presence. You wanted to turn your head to look at him but you didn’t want to disobey him. He stopped in front of you, his darkened eyes looked into yours as he took one of your hands and locked something around it. You looked down and saw that a pair of old prisoner handcuffs hung from both of your wrists now.

Bucky slightly pushed you back until the back of your legs hit the bottom of the bed, and he brought your hands up so he could attach the chains of the handcuffs to the wooden rod that was part of the bedframe. Once the chains were securely attached, Bucky stared into your eyes and kissed you deeply, his mouth devouring yours, tangling both of your tongues.

He backed away to admire the work of art in front of him, exposed and vulnerable just for him. His heart swelled with pride to know that only he could touch and see you this way. Bucky walked closer to you again and he pulled down the one last item that was still clothing your body and it was the black lace thong you bought a month ago at Victoria’s Secret.

Your legs stepped out of the thong once it hits the floor and Bucky brought it to his nose, inhaling your scent that intoxicated him. Watching him smell your underwear made you breathless, it was so lewd yes so fucking sexy. Bucky put it in the pocket of his sweatpants, then he reached for something on the bed and it was the vibrator that led to this moment. You were flustered and your eyes dilated, you truly never expected Bucky to ever use it on you.

You could see the smirk on his face at your reaction, oh how you wanted to wipe that smug sneer off his face but it only turns you on even more. The hold this man had on you…

Bucky turned on the magic wand and the sound of buzzing made you dizzy. He pressed it to your clit, making you whimper at the way it stimulates your cunt. He pushed it further into you and moved it up and down in your vagina, making you squirm. You tried to shut your legs but he slapped your butt, not too hard but just enough to alert you. “I didn’t tell you to close them,” he warned.

You could only mewl in response, you closed your eyes and let him toy your arousal as your thighs began to shake. He dialled up the speed, bringing you closer to the edge. “Look at you, I’ve barely even touched you yet you’re already a shaking mess,” he chuckled. “Now I understand why you love this thing. Seems like I can make you wet without even laying a finger on you, huh?”

“Oh, fuck, Bucky please…”

“Are you close, baby?” he sultrily whispered in your ear as he trailed kisses from your jaw, down to your neck, making you gasp. “Does my baby wanna cum already?”

“Yes, I’m so close, Buck…” you pathetically whined.

He chuckled, then he dialled up the speed to maximum and his other flesh hand made its way into your hair, grabbing it and pulling it back, allowing him to have easier access into your throat. He bit your sensitive spot, leaving a small bruise there as you cried out from your orgasm. The vibrator was still buzzing between your legs as you began to come down from your high, then Bucky turned it off and threw it on the bed.

“Now it’s my turn to make you cum,” he stripped himself out of the sweatpants and his boxer and kicked them aside on the floor. His thick cock sprung free, glistening with pre-cum that always made you want to wrap your lips around it. He stroked his cock a few times and then kissed you slovenly, leaving you breathless once again. He didn’t waste any time in hosting your thighs and wrapped them around his waist.

He used your wetness as lube to make it easier for him to slide in. When he was slick enough from your juices, Bucky lined his cock to your entrance, then he pushed inside until he was fully sheathed by your walls. He groaned in your ear, giving you time to adjust to his size. Bucky started with a slow pace, moving his hips back and forth in shallow thrusts. Once your moans grew louder, Bucky grabbed a fistful of your hair and kissed you as he fucked you harder.

“Baby, you feel so fucking good around me,” you wailed as his cock brushed your sweet spot, causing your head to spin. You looked down to see where your bodies were connected, watching the way his cock disappeared in and out of you. You could feel the bulge in your stomach, making the knot in your abdomen tight. His metal arm that was on your hip made its way to your front, finding your clit and he rubbed it in circles furiously, making you clench around him.

Bucky groaned as he kept dominating your mouth and you could feel your heartbeat pounded against your ribcage, unable to think of anything else but him. Your thighs shook and your toes curled, the echoes of your cries were music to his ears. A few more hard pounds, and you felt your climax approaching, making you feel hazy. “Cum for me, baby, c’mon,” his voice, his touch and his cock drove you off the edge, the tightening coil in your stomach shattered as you screamed in pleasure, your orgasm hits you like waves of ecstasy, making you see stars.

Bucky snapped his hips vigorously and then he followed you to a place of euphoria, spilling himself deep in your womb, painting your walls in white. You both panted as he was still buried in you, Bucky kissed you once again to calm you down but this time, it was soft and sensual, instead of dominating. Once you began to regain composure from the aftershocks of pleasure, Bucky retreated himself out of you and he unchained the cuffs from the wooden bar and unlocked them off you.

“Are you okay?” he huskily questioned as he held you close to his chest, kissing your temple.

“More than okay.” you smiled, weary yet satisfied. Feeling safe in the arms of your lover who was glistening from sweat as you were. The warmth of his body soothed you.

“Let’s clean you up, hm?”

“Yeah, but afterwards… Maybe some tacos? That really drained me but now I’m famished,” you looked up at him, smiling contently at the man who just made you writhe.

“Sure. Anything for you, baby doll.”

tagging some of my favorite writers; @celestialbarnes @jobean12-blog @buckyblues @starsvck @sebstan-simp @saiyanprincessswanie @extremelyblackandwhite @cjsinkythoughts @baezen @balenciagabucky @onceuponabarnes @notborkybarnes @bucksbestgirl @badassbuchanan @wannabeschyulersister @golden-barnes @buckys-black-dress @buckybarnesplumwhore @chris-butt @fairytaleseb

Wait, will you still post to this blog and such?

(TLDR at the end, I got a bit carried away in my rant.)

Would I like to start posting more often again? Yes. Do I have intentions to get back on a consistent posting schedule and finish up old projects? Also yes. Will I actually get around to it?.. That's hard to say.

In this post I apologized for, and explained why my post production has slowed down to almost a complete stop. Its mostly due to my probable anxiety and the fact that I'm drawing a lot less in my free time because of it.

I used to use art as a way to destress, express myself and my imagination, and just have fun honestly. But right now as it stands drawing in general is getting tough. This season I’m going through has been really hard on me, and drawing isn’t comforting or distracting enough anymore. I've started using videogames to fully distract myself instead of just drawing.

I also no longer see the benefit of posting art online. It used to be really fun. I was always super excited to post something and I just couldn't wait to see all the responses it might get. I loved seeing my follower count go up and I loved making these big projects and sharing them with all of you.

Now it just feels like I'm playing this dumb game of “working really hard on a drawing, putting it on a pedal stool for free, and waiting for someone to come by and steal it”. Like, it just feels like I’m asking people to come by and steal all of my work, free of charge! Its not fun anymore to post art online. It feels pointless and anxiety inducing. This isn’t even mentioning the fact that I’m really overprotective of my art and ideas. I hate copycats and really don’t like fanart of any of my work or people taking inspiration from my ideas or designs.

I also get really uncomfortable when someone new follows me, especially if they didn’t like any posts before hand. That feels a lot like a bot or an art stealer right there. I usually just kick them out of my follower count because of these suspicions. Which of course means I’ve been booting a lot of followers out lately.

I hate it when an old transformers post of mine gets randomly reblogged by a bigger blog and suddenly it blows up with 50 more notes. That’s an awful lot of people that could steal my art and I would have no idea. I get really uncomfortable when I see my art pop up on google and I don’t like seeing my art reblogged onto other peoples blogs anymore.

I haven’t even had much trouble with art stealers, copy cats or fan artists in the past. 9 times out of 10 the situation was resolved and nothing more was said. But here I am, basically shutting down entirely at the thought that it could happen again.

Like, seriously. What kind of content creator says any of that? Just me apparently.

Uhg, anyway, rant aside.. I guess what I’m trying to say is yes I want to post again because it used to be fun, yes I’m gonna try, but anxiety is getting in the way so don’t be surprised if it takes me days or even weeks for me to make a post.

Beautiful Revelations

Pairing: Gruvia (I know its been a hot ass min)

Fandom: Fairy Tail 

tags: @shellielyzabeth @be-dazzled @nostalgicxslumber @unvalley @tigerfire54

Note: It has happened. I have written 200 fanfics and idk if I should be proud or slightly scared. (feel free to skip this omg why is it so long) 

I want to say thank you to everyone who has read, liked, reblogged or interacted with me in any way. I have always had a feeling that no matter what I write, I wouldn’t matter. But every comment and sweet note left made me realize that even if its just a smile or enough to make someone hit the like button, I made a small difference or added something to the fandom. Most of my fics are quick drabbles full of spelling mistakes, random thoughts and love for the characters. I know I don’t write very long stories or finish my wips (why are we surprised) but even though Im not someone people look to as a big author, each of you have made me feel special. There have been many times, this year especially that I had decided to give up writing. “Im not good enough and no one will even notice” Thats what I told myself if I decided to just back away. But every so often I would look and see that someone new or old had read my work. Every time someone reads something I wrote, I go back and read it too. I look at all the tags and see every comment and I stop and smile and remember how much joy it brought me when I first posted. 

When I first started writing, I thought that I wouldn’t have a place. Yet in a very short span of time, I was welcomed with open arms and people started to tune in regularly for my fics. I had been given many nicknames such as Gruvia goddess, angst queen, satan (yes I know the fic0 and well even Star. 

During my darkest moments, my mind lingered to my writing and to my internet friends. without hesitation I could message someone and feel better and be given the reassure I need. I can't even begin to say how much it means to me that people actually enjoy my writing and even me as a person. 

I thank each of you for giving me a joy that was considered a luxury at one point and allowing me to write whatever I wanted and you took it with love and made me happier than I have been in years. To all the people who made art or wrote me something, it means so much to me. 

Im not saying that this fic is my greatest but I think it has a special place because It shows the growth over time. 200 fics is a lot and whether or not they were all good, it doesn't matter because I did that and I can say that im proud. Im sorry for all that sappy shit but I wouldn't be where I am without you all. 

-Star <3 

ps: im not dying or stop writing fics im just happy lol 

---

  “There is never a time or place for true love. It happens accidentally, in a               heartbeat, in a single flashing, throbbing moment.”

― Sarah Dessen, The Truth About Forever

---

It was the nights like these that she hated most. The cold would creep through the blankets and make her shiver as her eyelids hung heavy. She could be ready to rest, let the sweet dreams guide her but instead those dark intrusive thoughts toyed with her like a fly on a freshly woven web. They would sprout out of nowhere, tangled with thorns and hold her mind hostage as it injected its sickly venomized thoughts for the night.

She always wondered how she got this far. She was one of the highest members of Phantom Lord, her abilities had rarely been matched. If she desperately craved, she could walk down the hallways and strike fear into the other members, no one could touch her. Hierarchies became a custom here. Once you made it to the top after clawing your way with blood, sweat and probably more blood, you were a god. Yet she walked in and in the next few minutes she was at the table with the master, already receiving a promise that she was special, a delicate and useful ally for the guild.

Special. What a swollen lie that turned out to be.

Maybe that's why she never bothered to search for a light, something to cure the rain. For every life she had bruised or ended, she wanted to feel the pain that followed. She needed to know the consequence of her actions, to be held accountable for ruining another family or taking something from the innocent. Instead she was celebrated.

The days turned to months and she found herself years later not knowing what anything meant anymore. Life used to be black and white. She would walk the side of the kind and good and now she was treading through a swarm of a morally gray compound.

These restless nights, she loathed them but then again, suffering was something that came naturally to her. The only person to ever knock her down was herself.

She climbed out of bed, fuzzy slippers over her feet as she walked to the bathroom. Her headache had worsened and she stared into the mirror. She had looked at herself a thousand times but… have her eyes always been that blue? No, she was tired and her vision was fuzzy, she was fine. Cold water came to her hands as she turned on the facet and splashed her face. Everything was the same as it always was. Expect for today.

Her order was simple. Defeat whoever stood in her way and make sure the Phantom Lord got Lucy Heratfilia. Why did they want some mage? She didn’t know but she was never one to second guess her orders. To go against what she was told was a waste of time, she would have been dead by the end of the day if she did. She had once believed that they accepted her with open arms, that Phantom Lord truly cared about her well being. It was a lie. A bitter sweet lie she allowed to remain in her head.

Hundreds of opponents had come before her. She was accustomed to the way of a battle and had harnessed her skill at a young age. The pure power of the rain pushed her further. She had an unlimited amount of power around her, unlike others, they would run out of fuel. She began to crave that god-like power. Allow the storm to rage on, all she had was herself and the droplets that followed. She understood she was an outcast. Love was never an option, not for someone who brought gloom everywhere.

But this afternoon, fate was a funny thing. She walked onto that rooftop, winning was the only thing on her mind, but he was there. A man who didn’t back down, a man who saw her as an equal.

Her heart began to race. It was forgien and she wasn’t sure if she liked it. She had felt attraction before but this, this was different. Something as small as a single glance had already spun her mind into a muddled mess. It would have been better if she turned around, if he didn’t engage in the fight. Then maybe she wouldn’t be thinking of him like this.

Love at first sight. That wasn’t real. No one could possibly have that happen. What could drive someone's emotion so wild that they become attached to a person in such a short time? And yet it happened. He stood there waiting for the next move and she could only gaze at him with rose colored glasses.

An enemy. A traitor. That's what she would be if she dared to let him escape. She couldn’t hestatite, she never did and now she was frozen in her spot as ice magic danced around her. Peoples magic and abilities never intrigued her, but this, this was beyond anything she had seen.

The light reflecting off of the ice as her droplets froze before her eyes was breathtaking and she hardly noticed that she was losing the battle. She never thought rain could look, dare she say, beautiful? But in this state of its frozen glory, it was all she could think about. She envied those who never had to stay in the rain, a jealousy she didn’t want to admit had festered over the years and she gave up trying to despise the element. But before her was something much more than the state she was accustomed to. Ice. The solid purity of her own and she had wondered what it would be like to hold it in her hands.

She had water locked him, pulled out all of the stops and even with that, he stood again and again. He had screamed that the water was boiling, burning his skin but never before had the water gone above warm. It was usually ice cold on the tipping point of freezing but she could feel the warmth surrounding her.

It shocked her just the same. She had heard people talk about feeling the sun kiss their skin, the warmth spreading as they walked, this was the closest she had felt to that. This warm rush of water was beyond what she had known and yet even as it tinged her hands it felt good, it felt freeing, it felt right.

It burned in a way she had craved for so long. Something other than the fridgeness she had grown used too.

She stared at her reflection in her mirror, tears brimming her eyes. How could one person she just met bring her something she had never felt before? She shut the light out in the bathroom and walked back to her bed, passing her window, she stopped and turned.

Above in the sky was the moon. A soft white glow surrounded the orb that she had never seen before. It was breathtaking. A cosmic power the normal people of the world didn’t dare to worship now became a luxury. The sky was clear and she could see the stars, she could sense them all. How could she have lived her entire life never once seeing the moon and the sun? She had been cursed to live in the rain forever.

But he-he made it stop.

When he grabbed her arm, it was like time had stopped. As if everything she had ever known was washed away and all she could see was a bright light encasing him. She was content knowing her death was coming, there was hardly a reason for her to live. Perhaps she wasn't even living, just surviving day after gloomy day.

He pulled her to safety, her back against the roof as she panted heavily. Those clouds above her moved like a curtain for a show, parting just so that she could see the enchanting mystery she had always craved.  

She had never known a blue sky till then. The brightness was almost unbearable as she stared into a sky she had never known. So many emotions flooded her head but it was clear as those ice crystals that her heart was beating for him. She was his enemy, they made that clear from the start but he hadn’t hesitated to save her. He showed a mercy she had never come across.

Another tear fell as she sat on her bed.

“He saved Juvia.” She whispered to herself. A horrific thought came to her. Would she have saved him? She didn’t want to know the outcome because deep down she believed she was good. Beneath the surface of unremosle power, there was that scared little girl who never had anyone to care for her.

The amount of days she sat in that orphanage alone sewing her dolls and praying that the rain stopped one way or another, it was as if she couldn’t remember it. He had done the impossible. He showed her the sky she hadn’t seen. He had shown her kindness.

A thought came to mind as she stood and packed her things. No more would she be known as “the rain woman”. No more would gloom be her only trait. She was determined to find something much more appealing than those bowing by fear. She wanted love. She wanted that warmth of the water constantly and the feeling of the sun on her skin. She understood it now. There was a power strong than her, stronger than any wizard that surrounded the other guild.

She had vowed to be done with love. Promised herself that no man could hurt her again. She was trembling at the thought of being vulnerable once more. The only time she felt warmth was the scorching burn of a fiery rejection and words that burned like lava. It was too much for someone to handle. So she pushed it down, locked the key and threw it as far as she could. The temptation though. The idea of letting her guard down for someone, someone she barely knew? How she fantasized of that moment. She had once believed that someone of her past had done that, but they were all the same. Ashamed of the rain, the rain she caused, the pain she brought.

And after their fight when she collected herself and tried to run back towards her guild, he stopped her.

“For what it's worth I think you’re an incredible wizard. You may not want to believe that your guild is dark and bad but, Fairy Tail is always open.” He had said it with such sincerity that she wasn’t sure if it were true.

“Juvia thinks your magic is just as powerful.” She had said before he gave her a smile and turned away to go back to his other guild mates.

And here she stood, a suitcases packed in the night and a note left on the desk. This guild didn’t deserve any words. Not when they feasted on her ability. Harvested those negative emotions and almost made her fall into the deep end.

She knew what they would say. They would call her a coward. A traitor and a worthless wizard, at first it was enough to stop her. Make her stay and perhaps bring back the clouds. However what he said stuck in her mind.

“I would rather die fighting than let your guild have Lucy! She is one of us and we don’t leave anyone behind.”

Without hesitation he made it clear that every member of the guild was valued no matter how long they had been there, they were a family. If something like that would have happened, if she were threatened, her guild would let her die without a second thought.

Never again would she allow someone to have a hold over her. She spent too many years sheltered by pain and deviation to go on like that.

She grabbed her bag and closed her door.

--

Juvia stood in front of the door. The morning would be better to do this but it was beyond dark outside and she didn’t want her intrusive thoughts pulling her back to her old guild. Softly she knocked, maybe hoping that he wouldn’t hear it and force her back to the isolation of fear.

The open clicked open and her eyes widened slightly as a sleepy Gray leaned against the door frame, shirtless and rubbing his eyes.

“Juvia?” He blinked and watched as her cheek puffed out in red. He looked down to see that he was only in his underwear and let out a yelp as he grabbed a blanket off the chair. “What are you doing here?”

“Um Juvia thought.” She paused and looked towards the ground. “Actually Juvia apologies for disturbing you.” Her back was to him and she began to walk away.

“Wait!” His hand caught hers and he pulled slightly. A jolt of warmth spread through her, burning her like a thousand suns as well as the chill of ice from his own temperature. She looked back at him, eyes wide and lips parted. “Juvia, please just tell me.”

“Such kindness.” She whispered to herself. Her heart rate sped up just like it did earlier and she swallowed a breath. “Juvia was wondering…why did you save her?”

His hand dropped her as if he were shocked that she would dare question his action.

“I wasn’t going to let you die. Enemies or not, I don’t think you deserved that fate. I don’t believe that you are this evil person your guild made you out to be. To be honest when you fell, you look like you didn’t care what happened and I guess I saw myself in you.”

“You saved Juvia because you know what it's like?”

“To feel lost and hopeless I guess.” He scratched the back of his neck nervously. “Sometimes it's hard thinking you deserve to live, that it would be better to harbor all the pain of your past. I don’t know everything about you but that look in your eyes. I couldn’t let you go knowing that there was a brighter future ahead.”

A tear dripped from her eye. Her smile was soft as hugged her arms to her body. “You knew Juvia would join the guild.”

“Well I wouldn’t say I knew, but I was hoping that you would. If you still want to, that is.”

“Juvia would be honored.” She bowed respectfully towards him.

Gray smiled and bowed back. His eyes faced the sky looking towards the moon. “Have you ever seen it?”

“Tonight would be the first. Juvia thinks the stars are remarkable.”

“Lucy knows alot about them, I think you two would be good friends.”

Juvia shook her head as regret twisted in her stomach. “Juvia accepts your kindness and compassion but she doesn’t know if the rest will. Juvia was her rival, she understands if everyone doesn’t see her as a friend.” She frowned slightly.

A laugh came from the ice mage's mouth. “That's the thing about Fairy Tail, no matter where you come from or what your past may have held, there's always going to be a friend waiting.”

Juvia nodded. “Thank you Gray. Juvia will talk to your guild master tomorrow.”

“Like I said before. You’re an incredible wizard, you’ll be just fine.” He winked.

“Have a nice night.”

“You too.”

She watched as he entered his house before turning around and walking towards her hotel. Her shoulders felt lighter and she held her head high for the first time. This was her step in the right direction, this was where her new life began.

Time had slowed and allowed her to pause. A beautiful revelation she never knew could exist came to mind as she just realized that she was in love.

---

She looked down at her leg in the mirror. The voices behind her had faded to the background as she became entranced with the mark of Fairy Tail.

“The blue suits you.” She turned to see Gray standing there with a smile as he was focused on her guild mark.

To say that she was grateful was an understatement. Her mask she wore like a crown had shattered. It unravels in his hands as the months went on and all that was left was the person she wanted to be. She could finally let go of her ghosts, her darkness and begin to forgive herself.  

---

“What do you think?” He asked her as the white sky fell with snow.

Gray had told her of a special spot he used to go to when the first snow came. Past the forest was a clearing of grassy hills that would soon become a winter wonderland. Laid out on one of the hills was a blanket and a few lanterns.

She held her hand out and felt the tiny snowflakes collect on her hand. He sat behind her, one arm snaked around her waist while the other hand rose above hers and created a small flurry of snowflakes.

“Breathtaking.” She gushed. This was the first time she had seen snow fall. Her eyes followed the ice magic as it formed a heart and blew into the sky joining the other flurries. She turned so she could meet his eyes and his normal content face was replaced with a smile.

He leaned forward until their noses touched briefly. “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” He said and she only had a moment to process his words as his lips landed on hers and her eyes fluttered close.

Her hand went to his cheek as she leaned towards him, her energy matching his and all she could hear was the thumping of her heart. She would be embarrassed to say that she might have dreamt of this moment a little too much but it didn’t matter now. All she knew was that her beloved felt the same.

---

For once she was happy to hear a cry. That little whimper bubbling from the baby's mouth, her baby, she was in disbelief. Perfection was a rarity. No one was perfect, but the being with a tuft of dark blue hair and grey eyes would beg to differ. A child was never in her future. The thought came up randomly but the idea of raising a family wasn’t even a question.

During her missions in her old guild, she would walk past a family. She would see happy faces on everyone and would only be filled with envy and hatred. Disgusting was what it was. How could you love someone else when there was no love for you?

But times change. She would see others holding their child's hand and feel a warmth in her heart at how the children beamed up at their parents. She could sense the love all around them and would smile herself, hoping that it might become a reality for herself.

She would wake in the middle of the night, not from her demons but for her new reason to live. He would babble and tug at the locks of her hair and giggle when water magic danced before his young eyes.

---

It was nights like these that loved the most. The soft rays of moonlight casting shadows through her window as silk sheets wrapped around her bare form. She used to spend nights alone, only her pillow to catch her tears and now delicate fingers trail her backside as she listens to the thumping of his heart. His chest rises and falls as her own follows the rhythm. Her eyes flutter close as her tiredness grows untils it's interrupted by a cool press of lips under her ear.

A peaceful sigh leaves her lips as she tilts her head up to meet dark eyes gazing at her. Flushed cheeks was something she wore often and she lifted off of him to move further up and meet his lips with hers. He pulls her back to him, hating the emptiness between them and adores the way she shivers when his thumb traces her guild mark.

Their love was honest and raw. She had learned that nights like those in the past would haunt him as well. They would keep him up and plague his thoughts with images of death and destruction. But now, they lingered in the shadows, always there but something brighter and beautiful guarded them to peace and she focused on the way he breathed her name then the tears that dropped.

There was an overwhelming amount of happiness that she had gathered after all the years she spent in Fairy Tail. She found friendship and family bonds. Love in all forms that she cherished deeply. Her powers were seen as a gift to help others and lend a hand, not twisted into medled lies that she had spent so long untangling.

Her lips pulled from his slowly and their breaths settled between them. When she looked at Gray she found something more. She had freedom and rebirth. Forgiveness and lust wrapped into something more than love. Their bond was stronger than she could have ever dreamed and when he left kisses over her skin she wanted nothing more in life than to stay frozen in this moment.

He did the impossible. He opened a door, shined a light through her darkness and allowed her to accept the fact that she did deserve to live. She could cherish moments and keep them as her own without the threat of corruption. Her life was now her own to command and she did it with such grace and beauty that Gray couldn’t imagine her being any different. 

“I love you.” He promised and there was no doubt in her mind that he meant it.

“I love you too.” She responded.

The beautiful truth was that she was finally at peace and loved herself. 

---

I hope that you all enjoyed and thank you for being so lovely <3

I Don't Know How to Love Him, Pt. I

Bruce Banner x GenderNeutral!Reader, Set during the entirety of The Avengers. Part I of Unknown- will likely span all of Avengers, Age of Ultron, and Infinity War.

You are a former shield agent who gets dragged back into the business after Loki steals the tesseract. You meet a cast of fun characters along the way, and maybe even fall in love.

Word Count: 2,357

Contains: A reference to Sleipnir, Water-based powers, Meeting for the First time, fluff?, talk of blood pressure

Inspiration: I Don't Know How to Love Him from Jesus Christ, Superstar

Comments and Reblogs are appreciated! Thank you for reading.

You are not surprised when Nick Fury comes to visit you. There had been rumblings about a major incident at a Shield facility from your former colleagues- enough to make you concerned. Enough that Fury would try to drag you back into the life you left. Still, you're concerned when you see him sitting in your area, waiting for his order to be taken.

“My name is y/n, what can I start you with?” You ask, getting out your notepad ready to take his order.

“I’ll start with a coffee, black. And toast sliced diagonally.” He doesn’t look up at you, instead hiding his face behind the menu.

You smile, writing down the order as if it wasn’t code for something else, and reply, “Just a moment!” You walk over to the counter, where one of your coworkers is sitting. She is a teenager, bored out of her mind, waiting at the register for people to come up after they’ve finished eating.

“Hey, Sally. Something came up and I’ve got to run out of town for a bit. Let Karl know some family stuff came up- he’ll understand.”

“Does this mean I’ll have to cover the tables in your area?” She’s looking at you like you’ve just delivered the worst news of her life.

“No, I’m sure Chris can handle it. It’s a slow day. But Julie’s number is by the phone if you need to call in back-up.” You respond, taking off your apron and hanging it behind the counter.

You leave the building, giving a glance to Fury on your way out. You find his car almost immediately- its slick, clean and fortified- nothing like the other cars parked out front. You lean against the driver’s side door, waiting for him to exit. A few minutes later, he does.

“That bad, huh?” You ask

“Worse” He responds, walking towards you. You move out of the way and begin to walk around to the other side of the car.

“Glad you reached out, then.” You say, climbing into the passenger side.

There is silence as he begins to pull out of the parking lot.

“So. Aliens. Asgardian or Kree?” You ask.

“Asgardian, and just the one. Loki.”

“The trickster God? The one who got impregnated by a horse?”

“That’s the one. He’s got the tesseract.” Fury deadpans. You turn your head to look at the man you used to work for, who’s asking for your help.

“Were you doing experiments on the tesseract?” You ask.

He does not respond. You throw your head back and let out a sigh. “I never should’ve left”

“You shouldn’t have. But you did. And now you are back. I hope you enjoyed your time off, Commander.”

“Don’t call me that” You dismiss, “I assume I’m not the only one you’re retrieving for this mission. You didn’t call Carol, did you?”

“For someone who never met her you sure like to act as if you did, “ He retorts,” And no. I didn’t. She’s got bigger fish to fry.”

“So who else is on the team?” You ask again, just as you pull up to the airbase. You can see there is a quinjet waiting for you.

“Why don’t you see for yourself.” You grumble at him, staying silent for the rest of the time it takes to stop the car.

You begin to unbuckle and get out of the car when he adds, “I’ll meet you on the Helicarrier.”

“You have someplace to be, Director?”

“Just a few errands. Now go, or I’ll let the quinjet leave without you.” You roll your eyes at him and shut the door in his face, before making your way over to your new method of transportation.

A familiar face greets you as you step inside.

“Coulson. It’s great to see you, how have you been?” You pull him into a hug before he can respond.

“I’ve been great, Commander. You seem to have done, uh. Well for yourself.” He replies cheerfully but clearly confused by the outfit your wearing. You grimace at the use of that word again.

“New work uniform.” You glance down at yourself to see if it’s really that out of place compared to what he’s wearing- it is.

“Commander? Are you Navy?” Another voice asks. Coulson had been blocking your view up until this point, preventing you from seeing the unfrozen, unaged, and very much alive Steve Rogers. You had heard rumors from your old Shield pals but you weren’t expecting this. You lightly push Coulson out of the way to get closer to him.

“Coast Guard.”

Steve holds out his hand to shake yours. “Captain Steve Rogers.”

You accept and give a firm handshake, “Commander Y/n, though I prefer Y/n.”

“Y/n. Got it. Fury recruit you too?” At this point, both of you are ignoring Coulson, who has moved on to preparing the quinjet for take-off.

“Yes. Plucked me right out of retirement.”

“He brief you on the mission?” Steve’s eyes are examining you, trying to figure out how someone like you, who looks fairly young, could have already retired.

“Yes. Some powerful alien got ahold of the tesseract and plans to destroy the world. Very original.”

“I have some videos for you to watch of the other recruits, then.” Coulson interrupts your conversation to put on a video all about Bruce Banner and The Hulk. You aren’t surprised by his recruitment even if you find it a little dangerous. Bruce seems like a sweet man, but he’s got little control over the other man living inside him. You take a moment to pull Coulson aside while Steve is watching the video to talk about the legend sitting a few feet away from you.

“Were you not going to tell me that you unfroze Steve?” You whisper, indignant.

“I thought I let that leak to you through an old channel” Coulson defends himself.

“Well, ‘we found the ice cube and turned it into water' is not exactly the same as ‘We have defrosted Steve Rogers and he is exactly the same as he was during fucking World War II’”

You glance back at him to see he is still staring at the video. His body language tells you he’s listening to your conversation. You glare at Coulson before composing yourself and sitting back down in your seat. Steve and Coulson converse about the different ways people tried to recreate the Super Soldier serum over the years, and the importance of his old uniform nowadays.

Once the quinjet lands, you are greeted by yet another familiar face.

“Natasha, great to see you.” You do not go in for a hug, as you aren’t sure she’d like that. “Where’s Clint?”

“Loki has him.” The happiness you had deflated like a pierced balloon.

“Fury didn’t tell me that.”

“Agent Romanoff, Captain Rogers. And you already know Commander y/n.” Coulson interjects once again. You give him a sideways glance.

“Ma’am?” Steve responds.

“Hi.” Natasha glances at Coulson, “They need you on the bridge. They are starting the face trace.” He nods, “See you there” And walks away.

You see Bruce stumbling around towards the three of you, clearly trying to stay out of everyone’s way, but failing. Whatever Steve and Natasha are talking about, you’ve blocked out.

“Dr. Banner.” You call out to him, and he walks over. You watch as he shakes hands with the other two first, and then shakes your hand. You can feel how nervous he is.

“They told me you’d be coming,” He tells the other two, “but not you.”

“No reason not to. It’s not like I’m the most top-secret thing Fury has under wraps. Though I guess that means he didn’t tell you about me either?” You look at Natasha as you ask her this.

She nods, “I would’ve told Dr. Banner about you had I known”

“I’m starting to remember why I left.” You say, feeling the water beginning to gather on the fingertips of your left hand. You brush past Natasha and head for the bridge.

When you get there, you see Nick Fury standing in his circle of computers, giving commands to start getting the Helicarrier ready to fly. He knows you're there before he sees you- the sounds of your feet are heavy against the tile floors.

“What aren’t you telling me? And more importantly- what aren’t you telling them?” You are confrontational, and the water in your hand has now formed a ball, encircling your fists.

“Is this because I didn’t tell any of them about you?”

The water ball condenses into a ball of ice. He glances down at your hand and back at you and rolls his eyes. “You said not to tell anyone about you, unless-”

“Unless they needed to know. I don’t know about you, Fury, I think my new teammates need to know” His blood pressure has gone up, and so has the blood pressure of every person on the bridge. You sigh, evaporating your ice ball away. You feel everyone’s blood pressure slowly begin to return to normal

“Look,” You say, getting closer to him. “Bruce doesn’t need to think he’s the most dangerous one here. And I certainly don’t need sideways glances from everyone who doesn’t know about me” You whisper.

“Don’t worry, y/n. I’ve got a plan.” He replies loudly, as the others approach.

You grumble under your breath as you back away from him “You wouldn’t have treated Carol like this.”

“A plan for what?” Steve asks.

“Capturing Loki. We’re running facial recognition scans now. I’ll let you know if we find anything.” Fury expertly redirects your previous conversation to fit in with the priorities of the mission.

“For now, you can get comfortable. Explore the ship, find where you’ll be sleeping.” Coulson adds.

The newly formed group of superheroes nod and set off in mostly different directions. You head to your old hang-out spot on the Helicarrier you once called home: The state of the art lab. You always enjoyed the view it had, both of the outside of the ship and the interior. It was a good place to get lost in thought and an even better place to observe the other people on the ship as they walked through the hallway. You take a seat on one of the tables, prepared to get lost in thought and clear your mind when Bruce walks in.

“Oh, are you- I can go.” His face flushes and he nervously scratches the back of his head.

“It’s fine.” You respond.

He hesitates but enters the room, beginning to investigate the various tools now at his disposal. He avoids making any eye contact with you as he walks around the room, looking, but not touching. You can feel that his blood pressure is elevated- and you're pretty certain it’s because of your presence. Eventually, he makes his way to a computer by the large window, overlooking the outside of the Helicarrier.

“Do you know what any of this stuff does?” Bruce inquires.

“No idea. This wasn’t my division when I worked for Shield.”

“Then why come here?”

You shrug, “It’s quiet, and not many other people come in here.”

“So Shield has a state of the art lab on their invisible, flying ship that they don’t utilize?” Bruce is perplexed by this revelation.

“There’s more than one. This one is the smallest, and the most exposed.” You reply, gesturing towards all the windows.

He nods at this, then opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but closes his mouth again.

“You’re wondering about why I’m here- on this mission.” You guess what he was trying to ask you about.

“Yes.”

“I’m back up. In case one of you dies, or goes off the rails.” You respond.

“So you’re here to make sure the other guy doesn’t go on a rampage” He seems a bit bitter about it, and his increasing blood pressure confirms that.

“That’s not the only reason. I’m also here in case Natasha or Steve kick the bucket, or if they decide to turn on us.” You are apathetic in your explanation.

“And how are you going to do that?”

“Do you want a glass of water?”

“Touchy subject? Don’t want to reveal your secrets?” He’s testing you, but he’s misunderstood why you asked the question.

“Quite the opposite.” You reply, forming a ball of water in your hand. You blow on it, sending it towards his direction. He reaches out to touch it, and you turn it into a ball of ice, which he quickly catches before it falls on the floor.

“How’d that happen?” Bruce is hoping for an interesting answer or a common experience in having an experiment gone wrong. But he would be wrong.

“I was born with it. At least, that’s what the Shield scientists think.” You bring back the ball of ice towards you, before evaporating it.

“So you’ve always had these powers?”

“Nope. They came with puberty.”

“So they think there’s some kind of gene that altered your genetic code giving you these special abilities that activated at puberty?” Bruce asks.

“Pretty much.”

“I’m assuming your life became pretty water-based after that” Bruce surmises.

“Essentially. It’s why I went into the Coast Guard. That’s how Shield discovered me.”

“Why not the Navy?” It’s a valid question, one you’ve fielded since you were a teenager about to graduate from high school.

“Coast Guard helps more with civilian rescue operations, less with tactical military strikes. It’s less prestigious-”

“Which means a lower likelihood of your powers being discovered.” He finished your sentence.

“Exactly. You understand.” By now, his blood pressure has come down and is more even, suggesting he’s calm. His eyebrow furrows in deep thought, as you sit in silence waiting for him to ask an obvious question.

“How do your powers affect the human body?”

“Well, Bruce. You tell me.” You begin, hopping down from the table you’d been sitting on. “The human body is 60% water.” You leave the room, allowing him to figure out for himself what kind of destruction you’d be able to cause. You already know the answer

Toasted Coconut

Pairings: Sugar Daddy!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Why does everything seem to fall apart faster than it came together?

Warnings:  Angst.

A/N:   It’s finally here! Yes, I did it. I added Johnny Storm and yes, I am using Evans Storm because I find that hilarious consider Steve is in this chapter a bit. It’s probably not as funny as I find it. But, ya know. If you like it come sing me a song, write me a story or scream at me!  This is the fifth part of my series Sugary Sweet. Make sure you catch up!

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam, though! Thanks!***

You had insisted that you would meet Bucky at The Plaza. It’s been a bit since you laid eyes on each other, and you were nervous to see him again. Not the mention the fact that there was a slight chance Wanda and Nat would attack him the moment he arrived. It was better for everyone if you met him there. He had argued with you, of course. Bucky didn’t like meeting you there as if you were just some woman he was taking out -- a meaningless date. That really had your hackles up because that’s exactly what you were. You were just some woman he was using to pass the time until he found his wife. 

Whoever that famed siren of a woman may be. 

The dress Bucky had picked stole your breath when you opened the box he had delivered to your apartment. It was a pretty champagne color, with thin straps and completely covered in glitter that started heavy on the top and faded away to leave sheer fabric shimmering around your feet. The back was as low as a designer could get it without showing something entirely inappropriate. You weren’t surprised. Bucky loved your back. He liked to run his knuckles up and down your spine and feel the way you shivered from the slightest of brushes. 

It was breathtaking, and yeah, you looked gorgeous. You couldn’t deny that, but you would much rather be spending the night in one of Bucky’s ratty old shirts than in this fancy gown surrounded by all these people that simply didn’t matter. Your days with Bucky were numbered, and you didn’t know how many more you would get to call him yours -- this isn’t how you wanted to spend those days.  

Your heels clinked loudly on the floor and bounced off the stone walls of the ballroom. There had to be close to a thousand people gathered around cocktail tables, auction tables, and the bar. You’ve never seen a room this gorgeous before. The paintings, the sculptures within the stonework; it was beautiful and had you on edge. Your nerves were finally making their presence known the further you made it through the crowd. You felt out of place next to all these people. They were worth millions, some billions if you counted Stark. You undoubtedly didn’t belong here, no matter how much sparkle you were wearing. 

The crowd was massive. No sign of Bucky or Steve. You thought you caught a glimpse of Sam, but it turned out to be someone you didn’t know. You were beginning to think this was all a mistake, and you should find your way to the bar. Bucky would have to find you there eventually. Or maybe, you should go simply go home. 

A roughened hand pressed on to the small of your back sending all your thoughts haywire, fingertips brushed under the fabric of your gown teasing the sensitive skin hidden there for only a moment, and there was a scratch of stubble against your neck before you felt two soft lips land just below your ear. Everything you were feeling about not being enough melted the second you heard his voice. 

“You look…” Bucky groaned in your ear and slid his hand around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. “You’re way too gorgeous to actually be mine. Let’s skip this whole damn thing. I change my mind. I’d rather take you home and make love to you for the rest of the night.” 

Your heart fluttered at the thought, and it reminded you there was something you should be doing, Tell him you know! Let him explain for himself! You weren’t listening. The damage had been done, and no explanation would fix the hurt his words caused. You slowly spun around in his grasp and wrapped an arm around his neck, smiling widely when you spot the excitement sparkling in his eyes. He looked so excited to see you as if you were the best thing in the room. 

How was he so good at faking his feelings for you? 

“I am fairly certain you told me you had to come and had to make at least three bids before I could let you leave. As well as make sure you were seen by all the big, important people here.” 

“Yeah, but I wasn’t prepared for this baby…” Bucky ran his tongue over his lips, eyes trained on yours. “I don’t think I can concentrate when you look this good.” 

You laughed and gave him a slow teasing kiss, just barely brushing against his lips and whispered. “You picked out the dress.” 

“I’m a masochist. Clearly.” 

With your arm hooked in his, you pulled him towards the table where Steve and Sharon were resting, talking Sam. Bucky didn’t want to talk, though. You knew that by the way, he was pawing at your dress as discreetly as one can while maneuvering through a sea of New York’s finest. 

Bucky had left your side for what was supposed to be a short chat with someone about some rehabilitation project in Queens, nearly the second you arrived at the table. The talk was longer than he intended, and he proceeded to get snatched up by important person after important person. Bucky flashed you an apologetic smile as an older gentleman ushered him towards a work of art, and you could see the want in his eyes hidden behind all that frustration. He didn’t want to be there, but it was part of his job. A big part. You could keep yourself entertained while he worked. You wandered off towards the bar and settled on a stool that probably cost more than the couch in your living room. 

A sharp whistle hits your ears as you deciding what to order, and it had you turning your head to find the source. You expected to see Sam standing there ready to tease you, but instead, you found a strange man you didn’t know watching you with interest. His hair was buzzed so short you could nearly see his scalp, he was younger than most of the people in the room. You would have guessed close to your age, if not, only a few years older -- much closer to your age than your current beau. 

“That’s a hell of a dress you got on tonight, beautiful.” 

He gave you a charming smirk and leaned his elbow on the bar next to you. He was obviously trying to tease you, gain a bit of your desire, and judging by the smug smile on his face, he wasn’t used to having to work very hard to make women swoon over him. You were not interested in the least, but you should at least make conversation while you wait for the man you were engaged with. 

“Nice suit.”

“Nice suit? Nice?” The stranger squawked in disbelief. He ran his hands over his jacket, looking every bit a pained, entitled schoolboy, and for some reason, you couldn’t figure out you found it entirely adorable. He glanced down at his attire and back to you, whispering with on full pout, “This is Gucci.” 

You chuckled quietly and shook your head, wearing a small conciliatory smile as you shrug. “My boyfriend’s suit is a lot nicer is all I’m saying.” 

Okay, so  Bucky wasn’t your boyfriend. He was your… whatever he was, but Bucky was, in fact, still yours, and you were always going to be his. For now. You weren’t going to flirt with some guy that threw you a cheesy line while you were on a date with the man you… love. There you admitted it. Your heart and head can shut up now and leave you to fall apart in peace.

The man licked his lips and leaned both elbows on the bar next to you. “Boyfriend, huh? That your subtle way of telling me I’m wasting my time?” 

Your eyes quickly scanned the crowd looking for Bucky, but he was nowhere to be found. 

“In a sense, you are. I’m taken.” 

“By tall, dark, and broody?” 

You grinned. 

“Yes, by tall, dark, and broody.” For as long as he wants me anyway, you couldn’t help the bitter thought from filling your head. 

“Interesting.” 

“So…” You raised your brow, waiting for him to introduce himself before you carried on.

“Johnny. Johnny Storm.” 

“Johnny,” You repeated and smiled kindly, too kindly. “You saw me with my boyfriend and thought it would be a good idea to come over and talk to me?” 

“Well…” Johnny paused, waiting for you. 

“Y/n.” 

“Y/n,” He repeated with the same charming smile he wore earlier. “You looked lonely, and if I'm honest, I saw you the second you walked through the door. Pretty sure everyone did. It was way before I saw the two of you together. I just wanted to see if I could keep you company and maybe get a real smile out of you before the night over.” 

The smile on your face faltered only a fraction, and your heart twisted at his words. He was right. You didn’t have to see your face to know you have that look on your face. You’ve had it since Boston, and nothing seemed to make it go away. The only person that could fix it was Bucky, but he wasn’t interested in doing so. 

“Okay, how about this? What if I sit down right here.” Johnny pointed to the stool in front of him and slowly sat down, leaving an empty seat between you two. “I can keep you company until Prince Grumpy comes back to whisk you off your feet.” 

You gnaw on your bottom lip. It wasn’t a good idea. Spending time with Johnny only made you yearn for Bucky that much more. 

“I’m getting two glasses of champagne,” Johnny added with a grin. “One could be for you. It matches the sparkle you’re wearing so damn well.” 

You rolled your eyes and shifted over to the empty stool. 

“You’re not impressing me, you know? It’s an open bar.” 

Johnny threw his head back, his whole body shaking from laughter. You liked that. He was free with whatever he was feeling. It was right there, out in the open, and there was no room for guessing. It was merely a given. Two glasses were placed in front of you, and you grabbed one, sliding it in place in front of you. 

“Damn.” He wheezed quietly. “ I didn’t think you knew that. Totally thought I was suave. Your boyfriend already try that one on you?” 

“Nope. He doesn’t need all that to get my attention.”

Johnny winced and blew out a pained breath, his fingers were fidgeting around the stem of the champagne glass in his hands, and he muttered, a little defeated but attempting to keep hope floating, “Man, I’ve got no chance, do I?” 

You spun around on your stool to face him, You were grinning now, and you shrugged your shoulders casual like. Why were you holding back from talking to this cute guy again? Bucky doesn’t want you. He made that clear in Boston. He didn’t see a future with you, so why were you turning away someone who could see you for more than something temporary? You knew, deep down, this Johnny guy didn’t stand a chance next to Bucky, but it was nice to know when Bucky was through with you, someone else could see you and still want you. 

“Not really, but I didn’t take you as someone who backs down from a challenge.” 

He watched you for a second, taking you in now that you were up close and fully facing him. He finally shook his head, took a big swig of from his glass, and said, “Not usually. This isn’t a challenge I can win, though. Now, is it?”

Your smile fell a bit as you turned back around to face the bartender, and you muttered against the glass pressed to your lips, “No, it’s really not.”  

A few tables over Bucky was adjusting his bow tie, aggressively. He wanted out of the damn thing, and he wanted to find you, which was evident to everyone around him by his constant fidgeting. 

“Where is your gal?” Steve pushed with that stupid dopy grin. 

Bucky honestly had no idea where you had gotten off to. He had to make the rounds mingle with people he would rather not, and in the midst of it all, he lost you. It looked like you had made your way towards the bar through the sea of stiff suits and chiffon so he could start there and work his way around the room. 

“I don’t know, Stevie.” He patted the taller man's shoulder. “I’m gonna go find out, ya?” 

He navigated his way through the crowd, making a hard left when he heard Stark’s loud obnoxious rambling about what was art and what was not. It was bad enough he had to come to this damn thing and bid on art he wasn’t going to hang up, but no one was going to tell him what crappy art he could or could not bid on. Someone called his name, and he turned back to give them a quick handshake and a ‘how ya doing.’ Bucky spun back around, and his heart dropped when he spotted you, fell right out of his chest, and dropped to his feet. You were laughing, harder than he’s seen in a long time, and it was thanks to the young guy next to you. 

Bucky waited too long. He should have said something in Boston or before he loved you, but it was all too late now.  

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

It took Bucky a long time to find you at the bar, which you thought was strange. He should know by now at events like that you always go to the bar when you get separated, but by the tension in his shoulders, you assumed something happened with a client or with Tony Stark. Tony tended to hit all the right buttons where Bucky was concerned, or that was what Steve told you.  It wasn’t long after you found each other that Bucky asking if you were ready to leave, assuming he meant back to his place you readily agreed. The drive was silent, and he didn’t take you back to his penthouse, he dove you out to Brooklyn to your apartment. It wasn’t uncommon to spend nights at your place, but with The Plaza being so close to his, you thought that’s where you would spend the night. 

You guessed wrong. 

Bucky quietly walked you up to your door and stood a few steps back, waiting for you to unlock it. The door swung open to the dark apartment, and you immediately began to remove your heels before you even stepped through the door.  Bucky watched from the hallway as you stepped out of your heels, letting them hang off your fingers by the tiny ankle strap. You turned to look at him, sultry smile in place. “Are you going to come in so I can thank you for tonight?” 

You couldn’t read his expression, but it was one you’ve never seen on his face, not while he was looking at you. You didn’t know what happened tonight, but it was almost if he didn’t want to come in -- he didn’t want you. 

"Not tonight, doll. I have an early day tomorrow. I should get home.” He pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, the same way he would Sharon, and it left you... confused, heartbroken, and frankly a little discouraged. You knew he could read the confusion clouding your eyes and the slight disappointment you were emitting, but he made no effort to explain his actions. He simply carried on his way as if he had already given you a proper goodbye. 

“Should I come by for dinner tomorrow?” You squeaked, finding yourself on unfamiliar ground, you were nervous to ask him for the first time since you’ve known him -- not because you thought he would be mad at you for speaking up but because you feared the answer would be no.  

“I can meet you at your place after you get off.” 

Bucky stopped halfway down the hallway, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his dress pants. He looked up at the crack in the ceiling as if he was asking the Gods for something or waiting for some mysterious answer to fall through the crevice. He never turned back around to look at you, but he did turn his head to the side so you could catch a glimpse of the darkened blue now shading his eyes. His reply cut deeper than his refusal to face you.

“I don't know. It’s going to be a hectic day. I may not have time for dinner. I’ll give you a call tomorrow if I have time, okay?”

“Yeah,” you whispered feebly. “Okay.” 

You watched as Bucky made his way down the stairs because the elevator in your building was out again. He never looked back. You shut the door once you could no longer see him and dropped your two hundred dollar shoes on the floor by the door. The cold wood of the door hitting your back made you shiver as you slid down to the floor, ruining your dress, you were sure. Not that you cared about the damn gown or the stupid shoes. If you had recognized what tonight was, you would have relished in his touch, taken more kisses than given, and begged for sweeter whispers. 

You hadn’t realized this was his goodbye. If you had known, you would have loved him a little harder, not to change his mind, but to give you one more sweet memory to live in. 

The memories you had would have to do because it seemed as though your number was up. Bucky just didn’t know how to tell you. 

Crimson Portrait (Seto Kaiba x Reader)

So as I said in my drabble a couple days ago, I’m wanting to write some short fics to get back into the swing of things and I wanted to gift said drabbles to some mutual I adore. Next on my list is @ohyema​ the top Vampire and Yugioh enthusiast on this site! I’m sure you’ve all seen her amazing art floating around already, but in case not please check out her stuff (and reblog the heck outta it!), the way she colors her pieces and adds dramatic flair is something I aspire to tbh <3 

For this fic I decided to spread my proverbial wings and write Seto for a change (don’t get used to this though, Kaiba fans, I’m still not a Kaiba stan lol) and I hope you enjoy our dark, mysterious blood thirsty, CEO ;)

You gulped, eyes traveling up the metal and glass of the building as though counting each towering floor would make it any less intimidating. It wasn’t just the size, of course, it was the marble path spread out in front of the entry, it was the literal red carpet on the other side of doors- it was the gold etching and suited man around said doors! You found yourself clutching the portfolio case under your arm even tighter to your chest. Subtle lights brightened the edges of the building, though you were sure they were meant to make it shine like a beacon of wealth at night, rather than give it any cheer or levity. 

This was by far the fanciest place you had ever been and the doorman casting a glance at you made you tug at your clothes for probably the seventeenth time since heading here. The outfit was fine, you reminded yourself; professional, but simple. Nothing that would impede your movements and work, all while still being close enough to your true fashion to offer you some self assurance. And you needed every ounce of self assurance possible right now.

After taking in a long, deep breath and straightening your posture, you started for the door. Despite the high chance that he was suspicious of you, the doorman pulled on the finely crafted handle and allowed you entry with a polite bow, nothing less. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to acknowledge him, but you returned the silent respect automatically. Then again, it didn’t really matter if you broke etiquette, you weren’t the high-class that lived here anyway.

The lobby was just as fancy as the outside. Your shoes clicked on more marble floors, and rich colored walls wearing frames of fine art surrounded you. There was a large wooden desk to one side, and the receptionist behind it clocked you as a non-resident, because she instantly greeted you with a “can I help you, miss?”

“Um- yes! Yes, I’m here to visit Mr. Seto Kaiba?” you followed the claim with your name and silently praying that was all you needed. The only way you were getting passed the front desk was if Kaiba (or his assistant) left your name with the attendant.

With a polite smile plastered on her face, she nodded and typed something quick on a computer obscured by the large backing of the desk. “Ah yes, Mr. Kaiba is expecting you. Please take the center elevator, he’s on floor 40.”

She waved her hand to the other side of the lobby, where three elevators with doors as clean and reflective as new mirrors stood. You gave her a quick thank you before following her instructions. The inside of the elevators were just as polished, the metallic sides reflecting your image. 

As the floors passed by, you checked to make sure the journey here hadn’t ruffled your appearance any, tucking hairs back into place, swiping your hand over the pristine portfolio briefcase, tugging at your hems yet again. You almost jumped when the elevator dinged, announcing your arrival at the top floor. You waited a few heart beats, long enough to start worrying you had the wrong floor- until it finally slid open.

The apartment was dimly lit, all the ceiling lights set to a dull, intimate glow one might see in a fancy bar. Then a different wave of nerves overcome you, hopefully this guy didn’t have the wrong idea of what service you were providing. 

“Are you going to come in, or continue wasting my time?”

You did jump that time, especially with how impatient the deep rumble of a voice sounded. With hurried steps you entered the apartment and ventured down the short hallway, following the voice. The hallway quickly opened into an expansive room, a couch, coffee table, TV, and desk on one side, and a kitchen, breakfast bar, dining table, and wet bar on the other. On the living room side, where the desk’s back sat, there was a large floor-to-ceiling window, the curtains pulled back to reveal the spiderweb of city lights and life beyond. 

Of course, what really drew your attention was the man standing in front of the window.

He hadn’t turned from the view to look at you let alone greet you, hands tucked in his pockets as he watched the pulsing city life. He wore a white suit, with a blue button-up shirt and a dark blue tie, making for nice, clean lines for your portrait. Seto Kaiba. A household name in most countries, the secretive CEO of one of the biggest companies in the world who’s fame for innovation was only matched by his notorious hermit tendencies. He appeared on magazines often enough, but many pointed out that they were likely deliberate presentations to the world. Deliberate to alleviate rumors because, besides them, neither Kaiba nor his younger brother were ever seen out in public and even rather rarely in their own corporate buildings.

You weren’t exactly someone who bought into that celebrity gossip, but it was still rather surreal seeing him in person like this.

“You can set up on the other side of the desk,” he started, still not turning from the window. “This is the background I want, I expect you to be able to handle it considering the portraits on your online portfolio.”

You tried not to gulp, “Of course, but it may take me an extra session or two to get the details.”

“As long as it’s done before I return to Domino,” he answered in a drawl, then, finally turned to face you. He placed a slender hand on the back of the leather desk chair, and you quickly made yourself busy with setting up. 

You felt that nerve-wracking, almost burning sensation of eyes watching you, and you could just imagine the icy blue of the eyes, remembering how Kaiba’s gaze always pierced through the magazine covers and into the viewer. Instead of thinking of how hawk-like he was watching you, you focused on how challenging and fun it will be to capture that quality in your painting.

Once your blank canvas was set up and your tools were spread out, ready for use, you finally locked eyes with the man. “I’m ready when you are, Mr. Kaiba, please take whatever pose you feel most comfortable with.” You had to ignore the shiver that ran down your spine, especially when he held your gaze for a moment more before finally shifting his stance.

After some verbal redirecting so his pose looked the best and got the key parts of the cityscape behind him, you actually got started on the canvas. Tokyo Tower stood like a sentinel behind him, making for nice framing, and he was a natural at posing, of course choosing one that was strong and commanding to the onlookers. 

It was quiet as you worked, he wasn’t playing any music, nor offering any chitchat. It was only then that you realized just how alone you two were in the penthouse, didn’t rich dudes like him have platoons of bodyguards?

Within the free seconds you had between maping your piece, your mind wandered back to the rumors surrounding the Kaiba family and their reclusiveness. Tales of Kaiba insisting on specially tinted windows for all his buildings and never being seen in the light of day led to some interesting ones. Mostly conspiracies about him being the secret illegitimate son of royalty, and inheriting hemophilia from said parentage. Now, noting how pale he looked against the background of vibrant city lights, you could slightly understand buying into that rumor. 

Not only that, but, the more glances you took while working, the more you noticed just how...sickly the man looked. His cheeks were a bit sunken, made worse by the dark circles under his eyes And on top of that, there was a sore redness around his eyes that was seeming to get worse every time you peered passed your canvas. None of his magazine pictures ever showcased these...unwell qualities. He must just be tired, you decided, being a CEO likely didn’t allow for much sleep, and here he was posing for a portrait late at night.   

You were just finishing up his outline when you decided attempt conversation. If he didn’t like it he would just tell you to shut up, after all.

“I was actually pretty surprised when you hired me, most people don’t bother with traditional portraits any more.”

There was awhile of silence, where Kaiba’s eyes flickered towards you before staring off to the other side of the room again. Your were just taking the mental note not to try a conversation again, when-

“It was my brother’s idea. I always look ahead, and cut out traditions and old ways that no longer serve me. But, he made the point that there are some classics still worth something. Besides, improving things like canvas portraits with modern settings was appealing.”

You found yourself smiling and nodding along, “Yeah, I really like the idea of having the city in the background, it’ll make for a really unique piece!” 

After picking your next brush, you peered over to refresh your mental image of the scene, only to find him staring at you again. His expression was rather indecipherable, and though his eyes were almost hooded the rest of his features were as blank as an empty page. Your heart was practically beating in your ears as you stayed transfixed in his gaze, which you swore were actually hued in red now, instead of solid icy blue.

A sound similar to a squeak, and you finally broke the contact to flick your gaze down to the hand resting on the back of the desk chair. His fingers were a sickly white, seeming to have no blood in them as his nails dug into the leather with a grip so strong he might be on the verge of puncturing the fabric.

Feeling that nervous heat again you quickly averted your gaze back to the canvas, even going as far as to shuffle behind it just slightly as though you could hide.

That didn’t help, much like when you were setting up, you could feel his gaze burning into you. Maybe he was offended, upset that you stared back at him, but he had no right to judge considering he was staring first! Seriously what was with this guy?

You weren’t sure how much time passed after that, it felt like an eternity but you were sure it wasn’t much longer than a half hour or so. You only stole glances at him when you absolutely felt like you had to refresh your mental image of the scene before giving another stroke of the brush. You avoided any eye contact even then and managed to skim over his face only once, during which you noted any previous color in his cheeks had vanished completely, but that was beside the point. You were just telling your brain to stop conjuring up theory’s on why he looked so sick and biting your tongue to keep from asking if he was alright when-

“We’re done for the night, you can continue tomorrow.”

If the sudden dismissal wasn’t enough to snap your attention back to him, the heavy breath within the words was. Your eyes snapped up to Kaiba and before you even registered his movement you were jumping from a harsh thud! He had removed his hand from the chair so swiftly that it spun and thudded into the desk with enough force to crack furniture of a lesser quality. 

Now Kaiba was pacing around his desk, gaunt jaw clenched so tight he might very well chip a tooth. Not wanting to argue with someone who apparently had the mood swings of an angst-ridden teen, you planned to start packing up without a word. However, just as he passed the coffee table, Kaiba took in a sharp breath and doubled over so fast he barely caught himself on the glass top.

Empathy won in a heartbeat and before you could reconsider you were by his side saying a frantic, “Are you okay? Mr. Kaiba you look sick, should I call a-?”

The concerned questions died in your throat and so too did a scream when something too red and too luminous to be eyes flashed up at you. The next moment something was wrapping around the prison that held your words and scream. The third moment your back was slammed none too gently into a wall you could have sworn was half a room away and a body colder than any you had felt before was pressing into you.

Eyes wide, body held still with fear, all you could do was take in a few shallow breaths as Kaiba’s mouth hovered over your neck. One heart thundering in your ears, two heartbeats, three-

But nothing happened. 

The hand pressing into your clavicle hadn’t tightened, and the mouth hovering dangerously close had not moved in for the kill (proverbial or otherwise), rather, Kaiba’s body seemed to be as frozen as yours.

Or at least you thought it was. A moment later you finally registered that Kaiba was shaking. Not violently by any means, hell, it was barely notable, but he was definitely shaking, as if he was trying to keep sickly shivers from wracking his body. His other hand moved up to grip your upper arm then, and his fingers were tight but not quite painful as he held you there.

“I shouldn’t have kept our appointment.”

The words were so shocking to your reeling mind that you almost didn’t register them. They were said lowly, in something akin to a growl or rumble.

“I should have told you to get out the moment I-”

Something on the other side of the condo sounded, a ding you had heard when first arriving on the floor, and not a second later footsteps were thundering.

“Seto!”

The youthful voice almost snapped you back to your sense enough to move, maybe even break free of his hold, but in that same moment  you felt something sharp graze the skin of your neck as Kaiba’s face turned to meet the newcomer.

Thankfully your recovered control wasn’t needed, as the moment Kaiba locked sites on the newcomer, he released his hold on you. In a fearful blink as you recovered your balance, you saw Kaiba make his way across the room faster than any human possible could.

That’s when you saw who had intervened; Mokuba Kaiba, the youth of the Kaiba empire. He was looking pale and worried, looking between his brother and you as Seto snatching something out of his hands. 

You caught the sight of something encasing red as Seto tore the package open, but he halted long enough to growl another command, “You need to leave, now.”

Your legs were finally able to move again, when you caught site of something that confirmed the impossible theories running though your head: sharp, pearly fangs were flashing between Seto’s lips.

Peach and Poppy

Characters: Declan Harp x Scarlet Dixon (OFC)

Summary: Declan Harp AU. Set in the 1970′s, Declan is a misbehaving psychiatric patient and Dr. Dixon or Dixie as he likes to call her, is a tenacious and underestimated new hospital director. Will this new job get the best of her delicate sensibilities like people are warning her? Will the charm of one of her patient’s awaken something in her she can’t come back from?

Warnings/Tags: Talk of manipulation, graphic language. 

Click on my screen name then go to Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. Please leave a like, reblog or comment if you enjoyed this! It makes me want to write more of what you want if you let me know!

1975 was an exciting year for psychiatry and it was shaping up to be one for Scarlett. She sat in the driver's seat, something she’d had to work so hard to accomplish. Her father had insisted with her new position of such importance it would look proper to be driven around again. But she’d only been living on her own for a few years now and she wasn’t ready to give up that freedom again.

She supposed he truly had a soft spot for her because he hadn't been entirely dismissive of this rebelliousness. But he always gave in to her in the end.

“Those feminists out there in… heathen California and such. Dixie darlin, I brought you up to be a respected little lady. You’re a dang doctor! Miss Georgia! You’re smart and gorgeous as the day is long honey, why would you wanna go and act ugly like that?”

This always came with the intimidating insinuation that it would sure be a shame if her actions were what lost him the next election.

With a wide-eyed, “It won’t be a problem, daddy.” He’d give her a hug and lift up her chin, tell her she looked like her mama and she’d be proud.

If he’d wanted a daughter to fall for that maybe he shouldn’t have let her become a psychiatrist.

But Scarlet or Dixie as those close to her called her, her daddy had been right about one thing, she was smart. She’d learned how to play the game in her favor long ago. In a public and pressured life like hers, looking how she did, she learned early what was expected of her and how men were going to treat her. She was allowed a bit of protection. Her father wasn’t just some kiss ass politician. He’d been known to make a few people disappear, and the whiff of a threat always around him, so his daughter would understandably come with some consequences. But now she’d become her own person, a doctor, and had a house and life of her own that she was still having fun exploring.

She was an accomplished psychiatrist. Engaged to one of her daddy’s lawyers and now the head chief of a psychiatric hospital. Which was where she was headed right now in the new car her daddy had bought her. A slick thing that made her feel confident and a bit bad if she were being honest. This is not a feeling she was accustomed to, and on this morning drive out of the city into rural Georgia for her first day on the job, she was feeling a lot of things she never had before.

It wasn’t a dream job by any stretch. This was going to be work. But with so many specialty fellowships, she felt like she had what it took to turn the place around.

When she pulled into the parking lot it was clear the job was bigger than anticipated. She stood outside her car with a bag stuffed full of files and looked up at the daunting hospital. It’d been around much longer than she had. Served as a sanitarium during the TB outbreaks, now showing its age and functions as Sunny Valley Psychiatric Hospital. Much preferred to the dated terminology of lunatic asylum it had formerly held. The old chief had been there for over 30 years. A lot had changed outside of Sunny Valley but the inside hadn't. She was going to have to gut and rebuild this place from the ground up, she thought as she took a deep breath and made her way in.

———-

The murmurs started long before she’d stepped foot into the hospital. She hadn’t expected a warm welcome, it’d been a stressful time for everyone with a regime change, but the doctors, some older than her father, and all men weren’t going to be an easy sell on her as their new boss.

She understood from a statistical standpoint. She hadn’t been practicing for that many years. But in that time she had been published and was known for her unique approach to care. Her father had also donated a large sum of money to the state's Psychiatric Association. Which certainly didn’t hurt her chances. —————

So she came in with a positive, self-assured attitude. She had a game plan and now the hard work began. She meets with the doctors on staff with bold new orders. She would meet with each individual to go over the patient and their care plan. She would lay out new directives and goals, telling them she was bringing them into a new age of medicine where new research and medicine are all utilized with psychotherapy, medication, and the arts. It went over about as well as she expected. At least she was prepared for every rebuttal and excuse as she was an avid reader of medical journals. She’d infuriated a handful who resigned, but she preferred to bring in new life anyway.

She met with every employee, from groundskeepers and kitchen to housekeeping. She gave them her plans for updates and explained she was going to start looking for funding immediately and to expect changes and upgrades. Most of the staff liked her new hands-on approach, not the idea of more work but instead the idea of someone who would listen to them being in charge.

She spent days buried in files with arguments on treatment and headaches. The lingering stench of cigar smoke still hung in her office no matter how widely she opened the windows. She’d laid the base for her work, now it was time to move onto the most important part, the patients themselves.

————————-

It was Friday and the exhausting week was nowhere near finished. However, she thought she’d been able to check off a huge phase of her plan, a satisfying thick line through it on her goal list.

“There is actually one other patient that we uh… forgot.” A male nurse says as he hangs in her doorway.

“Forgot?” She says with the tone of a scolding mother. “How do you FORGET a patient?”

“He’s been in isolation and we don’t go down there much so the night crew didn’t tell us he was still down there.”

She wanted to bang her head into the desk. She thought she’d processed how poorly they were treating people but they kept on surprising her.

“This...this will not happen again. We don’t lose track of patients...of PEOPLE. We are not that sort of establishment now. I want a new record-keeping system for this sort of thing. Have it to me by the end of next week.”

“Yes ma’am." The frustrated younger man said.

“It’s Doctor Dixon. Now show me to him.” She shoos him out of the doorway.

Not even the golden hour light could salvage the depressing aesthetic of the hospital. Peeling paint and chipped tiles she had to skip over with her heels were everywhere she went. She pulled her white lab coat over her matching suit set as they made their way into an even more dreary sort of hallway. Some doors weren’t even on the hinges and inside were torn padded cells in a neglected wing of the building.

“I’d expect to find something like this in the old abandoned B building but not here. You still keep people in these things?” She says with a heavy sigh of frustration.

“Just this one. And we don’t have to use it often. Well. Just for him.” She shrugs as he finds his key.

“Who is him?”

“Harp. He’s… difficult.”

“How so?”

“Prone to violent outbursts, sleeping with other patients… staff.”

Scarlet lets out a scoff. “And he should be forgotten in a dark tiny room for that?”

“Uhh.. it’s… where we put him when he won’t listen.”

“Just… open it? Okay. I’ll deal with you and this… horrid treatment plan you have allowed here later."

“You sure you don’t want me to get someone else to help, he mi-“

“Open the damn door.” She ordered more sternly, whatever it is I can handle it.” she insisted loudly and with a glare.

For a few heavy moments, nothing happens, just an open door into a very dark room that the light doesn’t reach. The white noise of the bodies inside the building beyond the wing’s heavy double doors was slight, just a steady beat of her pulse in her ears as her eyes tried to focus. The nurse stands in a defensive body position as Scarlet peers into the room taking tentative steps forward.

She waits and then hears movement. The aid moves into the room and she follows behind, seeing how this is going to go.

“C’mon Harp.” He grunts and uses his foot to roll the man onto his front.

“Did you just…” the face of the aid turns fast to a very angry face staring daggers into him. “...kick him?”

“No ma’am I was just rolling him so he could get up easier.”

She hears a muffled grunt from the man on the floor who’s slowly moving.

“Shut up.” The aid mutters down.

Dixie takes a deep breath to compose herself. “Go to your supervisor's office and wait for me.” She states coldly.

“Ma’am I-“

“I don’t care what you have to say anymore alright? Every time I’ve given you a chance you have only continuously failed so you’re fired. Go tell HR, and send one of the female nurses this way, please.”

She gets the death stare she’d seen a million times before when correcting and enacting her authority to a man. “Yes ma’am.” He grits through his teeth.

As she hears his footsteps down the hall she begins to kneel next to this unfortunate man. “I would like to apologize for this treatment, Mister Harp.”

She sees his face, a beard just started to fill out and as unkempt as his shirt and greasy hair. It laid in the way his sleeping had moved it, he had crusts on his face and his eyes were squeezed shut from the light. She helps him sit up, being gentle but having to exert to help the large man. She let his eyes adjust and when he finally opened them to look at her his face contorted into a very confused expression.

“I’m Doctor Dixon. The previous Chief passed away and I’m his replacement. I’ll be taking care of the hospital now. And I would like to personally apologize for the mistreatment you’ve been given here previously. This is archaic and holds no scientific grounds to help patients based on formal studies.”

He really only heard a few of her rushed words. She’d lost him towards the end there but whatever she said it had sounded nice. His ears worked better than his eyes at the moment and the almost husky, thick, and sweet feminine Georgia accent rolling out of her painted mouth like sweat dripping down a glass was making him melt too.

“So the old guy finally bit it?” He croaks out after clearing his throat.

“Yes. Heart attack they said.”

“Mmmph.” Was his emotionless reply. From how he’s been treated she didn’t blame him for not being upset. So far no one had really acted upset about the news. It was very telling.

“Who are you?” He focuses his eyes on her.

“Doctor Dixon. I’m here to replace the Chief that just died.”

“Ah.” He nods and then winces.

“Would you mind if we got you out of here and cleaned up? We could speak over a good meal, I'd love to hear what you have to say about the previous administration. I want to help.”

As another nurse swept in, a broad farmer's daughter, helped her loosen the jacket and get him to the washroom. “You want to… know what I think?” He lets out a hoarse chuckle.

“Of course. You’re a part of this hospital and if I’m running it I want to know everything. Good and the bad.”

He nods and focuses on using his legs, the journey to the bath hadn’t felt this long in a while. “You take your time, schedule him down for some Physical Therapy tomorrow please. I’ll go make sure your room is ready.” She says reassuringly. He sees her disappear into the fuzz of the distance, his injection still making him groggy. —————— He’d slicked back his wild and uneven hair with water and was currently hunched over his desk in his room being allowed to eat in peace. It was nice.

“Hello? Mr. Harp?” A slightly familiar voice from his doorway says. A little redhead with a daughter of a dentist smile and perfectly coiffed big hair came and sat in the seat next to his desk. “I managed to grab an extra pudding. You want it?” She sits it on his desk as she has a seat.

It’d been a while since he’d seen anyone new and she was bright and shiny and there was plenty to look at. He looks her over and then to the cup. “A bribe?”

“No. I thought for all the hell the former establishment put you through that at the moment an extra pudding cup is the least I could do.” She gives a real smile and a huff of a laugh. Been a long time since someone had interacted with him like he wasn’t in a psychiatric ward.

“Hmmph.” He grunts and accepts the offer.

“I did want to hear about your treatment here. As I said. I want this hospital to be a place where people can receive the help and support they need to achieve their goals. I’m not here to be a warden. I’m here to be a doctor. I took an oath to help others and I seem to be one of the few around that took that seriously.” She huffs.

“You don’t act like a doctor.”

“I’m a horse of a different color I presume.”

He nods in acknowledgment and continues eating.

“I wanted to know the good and bad of the hospital previously. Because I want to fix things. The men responsible for putting you in that cell have all been fired I'd like you to know.”

“Really...taking charge of the place aren’t ya?”

“I’m being met with much resistance.” She admits with a smile.

“Let me add to it then. I have conditions.”

“Conditions? What for?” She leaned closer and he could smell her perfume. It’d been a while since he’d been buried in the neck of a woman that smelled expensive like she did.

“For this information you want.”

“Oh. Well okay. What would you like Mr. Harp?”

“For starters call me Declan.” He waves his hand. “You’re gonna be my doctor right?”

“Yes, I am.”

“So I’ll be having sessions with you now?”

“Correct.”

“We starting tomorrow?”

“If you wish.”

“I do. And I want you to have me something waiting in your office when I come in.”

“What would that be?”

“A cheeseburger.”

“A cheeseburger?” She laughs.

“The biggest you can find from the greasiest place you know of.”

She laughs and nods enthusiastically. “Consider it done.” She says happily.

“Really?”

“Why not?” she shrugs. “Perfectly reasonable request.”

He blinks in surprise at her but with dark narrowed eyes. “I’ll sing like a bird for you after I have that burger then.”

“Consider it a deal.” She holds out her hand to shake on it and the trust she was showing for him not to yank her down and have his way with her was astounding.

“Lookin forward to it, Doc…?” He shakes her hand.

“Dixon.” She adds with no annoyance for repeating it.

“Doctor Dixon. Alright. See you then.”

“Looking forward to it.” She repeats back playfully and he’s left with a visible confused expression on his face for the pleasant interaction he’d just had with someone in charge. He didn’t know if he was happy about or ashamed of himself. But she had certainly caught his interest.

——————————

“Hey, there jailbird.” says the woman in the worn chair. She was sitting incorrectly as always, this time with her legs over the arm of the chair.

“Hey, Alex.” He sighs to his only real friend in the hospital.

“Was this a new record?” She asks, turning her head from the old television in the activity room towards a tired and beaten up looking Declan.

“I don’t know. I was the one in the box I don’t know what day it is.”

“Thursday.”

“Fuck me.”

“Yeah, you really pissed them off last time.” She laughs. “Can’t keep your charm to yourself can you?”

“No ma’am.” He wears a sly grin. “Speaking of have you seen that new doctor?”

“New doctor director.” She corrects with a point of a finger. “Yes, I have.”

“What do you think about her?”

“I like her.”

“Really? You like no one.” He questions her motives.

“I saw her today. She’s...different.”

“Yeah. Different. That’s what I thought.” He hums in thought.

“I’m surprised you haven’t made sweet sweet love to that little peachy assed firecracker.” Alex jokes.

“Oh, it’s been on mind ever since I came to and saw her walk out of my room in that tight little skirt.”

“She is...yeah.” Alex blushes slightly. “But she was actually nice to me. Was strange.”

“Yeah me too. It was...new.” He runs his arm and settles into his chair.

“She wrote down my complaints. Apparently, she has for everyone so far. She called down to the office and fired Jones because I told her what he did to me.”

“Yeah, she fired numb nuts that threw me in.”

“You should play nice with this one. She might be a good one.”

“I wouldn’t bruise that peach.”

“You’ll have to practice your lying. You’ve gotten rusty.” She grins.

“I don’t plan on it. If she comes through with my request I’m gonna tell her about all this bullshit.”

“She even mentioned… getting out.” She adds in a quieter more serious tone and Declan immediately notices and changes his focus.

“What’d she say?” He whispers with great interest.

“Apparently a few years back the...psychiatry people said homosexuality was no longer a mental illness. So she’s going to work to get that removed from my paperwork and we can work on the rest. It’ll “improve my chances of being released tremendously” Alex mocks the doctor's heavy southern drawl.

“Yeah she’s a little belle isn’t she?” He laughs.

“I mean her name is Scarlett for fucks sake. She is a debutante.”

“Well fuck me that’s a sexy name.”

“Don’t I know it. About creamed my cotton panties when she told me. Dr. Scarlett Dixon.” She mocks again.

“I’m gonna make her cream hers.” Declan promises with wiggling eyebrows.

“I’m sure you will stud. But play nice. She could be useful. Plus she has a fiancé. Didn’t you see that big rock on her hand?”

“I didn’t.” He shakes his head. “Never stopped me before.”

“Not much has.”

——————————-

Scarlet got home late, almost nodding off from overwork and the calming quiet of the drive. She yawns and wakes herself up before entering her house she shared with her fiancé currently.

“Hello, Phillip.” She sighs out, seeing him with his glasses on and hunched over his desk in his office by the front door. “Did Wilamena make dinner as I requested?”

“Yeah. It’s...in the fridge.” He doesn’t look up when responding.

“Do you have a minute? I had a big day today.” She says sheepishly.

He looks up and sighs. “What is it?”

“I just wanted to tell you about my day is all. Big changes coming with this job.” She bounces on her feet excitedly.

“You’re working in a nuthouse Dixie how interesting can it be?”

“Very. Actually. And that’s a rather offensive term so please don’t refer to it in that way. Especially at the fundraiser coming up.”

“When was that again?”

“Tuesday.” She sighs. She’d told him so many times and it was so important to her.

“Mmm.” He answers.

“What does Hmm mean?” She asks with her irritation showing.

“I might have something that night.”

“Of course you do.” She mutters and rubs her temple.

“I’m a busy man.” He says lazily but defensively.

“Yeah. And I’m a busy woman and still manage to find time for everything.” She says quietly but sharply.

“Do you want the work I do for your father to suffer? Do you want me to mess up one of his legal proceedings and have him arrested? Because that’s what happens when I don’t work Dixie.”

With her jaw tight she huffs air out of her nose in frustration. “Of course I don’t.” She says bitterly. “I just wish you had time to be my fiancé and not just my father's lawyer. We don’t even… sleep together anymore. You realize it’s been months?”

“Has it?” He asks rhetorically with his eyes back to his desk.

“Yes. I had a good day and thought I could share my successes and you could validate my hard work and I could have some attention from you to celebrate things going well.”

“I need to know these things in advance. I can’t just up and be in a mood to give you attention. I’m-“

“A busy man. I know.” She sighs and lets her hands hit her hips. She went to bed frustrated and alone after eating cold leftovers while standing in her kitchen. Who was she to give people advice anyway? She certainly didn’t have her shit together.

@vale0413 @littledeadgirlwalking @jaegeeeeer @phillipkopusimagines-and-stuff @mjolnir96 @xmother-mortemx @this-isnt-madness  @thors-hair-extensions @divadinag @s-h-e-w-r-i-t-e-s 

Oh So Many Years: Ch. 4 - I’m Alive

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary:

The tournament has been announced! Hermione expresses some conflicted feelings, and Fred and George make a harrowing discovery.

Warnings: Swearing, Death, Smut/18+ NSFW

Author’s Note: I will now be updating this story every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)! Please feel free to like, comment, and reblog! xoxo

Masterlist

<< Chapter 3

If I should break My silent streak Will knives come out To cut my cheek?

  Hermione couldn’t help the swell of pride in her chest at Fred’s acknowledgement of being bested. Truly, it wasn’t a thing to be proud of. There was no joy in winning a game amongst idiots. What was the muggle phrase again? Play stupid games, win stupid prizes? Either way, the last thing she ever expected to fill her with smug glee was Frederick Weasley’s approval. No. She shook her head. It wasn’t his approval that made her feel this way. It was the glorious relief of getting the prat to shut up once again, that’s what it was. But if that were true, then why was her mind drifting back to last night’s conversation and the gentle banter the two shared? She felt it then too. The glowing sense of satisfaction that he not only approved of her mental prowess when it came to the art of repartee, but that he also found amusement in it.

Unable to ponder on the thought for long, she turned her attention to Dumbledore as he announced for the year’s sorting to begin. Hermione watched as the group of frightened first years filed into the Great Hall; their eyes wide with wonder. She remembered her first moment seeing the magnificence of Hogwarts. No amount of reading had prepared her for all that the school had to offer. The sorting went by quickly, Hermione clapping and cheering politely when one of the new students joined their table. Some students, especially the Gryffindor students, got quite into the sorting, seeing it as some competition. Hermione was all for house pride, but she really didn’t see it necessary to boo when a child was placed in Slytherin or laugh when placed in Hufflepuff. Glaring over at Ron, Harry, and the Weasley twins, Hermione wished they would conduct themselves with a bit more civility. Honestly, the school could do with more house unity in her opinion. Still, they acquired quite a fair number of new Gryffindors, including the Collin Creevey’s little brother who was already gawking at Harry like he was some kind of god.

Hermione snorted. She imagined they wouldn’t feel that way if they ever had to help him with his Astronomy homework.

Once the sorting ceremony was over, Dumbledore stood up again, his midnight blue robes sparkling with silver stars. Hermione always secretly wondered where he got his robes. They were the most ornate and intricate pieces she’d ever observed in the wizarding world. Surely, they didn’t sell them anywhere in Diagon Alley. At least, she never saw anything quite like them in Madame Malkin’s shop. Perhaps Twilfitt and Tatting’s. She watched as their headmaster adjusted his half-moon spectacles and cleared his throat.

“Good evening and welcome back to another fantastic year at Hogwarts. I would like to begin with a few announcements. First, as many of you know, the forest on the grounds is strictly prohibited to all students. Second, the wizarding village of Hogsmeade is also off limits to students below their third year or for those without permi—” Dumbledore was cut off by a loud crack of thunder and the groan of the large Great Hall doors opening. All heads turned towards the entrance, confused by the sudden interruption. What they found was a short and stalky man standing haggardly as the heavy wooden door closed behind him. A sense of unease washed across Hermione as she watched him enter the hall slowly. His long, patched robes hung heavy on him, dripping water onto the floor as he limped towards the head table. He leaned heavily on a thick, wooden staff and grunted with every step. Wet, tangled grey hair hung in his face – a face marred with thick and grotesque scars. But it wasn’t the grueling number of scars that unsettled her. It was his eyes. One eye was small, dark, and beady, while the other was a striking blue that never seemed to stop moving. It swiveled around in all directions, never focusing on one spot for long as he kept his pace towards the headmaster. As he approached, Dumbledore smiled unfazed. They shook hands briefly across the table in a familiar manner before the mysterious wizard limped to take a seat at the spot usually reserved for the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

“What good timing my old friend, I was just about to introduce you!” Dumbledore exclaimed delightfully. “This year, the Defense Against the Dark Arts position will be filled by a very dear friend of mine, Alastor Moody. Alastor?” Dumbledore motioned to the scraggly man. Moody stood and gave a curt nod to the mass of students. A spatter of confused, yet polite applause greeted him. Hermione stared at the man speculatively. She had read about Alastor Moody. Some called him Mad-Eye Moody, which observing him now, she could see why the nickname was appointed. A famous auror and dark wizard catcher, he was renowned for his part in catching most of the known Death Eaters currently in Azkaban. However, over the past few years he had become known for his increasing paranoia. If the rumors were true, Hermione wondered if he was truly qualified to be teaching young children.

“Right! Lastly, I have the unfortunate duty of informing you that our annual Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not be taking place this year,” announced Dumbledore. His announcement was met with numerous cries of outrage from the tables of students. Some of which were most loudly emanating from Oliver Wood down the table. Hermione frowned sadly in his direction before looking to Harry and Ron who seemed equally as devastated but more entirely confused. While Hermione was disappointed for them, she couldn’t help but feel a small jolt of glee. At least she wouldn’t have to spend hours in the cold watching Harry try to kill himself on a broom.

“This is due to a very special opportunity—” Dumbledore went on “—Over the coming months, our school has the honor hosting an event that hasn’t taken place in over a century. It is my pleasure to announce that Hogwarts will be home to the Triwizard Tournament!”

“You’re joking!” Fred Weasley exclaimed, his voice ringing loud through the hall. Hermione turned to glare at him for his incredibly rude outburst, but ultimately rolled her eyes when the entirety of the hall began to laugh, including Dumbledore himself.

“No, Mr. Weasley, I am not joking,” the headmaster stated before continuing to inform them all on the history of the Triwizard Tournament. Hermione of course, knew all about the tournament. There was a whole section in Hogwarts, a History dedicated to the event. While the competition was a great opportunity for selected students to show off their magical abilities, it was also quite dangerous. In fact, the whole reason the tournament hadn’t taken place in centuries was because of the overt amount of deaths it resulted in. She warried a glance at Harry across the table. This was exactly the kind of thing he would find himself mixed up in.

“I’m going for it!” she heard Fred whisper down the table. Rolling her eyes, she doubted he had half the knowledge and strength it took to win something as monumental as the Triwizard Tournament. As Dumbledore went on, the hall became restless. Student voices, excitedly discussing the tournament and all it had to offer, soon rose in volume that Hermione deemed quite inappropriate.

“Now, now, I know all of you are understandably eager to participate and win the Triwizard Cup for Hogwarts—” lamented Dumbledore “—however, as one of the compromises made in order to bring the tournament back, myself, the heads of the participating schools, and the Ministry of Magic have all agreed to place an age restriction on this year’s event. Only students seventeen and older will be allowed to enter their names for the Triwizard Tournament. This, is something that we feel is necessary as the tasks will be incredibly difficult and will require the education and experience of older witches and wizards, to complete.”

Hermione gave a great sigh of relief at this revelation. Thank Merlin. That fact alone meant everyone she knew at Hogwarts personally was safe. Even Fred and George weren’t seventeen yet. However, looking around at the disappointed and even angry faces at her table, showed that only she was happy about the rule change. She didn’t let their disappointment ruin her mood though. Instead she listened contentedly, until next thing she knew, her was done and dinner was served.

Dinner went by uneventfully, conversation filled laments of summer trips, general gossip, and theorizing about the upcoming tournament. Hermione was thoroughly stuffed by the time the tables were magically cleared and their group departed back to Gryffindor Common room. Hermione trailed behind Harry and Ron as they walked with the twins through the halls, thinking about her classes the next day when George’s voice broke her concentration.

“You know, Freddie, I reckon we could find a way to get past whatever Dumbledore will use to enforce the age restriction,” George said enthusiastically.

“How do you suppose they’ll pick to decide who gets in or not?” Harry asked. Hermione thought that was quite a good question. In her reading, it was never explicitly stated how the competitors were chosen. It simply stated that they were.

“No idea, but it’ll be them that we have to fool—” stated Fred, his chest puffing in confidence “—I think a few drops of aging potion should do the trick.”

“But Dumbledore knows you aren’t old enough,” Ron piped up as they made their way back to the Gryffindor common room.

“Yes, but whoever is deciding doesn’t. It seems to me that they’ll just choose whoever is best from each school. Dumbledore is just trying to stop us from getting our names in is all,” George replied to his younger brother.

“And you two aren’t the least bit concerned that people have died in this competition before?” Hermione inquired, feeling irritation bubbling up below her calm façade.

“Not a bit,” the pair responded with cheeky grins.

Fred and George’s response irked Hermione quite terribly. Were they really that immune to the idea of potential imminent death? Fred definitely wasn’t – no matter what he said. She knew that for certain just from her memories of the Quidditch World Cup. He had been just as afraid as her, she saw it on his face. That fact alone gave her comfort when she continued to endure the agonizing nightmares revolving around that night. Rubbing at her eyes, she cursed at just how bloody tired she was. When she nodded off in the Weasley kitchen that night sitting across from Fred, it had been the first peaceful sleep she’d had in weeks. Unfortunately, the peace did not last long, for as soon as her head hit the pillow in Ginny’s room the nightmares were back again. However, the comforting thought that she had not been the only person scared and panicked that night reassured her that she was not overreacting. Even though everyone had all but forgotten the events of the Quidditch World Cup. Hermione wanted to forget as well.

“Well if Fred and George figure out a way to enter their names, I want in,” said Ron as they sat in the common room. Upon entering the tower, Fred and George made swift exits to their room, most likely to start on their idiotic aging potion idea. It wasn’t going to work, Hermione knew that, but she doubted anything she said to them would get through their thick skulls.

“You most definitely will not Ronald Weasley!” Hermione scolded the freckle-faced boy sitting across from her in front of the fire. He rolled his eyes at her, ignoring her objection.

“Oh, come on Hermione. Everyone knows the age limit is insulting. Us three have faced loads of dark magic already. Especially Harry! You don’t think he’s capable of winning a silly little competition? Tell her Harry!” Ron looked over at Harry for support, but all the bespectacled boy could manage was a conflicted expression before Hermione responded.

“I think Harry has faced enough life-threatening situations for a lifetime, thank you very much. I’d rather you two lose the opportunity of fame and fortune, than risk your necks again. To do so would just be stupid. No one can evade death forever!” Hermione rose from her seat and stormed out, leaving the two boys to gawk at her retreating form.

Hermione huffed and puffed about her room, slamming books down and pulling on her sleep clothes more aggressively than usual. The other girls in the room continued their babble, paying her no mind as they were too engulfed in whatever the latest gossip was to care about her bad mood. She crawled into bed and drew the curtains closed, blocking out all the light from her roommates Pavarti, Lavender, and Fey. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to sleep – to block out all the frustrations of the day and to most importantly not have nightmares. Truth be told, she shouldn’t be so upset at Ron. It was all trivial. In the end, the twins would never figure out how to enter their names into the tournament and thus neither would Ron nor Harry. This might end up being a perfectly normal year after all. There was no magical item with the ability to keep one alive forever taking up residence in the castle; there couldn’t possibly be a second mysterious chamber hidden under the school housing a deadly snake; and there wasn’t an escaped Azkaban prisoner seemingly attempting to murder her best friend – that she knew of. No, this year they would be the spectators. They would watch as three experienced and skilled students, they were not close to, risk their lives in the tournament. Maybe a Ravenclaw or a Slytherin would compete for Hogwarts. Whoever it was, it wouldn’t be them and they would watch from the stands, getting a thrill from the entertainment. Then they would return to the common room, talking about who they thought would win. They would study hard and pass their classes. They would end the year happy and safe, and looking forward to the next year.

Everyone would be safe, happy, and together.

    No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be there. It had to! Fred tore through his trunk again, this time physically removing the items one by one and throwing them onto the dormitory floor around him. However, much to his dismay, he reached the bottom empty handed. Standing abruptly, he rushed over to George’s trunk and began to do the same. He was halfway through its contents when his brother came in, followed closely by Lee Jordan and Kenneth Towler.

“Oi, Freddie, mind telling me why you’re scrounging through my personal things?” George asked, staring down at his brother with a curious gaze.

“It’s gone,” Fred answered gravely, continuing to tear through George’s trunk.

“What’s gone?” asked Lee, hopping over the growing pile of things on the floor and landing clumsily on his bed.

“I swear I just saw it the other day and now it’s gone Georgie!” exclaimed Fred in a panic, sitting back on his heels when he, once again, reached the baren bottom of the trunk.

Towler sighed, walking through the mess, and placing his school bag down next to his neatly made bed. Airily he pulled out a few textbooks and laid down before remarking, “I always knew one of you would lose it. Personally, I always thought it would be George.”

George cast an unamused expression in Towler’s direction before crouching down next to his obviously distressed twin. “Get ahold of yourself mate—” George shook him roughly “—just tell me what’s going on.”

“The money!” yelled Fred, breaking away from George’s hold and moving to his wardrobe. “It’s gone! I’ve looked everywhere for it and it’s gone. Last I checked it was in our money pouch and now it’s not there.”

“Wait. You don’t mean the money we won, do you?” George asked, rushing to Fred’s side, and grabbing him by the arm. He pulled him roughly, forcing Fred to cease his search and face his twin. Fred swelled with irritation. He didn’t have time for this. He needed to find the missing galleons. Fred didn’t need to respond for George to know that it was, in fact, the money they won from their bet at the world cup. George’s eyes widened in disbelief and then, he too began to tare wildly through his wardrobe, all the while chanting a desperate mumble of “No, it’s impossible.”

“Two hundred galleons do not just up and walk away Freddie!” cried George, abandoning his wrecked wardrobe, and lying flat on his belly to look under their beds.

“Where on earth did you two get two hundred galleons?!” asked Lee incredulously. He sat up in his bed, showing a larger interest at the mention of money the two had seemed to misplace.

Fred sighed, sinking to the floor, and leaning against the open door of his wardrobe. Closing his eyes tightly, he banged the back of his head against the wood as he tried to think.

“We won it,” answered George, now pulling back the covers on his bed.

Fred smirked sadistically, knowing it was a lost cause. He already checked there.

“Won it?” asked Lee again, clearly both confused and impressed.

“Yeah, we bet our dads friend all our money and a bloody fake wand that Krum would catch the snitch, but Ireland would win—” Fred rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms in frustration “—he was pretty surprised when we were right, but he paid us. We’ve had the money locked up in my trunk ever since. We were going to use it to upstart our business.”

‘Were’, was the important part of that sentence, thought Fred. Now without the money, he had no clue how they would fund their business after school. They could get jobs he supposed. He and George could work in a shop and save up until they had enough. It wasn’t the worst scenario, but merlin, it wasn’t what they imagined.

“Well I didn’t touch it,” said Lee, holing his hands up to signify his innocence.

“You couldn’t have taken it even if you wanted to,” said Fred. “I put so many wards on my trunk, you’d think I was trying to keep Dumbledore himself out.”

“It has to be here somewhere Freddie. Are you sure you didn’t take the money pouch out for something and then, I don’t know, leave it somewhere?”

Fred looked at his brother in irritation before snapping, “Actually now that you mention it, just the other day I was sitting on my bed and I thought ‘Gee, you know what would be an excellent idea? Taking two hundred galleons for a bloody walk.’ Of course, I didn’t take it out for anything! What do you take me for, Georgie?”

“I’m sorry, you’re right. That was a stupid question. I just don’t understand what could have happened to it.”

“This friend of your dads, he wouldn’t happen to be Ludo Bagman, would he?” asked Towler from his bed, nose currently buried in his transfiguration textbook.

Fred and George froze, so still they could have easily been mistaken for victims of a well-placed body bind curse. They looked at their second roommate with suspicion.

“Why?” the two questioned in unison, staring hard at the sandy-haired boy.

“My dad says he’s a real bilker. He’s always making bets and never paying up – still owes my dad two galleons and seven sickles from a game of cards almost a year ago,” said Towler, looking back at his book with a bored expression.

Fred took a moment to process his words. Kenneth Towler was many things: swotty, boring, killjoy to name a few, but he wasn’t a liar. So that meant if he said Ludo Bagman was a renowned cheat, then it was probably true. Still though, he had paid them the money. Almost immediately even. If he was constantly broke, then where did he come up with the galleons to pay them off? Unless…

George seemed to have the same thought he did because it was his turn to sink to the floor in abject horror.

“Leprechaun gold,” they said in distraught realization.

It was the only possible explanation, thought Fred. While possessing the exact same features as a wizarding galleon, leprechaun gold had one little thing about it that made it unique – it vanished after twenty-four hours. Fred cursed under his breath, standing, and beginning to place his things back into his trunk.

“Of course that slimy git would try to con us out of our well-deserved money. We should have known!” exclaimed George, throwing his hands in the air.

“Maybe it was a mistake,” Lee offered kindly.

Fred and George snorted, “That’s likely.”

“Well it never hurts to make sure,” said Lee, taking off his shoes and kicking their things out of the way as he shuffled to his wardrobe to pull out his sleep clothes.

“He’s got a point Georgie,” said Fred, pausing his cleaning to grab parchment, a quill, and his ink bottle from the ground.

Dear Mr. Bagman,

Fred and George Weasley here! We’re sure you remember us from the world cup. We were the two incredibly dashing twins that won all that money off you.

Speaking of the money, it seems there was a slight mistake and you paid us in leprechaun money instead of real money.

We’re sure it was just an innocent error on your part and therefore would hold no ill-will against you as long as you respond to this letter with the amount in full.

Sincerely,

Fred and George Weasley

Founders of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes

Fred penned the letter as George stood over his shoulder reading aloud and making suggestions. When they were satisfied with the tone and contents of their letter, Fred folded it neatly and placed it inside an envelope, addressing it to Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports at the Ministry of Magic.

“Do you suppose we have enough time to make it to the owlery before curfew?” Fred asked, kicking the rest of his things out of the way, and pulling on his shoes.

Kenneth Towler snorted rudely from his bed, “When have you two ever cared about curfew?”

“He makes a fair point Freddie. Come on, let’s go then.”

“Oi! Aren’t you two going to clean up your mess?” Lee shouted at them as they made their way to the door.

The twins yelled a shifty “Maybe” over their shoulders as they exited the dormitory and made their way down the stairs to the common room.

Fred held tightly to the letter, hoping against all hope that it was all just a big misunderstanding. Perhaps Ludo had been a bilker in the past, but recently changed his ways. Perhaps he had every intention of paying them in full. Perhaps he’d be embarrassed upon opening the letter and realizing his mistake. Perhaps George would sprout a tail overnight and he would shit out a pig.

Still, it was worth a try. Not only were they short the two hundred galleons Ludo owed them, but they were also down the 37 galleons, 15 sickles, and three knuts they originally gave him for the bet. It was all the money they had to their name. They needed that money. Fred rubbed a hand through his hair and gripped it tightly at the roots behind his left ear. He honestly didn’t know how it would all turn out, but one thing became apparently clear as they reached the owlery.

If Ludo Bagman didn’t give them the money he owed them, then it was more important than ever that they get their names into the Goblet of Fire and have their chance at the prize money.

Chapter 5 >>

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@theworldisugly-22

hi im new to the ss fandom so uhh 1. is there a discord where people are alive and 2. what are tags for art where ppl can actually see them bccc i never actually post or contribute or Talk in any sort of fandom ever but idk i might try bc yall are very nice but im also a ball of anxiety and confrontation issues so. Yes. ill shut up now since u probably have a bunch of asks

Hi there, welcome to the fandom! As far as discords go, I am not much of a discord user, I’m in one(1) TS creators discord and just ask anyone else there how often I show up XD (It’s not much) so I’m not the person to ask about that, but I do know there are tons of servers out there! Fanders, reblog this with your active TS servers! 

As for the tags, general art tags you usually see are #ts art, #ts fanart, or just plain old #sanders sides. Fanfic tags are usually #ts fanfic, #ts fic, #sanders sides fanfiction, or again, just #sanders sides. You can also search for specific sides content by searching their name either as #virgil sanders or #ts virgil. Occasionally some people will still post as their function, like #anxiety sanders, but really #deceit sanders is the only one you’ll find lots of content under, for the other five we just use their names. 

When perusing the tags, you may find "unsympathetic sides” content. This refers to fic or art of a side acting cruel, manipulative/abusive, or villainous in an out of character way. If that kind of content is something you don’t want to see, block the tags #unsympathetic (character first name) for whichever side you don’t want to see that way. #unsympathetic patton, #unsympathetic virgil, and #unsympathetic roman are the ones I see most often, but there are whole sideblogs dedicated to creating unsympathetic content for one or ALL of the sides. If that’s something you think would be cool to explore, I encourage you to check out those tags and those blogs (such as @unsympathetic-core-sides​), and if that’s something you DON’T want to see, block those tags and blogs. 

Speaking of tags and characters, some people also tag #sympathetic deceit or #sympathetic remus, for when they’re portraying our dark boys as NOT villainous, etc. sof if THAT kind of portrayal isn’t something you’d like, block those tags as well. Some people also tag unsympathetic dark sides, but it’s a minor debate in the fandom how to go about that, and, at least in terms of fic, I find mentioning how they’re going to be portrayed (good, bad, morally grey, etc.) in the content warnings section much more helpful than trying to tag specific characterizations in the tags themselves. 

In whatever you’re going to read though, make sure to read over the warnings at the beginning to see if the story is something you want to experience, it’s up to you to cultivate your online experience, not an author. 

 And last thing to know before you dive into this lovely community of ours is ship names! In case you don’t know all the ship names yet, here you go! 

Prinxiety: Roman/Virgil 

Logicality: Logan/Patton

Moxiety: Patton/Virgil

Logince: Logan/Roman

Royality: Roman/Patton

Analogical: Virgil/Logan

Roceit: Roman/Deceit

Moceit: Patton/Deceit

Loceit: Logan/Deceit

Anxceit: Virgil/Deceit

Dukeceit: Remus/Deceit (also demus)

Intrulogical: Remus/Logan

Intruality: Remus/Patton (I’ve also seen moduke) 

Dukexiety: Remus/Virgil

Creativitwins: Roman and Remus’s familial/brotherly relationship name. 

Remrom: Roman and Remus’s incest ship name, block this if you do not want to see that kind of content. 

LAMP: Logan/Virgil/Patton/Roman

DLAMP: Deceit/Logan/Virgil/Patton/Roman

DR.LAMP: Dukeceit and LAMP existing side by side (idk if lots of people use that label but I think it’s so perfect)

 There are 3-way ships too, but I’m not good at remembering all their names, maybe if someone could add on with all of those? 

But yeah, that’s all I can think of you need to know, other than one tiny other thing: we try not to use the abbreviation “ss” because that’s the acronym the nazis used for one of their military police units. Use #ts sides or something similar instead. That’s about it though! Welcome to the fandom!

Dear Universe

Read on Ao3

Summary: Logan doesn't have a lot to love at the moment. Other than stars and cats. But if he'll give it time, the universe will still be there, waiting for his second letter... Warnings: A vague mention of a character having once contemplated suicide. Very, very vague though. Also this made me soft which I think is illegal so warnings for the fic being a criminal Pairing: Logince Author’s note: I know I have a losleep fic to finish but... idk y’all I was just super soft and I had to do this instead. Tagging @rosesisupposes because that one post she reblogged inspired this, @blinksinbewilderment because it’s Logan-centric and not really angsty, and @inkskinned because the post that overall inspired this came from them 

    Dear universe,

    Hello. I am writing to inform you that you did a good job on the stars. Also on cats.

    Yours respectfully,

    Me.

    Logan glared at the note, simple and small and neatly scrawled on the back of an old envelope. It was stupid. It was rather sentimental as well. But some days there were only a few good things in the world, and on those days Logan had learned it was better to offer any resistance to the current than none.

    And today, if all he loved was the stars and his cat, then it was better to remember that then not. With a sigh, Logan tossed the envelope in a drawer.

    Well. He had tried that. Good thing he’d never have to do it again.

~~

    Dear universe,

    Logan’s hand paused. This was as silly as when he had done it five years ago. The fact that he had stumbled over the envelope on accident while deciding what was going to come on the move and he had been struck by the urge to give it a proper follow-up was illogical and foolish.

    And yet he had gotten the pen, gotten some paper, and begun the letter. Maybe it was foolish. Maybe that was alright.

    He lowered the pen back to the paper.

    I hope you are well since I last wrote. I assume things have changed for you. They have for me. I still love the stars. And while I still do love cats, I find a pull, now, to dogs as well.

    As if to punctate his point, there was a woof down the hallway behind him, followed by a quiet hiss and someone laughing. Logan smiled.

    I fear I left out a lot of things when I first wrote. Even back then, even on my worst days, I do believe there was more light than just the stars and cats, though they were (and always have been) quite bright enough to shine for themselves. It is largely thanks to them I am here now, in fact. Them and one other.

    The laughing died down, but Logan could still hear him moving, closing boxes and taking them outside. Logan could see him, too- how he always looked like he was being illuminated by sunlight, how his grin was bright enough to blind you, how he swayed his hips as he walked like he owned the place. He didn’t look real. And yet he was moving stuff out Logan’s crummy old apartment.

    The road there’s been… less than simple, however, to tread. I’ve stumbled. I’ve lost things that were important to me. I’ve lost hope. I’ve lost the light that metaphorically guides. I’ve almost given up more times than I’d care to recall. But as grim as the path has been to follow, I’ve learned a lot on it too.

    Logan paused again, listening to the almost inaudible murmur of wind outside the window and the light humming of the other man weaving into his room, the sound of the latter somehow going into his ears and making its way to his heart, where it happily settled.

    I’ve realized that we’re all children, really, no matter how old we get. We’re taking the little pieces we have and trying to build them into something beautiful, something, I suppose, worthy of you. Art and music, stories and poetry, dramas and plays, laughter and love and humanity. We looked at you and took pictures, studied them and magnified them and loved them. I have one of them as my desktop background. You looked even more extraordinary than usual that day.

    There were more scraping noises in the background, furniture being moved. The humming had progressed to whistling. Soon enough it would be singing, and if Logan wasn’t careful, soon enough there’d be two voices holding that chorus. A few years ago, that would have been Hell. But at the thought of it today, Logan just smiled bigger.

    I think… no, I am certain that you did a good job, universe; on the stars and everything they became, on space and the planets- on us humans, too. And, yes, oh yes things are terrible, but you made an innumerable amount of things worth loving, worth writing to you about, worth speaking of… worth thanking you for. And you gave us all a spark, and as long as it’s taken me to feel secure about mine, I’m using it now, to be fierce about what I care about and those I care for, and to be eternally gentle to them as well.

    The whistling melted into singing, just as Logan suspected. He strained his ears just the slightest before he identified the tune- A Whole New World. Logan remembered the first time the other had sung that song to him, so quietly and so unlike his usual dramatics, gently kneeling down next to a Logan who thought he had any chance hiding even his nearly silent sobs in a theater where every sound was reflected every which way…

    So... hello. I’ve come to amend my previous memo. I’m writing to let you know you did a good job on the stars, on cats and dogs and the lizard that is currently kept illegally in my apartment but will shortly be kept legally in my house. And universe, I hope you’re watching, because some of the people you created? They’re great, universe; they’re amazing and wonderful and full of love- endlessly sharing love and eternally worthy of receiving it. And despite all the times I’ve lost it along the way, despite how badly Life wishes to take it from me, those people give me hope.

    “Hey, Lo-love of my life.” Logan turned from his paper, towards the other man in his house- towards someone he fully believed to be a fallen star personified, with glitter in his eyes and love in his every touch, and a bright, shiny ring on his finger that Logan loved seeing so new but also couldn’t wait to watch it slowly grow weathered, old, worn and loved.

    “Yes, Roman?” He asked, tone unnaturally fond, even to just address the man he loved. Oh, it was foolish, yes, but that was alright.

    Roman jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ve finished with the living room. If you’re done with whatever nerdy, non-helpful thing you’re doing, I thought we could go get lunch?”

    “I’m just writing a letter. It’s not that nerdy.” Logan retaliated. Not that he really minded, given he was still smiling.

    Roman was smiling too as he came over and looped his arms around Logan, leaning down so they were decently at the same height from where Logan was seated. He didn’t try to glance at the letter, instead keeping his much-too-adoring gaze centered on Logan. “Still not very helpful.”

    “Well I don’t keep you around just to be eye candy, my dear.”

    “No, you keep me around because you love me.” Roman said, pressing a kiss to Logan’s cheek before pulling away. “I’m going to start the car. Be out soon, or I’m leaving without you.”

    “It will take you at least ten minutes just to locate the car in the lot.” Logan responded cheekily. “I believe I have time.”

    “Not my fault I can’t remember where I put things.” Roman said as he wandered back out, muttering to himself in his stage voice about an ungratefully perfect husband and too many cars being coloured red. Logan chuckled to himself and rose his pen one last time.

    And through them, universe, that’s you. That’s how the stars sing.

    Yours respectfully,

    Me.

    Logan folded the paper efficiently, slipping it into the envelope and slipping the flap in, shutting it. He left it on his desk, knowing he’d be back for it.

    And one of these days, he’d show it to Roman, show it to the man who was the reason behind the majority of the list, who was the reason behind why Logan felt the need to write a second letter to the universe, who was very possibly the reason why Logan was even around to write that second letter.

    And maybe that day would be tomorrow. And maybe that day wouldn’t be for another two dozen years. But he would; one day he would and he would only hope it could mean even half as much to Roman as it did to him, could only hope that the emotions he was still struggling to healthily express would be a fraction as clear to Roman as they were to him.

    One day he would, and maybe on that day he’d write another letter to the universe, and maybe he’d write a few even before then.

    Because Logan had a feeling there were going to be a lot more things worth thanking the universe for with every day that passed.

Hi, If you are still taking prompts, would you mind writing fictober "Ruins" for Havolina? :)

Witch, Please!  Fictober 2019  (27/30)

A multi-fandom Fictober prompt compilation.  Your wish is my command, but be careful what you ask for.  You just might get it.

For @tomoehawkeye

Prompt:  “Ruins” from Writetober 2019 Prompt List

Fandom:  Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga, Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)

Relationship/Pairing:  Rebecca Catalina/Jean Havoc

Genre:  Alternate Universe - Practical Magic, Witches and Family Curses, High School Sweethearts

Rating:  Teen And Up Audiences

Word Count:  1,566 words

Read on AO3

The Catalina women were blamed for everything that went wrong in their small island town, but it was, perhaps, the men they loved who suffered the most. The curse was well-known, less a legend and more a source of gossip that sprang eternal when the rumor mill ran dry. And yet, for cousins Riza and Rebecca, the plague on their household was all too real.

Too real when their fathers died sudden and mysterious deaths. Too real when their mothers took their leave, courtesy of broken hearts that refused to mend.

By the time young Rebecca arrived at the wrought iron gates of Stonybrook Cottage, Riza had already settled in. She was the spitting image of her mother, Aunt Elizabeth, with wispy blonde hair, copper eyes and a pale heart-shaped face. Though pretty, her cousin was tomboy through and through, smelling perpetually of fresh-cut grass and more than willing to beat local boys at their own games when a competitive mood stuck.

Appropriately, Rebecca quickly proved herself to be her cousin’s complement. Bold where Riza was shy but charming where her cousin was prone to confrontation, they got along as only two halves of a whole could. And while Riza was fair and lithe, Rebecca grew into the curves of her tan complexion and leaned into the power of a pair of dark bedroom eyes that stopped people in their tracks.

Under the old roof of Stonybrook Cottage, the cousins claimed their birthright courtesy of two ageless aunts who mirrored the girls’ contrast. Aunt Maria lectured long about astrology, signs and art of spellcraft while Aunt Olivier exclusively taught the subtle science of potion-making and dabbled in the occasional duel. High school existed also, and Rebecca thought the place a bore, punctuated frequently by childish whispers, taunting rhymes and hateful scribbles on the bathroom stalls.

Rebecca Catalina ❤’s Jean HavocRest in Pieces, Jean

“Who did it?” Riza bellowed, aware that their entire gym class (sans Rebecca) was in on the joke.

Unforthcoming giggles emanated from the gaggle of girls still present in the locker room, not one woman enough to own the egregious act. They hid their sneers behind ramrod straight fringes of hair and hands pressed to their mouths.

“Riza,” Rebecca warned. She grabbed her cousin’s arm as she felt the hex gathering on the tip of her tongue. “It isn’t worth it. Besides, Jean and I are just friends.”

“Friends who suck face under the bleachers,” Patricia Parkinson grumbled. “So sad that Jean has a death wish.”

Between Rebecca and Riza, it wasn’t always clear who was the witch to blame, least of all to the students and faculty of the Southaven High. But when the locker room mirrors began to tremble and the faucets popped off the pipes, spewing water over the offending girls and their belongings, Coach Sheska was forced to concede that the dry parties were the most likely culprits.

“Nice one,” Riza offered. As the two made their way to the principal’s office, she looked at her cousin with a sly pair of eyes that Rebecca refused to meet.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rebecca maintained. “That was totally you.”

“Was not. I was going to bind their hands, not wreck the entire bathroom. Not that I don’t approve.”

Rebecca suppressed a dark grin. “Well, whoever did it, the Aunts aren’t going to like the property destruction,” she remarked, happily diverting the conversation to the inevitable consequences.

“No, but they’ll understand. They always do. Just be careful with Jean. Couldn’t have fallen for a girl or nonbinary person instead, could you?”

“No,” Rebecca admitted, “I had little choice in the matter.”

…

Rebecca often consoled herself that Jean Havoc was made of tough stuff. He reminded her of it every time they met beneath the bleachers (his choice) or in the back of his car (her preference). There was something playful about parking Jean’s crossover out by the lake on the Catalina estate, watching the sunset and seeing just how far the seats could recline.

But tonight was different. Rebecca knew it from the way he looked at her. Her stomach lurched pleasantly when she saw he’d shaved his face and pressed his collared shirt. A foreboding, ringbox-shaped bulge in Jean’s back pocket sealed the deal. Rebbeca did her best to distract him, knowing she wouldn’t have the heart to turn him down.

So, she pulled Jean into the backseat and pushed him against the leather interior, envious of the way the slick surface must have pressed against his skin. Hips rolled and mouths crashed into one another in the dwindling light of the setting sun. And suddenly, Jean wrapped his strong arms around Rebecca’s waist and maneuvered them both to a sitting position. He pulled away just in time to ask a question as she trailed warm kisses up his neck.

“I’ve always wanted to know why there’s a fireplace jutting out of the middle of the lake,” he said, glancing sideways at his girlfriend.

Rebecca sighed and took in more of Jean’s cringeworthy corner store cologne. At first, she’d disliked the smell. Now, she craved it, going as far as to keep one of his undershirts beneath her pillow. If Jean wondered where it had gone, he didn’t ask.

She straightened up and decided to tell the story as quickly as possible. “That’s all that’s left of the old Catalina Manor,” she explained. “Surely, you know that old rumor.”

She dived down for another kiss but was stopped by a pair of inquisitive eyes. “I’d like to hear it from you.”

“Fine,” Rebecca relented. She slid off his lap and smoothed her mussed hair to one side. Jean took to massaging the soles of her feet as she spoke, a sure sign of ingratiation that obliged Rebecca’s toes to curl.

“My ancestor, Prudence Catalina, lived in that house with her family, and some people thought that she was more than a healer. They thought she was a… y’ know-”

“-a witch?”

“Yes, that. Anyway, one day, the good townsfolk of Southhaven decided to charge Prudence with witchcraft and sentenced her to burn. But her husband wouldn’t let her go without a fight. So, a mob set the house on fire. Prudence cast a spell of protection on the fireplace where she and her daughter waited out the flames.”

“So, that’s why it’s still standing then?  Prudence’s protection spell?” Jean probed.

“Sure,” Rebecca offered warily, “if you believe in magic.”

The unspoken question hung heavy in the air, coupled with heady eye contact that made Rebecca want to crawl back into her lover’s lap and stay there until eternity passed them by. Jean’s hands moved passed her ankles, working her calves with delicious, rolling pressure. Rebecca wasn’t entirely sure there wasn’t magic in his fingers, least of all because of how her tongue seemed to loosen.

This was the worst part of the story. Still, Rebecca continued, if only because Jean had asked her so nicely.

“But Prudence’s husband died in the fire, and she never recovered, even though the townsfolk were fearful of her power and resolved to leave her alone. She raised her daughter in the cottage my family still lives in but was often found crying by her old home’s ruins where she buried her husband. Over time, her tears formed this lake, and in a fit of despair, she cast a spell on herself. The depth of her bitterness twisted into a curse. Which is, I’m sure, what you really wanted to know about.”

Jean hummed in response. “I wonder why you care about it so much. I think about why you won’t let me kiss you in public, and you give me all these talismans to wear.”

He pulled at a long chain concealed beneath his shirt to reveal several small circle pendants adorned with geometric designs and ancient sigils. Each one sang softly with the labor of Rebecca’s love, though she wouldn’t call it that. Not yet.

Rebecca pinched the bridge of her nose. “Amulets, Jean,” she laughed. “Not talismans. There’s a difference. And you know why you wear them.”

Jean moved over her, then, slipping his hand behind her neck and kissing the burgundy lipstick from her lips.

“Loving you,” he confessed, “helps me to understand why Prudence’s husband did it. I’d do it, too, and I’d gladly tell those girls at school where to go for taunting you like they do. Curses are made to be broken, Becky, if you’ll have me.”

She knew what he meant, and wanted to say yes.

Rebecca wanted to run away with Jean and start a new life elsewhere, however pointless that would be in the end. Her mother had tried it, and so had Riza’s parents. They all ended up six feet under with their perfect lives reduced to ruin. Long ago, Riza and Rebecca had resolved to be different, but that was before Rebecca met Jean Havoc, his last name so apt for what he did to her resolve.

Instead of responding, she kissed him with her eyes shut tight, as if she was just a girl and he was her guy. As if the curse was just a tragic fairy tale told by lovers at the lake.

Somewhere near the murky banks of the water, the death-watch beetle began its ominous countdown, and across the estate, Riza startled, knowing there was much work to be done.

A/N:  Thank you for the prompt, @tomoehawkeye! Sorry, this is a little late. I caught a stomach virus. I hope you like it as much as I like these sort of asks popping up in my tumblr inbox. Anyway, if you read something you like, don’t hesitate to let me know in whatever way you want. Your kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, comments, likes and reblogs make my day!

Parts 7 & 8 come together, because I got home late and had internet troubles. 

Once again, I’m not adding this on to the original post, because too many reblogs deep, frankly, makes the original post unreadable. And that had links to ways you can help support this project, like:

Keeping your eye on the Cypora’s Guide to Cementing Your Rule as an Evil Queen tag on my blog.

Look back at the tag for the original story, here; the posts from last year of the original, un-edited draft of the story can be found about halfway down this page.

Tell me about your favorite characters from the story—or draw them, if you like! You can find visual references in the art tag, or look at the stuff that inspires me, visually, in the inspiration tag.

Sign up as a patron on my Patreon

Make a one-time donation via Paypal...

...or by Ko-Fi, if you prefer!

Got any questions about Cypora’s Guide, the characters, or the setting? Feel free to send them to me!

For those who missed it, Part 6 was back here!

So it was that Cypora, her friends, and the assorted dungeon denizens who had gathered together with her—as the novelty of the newcomers had not yet worn thin, and it was still interesting enough to see what might be going on that a crowd gathered quickly—went to see Acantha’s work.

A novice artist normally couldn’t afford a security guard, or at least, not a deterrent like Hashraa. But few of the dungeon dwellers wanted to risk an encounter with the jettatura, and even the rest avoided her nest out of habit. This had resulted in something of an air of mystery about Acantha’s artwork, and the finished scarecrows that she had set up outside the door of the workshop had become akin to a new installation at an art gallery.

Thus, the small crowd together with Cypora grew when it met the small crowd outside of the workshop, and the narrow alley of the dungeon walls became claustrophobic. Cypora and Aletheia vied for somewhere to stand apart from the crowd, and Shiaroc obliged them by taking up extra space with her tail, swishing it back and forth in a wide arc.

“Thanks,” Cypora said, smiling perhaps a little too wide at the lizard-woman.

“Well, you’re living up to your promise,” Shiaroc replied, “it seemed right.”

Cypora cocked her head at that, pausing mid-way between two knocks on the workshop door.

“A more,” Shiaroc began, and paused, searching for the right word, “demanding overlord, one who had not sworn to, as you said, ‘decentralize’ control of the dungeon, would not have tolerated being crowded.”

Acantha opened the door before Cypora could think of a response. A living being doing as she had been might have had disheveled hair and signs of sweat, but the clues of Acantha’s labor were limited to having dressed for ease of movement by partially disrobin*g, and smelling so strongly of herbal smoke that it irritated Cypora’s nose.

“—could open a window,” Hashraa hissed from somewhere inside. Acantha stood in the doorway, leaning on the frame. She didn’t need to sleep, eat, or drink, but she did need to keep smoking . Cypora was very glad it was not tobacco; the stuff irritated her breathing when people smoked it, but Acantha’s herbs of choice were more along the lines of incenses.

A bout of pain struck from somewhere down and to the right of her navel as the reworking of her body continued, and she had to lean on Aletheia again for support. Acantha shut the door and moved forward to help, while Shiaroc shooed the crowd back further.

“I’m fine, it’s nothing,” Cypora lied as the pain of an entire internal organ being magically replaced and gradually worked out of her body continued. “We wanted to ask you something.”

Acantha nodded, and watched as Cypora pointed a slightly shaky hand towards the displayed, completed scarecrows.

“You talked about propping them up to confuse adventurers,” Cypora continued, and murmurs of approval filtered through the crowd. This idea hadn’t made it far beyond Cypora and the two wrought, it seemed. Acantha nodded, and Cypora pretended that she’d been waiting for a response instead of trying to will the pain away by hating it. “Open to other plans?”

As Cypora explained the idea, the three Widows were, in fact, already inspecting the scarecrows. The appreciative noises they made were like autumn leaves rustling in the wind.

Acantha tilted her head, considering it.

“It would make up for the lack of bodies quite nicely,” Qurra said from much too close to Cypora’s ear. When she looked, the monkalb was actually standing several feet away, admiring Acantha’s handiwork. “There will be some demand for more, and we could arrange a fair trade.”

“Part of that being the matter of digging,” Ucsir said, giving Qurra a wary eye.

“Certainly,” she replied, smiling wide. She turned to Acantha again. “But I think we should compensate the artist responsible, as well.”

Acantha nodded, sucking deeply on her pipe. She continued nodding, pulling tight the sleeves of her blouse, presently wrapped around her waist like a belt. She strode quickly back into the workshop—spurring more protests from Hashraa—and returned with a book of draft paper, already writing notes.

Cypora and the other living beings present—as well as Aletheia—watched as Acantha began to inspect and consult with the Widows and other dybbuks that had joined them. It was something like seeing a tailor discussing with a client, although the result would be a whole body to inhabit, rather than a suit.

But Cypora’s attention turned, even with the pain dulling to a low burn instead of a sharp fire, and she considered Qurra and Ucsir. The two were bristling at each other, or at least, she could see that Ucsir was hostile to Qurra. It was far harder to judge Qurra’s half-dead and fully human body language.

She might be the overlord of the dungeon only in terms of the official status conferred by the quadriga, but she still felt a need to make sure things were running smoothly. After all, it would be impossible to fight off adventurers if the dungeon’s inhabitants were also fighting one another.

And then there was the matter of bringing the fight to the adventurers.

*  It was perhaps fortunate that Acantha lacked certain details of human anatomy, as having her chest bared simply displayed a featureless trunk of plant matter. Still, Aletheia stared.

8th of Vernary, 5647 CC—even earlier than before

Scoloaster Spitznogle receded from the presence of the human adventurer Alícha de Matos. It had been utterly lovely to inhabit a mortal body once more, especially one so near to her own age. Or at least, the age she had been when she had passed away. Abandoning her new ride stung even more knowing that she had given up her longest-used one for the chance, convinced by something in the earnestness of the Fossoyeur girl. But she had promised Cypora, and she had a job to do.

First task: take the adventurer as far away from the dungeon and the nearby village of Crossroads as she could manage without losing her own way. Second, deliver the message. It had been mostly a bluff. Yes, Cypora had officially given her the title of Ritermaysterin of Her Majesty’s First Avanturistyeger Company. But there were only seven others who had been assigned to the role of Adventurer-Hunters, and of those, one held the same rank as her.

Back in the shadows and watching as Scoloaster moved out of the sunlight and became more visible again, Ritermaysterin Orangella Fossoyeur revealed her own face.

“Think she bought it, then?” Orangella asked, leaning out of the shadow cast on a tree as if coming up from the surface of a deep pool. The rest of her body was not in the world of humans.

“There is no trickery in my words,” Scoloaster chuckled. “Only in the spaces between them.”

“Hm,” was all the mazik said in response. Where Orangella’s sister Licoricia had the blood of angels, ‘Ella’ was born to a demon mother, and had practiced at slipping out of the world of her human kin and into the otherworld of the shedim. Practically, this meant that she could cut the distance between two points as if folding up a map to make one end meet the other. But Scoloaster could not see into that shadowed realm. The dead might know more things of the living world than the living did, but that only applied to the world of humans, in so much as Scoloaster herself was a dead human.

It was frustrating, and tantalizing.

“On to our third assignment, then, my fellow esteemed Ritermaysterin?” Scoloaster asked, moving to Orangella’s side to look out in the same direction she was. The living, breathing human Alícha wandered off in the distance, still looking disoriented. Well, Scoloaster had made sure she was well-fed. Perhaps a little too much; it had been so lovely to eat again, to need to eat again, particularly something other than what that damned old vampir body craved.

She stopped her thoughts, rising back a bit. She didn’t realize she’d resented it until now. It was queer how something unpleasant could become so familiar and customary that one didn’t realize they disliked it until it was done with.

She’d need to find another body soon. She was sure she’d go mad without one.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Orangella replied, breaking the silence. She slipped down out of the shadow, her whole body revealed. Where Scoloaster had taken on Alícha’s body and acted in her stead—quite easy when that included possessing the brain of a living person, and being able to recall their memories as easily as one’s own—Orangella had followed her and worked on her own assignments. As she settled onto the forest floor, Scoloaster took in the results of that.

The Avanturisyegers had been Orangella’s idea, building on Cypora’s notions of being proactive about keeping adventurers out of the dungeons, and taking back what they had already stolen. The sheer hypocrisy of it, the pretense adventurers made that they were reclaiming things the Icosans had stolen from the people of the land, as if they were redistributing things like some sort of folk-heroes.

It made the fact that Orangella was dressed in things stolen from adventurers all the more delightful. Bits of armor and other equipment, stripped from the few who had been successfully dealt with, at least before they rose as zombies and fled to seek a true resurrection. In a few cases, even things taken from adventurers who had simply met their end in the dungeon, one of whom had zirself risen as a dybbuk, returned from death by hatred of fellow adventurers who had coerced zir into a dungeon raid beyond zir experience, and abandoned zir when things turned in favor of the dungeon.

“Where’s Lináloe?” she asked, and her answer came as a small flock of pigeons fluttered into amongst the trees.

Like Orangella, Lináloe was dressed after the likeness of an adventurer. In fact, she had been one, another left by her companions in the dungeon. But where the dybbuk Menax rose as an immaterial haint, Lináloe had found herself shut in with the dead, and chose to use her hatred to hope for a more physical revenge, calling upon old and forbidden witchcraft.

The zuvembie strode wordlessly into Orangella and Scoloaster’s presence. She had been tall and very strong in life, a proud warrior whose companions had, in the end, seen as only a ‘meat shield’ to defend them. Now, she was withered away beneath her armor and cloak, the gleam of eternal hatred the only sign of life when her movement stilled. Three of the pigeons that preceded her roosted on her broad shoulders, and she brought one arm up to give more of them a perch.

For all her hate, Scoloaster mused, Lináloe was quite tender towards the animals whose loyalty she was granted by undeath. Lináloe looked from Scoloaster to Orangella, and her face contorted into a smile, her lack of recent practice at it showing plainly.

“You found one, then?” Orangella asked, smiling back.

Lináloe shook her head, and Scoloaster watched as the pigeon-free arm rose up to reveal three fingers.

“Oh, magnificent,” Scoloaster said.

Three tasks: get Alícha de Matos away from the dungeon, convince her of the existence of the Avanturistyegers, and finally, set about making the company real. Scoloaster looked into the distance, where Lináloe pointed as her arm swept out towards a town in the opposite direction that Alícha had headed. It was perfect.

“Well then,” Scoloaster said with a grandiose sweep of her phantasmal arms, “shall we Adventurer-Hunters hunt?”

Limerence (OumaSai fic) Chapter 2 posted!

I finally... finished this chapter... holy crud it’s more than twice as long as the first... I suffered but I pulled through! Please enjoy! :D

Chapter 2: Growing Roots

Word Count: 7,377

Warnings: None, mentions of bullying again and features a comatose patient. Be safe!

Fanart that inspired the chapter: Official art inspired the chapter this time (you’ll know which one). So instead take this beautiful Au fanart by @tryingtowhisper! I love it so much if anyone does any fanart of fic of this au pls hmu immediately. Please reblog from them! https://tryingtowhisper.tumblr.com/post/156296579488/ill-take-your-heart-like-you-did-mine-in

AO3 Link 

Chapter 1 3 4

(*´∇｀)ﾉ Fic under cut!

"Hello, mother." Saihara walked into the empty room, sitting in a chair pulled up beside a bed. His mother lay still, her bony arms hooked up to tubes and IVs, a steady monitor beeping periodically nearby. Her face was shallow and pale as the fog of a winter morning. Her eyes were still shut, no matter how much Saihara wished they would open. Saihara placed his bag down and started recalling his day. After Ouma had left him in the classroom, he had to rush to get on the train. The trip took half an hour, and after the train stopped he had to walk for a while to reach the local hospital. The nurses greeted him as he walked through the hallways to his mother's room in the comatose ward. His time with her would have to be cut a bit short since he had to search for his hat, but it would be enough. Seeing his lively mother reduced to a shell of a what she had been was never easy. Saihara's eyes would play tricks on him. He'd think he'd see her hand twitch only to see that it hadn't. His mind would tell him she was smiling, only for his vision to tell him otherwise. Saihara thought that his hopes would stop tainting the cold reality eventually, but it never did. It had been months. Saihara settled in the chair and took a breath before beginning. "I started school today, mother. The people at the academy are kind. I think you would have liked them." Back when his mother was on her feet, she would always encourage him to mingle with other children. Saihara would have much preferred to sit in the reading corner, but her insistence always made him try. She would remember all the names he told her, all the fun games he played, all the books he read, and all the crayon drawings he made for her. She hung every one of them on the walls and on the fridge. She had been a sun in his life. In her absence all that was left was a dark night sky filled with stars and brief flashes, but nothing as bright. Saihara continued. "The new town is wonderful too. The streets are clean and people seem happier than where we were before. It's... so much better." Saihara and his father had moved to the new town in order to take care of her. After months of care the hospital in their old town had decided that they were discontinuing the comatose patient ward due to lack of funding. All patients who had been there longer than a month were no longer provided for. His father had been heartbroken. Ever since the day she was admitted his father had tightly held onto the belief that she would wake up. Every day he came in during his lunch break to give her new flowers. He worked overtime to pay for her hospital bills. Saihara had believed she would wake up in the beginning as well but... he was starting to lose hope. Saihara looked out the window to the setting sun. It was beautiful, and not as painful as looking at the person beside him. "The library there is well-stocked. It reaches up three stories, can you believe it? It's quite different from the cramped library we used to visit on the weekends." Saihara looked at her face. The scars of the car accident had long healed, but traces of them still remained. Months of seeing her like this had not changed how out-of-place the scars looked on her forehead. The crash had involved a truck ramming head-on to his mother's car, the impact slamming her head against the windshield and dislodging her seatbelt. The medics had found her on the ground, head drenching the pavement with blood. Even with quick-to-respond hospital staff and a medical center a few blocks away, only so much could be done. When Saihara and his dad had arrived, she lay deathly pale and unmoving. Breathing, but still. She had not woken up since. The doctors they had spoken to had done their best. Her brain is simply too damaged, they had said. She was lucky to have survived. She may never wake up. Saihara was inconsolable. Word went around the school about what had happened his classmates all but jumped on the opportunity. He was too mournful to put up a fight anymore. If Saihara wasn't an easy target for bullying before, he certainly was now. The attacks were relentless. Instead of sneers and insults, he received harsh shoves into his locker, thick fingers yanking his hair, and sharpie scribbles all over his desk. Occaisonally a peer would add a crude drawing to match the memorabilia of their enmity. Telling the teachers did nothing. They all assured him that 'Boys are just at that age,' and that 'The girls at this school would never say such a thing,' and 'Aren't you overreacting?'. After the first few attempts of alerting authorities, Saihara stopped trying. He feared the retribution from his bullies for tattling far more than he longed for any "help" his teachers would offer him at that point. His only solace was his walk directly from school to the hospital after the day. He would sit next to his mother's bedside and just talk; about his dad, about his classes, about the flowers he saw blooming on his way to school. Anything to take his mind off the fact that she was comatose and silent and not here with me. Saihara looked back at the window and to the clock. The last touches of orange from the sky were fading. He would have to go soon. Saihara took hold of his mother's hand. It was cold and dry. "I... wish you were here, mother," he whispered. "Things would be so much better with you here." He packed up his things and paused faced her. "Please wake up soon." He looked at her figure from the doorway for a long time before leaving the room.  

—

Stepping through the doorway Saihara sighed, exhaustion catching up to him. It really had been a long day. He slipped off his shoes and made his way over to the common area. The apartment was small. Two bedrooms for his father and him, along with a bathroom and a kitchenette attached to the living area. It would seem cosy for some, but Saihara welcomed it's simplicity. It felt like a break compared to the chaos of moving. He noticed a note on the table and picked it up. Shuuichi, Gone to work overtime. Be sure to eat and get to bed on time. Love, Dad Saihara set down the note and began to make dinner. He'd later put the leftovers in their refrigerator for his father to eat. By the time Saihara had eaten dinner, cleaned up, done his homework, and settled into bed, his father still hadn't returned home.

—

"Thank you for showing me around, Gokuhara-kun." "Well, thank you for coming to talk to Gonta!" Saihara, though a bit confused by his manner of speaking, was glad he had taken Gokuhara up on his offer. The gardens were bursting with life, green filling his vision. It was a wonder the school could afford such an expanse of land for just a garden. Really, Saihara thought, how much funding does this school have? He continued. "Even so, Gokuhara-kun, I really appreciate it. Every day I am surprised with what this school has to offer." "Of course! Saishuu Academy prides itself in all matters of study!" Gokuhara beamed. The two continued walking the cobblestone path in the garden. The scenery changed from flowers to ferns to exotic trees. The two were just passing a collection of hydrangea bushes when- "Stop where you are, Saihara-kun!" Saihara gasped,  "Gokuhara-kun?!" Gokuhara had placed a broad arm in front of Saihara's path, halting him in his steps. He then stooped right to where Saihara had been about to step and picked up what looked to be a tiny beetle walking along the cobblestone path. "You almost killed this beetle Saihara-kun!" He admonished with a ferocity Saihara had previously thought impossible for his well-mannered classmate. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see..." Gokuhara seemed to accept this apology with a nod and turned to the critter in his hands. The beetle had been stationary, but started to crawl around on his palm. Saihara inspected further and noticed that though the beelte's wings were copper, the back and head were an emerald green. The colors shone in the afternoon sun. "This little one... they call it a Japanese Beetle," Gokuhara responded when he noticed Saihara looking. "Really?" "Yes! They only live about a year. Since this one's already an adult, it may only have a couple months left. Gonta loves all insects, but this one is one of his favorites." Gokuhara lifted up his hands and the beetle flew out of them back into the garden. Saihara thought as he watched the action. I actually don't know much about Gokuhara-kun besides his love of insects... maybe I should try to bond? "Gokuhara-kun, if you don't mind me asking, how did you come to love bugs so much?" "Huh? Why?" Gokuhara's face turned dark as his eyes lit ablaze with anger. Gokuhara suddenly looked much bigger and much more fearsome than he did even two seconds before. "Do you hate bugs? Did you intend to step on that beetle from before?" Yikes!! "No, no Gokuhara-kun!" Saihara backpedaled. He waved his hands out in front of him manically, trying to ease the situation, "I was just wondering!" "Oh, really? Then in that case Gonta would be happy to tell!" His ominous expression vanished in an instant and was replaced with a dazzling smile. Gokuhara then proceeded to tell Saihara all about his days when he was young and played in the woods by his house. He had a pack of wolves that he bonded with when he was little that he considered his family, in addition to his parents. Saihara was more than a little shocked that his classmate had somehow managed to get an entire pack of feral wolves to take care of and play with a human child, but Saihara did his best to accept the ridiculous story. Gokuhara wasn't the type to make up a story like that anyway. Gokuhara went on to talk about how most beautiful bug landed on his hand one day, and he was in love with insects ever since. He would observe them in the woods and write down his findings in journals he kept at his house. He informed Saihara he had just finished his twentieth journal and was now starting his twenty-first. It was his crown achievement. As he and Gokuhara continued to walk down the path again, Saihara continually glanced over at Gokuhara. His form was massive. Saihara could tell that he had lots of muscle. It was no mistake that Gokuhara was male, his jawline sharp and shoulders broad, despite his long and mangey hair. Saihara wondered. Back at school he had constantly been ridiculed for being weak and frail. His height wasn't impressive and neither was his strength. Saihara hated that he was mistaken for a girl. I'm a boy and people seem to accept me as such here, he thought. Still, I want to look like one too. I don't want people to mistake me for a girl anymore. I can't do anything about my body structure but... maybe building some muscle will help? ...Would Gokuhara-kun know anything about that? Saihara paused to get his wording right before speaking. "...Gokuhara-kun, would you mind if I asked you something?" "Not at all! A gentleman provides his services to all worthy favors." Saihara hesitated. He did want to change, and here was his opportunity. All he had to do was ask. Gokuhara-kun's not scary. Unless if it comes to bugs. I mean, the worst he can do is say 'no'... aside from physical assault. But I don't think he'd hate me if I asked something like this... Saihara gathered his courage before continuing. "Would you... mind showing me how you gain muscle?" "Muscle? Are you wanting to defend your wolf family too?" What? "Er, no, Gokuhara-kun. The truth is I haven't been very strong my whole life, and I've been meaning to become stronger... but I'm not sure how to do that." "Oh! If that's what you wanted Gonta would be happy to indulge in this request," Gokuhara responded. "Gonta can definitely show you how he sustains his figure!" Saihara let out a sigh of relief. That was much easier than I thought it would be. "Thank you Gokuhara-kun... would tomorrow morning before school work?" "Yes!" Gokuhara exclaimed. "Let us meet in the student athlete gym!" Saihara smiled brightly. He was finally going to start achieving his goals.

—

"Hey, Saihara!" "Huh? What is it Momota-kun?" Class had just ended in time for lunch and Saihara had intended to search for a place to sit alone. He wasn't sure where any secluded spots were, but figured he'd try anyway. He didn't want to intrude on other people's spaces... he knew that lunch circles had long been formed. There wasn't room for him anywhere today. Momota came up to his desk and grinned widely. "Do you want to join us for lunch? Akamatsu, Kiibo, Harukawa, and I often sit together. We could use an extra!" Or not. Relief and joy washed over him as he offered a small smile back. "I would love to, Momota-kun." Momota grinned more and jerked his thumb to the door. "Well c'mon then! Bring your lunch." Saihara nodded and picked up his food as he followed Momota out the door. Saihara continued to smile as he thought. It feels really nice to be included. I didn't think I'd get to enjoy this here. Momota lead him up the steps from their floor and up to the roof. It was a bright sunny day, and plenty warm enough to enjoy the sunlight without a jacket. The gentle breeze tousled his hair, the effect soothing. Well, there are some nice things about not wearing my hat, I guess. Saihara saw Akamatsu sitting alongside Harukawa and Kiibo, all with their lunches out and beginning to eat. Kiibo also had some spare tools lying around and seemed to be working on a small contraption. Momota sat beside Kiibo while Saihara settled down beside Akamatsu at the end. "Saihara-kun!" Akamatsu smiled with radiance. "I'm so happy you could join us!" Saihara smiled back. "I'm happy to join you. Thank you for inviting me, Momota-kun." "Hey, no worries!" Saihara began to take out his lunch. He noticed the rest had a variety of food in their laps. Momota was enjoying what looked like a chicken sandwhich, while Akamatsu began to eat a peanut butter and jelly, accompanied with an apple. Harukawa had taken out of thermos of steaming soup. Kiibo, on the other hand, was too focused on his device to eat anything besides a brightly colored sports drink and some chips. Is he getting enough nutrition? Saihara wondered idly. Saihara opened up his lunch and picked up his chopsticks. He was about to start eating when he heard a gasp. "Saihara-kun, your lunch is so beautiful!" "Eh?" Akamatsu was gazing at his bento box with wonder, her face completely overflowing with amazement. Saihara was confused at that. He didn't think his lunch was all that great. He had split the meal into carbs, proteins, and some fruit and vegetables, like he usually did. His lunch today consisted of rice with sesame seeds on one side, tamago rolls and ham he had cooked in the morning, along with some edamame and strawberries. Saihara didn't even have time to make an extravagant lunch since he had to get to school early to see the gardens with Gokuhara. This was just pulling together what remained in the fridge for the week. What exactly was 'amazing' about it? Momota had leaned over to see what the commotion was about. "Woah, Saihara, she's right! Your lunch looks amazing! Way better than what any of us got here!" Saihara thought he saw Harukawa scowl in his peripheral vision. He hoped she wasn't mad. "Er, you think so?" he prompted warily. "Yes!" Akamatsu nodded enthusiastically, eyes transfixed on the food. She then looked at Saihara with wonder. "Who made this? Did you buy it? You had to have! The arrangement's too perfect!" Now Saihara was blushing. This much praise to handle all at once. "Ah, no, I made this, actually." Slowly all four sets of eyes turned to his. Even Kiibo stopped working on his project to look Saihara in the eyes. Shoot. That wasn't what I wanted. This isn't weird, is it? Everyone started talking at once. "What?! That's incredible!" "Unbelievable..." "Dude! How? I couldn't even make this if I tried!" "Saihara-kun, that display is most impressive!" Saihara was beginning to feel overwhelmed. He started talking and hoped they would understand if he just explained. "N-No, you're wrong, it's just a habit I formed over the years," he fumbled over his words. "Every day? Before school even?" "Yes, I always make lunch for my father and I." Saihara had always had a skill for cooking. When he was little his mother would guide him over the steps and take his little hands in hers and show him, explaining carefully why and how each step was necessary for a delicious meal. After primary school he started making his own lunches, figuring it'd be good practice for later in life. When his mom had become hospitalized, he started making all the meals for both his father and himself. It was the least he could do for how hard his father was working. "Really? What about your mother?" Saihara winced internally. He knew he'd have to come up with a coverup eventually. "She stays at home," he forced out. The group accepted his answer and settled to continue with lunch. Saihara tried not to look as relieved as he was that the attention was no longer on him. Saihara remembered the frown he had seen Harukawa wear when talking about his lunch. He hoped that things between them didn't turn out badly, whatever the reason for her displeasure would be. He didn't want to make any enemies here while being fully able to stop it. Saihara cleared his throat quietly before asking. "Oh, by the way, Harukawa-san, what did you bring for lunch?" Harukawa turned to him with an impassive stare. She held up her thermos and stated, "Miso soup." "Oh, did you make it?" She nodded. He smiled. "It smells wonderful. I always enjoy miso soup when I have it." Harukawa's eyes softened a bit as she nodded. Oh, so she isn't mad after all, Saihara thought. "Yeah, it's about the only thing she can make though!" Harukawa began scowling again. Saihara looked to see Momota laughing as if he had told a joke. "Honestly, she's a menace in the kitchen otherwise. Hey, Kiibo, remember last year when she tried making a cake during Home Ec.?" "Please do not joke about that." Kiibo glanced at Momota with a grimace. "I still have fantom pains in my stomach from eating that cake. I hadn't realized a cake could take so awful." "Just because I mixed up the baking soda and the sugar..." "Guys, don't make fun of her!" Akamatsu chided, an uncharacteristically angry look on her face. "Maki-chan works very hard on her cooking! You shouldn't make fun of her." "Ah, right, right," Momota apologized. "Sorry Harukawa, I couldn't help it." Harukawa still didn't look pleased but let the matter drop. Saihara suddenly understood why she looked annoyed when Momota had praised his lunch. Of course she wasn't happy about it, Saihara realized. No one likes being made fun of for something they worked hard on. The rest of the lunch period progressed smoothly, cheerful banter accompanying the group. Kiibo had exclaimed in triumph when he had finished his project, which apparently was a voice recording machine with the ability to send voice files to computers through email. He insisted that it was much better than Iruma's recent invention, a claw grabber with an electric zap feature at the press of a button. Kiibo and Momota then engaged in a full-on debate over the pros and cons of each invention, each staunch in their stance of which was better. Kiibo's points included how it would be useful for writing essays, drafting songs and music (to which Akamatsu perked her ears to), and even having a voice-journal. Momota's arguments, aside from his points on self-defense, were mainly variations of how it would be "a wicked good pranking device." Saihara was more than comfortable watching them all. Is this what having friends is like? He wondered. He gazed at the four of them, talking with each other, smiles on their faces. His mouth lifted at the corners in response. This is... nice. Really nice. The warning bell rang and the five students packed up their lunches. As Saihara exited through the door down the stairwell, he was stopped by a voice. "Saihara." He turned to see Harukawa behind him on the stairs, slowly approaching him before stopping in front of him. Her eyes were certain. Saihara began. "What is it, Harukawa-san?" Harukawa hesitated before she spoke. "I have a favor to ask of you." "A favor?" "Yes." Saihara waited. Harukawa said nothing. He tried again, "Is it something I can do?" "Yes. It has to do with your cooking." Harukawa then looked down, a finger twirling her hair. Saihara recognized the nervous habit immediately. After all, he had a very similar one himself. Saihara waited as she gathered her words. He knew she must have felt vulnerable asking for such a favor. She seems to care a lot about this, he mused. Harukawa looked up at him. She squared her shoulders subtly before asking directly, "Saihara... will you be my Home Economics partner?" Home Economics class? "Your partner? Why?" She explained. "I'm sure you remember the conversation at lunch... I'm not the best of cooks. The only thing I can manage is miso soup. Anything else turns into a disaster when I touch it." Her expression turned remorseful. "My grade in the class is falling. I wouldn't normally care about that, but I do for this. Since there was only fifteen of us, I usually ended up alone. Everyone knows how awful I am when it comes to cooking. Kaede would help me sometimes but... I don't want to burden her with this anymore." Saihara noted the use of Akamatsu's first name. Come to think of it, Akamatsu called her 'Maki-chan' during lunch as well. Are they close? They seem to care a lot for each other... "I see," Saihara ventured, "So you want me to teach you how to cook?" Harukawa stiffened and glanced away. She really is nervous about this, Saihara thought. "I don't mind," he reassured. He waited for her until she continued. "Only... only if you want to," she mumbled. Saihara smiled. "Of course. I'd be more than happy to teach you. I don't have a partner for Home Ec. yet, so you're even doing me a favor." Harukawa smiled. "Thank you, Saihara." Saihara smiled back. "You're welcome." The two walked together down the stairwell until they reached the classroom.

—

The next day, Saihara was in pain. Okay, he knew that gaining muscle would be hard. He just didn't think it'd be this hard. Scratch that, this isn't just hard... "I'm telling you Gokuhara-kun, this is impossible! I can't lift 300 pounds right away!" "Saihara-kun, you'll never have muscles like Gonta if you can't lift this!" Saihara was panting after trying–and failing–several times to bench press a bar with 150-pound metal weights on either side. Saihara had thought that when they went to the school gym Gokuhara would ease him into it, starting with something more reasonable. Apparently, that was too much to ask. "Gokuhara-kun, I don't think muscles work this way... I think you have to build up to something like this. " "Really?! Gonta's always been able to lift that much!" Saihara sighed. Well, so much for trying to be in better shape. He barely had any stamina to start with and just those lifts had completely drained it all. What did Gokuhara-kun have to do in his life to think that lifting 300 pounds was easy?! "Class is going to start soon... I think we'll have to continue this another time." Saihara sighed. "Oh... Gonta apologizes he was unable to help with your request." Gokuhara replied as he helped lift the weighted bar off of his classmate. Saihara looked at Gokuhara and saw his face had a melancholy hue. He genuinely didn't mean to discourage Saihara, he had only tried helping in the only way he knew how. Saihara's heart ached. I don't want to leave with Gokuhara-kun feeling this way... Saihara stood up from the bench and squared his shoulders at him. "Gokuhara-kun." His classmate looked up at Saihara's resolute gaze. "I will work up to lifting these weights with you. Please give me time. I'll find a way to build my stamina. And when I do, do you want to... continue doing weights with me?" Gokuhara's eyes widened before he smiled brilliantly at Saihara. "Of course, Saihara-kun! Nothing would make Gonta happier!" Saihara nodded and the two packed up their belongings. Gokuhara went ahead to class early while Saihara stayed behind to take a quick shower. Even those minuscule exercises had left him sweating. When he came out Saihara noticed another person heading out of the gym as well. As their paths began to cross Saihara called out to him. "Amami-kun?" "Oh, it's Saihara-kun. Nice to see you here," Amami responded cheerfully. Saihara had not gotten used to Amami yet. Sure, Amami's bubbly demeanor was charming to many but... he sensed something else. There was a way Amami held his posture and wore his expressions that told Saihara he was no pushover. His personality was happy and inviting, as long as you didn't cross some lines. Somehow he knew that should someone cross him, Amami would go above and beyond to make his enemy's life a living hell. What confused Saihara, however, was that his aura didn't come off as menacing despite these signs. Rather, it seemed almost... protective? Saihara mentally shook himself from those thoughts as he remembered Amami was right in front of him. "I see you're just coming from a workout yourself... what did you do?" Amami smiled as he pointed to himself "Me? I did a bunch of various exercises." Various exercises? Saihara wondered. Could he have something to help me? "Amami-kun?" "Yes?" "Do you have any routines for stamina?" Amami blinked. "Stamina?" Saihara nodded. "Yes. I expressed that I wanted to be stronger to Gokuhara-kun, but when I went to lift weights with him today I was out of breath in the first few minutes." Amami chuckled. "Well of course! You're supposed to be out of breath during a workout. I can't imagine lifting weights with Gokuhara-kun would be any easier either." "Oh..." Saihara's shoulders slumped slightly. He looked down at the floor. I guess it was stupid of me to ask... now I just look dumb. Should I have not tried to get stronger after all? Saihara felt bitter at the thought. "To answer your question, by the way," Amami continued, unperturbed by Saihara's change in demeanor, "I find swimming to be an excellent way to build up stamina." Saihara lifted his head. "Swimming?" "Yes. It's a full-body workout and it's easy on the joints. It's a great place to start for beginners." Amami then smiled at him before walking past him to the door. This is it, Saihara thought while watching his classmate go by. A strong hope began to flow through him. I finally have a way to build up my stamina! "Amami-kun!" Saihara turned and raised his voice to the figure opening the door. Amami paused and looked over his shoulder at Saihara. "Thank you!" Amami grinned and waved as he closed the door behind him.

—

Mistake, mistake, mistake, Saihara chanted in his head as he completed his pushups. I should've looked up today's schedule earlier! Had Saihara checked, he would've seen that it was that special day of the week where instead of an elective, the entire class had physical fitness. Unfortunately for him, he didn't. He had been completely unaware. Which, would have been fine for Saihara had he not been still sore from lifting weights with Gokuhara in the morning. I'm really out of shape, though Saihara grudgingly. The school provided special uniforms which they were to use for the class. Though Saihara had to go to the office specifically to request them, he now had his own. The dark blue shorts and white shirt matched those around him, though the girls' shorts were cut a bit differently. Shorts length didn't make a single difference when competing against the others though. Saihara almost yelped when a very fast moving ball missed his head by a fraction and landed on their side of the court. The adrenaline rush just from dodging that ball almost froze him in place. "Oi, Saihara!" Iruma yelled across the net. "If you don't start taking this game seriously I'll cut your manhood right off!" "Ah, no thank you, Iruma-san..." Iruma humphed and turned around to get back in position. Saihara let out a breath as he returned to his spot as well. After the class had done some floor exercises and stretches, the instructor told them that today was volleyball day, and they were to split into teams of four, with two nets to challenge the teams. They counted off and were sorted by number. On his side of the court Saihara stood with Hoshi, Shirogane, and Ouma. Their opponents were Chabashira, Momota, Iruma, and Toujou. Saihara was suspicious of the display Ouma made before being counted off. He had been hanging around Amami until he abruptly put himself between Chabashira and Yumeno before it got to them, effectively separating the two to different sides of the court. Ouma had only laughed when Chabashira accused him of planning something. "Don't worry, Saihara!" Momota had patted him across the shoulder. "I know you'll do great even if we're opponents!" ... So he said but... Saihara was convinced the entire count off was a conspiracy. Despite having known his classmates for less than a week, somehow he was certain that his opposing team was made up of the most competitive members of the class. Iruma took no quarter with her fierce blows and Momota's eyes were blazing with determination. Chabashira had been competitive from the start, but somehow having Ouma on the other side made it worse. He was sure that the teasing wasn't helping. "Ah Iruma-chan, we're not trying to break bones here! Your throws might kill somebody," Ouma sang cheerfully. "Oh and Chabashira-chan, you know this isn't Aikido so be sure not to punch the ball, okay? You have to strike it!" Tenko's teeth visibly grinded in anger. Saihara knew that a little friendly competition never hurt, but it seemed as if the term "friendly" had stopped being applicable as soon as Ouma opened his mouth. Honestly, Saihara thought, What is he trying to accomplish with this? "Are you worried, Saihara-chan?" Saihara turned to see Ouma only a few steps away from him, a smile spread confidently across his face. The look puzzled Saihara. Ouma almost looked like a cat about to play with it's favorite mouse. "No, it's just a game after all," Saihara replied. "Really? I know I'd be worried if I was by the net right by an angry-looking Chabashira-chan!" Saihara sighed. "So you are doing it on purpose..." "Hmm?" Ouma questioned innocently, lifting his arms above his head. "What do you mean?" Saihara looked him directly in the eyes. "You're purposely riling her up by teasing her and insulting her. Really, Ouma-kun, what's your goal? Do you want a team of angry opponents?" Ouma simply stared at him. Saihara almost groaned in exasperation. How many times is he gonna do this? Does he even plan on answering any of the questions I ask? "All right, I'm going to serve," called Hoshi from the back. Saihara turned from Ouma and refocused on the game. As long as he kept all of his limbs he'd consider it a win... Hoshi spiked the ball up and served, the ball flying to the other side of the net. Toujou caught it with dexterity and precision, passing it to Iruma. Iruma hit it over to Momota, who struck it over the net. Shirogane dived for the ball and saved it last minute, and Saihara swiftly set it over the net. Saihara saw Chabashira right in front of him across the net, and knew she was going to try to spike it back. He had to be ready. He saw the ball, slowly rising in the air. It hit its peak height and- "Chabashira-chan, be sure not to hit like a girl!" Oh no. Saihara paled as he saw Chabashira's eyes practically explode with fury. She jumped. A raised hand and a sound like "thwack" were the only warnings he received before his vision blacked out completely.

—

Saihara woke up slowly. He was somewhere warm and soft. His head was pounding, why was his head pounding? He frowned a bit before slowly blinking away the sleep. He opened his eyes to find a figure leaning above him, a face close to his, and pair of eyes staring right back into his own. Ouma was staring right at him. Saihara stared back. Were Ouma's eyes always this big? He thought, his brain was still in a fog of drowsiness. In this light, they almost look- "Good morning~! You're finally awake!" His voice did the trick. Saihara gasped, suddenly very aware of how close they were and how Ouma's hands were on either side of his head. Saihara's shoulders stiffened reflexively as he scrambled his mind for an explanation. Nothing came up. "O-Ouma-kun! W-what-" "Well, technically it's 'good afternoon,' since it's past lunch and all." Ouma looked completely unfazed by their positions, and didn't seem the slightest bit affected by their proximity. Saihara tried to calm his heart down. There's no reason to freak out, he reasoned as his mind spun. There's probably a very logical explanation for this. He tried asking again, "Ouma-kun, what-what happened? Where is this?" "You're in the nurse's office, silly! You hit your head pretty hard in that volleyball game." "V-volleyball...?" Oh, that's right. I was in P.E. class. Saihara remembered splitting off into teams, Ouma aggravating Chabashira intentionally. Then... nothing. "Yep!" Ouma continued. "We had started another match, but Chabashira-chan was so angry she hit the ball right on your forehead! There's an ugly bruise there now," Ouma giggled. Saihara frowned and brought his hand up to his forehead. Sure enough, he felt pain when he found the bruise. But the back of my head is what's hurting... "Wait, Chabashira-san hit the ball so hard it knocked me out?" He asked incredulously. Even for someone as strong as her that seemed incredibly unlikely. "What? Don't be dumb, Saihara-chan," Ouma pouted. "The ball made you fall, and you hit your head on the floor," he patronized. He exhaled dramatically, "Honestly, Saihara-chan, I thought you were smart." Oh. That makes a lot more sense. My head hit the floor and that's why it's hurting in the back instead of the front... Saihara motioned to sit up and Ouma let him, though still close to his side. Saihara noticed he had brought a chair to sit beside the cot. A chair? Was he waiting for me to wake up this whole time? Saihara rubbed his forehead, pain still present. "How did I get in the nurse's office?" "Oh, Harukawa-chan carried you up here." "Harukawa-san did...?" "Yup! She may not seem like it, but she has a looooot of muscle!" Saihara felt a small rush of gratitude. So they really did bond at lunch. He'd have to thank her later. "By the way Ouma-kun... were you waiting for me, by any chance?" "Hmm? Why would you think that, Saihara-chan?" Ouma grinned, lips stretched as if hiding a juicy secret. Saihara reasoned, "Well, you were here when I woke up, and your chair is by the bed... it's a logical conclusion." Ouma grinned. "Yep, I did! Since I was responsible for knocking you unconscious after all!" Saihara paused. "What... do you mean?" "The game was so boring up until that point," Ouma said. "I didn't even want to play with everyone. So I thought I'd add a bit of fun by messing with the other team." Ouma started talking more animatedly, "But then you got knocked out, so I offered to watch over you! After all, it was the least I could do since I annoyed Chabashira-chan so much." Saihara rubbed his temples in defeat. "So you just used me as an excuse to get out of P.E..." he muttered. "What? How cruel, Saihara-chan! Is your opinion of me that low?" Ouma's face changed until it bore a pretty convincing look of a child about to burst into tears. Saihara wasn't about to be fooled. He spoke as met Ouma's eyes square on, "Well, how else would you have me take it?" He had openly stated he had annoyed Chabashira and the others on purpose. What else was he capable of? Ouma's sorrow vanished in a blink, leaving a pondering look on his face, "Hmm... I don't know," He said. Suddenly his mouth curled at the edges and his eyes narrowed in mirth. He leaned closer, face inches from Saihara's before softly admitting, "Maybe I just wanted to see more of Saihara-chan's beautiful sleeping face." Saihara froze. He stared at Ouma with incredulous eyes. He can't be serious, can he? Ouma suddenly leaned away. "Juuuuust kidding!" Saihara broke eye contact and looked away, resignation filling his bones. Saihara realized that as long as he hung around Ouma he'd have to put up with his antics. I can't take anything this guy says seriously. And he seems rather happy watching me squirm... Saihara turned his legs to get off of the bed. He noticed that he was still in his P.E. uniform. After changing into the school uniform placed by the cot on the side table, Saihara thanked the nurse and walked out of the office with Ouma. He noticed the hallways were quiet. Usually he'd expect more people to be about. Wasn't P.E. still in session? As Saihara went to his desk and gathered his books to take home, he noted that even his classmate's belongings were gone. There really is no one here. Is still fourth period? "Hey, Ouma-kun, I hit my head during fourth period, right?" he asked tentatively. "Yep, that's when P.E. is!" he responded. "Thank goodness you didn't have a nosebleed, or we would've had to take you to the hospital to check for a concussion," Ouma stated cheerily. Saihara paused. There was something about his words that stuck out to him. Was he forgetting something? Hospital... Hospital... hospital... .......Hospital! Panic seized Saihara's heart as he gasped in realization. What if the reason no one was around was- He frantically turned to Ouma. "Ouma-kun! What time is it?!" Ouma looked at him curiously. "The time? Why?" "Please, it's important!" "Hmm okay then." Ouma pulled out his phone. "It's 3:25." Saihara felt dread pool his stomach faster than a dam breaking. It wasn't just past fourth period, the whole school day had ended. I need to go now! "Eh? Saihara-chan, where are you going?" Ouma called out when suddenly faced with Saihara frantically stuffing the rest of his books in his bag and speed-walking out of the classroom. Ouma had to jog lightly to keep up. Saihara continued to hurry out of the building as quickly as he could, stress quickly taking over. Soon they reached the front gates of the school and Saihara looked back to Ouma, still walking forwards. His words came out jumbled and frenzied. "Thank you so much for looking after me, Ouma-kun, I really have to go I hope you understand, I'm not mad at all but I really have to go. I'll see you tomorrow!" With that, Saihara fled the scene all but running, scurrying off down the street and around corners until Ouma could see him no more.

—

Ouma stared in mild shock at the street had just seen his classmate run down. He had expected Saihara to realize school was over, but the rush? Now that was unexpected. Seeing Saihara, timid and shy but resolute in his ideas, suddenly rushing out of the school as if his life depended on it had thrown Ouma for a loop. It was such a contrast from what he had observed of him before that he could only stand by the gates, surprised. Then he let out a chuckle as he brought his hand to his mouth. Ouma hummed as he walked away from the school, a newfound joy overtaking his senses. In truth, Ouma didn't feel the least bit remorseful for angering Chabashira or any of the rest. He only thought they would be a little less dull if they took the game seriously. After all, what's the point of a game if there's not some intent to win? The rest didn't even notice. But Saihara-chan! Ouma thought with growing enthusiasm. He saw right through me! No one had ever done that really. Not only had he noticed the game Ouma was playing, but he also called him out on it–how thrilling! So when Saihara had been knocked out, he'd immediately offered to watch over him. He didn't want to participate in P.E. anymore, and maybe Saihara would surprise him more when he woke up. Some of his classmates even seemed grateful to get rid of him for a while. That was the plan, but really Ouma had no idea Saihara would actually sleep through the rest of school. It's not like Ouma cared enough to attend class instead, so he sat there watching the rise and fall of Saihara's chest. Definitely not his face. His gorgeous, elegant face... Okay, so maybe he had stared a little bit. How could he not? It's not like anything else in the room was as interesting. Ouma admired how smooth his skin was, how soft his hair looked, the newfound discovery of how long his lashes were. Others might have referred to them as feminine qualities, but to Ouma they just made him more attractive. He really is handsome... He had been leaning over him to get a better look when Saihara started stirring. How privileged Ouma had felt to see his eyes slowly blink open. Saihara's soft-looking hair framed his face and lay across the pillow in a lovely manner. His long lashes decorated his gray eyes as he slowly opened up his eyes, still half-lidded from sleep. Ouma swore he absolutely did not feel something in his chest flip. Of course, even when Saihara became flustered once he realized the situation, he still looked quite breathtaking. Add the sudden puzzle of Saihara's rush to leave, and Ouma had much to think about. "Really, Saihara-chan," he spoke aloud to the empty street, glee filling his voice, "You really are a mystery!" He was getting quite attached, indeed.

Notes!

I was just casually writing Gokuhara and then translations were like 'sike... he speaks in the third person.' Gonta u slay me. My grammar instincts were going like crazy. And then apparently everyone refers to him by his first name?? OTL Just... just take this.....

Notes on the Chapter! - Saihara's eyes playing tricks on him: Based on personal experience. I attended my grandfather's funeral and kept thinking I'd see his chest moving up and down, even though I know it didn't. Tried to incorporate that into the story. - Reading corner: Also based on personal experience from when I was young. Apparently when I was done playing with other kids I would go and sit by myself and read for an hour XD - Gonta's wolf family: I heard in canon he was raised by wolves? Wasn't quite sure how to incorporate that into this non-despair universe so went down the "grew up with wolves and family" path. ...Why do you continue to make my life difficult Gonta. - 300 pounds: Okay straight up I'm American and I genuinely hit a stump when trying to use SI units? What do you people call weights in other countries? ... Kilos? Anyway I suffered and I kept trying to use the heathen measurements I'm used to. I'm sorry, it's just gonna have to be that way. If I do use measurements from now on I'll put the equivalents in the chapter notes at the end. As an estimate for those who aren't used to pounds, 300 lbs is roughly 136 kg. - Gonta's strength: Yes, in canon apparently he lifts a manhole with his FINGERS. Those are like 250 lbs (113 kg)... how. - Swimming: Based on personal experience! I do swimming and it helps because my body hates running :'). - Saihara's lunch: He makes bento! I'm unfamiliar with how to make bento boxes so I used this as a reference: http://www.justonecookbook.com/how-to-make-bento/ - Kaede and Maki's relationship: Okay, true confessions, I was gunning REALLY HARD for that ship to be a thing. And then canon just... smashed it. Not sure yet if I want them to be friends or girlfriends yet... just let me have them as close friends at least give me that much. _(:3」∠)_ - Home Economics Class: I think this is a thing in Japan? They have classes about how to cook, sew, do adult things, etc. I really liked the idea and decided to use it! :D

And that’s it for now kiddos! Hope to see you soon! (●˙꒳˙●)/

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 59 of 83 : World of Sea

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 59 of 83

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2020

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Users   of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may   reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information   remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in   my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical   compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

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Chapter 22: The Search

Rage, grief and mortification warred in Captain Mord’s heart as he looked at the map-table where he had sent Kurin in such anger.  The worst was that, even if the Grandalor’s sailors were a boarding party, Kurin had been right.  

The law was as clear as his anger was deep.  While it was believed that the Grandalor’s sailors were castaways, the Longin had been required to pick them up, if only to hold them for trial.  At least some of them paid in blood for their treachery!  But they got what they came for.  We may never see her again…  The thought trailed off into unbearable pain.

Bron’s arm was trailing.  He had bruises, one on his back, between the shoulder blades and one on the inside of his elbow.  It was not serious but if his attacker had used a knife instead of that silly, weighted sack of fish-leather, he would have been dead.  

Other crewmen were beginning to tell their tales of the battle and they were slowly realizing the same things.  The assailants had been too few to have any hope of taking a ship like the Longin.  Also, none of their enemies had been armed with anything but a padded leather cosh. It was as if they were trying not to hurt anyone on the ship. Some fools were even trying to tie that Sea Hawk to the attack.  It was just lost in the fog.  

Then they began to hear, Kurin’s gone!  The bastards had kidnaped her! But that made no sense.  They could have simply killed her.  They had already tried to do it once.  It would have been far less risky.

Looking at the map-table clearly, Captain Mord saw what he has missed the first time.  There in the tallow, written in Kurin’s neat handwriting, was a note.

“Captain: The Grandalor’s crew needs justice.  Their rights under the second G. L. have been violated.  I have gone to help them.  Kurin”

First they tried to kill her, now this!  No matter what excuse, they have stolen her!  In anger, partly at himself and partly at Kurin for being so gullible, he wiped out the note before any other should notice it.  Details aren’t important!   Whatever ruse they used, they kidnapped Kurin!  The Grandalor is guilty!

Captain Mord returned forward, where one of the boarders lay propped against the foremast.  The man had been stabbed deeply but still lived. Feebly he extended a hand holding a folded tallow-slate, hinged shut to protect its message.

Weakly he said to the enraged Mord, “Captain, read this. It’s from my Captain.  We were to be your hostages for Kurin’s return…” He slumped lax, dead from his wounds, the tallow-slate falling from his fingers with a small clatter onto the Longin’s deck.

Captain Mord kicked the tallow-slate away unread.  “Toss this Grandalor trash over the side,” he ordered.

His crew looked at him aghast.  Nobody moved.  Mord became angrier and yelled, “Dump him!  That’s an order!”  At last, a few deck-hands took the man’s body and dragged him to the rail.  An Orca began to sing.  They dropped him in fear.  One noticed the tallow-slate and picked it up as he retreated.

Captain Mord realized that nobody would touch the body since the whale had begun to sing and heaved it over the side himself.  The whale’s song went on for another ten minutes.  

When it was done, Captain Mord ordered, “Swab up this blood and straighten up the area.”  His men did do that, though they had begun to whisper among themselves as they worked.

Kurin disentangled herself from the joyous hug that Tanlin was giving her and said, “I need to see your log first, then all of the sickbay documentation.  I want to see all of the Purser’s accounts and look over Master Selked’s shop.  After that, I am going to interview virtually everyone on board.”

Tanlin let her go, becoming brisk, now that there was a task at hand.  “Oi’m glad.  Wen do ye wont t’ begin?”

“If I can eat in here, I’ll begin now,” said Kurin.  “I need to start with the beginning of the indenture trade.  I have to know about that in detail if I am to save your ship from Scattering.”

Tanlin got up and went to the long shelf holding the Logs of the Grandalor. As she was going down the line, absently tapping the spines of the volumes with her left index finger, she said thoughtfully, “T’ere’s somet’in’ t’at ye’ll find wen ye get t’ t’e interviews. Oi didnae mention ‘t before because ‘t wa’nae important in t’e way t’at ye asked about.  ‘T does bear on ‘ow t’is ship wad respond t’ a penalty o’ Scatterin’.  

“Every person on t’is ship’s adopted.  All o’ t’em are now named Grandalor, m’sel’ included.  ‘T happened t’e morning after our flight began.  T’ey knew t’at t’e ship wa’ implicated in murder an’ chose t’is way o’ tellin’ Barad an’ m’sel’ t’at t’ey wad nae abandon us.  

“Oi joined t’em.”  She swallowed past a hard lump in her throat and a tear glistened in the corner of her eye.

“Princamorn wa’ but a name t’ m’ an’ t’e Grandalor’s home.  Oi dinnae wont t’ lose ‘t.”  

Intently, Kurin said, “I see.  That makes a difference — to me at least,” she looked sharply at Tanlin, “if it was a voluntary thing.”

Tanlin was already fishing the necessary volume of the log from its shelf and looked back over her shoulder.  “Twas.  T’ey’d planned t’ do ‘t publicly, in t’e main square o’ t’e Gat’ering, ‘ad reserved ‘t, in fact, wen we ‘ad t’ flee.  T’ey came t’ m’ first.  Twas a total an’ welcome surprise.  T’e only light in some very dark days.”  She found the place that she was looking for in the book and gave it to Kurin.

Kurin settled cross-legged on Tanlin’s bunk with the book in her lap and began turning pages one at a time, glancing at each page and moving on.  Tanlin watched as Kurin leafed through the volume of the log, almost twenty Gatherings old.

There was a scratching noise at the cabin’s window.  Tanlin smiled to herself as it swung inward and Skye’s head poked into the cabin. The Wide Wing looked alertly about and stepped into the room.  The bird turned about on the sill and used her beak to push the window closed and then hop-fluttered to the table in front of Tanlin, who chucked her under the beak and stroked her under a slightly raised wing.

Skye settled on the table and waited quietly.  Kurin looked up with a smile and said, “Who’s trained who, here?”

Tanlin replied lightly but sort of seriously, “T’ey made m’ part o’ t’eir rookery flock an’ welcomed m’ t’ t’eir nest.  Could Oi do less?”

Before there was any answer possible, Tahm returned with food, cups, utensils and trays.  He set out the table, working nonchalantly around the sitting bird.  Kurin put the log aside and came to the table.

“I take it that this happens a lot?” she said with a genuine smile.

It was Tahm who answered, “Every time that the Captain eats in. Sometimes it’s Skye, here.  Sometimes it’s Thunderhead.  I’m told that after the chicks are grown, it’ll be both of ‘em. Better behaved than many of the crew.”

The main course that he laid out was a Strong Skin roast.  The bird looked sideways at Tanlin, who nodded.  The bird promptly dove her beak into the edge of the roast and peeled off a strip.  She began to bite it into bits which she swallowed quickly.

Kurin watched in fascination.  “Better get yers w’ile ye still ‘ave a chance, Skye’s stoking up for ‘er chicks,” said Tanlin.  She reached out, speared the roast with a chopstick and cut off slices with the knife that Kurin remembered from their first meeting.  She piled the slices onto a tray along with a generous serving of red weed bread buns and seaweed salad.  She handed the tray to Kurin and poured water into a cup.

“Sweet, sour or bitter flavor in yer woter?”

“Plain, please.  Flavors for water?  I never heard of any such thing.”

“Tis a Grandalor specialty.  Barad told m’ t’at Kurti showed ‘t to ‘im shortly after she started t’ work as ‘is cabin-girl.”

“Now that puzzles me.  I know what you told me at the Gathering but why would a skilled diver and stores clerk like Kurti stoop to becoming a cabin-girl?” Kurin asked around a mouth full of salad.

Tanlin considered for a moment and fed Skye a few more bits of roast before answering.  “Oi wa’ still in m’ coma then.  According t’ both Barad an’ Doctor Corin, she knew t’at she might die from ‘er lung parasite infection.  Twas gettin’ worse in spite o’ t’e treatments.  Doctor Corin wa’ just about t’ put ‘er on t’e invalid list.  She wa’ in sickbay gettin’ a treatment wen she met Barad.  ‘E’d come by t’ sickbay t’ look in on m’.

“‘E offered ‘er t’e light work job t’at ‘ad just come open, due t’ Chena’s untimely deat’.  Kurti ‘ated bein’ useless.  She jumped at t’e chance t’ avoid t’e invalid list an’ stay useful.  T’ keep t’e seriousness o’ ‘er condition bein’ a matter o’ common gossip, Barad ordered ‘t kept secret.  Barad could be considerate sometimes, even t’en.”

“I think that I see.  The Barad that the fleet saw was something of a fiction?”

Tanlin leaned back nervously in her chair and gripped her right hand with her left.  “Oi truly wish t’at Oi could say t’at but Oi promised ye t’e trut’.  Tis a longish tale.  

“Barad wa’ always a somew’at calculatin’ man.  Once, long ago, Barad an’ Selked were married t’ twins from t’e Muline an’ by all accounts t’ey were ‘appy.  

“An epidemic o’ fire cough swept t’e ship.  Both Teralas, Selked’s wife, an’ Teralat, Barad’s wife, were among t’e nearly forty percent o’ t’e ship’s crew ‘oo died.  Barad almost went mad wit’ grief, an’ dealt wit’ ‘t by calculatin’ almost everything.  T’at’s ‘ow he became t’e Barad t’at you knew.

“Shortly after t’at, t’e Ca’tain died in ‘is sleep.  A Coriolis storm wa’ comin’ an’ t’e crew needed command.  T’ey took Barad’s orders an’ ‘e got t’e Grandalor t’rough safe, even t’ough t’e ship wa’ massively undermanned.

“‘E wa’ elected Ca’tain after t’e storm.  At t’e Gat’ering t’at followed, ‘is election wa’ challenged by yer Ca’tain Mord.  ‘E almost cost Barad both ‘is Ca’taincy an’ ‘is life.  In t’e end, t’e Council up’eld Barad by only two votes.  Even t’ose ‘oo voted in ‘is favor sponsored a resolution t’at t’ey did so only because t’e evidence against ‘im wa’ nae sufficient. T’at wa’ t’e origin o’ t’e grudge t’at ‘e ‘eld against Ca’tain Mord an’ t’e Naral fleet as a ‘ole.

“Barad rebuilt t’e crew by takin’ in t’e scupper sweepin’s o’ t’e fleet.  T’e ones t’at naebody else wanted.  T’e Grandalor became a refuge for t’ose wit’ nae ot’er place t’ go.  Barad took t’em on a case by case basis an’ let t’em swim t’ Iren, if ‘e believed t’at a last chance would nae ‘elp.

TO BE CONTINUED

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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 62 of 83 : World of Sea

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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 62 of 83

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2020

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Users   of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may   reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information   remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in   my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical   compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

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Mord knocked on the cabin door.  The guard opened it at once.

The degree to which he was still trusted by the crew was shown by their choice of guard.  It was Bron, the cabin-boy.

“Yes, Sir?”

“Bron, would you please ask Alor, Acting Captain Kotance, a representative of the Master’s Council and  Cron to come here?”

Bron was aware that such a group meant something important.  He went at once to Alor’s cabin just down the passage.  He spoke with her through the door, staying in the hallway so that he could watch the Captain’s cabin door.  Mord only waited, as expected.

Alor went to get the witnesses that Mord had asked for, and Bron came back to his guard post by the door.  The group assembled quickly, coming one at a time to the Captain’s cabin.

Last to arrive was Alor, who came in the company of Master Juris.

The others waited in nervous silence until Alor began the meeting.  As Purser, she was the ship’s legal officer for most things and all official documents except the log were her province.  

She began, “Mord, we have assembled as you have requested.  What do you contemplate doing that needs witness from all sections of the crew?”

Mord drew a deep breath and knit his brows before replying,  “I have to do the hardest duty of my life.  I have looked at all of the charges in the documents that you have provided me and reflected on how best to deal with them.  They are all true.  I cannot in conscious good faith waste the time of the Longin or the Council trying to fight this.”

Concerned, Master Juris asked, “Will you mount no defense?  These are serious charges.  You could lose much, perhaps even your life.”

“I can only say in my defense that I plead mitigating circumstance.  I believe that I went onto dry land when Kurin was so viciously poisoned.  I have regarded her as a daughter and responded to her poisoning with a parent’s rage instead of a Captain’s thought and consideration.”

Kotance thoughtfully ran a hand through his red hair before speaking, “As Acting Captain, I must inquire into your state of mind.  You say that you ran hard aground.  What do you think has put you safely afloat now?  In short, are you refusing to fight as a way to get yourself punished for the killings?  Do you have safe water under your keel?”

“I believe that I do, Captain.  I do not want to be punished but I must take the responsibility for what I have done.  I did not even realize that I had done anything seriously wrong until after I saw the charges in writing and had the time to reflect on them.  I believe that I am now past that lapse of sanity.  I will accept the decision of the Council.  Until then, I will serve the Longin in whatever capacity I am allowed.”

Chapter 23: Questions

Kurin braced herself.  She had interviewed many of the Grandalor’s company.  What she had found had bothered her a great deal because it showed a dark side to the fleet that she loved.  Many of the crew had done bad things and had deserved their punishments.  Nearly as many more had been the victims of crimes by high officers on their ships or were inconvenient to keep for one or another reason.  They had been disposed of.

The Oath of Adoption, where they repudiated their old ship names and took Grandalor in their places was a thing that had been planned without Barad or Tanlin’s knowledge.  Originally, only about half the ship’s crew had planned to participate.

When it became obvious that the Captain who had helped them in their need was himself in trouble, they had pulled together behind him unanimously.  He had not let them down and they would stand with him. The Oath had been a way to show both him and the Council how they felt.  Their loyalty was ferocious.

A lifetime of habit made the very idea of accepting what Barad might tell her as questionable at best.  Tanlin had put it succinctly.  “Oi understand t’at i’ Barad told ye t’at t’e sky wa’ blue t’at ye wad probably look up t’ check.  Twad be best t’ interview ‘im last o’ t’e crew but before Morgu an’ Silor.  T’en ye’ll ‘ave somet’in’ t’ use for judgin’ w’at ‘e tells ye.”

Kurin had taken that advice.  She drew a deep breath and knocked on the Captain’s cabin door.  Tanlin opened it at once.  Barad was seated at a small table in the middle of the cabin.

“Do ye wont m’ t’ stay or go?” asked the Captain.

“I would appreciate it if you stayed but all of my other interviews have been solo.  I had better do this alone,” Kurin answered.

“T’at’s good,” said Tanlin, stepping through the door.  “T’is way shows nae favoritism.”

As the door slid shut behind her Barad smiled wanly and waved her an invitation to sit across from him.  “I won’t bite.  It cost us dear to get you here to help us.  I can’t see how you can save me. I am grateful that you will try to get my wife and crew off.”

Kurin replied thoughtfully, “I may not ever like you, Barad, but you deserve the best justice that can be.  I have learned things that I wish that I had never heard or read.  I can check almost everything from the fleet archives when we Gather for the trial.  I am sure that what I have learned will be backed up.”

The usually self-assured Kurin looked at Barad in dismay and said, “It has me confused.  I love my fleet.  They have done some terrible things.  My own ship is involved.  Are they good people or bad?  What about you?”  The dismay was real enough but the questions were calculated to obtain a candid reaction from Barad.

Barad’s reply shook her to the keel.  He considered thoughtfully before answering.  “They’re people, Kurin, with both good and bad.  Some few in influential places have abused their positions but most try to steer an honest course.

“Me?” he shrugged.  “I’ve been worse than most but not as bad as painted by some.  I’ve tried to pick up their mistakes and keep the innocent or merely foolish from swimming to your foster father.”

“You mean like Lenai or Darkistry?”

“Good examples.  One of each.  Darkistry was raped and framed.  Lenai simply got pregnant before she could get legally married.  The birth slot that she would have to have taken belonged to a friend who was married and had waited three Gatherings for the Lottery to give her a chance at a child.

Lenai had a good heart.  At the small Fall gathering, she went to look for a ship that would take her.  While she was looking, her ‘friends’ put her goods on the raft, after pilfering the best of them, and left a note barring her from returning to the Darok.  I took her and never regretted it.  She was the best sail-lofter and rigging surveyor in the fleet so far as I am concerned.

“Little Arnat alone would have been worth taking her in.  My wife was long dead, so I gave her my birth slot.”  He smiled softly.

Kurin could not help asking, “Why did you take in Silor the way that you did?”

“For five Gatherings, he was my eyes and ears aboard the Longin, though he would never tell Ship’s Business until the fiasco this last Gathering.  When his delusions about you led him to be cast off your ship, I could not help him openly because he was to be a key person in the plot to poison you.

“We picked him up in secret.  After he had done his part, I would have given him some education in Arrakan writing and figuring and sold him as an indenture to their fleet, where he would have probably become a good officer in time.”

The blunt revelation left Kurin feeling ill, needing to hide.  She pulled herself together and asked, “Who all knew of the plan to kill me?”

“At first, only myself, Mister Morgu, and one other that Mister Morgu picked.  I later learned that he was Merk, Master Selked’s apprentice, who was needed to make the poisoned kit.”

“What do you mean, ‘at first’?”

“I was troubled by something about the plot but couldn’t put a finger on it.  It nagged at me.  I know that doesn’t sound like much but very little that I’ve ever done bothers me.  I pay attention when something does.

“Shortly after picking up Silor, I took both Tanlin and Master Selked into my confidence.  They showed me the fatal errors in my reasoning.  

“Tanlin reminded me that by Arrakan custom and Law I would be forsworn if I went ahead.  You and Captain Mord were both at our wedding feast. That meant that our enmity was forever over, or I would lose her as wife.  Though it broke both of our hearts, she would have left me. How do I tell you that she is more important to me than even my ship?”

The question was rhetorical but Kurin interrupted to answer anyway.  She said quietly, “You don’t have to.  You stepped down as Captain to save her.  That’s proof enough for me.”

Barad gave her a surprised look.  I knew the she’d be intelligent.  I had not really expected wisdom.  

He went on,  “Master Selked pointed out that though I had always treated my old grudge as if it were the Longin that I hated, it was really only Mord that I had any complaint of, and that over twenty Gatherings gone.  In fact, the very thing that I held against him was the one time that I had completely bested him.  Hardly a reason for hate.

“One thing that I pride myself on is that I can change course immediately when I believe I am wrong.  We had that one Ord spine unaccounted, and it worried me because none of us knew where it was.  I logged and announced Standing General Orders that any use of Ord was mutiny.  I further ordered that if any part of the Ord were to be found still aboard, it should be destroyed.”

Kurin paused to consider what to ask next, thoroughly disturbed by all that she was hearing.  “That explains the timing of those orders.  I found them in the log and they’ve been mentioned in my other interviews.  

“You have also filled in the one hole in what Tanlin told me.  She tried to protect you.  She told me the truth but left you out of the plot to poison me.  Now that you have told me the rest of the truth, I like her even better and trust you more as well.

“Several people have mentioned Purser Morgu’s activities during the Gathering.  What can you tell me?”

TO BE CONTINUED

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